Thackerayana: Notes and Anecdotes

by Unknown

MAGIC, WITCHCRAFT, ANIMAL MAGNETISM, HYPNOTISM, AND ELECTRO BIOLOGY.

By James Braid. 1852.

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Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, sed magis amica Veritas.

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Mr. Braid has selected a neat motto for his treatise, for the matter contained in it will hardly warrant the assumption of a more ambitious title.

Mr. Braid, of Burlington House, Manchester, a doctor by profession, is a believer in and exponent of hypnotism. A great portion of his little work reviews the criticisms on earlier editions, or deals with statements regarding Colquhoun's 'History of Magic.' Its author, while rejecting the doctrines known as animal mesmerism and magnetism, admits the effects they are declared to produce; but he refers such results to hypnotism—a state of induced sleep—into which a patient may be thrown by artificial contrivance.

It is possible that the contents of this book would not prove of much general interest excepting to amateurs of 'animal magnetism;' but we give one extract, which may prove of service to those who do not happen to be already informed of the theory it advances, which is one that every reader can practically test:—

'In my work on hypnotism,' observes Mr. Braid, 'published in 1843, I explained how "tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," might be procured, in many instances, through a most simple device, by the patient himself. All that is required for this purpose is simply to place himself in a comfortable posture in bed, and then to close the eyelids, and turn up the eyeballs gently, as if looking at a distant object, such as an imaginary star, situated somewhat above and behind the forehead, giving the whole concentrated attention of the mind to the idea of maintaining a steady view of the star, and breathing softly, as if in profound attention, the mind at the same time yielding to the idea that sleep will ensue, and to the tendency to somnolence which will creep upon him whilst engaged in this act of fixed attention. Mr. Walker's method of "procuring sleep at will," by desiring the patient to maintain a fixed act of attention by imagining himself watching his breath issuing slowly from his nostrils, after having placed his body in a comfortable position in bed, which was first published by Dr. Binns, is essentially the same as my own method, &c.'

Professor Gregory, in his 'Letters to a Candid Inquirer,' after describing the induction of sleep effected by reading a class of books of a dry character, remarks: 'But let these persons (sufferers from a difficulty in getting off to sleep) try the experiment of placing a small bright object, seen by the reflection of a safe and distant light, in such a position that the eyes are strained a little upwards or backwards, and at such a distance as to give a tendency to squinting, and they will probably never again have recourse to the venerable authors above alluded to. Sir David Brewster, who, with more than youthful ardour, never fails to investigate any curious fact connected with the eye, has not only seen Mr. Braid operate, but has also himself often adopted this method of inducing sleep, and compares it to the feeling we have when, after severe and long-continued bodily exertion, we sit or lie down and fall asleep, being overcome, in a most agreeable manner, by the solicitations of Morpheus, to which, at such times, we have a positive pleasure in yielding, however inappropriate the scene of our slumbers.'

Among the contents are numerous instances of magnetism, and anecdotes of experiments, which have been amusingly 'hit off' in little marginal sketches. One of the best of these is an illustration of the contagious dancing mania said to be excited by the bite of the tarantula spider—'against the effect of which neither youth nor age afforded any protection, so that old men of ninety threw away their crutches,' and the very sight of those so affected was equally potent. These sketches are, however, so small that we think it advisable to exclude them from our selection. The pantomimic mesmerism produced by the harlequin's magic wand, and practically seconded by the sly slaps of the clown, are happily given on the fly-leaf of the treatise; and a vastly original and startling result of animal magnetism records on the last page the droller impressions of the artist-reader on the subject, through the medium of his pencil.

Carried away under the influence of spirits

CHAPTER XI.
ENGLISH ESSAYISTS OF THE GEORGIAN ERA.

Early Essayists whose Writings have furnished Thackeray with the Accessories of Portions of his Novels and Lectures—Works from the Novelist's Library, elucidating his Course of Reading for the Preparation of his 'Lectures'—'Henry Esmond,' 'The Virginians,' &c.—Characteristic Passages from the Lucubrations of the Essayists of the Augustan Era illustrated with original marginal Sketches, suggested by the Text, by Thackeray's Hand—The 'Tatler'—Its History and Influence—Reforms introduced by the purer Style of the Essayists—The Literature of Queen Anne's Reign—Thackeray's Love for the Writings of that Period—His Gift of reproducing their masterly and simple Style of Composition; their Irony, and playful Humour—Extracts from notable Essays; illustrated with original Pencillings from the Series of the 'Tatler,' 1709.

The commencement of the eighteenth century has been christened the Augustan Era of English literature, from the brilliant assembly of writers, pre-eminent for their wit, genius, and cultivation, who then enriched our literature with a perfectly original school of humour.

The essayists, to whose accomplished parts we are indebted for the 'Tatlers,' 'Spectators,' 'Guardians,' 'Humorists,' 'Worlds,' 'Connoisseurs,' 'Mirrors,' 'Adventurers,' 'Observers,' 'Loungers,' 'Lookers-on,' 'Ramblers,' and kindred papers, which picture the many-coloured scenes of our society and literature, have conferred a lasting benefit upon posterity by the sterling merit of their writings. It has been justly said that these essays, by their intrinsic worth, have outlived many revolutions of taste, and have attained unrivalled popularity and classic fame, while multitudes of their contemporaries, successors, and imitators have perished with the accidents or caprices of fashion.

The general purpose of the essayists as laid down by Steele, who may be considered foremost among the originators of the familiar school of writing, 'was to expose the false arts of life, to pull off the disguises of cunning, vanity, and affectation, and to recommend a general simplicity in our dress, our discourse, and our behaviour.' Bickerstaff's lucubrations were directed to good-humoured exposures of those freaks and vagaries of life, 'too trivial for the chastisement of the law and too fantastical for the cognisance of the pulpit,' of those failings, according to Addison's summary of their purpose in the 'Spectator' (No. 34), thus harmonised by Pope:—

Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne,

Yet touched and shamed by Ridicule alone.

The graceful philosophers, polished wits and playful satirists exerted their abilities to supply 'those temporary demands and casual exigencies, overlooked by graver writers and more bulky theorists,' to bring, in the language of Addison, 'philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses.'

'The method of conveying cheap and easy knowledge began among us in the civil wars, when it was much the interest of either party to raise and fix the prejudices of the people.' It was in this spirit that the oft-mentioned Mercuries, 'Mercurius Aulicus,' 'Mercurius Rusticus,' and 'Mercurius Civicus' first appeared.

A hint of the original plan of the 'Tatler' may in some degree be traced to Defoe's 'Review; consisting of a Scandal Club, on Questions of Theology, Morals, Politics, Trade, Language, Poetry, &c.,' published about the year 1703.

'The "Tatler,"' writes Dr. Chalmers, 'like many other ancient superstructures, rose from small beginnings. It does not appear that the author (Steele) foresaw to what perfection this method of writing could be brought. By dividing each paper into compartments, he appears to have consulted the ease with which an author may say a little upon many subjects, who has neither leisure nor inclination to enter deeply on a single topic. This, however, did not proceed either from distrust in his abilities, or in the favour of the public; for he at once addressed them with confidence and familiarity; but it is probable that he did not foresee to what perfection the continued practice of writing will frequently lead a man whose natural endowments are wit and eloquence, superadded to a knowledge of the world, and a habit of observation.'

The first number of the 'Tatler' bore the motto,

Quicquid agunt homines—

nostri est farrago libelli.—Juv. Sat. I. 85, 86.

Whate'er men do, or say, or think, or dream,

Our motley paper seizes for its theme.

The original sheet appeared on Tuesday, April 12, 1709,[13] and the days of its publication were fixed to be Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. 'In the selection of a name for the work, Steele affords an early instance of delicate raillery, by informing us that the name "Tatler" was invented in honour of the fair sex; and that in such a character he might indulge with impunity the desultory plan he first laid down, with a becoming imitation of the tattle and gossip of the day.' The first four numbers were given gratis, the price was then fixed at a penny, which was afterwards doubled.

Steele, whose humour was most happily adapted to his task, assumed as censor of manners the alias of Isaac Bickerstaff. 'Throughout the whole work,' writes Beattie, 'the conjuror, the politician, the man of humour, the critic; the seriousness of the moralist, and the mock dignity of the astrologer; the vivacities and infirmities peculiar to old age, are all so blended and contrasted in the censor of Great Britain as to form a character equally complex and natural, equally laughable and respectable,' and as the editor declares, in his proper person, 'the attacks upon prevailing and fashionable vices had been carried forward by Mr. Bickerstaff with a freedom of spirit that would have lost its attraction and efficacy, had it been pretended to by Mr. Steele.'

A scarce pamphlet, attributed to Gay, draws attention to the high moral and philosophic purpose which was entertained originally. 'There was this difference between Steele and all the rest of the polite and gallant authors of the time: the latter endeavoured to please the age by falling in with them, and encouraging them in their fashionable vices and false notions of things. It would have been a jest some time since for a man to have asserted that anything witty could have been said in praise of a married state; or that devotion and virtue were any way necessary to the character of a fine gentleman. Bickerstaff ventured to tell the town that they were a parcel of fops, fools, and vain coquettes; but in such a manner as even pleased them, and made them more than half inclined to believe that he spoke truth.'

The humorists of the Augustan era were, as the world knows, peculiar objects of regard to the great writer of 'Roundabout Essays' in the age of Queen Victoria. Novels, lectures, and reviews alike prove the industry and affection with which Thackeray conducted his researches amidst the veins of singular richness and congenial material opened to him by the lives and writings of these famous essayists, in such profusion that selection became a point of real art.

It is not difficult to trace the results of Thackeray's reading among his favourite writers, or to watch its influence on his own compositions. Nor did his regard for these sources of inspiration pass the bounds of reasonable admiration; he argues convincingly of the authentic importance of his chosen authorities.

From his minute and intelligent studies of the works of these genial humorists Thackeray acquired a remarkable facility of thinking, spontaneously acknowledged by all his contemporaries, with the felicitous aptitude of the originals, and learned to express his conceptions in language simple, lucid, and sparkling as the outpourings from those pure fonts for which his eagerness may be said to have been unquenched to the end of his career.

That artist-like local colouring which gives such scholarly value to 'Henry Esmond,' to the 'Virginians,' to the 'Humorists of the Eighteenth Century,' and which was no less manifest in the work which engaged his thoughts when Death lightly touched the novelist's hand, furnishes the evidence of Thackeray's familiarity with, and command of, the quaintest, wittiest, wisest, and pleasantest writings in our language.

It will be felt by readers who realise Thackeray in his familiar association with the kindred early humorists, that the merry passages his pencil has italicised by droll marginal sketches are, with all their suggestive slightness, in no degree unworthy of the conceits to which they give a new interest; while in some cases, with playful whimsicality, they present a reading entirely novel. The fidelity of costume and appointments, even in this miniature state, confirms the diligence and thought with which the author of 'Henry Esmond' pursued every detail which illustrated his cherished period, and which might serve as a basis for its consistent reconstruction, to carry his reader far back up the stream of time.

The necessity of compressing within the limits of this volume our selections from the comparatively exhaustless field of the humorous essayists, necessarily renders the paragraphs elucidated by Thackeray's quaint etchings somewhat fragmentary and abrupt, while the miscellaneous nature of the topics thus indiscriminately touched on may be best set forth according to the advertisement with which Swift ushered in his memorable 'Number One':

'All accounts of gallantry, pleasure, and entertainment shall be under the article of White's Chocolate-house;[14] poetry, under that of Will's Coffee-house;[15] learning, under the title of Grecian;[16] foreign and domestic news, you will have from Saint James's Coffee-house; and what else I have to offer on any other subject shall be dated from my own apartment.[17]

'I once more desire my reader to consider, that as I cannot keep an ingenious man to go daily to Will's under twopence each day, merely for his charges; to White's, under sixpence; nor to the Grecian, without allowing him some plain Spanish, to be as able as others at the learned table; and that a good observer cannot speak with even Kidney (the waiter) at St. James's without clean linen; I say, these considerations will, I hope, make all persons willing to comply with my humble request (when my gratis stock is exhausted) of a penny apiece; especially since they are sure of some proper amusement, and that it is impossible for me to want means to entertain them, having, besides the force of my own parts, the power of divination, and that I can, by casting a figure, tell you all that may happen before it comes to pass.'

No. 5. The 'Tatler.'—April 21, 1709.

Who names that lost thing love without a tear,

Since so debauch'd by ill-bred customs here?

To an exact perfection they have brought

The action love, the passion is forgot.

'This was long ago a witty author's lamentation, but the evil still continues; and if a man of any delicacy were to attend the discourses of the young fellows of this age, he would believe there were none but the fallen to make the objects of passion. So true it is what the author of the above verses said, a little before his death, of the modern pretenders to gallantry: "They set up for wits in this age, by saying, when they are sober, what they of the last spoke only when they were drunk." But Cupid is not only blind at present, but dead drunk; and he has lost all his faculties; else how should Celia be so long a maid, with that agreeable behaviour? Corinna, with that sprightly wit? Serbia, with that heavenly voice? and Sacharissa, with all those excellences in one person, frequent the park, the play, and murder the poor Tits that drag her to public places, and not a man turn pale at her appearance? But such is the fallen state of love, that if it were not for honest Cynthio, who is true to the cause, we should hardly have a pattern left of the ancient worthies in that way; and indeed he has but very little encouragement to persevere. Though Cynthio has wit, good sense, fortune, and his very being depends upon her, the termagant for whom he sighs is in love with a fellow who stares in the glass all the time he is with her, and lets her plainly see she may possibly be his rival, but never his mistress. Yet Cynthio pleases himself with a vain imagination that, with the language of his eyes, now he has found out who she is, he shall conquer her, though her eyes are intent upon one who looks from her, which is ordinary with the sex.

'It is certainly a mistake in the ancients to draw the little gentleman Love as a blind boy, for his real character is a little thief that squints; for ask Mrs. Meddle, who is a confidante or spy upon all the passions in town, and she will tell you that the whole is a game of cross purposes. The lover is generally pursuing one who is in pursuit of another, and running from one that desires to meet him. Nay, the nature of this passion is so justly represented in a squinting little thief (who is always in a double action), that do but observe Clarissa next time you see her, and you will find, when her eyes have made their soft tour round the company she makes no stay on him they say she is to marry, but rests two seconds of a minute on Wildair, who neither looks nor thinks on her or any woman else. However, Cynthio had a bow from her the other day, upon which he is very much come to himself; and I heard him send his man of an errand yesterday, without any manner of hesitation; a quarter of an hour after which he reckoned twenty, remembered he was to sup with a friend, and went exactly to his appointment. I sent to know how he did this morning, and I find he hath not forgotten that he spoke to me yesterday.'

No. 9. The 'Tatler.'—April 30, 1709.

Pastorella, a lively young lady of eighteen, was under the charge of an aunt, who was anxious to keep her ward in safety, if possible, from herself and her admirers. 'At the same time the good lady knew, by long experience, that a gay inclination curbed too rashly would but run to the greater excesses; she therefore made use of an ingenious expedient to avoid the anguish of an admonition. You are to know, then, that Miss, with all her flirting and ogling, had also a strong curiosity in her, and was the greatest eaves-dropper breathing. Parisatis (for so her prudent aunt is called) observed this humour, and retires one day to her closet, into which she knew Pastorella would peep and listen to know how she was employed. It happened accordingly; and the young lady saw her good governante on her knees, and, after a mental behaviour, break into these words: "As for the dear child committed to my care, let her sobriety of carriage and severity of behaviour be such as may make that noble lord, who is taken with her beauty, turn his designs to such as are honourable." Here Parisatis heard her niece nestle closer to the key-hole. She then goes on: "Make her the joyful mother of a numerous and wealthy offspring; and let her carriage be such as may make this noble youth expect the blessings of a happy marriage, from the singularity of her life, in this loose and censorious age." Miss, having heard enough, sneaks off for fear of discovery, and immediately at her glass, alters the setting of her head; then pulls up her tucker, and forms herself into the exact manner of Lindamira; in a word, becomes a sincere convert to everything that is commendable in a fine young lady; and two or three such matches as her aunt feigned in her devotions are at this day in her choice. This is the history and original cause of Pastorella's conversion from coquetry.

'I scarce remember a greater instance of forbearance in the usual peevish way with which the aged treat the young than this, except that of our famous Noy, whose good nature went so far as to make him put off his admonitions to his son even until after his death; and did not give him his thoughts of him until he came to read that memorable passage in his will: "All the rest of my estate," says he, "I leave to my son Edward, to be squandered as he shall think fit; I leave it him for that purpose, and hope no better from him." A generous disdain, and reflection how little he deserved from so excellent a father, reformed the young man, and made Edward, from an arrant rake, become a fine gentleman.'

No. 23. The 'Tatler.'—June 2, 1709.

The 'Tatler' relates the instance of a lady who had governed one husband by falling into fits when he opposed her will. Death released this gentleman, and the lady consoled herself quickly with a very agreeable successor, whom she determined to manage by the same method. 'This man knew her little arts, and resolved to break through all tenderness, and be absolute master as soon as occasion offered. One day it happened that a discourse arose about furniture; he was very glad of the occasion, and fell into an invective against china, protesting that he would never let five pounds more of his money be laid out that way as long as he breathed. She immediately fainted—he starts up, as amazed, and calls for help—the maids run up to the closet. He chafes her face, bends her forward, and beats the palms of her hands; her convulsions increase, and down she tumbles on the floor, where she lies quite dead, in spite of what the whole family, from the nursery to the kitchen, could do for her relief. The kind man doubles his care, helps the servants to throw water into her face by full quarts; and when the sinking part of the fit came again, "Well, my dear," says he, "I applaud your action; but none of your artifices; you are quite in other hands than those you passed these pretty passions upon. I must take leave of you until you are more sincere with me: farewell for ever." He was scarce at the stair-head when she followed, and thanked him for her cure, which was so absolute that she gave me this relation herself, to be communicated for the benefit of all the voluntary invalids of her sex.'

No. 24. The 'Tatler.'—June 4, 1709.

The 'Tatler' is discoursing of 'pretty fellows,' and 'very pretty fellows,' and enlarging on the qualifications essential to fit them for the characters.

'Give me leave, then, to mention three, whom I do not doubt but we shall see make considerable figures; and these are such as for their Bacchanalian performances must be admitted into this order. They are three brothers, lately landed from Holland; as yet, indeed, they have not made their public entry, but lodge and converse at Wapping. They have merited already, on the waterside, particular titles: the first is called Hogshead; the second, Culverin; and the third, Musquet. This fraternity is preparing for our end of the town, by their ability in the exercises of Bacchus, and measure their time and merit by liquid weight and power of drinking. Hogshead is a prettier fellow than Culverin, by two quarts; and Culverin than Musquet, by a full pint. It is to be feared Hogshead is so often too full, and Culverin overloaded, that Musquet will be the only lasting very pretty fellow of the three.'

No. 28. The 'Tatler.'—June 14, 1709.

'To the "Tatler."—Sir,—I desire the favour of you to decide this question, whether calling a gentleman a smart fellow is an affront or not? A youth, entering a certain coffee-house, with his cane tied to his button, wearing red-heeled shoes, I thought of your description, and could not forbear telling a friend of mine next to me, "There enters a smart fellow." The gentleman hearing it, had immediately a mind to pick a quarrel with me, and desired satisfaction; at which I was more puzzled than at the other, remembering what mention your familiar makes of those that had lost their lives on such occasions. The thing is referred to your judgment; and I expect you to be my second, since you have been the cause of our quarrel.—I am, Sir, &c.'

'Now what possible insinuation can there be, that it is a cause of quarrel for a man to say he allows a gentleman really to be what his tailor, his hosier, and his milliner have conspired to make him? I confess, if this person who appeals to me had said he was "not a smart fellow," there had been cause for resentment.'

No. 34. The 'Tatler.'—June 28, 1709.

Mr. Bickerstaff has been working certain wonderful effects by prescribing his circumspection-water, which has cured Mrs. Spy of rolling her eyes about in public places. Lady Petulant had made use of it to cure her husband's jealousy, and Lady Gad has cured a whole neighbourhood of detraction.

'The fame of these things,' continues the Censor-General, 'added to my being an old fellow, makes me extremely acceptable to the fair sex. You would hardly believe me when I tell you there is not a man in town so much their delight as myself. They make no more of visiting me than going to Madam Depingle's; there were two of them, namely, Dainia and Clidamira (I assure you women of distinction), who came to see me this morning, in their way to prayers; and being in a very diverting humour (as innocence always makes people cheerful), they would needs have me, according to the distinction of pretty and very pretty fellows, inform them if I thought either of them had a title to the very pretty among those of their own sex; and if I did, which was the most deserving of the two?

'To put them to the trial, "Look ye," said I, "I must not rashly give my judgment in matters of this importance; pray let me see you dance; I play upon the kit." They immediately fell back to the lower end of the room (you may be sure they curtsied low enough to me), and began. Never were two in the world so equally matched, and both scholars to my namesake Isaac.[18] Never was man in so dangerous a condition as myself, when they began to expand their charms. "Oh! ladies, ladies," cried I; "not half that air; you will fire the house!" Both smiled, for, by-the-bye, there is no carrying a metaphor too far when a lady's charms are spoken of. Somebody, I think, has called a fine woman dancing "a brandished torch of beauty." These rivals move with such an agreeable freedom that you would believe their gesture was the necessary effect of the music, and not the product of skill and practice. Now Clidamira came on with a crowd of graces, and demanded my judgment with so sweet an air—and she had no sooner carried it, but Dainia made her utterly forgot, by a gentle sinking and a rigadoon step. The contest held a full half hour; and, I protest, I saw no manner of difference in their perfections until they came up together and expected sentence. "Look ye, ladies," said I, "I see no difference in the least in your performances; but you, Clidamira, seem to be so well satisfied that I should determine for you, that I must give it to Dainia, who stands with so much diffidence and fear, after showing an equal merit to what she pretends to. Therefore, Clidamira, you are a pretty, but, Dainia, you are a very pretty lady; for," said I, "beauty loses its force if not accompanied with modesty. She that hath an humble opinion of herself, will have everybody's applause, because she does not expect it; while the vain creature loses approbation through too great a sense of deserving it."'

No. 36. The 'Tatler.'—July 2, 1709.

The 'Tatler' inserts a letter on termagant wives and sporting tastes:—

'Epsom, June 28.

'It is now almost three weeks since what you writ about happened in this place. The quarrel between my friends did not run so high as I find your accounts have made it. You are to understand that the persons concerned in this scene were Lady Autumn and Lady Springly. Autumn is a person of good breeding, formality, and a singular way practised in the last age; and Lady Springly, a modern impertinent of our sex, who affects as improper a familiarity as the other does distance. These heroines have married two brothers, both knights. Springly is the spouse of the elder, who is a baronet, and Autumn, being a rich widow, has taken the younger, and her purse endowed him with an equal fortune, and knighthood of the same order. This jumble of titles, you need not doubt, has been an aching torment to Autumn, who took place of the other on no pretence but her carelessness and disregard of distinction. The secret occasion of envy broiled long in the breast of Autumn; but no opportunity of contention on that subject happening, kept all things quiet until the accident of which you demand an account.

'It was given out among all the gay people of this place, that on the ninth instant several damsels, swift of foot, were to run for a suit of head-cloaths at the Old Wells. Lady Autumn, on this occasion, invited Springly to go with her in her coach to see the race. When they came to the place, where the Governor of Epsom and all his court of citizens were assembled, as well as a crowd of people of all orders, a brisk young fellow addressed himself to the younger of the ladies, viz. Springly, and offers her his services to conduct her into the music-room. Springly accepts the compliment, and is led triumphantly through a bowing crowd, while Autumn is left among the rabble, and has much ado to get back into her coach; but she did it at last, and as it is usual to see, by the horses, my lady's present disposition, she orders John to whip furiously home to her husband; where, when she enters, down she sits, began to unpin her hood, and lament her foolish fond heart to marry into a family where she was so little regarded. Lady Springly, an hour or two after, returns from the Wells, and finds the whole company together. Down she sat, and a profound silence ensued. You know a premeditated quarrel usually begins and works up with the words some people. The silence was broken by Lady Autumn, who began to say, "There are some people who fancy, that if some people"—Springly immediately takes her up, "There are some people who fancy, if other people"—Autumn repartees, "People may give themselves airs; but other people, perhaps, who make less ado, may be, perhaps, as agreeable as people who set themselves out more." All the other people at the table sat mute, while these two people, who were quarrelling, went on with the use of the word people, instancing the very accidents between them, as if they kept only in distant hints. Therefore, says Autumn, reddening, "There are some people will go abroad in other people's coaches, and leave those with whom they went to shift for themselves; and if, perhaps, those people have married the younger brother, yet, perhaps, he may be beholden to those people for what he is." Springly smartly answers, "People may bring so much ill humour into a family, as people may repent their receiving their money," and goes on—"Everybody is not considerable enough to give her uneasiness."

'Upon this Autumn comes up to her, and desired her to kiss her, and never to see her again; which her sister refusing, my lady gave her a box on the ear. Springly returns, "Ay, ay," said she, "I knew well enough you meant me by your some people;" and gives her another on the other side. To it they went, with most masculine fury; each husband ran in. The wives immediately fell upon their husbands, and tore periwigs and cravats. The company interposed; when (according to the slip-knot of matrimony, which makes them return to one another when anyone puts in between) the ladies and their husbands fell upon all the rest of the company; and, having beat all their friends and relations out of the house, came to themselves time enough to know there was no bearing the jest of the place after these adventures, and therefore marched off the next day. It is said, the governor has sent several joints of mutton, and has proposed divers dishes, very exquisitely dressed, to bring them down again. From his address and knowledge in roast and boiled, all our hopes of the return of this good company depend.

'I am, dear Jenny,
'Your ready friend and servant,
'Martha Tatler.'

No. 37. The 'Tatler.'—July 5, 1709.

The 'Tatler' is discoursing of country squires, with fox-hunting tastes, and how in their rough music of the field they outdo the best Italian singers for noise and volume. One of these worthies is described on a visit in genteel society in town. 'Mr. Bellfrey being at a visit where I was, viz. at his cousin's (Lady Dainty's), in Soho Square, was asked what entertainments they had in the country. Now, Bellfrey is very ignorant, and much a clown; but confident withal: in a word, he struck up a fox-chase; Lady Dainty's dog, Mr. Sippet, as she calls him, started, jumped out of his lady's lap, and fell a barking. Bellfrey went on, and called all the neighbouring parishes into the square. Never was woman in such confusion as that delicate lady; but there was no stopping her kinsman. A roomful of ladies fell into the most violent laughter; my lady looked as if she was shrieking; Mr. Sippet, in the middle of the room, breaking his heart with barking, but all of us unheard. As soon as Bellfrey became silent, up gets my lady, and takes him by the arm, to lead him off. Bellfrey was in his boots. As she was hurrying him away, his spurs take hold of her petticoat; his whip throws down a cabinet of china: he cries, "What! are your crocks rotten? are your petticoats ragged? A man cannot walk in your house for trincums."'

No. 38. The 'Tatler.'—July 7, 1709.

The practice of duelling had been early discountenanced by the 'Tatler.' An altercation after a stock-broking transaction was settled in the fashion thus reported in its pages:—

'... However, having sold the bear, and words arising about the delivery, the most noble major, according to method, abused the other with the titles of rogue, villain, bear-skin man, and the like. Whereupon satisfaction was demanded and accepted, and forth they marched to a most spacious room in the sheriff's house, where, having due regard to what you have lately published, yet not willing to put up with affronts without satisfaction, they stripped and in decent manner fought full fairly with their wrathful hands. The combat lasted a quarter of an hour; in which time victory was often doubtful, until the major, finding his adversary obstinate, unwilling to give him further chastisement, with most shrill voice cried out, "I am satisfied! enough!" whereupon the combat ceased, and both were friends immediately.'

No. 41. The 'Tatler.'—July 14, 1709.

A battle fought in the very streets of London by the Volunteers of 1709, from their head-quarters, the Artillery Ground, Moorgate, is thus described by one of the Grub Street auxiliaries:—

'Indeed, I am extremely concerned for the lieutenant-general, who by his overthrow and defeat is made a deplorable instance of the fortune of war, and the vicissitudes of human affairs. He, alas! has lost in Beech Lane and Chiswell Street all the glory he lately gained in and about Holborn and St. Giles's. The art of sub-dividing first and dividing afterwards is new and surprising; and according to this method the troops are disposed in King's Head Court and Red Lion Market, nor is the conduct of these leaders less conspicuous in the choice of the ground or field of battle. Happy was it that the greatest part of the achievements of this day was to be performed near Grub Street, that there might not be wanting a sufficient number of faithful historians who, being eye-witnesses of these wonders, should impartially transmit them to posterity! but then it can never be enough regretted that we are left in the dark as to the name and title of that extraordinary hero who commanded the divisions in Paul's Alley; especially because those divisions are justly styled brave, and accordingly were to push the enemy along Bunhill Row, and thereby occasion a general battle. But Pallas appeared, in the form of a shower of rain, and prevented the slaughter and desolation which were threatened by these extraordinary preparations.'

No. 45. The 'Tatler.'—July 23, 1709.

Mr. Bickerstaff, having paid a visit to Oxford, has spent the evening with some merry wits, and, after his custom, he relates the adventures of the evening to furnish a paper for the 'Tatler':—

'I am got hither safe, but never spent time with so little satisfaction as this evening; for, you must know, I was five hours with three merry and two honest fellows. The former sang catches and the latter even died with laughing at the noise they made. "Well," says Tom Bellfrey, "you scholars, Mr. Bickerstaff, are the worst company in the world." "Ay," says his opposite, "you are dull to-night; prythee, be merry." With that I huzzaed, and took a jump across the table, then came clever upon my legs, and fell a laughing. "Let Mr. Bickerstaff alone," says one of the honest fellows; "when he is in a good humour, he is as good company as any man in England." He had no sooner spoke, but I snatched his hat off his head, and clapped it upon my own, and burst out a laughing again; upon which we all fell a laughing for half an hour. One of the honest fellows got behind me in the interim and hit me a sound slap on the back; upon which he got the laugh out of my hands; and it was such a twang on my shoulders, that I confess he was much merrier than I. I was half angry, but resolved to keep up the good humour of the company; and after hallooing as loud as I could possibly, I drank off a bumper of claret that made me stare again. "Nay," says one of the honest fellows, "Mr. Isaac is in the right; there is no conversation in this: what signifies jumping or hitting one another on the back? let us drink about." We did so from seven of the clock until eleven; and now I am come hither, and, after the manner of the wise Pythagoras, began to reflect upon the passages of the day. I remember nothing but that I am bruised to death; and as it is my way to write down all the good things I have heard in the last conversation, to furnish my paper, I can from this only tell you my sufferings and my bangs.'

No. 46. The 'Tatler.'—July 26, 1709.

Aurengezebe, a modern Eastern potentate, is described as amusing his later years by playing the grand Turk to the Sultanas of Little Britain.

'There is,' proceeds the account, 'a street near Covent Garden known by the name of Drury, which, before the days of Christianity, was purchased by the Queen of Paphos, and is the only part of Great Britain where the tenure of vassalage is still in being.... This seraglio is disposed into convenient alleys and apartments, and every house, from the cellar to the garret, inhabited by nymphs of different orders.

'Here it is that, when Aurengezebe thinks fit to give loose to dalliance, the purveyors prepare the entertainment; and what makes it more august is, that every person concerned in the interlude has his set part, and the prince sends beforehand word what he designs to say, and directs also the very answer which shall be made to him.

'The entertainment is introduced by the matron of the temple; whereon an unhappy nymph, who is to be supposed just escaped from the hands of a ravisher, with her tresses dishevelled, runs into the room with a dagger in her hand, and falls before the emperor.

'"Pity, oh! pity, whoever thou art, an unhappy virgin, whom one of thy train has robbed of her innocence; her innocence, which was all her portion—or rather let me die like the memorable Lucretia!" Upon which she stabs herself. The body is immediately examined, Lucretia recovers by a cup of right Nantz, and the matron, who is her next relation, stops all process at law.'

Similar extraordinary entertainments continue the evening, which concludes in a distribution of largesse by the fictitious sultan.

No. 47. The 'Tatler.'—July 28, 1709.

The 'Tatler' describes an incident of Sir Taffety Trippet, a fortune-hunter, whose follies, according to Mr. Bickerstaff, are too gross to give diversion; and whose vanity is too stupid to let him be sensible that he is a public offence.

'It happened that, when he first set up for a fortune-hunter, he chose Tunbridge for the scene of action, where were at that time two sisters upon the same design. The knight believed, of course, the elder must be the better prize; and consequently makes all sail that way. People that want sense do always in an egregious manner want modesty, which made our hero triumph in making his amour as public as was possible. The adored lady was no less vain of his public addresses. An attorney with one cause is not half so restless as a woman with one lover. Wherever they met, they talked to each other aloud, chose each other partner at balls, saluted at the most conspicuous part of the service of the church, and practised, in honour of each other, all the remarkable particularities which are usual for persons who admire one another, and are contemptible to the rest of the world. These two lovers seemed as much made for each other as Adam and Eve, and all pronounced it a match of nature's own making; but the night before the nuptials, so universally approved, the younger sister, envious of the good fortune even of her sister, who had been present at most of the interviews, and had an equal taste for the charm of a fop, as there are a set of women made for that order of men; the younger, I say, unable to see so rich a prize pass by her, discovered to Sir Taffety that a coquet air, much tongue, and three suits was all the portion of his mistress. His love vanished that moment; himself and equipage the next morning.'

No. 52. The 'Tatler.'—Aug. 9, 1709.

'Delamira resigns her Fan.

'When the beauteous Delamira had published her intention of entering the bonds of matrimony, the matchless Virgulta, whose charms had made no satires, thus besought her to confide the secret of her triumphs:—

'"Delamira! you are now going into that state of life wherein the use of your charms is wholly to be applied to the pleasing only one man. That swimming air of your body, that jaunty bearing of your head over one shoulder, and that inexpressible beauty in your manner of playing your fan, must be lowered into a more confined behaviour, to show that you would rather shun than receive addresses for the future. Therefore, dear Delamira, give me those excellences you leave off, and acquaint me with your manner of charming; for I take the liberty of our friendship to say, that when I consider my own stature, motion, complexion, wit, or breeding, I cannot think myself any way your inferior; yet do I go through crowds without wounding a man, and all my acquaintance marry round me while I live a virgin masked, and I think unregarded."

'Delamira heard her with great attention, and, with that dexterity which is natural to her, told her that "all she had above the rest of her sex and contemporary beauties was wholly owing to a fan (that was left her by her mother, and had been long in the family), which whoever had in possession and used with skill, should command the hearts of all her beholders; and since," said she, smiling, "I have no more to do with extending my conquests or triumphs, I will make you a present of this inestimable rarity." Virgulta made her expressions of the highest gratitude for so uncommon a confidence in her, and desired she would "show her what was peculiar in the management of that utensil, which rendered it of such general force when she was mistress of it." Delamira replied, "You see, madam, Cupid is the principal figure painted on it; and the skill in playing the fan is, in your several motions of it, to let him appear as little as possible; for honourable lovers fly all endeavours to ensnare them, and your Cupid must hide his bow and arrow, or he will never be sure of his game. You observe," continued she, "that in all public assemblies the sexes seem to separate themselves, and draw up to attack each other with eye-shot: that is the time when the fan, which is all the armour of a woman, is of most use in our defence; for our minds are construed by the waving of that little instrument, and our thoughts appear in composure or agitation according to the motion of it."'

No. 57. The 'Tatler.'—Aug. 20, 1709.

The 'Tatler' transcribes from La Bruyère an extract, which he introduces as 'one of the most elegant pieces of raillery and satire.' La Bruyère describes the French as if speaking of a people not yet discovered, in the air and style of a traveller:—

'I have heard talk of a country where the old men are gallant, polite, and civil; the young men, on the contrary, stubborn, wild, without either manners or civility. Amongst these people, he is sober who is never drunk with anything but wine; the too frequent use of it having rendered it flat and insipid to them: they endeavour by brandy, or other strong liquors, to quicken their taste, already extinguished, and want nothing to complete their debauches but to drink aqua-fortis. The women of that country hasten the decay of their beauty by their artifices to preserve it; they paint their cheeks, eye-brows, and shoulders, which they lay open, together with their breasts, arms, and ears, as if they were afraid to hide those places which they think will please, and never think they show enough of them.

'The physiognomies of the people of that country are not at all neat, but confused and embarrassed with a bundle of strange hair, which they prefer before their natural; with this they weave something to cover their heads, which descends half way down their bodies, hides their features, and hinders you from knowing men by their faces. This nation has, besides this, their god and their king.

'The grandees go every day, at a certain hour, to a temple they call a church: at the upper end of that temple there stands an altar consecrated to their god, where the priest celebrates some mysteries which they call holy, sacred, and tremendous. The great men make a vast circle at the foot of the altar, standing with their backs to the priests and the holy mysteries, and their faces erected towards their king, who is seen on his knees upon a throne, and to whom they seem to direct the desires of their hearts, and all their devotion. However, in this custom there is to be remarked a sort of subordination; for the people appear adoring their prince and their prince adoring God.'

No. 61. The 'Tatler.'—Aug. 30, 1709.

Mr. Bickerstaff is musing on the degeneracy of the fair, and on the changes which beauty has undergone since his youth.

'We have,' he argues, 'no such thing as a standard for good breeding. I was the other day at my Lady Wealthy's, and asked one of her daughters how she did. She answered, "She never conversed with men." The same day I visited at my Lady Plantwell's, and asked her daughter the same question. She answers, "What is that to you, you old thief?" and gives me a slap on the shoulders....

'I will not answer for it, but it may be that I (like other old fellows) have a fondness for the fashions and manners which prevailed when I was young and in fashion myself. But certain it is that the taste of youth and beauty is very much lowered. The fine women they show me now-a-days are at best but pretty girls to me who have seen Sacharissa, when all the world repeated the poems she inspired; and Villaria (the Duchess of Cleveland), when a youthful king was her subject. The things you follow and make songs on now should be sent to knit, or sit down to bobbins or bone-lace: they are indeed neat, and so are their sempstresses; they are pretty, and so are their handmaids. But that graceful motion, that awful mien, and that winning attraction, which grew upon them from the thoughts and conversations they met with in my time, are now no more seen. They tell me I am old: I am glad I am so, for I do not like your present young ladies.'

No. 64. The 'Tatler.'—Sept. 6, 1709.

'"⁂ Lost, from the Cocoa-tree, in Pall Mall, two Irish dogs, belonging to the pack of London; one a tall white wolf dog; the other a black nimble greyhound, not very sound, and supposed to be gone to the Bath, by instinct, for cure. The man of the inn from whence they ran, being now there, is desired, if he meets either of them, to tie them up. Several others are lost about Tunbridge and Epsom, which, whoever will maintain, may keep."'

No. 67. The 'Tatler.'—Sept. 13, 1709.

The 'Tatler' proposes to work upon the post, to establish a charitable society, from which there shall go every day circular letters to all parts, within the bills of mortality, to tell people of their faults in a friendly manner, whereby they may know what the world thinks of them. An example follows, which had been already sent, by way of experiment, without success:—

'"Madam,—Let me beg of you to take off the patches at the lower end of your left cheek, and I will allow two more under your left eye, which will contribute more to the symmetry of your face; except you would please to remove the two black atoms on your ladyship's chin, and wear one large patch instead of them. If so, you may properly enough retain the three patches above mentioned. I am, &c."

'This I thought had all the civility and reason in the world in it; but whether my letters are intercepted, or whatever it is, the lady patches as she used to do. It is observed by all the charitable society, as an instruction in their epistles, that they tell people of nothing but what is in their power to mend. I shall give another instance of this way of writing: two sisters in Essex Street are eternally gaping out of the window, as if they knew not the value of time, or would call in companions. Upon which I writ the following line:—

'"Dear Creatures,—On the receipt of this, shut your casements."

'But I went by yesterday, and found them still at the window. What can a man do in this case, but go in and wrap himself up in his own integrity, with satisfaction only in this melancholy truth, that virtue is its own reward; and that if no one is the better for his admonitions, yet he is himself the more virtuous, in that he gave those advices?'

No. 79. The 'Tatler.'—Oct. 11, 1709.

Mr. Bickerstaff's sister Jenny is going to be married. The 'Tatler' tells the following anecdote, as a warning 'to be above trifles:'—

'This, dear Jenny, is the reason that the quarrel between Sir Harry and his lady, which began about her squirrel, is irreconcilable. Sir Harry was reading a grave author; she runs into his study, and, in a playing humour, claps the squirrel upon the folio: he threw the animal, in a rage, on the floor; she snatches it up again, calls Sir Harry a sour pedant, without good nature or good manners. This cast him into such a rage, that he threw down the table before him, kicked the book round the room, then recollected himself: "Lord, madam," said he, "why did you run into such expressions? I was," said he, "in the highest delight with that author when you clapped your squirrel upon my book;" and smiling, added upon recollection, "I have a great respect for your favourite, and pray let us be all friends." My lady was so far from accepting this apology, that she immediately conceived a resolution to keep him under for ever, and, with a serious air, replied, "There is no regard to be had to what a man says who can fall into so indecent a rage and an abject submission in the same moment, for which I absolutely despise you." Upon which she rushed out of the room. Sir Harry stayed some minutes behind, to think and command himself; after which he followed her into her bed-chamber, where she was prostrate upon the bed, tearing her hair, and naming twenty coxcombs who would have used her otherwise. This provoked him to so high a degree that he forbade nothing but beating her; and all the servants in the family were at their several stations listening, whilst the best man and woman, the best master and mistress, defamed each other in a way that is not to be repeated even at Billingsgate. You know this ended in an immediate separation: she longs to return home, but knows not how to do it; and he invites her home every day. Her husband requires no submission of her; but she thinks her very return will argue she is to blame, which she is resolved to be for ever, rather than acknowledge it.'

No. 86. The 'Tatler.'—Oct. 27, 1709.

'When I came home last night, my servant delivered me the following letter:—

'"Sir,—I have orders from Sir Harry Quickset, of Staffordshire, Baronet, to acquaint you, that his honour, Sir Harry himself; Sir Giles Wheelbarrow, Knight; Thomas Rentfree, Esquire, justice of the quorum; Andrew Windmill, Esquire; and Mr. Nicolas Doubt, of the Inner Temple, Sir Harry's grandson, will wait upon you at the hour of nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday, the twenty-fifth of October, upon business which Sir Harry will impart to you by word of mouth. I thought it proper to acquaint you beforehand, so many persons of quality came, that you might not be surprised therewith. Which concludes, though by many years' absence since I saw you at Stafford, unknown, Sir, your most humble servant,

'"John Thrifty."

'I received this note with less surprise than I believe Mr. Thrifty imagined; for I know the good company too well to feel any palpitations at their approach: but I was in very great concern how I could adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to all these great men, who perhaps had not seen anything above themselves for these twenty years last past. I am sure that is the case of Sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a great point in adjusting my behaviour to the simple squire, so as to give him satisfaction, and not disoblige the justice of the quorum.

'The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner set chairs, by the steward's letter, and fixed my tea-equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one entered; after which followed a long silence, which was at last broken by, "Sir, I beg your pardon; I think I know better:" and another voice, "Nay, good Sir Giles——" I looked out from my window, and saw the good company all with their hats off, and arms spread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much solemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so kind as to name them to me. But they had now got to my chamber-door, and I saw my old friend Sir Harry enter. I met him with all the respect due to so reverend a vegetable; for you are to know that is my sense of a person who remains idle in the same place for half a century. I got him with great success into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any of my cups. The knight-bachelor told me, "he had a great respect for my whole family, and would, with my leave, place himself next to Sir Harry, at whose right hand he had sat at every quarter-sessions these thirty years, unless he was sick." The steward in the rear whispered the young templar, "That is true to my knowledge." I had the misfortune, as they stood cheek by jole, to desire the squire to sit down before the justice of the quorum, to the no small satisfaction of the former, and the resentment of the latter. But I saw my error too late, and got them as soon as I could into their seats. "Well," said I, "gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great honour, I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea." They answered one and all, "that they never drank tea of a morning." "Not drink tea of a morning?" said I, staring round me. Upon which the pert jackanapes, Nic Doubt, tipped me the wink, and put out his tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a profound silence, when the steward, in his boots and whip, proposed, "that we should adjourn to some public house, where everybody might call for what they pleased, and enter upon the business." We all stood up in an instant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left, very discreetly, countermarching behind the chairs towards the door. After him Sir Giles, in the same manner. The simple squire made a sudden start to follow; but the justice of the quorum whipped between upon the stand of the stairs. A maid, going up with coals, made us halt, and put us into such confusion that we stood all in a heap, without any visible possibility of recovering our order; for the young jackanapes seemed to make a jest of this matter, and had so contrived, by pressing in amongst us, under pretence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the middle, and he knew nobody was of quality to stir a step until Sir Harry moved first. We were fixed in this perplexity for some time, until we heard a very loud noise in the street; and Sir Harry asking what it was, I, to make them move, said, "it was fire." Upon this all ran down as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, until we got into the street, where we drew up in very good order, and filed down Sheer Lane; the impertinent templar driving us before him as in a string, and pointing to his acquaintance who passed by. When we came to Dick's coffee-house we were at our old difficulty, and took up the street upon the same ceremony. We proceeded through the entry, and were so necessarily kept in order by the situation that we were now got into the coffee-house itself; where, as soon as we arrived, we repeated our civilities to each other: after which we marched up to the high table, which has an ascent to it inclosed in the middle of the room. The whole house was alarmed at this entry, made up of persons of so much state and rusticity. Sir Harry called for a mug of ale and "Dyer's Letter." The boy brought the ale in an instant, but said, "they did not take in the letter." "No!" says Sir Harry, "then take back your mug; we are like indeed to have good liquor at this house!" Here the templar tipped me a second wink, and, if I had not looked very grave upon him, I found he was disposed to be very familiar with me. In short, I observed, after a long pause, that the gentlemen did not care to enter upon business until after their morning draught, for which reason I called for a bottle of mum; and finding that had no effect upon them, I ordered a second, and a third; after which Sir Harry reached over to me, and told me in a low voice, "that place was too public for business; but he would call upon me again to-morrow morning at my own lodgings, and bring some more friends with him."'

No. 88. The 'Tatler.'—Nov. 1, 1709.

The 'Tatler' has been much surprised by the manœuvres of a studious neighbour.

'From my own Apartment, October 31.

'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 that she had taken in was run mad; and she desired my advice." I 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 up stairs 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 leg, put it into such a quivering motion, that I thought that 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, until he made a full pause for want of breath. In this interim my woman asked "what I thought?" I whispered "that I thought this learned person an enthusiast, who possibly had his education in the Peripatetic way, which was a sect of philosophers, who always studied when walking." Observing him much out of breath, I thought it the best time to master him if he were disordered, and knocked at his door. I was surprised to find him open it, and say with great civility and good mien, "that he hoped he had not disturbed us." I believed him in a lucid interval, and desired "he would please to let me see his book." He did so, smiling. I could not make anything of it, and, therefore, asked "in what language it was writ?" He said, "it was one he studied with great application; but it was his profession to teach it, and could not communicate his knowledge without a consideration." I answered that I hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himself, for his meditations this morning had cost me three coffee dishes and a clean pipe. He seemed concerned at that, and told me "he was a dancing master, and had been reading a dance or two before he went out, which had been written by one who taught at an academy in France." He observed me at a stand, and informed 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.'

No. 91. The 'Tatler.'—Nov. 8, 1709.

One of the celebrated beauties of 1709 pays the 'Tatler' a friendly visit to obtain his counsel on the choice of her future husband, being perplexed between two suitors—between inclination on one hand and riches on the other.

'From my own Apartment, November 7.

'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 are too far gone in life to think of love. Therefore I am answered as to the passion I spoke of; and," continued she, 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 as to disposing of myself to another. My person you see, my fortune is very considerable; 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. 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 superfluity. When I consider Lorio, my mind is filled with an idea of the great satisfactions 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 uncontrolled expense in all the pleasures of life, except love."'

The 'Tatler' naturally advised the lady that the man of her affections, rather than the lover who could gratify her vanity with outward show, would afford her the truest happiness, and counselled her to keep her thoughts of happiness within the means of her fortune, and not to measure it by comparison with the mere riches of others.

No. 93. The 'Tatler.'—Nov. 12, 1709.

The 'Tatler,' from his eagerness to promote social reforms, has succeeded in drawing upon himself numerous challenges from the individuals who have considered themselves aggrieved by his writings.

'From my own Apartment, November 11.

'I have several hints and advertisements from unknown hands, that some who are enemies to my labours design to demand the fashionable way of satisfaction for the disturbance my lucubrations have given them. I confess that as things now stand I do not know how to deny such inviters, and am preparing myself accordingly. I have bought pumps, and foils, and am every morning practising in my chamber. My neighbour, the dancing-master, has demanded of me, "why I take this liberty since I will not allow it to him?" but I answered, "his was an act of indifferent nature, and mine of necessity." My late treatises against duels have so far disobliged the fraternity of the noble science of defence, that I can get none of them to show me so much as one pass. I am, therefore, obliged to learn by book, and have accordingly several volumes, wherein all the postures are exactly delineated. I must confess I am shy of letting people see me at this exercise, because of my flannel waistcoat, and my spectacles, which I am forced to fix on the better to observe the posture of the enemy.

'I have upon my chamber walls drawn at full length the figures of all sorts of men, from eight feet to three feet two inches. Within this height, I take it, that all the fighting men of Great Britain are comprehended. But as I push, I make allowance for my being of a lank and spare body, and have chalked out in every figure my own dimensions; for I scorn to rob any man of his life by taking advantage of his breadth; therefore, I press purely in a line down from his nose, and take no more of him to assault than he has of me; for, to speak impartially, if a lean fellow wounds a fat one in any part to the right or left, whether it be in carte or in tierce, beyond the dimensions of the said lean fellow's own breadth, I take it to be murder, and such a murder as is below a gentleman to commit. As I am spare, I am also very tall, and behave myself with relation to that advantage with the same punctilio, and I am ready to stoop or stand, according to the stature of my adversary.

'I must confess that I have had great success this morning, and have hit every figure round the room in a mortal part, without receiving the least hurt, except a little scratch by falling on my face, in pushing at one at the lower end of my chamber; but I recovered so quick, and jumped so nimbly on my guard, that, if he had been alive, he could not have hurt me. It is confessed I have written against duels with some warmth; but in all my discourses I have not ever said that I knew how a gentleman could avoid a duel if he were provoked to it; and since that custom is now become a law, I know nothing but the legislative power, with new animadversions upon it, can put us in a capacity of denying challenges, though we were afterwards hanged for it. But no more of this at present. As things stand, I shall put up with no more affronts; and I shall be so far from taking ill words that I will not take ill looks. I therefore warn all hot young fellows not to look hereafter more terrible than their neighbours; for if they stare at me with their hats cocked higher than other people, I will not bear it. Nay, I give warning to all people in general to look kindly at me; for I will bear no frowns, even from ladies; and if any woman pretends to look scornfully at me, I shall demand satisfaction of the next of kin of the masculine gender.'

No. 96. The 'Tatler.'—Nov. 19, 1709.

The 'Tatler,' in despair of effecting his object by discouraging certain acts of foppery, endeavours to carry out his principle by an opposite course of treatment.

'From my own Apartment, November 18.

'When an engineer finds his guns have not had their intended effect, he changes his batteries. I am forced at present to take this method; and instead of continuing to write against the singularity some are guilty of in their habit and behaviour, I shall henceforth desire them to persevere in it; and not only so, but shall take it as a favour of all the coxcombs in the town, if they will set marks upon themselves, and by some particular in their dress show to what class they belong. It would be very obliging in all such persons, who feel in themselves that they are not of sound understanding, to give the world notice of it, and spare mankind the pains of finding them out. A cane upon the fifth button shall from henceforth be the sign of a dapper; red-heeled shoes and a hat hung upon one side of the head shall signify a smart; a good periwig made into a twist, with a brisk cock, shall speak a mettled fellow; and an upper lip covered with snuff, a coffee-house statesman. But as it is required that all coxcombs hang out their signs, it is, on the other hand, expected that men of real merit should avoid anything particular in their dress, gait, or behaviour. For, as we old men delight in proverbs, I cannot forbear bringing out one on this occasion, that "good wine needs no bush."

'I must not leave this subject without reflecting on several persons I have lately met, who at a distance seem very terrible; but upon a stricter enquiry into their looks and features, appear as meek and harmless as any of my neighbours. These are country gentlemen, who of late years have taken up a humour of coming to town in red coats, whom an arch wag of my acquaintance used to describe very well by calling them "sheep in wolves' clothing." I have often wondered that honest gentlemen, who are good neighbours, and live quietly in their own possessions, should take it into their heads to frighten the town after this unreasonable manner. I shall think myself obliged, if they persist in so unnatural a dress, notwithstanding any posts they may have in the militia, to give away their red coats to any of the soldiery who shall think fit to strip them, provided the said soldiers can make it appear that they belong to a regiment where there is a deficiency in the clothing. About two days ago I was walking in the park, and accidentally met a rural esquire, clothed in all the types above mentioned, with a carriage and behaviour made entirely out of his own head. He was of a bulk and stature larger than ordinary, had a red coat, flung open to show a gay calamancho waistcoat. His periwig fell in a very considerable bush upon each shoulder. His arms naturally swung at an unreasonable distance from his sides; which, with the advantage of a cane that he brandished in a great variety of irregular motions, made it unsafe for any one to walk within several yards of him. In this manner he took up the whole Mall, his spectators moving on each side of it, whilst he cocked up his hat, and marched directly for Westminster. I cannot tell who this gentleman is, but for my comfort may say, with the lover in Terence, who lost sight of a fine young lady, "Wherever thou art, thou canst not be long concealed."'

No. 103. The 'Tatler.'—Dec. 6, 1709.

These toys will once to serious mischiefs fall,

When he is laughed at, when he's jeer'd by all.

Creech (ab Hor., Ars Poet. v. 452).

The 'Tatler,' pursuing his vocation as a censor of manners, is presumed to have established a court, before which all bearers of canes, snuff-boxes, perfumed handkerchiefs, perspective glasses, &c., are brought, that they may, upon showing proper cause, have licences granted for carrying the same; but upon conviction that these appendages of fashion are adopted merely out of frivolous show, the articles thus exposed are ordered to become forfeited.

'Having despatched this set of my petitioners, the bearers of canes, there came in a well-dressed man, with a glass tube in one hand, and his petition in the other. Upon his entering the room, he threw back the right side of his wig, put forward his left leg, and advancing the glass to his right eye, aimed it directly at me. In the meanwhile, to make my observations also, I put on my spectacles; in which posture we surveyed each other for some time. Upon the removal of our glasses, I desired him to read his petition, which he did very promptly and easily; though at the same time it sets forth "that he could see nothing distinctly, and was within very few degrees of being utterly blind," concluding, with a prayer, "that he might be permitted to strengthen his sight by a glass." In answer to this, I told him "he might sometimes extend it to his own destruction. As you are now," said I, "you are out of the reach of beauty; the shafts of the finest eyes lose their force before they can come at you; you cannot distinguish a Toast from an orange-wench; you can see a whole circle of beauty without any interruption from an impertinent face to discompose you. In short, what are snares for others"—my petitioner would hear no more, but told me very seriously, "Mr. Bickerstaff, you quite mistake your man; it is the joy, the pleasure, the employment of my life to frequent public assemblies and gaze upon the fair." In a word, I found his use of a glass was occasioned by no other infirmity but his vanity, and was not so much designed to make him see as to make him be seen and distinguished by others. I therefore refused him a licence for a perspective, but allowed him a pair of spectacles, with full permission to use them in any public assembly as he should think fit. He was followed by so very few of this order of men, that I have reason to hope that this sort of cheat is almost at an end.

'Little follies in dress and behaviour lead to greater evils. The bearing to be laughed at for such singularity teaches us insensibly an impertinent fortitude, and enables us to bear public censure for things that most substantially deserve it. By this means they open a gate to folly, and often render a man so ridiculous as to discredit his virtues and capacities, and unqualify him from doing any good in the world. Besides, the giving in to uncommon habits of this nature, it is a want of that humble deference which is due to mankind, and, what is worst of all, the certain indication of some secret flaw in the mind of the person that commits them.

'When I was a young man, I remember a gentleman of great integrity and worth was very remarkable for wearing a broad belt and a hanger instead of a fashionable sword, though in other points a very well-bred man. I suspected him at first sight to have something wrong in him, but was not able for a long time to discover any collateral proofs of it. I watched him narrowly for six-and-thirty years, when at last, to the surprise of everybody but myself, who had long expected to see the folly break out, he married his own cook-maid.'

No. 108. The 'Tatler.'—Dec. 17, 1709.

Thus while the mute creation downward bend

Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend,

Man looks aloft, and with erected eyes

Beholds his own hereditary skies.—Dryden.

The 'Tatler,' for a little rational recreation, has visited the theatre, hoping to enlarge his ideas; but even in 1709 we find a passion for mere acrobatic exhibitions engaging and corrupting the popular taste.

'While I was in suspense, expecting every moment to see my old friend Mr. Betterton appear in all the majesty of distress, to my unspeakable amazement there came up a monster with a face between his feet, and as I was looking on he raised himself on one leg in such a perpendicular posture that the other grew in a direct line above his head. It afterwards twisted itself into the motions and writhings of several different animals, and, after a great variety of shapes and transformations, went off the stage in the figure of a human creature. The admiration, the applause, the satisfaction of the audience, during this strange entertainment, is not to be expressed. I was very much out of countenance for my dear countrymen, and looked about with some apprehension, for fear any foreigner should be present. Is it possible, thought I, that human nature can rejoice in its disgrace, and take pleasure in seeing its own figure turned to ridicule and distorted into forms that raise horror and aversion!'

No. 109. The 'Tatler.'—Dec. 20, 1709.

In this giddy, busy maze,

I lose the sunshine of my days.—Francis.

A fine lady has condescended to consult the 'Tatler' on a trifling matter; the solemnity of her state—an admirable picture of the equipage of a fine lady of that period—electrifies the philosopher and amazes his simple neighbours.

'Sheer Lane, December 19.

'There has not some years been such a tumult in our neighbourhood as this evening, about six. At the lower end of the lane, the word was given that there was a great funeral coming by. The next moment came forward, in a very hasty instead of a solemn manner, a long train of lights, when at last a footman, in very high youth and health, with all his force, ran through the whole art of beating the door of the house next to me, and ended his rattle with the true finishing rap. This did not only bring one to the door at which he knocked, but to that of everyone in the lane in an instant. Among the rest, my country-maid took the alarm, and immediately running to me, told me "there was a fine, fine lady, who had three men with burial torches making way before her, carried by two men upon poles, with looking-glasses each side of her, and one glass also before, she herself appearing the prettiest that ever was." The girl was going on in her story, when the lady was come to my door in her chair, having mistaken the house. As soon as she entered I saw she was Mr. Isaac's scholar, by her speaking air, and the becoming stop she made when she began her apology. "You will be surprised, sir," said she, "that I take this liberty, who am utterly a stranger to you; besides that, it may be thought an indecorum that I visit a man." She made here a pretty hesitation, and held her fan to her face. Then, as if recovering her resolution, she proceeded, "But I think you have said, that men of your age are of no sex; therefore, I may be as free with you as with one of my own."'

The fine lady consults Mr. Bickerstaff on a trivial subject; she then describes to him the honour he should esteem her visit; the number of calls she is compelled to make, out of custom or ceremony, taking her miles round; several acquaintances on her visiting list having been punctually called on every week, and yet never seen for more than a year. Then follows an account of a visiting list for 1708:—

Mrs. Courtwood—Debtor.		Per contra—Creditor.
To seventeen hundred and four visits received	1704	By eleven hundred and nine paid	1109
		Due to balance	595—1704

No. 111. The 'Tatler.'—Dec. 24, 1709.

Oh! mortal man, thou that art born in sin!

The Bellman's Midnight Homily.

Mr. Bickerstaff is meditating on mental infirmities; after examining the faults of others, he is disposed to philosophise on his own bad propensities, and his cautiousness to keep them within reasonable subjection.

'I have somewhere either read or heard a very memorable sentence, "that a man would be a most insupportable monster, should he have the faults that are incident to his years, constitution, profession, family, religion, age, and country;" and yet every man is in danger of them all. For this reason, as I am an old man, I take particular care to avoid being covetous, and telling long stories. As I am choleric, I forbear not only swearing, but all interjections of fretting, as pugh! or pish! and the like. As I am a lay-man, I resolve not to conceive an aversion for a wise and good man, because his coat is of a different colour from mine. As I am descended of the ancient family of the Bickerstaffs, I never call a man of merit an upstart. As a Protestant, I do not suffer my zeal so far to transport me as to name the Pope and the Devil together. As I am fallen into this degenerate age, I guard myself particularly against the folly I have now been speaking of. As I am an Englishman, I am very cautious not to hate a stranger, or despise a poor palatine.'

No. 116. The 'Tatler.'—Jan. 5, 1710.

The 'Tatler,' still maintaining his court for the examination of frivolities in costume, is engaged in giving judgment on female fashions. The hooped petticoat is the subject before his worshipful board. A fair offender has been captured, and stripped of her encumbrances until she is reduced to dimensions which will allow her to enter the house; the petticoat is then hung up to the roof—its ample dimensions covering the entire court like a canopy. The late wearer had the sense to confess that she 'should be glad to see an example made of it, that she wore it for no other reason but that she had a mind to look as big and burly as other persons of her quality, and that she kept out of it as long as she could and until she began to appear little in the eyes of her acquaintance.' After hearing arguments concerning the encouragement the wearing of these monstrous appendages offered to the woollen manufacturers, to the rope and cord makers, and to the whalebone fisheries of Greenland, the 'Tatler' pronounced his decision that the expense thus entailed on fathers and husbands, and the prejudice to the ladies themselves, 'who could never expect to have any money in the pocket if they laid out so much on the petticoat,' together with the fact that since the introduction of these garments several persons of quality were in the habit of cutting up their cast gowns to strengthen their stiffening, instead of bestowing them as perquisites or in charity, determined him to seize the petticoat as a forfeiture, to be sent as a present to a widow gentlewoman, who had five daughters, to be made into petticoats for each, the remainder to be returned to be cut up into stomachers and caps, facings for waistcoat sleeves, and other garniture. He thus concludes: 'I consider woman as a beautiful, romantic animal, that may be adorned with furs and feathers, pearls and diamonds, ores and silks. The lynx shall cast its skin at her feet to make her a tippet; the peacock, parrot, and swan shall pay contributions to her muff; the sea shall be searched for shells, and the rocks for gems; and every part of nature furnish out its share towards the embellishment of a creature that is the most consummate work of it. All this I shall indulge them in; but as for the petticoat I have been speaking of I neither can nor will allow it.'

No. 145. The 'Tatler.'—March 14, 1710.

Nescio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos.—Virg. Ecl. III. 103.

Ah! what ill eyes bewitch my tender lambs?

'This paper was allotted for taking into consideration a late request of two indulgent parents, touching the care of a young daughter, whom they design to send to a boarding-school, or keep at home, according to my determination; but I am diverted from that subject by letters which I have received from several ladies, complaining of a certain sect of professed enemies to the repose of the fair sex, called oglers. These are, it seems, gentlemen who look with deep attention on one object at the playhouses, and are ever staring all round them in churches. It is urged by my correspondents, that they do all that is possible to keep their eyes off these ensnarers; but that, by what power they know not, both their diversions and devotions are interrupted by them in such a manner as that they cannot attend to either, without stealing looks at the persons whose eyes are fixed upon them. By this means, my petitioners say, they find themselves grow insensibly less offended, and in time enamoured of these their enemies. What is required of me on this occasion is, that as I love and study to preserve the better part of mankind, the females, I would give them some account of this dangerous way of assault; against which there is so little defence, that it lays ambush for the sight itself, and makes them seeingly, knowingly, willingly, and forcibly go on to their own captivity. The naturalists tell us that the rattlesnake will fix himself under a tree where he sees a squirrel playing; and when he has once got the exchange of a glance from the pretty wanton, will give it such a sudden stroke on its imagination, that though it may play from bough to bough, and strive to avert its eyes from it for some time, yet it comes nearer and nearer, by little intervals looking another way, until it drops into the jaws of the animal, which it knew gazed at it for no other reason but to ruin it. I did not believe this piece of philosophy until the night when I made my observations of the play of eyes at the opera, where I then saw the same thing pass between an ogler and a coquette.'

No. 146. The 'Tatler.'—March 16, 1710.

Intrust thy fortune to the Powers above;

Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant

What their unerring wisdom sees thee want:

In wisdom as in greatness they excel;

Ah! that we lov'd ourselves but half so well!

We, blindly by our headstrong passions led,

Are hot for action, and desire to wed;

Then wish for heirs, but to the gods alone

Our future offspring and our wives are known.

Juv. Sat., Dryden.

'As I was sitting after dinner in my elbow-chair, I took up Homer, and dipped into that famous speech of Achilles to Priam,[19] in which he tells him that Jupiter has by him two great vessels, the one filled with blessings, and the other with misfortunes; out of which he mingles a composition for every man that comes into the world. This passage so exceedingly pleased me, that, as I fell insensibly into my afternoon's slumber, it wrought my imagination into the following dream:—

'When Jupiter took into his hands the government of the world, the several parts of nature with the presiding deities did homage to him. One presented him with a mountain of winds, another with a magazine of hail, and a third with a pile of thunderbolts. The Stars offered up their influences; Ocean gave his trident, Earth her fruits, and the Sun his seasons.

'Among others the Destinies advanced with two great urns, one of which was fixed on the right hand of Jove's throne, and the other on the left. The first was filled with all the blessings, the second with all the calamities, of human life. Jupiter, in the beginning of his reign, poured forth plentifully from the right hand; but as mankind, degenerating, became unworthy of his blessings, he broached the other vessel, which filled the earth with pain and poverty, battles and distempers, jealousy and falsehood, intoxicating pleasures and untimely deaths. He finally, in despair at the depravity of human nature, resolved to recall his gifts and lay them in store until the world should be inhabited by a more deserving race.

'The three sisters of Destiny immediately repaired to the earth in search of the several blessings which had been scattered over it, but found great difficulties in their task. The first places they resorted to, as the most likely of success, were cities, palaces, and courts; but instead of meeting with what they looked for here, they found nothing but envy, repining, uneasiness, and the like bitter ingredients of the left-hand vessel; whereas, to their great surprise, they discovered content, cheerfulness, health, innocence, and other the most substantial blessings of life, in cottages, shades, and solitudes. In other places the blessings had been converted into calamities, and misfortunes had become real benefits, while in many cases the two had entered into alliance. In their perplexity the Destinies were compelled to throw all the blessings and calamities into one vessel, and leave them to Jupiter to use his own discretion in their future distribution.'

No. 148. The 'Tatler.'—March 21, 1710.

They ransack ev'ry element for choice

Of ev'ry fish and fowl, at any price.

'I may, perhaps, be thought extravagant in my notion; but I confess I am apt to impute the dishonours that sometimes happen in great families to the inflaming diet which is so much in fashion. For this reason we see the florid complexion, the strong limb, and the hale constitution are to be found among the meaner sort of people, or in the wild gentry who have been educated among the woods or mountains; whereas many great families are insensibly fallen off from the athletic constitution of their progenitors, and are dwindled away into a pale, sickly, spindle-legged generation of valetudinarians.

'I look upon a French ragoût to be as pernicious to the stomach as a glass of spirits; and when I see a young lady swallow all the instigations of high soups, seasoned sauces, and forced meats, I have wondered at the despair or tedious sighing of her lovers.

'The rules among these false delicates are, to be as contradictory as they can be to nature. They admit of nothing at their tables in its natural form, or without some disguise. They are to eat everything before it comes in season, and to leave it off as soon as it is good to be eaten.

'I remember I was last summer invited to a friend's house, who is a great admirer of the French cookery, and, as the phrase is, "eats well." At our sitting down, I found the table covered with a great variety of unknown dishes. I was mightily at a loss to learn what they were, and therefore did not know where to help myself. That which stood before me I took to be roasted porcupine—however, I did not care for asking questions—and have since been informed that it was only a larded turkey. I afterwards passed my eye over several hashes, which I do not know the names of to this day; and, hearing that they were delicacies, did not think fit to meddle with them. Among other dainties, I saw something like a pheasant, and therefore desired to be helped to a wing of it; but to my great surprise, my friend told me it was a rabbit, which is a sort of meat I never cared for. Even the dessert was so pleasingly devised and ingeniously arranged that I cared not to displace it.

'As soon as this show was over, I took my leave, that I might finish my dinner at my own house; for as I in everything love what is simple and natural, so particularly my food. Two plain dishes, with two or three good-natured, cheerful, ingenuous friends, would make me more pleased and vain than all that pomp and luxury can bestow; for it is my maxim that "he keeps the greatest table who has the most valuable company at it."'

No. 155. The 'Tatler.'—April 17, 1710.

When he had lost all business of his own,

He ran in quest of news through all the town.

'There lived some years since, within my neighbourhood, a very grave person, an upholsterer,[20] who seemed a man of more than ordinary application to business. He was a very early riser, and was often abroad two or three hours before any of his neighbours. He had a particular carefulness in the knitting of his brows, and a kind of impatience in all his motions, that plainly discovered he was always intent upon matters of importance. Upon my inquiry into his life and conversation, I found him to be the greatest newsmonger in our quarter; that he rose before day to read the "Postman;" and that he would take two or three turns to the other end of the town before his neighbours were up, to see if there were any Dutch mails come in. He had a wife and several children; but was much more inquisitive to know what passed in Poland than in his own family, and was in greater pain and anxiety of mind for King Augustus's welfare than that of his nearest relations. He looked extremely thin in a dearth of news, and never enjoyed himself in a westerly wind. This indefatigable kind of life was the ruin of his shop; for, about the time that his favourite prince left the crown of Poland, he broke and disappeared.

'This man and his affairs had been long out of my mind, until about three days ago, as I was walking in St. James's Park, I heard somebody at a distance hemming after me; and who should it be but my old neighbour the upholsterer! I saw he was reduced to extreme poverty, by certain shabby superfluities in his dress; for notwithstanding that it was a very sultry day for the time of the year, he wore a loose great-coat and a muff, with a long campaign wig out of curl; to which he had added the ornament of a pair of black garters buckled under the knee. Upon his coming up to me, I was going to inquire into his present circumstances; but I was prevented by his asking me, with a whisper, "whether the last letters brought any accounts that one might rely upon from Bender." I told him, "None that I heard of;" and asked him "whether he had yet married his eldest daughter." He told me, "No; but pray," says he, "tell me sincerely, what are your thoughts of the King of Sweden?" For, though his wife and children were starving, I found his chief concern at present was for this great monarch. I told him "that I looked upon him as one of the first heroes of the age." "But pray," says he, "do you think there is any truth in the story of his wound?" And finding me surprised at the question, "Nay," says he, "I only propose it to you." I answered "that I thought there was no reason to doubt of it." "But why in the heel," says he, "more than in any other part of the body?" "Because," said I, "the bullet chanced to light there."

'We were now got to the upper end of the Mall, where were three or four very odd fellows sitting together upon the bench. These I found were all of them politicians, who used to sun themselves in that place every day about dinner-time. Observing them to be curiosities in their kind, and my friend's acquaintance, I sat down among them.

'The chief politician of the bench was a great asserter of paradoxes. He told us, with a seeming concern, "that, by some news he had lately read from Muscovy, it appeared to him that there was a storm gathering in the Black Sea, which might in time do hurt to the naval forces of this nation." To this he added, "that, for his part, he could not wish to see the Turk driven out of Europe, which, he believed, could not but be prejudicial to our woollen manufacture."

'He backed his assertions with so many broken hints and such a show of depth and wisdom, that we gave ourselves up to his opinions. The discourse at length fell upon a point which seldom escapes a knot of true-born Englishmen; whether, in case of a religious war, the Protestants would not be too strong for the Papists. This we unanimously determined on the Protestant side.[21]

'When we had fully discussed this point, my friend the upholsterer began to exert himself upon the present negotiations of peace; in which he deposed princes, settled the bounds of kingdoms, and balanced the power of Europe, with great justice and impartiality.

'I at length took my leave of the company, and was going away; but had not gone thirty yards before the upholsterer hemmed again after me. Upon his advancing towards me with a whisper, I expected to hear some secret piece of news, which he had not thought fit to communicate to the bench; but, instead of that, he desired me in my ear to lend him half-a-crown. In compassion to so needy a statesman, and to dissipate the confusion I found he was in, I told him, "if he pleased, I would give him five shillings, to receive five pounds of him when the great Turk was driven out of Constantinople;" which he very readily accepted, but not before he had laid down to me the impossibility of such an event as the affairs of Europe now stand.

'This paper I design for the peculiar benefit of those worthy citizens who live more in a coffee-house than in their shops, and whose thoughts are so taken up with foreign affairs that they forget their customers.'

No. 163. The 'Tatler.'—April 25, 1710.

Suffenus has no more wit than a mere clown, when he attempts to write verses; and yet he is never happier than when he is scribbling; so much does he admire himself and his compositions. And, indeed, this is the foible of every one of us; for there is no man living who is not a Suffenus in one thing or other.—Catul. de Suffeno, XX. 14.

'I yesterday came hither about two hours before the company generally make their appearance, with a design to read over all the newspapers; but, upon my sitting down, I was accosted by Ned Softly, who saw me from a corner in the other end of the room, where I found he had been writing something. "Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "I observe, by a late paper of yours, that you and I are just of a humour; for you must know, of all impertinences, there is nothing which I so much hate as news. I never read a gazette in my life; and never trouble my head about our armies, whether they win or lose, or in what part of the world they lie encamped." Without giving me time to reply, he drew a paper of verses out of his pocket, telling me "that he had something that would entertain me more agreeably; and that he would desire my judgment upon every line, for that we had time enough before us until the company came in."

'Finding myself unavoidably engaged in such a conversation, I was resolved to turn my pain into a pleasure and to divert myself as well as I could with so very odd a fellow. "You must understand," says Ned, "that the sonnet I am going to read to you was written upon a lady, who showed me some verses of her own making, and is, perhaps, the best poet of our age. But you shall hear it."

'Upon which he began to read as follows:—

To Mira, on her incomparable Poems.

1.

When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine,

And tune your soft melodious notes,

You seem a sister of the Nine,

Or Phœbus' self in petticoats.

2.

I fancy when your song you sing

(Your song you sing with so much art)

Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing;

For, ah! it wounds me like a dart.

'"Why," says I, "this is a little nosegay of conceits, a very lump of salt. Every verse has something in it that piques; and then the dart in the last line is certainly as pretty a sting on the tail of an epigram, for so I think you critics call it, as ever entered into the thought of a poet." "Dear Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, shaking me by the hand, "everybody knows you to be a judge of these things; and, to tell you truly, I read over Roscommon's 'Translation of Horace's Art of Poetry' three several times before I sat down to write the sonnet which I have shown you. But you shall hear it again, and pray observe every line of it; for not one of them shall pass without your approbation. My friend Dick Easy," continued he, "assured me he would rather have written that 'Ah!' than to have been the author of the 'Æneid.'

'"He indeed objected that I made Mira's pen like a quill in one of the lines and like a dart in the other." "But as to that—oh! as to that," says I, "it is but supposing Cupid to be like a porcupine, and his quills and darts will be the same thing." He was going to embrace me for the hint; but half-a-dozen critics coming into the room, whose faces he did not like, he conveyed the sonnet into his pocket, and whispered me in the ear, "he would show it me again as soon as his man had written it over fair."'

No. 178. The 'Tatler.'—May 30, 1710.

'When we look into the delightful history of the most ingenious Don Quixote of La Mancha, and consider the exercises and manner of life of that renowned gentleman, we cannot but admire the exquisite genius and discerning spirit of Michael Cervantes; who has not only painted his adventurer with great mastery in the conspicuous parts of his story, which relate to love and honour, but also intimated in his ordinary life, in his economy and furniture, the infallible symptoms he gave of his growing phrenzy, before he declared himself a knight-errant. His hall was furnished with old lances, halberds, and morions; his food, lentiles; his dress, amorous. He slept moderately, rose early, and spent his time in hunting. When by watchfulness and exercise he was thus qualified for the hardships of his intended peregrinations, he had nothing more to do but to fall hard to study; and, before he should apply himself to the practical part, get into the methods of making love and war by reading books of knighthood. As for raising tender passions in him, Cervantes reports that he was wonderfully delighted with a smooth intricate sentence; and when they listened at his study-door, they could frequently hear him read aloud, "The reason of the unreasonableness, which against my reason is wrought, doth so weaken my reason, as with all reason I do justly complain of your beauty." Again he would pause until he came to another charming sentence, and, with the most pleasing accent imaginable, be loud at a new paragraph: "The high heavens, which, with your divinity, do fortify you divinely with the stars, make you deserveress of the deserts that your greatness deserves." With these and other such passages, says my author, the poor gentleman grew distracted, and was breaking his brains day and night to understand and unravel their sense.

'What I am now warning the people of is, that the newspapers of this island are as pernicious to weak heads in England as ever books of chivalry to Spain; and therefore shall do all that in me lies, with the utmost care and vigilance imaginable, to prevent these growing evils.'

Mr. Bickerstaff goes on to describe the private Bedlam he has provided for such as are seized with these rabid political maladies.

No. 186. The 'Tatler.'—June 17, 1710.

Virtue alone ennobles human kind,

And power should on her glorious footsteps wait.

'There is nothing more necessary to establish reputation than to suspend the enjoyment of it. He that cannot bear the sense of merit with silence, must of necessity destroy it; for fame being the general mistress of mankind, whoever gives it to himself insults all to whom he relates any circumstances to his own advantage. He is considered as an open ravisher of that beauty for whom all others pine in silence. But some minds are so incapable of any temperance in this particular, that on every second in their discourse you may observe an earnestness in their eyes which shows they wait for your approbation; and perhaps the next instant cast an eye in a glass to see how they like themselves.

'Walking the other day in a neighbouring inn of court, I saw a more happy and more graceful orator than I ever before had heard or read of. A youth of about nineteen years of age was in an Indian dressing-gown and laced cap, pleading a cause before a glass. The young fellow had a very good air, and seemed to hold his brief in his hand rather to help his action, than that he wanted notes for his further information. When I first began to observe him, I feared he would soon be alarmed; but he was so zealous for his client, and so favourably received by the court, that he went on with great fluency to inform the bench that he humbly hoped they would not let the merit of the cause suffer by the youth and inexperience of the pleader; that in all things he submitted to their candour; and modestly desired they would not conclude but that strength of argument and force of reason may be consistent with grace of action and comeliness of person.

'To me (who see people every day in the midst of crowds, whomsoever they seem to address, talk only to themselves and of themselves) this orator was not so extravagant a man as perhaps another would have thought him; but I took part in his success, and was very glad to find he had in his favour judgment and costs, without any manner of opposition.'

No. 204. The 'Tatler.'—July 29, 1710.

He with rapture hears

A title tingling in his tender ears.

Francis's Horace, Sat. V. 32.

'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 of a deceased ambassador, "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 yourself, 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 him 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 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.'

CHAPTER XII.
THACKERAY'S RESEARCHES AMONGST THE WRITINGS OF THE EARLY ESSAYISTS—Continued.

Extracts of Characteristic Passages from the Works of 'The Humourists,' from Thackeray's Library, illustrated with Original Marginal Sketches by the Author's Hand—The Series of The 'Guardian,' 1713—Introduction—Steele's Programme—Authors who contributed to the 'Guardian'—Paragraphs and Pencillings.

Introduction to The 'Guardian.'

The seventh volume of the 'Spectator,' originally intended to be the last, was concluded Dec. 6, 1712, and the first paper of the 'Guardian' made its appearance March 12, 1713. This work had been actually projected by Steele before the conclusion of the 'Spectator.' In a letter to Pope, dated Nov. 12, 1712, he thus announces his intention: 'I desire you would let me know whether you are at leisure or not. I have a design which I shall open in a month or two hence, with the assistance of a few like yourself. If your thoughts are unengaged, I shall explain myself further.'

It appears that Steele undertook this work without any previous concert with his illustrious colleague, and that he pursued it for many weeks with vigour and assiduity, and with very little assistance from his friends or from the letter-box.

The views of our essayists in the choice of a name have been either to select one that did not pledge them to any particular plan, or one that expressed humility, or promised little, and might afterwards excite an agreeable surprise by its unexpected fertility. Of the former class are the 'Spectator,' 'World,' 'Mirror;' of the latter class are the 'Tatler,' 'Rambler,' 'Idler,' 'Adventurer,' &c. The 'Connoisseur' is a name of some danger, because of great promise; and the 'Guardian' might perhaps have been liable to the same objection, if 'Nestor Ironside' had not tempered the austerity of the preceptor with the playfulness of the friend and companion, and partaken of the amusements of his pupils while he provided for their instruction. And with respect to his 'literary speculations, as well as his merriment and burlesque,' we may surely allow him some latitude, when we consider that the public at large were put under his guardianship, and that the demand for variety became consequently more extensive. The 'Guardian'—which was in effect a continuation of the 'Spectator' under another name—was published daily until Oct. 1, 1713, No. 175, when it was abruptly closed by Steele, in consequence of a quarrel between him and Tonson, the bookseller. Pope informs us that Steele stood engaged to his publisher in articles of penalty for all the 'Guardians;' and by desisting two days, and altering the title of the paper, was quit of the obligation. Steele started the 'Englishman,' which was printed for Buckley, with a view of carrying his politics into a new paper in which they might be in place. Steele behaved vindictively to Tonson, and ruthlessly destroyed the original publisher's legitimate rights of proprietorship in the joint enterprise by advertising the 'Englishman' as the sequel of the 'Guardian.'

In his first paper he likewise declared that he had 'for valuable considerations purchased the lion[22] (frequently alluded to in the papers), desk, pen, ink, and paper, and all other goods of Nestor Ironside, Esq., who had thought fit to write no more himself.'

Whatever stormy circumstances, declares Dr. Chalmers, attended the conclusion, it appears that Steele came prepared for the commencement of the 'Guardian,' with more industry and richer stores than usual. He wrote a great many papers in succession, with very little assistance from his contemporaries. Addison, for what reason is not very obvious, unless he was then looking to higher employment, did not make his appearance until No. 67, nor, with one exception, did he again contribute until No. 97, when he proceeds without interruption for twenty-seven numbers, during which time Steele's affairs are said to have been embarrassed. Steele's share amounts to seventy-one papers, written in his happiest vein. Addison wrote fifty-one papers, and generally with his accustomed excellence; but it may perhaps be thought that there is a greater proportion of serious matter, and more frequent use made of the letter-box, than was usual with this author.

The contributors to the 'Guardian' were not numerous. The first for quality and value was the celebrated Bishop of Cloyne, Dr. George Berkeley, a man so uniformly amiable as to be ranked among the first of human beings; a writer sometimes so absurd that it has been doubted whether it was possible he could be serious in the principles he has laid down. His actions manifested the warmest zeal for the interests of Christianity, while some of his writings seemed intended to assist the cause of infidelity. The respect of those who knew Dr. Berkeley, and his own excellent character, have rescued his name from the imputations to which his writings may have given occasion; and to posterity he will be deservedly handed down as an able champion of religion, although infected with an incurable love of paradox, and somewhat tainted with the pride of philosophy, which his better sense could not restrain.

Dr. Berkeley's share in the 'Guardian' has been ascertained, partly on the authority of his son, who claimed Nos. 3, 27, 35, 39, 49, 55, 62, 70, 77, and 126, and partly on that of the annotators, who added to these Nos. 83, 88, and 89.

It is asserted, on unquestionable authority, that Dr. Berkeley had a guinea and a dinner with Steele for every paper he furnished. This is the only circumstance that has come to light respecting the payment received by the assistants in any of these works. In the 'Spectator' it is probable that Addison and Steele were joint sharers or proprietors. In the case of the 'Guardian,' as already noticed, there was a contract between Steele and Tonson, the nature of which has not been clearly explained.

Pope's share of the 'Guardian' can be traced with some degree of certainty, and at least eight papers can be confidently assigned to his pen, which entitle him to the very highest praise as an essayist. These are Nos. 4, 11, 40, 61, 78, 91, 92, and 173.

No. 10. The 'Guardian.'—March 23, 1713.

Venit ad me sæpe clamitans ——

Vestitu nimium indulges, nimium ineptus es,

Nimium ipse est durus præter æquumque et bonum.

Ter. Adelph.

'To the "Guardian."

'Oxford, 1712.

'Sir,—I foresee that you will have many correspondents in this place; but as I have often observed, with grief of heart, that scholars are wretchedly ignorant in the science I profess, I flatter myself that my letter will gain a place in your papers. I have made it my study, sir, in these seats of learning, to look into the nature of dress, and am what they call an academical beau. I have often lamented that I am obliged to wear a grave habit, since by that means I have not an opportunity to introduce fashions amongst our young gentlemen; and so am forced, contrary to my own inclinations, and the expectation of all who know me, to appear in print. I have indeed met with some success in the projects I have communicated to some sparks with whom I am intimate, and I cannot, without a secret triumph, confess that the sleeves turned up with green velvet, which now flourish throughout the university, sprung originally from my invention.

'As it is necessary to have the head clear, as well as the complexion, to be perfect in this part of learning, I rarely mingle with the men (for I abhor wine), but frequent the tea-tables of the ladies. I know every part of their dress, and can name all their things by their names. I am consulted about every ornament they buy; and, I speak it without vanity, have a very pretty fancy to knots and the like. Sometimes I take a needle and spot a piece of muslin for pretty Patty Cross-stitch, who is my present favourite; which, she says, I do neatly enough; or read one of your papers and explain the motto, which they all like mightily. But then I am a sort of petty tyrant among them, for I own I have my humours. If anything be amiss, they are sure Mr. Sleek will find fault; if any hoity-toighty things make a fuss, they are sure to be taken to pieces the next visit. I am the dread of poor Celia, whose wrapping gown is not right India; and am avoided by Thalestris in her second-hand manteau, which several masters of arts think very fine, whereas I discovered with half an eye that it had been scoured.

---

'Though every man cannot fill his head with learning, it is in anyone's power to wear a pretty periwig; he who hath no knack at writing sonnets, may however have a soft hand; and he may arch his eye-brows, who hath not strength of genius for the mathematics.

'Simon Sleek.'

No. 22. The 'Guardian.'—April 6, 1713.

My next desire is, void of care and strife,

To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life;

A country cottage near a crystal flood,

A winding valley, and a lofty wood.

'Pastoral poetry not only amuses the fancy most delightfully, but it is likewise more indebted to it than any other sort whatever. It transports us into a kind of fairy-land, where our ears are soothed with the melody of birds, bleating flocks and purling streams; our eyes are enchanted with flowery meadows and springing greens; we are laid under cool shades, and entertained with all the sweets and freshness of nature. It is a dream, it is a vision, which may be real, and we believe that it is true.

'Another characteristic of a shepherd is simplicity of manners, or innocence. This is so obvious that it would be but repetition to insist long upon it. I shall only remind the reader, that as the pastoral life is supposed to be where nature is not much depraved, sincerity and truth will generally run through it. Some slight transgressions, for the sake of variety, may be admitted, which in effect will only serve to set off the simplicity of it in general. I cannot better illustrate this rule than by the following example of a swain who found his mistress asleep:—

Once Delia slept, on easy moss reclined,

Her lovely limbs half bare, and rude the wind;

I smooth'd her coats, and stole a silent kiss;

Condemn me, shepherds, if I did amiss.

'A third sign of a swain is, that something of religion, and even superstition, is part of his character. For we find that those who have lived easy lives in the country, and contemplate the works of nature, live in the greatest awe of their author; nor doth this humour prevail less now than of old. Our peasants as sincerely believe the tales of goblins and fairies as the heathens those of fawns, nymphs, and satyrs. Hence we find the works of Virgil and Theocritus sprinkled with left-handed ravens, blasted oaks, witchcrafts, evil eyes, and the like. And I observe with great pleasure, that our English author of the pastorals I have quoted hath practised this secret with admirable judgment.'

No. 29. The 'Guardian.'—April 14, 1713.

Ride si sapis—Mart. Epig.

Laugh if you're wise.

'In order to look into any person's temper I generally make my first observation upon his laugh; whether he is easily moved, and what are the passages which throw him into that agreeable kind of convulsion. People are never so unguarded as when they are pleased; and laughter being a visible symptom of some inward satisfaction, it is then, if ever, we may believe the face. It may be remarked in general under this head, that the laugh of men of wit is, for the most part, but a faint, constrained kind of half laugh, as such persons are never without some diffidence about them; but that of fools is the most honest, natural, open laugh in the world.

'As the playhouse affords us the most occasions of observing upon the behaviour of the face, it may be useful (for the direction of those who would be critics this way) to remark, that the virgin ladies usually dispose themselves in front of the boxes; the young married women compose the second row; while the rear is generally made up of mothers of long standing, undesigning maids, and contented widows. Whoever will cast his eye upon them under this view, during the representation of a play, will find me so far in the right that a double entendre strikes the first row into an affected gravity, or careless indolence; the second will venture at a smile; but the third take the conceit entirely, and express their mirth in a downright laugh.

'When I descend to particulars, I find the reserved prude will relapse into a smile at the extravagant freedoms of the coquette, the coquette in her turn laughs at the starchness and awkward affectation of the prude; the man of letters is tickled with the vanity and ignorance of the fop, and the fop confesses his ridicule at the unpoliteness of the pedant.

'I fancy we may range the several kinds of laughers under the following heads:—

The Dimplers,	The Laughers,
The Smilers,	The Grinners,
The Horse-laughers.

'The Dimple is practised to give a grace to the features, and is frequently made a bait to entangle a gazing lover. This was called by the ancients the Chian laugh.

'The Smile is for the most part confined to the fair sex, and their male retinue. It expresses our satisfaction in a silent sort of approbation, doth not too much disorder the features, and is practised by lovers of the most delicate address. This tender motion of the physiognomy the ancients called the Ionic laugh.

'The Laugh among us is the common risus of the ancients.

'The Grin, by writers of antiquity, is called the Syncrusian, and was then, as it is at this time, made use of to display a beautiful set of teeth.

'The Horse-laugh, or the Sardonic, is made use of with great success in all kinds of disputation. The proficients in this kind, by a well-timed laugh, will baffle the most solid argument. This upon all occasions supplies the want of reason, is always received with great applause in coffee-house disputes; and that side the laugh joins with is generally observed to gain the better of his antagonist.

'The prude hath a wonderful esteem for the Chian laugh, or Dimple; she looks upon all the other kinds of laughter as excesses of levity, and is never seen upon the most extravagant jests to disorder her countenance with the ruffle of a smile. Her lips are composed with a primness peculiar to her character; all her modesty seems collected into her face, and she but very rarely takes the freedom to sink her cheek into a dimple.

'The coquette is a proficient in laughter, and can run through the whole exercise of the features. She subdues the formal lover with the dimple, accosts the fop with the smile, joins with the wit in the downright laugh; to vary the air of her countenance frequently rallies with the grin; and when she has ridiculed her lover quite out of his understanding, to complete his misfortune, strikes him dumb with the horse-laugh.'

No. 34. The 'Guardian.'—April 20, 1713.

Mores multorum vidit.—Hor.

He many men and many manners saw.

'I happened to fall in with a circle of young ladies very lately, at their afternoon tea, when the conversation ran upon fine gentlemen. From the several characters that were given, and the exceptions that were made, as this or that gentleman happened to be named, I found that a lady is not difficult to be pleased, and that the town swarms with fine gentlemen. A nimble pair of heels, a smooth complexion, a full-bottomed wig, a laced shirt, an embroidered suit, a pair of fringed gloves, a hat and feather, alike, one and all, ennoble a man, and raise him above the vulgar in female imagination.

'I could not forbear smiling at one of the prettiest and liveliest of this gay assembly, who excepted to the gentility of Sir William Hearty, because he wore a frieze coat, and breakfasted upon toast and ale. I pretended to admire the fineness of her taste, and to strike in with her in ridiculing those awkward healthy gentlemen who seek to make nourishment the chief end of eating. I gave her an account of an honest Yorkshire gentleman, who, when I was a traveller, used to invite his acquaintances at Paris to break their fast with him upon cold roast beef and mum. There was, I remember, a little French marquis, who was often pleased to rally him unmercifully upon beef and pudding, of which our countryman would despatch a pound or two with great alacrity, while his antagonist was picking at a mushroom or the haunch of a frog. I could perceive the lady was pleased with what I said, and we parted very good friends, by virtue of a maxim I always observe, never to contradict or reason with a sprightly female. I went home, however, full of a great many serious reflections upon what had passed; and though in complaisance I disguised my sentiments, to keep up the good humour of my fair companions, and to avoid being looked upon as a testy old fellow; yet, out of the good-will I bear the sex, and to prevent for the future their being imposed upon by counterfeits, I shall give them the distinguishing marks of a true fine gentleman.

---

'ADVERTISEMENT.

'For the Benefit of my Female Readers.

'N.B.—The gilt chariot, the diamond ring, the gold snuff-box, and brocade sword-knot are no essential parts of a fine gentleman; but may be used by him, provided he casts his eye upon them but once a day.'

No. 44. The 'Guardian.'—May 1, 1713.

This path conducts us to the Elysian fields.

'I have frequently observed in the walks belonging to all the inns of court, a set of old fellows who appear to be humourists, and wrapped up in themselves. I am very glad to observe that these sages of this peripatetic sect study tranquillity and indolence of body and mind in the neighbourhood of so much contention as is carried on among the students of Littleton. Now these, who are the jest of such as take themselves, and the world usually takes to be in prosperity, are the very persons whose happiness, were it understood, would be looked upon with burning envy.

'I fell into the discovery of them in the following manner: One day last summer, being particularly under the dominion of the spleen, I resolved to soothe my melancholy in the company of such, whose appearance promised a full return of any complaints I could possibly utter. Living near Gray's Inn walks, I went thither in search of the persons above described, and found some of them seated upon a bench, where, as Milton sings—

The unpierced shade imbrown'd their noontide bow'r.

'I squeezed in among them; and they did not only receive my moanings with singular humanity, but gave me all possible encouragement to enlarge them. If the blackness of my spleen raised an imaginary distemper of body, some one of them immediately sympathised with me. If I spake of any disappointment in my fortune, another of them would abate my sorrowing by recounting to me his own defeat upon the very same circumstances. If I touched upon overlooked merit, the whole assembly seemed to condole with me very feelingly upon that particular. In short, I could not make myself so calamitous in mind, body, or circumstances, but some one of them was upon a level with me. When I had wound up my discourse, and was ripe for their intended raillery, at first they crowned my narration with several piteous sighs and groans; but after a short pause, and a signal given for the onset, they burst out into a most incomprehensible fit of laughter. You may be sure I was notably out of countenance, which gave occasion to a second explosion of the same mirth. What troubled me most was, that their figure, age, and short sword preserved them from any imputation of cowardice upon refusal of battle, and their number from insult. I had now no other way to be upon good terms with them, but desiring I might be admitted into this fraternity. This was at first vigorously opposed, it being objected to me that I affected too much the appearance of a happy man to be received into a society so proud of appearing the most afflicted. However, as I only seemed to be what they really were, I am admitted, by way of triumph, upon probation for a year; and if within that time it shall be possible for them to infuse any of their gaiety into me, I can, at Monmouth Street, upon mighty easy terms, purchase the robes necessary for my instalment into this order; and when they have made me as happy, shall be willing to appear as miserable, as any of this assembly.'

No. 60. The 'Guardian.'—May 20, 1713.

Nihil legebat quod non excerperet.—Plin.

He picked something out of everything he read.

'There is nothing in which men deceive themselves more ridiculously than in point of reading, and which, as it is constantly practised under the notion of improvement, has less advantage.

'When I was sent to Oxford, my chiefest expense ran upon books, and my only expense upon numbers; so that you may be sure I had what they call a choice collection, sometimes buying by the pound, sometimes by the dozen, at others by the hundred.

'As I always held it necessary to read in public places, by way of ostentation, but could not possibly travel with a library in my pockets, I took the following method to gratify this errantry of mine. I contrived a little pocket-book, each leaf of which was a different author, so that my wandering was indulged and concealed within the same enclosure.

'This extravagant humour, which should seem to pronounce me irrecoverable, had the contrary effect; and my hand and eye being thus confined to a single book, in a little time reconciled me to the perusal of a single author. However, I chose such a one as had as little connection as possible, turning to the Proverbs of Solomon, where the best instructions are thrown together in the most beautiful range imaginable, and where I found all that variety which I had before sought in so many different authors, and which was so necessary to beguile my attention. By these proper degrees I have made so glorious a reformation in my studies that I can keep company with Tully in his most extended periods, and work through the continued narrations of the most prolix historian. I now read nothing without making exact collections, and shall shortly give the world an instance of this in the publication of the following discourses. The first is a learned controversy about the existence of griffins, in which I hope to convince the world that notwithstanding such a mixed creature has been allowed by Ælian, Solinus, Mela, and Herodotus, that they have been perfectly mistaken in the matter, and shall support myself by the authority of Albertus, Pliny, Aldrovandus, and Matthias Michovius; which two last have clearly argued that animal out of the creation.

'The second is a treatise of sternutation or sneezing, with the original custom of saluting or blessing upon that motion; as also with a problem from Aristotle, showing why sneezing from noon to night was innocent enough; from night to noon, extremely unfortunate.

'The third and most curious is my discourse upon the nature of the lake Asphaltites, or the lake of Sodom; being a very careful enquiry whether brickbats and iron will swim in that lake, and feathers sink, as Pliny and Mandevil have averred.

'The discussing these difficulties without perplexity or prejudice, the labour of collecting and collating matters of this nature, will, I hope, in a great measure atone for the idle hours I have trifled away in matters of less importance.'

No. 77. The 'Guardian.'—June 9, 1713.

Certum voto pete finem.—Hor. Ep.

To wishes fix an end.—Creech.

'The same weakness, or defect in the mind, from whence pedantry takes its rise, does likewise give birth to avarice. Words and money are both to be regarded as only marks of things; and as the knowledge of the one, so the possession of the other is of no use, unless directed to a farther end. A mutual commerce could not be carried on among men, if some common standard had not been agreed upon, to which the value of all the various productions of art and nature were reducible, and which might be of the same use in the conveyance of property as words are in that of ideas. Gold, by its beauty, scarceness, and durable nature, seems designed by Providence to a purpose so excellent and advantageous to mankind. Upon these considerations that metal came first into esteem. But such who cannot see beyond what is nearest in the pursuit, beholding mankind touched with an affection for gold, and being ignorant of the true reason that introduced this odd passion into human nature, imagine some intrinsic worth in the metal to be the cause of it. Hence the same men who, had they been turned towards learning, would have employed themselves in laying up words in their memory, are by a different application employed to as much purpose in treasuring up gold in their coffers. They differ only in the object; the principle on which they act, and the inward frame of mind, is the same in the critic and the miser.'

No. 84. The 'Guardian.'—June 17, 1713.

Non missura cutem nisi plena cruoris hirudo.—Hor.

Sticking like leeches, till they burst with blood.—Roscommon.

'To Nestor Ironside, Esq.

'Sir,—Presuming you may sometimes condescend to take cognisance of small enormities, I lay one here before you without farther apology.

'There is a silly habit among many of our minor orators, who display their eloquence in the several coffee-houses of this fair city, to the no small annoyance of considerable numbers of her Majesty's spruce and loving subjects, and that is, a humour they have got of twisting off your buttons. These ingenious gentlemen are not able to advance three words till they have got fast hold of one of your buttons; but as soon as they have procured such an excellent handle for discourse, they will indeed proceed with great elocution. I know not how well some may have escaped; but for my part, I have often met with them to my cost; having, I believe, within these three years last past, been argued out of several dozen; insomuch that I have for some time ordered my tailor to bring me home with every suit a dozen at least of spare ones, to supply the place of such as, from time to time, are detached as a help to discourse, by the vehement gentlemen before mentioned. In the coffee-houses here about the Temple, you may harangue even among our dabblers in politics for about two buttons a-day, and many times for less. I had yesterday the good fortune to receive very considerable additions to my knowledge in state affairs; and I find this morning that it has not stood me in above a button. Besides the gentlemen before mentioned, there are others who are no less active in their harangues, but with gentle services rather than robberies. These, while they are improving your understanding, are at the same time setting off your person: they will new plait and adjust your neckcloth.

'I am of opinion that no orator or speaker in public or private has any right to meddle with anybody's clothes but his own. I indulge men in the liberty of playing with their own hats, fumbling in their own pockets, settling their own periwigs, tossing or twisting their heads, and all other gesticulations which may contribute to their elocution, but pronounce it an infringement of the English liberty, for a man to keep his neighbour's person in custody in order to force a hearing; and farther declare, that all assent given by an auditor under such constraint is of itself void and of no effect.'

No. 92. The 'Guardian.'—June 26, 1713.

Homunculi quanti sunt, cum recognito!—Plautus.

Now I recollect, how considerable are these little men.

'The most eminent persons of our club are, a little poet, a little lover, a little politician, and a little hero.

'Tom Tiptoe, a dapper little fellow, is the most gallant lover of the age. He is particularly nice in his habiliments; and to the end justice may be done in that way, constantly employs the same artist who makes attire for the neighbouring princes, and ladies of quality. The vivacity of his temper inclines him sometimes to boast of the favours of the fair. He was the other night excusing his absence from the club on account of an assignation with a lady (and, as he had the vanity to tell us, a tall one too), but one of the company, who was his confidant, assured us she was a woman of humour, and consented she would permit him to kiss her, but only on the condition that his toe must be tied to hers.'

No. 100. The 'Guardian.'—July 6, 1713.

If snowy-white your neck, you still should wear

That, and the shoulder of the left arm, bare;

Such sights ne'er fail to fire my am'rous heart,

And make me pant to kiss the naked part.—Congreve.

'There is a certain female ornament, by some called a tucker, and by others the neckpiece, being a slip of fine linen or muslin, that used to run in a small kind of ruffle round the uppermost verge of the women's stays, and by that means covered a great part of the shoulders and bosom. Having thus given a definition, or rather description, of the tucker, I must take notice, that our ladies have of late thrown aside this fig-leaf, and exposed in its primitive nakedness that gentle swelling of the breast which it was used to conceal.

'If we survey the pictures of our great-grandmothers in Queen Elizabeth's time, we see them clothed down to the very wrists, and up to the very chin. The hands and face were the only samples they gave of their beautiful persons. The following age of females made larger discoveries of their complexion. They first of all tucked up their garments to the elbow; and, notwithstanding the tenderness of the sex, were content, for the information of mankind, to expose their arms to the coldness of the air, and injuries of the weather. This artifice hath succeeded to their wishes, and betrayed many to their arms, who might have escaped them had they been still concealed.

'About the same time, the ladies considering that the neck was a very modest part in a human body, they freed it from those yokes, I mean those monstrous linen ruffs in which the simplicity of their grandmothers had enclosed it. In proportion as the age refined, the dress still sunk lower; so that when we now say a woman has a handsome neck, we reckon into it many of the adjacent parts. The disuse of the tucker has still enlarged it, insomuch that the neck of a fine woman at present takes in almost half the body.'

No. 114. The 'Guardian.'—July 22, 1713.

Take the hives, and fall to work upon the honeycombs; the drones refuse, the bees accept the proposal.

'I think myself obliged to acquaint the public that the lion's head, of which I advertised them about a fortnight ago, is now erected at Button's coffee-house, in Russell Street, Covent Garden, where it opens its mouth at all hours for the reception of such intelligence as shall be thrown into it. It is reckoned an excellent piece of workmanship, and was designed by a great hand in imitation of the antique Egyptian lion, the face of it being compounded out of that of a lion and a wizard. The features are strong and well furrowed. The whiskers are admired by all that have seen them. It is planted on the western side of the coffee-house, holding its paws under the chin upon a box, which contains everything that he swallows. He is indeed a proper emblem of knowledge and action, being all head and paws.

'I need not acquaint my readers that my lion, like a moth or bookworm, feeds upon nothing but paper, and shall only beg of them to diet him with wholesome and substantial food. I must therefore desire that they will not gorge him either with nonsense or obscenity; and must likewise insist that his mouth must not be defiled with scandal, for I would not make use of him to revile the human species, and satirise those who are his betters. I shall not suffer him to worry any man's reputation; nor indeed fall on any person whatsoever, such only excepted as disgrace the name of this generous animal, and under the title of lions contrive the ruin of their fellow-subjects. Those who read the history of the Popes, observe that the Leos have been the best and the Innocents the worst of that species; and I hope I shall not be thought to derogate from my lion's character, by representing him as such a peaceable, good-natured, well-designing beast.'

No. 129. The 'Guardian.'—Aug. 8, 1713.

And part with life, only to wound their foe.

'The "Guardian" prints the following genuine letters to enlighten readers on the cool and deliberate preparation men of honour have beforetime made for murdering one another under the convenient pretences of duelling:—

'"À Monsieur Sackville,—I that am in France hear how much you attribute to yourself in this time, that I have given the world leave to ring your praises.... If you call to memory, whereas I gave you my hand last, I told you I reserved the heart for a truer reconciliation. Be master of your own weapons and time; the place wheresoever I will wait on you. By doing this you shall shorten revenge, and clear the idle opinion the world hath of both our worths.

Ed. Bruce."

'"À Monsieur le Baron de Kinloss,—As it shall be always far from me to seek a quarrel, so will I always be ready to meet with any that desire to make trial of my valour by so fair a course as you require. A witness whereof yourself shall be, who within a month shall receive a strict account of time, place, and weapon, where you shall find me ready disposed to give you honourable satisfaction by him that shall conduct you thither. In the meantime be as secret of the appointment as it seems you are desirous of it.

Ed. Sackville."

'"Tergosa: August 10, 1613.

'"À Monsieur le Baron de Kinloss,—I am ready at Tergosa, a town in Zealand, to give you that satisfaction your sword can tender you, accompanied with a worthy gentleman for my second, in degree a knight; and for your coming I will not limit you a peremptory day, but desire you to make a definite and speedy repair, for your own honour, and fear of prevention, until which time you shall find me there.

Ed. Sackville."

'"À Monsieur Sackville,—I have received your letter by your man, and acknowledge you have dealt nobly with me; and now I come with all possible haste to meet you.

Ed. Bruce."'

No. 140. The 'Guardian.'—Aug. 21, 1713.

A sight might thaw old Priam's frozen age,

And warm e'en Nestor into amorous rage.

'To Pope Clement VIII. Nestor Ironside, Greeting.

'I have heard, with great satisfaction, that you have forbidden your priests to confess any woman who appears before them without a tucker; in which you please me well. I do agree with you that it is impossible for a good man to discharge his office as he ought, who gives an ear to those alluring penitents that discover their hearts and necks to him at the same time. I am labouring, as much as in me lies, to stir up the same spirit of modesty among the women of this island, and should be glad we might assist one another in so good a work. In order to it, I desire that you would send me over the length of a Roman lady's neck, as it stood before your late prohibition. We have some here who have necks of one, two, and three feet in length; some that have necks which reach down to their middles; and, indeed, some who may be said to be all neck, and no body. I hope at the same time you observe the stays of your female subjects, that you have also an eye to their petticoats, which rise in this island daily. When the petticoat reaches but to the knee, and the stays fall to the fifth rib (which I hear is to be the standard of each as it has been lately settled in a junto of the sex), I will take care to send you one of either sort, which I advertise you of beforehand, that you may not compute the stature of our English women from the length of their garments. In the meantime, I have desired the master of a vessel, who tells me that he shall touch at Civita Vecchia, to present you with a certain female machine, which I believe will puzzle your infallibility to discover the use of it. Not to keep you in suspense, it is what we call, in this country, a hooped petticoat. I shall only beg of you to let me know whether you find any garment of this nature among all the relics of your female saints; and, in particular, whether it was ever worn by any of your twenty thousand virgin martyrs.

'Yours, usque ad aras,
'Nestor Ironside.'

No. 153. The 'Guardian.'—Sept. 5, 1713.

A mighty pomp, tho' made of little things.—Dryden.

'If there be anything which makes human nature appear ridiculous to beings of superior faculties it must be pride. They know so well the vanity of those imaginary perfections that swell the heart of man, and of those little supernumerary advantages, whether of birth, fortune, or title, which one man enjoys above another, that it must certainly very much astonish, if it does not very much divert them, when they see a mortal puffed up, and valuing himself above his neighbours on any of these accounts, at the same time that he is obnoxious to all the common calamities of the species.

'To set this thought in its true light, we will fancy, if you please, that yonder molehill is inhabited by reasonable creatures, and that every pismire (his shape and way of life only excepted) is endowed with human passions. How should we smile to hear one give us an account of the pedigrees, distinctions, and titles that reign among them! Observe how the whole swarm divide and make way for the pismire that passes through them! You must understand he is an emmet of quality, and has better blood in his veins than any pismire in the molehill. Do not you see how sensible he is of it, how slow he marches forward, how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance? Here you may observe one placed upon a little eminence, and looking down on a long row of labourers. He is the richest insect on this side the hillock; he has a walk of half a yard in length, and a quarter of an inch in breadth; he keeps a hundred menial servants, and has at least fifteen barleycorns in his granary. He is now chiding and beslaving the emmet that stands before him, and who, for all that we can discover, is as good an emmet as himself.

'But here comes an insect of figure! Do not you take notice of a little white straw that he carries in his mouth? That straw, you must understand, he would not part with for the longest track about the molehill; did you but know what he has undergone to purchase it. See how the ants of all qualities and conditions swarm about him. Should this straw drop out of his mouth, you would see all this numerous circle of attendants follow the next that took it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run over his back to come at his successor.'

No. 167. The 'Guardian.'—Sept. 22, 1713.

Fata viam invenient.—Virg.

Fate the way will find.

The following story is translated from an Arabian manuscript:—

'"The name of Helim is still famous through all the Eastern parts of the world. He was the Governor of the Black Palace, a man of infinite wisdom, and chief of the physicians to Alnareschin, the great King of Persia.

'"Alnareschin was the most dreadful tyrant that ever reigned over that country. He was of a fearful, suspicious, and cruel nature, having put to death, upon slight surmises, five-and-thirty of his queens, and above twenty sons, whom he suspected of conspiring. Being at length wearied with the exercise of so many cruelties, and fearing the whole race of Caliphs would be extinguished, he sent for Helim, the good physician, and confided his two remaining sons, Ibrahim and Abdallah, then mere infants, to his charge, requesting him to bring them up in virtuous retirement. Helim had an only child, a girl of noble soul, and a most beautiful person. Abdallah, whose mind was of a more tender turn than that of Ibrahim, grew by degrees so enamoured of her conversation that he did not think he lived unless in the company of his beloved Balsora.

'"The fame of her beauty was so great that it came to the ears of the king, who, pretending to visit the young princes, his sons, demanded of Helim the sight of his fair daughter. The king was so inflamed with her beauty and behaviour that he sent for Helim the next morning, and told him it was now his design to recompense him for all his faithful services, and that he intended to make his daughter Queen of Persia.

'"Helim, who remembered the fate of the former queens, and who was also acquainted with the secret love of Abdallah, contrived to administer a sleeping draught to his daughter, and announced to the king that the news of his intention had overcome her. The king ordered that as he had designed to wed Balsora, her body should be laid in the Black Palace among those of his deceased queens.

'"Abdallah soon fretted after his love, and Helim administered a similar potion to his ward, and he was laid in the same tomb. Helim, having charge of the Black Palace, awaited their revival, and then secretly supplied them with sustenance, and finally contrived, by dressing them as spirits, to convey them away from this sepulchre, and concealed them in a palace which had been bestowed on him by the king in reward for his recovering him from a dangerous illness.

'"About ten years after their abode in this place the old king died. The new king, Ibrahim, being one day out hunting, and separated from his company, found himself, almost fainting with heat and thirst, at the foot of Mount Khacan, and, ascending the hill, he arrived at Helim's house and requested refreshments. Helim was, very luckily, there at that time, and after having set before the king the choicest of wines and fruits, finding him wonderfully pleased with so seasonable a treat, told him that the best part of his entertainment was to come; upon which he opened to him the whole history of what had passed. The king was at once astonished and transported at so strange a relation, and seeing his brother enter the room with Balsora in his hand, he leaped off from the sofa on which he sat, and cried out, ''Tis he! 'tis my Abdallah!' Having said this, he fell upon his neck and wept.

'"Ibrahim offered to divide his empire with his brother, but, finding the lovers preferred their retirement, he made them a present of all the open country as far as they could see from the top of Mount Khacan, which Abdallah continued to improve and beautify until it became the most delicious spot of ground within the empire, and it is, therefore, called the garden of Persia.

'"Ibrahim, after a long and happy reign, died without children, and was succeeded by Abdallah, the son of Abdallah and Balsora. This was that King Abdallah who afterwards fixed the imperial residence upon Mount Khacan, which continues at this time to be the favourite palace of the Persian Empire."'

CHAPTER XIII.
THACKERAY'S RESEARCHES AMONGST THE WRITINGS OF THE EARLY ESSAYISTS—Continued.

Characteristic passages from the Works of Humorous Writers of the 'Era of the Georges,' from Thackeray's Library, illustrated with original Marginal Sketches by the Author's hand—The 'Humourist,' 1724—Extracts and Pencillings.

THE 'HUMOURIST.'

BEING ESSAYS UPON SEVERAL SUBJECTS: 'DEDICATED TO THE MAN IN THE MOON.'

London, 1724-5.

Of News-writers.[23]

Quo virtus tua te vocat, i pede fausto.—Hor. Ep. II. l. 2.

'As to the filling the paper with trifles and things of no significancy, the instances of it are obvious and numerous. The French king's losing a rotten tooth, and the surgeon's fee thereupon; a duke's taking physic, and a magistrate's swearing a small oath, and a poor thief's ravishing a knapsack, have all, in their turns, furnished out deep matter for wit and eloquence to these vigilant writers, who hawk for adventures. A man of quality cannot steal out of town for a day or two, or return to it, without the attendance of a coach and six horses, and a news-writer, who makes the important secret the burden of his paper next day. I have observed, that if a man be but great or rich, the most wretched occasion entitles him to fill a long paragraph in print; the cutting of his corns for the purpose, or his playing at ombre, never fails to merit publication. Now, if my most diligent brother-writers, who are spies upon the actions and cabinets of the great, would go a little farther, and tell us when his grace or his lordship broke his custom by keeping his word, or said a witty thing, or did a generous one, we will freely own they tell us some news, and will thank them for our pleasure and our surprise.

'It is with concern, I see, that even the privacies of the poor ladies cannot escape the eyes of these public searchers. How many great ladies do they bring to bed every day of their lives! for poor madam no sooner begins to make faces, and utter the least groan, but instantly an author stands with his pen in his teeth, ready to hold her back, and to tell the town whether the baby is boy or girl, before the midwife has pulled off her spectacles, and described its nose.'

Of a Country Entertainment.

'I am led by the regard which I bear to the ladies and the Christmas holidays to divert my readers with the history of an entertainment, where I made one at the house of a country squire.

'When I went in I found the dining-room full of ladies, to whom I made a profound bow, and was repaid by a whole circle of curtsies. While I was meditating, with my eyes fixed upon the fire, what I had best say, I could hear one of them whisper to another, "I believe he thinks we smoke tobacco;" for, my reader must know, I had omitted the country fashion, and not kissed one of them.

'At dinner we had many excuses from the lady of the house for our indifferent fare, and she had as many declarations from us, her guests, that all was very good. And the squire gave us the history and extraction of every fowl that came to the table. He assured us that his poultry had neither kindred nor allies anywhere on this side of the Channel.

'As soon as we were risen from the table, our great parliament of females presently resolved themselves into committees of twos and threes all over the dining-room, and I perceived that every party was engaged in talking scandal.

'The ladies then went into one parlour to their tea, and we men into another to our bottle, over which I was entertained with many ingenious remarks on the price of barley, on dairies and the sheepfold. But as the most engaging conversation is, when too long, sometimes cloying, having smoked my pipe in due silence and attention, I took a trip to the ladies, who had sent to know whether I would drink some tea. When I made my entrance, the topic they were on was religion, in their statements about which they were terribly divided, and debated with such agitation and fervour, that I grew in pain for the china cups.

'But they happily departed from this warm point, and unanimously fell backbiting their neighbours, which instantly qualified all their heat and heartily reconciled them to one another, insomuch that all the time the business of scandal was handling there was not one dissenting voice to be heard in the whole assembly.

'By this time the music was come, and happy was the woman that could first wipe her mouth and be soonest upon her legs. In the dance some moved very becomingly, but the majority made such a rattle on the boards as quite drowned the music. This made me call to mind your mettlesome horses, that dance on a pavement to the music of their own heels.

'We had among us the squire's eldest son, a batchelor and captain of the militia. This honest gentleman, believing, as one would imagine, that good humour and wit consisted in activity of body and thickness of bone, was resolved to be very witty, that is to say, very strong; he therefore not only threw down most of the women, and with abundance of wit hauled them round the room, but gave us several farther proofs of the sprightliness of his genius, by a great many leaps he made about a yard high, always remembering to fall on somebody's toes. This ingenious fancy was applauded by everyone, except the person who felt it, who never happened to have complaisance enough to fall in with the general laugh that was raised on that occasion. For my own part, who am an occasional conformist to common custom, I was ashamed to be singular, so I even extended my mouth into a smile, and put my face into a laughing posture too. His mother, observing me to look pleased with her son's activity and gay deportment, told me in my ear, "he was never worse company than I saw him." To which I answered, "I vow, madam, I believe you."'

Of the Spleen.

'In constitutions where this humorous distemper prevails, it is surprising how trifling a matter will inflame it.

'I shall never forget an ingenious doctor of physick, who was so jealous of the honour of his whiskers, which he was pleased to christen "the emblems of his virility," that he resolutely made the sun shine through every unhappy cat that ill-fate threw in his way. He magnanimously professed that his spirit could not brook it, that any cat in Christendom, noble or ignoble, should rival the reputation of his upper lip. In every other respect our physician was a well-bred person, and, which is as wonderful, understood Latin. But we see the deepest learning is no charm against the spleen.'

Of Ghosts.

'All sorts of people, when they get together, will find something to talk of. News, politics, and stocks comprise the conversation of the busy and trading world. Rakes and men of pleasure fight duels with men they never spoke to, and betray women they never saw, and do twenty fine feats over their cups which they never do anywhere else. And children, servants, and old women, and others of the same size of understanding, please and terrify themselves and one another with spirits and goblins. In this case a ghost is no more than a help to discourse.

'A late very pious but very credulous bishop was relating a strange story of a demon, that haunted a girl in Lothbury, to a company of gentlemen in the City, when one of them told his lordship the following adventure:—

'"As I was one night reading in bed, as my custom is, and all my family were at rest, I heard a foot deliberately ascending the stairs, and as it came nearer I heard something breathe. While I was musing what it should be, three hollow knocks at my door made me ask who was there, and instantly the door blew open." "Ah! sir, and pray what did you see?" "My lord, I'll tell you. A tall thin figure stood before me, with withered hair, and an earthly aspect; he was covered with a long sooty garment, that descended to his ankles, and his waist was clasped close within a broad leathern girdle. In one hand he held a black staff taller than himself, and in the other a round body of pale light, which shone feebly every way." "That's remarkable! pray, sir, go on." "It beckoned to me, and I followed it down stairs, and there it pointed to the door, and then left me, and made a hideous noise in the street." "This is really odd and surprising; but, pray now, did it give you no notice what it might particularly seek or aim at?" "Yes, my lord, it was the watchman, who came to show me that my servants had left all my doors open."'

Of Keeping the Commandments.

'I have been humbly of opinion for many years that the keeping of the Ten Commandments was a matter not altogether unworthy of our consideration and practice; and though I am of the same sentiments still, yet I dare hardly publish them, knowing that if I am against the world, the world will be against me. I must not affront modern politeness and the common mode.

'Who would have the boldness to mention the first commandment to Matilda, when he has seen her curt'sying to herself in the glass, and kissing her lap-dog, and worshipping these two divine creatures from morning till night? Nor is Matilda without other deities; she has several sets of china, a diamond necklace, and a grey monkey; and, in spite of her parents and her reason, she is guilty of will-worship to Dick Noodle. But this last is no wonder at all, for Dick wears fine brocade waistcoats and the best Mechlin, and no man of the age picks his teeth with greater elegance.

'And would it not be equally bold and barbarous to enslave a beau or a bully with the tyranny of the third commandment? when it's well known that these worthy gentlemen and brothers in understanding and courage must either be dumb or damning themselves; and, therefore, to stop their swearing would be to stop their breath, and gag them to all eternity. Beau Wittol courts Arabella with great success, and it is not doubted he will carry her, though he was never heard to make any other speech or compliment to her than that of "Demme, madam!" after which he squeezes her hand, takes snuff, and grins in her face with wonderful wit and gaiety. Arabella smiles, and owns with her eyes her admiration of these accomplishments of a fine gentleman.'

Of Flattery.

'Flattery is the art of selling wind for a round sum of ready money. A sycophant blows up the mind of his unhappy patient into a tympany, and then, like other physicians, receives a fee for his poison. It is his business to instruct men to mistake themselves at a great expense; to shut their eyes, and then pay for being blind. Thus the end of excelling in any art or profession is to have that excellence known and admired.

'Sing-song Nero, an ancestor of Mr. Tom d'Urfey, would, probably, never have banished the sceptre and adopted the fiddle, but that he found it much easier for his talents to scrape than to govern. In this reign, he that had a musical ear, or could twist a catgut, was made a man; and the fiddlers ruled the Roman empire by the singular merit of condescending to be viler thrummers than the emperor himself. He who at that time could but wonder greatly, and gape artfully at his Majesty's royal skill in crowding, might be governor of a province, or Lord High Treasurer, or what else he pleased.

'This imperial piper used to go the circuit, and call the provinces together, to be refreshed with a tune upon the fiddle, and if they had the policy to smother a laugh, and raise an outrageous clap, their taxes were paid, and they had whatever they asked; and so miserably was this monarch and madman bewitched by himself and his sycophants with the character of a victorious fiddler, that when he was abandoned by God and man, and, as an enemy to mankind, sentenced to be whipped to death, he did not grieve so much for the loss of his empire as the loss of his fiddle. When he had no mortal left to flatter him, he flattered himself, and his last words were, "Qualis Artifex pereo!—What a brave scraper is lost in me!" And then he buried a knife in his inside, and made his death the best action of his life!'

Of Retirement.

'To be absolute master of one's own time and actions is an instance of liberty which is not found but in solitude. A man that lives in a crowd is a slave, even though all that are about him fawn upon him and give him the upper-hand. They call him master, or lord, and treat him as such; but as they hinder him from doing what he otherwise would, the title and homage which they pay him is flattery and contradiction.[24]

'I ever loved retirement, and detested crowds; I would rather pass an afternoon amongst a herd of deer, than half an hour at a coronation; and sooner eat a piece of apple-pie in a cottage, than dine with a judge on the circuit. To lodge a night by myself in a cave would not grieve me so much as living half a day in a fair. It will look a little odd when I own that I have missed many a good sermon for no other reason but that many others were to hear it as well as myself. I have neither disliked the man, nor his principles, nor his congregation, singly; but altogether I could not abide them.

'I am, therefore, exceedingly happy in the solitude which I am now enjoying. I frequently stand under a tree, and with great humanity pity one half of the world, and with equal contempt laugh at the other half. I shun the company of men, and seek that of oxen, and sheep, and deer, and bushes; and when I can hide myself for the moiety of a day from the sight of every creature but those that are dumb, I consider myself as monarch of all that I see or tread upon, and fancy that Nature smiles and the sun shines for my sake only.

'My eyes at those seasons are the seat of pleasure, and I do not interrupt their ranging by the impertinence of memory, or solicitude of any kind. I neither look a day forward nor a day backward, but voluptuously enjoy the present moment. My mind follows my senses, and refuses all images which these do not then present.'

Of Bubbles.

'The world has often been ruled by men who were themselves ruled by the worst qualities and most sordid views. The prince, says a great French politician, governs the people, and interest governs the prince.

'Hence it comes to pass, that few men care how they rise in the world, so they do but rise. They know that success expiates all rogueries, and never misses reverence; and that he who was called villain or murderer in the race, is often christened saint or hero at the goal.

'The present possession of money or power is always a ready patent for respect and submission. He that gets a hundred thousand pounds by a bubble—that is, by selling a bag of wind to his credulous countrymen—is a greater idol in every coffee-house in town than he who is worth but ninety thousand, though acquired by honest trading or ingenious arts, which profit mankind, and bring credit to his country; and thus every South Sea cub shall, by the sole merit of his million, vie for respect and followers with any lord in the land, though it should strangely happen, as it sometimes does, that his lordship's virtues and parts ennoble his title and quality. It matters not whether your father was a tinker, and you, his worthy son, a broker or a sharper, provided you be but a South Sea man. If you are but that, the whole earth is your humble servant.

'At present, nothing farther is necessary towards getting an estate—that is, merit and respect—than a little money, much roguery, and many lies. With what indignation have I beheld a peer of the realm courting the good graces of a little haberdasher with great cash, and begging a few shares in a bubble which the honourable Goodman Bever had just then invented to cheat his fellow-citizens!

'But exalted boobies being below satire, I shall here only consider a little the mischiefs brought upon the public by the projects which bring them their wealth. It is melancholy to consider that power follows property, when we consider at the same time into what vile hands the property is fallen, and by what vile means, even by bubbles and direct cheating.

'Of our second-hand bubbles, I blame not one more than another; their name shows their nature. The "Great Bubble" of all set them an example, and began first. By it immense fortunes have been got to particular men, most of them obscure and unheard of; happy for their own characters, and for the nation's trade, if they had still remained so. I hope our all is not yet at the mercy of sharpers, ignorant, mercenary sharpers; but I should be glad to see it proved that it will not be so.'

Of Travels.

'As every man is in his own opinion fit to come abroad in print, so every occasion that can put him upon prating to mankind is sufficient to put his pen running, provided he himself can hold the principal character in his own book.

'Of all the several classes of scribblers, there is none more silly than your authors of Travels. There are several things common to all these travellers, and yet peculiar to every particular traveller. I have at this time in my hands a little manuscript, entitled "Travels from Exeter to London, with proper observations." By the sagacity shown in the remarks, I take the author to be some polite squire of Devon. In the following passages our traveller records his observations in the great metropolis:—

'"In this great city people are quite another thing than what they are out of it; insomuch, that he who will be very great with you in the country, will scarce pull off his hat to you in London. I once dined at Exeter with a couple of judges, and they talked to me there, and drank my health, and we were very familiar together. So when I saw them again passing through Westminster Hall, I was glad of it with all my heart, and ran to them with a broad smile, to ask them how they did, and to shake hands with them; but they looked at me so coldly and so proudly as you cannot imagine, and did not seem to know me, at which I was confounded, angry, and mad; but I kept my mind to myself.

'"At another time I was at the playhouse (which is a rare place for mirth, music, and dancing), and, being in the pit, saw in one of the boxes a member of Parliament of our county, with whom I have been as great as hand and glove; so being overjoyed to see him, I called to him aloud by his name, and asked him how he did; but instead of saluting me again, or making any manner of answer, he looked plaguy sour, and never opened his mouth, though when he is in the country he is as merry a grig as any in forty miles, and we have cracked many a bottle together."'

Of Education.

'People, put by their education into a narrow track of thinking, are as much afraid of getting out of it as children of quitting their leading-strings when first they learn to go. They are taught a raging fondness for a parcel of names that are never explained to them; and an implacable fierceness against another set of names that are never explained to them; so they jog on in the heavy steps of their forefathers, or in the wretched and narrow paths of poor-spirited and ignorant pedagogues. They believe they are certainly in the right, and therefore never take the pains to find out that they are certainly in the wrong.

'From this cause it comes to pass that many English gentlemen are as much afraid of reading some English books as were the poor blind Papists of reading books prohibited by their priests; which were, indeed, all books that had either religion or sense in them.

'How nicely are those men taught who are taught prejudice! A tincture of bigotry appears in all the actions of a bigot. He will neither, with his good liking, eat or drink, or sleep or travel with you, till he has received full conviction that you wash your hands and pare your nails just as he does.

'Here is a squire come down from London who is very rich, and has bought a world of land in our county of Wilts. The first thing he did when he came among us was to declare that he would have no dealings nor conversation with any Whig whatsoever; and, to make his word good, having bespoke several beds and other furniture to a considerable value of an upholsterer here, he returned the whole upon the poor man's hands because his wife had a brother who was a Presbyterian parson.

'But this worthy and ingenious squire was very well served by an officer of the army at a horse race here. They were drinking, among other company, the King's health, at the door of a public-house, on horseback; the officer, when it came to his turn, drank it to this Doughty Highflyer, who happened to be next to him, upon which he made some difficulty at pledging it, suggesting that public healths should not be proposed in mixed company. "You would say," says the officer, "if you durst, that a High Churchman would not have his Majesty's health proposed to him at all." Upon this he swore he was a High Churchman, and was not ashamed of it. "So I guessed," said the officer, "by your disloyalty." "But, Sir," says the officer, "even disloyalty to your prince need not make you show your ill-breeding in company." The squire chafed most violently at this, and urged, as a proof of his good breeding, that he had been bred at Oxford. "So I guessed," says the officer, "by your ignorance." This nettled the squire to the height, and fired his little soul at the expense of the outer case, for he proceeded to give ill words, and to call ill names; but the officer quickly taught him, by the nose, to hold his tongue, and ask pardon. Thus it always fares with the High Church in fighting as it does in disputing: she is constantly beaten; and the courage and understanding of her passive sons tally with each other.'

Of Women.

'Some of my fair correspondents have lately reproached me with negligence and indifference to their sex; but if they could know how vain I am of so obliging a reprimand, they would be sensible, too, how little I deserved it. I am not so entirely a statue as to be insensible of the power of beauty, nor so absolutely a woman's creature as to be blind to their little weaknesses, their pretty follies and impertinences.

'It will be necessary to inform my readers that my landlady is an eminent milliner, and a considerable dealer in Flanders lace. She is one of those whom we call notable women; she has run through the rough and smooth of life, has a very good plain sense of things, and knows the world, as far as she is concerned in it, very well. I am very much entertained by her company; her discourse is sure to be seasoned with scandal, ancient and modern, which, though the morals and gravity of my character do not allow me to join in, yet, such is the infirmity of human nature, I find it impossible to be heartily displeased with it as I ought.

'If I come in at a time when the shop, which is commodiously situated above stairs, is full of company, I usually place myself in an obscure corner of it, and observe what passes with secret satisfaction. 'Tis pleasant to hear my landlady, by the mere incessancy of tittle-tattle, persuade her pretty customers out of all the understanding that they brought along with them; and on the other side of the counter to see the little bosoms pant with irresolution, and swell at the view of trifles, which humour and custom have taught them to call necessary and convenient. Hard by perhaps stands a customer of inferior quality, a citizen's wife suppose her, who is reduced to the hard necessity of regulating her expenses by her husband's allowance, and is bursting with vexation to know herself stinted to lace of but fifty shillings a yard; whereas if she could rise to three pounds, she might be mistress of a very pretty head, and what she really thinks she need not be ashamed to be seen in. But for want of this all goes wrong; she hates her superiors, despises her husband, neglects her children, and is ashamed and weary of herself.

'This seems ridiculous to my men readers, and it certainly is so; but are our follies and extravagances more reasonable? Or, rather, are they not infinitely more dangerous and destructive? What violences do we not commit upon our consciences for the mere gratification of our avarice? How much of the real ease and happiness of life do we daily sacrifice to the vanity of ambition? Is it possible, then, since even the greatest men are but a bigger sort of children, to be seriously angry that women are no more? If in my old age I am struck with the harmony of a rattle, or long to get astride on a hobby-horse; if I love still to be caressed and flattered, and am delighted with good words and high titles, why should I be angry that my wife and daughters do not play the philosopher, and have not more wit than myself?

Of Masquerades.

'I must desire my reader, as he values his repose, not to let his thoughts run upon anything loose or frightful for two hours at least before he goes to bed. Titus Livius, the Roman historian, is my usual entertainment, when I don't find myself disposed for closer application. Happening to come home sooner than ordinary two nights ago, I took it up, and read the 8th and following chapters of his 39th book, where he gives us a large account of some nocturnal assemblies lately set up at Rome; I think he calls them Bacchanals, and describes the ceremonies, rites of initiation, and religious practices, together with their music, singing, shrieks, and howlings. The men were dressed like satyrs, and raved like persons distracted, with enthusiastic motions of the head and violent distortions of the body. The ladies ran with their hair about their ears and burning torches in their hands; some covered with the skins of panthers, others with those of tigers, all attended with drums and trumpets, while they themselves were the most noisy. "To this diversion," says the historian, "were added the pleasures of feasting and wine to draw the more in; and when wine, the night, and a mixed company of men and women, jumbled together, had extinguished all sense of shame, there were extravagances of all sorts committed; each having that pleasure ready prepared for him to which his nature was most inclined."

''Tis with design I have referred my reader to the very place, being resolved not to trouble him with any farther relation of these midnight revellings, for fear I should draw him into the same misfortune I unluckily fell under myself. The very idea of it makes me tremble still, when I think of those monstrous habits, fantastical gestures, hideous faces, and confused noises I had in my sleep. Join to these the many assignations made for the next night, the signs given for the present execution of former agreements; and the various plots and contrivances I overheard, for parting man and wife, and ruining whole families at once. These frightful appearances put me into such uncommon agitations of body, and I looked so ghastly at my first waking, that a friend of mine, who came early in the morning to make me a visit, was struck with such a terror at the sight of me, that he made to the street door as fast he could, where he had only time to bid one of my servants run for a physician immediately, for he was sure I was going mad.'

Of Sedition.

'The multitude of papers is a complaint so common in the introduction of every new one, that it would be a shame to repeat it; for my own part, I am so far from repining at this evil, that I sincerely wish there were ten times the number. By this means one may hope to see the appetite for impertinence, defamation, and treason (so prevalent in the generality of readers) at last surfeit itself, and my honoured brethren the modern authors be obliged to employ themselves in some more honest manufacture than that of the Belles Lettres.

''Tis impossible for one who has the least knowledge and regard for his country's interest to look into a coffee-house without the greatest concern. Industry and application are the true and genuine honour of a trading city; where these are everywhere visible all is well. Whenever I see a false thirst for knowledge in my own countrymen, I am sorry they ever learnt to read. I would not be thought an enemy to literature (being, indeed, a very learned person myself), but when I observe a worthy trader, without any natural malice of his own, sucking in the poison of popularity, and boiling with indignation against an administration which the pamphleteer informs him is very corrupt, I am grieved that ever Machiavel, Hobbes, Sidney, Filmer, and the more illustrious moderns, including myself, appeared in human nature.

'Idleness is the parent of innumerable vices, and detraction is generally the first, though not immediately the most mischievous, that is born of it. The mind of man is of such an ill make that it relishes defamation much better than applause; so every writer who makes his court to the multitude must sacrifice his superiors to his patrons.

'That there is a very great and indefeasible authority in the people, or Commons of Great Britain, everyone allows. Power is ever naturally and rightfully founded in those who have anything to risk; and this power delegated into the hands of Parliament, it there becomes legally absolute, and the people are, by their very constitution, obliged to a passive obedience.

'Nothing is better known than this, nothing on all sides more generally allowed, and one would imagine nothing could sooner silence the clamour of little statesmen and politicians; that jargon of public-spiritedness, which wastes so much of the time of the busy part of our countrymen. The misfortune is that though everyone (who is not indeed crack-brained with the love of his country) will own that the populace, by having delegated the right of inspecting public affairs to others, have no authority to be troublesome about it themselves, yet everyone excepts himself from the multitude, and imagines that his own particular talent for public business ought to exempt him from so severe a restraint. Hence arises the great demand for newspapers and coffee. Happy is it for the nation and for the Government that the distemper and the medicine are found at the same place, and the blue-apron officer who presents you with a newspaper, to heat the brain and disturb the understanding, is ready the same moment to apply those composing specificks, a dish and a pipe. Otherwise, what revolutions and abdications might we not expect to see? I should not be surprised to hear that a general officer in the trained-bands had run stark staring mad out of a coffee-house at noon day, declared for a Free Parliament, and proclaimed my Lord Mayor King of England.'

CHAPTER XIV.
THACKERAY'S RESEARCHES AMONGST THE WRITINGS OF THE EARLY ESSAYISTS—Continued.

Characteristic Passages from the Works of The 'Humourists,' from Thackeray's Library, illustrated by the Author's hand, with Marginal Sketches suggested by the Text—The 'World,' 1753—Introduction—Its Difference from the Earlier Essays—Distinguished Authors who contributed to the 'World'—Paragraphs and Pencillings.

The 'World'—writes Dr. Chalmers, in his historical and biographical preface to this series—differs from its predecessors in the general plan, although the ultimate tendency is similar. We have here no philosophy of morals, no indignant censure of the grosser vices, no critical disquisitions, and, in general, scarcely anything serious. Irony is the predominant feature. This caustic species of wit is employed in the 'World' to execute purposes which other methods had failed to accomplish.

The authors of these essays affected to consider the follies of their day as beneath their notice, and therefore tried what good might be done by turning them into ridicule, under the mask of defence or apology, and thus ingeniously demonstrated that every defence of what is in itself absurd and wrong, must either partake of the ridiculous, or be intolerable and repugnant to common sense and reason. With such intentions, notwithstanding their apparent good humour, they may, perhaps, in the apprehension of many readers, appear more severe censors of the foibles of the age than any who have gone before them.

The design, as professed in the first paper, was to ridicule, with novelty and good humour, the fashions, foibles, vices, and absurdities of that part of the human species which calls itself 'The World;' and this the principal writers were enabled to execute with facility, from the knowledge incidental to their rank in life, the elevated sphere in which they moved, their intercourse with a part of society not easily accessible to authors in general, and the good sense which prevented them from being blinded by the glare or enslaved by the authority of fashion.

The 'World' was projected by Edward Moore[25] —in conjunction with Robert Dodsley, the eminent publisher of Johnson's 'Dictionary'—who fixed upon the name; and by defraying the expense, and rewarding Moore, became, and for many years continued to be, the sole proprietor of the work.

Edward Moore's abilities, his modest demeanour, inoffensive manners, and moral conduct, recommended him to the men of genius and learning of the age, and procured him the patronage of Lord Lyttleton, who engaged his friends to assist him in the way which a man not wholly dependent would certainly prefer. Dodsley, the publisher, stipulated to pay Moore three guineas for every paper of the 'World' which he should write, or which might be sent for publication and approved of. Lord Lyttleton, to render this bargain effectual, and an easy source of emolument to his protégé, solicited the assistance of such men as are not often found willing to contribute the labours of the pen, men of high rank in the state, and men of fame and fashion, who cheerfully undertook to supply the paper, while Moore reaped the emolument, and perhaps for a time enjoyed the reputation of the whole. But when it became known, as the information soon circulated in whispers, that such men as the Earls of Chesterfield, Bath, and Cork—that Horace Walpole, Richard Owen Cambridge, and Soame Jenyns—besides other persons of both distinction and parts—were leagued in a scheme of authorship to amuse the town, and that the 'World' was the bow of Ulysses, in which it was 'the fashion for men of rank and genius to try their strength,' we may easily suppose that it would excite the curiosity of the public in an uncommon degree.

The first paper was published January 24, 1753; it was consequently contemporary with the 'Adventurer,' which began November 7, 1752; but as the 'World' was published only once a week, it outlived the 'Adventurer' nearly two years, during which time it ran its course also with the 'Connoisseur.' It was of the same size and type and at the same price with the 'Rambler' and 'Adventurer,' but the sale in numbers was superior to either. In No. 3, Lord Chesterfield states that the number sold weekly was two thousand, which number, he adds, 'exceeds the largest that was ever printed, even of the "Spectator."' In No. 49, he hints that 'not above three thousand were sold.' The sale was probably not regular, and would be greater on the days when rumour announced his lordship as the writer. The usual number printed was two thousand five hundred, as stated in a letter from Moore to Dr. Warton. Notwithstanding the able assistance of his right honourable friends, Moore wrote sixty-one of these papers, and part of another. He excelled principally in assuming the serious manner for the purposes of ridicule, or of raising idle curiosity; his irony is admirably concealed. However trite his subject, he enlivens it by original turns of thought.

In the last paper, the conclusion of the work is made to depend on a fictitious accident which is supposed to have happened to the author and occasioned his death. When the papers were collected in volumes, Moore superintended the publication, and actually died while this last paper was in the press: a circumstance somewhat singular, when we look at the contents of it, and which induces us to wish that death may be less frequently included among the topics of wit.

It has been the general opinion, for the honour of rank, that the papers written by men of that description in the 'World' are superior to those of Moore, or of his assistants of 'low degree.' It may be conceded that among the contributories the first place is due, in point of genius, taste, and elegance, to the pen of Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield.

Lord Chesterfield's services to this paper were purely voluntary, but a circumstance occurred to his first communication which had nearly disinclined him to send a second. He sent his paper to the publisher without any notice of its authorship; it underwent a casual inspection, and, from its length, was at least delayed, if not positively rejected. Fortunately Lord Lyttleton saw it at Dodsley's, and knew the hand. Moore then hastened to publish the paper (No. 18), and thought proper to introduce it with an apology for the delay, and a neat compliment to the wit and good sense of his correspondent.

Chesterfield continued his papers occasionally, and wrote in all twenty-three numbers, certainly equal, if not superior, in brilliancy of wit and novelty of thought, to the most popular productions of this kind.

A certain interest surrounds most of the authors who assisted in the 'World,' and many of the papers were written under circumstances which increase the attraction of their contents. We have not space to particularise special essays, or to enter upon the biographical details which properly belong to our subject; we must restrict further notice to a mere recapitulation of the contributors and their pieces. Richard Owen Cambridge, the author of the 'Scribleriad,' wrote in all twenty-one papers. Horace Walpole was the author of nine papers in the 'World,' all of which excel in keen satire, shrewd remark, easy and scholarly diction, and knowledge of mankind; indeed, for sprightly humour these papers probably excel all his other writings, and most of those of his contemporaries. For five papers we are indebted to Soame Jenyns, who held the office and rank of one of the Lords Commissioners of the Board of Trade and Plantations. James Tilson, Consul at Cadiz, furnished five papers of considerable merit and novelty. Five papers, chiefly of the more serious kind, were contributed by Edward Loveybond; the 'Tears of Old May-Day,' No. 82 of the 'World,' is esteemed one of his best poetic compositions.

W. Whitehead, the Poet Laureate, wrote three papers, Nos. 12, 19, and 58. Nos. 79, 156, 202 were written by Richard Berenger, Gentleman of the Horse to the King. Sir James Marriott, Judge of the High Court of Admiralty, and Master of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, wrote Nos. 117, 121, 199. The 'Adventures of the Pumpkin Family,' zealous to defend their honour, given in Nos. 47 and 63, were written by John, Earl of Cork and Orrery, the amiable nobleman who, as Johnson whimsically declared, 'was so generally civil, that nobody thanked him for it.' The Earl of Cork is also said to have contributed Nos. 161 and 185; he took a more active part in the 'Connoisseur.'

To his son, Mr. Hamilton Boyle, who afterwards succeeded to the earl's title, the 'World' was indebted for Nos. 60 and 170, two papers drawn up with vivacity, humour, and elegance.

William Pulteney, Earl of Bath, to whom the second volume of the 'Guardian' was dedicated, contributed to the 'World,' in his seventy-first year, No. 7, a lively paper on horse-racing and the manners of Newmarket.

Three papers, Nos. 140, 147, and 204, specimens of easy and natural humour, came from the pen of Sir David Dalrymple, better known as Lord Hailes, one of the senators of the College of Justice in Scotland; in advanced life Lord Hailes contributed several papers remarkable for vivacity and point to the 'Mirror.' William Duncombe, a poetical and miscellaneous writer, was the author of the allegory in No. 84; his son, the Rev. John Duncombe, of Canterbury, was the author of No. 36. The latter gentleman appears in connection with the 'Connoisseur.' Nos. 38 and 74 were written by Mr. Parratt, the author of some poems in Dodsley's collection. Nos. 78 and 86 are from the pen of the Rev. Thomas Cole.

The remaining writers in the 'World' were single-paper men, but some of them of considerable distinction in other departments of literary and of public life.

No. 15 was written by the Rev. Francis Coventrye. No. 26 was the production of Dr. Thomas Warton, who was then contributing to the 'Adventurer.' In No. 32 criticism is treated with considerable humour as a species of disease by the publisher, Robert Dodsley, whose popularity extended to all ranks.

No. 37, like Lord Chesterfield's first contributions, was accorded the honour of an extra half-sheet, rather than that the excellences of the letter should be curtailed. It is not only the longest, but is considered one of the best papers in the collection. It was written by Sir Charles Hunbury Williams, for some time the English Minister at the Courts of Berlin and St. Petersburgh. A humorous letter on posts (No. 45) was from the pen of William Hayward Roberts, afterwards Provost of Eton College, Chaplain to the King, and Rector of Farnham Royal, Buckinghamshire. One of the best papers for delicate irony to be found in the entire series of humorous essayists, No. 83, on the 'Manufactory of Thunder and Lightning,' was written by Mr. William Whittaker, a serjeant-at-law and a Welsh judge.

Nos. 110 and 159 are attributed to John Gilbert Cooper, author of the 'Life of Socrates,' and 'Letters on Taste.' Thomas Mulso, a brother of Mrs. Chapone, is set down as the writer of No. 31. He published, in 1768, 'Calistus, or the Man of Fashion,' and 'Sophronius, or the Country Gentleman in Dialogues.' James Ridley, author of the 'Tales of the Genii' and of the 'Schemer,' contributed No. 155. Mr. Gataker, a surgeon of eminence, was the author of No. 184. Mr. Herring, rector of Great Mongeham, Kent, wrote No. 122, on the 'Distresses of a Physician without Patronage.' Mr. Moyle wrote No. 156, on 'False Honour,' and Mr. Burgess No. 198, an excellent paper on the 'Difficulty of Getting Rid of Oneself.' The 'Ode to Sculpture,' in No. 200, was written by James Scott, D.D. Forty-one papers were written by persons whose names were either unknown to the publisher, or who desired to remain anonymous.

The 'World' has been frequently reprinted, and will probably always remain a favourite, for its materials, although sustained by the most whimsical raillery, are not of a perishable kind. The manners of fashionable life are not so mutable in their principles as is commonly supposed, and those who practise them may at least boast that they have stronger stamina than to yield to the attacks of wit or morals.

No. 7. The 'World.'—Feb. 15, 1753.

'Whoever is a frequenter of public assemblies, or joins in a party of cards in private families, will give evidence to the truth of this complaint.

'How common is it with some people, at the conclusion of every unsuccessful hand of cards, to burst forth into sallies of fretful complaints of their own amazing ill-fortune and the constant and invariable success of their antagonists! They have such excellent memories as to be able to recount every game they have lost for six months successively, and yet are so extremely forgetful at the same time as not to recollect a single game they have won. Or if you put them in mind of any extraordinary success that you have been witness to, they acknowledge it with reluctance, and assure you, upon their honours, that in a whole twelvemonth's play they never rose winners but that once.

'But if these growlers (a name which I shall always call men of this class by) would only content themselves with giving repeated histories of their ill-fortunes, without making invidious remarks on the success of others, the evil would not be so great.

'Indeed, I am apt to impute it to their fears, that they stop short of the grossest affronts; for I have seen in their faces such rancour and inveteracy, that nothing but a lively apprehension of consequences could have restrained their tongues.

'Happy would it be for the ladies if they had the consequences to apprehend; for, I am sorry to say it, I have met with female, I will not say growlers, the word is too harsh for them; let me call them fretters, who with the prettiest faces and the liveliest wit imaginable, have condescended to be the jest and the disturbance of the whole company.'

No. 18. The 'World.'—May 3, 1753.

A worthy gentleman, who is suffering from the consequences of treating his wife and daughter to a visit to Paris, is describing, in a letter to Mr. FitzAdam, the follies into which the ladies of his party were betrayed 'in order to fit themselves out to appear, as the French say, honnêtement.'

'In about three days,' writes the victim of these vagaries of fashion, 'the several mechanics, who were charged with the care of disguising my wife and daughter, brought home their respective parts of the transformation. More than the whole morning was employed in this operation, for we did not sit down to dinner till near five o'clock. When my wife and daughter came at last into the eating-room, where I had waited for them at least two hours, I was so struck with their transformation that I could neither conceal nor express my astonishment. "Now, my dear," said my wife, "we can appear a little like Christians." "And strollers too," replied I; "for such have I seen at Southwark Fair. This cannot surely be serious!" "Very serious, depend upon it, my dear," said my wife; "and pray, by the way, what may there be ridiculous in it?"

'Addressing myself to my wife and daughter, I told them I perceived that there was a painter now in Paris who coloured much higher than Rigault, though he did not paint near so like; for that I could hardly have guessed them to be the pictures of themselves. To this they both answered at once, that red was not paint; that no colour in the world was fard but white, of which they protested they had none.

'"But how do you like my pompon, papa?" continued my daughter; "is it not a charming one? I think it is prettier than mamma's." "It may be, child, for anything that I know; because I do not know what part of all this frippery thy pompon is." "It is this, papa," replied the girl, putting up her hand to her head, and showing me in the middle of her hair a complication of shreds and rags of velvets, feathers, and ribands, stuck with false stones of a thousand colours, and placed awry.

'"But what hast thou done to thy hair, child, and why is it blue? Is that painted, too, by the same eminent hand that coloured thy cheeks?" "Indeed, papa," answered the girl, "as I told you before, there is no painting in the case; but what gives my hair that bluish cast is the grey powder, which has always that effect on dark-coloured hair, and sets off the complexion wonderfully." "Grey powder, child!" said I, with some surprise; "grey hairs I knew were venerable; but till this moment I never knew they were genteel." "Extremely so, with some complexions," said my wife; "but it does not suit with mine, and I never use it." "You are much in the right, my dear," replied I, "not to play with edge-tools. Leave it to the girl." This, which perhaps was too hastily said, was not kindly taken; my wife was silent all dinner-time, and I vainly hoped ashamed. My daughter, intoxicated with her dress, kept up the conversation with herself, till the long-wished-for moment of the opera came, which separated us, and left me time to reflect upon the extravagances which I had already seen, and upon the still greater which I had but too much reason to dread.'

No. 21. The 'World.'—May 24, 1753.

I am not so partial to the ladies, particularly the unmarried ones, as to imagine them without fault; on the contrary, I am going to accuse them of a very great one, which, if not put a stop to before the warm weather comes in, no mortal can tell to what lengths it may be carried. You have already hinted at this fault in the sex, under the genteel appellation of moulting their dress. If necks, shoulders, &c., have begun to shed their covering in winter, what a general display of nature are we to expect this summer, when the excuse of heat may be alleged in favour of such a display! I called some time ago upon a friend of mine near St. James's, who, upon my asking where his sister was, told me, "At her toilette, undressing for the ridetto." That the expression may be intelligible to every one of your readers, I beg leave to inform them that it is the fashion for a lady to undress herself to go abroad, and to dress only when she stays at home and sees no company.

'It may be urged, perhaps, that the nakedness in fashion is intended only to be emblematical of the innocence of the present generation of young ladies; as we read of our first mother before the fall, that she was naked and not ashamed; but I cannot help thinking that her daughters of these times should convince us that they are entirely free from original sin, or else be ashamed of their nakedness.

'I would ask any pretty miss about town, if she ever went a second time to see the wax-work, or the lions, or even the dogs or the monkeys, with the same delight as at first? Certain it is that the finest show in the world excites but little curiosity in those who have seen it before. "That was a very fine picture," says my lord, "but I had seen it before." "'Twas a sweet song," says my lady, "but I had heard it before." "A very fine poem," says the critic, "but I had read it before." Let every lady, therefore, take care, that while she is displaying in public a bosom whiter than snow, the men do not look as if they were saying, "'Tis very pretty, but we have seen it before."'

No. 23. The 'World.'—June 7, 1753.

'A recent visit to Bedlam revived an opinion I have often entertained, that the maddest people in the kingdom are not in but out of Bedlam. I have frequently compared in my own mind the actions of certain persons whom we daily meet with in the world with those of Bedlam, who, properly speaking, may be said to be out of it; and I know of no difference between them, than that the former are mad with their reason about them, and the latter so from the misfortune of having lost it. But what is extraordinary in this age, when, to its honour be it spoken, charity is become fashionable, these unhappy wretches are suffered to run loose about the town, raising riots in public assemblies, beating constables, breaking lamps, damning parsons, affronting modesty, disturbing families, and destroying their own fortunes and constitutions; and all this without any provision being made for them, or the least attempt being made to cure them of this madness in their blood.

'The miserable objects I am speaking of are divided into two classes: the Men of Spirit about town, and the Bucks. The Men of Spirit have some glimmerings of understanding, the Bucks none; the former are demoniacs, or people possessed; the latter are uniformly and incurably mad. For the reception and confinement of both these classes, I would humbly propose that two very spacious buildings should be erected, the one called the hospital for the Men of Spirit or demoniacs, and the other the hospital for the Bucks or incurables.

'That after such hospitals are built, proper officers appointed, and doctors, surgeons, apothecaries, and mad nurses provided, all young noblemen and others within the bills of mortality having common sense, who shall be found offending against the rules of decency, shall immediately be conducted to the hospital for demoniacs, there to be exorcised, physicked, and disciplined into a proper use of their senses; and that full liberty be granted to all persons whatsoever to visit, laugh at, and make sport of these demoniacs, without let or molestation from any of the keepers, according to the present custom of Bedlam. To the Buck hospital for incurables, I would have all such persons conveyed that are mad through folly, ignorance, or conceit; therefore to be shut up for life, not only to be prevented from doing mischief, but from exposing in their own persons the weaknesses and miseries of mankind. The incurables on no pretence whatsoever are to be visited or ridiculed; as it would be altogether as inhuman to insult the unhappy wretches who never were possessed of their senses, as to make a jest of those who have unfortunately lost them.'

No. 34. The 'World.'—Aug. 23, 1753.

'I am well aware that there are certain of my readers who have no belief in WITCHES; but I am willing to hope they are only those who either have not read, or else have forgot, the proceedings against them published at large in the state trials. If there is any man alive who can deny his assent to the positive and circumstantial evidence given against them in these trials, I shall only say that I pity most sincerely the hardness of his heart.

'What is it but witchcraft that occasions that universal and uncontrollable rage for play, by which the nobleman, the man of fashion, the merchant and the tradesman, with their wives, sons, and daughters, are running headlong to ruin? What is it but witchcraft that conjures up that spirit of pride and passion for expense by which all classes of men, from his grace at Westminster to the salesman at Wapping, are entailing beggary upon their old age, and bequeathing their children to poverty and to the parish? I shall conclude by signifying my intention, one day or other, of hiring a porter and sending him with a hammer and nails, and a large quantity of horse-shoes, to certain houses in the purlieus of St James's. I believe it may not be amiss (as a charm against play) if he had orders to fix a whole dozen of these horse-shoes at the door of White's.'

No. 37. The 'World.'—Sept. 13, 1753.

On Toad-eating.

'To Mr. FitzAdam.

'Sir,—I am the widow of a merchant with whom I lived happily and in affluence for many years. We had no children, and when he died he left me all he had; but his affairs were so involved that the balance which I received, after having gone through much expense and trouble, was no more than one thousand pounds. This sum I placed in the hands of a friend of my husband's, who was reckoned a good man in the City, and who allowed me an interest of four per cent, for my capital; and with this forty pounds a year I retired and boarded in a village about a hundred miles from London.

'There was a lady, an old lady, of great fortune in that neighbourhood, who visited often at the house where I lodged; she pretended, after a short acquaintance, to take a great liking to me; she professed friendship for me, and at length persuaded me to come and live with her.

'One day, when her ladyship had treated me with uncommon kindness for my having taken her part in a dispute with one of her relations, I received a letter from London, to inform me that the person in whose hands I had placed my fortune, and who till that time had paid my interest money very exactly, was broke, and had left the kingdom.

'I handed the letter to her ladyship, who immediately read it over with more attention than emotion.

'Whenever Lady Mary spoke to me she had hitherto called me Mrs. Truman; but the very next morning at breakfast she left out Mrs.; and upon no greater provocation than breaking a teacup, she made me thoroughly sensible of her superiority and my dependence. "Lord, Truman! you are so awkward; pray be more careful for the future, or we shall not live long together. Do you think I can afford to have my china broken at this rate, and maintain you into the bargain?"

'From this moment I was obliged to drop the name and character of friend, which I had hitherto maintained with a little dignity, and to take up with that which the French call complaisante, and the English humble companion. But it did not stop here; for in a week I was reduced to be as miserable a toad-eater as any in Great Britain, which in the strictest sense of the word is a servant; except that the toad-eater has the honour of dining with my lady, and the misfortune of receiving no wages.'

No. 46. The 'World.'—Nov. 15, 1753.

'A correspondent who is piqued at not being recognised by the great people to whom he has been but recently presented, is very unreasonable, for he cannot but have observed at the playhouses and other public places, from the number of glasses used by people of fashion, that they are naturally short-sighted.

'It is from this visual defect that a great man is apt to mistake fortune for honour, a service of plate for a good name, and his neighbour's wife for his own.'

No. 47. The 'World.'—Nov. 22, 1753.

'To Mr. FitzAdam.

'Sir,—Dim-sighted as I am, my spectacles have assisted me sufficiently to read your papers. As a recompense for the pleasure I have received from them, I send you a family anecdote, which till now has never appeared in print. I am the grand-daughter of Sir Josiah Pumpkin, of Pumpkin Hall, in South Wales. I was educated at the hall-house of my own ancestors, under the care and tuition of my honoured grandfather. It was the constant custom of my grandfather, when he was tolerably free from the gout, to summon his three grand-daughters to his bedside, and amuse us with the most important transactions of his life. He told us he hoped we would have children, to whom some of his adventures might prove useful and instructive.

'Sir Josiah was scarce nineteen years old when he was introduced at the Court of Charles the Second, by his uncle Sir Simon Sparrowgrass, who was at that time Lancaster herald-at-arms, and in great favour at Whitehall.

'As soon as he had kissed the King's hand, he was presented to the Duke of York, and immediately afterwards to the ministers and the mistresses. His fortune, which was considerable, and his manners, which were elegant, made him so very acceptable in all companies, that he had the honour to be plunged at once into every polite party of wit, pleasure, and expense, that the courtiers could possibly display. He danced with the ladies, he drank with the gentlemen, he sang loyal catches, and broke bottles and glasses in every tavern throughout London. But still he was by no means a perfect fine gentleman. He had not fought a DUEL. He was so extremely unfortunate as never to have had even the happiness of a rencontre. The want of opportunity, not of courage, had occasioned this inglorious chasm in his character. He appeared, not only to the whole court, but even in his own eye, an unworthy and degenerate Pumpkin, till he had shown himself as expert in opening a vein with a sword as any surgeon in England could be with a lancet. Things remained in this unhappy situation till he was near two-and-twenty years of age.

'At length his better stars prevailed, and he received a most egregious affront from Mr. Cucumber, one of the gentlemen-ushers of the privy-chamber. Cucumber, who was in waiting at court, spit inadvertently into the chimney, and as he stood next to Sir Josiah Pumpkin, part of the spittle rested upon Sir Josiah's shoe. It was then that the true Pumpkin honour arose in blushes upon his cheeks. He turned upon his heel, went home immediately, and sent Mr. Cucumber a challenge. Captain Daisy, a friend to each party, not only carried the challenge, but adjusted preliminaries. The heroes were to fight in Moorfields, and to bring fifteen seconds on a side. Punctuality is a strong instance of valour upon these occasions; the clock of St. Paul's struck seven just when the combatants were marking out their ground, and each of the two-and-thirty gentlemen was adjusting himself into a posture of defence against his adversary. It happened to be the hour for breakfast in the hospital of Bedlam. A small bell had rung to summon the Bedlamites into the great gallery. The keepers had already unlocked the cells, and were bringing forth their mad folks, when the porter of Bedlam, Owen Macduffy, standing at the iron gate, and beholding such a number of armed men in the fields, immediately roared out, "Fire, murder, swords, daggers, bloodshed!" Owen's voice was always remarkably loud, but his fears had rendered it still louder and more tremendous. His words struck a panic into the keepers; they lost all presence of mind, they forgot their prisoners, and hastened most precipitately down stairs to the scene of action. At the sight of the naked swords their fears increased, and at once they stood open-mouthed and motionless. Not so the lunatics; freedom to madmen and light to the blind are equally rapturous. Ralph Rogers, the tinker, began the alarm. His brains had been turned with joy at the Restoration, and the poor wretch imagined that this glorious set of combatants were Roundheads and Fanatics, and accordingly he cried out, "Liberty and property, my boys! Down with the Rump! Cromwell and Ireton are come from hell to destroy us. Come, my Cavalier lads, follow me, and let us knock out their brains." The Bedlamites immediately obeyed, and, with the tinker at their head, leaped over the balusters of the staircase, and ran wildly into the fields. In their way they picked up some staves and cudgels, which the porters and the keepers had inadvertently left behind, and, rushing forward with amazing fury, they forced themselves outrageously into the midst of the combatants, and in one unlucky moment disturbed all the decency and order with which this most illustrious duel had begun.

'It seemed, according to my grandfather's observation, a very untoward fate that two-and-thirty gentlemen of courage, honour, fortune, and quality should meet together in hopes of killing each other with all that resolution and politeness which belonged to their stations, and should at once be routed, dispersed, and even wounded by a set of madmen, without sword, pistol, or any other more honourable weapon than a cudgel.

'The madmen were not only superior in strength, but numbers. Sir Josiah Pumpkin and Mr. Cucumber stood their ground as long as possible, and they both endeavoured to make the lunatics the sole object of their mutual revenge; but the two friends were soon overpowered, and, no person daring to come to their assistance, each of them made as proper a retreat as the place and circumstances would admit.

'Many other gentlemen were knocked down and trampled under foot. Some of them, whom my grandfather's generosity would never name, betook themselves to flight in a most inglorious manner. An earl's son was spied clinging submissively round the feet of mad Pocklington, the tailor. A young baronet, although naturally intrepid, was obliged to conceal himself at the bottom of Pippin Kate's apple-stall. A Shropshire squire, of three thousand pounds a year, was discovered, chin deep and almost stifled, in Fleet Ditch. Even Captain Daisy himself was found in a milk-cellar, with visible marks of fear and consternation. Thus ended this inauspicious day. But the madmen continued their outrages many days after. It was near a week before they were all retaken and chained to their cells, and during that interval of liberty they committed many offensive pranks throughout the cities of London and Westminster.

'Such unforeseen disasters occasioned some prudent regulations in the laws of honour. It was enacted from that time that six combatants (three on a side) might be allowed and acknowledged to contain such a quantity of blood in their veins as should be sufficient to satisfy the highest affront that could be offered.'

No. 64. The 'World.'—March 21, 1754.

One of Mr. FitzAdam's correspondents is describing a morning he spent in the library of Lord Finican, with which nobleman he was invited to breakfast:—

'I now fell to the books with a good appetite, intending to make a full meal; and while I was chewing upon a piece of Tully's philosophical writings, my lord came in upon me. His looks discovered great uneasiness, which I attributed to the effects of the last night's diversions; but good manners requiring me to prefer his lordship's conversation to my own amusement, I replaced his book, and by the sudden satisfaction in his countenance perceived that the cause of his perturbation was my holding open the book with a pinch of snuff in my fingers. He said he was glad to see me, for he should not have known else what to have done with himself. I returned the compliment by saying I thought he could not want entertainment amidst so choice a collection of books. "Yes," replied he, "the collection is not without elegance; but I read men only now, for I finished my studies when I set out on my travels. You are not the first who has admired my library; and I am allowed to have as fine a taste in books as any man in England."

'Hereupon he showed me a "Pastor Fido," bound in green and decorated with myrtle-leaves. He then took down a volume of Tillotson, in a black binding, with the leaves as white as a law-book, and gilt on the back with little mitres and crosiers; and lastly, Cæsar's "Commentaries," clothed in red and gold, in imitation of the military uniform of English officers.'

The literary gentleman finally elicits that his lordship's books are simply selected for fashion and show, and that they are never read, Lord Finican having long given up the study of books, and merely collecting a library to establish the excellence of his taste.

No. 68. The 'World.'—April 18, 1754.

Mr. FitzAdam prints a letter received from a widow, describing the real facts of the injuries by which her husband had lost his life in a duel:—

'Mr. Muzzy was very fat and extremely lethargic, and so stupidly heavy that he fell asleep even in musical assemblies, and snored in the playhouse, as loud, poor man! as he used to snore in bed. However, having received many taunts and reproaches, he resolved to challenge his own cousin-german, Brigadier Truncheon, of Soho Square. It seems the person challenged fixed upon the place and weapons. Truncheon, a deep-sighted man, chose Primrose Hill for the field of battle, and swords for the weapons of defence. To avoid suspicion and to prevent a discovery, they were to walk together from Piccadilly, where we then lived, to the summit of Primrose Hill. Truncheon's scheme took effect. Mr. Muzzy was much fatigued and out of breath with the walk. However, he drew his sword; and, as he assured me himself, began to attack his cousin with valour. The brigadier went back; Mr. Muzzy pursued; but not having his adversary's alacrity, he stopped a little to take breath. He stopped, alas! too long: his lethargy came on with more than usual violence; he first dozed as he stood upon his legs, and then beginning to nod forward, dropped by degrees upon his face in a most profound sleep.

'Truncheon, base man! took this opportunity to wound my husband as he lay snoring on the ground; and he had the cunning to direct his stab in such a manner as to make it supposed that Mr. Muzzy had fled, and in his flight had received a wound in the most ignominious part of his body. You will ask what became of the seconds. They were both killed upon the spot; but being only two servants, the one a butler and the other a cook, they were buried the same night; and by the power of a little money, properly applied, no further inquiry was made about them.

'Mr. Muzzy, wounded as he was, might probably have slept upon that spot for many hours, had he not been awakened by the cruel bites of a mastiff. My poor husband was thoroughly awakened by the new hurt he had received; and indeed it was impossible to have slept while he was losing whole collops of the fattest and most pulpy part of his flesh: so that he was brought home to me much more wounded by the teeth of the mastiff than by the sword of his cousin Truncheon.' The wound eventually mortified, Mr. Muzzy lost his life, and the writer became a widow.

No. 82. The 'World.'—July 25, 1754.

'The Tears of Old May-day.

'Led by the jocund train of vernal hours,

And vernal airs, up rose the gentle May,

Blushing she rose and blushing rose the flowers

That spring spontaneous in her genial ray.

'Her locks with Heaven's ambrosial dews were bright,

And am'rous Zephyrs flutter'd on her breast;

With ev'ry shifting gleam of morning light

The colours shifted of her rainbow vest.

'Imperial ensigns graced her smiling form,

A golden key and golden wand she bore;

This charms to peace each sullen eastern storm,

And that unlocks the summer's copious store.

'Vain hope, no more in choral bands unite

Her virgin vot'ries, and at early dawn,

Sacred to May and Love's mysterious rite,

Brush the light dewdrops[26] from the spangled lawn.

'To her no more Augusta's[27] wealthy pride

Pours the full tribute of Potosi's mine;

Nor fresh-blown garlands village maids provide,

A purer off'ring at her rustic shrine.

'No more the May-pole's verdant height around,

To valour's games th' adventurous youth advance;

To merry bells and tabor's sprightlier sound

Wake the loud carol and the sportive dance.'

'I have hinted more than once that the present age (1754), notwithstanding the vices and follies with which it abounds, has the happiness of standing as high in my opinion as any age whatsoever. But it has always been the fashion to believe that from the beginning of the world to the present day men have been increasing in wickedness.

'I believe that all vices will be found to exist amongst us much in the same degree as heretofore, forms only changing.

'Our grandfathers used to get drunk with strong beer and port; we get drunk with claret and champagne. They would lie abominably to conceal their peccadilloes; we lie as abominably in boasting of ours. They stole slily in at the back-door of a bagnio; we march in boldly at the front-door, and immediately steal out slily at the back-door. Our mothers were prudes; their daughters coquettes. The first dressed like modest women, and perhaps were wantons; the last dress like women of pleasure, and perhaps are virtuous. Those treated without hanging out a sign; these hang out a sign without intending to treat. To be still more particular: the abuse of power, the views of patriots, the flattery of dependents, and the promises of great men are, I believe, pretty much the same now as in former ages. Vices that we have no relish for, we part with for those we like; giving up avarice for prodigality, hypocrisy for profligacy, and looseness for play.'

No. 86. The 'World.'—Aug. 22, 1754.

A correspondent, after summing up the lessons he daily extracts from trees, flowers, insects, and the inmates of his garden, continues:—

'In short, there is such a close affinity between a proper cultivation of a flower-garden and a right discipline of the mind that it is almost impossible for any thoughtful person, that has made any proficiency in the one, to avoid paying a due attention to the other. That industry and care which are so requisite to cleanse a garden from all sorts of weeds will naturally suggest to him how much more expedient it would be to exert the same diligence in eradicating all sorts of prejudices, follies, and vices from the mind, where they will be sure to prevail, without a great deal of care and correction, as common weeds in a neglected piece of ground.

'And as it requires more pains to extirpate some weeds than others, according as they are more firmly fixed, more numerous, or more naturalised to the soil; so those faults will be found to be most difficult to be suppressed which have been of the largest growth and taken the deepest root, which are more predominant in number and most congenial to the constitution.'

No. 92. The 'World.'—Oct. 3, 1754.

Mr. FitzAdam, defining the characters of Siphons and Soakers, points to a theory that dropsy, of which so many of their order perish, is a manifest judgment upon them, the wine they so much loved being turned into water, and themselves drowned at last in the element they so much abhorred.

'A rational and sober man, invited by the wit and gaiety of good company, and hurried away by an uncommon flow of spirits, may happen to drink too much, and perhaps accidentally to get drunk; but then these sallies will be short and not frequent. Whereas the soaker is an utter stranger to wit and mirth, and no friend to either. His business is serious, and he applies himself seriously to it; he steadily pursues the numbing, stupefying, and petrifying, not the animating and exhilarating qualities of the wine. The more he drinks, the duller he grows; his politics become more obscure, and his narratives more tedious and less intelligible; till, at last maudlin, he employs what little articulation he has left in relating his doleful state to an insensible audience.

'I am well aware that the numerous society of siphons (as I shall for the future typify the soakers, suction being equally the only business of both) will say, like Sir Tunbelly, "What would this fellow have us do?" To which I am at no loss for an answer: "Do anything else."'

No. 100. The 'World.'—Nov. 28, 1754.

'I heard the other day with great pleasure from my friend, Mr. Dodsley, that Mr. Johnson's "English Dictionary," with a grammar and history of our language, will be published this winter, in two large volumes in folio.

'Many people have imagined that so extensive a work would have been best performed by a number of persons, who should have taken their several departments of examining, fitting, winnowing, purifying, and finally fixing our language by incorporating their respective funds into one joint stock.

'But, whether this opinion be true or false, I think the public in general, and the republic of letters in particular, are greatly obliged to Mr. Johnson for having undertaken and executed so great and desirable a work. Perfection is not to be expected from man; but if we are to judge by the various works of Mr. Johnson already published, we have good reason to believe that he will bring this as near to perfection as any one man could do. The plan of it, which we published some years ago, seems to me to be a proof of it. Nothing can be more rationally imagined or more accurately and elegantly expressed. I therefore recommend the previous perusal of it to all those who intend to buy the dictionary, and who, I suppose, are all those who can afford it.'

No. 103. The 'World.'—Dec. 19, 1754.

Mr. FitzAdam relates an anecdote establishing the good breeding of highwaymen of the upper class:—

'An acquaintance of mine was robbed a few years ago, and very near shot through the head by the going off of a pistol of the accomplished Mr. M'Lean, yet the whole affair was conducted with the greatest good breeding on both sides. The robber, who had only taken a purse this way because he had that morning been disappointed of marrying a great fortune, no sooner returned to his lodgings than he sent the gentleman two letters of excuses, which, with less wit than the epistles of Voltaire, had infinitely more natural and easy politeness in the turn of their expressions. In the postscript he appointed a meeting at Tyburn, at twelve at night, where the gentleman might purchase again any trifles he had lost; and my friend has been blamed for not accepting the rendezvous, as it seemed liable to be construed by ill-natured people into a doubt of the honour of a man who had given him all the satisfaction in his power for having unluckily been near shooting him through the head.'

No. 112. The 'World.'—Feb. 20, 1755.

'My cobbler is also a politician. He reads the first newspapers he can get, desirous to be informed of the state of affairs in Europe, and of the street robberies of London. He has not, I presume, analysed the interests of the respective countries of Europe, nor deeply considered those of his own; still less is he systematically informed of the political duties of a citizen and subject. But his heart and his habits supply these defects. He glows with zeal for the honour and prosperity of old England; he will fight for it if there be an occasion, and drink to it perhaps a little too often and too much. However, is it not to be wished that there were in this country six millions of such honest and zealous, though uninformed, citizens?

'Our honest cobbler is thoroughly convinced, as his forefathers were for many centuries, that one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen; and in that persuasion he would by no means decline the trial. Now, though in my own private opinion, deduced from physical principles, I am apt to believe that one Englishman could beat no more than two Frenchmen of equal size with himself, I should, however, be unwilling to undeceive him of that useful and sanguine error, which certainly made his countrymen triumph in the fields of Poictiers and Crecy.'

No. 122. The 'World.'—May 1, 1755.

'As I was musing one morning, in a most disconsolate mood, with my leg in my landlady's lap, while she darned one of my stockings, it came into my head to collect from various books, together with my own experience and observations, plain and wholesome rules on the subject of diet, and then publish them in a neat pocket volume; for I was always well inclined to do good to the world, however ungratefully it used me. I doubt, Mr. FitzAdam, you will hardly forbear smiling to hear a man who was almost starved talk gravely of compiling observations on diet. The moment I finished my volume I ran to an eminent bookseller near the Mansion House; he was just set down to dinner.... As soon as the cloth was taken away I produced my manuscript, and the bookseller put on his spectacles; but to my no small mortification, after glancing an eye over the title-page, he looked steadfastly upon me for near a minute in a kind of amazement I could not account for, and then broke out in the following manner:—"My dear sir, you are come to the very worst place in the world for the sale of such a performance as this—to think of expecting the Court of Aldermen's permission to preach upon the subject of lean and fallow abstinence between the Royal Exchange and Temple Bar!"'

No. 130. The 'World.'—June 26, 1755.

Extracts from a letter written by 'Priscilla Cross-stitch,' for herself and sisters, on the subject of the indelicacy of nankin breeches, as indulged in by Patrick, their footman:—

'We give him no livery, but allow him a handsome sum yearly for clothes; and, to say the truth, till within the last week he has dressed with great propriety and decency, when all at once, to our great confusion and distress, he has the assurance to appear at the sideboard in a pair of filthy nankin breeches, and those made to fit so extremely tight, that a less curious observer might have mistaken them for no breeches at all. The shame and confusion so visible in all our faces one would think would suggest to him the odiousness of his dress; but the fellow appears to have thrown off every appearance of decency, for at tea-table before company, as well as at meals, we are forced to endure him in this abominable nankin, our modesty conflicting with nature, to efface the idea it conveys.'

The ladies cannot well discharge a good servant for this indiscretion; their delicacy will not allow them to mention the dreadful word, nor venture on allusions to the objectionable part of the apparel; nor will they venture to entrust the task to their maids, as it might draw them into puzzling explanations. The publication of Priscilla's letter, with a warning to Patrick, and a general decree against suggestive drapery, declaring it a capital offence, is intended to relieve the ladies of their confusion.

No. 135. The 'World.'—July 31, 1755.

'Hilarius is a downright country gentleman; a bon vivant; an indefatigable sportsman. He can drink his gallon at a sitting, and will tell you he was neither sick nor sorry in his life. Having an estate of above five thousand a year, his strong beer, ale, and wine cellar are always well stored; to either of which, as also to his table, abounding in plenty of good victuals, ill-sorted and ill-dressed, every voter and fox-hunter claims a kind of right. He roars for the Church, which he never visits, and is eternally cracking his coarse jests and talking obscenity to the parsons, whom if he can make fuddled, and expose to contempt, it is the highest pleasure he can enjoy. As for his lay friends, nothing is more common with him than to set them and their servants dead drunk on their horses; and should any of them be found half smothered in a ditch the next morning, it affords him excellent diversion for a twelvemonth after. No one is readier to club a laugh with you, but he has no ear to the voice of distress or complaint. Thus Hilarius, on the false credit of generosity and good humour, swims triumphantly with the stream of applause without one single virtue in his composition.'

No. 142. The 'World.'—Sept. 18, 1755.

Extract from the letter of a lady, a lover of peace and quietness, on the sufferings produced by her connection with people who are fond of noise. After describing the violence practised in her own home, the writer continues:—

'At last I was sent to board with a distant relation, who had been captain of a man-of-war, who had given up his commission and retired into the country. Unfortunately for poor me, the captain still retained a passion for firing a great gun, and had mounted, on a little fortification that was thrown up against the front of his house, eleven nine-pounders, which were constantly discharged ten or a dozen times over on the arrival of visitors, and on all holidays and rejoicings. The noise of these cannon was more terrible to me than all the rest, and would have rendered my continuance there intolerable, if a young gentleman, a relation of the captain's, had not held me by the heart-strings, and softened by the most tender courtship in the world the horrors of these firings.'

The unfortunate lady's married life was doomed, however, to prove a union of noise and contention.

No. 150. The 'World.'—Nov. 13, 1755.

'Among the ancient Romans the great offices of state were all elective, which obliged them to be very observant of the shape of the noses of those persons to whom they were to apply for votes. Horace tells us that a sharp nose was an indication of satirical wit and humour; for when speaking of his friend Virgil, though he says, "At est bonus, ut melior non alius quisquam," yet he allows he was no joker, and not a fit match at the sneer for those of his companions who had sharper noses than his own. They also looked upon the short noses, with a little inflection at the end tending upwards, as a mark of the owner's being addicted to jibing; for the same author, talking of Mæcenas, says that though he was born of an ancient family, yet was he not apt to turn persons of low birth into ridicule, which he expresses by saying that "he had not a turn-up nose." Martial, in one of his epigrams, calls this kind of nose the rhinocerotic nose, and says that everyone in his time affected this kind of snout, as an indication of his being master of the talent of humour.'

No. —. The 'World.'—1755.

'You may have frequently observed upon the face of that useful piece of machinery, a clock, the minute and hour hands, in their revolution through the twelve divisions of the day, to be not only shifting continually from one figure to another, but to stand at times in a quite opposite direction to their former bearings, and to each other. Now I conceive this to be pretty much the case with that complicated piece of mechanism, a modern female, or young woman of fashion: for as such I was accustomed to consider that part of the species as having no power to determine their own motions and appearances, but acted upon by the mode, and set to any point which the party who took the lead, or (to speak more properly) its regulator, pleased. But it has so happened in the circumrotation of modes and fashions, that the present set are not only moving on continually from one pretty fancy and conceit to another, but have departed quite aside from their former principles, dividing from each other in a circumstance wherein they were always accustomed to unite, and uniting where there was ever wont to be a distinction or difference.... The pride now is to get as far away as possible, not only from the vulgar, but from one another, and that, too, as well in the first principles of dress as in its subordinate decorations; so that its fluctuating humour is perpetually showing itself in some new and particular sort of cap, flounce, knot, or tippet; and every woman that you meet affects independency and to set up for herself.'

No. 153. The 'World.'—Dec. 4, 1755.

The writer describes a country assembly, highly perfumed with 'the smell of the stable over which it was built, the savour of the neighbouring kitchen, the fumes of tallow candles, rum punch, and tobacco dispersed over the house, and the balsamic effluvia from many sweet creatures who were dancing.' Everyone 'is pleased and desirous of pleasing,' with the exception of some fashionable young men blocking up the door—'whose faces I remember to have seen about town, who would neither dance, drink tea, play at cards, nor speak to anyone, except now and then in whispers to a young lady, who sat in silence at the upper end of the room, in a hat and négligée, with her back against the wall, her arms akimbo, her legs thrust out, a sneer on her lips, a scowl on her forehead, and an invincible assurance in her eyes. Their behaviour affronted most of the company, yet obtained the desired effect: for I overheard several of the country ladies say, "It was a pity they were so proud; for to be sure they were prodigious well-bred people, and had an immense deal of wit;" a mistake they could never have fallen into had these patterns of politeness condescended to have entered into any conversation.'

No. 163. The 'World.'—Feb. 12, 1756.

'There was an ancient sect of philosophers, the disciples of Pythagoras, who held that the souls of men and all other animals existed in a state of perpetual transmigration, and that when by death they were dislodged from one corporeal habitation, they were immediately reinstated in another, happier or more miserable according to their behaviour in the former. This doctrine has always appeared to me to present a theory of retributory compensation which is very acceptable.

'Thus the tyrant, who by his power has oppressed his country in the situation of a prince, in that of a slave may be compelled to do it some service by his labour. The highwayman, who has stopped and plundered travellers, may expiate and assist them in the shape of a post-horse; and mighty conquerors, who have laid waste the world by their swords, may be obliged, by a small alteration in sex and situation, to contribute to its re-peopling.

'For my own part, I verily believe this to be the case. I make no doubt but Louis XIV. is now chained to an oar in the galleys of France, and that Hernando Cortez is digging gold in the mines of Peru or Mexico; that Dick Turpin, the highwayman, is several times a day spurred backwards and forwards between London and Epping, and that Lord * * * * and Sir Harry * * * * are now roasting for a city feast. I question not but that Alexander the Great and Julius Cæsar have died many times in child-bed since their appearance in those illustrious and depopulating characters; that Charles XII. is at this instant a curate's wife in some remote village with a numerous and increasing family; and that Kouli-Khan is now whipped from parish to parish in the person of a big-bellied beggar-woman, with two children in her arms and three at her back.'

No. 164. The 'World.'—Feb. 19, 1756.

'Mr. FitzAdam,—I am infested by a swarm of country cousins that are come up to town for the winter, as they call it—a whole family of them. They ferret me out from every place I go to, and it is impossible to stand the ridicule of being seen in their company.

'At their first coming to town I was, in a manner, obliged to gallant them to the play, where, having seated the mother with much ado, I offered my hand to the eldest of my five young cousins; but as she was not dexterous enough to manage a great hoop with one hand only, she refused my offer, and at the first step fell along. It was with great difficulty I got her up again; but imagine, sir, my situation. I sat like a mope all the night, not daring to look up for fear of catching the eyes of my acquaintance, who would have laughed me out of countenance.

'My friends see how I am mortified at all public places; and it is a standing jest with them, wherever they meet me, to put on the appearance of the profoundest respect, and to ask, "Pray, sir, how do your cousins do?" This leads me to propose something for the relief of all those whose country cousins, like mine, expect they should introduce them into the world; by which means we shall avoid appearing in a very ridiculous light. I would therefore set up a person who should be known by the name of Town Usher. His business should be to attend closely all young ladies who were never in town before, to teach them to walk into playhouses without falling over the benches, to show them the tombs and the lions, and the wax-work and the giant, and instruct them how to wonder and shut their mouths at the same time, for I really meet with so many gapers every day in the streets that I am continually yawning all the way I walk.'

No. 169. The 'World.'—March 25, 1756.

'"Wanted a Curate at Beccles, in Suffolk. Inquire farther of Mr. Strut, Cambridge and Yarmouth carrier, who inns at the Crown, the end of Jesus Lane, Cambridge.

'"N.B.—To be spoken with from Friday noon to Saturday morning, nine o'clock."

'I have transcribed this from a newspaper, Mr. FitzAdam, verbatim et literatim, and must confess I look upon it as a curiosity. It would certainly be entertaining to hear the conversation between Mr. Strut, Cambridge and Yarmouth carrier, and the curate who offers himself. Doubtless Mr. Strut has his orders to inquire into the young candidate's qualifications, and to make his report to the advertising rector before he agrees upon terms with him. But what principally deserves our observation is the propriety of referring us to a person who traffics constantly to that great mart of young divines, Cambridge, where the advertiser might expect numbers to flock to the person he employed. It is pleasant, too, to observe the "N.B." at the end of the advertisement; it carries with it an air of significance enough to intimidate a young divine who might possibly have been so bold as to have put himself on an equal footing with this negotiator, if he had not known that he was only to be spoken with at stated hours.'

No. 176. The 'World.'—May 13, 1756.

'Going to visit an old friend at his country seat last week, I found him at backgammon with the vicar of the parish. My friend received me with the heartiest welcome, and introduced the doctor to my acquaintance. This gentleman, who seemed to be about fifty, and of a florid and healthy constitution, surveyed me all over with great attention, and, after a slight nod of the head, sat himself down without opening his mouth. I was a little hurt at the supercilious behaviour of this divine, which my friend observing, told me very pleasantly that I was rather too old to be entitled to the doctor's complaisance, for he seldom bestowed it but upon the young and vigorous; "but," says he, "you will know him better soon, and may probably think it worth your while to book him in the 'World,' for you will find him altogether as odd a character as he is a worthy one." The doctor made no reply to this raillery, but continued some time with his eye fixed upon me, and at last shaking his head, and turning to my friend, asked if he would play out the other hit. My friend excused himself from engaging any more that evening, and ordered a bottle of wine, with pipes and tobacco, to be set on the table. The vicar filled his pipe, and drank very cordially to my friend, still eyeing me with a seeming dislike, and neither drinking my health nor speaking a single word to me. As I had long accustomed myself to drink nothing but water, I called for a bottle of it, and drank glass for glass with him; which upon the doctor's observing, he shook his head at my friend, and in a whisper, loud enough for me to hear, said, "Poor man! it is all over with him, I see." My friend smiled, and answered, in the same audible whisper, "No, no, doctor, Mr. FitzAdam intends to live as long as either of us." He then addressed himself to me on the occurrences of the town, and drew me into a very cheerful conversation, which lasted till I withdrew to rest; at which time the doctor rose from his chair, drank a bumper to my health, and, giving me a hearty shake by the hand, told me I was a very jolly old gentleman, and that he wished to be better acquainted with me during my stay in the country.'

No. 185. The 'World.'—July 15, 1756.

'Mr. FitzAdam.

'Sir,—My case is a little singular, and therefore I hope you will let it appear in your paper. I should scarcely have attempted to make such a request, had I not very strictly looked over all the works of your predecessors, the "Tatlers," "Spectators," and "Guardians," without a possibility of finding a parallel to my unhappy situation.

'I am not henpecked; I am not grimalkined; I have no Mrs. Freeman, with her Italian airs; but I have a wife more troublesome than all three by a certain ridiculous and unnecessary devotion that she pays to her father, amounting almost to idolatry. When I first married her, from that specious kind of weakness which meets with encouragement and applause only because it is called good-nature, I permitted her to do whatever she pleased; but when I thought it requisite to pull in the rein, I found that her having the bit in her teeth rendered the strength of my curb of no manner of use to me. Whenever I attempted to draw her in a little, she tossed up her head, snorted, pranced, and gave herself such airs, that unless I let her carry me where she pleased, my limbs if not my life were in danger.'

No. 191. The 'World.'—Aug. 26, 1756.

'Ever since the tax upon dogs was first reported to be in agitation, I have been under the greatest alarm for the safety of the whole race.

'I thought it a little hard, indeed, that a man should be taxed for having one creature in his house in which he might confide; but when I heard that officers were to be appointed to knock out the brains of all these honest domestics who should presume to make their appearance in the streets without the passport of their master's name about their necks, I became seriously concerned for them.

'This enmity against dogs is pretended upon the apprehension of their going mad; but an easier remedy might be applied, by abolishing the custom (with many others equally ingenious) of stringing bottles and stones to their tails, by which means (and in this one particular I must give up my clients) the unfortunate sufferer becomes subject to the persecutions of his own species, too apt to join the run against a brother in distress.

'But great allowance should be made for an animal who, in an intimacy of nearly six thousand years with man, has learnt but one of his bad qualities.'

No. 192. The 'World.'—Sept. 2, 1756.

'Mr. FitzAdam,—Walking up St. James's Street the other day, I was stopt by a very smart young female, who begged my pardon for her boldness, and, looking very innocently in my face, asked me if I did not know her. The manner of her accosting me and the extreme prettiness of her figure made me look at her with attention; and I soon recollected that she had been a servant-girl of my wife's, who had taken her from the country, and, after keeping her three years in her service, had dismissed her about two months ago. "What, Nanny," said I, "is it you? I never saw anybody so fine in all my life!" "Oh, sir!" says she, with the most innocent smile imaginable, bridling her head and curtsying down to the ground, "I have been led astray since I lived with my mistress." "Have you so, Mrs. Nanny?" said I; "and pray, child, who is it that has led you astray?" "Oh, sir!" says she, "one of the worthiest gentlemen in the world; and he has bought me a new négligée for every day in the week."

'The girl pressed me to go and look at her lodgings, which she assured me were hard by in Bury Street, and as fine as a duchess's; but I declined her offer, knowing that any arguments of mine in favour of virtue and stuff gowns would avail but little against pleasure and silk négligées. I therefore contented myself with expressing my concern for the way of life she had entered into, and bade her farewell.

'Being a man inclined to speculate a little, as often as I think of the finery of this girl, and the reason alleged for it, I cannot help fancying, whenever I fall in company with a pretty woman, dressed out beyond her visible circumstances, patched, painted, and ornamented to the extent of the mode, that she is going to make me her best curtsy, and to tell me, "Oh, sir! I have been led astray since I kept good company."'

No. 202. The 'World.'—Nov. 11, 1756.

'The trumpet sounds; to war the troops advance,

Adorn'd and trim, like females to the dance

Proud of the summons, to display his might,

The gay Lothario dresses for the fight;

Studious in all the splendour to appear,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!

His well-turn'd limbs the diff'rent garbs infold,

Form'd with nice art, and glitt'ring all with gold;

Across his breast the silken sash is tied,

Behind the shoulder-knot displays its pride;

Glitt'ring with lace, the hat adorns his head,

Grac'd and distinguish'd by the smart cockade:

Conspicuous badge! which only heroes wear,

Ensign of war and fav'rite of the fair.

The graceful queue his braided tresses binds,

And ev'ry hair in its just rank confines.

Each taper leg the snowy gaiters deck,

And the bright gorget dandles from his neck.

Dress'd cap-a-pie, all lovely to the sight,

Stands the gay warrior, and expects the fight.

Rages the war; fell slaughter stalks around,

And stretches thousands breathless on the ground.

Down sinks Lothario, sent by one dire blow,

A well-dress'd hero, to the shades below.

Thus the young victim, pamper'd and elate,

To some resplendent fane is led in state,

With garlands crown'd through shouting crowds proceeds,

And, dress'd in fatal pomp, magnificently bleeds.'

No. 209. The 'World.'—Dec. 30, 1756.

'The Last of Mr. FitzAdam.

'Before these lines can reach the press, that truly great and amiable gentleman, Mr. FitzAdam, will, in all probability, be no more. An event so sudden and unexpected, and in which the public are so deeply interested, cannot fail to excite the curiosity of every reader. I shall, therefore, relate it in the most concise manner I am able.

'The reader may remember that in the first number of the "World," and in several succeeding papers, the good old gentleman flattered himself that the profits of his labours would some time or other enable him to make a genteel figure in the world, and seat himself at last in his one-horse chair. The death of Mrs. FitzAdam, which happened a few months since, as it relieved him from the great expense of housekeeping, made him in a hurry to set up his equipage; and as the sale of his paper was even beyond his expectations, I was one of the first of his friends that advised him to purchase it. The equipage was accordingly bespoke and sent home; and as he had all along promised that his first visit in it should be to me, I expected him last Tuesday at my country-house at Hoxton. The poor gentleman was punctual to his appointment; and it was with great delight that I saw him from my window driving up the road that leads to my house. Unfortunately for him, his eye caught mine; and hoping (as I suppose) to captivate me by his great skill in driving, he made two or three flourishes with his whip, which so frightened the horse that he ran furiously away with the carriage, dashed it against a post, and threw the driver from his seat with a violence hardly to be conceived. I screamed out to my maid, "Lord bless me!" says I, "Mr. FitzAdam is killed!" and away we ran to the spot where he lay. At first I imagined that his head was off, but upon drawing nearer I found it was his hat! He breathed, indeed, which gave me hopes that he was not quite dead; but for signs of life, he had positively none.

'In this condition, with the help of some neighbours, we brought him into the house, where a warm bed was quickly got ready for him; which, together with bleeding and other helps, brought him by degrees to life and reason. He looked round about him for some time, and at last, seeing and knowing me, inquired after his chaise. I told him it was safe, though a good deal damaged. "No matter, madam," he replied; "it has done my business; it has carried me a journey from this world to the next. I shall have no use for it again. The 'World' is now at an end! I thought it destined to last a longer period; but the decrees of fate are not to be resisted. It would have pleased me to have written the last paper myself, but that task, madam, must be yours; and, however painful it may be to your modesty, I conjure you to undertake it.... My epitaph, if the public might be so satisfied, I would have decent and concise. It would offend my modesty if, after the name of FitzAdam, more were to be added than these words:—

'"He was the deepest Philosopher,
The wittiest Writer,
AND
The greatest Man
Of this Age or Nation."'

CHAPTER XV.
THACKERAY'S FAMILIARITY WITH THE WRITINGS OF THE SATIRICAL ESSAYISTS—Continued.

Characteristic Passages from the compositions of the 'Early Humourists,' from Thackeray's Library, illustrated by the Author's hand with original Marginal Sketches suggested by the Text—The 'Connoisseur,' 1754—Introduction—Review of Contributors—Paragraphs and Pencillings.

Preface to the 'Connoisseur.'

The 'Connoisseur' was undertaken by a brace of congenial wits, George Colman the elder, well known as a humourist and dramatic writer, and Bonnel Thornton, both of whom at the time they obliged the public with this publication were very young men, still pursuing their studies at Oxford University. They appear to have entered into a partnership, of which the following account is given in their last paper:—'We have not only joined in the work taken altogether,' says the writer of No. 140, 'but almost every single paper is the product of both; and, as we have laboured equally in erecting the fabric, we cannot pretend that any one particular part is the sole workmanship of either. A hint has perhaps been started by one of us, improved by the other, and still further heightened by a happy coalition of sentiment in both, as fire is struck out by a mutual collision of flint and steel. Sometimes, like Strada's lovers conversing with the sympathetic needles, we have written papers together at fifty miles' distance from each other. The first rough draft or loose minutes of an essay have often travelled in the stage-coach from town to country and from country to town; and we have frequently waited for the postman (whom we expected to bring us the precious remainder of a "Connoisseur") with the same anxiety we should wait for the half of a bank note, without which the other half would be of no value.'

Such, indeed, was the similarity of manner, that, after some years, the survivor, George Colman, was unable to distinguish his share from that of his colleague in the case of those papers which were written conjointly. Neither had an individuality of style by which conjecture might be assisted. The prose compositions of both were of the light and easy kind, sometimes with a dramatic turn, and sometimes with an air of parody or imitation; and their objects were generally the same, the existing follies and absurdities of the day, which they chastised with ironical severity.

George Colman, by whom it is probable the 'Connoisseur' was projected, was the son of Thomas Colman, British Resident at the Court of the Grand Duke of Tuscany at Pisa, by a sister of the Countess of Bath. He was born at Florence about the year 1733, and placed at a very early age at Westminster School, where his talents soon became conspicuous, and where he contracted an acquaintance with Lloyd, Churchill, Thornton, and others, who were afterwards the reigning wits of the day, but unfortunately only employed their genius on the perishable beings and events of the passing hour. Colman was elected to Christ's Church in 1751, and received the degree of M.A. in the month of March, 1758.

It was at that college he projected the 'Connoisseur,' which was printed at Oxford by Jackson, and sent to London for publication; it afforded the coadjutors a very desirable relaxation from their classical studies, to which, however, Colman was particularly attached, and which he continued to cultivate at a more advanced period of life, his last publication being a translation of Horace's 'Art of Poetry.'

Bonnel Thornton, the colleague of George Colman in many of his literary labours, was the son of an apothecary, and born in Maiden Lane, London, in the year 1724. After the usual course of education at Westminster School, he was elected to Christ's Church, Oxford, in 1743. The first publication in which he was concerned was the 'Student, or the Oxford Monthly Miscellany,' afterwards altered to the 'Student, or Oxford and Cambridge Monthly Miscellany.' This entertaining medley appeared in monthly numbers, printed at Oxford, for Newbery, in St. Paul's Churchyard. Smart was the principal conductor, but Thornton and other writers of both Universities occasionally assisted.

Our author, in 1752, began a periodical work, entitled 'Have at ye All, or the Drury Lane Journal,' in opposition to Fielding's 'Covent Garden Journal.' It contains humorous remarks on reigning follies, but indulges somewhat too freely in personal ridicule.

Thornton took his degree of M.A. in April, 1750, and, as his father wished him to make physic his profession, he took the degree of Bachelor of that faculty, May 18, 1754; but his bent, like that of Colman, was not to the severer studies, and they about this time 'clubbed their wits' in the 'Connoisseur.'

According to their concluding motto:—

Sure in the self-same mould their minds were cast,

Twins in affection, judgment, humour, taste.

The last number facetiously alludes to the persons and pursuits of the joint projectors, by a sort of epigrammatic description of Mr. Town. 'It has often been remarked that the reader is very desirous of picking up some little particulars concerning the author of the book he is perusing. To gratify this passion, many literary anecdotes have been published, and an account of their life, character, and behaviour has been prefixed to the works of our most celebrated writers. Essayists are commonly expected to be their own biographers; and perhaps our readers may require some further intelligence concerning the authors of the "Connoisseur." But, as they have all along appeared as a sort of Sosias in literature, they cannot now describe themselves any otherwise than as one and the same person; and can only satisfy the curiosity of the public, by giving a short account of that respectable personage Mr. Town, considering him as of the plural, or rather, according to the Grecians, of the dual number.

'Mr. Town is a fair,[28] black, middle-sized, very short man. He wears his own hair, and a periwig. He is about thirty years of age, and not more than four-and-twenty. He is a student of the law, and a Bachelor of Physic. He was bred at the University of Oxford, where, having taken no less than three degrees, he looks down upon many learned professors as his inferiors; yet, having been there but little longer than to take the first degree of Bachelor of Arts, it has more than once happened that the Censor General of all England has been reprimanded by the Censor of his college for neglecting to furnish the usual essay, or, in the collegiate phrase, the theme of the week.

'This joint description of ourselves will, we hope, satisfy the reader without any further information.... We have all the while gone on, as it were, hand in hand together; and while we are both employed in furnishing matter for the paper now before us, we cannot help smiling at our thus making our exit together, like the two kings of Brentford, smelling at one nosegay.'

Among the few occasional contributors who assisted the originators of the 'Connoisseur,' the foremost was the Earl of Cork, who has been noticed as a writer in the 'World.' His communications to the organ of Mr. Town were the greater part of Nos. 14 and 17, the letters signed 'Goliath English,' in No. 19, great part of Nos. 33 and 40, and the letters signed 'Reginald Fitzworm,' 'Michael Krawbridge,' 'Moses Orthodox,' and 'Thomas Vainall,' in Nos. 102, 107, 113, and 129. Duncombe says of this nobleman, that 'for humour, innocent humour, no one had a truer taste or better talent.' The authors, in their last paper, acknowledge the services of their elevated coadjutor in these words:—'Our earliest and most frequent correspondent distinguished his favours by the signature "G. K.," and we are sorry that he will not allow us to mention his name, since it would reflect as much credit on our work as we are sure will redound to it from his contributions.'

The Rev. John Duncombe, who has also been noticed as one of the writers in the 'World,' was a contributor to the 'Connoisseur.' The concluding paper already quoted observes in reference to the communications of this writer:—'The next in priority of time is a gentleman of Cambridge, who signed himself "A. B.," and we cannot but regret that he withdrew his assistance, after having obliged us with the best part of the letters in Nos. 46, 49, and 52, and of the essays in Nos. 62 and 64.'

Of the remaining essayists concerned in this work, William Cowper, the author of the 'Task,' is the only contributor whose name has been recovered, and his assistance certainly sheds an additional interest on the paper. In early life this gifted poet is said to have formed an acquaintance with Colman and his colleague; and to this circumstance we owe the few papers in the 'Connoisseur' which can be positively ascribed to his pen; No. 119, 'On Keeping a Secret;' No. 134, 'Letter from Mr. Village on the State of Country Churches, their Clergy and Congregations;' and No. 138, 'On Conversation.' Other papers are inferentially attributed, on internal evidence, to the same author; No. 111, containing the character of the delicate 'Billy Suckling,' and No. 119 are set down to him by Colman and Thornton. Nos. 13, 23, 41, 76, 81, 105, and 139, although they cannot be claimed with any degree of certainty for his authorship, are presumably written by Mr. Village, the cousin of Mr. Town, whose name is attached to No. 134, which is Cowper's beyond question.

Robert Lloyd, a minor poet, whose misfortunes in life are in some degree referred to the temptations held out by his convivial literary associates, also contributed his lyric compositions to Mr. Town's paper. He was referred to, at the close of the 'Connoisseur,' as 'the friend, a member of Trinity College, Cambridge,' who wrote the song in No. 72, and the verses in Nos. 67, 90, 125, and 135, all of which pieces were afterwards reprinted with his other works in the second edition of Johnson's 'Poets.'

'There are still remaining,' concludes Mr. Town, in his final number, 'two correspondents, who must stand by themselves, as they wrote to us, not in an assumed character, but in propriâ personâ. The first is no less a personage than Orator Henley, who obliged us with that truly original letter printed in No. 37.[29] The other, who favoured us with a letter no less original, No. 70, we have reason to believe is a Methodist teacher, and a mechanic; but we do not know either his name or his trade.'

No. 7. The 'Connoisseur.'—March 14, 1754.

I loath'd the dinner, while before my face

The clown still paw'd you with a rude embrace;

But when ye toy'd and kiss'd without controul,

I turned, and screen'd my eyes behind the bowl.

'To Mr. Town.

'Sir,—I shall make no apology for recommending to your notice, as Censor General, a fault that is too common among married people; I mean the absurd trick of fondling before company. Love is, indeed, a very rare ingredient in modern wedlock; nor can the parties entertain too much affection for each other; but an open display of it on all occasions renders them ridiculous.

'A few days ago I was introduced to a young couple who were but lately married, and are reckoned by all their acquaintance to be exceedingly happy in each other. I had scarce saluted the bride, when the husband caught her eagerly in his arms and almost devoured her with kisses. When we were seated, they took care to place themselves close to each other, and during our conversation he was constantly fiddling with her fingers, tapping her cheek, or playing with her hair. At dinner, they were mutually employed in pressing each other to taste of every dish, and the fond appellations of "My dear," "My love," &c., were continually bandied across the table. Soon after the cloth was removed, the lady made a motion to retire, but the husband prevented the compliments of the rest of the company by saying, "We should be unhappy without her." As the bottle went round, he joined her health to every toast, and could not help now and then rising from his chair to press her hand, and manifest the warmth of his passion by the ardour of his caresses. This precious fooling, though it highly entertained them, gave me great disgust; therefore, as my company might very well be spared, I took my leave as soon as possible.'

No. 8. The 'Connoisseur.'—March 21, 1754.

In outward show so splendid and so vain,

'Tis but a gilded block without a brain.

'I hope it will not be imputed to envy or malevolence that I here remark on the sign hung out before the productions of Mr. FitzAdam. When he gave his paper the title of the "World," I suppose he meant to intimate his design of describing that part of it who are known to account all other persons "Nobody," and are therefore emphatically called the "World." If this was to be pictured out in the head-piece, a lady at her toilette, a party at whist, or the jovial member of the Dilettanti tapping the world for champagne, had been the most natural and obvious hieroglyphics. But when we see the portrait of a philosopher poring on the globe, instead of observations on modern life, we might more naturally expect a system of geography, or an attempt towards a discovery of the longitude.

'Yet, in spite of all these disadvantages, the love of pleasure, and a few supernumerary guineas, draw the student from his literary employment, and entice him to this theatre of noise and hurry, this grand mart of luxury; where, as long as his purse can supply him, he may be as idle and debauched as he pleases. I could not help smiling at a dialogue between two of these gentlemen, which I overheard a few nights ago at the Bedford Coffee-house. "Ha! Jack," says one, accosting the other, "is it you? How long have you been in town?" "Two hours." "How long do you stay?" "Ten guineas; if you'll come to Venable's after the play is over, you'll find Tom Latin, Bob Classic, and two or three more, who will be very glad to see you. What, you're in town upon the sober plan at your father's? But hark ye, Frank, if you'll call in, I'll tell your friend Harris to prepare for you. So your servant; for I'm going to meet the finest girl upon town in the green-boxes."'

No. 12. The 'Connoisseur.'—April 18, 1754.

Nor shall the four-legg'd culprit 'scape the law,

But at the bar hold up the guilty paw.

The editor has been turning over that part of Lord Bolingbroke's works in which he argues that Moses made the animals accountable for their actions, and that they ought to be treated as moral agents.

'These reflections were continued afterwards in my sleep; when methought such proceedings were common in our courts of judicature. I imagined myself in a spacious hall like the Old Bailey, where they were preparing to try several animals, who had been guilty of offences against the laws of the land.

'The sessions soon opened, and the first prisoner that was brought to the bar was a hog, who was prosecuted at the suit of the Jews, on an indictment for burglary, in breaking into the synagogue. As it was apprehended that religion might be affected by this cause, and as the prosecution appeared to be malicious, the hog, though the fact was plainly proved against him, to the great joy of all true Christians, was allowed Benefit of Clergy.

'An indictment was next brought against a cat for killing a favourite canary-bird. This offender belonged to an old woman, who was believed by the neighbourhood to be a witch. The jury, therefore, were unanimous in their opinion that she was the devil in that shape, and brought her in guilty. Upon which the judge formally pronounced sentence upon her, and, I remember, concluded with these words:—"You must be carried to the place of execution, where you are to be hanged by the neck nine times, till you are dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead; and the fiddlers have mercy upon your fiddle-strings!"

'A parrot was next tried for scandalum magnatum. He was accused by the chief magistrate of the city and the whole court of aldermen for defaming them, as they passed along the street, on a public festival, by singing, "Room for cuckolds, here comes a great company; room for cuckolds, here comes my Lord Mayor." He had even the impudence to abuse the whole court, by calling the jury rogues and rascals; and frequently interrupted my lord judge in summing up the evidence, by crying out, "You dog!" The court, however, was pleased to show mercy to him upon the petition of his mistress, a strict Methodist; who gave bail for his good behaviour, and delivered him over to Mr. Whitefield, who undertook to make a thorough convert of him.'

No. 14. The 'Connoisseur.'—May 2, 1754.

'To Mr. Town.

'Sir,—I received last week a dinner-card from a friend, with an intimation that I should meet some very agreeable ladies. At my arrival I found that the company consisted chiefly of females, who indeed did me the honour to rise, but quite disconcerted me in paying my respects by whispering to each other, and appearing to stifle a laugh. When I was seated, the ladies grouped themselves up in a corner, and entered on a private cabal, seemingly to discourse upon points of great secrecy and importance, but of equal merriment and diversion.

'It was a continued laugh and whisper from the beginning to the end of dinner. A whole sentence was scarce ever spoken aloud. Single words, indeed, now and then broke forth; such as "odious, horrible, detestable, shocking, humbug."

'This last new-coined expression, which is only to be found in the nonsensical vocabulary, sounds absurd and disagreeable whenever it is pronounced; but from the mouth of a lady it is "shocking, detestable, horrible, and odious."

'Thus the whole behaviour of these ladies is in direct contradiction to good manners. They laugh when they should cry, are loud when they should be silent, and are silent when their conversation is desirable. If a man in a select company was thus to laugh or whisper me out of countenance, I should be apt to construe it as an affront, and demand an explanation. As to the ladies, I would desire them to reflect how much they would suffer if their own weapons were turned against them, and the gentlemen should attack them with the same arts of laughing and whispering. But, however free they may be from our resentment, they are still open to ill-natured suspicions. They do not consider what strange constructions may be put on these laughs and whispers. It were, indeed, of little consequence if we only imagined that they were taking the reputations of their acquaintance to pieces, or abusing the company around; but when they indulge themselves in this behaviour, some, perhaps, may be led to conclude that they are discoursing upon topics which they are ashamed to speak of in a less private manner.'

No. 19. The 'Connoisseur.'—June 6, 1754.

Poscentes vario multum diversa palato.—Hor.

How ill our different tastes agree!

This will have beef, and that a fricassee!

'The taverns about the purlieus of Covent Garden are dedicated to Venus as well as Ceres and Liber; and you may frequently see the jolly messmates of both sexes go in and come out in couples, like the clean and unclean beasts in Noah's ark. These houses are equally indebted for their support to the cook and that worthy personage whom they have dignified with the title of procurer. These gentlemen contrive to play into each other's hands. The first, by his high soups and rich sauces, prepares the way for the occupation of the other; who, having reduced the patient by a proper exercise of his art, returns him back again to go through the same regimen as before. We may therefore suppose that the culinary arts are no less studied here than at White's or Pontac's. True geniuses in eating will continually strike out new improvements; but I dare say neither of the distinguished chiefs of these clubs ever made up a more extraordinary dish than I once remember at the "Castle." Some bloods being in company with a celebrated fille de joie, one of them pulled off her shoe, and in excess of gallantry filled it with champagne, and drank it off to her health. In this delicious draught he was immediately pledged by the rest, and then, to carry the compliment still further, he ordered the shoe itself to be dressed and served up for supper. The cook set himself seriously to work upon it; he pulled the upper part (which was of damask) into fine shreds, and tossed it up in a ragout; minced the sole, cut the wooden heel into very thin slices, fried them in batter, and placed them round the dish for garnish. The company, you may be sure, testified their affection for the lady by eating very heartily of this exquisite impromptu; and as this transaction happened just after the French King had taken a cobbler's daughter for his mistress, Tom Pierce (who has the style as well as art of a French cook) in his bill politely called it, in honour of her name, De Soulier à la Murphy.

'Taverns, Mr. Town, seem contrived for promoting of luxury, while the humbler chop-houses are designed only to satisfy the ordinary cravings of nature. Yet at these you may meet with a variety of characters. At Dolly's and Horseman's you commonly see the hearty lovers of beef-steak and gill ale; and at Betty's, and the chop-houses about the Inns of Court, a pretty maid is as inviting as the provisions. In these common refectories you may always find the Jemmy attorney's clerk, the prim curate, the walking physician, the captain upon half-pay, the shabby valet de chambre upon board wages, and the foreign count or marquis in dishabille, who has refused to dine with a duke or an ambassador. At a little eating-house in a dark alley behind the 'Change, I once saw a grave citizen, worth a plum, order a twopenny mess of broth with a boiled chop in it; and when it was brought him, he scooped the crumb out of a halfpenny roll, and soaked it in the porridge for his present meal; then carefully placing the chop between the upper and under crust, he wrapt it up in a checked handkerchief, and carried it off for the morrow's repast.'

No. 30. The 'Connoisseur.'—Aug. 22, 1754.

Thumps following thumps, and blows succeeding blows,

Swell the black eye and crush the bleeding nose;

Beneath the pond'rous fist the jaw-bone cracks,

And the cheeks ring with their redoubled thwacks.

'The amusement of boxing, I must confess, is more immediately calculated for the vulgar, who can have no relish for the more refined pleasures of whist and the hazard table. Men of fashion have found out a more genteel employment for their hands in shuffling a pack of cards and shaking the dice; and, indeed, it will appear, upon a strict review, that most of our fashionable diversions are nothing else but different branches of gaming. What lady would be able to boast a rout at her house consisting of three or four hundred persons, if they were not to be drawn together by the charms of playing a rubber? and the prohibition of our jubilee masquerades is hardly to be regretted, as they wanted the most essential part of their entertainments—the E. O. table. To this polite spirit of gaming, which has diffused itself through all the fashionable world, is owing the vast encouragement that is given to the turf; and horse races are esteemed only as they afford occasion for making a bet. The same spirit likewise draws the knowing ones together in a cockpit; and cocks are rescued from the dunghill, and armed with gaffles, to furnish a new species of gaming. For this reason, among others, I cannot but regret the loss of our elegant amusements in Oxford Road and Tottenham Court. A great part of the spectators used to be deeply interested in what was doing on the stage, and were as earnest to make an advantage of the issue of the battle as the champions themselves to draw the largest sum from the box. The amphitheatre was at once a school for boxing and gaming. Many thousands have depended upon a match; the odds have often risen at a black eye; a large bet has been occasioned by a "cross-buttock;" and while the house has resounded with the lusty bangs of the combatants, it has at the same time echoed with the cries of "Five to one! six to one! ten to one!"'

No. 34. The 'Connoisseur.'—Sept. 19, 1754.

Reprehendere coner,

Quæ gravis Æsopus, quæ doctus Roscius egit.—Hor.

Whene'er he bellows, who but smiles at Quin,

And laughs when Garrick skips like harlequin?

'I have observed that the tragedians of the last age studied fine speaking, in consequence of which all their action consisted in little more than strutting with one leg before the other, and waving one or both arms in a continual see-saw. Our present actors have, perhaps, run into a contrary extreme; their gestures sometimes resemble those afflicted with St. Vitus's dance, their whole frame appears to be convulsed, and I have seen a player in the last act so miserably distressed that a deaf spectator would be apt to imagine he was complaining of the colic or the toothache. This has also given rise to that unnatural custom of throwing the body into various strange attitudes. There is not a passion necessary to be expressed but has produced dispositions of the limbs not to be found in any of the paintings or sculptures of the best masters. A graceful gesture and easy deportment is, indeed, worthy the care of every performer; but when I observe him writhing his body into more unnatural contortions than a tumbler at Sadler's Wells, I cannot help being disgusted to see him "imitate humanity so abominably." Our pantomime authors have already begun to reduce our comedies into grotesque scenes; and, if this taste for attitude should continue to be popular, I would recommend it to those ingenious gentlemen to adapt our best tragedians to the same use, and entertain us with the jealousy of Othello in dumb show or the tricks of Harlequin Hamlet.

CHAPTER XVI.
THACKERAY'S RESEARCHES AMONGST THE WRITINGS OF THE EARLY ESSAYISTS—Continued.

Characteristic Passages from the Works of the 'Humourists,' from Thackeray's Library; illustrated by the Author's hand with Marginal Sketches suggested by the Text—The 'Rambler,' 1749-50—Introduction—Its Author, Dr. Johnson—Paragraphs and Pencillings.

Preface to the 'Rambler.'

When, says Dr. Chalmers, Dr. Johnson undertook to write this justly celebrated paper, he had many difficulties to encounter. If lamenting that, during the long period which had elapsed since the conclusion of the writings of Addison, vice and folly had begun to recover from depressing contempt, he wished again to rectify public taste and manners—to 'give confidence to virtue and ardour to truth'—he knew that the popularity of these writings had constituted them a precedent which his genius was incapable of following, and from which it would be dangerous to depart. In the character of an essayist he was, hitherto, unknown to the public. He had written nothing by which a favourable judgment could be formed of his success in a species of composition which seemed to require the ease, the vivacity, and humour of polished life; and he had probably often heard it repeated that Addison and his colleagues had anticipated all the subjects fit for popular essays; that he might, indeed, aim at varying or improving what had been said before, but could stand no chance of being esteemed an original writer, or of striking the imagination by new and unexpected reflections and incidents. He was likewise, perhaps, aware that he might be reckoned what he about this time calls himself—'a retired and uncourtly scholar,' unfit to describe, because precluded from the observation of, refined society and manners.

But they who pride themselves on long and accurate knowledge of the world are not aware how little of that knowledge is necessary in order to expose vice or detect absurdity; nor can they believe that evidence far short of ocular demonstration is amply sufficient for the purposes of the wit and the novelist. Dr. Johnson appeared in the character of a moral teacher, with powers of mind beyond the common lot of man, and with a knowledge of the inmost recesses of the human heart such as never was displayed with more elegance or stronger conviction. Though in some respects a recluse, he had not been an inattentive observer of human life; and he was now of an age at which probably as much is known as can be known, and at which the full vigour of his faculties enabled him to divulge his experience and his observations with a certainty that they were neither immature nor fallacious. He had studied, and he had noted on the varieties of human character; and it is evident that the lesser improprieties of conduct and errors of domestic life had often been the subjects of his secret ridicule.

Previously to the commencement of the 'Rambler' he had drawn the outlines of many essays, of which specimens may be seen in the biographies of Sir John Hawkins and Boswell; and it is probable that the sentiments of all these papers had been long floating in his mind. With such preparation he began the 'Rambler,' without any communication with his friends or desire of assistance. Whether he proposed the scheme himself does not appear; but he was fortunate in forming an engagement with Mr. John Payne, a bookseller in Paternoster Row (and afterwards the chief accountant of the Bank of England), a man with whom he lived many years in habits of friendship, and who, on the present occasion, treated his author with liberality. He engaged to pay two guineas for each paper, or four guineas per week, which, at that time, must have been to Johnson a very considerable sum; and he admitted him to a share of the future profits of the work when it should be collected into volumes, which share Johnson afterwards sold. It has been observed that objections have been offered to the name 'Rambler.' Johnson's account to Sir Joshua Reynolds forms, probably, as good an excuse as so trifling a circumstance demands. 'What must be done, sir, will be done. When I was to begin publishing that paper, I was at a loss how to name it. I sat down at night upon my bedside, and resolved that I would not go to sleep till I had fixed its title. The "Rambler" seemed the best that occurred, and I took it.' The Italians have literally translated this name 'Il Vagabondo.'

The first paper was published on Tuesday, March 20, 1749-50, and the work continued without the least interruption every Tuesday and Saturday until Saturday, March 14, 1752, on which day it closed. Each number was handsomely printed on a sheet and a half of fine paper, at the price of twopence, and with great typographical accuracy, not above a dozen errors occurring in the whole work—a circumstance the more remarkable, because the copy was written in haste, as the time urged, and sent to the press without being revised by the author. When we consider that, in the whole progress of the work, the sum of assistance he received scarcely amounted to five papers, we must wonder at the fertility of a mind engaged during the same period on that stupendous labour, the English Dictionary, and frequently distracted by disease and anguish. Other essayists have had the choice of their days, and their happy hours, for composition; but Johnson knew no remission, although he very probably would have been glad of it, and yet continued to write with unabated vigour, although even this disappointment might be supposed to have often rendered him uneasy; and his natural indolence—not the indolence of will, but of constitution—would, in other men, have palsied every effort. Towards the conclusion there is so little of that 'falling off' visible in some works of the same kind, that it might probably have been extended much further, had the encouragement of the public borne any proportion to its merits.

The assistance Johnson received was very trifling: Richardson, the novelist, wrote No. 97. The four letters in No. 10 were written by Miss Mulso, afterwards Mrs. Chapone, who also contributed the story of 'Fidelia' to the 'Adventurer,' a paper conducted by Doctors Hawkesworth, Johnson, Thornton, and Warton, which succeeded the 'Rambler.' No. 30 was written by Miss Catharine Talbot, and Nos. 44 and 100 were written by Mrs. Elizabeth Carter.

The 'Rambler' made its way very slowly into the world. All scholars, all men of taste, saw its excellence at once, and crowded round the author to solicit his friendship and relieve his anxieties. It procured him a multitude of friends and admirers among men distinguished for rank as well as genius, and it constituted a perpetual apology for that rugged and uncourtly manner which sometimes rendered his conversation formidable, and, to those who looked from the book to the man, presented a contrast that would no doubt frequently excite amazement.

Still, it must be confessed, there were at first many prejudices against the 'Rambler' to be overcome. The style was new; it appeared harsh, involved, and perplexed; it required more than a transitory inspection to be understood; it did not suit those who run as they read, and who seldom return to a book if the hour it helped to dissipate can be passed away in more active pleasures. When reprinted in volumes, however, the sale gradually increased; it was recommended by the friends of religion and literature as a book by which a man might learn to think; and the author lived to see ten large editions printed in England, besides those which were clandestinely printed in other parts of the kingdom and in America. Since Johnson's death the number of editions has been multiplied.

Sir John Hawkins informs us that these essays hardly ever underwent a Revision before they were sent to the press, and adds: 'The original manuscripts of the "Rambler" have passed through my hands, and by the perusal of them I am warranted to say, as was said of Shakespeare by the players of that time, that he never blotted out a line, and I believe without the retort which Ben Jonson made to them: "Would he had blotted out a thousand!"'

However, Dr. Johnson's desire to carry his essays, which he regarded in some degree as his monument to posterity, as near perfection as his labours could achieve, induced him to devote such attention to the preparation of the 'Ramblers' for the collected series that the alterations in the second and third editions far exceed six thousand—a number which may perhaps justify the use of the expression 're-wrote,' although it must not be taken in its literal acceptation.

With respect to the plan of the 'Rambler,' Dr. Johnson may surely be said to have executed what he intended: he has successfully attempted the propagation of truth, and boldly maintained the dignity of virtue. He has accumulated in this work a treasury of moral science which will not be soon exhausted. He has laboured to refine our language to grammatical purity, and to clear it from colloquial barbarisms, licentious idioms, and irregular combinations. Something he has certainly added to the elegance of its construction, and something to the harmony of its cadence.

Comparisons have been formed between the 'Rambler' and its predecessors, or rather between the genius of Johnson and Addison, but have generally ended in discovering a total want of resemblance. As they were both original writers, they must be tried, if tried at all, by laws applicable to their respective attributes. But neither had a predecessor. We find no humour like Addison's, no energy and dignity like Johnson's. They had nothing in common but moral excellence of character; they could not have exchanged styles for an hour. Yet there is one respect in which we must give Addison the preference—more general utility. His writings would have been understood at any period; Johnson's are more calculated for an improved and liberal education. In both, however, what was peculiar was natural. The earliest of Dr. Johnson's works confirm this; from the moment he could write at all he wrote in stately periods, and his conversation from first to last abounded in the peculiarities of his composition.

Addison principally excelled in the observation of manners, and in that exquisite ridicule he threw on the minute improprieties of life. Johnson, although not ignorant of life or manners, could not descend to familiarities with tuckers and commodes, with furs and hoop-petticoats. A scholarly professor and a writer from necessity, he loved to bring forward subjects so near and dear as the disappointments of authors—the dangers and miseries of literary eminence—anxieties of literature—contrariety of criticism—miseries of patronage—value of fame—causes of the contempt of the learned—prejudices and caprices of criticism—vanity of an author's expectations—meanness of dedications—necessity of literary courage, and all those other subjects which relate to authors and their connection with the public. Sometimes whole papers are devoted to what may be termed the personal concerns of men of literature, and incidental reflections are everywhere interspersed for the instruction or caution of the same class.

When he treats of common life and manners it has been observed he gives to the lowest of his correspondents the same style and lofty periods; and it may also be noticed that the ridicule he attempts is in some cases considerably heightened by the very want of accommodation of character. Yet it must be allowed that the levity and giddiness of coquettes and fine ladies are expressed with great difficulty in the Johnsonian language. It has been objected also that even the names of his ladies have very little of the air of either court or city, as Zosima, Properantia, &c. Every age seems to have its peculiar names of fiction. In the 'Spectators,' 'Tatlers,' &c., the Damons and Phillises, the Amintors and Claras, &c., were the representatives of every virtue and folly.

These were succeeded by the Philamonts, Tenderillas, Timoleons, Seomanthes, Pantheas, Adrastas, and Bellimantes, names to which Mrs. Heywood gave currency in her 'Female Spectator,' and from which at no great distance of time Dr. Johnson appears to have taken his Zephyrettas, Trypheruses, Nitellas, Misotheas, Vagarios, and Flirtillas.

THE 'RAMBLER.'

By DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.

VOL. I., 1750.

'To the "Rambler."

'Sir,—As you seem to have devoted your labours to virtue, I cannot forbear to inform you of one species of cruelty with which the life of a man of letters perhaps does not often make him acquainted, and which, as it seems to produce no other advantage to those that practise it than a short gratification of thoughtless vanity, may become less common when it has been once exposed in its various forms, and in full magnitude.

'I am the daughter of a country gentleman, whose family is numerous, and whose state, not at first sufficient to supply us with affluence, has been lately so impaired by an unsuccessful lawsuit, that all the younger children are obliged to try such means as their education affords them for procuring the necessaries of life. Distress and curiosity concurred to bring me to London, where I was received by a relation with the coldness which misfortune generally finds. A week—a long week—I lived with my cousin before the most vigilant inquiry could procure us the least hopes of a place, in which time I was much better qualified to bear all the vexations of servitude. The first two days she was content to pity me, and only wished I had not been quite so well bred; but people must comply with their circumstances. This lenity, however, was soon at an end, and for the remaining part of the week I heard every hour of the pride of the family, the obstinacy of my father, and of people better born than myself that were common servants.

'At last, on Saturday noon, she told me, with very visible satisfaction, that Mrs. Bombasine, the great silk-mercer's lady, wanted a maid, and a fine place it would be, for there would be nothing to do but to clean my mistress's room, get up her linen, dress the young ladies, wait at tea in the morning, taking care of a little miss just come from nurse, and then sit down to my needle. But madam was a woman of great spirit, and would not be contradicted, and therefore I should take care, for good places are not easily to be got.

'With these cautions I waited on Madame Bombasine, of whom the first sight gave me no ravishing ideas. She was two yards round the waist, her voice was at once loud and squeaking, and her face brought to my mind the picture of the full moon. "Are you the young woman," says she, "that are come to offer yourself? It is strange when people of substance want a servant how soon it is the town talk. But they know they shall have a bellyful that live with me. Not like people that live at the other end of the town, we dine at one o'clock. But I never take anybody without a character; what friends do you come of?" I then told her that my father was a gentleman, and that we had been unfortunate. "A great misfortune indeed to come to me and have three meals a day! So your father was a gentleman, and you are a gentlewoman, I suppose—such gentlewomen!" "Madam, I did not mean to claim any exemptions; I only answered your inquiry." "Such gentlewomen! people should set up their children to good trades, and keep them off the parish. Pray go to the other end of the town; there are gentlewomen, if they would pay their debts; I am sure we have lost enough by gentlewomen." Upon this her broad face grew broader with triumph, and I was afraid she would have taken me for the pleasure of continuing her insult; but happily the next word was, "Pray, Mrs. Gentlewoman, troop downstairs." You may believe I obeyed her.

'After numerous misadventures of the same description, it was of no purpose that the refusal was declared by me never to be on my side; I was reasoning against interest and against stupidity; and therefore I comforted myself with the hope of succeeding better in my next attempt, and went to Mrs. Courtly, a very fine lady, who had routs at her house, and saw the best company in town.

'I had not waited two hours before I was called up, and found Mr. Courtly and his lady at piquet in the height of good humour. This I looked on as a favourable sign, and stood at the lower end of the room, in expectation of the common questions. At last Mr. Courtly called out, after a whisper, "Stand facing the light, that one may see you." I changed my place, and blushed. They frequently turned their eyes upon me, and seemed to discover many subjects of merriment, for at every look they whispered, and laughed with the most violent agitations of delight. At last Mr. Courtly cried out, "Is that colour your own, child?" "Yes," said the lady, "if she has not robbed the kitchen hearth." It was so happy a conceit that it renewed the storm of laughter, and they threw down their cards in hopes of better sport. The lady then called me to her, and began with affected gravity to inquire what I could do. "But first turn about, and let us see your fine shape; well, what are you fit for, Mrs. Mum? You would find your tongue, I suppose, in the kitchen." "No, no," says Mrs. Courtly, "the girl's a good girl yet, but I am afraid a brisk young fellow, with fine tags on his shoulder——" "Come, child, hold up your head; what? you have stole nothing." "Not yet," said the lady; "but she hopes to steal your heart quickly." Here was a laugh of happiness and triumph, prolonged by the confusion which I could no longer repress. At last the lady recollected herself: "Stole? no—but if I had her I should watch her; for that downcast eye——Why cannot you look people in the face?" "Steal!" says her husband, "she would steal nothing but, perhaps, a few ribbons before they were left off by my lady." "Sir," answered I, "why should you, by supposing me a thief, insult one from whom you have received no injury?" "Insult!" says the lady; "are you come here to be a servant, you saucy baggage, and talk of insulting? What will this world come to if a gentleman may not jest with a servant? Well, such servants! pray be gone, and see when you will have the honour to be so insulted again. Servants insulted—a fine time! Insulted! Get downstairs, you slut, or the footman shall insult you."'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. I. No. 18.

'There is no observation more frequently made by such as employ themselves in surveying the conduct of mankind than that marriage, though the dictate of nature, and the institute of Providence, is yet very often the cause of misery, and that those who enter into that state can seldom forbear to express their repentance, and their envy of those whom either chance or caution hath withheld from it.

'One of the first of my acquaintances that resolved to quit the unsettled, thoughtless condition of a bachelor was Prudentius, a man of slow parts, but not without knowledge or judgment in things which he had leisure to consider gradually before he determined them. This grave considerer found by deep meditation that a man was no loser by marrying early, even though he contented himself with a less fortune, for, estimating the exact worth of annuities, he found that considering the constant diminution of the value of life, with the probable fall of the interest of money, it was not worse to have ten thousand pounds at the age of two-and-twenty years than a much larger fortune at thirty; for many opportunities, says he, occur of improving money which, if a man misses, he may not afterwards recover.

'Full of these reflections, he threw his eyes about him, not in search of beauty or elegance, dignity or understanding, but of a woman with ten thousand pounds. Such a woman, in a wealthy part of the kingdom, it was not difficult to find; and by artful management with her father—whose ambition was to make his daughter a gentlewoman—my friend got her, as he boasted to us in confidence two days after his marriage, for a settlement of seventy-three pounds a year less than her fortune might have claimed, and less than himself would have given if the fools had been but wise enough to delay the bargain.

'Thus at once delighted with the superiority of his parts and the augmentation of his fortune, he carried Furia to his own house, in which he never afterwards enjoyed one hour of happiness. For Furia was a wretch of mean intellects, violent passions, a strong voice, and low education, without any sense of happiness but that which consisted in eating, and counting money. Furia was a scold. They agreed in the desire of wealth, but with this difference: that Prudentius was for growing rich by gain, Furia by parsimony. Prudentius would venture his money with chances very much in his favour; but Furia, very wisely observing that what they had was, while they had it, their own, thought all traffic too great a hazard, and was for putting it out at low interest upon good security. Prudentius ventured, however, to insure a ship at a very unreasonable price; but, happening to lose his money, was so tormented with the clamours of his wife that he never durst try a second experiment. He has now grovelled seven-and-forty years under Furia's direction, who never once mentioned him, since his bad luck, by any other name than that of the "usurer."'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol, I. No. 24.

Nemo in sese tentat descendere.—Persius.

None, none descends into himself.—Dryden.

'Among the precepts or aphorisms admitted by general consent and inculcated by repetition, there is none more famous, among the masters of ancient wisdom, than that compendious lesson, Γνωθι σεαυτον—Be acquainted with thyself—ascribed by some to an oracle, and others to Chilo of Lacedæmon.

'We might have had more satisfaction concerning the original import of this celebrated sentence, if history had informed us whether it was uttered as a general instruction to mankind, or as a particular caution to some private inquirer; whether it was applied to some single occasion, or laid down as the universal rule of life.

'The great praise of Socrates is that he drew the wits of Greece, by his instruction and example, from the vain pursuit of natural philosophy to moral inquiries, and turned their thoughts from stars and tides, and matter and motion, upon the various modes of virtue and relations of life.

'The great fault of men of learning is still that they offend against this rule, and appear willing to study anything rather than themselves; for which reason they are often despised by those with whom they imagine themselves above comparison.

'Eupheues,[30] with great parts of extensive knowledge, has a clouded aspect and ungracious form, yet it has been his ambition, from his first entrance into life, to distinguish himself by particularities in his dress—to outvie beaus in embroidery, to import new trimming, and to be foremost in the fashion. Eupheues has turned on his exterior appearance that attention which would have always produced esteem had it been fixed upon his mind; and, though his virtues and abilities have preserved him from the contempt which he has so diligently solicited, he has at least raised one impediment to his reputation, since all can judge of his dress, but few of his understanding, and many who discern that he is a fop are unwilling to believe that he can be wise.

'There is one instance in which the ladies are particularly unwilling to observe the rule of Chilo. They are desirous to hide from themselves the advance of age, and endeavour too frequently to supply the sprightliness and bloom of youth by artificial beauty and forced vivacity.

'They hope to inflame the heart by glances which have lost their fire, or melt it by laughter which is no longer delicate; they play over airs which pleased at a time when they were expected only to please, and forget that airs in time ought to give place to virtues. They continue to trifle, because they could once trifle agreeably, till those who shared their early pleasures are withdrawn to more serious engagements, and are scarcely awakened from their dream of perpetual youth by the scorn of those whom they endeavour to rival.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. I. No. 34.

Non sine vano

Aurarum et silvæ metu.—Hor.

Alarm'd with every rising gale,

In every wood, in every vale.—Elphinston.

The 'Rambler' inserts a letter describing how the end of those ladies whose chief ambition is to please is often missed by absurd and injudicious endeavours to obtain distinction, and who mistake cowardice for elegance, and imagine all delicacy consists in refusing to be pleased. A country gentleman relates the circumstances of his visit to Anthea, a heiress, whose birth and beauty render her a desirable match:—

'Dinner was now over, and the company proposed that we should pursue our original design of visiting the gardens. Anthea declared that she could not imagine what pleasure we expected from the sight of a few green trees and a little gravel, and two or three pits of clear water; that, for her part, she hated walking till the cool of the evening, and thought it very likely to rain, and again wished she had stayed at home. We then reconciled ourselves to our disappointment, and began to talk on common subjects, when Anthea told us since we came to see the gardens she would not hinder our satisfaction. We all rose, and walked through the enclosures for some time with no other trouble than the necessity of watching lest a frog should hop across the way, which, Anthea told us, would certainly kill her if she should happen to see him.

'Frogs, as it fell out, there were none; but when we were within a furlong of the gardens Anthea saw some sheep, and heard the wether clink his bell, which she was certain was not hung upon him for nothing, and therefore no assurances nor entreaties should prevail upon her to go a step further: she was sorry to disappoint the company, but her life was dearer to her than ceremony.

'We came back to the inn, and Anthea now discovered that there was no time to be lost in returning, for the night would come upon us and a thousand misfortunes might happen in the dark. The horses were immediately harnessed, and Anthea, having wondered what could seduce her to stay so long, was eager to set out. But we had now a new scene of terror; every man we saw was a robber, and we were ordered sometimes to drive hard—lest a traveller, whom we saw behind, should overtake us—and sometimes to stop, lest we should come up to him who was passing before us. She alarmed many an honest man by begging him to spare her life as he passed by the coach, and drew me into fifteen quarrels with persons who increased her fright by kindly stopping to inquire whether they could assist us. At last we came home, and she told her company next day what a pleasant ride she had been taking.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. I. No. 37.

Piping on their reeds the shepherds go,

Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe.—Pope.

Canto quæ solitus, si quando armenta vocabat,

Amphion Dircæus.—Virg.

Such strains I sing as once Amphion play'd,

When listening flocks the powerful call obey'd.—Elphinston.

'The satisfaction received from pastoral writing not only begins early, but lasts long; we do not, as we advance into the intellectual world, throw it away among other childish amusements and pastimes, but willingly return to it at any hour of indolence and relaxation. The images of true pastoral have always the power of exciting delight, because the works of nature, from which they are drawn, have always the same order and beauty, and continue to force themselves upon our thoughts, being at once obvious to the most careless regard and more than adequate to the strongest reason and severest contemplation. Our inclination to stillness and tranquillity is seldom much lessened by long knowledge of the busy and tumultuous part of the world. In childhood we turn our thoughts to the country as to the origin of pleasure; we recur to it in old age as a part of rest, and, perhaps, with that secondary and adventitious gladness which every man feels on reviewing those places, or recollecting those occurrences, that contribute to his youthful enjoyments, and bring him back to the prime of life, when the world was gay with the bloom of novelty, when mirth wantoned at his side, and hope sparkled before him.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. I. No. 55.

Now near to death that comes but slow,

Now thou art stepping down below;

Sport not among the blooming maids,

But think on ghosts and empty shades:

What suits with Phœbe in her bloom,

Grey Chloris, will not thee become;

A bed is different from a tomb.—Creech.

Parthenia addresses a letter to the 'Rambler' on the subject of the troubles she suffers from the frivolous desire which her mother, a widow, has contracted to practise the follies of youth, the pursuit of which she finds fettered by the presence of Parthenia, whom she is inclined to regard not as her daughter, but as a rival dangerous to the admiration which the elder lady would confine to herself.

After a year of decent mourning had been devoted to deploring the loss of Parthenia's father—'All the officiousness of kindness and folly was busied to change the conduct of the widow. She was at one time alarmed with censure, and at another fired with praise. She was told of balls where others shone only because she was absent, of new comedies to which all the town was crowding, and of many ingenious ironies by which domestic diligence was made contemptible.

'It is difficult for virtue to stand alone against fear on one side and pleasure on the other, especially when no actual crime is proposed, and prudence itself can suggest many reasons for relaxation and indulgence. My mamma was at last persuaded to accompany Mrs. Giddy to a play. She was received with a boundless profusion of compliments, and attended home by a very fine gentleman. Next day she was, with less difficulty, prevailed on to play at Mrs. Gravely's, and came home gay and lively, for the distinctions that had been paid her awakened her vanity, and good luck had kept her principles of frugality from giving her disturbance. She now made her second entrance into the world, and her friends were sufficiently industrious to prevent any return to her former life; every morning brought messages of invitation, and every evening was passed in places of diversion, from which she for some time complained that she had rather be absent. In a short time she began to feel the happiness of acting without control, of being unaccountable for her hours, her expenses, and her company, and learned by degrees to drop an expression of contempt or pity at the mention of ladies whose husbands were suspected of restraining their pleasures or their play, and confessed that she loved to go and come as she pleased.

'My mamma now began to discover that it was impossible to educate children properly at home. Parents could not have them always in their sight; the society of servants was contagious; company produced boldness and spirit; emulation excited industry; and a large school was naturally the first step into the open world. A thousand other reasons she alleged, some of little force in themselves, but so well seconded by pleasure, vanity, and idleness, that they soon overcame all the remaining principles of kindness and piety, and both I and my brother were despatched to boarding-schools.

'When I came home again, after sundry vacations, and, with the usual childish alacrity, was running to my mother's embrace, she stopped me with exclamations at the suddenness and enormity of my growth, having, she said, never seen anybody shoot up so much at my age.

'She was sure no other girls spread at that rate, and she hated to have children look like women before their time. I was disconcerted, and retired without hearing anything more than "Nay, if you are angry, Madam Steeple, you may walk off."

'She had yet the pleasure of dressing me like a child, and I know not when I should have been thought fit to change my habit, had I not been rescued by a maiden aunt of my father, who could not bear to see women in hanging-sleeves, and therefore presented me with brocade for a gown, for which I should have thought myself under great obligations, had she not accompanied her favour with some hints that my mamma might now consider her age, and give me her earrings, which she had shown long enough in public places.

'Thus I live in a state of continual persecution only because I was born ten years too soon, and cannot stop the course of nature or of time, but am unhappily a woman before my mother can willingly cease to be a girl. I believe you would contribute to the happiness of many families if by any arguments, or persuasions, you could make mothers ashamed of rivalling their children; if you could show them that though they may refuse to grow wise they must inevitably grow old, and that the proper solaces of age are not music and compliments, but wisdom and devotion; that those who are so unwilling to quit the world will soon be driven from it; and that it is, therefore, their interest to retire while there yet remain a few hours for nobler employments.—I am, &c.,

'Parthenia.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. I. No. 56.

Valeat res ludicra, si me

Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum.—Hor.

Farewell the stage; for humbly I disclaim

Such fond pursuits of pleasure or of fame,

If I must sink in shame, or swell with pride,

As the gay psalm is granted or denied.—Francis.

'I am afraid that I may be taxed with insensibility by many of my correspondents, who believe their contributions neglected. And, indeed, when I sit before a pile of papers, of which each is the production of laborious study, and the offspring of a fond parent, I, who know the passions of an author, cannot remember how long they have been in my boxes unregarded without imagining to myself the various changes of sorrow, impatience, and resentment which the writers must have felt in this tedious interval.

'These reflections are still more awakened when, upon perusal, I find some of them calling for a place in the next paper, a place which they have never yet obtained; others writing in a style of superiority and haughtiness as secure of deference and above fear of criticism; others humbly offering their weak assistance with softness and submission, which they believe impossible to be resisted; some introducing their compositions with a menace of the contempt he that refuses them will incur; others applying privately to the booksellers for their interest and solicitation; every one by different ways endeavouring to secure the bliss of publication. I cannot but consider myself placed in a very incommodious situation, where I am forced to repress confidence which it is pleasing to indulge, to repay civilities with appearances of neglect, and so frequently to offend those by whom I was never offended.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. I. No. 59.

Strangulat inclusus dolor, atque exæstuat intus,

Cogitur et vires multiplicare suas.—Ovid.

In vain by secrecy we would assuage

Our cares; conceal'd they gather tenfold rage.—Lewis.

'It is common to distinguish men by the names of animals which they are supposed to resemble. Thus a hero is frequently termed a lion, and a statesman a fox; an extortioner gains the appellation of vulture, and a fop the title of monkey. There is also among the various anomalies of character which a survey of the world exhibits, a species of beings in human form which may be properly marked out as the screech-owls of mankind.

'These screech-owls seem to be settled in an opinion that the great business of life is to complain, and that they were born for no other purpose than to disturb the happiness of others, to lessen the little comforts and shorten the short pleasures of our condition, by painful remembrances of the past, or melancholy prognostics of the future; their only care is to crush the rising hope, to damp the kindling transport, and alloy the golden hours of gaiety with the hateful dross of grief and suspicion.

'I have known Suspirius, the screech-owl, fifty-eight years and four months, and have never passed an hour with him in which he has not made some attack upon my quiet. When we were first acquainted, his great topic was the misery of youth without riches; and whenever we walked out together, he solaced me with a long enumeration of pleasures, which, as they were beyond the reach of my fortune, were without the verge of my desires, and which I should never have considered as the objects of a wish, had not his unreasonable representations placed them in my sight.

'Suspirius has, in his time, intercepted fifteen authors on their way to the stage; persuaded nine-and-thirty merchants to retire from a prosperous trade for fear of bankruptcy; broke off a hundred and thirty matches by prognostications of unhappiness; and enabled the small-pox to kill nineteen ladies by perpetual alarms of the loss of beauty.

'Whenever my evil star brings us together he never fails to represent to me the folly of my pursuits, and informs me we are much older than when we began our acquaintance; that the infirmities of decrepitude are coming fast upon me; that whatever I now get I shall enjoy but a little time; that fame is to a man tottering on the edge of the grave of very little importance; and that the time is at hand when I ought to look for no other pleasures than a good dinner and an easy chair.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. I. No. 61.

Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret,

Quem, nisi mendosum et mendacem?—Hor.

False praise can charm, unreal shame control

Whom but a vicious or a sickly soul?—Francis.

Ruricola, who dwells in the country, is writing upon the airs which those, whose pursuits take them to London, assume on their return to their more homely associates; and he relates in particular the pretensions of one Frolic, who has endowed himself with importance upon the mysterious and self-conferred reputation of knowing town.

'My curiosity,' declares Ruricola, 'has been most engaged by the recital of his own adventures and achievements. I have heard of the union of various characters in single persons, but never met with such a constellation of great qualities as this man's narrative affords. Whatever has distinguished the hero, whatever has elevated the wit, whatever has endeared the lover, are all concentrated in Mr. Frolic, whose life has, for seven years, been a regular interchange of intrigues, dangers, and waggeries, and who has distinguished himself in every character that can be feared, envied, or admired.

'I question whether all the officers in the royal navy can bring together, from all their journals, a collection of so many wonderful escapes as this man has known upon the Thames, on which he has been a thousand times on the point of perishing, sometimes by the terrors of foolish women in the same boat, sometimes by his own acknowledged imprudence in passing the river in the dark, and sometimes by shooting the bridge, under which he has encountered mountainous waves and dreadful cataracts.

'Not less has been his temerity by land, nor fewer his hazards. He has reeled with giddiness on the top of the Monument; he has crossed the street amidst the rush of coaches; he has been surrounded by robbers without number; he has headed parties at the play-house; he has scaled the windows of every toast of whatever condition; he has been hunted for whole winters by his rivals; he has slept upon bulks; he has cut chairs; he has bilked coachmen; he has rescued his friends from bailiffs, and has knocked down the constable, has bullied the justice, and performed many other exploits that have filled the town with wonder and merriment.

'But yet greater is the fame of his understanding than his bravery, for he informs us that he is, in London, the established arbitrator on all points of honour, and the decisive judge of all performances of genius; that no musical performer is in reputation till the opinion of Frolic has ratified his pretensions; that the theatres suspend their sentence till he begins to clap or hiss, in which all are proud to concur; that no public entertainment has failed or succeeded but because he opposed or favoured it; that all controversies at the gaming-table are referred to his determination; that he adjusts the ceremonial at every assembly, and prescribes every fashion of pleasure or of dress.

'With every man whose name occurs in the papers of the day he is intimately acquainted, and there are very few points either on the state or army of which he has not more or less influenced the disposal, while he has been very frequently consulted both upon peace and war.'

Ruricola concludes by inquiring whether Mr. Frolic is really so well known in London as he pretends, or if he shall denounce him as an impostor.

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. II. No. 89.

Dulce est desipere in loco.

'There is nothing more fatal to a man whose business is to think than to have learned the art of regaling his mind with those airy gratifications. Other vices or follies are restrained by fear, reformed by admonition, or rejected by conviction, which the comparison of our conduct with that of others may in time produce. But this invisible riot of the mind, this secret prodigality of being, is secure from detection and fearless from reproach. The dreamer retires to his apartments, shuts out the cares and interruptions of mankind, and abandons himself to his own fancy; new worlds rise up before him, one image is followed by another, and a long succession of delights dances around him. He is at last called back to life by nature or by custom, and enters peevish into society because he cannot model it to his own will. He returns from his idle excursions with the asperity, though not with the knowledge, of a student, and hastens again to the same felicity with the eagerness of a man bent upon the advancement of some favourite science. The infatuation strengthens by degrees, and, like the poison of opiates, weakens his powers without any external symptom of malignity.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. II. No. 100.

'It is hard upon poor creatures, be they ever so mean, to deny them those enjoyments and liberties which are equally open for all. Yet, if servants were taught to go to church on Sunday, spend some part of it in reading, or receiving instruction in a family way, and the rest in mere friendly conversation, the poor wretches would infallibly take it into their heads that they were obliged to be sober, modest, diligent, and faithful to their masters and mistresses.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. II. No. 114.

When man's life is in debate,

The judge can ne'er too long deliberate.—Dryden.

'The gibbet, indeed, certainly disables those who die upon it from infesting the community; but their death seems not to contribute more to the reformation of their associates than any other method of separation. A thief seldom passes much of his time in recollection or anticipation, but from robbery hastens to riot, and from riot to robbery; nor, when the grave closes upon his companion, has any other care than to find another.

'The frequency of capital punishments, therefore, rarely hinders the commission of a crime, but naturally and commonly prevents its detection, and is, if we proceed upon prudential principles, chiefly for that reason to be avoided. Whatever may be urged by casuists or politicians, the greater part of mankind, as they can never think that to pick the pocket and to pierce the heart is equally criminal, will scarcely believe that two malefactors so different in guilt can be justly doomed to the same punishment; nor is the necessity of submitting the conscience to human laws so plainly evinced, so clearly stated, or so generally allowed, but that the pious, the tender, the just, will always scruple to concur with the community in an act which their private judgment cannot approve.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. II. No. 117.

'Tis sweet thy lab'ring steps to guide

To virtue's heights with wisdom well supplied,

From all the magazines of learning fortified

From thence to look below on human kind,

Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind.—Dryden.

'The conveniences described in these lines may perhaps all be found in a well-chosen garret; but surely they cannot be supposed sufficiently important to have operated invariably upon different climates, distant ages, and separate nations.

'Another cause of the gaiety and sprightliness of the dwellers in garrets is probably the increase of that vertiginous motion with which we are carried round by the diurnal revolution of the earth. The power of agitation upon the spirits is well known; every man has his heart lightened in a rapid vehicle, or on a galloping horse, and nothing is plainer than that he who towers to the fifth story is whirled through more space by every circumrotation than another that grovels upon the ground-floor.

'If you imagine that I ascribe to air and motion effects which they cannot produce, I desire you to consult your own memory, and consider whether you have never known a man acquire reputation in his garret, which, when fortune or a patron had placed him upon the first floor, he was unable to maintain; and who never recovered his former vigour of understanding till he was restored to his original situation.

'That a garret will make every man a wit I am very far from supposing. I know there are some who would continue blockheads even on the summit of the Andes and on the peak of Teneriffe. But let not any man be considered as unimprovable till this potent remedy has been tried; for perhaps he was formed to be great only in a garret, as the joiner of Aretæus was rational in no other place but his own shop.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. II. No. 124.

To range in silence through each healthful wood,

And muse what's worthy of the wise and good.

'To those who leave the public places of resort in the full bloom of reputation, and withdraw from admiration, courtship, submission, and applause, a rural triumph can give nothing equivalent. The praise of ignorance and the subjection of weakness are little regarded by beauties who have been accustomed to more important conquests and more valuable panegyrics. Nor, indeed, should the powers which have made havoc in the theatres or borne down rivalry in courts be degraded to a mean attack upon the untravelled heir, or ignoble contest with the ruddy milkmaid.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. III. No. 142.

'Squire Bluster is descended from an ancient family. The estate which his ancestors immemoriably possessed was much augmented by Captain Bluster, who served under Drake in the reign of Elizabeth; and the Blusters, who were before only petty gentlemen, have from that time frequently represented the shire in parliament, being chosen to present addresses and give laws at hunting-matches and races. They were eminently hospitable and popular till the father of this gentleman died of an election. His lady went to the grave soon after him, and left their heir, then only ten years old, to the care of his grandmother, who would not suffer him to be controlled, because she could not bear to hear him cry; and never sent him to school, because she was not able to live without his company. She taught him, however, very early to inspect the steward's accounts, to dog the butler from the cellar, and catch the servants at a junket; so that he was at the age of eighteen a complete master of all the lower arts of domestic policy, and had often on the road detected combinations between the coachman and the ostler.

'Money, in whatever hands, will confer power. Distress will fly to immediate refuge, without much consideration of remote consequences. Bluster had, therefore, on coming of age, a despotic authority in many families, whom he had assisted, on pressing occasions, with larger sums than they can easily repay. The only visits that he makes are to those houses of misfortune, where he enters with the insolence of absolute command, enjoys the terrors of the family, exacts their obedience, riots at their charge, and in the height of his joys insults the father with menaces and the daughters with scurrilities.

'Such is the life of Squire Bluster; a man in whose power Fortune has liberally placed the means of happiness, but who has defeated all her gifts of their end by the depravity of his mind. He is wealthy without followers; he is magnificent without witnesses; he hath birth without alliance, and influence without dignity. His neighbours scorn him as a brute; his dependants dread him as an oppressor; and he has only the gloomy comfort of reflecting that if he is hated he is likewise feared.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. III. No. 153.

Turba Remi sequitur fortunam, ut semper, et odit

Damnatos.—Juv.

The fickle crowd with fortune comes and goes;

Wealth still finds followers, and misfortune foes.

The writer, who had been adopted by a rich nabob lately returned from the Indies, suddenly found himself deprived of the fortune which it was anticipated would have fallen to his share; his patron having died without making a will in his protégé's favour, and thus a fine estate had gone to another branch of the family.

'It was now my part,' writes the victim of this unexpected adversity, 'to consider how I should repair the disappointment. I could not but triumph in my long list of friends, which composed almost every name that power or knowledge entitled to eminence, and in the prospect of the innumerable roads to honour and preferment which I had laid open to myself by the wise use of temporary riches. I believed nothing necessary but that I should continue that acquaintance to which I had been so readily admitted, and which had hitherto been cultivated on both sides with equal ardour.

'Full of these expectations, I one morning ordered a chair, with an intention to make my usual circle of morning visits. Where I first stopped I saw two footmen lolling at the door, who told me, without any change of posture or collection of countenance, that their master was at home; and suffered me to open the inner door without assistance. I found my friend standing, and as I was tattling with my former freedom was formally entreated to sit down, but did not stay to be favoured with any further condescensions.

'My next experiment was made at the levée of a statesman, who received me with an embrace of tenderness, that he might with more decency publish my change of fortune to the sycophants about. After he had enjoyed the triumph of condolence he turned to a wealthy stockjobber, and left me exposed to the scorn of those who had lately courted my notice and solicited my interest.

'I was then set down at the door of another, who upon my entrance advised me with great solemnity to think of some settled provision for life. I left him and hurried away to an old friend, who professed himself unsusceptible of any impressions from prosperity or misfortune, and begged that he might see me when he was more at leisure.

'Of sixty-seven doors at which I knocked in the first week after my appearance in a mourning dress I was denied admission at forty-six; was suffered at fourteen to wait in the outer room till business was despatched; at four was entertained with a few questions about the weather; at one heard the footman rated for bringing my name; and at two was informed, in the flow of casual conversation, how much a man of rank degrades himself by mean company.

'Such, Mr. Rambler, is the power of wealth, that it commands the ear of greatness and the eye of beauty; gives spirit to the dull and authority to the timorous, and leaves him from whom it departs without virtue and without understanding, the sport of caprice, the scoff of insolence, the slave of meanness, and the pupil of ignorance.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. III. No. 170.

Misella sends her history to the 'Rambler' as a caution to others who may chance to rely on the fidelity of distant relatives. Her father becoming burdened with a family larger than his means could decently provide for, a wealthy relative had offered to take the charge of one member, the writer, upon himself.

'Without knowing for what purpose I was called to my great cousin,' says the unhappy Misella, 'I endeavoured to recommend myself by my best courtesy, sang him my prettiest song, told the last story that I had read, and so much endeared myself by my innocence that he declared his resolution to adopt me, and to educate me with his own daughters.

'My parents felt the common struggle at the thought of parting, and some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon. They considered, not without that false estimation of the value of wealth which poverty long continued always produces, that I was raised to higher rank than they could give me, and to hopes of more ample fortune than they could bequeath. My mother sold some of her ornaments to dress me in such a manner as might secure me from contempt at my first arrival, and when she dismissed me pressed me to her bosom with an embrace which I still feel.

'My sister carried my finery, and seemed not much to regret our separation; my father conducted me to the stage-coach with a sort of cheerful tenderness; and in a very short time I was transported to splendid apartments and a luxurious table, and grew familiar to show, noise, and gaiety.

'In three years my mother died, having implored a blessing on her family with her last breath.

'I had little opportunity to indulge a sorrow which there was none to partake with me, and therefore soon ceased to reflect much upon my loss. My father turned all his care upon his other children, whom some fortunate adventures and unexpected legacies enabled him, when he died four years after my mother, to leave in a condition above their expectations.

'I should have shared the increase of his fortunes and had once a portion assigned me in his will, but my cousin assuring him that all care for me was needless, since he had resolved to place me happily in the world, directed him to divide my part amongst my sisters.

'Thus I was thrown upon dependence without resource. Being now at an age in which young women are initiated into company, I was no longer to be supported in my former character, but at considerable expense; so that partly lest appearance might draw too many compliments and assiduities I was insensibly degraded from my equality, and enjoyed few privileges above the head servant but that of receiving no wages.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. III. No. 181.

Neu fluitem dubiæ spe pendulus horæ.—Hor.

Nor let me float in fortune's power,

Dependent on the future hour.—Francis.

'Sir,—As I have passed much of life in disgust and suspense, and lost many opportunities of advantage by a passion which I have reason to believe prevalent in different degrees over a great part of mankind, I cannot but think myself well qualified to warn those who are yet uncaptivated of the dangers which they incur by placing themselves within its influence.

'In the course of even prosperity I was one day persuaded to buy a ticket in the lottery. At last the day came, my ticket appeared, and rewarded all my care and sagacity with a despicable prize of fifty pounds.

'My friends, who honestly rejoiced upon my success, were very coldly received; I hid myself a fortnight in the country that my chagrin might fume away without observation, and then, returning to my shop, began to listen after another lottery.

'With the news of a lottery I was soon gratified, and, having now found the vanity of conjecture and inefficacy of computation, I resolved to take the prize by violence, and therefore bought forty tickets, not omitting, however, to divide them between the even and the odd, that I might not miss the lucky class. Many conclusions did I form, and many experiments did I try, to determine from which of those tickets I might most reasonably expect riches. At last, being unable to satisfy myself by any modes of reasoning, I wrote the numbers upon dice, and allotted five hours every day to the amusement of throwing them in a garret; and examining the event by an exact register, found, on the evening before the lottery was drawn, that one of my numbers had turned up five times more than any of the rest in three hundred and thirty thousand throws.

'This experiment was fallacious; the first day presented the ticket a detestable blank. The rest came out with different fortune, and in conclusion I lost thirty pounds by this great adventure.

'The prize which had been suffered to slip from me filled me with anguish, and, knowing that complaint would only expose me to ridicule, I gave myself up silently to grief, and lost by degrees my appetite and my rest.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. III. No. 187.

Love alters not for us his hard decrees,

Not though beneath the Thracian clime we freeze,

Or the mild bliss of temperate skies forego,

And in mid-winter tread Sithonian snow:—

Love conquers all.—Dryden.

'Anningait and Ajut, a Greenland History.

'In one of the large caves to which the families of Greenland retire together to pass the cold months, and which may be termed their villages or cities, a youth and maid, who came from different parts of the country, were so much distinguished for their beauty that they were called by the rest of the inhabitants Anningait and Ajut, from their supposed resemblance to their ancestors of the same names who had been transformed of old into the sun and moon.

'The elegance of Ajut's dress, and the judicious disposition of her ornaments of coral and shells, had such an effect upon Anningait that he could no longer be restrained from a declaration of his love. He, therefore, composed a poem in her praise, in which, among other heroic and tender sentiments, he protested that, "She was beautiful as the vernal willow, and fragrant as thyme upon the mountains; that her fingers were white as the teeth of the morse, and her smile grateful as the dissolution of the ice; that he would pursue her though she should pass the snows of the midland cliffs, or seek shelter in the caves of the eastern cannibals; that he would tear her from the embrace of the genius of the rocks, snatch her from the paws of Amaroc, and rescue her from the ravine of Hafgufa."

'This ode being universally applauded, it was expected that Ajut would soon yield to such fervour and accomplishments; but Ajut, with the natural haughtiness of beauty, expected all the forms of courtship; and before she would confess herself conquered the sun returned, the ice broke, and the season of labour called all to their employments.

'It happened that a tempest drove the fish to a distant part of the coast before Anningait had completed his store; he therefore entreated Ajut that she would at last grant him her hand and accompany him to that part of the country whither he was now summoned of necessity. Ajut thought him not yet entitled to such condescension, but proposed, as a trial of constancy, that he should return at the end of summer to the cavern where their acquaintance commenced, and there expect the reward of his assiduities. But Anningait tried to soften this resolution: he feelingly represented the uncertainty of existence and the dangers of the passage, and his loneliness when distant from the object of his love. "Consider, Ajut," urged he, "a few summer days, a few winter nights, and the life of man is at an end. Night is the time of ease and festivity, of revels and gaiety; but what will be the flaming lamp, the delicious seal, or the soft oil without the smile of Ajut?"

'The eloquence of Anningait was vain; the maid continued inexorable, and they parted with ardent promises to meet again before the night of winter. Anningait, however discomposed by the dilatory coyness of Ajut, was resolved to omit no tokens of amorous respect, and therefore presented her at his departure with the skins of seven white fawns, of five swans, and eleven seals, with three marble lamps, ten vessels of seal-oil, and a large kettle of brass which he had purchased from a ship at the price of half a whale and two horns of sea-unicorns.

'Ajut was so much affected by the fondness of her lover, or so much overpowered by his munificence, that she followed him to the seaside; and, when she saw him enter the boat, wished aloud that he might return with plenty of skins and oil, that neither the mermaids might snatch him into the deeps, nor the spirits of the rocks confine him in their caverns.

'Parted from each other, the lovers devoted themselves to the remembrances of their affection; Anningait devoted himself to fishing and the chase with redoubled energy, that his stores for the future might exceed the expectations of his bride; and Ajut mourned the absence of her betrothed with ceaseless fidelity. She neglected the ornaments of her person, and, to avoid the solicitations of her lover's rivals, withdrew herself into complete seclusion. Thus passed the months of separation. At last Ajut saw the great boat in which Anningait departed stealing slow and heavy laden along the coast. She ran with all the impatience of affection to catch her lover in her arms, and relate her constancy and sufferings. When the company reached the land they informed her that Anningait, after the fishery was ended, being unable to support the slow passage of the vessel of carriage, had set out before them in his fishing-boat, and they expected at their arrival to have found him on shore.

'Ajut, distracted at this intelligence, was about to fly into the hills without knowing why, though she was now in the hands of her parents, who forced her back to her own hut and endeavoured to comfort her; but when at last they retired to rest, Ajut went down to the beach, where, finding a fishing-boat, she entered it without hesitation, and, telling those who wondered at her rashness that she was going in search of Anningait, rowed away with great swiftness and was seen no more.

'The fate of these lovers gave occasion to various fictions and conjectures. Some are of opinion that they were changed into stars; others imagine that Anningait was seized in his passage by the genius of the rocks, and that Ajut was transformed into a mermaid, and still continues to seek her lover in the deserts of the sea. But the general persuasion is that they are both in that part of the land of souls where the sun never sets, where oil is always fresh, and provisions always warm. The virgins sometimes throw a thimble and a needle into the bay from which the hapless maid departed, and when a Greenlander would praise any couple for virtuous affection he declares that they love like Anningait and Ajut.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. III. No. 191.

Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper.—Hor.

The youth——

Yielding like wax, th' impressive folly bears;

Rough to reproof, and slow to future cares.—Francis.

'Dear Mr. Rambler,—I have been four days confined to my chamber by a cold, which has already kept me from three plays, nine sales, five shows, and six card-tables, and put me seventeen visits behind; and the doctor tells my mamma that, if I fret and cry, it will settle in my head, and I shall not be fit to be seen these six weeks. But, dear Mr. Rambler, how can I help it? At this very time Melissa is dancing with the prettiest gentleman; she will breakfast with him to-morrow, and then run to two auctions, and hear compliments, and have presents; then she will be dressed and visit, and get a ticket to the play, then go to cards, and win, and come home with two flambeaus before her chair. Dear Mr. Rambler, who can bear it?

---

'I am at a loss to guess for what purpose they relate such tragic stories of the cruelty, perfidy, and artifices of men, who, if they ever were so malicious and destructive, have certainly now reformed their manners. I have not, since my entrance into the world, found one who does not profess himself devoted to my service, and ready to live or die as I shall command him. They are so far from intending to hurt me that their only contention is, who shall be allowed most closely to attend and most frequently to treat me; when different places of entertainment or schemes of pleasure are mentioned, I can see the eyes sparkle and the cheeks glow of him whose proposals obtain my approbation; he then leads me off in triumph, adores my condescension, and congratulates himself that he has lived to the hour of felicity. Are these, Mr. Rambler, creatures to be feared? and is it likely that any injury will be done me by those who can enjoy life only while I favour them with my presence?

'As little reason can I yet find to suspect them of stratagems and fraud. When I play at cards they never take advantage of any mistakes, nor exact from me a rigorous observation of the game. Even Mr. Shuffle, a grave gentleman, who has daughters older than myself, plays with me so negligently that I am sometimes inclined to believe he loses his money by design; and yet he is so fond of play that he says he will one day take me to his house in the country, that we may try by ourselves who can conquer. I have not yet promised him; but when the town grows a little empty I shall think upon it, for I want some trinkets, like Letitia's, to my watch. I do not doubt my luck, but I must study some means of amusing my relations.

'For all these distinctions I find myself indebted to that beauty which I was never suffered to hear praised, and of which, therefore, I did not before know the full value. This concealment was certainly an intentional fraud, for my aunts have eyes like other people, and I am every day told that nothing but blindness can escape the influence of my charms. Their whole account of that world which they pretend to know so well has been only one fiction entangled with another; and though the modes of life oblige me to continue some appearances of respect, I cannot think that they who have been so clearly detected in ignorance or imposture have any right to the esteem, veneration, or obedience of,

'Sir, yours,
'Bellaria.'

The 'Rambler.'—Vol. III. No. 199.

Obscure, unprized, and dark the magnet lies,

Nor lures the search of avaricious eyes,

Nor binds the neck, nor sparkles in the hair,

Nor dignifies the great, nor decks the fair.

But search the wonders of the dusky stone,

And own all glories of the mine outdone,

Each grace of form, each ornament of state,

That decks the fair or dignifies the great!

'To the "Rambler."

'Sir,—The curiosity of the present race of philosophers having been long exercised upon electricity has been lately transferred to magnetism; the qualities of the loadstone have been investigated, if not with much advantage, yet with great applause; and, as the highest praise of art is to imitate nature, I hope no man will think the makers of artificial magnets celebrated or reverenced above their deserts.

'I have for some time employed myself in the same practice, but with deeper knowledge and more extensive views. While my contemporaries were touching needles and raising weights, or busying themselves with inclination and variation, I have been examining those qualities of magnetism which may be applied to the accommodation and happiness of common life. I have left to inferior understandings the care of conducting the sailor through the hazards of the ocean, and reserved to myself the more difficult and illustrious province of preserving the connubial compact from violation, and setting mankind free for ever from the torments of fruitless vigilance and anxious suspicion.

'To defraud any man of his due praise is unworthy of a philosopher. I shall therefore openly confess that I owe the first hint of this inestimable secret to the Rabbi Abraham Ben Hannase, who, in his treatise of precious stones, has left this account of the magnet: "The calamita, or loadstone, that attracts iron, produces many bad fantasies in man. Women fly from this stone. If, therefore, any husband be disturbed with jealousy, and fear lest his wife converses with other men, let him lay this stone upon her while she is asleep. If she be pure she will, when she wakes, clasp her husband fondly in her arms; but if she be guilty she will fall out of bed, and run away."

'With these hopes I shall, in a short time, offer for sale magnets armed with a particular metallic composition, which concentrates their virtue and determines their agency.

'I shall sell them of different sizes, and various degrees of strength. I have some of a bulk proper to be hung at the bed's head, as scarecrows, and some so small that they may be easily concealed. Some I have ground into oval forms, to be hung at watches; and some, for the curious, I have set in wedding rings, that ladies may never want an attestation of their innocence. Some I can produce so sluggish and inert that they will not act before the third failure, and others so vigorous and animated that they exert their influence against unlawful wishes, if they have been willingly and deliberately indulged. As it is my practice honestly to tell my customers the properties of my magnets I can judge by the choice of the delicacy of their sentiments. Many have been contented to spare cost by purchasing only the lowest degree of efficacy, and all have started with terror from those which operate upon the thoughts. One young lady only fitted on a ring of the strongest energy, and declared that she scorned to separate her wishes from her acts, or allow herself to think what she was forbidden to practise.

'I am, &c., 'Hermeticus.'

CHAPTER XVII.
THACKERAY'S FAMILIARITY WITH THE WRITINGS OF THE SATIRICAL ESSAYISTS—Continued.

Characteristic Passages from the Works of the 'Early Humourists,' from Thackeray's Library, illustrated by the Author's hand with original Marginal Sketches suggested by the Text—The 'Mirror,' Edinburgh, 1779-80—Introduction—The Society in which the 'Mirror' and 'Lounger' originated—Notice of Contributors—Paragraphs and Pencillings.

Preface to the 'Mirror.'

The circumstances which led to the publication of the 'Mirror,' by a certain society of friends in Edinburgh, are set forth in the concluding paper of that work, No. 110, which originally appeared May 27, 1780. The dying speech of the Scotch essayist forms a suitable introduction to the series.

Extremum concede laborem.—Virg. Ecl. x. 1.

'As, at the close of life, people confess the secrets and explain the mysteries of their conduct, endeavour to do justice to those with whom they have had dealings, and to die in peace with all the world; so in the concluding number of a periodical publication, it is usual to lay aside the assumed name, or fictitious character, to ascribe the different papers to their true authors, and to wind up the whole with a modest appeal to the candour or indulgence of the public.

'In the course of these papers the author has not often ventured to introduce himself, or to give an account of his own situation; in this, therefore, which is to be the last, he has not much to unravel on that score. From the narrowness of the place of its appearance, the 'Mirror' did not admit of much personification of its editor; the little disguise he has used has been rather to conceal what he was than to give himself out for what he was not.

'The idea of publishing a periodical paper in Edinburgh took its rise in a company of gentlemen whom particular circumstances of connection brought frequently together. Their discourse often turned upon subjects of manners, of taste, and of literature. By one of these accidental resolutions, of which the origin cannot easily be traced, it was determined to put their thoughts into writing, and to read them for the entertainment of each other. Their essays assumed the form, and soon after some one gave them the name, of a periodical publication; the writers of it were naturally associated, and their meetings increased the importance as well as the number of their productions. Cultivating letters in the midst of business, composition was to them an amusement only; that amusement was heightened by the audience which this society afforded; the idea of publication suggested itself as productive of still higher entertainment.

'It was not, however, without diffidence that such a resolution was taken. From that and several other circumstances it was thought proper to observe the strictest secrecy with regard to the authors; a purpose in which they have been so successful that, at this very moment, the very publisher of the work knows only one of their number, to whom the conduct of it was entrusted.'

The members of the society alluded to in the last number of the 'Mirror' afterwards carried on the 'Lounger.' They were Mr. R. Cullen, Mr. M'Leod Bannatyne, Mr. George Ogilvy, Mr. Alex. Abercromby, and Mr. W. Craig, advocates, the last two of whom were afterwards appointed Judges of the Court of Session in Scotland; Mr. George Home, one of the principal clerks of that court; and Mr. H. Mackenzie, of the Exchequer of Edinburgh.

Of these Mr. Ogilvy, though with abilities and genius abundantly capable of the task, never contributed to the 'Mirror,' and the society had to lament his death before the appearance of the 'Lounger.' None of its members, Mr. Mackenzie excepted, whose name is sufficiently known as an author, had ever before been concerned in any publication. To Mr. Mackenzie, therefore, was entrusted the conducting the work, and he alone had any communication with the editor, to whom the other members of the society were altogether unknown. Secrecy was an object of much importance to a work of this sort; and during the publication of both these performances it was singularly well attained.

Mr. Mackenzie's papers were the most numerous. He is stated to have been the author of Nos. 2, 5, 7, 11, 12, 14, 16 (the latter part of 17), 21, 23, 25, 30, 32, 34 (part of 35), 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 49, 53, 54 (part of 56), 61, 64, 72, 78, 80, 81, 84, the poem in 85 (part of 89), 91, 92, 93 (part of 96), 99, 100, 101 (parts of 102, 103), 105, 107, 108, 109, and 110.

The contributions of correspondents were of considerable assistance to the success of the 'Mirror.' Of these Lord Hailes was the most industrious; among other promoters we find the names of Mr. Richardson, Professor of Humanity at Glasgow; Mr. Fraser Tytler, Advocate and Professor of History in the University of Edinburgh; Mr. D. Hume, Professor of Scots Laws at Edinburgh, nephew of the celebrated David Hume; D. Beattie; Cosmo Gordon, Esq., one of the Barons of Exchequer in Scotland; Mr. W. Strahan, of London, the King's printer; Mr. Baron Gordon, &c.

THE 'MIRROR.'

A Periodical Paper Published at Edinburgh in the Years 1779 and 1780.

Veluti in speculo.

'No child ever heard from its nurse the story of "Jack the Giant Killer's Cap of Darkness" without envying the pleasures of invisibility.

'This power is, in some degree, possessed by the writer of an anonymous paper. He can at least exercise it for a purpose for which people would be most apt to use the privilege of being invisible: to wit, that of hearing what is said of himself.

'A few hours after the publication of my first number, I sallied forth, with all the advantages of invisibility, to hear an account of myself and my paper.

'A smart-looking young man, in green, said he was sure it would be very satirical; his companion, in scarlet, was equally certain that it would be very stupid. But with this last prediction I was not much offended, when I discovered that its author had not read the first number, but only inquired of Mr. Creech where it was published.

'A plump round figure, near the fire, who had just put on his spectacles to examine the paper, closed the debate by observing, with a grave aspect, that, as the author was anonymous, it was proper to be very cautious in talking of the performance. After glancing over the pages, he said he could have wished they had set apart a corner for intelligence from America; but, having taken off his spectacles, wiped, and put them into their case, he said, with a tone of discovery, he had found out the reason why there was nothing of that sort in the "Mirror"—it was in order to save the tax upon newspapers.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 4.

Meliora pii docuere parentes.

The following is an extract from a letter, addressed by a parent to the editor, on the evil consequences of sending youths to Paris to finish their education:—

'When the day of their return came, my girl, who had been constantly on the look-out, ran to tell me she saw a postchaise driving to the gate. But, judge of my astonishment when I saw two pale, emaciated figures get out of the carriage, in their dress and looks resembling monkeys rather than human creatures. What was still worse, their manners were more displeasing than their appearance. When my daughter ran up, with tears of joy in her eyes, to embrace her brother, he held her from him, and burst into an immoderate fit of laughter at something in her dress that appeared to him ridiculous. He was joined in the laugh by his younger brother, who was pleased, however, to say that the girl was not ill-looking, and, when taught to put on her clothes, and to use a little rouge, would be tolerable.

'Mortified as I was at this impertinence, the partiality of a parent led me to impute it, in a great measure, to the levity of youth; and I still flattered myself that matters were not so bad as they appeared to be. In these hopes I sat down to dinner. But there the behaviour of the young gentlemen did not, by any means, tend to lessen my chagrin. There was nothing at table they could eat; they ran out in praise of French cookery, and seemed even to be adepts in the science; they knew the component ingredients of most fashionable ragoûts and fricandeaus, and were acquainted with the names and characters of the most celebrated practitioners of the art in Paris.

'In short, it was found these unfortunate youths had returned ignorant of everything they ought to know, their minds corrupted, their bodies debilitated, and their vanity and conceit making them incapable of listening to reason or advice.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 10.

Mr. Fleetwood, a man of excessive refinement and delicacy of taste, is described as paying visits to his friends in the country. But the pleasures which might possibly be derived from this exercise are marred by his false sensibility.

'Our next visit was to a gentleman of liberal education and elegant manners, who, in the earlier part of his life, had been much in the polite world. Here Mr. Fleetwood expected to find pleasure and enjoyment sufficient to atone for his two previous experiences which were far from agreeable; but here, too, he was disappointed.

'Mr. Selby, for that was our friend's name, had been several years married. His family increasing, he had retired to the country, and, renouncing the bustle of the world, had given himself up to domestic enjoyments; his time and attention were devoted chiefly to the care of his children. The pleasure which he himself felt in humouring all their little fancies made him forget how troublesome that indulgence might be to others.

'The first morning we were at his house, when Mr. Fleetwood came into the parlour to breakfast, all the places at table were occupied by the children; it was necessary that one of them should be displaced to make room for him; and, in the disturbance which this occasioned, a teacup was overturned, and scalded the finger of Mr. Selby's eldest daughter, a child about seven years old, whose whimpering and complaining attracted the whole attention during breakfast. That being over, the eldest boy came forward with a book in his hand, and Mr. Selby asked Mr. Fleetwood to hear him read his lesson. Mrs. Selby joined in the request, though both looked as if they were rather conferring a favour on their guest. The eldest had no sooner finished, than the youngest boy presented himself; upon which his father observed that it would be doing injustice to Will not to hear him as well as his elder brother Jack, and in this way was my friend obliged to spend the morning in performing the office of a schoolmaster to the children in succession.

'Mr. Fleetwood liked a game at whist, and promised himself a party in the evening, free from interruption. Cards were accordingly proposed, but Mrs. Selby observed that her little daughter, who still complained of her scalded finger, needed amusement as much as any of the company. In place of cards, Miss Harriet insisted on the "game of the goose." Down to it we sat, and to a stranger it would have been not unamusing to see Mr. Fleetwood, with his sorrowful countenance, at the "royal and pleasant game of the goose," with a child of seven years old. It is unnecessary to dwell longer on particulars. During all the time we were at Mr. Selby's the delighted parents were indulging their fondness, while Mr. Fleetwood was repining and fretting in secret.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 117.

Inanit veteres statuas Damasippus emendo.—Hor.

A wife is writing to the 'Mirror' upon a new affliction which has attacked her husband. He happened to receive a crooked shilling in exchange for some of his goods (the husband was a grocer), and a virtuoso informed him that it was a coin of Alexander III., of great rarity and value, whereupon the good man became seized with a passion for collecting curiosities.

'His taste,' says the wife's letter, 'ranges from heaven above to the earth beneath, and to the waters under the earth. Every production of nature or of art, remarkable either for beauty or deformity, but particularly if either scarce or old, is now the object of my husband's avidity. The profits of our business, once considerable, but now daily diminishing, are expended, not only on coins, but on shells, lumps of different coloured stones, dried butterflies, old pictures, ragged books, and worm-eaten parchments.

'Our house, which it was once my highest pleasure to keep in order, it would be now equally vain to attempt cleaning as the ark of Noah. The children's bed is supplied by an Indian canoe; and the poor little creatures sleep three of them in a hammock, slung up to the roof between a stuffed crocodile and the skeleton of a calf with two heads. Even the commodities of our shop have been turned out to make room for trash and vermin. Kites, owls, and bats are perched upon the top of our shelves; and it was but yesterday that, putting my hand into a glass jar that used to contain pickles, I laid hold of a large tarantula in place of a mangoe.

'In the bitterness of my soul, Mr. Mirror, I have been often tempted to revenge myself on the objects of my husband's phrenzy, by burning, smashing, and destroying them without mercy; but, besides that such violent procedure might have effects too dreadful upon a brain which, I fear, is already much unsettled, I could not take such a course without being guilty of a fraud to our creditors, several of whom will, I believe, sooner or later, find it their only means of reimbursement to take back each man his own monsters.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 25.

The 'Mirror' prints a letter upon the grievances felt by the families of men of small fortunes when associated with those enjoying great ones.

'You will remember, sir, my account of a visit which my daughters paid to a great lady in our neighbourhood, and of the effects which that visit had upon them. I was beginning to hope that time, and the sobriety of manners which home exhibited, would restore them to their former situation, when, unfortunately, a circumstance happened still more fatal to me than their expedition to ——. This, sir, was the honour of a visit from the great lady in return.

'I was just returning from the superintendence of my ploughs, in a field I have lately enclosed, when I was met, on the green before my door, by a gentleman (for such I took him to be) mounted upon a very handsome gelding, who asked me, by the appellation of honest friend, if this was not Mr. Homespun's; and, in the same breath, whether the ladies were at home. I told him my name was Homespun, the house was mine, and my wife and daughters were, I believed, within. Upon this, the young man, pulling off his hat, and begging my pardon for calling me honest, said he was despatched by Lady ——, with her compliments, to Mrs. and Misses Homespun, and that, if convenient, she intended herself the honour of dining with them, on her return from B—— Park (the seat of another great and rich lady in our neighbourhood).

'I confess, Mr. Mirror, I was struck somewhat of a heap with the message; and it would not, in all probability, have received an immediate answer, had it not been overheard by my eldest daughter, who had come to the window on the appearance of a stranger.

'"Mr. Papillot," said she, immediately, "I rejoice to see you; I hope your lady and all the family are well." "Very much at your service, ma'am," he replied, with a low bow; "my lady sent me before, with the offer of her best compliments, and that, if convenient"—and so forth, repeating his words to me. "She does us infinite honour," said my young madam; "let her ladyship know how happy her visit will make us; but, in the meantime, Mr. Papillot, give your horse to one of the servants, and come in and have a glass of something after your ride." "I am afraid," answered he (pulling out his right-hand watch, for, would you believe it, sir, the fellow had one in each fob), "I shall hardly have time to meet my lady at the place she appointed me." On a second invitation, however, he dismounted, and went into the house, leaving his horse to the care of the servants; but the servants, as my daughter very well knew, were all in the fields at work; so I, who have a liking for a good horse, and cannot bear to see him neglected, had the honour of putting Mr. Papillot's horse in the stable myself.'

The arrival of the distinguished party completely upset Mr. Homespun's establishment, turned the heads of his entire family, and annihilated the effect of all his good teachings.

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 50.

'It was formerly one of those national boasts which are always allowable, and sometimes useful, that the ladies of Scotland possessed a purity of conduct and delicacy of manners beyond that of most other countries. Free from the bad effects of overgrown fortunes, and from the dissipated society of an overgrown capital, their beauty was natural and their minds were uncorrupted.

'Formerly a London journey was attended with some difficulty and danger, and posting thither was an achievement as masculine as a fox-chase. Now the goodness of the roads and the convenience of the vehicles render it a matter of only a few days' moderate exercise for a lady; Facilis descensus Averni; our wives and daughters are carried thither to see the world, and we are not to wonder if some of them bring back only that knowledge of it which the most ignorant can acquire and the most forgetful retain. That knowledge is communicated to a certain circle on their return; the imitation is as rapid as it is easy; they emulate the English, who before have copied the French; the dress, the phrase, and the morale of Paris is transplanted first to London, and thence to Edinburgh; and even the sequestered regions of the country are sometimes visited in this northern progress of politeness.

'It will be said, perhaps, that there is often a levity of behaviour without any criminality of conduct; that the lady who talks always loud, and sometimes free, goes much abroad, or keeps a crowd of company at home, rattles in a public place with a circle of young fellows, or flirts in a corner with a single one, does all this without the smallest bad intention, merely as she puts on a cap and sticks it with feathers because she has seen it done by others whose rank and fashion entitle them to her imitation.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 44.

Sit mihi fas audita loqui.

'Passing the Exchange a few days ago, I perceived a little before me a short, plump-looking man, seeming to set his watch by St. Giles's clock, which had just then struck two. On observing him more closely, I recognised Mr. Blubber, with whom I had been acquainted at the house of our mutual friend Mr. Bearskin.

'He recollected me, and, shaking me cordially by the hand, told me he was just returned safe from his journey to the Highlands, and had been regulating his watch by our town clock, as he found the sun did not go exactly in the Highlands as it did in the Low country. He added, that if I would come and eat a Welsh rare-bit and drink a glass of punch with him and his family that evening, at their lodgings hard by, they would give me an account of their expedition.

'When I went to their lodgings in the evening, I could not help making one preliminary observation, that it was much too early in the season for visiting the country to advantage; but to this Mr. Blubber had a very satisfactory answer: they were resolved to complete their tour before the new tax upon post-horses should be put in execution.

'The first place they visited after they left Edinburgh was Carron, which Mr. Blubber seemed to prefer to any place he had seen; but the ladies did not appear to have relished it much. The mother said, "She was like to have fell into a fit at the noise of the great bellows." Miss Blubber agreed that it was monstrous frightful indeed. Miss Betsy had spoiled her petticoat in getting in, and said it was a nasty place, not fit for genteel people, in her opinion. Blubber put on his wisest face, and observed that women did not know the use of them things. There was much the same difference in their sentiments with regard to the Great Canal. Mr. Blubber took out a piece of paper, on which he had marked down the lockage duty received in a week there; he shook his head, however, and said he was sorry to find the shares below par.

'Taymouth seemed to strike the whole family. The number and beauty of the temples were taken particular notice of; nor was the trimness of the walks and hedges without commendation. Miss Betsy Blubber declared herself charmed with the shady walk by the side of the Tay, and remarked what an excellent fancy it was to shut out the view of the river, so that you might hear the stream without seeing it. Mr. Blubber, however, objected to the vicinity of the hills, and Mrs. Blubber to that of the lake, which she was sure must be extremely unwholesome.

'But, however various were the remarks of the family on the particulars of their journey in detail, I found they had perfectly settled their respective opinions of travelling in general. The ladies had formed their conclusion that it was monstrous pleasant, and the gentleman his that it was monstrous dear.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 50.

A correspondent is addressing the 'Mirror' on the ill effects of listlessness, indolence, and an aversion to profitable exertion. The writer describes his visit to a barrister without practice, who, having been left a small competence, had relinquished his profession to engage in literary pursuits.

Mr. Mordant, the literary recluse, on his friend's arrival, was discovered cultivating his kitchen garden. The visitor is conducted through the grounds, which had been laid out in accordance with the owner's taste.

'Near a village, on our way homewards, we met a set of countrymen engaged at cricket, and soon after a marriage company dancing the bride's dance upon the green. My friend, with a degree of gaiety and alacrity which I had never before seen him display, not only engaged himself, but compelled me likewise to engage in the exercise of the one and the merriment of the other. In a field before his door an old horse, blind at one eye, came up to us at his call, and ate the remainder of the grains from his hand from which he had previously fed a flock of tame pigeons.

'Our conversation for that evening, relating chiefly to the situation of our common friends, memory of former scenes, and other subjects as friends naturally converse about after a long absence, afforded me little opportunity of gratifying my curiosity. Next morning I arose at my wonted early hour, and stepping into his study found it unoccupied. Upon examining a heap of books and papers that lay confusedly mingled on the table and the floor, I was surprised to find that by much the greater part of them, instead of metaphysics and morals (the branches connected with his scheme of writing), treated of Belles Lettres, or were calculated merely for amusement. There was, besides, a journal of his occupations for several weeks, from which, as it affords a picture of his situation, I transcribe a part:—

'"Thursday, eleven at night.—Went to bed: ordered my servant to wake me at six, resolving to be busy all next day.

'"Friday morning.—Waked a quarter before six; fell asleep again, and did not wake till eight.

'"Till nine read the first act of Voltaire's 'Mahomet,' as it was too late to begin serious business.

'"Ten.—Having swallowed a short breakfast, went out for a moment in my slippers. The wind having left the east, am engaged by the beauty of the day to continue my walk. Find a situation by the river where the sound of my flute produced a very singular and beautiful echo—make a stanza and a half by way of an address to it—visit the shepherd lying ill of a low fever, find him somewhat better (mem.—to send him some wine)—meet the parson, and cannot avoid asking him to dinner—returning home find my reapers at work—superintend them in the absence of John, whom I send to inform the house of the parson's visit—read, in the meantime, part of Thomson's 'Seasons,' which I had with me—from one to six plagued with the parson's news and stories—take up 'Mahomet' to put me in good humour; finish it, the time allotted for serious study being elapsed—at eight, applied to for advice by a poor countryman, who had been oppressed; cannot say as to the law; give him some money—walk out at sunset to consider the causes of the pleasure arising from it—at nine, sup, and sit till eleven hearing my nephew read, and conversing with my mother, who was remarkably well and cheerful—go to bed.

'"Saturday. Some company arrived—to be filled up to-morrow"—(for that and the two succeeding days there was no further entry in the journal).

'"Tuesday.—Waked at seven; but, the weather being rainy and threatening to confine me all day, lay till nine—ten, breakfasted and read the newspapers; very dull and drowsy—eleven, day clears up, and I resolve on a short ride to clear my head."

'A few days' residence with him showed me that his life was in reality, as is here represented, a medley of feeble exertions, indolent pleasures, secret benevolence, and broken resolutions. Nor did he pretend to conceal from me that his activity was not now so constant as it had been; but he insisted that he still could, when he thought proper, apply with his former vigour, and flattered himself that these frequent deviations from his plan of employment, which in reality were the fruit of indolence and weakness, arose from reason and conviction.

'"After all," said he to me one day, when I was endeavouring to undeceive him, "after all, granting what you allege, if I be happy, and really am so, what more could activity, fame, or preferment bestow upon me?"

'After a stay of some weeks I departed, convinced that his malady was past a cure, and lamenting that so much real excellence and ability should be thus in a great measure lost to the world, as well as to their possessor, by the attendance of a single fault.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 56.

The following letter is from a dweller in the country, an ardent lover of retirement, who is enchanted with the simplicity of life and incident to be encountered in a pastoral retreat:—

'My dear Sir,—The moment I found myself disengaged from business, you know I left the smoke and din of your blessed city, and hurried away to pure skies and quiet at my cottage.

'You must have heard that our spring was singularly pleasant; but how pleasant it was you could not feel in your dusky atmosphere. My sister remarked that it had a faint resemblance to the spring of ——. Although I omit the year, you may believe that several seasons have passed away since that animating era recollected by my sister. "Alas! my friend," said I, "seasons return, but it is only to the young and the fortunate." A tear started in her eye, yet she smiled and resumed her tranquillity.

'We sauntered through the kitchen-garden, and admired the rapid progress of vegetation. "Everything is very forward," said my sister; "we must begin to bottle gooseberries to-morrow." "Very forward, indeed," answered I. "This reminds me of the young ladies whom I have seen lately—they seem forward enough, though a little out of season too."

'It was a poor witticism, but it lay in my way, and I took it up. Next morning the gardener came to our breakfasting-parlour. "Madam," said he, "all the gooseberries are gone." "Gone!" cried my sister; "and who could be so audacious? Brother, you are a justice of the peace; do make out a warrant directly to search for and apprehend. We have an agreeable neighbourhood, indeed! the insolence of the rabble of servants, of low-born, purse-proud folks, is not to be endured." "The gooseberries are not away," continued the gardener; "they are lying in heaps under the bushes; last night's frost, and a hail-shower this morning, have made the crop fail." "The crop fail!" exclaimed my sister; "and where am I to get gooseberries for bottling?" "Come, come, my dear," said I; "they tell me that in Virginia pork has a peculiar flavour from the peaches on which the hogs feed; you can let in the goslings to pick up the gooseberries, and I warrant you that this unlooked-for food will give them a relish far beyond that of any green geese of our neighbours at the castle." "Brother," replied she, "you are a philosopher." I quickly discovered that, while endeavouring to turn one misfortune into jest, I recalled another to her remembrance, for it seems that, by a series of domestic calamities, all her goslings had perished.

'A very promising family of turkey chicks has at length consoled her for the fate of the goslings, and on rummaging her store-room she finds that she has more bottled gooseberries left of last year than will suffice for the present occasions of our little family.

'That people of sense should allow themselves to be affected by the most trivial accident is ridiculous. There are, indeed, some things which, though hardly real evils, cannot fail to vex the wisest and discompose the equanimity of the most patient; for example, that fulsome court paid by the vulgar to rich upstarts, and the daily slights to which decayed nobility is exposed.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 68.

'One morning during my late visit to Mr. Umphraville (the writer of the previous letter on life in the country), as that gentleman, his sister, and I were sitting at breakfast, my old friend John came in, and delivered a sealed card to his master. After putting on his spectacles, and reading it with attention, "Ay," said Umphraville, "this is one of your modern improvements. I remember the time when one neighbour could have gone to dine with another without any fuss or ceremony; but now, forsooth, you must announce your intention so many days before; and by-and-by I suppose the intercourse between two country gentlemen will be carried on with the same stiffness of ceremonial that prevails among your small German princes. Sister, you must prepare a feast on Thursday. Colonel Plum says he intends to have the honour of waiting on us." "Brother," replied Miss Umphraville, "you know we don't deal in giving feasts; but if Colonel Plum can dine on a plain dinner, without his foreign dishes and French sauces, I can prepare him a bit of good mutton, and a hearty welcome."

'On the day appointed, Colonel Plum arrived, and along with him the gay, the sprightly Sir Bobby Button, who had posted down to the country to enjoy two days' shooting at Colonel Plum's, where he arrived just as that gentleman was setting out for Mr. Umphraville's. Sir Bobby, always easy, and who, in every society, is the same, protested against the Colonel's putting off his visit, and declared he would be happy to attend him.

'Though I had but little knowledge of Sir Bobby, I was perfectly acquainted with his character; but to Umphraville he was altogether unknown, and I promised myself some amusement from the contrast of two persons so opposite in sentiments, in manners, and in opinions.

'When he was presented I observed Umphraville somewhat shocked with his dress and figure, in both of which, it must be confessed, he resembled a monkey of a larger size. Sir Bobby, however, did not allow him much time to contemplate his external appearance, for he immediately, without any preparation or apology, began to attack the old gentleman on the bad taste of his house, and of everything about it. "Why the devil," said he, "don't you enlarge your windows, and cut down those damned hedges and trees that spoil your lawn so miserably? If you would allow me, I would undertake, in a week's time, to give you a clever place." To this Umphraville made no answer; and indeed the baronet was so fond of hearing himself talk, and chattered away at such a rate, that he neither seemed to desire nor to expect an answer.

'On Miss Umphraville's coming in, he addressed himself to her, and, after displaying his dress, and explaining some particulars with regard to it, he began to entertain her with an account of the gallantries in which he had been engaged the preceding winter in London. He talked as if no woman could resist his persuasive address and elegant figure—as if London were one great seraglio, and he himself the mighty master of it.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 74.

'Dreams depend in part on the state of the air; that which has power over the passions may reasonably be presumed to have power over the thoughts of men. Now, most people know by experience how effectual, in producing joy and hope, are pure skies and sunshine, and that a long continuance of dark weather brings on solicitude and melancholy. This is particularly the case with those persons whose nervous system has been weakened by a sedentary life and much thinking; and they, as I hinted formerly, are most subject to troublesome dreams. If the external air can affect the motions of so heavy a substance as mercury in the tube of a barometer, we need not wonder that it should affect those finer liquids that circulate through the human body.

'How often, too, do thoughts arise during the day which we cannot account for, as uncommon, perhaps, and incongruous, as those which compose our dreams! Once, after riding thirty miles in a very high wind, I remember to have passed a night of dreams that were beyond description terrible; insomuch that I at last found it expedient to keep myself awake, that I might no more be tormented with them. Had I been superstitious, I should have thought that some disaster was impending. But it occurred to me that the tempestuous weather I had encountered the preceding day might be the occasion of all these horrors; and I have since, in some medical author, met with a remark to justify the conjecture.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 79.

Of Pastoral Poetry.

'It may be doubted whether the representation of sentiments belonging to the real inhabitants of the country, who are strangers to all refinement, or those entertained by a person of an elegant and cultivated mind, who from choice retires into the country with a view of enjoying those pleasures which it affords, is calculated to produce a more interesting picture. If the former is recommended by its naïveté and simplicity, it may be expected that the latter should have the preference in point of beauty and variety.

'The enlargement of the field of pastoral poetry would surely be of advantage, considering how much the common topics of that species of writing are already exhausted. We are become weary of the ordinary sentiments of shepherds, which have been so often repeated, and which have usually nothing but the variety of expression to recommend them. The greater part of the productions which have appeared under the name of pastorals are, accordingly, so insipid as to have excited little attention; which is the more remarkable because the subjects which they treat of naturally interest the affections, and are easily painted in such delusive colours as tend to soothe the imagination by romantic dreams of happiness.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 84.

'To dispute the right of fashion to enlarge, to vary, or to change the ideas, both of man and woman kind, were a want of good breeding, of which the author of a periodical publication, who throws himself, as it were, from day to day on the protection of the polite world, cannot be supposed capable.

'I pay, therefore, little regard to the observations of some antiquated correspondents who pretend to set up what they call the invariable notions of things against the opinions and practice of people of condition.

'I am afraid that Edinburgh (talking like a man who has travelled) is but a sort of mimic metropolis, and cannot fairly pretend to the same license of making a fool of itself as London or Paris. The circle, therefore, taking them en gros, of our fashionable people here, have seldom ventured on the same beautiful irregularity in dress, in behaviour, or in manners that is frequently practised by the leaders of ton in the capital of France or England.

'With individuals the same rule of subordination is to be observed, which, however, persons of extraordinary parts, of genius above their condition, are sometimes apt to overlook. I perceive, in the pit of the play-house, some young men who have got fuddled on punch, as noisy and as witty as the gentlemen in the boxes who have been drinking Burgundy; and others, who have come sober from the counter or writing-desk, give almost as little attention to the play as men of 3,000 l. a year. My old school acquaintance, Jack Wou'd-be, t'other morning had a neckcloth as dirty as a lord's, and picked his teeth after dinner, for a quarter of an hour, by the assistance of the little mirror in the lid of his tooth-pick case. I take the first opportunity of giving him a friendly hint, that this practice is elegant only in a man who has made the tour of Europe.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 32.

An Essay upon Figure-Makers.

'There is a species of animal, several of whom must have fallen under the notice of everybody present, which it is difficult to class either among the witty or the foolish, the clever or the dull, the wise or the mad, who, of all others, have the greatest propensity to figure-making. Nature seems to have made them up in haste, and to have put the different ingredients, above referred to, into their composition at random. Here there is never wanting a junta of them of both sexes, who are liked or hated, admired or despised, who make people laugh, or set them asleep, according to the fashion of the time or the humour of the audience, but who have always the satisfaction of talking themselves, or of being talked of by others. With us, indeed, a very moderate degree of genius is sufficient for this purpose; in small societies folks are set agape by small circumstances. I have known a lady here contrive to make a figure for half the winter on the strength of a plume of feathers, or the trimming of a petticoat; and a gentleman make shift to be thought a fine fellow, only by outdoing everybody else in the thickness of his queue, or the height of his foretop.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 98.

A student of 'good parts' has accepted, for one year, the post of resident tutor to a young gentleman with rich expectations. He writes to the 'Mirror,' describing the little progress he can make in the advancement of his pupil's education, owing to the frivolous interruptions which postpone serious application from day to day. Study has been already set aside, on various pretexts, for the first four days of the week. The close of his letter relates how he fared on the Friday and Saturday.

'"You must know," says Mrs. Flint, the gentleman's mamma, at breakfast, "that I am assured that Jemmy is very like the Count de Provence, the King of France's own brother. Now Jemmy is sitting for his picture to Martin, and I thought it would be right to get the friseur, whom you saw last night [he has just arrived from Paris], to dress his hair like the Count de Provence, that Mr. Martin might make the resemblance more complete. Jemmy has been under his hands since seven o'clock. Oh, here he comes!" "Is it not charming?" exclaimed Miss Juliana. "I wish your future bride could see you," added the happy mother. My pupil, lost in the labyrinth of cross curls, seems to look about for himself. "What a powdered sheep's head have we got here?" cried Captain Winterbottom. We all went to Mr. Martin's to assist him in drawing Jemmy's picture. On our return, Mrs. Flint discovered that her son had got an inflammation in his right eye by looking steadfastly on the painter. She ordered a poultice of bread and milk, and put him to bed; so there was no more talk of "Omnibus in terris" for that evening.

'My pupil came down to breakfast in a complete suit of black, with weepers, and a long mourning-cravat. The Count de Provence's curls were all demolished, and there remained not a vestige of powder on his hair. "Bless me!" cried I, "what is the matter?" "Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Flint; "a relation of mine is to be interred at twelve, and Jemmy has got a burial letter. We ought to acknowledge our friends on such melancholy occasions, I mean to send Jemmy with the coach-and-six; it will teach him how to behave himself in public places."

'At dinner my pupil expressed a vehement desire to go to the play. "There is to be 'Harlequin Highlander,' and the blowing up of the St. Domingo man-of-war," said he; "it will be vastly comical and curious." "Why, Jemmy," said Mrs. Flint, "since this is Saturday, I suppose your tutor will have no objection; but be sure to put on your great coat, and to take a chair in coming home." "I thought," said I, "that we might have made some progress at our books this evening." "Books on Saturday afternoon!" cried the whole company; "it was never heard of." I yielded to conviction; for, indeed, it would have been very unreasonable to have expected that he who had spent the whole week in idleness should begin to apply himself to his studies on the evening of Saturday.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 105.

The editor is enlarging on certain vanities and fashionable absurdities which town people, when they rusticate for change of air, cannot forbear importing with them.

'In the first place, I would beg of those who migrate from the City not to carry too much of the town with them into the country. I will allow a lady to exhibit the newest-fashioned cut in her riding-habit, or to astonish a country congregation with the height of her head-dress; and a gentleman, in like manner, to sport, as they term it, a grotesque pattern of a waistcoat, or to set the children agape by the enormous size of his buckles. These are privileges to which gentlemen and ladies may be thought to have entitled themselves by the expense and trouble of a winter's residence in the capital. But there is a provoking though a civil sort of consequence such people are apt to assume in conversation which, I think, goes beyond the just prerogative of township, and is, a very unfair encroachment on the natural rights of their friends and relations in the country. They should consider that though there are certain subjects of ton and fashion on which they may pronounce ex cathedrâ (if I may be allowed so pedantic a phrase) yet that, even in the country, the senses of hearing, seeing, tasting, and smelling may be enjoyed to a certain extent, and that a person may like or dislike a new song, a new lutestring, a French dish, or an Italian perfume, though such person has been unfortunate enough to pass last winter at a hundred miles' distance from the metropolis.'

The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 108.

The editor is recounting a deeply sentimental story, written with all seriousness, in a style sufficiently burlesque and laughable. It refers to the love of Sir Edward, an English gentleman, who, while travelling in Piedmont, had met with an accidental fall from his horse, and been carried to the residence of a small proprietor named Venoni, for whose daughter the baronet immediately conceived a tenderness, which was returned by the fair Louisa.

'The disclosure of Sir Edward's passion was interrupted by the untoward arrival of Louisa's parent, accompanied with one of their neighbours, a coarse, vulgar, ignorant man, whose possessions led her father to look upon him with favour. Venoni led his daughter aside, told her he had brought her future husband, and that he intended they should be married in a week at furthest.

'Next morning Louisa was indisposed, and kept her chamber. Sir Edward was now perfectly recovered. He was engaged to go out with Venoni; but before his departure he took up his violin, and touched a few plaintive notes on it. They were heard by Louisa.

'In the evening she wandered forth to indulge her sorrows alone. She had reached a sequestered spot, where some poplars formed a thicket, on the banks of a little stream that watered the valley. A nightingale was perched on one of them, and had already begun its accustomed song. Louisa sat down on a withered stump, leaning her cheek upon her hand. After a little while, the bird was scared from its perch, and flitted from the thicket. Louisa rose from the ground, and burst into tears. She turned—and beheld Sir Edward. His countenance had much of its former languor; and, when he took her hand, he cast on the earth a melancholy look, and seemed unable to speak his feelings.

---

'Louisa was at last overcome. Her face was first pale as death, then suddenly it was crossed with a crimson blush. "Oh, Sir Edward!" she said. "What—what would you have me do?" He eagerly seized her hand, and led her reluctant to the carriage. They entered it, and, driving off with furious speed, were soon out of sight of those hills which pastured the flocks of the forsaken Venoni.'