[No. 246. [Steele.]
From Thursday, Nov. 2, to Saturday, Nov. 4, 1710.
----Vitiis nemo sine nascitur, optimus ille est
Qui minimis urgetur.——
Hor., 1 Sat. iii. 68.
From my own Apartment, Nov. 3.
When one considers the turn which conversation takes in almost every set of acquaintance, club or assembly, in this town or kingdom, one cannot but observe, that in spite of what I am every day saying, and all the moral writers since the beginning of the world have said, the subject of discourse is generally upon one another's faults. This in a great measure proceeds from self-conceit, which were to be endured in one or other individual person; but the folly has spread itself almost over all the species; and one cannot only say, Tom, Jack, or Will, but in general, that man is a coxcomb. From this source it is that any excellence is faintly received, any imperfection unmercifully exposed. But if things were put in a true light, and we would take time to consider that man in his very nature is an imperfect being, our sense of this matter would be immediately altered, and the word "imperfection" would not carry an unkinder idea than the word "humanity." It is a pleasant story, that we, forsooth, who are the only imperfect creatures in the universe, are the only beings that will not allow of imperfection. Somebody has taken notice, that we stand in the middle of existences, and are by this one circumstance the most unhappy of all others. The brutes are guided by instinct, and know no sorrow; the angels have knowledge, and they are happy; but men are governed by opinion, which is I know not what mixture of instinct and knowledge, and are neither indolent nor happy. It is very observable, that critics are a people between the learned and the ignorant, and by that situation enjoy the tranquillity of neither. As critics stand among men, so do men in general between brutes and angels. Thus every man as he is a critic and a coxcomb, till improved by reason and speculation, is ever forgetting himself, and laying open the faults of others.
At the same time that I am talking of the cruelty of urging people's faults with severity, I cannot but bewail some which men are guilty of for want of admonition. These are such as they can easily mend, and nobody tells them of; for which reason I shall make use of the penny-post (as I have with success to several young ladies about turning their eyes, and holding up their heads) to certain gentlemen whom I remark habitually guilty of what they may reform in a moment. There is a fat fellow whom I have long remarked wearing his breast open in the midst of winter, out of an affectation of youth. I have therefore sent him just now the following letter in my physical capacity:
"Sir,
"From the twentieth instant to the first of May next, both days inclusive, I beg of you to button your waistcoat from your collar to your waistband. I am,