11 No. 210.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 12, 1710. I DID myself the honour this day to make a visit to a lady of quality, who is one of those that are ever railing at the vices of the age, but mean only one vice, because it is the only vice they are not guilty of. She went so far as to fall foul on a young woman, who has had imputations; but whether they were just or not, no one knows but herself. However that is, she is in her present behaviour modest, humble, pious, and discreet. I thought it became me to bring this censorious lady to reason, and let her see, she was a much more vicious woman than the person she spoke of. 'Madam,' said I, 'you are very severe to this poor young woman for a trespass which I believe heaven has forgiven her, and for which, you see, she It is for ever out of countenance.' 'Nay, Mr. Bickerstaff,' she interrupted, if you at this time of day contradict people of virtue, and stand up for ill 2 women.'' No, no, madam,' said I, 'not so fast; she is reclaimed, and I fear you never will be. Nay, nay, madam, do not be in a passion; but let me tell you what you are. You are indeed as good as your neighbours; but that is being very bad. You are a woman at the head of a family, and lead a perfect town-lady's life. You go on your own way, and consult nothing but your glass. What imperfections indeed you see there, you immediately mend as fast as you can. You may do the same by the faults I tell you of; for they are much more in your power to correct. 'You are to know, then, that you visiting ladies that carry your virtue from house to house with so much prattle in each other's applause, and triumph over other people's peop faults, I grant you, have but the speculation of vice in your own conversations; but promote the practice of it in all others you have to do with. As for you, madam, your time passes away in dressing, eating, sleeping, and praying. When you rise in a morning, I grant you an hour spent very well; but you come out to dress in so froward a humour, that the poor girl who attends you, curses her very being in that she is your servant, for the peevish things you say to her; when this poor creature is put into a way, that good or evil are regarded but as they relieve her from the hours she has and must pass with you. The next you have to do with is your coachman and footmen. They convey your ladyship to church. While you are praying there, they are cursing, swearing, and drinking in an ale-house. During the time also which your ladysnip sets apart for heaven, you are to know, that your cook is sweating and fretting in preparation for your dinner. Soon after your meal you make visits, and the whole world that belongs to you speaks all the ill of you which you are repeating of others. You see, madam, whatever way you go, all about you are in a very bread one. The morality of these people it is your proper business to enquire into; and until you reform them, you had best let your equals alone; otherwise, if I allow you, you are not vicious, you must allow me you are not virtuous.' I took my leave, and received at my coming home the following letter: MR. BICKERSTAFF, come weary and impatient of the derision of the I must defer my answer to this lady out of a point of chronology. She says, she has been twentyseven years a maid; but I fear, according to a common error, she dates her virginity from her birth, which is a very erroneous method; for a woman of twenty is no more to be thought chaste so many years, than a man of that age can be said to have been so long valiant. We must not allow people the favour of a virtue, until they have been under the temptation to the contrary. A woman is not a maid until her birth-day, as we call it, of her fifteenth year. My plaintiff is therefore desired to inform me, whether she is at present in her twentyeighth or forty-third year, and she shall be despatched accordingly. St. James's Coffee-house, August 11. A merchant came hither this morning, and read a letter from a correspondent of his at Milan. It was dated the 7th instant, N. S. The following is an abstract of it:-On the 25th of the last month, five thousand men were on their march in the Lampourdan, under the command of general Wesell, having received orders from his catholic majesty to join him in his camp with all possible expedition. The duke of Anjeu soon had intelligence of their motion, and took a resolution to decamp, in order to intercept them within a day's march of our army. The king of Spain was apprehensive the enemy might make such a movement, and commanded general Stanhope with a body of horse, consisting of fourteen squadrons, to observe their course, and prevent their passage over the rivers Segra and Noguera, between Lerida and Baloguer. It happened to be the first day that officer had appeared abroad after a dangerous and violent fever; but he received the king's commands on this occasion with a joy which surmounted his present weakness, and on the twenty-seventh of last month came up with the enemy on the plains of Balaguer. The duke of Anjou's rear-guard consisting of twenty-six squadrons, that general sent intelligence of their posture to the king, and desired his majesty's orders to attack them. During the time which he waited for his instructions, he made his disposition for the charge, which was to divide themselves into three bodies; one to be commanded by himself in the centre, a body on the right by count Maurice of Nassau, and the third on the left by the earl of Rochford. Upon the receipt of his majesty's direction to attack the enemy, the general himself charged with the utmost vigour and resolution, while the earl of Rochford and count Maurice extended themselves on his right and left, to prevent the advantage the enemy might make of the supe. riority of their numbers. What appears to have misled the enemy's general in this affair was, that it was not supposed practicable that the confederates would attack him till they had received a reinforcement. For this reason, he pursued his march without facing about till we were actually coming on to engagement. General Stanhope's disposition made I have lived a pure and undefiled virgin these twenty-seven years; and I assure you, it is with great grief and sorrow of heart I tell you, that I be it impracticable to do it at that time; count Mau rice and the earl of Rochford attacking them in the when he falls into such difficulties, is led by a clue instant in which they were forming themselves. through a labyrinth. As to this world, he does not The charge was made with the greatest gallantry, pretend to skill in the mazes of it; but fixes his and the enemy very soon put into so great disorder, thoughts upon one certainty, that he shall soon be that their whole cavalry were commanded to sup- out of it. And we may ask very boldly, what can port their rear-guard. Upon the advance of this be a more sure consolation than to have a hope in reinforcement, all the horse of the king of Spain death? When men are arrived at thinking of their were come up to sustain General Stanhope, inso- very dissolution with pleasure, how few things there much, that the battle improved to a general engage-are that can be terrible to them? Certainly, noment of the cavalry of both armies. After a warm thing can be dreadful to such spirits, but what dispute for some time it ended in the utter defeat of would make death terrible to them, falsehood toall the duke of Anjou's horse. Upon the dispatch wards man, or impiety towards heaven. To such of these advices, that prince was retiring towards as these, as there are certainly many such, the graLerida. We have no account of any considerable tifications of innocent pleasures are doubled, even loss on our side, except that both those heroic with reflections upon their imperfection. The dis youths, the earl of Rochford and Count Nassau, fell in this action. They were, you know, both sons of persons who had a great place in the confidence of your late king William; and I doubt not but their deaths will endear their families, which were ennobled by him, in your nation. General Stanhope has been reported by the enemy dead of his wounds; but he received only a slight contusion on the shoulder. P.S. We acknowledge you here a mighty brave people; but you are said to love quarrelling so well, that you cannot be quiet at home. The favourers of the house of Bourbon among us affirm, that this Stanhope, who could, as it were, get out of his sickbed to fight against their king of Spain, must be of the anti-monarchical party. No. 211.] TUESDAY, AUGUST 15, 1710. Juv. Sat. vii. 56. What I can fancy but can ne'er express. Sunday, August 13. Dryden. Is there were no other consequences of it, but barely that on this day human creatures assemble themselves before their Creator, without regard to their usual employments, their minds at leisure from the cares of this life, and their bodies adorned with the best attire they can bestow on them; I say, were this mere outward celebration of a sabbath all that is expected from men, even that were a laudable distinction, and a purpose worthy the human nature. But when there is added to it the sublime pleasure of devotion, our being is exalted above itself; and he who spends a day in the contemplation of the next life, will not easily fall into the corruptions of this in the other six. They, who never admit thoughts of this kind into their imaginations, lose higher and sweeter satisfactions than can be raised by any other entertainment. The most illiterate man who is touched with devotion, and uses frequent exercises of it, contracts a certain greatness of mind, mingled with a noble simplicity, that raises him above those of the same condition; and appointments which naturally attend the great pr mises we make ourselves in expected enjoyments, strike no damp upon such men, but only quicken their hopes of soon knowing joys which are too pure bo admit of allay or satiety. It is thought, among the politer sort of mankind, an imperfection to want a relish of any of those things which refine our lives. This is the foundation of the acceptance which eloquence, music, and poetry make in the world; and I know not why devotion, considered merely as an exaltation of our happiness, should not at least be so far regarded as to be considered. It is possible the very inquiry would lead men into such thoughts and gratifica tions as they did not expect to meet with in this place- Many a good acquaintance has been lost from a general prepossession in his disfavour, and a severe aspect has often hid under it a very agreeable companion. There are no distinguishing qualities among men to which there are not false pretenders; but though none is more pretended to than that of devotion, there are perhaps fewer successful impostors in this kind than any other. There is something so natively great and good in a person that is truly devout, that an awkward man may as well pretend to be genteel, as a hypocrite to be pious. The constraint in words and actions are equally visible in both cases; and any thing set up in their room does but remove the endeavourers farther off from their pretensions. But, however the sense of true piety is abated, there is no other motive of action that can carry us through all the vicissitudes of life with alacrity and resolution. But piety, like philosophy, when it is superficial, does but make men appear the worse for it; and a principle that is but half received does but distract, instead of guiding our behaviour. When I reflect upon the unequal conduct of Lotius, I see many things that run directly counter to his interest; therefore I cannot attribute his labours for the public good to amietion. When I consider his diregard to his fortune I cannot esteem him covetous. How then can I reconcile his neglect for himself, and his zeal for others? I have long suspected him to be a little there is an indelible mark of goodness in those who pious: but no man ever hid his vice with greater sincerely possess it. It is hardly possible it should caution than he does his virtue. It was the praise be otherwise; for the fervours of a pious mind will of a great Roman, 'that he had rather be, than naturally contract such an earnestness and attention appear good. But such is the weakness of Letins, towards a better being, as will make the ordinary that I dare say, he had rather be esteemed irrelipassages of life go off with a becoming indifference. gious than devout. By I know not what impatience By this a man in the lowest condition will not ap- of raillery, he is wonderfully fearful of being pear mean, or, in the most splendid fortune, inso- thought too great a believer. A hundred little de lent. vices are made use of to hide a time of private As to all the intricacies and vicissitudes under devotion; and he will allow you any suspicion of which men are ordinarily entangled with the utmost his being ill employed, so you do not tax him with **sorrow and passion, one who is devoted to heaven, being well. But alas! how mean is such a beha : r viour? To boast of virtue, is a most ridiculous of disappointing the merit of it, but not SO way of pitiful as that of being ashamed of it. How unhappy is the wretch, who makes the most absolute aud independent motive of action the cause of perplexity and inconstancy. How different a figure does Cælicolo make with all who know him! His great and superior mind, frequently exalted by the raptures of heavenly meditation, is to all his friends of the same use, as if an angel were to appear at the decision of their disputes. They very well understand, he is as much disinterested and unbiassed as such a being. He considers all applications made to him, as those addresses will affect Fhis own application to heaven. All his determinations are delivered with a beautiful humility; and he pronounces his decisions with the air of one who is more frequently a supplicant than a judge. if Thus humble, and thus great, is the man who is moved by piety, and exalted by devotion. But behold this recommended by the masterly hand of a great divine I have heretofore made bold with. a It is such a pleasure as can never cloy or overwork the mind; a delight that grows and improves under thought and reflection; and while it exercises, does also endear itself to the mind. All pleasures that affect the body must needs weary, because they transport; and all transportation is a violence; and no violence can be lasting; but determines upon the falling of the spirits, which are not able to keep up that height of. motion that the pleasure of the senses raises them to. And therefore how inevitably does an immoderate laughter end in sigh, which is only nature's recovering itself after a C force done to it: but the religious pleasure of a well-disposed mind moves gently, and therefore constantly. It does not affect by rapture and ecstacy, but is like the pleasure of health, greater and stronger than those that call up the senses with grosser and more affecting impressions. No man's body is as strong as his appetites; but heaven has corrected the boundlessness of his voluptuous desires by stinting his strength, and contracting his capacities. The pleasure of the religious man is an easy and a portable pleasure, such a one as he carries about in his bosom, without alarming either the eye or the envy of the world. A man putting all his pleasures into this one, is like a traveller putting all his goods into one jewel; the value is the same, and the convenience greater.' fine, is the same vice in that case, as to be florid, is in writing or speaking. I have studied and writ on this important subject, until I almost despair of making a reformation in the females of this island; where we have more beauty than in any spot in the universe, if we did not disguise it by false garniture, and detract from it by impertinent improvements. I have by me a treatise concerning pinners, which, I have some hopes, will contribute to the amendment of the present head-dresses, to which I have solid and unanswerable objections. But most of the errors in that, and other particulars of adorning the head, are crept into the world from the ignorance of modern tirewomen; for it is come to that pass, that an awkward creature in the first year of her apprenticeship, that can hardly stick a pin, shall take upon her to dress a woman of the first quality. However, it is certain, that there requires in a good tirewoman a perfect skill in optics; for all the force of ornament is to contribute to the intention of the eyes. Thus she, who has a mind to look killing, must arm her face accordingly, and not leave her eyes and cheeks undressed. There is Araminta, who is so sensible of this, that she never will see even her own husband, without a hood on. Can any one living bear to see Miss Gruel, lean as she is, with her hair tied back after the modern way? But such is the folly of our ladies, that because one who is a beauty, out of ostentation of her being such, takes care to wear something that she knows cannot be of any consequence to her complexion; I say, our women run on so heedlessly in the fashion, that though it is the interest of some to hide as much of their faces as possible, yet because a leading toast appeared with a backward head-dress, the rest shall follow the mode, without observing that the author of the fashion assumed it because it could become no one but herself. Flavia is ever well dressed, and always the genteelest woman you meet: but the nake of her mind very much contributes to the ornament of her body. She has the greatest simplicity of manners of any of her sex. This makes everything look native about her, and her clothes are so exactly fitted, that they appear, as it were, part of her person. Every one that sees her knows her to be of quality, but her distinction is owing to her manner, and not to her habit. Her beauty is full of attraction, but not of allurement. There is such a composure in her looks, and propriety in her dress, that you would think it impossible she could change the garb, you one day see her in, for any thing so becoming, until you next day see her in another. There is no other mystery in this, but that however she is apparelled, she is herself the same; for there is so immediate a relation between our thoughts and gestures, that a woman must think well to look well But this weighty subject I must put off for some other matters, in which my correspondents are urgent for answers; which I shall do where I can, and appeal to the judgment of others where I cannot. 'MR. BICKERSTAFF, August 15, 1710. 'Taking the air the other day on horse-back in the green lane that leads to Southgate, I discovered coming towards me a person well mounted in a mask; and I accordingly expected, as any one would, to have been robbed. But when we came up with each other, the spark, to my greater surquence for his figure, his mien, от his gravity, passes by a youth, he should certainly have the first advances of salutation; but he is, you may observe, I think the lady's brother has given us a very geod idea of that elegant expression; it being the greatest beauty of speech to be close and intelligible. To this end, nothing is to be more carefully consulted than plainness. In a lady's attire this is the prise, very peaceably gave me the way; which single excellence; for to be, what some people call, made me take courage enough to ask him, if he masqueraded, or how? He made me no answer, are not got into the scheines and arts of life which but still continued incognito. This was certainly the children of the world walk by. One would an ass, in a lion's skin; a harmless bull-beggar, think that, of course, when a man of any conse who delights to fright innocent people, and set them a galloping. I bethought myself of putting as good a jest upon him, and had turned my horse, with a design to pursue him to London, and get him ap- treated in a quite different manner; it being the prehended, on suspicion of being a highwayman: very characteristic of an English temper to defy. but when I reflected, that it was the proper office of As I am an Englishman, I find it a very hard matthe magistrate to punish only knaves, and that we ter to bring myself to pull off the hat first; but it is had a Censor of Great Britain for people of another denomination, I immediately determined to prosecute him in your court only. This unjustifiable frolic I take to be neither wit nor humour, therefore hope you will do me, and as many others as were that day frighted, justice. 'I am, sir, 'Your friend and servant. 'SIR, J. L. • The gentleman begs your pardon, and frighted you out of fear of frighting you; for he is just come out of the small-pox.' SIR, 'I am, &c.' 'August 15, 1710. 'I observe that the Postman of Saturday last, giving an account of the action in Spain, has this elegant turn of expression; general Stanhope, wh in the whole action expressed as much bravery as conduct, conduct received a contusion in his right shoulder. I should be glad to know, whether this cautious politician means to commend or to rally him, by saying, 'He expressed as much bravery as conduct? If you can explain this dubious phrase, it will inform the public, and oblige, sir, Your humble servant, &c.' the only way to be upon any good terms with those we meet with. Therefore the first advance is of high moment. Men judge of others by themselves; and he that will command with us must condescend, It moves one's spleen very agreeably, to see fellows pretend to be dissemblers without this lesson. They are so reservedly complaisant, until they have learned to resign their natural passions, that all the steps they make towards gaining those whom they would be well with, are but so many marks of what they really are, and not of what they would appear. The rough Britons, when they pretend to be art ful towards one another, are ridiculous enough; but when they set up for vices they have not, and dissemble their good with an affectation of ill, they are insupportable. I know two men in this town who make as good figures as any in it, that manage their credit so well as to be thought atheists, and yet say their prayers morning and evening. Tom Springly, the other day, pretended to go to an as signment with a married woman at Rosamonds-pond, and was seen soon after reading the responses with great gravity at six o'clock prayers. Sheer-lane, August 17. Though the following epistle bears a just accusation of myself, yet in regard it is a more advantageous piece of justice to another, I insert it at large. 'MR. BICKERSTAFF, 'Garraway's Coffee-house, August 10. 'I have lately read your paper wherein you represent a conversation between a young lady, your three nephews, and yourself; and am not a little No. 213.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 19, 1710. offended at the figure you give your young mer Sheer-lane, August 18. THERE has of late crept in among the downright English a mighty spirit of dissimulation. But, before we discourse of this vice, it will be necessary to observe, that the learned make a difference between simulation and dissimulation. Simulation is a pretence of what is not, and dissimulation is a concealment of what is. The latter is our present affair. When you look round you in public places in this island, you see the generality of mankind carry in their countenance an air of challenge or defiance; and there is no such man to be found among us, who naturally strives to do greater honours and civilities than he receives. This innate sullenness or stubborntress of complexion is hardly to be conquered by any of our islanders. For which reason, however they may pretend to chouse one another, they make but very awkward rogues; and their dislike to each other is seldom so well dissembled, but it is suspected. When once it is so, it håd as good be professed. A man who dissembles well must have none of what we call stomach, otherwise he will be cold in his professions of good-will where he hates; an imperfection of the last ill consequence in business. This fierceness in our natures is apparent from the conduct of our young fellows, who chant in the presence of a beauty. The topic of love is a subject on which a man is more beholden to nature for his eloquence, than to the instruction of the schools, or my lady's woman. From the two latter your scholar and page must have reaped all their advantage above him. I know by this time you have pronounced me a trader. I acknowledge it; but cannot bear the exclusion from any pretence of speaking agreeably to a fine woman, or from any degree of generosity that way. You have among us citizens many well-wishers; but it is for the justice of your representations, which we, perhaps, are better judges of than you (by the account you give of your nephew) seem to allow. To give you an opportunity of making us some reparation, I desire you would tell, your own way, the following instance of heroic love in the city, You are to remember, that somewhere in your writings, for enlarging the territories of virtue and honour, you have multiplied the opportunities of attaining to heroic virtue; and have hinted, that in whatever state of life a man is, if he does things above what is ordinarily performed by men of his rank, he is in those instances a hero. Tom Trueman, a young gentleman of eighteen years of age, fell passionately in love with the beauteous Almira, daughter to his master. Her regard ! 1 for him was no less tender. Trueman was better of a full career, to the great surprise and derision of acquainted with his master's affairs than his daughter; and secretly lamented that each day brought him, by many miscarriages, nearer bankruptcy than the former. This unhappy posture of their affairs the youth suspected, was owing to the ill manage ment of a factor in whom his master had an entire confidence. Trueman took a proper occasion, when his master was ruminating on his decaying fortune, to address him for leave to spend the remainder of his time with his foreign correspondent. During three years' stay in that employment, he became acquainted with all that concerned his master, and by his great address in the management of that knowledge, saved him ten thousand pounds. Soon after this accident, Trueman's uncle left him a coniderable estate. Upon receiving that advice, he returned to England, and demanded Almira of her father. The father, overjoyed at the match, offered him the ten thousand pounds he had saved him, with the further proposal of resigning to him all his business. Trueman refused both; and retired into the country with his bride, contented with his own fortune, thongh perfectly skilled in all the methods of improving it. It is to be noted, that Trueman refused twenty thousand pounds with another young lady; so that eckoning both his self-denials, he is to have in your court the merit of having given thirty thousand pounds for the woman he loved. This gentleman I claim your justice to; and hope you will be convinced that some of us have larger views than only Cash Debtor, per contra Creditor. Yours, RICHARD TRAFFICK.' Mr. Thomas Trueman of Lime-street is entered among the heroes of domestic life. 'CHARLES LILLIE.' No. 214.] TUESDAY, AUGUST 22, 1710. 'Tis easy to descry their beholders. When a man foresees a decaying ministry, he has leisure to grow a malcontent, reflect upon the present conduct, and, by gradual murmurs, fall off from his friends into a new party, by just steps and measures. For want of such notices, I have formerly known a very well-bred person refuse to return a bow of a man whom he thought in disgrace, that was next day made secretary of state; and another, who, after a long neglect of a minister, came to his levee, and made professions of zeal for his service the very day before he was turned out. This produces also unavoidable confusions and mistakes in the descriptions of great men's parts and merits. That ancient Lyric M. D'Urfey, some years ago writ a dedication to a certain lord, in which he celebrated him for the greatest poet and critic of that age, upon a misinformation in Dyer's Letter, that his noble patron was made lord chamberlain. In short, innumerable votes, speeches, and sermons, have been thrown away, and turned to no account, merely for want of due and timely intelligence. Nay, it has been known, that a panegyric has been half printed off, when the poet, upon the removal of the minister, has been forced to alter it into a satire. For the conduct therefore of such useful persons, as are ready to do their country service upon all occasions, I have an engine in my study, which is a sort of political barometer, or, to speak more intelligibly, a state weather-glass, that by the rising and falling of a certain magical liquor, presages all changes and revolutions in government, as the common glass does those of the weather. This weatherglass is said to have been invented by Cardan, and given by him as a present to his great countryman and contemporary, Machiaval; which, by the way, may serve to rectify a received error in chronology, that places one of these some years after the other. How or when it came into my hands, I shall desire to be excused, if I keep to myself; but so it is, that I have walked by it for the better part of a century to my safety at least, if not to my advantage; and have among my papers a register of all the changes that have happened in it from the middle of queen Elizabeth's reign. In the time of that princess it stood long at settled fair. At the latter end of king James the First, it fell to cloudy. It held several years after at stormy: insomuch, that at last, despairing of seeing any clear weather at home, I followed the royal exile, and some time after, finding my glass rise, returned to my native country, with the rest of the are loyalists. I was then in hopes to pass the remainder of my days in settled fair: but, alas! during the greatest part of that reign, the English nation lay in a dead calm, which, as it is usual, was followed In every party there are two sorts of men, the rigid and the supple. The rigid are an intractable race of mortals, who act upon principle, and will not, forsooth, fall into any measures that are not consistent with their received notions of honour. These are persons of a stubborn unpliant morality; that sullenly adhere to their friends when they are disgraced, and to their principles, though they exploded. I shall therefore give up this stiff-necked generation to their own obstinacy, and turn my expiration thoughts to the advantage of the supple, who pay their homage to places, and not persons; and, by high winds and tempests, until of late years; in without enslaving themselves to any particular which, with unspeakable joy and satisfaction, I scheme of opinions, are as ready to change their have seen our political weather returned to settled conduct in point of sentiment as of fashion. The fair. I must only observe, that for all this last well-disciplined part of a court are generally so per- summer my glass has pointed at changeable. Upon fect at their exercise, that you may see a whole as- the whole, I often apply to Fortune, Æncas's speech sembly, from front to rear, face about at once to a to the Sibyl: new man of power, though at the same time, they turn their backs upon him that brought them thither. The great hardship these complaisant members of society are under, seems to be the want of warning upon any approaching change or revolution; so that they are obliged in a hurry to tack about with every wind, and stop short in the midst Non ulla laborum -No terror to my view, |