THE PLAIN DEALER: BEING SELECT ESSAYS ON SEVERAL CURIOUS SUBJECTS, RELATING TO
FRIENDSHIP,
LOVE, and
GALLANTRY,
MARRIAGE,
MORALITY,
MERCANTILE
AFFAIRS,
PAINTING,
HISTORY,
POETRY,
AND Other
Branches
of POLITE LITERATURE.
Publish'd Originally in the YEAR 1724. And now first Collected into TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON: Printed for
S. Richardson,
and
A. Wilde:
And sold by A. BETTESWORTH, J. OSBORN and T. LONGMAN, and J. BATLEY in
Pater-Noster
Row; W. INNYS, J. KNAPTON, and C. RIVINGTON, in St.
Paul
's Church-Yard; J. CLARKE, in
Duck-Lane
; and J. LEAKE, at
Bath.
M.DCC.XXX.
THE PREFACE.
T HO' such
ESSAYS,
as compose the following
Volumes,
are in
Universal Esteem,
and liable to every One's
Observations,
yet it has not been my Fortune to meet with any
Discourse
written purposely upon the
Nature
of them. The
ESSAYISTS
are apt to beat the
Imagination
in Search of
strange
and
exotick Subjects
to write upon, while a
Disquisition
into their own
Works,
which are capable of affording
Matter
so ample, seems to be intirely overlooked by
Them.
In this resembling the human
Mind,
which while it enters into, and examines the
Depth
of all other
Sciences,
seems to consider nothing less than its own
Motions.
MOST other Kinds of
Writing
have, I think, been the
Objects
of
Criticism,
and
Rules
and
Orders
have been laid down for the
Writers
of them to
Observe;
but in this
Species,
nobody is confin'd; The only
Rule
that I know, (and it is generally well observed) is not only to go without, but to go against all
Order
and
Method
whatsoever.
Montaigne,
if I mistake not, was the
Inventor
of it; and
He
is in all its
Beauties
and
Faults
the best
Pattern
to examine it by.
He
has a great deal of
Wit,
much good
Observation,
and some
Learning;
but his
ESSAYS
are wild, rambling, and incoherent; some of them don't treat at all of the
Subjects
propos'd, and others might as well have any other Title as those they wear: They are, in effect, like Mr.
Bays
's
Prologue,
that would do either as
Prologue
or
Epilogue,
or serve indifferently for any other
Play,
as well as that which it was written for.
THO' there are to be found among the
Antients
some little
Tracts
upon particular
Subjects,
which if they were written at this
Time,
would be called
ESSAYS;
yet as they were generally (if we except the
Symposiacks
of
Plutarch
) made by
Receipts,
and done with a View to the
Rules,
which
Orators
and
Declaimers
laid down for such
Compositions;
the Honour of this
Invention
must still be ascribed to
Montaigne,
who first introduced that useful
Practice
of
Digression
into
Treatises
upon select
Subjects;
and by giving us every whimsical
Conceit
that came into his Head, has led us as it were dancing after his
Morality,
much more pleasantly than if we walked in the Stilts, or were directed by the Leading-Strings which
Seneca
had accustomed us to.
Montaigne
had a great many Followers in
France,
and some in this Country: But the best, and he that excelled his
Original,
was
La Bruyere;
the finest and most delicate
Remarks,
the strongest
Sense,
and the justest
Reasoning,
all embellished by an Elegance of
Style,
and a Felicity of
Expression,
are to be found in his
Works;
to which we must add, that the frequent
Egotisms;
the needless
Quotations,
the whimsical
Display
of the Author's
Character
and
Manners
at every Period, and other Impertinences which pass upon some for
Humour,
are not to be met with in him. He has all the
Variety,
and an Appearance of the
Irregularity
which pleases, but intirely divested of the
Digression
and
Distraction
which consound and disgust the
READER
in these Performances. In short, reading
Montaigne,
is Hunting in a Country where you start so much
Game
as to spoil your
Sport;
while
La Bruyere
gives you all the
Pleasure
and
Variety
of the
Chace,
without the Fatigue of following the
Prey
too far.
WITHOUT arraigning the
Taste
of others, I will venture to say, That very little in this Way, worth
Observation,
has appeared at Home till the
TATLER
began to retail his Pennyworths of
WIT.
Several
Political Tracts,
it is true, have come forth, and some
Argumentative Discourses
which had their Shares of
Merit;
but did not come properly within this Species of
Writing.
The Character of
BICKERSTAFFE,
had it been real, was more upon the
Humourist
and
Whimsical
than that of
Montaigne;
and I believe the Fiction which was seen in it, by being natural, heighten'd the Pleasure which it gave us; besides, the Limits of his Paper prevented his being so diffuse and prolix, as we often find the
Frenchman,
who for want of such a Confinement, sometimes disgusts us. The
SPECTATOR,
and
NESTOR IRONSIDE,
are
Characters
also excellently well adapted to the Creation of our
Pleasures,
by our
Knowledge
of their being Fictitious: For such is our Malignity of
Temper,
that we can't forgive a real
Author
acting or thinking oddly or idly, though our
Entertainment
arises from thence, because we consider him as a reasonable Man, and obliged by a superior
Duty
to another kind of
Behaviour;
but we can indulge an imaginary, or assumed Personage in any ludicrous, frolicksome or whimsical
Words
or
Opinions,
because we know that he only plays the
Fool
for our
Delight
and
Amusement,
which we grudge him to do for his own. Thus
Montaigne
's Faults are the Beauties of
BICKERSTAFFE
and
IRONSIDE;
and thus
Cibber
and
Hippesly
are applauded on the
Stage,
for what they would in private
Life
run the Hazard of
Correction.
CERTAINLY, writing under an assumptive
Character
is a fine Improvement in this
Way;
and I believe the
Novelty
of it, without derogating from the
Wit, Humour,
good
Sense,
or excellent
Style
of those mentioned
Papers,
made up the greatest Part of their
Merit:
The little Incidents of human
Life,
Pieces of
Conversation,
and familiar
Arguments,
which may be thrown into
Writing
under such a
Character,
give it the
Advantage
of all other
Methods
: And I am of
Opinion
it must eternally
Please
(and the Success of the following
Papers,
when first publish'd, corroborates the Opinion) if as new
Matter
is continually rising, some
Genius's
could be found able to treat it in a Manner equal to their
Predecessors.
Tho' perhaps,
The Stamp Act
first, and then the Rise and Multiplication of
Weekly Journals,
are now such Impediments to a fair Hearing in this
Method,
as almost amount to a
Prohibition
of such
ESSAYS
for the future.
THE Invention of
Weekly Journals,
was, I believe owing to the
Taste
which the Town began to entertain from the Writings of the
TATLER, SPECTATOR,
and others. Small
ESSAYS
were so much liked, that it was imagined worth while to put a little
Wit,
and a great deal of
History
in a large Quantity of Paper, and sell it for the same or a less Price than
The Stamp Duty
had rais'd the half Sheet
Treatise
to. The
Project
succeeded, and we have had several excellent
Things
publish'd in that
Way;
some that in their
Fame
almost rivall'd any
Thing
that went before them, but by the Nature of their
Subjects,
ought to be excluded from this
Class
of
Writing;
which whatever Liberties Men take, ought never to be drawn into Controversies about
Religion
or
Government,
Things that, to be sure, require a more orderly and regular manner of Treating, than is consistent with the Freedom and Latitude of an
ESSAY.
BUT, as I hinted before, we have almost lost the Advantage of
Entertaining
in any other
Manner;
the
Journals
come abroad so seldom, that if a
Humour
was begun, Men would forget it before it could be prosecuted, and the
Jest
would be lost before it was found. The general Way now of communicating our
Thoughts
to the Publick, is, by distinct and unconnected
Letters
to the
Author
of this or that
Journal,
and the common assumed
Characters
are, a
Philosopher,
a
Critick,
or a
Divine;
in these, some important
Point
is constantly laid down, and as gravely and solemnly discussed. Thus we intrude upon the
Pulpit,
and seem not to think that to mend the
Heart
it is necessary to please the
Imagination.
THIS certainly is missing the
Mark,
and these little
ESSAYS
are written in the truest
Taste,
when they cloath good
Sense
with
Humour,
and embellish good
Morals
with
Wit;
when they instruct
Familiarly,
and reprove
Pleasantly;
when they don't swell above
Comprehension,
nor sink below
Delicacy:
In short, when they adapt the
Wisdom
of the
Antients
to the
Gust
of the
Moderns,
and constrain
Montaigne
's Pleasantry within
BICKERSTAFFE
's Compass.
I CAN'T conclude without mentioning two Objections, which amongst others, these Sort of
Writings,
and their
Authors,
are liable to, the first is, That as from the
Nature
of their Subjects, it is often necessary they should be
Occasional,
which requires
Dispatch,
and prevents that
Accuracy,
which much
Leisure,
and frequent
Reviews,
generally produce in other
Works,
that in such Cases, to sketch out, or design well, is as much as can be performed, which certainly can give the
Mind
but a half
Pleasure,
and so far the
Work
must necessarily be
Imperfect.
THE Second is to be found in
Ben Johnson
's Discoveries, which therefore take in his own Words.
SOME that turn over all Books, and are equally searching in all Papers, that write out of what they presently find or meet without Choice; by which means it happens that what they have discredited and impugned in one Work, they have before or after extolled the same in another. Such are all the
Essayists,
even their Master
Montaigne.
These in all they write, confess still what Books they have read last; and therein their own Folly, so much, that they bring it to the Stake
raw
and
undigested:
Not that the Place did need it neither, but that they thought themselves furnished, and would vent it.
THESE
Objections
had not been mentioned, but that we believe the following
Pieces
stand clear of them; the Reception which was at first given them, encourages us in that
Thought,
and it is hoped, That from a Perusal of them, the candid
READER
will entertain the same
Opinion.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No I.
VOL. I.
— Hoc est
Vivere bis, Vita posse priore frui.
MART.
MONDAY,
March
23. 1724.
W HEN a
Stranger
comes into Company, the Whisper goes round,
Who is He?
and the Face each Man wears, is the Effect of his Information: You ought therefore, to know, who I
am,
that you may regard what I
say
; and then, it is to be hop'd, we shall converse without Jealousy.
I AM a talkative
Old Batchelor,
in my grand Climacterick, of a sanguine Complexion; well-limb'd, strong and hearty; in Stature more than middling; my Face is round and smooth, my Forehead high and open, my Eye-brows are widely arch'd, my Teeth sound, and white; I have a Nose a little
Aquiline,
Eyes black and spritely; my Hair is brown and short, but somewhat of the thinnest, with a Silvering of Grey among it: I wear my Cloaths plain, am a great Lover of Walking, and go commonly alone; I carry a pair of Mouse-colour'd Gloves in one Hand, and my Oaken Stick in the other, instead of a Cane; for I am naturally partial to the Manufactures of my Country, and an irreconcileable Enemy to the
East-India Company.
MY Father, who was one of the
Cavaliers
of the last Century, had a
Dash
in his
Temper,
of what his Mistresses called
Surly
; but he was of frank Heart and simple Manners. There was an unlucky kind of Contrast in his Disposition, for he was Amorous, but Unpolish'd: He seems to have been rather Serious, than Witty; yet he lov'd Wit in others, and was particularly charm'd with the Wantonness of Mrs.
Behn.
That arch Baggage has made bold, in her Comedy, called the
Rover,
both with his Name, and his Character.—Whoever has seen
Ned Blunt,
has seen, not the
Copy,
but the very
Life
of my Father.
HE left me an Estate, rather moderate than plentiful; which I have neither improv'd, nor diminish'd. I was naturally dispos'd to Quiet, and affected to think calmly: For this
Reason
I have obstinately resisted MARRIAGE. I pass my Summers at
Blunt-Hall,
the ancient Seat of our Family, in the dirtiest Part of
Sussex:
My Winters I enjoy in Town, where I am the oldest Member now alive of an Assembly, of both Sexes, very numerous and diversified: We meet, twice a Week, at the House of a sober Widow, whom we placed there on Purpose. But, because I delight in Study, and am an Enemy to the Faction and Flutter of the Polite End of the Town, I have my Lodgings in a low-built, silent House in the City, which has a large, shady Garden, and covers the very
Spot,
where, of old, as
Stow
tells me, stood the Watch-Tower of
Barbican.
IT has always been my Custom, To keep a daily Account, in Writing, of my Actions and Observations, even to Particulars of no seeming Importance. By Help of these Notes, I live over again my past Time, and learn Wisdom from my Follies.—I have lately been reflecting, and taken it stongly into my Fancy, That, wanting Children of my own, I should be Every Body's Father: I have so many Things to say, and am so naturally fond of
Teaching,
that I promise my self no small
Fame,
from the Success of my Weekly Counsel: The SUBJECT of my PAPER gave me little or no Pain: My Propensity to Talking required, That it should be
General,
and
Unboundedly Copious
; But the NAME was a
Difficulty,
that I could not easily get over: That
Large
Part of Mankind, which consists of SUPERFICIALISTS, judging every Thing by Appearance,
taste
but coldly of a Meaning which is not
dress'd
to their
Relish
; and the
Will,
that is too stubborn to bend to the
Fancy,
shall hardly be able to work upon the
Understanding.
THIS Doubt was so knotty, that I submitted it to the
Assembly,
where a learned
Clergyman
spoke first, and was for calling it the INQUISITOR; He was honestly proceeding to give his
Reasons
for that Name, but was smartly interrupted by an
Alderman
's Wife, who, with Eyes full of Fire, and Face as red as her Ribbands, told him,
That, however the
Inquisition
might agree with
His
Principles, it would never go down with
honest
People and
Protestants:—
If you desire,
(said she to me)
That your
PAPER
should be read by the
Friends
of the
Government,
you should give it a
sober
Name, and call it the
TRUTH-TELLER.
A pert
Coquet,
who sate next her, a Toast, and a great Fortune, burst into a loud Laugh;
Oh! Heavens!
cry'd the Gipsey,
I shall faint at the odious Formality of that
Title!
Ah, Madam! How could you be so unreasonably mistaken! The
TRUTH-TELLER!—
Lord, deliver us! why, the
COURT
can never bear it! and all the
gay World
will despise and abhor it!—No, no, if you wish your
PAPER
to
Spread
and grow
Publick,
you have nothing to resolve, but to call it the
SECRET.
FOR my Part,
answered a grave Virgin, about Fifty,
I think they would do well to entitle it the
COQUET;
There's scarce a Fop in Town but would be fond of that Name; for he would consider the
PAPER
as his
Property.
A FAMOUS
Critick
interposing, remark'd,
That the
Taste
of the Age was so vitiated, that no Name could be acceptable, unless it were
Musical;
and the
Wind, (says he,)
of Modern Arguments, being an Over-match for their
Weight,
I am for calling it the
BAGPIPE.—
Oh! much rather the
FLUTE,
reply'd the
Coquet;
The
BAGPIPE
is so filthy, so horrible an Instrument! that 'twould be impossible to bear the Sound of it, unless 'twere introduc'd in an
Opera.
A
Justice
of the
Quorum,
my next Neighbour in the Country, and an eminent
Fox-hunter,
maintain'd, with invincible Strength, both of
Voice
and
Authority, That it ought, by all Means, since it was intended for
Society,
to be called the
GOOD FELLOW; But he bow'd, and chang'd his Mind, when our
Alderman's Young Daughter,
who sate at her Mother's Elbow, blush'd, and whisper'd in his Ear,
That for her Part, she could think of no Name, that would be so pretty, as the
SWEETHEART.
AN
Old Maid
of the Widow's, to whom, for Pleasantry-sake, we indulge the Familiarity, and Privilege of Impertinence, had been standing all this while behind her Mistress's Chair, and broke out, on a sudden, with an Air of Amazement;
Hey Day! if you must
whip
it about thus, and keep it constantly spinning, the best Thing you can do is, To call it the
WHIRLIGIG. All the Company laugh'd at the Wench's Conceit; 'till the
Critick,
assumeing a surpriz'd and decisive Air, assur'd us, positively,
It
must
take; for that No Body could fail to expect as much Wit, at least, in the
WHIRLIGIG,
as in the
What-d'ye-call it.
I was unsatisfied with All This; and having a natural Partiality to my own Character, I bethought my-self of the PLAIN DEALER. The whole Assembly agreed in Approbation of That Name, and gave it, as their Joint-Opinion,
That, Whether it would be generally
liked
or no, it was never more generally
wanted.
THE
LADIES,
when they hear, That my Design is PLAIN DEALING, will consider me perhaps, as an Old-fashion'd Fellow, who can have nothing to do with Them; yet I know they will be frequently kind enough to furnish me with Business, and I shall handle them, as often as they allow me Opportunity.—The CHURCH and the STATE I have no great Genius for meddling with; They are either
well
as they
are,
or will never be the
better
for any Thing I can
say
to them. But the
Passions,
the
Humours,
the
Follies,
the
Disquiets,
the
Pleasures,
and the
Graces
of
Human Life,
All these I claim a Right to consider as my Subjects; and shall treat them, without Prejudice, in the most frank and open Manner; so that the
Watch-Tower
of
Barbican
shall again resume its Use, and
overlook
this Antient CITY, for Her
Service,
and Her
Safety.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No II.
— Ridentem dicere verum
Quis Vetat?
HOR.
FRIDAY,
March
27. 1724.
THREE Enormous Abuses, have grown of late Years to a scandalous Heighth among us,
Masquerading, Gaming,
and
Stock-Jobbing.
They are Enemies to the Civil Society of Mankind, and Destroyers of that valuable Doctrine of PLAIN DEALING which I would so earnestly recommend.
MASQUERADES
are the Undoers of Beauty, Honour, and Innocence, and, methinks it should be enough to deter any young
Lady,
if she did but reflect upon this Great Truth, That her Masque, has, at best, thrown a Cloud upon her Reputation, that will hang heavy for a long Time after, and sink her in the Esteem of her former Admirers.
AS to
Gaming,
the Sons of our Nobility, and the Heirs to plentiful Estates, especially those who become too early their own Masters, are the Victims of Sharpers, the Prey of those Man-hunters, who form Associations to over-turn as many Honest Societies as they can; and only live in Peace together, by being united in a Confederacy to spread Desolation among others. The Heads of our best Families may not improperly be called the GAME of this wide-wasting Fraternity.
STOCK-JOBBING
is the Overthrow of all regular Commerce, and involves many a rich Trader, in the utmost Distress.
THESE Three Grand Enormities stand in direct Opposition to PLAIN DEALING; and the Province which I have undertaken, demands of me to declare War against them, and exert my best Endeavours to remove them out of the Way as fast as I am able. They grow out of the Obliquity of a Mind, that meditates an unnatural Increase of its own Ease, by diminishing the Satisfaction of other People, and filling them with Uneasiness and Disquiet. These Subjects are so fruitful, that I shall imploy this whole Paper upon the
Masquerades
alone, and defer the Correction of the other to a second Opportunity.
THE
Count
of the
ill-favour'd Visage
may may be considered as the Leader and Captain-General of these Forces; and therefore, if in entring into a single Combat with him, I am valiant enough to get the better, I doubt not but the Army under his Command will pull off their Masques, in Respect to my Victory, and not be ashamed to shew their Faces, when they appear on the side that is uppermost.
THEY who lay
Masques
to the
Count
's Charge, have accounted for it very pleasantly, and will have it to be a politick Undertaking. He ought, say they, by the Laws of Sympathy to have Regard to a Vizor, since his
natural
Countenance bears such Resemblance to those
artificial
ones, that the only means in his Power to look like a
Man,
was to teach every Man to look like a
Monster.
BUT I am not in a Humour to content my self with such abstracted Speculations, which appear to me to be artfully framed on purpose to
excuse
a Man they pretend to find fault with. It is true, they make a Jest of the Person, but they throw a
Masque
over the Mind, which ought certainly to be most chastised. I dare swear for the
Count,
it is not his nature to be angry with any Body, that, by handling his
Face
a little
freely,
gives him a
handsome
Opportunity for handling the
Pockets
of other People.
Greater
Statesmen than
He,
have been contented to look
silly
for a
wise
End, and to become the Jests of the People, when they have been sure of an
Equivalent.
This makes me afraid that these Waggs, who speak of him with so much seeming Smartness, are his Friends at the bottom, and I doubt, if the Truth were known, he has bribed them to be of his Party by letting them now and then, into the
Secrets
of
Masquerading.
I MUST therefore take leave to look a little seriously into this Matter, and I am afraid we shall find, That the
Count
has not so much a Design to make Persons of Quality with their Masques on, look like the
Count,
as to make the
Count
look like Persons of Quality with their Masques off.
SEVERAL Clergymen, some Bishops, and other grave Personages, have thought this a Matter of
Importance
enough to take Notice of as well as I; but still, it seems, the
Count
is secretly resolved to have Wit enough to take no notice of any of us. It must be allowed indeed, That he is a Person of uncommon Parts, to stand Proof against the Reasoning of so many Learned, and Great Men, without being in the least convinced or perswaded.
BUT, tho' this Power, of resisting the Force of so many Eloquent Reasoners, proves him a Prodigy in
Genius,
and demonstrates him to have a world of Wit, yet I would not have him forget, that there is
some
Merit also, in
Modesty.
If a Clergyman or a Bishop, give their Opinions against him, he thinks it sufficient to shrug his Shoulders, and say, grinning in his own Defence, That he wonders they should make such a Bustle,
for that a Domine, a Cassock, and a Mitre, are the most common Masques in Fashion.
This raises a loud Laugh, and he comes off cleverly among the
young Fellows;
but he must not imagine to escape so with Persons of
my
Gravity.
SEVERAL old Counsellors of State, and at Law, grave Physicians, ancient Citizens, and worthy Country Gentlemen, just come up with their Wives and Daughters, to pay a Visit to the Town, have all complained of him in their Turns, and met with no better Quarter, and notwithstanding all they can say to the contrary, he has continued to carry on his Shew with very successful Raillery: I expect that he will give
me
my Share of his Taunts among the rest; but I have as little Taste for his
Wit,
as I have for his
Sweetmeats
; and to deal plainly with him, I am in no such merry Vein, as he may think, when I tell him this unwelcome Truth, That the Effects of
Masquerades,
are very serious Things to Husbands, and Fathers, tho' they are Jokes to him and to
some,
who are pleas'd to support him. I must, therefore, desire him to lay aside his
Wit,
and consider, with a little
Wisdom,
whether He may not be in Danger of falling hereafter into the Clutches of a certain dark Enemy, who is now his Friend in
Masquerade,
and who will not be so easily eluded.
HE may recollect, if he pleases, in one of the
Masquerades,
a strange Spectacle, like a Man, whom he took, at first, to have a Vizard on, but found upon a more narrow Examination to have exactly the Lineaments of his own Face, the same Shape, the same Air, the same Gait, the same Cloaths, as himself, and his very Wig of the same Colour, and hanging with the Fore-top on one Tip of the Ear, just like his own: He may remember, that this ghastly Mimick, constantly attended him, that whole Night, did every thing that he did; said every thing he said; and went to every Place where he went: He may remember, that he was struck with a terrible Panick, and did not know what to think of this uninvited Companion of his, but took him, sometimes, for a meer Mimick; sometimes for a Spectre, but at last he was convinced, that it cou'd be no other, than the
Devil,
which a great many
well-meaning
People believ'd was certainly the Truth: and he very well knows, that he, and his Companion, were easily mistaken for one another, and that no body at last could well tell which was the
Count,
and which was the
Devil.
THO' the
Count,
as the Phrase goes of him, looks
bad
enough at the
best,
he was remark'd to look much worse after this Vision, than at any time before: He was for many Days much dejected, and profoundly pensive and melancholy, and the terrible Apprehensions he was under, caused a visible Increase of Wrinkles, and furrow'd him into such Frightfulness, that if ever he went to
take Coach,
the
Horses
wou'd start, and run away from him.—But one Day, above the rest, when he was deep in the doleful Mood, an airy young Fellow hearing him say, He intended to have no more
Masquerades,
got out of him the
Secret
of his
Disorder:
This Youth who was afraid, that if that Diversion discontinued, he should not succeed with a Lady, for whose sake He was us'd to
hide
his
Face,
that he might charm her, with less Difficulty, found an Expedient to free the
Count
from his Fears, and made him believe, that it was a
Trick
of the
Prince de Monte Aspero.
But the poor
Count
is imposed on, if he gives Credit to that fictitious Story, and might have been better advertis'd of the Truth, if he had only had an Eye to the
Club-Foot,
which stood out, and
plainly shewed
his Companion, as several innocent Spectators then present could testify. Besides, as a
Poet,
who would preserve
Probability,
could produce no Body proper to personate
Amphitryon
but
Jupiter,
nor to mimick
Sofia
to the Life but
Mercury
; so the
Count,
if he reflects sufficiently, upon his Person, Parts, and Qualities, must of necessity be convinc'd, in his Mind, that since nothing
Human
could so exactly resemble him, It
must
be, at least, a
Cacodaemon.
UPON the whole, if he lay this seriously to heart, as I hope he will, he will lay aside jesting, become a true Penitent, and take the good Time of
Lent
to consider, Whether it will not be proper to quit all Thoughts of
Masquerading,
for fear that Ghastly Figure that once took his Person
upon
him, shou'd the next Time,
take off
his Person.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No III.
— Non est mortale quod optas.
OVID.
— dicique beatus
Ante Obitum Nemo suprema
que
funera possit.
MONDAY,
March
30, 1724.
SO weak is the
Frailty
of Human Nature, that we can never be too
secure,
tho'
arm'd
with the sublimest
Vertue,
against the repeated
Attacks
of so many
Passions,
as constantly besiege us; and, tho' the Garrison of the Mind may be never so well provided with all Means of Resistance, the greatest of
Qualities, Vertues,
and
Perfections,
that our Nature is capable of attaining; nevertheless
Treachery,
within,
Force
or
Stratagem,
from without, may surprize and defeat us: An Example of which Infirmity the following
Story
will furnish the Reader, and teach him, of all Things, to avoid, what is call'd
Spiritual Pride,
That Contempt of another for not being so good, as himself, when he sees how, in an Instant, the greatest Piety and Religion, may be chang'd, (by indulging only one dangerous
Passion
) into the other Extream of
Wickedness
; so that we may apply to the Lubricity of Human Vertue, what a wise Man of
Greece,
said of
Happiness,
That it can never be determin'd, 'till Death.
IN the following
Story,
which is true, as to Fact, I shall be obliged to
disguise
some
Circumstances
of Time and Place, to prevent the unfortunate Subject of this
Paper,
or his
Family,
from being known, so that it will be enough to inform the
Reader,
That, less than half an
Age
ago, there liv'd a certain Gentleman, of good
Birth
and
Fortune,
who had polish'd, and finish'd, a Learned Education by the Improvement of a
Camp,
and a
Court
; in Both which He spent some Time; when about the Thirtieth Year of his Age, he thought fit to settle himself in the World, and change his
Condition,
by chusing a Partner of
Life,
whose
Mind
was as well Adorn'd, as her
Person
was Engaging: This happy
Couple
spent Five Years together, in perfect Felicity; the
Husband
with Reputation, as well as Fortune, and the
Wife
with Vertue, not inferior to her Beauty.
BUT what crown'd all their
Bliss,
was, That mutual
Esteem
they had contracted for one another; in this time they had two or three
Children,
who all dy'd in their Infancy: And now, it pleas'd Heaven to snatch, from this
happy
Man, the only Joy and Comfort of his
Life
; his Charming Spouse died, and left him not only an inconsolable, but almost distracted,
Widower:
When the first Emotions of
Grief
were over, he retir'd, from his own House, to a little Farm, in another
Country,
where no
Object
should come in his
way,
to revive in his Memory the
Loss
of his lamented
Wife:
Here he spent two Years, which led him into the Thirty Eighth of his
Life:
this Time he divided between his Studies and Devotion; being
Religious
from his very Infancy: Which natural
Piety
was, now, so much increas'd, by his late Loss, that at last he resolved to quit his Native Country, and to retire into a
Convent,
being born, and bred in the Roman Catholick Communion.
THIS Resolution was no sooner known to his Friends, but they endeavour'd to
divert
it, by all manner of
Persuasions
and
Arguments
; by remonstrating to him, That he was, now, in the Flower of his Age, and blest with a plentiful
Fortune
to give him all the Comforts and Pleasures of
Life
; that it would be unjust, thus, to fling himself away, not only to himself, but his Friends and Family, to whom he ow'd the Debt, which he had contracted, for Posterity to continue his Name: They told him, That he had paid all the Tribute to the Memory of his deceas'd Wife, that the Laws of Honour, Decency, and the Obligations of a good Husband required; that he was now at Liberty to make another Choice; that one good Woman was not a Phoenix, but that others of the same Species might be found, to make him as happy as before.
THESE Arguments, tho' back'd with Reason, were all ineffectual; he was deaf to every Remonstrance; and pass'd over into
Flanders,
where he plac'd himself, at first, as Pensioner in a Religious House; and liv'd with the same Strictness, that even the Rules of that Order requir'd from those, who were under Vows of such Austerities; nor did he receive more Edification from the Example of others, than he gave by his own.
AFTER a Life led, for some time, with the greatest Esteem and Reputation, he communicated to the Superiors of the House, his ardent Desire of being receiv'd into their Society: The good Fathers, tho' inwardly pleas'd with the Honour of having so excellent a Person, in their Order, did not receive his Proposal with that Chearfulness, which he expected: Their Prudence suggested to them, that he was yet too young a Man, to be really, upon good Grounds, disgusted with the World, into the Love of which he lay under great Temptations of relapsing, by reason of that large Fortune, which could furnish Means of enjoying those Pleasures, which he must now for ever abandon; and the Loss of which, if he should repent his Vows, would make him as miserable, as he propos'd to himself to to be happy: They conjur'd him, at the same time, strictly to search his own Heart, so as to be convinced, that this Desire was an Impulse, and Call from God, and not any Temporary Disgust of the World, which might blow over, and vanish in time: He submitted to this Proposal, and in a little time assur'd them, That it proceeded from the Directions of that Providence, to whose Service he had so strong and glorious a Passion to dedicate the rest of his Life: Upon this, the Society consented, on Condition, That he would undergo a double Noviciate, that by the length of the Time, they might be assur'd of his being confirm'd in those pious Resolutions.
THIS he accepted, and immediately sent over Powers into his own Country, to convey and settle his Estate upon his Heir, which was accordingly done; and the Time of his Noviceship being expir'd, he took his Vows, and embraced that Life in which he propos'd to himself so much Heavenly Satisfaction.
HE had not thus lived long in the Convent, but his great Capacity and Learning, render'd him too necessary to the Service of his Order, to be kept at home; by Command of his Superiors he went on several Commissions into other Countries, where he executed the Orders, which he had receiv'd, with wonderful Address and Fidelity; at the same time acquiring an universal Reputation, for his extraordinary Sanctity of Life.
HIS Fortune settled him, at last, in
France,
where he met with the same Esteem, and Veneration, as in other Countries, being universally caress'd, and admir'd: At last his ardent Zeal for the Service of God, inflam'd him with a passionate Desire of laying down his Life, in asserting the Cross of Christ; nothing wou'd now satisfy his growing Fervour, but to be sent on a Mission, to convert Infidels to the Christian Faith, in which Employ he had the holy Ambition to meet with a Crown of Martyrdom. This pious Inclination he communicated to the Superiors of his Order, but was repulsed in his Request, being told, That Men of less Weight, than he, might be as serviceable in the Conversion of Savages; that less Abilities, than his, were sufficient to instruct Nations, so stupidly ignorant; that his Presence was more necessary in
Europe,
where they had so many Learned Adversaries to combat.
THIS Repulse not a little mortify'd the Zeal of the good Father, whose Passion for Martyrdom was now more inflam'd, by hearing, That there was a new Mission of
French Jesuits
going over to
America:
He apply'd himself to the
Bishop
of
Quebec,
who was just upon his Departure for
Canada
; this Prelate was so charm'd with the Zeal, and Piety of the Man, whose Character he had heard before, that he enter'd into his Sentiments, and made use of the Interest he had in the Court of
France,
to get the Request of this New Apostle granted by Authority. Thus, Master of his Wishes, he went over with the Bishop to
Canada,
where he met with as much Veneration of his Piety, Humility, and all other Christian Vertues, in
America,
as he left behind him in
Europe:
After some time of Refreshment, he prepar'd for his Apostolical Function, and went with his Collegues, among the most savage, and cruel Nations of the
Indians:
Some of his Comrades were murther'd by these People; others died of the Hardships and Fatigues which they endured, while our Missionary escap'd, thro' the Goodness of his Constitution.
IN this first Expedition, he was several times in imminent Danger of Life, having once the Knife over his Head to scalp him; but Providence, whose Secrets are unsearchable, preserv'd him, and would not vouchsafe that Honour, which he so passionately desir'd, of dying a Martyr: In this first Attempt, he succeeded so far, as to vanquish the Obstinacy and Ignorance of Twenty-two
Indian
Men and Women, whom he baptiz'd, and brought with him to
Quebec
; which Town he enter'd, triumphantly, with his Converts. The Reader may guess at the Veneration paid him by the People, who look'd on him as a Saint and Apostle, and prest near to touch, and kiss his very Garments: The Winter Months he was oblig'd to spend his Time at
Quebec,
it being impossible to preserve Life in so cold a Country, without the Cover of Houses against the Inclemency of the Air: The Summer-Seasons were taken up, entirely, by the Labours of his Mission, in which he had wonderful Success the third Winter, at which time he approach'd the 50th Year of his Age: The Governour, who had a profound Respect for him, invited the good Missioner to come and reside at his House, with a Request to instruct his Daughter, who desired to learn Languages, and Mathematicks: The good Father chearfully undertook his New Province, and very assiduously attended his young Pupil, the Pregnancy of whose Parts made his Pains the more agreeable: This Lady was about Eighteen Years old, with a Person equal to the Beauties of her Mind, and all the Vivacity so natural to her Country: The Preceptor had not often attended his fair Scholar, but he found those Emotions in his Heart, which, in a little time shipwreck'd his Vertue; he fell desperately in Love, and thro' the Eyes, suck'd in that Poyson, which now tainted a Soul, that so much Vertue had long, and constantly defended before: LOVE, that invincible Tyrant, entirely subdued, and added the Heart of this once Holy Man, to his other Triumphs: In order to make himself the more agreeable, he cut off his Beard, and now put on Linnen, next his Skin, which he had not worn for some Years, the more to indulge his Mortification, tho' he was not oblig'd to that Austerity by the Rules of his Order: That Devotion, which had flam'd so long in his Heart towards God Almighty, was now turn'd into Adoration of one of his Creatures; LOVE converting all others Passions into itself, as the Plague does all other Distempers.
IN short, he managed his Amours with that Address, That, at last, he triumph'd, and gratify'd his Criminal Desires; the Fruits of which soon appear'd; the young Damsel was with Child, which flung the Lovers into the last Confusion and Distress: There was no Remedy, but one, which was, To fly; accordingly one Night, the Summer now advancing, so as to permit them to lie in the Woods, they got over the Ramparts, and fled to the
Indians,
among whom he had a great Interest, and who now receiv'd them with open Arms. As he had seen some Campaigns in his Youth, and understood Fortification, and the Mathematical Part of War, he began to Train and Discipline the Savages, whom he persuaded to revolt against the
French:
In the mean while, the Governour, overwhelm'd with Grief for this terrible Misfortune in his Family, sent out several small Parties to bring them back; but these were defeated by the Superiority of Numbers; upon which the Governour march'd with the whole Garrison, and all the Fighting Men he could muster; the Lovers animated and encourag'd the Savages, whom they brought, in great Numbers, to oppose the Enemy; the little Armies came in sight, and while the Two Unfortunate Lovers stood close to one another, she, with an
Indian
Quiver at her Back, and Bow in her Hand, the first Fire from the
French
laid them both on the Ground; Such was the sad Catastrophe of this unhappy Man, whose Piety, and good Life, for so many Years, could not prevent his Falling, at last, so Memorable an Example of
The Imbecility of all Human Accomplishments.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 4.
— Tigris agit rabidâ cum tigride pacem
Perpetuam, saevis inter se convenit Ursis.
JUV.
FRIDAY,
April
3. 1724.
GAMING,
and
Stock-jobbing,
come to Day, under my Observation. The first methinks, needs no Aggravation of its Guilt in order to extinguish it; since it may so truly be said, That there is nothing
Honourable,
that it does not aim to make
Vile
; nothing
Great
and
Magnificent,
that it does not reduce to look
Little
and
Despicable.
HOW would the deceased
Bucharis
have been able to leap down from behind the Chariot of a departed Lord, and step into a finer of his own, if he had wanted the
happy
Turn of obliging
unlucky
Gentlemen to live in a more uncomfortable State, than even his Companions, (before himself became a Gentleman.) What must the great
Cartaerarius
think when he prances along the Pavements, upon a Par with the Prime Nobility, and sees a Wretch walk the Streets half-starv'd with Cold and Hunger, dress'd in
Sagathie
in the Depth of Winter, whom he knew to have been his Superior in Wealth, and Magnificence, till
he
reduc'd him to this
Disparity?
Can my Readers imagine, That
Cartaerarius
must not lose the Jollity of his Heart for a Moment, at so mortifying a Prospect? or, Do they think he can be Brute enough to enjoy himself upon the Reflection of his different Fortune, and of the Tricks he had play'd in his Life, and the
Numbers
he had made as wretched, as the
Object
I have mentioned?
THIS is a strange and melancholy
Fate:
a Box and Dice heartily stamp'd upon a Table here in
London,
shall have a more powerful Effect, on the Walls of a strong-built Castle in the
Country,
than the firing of Twenty
Morta
s
against it could have had, on the Spot, and shall force the Possessor to surrender it
at Discretion,
with all the Territories round about it, to one who is
innocently
called, a
fair Enemy,
and who attacks it in
Play
only.
IT is still more strange, That a Custom, which has been known to have brought such uncommon Calamities upon the greatest and richest Men, should at last become common, among the common People themselves: And yet this was lately the Case. Tradesmen and Sharpers of a Lower Rank, committed the like Hostilities, and Shops were shut up
by way of Gaming.
I know one
Wise Man
an
Apothecary,
who neglected his
Business
to become
Rich,
and has been seen to lose more Money by shaking his Elbow over a
Gaming-Table
in three Hours, than he could recover by brandishing his Arm over a
Mortar
in three times as many Months.
I AM the more slack in my Remarks, and throw together only a few loose Hints against this vicious Habit, because a more effectual Way has been lately taken to check its Progress. And, if People of Fashion did not think themselves above the Benefit of those Laws which vulgar Persons are cautious of transgressing, for fear of being treated as Cheats, and Impostors, this Discourse would be render'd useless. The Nature of Imposture, is no otherwise alter'd, by being the Fact of a Person of Distinction, but by its becoming more highly Criminal. Out of Persons of Fashion and Estate, are generally chosen those, who are obliged to watch over the publick Welfare: And can they guard Property in publick Life, who lay Snares to entrap it in a private Capacity? No Man should be allow'd to appear in an Assembly of
Business,
who has made himself a
Member
among the Surrounders of a
Hazard Table.
There have been of late but
Two
Gamesters, that stepp'd high enough to have any Rule in publick Affairs entrusted to their Management,
Exlex
and the young
Montanus
; these, tho' otherwise Men of signal Capacities, and many worthy Qualifications, could not resist their Natural Propensity, and thereby infus'd into two Kingdoms such an universal Spirit of
Avarice
and
Gaming,
by strange Schemes, 'till then unheard-of, as must, if continued, have soon accomplish'd the Ruin, which they threaten'd at their first Appearance.
AS to
Gaming
in lower Life, the Justices of the Peace have acted with such commendable Vigilance, That they have scarce left me a known Sharper in the Town, to exercise the Edge of my Satire upon. Most of them have, I believe, by this time, taken to the more
honourable
way of Robbing with a
Pistol
and
Brace of Balls
in it, which is much less
dangerous
to the
Offended,
and less
safe
to the
Offender,
than a
Box
with a
Pair of Dice
in it: Others have gone in Gangs like Foot-pads, and while one knock'd down the Passenger, the other rifled him, which is only a kind of
Emblem
of their Play called
Two poll One.
Thus I believe, that, if a strict Scrutiny were made into the Numbers that are left, of the
Fraternity,
we should find, that, since the happy Dissolution of that Knot, most of the loose ones have been swept away, by his Majesty's industrious Subject Mr.
Jonathan Forward
Rear-Admiral of the
City Transports.
BUT there is a Species of more mischievous
Gamesters
remaining still among us, who ought, methinks, to have had free Passage in some of that Great
Pilot
's Vessels—I mean, the present
Fraternity
of
Stock-jobbers.
THIS
Brotherhood,
who play their Game upon the Hopes and Fears, of other People, make use of
cant
Names, as the
Gamesters
did, and with just the same Propriety. The
Gamesters
called their Instruments of Mischief by the Denomination of
Squibs
and
Puffs,
and the
Stock-jobbers
have their
Bulls
and
Bears
; nor were
those
half so formidable in
Covent-Garden,
as
these
are about the
Royal-Exchange,
in
Cornhill.
A
Bear
is a Beast of Prey, who, not having perhaps a Morsel in the World, appears with the Pretence of a whole
Paw full
of
Stock,
which he agrees to deliver on a Day. But, if
Stock
rises, he must, as the Phrase is,
Shew his Tail,
that is, he must
Run away.
A
Bull
is just the Reverse of this: He, is as Pennyless as his Brother Beast, but roars and bellows for
Stock,
and
Devours
all that is offer'd him; and if, at the Time when it is to be paid for, it happens to fall, then he too must
Run off,
as the
Bear
did.
NUMBERS of honest Tradesmen are deluded by these
odd Beasts,
and kept warm with imaginary
Hopes
of turning their Money better and faster upon
Stocks,
than in Business: And where the Unskilful are drawn in to try their Fortunes this way, their Money becomes a
Sacrifice
to the
Jobbers,
and themselves
Bankrupts
to the
Publick: Bulls
and
Bears,
as opposite as they are in their Natures, agree very well together, and sometimes personate one another to draw in an honest Citizen; and if he once gets between
both,
by that Time the
Stocks,
have had a few Variations to and fro, he is sure, by their
tossing
him from one to t'other, to be
worried
out of his Senses.
MY Friend the
Alderman,
who has sometimes a way of Jesting peculiar to himself, says, That when he has been running over the
Advertisements,
relating to Bankrupts in our
Gazettes,
he would frequently make Marks on the Margin, denoting, Where such a
broken-hearted
Butcher has been forced to shut up his Stall upon being Gored by the
Horn
of a
Bull
; and where the
Paw
of a
Bear
has pulled a rich Linnen-Draper by the Head and Ears, over his Counter. I warrant you, my old Friend, (will he often say, for he is apt to dwell upon old
Jokes
) when the Watch-Tower of
Barbican
was standing, the sharpest Eye of any Man that stood in it, could never perceive round this whole City, one such voracious Animal, threatning Ruin to the Inhabitants, as the Modern
Bulls
and
Bears
are.
IT is certain, That the
Alderman
's
Jest
was true in
Earnest.
For our wise Ancestors made wholsome Laws for extirpating all wild and mischievous Beasts out of the Land, and set a Price upon their Heads. It must be therefore very wrong in such a Populous Town as this, to permit
Bulls,
and unmuzzled
Bears,
to have their Stalls and Dens about
Exchange-Alley,
where they have Opportunity to run out and destroy unwary Citizens. Besides, the
Alderman
told me (as a Remark of his Wife,) That under Boast of the vast
Stocks
they deal for, they tempt the yielding Hearts of many a rich Citizen's Daughter, and pin themselves on Families to be kept without a Groat, and sometimes take a
Bite
of the young Lady, in that Part they like best, and then run away, without
coming
to
account
for it. She says, That Mr.
Honeyman,
a Sugar Baker, has Two Cubs upon his Daughter's hands, by a
Bear
that has left the
Alley
; and that Mr.
Simple
's Favourite Child is upon the Point of being delivered of a Calf, begot by a silly awkward
Bull,
that
Burst
himself, by
swallowing Stock,
beyond the Power of his natural
Digestion.
THESE are Things not to be tolerated in any Civil Government whatsoever; for they manifestly tend to the Ruin of Commerce; and at this rate it will come to pass in the course of a few Years, That while
Russia
is polishing its rough Inhabitants into the finer Resemblance of
Englishmen,
the Politeness of
Britain
will be transformed into the Barbarity of
Russia,
and the greatest Part of this Metropolis will be overrun with an unheard-of Generation of
Savages
and
Monsters.
It is, therefore, my serious Opinion, That the Practice shou'd be put down; and that for the Quiet and Safety of
sober Citizens,
every
Bull
and
Bear
of them all, should be first driven out of the City, by the way of
Newgate,
and then transported out of the Kingdom.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 5.
Militat omnis amans, & habet sua Castra
Cupido.
OVID.
MONDAY,
April
6. 1724.
THE LOVE of our
Country,
when it is understood, as Great Spirits consider
it,
is the most
Noble,
among those
Vertues,
which grace and elevate Human Nature: But, in the
General Idea,
which Men form, when they speak of this publick
Duty,
it is a mean, and selfish
Frailty!
A poor Contraction of Soul, which would call in our Beneficence from Mankind, our common Brotherhood! and confine it, with a scandalous Frugality of Affection, to the
Land
which we were
born
in; for the same ridiculous Reason, which made the
Ape,
in the
Fable,
the
First,
that produced her young Ones, when a Decree had been published, That the most
Beautiful,
among the
Beasts,
should succeed to the
Government.
FEW Men, I am afraid, have
any
Nobler Motive, than this
Love
of themselves, for the
Love,
they bear their
Country!
But the Partiality of a true Patriot must be justify'd by his Care of the Publick Honour: He must contribute to the General Interest, with the Loss of his particular
Ease,
and to the Hazard of his private
Safety.
The same impatient
Beat,
with which the Soul, conscious of Immortality, presses forward to Futurity, and inspires a Secret Pleasure in our Hope of Fame
Hereafter,
tho' we are sure we shall be
Dust,
and have no Ear for those Praises, which we charm our our selves in
Death,
with but the Prospect, and faint Image of:—The same Noble Source has the Spirit of true
Patriotism!
—It teaches a wise Man to
Love
his
Country, Like
his Off-spring; not meerly, as they are
His
; but for the Natural Vertues, which he observes in them, and which he has taken Delight to to cherish, and urge forward, for the Ornament of Posterity.
THE
Prejudices
of our
Minds,
and the different
Interests
we are led by, make us very unqualified Judges, of the State of this Vertue, with Regard to the Times, we live in: And the same Passions have always produc'd the same Effects, in the
Historians,
of former Ages: But there are some Instances, so strongly Demonstrative, in their Nature, That
Partiality
can add no
Beauty,
by the Arts of Describing; nor can
Envy
discolour them, by false Lights, or misplacing.
DEEP Enquirers into Nature have recommended it, as a way to judge soundly of Mens good, or evil Tendency, by observing what Effect is produc'd in their Passions, upon Relation of some Amiable Example, of Human Excellence; if such a Trial is just, I should wish to avoid the Society of that Man, who could reflect on the following Story, without unusual Emotions, in Honour of the
Noble Roman,
to whose
true
Sense of Publick Spirit, we owe it.
IN that part of the
Punick
War, when
Fabius Maximus
commanded the Forces of
Italy,
against
Hannibal,
certain Officers of the
Roman
Army, were taken Prisoners by the Enemy.
Fabius
was well acquainted with the Skill and Courage of these Men, and resolv'd not to lose them: He, therefore, treated with the
Carthaginians,
and agreed upon their Ransom, at a very high Sum. for Payment of which, by a Day appointed, he engag'd the Honour of the
Roman Senate:
But the
Senate,
instead of sending him the Money, refused to ratify the Agreement.—
Fabius
receiv'd the News, with more
Grief,
than
Indignation
; and, giving strict Orders, for concealing it from his Army, dispatch'd his Son to
Rome,
with all Secrecy and Expedition, to make Sale of his
Own Paternal Estate,
and to return to him with the
Money
; which as soon he receiv'd, he sent it to
Hannibal,
as from the
Senate,
—
For I had rather,
said he,
It should be reported of the
Romans,
That they have a
General
without
Land,
than a
Senate
without
Humanity?
OUR
Clergyman,
whom we delight to consider, as a
Blessing
to the
Assembly,
because his
Life
is a silent Enforcer of his
Doctrine,
was expatiating, the other Day, on the
Grace,
and
Grandeur,
of this
Action
; and had fix'd us, in the most satisfied, and respectful Attention; when he was broke in upon, by the
Coquet,
with the following Relation, which she assur'd us, was Matter of Fact, and happen'd very lately;—
And it contains,
added she,
so exalted an Instance of refin'd, and generous
Love,
That if ever I find a Man, who would be
Mine
upon such Terms, I shall
Marry,
and bid Defiance to the Sound of the Word
Matron!
COURTHOPE
was the Son of an
English
Merchant, who had liv'd long in the
Canary Islands
; he had been sent young to
London,
for the Advantage of his Education, and (while there) fell in
Love
with
Bellaria,
the only Daughter of a Gentleman of a good Family and Estate, who had promis'd this Lady to a distant Relation, of his Name: But she had an Aversion for his Person, and made open Profession of a Passion for young
Courthope,
which the Father was so far from approving, that, being provok'd by her Firmness, he commanded her, under Penalty of his Hatred, and his Curse, never more to converse with him; and confin'd her, from that time forward, to prevent even the Possibility of it.
Bellaria,
notwithstanding this Restraint, found means to escape, and dressing her self in Boy's Cloaths, imbark'd with
Courthope,
on a
Spanish
Ship, that was bound for the
Canaries
; where he assur'd her, they would be welcome to a
Father,
whose gentle Nature knew nothing of that
Rigour,
which, from her Infancy, she had been oppress'd by. They were taken in this Voyage, by a
Moorish
Vessel, belonging to the Rovers of
Sallee:
And 'tis easier to conceive, than express, the Affliction, the Despair, the Astonishment of
Courthope:
fallen, at once, from a Prospect of the sweetest, and most lively Joy, to the Depth of consummate Misery! He saw
Her,
now, the Companion of his
Slavery,
who had wish'd, and ventur'd, so much, to make
Him
Partner of her
Affluence
; and he suffer'd more than Death, every time, that his Eyes, all swimming in Tears, stole a Glance, at his
Bellaria,
whom he durst not distinguish, by any Marks of Respect, or Service, for fear of pointing out her
Sex,
to the Brutes, who were their Masters.
BUT what aggravated his Sorrow, to the most piercing Extremity, was, an Information he receiv'd from a Native of the
Canaries,
whom he found a Slave at
Sallee,
That his Father was newly dead, and that all his Effects had been seiz'd by the
Spaniards,
on Occasion of some Criminal Correspondencies, which he had unwarily been drawn into.
THEY pass'd about a Week, with the rest of their Ship's Company, in a publick Dungeon of the City, where they were to expect the killing Summons, which must expose them in a
Market,
to be sold, and torn for ever from the Enjoyment of that mutual Comfort, which was, now, the only Thought, that could support 'em in their Wretchedness. The Moon, one Night, shone clearly thro' the Grates of the Prison Windows; and
Courthope,
while the rest were asleep, hung, in melancholy Transport, over the Bosom of
Bellaria,
who started, in broken Slumbers, and fill'd his Soul with sad Reflections. He took Notice of a rugged Stone, which rose, pointed, thro' the Earth, and imagining it might hurt her, remov'd it, with much Difficulty, and had no sooner drawn it out, but he discover'd an old Piece of Woollen Cloth, which had formerly been hidden under it, in which were Sixty
Moidores,
Two
Gold Rings,
and a
Writing
which he perceiv'd to have been
French,
but now defac'd, and not legible,
HE approach'd
Bellaria
's Ear, and awak'd her, in all the Ecstacy of a Man, who consider'd himself, as distinguished by
Providence:
He whisper'd his new Hopes, of an immediate Redemption; and found Means soon after, by Aid of an honest
Jew,
a Man of much Charity, who visited the Slaves every Morning, to be carried to the
Alcaid
; and, trusting his Gold with the
Jew,
propos'd to ransom
Himself
and
Bellaria,
whom he called his Brother: But the Conflict of his Passions had so visible an Effect, in his Looks, and his Earnestness, that the
Alcaid
took Advantage, from what he observed, and insisted on the whole Sum, for the Liberty, of
One
only, which was offered him, for
Both.
—He bid him name, at his Choice, either his Brother, or himself; but advised him to lose no Time, for an
English
Sloop was ready to sail out of the Harbour, with ransom'd Captives on Board, and would carry him to
Gibraltar,
where his Countrymen were in Garrison:—He added too, That all the
Christian Slaves
in
Sallee,
were to set out the next Morning, for
Mequinez,
to work on some New Buildings of the Emperor of
Morocco.
Courthope
trembled with Jealousy; and a Thousand different Fears, at the distracting Imagination of
Bellaria,
in the Eye and Power of such a Tyrant!—He went out with the
Jew,
and took a sudden Resolution.
ABOUT Noon the same Day, the
Jew
returned to the Prison, and carried with him an Order for the Dismission of
Bellaria
; who, enquiring after
Courthope,
was told, He went before, to prepare Things for her Reception, on Board the Vessel, they were to embark in; and had given him Orders to conduct her thither immediately. Never was any Order obey'd with so much Transport; the
Jew
hir'd a Boat, and attending her to the Ship, return'd, abruptly, to the Town, without taking Leave of her:—She was led into the Cabbin, where, expecting to find her Lover, she was receiv'd by the Master of the Vessel, with whom the
Jew
had been before, and who deliver'd her a Letter, which she open'd, with trembling Hands, and read in it, what follows.
HOW miserable should I have been, my
dear,
my
lost Bellaria!
if Heaven had not enabled me to redeem
you
from Misery! —The Money, which I found in the Dungeon, was too little to save us
both
; allow
me,
therefore, the Honour, to have restor'd
you
to that Liberty, which you lost, for having
pitied
me: I am a Wretch, whose Ill-Fortune, neither your
Sex
nor your
Limbs,
were fram'd to be Partakers of!—If I am worthy of
Bellaria,
I shall
see
her
again:
If she blesses me with her
Prayers,
I cannot
fail
to be
Fortunate
:—And if she
wishes
to live without me, I shall die
happiest
in
Absence!
—Angels Guide
you
to your Father! If he has
lov'd,
he will forgive me, and permit a Sigh now and then, to the Memory of poor
COURTHOPE.
SHE flew, skrieking, upon the Deck, as soon as she had read this dreadful, this insupportable, Letter! but saw, with as much Distinction, as her Tears would permit her, that the Ship was under Sail, and all she wish'd to live for, left in Slavery behind Her.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 6.
— Quae te
Ter purelecto poterunt recreare Libello.
HOR.
FRIDAY,
April
10. 1724.
THOUGH
Good-Breeding
and
Politeness,
are generally thought the
same,
they are
Qualities
very
different. Politeness
is the
Influence
of a
Natural Refinement: Good-Breeding,
the
Form
of an
Artificial Civility.
The
Last
but
Restrains
us from
giving Offence;
the
First, Impowers
us to
give Pleasure. Politeness
is the happy Mixture of
Greatness,
with
Benignity:
'Tis a
Sun-shine
from the
Soul,
on the
Looks, Words
and
Actions. Good-Breeding
is often, a
Surface
without
Depth
; and, like the Painter's gay Colours, on dark Primings, spreads a
Gloss
over the
Outside,
even of
Vices,
and
Meanspiritedness:
Whereas
Politeness,
like the
Crystal,
is
transparent
as well as
shiny
; and always appears lovelier, the fuller
Light
it is plac'd in.
I INTENDED to have adapted to this
serious Introduction,
a very
sober Dissertation,
which many of my Gentle
Readers,
might, no doubt have mistaken for a
Dull
One: But I shall substitute in its Place, a most
extraordinary Essay
of the
Epistolary
Kind, which will serve for the
same
Purpose. It brings me the
uncommon
Case of a faithful, though unfavour'd
Lover,
whose
Good-Breeding,
without
Politeness,
has
lost
him a Mistress, by an odd Kind of
Civility
which he made use of, for
engaging
her.
I NEED not inform my
Readers,
That this Letter is an
Original:
They will discover
natural Graces
in it, which are
inimitably Genuine.
These for the
Plain-Dealer,
at Mr.
Roberts
's in
Warwick-Lane.
With Care and Speed, Deliver.
Mr.
Plain-Dealer:
SIR,
ALL Yours, yet publish'd, have regularly receiv'd, and note their Contents. I thought it proper to let you know, That although I am a
Cooper,
I lov'd her as well as her
finical Turkey-Merchant.
But I forgot to let you know, first, That the needful of this Letter is, That she, that I mean, is a pretty, young Woman, worth a Brace and a half of
Thousands.
But that makes nothing to the Story: I had
Money enough,
for that Matter; and tho' I was no powder'd
fine Fellow,
with a finical white Wig, yet I valued and esteemed her, as if I had been the Mother that bore her: And I should have been glad, when Heaven saw fit, to have had her in her
Smock!
And so,
mayhap,
now I think on't, wou'd her Beau too; but I mean in an
honest way
only. But what matters that?
Fair and False
was an old Saying in its Time! And if I had stuck close to my Calling, and valued her no more than the Paring of my Nails, I had been a better Man for it, by some
Hundreds.
But there is no setting
Old Heads
upon
Young Shoulders.
Every Body knows, I am no
Bragster
; and, tho' I say it, that should not, I could have lov'd the very Ground that she
went
upon: And very unhappy she has made me, that's certain; whereby, I hope, somebody that is higher than she, will remember her for it, in the
Last Day,
for then all
Secrets
will be
laid open.
I can't, for my Life, imagine, what possesses me, but I shall begin to hate
my own-self
shortly, if it was, in Nature, to be possible, because, whenever she comes into my Head, I am ready to
cry
at the Thoughts of her.
NOW you must know, she had told a Friend of mine, that
wish'd
me to her, not once, nor twice, but that very Day, that he was leading her Home from
Draper
's
Gardens,
That she thought, as how no Man could fall in Love with a
Red-Hair'd Woman.
But, to see how strangely Mistakes will come about! this was all but her own Fancy; for I never once thought of it; nor was never the Man, that had ever concern'd my self, with any Thing she had about her. So, because I woud'n't be
uncivil,
I made a great Supper, and invited an old Aunt of mine, that she
know'd,
and half a score young Women, besides herself, to take Part of it: for it
burnt
in my Mind, strangely. In the middle of the Supper, I watch'd my Time, to drink to her; and told her, before 'em all, That she might be sure, by my having no Body to Supper, but
Folks with Red Hair,
as how I shou'dn't like her a
Crum
the worse, for
That:
For I didn't care a Pin, for that matter, if she was as
red
as a
Fox,
all over. To be sure, she look'd, all Night, after it, as the
Devil lookt over Lincoln:
And when I went, the Afternoon after, to
make Love
to her, as I us'd to do, nothing vex'd me, but her sending me down word, by that pert Gossip, Mrs.
Briget,
(that, I am sure, has had of me, at Times, in Presents, besides Good Words, to the Value of
Five Pieces!
) and yet, she bid
Her, forsooth,
to go and tell me, That I had no need for giving my self any more Trouble to come there; for her Mistress would have nothing to say to a
Hoop-driver.
NOW I, knowing, as how we are commanded to
forgive
all our
Enemies,
wou'dn't do her
no Harm,
for the World: And so, hoping you will print this,
only
to
expose
her, concludes the needful, at present, from
Your Real Friend, G— B—
P.S.
Her Hair was not
Golden
Locks, but that
hot
Sort of
Red,
which most Folks call
Carrots.
As I shall borrow, from my
Correspondents,
the Entire Entertainment of this Day, here follows an
Epistle,
which I have newly receiv'd, from the
Malapert
Mistress of a
Riding-Hood Ware-House.
To the
wither'd, old, Crab-tree,
who calls himself the
PLAIN-DEALER.
Dear Drybones!
WITH all
due
Respect to the
Dignity
of Woollen Night-caps, what has urg'd thee, to profess such a
Spleen
against
Masquerading?
when nothing less than a
Mask,
can make thee
fit
to keep Company. It was just such a Vinegar Visage as thine, appearing abroad,
uncover'd
to the terrifying of whole Parishes, that made
Impudence
be call'd
barefac'd.
Thy
Oaken-stick
is a
Type
of Thee; only not half so
dry,
nor so
tough,
nor so
crabbed.
'TIS well, you have taken up your Lodgings in a
Watch-Tower.
If I knew how to come at you, you shou'd have a
Feeling
of my Respect, for your Parts and your PLAIN DEALING.—Yet you are in the Right too, in
one
Thing, that relates to your
Paper
; which is, your Publishing it on
Fridays:
For
Fish-Days,
and
Fasts,
prepare People for Mortification.
IF you needs must be
Preaching,
are there not Subjects enow to
cant
on, without quarrelling with one
pleasant
Night or two in a Moon? Which gets so many
honest People
a comfortable Livelihood too! and which accommodates
sober
Gentlemen, and Ladies, with so
decent
an Opportunity, to
converse,
without Censure!
Why,
since you
must rail,
don't you rail, like a
Good Subject,
at the
inconvenient
Presumption, of late so much in Fashion, of
Making bold with our Betters?
Egad! if I was
Somebody,
Nobody should dare to
Deal Plainly.
IT is a
Sign
you are an
Old Fellow,
since you can't meddle with the
Ladies,
without
nettling
'em! If this is your Manner of
handling
us Women, which you had the Confidence to threaten, at your first setting out, a Fig for all you can do to us.—You cou'd never want
Subjects,
if you did not want Brains, without abusing
Pleasures,
you are
past
the Enjoyment of:—There's the
Fool,
and the
Wise
; and the
Statesmen,
and the
fine Gentleman,
Scope enough for Variety!—Let alone but the
Masquerades,
and use the
World,
at your Pleasure.
THE
Fool
will be, readily allow'd, to the PLAIN DEALER. But many, indeed, may wonder, what the
Wise
can have to do with your
Paper.
—Why, they see the Rest in the wrong, and
laugh
where they shou'd
remedy:
Their
Ill-nature,
therefore, stands in need of a
Snarler.
—The
Statesman,
you know, is by Prescription, and the
Happiness
of our
Constitution,
the
Right
of the
Scribbler!
And, as for the
fine Gentlemen,
(I mean those of the newest Edition, all
gilt
down the
Back,
and
tightly bound,
in
Calf's Leather
); they are a Race of
breathing Blanks,
fast asleep, with Eyes broad open! Yet, if you were good for any Thing, but to
spoil Trade,
you might
wake
'em, by a Pinch or two, of
Plain-Dealing,
into an Apprehension of this Truth, which they never so much as
dream't
of,—
That the Dead may as well be call'd Members of a State, as they who Live to no Purpose.
SEE, now,
Goodman Sowersop!
Here is Business enough cut out for you.—Let the
Women
alone; and concern yourself with what you are
fit for.
—Not a Word, for the future, in Prejudice to an
Assembly,
where
Love
and
strictest Union,
make the general
Occupation.
Throw away your
greasy mouse-colour'd Gloves,
and wear these clean Ones,
From yours, as you shall merit, M— L—
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 7.
— Sapientia Prima
Stultitia caruisse —
HOR.
MONDAY,
April
13. 1724.
BEING the other Day in a large Company at a Gentleman's House in
Covent-Garden,
I was highly delighted, to hear a young beautiful
Lady
acknowledge that Tears flow'd from her Eyes, upon reading of the Story of
Courthope.
She who had the
Virtue
to be so
Elegantly moved
by his
Distress,
will relish an Account of his better Fortune, which she may hereafter expect to be
Entertained
with. But when she added,
That she had been a
Coquette
too long, and if ever it should be her Fate to meet with a Suitor of
Courthope
's
Desert,
she would let him
lose
no Time, for Fear of Accidents:
when I perceived she made this
frank
Confession, not only with her
Lips,
but from her
Heart,
I confess, I began to conceive Hopes of knowing very speedily,
That some
visible Fruits
would arise from these my
Labours.
I WAS therefore a little concern'd, when I found my self interrupted by a young
Wag,
who was pleased to pass Pertness upon the Company for
Jesting.
'That PLAIN DEALER,
said he,
is
a well-meaning Writer,
but he does not strike out a Meaning
cleverly.
This is one of the best Stories I have read, upon the Subject of
Love
; only, there is not one
Double-Meaning
through the Whole, and that makes it
Insipid.
He has been
generally
hitherto, a perfect Inhabitant of his
Blunt-Hall,
which seems to be, rather the
Seat
of his
Understanding
than of his
Person.
But, since the
Ladies like
him, I will endeavour to be of
Their
Mind, and especially because he tells us, he is an
Old Batchelor,
as well as a PLAIN DEALER, and we must have some
Humour
struck
out of
him, when he comes to
act
that Character.
I GUESS'D what the young
Malapert
would be at by the Word
Humour,
and I found I was not deceiv'd, when he pulled out of his Pocket a little Scrap of Poetry, intitled,—
An Epistle from Mrs.
Robinson
to
Senesino,—in which he peremptorily swore,
There was a great deal of
Turn, Life,
and
Spirit.
IT is certain, He shewed some
Spirit
in reading it, and proved himself a
Master
of
Humour,
for he went
boldly
and
undauntedly
thro' it; and would never observe, that every
fresh Line
excited
fresh Blushes
in the
Faces
of all the
Fair
and
Modest
Part of the Assembly.
I TAKE this
Opportunity
of Informing that young Spark (and all others of the same
Class
are desired to take
Notice
of it) That he is greatly mistaken, if he expects any such Humour from me, notwithstanding his
irreverent
way of talking of his
Elders,
and throwing, over
my
Shoulder, a General Sneer upon all the
Old Batchelors
in
Great-Britain.
MY
Province
must be
Tedious,
before it can grow
Pleasant
; I must first remove
Folly,
before I can make Room for
Wit
; for it is by
clearing
their way through the Rubbish of
Absurdity,
that Men take the
first Steps
to
Wisdom.
IF, according to the
Maxim
in the Forehead of my
Paper,
it was my immediate Office to
Teach
that young Spark
better
Things, which I had then a great Inclination to
Do,
only for Fear of
discovering
my self, I would begin by
Weeding
out of his Mind that
rank
Conceit, which he entertains of his Parts, and shewing him, that there is no
true Humour
in
Lewdness,
nor
true Wit
in a
Double Entendre.
HOW
different
was the
Principle
of
Waller?
That Excellent Writer, as I have heard my old Friend Mr.
Dryden
relate publickly at
Will
's, in his Commendation, used to say,
That he would
raze
any
Line
out of his
Poems,
which did not
imply
some
Motive
to
Virtue. This is a Saying that ought to be
Memorable
among our
Poets
; it carries with it the
Energy
of
Good Sense,
as well as
Virtue.
FOR my own Share, I declare, I would rather
Propagate
one such
Maxim,
with good Effect, amongst the Writers of the present Age, than be the
Head
of those
Writers
myself, and the Author of
better
Verses, than
Waller
's.
THEY who believe this to be my real Sentiment, may guess how extreamly delighted I must have been, with the following
Answer,
which a young Lady has given, to the
Affront
and
Outrage
offered to the whole
Sex,
by one who personates
Senesino,
in that
scandalous
Epistle.
An
ANSWER
from Mrs.
ROBINSON
to
SENESINO.
FROM thy
Loose
Lines I turn my Eyes away,
Nor know, o'erspread with
Blushes,
what to say;
The Modest
MUSES,
wounded by thy Strain,
For
Me,
and for
Themselves
do thus complain.
O
Thou!
our Country's
Folly
and
Expence!
Dull Foe to
Tragedy
and
GOD-like Sense;
Too long,
mean, mercenary
Shade, too long,
Hast thou these ISLES
Inchanted
with thy
Song.
Musick
's soft
GOD Unbinds
the Charm he
rais'd,
He
blest
thy Tongue, and while He
blest,
we
prais'd:
By Thee
polluted,
He
disclaims
his Choice,
And will no longer
warble
in thy Voice.
His
Trembling
Notes, where
melting
Softness hung,
And every
Grace,
will seek a
Chaster
Tongue.
No more, the
Lover
shall thy Song
Repeat,
No more the
FAIR ONE
sigh,—
'Tis wondrous sweet!
Oh Guilty
Senesino!
Thou
no
more,
Shalt
bravo! bravo!
hear;—or
loud Encore.
The
Loose
and
Dull,
shall
All
thy Audience be,
The
Chaste
and
Witty
shall
Resent
for Me.
All
unattended
shall thy
awkward
Form
To sad,
uncrowded
Scenes, or
whine,
or
storm.
Thy wretched
Ha
—shall
unapplauded
grow,
And
ill-plac'd
Bays fall
with'ring
from thy Brow,
Know, Songster,
Julius GOD-like
Chief! disdains,
Thy
shrill, unnatural, ungraceful,
Strains,
With Rage redoubled,
Pompey's
Ghost must burn,
To find such Tears
prophane
his
Sacred
Urn.
Remember,
Eccho,
soon thoul't know the Time
Stripp'd of thy Robes, thy
Legions
and thy Rhime;
(Thou poor Machine, of
mean, delusive
Sound)
When I shall see thy Temples all unbound,
And
Those
that Heroes
Act,
like Heroes
Crown'd.
Thou, to thy famish'd
Italy
shalt go,
And Rival
Faustus
to the
Shades
Below.
THE
Business
of the
following,
is of a
Nature
very
surprizing.
To say
Truth,
I was startled at it. It does not,
directly,
indeed, come to me from the
Devil:
But it was sent me from a
Deputy
of
his,
who Professes the
Black Art,
and stiles himself
Doctor Faustus.
He dates his Letter,
From the
Theatre
in
Lincolns-Inn-Fields,—and would
pass
upon me, for a
Player,
or a
Tumbler,
or
Zany,
under the
Disguise
of a Magician: But I beg his Pardon for
That
; I am seldom
deceiv'd
so easily. I am almost persuaded, It is an
Agile,
Evil Spirit, that walks and does Mischief, by Candle-Light, and assumes
enticing Shapes,
to draw in the
Unwary,
and deprive People of their
Wits.
But, if he be,
really,
Flesh and Blood, I am at a Loss what to think of him; only his
Assurance
seems considerable, (since he appears, by his Letter, to belong to One of our
Theatres
) that he should imagine me to be Novice enough to believe, he could be a
Conjurer.
FAUSTUS,
the
MAGICIAN,
To the
PLAIN DEALER,
Greeting.
FORASMUCH as I Reverence your Name and your Purpose, I decline the Revenge, which, by Aid of my
Art,
I might return for my Injuries; and content my self, by your Means, to expose an
Impostor.
HAVING fixed my Place of Residence, on my Arrival in this famous City, at the
Theatre
by
Lincoln
's-
Inn,
for the
Publick Display
of
Qualities
which
Distinguish
the Sons of
Magick
; I heard, with a Due Mixture of
Contempt
and
Displeasure,
that the Rumour of my Purpose had encourag'd
another Theatre
to
disguise
under the
Venerable
Character of
Faustus,
a profess'd Lover of
Levity
; and
endeavour,
in Spite of Nature, to give him the
Weight
of a
Wizard.
BUT, being satisfied in the
Consciousness
of my
own
Superiority, I have
overlook'd
and
neglected
him; 'till, embolden'd by
Success,
he has
dar'd,
now, at last, to
publish
his
List
of
Fooleries
; with a pertinacious
Pretence
to something not unlike
Comparison!
I am therefore determin'd, immediately, to make him
leap
out of my Gown, and confess himself
No Doctor.
IN that Catalogue of
Tricks,
(most illiberal Appellation!) he makes use of these
strange
Words—
A
Usurer
comes in, and brings a Money-Bag to the
Doctor;
for which he offers his Note; but the
Usurer
entirely contemns the Proposal, and will have the
Doctor'
s
Leg,
instead of Security for the Money. The
Doctor
endeavours to dissuade him from this Demand, and offers him his Head, in Exchange of the
Leg
he wanted.
I PASS over the
unmagical Absurdity
of a
Necromancer
's wanting Money; or, That a
Usurer,
who would rather have parted with his
own
Leg, to save a Bag of Money, should be so whimsical to surrender
it,
in Exchange for
Another
's. I leave such
Remarks
to the
Trite
Essays of
Criticks,
not descending, my self, to the
Insignificance
of being
Witty:
But what I would convey to the Knowledge of your
Readers,
is, The
Necessity
which my
Charms
have laid this
Boaster
under, to
Expose
and
Discover
himself, in the very
Act
of his
Imposture.
FOR who does not know, That had he been the
true Faustus,
his
Brains
must have had their Situation in his
Head?
His
Head
therefore, he would have preferr'd to all his
inferior
Members. But the
Seat
of his Understanding having been
plac'd,
by his
Profession,
at the
Bottom
of his Body, I commission'd a
Familiar
to perplex his Apprehension; who, by convincing him of how little Worth his
Head
was, in comparison with his
Heels,
drew him under such a Terror, that he continually cries out, to those who come for his Catalogue,
The
Devil
is, in good Earnest, in the
Conjurer
of
Lincoln's-Inn;
but I am only a
Dancing-Master.
YOU shall prosper in PLAIN-DEALING if you Publish this
Letter,
and have Faith in
FAUSTUS
the
ENCHANTER.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 8.
— Nos duo turba sumus.
OVID.
FRIDAY,
April
17. 1724.
THERE is a
Liveliness,
and Race of
Spirit,
which we commonly call
Wit
; but it is the
Effect
of
Natural Accident
; and depends, like a
Machine,
upon
Order
and
Parts.
It is only the
Result
of a
Mixture
of
different Humours:
and of Animal Spirits,
finer
and more
delicately
agitated, than ordinary; which
imprint
in their Passage, a
quick
and
lively
Sense of Images; and animate by that Impression, the
Visage, Voice,
and
Deportment.
IT is merely by this Quickness, and Heat of their
Imagination,
that witty Men surprize us. A smart and sprightly
Rhetorick!
A humorous Turn of
Phrase!
A frank Vivacity of
Mien!
with a
modish Affectation
of peculiar
Looks,
and
Gesture,
make the
Merit
of their
Character.
But these Men want, for the most Part, both
Strength
of
Mind,
and
Penetration.
Their
Imaginations
are
thin,
and
delicate
; and play
lightly
on the
Skirts
of
Objects:
But they are too
weak
for solid
Reasoning
; and, in any Thing
abstracted,
and
above
the
Pitch
of the
Senses,
they are miserably
Impotent,
and grow presently
weary.
THEY are the
Ladies Favourites,
however; by a Kind of
Sympathy,
or
Resemblance:
For,
Women,
being naturally of feeble
Constitutions,
have their Brains of soft Consistence; with
Fibres fine,
and
slender; apt
and
easy
to be mov'd, by the
weakest
Agitations. They are
subject
therefore, to their
Senses
; and wanting
Force,
to strike
deeper,
set up for Judges of
Modes,
and
Fashions
; and relish nothing, but what contributes to their
Pleasure,
or their
Ornament.
They have fix'd the Standard of
Wit,
by certain
Rules
of this
Tendency
; and find nothing so
difficult,
as to believe a Man can
want
it, who has such
Charms
for
their
Entertainment.
NED VOLATILE, a Member of our
Assembly
at the
Widow
's, is a
Foreman
of this
Species.
With a great Extent of
Good Nature,
he appears
Void
of
any
; his Facility to
jest
and
rally,
transports him, beyond
Decency,
to
illustrate
Objects, or
debase
'em; and, without regard to
Ceremony, Merit,
or
Condition,
he
contracts
Things, or
magnifies
them, when they fall in his Way, 'till he has
adapted
them to his
Talent,
of presenting every Thing
ridiculously.
WE have the very
Reverse
of this
Character,
in the
frank-hearted Major Stedfast:
a Brave, and Able Officer, the
Reward
of whose
Merit
has been
Oppression
and
Injustice
! yet, so
firm
is the manly
Generosity
of his Temper, that, at one and the same Time, he
vindicates
his Character with the Boldness of an
injur'd
Soldier; and offers Arguments, in Excuse for the
Rashness
of his Ruiner! Imputing to
Credulity,
and the
Malice
of Misrepresenters, what his Friends, All, consider as an Act of
Violence
and
Barbarity.
There is no
Subject,
which he, oftner, or with more
Pleasure,
enlarges on, than the
great,
and
noble Qualities,
of the Man who has
undone
him! Nay, he talks, even of his
Justice,
with as much
Warmth
and
Seriousness,
as if he had, himself, been oblig'd by it.
THE
Major
and
Ned Volatile,
are the
North
and
South Poles
of our
Assembly. Ned speaks,
and the
Major thinks.
The first is always
pleas'd,
but the other always
pleases.
There is a
Humanity
in the
Major
's
Air,
that never fails to mark him out as the common Friend of the Company: and a kind of
Majestick Tenderness
in his Behaviour, gives him the
Authority
of their
Father.
He corrects, and approves, with Openness; and is, at once,
severe
and
amiable!
There is a solemn
Force
and
Weight,
in the Manner of his
speaking,
which seems to borrow its
Equality
from the
Steddiness
of his
Principles.
He esteems, without
Transport
; and condemns, without
Anger.
What is
Fancy
in
Ned Volatile,
is
Reason
in the
Major.
The One has a
Judgment,
that is
Solid
and
Plain:
The Other an
Imagination,
that is Sparkling and Wanton.
IT is a very frequent, and agreeable Entertainment, which arises to the
Assembly
out of the natural
Opposition,
of these two
Characters
; who yet preserve a
Decorum,
by Effect of the Regard each has for the other. The
Major
loves
Ned
's Chearfulness; But thinks him
trifling
and
impertinent:
And
Ned Volatile
hears, with Reverence, the Wisdom of the
Major
; but would
like
him a great deal better, if he would be
merrier
and more
noisy.
WE had lately the Pleasure of hearing, in a full Meeting, some of the newest
Opera Songs,
by a skilful
Italian Lady,
who
has been
famous on our
Theatres
; and is equally remarkable for the
Sweetness
of her
Voice,
and the
Strength
of her
Features!
she is an Acquaintance of the
Widow,
who asked us, assoon as she was gone, our Opinion of this Person, to whom, we all knew her
Partial. Ned Volatile
prevented
any
Answer but his
own
; and desir'd, He might have Liberty to give it,
under his Hand.
He had Pen and Ink brought him; and every Body was grown
Impatient
for the Product of his
Muse,
when he presented it, in the following VERSES, from
Randolph.
NOW Shame pursue my
medling Sight;
Wou'd,
I had been
All Ear,
to Night!
Sweet is her
Voice,
as Flow'rs in
June;
But ne'er was
Face
so out of
Tune.
Lower
than
Gammut
are her
Eyes:
Her
Nose
does above
Ela
rise!
Were I to chuse my self a
Dear,
Not by my
Eye,
but by my
Ear,
Here
wou'd I fix—cou'd I but
woo
The
Sound,
without the
Substance
too.
Some Women are
All
Tongue—and oh!
What Joy 'twou'd be, were
This
but so!
Harmonious
Gods!
to ease my Mind,
Or strike her
Dumb,
or make me
Blind.
NO sooner had
Ned Volatile
repeated his
Verses,
but a General Applause, of
Laughter,
was return'd him by the Company. All but the
Widow,
the
Major
and
My-self,
were extravagantly transported with the
Humour
and the
Satire:
And
Ned
was triumphantly
expanding
his
Poetry,
with an Air of
Levity,
and
Satisfaction
; when the
Major,
to prevent a second Reading, of what he saw was
distasteful
to some Part of the
Assembly,
began to speak in this Manner.
THE Company must acknowledge, they are oblig'd to Mr.
Volatile,
for the Pains he is at, to
please
them: But, if he were as
inclinable
to
reason,
as he is to
entertain,
no Body could convince us sooner, that the
finest Ridicule
is to be considered but as
Cruelty,
where it borrows its Subject from Mens
Natural Defects,
or their
Miseries.
I know very well, that whatever savours of
Instruction
is offensive in
Conversation
; and that nothing is more
insupportable,
than a
Liberty
People take, of prescribing
Rules
to all the World. We presently wish to fly the Society of those who
dogmatize:
For the Mind of Man is Generous, and
resists
Truth, or
receives
it, as its Approaches are
Rude
or
Gentle.
But then, there is an equal Inconvenience in the
contrary Extream:
And if we wou'd enjoy Conversation, with a Delicacy of
Wit,
we should have Liberty to
bound
it, by the Interposition of our
Judgment.
THE
Harmony
of this Lady, who has so agreeably entertain'd us, is a
Beauty
that might weigh against the Absence of other Charms, more frequent, and perhaps less valuable! 'Tis the Motherly Indulgence of
Nature,
to rob us of
no
Benefit, without bestowing on us some other, in a double Proportion. How seldom do we find
all
Accomplishments united in the
same
Person!
Some
are
happy
in their Humour, and have their Spirits full of
Fire
; and
swift
and
subtil
in their
Motion. Others,
not so
sprightly,
have a Blood more
cold
and
phlegmatic
; but the Course of their Animal Spirits being
temperately
regulated, they are
cautious
in
Deliberation, strong
and
constant
in
Resolution
; and
unshaken
in their
Enterprizes.
How
visible
is this
Difference! One
is
airy
and
facetious
; the
Other thoughtful
and
judicious.
The
Wit
of
One
is
sharp
; the
Sense
of the
Other, solid.
I REMEMBER to have seen, during the last War in
Flanders,
in a Town where I had my Winter-Quarters, a wonderful Example of this
Recompence,
observ'd by Nature. An old Man, who had been born blind, and had always continued so, had a natural
Sagacity,
that was
prodigious
and scarce
credible!
A Legacy being left him, to the Value of
Fifty Pistoles,
the poor Man, who had never expected to be Master of such a Sum, was under no small
Solicitude
how to secure his Possession of it. He determin'd, at last, to dig a Hole in the Cellar, and hide it: But it happen'd, that a
Dutch
Soldier, who was quartered in the House, saw him bury the Purse, and went afterwards and stole it. The Blind Man bethinking himself of a Place
more
convenient, return'd, in an Hour or two, and discover'd his Misfortune; for which he contriv'd an ingenious Remedy, by
detecting
the
Author
of it, which he judg'd to have been the
Dutch
Soldier; but the Difficulty was,
how
to
prove
it.
THEY lay in the same Room; and, at Night, when they were in Bed, the Blind Man began, under Pretence of Friendship and Confidence, to consult with the Soldier, concerning a Necessity which he said, he was under, to
hide
a
hundred Pistoles.
To say Truth, added he, I have
hid fifty
of them
to Day
; and would dispose of the
other fifty
in the same Place, to Morrow; only I am desirous to be satisfy'd, Whether, in Point of
Conscience,
such a Practice is
unlawful?
My Relations being so extravagant, that they would
waste
it all, if they could come at it.
THE
Soldier
swallowed the
Bait,
and
argued,
like a
Casuist,
to confirm the Intention; expecting, now, to get it
all.
He rose, therefore, betimes, and going into the Cellar, restor'd the fifty Pieces to the Hole, he had taken them from: The Blind Man went, afterwards, and recover'd his Money, as he expected, by the Success of his Stratagem.
HERE, the
Major
clos'd his
Speech
; and it was difficult to say, which had most pleas'd the Hearers, His
Story,
or his
Good-Nature: Ned Volatile,
himself, tho' his
Vanity
was a
little
shock'd, felt an Awe, from the
Vertue
and
Plain-Dealing
of his Friend; and, looking
generously out of Countenance,
told the
Major,
with a serious Smile,
'That, in Company of 'the
Wise,
none are
Foolish,
but the
Witty.
YET, to shew you, said he, (by this Time, beginning to recover himself,) That I have
edified
by your
Sermon,
I will make an
honourable Amends
to the
Ladies,
by producing the Example of a
Living Glory
to their
Sex,
who has also been pleasant on a
natural Defect,
but in a manner, much more
Generous.
She made them, on a
Boy
that was
Dumb,
but of excellent
Quickness
of
Parts.
And I speak with the more
Pleasure,
in
Praise
of this
Lady,
because I know I can do nothing more
acceptable
to the
Major,
whom I have often heard declaring himself, One of Her
devoted Admirers.
I Sing the Boy, who
gagg'd
and
bound,
Has been, by
Nature, robb'd
of
Sound:
Yet has she found a gen'rous Way,
One Loss,
by
many Gifts,
to pay.
His
Voice,
indeed, she close
confin'd;
But bless'd him with a
speaking Mind.
And ev'ry
Muscle
of his Face,
Discourses,
with peculiar Grace.
The
LADIES,
tatling, o'er their
Tea,
Might learn to
charm,
by copying
Thee:
If
Silence,
thus, can
Man
become,
All
Women Beauties
shou'd be
dumb.
Then,
happy Boy,
no more complain,
Nor think thy Loss of
Speech
a Pain;
Nature
has us'd thee, like
good Liquor,
And
cork'd
thee, but to make thee
quicker.
THE
Major
embrac'd
Ned Volatile
with a fatherly Pride, and Tenderness: And there was not One, in Company, who did not think it a
Happiness,
to be guilty of a
Fault,
which had furnish'd an Opportunity of
repenting,
so
gracefully.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 9.
— fratremque ruentem
Sustentat dextra —
VIR.
MONDAY,
April
20. 1724.
THERE is Nothing more
talk'd
of and less easily
found
than
Friendship
; Every One
Pretends
to
It,
and not
One
in a
Million
really
Possesses
this
Noble Passion,
which is the most Generous that can
Actuate
and
Adorn
the
Soul
of Man; being as Necessary a
Cement,
in Private and Domestick Life, as
Publick Faith
to
Publick Society,
and the greater Commerce of the World.
FOR Want of Authentick and Real Examples of this
Noble Quality
so conducive to Pleasure as well as Profit, the Antient Poets have had Recourse to Fiction, and told us Stories of their
Pylades
and
Orestes
; but we will entertain the Reader with the greatest Action of
Generous Friendship
that Human Nature is capable of
Performing
; and this from an Author of
unexceptionable
Credit, who was both an Eye and Ear Witness to Part of the Story, which is more remarkable, by happening between
Two Brothers,
whom the constant Observation of all Ages, has
remark'd
to be
less
often Friends, notwithstanding the Ties of Blood, than other Persons; insomuch that
Virgil,
who had a Perfect Knowledge of
Human Nature,
has thought fit (as it were Proverbially) to express himself on this Occasion,
Et infidos agitans Discordia Fratres.
IN the Beginning of the XVIth Century, the
Portugueze
Carracks sailed from
Lisbon
to
Goa,
a very great Colony of
Portugueze,
in the
East-Indies.
These Carracks are the largest Vessels that press the Ocean: On Board of one of them were Twelve Hundred Souls, Mariners, Merchants, Passengers, Priests, and Fryars, who were going on their several Missions established in
China
and the
Indies:
The Beginning of their Voyage was Prosperous; they had doubled the
Cape of Good Hope,
and were steering
North-East
to the Continent of
India,
when some Gentlemen on Board, having studied
Geography
and
Navigation,
found in the Latitude in which they then were, a very great Ridge of Rocks laid down in their Sea Charts; upon this, they apply'd themselves to the
Captain
of the Ship, and acquainted him with the Danger which they apprehended, desiring him at the same Time, to communicate what they had discovered to the
Pilot
; which Request he immediately gratify'd, recommending to the
Pilot
to lie by in the
Night,
and slacken Sail by
Day,
'till they should be past the Danger. By the Discipline of the
Portugueze
Navy, the Sailing Part is absolutely committed to the Care of the
Pilot,
who is answerable with his Head, for the safe Carriage of the King's Ship, and under no manner of Direction from the
Captain,
who commands in all other Respects.
INSTEAD of complying with so reasonable a Request, on which the Safety of so many Lives depended, the insolent
Pilot,
thinking it an Affront to be taught in his own Art, crowded more Sail than he carried before.
THE Observations of these Gentlemen were too true, not to have a fatal Issue: They had not sailed many Hours, but just upon Break of Day, (which would have been prevented if they had lain by) the Ship struck upon a Rock, and broke her Back.
I LEAVE to the Reader's Imagination, what a Scene of Horror this must be; the Fright of Twelve hundred Persons in the same inevitable Danger, at the Sight of that instantaneous Death, which star'd them in the Face!
THE
Captain
in this Distress, order'd the Pinnace to be launch'd, into which, after having toss'd in a small Quantity of Biscuit, and some few Boxes of Marmelade, he got himself with nineteen others, who seeing the Danger of a Crowd in the common Horror, rushing into the Boat, drew their Swords and prevented the coming in of any more: The same Necessity oblig'd them immediately to put off, lest their Pinnace should be drawn in by the Suction of the sinking Carrack.
HERE their Eyes were entertain'd with the most dismal of Spectacles, the Sight of their sinking Friends, and their Ears with the Cries of so many in the same Misery, whom they could not help without their own Destruction; a Scene of Woe, which nothing could alleviate but the Reflection, that they themselves were not in the same Extremity, though humanly speaking, they were not in a much better Condition, being destitute on the vast
Indian
Ocean, in an open Boat, without any Compass to direct them, without any fresh Water, but what must fall from those Heavens, whose Mercy alone could deliver them. To which must be added, the inevitable Danger of being overset by the first Wind that should raise the Waves, besides the Certainty of perishing assoon as their small Stock of Provisions should be spent, which only serv'd to prolong their Miseries by reserving them for a more lingring and cruel Death. In this Distress, after they had for four Days rowed to and fro, without Guide or Direction, the Captain, who had been sick, and very weak, for some Time, overcome with Grief and Fatigue, died. This added, if possible, to their Misery, for now they fell into the last Confusion, Every one would Govern, and none would Obey: This oblig'd them to chuse one of their own Company to command them, whose Orders they agreed implicitly, without any Reserve, to follow.
THE Choice fell upon a Gentleman, who was, what the
Portugueze
call a
Mestizzo,
that is, one begotten between an
European
and an
Indian:
This Person, vested with his new Authority, proposed to the Company to draw Lots, and throw every fourth Man overboard, by Reason their Provision was spent so far, as not to last above three Days longer: They were now Nineteen Persons in all; in this Number were a Fryar and the Carpenter, both whom, they would exempt, by Reason of their being so necessary, the One to Absolve and Comfort them in their last Extremity, and the other to take Care of the Boat, in Case of a Leak, or other Accident; the same Compliment they paid to their new Captain, he being the odd Man, and his Life of more Consequence than any of the rest. He refused a great while, but at last acquiesced; so that there were four to dye out of the sixteen remaining.
THE Three first on whom the Lot fell, after having confess'd, and receiv'd Absolution, submitted to their Fate.
THE Fourth, whom Fortune condemn'd, was a
Portugueze
Gentleman who had a younger Brother in the Boat, who, seeing him about to be flung over-board, most tenderly embraced him, and with Tears in his Eyes, besought him to let him dye for him; enforcing his Arguments by telling him, That,
He was a Married Man, and had a Wife and Children at
Goa,
besides the Care of three Sisters who absolutely depended upon him: That as for himself, he was single, and his Life of no great Importance; he therefore conjur'd him to let him supply his Place.
THE Elder Brother astonish'd, and melted with this Generosity, replied, That
since the Providence of
GOD,
had appointed him, it would be wicked and unjust to suffer any other to dye for him, especially a Brother to whom he was so infinitely oblig'd.
THE Younger would take no Denial, but flinging himself on his Knees, held his Brother so fast, that they could not disengage them: Thus they disputed for a while, the Elder Brother bidding him
be a Father to his Wife and Children, and as he would inherit his Estate, take Care of their common Sisters
; but all he could say, made him not desist; This was a Scene of Tenderness which must fill with Pity any Breast susceptible of generous Impressions!
AT last, as it is no difficult Thing to persuade a Man to live, the
Constancy
of the Elder Brother yielded to the
Piety
of the Younger; he acquiesced, and suffered the Gallant Young Man to supply his Place; who being flung into the Water, when he came to it, could not be content to dye; but being a very good Swimmer, got to the Stern of the Pinnace, and laid hold with his right Hand; which being perceiv'd by one of the Sailors, he cut off the Hand with a Cutlass, upon which, dropping into the Sea, he caught hold again with his Left, which received the same Fate by a second Blow; thus dismembered in his two Hands, he made a shift, notwithstanding, to keep himself above Water, with his Feet and two Stumps.
THIS moving Spectacle so raised the Pity of the whole Crew, that they cry'd out,
He is but one Man, let us save him
; which was accordingly done; and he taken into the Boat, had his Hands bound up as well as the Place and Circumstances would permit. They row'd all that Night, and next Morning, when the Sun arose, as if Heaven would reward the Gallantry and Piety of this Young Man, and for his Sake, save all the rest, they descry'd Land, which prov'd to be the Mountains of
Mozambique
in
Africk,
where the
Portugueze
have a Colony; hither they all safely got, where they staid 'till the next Ships from
Lisbon
pass'd by, and carried this Company to
Goa
; where
Linschotten,
a
Dutch
Author of good Credit, assures us, That he himself saw them land, supp'd with the two Brothers that very Night, saw the Younger with his Stumps, and had the Story from both their Mouths, as well as from the rest of the Company.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 10
— Dulcis Odor Lucri.
— didicisse fideliter Artes.
— Emollit mores nec sinit esse feros.
HOR.
FRIDAY,
April
24. 1724.
AMONG the
Benefits
we owe to
Trade,
there is One
Disadvantage,
unavoidably annexed to
It
—It
weakens
our
Humanity,
and
eradicates
an
open Confidence,
which most Men are
born
with; but
lose,
as it were,
insensibly,
by the Influence of
low Maxims:
such as are early imprinted on the Minds of
all
who are
educated
to the Arts of
Bargaining.
THE
Notions
of such Men, unless in some
extraordinary
Cases, are strangely
narrow,
and
confin'd.
They are seldom
capable
of
relishing,
or even of
comprehending,
the Extent of a
disinterested Beneficence.
—Their
Wisdom
is but
Cunning,
and their
Learning
is a
Craft.
When they hear the Fame of some
vast Bounty,
some
Expansion
of the
Soul,
that is
unusual,
and
astonishing,
instead of that
Emotion
and
warm Transport
of Heart, which it
excites,
in the
Generous,
all
their
Wonder is the
Effect
of their
Incapacity
to
conceive
it: for, measuring it by a Supposition, That there
must
be some
latent Design,
they are at a
Loss
to account
for
the
Gain,
or the
Drift
of it.
CIVILITY, in these Men, is not
Manners,
but
Mystery.
Their
Friendships
are a Kind of
Barterings,
for
Exchange
of
Good Offices,
and the
weakest
of their
Passions,
are their
Love,
and their
Pity.
NO
Condition
of Life can be more
afflicted
and
mortifying,
than the
Misery
of
Owing Money
to these
Scantlings
of
Humanity.
They consider you,
then,
no longer on the Foot of Merit, or Quality; but, as if Good Manners, and Decency, were their
Ready Money Commodities,
they throw off all
Respect,
and grow
brutal,
and
unsociable.
Mr.
Hawthorn,
my Neighbour, the
Sussex
Justice of the
Quorum,
came lately into the
Assembly,
with a
Mien,
disturb'd, and
Martial.
He swung his Arms, like a
Pendulum.
His Face was flush'd, and flaming; and his whole Gesture
menacing.
He puff'd and breath'd short; sat him down, in one of the Windows; threw his Hat upon the Floor; and, as soon as he cou'd speak intelligibly, gave us loudly to understand, That he had been waiting, six Hours, in a Tavern, without eating or drinking, with a furious Determination, to
break
the
Head
of the
Vintner.
—Is this, said he, the Good-Breeding of your
Welcome-mongers,
that keep
Taverns?
—Is
this,
the little, flattering, scraping, sneering, wagtail
Fellow,
that us'd to be so
ready,
and so
nimble?
—To rub his Hands, and wriggle forward, like a Spaniel, to the Street-End of his Entry?—
Odsbobs!
it was a lucky
Reprieve
for his
Bones,
that he was gone down to the
Custom-House!
for I am verily convinc'd, that, in the
Fury
of my
Heart,
I shou'd have
broke
the
King's Peace,
tho' I had
lost
my
Commission
for't.
THE
Assembly
was, by this Time, in a
Midway
Disposition, betwixt
Mirth
and
Astonishment!
when he threw me a rumpled Paper, and
nodded
at me, to open it. I did so, in some Confusion, and, perceiv'd, it was a
Letter
; which, upon a second
permissive Nod,
I read, aloud, to the Company.
For 'Squire
Robert Hawthorn.
These.
SIR,
I SHUD a'thought, how such as you, shud a been a Man of
Honour.
Your Friend, as gave you a Character, promis'd, That you was
Ready Money,
for that Pipe of
Neat Port,
as I sent away, by your Order, to the Carrier's in the
Borough.
—But I find no such Matter. I ha' writ one Letter, besides this, and had no
Answer,
to
none
of
'um.
I depend upon hearing from you, to my
Content,
betwixt and next
Saturday,
without fail:—Or Trouble will ensue.
Yours,
Giles Winpenny.
I WAS a little at a Loss how to act in this Business, for it happen'd, unfortunately, that I had recommended Mr.
Winpenny,
to my worthy Neighbour Mr.
Hawthorn
; so that I was under some Surprize, and in Perplexity, what to say: When
Ned Volatile,
whose
Levity
is, sometimes, of
much Weight,
interpos'd, very seasonably, and with his usual
Vein
of
Humour.
LEND your Cudgel to
Me,
Mr.
Justice
o'the
Quorum
; for, if you shou'd
pay
him, your self, you will pay him, with
Interest.
—Besides, it is an Honour that every Body does not
merit,
—to be
beat
by a
Magistrate.
—The Matter is not so
great
neither.—If you will do me but the Favour to sup, to Night, at my Lodgings, there's
my Man,
now, I'll warrant you, can produce half a Score, such
tender Billets
as this.—I give 'em him, once a Week, to cut out into
Fringes,
for my
Candlesticks.
—But, as to poor
Winpenny,
he's an honest Fellow, at Bottom, and no worse than a
Miser.
—But so
pleasantly
covetous, that, if you were as
learn'd
in him, as I am, you wou'd forgive him, out of
Gratitude,
for the
Laughter
he wou'd afford you.—Shall I tell you a merry
Story
of him?—Poor
Winpenny,
you must know, lost a Cargo of Wine, that was coming to him, from
Lisbon
; and, in the Anguish of his Heart, he resolv'd to
live no longer:
He ty'd a Rope about his Neck, and fast'ning it to a Beam in his Cellar, jump'd,
heroically
off, from an
unlucky,
empty, Hogshead, that tumbled down, from its Stand, and alarm'd one of his Drawers, who was unseasonably Vigilant. The silly Rogue
cry'd out;
and I, happening, at that Time, to be Drinking behind the
Bar,
run immediately down; and, as Ill-Luck wou'd have it, came Time enough to cut the Rope.—Great Endeavours were us'd, to compose his ruffled Mind.—But, when he was told, the next Morning, in what Manner he was preserv'd, he grew desperate, and uncomfortable; And nothing wou'd serve his Turn, but his Rope must be
paid for.
—I have the Bill, at Home uncancell'd, where he charges me, by Way of Postscript, with this remarkable Article,—
For Cutting a New Rope, what you please, or think reasonable.
MR.
Hawthorn
lost his Anger, in
Ned Volatile
's Start of Pleasantry; and the
Assembly
grew compos'd, and took Occasion, from this Incident, to enter upon a serious, and instructive,
Chain
of
Reasoning,
on the
Loveliness
of that
Quality,
which is call'd
Generosity:
At the Close of which, the
Major,
who had listen'd, from the Beginning, with a silent Approbation, and a Face augustly sweeten'd, with an
Amiable Reverence,
took his Turn in the Conversation: And as soon as he offer'd to speak, a chearful Expectation appear'd in the
Eyes
of the whole Company; and every Body paid him the Homage of a voluntary Attention.
I have been greatly delighted, said this
Friend
of
Mankind,
with the
Discourse
which I have heard, of an
Excellence,
I
love:
And, which, I remember a fine
Experience
of, by a Companion of mine, an
agreeable,
young Fellow, who, in an
Exigency,
that befel him, try'd the
Difference
of Mens Natures.—He applyed himself to Two Persons; of whom One was his near
Relation,
and the Other had been his
School-fellow.
He sent each of them a Letter, which had the same Contents,
Verbatim.
—From the first, he had this
Answer.
I keep
both
Copies in my
Pocket-Book
; for I should be sorry to lose Either.
Dear Tom,
YOU could never have applyed your self to me at so unlucky a
Time,
as
Now:
For I have not a
loose Corn
by me. The
Funds
are, to me, instead of a
strong Box:
And, you know, when they are in such a fair Way of
Rising,
one would not willingly
sell out
; unless for some
extraordinary
Occasion. I send you the
Note
again, because it don't fall in my
Way
to make the proposed
Use
of it: But I am
heartily,
and
sincerely
sorry, that it should happen to be thus out of my
Power:
For no Body in the
World
can be more willing, and ready, at all
Times,
to serve
You,
than,
Dear TOMSY,
Your loving
Uncle,
and real Friend,
D. W.
The
ANSWER
to his other
LETTER,
was very different, and runs thus:
SIR,
NO good
News
can be more welcome, than a Proof, That I am honour'd with the
Friendship
of the
Deserving.
—I must consider in
this Light,
the
Obligation
you have laid me under, by that
Confidence
you allowed to my
Professions
of
Sincerity.
—This
Bill
should have come alone, but that I find my self under a Necessity to
rectify
a
Mistake,
you have made, in the
Note,
you sent me.—Forgive me, therefore, that I return it you. I am, with the greatest Respect,
SIR,
Your most Obliged, and most Obedient Servant,
M. Z.
THE
Note,
which he sent back, was that, by which my
Friend
had acknowledged his Receipt of the
Money
he desired to borrow; and which he promised to repay, on
Demand,
to the
Lender,
or his
Order:
All this, the refined Obliger had
eraz'd
with his
Pen
; and instead of it, wrote what follows, on the blank Side of the Paper.—
I do hereby declare, That I owe five Hundred
Guineas,
to my good Friend, Mr. S—, and will always reserve them in a Readiness for his
Call;
in Return for the
Pleasure
he has given me, by borrowing of me
One Hundred.
WHILE we were expressing our
Satisfaction
in this fine-spirited Instance, of the
Art
of
enlarging
Favours, by the
Manner
of conferring them, the
Alderman
was observed to have
fix'd
his Eyes on the Floor, in a Posture of Thought, and Sadness, that was very
unusual
in him.—
Ned Volatile,
who had just made a
Tour,
round the Table, to beg a Pinch of
Spanish
from the
Coquett
's
Venetian Snuff-Box,
passing close behind the
Alderman,
and supposing him fast asleep, guided Part of it to his
Nose,
and rows'd him, into a Fit of
Sneezing
; which, as soon as he was freed from, he looked round for
Ned Volatile
; and, after a
Half Smile,
and a
Sober Wag
of his
Head,
thus addressed himself to the
Company.
I KNEW, I owed this
Favour
to the Wantonness of that young
Mad-cap
; who is as full of
Mischief
as a
Monkey.
He fancy'd, I was
nodding
; and, truly, I am sorry, that he happened to be mistaken; for I was
musing,
and very
melancholy.
—This Story of the
Major
's brought afresh into my Mind an extraordinary Accident that I met with, my self, in the Year of the
Great Frost,
that was before the
Revolution.
MANY
Losses,
that Year, had disabled me to make good my Credit; so that I was
run upon,
by my Enemies; and gave myself up for no Better than a
Gone Man.
But, one Morning, early,—I shall never forget it!—I was just come down into my
Counting House,
in my Night-Gown, and Slippers;—when, in comes a Porter, and delivers me a Letter; and away he goes, immediately, without asking for an Answer.—The Letter was from a Merchant, that had formerly been my Best Friend; but we had
broke off,
for some Years, upon my refusing to lend him a
Thousand Pounds,
upon his
Bond
; and we had never convers'd, since that Time, till now, that he sent this Letter; the Contents of which, were to tell me, That he was sorry to hear, what was reported abroad, to the
Discredit
of my
Circumstances
; for he knew, it must be owing to some
unfortunate
Accident; since, whatever
Defects
I had, I could never
want Frugality.
—But, however, says he, If
Five Thousand Pounds
can save you, call for it when you please, and I will lend it you, by Way of
Punishment,
for an
Unkindness
of Yours, formerly: And since the Mortification This must give you, merits Pardon for your Fault, I will
forget it,
from this Time forward, that we may be Friends again, as usual.
THE
Alderman
interrupted himself in this Part of his
Story,
by a sudden Burst of
Tears
; which he strove, in vain, to suppress; and which affected the whole
Assembly
with a
Sympathy,
more
touching,
than could have been excited by the most pathetick Force of
Eloquence.
—He recover'd himself, after a short Pause, and went on, to inform us, That, within less than a Week, after he had sav'd himself from
Ruin,
by Receipt of this Money, his generous Friend, the
Merchant,
fell out of a
Boat,
below Bridge, and was, unfortunately drown'd.—It is true, continu'd the good
Alderman,
I repaid it, very punctually, and have made all Acknowledgments, and done all Services, in my Power, to his sorrowful
Widow,
and his
Children.
—But,
alas!
What did all
That
signify?—
He
was dead, that had
Oblig'd
me:—And
gone,
beyond all Possibility of ever knowing how I
repented
my unkind Usage of him! and what a
Shame,
and a
Change,
his
Generosity
had produced in me!
He would willingly have spoke more; but could not support his
Anguish
;—and wept again, very passionately; so that rising abruptly, he hastened out of the Room, and left
Us all
in great
Disorder.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 11
— Nugis addere Pondus.
HOR.
MONDAY,
April
27. 1724.
I YESTERDAY went to see a very agreeable Friend, at whose House, I found a handsome Appearance of Young People of both SEXES. Upon my Entrance, every one rose, and very obligingly proffered me a Seat, each insisting on the Preference I should give in Acceptance of the Honour design'd me.
AS I was unwilling to disoblige any One, where All had treated me with so much Civility, I wink'd at my Friend, who, with great Formality, conducted me to a large Elbow-Chair; and put an End to the Dispute.
WHILE I was wondring with a secret Pleasure, at such an
unaccustom'd
Piece of
Good-breeding,
and examining the Countenances of the Company, my Friend, who till then had discours'd of indifferent Matters, told me with a Smile,
He had assembled this Sett of Young People, with a Promise of shewing them the
PLAIN DEALER,
and therefore desir'd, I would throw
aside
all
Reservedness,
and look upon
every one
as my
profess'd Admirer,
and
Friend, which was immediately confirm'd by a
General Reverence.
I THANK'D him for the
Favour
he had done me, in introducing me to such Agreeable Society; and could not help discovering by my Looks, the inward Satisfaction I felt, at the Sight of so much
Youth,
and
Beauty
; which ended in that melancholy Reflection,
How many
Dangers
it was
expos'd
to, and how easily it might be
vitiated.
WHEN the Tea-Equipage was remov'd, and every One remained silent in Expectation of what I should say, the Charming
Leonilla,
my Friend's Eldest Daughter, after having first fix'd her Eyes on a Young Lady that sat opposite to her, and then on me, desir'd in Behalf of Part of the Company, I would give my Opinion in the Case of
That
Restriction
Young Women lie under, who, from a
Custom,
which, in her Opinion, had no
just Grounds
for its Support, are
forbid
by
Decency,
let their
Passion
be the most
vertuous
and
tender
that was ever felt, to make the least
Advance,
by which the Party belov'd may
discover
the
Sentiments
they have in his Favour.
To which I answer'd,
A Woman of Sense can never
feel
that
Tenderness
for a
Fool;—
and a Man of
Sense
would always reckon such a
Declaration,
a
Desire
of
enjoying
that
Happiness,
whose
Basis
is
Love,
and whose
Support
is
Virtue.
AFTER I had delivered my Opinion in Favour of
Leonilla,
I turn'd to the Lady, with whom (I could perceive by the Blush in her Cheeks) she had been disputing, and told her,
There was a
false,
as well as a
true
Decency; and that
One
consisted in
Grimace
and
Shew,
the
Other
in an
open Deportment,
the
Result
of an unaffected, disinterested
Love
of
Virtue.
And that it would always be found, a Man has no more Reason to
conceive Hopes
from the
free Converse
of the
Latter,
than to
fear Success
from the
distant Carriage
of the
Former. True Virtue
wants no Foil, and is never talking of itself.
False Virtue,
sensible of its
Weakness,
is forc'd to have Recourse to
Hypocrisy,
and is ever boasting a
Strength
it is a
Stranger
to.
AS I was running on in this grave Discourse, I was interrupted by a young Gentleman, who told us, he had just met with a Copy of VERSES, said to be written by Lady
W—y M—e,
wherein he thought there was the most Delicate Sense of
Virtue,
mixed with the most agreeable
Turn
of
Wit.
Upon the whole Company's desiring to see it, he pulled a Paper out of his Pocket, and read as follows.
The RESOLVE.
WHilst
Thirst
of
Praise,
and vain
Desire
of
Fame,
In
ev'ry
Age, is
ev'ry
Woman's
Aim;
With
Courtship
pleas'd; of
silly Toasters
proud;
Fond of a
Train,
and happy in a
Crowd;
On each poor Fool bestowing some
kind Glance;
Each Conquest owing to some
loose Advance;
Whilst vain
Coquets
affect to be
pursu'd,
And think they're
virtuous,
if not
grossly lewd;
Let this Great
MAXIM
be my
Virtue
's Guide,
In
Part
she is to blame, who has been try'd;
He comes
too near,
that comes to be
Deny'd.
WE all agreed in the
Character
he had given of this little
Piece
; particularly a Gentleman, who has a Smattering in
Poetry
; who,
not to be behind-hand with the
Sex
in Modesty,
produc'd the subsequent Lines, which he desir'd I would read to the Company.
ANSWER
to the
RESOLVE.
WHilst empty
Coxcombs
blast a Woman's
Fame,
In
ev'ry
State and
ev'ry
Age the
same;
With their own
Folly
pleas'd, each
FAIR
they
toast,
And where they
least
are happy, swear they're
most;
No
Diff'rence
marking 'twixt the Gay and Lewd,
But dreaming, All, who fly, wou'd be pursu'd:
Whilst thus they vainly
think,
and vainly
live,
Lost, to that Reverence Love's soft Lessons give,
Let this Great
MAXIM
be my
Passions
Guide,
May I ne'er
hope where
I am ne'er
deny'd,
Nor gain a Woman willing to be
try'd.
IF before, we were
loud
in
Commendation
of the First, here, we were
extravagant
; the LADIES opprest him with Thanks; and told him,
He should lose Nothing, by the
Generous Opinion
he had entertain'd of the
SEX. To which a
Wag,
in Company, with an
envious Smile,
reply'd,
'If he should
lose
Nothing by it he was sure, he would
get
Nothing, but what wou'd be merited, by his Mortifications.
MY Friend perceiving both Parties grew warm, desir'd them, before they went on, to consider what they were saying, since he was persuaded the PLAIN DEALER would print the
Occurrences
of that Day. Upon which, they all
compos'd
their Looks, and a
general Silence
ensued. When my
Friend
turning to me,
'You see, (says he) the Necessity of a Man of your Character: Ev'ry way you're Serviceable; the
Publick
feels the
Benefit
of your
Writings
; and
Private Families
of your
Presence:
One is restrain'd by Fear of
Publick Censure
; the Other, of
Private Reproof
; If therefore you have any Enemies, treat them with
Candour,
and convince them of their Errors by a — But I am engaging in a needless Office; and
giving
Advice where I ought to
ask
it.
IT growing late, I took Leave of the Company (not without a particular Invitation from Each, which I promis'd at the first Opportunity to comply with,) and calling at my Printer's as I went Home, found the following Billet, which, but for the Advice my Friend gave me, I should hardly have been prevail'd upon to make publick.
To the
PLAIN DEALER.
April
25th, 1724.
SIR,
THE best
Construction
I can put upon your Attempt is
Vanity
or
Folly
; for unless you look upon yourself as
superior
to the Authors of the
Tatlers, Spectators, Guardians, Free-Thinkers,
&c. You are very
weak,
to think any Thing
inferior
can be
relish'd
by
those
who are Admirers of
Them
; amongst the most Passionate of which, you may reckon
Indelectabilis.
N.B.
You love
PLAIN DEALING;
so do I.
To
Indelectabilis.
SIR,
YOUR Letter being so Witty, as not to be Capable of an Answer,—You have reduc'd me to the Necessity of bestowing it upon your Postscript. I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant, The
Plain Dealer.
N.B.
Plain Dealing,
is a
Virtue,
but
Rough Dealing
an
Impertinence.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 12.
Pasces in Cruce Corvos. —
HOR.
FRIDAY,
May
1. 1724.
I HAVE as just a Veneration as any Man living, for the
Laws
of my Native Country: They are generous, mild, and gentle; built on equal
Foundations
of
Justice
and
Mercy:
And, to say all, in a Word, they are such, as every
Freeman
wou'd
wish
to be govern'd by. I am so far from denying them the
Reverence
they deserve, that I have always read with Pleasure, the most elaborate, and strain'd
Encomiums,
with which the
Gentlemen
of the
Robe
fill their
Writings,
on this
Subject.
BUT, since it is the most
desireable,
among all the Advantages of
Liberty,
to think, and speak freely; it cannot, I hope, be offensive, if I declare myself not well satisfy'd, with any Arguments I have, yet, heard, in Defence of
Capital Punishment
for certain
Crimes,
which are low, and frequent: And which carry, methinks, no Proportion, in Comparison with others, of a much blacker Complexion; to which notwithstanding, they seem
parallell'd,
by the Equality of their
Sentence.
THE
Life
of a Man is, so infinitely of more Value than his
Beast,
or his
Moveable,
that, whenever I see the Sufferings of pinch'd, and hunger-starv'd
Wretches,
under the Agonies of an
Execution
; for having
robb'd
perhaps to avoid
famishing
; I find myself oppress'd by a
Grief,
which nothing mitigates, but this
Reflection
—That their
Lives
were expos'd to such Extremities of Want, and Misery, that their
Death
should be a Comfort.—And yet, the long protracted Gazings, the Paleness, the Tremblings, and the ghastly, distorted Faces, of the poor departing Strugglers (who die with strong Reluctance, and linger, and lengthen out, their last painful Moment) make it evident, to the
Beholders,
That, Unfriendly as the World was to them, they are not willing to forsake it.
I AM convinc'd, that if it were possible to see, on some such
Plain,
as that of
Salisbury,
under one assembled Prospect, the whole Number, of Men and Women, who have been executed,
for Theft only,
in all the Counties of this Kingdom, within the Memory of any Person, of but a moderate Advance in Years; such a dreadful Demonstration of the
Waste,
which is made, by this
Sweep
of the
Sword
of
Justice,
would be a startling Inducement to those, whose Province it is known to be, to weigh, with Pity, and Deliberation, whether Punishments, more
adequate,
and more
politick,
too, than
Death,
might not easily be appropriated to a Number of
Petty Crimes,
which ever were, and ever must be, unavoidably frequent, in all peopled Places; being the necessary Consequences, either of the
Wants,
or the
Depravity,
of the lowest Part of the
Human Species.
ONE Evening, very lately, All my Neighbourhood, in
Barbican,
were in an Uproar, on a sudden; and I was disturb'd, in my Meditations, by the shrieking of Women, the mix'd Cries of Children, and a growing
Hum
of Concourse, that seem'd close under my Window.—I threw aside my Pipe; and, hastening to look out, saw the Street entirely fill'd, by a
Groupe
of dismal Faces; that had gather'd themselves into a Tumult, about a House, directly opposite, and appear'd to be touch'd, as strongly as Common Natures are capable, with a Mixture of
Surprize
and
Sorrow.
It seems, the Husband of a laborious, poor Creature, who was Mistress of this House, had been condemn'd, at the County Assizes, in one of the late Circuits, for stealing a Horse: And a Letter had, just now, been deliver'd to his Wife; which the Criminal himself had written, the very Morning he was executed.
HIS Relations and Acquaintance had depended on a
Reprieve
; for the Man was universally belov'd among his Neighbours: And, tho' always very poor, and unfortunate in his Dealings, had been remarkable for his Industry; of a sober Disposition, and never known, before, to have been guilty of the least Dishonesty. He had Six Children alive, and the Eldest but Eight Years old. His Mother, who liv'd in the same little House, had been disabled, by Sickness, for several Months past: So that, perceiving it beyond his Power to subsist his Family any longer, and not daring to stay in Town, by Reason of some Debts he had contracted, he went down, to
try his Friends,
who liv'd, in good Circumstances, in the Country. But, instead of meeting with
Assistance,
he only spent, in this Journey, all the little he had carried with him: And not being able to support the Thoughts of returning,
without Bread,
to a Family, in such want of it, he rode away with a Horse, which he found ty'd to a Gate; and being pursu'd, and overtaken, was try'd, condemn'd, and hang'd, for it.
THIS History was loudly given me, by the good Women, in the Street; after which, I had the Curiosity to press in, among the Crowd; and was struck, at my first Entrance, by the most
moving
Scene of
Sorrow,
that I ever remember to have met with. The Widow had broke open her Husband's Letter, in Transport, concluding, That it brought her the Confirmation of a
Reprieve,
which a former had given her Hopes of. But she was so shock'd, and overwhelm'd by the sudden Reverse of Passion, that her Grief was a kind of
Madness.
She sat on the Floor without Headcloaths; and had an Infant, cross her Knees, that was crying, with great Impatience, for the
Breast,
it had been thrown from. Another
slept
in a
Cradle,
close by a little
Bed,
in which the
Grandmother
sat weeping; bending forward in strong Agony; and wringing her Hands in silence. The Four Eldest Children were gather'd into a Knot, and clung about the Neck of their miserable Mother:
stamping, screaming,
and
kissing her,
in a Storm of distracted
Tenderness!
—The poor Woman,
herself,
was in a Condition,
past describing!
She press'd the Letter of her
dead Husband,
to her
Eyes!
—her
Lips!
—her
Bosom!
—She rav'd, and talk'd, and question'd him, as if he had been present!—And, at every little Interval, dry'd her
Tears,
with his
Letter:
And cast a Look upon the Company, so
wild!
and so full of
Horror!
that it cannot be conceiv'd, but by those, who were Witnesses of it.
AS soon as she saw
me
there, she stretched out her Hand; and made Signs, that I should read the Letter; which I received from her, accordingly. And going back, to my Lodging, with a Resolution to send over some fitter Person than myself, to assist, in the Distresses of so disconsolate a Family, I sat down, and took a Copy of it, because it
moved
me exceedingly.
Dear, Loving
Betty,
IT is now nine a Clock; and I must be fetch'd out, by and by, and go to die, before Eleven. I shall see my poor
Bess
no more, in this World; but, if we meet one another again in the next, as I hope in God we shall, we may never part afterwards. Methinks, if I cou'd but only once more look upon my good
Betty
before I die, tho' it shou'd be but for a Minute; and say a kind Word to my Fatherless Children, that must
Starve now,
if God don't take Care for them, I should go, away, with a good Heart. And yet sometimes I fancy, it is better
as it is,
for it wou'd be
sad,
to die, afterwards, and I fear it wou'd make me fainthearted: and I should be wishing, that I might live, to get you
Bread,
and Cloaths, for your poor precious Bodies.
Sarah Taylor
made my Heart ake, when she told me, that you had pawn'd away, every thing, to make up that
last fifty Shillings
that you sent me by
Will. Sanderson,
who is now in the Room with me, and sits down upon the
Straw
that I laid on, last Night, and is weeping for me like a Child. But God will make up all the Money to you again, that you have let me have, to no purpose. And I should be sorry that any unkind Body should hit it in your Teeth, that I come to such an untimely, bad End: For I thought as little of it, as they do. But all the Way as I walked up to
London,
afoot, I could not help having a Fancy in my Head at every Turn, That I saw my poor dear
Betty,
and my six helpless little
Ones
hanging upon me, and crying out bitterly, That they had no Bread, to keep Life in 'em; and begging me to buy them some. And so, I thought that I would sell that
Horse,
and make you believe, that I got Money, of your
Sister Parker:
But she was too
Sparing,
for
that;
and wou'd never once look upon me.—I pray to God to forgive her, and, if she wou'd but be Good to
you,
when I am gone, God bless her.—
Loving Betty,
remember me to my sorrowful Mother, and tell her not to
take on
too much. And bid
Richard
and
Harry,
take Warning by
my Fall,
if ever they come to be
Men:
And, for the poor Girls, they are too young, as yet, to understand any thing you can say to them. God's Goodness be your Comfort, and if you can, don't
think
about
me,
for it will make you only melancholly.—I hope, the Old
Deputy
will be kind to you, and help you to do somewhat. I am sorry I can't write no more, because my Tears are come into my Eyes.—Little did I think of this
dismal Parting
—Oh! 'tis very sad!—God bless you, in this unhappy World; Dear, Dear
Betty,
From your unfortunate, dying Husband, R. S.
P.S.
Nothing vexes me, but when I think that it is a very hard Case for a Man to be made to die, for a
Horse.
They say, the King is to have him; he is not worth much: but if my poor
Betty
had the Money, he cou'd be Sold for, it wou'd be some Comfort however; for then I shou'd not have left you all so
Bare,
as you be now.
I carry'd this Letter with me to the
Assembly:
where it was universally Agreed, That there is a plain-hearted Honesty, very manifest in all Parts of it; and a generous and manly Sorrow, not arising so much from his own Desire to
Live,
as from a Prospect of
their Wants,
whom his Death was to leave
Destitute.
Our Clergyman, in particular, was greatly mov'd to Compassion; and propos'd a Charitable Collection, to be sent to the poor
Widow,
to which himself contributed
first,
in a very liberal Proportion.
He related to us afterwards an extraordinary
Dying Speech,
of a very different Turn; which he heard made when a
Student,
by a Housebreaker, who was hang'd for
Murder
and a
Robbery.
GOOD People, said the Criminal,
since I am to serve you, for a
Sight,
the least you can do, is to be
Civil
to the Man that
entertains
you. I ask nothing of you, but the Justice, that is due to me. There are some medling Tongues, which I can hear among the Crowd, very busy to incense you. Tho' it is true, I have
committed Murder,
yet I hope I am
no Murderer.
The
Felony
I really purpos'd; but my
Intention
had no part in the
Death
that I was Guilty of. The Deceas'd cry'd for Help, and was so Obstinate, and Clamorous, that I was under a Necessity to
kill
him; or submit my self to be taken. And thus I argued in my Mind. If I
Murder
him, I shall
get off;
or, at worst, if I am taken, my Punishment will be
no greater,
than if I spare him, and
Surrender:
I can be
BUT HANG'D
for
Murder,
and I must be
HANG'D TOO,
for the
House-breaking!
This Thought, Good People, prevail'd with me to
Shoot
him; so that what
you
call
Murder,
was but
Self-Preservation.
Now that I shou'd have dy'd in this
same Manner,
whether I had Shot him, or no, Witness these two
Weak Brothers
here, who look as if they were already at the other End of their
Voyage,
tho' they have not
hoisted Sail
yet! one of these
Stole some Bacon,
and the other, a
wet Smock or two.
The
LAW
must be certainly
Wiser
than
you are;
and since
that
has been pleas'd to set our Crimes on a
Level,
be so civil or compassionate as to hold your silly Tongues, and let me
die,
without
Slander.
We had several other Stories, on this Subject, of the
Publick Executions:
but none pleas'd me better, than one, which I shall close my Paper with; and which we were also oblig'd to the
Vicar
for.
THE late King of
Sweden
had condemn'd a Soldier to
die
; and stood at a little Distance from the Place of Execution. The Fellow, when he heard this, was in hopes of a
Pardon
; but being assur'd he was mistaken, cry'd, his
Tongue
was yet
free,
he wou'd use it, at his Pleasure; which he did, with great License; accusing the King, most insolently, and as loud as he cou'd speak, of
Barbarity
and
Injustice,
and appealing to God, for
Revenge
of his
wrong'd Innocence.
The King not hearing him, distinctly, enquir'd of those about him,
What the Soldier had been saying?
and was told, by a General Officer, who was unwilling to heighten his Resentment against the
Miserable,
That he had only repeated, very often and loud,
That God loves the Merciful, and teaches the Mighty to moderate their Anger.
The King was touch'd by the
Lesson,
and sent his Pardon to the Criminal. But a Courtier of an opposite Interest, took Advantage of this Occasion, and repeated to the King exactly the Licentiousness of the Fellow's
Railing
; adding gravely when he had done, That Men of Quality, and Trust, ought never, in his Opinion, to
misrepresent Facts to their Sovereign.
The King for some Time stood suspended in his Thoughts, but turning at length toward the Courtier, with a Face of Reproof,
It is the first Time,
says he,
that ever I have been betrayed for my Advantage!
But the LYE of your Enemy, pleas'd me better, than your TRUTH does.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 13.
— Trahit sua quemque Voluptas:
Dic mihi, si fueras tu Leo, qualis eris?
MART.
MONDAY,
May
4.1724.
THERE are in every Man's Life, even the wisest, and most fortified, certain
Periods
of
Weakness,
which demonstrate our common Frailty, and seem thrown into our Nature, as Preservatives against
Pride
; and for the Mortification of Human Vanity.
THAT Venerable
Sage
of old, who has left us this
Aphorism, That no Man should be esteem'd happy, 'till after his Death;
might have extended his Observation, as well to our
Conduct,
as our
Fortune: Let no Man, during Life, be call'd Resolute, or Prudent.
COULD I ever have thought, That after passing my giddy
Youth
in a steddy Contempt of Beauty, I should be enslav'd to it,
against Judgment,
in my Grand
Climacterick!
If the Duty of a PLAIN DEALER did not indispensibly oblige me to the most rigid Impartiality; even to the giving Sentence against
my-self,
with what Face cou'd I confess, (what I am asham'd, when I but think of) That I, who am a
staid Old Batchelor,
am afraid, I am falling in
Love
with
Patty Amble
the
Coquet!
who always seem'd to me, to have been
born
in a Fit of
Laughter!
and never had a
Thought
of
Gravity,
but when it furnish'd her with an Occasion to divert herself at the Expence of it!
WELL! If this should, in good Earnest, come to pass, I shall have a most uncomfortable Time of it! What Reason I have had, and from what Time, to suspect it, I shall, without Reserve, communicate, in the Progress of my PAPERS. But let it prove what it will, the Occasion of this Preamble is from an unusual Disorder, in which I am come Home this Evening, after a kind of frolicksome Adventure, with that young
Romp
; which has left me under an Impression, little better than
Witchcraft
; tho' at any Time before
last Easter,
I should have thought it
not worth telling.
TO Day, when she
hoyden'd
into the Assembly, the whole Company rose together, and received her with that Pleasure, which her
Gayety
diffuses every where. She sailed through us all, with a
swimming, smiling Port,
that was visibly
affected,
but irresistably engaging!—When she had flutter'd, and fidgeted, and sloped her self forward, and wheel'd down her Hoop, to the widest Swell of its
Convex,
in a Circular Course of
Curtesies
; she tript sideways to her Seat; and I was just beginning to hope
Calm Weather,
after such a
Whirl-wind
of
Ceremony!
when she rose, as it were in a
Start,
with a Look most
whimsically Serious
; and drawing a Paper from her Bosom, pac'd demurely to
my Chair
—She carry'd her Head to the left side, softly sweeping her right Eye-Brow, with the
Knob
of her
Fan,
and sinking forward, when she came near me, with a Fantastical Air of Languishment, brush'd my Mouth with her Paper; and began to play over her Tricks, in a long and mystical
Jargon
of
most Womanish Impertinence.
AND were they,
said she,
so naughty, to leave it by it's nown self? And did no body help it to write it's
PLAIN-DEALERS?
and was it abus'd, and over-work'd and neglected? Well then, let it be Good, and mind it's Book, and wash it's Face, and forget to be cross, and comb it's Head, and throw away it's dirty Stick; and see what I intend to do for it! There take it, and Print it; And, don't care a Pin for the Work they have put upon it. For I love it, and will think for it; and bring it good Things. And if it wou'dn't look Grim, I should buss it, and stroak it, and chuck it under the Chin; and make much of it, and play with it, and
—&c.—&c.—&c.—
AFTER this silly Rate, she ran on, with a ridiculous, but lively and never-ending Volubility: and perceiving, that the Company laugh'd out, and were diverted at the grotesque Figure I was making under her Hand's, at length she kiss'd me out-right, and set 'em all, in an
Uproar.
I wou'd fain have look'd peevish. I turn'd my Face from her, and cry'd
Pish
—and
Pshaw
—and
Fiddle
—and shook my Head in a great Heat, and winch'd in both Shoulders; and much Pains I took, to seem nettled, and uneasy. But, to confess a foolish Truth, it was all, but
mere Show
; for I was never so agreeably made an Ass of in my Life, and while I felt the busy Wanderings of her Fingers about my Face, I was stung I can't tell how, with a Kind of tingling Delight, all over me; which being desirous to prolong, I pretended to make Efforts for pushing her away; and under that Pretence, gave my Hands the Opportunity of
touching
her, here and there—And I must own, I was sorry when she put an End to her
Gambols.
BUT as soon as I came home, and look'd into her Paper, I was not so much an
Ass,
(far gone as I found My-self) but that I presently discern'd her
Drift:
And I wish, with all my Heart, that I had Courage enough to return it her; and tell her, in downright Terms,
I don't think it worth Printing.
But whatever the Cause of this strange Alteration may be, there is nothing so dreadful to me, as the Danger of disobliging this
She-Cockatrice!
Since therefore, I am in this odd Manner,
bewitch'd,
e'en take it, in the
arch Flirt's
own Words: For it is no Work of mine; and I will have nothing to do with it.
The
LADIES
Equivalent.
A TALE,
with a
MORAL
to It.
IN the Reign of the Emperor
Justinian,
the City of
Constantinople
was much throng'd with
Foreigners
; for whose Entertainment,
unusual Pastimes
were invented. The Publick Theatres were embellish'd, interlarded and embroider'd, with
Musick, Magick
and
Tumbling
; and such
unspeakable
Additions, as were fittest to give Pleasure to the
Eyes
of
Goths, Vandals,
and
Saracens,
to whom
Plays, alone,
were insipid, because acted in a Language, which they were, in a Manner, wholly Strangers to.
THEODORA,
the Empress, had been formerly a
Comedian,
and was a liberal Promoter of whatever cou'd contribute to make Pleasure pompous. Among the Numbers, who found their Interest in this
Byas
of the
Court,
there was a wily and egregious
African
; whom for the Flatness of his Nose, the Tawniness of his Complexion, and a certain
Majestical Brutality,
in the Composition of his Features, the merry
Greeks
had nicknamed the
LYON.
This Man became rich, by the universal Encouragement, that was given to an odd Project, of his starting.—It was a Kind of
Blind-Buzzard,
or
Midnight-Mummery
; of which it is difficult, at this great Distance of Time, to conceive a clear Notion: But Persons of the highest Rank, of both Sexes, met there, disguis'd, and under borrow'd Resemblances, danc'd, regal'd, and discours'd with each other, at large, and disengag'd from all
Ceremony, Distinction,
or
Punctilio.
IT was generally allow'd, however, by all but the
LYON
's Enemies, that nothing pass'd in these Meetings, either Scandalous or Misbecoming: Every thing was Magnificent, Ornamental, and Enlivening: But no
Privacies
were permitted, nor
Indecencies
connived at.
IT fell out, notwithstanding, most unfortunately for the
LYON,
That
Religion
was at this Time very flaming, and watchful. The
Good Fathers
of the Church became scandalized, and alarm'd, at the Probability of
Impurities,
in this new-invented
Nightwork:
For, it was dangerous, they knew, to allow such Latitude to their
Female Flock,
while their Shepherds were at Rest, who kept the
Wolf
from
biting
them. They determine, therefore, vigorously to
remonstrate
against it. But there was One considerable
Rub,
that lay full in their Way. The
Emperor himself
was often present at these Meetings, and indulg'd them, as an innocent, and agreeable Recreation.
TO Remove this heavy
Difficulty,
the
Good Fathers,
with great
Dexterity,
charg'd the Motive of their
Fears,
upon the
Weakness
of the
Women,
whose Natures, they said, were liable to very dangerous
Impressions,
from those Whisperings, and Squeezings, and Inflammations of their
Vanity.
They went on to assert, That a
Woman
's Defence against
Man,
lying rather in her Dread of
Shame,
than her Abhorrence of
Iniquity,
she shou'd never be thought
Safe,
while under the Hazard of
Temptations.
The
Men
indeed,
they believ'd,
might be
strong
enough to
resist
; but not their
Wives,
and their
Daughters:
Weak Vessels! and brittle! and which wou'd
break
with a
Fall!
It were Prudence therefore, to place them out of the
publick Reach,
and
cupboard
them up, for the Houshold Use of their
Owners:
So they humbly represented, That it wou'd be an Act of great
Piety
and
Edification,
if his Imperial Majesty gave Command for the Total
Suppression
of these New
Nurseries
of
Debauchery.
IT is one Thing to be
Pious,
and another to be
Wise.
The Warmth of their
Zeal
had not suffer'd them to consider, That there were
Women
of
Wit,
and
Spirit,
who would vindicate their
Sex's Honour
; and make use of their powerful
Influence,
to oppose the good
End
of these Reverend Memorialists, were it for no other Reason but because the Means were unmannerly.
THEODORA,
the Empress, was provok'd to the last Degree; and after reproaching their
Partiality,
and the mean and false
Idea's,
which they had conceiv'd, of
Womens Virtue,
fell to reason with them in this Manner.
HOW Contemptibly wou'd your
Sex
compel us to consider them, if all
Men
were to treat us with so ungenerous a
Diffidence!
Is it possible, think ye, That our
Persons
can be won, before our
Hearts
have dispos'd of 'em? And, whenever we
Love passionately,
we have Courage to
Act resolutely
; and
make
Opportunities, if we were not allow'd to
find
'em. If you once confine our
Bodies,
you set our
Minds
at full Liberty. Our
Natures
are too generous, to
deceive
those who
trust
us. But we think it a
Merit,
to make
Fools
of the
Faithless.
THE
LYON,
grinning horribly, behind the Empress's Chair, was ready to
roar,
with Delight, at this Rebuke to the Fathers. But, stedfast, and immoveable, in the
Piety
of their
Purpose,
they were about to Reply at Large: When the Emperor, who had
Meanings
not to be trac'd on his
Countenance,
concealing his Resentment, return'd this
Answer
to their
Remonstrance.
I Thank you, for this
Religious Simplicity,
of your Proceeding. You are the
Eyes
of our
Conscience,
and
see farther
than we can. But I am not more pleas'd with your applying for
Redress
of this
formidable Grievance,
than surpriz'd, at your
overlooking
another, of like Tendency; and which your
laudable Zeal,
for
Removing Temptations,
must excite you, to thank me, for resolving to see remedy'd.
THE
Women
have a
Custom,
when they stand in need of
Absolution,
to
send for
their Confessor, and open their Hearts to him, in their
Closets.
Were all your Reverend
Order
of equal
Sanctity
with
you,
this cou'd possibly administer no just Cause of
Scandal:
But, since
Nature
is
deprav'd,
and there have been
Wolves, in Sheep's Cloathing,
I conceive it a Design, of
much Edification,
to abolish, for the future, this
Indulgence
of the
Women
; and withhold their
Absolution,
'till they come for it, to the
Churches.
Intending therefore to join these
good Purposes
in
One,
I commit it to your Care, to prepare an
Edict,
for
Both,
that I may decree it into
Law,
with as much speed, as possible.
THE
Good Fathers
were, so unexpectedly, and beyond measure,
confounded,
at this over-liberal
Extent
of the Emperor's
pious Purpose,
that they stood long, at a Loss, to find fit Words to thank him. But they did it at last, with this
Hope,
in the
Rear
of
all
;—That his High and Imperial Majesty
wou'd not hasten them too much, in Two Decrees of such Importance, since the Empress had urg'd some Arguments, to prove One of them needless; and who cou'd tell, when they came to examine Things more closely, but they might be mistaken, in Both of 'em?
THUS, I have given you, the
Coquet's Story
; and am well enough aware what the
Gypsy
's Head was running on: But, if any Body shou'd desire to be made as wise as I am, I shall tell 'em an
old Story
and let 'em take it, in Satisfaction.—
'A Philosopher bought some Meat, and returning from the Market, hid it under his Cloak. An Impertinent Fellow met him, and wou'd needs know
What it was?
—It is
there,
said the Philosopher, on purpose, That you
shou'd not know it.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 14.
— P
r pari referemus.
CICERO.
FRIDAY,
May
8. 1724.
LITTLE Follies, which we but Smile at in Persons who are Indifferent to us, gives us Sorrow and Pain, when observ'd in those we Love.
Patty Amble
is of late become of such Importance, that I watch her with a Tenderness, that interests me in all her Actions. For this Reason, I am frequently contriving to interrupt Her, when she lets her Tongue run Races, that out-gallop her Reason. But I always lose my Labour: My Operations upon this
Gossip
are like the
Wind's
upon
Fire
; I may blow till my Breath fails,—instead of
putting her out,
I make her
burn
but the
faster!
I HAVE succeeded however, in what I fail'd to do
My-self,
by the Assistance of
Ned Volatile,
But not to assume more Triumph than is due to me, the Stratagem I made use of, was found out by
Shakespear,
before me. That Poetical Politican taught his
Richard
the Third, among the rest of his surprizing Victories, to conquer a
Woman
's
Tongue
; but it was by Aid of one of his
Drums,
which no sooner Beat up, but the Enemy was put to Silence.
WE shall now enjoy some Freedom, and may all Talk in our Turns; for
Ned,
and the
Coquet,
will be play'd off at Pleasure. When either of 'em grows Troublesome, we shall let loose the
Rival,
and like
Sulphur
and
Salt-Petre,
one shall blow up the other.
PATTY AMBLE
came Yesterday finely dress'd to the
Assembly
; ready to burst with Impatience for our Admiration of her Fancy. She kept us Silent above an Hour, while she was so kind as to open to us the Labours and Difficulties, she had for fourteen Days been
fatigu'd
by, before she cou'd unite so elegantly all her trifling Varieties. From her Head to her Foot, she oblig'd us with the Minutes of her whole Fortnight's History. It was not to be expected, that in the midst of so much Business, she cou'd be at Leisure to consider, That after we had approv'd both the Price, and Colour of her
Damask,
it was of no great Edification, at least to the
Male
Part of the Company, to know what
Shop
she bought it at. But happy had it been cou'd she have found
Rest
so speedily! Nothing like it, I assure you; we were also to learn, in what Places she
miss'd
it. Yet for my own Part, I
must say,
I was particularly
edify'd
by her critical Remarks, on certain Differences to be found, betwixt buying on
Ludgate-Hill,
or of the Mercers about
Covent-Garden.
BUT ill fare, say I, that unlucky Word
Garden!
It put her fatally in Mind of a Fat fresh-colour'd
Country Lady,
who cou'd never be persuaded to make Visits, in any thing but
Garden Silks,
tho' her Arms were as big as a
Rolling-Stone!
Then the unfortunate Word
Fat,
brought as aptly to her Remembrance, poor old
Dimpley
the laughing Staymaker, that us'd to Work for her
Grandmother,
when first she was Married! and never
lac'd
our
Patty,
when she was a Girl, but she made her
very Neck ake
with twisting it to look back at him. At length, after infinite Disappointments and Dangers, she arriv'd safe at her
Hoop-Petticoat
; where, being seiz'd with a
Fit
of Gratitude for the Parliament's
strange good Nature,
and extraordinary Care of
Trade,
she was
thinking to turn WHIG,
because they had taken off the
Duty,
that lay so heavy upon
Whalebone.
WELL, as to that however, she was not altogether so positive. But there was one Thing, of more Consequence, that she was absolutely
convinc'd of
; she wou'd venture any
Wager,
that not one Person in the Company, cou'd be able to
guess,
what her
Ground Brussels Head
had cost her a Yard; nor where, nor by what particular
odd,
Accident, she had been so happy as to
light of it!
The Dutchess of
M—r
took Coach in a Fright, the very Moment she saw it, to buy up the
Remnant.
But since she was sure we
cou'd not guess,
she wou'd tell us the Price
her self
; and not name one Farthing more or less than it really cost her; she wonder'd, for her Part, how Women cou'd be
so silly!
For what signify'd after all, the little
Vanity
of being
thought skill'd in good Penny-worths!
If she had a mind to be
Vain,
she need only believe, what was said to her at the
Opera,
by a
certain Duke,
who must be nameless! But one Thing his Grace was pleas'd with, that she
might
venture to speak of, and it was
that Fancy of her own upon her Fan!
Lord! she remember'd too he observ'd, That there was something in a Lady's
Fan,
much
genteeler in its Use,
than any part of the
Mens Equipage.
IT was just in this Place, that I took Pity of the Company; for I thought I
felt their Heads ake!
So tipping the Wink on
Ned Volatile,
he started up from his Chair, with such a
Stare
of Amazement, that one wou'd have thought he was apprehensive the House had been falling! The
Coquet
started too, and holding her Tongue till she cou'd look round her,
Ned,
with wonderful Agility, snatch'd the
Nick
of that Interval; and resolving at once to bear down all Opposition, broke in upon her, like a Torrent, with this sudden Exclamation,
'
Ah! Madam! Madam!
What a
Trifle
is a
Fan,
in Comparison with a
Feather!
I shou'd be sorry to dissent from any Opinion
you
are fond of; but pray let your Reason be Judge of this Difference! I have
one,
in my Hat here, that all the
African Ostriches,
clubbing Tails, to produce the Fellow of it, might be
moulting
these thousand Years, and all to no Purpose! Dear Madam, do but look on it! The nearer you examine it, the more it will charm you! With all your
Wit
now, and your
Industry,
my Life to one of your
Lappits,
it puzzles you these three Hours to
guess where I bought it?
I can't be altogether so positive, that you won't hit the
Price
of it; but upon my Honour, if you
shou'd,
I'll acknowledge it to a Farthing. There's
some Pleasure
in conversing on these
critical Affairs,
with so nice a Judge as
you, Madam!
Why here's a
Coat,
I have worn this five Weeks, and not one in fifty has had the
Taste
to take Notice, that all the Wool it was made of, is
true unmix'd Spanish!
You were saying something about
Whalebone:
'Tis a useful Commodity indeed, as you
Ladies
have manag'd it, but what are
Hoop Petticoats,
to the
Woollen Manufacture?
'FOR Heaven's sake take Breath, cry'd the
Coquet,
(swiftly Fanning herself; and half bursting with a
Windyness,
from Suppression of Meanings,) do but
hear,
what I was going to say to you?—
Never, never,
reply'd
Ned,
he can never be a good Subject, who submits to hear any thing to the Prejudice of the
Woollen Manufacture.
Mark the wonderful Progress of this silly thing call'd
Wool,
but from the
Sheep's
Back to
Mine!
Take Notice, in the first Place, of these few of the
many Mysteries
which depend on this humble Material! There's the
Grazier
for Example; and the
Shepherd,
and the
Shearer,
and the
Sorter,
and the
Comber,
and the
Carder,
and the
Spinner,
and the
Dyer,
and the
Scowrer,
and the
Fuller,
and the
Weaver,
and the
Napper,
and the
Presser,
and the
Stretcher,
and the
Carrier,
and the
Factor,
and the
Draper,
and the
Taylor,
and the
Packer,
and the
Merchant:
But mentioning the Word
Merchant,
I must stop a little in my Way, and lay open to you the Wonders and Advantages of
Navigation!
I shall inform you clearly, and distinctly, under their proper Heads and Divisions, to what different Corners of the Universe,
you
Madam, are oblig'd for all those Ornaments which are adorn'd by you! I will begin like a good Builder, and examine first your
Foundation.
That glittering Pair of
Shoes,
which we can but see the pointed
Tips
of, had a long and tiresome Journey, to the prettiest Foot in the
World,
from three most distant Parts of it. The Silver in their Lacing, you are indebted for to
America.
Now, you wou'd ask me, as I go along, whence that new Quarter of the Globe took this Name of
America?
I shall come to it in its Turn; but first you must be acquainted with the Fortunes of its chief Discoverers,
Spanish, English, French, Portuguese,
and
Hollanders.
And for clearing Things more effectually to your Apprehension, I shall, with as much Brevity as possible, trace the Originals and Histories of these Nations. But speaking just now of
Silver,
I am presented by that Means, with a fortunate Opportunity to Sail away with you for
Peru
; and when once I have got you there, we shall never want Amusements suited to the
Mercury
of your Spirit. For in the first Place, Madam, I will carry you to the Bottom of those
Mines,
which have enrich'd and embroil'd all
Europe.
And because I know you are a Lady of most
unsatisfy'd Curiosity,
I will now anticipate in some measure this Improvement I design for you; for I will enumerate, in their proper Order, the Subterraneous Inhabitants of the whole
mineral Kingdom.
There is
Gold,
Madam, and
Silver,
and
Copper,
and
Tin,
and
Quicksilver,
(your Favourite, Madam!) and
Iron,
and
Lead,
and
Antimony,
and
Marchasites,
and
Lapis Calaminaris,
and
Pyrites,
and
Vitriol,
and
Allom,
and
Brimstone,
and
Sal Gem,
and
Crystal,
and
Marble,
and
Millstone,
and
Alabaster,
and
Bolus,
and
Ochre,
and
Talc,
Madam! And of all these I will immediately explain to you the Growth, and the Operations; and their strange and distinct Uses, whether in
Science
or in
Trade!
And afterwards I will take Occasion from this wonderful Provision of Materials for our Industry, to demonstrate, beyond Denial, how needless it is for
Man, Woman,
or
Beast,
to live idle, and unuseful. But
First,
(for I wou'd be Regular) I must return to your
Shoes.
What I was, in their second Division, to particularize, was the
Silk,
which they are cover'd with. I dare not be positive, at this
Distance,
whether it is
Christian
or
East-Indian
; but I will tell you immediately, when I have examin'd it a little
nearer.
NED
was risen from his Chair, and had levell'd his Eye at her Foot, when she made her Advantage of the lucky Opportunity which this
Pause
of his afforded her; and recovering her lost Ground, renew'd her Charge with a Vigour, that was fatal to her Opponent.
'
BRAVELY Shot!
cry'd she, laughing, but I am not so easily to be
scar'd,
I assure you. 'Twill be time enough to listen to such wise Harangues as yours, after I have talk'd myself weary. A most
polite
Entertainment indeed you are designing us! With your greasy Generation of
Scowerers,
and
Wool-Combers!
The Assembly will be better pleas'd with the
intricate Prettinesses,
which are to be learnt in the Art of
Lace-making.
Oh! the dexterous Disposition of the
Cushion,
and the
Pattern,
and the
Pins,
and the
Bobbins
!
SHE set us all to work, but had no sooner entangled us, among her
Threads,
and her
Bobbins,
when she flew on a sudden, out of that Subject to another; and from that to a third. She led us up, so far back, that we were present at her Mother's
Labour
; and after having been merry at her
Christening,
she took us along with her to her Nurse's on
Bansted Downs.
From thence to her Father's Country-House beyond
Canterbury.
After this we liv'd with her four Years at a
Boarding School
in
Hackney
; and returning thence, with Pleasure, had the Honour of her Company to the
very first Play that ever she saw in her Life
; nay, she permitted us to take Part with her, even in the
Masquerade
; and at the
Opera.
But the worst of it was, that, before we were well seated, we were drawn away in her
Aunt
's
old Coach,
and carry'd down, the Lord knows whither to make Butter and Cheese in
Warwickshire.
Yet in this Place, to do her Justice, she kept us to our no small
Emolument,
for we grew as
good Housewives
as her
Aunt
was. We all learnt to
Brew
and
fatten Hogs,
and
feed Poultry.
But what I found most Relishable were, certain
savoury
Instructions, she was so good as to communicate; insomuch that I who but yesterday Morning cou'd almost as easily have made a
Horse,
as a
Pudding,
am to Day a Man of Learning as well in
Dishes
as their
Garnitures.
I can read, if I please, when I meet with a Person of
good Taste,
a long luxurious Lecture on
Farces, Bisks,
and
forc'd Meats, Marinades, Puptoons,
and
Olios, Soops, Sauces, Ragousts, Puffs, Pastry,
and
Pickles, Tarts, Cheesecakes,
and
Custards, Jellies, Conserves,
and
Marmalades, Slops, Washes, Pomatums, Cold Creams,
and
Cordial Waters!
BUT, what was still more obliging, not content to have enrich'd us with this profound Knowledge! she was
liberal
enough to talk on, with such unceasing Rapidity, that we had no Time to
thank
her; till at length, she saw
Ned Volatile
was preparing to take his Turn; and rose, and flutter'd her Fan, and scudded out of the
Assembly
; but we heard her Tongue running, all the way down Stairs, asking Questions of the Servants, and answering them herself; and, for any think that I know, she may be
Talking to this Time,
while I am penning the Narration!
I AM myself too a great
Talker,
only I sometimes love to
listen
; and nothing is so strange to me as that since these
Pratlers
are thus transported, but by too much Vivacity, that very Vivacity shou'd not teach 'em to know
when they grow Troublesome!
I sometimes fancy them like
Horses,
which shutting their Eyes in their Swiftness, pass the Bounds of their Course, and never stop till they are beat backward by some Wall which they run their Heads against.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 15.
Neque cuiquam, statim, tam clarum ingenium est, ut possit emergere, nisi illi, materia, occasio, fautor etiam, commendatorque contingat.
PLIN. EP.
MONDAY,
May
11. 1724.
AS I know not a more amiable Figure than that, which a
Prudent
and
Indulgent Father,
makes with regard to an
only Son,
who is a promising young Gentleman; And as I am not able to frame an Idea, of any Prospect so
Shocking
and
Frightful
to
Human Nature,
as that which represents a
Mother who can look with Indifference
(not to say with Aversion)
upon the Child of her Body,
I was resolving the other Day to form a PLAIN DEALER out of these two different Characters.
METHINKS I would not miss ranging the
Deformities
of one Parent, near the
Beauties
of the other; because this Manner of Illustration by Opposites, in Writing, like
Shade
and
Light
in Painting, will make the
Moral
appear with
Vigour,
and strike upon the
Eye
of the
Understanding
a more forcible
Effect.
COULD I execute this
Design
according to my
Wish
; could I make the
Draught
just, and give it the
Lively Touches
and
warm Colours
it deserves, it might perhaps be a valuable
Present,
and
instructive Family Piece,
for the married Part of my
Readers,
and some of their Posterity might, for ought I know, have good Reason to thank me for it.
I WAS, according to Custom, opening my Mind upon this intended
Subject
to the worthy Major
Stedfast
; and telling him, That I should be agreeably lost in Pleasure, while I was tracing, in a good Father, the secret
Springs
of a Thousand little Beautiful
Actions
which would pass unnoticed by common Eyes, that are too Incurious and Indelicate on such Nice and Elegant Occasions.
—HERE I paused a while, with Intent to name some particular Observations, I have made, of these Critical Workings of a
Spirit
truely
Parentile
; when this constant Friend of Mankind changed my Inclination to speak, into the greater Pleasure of attending to what he began to say, in this Manner.
THERE is, no fear of your losing yourself in that Delightful Part of the Contemplation: But when you come to consider the
Unnatural Mother,
I don't know how difficult a Task it may be, even for all your
Philosophy
to account for it. You will find yourself extreamly perplexed, if you descend to make Enquiry, what Monstrous Turn in the whole Course of the Blood, what Prodigies over-ruling the whole Rational and Animal System, can Eraze from a
Mother's Heart
all those fond
Records
of
Tenderness
which the Hand of Nature must have engraven there, in behalf of the
Being
which received its first Principle of
Vitality
so near it, and its immediate Preservation from it.
YOU may remember that, at your setting out, I told you, the Expression, which hit my Taste the best of any in your
First
PAPER, was,
That you would look upon yourself as every Body's Father;
and I would rather see you acting like a Father, than describing one: which said he (giving into my Hand a Paper) you may do, by publishing those
Verses,
which, according to my Opinion, want nothing more than their being
Known,
in order to their being
Applauded.
THE Author is a Young Gentleman who, tho' severe Accidents, and the Rigour of Fortune have thrown him into the Condition of an
Orphan,
is still likely to prove a
Fav'rite Son
of the
Muses:
But a Genius, tho' never so promising, will not readily make its Way into Esteem, without the Aid of a Recommender, or the Encouragement of a Patron.
HERE I read over the
Verses,
and signified my Approbation, in very few Words, because I perceived the generous
Temper
of the
Major
inclin'd him to speak further, in behalf of
Unfortunate Desert
; when, resuming the Discourse, he proceeded in this Manner.
YOU may guess by this little Performance, That those Talents, which were not happy enough to procure their Possessor a Competency, from
Parents
who liv'd in Affluence, may, if Cultivated and Improved, intitle him to the
Adoption
of some great
Personage,
who, observing a
Noble Impartiality,
with Regard to
Strangers
and
Acquaintance,
may assist
Merit
wheresoever he finds it. It would really be pity that a Person, who has demonstrated, that he has a
Capacity
to entertain the
World,
should not meet with a
Patron
in it, to give him a
Taste
of its
Enjoyments.
Whoever may be meant by
HORATIUS,
if he makes as Handsome a
Figure
in his Reception of the
Poet,
as he does in the
Poet
's
Description,
he will be to him instead of a
Mecoenas
; and you will have the Satisfaction of knowing, That you put the
Meritorious
in a Way to meet
Reward,
and administer an
Opportunity,
the most Grateful (that can be) to a Person truly
Great,
an
Opportunity
of doing a Graceful
Action.
HERE a Gentleman interrupted us, and left me no
Room
to make
Reply
by Word of Mouth: But the best
Answer
I could, since, make him, was to repeat, in this manner, what he said, and to publish the following
Lines
instead of the
Essay
I intended.
To a Young Gentleman, a
Painter:
Occasioned by seeing his
Picture
of the
Celebrated CLIO.
By Mr. SAVAGE.
FORGIVE an Artless, an Officious Friend,
Weak, when I Judge, but willing to Commend;
Fall'n as I am, by no kind
Fortune
rais'd,
Depress'd, Obscur'd, Unpitied, and Unprais'd,
Yet, when these well-known Features I peruse,
Some Warmth awakes; some Embers of a Muse.
Ye
Muses, Graces,
and ye
Loves,
appear!
Your Queen, your VENUS, and your
CLIO
's here!
In such pure Fires her real Thoughts refine!
Her Eyes with such Commanding Sweetness shine!
Such living Tinctures through yon Aether glow,
Stain Summer Clouds, or gild the Watery Bow:
She smiles, she speaks—she blushes, while we gaze,
I hear your Colours and I feel their Blaze:
More at each kindling Touch, your Canvass glows!
Till the full Form, instinct with Spirit, grows!
Let the dull Artist puzzling Rules explore,
Dwell on the Lines and creep the Features o'er;
You eye the Soul, the Source of Likeness find,
And thro' the meaning Muscles, strike the Mind.
Nor can one View such boundless Pow'r confine,
All Nature opens to an
Art
like thine!
Now Rural Scenes in simple Grandeur rise!
Vales, Hills, Lawns, Lakes, & Vineyards feast our Eyes!
Now
Halcyon Peace
a smiling Aspect wears!
Now the
Red Scene
with
War
and
Ruin
glares!
Here
Britain
's Fleets o'er
Europe
's Seas preside!
There long-lost
Cities
rear their ancient Pride!
You from the
Grave
can half redeem the Slain,
And bid
Great JULIUS
charm the
World
again:
Revive
Pharsalia,
mark out
Munda
's Fray,
And re-awaken Darkness into Day.
But if new Glories most our Warmth excite,
If Toils untry'd to noblest Aims invite;
Wou'd you in envied Pomp unrival'd reign,
Oh, let
HORATIUS
grace the Canvass Plain!
His
Form
might ev'n
Idolatry
create,
Serenely striking, and unproudly great.
Thro' those bright Features
CAESAR
's Spirit trace,
Each conq'ring Sweetness, each imperial Grace,
All that has Softness, Terror, Wisdom, Weight,
In
Love,
in
War,
in
Knowledge,
or in
State.
Thus shall your
Colours,
like his
Worth,
amaze!
Thus shall you merit even your
CLIO
's Praise!
Clear, and more clear your Sunny Genius shines;
While my dim
Lamp
of
Life
obscure declines:
Dull'd in damp Shades it wastes, unseen, away,
While yours, Triumphant, blazes into Day.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 16.
Neque enim est hoc dissimulandum, quod obscurari non potest, sed prae nobis ferendum: trahimur omnes laudis studio, & optimus quisque, maximè, gloriâ ducitur.
CICER. Pro Archia Poeta.
Quam multos scriptores rerum suarum magnus ille
Alexander
secum habuisse dicitur? Atque is tamen, cum in
Sigoeo
ad
Achillis
tumulum astitisset, O fortunate, inquit, adolescens, qui tue virtutis
Homerum
praeconem inveneris! & verè. Nam nisi
Ilias
illa extitisset, idem tumulus, qui corpus ejus contexerat, nomen etiam obruisset.
Ibidem.
FRIDAY,
May
15. 1724.
THERE is a
Scantiness,
in some Mens Souls, that gives a distasteful Air to their very Favours, and their Praises; what the
Mien
is to the Body, the
Temper
is to the Mind. And for Want of this Observation, on Occasions where it had been most useful, some have lost their Friends Good-will by an arrogant Manner of
obliging
them; and others
prais'd
Men into a
Contempt
both for their Persons and their Civilities.
THERE must be visible, in those, who wou'd say, or do, Things engagingly, a certain Sweetness in the Eye, and a Sense of Pleasure in the Deportment. A Compliment is an
Affront,
when accompany'd with a sullen Brow, or a negligent, an absent, or supercilious, Behaviour. I appeal to my Readers, Whether they do not always find themselves uneasy in the Company of a Person, who seems more pleas'd with
Himself,
than with those he is conversing with.
I WAS drawn into this Reflection, by reading, the other Day, a little Copy of VERSES, which is printed, with some Poetical Pieces of Mr.
Pope
's, and was written by a Person of very great Quality, and whose
Wit, too,
was of the first Mangnitude!
On Mr. POPE, and his POEMS.
WITH Age decay'd, with Courts and Business tir'd,
Caring for nothing, but what Ease requir'd;
Too dully Serious for the
Muses
Sport,
And, from the Critics, safe arriv'd in Port:
I little thought of launching forth agen,
Amidst advent'rous Rovers of the Pen:
And, after so much undeserv'd Success,
Thus hazarding at last, to make it less.
Encomiums
suit not this censorious Time,
It self a Subject for Satiric Rhyme;
Ignorance
honour'd,
Wit,
and
Worth
defam'd,
Folly
triumphant, and ev'n
HOMER
blam'd!
But to this Genius, join'd with so much Art,
Such various Learning, mix'd, in every Part,
Poets are bound a loud Applause to pay;
APOLLO
bids it, and they must obey.
And, yet, so wonderful, sublime, a Thing,
As the great
Iliad,
scarce shou'd make
Me
sing:
Except I justly cou'd, at once commend,
A good Companion, and as firm a Friend.
One moral, or a mere well-natur'd Deed,
Does all Desert in Sciences exceed.
'Tis great Delight to laugh at some Mens Ways,
But a much greater, to give Merit
Praise.
THE good Nature of Mr.
Pope,
must be as Extensive, as his Wit, if his Esteem for this
Noble
Author was not lessen'd, by so
Ignoble
a Start of his Poetry. It is a grudging, haughty, conscious, reluctant, and penurious Encomium! Under Pretence of Praise to a Friend, it indulges Spleen to his Enemies. It carries, throughout, a closer Eye upon
his own
Merit, than upon
His
to whom he addresses it. In four and twenty Verses, the four odd ones, I
think,
have some faint Inclination to shew Respect to
another
; but the twenty,
I am sure,
with a much stronger Bent, point directly upon
Himself.
WOULD this great Man have applauded such a POET, as he ought, he shou'd have forgotten, or seem'd to forget, both
Himself,
and his
Rank,
in that Reverence, so justly due to an Excellence, which will do Honour to our Nation. He shou'd not have imagin'd himself over Bountiful in his Condescention: The Praise of Mr.
Pope
will be a Theme for Wit, and Learning, when all the
Dukes,
his
Patrons,
shall be
lost
in the Dust that covers them! The accidental Advantages of Birth, Wealth, and Title, are so far from bestowing Worth, where they find it not originally, that they serve but to make the Want of it more obvious and contemptible; whereas a
Genius
like this Gentleman's, surmounts all the shadowy Superiorities of Fortune, adorns Dignity itself, and makes Obscurity illustrious!
THE great
Cardinal Richelieu,
in a Circumstance of like Nature, acted in so different a Manner, that I am always charm'd afresh, when I read over a Letter, which he sent to
Balzac
a
French
Writer, whose Merit was as inferior to Mr.
Pope
's, as the Grandeur of the
Prime Minister
was superior to the
Nobleman
's: Let a Judgment be drawn, from an impartial Comparison.
A LETTER from
Cardinal Richelieu,
to
Monsieur de Balzac.
Paris,
February
the 4th, 1621.
SIR,
THO' I have often, and openly, declar'd what I think of your Writings, yet cannot I satisfy my self without sending you, by this Letter, a more
Authentic
Approbation: I never had any particular Affection for your Person, and since, therefore, it is the Prerogative of
Truth,
that compels me to my Opinion, I will take care, That the Esteem, I profess for your Works, shall be no
barren Compliment
; for my Praise shall be seconded by the
Applause
of a whole
People.
Or, if, notwithstanding my Endeavours, some low Spirits shall be found, who may affect to think otherwise, Time will make them but too sensible, that the Faults, they impute to
You,
are Defects in their own Judgment. They are like People in the
Jaundice,
who see every Thing of that distemper'd Colour, which themselves are afflicted by.
IN the Days of our Ancestors, Persons of narrow Understanding were implicite Admirers of what was above their Comprehension; but now, by a kind of
Elasticity
in modern Reason, Judgment
extends
or
contracts
itself, to sit close upon our
Capacity
; and we approve, but just as far, as we are able to understand; blasting every Thing by our Censure, that we cannot reach by our Practice. Yet I hope, I do not presume too much, when I say concerning your Works, That
I see Things as they are,
and
declare 'em
what I
see
them. Your Conceptions are strong, and the Flight of your Imagination outsoars every Thing but your Reason: Your Language is pure, and your Expression strongly Elegant.
I WILL conclude with this Caution; That you will be guilty in the Eye of God, if you suffer such a Pen to
rest
; or if you
employ
it too
idly.
You ought to apply yourself henceforward, to grave and important Subjects; and I am content that you shall impute to
Me,
all the
Blame,
if, when you do so, you receive not the Returns, which will be due to you. Already I am meditating an Opportunity to be known for
Your Affectionate Humble Servant, The Cardinal of
Richelieu.
I AM transported, while I read this Letter, at the flaming Intermixture of this Statesman's lovely Qualities! What a Glow of Humanity! What a Consciousness of that Care, which is the Duty of the
Great,
to draw up Merit, out of Obscurity! What a Knowledge of a State's true Interest, from the Force of such Examples! What a genteel
Magnanimity!
What a spirited Race of Sweetness, does there shine, in this short Letter!
IT is pleasant enough to remark, That both the
French
Encomium and the
English,
had Effects, the very Reverse of what was intended by their Authors; yet, at the same Time, strictly consonant with
Justice,
and their different Merits; while the
English
Applauder addresses to Mr.
Pope
the Praise he
means
to
Himself
; his Verses are never read without lessening his own Character; whereas, the generous
French Cardinal,
meaning nothing in his Letter, but the Encouragement of
Monsieur Balzac,
draws that Honour on his own Name, which he wou'd bestow upon another's; and becomes
Himself,
the
Reader's Idol,
while he is pointing him where to worship!
IT was impossible for
Monsieur Balzac,
after being thus nobly distinguish'd, not to strain his Genius to the utmost, to keep Possession of a Glory, he must so justly have been Proud of; whereas
Neglect,
on the other Hand, has discourag'd a thousand Spirits, which might have been capable, had they been
Fortunate,
or supported by those who were so, to shine out as
living Lights,
and illustrate the Age, they were born in, thro' a long Course of Futurity.
Camoens,
whom the
Portuguese
call the
Virgil
of
their
Country, has touch'd this Subject very happily, in the 5th Book of his
Lusiad.
HOW sweet is Praise, and justly purchas'd Glory,
By our own Actions, when to Heaven they soar!
Each noble Soul will
Strain,
to leave his Story,
An Overmatch for all who climb'd before.
Those wond'rous Heights,
Achilles
reach'd in Arms,
Had ne'er so strongly mov'd the World's great Lord,
Had not the Muse of
Homer
giv'n 'em Charms,
And rows'd him from a
Rest,
he, thence, abhorr'd.
Scipio
's, and
Caesars, PORTUGAL
can boast,
But has not bless'd them with exalted Hearts,
Once Dead, they
Die for ever,
and are
lost,
Because, unfriended by the
deathless Arts.
All those immortal Names, that tread on Time,
Were
learn'd themselves,
or
lov'd
the learned
All;
In
Greece,
in
Rome,
in the most
barb'rous
Clime,
In every Land, but tasteless
PORTUGAL.
Mournful I speak it, to my Country's Shame,
Want of
Excitement
keeps its Genius
Low;
Our rude a
boist'rous
Lords
are deaf to Fame,
And seem, as careless to be
known,
as
know.
Dull and of gross Desires, their empty Pride,
Dark and contracted,
tastes
not what is writ;
For how, alas! shou'd
Lameness
learn to
stride
?
Or he, who
understands not,
cherish
Wit!
Blest let the Muses be, by those I sing,
That I, for no Reward, but
Honour,
born,
Have for my Country's Glory, touch'd the String,
And laugh her
titled Arrogance
to scorn.
While on the Fame of
Lusitania
bent,
Your Charms, ye Nymphs of
Tagus,
I reveal,
Fortune
the Frame of my proud Hope has rent,
And drags me friendless at her Chariot Wheel.
Degraded, at another's Board to eat,
A
Rock
of
Want!
surrounded by my
Woes;
Ingratitude
it self, unmov'd I meet,
And rise, the stronger, against
Envy
's Blows.
See, Nymphs! what
learned Lords
your
Tagus
boasts!
What
Patrons
of the noble Arts we find!
Such
is their Worth, who fill the
Publick Posts!
And such the
Prize,
that crowns a generous
Mind!
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 17.
Quid si prisca redit
Venus?
—
HOR.
— Tecum vivere amem
IBID.
MONDAY,
May
18. 1724.
MY Old Maid, who has liv'd with me these thirty Years, and claims the
tucking me up,
as a Privilege annex'd to her
Office
; left open my Window-curtains last Night, which so early let in the Beams of the Sun upon me, that I was wak'd from a Dream, which I cou'd have wish'd to enjoy much longer.
FANCY had remov'd all my Distance from Youth; and given me back those gentle Flames, which warm and brighten Life in its
Morning.
I saw an adorable Object, which my Soul, methought, had once been passionately fond of: And of whose Perfections I imagin'd myself to have been vertuously enamour'd: But I had lost her, as I fancy'd, in
Death.
Oh! the Pain of that Imagination was terrible even in Sleep! I saw this lovely Person, adorn'd with all her Sweetness! I heard the Musick of her Accents, informing me, she was
my PATTY.
Now grown kinder and more sensible, I even
felt
her leaning over me; and found the animating Influence of her Soul-enchanting Pressures! With what Ecstasy of Fondness did I survey her lovely Languor! Her Eyes were meltingly relax'd; and their Beams serenely temper'd with angelick Softness and Compassion. Her very
Soul
seem'd to shine upon me, through the Smile of every Feature. Oh! how beautiful is a chast Passion! How sweetly does it remain upon the Mind, and appeal from
Death
to the
Memory!
I never knew, till this dear Dream convinc'd me, what I lost by not loving, while my
Body,
as well as my
Soul,
cou'd have done Justice to the Passion.
WHILE I was thus tenderly employ'd, I wish some Artist cou'd have snatch'd my Picture! Old as I am, I flatter myself, That Love wou'd have lent it Lustre. I wou'd have all my Friends, who
are not,
resolve immediately, to commence
Lovers.
The Insipids, who have never
lov'd,
may be said to live as the Greedy
drink
; they
swallow
Life without
tasting
it.
BUT, all transported as I was, with this charming Dream, it was ravish'd from me, by the Sun. Yet did I not
complain.
It had tun'd my Soul to Harmony; and transform'd me from an Old
Philosopher,
into a young and happy
Wanton!
I started from my Bed, and flew with Vigour to the Glass! to which I have long accustom'd myself to creep without Transport. Old and Worm-eaten as it is in every Part of its broad Frame, yet did it not alarm me. I even saw my own Face in it without the least Mortification. Nay, I took Notice, That my Night-cap was not so White as it ought to have been; which in more unpolite Hours, I shou'd have thought not worth remarking. But
Love
adorns and improves us! My Bosom swell'd with Sighs, and my Eyes shone with Pleasure. I brush'd up my
Mouse-colour
Gloves, and was wishing they had been
Yellow ones.
I powder'd my short Hair; and comb'd it down to look longer. Nay I almost arriv'd at the Foppery of spoiling my new
Beaver,
by inflicting the modern
Pinch
on it. At length I remember'd, That my Youth was but a
Dream!
And my
PATTY
a
COQUET!
My Arms, at this Thought, folded sadly upon my Breast; I sunk into my easy Chair, and was, some Minutes, quite
lost
there, before I cou'd recover myself. How dreadful is the Descent, from airy Pleasure to substantial Misery! It is not to be describ'd in Prose, and since
LOVE
both deserves good Poetry, and can inspire it, let me see what my
Muse
will say to it.
Oh! Lovely Object! Whose dear Form I keep,
In busy Daylight and in silent Sleep!
Revisit Fancy—to my Sighs attend;
Thou
imag'd Shadow
of my Soul's soft Friend!
When I recall thy Beauties to my Mind,
How
dead
are all Things thou hast left behind!
Study, Pride, Friendship, languish for thy Sake;
Oh! Why did
Love
from thy sweet Tomb awake?
Why
move
his pointed Arrows in my Breast,
In Life's Descent, and the cool
Vale
of
Rest!
Oh! charm not thus my
Soul,
which is design'd
To
flow
down
Time,
and strengthen Humankind!
WELL! My Readers shou'd think as I do, that all Things are for the
Best.
I lost my Dream, and they find a Poet. The Witlings will say, a
dreaming
one! But Melancholy has its Charms, and I am
sweetly Sad,
in the Remembrance of it.
WHILE I was indulging this mournful Tenderness, I heard a gentle Rap at my Door, as if it fear'd to alarm me; and the Outside of it seem'd to be swept by the rustling of Silk; a Musick I am not us'd to! I open'd it slowly, for I was still lost to myself; and was address'd by a
Lady
in a modest but most enchanting Manner. She appear'd to be near thirty; and was dress'd, very gravely, a little remov'd from the present
Mode.
But my Heart sprung within me! For all the Beauties of my Vision were more than verify'd in this
Reality!
The Soul of a
God
seem'd to stream through her Eyes! And the Ideas of her Wit and Majestick Understanding
flam'd
and
sparkled
in her
meaning Softness!
There was something in her Air, that made the Room seem to
blaze
round her! I led her to my great Chair, but she gracefully declin'd it, and seated herself at some Distance, not to shew the Respect she had, to my
Age,
I hope, but my
Writings:
After a Preface, of the sweetest Praise, that Vanity cou'd wish to hear, she took a Paper from her Bosom; and seem'd to tremble, while she gave it me, as if it enclose'd some Declaration, that her
Heart
was concern'd in. How becoming is
Humility,
when such Excellence condescends to wear it!—She withdrew: and, from her
Manner,
I opened her Paper with Impatience; and found in it what follows.
Good SIR,
I WAIT on you, with my own Letter, from the Respectful Desire I have to see the Person of him, whose Soul I so much admire, in the PLAIN DEALER. I knew very well, That the Reverence you must inspire, wou'd prevent my speaking freely, and I chose therefore, to
write,
what I wished to inform you of.
I WAS the other Day, in an Assembly, of what the World calls
fine Ladies
; to which gay Part of our Species I have lately been a Stranger, so that I found their Dress, and their Conversation entirely Foreign to me; though, (through all Disguises) I could discover the
British Beauty!
—The Confusion of their Fans, and the Loudness of their Laughter, alarm'd, and oppress'd my Ear; as the new Situation of their Elbows drew my Eye under Astonishment! One of the Ladies, who, I fear for her own sake, is what they call a
Toast,
was, most lamentably, delighted with a young Gentleman, who sat next her, and who by the Oddness of his Dress, surpriz'd me, more than the Ladies did.—His Wig, instead of gracefully adorning his Shoulders, was tuck'd up into a Bag, of the same
Content
with his Head; and had two Wings shooting from it; so that he look'd like a
Mercury revers'd.
The little Hair, that escap'd this Bag, (because no Hat was allowed to shield it) was cemented by Oil and Powder; to secure it against Tempest. The Sleeve of his Coat had remov'd the Middle of his Arm, from the Place I should have look'd for it in, and
preferr'd
the Bend of his Elbow, to within three Inches of his Shoulder. His Stockings were so high embroider'd, that they left no Shape to his Leg: And his Hands, to his Fingers Ends, were
entomb'd,
in a Pair of Ruffles. He was button'd up to the Chin, in a white Dimmity Waistcoat; and wore a Frock, which, I suppose, he borrow'd from one of his Grooms, to emulate the
Jockey Air
with the more Elegance, and Propriety.
AS odd a Creature as this was, he seem'd to consider
Me
as an
Odder
; for I over-heard him whisper his fair Neighbour, That, by my Ill Dress, and my Neglect of the Company, I must be either a
Wit,
or a
Tory!
It was plain, he said, from my Behaviour, that I was unlearned in the new World, and he fancied, for his Part, that I dropt out of the
Eclipse,
last
Monday
!—The Favourite Lady oblig'd him with a tender Look; and burst into a loud Laughter. I found that all his Discourse was fill'd with Arrogance, and Folly; and a Monster bred of both, which they call
Double Entendres.
At last, he hum'd half a Tune; danc'd a Step or two, to his own Musick; took
Snuff
and
Leave
together; and
hopt
out of the Company.
The Ladies were now at Leisure to look a little at me. But their Hearts seem'd strangely full of this ridiculous Object, whom they immediately fell a praising, with a kind of miserable Emulation. Mr.
Flushcheek,
said the
Toast,
is, sure! the most delightful Creature! the finest, and best-bred Gentleman! how witty! how tender! how polite and how
severe,
he is! He is the Soul of Sense, and Gallantry; and the very Life of the
Masquerade:
I started, at their Admiration; and felt my Heart sink into Pity for 'em; while I contemplated, in Silence, the Perfection of my adorable
Bellario.
OH! Mr. PLAIN DEALER! that I had proper Language to convey him to your Imagination! You wou'd then approve my Passion: And I shou'd be justify'd even to your
Reason.
His Person is divinely form'd, Tall and Graceful! His Eyes, which are full of Wisdom, wear a
Gentleness,
as if they griev'd their own Lustre, and were willing to
decline
themselves in Pity to the Beholders! His Lips are rarely open'd but to
praise
or to
improve,
though he has Teeth, which he might be proud of shewing. There is, in the Turn of his Arms, an inexpressible Air of Majesty! I never look on him without
seeing
all the great Men, I have read of. I tremble before him, with a kind of
religious Passion!
For Religion and Virtue are adorn'd by his Conversation! So that I may say, without Falshood, that it is
Heaven
to
hear
him! His Dress is disengag'd; and he
knows
all Things but, that he is charming! Oh! that you were acquainted with his Mind, which is shining with every Virtue! Amidst the Throng of his Beauties, I forgot to tell you, That he is a
Poet,
a most
Divine
one! Believe me it is no
Fiction!
Place him therefore before Mr.
Flushcheek
's Eyes; and convert his fair Admirers: for they take in the PLAIN DEALER.
I am, with great Respect, Sir, your most humble Servant,
CLEORA.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 18.
Qui fit, Moecenas, ut nemo, quam sibi sortem
Seu ratio dederit, seu fors objecerit, illâ
Contentus vivat: laudat diversa sequentes.
HOR.
Caetera de genere hoc (adeo sunt multa) loquacem
Delassare valent Fabium. Ne te morer, audi
Quo rem deducam. Si quis Deus, En ego, dicat,
Jam faciam quod vultis: eris tu, qui modo miles,
Mercator: tu, consultus modo, rusticus: hinc vos,
Vos hinc mutatis discedite partibus. Eia!
Quid statis? nolint. Atqui licet esse beatis.
Quid causae est, meritò quin illis Juppiter ambas
Iratus Buccas inflet: ne
que
se fore posthac
Tam facilem dicat, votis ut praebeat aurem?
IBID.
FRIDAY,
May
22. 1724.
I FELL asleep, the other Night, after meditating, in my Bed, on our general Dissatisfaction, at the Fortune that is alloted us; and had, again, an extraordinary Dream, but very different from my last; and so strongly distinct, and entertaining, that I flatter myself, my
Readers
will be glad to share its Impression, while it is new, upon my Memory.
I WAS plac'd, I knew not how, on the Top of a green Hill; which was very flow'ry, and fragrant. The World, methought, lay under it, in a vast Descent of Cloudiness! A thousand Roads led up to it; but, with such intricate, and mazy Windings, that my Eye was unable to trace any of them, distinctly: Yet they, all, open'd at last, upon the Summit of the Hill, and pour'd out a mix'd Multitude, of both Sexes, and of all Ages, and Conditions; who, as soon as they had reach'd the Flat, hastened forward towards its Center.
I WAS wonderfully pleas'd, to discover
Patty Amble,
in the Crowd; and, giving her my Hand, led her on, with great Composure. She inform'd me, That the Place we were upon, was the
Mount of Fortune
; and, That she was going to a
Fair,
which is held on it, and call'd,
Mend-all Market.
Her Business, she said, was to change her Condition, for a Better; and, she doubted not, but I might do the same, if I pleas'd, since I had found my Way, up the Hill. For all People, who came thither, were allow'd the happy Privilege, to lay down their own Burdens; and take up lighter, in the Room of them.
IN the very middle of the Plain, we came, at length, to a kind of
May-Pole,
which was bigger than the
Monument
; and as high as the
Pike
of
Teneriff:
It was of a bright
Yellow,
or
Gold-colour
; but twinkled, strangely, at a Distance; and looked dazling, and transparent. There hung, off from it, all about, lovely Garlands, of precious Stones, with a Mixture of the sweetest Flowers; the
Hues
of which were
changeable,
and varied every Moment, with a most bewitching Delightfulness. Upon the Pinacle of this Pyramid, sat the Goddess of the Place, very busily spinning: But the Thread she twisted off, was too
fine,
to be seen, distinctly, by Us, who stood, so far, below it. The Wheel, in its Motion, made a musical Sound; but so rough, and so loud, that it shook the Hill, all round it. It scatter'd, while she turn'd it, a sparkling Shower of
Globules,
that were many-colour'd, but hollow; and broke, like empty Bubbles, in their descending over the Multitude.
WHAT I observ'd, with most Concern, was, that, the nearer we came, the Prospect grew less charming; for the Dust was so thick, that our Eyes, and Mouths, were filled with it; and our Heads ak'd with the Bustle, and the Noise, of the Tumult. The Commodities, which were to be barter'd for, lay, spread, every where, in Heaps; and All, who pass'd between, were invited to come, and cheapen them.—
Sweetmeats, Limonades,
and Variety of the finest
Fruits,
were offer'd, diligently, up and down, by little
Cupids,
with painted Baskets: And Trumpeters, Jugglers, Rope-dancers,
Merry-Andrews,
and
Opera-Mongers,
were exerting themselves, on all Sides, to compleat the Uproar of the Market. But, tho' I pass'd by all their
Stages,
I saw no more than
Two,
whose Faces were well known to me; and Those were,
Heidegger,
and
Doctor Faustus.
IN the Front of every Pile, rose an
Alabaster Pillar,
whereon hung a Picture, fill'd with Figures, all in
Motion
; representing whatever was most tempting, and desirable, in the Merchandize it recommended. And, at the Foot of each Pillar, was placed an
Ebony Chair
; on both Sides of which, stood young, and beautiful Women, dress'd like
Muses
and
Graces:
Some inviting Passengers to take Possession of the Empty Seat; and others pointing up, to a Compartment, on the Top of it, where was to be read, in golden Letters, the Name, and Quality, of the Merchandize.
WE made up, to a Heap, that was remarkably higher than the Rest; and read, there, the Word
ROYALTY.
We were agreeably surpriz'd, to see, moving, in the Picture, that hung upon this Pillar,
Armies, Palaces,
and
Navies!
Crowds of Men, upon their Knees; and Women, still more prostrate!—Banquets, Treasures, Sports, and Triumphs, all succeeding, in their Turns, drew a mighty Crowd of Gazers; who were struggling for the Chair, and push'd each other from it.
Patty Amble
was very earnest, to have had
me
put in for it: But I wink'd upon her, to be quiet; and presently, we saw a Person, breaking strongly through the Crowd; who, with loud
Huzza
's, and Concurrence, plac'd him, there, and bow'd round him.—But, no sooner was he seated, when the tempting Figures, in the Picture, chang'd, immediately, into
horrible
Ones!—Cares, Dangers, Hatred, Restlessness, and a thousand
sooty Furies,
roll'd, unquietly, about him! The
Muses,
and
Graces,
were transform'd into
Serpents,
and
Satyrs!
that hiss'd, grinn'd, and pointed at him. And, when he wou'd have, gladly, escap'd, and sprung out of the Chair, he found himself held down in it, by a Troop of
meagre Phantoms,
that frighted us away, from any further Observation of him.
THE next Place, that we stopp'd at, was the Column of BEAUTY. We look'd up, to the Picture, and saw, moving, in it, a mix'd, and confus'd Bustle, of Coaches, Footmen, and Coronets: Men, with their Hearts in their Hands; and an indistinct Cavalcade, of shapeless Things, without Heads, call'd Smiles, Sighs, Vows, Desires, Faintings, Languishments, and Adorations. There came, up, to this Place, in great Hurry, a fat, but sprightly, Young Woman, with a Bundle, under her Arm; which she laid down, by Way of Barter; and which, we observ'd, as she sorted the Goods, to be fill'd with large Legs, red Hair, brown Skin, big Breasts; and Small-Pox-Marks, in abundance. The Attendants, at the Pillar, having agreed to the Exchange, were inviting her into the
Ebony
Chair; when I, who, by this Time, began to suspect their fair Appearance,
turn'd
the Picture, with my
Stick:
and expos'd its other Side to the
She-Merchant
; which was to be Part of her Bargain, and consisted of Scandal, Spleen, Jealousy, Anguish, Perjury, and Ruin. She no sooner saw the Faces of this ugly Nest of Monsters, but, snatching up her own Bundle, she ran, as fast as her thick Legs cou'd carry her; tumbling, Head over Heels, at every Heap in her Way; and getting up, as she best cou'd; without staying, to look behind her.
WHILE we were diverting ourselves, at this pleasant Flight, a Person, whom Nature had design'd, and limb'd, for a
PLOWMAN,
had been seiz'd with an Ambition to be made a
Minister of State
; and, having thrown down his Burden, of Toil, Penury, and Dirtiness before the Pillar of POWER, had seated himself, triumphantly, in the Chair, at the Foot of it; but was frighted out of his Wits, by that time we came up to him; for we found him almost smother'd, under an unmerciful Load of Slanders, Terrors, Axes, and Halters; which he had much ado to crawl out from; and was bawling, with great Earnestness, and Distortion of Muscles, to have his
Own Goods
restor'd him.
IN the next Compartment we examin'd, we found written the Word, TITLES. We saw, there, a Beau, with six Footmen behind him, very earnestly perusing the moving Trophies, in the Picture. My
Coquet
felt her Heart beat, at the Sight of so fine a Gentleman; and whisper'd her Opinion, That I need not turn
that
Picture; for sure! there was no
Ill
to be apprehended,
there
;—I did it, however, and the Beau fell into Fits; at the sudden rushing out of a Whirlwind of Ignorance, Conceitedness, Scorn, Luxury, and Diseases!
I frighted an honest Citizen, in much the same Manner, from the Standard of WEALTH. He had taken a Fancy for Preferment: and was wishing, extremely, to be erected into an
Alderman!
—He had counted out, for the Purchase, a Life-full of Ease; a small Parcel of Understanding; and
Ditto,
of Conscience. But, the very Minute I turn'd the Picture, there flew, into his Face, Dullness, Cuckoldom, and Clumsiness! upon which he took to his Heels, and left his
own Bag
behind him.
AT the Column of WIT, I was agreeably entertain'd, among a large Circle of
Gapers,
who were admiring the wonderful
Mechanism
of the Picture, that was hung upon that Pillar.—Cities, Mountains, Oceans, Woods, Skies, Meadows, Gardens, Gods, and Goddesses, Giants, Mermaids, Cupids, Dragons, Mistresses, Witches, Enchanted Castles, Fields of Air; and Seas of Fire; all, delightfully, intermix'd, and confounded, rose, and charm'd the Observation!—But the Crowd dispers'd, immediately, on my discovering, to their great Terror, and Amazement, that there lurk'd, behind all this Gaiety, a
lean
Society, call'd Envy, Malice, Poverty, Dependence, and Calamity!
I WALK'D quite through the
Fair
; and, where-ever I wander'd, perceived it was, in all Parts, alike. They, who brought
Complaints,
to exchange, against
Good-Fortune,
chose to carry their
own
back again, rather than conclude a
New
Bargain. There was something, in every Heap, that they were inclinable enough to purchase;—But there was something too, that must go with it, which they could not bear to be troubled with: so, they went murmuring, away; and bestow'd their Curses, in great Plenty, on the Goddess, who kept the Market; which was never the thinner, notwithstanding; for, still, new Crowds supply'd the Places of those, who return'd, dissatisfy'd. Nor cou'd the Warnings they met with, from such Numbers who had been disappointed, prevail with these new Comers, to believe, they shou'd go back again, without being the Richer, from a
Mart,
that was stor'd, so plentifully, with all, that the World calls Valuable.
AMONG the infinite Variety of Temptations, which glitter'd, every where, about me, I was in Danger but once; and That was, at the Pillar of FAME. I saw, when I turn'd that Picture, that the Weight of the Counter-balance lay, chiefly, in these four Evils,—
Death, Time, Detraction,
and
Uncertainty!
Yet, so strong was my Desire to float my Name through Futurity, that I was resolutely determin'd to take Possession of the Chair.—But, having Nothing of Value about me, but my
Oaken Stick,
and
Mouse-colour'd Gloves,
(the first of which they refus'd, because of the Mischief it had done 'em, in turning up the wrong Sides of their Pictures; and the Second, because not
fine
enough to be fashionable, in that Region,) I was forc'd upon an Expedient, which I am almost afraid to confess, for fear of losing, for ever, the Good Opinion of my Female Readers.
TO say all, in a Word, I was, heroically, resolv'd, to give up my
Love
for my
Glory
; so, taking
Patty Amble
by the Hand, I proffer'd
Her,
in Barter, (having no
Other Commodity.
) The Attendants, who watch'd the Pillar, were just ready to take hold of her; when she threw her Arms about my Neck, and
conjur'd
me, by all the Tyes, of Honour, and of Gallantry, that I wou'd not leave her, a Sacrifice, to so empty a Divinity, as the Regent of that Mountain! She begg'd, that I wou'd return, with her, to the Lower, but happier World: and, whatever I should ask of her, she wou'd grant me, by Way of Recompence. I took her suddenly, at her Word, and ask'd her
Heart
for a
Fairing.
—Nay, spare me but that One Thing, said she, with a languishing Reproachfulness, and take
any thing else, about me.
Unfortunately overjoy'd, at this Bliss, which, methought, befel me, the sudden Flow of my Spirits, under a Sense of the promis'd Transport, caus'd so violent an Agitation, that, waking on a sudden, I dropt, out of her Arms, and perceiv'd myself in my Bed, in
Barbican.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 19
Non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites.
Et vitulâ tu dignus, & hic: —
VIR.
MONDAY,
May
25. 1724.
I PASS some agreeable Hours, now and then, at the House of
Sir Portly Rufus,
an old and wealthy Acquaintance; who lives, a few Miles, out of Town; and having got his Estate, by a long and busy Life, spent in Trading, adventurously, to most Parts of the World, is, now, retir'd from its Hurry; and enjoys it with a graceful Ease, and undesigning Hospitality. The only Inconvenience, I have to complain of, when I am with him, is, that the Company I meet there, is not so Delicate as I cou'd wish it; but mix'd with that Ineligance, which must be expected, and submitted to, among Men of Business: whose Friendships are form'd, for the most Part, not on Sympathy of Minds; but mutual Commerce of Interests.
YET, as there is, always, something to be
learnt,
from the most inconsiderable Accidents we can meet with, I never return'd from Dineing, or Supping, with my good Friend
Sir
Portly,
but I brought away with me as strong a Proof, as I cou'd any where have met with, That the Reason why, in mix'd Companies, we seldom find much Pleasure, is, because every Person, not under some immediate Guard of
Hope, Fear,
or
Reverence,
keeps only
Himself
in View: And directs his Discourse, and Behaviour,
not
to the Taste of those he shou'd Entertain; but to the particular Bent of his own Humour, or Capacity.
ONE of the most constant Guests, at
Sir Portly
's, is
Tony Gingle
his Sister's Son; who has a great Genius for Poetry. He makes very good Verses, and pronounces, gracefully enough, those he repeats, from other Writers,—so far, all is well. But the worst of it is, that
Tony
has studied nothing,
but
Poetry. He is quite dark in the useful Doctrine of Times, Seasons, and Places. It is the same Thing to
him,
when the Muse
bites,
whether he quotes Tragedy, to a Man of Letters, his Taylor's Wife, or a Stockjobber. The Chimes of his Numbers are for ever, ringing in his Fancy: And all, who chance to sit near him, must have their Share of the Melody. He has taken it into his Head, that, because
he
can make a considerable Figure,
as a Poet,
there is nothing, considerable,
but Poetry!
And it is a very pleasant Scene to observe
Tony,
studying, at one of the Tables of a full Coffee-House, in the midst of the City; scanning Verses, on his Fingers: Conceiving, writing, and blotting out: And humming them over, to himself, with all the Rapture, and Gesticulation, of
Tone, Action,
and
Passion!
Regardless that he is star'd at, and remark'd, all the while, by a dozen or two of thriving Citizens; who shake their Heads and
pity
him, as a Man, that has
lost
his
Wits
; even while he is under the
Operation
of being
Witty!
—He has never permitted his Brain to grow cool enough to reflect, That
Wit,
in dull Company, is the dullest Subject in the World; and that it is a Folly, to talk of
Homer, Horace,
or
Pope,
among Grave Fellows within
Ludgate
; who, when they hear of a Great Poet, will tell you a Story of
Tom Brown
; and feel no Difference in the Power of
Tony Gingle
's own Works, and the humble Labours of their
Bellman.
Jack Juniper,
the Apothecary; and
Tom Tiresome,
the Haberdasher, living both in the same Street, ride down together, twice a Week, to take a Bottle, with my Friend,
Sir Portly.
—
Jack Juniper
reads us Lectures, on the new Improvements in
Botany,
and the Rise, and Progress of
Inoculation,
which are, accurately, answer'd, by Mr.
Thomas Tiresome
; with the Price of the
Stocks
; and the Mournful Decay of the
Spittle-fields Weaving.
—As soon as this very able Apothecary has open'd, and explain'd to us, the
Circulation of the Blood,
the punctual Haberdasher repays his Kindness, with the
Course of Exchange.
If some
Patient,
of the One, has taken
Physick,
for her
Complexion
; some Lady, who is the Other's Customer, has, with equal Advantage to her Skin, fallen into the Wear of his new
Blush-Colour.
—But, in the very Heighth of their
Elucidations, Tony Gingle
never fails to
wedge in,
between 'em both, some six Dozen of Quotations, from a Poem, call'd the
Dispensary
; though the intelligent Mr.
Juniper
is continually interrupting him with the
true History
of every weighty Occurrence, in
Apothecaries-Hall,
which provok'd the Muse of the merry
Doctor.
While poor
Tom Tiresome,
when he has yawn'd, and listen'd, in vain, to the full Extent of his Patience, for an Opportunity to grow Eloquent on the Use of
Colchester-Bays,
falls asleep, in his Chair; and
snores
at us, in Revenge, to maintain his Part in the Conversation.
HONEST
Sir Portly
wou'd be often at a Loss, to shape such stubborn
Obliquities,
into any
direct Line
of Society, if he had not, always, at his Elbow, the good-natur'd Mr.
William Weathercock,
a Gentleman Farmer, in his Neighbourhood; who has a large, but empty, Understanding.—The Mind of
Will. Weathercock
is like the Sail of a great Ship, that has
Room,
to contain much Wind; but, having none, of its own producing, is swell'd out, by Turns, from all the Quarters of the Compass.
Will.
hits every Man's Taste; and is of all People's Opinion. He is so desirous to
Oblige,
that there is not a Point in the
Circumference,
but wou'd serve him for a
Center.
He is this Moment, in
your
Sentiment: and, the
next,
will, before your Face, be of his Opinion who contradicts you. But, if a Third affirms you
Both
to have been in the Wrong, and appeals to
Will. Weathercock:
—
Will,
with the best-bred Agility in the World, shifts, immediately, to
his
Side, too; and thinks it as clear as the Sun that You were,
All Three,
in the Right of it.
THIS pliable Ductility, in the Reason of
Will. Weathercock,
hitches in, and chains together, the most repugnant Idea's; and, uniting them into an active Body, like the
hook'd Atoms,
of
Des Cartes,
gives 'em Strength, Fluidity, and Consequence. Such a lively Effect have the very
Weaknesses
of Humanity beyond the Force, and Subtlety, of Ill-Nature, and Self-Interest!
Tony Gingle,
the last Time that I saw this Company together, was so put to it, for an Opportunity, to repeat some Verses, he was
big with,
that, in order to
bring 'em in,
with a tolerable Appearance of Propriety, he began, to compliment
Sir Portly
's Lady, on the Fineness of her Shape, and Skin, and inferring, from their being Praise-worthy, that they should lie open to Observation, took Occasion, by these Lines, to enforce his kind Opinion, that it was necessary for her, to
go naked.
Can Forms, like yours, want Ornament of Dress?
Beauty, like
Truth,
shines most, in
Nakedness.
Dressing, may skreen Deformities from View:
But, even, Adornment does but
shadow you!
Most, but by what they wear are lovely made:
You, Madam,
lose,
whene'er you seek such Aid.
While others dress, their Lovers Hearts to warm,
You
put off
nothing, but what
veil'd
a Charm!
THE Lady blush'd, and smil'd.
Sir Portly
laugh'd aloud; and begg'd to hear 'em over again. For my Part, I was doubly pleas'd, with the Turn of the Verse; and Particularity of the Fancy.
Tony Gingle,
himself, was in Raptures, which he cou'd not hide, at the Applause his Muse had met with.—But
Tom Tiresome
had been weighing with the Foresight of a prudent Citizen, the Ill Consequence of
going naked,
to his good Friends the
Weavers,
and felt a commendable Indignation, against the tuneful Mr.
Gingle
; insomuch that in the Heat of his Resentment, he call'd him
Madman
; and
Ballad-Singer
—Pray, what do you suppose, said he, wou'd become of many thousand honest People, who live, by making
Petticoats,
and what
belongs
to Petticoats, if all handsome Women were to go
impudently Naked!
—Out upon it! Methinks I
see
'em; and am asham'd of you! It is scandalous, and indecent; and to say nothing of the
Plot,
which may lie, conceal'd, in it, against
Trade
; it is the Whim of a
Heathen Turk
! and not fit to be thought of, in a
Christian-Country!
TONY
by this Time had fathom'd the
Depth
of his Antagonist, and began to play upon him, from his Batteries of poetical Artillery; the War was growing hot: and threatened dangerous Consequences, when
Will. Weathercock
put in, between 'em, and taking Part with the
Wit,
because he observ'd him to be a Favourite, made this Charge, upon his Opposite, like a brave and faithful Auxiliary.
YOU are certainly in the right, most diverting Mr.
Gingle!
—Nature never wou'd have cover'd Women with such white, and tempting Skins, if she had not meant 'em for a publick Ornament. The Ladies are Nature's Favourites; and, can we suppose her to have been less liberal, to those
Favourites
; than to the
Beasts,
which she plac'd below 'em?—She never sent us a
Calf,
but he came into the World, with his
Coat
on. An
Ox
has no
Breeches
to pull off, when he goes to Bed weary. The
Lamb
is born, ready dress'd, with her Freeze Coat about her. And who, ever, saw a
Sow,
drawing off her Shoes, and Stockings?—None sleep softer than the
Birds
do: Yet they rise, in the Morning, with their Featherbeds, upon their Backs.—The most Excellent, of the
Virtues,
are always painted, like
Women
; but it is, like
Women, without Cloaths on!
And, what does this mean, but to insinuate, to the Sex, that all, who love Virtue, shou'd despise Hoop-Petticoats, and
go naked?
—There is this manifest Absurdity in Womens Dressing, that it involves them in Perplexities, which make the chief End they dress for, much more difficult than it need be: For, as they order the Matter, they are to be taken to Pieces, like
Watches,
before a Man can come
near
enough, to examine the
Wonders
of their
Workmanship.
—
Fashions
differ, in all Nations; and, what is a fine Dress, in one Place, is a frightful one, in another. But, were Women once uncover'd, all Mens Judgments wou'd agree, about 'em.—In a Word, since the
Sun, Moon,
and
Stars,
appear, as Nature has made 'em; since all
Animals
are satisfy'd with their own natural Figures; and, since the
Roses
are not asham'd to shew their
Thorns,
with their
Beauties
; why shou'd
Woman,
Nature's Masterpiece! seek to hide, or disguise, her Loveliness?
WILL
went, eloquently on, after this extraordinary Manner, till he had fully convinc'd, and satisfy'd, all that Part of his Audience, who were on this first Side the Question. But, casting his Eye, on poor
Tom Tiresome,
and, pitying the melancholy Air, with which he listen'd to an Opinion, he had not Wit enough to argue against, though he thought it little Better than Fornication, and Adultery;—
Will,
in simple Honesty of Heart; and out of a mere Motive of Compassion, slipt, by a very sudden Transition, into a sure Method of comforting him; and chang'd his
Level,
as follows.
YET, I must do Justice to both Arguments, and it seems plain, beyond Contradiction, that Beauty was
made,
to be
ornamented.
The Peacock's
starry Tail,
shews, that Nature loves gay Fancies.
Nature
dress'd the Hills, and the Meadows, in their fine, embroider'd Mantles. It was
she,
that spangled over all that glorious
Veil,
of Heaven!—Who, but
Nature,
spotted the
Ermin?
And
gilt
the scaly Skins, of Fishes, and of Serpents?—
Man,
indeed, she sent into the World, plain, and naked:—Not, that she meant, he shou'd
remain
so,—but, because she
adorn'd
all Things else, for his
Reason,
to chuse a Dress from. What is the Silkworm, but Nature's little
Spinster,
set to Work for our common Benefit? The very
Spider
keeps a
Loom
; and weaves a finer Manufacture, than the Artists of
Spittle-Fields,
can!—Why smell these lovely Flowers, round the Summer-House we are sitting in, so delightfully sweet, and fragrant, but to teach us, That we shou'd
perfume
our selves? And, to what End can we suppose they were made, so various, in their Colours, but to give Ladies the happy Hint, of employing
Dyers,
and
Silk-weavers!
TOM TIRESOME
broke in upon him, at those two inspiring Words, with a loud and triumphant
Hollow
; and filling, instantly,
two Bumpers,
drank Prosperity to
Trade
; and Health and Happiness to Mr.
Weathercock.
—His Toasts went round the Company; and both Parties were so well satisfied with the Share each had, in his Decision, that Neither of them appear'd shock'd at the manifest Contradiction of his Reasoning. But
Tony Gingle
went away, the most pleas'd, of the Two; because
Sir Portly
desir'd him, at parting, to repeat his Verses, the third Time; and to make another Copy, against next Meeting, on the comfortable use of
Swan-skin Breeches,
to Ladies who wear Wide Hoops, in a sharp and frosty Winter.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 20.
Tum pater Anchises lachrymis ingressus obortis:
O nate, ingentem luctum ne quaere tuorum:
Ostendent terris hunc tantum fata, ne
que
ultrâ
Esse sinent —
VIR.
Heu miserande puer! Si qua fata aspera rumpas,
Tu Marcellus eris. —
Ibid.
Discite justitiam moniti, & non temnere divos.
Ibid.
FRIDAY,
May
29. 1724.
SIR,
YOU observed, very justly, in one of your late Papers, that no Figure in Life can be more graceful, and amiable, than that of a wise, and good, Father; with Respect to an only Son, who possesses, and deserves, his Indulgence.
THAT Lover of Mankind,
Hortensius,
gave us, lately, a fine Example, of the Force of this Truth: But I look back, upon it with Anguish, because I judge of his present
Pain,
by the Excess of his past
Pleasure.
THO'
Hortensius
had, properly, but one Son, he was, in some Sense, the
Common Father.
—Nothing ever was carried higher than the
Manliness
of his Heart, except its
Sweetness,
and
Humanity:
For he was soften'd, by the benevolent Overflowings of a Pity, that touch'd him, at once, in the two
Extremes
of Sensibility! His own
Joys
were damp'd, by other Peoples
Afflictions
; and his private
Sorrows
chear'd, by the
Prosperity
of those who hated him.—He not only
forgave,
readily, the most malicious of his Enemies; but, that he might be sure to do it, generously, he
forgot
the very
Injuries.
—Even his
Faults
were no other, than the unsuccessful Result of his
Virtues
; for acting rather by the measure of his
Mind,
than of his
Power,
he provok'd the Disappointed; to whom the
Will
is no
Obliger.
—His
Wit
could fear no Rivals, but his
Courage,
and his
Honesty:
—And every Person who shall read this
faint
Character of his Excellence, has been oblig'd, by the
Effects
of it; with regard to the Publick Interest; and the Ornaments of Society.
SUCH
was Hortensius!
—and such
Hortensius is;
if yet he may be said to
be,
after the Death of that dear
Son,
he
liv'd in
; and into whose fine Mind he had pour'd out, and transfus'd, all the Fullness of his Virtues; with a kind of Hope, in
him,
and
his,
to have immortaliz'd his very
Body!
and to receive, from future Ages, in the Honours paid to his Descendants, the Tribute of that
Praise,
which his own, declining Life, is, now, too scanty to make Room for.
HE, who knows the Father's Prospect; and how suddenly
Death
has blasted it; having snatch'd away the Son, when just blooming into Manhood; and, already, the
Companion,
and the
Friend,
of his Father! never look'd on, without Joy;—never oblig'd, without Gratitude;—never thought on, without Tenderness;—never hearken'd to, without Wonder! must be touch'd with a lively Sense of what that Fate brought with it; which
tore,
from such a Parent! (who, before, had lost the Mother,) such a Son; to leave him,
joyless
; with the
future
World before him, like a bleak, and barren
Desart!
—And the
past,
more dreadful still, by a thousand goading Tendernesses; which cling for ever to the Memory; and torment, and sting, Reflection.
WHAT is Life, when we consider it under the Accidents it is liable to, but an unresting Conflict, in the Dark, with Labours, Doubts, and Disappointments!—One, such Loss, as
Hortensius
has sustain'd, in this lov'd Son: (and so felt, too, as
Hortensius
feels it) serves, for ever, to imbitter
Hope
; and draws Gloom enough over the Mind, to put a Stop to our wild Pursuits, of Riches, Power, and Reputation.
WHEN I compare the present Calamity of this Gentleman, with the Satisfaction he is fallen from;—with that ripening Expectation;—that observing Vigilance; that unspeakable Succession of little Transports, and tender Triumphs;—and all that Train of
Noble
Weaknesses,
which warm, and open the human Heart, upon these dear, and soft, Occasions; I confess to you that I am
lost,
in too quick a Sense of his Misery!—And I tremble, while I learn from it, that we are expos'd to it, most dangerously, on that strongest, and unguarded, Quarter, whence we look for our
sincerest Happiness!
I MET
Hortensius,
some time since; and, letting down my Glass, by Accident, just as his Chair was passing me, my Soul was wounded, through my Eyes, at the moving Majesty of his Sorrow.—He endeavour'd to have skreen'd it, behind the Greatness of his Spirit; and put me in Mind, when I was gone by him, of this fine, and natural Stroke, in
Shakespeare.
— She never
told
her Pain;
But let
Concealment,
like a
Worm,
i'the
Bud,
Prey, on her Damask Cheek:—
seem'd,
all unmov'd;
And sat,—like
Patience,
on a
Monument;
Smiling,
at Grief!
IF a Man, who had embark'd himself, for some long Voyage, with his Friends, and his whole Family, shou'd have the
miserable
Deliverance, to escape, alone, from a Shipwreck; and be thrown ashore, upon some barren Island, whence he cou'd discern no Object round him, but the Swelling of the Sea, while it was covering the sinking Heads of all, who were
near,
or
dear,
to him: and, to preserve whose cherish'd Lives, he wou'd, himself have dy'd, with Pleasure!—Could such a
dreadful Distinction
be consider'd as a Blessing to him?—Or, shou'd we not rather pity him, as the Person, of the whole Number, whose Lot was least supportable? And to which, a thousand
Deaths
were preferable!
YET, methinks, Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
tho', to lose a Worthy Son, must be acknowledg'd a
trying Misery
; It is a Fate, severer still, to be the Father of an
Unworthy
one.—
— And live, to
feel,
How, sharper than a
Serpent
's
Tooth,
it is,
To
have a thankless Child!
Shakespeare
in
King Lear.
SHEW me a Good Man, whose paternal Care has been rewarded with Contempt, from the ungrateful Object of his Tenderness:—Who sees his Name disgrac'd, by the sordid Qualities of an
Heir,
from whose expected Excellence he had promis'd himself an Encrease to its Reputation:—Who lives, convinced, that he is hated, avoided, and wish'd
dead,
by a Wretch, whom he has given
Life
to! and from whose Virtues, he had flatter'd himself, that his Old Age wou'd find a Comfort! and his Memory retain a Glory!—
Such a Father
shall look, with a kind of Envy, on
Hortensius,
and be the only Person capable of weighing his Distress, without Agony.
THE Impartiality of Time, and Reason, placing in the same Degree of
Fame,
those who polish'd, and instructed, Nations, with those who govern'd, or conquer'd, them;
Hortensius
need not blush, to see his Name, rank'd with
Princes.
—I will therefore instance an Example of a vaster Misery than his own, in the
greatest Monarch
of our Age: (why did I not say
of any Age?
) I mean the
Czar
of
Russia:
—A Prince! whose Actions will draw after him a Blaze of Glory, and Astonishment, through the latest
Depth
of
Time!
and warm the Hearts of Posterity with the same generous Reverence, for the Name of this immortal Emperor, which we now feel, at mention of
Alexander the Great:
or the first, and noblest, of the
Caesars.
THERE can be very few of your Readers, who have not heard the
Czar
accus'd of one of the most shocking Kinds of
Cruelty,
with regard to the Death of his Son, the late
Prince Royal
—But most of 'em, I believe, are ignorant, that this great, and generous Sovereign, was so free from the Guilt of that ill-grounded Imputation, that he pardon'd his Condemn'd Son, in Person, in the most tender, and moveing Manner, after he had been
sentenc'd to Death,
not by the
Czar himself,
but by a Convention of the
Senate,
and
States,
of
Russia,
Ecclesiastical,—Civil,—and Military:—for having (to use the very Words of the Sentence)
Form'd a Design to get the Crown even in the Life-time of his Father: opposing, and undermining, all his glorious Improvements; and soliciting Insurrections, of Rebels, at Home; and
the Assistance of a Foreign Army, to accomplish the Destruction of them.
I COU'D produce the most authentic, and undeniable,
Evidences,
that, throughout the whole Course of this great, and private, Affliction, the
Czar
discover'd more, of the
Vastness!
the
Humanity!
and the
Firmness,
of his
Soul,
than in all the Publick
Torrent,
of his Dangers; and his Victories!—And, I think, I may challenge the most partial Admirers of
Antiquity,
to produce any Thing, so humane! so heroic! so
God-like!
as this
Letter!
even from their greatest, and most honour'd, Characters.—It was writ, and deliver'd, by the
Czar
's own Hand, to the Prince Royal, his Son, on the 11th Day of
October,
in the Year 1715.
Extract of a
LETTER,
from the
Czar
of
Russia,
to his Son, the Prince
Alexei.
My SON,
YOU cannot be ignorant, since it is known to all the World, to what Degree our People groan'd, under the
Swedish
Oppression. We saw, by the Loss of our
Maritime Provinces,
that we were cut off from all Commerce with the rest of the World. You know, too, what it cost us, in the Beginning of this War, to qualify ourselves to give a Check to so implacable a Violence. But God led us by the Hand, till we were worthy, in our Turn, to make that Enemy tremble, before whom others had, long, trembled.—We owe this, next to God, to our own, unwearied Toil; and the Affection of our
Best Children,
our faithful,
Russian Subjects.
BUT, if, while I am viewing this Prosperity of my Native Country, I turn an Eye to
my own Posterity,
my Heart is oppress'd, with
Grief,
that is too heavy for my
Glory.
—I see
You,
my Son! rejecting all the Means of becoming able to protect, or govern, what I
leave
you.—You will not so much as hear of
Warlike Study
; tho' by
that only
we broke out of the Obscurity we were involv'd in; and made ourselves
notic'd
among Nations.
I DO not exhort You to
make War,
without
Reason
;—I but press you to learn the
Art
of it. I cou'd place before your Eyes many
Proofs,
that this is necessary: But I will name the
Greeks,
only; for they are united in the same
Faith,
with us.—What, but Neglect of
Arms,
was the Occasion of their Ruin? Rest, and Idleness, had weaken'd them, till they cou'd
submit,
even to
Slavery!
You mistake, if you think it enough, for a Prince to have
Good Generals.
Men look up, to the
Head:
They examine
his
Inclinations, that they may conform themselves to his
Genius.
—My Brother, in his Reign, lov'd Magnificence, in
Dress,
and
Horses.
The Nation, (
before,
not at all inclin'd that Way) form'd their Taste, upon their
Prince
's; for they imitate
us,
as well in our
Good
Qualities, as our
Evil.
YOU hate
War:
—You neglect it:—You will, consequently, never learn it.—
How,
then, can you
command others?
—How
judge,
of the Rewards, which shou'd encourage the
Deserving?
or the Punishments, which must be held out, to the Eyes of the
Unworthy?
—You will see, and hear, for ever, with the Eyes, and Ears, of
others
; and resemble a young
Bird,
that holds out its
Bill
to its
Feeder.
I AM a
Man,
my Son, and I
must die.
—To
whom
shall I leave the Accomplishment of my Labours? To
whom
shall I commit the
Protection
of my
People?
—To one! who, like the
slothful Servant,
conceals, the Talent, he shou'd employ!—and falls back, from the glorious
Trust,
which God has distinguish'd him by!
REMEMBER your long Obstinacy—and become generously asham'd, of this Perverseness in your Nature.—How often have I reproach'd You! Nay, sometimes, you have compell'd my Affection even to
punish
you!—For some Years past, I have scarce spoke to you.—Yet, all this avail'd nothing.—It was
losing
my
Time!
—It was
striking
the
Air!
—All your Pleasure consists in Indolence! Things, of which you ought to be asham'd, because they make you contemptible, compose your
dearest Delight
!—Nor do you concern yourself for the Consequences, it may produce to your Country!
AFTER having weigh'd, in my secret Breast, the fatal Tendency of your Proceedings;—After having reflected, how long,
in vain,
I have endeavour'd to redeem you: I have thought fit, by my own Hand-writing, to give you the
last Result
of my Will.—With this Determination, however,—to wait, still, some Time longer, before I put it in Execution; to expect, or
hope,
your Amendment:—If
not,
you are, hereby, to know, that I will
deprive you of the Succession;
as a Man would cut off a
gangren'd Member.
DO not fancy, that, because I have no other Child but
you,
I only write this to
terrify
you: By
God's Pleasure,
I will, most certainly,
do it.
For, since I spare not my own
Life,
for the Welfare of my People:
Why
shou'd I regard your
Honour,
who are not fram'd for
becoming
it?—I will, rather, transmit my Dominions to a
Stranger,
who shall be
Worthy
of them, than to my own
unworthy Son,
who can neither defend, nor adorn, them.
Sign'd, in the Original, with the
Czar
's own Hand,
PETER.
I WILL close my Paper, here, and
revere
the Soul of this great Prince, in Silence! for, to say any Thing, in Praise, or Explanation, of such a Letter, were to treat my Readers, like
Insensibles.
—If there lives any one Person, who can consider it, without
Love,
and
Veneration,
for its Writer, his Apprehension must be so grosly cover'd, with a Cloud of Dulness, and Stupidity, that he is destin'd to remain
impenetrable,
by Honour, Justice, or Humanity!
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 21.
— Natio Comoeda est.
— Ridiculum acri.
HOR.
MONDAY,
June
1. 1724.
THE
Coquette,
and
Ned Volatile,
have been Indulged in their Propensities to talk, and, enjoyed their Humour and Pleasantry; nay, they have been permitted to break in upon one another, sometimes, with unexpected Vollies of Raillery, which might, perhaps, have been carried to unwarrantable Lengths, and attended with ill Consequences, if they had not been over-awed by the Presence of us, of a more sedate Turn; and sometimes, seasonably parted, by the Interposition of the
Major,
and timely relieved from one another in those brisk Onsets.
IF an Account of the little Infirmities of this pair of Scufflers has had its proper Tendency towards the Cure of any
noted Impertinents,
of either Sex, who have a Flux in their Tongues, I shall not think that I have as yet offended the Gravity of my Character, or lost any Time, in penning down such Levities, the Knowledge of which, rightly convey'd, produces Consequences of so much Importance to the Quiet and Repose of the more serious part of the Human Species. Thus far I can say, from what has fallen within my own Observation, That several gay Parts, which I have discover'd, of the Conversation between
Ned
and the
Coquette,
have excited an unusual Vein of Merriment among many of my young Readers; but, tho' I must confess, I had a secret
Pleasure
in finding them
pleased
; I should have been delighted, in a more exquisite Degree, if my Writings, taking a better Effect, had stir'd up, in some of them, whom it wou'd have become, a little more
Self-Reflection,
and
less Laughter.
They who only laugh at the Follies of others, give me the worst half of their Applause; I shall never be compleatly pleas'd, till I can teach them to laugh at themselves: they think me a pleasant and facetious old Fellow, but I wou'd be, at the same Time, a useful and a profitable Companion.
I LATELY saw the most penetrating pair of Eyes that ever shone upon Paper, very busily employed upon that
Plain-Dealer,
wherein I described the last Tongue-Skirmish, between the
Two Talkatives
of our
Assembly.
She read it to herself, and ever, now and then, laugh'd out heartily. I could guess, by observing her Eye, what Passages tickled her the most, and found 'em to be those, which threw the forward Humour of the two Combatants into the strongest Pitch of Ridicule. I was in hopes, That, if any of that Female Infirmity, which she so heartily laugh'd at in others, fell to her Share, she would ever after carefully avoid appearing in the same Light, in which she had seen her Neighbour make so ungraceful a Figure, and whom she confess'd, by such
sensible Signs,
to be a proper Object of Ridicule. But, to my very great Wonder, she no sooner laid the Paper out of her Hands, but she incontinently exercised those Lips, with ten times more Velocity in
Talking,
than they seem'd to have in the
Course
of their
Reading.
Her Tongue out-gallop'd the
Coquette
's; and I am persuaded, if
Ned Volatile
had been to start with her upon equal Terms, she would fairly have distanced
him
; he would have lost Sight of her in the first Flight: Up got I, (no Room being given to take Leave) and marched off, as fast as my Oaken-stick would help me; and have been mightily discouraged, to see the little Effects of my Performances.—I warrant this Gossip, told the next Company she fell into, That she read my
Paper,
and the Moment after, in utter Contempt of the Moral palpably contained in it, bolted away into numberless Fooleries, and as many Impertinences as before. But can this pert Fair-One be properly said to have
read
the PLAIN-DEALER? No, she
saw
it, but did not
read
it. At this Rate I must be obliged to turn
Lecturer
upon my own Works, and where there are any genteel Hints, substitute rougher, and coarser, in their Room, that they may not be too delicate, and escape Observation. It is the Sign of a well-manner'd Writer, just to touch upon the Verge of a severe Truth, and leave the rest to a Reader's private Meditation. But if this Method proves ineffectual, it is next to impossible, to preserve the Character of a PLAIN-DEALER, without saying something that may penetrate, more violently. I shall, therefore for the Future, without Scruple, declare, that any Eyes, let them appear never so beautiful, which at once look over, and overlook, these Papers, are in a Manner as bad as blind; and that the only Grace in beautiful Lips, which are almost always in Motion, and scarce ever to the Purpose, consists in the Propriety of their Colour, which shews, as if they blush'd, with a Sense of their own Impertinence.
THE Gentlemen run over my Papers, as well as the Ladies, without reading them. They conceive a Jest on some particular Person, then laugh; and become more a Jest themselves: yet will not consider, till they are told in plain Terms, that each of them is that
particular Person.
THE odd Spark, whom my Correspondent, fair
Cleora,
very properly liken'd to a
Mercury
Reversed,
is the same odd Spark he was, and, what is worse, has since that Time brought over Hundreds of Proselytes, to the same silly Fashion; so that one would be apt to imagine, there is nothing more wanting, to make a Dress very popular, but shewing it first to be very ridiculous. There seems to be a general Emulation among the Fashion-Mongers, which of them can be the most Whimsical, as the only sure Way to be the most Taking and Successful.
THESE
Mercuries
consist mostly of your Sma
t, Dapper Blades; tho' some very tall Men have condescended to come into the Fashion, which makes them appear to have no Heads at all, or as if half the Head, lay hid in the Bag behind it.
IT is an extraordinary Entertainment to see the whole
Mall
crowded with this kind of Puppets; and yet more so, when examining these Childish Figures, you read in their Faces, that they generally consist of Persons from Five and Twenty, to upwards of Forty Years of Age. Some Fops of Fifty-odd, make the first Decays of Age remarkable in them by this Dress, which would be otherwise unnoticed. A jolly old Friend of mine, was taking an Airing with me in the Park the other Day,
'What must be in these Peoples Minds,
said he,
that, in order to look Gay, appear Hoary, like the Pictures of
Old Winter,
when every Thing looks flourishing about them? The very Breezes blow to refresh them, and sweep away the Load of Dust, which wou'd swelter them if they had not ingeniously prevented it, by a Cement of Orange-Butter.
CAN any of these Sparks
pretend
to read my Papers; who, without looking into their Minds, continue to cultivate the Outside of their Heads after such a prodigious and preposterous Rate! As to the Powderers of Fifty, I must tell them, that even I, who am in my grand Climacterick, and have gone thro' the Snow of so many Winters, am not half so much powder'd as they, and that therefore it cannot look decent in them.
IF we survey from the Head downwards, every Part of their Dress, there is not one, but what is preposterous.
IF a Man, for Example, was to take a Review of the Officers and Soldiers, provided they had Sleeves of the Modern Cut, he would take them for an Army of Invalids. The Company of
Taylors
seem to have forgot themselves, and want the Assistance of the
Barber-Surgeons,
to instruct them in the Rules of Anatomy, without which, the Elbows of Men are visibly out of Joint, and can never be set cleverly.
THE young Fellows have drop'd down the Flaps of their Coats, very near as Low as the Clocks of their Stockings, so that scarce any thing of the Leg is to be seen but Ancle; and they seem to be pulling them still lower and lower, that they may be more and more like Petticoats, which the Women are, gratefully, tucking up shorter and shorter, that there will be a decent Necessity for converting them into
Breeches.
BUT I observe, that the Ladies go open-breasted in
Winter,
tho' the Dappers button up to the Chin in
Summer
; and have garnished the Folds of their Coats with Supernumerary Buttons, the Use of which I cannot possibly learn, tho' I have applied to those who are very deeply read. I would propose Buttons and Button-holes down the Seam of the Back, that they may be button'd up to the Poll, as they are to the Chin, which will be of great Use, when, they are lazy; for they may be unbuttoned, as Ladies are unlac'd,
behind,
by a Servant.
IF these Alterations should be carried on a little further, my Friend
Gunter
's Predictions, concerning the Mutation of Sexes, must be allowed to be punctually verified.
WHAT I most fear is, lest our Merchants and others, whose Affairs have kept them many Years beyond Sea, shou'd be surprized, at their Return, to find us dress'd after the present Mode, hear our Officers sing
Italian,
our Beaus compliment one another in
High Dutch,
our old Women talk Politicks in
French,
and not believe us to be the same Generation of People, they left behind them in this Island.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 22.
Sed tamen amoto quaeramus seria ludo.
HOR.
In facinus jurasse putes
OVID.
O pulchra ista pars, quae actiones vitam
que
bene format ac diriget.
TACIT.
FRIDAY,
June
5. 1724.
IT has been remark'd in the
Course
of these PAPERS, that among the
Wise,
there are none more
Foolish
than the
Witty:
May it not with great Truth be said, That, among the merely
Witty,
none are more
ridiculed
than the
Wise?
If a
Clergyman
offers to speak, the
Witlings
foretel
Dullness.
BUT the Case is quite otherwise with Persons of a serious Cast of Thought, who know, that, as
Truth
is the only Mean, by which
Divines
can surely instruct, so their
Stile
must be peculiarly clear, which, without stopping at
Brightness,
pursues
Solidity.
I am therefore fully satisfy'd, that, that Grave Class of my
Readers,
whom I count doing me an Honour, when I see them clap on their Spectacles to read my
Works,
as if they thought they could meet with Improvement from them, after their own long Experience of the
World,
will be pleased with the following
Discourse,
which the
Clergyman
made, the other Day, upon that
Virtue
call'd
Plain-Dealing.
WHEN we consider that every Body, said he, is continually recommending the
Subject
of your
Papers
in common Conversation, one would think there was little need for a Writer to employ his Time upon it: But when we reflect how few practise it,
no Subject
requires more
Pains
to inforce it. People praise it every
Day,
and violate it every
Hour,
and
common Honesty,
like
common Sense,
is boldly pretended to by
every Body,
but really possessed by
few.
IT must be worth a little of our
Meditation
to inform ourselves, how this
Quality
comes to be so Valuable among us, and yet we so frequently and so easily part with it; in short, by what
Mystery
in our
Conduct
such Numbers of Men, would appear to be what they are not.
WE see upon the first Moment's Reflection, that PLAIN-DEALING is the
Soul
of
Friendship
; it is the necessary
Essence
of it; and, when that is once gone, the most warm and lively
Intimacies
can no longer subsist: They grow cold and dye at once. Now
Friendships,
we all know, are the very Bonds of
Society
; again, we as clearly comprehend, that what we call, a
Good Understanding,
among publick Bodies of Men, (which cannot be maintained but by
Fair-Dealings
) is the Prop and Support of every Civilized
Government.
Since we are so soon and so perfectly convinced, that
Plain-Dealing
carries along with it such Advantages, it is no wonder, that we should desire to be reckoned the Possessors of so valuable a
Good.
It is Natural for us to desire it; it is in this Sense scarce a Vertue; for, morally speaking, it is what we cannot help desiring. Every Mortal breathing has felt the first Principles of
Honesty
very strong in his Heart; and even he that departed from it, knows his Struggle was very great. It is the Quality he covets to find in every one with whom he converses, and he secretly adores the Man in whom he happens to meet it.
ON the other hand, if
Plain-Dealing
had not all these attractive
Charms,
yet there is something so ridiculous and unpopular in playing the Double upon Mankind; there is such a Baseness in the doing of it, such an Impossibility of doing it often without being discovered; such an irretrievable Ignominy, such a quick and painful Remorse, that a
Life
of Dissimulation is full enough of Horror to fright Men from it, if a
Life
of Honesty had not Charms to tempt, and invite us.
SURE then it is a Riddle, that we are not like the People we
Love,
but the People we
Hate.
The meanest Slave cannot bear to be called a Dissembler, and yet the greatest Princes do not blush to dissemble.
Qui nescit Dissimulare, nescit Regnare,
is grown their Political Motto. Statesmen originally meant the same as
Faithful
Servants of a
State
; they are now adays called
Politicians,
and Politican is little more than a new Name for
Deceiver.
Even Religious Persons have enter'd into a Conspiracy against
Plain-Dealing
; Dissemblers, in Holy Orders, have caused,
In verbo Sacerdoti,
to signify a
Falshood,
and
Nolo Episcopare
to stand for desiring earnestly what a Man pretends to
decline.
UPON the whole it is nothing but Folly and Cowardice, that seduces Men first out of the plain Road of
Honour
and
Vertue,
into the By-ways of
Double-Dealing?
and, when once
Cunning
took the Place of
Wisdom
in Mens Minds, and
Fear
instead of Resolution govern'd their Hearts; they at length brought
Double-Dealing
(which was, at first, a
Crime,
by
Accident
) thro' a long and constant Habit, to be no less than an
Art
and
Profession.
SUCH a Duty as
Plain-Dealing,
cannot be too much known, and nothing is learnt, more easily; but then in a Corrupt Age nothing is so easily lost: in a depraved and impious Company, nothing is so readily parted from.
THE Clergy have a Right to diffuse among the People this Spirit of Honesty, by Precept, and a more particular Duty, incumbent upon them, to enforce it by Example. But too many among them have such a Taste for worldly Interest, as to have lost the Relish of Primitive Religion; and while they profess themselves
Priests,
appear ashamed, to be thought Christians.
AS there is nothing nobler than a good Priest; so there is nothing so shocking and ridiculous, as to see a base Man of that Profession, which annexes Reverend to his Name. A Layman, that does not reverence a good Pastor, is a Profligate: But a wicked Man, in holy Orders, is a Monster. The Ancients, when they drew the Pictures of Beauty and Ugliness, took Pieces from several Objects, the better to compleat their Design. In order to excite true Horror against wicked Prelates I shall use the same Liberty, and draw from the wickedest, I have heard of, a kind of Ecclesiastical
Caligula,
and suppose him to be a Bishop, to give him the Fulness of his Deformity: I shall then give the Sketch of a virtuous Ecclesiastick; but must remark, for the Honour of Priesthood, that the ill Character is compounded of a great many
Double-Dealers,
and that the good one, did really belong to one good Man.
UMBRA
was always a great Pretender to Virtue and Piety, but never Possessor of Common Honesty: He made Godliness his Gain, and never espoused the Interests of Virtue, but with the View of pushing his own.
Umbra
canted inordinately; but never once pray'd heartily. In order to ingratiate himself with great Families, he applied himself to learn a false kind of Oratory, and grew a famed Panegyrist, and Composer of Funeral Sermons, in which he would salve up the Vices of great Men, in favour of Death-bed Repentance; and demonstrate very elaborately, how the Virtue of a Moment, could atone the Impiety of an Age. If he dined at a Nobleman's Table, he said a scanty Grace to a full Meal, and would just dip down his Head to the great Author, who multiplies Food for the Use and Benefit of his Creatures; but, before he seated himself, would make a profound Reverence to the Debauchee that entertain'd him. When he grew, by these Means, acquainted with great Men, he turn'd Politician, and raised himself up on the blind Side of one, by setting him at Variance with another: He next became a State Preacher, and changed his Note as the Times changed, so that there were many Sermons of his, direct Contradictions to each other. He sold the Gospel by Retale, and lived long in Grandeur, by debasing Christianity: he has sometimes taken Delight in abusing the very Priesthood, and triumph'd in a Bishoprick, when he deserv'd to be excommunicated. Thus vested, unhappily, with Prelatical Authority, he would ruin his honest Inferiors, and if they sought Justice, terrify them by his Privilege. This
Double-Dealer,
with a Mitre on his Head, lived prevaricating for many Years, and then died as he lived, leaving such Falshoods under his Hand on his Death-bed, as if the Measure of his Days had been too short for his Prevarication.
THERE was such a Person lately living as
Cordatus,
who had an honourable Post in the Church. He belong'd to a great Cathedral, and was really a Person of Quality; joining the Gentleman with the Christian, he was both Religious and Polite. He had this peculiar Felicity in his Temper, that, though he lived in an Age of Faction, he judged many, of a different Opinion from himself, to be honest and well-meaning Men, and, by treating them as such, won them over to his Opinion. He never used his Authority but to quiet Animosities, to make or renew Friendships, and to establish Peace, good Will, and Union. He was learned and wise, and tho' he had an Impediment in his Speech, he preached clearly to the Understanding. He never chose that Oratory, which tends more to nourish Pride in the Speaker, than to instil Virtue into the Hearer. He knew it his Duty to instruct the Ignorant, and therefore studied Perspicuity, in all that he deliver'd from the Pulpit. He made Virtue the Study of one part of his Life, and the other was taken up with the Labour of communicating what he had learnt, for the Use and Instruction of others. He never concealed any thing that might make other Men better; save one, and that was his Charity. All knew he recommended what he acted, and finding the Preacher in earnest, the Hearers were so too. Nothing among
his
Parishioners, was deliver'd over to Shame, but Impiety. He lived thus for many Years a general Blessing, and his Death was a Common Calamity. The Poor lost a Benefactor, the Rich a valuable Friend, and every individual Man of his Acquaintance, an exemplary Companion.
I MUST, before I conclude, advise all Clergymen not to fix any Parts in the Description of
Umbra,
upon any particular Persons they may not think well of; because that will be shewing, they have some of his Spirit: Let them rather study to live like
Cordatus,
that they may die with his Character. What signifies finding out who is meant by
Umbra,
or who is
Cordatus?
The profitable Search will be to examine what Parts they have acted like
Umbra,
and amend them; and, in what they have personated
Cordatus,
and improve them: If they do otherwise, they will imitate the Dog in the Fable, and, by catching at the Shadow, lose the Substance of my Dissertation.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 23.
Helleborum frustra, cum jam cutis Aegra Tumebit,
Poscentes videas. Venienti occurite morbo.
Et quid opus Cratero magnos promittere montes?
Disciteque O miseri, & causas cognoscite rerum.
PERS.
Ad populum phaleras. Ego te intus & in cute novi.
Ibid.
— dicisque, facisque, quod, ipse,
Non sani esse hominis, non sanus juret Orestes.
Ibid.
MONDAY,
June
8. 1724.
I PUBLISH the following LETTER, in Justice to some great Qualities, which were
latent,
till now, in my good Friend, Mr.
Jyngle:
And which he held, it seems, like the
Flint
; that never
sparkles
till it is
struck
upon.
Old Favourite!
HOW little did I think, when you profess'd yourself a PLAIN DEALER, that you wou'd, so soon, become a
Tatler!
Pray don't mistake this, for a
Compliment:
I am not in so obliging a Humour, I assure you. I find, Men must be
cautious,
when they keep communicative Company: For there are a kind of Talkative old Gentlemen, who never know when to have done, with their Acquaintance; but will carry a Man about with 'em, for half an Age after his Funeral: However to go, at once, into my Matter.
I HAVE a very particular Regard for
Sir Portly Rufus:
Nor do his Commands want their due Weight with me. But, as a certain Poet, somewhere expresses himself,
All Duties must to Self-Defence give Way;
For injur'd Honour cannot brook Delay.
LET the Ladies, therefore
wait,
for their Swan-skin Breeches. My Muse may, perhaps, be at Leisure, against Winter: And none, but a hasty
Prude
or two, can want 'em, this warm Weather. So, I shall have Time to stand justify'd, against your false Accusation,
That I study nothing, but Poetry. Tom Tiresome,
a heavy Blockhead! can talk of nothing but the Stocks! But Mr.
Juniper
is a Man of Learning; let
him
speak of me, from his own Knowledge. Or I might appeal to
Will Weathercock,
(against whom I often maintain Arguments) whether there is any Truth in your Accusation? But, as another Poet says, upon some Occasion or other, in some Place that I have forgot,
In vain are Toothless Satires writ
'Gainst him, who
feels
himself a Wit.
I shall scorn to owe my Vindication to any Hand but my own: And hope to convince you, before I end this Letter,
That I have more in me than Poetry.
PRAY, who taught you in the first Place to be
Witty
upon your Friends, before you cou'd Spell their
Names
right? All the Men of Erudition, who have been numerous among the
Jyngles,
wrote themselves with an j
Consonant:
A soft and shapely Letter! Which you have barbarously demolish'd; and built up, in the Place of it, a broadback'd,
Gothick
G: A rough, and choaking,
Guttural!
that is scarce fit for any Thing, but to gargle a
German
's Throat with! Every
Graduate,
(duce take this G!) Every
Student,
in
Orthography,
knows the manifest Difference, between
Jyngle
and
Gingle!
what tho'
Jilt
sounds like
Gentlewoman,
and
Jackanapes
like
Ginger-bread!
If our Language is a Double-Dealer, and for want of settled Usage, and a limited Acceptation, gives Encouragement to idle People to run Divisions on the
Alphabet
; that is nothing to
me.
All I mean by it, is, to convince you, that I understand
something,
besides Poetry.
THIS, however,
en passant
only, for I am Master of
better
Sciences; such as are new, even in
Theory.
But, not to triumph, too much, over the Mistake of a Friend, (since it is a very common Error to think too meanly, of the Merit we are familiar with) I will open upon this Occasion, but
one Vein
of my Skill; and let it flow to your Shame, till it shall be stopt, by your Conviction.
I AM, you must know, then, a kind of
immaterial Anatomist:
I can dissect an
Imagination
; or disembowel a
Quality:
I am about to make publick Profession of my Art: And having my
Chariot
as good as ready, the rest of my
Apparatus
will be, comparatively, of no Consequence. I shall
drive
fast into
Practice.
But the chief Scruple I labour under, is, by what Title to distinguish myself: I wou'd make use of the Word
Doctor,
but that the College of Physicians, who place much Learning in
Privilege,
wou'd have me ascend, by
Degrees,
to that Dignity: Which is too phlegmatic a Prescription to agree with my Temper. I am, therefore, inclinable, since very much of my Practice will lie among the Ladies, to call myself a
Mind-Midwife:
Insinuating, by that Hint, That I can see 'em as safely brought to Bed of their
Affectation,
and other
spiritual Conceptions,
as they can be assisted, in their
Matrimonal Pregnancies,
by the bodily Brothers of my Profession.
THE first Patient I propose to
lay,
is a pregnant
Male
Member of that learned
College
I was mentioning. To be a
Doctor
's
Doctor,
is, to cure, in the best Light possible: And I wou'd emulate the Example of that memorable Magician,
Zyto,
who was sent for, says a
grave
Historian, by the Emperor
Charles the
IVth; to try his Skill, against a
High German Conjurer; Zyto,
who was a
White
Wizard, and worth a Hundred of your
Faustus
's; stood, in Presence of the Emperor, and, with inflexible Composure, observ'd the Instances of his Rival's Art; who swallow'd, at last, a burning Horse-shoe: And defy'd our
Zyto,
to do it after him. But
Zyto
chose, rather (that he might end the Dispute, at a
Morsel
) to swallow the
Conjurer himself!
And expanding his Mouth into horrible, and inhuman, Wideness, snapt him up, like a Radish! But, when he came to his dirty Shoes, and disdain'd to swallow farther, he ran with him, to a Horse-pond, hard by; and launch'd him out into the middle of it; to the no small Entertainment, and Satisfaction of the Company.
THE Name of my future Patient, is
Sir Clouterly Rumble:
a Professor, of the
Equestrian,
as well as the
Medicinal
Order. He carries, on his Countenance, the clearest Symptoms of his Grievance: Which is a Distemper, that some moral Doctors have distinguish'd by the Name of
Vanity.
It operates, with most Violence, on the Head, and the Heart; tho' it affects the Limbs also: And, sometimes swells the whole Frame, into the most enormous
Turgidity.
It shakes the
Fingers
of this afflicted Gentleman, with a yearly Convulsion of the Nerves; during which Fits, it is dangerous to let
Paper
lie in his way: For he applies himself, with the wildest Ecstasy to strike it over, at Random, with odd Lines, crooked Cyphers, and Characters, wholly unintelligible! to the pitiful Disquieting, and Perplexity, of his Brain: Which, becoming heated,
praeter-naturally,
by such extravagant Agitation, inflames, and nourishes his Malady.
IT was a laudable Accomplishment, that of calculating Distempers by examining the Patient's
Water!
In Imitation of this good Custom, I poured out, before me, a large Quantity of the sick Man's
Prosaic,
and
Poetic Emissions
; and upon inspecting the
Label,
annex'd to one of 'em which he addresses, poor Gentleman! to an Illustrious young Prince in
Germany,
with as grave, and serious an Air, as if it was really, something fit to be look'd upon! I presently discovered both the Distemper, and his proper Cure for it. The
Tokens,
as far as I can remember, were Strongest, and most Evident, upon the following Eruption of purulent Matter, from a Complication of
Scrophulous
Humours, which the
Greeks
call
. But the Name the Patient himself wou'd have it go by, is ALFRED. It is, in short, a most malignant, and virulent,
Species,
of the
Epic,
or
Narrative Cacoethes!
See a Part of it!
THE Glory of a People depending on the Excellence of their King, he, who loves his Country, cannot better promote its Happiness, than by
teaching
this King to
Govern
it. I know, that your Highness is well enough
Taught
already: But Examples being better than Precepts, especially, when presented in the
Works
of
Celebrated Authors;
Men of
copious Invention,
and a
fruitful Imagination:
It was
for that Reason, Sir!
That I wrote the following Poem! having had the Honour to contribute more to the
Succession of your Illustrious House,
than ever I boasted of; because I did it, for the
Service of Religion,
and the
Glory
of my
Country.
NO Spots, in a
Purple Fever,
were ever thus
Morbidly
Significant! If there were not, in the Nature of the Symptoms, something
opposite to Contagion,
I should have judged Sir
Clouterly
's Distemper to be, most
Putridly Pestilential!
—The poor Man, in fine, is extreamly far gone! and would, certainly, have been irrecoverable, under any Hand but mine.—There is but
One
Cure, for so exceeding foul a Stomach, and that must be, to ply him with
Emetics,
till, to speak in a Physical Phrase, I have made him
Vomit his Heart up.
—I have a Pill, to Purge Vanity; a
Specific!
and a
Nostrum!
which will do his Business, effectually; and it shall be the first, of my Operations, as soon as my Horses are harnessed;—for a Man wou'd not become noted, you know, till he's in a Readiness to be sent for. I am, in
Prose,
you see, as well as in
Poetry,
Your humble Servant, however,
Tony Jyngle.
BY a very unlucky Accident, this Letter, before I receiv'd it, fell into the Hands of
Tom Tiresome
; who has writ to me, about it, in very high Terms. And what the Consequence of it may be, I know not.
Mr.
Edward Plain-Dealer,
Sir,
TAKING it for granted, that
you
know, and
every body
knows, as bad as the World is, there is some Difference still it is to be hop'd, between a
Poet,
and a
Haberdasher!
I wou'd have the conceited Mr.
Antony Jyngle junior,
to know, that, as witty as he thinks himself; I am wittier than he, by every
Penny
I am
worth
; for
Sir Portly said,
'twas Pity that
all his Money lay in his Brains:
And I
say,
that his
Brains are addled:
to go in that manner and write
Blockhead,
about One that he has nothing to do with.—No—nor
shall
have nothing to do with! for, if ever he
talks Tragedy
in my House again, I'll be bound to say as one of my foolish Daughters does, that Mr.
Jyngle is a pretty Gentleman:
Which if I think, or ever will think, in the Humour I am in, never more give
Credit to,
Your Friend, to serve you, Thomas Tiresome.
WHILE I was at a Loss how to account for the Cause of this great Misfortune, the following, from
Will Weathercock,
unriddled the whole Mystery.
Dearest Sir,
HONEST Mr.
Jyngle,
our good, and agreeable Friend, put into my Hands, Yesterday, a Copy of that comical Letter, which he sent you, about
Sir Clouterly Rumble,
and I, being wonderfully pleased with the Fancy, must needs be shewing it to Alderman
Blunder,
who dined with us, at
Sir Portly
's. The Alderman laugh'd immoderately, and was so taken with it, that all Dinner Time he could talk of nothing, but
Tony
's
Pills to Purge Vanity.
But
Tom Tiresome
unluckily, came down, in the Afternoon; and the first Thing the Alderman said, was,
Oh! Mr. Tiresome! Here's the Pleasantest Letter!—Nay, you must see it, for 'twill make you laugh till you cackle again!
—It was in vain to endeavour at diverting him, by other Subjects.
The Letter
was all his Cry!
Mr. Tiresome must see the Letter!
In short, he did so; and the only Remark he made was, that he found himself called
Blockhead,
in it. Well! you can't imagine, how angry he is about it! Pray, do your best to reconcile 'em; or we shall have sad Work, at
Sir Portly
's. Shall I give you my Opinion, which is most in the wrong?
Certainly Mr. Jyngle,
for why should one Man call another
Names?
—Yet
Mr. Tiresome
was most to Blame; because
these Things
are
Common, among Friends.
But, be it as it will, I thought it absolutely necessary to write you Word of it, and my own Opinion of the Difference: Who am,
Your most Faithful and Sincere Servant,
William Weathercock.
I AM afraid, I must close in, with my Friend
Will
's Opinion,
That they are both in the Wrong.
But what shall I do, with this unlucky Alderman
Blunder?
The odd Creature has no harm
in
him; but he
does
more harm than a
Stockjobber!
He has a plain and open Heart, but wants both
Foresight
and
Reflection.
He is Mischievous, not Malicious: and errs on, without Ill Purpose, from a Natural
Clumsiness
of Mind, and
Healthy Coarseness
in his Understanding. He overturns Things, without feeling 'em, like the
Elephant
of
Africa
; that, walking gravely in the Night, among the Villages, of the
Negroes,
does not disturb himself in the least, about the Houses, that stand in his Way; but, keeping streight forwards, oversets 'em, says a
Dutch
Author, without intending it, as if they were so many
Nut-shells.
WHEN I took him with me, the first time, to drink Tea, at
Patty Amble
's, after she had prattled and trifled him into an Ecstasy at her Wit, and Beauty; he turn'd from her, in a Start of Rapture, and said, to me, aloud,
How
cou'd you be so Mistaken, as to tell me, she was not Handsome?
I shall never forget the extraordinary Look, she obliged me with, upon this fine Question! I gloss'd it over as well as I could, by telling
Blunder,
That he misrepresented my Words, which were not,
That she was not Handsome
—But
That she was more
Witty
than
Handsome. He had found out, by this Time, that he had done a ridiculous Action, and look'd as
like an Ass,
as any reasonable Man could have desir'd him; but he repented, as most Men do, when it was too late, and to no Purpose: And I verily believe, I am doom'd to
great Afflictions,
(if my Passion shou'd continue) for that
dull Start of Mr. Alderman Blunder
's.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 24.
— Micat, inter omnes,
Julium sidus, velut, inter ignes
Luna, Minores.
Gentis humanae pater atque custos,
Orte Saturno, tibi cura Magni
Caesaris fatis data: tu, secundo Caesare, Regnes.
FRIDAY,
June
12. 1724.
SIR,
HAVING observ'd, That my
Extract
of the CZAR of
RUSSIA
's
Letter to his SON,
which you publish'd in your 20th Paper, gave a very great Surprize to the Generality of your Readers, who had form'd, upon common Rumour, an Opinion of that Prince's Death, extremely different from the Truth; I now send you as brief an Abstract as possible, from a Relation, which was publish'd in
High Dutch,
by the Minister of a
German Court,
not likely to be partial in Favour of the
Czar,
and who was present, and an Eye-Witness of the Facts, which he publishes.
THE
Czar
had long inclin'd to ally himself with some powerful Family of
Germany,
by the Marriage of his Son; whom he hop'd to reclaim from his Indolence, by the Conversation of a Princess of high Extraction, and a noble Education: For this Prince had, by a continual associating himself with the vilest Company, contracted such corrupt Habits, as could not fail of producing an Aversion to him, in all honest Minds. He was so far sunk in Sensuality, that no Representations, no Pains, could recover him: So that the
Czar,
being, at length, by his Son's perverse Conduct, almost brought to an Abhorrence of his Person, began to drop Intimations, That he wou'd cause him to be shav'd for a Monk, and shut him up in a Convent.—The Prince's own Favourites were alarm'd at the Danger; and earnestly entreated him to have his Welfare at Heart; and to conceal, if he cou'd not suppress, his rigorous Hatred against Foreigners. This dispos'd him to fall in with the
Czar
's Proposition, and he was married, as is well known, to a Princess, of the Family of
Brunswick Wolfenbuttel,
and Sister to the present Empress.
BUT, after he had brought her to
Russia,
he shew'd not the least Complaisance; nor endeavour'd, at all, to divert her.—On the contrary, I observ'd, That, on all Publick Occasions, he never exchang'd a Word with her; but, industriously shun'd her Company. The Prince had the Apartments of the right Wing; and the Princess those of the Left: But they saw each other scarce once a Week; and, had not the Prince consider'd the begetting an Heir, as the Support of his own Safety, he would have made himself intirely invisible to her. He even neglected the Repair of the House, to that Degree, that the Princess lay expos'd to the Injuries of the Air, and Weather, in her own Bedchamber.
WHEN the
Czar
expostulated with him, concerning these Proceedings, he loaded
her
with Reproaches, as if it was she, who had accus'd him; whereas, that wise Princess submitted to her hard Fate, with the firmest Constancy and Resignation; nor had any other Witnesses of her Tears, but the Princess of
East-Freisland,
her Companion, and the Walls of her own Apartment. She liv'd, four Years, in this Manner, and was then seiz'd with an Indisposition, so dangerous, that her Recovery was immediately despair'd of.
WHEN she perceiv'd her End approaching, she desir'd to see the
Czar,
who was, at the same Time, indispos'd: But he caus'd himself to be carry'd to her, in a Machine, mov'd on Wheels.—The Princess took her Leave of him, in the most moving Expressions; and recommended her two Children to his Care and Protection; embracing them, in the most tender manner possible; and almost melting away in Tears. Then, she sent for her Servants, who, to the Number of two hundred Persons, and upwards, lay prostrate, in the Anti-chamber, imploring Heaven to assist their dying Mistress, in her last Agonies.—She comforted, admonished, and gave them her Blessing:—The Physicians would still be pressing her, to take some Medicines; but she threw the Glasses from her, crying out, with great Emotion,—
Do not torture me any more.—Permit me to die in quiet.—For I am resolved to live no longer.
—She expir'd, in fervent Prayer, and departed an unfortunate Life, before she was quite one and twenty Years old.
IT was soon after the Funeral of this Princess, that the
Czar
gave that admirable Letter, which you publish'd in a late PAPER, into the Hands of his Son. And, what follows, is the
unequal
Answer, which he had the Mortification to receive from him.
The Answer of Prince
ALEXEI,
of
RUSSIA,
to the Letter of the
CZAR,
his
Father.
Most Clement Lord, and Father,
I HAVE read your Majesty's PAPER, and have nothing to reply to it; but, that, if your Majesty will deprive me of the Succession to the Crown of
Russia,
by Reason of my Incapacity, Your
Will be done.
I do not think myself fit for the Government: The Rule of so many Nations, requires a more vigorous Man than I am.—I will not pretend to the Succession, for the future, of which I take God to Witness; and swear it, upon my Soul, desiring nothing more than bare Maintenance, during Life.
Your most humble Servant, And Son,
ALEXEI.
MANY further Attempts the
Czar
made, on his Son's Obstinacy: But the Consequence of them all; and of his pretended Resignation, was his Flight to a Foreign Protection, and a plunging himself into those High Crimes which are particulariz'd, in his Sentence.
THE
Czar,
upon this extraordinary and melancholy Occasion, convok'd a High Court of Justice; consisting of all the
Chief
of the
States.
—He lay, for eight Days, successively, many Hours, on his Knees; imploring God, with Tears, to inspire him with Sentiments, becoming his double Duty—as a
Monarch,
and as a
Father.
—The Prince was brought into Court, under Guard of four Officers; and proceeded against, in a Manner too tedious, and circumstantial, to be particulariz'd in so short a Compass.
THE Court, upon the whole, having pronounc'd a formal Sentence, and condemn'd the Prince to Death, the violent Surprize and Terror of his Mind, and the disorderly Conflict and Fluctuation of his Passions, threw him into an Apoplectick Fit. The
Czar
no sooner heard, that he was in this Danger, and that he was desirous to see him, but he visited his dying Son, with the most visible Marks of Pity, and a Proof of Paternal Tenderness.
THE Prince, at Sight of his Father, burst out into Tears; and, with Hands, rais'd, and folded, said,
'He had grievously offended the Majesty of Almighty God, and the Goodness of the
Czar
—; that he had not even a Wish, to recover from his Indisposition, being unworthy to live longer. He begg'd his Majesty, for God's sake, only to take from him the Curse, he had laid on him, at
Moskow:
to forgive him all his heavy Crimes; to impart him his Blessing; and, to cause Prayers to be put up for his Soul.
DURING these moving Words, the
Czar,
and the whole Court, almost melted away, in Tears.—His Majesty return'd him a most noble, and pathetic, Answer: He represented, in a few, of the mildest Words, he cou'd select, all his
Length
of Offences; and then, gave him, in the most touching Manner possible, his Forgiveness, and his Blessing: After which, they parted, with abundance of Tears, and Lamentations, on both Sides.
VERY late, in the Night, came a Messenger to acquaint the
Czar,
that the Prince was extremely desirous, once more, to see his Father. And his Majesty had just stept into his Sloop, to go over to the Fortress, when another Messenger brought News, that the Prince was already expir'd.—He was deposited in the new Burying-Vault, of the
Czarish
Family; and plac'd next the Coffin of his late Consort.—The
Czar,
among the Mourners, carried a lighted Wax-Taper, in his Hand; and was observ'd to be bath'd in Tears, during the Procession; and, in particular, at the Church Service; where the Priest had chose, for the Text of his Funeral Sermon, these Words of the mournful
David,—O! my Son Absalom!—my Son!—my Son, Absalom!
YOU see, Sir! how different this Great Monarch's Conduct, in so nice, and trying, a Circumstance, really was, from the Clouds, which
Rumour
blew upon it, to shade, and blacken, an
unequal'd Character!
—The
Roman Fierceness
has been
celebrated,
in Men, who not only
condemn'd
their Sons; but stood by, and
saw
'em executed, in the most severe, and shameful Manner, for the Love and Safety of their Country. Yet there was a
Brutal Inflexibility,
and a kind of
Politic Necessity,
in the Actions of those
Roman Fathers!
But this prodigious,
modern,
Prince, under no Influence of Fear, Dependence, or Obligation,
chose,
to set aside his
own Blood,
for the future Glory of his
People!
Only, with this fine Difference from the
Roman,
that, what was,
there,
done, with a
Stoicism,
that gave Suspicion of Insensibility, was,
here,
adorn'd with
Pity,
and the most manifest Strugglings of an amiable
Weakness,
that convinc'd his Subjects how
Dear
their Prosperity must be, to a Sovereign, who cou'd thus provide for it, by a Sacrifice, against his Nature, even of his private, and domestick, Comfort!
HAVING shewn, in the foregoing Instances, the
afflicted
Side of the
Czar
's Behaviour: It is but just, that I shou'd change the Light, and surprize you, by a View of that unshaken
Firmness,
with which he regarded the
Danger
of the Conspiracy; while the Reflection,
Who was the Author of it!
gave him so moving a
Misery!
UPON the Examination, and Confessions, of that infinite Number of Confederates, who were engag'd in the Prince's Projects, it appear'd, that the Defection was so wide, and so general, that many of his nearest, and most trusted Servants, were embark'd in it; and such also, in whose Hands lay great Part of his Wealth and Power; so that he was congratulated in Form, by the Ambassadors of Foreign Princes, upon his Discovery, and Prevention, of so endangering a Combination. To which, he gave this noble Answer—
Dangers always are strong, if they are weakly resisted:—Where a Fire meets with Straw, it soon spreads, and burns through it.—But, if Iron lies in its Way, it falls back, and is extinguish'd!
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 25.
— Uterne
Ad Casus dubios fidet sibi certius; hic qui
Pluribus assuerit mentem, corpusque superbum:
An qui contentus parvo, metuensque futuri,
In pace, ut sapiens, ap erit idonea bello?
HOR.
MONDAY,
June
15. 1724.
WITH the Leave of the
Grammarians,
I shall venture to put one of their
Moods
a little upon the Rack; while I affirm, in a kind of Riddle, for the Use and Pleasure of my Reader—That, tho' every Body
may
be Happy, yet scarce any Body
can
be so.
THERE is no Definite Point, that we can fix at, when we wou'd describe
what Happiness is
; yet the Road, to this great Journey's End is very Short, and Obvious. One wou'd wonder therefore, how it comes to be so universally mistaken, if it were not easily observ'd, that most Men are under an Error, even as to the very Placing it.—
Happiness
is seated, not in
Power,
but in
Will.
—Though very few can be
Fortunate,
yet all Men may be
Satisfy'd:
And they, who lessen their Desires, have, in one great Point, the Advantage, over those who enlarge their Prosperity; for, allowing both to be equally Happy, yet the First, at least, are Happy, with less Danger, and Incumbrance.
WHOEVER can be so wise, as to content himself with his present Lot, while he, patiently, hopes a better, will escape the common Fate, of tasting, with Disrelish, what he finds within his Reach, from a restless and devouring Thirst after what is Future, and Uncertain—Life slides from the Impatient, like the Motion of a murmuring Brook; where the Current wastes much faster, than if the Surface had been smooth, and silent.—When we are upon the Brink of the Grave, we start,—and wonder at our Situation! And, then, first, begin to look back, with Shame, and Sorrow, at the too Little we have
Done,
in Life; and the too Much, we have
wish'd,
in it.
Oh, greatly bless'd! who can, as Fate requires,
By ductile Wisdom, temper your Desires!
Balanc'd,
within,
you look abroad, serene:
And, marking both Extreams, pass, clear, between.
Oh! cou'd your lov'd Example teach your Skill,
And, as it moves my Wonder, mend my Will:
Calm wou'd my Passions grow; my Lot might please:
And my sick Soul shou'd
think
itself, to Ease.
But, to the Future, while I strain my Eye,
Each present Good slips, undistinguish'd, by.
Still, what I
wou'd,
contends with what I
can;
And my wild Wishes leap the Bounds of Man.
SO complain'd a Friend of mine, to a Gentleman, wiser than himself, by as much as his Desires were more moderate.—It was in a Poem, which he call'd his
Choice:
But his Mind was so discompos'd, by a Tempest of ungovern'd Wishes, that he scarce knew what to chuse, even when his
Choice
was the Subject
chosen!
If in my Power it lies, to limit Hope,
And my unchain'd Desires can fix a Scope:
This were my Choice—Oh, Friend! pronounce me
poor:
For I have
Wants,
which Wealth can never cure!
Mean is that Soul, whom its
own
Good can
fill:
A prosp'rous
World,
alone, cou'd feast
my
Will.
He's
poor,
at best, who Other's Mis'ry sees,
And wants the wish'd-for Power to give it Ease.
He's
rich,
who, sole-supreme, and unconfin'd,
Can, with unbounded Influence,
bless Mankind.
A Glory this! unreach'd, but on a Throne!
All
were Enough.—But less, than
All,
is
None.
This my first Wish.—But, since 'twere wild and vain
To grasp at glitt'ring Clouds, with fruitless Pain,
More safely low, let my next Prospect be;
And Life's mild Evening this fair Sun-set see.
Far from a
Lord
's loath'd Neighbourhood,—a State,
Whose
Little
Greatness is a Pride I hate!
On some lone
Wild,
shou'd my strong House be plac'd;
Surrounded by a vast, and healthy,
Waste.
Steril, and coarse, the untry'd Soil shou'd be:
But forc'd to flourish; and subdu'd by
me.
Seas, Woods, Meads, Mountains, Gardens, Streams & Skies,
Shou'd, with a changeful Grandeur, charm my Eyes.
Still, where I mov'd, new Marks of my past Pains,
Shou'd plume the Mountain Tops, and paint the Plains,
Greatly Obscure, and shunning
Courts,
or
Name,
Widely befriended, but escaping
Fame:
Peaceful in studious Quiet, wou'd I live;
Lie hid, for Leisure; and grow Rich, to
give.
I AM sure, I wish no Ill to the Author of the
Manuscript,
from which I took these Verses; because, to say Truth, he is the most Intimate of all my Acquaintance;—yet, I foresee an inexhaustible Provision of Disappointments in Store, for a Mind, that is so unstable, as to afflict itself with other's Sorrows, when there are Domestick ones, more than enow, in the happiest Man's Condition, to interweave, and make Checquer-work of, the richest Robes of Fortune.
I REMEMBER a pleasant Fancy, in
Plutarch's Feast of the Seven Wise Men,
concerning the Limits we shou'd set to our Desires.—
'If a Person, (says the Speaker) is a Man of Wisdom and Gravity, he wants no Rule but his Reason, to prescribe him a proper Measure: But, if a
Fool
were to ask me the Question, I would tell him this Story.—The Moon, upon a Time, was very earnest with her Mother, that she wou'd make her a new Petticoat, that might sit handsomely about her; and be neither too short, nor too long, for her Body:—But how is that
possible,
answer'd the Mother, with some Emotion, when thou art always changing Shapes, and never contented with thy own Figure?
THERE is a restless and universal, Circulation of Discontent, in all Degrees, and Conditions;—The Rich Man is miscrable, because he has no
Heirs
; and wishes himself but so bless'd, as the poor
Labourer
; who cries out, while he trims his Hedges, that he cou'd be happy and live comfortably, if he had
no Children,
to provide for!—The Citizen sighs, with Envy, at the Smell of a new Hay-cock; and longs to wind himself out of Business, that he may enjoy Life in the Country!—The Country Gentleman finds his Time the most heavy, of all his Cares; and dreams, for ever, of the Delights, which he cou'd pass it in, at
London!
—The
great
Man complains, that he is wretched, from too much Notice; and the
good
Man is really so, from too little.—Command is full of Cares; and Dependance pinch'd with Miseries! Every Body repines at some Deficiency in his own Fortune, and has something to wish for, from another, who is still less satisfy'd!
DISTANT Prospects are most pleasing; but they seldom fail to deceive us. The rough Lines, and Ruggednesses, which look smooth, a great Way off, perplex, and entangle, us, when we find ourselves among them.—I have often been entertain'd, by an ingenious
Italian
Emblem, where, to satirize the Levity of this insatiate Disposition, Boys are painted very busy, running about, with erected Faces, to pursue, and catch at Bubbles; which are blown down, among them, by a Monkey, with a long Pipe, and a Bason.—The Boys, who are suppos'd to have grasp'd some, look amaz'd, and disappointed, that they are vanish'd, in the catching! And the
Motto,
under-written, is—
He, who reaches me, loses me.
PERHAPS, it might deserve to be remember'd, as a Maxim, That
nothing ought to afflict us, which it is absolutely out of our Power to remedy.
—If it were as easy to regulate our Lives, by this Rule, as it is reasonable to approve it, much the largest Part of our Calamities wou'd, at once, be cut off, and effectually prevented, for the future.—It is certainly an Ambition, not only
just,
but
noble,
to pursue the honest Calls, either of Fortune, or of Glory: But, if we cou'd pursue 'em, with such Patience, and Moderation of Desire, as not to lose, in the Interim, all Relish of our present Condition; not to place our only Happiness, in attempting to become
more
happy; but content ourselves with what we are, from the Prospect of what we hope to be:—All the Bitterness of Adversity wou'd lose its Taste, in our Use of it; and Prosperity become less envied, than Peace of Mind and Tranquillity.
BUT this, however possible to Nature, is impossible to Pride and Custom—Things, indifferent, in themselves, become hateful, or amiable, from their Consequences.—The Reputation, that follows Wealth, gives the sharpest Pain to Poverty: And a Man who is brave enough to provoke Danger, and Death, shall want Courage to bear Contempt, though but an imaginary Evil!
HATEMTAI,
says the
Arabian
History, was the most bountiful, of all Mankind; and was flatter'd, by a Train of Followers, with continual Flights of Praise, and Congratulations of his Good Fortune.—They were asking him one Day,
'Whether, ever, he had seen, or heard of, any Man, who had so noble a Soul, as
Hatemtai?
—He smil'd, and return'd this Answer:—I walk'd out into the Fields, on a certain Time, when, at a Sacrifice of a Hundred Camels, my House was fill'd, by my Order, with all the Poor, and the Miserable, who cou'd be found, in the Space of many Miles round my Dwelling.—Some of the Lords in my Company, discern'd, at a little Distance, a Man, who was very busy, in gathering up a Bundle of dry Thorns, to sell, at the next Village. We went to him and ask'd, why he was not among the Number of his Fellows, who were feasting at the House of
Hatemtai?—Because,
answer'd he,
a Man, who can provide himself with Bread, by his own Labour, needs not be oblig'd to
Hatemtai.—This Man,
said he,
had a Nobler Soul, than
Hatemtai.
I WALK'D, lately, into the City, toward the Close of the Day, and observing a Church open, went in, to Evening Prayers. I sat near a Lady, whose fine Face, methought, appear'd like the Seat of a long War, between
Beauty,
and
Affliction.
She saw, that I had no Prayer-Book, and modestly offer'd me her own. I kept it, during the Service, and took Pleasure to charge my Memory with the Eight following Lines, which were written, in a Woman's Hand, on a white Leaf, at the Beginning; and were, I believe, of her own composing.
Here, tracing Duty's Path, redeem'd from Care,
I heal my Sorrow, with the Balm of Prayer:
Patience, that arms the Mind for every State,
Has taught me, not to feel Affliction's Weight.
They, who can, bravely, bear the Woes of Life,
Steer, safe and steady, through a Sea of Strife.
While they, who pine their Hope, to feed their Grief,
Embosom Anguish; and resist Relief.
THIS was a fine, and useful Lesson; and not improperly plac'd. But it was pity that she learnt is not soon enough to protect her against those Passions, which had left their Traces too visibly on her Eyes, her Air, and her Complexion.
THE World, upon the whole, may be divided into two Classes;—The one seldom Find, what they are, always, painfully Seeking: The other Find it, easily, but are never the more Contented.—Among many Remarkable Proverbs, which are proper to the
Eastern
People, they have one to our present Purpose.—
'
There are only two Things which can fill the Covetous Man's Eye
;—Discretion:—Or the Earth that his Corpse must be cover'd with.
AFTER all that can be said of
Riches
; or, that is the Consequence of their Possession:—
Content
is the surest Comfort.—It is Luxury, that
creates
Poverty; and they are Rich, who desire Nothing.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 26.
Si quis nunc quaerat, quo res haec pertinet; illuc:
Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt.
HOR.
FRIDAY,
June
19. 1724.
THE Number of my Correspondents encreasing, very fast, I must resolve to disengage my self from some of their Obligations: As many of their Letters, therefore as I can make room for, to Day, shall compose my
Reader
's Entertainment.
Oh! SIR,
WOU'D to Heaven, when you were so severe upon
Masquerades,
you had warn'd us, against
Opera!
you had sav'd an undone Woman! and one, who, for ought I see, is still likely to be undone; for, thinking no Harm, where, I had heard, there was no Danger, I am fallen desperately in Love, with
Signior
—, the
Italian, What d'ye call it?
—One of those People with an ill-favour'd Name, like the ugly Folks, in the
Bible,
that waited on King
Ahasuerus.
—I thought, I cou'd have sworn, I had been Proof against
Man:
But, alas!—He is not Man!—He is a Being more refin'd: and I am wretched, without Remedy!—I have heard some People report Things, to his Prejudice; but I dare swear it was all Envy.—The Men, to be sure, cou'd never endure him, because the Women were so pleas'd with him; and besides, he
sings
so much finerthan they can.—But, do you think, Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
that a Man, that sings finely, may'nt be a good Man, for all his Singing?—I wou'd fain know what they mean, by laughing, when I mention the Value I have for him; and saying, with a waggish Look, that
no Lion will eat a Lion?
—However heartily I love him, I did not tell 'em, I wou'd
eat
him.—But I suppose they mean something, that, I fancy, is not true. No Body, I am sure, wou'd
think
it, who has seen how he makes Love in the
Opera
's.—I know where I can sit by him, every Day; but I don't know what to say to him; for I can't speak one Word of
Italian,
but only
Bravo!
—Pray, if you know what one shou'd do in this Case, oblige with your Advice,
Your Disconsolate
Admirer, FIDELIA.
PERHAPS, this Lady's Case is not so bad as she thinks it.—Let her only find out what it is, she wou'd
do
with him; and, for what she has to
say
to him, she may take a Hint, from the following Verses.—They were written, in
Italian,
by
Milton,
when he was at
Florence,
in his Youth; and fell in Love, as
Fidelia
has done, with a Person, whose Language he understood but little of.—They were address'd to his
Italian
Mistress.
I.
When, in your Language, I, unskill'd, address
The short-pac'd Efforts of a trammell'd Muse;
Soft
Italy
's fair Criticks round me press,
And my mistaking Passion, thus, accuse.
II.
Why, to our Tongue's Disgrace, does thy dumb Love
Strive, in rough Sound soft Meanings to impart?
He must
select
his Words, who speaks, to move;
And points his Purpose at the Hearer's Heart.
III.
Then, laughing, they repeat my languid Lays—
—Nymphs, of thy Native Clime, perhaps,—they cry,
For whom thou hast a Tongue,—may feel thy Praise:
But
we
must understand, e'er we comply!
IV.
Do
thou,
—my Soul's soft
Hope!
these Triflers awe;
Tell 'em, 'tis nothing, how, or what, I
writ:
Since Love, from silent
Looks,
can Language draw,
And scorns the lame Impertinence of
Wit.
Dear SIR,
I AM an honest Man, and keep a
Coffee-House
; and pay Two-Pence apiece for your
Plain-Dealers.
My Customers are so pleas'd with them, that I take it for granted, they are worth the Money: But what I think I have just Cause to complain of, is, that, when a Gentleman calls for a Dish of
Coffee,
and the
Plain Dealer,
if he finds any thing in the Paper, that he is mightily taken with, he makes no Scruple of convincing me, that
he
is as
taking,
as the Paper;—that is to say, he puts it up, and carries it away with him, to divert his Club, or his Mistress.—So, he has Two-pence in Wit; and Two-pence, in Liquor: Yet, pays me only for the Liquor!—as if Wit were worth Nothing!—I am serv'd thus, so often, that, though your Papers come out, but twice a Week, I take 'em in, twice a Day; as my
Account-Book
can make appear, by very woeful Experience.—Now, what I want you to say, to these light-finger'd Purchasers, is, that a Man, who has no Hair, may as well lay Claim to my Periwig, as a Man, who has no Wit, pocket up that, which I have paid for.—Pray, a Word or two to this Purpose, for the sake of
Yours, to Command,
D. B.
Epsom,
May
the 19th, 1724.
Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
I AM a sort of silly
Coquet
; but not so happy a one, as the envied
Patty Amble.
—I am sensible of my Faults; but, since that is not enough, unless I also confess them, pray put me into a
Plain-Dealer,
that the Party, I mean, may take Notice, how I think of him.
I discharged some random Shot, among the Wild-Fowl, at our last Horse-Races; but the only two I wounded, were a
Buzzard,
of the Foot Guards; and a
Canary-Bird,
called a Templer.—The Templer was a Wit; and, I speak it, with a Sigh,—a charming one!—He was vain, conscious, chearful, and as false, as my own Smiles were.—My Foot Officer was serious, honest, friendly: but I thought, he was too Dull.—I receiv'd both their Addresses, but not with equal Sensibility: The
Soldier,
I slighted, but the
Wit
became Triumphant.—Now, first, my Heart felt Warmth enough, to beat with real Passion; and had just impress'd the Image of this gay, this lov'd, Deceiver; when News was brought, one Morning, that he had bid farewel to
Epsom,
without taking Leave of me, to follow a Flirt of a Fortune, that was hoyden'd away, to
London.
—But, what gave me a double Sense, as well of my Error, as my Shame, was, that, the Evening before this happen'd, my honest Lover, the
Soldier,
had slid into my Hand the following Prophetick SONG; which I bosom'd up for a
Billet.
I.
Be wary, my
Celia,
when
Celadon
sues,
These
Wits
are the Bane of your Charms:
Beauty, play'd against Reason, will certainly lose;
Warring, naked, with Robbers, in Arms.
II.
Young
Damon,
despis'd, for his Plainness of Parts,
Has Worth, that a Woman shou'd prize:
He'll run the Race
out,
though he heavily starts,
And
distance
the short-winded
Wise.
III.
Your
Fool
is a Saint, in the Temple of Love,
And kneels all his Life, there, to
pray:
Your
Wit
but looks, in, and makes haste to remove:
'Tis a Stage, be but takes, in his Way.
NOW, Sir, what I have found out, too late, is,—That my serious Lover, whom, I was silly enough to think Dull, was the greatest
Wit,
of the two.—I wou'd tell him so, now I have lost the other, but that I am afraid, he will laugh at me.
BUT I hope, you'll contrive it, so, that he may read it, in the
Plain-Dealer.
—Pray, put it in, for you can't guess the Disorder of,
Your nettled, humble Servant,
COQUETILLA.
SIR,
I AM a most
Catonick
Adherer to the Old,
English,
Simplicity; the Vertue, the Bluntness, and the Liberty, which were the Ornaments of our Ancestors.—I have taken some Pains to prove, that
we Britons,
shou'd not only be
left Free
; but, that we
ought
to be left
Rough,
too.—I am not able, therefore, to resist the Indignation, that rises in me, at the too visible Encrease, in the Number of our
Courtiers.
—It is natural for our Gentry, to love to shine, in that gay Light: But, why should
Tradesmen
be corrupted by the Taste of undue Dignity?—I cannot walk the Streets, but I see fresh Instances, in every Corner, of the spreading Power of Preferment. The Court Verge, of old, reach'd, I think, but to
Charing-Cross.
—Of late, it is
ek'd
out, to
White-Chapel,
and
Norton-Folgate.
Nay, I have been credibly inform'd, that there are Courtiers of great Eminence, in and about
Hockley in the Hole
!
I SHOU'D not be so averse to this Encrease of the Royal Retinue, if his Majesty's Ease, or Interest, were, proportionably, enlarg'd by it.—Thus, it is neither Useless, nor Uncomely, for a Prince to have his
Cow-House:
But there is another Court Establishment, which little can be said in support of, and that is, the
King's Ass-House.
—His Honour, of this Office, holds his Residence, in the Road to
Hide-Park-Corner:
It being Decent, he says, that his Dwelling shou'd be near his Duty; and where he may be under the Eye of his Fellow Statesmen.—I was the other Day at an odd Christ'ning, in one of the Horns of this huge City, where, a newly preferr'd Court Lady was complaining, to her Sister Gossips, How unavoidable it is, in Divided Times, for those, who are distinguish'd by Court Favours, to have the
Disaffected
for their Enemies.—I whisper'd a grave Gentlewoman, to know, what
Post
that great Lady held? And was answer'd, with becoming Seriousness, that she was marry'd to the
King
's
Mustard-maker.
HIS Majesty's
Oculist, in Extraordinary,
lately departing this Life, I am glad, it has been resolv'd, to abolish that High Station: Nothing being more dangerous to the Peace of a Body Politic, than to multiply Officers, without Office.—Yet, there are not wanting imprudent People, who have Hopes of instituting a
Royal Mantua-maker,
in Place of the defunct
Oculist.
—Now, it is quite a different Case, where Commissions are really useful: No good Subject, for Example, can think much of the
King
's
Pudding-maker,
and a great deal might be said, in Honour of the
King
's
Punch-house.
—The
Royal Chimney-sweeper
is a Minister, not of Rank only, but Necessity: and something like it may be offer'd, in Behalf of
His Majesty
's
Butter-Woman.
—But I wou'd be glad to be inform'd, what serious Pretence can be urg'd, by any Man, who makes a Conscience of his Arguments, in Defence of the
Royal Ginshop?
—Or, who can assert the Benefit, or, indeed, the Propriety, of the
King
's
Royal Riding-hood Woman?
Or,
His Majesty
's
sworn Staymaker?
TO speak with the good old Bluntness of a
Briton,
these are some of the luxuriant
Excrescences
of Monarchy; and wou'd, in the watchful Times of our Forefathers, have been par'd away, for the Publick Benefit. And I will take it upon me to averr, that, unless some seasonable Restraint be soon put upon this growing Evil, the Courtiers will set up Shops in the very Heart of the City; where, if, among their other Customs, they shou'd introduce their
way of Paying,
—
Trade
will die of the Inoculation, and leave
Credit
its Executor.—I am,
Your Friend, and my Country's Servant, DUKE
HUMPHREY.
Dear SIR,
I AM a Woman, who, by the Help of a little Reading, am, so far at least, more learned, than the Generality of my Sex, that a Hard Word does not fright me. But my Husband is a Person, of great Goodness, and little Knowledge. He has a small Estate, in
Essex,
and is only, what they call a Sportsman.—We came to Town, last Week; where my poor Dear drank hard, and fell so ill, that I was alarm'd for him.—The Lady, whose House we lodg'd at, wou'd needs send for
Doctor Fossile,
who is, I find upon Enquiry, a Man of excellent Learning; but, to borrow a Phrase of
Shakespeare
's, it is
sicklied over,
with Affectation.—When he had felt my Husband's Pulse, and gone through his Course of Questions, he turn'd, from whispering Mr.
Juniper,
who was in waiting, at his Elbow; and said to me, with a physical Air, not the Air of a Physician,—
Maam
!—I have order'd
Mr. What's his Name
here, your Spouse's Apothecary, to
Phlebotomize
him, to Morrow Morning.—
To do what to me?
cry'd my poor Husband, starting up, in his Bed—
I will never consent to suffer it—No,—I am not, I thank God, in so desperate a Condition, as to undergo such a damnable Operation as that is.
—As
what is?
my Dear,—answer'd I, half smileing,—The Doctor wou'd only have you
blooded.
—Ay,—for
bleeding,
reply'd he,
I like it well enough.—But, for that other Thing he order'd, I will sooner die, than submit to it.
NOW, Good Sir!—cannot such a useful Mass of Learning, as distinguishes
Doctor Fossile,
render him capable of discerning, and correcting, this odd Weakness?—It exposes him to the Ridicule of malicious Persons, who, hating a Merit, they despair of ever equalling, are glad to depreciate his Character, by makeing the Worst of his Particularity.—Since
Ars est celare Artem,
the Doctor wou'd be thought more learn'd, if he less endeavour'd to display his Learning. I know, I have made a forc'd Application of my little
Latin
Sentence; yet, it will do, well enough, too, in the Sense that I have given it.—I am,
Good Mr. Plain Dealer,
Your Constant
Reader,
and
Servant, LAETITIA LOVELIGHT.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 27.
Audire atque togam jubeo componere, quisquis
Ambitione mala, aut argenti pallet amore,
Quisquis luxuria, tristive superstitione,
Aut alio mentis morbo calet.
HOR.
MONDAY,
June
22. 1724.
THE Writer of the
Rehearsal,
puts into the Mouth of Mr.
Bayes,
with regard to the
Good
to be
extracted
from
Books,
by the most
indifferent
Hands, a Truth, that might have been spoken by a Person, whose Air of Gravity, was not (like that of Mr.
Bayes,
) intended to make him Ridiculous.
HOW far was I from thinking Mr.
Jyngle
the most Eligible Companion in the World, when I met him at Sir
Portly
's? And yet this very Mr.
Jyngle,
(for I will take heed how I anger so touchy a Philologist, by mis-spelling his Name any more, with a broad-back'd
Gothick
G, as he calls it) no sooner became my Correspondent, but he proved himself a Man of more than ordinary Parts, and one whose Talents are new and uncommon. I may liken him to some curious Engine, of great Use to me in my Writing-Capacity; and very necessary in the Machinery of some Inventions which I shall make known in the Course of these PAPERS, for the Benefit of those, who have contracted an ill Habit of Humour, and are sickly in their Understanding.
I EXPRESS myself, with much Seriousness, when I declare, as I here do, that I know not one Science, so Advantageous in
Theory,
as Mr.
Jyngle
's New System of
Mind Midwifery.
If this lucky Gentleman can but make it answer in
Practice,
according to the vast Idea's I conceive of its Excellence and Use, he will be as much superior to
Hippocrates
as the Soul is to the Body. Now,
Hippocrates,
as Sir
Clouterly Rumble,
in one of his
Physical
Treatises, informs us, was complimented with
Divine
Honours, just as his Predecessor
Aesculapius
had been erected to the Dignity of a
Demi-God,
from so
low
a setting out, as that of a
Tooth-drawer.
As mean a Conception, therefore, as I, or any of my
Readers,
might have, too hastily, entertained of Mr.
Jyngle,
as a mere Repeater of his own Rhimes, there is now ample Room for forming great Idea's of his Abilities, and of the Preferment, he may come to, since he is, the Inventor, and will, in all Probability, be the Perfecter of this
more noble Art of Healing.
And if, in the very Infancy of his Science, he makes a thorough Cure of his desperate Patient Sir
Clouterly
; I do verily think, after that, there will not be the least Room for any
sick minded
Person whatsoever, to despair of Success under his
Regimen.
HOWEVER, since a Person must be in a
painful
way indeed, before he
cries out
for the Physician, I would propound a kind of
Diet
to those who discover Symptoms of any approaching Spiritual Malady, which will serve them by way of Prevention. This Method is certainly preferable to the common way of Delaying till the Disease is actually upon them, which is then in Danger of not being removed, without Recourse to violent Remedies. In Sir
Clouterly
's Case, the Prescription of Mr.
Jyngle
is so very ungentle, that Fair Ladies, who find themselves a going into any
Immoral Habit,
should, one would think, take early Care to stop the Progress of it, for fear of lying under the Necessity of such dreadful Emeticks. That, it seems, which the
Titled
Patient must be forced to undergo, for the Cure of
Vanity
only, (and, what Person, with a
Title,
thinks
Vanity
so
great
an
Ill?
) will, he confesses, be attended with such violent Workings, that it will make him
vomit his Heart up.
Now, who would not avoid this rough Handling, by taking Things in Time, when they apprehend a Disorder to be rising, and observing a regular
Mind-Diet.
I SHALL proceed, to lay down some general Rules, and short Recipes, by way of Specimen, that the Ladies, especially, may encourage a Pocket Volume, which I intend shortly to publish, on the Subject of
Mind-Labours,
and
Deliveries,
and which I only wish may be dispersed into as many Hands as
Culpeper
's Midwifery; for I am sure I may say, without Boasting, it will be a more useful and valuable Treatise.
PERSONS, who have any Consideration for the Health of their Minds, are desired to reflect
Seriously,
that all
Excessive Passions
are
Distempers
of the
Mind
; and but
Fore-runners
of
Diseases
in the
Body.
Let them know, that nothing conduces more, to the Restraint of these
Humours,
(which grow peccant and pernicious, the very Moment they become Inordinate,) than Exercise in the Thinking Faculty.
READING the Salutary Maxims of Wise Men, with Attention, digesting them by Meditation, and imprinting them on the Memory, by frequent Recollection, is a
Mind-Diet
or
Regimen,
which will, in a short Time, restore Health to a decayed Constitution, and add incredible Vigour, to a Weak and Languishing Understanding. Minds the best arm'd, are not always Invulnerable: There are constantly some peevish Accidents, some cross and fretful Disappointments, in the rugged Road of Life, to throw a Cloud over the serenest, and discompose the most equal Tempers. But, there is not methinks, a quicker or sweeter Remedy than to step to the Closet, and take down a
moral Draught,
which will smooth us into the most perfect Calm.
Gallus, Tibullus, Ovid, Catullus,
will afford us
Lenitives
; and
Horace, Juvenal
and
Persius,
will furnish us with
Corrosives,
so that we may find a Cure for every Distemper. There are not any Infirmities, Pains, or Sufferings of the Mind, but what the Writings of some of these Doctors contain proper
Specificks
for. The best of this Method of prescribing, is, that the Physick is easy and delightful. For what does it consist in but Exercising one's Wits with some of the best Company in the World, whom even Ladies cannot go to for Diversion, without finding them at the same Time useful, or visit for Instruction, without finding them agreeable.
Dryden, Congreve,
&c. Have made them refined
Englishmen,
and our
Modern
Beauties have the same Advantages in their
Translations,
the
Roman
Ladies had in the
Originals.
WHY should it not be the Care of profess'd
Visiters,
not to contract ill Habits which are always very catching, and fill the Mind, with Spots and Blemishes? a Toast that never had the Small-Pox, would be in a Pannick, at the Appearance of a Face newly mark'd; and Persons who break out with Detraction, have the Small-Pox of the Mind, and are frightful when the Marks are upon them.
YOU shall see a Young Creature torture herself into Beauty punish herself to please her Lover, and skin her Face for a Complexion; And yet, tho' she knows she is a little Vixen in her Nature, she shall not so much as once, after she is married to him, endeavour to learn, how she may avoid the praeternatural
Palenesses
and
Flushings,
which Anger excites in a Beautiful Countenance, giving the whole Form of it such a contrary Cast, that it is enough to terrify all Beholders. Whenever any of these blooming Bustlers begin to bluster, the Husband may be the Physician; for, when the fiery Particles within them betray any of the
Soft
Things to an unbecoming Fit of
Rage,
the Sight of a Looking-Glass, at that Critical Minute of Deformity, has been prescribed by our Forefathers with admirable, and neverfailing Effect. But this is only a transitory Cure, and does not go to the Root of the Disease. There are Passages relating to the Effects of
Anger
in a married State, that would place their
Inside
as clearly before them. A Lady, whom this Practice would not work into Gentleness of Temper, could never be cured of so violent an Inflammation, but by one of Mr.
Jyngle
's severest Operations.
IS a Lady jealous? And will she not have Sense enough, to blush at the Follies of Jealousy, when she is reading them, in private, and save herself from the Inconveniency of looking frightful, in publick Company? She stands highly in need of Mr.
Jyngle.
Who, that could not
read
away a
Fit
of the
Spleen,
in that Excellent
Modern
Poem, the
Rape of the Lock,
could be otherwise than given over, as quite lost, Unless Mr.
Jyngle
appear'd, to carry it off, by his new Invention? Those Ladies, who have
Wit
enough to plead their being of the
Unfortify'd
Sex in so
artful
a Manner,
That, if weak Women go astray,
Their Stars are more in Fault, than they,
have likewise
Wit
enough, to
Fortify
themselves by proper Lectures, against the Attacks of Passion and Folly. Therefore, after this seasonable Warning, Mr.
Jyngle is the Word
; and if any wild, disorderly, pretty Creatures, will
Steal
away from these
Precepts,
and run
Gadding
after their
own
Inventions, till they
hurt
their
Health
and
Quiet
; Care shall be taken, to send Mr.
Jyngle,
with all convenient Speed, after them; and
he may drive as fast as he pleases, into Practice.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 28.
Tendentem
que
manus, & jam sua fata videntem,
Et,
MATER, MATER,
clamantem, & colla petentem
Ense ferit
MATER.
—
Quam vocat hic Matrem?
OVID. METAM.
— Grande doloris
Ingenium est, miseris
que
venit solertia rebus.
Ibid.
Mota quidem est genitrix, infractâ
que
constitit ira,
Inviti
que
oculi lachrymis maduere coactis.
Ibid.
FRIDAY,
June
26. 1724.
THE Loss of Friends is a Misery, which, more than any other, puts our Patience to the Trial; and breaks in upon Human Nature with a Violence not to be resisted. All the Looks, Words, and Actions, of those, who were dear to us, in their Life-times, rise, like Ghosts, to haunt the Memory: But, with this Difference from their Effects, before Death had interpos'd, that we now remember with a kind of Pleasure, the
Wrongs
and
Slights
we may have suffer'd from them, as the only Remedy we can have Recourse to, for some Mitigation of our Sorrow: Whereas their
Vertues,
their
Endearments,
and the
Good Offices
they have done us, are like
Tortures
to the
Imagination
; and the most painful
Enflamers
of our
Misery.
BUT the Tenderness of the
Lovelier Sex
maintains a generous Superiority, over ours, in the Warmth, and Softness, of their Sorrow. There is a Sweetness, in a Mother's Grief, when she drowns her
Charms
in
Tears,
that raises
Beauty
into
Majesty
; and mixes Reverence with our Fondness for her. It is her
Soul,
we are, then, enamour'd of! And the
Husband, Son,
or
Father,
of such a Mourner, considers, with an inward Triumph, the Interest, he is proud to hold, in a Heart, so grac'd by Pity; and so sincerely Sweet and Sensible.
THE Force of Natural Affection has its strongest Effect, in
Mothers
from the great Necessity there is, for that long Care, and Patience, which are the Supports of the Human Species, during the Wants, and Helplessness of Infancy: And the most unreasonable Partialities, of fond
Mothers,
to their Children, are not only Pardonable, but Beautiful, when we consider, what good Effects are owing to the Influence of this charming Weakness.
SHAKESPEARE
's Tragedy, of
King John,
has, I hear, been lately alter'd, with Design to bring it on the Stage next Winter. I doubt not, but the Alterer has been careful not to rob us of the Grief of
Constance,
for the Loss of her Son
Arthur,
when in the Hands of the King, who designs to murder him.—Being told, that she is
Mad,
not
Sorrowful,
she replies,
I am not mad, Oh! wou'd to Heaven I were!
If I were mad, I shou'd
forget
my
Son.
— I have heard 'em say,
That we shall meet, and know our Friends, in Heaven:
If so, I, yet, may see my Boy again.
—But Sorrow's
Canker
will have
eat
his Bloom;
'Till he looks Pale, and Meagre, as a Ghost:
And dies, so chang'd, that, when, in Heaven, we meet,
I fear, I shall not know him!
THIS Thought, of her Son's Sorrow, and his becoming so alter'd by it, as not to be known, if she shou'd meet him, in Heaven, has so natural a Mixture in it, of the
Tender
and the
Wild
! Something so exquisitely adapted both to her Character, and her Condition, that I have always consider'd it, as one of the liveliest Strokes in the Tragedy: Tho' it is finely supported, by what follows.
Grief
fills the Place up, of my absent Son,
Lies in his Bed; walks with me up and down;
Puts on his pretty Looks; repeats his Words;
Swells out his vacant Garments with his Form.
—But
Memory
smarts to miss him!
HOW much easier, and less lovely, wou'd this
Constance
have appear'd, under the Affliction of her Son's Loss, had she regarded him with the cold Indifference of a Modern
Mother
; whom I am glad, for her own Sake, not to find nam'd, in the following Letter!
SIR,
I HAVE the Pleasure of a very intimate Acquaintance with that unhappy young Gentleman, whose Verses to a Painter, you printed in one of your PLAIN DEALERS; with a generous Remark, or two, on the Merit of the poor Gentleman, himself, and the uncommon Cruelty of his
Mother.
PERHAPS few Things cou'd be more surprizing, than a History of his Birth and Usage!—Of two Fathers, whom he might have claim'd, and
both
of them
Noble,
he lost the
Title,
of the one, and a
Provision
from the other's Pity, by the Means alone of this
Mother!
who, as if she had resolv'd, not to leave him a single Comfort, afterwards robb'd him of
herself
too! and, in direct Opposition to the Impulse of her Natural Compassion, upon mistaken Motives of a false Delicacy, shut her Memory against his Wants, and cast him out to the severest Miseries; without allowing herself to contribute even such small Aid, as might at least, have preserv'd him from Anguish; and pointed out some Path to his future Industry.
BUT I forbear to be too particular, on any of these Heads, because I know it wou'd give him Pain, for whose sake only I remember them: For while Nature acts so weakly, on the Humanity of the Parent, she seems, on the Son's side, to have doubled her usual Influence. Even the most shocking Personal Repulses, and a Series of Contempt and Injuries, received, at her Hands, through the whole Course of his Life, have not been able to eraze, from his Heart, the Impressions of his filial Duty: Nor, which is much more strange! of his Affection. I have known him walk, three or four times, in a dark Evening, through the Street this
Mother
lives in, only for the Melancholy Pleasure of looking up, at her Windows, in Hopes to catch a Moment's Sight of her, as she might cross the Room by Candle Light.
HIS good Qualities, which are very numerous, ought the more to be esteem'd and cherish'd because he owes them to himself only: And, without the Advantage of Friends, Fortune, or Education, wants neither Knowledge nor Politeness, to deserve a
Mother
's Blessing, and adorn, rather than disgrace her.—I am strongly persuaded, from the Character, which, upon all Occasions, he has taken Pleasure to give me of the Lady's Humanity, with regard to the rest of the World, that nothing but her having, much too long, already been a Stranger to such a Son, cou'd make her satisfy'd to continue so.—It is impossible, at least, that she shou'd not distinguish him, by some kind Notice; some little Mark of her returning Tenderness; if, without Regard to his Merit, she knew but his Manner of thinking of her: Which is, itself, a shining Merit! and a surprizing Instance of Generosity! if consider'd against those Reasons, which might excuse a different Treatment of her.
He writ the following Copy of Verses, and several other, on the same Subject, at a Time, when I know not which was most to be wonder'd at;—That he shou'd be serene enough, for
Poetry,
under, the Extremity of Ill-Fortune!—Or, that his
Subject
shou'd be the Praise of her, to whom he ow'd a Life of Misery!
Hopeless, abandon'd, aimless, and oppress'd;
Lost, to Delight, and, every Way, distress'd:
Cross his cold Bed, in wild Disorder, thrown,
Thus, sigh'd
Alexis,
friendless, and alone.—
Why do I breathe?—
What Joy
can
Being
give,
When she, who gave me Life, forgets I Live!
Feels not these Wintry Blasts;—nor heeds my Smart:
But shuts me from the Shelter of her Heart!
Saw me expos'd, to Want! to Shame! to Scorn!
To Ills!—which make it
Mis'ry
to be
born!
Cast me, regardless, on the World's bleak Wild:
And bad me, be a
Wretch,
while, yet, a
Child!
Where can he hope for Pity, Peace, or Rest,
Who moves no Softness in a
Mother
's Breast?
Custom, Law, Reason,
All!
my Cause forsake:
And
Nature sleeps,
to keep my Woes
awake!
Crimes, which the
Cruel
scarce believe, can
be,
The
Kind
are guilty of, to ruin
Me!
Even she, who bore me, blasts me, with her Hate,
And,
meant
my
Fortune, makes
Herself my
Fate!
Yet has this sweet Neglecter of my Woes
The softest, tend'rest, Breast, that
Pity
knows!
Her Eyes shed Mercy, wheresoe'er they shine;
And her Soul
melts,
at every Woe,—
but Mine.
Sure, then! some secret Fate, for Guilt unwill'd,
Some Sentence, prae-ordain'd to be fulfill'd!
Plung'd me, thus deep, in Sorrow's searching Flood:
And wash'd me from the Mem'ry of her Blood.
But, oh! whatever Cause has mov'd her Hate,
Let me but sigh, in Silence, at my Fate.
The
God, within,
perhaps, may
touch
her Breast:
And, when
she pities,
who can be distress'd?
THEY, who are depriv'd, by Death, of their dearest Friends, and Relations, are left wretched, in the Want of them; But they have this Comfort, however,—that, before those Deaths, they were happier:—Whereas this Gentleman, on the contrary, is unhappy, by his Mother's Loss, while she is
living,
gay, and fortunate! and only
dead,
to that Affection, which other Mothers chiefly
live for!
IF you, Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
wou'd give us a Paper, on these Heads, it might, I believe, have some Effect, for the Service of a too early Sufferer, whose Merit, and the Wrongs he has sustain'd, from his Parent's Cruelty, entitle him to the Hope, of finding better Parents, among Strangers! to the open Reproach, and Dishonour of a
Mother,
who, since she has so many fine Qualites, wants, perhaps, but to be touch'd into a Sense of her Mistake, to atone for it, by a generous Change, in her Regard for him, for the future. I am,
Sir,
Your most Humble Servant,
AMINTAS.
I AM sorry, that, in a Nation, justly famous for Good-Nature, we have so strong an
Exception,
as may be taken from this Letter. But I will forbear, with my Correspondent's Leave, to address any Arguments, to the
Lady:
Since, if she is not harden'd, beyond Nature, the generous Sorrow, and the Sufferings, express'd, in her Son's Sentiments, will melt her Heart into Pity for him; and move her, more effectually, than any Thing, that can be, morally, offer'd to her.
I WILL turn my Advice, therefore, to the Service of those Sons and Daughters, who are neglected, and made unhappy, by the Aversion, or Partiality, of the Parent they depend on. A Case, too common, in most Families! and which stands in need of all the Comfort, that can be pour'd upon their Affliction.
IT is a very melancholy Circumstance when this happens, as it often does, to the finest spirited Child, of the whole Number. But it shou'd be Ground enough for Consolation, that such Sufferers owe the wrong Position, they appear in, to a Weakness in the Parents Reason: A kind of Deception, in their Judgment's
Sight!
As, when we see our Shadows, in the Water, our Heads seem to hang downwards; and our lowest Parts are preferr'd, to look, unnaturally, uppermost.
TIME will, certainly, bring a Remedy, to those, who bear this Trial, with Temperance: For Submission disarms the Rancour, that wou'd gather Strength, from Exercise, by an imprudent Opposition. None, whose Injuries are receiv'd, with Mildness, and return'd by Acts of Affection, can be, long, without discovering, and repenting, their Ingratitude. Whereas, by permitting ourselves to
revenge
the Wrongs we suffer, we furnish our Oppressors with an Appearance of Justice; and only make them more blind, when 'tis our Interest, that they shou'd see clearly.
IMPATIENCE under this, or any other, Affliction, does but double our Mortification. How languid wou'd Life be, to the largest Part of the World, if Expectation did not quicken it!
Hope
is the sweetest, of all Companions!—If it leads us not to the Road, which we are most inclin'd to travel in, its Conversation, however, is so entertaining, and agreeable, that we can never tire, in the Journey.
WHEN a wicked Man is happy, he seems unworthy of his Happiness: But, where Vertue is unfortunate, it looks the larger, for the Clouds we see it through.—There is a Courage, in Adversity, that can put Fortune out of Countenance.—Men are not despicable, by their Fate, but, by their Manner of supporting it. The Lyon has more Majesty, in his Chains, than when in the Forest: His Fierceness is reduc'd, and soften'd, by the Restraint of his Condition, and, what was
terrible,
in him, before, becomes
venerable,
by his Calamity.
BUT, we shou'd not only bear our Misfortunes, with
Patience
; we shou'd sustain 'em, too, with
Silence.
—Complaints are
weak
Mens Weapons: And, there was something, delicate, and finely judg'd, in the Conduct of a
Persian
Merchant, I have read of, who, finding himself on the Brink of Ruin, by a Race of Losses, that befel him, gave strict Orders, to his Son, that he shou'd speak of it to Nobody. For, otherwise, said he, of
One
Misfortune, we shall make
Two—The Loss, itself, which we complain of;—and our Enemy's rejoicing at it.
BUT, as the most perfect Pleasures in the World are always mix'd with Afflictions, so the sharpest Afflictions have their Uses, and their Pleasures.—A Man's best Friend, is his
Enemy!
Since by mortifying his Vanity, he adorns his Nature with Humility; and teaches him to shun the Practice of those Ill Qualities, toward Others, which he finds so unjust, and hateful, while he himself is oppress'd by them.
BUT, while I talk of Humility, I blush, at my own Pride, who wou'd teach others a Science, which I am myself, but a Learner in.—My Reader, in this Case, must be so good as to compare me to a Blind Man, with a Torch in his Hand—Though I see not my own Way, I carry Light enough along with me, to guide the Steps of those who follow me.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 29.
— Pudet haec opprobria nobis
Et dici potuisse & non potuisse refelli.
OVID.
MONDAY,
June
29. 1724.
UNLESS my Legs are in Motion, my Imagination is apt to stand still: for which Reason I am so great a Walker, that, if the Weather does not allow me to take the Air, in the open Fields, I measure my Landlady's Hall Floor, so many Times, for a Breathing, that I can walk Twenty Miles, without stirring out of my Lodgings.—I was meditating, Yesterday Morning, in one of these reverted Perambulations, when I heard the Sound of a Horse's Feet, on the Pavement, before my Door; which was follow'd by a loud, rustick, Whistle; and a thumping against the Porch, with the Handleend of a Whip.—I look'd out; and was saluted, by a Country Servant of
Will. Weathercock
's, with this simple, and hearty Address,—That
Master remember'd his Love to me; and had sent him up with a Letter.
I dispatch'd my Friend's
Courier
; and shall lay before my Reader the Contents of this Intelligence.
Dearest SIR,
THE good Company, at Sir
Portly
's, are at a sad Loss, in your Absence. Mr.
Tiresome,
and our Friend
Tony,
won't drink one another's Healths yet. But Mr.
Juniper
has done as strange a Cure, upon Mr.
Jyngle,
as Mr.
Jyngle
himself intends to do, upon Sir
Clouterly Rumble.
—
Tony
has never been right, as he shou'd be, since you made him so asham'd of shooting his Poetry, at Random. He look'd very pale, Yesterday, and complain'd of a Pain in his Stomach. There was something, he said, lay, like a Load, at his Heart: and he had much ado to draw his Breath, for it.—Mr.
Juniper
felt his Pulse, and said, he hop'd there was no Danger: Asking him, at the same Time, If he had made no
Verses,
for this Week past? Mr.
Jyngle
told him,
Yes
—and repeated six hundred Lines, of a Poem, he has made a Beginning in. The Verses, I must needs say, sounded as fine, as ever I heard any! But, what I thought strange, was, that, as soon as he had done Repeating, Mr.
Juniper
bid him
hem
—and go, chearfully, about his Business: for his Oppression, he said, was remov'd.—And it really prov'd, as he said.—Mr.
Jyngle
's Colour return'd immediately; and he breathes, as freely as ever he did!
BUT, I fancy, for all this, he is not quite cur'd, yet. His Distemper, I doubt, works inward: and, unless it has constant
Vent,
may blow up, into his Brain, and do more Mischief, than we are aware of. For I observe, though he
says
nothing, the suppress'd Spring of his Fancy twitches his Eyebrows, up and down, and moves his Lips, like a Rabbit's!—He has got an odd Whim, too,—the Effect, to be sure, of his Melancholy! Of untying the Knots of People's Periwigs, who happen to sit within Reach of him! He will do the same, by the Ladies Apron-Strings; and has made an Attempt or two, at their Garters! Yet, is musing, all the while, without meaning any Harm in it.—Pray send me Word, by
Humphry,
who rides old
Robin
to Town, on purpose, whether you don't think, this untying Wigs, and Apron-Strings, an untowardly Symptom, in poor Mr.
Jyngle?
—Methinks, I wou'dn't, for a great deal, that his Brain shou'd have any Thing in it.—Pray a Word, of your Advice, to, Dearest Sir!
Your most Faithful Servant,
William Weathercock.
THE Answer I return'd to this apprehensive Humanity, of
Will. Weathercock,
was,
That I cou'd determine nothing, suddenly, in so doubtful a Case: But I desir'd him to tell
Tony
the following Story, the first Time he shou'd catch him at a Wig-Knot, or an Apron-String: and, from the Effects of it, I might judge better.
AN
Arabian
Physician, of great Learning, went to visit the
Caliph,
who took Pleasure in discoursing with him, concerning Diseases, and their Remedies. The Physician was demonstrating the Necessity of Binding Madmen to prevent Danger, from their Extravagance; and the
Caliph
who sat, involv'd, in the profoundest Attention, had insensibly apply'd his Fingers to the Bottom of the Doctor's Gown; which finding a little unstitch'd, he had ript it, to the very Girdle. The Doctor, observing it, made a Pause, in his Narration.—The
Caliph,
then ask'd him, By what Tokens they knew, when it was Time to Bind a Madman?—
We bind him,
answer'd the Physician,
when he pulls People's Cloaths to Pieces, without the smallest Provocation.
June
the 8th, 1724.
SIR,
GOING last
Sunday,
in the Afternoon, to a Church, not far from the
Temple,
to hear an Eminent, and Learned, Divine, who is remarkable, for his good Preaching, I found the manifest Necessity we are under, of a PLAIN-DEALER: Since most of our well-bred Enormities, which were suppress'd during the Reign of your great Predecessor, Venerable
Spec,
of Immortal Memory, are crept again, into Practice.—Lay-Parishioners, for Example, repeat the
Absolution,
with as much Loudness, and Assurance, as if they were, all, in
Priest's Orders!
They barbarously, drown too, in their
Responses,
the Vocal Zeal of the Parish Clerk; to the Disgrace, and utter Overthrow, of that ancient and useful, Office!—The
Psalms,
which were sung, plainly, in the simple Worship of our Forefathers, are, now, most musically,
warbled,
by gay, powder'd, Choristers, who have their Ears refin'd, by
Opera,
with such a rapturous
Italic
Quavering, that every Syllable pants, and trembles, with the Sighings of a broken Spirit!—The Reverend Doctor declaim'd on
Pride:
But neither the Terror of his Reasoning, nor the awful Gravity of his Person, cou'd restrain a giddy Covey, of young Female Gold-finches from fluttering their Fans into a Whirlwind; that blew Grace, and Edification, quite out of the Church Windows!—These Indecencies fall more properly under your Cognizance, than the Pulpit's; therefore, at your Leisure, I hope, you will animadvert on their Growth, and Consequence. A Nod, from you, will startle them: for they fly PLAIN-DEALING, like a Pestilence. I am,
Your hearty Well-Wisher,
&c. J. H.
Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
I AM one of those
Light-finger'd Purchasers,
complain'd against, in a Letter to you, from the Keeper of a certain Coffee-House, for
filling my Pocket with Wit of another Man's paying for.
The Truth is, I did it; but it was by way of Revenge only. For before your Paper became establish'd, I went a Dozen Times, to his House, with no other Intention, than to read over the PLAIN-DEALER: But the Answer, I always had, was,—
They did not take in the Paper.
At last, his Customers so often ask'd for it, that he was asham'd to be longer without it; and I continue to drink his Coffee, for the Pleasure of reading your Paper. But in order to be even with him, I kept a private Account how many
Twopences
I spent, in vain, while I was disappointed by his Avarice: And just so many PLAIN DEALERS I am determin'd to pocket up, that I may bring Things to Balance. After that, I will content myself to carry off, in my
Memory,
what I now bring away in my
Pocket.
And this is the true State of Mr.
D. B
's Complaint to you.
But, since
Coffee-Men
must be murmuring, I will put you in a Way to mortifie some of the
Backward Ones,
of that Fraternity; who care not how little
Wit
they lay in, for their Customers, because themselves have no Relish for it: And they love to deal in nothing, but what they can come in for a
Taste
of. You must know, Sir, that several of them are resolv'd to wait, 'till
Winter,
before they take in the PLAIN DEALER; as if Cold Writers were fittest to refresh their
Summer Customers.
But your Disciples are so numerous, that, if you only give the Word, that none, who have
Wit,
or
Breeding,
shall drink, even a single
Dram,
at any Coffee-House, that is not licens'd, by the Stamp of the PLAIN DEALER; then, these Friends to
Money,
and
Dullness,
who, to save a Groat a Week, lose Twelve Pennyworth of
Improvement,
wou'd take it in for their
Profit
Sake, though they have no Concern for their
Unstanding:
And by that Means, extend your Influence to many Thousands of his Majesty's sober Subjects; who now, sit and sleep in the Corner of a Dusty Coffee-Room, for want of Matter to be kept awake by. I am,
Sir,
Your Humble Servant,
VINDEX.
UPON opening some late
Letters,
which have been sent me by my Correspondents, I found, inclos'd in one, the following
Learned Proposition,
for unravelling the
Occult Sciences.
PROPOSALS, for Printing a Book, Entitled,
The Mystery of Modern Gameing;
being a Description of the Abuses, in Games at Dice: Proving, by calculated Tables, That
Hazard
is an unequal Game. Exposing the Nature of unfair Dies and Boxes, with the Operations of
Loaded Dies, Scoop'd Dies, Flat Dies, Chain Dies,
and
Link'd Dies.
The Art of working with a
Grate Box; Eclipsing, Sighing, Waxing
and
Topping.
A Dissertation on
Pharo, Basset, Picquet, Wisk,
and other
Card Games:
Proving, that a
Pack
of
Cards
may be shuffled, cut, dealt away, and, afterwards, dispos'd to your Interest, notwithstanding. With a particular Description of a
Pharo-Bank
; its Attendants and Expences. Calculated for the
Meridian
of those two famous Universities,
Bath
and
Tunbridge-Wells.
THE Book will be Printed on fine Paper, Octavo, with a New Dutch Letter, and neatly Bound: Price One Guinea, half down, as usual. 'Tis now ready for the Press; and any Subscriber shall, if he pleases, see the Copy, to convince him, that it deserves Encouragement.
Subscriptions
are taken in at Mr.
William Leverland
's, at the
Golden-Key,
in
King-Street, Covent-Garden.
I AM ignorant with what Intention this
Proposal
was enclos'd to me; there having been no
Letter
sent with it. But I take it for granted, that it is the
Wish
of the Undertaker to have it notic'd, in the PLAIN DEALER: And I recommend it, with the more Readiness, because, if this
Work
is any way answerable to its
Title,
the Author will deserve to be consider'd as a Patriot! and may, by opening the Eyes of those, who are fond of that
vile Art,
call'd
Gaming,
become the Means of more
Good
to his
Country,
than the
Care
and
Wisdom
of our Parliaments have, yet, been able to accomplish.
Worthy SIR,
I MY own self am a
Barber,
by Trade, but my Wife takes in
Plain-work.
I cou'd never endure to be Idle; and, therefore, when we rented a little House, in the New-Buildings, I hung a Board, at my Pole's End, with these Words writ upon it, in Great Letters,
SHAVE FOR A PENNY,
Though I say it, that shou'd not, I have a clean Stroke with a Razor: But, because I love a stirring Trade, I thought it better to work for a little, than stand still, and get nothing. Now, it is a strange Thing to consider, how little Encouragement
Honest Industry
meets with.
ONE Evening, last Week, a Beau with a great Black-Bag at his Back, was set down, out of a Stage-Coach; and fixing his Eye upon my Pole, put his Hand to his Beard, and came directly to my Door, as if he meant, I shou'd Shave him: But, as soon as he read my
Rate,
that was written on my
Show Board,
he turn'd short, upon his Heel; and cry'd out with a silly Oath,
"That,
Six Pence,
he thought, was too little, for a clean Shaving: But, if a Man must pay for being
flea'd,
a
Penny
was too much in Conscience.
I WAS quite out of Heart, at this unexpected Return, for falling the Price of my Practice: And my poor Wife, who overheard it, as she sat at work, fell a crying, at the Ill-Nature of it. But, presently, we heard a jolly Voice, in the Street,
Come, let us go in:—I will encourage this Honest Fellow, though I have been shav'd once, to Day, already.
So, there came into my Shop a grave, well-dress'd Gentleman, and a pretty Youth with him: He was kind, and talk'd very familiar to me; and had so good-humour'd a Face, that I lov'd dearly to look upon him: When I had done with him, he said, that I had the soft Sweep of your
Turkish Barbers
; and, as he was going out of my Shop he gave me a Crown Piece; and told me,
"That such Industrious Men, as I, ought to be paid, as we
deserv'd,
and not, as we
expected:
And that no body else shou'd
Shave
him, as long as his Beard grew in
London.
AS soon as he was gone, my Wife fell a crying, again.—But, this Time it was for
Joy,
That in spite of
Beaux
and
Black-Bags,
there is some good
Nature
left in the World yet.—If you will put this into your PLAIN DEALER, and
accept of a Shaving,
the next Time you come our Way, you may Command the ready Hand of,
Your Obedient Humble Servant,
Latherlight Edgely.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 30.
— Nec Vox hominem sonat, O Dea certe!
VIR.
FRIDAY,
July
3. 1724.
IT is said, by a Vulgar Error, That
the English are fond of Novelty.
—I have wonder'd, a Thousand Times, how this Notion became establish'd: For, that nothing is more false, in Fact, may be proved, from our oldest Histories: and is, every Day, remarkable, in our modern, and familiar Practice.
THOUGH
ten Englishmen,
in
twelve,
are the Descendants of
Foreigners,
and the very Name itself, of
England,
is
Foreign:
Yet, the Notion of a
Foreigner
has been, always, ridiculously, distastful to us!
INNOVATIONS were ever odious to us; and we chose rather to
neglect
Advantages, than to try an untrodden Path, for 'em.—What lost
England
the first Possession of that Gold and Silver World in the
Spanish West-Indies,
but her Disposition to discredit
Novelty?
—Our very
Laws
depend on
Precedent:
—And the Defence, even of Rights, in Parliament, is supported upon what
has been
; and seems unconcern'd in
why it was.
Those scandalous Oppositions, which are so obstinately given, to the Clearest Bills, for Publick Benefit, such, as
making our Rivers Navigable,—Putting our Lands under a Register,—Promoting untry'd Trades,
—And
Establishing National Fisheries:
Are, all, convincing Instances, that no Nation, under Heaven, have so fix'd an Aversion to
Novelty
; which, yet, every Body is imputing to us, as the Reigning Humour of our Country.
BUT we have a Present Example, that will confirm my Remark, and for ever put to Silence those, who accuse us of the Love of Novelty. I mean, the new Practice, of
Inoculating the Small-Pox,
on Bodies, purposely, prepar'd to receive it: So, to prevent the usual Danger, and Malignancy, of that Distemper; and sustain it, without the Terror, the Fatality, and the Sorrow, which have heretofore, gone along with it.
IT was a generous Undertaking, in that Publick-spirited Member of the
Royal Society,
who, resolving, by
clear Matter of Fact,
to establish or explode, this Practice, has, with an unwearied Application, and the most stedfast Impartiality, inform'd himself of its Success, throughout all Parts of the Kingdom; and given the World an Account of it, in his Pamphlet, lately publish'd. A Treatise! which deserves the Eye, and most careful Consideration, of every Parent, who has
Reason,
or who wou'd save a Favourite Child, the promis'd Comfort of his Life! from being snatch'd away, perhaps in its Bloom, by the Sweep of this Distemper.
IT is demonstrated, in the mention'd Treatise, from a Forty Year's Examination of the Bills of Mortality,
'That the Small-Pox carries off, at least,
one
in every
six,
of all whom it seizes in the
natural
Way; whereas not one in
fifty,
(scarce one in many
hundreds
) of those who receive it by
Inoculation,
have been found to die under it.
THE whole Number of Persons, who have been so much as suspected to owe their Deaths to it, ever since its first Introduction, in
England,
amounts to
Nine,
only!—They are, all nam'd, in the Printed Account; and there is scarce one among them, for whose Death a Clearer Cause, than the Inoculation, is not assign'd, and attested, by the very Physicians, and Surgeons, who directed the Operation—So that Providence seems to have guided, and enlighten'd,
Art,
in this Practice, to assist, and relieve,
Nature,
for the Preservation of the Human Species.
YET, with what Violence, and Malice, has it not been rail'd at, and oppos'd?—How many False Affirmations have we seen, with unblushing Boldness, insulting Truth, in our Publick News-Papers!—Nay, the Pulpits, too, have trembled, under the Zeal of
Reverend Railers
; who, in the holy Blindness of their Passion, have shewn us
Job,
upon his Dunghill;
inoculated,
for the
Small-Pox,
by the
Devil,
of a Surgeon!
IT has been represented, as a
Wilful Murder!
A new, and wicked, Presumption! An Assault on the Prerogative of Heaven! And a taking
God's own
Work out of his Hands, to be mended by
Man's
Arrogance!
BUT the Common Arguments, however despicable, give me Diversion, and Entertainment.—When I hear a pious Old Woman wisely wondering,—
What this World would come to!
and concluding her Remarks with this great Maxim of Resignation, that
God's own Time is best!
I compare this Force of Female Reasoning, to the Representation which, a late Writer tells us, The old
Boyars,
or Grandees of
Russia,
gravely made, to the Present
Czar,
when he attempted a Communication, by Diging a Canal, between the
Volga,
and the
Tanais.
—
"
The Design,
they said,
was Great;
—But they humbly conceiv'd it
Impious:
—For,
since God had made the Rivers to run one Way, Man ought not to turn them Another.
IT is an establish'd Rule, amongst Gamesters, That
Losers shou'd have leave to speak:
And, for this Reason, I rather pity, than grow angry with an unmarried Prude or Coquet, when I catch 'em Railing at Inoculation, with a Thousand
Excuses
for it, in their
Faces.
—As it is a Comfort to the Miserable to have Companions in their Misery, so, it must be a Provocation, to these Fair
Invalids,
to hear of a Preservative, for other's Beauty, when it is too late, to save their own by it.
YET, these good Ladies, unmindful that they carry about with them, the Cause of their own Peevishness, treat an innocent Practice, when they join the
Chorus
of
Railers,
as the
Indian
did the Looking-Glass, which he found on the Sea-Side.—He was frightfully Ugly; and, starting back from his own Image, threw away the Glass, in great Rage, with this comfortable Observation:—
I might have guess'd, thou wert good for nothing: Thou would'st not have been left here else.
IT is the Observation of some Historian; but I forgot where I met with it: That
England has ow'd to Women the greatest Blessings she has been distinguish'd by
—In the Case, we are now upon, this Reflection will stand justified.—We are indebted to the Reason, and the Courage of a
Lady,
for the Introduction of this Art; which gains such Strength in its Progress, that the Memory of its Illustrious Foundress will be render'd Sacred, by it, to future Ages.
THIS Ornament of her Sex, and Country, who ennobles her own
Nobility,
by her Learning, Wit, and Vertues, accompanying her Consort into
Turkey,
observ'd the Benefit of this Practice, with its Frequency, even among those obstinate
Praedestinarians
; and brought it over, for the Service, and the Safety, of her Native
England
; where she consecrated its first Effects, on the Persons of her own fine Children! And has, already, receiv'd this Glory from it,
"That the Influence of her Example has reach'd as high as the Blood Royal."
And our noblest, and most antient, Families, in Confirmation of her happy Judgment, add the daily Experience of those, who are most Dear to them.
I HAVE seen a short Poetical Essay, on the Occasion we are now treating of. I wou'd say, if I meant the Verses an
Encomium
they shou'd be envied for,
"That their
Subject
need not blush at them!
On Lady
Mary Wortley Montagu
's bringing with her, out of
Turkey,
the Art of Inoculating the
Small-Pox.
WHEN
Greece,
reviving, into short Delight,
Felt Pride, and Comfort, at
Our
Muse's Sight:
The Rival'd
Nine
no sooner saw her Face,
But ev'n their
Envy
gave their
Wonder
Place!
Charm'd, into
Love,
of what eclips'd their Fame!
They wak'd
Apollo,
with her pow'rful Name.
See!—God of
Grecian
Wit!
Urania
cries,
How sweet a
Muse
the Western World supplies!
Say, shou'd she ask some Favour, from your Throne,
What cou'd you
bid
her
take,
that's not
her own?
Sparkling in Charms, the heav'nly Stranger view,
So
grac'd!
—she scarce can owe a
Beam,
to
You!
Beauty,
with Love,
her
Pow'r to
Your's
prefers:
And
Wit,
and
Learning,
are, already,
Hers!
Rous'd, at her
Name,
—receding, from her
Eyes,
The gazing God rose slow, in soft Surprize!
Fair
Miracle,
he said,—and paus'd, a while:
Then, thus,—
Sweet Glory,
of your envied Isle!
Charm'd, and oblig'd, lest, we ungrateful seem,
Bear hence, at least,
One
Mark of our Esteem.
One,
of my three great Claims,
your
Wish may fit;
Whose Voice is
Musick:
and whose Thoughts are
Wit!
Physick,
alone, remains, to grant you, here—
A Skill! your godlike
Pity
will
endear.
Form'd, to give
Wounds,
which must no Ease procure,
Atone
your Influ'nce, by new Arts, to
cure.
Beauty's chief Foe, a fear'd, and fierce
Disease!
Bows, at my Beck; and knows its
God
's Decrees.
Breath'd, in this
Kiss,
take Pow'r, to tame its Rage:
And, from its Rancour,
free
the rescu'd Age.
High, o'er each Sex, in
Double
Empire, sit:
Protecting
Beauty,
and inspiring
Wit.
A Journey into
Greece
being the Subject of these Verses,
Parnassus
lay a little too directly in the Way.—I shou'd, else, have been out of Humour, that the Force of the Author's Fancy took its
Turn
from the
Pagan System:
and does
Apollo
as much Honour, as the
Lady,
who is worth a Thousand of him. But, it is an uncommon Misfortune, to her Genius,
"That the only Thing in the World, worth knowing, and not known, to
her,
is,
her own prodigious Excellence.
—So, she is neither able, nor willing, to describe it, herself; and no Verse, but her own, can soar high enough, for her Merit.—The
sweetest
of our
English Poets
has endeavour'd it with less Success, than attended any of his other Compositions: And, if a
Nameless one
has miss'd it, after him, he has, at least, this Consolation,
"That he miscarries in such Company, as it is a kind of Honour to go astray with.
I WOU'D not, however, be mistaken, in this Censure.—The Verses, I mean, abound with
Wit.
—They have only an Air of wanton Levity, that looks too merry, to be enough in Earnest, and gives the Turn of a
smiling Satire.
—Praise ought always to be
serious,
when it is address'd to the
Person prais'd,
and where the
Subject
is of Weight, and Dignity.
THERE is, I know, a
pert
Species of
Panegyrick,
which has been admir'd, in the Examples of
Balzac, Voiture,
and other
French
Writers; who, when they wou'd praise
Kings,
and
Heroes,
took 'em, ironically, to
Task:
and
chid
'em, by way of
Commendation.
—But, to speak like a PLAIN DEALER, such familiar, and smart
Encomiums
imply something like a Sense of superior Qualities, in the over-conscious Bestowers of 'em.—Some of the Verses, just now hinted at, have a little too much of the
Sportive
; but nothing of the
French Arrogance.
Then bravely, fair Dame,
Renew the old Claim,
That, to your whole Sex does belong:
And let us receive
From a second bright
Eve,
The Knowledge of
Right,
and of
Wrong.
But, if the
First Eve
Hard Doom did receive,
When only
One Apple
had She;
What a Punishment New,
Must be found out for
You,
Who have tasted, and robb'd the
whole Tree?
THIS is exquisite, and lively,
Wit!
But it is Wit of too
brisk
a Species, for the Purpose it is applied to.—If a
Barrister
shou'd take a Fancy to
dance
in his
Pleading,
wou'd the Judge admit his
Skill,
in Excuse of his
Indecorum?
—This Praise, so gayly given, wou'd have surpriz'd, like a Flash of Lightning; where, instead of being the
profess'd Subject,
it had been struck out,
unexpectedly.
—As it is, it looks like Trifling; and misrepresents the Author, as not charm'd into
Reverence
of the Worth he celebrates. It speaks him Regardless; and but half
Intent:
—and is like tripping, antickly, over a Drawing-Room, when it is prepar'd for the Steps of
Majesty.
IF ever this Remark shou'd fall in the way of that Excellent Writer, and he shou'd not, himself, think, as I do; I shall fear, I have been mistaken. But, It is the Duty of every Man, when he assumes the
Critick,
to speak frankly his Opinion, what is an
Error,
and what an
Excellence
; that his Reasons being weigh'd by the Reader's Impartiality, may contribute to produce that
Judgment,
which is the sole good End of Criticism.
BUT, to return to the Lady, from whose extensive Benevolence, we receiv'd the Art we have been speaking of;—It is a Godlight Delight, that her Reflection must be conscious of! when she considers, to whom we owe,
"That many Thousand
British Lives
will be sav'd, every Year, to the Use, and Comfort, of their Country, after a General Establishment of this Practice!"
—A
Good!
so lasting, and so vast! that none, of those wide Endowments, and deep Foundations, of
publick Charity,
which have made most Noise in the World, deserve, at all, to be compar'd with it.
SAADI,
the
Persian
Author of the Work call'd
Gulistan,
tells a Story, of three Sages;—A
Greek,
an
Indian,
and a
Persian
; who, in Presence of a King of
Persia,
debated, on this Question.
"
Which, of all Evils, was most grievous?
"
—The
Grecian
said,
Old-Age,
oppress'd with
Poverty.
—The
Indian
answer'd,
Pain,
under
Impatience.
—But the
Persian
decided it to be
Death,
without
Good Works
before it.
IF the want of
Good Works
is all, that makes
Death
Terrible, the great Bestower of the mentioned Blessing cannot fail to die, with
Chearfulness.
—It must be Impossible for her to want
Joy,
at her last Moments: But it may be fear'd, she will carry it away with her to the other World;—For
this
will be left, in
Sorrow.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 31.
— Teque his, Infaelix, Exue Monstris.
OVID.
FRIDAY,
July
6. 1724.
Good
Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
I AM a young Widow-Woman, that was bred and born in
Wapping
; and, had one of the Best of Husbands; that was Master of as good a Ship as ever us'd the
Guiney-Trade.
But he dy'd, in his last Voyage, as he was bringing Home a great
Elephant
for a
Token:
And I have taken a strange Fancy to the Beast, because he puts me in Mind of my poor Husband.—Most of our
African-Company
have been to see him; and they all agree, there is
more in him,
than in a whole Court of
Assistants.
BUT, for all he looks so big, there is no Manner of Harm in him. He is as Tame, as one of us, Women; and plays twenty clever Tricks, to make People merry, that make much of him.—One cou'dn't forbear laughing, tho' one lay a dying, to see, how the good-natur'd, clumsy, Beast will dance
Moll Peatly!
He will so catch up his Feet, and frisk round, in a small Compass; and thump the Floor, to keep Time; and move his Back-side to the Musick! and, in short, your other End o' the Town Dancing-Masters, are
no Body at all,
to him!
HE plays at
Trap-Ball,
in a Rope-Walk, by our House; and strikes out the Ball with his Snout; and is the comicalest poor Creature alive, to be sure!—A Gunner, and a Man of War's Chaplain of my Acquaintance, are, now, very busy, in teaching him to
dance upon the Ropes;
and I must needs say, he comes on, very towardly; only, he look'd a little silly, at first, and tumbled off, when they cry'd,
Jump, for the King
; and cou'dn't keep steady, for the Life of him.—He cracks Nuts, with his Nose: and makes a woeful Splutter, when he gets Loose among the Herb-Womens Apple-Baskets.—All my Neighbours love him; and tell me, that he will bring in a world of Money, if I would but
make a Show of him.
—Pray, what is your Opinion? And where-abouts, do you think, it will be best for me to
set up,
with him? In answering this you will do an Act of great Kindness, to
Your afflicted, humble Servant,
SUSAN SOFTLY.
Honourable SIR,
OBSERVING by some of your
Plain-Dealers,
that you are a great Admirer of the
Czar
of
Muscovy,
I humbly presume to acquaint you, that I am, lately, come out of his Country; and have brought with me a Commodity, call'd a
Russian Bear.
—He has shar'd very largely, in the Improvements of his Fellow Subjects; for, he can fiddle, as well as any Body; he sits bolt up on End, and holds his
Kit
in one Paw, with the Butt End against his Belly; and, with his Fiddlestick in the other Paw,
tunes it away,
after the
Italian
Manner, with his Head o' one side, all in Raptures, at his own Harmony!—It wou'd do your Heart good, to look at him, when he is splitting a Note into
Graces:
For he shakes his Nose, and his Paw, together, with such a Variety of melodious
Quavering,
that his
Ear
must be confess'd as
delicate,
as if he had been a
Subscriber
to the
Opera.
BUT, there is one Thing, that I take to be a very particular Happiness to him! He looks, when he is Grave, for all the World, like that Ingenious
Swiss
Gentleman, that has so many diverting Fancies, to get Money, by making Ladies, and Gentlemen, merry together. If they were to be dress'd both alike, I am confident there wou'd be no knowing 'em asunder. May be, that may go a great Way, toward making the poor Thing's Fortune.—I have him, here in Town, but he is out of Business, at present, so, if you cou'd but be so kind as to put him in some Way of Preferment, he shall wait on you, where you please; and entertain you with a
Sample Lesson:
Which is all, that offers, at this Time from, Honourable SIR,
Yours to Command,
JONAS QUEER.
I TACK this extraordinary Pair of
Epistles
together, because of a manifest Resemblance in their Contents; and, for that I am desirous to promote a
Union
between Mrs.
Softly,
and Mr.
Queer.
—Their
Beasts,
at least, if not themselves, must be subscribed into a
Joint-Stock,
for the better carrying on of their Trade.—They may afterwards debate, at Leisure, concerning the
Incorporation
of their
Persons.
But, certain it is, that two Animal Artists, of such Sagacity, as both the
African,
and the
Russian
Stranger, cou'd never have honour'd
London
with their Residence, at a properer Time than this: Or, with a fairer Promise, for their own Benefit.
SOME
Statesmen,
who look
deep
into National Consequences; and discern at a Distance, the Fate of
Mightiness,
and
Ministry,
have pretended to foresee the sudden Downfall of
Opera
!—Who knows, if such a melancholy Revolution shou'd befall the Polite World; but these two, qualify'd, Performers, may take Possession of that deserted Theatre; and, under the Auspices of so noble, and so unanimous, a Board of Directors, out-do, even the surprizing Things, which have already been heard, and seen, there!
OR, suppose, it were,
yet, a Winter,
before the
Haymarket
will be in a Condition to receive them: They cannot fail, in the mean Time, to meet with more than reasonable Encouragement, if they but apply themselves to the Managers, of either of our Theatres: In one, of which, they labour under such a want of good Actors, that two such accomplish'd Comedians (having the Advantage, too, of being
foreign
Ones!) may, certainly, make their own Terms, if they are inclinable to
strengthen the Youngest Company:
Or, if Fortune, against her usual Custom, most propitious to her old Favourites, shou'd dispose their Choice another Way; they may be entertain'd, as
Friends,
and
Allies,
upon the Foot of well-paid Subsidies; the Commanding Officers, of those
Veterans,
entering, lately, with much Vivacity upon New Plans of Action, which fall, immediately, within the Genius of our fourfooted
Virtuoso
's.
HAVING barely touch'd this Hint for the Service of my Correspondents, who are Persons, of great Parts and Industry; I come now to say a Word or two, in my own Person, to the Stages.
MUCH of the Summer is, yet, before us; and
Winter,
being the Season of our Theatrical Campaigning, I shall prepare myself against that Time, to take the Field, at their first Marching: and move, with one, or other of the Bodies, during the whole Course of their Operations. My Readers may then, expect to be entertain'd, from my private Journal, with the Good, or Bad, Discipline, of both Armies: and the Personal Conduct of their Generals, in the Exercises, Evolutions, Sallies, Stratagems, or Engagements, they shall, at any Time be concern'd in.—Let 'em therefore stand
warn'd:
and assure themselves, that I shall animadvert on their Behaviour, with a Frankness, they have been little us'd to; and lay 'em Open, like a PLAIN DEALER.
BUT, to enter on another Subject, I have receiv'd several Letters, from the Female Part of my Care, to complain of my
Odious Title,
(so they call it!) of PLAIN DEALER.—They had
heard of me, it seems, but did not dream I had any Thing in me.—They took my Business to have been Politicks.—They little thought me the Man they find me.—Instead of Humour, and Wit, they look'd for Bluntness, and Malice, from a surly, old, Fellow, that was setting himself up for a Cynick,
—with a great deal more, to the same Purpose. But one arch Flirt, among the Rest, is for
forcing
me to
declare
myself, that People may
know, what to make of me.
She is at a Loss how to think, or what to say, of my Papers; and can neither
like,
nor
dislike,
with any Manner of
Certainty,
till she hears, whether I am a
Whig,
or a
Tory?
—She adds, in a Postscript,
"That, perhaps, I may think indifferently of
both,
and pretend to an Impudent
Neutrality,
like the Old Grasier, in our Civil Wars: who, when he was met, on the Road, by Either of the opposite Parties, and ask'd:
For King? Or for Parliament?
told 'em.—
For Neither: 'till both were wiser.
THE
Hotheads,
and
Testimonies,
of this present Generation, think it a Disgrace to their Vivacity, not to be as briskly in the Wrong, as their Ancestors. And I pity, very heartily, the Condition of the King's poor Subject, who has sent me the following Letter.
Master
PLAIN DEALER,
I WISH you wou'd lend me but one Lash, or two, of your PLAIN DEALING, for some Folks, in Red-Coats, and Others, in no Coats at all: For, if Things go on, as they stand now, an honest Man won't be able to travel the Road,
pro,
and
con,
for a Set of silly Busy-Bodies, that must be medling with us, about Things, that we have other Matters to do, than to think of. For, you must know, Master
Plain-Dealer,
if you please, That I drive a peaceable Waggon, of my own; and have done so, these Thirty Years, without being molested in my Calling: till now lately, that a Pack of strange People have got a Whim into their Heads,
to make us Englishmen, all of one Mind:
—But, if ever they bring it about, I will be hang'd, for 'em.
ABOUT Six a Clock, in the Morning on the
Nine and Twentieth Day of
May
last,
I, and my Waggon, were met, near a Wood-Side, by a Knot, of fifty, or sixty, roaring Fellows, stuck all over with
Oaken Boughs
; and loaded with Branches of the same.—They stopt me, in the Road, to know,
Whether I lov'd the Memory of King
Charles
the Second.
—I said,
Yes, with all my Soul.
—At that Word, they fell a dancing, and set up a loud
Huzzaing:
waving their Hats, and their Boughs, till my Team became frighted, and took 'em all to be bewitch'd, and was within a Hair's Breadth of running away with my Waggon. Then, they handed me a two Quart Brandy-Bottle; and bid me drink a Dram,
To the Glorious Memory of the Restoration:
And, as soon as I had got it down, they gave a great Shout, again, stuck my Horses, and my Waggon, all over with Green Boughs; said, I was a
very honest Fellow:
and had a
Heart of English Oak.
And, so, we parted, with much Ceremony, and Satisfaction, on both Sides.
BUT, before Eleven, the same Day, as I was driving into a Town, where my Waggon was to
Dine,
there came up, in a great Rage, seven or eight of the Troopers, that were quarter'd there; and ask'd me,
What I bush'd out my Horses for?
I told 'em,
To drive Flies away:
But they said I was a
Jacobite Rascal,
—that my
Horses
were guilty of
High-Treason
; and my Waggon ought to be
hang'd.
—I answer'd, That it was already
drawn
; and within a Yard or two, of being
Quarter'd
; but as to being hang'd, It was a Compliment, we had no Occasion for, and therefore desir'd them to take it back again, and keep it in their own Hands, 'till they had an Opportunity to make Use of it:—I had no sooner spoke these Words, but they fell upon me, like Thunder, stript my Cattle in a Twinkling; and beat me black and blue, with my own Oaken Branches.
THIS went off, and I thought no more of it: 'till the
Tenth Day of
June
came.
I was then Inn'd in
London
; and, from where my Waggon lay, in
Holborn,
I went to
Soho Square,
to deliver a little Parcel, that I had brought up, for my Landlord's Lady.—She order'd, That I should have as much Strong Beer, as I cou'd drink, and that I should drink a Health to
her Inclinations.
—She smil'd at me, and was so kind, as to give me, out of her own Hand, a fine
Nosegay of White Roses.
I was very proud of my Nosegay, for my Lady's Sake, that had given it me: And went along the Street smelling to it, thinking all the Way as I walk'd, How pretty it looks in your
Gentry,
to be so free and good-natur'd with a poor Man, as I am: When, all of a sudden, a Scarecrow, lean Man, in a fine lac'd Coat, snatch'd it out of my Hand, and another Gentleman in red, who was along with Him, lent me a Cut cross the Shoulders, with a cursed smarting Cane, and told me,—That he would teach such a dirty Dog, as I was, to be smelling to
Tory Roses.
IF I could have got one of these fine Fellows all alone with me, in my Waggon, I shou'd have made him
know his Driver.
—But as it was, I thought it best to shew him a good Pair of Heels for it.—Which of us might have
run
fastest, in a fair Field of Battle, I can but give a guess at.—Upon this Occasion, it was
my
Luck to be nimblest, and outstrip Both of 'em.—I don't know, for my Part, what to make of all these Doings. They are strange Times we live in; and as I love to be musing, when I have nothing else to do, methinks, very often, as I travel along the Road, from one End of the Kingdom to another, and find the People of such different Notions, I fancy my Waggon and I are moving upon a Draft Board;
Old England
is turn'd
Checquer Work,
and mix'd Black and White all over. So, wishing Things wou'd mend, I rest,
Master
PLAIN DEALER,
Your humble Servant to Command,
RALPH DOBBYN.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 32
Verane te facies? Verus mihi nuncius affers?
Vivo equidem, vitamque extrema per omnia duco:
Ne dubita, nam vera vides.
VIR.
Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse Supremum;
Grata superveniet, quae non sperabitur, hora.
FRIDAY,
July
10. 1724.
I MADE a Visit, the other Day, to a Gentleman, who has a Country-House, near
London
; and, while we refresh'd ourselves with a Social Glass, in a Summer Bower, which he has rais'd above the Corner of his Garden-Wall, I observ'd him to fix his Eyes, with much Attention, on the Gate of a stately Building, that stood on the opposite Side of the Road.—The Mistress, said he, of that fine House, has been charming me, all this Morning, in a Poem, which was written, in Praise of her Extraordinary Beauty, by a very celebrated,
English,
Genius.—The warm, and lively, Imagination of the Poet has plac'd her exactly before me! I feel, methinks, the Influence of her Eyes! I am inchanted, by her Air and Movement!—But I lose my self in Rapture, while I seem to gaze upon that Spring of Youth, which he describes with so much Wantonness! That
living, thinking,
Bloom! that quickens her soft Languor; and adds Health, and Joy, to Loveliness.—But, see!—Look yonder! The very Charmer comes, This! this! is she: This gay, young, wish'd, ador'd dear Master-piece of Nature; whom I have been reading of, with so much Transport.
I STARTED up, in great Amazement; and, inflam'd by eager Curiosity, look'd out, to see this Prodigy.—But I beheld no other than a thin, wither'd, stooping, old Lady; whom Two Servants, with much seeming Difficulty, supported; and were leading along, between them, toward a Coach, that waited for her, at the Gate. Her Head, and both her Hands, shook, strongly, with the Palsey; but every other Part seem'd motionless, and quite insensible.—I sigh'd at the Appearance of so mortifying an Object! And recall'd my Eyes, from aking at it, to fix 'em, reproachfully, upon my Friend, for his ill-pointed Levity, in sporting with the Weakness, and Misery of Human Nature.—Yet
This,
said he,
was once,
so chang'd as we now see her! that Divine! that Godlike! that resistless Miracle! whom, to contemplate, in
Dryden
's warm Description of her Influence, when the Hearts of a gay Monarch, and a Court of Rival Lovers, were the Trophies of her Beauty,
Who
cou'd think, that Time wou'd thus reduce her, to a
Contradiction
of all those flourishing Attractions; which, though perish'd in the chang'd Original, will bloom, for ever, in the Poet's Picture.
I PROTEST, the sudden Shock, which this malicious Artfulness of my good Friend's Morality surpriz'd and struck me with, quite damp'd, and overwhelm'd my Chearfulness.—I sicken'd, at this
too near
and
naked
View of Life, without its
Palliatives.
—I resolv'd to drink no more.—Your Wine, said I, has lost its Relish, and your Society is grown insipid; from the tingling Thoughts which you have fill'd me with.—So, rising for my Hat and Gloves, I took my Leave abruptly, and walk'd homeward, cross the Fields, oppress'd with musing Melancholy.
I have not, to this Moment, lost the Weight of its Oppression; and shall never cease to wonder, That the
Young
reflect so seldom on the Shortness of their Spring, when yet the
Old
are always near us; and the
Younger
coming up behind, to push us forward into Winter.—It was a sharp and startling Answer,
That
of the
Armenian
Beggar, who, leaning double on his Staff, was ask'd by a young jesting Coxcomb, How much that
Bow
had cost him? For I wou'd be glad, said he, to buy one—
Have Patience,
answer'd the old Man,
and, if God prolongs your Life, you will have as good a one for nothing.
THERE is but one Thing Here, that can deserve our constant Thoughts, and that is the very Thing, which we most hate to think of! —What ought, so frequently, to busy our Remembrance, as the only sure, and unavoidable common Lot of ALL who ever liv'd, who now do live; or who shall live hereafter?—Where are, now,
Times past?
—We toil, and strive, and labour on, through Life, as if
to live
were our chief Business! Unmindful, all the while, what empty Shadows we are grasping at; and for how short a Time, and how uncertainly they can be Ours, when we have gain'd them. What is become of all those busy Bustlers, who have liv'd and died before us? Are they not vanished, and forgotten? They have made their Way thro' Life, as an Eagle does through Air; and their Path is clos'd up after them; nor have they left a Track to follow by.
TIME is the greatest of all
Deceivers
; but deceives us, without
flattering
us.—It has a Tongue in every Steeple; and points its Finger to the Dial's Shadow, to alarm and give us Notice. But we neglect its hourly Summons; we trust its gentle Pace, against the Harshness of its Warning. Yet, were we wise, we should think Time a smooth, but precipitate Current, that carries us down to Death, whether we are bound thither, or no: And
He
will, always, have the roughest Passage, who, instead of gliding quietly, will be struggling to swim against it.
LIFE has nothing, that is truly desirable, but the Presence of those we love; yet this, of all its Pleasures, is most precarious and unstable.—Are we charm'd by the Power of
Beauty?
Let us learn from such an Object, as the once blooming Lady, whom I have been speaking of, that it is a false and fluid Prospect.—It is chang'd since Yesterday; and will be further chang'd, To-morrow.—
All,
that is
Ours,
is mutable. We still, indeed,
live on
; but we are no longer what we have been, nor can we continue what we are. Though the River is still known by its old Name, its Waters, To-day, are not the same Waters that were Yesterday. Not our Blood alone is flowing, and in constant Motion; our Faces, Strength, Health, Comforts, Fears, Joys, Miseries, and Dangers, all move and mix us in one Gulph,
Eternity!
I KNOW nothing so
ridiculous,
as what is call'd being
serious:
nor is any thing more
idle,
than what we usually term
Business.
—We wou'd be
fortunate, lov'd, fear'd, great,
every thing, but what we
shou'd be:
—For, whoever, in this Life, proposes to be compleatly happy, hopes to build, like the Men of
Babel
; and wou'd raise a Pile,
as high as Heaven,
without Foundation to erect it on. The World is too narrow to allow Dimensions for a
Basis,
where the wild-intended Height is so unproportionably extravagant.
The
Mahometans,
who affect, after the ancient Manner of the
Eastern
Writers, to express their Moral Doctrine, in a kind of proverbial Chain of Parallels; say, there are
six
Things which a wise Man will ground no Hopes on:—The Colour of a Cloud, because imaginary. The Friendship of the Covetous, because mercenary. The Love of Women, because inconstant. Beauty, because frail. Praise, because airy: And, the Pleasures of this World, because deceitful.
IT is equally to be wonder'd at, since Life is so little valuable, and Death so certain, and unavoidable,
"That we should be so unreasonably fond of the One; and, so fruitlessly afraid of the Other."
There is no Harbour on this Side
Death:
And, the nearer we approach to those shining Follies, which we pursue with such dangerous Eagerness, the more we multiply our Cares, and distract and weary our own Purposes. The whole Earth is not broad enough for two proud Fools to quarrel in! whereas
Death
is the End of Contest, the weary Man's Repose, the great Man's Glory, the sick Man's Health, the poor Man's Comfort; and a Shelter against Wrongs and Misery.
SINCE a Traveller can enjoy Pleasure, by often thinking on his Journey's End, while he is yet but upon the Road toward it; why might not Death be made familiar to us, and disrob'd of its false Terrors, by accustoming ourselves to look out for it? To acquaint our selves with it, at a Distance, during our Journey, through Life to it? Life is, properly, a Journey; but differs from our other Journeys, of less Consequence, in this surprizing Particular,
"That we are travelling as fast, while we are sleeping, and intend no Progress; as, when we are awake, and know we are moving.
LIFE, then, being a Journey, Death, I think, may be consider'd as an
Inn
at the
Land's End:
And, since the Traveller, when he comes thither, is still oblig'd to go farther; and must set out for Discoveries, upon a deep and unknown Ocean; if he takes not along with him, fit Provisions for his Voyage, he must be either a Fool or a Madman.
THE Difference between the
Great
Man, and the
Good
Man, is never so plainly seen as when they, both, come to
die.
Then, the one shuts his Eyes; and steps, trembling, and in the Dark, into the Dreadfulness of Uncertainty: While the other smiles, with Joy, upon the Enlargement of his opening Prospect; and comes, out of a miry Labyrinth, into Day-light, and a boundless
Champian!
—I sometimes take Pleasure to consider the Birth of Man, as a Commitment of his Soul to Prison; where, during the Life of the Body, it is chain'd short, and can move but a creeping Pace; and in limited and dusky Stages. But, it is set free, and unfetter'd, by Death, and, at one Spring, reaches Heaven.—Such Discharge is, to the Soul, what Light is, to the Eye; when it opens Colours, and Objects, which before, were conceal'd in Darkness.
Thus, then, when it is said, we
die,
we are rather
born
into real Being; we are infranchis'd, by the Grant of Death, and incorporated among the Millions upon Millions, who have died before us. Those we leave, are a Number, very small and inconsiderable, in Comparison with those we go to. The Patriarchs, the Prophets, the Apostles, the heroick Conquerors, the shining Poets of Antiquity, and the whole, assembled Congress, of long-known and glorious, Characters, who have flourish'd, from the World's Creation, are to be the Company, to whose familiar Converse
Death
will introduce us.—And, that we may add one charming Hope, to warm and sweeten, all the rest!
There,
too, we shall, perhaps, embrace, and be restor'd to, those lost Friends, we lov'd, most dearly: and whom we never more expected to have met with.
BUT, I will, now, relieve my Readers from the Severity of these Reflections, by entertaining them with a Copy of Verses; which, I am assur'd, were, really, written to a Lady, eminent for her Wit, and Beauty: by a Gentleman, who thought it no Disgrace to her Loveliness, to mix his Admiration of it, with the Memory, that she was mortal.
To
CLELIA,
in the
COUNTRY.
On the pulling down St.
Martin
's Church.
WHILE from the noisy Crowd, you lean, retir'd,
In silent Shades, by Love of Thought inspir'd,
I, vex'd by varied Cares, to Business chain'd,
Mourn'd your lost Converse, and in Town remain'd.
Dark, as the Midnight World, your Sunshine gone,
Guideless, in sullen Gloom, I wander'd on.
Passion's wild Influence ebb'd, and flow'd, my Mind;
As Seas drive diff'rent, with the changing Wind.
But, to what Point soe'er my Will was bound,
In vain I turn'd th'unresting Compass round:
Doubtful, a while, the wav'ring Needle hung;
Then, trembling, backward to your Image sprung.
Pensive, I view'd a Sacred Pile, of late,
Which falls, like Man, to rise in nobler State.
The Doors, thrown wide, it seem'd
unveil'd
to lie:
And rev'rend Ruin struck my startled Eye!
Ent'ring, amidst the busy Hammers Sound,
I saw Time's dusty Trophies scatter'd round.
Each violated Pillar stood, bedew'd;
And wept, in solemn Grief, a Fate so rude.
From Tombs, by Force disjoin'd, reluctant Stones
Roll'd, mix'd with Clouds of Dust, and human Bones.
From faithless Walls, defac'd Inscriptions fled:
And to long Night consign'd the nameless Dead.
The Pews pale Squares, in their whole lengthen'd Row,
Gave Way, and open'd a sad Scene, below!
Beauty, Youth, Wealth, and Pow'r, reduc'd to Clay,
Larded with Bones, yet moist, unshelter'd, lay.
Remnants of Eyeless Skulls, with concave Stare,
Mock'd the proud Looks, which living Charmers wear.
Coffins rose, broke, unfaithful to their Trust!
And Flesh flew round me, in unjointed Dust.
Scarce a short Span, beneath that op'ning Floor,
Where kneeling Charmers
pray'd,
the Week before;
Where Forms, like Yours! rejoic'd th' admiring Eye,
Forms, once, like Yours! in naked Atoms, lie.
O! Fate of failing Life! O! flatt'ring, Dream!
What wintry Sunshine is Thy shadowy Gleam!
Thus, while I mus'd, Thy Soul approach'd my Ear:
Thy soft-wing'd Soul! that, always, hovers near.
See'st Thou, it sigh'd, How these sad Relicks lie!
And do'st Thou fear, that
CLELIA
thus can die?
No, she's
All Mind:
and Her immortal Name,
Eluding Death's short Reach, shall tread on Fame.
Tongues, yet unthought-of,
CLELIA
shall adorn,
And charm adoring Nations, yet unborn.
Heroes, at whose Resolves the World will shake,
Shall treat thy Sex with Rev'rence, for thy Sake:
And each fair Tyrant, who wou'd
Empress
be,
Form but
One
Wish—
"
To Think, and Look, like Thee.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 33.
Ostendit Tibi Te. —
HOR.
MONDAY,
July
13. 1724.
AMONG some extraordinary Epistles, which have been lately sent me, I had the Honour to receive the following, from the Right Worshipful Mr. Alderman
Blunder:
But, not thinking fit to reply to it, explicitely, I have only taken it,
Ad Referendum,
as our good Neighbours, the
Dutch States,
receive Petitions, which they find themselves inclinable to answer with the political Eloquence of
saying nothing.
SIR,
I, And Mr.
Weathercock,
were at a Tavern, with
Ned Volatile;
who may have
Wit,
for any thing I know to the contrary: But, as for
Money,
I dare be positive, that the first Time he saves
Six-pence,
will be when he has but a
Groat
in his Pocket. And yet this extravagant young Fellow (as I have lately been well inform'd) has the underhand Impudence to
make Love to my Daughter
!—A Whim took him, while we were merry together, that he must set himself, forsooth, to
Scribbling.
—Presently, it comes into my Head, that he was writing a Love-Letter to my Daughter: And so, pretending to mind nothing but Talking, I lean'd back in my Chair, and overlook'd what he was doing.—But, as if the young Rogue had had Eyes in his Elbows, he broke off what he had begun, and writ, thus, in a new Place.—
If an impertinent Old Fellow, that sits by me, did not overlook what I am writing, I should have told you a pleasant Secret
—I let him alone, as far as this; but, then, being thoroughly provok'd, at his calling me Names, I told him roundly,
That he was a Lyar, and an unmannerly young Coxcomb, to pretend to write Folks
Word, that I overlook'd his Letter, when I had not so much as seen a single Word he had been writing.
—The only Answer he gave me, was, to laugh till he tumbled out of his Chair. But I wou'd have him to know, that this is no laughing Matter. Mr.
Weathercock
says, he is in the
Wrong:
But, that he was in the
Right
of it too. I don't much like this Decision, because I can't tell what to make of it; so I resolv'd to refer it to you; and, pray tell the pert young Jackanapes
his own:
which is the Needful.
I rest, Yours to serve you,
HABAKKUK BLUNDER.
P.S.
Mr.
Thomas Tiresome
has something to say, which he will write, by the same Hand.
Worthy SIR,
MY good Friend, the Alderman, saying, he was to write to you upon extraordinary Business, makes me lay hold on this Opportunity, to ask a little of your wise Advice, what I shall do with the Sum of Twelve Hundred and Ninety Three Pounds Sterling, which are come back upon my Hands, by selling out my
India Stock,
very seasonably, upon this melancholy Story, that is whisper'd about, so cautiously, concerning the
Great Mogul
's entering into an Alliance against Prince
Tockmas,
and the
Czar
of Muscovy?
—My Broker is for
South-Sea Dipping:
Because, now, says he, it is Low-Water, in those Parts, and the Danger of Drowning not half so great, as it was formerly. But, I believe, I shall stay, till their New House is quite finish'd; and, then, perhaps, I may, for any thing I see to the contrary, stay still a little longer: For the young King of
Spain
seems to have more in his Head than ordinary. They say he is
angry with the Irish
already, because of the Bustle they made at
Cadiz
lately; and, if the
next he falls out with
shou'd be the
English, South-Sea
will go near to pinch for it.—Besides, who can tell (you know) what may happen, upon the Choice of this
New Pope?
He won't let People wear good Cloaths: And, some of our publick Prints say, that he is so horribly covetous, that he makes the Cardinals go bald-headed, to save the Charge of buying Perriwigs! Pray, what can be his Meaning, in all this, but only to ruin the
Protestant In-Interest,
and make
Stocks fall,
to destroy
Trade,
in downright Spite to
Old England?
The poor Bays-Makers, at
Colchester,
seem to suffer for it, already: And the Weavers that are
Up,
about
Columpton,
have much ado to be kept
Quiet
at it!—Then, again, What could the
French King
mean, by calling home the
Marshal de Villeroy?
I make no Doubt, but there is some Mischief in
that
too.—In short, while Things stand in this ticklish Posture, a wary Man will think twice, before he runs into the
Stocks.
—Indeed, if the King of
Prussia
should come over, there might be some Reason for venturing: But, as it is, I am afraid, I must lay out my Money in
Lottery Tickets:
For, when all comes to all,
that
is the only
absolute Certainty.
—Knowing you to be a long-headed Man, would be glad to have your Opinion, in a Matter of such extraordinary Difficulty.
Your Friend,
THOMAS TIRESOME.
Mr.
PLAIN DEALER,
I AM a good agreeable young Woman, of a very
Loyal
Family: and have a most mortal Aversion for a
Roundhead.
It gives me no small Pain to observe how fast they increase, in this present Generation. Pray, make publick Proclamation, in the Name of
Us our ownself,
and many Hundred unsubscribing,
Spinsters, who adhere to our Opinion,
"That a Fat, Chubby Face, with a Short, Thick Neck, and Broad, Big Shoulders, were never made for
Nightcap Perriwigs,
of the New, Scarecrow Model! that shew the
Ears
a little of the
Longest:
but all the rest of the Head, as
Round,
and as
Empty,
as a Cypher."
—Give the
Great
O's this Hint, from
Your humble Servant,
ARAMINTA SQUEAMISH.
Old
PLEASANT ONES,
THIS comes to acquaint you, That my dear Spouse is taken sick, of a sudden, and stands in need, to the utmost Degree, of that Experience in
Mind-Midwifery,
which you gave out Bills about, in your XXVIIth Paper.—Pray, let Doctor
Jyngle
be sent for, immediately: And beg him to come away, whether his Chariot is brought home or no.—We must have him, though he comes in a Wheel-barrow.—The Bearer knows how to bring him: And, pray, let his
Emetics
be such as will work deep, and fetch up
Choler,
as well as
Flegm.
—Rageing
Jealousy
is the Distemper: And, if the
Bitter,
and
Green,
and
Yellow,
that lie as low as my poor
Fubsy
's Heart, is not, all, brought away by it, he had e'en as good
give her a Caudle.
BUT, unless Doctor
Jyngle
has better Physick, for sick Minds, than those
Poetical Pills,
which you prescribe, out of the
Classical Dispensatory,
I shall have little Faith in his
Modus
of
Practising.
—I have try'd, to no Purpose, an admirable
Modern Doctor,
who has given us finer
Recipe's
of that Kind, for Cure of either the Hot or Cold Fits of
Jealousy,
than the whole College of your
Ancients, Greeks,
and
Romans,
put together.—I love him at my Heart, and have most of his Lectures
without Book.
And, I am sure, he is profoundly skill'd in my dear Love's Distemper, by this feeling Force, with which he speaks of it:
Oh, Jealousy!—All other Storms are
Calms
To
Thee!
—Thou
Conflagration
of the Soul!
THAT Word
Conflagration,
is the very Picture of my
Fubsy
's Symptoms!—I had prepared, from the Salutary Works of this learned Gentleman, a healing
Linctus,
that I thought infallible, if my afflicted Deary cou'd be persuaded but to apply her Tongue to it now and then, in order to dulcify her picquant Palate, when the acid Particles should rise too vehemently. I had got it ready written, upon a Sheet of her own gilt Paper; and the last Time she was taken, I gave it kindly into her Hands, and desired her to apply it moderately. She look'd it over, with great Composure; and I began to conceive such Hope, that I took up an untasted
Sillabub,
that had just been set before us, and intreated her, if the Physick was too bitter, that she would wash down the Taste of it, with a Sip or two of that emollient Sweetner. But the Spout was no sooner within a Foot of her pretty Lips, when the
Conflagration,
abovemention'd, blaz'd out at both her Eyes; and, with a frightful flaming Face, she tore the
Recipe
in a thousand Pieces; and burnt so strong, and so outragiously, that, fearing I should be scorch'd as she flew toward me, and not being, just then, provided with one of Mr.
Godfrey
's
Chymical Extinguishers,
I had no Way left to quench the Fire, but by Affusion of my
Sillabub
; which, very fortunately,
put her out,
by the Copiousness of its Adhesion. But I was so frighted at the Ebullition that ensued immediately upon it, that I ran away as fast as I was able; having left her a good deal cool'd, and in a fair Way to be extinguish'd.
I THOUGHT it proper to give you this Intelligence, how far I have fail'd, that Doctor
Jyngle
may come, prepar'd, with more powerful, and searching Remedies.—Let him make but a thorough Cure, and I'll warrant him we do his Business. There are Nine-and-Thirty Ladies of Quality, of my
Fubsy
's particular Acquaintance, who are All down, at this very Time, of the self-same Distemper; and All taken, too, with the
Conflagration,
exactly as she, herself, is. He shall never want good Patients, if his
Emeticks
but go to the Bottom.—I am, in no small Impatience,
Dear
PLEASANT ONES,
Thine, most Expectantly,
GREGORY DINGLE,
Knight.
Oxford,
July
1, 1724.
Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
I HAVE a wonderful Piece of News for you; and desire, that you will apprize the World, That
Wit
may be
worth something,
when a little
Good Fortune
goes along with it.—My
Muse
was so long my
Mistress,
that I began to grow weary of her; and she has been so kind, in the very Nick, as to help me to a
Wise.
—I had been in Love above three Years, and never got three good Words from the dear Tyrant; 'till I went a Fishing with her, one hot Evening, in the Middle of last Month.—She delighted much in Angling, out of an old Summer-House, over a River, that makes part of her own Royalty.—Upon these Occasions, you must know, I was always her
Humble Trout
; and it was my Business to bait her Hooks, and sit, and read to her while she watch'd her Fishing Rods. But, that happy Evening, abovemention'd, I had, upon a Hint out of Doctor
Donne,
compos'd three little
Stanza's
; and, hiding the Paper they were waitten in, betwixt the Leaves of one of the Volumes of
Dryden
's
Miscellanies,
I read her the Title, and Verses, as if they had been part of the Printed Collection.
To a
LADY,
who lov'd
ANGLING.
SOme, by the bending Reed's slow Aid,
May boast th' unwary Fish betray'd:
Others may finny Shoals beset,
And sweep 'em with the treach'rous Net.
But, why shou'd
SYLVIA
use Deceit,
Who is, herself, her own best Bait?
Step but, undress'd, within the Brook,
And smile at every needless Hook:
Each willing Fish will round thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
Or, if one Fish, uncaught, goes by,
That Fish is Wiser, far than I!
She was taken with 'em, as I cou'd wish; and, without dreaming that they were mine, cry'd out, to hear 'em again; for nothing, sure! was ever so pretty: But, observing me very careful to conceal the Inside of the Book, she snatch'd it out of my Hand; and, discovering her Mistake, blush'd, and cry'd
Pish
!—and look'd most charmingly silly!—But, in short, my Bait took so well, that I have now got her on a Hook, that she is never like to slip off from, 'till one of us has done with Fishing in
this
World; which has at present, no happier Creature in it, than
Your most fortunate Humble Servant,
PETER TROUT.
SIR,
IT is said, that
England,
within this last Century, is grown Richer, and more Potent, beyond Comparison, than in the Days of our Forefathers. I verily believe, it is so: Because the Increase of Rank Weeds is a natural Indication of Strength in the Soil that breeds them. I was reading, the other Day, That in the Reign of King
Edward
the Second, the Number of
Attorneys
was limitted;
and one hundred and forty declar'd sufficient, to serve the whole Kingdom!
WHAT a Surplusage of rapacious Claws has this Nation then to spare, if we were dispos'd to cut our Nails, and send the Parings to our Neighbours!—Put the Case, Mr.
Plain-Dealer,
That yout Friend, the
Czar of Russia,
were to borrow thirty or forty thousand of our
Inns o'Court Labourers,
to help his own clumsy Subjects, in Digging that Canal, for joining the two great Rivers you were mentioning? I can but smile to think, how happy they wou'd make him!—Let his Rivers be never so distant, they will bring 'em together by the Ears; and work away every Inch of the firm Ground between them.—You can't think, what an admirable Talent they have at your
Dirty Work
: for, where-ever they find a Hole, they never leave it, 'till it is past stopping.—So, pray, use your Interest, to procure a Transportation in that Monarch's Favour, of these
Root-and-Branch Pioneers
; for 'tis Pity, so great a Prince shou'd want an Assistance that we cou'd lend him, without doing ourselves the least Hurt by it. I am,
Yours, as far as is left of me,
GOOSE FEATHERLESS.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 34.
Notus in fratres animi paterni.
HOR.
FRIDAY,
July
17. 1724.
I NEVER wak'd in more Harmony, and Composure of Mind, than I did Yesterday Morning; when, rising chearfully, with my Spirits more diffused than ordinary, I visited my Friend the
Major,
whose Face, as often as I see it, makes me happier than I was before. From his firm, and steady Temper, I learn to break the Force of my Disappointments, by the Patience with which I receive them: And I am taught, by his Generosity, to feel the Weight of no Misfortunes, but those which oppress my Friends, whom I love, without being able to comfort.—When I see this Gentleman despising, and even adorning himself by, his Afflictions, I am ashamed to have ever murmured, or considered my own as burthensome.
I FOUND this faithful Friend reading one of my printed Papers, and entertaining his little Family, with all the Chearfulness of the Fortunate.—He rose, and received me, smiling. I have been Reasoning away some Pain, said he, by the Influence of your PLAIN DEALER. How powerful are your Thoughts? And how happy am I in your Friendship? What a Force of Delight comes with the Praise of those we love? It is Musick to the Mind, and our Cares dissolve before it.
THE generous Fulness of his Heart, was prepared to say much more, if I had not interrupted him, by proposing a Walk into the Fields.—It was one of those sweet, sunless Days, when, though no Place was shelter'd, yet every Place would be shady. We had wander'd, without designing it, 'till we found ourselves by
Chelsea-College.
The Grandeur, Use, and Beauty of that Building, charm'd us into a short Silence, which the
Major
broke agreeably, by these apt, and just, Reflections.
THOUGH
Charity
is last in Rank, when we name the three great Virtues, it stands first, methinks, in Dignity; for it seems to include the others. There may be
Faith,
and
Hope,
where there is no
Charity
; but there can be no
Charity
without
both.
It imploys
Faith
in the easy Credit which it allows to affirm'd and rational Appearances: And it applies
Hope
to its own, and others Benefit, by indulging an Expectation, that all that is amiss, will mend; and Ills produce good Consequences. The common Notion of this Virtue, centers in a contracted Beneficence toward the Support of the Poor and Needy: And that, too, for the most Part, when the Bestower has no longer the Power of enjoying what he parts with. Whereas
Charity,
in its noblest Sense, requires a Return of
good Offices,
to the very Malice that oppresses us: For, it teaches us not only to
act well,
but also to
think generously.
—It banishes from the human Soul, all its sordid Affections; All Partiality to our own Interests; All Attachment to our own Opinions; All Jealousies, and low Suspicions, concerning the Designs, Words, and Actions, of those we hear of, or converse with. It is, in short, the great Refiner, and Ennobler of the Mind: It swells the Heart with Pity, Friendship, Justice, Pardon, Openness, and Magnanimity; And stifles the inward Struglings of Self-preference, Revenge, Distrust, Pride, Avarice, and Ignorance.
THOUGH it is certain, answered I, That
Charity,
at full Extent, is no less than you describe her; yet, even in the Sense most limitted, her Influence is sweet, and amiable. How wretched would many Thousands be, through want of the most common Comforts, if Ostentation did not borrow the white Robe of Charity, to disguise her Pride of Heart, in the Appearance of Humility! And if the Miser, on the Brink of Life, did not fill his trembling Hands with Benefits, that bless the Destitute as effectually, as if his Will, and not his Penitence, had urged him to bestow them!
HOW many want the Pity, which even an Hospital can give them? How many return hungry, cold, weary, disappointed, and despairing, to their famish'd, and unfriended Children? What double Death would it be to an unhoping, wanting Husband, to see the Breast of a lov'd Wife dry'd up with killing Want; and a dying Infant held, in vain, to her insensible, exhausted Bosom?—I know, you feel not that you can be miserable, 'till you think of the
more miserable:
And I should not, therefore, haunt so apprehensive a Reflection, with Apparitions of imagined Sorrow. But, how frequent would such Lots become, if not prevented by the
late,
indeed, yet always
welcome,
Bounty, of those Founders, even of our common Houses of Compassion? Our Monuments of Death-Bed Bribery! to which, for the Example's sake,
This
World allows the Name of Charity!
IT has been remarked, but, I hope, it was unjustly, That the Charity of Women is much narrower than that of Men.—If this is true, it is an Accident which must be owing to some Error in their Education; for Nature meant it otherwise, and soften'd their tender Minds, to fit them for Impressions of a mild, and pitying Quality.—In all the Sculptures, and fine Paintings of Antiquity, we see Charity represented as a smiling
Woman,
to shew, it is the
Sex's Virtue
; and, that Sweetness, Grace, and Bounty, should adorn a Lady's Loveliness.—When I see a Woman fortunate, yet narrow-minded, and unmerciful, I look with Scorn upon her Beauty, and think most upon the Dross it covers. I grow angry at beholding such a gay and gilded Sepulchre, and turn my Eyes from her shining Dust, to the more grateful Earth, which it was taken from.
HOW different, replied the
Major,
from such a Woman as you are describing, is the charming
Belvidera?
I have seen her lovely Features, which give new Joy to the
Triumphant,
languish, and look comfortless, when she has heard of the
Unhappy.
—Her Voice, which wakes the Soul, and calls it up into the Ear, with all the Musick of a Trumpet, falls, and trembles, when she talks of Wretchedness, which she is sensible she cannot remedy. The Numbers whom she obliges, have two Rival Benefactors, which divide and perplex their Gratitude; for they know not which most merits it, her
Manner,
or her
Bounty.
—To such a sweet Excess of Tenderness does
Belvidera
raise her Charity, that she would be old, unseen, unlovely, rather than adorable, as she now is; because she
pains,
where she must
only pity.
—She is, at once, the most charming, and least conscious, of all Women!
WHILE we were speaking of her, we were surprized in the most agreeable Manner possible, by the Sight of her Chariot passing us. —She bowed very humbly, and order'd it to stop; and, while her Servants retir'd, with a Politeness and Sensibility, which I have very seldom remark'd in Persons of their low Condition, she receiv'd us with an Air of Sweetness, that resembled the Idea which we have of a descending Angel.—She lamented, that she was in her Chariot; because her Coach, she said, might have held us all; she wou'd, therefore,
leave
it, to bless our Walk. The Major offer'd her his Arm; at which I felt a kind of foolish Envy, which I knew not how to reconcile with my growing Passion for
Patty Amble.
HOW attractive is Beauty, when it is soften'd by the humblest Modesty, and yet dignify'd by Wit and Majesty!—She busied and delighted my Soul; and I was so transported by her Voice and Sentiments, that I fell in Love with my own Silence, because it prolong'd the Pleasure of her Speaking.
WE were join'd in this Place, very unexpectedly, by
Ned Volatile,
who had enquir'd for us at the
Major
's, and rambled hither in pursuit of us. He had never seen
Belvidera,
nor so much as knew who she was, yet came up with his usual Air, of brisk Assurance and Sufficiency.—
What!
cry'd he,
my Old Friends engag'd in a Confederacy against my Liberty!
Then he retreated, with a kind of counterfeit Astonishment, and, lowering his Voice, went on thus, looking, with a genteel Levity, upon the Lady;
I don't know, Madam,
what undeserv'd good Opinion you may have, of these grave Gentlemen; but I shall never be brought to think patiently of 'em again.—'Twas ungenerous, and unpardonable, to give a poor Wretch no Warning; but draw him in, with an unguarded Breast, to stand the Mark of all these Charms, where it is impossible but I must fall by some of 'em!
Believe me, Sir,
reply'd
Belvidera,
with a Mixture of Disdain and Compassion;
The Danger you complain of, is too small to excuse your Terror.—However open your Heart may lie, few first Blows reach thither.—If you are wounded at Sight, the Hurt was only in your Eyes; and the Armour, you should have been defended by, was not a Breast-Plate, but a Head-Piece.
I SHALL never forget, with what an Air of Surprize and Awe, poor
Ned Volatile
started back, at the piercing Voice of
Belvidera,
and from the smiling Sharpness of her Satire: But I love the young Rogue's Virtue; and, I own, my Heart triumph'd for him, under the Mortification of this Retreat; for it sate on him, methought, more gracefully, than all his natural Gayety.
HE kept behind us all the Way, in a sincere and becoming Confusion, listning, attentively, to
Belvidera,
without one Attempt to Rally: But I observ'd him, at length, draw out his Pocket-Book with a Sigh; in which, he writ for Three or Four Minutes, and then, giving it into my Hands, I found he had been penning down his
Dying Speech,
with a woful Warning to all Christian People, to take Example by his Suffering.
Let rash, young Fools for what I now endure,
Learn, never to believe their Hearts secure:
Once, O ye Gay! a striking Hour may come,
When Mirth shall cease to smile; and Wit grow dumb!
The light, low Jest! the giddy Repartee!
The chearful Triflings, of the Vain and Free!
When
Love's
warm Hand shall wake the wond'ring Heart,
Will shame the Mem'ry, and increase the Smart.
Oh!
Love!
—from Midnight Mirth, Wit, Friends, and Wine,
Take my snatch'd Soul, from this soft Moment Thine.
I COU'D not resist the Temptation I was under, to make Atonement for
Ned
's Impertinence, by presenting his Poetick Penitence to the Divine
Belvidera:
She perus'd it with a conscious Blush, and an Air of eloquent Disorder, which has given a reviving Hope to the Distress of her new Lover. But it robb'd us too soon of her Company; for she took Leave presently after, and, permitting her Hand to
Ned Volatile,
stept, again, into her Chariot, and left us, melancholy, and dissatisfy'd.
THE Major and I, were for returning to our first Subject, and had resum'd the Discourse of Charity; but
Ned
would have nothing but Love. His whole Soul was fill'd with the Image of
Belvidera:
And a Passion, which, 'till now, he cou'd never mention seriously, was become, on a sudden, the darling Theme of his Conversation.—Groves, Brooks, and
Belvidera,
were the Objects of his enamour'd Fancy.—Silence, Thought, Shade, Solitude, Things which he had never before a Notion of, presented themselves to his Imagination, as the most desirable Delights of Nature.—The Major oblig'd him beyond Acknowledgment, and won all that remain'd of his Heart, by talking to him of a Poem, which he cou'd shew him, when he came Home, call'd,
The Picture of Love
; and repeating out of it some Lines, the most adapted to
Ned
's new Circumstances.
Cautious, ye Fated! who frequent the Fair,
Your Breasts examine, nor too rashly
dare.
Curb your untrusted Hearts, while yet they're free:
Love is resistless, when you
feel
'tis
He.
Small is the Soul's first Wound, from Beauty's Dart,
And scarce th' unheeded Fever warms the Heart.
Long, we mistake it, under
Liking
's Name:
A
soft Indulgence!
that deserves no Blame.
A Pleasure, we but take, to do her Right,
Whose Presence charms us, and whose Words delight!
Whose sweet Remembrance broods upon the Breast;
And whose dear Friendship is, with Pride, possess'd!
Excited thus, the smother'd Fire, at length,
Bursts into Blaze, and burns with open Strength.
This Image, which, before, but sooth'd the Mind,
Now
lords
it there, and rages unconfin'd.
Mixing with all our Thoughts, it wastes the Day;
And when Night comes, it dreams the Soul away;
Pungent Impatience tingles in each Vein,
And the Sick Bosom throbs, with aking Pain.
Ned
was impatient to learn more, of a Lesson which he found so fit for him. But the
Major,
with much Difficulty, came off, by assuring him, that though he could remember no more at present, yet he had it at Home in Manuscript, and would shew it him all another Time.—He then grew quiet, and walk'd on contentedly, 'till the full Advance of the Day put us in mind, that if we return'd, we might perhaps, find Dinner waiting for us.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 35
— Davusne? Ita, Davus amicum
Mancipium Domino. —
HOR.
MONDAY,
July
20. 1724.
WHEN Souls of a superior Form, look
Abroad,
and discover among their honest Inferiors, Minds capable of the finest Impressions, and only in Danger of being render'd barren by Poverty, Ignorance, and Injuries; they take a Godlike Pleasure in communicating their own Virtues: they strive, with the most Praise-worthy Charity, to substitute the more influencing Power of their own good Example in the Room of evil Patterns by others, 'till, by turning Injuries into Benefits, they raise their obscure Neighbours, to bright Images of themselves.
ALL Persons, who are Favourites of Fortune, who shine in exalted Stations, who are gifted with large Possessions, and surrounded with a Multiplicity of Dependents, have the Blessing, I have been speaking of, in their Power. They may choose for their Domesticks, the Distress'd of both Sexes, whom Poverty has render'd humble enough to wish to become
Servants
; and whose Discretion, adapting their Nature to their Condition, has taught them the Spirit of Obedience, and Diligence.
A GOOD Master may be consider'd as the Soul of his Family, who communicates Action and Dignity to all, who are under his Influence, and animates them by his own Example, to be, in some measure, like himself; his House will be the Habitation of Wisdom, Virtue and Honour. If such a Master be at Home, and a Stranger wants Access to him, that Stranger will be prejudiced in his Favour, even before he beholds him; for it is easy, and natural, to read in the Voices, Looks and Gestures of the People
below Stairs,
what sort of a Person one may expect to meet with
above,
Nay, suppose him even
Absent,
he remains in some measure at
Home,
leaving so much of the Force of his Presence, in those, who represent him: He reigns in the obliging Deportment of his Domesticks; and their grateful Manner of receiving all Persons who inquire after him, proclaims the Goodness of their Master. All the Honour, or, Dishonour, of a Family, reverts to the Source, and either clears or pollutes the Fountain.
THERE are too many
haughty Flutterers,
in the World, made giddily vain and unthinking by too much Prosperity, who
dream,
that People of low Condition, ought to be overlook'd; and that
Servants,
because
Servants,
should not be treated as of the same Species with themselves. These Gentlemen, as they must be call'd, have Understandings abundantly too coarse to be come at by Railery: They ought to be bluntly told, That
good Servants
might make
good Masters,
and that theirs possess good Qualities of which themselves appear to be destitute. They ought in very plain Terms, to be informed, That
Reason
has plac'd their Servants above them, tho' themselves are pleased, unreasonably, to despise them, because Fortune, without Demerit of theirs, had placed them
seemingly
lower.
A LOW and obscure Birth has been often the Lot of a high, and noble Spirit. It seems to be the Victory of
Nature
over
Fortune,
that she can produce such valuable Creatures, in the most abject
State
of Servitude: A
Plain-Dealing,
faithful Servant is a Jewel of inestimable Value.
THE
Compassion
due to honest Men, on account of their Poverty, must, after having approved their Integrity, be refin'd into
Regard,
and
Esteem.
I have, for this Reason, consider'd it as a well-spirited Piece of Advice in Monsieur
Bruyere,
who writes like an
accomplish'd Gentleman,
when he counsels all,
of that
Rank,
to treat
a Good Old Domestick,
rather like a
Friend
than a
Servant. And truly, it is far from impossible, but that a Master may stand in need of such a Servant for his Friend, and find him, upon Trial, a much better, than those inconstant Comrades, whom the World, in their mistaken Phrase, would be apt to call
his Betters.
I LATELY had a Story told me to this Purpose, and if it affects the Reader, as it did me, he will not be displeased, that I give it him by way of Example.
A GENTLEMAN named
Belmont
; a Person of Distinction, filled an honourable Post in the Army, and behaved himself well during the late Wars in
Flanders.
He is Honest, Brave, Hearty, Sincere, Generous, and Affable; was generally courted for his Company by his Brother Officers, and universally beloved by his Soldiers. In those Sunshine Days of his Prosperity,
Belmont
held dear, as his Bosom-Intimate, a Gentleman, by Name,
Celsus
; and had one particular Servant, whom, on account of many rare Qualities, he loved above the rest, and treated as Monsieur
Bruyere
advises, and whom, for the Sake of his Fidelity to his Master, we will call
Fido.
BELMONT,
and
Celsus
lived, indeed, like true Friends: And, as if each thought the other's Interest his own, they commutually, as Exigences on either Side required, furnished one another with Money, and desired no Interest or Security. At length, when they had long loved and lived together,
Celsus,
was called to another Quarter: Never did Soul and Body part with more Reluctancy than these Friends, being
less
certain when, and where, and how, they should meet again. Much about the same Time,
Fido,
having been bred to a Trade, and got a little Stock by his Master, had Thoughts of setting up in the World. His Master, when he discharged him, added to the Salary he paid him, a handsome Present, and wished him good Fortune, with such Familiarity and Condescension, as made the
Wish
more endearing than the
Present.
AFTER this, if we behold
Belmont,
it must be under a Cloud of Evils: He met with cross and severe Accidents which reduced him to narrower Circumstances, than suited so liberal a Soul: He, who delighted in extricating others out of Troubles and Perplexities, was, at length, involv'd in Difficulties himself. In a word, his Affairs were brought to that Extremity, that a certain Sum must be punctually paid on such a Day, or
Belmont
be exposed to such an indecent Distress, as it is painful but to think of.
MANY Measures he had try'd, in vain, to make Provision against it: He was acquainted with many Persons of Fashion, who had been lavish of their Vows of Friendship, and profuse, even to Prodigality, in offering him their Services, at Times, when they well knew there was no Danger in the Offer. He tried them all in their Turns: And found them, all, false alike.
HOW will it go with poor
Belmont,
who has the Ill-luck of such Acquaintance? why, the Reader will be pleased to hear, That
Celsus
is return'd to
England,
as much in the Abundance, as
Belmont
in the Want of all Things, and settled within a Mile or two of
London.
On him were
Belmont
's Eyes turn'd from the sad Scene that threaten'd him: Here he is sure to be right; Here his Address must prevail: I fancy myself walking over the Fields with
Belmont
; I hear him say, he is no longer to groan under his Misfortunes, than till they can reach the Ear of
Celsus
; They want nothing towards being reliev'd, but being barely laid before him: Then
Belmont
is to astonish him with the Falshood and Meanness of his other Acquaintance. Thus soothing his Imagination, he arrives at the House of
Celsus,
is receiv'd with the Warmth of Friendship; he opens his Complaint, and tells the Story of the Usage he had met with. Here the Reader will be stunn'd—the Story was as unprofitable in the Ear of
Celsus,
as if their Friendship, had been a Fable.
AS
Belmont
was returning home cross the Fields, loaded with heavy Reflections, with whom should he meet, but his old Man
Fido!
walking out with an Intention to lie that Night at his Country-Lodgings, for the Benefit of the Air.
Fido
would walk back, part of the Way with his Master: And finding him very melancholy, implored him to tell the Cause of it.—At length
Belmont,
half smiling, said, Thou can'st not help me in it, honest
Fido
; and yet, with a Sigh, said he, now I think on't, I will tell thee, for thou knowest
Celsus.
—Thou must remember him.—Sir, reply'd
Fido,
and ever shall.—I can't forget your best Friend: I hope he is not dead!—
Belmont
told him the whole Story: Just as he had finish'd it; they reach a little publick House on the Road—
Fido,
without answering, begg'd him to walk in, called for Pen, Ink, and Paper, and wrote a Note for the Money, and giving it his Master, said thus;
I am glad at my Heart it was a Sum within my Power, without breaking in upon my Stock, because I should have parted with it All; for, Sir, I owe it All to you.
LET us consider
Celsus
and
Fido, Celsus
a Friend and a Companion;
Fido
a Menial Servant:
Fido
a Weaver of fine Silks,
Celsus
a Wearer of finer; how then shall we reconcile this Matter, That
Celsus,
after all this Difference in Substance and Figure, should be only Gentleman in
Appearance, Fido
in
Reality?
It is easy to answer, that the Stage of Life is like the Theatre, where the principal Parts acted, are not always the best: It is not
what
Part we act, but
how
we act it, that gives us Applause. I have frequently known a Servant the chief Ornament of a Play: It is the same in the World; where they often make considerable Figures.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 36.
Admiranda tibi levium spectacula rerum.
VIRG.
FRIDAY,
July
24. 1724.
I AM never more delighted, than when I meet with an Opportunity to unveil obscure Merit, and produce it into Notice: There being nothing that more easily deceives us, than our Judgment on the Wit and Learning of a Cotemporary Writer, when we take not our Measure from our own Examination, but rely on the Authority of Publick Rumour.
A PLEASANT Vein, a busy, medling Talent, Acquaintance, Importunity, Preferment, or any outward and accidental Advantage, shall throw forward an assuming Trifler into Distinction and Popularity: While a great, and modest Genius is neglected and unfam'd; because not One in Fifty, of our Men of Fashion, or of Quality, as they call themselves, has an Understanding that is able to
go alone.
They are forc'd, therefore, to wait 'till they have their Sustainer's Opinion to lean against, before they dare venture upon the Praise, even of what they are inclinable to think favourably of, as far as poor, weak
Wards,
can presume
to think at all,
whose Wits are out in Guardianship, and under other Mens Disposal.
IT is owing to the Multiplicity of these overgrown
Infants,
that our Eyes and Ears are fatigu'd by such Impertinence of mistaken
Encomium.
Insomuch, that, to those who inspect the Things and Persons which are most praised among us, we appear a Nation of
Grotesque Thinkers,
whose Idea of our Writers Excellence, like the
Dutchmens
Taste of
Painting,
seems to be Nature, in a Fit of Distortion, where
Grimace
is placed for
Dignity.
BY a Custom, that has prevailed too much, since the chearful Times of King
Charles
the Second, when they ran into the contrary
Extreme
to that which they had
suffer'd by,
and confounded the
Serious
with the
Humorous,
treating the most solemn Subjects after a light and wanton Manner, we have established a false Taste of Wit, which has insensibly, like an unnoted Current, declin'd us from our right Course, and brought us so far out of our Way, that it will be some Time before we find ourselves restored to our old Relish.—The slender Shape of the Modern Muse, is made for becoming the
Hoop-Petticoat
; but there was a charming, majestick
Nakedness
in that nervous Simplicity, and plain Soundness of
pathetick Nature,
which went to the
Hearts
of our Forefathers, without stopping at their
Fancy,
or winding itself into their Understanding, through a Maze of mystical Prettinesses.
BUT, though this venerable,
undress'd Nature,
is seldom to be met with now; and has, indeed, been lost among us, for above a
Century,
it was so frequent Two or Three hundred Years ago, that their lowest Class of Poets, the Composers of our good Old Ballads, have left us some of the noblest Examples of the
Sublime,
in its most striking Energy. But, in the present Practice, it is stifled, as the
Roman
Maid was, under the Oppression of Golden Earrings, Bracelets, Jewels, and heap'd Heavinesses of the
Gothick Armory.
Yet, now and then, we start upon it in the Writings of our Modern Poets; as I did, the other Day, in an
Ode, on the Power of Musick,
which was written by a young
Scots
Gentleman, who has conveyed, in a naked Grandeur, and in the utmost Degree of Plainness, the following aweful Thought, which carries a Terror, that will shake the Soul of every attentive Reader.
When Living Men shall die, and Dead Men live,
And
Order
is, again, to
Chaos
hurl'd;
Thou,
Melody!
shalt still survive,
And triumph o'er the
Ruins
of the
World!
A dreadful Trumpet, never heard before,
By
Angels
never blown, 'till then,
Through all the
Regions
of the
Air
shall roar,
That
Time
is now no more!
BUT the Accident, which has drawn me into this Lamentation for the Loss of
Nature,
in our Works of Wit and Poetry, where she ought most to shew herself, is, my having taken up, in a late Perambulation, as I stood upon the Top of
Primrose-Hill,
a torn Leaf of one of those Half-penny Miscellanies, which are published for the Use and Pleasure of our
Nymphs of low Degree,
and known by the Name of
Garlands
—That Part of it, which first caught my Eye, had its Turn a little too
Modern,
as well in the Matter, as the Poetry, and celebrated the Midnight Triumphs of some
straggling Female,
of whom I had no Knowledge; but one, it should seem, of more Beauty than Delicacy;
Who took the Place of Ladies bright,
And with their Lords lay all the Night!
Who pleas'd them with her Humour free;
Oh! the charming
Sally Sal'sbu—ree!
BUT I pass'd lightly over this Lyrick Fragment, as too ludicrous for a Person of my Gravity, and fell, unexpectedly, upon a
Work,
for so I make no Scruple to call it, that deserves to live for Ever! And which (notwithstanding its Disguise of coarse, brown Paper, almost unintelligible Corruptions of
Sense,
from the Blunders of the Press, with here and there an obsolete, low Phrase, which I have alter'd for the clearer Explanation of the Author's Meaning) is so powerfully filled, throughout, with that Blood-curdling, chilling Influence, of Nature, working on our Passions (which Criticks call the
Sublime
) that I never met it stronger in
Homer
himself; nor even in that prodigious
English
Genius, who has made the
Greek
our Countryman.—The simple Title of this Piece was,
WILLIAM,
and
MARGARET.
A BALLAD.
I.
WHEN Hope lay hush'd in silent Night,
And Woe was wrapp'd in Sleep,
In glided
Marg'ret
's pale-ey'd Ghost,
And stood at
William
's Feet.
II.
Her Face was like an
April
Sky,
Dimm'd by a scatt'ring Cloud:
Her clay-cold, lilly Hand, Knee-high,
Held up her sable Shroud.
III.
So shall the fairest Face appear,
When Youthful Years are flown!
Such the last Robe, that Kings must wear,
When Death has reft their Crown!
IV.
Her
Bloom
was like the Morning Flow'r,
That sips the Silver Dew:
The Rose had budded, in her Cheek,
Just op'ning to the View.
V.
But
Love
had, like the Canker-worm,
Consum'd her tender Prime:
The Rose of Beauty pal'd, and pin'd,
And dy'd before its Time.
VI.
Awake! she cry'd, Thy true Love calls,
Come from her Midnight Grave!
Late, let thy
Pity
mourn a Wretch,
Thy
Love
refus'd to save.
VII.
This is the dark, and fearful Hour,
When injur'd Ghosts complain:
And Lovers Tombs give up their Dead,
To haunt the faithless Swain.
VIII.
Bethink thee,
William!
af thy Fault,
Thy Pledge of broken Truth:
See the sad Lesson, thou hast taught
My unsuspecting Youth!
IX.
Why did you, first, give Sense of Charms,
Then all those Charms forsake?
Why sigh'd you for my Virgin Heart,
Then left it, thus, to break?
X.
Why did you,
present,
pledge such Vows,
Yet none, in
Absence,
keep?
Why said you, that my Eyes were bright,
Yet taught 'em first to weep?
XI.
Why did you praise my blushing Lips,
Yet make their Scarlet pale?
And why, alas! did I, fond Maid!
Believe
the flatt'ring Tale?
XII.
But, now, my Face no more is Fair;
My Lips retain no Red:
Fix'd are my Eyes, in Death's still
Glare!
And Love's vain Hope is fled.
XIII.
The hungry Worm my Partner is:
This Winding-Sheet my Dress;
A long, and weary, Night must pass,
Ere Heaven allows Redress.
XIV.
But, hark!—'tis Day!—the Darkness flies:
Take one long, last Adieu!
Come, see, false Man! how low she lies,
Who dy'd for pitying You.
XV.
The Birds sung out; the Morning smil'd;
And streak'd the Sky with Red;
Pale
William
shook, in ev'ry Limb,
And started from his Bed.
XVI.
Weeping, he sought the fatal Place,
Where
Marg'ret
's Body lay,
And stretch'd him o'er the Green-grass Turf,
That veil'd her Breathless Clay.
XVII.
Thrice call'd, unheard, on
Marg'ret
's Name,
And thrice he wept her Fate:
Then laid his Cheek on her cold Grave,
And dy'd—and
lov'd too late.
I AM sorry I am not able to acquaint my Reader with
his
Name, to whom we owe this melancholy Piece, of
finish'd Poetry,
under the humble Title of a
Ballad.
—
Such Ballads
were the reverend Fragments of disjointed
Homer,
when they were sung about the Streets of the
Grecian
Cities, before
Lycurgus
caused the Limbs to be assembled into Union; and so piec'd, redeem'd, and consecrated them to the End of Time, as we now see 'em in his
Iliad.
—Yet, the Common Fate of Merit is so unequal to its Claim, that one might almost venture to conclude, That this
great Genius,
whoever he was, lived poor, and died unknown; in Want perhaps, of Ease and Comfort, while he had Excellence, that merited a Nation's Gratitude, for the Honour he might have lived to do it.
FROM an Air of impressive Earnestness, that is distinguishable through this Piece, I am of Opinion, that it was founded on the real History of some unhappy Woman of the Age the Author liv'd in, who had the Misfortune to die untimely by her Lover's Insensibility; or, rather, by his Ingratitude.—I please myself with an Imagination, that this
Sonnet
might be one of
Shakespear
's. A hundred worse are imputed to him: And there is his peculiar, solemn Power to touch this
Church-Yard Terror,
very visible in the
Ghost
of this Ballad.
BUT, whoever the Author was, his Judgment appears to have been as extraordinary as his Genius; as is finely visible in his Conduct of this little Poem.—When the Ghost has glided in, and stands at the Bed's Foot of the sleeping Lover, had the Speech begun immediately, the Reader must have been hurried too fast away from the Impression which the Apparition was design'd to make on him: He is, therefore judiciously detained in this Place by a Description of her Face and Posture, so strongly painted, that we really seem to
see
her. And, after a short Moral Reflection, which follows aptly in the Third Stanza, we are acquainted, during this artful Interval, with her Character, her Youth, her Beauty, and the Cause of her unhappy Death: And, by that Time we are prepared to know her, and to pity her, the Speech is open'd with this sharp and startling Summons.
Awake! she cry'd,—Thy true Love calls,
Come from her Midnight Grave!
BUT nothing was ever juster, or more strikingly imagin'd, than his Comparison of the Ghost's Face, to an
April
Sky, (which is, at best, but faintly shining, and is here made fainter still, by a scattering Cloud that dims it) to the Shadow, as it were, or thin Resemblance of a Light not visible. This is an Image, so true to the Meaning, so Poetical, and well-adapted, that it greatly deserves Notice: As does also, That Clay-cold, Lilly-Hand, that holds up a
sable Shroud
! The Opposition of the Shroud's Blackness, to the Lilly Whiteness of the Hand, is a delicate and graceful Stroke, and very judiciously heighten'd by that Epithet of
Clay-cold,
which makes us shrink, as if we
felt,
what we
see,
so very
strongly.
TO wake us from this Horror, in order to make way for that
Pity,
which he is preparing to move in us, we are, by a sudden, yet almost imperceptible, Transition, carried away from what she
is,
to what she
was,
before Love chang'd her;
Her
Bloom
was like the
Morning Flow'r,
That
sips
the
Silver-Dew.
I AM charm'd by a Stroke in this sweet
Simile,
which is touch'd with so much Delicacy, that it would go near to escape the Observation of any Reader, not skill'd in Poetry: I will therefore take Notice, That her exact Time of Life being directly pointed out by
The Morning Rose, just opening to the View,
that Expression of
Sipping the Silver-Dew,
is peculiarly just and elegant: For, where a Flower is full blown, the Dew-drops have free Admission, and are taken in, as it were, by large Draughts; but a budding Flower, receiving no Moisture, but on its Edges, is, with the finest Propriety, said to
sip
it.
A SECOND excellent
Simile
is, That where he compares a secret Love in a Woman's Heart, to the Canker-worm in a Bud, that fades and destroys it: And this, again, has the Air of
Shakespear,
who has the same Allusion for
Grief
in one of his Tragedies.—There is something exquisitely
touching
in that noble Tenderness of her Reproach, in the
Eighth Stanza.
—That
Erotema,
or Figure of
Questioning,
which takes up the
Ninth, Tenth,
and
Eleventh,
is pursued with the most pathetick Emphasis; and, at last, broken off with an
Aposiopesis,
so natural, and so moving, that I have seldom seen a Beauty more distinguishable. It is where, after all those passionate
Why's,
with which she has been upbraiding her Lover's Falshood, she interrupts them, on a sudden, with this Self-accusing Question, which strikes out the
Moral
too, in a surprizing Flash of Warning, where it was least to be expected;
And
why, alas!
did I, fond Maid!
Believe
the flatt'ring Tale?
BUT it were endless to particularize the Beauties of this charming Ballad. The whole may be said to be one continued Beauty! And, I believe, it will not be possible for any serious Reader to peruse, or hear it, without Emotions in his Blood, that will speak more in its due Praise, than the most regular
Critique
on it.
IT is a plain and noble Masterpiece of the
natural
Way of Writing, without Turns, Points, Conceits, Flights, Raptures, or Affectation of what Kind soever. It shakes the Heart by the mere Effect of its own Strength and Passionateness; unassisted by those flaming Ornaments, which as often
dazle,
as
display,
in Poetry. This was owing to the Author's Native Force of Genius; For they, who conceive a Thought distinctly, will, of Necessity, express it plainly, because, out of the Words which arise, and offer themselves to embody a Meaning, they find no Use for the Superfluous, but to darken, and confound their Purpose.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 37.
PROPRIA QUAEMARIBUS. —
LILLY's Grammar.
Interea volucres Pyrois, & Eois & Aethon,
Solis Equi, quartusque Phlegon, hinnitibus auras
Flammiferis implent, pedibusque repagula pulsant.
— Nec froena remittit,
Nec retinere valet, nec nomina novit equorum.
OVID.
MONDAY,
July
27. 1724.
I HAVE remark'd an Impropriety, in our Use of common Names, which cries out aloud for Redress: And I am absolutely determined to proceed,
ex Officio,
and without waiting to receive Complaints, in giving Sentence against certain nimble-tongu'd, married Females; who have taken it into their Fancies, so far to invert
Order,
and
Distinction,
among the Animals which they are possess'd of, as to bestow upon their
Dogs
the Names of Heroes, Gods, and Goddesses; and apply
plain Puppy,
to their
Husbands.
I KNOW not how it comes to pass; but an Enormity, of like Nature, has had Confidence enough of late Years, to creep into His Majesty's
Navy
; to the most manifest Hazard of bringing a
bad Name
upon many a Ship-full of good Mariners.—What a Hardship, for Example, must it be, for a Crew, who can fight like
Lions,
to be sent to Sea in the
Antelope?
Or, for a Commander, as keen as a
Hawk,
to hear his Ship call'd but the
Swallow?
There is a Sound of something to the Purpose, in the
Warsprite!
The
Dreadnought!
The
Revenge!
and, The
Defiance!
—The very Names of these Ships carry a Report, like their Artillery. But who would dream of a
Man of War,
in the
Hare?
or the
Roe-Buck?
In the
Hind?
or, in the
Weasel?
I WAS at a Loss how to account for these
Runaway
Names, in the most
fighting
Fleet of
Europe,
till I found, upon due Enquiry, that the Riders of our Sea-Horses have been
jockey'd
out of their proper Titles, by the Encroachment of the
Newmarket Racers.
I wou'd fain, therefore, have the Claims of these Two Parties adjusted, and assign to each its proper
Quota.
It is but reasonable, that His Grace of
Bolton
shou'd keep his
Sloven
to himself: But his
Terror
ought to be given up, in Exchange for the
Roebuck,
or
Antelope.
—Against
Creeping Jenny,
and
Cone
-Skins,
much might be said, in a Way of Criticism. But I am not, at present, in so carping a Humour, but that I will indulge the Fraternity in Possession of those Appellatives. Nay, I will even throw 'em, into the Bargain,
Dryboots, Fidler,
and
Blackpudding:
Provided, absolutely, that they part with
Scarecrow, Swimmer, Ranter, Old Surly, Thunderbolt,
and
Drunken Barnaby,
to the Use, Behoof, and Disposal of the Commissiners of His Majesty's Navy.
I AM indebted to a little white-headed Son, of my good Landlady, for the Honour of my Acquaintance with so many
Horses of Quality,
who are worthy, I make no doubt, of all the Friendship that is shewn them, by those grateful Allies, and Confederates, their Masters. The Boy came up, to my Appartment, with a Petition, and a Paper of Gunpowder; which he desir'd I wou'd instruct him in the Mystery of making out, into
Crackers:
And I busied my self, for half an Hour, with becoming Gravity, and Application; enjoying all that Pleasure, which I perceiv'd I gave my Pupil: Whose Powder being apply'd to the important Use which he had bought it for, the Paper it was wrapt in, happen'd to be left upon my Hands; and seems to have been an Original Letter, from some honest poor Fellow, of the inferior Class of Horse-Coursers (if any Certainty, as to his Rank, may be drawn from his bad Spelling.)—The Beginning was torn off, with the Date, and Place, it was sent from: But, what remain'd, was as follows.
—IT was early in the Morning, the
Thursday
before our Races
was
to come on, as All
Us Horses
in the Field started together, for a
Breathing.
But mad Work we made, amongst us: For that same
Coney-Skins,
that bit
Tom. Varney
by the Shoulder, at
Barnet,
kick'd
Betty Williams
in the Belly, before she had run a Stroke: And
Dryboots,
with me upon his Back, started close against Captain
Collier
's
Pig
; and bid fair, for half the Course, to bite him by the Tail, if I had not not been thrown out, by a cross Fling of
Blackpudding
; That is, for all the World, such another wicked Beast, as
Master Bond
's
Kentish Lady!
—After him came
Drunken Barnaby,
blundering, jig by jole, along with
Master Morgan
's
Beau:
And, so, they kept up, till they came, both, to the Gap-side, and there, struck out, for the nonce, and overturn'd
Bully-Rock,
into the Ditch, upon
Creeping Jenny.
—When we were up, at the Broad-Pond,
Miss Kitty,
that had only a Chimney-sweeper's Boy upon her Back, was put in a great Fright; For
Squeaker
and
Scarecrow,
run her up to the Rail Brink! But souce came
Swimmer
between 'em, flouncing directly through the Water; and, as soon as he came out, shook himself dry, upon
Old Surly,
that was close up with
Hobler
; and made him run back upon
Tender-Toe,
which beat down
Ranter
into a Rutt. Mean while, whip comes
Thunderbolt,
full drive along with
Whitefoot.
But
Whitefoot
came first in, altho'
Fidler
was a Length behind him. You never saw such strange Doings! For, except
Blue Dick
and
me,
there was Nobody rid, that knew what breathing a Horse meant, any more than
Nell Clapton
does. But pray be down a
Friday:
For never was such rare Work, as we are like to have at the
Ass-Matches!
So no more, for now, but I rest, Your loving Kinsman, till Death,
SETH THOMSON.
Fish-street Hill,
July
14. 1724.
Mr.
PLAIN DEALER,
I BELONG to a Club of Friendly Citizens: And we meet, every
Monday
Night, to discourse of such Things as may entertain, and improve us, in a way most suitable to that industrious, and unambitious, Honesty, which Men of Trade propose to thrive by. But our Diversion has been often spoil'd by a great Scholar, who is got among us, that makes no more of
Greek,
and
Latin,
than if it were only plain
English!
—Ever since he was introduc'd, he has had all the Talk to himself; but was never understood, above Three times from the first Night he came into our Company. He is
Great Mogul
of our Club, and reigns Absolute, and without a Ministry: Publishing his
Edicts
in a Language peculiar to the Throne, and which, being unintelligible, by any of his
Vassals,
can neither be contradicted, nor disputed against.
HE expatiated, last Night, with a Stile, unusually
florid,
on the
Verbosity, Loquaciousness,
and
Propension to Garrulity,
of a worthy Common-Council-Man, whom we were commending, for a ready Speaker. And when one of us, by way of Atonement, mentioned my Neighbour
Hushly,
the Cheesemonger, as the
silentest
Man, in
London
; he answer'd,
That
Taciturnity
was a Quality as
ineligible
as Excess of
Narration;
for it
dehominated
those Persons who were
obnubilated
by its
Umbrageousness;
and
involv'd
their
Comprehension
in a
Labyrinth
of
Internality.
IT happen'd, fortunately for the CLUB, that an honest Drunken Officer, belonging to the
East-India
Company, was among us upon this Occasion.—He was, now, what we call
Half Seas over
; and star'd at our Man of Oratory, for, a Minute without Motion! At last, he began to tell him, with the most compos'd Face in the World, That he was charm'd with this Opportunity of discoursing with a Gentleman of so much
Wit
and
Learning,
and hop'd he shou'd have his Decision in a Point, that was pretty nice, and concern'd some
Eastern
Manufactures, of
Antient
and
reverend Etymology.
Modern Criticks, he said, were undetermin'd about them; but for
His
Part, he had always maintain'd, That
Chintz, Bullbull, Morees,
and
Ponabaguzzys,
were of nobler and more generous Use, than
Doorguzees,
or
Nourfurmannys
; not but he held against
Byrampauts,
in Favour of
Ni
canees
and
Boralchauders
; Only, he wish'd, That so accurate a Judge wou'd instruct him, why
Tapzils,
and
Sallampores
have given Place to
Neganepauts?
And why
Bejatapoutz
shou'd be more esteem'd, than the finer Fabrick of
Blue Chelloes?
THERE was not One, of all the Company, except the grave Banterer himself, but laugh'd out aloud, at this humorous Retribution of the Scholar's affected Language. He look'd a little out of Countenance, and sate silent for some Time. But he started up, at last, with a smiling Air of good Humour: And, filling out a Brimmer, drank the Health of the
East-India
Officer; and, then, spoke to him, as follows.—
Sir, I find myself much obliged, and return you my Publick Thanks. You have held to me so true a Glass, that I see, and am ashamed of the Image of my Vanity. I was weak enough to be growing angry; but, upon a short Recollection, find you have
used me no otherwise, than I have treated the
CLUB,
and been forgiven for it, these Six Months. In short, Sir, you have redeem'd me, from an Affectation, that made me ridiculous; and, as long as I live, I will take Care to be Wiser.
THUS all ended well; and the CLUB being restor'd to Freedom, I am deputed, in their Name, to write this Account of it, to the PLAIN DEALER; that it may be publish'd for the common Benefit. Your Health is just going round, and,
I am, SIR, Your constant Reader,
&c. J. H.
FOR my Reader's Entertainment, I shall add, to these Two Letters, Two uncommon Pieces of Poetry. The First was written, by
Karasin,
the Favourite Mistress of
Tamerlane the Great
; by way of Congratulation, after his Success against
Bajazet.
It was compos'd in Form of a
Lozange
; the Letters of which were Brilliant Diamonds, upon a Ground of Crimson Velvet. The Words, the Order, and the Figure, are exactly as in the Original. Note, The
Wit
of the Lady's Poetry, lay in its
Shape,
and
fine Cloaths:
Where a Lady's Wit often lies, in other Countries, besides
Tartary.
SOUND
O YE HARPS!
SOUND OUT IN STATE,
TEMIR
THE GREAT:
WHO, WITH HIS SWORD,
OF BRIGHT, RESISTLESS, STEEL,
MAKES ALL, WHO MEAN HIM HARM,
AND THOSE, WHO WRONG HIM, FEEL
THE STRENGTH OF THAT RIGHT ARM:
CLEAVING, BETWIXT BOTH EYES,
SUCH, AS AGAINST HIM RISE.
WHAT FAME HE WON
BY DEEDS NEW DONE,
BEFORE THE SUN;
BAJAZET,
LATE,
IN HIS FATE,
FOUND.
Tamerlane
answer'd her in like Form; but with a great deal of Gallantry, and Politeness in Letters of
Amethysts,
upon a Ground of Green Velvet.
FIVE
BATTLES FOUGHT,
AND DEARLY BOUGHT,
THY
TEMIR
WON:
AND IN THE BLOODY FIELD,
HAS FORC'D ALL FOES TO YIELD,
REDUCING CROWNS, AND LAND,
BY HIS TRIUMPHANT HAND:
YET NEVER GAIN'D I CONQUEST, YET,
SO JOYFUL, AND SO DEAR, TO ME,
AS WHEN I CONQUER'D THEE.
O!
KARASIN!
THY WOES
ARE MY WORST FOES.
BUT GENTLE BE;
FOR LOVE OF THEE
KEEPS ME
ALIVE.
THE Second, which now follows, is a Copy of Verses, by Queen
Elizabeth
; on Occasion of her first Uneasiness, concerning
Mary,
Queen of
Scots.
—I met with this little Piece, in an Old
Art of English Poesy,
which was
Imprinted
at
London, in the Year
1589; and Dedicated to the Lord Treasurer,
Burleigh.
—The Author, speaking of these Verses, says,
'
And this was the Occasion of them; Our Sovereign Lady, perceiving how, by the Queen of
Scot
's Residence within this Realm, were bred secret Factions among her People, some of them desirous of Innovation, and aspiring to greater Fortunes, by her Liberty and Life: The Queen, our Sovereign Lady, to declare, that she was nothing Ignorant of these Secret Practices; albeit she had long, with great Wisdom and Patience, dissembled it, writeth this Ditty, most sweet and sententious.
Watchful, to shun those Snares which wou'd my Peace destroy,
In doubt of future Woe, I lose my present Joy
When Falsehood's Tide flows in all Duty's Channels ebb:
And meddling Folly toils, to untwist Wisdom's Web
N
w Clouds of Toys, untry'd, o'ercast th' aspiring Mind:
Then fall in empty Show'rs; and drive, with ev'ry Wind
B
t Pride of Hope, suppos'd, the Root of Ruthe will be;
And all th
ir grafted Guiles a sudden Blast shall see.
That Daughter of Debate, that doth Contention sow,
Shall reap no Harvest here, where Peace hath us'd to grow.
Our Swo
d, that rusts with Rest, shall first his Edge employ:
And lop this Love of Change, that gives such distant Joy.
HAVING never met with these Verses before; and questioning, whether they are extant, in any Book, but that, in which I found them; I have taken Pleasure to communicate them as a Relique, that merits to be preserv'd; and is worth the Notice of the Curious.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 38.
— Quis enim generosum dixerit hunc, qui
Indignus genere, & praeclaro nomine tantum
Insignis? —
JUVEN.
Rarus enim ferme sensus communis in illa
Fortuna. —
Ibid.
— Nobilitas sola est atque unica Virtus.
Ibid.
FRIDAY,
July
31. 1724.
THERE is a Hobby-Horse, in the World, call'd Nobility by Right of
Birth
; which was the Invention of industrious Policy, to entail, and perpetuate, Virtue. But, like Vinegar, from the finest Wines, it is so changed, by its Putrefaction, That there is not a sharper Curse, among the Scourges of God's Vengeance, than is inflicted on Mankind, by that silly Thing, called,
Pride of Descent.
It was first indulged, as a Mark of Merit: But it clings, inseparably, to the
Line,
after the most manifest Extinction of all the
Worth,
which it was given for.
YET, there was both the
Rational,
and the
Generous,
in that Hope, which seems to have been conceiv'd, by the first Inventors of
Nobility,
from its Original Institution.—Some Great, and Powerful Prince, when he had experienc'd a Servant's Courage, his Conduct, or Integrity; and, was willing to transmit those Virtues (after they had been so useful to Himself) to the future Benefit of His Heirs and Successors; made it his first Care to bestow, on this able Favourite, such Lands, and Extent of Revenue, as might place him above the Necessity of concerning himself for his Childrens Support in Life. And this left him at perfect Leisure, to enlarge, and inspire, their Minds, till He made them capable of succeeding, as well to his Toils, and Dangers, as to his Honours, and Possessions.
TO strengthen, yet more, their Expectation of so good an End, They contriv'd this further Means of adding visible, and outward Marks; betokening Honour, Power, and Wisdom: Such as
Titles, Robes, Rank, Privileges,
and a Train of Pomps, and Ceremonies. All These they made
Hereditary,
for this weighty, and sufficient Reason:—Because, It was a natural Hope, that Persons, who were exempt from private Wants, should, also, be unsubject to private
Baseness.
They would, then, be at Liberty to enlarge, and exalt, their Thoughts, in Proportion to that High Condition, which they grew up in the Expectation, and Fore-knowledge of: 'Till they came to disdain narrow Principles, and renounce selfish Purposes; such as
Poverty
might have seemed to justify; but, which could never correspond with that Magnificence and disinterested Scope of Mind, which was propos'd to be the Consequence of so distinguish'd an Education, in a Life so happily provided for.
A NOBLEMAN, the Descendant of Noble Ancestors, when we consider him in this Light, seems to be One of the Pillars of Human Virtue, and the honour'd Ornament of a Body Politick! And the only Reason, why we talk with Respect, or even with Gravity, of the
Antiquity
of a Man's Family, is, Because, by how many more Successions the Line has continu'd
Noble,
by so many more Examples their Virtues are suppos'd to have been fortified; 'till the Practice, and Love of
Glory, Justice, Knowledge,
and
Compassion,
are esteem'd inherent, in their very Nature; and their Blood flows down, distinguish'd, by a kind of
Inspiration,
which it carries with it.
BUT, exclusive of this single Consideration what a ridiculous Pretence to
Reverence
is the Accident of having been
born, to live lazily!
—It is Insolence; in the highest Degree, for a
Cypher,
of Rank, and Title, to expect Submission, from a Person, who is venerable, for his good Qualities, upon no better a Foundation, than because the
accomplish'd Commoner
is, perhaps, the Son of an honest Man, who had nothing to depend on, but his Industry; And the
foolish Lord
had a Father, who left him an Estate, and a Title, which somebody
(a long Time ago!)
gave a sturdy, valiant,
Soldier,
to maintain his Posterity, till they shou'd grow
good for nothing,
and look with Scorn, at their first Founder: Drawing all their empty Glory from the number'd Ages, which have passed, since
Merit,
and
Humility,
could claim a Place, in their
Great Family!
IF, in the World, there is a pleasanter Piece of stupid Impertinence, than ordinary, It is, that conceited and satisfied,
Self-Preference,
with which one of these
Happy
Creatures looks down, from his own Sublimity, upon the
Merit
that lies below him!—But I wonder what he would Answer, if, in the Heighth of his Exultation,
Fortune
shou'd take a Freak to whisper this Question, in his Ear,
"
Pray, my Lord! have you consider'd, how to
Deserve
this fine Distinction, which you inherit, without knowing why?—Are you Honester, than your own Steward?
Pretty much upon a
Par.—Are you Braver, than your ragged Cousin?
Oh! no—Not at all.—
Are you more Pious, than your Chaplain?
Far from it, I assure you.—
Are you Wiser, or more Learned, than my Lady, your Lordship's Wife?
But a little, if any thing.—
Are you Richer, than your Banker?
Not so Rich, by half a Plumb.—
Pray, what then may your Lordship's Pretensions be, to that Respect, which you claim from others?
—Why,—you know,
says he,
that I was
born to it.
"
IT is a pleasant Pretension! let us trace it a little higher.—Why is
This Lord
's Family of more Dignity than
That Lord
's, since their Estates, and Rank, are Equal?
Oh! there is a very good Reason for That: It is, because His Race is most Ancient.
—Pray, what do you mean by
Ancient?
Was not
Adam
their common Father?
Yes: But This My-Lord has been longer in Possession of Lands, than That My-Lord has.
—So then, the Case, it seems, stands thus,
Other Mens Acquirements must give Him
DIGNITY,
to whom Other Mens Merit has given
DISTINCTION!
ANTIQUITY of Name, and Family, is one of the most riduculous Things in Nature, when it is made use of, as the
Ground of Honours:
There being nothing more certain, than that the Revolutions of Time and Fortune, have us'd all Families alike. And, were it possible to see, backward, into the Obscurity of past Ages, we might pick out
Beggars,
from our proudest Lines; and point at
Princes,
in our humblest. This Nobility, that consists in
Sound,
is an empty, and chimerical, Grandeur: It is a mere
King of Clubs,
who, as the Game happens to be, may run away from the
Knave,
and see the single
Ace
a nobler
Card
than
His Majesty!
I FANCY, that, if I were a
Lord,
the
Turkey
-Cock, with his sweeping Wing, erected Neck, and Peer-like Strut, within the Sphere of his
Barn-door Royalty,
wou'd make me sick of my boasted
Quality,
unless I had better Claim than my
Pride,
to the Stateliness I was distinguish'd by.
THE true Use of
Titles,
is, That they may serve, as shining Lights, to lay open and illustrate, the spacious Chambers of a
Mind well-furnished.
But, to a close, and sordid, Soul, they are like Torches, which we carry down, to illuminate a sickly Dungeon: Where they expose, but the more disgracefully, the narrow Cells, bare Walls; and Dirtiness.
THE basest Thing in Nature is, To have
Power
to do
much
Good, without
Will
to do
any.
How contemptible, then, are they, who, becoming insolent by Prosperity, think on nothing so seldom as the Distresses of the Miserable? And, while they were made Noble, for this End only, to be active in good Offices, live, for
Pleasure,
and to no better Purpose than one of their
Hounds,
or their
setting Dogs
?—If a Nobleman, who is thus declin'd, from the only End of his Institution, can be Author of any Good, by Effect of his
Example,
it must be such an accidental, and involuntary, Service, as was done, of old, to the
Philosopher.
—He was ask'd, From whom he learnt, to be so steady, in Pursuits of Virtue?
'I learn it,
said he,
from the Persons who live
most viciously
: For, observing what makes them despicable, I see plainly what to
shun
: And I guess, by the
Reverse,
what it is that I ought to
practise.
The Eastern People ascribe to
Plato
several excellent Sayings, which we do not find in his Works: And, among others, they cite this following.
'
Plenty
and
Want,
are Two
Clouds,
the fullest stor'd of any; the First rains
Dulness,
and
Arrogance
; the Second,
Learning
and
Humility.
For, while the
Body
of the Poor is improving into
Spirit,
the
Spirit
of the Rich is degenerating into
Body.
'
It is a pretty Remark: And every Man's Experience will enable him to justify it. For how few Publick or Private Improvements have been owing to our Men of Rank? And how many to the unsatisfied Application of the Unhappy; who, finding themselves press'd, by uneasy Circumstances,
whet
and
urge
their active Talents, 'till Prosperity can afford them
Leisure
to be as useless, as if they were
born to it.
IT is plain, then, That a
Nobleman,
who has no other Merit, than his Rank gives him, has no Merit at all: And is just so much more despicable than a
Commoner,
who is equally worthless, as the Duties of his Condition are more elevated, and important. And that
Respect,
which is look'd for, by a Lord,
merely as a Lord,
deserves to be number'd among those Sacrifices, which we make to Custom, at the Expence of our common Sense; and to the Dishonour of our natural Liberty.
AN Essay Writer, of the last Age, who had learnt from tiresome Experience, That he had, irrecoverably,
lost
those Years, which he had spent in attending the
Great,
(as they love to hear themselves call'd) quitted the Pursuit with a manly Scorn: And having observ'd, for his Reader's Use, That these Men make no Friendships, but such as are subservient, either to their
Interests,
or their
Pleasures
; he closes all, with this Remark—
'I have so hearty a Contempt for what is commonly called
Greatness,
that if I did not meet with the Word
Lord,
in a Prayer I repeat daily, I should never name it, but with
Detestation!
'
And, to allow this Author but common Justice, no Man is so foolishly, a Tyrant over his own Heart, as he, that humbles himself, to a
Will,
that is too proud to take Notice of it: And waits on those, from whom he can expect nothing, but what he must dearly pay for, in Guilt, Dishonour, or Mortification.
I am pleas'd with a frank Correction, of that peevish, and humoursome, Arrogance, so inseparable from these proud Mens Behaviour, as it was given, by a
Syrian
Doctor, to one of the
Caliphs
of
Babylon.
They were Angling, upon the River
Tygris
; and the
Caliph,
growing impatient, because he had catched nothing, ordered the Physician out of his Sight, for he was sure he should have no Sport, in Company with one, who was so
unlucky.
—
'Nay, but methinks, reply'd the Doctor, you accuse me a little rashly: My Father was a Drawer of Water, and my Mother but a Slave; yet I have been Chief Favourite of many successive
Caliphs,
and am Rich, and Fortunate, beyond my Wishes: How then can such a Man, as I, deserve to be call'd
unlucky?
But if you would be inform'd, I can name a Person, who may,
truly,
be stil'd unhappy.'
The
Caliph
told him, he might explain himself.
'—It is, Sir, pursued the Physician, a Lord, who descending, lineally, from Four illustrious
Caliphs,
and being, himself too, a
Caliph,
sits, unmindful of his Dignity,
catching Fish,
like an idle Saunterer; while
Ignorance
and
Rest,
are spreading Nets, to catch
his People.
'
SINCE Honours were first bestow'd, as a Reward of Mens past Virtues, and for Excitement of their Future, it seems the justest Thing imaginable, That all
Lords,
who possess them, fruitlesly, should
forfeit
them: And step down among the Herd, to hide the Shame of those Defects, which, by Reason of their too high Situation, blaze out, like a Beacon, to the Disturbance of a whole Country. As, (for the same Reason) where a Nobleman is truly such, his Wisdom, his Courage, and his Loyalty, strike out their Influence in larger Circles, than the Virtues of inferior Ranks can possibly be extended to.
FOR my Part, as it is my Purpose to speak of every Thing like a
Plain Dealer,
I declare with the utmost Indifference, That, though no Man more sincerely reverences what a Nobleman was meant to be, yet I can have no Respect at all, for the
Name,
where the
Thing
is wanting. On the contrary, it is my Opinion, That every Gentleman of Spirit should despise, and mortify the Vanity of such a chimerical Superiority, as would advance itself, above
substantial Honour,
by the empty Memory and
Sound
of it.
THE Breath of a Sovereign may have Power to
create Titles
; But it can have none, to
invert Qualities.
Though the Vessel is in the Potter's Hands, and the Man
must
be called Noble,
whom the King delighteth to Honour,
yet, he will never
be so,
by his Patent, if he was not before, so, in his Nature.—But there is a Kind of Man, who, will, always, be found Noble, without Aid of Pomp, or Titles: And, in what Place soever you chance to meet him, you may know him by the following Marks: He will be Humble in Greatness; and Immoveable, in Adversity. He will be compassionate, without Weakness; Brave, without Arrogance; Conscious, without Pride; and Sincere, without Indecency. He will be Wary, but not Suspicious: And his Anger will have no Malice. He will Love, without Folly: and Disapprove, without Hatred. His Hope will be Strong, but Patient: his Fear Awake, but Easy. He will be Active, without Hurry; and at Leisure, without Idleness: And, at least, if he be not Learned, he will be a Lover of Learning.
THE PLAIN DEALER. N 39.
— Turpi Secernis Honestum.
HOR.
Nec duo sunt, sed forma duplex; nec foemina dici
Nec puer ut possit: neutrumque & utrumque vid tur.
OVID.
MONDAY,
August
3. 1724.
THE following Letters being written in the Spirit of Benevolence, and tending very much to the Reformation of some vicious Habits, which are grown to an enormous Height in too many of both Sexes, they shall furnish the Entertainment of the Day. These Female Correspondents, who are such powerful and ingenious Advocates in the Behalf of Beauty, Innocence, and Modesty, will, probably, observe with Pleasure, that their Letters, in a short Time, will have had a good Effect upon those who are not lost to all Sense of Shame; they will then enjoy the Satisfaction, of having efficaciously corrected, with their own pretty Hands, the Rudenesses and Abuses, which they, so justly complain of.
Epsom,
July
25. 1724.
Mr.
PLAIN-DEALER,
I HAVE had the Misfortune to be Educated after the old-fashion'd Method of our Ancestors; who were so ignorant, to instil
Modesty,
as a Virtue, into their Female Pupils. Now, you must know, Sir, this Place is filled, at present, with a polite Set of Ladies, (Members of a Society, with so hard a Name, that I am afraid I shou'd spell it wrong, so will omit it) that have Heroically resolv'd to put all Modest Virgins out of Countenance, by staring unmercifully in their Faces. This Behaviour adds so many new Charms, and renders them so agreeable to all they converse with, that I would gladly assume a little of this
Modern
Accomplishment: But the Prejudice of early imbib'd Principles, is so strong, that, instead of answering a SMART in his own Way, I cannot forbear Blushing, both for Him, and the Ladies that are diverted with his
prodigious Wit
: So beg you will either assist me to conquer these
ill-bred Flushes
; or prevail with the Ladies to
confess
their
Sex,
by a Grain or two of Modesty, out of Compassion to several Sufferers; and particularly,
SIR,
Your Obedient Humble Servant,
BIDDY BASHFUL.
N.B.
It wou'd not be amiss, if you wou'd be pleas'd to appoint different Hours of Publick Appearance, to the two Classes, of the
Bolds,
and
Bashfuls.
SIR,
MOST of our Neighbours, knowing that I have the Honour to be related to you, have put me upon writing this Letter, to acquaint you, That Yesterday a strange and surprizing Creature was seen to pass through our Town on Horseback: It had the Face of a young Woman, stuck full of Patches; a Perriwig, which hung down to Its Waist; a Hat, cock'd with the Smartness of a young Officer; a huge Bunch of Ribbons, fastened behind Its Left-Shoulder; a Shirt laid in large Pleights on the Breast, and tied close at the Neck and Wrists, which, with a Vest of White Satten, trimm'd with Black, had much the Resemblance of a Shroud. Our whole Town was soon alarmed with this strange Appearance, and various are still the Opinions what It really was: The Old People who were the most couragious generally, went pretty near to It, with their Spectacles on, to view It more distinctly; the younger Sort kept It at an awful Distance: Some were of Opinion, that It was a Highwayman in Disguise, and accordingly were for seizing It; others took It for a Nun; but by a certain arch Lear It had with Its Eyes, I dare engage It had not a Bit of Nun's Flesh about It: However, by its pale Complexion, and Shroudlike Dress, most of my Neighbours, at last, concluded It to be a Ghost, and so took to their Heels, and left me, (who am no great Believer in these Things) almost alone with It in the Road. I had now an Opportunity. during the Time It was drinking a Glass of
Rhenish Wine
and
Sugar,
at the
Saracen's-head-Inn,
to survey It well, and thereupon, concluding It to be an
Hermaphrodite,
I enquired of the Man, who seemed to have the keeping of It, If he intended to shew It in our Town? and at what Inn? for, you must know, Sir, that I have a mighty Curiosity to see one of those Creatures all over: But the Man, with an angry Countenance, told me, That what I took for an
Hermaphrodite,
was only a young Lady, and that the Sort of Dress she was in, was commonly worn for a
Riding-Habit
by the Ladies of Fashion at
London
: But as neither I, nor my Neighbours, can believe it possible for Folks, upon no ill Design, to disguise themselves in such a Manner, I desire you will, in one of your PLAIN-DEALERS, (for we have it constantly brought to us by our Coach) inform us of the Truth, which will tend very much to the Satisfaction of the best Part of our Town, who are your Readers; and particularly,
Honoured SIR,
Your Kinswoman, And most Humble Servant,
DOROTHY PLAIN.
Kettering
in
Northamptonshire,
July
27. 1724.
P.S. SIR,
Since I writ my Letter, some of my Neighbours tell me, they believe the Creature I have writ to you about, is one of the
Masqueraders
we have heard of, that are common with you at
London;
but, for my Part, I can't think it ugly enough for one of them neither.
THE subsequent Epistle is very curious, and gives an Account of a new Method of Scandal, which, my Correspondent assures me, takes very much with the Satyrical Part of her Sex; whom I am sorry to see so uncharitable to each other, and indiscreet enough to trust their Reputation to the Tongue of so loquacious an Animal.
SIR,
I WAS prevailed upon, one Day last Week, to visit my Lady
Tattle,
where I was no sooner seated, but I heard a Voice (which I thought too hoarse to come from our Sex) cry, '
'Tis true, she is very pretty; but she has Mrs.
Frail
's Fault, that loves Fellows Company:
And then a little afterwards:
Good Lord! What's become of Miss
Patty!
will she never leave the Country! People say, before she went, she was fat about the Waist.
Hearing my best Friends scandalized after this rude Manner; I could contain no longer, but, turning about to see the Author of such injurious Expressions, I was surprized to hear the same Voice, in the most humble Tone imaginable, cry,
Poor
Poll,
scratch Pole; pretty
Parrot! It is impossible to describe the Pleasure, that appear'd in Lady
Tattle
's Eyes, upon hearing her Bird's Discourse: She told me, She had bespoke Three more, and that she designed one for
Party,
another for
Scandal,
and the Third, which she would instruct herself, should speak
Poetry
; I beg, Sir, you would either in your Writings put a Stop to this growing Folly, or desire some Member of Parliament to propose an Act to prohibit the Importation of
Parrots.
I am
SIR,
Your most Humble Servant,
VINDEMIA.
Kensington,
July
27.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 40.
Omnia vincit amor, & noscedamus amori.
VIRG.
FRIDAY,
August
7. 1724.
To the
PLAIN DEALER.
SIR,
THE few Lines, I sent to you, on the 27th of the last Month, were intended for the Diversion of your Readers, and were the Dictates of a Mind at Ease. I write to you now, with a quite different' Spirit, and on a more substantial and solid Motive. My Heart was then, so light, that I little thought it would, in so short a Time, grow so heavy as I now find it. I am in Pain about a very worthy Relation of ours, young Mr.
Truelove,
who, being just return'd from his Travels, is married to a young Lady, upon whom he had secretly set his Heart for some Years before he went Abroad. The Perplexity of the Case is, That he has married her, without the Knowledge of his Father, and that the good old Gentleman, without the Knowledge of his Son, had provided for him a Lady, Beautiful like her, himself has chosen, and young, like her; Equal in Family, but vastly Superior in Point of Fortune. Never was there a more Paternal Affection, than my Uncle
Truelove
has shewn innumerable Marks of to his Son; nor were there ever more Tokens of Filial Piety, than my Cousin has taken all Occasions to demonstrate towards his Father. It would be a wonderous Pity, that any Misunderstanding should happen between so loving and beloved a Father, and so loving and beloved a Son: And yet we are all in mighty Apprehensions, that this Marriage may occasion a fatal Breach between them. The Father placed the Prospect of the Son's Happiness in his having a Wife with a plentiful Fortune. The Son thought that, with Regard to his own Happiness, no Fortune could be put in Competition with the Value of the Woman, whose Virtue, Beauty, and Innocence, had endear'd her to his Heart. The Father (if all our Family guesses right, and much I fear we do) will be inraged at the Loss of an Estate, in which he had imaginarily placed the whole Sum of his Son's Felicity in this World; he will tax him of Imprudence, tell him he has thrown himself away, and call this Marriage so enter'd upon without his Knowledge or Consent, an Act of Disobedience. My Cousin, who bears a tender and an affectionate Heart, will ill brook these Rebukes, that make his Father seem to undervalue the precious Creature, whom he, above all the World, holds dear; he will not, he cannot, suffer them. He will justify his Choice; He will be warm in the Defence of the Fair One his Father has despised; He will speak with Indifference of the Fortune; his Father had with Pains been seeking, in Comparison of her, and maintain the Privilege of his being of Age, and free to chuse for himself. Thus their very Affections, by this different Notion, they have of Happiness, may be the Causes of their Difference; and since those, who have a Violence in the Passion of Love, carry with them that Violence into other Passions, we are apt to fear, that, unless some Precautions be taken, the Rupture may be dangerous; and we rather think, by gentle Methods, to break the Force of the Disappointment in the Manner of discovering the Marriage to the Old Gentleman, than leave him to the Chance of a hasty Fury, upon his suddenly discovering it himself. We are all on the Son's Side, before the Matter breaks out; and we have a Mind to make it up with the Old Gentleman, as it were without his own Knowledge. Our Contrivance is, what I am sure your Humanity will prompt you to help forward; that you should pen a Paper, in Defence of the Right which young Men have of chusing for themselves, and against the Hardship there would be in a Father's interposing his Authority against the Inclinations of his Son, in the Case of Marriage, and after we have read that to him, we will open it by Degrees. Though it is more particularly ours at present, yet it is the World's Concern: The Young of both Sexes will be pleased with the Speculation, and it may be very extensively beneficial. If that Fatherly Gentleman, that wise Companion of yours, the Major, joins with you in supporting the Cause of the young People, two such Authorities will be of great Weight with the old Ones, and, at least reconcile them so far to this general Opinion of all Children, that when such Accidents happen, they will not stand in need of so many Arguments to reconcile them to their Persons. In complying with this, you will give great Ease and Satisfaction to our whole Family, and particularly to,
Honoured SIR,
Your Affectionate Kinswoman, and Humble Servant,
DOROTHY PLAIN.
Kettering
in
Northamptonshire,
Aug
1. 1724.
WHEN this Letter came to my Hands, the Major happened to be present, and as soon as I had look'd it over, I told him, He had a Right to read it; he did so, and returning it with a Smile,
Your Kinswoman
(said he)
makes a very reasonable Request
; The Old People, who are generally in the Right, when they differ from the Young, will not be angry with us, their Coaevals and Well-wishers, if we should endeavour to shew, that the young People are not altogether in the Wrong in this Point.
For my share, I must frankly declare, That, when young People are at Years of Discretion before they marry, the Law of Nature and Reason, seems to speak them Free to chuse for themselves, since they, and not their Parents, for no less a Term than Life, are to enjoy the
Happiness
of a
Right
Choice, or feel the
Smart
of a
Wrong
one.
The Major and I agreed in this Sentiment, and had a long Discourse upon the Subject, which, when I got Home, threw me into the following Reflections.
OF all the Affections, which move and act pleasurably upon the Frame of Human Nature,
Plato
reckons Love the most desirable:
For He,
saith this curious Philosopher,
who is thoroughly affected with this Passion, removes his Soul to the Place, where he has settled his Affections, and loses Himself to find the Object he doats upon.
This pleasant Straying, this delightful Wandering of the Soul from its own Mansion, is a beautiful Description of the Force of Love, and the Power, which those, who were created to charm, have to transport us, as it were, from the Government of Ourselves, into their own absolute Dominion. A Passion, which is, of its own Nature, so violent, renders Men excusable, in a great measure, when they seem to misplace it: They cannot be said to be guilty of a Fault in disobeying their Relations, when they are transported beyond the Power of giving Law to themselves. They are
sunk in the soft Captivity,
and Captives, are not free Agents: Neither is it hard it should be so in Nature; on the contrary, as good and virtuous Women, alone, have the
full
Power of moving and captivating the Soul in the manner I mention, it is so far from being an Evil, that it is a Blessing to be highly coveted. The Man, who is born of a good Mother, says little enough, when, transported by her Desert, he calls Women the Ornaments of Mankind in their Prosperity, and their Supports in Adversity; There is no being happy in Life without them.
PLATO,
in another Place, has carried the Sentiment to a more agreeable Height, he says,
The Soul of a Man, in Love, dieth in his own Body, and liveth in anothers.
This is Energy of Expression; and yet there is not more of Strength and Delicacy, than of Propriety and Justness: For, the Soul of a Man in Love, is dead to all other Appetites. The Man, who was in Love with Riches, and eager in the Pursuit of Honour, before he beheld the Fair One, who captivated his Soul, the Moment his Heart confesses itself a Victim to the Enchantment of Beauty, looks no longer upon Honour and Riches as the Two principal Movements, they grow only secondary Blessings, and are no farther valued than as they may help him to comfort, and adorn the adored Companion of his Life. Love is really, witn regard to other Affections, what the Philosopher's Stone is pretended to be, with regard to Metals: It inriches, and ennobles every Thing it touches: It is the genuine Elixir, that gives a golden Tincture to every Disposition of the Mind; it heightens Ambition; it inlarges Generosity; it quickens Joy; it banishes Envy; it extinguishes Lust; it enlivens the Virtues, and extirpates the Vices of Men in all Ranks and Conditions of Life. Is there a King, who is a Lover of Money? The Beauty whom he languishes to make a Queen, is valued beyond all his Treasure: Is there a Courtier that is warm in the Pursuit of a Coronet? Let him be in Love, and his Mistress is his
Pride
: Without her, the Coronet will not hinder his Head from aching: A
Garter
will less assuage the Swellings of his proud Heart, than a
Favour
of her bestowing. A Man that has a Fulness of Joy in his Composition, will grow melancholy, if he loses the fair Object of his Desires; Musick cannot please where her Voice is not heard: Equipage, Embroideries, and Brocades are false Colours upon the Heart that is inwardly in Mourning. The Envious Man envies no Body but his Rival, while he continues a Lover. The Lustful forgets his Appetites after Variety of Women. What Parent can rationally expect to be heard, when he undertakes to plead against such powerful Impressions? All the Urgings of Duty will be of no Effect; all the Arguments that can be used, will be no Arguments to these; all the World, beside his Mistress, is nothing to the Man that is in Love, and She is all the World to him.
WHAT can they hope to propose to a Son in this Condition, thar will deter him from his Purposes? Will they propose to him a Women, whom they think more beautiful and agreeable, and that as an infinite Superiority of Fortune, above the Fair One, that is his own Choice; Let her be as great a Fortune as she pleases, she is no Fortune at all to him: She would be, with all her Wealth, the Load and Calamity of his Life.
Love,
he would say,
is built upon the Union of Minds; Hearts are not to be bribed by Gold, and true Passion is not to be bought off by the Treasure of both
Indies. He can have no Relish in Possessions, that his desired Partner shares not. Will they add, That besides Fortune, the Mistress they recommend, has infinitely more of Beauty in the World's Eyes? He will answer, The World's Eye is none of his; he will grant, even that she may have Defects, and will not stop to say,
That he is even in Love with those Defects.
In fine, All they can propose will never avail, nor is it, indeed, reasonable that it should. If they threaten him with their Displeasure, and tax him with want of Duty, he will tell them, That he is dutiful in all other Points; he will be sorry for their Displeasure, but cannot obey in this One Case; he will make this undeniable Quotation in his Defence, That
he is to leave his Father and Mother, and cleave to his Wife.
And, truly, if his Parents think, that he sins against Prudence in chusing a slender Fortune, all the World will judge, that they would sin against Justice, if, forcing his Inclinations, they make him Wretched, under Pretence of making him Rich, and render him Miserable, under the Colour of making him Fortunate.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 41.
Principiis Obsta —
OVID.
— Vellent tibi barbam
Lascivi pueri —
HOR.
MONDAY,
August
10. 1724.
THE Complaint of
CHLOE,
in the ensuing Letter seems to be formed upon so laudable a Desire of making her Husband more agreeable to her, that without being entirely uncomplaisant, and void of all Gallantry whatsoever, there is no such Thing as refusing to insert it, or denying her all the Assistance, that such a Plain Old Man, as I am, shall be able to give her, towards procuring her a proper Redress from her Husband.—It is, indeed, a nice and ticklish Matter to have any Thing to do between married Folks; and, unless I had great Hopes of doing good, I should have little Inclination to meddle in it.
BUT I remember to have heard a particular Case once, when a very Reverend Divine was applied to, by both Parties, to accommodate a Difference between them; the holy Man, excused himself, with a venerable Shrug, saying,
That he had laid it down as a Maxim, Never to go between a Man and his Wife, on any Consideration whatever.
—A Friend of mine, who knew both the Man and the Wife, assured me, That the first Grounds of their Difference were too ridiculous to bear being told; but, that both being very stiff and obstinate not to yield an Inch on either Side, were, however, inwardly ashamed, and wanted nothing more earnestly than a Pretence to come together by the Interposition of the Divine: If the
Doctor
had only used
Will. Weathercock's
healing Method, and said no more, but that,
Tho' both of them had been in the Wrong, yet both of them were in the Right too,
all would certainly have come right, and they have been as good Friends as ever.
FOR this Reason therefore, I shall never think it a Matter of Scruple to thrust in between a discontented Couple. My Correspondent
CHLOE
complains of a very obvious and visible Obstruction, that is easy, and will be even
refreshing
to her Husband to
take off,
and I comply with her Desire of inserting the Complaint, because, I confide, that her Husband's Compliance with the Prayer of her Petition, will be the Consequence of mine.
Mr. PLAIN DEALER.
THIS very Day makes it exactly Half a Year, since I became a Wife. My Husband, when he made his Applications to me, always appeared Gay, Genteel, and Debonnair. But, about Two Months after we had tyed the
Gordian
Knot, He began to dress in a more negligent Manner. He now appears so much the Reverse of what he did formerly, in Point of Dress, that the Neighbours look upon it as a bad Compliment to his Yoke-Mate. Before Matrimony, his Chin was scarce shaded. But now, the
Barber
is never sent for but on a
Saturday
Night. This strange
Metamorphosis,
you may naturally suppose, is no ways agreeable to me. I assure you, Sir, I have spared no Pains to prevail with my Deary, to make his Appearance, in a Manner suitable to his Station. However, my repeated Petitions have, all of them, proved ineffectual. I therefore, beg of you, Mr. PLAIN DEALER, to give me your Assistance in this Affair, and you will highly oblige,
Your very Humble Servant,
CHLOE.
IF the Maxim of the above-mentioned Divine was to be followed in our present Case, I do not know where this Complaint might end, and whether it would not come to an open Rupture: It is certain, the most remarkable Divorces have arisen from as small Beginnings. The very Letter of this young Lady, shews her to be a neat and cleanly Person, and therefore her Complaint of this (I cannot help terming it)
dirty
Usage, carries the greater Weight with it. I can, methinks, behold this young Sloven approaching the tender Thing, and embracing her in a manner that turns Pleasure into a Torment; I see him hold her struggling against a Kiss, his Arms round her unwilling Neck, force her Face to his dreaded Lip; he is put to the Necessity of
ravishing
a Kiss from his own Wife, and yet is ignorant of the Meaning.—He takes it, however, by Violence.—She looks half pleased, half angry, hangs down her Head, hides the Water in her Eyes, pushes him, between Jest and Earnest, from her Bosom; rubs her glowing and smarting Mouth, calls him
Rough Thing!
with half a tender-laughing, and a half-whining Voice.—The unpolish'd Creature casts a Booby Stare at her, and is stupidly at a Loss to know why she struggles so hard against what she likes: Unless he is told, point-blank, That his Beard is the Cause of all the Disorder, he cannot perceive that her Cheeks look red and angry with his Kisses, and wear rather the Print of Fury than Love. He must be told, That a delicate Skin was never form'd to be brush'd over by a bristly Beard, that is rough, and stubborn, like the Humour that lets it grow. I call it more particularly
stubborn
in this unaccountable young Fellow, for she has told, and told him of it again and again, in plain Terms, and he, notwithstanding all this, pertinaciously continues to go
rough.
Now is it not a preposterous way of acting, after all, that when a
Lover,
he should shave close, for fear of offending the Eye of a Mistress whom he was uncertain of obtaining; and yet let it grow, when a
Husband,
without having the Fear of wounded Beauty before his Eyes; and without any Apprehensions of hurting that Face by his Roughness, that charm'd him by its Softness.
I DWELL the more upon this Subject, as inconsiderable as it may seem to some, because it is a Male Vice that I have frequently taken Notice of, and as often wish'd to see remedied for the sake of the fair Sufferers, who are wedded to such unpolish'd Barbarians. A Marriage Conversation ought to humanize and temper Men; on the contrary, these, instead of growing tamer, are made more savage by Matrimony.
YOU shall see a Lover in a fine Campaign Peruque, and an embroider'd Suit of Cloaths, alter'd into a Husband, with an aukward Country Bob, and a Surtout made out of a Rug. You shall find his Manners following his Dress, and his Complaisance degenerating into Bluntness. It is in all Degrees alike. You shall see one, whom before Marriage, you would take for a Lord, alter'd, after it, into a Coachman; many that seemed Senators transmuted into Jockies; a hundred ceremonious Beaus turn'd Clowns, and numberless Sir
Clements
transformed into Country
Lobbins.
SURE, as old as I am, I have a more amorous Nature in me still, than these mysterious young Fellows, whose Affections and Actions are so different, I cannot tell what to make of them. I can easily guess it would tickle my Ear strangely, to hear a young beautiful Creature telling me, how I should become more agreeable to her, by adorning myself, and intreating me to do it. For Example, if
Patty Amble
and I were upon absolute Terms of Agreement, There are not any little Customs, that I would not depart from for her Ease. As fix'd an Aversion as I have profess'd against clouded Canes, I should, however, be easily perswaded to carry a painted Stick, instead of an Oaken, if by
walking
with it, I was sure to make
Progression
in my Wife's Affection; nay, I would admit a
Knot of Ribbons
to it into the Bargain, provided it would render our
Marriage-Knot
the easier. Again, I have known Women, who have a prodigious Aversion to a
Mouse,
and are not only very wary at guarding their Petticoats upon the Approach of that little noxious and nimble Animal, but do not even care that any Thing, which looks the least like it, should come near them: Now, if my
Patty
was of that Temper, I, who know how far Women are apt to stretch some Antipathies, would alter the very Colour of my Gloves for fear of Offence; and though I have affected
Mouse-colour
for so many Years, I would fit myself with a Pair of White, or, at least, of a less frightful Complexion, before I would come within Arm's Length of her Hoop. In fine, tho' I wear a little
Mustache
(the Fashion when I was young, and a Peculiarity I have not mentioned of myself 'till this Day) that would rather tickle than offend, yet sooner than that should interpose, it should be devoted to the Edge of the Razor. For I am absolutely for rescinding the least Obstacles between a Man and his Wife, before Matters are carried too far.
A GREAT many People will object, that these are Trifles; but I say, They are Matters that have more Consequences than they dream of. However, granting the Objection true, if conforming one's-self in little Matters is sufficient to please, it is the least a Man can do, to indulge so amiable a Creature.
COMPLIANCE in Dress, is a Piece of Matrimonial Wisdom,
Fine Feathers making fine Birds:
Women often chuse more judiciously than the Men; and have Regard to Sense, Temper, and Behaviour, but they will have a Mixture of Appearance too, in the Composition of their Man, if possible; and Dress passes, with some of them, even beyond Looks; insomuch, that though Finery, in the general Rule, be the Glory and darling Passion of a Woman, yet there are Exceptions of many, who would rather see their Husbands fine, than themselves. Nothing is more common, than to hear
ordinary
Women, especially, who, after they are married, are very free in declaring the Source of their Affections, say, That the Neatness of her Husband, the Smugness of his Look, and the Cleverness of his Shape,
&c.
first made her in Love with him. If this be the Case, when the Cause ceases, the Effect will cease too: The Moment he grows dirty, wears a long Beard, or drowns himself in a large
Josephus,
the pleasant Picture, that his Wife had painted of him, in her Fancy, vanishes; and if not re-imprinted sometimes, her Liking insensibly wears away. In fine, as much Trifles as these are, a Wife's Heart, if
that
be a Trifle, is lost by the Disuse of them; and perhaps made a
trifling
Present of, to a Stranger that minds Dressing.
I HAVE been credibly informed, That it is a political Piece of Cunning, among those unlucky Sparks, who affect to shine by the Means of modish Wickedness, to observe, how the Husband, who grows careless after Marriage, appeared in the Times of his Courtship, and to equip themselves accordingly. They Play the Part of the
Suiter
so well upon the
Husband,
as to estrange from him the Affections of his Spouse, and transfer them to their proper Purpose. They dress in the same Manner, wear Cloaths of the same Colour, are punctual in his very Pinch and Cock of the Hat, mimick his Air, Gait, Mien, and by this Policy in Love, make the Husband his own Rival. But as the Face is the Mart of Love, so these Inconveniencies happen mostly from an Over-neglect of that Part; the being not shaved ruffles a Woman's Temper against her Husband; while the Gallant, by being trimm'd, smooths a Passage to her Inclination.
I AM sure, if the Case stands thus, a Barber is an Artisan of Importance, since, besides taking off the
Beard,
he lops away such growing Evils.
LET Him, therefore, that values his Head, look to his Beard; and be mindful.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 42
— Cinis & Manes, & Fabula fies.
PERS.
FRIDAY,
August
14. 1724.
EVER since I was a School-Boy, I have been fond of walking in
Westminster-Abbey,
where, when my Heart is heated, by the Violence of some unruly Passion, I enjoy a cool Composure, and a kind of Venerable Refreshment.—Its dusky Cloisters, majestick Isles, Quire, Organs, Royal Tombs, and reverend Variety of strong, impressive, Images, have a never-failing Power to
reduce
my Mind from Transport, when Hope, Prosperity, or Pleasure, have betray'd it into Vanity; or, to
relieve
it, when disorder'd, by a Weight of Anguish, or Oppression.
DEATH, and the Sun,
says a
French
Writer,
are Two Things not to be look'd upon with a steady Eye.
—Though there is something in his Observation, rather pretty, than just, yet so far is certainly true, That we are unqualify'd to think, serenely, on our
Dissolution,
while we are surrounded by the Noise, and Hurry of the World, in its ambitious Scenes; or soften'd into sensual Wishes, by the Languor of an idle Solitude.—While
we
are Part of our own Prospect we can never view it justly: But, in such a Situation as the
Abbey,
we are plac'd as it were, out of ourselves, and, from this ancient
Stand
of Death, look back upon a Country, which we seem no longer to have any Concern in; and which, therefore we can judge of with the necessary Clearness and Impartiality.
THE Mind that is stedfast enough to meditate, calmly, on Death, will be arm'd to resist the Strength, and the Flattery, of human Passions.—Such Thoughts, if they make us not
better,
will, at least, make us
wiser
; since that must moderate our Wishes. which puts us out of Countenance at their Levity: And, who can reflect, without being asham'd, that while every Thing, in
Life,
is accidental, and
Death,
the only Certainty; we go on to act notwithstanding, as if all Things, else were
infallible,
and Death but
accidental.
I, sometimes, suffer myself to be shut up for Five or Six Hours among the
Tombs,
where I sit down without Ceremony, or Reprehension, among the proudest of those Princes, who were once, too stately to be convers'd with, but at Distance, and with Fear and Reverence.—I possess, in common, with the Spiders (their Companions, and most constant Servants, who spread Net-work over their Trophies) the unenvied Privilege of surrounding those last Beds of forgotten Majesty.—Here I bury myself, in solemn Silence, and imprint my Imagination with Images, which awaken Thought and prepare me for Humility.—The stain'd, and melancholy Light, that enters faintly through the painted Windows, as if it wore a decent
Mourning,
to become the Scene it opens to me, guides me, slowly, by the cloister'd Allies, dusty Tombs, and weeping Statues, till I am lost in that still Pomp of figur'd Sorrow, which, on every Side, incloses me.
From finish'd Pray'r, the Flock disperse apace,
And each glad Foot forsakes the dreary Place:
The hooded
Prebend,
plods along before;
And the last
Virger,
claps the ringing Door.
Then, thoughtful, ling'ring, curious, and alone,
In the dark Temple, when the rest are gone,
No Noise invades my Ear; No murm'ring Breath
Not one low
Whisper,
in the
Hall
of
Death!
No trampling Sound swims o'er the silent Floor;
But the slow
Clock,
that counts the sliding Hour!
HERE, indulging Contemplation, I forget my Cares, and Misfortunes, and disencumber myself from the Forms, and Embarrassments of Converse. I become the Inhabitant of a quiet, and unbusy World, where all is serene and peaceful: I am disturb'd by no Fears, inflam'd by no Anger, inspir'd by no Hope, tormented by no Jealousy: I can expect, whitout Impatience; and be disappointed, without Affliction: The Dust, which is scatter'd round me, and which once, was Living Flesh, as I am, choaks the Fountains of my Pride, and produces in me a Mortification, that is too strong for all my Passions.
I WAS present, very lately, when of those Monumental Historians, whose Imployment it is to draw a Profit from reading Lectures, on these Resting Places of our antient Princes, was shewing the Tomb of
Henry the Fifth,
to a Circle of Holiday Strollers.—After having inform'd the tasteless Wonderers, That this was
He
who
conquer'd
France! That His
Son
was
crown'd
in
Paris
! That he married
the French King's Daughter
! And what else he had been Able to collect from the Records of this great Prince's Reign; he pointed to a Plain, Wooden, Worm-eaten, Coffin, that was plac'd upon the Ground, by this Tomb's Side, and told them, That it contain'd the Body of Queen
Catherine,
the beautiful Wife of this Triumphant
Henry.
—Adding, That for a small, additional, Contribution, he would unlock the Coffin, and let them look in upon her Corpse, which lay there, perfect, and undecay'd, though she had been dead almost Three hundred Years. They had Curiosity enough to pay the Price demanded, and the Proposer made good his Promise, unveiling to their Sight, and Touch, the Reliques of that Royal Charmer.
I CANNOT express the Indignation, and Concern which this Scene gave me.—Her lovely Limbs, which, once, were thought too tender for the Wind to blow upon; and which were never seen without Joy, Reverence, and Wonder, by the Conqueror of Her Father's Kingdom, and the Sovereign of This in which she died:
Now,
lay neglected, and expos'd! denied even Earth to cover her! and made a Spectacle, for Entertainment of a Croud of common Wanderers!
SUPERIOR, as this Lady was, in her Beauty Birth, and Fortune, what Prae-eminence in Death have all these given her above the
Meanest,
and most
Unlovely?
—After having made her
Life
a changeful Course of Sorrow and Calamity, they left her destitute, in
Death,
without the Decency of a
Grave
to
shelter
her!—There, now, she lies, a Proof of transitory Greatness! To comfort the
Wretched,
with this Reflection, when they look in upon her expos'd Remains, that
Nature
has made no Difference between a
Royal,
and a
Vulgar,
Body; But, that, taking away what was added by
Fortune,
each, from the Moment of Death, is the other's Equal to Eternity.
WHAT Rank, or Condition, is there among us, which may not draw, from this great School of Moral Reasoning, some Observation for their Benefit?—Even the
Unwary
and
Extravagant,
whose Lives are a continued Luxury! and to whom the Miseries of
Debt
appear remote, and without Terror! Even
They,
may find a Lesson among these
Tombs
; for there they may be shewn the Bodies of great Men, doing Penance in their Velvet Coffins, and
imprison'd after Death,
to satisfy the Malice of their stubborn Creditors, as if the Influence of sordid Money could extend its Cruelties beyond Life, and had a Privilege to disturb, by Avarice, the sleeping Ashes of departed Sovereigns!
IS a Man insulted? wrong'd? betray'd? Does he hate his distrusted Enemy? Are his Thoughts imploy'd on Revenge? And does he break his Sleep with Stratagems, to avoid, or retaliate, the Injustice that may be done him? Let him walk with me in this instructive Circle, and I will shew him the Dust of a murder'd Monarch, mixing quietly with
his
who murder'd him.—I will tread with him over Earth that is passive, and ferments not, though compos'd of united Atoms from the mingl'd Bodies of those Men, whose battling Interests and Affections, while they
liv'd,
shook the Kingdom like an Earthquake!—When the
Quarrelsome
consider
This
they ought to blush at their little Hatreds, and grow asham'd to let their Souls be divided by Animosity, when Death may crumple their Bodies together, and incorporate them with their most malicious Enemy!
THERE is no Fortune so
exalted,
but it may find a
Check
in this dark Mansion: Nor any Condition so
dejected,
but that it may be sure of a
Comfort
: Every Stone that we look upon, in this Repository of past Ages, is an
Entertainment,
and a
Monitor.
—I never leave its venerable Gloom, without finding my Mind cooler, and more compos'd than when I enter'd.—I sink deep into myself, and see my Heart without Disguise; in its good, or evil Propensities: And I gather Power from these strong Impressions to resist Pleasure, Pride, Ambition, or low Avarice: And to fortify the Impulses of Humility, Forgiveness, Charity, and the Virtues of Content and Quietude.
THERE was publish'd, a few Years since, a Poem, call'd WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. I am sorry the Author's Name was not printed with it. There is somthing highly elevated in his Genius, that is sweetly serious, and sublimely melancholy!—The Verses inserted above, I am indebted for to that Poem: And I shall borrow from the same Piece, these following, which, I will take the Liberty to affirm, are as fine ones, as were ever written.—I ask Pardon for a Transposition, and Alteration, or Two, which I have only made, that I might have the Pleasure of collecting into one view, as many of the Beauties, as could possibly be drawn together in the narrow Compass of my Paper.
Lead on, my Muse! while, trembling, I essay
To trace thy Footsteps, through the Cloister'd Way:
Throw a thick Veil around thy radiant Head,
And lead me through the
Dwellings
of the
Dead.
Where the still Banner, faded, and decay'd,
Nods, pendant, o'er its mould'ring Master's Head,
Where
Loves,
transform'd to Marble Angels, moan:
And weeping
Cherubs,
seem to sob in Stone.
Seize
Time:
and by the Pinions, urge his Stay;
Stop him, a while, in his
Eternal Way.
Bid him recline his Scythe, on each pale Tomb,
And name the Tenant of the darksome Room.
O, Muse! with Care, the blended Dust explore;
And re-inspire, and
wake,
the sleeping Floor.
To mount their Throne, here, Monarchs bend their Way,
O'er Pavements, where their Predecessors lay:
Ye
Sons
of
Empire
! who, in pompous Hour,
Attend, to wear the cumbrous Robe of Pow'r!
When ye proceed along the shouting Way,
Think, there's a Second Visit, still to pay.
And, when in State, on buried Kings you tread,
And swelling Robes sweep o'er th' imperial Dead!
While, like a God, your worshipp'd Eyes move round,
Think, then, O think! you walk on treach'rous Ground.
Though
firm
the chequer'd Pavement seems to be,
'Twill, surely,
open,
and give Way, for
Thee!
While crouding Lords, address their Duties near
Th' anointing
Prelate!
and the kneeling
Peer!
While with obsequious Diligence, they bow,
And spread the
careful Honours,
o'er thy Brow:
While the high-rais'd Spectators shout around,
And the long Isles and vaulted Roofs, resound:
Then, snatch
a sudden Thought and turn thy Head,
From the loud
Living,
to the silent
Dead.
With conscious Eye, the neighb'ring Tombs survey:
These will instruct thee, better far, then
They!
What
now, thou art,
in yon gay Homage see:
But
These
best shew,
what thou art sure to be!
I AM ignorant what Reception this excellent Performance met with in the World; but I, hope, for the Honour of my Country, that it was not a bad one!—The whole Poem is full of Beauties; but, if it had no other Merit than appears in what I have here copied from it, every candid Judge of Poetry, must allow it to have deserved the highest Applause and Admiration.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 43.
— Hic murus aheneus esto
Nil conscire sibi, nulla pallescere culpa.
HOR.
MONDAY,
August
17. 1724.
But thou shalt flourish in immortal Youth,
Unhurt, amidst the War of Elements,
The Wreck of Matter, and the Crush of Worlds.
Add. Cato.
Mr. PLAIN DEALER,
I Am an old Man, as you are, and when I reflect on the fantastick Vicissitude of human Affairs; when I consider the Shortness of Life, and the small Pretensions I have to any longer Share in it, it fills my Mind with something grave, solemn, and, I must own, melancholy; but when I give my Thoughts a more unbounded Scope, and pass over that short Intermission of Life, into the Contemplation of an Eternal Being, my Mind recovers from that Gloom, which the first Reflection fill'd me with, and grows gay, in Proportion to the Influence which this latter has upon it.
I WAS, last Night, reading that celebrated Speech of
Cato
whence I have taken the Motto, with which I head this Letter, and whether it was from the serious Thoughts which that Soliloquy inspired, or the last strong Glimpses of a Mind almost expiring, and habituated to such Speculations, I am not able to determine; but I was no sooner fallen asleep, than the following Dream, or rather
Vision,
grew into Form, and fill'd my Fancy.
METHOUGHT the dreadful Hour was come, in which I was to resign this Life; my Bed was surrounded by a silent Company of weeping Friends, whose Sorrows touch'd me more, than my own approaching Dissolution, which happen'd in less Time, than human Nature can conceive, and therefore (though at that Period I felt it sensibly) it is impossible I should now describe it. I was no sooner freed from the Incumbrance, and Obscurity, of
Matter,
but my Soul became refined to such an infinite Degree of Conception, that my Eyes, having nothing to interrupt, or confine their View, were strengthen'd with such piercing Beams, that they darted every Glance through an innumerable Progression of Worlds, and illuminated me with a particular, and perfect, Knowledge of the Harmony, and Fabrick of each extended System.
WHILST I was thus lost in Contemplation (for infinite Spare, like an endless Source, still afforded me new Objects to nourish that inextinguishable Thirst of Knowledge, which is the Employment of Eternal Life) I felt a Heavenly Transport, which diffus'd itself, swifter than Thought, through the Frame of my new Being; and which, at the same Time it made my Soul tremble with its Influence, invigorated, and enabled it to support the Energy.
I NOW enjoy'd perfect Felicity, and whilst my Soul (whose Desire of Knowledge increased in proportion with its Power to gratify it) imploy'd each different Sensation in pursuit of that Branch, which which was peculiar to its Nature; on a sudden, I heard an universal Crack, which seem'd to arise from the whole Number of created Worlds, and resounded from Globe to Globe, with a long Continuance of reverberated Uproars.
AT last, the Chain that link'd them in that dependant Order, in which, from the first Moment of their Creation, they have perpetually been moving, shiver'd, of itself: The loosen'd Orbs, thus disunited, began to roll, with an unconceivable Swiftness, through the vast Expanse of Space, and met, and shock'd each other in the dark Vacuity! The
Sun,
now robb'd of Light, whirl'd rapid, and irregular! The
Moon
let loose her Seas, and rain'd a Deluge in her falling! The
fixed Stars,
that, from the Birth of Time, had kept their appointed Stations, no longer aw'd by the all-powerful
Word,
broke loose, and rush'd together. Prodigious was the Sound! and horrible the Conflict! The Elements, forgetting their respective Qualities, and urg'd by the immutable Decree, met, all, and
mix'd,
and lost themselves, in ruinous Confusion.
WHEN all seem'd bury'd in profoundest Darkness, the wild Uproar ceas'd at once; and as I wonder'd at this sudden Silence, a Pyramid of Fire broke thro', that in a Moment, enwrapp'd the Whole, and, having nothing left to prey upon, at length, devour'd it self.
THUS was the
End
of
All!
When from that inaccessible Brightness, where the Divine Presence conceals, yet makes it self known, a Beam of Day shot out, which lighting up the infinite Extent of Heaven, and rendering it transparent, discover'd all its Glories. I there perceiv'd the Stream of Life, which running through the midst of Heaven,
quicken'd
where-ever it roll'd, and watering the Tree of Knowledge, nourish'd it eternally: Next, I saw numberless Swarms of Beings, like myself, that fill'd the Vastness of Infinitude, and seem'd lost, like me, in Wonder, Praise, and Adoration. I heard a Voice (which had more Influence, than the most perfect Harmony of human Art, and communicated itself to all alike) cry,
Come, Eat of the Tree of Knowledge, and Drink of the Water of Life.
IMMEDIATELY the Angelick Host, and all the Children of Earth (who, by Obedience to this Command, were become one, and the same) eat, and drank, as they were commanded. The first Effect of this, that I found on myself, and perceived in all the rest, was a perfect Recollection of whatever I had done since my first entering into Life: Various were the Consequences! The
Ungrateful,
the
Murtherer,
the
Miser,
the
False Friend,
and the
Rebel,
remember'd, with Horror, their past Crimes, and grew frantick, at every Thought, with the Consciousness of what they had merited. They felt the severest Pangs of that most lively of all Torments,
Despair
; but the
Just,
and those who had the least to reproach themselves with, found, yet, they had too much to answer for, when, in the Book of Record, which was thrown open to the View of all, they perceived, that the minutest of their Thoughts were registered.
NOW we all became sensible, how easy the Rule was by which we were to have liv'd; and how adapted to the required Obedience of human Nature! Whilst we were thus lamenting our unhappy States, and aggravating our Misery by Self-Conviction, in an Instant, we discover'd a fiercer Blaze of Light, and beheld the mystick Veil drawn off, that shrouded the Almighty's Presence: Raised on a Throne, to which the Brightness of the Sun would have been dim, the Divine Father of all Things disclos'd Himself; His Countenance was mildly aweful; Paternal Tenderness shone out in every Feature of His Face, and discovered a Concern for us, which, we knew, proceeded from a Divine Idea,
That if He should be Merciful, He must be more than Just.
ON His Right Hand sat the
Second Person,
our known
Redeemer
; In Him, the Beauty of the Father was divinely manifested; In Him, the Glory of His Power at once was soften'd, and exerted. Behind Him the fatal Figure of that Cross, on which He suffer'd, hung, like a dreadful Comet, prognosticating the Hour of Judgment. On the Left, was placed the
Third
Adorable Person, in the, now, no longer
Mystick Union.
In Him, an equal Mixture of the Father, and the Son, reveal'd itself, uniting, in his Countenance, the severest Glory of the One, with the most ineffable Sweetness of the Other.
BENEATH, and on the Right of the World's triumphant Saviour, sat his Twelve Disciples: Their Eyes were fix'd on their great Master's Looks, and seem'd to borrow thence, by Reflection, all their Softness, and their Lustre. In equal Stations, on the Left of the
Holy Spirit,
appear'd those Antient
Philosophers,
who, through the Dusk of Superstition and Idolatry, by the Light of Reason, and mere Nature, saw, and taught, One True, Eternal God; and in Defence of that Belief, had Courage even to suffer Martyrdom.
WHILST I contemplated this Divine Appearance, I heard a Voice, which, proceeding thence, pierc'd the profoundest Space of Heaven, proclaming,
That each should be his own Judge, and from the Testimony of his own Conscience, acquit, or condemn himself.
IMMEDIATELY all the
Just,
and those whose Consciences, by due Allowances for the Frailties of human Nature, could acquit, and encourage them, advanced, and (with a Modesty, at once more humble and assured, than any thing on Earth) asserted, and made known, their Virtues and Obedience to the Divine Commands, concluding, that, though they had acquitted themselves, and were intitled, by the
unalterable Word,
to Everlasting Felicity, yet could they not pretend to claim it, 'till they had received the Almighty Sanction, which they hop'd for, through the Mediation, the Merits, and the Blood of his beloved Son, who died for Man's Redemption, Pardon, and Salvation. After which, they prostrated themselves before the Throne, and, receiving Diadems of Glory,
were admitted as Partakers of Beatitude without End.
I THEN heard the same Voice repeat,
Let each be his own Judge, and from the Testimony of his own Conseience, acquit, or condemn, himself;
But, far from seeing any more advance (though still there were infinite Numbers remaining) I observ'd, that they drew back, reproaching each other, beating their Breasts, and making such Variety of Lamentations, that the violent Noise awaken'd me, in such a Mixture of Joy, and Horror, that it will be long before my Memory wears out the Impression of so strong a Vision, which, if it affects you enough, to make you judge it worth publishing, I shall have
slept,
as I love to
wake,
for the Service, or Warning of others.
I am, SIR, Your constant Reader,
C. D.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 44.
Obsequium amicos, veritus, odium parit. —
TEREN.
Fortior, est qui se, quam qui fortissima vincit
Moenia —
VIRG.
Nil agit exemplum, litem quod lite resolvit. —
HOR.
FRIDAY,
August
21. 1724.
I was visited, some Days ago, by several of my distinguish'd Friends; and, on this Occasion, must particularly name the
Major,
and
Ned Volatile,
in regard they were the principal Persons concerned in that Afternoon's Conversation, which gave Birth to this Day's Paper.
THE Discourse turn'd upon a Subject, to which a late unhappy Rencounter furnish'd too many Materials: 'Twas the Dispute between Two dear and inseparable Friends, which ended not, but with the Life of one of them. The Personal Acquaintance, that some of us had with one, or both, of the Gentlemen, continued our Conversation longer, and carried our Reflections farther, than we should else have allow'd of, at a Time, when we met to give, and receive a mutual Pleasure.
THE
Point of Honour,
which is usually the Foundation, upon which these unhappy Disputes are grounded, was, by the
Major,
beautifully explain'd, and set in a just Light, opposite to the too generally mistaken Notions of that noble Qualification; and which
Ned
had too warmly debated, 'till
Will. Weathercock
diverted his pushing it to Extremity, by the seasonable Interposition of his peculiar Judgment.
Will's
Decisions, as the
Pagans
painted their
Janus,
always appear with
Two Faces,
which favour both Parties, and reconcile them in good Humour. Nevertheless, we could not leave the Subject intirely, without a Progress of Reflection upon the Fatality of sudden Startings, and ungovernable Passions, which are too much indulg'd, and but too little provided against, by the Generality of Mankind.
I REMEMBER 'twas agreed to, that most of the ill Blood, Debates, and Quarrels, that happen, owe their Original to Unconcern, and Carelesness about our Humour in Conversation. A Man must be Master of himself, and preserve a watchful Guard over his Behaviour in Company, if he would either
please,
or be
pleased.
There is a natural Liberty, which all Mankind claims by Right; but the mistaken Use of it leads to Mischief. A licentious, or rambling, Tongue proves, as injurious to Society, as Treason to a State; and Traitors smart no more, frequently, for
This Guilt,
than Prattlers for
That Folly.
NED VOLATILE,
not yet quite cool, broke in upon our Chain of Reasoning, by asserting,
'That a strict Watch over one's Words, Actions, and Humour, in all Companies, is a Restraint, which, in his Opinion, differ'd nothing from Torture. What! said he, must I be always under the Slavery of
thinking
before I speak? Shall I never have the Pleasure of expressing my own Sentiments? Who would sacrifice his natural Rights, to please another Man? Would any but a
Fool,
or
Flatterer,
praise what he
hates
? or declare himself an Enemy to what he
loves,
merely to shew his
good Humour,
or
Complaisance?
No Gentlemen, I maintain, That
Grandeur itself,
would be too dear bought at this Priee; and whoever affirms the contrary, is no Friend to
Plain-Dealing.
HE paus'd here, and look'd at me for Approbation; I was going to distinguish, and remark the Circumstances that should be punctually regarded, when the
Major
begg'd to be heard.
'The Restraint, said he, that you represent so dreadful, gives more Satisfaction, than Pain. Your Complaisance, and good Humour, is more your own Interest, than your, Companion's. Is it not for your own Sake, that you accommodate yourself to his Humour, from whom you hope good Offices or expect agreeable Enterainment? Do you take for Dissimulation a Guard of Prudence, which induces you to seem in the Sentiments of a Man, whom you would willingly draw into yours, when either your Interest, or Inclination, requires it? For my Part, I think you have a Right to applaud yourself, when you can enter agreeably into opposite Humours: What induc'd all the Anticents to admire the pliant Conduct of
Alcibiades?
And why do we
still wonder,
that a Man could so aptly accommodate himself to the different Manners of the several Countries where he liv'd? Nothing was so much talk'd of at
Athens,
as his
Eloquence
and
Gallantry.
Among the
Persians,
he was always
feasting,
and nothing was seen more splendid, than his
Dress
and
Equipage
; but he pass'd over to opposite Manners, when he was obliged to go to
Sparta
; for
there
the most rigid
Lacedemonian
led a Life less
austere
than
Alcibiades.
'
ALCIBIADES,
cry'd
Ned Volatile,
was an Affector of
Popularity.
His Maxim was like that of a Friend of mine,
Cum fueris Romae, Romano vivito More.
But, hang it.—I hate that Suppleness of Humour, It may be necessary for Embassadors and Travellers; but
Ned Volatile
has nothing to do with it.
HE was proceeding, in his usual Volubility of Speech, when I interrupted him, in the following Manner.
'I AM sorry my Friend
Volatile
would decry one of the Blessings, upon which the Happiness of
Society
is in a great Measure, founded. The Commerce of Life requires our Regard to Variety of Humours every Day, and when
Nature
denies the Mastery, of them, Men should endeavour to
acquire
it. Who would not
rejoice with
a Friend, newly, and happily, married?
Congratulate one
just arrived from his Travels? Or
Condole
with
another
on the Loss of an only, and valuable Son? This is no Suppleness, no Inequality of Humour? 'Tis a Sweetness, 'tis a Virtue. Tell me; Would not yourself, in the Presence of a Gay Prince, devoted to his Pleasures, appear with a chearful Countenance? Or, Would you accost with a smiling Air, a cloudy, and suspicious, one? No more is it fitting to carry a Passion into Company disagreeable to that which reigns in it, or to discover a
Mien
which condemns the Sentiments wherewith the Company is prepossessed. In short, nothing is more opposite to the Maxims of Civil Society, than an Opinionative, and Dogmatical, Conduct; and he who will obstinately follow it, is in Danger of never getting new Friends, and even of losing his old ones. I wish I could say, That these Duels, and Deaths, we have been speaking of, are not its common Consequences.
'I HAVE heard, and enter into your Sentiments with Pleasure, said
Ned Volatile
; but allow me, at least, to affirm, That one who is thus Master of his Temper, must never abuse this Power; never betray his Sentiments, in maintaining an Error, or in giving Praises to Words or Actions, that he is sensible do not deserve it.
'RIGHT, answered I.—
How
then, said he, or
wherein,
do you appear Master of your Humour?—When I submit it, replied I, to that of others, or decline my own Will to theirs, to whom I would shew a Deference, my
Words,
at least, my
Silence,
should carry Tokens of my Complaisance. As for Example; Did one whom I would not displease, commend an ill Man, not well known to him? or who had wrong'd, or disoblig'd me? In such Case, I would stifle and conceal my Resentment; and be silent, since I could not be of the same Opinion with a Person whom I was unwilling to offend.
'NO, no cry'd,
Ned Volatile,
if ever I subject my Humour, it shall be to the
Ladies
; There are many
Capricio's,
that must be borne with, from them; but, in all other Cases,
my Mind is my Kingdom; I am absolute, and will be so.
'
HE ran on, to this Purpose, near a Quarter of an Hour; and, at last, happening to touch again on the Article of Honour and Friendship, which had introduc'd the Subject of our Discourse, the
Major
requested him to hear a Story, in which, an
Example
of both these valuable Distinctions would better plead for their right Use, than any Account he could give of
his own particular Sense
of them. The Story, said the
Major,
is Modern; but not well known; and amongst all the Instances of Bravery, is a fine, and uncommon Display of it. 'Tis what most
Fighters
would think below them, yet, what none, but a Conqueror, could come up to.
ALTAMONT,
and
Honorius,
were both Men of Quality, and of Eminence in the Army, wherein they had served long in Friendship together.
Altamont
was, deservedly, placed in the full Height of Power and Preferment:
Honorius,
inferior but a small Degree in Post, was greatly so in Fortune; but he was fill'd with Princely Virtues, and his Soul had a distinguish'd Greatness: He had been a Sharer in the whole Course of
Altamont
's innumerable Glories.—
Honorius,
on some after-Occasion, whether, as suppos'd, by
Altamont
's Breach of Promise, or what other Ground for Resentment happened, is neither known, nor material to be debated; 'tis sufficient to tell you, That
Honorius
was so disoblig'd, that he sent
Altamont
a Challenge, to determine their Difference, in a Duel, at a Time appointed, in
Hyde-Park.
AT the Time in which
Altamont
received this Challenge, he was soo deeply ingaged in a Trust, whereon depended the Preservation of the King's Person and Government, that he could not sacrifice, or neglect them, by risquing his important Life, in a Personal Quarrel, at that Juncture; but knowing well the Honour and Bravery of
Honorius,
and jealous too of his own, he sent for
Carolinus
early that Morning, in which he was to fight.—
'
Brother,
said he, You know how much of the Weight of Government lies at this Time upon my Shoulders, and there are some secret Concerns of State, to which you are yet a Stranger. I am called upon to a
Duel
: It concerns a Case of
Honour,
and my Adversary is a Man of Bravery.
You
must meet him, in my Stead, and give him the Satisfaction he requires.'
CAROLINUS,
resolved to act in his Brother's Cause, as in his own, without Delay, went to meet his unknown Opponent; but when he arrived at the destin'd Spot, he was confounded, to see him the
dearest Friend he had upon Earth!
'Good God! said
Honorius,
to what am I fated? I expected your
Brother,
and is it
You,
my
Carolinus!
'
It is,
replied
Carolinus,
with a Sigh! They gaz'd on each other; their Breasts were agitated by a Tempest of warring Passions!—After a Length of silent Confusion,
Honorius
thus addressed himself to
Carolinus
—
'You are that very Friend, I ever called, and thought you; You are the Man who have so often vow'd the most sincere, and exalted Friendship for me.'
'I am, replied
Carolinus,
and I bring with me the same devoted Heart, a Sacrifice to your Disposal! If you survive, you will know my Innocence, and the Cause why I am here, which weighty Reasons forbid the Discovery of at present; But come—
Since it must be thus
'
—They both advanc'd, and in that Instant,
Honorius
cry'd,
Hold my
Carolinus!
'Tis done! The Struggle of my Soul is over, and our Dispute at an End. I am determin'd! I will not, I cannot break the Chain that has bound our Souls so long together; no, not for your Brother's Power, or my Prince's Crown.
—They continued some Time in Disorder and Expostulation. Both of them were brave, sovereignly brave! and none ever lived, who better knew what Honour was, or could defend it more nobly!
HONORIUS
went on;—
'Well, my Friend, 'till now, I never felt Extremity. Your Brother, who has done me Wrong, ought to give me Satisfaction, and were he here, I could not sheath my Sword unsatisfied; but you are my
Friend,
with whom
I can have no Difference.
I would die a Thousand Deaths to
save,
or to
serve
you; and I will put the greatest Force upon my Nature, and even
ask Pardon
of the Man who has
injur'd
me, rather than hazard a Life, so much more precious than my own. But, let us leave this Place with Speed; I'll give up my Resentment. Let your Brother, let the World, treat my Conduct, at their Pleasure: There is nothing, but my Hopes of Heaven, that I would not hazard for my
Carolinus:
—He went, and did as he said; and whatever Constructions the World might put upon
Altamont
's Behaviour, and
Honorius
's Condeseension, a noble Example was here given of the most generous, and exalted, Friendship; and of that absolute
Self-Conquest,
which
Solomon,
the wisest of all Men, prefers to the
Conquering of a City.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 45.
Scribere jussit Amor. —
OVID.
MONDAY,
August
24. 1724.
I DEDICATE this Paper to the Ladies; for I design it as a Lesson of
Love:
which a certain perverse Foreigner, will have to be no more than a Phantom;
Because
says he,
Like an Apparition, Every Body has heard of, but No-body has seen it.
IT is much easier, indeed,
to love,
than to explain
what Love is
; For it is one, among the
Paradoxes
of that ungovernable Passion, that it strikes the Tongue
dumb
; but makes every other Part of the Body
eloquent.
THE
Major,
to please
Ned Volatile,
has indulg'd him the Perusal of that PICTURE OF LOVE, from which he recited the Verses, in my XXXIVth Paper.—I had the Misfortune to be present, and to hear him read it over. I call it a
Misfortune,
because my Passion for that wild
Insensible,
my Coquet, who is rambled away to
Tunbridge,
was half suppress'd before, for want of Occasion to inflame it; but has rekindled itself, at the Fire which it catch'd from this unlucky Picture; and I, now, bleed afresh, like a dead Body, at the Touch of its Murderer.
YET, why do I complain, that I am sensible of a generous Passion, which, to lay aside the Pride of Wisdom, and the Formality of Age, and Gravity, he who is insensible of, is
stupid?
—The Philosopher defin'd Love prettily, when he said, It was a
Circle,
returning
through
Happiness,
to
Happiness,
from
Happiness. The Emblem was ingenious, and the Lover's
Ring
is a proper, and significant, Allusion to it.
I AM so far, when I think
seriously,
from being asham'd to be call'd a
Lover,
that I am, sincerely, of Opinion, that whoever has not lov'd, has put his Virtues to no Tryal.—Love is the Breeze of Life: A healthful, and refreshing,
Gale,
which, by its Agitation of the Spirits, keeps our Faculties in lively Motion; so, as neither to stagnate, in unfruitful Rest, nor drive tempestuously, with the most stormy Passions.—The Heart of a Lover is impress'd with Sweetness, and Humanity. His Soul receives Extension, beyond its natural Power; and is as much more refin'd, than a
selfish,
common, Soul, as that Soul, which it so excels, is above the Body it belongs to.
THERE is something, in Love, that is stronger than
Calamity,
and more gentle than
Pity!
serener than
Silence,
more splendid than
Riches,
and statelier than
Honour!
More trembling than
Fear,
and more charming than
Pleasure
! It is, even more powerful than
Conscience:
For whom we love, we imagine, always,
present,
and passing Judgment on our most secret Purposes. We regulate them, therefore, according to our Apprehension of what She would
approve,
or
condemn
; and, so, supply ourselves with a constant Vigilance, and Propensity to noble Actions.
IN some Sense, he who
loves,
may be said to be
like a God
; for he has but one, Care, and
That,
a Great, and a Heavenly, One! He is, wholly, intent upon
Beneficence.
—He has the Prophet's sacred Privilege, to be rapp'd, out of himself! To enjoy perpetual Ecstacy! To be emptied of his own Soul, that he may be animated by one, more dear to him!—Our Ideas of the Joys of
Heaven,
can represent them no other, than that we are, there, to
love,
and to
be beloved
: And they, who love, here on Earth, are
above
the World, while they are
in it.
Nor can
Death
disunite Lovers so intirely as it does other People, since
Love
dies not, with the
Object lov'd.
She lives, so tenaciously, in our charm'd, and retentive,
Memory,
that her Death seems no more, than a long, and lamented, Absence, rather indearing, than defacing, her Image.—So that
This
is the only Difference, which Death seems capable of making, when he interposes between
Lovers
;—While both
liv'd,
their
Two Bodies
had no more than
One Soul:
And, now one is
dead,
their
Two Souls
hove no more than
One Body.
NEITHER has
Age,
that alters all Things, a Power to deface our
Love
; for, whom we love, can never seem Old. Our Remembrance presents her Beauty everlastingly in its Spring: And her Idea is retain'd inchantingly, in the very Attitude, which, first, she struck us by.
THE restless, but unwearied, Lover, seeks for himself,
out of himself
: Let him gaze, touch, listen, and be bless'd, for ever, yet, still, he
longs,
and is unsatisfied!—There is a Dropsy, in his Mind, and his Thirst augments, with drinking.—His Soul is either not at home, or in a starting, and impatient Posture.—If he presses his Charmer's Hand, it darts, with Violence, into his
Fingers.
If he leans at her lov'd Side, it beats against his
Breast,
as if it would break its Prison, to be
nearer
her. When she speaks, it is in his
Ear:
When he looks on her, it is in his
Eye:
But, he has
no Soul at all,
when she is absent.
Absent from her, in whom, alone, we live,
Life grows a
Bankrupt,
and no Bliss can give:
Friends are importunate, and Pleasures lost;
What, once, most charm'd us, now, disgusts us, most!
Fretful, to silent Solitudes we run,
And Men, and Light, and noisy Converse, shun.
Pensive, in Woods, on Rivers Sides, we walk,
And to th' unlistning Winds, and Waters, talk.
How, next, we shall approach her, pleas'd, we weigh!
And
think,
in Transport, All, we mean to say.
Tenderly bowing,
Thus
will we complain;
Thus,
court her Pity; And,
Thus,
plead our Pain.
Thus,
sigh, for fancied Frowns, if Frowns shou'd rise,
And
Thus,
meet Favours, in her softning Eyes.
Restless, on Paper, we our Vows repeat,
And pour our
Souls
out, on the letter'd Sheet.
Write, blot, restore, and in lost Pieces, rend
The
Mute Entreaters;
yet, too faint, to send.
Unbless'd, when no Admission we procure,
'Tis Heav'n, at Distance, to discern her Door.
Or, to her Window, we, by Night repair;
And let loose Fancy, to be feasted, there.
Watch her lov'd Shadow, as it glances by:
And, to imagin'd Motions, chain our Eye.
Has she some Field, or Grove, or Garden, bless'd?
Pleas'd, we retread the Paths her Feet have press'd.
Near her, by Chance, at Visits, or at Plays,
Our rushing Spirits croud, in
speaking Gaze,
Light, on her varied Airs, our Eye-balls ride,
Dark, as the Dead, to the full World, beside.
LOVERS converse, like Angels, by a kind of
Intuition
! They
hear
one another's
Souls
; and prevent each other's
Wishes.
—Like Divinities quitting their Shrines, they disrobe themselves of their
Bodies
; and intermingle their meeting
Minds,
as we see Two
Lights
incorporate.—Their Souls glide out, from their Eyes, to snatch Embraces, at a Distance; and return, inrich'd, with the fancy'd Treasure.—There is more Harmony, in Love, than in Musick: A Harmony! like that which the old Philosophers imputed to the Spheres! Only Two Spheres are
acted
; by one, and the same,
Intelligence.
For the Strings of Two Hearts sympathize, like those of Two Lutes, with correspondent Trepidations.
HOW mistaken are they, who call Love an
idle
Passion!—
Thought
itself is scarce more active. There is an unsatisfied, and continual Thirst, in the Appetite of a Lover: A constant Spring, in his Delights, and Torments. He pursues his Discoveries, with a restless, and impatient, Vigour: And, tho' like the shining, heavenly, Bodies, he is, everlastingly, in Motion, yet, he is so far from becoming weary, that he is rather refresh'd, by his Labour.
I WILL copy, yet farther, from the Picture abomentioned, the following
Group,
or Assembly, of the
Symptoms, Moles,
and
Tokens
of this Passion.—It is upon the Lover's first Approach to his Mistress's Person: We recover, slowly, from our sweet Surprize, says this
Doctor
of
Cupid
's-
College,
and, advancing, with a blushful Tenderness,
Bowing, we kneel; and her giv'n Hand is press'd,
With sweet Compulsion, to our beating Breast:
O'er it, in Ecstacy, our Lips bend low,
And Tides of Sighs, 'twixt her grasp'd Fingers, flow.
High beats the hurried Pulse, at each, forc'd, Kiss:
And ev'ry burning Sinew
akes,
with
Bliss:
Life, in a
Souly Deluge,
rushes o'er;
And the charm'd Heart springs out, at ev'ry Pore!
The first fierce Raptures, of Amazement, past,
Confusion quits us, and Desire grows, fast.
We sit: And, while her gaz'd at Wonders rise,
A humid Brightness fills our sparkling Eyes:
Modest Disquiet, every Action wears;
And each, long Look, the Mark of Passion bears.
Disorder'd Nature, no cold
Medium
keeps;
Transport, now, reigns, and dull Reflection sleeps.
All, that we wish, or feel, or act, or say,
Is above
Thought,
and out of
Reason's
Way!
Joy murmurs, Anger laughs, and Hope looks sad:
Rashness grows prudent, and Discretion mad.
Restless, we feel our am'rous Bosom burn:
Now, This Way
look
we; And, now, That Way,
turn.
Now, in sweet
Swell
of Thought, our lifted Eyes
Lose their low Languor, and attempt to rise:
Now, sinking, suppliant, seek the Charmer's Feet;
And court wish'd Pity, in their glanc'd Retreat.
Oft, in full Gaze, they
dwell
upon her Face;
Then, start, astonish'd, from some dazling Grace.
Now, in bold Liberty, fly out, unbid:
Now, aw'd, 'scape, inward, 'twixt the closing Lid.
If we dare
speak,
and wou'd our Wish pursue,
The Words fall, feath'ry, like descending Dew,
The soft'ning Accents, ev'n in Utt'rance, die:
And the
Tongue
's Sweetness, here, outcharms the
Eye.
'Till mingled Sighs our fainting Voice confound:
But Lovers Meanings
speak,
though robb'd of
Sound.
I AM fond of thinking we might draw, from Love, a Proof of the
Soul's Immortality:
What, else, mean our Desires, when they extend themselves, beyond the utmost, that willing Nature can indulge us in.—Why, else, are the Joys of Love mix'd with melancholy, and unsatisfied Tremblings?—They increase, indeed, and refine, the Pleasure: But they convince us, That there
is
a Union, more adapted to our Mind's free Essence; and, which, Bodies are not
fine
enough to permit them the Enjoyment of.
HENCE, that exquisite
Expansion!
That
Liquefaction,
of the Heart! when it refuses to allow us the Possession of our dearest Wish, in the very Moment we become Masters of it! The subtle Workings of this exalted Passion, upon the Refinements of our Mind, have
Deified
the beloved Object, 'till we faint, with Awe, when we should receive her Tenderness: And, by a fantastical kind of Envy, consider ourselves, as our own Rivals!—The
supremest Joy
of Love must, if Men will have it so, be
call'd Bodily:
But All, that heightens it, to be worth the Wish of a wise Man, it must be indebted to the
Mind
for.—Whence could Images so
warm,
as these which follow, receive a Purity, in their Expression, that adapts them to the chastest Ear, if the
Mind
's Part were not strongest, even where the
Body
pretends most Influence?
Is there no more? Oh! yet the
Last
remains!
Crown of our Conquest! Sweetner of our Pains!
There
is a Time,
when Love no Wish denies:
And smiling Nature throws off All Disguise.
But, who can
Words,
to speak those Raptures, find?
Vast
Sea of Ecstacy,
that drowns the Mind!
That fierce Transfusion of
exchanging
Hearts!
That gliding Glimpse of Heav'n, in pulsive Starts?
That
veiny Rush!
That warm, tumultuous,
Roll!
That Fire that kindles
Bodies
into
Soul!
And, on Life's
Margin,
strains Delight, so high,
That
Sense
breaks short—and, while we
taste,
we
die!
BUT, I am going, I know not whither. The Painter of this
Picture
has bewitch'd me, from my Purpose; which was to have enter'd upon a
Philosophical
Dissertation, concerning the
Qualities
of Love: Instead of which, I am rambling into a
natural
one, upon the
Effects
of it!
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 46.
— Partes speculamur in omnes.
CLAUD.
FRIDAY,
August
28. 1724.
IN my XXXVIth Paper, I published some Remarks on an excellent Old Ballad, called WILLIAM, and MARGARET. I was charm'd with the Strength, and Beauties, of its masculine Simplicity: and, really, took it to
be,
what it
appear'd,
The Work of some Old Poet, long since
dead
; but I have been agreeably undeceiv'd: The Author of it is alive, and a
North-Briton
; I congratulate his Country, on the Promise of this rising Genius: For the Gentleman, it seems, is very young, and received his Education in the University of
Edinburgh.
AMONG many fine Qualities, which adorn him, he is so unconscious of his own Merit, or possesses it with so sincere a Modesty, that he declines being publickly nam'd: But, as he has oblig'd me with a Letter, containing the short History of an unhappy Accident, which gave Occasion to his Ballad, it will be an agreeable Entertainment if I publish it, as the Author sent it me.
SIR,
YOUR PLAIN DEALER, of
July
the 24th, was sent to me by a Friend. I must own, after I had read it over, I was both surpriz'd and pleas'd to find, that a simple Tale of my Writing, had merited the Notice, and Approbation, of the Author of the PLAIN DEALER.
AFTER what you have said, of WILLIAM and MARGARET, I flatter myself, that you will not be displeas'd with an Account of the Accident which gave Birth to that Ballad.
YOUR Conjecture, that it was founded on the real History of an unhappy Woman, is true—A vain, young, Gentleman, had, for some Time, professed Love to a Lady, then in the Spring of her Life, and Beauty. He dress'd well, talk'd loud, and spoke Nonsense, with
Spirit:
She had good Understanding; but was too young to know the World. I have seen her, very often. There was a lively Innocence in her Look. She had never been address'd to by a Man of
Sense:
And, therefore, knew not how despicable, and unsincere, a
Fool
is. In time, he persuaded her, that there was Merit in his Passion.—She believ'd him, and was
undone.
SHE was upon the Point of bringing into the World the Effect of her ill-plac'd Love, before her Father knew the Misfortune. Judge the Sentiments of the good Old Man! yet his Affection outweighed his Anger. He could not think of abandoning his Child, to Want, and Infamy. He applied himself to her false Lover, with an Offer of Half his Fortune; But the Temper of the Betrayer was savag'd, with cruel Insolence. He rejected the Father's Offers, and reproach'd the Innocence he had ruin'd, with the Bitterness of open Scorn. The News was brought her, when in a weak Condition, and cast her into a Fever. And, in a few Days after, I saw her, and her Child, laid in one Grave, together.
IT was some Time after this, That I chanc'd to look into a Comedy of
Fletcher
's, called,
The Knight of the burning Pestle.
The Place I fell upon was, where old
Merry-Thought
repeats these Verses;
When it was grown to dark Midnight,
And all were fast asleep:
In came
Margaret
's grimly Ghost,
And stood at
William
's Feet.
WHICH, I fancy, was the Beginning of some Ballad, commonly known, at the Time, when this Author wrote.—These Lines, naked of Ornament, and simple, as they are, struck my Fancy; I clos'd the Book, and bethought myself, that the unhappy Adventure, I have mentioned above, which then came fresh into my Mind, might naturally raise a Tale, upon the Appearance of this Ghost.—It was, then, Midnight. All, round me, was still, and quiet. These concurring Circumstances work'd my Soul to a powerful Melancholy. I could not sleep. And, at that Time, I finish'd my little Poem, such as you see it here. If it continues still to deserve your Approbation, I have my Aim; and am,
SIR,
Your most Obliged, And most humble Servant,
&c.
IT
does,
most justly, continue to deserve, and will,
for ever,
deserve, not only Approbation, but the Applause, of all true Judges of Wit, and Nature. The Author's Copy, which he inclos'd to me, is different in several Places, from that which fell into my Hands; but the Sense of both, is exactly the same; and the Variation, in some Expressions, not considerable enough to make it necessary to republish that excellent Ballad.
HAVING this Occasion to speak of
Scotland,
I judge it the properest Place to insert my Acknowledgment of a Letter from
Edinburgh,
sign'd
Fergus Bruce.
I take this Name to be fictitious; but, whoever the
Writer
is, I am pleas'd with his
propos'd Correspondence,
which will open a New Scene of Intelligence to the Expectation of my Readers; as they may see by the following Extract of the Letter itself, which is writ, with the Politeness of a Gentleman, and in the Stile of a Man of Learning.
Edinburgh,
the 16th. of
July,
1724.
SIR,
THE first PLAIN DEALER, that came to my Hand, was that, wherein you represent, in true Colours, the Character, and Conduct, of the present Emperor of
Russia,
with Regard to his Son, Prince
Alexei.
—My Fancy was charm'd, and my Judgment intirely satisfied, with the Account you gave: Our Coffee-Houses take in your Papers, and I observe, with Pleasure, the Welcome which our politest People receive them with. Not the Men alone, of all Ranks, but the Ladies also, make them their Entertainment. The general Conversation of both Sexes turns, on the Matter you afford.
I CANNOT help writing to you, that I may let you know your Influence. It must be a Pleasure to your generous Soul, to be conscious of the Extent, and Power, of its Beneficence: And I should be wanting in my Duty to the Man, who gives me Weekly Delight, and Instruction, if I conceal'd from him, what might, any way, contribute to his Satisfaction.
I WILL presume, if you please, to send you, now-and-then, my Reflections, upon the Matter which the
Beaux,
and
Belles,
of this City, may furnish, for a PLAIN-DEALER. Something happens here every Day, not unworthy Publick Notice. And there are a Thousand Things, that fall, naturally, under your Cognizance, that neither the
King,
the
Parliament,
the
Pulpit,
or the
Bench,
have any Thing to do with. Perhaps, too, it would be of Use to our Gentry, at
Edinburgh,
to know, you have a
Spy,
here, upon their Conduct. Pray tell them so, and depend on the most watchful Fidelity of,
SIR,
Your sincere Friend, And most humble Servant,
FERGUS BRUCE.
I CANNOT forbear confessing, that I shall expect, with a very sensible Pleasure, the Event of this Northern Correspondence: For I have retain'd, from my Infancy a kind of affectionate Partiality, for the generous Bravery, and gallant Plainness, of our Brothers, beyond
Tweed.
When I travell'd, in my Youth, I scarce ever saw a Court, even in the remotest Parts of the civiliz'd World, where some Gentleman, or other, a
Scot,
by Birth, or Descent, was not, one, of its noblest Ornaments: And, now, since the
Muses,
and the
Graces,
have, very visibly, from the Beginning of the present Century, fix'd, and seated themselves, in their learned Seminaries, their rising Youth, of both Sexes, seem to vie, with one another, in a warm, and generous, Emulation which shall most adorn their own, or soonest match the Elegance, of other, even the politest, Nations.
NOT the Gentlemen alone, but the very Ladies, of
Edinburgh,
form themselves into select, and voluntary,
Societies,
for the Improvement of their Knowledge, instead of the Entertainment of their Fancy: And go on, at the same Time, to refine their Conversation, inrich their Understanding, and polish, and render amiable, their Personal Deportment.
I SHALL, in the Course of my Observations, take Occasion to demonstrate the Truth of this Remark, by a Variety of Particulars; which, while they are doing Justice to the
North,
will contribute, in no small Degree, to the Pleasure of the
South
Part of this Kingdom. At present, I shall produce but Two Instances: And the First is, A Society of Young Gentlemen, most, if not all of them, Students in the University of
Edinburgh,
who from a Sympathy of Affections, foundded on a Similitude of
Parts,
and
Genius,
have united themselves into a Body, under Title of THE GROTESQUE CLUB; the Reason of which Name, I shall explain in a future Paper. Their Business, to express it in the Words of one of their own Members, is,
A Friendship that knows no Strife, but that of a generous Emulation, to excell, in Virtue, Learning, and Politeness.
TO how surprizing a Degree these fine Spirits have succeeded, in their noble
End,
let the following Sentiments declare; conceiv'd, and express'd, with all the Clearness, Depth, and Strength, of an
experienc'd Philosopher,
by a Member of this
Grotesque Club,
who was in his
Fourteenth Year only,
when he compos'd, in Blank Verse, a Poem, now in my Hands; and founded on a Supposition of the Author's sitting, a whole Summer Night, in a Garden, looking upward, and quite losing himself, in Contemplation on
the Works, and Wonders, of Almighty Power.
—If this was a Subject, naturally above the Capacity of so very a Boy, to what a Degree does it increase our Wonder, when we find it treated, in this Masterly Manner!
Now, I survey'd my native Faculties:
And trac'd my Actions to their teeming Source.
Now, I explor'd the universal Frame;
Gaz'd Nature through, and, with interior Light,
Convers'd with Angels, and unbody'd Saints,
That tread the Courts of the
Eternal King!
Gladly, I would declare, in lofty Strains,
The Power of
Godhead,
to the Sons of Men.
But Thought is
lost,
in its Immensity!
Imagination wastes its Strength in vain:
And Fancy
tires,
and
turns
within itself,
Struck, with th'amazing
Depths
of
Deity!
—Ah! my lov'd God! in vain, a tender Youth,
Unskill'd, in Arts of deep Philosophy,
Attempts to search the bulky Mass of
Matter:
To trace the Rules of
Motion:
and pursue
The Phantom
Time,
too subtle, for his Grasp!
Yet may I, from thy most
apparent Works,
Form some Idea of their wondrous Author;
And celebrate
thy Praise,
with rapt'rous Mind.
How can I gaze upon yon
sparkling Vault,
And view the
Planets,
rolling in their Spheres,
Yet be an
Atheist!
—Can I see those
Stars,
And
think
of others, far beyond my Ken,
Yet want Conviction of creating Power?
What, but a Being, of immense Perfection,
Cou'd, through unbounded Spaces, thus, dispose
Suth num'rous Bodies, All, presumptive
Worlds?
The undesigning Hand of giddy
Chance,
Cou'd never fill, with Globes, so vast! so bright!
That lofty Conclave!—
Where shall I trace the
Sources
of the
Light?
What Seats assign to th' Element of
Fire,
That, unconfin'd, thro' all the
Systems,
breaks!
Here, cou'd I lie, in Contemplation wrapt,
And pass, with Pleasure, an eternal Age!
But, 'tis too much for my weak Mind to know:
Teach me, with humble Reverence to
adore
The Mysteries, I
must not comprehend!
LET this
prodigious Young Man,
bear the Blame, of my not having left myself Room in this Paper, to pay that Respect, which I intended, to THE FAIR INTELLECTUALS: A Club of Ladies, at
Edinburgh,
who set a Pattern to
Female Excellence:
And whose
History, Rules,
and
Constitutions,
I have the Pleasure to see, before me, with the conventual Address of
Mistress Speaker,
to the lovely
Sisterhood
; and the
admissory Speech,
of one of the Ladies; as set forth by the able Pen of
Mistress Secretary.
—I shall say more, on a future Occasion, of the Honour done to the whole Sex, by the dangerous Ambition of these Ladies: And of the Political Necessity, which, I conceive, there will soon be, of putting a Stop to the Progress of such unlimitted Improvement of a Power, already too exorbitant!
THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 47.
— Veniunt a Dote Sagittae.
JUV.
MONDAY,
August
31. 1724.
I HAVE endeavour'd to shew, in a former Paper, that Parents are highly to blame, when they force their Children to marry for the Sake of a Fortune which can never repair the least of those innumerable Mischiefs, that are inseparably annexed to it. Using Authority in such a Case, turns the most Indulgent of Fathers, into an insupportable Tyrant, who by one inconsiderate Decree, that is irreversible, dooms his own Child to the most doleful Imprisonment for Life. The following Epistle, gives us so sad, but so lively a Representation of this Truth, that I insert it for the Sake of those, who might, possibly, be betrayed, in their Conduct, to give the same fatal Proofs of their Affection to their Off-spring, that seem to
Edge
all the Sufferings of our present Complainant.
SIR,
I AM a Young Man, about Three and Twenty, that much against my Will, have complied with the incessant Importunities of my Friends; or, rather, obey'd the absolute Commands of an indulgent Father, and a fond Mother, in marrying a very Rich Maid of about Thirty Six, who, it seems, is only mine, because several Suiters of equal Pretensions in Wealth with herself, that liked her Person, left her, as soon as they had conversed with her sufficiently to sound her Temper.
BEFORE I married her, I enjoyed Health, and good Humour, and thought my Fortune good enough as it was, and abundantly sufficient, with a Female Companion that brought the like Ingredients towards it, to make Life tolerably happy.
SHE has not been my Wife, quite a Year, and yet has managed her Time so well, that she has robb'd me of all my Quiet. The natural Gayety of my Disposition is sowr'd, almost enough to make me think of growing her Torturer, as she is mine: The Floridness of Health has left me; and I am overcome by an inward Pining, that wastes me outwardly: In fine, she has convinced me, that a Man may be emphatically Poor in the Affluence of Wealth, and truly, and properly said to Want, amidst the Abundance of all Things.
I HAVE industriously studied to shew Gratitude, and true Friendship. For I really had an Intention to render myself as agreeable as possible; and the more, because, during the Time of our
modish
Courtship, she had told those, from whom I should hear it again, that she lik'd me: By this
habitual Art
of
Tenderness,
I almost brought it to be
Natural,
and began to deceive myself into an Opinion, that I should not be incapable of even
loving
her at last. She, in Return, began, after a manner
then
perfectly unaccountable, to do every Thing, not only that she thought would disoblige me, but that she knew would be a sincere Affliction to me. I find
since,
I am taken, by way of shewing, she could have
her Man
; and I am the Subject of her Revenge, because she lost, the Person, she had a Liking to.
SHE is a Woman of a strong, but mischievous Understanding; and letting it be
guided,
by what it should
correct,
her
Humour,
which is my inveterate Enemy, she can be as poignantly cruel to me as she pleases. She lets me know, by broad Hints, that she
sees
what would delight me, but is
blind,
like a
Jew,
out of Hardness of Heart. If I ask how I may oblige her, she is
Dumb
; but if I drop an ambiguous Word, that may be tortured into a malignant Construction, she can use her Tongue like a Larum.—If I explain, the Simplicity of my Meaning, and beg Pardon for want of Caution in expressing my-self; her
Ears
are
shut,
and she is like the
Deaf Adder.
The Comparison is true beyond the
Deafness:
she is like it in my Bosom; she stings like it, she poisons like it, only with this Difference, That her Poison is of an
Italian kind
; it lengthens out Torment, and kills, at Distance of Years, after a painful Confinement.
IN my Father's Presence, this fair Hypocrite, is never
dumb,
but ever
eloquent
in
my
Praise.—Such a Husband! and such a Wife! We are the happiest Couple:—Then she calls often upon me, with an Air of Friendship, to be merry, under the Effects of the Melancholy she causes. Her
Eyes,
her
Ears,
her
Tongue,
her
Hands,
seem all too little to oblige me.—The Old Gentleman doats on her.—I help to carry on the
Farce
; it would be
Tragedy,
if he knew otherwise.—He blesses his Stars, and very comfortably puts me in Mind, how much I possess the Joy he wished me.
WHAT is to be done with this Riddle of a Woman, so much
in
her Senses, and
out
of them, as she pleases? What Prospect can I have of Happiness, but from her Death; whom, by my Publick Vow, and
hard-tugg'd Virtue,
I am obliged to support,
in Sickness.
I WOULD never have complain'd, but that I hope it may be a proper Caution, and serve for the Preservations of others; I am pleas'd, that I never discover'd these Grievances, because, had I complained every Time, I had Occasion, I should have been asham'd to complain any longer, and she would have appeared as irreprehensible, as an Angel: Thus I have a Fortune, which has been the Purchase of Misery. To make me rich, my Relations have made me wretched; and, for my part, I have nothing to hope, but that long Patience, and Sufferings may make me insensible.
I am, SIR, Your most humble Servant,
A. Z.
TO what a Multitude of Sorrows is this genteel Complainer betray'd; The first Considerations, that ought to precede a Matrimonial Choice, are the Piety, Education, Person, and Liking of both Parties; indeed, a competent Fortune, is a material Consideration to be weighed together with the others; but never separately from them. Of this
Pliny,
the politest Gentleman, as well as finest Writer of his Age, has given us a satisfactory Account in Two of his Epistles, which I am glad, for the Benefit of the LaLadies, to find published in Two Volumes in in
Eaglish.
In one, he shews us his Judgment in chusing a Husband, for a Friend's Relation; in the other, the happy Effects of a judicious Choice, in the Person of his own Wife.
To
JUNIUS MAURITIUS;
on chusing a Husband for his Relation.
THE particular Opinion you have of my Choice of a Husband for your Brother's Daughter, is very obliging; you well know, how much I loved and esteemed that great Man; with what Advice he cherished my Youth, and by his own Commendation, gave me the Credit of being thought Praise-worthy: You could have injoined me nothing of greater Consequence, or more agreeable, nor any Thing I would undertake with more Honour, than to chuse a Man fit to continue the Family of
Arulenus Rusticus,
which, indeed, might prove a Work of Time, did not
Minucius Acilianus
luckily present, who, as young Men do each other (for he is some Years younger) loves me intimately, yet treats me with a Respect due to Age. He is pleased to be form'd and instructed by me, as I us'd to be by you. His Country is
Bresica,
of that Part of our
Italy,
that does yet retain, and keeps up much of the Antient Modesty, Frugality, and even Rusticity. His Father
Minucius Macrinus,
eminent in the
Equestrian
Order, for he aimed no higher, being chose by
Vespasian
into the
Praetorian,
with great Constancy preferr'd an honest Ease to this our Ambition (shall I call it?) or Honour. His Grandmother, of the Mother's Side, is
Serana Procula
of
Padua
; you are acquainted with the Manners of the Place, yet
Serana
is to the
Patavins
an Example of strict Virtue. His Uncle
P. Acilius
is a Man of singular Discretion, Prudence, and Honesty; in Truth, you will meet with nothing in the whole Family less agreeable than in your own.
Acilianus
himself, has a great deal of Vigour and Industry, accompanied with the utmost Modesty. And having already discharged the Offices of
Questor, Tribune,
and
Praetor,
with Abundance of Credit, yet he has referr'd it to you to make his Court for him. He has a comely Face, a sanguine Complection, his whole Person Gentleman-like, with a becoming Gravity in his Mein, Things, I think, not to be disregarded, but due to the Merit of a virtuous Woman. I am in Doubt, whether I need take Notice of the large Estate of his Father; for when I consider You, for whom we propose a Son-in-Law, I think I need not: When I reflect on the
Common Custom,
and even the Laws of the City, which principally have Regard to the Fortunes of Men,
that
seems, by no Means, to be omitted, and to one that thinks of Posterity; this, in the making of a Match, is not the least material Consideration. Perhaps you will think I have indulged too much the Love of my Friend in this Account; but I will stake my Credit, you shall find every thing exceed my Description: I love the young Man, indeed, most ardently, as he deserves; but it is the Duty of Friendship, to be moderate in Commendation.
To
HISPULLA,
his Wife's Aunt.
AS I remember that great Affection, which was between you and your excellent Brother, and know you love his Daughter as your own, so as not only to express the Tenderness of the best of Aunts; but even supply that of the best of Fathers: I am sure it will be a Pleasure to you to hear, that she proves worthy of her Father, worthy of you, and of your and her Ancestors. Her Ingenuity is admirable, her Frugality extraordinary: She loves me, the surest Pledge of her Virtue, and adds to this, a wonderful Disposition to Learning, which she has acquired from her Affection to me: She reads my Writings, studies them, and even gets them by Heart: You would smile to see the Concern she is in, when I have a Cause to plead, and the Joy she shews, when it is over: She finds Means to have the first News brought her, of the Success I meet with in Court; how I am heard, and what Decree is made. If I recite any Thing in Publick, she cannot refrain from placing herself privately in some Corner to hear, where, with the utmost Delight, she feasts on my Applauses. Sometimes she sings my Verses, and accompanies them with the
Lute,
without any Master, except Love, the best of Instructors. From these Instances I take the most certain Omens of our perpetual and increasing Happiness, since her Affection is not founded on my Youth and Person, which must gradually decay; but she is in Love with the immutable Part of me, my Glory and Reputation. Nor, indeed, could be less expected from One, who had the Happiness to receive her Education from you; who, in your House was accustomed to every Thing that was virtuous and decent, and even began to love me by your Recommendation: For, as you had always the greatest Respect for my Mother, you were pleased from my Infancy to form me, to commend me, and kindly to presage, I should be, One Day, what my Wife fancies I am. Accept therefore our united Thanks; mine, that you have bestowed her on me, and hers, that you have given me to her, as a mutual Grant of Joy and Felicity.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 48.
— Quod nequeo monstrare & sentio tantum.
JUVEN.
FRIDAY,
September,
4. 1724.
DETRACTORS may be said to lead their Lives in a Habit of most injurious Falshood towards good Men, and of the most offensive Impiety to Heaven. Persons, of this itching and abandoned Appetite, may, If we consider the numerous Mischiefs they do to human Society, be compared to the most ravenous Beasts of Prey, with this Difference, That, as Beasts of Prey do good sometimes, in worrying one another, these, on the contrary, will not fall upon, or devour any thing but what is excellent.
WIT, Wisdom, Beauty, good Humour, Modesty, Valour, Integrity, in fine, all the Virtues and all the Graces, which can illustrate any Person of either Sex, are as so many tempting
Spoils
to the savage Slanderer, and strong Provocatives to Detraction. There is scarce a Man living, that has many little, infamous Srories, more than ordinary, privately handed about wirh great Industry, from one to another, in order to depreciate his Character in the World, but what will be found, upon a close Examination, to have merited publick Applause for some noble Action or other; Examine still farther, and it will as certainly be found, that
that
noble Action was the very Source of a
secret
Envy and a
private
Hatred, which broke out in a Hundred
whisper'd Traditions,
till it spread and inlarged itself into
publick Defamation.
THE most unhappy Circumstances which attend the illustrious Sufferers in this Way, I reckon to be these; That, as Persons, who seek after Fame the most eagerly, do, for the most part, very plentifully deserve it; so they are the most frequently interrupted in the Search, and the least able to bear the Trouble of such unwelcome Interruptions. No Men are more
Ideally
fond of Glory, than such as most
substantially
deserve it; this is a pleasant Weakness: But then no Men have a quicker Sensibility of unjust Reproaches than those who take Care never to deserve them; and this is a sore Frailty, which opens, through the Bosoms of the Generous and the Innocent, a Way to a Thousand unnecessary
Heart-Achs.
It is Pity, it should be so much in the Power of Calumny, as Experience shews it is, to strike a Damp upon the most Generous Spirits, and throw a Load over an aspiring Mind, that is upon the Stretch after Glory. But what seems at present the most of all to be regretted; is, That, by the frequent Complaints I have lately received, this Vice is as prevailing, as it is insupportable.
I HAVE a Letter from a Gentleman, containing a very lively Description of a Lady, whose Charms have been so long drowned in Tears, that they are almost worn out and carried away by the wasting Tide of her Sorrow, which she hides, but cannot stop:—He proceeds to tell me,
"That, upon Inquiry into the Source of this mighty Woe, he finds it arose from Two or Three ambiguous and broken Sentences, glancing at her Virtue, and Conversation, artfully dropp'd by a malicious Woman in the Ear of a Youth of a Jealous Disposition, who loved her whom
she
loved, who was contracted to her, and departed from her on this Account.—What signifies talking to her of her innocence, and telling her, that no Mortal living credits it but that
one
Jealous young Man?—Alas! it is only
his
not believing it, that must pour Comfort upon her Affliction.—'Till then she must remain as
Inconsolable,
as she is
Innocent.
"
MY Correspondent goes on to say,
"That he had the Curiosity to go and see this Detractress. He found her, as he tells me, Old, Wrinkled, Ugly; her Visage of a pale, just turning black, as with a Mortification; her Conscience he takes to be much of a Complexion with her, Face; for, when he charged her with it, she own'd it as some
trifling Mistake
; then, drawing her Mouth into a scornful Smile, to contradict her Words, cries out, That
she did not mean it as it was taken.
—When the
fatal
Consequences were press'd upon her,—she said,
She was sorry,
but express'd her Grief so very
unconcernedly,
desiring
to be troubled no more about it,
since
it was not Actionable,
that she might have sate for the Picture of
Envy
's Look, when she has just stollen from doing one of her most
precious
Mischiefs."—
THIS Correspondent of mine, justly mov'd with his own Relation, concludes his Letter with warm Expostulations.—
"Shall GUILT
sin
thus! and shall INNOCENCE look
pale
for it; is there no Redress,—Yes, there is—Others, who are out of the Question, may, and ought to rise up in the Defence, of Innocence.—Let the PLAIN DEALER, says he, whenever any Scandal is traced to the Fountain-head, but mark the Quarters of the Detractors, as Crosses in the Time of the Pestilence are placed upon the Doors of the Deceased, and that Method will effectually strike the Tongue of Detraction dumb."
ANOTHER Account has been lately transmitted to me, concerning a young Gentleman, who is said to have numerous good Qualities, and has been divided from the Estimation of his Friend, by the as constant as false Insinuations of a worse than once perjured Woman; who insists, That the young Gentleman betrayed his Friend's Liberty for a Bribe.—The contrary has been made out, and attested to her Face—She continues, behind his Back, to load him with the Calumny.—Finding, since she began her Evil Reports, that they would not take without putting on an Air of Charity and Sanctity, she now concludes her Story to Srrangers thus.
"—He (meaning the Person she aims to scandalize) is generally allowed to be a good Man, an honest Man—Pretty generally indeed.—But what is there to be said for Accidents in this World?—There is nothing wonderful—Nothing new under the Sun.—I have so often Occasion to Wonder, that I am resolved never to let any Thing, for the Future, surprize me into a Fit of Admiration.—He is no Lover of Money—that is certain, as some say.—But, say they what they will, there is such a Prevalence in Bribes, no one knows his own Strength till he be tried.—There is no trusting any Body.—I would not have believed it of him if
Every-Body had not said it
; but,
What Every-Body says must be true.
"—
HERE my Correspondent says, he asked the Detractress,
How Every-Body came to know it?
and she immediately boasted, That she was the Discoverer of it, to all who heard it at
first Hand,
"To what, continues he, may we properly liken such a dangerous Creature as this is, who puts out false Colours that she may come up safe, and rob Virtue, unsuspected? She can be compared to nothing that resembles her so nearly as a
Witch,
in one of those fatal Operations, where Murder is the Consequence of her Incantations. The Detractress molds her Descriptions, as the
Witch
does her Waxen Images. When the
Witch
has made an End of her Image, the bewitch'd Body perishes; and where the Detractress ends any of her Descriptions, she makes an injur'd Reputation die!"
I HAVE other Accounts of the like Sort, to all which I shall give an Answer, in a future Paper, when I shall explain my self at large upon this Head.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 49.
— Hae nugae seria ducunt
In mala, derisum semel exceptrumque sinistre.
HOR.
MONDAY,
September
7. 1724.
THE Entertainment of this Day shall be furnished by my restoring to my Correspondents, in this
publick
Manner, what they were so kind to lend me
privately
for that Purpose.
SIR,
I HAVE been Married about Two Years to a Young Woman that is every Way agreeable to my Temper, but only she is given to be a little too Superstitious. The Truth is, she was determined in her Choice of me by the Prediction of a Fortune-teller. Without thinking myself more oblig'd to him, than in good Reason I should. I may safely say, without Superstition, that I shall like him for having caused my good Fortune, by foretelling it, the longest Day I have to live. She would be the best-natur'd Creature in the World, if her Mind was not haunted by Spirits, Stories of which, take up most of her Conversation by Day, and make her waken me a Nights very frequently. I laugh'd at these little Tales at first, but, not being able to get her out of them, I indulged her in the relating them, which she has continued to do so prettily, that, though I know, according to right Reason, I ought not to be Terrified, I am brought to tremble at the tumbling of a Saltseller.—If my Wife could be once cured, I am sure I should be well soon after.—She has been for these Three Months last, counting our Hours by a Death-watch, and has made me almost sick with Fear, that she, who so often speaks of her Death, should die in good Earnest—This splenetick Cast of her Temper having an Effect on me, who sympathize with her in every Thing, throws a Gloom over our Hours, which would otherwise pass as delightfully, as any Couple's upon Earth.—Pray give her some better Reasons, than I am able to instill into her, to fortify her Mind against these little Surprizes of Superstition; and you will make her the best Wife in the World, who studies to
be,
and
is,
EASY to me in every Case, but this, that she is UNEASY to her ownself.
Your most Humble Servant,
MARK DOCILE.
Mr. PLAIN DEALER,
YOU have pretended to give Laws about People's Behaviour in Marriage, and there is no such Thing in Nature to be done. I am a Man of the best Humour in the World, or otherwise I could not please my Wife, by appearing to be the Worst. If I am not angry half a dozen Times a Day, she will be out of Humour, and not speak to me. I found out her Delight, and have got many a sweet Kiss for what in another Couple would have gone near to have caused a Divorce. She uses a hundred Plots to put me out of Humour, all which encreases my good Nature, so much, knowing that poor
Molly
falls out for nothing but to make Friends, that I sometimes find it
hard
to be
pleas'd
to be
angry
with her. I am, perhaps, the
merriest
Man of a
passionate
one, that was ever known; and my Wife, the most
contented
of all
Sufferers.
I should weary your Patience, if I was to tell you the different Stratagems, by which she almost tires out my good Humour, to make me exert it in trying her Patience. My Shoemaker, has a Wife as like her as Two
Lasts.
But she is more violent in her Cravings; insomuch that he is forced to proceed, from
Sound,
to
Substance.
—He says, she never is a kinder Bedfellow, than when she has induc'd him to do her the Kindness to bang her into Bed. He adds, that he has bound her to him in all Kindness, by laying his Strap over her Shoulders almost every Day she lives. If he miss it some Days together, the poor Thing cries, and thinks herself neglected. You, see what Happiness there is in Matrimony: And that there are other Rules for Behaviour, between Husband, and Wife, besides those of your Teaching.
Yours,
BOB. MERRY-THOUGHT.
SIR,
YOU lately gave us so lively a Description of the Races at
Newmarket,
that I cannot but wish you would exert your
Wooden-Horse,
as Men of your Age commonly call their
Oaken-Sticks,
and take a Journey from your
Watch-Tower
of
Barbican
to
Exchange Alley.
You will find that the Citizens, who have been a long Time injuriously misrepresented as a plodding Generation of People, have as
brisk
Imaginations, in
their way,
as any of the
quickest Wits
that inhabit the
Temple,
or any
courtly
Part of the Town beyond the
Bar.
Their
Fancies
run upon
Wheels,
but they are
substantial
ones, and, since the Lottery has been set up, they all seem to turn upon that great and important One, of
Fortune.
They are so clever in their Devices, that they have formed several
Streets
into
Courses,
and fix'd a convenient
Market
just at hand, where a Man may purchase a
Racer,
at any Hour of the Day, to try his Luck upon, and scower away into a large Estate, between Sun and Sun. In fine, the Scene of
Newmarket
is shifted to
London,
and
Smithfield
translated into
Exchange-Alley.
As ill a Figure as the top Citizens have been said to make on Horseback, with all their Pageants about them on a
Lord-Mayor's Day,
yet, to do them Justice, now, they are become serious in
Horsemanship,
and have turned Play into a Trade, you cannot imagine what
expert Jockies
they make. Our News-Papers have lately diverted us with strange Accounts of
slow
Beasts called
Asses,
that have been brought up to be very nimble, and of
Cows,
turn'd into
Gallopers,
for the Sport of our ingenious Brethren that have
running
Heads in the Country: We have very far
overmatch'd
them, in Town, for we have
Exchange Bears,
and
Exchange Bulls,
that will mount a
Titt
as
cleverly
as if they were born to it. They will purchase you a
Nag
for
Three Half Crowns,
and count him but a mere
Jade,
if he wins the
Rider less
than a
Thousand Pounds. Guildhall
is the Goal they run to, and if one of your City-Racers comes in at the Nick, as we call it, (for we run the Twelve Hours by
lucky Minutes.
) two
Boys
hold up their Hands, and bid the Man, that has run the
Course,
be happy all his Life after. I don't doubt but when
Bartholomew
Fair was put to so early a Period, you deplored the Accident, because, lasting a little longer, the odd Mirth of the People, that frequented it, would have furnished you with Materials without going far from your Neighbourhood. But this
Bull
and
Bear
Fair, in the City, will be of long Continuance, and make you ample Amends if you will but come and see it; When I see the Wheel go round, and the Racers are by at the Twirling of it, my Imagination represents it to me, like the flying Chariots, and Machines, for young Travellers in
Smithfield,
in which, methinks, I see an Apprentice seated over the Head of a Common-Council-Man; a Suburb-Habardasher of Small Wares mounted three Stories higher in Fortune than a grave Alderman with a Gold Chain about his Neck; and a Semstress more lofty than a Lady Mayoress. But I am giving you a Description which I had rather you should come and take; I dare say it will make as diverting a Paper, at least, as the List of the Lottery Tickets, and you need not desire a better Prize than to have yours read by equal Numbers, with equal Curiosity, Desire, and Circumspection. I am of the
Mule Kind
in Trade, and sometimes
Bellow
in the Alley, like a
Bud,
upon the
Fall,
and sometimes
Dance
like a
Bear,
upon the
Rise
of the Stocks: You shall be welcome to take a
secure Stand
in in my Den, from whence you may see all the Diversion. You will be presently directed to it, if you ask any one, out of the many Thousands of
City Jockies,
that you will see there, for
Your very Humble Servant,
URSA MAJOR.
From my Den, near the
Pope's
Head in
Cornhill,
Sept.
2.
P.S.
A Vintner had but one Leg of a Horse, which whole Horse cost but Three Half Crowns, and won Five Hundred Pounds to his Share by that Leg. Pray come and see the Sport, and you will say, That as old as you are, you never saw the like since you was born; nor do I think, except the Time of the
South-Sea,
there was ever such
merry
Trading in the Memory of Man. If you continue to like Mrs.
Patty Amble,
bring her with you, I must put her in a Way of making a properer Wife for you by teaching her how to mend her Paces and her Fortune together, both which you may remember, you left in a desperate Way at that Place, which you describ'd, in a most delightful and instructive Paper of yours, by the Name of
Mend-All-Market.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 50.
Dignum laude virum musa vetat mori.
HOR.
Virtus repulsae nescia sordidae
Intaminatis fulget honoribus,
Nec sumet aut ponit secures
Arbitrio popularis aurae.
Ibid.
FRIDAY,
September
11. 1724.
THE Estimation, of publick Actions, seems to me to be unjustly calculated, Men derive the
Quality
of Actions from that of the Actor; Would it not be more just to measure the Actor by the Action? The Ancients considered the Degrees of Superiority to consist in those of Merit and Virtue.
Pliny
has distinguish'd himself, by Remarks, on this Head, in his admirable Epistles, and tho' he was at the
Head
of the
Nobles,
as well as the
Wits
of his Age, he thought it not below him, to pay Acknowledgments, nay, refined Compliments, to the Merit of Persons in low Life; but took a worthy Pride in raising them from the Obscurity, annexed to that Condition, by a
Comparison
with the highest renowned for Deeds which sprang from the same Greatness and Elevation of Spirit. As Titles are often but Accidents, this is a just Way of Judging; since Worth is not the Consequence of a Name, but a great Name ought ever to be the Consequence of Virtue.
"MODERN Writers," said our
Critick,
the other Evening, "have gone into a different Turn of Thinking: They extol, to the Skies, the indifferent Actions, and palliate the Blemishes, of Titled People, who disgrace the Figure of Life they appear in; but meanly, decline the right Use of Art upon Subjects, where they might point out Greatness in obscure Men, who were never
little
in any Thing but the
Accident
of their Birth, and who
living
and
dying,
did an Honour to Human Nature. Such Pen-men may be called,
The Rabble of the Wits,
who are dazled by the false Glare of the Great, but can look at solid, Virtue, without the least Emotion, or Sign, of being able to see it. The Stiles of these petty Panegyrists, are, like their Subjects, glittering, but not solid; swelling, but rather empty than great; they seem never to have heard of that beautiful Simplicity, which arises out of Nature, and forms the Sublime, so much admired by the Readers, and so masterly executed by the Writers of Antiquity."
WE were led into this Track of Thinking, by my looking, the other Day, into a little Book, call'd,
The History of the Preservation of
Charles
the Second, after the noted Battle of
Worcester; which was fought in the Year 1651, on the Third of this very Month of
September.
I there meet with such a prodigious Instance of Fidelity, and Loyalty, in a poor mean Country Fellow, nam'd
Pendrell,
and all his
Family,
that I know not
any
so Illustrious, to which my Heart would lead me to pay greater, or sincerer Acknowledgements. I am not at all surprized, to find, that this amazing Incident, of Integrity, is coolly, and insensibly, treated by Men of slender Abilities; who have an Affectation to shine upon more pompous Subjects; who chuse rather to spend their Strength in relating the Fury of that Battle, and lay out all their mistaken Eloquence in raising the Powers of Hell, to push on its horrible Consequences; but it is both a Matter of Surprize, and Confusion, to think, that so many truly great Poets, and Orators, should live just after, and leave an Example, so beneficial to Posterity, in a manner forgotten, for want of being commended, with that Spirit it so richly deserves.
PERHAPS the History of the whole World, were we to turn it never so carefully over, could furnish us with but few Things more astonishing, more moving, and pathetick, more exemplary, and edifying, than this uncelebrated Passage!—A Monarch to be forced, by a prevailing Faction, to turn a Fugitive, in his own Kingdoms! And when discomfited Princes, disabled Lords, and routed Armies, could no longer assist their Sovereign, that it should be reserved for a poor simple Hind to preserve this Lord's Anointed from a cruel, pursuing Victor, whose praeternatural Swells of Fortune made him the Terror of all
Christendom!
—That it should be reserved for an ignorant Countryman, to save a wise and mighty Prince from falling, like his good Father, to be afterwards, received as our Glory, with the Applauses and Acclamations, not only of our own Three Kingdoms, but all the Nations about us! And shall this
Englishman,
recorded with Honour, by foreign Writers, be only coldly spoken of by our own?—Is he a mean Man? Consider the noble Trust, and the nobler Discharge of it! and he grows great in Proportion to the Littleness of his Condition. Is he Poor? How does that Poverty add to the Richness of his Virtue, who hears
Praemiums
bid for the precious Life, he has in Custody, and yet, disdaining the Bribe of Gold, ventures his own for his Loyalty? Sure, nothing but a Soul, which is abandon'd to Barbarity and Meanness, can let a little Idea of him take Place, upon Account of his despicable Figure. It is the noblest Addition to his Greatness! As inconsiderable as he might be otherwise, he must, in this View, make a fine Picture, and he is a living Disgrace to that Herd of Titled Criminals, who follow'd the Fortunes, and partook the impious Greatness, of the Pursuer of Majesty. Let those, who look no farther than the outside of Things, think a
Plebian,
below
Eulogy
; I, who view him with other Eyes almost think him above it. Had he lived in more generous Times, and been the Preserver of an
Augustus,
his honest Contempt of Gold, would have justly given him a Place equal with
Camillus,
in the
Horatian
Ode, consecrated to the Praises of that Emperor.
IT is a Scene, that the Imagination cannot entertain without a Mixture of Grief and Admiration, when we place before our Eyes that Prince in the Habit of a Rustick, amidst so many different Dangers, relying upon the Conduct and Fidelity of this
real
Rustick, this venerable Clown, and his little Family for his Guards. I remember to have been informed, by a very great Man, That
"He has heard the King tell the Story in Jest, and wonder'd to see many smile, when his Majesty said pleasantly, That
He He was once in danger of losing his Guide in the Night-Time, but that the Rustling of
Richard
's Calves-Skin Breeches was a Direction
to his Ear in the Dark.
The King might, indeed, make a Jest of it, said he, but I could not think of Majesty in such Distress, without being touch'd in good Earnest, by a Grief, which it was beyond the Notion of an odd and comical Dress to remove."
—I must say the same, as this Nobleman, with regard to the King; and even as to
Pendrell,
there is something too serious in his Integrity, not to make us lose his Appearance, in our Veneration of his Virtues. As there was a Princely Person in one rough Garb; there was a noble Soul in the other; for when he attended the King, for the last Time, he shewed, he had a true Sense of the Weight of his Charge. For, his Majesty complaining of the Horse,
That it was the heaviest Jade he ever rode on; Pendrell,
smilingly told him,
That the Horse had the Weight of Three Kingdoms on his Back, and ought not therefore to be blamed, if he went a little heavily.
WHEN I Meditate the many Passages, that this little History recounts, between the King and
Pendrell,
my Attention is so fixed to the Parts, which exercised this Man's Fidelity, that I scarce have Room in my Thoughts, for the Glories of a Restoration, that he was reserved for. I love to dwell upon this good Man: It is a familiar Example, but it is the more useful; the Least Man may be faithful, and Fidelity will make him Great; while the Greatest Man, without Integrity, dwindles into a Little one.—It is true, also, Integrity makes a Great Man much Greater; so it is with
General Monk,
a Name, far beyond his Title. Duke of
Albemarle,
strikes no Ear; calls for no Admiration. But Every one admires the
General
and the
Restorer.
A LITTLE gentlemanly Estate was afterwards settled upon his Descendants; and had he been advanced by the Pleasure of the King, from that lowly Degree, to the Nobility, no Lord could have thought himself injur'd, by having for his Peer, and Companion, the Heir of that worthy Man, who preserved the Fountain of Honour.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 51.
— Fallacia
Alia aliam trudit.
TEREN.
MONDAY,
September
14. 1724.
CREDULITY
is a Weakness, from which very few are exempted. It is the Ground-work of Craft and Imposture; and the Means by which they are propagated.
I HAVE often reflected, with Concern, upon the Condition of Humanity, in this Regard: And nothing can be more afflicting, than to behold one Part of the rational World making a
Trade
of misguiding the other! If all the Errors, into which People are drawn, had but the Marks of
Truth,
some Excuse, might be found for their
Credulity
; but the Shame is, in their receiving what is
new,
at the Expence, even of
Probabability.
Vulgar Minds are most struck with what is most incredible; and the Way to
convince,
is, to
amaze
them.
Reason
makes few Proselytes: But
Mystery
rarely fails. And the less they know why, the fonder they grow of the Imposture.
BECAUSE I would not dip into Controversies, wherein
Religion,
and
Government,
are concern'd; I must descend into Low Life, and only touch the little Artifices which owe their Reputation to this Weakness.
THE World is wearied with Stories of
Witches
and
Fairies,
and begins to see thro' the Imposture. The Craft of
Astrologers, Conjurers,
and
Prophets,
begins also to be exploded, by the Vulgar, whose
Oracles
they have long been. But I am not a little amaz'd to find, that, instead of the Delusions, once practis'd on the Multitude, They, now, work strongest among the polite and fashionable People. What Staring, what Clapping, what Waste of Time and Money have
Harlequin
and
Faustus
occasion'd? The Madness, both of
Actors,
and
Spectators,
has so provok'd me almost to Tears, that I could even have
wept over the City!
I WILL not be so partial, to our Worshipful Society of FREE
and
ACCEPTED MASONS, as to forbear reproving them, on this Occasion, for the unaccountable Pother and Noise they have lately made in the World. What Stories have been told to amuse, and engage the
Credulous?
What Reflections, what Reproach, have they brought upon That ANCIENT ORDER, by making Proselytes, in so cheap and so prostituted a Manner? It afflicts me sensibly, when I see Coxcombs introduc'd into our
Lodges,
and made privy to our
Secrets.
I have often enter'd my Protest against this Abuse, in private Society; and must use the Freedom to offer this Memorial, in my publick Character. 'Tis my Opinion, That the late Prostitution of our
Order
is in some Measure, the betraying it. The weak Heads of
Vintners, Drawers, Wigmakers, Weavers,
&c. admitted into our
Fraternity,
have not only brought Contempt upon the Institution, but do very much endanger it. And I have heard it ask'd, Why we don't admit
Women,
as well as
Taylors,
into our
Lodges?
I must confess I have met with as
sufficient
Heads among the
Fair Sex,
as I have found in the BROTHERHOOD: I have some Reasons to fear, that our SECRETS are in Danger. There is, in the Conduct of too many, since their Admission, the
— Caecus amor sui,
Et tollens vacuum plus nimio Gloria verticem;
Arcanique Fides prodiga, perlucidior vitro;
which is expresly prohibited by our Excellent RULES and CONSTITUTIONS; and, which is the very Characteristick of the Fools, that were received into the LODGES at
ROME,
in the Days of
AUGUSTUS CAESAR
; and whereof our Brother
HORACE
complain'd vehemently, in an
Ode
to
VARUS,
who was then GRAND MASTER. But whatever Freedoms others imagine they may lawfully and discreetly use, my Conscience cannot brook them.
— NON EGO TE —
INVITUM QUATIAM: NEC —
SUB DIVUM RAPIAM —
MY Female Readers, and, I'm afraid, some of the
Brotherhood
may stop here, and stare, as if I had blabb'd out the whole
Mystery.
They may be doubtful whether the above Words, and Dashes may not be
decypher'd
into the famous
Mason Word?
But I leave the Ignorant to their
Wonder
; and proceed to assure my
Brethren,
that they have promoted
Superstition and Babbling,
contrary to the Peace of our Sovereign Lord, the King, by their late Practices, and Condescentions. Alarming Reports, and Stories of LADDERS, HALTERS, DRAWN SWORDS, and DARK ROOMS, have spread Confusion and Terror: And, if the Government does not put the Laws against us in Execution, it will be an extraordinary Favour, or
Oversight.
For my own Part, I am so faithful a Subject, and have the Weal of
Our Ancient Order,
so much at Heart, that unless the GRAND MASTER puts a Stop to these Proceedings, by a peremptory Charge to the BROTHERHOOD, I wish I cou'd honourably enter into ANOTHER.
AND, now I have hinted at ANOTHER
Order,
I must entertain my Readers with Two Letters; the first address'd to my self, and the last written from
Rome,
to the Author of the first.
HANG CHI
to the
British PLAIN-DEALER:
Health.
Sage SIR,
BY the Help of my
Secretary
and
Interpreter
I peruse your Lucubrations; and write this Epistle, to assure you of my Esteem.
I AM inform'd, that you have taken Notice of the
Advertisement
I caused to be publish'd in the News-Papers; and that you call'd at the
Castle,
to be satisfy'd of the Truth of my Arrival in this Place. Your Enquiry, and the Conversation you had with my Secretary, give me Occasion to gratify you farther; and I am proud to have it in my Power to distinguish one of your Merit in the Manner I intend.
THE
Laws
and
Constitutions
of the most ancient and illustrious
Order,
of the
GORMOGONS
oblige us to be
cautious
and
frugal,
in admitting
new Members.
Remarkable
Virtues
have always recommended the Candidates. No Rank, Station, or Condition of Life, intitles a Person to be of our
Fraternity.
We know neither
Prejudice,
nor
Partiality,
in conferring this Honour; and all the
Interest
in the World to procure it, would be fruitless, without
Merit.
MY Residence here will be short. It cannot therefore be expected, that I shou'd invite many worthy Persons to enter into our
Order
; nor dare I render it cheap and contemptible, by admitting every Pretender: But I know several who deserve to be received, and to whom I have promis'd the Distinction.
I SHALL consider it as an Ornament to our
most ancient
and illustrious ORDER, which is the Honour and Ornament of all its Members, if you,
Sage Sir,
will be pleas'd to accept the Privileges that I am empower'd to bestow on the
Deserving.
I confess, you must first be DEGRADED, as our Laws require, and renounce, and abandon, the Society of
False-Builders.
But, as your great Judgment must distinguish the Excellence of our
Order,
I hope you will prefer being a
Fellow
with
Us.
Nothing would more sensibly concern me, when I leave
London,
than not be able to transmit your Name in the List, that I must send to the OECUMENICAL VOLGEE in
China.
I am, Sage SIR, Your Affectionate Friend,
HANG CHI.
SHIN SHAW,
to
HANG CHI,
at
London:
Health:
Most Illustrious Brother and Friend,
I CONGRATULATE you on the speedy Progress you have made from the Court of the
Young SOPHY,
and your safe Arrival in the
Isle of
Britain. Your Presence is earnestly expected at ROME. The Father of High Priests is fond of our
Order,
and the CARDINALS have an Emulation to be distinguish'd. Our Excellent Brother GORMOGON,
Mandarin,
CHAN FUE, is well, and salutes you. Since my last, I had Advices from
Pekin,
which confirm former Accounts, that our new Emperor is an open Enemy to the
Jesuits:
But I pray, their Disgrace in
China
may not provoke the
Europeans
to use
Us
ill. Take Care of your Health. Farewell.
SHIN SHAW.
I ACKNOWLEDGE the Honour done me, by the illustrious
Mandarin
HANG CHI; and, though I cannot prevail with my self to be DEGRADED, in the
Manner
requir'd by the
Laws
and
Constitutions
of the Order of GORMOGONS, I approve, and applaud, their admitting none, but whom
Merit
recommends into the Fellowship of the OECUMENICAL VOLGEE. Moreover, I propose the Good Conduct, and Regularity of the GORMOGONS, as a Pattern to the FREE and ACCEPTED MASONS, for the Future: And, if I shall be enabled to make any useful Discoveries for the Service of the
Brotherhood,
they may depend on my watchful Fidelity.
THE Letters, sign'd MAECENAS, communicated to us, by PHILANTHROPOS, are come to Hand, and deservedly claim a Place in this Paper the first Opportunity.
Our Fair Correspondents, the one from
Edinburgh,
the other from
Surrey,
who, both so beautifully, and pathetically, pour forth their Complaints to the PLAIN DEALER, shall meet with a proper and early Regard.
THE ANONYMOUS Gentleman, who requests our speedy Opinion of a certain Case, which, he says, is
urgent,
is desired to suspend his
dangerous
Advice to his Friend; and we shall touch upon that Subject, in an ampler Manner, than is consistent with the Haste he requires.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 52.
— De tot modo millibus unus:
— De tot modo millibus una.
OVID.
FRIDAY,
September
18. 1724.
THE following Letters sign'd MAECENAS, were written, as their Dates shew, some Time since, by a Gentleman from
London,
to his Friend at
Cambridge,
and being full of a generous Spirit, we have inserted them, according to our Promise in our last.
London,
December
20. 1723-4.
SIR,
WHAT I here write to you, is Affection, true (because spontaneous) Affection to a Family who know not me, or that I am now writing, or intending to write to you, or any body concerning them.
I AM just now seated at a Coffee-house, not far from the
Royal-Exchange,
where I am very much affected (as I often have been) with the genteel, humble Deportment of the Bar-keeper; A Deportment most agreeably adapted to her present Station.—Yet, at the same time, such as betokens a Genius superior to this Way of Livelihood. It is known to every body that sees this Gentlewoman (seeing her is knowing it) that she is a Gentlewoman: But that, moreover, she has
this
additional Merit, To have been the Comfort, the loving, and beloved Comfort, of the great and admirable
Favellus
; this perhaps is not so universally known.
FAVELLUS
was an eminent Preacher of the Town: Those that know his Character, can tell 'twas a Compound of all the good Characters belonging to a Christian, to a Divine, to a Gentleman. He had a most extensive Genius, which, with his own Education and Industry, made vast Acquirements in all sorts of Theological Literature. This will appear to a Man of any Sagacity, that makes use of That and his Sermons, when publish'd, which are now Printing by Subscription. The first of these Sermons, that was preached in my Hearing, gave me a most surprizing Mixture of Pleasure and Concern:
Pleasure,
in hearing, at once, a
Demosthenes,
and a
Euclid,
a
Chrysostom,
and a
Bentley
(
All
met together)
All
speaking in this accomplish'd Divine; who was himself a most powerful, a most pathetick
Orator,
a most exact
Reasoner,
a most persuasive
Theologer,
—in one Word,
an universal consummate Scholar.
—This was the
Pleasure.
A
Concern
too it gave me (a Concern inexpressible) arising from a certain Uneasiness I felt in my own Breast, from reflecting, that tho' I had been Years in
London,
this was but my
First
Pleasure of hearing this inimitable Man. After this, you may be sure I became his eager Attendant: And of All the Sermons I attended, Head and Heart say this.—They were All, to a Degree that is incredible,
All
Edifying, All Entertaining; Entertaining, I mean in that Way wherein Theological Performances
may
and
ought
to entertain. 'Tis rare,
remarkably
rare, to meet with the Man that writes, or indeed is
capable
of writing, in that Close, that Mathematical, that Concatenating Way he excell'd in; or, that has the same Sagacity in
Pointing out
the Intricacies of an Argument, together with the same Acuteness, the same Clearness in
Removing
'em;—putting Prejudice to the Blush;—reconciling Scripture to Scripture;—making Error
appear
to be Error, Truth to be Truth. You'd be sure not only to be pleas'd, but to
exult
in the Pleasure you took, if you had heard him frequently, as I did, advancing (and that so ingeniously) some Truths that were uncommon, and defending common ones in an uncommon Manner; making obscure Things plain; plain Things
surprizingly
plainer.—To raise Objections so
pertinently,
to state 'em so
candidly,
to answer 'em so
unanswerably,
is a Talent, or rather
many
Talents, wherein but few Men, if few, cou'd come up to him.
I ASK now, Shou'd it not be (Matter of
Wonder
to ALL Men, and) to Men of Merit,
Concern,
that this very Man, a Man of their own Number, a Minister of the Gospel too, an
eminent
Minister, an eminent Writer,—Great in Learning,—Great in Goodness,—Great in Renown,—Of a meek humble, winning Disposition,—Of a sweet, sober, edifying Conversation,—Of a blameless, of an unspotted Character,—Withal too, a Man of strict
Orthodoxy
(and is not
This
alone a Thousand good Characters?)—I say, shou'd it not, even in Point of
Humanity
(much more so of
Charity
) affect
All
Men
of Merit
or that
love
Merit, to observe how it pass'd unrewarded, slighted, discourag'd, tho' seen plainly, tho' admir'd universally, in this excellent Man?
THINK—(and grieve when you think) how he Died! How Indigent! How
exceedingly
Indigent!—and this, after a Life wherein there was nothing of Excess,—except that of its being painful,
willingly
painful to
Himself,
—and that purposely that it might be useful to
Others.
BEHOLD him,
when Living,
living blamelessly in every Thing;—
Blamelessly
did I say? It had been just to have said,
Admirably
in every Thing: Admirably every where:
At Home
Studious, at Home Frugal, in all his Oeconomy:
Abroad
seldom—except at his Church:
At Church
attended with a full Congregation (perhaps the fullest in this great City, wherein were Persons of almost all Denominations, all all Ranks and Perswasions; all pleas'd, all
greedy
to hear this incomparable Man.—And yet,
BEHOLD him,
when Dying,
not worth enough to defray the Charge of his Funeral!
Now,
it appears (thro' his own singular Modesty, it did not
till now
) What a poor Livelihood (—Wonder, and be astonish'd! and yet this was
All
his Livelihood (for himself and Family) he got by the Ministry: Poor! so deplorably poor, that his distress'd Widow, and Two or Three young lovely Children, at least
some
of 'em, are likely, e'er long, (—O pity! pity!) even to—I
cannot
speak it!—What shall I say?—My Heart bleeds when I think of it. He died, as I'm told, not worth Ten Shillings.
WITHIN the Circle of your Acquaintance, and my own, there are,
some,
no doubt, that have Inclinations, but want
Abilities
to be Beneficent; some, that have Abilities, but want Inclinations: Some, that have
Both,
and would imploy both, but know not
where
to employ 'em. To these last sort of Persons, to all these able-well-inclining Persons, namely, to all that have
no Heirs
of their own to inherit after them, or have more Riches than enough for their Heirs, and for such like Reasons have generous Design, I say, To
these
surely I need not say more.
PITY, even common Pity, mov'd me thus to throw in a Word or two (I hope, at least, 'twill have
some
favourable Consequence) in Favour of this unhappy Widow and Children (the Melancholy Remains of that Learned Good Man I have been speaking of); and the this rather, because, as you see, they are now reduc'd, for the Sake of a Subsistence, to the Business of a Coffee-house.
THE Widow's Demeanor, in this new Way of Life, as I told you,
genteel
Humility, submissive, easy, chearful in this the Station allotted her,
Because
'tis allotted her. She has this Character, in all its Beauty and Elegance, in all the Nicety and Goodbreeding belonging to it. See the
Whole
of her Conduct. See in that, the
worst
of Adversities in its best Dress. Whoever attends to it (and whoever beholds
cannot but
attend to it) has a very
instructive
Amusement. There is scarce an Action she does, that in this Way is not an excellent Document, being itself a Comment on that polite Humility I am speaking of. To see her, just now, bringing me the Dish of Coffee, I call'd for, with HER
peculiar
Way of doing it, is an admirable Criticism on those Words of St.
Paul, I know HOW to be abased.
And to attend her, saying
Sir, I thank you,
and her
Manner
of saying it (—with the Curt'sy annex'd) to a Gentleman that a while ago laid his Penny at the Bar, is perhaps a better Sermon than many a Divine cou'd have made on this Text of St.
Peter
[
Be Courteous
] So much for the Widow.
THE Children (poor, fatherless, undone Children!) seem to carry an Hereditary Goodness in their very Aspects. It wou'd melt
any
Heart to behold them; any, especially, that remembers that worthy Father they descended from.
SIR, Sure you are affected with this Melancholy Narrative: 'Tis Truth. Inquire, and you'll find it
All
to be Truth, as related to you, by
Your most Affected
MAECENAS.
London,
May
21. 1724.
Dear SIR,
IN my last I griev'd, in this I rejoice; as you will, when I tell you that the distress'd Widow of the late Reverend and Excellent
Favellus
is lately Married to a Good Man, and an ample Estate, ample enough to provide handsomly for her and her Children. Behold the Benevolence, behold the Goodness, the Superlative Goodness of
Amasius
! that has thought fit to bestow Himself, and his All! and this without Hurt to any Relation of his own. I esteem, I admire the Man, 'tho I know him not. I'm all Joy and Transport, and impatient to tell it you. I can write nothing else;—therefore conclude in an Extasy.
Yours,
MAECENAS.
Sept.
1. 1724.
SIR,
'TIS the Opinion of me, and of many that the two Letters, I inclose, may pass with Advantage thro' your Hands to the Publick. If too long, abridge 'em as you think fit. I was at
Cambridge,
when I reciv'd both from
Maecenas,
who I must tell you, is a Gentleman of the
Temple,
that won't permit me to say more of him; nor need I to a Person, of
your
Taste and Discernment, that can read the Soul of a Man in his Letters.
BE just, Sir, to such a remarkable Piece of Generosity as this of
Amasius,
and convince the World, that it is not only an uncommon
Generosity,
but an uncommon
good Sense
; a good Sense, perhaps, which a great many
foolish
People have not a
Notion of,
and which a great many wise ones have
only
a Notion of.
THE like Conduct to this of
Amasius,
was t'other Day, that of
THEODOSIA,
a Lady of an amiable Character, and of a very considerable Family and Fortune. She has had a long and intimate Knowledge of
Honestus,
and of All his Good Qualities. She has often heard, often seen, what a kind Husband he made to his Wise, whom he has lately lost, and with her an Estate, that was all he had to subsist upon. He had met with many Adversities, many Trials before. But this was the greatest. He bore it manfully; hoping, trusting, resting, firmly and chearfully, in an Almighty Wisdom, Goodness, and Providence. With this Resolution, he made a friendly Visit to his Acquaintance in the Country; among the rest, to
Theodosia,
who receiv'd him kindly, and pity'd him. He there fell ill of a Fever, during which, she gave him a Thousand Proofs of her Tenderness! and, after he had recover'd, added this to the Number of 'em,
She Married him
—Not without the Advice of her best Friends and Relations.—
THIS is the Character of
Honestus
; a great deal of
Merit,
but, withal, a great deal of
Poverty,
and
Four Children
along with it. For
this
she's reflected on. Cruel World! thus to treat the generous
Theodosia
! And thus to treat her,
because
she is generous! —Cruelty itself! But incourage her, I beseech you, Sir, and let it be
your
Generosity to say all you can in behalf of
Theodosia
's.
HEREBY, (if speedy) you'll oblige many besides,
SIR,
Your Sincere Friend, And Humble Servant,
PHILANTHROPOS.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 53.
Trahimur omnes laudis studio: & optimus quis
que
maxime gloria ducitur.
CICERO.
MONDAY,
September
21. 1724.
WE regard not Rivals in
Love,
with more Malice than Rivals in
Fame:
And the softer Sex, is most liable to the malignant Impressions of Envy; because their Pursuits being fewer than ours, their Application is more
intense
and
collected:
And they brook Disappointments with less Comfort and Moderation.
WIT
and
Beauty,
are the Arms they conquer by; It is with Jealousy, therefore, that they behold them in any Hands but their own. The Praise of one Lady, is considered by another, as a Reproach: And
her
Soul must be sublimely Great, who, not only observes with Pleasure, the Fame and Influence, of a powerful Rival; but contributes her own Endeavours, to the Support, and Increase of them!
I HAVE been led into these Reflections, by the Delight, with which, I perus'd the following Letter, and Copy of Verses, which were lately sent me, by a Lady, who has either too much Generosity, to malign the Excellence and Applause of others: Or too large a Share of both, herself, to be allarm'd, at their Advance, in either.
SIR,
I HAVE found, That your Paper has a Power to move the Soul; and holds a Command over the Passions. Your PLAIN DEALER on
Death,
is one continued Beauty. He ought, methinks, to
live
for ever, who can make
Death
so desirable. While I was reading in it, all Vanity, and Love of Life forsook me.—My Eyes resign'd themselves to Tears: and I even seem'd to
feel
the Grave. The beautiful Verse glided through my Veins; and I trembled, with a
pleasing Horror.
WHILE my Mind was, thus delightfully sadden'd, Death depriv'd me of a
perfect Friend,
to whose dear Memory, I have devoted the Lines inclos'd. They have little Beauty, but the Truth and Passion of my Concern. Perhaps,
That
will plead their Pardon.
THE Lady, whose Loss I lament, was an Ornament to one Sex; and the Reproach and Admiration of the other. I wonder, a Death, so considerable, appears so little deplor'd.—Where is
Friendship?
—Was it buried, in
Delia
's Grave? Let me invoke it, to lament her.—
She
who cou'd, so gracefully,
mourn,
let
us
mourn
her.
—She, who cou'd give
Life
to our Imagination, let us be sorry for her
Death,
and assist her Fame, by our Gratitude.
YOU,
Sir, who know how to Charm your Readers, as you please, I wish, you would chuse this inspiring Subject of
Friendship.
Its divine Spirit is too much confin'd among Persons of narrow Natures.—As for me, I am not insensible of it: I feel its Power at my Heart; but can't do Justice in expressing it.—The Descent to
Age,
and
Affliction,
is smooth'd and soften'd, by the Aid of
Friendship.
It rebates the Edge of sharpest Miseries. We seem
not to grow Old,
when we have a
Friend,
to make Life tasteful to us: Time flies over us, indeed; but he seems to brush us with downy Wings; and marks his Way, with slight Impressions.
WHEN I see a Face, more serene, or more lovely, than usual, I take Pleasure to imagine, she owes her Sweetness, to the Influence of some charming Friend's Society. The Soul is quicken'd in its Energy, by the Power of so divine a Softness, nor shares, nor laments, the
Body
's Miseries.
EXCUSE the Fullness of my Heart, on this favourite Subject: And I will be frank enough to own, that I am sometimes blest, with a Friend; of
your
Sex, too: And, while I have the Joy of listening to his Wisdom, methinks, we have already pass'd the
Grave,
and are enjoying the Delights of
Heaven.
I am, SIR, Your most Respectful, Humble Servant,
CLEORA.
VERSES, Written by a LADY: On the Death of Mrs. MANLEY.
PALE bleeding Friendship, and distracted Grief,
Leave me no
Voice,
to give my Woe Relief:
Ev'n the soft Gratitude my
Eyes
should pay,
Flows from my
Soul,
and speaks, this nobler Way.
My weeping Pen shall my Distress impart,
And its
dark Tears
dissolve the Reader's Heart:
Till
Tears on Tears,
in social Grief, descend,
And the
World mourns
my Soul's lamented Friend.
Yet does my Muse, but a
brib'd
Off'ring give:
Since, join'd to Thine
My
Name is
sure to live.
Why wert Thou ravish'd from my Love, so soon?
Why gleam'd thy
Evening only,
on
my Noon?
Had thy dear Friendship warm'd my
Morning
Lays,
I had
deserv'd
the Glory of thy Praise:
Sprung, lively, forward lighten'd by thy Ray;
Chear'd, for the Race; and
darted into Day.
But thou wert held, from my desiring Sight:
And my Muse
wander'd,
distant from
Thy Light.
How strong, yet soft, was Her accomplish'd Mind!
Sincere, like Heaven; and, as its Angels, kind.
Safe, as the
Sun,
in her Superior Rays,
How
full
shone
Merit,
in her graceful Praise!
Such active
Flame,
did her warm Fancy give,
That ev'ry glowing
Letter
seem'd to
live!
Where's now th' unconscious Heart, that cou'd descend,
To bless my Wishes, with the Name of
Friend!
Senceless, and cold, 'twill, now, no longer move,
At
Pity's
tender Voice, or weeping
Love!
Where shall we, now, those bright
Ideas
find,
That
peopled Thought,
from thy creating Mind?
Death
has
turn'd back
the intercepted Store:
But thy
Fame lives,
and thou
can'st die no more.
Such
Immortality
Thy Friendship
gave;
For none, whom
Delia sung,
can fear the Grave.
Life
of my
Genius!
whither art thou flown?
To what new Regions, to my Soul unknown!
Let me
o'ertake
thee—for I weary grow;
And
sicken
at the World, that's
left below.
The Sunless World, where Friendship has no Part,
Is cold, and dead, to my
be-winter'd
Heart.
In Life's vain Joys, no Comfort can be found,
No Cure for
Mem'ry's
ever-smarting Wound.
When the bright Traces of thy Mind I read,
Oh! how will
waking Recollection
bleed!
Thy Angel Pen,
aw'd
ev'n unblushing Vice:
And chas'd
high Guilt,
from its
proud Paradise.
But
Innocence
and
Vertue,
were thy
Care:
Thy tow'ring Genius, shone Triumphant
there.
Oh!
Delia!
tuneful Mistress of my Mind,
Dear to my Friendship, to my Errors kind,
Where shall my Muse
another Delia
find?
What
wish'd Intreaties
did I still
receive!
Such, the
true Great,
alone, have
Soul, to give.
While, in immortal Honours
she
was dress'd,
She stoop'd, to raise me to her gen'rous Breast?
And
woo'd
my distant Merit,
to be blest?
I
grasp
thy
Tomb,
nor wou'd I thence depart;
The World has, now, no Charm, that tempts my Heart.
Dark, let me sigh, to thy departed Shade,
Nor
Light,
intruding, solemn
Grief
invade:
My trembling Arms, wou'd this cold Marble
bind.
Till my lost
Body,
joins my
buried Mind.
I AM charm'd, almost equally, with the
Verse
and
Prose,
of this Lady:—There is in her
Stile,
a peculiar
Mark,
or
Mole,
which her
Minerva
may be known by. It is a certain majestick Shortness in her Periods, impregnated with Sense and Fullness. And her
Poetry
is so rich in Beauties, that her
Eyes
have scarce more
Fire
; or her
Mind
more Scope and Sweetness.
IT has often been observ'd, That the Ladies of this Island, are the most
beautiful
in the Universe. I shall endeavour, for my Country's Honour, to prove them also the most
Witty.
And, that they are most
Wise,
we are under a Political Necessity of maintaining, because no Remark is more obvious to Foreigners, than, that the Superiority of our Women's Talents, has almost universally preferr'd the Sex, in this happy Corner of the World, to a Right of Governing their Husbands.
BUT when I come to speak of the
Wit
of our
English
Ladies, I will not do 'em the Injustice of comparing them with our Male Poets.—There was a
Corinna
among the Antients, who carried away the Prize of Poetry from the Immortal
Pindar
himself.—To write better than the
Men,
therefore, is a Triumph below the Genius of some of our Female Wits, whom I could name, since other Women have been already,
so far
Conquerors in other Nations. But, if I match our modern Muses, against the
Sappho
's, and
Corinna's
of Antiquity, and they shall be victorious over those fam'd Victors, That, indeed will be a Glory.
I SHALL consecrate Three future Papers, to the Great, and different Excellence of Three
English
Ladies, who are all now living; And whose Writings shall be tryed, in a most impartial Comparison, with the finest, and most celebrated Remnants of Female Genius, which have been preserv'd and wonder'd at, through a Length of applauding Ages.—And, I doubt not, but I shall make it demonstrable, in those Three Papers; that the
English
Ladies have excell'd the Antients, in the
Depth,
the
Tenderness,
and the
Sublimity
of their Compositions.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 54
Cur ego, si nequeo, ignoroque, Poeta salutor?
HOR.
FRIDAY,
September
25. 1724.
IN a Coffee-Room, the other Day, where the Conversation turn'd on Wit, a Gentleman was taking Pains to draw an odd kind of Demonstration, from the List of Subscribers to Mr.
Pope
's
Translation of Homer,
That there never was an Age so favourable to Poets, as
This
:—And, That, from the Number of our
Noble Patrons,
the Glorious Reign of King
George
will shine brighter to Posterity than the Reign of
Augustus Caesar.
THOUGH I love Loyalty, at my Heart, and am as conscious as I ought to be of the Influences of His Majesty's Glory, yet, I confess, I was a little startled, at the Novelty of this Assertion; and express'd my Surprize, with some Emotion.—I find then, cry'd I, that I have lived in profound Ignorance!—As for the
Politicks
indeed of the present Age, I have always consider'd 'em as too
remarkable
to be soon
forgot
: But, for the
Wit
of it, I was in Hopes, there cou'd be no Danger of its being
remember'd.
IT seems, continued I, the severest Misery of Men of Learning, that Custom has misled them to depend, for their Encouragment, on those
Great,
Little, Creatures, whom we call
People of Quality.
—Were Wisdom the Consequence of Riches, Rank, and Power, it had been prudent, and reasonable, for Merit in Distress to apply itself to the
Mighty.
—But, since the Flattery, and Indulgence, in which Those called
Great Men,
are educated, must give Liberty to their
Passions,
and Restraint to their
Intellects,
(for Understanding is scarce necessary to Men who can pay others, to think for them!) therefore, with due Regard to a few shining Exceptions, a Lord is
above Wit
: And most of 'em wou'd have found it more to their Taste, and their Talent, to subscribe to
Heidegger,
than to
Homer,
but that the numerous Acquaintance of this fine, and happy Genius united themselves, so powerfully, to recommend his Translation, that, to be out of the List, was to be out of the
Fashion:
which Misfortune, no Doubt, it was well worth
Six Guineas,
to be delivered from the Disgrace of — But, let me see these shining Names to Mr.
Dennis
's
Miscellaneous Tracts,
which he is now publishing by a Subscription, scarce the Sixth Part so chargeable, and I will afterwards, suppose, that They can
read,
as well as
purchase.
—This, however, is what I know them too well to expect at their Hands, unless Mr.
Dennis
shall become as much
The Mode
as Mr.
Pope
is.
I WAS surpriz'd to observe, that at my Mention of Mr.
Dennis,
almost every Person present, join'd in a Clamour against
Criticks.
They affirm'd,
Thus it was but just, to neglect the Writings of a Person, who only writes, to censure Others.
And,
That the World shou'd, without Regard to a Critick's Learning, declare War, against his Malice; and treat, and consider him, as a King of Common Enemy.
I CONTENTED myself with smiling, at the Extravagance of this Reasoning, and reply'd, That I doubted hot, however, but the Name of Mr.
Pope
would be found among Mr.
Dennis
's
Subscribers
; because He has
Soul
to know, That though Living Merit, may sometimes, as in his own Case, be popular, yet Popularity is so far from being the
Mark
of Living Merit, that Real Excellence, for the most Part, both
wants
and
disdains
it.
IN the Progress of my Papers, I am determined to examine into the Foundation of this silly Notion,
That Criticks are Enemies to Wit and Learning:
And I dare be positive, before-hand, that I shall discover it to take its Rise from a Cause, of the same Nature with that, which makes the
Pickpocket
hate the
Horsepond.
TO pretend a Love of Learning, and at the same Time io dispise Criticism, is as ridiculous an Absurdity, as to delight in noble Buildings, and exclaim against Architecture.—If there is not some
Rule,
whereby we are to measure
Wit,
then Wit has no Dependance on the Reason, and the Judgment; and, to be a
Wit,
or a
Fool,
are in that Case, Terms Synonimous.—But, if Wit is to be judg'd, by the Examination of our Reason, then that Reason is
Criticism
: And he, who is a Critick, is the Champion of Wit, and defends it from Prophanation.—How can he, therefore, be the
Enemy,
of what is supported by his Influence?
THE true Friends of Learning ought to be cautious, how they give up
Criticks
; lest, to free themselves from a present Fear, they destroy their future Hope, and fall into Oblivion, under the Growth of assuming Ignorance: Like the Degenerate
Roman
Armies, who slackening the Severity of their old martial Discipline, came at length, says
Procopius,
to think Helmets and Corslets too
hot
for them.—They were cumbersome and insupportable:—They
fainted
under the
Weight
of 'em:—And had Courage enough, they were sure, to fight, as successfully without 'em.—They tried it: And the Consequence was, They were never, from that Time forward, able to stand, against the
Arrows
of the over-numbering
Goths,
and
Vandals
: So depriv'd of their Defence, they lost their Empire to
Barbarians.
BUT, since no Truth operates so powerfully as that which convinces by Example, let the Good, or Ill, of Criticism be decided, in fair Combat, between the Gentleman I have nam'd above, who professes, and forms himself on it; and one of our most rapid, and voluminous Compilers of Poetry; who tho' one wou'd imagine him too
heavy
to
ride Post;
yet, trusting wholly to Inspiration, breaks over Hedges and Ditches, and never checks his Horse's
Speed,
whether
out
of the Road, or
in
it.
THIS
Merchant Adventurer
was for engrossing Trade to Himself: And began with firing the Magazines of Those who dealt in the same Commodity.—One of his first
witty Performances,
was, A
Satire against Wit.
—An Accident befell me, the other Day, that may furnish him with Matter of Speculation. I am very fond of a
Cat
: And, ever since I lodg'd in
Barbican,
have delighted in the Society of a Tabby Favourite of my Landlady's Children. But, it happen'd, a few Days since, that, not being in a Humour to be so familiar with her as usual, she open'd one of her Claws, and was pleas'd to scratch my Leg, with no small Freedom, and Impertinence: Upon which, in great Wrath, I took her up, by the Tail, and toss'd her out of Window.—The Cat got no Harm: but I have quite lost her Heart upon it. And
now,
I may call, coax, and tempt her, as much as I please, she keeps, always, out out of my Reach: And I dare be positive, I shall never
catch
her, though I were to
live and die in Barbican.
BUT, to go on, with what I propos'd.—After his
Satire against Wit,
he set forth
his Wit against Satire
; and publish'd an
Epic Poem,
call'd PRINCE ARTHUR.—The Excellent Critick, abovenam'd, saw, upon perusing this Piece, that the Gentleman wanted Skill and Application, in the Art he was bent on practising. He put himself, therefore, to the Trouble of composing, for his Use, a just, and generous Reprehension, which he intitled,
Remarks upon Prince Arthur.
—Had the Author been either humble, or wise, enough to make Advantage by it, This wou'd have serv'd him as a Plan, to build stronger, for the future; and given a Turn to his Reflexion, that might have made him, him what he had so earnest a Desire to pass for.
BUT it was, then, as it is now, the Custom to despise a Critick. And the Author of
Prince Arthur
fell, so couragiously, into the Fashion, that in almost His Coach-Load of
Epic Poems,
which he has, since oblig'd the World with, from
Arthur,
down to
Alfred,
(I speak it without Compliment) The same distinguishable Purity, Fire, Elegance, Fancy, Copiousness, and Elevation, shine, alike, in every one of 'em: And, All, are equally secure, as well from Criticism, as Imitation.
BUT, not content with raising, and adorning
Human
Nature, He aspir'd, at last, to write, upon
Divinity Itself.
—The Great Almighty, and His
Works,
were, now, to be the Subject of his practis'd Panegyrick.—Here, sure! if ever, He was to guard himself with Caution, and put on the Critick's Armour.—
Creation
opened to him, with its boundless Lustre!—Worlds beyond Worlds, were to be discover'd, by his Poetic Telescope: And
other Suns,
whose
Light
(tho' swift enough, to travel a Hundred and Fourscore thousand Miles, in one
Second
of Time, is notwithstanding, spent, and lost, in unconceivable Immensity, before it reaches,
This,
our own,
Sun
's Confines!)
This Light
was to be
more Illuminated,
by His Muse, and shine down, upon his Reader's Fancy.
HERE, the admirable Critick, his old Friend, had, Himself, set an Example; such, as can never be too much applauded.—The noblest, the most extensive, the most astonishing Ideas, which can expand the Human Soul, had inrich'd his powerful Conception. And one wou'd have hop'd, that Mr.
Dennis
had made it impossible for any future Writer to treat this Subject, in a mean and groveling Manner; after he had oblig'd the World, so nobly, in his
Paraphrase on Te Deum,
with Verse, and Sentiments, sublimely suited to the
Vastness
of the Occasion.
Where-e'er, at utmost Stretch, we cast our Eyes,
Thro' the vast
frightful,
Spaces of the
Skies;
Ev'n there, we find
Thy Glory!
—There we gaze
On Thy bright Majesty's
unbounded Blaze!
Ten Thousand
Suns,
prodigious
Globes
of Light,
At once, in broad Dimensions, strike our Sight.
Millions, behind,
in the remoter Skies,
Appear but
Spangles,
to our wearied Eyes.
And, when those wearied Eyes want farther Strength,
To pierce the
Void's
unmeasurable Length,
Our tow'ring
Thoughts,
more vig'rous,
farther
fly:
And, still,
remoter,
flaming
Worlds
discry.
But, ev'n an
Angel
's comprehensive
Thought,
Cannot
extend
so far as Thou hast
wrought,
Our vast Conception, to such
Swelling
brought,
Swallow'd, in
Infinite,
is
lost,
in
Nought!
THIS is Poetry, that defies Censure, and is rais'd, even above Praise: for it is scarce possible to say so much of it, as it truly deserves.—But, now, behold; on the opposite Side, an Abstract, from the Muse of
Prince Arthur,
in his
Hymn to the Creator.
Hail,
King Supreme!
—Of
Power,
immense Abyss:
Father of
Light
! Exhaustless Source of Bliss!
Thou Uncreated, Self-existent
Cause,
Controul'd by
no Superior
Being's Laws.
THE first Three Lines being truly poetical, what Pity, that the Author's Pride depriv'd him of the Use of
Criticism!
Had he
buoy'd
himself, by the Help of
That,
He cou'd never (though he had Sir
John Falstaff
's
Alacrity in Sinking)
have sunk, so soon, and so shamefully, as to tell us, in the 4th Verse—That
He, who is Supreme in Power, is controul'd by no Superior.
ABOUT 20 Lines after this, God goes out with a Pair of Compasses, to mark the Limits of the World: Not that the Poet had any Design they should be made use of; but Mr.
Milton
had described
Compasses,
upon this very Occasion: And our Author was resolv'd to be up with him.
Thro' the black Bosom of the empty Space,
The Gulph confess th'
Omnipotent Embrace
:
And
pregnant
grown, with Elemental
Seed,
Unfinish'd Orbs, and Worlds in Embryo, breed.
TO suspend a short Remark, on the manifest Contradiction of these two Ideas—The
Drawing out with a Pair of Compasses,
—And the
Begetting,
by
Embraces,
—I challenge the whole Tribe of Critick-Haters throughout
Europe,
to match this last Image with any thing so indecent, so improper, so ill-express'd, and, indeed, so almost blasphemous, and extravgant!
BUT, that no Cause of Complaint may disturb the Lovers of
Variety,
whoever likes not one Image, shall have a Dozen new ones, to make Choice of.—The Author, to do him Justice, is no Niggard of his Fancy: We are, all, kindly welcome to it, as far as it will go: And He, that desires more, is too unreasonable in all Conscience.
From the Crude Mass th' Omniscient
Architect
For ev'ry Part,
Materials did select
:
And with a Master Hand, the
World erect.
Labour'd
by
him,
&c.—
By His
cementing
Words, the Parts cohere:
And
rolls,
by His
impulsive Nod,
in Air.
I AM sorry I have not Room to entertain my Reader with the whole; but
we may measure
Hercules,
by his Foot.
—One of your creeping narrow, Genius's, Creatures, who stand in Awe of the
Criticks,
wou'd never have been capable of half this luxuriant Fullness! nay, They might have been silly enough to suppose it blameable! By which pusilanimous
Fear
of theirs, the Reader must have lost the Sublimity of these fine Ideas, Of His Creator, at one, and the same Time,
measuring
the World with a Pair of
Compasses.
—Omnipotently
Embracing
it—Impregnating it with
Seed
—
Breeding
Orbs in
Embryo
—Picking
Materials
from the Crude Mass—
Erecting
it, with a Master-Hand—
Labouring
it—
Cementing
it—
Nodding
at it—And setting it a
rolling.
SHAMEFULL Heap of Inconsistencies!—Are Images, that should elevate the Soul of Man, to an Astonishment, at His
Maker
's Power, in creating, with a
Word,
the Heavens, and the Earth, and All, that is in them all! Are Images,
fit for This,
to be borrow'd from the Pains, and Postures, of a Common
Labourer?
Had not he a nobler Lesson before him? And does not
Moses
inform him, that, when God saith,
Let there be Light, there WAS Light?
—But such as These, are the Effects of maintaining
War,
against
Criticks:
And the prodigious, and unbounded Difference between these two Gentlemens Performances, upon One and the Same Subject, may convince the
Self-sufficient,
That it is not a
dancing Brain,
a wild,
eruptive, Fancy,
that can qualify a Man to be a
Poet
; though it serves, well enough, to
set him a going,
as a
Scribbler.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 55.
Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines,
Quos ultra citraque nequit consistere rectum.
HOR.
MONDAY,
September
28. 1724.
THE following Letter, from the Gentleman, who oblig'd me with a former, from
Edinburgh,
will speak so excellently for
Itself
; that the kindest Thing I can do for my Reader, will be, to say nothing concerning it, which may detain him from the Pleasure of perusing it.
Edinburgh,
Sept.
the 8th. 1724.
SIR,
YOUR Paper of
Friday
the 28th. of
August,
is arrived in
North-Britain,
and has occasioned much Speculation; but all its Readers are sensibly obliged, by the Respect you have shewn our Country, and for the Honour you have done the rising Generation of both Sexes; and I believe, there is none here, who would not heartily join their Acknowledgements with mine on this Occasion. I may therefore presume to thank you in the Name of all my Countrymen, who may not use the Freedom to write to you: But the Gentlemen of the
Grotesque Club,
whom you have so remarkably distinguish'd, must represent their Sentiments, in a better Manner than I can; and I will not pretend to speak their Sense, or anticipate their Gratitude.
GIVE me Leave, SIR, only to express my Mind in the Sequel. You have brought me under strong Obligations to you, by the Notice you have taken of my Letter. And since you seem to promise to yourself, and the World, some Intelligence from this Quarter, by means of my propos'd Correspondence; I cannot but use my Endeavours, to answer, in some Measure, your Expectations. You have fix'd me, SIR, in the Character of your
Northern Spy,
and you may depend upon my most watchful Fidelity.
EDINBURGH
being our
Metropolis,
and the Place of my Residence, must be the chief Scene of Action, and the Date of your Intelligence from
North-Britain.
Here is a vast Variety of Humours, Customs, Manners, and Conversation, to be considered. Many Things happen in this Place, that are worthy your Knowledge as a PLAIN-DEALER. Some deserve Praise and Admiration, others Displeasure and Reprehension; both Regards may be useful, either as Examples provoking Emulation; or, as Reasons, warning from Danger: And sure, your Judgment, SIR, cannot err, in the Improvement and Application, of any Accounts I send you.
I BEG leave to lay before you, several of the Advantages, and Disadvantages of our good Town, before I descend to Private Life.
WE are blest with an able and active
Magistracy.
Most of Those intrusted with with the Superintendency of the City, are Gentlemen of Breeding and Letters, and all have a Bent of Mind, that favours the Publick Grandeur and Emolument. It seems to be the united Ambition of our Magistrates to adorn the Place, and by rendring it more beautiful and commodious, to invite new Inhabitants, to increase its Treasure and Revenue. They would surmount all the Difficulties it labours under, by a Superiority of Genius: And, as they appear true Friends to the Publick Interest, in respect of
Trade
; they are not wanting in giving Countenance and Encouragement to
Arts
and
Sciences.
Politeness thrives under their Influence, and some of them set an Example of it to the Youth, in their own Practice and Behaviour. Here, SIR, are few cloudy, heavy-headed Aldermen, whose Length of Wigs and Gowns, is their sole Mark of Dignity. You would take our
Provosts
for First Ministers, and our
Bailies
for Courtiers. I have seen
Statesmen,
make a worse Figure than our
Deacons,
and heard as good Speeches in the
Town-Council
at
Edinburgh,
as at the Council-Board of
Great-Britain.
I wish all our
Peers
had Abilities equal to some of our
Weavers,
and that every
Clergyman,
had half the Grace of some
Bonnet-Makers
of our City.
BUT, SIR, you know there is no
Body-Politick,
perfect; many Things are wanting, to make our City more flourishing and fam'd. And, perhaps, the greatest Misfortune we labour under, is Faction and Party. This, SIR, discourages many noble Purposes, and baffles glorious Undertakings. Self-Love, Pride and Ambition, prevail everywhere, and sway all Men, more or less: These are natural to all Creatures. The Oldest Cock is Lord of the Roost, and the strongest Bull is
Grand Seignior
in his green
Seraglio
; the eldest Buck is Tyrant of the Park, and, from his Strength and his Horns claims a Right to be Chief in Power; and, no doubt, but every individual Creature, of every Species, with the same Force, would seek and exercise the same Jurisdiction. But Men are remarkably distinguished, by their Love of Precedency, and often add, to their natural Desire of Governing, a certain low-spirited Spleen and Malice. Our worthy Magistrates, meet with more Opposition and Discouragment, from little Pretenders to their Place and Authority, than from any other Cause. If the Town-Council, beholds not
Macro,
with the same Partiality, with which he considers himself, he wonders at their Blindness, and grows
peevish
upon it; for the Root of the Spleen, is often
Pride disappointed.
Some carry it farther than mere
Envy,
by labouring to undermine and depose those who are above them, and commonly the greater the Merit is, the more obnoxious to Ill-will and Reproaches. As the
Red Dragon
pursued the Woman in the
Revelation,
Faction or Private Malice, pursues the most deserving Man; and when it cannot overtake him, it opens its Mouth, and
throws a Flood after him
: People who have not Merit to rise themselves, would at least level others. And what has often been my greatest Wonder, in this Case, is, that most of our little Jars, are created and carried on by our
Clergy.
Priest-Craft is here, as
Infallible
as it is at
Rome,
and our
Popes
are as
absolute,
to the full Extent of their
Parishes.
For my own Part, I have neither Personal Partiality for any of the present Magistrates, nor Prejudice against their Adversaries: I never had, nor ever needed the Favour of any of them. I speak my Sense freely, and it is the Result of just Reflexion, and Observation. And I heartily wish, I had not such Ground, to expose the Spirits of any of my Neighbours, to the
Plain-Dealer.
But what a Pity is it, that Faction should deface the Publick Good? And how vile, to plot the Downfal, or calumniate the Fame of Those, whose Power is their Country's Blessing?
MY Concern for the Place of my Birth, has carried me farther than I ought to have allow'd myself Liberty; but as I am not to touch this Subject again, you will have the Goodness to excuse, what I judg'd, in some respects, to be requisite.
I SHOULD not neglect giving you an Account of the State of
Trade
in this Place nor ought I to pass over in Silence, the
University
and
College
of
Justices.
Many of the
Clergy
too, deserve their Praises, and must, upon some Occasions, come under Consideration: But being unwilling to tire your Patience, and huddle my Materials too much together, I will conclude this Letter, when I have acquainted you with what the
Ladies
would have
most known,
and what every Body here would be glad to have your Opinion of: I mean, The FAIR ASSEMBLY. This, SIR, consists of our best-bred Ladies, of different Qualities and Ages: 'Tis but a late Institution, and at first, was thought to be a proper Theme for our
Pastors Sunday
Sermons; all our Pulpits rail'd against it, as they did, of Old, against
Perukes
and
Tobacco.
But the holy Fire is now much spent, and we are at Liberty to meet in our great Hall, without Danger of the
Kirk
's
Anathema
; nay, some of the Wives and Daughters of the
Sanctified,
begin of late, to grace our Fellowship. For my own Part, I despair not to see the
Reverend
themselves, eating Sweatmeats in our Company: And mixing innocently, in our Country Dances. And I own, notwithstanding they are worthy Ladies, of undisputed Virtue and Honour, who preside over the
Fair Assembly,
I should be better pleased to see at our Head, a
Moderator
from the
General One.
Slander and Detraction would fly before him, and innocent Freedom, and Christian Communion wou'd be cherished by his Influence. Husbands would allow their Wives to go into Company, without Jealousy, and Parants send their Daughters, without fear of their leaving behind them any thing, that they ought to bring back again. But till that
Halcyon
Day arrives, we must be contented with the want of
Sanction,
and dance, and drink Tea without them. I shall say more of our
Fair Assembly
hereafter, and at present only subscribe myself,
Sage
SIR,
Your Trusty Spy, And Humble Servant,
FERGUS BRUCE.
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 56.
Virtutem incolumem odimus
Sublatam ex oculis quaerimus invidi.
HOR.
FRIDAY,
October
2. 1724.
To the
Author
of the
PLAIN-DEALER.
Sept.
21. 1724.
SIR,
I RETURN you Thanks for the Pleasure which I have received from several of your
Plain Dealers,
and particularly from that which you lately published concerning
Detraction,
which could never have obliged the World at a more seasonable Juncture; because, as you justly observe, Slander was never so prevailing, as 'tis at present, and never so insupportable.
DETRACTION,
or
Slander,
or
Calumny,
call it by what Name you please, is, for the most part, begot by
Knaves,
and nourish'd, and maintain'd, by
Fools
; and the more Fools and Knaves, there are, in a Nation, the more must Slander flourish in it; but the more corrupt and degenerate a Nation grows, the more Fools and Knaves must abound in it. Now, whether this Nation was ever so corrupt and degenerate, as it is at present, I leave to others to determine.
THE Fools, and Knaves, of either Sex, have a natural Aversion to
Merit,
and when they are neither able, nor willing, to reach a Height, to which others, more befriended by Nature, and more beloved by Heaven, have attained, they constantly endeavour, with all their Might, to bring the envied Object down to their own Pitch: And, the more extraordinary the
Merit
is, the greater is the
Envy,
and the stronger the Efforts, which it makes, to blacken the Deserving: Which has occasioned a famous Observer of Mankind to say, That whenever he
hears
a great deal of
Ill
said of any one, and sees none at all in him, he begins to suspect, that
That
Person has a troublesome and offensive
Merit,
which eclipses that of others.
AS soon as a Knave has invented a Slander, a Fool cries out,
There must be something in it,—There is no Smoak
without
Fire
: Which is as much as to say, that there can be no such Thing as
Slander
; or, that no Slander can be
propagated
; which is equally contrary to common Sense, and to constant Matter of Fact.—How different an Opinion of this Matter, had the judicious, and penetrating,
La Bruyere,
who tells us, That
the Reverse of what is commonly reported, concerning Persons, or Things, is what may reasonably be believ'd of either.
THERE is another musty Proverb, made use of in the Propagation of
Slander,
which is mention'd in your last Paper,
viz. That, what Every-Body says, must be true.
—If they, who pronounce
this,
meant, that
Every thing must be True which has the universal Consent of Mankind,
there might, perhaps, be something in it; but, alas! their Meaning is vastly different: They only infer, That
when a Report, or Opinion, in any Place, so far prevails, as to become, in that Place, general, that Report, or Opinion, must be true.
So that, in the Notion of these Gentlemen, If Calumny, at any Time, so far prevails, as to become
General,
'tis no longer
Calumny,
but
Truth
; and a sure Consequence of this Doctrine is, That
Popery
is the
best
Religion at
Rome,
and
Mahometism
at
Constantinople.
BUT, how little do they, who talk, at this Rate, know, either of the Frailty, or Malignity, of Human Nature, or the Transactions of their own Times, or the Records of preceding ones? Some of the best, and most deserving Persons, both among Ancients, and Moderns, have labour'd under general Calumny; under Calumnies which were not only inconsistent with common Sense, but were directly contradictory of those Virtues, and great Qualities, for which they had long been eminent, and for which some of them have been celebrated, by
Twenty succeeding Centuries;
and tho' the Truth was so manifestly on their Side, yet some of these, and those of the
most deserving,
have been quite
oppress'd
by such Calumnies; as
Socrates,
and
Phocion,
among the
Graecians.
—Among the
Romans, Camillus,
and
Coriolanus.
—
SOCRATES,
the most Religious, and most Virtuous, of all the
Athenians,
was condemn'd, and excuted, as an
Atheist,
and a
Corrupter of Youth.
Among the
Jews,
the Prophets were
ston'd,
and
Jesus Christ,
Himself, was crucify'd as an
Imposter,
and a
Blasphemer.
YOU have, very justly observ'd, That Detraction brings most Disquiet, to those who are most above it.—You may say such Things, without any Consequence, to a worthless Fellow, as will blow a Man of Honour into a Flame, not to be quench'd, but by Blood. But, if such Injuries are so insupportable, to a Man of Honour, when they come from one single Person, provok'd, perhaps, by some imaginary Offence, and quite frantick, with Passion, and Wine; what Impressions must they not make, when they are whisper'd in cold Blood, by a Number of different Persons? Such Slanders obstruct the Progress of Arts, the Advancement of Learning, and the Growth of Virtues, by the killing Impressions, which they make, on Individuals.—I wish you would proceed to show, what Disorder they bring to Families and what Desolation to States.
Hannibal
was undone, and
Carthage
was ruin'd, by the malicious
Slanders
of
Hanno
; and the Duke of
Marlborough
's unparallel'd Victories cou'd not defend him against Ingratitude, while the Malice of his Slanderers met with Countenance from Men in
Power,
who, being, privately, his Enemies, had not
Soul
enough to sacrifice their
little Spleen
to the Love of their
Country
's
Glory.
I am, SIR, Your most Obedient Servant,
A. B.
DETRACTION
is an Evil, which, however hateful in its Nature, the World must always expect to abound with. And, therefore, since my Correspondent has written so much, and so well, in Detestation of this ungenerous Weakness, all I will add, upon the Subject, shall be, to advise those who suffer under the Severity of its Consequences, rather to
despise,
than
complain of
it. To which End, they wou'd do well to reflect on the Answer of the Philosopher, whom his Friends were urging to contrive some publick Means, whereby to redeem himself from the Disgrace which he suffer'd, under the Malice of some busy Slanderers.—
They who love me,
said he,
will give no Credit to malicious Rumours, to my Disadvantage: And, as for those who hate me, I will live, in a Manner so contrary to what they believe of me, that I will make 'em asham'd of their Credulity.
THAT very
Socrates,
which my Correspondent so justly produces, as one of the most glorious of all the
Victims
to
Slander,
triumph'd over it, in the very Current and full Force, of its Influence. For when
Aristophanes,
in his Comedy, call'd, The
Clouds,
had expos'd this great, and virtuous Sufferer, with the utmost Bitterness of
witty Malice,
to the publick Spleen of the
Athenians, Socrates
came, in Person, to see the Comedy acted; and, taking his Place in the most remarkable Part of the Theatre, stood up, and exposing himself to the Observation of the whole Audience, told 'em, aloud, when the Play was over, that,
They had been at a merry Feast, where He was serv'd up, for their Entertainment; nor was he angry, to have been their standing Dish, because the Aversion which some had brought with them, wou'd last no longer than till they had tasted him.
SINCE it is inseparable from Merit, to be expos'd to
Envy,
and Envy necessarily produces
Slander,
there is no hoping to live free, from the Effects of this pernicious
Calumny.
But, next to not feeling it the most desirable Strength of Mind, is,
Not to appear to feel it.
—One of these is out of our Reach; the other we may attain, by Force of Reason, and Resolution: And its prettily observ'd, in
Aelian,
(asserting that Defamation sinks deepest in weak Natures)
The Slander of the
Strong
is like Water thrown against a Wall; but the Slander of the
Weak
is like the Wall thrown into Water.
To the Author of the
PLAIN DEALER.
Sept.
19. 1724.
SIR,
THE Lady, who was the Occasion of my Writing the Song I have sent you, has Merit enough to justify me, both as a
Lover,
and an
Author.
—When you have Room for it in your Paper, you'll oblige me if you publish it.
I am, Your very Humble Servant,
PHILANDER.
O Love! thou
never-absent Thought!
Thou
only
Purpose of the Mind!
All
are to thy
Subjection
brought,
Yet, not
One Rebel
canst thou find:
Thou God! who dealst out every Human Lot!
Whose Pow'r decrees, who's
Happy,
and who not.
Reign
still,
thus Mighty, as thou art!
I wish not Liberty restor'd:
For the bright Idol of my Heart
Was born to Rule, and be Ador'd!
But, oh! the Passion which you raise,
protect!
Nor let such Truth be blasted by
Neglect
!
THE PLAIN DEALER. No 57.
— Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?
VIRG.
MONDAY,
October
5. 1724.
I HAVE lately received a Letter containing some Remarks on the Battle of the Angels, as 'tis describ'd by
Milton
in the VIth Book of his
Paradise Lost,
and I thought I could not find a more proper Occasion of publishing that Letter, than just after the Feast of St.
Michael,
on the 29th of the last Month, which was set apart by the Church to celebrate the Victory which that Arch-Angel got over
Lucifer,
and his rebellious Crew. I make no Doubt, but it will appear, that
Milton,
by the Account which he has given of that Victory, has gained a very glorious one himself, and has carried away the Praise of Sublimity from all Poets, both Antient and Modern.
SIR,
OF all the Commentators on the
Paradise Lost,
Mr.
Addison
was certainly the most ingenious, if he was not the most learned; but he has not given
Milton
his full Due, either through want of Discernment, or want of Impartiality. In the 17th Page of the small Edition of his Notes upon the
Paradise Lost,
he has these Words of the Author:
MILTON's
chief Talent, and, indeed, his distinguishing Excellence, lies in the Sublimity of his Thoughts. There are others of the Moderns who rival him in every other Part of Poetry; but in the Greatness of his Sentiments he triumphs over all the Poets, both Moderns and Antients,
Homer
only excepted.
BUT as when a Man departs from Truth, which is the only Bond of Union and Agreement, both of our Sentiments with those of others, and of our Sentiments with themselves, he his ready immediately to differ from, and to grow inconsistent with himself; Mr.
Addison,
who expresly here either equals or prefers
Homer,
for the Greatness of his Sentiments, before
Milton,
contradicts himself at least, no less than twice in the Course of his Observations: For, says he, in the 7th Page of the foresaid Edition,
There is an indisputable and unquestioned Magnificence in every Part of
Paradise Lost,
and, indeed, a much greater than could have been formed upon any
Pagan
System.
Now if there is a greater Magnificence in every Part of
Milton
's Poem, there is by Consequence a greater Sublimity, than there is in the
Iliad,
which was formed upon a
Pagan
System.
AGAIN in the 92d Page of the foresaid Edition, Mr.
Addison,
speaking of the Excellence of
Milton
's Performance in the Sixth Book of his Poem, delivers himself thus:
MILTON's
Genius, which was so great in itself, and so strengthened by all the Helps of Learning, appears in this Book every way equal to his Subject, which is the most sublime that could enter into the Thoughts of a Poet.
NOW, SIR, if
Milton
's Subject is the most sublime that could enter into the Thoughts of a Poet, and his Genius is every way equal to his Subject, it follows, That
Milton
is more exalted than any Poet who has not a Subject so elevated, and, consequently, than
Homer,
or any other Poet antient or modern.
BUT, as in the 91st Page of the foresaid Comment, Mr.
Addison
takes a great deal of Pains to shew the Greatness of one particular Passage of
Homer,
and to describe it, after
Longinus,
in all those chosen Circumstances, which may make it appear to be noble and exalted, which Pains he has not taken with any other Passage, we may reasonably conclude, that he believed this to be the most lofty of any that are in the Works of
Homer,
as indeed it really is: Now, as there is a Passage in the 6th Book of
Paradise Lost,
which was produced upon a parallel Occasion, let us see if we cannot find by comparing them, for the Honour of our Country, that the Passage, of our
Briton,
is as much superior to that of the
Grecian,
as the Angels of the one are more potent than the other's Gods, or as the
Empyrean
Heaven is more exalted than
Ossa, Pelion,
or
Olympus.
IN order to this, SIR, give me leave to lay before you the Words which Mr.
Addison
makes Use of to set sorth the masterly Strokes of
Homer.
After he has told us, That there is no Question, but that
Milton
had heated his Imagination with the Fight of the Gods in
Homer,
before he entered upon the Engagement of the Angels (of which, by the Way, I do not believe one Syllable: I would sooner believe the greatest Absurdities of the
Alcoran
) he is pleased to add what follows:
HOMER
there gives us a Scene of Men, Heroes, and Gods, mixed together in Battle.
Mars
animates the contending Armies, and lifts up his Voice in such a Manner, that it is heard distinctly amidst all the Shouts and Confusion of the Fight.
Jupiter
at the same Time thunders over their Heads; while
Neptune
raises such a Tempest, that the whole Field of Battle, and all the Tops of the Mountains, shake about them. The Poet tells us, That
Pluto
himself, whose Habitation was in the very Center of the Earth, was so affrighted at the Shock, that he leap'd from his Throne.
Homer
afterwards describes
Vulcan,
as pouring down a Storm of Fire upon the River
Xanthus;
and
Minerva,
as throwing a Rock at
Mars,
who he tells us covered Seven Acres in his Fall.
WITH these imaginary
ne plus ultra's
had Mr.
Addison
so filled his Capacity, that when Ten thousand greater Beauties are before his Eyes, he stops short of them, and never in the least discerns them, as you will see immediately; for thus he goes on:
AS
Homer
has introduced into his Battle of the Gods every Thing that is great and terrible in Nature,
Milton
has filled his Fight af good and bad Angels, with all the like Circumstances of Horror. The Shout of Armies, the Rattling of brazen Chariots, the Hurling of Rocks and Mountains, the Earthquake, the Fire, the Thunder, are all of them imployed to lift up the Reader's Imagination, and give him a suitable Idea of so great an Action. With what Art doth the Poet represent the whole Body of the Earth trembling, even before it was created?
THUS, with this very pretty trifling Remark, does Mr.
Addison
stop short, within the very Touch of one of the vastest, and the sublimest Beauties, that ever was inspired by the God of Verse, or by
Milton
's Godlike Genius; when the very next Lines, the very next Words, strike and astonish us with such wonderful Ideas, as are able to lift up the Reader's Imagination to a Thousand Times a greater Height, than either the Shout of Armies, the Rattling of brazen Chariots, the Hurling of Rocks and Mountains, the Earthquake, the Fire, or the Thunder. But that these Beauties may be seen in all their Lustre, and in all their Glory, give me leave to set the whole Passage before you.
Th' Arch-Angel's Trumpet through the Vast of Heav'n
Resounded, and the faithful Armies rung
Hosanna to the Highest: nor stood at gaze
The adverse Legions, nor less hideous join'd
The horrid Shock; now storming Fury rose,
And Clamour, such as heard in Heav'n till now
Was never; Arms on Armour clashing, bray'd
Horrible Discord, and the madding Wheels
Of brazen Chariots rag'd; Dire was the Noise
Of Conflict: Over-head the dismal Hiss
Of fiery Darts, in flaming Vollies, flew,
And, flying, vaulted either Host with Fire.
So, under fiery Cope, together rush'd
Both Battles main, with ruinous Assault,
And inextinguishable Rage: All Heav'n
Resounded; and had Earth been then, all Earth
Had to her Center shook: What Wonder! when
Millions of fierce encountring Angels fought
On either Side, the least of whom could wield
These Elements, and arm him with the Force
Of all the Regions?
BUT now, Sir, if Millions of fierce encountring Angels fought on either Side, and the very least, the very weakest of so many Millions, had Power to rend this Globe of Earth and Ocean from its Axle, and whirl it, with its dependent Atmosphere, through the Aethereal Regions, what must be the unutterable, the inconceivable Effect of so many Millions furiously contending against each other, and each of them exerting all his Might for Victory? When,
— Each on himself relied,
As only on His Arm the Moment lay
Of Victory.
THESE are amazing, these are astonishing Ideas, worthy of the great Original Fight, the Battle of the
Empyrean.
BUT now, Sir, if the least, if the weakest of so many Millions, as fought on either Side, had Strength to remove this Globe of Earth, with its dependent Elements, what could not the greatest of them? what could not
Lucifer
? what could not the Prince of the Arch-Angels,
Michael
's next-to-Almighty Arm, do? The following Lines, and our own Reflections on them may a little help to inform us.
— Long time in even Scale
The Battle hung, till Satan, who, that Day,
Prodigious Pow'r had shewn, and met in Arms
No Equal, ranging through the dire Attack
Of fighting Seraphim confus'd, at length
Saw where the Sword of
Michael
smote, and fell'd
Squadrons, at once.
BUT, now, Sir, of whom were these Squadrons? Why,
Squadrons of those the least of whom could wield
These Elements, and arm him with the Force
Of all their Regions.
WHAT must the Power of that Arch-Angel be, who, with one Stroke of his Sword, could fell whole Squadrons of those,
The least of whom could wield these Elements,
And arm him with the Force of all their Regions?