Chapter IX: Part 9

On a sudden, methought this select band sprang forward with a resolution to climb the ascent, and follow the call of that heavenly music. Every one took something with him that he thought might be of assistance to him in his march. Several had their swords drawn, some carried rolls of paper in their hands, some had compasses, others quadrants, others telescopes, and others pencils; some had laurels on their heads, and others buskins on their legs: in short, there was scarce any instrument of a mechanic art or liberal science which was not made use of on this occasion. My good demon, who stood at my right hand during the course of this whole vision, observing in me a burning desire to join that glorious company, told me, he highly approved that generous ardour with which I seemed transported; but at the same time advised me to cover my face with a mask all the while I was to labour on the ascent. I took his counsel without inquiring into his reasons. The whole body now broke into different parties, and began to climb the precipice by ten thousand different paths. Several got into little alleys, which did not reach far up the hill, before they ended and led no farther; and I observed, that most of the artisans, which considerably diminished our number, fell into these paths. We left another considerable body of adventurers behind us, who thought they had discovered byways up the hill, which proved so very intricate and perplexed, that after having advanced in them a little, they were quite lost among the several turns and windings; and though they were as active as any in their motions, they made but little progress in the ascent. These, as my guide informed me, were men of subtle tempers, and puzzled politics, who would supply the place of real wisdom with cunning and artifice. Among those who were far advanced in their way, there were some that by one false step fell backward, and lost more ground in a moment than they had gained for many hours, or could be ever able to recover. We were now advanced very high, and observed, that all the different paths which ran about the sides of the mountain, began to meet in two great roads, which insensibly gathered the whole multitude of travellers into two great bodies. At a little distance from the entrance of each road, there stood a hideous phantom, that opposed our farther passage. One of these apparitions had his right hand filled with darts, which he brandished in the face of all who came up that way. Crowds ran back at the appearance of it, and cried out, "Death." The spectre that guarded the other road was Envy: she was not armed with weapons of destruction like the former; but by dreadful hissings, noises of reproach, and a horrid distracted laughter; she appeared more frightful than Death itself, insomuch that abundance of our company were discouraged from passing any farther, and some appeared ashamed of having come so far. As for myself, I must confess my heart shrunk within me at the sight of these ghastly appearances: but on a sudden, the voice of the trumpet came more full upon us, so that we felt a new resolution reviving in us; and in proportion as this resolution grew, the terrors before us seemed to vanish. Most of the company who had swords in their hands, marched on with great spirit, and an air of defiance, up the road that was commanded by Death; while others, who had thought and contemplation in their looks, went forward in a more composed manner up the road possessed by Envy. The way above these apparitions grew smooth and uniform, and was so delightful, that the travellers went on with pleasure, and in a little time arrived at the top of the mountain. They here began to breathe a delicious kind of ether, and saw all the fields about them covered with a kind of purple light, that made them reflect with satisfaction on their past toils, and diffused a secret joy through the whole assembly, which showed itself in every look and feature. In the midst of these happy fields, there stood a palace of a very glorious structure: it had four great folding-doors, that faced the four several quarters of the world. On the top of it was enthroned the goddess of the mountain, who smiled upon her votaries, and sounded the silver trumpet which had called them up, and cheered them in their passage to her palace. They had now formed themselves into several divisions, a band of historians taking their stations at each door, according to the persons whom they were to introduce.

On a sudden the trumpet, which had hitherto sounded only a march, or a point of war, now swelled all its notes into triumph and exultation: the whole fabric shook, and the doors flew open. The first who stepped forward was a beautiful and blooming hero, and, as I heard by the murmurs round me, Alexander the Great. He was conducted by a crowd of historians. The person who immediately walked before him, was remarkable for an embroidered garment, who not being well acquainted with the place, was conducting him to an apartment appointed for the reception of fabulous heroes. The name of this false guide was Quintus Curtius. But Arrian and Plutarch, who knew better the avenues of this palace, conducted him into the great hall, and placed him at the upper end of the first table. My good demon, that I might see the whole ceremony, conveyed me to a corner of this room, where I might perceive all that passed without being seen myself. The next who entered was a charming virgin, leading in a venerable old man that was blind. Under her left arm she bore a harp, and on her head a garland. Alexander, who was very well acquainted with Homer, stood up at his entrance, and placed him on his right hand. The virgin, who it seems was one of the nine sisters that attended on the goddess of Fame, smiled with an ineffable grace at their meeting, and retired. Julius Cæsar was now coming forward; and though most of the historians offered their service to introduce him, he left them at the door, and would have no conductor but himself. The next who advanced, was a man of a homely but cheerful aspect, and attended by persons of greater figure than any that appeared on this occasion. Plato was on his right hand, and Xenophon on his left. He bowed to Homer, and sat down by him. It was expected that Plato would himself have taken a place next to his master Socrates; but on a sudden there was heard a great clamour of disputants at the door, who appeared with Aristotle at the head of them. That philosopher, with some rudeness, but great strength of reason, convinced the whole table, that a title to the fifth place was his due, and took it accordingly. He had scarce sat down, when the same beautiful virgin that had introduced Homer brought in another, who hung back at the entrance, and would have excused himself, had not his modesty been overcome by the invitation of all who sat at the table. His guide and behaviour made me easily conclude it was Virgil. Cicero next appeared, and took his place. He had inquired at the door for one Lucceius to introduce him; but not finding him there, he contented himself with the attendance of many other writers, who all (except Sallust) appeared highly pleased with the office.

We waited some time in expectation of the next worthy, who came in with a great retinue of historians, whose names I could not learn, most of them being natives of Carthage. The person thus conducted, who was Hannibal, seemed much disturbed, and could not forbear complaining to the Board of the affronts he had met with among the Roman historians, "who attempted," says he, "to carry me into the subterraneous apartment; and perhaps would have done it, had it not been for the impartiality of this gentleman," pointing to Polybius, "who was the only person, except my own countrymen, that was willing to conduct me hither." The Carthaginian took his seat, and Pompey entered with great dignity in his own person, and preceded by several historians. Lucan the poet was at the head of them, who observing Homer and Virgil at the table, was going to sit down himself, had not the latter whispered him, that whatever pretence he might otherwise have had, he forfeited his claim to it, by coming in as one of the historians. Lucan was so exasperated with the repulse, that he muttered something to himself, and was heard to say, that since he could not have a seat among them himself, he would bring in one who alone had more merit than their whole assembly: upon which he went to the door, and brought in Cato of Utica. That great man approached the company with such an air, that showed he contemned the honour which he laid a claim to. Observing the seat opposite to Cæsar was vacant, he took possession of it, and spoke two or three smart sentences upon the nature of precedency, which, according to him, consisted not in place, but in intrinsic merit; to which he added, that the most virtuous man, wherever he was seated, was always at the upper end of the table. Socrates, who had a great spirit of raillery with his wisdom, could not forbear smiling at a virtue which took so little pains to make itself agreeable. Cicero took the occasion to make a long discourse in praise of Cato, which he uttered with much vehemence. Cæsar answered him with a great deal of seeming temper: but as I stood at a great distance from them, I was not able to hear one word of what they said. But I could not forbear taking notice, that in all the discourse which passed at the table, a word or nod from Homer decided the controversy. After a short pause, Augustus appeared, looking round him with a serene and affable countenance upon all the writers of his age, who strove among themselves which of them should show him the greatest marks of gratitude and respect. Virgil rose from the table to meet him; and though he was an acceptable guest to all, he appeared more such to the learned than the military worthies. The next man astonished the whole table with his appearance: he was slow, solemn, and silent in his behaviour, and wore a raiment curiously wrought with hieroglyphics. As he came into the middle of the room, he threw back the skirt of it, and discovered a golden thigh. Socrates, at the sight of it, declared against keeping company with any who were not made of flesh and blood; and therefore desired Diogenes the Laertian to lead him to the apartment allotted for fabulous heroes, and worthies of dubious existence. At his going out, he told them, that they did not know whom they dismissed; that he was now Pythagoras, the first of philosophers, and that formerly he had been a very brave man at the siege of Troy. "That may be very true," said Socrates; "but you forget that you have likewise been a very great harlot in your time."[226] This exclusion made way for Archimedes, who came forward with a scheme of mathematical figures in his hand; among which, I observed a cone and a cylinder.[227]

Seeing this table full, I desired my guide for variety to lead me to the fabulous apartment, the roof of which was painted with gorgons, chimeras, and centaurs, with many other emblematical figures, which I wanted both time and skill to unriddle. The first table was almost full. At the upper end sat Hercules, leaning an arm upon his club. On his right hand were Achilles and Ulysses, and between them Æneas. On his left were Hector, Theseus, and Jason. The lower end had Orpheus, Æsop, Phalaris,[228] and Musæus. The ushers seemed at a loss for a twelfth man, when, methought, to my great joy and surprise, I heard some at the lower end of the table mention Isaac Bickerstaff: but those of the upper end received it with disdain, and said, if they must have a British worthy, they would have Robin Hood. While I was transported with the honour that was done me, and burning with envy against my competitor, I was awakened by the noise of the cannon which were then fired for the taking of Mons.[229] I should have been very much troubled at being thrown out of so pleasing a vision on any other occasion; but thought it an agreeable change to have my thoughts diverted from the greatest among the dead and fabulous heroes, to the most famous among the real and the living.

FOOTNOTES:

[225] In the list which he gave to Tickell, Steele describes this paper as written by Addison and himself jointly. Hawkesworth claimed for Swift Nos. 66, 67, 74, and 81, and no doubt the idea of "tables of fame" (No. 67) was started by him. On October 8, Steele wrote to Swift: "I wonder you do not write sometimes to me. The town is in great expectation from Bickerstaff; what passed at the election for the first table being to be published this day seven-night. I have not seen Ben Tooke a great while, but long to usher you and yours into the world." But it seems clear that Swift left his friends to carry out the execution of the plan. As Nichols points out, Swift afterwards wrote: "I was told that Brutus, and his ancestor Junius, Socrates, Epaminondas, Cato the younger, and Sir Thomas More, were perpetually together: a sextumvirate, to which all the ages of the world cannot add a seventh." Now there are only _two_ of this sextumvirate admitted to seats at the first "table of fame" in the _Tatler_. There are besides, in this paper, manifest deviations from the plan proposed in No. 67, and palpable contradictions to it. The "side-table" is here forgotten; the heroes of "great fame but dubious existence" are turned into a separate apartment; the number of the company at the second table is reduced from twenty to twelve; Bickerstaff, who "had not been dead an hundred years," is mentioned to make out the dozen; of the third table there is nothing said; and the subject seems finally discussed in one paper, which was evidently intended to have made three.

[226] The annotators of the 1786 edition devoted a very long note to the defence of Pythagoras against what is here said of him. As to his "harlotry," he clearly could not be responsible for the metamorphoses of his soul after death. His soul continued, it was said, to shift its habitations; and Dicearchus, almost a whole century after the death of Socrates, related, that on its third removal, it got into the body of Alce, a beautiful courtesan. (Aul. Gell., "Noct. Att.," IV. xi.) Lucian, long after, taking a century posterior to Pythagoras, makes his soul animate the body of Aspasia, the mistress of Pericles.

[227] Archimedes ordered a sphere included in a cylinder, the diagram of his thirty-second proposition, to be erected upon his tomb. This figure was accordingly carved upon a stone near one of the gates of Syracuse, and became the means of enabling Cicero to discover the sepulchre of Archimedes, covered over with brambles and thorns. (Cicero, "Disp. Tusc.," v. 23.)

No. 82. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 15_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 18, 1709_.

Ubiidem et maximus et honestissimus amor est, aliquando præstat
morte jungi, quam vitâ distrahi.--VAL. MAX.

_From my own Apartment, October 17._

After the mind has been employed on contemplations suitable to its greatness, it is unnatural to run into sudden mirth or levity; but we must let the soul subside as it rose, by proper degrees. My late considerations of the ancient heroes impressed a certain gravity upon my mind, which is much above the little gratification received from starts of humour and fancy, and threw me into a pleasing sadness. In this state of thought I have been looking at the fire, and in a pensive manner reflecting upon the great misfortunes and calamities incident to human life; among which, there are none that touch so sensibly, as those which befall persons who eminently love, and meet with fatal interruptions of their happiness when they least expect it. The piety of children to parents, and the affection of parents to their children, are the effects of instinct; but the affection between lovers and friends is founded on reason and choice, which has always made me think, the sorrows of the latter much more to be pitied than those of the former. The contemplation of distresses of this sort softens the mind of man, and makes the heart better. It extinguishes the seeds of envy and ill-will towards mankind, corrects the pride of prosperity, and beats down all that fierceness and insolence which are apt to get into the minds of the daring and fortunate. For this reason the wise Athenians, in their theatrical performances, laid before the eyes of the people the greatest afflictions which could befall human life, and insensibly polished their tempers by such representations. Among the modern, indeed there has arisen a chimerical method of disposing the fortune of the persons represented, according to what they call poetical justice; and letting none be unhappy, but those who deserve it. In such cases, an intelligent spectator, if he is concerned, knows he ought not to be so; and can learn nothing from such a tenderness, but that he is a weak creature, whose passions cannot follow the dictates of his understanding. It is very natural, when one is got into such a way of thinking, to recollect those examples of sorrow which have made the strongest impression upon our imaginations. An instance or two of such you will give me leave to communicate.

A young gentleman and lady of ancient and honourable houses in Cornwall had from their childhood entertained for each other a generous and noble passion, which had been long opposed by their friends, by reason of the inequality of their fortunes; but their constancy to each other, and obedience to those on whom they depended, wrought so much upon their relations, that these celebrated lovers were at length joined in marriage. Soon after their nuptials, the bridegroom was obliged to go into a foreign country, to take care of a considerable fortune which was left him by a relation, and came very opportunely to improve their moderate circumstances. They received the congratulations of all the country on this occasion; and I remember it was a common sentence in every one's mouth, "You see how faithful love is rewarded."

He took this agreeable voyage, and sent home every post fresh accounts of his success in his affairs abroad; but at last (though he designed to return with the next ship) he lamented in his letters, that business would detain him some time longer from home, because he would give himself the pleasure of an unexpected arrival.

The young lady, after the heat of the day, walked every evening on the seashore, near which she lived, with a familiar friend, her husband's kinswoman, and diverted herself with what objects they met there, or upon discourses of the future methods of life in the happy change of their circumstances. They stood one evening on the shore together in a perfect tranquillity, observing the setting of the sun, the calm face of the deep, and the silent heaving of the waves, which gently rolled towards them, and broke at their feet; when at a distance her kinswoman saw something float on the waters, which she fancied was a chest; and with a smile told her, she saw it first, and if it came ashore full of jewels, she had a right to it. They both fixed their eyes upon it, and entertained themselves with the subject of the wreck, the cousin still asserting her right; but promising, if it was a prize, to give her a very rich coral for the child of which she was then big, provided she might be god-mother. Their mirth soon abated, when they observed upon the nearer approach, that it was a human body. The young lady, who had a heart naturally filled with pity and compassion, made many melancholy reflections on the occasion. "Who knows," said she, "but this man may be the only hope and heir of a wealthy house; the darling of indulgent parents, who are now in impertinent mirth, and pleasing themselves with the thoughts of offering him a bride they have got ready for him? Or may he not be the master of a family that wholly depended upon his life? There may, for aught we know, be half-a-dozen fatherless children, and a tender wife, now exposed to poverty by his death. What pleasure might he have promised himself in the different welcome he was to have from her and them? But let us go away, it is a dreadful sight! The best office we can do, is to take care that the poor man, whoever he is, may be decently buried." She turned away, when a wave threw the carcass on the shore. The kinswoman immediately shrieked out, "Oh, my cousin!" and fell upon the ground. The unhappy wife went to help her friend, when she saw her own husband at her feet, and dropped in a swoon upon the body. An old woman, who had been the gentleman's nurse, came out about this time to call the ladies in to supper, and found her child (as she always called him) dead on the shore, her mistress and kinswoman both lying dead by him. Her loud lamentations, and calling her young master to life, soon awaked the friend from her trance; but the wife was gone for ever.

When the family and neighbourhood got together round the bodies, no one asked any question, but the objects before them told the story.[230]

Incidents of this nature are the more moving when they are drawn by persons concerned in the catastrophe, notwithstanding they are often oppressed beyond the power of giving them in a distinct light, except we gather their sorrow from their inability to speak it. I have two original letters written both on the same day, which are to me exquisite in their different kinds. The occasion was this: a young gentleman who had courted a most agreeable young woman, and won her heart, obtained also the consent of her father, to whom she was an only child. The old man had a fancy that they should be married in the same church where he himself was, in a village in Westmorland, and made them set out while he was laid up with the gout at London. The bridegroom took only his man, the bride her maid. They had the most agreeable journey imaginable to the place of marriage: from whence the bridegroom wrote the following letter to his wife's father:--

"SIR,

_March 18, 1672._

"After a very pleasant journey hither, we are preparing for the
happy hour in which I am to be your son. I assure you the bride
carries it, in the eye of the vicar who married you, much beyond
her mother; though he says, your open sleeves, pantaloons, and
shoulder-knot made a much better show than the finical dress I am
in. However, I am contented to be the second fine man this village
ever saw, and shall make it very merry before night, because I
shall write myself from thence,

"Your most dutiful Son,
T. D."

"The bride gives her duty, and is as handsome as an angel--I am
the happiest man breathing."

The villagers were assembling about the church, and the happy couple took a walk in a private garden. The bridegroom's man knew his master would leave the place on a sudden after the wedding, and seeing him draw his pistols the night before, took this opportunity to go into his chamber and charge them. Upon their return from the garden, they went into that room; and after a little fond raillery on the subject of their courtship, the lover took up a pistol which he knew he had unloaded the night before, and presenting it to her, said with the most graceful air, whilst she looked pleased at his agreeable flattery, "Now, madam, repent of all those cruelties you have been guilty of to me; consider before you die, how often you have made a poor wretch freeze under your casement;[231] you shall die, you tyrant, you shall die, with all those instruments of death and destruction about you, with that enchanting smile, those killing ringlets of your hair"--"Give fire," said she, laughing. He did so, and shot her dead. Who can speak his condition? But he bore it so patiently as to call up his man. The poor wretch entered, and his master locked the door upon him. "Well," said he, "did you charge these pistols?" He answered, "Yes." Upon which he shot him dead with that remaining. After this, amidst a thousand broken sobs, piercing groans, and distracted motions, he wrote the following letter to the father of his dead mistress:--

"SIR,

"I, who two hours ago told you truly I was the happiest man
alive, am now the most miserable. Your daughter lies dead at my
feet, killed by my hand, through a mistake of my man's charging
my pistols unknown to me. Him I have murdered for it. Such is my
wedding-day,--I will immediately follow my wife to her grave: but
before I throw myself upon my sword, I command my distraction so
far as to explain my story to you. I fear my heart will not keep
together till I have stabbed it. Poor good old man!--Remember, he
that killed your daughter, died for it. In the article of death
I give you my thanks, and pray for you, though I dare not for
myself. If it be possible, do not curse me."

FOOTNOTES:

[228] Æsop and Phalaris were certainly real persons, though the "letters" attributed to Phalaris are spurious.

[229] Mons was taken on October 21, 1709 (N.S.).

[230] The substance of this story of the Cornish lovers may have been sent to Steele by the "Solomon Afterwit" whose letter from Land's End is printed in the next number.

[231] _Cf._ "Paradise Lost," iv. 769, quoted in No. 79:--

"Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain."

No. 83. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Oct. 18_, to _Thursday Oct. 20, 1709_.

Senilis stultitia, quæ deliratio appellari solet, senum levium est,
non omnium.--CICERO, De Senec., xi. 36.

_From my own Apartment, October 19._

It is my frequent practice to visit places of resort in this town where I am least known, to observe what reception my works meet with in the world, and what good effects I may promise myself from my labours; and it being a privilege asserted by Monsieur Montaigne and others, of vainglorious memory, that we writers of essays may talk of ourselves,[232] I take the liberty to give an account of the remarks which I find are made by some of my gentle readers upon these my dissertations. I happened this evening to fall into a coffee-house near the 'Change, where two persons were reading my account of the table of fame.[233] The one of these was commenting as he read, and explaining who was meant by this and the other worthy as he passed on. I observed the person over against him wonderfully intent and satisfied with his explanation. When he came to Julius Cæsar, who is said to have refused any conductor to the table, "No, no," said he, "he is in the right of it, he has money enough to be welcome wherever he comes;" and then whispered, "He means a certain colonel of the train-bands." Upon reading, that Aristotle made his claim with some rudeness, but great strength of reason, "Who can that be, so rough and so reasonable? It must be some Whig I warrant you. There is nothing but party in these public papers." Where Pythagoras is said to have a golden thigh, "Ay, ay," said he, "he has money enough in his breeches, that is the alderman of our ward." You must know, whatever he read, I found he interpreted from his own way of life and acquaintance. I am glad my readers can construe for themselves these difficult points; but for the benefit of posterity, I design, when I come to write my last paper of this kind, to make it an explanation of all my former. In that piece you shall have all I have commended, with their proper names. The faulty characters must be left as they are, because we live in an age wherein vice is very general, and virtue very particular; for which reason the latter only wants explanation. But I must turn my present discourse to what is of yet greater regard to me than the care of my writings; that is to say, the preservation of a lady's heart. Little did I think I should ever have business of this kind on my hands more; but as little as any one who knows me would believe it, there is a lady at this time who professes love to me. Her passion and good-humour you shall have in her own words.

"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,

"I had formerly a very good opinion of myself; but it is now
withdrawn, and I have placed it upon you, Mr. Bickerstaff, for
whom I am not ashamed to declare, I have a very great passion
and tenderness. It is not for your face, for that I never saw;
your shape and height I am equally a stranger to: but your
understanding charms me, and I'm lost if you don't dissemble a
little love for me. I am not without hopes, because I am not like
the tawdry gay things that are fit only to make bone-lace. I am
neither childish-young, nor beldam-old, but (the world says) a
good agreeable woman.

"Speak peace to a troubled heart, troubled only for you; and in
your next paper let me find your thoughts of me.

"Don't think of finding out who I am, for notwithstanding your
interest in demons, they cannot help you either to my name, or a
sight of my face; therefore don't let them deceive you.

"I can bear no discourse if you are not the subject; and, believe
me, I know more of love than you do of astronomy.

"Pray say some civil things in return to my generosity, and you
shall have my very best pen employed to thank you, and I will
confirm it. I am

"Your Admirer,
MARIA."

There is something wonderfully pleasing in the favour of women; and this letter has put me in so good a humour, that nothing could displease me since I received it. My boy breaks glasses and pipes, and instead of giving him a knock of the pate, as my way is (for I hate scolding at servants), I only say, "Ah! Jack, thou hast a head, and so has a pin;" or some such merry expression. But alas! how am I mortified when he is putting on my fourth pair of stockings on these poor spindles of mine? The fair one understands love better than I astronomy! I am sure, without the help of that art, this poor meagre trunk of mine is a very ill habitation for love. She is pleased to speak civilly of my sense; but _ingenium male habitat_ is an invincible difficulty in cases of this nature. I had always indeed, from a passion to please the eyes of the fair, a great pleasure in dress. Add to this, that I have written songs since I was sixty, and have lived with all the circumspection of an old beau, as I am: but my friend Horace has very well said, "Every year takes something from us;"[234] and instructed me to form my pursuits and desires according to the stage of my life: therefore I have no more to value myself upon, than that I can converse with young people without peevishness, or wishing myself a moment younger. For which reason, when I am amongst them, I rather moderate than interrupt their diversions. But though I have this complacency, I must not pretend to write to a lady civil things, as Maria desires. Time was, when I could have told her, I had received a letter from her fair hands; and, that if this paper trembled as she read it, it then best expressed its author, or some other gay conceit. Though I never saw her, I could have told her, that good sense and good humour smiled in her eyes; that constancy and good nature dwelt in her heart; that beauty and good breeding appeared in all her actions. When I was five-and-twenty, upon sight of one syllable, even wrong spelt, by a lady I never saw, I could tell her, that her height was that which was fit for inviting our approach, and commanding our respect; that a smile sat on her lips, which prefaced her expressions before she uttered them, and her aspect prevented her speech. All she could say, though she had an infinite deal of wit, was but a repetition of what was expressed by her form; her form! which struck her beholders with ideas more moving and forcible than ever were inspired by music, painting, or eloquence. At this rate I panted in those days; but, ah! sixty-three! I am very sorry I can only return the agreeable Maria a passion, expressed rather from the head than the heart.

"DEAR MADAM,

"You have already seen the best of me, and I so passionately love
you, that I desire we may never meet. If you will examine your
heart, you will find, that you join the man with the philosopher:
and if you have that kind opinion of my sense as you pretend, I
question not, but you add to it complexion, air, and shape: but,
dear Molly, a man in his grand climacteric is of no sex. Be a good
girl; and conduct yourself with honour and virtue, when you love
one younger than myself. I am, with the greatest tenderness,

"Your innocent Lover,
I. B."

_Will's Coffee-house, October 19._

There is nothing more common than the weakness mentioned in the following epistle; and I believe there is hardly a man living who has not been more or less injured by it.

"SIR,

_Land's End, Oct. 12._

"I have left the town some time; and much the sooner, for not
having had the advantage when I lived there of so good a pilot
as you are to this present age. Your cautions to the young men
against the vices of the town are very well: but there is one
not less needful, which I think you have omitted. I had from the
'Rough Diamond' (a gentleman so called from an honest blunt wit he
had) not long since dead, this observation, that a young man must
be at least three or four years in London before he dares say 'No.'

"You will easily see the truth and force of this observation; for
I believe, more people are drawn away against their inclinations,
than with them. A young man is afraid to deny anybody going to
a tavern to dinner; or after being gorged there, to repeat the
same with another company at supper, or to drink excessively
if desired, or go to any other place, or commit any other
extravagancy proposed. The fear of being thought covetous, or
to have no money, or to be under the dominion or fear of his
parents and friends, hinders him from the free exercise of his
understanding, and affirming boldly the true reason, which is, his
real dislike of what is desired. If you could cure this slavish
facility, it would save abundance at their first entrance into the
world. I am, SIR,

"Yours,
_Solomon Afterwit_."

This epistle has given an occasion to a treatise on this subject, wherein I shall lay down rules when a young stripling is to say "No," and a young virgin "Yes."

_N.B._--For the publication of this discourse, I wait only for subscriptions from the undergraduates of each University, and the young ladies in the boarding-schools of Hackney and Chelsea.

_St. James's Coffee-house, October 19._

Letters from the Hague of the 25th of October, N.S., advise, that the garrison of Mons marched out on the 23rd instant, and a garrison of the allies marched into the town. All the forces in the field, both of the enemy and the confederates, are preparing to withdraw into winter quarters.

FOOTNOTES:

[232] Among many other things to the same effect, Montaigne wrote: "Grant that it is a fault in me to write about myself, I ought not, following my general intent, to refuse an action that publisheth this crazed quality, since I have it in myself, and I should not conceal this fault, which I have not only in use but in profession" (Florio's "Montaigne").

[233] See No. 81.

[234] 2 Epist. ii. 55.

No. 84. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Oct. 20_, to _Saturday, Oct. 22, 1709_.

_From my own Apartment, October 21._

I have received a letter subscribed A. B.[235] wherein it has been represented to me as an enormity, that there are more than ordinary crowds of women at the Old Bailey when a rape is to be tried: but by Mr. A. B.'s favour, I can't tell who are so much concerned in that part of the law as the sex he mentions, they being the only persons liable to such insults. Nor indeed do I think it more unreasonable that they should be inquisitive on such occasions, than men of honour when one is tried for killing another in a duel. It is very natural to inquire how the fatal pass was made, that we may the better defend ourselves when we come to be attacked. Several eminent ladies appeared lately at the Court of Justice on such an occasion, and with great patience and attention stayed the whole trials of two persons for the above-said crime. The law to me indeed seems a little defective on this point; and it is a very great hardship, that this crime, which is committed by men only, should have men only on their jury. I humbly therefore propose, that on future trials of this sort, half of the twelve may be women; and those such whose faces are well known to have taken notes, or may be supposed to remember what happened in former trials in the same place. There is the learned Androgyne, that would make a good fore-woman of the panel, who (by long attendance) understands as much law and anatomy as is necessary in this case. Till this is taken care of, I am humbly of opinion, it would be much more expedient that the fair were wholly absent: for to what end can it be that they should be present at such examinations, when they can only be perplexed with a fellow-feeling for the injured, without any power to avenge their sufferings. It is an unnecessary pain which the fair ones give themselves on these occasions. I have known a young woman shriek out at some parts of the evidence; and have frequently observed, that when the proof grew particular and strong, there has been such a universal flutter of fans, that one would think the whole female audience were falling into fits. Nor indeed can I see how men themselves can be wholly unmoved at such tragical relations. In short, I must tell my female readers, and they may take an old man's word for it, that there is nothing in woman so graceful and becoming as modesty: it adds charms to their beauty, and gives a new softness to their sex. Without it, simplicity and innocence appear rude, reading and good sense masculine, wit and humour lascivious. This is so necessary a qualification for pleasing, that the loose part of womankind, whose study it is to ensnare men's hearts, never fail to support the appearance of what they know is so essential to that end: and I have heard it reported by the young fellows in my time, as a maxim of the celebrated Madam Bennet,[236] that a young wench, though never so beautiful, was not worth her board when she was past her blushing. This discourse naturally brings into my thoughts a letter I have received from the virtuous Lady Whittlestick on the subject of Lucretia.

_From my Tea-table,
October_ 17.

"COUSIN ISAAC,

"I read your _Tatler_ of Saturday last,[237] and was surprised
to see you so partial to your own sex, as to think none of ours
worthy to sit at your first table; for sure you cannot but own
Lucretia as famous as any you have placed there, who first parted
with her virtue, and afterwards with her life, to preserve her
fame."

Mrs. Biddy Twig has written me a letter to the same purpose: but in answer to both my pretty correspondents and kinswomen, I must tell them, that although I know Lucretia would have made a very graceful figure at the upper end of the table, I did not think it proper to place her there, because I knew she would not care for being in the company of so many men without her husband. At the same time I must own, that Tarquin himself was not a greater lover and admirer of Lucretia than I myself am in an honest way. When my sister Jenny was in her sampler, I made her get the whole story without book, and tell it me in needlework. This illustrious lady stands up in history as the glory of her own sex, and the reproach of ours; and the circumstances under which she fell were so very particular, that they seem to make adultery and murder meritorious. She was a woman of such transcendent virtue, that her beauty, which was the greatest of the age and country in which she lived, and is generally celebrated as the highest of praise in other women, is never mentioned as a part of her character. But it would be declaiming to dwell upon so celebrated a story, which I mentioned only in respect to my kinswomen; and to make reparation for the omission they complain of, do further promise them, that if they can furnish me with instances to fill it, there shall be a small tea-table set apart in my palace of fame for the reception of all of her character.[238]

_Grecian Coffee-house, October 21._

I was this evening communicating my design of producing obscure merit into public view; and proposed to the learned, that they would please to assist me in the work. For the same end I publish my intention to the world, that all men of liberal thoughts may know they have an opportunity of doing justice to such worthy persons as have come within their respective observation, and who by misfortune, modesty, or want of proper writers to recommend them, have escaped the notice of the rest of mankind. If therefore any one can bring any tale or tidings of illustrious persons, or glorious actions, that are not commonly known, he is desired to send an account thereof to me at J. Morphew's, and they shall have justice done them. At the same time that I have this concern for men and things that deserve reputation and have it not, I am resolved to examine into the claims of such ancients and moderns as are in possession of it, with a design to displace them, in case I find their titles defective. The first whose merits I shall inquire into, are some merry gentlemen of the French nation, who have written very advantageous histories of their exploits in war, love, and politics, under the title of memoirs. I am afraid I shall find several of these gentlemen tardy, because I hear of them in no writings but their own. To read the narrative of one of these authors, you would fancy there was not an action in a whole campaign which he did not contrive or execute; yet if you consult the history, or gazettes of those times, you do not find him so much as the head of a party from one end of the summer to the other. But it is the way of these great men, when they lie behind their lines, and are in a time of inaction, as they call it, to pass away their time in writing their exploits. By this means, several who are either unknown or despised in the present age, will be famous in the next, unless a sudden stop be put to such pernicious practices. There are others of that gay people who (as I am informed) will live half a year together in a garret, and write a history of their intrigues in the court of France. As for politicians, they do not abound with that species of men so much as we; but as ours are not so famous for writing as for extemporary dissertations in coffee-houses, they are more annoyed with memoirs of this nature also than we are. The most immediate remedy that I can apply to prevent this growing evil, is, that I do hereby give notice to all booksellers and translators whatsoever, that the word "memoir" is French for a novel; and to require of them, that they sell and translate it accordingly.

_Wills Coffee-house, October 21._

Coming into this place to-night, I met an old friend of mine,[239] who, a little after the Restoration, wrote an epigram with some applause, which he has lived upon ever since; and by virtue of it, has been a constant frequenter of this coffee-house for forty years. He took me aside, and with a great deal of friendship told me, he was glad to see me alive; "for" says he, "Mr. Bickerstaff, I am sorry to find you have raised many enemies by your lucubrations. There are indeed some," says he, "whose enmity is the greatest honour they can show a man; but have you lived to these years, and don't know, that the ready way to disoblige is to give advice? You may endeavour to guard your children, as you call them, but--" He was going on; but I found the disagreeableness of giving advice without being asked it, by my own impatience of what he was about to say. In a word, I begged him to give me the hearing of a short fable.

"A gentleman," says I, "who was one day slumbering in an arbour, was on a sudden awakened by the gentle biting of a lizard, a little animal remarkable for its love to mankind. He threw it from his hand with some indignation, and was rising up to kill it, when he saw an huge venomous serpent sliding towards him on the other side, which he soon destroyed; reflecting afterwards with gratitude upon his friend that saved him, and with anger against himself, that had shown so little sense of a good office."

FOOTNOTES:

[235] Perhaps Alexander Bayne (died 1737), an advocate then living in London, and afterwards Professor of Scots Law at Edinburgh. See Hughes's "Correspondence," i. 56.

[236] A notorious character of the time of Charles II., to whom Wycherley dedicated his "Plain Dealer," under the title of "My Lady B----," in a long ironical address respecting herself and women of her class, which is praised by Steele in the _Spectator_ (No. 266).

[237] No. 81.

[238] "A table of fame for the ladies will be published as soon as materials can be collected, to which end the public are desired to contribute, and it will be gratefully acknowledged." (_Female Tatler_, No. 58, Nov. 7, 1709.)

The writer of the "General Postscript" advertised his intention of erecting speedily a temple of honour for British heroes only (No. 11, October 11, 1709). The same writer says, that Mr. Tatler and his admirers were wrapped up in his "table of fame" (November 11, 1709).

[239] Possibly William Walsh, a man of fashion and critic, who was a friend both of Dryden and Pope. Johnson says, "He is known more by his familiarity with greater men, than by anything done or written by himself."

No. 85. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 22_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 25, 1709_.

_From my own Apartment, October 24._