Chapter X: Part 10

My brother Tranquillus,[240] who is a man of business, came to me this morning into my study, and after very many civil expressions in return for what good offices I had done him, told me, he desired to carry his wife, my sister, that very morning to his own house. I readily told him I would wait upon him, without asking why he was so impatient to rob us of his good company. He went out of my chamber, and I thought seemed to have a little heaviness upon him, which gave me some disquiet. Soon after, my sister came to me with a very matron-like air, and most sedate satisfaction in her looks, which spoke her very much at ease; but the traces of her countenance seemed to discover that she had been lately in passion, and that air of content to flow from a certain triumph upon some advantage obtained. She no sooner sat down by me, but I perceived she was one of those ladies who begin to be managers within the time of their being brides. Without letting her speak (which I saw she had a mighty inclination to do), I said, "Here has been your husband, who tells me he has a mind to go home this very morning; and I have consented to it." "It is well," said she, "for you must know--" "Nay, Jenny," said I, "I beg your pardon, for it is you must know--you are to understand, that now is the time to fix or alienate your husband's heart for ever; and I fear you have been a little indiscreet in your expressions or behaviour towards him even here in my house." "There has," says she, "been some words; but I'll be judged by you if he was not in the wrong: nay, I need not be judged by anybody, for he gave it up himself, and said not a word, when he saw me grow passionate, but 'Madam, you are perfectly in the right of it.' As you shall judge--" "Nay, madam," said I, "I am judge already, and tell you, that you are perfectly in the wrong of it; for if it was a matter of importance, I know he has better sense than you; if a trifle, you know what I told you on your wedding-day, that you were to be above little provocations." She knows very well I can be sour upon occasion, therefore gave me leave to go on. "Sister," said I, "I will not enter into the dispute between you, which I find his prudence put an end to before it came to extremity, but charge you to have a care of the first quarrel, as you tender your happiness; for then it is that the mind will reflect harshly upon every circumstance that has ever passed between you. If such an accident is ever to happen (which I hope never will), be sure to keep to the circumstance before you; make no allusions to what is past, or conclusions referring to what is to come: don't show an hoard of matter for dissension in your breast; but if it is necessary, lay before him the thing as you understand it, candidly, without being ashamed of acknowledging an error, or proud of being in the right. If a young couple be not careful in this point, they will get into a habit of wrangling: and when to displease is thought of no consequence, to please is always of as little moment. There is a play, Jenny, I have formerly been at when I was a student: we got into a dark corner with a porringer of brandy, and threw raisins into it, then set it on fire. My chamber-fellow and I diverted ourselves with the sport of venturing our fingers for the raisins; and the wantonness of the thing was, to see each other look like a demon as we burnt ourselves and snatched out the fruit. This fantastical mirth was called snap-dragon. You may go into many a family, where you see the man and wife at this sport: every word at their table alludes to some passage between themselves; and you see by the paleness and emotion in their countenances, that it is for your sake, and not their own, that they forbear playing out the whole game, in burning each other's fingers. In this case, the whole purpose of life is inverted, and the ambition turns upon a certain contention, who shall contradict best, and not upon an inclination to excel in kindnesses and good offices. Therefore, dear Jenny, remember me, and avoid snap-dragon." "I thank you, brother," said she, "but you don't know how he loves me; I find I can do anything with him." "If you can so, why should you desire to do anything but please him? But I have a word or two more before you go out of the room; for I see you do not like the subject I am upon. Let nothing provoke you to fall upon an imperfection he cannot help; for if he has a resenting spirit, he will think your aversion as immovable as the imperfection with which you upbraid him. But above all, dear Jenny, be careful of one thing, and you will be something more than woman, that is, a levity you are almost all guilty of, which is, to take a pleasure in your power to give pain. It is even in a mistress an argument of meanness of spirit, but in a wife it is injustice and ingratitude. When a sensible man once observes this in a woman, he must have a very great or a very little spirit to overlook it. A woman ought therefore to consider very often, how few men there are who will regard a meditated offence as a weakness of temper." I was going on in my confabulation, when Tranquillus entered. She cast her eyes upon him with much shame and confusion, mixed with great complacency and love, and went up to him. He took her in his arms, and looked so many soft things at one glance, that I could see he was glad I had been talking to her, sorry she had been troubled, and angry at himself that he could not disguise the concern he was in an hour before. After which, he says to me, with an air awkward enough, but methought not unbecoming, "I have altered my mind, brother; we'll live upon you a day or two longer." I replied, "That's what I have been persuading Jenny to ask of you; but she is resolved never to contradict your inclination, and refused me." We were going on in that way which one hardly knows how to express; as when two people mean the same thing in a nice case, but come at it by talking as distantly from it as they can; when very opportunely came in upon us an honest inconsiderable fellow, Tim Dapper, a gentleman well known to us both. Tim is one of those who are very necessary by being very inconsiderable. Tim dropped in at an incident when we knew not how to fall into either a grave or a merry way. My sister took this occasion to make off, and Dapper gave us an account of all the company he had been in to-day, who was and who was not at home, where he visited. This Tim is the head of a species: he is a little out of his element in this town; but he is a relation of Tranquillus, and his neighbour in the country, which is the true place of residence for this species. The habit of a Dapper, when he is at home, is a light broadcloth, with calamanco[241] or red waistcoat and breeches; and it is remarkable, that their wigs seldom hide the collar of their coats. They have always a peculiar spring in their arms, a wriggle in their bodies, and a trip in their gait; all which motions they express at once in their drinking, bowing, or saluting ladies; for a distant imitation of a forward fop, and a resolution to overtop him in his way, are the distinguishing marks of a Dapper. These under-characters of men are parts of the sociable world by no means to be neglected: they are like pegs in a building. They make no figure in it, but hold the structure together, and are as absolutely necessary as the pillars and columns. I am sure we found it so this morning; for Tranquillus and I should perhaps have looked cold at each other the whole day, but Dapper fell in with his brisk way, shook us both by the hand, rallied the bride, mistook the acceptance he met with amongst us for extraordinary perfection in himself, and heartily pleased, and was pleased, all the while he stayed. His company left us all in good-humour, and we were not such fools as to let it sink, before we confirmed it by great cheerfulness and openness in our carriage the whole evening.

_White's Chocolate-house, October 24._

I have been this evening to visit a lady who is a relation of the enamoured Cynthio,[242] and there heard the melancholy news of his death. I was in hopes that fox-hunting and October would have recovered him from his unhappy passion. He went into the country with a design to leave behind him all thoughts of Clarissa; but he found that place only more convenient to think of her without interruption. The country gentlemen were very much puzzled upon his case, and never finding him merry or loud in their company, took him for a Roman Catholic, and immediately upon his death seized his French valet-de-chambre for a priest; and it is generally thought in the county, it will go hard with him next session. Poor Cynthio never held up his head after having received a letter of Clarissa's marriage. The lady who gave me this account being far gone in poetry and romance, told me, if I would give her an epitaph, she would take care to have it placed on his tomb; which she herself had devised in the following manner: it is to be made of black marble, and every corner to be crowned with weeping cupids. Their quivers are to be hung up upon two tall cypress-trees which are to grow on each side of the monument, and their arrows to be laid in a great heap, after the manner of a funeral pile, on which is to lie the body of the deceased. On the top of each cypress is to stand the figure of a moaning turtle-dove. On the uppermost part of the monument, the goddess to whom these birds are sacred, is to sit in a dejected posture, as weeping for the death of her votary. I need not tell you this lady's head is a little turned: however, to be rid of importunities, I promised her an epitaph, and told her, I would take for my pattern that of Don Alonzo, who was no less famous in his age than Cynthio is in ours.

THE EPITAPH.[243]

Here lies Don Alonzo,
Slain by a wound received under
His left pap;
The orifice of which was so
Small, no surgeon could
Discover it.

READER,

If thou wouldst avoid so strange
A death,
Look not upon Lucinda's eyes.

FOOTNOTES:

[240] See No. 79.

[241] Calamanco is a woollen stuff made plain, striped, checked, or figured, and glazed in finishing. It was generally made in Flanders and Brabant, and was much used in the last century. _Cf._ No. 96, "a gay calamanco waistcoat."

[242] See No. 35. Steele returned to the character of Cynthio in 1714, in No. 38 of the _Lover_, written two months after Lord Hinchinbroke had spoken on Steele's behalf in the debate whether he should be expelled the House of Commons. Lord Hinchinbroke died in 1722; in 1712 it was reported that he was one of the Mohocks who went about doing mischief ("Wentworth Papers," 277 note).

[243] This epitaph is a quotation from a letter of Sir John Suckling ("Works," 1770, I. 103).

No. 86. [ADDISON and STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Oct. 25_, to _Thursday, Oct. 27, 1709_.

_From my own Apartment, October 26._[244]

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

"SIR,

_October 24._

"I have orders from Sir Harry Quicksett, of Staffordshire, Bart.,
to acquaint you, that his honour Sir Harry himself, Sir Giles
Wheelbarrow, Kt.; Thomas Rentfree, Esq., Justice of the Quorum;
Andrew Windmill, Esq.; and Mr. Nicholas Doubt of the Inner
Temple, Sir Harry's grandson, will wait upon you at the hour of
nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the 25th of October, upon
business which Sir Harry will impart to you by word of mouth. I
thought it proper to acquaint you beforehand so many persons of
quality came, that you might not be surprised therewith. Which
concludes, though by many years' absence since I saw you at
Stafford, unknown,

"Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
JOHN THRIFTY."

I received this message with less surprise than I believe Mr. Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too well to feel any palpitations at their approach: but I was in very great concern how I should adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to all these great men, who perhaps had not seen anything above themselves for these twenty years last past. I am sure that's the case of Sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a great point in adjusting my behaviour to the simple squire, so as to give him satisfaction, and not disoblige the Justice of the Quorum. The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner set chairs (by the steward's letter), and fixed my tea-equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one entered; after which followed a long silence, which was broke at last by, "Sir, I beg your pardon; I think I know better:" and another voice, "Nay, good Sir Giles----" I looked out from my window, and saw the good company all with their hats off, and arms spread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much solemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so kind as to name them to me. But they are now got to my chamber door, and I saw my old friend Sir Harry enter. I met him with all the respect due to so reverend a vegetable; for you are to know, that is my sense of a person who remains idle in the same place for half a century. I got him with great success into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any of my cups. The knight-bachelor told me, he had a great respect for my whole family, and would, with my leave, place himself next to Sir Harry, at whose right hand he had sat at every Quarter Sessions this thirty years, unless he was sick. The steward in the rear whispered the young Templar, "That's true to my knowledge." I had the misfortune, as they stood cheek by jowl, to desire the simple squire to sit down before the Justice of the Quorum, to the no small satisfaction of the former, and resentment of the latter. But I saw my error too late, and got them as soon as I could into their seats. "Well," said I, "gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great honour, I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea." They answered one and all, that they never drank tea in a morning. "Not in a morning!" said I, staring round me. Upon which the pert jackanapes Nick Doubt tipped me the wink, and put out his tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a profound silence, when the steward, in his boots and whip, proposed, that we should adjourn to some public-house, where everybody might call for what they pleased, and enter upon the business. We all stood up in an instant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left very discreetly, countermarching behind the chairs towards the door: after him, Sir Giles in the same manner. The simple squire made a sudden start to follow; but the Justice of the Quorum whipped between upon the stand of the stairs. A maid going up with coals made us halt, and put us into such confusion, that we stood all in a heap, without any visible possibility of recovering our order; for the young jackanapes seemed to make a jest of this matter, and had so contrived, by pressing amongst us under pretence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the middle, and he knew nobody was of quality to stir a step till Sir Harry moved first. We were fixed in this perplexity for some time, till we heard a very loud noise in the street; and Sir Harry asking what it was, I, to make them move, said it was fire. Upon this, all ran down as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, till we got into the street, where we drew up in very good order, and filed off down Sheer Lane, the impertinent Templar driving us before him, as in a string, and pointing to his acquaintance who passed by. I must confess I love to use people according to their own sense of good-breeding, and therefore whipped in between the Justice and the simple squire. He could not properly take this ill; but I overheard him whisper the steward, that he thought it hard that a common conjuror should take place of him, though an elder squire. In this order we marched down Sheer Lane, at the upper end of which I lodge.[245] When we came to Temple Bar, Sir Harry and Sir Giles got over; but a run of the coaches kept the rest of us on this side the street: however, we all at last landed, and drew up in very good order before Ben Tooke's[246] shop, who favoured our rallying with great humanity. From hence we proceeded again, till we came to Dick's Coffee-house,[247] where I designed to carry them. Here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the street upon the same ceremony. We proceeded through the entry, and were so necessarily kept in order by the situation, that we were now got into the coffee-house itself, where, as soon as we arrived, we repeated our civilities to each other; after which, we marched up to the high table, which has an ascent to it enclosed in the middle of the room. The whole room was alarmed at this entry, made up of persons of so much state and rusticity. Sir Harry called for a mug of ale, and Dyer's Letter.[248] The boy brought the ale in an instant; but said, they did not take in the Letter. "No!" says Sir Harry: "then take back your mug; we are like indeed to have good liquor at this house." Here the Templar tipped me a second wink, and if I had not looked very grave upon him, I found he was disposed to be very familiar with me. In short, I observed after a long pause, that the gentlemen did not care to enter upon business till after their morning draught, for which reason I called for a bottle of mum[249]; and finding that had no effect upon them, I ordered a second, and a third: after which, Sir Harry reached over to me, and told me in a low voice, that the place was too public for business; but he would call upon me again to-morrow morning at my own lodgings, and bring some more friends with him.

_Will's Coffee-house, October 26._

Though this place is frequented by a more mixed company than it used to be formerly, yet you meet very often some whom one cannot leave without being the better for their conversation. A gentleman this evening, in a dictating manner, talked I thought very pleasingly in praise of modesty, in the midst of ten or twelve libertines, upon whom it seemed to have had a good effect. He represented it as the certain indication of a great and noble spirit. "Modesty," said he, "is the virtue which makes men prefer the public to their private interest, the guide of every honest undertaking, and the great guardian of innocence; it makes men amiable to their friends, and respected by their very enemies. In all places, and on all occasions, it attracts benevolence, and demands approbation. One might give instances out of antiquity[250] of the irresistible force of this quality in great minds: Cicereius, and Cneius Scipio, the son of the great Africanus, were competitors for the office of prætor. The crowd followed Cicereius, and left Scipio unattended. Cicereius saw this with much concern, and desiring an audience of the people, he descended from the place where the candidates were to sit, in the eye of the multitude, pleaded for his adversary, and with an ingenuous modesty (which it is impossible to feign) represented to them, how much it was to their dishonour, that a virtuous son of Africanus should not be preferred to him, or any other man whatsoever. This immediately gained the election for Scipio; but all the compliments and congratulations upon it were made to Cicereius. It is easier in this case to say who had the office, than the honour. There is no occurrence in life where this quality is not more ornamental than any other. After the battle of Pharsalia, Pompey marching towards Larissus, the whole people of that place came out in procession to do him honour. He thanked the magistrates for their respect to him; but desired them to perform these ceremonies to the conqueror. This gallant submission to his fortune, and disdain of making any appearance but like Pompey, was owing to his modesty, which would not permit him to be so disingenuous as to give himself the air of prosperity, when he was in the contrary condition. This I say of modesty, as it is the virtue which preserves a decorum in the general course of our life; but considering it also as it regards our mere bodies, it is the certain character of a great mind. It is memorable of the mighty Cæsar, that when he was murdered in the Capitol, at the very moment in which he expired, he gathered his robe about him, that he might fall in a decent posture. In this manner (says my author) he went off, not like a man that departed out of life, but a deity that returned to his abode."

FOOTNOTES:

[244] Tickell included the article "From my own Apartment" in his edition of Addison's Works, but stated that Steele assisted in this paper. Upon which pompous Bishop Hurd adds, "One sees this by the pertness of the manner in which many parts of it are composed. The scene described is, however, pleasant enough." No doubt Addison was the chief, if not sole author of the first article.

[245] "The upper part [of Shire Lane] hath good old buildings, well inhabited; but the lower part is very narrow and more ordinary" (Strype, Book IV.). A view of the Trumpet in Shire Lane is given in Timbs' "Clubs and Club Life in London," p. 176.

[246] Tooke, Swift's bookseller, died in 1723. His shop was at the Middle Temple Gateway.

[247] Dick's Coffee-house, in Fleet Street, was named after Richard Tornor or Turner, to whom the house was let in 1680. It is called Richard's in the _London Gazette_ for 1693, No. 2939.

[248] See No. 18.

[249] A thick ale, brewed from wheat. _Cf._ "Dunciad," ii. 385.

[250] See Valerius Maximus, iv. 5.

No. 87. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, Oct. 27_, to _Saturday, Oct. 29, 1709_.

_Will's Coffee-house, October 28._

There is nothing which I contemplate with greater pleasure than the dignity of human nature, which often shows itself in all conditions of life: for notwithstanding the degeneracy and meanness that is crept into it, there are a thousand occasions in which it breaks through its original corruption, and shows what it once was, and what it will be hereafter. I consider the soul of man as the ruin of a glorious pile of building; where, amidst great heaps of rubbish, you meet with noble fragments of sculpture, broken pillars and obelisks, and a magnificence in confusion. Virtue and wisdom are continually employed in clearing the ruins, removing these disorderly heaps, recovering the noble pieces that lie buried under them, and adjusting them as well as possible according to their ancient symmetry and beauty. A happy education, conversation with the finest spirits, looking abroad into the works of nature, and observations upon mankind, are the great assistances to this necessary and glorious work. But even among those who have never had the happiness of any of these advantages, there are sometimes such exertions of the greatness that is natural to the mind of man, as show capacities and abilities, which only want these accidental helps to fetch them out, and show them in a proper light. A plebeian soul is still the ruin of this glorious edifice, though encumbered with all its rubbish. This reflection rose in me from a letter which my servant dropped as he was dressing me, and which he told me was communicated to him, as he is an acquaintance of some of the persons mentioned in it. The epistle is from one Sergeant Hall of the Foot Guards. It is directed to Sergeant Cabe, in the Coldstream Regiment of Foot Guards,[251] at the Red Lettice[252] in the Butcher Row,[253] near Temple Bar.

I was so pleased with several touches in it, that I could not forbear showing it to a cluster of critics, who, instead of considering it in the light I have done, examined it by the rules of epistolary writing: for as these gentlemen are seldom men of any great genius, they work altogether by mechanical rules, and are able to discover no beauties that are not pointed out by Bouhours and Rapin.[254] The letter is as follows:

_From the Camp before Mons,
September 26._

"COMRADE,

"I received yours, and am glad yourself and your wife are in good
health, with all the rest of my friends. Our battalion suffered
more than I could wish in the action;[255] but who can withstand
Fate? Poor Richard Stephenson had his fate with a great many more:
he was killed dead before we entered the trenches. We had above
200 of our battalion killed and wounded: we lost 10 sergeants; 6
are as followeth: Jennings, Castles, Roach, Sherring, Meyrick,
and my son Smith. The rest are not your acquaintance. I have
received a very bad shot in my head myself, but am in hopes, and
please God, I shall recover. I continue in the field, and lie at
my colonel's quarters. Arthur is very well; but I can give you no
account of Elms; he was in the hospital before I came into the
field. I will not pretend to give you an account of the battle,
knowing you have a better in the prints. Pray give my service to
Mrs. Cook and her daughter, to Mr. Stoffet and his wife, and to
Mr. Lyver, and Thomas Hogsdon, and to Mr. Ragdell, and to all my
friends and acquaintance in general who do ask after me. My love
to Mrs. Stephenson: I am sorry for the sending such ill news. Her
husband was gathering a little money together to send to his wife,
and put it into my hands. I have seven shillings and threepence,
which I shall take care to send her. Wishing your wife a safe
delivery, and both of you all happiness, rest

"Your assured Friend and Comrade,
JOHN HALL."

"We had but an indifferent breakfast, but the mounseers never had such a dinner in all their lives.

"My kind love to my comrade Hinton, and Mrs. Morgan, and to John Brown and his wife. I sent two shillings, and Stephenson sixpence, to drink with you at Mr. Cook's; but I have heard nothing from him. It was by Mr. Edgar.

"Corporal Hartwell desires to be remembered to you, and desires you to inquire of Edgar, what is become of his wife Peg; and when you write, to send word in your letter what trade she drives.

"We have here very bad weather, which I doubt will be a hindrance to the siege;[256] but I am in hopes we shall be masters of the town in a little time, and then I believe we shall go to garrison."

I saw the critics prepared to nibble at my letter; therefore examined it myself, partly in their way, and partly my own. "This is," said I, "truly a letter, and an honest representation of that cheerful heart which accompanies the poor soldier in his warfare. Is not there in this all the topic of submitting to our destiny as well discussed as if a greater man had been placed, like Brutus, in his tent at midnight, reflecting on all the occurrences of past life, and saying fine things on "being" itself? What Sergeant Hall knows of the matter, is, that he wishes there had not been so many killed, and he had himself a very bad shot in the head, and should recover if it pleased God. But be that as it will, he takes care, like a man of honour, as he certainly is, to let the widow Stephenson know, that he had seven and threepence for her; and that if he lives, he is sure he shall go into garrison at last. I doubt not but all the good company at the Red Lettice drank his health with as much real esteem as we do any of our friends. All that I am concerned for, is, that Mrs. Peggy Hartwell may be offended at showing this letter, because her conduct in Mr. Hartwell's absence is a little inquired into. But I could not sink that circumstance, because you critics would have lost one of the parts which I doubt not but you have much to say upon, whether the familiar way is well hit in this style or not? As for myself, I take a very particular satisfaction in seeing any letter that is fit only for those to read who are concerned in it, but especially on such a subject: for if we consider the heap of an army, utterly out of all prospect of rising and preferment, as they certainly are, and such great things executed by them, it is hard to account for the motive of their gallantry. But to me, who was a cadet at the battle of Coldstream, in Scotland, when Monck charged at the head of the regiment, now called Coldstream from the victory of that day;[257] (I remember it as well as if it were yesterday) I stood on the left of old West, who I believe is now at Chelsea: I say, to me, who know very well this part of mankind, I take the gallantry of private soldiers to proceed from the same, if not from a nobler, impulse than that of gentlemen and officers. They have the same taste of being acceptable to their friends, and go through the difficulties of that profession by the same irresistible charm of fellowship, and the communication of joys and sorrows, which quickens the relish of pleasure, and abates the anguish of pain. Add to this, that they have the same regard to fame, though they do not expect so great a share as men above them hope for; but I will engage, Sergeant Hall would die ten thousand deaths, rather than a word should be spoken at the Red Lettice, or any part of the Butcher Row, in prejudice to his courage or honesty. If you will have my opinion then of the sergeant's letter, I pronounce the style to be mixed, but truly epistolary; the sentiment relating to his own wound, is in the sublime; the postscript of Peg Hartwell, in the gay; and the whole, the picture of the bravest sort of men, that is to say, a man of great courage and small hopes."

_From my own Apartment, October 28._

When I came home this evening, I found, after many attempts to vary my thoughts, that my head still ran upon the subject of the discourse to-night at Will's. I fell therefore into the amusement of proportioning the glory of a battle among the whole army, and dividing it into shares, according to the method of the Million Lottery.[258] In this bank of fame, by an exact calculation, and the rules of political arithmetic, I have allotted ten hundred thousand shares; five hundred thousand of which is the due of the general, two hundred thousand I assign to the general officers, and two hundred thousand more to all the commissioned officers, from colonels to ensigns; the remaining hundred thousand must be distributed among the non-commissioned officers and private men: according to which computation, I find Sergeant Hall is to have one share and a fraction of two-fifths. When I was a boy at Oxford, there was among the antiquities near the theatre a great stone, on which were engraven the names of all who fell in the battle of Marathon. The generous and knowing people of Athens understood the force of the desire of glory, and would not let the meanest soldier perish in oblivion. Were the natural impulse of the British animated with such monuments, what man would be so mean as not to hazard his life for his ten-hundred-thousandth part of the honour in such a day as that of Blenheim or Blaregnies?

FOOTNOTES:

[251] This had been Steele's own regiment.

[252] In the address of Sergeant Hall's letter the Red Lettice is spelt according to the original, but this is a corruption of Red Lattice; it signifies a chequered or reticulated window of this colour, no uncommon sign of a public-house. A house with a red lattice is mentioned in "The Glass of Government," a tragi-comedy by Geo. Gascoigne, 1575.

The Chequers, at the date of this paper a very common sign of a public-house, was the representation of a kind of draught-board called "tables," signifying that that game might be played there. From their colour, which was red, and their similarity to a lattice, it was corruptly called the Red Lattice, which word is frequently used by ancient writers to signify an ale-house (Nichols). Mr. Dobson points out that Falstaff speaks of "red-lattice phrases" ("Merry Wives of Windsor," Act ii. sc. 2.), and Staunton says, "Ale-houses in old times were distinguished by _red lattices_, as dairies have since been by _green_ ones."

[253] A narrow street between the back side of St. Clement's and Shipyard, in the Strand. There were butchers' shambles on the south side, and a market for meat, poultry, fish, &c. The Row was pulled down in 1813.

[254] Dominic Bouhours (1628-1702) and Nicholas Rapin (1535-1608), French critics.

[255] The bloody battle of Malplaquet, September 11, 1709.

[256] Mons was taken on October 21.

[257] On January 1, 1660, General Monck quitted his headquarters at Coldstream, to restore the monarchy. As Gumble puts it in his "Life of Monck," "This town hath given title to a small company of men whom God made the instruments of great things." See Mackinnon's "Origin and Services of the Coldstream Guards" (1833).

[258] The first of a long series of Government lotteries was started in 1709. There were 150,000 tickets at £10 each, making £1,500,000. Three thousand seven hundred and fifty tickets were prizes from £1000 to £5 a year for thirty-two years. There was a great demand for the tickets. See No. 124, and the _Spectator,_ No. 191.

No. 88. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Oct. 29_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 1, 1709_.

_White's Chocolate-house, October 31._

I have lately received a letter from a friend in the country, wherein he acquaints me, that two or three men of the town are got among them, and have brought down particular words and phrases which were never before in those parts. He mentions in particular the words "gunner" and "gunster," which my correspondent observes they make use of when anything has been related that is strange and surprising; and therefore desires I would explain those terms, as I have many others, for the information of such as live at a distance from this town and court, which he calls the great mints of language. His letter is dated from York; and (if he tells me truth) a word in its ordinary circulation does not reach that city within the space of five years after it is first stamped. I cannot say how long these words have been current in town, but I shall now take care to send them down by the next post.

I must in the first place observe, that the words "gunner" and "gunster" are not to be used promiscuously; for a gunner, properly speaking, is not a gunster: nor is a gunster, _vice versâ_, a gunner. They both indeed are derived from the word "gun," and so far they agree. But as a gun is remarkable for its destroying at a distance, or for the report it makes, which is apt to startle all its hearers, those who recount strange accidents and circumstances, which have no manner of foundation in truth, when they design to do mischief are comprehended under the appellation of gunners; but when they endeavour only to surprise and entertain, they are distinguished by the name of gunsters. Gunners therefore are the pest of society; but the gunsters often the diversion. The gunner is destructive, and hated; the gunster innocent, and laughed at. The first is prejudicial to others, the other only to himself.

This being premised, I must in the next place subdivide the gunner into several branches: all or the chief of which are I think as follow:

First, the Bombardier.
Secondly, the Miner.
Thirdly, the Squib.
Fourthly, the Serpent.

And first, of the first. The bombardier tosses his balls sometimes into the midst of a city, with a design to fill all around him with terror and combustion. He has been sometimes known to drop a bomb in a Senate-house, and to scatter a panic over a nation. But his chief aim is at several eminent stations, which he looks upon as the fairest marks, and uses all his skill to do execution upon those who possess them. Every man so situated, let his merit be never so great, is sure to undergo a bombardment. It is further observed, that the only way to be out of danger from the bursting of a bomb, is to lie prostrate on the ground; a posture too abject for generous spirits.

Secondly, the Miner.

As the bombardier levels his mischief at nations and cities, the miner busies himself in ruining and overturning private houses and particular persons. He often acts as a spy, in discovering the secret avenues and unguarded accesses of families, where, after he has made his proper discoveries and dispositions, he sets sudden fire to his train, that blows up families, scatters friends, separates lovers, disperses kindred, and shakes a whole neighbourhood.

It is to be noted, that several females are great proficients in this way of engineering. The marks by which they are to be known, are a wonderful solicitude for the reputation of their friends, and a more than ordinary concern for the good of their neighbours. There is also in them something so very like religion as may deceive the vulgar; but if you look upon it very nearly, you see on it such a cast of censoriousness, as discovers it to be nothing but hypocrisy. Cleomilla is a great instance of a female miner; but as my design is to expose only the incorrigible, let her be silent for the future, and I shall be so too.

Thirdly, the Squib.

The squibs are those who in the common phrase of the world are called libellers, lampooners, and pamphleteers. Their fireworks are made up in paper; and it is observed, that they mix abundance of charcoal in their powder, that they may be sure to blacken where they cannot singe. These are observed to give a consternation and disturbance only to weak minds; which, according to the proverb, are always more afraid than hurt.

Fourthly, Serpents.

The serpents are a petty kind of gunners, more pernicious than any of the rest. They make use of a sort of white powder, that goes off without any violent crack, but gives a gentle sound, much like that of a whisper; and is more destructive in all parts of life than any of the materials made use of by any of the fraternity.

Come we now to the Gunsters.

This race of engineers deals altogether in wind-guns,[259] which, by recoiling often, knock down those who discharge them, without hurting anybody else; and according to the various compressions of the air, make such strange squeaks, cracks, pops, and bounces, as it is impossible to hear without laughing. It is observable, however, that there is a disposition in a gunster to become a gunner; and though their proper instruments are only loaded with wind, they often, out of wantonness, fire a bomb, or spring a mine, out of their natural inclination to engineering; by which means they do mischief when they don't design it, and have their bones broken when they don't deserve it.

This sort of engineers are the most unaccountable race of men in the world: some of them have received above a hundred wounds, and yet have not a scar in their bodies; some have debauched multitudes of women who have died maids. You may be with them from morning till night, and the next day they shall tell you a thousand adventures that happened when you were with them, which you know nothing of. They have a quality of having been present at everything they hear related; and never heard a man commended who was not their intimate acquaintance, if not their kinsman.

I hope these notes may serve as a rough draught for a new establishment of engineers, which I shall hereafter fill up with proper persons, according to my own observations on their conduct, having already had one recommended to me for the general of my artillery. But that, and all the other posts, I intend to keep open, till I can inform myself of the candidates, having resolved in this case to depend no more upon their friend's word than I would upon their own.

_From my own Apartment, October 31._[260]

I was this morning awakened by a sudden shake of the house; and as soon as I had got a little out of my consternation, I felt another, which was followed by two or three repetitions of the same convulsion. I got up as fast as possible, girt on my rapier, and snatched up my hat, when my landlady came up to me, and told me, that the gentlewoman of the next house begged me to step thither; for that a lodger she had taken in was run mad, and she desired my advice; as indeed everybody in the whole lane does upon important occasions. I am not like some artists, saucy because I can be beneficial, but went immediately. Our neighbour told us, she had the day before let her second floor to a very genteel youngish man, who told her, he kept extraordinary good hours, and was generally at home most part of the morning and evening at study; but that this morning he had for an hour together made this extravagant noise which we then heard. I went upstairs with my hand upon the hilt of my rapier, and approached this new lodger's door. I looked in at the key-hole, and there I saw a well-made man look with great attention on a book, and on a sudden, jump into the air so high, that his head almost touched the ceiling. He came down safe on his right foot, and again flew up, alighting on his left; then looked again at his book, and holding out his right leg, put it into such a quivering motion, that I thought he would have shaken it off. He used the left after the same manner, when on a sudden, to my great surprise, he stooped himself incredibly low, and turned gently on his toes. After this circular motion, he continued bent in that humble posture for some time, looking on his book. After this, he recovered himself with a sudden spring, and flew round the room in all the violence and disorder imaginable, till he made a full pause for want of breath. In this interim my woman asked what I thought: I whispered, that I thought this learned person an enthusiast, who possibly had his first education in the peripatetic way, which was a sect of philosophers who always studied when walking. But observing him much out of breath, I thought it the best time to master him if he were disordered, and knocked at his door. I was surprised to find him open it, and say with great civility and good mien, that he hoped he had not disturbed us. I believed him in a lucid interval, and desired he would please to let me see his book. He did so, smiling. I could not make anything of it, and therefore asked in what language it was written. He said, it was one he studied with great application; but it was his profession to teach it, and could not communicate his knowledge without a consideration. I answered, that I hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himself; for his meditation this morning had cost me three coffee-dishes and a clean pipe. He seemed concerned at that, and told me, he was a dancing-master, and had been reading a dance or two before he went out, which had been written by one who taught at an academy in France.[261] He observed me at a stand, and went on to inform me, that now articulate motions, as well as sounds, were expressed by proper characters, and that there is nothing so common as to communicate a dance by a letter. I besought him hereafter to meditate in a ground room, for that otherwise it would be impossible for an artist of any other kind to live near him; and that I was sure, several of his thoughts this morning would have shaken my spectacles off my nose, had I been myself at study.

I then took my leave of this virtuoso, and returned to my chamber, meditating on the various occupations of rational creatures.

FOOTNOTES:

[259] In the _Postman_ for August 19, 1702, the person mentioned in Dr. Burnet's Travels from Basel, in Switzerland, advertises his arrival, and his having brought several sorts of wind-guns and horse-pistols, made for the late K. William, to be shown at the price of sixpence apiece; but he hopes the nobility will be induced to give more, as he has some curiosities besides, not mentioned.

"There is in Basel a gunsmith that maketh wind-guns, and he showed me one, that as it received at once air for ten shot, so it had this peculiar to it, which he pretends is his own invention, that he can discharge all the air that can be parcelled out in ten shot at once to give a home blow. I confess those are terrible instruments, and it seems the interest of mankind to forbid them quite." (Burnet's "Letters," &c., 1687, page 236, quoted by Nichols.)

[260] This article is by Addison.

[261] Thoinet Arbeau, a dancing-master at Paris, who was the inventor of the art of writing dances in characters, called orchesography. Music, about the year 1709, was generally printed in most countries, as well as in England, on letterpress types. Engravings on copperplates were used almost eighty years before in Italy, and the music of many single songs was engraved here about the year 1700, by one Thomas Cross. (See Hawkins's "History of Music," 1776, ii. 132-133, v. 107.)

No. 89. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Nov. 1_, to _Thursday, Nov. 3, 1709_.

Rura mihi placeant, riguique in vallibus amnes,
Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius.

VIRG., Georg. ii. 485.

_Grecian Coffee-house, Nov. 2._

I have received this short epistle from an unknown hand:[262]

"SIR,

"I have no more to trouble you with, than to desire you would
in your next help me to some answer to the enclosed concerning
yourself. In the meantime I congratulate you upon the increase of
your fame, which you see has extended itself beyond the bills of
mortality.

"'SIR,

"'That the country is barren of news, has been the excuse time
out of mind for dropping a correspondence with our friends in
London; as if it were impossible out of a coffee-house to write
an agreeable letter. I am too ingenuous to endeavour at the
covering of my negligence with so common an excuse. Doubtless,
amongst friends bred as we have been, to the knowledge of
books as well as men, a letter dated from a garden, a grotto, a
fountain, a wood, a meadow, or the banks of a river, may be more
entertaining than one from Tom's,[263] Will's, White's, or St.
James's. I promise therefore to be frequent for the future in my
rural dates to you: but for fear you should, from what I have
said, be induced to believe I shun the commerce of men, I must
inform you, that there is a fresh topic of discourse lately risen
amongst the ingenious in our part of the world, and is become the
more fashionable for the ladies giving into it. This we owe to
Isaac Bickerstaff, who is very much censured by some, and as much
justified by others. Some criticise his style, his humour, and
his matter; others admire the whole man: some pretend, from the
informations of their friends in town, to decipher the author; and
others confess they are lost in their guesses. For my part, I must
own myself a professed admirer of the paper, and desire you to
send me a complete set, together with your thoughts of the squire
and his lucubrations.'"

There is no pleasure like that of receiving praise from the praiseworthy; and I own it a very solid happiness, that these my lucubrations are approved by a person of so fine a taste as the author of this letter, who is capable of enjoying the world in the simplicity of its natural beauties. This pastoral letter, if I may so call it, must be written by a man who carries his entertainment wherever he goes, and is undoubtedly one of those happy men who appear far otherwise to the vulgar. I daresay, he is not envied by the vicious, the vain, the frolic, and the loud; but is continually blessed with that strong and serious delight which flows from a well-taught and liberal mind. With great respect to country sports, I may say, this gentleman could pass his time agreeably if there were not a hare or a fox in his county. That calm and elegant satisfaction which the vulgar call melancholy, is the true and proper delight of men of knowledge and virtue. What we take for diversion, which is a kind of forgetting ourselves, is but a mean way of entertainment, in comparison of that which is considering, knowing, and enjoying ourselves. The pleasures of ordinary people are in their passions; but the seat of this delight is in the reason and understanding. Such a frame of mind raises that sweet enthusiasm which warms the imagination at the sight of every work of nature, and turns all around you into picture and landscape. I shall be ever proud of advices from this gentleman; for I profess writing news from the learned as well as the busy world.

As for my labours, which he is pleased to inquire after, if they can but wear one impertinence out of human life, destroy a single vice, or give a morning's cheerfulness to an honest mind; in short, if the world can be but one virtue the better, or in any degree less vicious, or receive from them the smallest addition to their innocent diversions, I shall not think my pains, or indeed my life, to have been spent in vain.

Thus far as to my studies. It will be expected I should in the next place give some account of my life. I shall therefore, for the satisfaction of the present age, and the benefit of posterity, present the world with the following abridgment of it.