Chapter II (3)

From the Camp before Douay,[273] May 26, N.S. On the 23rd the
French assembled their army, and encamped with their right near
Bouchain, and their left near Crevecoeur. Upon this motion of the
enemy, the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene made a movement
with their army on the 24th, and encamped from Arlieux to Vitry
and Isez-Esquerchien, where they are so advantageously posted, that
they not only cover the siege, secure our convoys of provisions,
forage, and ammunition, from Lille and Tournay, and the canals and
dykes we have made to turn the water of the Scarp and La Cense to
Bouchain; but are in a readiness, by marching from the right, to
possess themselves of the field of battle marked out betwixt Vitry
and Montigny, or from the left to gain the lines of circumvallation
betwixt Fierin and Dechy: so that whatever way the enemy shall
approach to attack us, whether by the plains of Lens, or by
Bouchain and Valenciennes, we have but a very small movement to
make, to possess ourselves of the ground on which it will be most
advantageous to receive them. The enemy marched this morning from
their left, and are encamped with their right at Oisy, and their
left towards Arras, and, according to our advices, will pass the
Scarp to-morrow, and enter on the plains of Lens, though several
regiments of horse, the German and Liege troops, which are destined
to compose part of their army, have not yet joined them. If they
pass the Scarp, we shall do the like at the same time, to possess
ourselves with all possible advantage of the field of battle: but
if they continue where they are, we shall not remove, because in
our present station we sufficiently cover from all insults both our
siege and convoys.

Monsieur Villars cannot yet go without crutches, and it is believed
will have much difficulty to ride. He and the Duke of Berwick are
to command the French army, the rest of the marshals being only to
assist in council.

Last night we entirely perfected four bridges over the _avant
fosse_ at both attacks; and our saps are so far advanced, that in
three or four days batteries will be raised on the _glacis_, to
batter in breach both the outworks and ramparts of the town.

Letters from the Hague of the 27th, N.S., say, that the Deputies of
the States of Holland, who set out for Gertruydenburg on the 23rd,
to renew the conferences with the French Ministers, returned on the
26th, and had communicated to the States-General the new overtures
that were made on the part of France, which it is believed, if they
are in earnest, may produce a general treaty.

[Footnote 269: See Nos. 125, 127, 175.]

[Footnote 270: Two of the numerous astrologers who lived in Moorfields.]

[Footnote 271: During the first half of the eighteenth century the walls of Bedlam were made use of by dealers in second-hand books.]

[Footnote 272: The waiter; see No. 1.]

[Footnote 273: Douay capitulated on the 25th of June, after a fifty-four days siege, which cost the Allies eight thousand men. Two English regiments were cut to pieces at a sortie made by the besieged French troops. Two years later Douay was recaptured by Villars.]

No. 175. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, May 20_, to _Tuesday, May 23, 1710_.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 22._

In the distribution of the apartments in the new Bedlam, proper regard is had to the different sexes, and the lodgings accommodated accordingly. Among other necessaries, as I have thought fit to appoint storytellers to soothe the men, so I have allowed tale-bearers to indulge the intervals of my female patients. But before I enter upon disposing of the main of the great body that wants my assistance, it is necessary to consider the human race abstracted from all other distinctions and considerations except that of sex. This will lead us to a nearer view of their excellences and imperfections, which are to be accounted the one or the other, as they are suitable to the design for which the persons so defective or accomplished came into the world.

To make this inquiry aright, we must speak of the life of people of condition, and the proportionable applications to those below them will be easily made, so as to value the whole species by the same rule. We will begin with the woman, and behold her as a virgin in her father's house. This state of her life is infinitely more delightful than that of her brother at the same age. While she is entertained with learning melodious airs at her spinet, is led round a room in the most complaisant manner to a fiddle, who is entertained with applauses of her beauty and perfection in the ordinary conversation she meets with: the young man is under the dictates of a rigid schoolmaster or instructor, contradicted in every word he speaks, and curbed in all the inclinations he discovers. Mrs. Elizabeth is the object of desire and admiration, looked upon with delight, courted with all the powers of eloquence and address, approached with a certain worship, and defended with a certain loyalty. This is her case as to the world: in her domestic character, she is the companion, the friend, and confidante of her mother, and the object of a pleasure something like the love between angels, to her father. Her youth, her beauty, her air, are by him looked upon with an ineffable transport beyond any other joy in this life, with as much purity as can be met with in the next.

Her brother William, at the same years, is but in the rudiments of those acquisitions which must gain him esteem in the world. His heart beats for applause among men, yet is he fearful of every step towards it. If he proposes to himself to make a figure in the world, his youth is damped with a prospect of difficulties, dangers, and dishonours; and an opposition in all generous attempts, whether they regard his love or his ambition.

In the next stage of life she has little else to do, but (what she is accomplished for by the mere gifts of nature) to appear lovely and agreeable to her husband, tender to her children, and affable to her servants: but a man, when he enters into this way, is but in the first scene, far from the accomplishment of his designs. He is now in all things to act for others as well as himself. He is to have industry and frugality in his private affairs, and integrity and addresses in public. To these qualities, he must add a courage and resolution to support his other abilities, lest he be interrupted in the prosecution of his just endeavours, in which the honour and interest of posterity are as much concerned as his own personal welfare.

This little sketch may in some measure give an idea of the different parts which the sexes have to act, and the advantageous as well as inconvenient terms on which they are to enter upon their several parts of life. This may also be some rule to us in the examination of their conduct. In short, I shall take it for a maxim, that a woman who resigns the purpose of being pleasing, and the man who gives up the thoughts of being wise, do equally quit their claim to the true causes of living; and are to be allowed the diet and discipline of my charitable structure to reduce them to reason.

On the other side, the woman who hopes to please by methods which should make her odious, and the man who would be thought wise by a behaviour that renders him ridiculous, are to be taken into custody for their false industry, as justly as they ought for their negligence.

* * * * *

N.B. Mr. Bickerstaff is taken extremely ill with the toothache, and cannot proceed in this discourse.

_St. James's Coffee-house, May 22._

Advices from Flanders of the 30th instant, N.S., say, that the Duke of Marlborough having intelligence of the enemy's passing the Scarp on the 29th in the evening, and their march towards the plains of Lens, had put the Confederate army in motion, which was advancing towards the camp on the north side of that river between Vitry and Henin-Lietard. The Confederates, since the approach of the enemy, have added several new redoubts to their camp, and drawn the cannon out of the lines of circumvallation in a readiness for the batteries.

It is not believed, notwithstanding these appearances, that the enemy will hazard a battle for the relief of Douay; the siege of which place is carried on with all the success that can be expected, considering the difficulties they meet with occasioned by the inundations. On the 28th at night we made a lodgment on the salient angle of the glacis of the second counterscarp, and our approaches are so far advanced, that it is believed the town will be obliged to surrender before the 8th of the next month.

No. 176. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, May 23_, to _Thursday, May 25, 1710_.

Nul lum numen abest, si sit Prudentia.
JUV., Sat. x. 365.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 23._

This evening, after a little ease from the raging pain caused by so small an organ as an aching tooth, under which I had behaved myself so ill as to have broke two pipes and my spectacles, I began to reflect with admiration on those heroic spirits, which in the conduct of their lives seem to live so much above the condition of our make, as not only under the agonies of pain to forbear any intemperate word or gesture, but also in their general and ordinary behaviour to resist the impulses of their very blood and constitution. This watch over a man's self, and the command of his temper, I take to be the greatest of human perfections, and is the effect of a strong and resolute mind. It is not only the most expedient practice for carrying on our own designs, but is also very deservedly the most amiable quality in the sight of others. It is a winning deference to mankind, which creates an immediate imitation of itself whenever it appears, and prevails upon all (who have to do with a person endued with it) either through shame or emulation. I do not know how to express this habit of mind, except you will let me call it equanimity. It is a virtue, which is necessary at every hour, in every place, and in all conversations, and is the effect of a regular and exact prudence. He that will look back upon all the acquaintances he has had in his whole life, will find he has seen more men capable of the greatest employments and performances, than such as could in the general bent of their carriage act otherwise than according to their own complexion and humour. But the indulgence of ourselves in wholly giving way to our natural propensity, is so unjust and improper a licence, that when people take it up, there is very little difference, with relation to their friends and families, whether they are good- or ill-natured men: for he that errs by being wrought upon by what we call the sweetness of his temper, is as guilty as he that offends through the perverseness of it.

It is not therefore to be regarded what men are in themselves, but what they are in their actions. Eucrates[274] is the best-natured of all men; but that natural softness has effects quite contrary to itself, and for want of due bounds to his benevolence, while he has a will to be a friend to all, he has the power of being such to none. His constant inclination to please makes him never fail of doing so; though (without being capable of falsehood) he is a friend only to those who are present; for the same humour which makes him the best companion, renders him the worst correspondent. It is a melancholy thing to consider, that the most engaging sort of men in conversation are frequently the most tyrannical in power, and least to be depended upon in friendship. It is certain this is not to be imputed to their own disposition; but he that is to be led by others, has only good luck if he is not the worst, though in himself the best man living. For this reason, we are no more wholly to indulge our good than our ill dispositions. I remember a crafty old cit, one day speaking of a well-natured young fellow who set up with a good stock in Lombard Street, "I will," says he, "lay no more money in his hands, for he never denied me anything." This was a very base, but with him a prudential reason for breaking off commerce: and this acquaintance of mine carried this way of judging so far, that he has often told me, he never cared to deal with a man he liked, for that our affections must never enter into our business.

When we look round us in this populous city, and consider how credit and esteem are lodged, you find men have a great share of the former, without the least portion of the latter. He who knows himself for a beast of prey, looks upon others in the same light, and we are so apt to judge of others by ourselves, that the man who has no mercy, is as careful as possible never to want it. Hence it is, that in many instances men gain credit by the very contrary methods by which they do esteem; for wary traders think every affection of the mind a key to their cash.

But what led me into this discourse was my impatience of pain; and I have, to my great disgrace, seen an instance of the contrary carriage in so high a degree, that I am out of countenance that I ever read Seneca. When I look upon the conduct of others in such occurrences, as well as behold their equanimity in the general tenor of their life, it very much abates the self-love, which is seldom well-governed by any sort of men, and least of all by us authors.

The fortitude of a man who brings his will to the obedience of his reason is conspicuous, and carries with it a dignity in the lowest state imaginable. Poor Martius,[275] who now lies languishing in the most violent fever, discovers in the faintest moments of his distemper such a greatness of mind, that a perfect stranger who should now behold him, would indeed see an object of pity, but at the same time that it was lately an object of veneration. His gallant spirit resigns, but resigns with an air that speaks a resolution which could yield to nothing but fate itself. This is conquest in the philosophic sense; but the empire over ourselves is, methinks, no less laudable in common life, where the whole tenor of a man's carriage is in subservience to his own reason, and conformity both to the good sense and inclination of other men.

Aristaeus[276] is, in my opinion, a perfect master of himself in all circumstances. He has all the spirit that man can have, and yet is as regular in his behaviour as a mere machine. He is sensible of every passion, but ruffled by none. In conversation, he frequently seems to be less knowing to be more obliging, and chooses to be on a level with others rather than oppress with the superiority of his genius. In friendship he is kind without profession; in business, expeditious without ostentation. With the greatest softness and benevolence imaginable, he is impartial in spite of all importunity, even that of his own good nature. He is ever clear in his judgment; but in complaisance to his company, speaks with doubt, and never shows confidence in argument, but to support the sense of another. Were such an equality of mind the general endeavour of all men, how sweet would be the pleasures of conversation? He that is loud would then understand, that we ought to call a constable, and know, that spoiling good company is the most heinous way of breaking the peace. We should then be relieved from these zealots in society, who take upon them to be angry for all the company, and quarrel with the waiters to show they have no respect for anybody else in the room. To be in a rage before you, is in a kind being angry with you. You may as well stand naked before company, as to use such familiarities; and to be careless of what you say, is the most clownish way of being undressed.

_Sheer Lane, May 24._

When I came home this evening, I found the following letters; and because I think one a very good answer to the other, as well as that it is the affair of a young lady, it must be immediately dismissed:

"SIR,

"I have a good fortune, partly paternal and partly acquired. My
younger years I spent in business; but age coming on, and having no
more children than one daughter, I resolved to be a slave no
longer: and accordingly I have disposed of my effects, placed my
money in the funds, bought a pretty seat in a pleasant country; am
making a garden, and have set up a pack of little beagles. I live
in the midst of a good many well-bred neighbours, and several
well-tempered clergymen. Against a rainy day I have a little
library; and against the gout in my stomach a little good claret.
With all this I am the miserablest man in the world; not that I've
lost the relish of any of these pleasures, but am distracted with
such a multiplicity of entertaining objects, that I am lost in the
variety. I am in such a hurry of idleness, that I do not know with
what diversion to begin. Therefore, sir, I must beg the favour of
you, when your more weighty affairs will permit, to put me in some
method of doing nothing; for I find Pliny makes a great difference
betwixt _Nihil agere_ and _Agere nihil_; and I fancy, if you would
explain him, you would do a very great kindness to many in Great
Britain, as well as to

"Your humble Servant,
"J. B."

"SIR,

"The enclosed is written by my father in one of his pleasant
humours. He bids me seal it up, and send you a word or two from
myself, which he won't desire to see till he hears of it from you.
Desire him before he begins his method of doing nothing, to have
nothing to do; that is to say, let him marry off his daughter. I
am,

"Your gentle Reader,
"S. B."

[Footnote 274: Eucrates reminds us in some respects of Steele himself.]

[Footnote 275: Perhaps Cornelius Wood. See No. 144.]

[Footnote 276: In writing of Aristaeus, Steele seems to have had Addison in his mind. His friend had recently left London for Ireland.]

No. 177. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, May 25_, to _Saturday, May 27, 1710_.

--Male si palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus.
HOR., 2 Sat. i. 20.

* * * * *

_Sheer Lane, May 26._

The ingenious Mr. Penkethman,[277] the comedian, has lately left here a paper or ticket, to which is affixed a small silver medal, which is to entitle the bearer to see one-and-twenty plays at his theatre for a guinea. Greenwich is the place where, it seems, he has erected his house; and his time of action is to be so contrived, that it is to fall in with going and returning with the tide: besides, that the bearer of this ticket may carry down with him a particular set of company to the play, striking off for each person so introduced one of his twenty-one times of admittance. In this warrant of his, he has made me a high compliment in a facetious distich, by way of dedication of his endeavours, and desires I would recommend them to the world. I must needs say, I have not for some time seen a properer choice than he has made of a patron: who more fit to publish his work than a novelist[278]? who to recommend it than a censor? This honour done me, has made me turn my thoughts upon the nature of dedications in general, and the abuse of that custom, as well by a long practice of my predecessors, as the continued folly of my contemporary authors.

In ancient times, it was the custom to address their works to some eminent for their merit to mankind, or particular patronage of the writers themselves, or knowledge in the matter of which they treated. Under these regards, it was a memorable honour to both parties, and a very agreeable record of their commerce with each other. These applications were never stuffed with impertinent praises, but were the native product of their esteem, which was implicitly received, or generally known to be due to the patron of the work: but vain flourishes came into the world, with other barbarous embellishments; and the enumeration of titles, and great actions, in the patrons themselves, or their sires, are as foreign to the matter in hand as the ornaments are in a Gothic building. This is clapping together persons which have no manner of alliance, and can for that reason have no other effect than making both parties justly ridiculous. What pretence is there in Nature for me to write to a great man, and tell him, "My lord, because your Grace is a duke, your Grace's father before you was an earl, his lordship's father was a baron, and his lordship's father both a wise and a rich man, I, Isaac Bickerstaff, am obliged, and could not possibly forbear addressing to you the following treatise." Though this is the plain exposition of all I could possibly say to him with a good conscience, yet the silly custom has so universally prevailed, that my lord duke and I must necessarily be particular friends from this time forward, or else I have just room for being disobliged, and may turn my panegyric into a libel. But to carry this affair still more home, were it granted that praises in dedications were proper topics, what is it that gives a man authority to commend, or what makes it a favour to me that he does commend me? It is certain, that there is no praise valuable but from the praiseworthy. Were it otherwise, blame might be as much in the same hands. Were the good and evil of fame laid upon a level among mankind, the judge on the bench, and the criminal at the bar, would differ only in their stations; and if one's word is to pass as much as the other's, their reputation would be much alike to the jury. Pliny,[279] speaking of the death of Martial, expresses himself with great gratitude to him for the honours done him in the writings of that author; but he begins it with an account of his character, which only made the applause valuable. He indeed in the same Epistle says, it is a sign we have left off doing things which deserve praise, when we think commendation impertinent. This is asserted with a just regard to the persons whose good opinion we wish for; otherwise reputation would be valued according to the number of voices a man has for it, which are not always to be insured on the more virtuous side. But however we pretend to model these nice affairs, true glory will never attend anything but truth; and there is something so peculiar in it, that the very self-same action done by different men cannot merit the same degree of applause. The Roman, who was surprised in the enemy's camp before he had accomplished his design, and thrust his bare arm into a flaming pile, telling the general, there were many as determined as himself who (against sense of danger) had conspired his death, wrought in the very enemy an admiration of his fortitude, and a dismission with applause.[280] But the condemned slave who represented him in the theatre, and consumed his arm in the same manner, with the same resolution, did not raise in the spectators a great idea of his virtue, but of him whom he imitated in an action no way differing from that of the real Scaevola, but in the motive to it.

Thus true glory is inseparable from true merit, and whatever you call men, they are no more than what they are in themselves; but a romantic sense has crept into the minds of the generality, who will ever mistake words and appearances for persons and things.

The simplicity of the ancients was as conspicuous in the address of their writings, as in any other monuments they have left behind them. Caesar and Augustus were much more high words of respect, when added to occasions fit for their characters to appear in, than any appellations which have ever been since thought of. The latter of these great men had a very pleasant way of dealing with applications of this kind. When he received pieces of poetry which he thought had worth in them, he rewarded the writer; but where he thought them empty, he generally returned the compliment made him with some verses of his own.

This latter method I have at present occasion to imitate. A female author has dedicated a piece to me,[281] wherein she would make my name (as she has others) the introduction of whatever is to follow in her book; and has spoke some panegyrical things which I know not how to return, for want of better acquaintance with the lady, and consequently being out of a capacity of giving her praise or blame. All therefore that is left for me, according to the foregoing rules, is to lay the picture of a good and evil woman before her eyes, which are but mere words if they do not concern her. Now you are to observe, the way in a dedication is to make all the rest of the world as little like the person we address to as possible, according to the following epistle:

"MADAM,
"But, M----
"----_Memorabile nullum
Foeminea in poena est._----"[282]

[Footnote 277: See No. 4.]

[Footnote 278: Writer of news.]

[Footnote 279: "Epist." iii. 21.]

[Footnote 280: Livy, ii. 12.]

[Footnote 281: Mrs. Manley's "Memoirs of Europe ... by the translator of the 'New Atalantis.'" See Nos. 35, 63.]

[Footnote 282:

"----Nullum memorabile nomen
Foeminea in poena est."--"AEneid," ii. 583-4.
]

No. 178. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, May 27_, to _Tuesday, May 30, 1710_.

* * * * *

_Sheer Lane, May 29._

When we look into the delightful history of the most ingenious Don Quixote of the Mancha, and consider the exercises and manner of life of that renowned gentleman, we cannot but admire the exquisite genius and discerning spirit of Michael Cervantes, who has not only painted his adventurer with great mastery in the conspicuous parts of his story, which relate to love and honour, but also intimated in his ordinary life, economy, and furniture, the infallible symptoms he gave of his growing frenzy, before he declared himself a knight-errant. His hall was furnished with old lances, halberds, and morions; his food, lentils; his dress, amorous. He slept moderately, rose early, and spent his time in hunting. When by watchfulness and exercise he was thus qualified for the hardships of his intended peregrinations, he had nothing more to do but to fall hard to study; and before he should apply himself to the practical part, get into the methods of making love and war by reading books of knighthood. As for raising tender passion in him, Cervantes reports[283] that he was wonderfully delighted with a smooth intricate sentence; and when they listened at his study-door, they could frequently hear him read aloud, "The reason of the unreasonableness, which against my reason is wrought, doth so weaken my reason, as with all reason I do justly complain on your beauty." Again, he would pause till he came to another charming sentence, and with the most pleasing accent imaginable be loud at a new paragraph: "The high heavens, which, with your divinity, do fortify you divinely with the stars, make you deserveress of the deserts that your greatness deserves." With these, and other such passages (says my author) the poor gentleman grew distracted, and was breaking his brains day and night to understand and unravel their sense.

As much as the case of this distempered knight is received by all the readers of his history as the most incurable and ridiculous of all phrensies, it is very certain we have crowds among us far gone in as visible a madness as his, though they are not observed to be in that condition. As great and useful discoveries are sometimes made by accidental and small beginnings, I came to the knowledge of the most epidemic ill of this sort, by falling into a coffee-house where I saw my friend the upholsterer,[284] whose crack[285] towards politics I have heretofore mentioned. This touch in the brain of the British subject is as certainly owing to the reading newspapers, as that of the Spanish worthy above mentioned to the reading works of chivalry. My contemporaries the novelists[286] have, for the better spinning out paragraphs, and working down to the end of their columns, a most happy art in saying and unsaying, giving hints of intelligence, and interpretations of indifferent actions, to the great disturbance of the brains of ordinary readers. This way of going on in the words, and making no progress in the sense, is more particularly the excellence of my most ingenious and renowned fellow-labourer, the _Postman_[287]; and it is to this talent in him that I impute the loss of my upholsterer's intellects. That unfortunate tradesman has for years past been the chief orator in ragged assemblies, and the reader in alley coffee-houses. He was yesterday surrounded by an audience of that sort, among whom I sat unobserved through the favour of a cloud of tobacco, and saw him with the _Postman_ in his hand, and all the other papers safe under his left elbow. He was intermixing remarks, and reading the Paris article of May 30, which says that "it is given out that an express arrived this day, with advice, that the armies were so near in the plain of Lens, that they cannonaded each other." ("Ay, ay, here we shall have sport.") "And that it was highly probable the next express would bring us an account of an engagement." ("They are welcome as soon as they please.") "Though some others say, that the same will be put off till the 2nd or 3rd of June, because the Marshal Villars expects some further reinforcements from Germany, and other parts, before that time." ("What-a-pox does he put it off for? Does he think our horse is not marching up at the same time? But let us see what he says further.") "They hope that Monsieur Albergotti,[288] being encouraged by the presence of so great an army, will make an extraordinary defence." ("Why then I find, Albergotti is one of those that love to have a great many on their side. Nay, I'll say that for this paper, he makes the most natural inferences of any of them all.") "The Elector of Bavaria being uneasy to be without any command, has desired leave to come to Court to communicate a certain project to his Majesty. Whatever it be, it is said that prince is suddenly expected, and then we shall have a more certain account of his project, if this report has any foundation." ("Nay, this paper never imposes upon us, he goes upon sure grounds; for he won't be positive the Elector has a project, or that he will come, or if he does come at all; for he doubts, you see, whether the report has any foundation.")

What makes this the more lamentable is, that this way of writing falls in with the imagination of the cooler and duller part of her Majesty's subjects. The being kept up with one line contradicting another, and the whole, after many sentences of conjecture, vanishing in a doubt whether there is anything at all in what the person has been reading, puts an ordinary head into a vertigo, which his natural dulness would have secured him from. Next to the labours of the _Postman_, the upholsterer took from under his elbow honest Ichabod Dawks' _Letter_,[289] and there, among other speculations, the historian takes upon him to say that "it is discoursed that there will be a battle in Flanders before the armies separate, and many will have it to be to-morrow, the great battle of Ramillies being fought on a Whit Sunday." A gentleman who was a wag in this company laughed at the expression, and said, "By Mr. Dawks' favour, I warrant ye, if we meet them on Whit Sunday, or Monday, we shall not stand upon the day[290] with them, whether it be before or after the holidays." An admirer of this gentleman stood up, and told a neighbour at a distant table the conceit, at which indeed we were all very merry. These reflections in the writers of the transactions of the times, seize the noddles of such as were not born to have thoughts of their own, and consequently lay a weight upon everything which they read in print. But Mr. Dawks concluded his paper with a courteous sentence, which was very well taken and applauded by the whole company. "We wish," says he, "all our customers a merry Whitsuntide, and many of them." Honest Ichabod is as extraordinary a man as any of our fraternity, and as particular. His style is a dialect between the familiarity of talking and writing, and his letter such as you cannot distinguish whether print or manuscript, which gives us a refreshment[291] of the idea from what has been told us from the press by others. This wishing a good tide had its effect upon us, and he was commended for his salutation, as showing as well the capacity of a bellman as an historian. My distempered old acquaintance read in the next place the account of the affairs abroad in the _Courant_;[292] but the matter was told so distinctly, that these wanderers thought there was no news in it; this paper differing from the rest as a history from a romance. The tautology, the contradictions, the doubts, and wants of confirmations, are what keep up imaginary entertainments in empty heads, and produce neglect of their own affairs, poverty, and bankruptcy, in many of the shop-statesmen; but turn the imaginations of those of a little higher orb into deliriums of dissatisfaction, which is seen in a continual fret upon all that touches their brains, but more particularly upon any advantage obtained by their country, where they are considered as lunatics, and therefore tolerated in their ravings.

What I am now warning the people of is, that the newspapers of this island are as pernicious to weak heads in England as ever books of chivalry to Spain; and therefore shall do all that in me lies, with the utmost care and vigilance imaginable, to prevent these growing evils. A flaming instance of this malady appeared in my old acquaintance at this time, who, after he had done reading all his papers, ended with a thoughtful air, "If we should have a peace, we should then know for certain whether it was the King of Sweden that lately came to Dunkirk." I whispered him, and desired him to step aside a little with me. When I had opportunity, I decoyed him into a coach, in order for his more easy conveyance to Moorfields. The man went very quietly with me; and by that time he had brought the Swede from the defeat by the Czar to the Boristhenes, we were passing by Will's Coffeehouse, where the man of the house beckoned to us. We made a full stop, and could hear from above a very loud voice swearing, with some expressions towards treason, that the subject in France was as free as in England. His distemper would not let him reflect, that his own discourse was an argument of the contrary. They told him, one would speak with him below. He came immediately to our coach-side. I whispered him, that I had an order to carry him to the Bastile. He immediately obeyed with great resignation: for to this sort of lunatic, whose brain is touched for the French, the name of a gaol in that kingdom has a more agreeable sound than that of a paternal seat in this their own country. It happened a little unluckily bringing these lunatics together, for they immediately fell into a debate concerning the greatness of their respective monarchs; one for the King of Sweden, the other for the Grand Monarch of France. This gentleman from Will's is now next door to the upholsterer, safe in his apartment in my Bedlam, with proper medicaments, and the _Mercure Galant_[293] to soothe his imagination that he is actually in France. If therefore he should escape to Covent Garden again, all persons are desired to lay hold of him, and deliver him to Mr. Morphew, my overseer. At the same time, I desire all true subjects to forbear discourse with him, any otherwise than when he begins to fight a battle for France, to say, "Sir, I hope to see you in England."

[Footnote 283: "Don Quixote," Part I. chap. i.]

[Footnote 284: See Nos. 155, 160.]

[Footnote 285: In the _Spectator_, No. 251, Addison applies the word to a crazy person: "A crack and a projector."]

[Footnote 286: Writers of newspapers.]

[Footnote 287: The _Postman_ was edited by a French Protestant named Fontive, whom Dunton describes as "the glory and mirror of news-writers; a very grave, learned, orthodox man."]

[Footnote 288: Albergotti was then holding Douay for Lewis XIV.]

[Footnote 289: See No. 18. The news-letter was printed to imitate handwriting.]

[Footnote 290: Cf. "Macbeth," act iii. sc. 4:

"Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once!"
]

[Footnote 291: A _rechauffe_.]

[Footnote 292: See No. 18.]

[Footnote 293: See No. 67.]

No. 179. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, May 30_, to _Thursday, June 1, 1710_.

----O! quis me gelidis sub montibus Haemi
Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra?
VIRG., Georg. ii. 488.[294]

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 31._

In this parched season, next to the pleasure of going into the country, is that of hearing from it, and partaking the joys of it in description, as in the following letter:

"SIR,

"I believe you will forgive me, though I write to you a very long
epistle, since it relates to the satisfaction of a country life,
which I know you would lead, if you could. In the first place I
must confess to you, that I am one of the most luxurious men
living; and as I am such, I take care to make my pleasures lasting,
by following none but such as are innocent and refined, as well as,
in some measure, improving. You have in your labours been so much
concerned to represent the actions and passions of mankind, that
the whole vegetable world has almost escaped your observation: but
sure there are gratifications to be drawn from thence, which
deserve to be recommended. For your better information, I wish you
could visit your old friend in Cornwall: you would be leased to
see the many alterations I have made about my house, and how much I
have improved my estate without raising the rents of it.

"As the winter engrosses with us near a double portion of the year
(the three delightful vicissitudes being crowded almost within the
space of six months), there is nothing upon which I have bestowed
so much study and expense, as in contriving means to soften the
severity of it, and, if possible, to establish twelve cheerful
months about my habitation. In order to this, the charges I have
been at in building and furnishing a greenhouse will, perhaps, be
thought somewhat extravagant by a great many gentlemen whose
revenues exceed mine. But when I consider, that all men of any life
and spirit have their inclinations to gratify, and when I compute
the sums laid out by the generality of the men of pleasure (in the
number of which I always rank myself) in riotous eating and
drinking, in equipage and apparel, upon wenching, gaming, racing
and hunting; I find, upon the balance, that the indulging of my
humour comes at a reasonable rate.

"Since I communicate to you all incidents serious and trifling,
even to the death of a butterfly, that fall out within the compass
of my little empire, you will not, I hope, be ill pleased with the
draught I now send you of my little winter paradise, and with an
account of my way of amusing myself and others in it.

"The younger Pliny, you know, writes a long letter to his friend
Gallus,[295] in which he gives him a very particular plan of the
situation, the conveniences, and the agreeableness of his villa. In
my last, you may remember, I promised you something of this kind.
Had Pliny lived in a northern climate, I doubt not but we should
have found a very complete orangery amongst his Epistles; and I,
probably, should have copied his model, instead of building after
my own fancy, and you had been referred to him for the history of
my late exploits in architecture: by which means my performances
would have made a better figure, at least in writing, than they are
like to make at present.

"The area of my greenhouse is a hundred paces long, fifty broad,
and the roof thirty feet high. The wall toward the north is of
solid stone. On the south side, and at both the ends, the stonework
rises but three feet from the ground, excepting the pilasters,
placed at convenient distances to strengthen and beautify the
building. The intermediate spaces are filled up with large sashes
of the strongest and most transparent glass. The middle sash (which
is wider than any of the others) serves for the entrance, to which
you mount by six easy steps, and descend on the inside by as many.
This opens and shuts with greater ease, keeps the wind out better,
and is at the same time more uniform than folding-doors.

"In the middle of the roof there runs a ceiling thirty feet broad
from one end to the other. This is enlivened by a masterly pencil,
with all the variety of rural scenes and prospects, which he has
peopled with the whole tribe of sylvan deities. Their characters
and their stories are so well expressed, that the whole seems a
collection of all the most beautiful fables of the ancient poets
translated into colours. The remaining spaces of the roof, ten feet
on each side of the ceiling, are of the clearest glass, to let in
the sky and clouds from above. The building points full east and
west, so that I enjoy the sun while he is above the horizon. His
rays are improved through the glass, and I receive through it what
is desirable in a winter-sky, without the coarse alloy of the
season, which is a kind of sifting or straining the weather. My
greens and lowers are as sensible as I am of this benefit: they
flourish and look cheerful as in the spring, while their fellow
creatures abroad are starved to death. I must add, that a moderate
expense of fire, over and above the contributions I receive from
the sun, serves to keep this large room in a due temperature; it
being sheltered from the cold winds by a hill on the north, and a
wood on the east.

"The shell, you see, is both agreeable and convenient; and now you
shall judge, whether I have laid out the floor to advantage. There
goes through the whole length of it a spacious walk of the finest
gravel, made to bind and unite so firmly, that it seems one
continued stone; with this advantage, that it is easier to the
foot, and better for walking, than if it were what it seems to be.
At each end of the walk, on the one and on the other side of it,
lies a square plot of grass of the finest turf and brightest
verdure. What ground remains on both sides, between these little
smooth fields of green, is flagged with large quarries of white
marble, where the blue veins trace out such a variety of irregular
windings through the clear surface, that these bright plains seem
full of rivulets and streaming meanders. This to my eye, that
delights in simplicity, is inexpressibly more beautiful than the
chequered floors which are so generally admired by others. Upon the
right and upon the left, along the gravel walk, I have ranged
interchangeably the bay, the myrtle, the orange and the lemon
trees, intermixed with painted hollies, silver firs, and pyramids
of yew; all so disposed, that every tree receives an additional
beauty from its situation; besides the harmony that rises from the
disposition of the whole, no shade cuts too strongly, or breaks in
harshly upon the other; but the eye is cheered with a mild rather
than gorgeous diversity of greens.

"The borders of the four grass plots are garnished with pots of
flowers: those delicacies of Nature create two senses at once, and
leave such delightful and gentle impressions upon the brain, that I
cannot help thinking them of equal force with the softest airs of
music, toward the smoothing of our tempers. In the centre of every
plot is a statue. The figures I have made choice of are a Venus, an
Adonis, a Diana, and an Apollo; such excellent copies, as to raise
the same delight as we should draw from the sight of the ancient
originals.

"The north wall would have been but a tiresome waste to the eye, if
I had not diversified it with the most lively ornaments, suitable
to the place. To this intent, I have been at the expense to lead
over arches from a neighbouring hill a plentiful store of spring
water, which a beautiful Naiad, placed as high as is possible in
the centre of the wall, pours out from an urn. This, by a fall of
above twenty foot, makes a most delightful cascade into a basin,
that opens wide within the marble floor on that side. At a
reasonable distance, on either hand of the cascade, the wall is
hollowed into two spreading scallops, each of which receives a
couch of green velvet, and forms at the same time a canopy over
them. Next to them come two large aviaries, which are likewise let
into the stone. These are succeeded by two grottoes, set off with
all the pleasing rudeness of shells and moss, and cragged stones,
imitating in miniature rocks and precipices, the most dreadful and
gigantic works of Nature. After the grottoes, you have two niches,
the one inhabited by Ceres, with her sickle and sheaf of wheat; and
the other by Pomona, who, with a countenance full of good cheer,
pours a bounteous autumn of fruits out of her horn. Last of all
come two colonies of bees, whose stations lying east and west, the
one is saluted by the rising, the other by the setting sun. These,
all of them being placed at proportioned intervals, furnish out the
whole length of the wall; and the spaces that lie between are
painted in fresco, by the same hand that has enriched my ceiling.

"Now, sir, you see my whole contrivance to elude the rigour of the
year, to bring a northern climate nearer the sun, and to exempt
myself from the common fate of my countrymen. I must detain you a
little longer, to tell you, that I never enter this delicious
retirement, but my spirits are revived, and a sweet complacency
diffuses itself over my whole mind. And how can it be otherwise,
with a conscience void of offence, where the music of falling
waters, the symphony of birds, the gentle humming of bees, the
breath of flowers, the fine imagery of painting and sculpture: in a
word, the beauties and the charms of nature and of art court all my
faculties, refresh the fibres of the brain and smooth every avenue
of thought. What pleasing meditations, what agreeable wanderings of
the mind, and what delicious slumbers, have I enjoyed here! And
when I turn up some masterly writer to my imagination, methinks
here his beauties appear in the most advantageous light, and the
rays of his genius shoot upon me with greater force and brightness
than ordinary. This place likewise keeps the whole family in good
humour, in a season wherein gloominess of temper prevails
universally in this island. My wife does often touch her lute in
one of the grottoes, and my daughter sings to it, while the ladies
with you, amidst all the diversions of the town, and in the most
affluent fortunes, are fretting and repining beneath a lowering sky
for they know not what. In this greenhouse we often dine, we drink
tea, we dance country dances; and what is the chief pleasure of
all, we entertain our neighbours in it, and by this means
contribute very much to mend the climate five or six miles about
us. I am,

"Your most humble Servant,
"T. S."[296]

[Footnote 294: The correct reading is, "O, qui me gellidis in vallibus," &c.]

[Footnote 295: "Epist." ii. 17.]

[Footnote 296: Thomas Smith, who voted against Steele's expulsion, was member for the borough of Eye, and may have been the person who wrote this letter, to which the initials of his name are subscribed. In the preface to the _Examiner_, the first number of which was published Aug. 3, 1710, there is the following passage: "All descriptions of stage-players and statesmen, the erecting of greenhouses, the forming of constellations, the beaus' red heels, and the furbelows of the ladies, shall remain entire to the use and benefit of their first proprietor."

The description of stage-players and statesmen, here mentioned, is an allusion to Downes' letter. See No. 193.]

No. 180. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, June 1_, to _Saturday, June 3, 1710_.

Stultitiam patiuntur opes.--HOR., 1 Ep. xviii. 29.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, June 2._