The Tatler: With Notes and a General Index ; Complete in One Volume

children into open air. It was very entertain- | intellectual, as well as the natural and corpo ing to see the trembling and the fluttering of the little strangers at their first appearance in the world, and the different care of the male and female parent, so suitable to their several sexes. I could not take my eye quickly from so entertaining an object; nor could I help wishing, that creatures of a superior rank would so manifest their mutual affection, and so cheerfully concur in providing for their offspring.

I shall conclude this tattle about the spring, which I usually call 'the youth and health of the year,' with some verses which I transcribe from a manuscript poem upon hunting. The author gives directions, that hounds should breed in the spring, whence he takes occasion, after the manner of the ancients, to make a digression in praise of that season. The verses here subjoined, are not all upon that subject; but the transitions slide so easily into one another, that I knew not how to leave off until I had writ out the whole digression.

real, we shall perceive throughout, a certain correspondence of the parts, a similitude of operation, and unity of design, which plainly demonstrate the universe to be the work of one infinitely good and wise being; and that the system of thinking beings is actuated by laws derived from the same divine power which ordained those by which the corporeal system is upheld.

From the contemplation of the order, motion, and cohesion of natural bodies, philosophers are now agreed, that there is a mutual attraction between the most distant parts at least of this solar system. All those bodies that revolve round the sun are drawn towards each other, and towards the sun, by some secret, uniform, and never-ceasing principle. Hence it is, that the earth (as well as the other planets) without flying off in a tangent line, constantly rolls about the sun, and the moon about the earth, without deserting her companion in so many thousand years. And as the larger systems of

likewise the particular globes derive their cohesion and consistence from it.

In spring let loose thy males. Then all things prove the universe are held together by this cause, so The stings of pleasure, and the pangs of love: Ethereal Jove then glads, with genial showers, Earth's mighty womb, and strews her lap with flow'rs; Hence juices mount, and buds, embolden'd, try, More kindly breezes, and a softer sky; Kind Venus revels. Hark! on ev'ry bough, In lulling strains the feather'd warblers woo.

Fell tigers soften in th' infectious flames,
And lions fawning, court their brinded dames:
Great love pervades the deep; to please his mate,
The whale, in gambols moves his monstrous weight;
Heav'd by his wayward mirth old Ocean roars,
And scatter'd navies bulge on distant shores.

All nature smiles: Come now, nor fear, my love,
To taste the odours of the woodbine grove,
To pass the evening glooms in harmless play,
And sweetly swearing, languish life away.
An altar bound with recent flowers, I rear
To thee, best season of the various year :
All hail! such days in beauteous order ran,
So soft, so sweet, when first the world began;
In Eden's bow'rs, when man's great sire assign'd
The names and natures of the brutal kind.
Then lamb and lion friendly walk'd their round,
And hares, undaunted, licked the fondling hound;
Wond'rous to tell! but when with luckless hand,
Our daring mother broke the sole command,
Then want and envy brought their meagre train,
Then wrath came down, and death had leave to reign:
Hence foxes earth'd and wolves abhorr'd the day,
And hungry churls ensnar'd the nightly prey.
Rude arts at first; but witty want refin'd
The huntsman's wiles, and famine form'd the mind.

Bold Nimrod first the lion's trophies wore,
The panther bound, and lanc'd the bristling boar;
He taught to turn the hare, to bay the deer,
And wheel the courser in his mad career.
Ah! had he there restrain'd his tyrant hand!
Let me ye pow'rs, a humbler wreath demand;
No pomps I ask, which crowns and sceptres yield;
Nor dangerous laurels in the dusty field:
Fast by the forest, and the limpid spring,
Give me the warfare of the woods to sing,

To breed my whelps, and healthful press the game,
A mean, inglorious, but a guiltless name.

No. 126.]

Wednesday, August 5, 1713.

Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto. 'Ter. Heaut. Act. i. Sc.el.

Now if we carry our thoughts from the corporeal to the moral world, we may observe in the spirits or minds of men, a like principle of attraction, whereby they are drawn together in communities, clubs, families, friendships, and all the various species of society. As in bodies, where the quantity is the same, the attraction is strongest between those which are placed nearest to each other; so it is likewise in the minds of men, cæteris paribus, between those which are most nearly related. Bodies that are placed at the distance of many millions of miles, may nevertheless attract and constantly operate on each other, although this action do not show itself by a union or approach of those distant bodies so long as they are withheld by the contrary forces of other bodies, which, at the same time, attract them different ways; but would, on the supposed removal of all other bodies, mutually approach and unite with each other. The like holds with regard to the human soul, whose affection towards the individuals of the same species, who are distantly related to it, is rendered inconspicuous by its more powerful attraction towards those who have a nearer relation to it. But as those are removed, the tendency which before lay concealed, doth gradually disclose itself.

A man who has no family is more strongly attracted towards his friends and neighbours; and if absent from these, he naturally falls into an acquaintance with those of his own city or country who chance to be in the same place. Two Englishmen meeting at Rome or Constantinople, soon run into a familiarity. And in China or Japan, Europeans would think their being so, a good reason for their uniting in particular converse. Farther, in case we suppose ourselves translated into Jupiter or Saturn, and

I am a man, and have a fellow-feeling of every thing there to meet a Chinese, or other more distant belonging to man.

If we consider the whole scope of the creation that lies within our view, the moral and

native of our own planet, we should look on him as a near relation, and readily commence a friendship with him. These are natural reflections, and such as may convince us that we are

linked by an imperceptible chain to every indi- | vate interest. Another observation I shall draw vidual of the human race.

The several great bodies which compose the solar system are kept from joining together at the common centre of gravity by the rectilinear motions the author of nature has impressed on each of them; which, concurring with the attractive principle, form their respective orbits round the sun; upon the ceasing of which motions, the general law of gravitation that is now thwarted, would show itself by drawing them all into one mass. After the same manner, in the parallel case of society, private passions and motions of the soul do often obstruct the operation of that benevolent uniting instinct implanted in human nature; which notwithstanding doth still exert, and will not fail to show itself when those obstructions are taken away.

The mutual gravitation of bodies cannot be explained any other way than by resolving it into the immediate operation of God, who never ceases to dispose and actuate his creatures in a manner suitable to their respective beings. So neither can that reciprocal attraction in the minds of men be accounted for by any other cause. It is not the result of education, law, or fashion; but is a principle originally ingrafted in the very first formation of the soul by the author of our nature.

And as the attractive power in bodies is the most universal principle which produceth innumerable effects, and is a key to explain the various phænomena of nature; so the corresponding social appetite in human souls is the great spring and source of moral actions. This it is that inclines each individual to an intercourse with his species, and models every one to that behaviour which best suits with the common well-being. Hence that sympathy in our nature, whereby we feel the pains and joys of our fellow-creatures. Hence that prevalent love in parents towards their children, which is neither founded on the merit of the object, nor yet on self-interest. It is this that makes us inquisitive concerning the affairs of distant nations, which can have no influence on our

own.

It is this that extends our care to future generations, and excites us to acts of beneficence towards those who are not yet in being, and consequently from whom we can expect no recompense. In a word, hence arises that diffusive sense of humanity so unaccountable to the selfish man who is untouched with it, and is indeed a sort of monster, or anomalous pro duction.

from the premises is, that it makes a signa. proof of the divinity of the Christian religion, that the main duty which it inculcates above all others is charity. Different maxims and precepts have distinguished the different sects of philosophy and religion; our Lord's peculiar precept is, 'Love thy neighbour as thyself. By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.'

I will not say, that what is a most shining proof of our religion, is not often a reproach to its professors: but this I think very plain, that whether we regard the analogy of nature, as it appears in the mutual attraction or gravitations of the mundane system, in the general frame and constitution of the human soul; or lastly, in the ends and aptnesses which are discoverable in all parts of the visible and intellectual world; we shall not doubt but the precept, which is the characteristic of our religion, came from the author of nature. Some of our modern free-thinkers would indeed insinuate the Christian morals to be defective, because, say they, there is no mention made in the gospel of the virtue of friendship. These sagacious men (if I may be allowed the use of that vulgar saying) cannot see the wood for trees.' That a religion, whereof the main drift is to inspire its professors with the most noble and disinterested spirit of love, charity, and beneficence, to all mankind; or, in other words, with a friendship to every individual man; should be taxed with the want of that very virtue, is surely a glaring evidence of the blindness and prejudice of its adversaries.

AN agreeable young gentleman, that has a talent for poetry, and does me the favour to entertain me with his performances after my more serious studies, read me yesterday the following translation. In this town, where there are so many women of prostituted charms, I am very glad when I gain so much time of reflection from a youth of a gay turn, as is taken up in any composition, though the piece he writes is not foreign to that of his natural inclination. For it is a great step towards gaining upon the passions, that there is a delicacy in the choice of their object; and to turn the imaginations These thoughts do naturally suggest the fol- towards a bride, rather than a mistress, is getlowing particulars. First, that as social incli- ting a great way towards being in the interests nations are absolutely necessary to the well- of virtue. It is a hopeless manner of reclaimbeing of the world, it is the duty and interesting youth, which has been practised by some of each individual to cherish, and improve them to the benefit of mankind; the duty, because it is agreeable to the intention of the author of our being, who aims at the common good of his creatures, and as an indication of his will, hath implanted the seeds of mutual benevolence in our souls; the interest, because the good of the whole is inseparable from that of the parts; in promoting, therefore, the common good, every one doth at the same time promote his own pri

moralists, to declaim against pleasure in general. No; the way is, to show that the pleasurable course is that which is limited and governed by reason. In this case, virtue is upon equal terms with vice, and has, with all the same indulgences of desire, the advantage of safety in honour and reputation. I have, for this reason, often thought of exercising my pupils, of whom I have several of admirable talents, upon writing little poems, or epigrams, which in a volume I

would entitle, The Seeing Cupid. These compositions should be written on the little advances made towards a young lady of the strictest virtue, and all the circumstances alluded to in them, should have something that might please her mind in its purest innocence, as well as celebrate her person in its highest beauty. This work would instruct a woman to be a good wife, all the while it is a wooing her to be a bride. Imagination and reason should go hand in hand in a generous amour; for when it is otherwise, real discontent and aversion in marriage, succeed the groundless and wild promise of imagination in courtship.

The Court of Venus from Claudian, being part
of the Epithalamium on Honorius and Maria.
In the famed Cyprian isle a mountain stands,
That casts a shadow into distant lands.

In vain access by human feet is tried,
Its lofty brow looks down with noble pride

On bounteous Nile, thro' seven wide channels spread;
And sees old Proteus in his oozy bed.

Along its sides no hoary frosts presume

To blast the myrtle shrubs, or nip the bloom,
The winds with caution sweep the rising flowers,
While balmy dews descend, and vernal showers.
The ruling orbs no wintry horrors bring,
Fix'd in th' indulgence of eternal spring.
Unfading sweets in purple scenes appear,
And genial breezes soften all the year.
The nice, luxurious soul, uncloyed may rove,
From pleasures still to circling pleasures move;
For endless beauty kindles endless love.

The mountain, when the summit once you gain,
Falls by degrees, and sinks into a plain;
Where the pleased eye may flowery meads behold,
Inclosed with branching ore, and hedged with gold:
Or where large crops the generous glebe supplies,
And yellow harvests unprovoked arise.

For by mild zephyrs fanned, the teeming soil
Yields every grain, nor asks the peasant's toil.

These were the bribes, the price of heavenly charms;
These Cytherea won to Vulcan's arms:
For such a bliss he such a gift bestowed;
The rich, th' immortal labours of a god.

A sylvan scene, in solemn state displayed,
Flatters each feathered warbler with a shade;
But here no bird its painted wings can move,
Unless elected by the queen of love.
Ere made a member of this tuneful throng,
She hears the songster, and approves the song;
The joyous victors hop from spray to spray;
The vanquished fly with mournful notes away.
Branches in branches twined, compose the grove
And shoot, and spread, and blossom into love.
The trembling palms their mutual vows repeat;
And bending poplars bending poplars meet;
The distant plantains seem to press more nigh;
And to the sighing alder, alders sigh.
Blue heavens above them smile; and all below,
Two murmuring streams in wild meanders flow.
This mixed with gall; and that like honey sweet.
But ah! too soon th' unfriendly waters meet!
Steeped in these springs (if verse belief can gain)
The darts of love their double power attain:
Hence all mankind a bitter sweet have found,
A painful pleasure, and a grateful wound.

Along the grassy banks, in bright array,
Ten thousand little loves their wings display:
Quivers and bows their usual sports proclaim;
Their dress, their stature, and their looks the same;
Smiling in innocence, and ever young,

And tender, as the nymphs from whom they sprung;
For Venus did but boast one only son,
And rosy Cupid was that boasted one;
He, uncontrolled, thro' heaven extends his sway,
And gods and goddesses by turns obey;
Or if he stoops on earth, great princes burn,
Sicken on thrones, and wreathed with laurels mourn.
Th' inferior powers o'er hearts inferior reign,
And pierce the rural fair, or homely swain.
Here love's imperial pomp is spread around,
Voluptuous liberty that knows no bound;

And sudden storms of wrath, which soon decline
And midnight watchings o'er the fumes of wine:
Unartful tears and hectic looks, that show
With silent eloquence the lover's woe;
Boldness infledged, and to stolen raptures new,
Half tren.bling stands, and scarcely dares pursue:
Fears that delight, and anxious doubts of joy,
Which check our swelling hopes, but not destroy,
And short-breathed vows, forgot as soon as made,
On airy pinions flutter through the glade.
Youth with a haughty look, and gay attire,
And rolling eyes that glow with soft desire,
Shines forth exalted on a pompous seat;
While sullen cares and withered age retreat.

Now from afar the palace seems to blaze,
And hither would extend its golden rays;
But by reflection of the grove is seen
The gold still varied by a waving green.
For Mulciber with secret pride beheld
How far his skill all human wit excelled;
And grown uxorious, did the work design
To speak the artist, and the art divine.
Proud columns towering high, support the frame,
That hewn from hyacinthian quarries came.
The beams are emeralds, and yet scarce adorn
The ruby walls on which themselves are born.
The pavement, rich with veins of agate lies;
And steps, with shining jasper slippery, rise.

Here spices in parterres promiscuous blow, Not from Arabia's fields more odours flow, The wanton winds through groves of cassia play And steal the ripened fragrances away; Here with its load the wild amomum bends; There cinnamon, in rival sweets, contends; A rich perfume the ravished senses fills, While from the weeping tree the balm distils. At these delightful bowers arrives at last The god of love, a tedious journey past; Then shapes his way to reach the fronting gate, Doubles his majesty, and walks in state. It chanced, upon a radiant throne reclined, Venus her golden tresses did unbind : Proud to be thus employed, on either hand Th' Idalian sisters, ranged in order stand. Ambrosial essence one bestows in showers, And lavishly whole streams of nectar pours; With ivory combs another's dexterous care Or curls, or opens the dishevelled hair; A third, industrious with a nicer eye, Instructs the ringlets in what form to lie, Yet leaves some few, that, not so closely prest, Sport in the wind, and wanton from the rest: Sweet negligence! by artful study wrought, A graceful error, and a lovely fault, The judgment of the glass is here unknown;` Here mirrors are supplied by every stone. Where'er the goddess turns, her image falls, And a new Venus dances on the walls. Now while she did her spotless form survey, Pleased with Love's empire, and almighty sway, She spied her son, and, fired with eager joy, Sprung forwards, and embraced the fav'rite boy.

It is usually thought, with great justice, a very impertinent thing in a private man to intermeddle in matters which regard the state. But the memorial which is mentioned in the following letter is so daring, and so apparently designed for the most traitorous purpose imaginable, that I do not care what misinterpretation I suffer, when I expose it to the resentment of all men who value their country, or have any regard to the honour, safety, or glory of their queen. It is certain there is not much danger in delaying the demolition of Dunkirk during the life of his present most Christian majesty, who is renowned for the most inviolable regard

to treaties; but that pious prince is aged, and in case of his decease, now the power of France and Spain is in the same family, it is possible an ambitious successor (or his ministry in a king's minority) might dispute his being bound by the act of his predecessor in so weighty a particular.

MR. IRONSIDE,-You employ your important moments, methinks, a little too frivolously, when you consider so often little circumstances of dress and behaviour, and never make mention of matters wherein you and all your fellowsubjects in general are concerned. I give you now an opportunity, not only of manifesting your loyalty to your queen, but your affection to your country, if you treat an insolence done to them both with the disdain it deserves. The inclosed printed paper in French and English has been handed about the town, and given gratis to passengers in the streets at noon-day. You see the title of it is, "A most humble address, or memorial, presented to her majesty the queen of Great Britain, by the deputy of the magis. trates of Dunkirk." The nauseous memorialist, with the most fulsome flattery, tells the queen of her thunder, and of wisdom and clemency adored by all the earth; at the same time that he attempts to undermine her power, and escape her wisdom, by beseeching her to do an act which will give a well-grounded jealousy to her people. What the sycophant desires is, That the mole and dikes of Dunkirk may be spared; and it seems the sieur Tugghe, for so the petitioner is called, was thunderstruck by the denunciation (which he says) "the lord viscount Bolingbroke made to him." That her majesty did not think to make any alteration in the dreadful sentence she had pronounced against the town. Mr. Ironside, I think you would do an act worthy your general humanity, if you would put the sieur Tugghe right in this matter; and let him know, That her majesty has pronounced no sentence against the town, but his most Christian majesty has agreed that the town and harbour shall be demolished.

'That the British nation expect the immediate demolition of it.

That the very common people know, that within three months after the signing of the peace, the works towards the sea, were to be demolished; and, within three months after it, the works towards the land.

That the said peace was signed the last of March, O. S.

That the parliament has been told from the queen, that the equivalent for it is in the hands of the French king.

That the sieur Tugghe has the impudence to ask the queen to remit the most material part of the articles of peace between her majesty and his master.

That the British nation received more damage in their trade from the port of Dunkirk, than from almost all the ports of France, either in the ocean, or in the Mediterranean.

'That fleets of above thirty sail have come together out of Dunkirk, during the late war, and taken ships of war as well as merchantmen.

'That the pretender sailed from thence to Scotland; and that it is the only port the French have until you come to Brest, for the whole length of St. George's channel, where any considerable naval armament can be made.

'That destroying the fortifications of Dunkirk is an inconsiderable advantage to England, in comparison to the advantage of destroying the mole, dikes, and harbour; it being the naval force from thence which only can hurt the British nation.

'That the British nation expect the immediate demolition of Dunkirk.

'That the Dutch, who suffered equally with us from those of Dunkirk, were probably induced to sign the treaty with France from this consideration, That the town and harbour of Dunkirk should be destroyed.

That the situation of Dunkirk is such, as that it may always keep runners to observe all ships sailing on the Thames and Medway.

That all the suggestions which the sieur Tugghe brings concerning the Dutch, are false and scandalous.

'That whether it may be advantageous to the trade of Holland or not, that Dunkirk should be demolished; it is necessary for the safety, honour, and liberty of England, that it should be so.

'That when Dunkirk is demolished, the pow. er of France, on that side, should it ever be turned against us, will be removed several hundred miles further off of Great Britain than it is at present.

'That after the demolition, there can be no considerable preparation made at sea by the French on all the channel, but at Brest; and that Great Britain being an island, which cannot be attacked but by a naval power, we may esteem France effectually removed, by the demolition, from Great Britain, as far as the distance from Dunkirk to Brest.

'Pray, Mr. Ironside, repeat this last particular, and put it in a different letter, That the demolition of Dunkirk will remove France many hundred miles farther off from us; and then repeat again, That the British nation expects the demolition of Dunkirk.

'I demand of you, as you love and honour your queen and country, that you insert this letter, or speak to this purpose, your own way; for in this all parties must agree, that however bound in friendship one nation is with another, it is but prudent that in case of a rupture, they should be, if possible, upon equal terms.

'Be honest, old Nestor, and say all this; for whatever half-witted hot whigs may think, we all value our estates and liberties, and every true man of each party must think himself concerned that Dunkirk should be demolished.

'It lies upon all who have the honour to be in the ministry to hasten this matter, and not let the credulity of an honest, brave people be thus infamously abused in our open streets.

'I cannot go on for indignation; but pray God that our mercy to France may not expose us to the mercy of France. Your humble ser vant,

ENGLISH TORY.

And part with life, only to wound their foe.

ANGER is so uneasy a guest in the heart, that he may be said to be born unhappy who is of a rough and choleric disposition. The moralists have defined it to be a desire of revenge for some injury offered.' Men of hot and heady tempers are eagerly desirous of vengeance, the very moment, they apprehend themselves injured; whereas the cool and sedate watch proper opportunities to return grief for grief to their enemy. By this means it often happens that the choleric inflict disproportioned punishments upon slight, and sometimes imaginary offences but the temperately revengeful have leisure to weigh the merits of the cause, and thereby either to smother their secret resent ments, or to seek proper and adequate reparations for the damages they have sustained. Weak minds are apt to speak well of the man of fury; because, when the storm is over, he is full of sorrow and repentance; but the truth is, he is apt to commit such ravages during his madness, that when he comes to himself, he becomes tame then, for the same reason that he ran wild before, only to give himself ease;' and is a friend only to himself in both extremities. Men of this unhappy make, more frequently than any others, expect that their friends should bear with their infirmities. Their friends should in return desire them to correct their infirmities. The common excuses, that they cannot help it, that it was soon over, that they harbour no malice in their hearts, are arguments for pardoning a bull or a mastiff; but shall never reconcile me to an intellectual savage. Why indeed should any one imagine, that persons independent upon him should venture into his society, who hath not yet so far subdued his boiling blood, but that he is ready to do something the next minute which he can never repair, and hath nothing to plead in his own behalf, but that he is apt to do mischief as fast as he can! Such a man may be feared, he may be pitied; he can never be loved.

I would not hereby be so understood as if I

meant to recommend slow and deliberate malice; I would only observe, that men of moderation are of a more amiable character than the rash and inconsiderate; but if they do not husband the talent that Heaven hath bestowed upon them, they are as much more odious than the choleric, as the devil is more horrible than a brute. It is hard to say which of the two, when injured, is more troublesome to himself, or more hurtful to his enemy; the one is boisterous and gentle by fits, dividing his life between guilt and repentance, now all tempest, again all sun

shine. The other hath a smoother but more lasting anguish, lying under a perpetual gloom; the latter is a cowardly man, the former a generous beast. If he may be held unfortunate who cannot be sure but that he may do some. thing the next minute which he shall lament during his life; what shall we think of him who hath a soul so infected that he can never be

happy until he hath made another miserable! What wars may we imagine perpetually raging in his breast! What dark stratagems, unworthy designs, inhuman wishes, dreadful resolutions! A snake curled in many intricate mazes, ready to sting a traveller, and to hiss him in the pangs of death, is no unfit emblem of such an artful, unsearchable projector. Were I to choose an enemy, whether should I wish for one that would stab me suddenly, or one that would give me an Italian poison, subtle and lingering, yet as certainly fatal as the stroke of a stiletto? Let the reader determine the doubt in his own mind.

There is yet a third sort of revenge, if it may be called a third, which is compounded of the other two: I mean the mistaken honour which hath too often a place in generous breasts. Mer of good education, though naturally choleric, restrain their wrath so far as to seek convenient times for vengeance. The single combat seems so generous a way of ending controversies, that until we have stricter laws, the number of wi dows and orphans, and I wish I could not say of wretched spirits, will be increased. Of all the medals which have been struck in honour of a neighbouring monarch, there is not one which can give him so true renown as that upon the success of his edicts for abolishing the im pious practice of duelling.'

What inclined me at present to write upon this subject, was the sight of the following letters, which I can assure the reader to be genuine. They concern two noble names among us; but the crime of which the gentlemen are guilty bears too prevalently the name of honour, to need an apology to their relations for reviving the mention of their duel. But the dignity of wrath, and the cool and deliberate preparation (by passing different climes, and waiting convenient seasons) for murdering each other, when we consider them as moved by a sense of honour, must raise in the reader as much compassion as horror.

'A Monsieur Monsieur Sackville. "I that am in France hear how much you attribute to yourself in this time, that I have given the world leave to ring your praises

If you call to memory, whereas I gave you my hand last, I told you I reserved the heart for a truer reconciliation. Now be that noble and do him right that could recite the trials you gentleman love once spoke you, and come my dent your honour gives you the same courage owe your birth and country,, were I not confi. to do me right, that it did to do me wrong. Be master of your own weapons and time; the place, wheresoever, I will wait on you. By doing this you shall shorten revenge, and clear the idle opinion the world hath of both our

worths.

'ED. BRUCE.'

'A Mons. Monsieur le Baron de Kinloss. 'As it shall be always far from me to seek a quarrel, so will I always be ready to meet with any that desire to make trial of my valour by so fair a course as you require. A witness

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