limbs, and the grandeur of his personage, to the greater advantage. At other seasons, all his appointments had a magnificence, as if it were formed by the genius of Trimalchio of old; which showed itself in doing ordinary things with an air of pomp and grandeur. Orlando therefore called for tea by beat of drum; his valet got ready to shave him by a trumpet to horse; and water was brought for his teeth, when the sound was changed to boots and saddle. In all these glorious excesses from the com. mon practice, did the happy Orlando live and reign in an uninterrupted tranquillity, until an unlucky accident brought to his remembrance, that one evening he was married before he courted the nuptials of Villaria. Several fatal memorandums were produced to revive the memory of this accident; and the unhappy lover was for ever banished her presence, to whom he owed the support of his just renown and gallantry. But distress does not debase noble minds; it only changes the scene, and gives them new glory by that alteration. Orlando therefore now raves in a garret, and calls to his neighbour-skies to pity his dolours, and to find redress for an unhappy lover. All high spirits, in any great agitation of mind, are inclined to relieve themselves by poetry: the renowned porter of Oliver had not more volumes around his cell in his college of Bedlam, than Orlando in his present apartment. And though inserting poetry in the midst of prose be thought a licence among correct writers not to be indulged, it is hoped the necessity of doing it, to give a just idea of the hero of whom we treat, will plead for the liberty we shall hereafter take, to print Orlando's soliloquies in verse and prose, after the manner of great wits, and such as those to whom they are nearly allied. Will's Coffee-house, August 5. dogs was to be considered under the notion of ་ He seems to be You Not one, but all mankind's epitome.' You are to know, that this pantomime may be said to be a species of himself: he has no commerce with the rest of mankind, but as they are the objects of imitation; like the Indian fowl, called the Mock-bird, who has no note of his own, but hits every sound in the wood as soon as he hears it; so that Mirrour is at once a copy and an original. Poor Mirrour's fate, as well as talent, is like that of the bird we A good company of us were this day to see; the lark, are delighted with his company; but just now spoke of; the nightingale, the linnet, or rather to hear, an artful person do several feats of activity with his throat and windpipe. the buzzard, the crow, and the owl, are observed The first thing wherewith he presented us, was to be his mortal enemies. Whenever Sophroa ring of bells, which he imitated in a most mi- nius meets Mirrour, he receives him with civiliraculous manner; after that, he gave us all the ty and respect, and well knows a good copy of different notes of a pack of hounds, to our great shuns the street where he expects to meet him; himself can be no injury to him; but Bathillus delight and astonishment. The company expressed their applause with much noise; and for he that knows his every step and look is never was heard such a harmony of men and constrained and affected, must be afraid to be dogs: but a certain plump, merry fellow, from rivalled in his action, and of having it discoveran angle of the room, fell a crowing like a cocked to be unnatural by its being practised by so ingeniously, that he won our hearts from the another as well as himself. other operator in an instant. As soon as I saw him, I recollected I had seen him on the stage, and immediately knew it to be Tom Mirrour,t the comical actor. He immediately addressed himself to me, and told me, he was surprised to see a virtuoso take satisfaction in any representations below that of human life;' and asked me, whether I thought this acting bells and Cromwell's porter is said to have been the original from which Cains Gabriel, father of Colley Cibber, copied one of the lunatic figures on Bedlam gate. † Mr. Richard Estcourt, commonly called Dick Est court, celebrated for his mimic powers, in which he was inimitable. From my own Apartment, August 5. and Letters from Coventry and other places have been sent to me, in answer to what I have said in relation to my antagonist Mr. Powel; advise me with warmn language to keep to subjects more proper for me than such high points. But the writers of these epistles mistake the use and service I proposed to the learned world by such observations: for you are to understand, that the title of this paper gives me a right in taking to myself, and inserting in it, all such parts of any book or letter which are foreign to No. 52.] Tuesday, August 9, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines - nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate'er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our inotley paper seizes for its theme. White's Chocolate-house, August 7. DELAMIRA RESIGNS HER FAN. P. the purpose intended, or professed by the writer: so that, suppose two great divines should argue, and treat each other with warmth and levity unbecoming their subject or character, all that they say unfit for that place is very proper to be inserted here. Therefore, from time to time, in all writings which shall hereafter be published, you shall have from me extracts of all that shall appear not to the purpose; and for the benefit of the gentle reader, I will show what to turn over unread, and what to peruse. For this end LONG had the crowd of the gay and young I have a mathematical sieve preparing, in which stood in suspense, as to their fate, in their pas I will sift every page and paragraph; and all sion to the beauteous Delamira; but all their that falls through I shall make bold with for my hopes are lately vanished, by the declaration own use. The same thing will be as beneficial that she has made of her choice, to take the in speech; for all superfluous expressions in talk happy Archibald for her companion for life. fall to me also: as when a pleader at the bar Upon her making this known, the expense of designs to be extremely impertinent and trou- sweet powder and jessamine are considerably blesome, and cries, Under favour of the court abated; and the mercers and milliners complain -with submission, my lord—I humbly of her want of public spirit, in not concealing offer' and, I think I have well considered longer a secret which was so much the benefit this matter; for I would be very far from tri- of trade. But so it has happened; and no one was fling with your lordship's time, or trespassing in confidence with her in carrying on this treaty, upon your patience-however, thus I will ven- but the matchless Virgulta, whose despair of ture to say and so forth. Or else, when a ever entering the matrimonial state made her, sufficient self-conceited coxcomb is bringing out some nights before Delamira's resolution was something in his own praise, and begins, With-published to the world, address herself to her in out vanity, I must take this upon me to assert.' the following manner: There is also a trick which the fair sex have, 'Delamira! you are now going into that state that will greatly contribute to swell my volumes: as, when a woman. is going to abuse her best friend, Pray,' says she, have you heard what is said of Mrs. Such-a-one? I am heartily sorry to hear any thing of that kind of one I have so great a value for; but they make no scruple of telling it; and it was not spoken of to me as a secret, for now all the town rings of it.' All such flowers in rhetoric, and little refuges for malice, are to be noted, and naturally belong only to Tatlers. By this method, you will immediately find folios contract themselves into octavos, and the labour of a fortnight got over in half a day. St. James's Coffee-house, August 5. Last night arrived a mail from Lisbon, which gives a very pleasing account of the posture of affairs in that part of the world, the enemy having been necessitated wholly to abandon the blockade of Olivenza. These advices say, that sir John Jennings arrived at Lisbon. When that gentleman left Barcelona, his catholic majesty was taking all possible methods for carry ing on an offensive war. It is observed with great satisfaction in the court of Spain, that There is a very good intelligence between the general officers: count Staremberg and Mr. Stanhope acting in all things with such unanimity, that the public affairs receive great advantages from their personal friendship and esteem to each other, and mutual assistance in promoting the service of the common cause. of life wherein the use of your charms is wholly to be applied to the pleasing only one man. That swimming air of your body, that janty bearing of your head over one shoulder, and that inexpressible beauty in your manner of playing your fan, must be lowered into a more confined behaviour; to show that you would rather shun than receive addresses for the future. Therefore, dear Delamira, give me those excellencies you leave off, and acquaint me with your manner of charming: for I take the liberty of our friendship to say, that when I consider my own statue, motion, complexion, wit, or breeding, I cannot think myself any way your inferior; yet do I go through crowds without wounding a man, and all my acquaintance marry round me, while I live a virgin unasked, and I think unregarded.' Delamira heard her with great attention, and with that dexterity which is natural to her, told her, that all she had above the rest of her sex and contemporary beauties was wholly owing to a fan, (that was left her by her mother, and had in possession, and used with skill, should had been long in the family) which, whoever command the hearts of all her beholders; and with extending my conquests or triumphs, I since,' said she smiling, I have no more to do will make you a present of this inestimable rarity.' Virgulta made her expressions of the in her, and desired she would show her what highest gratitude for so uncommon a confidence which rendered it of such general force while was peculiar in the management of that utensil, she was mistress of it.' Delamira replied, 'You see, madam, Cupid is the principal figure This is to give notice, that if any able-bodied painted on it; and the skill in playing this fan Palatine will enter into the bonds of matrimony is in your several motions of it, to let him apwith Betty Pepin, the said Palatine shall be set-pear as little possible; for honourable lovers fly tled in a freehold of forty shillings per annum all endeavours to ensnare them; and your Cupid in the county of Middlesex. must hide his bow and arrow, or he will never be sure of his game. You may observe,' con- | improvement of his fortune, and ready to under tinued she, that in all public assemblies, the sexes seem to separate themselves, and draw up to attack each other with eye-shot: that is the time when the fan, which is all the armour of a woman, is of most use in our defence; for our minds are construed by the waving of that little instrument, and our thoughts appear in composure or agitation, according to the motion of it. You may observe, when Will Peregrine comes into the side-box, miss Gatty flutters her fan as a fly does its wings round a candle; while her elder sister, who is as much in love with him as she is, is as grave as a vestal at his entrance; and the consequence is accordingly. He watches half the play for a glance from her sister, while Gatty is overlooked and neglected. I wish you heartily as much success in the management of it as I have had; If you think fit to go on where I left off, I will give you a short account of the execution I have made with it. 'Cymon, who is the dullest of mortals, and though a wonderful great scholar, does not only pause, but seems to take a nap with his eyes open between every other sentence in his discourse: him have I made a leader in assemblies; and one blow on the 'shoulder as I passed by him, has raised him to a downright impertinent in all conversations. The airy Will Sampler is become as lethargic by this my wand, as Cymon is sprightly. Take it, good girl, and use it without mercy; for the reign of beauty never lasted full three years, but ended in marriage or condemnation to virginity. As you fear, therefore, the one, and hope for the other, I expect an hourly journal of your triumphs; for I have it by certain tradition, that it was given to the first who wore it, by an enchantress, with this remarkable power, that it bestows a husband in half-a-year on her who does not overlook her proper minute; but assigns to a long despair the woman who is well offered, and neglects that proposal. May occasion attend your charms, and your charms slip no occasion! Give me, I say, an account of the progress of your forces at our next meeting; and you shall hear what I think of my new condition. I should meet my future spouse this moment. Farewell. Live in just terror of the dreadful words, She was.' From my own Apartment, August 8. I HAD the honour this evening to visit some ladies, where the subject of the conversation was Modesty; which they commended as a quality quite as becoming in men as in women. I took the liberty to say, it might be as beautiful in our behaviour as in theirs, yet it could not be said, it was as successful in life; for as it was the only recommendation in them, so it was the greatest obstacle to us, both in love and business.' A gentleman present was of my mind, and said, that we must describe the difference between the modesty of women and that of men, or we should be confounded in our reasonings upon it; for this virtue is to be regarded with respect to our different ways of life. The woman's province is, to be careful in her economy, and chaste in her affections; the man's, to be active in the take whatever is consistent with his reputation for that end.' Modesty, therefore, in a woman, has a certain agreeable fear in all she enters upon; and, in men, it is composed of a right judgment of what is proper for them to attempt. From hence it is, that a discreet man is always a modest one. It is to be noted that modesty in a man is never to be allowed as a good quality, but a weakness, if it suppresses his virtue, and hides it from the world, when he has at the same time a mind to exert himself. A French author says, very justly, that modesty is to the other virtues in a man, what shade in a picture is to the parts of the thing represented. It makes all the other beauties conspicuous, which would otherwise be but a wild heap of colours. This shade in our actions must, therefore, be very justly applied; for, if there be too much, it hides our good qualities, instead of showing them to advantage. Nestor in Athens was an unhappy instance of this truth; for he was not only in his profession the greatest man of that age, but had given more proofs of it than any other man ever did; yet, for want of that natural freedom and audacity which is necessary in commerce with men, his personal modesty overthrew all his public actions. Nestor was in those days a skil ful architect, and in a manner the inventor of the use of mechanic powers; which he brought to so great perfection, that he knew to an atom what foundation would bear such a superstructure; and they record of him, that he was so prodigiously exact, that, for the experiment's sake, he built an edifice of great beauty, and seeming strength; but contrived so as to bear only its own weight, and not to admit the addition of the least particle. This building was beheld with much admiration by all the virtuosi of that time; but fell down with no other pressure, but the settling of a Wren upon the top of it. Yet Nestor's modesty was such, that his art and skill were soon disregarded, for want of that manner with which men of the world support and assert the merit of their own performances. Soon after this instance of his art, Athens was, by the treachery of its enemies, burned to the ground. This gave Nestor the greatest occasion that ever builder had to render his name immortal, and his person venerable: for all the new city rose according to his disposition, and all the monuments of the glories and distresses of that people were erected by that sole artist: nay, all their temples as well as houses, were the effects of his study and labour; insomuch, that it was said by an old sage, 'Sure Nestor will now be famous, for the habitations of gods, as well as men, are built by his contrivance.' But this bashful quality still put a damp upon his great knowledge, which has as fatal an effect upon men's reputations as poverty; for as it was said, 'the poor man saved the city, and the poor man's labour was forgot;' so here we find, the * Sir Christopher Wren, the real person here alluded to, very properly under the name of Nestor, both in respect of his great wisdom and his great age, was born at East Knoyle in Wiltshire, Oct. 5, 1632, and died at Hamp. ton Court, Feb. 25, 1723, in his ninety-first year. modest man built the city, and the modest man's | modest man is in doubt in all his actions: a skill was unknown.' Thus we see, every man is the maker of his own fortune; and what is very odd to consider, he must in some measure be the trumpeter of his own fame; not that men are to be tolerated who directly praise themselves; but they are to be endued with a sort of defensive eloquence, by which they shall be always capable of expressing the rules and arts whereby they govern themselves. Varillus was the man, of all I have read of, the happiest in the true possession of this quality of modesty. My author says of him, modesty in Varillus is really a virtue, for it is a voluntary quality, and the effect of good sense. He is naturally bold and enterprising; but so justly discreet, that he never acts or speaks any thing, but those who behold him know he has forbore much more than he has performed or uttered, out of deference to the persons before whom he is. This makes Varillus truly amiable, and all his attempts successful; for, as bad as the world is thought to be by those who are perhaps unskilled in it, want of success in our actions is generally owing to want of judgment in what we ought to attempt, or a rustic modesty, which will not give us leave to undertake what we ought. But how unfortunate this diffident temper is to those who are possessed with it, may be best seen in the success of such as are wholly unacquainted with it. We have one peculiar elegance in our language above all others, which is conspicuous in the term Fellow.' This word, added to any of our adjectives, extremely varies, or quite alters, the sense of that with which it is joined. Thus, though a modest man' is the most unfortunate of all men, yet a modest fellow' is as superlatively happy. A modest fellow' is a ready creature, who, with great humility, and as great forwardness, visits his patrons at all hours, and meets them in all places, and has so moderate an opinion of himself, that he makes his court at large. If you will not give him a great employment, he will be glad of a little one. He has so great a deference for his benefactor's judgment, that as he thinks himself fit for any thing he can get, so he is above nothing which is offered. He is like the young bachelor of arts, who came to town recommended to a chaplain's place; but none being vacant, modestly accepted that of a postilion. We have very many conspicuous persons of this undertaking yet modest turn; I have a grandson who is very happy in this quality: I sent him in the time of the last peace into France. As soon as he landed at Calais, he sent me an exact account of the nature of the people, and the policies of the king of France. I got him since chosen a member of a corporation; the modest creature, as soon as he came into the common-council, told a senior burgess, he was perfectly out of the orders of their house. In other circumstances, he is so thoroughly 'modest a fellow,' that he seems to pretend only to things he understands. He is a citizen only at court, and in the city a courtier. In a word, to speak the characteristical difference between a modest man' and 'a modest fellow; the modest fellow never has a doubt from his cradle to his grave. THE fate and character of the inconstant Osmyn is a just excuse for the little notice taken by his widow of his daparture out of this life, which was equally troublesome to Elmira, his faithful spouse and to himself. That life passed between them after this manner, is the reason the town has just now received a lady with all that gayety, after having been a relict but three months, which other women hardly assume under fifteen, after such a disaster. Elmira is the daughter of a rich and worthy citizen, who gave her to Osmyn with a portion which might have obtained her an alliance with our noblest houses, and fixed her in the eye of the world, where her story had not been now to be related: for her good qualities had made her the object of universal esteem among the polite part of mankind, from whom she has been banished and immured until the death of her jailor. It is now full fifteen years since that beauteous lady was given into the hands of the happy Osmyn, who, in the sense of all the world, received at that time a present more valuable than the possession of both the Indies. She was then in her early bloom, with an understanding and discretion very little inferior to the most experienced matrons. She was not beholden to the charms of her sex, that her company was preferable to any Osmyn could meet with abroad; for, were all she said considered without regard to her being a woman, it might stand the examination of the severest judges. She had all the beauty of her own sex, with all the conversation-accomplishments of ours. But Osmyn very soon grew surfeited with the charms of her person by possession, and of her mind by want of taste; for he was one of that loose sort of men, who have but one reason for setting any value upon the fair sex; who consider even brides but as new women, and consequently neglect them when they cease to be such. All the merit of Elmira could not prevent her becoming a mere wife within few months after her nuptials; and Osmyn had so little relish for her conversation, that he complained of the advantages of it. My spouse,' said he to one of his companions, is so very discreet, so good, so virtuous, and I know not what, that I think her person is rather the object of esteem than of love; and there is such a thing as a merit which causes rather distance than passion.' But there being no medium in the state of matrimony, their life began to take the usual gradations to become the most irksome of all beings. They grew in the first place very in a court, and I have not been wholly unacquainted with that sort of life. In courts, you see good-will is spoken with great warmth, ill-will covered with great civility. Men are complaisant; and having at heart a certain knowledge that they were indifferent to each other, apologies were made for every little circumstance which they thought betrayed their mutual coldness. This lasted but few months,long in civilities to those they hate, and short when they showed a difference of opinion in every trifle; and, as a sign of certain decay of affection, the word 'perhaps,' was introduced in all their discourse. I have a mind to go to the park,' says she; 'but perhaps, my dear, you will want the coach on some other occasion.' He would very willingly carry her to the play; but perhaps she had rather go to lady Centaur's and play at Ombre.' They were both persons of good discerning, and soon found that they mortally hated each other by their manner of hiding it. Certain it is, that there are some genios which are not capable of pure affection, and a man is born with talents for it as much as for poetry or any other sience. Osmyn began too late to find the imperfection of his own heart, and used all the methods in the world to correct it, and argue himself into return of desire and passion for his wife, by the contemplation of her excellent qualities, his great obligations to her, and the high value he saw all the world except himself did put upon her. But such is man's unhappy condition, that though the weakness of the heart has a prevailing power over the strength of the head, yet the strength of the head has but small force against the weakness of the heart. Osmyn, therefore, struggled in vain to revive departed desire; and for that reason resolved to retire to one of his estates in the country, and pass away his hours of wedlock in the noble diversions of the field; and in the fury of a disappointed lover, made an oath to leave neither stag, fox, or hare living, during the days of his wife. Besides that country-sports would be an amusement, he hoped also that his spouse would be half killed by the very sense of seeing this town no more, and would think her life ended as soon as she left it. He communicated his design to Elmira, who received it, as now she did all things, like a person too unhappy to be relieved or afflicted by the circumstance of place. This unexpected resignation made Osmyn resolve to be as oblig. ing to her as possible; and if he could not prevail upon himself to be kind, he took a resolution at least to act sincerely, and communicate frankly to her the weakness of his temper, to excuse the indifference of his behaviour. He disposed his household in the way to Rutland, so as he and his lady travelled only in the coach for the convenience of discourse. They had not gone many miles out of town, when Osmyn spoke to this purpose: My dear, I believe I look quite as silly now I am going to tell you I do not love you, as when I first told you I did. We are now going into the country together, with only one hope for making this life agreeable, survivorship: desire is not in our power; mine is all gone for you. What shall we do to carry it with decency to the world, and hate one another with discretion?' The lady answered, without the least observation on the extravagance of his speech: My dear, you have lived most of your days in expressions of kindness to those they love. Therefore, my dear, let us be well-bred still; and it is no matter, as to all who see us, whether we love or hate: and to let you see how much you are beholden to me for my conduct, I have both hated and despised you, my dear, this half-year; and yet neither in language or behaviour has it been visible but that I loved you tenderly. Therefore, as I know you go out of town to divert life in pursuit of beasts, and conversation with men just above them; so, my life, from this moment, I shall read all the learned cooks who have ever writ; study broths, plasters, and conserves, until, from a fine lady, I become a notable woman. We must take our minds a note or two lower, or we shall be tortured by jealousy or anger. Thus, I am resolved to kill all keen passions, by employing my mind on little subjects, and lessening the easiness of my spirit; while you, my dear, with much ale, exerise, and ill company, are so good as to endeavour to be as contemptible as it is necessary for my quiet I should think you.' At Rutland they arrived, and lived with great but secret impatience for many successive years, until Osmyn thought of a happy expedi ent to give their affairs a new turn. One day he took Elmira aside, and spoke as follows: 'My dear, you see here the air is so temperate and serene; the rivulets, the groves, and soil, so extremely kind to nature, that we are stronger and firmer in our health since we left the town; so that there is no hope of a release in this place; but, if you will be so kind as to go with me to my estate in the hundreds of Essex, it is possible some kind damp may one day or other relieve us. If you will condescend to accept of this offer, I will add that whole estate to your jointure in this country.' Elmira, who was all goodness, accepted the offer, removed accordingly, and has left her spouse in that place to rest with his fathers. This is the real figure in which Elmira ought to be beheld in this town; and not thought guilty of an indecorum, in not professing the sense, or bearing the habit of sorrow, for one who robbed her of all the endearments of life, and gave her only common civility, instead of complacency of manners, dignity of passion, and that constant assemblage of soft desires and affections which all feel who love, but none can express. Will's Coffee-house, August 10. |