or add sorrow unto the heavy of heart? Truly to whom any deviation from the line of succesthis gall proceedeth not from the spirit of meek- sion is always invidious. Yours, &c.' ness. I tell thee moreover, the people of this land be marvellously given to change; insomuch that it may likely come to pass, that before thou art many years nearer to thy dissolution, thou mayest behold him sitting on a high place whom thou now laughest to scorn: and then how wilt thou be glad to humble thyself to the ground, and lick the dust of his feet, that thou mayest find favour in his sight? If thou didst meditate as much upon the word, as thou dost upon the profane scribblings of the wise ones of this generation, thou wouldst have remembered what happened unto Shimei, the son of Gera the Benjamite, who cursed the good man David in his distress. David pardoned his transgression; yet was he afterwards taken as in a snare by the words of his own mouth, and fell by the sword of Solomon the chief ruler. Furthermore, I do not remember to have heard in the days of my youth and vanity, when, like thine, my conversation was with the Gentiles, that the men of Rome, which is Babylon, ever sued unto the men of Carthage, for tranquillity, as thou dost aver. Neither was Hannibal, the son of Hamilcar, called home by his countrymen, until these saw the sword of their enemies at their gates; and then was it not time for him, thinkest thou, to return? It appeareth therefore that thou dost prophesy backwards; thou dost row one way, and look another; and indeed in all things art thou too much a time-server; yet. seemest thou not to consider what a day may bring forth. Think of this, and take tobacco. Thy friend, AMINADAB.' If the zealous writer of the above letter has any meaning, it is of too high a nature to be the subject of my lucubrations. I shall therefore wave such high points, and be as useful as I can to persons of less moment than any he hints at. When a man runs into a little fame in the world, as he meets with a great deal of reproach which he does not deserve, so does he also a great deal of esteem to which he has in himself no pretensions. Were it otherwise, I am sure no one would offer to put a law-case to me: but because I am an adept in physic and astrology, they will needs persuade me that I am no less a proficient in all other sciences. However, the point mentioned in the following letter is so plain a one, that I think I need not trouble myself to cast a figure to be able to discuss it. Sheer-lane, June 24. 'SIR,-You have by the fine a plain right, in which none else of your family can be your competitor; for which reason, by all means demand vassalage upon that title. The contrary ture but to betray you, and favour other preadvice can be given for no other purpose in natenders, by making you place a right which is in you only, upon a level with a right which you have in common with others. I am, Sir, your I. B.' most faithful servant, until death, There is nothing so dangerous or so pleasing, as compliments made to us by our enemies: and my correspondent tells me, that though he knows several of those who give him this counsel were at first against passing the fine in favour of him; yet he is so touched with their homage to him, that he can hardly believe they have a mind to set it aside, in order to introduce the heirsgeneral into his estate. These are great evils; but since there is no proceeding with success in this world, without complying with the arts of it, I shall use the same method as my correspondent's tenants did with him, in relation to one whom I never had a kindness for; but shall, notwithstanding, presume to give my advice. Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire, of Great Britain, to Lewis the Fourteenth of France. 'SIR,-Your majesty will pardon me while I take the liberty to acquaint you, that some pas sages written from your side of the water do very much obstruct your interest. We take it very unkindly, that the prints of Paris are so very partial in favour of one set of men among us, and treat the others as irreconcileable to your interests. Your writers are very large in recounting any thing which relates to the figure and power of one party, but are dumb when they should represent the actions of the other. This is a trifling circumstance which many here are apt to lay some stress upon; and therefore I thought fit to offer it to your consideration before you despatch the next courier. I. B.' No. 191.] Thursday, June 29, 1710. -Propter vitam vivendi perdere causas. Juv. Sat. viii. 84. -Basely they The sacred cause for which they're born, betray, Who give up virtue for a worthless life. R. Wynne. From my own Apartment, June 28. 'MR. BICKERSTAFF, It is some years ago since the entail of the estate of our family was altered, by passing a fine in favour of me, who now am in possession of it, after some others deceased. The heirs-general, who lived beyond sea, were excluded by this settlement, and the whole estate is to pass in a new channel after Or all the evils under the sun, that of making me and my heirs. But several tenants of the lordship persuade me to let them hereafter hold vice commendable is the greatest; for it seems their lands of me according to the old customs to be the basis of society, that applause and con. of the barony, and not oblige them to act by the limitations of the last settlement. This, they say, will make me more popular among my dependants, and the ancient vassals of the estate, tempt should be always given to proper objects. But in this age we behold things, for which we ought to have an abhorrence, not only received without disdain, but even valued as motives of emulation. This is naturally the destruction of simplicity of manners, openness of heart, and generosity of temper. When a person gives immediately kills all thoughts of humanity and himself the liberty to range and run over in his goodness, and gives men a sense of the soft afthoughts the different geniuses of men, which fections and impulses of the mind, which are he meets in the world, one cannot but observe, imprinted in us for our mutual advantage and that most of the indirection and artifice, which succour, as of mere weaknesses and follies. Acis used among men, does not proceed so much cording to the men of cunning, you are to put from a degeneracy in nature, as an affectation off the nature of a man as fast as you can, and of appearing men of consequence by such prac-acquire that of a dæmon; as if it were a more tices. By this means it is, that a cunning man eligible character to be a powerful enemy, than is so far from being ashamed of being esteemed an able friend. But it ought to be a mortificasuch, that he secretly rejoices in it. It has been tion to men affected this way, that there wants a sort of maxim, that the greatest art is to con- but little more than instinct to be considerable ceal art; but I know not how, among some peo- in it; for when a man has arrived at being very ple we meet with, their greatest cunning is bad in his inclination, he has not much more to to appear cunning. There is Polypragmon do but to conceal himself, and he may revenge, makes it the whole business of his life to be cheat, and deceive, without much employment thought a cunning fellow, and thinks it a much for understanding, and go on with great cheergreater character to be terrible than agreeable. fulness with the high applause of being a prodi When it has once entered into a man's head to gious cunning fellow. But indeed, when we arhave an ambition to be thought crafty, all other rive at that pitch of false taste, as not to think evils are necessary consequences. To deceive cunning a contemptible quality, it is, methinks, is the immediate endeavour of him who is proud a very great injustice that pick-pockets are had of the capacity of doing it. It is certain, Poly- in so little veneration; who must be admirably pragmon does all the ill he possibly can, but well turned, not only for the theoretic, but also pretends to much more than he performs. He the practical behaviour of cunning fellows. After is contented in his own thoughts, and hugs hin- all the endeavours of this family of men whom self in his closet, that though he is locked up we call cunning, their whole work falls to pieces, there, and doing nothing, the world does not if others trample down all esteem for such artiknow but that he is doing mischief. To favour fices; and treat it as an unmanly quality, which this suspicion, he gives half looks and shrugs in they forbear to practice only because they abhor his general behaviour, to give you to understand it. When the spider is ranging in the different that you do not know what he means. He is apartments of his web, it is true, that he only also wonderfully adverbial in his expressions, can weave so fine a thread; but it is in the power and breaks off with a 'Perhaps' and a nod of the of the merest drone that has wings, to fly head, upon matters of the most indifferent na- through and destroy it. ture. It is a mighty practice with men of this genius to avoid frequent appearance in public, and to be as mysterious as possible when they Though the taste of wit and pleasure is at do come into company. There is nothing to present but very low in this town, yet there are be done, according to them, in the common way; some that preserve their relish undebauched and let the matter in hand be what it will, it with common impressions, and can distinguish must be carried with an air of importance, and between reality and imposture. A gentleman transacted, if we may so speak, with an osten- was saying here this evening, that he would go tatious secrecy. These are your persons of long to the play to-morrow night, to see heroism as it heads, who would fain make the world believe has been represented by some of our tragedians, their thoughts and ideas are very much superior represented in burlesque. It seems, the play of to their neighbours; and do not value what these Alexander is to be then turned into ridicule for their neighbours think of them, provided they its bombast, and other false ornaments in the do not reckon them fools. These have such a thoughts as well as the language. The bluster romantic touch in business, that they hate to Alexander makes is as much inconsistent with perform any thing like other men. Were it in the character of a hero, as the roughness of Clytheir choice, they had rather bring their pur- tus, an instance of the sincerity of a bold artless poses to bear by over-reaching the persons they soldier, To be plain is not to be rude, but radeal with, than by a plain and simple manner. ther inclines a man to civility and deference; They make difliculties for the honour of sur- not indeed to show it in the gestures of the body, mounting them. Polypragmon is eternally bu- but in the sentiments of the mind. It is, among sied after this manner, with no other prospect, other things, from the impertinent figures unthan that he is in hopes to be thought the most skilful dramatists draw of the characters of men, cunning of all men, and fears the imputation of that youth are bewildered and prejudiced in want of understanding much more than that of their sense of the world, of which they have no the abuse of it. But alas! how contemptible is notions but what they draw from books and such such an ambition, which is the very reverse of representations. Thus, talk to a very young all that is truly laudable, and the very contradic-man, let him be of never so good sense, and he tion to the only means to a just reputation, simplicity of manners! Cunning can in no circumstance imaginable be a quality worthy a man, except in his own defence, and merely to conceal himself from such as are so; and in such cases, it is no longer craft, but wisdom. The monstrous affectation of being thought artful, Will's Coffee-house, June 28 shall smile when you speak of sincerity in a courtier, good sense in a soldier, or honesty in a politician. The reason of this is, that you hardly see one play wherein each of these ways of life is not drawn by hands that know nothing of any one of them; and the truth is so far of the opposite side to what they paint, that it is more impracticable to live in esteem in courts than any where else without sincerity. Good sense is the great requisite in a soldier, and honesty the only thing that can support a politician. This way of thinking made the gentle. man, of whom I was just now speaking, say, he was glad any one had taken upon him to depreciate such unnatural fustian as the tragedy of Alexander. The character of that prince indeed was, that he was unequal, and given to intemperance; but in his sober moments, when he had the precepts of his great instructor warm in his imagination, he was a pattern of generous thoughts and dispositions, in opposition to the strongest desires which are incident to a youth and conqueror. But instead of representing that hero in the glorious character of generosity and chastity, in his treatment of the beauteous family of Darius, he is drawn all along as a monster of lust, or of cruelty; as if the way to raise him to the degree of a hero, were to make his character as little like that of a worthy man as possible. Such rude and indigested draughts of things are the proper objects of ridicule and contempt; and depreciating Alexander, as we have him drawn, is the only way of restoring him to what he was in hiaself. It is well contrived of the players to let this part be followed by a true picture of life, in the comedy called, "The Chances, wherein Don John and Constantia are acted to the utmost perfection. There need not be a greater instance of the force of action than in many incidents of this play, where indifferent passages, and such as conduce only to tacking of the scenes together, are enlivened with such an agreeable gesture and behaviour, as apparently shows what a play might be, though it is not wholly what a play should be. From my own Apartment, June 30. SOME years since I was engaged with a coachfull of friends to take a journey as far as the Land's End. We were very well pleased with one another the first day; every one endeavouring to recommend himself by his good bumour and complaisance to the rest of the company. This good correspondence did not last long; one of our party was soured the very first evening by a plate of butter which had not been melted to his mind, and which spoiled his temper to such a degree, that he continued upon the fret to the end of our journey. A second fell off from his good humour the next morning, for no other reason, that I could imagine, but because I chanced to step into the coach before him, and place myself on the shady side. This, however, was but my own private guess; for he did not A comedy by Beaumont and Fletcher, altered and amended by the Duke of Buckingham. mention a word of it, nor indeed of any thing else, for three days following. The rest of our company held out very near half the way, when, on a sudden, Mr. Sprightly fell asleep; and, instead of endeavouring to divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto done, carried himself with an unconcerned, careless, drowsy behaviour, until we came to our last stage. There were three of us who still held up our heads, and did all we could to make our journey agreeable; but, to my shame be it spoken, about three miles on this side Exeter, I was taken with an unaccountable fit of sullenness, that hung upon me for above threescore miles; whether it were for want of respect, or from an accidental tread upon my foot, or from a foolish maid's calling me The old gentleman,' I cannot tell. In short, there was but one who kept his good humour to the Land's End. ་ There was another coach that went along with us, in which I likewise observed that there were many secret jealousies, heart-burnings and animosities: for when we joined companies at night, I could not but take notice, that the pas sengers neglected their own company, and studied how to make themselves esteemed by us, who were altogether strangers to them; until at length they grew so well acquainted with us, that they liked us as little as they did one another. When I reflect upon this journey, I often fancy it to be a picture of human life, in respect to the several friendships, contracts, and alliances, that are made and dissolved in the several periods of it. The most delightful and most lasting engagements are generally those which pass between man and woman; and yet upon what trifles are they weakened, or entirely broken! Sometimes the parties fly asunder even in the midst of courtship, and sometimes grow cool in the very honey-month. Some separate before the first child, and some after the fifth; others continue good until thirty, others until forty; while some few, whose souls are of a hap pier make, and better fitted to one another, travel on together to the end of their journey in a continual intercourse of kind offices, and mutual endearments. When we therefore choose our companions for life, if we hope to keep both them and ourselves in good humour to the last stage of it, we must be extremely careful in the choice we make, as well as in the conduct on our own part. When the persons to whom we join ourselves can stand an examination, and bear the scruti ny; when they mend upon our acquaintance with them, and discover new beauties, the more we search into their characters; our love will naturally rise in proportion to their perfections. But because there are very few possessed of such accomplishments of body and mind, we ought to look after those qualifications both in ourselves and others, which are indispensably necessary towards this happy union, and which are in the power of every one to acquire, or at least to cultivate and improve. These, in my opinion, are cheerfulness and constancy. A cheerful temper, joined with innocence, will make beauty attractive, knowledge delightful, and wit good-natured. It will lighten sickness, poverty, and affliction; convert ignorance into an amiable simplicity; and render deformity itself agreeable. Constancy is natural to persons of oven tempers and uniform dispositions; and may be acquired by those of the greatest fickleness, violence, and passion, who consider seriously the terms of union upon which they come together, the mutual interest in which they are engaged, with all the motives that ought to incite their tenderness and compassion towards those who have their dependence upon them, and are embarked with them for life in the same state of happiness or misery. Constancy, when it grows in the mind, upon considerations of this nature, becomes a moral virtue, and a kind of good nature, that is not subject to any change of health, age, fortune, or any of those accidents, which are apt to unsettle the best dispositions that are founded rather in constitution than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting, the most inflamed passion may fall away into coldness and indifference, and the most melting tenderness degenerate into hatred and aversion. I shall conclude this paper with a story that is very well known in the north of England. About thirty years ago, a packet-boat that had several passengers on board was cast away upon a rock, and in so great danger of sinking, that all who were in it endeavoured to save themselves as well as they could; though only those who could swim well had a bare possibility of doing it. Among the passengers there were two women of fashion, who, seeing themselves in such a disconsolate condition, begged of their husbands not to leave them. One of them chose rather to die with his wife than to forsake her; the other, though he was moved with the utmost compassion for his wife, told her, that for the good of their children, it was better one of them should live, than both perish.' By a great piece of good luck, next to a miracle, when one of our good men had taken the last and long farewell in order to save himself, and the other held in his arms the person that was dearer to him than life, the ship was preserved. It is with a secret sorrow and vexation of mind that I must tell the sequel of the story, and let my reader know, that this faithful pair who were ready to have died in each other's arms, about three years after their escape, upon some trifling disgust, grew to a coldness at first, and at length fell out to such a degree, that they left one another, and parted for ever. The other couple lived together in an uninterrupted friendship and felicity; and, what was remarkable, the husband, whom the shipwreck had like to have separated from his wife, died a few months after her, not being able to survive the loss of her. I must confess, there is something in the changeableness and inconstancy of human nature, that very often both dejects and terrifies me. Whatever I am at present, I tremble to think what I may be. While I find this principle in me, how can I assure myself that I shall be always true to my God, my friend, or myself? In short, without constancy there is neither love, friendship, nor virtue, in the world. No. 193.] Tuesday, July 4, 1710. Qui didicit patrie quid debeat, et quid amicis; The poet, who with nice discernment knows Will's Coffee-house, July 3. I HAVE of late received many epistles, wherein the writers treat me as a mercenary person, for some little hints concerning matters which, they think, I should not have touched upon but for sordid considerations. It is apparent, that my motive could not be of that kind; for when a man declares himself openly on one side, that party will take no more notice of him, because he is sure; and the set of men whom he declares against, for the same reason, are violent against him. Thus it is folly in a plain-dealer to expect, that either his friends will reward him, or his enemies forgive him. For which reason, I thought it was the shortest way to impartiality, to put myself beyond further hopes or fears, by declaring myself at a time when the dispute is not about persons and parties, but things and causes. To relieve myself from the vexation which naturally attends such reflections, I came hither this evening to give my thoughts quite a new turn, and converse with men of pleasure and wit, rather than those of business and intrigue. I had hardly entered the room when I was accosted by Mr. Thomas Dogget, who desired my favour in relation to the play which was to be acted for his benefit on Thursday. He pleased me in saying it was The Old Bachelor,' in which comedy there is a necessary circumstance observed by the author, which most other poets either overlook or do not understand, that is to say, the distinction of characters. It is very ordinary with writers to indulge a certain modesty of believing all men as witty as themselves, and making all the persons of the play speak the sentiments of the . author, without any manner of respect to the age, fortune, or quality, of him that is on the stage. Ladies talk like rakes, and footmen make similes: but this writer knows men; which makes his plays reasonable entertainments, while the scenes of most others are like the tunes between the acts. They are perhaps agreeable sounds; but they have no ideas affixed to them. Dogget thanked me for my visit to him in the winter; and, after his comic manner, spoke his request with so arch a leer, that I promised the droll I would speak to all my acquaintance to be at his play. Whatever the world may think of the actors, whether it be that their parts have an effect on their lives, or whatever it is, you see a wonderful benevolence among them towards the interests and necessities of each other. Dogget therefore would not let me go, without delivering me a letter from poor old Downs, the prompter, wherein that retainer to the theatre desires my advice and assistance in a matter of concern to him. I have sent him my private opinion | form any thing above dumb show, is capable of for his conduct; but the stage and state affairs acting with a good grace so much as the part being so much canvassed by parties and fac. of Trincalo. However, the master persists in tions, I shall for some time hereafter take leave his design, and is fitting up the old storm; but of subjects which relate to either of them; and I am afraid he will not be able to procure able employ my cares in the consideration of mat- sailors or experienced officers for love or money. ters, which regard that part of mankind who 'Besides all this, when he comes to cast the live without interesting themselves with the parts, there is so great a confusion amongst troubles or pleasures of either. However, for a them for want of proper actors, that for my part, mere notion of the present posture of the stage, I am wholly discouraged. The play with which I shall give you the letter at large, as follows: they design to open is, "The Duke and no Duke;" and they are so put to it, that the mas. July 1, 1710. ter himself is to act the Conjurer, and they have no one for the General but honest George 'J. DOWNS. ready by Michaelmas next; which indeed is but repairing an old one that has already failed. You know, the honest man who kept the office is gone already.' No. 194.] Thursday, July 6, 1710. 'HONOURED SIR,-Finding by divers of your late papers, that you are a friend to the profes-Powell. sion of which I was many years an unworthy Now, sir, they being so much at a loss for member, I the rather make bold to crave your the Dramatis Persona; viz. the persons to advice touching a proposal that has been lately enact, and the whole frame of the house being made me of coming again into business, and designed to be altered, I desire your opinion, the sub-administration of stage affairs. I have, whether you think it advisable for me to unfrom my youth, been bred up behind the curtain, dertake to prompt them? For though I can and been a prompter from the time of the Resto- clash swords when they represent a battle, and ration. I have seen many changes, as well of have yet lungs enough left to huzza their victo scenes as of actors; and have known men with-ries, I question, if I should prompt them right, in my remembrance arrive to the highest digni- whether they would act accordingly. I am tics of the theatre, who made their entrance in your honour's most humble servant, the quality of mutes, joint-stools, flower-pots, and tapestry hangings. It cannot be unknown to the nobility and gentry, that a gentleman of 'P. S. Sir, since I writ this, I am credibly the inns of court, and a deep intriguer, had some informed, that they design a new house in Lintime since worked himself into the sole man-coln's-inn-fields, near the popish chapel, to be agement and direction of the theatre. Nor is it less notorious, that his restless ambition, and subtle machinations, did manifestly tend to the extirpation of the good old British actors, and the introduction of foreign pretenders; such as Harlequins, French dancers, and Roman singers; who, though they impoverished the proprictors, and imposed on the audience, were for some time tolerated, by reason of his dexterous insinuations, which prevailed upon a few deluded women, especially the Vizard Masks,* to believe that the stage was in danger. But his schemes were soon exposed; and the great ones that supported him withdrawing their favour, he made his exit, and remained for a season in obscurity. During this retreat the Machiavilian was not idle; but secretly fomented divisions, and wrought over to his side some of the inferior actors, reserving a trap-door to himself, to which only he had a key. This entrance secured, this cunning person, to complete his company, bethought himself of calling in the most eminent strollers from all parts of the kingdom. I have seen them all ranged together behind the scenes; but they are many of them persons that never trod the stage before, and so very awkward and ungainly, that it is impossible to believe the audience will bear them. He was looking over his catalogue of plays, and indeed picked up a good tolerable set of grave faces for counsellors, to appear in the famous scene of "Venice Preserved," when the danger is over; but they being but mere outsides, and the actors having a great mind to play "The Tempest," there is not a man of them, when he is to per Militat omnis amans. Ovid. Amor. El. ix. ver. 1. From my own Apartment, July 5. I was this morning reading the tenth canto in the fourth book of Spencer, in which sir Scudamore relates the progress of his courtship to Amoret under a very beautiful allegory, which is one of the most natural and unmixed of any in that most excellent author. I shall transprose it, to use Mr. Bayes's term, for the benefit of many English lovers, who have, by frequent letters, desired me to lay down some rules for the conduct of their virtuous amours; and shall only premise, that by the Shield of Love is meant a generous, constant passion for the person beloved. When the fame,' says he,' of this celebrated beauty first flew abroad, I went in pursuit of her to the Temple of Love. This temple,' continues he, 'bore the name of the goddess Venus, and was seated in a most fruitful island, walled by nature against all invaders. There was a single bridge that led into the island, and before it a castle garrisoned by twenty knights. Near the castle was an open plain, and in the midst of it a pillar, on which was hung the Shield of Love; and underneath it, in letters of gold, was this inscription: |