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‘the Guardian's fine gentlemen.” If my recommendations appear just, I will not doubt but some of the present fine gentlemen will see the necessity of retirement, till they can come abroad with approbation. I have indeed already given out orders in this behalf, and have directed searchers to attend at the inns where the Oxford and Cambridge coaches stand, and commanded them to bring any young fellow, of any hopes in the world, directly to my lodgings as soon as he lands, for I will take him though I know I can only make him much of a gentleman : for, when I have gone thus far, one would think it should be easy to make him a ‘gentleman-like man.” As the world now goes, we have no adequate idea of what is meant by “gentlemanly,’ ‘gentleman-like, or, much of a gentleman ;' you cannot be cheated at play, but it is certainly done by “a very gentleman-like man; you cannot be deceived in your affairs, but it was done in some ‘gentlemanly manner; you cannot be wronged in your bed, but all the world will say of him that did the injury, it must be allowed “he is very much of a gentleman.” Here is a very pleasant fellow a correspondent of mine, that puts in for that appellation even to highway. men. I must confess the gentleman he personates is very apparently such, though H did not look upon that sort of fellow in that light, till he favoured me with his letter, which is as follows:

‘MR. Irowside,--I have been upon the highway these six years, in the Park, at the Play, at Bath, Tunbridge, Epsom, and at every other place where I could have any prospect of steal. ing a fortune; but have met with no success, being disappointed either by some of your damned Ironside race, or by old cursed curs, who put more bolts on their doors and bars in their windows than are in Newgate. All that see me own I an ‘a gentleman-like man;' and, whatever rascally things the grave folks say I am guilty of they themselves acknowledge I am a ‘gentlemanly kind of man, and in every respect accomplished for running away with a lady. I have been bred up to no business, am illiterate, have spent the small fortune I had in purchasing favours from the fair sex. The bounty of their purses I have received, as well as the endearinents of their persons, but I have gratefully disposed of it among themselves, for I always was a keeper when I was kept. I am fearless in my behaviour, and never fail of putting your bookish sort of fellows, your men of merit, forsooth, out of countenance. I triumph when I see a modest young woman blush at an assembly, or a virgin betrayed into tears at a well-wrought sceno in a tragedy. I have long forgot shane, for it proceeds from a consciousness of some defect; and I am, as I told you, “a gentlemanly man.' I never knew any but

you musty philosophers applaud blushes, and

you yourselves will allow that they are caused either by some real imperoection, or the apprehension of defect where there is not any : but for my part I hate mistakes, and sholl not sus. oct myself wrongfully. Such as I am, if you opprove of my person, estate, and character, I

esire you would admit me as a suitor to one of the Lizards, and beg your speedy answer to this;

for it is the last time my black coat will bear

scouring, or my long wig buckling. I am, sir,

the fair ladies', and your humble servant, * WILL BAR.EFACE.”

Those on the highway, who make a stand with a pistol at your breast (compelled perhaps by necessity, misfortune, or driven out of an honest way of life, to answer the wants of a craving family,) are much more excusable than those of their fraternity, who join the conversations of gentlemen, and get into a share of their fortunes without one good art about them. What a crowd of these gentleman-like inen are about this town! For, from an unjust modesty, and incapacity for common life, the ordinary failings of men of letters and industry in our nation, it happens that impudence suppresses all virtue, and assumes the reward and esteem which are due to it. Hence it is that worthless rogues have the smiles of the fair, and the favours of the great: to be well dressed and in health, and very impudent, in this licentious undistinguishing age, is enough to constitute a person very in nch of a gentlesnan;' and to this pass are we corne, by the prostitution of w it in the cause of vice, which has made the most unreasonable and unnatural things prevail against all the suggestions of common sense. Nobody denies that we live in a Christian country, and yet he who should decline, upon respective opportunities, to commit adultery or murder, would be thought ‘very little of a gentleman.'

No. 39.] Saturday, April 25, 1713.

— AEgri somnia. Hor. Ars Poet. ver. 7.

A sick man's dreams.


My correspondent who has acquired the faculty of entering into other men's thoughts, having, in pursuance to a former letter, sent me an account of certain useful discoveries he has made by the help of that invention, I shall communicate the same to the public in this paper. .

“Mr. Ironside,-On the eleventh day of October, in the year 1712, having left my body locked up safe in my study, I res aired to the Grecian coffee-house, where, entering into the pineal gland of a certain eminent free-thinker, I made directly to the highest part of it, which is the seat of the understanding, expecting to find there a comprehensive knowledge of all things, human and divine; but to my no small astonio h.ment, I found the place narrower than ordinary, insomuch that there was not any room for a miracle, prophecy, or separate spirit.

‘This obliged me to descend a story lower, into the inacination, which I found larger, indeed, but cold and comfortless. I discovered

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a sort of mist, through which methought I saw a great castle with a fortification cast round it, and a tower adjoining to it, that through the windows appeared to be filled with racks and halters. Beneath the castle I could discorn vast dungeons, and all about it lay scattered the bones of men. It seemed to be garrisoned by certain men in black, of a gigantic size, and most terrible forms. But as I drew near, the terror of the appearance vanished; and the castle I found to be only a church, whose steeple with its clock and bell-ropes was mistaken for a tower filled with racks and halters. The ter. rible giants in black shrunk into a few innocent clergymen. The dungeons were turned into vaults designed only for the habitation of the dead; and the fortifications proved to be a church-yard, with some scattered bones in it, and a plain stone wall round it. ‘I had not been long here before my curiosity was raised by a loud noise that I heard in the inferior region. Descending thither I found a mob of the passions assembled in a riotous manner. Their tumultuary proceedings soon convinced me, that they affected a democracy. After much noise and wrangle, they at length all hearkened to Vanity, who proposed the raising of a great army of motions, which she offered to lead against those dreadful phantoms in the imagination that had occasioned all this uproar. “Away posted Vanity, and I after her, to the storehouse of Ideas; where I beheld a great number of lifeless notions confusedly to together, but upon the approach of Vanity they began to crawl. Here were to be seen, among

other odd things, sleeping deities, corporeal spirits, and worlds formed by chance; with an endless variety of heathen notions, the most irregular and grotesque imaginable; and with these were jumbled several of Christian extrac. tion; but such was the dress and light they were put in, and their features were so distorted, that they looked little better than heathens. There was likewise assembled no small number of phantoms in strange habits, who proved to be idolatrous priests of different nations, Va. nity gave the word, and straightway the Talopoins, Faquirs, Bramins, and Bonzes, drew up in a body. The right wing consisted of ancient heathen motions, and the left, of Christians naturalized. All these together, for numbers, composed a very formidable army; but the precipitation of Vanity was so great, and such was their own inbred aversion to the tyranny of rules and discipline, that they seemed rather a confused rabble than a regular army. I could, nevertheless, observe, that they all agreed in a squinting look, or cast of their eye towards a certain person in a mask, who was placed in the centre, and whom, by sure signs and tokens, I discovered to be Atheism. “Vanity had no sooner led her forces into the imagination, but she resolved upon storming the castle, and giving no quarter. They began the assault with a loud outcry and great confusion. I, for my part, made the best of my way, and re-entered my own lodging. Some time after, inquiring at a bookseller's for a Discourse

on Free-thinking, which had made some noise, H

I met with the representatives of all those notions drawn up in the same confused order upon paper. Sage Nestor, I am your most obedient humble servant,


‘N. B. I went round the table, but could not find a wit, or mathematician among them.

I imagine the account here given may be useful in directing to the proper cure of a freethinker. In the first place, it is plain his understanding wants to be opened and enlarged, and he should be taught the way to order and methodise his ideas; to which end the study of the mathematics may be useful. I am farther of opinion, that as his imagination is filled with amusements arising from prejudice, and the obscure or false lights in which he sees things, it will be necessary to bring him into good company, and now and then carry him to church ; by which means he may in time come to a right sense of religion, and wear of the ill impressions he has received. Lastly, I advise whoever undertakes the reformation of a modern free-thinker, that above all things he be careful to subdue his vanity; that being the principal motive which prompts a little genius to distinguish itself by singularities that are hurtful to mankind.

Or, if the passion of vanity, as it is for the most part very strong in your free-thinkers, cannot be subdued, let it be won over to the interest of religion, by giving them to understand that the greatest genii of the age have a respect for things sacred; that their rhapsodies find no admirers, and that the name Free-thinker has, like Tyrant of old, degenerated from its original signification, and is now supposed to denote something contrary to wit and reason. In fine, let them know that whatever temptations a few men of parts might formerly have had, from the novelty of the thing, to oppose the received opinions of Christians, yet that now the humour is worn out, and blasphemy and irreligion are distinctions which have long since descended down to lackeys and drawers.

But it must be my business to prevent all pretenders in this kind from hurting the ignorant and unwary. In order to this, I communicated an intelligence which I received of a gentleman's appearing very sorry that he was not well during a late fit of sickness, contrary to his own doctrine, which obliged him to be merry upon that occasion, except he was sure of recovering. Upon this advice to the world, the following advertisement got a place in the Post-boy:

‘Whereas, in the paper called the Guardian of Saturday, the eleventh of April, instant, a corollary reflection was made on Monsieur D——, a member of the royal academy of *conces in Paris, author of a book lately published, entitled,

“A Philological Essay, or Reflections on the death of Free-thinkers, with the characters of the most eminent persons of both sexes, ancient and Inodern, that died pleasantly and unconcerned, &c. Sold by J. Baker in Paternoster-row: Suggesting, as if that gentleman, now in Lon. don, “was very much out of humour, in a late fit of sickness, till he was in a fair way of recovery " This is to assure the public, that the said gentleman never expressed the least concern at the approach of death, but expected the fatal minute with a most heroical and philosophical resignation; of which a copy of verses he writ, in the serene intervals of his distemper, is an invincible proof.”

All that I contend for, is, that this gentleman was out of humour when he was sick; and the advertiser, to confute me, says, that “in the serene intervals of his distemper,' that is, when he was not sick, he writ verses. I shall not retract my advertisement till I see those verses, and I will choose what to believe then, except they are underwritten by his nurse, nor then neither except she is a housekeeper. I must tie this gentleman close to the argument; for if he had not actually his fit upon him, there is nothing courageous in the thing, nor does it make for his purpose, nor are they heroic verses.

The point of being merry at the hour of death is a matter that ought to be settled by divines; but the publisher of the Philological Essay produces his chief authorities from Lucretius, the earl of Rochester, and Mr. John Dryden, who were gentlemen that did not think themselves obliged to prove all they said, or else proved their assertions by saying or swearing they were all fools that believed to the contrary. If it be absolutely necessary that a man should be facetious at his death, it would be very well if these gentlemen, Monsieur D and Mr. B would repent betimes, and not trust to a death-bed ingenuity; by what has appeared hitherto they have only raised our longing to see their posthumous works.

The author of Poeta Rusticantis literatum

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Their sheep and goats together graz'd the plains— Since when 'tis Corydon among the swains, Young Corydon without a rival reigns. Dryden. I DESIGNEd to have troubled the reader with no farther discourses of pastorals; but being informed that I am taxed of partiality in not mentioning an author, whose eclogues are published in the same volume with Mr. Philips's, I shall employ this paper in observations upon him, written in the free spirit of criticism, and without apprehension of offending the gentleMan, whose character it is, that he takes the greatest care of his works before they are published, and has the least concern for them afterwards. I have laid it down as the first rule of pastoral, that its idea should be taken from the manners of the golden age, and the moral formed upon the representation of innocence; it is there

fore plain that any deviations from that design degrade a poem from being true pastoral. In this view it will appear that Virgil can only have two of his eclogues allowed to be such. His first and ninth must be rejected, because they describe the ravages of armies, and oppressions of the innocent; Corydon's criminal passion for Alexis throws out the second ; the calunny and railing in the third are not proper to that state of concord; the eighth represents unlawful ways of procuring love by enchantments, and introduces a shepherd whom an inviting precipice tempts to self-murder. As to the fourth, sixth, and tenth, they are given up by Heinsius, Salmasius, Rapin, and the critics in general.” They likewise observe that but eleven of all the Idyllia of Theocritus are to be admitted as pastorals; and even out of that number the greater part will be excluded, for one or other of the reasons above-mentioned. So that when I remarked in a former paper, that Virgil's eclogues, taken altogether, are rather select poems than pastorals, I might have said the same thing, with no less truth, of Theocritus. The reason of this I take to be yet unobserved by the critics, viz. “They never meant them all for pastorals;” which it is plain Philips hath done, and in that particular excelled both Theocritus and Virgil. As simplicity is the distinguishing characteristic of pastoral, Virgil has been thought guilty of too courtly a style: his language is perfectly pure, and he often forgets he is among peasants. I have frequently wondered that since he was so conversant in the writings of Ennius, he had not imitated the rusticity of the Doric, as well, by the help of the old obsolete Roman language, as Philips hath by the antiquated English. For example, might he not have said “quoi" instead of ‘cui;’ ‘quoijum' for ‘cujum;’ colt' for ‘cult,” &c. as well as our modern hath ‘trelladay' for alas,” “whilome’ for ‘of old,” “make mock’ for * deride,' and witless younglings' for ‘simple lambs,’ &c. by which means he had attained as much of the air of Theocritus, as Philips hath of Spenser ? Mr. Pope hath fallen into the same error with Virgil. His clowns do not converse in all the simplicity proper to the country. His names are borrowed from Theocritus and Virgil, which are improper to the scene of his pastorals. He introduces Daphnis, Alexis, and Thyrsis on British plains, as Virgil had done before him on the Mantuan : whereas Philips, who hath the strictest regard to propriety, makes choice of names peculiar to the country, and more agreeable to a reader of delicacy; such as Hobbinol, Lobbin, Cuddy, and Colin Clout. So easy as pastoral writing may seem (in the simplicity we have described it), yet it requires great reading, both of the ancients and moderns, to be a master of it. Philips hath given us manifest proofs of his knowledge of books; it must be confessed his competitor hath imitated some single thoughts of the ancients well enough, if we consider he had not the happiness of a university education; but he hath dispersed them here and there, without that order and method which Mr. Philips observes, whose whole third

* See Rapin de Carm. Past, pars 3.

pastoral is an instance how well he hath studied the fifth of Virgil, and how judiciously reduced Virgil's thoughts to the standard of pastoral; as his contention of Colin Clout and the Nightingale, shows with what exactness he hath imitated Strada.

When I remarked it as a principal fault to introduce fruits and flowers of a foreign growth, in descriptions where the scene lies in our country, I did not design that observation should extend also to animals, or the sensitive life; for Philips hath with great judgment described wolves in England, in his first pastoral. Nor would I have a poet slavishly confine himself (as Mr. Pope hath done) to one particular season of the year, one certain time of the day, and one unbroken scene in each eclogue. It is plain Spenser neglected this pedantry, who, in his pastoral of November, mentions the mournful song of the nightingale.

‘Sad Philomel her song in tears doth steep."

And Mr. Philips, by a poetical creation, hath raised up finer beds of flowers than the most industrious gardener; his roses, lilies, and daffodils, blow in the same season. But the better to discover the merits of our two contemporary pastoral writers, I shall endeavour to draw a parallel of them, by setting several of their particular thoughts in the same light, whereby it will be obvious how much Philips hath the advantage. With what simplicity he introduces two shepherds singing alternately: Hobb. Come, Rosalind, O come, for without thee What pleasure can the country have for me. Coine, Rosalind, O come: My brinded kine, My snowy sheep, my farm, and all, is thine. Come, Rosalind, O corne; here shady bowers, Here are cool fountains, and here springing Come, Rosalind; here ever let us stay, flow'rs. And sweetly waste our live-long time away. Our other pastoral writer, in expressing the same thought, deviates into downright poetry. Streph. In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove, But Delia always; forc'd from Delia's sight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight. Daph. Sylvia 's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; Ev’n spring displeases when she shines not here: But, blest with her, 'tis spring throughout the year. In the first of these authors, two shepherds thus innocently describe the behaviour of their mistresses.


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As Marian bath'd, by chance I passed by:
She blush'd, and at me cast a side-long eye :
Then swift beneath the crystal wave she try’d
Her beauteous form, but all in vain to hide.
As I to cool me bath'd one sultry day,
Fond Lydia lurking in the sedges lay :
The wanton laugh'd, and seem'd in haste to fly;
Yet often stopp'd, and often turn'd her eye.


The other modern (who it must be confessed hath a knack of versifying) hath it as follows:

Streph. Me gentle Delia heckons from the plain,
Then, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain;
But feigns a latzh, to see the search around,
And by that laugh the willing fair is found.

Daph. The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green ;
She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen ;
While a kind glance at her pursuer flies,
How much at variance are her feet and eyes!

There is nothing the writers of this kind of po

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If the reader would indulge his curiosity any farther in the comparison of particulars, he may read the first pastoral of Philips with the second of his contemporary, and the fourth and sixth of the former with the fourth and first of the latter; where several parallel places will occur to every one.

Having now shown some parts, in which these two writers may be compared, it is a justice I owe to Mr. Philips, to discover those in which no man can compare with him. First that beautiful rusticity, of which I shall only produce two instances, out of a hundred not yet quoted:

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That simplicity of diction, the melancholy flowing of the numbers, the solemnity of the sound, and the easy turn of the words, in this dirge (to make use of our author's expression) are extremely elegant. In another of his pastorals a shepherd utters a dirge not much inferior to the former, in the following lines: Ah me the while ! ah me, the luckless day ! All luckless lad, the rather might I say: Ah -illy I more silly than my sheep, Which on the flow'ry plains I once did keep. How he still charms the ear with these artful repetitions of the epithets; and how significant is the last verse : I defy the most common reader to repeat them without feeling some motions of compassion. In the next place I shall rank his proverbs, in which I formerly observed he excels. For example, A rolling stone is ever bare of moss; And, to their cost, green years old proverbs cross. He that late lies down, as late will rise, And, sluggard like, till noon-day snoring lies, Against ill luck all curining foresight fails; Whether we sleep or wake it natught avails. Nor fear, from upright sentence, wrong.

Lastly, his elegant dialect, which alone might prove him the eldest-born of Spenser, and our only true Arcadian ; I should think it proper for the several writers of pastoral, to confine themselves to their several counties: Spenser seems to have been of this opinion; for he hath laid the scene of one of his pastorals in Wales,

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But the most beautiful example of this kind that I ever met with, is a very valuable piece which I chanced to find among some old manuscripts, entitled, A Pastoral Ballad; which I think, for its nature and simplicity, may (notwithstanding the modesty of the title) be allowed a perfect pastoral. It is composed in the Somersetshire dialect, and the names such as are proper to the country people. It may be observed, as a farther beauty of this pastoral, the words Nymph, Dryad, Naiad, Faun, Cupid, or Satyr, are not once mentioned through the whole. I shall make no apology for inserting some few lines of this excellent piece. Cicily breaks thus into the subject, as she is going a milking:

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I am loth to show my fondness for antiquity so far as to prefer this ancient British author to our present English writers of pastoral; but I cannot avoid making this obvious remark, that both Spenser and Philips have hit into the same road with this old west country bard of ours.

After all that hath been said I hope none can think it any injustice to Mr. Pope, that I forbore to mention him as a pastoral writer; since upon the whole he is of the same class with Moschus and Bion, whom we have excluded that rank; and of whose eclogues, as well as some of Virgil's, it may be said, that according to the description we have given of this sort of poetry, they are by no means pastorals, but ‘something better.”

No. 41.] Tuesday, April 28, 1713.

Een churches are no snnctuaries now.
Epilogue to Cato.

The following letter has so much truth and reason in it, that I believe every man of sense and honour in England, will have a just indignation against the person who could commit so great a violence, as that of which my correspondent complains.

“To the Author of the Guardian.

‘Sir, I claim a place in your paper for what I now write to you, from the declaration which you made at your first appearance, and the very title you assume to yourself. • If the circumstance which I am going to mention is overlooked by one who calls himself Guardian, I am sure honour and integrity, innocence and virtue, are not the objects of his care.—The Examiner ends his discourse of Friday, the twenty-fourth instant, with these words: “No sooner was D–" among the whigs, and confirmed past retrieving, but lady Char–tet is taken knotting in St. James's chapel during divine service, in the immediate presence both of God and her majesty, who were affronted together, that the family might appear to be entirely come over. I spare the beauty for the sake of her birth; but certainly there was no occasion for so public a proof, that her fingers are more dexterous in tying a knot, than her father's brains in perplexing the government.” • It is apparent that the person here intended is by her birth a lady, and daughter of an earl of Great Britain; and the treatment this author is pleased to give her, he makes no scruple to own she is exposed to by being his daughter. Since be has assumed a licence to talk of this nobleman in print to his disadvantage, I hope his lordship will pardon me, that out of the interest which I, and all true Englishmen have in his character, I take the liberty to defend him. ‘I am willing on this occasion, to allow the claim and pretension to merit to be such, as the same author describes in his preceding paper. “By active merit (says the Examiner of the twenty-first) I understand, not only the power and ability to serve, but the actual exercise of any one or more virtues, for promoting the good of one's country, and a long and steady course of real endeavours to appear useful in a government; or where a person eminently qualified for public affairs, distinguishes himself in some critical juncture, and at the expense of his ease and fortune, or with the hazard of his person, exposes himself to the maice of a designing saction, by thwarting their wicked purposes, and contributing to the safety, repose, and welfare of a people.” * Let us examine the conduct of this noble earl by this description. Upon the late glorious revolution, when it was in debate in what manner the people of England should express their gratitude to their deliverer, this lord, from the utmost tenderness and loyalty to his unhappy

* That is, kine or cows.

* Earl of Nottinghain.

f His daughter, lady Charlotte. Finch, afterwards duchess of Somerset.

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