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a very great passion and tenderness. It is not for your face, for that I never saw : your shape and height I am equally a stranger to; but your understanding charms me, and I am lost if you do not dissemble a little love for me. I am not without hopes; because I fin not like the tawdry gay things that are fit only to make bone lace. I am neither childish-young, nor beldam-old, but, the world says, a good agreeable woman. “Speak peace to a troubled heart, troubled only for you; and in your next paper let me find your thoughts of me. “Do not think of finding out who I am; for, notwithstanding your interest in daemons, they cannot help you either to my name, or a sight of my face; therefore, do not let them deceive Oll. y ‘I can bear no discourse, if you are not the subject; and, believe me, I know more of love than you do of astronomy. ‘Pray, say some civil things in return to my generosity, and you shall have my very best pen employed to thank you, and I will confirm it. I am your admirer, MARIA."

There is something wonderfully pleasing in the favour of women: and this letter has put me in so good a humour, that nothing could displease me since I received it. My boy breaks glasses and pipes; and instead of giving him a knock on the pate, as my way is, for I hate scolding at servants, I only say, 'Ah, Jack' thou hast a head, and so has a pin,' or some such merry expression. But, alas ! how am I mortified when he is putting on my fourth pair of stockings on these poor spindles of mine ! “The fair one understands love better than I astronomy " I am sure, without the help of that art, this poor meagre trunk of mine is a very ill habitation for love. She is pleased to speak civilly of my sense, but Ingenium male habitat is an invincible difficulty in cases of this nature. I had always, indeed, from a passion to please the eyes of the fair, a great pleasure in dress. Add to this, that I have writ songs since I was sixty, and have lived with all the circumspection of an old beau, as I am. But my friend Horace has very well said, “Every year takes something from us; and instructed me to form my pursuits and desires according to the stage of my life : therefore, I have no more to value myself upon, than that I can converse with young people without peovishness, or wishing myself a moment younger. For which reason, when I am amongst them, I rather moderate than interrupt their diversions. But though I have this complacency, I must not pretend to write to a lady civil things, as Maria desires. Time was, when I could have told her, “I had received a letter from her fair hands; and, that if this paper trembled as she read it, it then best expressed its author, or some other gay conceit. Though I never saw her, I could have told her, “that good sense and good humour smiled in her eyes: that constancy and good-nature dwelt in her heart: that beauty and good breeding appeared in all her actions.” When I was five-and-twenty, upon sight of one syllable, even wrong spelt, by a lady I never saw I could tell her, “that her height was that

which was fit for inviting our approach, and commanding our respect; that a smile sat on her lips, which prefaced her expressions before she uttered them, and her aspect prevented her speech. All she could say, though she had an infinite deal of wit, was but a repetition of what was expressed by her form ; her form ' which struck her beholders with ideas more moving and forcible than ever were inspired by music, painting, or eloquence.’ At this rate I panted in those days; but, ah : sixty-three I am very sorry I can only return the agreeable Maria a passion expressed rather from the head than the heart.

DEAR MADAxi, You have already seen the best of me, and I so passionately love you, that I desire we may never meet. If you will examine your heart, you will find that you join the man with the philosopher: and if you have that kind opinion of my sense as you pretend, I question not you add to it complexion, air, and shape: but, dear Molly, a man in his grand climacteric is of no sex. Be a good girl; and conduct yourself with honour and virtue, when you love one younger than myself. I am, with the greatest tenderness, your innocent lover.

Will's Coffee-house, October 19.

There is nothing more common than the weakness mentioned in the following epistle; and I believe there is hardly a man living who has not been more or less injured by it.

“Land's. End, October 12.

‘SIR,--I have left the town some time ; and much the sooner, for not having had the advantage, when I lived there, of so good a pilot as you are to the present age. Your cautions to the young men against the vices of the town are very well: but there is one not less needful, which I think you have omitted. I had from the Rough Diamond (a gentleman so called from an honest blunt wit he had) not long since dead, this obseravtion, That a young man must be at least three or four years in London before he dares say, No.

‘You will easily sce the truth and force of this observation; for, I believe more people are drawn away against their inclinations, than with them. A young man is afraid to deny any body going to a tavern to dinner; or, after being gorged there, to repeat the same with another company at supper, or to drink excessively, if desired, or go to any other place, or commit any other extravagancy proposed. The fear of being thought covetous, to have no money, or to be under the dominion or fear of his parents and friends, hinder him from the frce czercise of his understanding, and affirming boldly the true reason, which is, his real dislike of what is desired. If you could cure this slavish facility, it would save abundance at their first entrance into the world.—I am, sir, yours,

* SOLOMON AFTERWIT.”

This cpistle has given an occasion to a treatise on this subject, wherein I shall lay down rules when a young stripling is to say, No.; and a young virgin, Yes.

N. B. For the publication of this discourse, I wait only for subscriptions from the under graduates of each university, and the young ladies in the boarding-schools of Hackney and Chelsea.

St. James's Coffee-house, October 19.

Letters from the Hague, of the twenty-fifth of October, N. S. advise, that the garrison of Mons marched out on the twenty-third instant, and a garrison of the allies marched into the town. All the forces in the field, both of the enemy and the confederates, are preparing to withdraw into winter-quarters.

No. 84.] Saturday, October 22, 1709.

From my own Apartment, October 21.

I HAVE received a letter subscribed A. B. wherein it has been represented to me as an enormity, that there are more than ordinary crowds of women at the Old Baily when a rape is to be tried. But by Mr. A. B.'s favour, I cannot tell who are so much concerned in that part of the law as the sex he mentions, they being the only persons liable to such insults. Nor, indeed, do I think it more unreasonable that they should be inquisitive on such occasions than men of honour, when one is tried for killing another in a duel. It is very natural to inquire how the fatal pass was made, that we may the better defend ourselves when we come to be attacked. Several eminent ladies appeared lately at the court of justice on such an occasion, and, with great patience and attention, staid the whole trials of two persons for the above-said crime. The law to me, indeed, seems a little defective in this point; and it is a very great hardship, that this crime, which is committed by men only, should have men only on their jury. I humbly, therefore, propose, that on future trials of this sort, half of the twelve may be women; and those such whose faces are well known to have taken notes, or may be supposed to remember what happened in former trials in the same place. There is the learned Androgyne, that would make a good fore-woman of the pannel, who, by long attendance, understands as much law and anatomy as is necessary in this case. Until this is taken care of, I am humbly of opinion, it would be much more expedient that the fair were wholly absent; for to what end can it be that they should be present at such examinations, when they can only be perplexed with a fellow-feeling for the injured, without any power to avenge their sufferings It is an unnecessary pain which the fair ones give themselves on these occasions. I have known a young wo. man shriek out at some parts of the evidence; and have frequently observed, that when the proof grew particular and strong, there has been such a universal flutter of fans, that one would think the whole female audience were falling into fits. Nor, indeed, can I see how men themselves can be wholly unmoved at such tragical relations.

In short, I must tell my female readers, and they may take an old man's word for it, that

there is nothing in woman so graceful and becoming as modesty. It adds charms to their beauty, and gives a new softness to their sex. Without it, simplicity and innocence appear rude; reading and good sense, masculine; wit and humour, lascivious. This is so necessary a qualification for pleasing, that the loose part of womankind, whose study it is to ensnare men's hearts, never fail to support the appearance of what they know is so cssential to that end; and I have heard it reported by the young fellows in my time as a maxim of the celebrated madam Bennet,” that a young wench, though never so beautiful, was not worth her board when she was past her blushing. This discourse naturally brings into my thoughts a letter I have received from the virtuous lady Whittlestick, on the subject of Lucretia.

From my tea-table, Oct. 17.

‘Cousin Is AAc,-I read your Tatler of Saturday last, and was surprised to see you so partial to your own sex, as to think none of ours worthy to sit at your first table; for sure you cannot but own Lucretia as famous as any you have placed there, who first parted with her virtue, and af. terwards with her life, to preserve her fame.’

Mrs. Biddy Twig has written me a letter to the same purpose; but, in answer to both my pretty correspondents and kinswomen, I must tell them, that although I know Lucretia would have made a very graceful figure at the upper end of the table, I did not think it proper to place her there because I knew she would not care for being in the company of so many men without her husband. At the same time, I must own, that Tarquin himself was not a greater lover and admirer of Lucretia than I myself am in an honest way. When my sister Jenny was in her sampler, I made her get the whole story without book, and tell it me in needle-work. This illustrious lady stands up in history as the glory of her own sex, and the reproach of ours; and the circumstances under which she fell were so very particular, that they seem to make adultery and murder meritorious. She was a woman of such transcendant virtue, that her beauty, which was the greatest of the age and country in which she lived, and is generally celebrated as the highest of praise in other women, is never mentioned as a part of her character. But it would be declaiming to dwell upon so celebrated a story, which I mentioned only in respect to my kinswoman; and to make reparation for the omission they complain of, do further promise them, that if they can furnish me with instances to fill it, there shall be a small tea-table set apart in my Palace of Fame sor the reception of all of her character.

Grecian Coffee-house, October 21.

I was this evening communicating my design of producing obscure merit into public view ; and proposed to the learned, that they would please to assist me in the work. For the same end I publish my intention to the world that all men of liberal thoughts may know they have an opportunity of doing justice to such worthy persons as have come within their respective ob. servation, and who, by misfortune, modesty, or want of proper writers to recommend them, have escaped the notice of the rest of mankind. If therefore, any one can bring any tale or tidings of illustrious persons, or glorious actions, that are not commonly known, he is desired to send an account thereof to me, at J. Morphew's, and they shall have justice done them. At the same time that I have this concern for men and things that deserve reputation, and have it not, I am resolved to examine into the claims of such ancients and moderns as are in possession of it, with a design to displace them, in case I find their titles defective. The first whose merits I shall inquire into, are some merry gentlemen of the French nation, who have written very advantageous histories of their exploits in war, love, and politics, under the title of Me. moirs. I am afraid I shall find several of these gentlemen tardy, because I hear of them in no writings but their own. To read the narrative of one of these authors, you would fancy that there was not an action in a whole campaign which he did not contrive or execute; yet, if you consult the history or gazettes of those times, you do not find him so much as at the head of a party from one end of the summer to the other. But it is the way of these great men, when they lie behind their lines, and are in a time of inaction, as they call it, to pass away their time in writing their exploits. By this means, several who are either unknown or despised in the present age, will be famous in the next, unless a sudden stop be put to such pernicious practices. There are others of that gay people, who, as I am informed, will live half a year together in a garret, and write a history of their intrigues in the court of France. As for politicians, they do not abound with that species of men so much as we ; but as ours are not so famous for writing, as for extemporary dissertations in coffee-houses, they are more annoyed with memoirs of this nature also than we are. The most immediate remedy that I can apply to prevent this growing evil, is, That I do hereby give notice to all booksellers and translators whatsoever, that the word Memoir is French for a novel; and to require of them that they sell and translate it accordingly.

* A notorious bawd in the reign of Charles II. called .Mistress, and Madam and Mother Bennct.

'ill's Coffee-house, October 21.

Coming into this place to night, I met an old friend of mine, who, a little after the restoration, writ an epigram with some applause, which he has lived upon ever since; and by virtue of it, has been a constant frequenter of this coffeehouse for forty years. He took me aside, and with a great deal of friendship told me he was glad to see me alive, ‘for,” said he, ‘Mr. Bickerstaff, I am sorry to find you have raised many enemies by your lucubrations. There are, indeed, some,” says he, “whose enmity is the greatest honour they can show a man; but have you lived to these years, and do not know that the ready way to disoblige is to give advice you may endeavour to guard your children, as you call them; but—' ;" was going on; but

I found the disagreeableness of giving advice without being asked, by my own impatience of what he was about to say: in a word, I begged him to give me the hearing of a short fable.” “A gentleman,’ says I, ‘who was one day slumbering in an arbour, was on a sudden awakened by the gentle biting of a lizard, a little animal remarkable for its love to mankind. He threw it from his hand with some indignation, and was rising up to kill it, when he saw a huge venemous serpent sliding towards him on the other side, which he soon destroyed; reflecting afterwards with gratitude upon his friend that saved him, and with anger against himself, that had shown so little sense of a good office.'

No. 85.] Tuesday, October 25, 1709.

From my own Apartment, October 24.

My brother Tranquillus, who is a man of business, came to me this morning into my study, and after very many civil expressions in return for what good offices I had done him, told me, “he desired to carry his wife, my sister, that very morning to his own house.' I readily told him, ‘I would wait upon him,' without asking why he was so impatient to robus of his good company. He went out of my chamber, and I thought seemed to have a little heaviness upon him, which gave me some disquiet. Soon after, my sister came to me, with a very matron-like air, and most sedate satisfaction in her looks, which spoke her very much at ease; but the traces of her countenance seemed to discover that she had been lately in a passion, and that air of content to flow from a certain triumph upon some advantage obtained. She no sooner sat down by me, but I perceived she was one of those ladies who begin to be managers within the time of their being brides. Without letting her speak, which I saw she had a mighty incli. nation to do, I said, ‘Here has been your husband, who tells me he has a mind to go home this very morning, and I have consented to it." “It is well,” said she, “for you must know—" “Nay, Jenny,' said I, ‘I beg your pardon, for it is you must know—You are to understand, that now is the time to six or alienate your husband's heart for ever; and I fear you have been a little indiscreet in your expressions or behaviour towards him, even here in my house.’ ‘There has,' says she, ‘been some words: but I will be judged by you if he was not in the wrong: nay, I need not be judged by any body, for he gave it up himself, and said not a word when he saw me grow passionate, but, “Madam, you are perfectly in the right of it:” as you shall judge—’ ‘Nay, madam,” said I, ‘ I am judge already, and tell you, that you are perfectly in the wrong of it; for if it was a matter of importance, I know he has better sense than you ; if a trifle, you know what I told you on your wedding-day, that you were to be above little provocations.” She knows very well I can be sour upon occasion, therefore gave me leave to go on.

‘Sister,’ said I, ‘I will not enter into the dis

pute between you, which I find his prudence put an end to before it came to extremity; but charge you to have a care of the first quarrel, as you tender your happiness; for then it is that the mind will reflect harshly upon every circumstance that has ever passed between you. If such an accident is ever to happen, which I hope never will, be sure to keep to the circumstance before you; make no allusions to what is passed, or conclusions referring to what is to come: do not show a hoard of matter for dissension in your breast; but, if it is necessary, lay before him the thing as you understand it, candidly, without being ashamed of acknowledging an error, or proud of being in the right. If a young couple be not careful in this point, they will get into a habit of wrangling; and when to displease is thought of no consequence, to please is always of as little moment. There is a play, Jenny, I have formerly been at when I was a student: we got into a dark corner with a porringer of brandy, and threw raisins into it, then set it on fire. My chamber-fellow and I diverted ourselves with the sport of venturing our fingers for the raisins; and the wantonness of the thing was, to see each other look like a damon, as we burnt ourselves, and snatched out the fruit. This fantastical mirth was called snapdragon. You may go into many a family, where you see the man and wife at this sport: every word at their table alludes to some passage between themselves; and you see by the paleness and emotion in their countenances, that it is for your sake, and not their own, that they forbear playing out the whole game in burning each other's fingers. In this case, the whole purpose of life is inverted, and the ambi. tion turns upon a certain contention, who shall contradict best, and not upon an inclination to excel in kindness and good offices. Therefore, dear Jenny, remember me, and avoid snapdragon.” * I thank you brother,’ said she, “but you do not know how he loves me; I find I can do any thing with him.”—“If you can so, why should }". desire to do any thing but please him 2 but have a word or two more before you go out of the room; for I see you do not like the subject I am upon : let nothing provoke you to fall upon an imperfection he cannot help ; for, if he has a resenting spirit, he will think your aversion as immoveable as the imperfection with which you upbraid him. But above all, dear Jenny, be careful of one thing and you will be something more than woman; that is, a levity you are almost all guilty of which is, to take a pleasure in your power to give pain. It is cven in a mistress an argument of meanness of spirit, but in a wife it is injustice and ingratitude. When a sensible man once observes this in a woman, he must have a very great or very little spirit to overlook it. A woman ought, therefore, to consider very often, how few men there are who will regard a meditated offence as a weakness of temper.' I was going on in my confabulation, when Tranquillus entered. She cast all her eyes upon him with much shame and confusion, mixed with great complacency and love, and went up to him. He took her in his arms, and

looked so many soft things at one glance, that I could see he was glad I had been talking to her, sorry she had been troubled, and angry at himself that he could not disguise the concern he was in an hour before. After which, he says to me, with an air awkward enough, but methought not unbecoming ‘I have altered my mind, brother; we will live upon you a day or two longer.' I replied, “That is what I have been persuading Jenny to ask of you, but she is resolved never to contradict your inclination, and refused me.”

We were going on in that way which one hardly knows how to express; as when two people mean the same thing in a nice case, but come at it by talking as distantly from it as they can; when very opportunely came in upon us an honest inconsiderable fellow. Tim Dapper,” a gentleman well known to us both. Tim is one of those who are very necessary, by being very inconsiderable.-Tim dropped in at an inci. dent, when we knew not how to fall into either a grave or a merry way. My sister took this occasion to make off, and Dapper gave us an account of all the company he had been in today, who was, and who was not at home, where he visited. This Tim is the head of a species: he is a little out of his element in this town ; but he is a relation of Tranquillus, and his neighbour in the country, which is the true place of residence for this species. The habit of a Dapper, when he is at home, is a light broad cloth, with calamanco or red waistcoat and breeches; and it is remarkable, that their wigs seldom hide the collar of their coats. They have always a peculiar spring in their arms, a wriggle in their bodies, and a trip in their gait. All which motions they express at once in their drinking, bowing, or saluting ladies; for a distant imitation of a forward fop, and a resolution to overtop him in his way, are the distinguishing marks of a Dapper. These under-characters of men, are parts of the sociable world by no means to be neglected: they are like pegs in a building; they make no figure in it, but hold the structure together, and are as absolutely necessary as the pillars and columns. I am sure we found it so this morning; for Tranquillus and I should, perhaps, have looked cold at each other the whole day, but Dapper fell in with his brisk way, shook us both by the hand, rallied the bride, mistook the acceptance he met with amongst us for extraordinary perfection in himself, and heartily pleased, and was pleased, all the while he staid. His company left us all in good humour, and we were not such fools as to let it sink, before we confirmed it by great cheerfulness and openness in our carriage the whole evening.

White's Chocolate-house, October 24.

I have been this evening to visit a lady who is a relation of the enamoured Cynthio, and there heard the melancholy news of his death. I was in hopes, that fox-hunting and October would have recovered him from his unhappy passion. He went into the country with a design to leave behind him all thoughts of Clarissa; but he found that place only more convenient to think of her without interruption. The country gentlemen were very much puzzled upon his case, and never finding him merry or loud in their company, took him for a Roman Catholic, and immediately upon his death seized his French valet-de-chambre for a priest; and it is generally thought in the country, it will go hard with him next session. Poor Cynthio never held up his head after having received a letter of Clarissa's marriage. The lady who gave me this account, being far gone in poetry and romance, told me, “if I would give her an epitaph, she would take care to have it placed on his tomb; which she herself had devised in the following manner. It is to be made of black marble, and every corner to be crowned with weeping cupids. Their quivers are to be hung up upon two tall cypress-trees which are to grow on each side on the monument, and their arrows to be laid in a great heap, after the manner of a funeral pile, on which is to lie the body of the deceased. On the top of each cypress is to stand the figure of a moaning turtle-dove. On the uppermost part of the monument, the goddess, to whom these birds are sacred, is to sit in a dejected posture, as weeping for the death of her votary.’ I need not tell you this lady's head is a little turned: however, to be rid of importunities, I promised her an epitaph, and told her I would take for my pattern that of Don Alonzo, who was no less famous in his age than Cynthio is in ours.

* The following account of Tim Dapper seems to be given as a true picture of the character and dress of a country beau or smart in 1709.

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* This is a quotation from a letter of Sir John Suck. ling. See his Works, vol. 1. p. 143. edit. Davies.

you at the hour of nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the twenty-fifth of October, upon business which sir Harry will impart to you by word of mouth. ... I thought it proper to acquaint you before-hand so many persons of quality came, that you might not be surprised there with. Which concludes, though by many years' absence since I saw you at Stafford, unknown, Sir, your most humble servant, ‘JOHN THRIFTY.”

I received this message with less surprise than I believe Mr. Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too well to feel any palpitations at their approach; but I was in very great concern how I should adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to all these great men, who perhaps had not seen any thing above themselves for these twenty years last past. I am sure that is the case of sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a great point in adjusting my behaviour to the simple squire, so as to give him satisfaction, and not disoblige the justice of the quorum.

The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner set chairs, by the steward's letter, and fixed my tea-equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one entered; after which followed a long silence, which was broke at last by, 'Sir, I beg your pardon ; I think I know better:' and another voice, ‘nay, good sir Giles—' I looked out from my window, and saw the good company all with their hats off, and arms spread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much solemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so kind as to name them to me. But they are now got to my chamber door, and I saw my old friend sir Harry enter. I met him with all the respect due to so reverend a vegetable; for, you are to know, that is my sense of a person who remains idle in the same place for half a century. I got him with great success into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any of my cups. The knight-bachelor told me “he had a great respect for my whole family, and would, with my leave, place #. next to sir Harry, at whose right hand he had sat at every quarter sessions these thirty years, unless he was sick.” The steward in the rear whispered the young Templar, “That is true, to my knowledge.' I had the misfortune, as the stood cheek-by-jowl, to desire the squire to sit down before the justice of the quorum, to the no small satisfaction of the former, and resentment of the latter. But I saw my error too late, and . got them as soon as I could into their seats. “Well,” said I, ‘gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great honour, I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea.’ They answered one and all, “that they never drank tea in a morning.”—“Not in a morning !” said I, staring round me. Upon which the pert jackanapes, Nic Doubt, tipped me the wink, and put out his tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a profound silence, when the steward in his boots and whip proposed, “that we should adjourn to some public-house, where every body might call for what they pleased, and enter upon the

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