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_ M0» 

THE BEE (17S8) 

Kemarka on our Theatreu , , 3 

A Letter from a Traveller 7 

A Short Account of the Icte Mr. Maupertuis . 10 
Some Partioulam relativt to Charlea XII not com- 
monly known ....... 12 

On our Theatres 17 

The History of Hypatia 19 

Some Particulars relating to Father Frcijo 2.1 

Misoellaneoua 25 

A Flemish Tradition 30 

The Sagacity of some Insects .3.'! 

The Characteristics of GreatncsK .... 38 

A City Night- Piece 41 

Upon Political Frugality 44 

A Reverie . . 54 

A Word or two on the late Farce called ' High Life 

Below Stairs ' 61 

Upon Unfortunate Merit 63 

Some Account of the Academics of Italy ... 66 

Of Eloquence 68 

Custom and Laws compared 77 

Gf the Pride and Luxury of the Middling Class uf 

People . 81 

SaSinuB and Olinda 83 

Of the Opera in England 86 

ESSAYS, SicoND EDmoN. 1766 

The Preface . . 93 

I. Introductory Paper 97 

II. The Story of Alcandcr and Septimius . 100 



























On Hupplneiw of Tpinpor . 

I>«ription of Varioiu Club» 

On the IV of Language 

On Generosity and Junticr 

On the Educaiion of Youth 

On the InHtability of Popular Favour 

S|*<iinen of a Magazine in Miniatuw 

Beau TibbK, a Character . 

Beau Tibbn {continiied) 

On the Irremlution of Youth 

On JIad Dogs . . _ 

On the increased Love of Life with ,^c 

On the Passion of Women for levelling a 

tinctions of Dress 
Asem the Jlan-hater, an Eastern Tale 
On the English CIci-gy and popular Preachers 
On the Advantages to be derived from senrliuK 

a judicious Traveller into A.sia 
A Reverie at the Boar', Head Ta^•ern in Ea»l- 

On Quack l>/ctors . . , 
. Adventures of a Strolling Plover 
Rules .enjoined to Ix- observed at a Ki.,sian 

Tiie Genius cf Love, an l-^astern AiJolouuc . 
The Distresses of a Common Soldier . 
Supposed to be Written by the Ordinary of Xew! 

Supposed to come from a Common Council-nwn 
To the Printer 

. 105 

















KliiHT ESSAYS, first collected is tiik Po.^thumou.s 
Edition of 17B8 
National Concord ... 
Female Warriore . . 



. Jonal Prrjudicps 
School^ of Mii»ir 
CitrolAii. tht* [rJHli lifii-d , 
On till' Ttnaiits o( the licasowi' 
Sentiuii'i'tnl I'oiiicilv 
Scotch MnrrmgoH . 








Beau TibbH : 

a third Essay 411 



B K I N G 



Interesting Subjects. 

Floriferis lit Apes in Jaltibtts omnia libant. 
Omnia Nos itidifm. 

L N D N: 

Printed for J. Wilkie, at the Bihli, in St. Paul's 
Chunh-Tard, M DCC LI.^'. 

:> i 

[In the following reprint of The Bee, the pieces subsequently reTised 
and included in Eaaays, 1785 (ed. 2, 1766) are omitted, being given 
in their later form under ' Easays '. The following pieces are also 
omitted : Four translations from Voltaire ; * The Sentiments of 
a Frenchman on the Temper of the English,' reprinted with altera- 
tions from the English translation (1747) of Lo Blanc's Leitrea; 
'On Deceit and Falsehood,' reprinted with alterations from The 
Humourist, 1720 ; and ' An Account of the Augustan Age of England ' 
(of doubtful authorship). Five poems are also omitted, which will 
'-je found in the companion volume of Goldsmith's Poems.] 


Number I. Satukdav, Octolier 6, 1759. 

OtTB theatres are now opened, and all Grub Street 
is preparing its advice to tho managers ; we shall 
undoubtetlly hear learned disquisitions on the structure 
of one actor's legs, and another's eyebrows. We shall 
be told much of enunciations, tones, and attitudes, and 
shall have our lightest pleasures commented upon by 
didactic dullness. We shall, it is feared, be told, that 
Garrick is a fine actor, but then, as a manager, so 
avaricious ! That Palmer is a most promising genius, 
and Holland likely to do well, in a particular cast of 
character. We shall have them giving Shuter instruc- 
tions to amuse us by rule, and deploring over the ruins 
of desolated majesty in Covent Garden. As I love to 
be advising too, for advice is easily given, and bears 
a show of wisdom and superiority, I must bo permitted 
to offer a few observations upon our theatres and actors, 
without, on this trivial occasion, throwing my thoughts 
into the formality of method. 

There is something in the deportment of all our 
players infinitely more stiff and formal than among the 
actors of other nations. Their action sits unea'^y upon 
them; for as the English use very little gesture in 
ordinary conversation, our English-bred actors are 
obliged to supply stage gestures by their imagination 
alone. A French comedian finds proper models of action 


in every company and in every coffee-house he enters. 
An Englishman is obliged to take his models from the 
stage itself ; he is obliged to imitate nature from an 
imitation of nature. I know of no set of men more Ukely 
to be improved by travelling than those of the theatrical 
profession. The inhabitants of the Continent are less 
reserved than here ; they may be seen through upon 
a first acquaintance ; such are the proper models to draw 
from ; they are at once striking, and are found in great 

Though it would be inexcusable in a comedian to add 
anything of his own to the poet's dialogue, yet as to 
action he is entirely at liberty. By this he may show 
the fertility of his genius, the poignancy of his humour, 
and the exactness of his judgement ; we scarce see a 
coxcomb or a fool in common life that has not some 
peculiar oddity in his action. These peculidrities it is 
not in the power of words to represent, and depend 
solely upon the actor. They give a rehsh to the humour 
of the poet, and make the appearance of nature more 
illusive ; the Italians, it is true, mask some oharaeters, 
and endeavour to preserve the peculiar humour by the 
make of the mask ; but I have seen others still preserve 
a great fund of humour in the face without a mask ; one 
actor, particularly, by a squint which he threw into some 
characters of low hfe, assumed a look of infinite solidity. 
This, though upon reflection we might condemn, yet, 
immediately, upon representation, we could not avoid 
being pleased with. To illustrate what I have been saying 
by the plays I have of late gone to see : In The Miser, 
which was played a few nights ago at Covent Garden, 
Lovegold appears through the whole in circumstances 
of exaggerated avarice ; all the player's action, therefore, 
shoul''. conspire with the poet's design, and represent 
him as as epitome of penury. The French comedian. 


in this character, in the midst of one of his most violent 
passions, while he appears in an ungovernable rage, feels 
the demon of avarice still upon him, and stoops down to 
pick up a pin, which he quilts into the flap of his coat- 
pocket with great assiduity. Two candles are lighted up 
for his wedding ; ho flies and turns one of them into the 
socket ; it is, however, lighted up again ; ho then steals 
to it, and privately crams it into his pocket. The Mock- 
Doctor was lately played at the other house. Here again 
the comedian had an opportunity of heightening the 
ridicule by action. The French plajer sits in a chair 
with a high back, and then begins to show away by 
talking nonsense, which he would have thought Latin 
by those whom he knows do not understand a syllable 
of the matter. At last he grows enthusiastic, enjoys 
the admiration of the company, tosses his legs and 
arms about, and in the midst of his raptures and vocifera- 
tion, he and the chair fall back together. All this 
appears dull enough in the recital, but the gravity of 
Cato could not stand it in the representation. In short, 
there is hardly a character in comedy to which a player 
of any real humour might not add strokes of vivacity 
that could not fail of applause. But instead of this we 
too often see our fine gentlemen do nothing, through 
a whole part, but strut, and open their snuff-box ; our 
pretty fellows sit indecently with their legs across, 
and our clowns pull up their breeches. These, if 
once, or even twice, repeated, might do well enough ; 
but to see them served up in every scene, argues the 
actor almost as barren as the character ho would 

The magnificence of our theatres is far superior fo 
any others in Europe where plays only are acted. The 
great care our performers take in painting for a p.-trt, 
their exactness in all the minutiae of dress, and other 


little scenical proprieties, have been taken notice of 
by Ricoboni, a gentleman of Italy, who travelled Europe 
with no other design but to remark upon the stage ; 
but there are several apparent improprieties still con- 
tinued, or lately come into fashion. As, for instance, 
spreading a carpet punctually at the beginning of the 
death scene, in order to prevent our actors from spoiling 
their clothes ; this immediately apprises us of the 
tragedy to follow ; for laying the cloth is not a more 
sure indication of dinner, than laying the carpet of bloody 
work at Drury Lane. Our little pages also with un- 
meaning faces, that bear up the train of a weeping 
princess, and our awkward lords in waiting, take off 
much from her distress. Mutes of every kind divide 
our attention, and lessen our sensibility; but here it 
is entirely ridiculous, as we see them seriously em- 
ployed in doing nothing. If we must have dirty- 
shirted guards upon the theatres, they should be taught 
to keep their eyes fixed on the actors, and not roll them 
round upon the audience, as if they were ogling the 

Beauty, methinks, seems a requisite qualification in 
an actress. This seems scrupulously observed elsewhere, 
and for my part I could wish to see it observed at home. 
I can never conceive a hero dying for love of a lady 
totally destitute of beauty. I must think the part 
unnatural, for I cannot bear to hear him call that face 
angelic, when even paint cannot hide its wrinkles. I 
must condemn him of stupidity, and the person whom 
I can accuse for want of taste will seldom become the 
object of my affections or admiration. But if this be 
a defect, what must be the entire perversion of scenical 
decorum, when, for instance, we see an p ^ress that might 
act the Wapping Landlady without a bolster, pining 
in the character of Jane Shore, and, while unwieldy 


with fat, endeavouring to convince the audience that she 
is dying with hunger. 

For the future, then, I could wish that the parts of the 
young or beautiful were given to performers of suitable 
figures ; for I must own, I could rather see the stage 
filled with agreeable objects, though they might some- 
times bungle a little, than see it crowded with withered 
or misshapen figures, be their emphasis, as I think it is 
called, ever so proper. The first may have the awkward 
appearance of new-raised troops, but in viewing the last, 
I cannot avoid the mortification of fancying myself 
placed in an hospital of invalids. 




(The sequel of this correspondence to be continued 
occasionally. I shall alter nothing eitbi^r in the style 
or substance of these letters, and the reader may depend 
on their being genuine.) 

■ Cracow, Aug. 2, 1758, 


You see, by the date of my letter, that lam arrived 
in Poland. When will my wanderings be at an end ? 
When will my restless disposition give me leave to enjoy 
the present hour 1 When at Lyons, I thought all 
happiness lay beyond the Alps ; when in Italy, I found 
myself still in want of something, and expected to leave 
solicitude behind me by going into Roumelia ; and now 
you find me turning back, still expecting ease everywhere 
but where I am. It is now seven years since I saw the 
face of a single creature who cared a farthing whether 
I was dead or alive. Secluded from all the comforts 
of confidence, friendship, or society, I fee! the solitude 
of a hermit, but uut his eas«. 



The Prince of * * * has taken me in his train, so that 
I am in no danger of starving for this bout. The prince's 
governor is j, rude ignorant pedant, and his tutor 
a battered rake : thus, between two such characters, 
you may imagine he is finely instructcil. I made some 
attempts to display all the little knowledge I had 
acquired by reading or observation ; but I find myself 
Teg(.rded as an ignoiant intruder. The truth is, I shall 
never be able to acquire a power of expressing myself 
with ease in any language but ray own ; and, out of my 
own country, the highest character I can ever acquire, 
is that of being a philosophic vagabond. 

When I consider myself in the country which was once 
so formidable in war, and spread terror and desolation 
over the whole Roman empire, I can hardly account 
for the present wretchedness and pusillanimity of its 
inhabitants ; a prey to every invader ; their cities 
plundered wHhout an enemy ; their magistrates seeking 
redress by complaints, and not by vigour. Everything 
conspires to raise my compassion for their miseries, 
were not my thoughts too busily engaged by my own. 
The whole kingdom is in strange disorder ; when our 
equipage, which consists of the prince and thirteen 
attendants, had arrived at some towns, there were no 
conveniences to be found, and we were obliged to have 
girls to conduct us to the next. 1 have seen a woman 
travel thus on horseback before us for thirty miles, 
and think herself highly paid, and make twenty rever- 
ences, upon receiving, with ecstasy, about twopence for 
her trouble. In general, we were better served by the 
women than the men on those occasions. The men. 
seemed directed by a low sordid interest alone ; they 
seemed mere machines, and all their thoughts were 
employed in the care of their horses. If we gently 
desired them to make more speed, they took not the 




least notice ; kind language was what they had by no 
meami been UHcd to. It was projier to speak to them in 
the tones of anger, and sometimes it was even necessary 
to use blows, to oxcito them to their duty. How different 
these from the common people of England, whom 
a blow might induce to return the affront sevenfold. 
These poor i' "ople, however, from being brought up to 
vile usage, lose all the respect which they should have 
for themselves. They have contracted a habit of 
regarding constraint as the great rule of their duty. 
When they were treated with mildness, they no longer 
continued to perceive a superiority. They fancied 
themselves our equals, a nd a continuance of our humanity 
might probably have rendered them insolent ; but the 
imperious tone, menaces, and blows, at once changed 
their sensations and their ideas : their ears and their 
shoulders taught thsir souls to shrink back into servitude, 
from which they had for some moments fancied them- 
selves disengaged. 

The enthusiasm of liberty an Englishman feels is 
never so strong as when presented by such prospects as 
these. I must own, in all my indigence, it is one of my 
comforts (perhaps, indeed, it is my only boast) that I 
am of that happy country ; though I scorn to starve 
there ; though I do not choose to lead a life of wretched 
dependence, or be an object for my former acquaintance 
to point at. While you enjoy all the ease and elegance 
of prudence and virtue, your old friend wanders over the 
world, without a single anchor to hold by, or a friend, 
except you, to confide in. 

Yours, &o. 





Me. MATTPEKTCts, lately deceased, was the first to 
whom the English philosophers owed their being parti- 
cularly admired by the rest of Europe. The romantic 
system of Des Cartes was adapted to the taste of ' he 
superficial and the indolent ; the foreign universities 
had embraced it with ardour, and such are seldom con- 
vinced of their error till all others give up such false 
opinions as untenable. The philosophy of Newton, 
and the metaphysics of Locke appeared, but, like all 
new truths, they wv,ie at once received with opposition ' 
and contempt. The English, 'tis true, studied, under- 
stood, and consequently admired them ; it was very 
different on the Continent. Fontenelle, who seemef" to 
preside over the republic of letters, unwilling to acknow- 
ledge that all 'lis life had been spent in erroneous philo- 
sophy, joined in the universal disapprobation, and the 
English philosophers seemed entirely unknr -n. 

Maupertuis, however, made them his study ; he thought 
he might oppose the physics of his country, and yet still 
be a good citizen ; he defended our countrymen, wrote 
in their favour, and, at last, as he had truth on his side, 
carried his cause. Almost all the learning of the English, 
till very lately, was conveyed in the language of France. 
The writings of Maupertuis spread the reputation of 
his maslar Newton, and by a happy fortune have united 
his fame with that of our human prodigy. 

The first of his performances, openly, in vindication 
of the Newtonian system, is his treatise entituled, Sur 
la figure dea Astres, if I remember right ; a work at once 
expressive of a deep geometrical knowledge, and the 
must happy niaiiiier of Jelivering abMtruxe science «ith 



ease. This met with violent opposition from a people, 
though fona of i.ovelty in everything else, yet, however! 
in matters of science, attachctl to ancient opinions with 
bigotry. As the old antl the ohstinato fell away, tb, i onth 
of France embraced the new opinions, and now sccni more 
eager to defend Newton thun even his eonntryiuon. 

That oddity of character which great men are some- 
times remarkable for, Maupertuia was not entirely free 
from. It is certain ho was extremely whimsical. Though 
bom to a large fortune, when employed in mathen.atical 
mquiries, he disregarded his person to such a degree, 
and love ' retirement so much, that he has been more 
than once put on the list of motlest beggars by the curates 
of Paris, when he retired to some private quarter of th<) 
town, in order to enjoy his meditations without inter- 
ruption. The character given of him by one of Voltaire's 
antagonists, if it can bo depended upon, is much to his 
honour. ' You,' says this writer to Mr. Voltaire, 'you 
• were entertained by the King of Prussia as a buffoon, 
but Maupertuis as a philosopher.' It is certain that the 
preference which this royal scholar gave to Maupertuis 
was the cause of Voltaire's disagreement with him. 
Voltaire could not bear to see a man, whose talents he 
had no great opinion of, preferred before him as president 
of the Royal Academy. His Micromegaa was designed 
to ndioule Maupertuis ; and probably it has brought 
more disgrace on the author than the subject. Whatever 
absurdities men of letters have indulged, and how 
fantastical soever the modes of science have been, their 
anger is still more subject to ridicule. 



Ni'MBKB II. Saturday, Orlnber 13, 1750. 




I cannot resist your nolicitations, though it ia 
poBsible I sholl be unable to satisfy your curiosity. The 
polite of every country seem to have but one character. 
.\ gentleman of Sweden differs but little, except in trifles, 
from one of any other country. It is among the vulgir 
we are to find those distinctions which characterize 
a people, and from them it is that I take my picture of 
the Swedes. 

Though the Swe<lc8 in general appear to languish 
under oppression, which often renders others wicked, or 
of malignant dispositions, it has not, however, the same 
influence upon them, as they are faithful, civil, and 
incapable of atrocious crimes. Would you believe that 
in Sweden highway robberies are not so much as heard 
of '! For my part, 1 have not in the whole country seen a 
gibbet or a gallows. Tbqy pay an infinite respect to their 
ecclesiastics, whom they suppose to be the privy council- 
lors of Providence, who, on their part, turn this ereduUty 
to their own advantage, and manage their parishioners as 
they please. In general, however, they seldom abuse 
their sovereign authority. Hearkened to as oracles, 
regarded as the dispensers of eternal rewards and 
punishments, they readily influence their hearers into 
justice, '.nd make them practical philosophers without 
the pains of study. 

As to their persons they are perfectly well made, 
and the men i)articularly have a very engaging air. 
The greatest part of the boys which I saw in the country 




h*d very white hair. They wore bh bcaiitifiil bh C'lipids, 
and there was somothing oiKin and entirely hajijiy in 
their little chubby faces. The girls, nn the contrary, 
have neither such fair nor Hiich even complexionH, and 
their features are much less delicate, which is a circum- 
stance different from that of almost every other cc- ♦[ y. 
Besides this, it is observed that the women are generally 
a(flicte<l with the itch, for which Scania is i)articularly 
remarkable. I had an ins(;inco of this in one of the inns 
on the roa<l. The hos , .^s was one of the most bciuitiful 
women I have over scon ; she had so fine a complexion, 
that I coi'ld not avoid admiring it. But what was my 
surprise, when she opened her bosom in order to suckle 
her child, to perceive that scat of delight all covered 
with this disagreeable distemper. The careless manner 
in which she exposed to our eyes so disgusting an object, 
sufficiently testifies that they regard it as no very 
extraordinary malady, and seem to take no pnins to 
conceal it. Such are the remarks, which probably you 
may think trifling enough, I have made in my journey 
to Stockholm, which, to take it, is a large, 
beautiful, and even populous city. 

The arsenal appears to mo one of its greatest curiosities ; 
it is an handsome spacious building, but, however, illy 
stored with the implements of war. To recompense 
this defect, they have almost filled it with trophies, and 
other marks oi their former military glory. I saw there 
several chambers filled with Danish, Saxon, Polish, and 
Russian standards. There was at least enough to suffice 
half a dozen armies ; but new standards are more 
easily made than new armies can be enlisted. I saw, 
besides, some very rich furniture, and some of the crown 
jewels of great value ; but what principally engaged my 
attention, and touched me with passing melancholy, 
were the bloody, yet precious, spoils of the two greatest 



herooH the North ever prmliiood. What I moan are the 
cluthoH in which the groat OuHtavuH Adolphua, and the 
intrepid Charles XII dio»l, by a fate not URual to kings. 
The flrat, if I remember, iit a aort of a buff waiitooat, 
mado antique fashion, very plain, and the least 
omamjnts ; the second, which was even more remark- 
able, consisted only of a coarse blue cloth coat, a large hat 
of loss value, a shirt of coarse linen, large boots, and 
buff gli)ves mado to cover a great part of the arm. 
His saddle, his pistols, and his sword, have nothing in 
them remarkable ; the meanest soldier was in this 
n-Hpoct no w. inferior to his gallant monarch. I shall 
use this op|H iiiity to give you some particulars of 
the life of a man .ilready so .veil known, which I had 
from persons who know him when a child, and who now, 
by a fate not unusual to courtiers, spend a life of poverty 
and retirement, and talk ovor in raptures all the actions 
of their old victorious king, companion, and master. 

Courage and inflexible constancy formed the basis of 
this monarch's character. In his tenderest years ho gave 
instances of both. When he was yet scarce seven years 
old, being at dinner with the queen his mother, intend- 
ing to give a bit of liroad to a groat dog he was fond of, 
this hungry animal s; lapped too greedily at the morsel, 
and bit Lis hand in a terrible manner. The wound bled 
copiously, but our yoimg hero, without offering to cry, 
or taking the least notice of his misfortune, endeavoured 
to conceal whaf had liappened, lest his a. % should be 
brought into trouble, and wrapped his bloody hand in 
the napkin. The queen, perceiving that hi did not eat, 
asked him the reason. He contented himself with 
replying, that he thanked her, he was not hungry. They 
thought he was taken ill, and so repeated their solicita- 
tions. But all was in vain, though the poor child was 
obeady grown pale with the loss of blood. An officer who 



•ttendeil tit («lile at tant pcix^oivod it ; for Charlm would 
loonerhavo died than l)etra>ed hk dog, who, ho knew, 
intended no injury. 

At another time, when in the Hmall -pox, and hi* raie 
appeared dangoroiw, ho grew one day very unoaiiy ia 
his bed, and a gentleman who wat( hod him, dcniroua ol 
covering him up clone, reccivo<l from the patient a vioknt 
box on his ear. Some houni after, obiiorving the princo 
more calm, he ontreatc«l to know how he had incurred hit 
diitpleaiiure, or what ho hud done to have merited 
a blow. ' A blow,' ropliwi (!harlc8, ' I don't remember 
• anything of it ; I romemlwr, indeed, that I thought 
j myself in the battle of ArbeU, fighting for Dariui, 
where I gave Alexander a blow, which brought him to 
' the ground.' 

What great effoot* might not these two qualities of 
courage and consta.icy have produced, had they at first 
received a . .st direction. Charics, with proper instruc- 
tion, thus naturaUy disposed, would have been the delight 
•nH •;• - glory of his age. Happy those princes, who are 
eo ed by men who ate at once virtuous and wise, 
ana ive been for some time in the school of affliction ; 
who -eigh happiness against gl, y, and teach their 
royal pupils tho real value of fame ; who are ever show- 
ing the superior dignity of man to that of royalty ; 
that a peasant who docrt his duty ia a nobler character 
than a king of even middling reputation. Happy, I say, 
were prinoes, could such men bo found to instruct them ; 
but those to whom such an education is generally 
entrusted, are men who themselves have acted in a 
sphere too high to know mankind. Puffed up themselves 
with ideas of false grandeur, and measuring merit by 
adventitious circuiiistances of greatness, they generally 
communicate those fatal prejudices to their pupils, 
oonflrra 'heir pride by adulation, or increase their 



ignorance by teaching them to despise that wisdom 
which is found among the poor. 

But not to moralize when I only intend a story, — 
what is related of the journeys of this prince is no less 
astonishing. He has sometimes been on horseback for 
four and twenty hours successively, and thus traversed 
the greatest part of his kingdom. At last none of his 
officers were found capable of following him ; he thus 
consequently rode the greatest part of these journeys 
quite alone, without taking a moment's repose, and 
without any other subsistence but a bit of bread. In 
one of these rapid courses he underwent an adventure 
singular enoufjh. Biding thus post one day, all alone, 
he had the misfortune to have his horse fall dead under 
him. This might have embarrassed an ordinary man, 
but it gave Charles no sort of uneasiness. Sure of finding 
another horse, but not equally so of meeting with a good 
saddle and pistols, he ungirds his horse, claps the whole 
equipage on his own back, and thus accoutred, marches 
on to the next inn, which by good fortune was not far 
oS. Entering the stable, he here found a horse entirely 
to his mind ; so, without further ceremony, he clapped 
on his saddle and housing with great composure, and was 
just going to mount, when the gentleman who owned 
the horse was apprised of a stranger's going to steal his 
property out of the stable. Upon asking the king, 
whom he had never seen, bluntly, how he presumed to 
meddle with his horse, Charles coolly replied, squeezing 
ill his lips, which was his usual custom, that he took the 
horse because he wanted one ; ' for you seq,' continued 
he, ' if I have none, 1 shall be obliged to carry the saddle 
' myself.' This answer did not seem at all satisfactory 
to the gentleman, who instantly drew his sword. In this 
the king was not much behindhand with him, and to it 
they were going, when the guards, by this time, came 



up, and testified that surprise which was natural, to 
see arms in the hand of a subject against his king. 
Imagine whether the gentleman was less surprised than 
they at his unpremeditated disobedience. His astonish- 
ment, however, was soon dissipated by the king, who, 
taking him by the hand, assured him he was a brave 
fellow, and himself would take care he should be provided 
for. This promise was afterwards fulfilled ; and I have 
been assured the king made him a captain. 

I am. Sir, &c. 


Mademoiselle Claieon, a celebrated actress at Paris, 
seems to me the most perfect female figure I have ever 
seen upon any stage. Not, perhaps, that nature has been 
more liberal of personal beauty to her, than some to be 
seen upon our theatres at home. There are actresses 
here who have as much of what nonnoisseurs call statuary 
grace, by which is meant elegance unconnected with 
motion, as she ; but they all fall infinitely short of her, 
when the soul comes to give expression to the limbs,' 
and animates every feature. 

Her first appearance is excessively engaging ; she 
never comes in staring round upon the company,' as if 
she intended to count the benefits of the house, or at 
least to see, as well as be seen. Her eyes are always, 
at first, intently fixed upon the persons of the drama, and 
she lifts them by degrees, with enchanting diffidence, 
upon the spectators. Her first speech, or at least the 
first part of it, is delivered with scarce any motion of 
the arm ; her hands and her tongue never set out 
together ; but the one prepares us for the other. She 
sometimes begins with a mute, eloquent attitude ; but 
never goes forward all at once with hands, eyes, 'head, 



and voice. This observation, though it may appear of 
no importance, should certainly be adverted to ; nor 
do I see any one performer (Garrick only excepted) 
among us, that is not, in this particular, apt to offend. 
By this simple beginning she gives herself a power of 
rising in the passion of the scene. As she proceeds, 
every gesture, every look acquires new violence, till at 
last transported, she fills the whole vehemence of the 
part, and all the idea of the poet. 

Her hands are not alternately stretched out, and then 
drawn in again, as with the singing women at Sadler's 
Wells ; they are employed with graceful variety, and 
every moment please with new and unexpected eloquence. 
Add to this, that their motion is generally ■ from the 
shoulder ; she never flourishes her hands while the upper 
part of her arm is motionless, nor has she the ridiculous 
appearance, as if her elbows were pinned to her hips. 

But of a ' the cautions to be given our rising actresses, 
I would particularly recommend it to them never to 
take notice of the audience, upon any occasion whatso- 
ever ; let the spectators applaud never so loudly, their 
praises should pass, except at the end of the epilogue, 
with seeming inattention. I can never pardon a lady 
on the stage who, when she draws the admiration of the 
whole audience, turns about to make them a low curtsy 
for their applause. Such a figure no longer continues 
Belvidera, but at once drops into Mrs. Gibber. Suppose 
a sober tradesman, who once a year takes his shilUngs- 
worth at Drury Lane, in order to be delighted with the 
figure of a queen, the Queen of Sheba for instance, or 
any other queen : this honest man has no other idea of 
the groat but from their superior pride and impertinence : 
suppose such a man placed among the spectators, the 
first figure that presents on the stage is the queen herself, 
curtsying and cringing to all the company ; how can 


he fancy hor the haughty favourite of King Solomon 
the wise, wlio appears actually more submissive than the 
wife of his bosom. We are all tradesmen of a nicer 
relish in this respect, and such a conduct must disgust 
every spectator who loves to have the illusion of nature 
strong upon him. 

Yet, while I recommend to our actresses a skilful 
attention to gesture, I would not have them study it 
in the looking-glass. This, without some precaution, 
will render their action formal ; by too great an intimacy 
with this, they become stiff and affected. People seldom 
improve, when they have no other model but themselves 
to copy after. I remember to have known a notable 
performer of the oth sex, who made great use of this 
flattering monitor; and yet was one of the stiffest 
figures I ever saw. I am told his apartment was hung 
round » looking-glass, that he might see his person 
twenty times reflected upon entering the room ; and 
I will make bold to say, he saw twenty very ugly fellows 
whenever he did so. 

Number III. Saturday, October 20, 1759. 

Man, when secluded from society, is not a more solitary 
being than the woman who leaves the duties of her ov n 
sex to invade the privileges of ours. She seems, in such 
circumstances, like one in banishment ; she appears like 
a neutral being between the sexes ; and though she may 
have the admiration of both, she finds true happiness 
from neither. 

Of all the ladies of antiquity, I have read of none 
who was ever more justly celebrated than the beautiful 
Hypatia, the daughter of Theon the philosopher. This 



most aooomplishe<1 of women was bom at Alexandria, in 
the reign of Theodosius the younger. Nature was never 
more lavish of its gifts than it had been to her, endued 
as she was with the most exalted understanding, and the 
happ-est turn to science. Education completed what 
nature had begun, and made hor the prodigy not only of 
her age, but the glory of her sex. 

From her father she learned geometry and astronomy ; 
she collected from the conversation and schools of the 
other philosophers, for which Alexandria was at that 
time famous, the principles of the rest of the sciences. 

What cannot be conqueretl by penetration 
and a passion for study ? The boundless knowledge 
which, at that period of time, was required to form the 
character of a philosopher no way discouraged her ; she 
delivered herself up to the study of Aristotle and Plato, 
and soon not one in all Alexandria understood so per- 
fectly as she all the dift culties of these two philosophers. 

But not their systems alone, but those of every other 
sect, were quite familiar to her ; and to this knowledge 
she added that of poUte learning, and the art of oratory. 
All the learning which it was possible for the human 
mind to contain, being joined to a most enchanting 
eloquence, rendered this lady the wonder not only of 
the populace, who easily admire, but of philosophers 
themselves, who are seldom fond of admiration. 

The city of Alexandria was every day crowded with 
strangers, who came from all parts of Greece and Asia 
to see and hear her. As for the charms of her person, 
they might not probably have been mentioned, did she 
not join to a beauty the most striking, a virtue that 
might repress the most assuming ; and though in the 
whole capital, famed for charms, there was not one who 
could equal her in beauty ; though in a city, the resort 
of all the learning then existing in the world, there 


was not one who could equal her in knowledge ; yet 

with such accomplishments, Hypatia was the most modest 

of her sex. Her reputation for virtue was not less than 

her virtues ; and, though in a city divided between two 

factions, though visited by the wits and the philosophers 

of the agt, calumny never dared to suspect her morals 

or attempt her character. Both the Christians and 

the Heathens who have transmitted her history and her 

misfortunes, have but one voice, when they speak of 

her beauty, her knowledge, and her virtue. Nay, so 

much harmony reigns in their accounts of this prodigy 

of perfection, that, in spite of the opposition of their 

faith, we should never have been able to judge of what 

religion was Hypatia, were we not informed, from other 

circumstances, that sho was a heathen. Providence 

had tai. ,1 so much pains in forming her, that we are 

almost i.iduced to complain of its not having endeavoured 

to make her a Christian ; but from this complaint we 

are deterred by a thousand contrary observations, which 

lead us to reverence its inscrutable mysteries. 

This great reputation, which she so justly wa,j possessed 
of, was at last, however, the occasion of her ruin. 

The person who then possessed the patriarchate of 
Alexandria was equally remarkable for his violence, 
cruelty, and pride. Conducted by an ill-grounded zeal 
for the Christian religion, or perhaps desirous of 
augmenting his authority in the city, he had long medi- 
tated the banishment of the Jews. A difference arising 
between them and the Christians with respect to some 
public games, seemed to him a proper juncture for putting 
his ambitious designs into execution. He found no 
difficulty in exciting the people, naturally disposed to 
revolt. The prefect who, at that time, commanded the 
city, interposed on this occasion, and thought it just to 
put one of the chief creatures of the patriarch to the 



torture, in order to discover the fii'^t promoter of the 
conspiracy. The patriarch, enraged at the injuF»ice he 
thought offered to his character and dignity, anu ^iiqued 
at the protection which was offered to the Jews, sent 
for the chiefs of the synagogue, and enjoined them to 
renounce their designs, upon pain of incurring his highest 

The Jews, far from fearing his menaces, excited new 
tumults, in which several citizens had the misfortune 
to fall. The patriarch could no longer contain : at the 
head of a numerous body of Christians, he flew to the 
synagogues, which he demolished, and di-ove the Jews 
from a city, of which they had been possessed since the 
times of Alexander the Great. It may be easily imagined 
that the prefect could not behold, without pain, his 
jurisdiction thus insulted, and the city deprived of a 
number of its most industrious inhabitants. 

The affair was therefore brought before the emperor. 
The patriarch complained of the excesses of the Jews, 
and the prefect of the outrages of the patriarch. At 
this very juncture, five hun .red monks of Mount Nitria, 
imagining the life of their chief to be in danger, and that 
iheir religion was threatened in his fall, flew into the 
city with ungovernable rage, attacked the prefect in the 
streets.and, not content with loading him with reproaches, 
wounded him in several places. 

The citizens had by this time notice of the fury of the 
monks ; they, therefore, assembled in a body, put the 
monks to flight, seized on him who had been found 
throwing a stone, and delivered him to the prefect, 
who caused him to be put to death without farther delay! 
The patriarch immediately ordered the dead body, 
which had been exposed to view, to be taken down, 
procured for it all the pomp and rites of burial, and went 
even so far as himself to pronounce the funeral oration. 


in which he claBsed a seditious moult among the martyrs 
Th.8 conduct was by no means generally approved of ■' 
the most moderate even among the Christians per- 
ceived and blame<l his indiscretion ; but he was now 
too far advanced to retire. Ho had made several over- 
tures towards a reconciliation with the prefect, v hich 
not succeeding, ho bore all those an implacable hatred 
whom he imagined to have any hand in traversing his 
aesigns ; but Hypatia was particularly destined to ruin 
She could not find pa.don, as she was known to have 
a most refined friendship for the prefect ; wherefore the 
populace were incited against her. Peter, a reader of 
the principal church, one of those vile slaves by which 
men m power are too frequently attended-wretches 
ever ready to commit any crime which they hope may 
render them agreeable to their employer,— this fellow 
I say, attended by a crowd of villains, waited for Hypatia' 
as she was retu-ning from a visit, at her own door' 
seized her as she was going in, and dragged her to one 
of the churches called Cesarea, where, stripping her in 
the most inhuman manner, they exercised the most 
inhuman cruelties upon her, cut her into pieces, and burnt 
her remains to ashes. Such was the end of Hypatia, the 
glory of her own sex, and the astonishment of ours. 


Eh ociUo/t aunus. 

The Spanish nation 
been remarkable for the 
ture, especially in point 
so useful to mankind, 
esteemed it a matter 

mortalen lollere contra 
tvim usque asaurgne contra. 


has, for many centuries past, 
grossest ignorance in polite litera- 
of natural philosophy ; a science 

that her neightwiurs have ever 
of the greatest importance to 



endeavour, by repeated experiments, to strike a light 
out of the chaos in which truth socniotl to !» confounded. 
Their curiosity, in this respect, was so indifferent, that, 
though they had discovered now worids, they were at 
a loss to explain the phenomena of their own, and their 
pride so unaccountable, that they disdained to bor- 
row from others that instruction which their natural 
indolence permitted them not to acquire. 

It gives me, however, a secret -latisfaction to behold 
an extraordinary genius now existing in that nation, 
whose studious endeavours seem calculated to undeceive 
the superstitious, and instruct the ignorant : I mean 
the celebrated Padre Froijo. In unravelling the mysteries 
of nature, and explaining physical experiments, he takes 
an opportunity of displaying the concurrence of second 
causes, in those very wonders which the vulgar ascribe 
to supernatural influence. 

An example of this kind happened a few years ago, 
in a small town of the kingdom of Valencia. Passing 
through at the hour of mass, he alighted from his mule, 
and proceeded to the parish church, which he found 
extremely crowded, and there appeared on the faces of 
the faithful a more than usual alacrity. The sun, it 
seems, which had been for some minutes under a cloud, 
had begun to shine on a large crucifix, that stood on 
the middle of the altar, studded with several precious 
stones. The reflection from these, and from the diamond 
eyes of some silver saints, so dazzled the multitude, 
that they unanimously cried out, ' A miracle ! a miracle ! ' 
whilst the priest at the altar, with seeming consternation, 
continued his heavenly conversation. Padre Freijo soon 
dissipated the charm, by tying his handkerchief round 
the head of one of the statues, for which he was arraigned 
by the Inquisition ; whoso flames, however, he has had 
the good fortune hitherto to escape. 



NCMBEK IV. Satcrday, Octobtr 27, 1769. 


iJ^^'^l ^*" '"^'""'™ *'"' ""'"' "^ '"y ?■••'«'"* under- 

be led to form co„cIu«ions by „o ,„ca„H favourable to 
he pride of an author. Should I estimate mv fan.e 
by lU extent, every newspaper and every magazine 
would leave me far behind. Their fame Ih diffused "„ 
a very c,rcl.^that of some an far as Islington, and 
Bome ye farther still ; while mine, I sincerely bel eve 
has hardly travelled beyond the sound of l^w b^ 1 
and whde the works of othe™ fly like unpinioned si,' 

Sf H,T °*" "t? "" '"""''y "' " "''«-P'"eke,l goose 

St.ll, however, I have as mue'r pride as they who have 

ten times as many readers. It is impossible to mpeat all 

L Ltrr ' r""'" '" ^^"^ " '•i^'PPointed author 
8 apt to find comfort. I conclude, that what n,v r^puta- 

!Z/ «, '■; *"*'"*' " '"*"''' "P "^y '*« """"'ty- ^Jinns 
}u^t Glona lata quam magna. I have great satisfaction 
m considenng the delicacy and discem„,cnt of thos^ 
eaders I have, and in ascribing my want of popularity 
to the Ignorance or mattention of those I have not. All 

LlTetir '"'^""^ ^" ^""'- '"" ™"'*>- ^^^" -- 
Yet notwithstanding so sincere a confession. I was 
once mduced to show my indignation against the public, 
by discontmrnng my endeavours to please ; and was 
bravely resolved, like Raleigh, to vex [hem, i>y burriing 
my manuscript in a passion. Upon n^collcction. however 

pl^sedat my rashness. The sun.after so sad an accident, 
night shme next morning as bright as usual- men 
nught laugh and sing the next day, and transact businm 



sa before, and not a KJngle creature foci any regret but 

I Toflootod upon the Htory of a minister, who, in the 
reign of Charles II, upon a certain ncoaHion resigned 
all his posts, and retired into the country in a fit of 
resentment. But as ho had not given the world entirely 
up with his ambition, he sent a inossenger to town, to 
gee how the courtiers would liear his resignation. Upon 
the messenger's return, ho was asked whether there 
appeared any commotions at court 1 To which he 
replied, ' There wore very great ones.' ' Aye,' sajs the 
minister, ' I knew my friends would make a bustle ; 
' all petitioning the king for my restoration, I presume? ' 
' No, Sir,' repliwl the messenger, ' they are only petitioning 
' his majesty to be put in your place.' In the same 
manner, should I retire in indignation, instead of having 
Apollo in mourning, or the Muses in a fit of the spleen ; 
instead of having the learned world apostrophizing at 
my untimely decease, perhaps all Grub Street might 
laugh at my fall, and self -approving dignity might never 
be able to shield me from ridicule. In short, I am 
resolved to write on, if it were only to spite them. If 
the present generation will not hear my voice, hearken, 
O posterity, to you I call, and from you I expect redress ! 
What rapture will it not give to have the Scaligers, 
Daciers, and Warburtons of future times commenting 
with admiration upon every line I now WTite, working 
away those ignorant creatures who oifer to arraign my 
merit with all the virulence of learned reproach. Aye, 
my friends, let thorn feel it ; call names ; never spare 
them ; they deserve it all, and ten times more. I have 
been told of a critic, who was crucified, at the command 
of another, to the reputation of Homer. That, no doubt, 
was more than poetical justice, and * lall be perfectly 
content if those who criticize me are only clapped in the 


Pjlfery kopt flftoen day, upon l,„,ad and woter. and 
obliged to run the gantlope though Patemct.r Row 
The truth ,8 1 can expect happi„e«, from p.„terity 

if well, happy m bcmg renieml^jred with respect 

I va8 mistaken „, designing my paper as an ajreeaWe 

«mon. the 1 '" ''"""'T °' " ""'P *° ---"ation 
among the gay; instead of addressing it to such I 
.hould have written down to the taste ai?^ appreh nl„ 
rf the many, and sought for «,putation on the broad „«d 
Literary fame, I now find, like religious, generally bcginB 
among the vulgar. As for the polite, they are 'o very 

ttat rr ' 'T ''''^'^ "P ""*° affectation, tells vou, 

Thus w r\'^T.- '"' "'" °' ^^"'^ -'y "P/*^-^ 

he ke«™ d '^ """ '"*° ™P*"'« "' anything now, 

he keeps down every passion but pride and self-fmpor 

rm":d?„T: :•" ^"^«'"' ""'• *"« ^^ -'^o^s 

«Z '" ''•t.**"""8 » Pi"«h of snuff. Another has 
wn ten a book himself, and being condemned for a dunce 
he tu^s a 8ort of king's evidence in criticism, and now 
b^^comes the terror of every offender. A thinl, posse:^ 

fmm those who endeavour to grow beneath him, and 

might rise into equal eminence. While others stil 
worse, peruse old books for their amusement, and new 

s^k ^f^atb^tT."'?" = " *'"'* '""^ P"*^"^ -- "- "'y 

«.ck of all but the business of the dav, and r«ad everv- 

ace"fo"f7he"™ " ""■' ?*""*"" "^ ^'"'y --"- the 
races ot the passing crowd. 

thr^'^ff 'IT "onsiderations I was onoe det«mined to 
throw off all connexions with taste, and fairly address 
my countrymen in the same engaging style and manner 



with other periodical painphietH, much more in vogue 
than probably mine Hhall over bo. To ofFeot thiH, I had 
thoughtH of changing the title into that of the Royal 
Ukk, the Anti-oalmcan Ukk, or the Hke'h Maoazine. 
I had laid in a proiior utock of popular topicH, Huch oh 
enconiiumM on the King of Pruwtia, invoctivoH againat 
the Queen of Hungary and the French, the nocesaity of 
a militia, our undoubted Bovereignty of the KeaH, reflec- 
tions upon the pre«ent state of atfairH, a diiwertation 
upon hberty, some seasonablo thoughtH ujwn the intended 
bridge of blackfriars, and an address to Britons. The 
history of an old woman, whoso teeth grew three inches 
long, an ode upon our victories, a rebus, an acrostic 
upon Miss Peggy P., and a journal of the weather. All 
this, together with four extraonlinary pages of leUer-prena, 
a beautiful map of England, and two prints curiously 
coloured from nature, I fancied might touch their very 
souls. I was actually Ixtginning an address to the people, 
when my pride at last overcame my prudence, and 
determined me to endeavour to please by the goo<lnesH 
of my entertainment, rather than by the magniticence 
of my sign. 

The Spectator, and many succeeding essayists, fre- 
quently inform us of the numerous compliments paid 
them in the course of their lucubrations ; of the frequent 
encouragements they met to inspire them with ardour, 
and increase their eagerness to please. I have received 
my letters as well as they ; but alas ! not congratulatory 
ones ; not assuring mc of success and favour ; but 
pregnant with bodings that might shake even fortitude 

One gentleman assures me, he intends to throw away 
no more threepences in purchasing the Bee ; and what 
is still moie dismal, he will not recommend me as a poor 
author wanting encouragement to his neighbourhood. 


which it KoemR jh very n.imerouH. Were my .oiil not upon 
throepcncos, what anxiety might m.t Huch a dcMimiation 
produce I But nuch cI.k-h not hapten to he the present 
mot ve of publication : I «rito partly to »how my 
Bo<Kl nature, ai»l jmrtiy t^. nhow my vanity ; nor will 
X lay down the i)cn till 1 am HatiM(ic<l one way or another 
Othorn have dinlikwl the title and the mott.i of my 
paper ; p.Mnt out a miHtako in the one, ami awure me the 
other hax Iwen conHigncd to dullncw. by anticijwtion All 
this may be true ; hut uhiil i« thai to me 1 Titles and 
mottc*8 to l«,okH are like eHcutcheonn and dignitioH in 
the handH of a king. The wine HometimcB condescend to 
of«/rf of them ; but none but a fool will imagine them 
of any real imiH)rtance. Wo ought to dcjicnd upon 
intnnHio merit, and not the Blender helps of title. Nam 
quae nonfecimut ipsi, vix ea nostra voco. 

For my part, I am ever ready to mistrust a promising 
title, and have, at some expense, been instructed not 
to hearken to the voice of an advertisement, let it plead 
never so loudly, or never so long. A countryman coming 
ono day to Smithfield, in onlcr to take a slice of Bartholo- 
mew Fair, found a perfect show before every booth. The 
drummer, the fire-eater, the wire-walker, and the salt- 
box, were all employed to invite him in. Juet a going • 
the com of the King of Prumia in all hi. glory ; pray, 
gentlemen, walk in and me. From people who generously 
gave so much away, the clown expected a monstrous 
bargain for his money when he got in. He steps up, pays 
his sixpence, the curtain is drawn; when, too late, he 
finds that he had the best part of the show for nothing 
at the door. 




Every country has its traditions, which, either too 
minute or not sufficiently authentic to receive historical 
sanction, are handed down among the vulgar, and 
serve at once to instruct and amuse them. Of this 
number the adventures of Robin Hood, the hunting of 
Chevy Chacc, and the bravery of Johnny Armstrong, 
among the English ; of Kaul Derog, among the Irish ; 
and Creighton, among the Scots, are instances. Of all 
the traditions, however, I remember to have heard, 
1 do not recollect any more remarkable than one still 
current in Flanders ; a story generally the first the 
peasants tell their children, when they bid them behave 
like Bidderman the wise. It is by no means, however, 
a model to be set before a polite people for imitation ; 
since if, on the one hand, we perceive in it the steady 
influence of patriotism ; we, on the other, find as strong 
a desire of revenge. But, to waive introduction, let us 
to the story. 

When the Saracens overran Europe with their armies, 
and penetrated as far even as Antwerp, Bidderman was 
lord of a city, which time has since swept into destruc- 
tion. As the inhabitants of this country were divided 
under separate leaders, the Saracens found an easy 
conquest, and the city of Bidderman, among the rest, 
became a prey to the victors. 

Thus dispossessed of his paternal city, our unfortunate 
governor was obliged to seek refuge from the neighbour- 
ing princes, who were as yet unsubdued, and he for some 
time lived in a state of wretched dependence among 

Soon, however, his love to his native country brought 
him back to his own city, resolved to rescue it from the 
enemy, or fall in the attempt : thus, in disguise, he went 


among the inhabitants, and endeavoured, but in vain 
to excite thcni to a revolt. Former misfortunes lay so 
heavily on their niiiids, that they rather chose to suffer 
the most cruel bondage, than attemnt to vindicate 
their former freedom. 

As he was thus one day emiJoyed, vnotlirr b^ ii.i- rma- 
tion or from suspicion is not kn. ,.,:. he was appre- 
hended by a Haracen soUlier as a ... , ,,1 brought 
before the very tribunal at which ho once presided. 
The account he gave of himself was by no means satis- 
factory. He could pro<luce no friends to vindicate his 
character ; wherefore, as the Saracens knew not thrir 
prisoner, and as they had no direct proofs against him 
they were content with condemning him to be publicly 
whipped as a vagabond. 

The e.xecution of this sentence M'as accordingly per- 
formed with the utmost rigour. Bidderman was bound 
to the post, the executioner seeming disposed to add to 
the crue ty of the sentence, as he received no bribe for 
enity Whenever Bidderman groaned under the scourge 
the other, only redoubling his blows, cried out, Does the 
mllam murmur? If Bidderman entreated but a mo- 
ment s respite from torture, the other only repeated his 
former exclamation, Does the villain murmur ? 

From this period, revenge, as well as patriotism, took 
entire possession of his soul. His fury stooped so low as 
to follow the executioner with unremitting resentment. 
But, conceiving that the best method to attain these 
ends was to acquire some eminence in the city, he laid 
himself out to oblige its new masters, studied every art 
and practised every meanness, that servo to promote 
the needy, or render the poor pleasing; and by these 
means, „, a few years, he came to be of some note in the 
city, which justly belonge<l entirely to hi in 
The executioner «as, therefore, the first object of hie 


resentment, and he even practised the lowest fraud to 
gratify the revenge he owed him. A piece of plate, 
which Bidderman had previously stolen from the Saracen 
governor, he privately conveyed into the executioner's 
house, and then gave information of the theft. They 
who are any way acquainted with the rigour of the 
Arabian laws, know that theft is punished with immediate 
death. The proof was direct in this case ; the execu- 
tioner had nothing to offer in his own defence, and he 
was therefore condemnetl to be beheadetl upon a scaffold 
in the public niarket-placo. As there was no executioner 
in the city but the very man who was now to suffer, 
Bidderman himself undertook this, to him, moat agree- 
able office. The criminal was conducted from the 
judgement-seat, bound with cords. The scaffold was 
erected, and he placed in such a manner as he might lie 
most convenient for the blow. 

But his death alone was not sufficient to satisfy the 
resentment of this extraordinary man, unless it was 
aggravated with every circumstance of cruelty. Where- 
fore, coming up the scaffold, and disposin;, everything 
in readiness for the intended blow, with the sword in 
his hand he approached the criminal, and whispering 
in a low voice, assured him, that he himself was the 
very person that had once been used with so much 
cruelty ; that to his knowledge, he died very innocently, 
for the plate had been stolen by himself, and privately 
conveyed into the house of the other. 

' O, my countrymen,' cried the criminal, * do you 

' hear what this man says ? ' Does the villain murmur ? 

replied Bidderman, and immediately, at one blow, 
severed his head from his body. 

Still, however, he was not content till he had ample 
vengeance of the governois of the city, who condemned 
him. To effect this, he hired a small house, adjoining 


to the town wall, under which ho every <lav dug, and 
carried out the earth in a Ims-ot. In thi« unremitting 
labour, lie co,it„,ued several years, every day digging 
a httle, and carrying the earth unsuspected away 
By this means he at last nmdo a secret eomn.unieation 
from the country into the city, and only wanted the 
appearance of an enemy, in order to betray it This 
opportunity, at length, offered ; the French army came 
into the neighbourhood, but had no thoughts of sitting 
down before a townwhichtheyeonsidered as impregnable 
Bidderman, however, soon altered their resolutions 
and upmi communicating his plan to the General, he 
embraced .t with ardour. Through the private passage 
aWe mentioned, he introduced a large body of the most 
resolute sokl.ers, who soon opened the gates for the rest, 
and the whole army rushing in, put every Saracen that 
was found to the sword. 



To THE Author ob 1 Bee 

.« ,^, u ' "' ^''"^™'' '"^ ^li^'^ious in proportion 
as they cultivate society. The elephant and the beaver 
show the ^eatest signs of this when united ; but when 
man intrudes into their communities, they lose all their 
spirit of industry, and testify but a very small share of 
that sagacity, for which, when in a social state, they 
are so remarkable. 

Among in.sects, the labours of the bee and the ant 
have employe,! the attention and admiration of the 
naturalist; but their whole sagacity is lost upon 
separation, and a single bee or ant seems destitute of 
'"VL^^LZ"' '"^"^'^y>J« *'"' --t "tupid insect 



imaginable, languishes for a time in solitude, and soon 

Of all the solitary insects 1 have ever remarked, the 
spider is the most sagacious ; and its actions to me, who 
have attentively considered them, seem almost to exceetl 
belief. This insect is formed by nature for a state of 
war, not only upon other insects, but upon each other. 
For this state nature seems perfectly well to have 
formed it. Its head and breast are covered with a strong 
natural coat of mail, which is impenetrable to the 
attempts of every other insect, and its belly is enveloped 
in a soft pliant skin, which eludes the sting cvon of 
a wasp. Its legs are terminated by strong claws, not 
unlike those of a lobster, and their vast length, like 
spears, serves to keep every assailant at a distance. 

Not worse furnished for observation than for an attack 
or a defence, it has several eyes, large, transparent, and 
covered with a horny substance, which, however, does 
not impede its vision. Besides this, it is furnished with 
a forceps above the mouth, which serves to kill or secure 
the prey already caught in its claws or its net. 

Such are the implements of war with which the body 
is immediately furnished ; but its net to entangle the 
enemy seems what it chiefly trusts to, and what it 
takes most pains to render as complete as possible. 
Nature has furnished the body of this little creature 
with a glutinous liquid, which, proceeding from the anus, 
it spins into a thread, coarser or finer as it chooses to 
contract or dilate its sphincter. In order to fix its 
thread wh^ ' it begins to weave, it emits a small drop of 
its liquit" f Inst the wall, which, hardening by degrees, 
serves to hold the thread very firmly. Then receding 
from the first point, as it recedes the thread lengthens ; 
and when the spider has come to the place where the 
other end of the thread should bo fixed, feathering up 



«iUi itH clawH the thu nrl which would otherwise Ik- too 
slack, it is stretchwl tightl •, and fixed in the same 
manner to the wall as before. 

In this manner it spins and fixes several threads 
parallel to each other, which, so to speak, servo as the 
warp to the intended web. To form the woof, it spins 
in the same manner its thread, transversely fixing one 
enil to the first thread that was spun, and which is always 
the strongest of the whole web, and the other to the wall. 
All these threads, being newly spun, are glutinous, and 
therefore stick to eacii other wherever they happen to 
touch, and in those parts of the web most exposed to be 
torn, our natural artist strengthens them, by doubling 
the threads sometimes sixfold. 

Thus far naturalists have gone in the description of 
this animal ; what follows is the result of my own 
observation upon that species of the insect called 
a house-Spider. I perceived about four years ago, 
a largo spider in one corner of my room, making its 
web ; and though the maid frequently Icvellefl her fatal 
broom against the labours of the little animal, I had the 
good fortune then to prevent its destruction ; and I may 
say, it more than paid rao by the entertainment it 

In three days the web was, with incredible diligence, 
completed ; nor eo\dd I avoid thinking that the insect 
seemed to exult ir> its new abode. It frequently traversed 
it round, examined the strength of every part of it, 
retired into its hole, and came ojt very frequently. The 
first enemy, however, it had to encounter, was another 
and a much larger spider, which, having -^o web of its 
own, and having probably exhaustc.; all its stock in 
former labours of this kind, came to inva<le the property 
of its neighboin'. Soon then a terrible encounter ensuwl, 
in which the invader seemed to have the victorv, and 



the laborious spider was obliged to take refuge in its 
hole. Uimn this I perceived the victor using every art to 
draw the enemy from his stronghold. He seemed to go off, 
but quickly returned ; and when he found all arts vain, 
began to demolish the now web without mercy. This 
brought on another battle, and, contrary to my expecta- 
tions, the laborious spider became conqueror, and fairly 
killed his antagonist. 

Now, then, in peaceable possession of what was justly 
its own, it waited three days with the utmost patience, 
repairing the breaches of its web, and taking no suste- 
nance that I could perceive. At last, however, a large blue 
fly fell into the snare, and struggled hard to get loose. 
The spider gave it leave to entangle itself as much as 
possible, but it seemed to be too strong for the cobweb. 
I must own I was greatly surprised when I saw the spider 
immediately sally out, and in less than a minute weave 
a new net round its captive, by which the motion of 
its wings was stopped ; and when it was fairly hampered 
in this manner, it was seized, and dragged into the hole. 

In this manner it lived, in a precarious state ; and 
nature seemed to have fitted it for such a life, for upon 
a single fly it subsisted for more than a w eek. I once 
put a wasp into the net ; but when the spider came out 
in order to seize it as usual, upon perceiving what kind 
of an enemy it had to deal with, it Instantly broke all 
the bands that held it fast, and contributed all that lay 
in its jjower to disengage so formidable an antagonist. 
When the wasp was at liberty, I expected the spider 
would have set about repairing the breaches that were 
made in its net, but those it seems were irreparable, 
wherefore the cobweb was now entirely forsaken, and 
a new one begun, which was completed in the usual 

I had now a mind to try how many cobwebs a single 


spider could furnish ; whoreforo I destioyccl this, ami the 
insect set about another. When I de«troye<l the other 
also, its whole stock seemotl entirely exhausted, and it 
could spin no more. The arts it made use of to support 
itself, now deprived of its groat means of subsistence, 
were indeetl surprising. I have seen it roll up its legs 
like a ball, and lie motionless fc- hours together, but 
cautiously watching all the time ; when a fly hu])pened 
to approach sufficiently near, it would dart out all at 
once, and often seize its prey. 

Of this life, however, it soon began to grow weary, 
and resolved to invade the possession of some other 
spider, since it could not nuike a Heb of its own. It 
formed an attack upon a neighbouring fortification with 
groat vigour, and at first was as vigorously repuLsetl. 
Not daunted, however, with one defeat, in this manner it 
continued to lay siege to another's web for three days, 
and, at length, having killed the defendant, actually took 
possession. When smaller flies happen to fall into the 
snare, the spider does not sally out at once, but very 
patiently waits till it is sure of them ; for, ujion his 
immediately approaching, the terror of his appearance 
might give the captive strength sufficient to get loose : 
The manner then is to wait patiently till, by ineffectual 
and impotent struggles, the captive has wastetl all its 
strength, and then he becomes a certain and an easy 

The insect I am now describing lived three years; 
every year it changed its skin, and got a new set of legs! 
I have sometimes plucketl off a leg, which grew again 
in two or three days. At first, it dreaded my approach 
to its web, but at last it became so familiar as to take 
a fly out of my hand, and upon my touching any part of 
the web, would immediately leave its hole, jirexjared 
either for a defence or an attack. 




To complete this dcBcriptioii, it may bo obMorvctl, 
that the male spiilcra are much loss thantho female, and 
that the latter are oviiiaroiis. When they come to lay, 
they spread a part of their web under the eggs, and theii 
roll them up carefully, as we roll up things in a cloth, 
and thus hatch them in their hole. If disturbed in their 
holes, they never attempt to escape without carrying 
this young brood in their forceps away with them, and 
thus frequently arc sacrificed to their jHirental affection. 
As soon as ever the young ones leave their artificial 
covering, they begin to spin, and almost sensibly seem 
to grow bigger. If they have the good fortune, when oven 
but a day old, to catch a fly, they fall to with good 
appetites ; but they live sometimes three or four days 
without any sort of sustenance, and yet still continue 
to grow larger, so as everyday to double their former size. 
As they grow old, however, they do not still continue to 
increase, but their legs only continue to grow longer ; 
and when a spide- becomes entirely stiff with age, and 
unable to seize its prey, it dies at length of hunger. 


In every duty, in every science in which wo would wish 
to arrive at perfection, we should propose for the object 
of our pursuit some certain station even beyond our 
abilities ; some imaginary excellence, which may amuse 
and servo to animate our inquiry. In deviating from 
others, in following an unbeaten road, though we, 
perhaps, may never arrive at the wished-for object,' 
yet it is possible we may meet several discoveries by the 
way ; and the certainty of small advantages, even while 
we travel with security, is not so amusing as the hopes 
of great rewards, which inspire the adventurer. Evenit 


nonnunquam, Hays Qiiiiitilian, ill iillijuid ijramie itwcniat 
qui aem/jer quneril i/uod uimium cut. 

This e i' irpriHiiig spirit is, however, by no means the 
charactur of the present age ; every jwrson who should 
now leave received opinions, who should attempt to bo 
more than a commentatorupon philosophy, oran imitator 
in pclito learning, might be regardtil as a chimerical 
projector. Hundreds would be rcaiy no' only to point 
out his errors, but to load him with reproach. Our 
probable opinions are now regarded as certainties ; the 
difBculties hitherto undiscovered, as utterly inscrutable ; 
and the writers of the last ago inimitable, and therefore 
the properest models of imitation. 

One might be almost induced to deplore the philosophic 
spirit of the age, which in proportion as it enlightens 
the mind, increases its timidity, and represses the vigour 
of every undertaking. Men are now content with being 
prudently in the right ; which, though not the way to 
make new acquisitions, it nnist bo owned, is the best 
method of securing what we have. Yet this is certain, 
that the writer who never deviates, who never hazards 
a new thought, or a new expression, though his friends 
may compliment him upon his sagacity, though criticism 
lifts her feeble voice in his praise, ill seldom anive 
at any degree of perfection. The way to acquire lasting 
esteem, is not by the fewness of a writer's faults, but the 
greatness of his beauties ; and our noblest works are 
generally most replete with both. 

An author, who would be sublime, often runs his 
thought into burlesque ; yet I can readily pardon his 
mistaking ten times for once succeeding. True Genius 
walks along a line ; and, perhaps, our greatest pleasure 
is in seeing it so often near falling, without being ever 
actually down. 
Every science has its hitherto undiscovered mysteries, 



after «hich men nhonld travel imdiscouragcd by the 
faUuro of former a.lventurorH. Every new attempt 
wrves, porhap8, to facilitate itH future ituentiou We 
may not find the PhiloHopherH Htone, but «e »hall 
probably hit upon now invontion« in jiursuing it. VVo 
■hall, perhaps, never be able to disc^over the longitude 
yet, perhaps, we may arrive nt new truths in the investi' 

Were any of these sagacious minds among lis, (and 
«'.ircly no nation, or no period, could ever compare with 
us m this particular) were any of those minds, I sav 
who nowsit down contented with exploring the intricaciw 
of another system, bravely to shako off adraimtion, 

to chalk out a i«th to fame for themselvcH, and lx,l<llv 
cultivate untried ex,H,riinent, what might not bo the 
result of their inquiries, should f- same study that nas 
made them wise, make them •!! .^.rising also ? What 
could not such qualities, unite<l, proiluce V But such is 
not the character of the English, while our neighbours 
of the Continent launch out into the ocean of science 
without proper stores for the voyage, we fear shipwrecK 
m every breeze, and consume in port those powers 
Avhich might probably have weathered every storm 

Projectors in a state are generally rewarded above 
their deserts ; projectoi's in the republic of letters, never 
If wrong, every inferior dunce thinks himself entitle*! 
to Jaugh at their disappoint; icnt ; if right, men of 
superior talents think their honour engagecl to oppose 
since every new discovery is a tacit diminution of their 
own pre-eminence. 

To aira at excellence, our reputation, our friends, and 
our all, must be ventured ; by aiming only at mediocrity, 
we run no risk, and we do little service. Prudence and 
greatness are ever persuading us to contrary pursuits 


The Olio instructs ..h to Ik, ooM.fnt uith our Htution, aiul 
to hnU hai.pi.,t..s« in bounding ovory «i„h. The othor 
m^h UH to 8,.,K,-rio,ity, anJ eallH notliing l.ap,,ine8« 
but rapture. The on« direotn to follow mankind, and to 
Oct and think with .ho rest of the world. The othor 

iVir "r 'f'" "'° "'""''■ ""•' ""I'"*''- "» "» '^ '""k to 

an tJio HhaftH of envy, or ignorance. 

A-M w/«u« periculum ex nmjm/ama ,jmm tx ma/a.-TAclT. 
The rewards of mediocrity are immediately paid, 
those attending oxeellonce generally paid in reversion. 
In a word, the littlo mind who loves itself, will write and 
thmk with the vulgar, but the great mind will bo bravely 
eccentric, and scorn the beaten road, from miiversal 


Ilk dalit nn, qui tine Icstt. rfu/d.— Mart. 
The clock has struck two, the expiring taper rises and 
sinks m the socket, tho watchman forgets the hour in 
slumber, the laborious and the happy are at rest, and 
nothing now wr • ,ut guilt, revelry and despair. 
The drunkard once more fills the destroying bowl, the 
robber walks his midnight round, and tho suicide lifts 
his guilty arm against his own sacred person. 

Let me no longer waste the night over tho page of 
antiqmty, or tho sallies of contemporary genius but 
pursue tho solitary walk, where vanity, ever changing 
but a few hours past, walked before me, where she kept 
up the pageant, and now, like a froward child, seems 
hushed with her own importunities. 

What a gloom hangs all around ! the dying lamp 
feebly emits a yellow gleam, uo »(juiid is heard but of 
tho chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. All tho 



buHtIo of hiiinan ]>ri(lo In foicDttrii, niiil tliiH hour may 
well diHplay tho c'liiptincNH of limimii vuiiity. 

Thoro may cuiiiu u tiniu ulicii tluH tciii|iorary Hulitiidr 
may Iw made continual, uiiil the cily itwlf, liko itH inhahi- 
tsntH, fade away, and leave u d"«t'rt in itn riM)m. 

What citirH, an great an tliiH, have unee trinniphril in 
exiHtonce, had their vietorieM «« gri^at as oiirK, joy an 
juMt, and ax unbounded as we, and with Khort-xightott 
preHumption, promiHod IhonmelveH innnortality. Poh- 
terity can hardly trace tho Hituution of hoiuc. Tho 
aorrowf ul traveller wandorH over the awf id ruinN of othorx, 
and as ho beholds, he IcuriiH wiHiloni, and IwU the 
traniiionco of every Hublunary jxiMsesHion. 

Horo Mtood their citadel, but now grown over with 
weeds ; there their Bonato-houso, but now tho haunt of 
every noxious reptile ; temples and theatres stood here, 
now only an undistinguishwl heap of ruin. They arc 
fallen, for luxury and avarice iirst made them fcoblc. 
The rewords of state wore conferred on amusing and 
not on useful memlwrs of society. Thus true virtue lan- 
guished, their riches and opulence invited tho plunderer, 
who, though once repulsed, returned ogain, and at last 
swept the defendants into undistinguished destruction. 

How few appear in those streets, which but some few- 
hours ago were crowded ; and those who ap|)car, no 
longer now wear their daily mask, nor attempt to hide 
their lewdi: jss or their misery. 

But who are those who make tho streets their couch, 
and find a short repose from wretchedness at the doors 
of the opulent ? These are strpngcrs, wanderers, and 
orphans, whose circumstances are too humble to expect 
redress, and their distresses too great even for pity. 
Some are without the covering even of rags, and others 
emaciated with disease ; the world seems to li ' ve dis- 
claimed them ; society turns its back upon their distress, 


anil huH Rivfii tlicin up to imkiilncHs nnd hiiiiKcr. ThctMi 
|XM)r Hhivfiiiix fmialcs liuvi' mui^ wcii Ii;i|i|iut diivH, 
mid Ix'oci (lattortil iiiti> iH'uuty. They liivvo Ikcm iiroHti- 
tutfd ti) tho Kiiy liixiiiidiis villain, and aro now turiiiHl 
oiitt<>nu«ttlioHcv<Tilyiifwiiitiiinllu'Mi«'ftK. I'erhuiM, 
now lying at I ho doorn of tlu'ir bctiaycrH, tliry muu to 
wpjtt'hcH tthoHo licurtK aro iiiKcnsililo to calamity, or 
dobaiichovH w ho may iiir«<', hut will not rrlicvo thoin. 

Why, why wum I born a inan, ami yot nch tliu miffiTingi; 
of wrotchoH I cannot relievo ! I'lior lioiiNclcKf) croaturcH ! 
the world will givo yon reproaches, but will not give 
you ri'litf. Tho slightest iniHfortune.s, the most imaginary 
unoasinesNes of tho rich, aro aggravated with all tho 
jxiwcr of cloiiuonce, and engage our attention ; while 
you weep unheodwl, i)or«ecuted by every Huljoriliiiato 
speciea of tyranny, and finding enmity in every law . 

Why was this heart of mine forme<l with -o much 
sensibility ! or « hy was not my fortune adapti-d to its 
impulse I TondernesH, without a capacity of relieving, 
only makes tho heart that feels it more wrctchctl than 
the object which sues for assistance. 

But lot mo turn from a scene of Huch distress to the 
Banctifie<l hypocrite, ti-ho has Uin lalkimj of virtue till 
the time of bed, nnd now steals out, to give a loose to 
his vices under tl..^ ]iL.!.vtion of midnight ; vices more 
atrocious, because ho attempts to conceal them, ijeo 
how he pants down the dark alley, and, with hastening 
stops, tears an acquaintance in every face. Ho has 
passed the whole day in company he hates, and now goes 
to prolong the night among company that as heartily 
hate him. May his vices ho detected ; may tho morning 
rise upon his shame ; yet I wish to no purpose ; villany, 
when detected, never gives uj), but boldly adds impudence 
to imposture. 



Number V. Satubday, November 3, 1759. 

Pruqality has ever been esteemed a virtue as well 
among Pagans as Christians : there have been even 
heroes who have practised it. However, we must acknow- 
ledge, tiiat it is too modest a virtue, or, if you will, too 
obscure a one to be essential to heroism ; few heroes 
ha\o been able to attain to such a height. Frugality 
agrees much better with politics ; it seems to be the base, 
the support, and, in a word, seems to be the inseparable 
companion of a just administration. 

However this be, there is not, perhaps, in the world 
a people less fond of this virtue than the English ; and 
of consequence there is not a nation more restless, more 
exposed to the uneasinesses of life, or less capable of 
providing for particular happiness. We are taught to 
despise this virtue from our childhood ; our education is 
improperly directed, and a man who has gone through 
the poUtest institutions, is generally the person who is 
least acquainted with the wholesome precepts of 
frugality. We every day hear the elegance of taste, 
the magnificence of some, and the generosity of others, 
made the subject of our admiration and applause. All 
this we see represented not as the end and recompense of 
labour and desert, but as the actual result of genius, as 
the mark of a noble and exalted mind. 

In the midst of these praises bestowed on luxury, for 
which elegance and taste are but another name, perhaps 
it may be thought improper to plead the cause of frugahty . 
It may be thought low, or vainly declamatory, to exhort 
our youth from the follies of dress, and of every other 
superfluity ; to accustom themselves, even with mechanic 
meanness, to the simple necessaries of life. Such sort 
of instructions may appear antiquated ; yet, however, 


they seem the foundations of all our virtues, and the 
most efficacious method of making mankind useful 
members of society. Unhappily, however, such discourses 
are not fashionable among us, and the fashion seems 
every day growing still more obsolete, since the press, 
and every other method of exhortation, seems disposed 
to talk of the luxuries of life as harmless enjoyments. 
I remember, when a boy, to have remarked, that those 
who in school wore the finest clothes, were pointed at as 
being conceited and proud. At present, our little masters 
are taught to consider dress betimes, and they are 
regarded, even at school, with contempt, who do not 
appear as genteel as the rest. Education should teach 
us to become useful, sober, disinterested, and laborious 
members of society ; but does it not at present point 
out a different path ! It teaches us to multiply our 
wants, by which means we become more eager to 
possess, in order to dissipate, a greater charge to our- 
selves, and more useless or obnoxious to society. 

If a youth happens to be possessed of more genius 
than fortune, he is early informed that he ought to think 
of his advancement in the world ; that he should labour 
to make himself pleasing to his superiors ; that he should 
shun low company (by which is meant the company of 
his equals) ; that he should rather live p. little above than 
below his fortune ; that ho should think of becoming 
great ; but he finds none to admonish him to become 
frugal, to persevere in one single design, to avoid every 
pleasure and all flattery, which however seeming to 
conciliate the favour of his superiors, never conciliate 
their esteem. There are none to teach him that the 
best way of becoming happy in himself, and useful to 
others, is to continue in the state in which fortune at 
first placed him, without making too hasty strides to 
advancement ; that greatness may be attained, but should 



not bo expected ; and that they who most impatiently 
expect advancement, are seldom possessed of their 
wishes. Ho has few, I say, to teach him this lesson, or 
to moderate his youthful passions ; yet, this experience 
may say, that a young man, who but for six years of tht 
early part of his life, could seem divested of all his 
passions, would certainly make, or considerably increase 
his fortune, and might indulge several of his favourite 
inclinations in manhood with the utmost security. 

The efficaciousness of these means is sufficiently 
known and acknowledged ; but as we are apt to connect 
a low idea with all our notions of frugahty, the person 
who would persuade us to it, might be accused of 
preaching up avarice. 

Of all vices, however, against which morality dissuades, 
there is not one more undetermined than this of avarice. 
Misers are described by some, as men divested of honour, 
sentiment, or humanity ; but this is only an ideal picture, 
or the resemblance at least is found but in a few. In 
truth, they who are generally called misers, are some 
of the very best members of society. The sober, the 
laborious, the attentive, the frugal, are thus styled by 
the gay, giddy, thoughtless, and extravagant. The 
first set of men do society all the good, and the latter 
all the evil that is felt. Even the excesses of the first 
no way injure the commonwealth ; those of the latter 
are the most injurious that can be conceived. 

The ancient Romans, more rational than wc in this 
particular, were very far from thus misplacing their 
admiration or praise ; instead of regarding the practice 
of parsimony as low or vicious, they made it synonymous 
even with probity. They esteemed those virtues so 
inseparable, that the known expression of Vir Frugi 
signified, at one and the same time, a sober and managing 
man, an honest man, and a man of substance. 



Tho Scriptures, in a thousand places, praise economy ; 
and it is everywhere distinguished from avarice. But in 
spite of all its sacro<l dictates, a taste for vain pleasures 
and foolish expense is the ruhng passion of the present 
times. Passion, did I call it ? rather the madness which 
at once possesses the great and the little, the rich and 
tho poor ; even some are so intent upon acquiring the 
superfluities of life, that they sacrifice its necessaries 
in this foolish pursuit. 

To attempt the entire abolition of luxury, as it would 
be impossible, so it is not my intent. The generality 
of mankind are too weak, too much slaves to custom 
and opinion, to resist the torrent of bad example. But 
if it be impossible to convert the multitude, those who 
have received a more extended education, who are 
enlightened and judicious, may find some hints on this 
subject useful. They may see some abuses, the suppres- 
sion of which would by no means endanger public liberty ; 
they may be directed to the aboUtion of some unnecessary 
expenses, which have no tendency to promote happiness 
or virtue, and which might bo directed to better purposes. 
Our fireworks, our public feasts and entertainments, our 
entries of ambassadors, &c., what mummery all this ; 
what childish pageants, what millions are sacrificed in 
paying tribute to custom, what an unnecessary charge 
at times when we are pressed with real want, which 
cannot be .satisfied without burdening the poor ! 

Were such suppressed entirely, not a single creature 
in tho state would have the least cause to mourn their 
suppression, and many might be eased of a load they 
now feel lying heavily upon them. If this were put in 
practice, it would agree with the advice of a sensible 
writer of Sweden, who, in the Gazette de France, 175", 
thus expressed hiiUBelf on that subject. : It were 
' sincerely to be wished,' says ho, ' that the custom were 



^ established amongst us, that in all events which cause 
^a public joy, we made our exultations conspicuous 
' only by acts useful to society. We should then quickly 
' see many useful monuments of our reason, which would 
■ much better perpetuate the memory of things worthy 
' of being transmitted to posterity, and would be much 
^ more glorious to humanity than all these tumultuous 
^preparations of feasts, entertainments, and other 
rejoicings used upon such occasions.' 
The same proposal was long before confirmed by 
a Chinese emperor, who lived in the last century, who, 
upon an occasion of extraordinary joy, forbade his 
subjects to make the usual illuminations, either with 
a design of sparing their substance, or of turning thera 
to some more dtvable indication of joy, more glorious 
for him, and moj- advantageous to his people. 

After such inbiances of political frugahty, can we then 
contmue to blame the Dutch ambassador at a certain 
court, who, receiving, at his departure, the portrait of 
the king, enriched with diamonds, asked what this 
fine thing might be worth ? Being told that it might 
amount to abon. two thousand pounds : ' And why,' 
cries he, ' cannot his majesty keep the picture, and 
' give me the money ? ' This simplicity may bo ridiculed 
at first ; but, when we come to examine it more closely, 
men of sense will at once confess that he had reason in 
what he said, and that a purse of two thousand guineas 
IS much more serviceable than a picture. 

Should we follow the same method of state frugality 
in other respects, what numberless savings might not be 
the result ! How many possibilities of saving in the 
administration of justice, which now burdens the subject, 
and enriches some members of society, who are useful 
only from its corruption ! 
It were to be wished, that they who govern kingdoms. 



would imitate artisans. When at London a new stuff 
has been invented, it is immediately counterfeited in 
France. How happy were it for society, if a first minister 
would be equally solicitous to transplant the useful laws 
of other countries into his own. We are arrived at 
a perfect imitation of jiorcelain ; let us endeavour to 
imitate the good to society that our neighbours are found 
to practise, and let our neighbours also imitate those 
parts of duty in which we excel. 

There are some men, who, in their garden, attempt 
to raise those fruits which nature has adapted only to 
the sultry climates t)fneath the line. We have at our 
very doors a thousand laws and customs infinitely 
useful ; these are the fruits we should endeavour to 
transplant ; these the exotics that would speedily 
become naturalized to the soil. They might grow in 
every climate, and benefit every possessor. 

The best and the most useful laws I have ever seen, 
are generally practised in Holland. When two men are 
determined to go to law with each other, they are first 
obliged to go before the reconciling judges, called the 
peacemakers. If the parties come attended with an 
advocate or a solicitor, they are obliged to retire, as we 
take fuel from the fire we are desirous of extinguishing. 
The peacemakers then begin advising the parties, 
by assuring them, that it is the height of folly to waste 
theirsubstance.and make themselves mutually miserable, 
by having recourse to the tribunals of justice : ' Follow 
' but our direction, and we will accommodate matters 
' without any expense to either.' If the rage of debate 
is too strong upon either party, they are remitted back 
for another day, in order that time may soften their 
tempers, and produce a reconciliation. They are thus 
sent for twice or thrice ; if their folly happens to be 
incurable, they are permitted to go to law, and as we 



give up to amputation such members as cannot be cured 
by art, justice is permitted to take its course. 

It is unnecessary to make here long declamations, 
or calculate what society would save, were this law 
adopted. I am sensible, that the man who advises any 
reformation, only serves to make himself ridiculous. 
' What ! ' mankind will be apt to say, ' adopt the 
^ customs of countries that have not so much real Uberty 
' as our own V our present customs, what are they to any 
' man ? we arc very happy under them ! This must be 
'a very pleasant fellow, who attempts to make us 
I happier than we already are 1 Does he not know that 
' abuses are the patrimony of a great part of the nation ? 
' Why deprive us of a malady by which such numbers 
' find their account ? ' This I must own is an argument 
to which I have nothing to reply. 

What numberless savings might there not be made in 
both arts and commerce, particularly in the Uberty of 
exercising trade, without the necessary prerequisites 
of freedom ! Such useless obstructions have crejrt into 
every state, from a spirit of monopoly, a narrow selfish 
spirit of gain, without the least attention to general • 
society. Such a clog upon industry frequently drives 
the poor from labour, and reduces them, by degrees, to 
a state of hopeless indigence. We have already a more 
than sufficient repugnance to labour ; we should by no 
means increase the obstacles, or make excuses in a state 
for idleness. Such faults have ever crept into a state, 
under wrong or needy administrations. 

Exclusive of the masters, there are numberless faulty 
expenses among the workmen ; clubs, garnishes, 
freedoms, and such-like impositions, which are not too 
minute even for law to take notice of, and which should 
be abolished without mercy, since they are ever the 
inlets to excess and idleness, and are the parent of all 



thoso outrages which naturally fall upon the more 
useful part of society. In the towns and countries I 
have seen, I never saw a city or a village yet, whoso 
miseries were not in proportion to the number of its 
public-houses. In Rotterdam, you may go through 
eight or ton streets without finding a public-house. 
In Antwerp, almost every second house seems an ale- 
house. In the one city, all wears the appearance of 
happiness and warm afflue|)pe ; in the other, the young 
fellows walk about the streets in shabby finery, their 
fathers sit at the door darning or knitting stockings, 
while their ports are filled with dunghills. 

Ale-houses arc over an occasion of debauchery and 
excess, and either in a religious or political light, it 
would be our highest interest to have the greatest part 
of them suppressed. They should be put under laws 
of not continuing open beyond a certain hour, and 
harbouring only proper persons. These rules, it may be 
said, will diminish the necessary taxes ; but this is 
false reasoning, since what was consumed in debauchery 
abroad, woi'.ld, if such a regulation took place, be more 
justlj, and, perhaps, more equitably for the workman's 
family, spent at home ; and this cheaper to them, and 
without loss of time. On the other hand, our ale-houses 
being ever open, interrupt business ; the workman is 
never certain who frequents them, nor can the master 
be sure of having what was begun, finished at the 
convenient time. 

A habit of frugality among the lower orders of mankind 
is much more beneficial to society than the unreflecting 
might imagine. The pawnbroker, the attorney, and other 
pests of society, might, by proper management, be turned 
into serviceable members ; and, were their trades 
abohshed, it is possible the same avarice that conducts 
the one, or the same chicanery that eharaeterizes the 



other, might, by proper regulations, be converted into 
frugality, and commendable prudence. 

But some have made the eulogium of luxury, have 
represented it as the natural consequence of every 
country that in become rich. ' Did we not employ our 
' extraordinary wealth in superfluities,' say they, ' what 
' other means would there be to employ it in ? ' To 
which it may be answered. If frugality were established 
in the state, if our expenses^ were I, A out rather in the 
necessaries than the superfluities of life, there might be 
fewer wants, and even fewer pleasures, but infinitely 
more happiness. The rich and the great would be better 
able to satisfy their creditors ; they would be better able 
to marry their children, and, instead of one marriage at 
present, there might be two, if such regulations took place. 

The imaginary calls of vanity, which in reality 
contribute nothing to our real felicity, would not then 
be attended to, while the real calls of nature might 
be always and universally supplied. The difference of 
employment in the subject is what, in reality, produces 
the good of society. If the subject be engaged in 
providing only the luxuries, the necessaries must be 
deficient in proportion. If, neglecting the produce of 
our own country, our minds are set upon the productions 
of another, we increase our wants, but not our means ; 
and every new imported delicacy for our tables, or orna- 
ment in our equipage, is a tax upon the poor. 

The true interest of every government is to cultivate 
the neoessaries, by which is always meant every happi- 
ness our own country can produce ; and suppress all 
the luxuries, by which is meant, on the other hand, 
every happiness imported from abroad. Commerce 
has therefore its bounds ; and every new import, 
instead of encouragement, should be first examined 
whether it be conducive to the interest of society. 



Among the many publiuatiunx with which tlio jiresH 
is every tlay burdened, 1 have often wondered why »o 
never had, as in other countricH, an Economical Journal, 
which might at once direct to all the nueful discoveries 
in other countries, and spread those of our own. As 
other journals servo to amuse the learned, or what ia 
more often the case, to make them quarrel, while they 
only servo to give us the history of the mischievous 
world, for so I call our warriors ; or the idle world, for 
so may the learned be called ; they never trouble their 
heads about the most useful part of mankind, our 
peasants and our artisans ; were buch a work carried 
into execution with proper management and just 
direction, it might serve as a repository for every useful 
improvement, and increase that knowledge which learn- 
ing often serves to confound. 

Sweden seema the only country where the science 
of economy seems to have fixed its empire. In other 
countries, it is cultivated only by a few admirers, or by 
societies which have not received tuiiicient sanction to 
become completely useful ; but here there is founded 
a royal academy, destined to this purpose only, composed 
of the most learned and powerful members of the state ; 
an academy which decUnes everything which only 
terminates in amusement, erudition, or curiosity, and 
admits only of observations tending to illustrate hus- 
bandry, agriculture, and every real physical improve- 
ment. In this country nothing is left to private rapacity, 
but every improvement is immediately diffused, and its 
inventor immediately recompensed by the state. Happy 
were it so in other countries ; by this means every 
impostor would be prevented from ruining or deceiving 
the public with pretended discoveries or nostrums, and 
every real inventor would not, by this means, suSer 
the inconveniences of suspicion. 




111 Hhort, true ecoiiuiiiy, equally iiukiiowii (o tlio 
pnxligal and avuriciouH, hcoiiih to l)c a juHt mean U^twccn 
both oxtromoH ; and to a tranHgrvxsiun of this at present 
decried virtue, it in that wo are to attribute a great 
part of the eviU which i'-fest Bociety. A taste for Huiwr- 
fluity, ainu)ieniont, pleasure bring effominacy, 
idlenesH, and expento in their train. But a thimt of 
riches is always proportioned to our debauchery, and 
the greatest prodigal is too frequently found to bo the 
greatest raiser ; so that the vices which seem the most 
opposite, are frequently found to produce each other ; 
and, to avoid both, it is only necessary to bo frugal. 

Virlui eat medium diwriim ritiorum cl ulriiiqiw rediirtum, — HoR. 


Scarce a day passes in which we do not hear compli- 
ments paid to Drydon, Pope, and other writers of the 
last age, while not a month comes forward that is not 
loaded with invective against the writers of this. Strange, 
that our critics should bo fond of giving their favours 
to those who are insensible of the obligation, and their 
dislike to these who, of all mankind, are most apt to 
retaliate the injury. 

Even though our present writers had not equal merit 
with their predecessors, it would bo politic to use them 
with ceremony. Every compliment paid them would 
be more agreeable, in proportion as they leas . deservetl 
it. Toil a lady with a handsome face that she is pretty, 
she only thinks it her due ; it is i i at she has heard a 
thousand times before from others, and disregards the 
compliment : but assure a lady, the cut of whose visage 
is something more plain, that she looks killing to-day, 
she instantly bridles up and feels the force of the well- 



timed flattory the whole day after. CuinpliiiieiitH 
which we think are deitervod, we only acvcpt, uh dvlitN, 
with iiiiliffcreiicu ; b\it those which I'ciiiHciciK'e iiifurinH 
us wo ilo not merit, wo receive with the itamo gratitude 
that wo do fa\ourH given away. 

Our gentlemen, however, who preside at the distribu- 
tion of literary fame, seem resolved to part with praise 
neither from motives of justice, or generosity ; one 
would think, when they take pen in hand, that it was 
oidy to blot reputations, and to put their seals to the 
]>acket which consigns every new-boru effort to obliviim. 

Yet, notwithstanding the republic of letters hangs 
at i)re»ent so feebly together ; though those friondshijis 
which once promoted literary fame seem now to bo dis- 
continuetl ; though every wTiter who now draws the quill 
seems to aim at profit, as well as applause, many among 
them are probably laying in stores for immortality, and 
are provided with a sufficient stock of reputation to 
last the whole jouriioy. 

As 1 was indulging these reflections, in order to eko 
out the present jwige, I could not avoid pursuing the 
metaphor, of going a journey, in my imagination, and 
formed the following Reverie, too wild for allegory, and 
too regular for a dream. 

I fancied myself placed in the yard of a largo inn, in 
which there were an infinite number of wagons and 
stage-coacLds, attended by fellows who cither invited 
the company to take their places, or were busied in 
packing their baggage. Each vehicle had its inscription, 
showing the place of its destination. On one I could 
read. The pleasvr- stage-coach ; on another, The tvagon 
of industry ; on a third. The vanity whim ; and on 
a fourth. The landau of riches. I liad some inclination to 
step into each of these, ono after another ; but, I know- 
not by what means, I passed them by, and at last fixed 


ray eye upon a Binall carriago, Berlin faHhioii, which 
Beoined tho iiioHt cuiivonient vehicle at a distance in 
the world ; and, upon my nearer approach, (ound it 
to be The fame machine. 

I instantly made up to the coachman, whom 1 found 
to be an affable and seemingly good-natured fellow. He 
informed me, that ho had but a few days ago returned 
from the temple of fame, to which he had been carry- 
ing Addison, Swift, Poiie, Steele, Congrove, and Collcy 
CSbber ; that they made but indifferent i (.iii,)iV'iy by 
the way ; and that he once or twice was going to empty 
his berlin of the whole cargo : ' However,' says he, 
' I got them all safe home, with no other damage than 
' a black eye, which Colley gave Mr. Pope, and am now 
' returned for another coucuful.' ' If that be all, friend,' 
said I, ' and if you ore in want of company, I'll make 
' one with all i.iy . jart. Open tho door ; I hope the 
' machine rides ••aay.' ' Oh 1 for that, sir, extremely 
' easy ' But still keeping the door shut, and measuring 
me with his eye, ' Pray, sir, have you no luggage ? 
' You seorn to be a good-natured sort of a gentleman ; 
' but I don't find you have got any luggage, and I never 
' permit any to travel with me but such as have wome- 
' thing valuable to pay for coach-hire.' Examining my 
pockets, I own I was not a little disconcerted at this 
unexpected rebutf ; but considering that 1 carried 
a number of the Bee under my arm, 1 was resolved to 
open it in his eyes, and dazzle him with the splendour of 
the page. He read the title and contents, however, 
without any emotion, and assured me he had never 
heard of it before. ' In short, friend,' said he, now 
losing all his former respect, ' you must not come in. I 
' expect better passengers ; but, as you seem a harmless 
' creature, perhaps, if there be room left, I may let you 
' ride a while for charity.' 



I now took my sUml by the coailmian at tho door, 
and Hince I could not command a mat, wmh rcw>lv«l to 
bo BN useful an iwHHiblc, and earn by my uHuiUuitv, 
what I could not by my merit. 

Tho next that prPHcntcd for a place, won a moHt 
whimsical figure indml. Ho woh hf"« niimd with 
iwiiers of hiN own conipoHing, not uniiltu those who 
sing ballods in tho stre«>ts, and came dancing up to tho 
door with all the conHdonce of instont admittance. 
The volubility of his motion and oddress prevented my 
being able to road more of his cargo than the woril 
Inspector, which was written in great letters at tho top 
of some of the jiopcrs. Ho opened tho coach-door 
himself without any ceremony, and was just slipping in, 
when the coachman, with as little ceremony, pulled him 
back. Our figure seemctl perfectly angry at this repulse, 
and demanded gentleman's satisfaction. ' Lord, sir I ' 
replied tho coachman, ' instead of proper luggage, by 
' your bulk you seom loaded for a West India voyage. 
' You are big enough, with all your papers, to ciack 
' twenty stage-coaches. Excuse me, indeed, sir, for you 
' must not enter." Our figure now began to expostulate ; 
he assured tho coachman, that though his baggage 
seemed so bulky, it was perfectly light, and that ho 
would be contented with the smallest comer of room. 
But Jehu was inflexible, and tho carrier of the Inapeelora 
was sent to dance back again, with all his papers flut- 
tering in tho wind. We expected to have no more trouble 
from this quarter, when, in a few minutes, the same 
figure change<l his apjwarance, like harlequin upon tho 
stage, and with tho same confidence again made his 
approaches, dressetl in lace, and carrying nothing but 
a nosegay. Upon coming near, he thrust the nosegay 
to the coachman's nose, grasped the brass, and seemed 
now resolved to enter by violence. I found the struggle 



Boou begin to grow hot, and the coachman, who was 
» little old, unable to continue the contest ; so, in order 
to ingratiate myself , I stepped in to his assistance, and our 
united efforts sent our hterary Proteus, though worsted, 
unconquered still, clear off, dancing a rigadoon, and 
smelling to his own nosegay. 

The person who after him appeared as candidate for 
a place in the stage, came up with an air not quite so 
confident, but somewhat, however, theatrical ; and, 
instead of entering, made the coachman a very low bow, 
which the other returned, and desired to see his baggage ; 
upon which he instantly produced some farces, a tragedy, 
and other miscellany productions. The coachman, 
casting his eye upon the cargo, assured him, at present 
he could not possibly have a place, but hoped in time he 
might aspire to one, aa he seemed to have read in the 
book of nature, without a careful perusal of which none 
ever found entrance at the temple of fame. ' What ! 
' (replied the disappointed poet) shall my tragedy, in 
' which I have vindicated the cause of hberty and 

' virtue ' ' Follow nature, (returned the other) and 

' never expect to find lasting fame by topics which only 
' please from their popularity. Had you been first in 
' the cause of freedom, or praised in virtue more than 
' an empty name, it is possible you might have gained 
' admittance ; but at present 1 beg, sir, you will stand 
' aside for another gentleman whom I see approaching.' 
This was a very grave personage, whom at some 
distance 1 took for one of the most reserved, and even 
disagreeable figures I had seen ; but as he approached, 
his appearance improved, and when I could distinguish 
him thoroughly, I perceived, that, in spite of the severity 
of his brow, he had one of the most good-natured 
countenances that could be imagined. Upon coming to 
open the stage door, he lifted a parcel of folios into the 


«eat before him, but our inquisitorial coachman at once 
shoved them out again. ' What, not take in my dic- 
tionary ! ■ exclaimed tlie other in a rage. ' Be patient 
sir, (replied the coachman)! havedrove a and 
boy, these two thousand years ; but I do not remember 
to have carried above one dictionary during the whole 
time. That little book which I perceive peeping from 
one of your pockets, may I presume to ask what it 
contains / ' ' A mere trifle, (replied the author) it is 
called the RmMer.' ' The Ramikr ! (says the coach- 
man) I beg, sir, you'll take your place ; I have heard 
our ladies in the court of Apollo frequently mention 
It with rapture ; and Clio, who happens to 'be a little 
grave, has been heard to prefer it to the Spectator • 
though others have observed, that the reflections, by 
being refined, sometimes become minute." 
This grave gentleman was scarce se,. d, when 
another, whose appearance was someihing more modem 
seemed willing to enter, yet afmid to ask. He carried 
in his hand a bundle of essays, of which the coachman 
was curious enough to inquire the contents. ' These 
(rephed the gentlemen) are rhapsodies against the 
religion of my country.' ' And how can you expect 
to come into my coach, after thus choosing the wrong 
sideof the question ?' 'Aye, but I am right (replied 
the other ;) and if you give me leave, I shall in a few 
minutes state the argument.' ' Right or wrong (said 
the coachman) he who disturbs religion is a blockhead, 
and he shall never travel in a coach of mine.' ' If then 
(said the gentleman, mustering up all his courage) if 
1 am not to have admittance as an essayist, I hope 
1 shall not be repulsed as an historian ; the last volume 
of my history met with applause.' ' Yes, (replied the 
coachman) but I have heard only the first approved at 
the temple of fame ; and as I see you have it about vou, 





' enter without further ceremony.' My attention was 
now diverted to a crowd, who were pushing forward a 
person that seemed more inclined to the ata^e-coach of 
riches ; but by their means he was driven forward to 
the same machine, which he, however, seemed heartily 
to despise. Impelled, however, by their solicitations, 
he steps up, flourishing a voluminous history, and 
demanding admittance. ' Sir, I have formerly heard 
' your name mentioned (says the coachman) but never 
' as an historian. Is there no other work upon which 
' you may claim a place ? ' ' None (replied the other) 
' except a romance ; but this is a work of too trifling 
' a nature to claim future attention.' ' You mistake 
' (says the inquisitor), a well-written romance is no such 
'easy task as is generally imagined. I remember 
' formerly to have carried Cervantes and Segrais ; and 
' if you think fit, you may enter.' 

Upon our three literary travellers coming into the 
same coach, I listened attentively to hear what might 
be the conversation that passed upon this extraordinary 
occasion ; when, instead of agreeable or entertaining 
dialogue, I found them grumbling at each other, and 
each seemed discontented with his companions. Strange ! 
thought 1 to myself, that they who are thus born to 
enlighten the world, should still preserve the narrow 
prejudices of childhood, and, by disagreeing, make even 
the highest merit ridiculous. Were the learned and the 
wise to unite against the dunces of society, instead of 
sometimes siding into opposite parties with them, they 
might throw a lustre upon each other's reputation, and 
teach every rank of subordinate merit, if not to admire, 
at least not to avow dislike. 

In the midst of these reflections, 1 perceived the coach- 
man, unmindful of me, had now mounted the box. 
Several were approaching to be taken in, whose preten- 



sioiiK I was sensible were very just ; I therefore desired 
him to stop, and take in more iiassengcrs ; but ho replied, 
as he had now mounted the box, it would bo improper 
to come down ; but that he should take them all, one 
after the other, when ho should return. So he drove 
away, and, for mj'self, as I could not get in, I mounted 
behind, in order to hear the conversation on the way. 

[To be continued.] 


JtrsT as I had expected, before I saw this farce, I 
found it, formed on too narrow a plan to afford a pleasing 
variety. The samtness of the humour in every scene 
could not at last fail of being disagreeable. The poor, 
affecting the manners of the rich, might be carried on 
through one character or two at the most, with groat 
propriety ; but to have almost every personage on the 
scone almost of the same character, and reflecting the 
folliea of each other, was unartful in the poet to the last 

The scone was also almost a contini.; .ion of the same 
absurdity ; and my Lord Duke and Sir Harry (two foot- 
men who assume these characters) have nothing else to 
do but to talk like their masters, and are only introduced 
to speak, and to show themselves. Thus, as there is 
a sameness of character, there is a barrenness of incident, 
which, by a very small share of address, the poet might 
have easily avoided. 

From a conformity to critic ndcs, which, perhaps, 
on the whole, have done more harm than good, our 
author has sacrieced all the vivacity of the dialogue 



to nature ; ami though ho makes his characters talk 
like servants, they are seldom absurd enough, or lively 
enough, to make us morry . Though he is always natural, 
he happens seldom to be humorous. 

The satire was woU intended, if we regard it as being 
masters ourselves ; but, probably, a philosopher would 
rejoice in that liberty which Englishmen give their 
domestics ; and, for my own part, I cannot avoid being 
pleased at the happiness of those poor creatures, who, 
in some measure, contribute to mine. The Athenians, 
the politest and best-natured people upon earth, were 
the kindest to their slaves ; and if a person may judge, 
who has seen the world, our English servants are the 
best treated, because the generality of our English 
gentlemen are the politest under the sun. 

But not to lift my feeble voice among the pack of 
critics, who, probably, have no other occupation but 
that of cutting up everything new, I must own, 
there are one or two scenes that are fine satire, and 
sufficiently humorous ; particularly the first interview 
between the two footmen, which, at once, ridicules the 
manners of the great, and the absurdity of their 

Whatever defects there might be in the composition, 
there were none in the action ; in this the performers 
showed more humour than I had fancied them capable 
of. Mr. Palmer and Mr. King were entirely what they 
desired to represent ; and Mrs. Clive (but what need I 
talk of her, since, without the least exaggeration, she has 
more true humour than any actor or actress upon the 
English or any other stage I have seen) — she, I say, 
did the part all the justice it was capable of. And, 
upon the whole, a farce, which has only this to recom- 
mend it, that the author took his plan from the volume 
of nature, by the sprightly manner in which it was 



performed, was, for one night, a tolerable entertainment. 
Thus much may be said in its vindication, that people 
of fashion seemed more pleased in the representation 
than the subordinate ranks of people. 


Every age seems to have its favourite pursuits, which 
serve to amuse the idle, and relieve the attention of the 
industrious. Happy the man who is bom excellent in 
the pursuit in vogue, and whose genius seems adapted to 
the times he lives in. How many do we see, who might 
have excelled in arts or sciences, and who seem furnished 
with talents equal to the greatest discoveries, had the 
road not been already beaten by their predecessors, 
and nothing left for them, except trifles to discover, 
while others, of very moderate abilities, become famous, 
because happening to be first in the reigning pursuit. 

Thus, at the renewal of letters in Europe, the taste 
was not to compose new books, but to comment on the 
old ones. It was not to be expected that new books 
should be written, when there were so many of the 
Ancients, either not known or not understood. It was 
not reasonable to attempt new conquests, while they had 
such an extensive region lying waste for want of cultiva- 
tion. At that period, criticism and erudition were the 
reigning studies of the times ; and he, who had only 
an inventive genius, might have languished in hopeless 
obscurity. When the writers of antiquity were sufficiently 
explained and known, the learned set about imitating 
them : from hence proceeded the number of Latin 
orators, poets and historians, in the reigns of Clement 
the Seventh and Alexander the Sixth. This passion 
for antiquity lasted for many years, to the utter exclusion 



of every other pumuit, till Home began to find, that those 
works which wore imitated from nature, were more like 
the writings of antiquity, than even those written in 
express imitation. It was then modern language began 
to be cultivated with assiduity, and our poets and 
orators poured forth their wonders upon the world. 

As writers become more numerous, it is natural for 
readers to become more indolent ; from whence must 
necessarily arise a desire of attaining knowledge with 
the greatest possible ease. No science or art offers its 
instruction and amusement in so obvious a manner as 
statuary and painting. From hence we see, that a desii'e 
of cultivating those arts generally attends the decline 
of science. Thus the finest statues, and the most 
beautiful paintings of antiquity, preceded but a little 
the absolute decay of every other science. The statues 
of Antoninus, Commodus, and their contemporaries, are 
the finest productions of the chisel, and appeared but 
just before learning was destroyed by comment, criticism, 
and barbarous invasions. 

What happened in Rome may probably be the case 
with us at home. Our nobility are now more solicitous 
in patronizing painters and sculptors than those of any 
other polite profession ; and from the lord, who has his 
gallery, down to the 'prentice, who has his twopenny 
copperplate, all are admirers of this art. The great, 
by their caresses, seem insensible to all other merit but 
that of the pencil ; and the vulgar buy every book rather 
from the excellence of the sculptor than the writer. 

How happy were it now, if men of real excellence 
in that profession were to arise ! Were the painters 
of Italy now to appear, who once wandered like beggars 
from one city to another, and produce their almost 
breathing figures, what rewards might they not 
expect V But many of them lived without rewards, and 



therefore rewards alone will never produce their equals. 
Wo have often found the great exert themselves, not only 
without promotion, but in spite of opposition. We have 
found them flourishing, like medicinal plants, in a region 
of savageness and barbarity, their excellence unknown, 
and their virtues unheeded. 

They who have seen the paintings of Caravagio are 
sensible of the surprising impression they make ; bold, 
swelling, terrible to the last degree ; all seems animated, 
and speaks him among the foremost of his profession ; yet 
this man's fortune and his fame seemed ever in opposition 
to each other. 

Unknowing how to flatter the great, he was driven 
from city to city in the utmost indigence, and might 
truly be said to paint for his bread. 

Having one day insulted a person of distinction, who 
refused to pay him all the respect which he thought his 
due, he was obliged to leave Rome, and travel on foot, 
his usual method of going his journeys down into the 
country, without either money or friends to subsist 

After he had travelled in this manner as long as his 
strength would permit, faint with famine and fatigue, 
he at last called at an obscure inn by the wayside. The 
host knew, by the appearance of his guest, his indifferent 
circumstances, and refused to furnish him a dinner 
without previous payment. 

As Caravagio was entirely destitute of money, he 
took down the innkeeper's sign, and painted it anew for 
his dinner. 

Thus refreshed, he proceeded on his journey, and left 
the innkeeper not quite satisfied with this method of 
payment. Some company of distinction, however, 
coming soon after, and struck with the beauty of the 
new sign, bought it at an advanced price, and astonished 

ooLDSumi. m 



the innkeeper with their generosity ; he was resolved, 
therefore, to get as many signs as possible drawn by 
the same artist, as he found he could sell them to good 
advantage ; and accordingly set out after Caravagio, 
in order to bring him back. It was nightfall before he 
came up to the pluce, where the unfortunate Caravagio 
lay dead by the roadside, overcome by fatigue, resent- 
ment, and despair. 

Number VI. Saturday, NovenAer 10, 1769. 


Tbebe is not, perhaps, a country in Europe, in which 
learning is so fast upon the decline as in Italy ; yet 
not one in which there are such a number of academies 
instituted for its support. There is scarce a considerable 
town in the whole country which has not one or two 
institutions of this nature, where the learned, as they 
are pleased to call themselves, meet to harangue, to 
compliment each. other, and praise the utility of their 

Jarchius has taken the trouble to give us a list of 
those clubs, or academies, which amount to five hundred 
and fifty, each distinguished by somewhat whimsica' in 
the name. The academicians of Bologna, for instance, 
are divided into the Abbandonati, the Ausiosi, Ociosio, 
Arcadi, Confusi, Dubbiosi, Ac. There are few of these 
who have not published their transactions, and scarce 
a member who is not looked upon as the most famous 
man in the world, at home. 

Of all those societie.a, I know of none whose works 
are worth being known out of the precincts of the city 
in which they were written, except the Cicalata Acade- 



mica (or, as we might express it, the Tickling Society) of 
Florence. I have just now before me a manuscript 
oration, spoken by the late Tomaso Crudeli, at that 
society, which will, at once, serve to give a better 
picture of the manner in which men of wit amuse them- 
selves in that country, than anything I could say upon 
the occasion. The oration is this : 

' The younger the nymph, my dear companions, the 
more happy the lover. From fourteen to seventeen, you 
are sure of finding love for love ; from seventeen to 
twenty-one, there is always a mixture of interest and 
affection. But when that periotl is past, no longer expect 
to receive, but to buy. No longer expect a nymph who 
gives, but who sells, her favours. At this age, every 
glance is taught its duty ; not a look, not a sigh, without 
design ; the lady, like a skilful warrior, aims at the heart 
of another, while she shields her own from danger. 

' On the contrary, at fifteen, you may expect nothing 
but simplicity, innocence, and nature. The passions are 
then sincere ; the soul seems seated in tho lips ; the 
dear object feels present happiness, without being anxious 
for the future ; her eyes brighten if her lover approaches ; 
her smiles are borrowed from the Graces, and her very 
mistakes seem to complete her desires. 

'Lucretia was just sixteen. The rose and lily took 
possession of her face, and her bosom, by its hue and 
its coldness, seemed covenxl with snow. So much 
beauty, and so much virtue, seldom want admirers. 
Orlandino, a youth of sense and merit, was among the 
lumber. Ho had long languished fin an opportunity of 
declaring his passion, when Cupiil, as if willing to ind\\^J« 
his happiness, brought the chaviuing yov\\\g louplo by 
mere accident to an arbour, whero every pryiivg i\\o, 
but that of love, was absent. Orlandino tftlkinl of the 
sincerity of his passion, and miActi flattery with his 



addrewwH ; but it was all in vain. Tho nymph was 
pre-engaged, and had long devoted tn heaven those 
charms for which he Hued, " My dear Orlandino," 
said she, " you know I have long been dedicated to 
" St. Catherine, and to her belongs all that lies below 
" my girdle ; all that is above, you may freely possess, 
" but farther I cannot, must not, comply. The vow is 
" passed; Iwish it were undone, but now it is impossible." 
You may conceive, my companions, the embarrassment 
our young lovers felt upon this occasion. They kneeled 
to St. Catherine, and though both despaired, both 
implored her assistance. Their tutelar saint was 
entreated to show some expedient, by which both might 
continue to love, and yet both be happy. Their petition 
was sincere. St. Catherine was touched with compassion ; 
for lo, a miracle ! Lucretia's girdle unloosed, as if without 
hands ; and though before bound round her middle, fell 
spontaneously down to her feet, and gave Orlandino the 
possession of all those beauties which lay above it,' 

Number VII. Saturday, November 17, 1759, 

Or all kinds of success, that of an orator is the 
most pleasing. Upon other occasions, the applause we 
deserve is conferred in our absence, and we are insensible 
of the pleasure we have given ; but in eloquence, the 
victory and the triumph are inseparable. We read our 
own glory in the face of every spectator, the audience is 
moved, the antagonist is defeated, and the whole circle 
bursts into unsolicited applause. 

The rewards which attend excellence in this way are 
80 pleasing, that numbers have written pinf esaed treatises 
to teach us the art ; schools have been established with 


no other intent ; rhetoric has taken place among the 
institutions ; and pedants have ran^^ed under proper 
heads, and distinguished with long leamed names, some 
at the strokes of nature, or of passion, which orators have 
used. I say only »ome, for a folio volume could not 
contain all the figures which have been used by the truly 
eloquent ; and scarce a good speaker or writer but makes 
use of some that are peculiar or new. 

Eloquence ha preceded the rules of rhetoric, as 
languages have been formed before grammar. Nature 
renders men eloquent in great interests, or great passions. 
He that is sensibly touched, sees things with a very 
different eye from the rest of mankind. All nature to 
him becomes an object of comparison and metaphor, 
without attending to it ; he throws life into all, and 
inspires his audience with a part of his own enthusiasm. 

It has been remarked, that the lower parts of man- 
kind generally express themselves most figuratively, 
and that tropes are foimd in the most ordinary forms of 
conversation. Thus, in every language, the heart burns ; 
the courage is roused ; the eyes sparkle ; the spiritu are 
cast down ; passion inflames ; pri(fe swells, and pity 
sinks the soul. Nature, everywhere, speaks in those 
strong images, which, from their frequency, pass un- 

Nature it is which inspires those rapturous enthusiasms, 
those irresistible tumt> ; a strong passion, a pressing 
danger, calls up all the imagination, and gives the orator 
irresistible force. Thus, a captain of the first caliphs, 
seeing his soldiers fly, cried out, ' Whither do you run V 
' the enemy are not there ! Vou have been told that the 
' caliph is dead ; but God is still living. He regards the 
' brave, and will reward the courageous. Advance ! * 

A man, therefore, may he called eloquent, who transfers 
the pension or sentiment with which he is moved himself. 



inio the brfaat of another ; and this definition appear) the 
mure juat, an it comprehends the graceii of silence, and 
of action. An intimate persuaHion of the truth to bo 
proved, is the sentiment and pasnion to )>o transferred ; 
and he who effects this, is truly possessed of the talent 
of eloquence. 

I have called eloquence a talent, and not an art, as 
BO many rhetoricians have done, as art is acquired by 
exercise and study, and eloquence is the gift of nature. 
Rules will never make either a work or a discourse 
eloquent ; they only serve to prevent faults, but not 
to introduce beauties ; to prevent those passages which 
arc truly eloquent, and dictated by nature, from being 
blended with others which might disgust or, at least, 
abate our passion. 

What we cle»rly conceive, (says Boileau) we can 
clearly express. I may add, that what is felt with 
emotion, is expressed also with the same movements; the 
words arise as readily to paint our emotions, as to express 
our thoughts with perspicuity. The cool care an orator 
takes to express passions which he does not feel, only 
prevents his rising into that passion he would seem 
to feel. In a word, to feel your subject thoroughly, and 
to speak without fear, are the only rules of eloquence, 
properly so called, which I can offer. Examine a writer 
of genius on the most beautiful parts of his work, and ho 
will always assure you that such passages are generally 
those which have given him the least trouble, for they 
came as if by inspiration. To pretend that cold and 
didactic precepts will make a man eloquent, is only 
to prove that be is incapable of eloquence. 

But, as in being perspicuous, it is necessary to have 
a full idea of the subject, so in being eloquent, it is not 
sufficient, if I may so express it, to feel by halves. The 
orator should be strongly impressed, which is generally 



tho pffeotR of a fino and exquUite aoniiibility, and not that 
trunaient and superficial emotion, wbicli he excites in 
the greatest part of hii audience. It is even impoiwible 
to aSeot the hearers in any great degree without being 
affected ourselves. In vain it will Ihj objected, hut 
many writers have had tho art toinspire their readcn^ with 
a passion for virtue, without being virtuous themsi'Kes ; 
since it maj' be answered, that sentimontp nf vii-tue 
filled their minds at the time they were writ.niL;. They 
felt the inspiration strongly, while they prnis'il justico, 
generosity, or good nature ; but, unhapi'ily fur tli'iri; 
these passions might have been discontinued, wiicn they 
laid down the pen. In vain will it be objected npun., 
that we can move without being moved, as w«i cuu 
convince without being convinced. It is much easier to 
deceive our reason than ourselves ; a trifling defect in 
reasoning may be overseen, and lead a man astray ; for 
it requires reason and time to detect tho falsehood, but our 
passions arc not so easily imposed upon, — our eyes, our 
ear8,and every pense, are watchful todetect tho imposture. 
No discourse can be eloquent that does not elevate the 
mind. Pathetic eloquence, it is true, has for its only 
object to affect ; but I appeal to men of sensibility, 
whether their pathetic feelings are not accompanied with 
some degree of elevation. We may then call eloquence 
and sublimity the same thing, since it is impossible to 
be one, without feeling the other. From hence it follows, 
that we may be eloquent in any language, since no 
language refuses to paint those sentiments with which 
we are thoroughly impressed. What is u"ually called 
sublimity of style, seems to be only an error. Eloquence 
is not in the words, but in the subject ; and in great 
concerns, the more simply anything is expressed, it is 
generally the more sublime. True eloquence does not 
consist, as the rhetoricians assure us, in saying great 



things in a sublime style, but in a simple style ; tor 
there is, properly speaking, no such thing as a sublime 
style, the sublimity lies only in the things ; and when 
they are not so, the language may be turgid, affected, 
metaphorical, but not affecting. 

What can be more simply expressed, than the following 
extract from a celebrated preacher, and yet what was 
ever more sublime ? Speaking of the small number of 
the elect, he breaks out thus among his audience i ' Let 
' me suppose that this was the last hour of us all ; that 
' the heavens were opening over our heads ; that time 
' was passed, and eternity begun ; that Jesus Christ in 
' all His glory, thati man of sorrows in all His glory 
' appeared on the tribunal, and that we were assembled 
^ here to receive our final decree of life or death eternal ! 
'Let me ask, impressed with terror like you, and not 
' separating my lot from yours, but putting myself ; 
the same situation in which we must all one day 
'appear before Qod, our judge,-l«t me ask, if Jesus 
^ Christ should now appear to make the terrible separa- 
tion of the just from the unjust, do you think the 
' greatest number would be saved ? Do you think the 
' number of the elect would even bo equal to that of 
; the sinners ? Do you think, if all our works were 
_ exammed with justice, would He find t«n just persons 
^ in this great assembly i Monsters of ingratitude, would 
he find one ? ■ Such passages as these, are sublime in 
every language. The expression may be less striking, or 
more indistinct, but the greatness of the idea still 
remains. In a word, we may be eloquent in every 
language and in every style, since elocution is only an 
assistant, but not a constitutor of eloquence. 

Of what use, then, will it be said, are all the precepts 
given us upon this head, both by the ancients and 
modems ? I answer, that they cannot make us eloquent 



but they will certainly prevent us fro;j becoming 
ridiculous. They can seldom procure a single beauty, 
but they may banish a thousand faults. The true 
method of an oratnr is not to attempt always to move, 
always to affect, to be continually sublime, but at 
proper intervals to give rest both to his own and the 
passions of his audience. In these periods of relaxation, 
or of preparation rather, rules may teach him to avoid 
anything low, trivial, or disgusting. Thus criticism, 
properly speaking, is intended not to assist those parts 
which are sublime, but those which are naturally mean 
and humble, wh''>h are composed with coolness and 
caution, and where the orator rather endeavours not to 
offend, than attempts to please. 

I have hitherto insisted more strenuously on that 
eloquence which speaks to the passions, as it is a species 
of oratory almost unknown i-i England. At the bar it 
is quite discontinued, and I think with justice. In the 
senate it is used but sparingly, as the orator speaks to 
enlightened judges. But in the pulpit, in which the 
orator should chiefly address the vulgar, it seems strange 
that it should be entirely laid aside. 

The vulgar of England are without exception, the 
most barbarous and the most unknowing of any in 
Europe. A great part of their ignorance may be chiefly 
ascribed to their teachers, who, with the most pretty 
gentleman-like serenity, deliver their f-ool discourses, 
and address the reason of men who have never reasoned 
in all their lives. They are told of cause and effect, of 
beings self-existent, and the universal scale of beings. 
They are informed of the excellence of the Bangorian 
controversy, and the absurdity of an intermediate state. 
The spruce preacher reads his lucubration without lifting 
his nose from the text, and never ventures to earn the 
shame of an enthusiast. 




By this means, though his audience feel not one w<nd 
of all he says, he earns, however, among his acquaintance, 
the character of a man of sense ; among his acquaintance 
only, did I say ? nay, even with his bishop. 

The polite of every country have several motives to 
induce them to a rectitude of action ; the love of virtue 
for its own sake, the shame of offending, and the desire 
of pleasing. The vulgar have but one, the enforcements 
of religion ; and yet those who should push this motive 
home to their hearts, are basely found to desert their 
post. They speak to the squire, the philosopher, and 
the pedant ; but the poor, those who really want 
instruction, are left uninstructed. 

I have attended most of our pulpit orators, who, it 
must be owned, write extremely well upon the text 
they assume. To give them their due also, they read 
their sermons with elegance and propriety, but this goes 
but a very short way in true eloquence. The speaker 
must be moved. In this, in this alone, our English 
divines are deficient. Were they to speak to a few calm 
dispassionate hearers, they certainly use the properest 
methods of address ; but their audience is chiefly 
composed of the poor, who must be influenced by 
motives of reward and punishment, and whose only 
virtues lie in self-interest or fear. 

How then are such to be addressed ? not by studied 
periods, or cold disquisitions ; not by the labours of the 
head, but the honest spontaneous dictates of the heart. 
Neither writing a sermon \.ith regular periods and all 
the harmony of elegant expression ; neither reading 
it with emphasis, propriety, and deliberation ; neither 
pleasing with metaphor, sim'te, or rhetorical fustian ; 
neither arguing coolly, and untying consequences united 
in o priori, nor bundling up inductions a poMeriori ; 
neither pedantic jargon, nor academical trifling, can 



peranade the poor. Writing a discouree coolly in the 
closet, then getting it by memory, and delivering it on 
Sundaytt, even that will not do. What then is to be done ? 
I know of no expedient to speak — to speak at once 
intelligibly and feelingly — except to understand the 
language : to be convinced of the truth of the object — 
to be perfectly acquainted with the subject in view — 
to prepossess yourself with a low opinion of your 
audience — and to do the rest extempore. By this means 
strong expressions, new thoughts, rising passions, and 
the true declamatory style, will naturally ensue. 

Fine declamation does not consist in flowery periods, 
delicate allusions, or musical cadences ; but in a plain, 
open, loose style, where the periods are long and obvious ; 
where the same thought is often exhibited in several 
points of view ; all this, strong sense, a good memory, 
and a small share of experience, will furnish to every 
orator ; and without these a clergyman may be called 
a fine preacher, a judicious preacher, and a man of sound 
sense ; he may make his hearers admire his under- 
standing, but will seldom enlighten theirs. 

When I think of the Methodist preachers among us, 
how seldom they are endued with common sense, and 
yet how often and how juttly they affect their hearers, 
I cannot avoid saying within myself, had these been bred 
gentlemen, and been endued with even the meanest 
share of understanding, what might they not effect t 
Did our bishops, who can add dignity to their expostula- 
tions, testify the same fervour, and entreat their hearers, 
as well as argue, what might not be the consequence ! 
The vulgar, by which I mean the bulk of mankind, 
would then have a double motive to iove religion ; first, 
from seeing its professors honoured here, and next, 
from the consequences hereafter. At present, the 
enthusiasms of the poor are opposed to law : did law 



conspire with tlieir enthusiasms, we should not only be 
the happiest nation upon earth, but the wisest also. 

Enthusiasm in religion, which prevails only among the 
vulgar, should be the chief object of politics. A society 
of enthusiasts, governed by reason among the great, is 
the most indissoluble, the most virtuous, and the most 
efficient of its own decrees that can be imagined. Every 
country that has any degree of strength, have had their 
enthusiasms, which ever serve as laws among the people 
The Greeks had their Kalokagathia, the Romans their 
Amor Patriae, and we the truer and firmer bond of the 
Protestant religion. The principle is the same in aU • 
how much then is it the duty of those whom the law has 
appoiated teachers of this religion, to enforce its obliga- 
tions, and to raise those enthusiasms among people, by 
which alone political society can subsist. 

BVom eloquence, therefore, the morals of our people 
are to expect emendation ; but how little can they be 
improved, by men who get into the pulpit rather to 
show their parts than convince us of the truth of what 
they deliver ; who are painfully correct in their style, 
musical in their tones ; where every sentiment, every 
expression, seems the result of meditation and deep study. 
Tillotson has been commended as the model of pulpit 
eloquence ; thus far he should be imitated, where he 
generally strives to convince, rather than to please • 
but to adopt his long, dry, and sometimes tedious 
discussions, which serve to amuse only divines, and are 
utterly neglected by the generality of mankind— to praise 
the intricacy of his periods, which are too long to be 
spoken,— to continue his cool phlegmatic manner of en- 
forcing every truth,- is -ertainly erroneous. As I said 
before, the good preacher should adopt no model, write 
no sermons, study no periods ; let him but understand 
his subject, the language he speaks, and be convinced of 



the truths he flelivers. It is amazing to what heights 
eloquence of this kind may reach ! This is that eloquence 
the ancients represented as lightning, bearing down every 
opposer ; this the power which has turned whole assem- 
blies into astonishment, admiration, and awe ; that is 
described by the torrent, the flame, and every other 
instance of irresistible impetuosity. 

But to attempt such noble heights, belongs only to 
the truly great, or the truly good. To discard the lazy 
manner of reading sermons, or speaking sermons by 
rote ; to set up singly against the opposition of men who 
are attached to their own errors, and to endeavour to be 
great, instead of being prudent, are qualities we seldom 
see united. A minister of the Church of England, who 
may bo po8.scssod of good sense, and some hopes of 
preferment, will seldom give up such substantial ad- 
vantages for the empty pleasure of improving society. 
By his present method he is liked by his friends, admired 
by his dependents, not displeasing to his bishop ; he 
lives as well, eats and sleeps as well, as if a real orator, 
and an eager asserter of his mission ; he will hardly, 
therefore, venture all this to be called, perhaps, an 
enthusiast ; nor will he depart from customs established 
by the brotherhood, when, by such a conduct, he only 
singles himself out for their contempt. 


What, say some, can give us a more contemptible 
idea of a large state than to find it mostly governed by 
custom ; to have few WTJtten laws, and no boundaries 
to mark the jurisdiction between the senate and people ? 
Among the number who speak in this manner is the great 
Montesquieu, who asserts that every nation is free in 
proportion to the number of its wiitten laws, and seems 



to hint at a despotic and arbitrary conduct in the present 
King of Prjsaia, who has abridged the laws of his country 
into a very short compass. 

As Tacitus and Montesquieu happen to differ in 
sentiment upon a subject of so much importance (for 
the Roman expressly asserts, that the state is generally 
vicious in proportion to the number of its laws), it will 
not be amiss to examine it a little more minutely, and 
see whether a state which, like England, is burdened 
with a multiplicity of written laws, or which, like 
Switzerland, Geneva, and some other republics, is 
governed by custom afid the determination of the judge, 
is best. 

And to prove the superiority of custom to written law, 
we shall at least find history conspiring. Custom, or the 
traditional observance of the practice of their forefathers, 
was what directed the Bomans, as well in their public 
as private determinations. Custom was appealed to in 
pronouncing sentence against a criminal, where part of 
the formulary was more majorum. So Sallust, speaking 
of the expulsion of Tarquin, says, mtttato mare, and not 
lege muUtta ; and Virgil, pacisque imponere morem. So 
that, in those times of the empire in which the people 
retained their liberty, they were governed by custom ; 
when they sunk under oppression and tyranny, they were 
restrained by new laws, and the laws of tradition 

As getting the ancients on our side is half a victory, 
it will not be amiss to fortify the argument with an 
observation of Chrysostom's : That the enslaved are the 
fittest to be governed by laws, and free men by custom. 
Custom partakes of the nature of parental injunction ; 
it is kept by the people themselves, and observed with 
a willing obedience. The observance of it must, there- 
fore, be a mark of freedom ; and coming originally to 



a state from the reverenced founders of its liberty, will 
be an encouragement and assistance to it in the defence 
of that blessing ; but a conquered people, a nation of 
slaves, must pretend to none of this freedom, or then 
happy distinctions ; having, by degeneracy, lost all light 
to their brave forefathers' free institutions, their masters 
will in policy take the forfeiture ; and the fixing a con- 
quest must be done by giving laws which may every 
moment serve to remind the people enalaved of their 
conquerors : nothing being more dangerous than to trust 
a late-subdued people with old customs, that presently 
upbraid their degeneracy, and provoke them to revolt. 

The wisdom of the Roman republic, in their veneration 
for custom, and backwaidnees to introduce a new law, 
was perhaps the cause of their long continuance, and of 
the virtues of which they have set the world so many 
examples. But to show in what that wisdom consists, 
it may be proper to observe, that the benefits of new 
written laws are merely confined to the consequences 
of their observance ; but customary laws, keeping up 
a veneration f orthe founders, engage men in the imitation 
of their virtues, as well as policy . To this may be ascribed 
the religious regard the Romans paid to their fore- 
fathers' memory, and their adhering for so many ages 
to the practice of the same virtues, which nothing 
contributed more to efface than the introduction of 
a voluminous body of new laws over the neck of vener- 
able custom. 

The simplicity, conciseness, and antiquity of custom 
gives an air of majesty and immutability that inspires 
awe and veneration ; but new laws are too apt to be 
voluminous, perplexed, and indeterminate ; from whence 
must necessarily arise neglect, contempt, and ignorance. 

As every human institution is subject to gross imper- 
fections, so laws must necessarily be liable to the same 




inconveniences, and their defects soon discovered. Thus, 
through the wealcness of one part, all the rest are liable 
to be brought into contempt. But such weaknesses in 
a custom, for very obvious reasons, evade an examina- 
tion ; besides, a friendly preju<lice always stands up in 
their favour. 

But let us suppose a new law to be perfectly equitable 
and necessary ; yet, if the prtcurers of it have betMkyc<l 
a conduct that confesses by-ends and private motives, 
indeed, to an irreverence of the law itself ; but we are , 
indulgently blind tp the most vinible imperfections of 
an old custom. Though we perceive the defects ourselves, 
yet we remain persuaded that our wise forefathers had 
good reasons for what they did ; and though such 
moti-es no longer continue, the benefit will still go along 
with the ol)Bervance, though we don't know how. It is 
thus the Boman lawyers speak, Non omnium qvae a 
majoribus conatitula sunt ratio reddi potest, et idea rationes 
eorum quae constituuntur inquiri non oportet, aliaquin 
nulla ex his quae certa sunt subvertuntur. 

Those laws which preserve to themselves the greatest 
love and observance, must needs be best ; but custom, 
as it executes itself, must be necessarily superior to 
written laws in this respect, which are to be executed by 
another. Thus nothing can be more certain than that 
numerous written laws are a sign of a degenerate com- 
munity, and are frequently not the consequence of 
vicious morals in a state, but the causes. 

From hence we see how much greater benefit it would 
be to the state rather to abridge than increase its laws. 
We every day find them increasing ; acta and reports, 
which may be termed the acts of judges, are every day 
becoming more voluminous, and loading the subject with 
new penalties. 



Laws ever increase in number and severity, until 
they at length are strained so tight as to break them- 
selves. Such was the case of the latter empire, whose 
laws were at length become so strict, that the barbarous 
invaders did not bring servitude but liberty. 


Of all the follies and absurdities which this great 
metropolis labours under, there is not one, I believe, at 
present, appears in a more glaring and ridiculous light 
than the pride and luxury of the middling class of 
people ; their eager desire uf being seen in a sphere 
far above their capacities and circumstances, is daily — 
nay hourly — instanced by the prodigious numbers of 
mechanics, who flock to the races, and gaming-tables, 
brothels, and all public diversions this fashionable town 

You shall see a grocer or a tallow-chandler sneak from 
behind the counter, clap on a laced coat and a bag, fly 
to the E. 0. table, throw away fifty pieces with some 
sharping man of quality, while his industrious wife is 
selling a pennyworth of sugar, or a pound of candles, 
to support her fashionable spouse in his extrava- 

I was led into this reflection by an odd adventure, 
which happened to me the other day at Epsom races, 
where 1 went, not through any desire, I do assure you, 
of laying bets, or winning thousands ;• but at the earnest 
request of a friend who had long indulged the curiosity 
of seeing the sport, very natural for an Englishman. 
When we had arrived at the course, and had taken several 
t«ri;s to observe the diffe '^t objects that mad© up 



this whimsical group, a figure suddenly darted h„ „ 
mounted and dressed in aTthe elegaZotSe ^1^ 

and rather than pay their just debts at home, generousfv 

u * .J^ waiKea after him, and met him as hn 
came back, when, to my no small surprise i beheld 
m th.s gay Narcissus, the visage of^J^k V.rli h" 
a humble vender of prints. Disgusted at the 2' 
I pulled my friend by the sleeve, pressed him J^!.' 
home te„i„g him all the way, tha^^:?, ren^g'^T^ 
the fellow s impudence. I was resolved never toTaTout 
another penny with 'him. ^ 

And now, pray, sir, let me beg of you to aive this a 
place in your paper, that Mr. Wmish mar«nde«t„d 

aecrease his fnends shun him, customers fall off and 
tumseUthr^wnintoajail. 1 would earnestly reco^e^ 

and he who strenuously endea voura to puraue thZTl ' 



Ik a fair, rich, and flourishing country, whci o cliffs 
are washed by the German Ocean, lived Sabinux, a youth 
formed uy nature to make a conqucnt wherever he 
thought proper ■ but the conntancy of hiH difipoNitiun 
fixed him only \iith Olinda. He wos, iiulood, Hupcrlor 
to her in fortune, but that defect on her Hide was ho 
amply supplied by her merit, that none was thought 
more worthy of his regards than she. Ho lovnl her, 
he was beloved by her ; and, in a short time, hy joining 
hands publicly, they avowed the uninn of their he, its. 
But, alas ! none, however fortunate, however happy, 
are exempt from the shafts of envy, and the ni.Uignant 
effects of ungovemed apjictite. How unsafe, how 
detestable, are they who ha^ this fury for th^'ir guiilc ' 
How certainly will it lead them from ihemn- Ives, and 
plunge them in errors they would have shuddered at, 
even in apprehension. Ariana, a lady of many amiable 
qualities, very nearly allie<l to Sabinus, and highly 
esteemed by him, imagined herself slighted, and injuri- 
ously treated, since his marriage with Olinda. By 
incautiously suffering this jealousy to corrode in her 
breast, she began to give a loose to pas-sion ; she forgot 
those many virtues for which she had been so long 
and BO justly applauded. Causeless suspicion, and mis- 
taken resentment, betrayed her into all the gloom of 
discontent ; she sighed without ceasing ; the happiness 
of others gave her intolerable pain ; she thought of 
nothing but revenge. How unlike what she was, the 
cheerful, the prudent, the compassionate Ariana ! 

She continually laboured to disturb a union so 
firmly, so affectionately founded, and planned every 
scheme which she thought most likely to disturb it. 

Fortune seemed willing to promote her unjust inten- 




^^ 1653 Eo»t Main Stfeot 

S^S Rocn«ster, Nen Yorli 14609 USA 

'■J= (?16) 482 - 0300 - Phon. 

^S ("6) 288-5989 -Fox 



tions: the circumstances of Sabiuus had been long 
embarrassed by a tedious law-suit, and the court 
determining the cause unexpectedly in favour of his 
opponent, it sunlc his fortune to the lowest pitch of 
penury from the highest affluence. From the nearness 
of relationship, Sabinus expected from Ariana those 
assistances his present situation required ; but she was 
insensible to all his entreaties, and the justice of every 
remonstrance, unless he first separated from Olinda 
whom she regarded with detestation. Upon a com- 
pliance with her desires in this respect, she promised 
her fortune, her interest, and her all, should be at his 
command. Sabinus* was shocked at the proposal • he 
loved his wife with inexpressible tenderness, and refused 
those offers with indignation which were to be purchased 
at so high a price. Ariana was no less displeased to 
find her offers rejected, and gave a loose to all that 
warmth which she had long endeavoured to suppress 
Reproach generally produces recrimination ; the quarrel 
rose to such a height, that Sabinus was marked for 
destruction ; and the very next day, upon the strength 
of ati old family debt, he was sent to jail, with none but 
Ohnda to comfort him in his miseries. In this mansion 
of distress they lived togetherwith resignation, and even 
with comfort. She provided the frugal meal, and he read 
for her while employed in the little offices of domestic 
concern. Their fellow prisoners admired their content- 
ment, and whenever they had a desire of relaxing into 
mirth, and enjoying those little comforts that a prison 
affords, Sabinus and Olinda were sure to be of the party 
Instead of reproaching each other for their mutual 
wretchedness, they both lightened it, by bearing each 
a share of the load imposed by Providence. Whenever 
Sabinus showed the least concern on his dear partner's 
account, she conjured him by the love he bore her 



by those tender ties which now united them for ever, 
not to discompose himself ; that, so long as his affection 
lasted, she defied all the ills of fortune, and every loss 
of fame or friendship ; that nothing could make her 
miserable, but his seeming to want happiness ; nothing 
pleased, but his sympathizing with her pleasure. A 
continuance in prison soon robbed them of the little 
they had left, and famine began to make its horrid 
appearance ; yet still was neither found to murmur ; 
they both looked upon their little boy, who, insensible 
of their or his own distress, was playing about the room, 
with inexpressible yet silent anguish, when a messenger 
came to inform them that Ariana was dead, and that 
her will, in favour of a very distant relation, who 
was now in another country, might be easily procured, 
and burnt, in which case, all her large fortune would 
revert to him, as being the next heir at law. 

A proposal of so base a nature filled our unhappy 
couple with horror ; they ordered the messenger 
immediately out of the room, and falling upon each 
other's neck, indulged an agony of sorrow ; for now 
even all hopes of relief were banished. The messenger 
who made the proposal, however, was only a spy sent 
by Ariana to sound the dispositions of a man she loved 
at once and persecuted. This lady, though warped by 
wrong passions, was naturally kind, judicious, and 
friendly. She found that all her attempts to shake the 
constancy or the integrity of Sabinus were ineffectual ; 
she had, therefore, begun to reflect, and to wonder 
how she could, so long, and so unprovoked, injure such 
imcommon fortitude and affection. 

She had, from the next room, herself heard the 
reception given to the messenger, and could not avoid 
feeling all the force of superior virtue ; she therefore 
reassumed her former goodness of heart ; she camu into 



the room with tears in hor eyes, and acknowledged the 
seventy of her former treatment. She bestowed her first 
care m providing them all the necessary supplies and 
acknowledged them as the most deserving heirs of her 
fortune. From this moment Sabinus enjoyed an unin- 
terrupted happiness with Olinda, and both were happy 
in the friendship and assistance of Ariana, who, dying 
soon after, left them in possession of a large estate and 
m her last moments, confessed that virtue was the only 
path to true glory ; and that, however innocence may 
for a time bo depressed, a steady perseverance will, 
in time, lead it to a certain victory. 

NCMBEE Vni. Saturday, November 24, 1759. 

The rise and fall of our amusements pretty much 
resemble that of empire. They this day flourish without 
any visible cause for such vigour ; the next they decay 
away, without any reason that can be assigned for their 
downfall. Some years ago the Italian opera was the 
only fashionable amusement among our nobility The 
managers of the playhouses dreaded it as a mortal 
enemy, and our very poets listed themselves in the 
opposition ; at present, the house seems deserted, the 
caatrah sing to empty benches ; even Prince Vologese 
himself, a youth of great expectations, sings himself 
out of breath, and rattles his chain to no purpose. 

To say the truth, the opera, as it is conducted among 
us, IS but a very humdrum amusement; in other 
countries, the decorations are entirely magnificent the 
singers all excellent, and the burlettas, or interiudes, 
quite entertaining ; the best poets compose the words, 
and the best masters the music ; but with us it is other- 



wise ; the decorations are but trifling, and cheap ; the 
singers, Matei only exceptctl, but indifferent . Instead of 
interlude, we have those sorts of skipping dances, which 
are calculated for the galleries of the theatre. Every 
performer sings his favourite song, and the music is 
only a medley of old Italian airs, or some meagre modern 

When such is the case, it is not much to be wondered, 
If the opera is pretty much neglected ; the lower orders' 
of people have neither taste nor fortune to relish such 
an entertainment ; they would find more satisfaction 
in the Roast Beef of Old England than in the finest closes 
of an eunuch ; they sleep amidst all the agony of recita- 
tive : On the other hand, people of fortune or taste 
can hardly be pleased where there is a visible poverty 
in the decorations, and an entire want of taste in the 

Would it not surprise one, that when Metastasio is 
so well known in England, and so universally admired, 
the manager or the composer should hhve recourse to 
any other operas than those written by him ? I might 
venture to lay, that mrilten by 21etastasio, put up in 
the bills of "-e day, would alone be sufficient to fill a 
house, sine, .us the admirers of sense, as well as sound, 
might find entertainment. 

The performers also should be entreated to sing only 
their parts, without clapping in any of their own 
favourite airs. I must own, that such songs are generally 
to me the most disagreeable in the world. Every 
singer generaUy chooses a favourite air, not from the 
excellency of the music, but from the difficulty ; such 
songs are generally chosen as surprise rather than please, 
where the performer may show his compass, his breath' 
and his volubility. 

From hence proceed those unnatural starlings, those 



unmusical closings, and shakes lengthened out to a 
painful continuance; such, indeed, may show a voice, but 
it must give a truly delicate ear the utmost uneasiness. 
Such tricks are not music ; neither Corelli nor Pergolesi 
ever permitted them, and they begin even to be dis- 
continued in Italy, where *Hey first had their rise. 

And now I am upon th^ bject: Our composers also 
should affect greater simplicity, let their base clef have 
all the variety they can give it ; let the body of the music 
(if I may so express it) be as various as they please, 
but let them avoid ornamenting a barren groundwork ; 
let them not attempt, by flourishing, to cheat us of solid 

The works of Mr. Rameau are never heard without 
a surprising effect. I can attribute it only to this 
simplicity he everywhere observes, insomuch that some 
of his finest harmonies are often only octave and unison. 
This simple manner has greater powers than is generally 
imagined ; and were not such a demonstration misplaced, 
I think, from the principles of music, it might be proved 
to be most agreeable. 

But to leave general reflection. With the present set 
of performers, the operas, if the conductor thinks proper, 
may be carried on with some success, since they have all 
some merit ; if not as actors, at least as singers. Signora 
Matei is at once both a perfect actress and a very fine 
singer. She is possessed of a fine sensibility in her 
manner, and seldom indulges those extravagant and 
unmusical flights of voice complained of before. Coma- 
oini, on the other hand, is a very indifferent actor ; has 
a most unmeaning face ; seems not to feel his part ; 
is infected with a passion of showing his compass ; but 
to recompense all these defects, his voice is melodious; 
he has vast compass and great volubility ; his swell 
and shake are perfectly fine, unless that he continues 


the ktter too long. In short, whate'or the defects of 
his action may be. they are amply recompensed by his 
excellency as a singer ; nor can I avoid fancying that 
he might make a much greater figure in an oratorio, 
than upon the stage. 

However, upon the whole, I know not whether ever 
operas can be kept up in England ; they seem to bo 
entirely exotic, and require the nicest management 
and care. Instead of this, the care of them is a8signe<l 
to men unacquainte<l with the genius and disposition 
of the people they would amuse, and whose only motives 
are immediate gain. Whether a discontinuance of such 
entertainments would be more to the loss or the advan- 
tage of the nation, I will not take upon me to determine, 
since it is as much our interest to induce foreigners of 
taste among us on the one hand, as it is to discourage 
those tnfling members of society who generally compose 
the operatical dratnatia peraonae, on the other. 




The SECOND EDITION, corrcftcd. 


Printed for W. Griffin in Catharine-Street. 



[Two 'EsMyi- In Verac: 'The Double Traiwformp'ion ' »n.' 
■ A Now Simile in the Manner of Swifl ■ arc omitted. They may be 
found ta the companion volume of Ooldamith's Pooma. The titles 
to the Esaays have for the moat part been tupplind from the post- 
humous edition of 1798. A thirf essay on ' Beau Tibbe ', not reprinted 
in Eimy,, 1703 (od. 2, 1788), wiU be found in an Appendix to this 


different«, and in different publicntionH. The 
pamphlets m which they were inserted being genemlly 
un«ucc..,:., the«, shared the con.mon fate without 
»«H,8 mg the bookseller's aims, or extending the writer s 
reputafon. The nublio were too strenuoufly employ^ 

w.ththe.rownfollies, to be assiduous in estimatingminr 
so that niany of my best attempts in this way have 
fanen victims to the transient topic of '.he times ; the 
Ghost ni Cock Lane, or the siege of Ticonderago 

But though they have passed pretty silently into the 
world, I can by no means complain of their circulation 
T^e and papers of the day hav'c, indeed, 
been hberal enough in this respect. Most of these essays 
have been reguUly reprinted tw;.e or thrice a year, and 
conveyed to the public through the kennel of ;ome 

reprmted, and claimed by different parents as their own 
I have seen them flourished at the beginning with praise, 

Ph -aS V^", r' "'*'• *'>" "•""- °' fhilantos 
Phi,alethes PhUalutheros, and Philanthropos. Thes^ 
gentlemer. have kindly sfood sponsors to my produ^ 
tions ; and to flatter me more, have always taken my 
errors on themselves. ^ 

It is time, however, at last, to vindicate my claims- 
and as 'He^ entertainers of the public, as they call 
them8e,...s, have partly lived upon me for -ome years 
let me now try if I cannot live little upon myself 
I would desire, m this case, to imitate the fat man, whom 




I have Homewhero rend of, in a Hhipwrcck, who, when 
the Hailoni, prcBiicd by famine, wore taking Hliocx from hiH 
poKtcriorH to »ati»fy their hunger, in(iiiite<l, with great 
jUHtice, on having the finit out for himiiclf. 

Yet after all, I nnnnot bo angry with any who 
have taken it into their hoadB, to think that whatever 
I write Ih worHi reprinting, particularly when I conmder 
how great a majority will think it ncarco worth reading. 
Trifling and nuperficial are terms of reproach that are 
easily objected, and that carry an air of penetration 
in the observer. These faults have boon objected to the 
following essays; and it must be owned, in gome 
measure, that the cha^ is true. However, I could have 
made them more metaphysical, had I thought fit ; but 
I would ask whether, in a short essay, it is not necessary 
to be superficial ? Before we have prepared to enter 
into the depths of a subject, in the usual forms, we have 
got to the bottom of our scanty page, and thus lose the 
honours of a victory, by too tedious a preparation for 
the combat. 

There is another fault in this coUec' jn ..t trifles, 
which, I fear, will not be so easily pardoned. Xt will be 
alleged, that the humour of them (if any be found) is 
stale and hackneyed. This may be true enough as 
matters now stand, but I may with great truth assert, 
that the humour was new when I wrote it. Since that 
time, indeed, many of the topics which were first started 
here, have been hunted down, and many of the thoughts 
blown upon. In fact, these Essays were considered as 
quietly I. .id in the grave of oblivion ; and our modem 
compilers, like sextons and executioners, think it their 
undoubted right to pillage the dead. 

However, whatever right I have to complain of the 
public, they can, as yet, hcve no just reason to complain 
of me. K I have written dull Essays, they have hitherto 


treated them an dull Eimayi.. Thun far we an at tcait 
upon par, and until they think fit to nmk me their 
humble debtor, by praiHe, I am rowjlvcd not to low 
a gmgle inch of my Helf-importance. In»tcad, therefore, 
of attempting to establish a credit amongst them, it will 
perhaps be wiser to apply to some m. ,o distant corre- 
spondent ; and as my drafts arc in some danger of being 
protested at home, it may not be imprudent, upon this 
occasion, to draw my bills v -on Pbsterity. 




[Altcml from ' Introduction ■ in TKc Bcc. No. I] 
Thebe is not, ,x,rhups, a more whim«ical figure in 
nature, than a man of real modesty who assumpf !? • 
o impudence ; who. while hi. heart Latrrtra^etT 
studiesease, and affects good humour. In this siZttn ' 
however, every unexperienced writer as I a ' « °4 ' 
himself. Impressed with the te^rs of i^d ] 
before which ,0 is going to appear, 1 1^, ^'Zt 

iZ^JtTZ '"''''' ^'''''''^'"^^'^ 

For my part, as I was never distinguished for address 
and have often blunde«d in making my bow Tam at 
a loss whether f« be merry or sad on this solemn oecal^ 
Should I modestly decline all merit, it is too prCte 
the hasty reader may take me at my word IfZTT 
other hand, like labourers in the ^ml^ne t'rall 
humbly presume to promise an epitome of aH the tod 

desire to please may forsake me. * 

My bookseller, in this dilemma perceiving my em- 

Vou must know, sir,' says he, 'that the republic of 
^ters IS a present divided into several clasps. One 
writer excels at a plan, or a title-page ; another works 
away the body of the book; and L third is a dab 
at an index. Thus a magazine is not the result of any 
single man s industry ; but goes through as many hands 
r.r r,; '*'°™ '* '« «' ^- '^^ P" '"- I fancy at ■ 



continues he, ' I can provide an eminent hand, and upon 
I moderate terms, t» draw up a promising plan t/3 smooth 
'up our readers a little, and pay them, an Colonel 
I Chiirtres paid his seraglio, at the rate of three half- 
' pence in hand, and three shillings more in promises.' 

He was proceeding in his advice, which, however, 
I thought proper to decline, by assuring him, that, as 
I intended to pursue no fixed method, so it was impossible 
to form any regular plan ; determined never to be 
tedious, in order to be logical, wherever pleasure pre- 
sented, I was resolved to follow. 

It will be improper therefore to palL the reader's 
curiosity by lessening his surprise, or anticipate any 
pleasure I am able to procure him, by saying what shall 
come next. Happy could any effort of mine, but repress 
one criminal pleasure, or but for a moment fill up an 
interval of anxiety ! How gladly would I lead mankind 
trom the vain prospects of life, to prospects of innocence 
and ease, where every breeze breathes health, and every 
sound is but the echo of tranquillity. 

But whatever may be the merit of his intentions, 
every writer is now convinced that he must be chiefly 
indebted to good fortune for finding readers willing to 
allow him any degree of reputation. It has been remarked, 
that almost every character which has excited either 
attention or pity, has owed part of its success to merit, 
and part to an happy concurrence of circumstances iii 
Jts favour. Had Caesar or Cromwell exchanged countries, 
the one might have been a sergeant, and the other an 
exciseman. So it is with wit, which generally succeeds 
more from being happily addressed, than from its native 
poignancy. A jest calculated to spread at a gaming 
tabic, may be received with perfect indifference should 
it happen to drop in a mackerel boat. We have all seen 
dunces triumph in some companies, where men of real 




performances for readerR of « ™ = . ^'^"^ ''"' 

are to bo detcrmiiuHl bv i„,l„o u • "'^ '"""'» 
of a book f„.„ t.Sf '^^fu^T'"""'" *'" ™""' 
mu«t acquire an onytZ^i^^r'^^r'"'' "'''' 
eloquence pronu«es fL,! . ■• "'"" l^'"-'""'«'ve 

natu;e ^"' ''""'"■ """""'''y ™'""rc<I from 

I protest is more than I know Th. ■ ' ^'"^ 

and am entirely out of the seJ "" "'— --e, 



A traveller, in hm way to Italy, found Umself in a 
country where the inhabitjintB had each a large exoiBS- 
oence depending from the chin ; a deformity which as 
It was endemic, and the people little used to strangers 
It had been t. e custom, time immemorial, to look upon 
as the greatest beauty. Ladies grew toasts from the size 
of their chms, and no men were beaux whose faces 
were not broadest at the bottom. It was Sunday 
a country church was at hand, and our traveller was 
wilhng to perform the duties of the day. Upon his first 
appearance at the church door, the eyes of all were 
naturally fixed upon the stranger ; but what wa« their 
amazement, when they found that he actually wanted 
that emblem of bo»uty. a pursed chin. Stifled'bursts of 
laughter, winks, and whispers, circulated from visage 
to visage ; the prismatic figure of the stranger's face was 
a fund of infinite gaiety. Our traveller could no longer 
patiently continue an object for deformity to point at 
Good folks.' said he. ' I perceive that I am a very 
ridiculous figure here, but I assure you am reckoned 
no way deformed at Home." 

Taken from a Byzantine Historian 
[Altered from The Bee, No. I] 
Athens, long after the decline of the Roman Empire 
still continued the seat of learning, politeness, and 
wisdom Theodoric. the r .trogoth. repaired the schools 
which barbarity was surfering to fall into decay and 
continued those pensions to men of learning, which 
avaricious governors had monopolized. 

In this city, and about this period, Aloander and 



Septimius were felW students together The on« ,k 
moat subtle reasonor nf »li n,„ i * ''"^- ^"° <"»e. the 

most eloquenTsZker in thn "^f""' = "■" °"""' "-« 
adm,>atio\soo„CTa7rillr^^^^^^ F"-- «"»"". 
nearly equal and fh« '^^ Their fortunes were 

Athens Septimius came dJr ^"'""''^^ -« °' 
previous to this, placed his aff«.fiZ '« ' " '**P 

unable to enjoy any LLttinn .T^'"'"'' °' ''"'"8 
friend <5««.- • ^ sawMaction without makinir his 

sooner saw her, but hVtas li«i ' l^' P*""'"' "" 
of his mind in a^hoTt ^ ""J"'*' *'■'' """"tions 

the physicians hv th». '"enasnip. The sagacity of 


being apprised of their discoveT ^1' 1"^ ^'"''"^«'- 
a confession from the reluctlt d^L.ttTf '' "'"^'=' 




i I 

It would but delay the narrative to descril)c the 
conflict between love and friend»hip in the breast of 
Alcandor on this occasion ; it is enough to say, that 
the Athenians were at that time arrived at such" refine- 
ment in morals, that every virtue was carrial to excess 
In shcrt, forgetful of his own felicity, he gave up his 
intended bride, in nil her charms, ti the voung Roman 
Ihey were married privately by his connivance, and this 
unlooked-for change of fortune wrought as unexpected 
a change in the constitution of the now happy Septimius 
In a few days he was perfectly recovered, and set out 
with his fair partner for Rome. Here, by an exertion 
of those talents which he was so eminently possessed of 
Septimiua, in a few years, arrived at the highest dignitiei 
of the state, and was constituted the city iudce or 

In the meantime Alcander not only felt the pain of 
being separated from his friend and his mistress, but 
a prosecution was also commenced against him by the 
relations of Hypatia, for having basely g.ven up his 
bnde, as was suggested, for money. His innocence of 
the crime laid to his charge, and even his eloquence in 
his own defence, were not able to withstand the influence 
of a powerful party. He was cast and condtuined to 
pay an enormous fine. However, being unable to raise 
so large a sura at the time appointed, his possessions 
were confiscated, he himself was stripped of the habit 
of freedom, exposed as a slave in the market-place, and 
sold to the highest bidder. 

A merchant of Thrace becoming his purchaser, 
Alcander, with some other companions of distress, was 
carried into that region of desolation and sterility. His 
stated employment was to follow the herds of an im- 
perious master, and his success in hunting was all that 
vas allowed him to supply his precarious subsistence. 


Every morning waked hin, to a renewal oi famine or 
toll, and every change of seanon served but to aggravate 
h.8 unsheltered distress. After some years of b^„lage. 
however an opportunity of escaping offered; he 
^mbraced ,t with ardour ; so that travelling by night, 
and odgmg m caverns by day, to shorten a long story 
he at last arrived i„ Rome. The same day on which 
Aieander arrived, Septimius sat administering justice in 
the forum whither our wanderer came, expecting to be 
instantly known, and publicly acknowledged, by his 
former fmnd. Here he stood the whole day amongst 
the crowd, watchmg the eyes of the judge, and expecting 
to be taken notice of ; but he was so much altei-ed by 
» long succession of hardships, that he continued umioted 
among the rest ; and, m the evening, when ho was 
gomg up to the praetor's chair, he was brutally repulsed 
by the attending lictors. The attention of the poor is 
generally driven from one ungrateful object to another ■ 
for night coming on, he now found himself under a 
necessity of seeking a piace to lie in, and yet knew not 
where to apply. All emaciated, and in rags as he was 
none of the citizens would harbour so much wretchedness • 
and sleeping in the streets might be attended with 
mtemijition or danger : in short, he was oKiged to take 
up his lodging in one of the tombs without the city the 
usual retreat of guilt, poverty, and despair. In this 
mansion of horror, laying his head upon an inverted urn 
he forgot his miseries for a while in sleep ; and found, on 
lus flinty couch, more ease than beds of down can supply 
to the guilty. 

M he continued here, about midnight, two robbers 
came to make this their retreat ; but happening to 
disagree about the division of their plunder, one of them 
stabbed the other to the heart, and left him weltering in 
blood at the entrance. In these circumstances he was 



found next moming dead at the mouth of the vault 

WM spread , the cave was examined ; and Alcand«r 
being found, was immediately apprehended and accu^ 
of robbery and murder. The circumstances agai' t h^ 
were strong, and the wretchedness ,f his apZ™ '^ 
confirmed suspicion. Misfortune and he wereTow 1 
long acquainted, that ho at last becam l^X. 7f 

taU^l^tSo^dirc^lirt'" H"'^ 
U. maice no defence ; anl'thuSLi'n; IZ'ZZ:^ 

oept,miU8. As the proofs were positive again=:t him and 
he offered nothing i„ his own vindication^ the judge was 
proceeding to doom him to a most cruel a^d ignoSiZ 
i^LT" """ """"""" °' *'«> ""ititude w^s In 
«eally guilty, was apprehended selline his nI„nT, 
and. struck with a panic, had .onfessed^is cri^l " He 

the ^uel be related ? Alcander was acquitted "^shaS 



[Altered from ■ H.pp.„c« i„ . g™t mea.ur„ d..peudcnt on Con.t|. 
tution," in The Btt, No. II] 

wh!!hT ^ '^T ""/'"' """""Wtioua retirement in 
which I passed the earlier part of my life in the country 
I cannot avo.d feeling some pain in thinking that tho^' 
happy days are never to return. In that retreat, all 
nature seemed capable of affording pleasure ; I then 
made no refinements on happiness, but could be pleased 
with the most awkward efforts of rustic mirth , thought 
oross-purposes the highest stretch of human wit ; and 
•luestions and commands the most rationul way of 
spending- the eyening. Happy could so charming an 
Illusion s^ill continue ! I find that age and knowledge 
only contribute to sour our dispositions. My present 
enjoyments may be more refined, but they are infinitely 
less pleasmg. The pleasure the best actor giyes, can no 
way compare to that I have received from a country 
wag who imitated a Quaker's sermon. The music of 
the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when our 
old dairymaid sung me into tears with ' Joh ,nv A.-m. 
S?' ^* ^°^ ^''^^^ '• °' ' "^^^ ^'""^^y "^ Barbara 
Writers of every age have endeavoured to show that 
pleasure is in us, and not in the objects offered for our 
amusement. If the soul be happily disposed, every 
thing becomes capable of affording entertainment • and 
distress will almost want a name. Every occurrence 
passes in review like the figures of a procession ; some 
may be awkward, others ill dressed ; but none but a fool 
IS for this enraged with the master of the ceremonies 
1 remember to have once seen a slave in a fortification 



have danced but tha^ro t«„tS'ltL ' )" """«' *°'"'' 

P«otioal phillpheri, he™ f f ™'""- ^*"" » 
•upplied philosophy ZZ:J "'^^ constitution 
of wiadom. he waa ^ally wlU vf„"t'»'"8'-^ "«"'»"*«' 
contributed to diBenohLTTK ^° ""<''"8 "'"'"dy had 
Every thi„gfu«ihl^°£ ..' ^"""^''"^ »""""' him. 
and,Thou«f ^e'^tt;;™- -^^^^^^^ 

*o e.ciS' thV 7^'ztih: rf T'""«' 

events, cither to themselves or nth \ "'^''"nitous 

affliction ; the whole woridstTh "" 'T^ "° """ 
which comedies only ar^^ aid 'm1 tie r^' "" 
heroism, or the rants of amhif! ^ ^"^*'« "^ 

the absurdity ofThe ^l^J^'lr^S *° '^'«''*^"»nt. They feel, in short aSl. T" °""* 
own distress, or the .^mDlainf'/V .u °^"'' "* *''«>■• 
taker, though dresliT b tk fii'"' '' *'"' ""'»- 
Of all the men I ever read 0/?^' f""^ "* " ^""O""- 
Betz possessed this hIpZ J of ' "' ''"'""'" "" 
d^n^. As he was a man of ll J"^" '" *'"" ^'«^^' 
that wor« the pedantic i*'"''^' """^ '^^P'^^' all 

wherever pleasure'^astbetThr "' '"'"""'"'y' 
most to raise the auction ^t ^''^. 8'^"«~"y fo"- 



«ngrie8t look, and he atlj foil fnT !r *""' *"" 
met deadly enemy Card^.l m •"• ''"**"" "' ^^ 

attempts to -PPort ^72^:"^;"—^ 

•ophy. for he pretended to neither H„ ' nl^ J''',''"" 

himself and hig pereeout.^ «.!h . ^ '""^''"^ '* 

-)ud«, fr:::^^^:^^:;^^ ^^^-^^^ 
-t'iorortr rdei ::x:;r r ■ ■i'- 1- 

idiotism- if i. k. ^ ""^"^'^ '"*° msensibilitv, or even 



,te ^" r""''"*«' »""»»" ^y 'm'tating the Hibernian 
« eot of h„ one. or the more fashionable cant of the 

l„«v ''"''""«'"'.'""' »""'" ^ W"'. Hi« inattention to 
• hat all the mterco»8ion of friends in y avour wa^ 

SrlT'l ,'""1"" r*"""*" '^"' °" - •'"•"'..IIS^ 
The whole family, and Dick among the number, gathered 
•round h.m. • I leave my second «.n, Andren ' «id S 
( .piring mi«e.|. ' my whole estate, and desire him to be 
frugal. Andrew, in a sorrowful tone, as is usual on 
these occasions, p^yed Heaven to prolong hi. life and 
health to enjoy .t ^.imself . • I recommend Simon, my 
_ third son, to the care of his elder brother, and leave him 
b.«ide four thousand pounds.' Ah! father,' cried 
Hmion (m great affliction to be sure), 'may Heaven 
Kive you life and health to enjoy it yourself.' At last 
turning to poor Dick. ' As for you. you have always been 
' » / °18 ; y«u " never come to good ; you'll never be 
^ nc , ; I II leave you a shilling to buy a halter.' ' Ah 1 
father, cries Dick without any emotion, ' may Heaven 
give you life and health to enjoy it your-elf.' This was 
an th.. trouble the loss of fortune gave t - thoughtless 
mprudent creature. Ho,v3ver, the tenoerness of Z 
uncle recompensed the neglect of a father; and my 

cZtf" T "^* °"'^ excessively good-humoured, but 
competently rich. 

Yes, l^t the world cry out at a bankrupt who appears 
at a ball ; at an author who laughs at the pub!ic,Xch 
pronounces him a dunce ; at a general who H.uite at the 
reproach of the vulgar, or the lady who Laps he^ goS 
humour m spite of scandal; but such is the wisest 

cttaZ" v!» ""^ "' "' '"^" '^'"'Wy assume; it is 
certainly a better way to oppose calamity by dissipation, 
^han to take up the arm« of reason or resolution t^ 
oppose It : by the first metbo.1, we forget uur v series • 


by the |,»t, «o only oonoo.1 thorn Imm othon. • h„ 
•truggling with misfortune.. «„ .„ Su, ,^oh" 'Jl 
woun<U in the conflict ; but a gure mMh™lT f 

viotoriou.. i. by running aw.y ° ""^ '" '"""' "" 


ITht llu,^ Hndy, October 13, I-.TO| 

cultivate a nearer acquaintance ^' ^ *" 

But, akhough Buch as have a knowledge of the town 
may easily class themselves with temper congenWto 
their own ; a countryman who comes to live i„So^ 
finds nothing more difficult. With regard to mLT 
ever tried With more a.iduity, orTme^^osSrh 
md fferent success. I spent a whole season in the search 

lodges convocations, and meetings without numZ To 
«>me I was introduced by a friend, to others invU^ by 
an advertisement; to these I introduced myself and 



to those I changed my „amo to gain admittance. 1„ 
ribbons to l^er complexion, than I to suit my club to 

rc:='/:it' ^- '- °^^""- - ^--^ -y-^^^ 

of Se Sioit ' ".f ^■•l"?"" '=°«i"« <« town, was that 

my taste T ^ \ ^'"' "."""^ ""^ """^"'y -'^^d to 
my taste , I was a lover of mirth, good humour and 
even sometimes of fun, from my childhood 

As no other passport was requisite but the payment of 
two shillmgs at the door, I intro<luced myselfTilhout 
further ceremony to the members, who were Zl^ 

hTh *f '//^ " '"''"^* '" '"'« hand, presided at the 
head of the table. I could not avoid, upon my entrance 

dTcovlX? ''" '"^ f " 7 Physiognly. fn oSto 
discover that superiority of genius in men, who had 
token a title so superior to the rest of mankind I ex 
peeted to see the lines of every face marked with stron. 
hinking ; but, though I had some skill in this scVenee 
I could for my life discover nothing but a per^ Z^'' 
fat, or profound stupidity. simper, 

My speculations were soon interrupted by the Grind 
who had knocked down Mr. Spriggins for a Lg. 1 was 

rt"mtVaf n"',^ °"^ "' *••« -"P-y whoTt 
next me that I should now see something touched off 

lorn in all its glory. Mr. Spriggins endeavoured to 
excuse h.m^lf ; for, as he was to act a madZand 
a king. It was impossible to go thi^ugh the part propTrly 
without a crown and chains. His excuses were overrS 
by a great majority, and with much vociferation. S 

r i"„ ""''"^ "P '''' J«^''-h-n. and, instead o 

Z^'- "".^ P^rf"™"' covered his brows with an 

inverted Jordan. After he had rattled his cha^ and 


shookhis head, to thegreatdelightofthewhole company 
he began hi, song. As I have heanl few young feUows 
offer to sing ni company, that did not expose themselves, 
It was no great disappointment to me to find Mr 

i?rf ["7'"°"* ""^ ""'"'^'= however, not to seem an 
odd hsh, I rose from my seat in rapture, cried out, ' Bravo I 

Encore ! and slapped the table as loud as any of the rest 

The gentleman who sat next me seemed highly 

pleased with my taste, and the ardour of my approbation • 

and whispering, told me that I had suffered an immense' 

u \ ?J; ^ """"^ " *""■ ""'""t^^ «°oner, I might have 
heard Gee-ho-Dobbin ' sung in a tip-top manner by the 
pimple-nosed spirit at the president's right elbow ■ but 
he was evaporated before I came. 

As I was expressing my uneasiness at this disappoint- 
ment, I found the attention of the company employed 
upon a fat figure, who, with a voice more rough than the 
Staffordshire giant's, was giving us, ' The Softly Sweet 
m Lydian Measure,' of AUmnder's Feasl. After a short 
pause of admiration, to this succeeded a Welsh dialogue 
with the humours of Teague and Taffy: after that, came 
on Old Jackson ', with a story between every stanza • 
next was sung ' The Dust-cart ', and then ' Solomon's 
hong . The glass began now to circulate pretty 
freely ; those who were silent when sober, would now 
be heard in their turn ; every man had his song, and 
he saw no reason why ho should not be heard as well 
as any of the rest : one begged to b<., heard while he 
gave Death and the Lady ' in high taste ; another sung 
to a plate which he kept trundling on the edges ; nothing 
was now heard but singing ; voice rose above voice, tUl 
tho whole became one universal shout, when the landlord 
came to acquaint the company that the reckoning was 
drank out. Rabelais calls the moments in which a reck- 
oning IS mentioned, the most melancholy of our lives • 



a president chosen for the night ensuing 

exactly. ' We h^v^l T\L ^ ""'^ "^ "^ ^^^Per 
'J-- we nave, at the Muzzy Club ' sftv» 1,« <„ 

riotous mirth, nor awkur«r,1 ,iK m •^ ®' "° 

' bawlin» II • ''""^'^ard ribaldry ; no confusion or 

bawling ; all is conducted with wisdom and decencv 

At seven o'clock I was accordinriy introd.,«.rI w 

In this pleasing speonJation I continued a full h«.f 

^oZi:Z^^ 7:f --y,**- the pipeLsS 

as pnisible, observed that th« T. ' [ '^ "' *'^ 
a lit., eoollsh at tlis ttae^T^ltr ThTafit^^ 
directed to none of t»,„ „ • ' ** '* ''*« 

whom I observed that tho t^ ' *" 

my neighbour ,„ade no reply but"b: "T""' '7" = 
tobacco-smoke ^^' ^ " ''"'8« P^^ "f 

m.S .' »«l«l«i"g. To Ihl. tlub |„ ,TO>« 

e; K"iz':sr'' '°^ ™"'- -"• - ■» «-'i 

of the daj, drank each other's healths, snuffed the 



candles with our fingers, and filled our pines from <J, 

telling a better st„m,^f u, ^ **™^ *""«' '"'as 
could'do anSnf^A 2m" ""* "'*'' """"^ "e 

leather brZhe" at f^fr 1 '" " '"'«''' '^'g ""^ 
ureecnes, at t other end of fho foKi„ 

to the concert, there were seveml n*l.o». i ■ "^ ^ 
parts by themselves, Td elX ;:XtTsr"- 
some luckless neighbour's ear Jh? ^ I " °" 

ui»n the same des^na^LT^e-oVer """"" •*"' 

loudeet voice anH tl,o i„ x ^ °^* "ad the 

K voice, ana the longest story to tell so thaf »,;. 

contmumg narrative filled every chTsm i^Ll^Ir^^ 

Smokeum, you k^ow^J^f^r *° '"^' **^ "^'^^ 

J- u Know mere is no man upon the face of 

the yearth for whom I have so hiirh A a 

or another ; and none but a ghost, you know, gentlemen 

upon all his posterity, by simply barely tasting 

&.ur grapes, as the fox said once when he c^^ld not 
thai w I'ral "' '."• '■" *^" ^"" -^ «*-y -*'""';«* 

!nnl!^W^^^ ^"" ''"'^* y°"' ^'•^^^ *'tt I„Ugbing • A fox 

once--WiU nobody listen to the song-l" is I was 

muX^ ^'^ ^^° ^^°''' gentlemen, can be 

^^^ life" fl '""■ '■''''^ '^"^ ^^' °- «host killed 
m '^U ™y We, and that was stabbed in the belly with 

a My blood and soul if I don't Mr. ZZ, 

mender, I have the honour of drinking your ve^ Zl 
health— Blast me if I do— dam-blood-bugs-S 
-whizz— bhd-tit— rat— trip ■ ^ 

Were I to be angry at men for being fools 1 could 
here find ample room for declamation; but ak 1 
I have been a fool myself ; and why shou d it anty 
with them for ' somef hi - .,. ^ * 1 . ^^ 

of humanity ? " '" "''*"™' '" '^'''y "^il J 

Fatigued with mis society, I was introduced, the 



following night, to a club of faahion. On taking mv 
P^ace found the co„ve«atio„ sufflcionUy et?,nd 
tolerab y good-natured ; lor n,y bid and sl pZ'^e^ 

fitted and resolving to seek no farther, determined 
to take up my residence hen, for the winte^ ; whire mv 

I saw diffused on every faee in the room : but the 

tf^Tr^ZT""'"' "''^" ''"' -itercame to appSe 
us that his lordship and Sir Paul we™ just arrived^ 

From this moment all our felicity was at an end • 

our new guests bustled into the room and to^k th ' 

seats at the head of the Ub.e. Adieu no;:"^^^ 

every creature strive who should most recommend 

himself to our members of distinction. EaTrm^ 

ZT ^'''^r °' P'*"*«"'« ''"y •>"* "« new gTe^tr^ 
and. wh» before wore the appearance of friendsWp wL' 
now turned into rivalry. ^ 

.JV """''' ""' "^'""^ *''^*' ''■"'''«' «" this flattery 

of the rest of the company. Their whole discourse was 
addr.^ to each other. Sir Paul told his "Up 
a bug Story of Moravia the Jew ; and his lordship gave 
Sir Paul a very long account of his new method of 
managing silkworms : he led him, and consequemly the 
rest of the company, through all the stages of feeding 

trees. a digression upon grass-seeds, and a lone paren 

hesis about his new postilion. In this maLerwe 

traveUed on, wishing every story to be the last , but 2 

' HiUs over hills, and Alps on Alps arose • 
The last club in which I was enrelled a member 
was a society of moral philosophers, as they called 
themselves, who assembled twice a week, in order to 


had kirf hV , ^^ president swore that he 

Dur 1 tt"*" °"'"' ''"'' '" ^^"'^ ''" th« company 
laws, and also the members, of the societv Thf 

Pinnt "° "^'"'*"" «^' ^"■"'^ »*f°"' nine of the 

chck, upon pam of forfeiting threepence, to be Lnt bv 
the company in punch. '^ ^ 

III. That as members are sometimes apt to eo awav 
without pavme evnrv «««„„ u n ■*! " i" go away 
l; ^ \ •' =' ®™'7 person shall pay s xpence iinnn 

»iMir?™' T"' •"" •» «« Th., h 


be spent in punch ^* "P°" ^"^'"8 '''^P«»'=« ""'y. to 

name ^' the ti^^;';^'*'^ "^ -"« -"andiZ 

Saunders Mac Wild, President 
Anthony Blewit, Vice-President, 

"'» X marif. 
WiLUAM TuRPiN, Secretary. 


rOn the U« „, U„«„.ge. Altered ,„„ r*e i,.. No. mj 

aiUes private, is tl^.t S; J^irtol '" Tr 
redressed; and that the true use oTITk^^ *'"'" 
much to expre. our wantsTtoTon^c^^^^ '^ ""* «° 

«^:rtr.rurtrr: :r""--^ 

pleasure in increasin/f^.; P""' ^^ »« °'uc^ 

as the miser who ::f,f^~"' ""^" °' *"« "•">- 
Nor is there in thisTnvtv ^'""''^ '" '*« '"««"«'• 

«ty. seL:t\reftZs"T;t t *'^ r- °' 

benefits, the present should alwlys^t s^it^.^t'^f 



something less • whilo »h! i l ' ""'' ''"'*""< 

-id to want Xd t t,l tT; ii r"; r •* '""^ 
bis warmest solicitation" '^ ^"*'""« «'«""''' 

anf irs"::. 1 1 r ""^ '^°'"'' -"" "- •'"'^ '•'^ "i- 

wnen a mans circumstances arc such th«i h^\ 
occasion to borrow h« fin^ !. *' ^ ''*'' "o 

but, should krwaistr^™ !"'"'"« *°''"^'^'" : 
it is two to oL whit r "'^^ ^"^^ '"' " *"««. 
-allest sum. Tc^lt y ung^lTowthom T^ *'^ 
whenever he had occasion to ask hk Wend fo^„ "'' 

used to prelude his request a« if L . ^ * *^**' 

and talked so familTarly of ul """'^'l '*° *»«dred ; 
ever think he wantSi L ,S: ^"xZ *''* "°"^ """''' 
whenever he wanted creZ f ^''^ f™^ gentleman. 

«ade the pr^pos^Hn a" ii^at";? hf/'^A ^^^^ 
Perience, that, if he appeared ZL t ^°""'' ^^ ^"^ 

- ~-^ nS s .r^s;: ;rr r " - •" "'■ 

r ".u F'l-y, ana oy this means reliof ■ K.,* i„« 
a poor man nrvcna ;„• „■ j . '"'"""' ""'" , but before 



and it is Impositiblo that both can reside in any breast 
for tho NmalloHt space, without imimirinf; each other. 
KriondMhip ix nmdo up of cHtocm and pluuHure ; pity ig 
composed of sorrow and contempt ; the mind may, 
for some time, fluctuate between them, but it can never 
entertain both at once. 

In fact, pity, though it may often relieve, is but, at 
best, a short-lived passion, and seldom affords distress 
more than transitory assistance ; with some it scarce 
lasts from the first impulse till the hand can he put into 
the pocket ; with others, it may continue for twice that 
space ; and on some of extraordinary sensibility, 1 have 
seen it operate for i half an hour together: but still, 
last as it may, it generally produces but beggarly effects ; 
and where, from this motive, wo give five farthings, 
from others we give pounds. Whatever bo our feelings 
fro"! the first impulse of distress, when the same distress 
solicits a second time, we then feel with diminished sensi- 
bility ; and, like the repetition of an echo, every stroke 
becomes weaker ; till at last our sensations lose all mix- 
ture of sorrow, and degenerate into downright contempt. 
These speculations bring to my mind the fate of 
a very good-natured fellow, who is now no more. He was 
bred in a compting-house, and his father dying just as 
he was out of his time, left him a handsome fortune and 
many friends to advise with. The restraint in which my 
friend had been brought up, had thrown a gloom upon 
his temper, which some regarded as prudence ; and, 
from such considerations, he had every day repeated' 
offers of friendship. Such as had money, were ready to 
offer him their assist^.. 3 that way ; and they who had 
daughters, frequently, in the warmth of affection, advised 
him to marry. My friend, however, was in good circum- 
stances ; he wanted neither money, friends, nor a wife, 
and therefore modestly declined their proposals. 


. 121 

oome errorH, however in »»,« 
affairH. „„,l ^yJuoZ:. n tl !l """""««■"«•»' °f '"« 

that it ^7i:^:'zt;!tw"^^'' r .'"■" ^""""''"-•• 

he Icn,... ™ -^ ""** fnendHhip, at a time wh< n perhai)- 
ne kiiev/ thoTO offew would have bee.. ~»., i '• '"'^'"'i'"' 
therefor,, confident of not JnH., ,"" ' '^"'""'"• 
the use of a hund„.I gu"!^^" . / '^' "" ""»"''«'«' 
then ha<I occasion forTonev ' An l" 'V, '"' ^""^ 
the scrivener, 'do you vTnt ,11 tt '"""''• '^"' '*P"^"' 
' it. Sir! • says the other "f l" id '^ T""^ • '/ '"^""^ 


' not uLl wit hots go"?"^ " ""'"' ^ " ^'-' « '«' "- 

Not quite disconcerted by this r^f„<.„i 
was resolved to apply to TnothLl' ? '"'''""'"«"■ 

the very best friendlVadS ;.;'"' tJ^ ''T '^- 
whom he now addressci J„7 Tu ^he gentleman 

the affability tl^^^hTX^'^JTr' ^''' "" 
friendship. 'Letm«««,^ expected from generous 

'and pray deir jLT^T/""* "" '"""'"'^ K"'"^''^ = 
'you haCe but fif. , ' *°"''^ ""' "^'y '"««■«' ' • ' If 
' Fif"y to spar^ f /d T"' 'V^' ' ""'^' ** -"'^-ted" 

• but'tLTabo L ;r- %£'/" ' "^'r ' '"'- 

'o.;he. thirty f.m sle oth^r frij"'. ^J" *''! 

replied the friend, 'would it not 1^ ',. , '"'"y' 

' borrow the whoi; money f^mtha^o.b" T' 7^ *" 

then one no,. .,„ ser^e fo^ at l^ t„ ^ ' v"' 

-"-. m, dear .Si, that you need ,alete.mon°; 



' with mo at any timo ; you know I'm your iriond ; 

' and when you ohoono a bit of dinner or no Vou, 

' Tom, nee the gentleman down. You won't forget to 
' dine with uh now and then. Your very humble servant." 
Distressed, but not discouroged, at this treotment, 
he was at last rcsolvod to Hnd thot assistance fiom love, 
which ho could not have from friendship. A young 
lody, a distant relation by the mother's side, had a fortune 
in her own bonds ; and, as she had already made all 
the advances that her sex's modesty would permit, 
he made his proposal with conHdcnco. Ho soon, however,' 
perceived, that no bankrupt over found the fair one 
kmd. Shis had lately fallen deeply in love with another, 
who had more money, and the whole neighbourhood 
thought it would be a match. 

Every day now began to strip my poor friend of his 
former finery ; his clothes flew, piece by piece, U> .a 
pawnbroker's, and he seemed at length equipped in the 
genuine livery of misfortune. But still he thought 
himself secure from actual necessity ; the numberless 
invitations he had received to dine, even after his 
losses, were yet unanswered; ho was therefore now 
resolved to accept of a dinner, because he wanted one ; 
and in this manner he actually lived among his friends 
a whole week without being openly affronted. The last 
place I saw him in was at a reverend divine's. He had, 
as he fancied, just nicked tho time of dinner, for he came 
in as the cloth was laying. He took a chair without 
being desired, and talked for some time without being 
attended to. He assured the company, that nothing 
procured so good an appetite as a walk in the Park, 
where ho had been that morning. He went on, and 
praised the figure of the damask table-cloth ; talked of 
a feast wherv. he had been the day before, but that the 
venison w.'»3 overdone. But all this procured him no 


Invitation: fimlinR thcrcfoit. the Kontlemnn of iho 
hoUHc mH..nHiblo t.. all hin fetch-H, hf fhouZ Pn..^ 

to «dv«o „» „ We„,l, ..over .^m to want th^favl^j 

vanity, from self-interest, or from avarice but from 
compassion never. The very eloquence of a p^r man 
.H chsgustmg ; and that mouth wWch is opened^, cnbv 
o7f 5r """" "'^"^ ^ "•- withoSeir.^ 
To y^ara off the gripe of Poverty, you must pn,tend 
to be a stranger to her, and «he ,ill at least use you 
with ceremony. If you be caught dining uponThllf 
trwhor'"""' "' '^""'"•"'P ""«> Potat!!^s, pJai 
ooserve that Dr. Cheyne has prescribed pease-broth 
for the gravel ; hint that you are not one of'ThL who 
a^ ahvays making a deity of your belly. If, IgZ you 
are obhged to wear flimsy stuff in the mids oHnter 
be the fi,«t to remark, that stuffs an, very much wor^' 
at Pans ; or if thete be found some irrepararellc^ 

bVaXartlnr '''"«*'■ ^'"'''^ ~^'» ™^<^ 
Z' that t. .h ^ ^* ""''"-legged, coaxing, or darning, 

^r; ond Th ^Z ""' ^'""«"' «'^«°» «e«' ever 
S or Sen. '• I' ^°" "^ '^ Philosopher, hint that 
assurth: ""^ '^ *"''"" y°» "''°<"'« to e^Plov • 

aw. . ""■"P""^ *■""* "■"" ""ght to be content with 

L^fo,!!rrf'"T *'"* ""* '" «" ■""«'' ''« pride 
waM formerly h>s In short, however caught' 

never out; but ascribe to the frugality of /our 



disposition what others might be apt to attribute to 
the narrowness of your ciroumstancec. To be poor, and 
to geem poor, is a certain method never to rise : pride in 
the great is hateful ; in the wise it is ridiculous ; but 
beggariy pride is a rational vanity which I have' been 
taught to applaud and excuse. 


[On Generosity and Justice. Altered from TIte Bee. No. Ill] 

Lysippus is a man whose greatness of soul the whole 
world admires. His generosity is such, that it prevents 
a demand, and saves the receiver the trouble and the 
confusion of a request. His liberality also does not 
oblige more by its greatness, than by his inimitable grace 
m giving. Sometimes he even distributes his bounties 
to strangers, and has been known to do good officen to 
those who professed themselves his enemies. All the 
world are unanimous in the praise of his generosity ; 
there is only one sort of people who complain of his 
conduct. Lysippus does not pay his debts. 

It is no dilficult matter to account for a conduct so 
seemingly incompatible with itself. There is greatnes.s 
m being generous, and there is only simple justice in 
his satisfying creditors. Generosity is the part of a soul 
raised above the vulgar. There is in it something of what 
we admire in heroes, and praise with a degree of rapture. 
Justice, on the contrary, is a mere mechanic virtue, only 
fit for tradesmen, and what is practised by every broker 
in 'Change Alley. 

In paying his debts a man barely does his duty, and 
It IS an action attended with no sort of glory. Should 
Lysippus satisfy his creditors, who would be at the 


pains of fx-lling it , . U,. w.Ud Gencresity is a virtue 
of a very different c.,„p,ex,ou. It i« raised above duty 
and, from its elevation, attraets the attention and tie' 
praises of us little mortals below. 
In this manner do men generally reasort upon justiee 

essential to the good of society ; and the other attracts 
our esteem, which too frequently proceeds fm,nnn 
.n„x,tuosity of temper, rather directed ^'17^ 
reason. Lysippus is told that his banker asks a debt of 

the latte f T T' ^^ «"■"" '' "'"'''"' hcsitatin^to 
'qu;::rL a debt'^'"-^"'^^ - - '-«- «'>- '^^^ ^--r 

wiJl'thtfm^rf" Tk' """T ''"'""^""y -I-'"*-! 
with the import of the word Justice : it is commonly 

beheved to consist only in a performance of those dut"es 
to which the laws of society can oblige us. ^^1 aUow 
IS sometimes the import of the woiS, and in tiiis s 1" 
justice IS distinguished from equity but thelT 
a justice still more extensive, and'w^h can b^^^how" 
to embrace aU the virtues united 
Justice may be defined, that virtue which impels us 

Xn °^*''t"'°'^' ■* comprehends the practice of eveiy 
virtue which reason prescribes, or society should expecT 
Our duty to our Maker, to each other, and to ouXs 
are fully answered, if we give them what we owe them 

all the rr^' ""T'^ ^J"""'"^' '' '^^ ""'y virtue, and 
aii the rest have their origin in it 

The qualities of candour, fortitude, charity, and gener- 

and, rf ever they deserve the title, it is owing oni; 
to justice which impels and directs them ^4hout 
such a moderator, candour might become indis rettn 



fortitude obstinacy, charity imprudence, and generosity 
mistaken profusion. 

A disinterested action, if it be not conducted by 
justice, IS, at best, indifferent in its nature, and not 
unfrcquently e ven turns to vice. The expenses of society 
of presents, of entertainments, and the other helps to' 
cheerfulness, are actions ineri-Iy indifferent, when not 
repugnant to a better method of disposing of our super- 
fluities ; but they become vicious when they obstruct 
or exhaust our abilities from a more virtuous disposition 
of our circumstances. 

True generosity i,j a duty as indispensably necessary 
as those imposed uiK,n us by law. It is a rule imposed 
upon us by reason, which should be the sovereign law of 
a rational bemg. But this generosity does not consist in 
obeying every impulse of humanity, m following blind 
passion for our guide, and impairing our cireumstances 
by present benefactions, so as to render us incapable 
of luture ones. 

Misers are generally characterized as men without 
honour, or without humanity, who live only to acoumu- 
^te, and to this passion sacrifice every other happiness. 
Ihey have been described as madmen, who, in the midst 
of abundance, banish every pleasure, and make from 
imaginary wants real necessities. But few very tew 
correspond to this exaggerated picture ; and, perhaps' 
there IS not one in whom all these circumstances are' 
found united. Instead of this, we find the sober and the 
industrious branded by the vain and the idle with this 
odious appellation ; men who, by frugality and labour 
raise themselves above their equals, and contribute 
their share of industry to the common stock. 

Whatever the vain or the ignorant may say, well 
were It for society had we more of these characters 
amongst us In general, these close men are found at 


last tho true benefactors of society. With an avarieiou, 
ma,, we seldom lose in our dealings, but too f:^quemly 
in our commorco with prodigality ^ 

A French priest, whose name was Godinot. went 
or a long fme by the name of tho Griper He r^fu!ed 
to ^heve the most apparent wretchedness. a,u by 

fortune to"'"^'""'^"* °' ''^ ^■'"•'^'''"' ''«'' the good 
fortune to acq.nre nnmeuse «ums of money The 

mhab,t«nts of Rheims. who were hi. fello ei.ij,f: 
detested hnn; „nd the p„p,„ace, who «eldon To ;* 
a m,.,er, wherever he went, followe.l him with «houts 
of contempt. He «till, however, his f™ 
smiphc, y of life, his amazing and unremitte.1 f ugX 
He had long perc^-. .d the wants of the poor in thf c tv' 
particularly in ..,,... „„ „,,t„ ,,„, ^ ^^^ <^^^ 
obliged to buy . advanced price ; wherefore tZ 

whole fortune he had been amalsing, he l"d ou 
man aqueduct; by whichhedid the poormoreuseSaTd 
^ ting service than if he had distributed his whole 
income in chanty every day at his door. 

Among men long conversant with books we too 
^quently find those misplaced virtues, of whi;h I have 
b^n now complaining. We find the studious animal 
«.th a strong passion for the great virtues, as they are 
mistakenly called, and utterly forgetful of 'the Sa.y 
ones. The declamations of philosophy are generallv 
rather exhausted on those supereregato'iy dutfr hln 
"wtV" indispensably necessary, 'a man, 'thet 
tore, who has taken his ideas of mankind from studv 
a^one, ,„y ^„„,^^ .^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ m study 

meltmg at every fictitious distress. Thus he is induced 
by misplaced liberality, to put himself into th indS 
circumstances of the person he relieves ^ 

I Hhal! conclude this pa,>er with the a.lviee of one of 
the ancients to a young man whom he saw glling 




away all hia substance to pretended distress ' Tf ;= 
possible, that the person yo„ relieve may tan hone 

, man ; and I know that you, who reliev7him are ^h 
You see then, by your generositv, that you rob a man 

_ who ,s eerta.n^y deserving, to bestow ft on one who 

^ may possa,Iy be a «,gue : and, while you are unTust 
.n rewardmg uncertain merit, you are doubly g„Uty 
by stnppmg yourself.' ^ ^ ^ 


[Altered from The Bcc, No. VI] 
N.B. This treatise was published before Rousseau's 

deemfd'a pCt;: "' ''' ''~ -^^ -^" -' •» 

As few subjects are more interesting to society so 

i^n SToX S Tifa S*^--.^" 

ha. been treaL almoin i^^rL^r-fr 

S IZ rtl^ '"^:'^ °° *''« advantiesThat 
result from .t, both to individuals and to society and 
have expaM in the praise of what none u.^^ ever 
been so hardy as to call in question " 

Instead of giving us fine but empty harangues unon 

g.ven us the result of their observations ^thLactt 
Bnnpl.e.ty. Upon this subject, the smallest errors al 
of the most dangerous consequence ; and the ZZ 

should venture the imputation of stupidity upon a 
topic, where his slightest deviations may tend to injure 
pofitenty. However, such are the whimsical and 
erroneous productions written upon this subject Their 
authors have studied to be uncommon, not to bo just • 
and, at present, we want a treatise u,>on education, not 
to tell us anything new, but to explode the errors which 
have been mtroduced by the admirers of novelty It 
K m this manner books become numerous ; a desire of 
novelty produces a book, mid other books are required 
to destroy this production. 

The manner in which our youth of London are at 
present educated, is, some in free-schools in the city 
but the far greater number in boarding-schools about 
town^ The parent justly consults the health of his child 
and finds an education in the country tends to promote 
tlus, much more than a continuance in town. Thus far 
he 18 right: if there were a possibility of having even 
our free-schools kept a little out of town, it would 
certamly conduce to the health and vigour of, perhaps 
the ramd as well as the body. It may be thought 
whimsxcal, but it is truth ; I have found, b, experience, 
that they who hava spent all their lives in cities 
contract not only an etfeminacy of habit, but even of 

But when I have said that the boanling-schools are 
preferable to free-schools, as being in the country, this is 
certamly the only advantage I can allow them other- 
wise It IS impossible to conceive the ignorance of those 
who take upon them the important trust of education 
Is ^ny man unfit for any of the professions, he finds 
his last resource in setting up a school. Do any become 
banlmipts in trade they still set up a boarding-school 
and drive a trade .nis way, when all other.s fail • nay 

or.M™ "o,'"''^ °^ ''"*"''^"-« ''"'I ^'^^ -ho have 



turned schoolmasters ; and, more surprising still, made 
fortunes in their new profession. 

Could we think ourselves in a country of civilized 
people — could it be conceived that we have a regard 
for posterity, when such persons are permitted to take 
the charge of the morals, genius, and health of those 
dear little pledges, who may one day be the guardians 
of the Uberties of Europe, and who may serve as the 
honour and bulwark of their aged parents 1 The car« 
of our children, is it below the state '! Is it fit to indulge 
the caprice of the ignorant with the disposal of their 
children in this particular ? For the state to take the 
charge of all its children, as in Persia or Sparta, might at 
present be inconvenient ; but surely, with great ease, 
it might cast an eye to their instructors. Of all pro- 
fessions in society, I do not know a more useful or 
a more honourable one than a schoolmaster ; at the 
same time that I do not see any more generally despised, 
or men whose talents are so ill rewarded. 

Were the salaries of schoolmasters to be augmented 
from a diminution of useless sinecures, how might it 
turn to the advantage of this people ; a people whom, 
without flattery, I may, in other respects, term the 
wisest and greatest upon earth. But while I would 
reward the deserving, I would dismiss those utterly 
unqualified for their employment : in short, I would 
make the business of a schoolmaster every wf.y more 
respectable, by increasing their salaries, and admitting 
only men of proper abiUties. 

It is true, we have already schoolmasters appointed, 
and they have small salaries ; but where at present 
thore is only one schoolmaster appointed, there should 
at least be two ; and wherever the salary is at present 
twenty pounds, it should be augmented to an hundred. 
Do wo give immoderate benefices to our own instructors, 


and shall we deny even sulwistenco to those who inHtruct 
our children ? Every member of society should be paid 
in proportion as he is necessary ; and I will bo bold 
enough to say, that schoolmasters in a state are more 
necessary than clergymen, as children stand in more 
need of instruction than their parents. 

But instead of this, as I have already observed we 
send them to board in the country to the most ignorant 
set of men that can bo imagined ; and, lest the ignorance 
of the master bo not sufficient, the child is generally 
consigned to the usher. This is commonly some poor 
needy animal, little superior to a footman either in 
learning or spirit, invited to his place by an advertise- 
ment, and kept there merely from his being of a comply- 
ing disposition, and making the children fond of him 
• You give your child to be educated to a slave ' says 
a phUosopher to a rich man ; 'instead of one 'slave 
' you will then have two.' ' 

It were well, however, if parents, upon f.xing their 
chi dren m one of these houses, would examine the 
abihties of the usher, as well as the master; for what- 
ever they are told to the contrary, the usher is generally 
the person most employed in their education. If, then 
a gentleman, upon putting out his son to one A these' 
houses, sees the usher "disregarded by the master he 
may depend upon it, that he is equally disregarded by 
the boys: the truth is, in spito of all their endeavours 
to please, they are generally the laurrhing-stock of the 
school. Every trick is played upon the usher ; the 
oddity of his manners, his dress, or his language are a 
fund of eternal ridicule ; the master himself, now and 
then, cannot avoid joining in the laugh ; and the poor 
wretch, eternally resenting this ill usage, seems to live 
m a state of war with all the family. This is a very 
proper person, is it not, to give children a relish for 




learning t They must esteem learning very much, when 
they see its professors used with such ceremony. If the 
usher be despised, the father may bo assured his child 
will never be properly instructed. 

But let me suppose, that there arc some schools 
without these inconveniences, where the masters and 
ushers are men of learning, reputation, and assiduity. If 
there are to be found such, they cannot bo prized in 
a state sufficiently. A boy will learn more true wisdom 
in a public school in a year, than by a private education 
in five. It is not from masters, but from their equals, 
youth learn a knowledge of the world ; the little tricks 
they play each other, the punishment that frequently 
attends the commission, is a just picture of the great 
world, and all the ways of men are practised in a 
public school in miniature. It is true, a child is early 
made acquainted with some vices in a school ; but it is 
better to know these when a boy, than be first taught 
them when a man ; for their novelty then may have irre- 
sistible charms. 

In a public education boys early learn temperance ; 
and if the parents and friends would give them less 
money upon their usual visits, it would be much to 
their advantage ; since it may justly be said, that a great 
part of their disorders arise from surfeit, — plua occidit 
gula qvam gladiws. And now I am come to the article 
of health, it may not be amiss to observe, that Mr. Locke 
and some others have advised that children should 
be inured to cold, to fatigue, and hardship, from their 
youth ; but Mr. Locke was but an indifferent physician. 
Habit, I grant, has great influence over our constitutions, 
but we have not precise ideas upon this subject. 

We know, that among savages, and even among our 
peasants, there are found children bom with such con- 
stitutions, tha^ they cross rivers by swimming, endure 


cold, thint, hunger, and want of sleep, to n surprising 
degree ; that when they happen to fall sick, they are 
curcfl without thr h-Ai- of metlicine, by nature niono. 
Such oxampleH are .-xdduced to perKUiulo us to imitate 
their manner of education, and accustom ourselves 
betimes to support the same fatigues. But had these 
gentlemen considered first, how many lives are lost in 
this ascetic discipline ; had they considered, that these 
savages and peasants are generally not so long-lived as 
those who have led a more indolent life ; that the more 
laborious the life is, the less populous is the country : 
had they considered that what physicians call the 
alamina vitae by fatigue and labour become rigid, and 
thus anticipate old age : that the numbers who survive 
those rude trials, bear no proportion to those who die 
in the experiment ; had these things been properly 
considered, they would not have thus extolled an 
education begun in fatigue and hardships. Peter the 
Great, willing to irire the children of his seamen to 
a life of hardship, ordered that they should only drink 
sea-water, but they unfortunately all died under the 

But while I would exclude all unnecessary labours, 
yet still I would recommend temperance in the highest 
degree. No luxurious dishes with high seasoning, nothing 
given children to force an appetite, as little sugared or 
salted provisions as possible, though ever so pleasing ; 
but milk, morning and night, should be their constant 
food. This diet would make them more healthy than 
any of those slops that are usually cooked by the 
mistre'js of a boarding-school ; besides, it corrects any 
consumptive habits, not infrequently found amongst 
the children of city parents. 

As boys should be educated with temperance, so the 
first greatest lesson that should be taught them is, to 




admiro frugality. It 18 by tho exercise of thin virtue 
alone, they can ever expect to be useful memlx-rs of 
society. It is true, lectures continually repeated upon 
this subject, may make some boys, when they grow up, 
run into an extreme, and become misers ; but it were 
well, had we more misers than wo have among us. 
I know few characters more useful in society ; for 
a man's having a larger or smaller share of money lying 
useless by him, no way injures the commonwealth; 
since, should every miser now exhaust his stores, this 
might make gold more plenty, but it would not increase 
the commodities pleasures of life ; they would still 
remain as they u.r .„ present : it matters not, therefore, 
whether men are misers or not, if they be only frugal, 
laborious, and fill the station they hove chosen. If 
they deny themselves the necessaries of life, society is 
no way injured by their folly. 

Instead, therefore, of romances, which praise young 
men of spirit, who go through a variety of adventures, 
and at last conclude a life of dissipation, folly, ond 
extravagance, in riches and motrimony, there should be 
some men of wit employed to compose books that 
might equally i.iterest the passions of our youth ; where 
such an one might be praised for having resisted allure- 
ments when young, and how he, at last, b<.-oame Lord 
Mayor ; how he was married to a lady of great sense, 
fortune, and beauty : to be as explicit as possible, the old 
story of Whittington, were his cat left out, might be more 
serviceable to the tender mind, than either Tom Jones, 
Joseph Andrews, or an hundred others, where frugality 
is the only good quality the hero is not possessed of. 
Were our schoolmasters, if any of theiri have sense enough 
to draw up such a work, thus employe , it would be much 
more serviceable to their pupils than all the grammars 
and dictionaries they may publish these ten years. 


Children should early be inxtructcd in the artH from 
which they may aftenvardH draw the greatest advan- 
tages. When the wonders of nature are never exposed 
to our view, we have no great desire to become acquainted 
with those parts of learning which pretend to account 
for the phenomena. One of the ancients complains, that 
as soon as young men have left school, and are obliged 
to converse in the worlil, they fancy themselves trans- 
ported into a new region. ' Ut cum in forum vcnerint 
'existimcnt se in alium tcrrarum orbem delates.' We 
should early, therefore, instruct them in the experiments, 
if I may so express it, of knowledge, and leave to 
maturer age the accounting for the causes. But, instead 
of that, when boys begin natural philosophy in colleges, 
they have not the least curiosity for those parts of the 
science which are proposed for their instruction ; they 
have never before seen the phenomena, and conse- 
!tiy have no curiosity to learn the reasons. Might 
natural philosophy, therefore, be made their pastime at 
school, by this means it would in college bccc. lo their 

In several of the machines now in use, there would be 
ample field both for instruction and amusement ; the 
different sorts of the phosphorus, the artificial pyrites, 
magnetism, electricity, the experiments upon the rare- 
faction and weight of the air, and those upon elastic 
bodies, might employ their idle hours, and none should 
be called from play to see such experiments, but such 
as thought proper. At first then it would be sufficient 
if the instruments, and the effects of their combination, 
were only shown ; the causes should be deferred to 
a maturer age, or to .^hose times when natural curiosity 
prompts us to discover the wonders of nature. Mon is 
placed in this world as a spectator ; when he is tired of 
wondering at all the novelties about him, and not till 



then, does ho dcHiro to lie made acquainted with the 
cauMw that create thiiHc wonderH. 

Wliat I have ohwrvod with regard to natural philo- 
Hophy, I would ext<<nd to every other Hcienco whatHoever. 
We Hhould teaeh them aH many of the fnctH aH poHtiible, 
and defer the cuuHeH until they Heomed of themselves 
dexirouH of knowing them. A mind thuH leaving school, 
stored with all the simple experiences of science, would 
be the fittest in the world for the college course ; and 
though such a youth might not appear m> bright, or so 
talkative, as those who had learned the real principles 
and causes of some of the sciences, yet he would make 
a wiser man, and would retain a more lasting passion 
for letters, than ho who was early burdened with the 
disagreeable institution of cause and effect. 

In history, such stories alone should be laid bcfoi« 
them as might catch the imagination : instead of this, 
at present, they are too frequently obliged to toil through 
the four empires, as they are called, where their memories 
are burdened by a number of disgusting names, that 
destroy all their future relish for our best historians, who 
may be termed the truest teachers of wisdom. 

Every species of flattery should be carefully avoided ; 
a boy who happens to say a sprightly thing is generally 
applauded so much, that he sometimes continues a 
coxcomb all his life after. He is reputed a wit at fourteen, 
and becomes a blockhead at twenty. Nurses, footmen, 
and such, should therefore be dr)"en away as much as 
possible. I was even going to aud, that the mother 
herself should stifle her pleasure, or her vanity, when 
little master happens to say a good or a smart thing. 
Those modest lubberly boyj who seem to want spirit, 
become at length more shining men ; and at school 
generally go through their business with more ease to 
themselves, and more satisfaction to their instructors. 


There ha« of late s gentleman appeared, who thinks 
the study of rhcturio essential to u iicrfect education. 
That bold male eloquence, which often, without pleasing, 
oonvincoH, is generally destroyed by such un institution. 
Convincing eloquence is infinitely more serviceable to its 
pootegsor than the most florid harangue, or the most 
pathetic tones that can be imagined ; and the nmn who 
U thoroughly convinced himself, who understands his 
subject, and the language ho speaks in, will be more 
apt to silence opposition than he who studies the force 
of his periods, and fills our cars with sounds, while our 
minds are destitute of convict Inn. 

It was reckoned the fault of the orators at the decline 
of the Roman empire, when they had been long instructed 
by rhetoricians, that their perioils were so harmonious, 
that they could be sung as well an spoken. What a 
ridiculous figure must one of these gentlemen cut, thus 
measuring syllables, and weighing words, when he should 
pU:;ifl the cause of his client ! Two architects were once 
caudiaates for the building a certain temple at Athens : 
the first harangued the crowd very learnedly upon the 
different orders of architecture, and showed them in 
what manner the temple should be built ; the other, who 
got up after him, only observed, that what his brother had 
spoken, he could do ; ond thus he at once gained his 

To teach men to be orators, is little less than to 
teach them to be poets ; and, for ray part, I should have 
too great a regard for my child, to wish him a manor 
only in a bookseller's shop. 

Another passion which the prewjnt age is apt to run 
into, is to make children learn all things ; the knguages, 
the sciences, music, the exercises, and painting. Thus 
the child soon becomes a Talker in all, but a Master in 
none. He thus acquires a superficial fondness for every- 



thing, and only shows his ignorance when he attempts 
to exhibit his skill. 

As I deliver my thoughts without method or con- 
nexion, so the reader must not be surprised to find me 
once more addressing schoolmasters on the present 
method of teaching the learned languages, which is 
commonly by literal translations. I would ask such, 
if they were to travel a journey, whether those parts of 
the road in which they found the greatest difficulties, 
would not be the most strongly remembered V Boys 
who, if I may continue the allusion, gallop through one 
of the ancients with the assistance of a translation, can 
have but a very slight acquaintance either with the 
author or his language. It is by the exercise of the 
mind alone, that a language is learned ; but a literal 
translation, on the opposite page, leaves no exercise for 
the memory at all. The boy will not be at the fatigue 
of remembering, when his doubts are at once satisfied 
by a glance of the eye ; whereas, were every word to be 
sought from a dictionary, the learner would attempt to 
remember them, to save himself the trouble of looking 
out for the future. 

To continue in the same pedantic strain, of all the 
various grammars now taught in the schools about town, 
I would recommend only the old common one ; I have 
forgot whether Lilly's, or an emendation of him. The 
others may be improvements ; but such improvements 
seem, to me, only mere grammatical niceties, no way 
influencing the learner, but perhaps loading him with 
trifling subtleties, which, at a proper age, he must be 
at some pains to forget. 

Whatever pains a master may take to make the 
learning of the languages agreeable to his pupil, he 
may depend upon it, it will be at first extremely un- 
pleasant. The nidiments of every language, therefore, 


must be given as a task, not as an amusement. Attempt- 
ing to deceive children into instruction of this kind, 
is only deceiving ourselves ; and I know no passion 
capable of conquering a child's natural laziness, but 
fear. Solomon has said it before me ; nor is there any 
more certain, though perhaps more disagreeable truth, 
than the proverb in verse, too well known to repeat on 
the present occasion. It is very probable that parents 
are told of some masters who never use the rod, and 
consequently are thought the properest instructors for 
their children ; but, though tenderness is a requisite 
quality in an instructor, yet there is too often the 
truest tenderness in well-timed correction. 

Some have justly observed, that all passion should be 
banished on this terrible occasion ; but, I know not how, 
there is a frailty attending human nature, that few 
masters are able to keep their temper whilst they correct. 
I knew a good-natured man, who was sensible of his 
own weakness in this respect, and consequently had 
recourse to the following expedient to prevent his 
passions from being engaged, yet at the same time 
administer justice with impartiality. Whenever any of 
his pupils committed a fault, he summoned a jury of his 
peers, I mean of the boys of his own or the next classes 
to him : his accusers stood forth ; he had liberty of 
pleading in his own defence ; and one or two more had 
the liberty of pleaduig against him : when found guilty 
by the panel, he was consigned to the footman, who 
attended in the house, and had previous orders to punish, 
but with lenity. By this means the master took off the 
odium of punishment from himself ; and the footman, 
between whom and the boys there could not be even 
the slightest intimacy, was placed in such a light as to 
be shunned by every boy in the school. 


ESSAY vin 


[Altered from The Bee, No. VI] 
An alehouse-keeper, near Islington, who had long 
lived at the sign of the French King, upon the commence- 
ment of the last war pulled down his old sign, and put 
up that of the Queen of Hungary. Under the influence 
of her red face and golden sceptre, he continued to sell 
ale, till she was no longer the favourite of his customers ; 
he changed her, therefore, some time ago, for the King of 
Prussia, who may pfobably be changed, in turn, for 
the next great man that shall be set up for vulgar 

In this manner the great are dealt out, one after the 
other, to the gazing crowd. When we have sufficiently 
wondered at one of them, he is taken in, and another 
exhibited in his room, who seldom holds his station 
long ; for the mob are ever pleased with variety. 

I must own I have such an indifferent opinion of the 
vjilgar, that I am ever led to suspect that merit which 
raises their shout ; at least I am certain to find those 
great and sometimes good men, who find satisfaction in 
such acclamations, made worse by it ; and history has 
too frequently taught me, that the head which has 
grown this day giddy with the roar of the' million, 
has the very next been fixed upon a pole. 

As Alexander VI was entering a little town in the 
neighbourhood of Rome, which had been jfist evacuated 
by the enemy, he perceived the townsmen busy in the 
market-place in pulling down from a gibbet a figure 
which had been designwl to represent himself. There 
were some also knocking down a neighbouring statue of 
one of the Orsini family, with whom he was at war, in. 
order to put Alexander's effigy in its place. It is possible 


a man who knew less of the world, would have con- 
demned the adulation of those bare-faced flatterers ; 
but Alexander seemed pleased at their zeal; and,' 
turning to Borgia, his son, said with a smile, ' Vides, mi 
I fili, quam leve discrimen patibulum inter et statuam.' 
' You see, my son, the small difference between a gibbet 
'and a statue.' If the great could be taught any lesson, 
this might serve to teach them upon how weak a 
foundation their glory stands ; for, as popular applause 
IS excited by what seems like merit, it as quickly 
condemns what has only the appearance of guilt. 

Popular glory is a perfect coquette ; her lovers must 
toil, feel every inquietude, indulge every caprice ; and, 
perhaps, at last, be jilted for their pains. True glory, 
on the other hand, resembles a woman of sense ; her 
admirers must play no tricks; they feel no great 
anxiety, for they are sure, in the end, of being rewarded 
in proportion to their merit. When Swift used to appear 
m public, he generally had the mob shouting in his 
train. 'Pox take these fools,' he would say, 'how 
' much joy might all this bawling give my Lord Mayor ! ' 
We have seen those virtues which have, while living, 
retired from the public eye, generally transmitted to 
posterity, as the truest objects of admiration and praise. 
Pterhaps the character of the late Duke of Marlborough 
may one day be set up, even above that of his more- 
talked-of predecessor ; since an assemblage of all the 
mild and amiable virtues is far superior to those 
vulgarly called the great ones. I mist be pardoned 
for this short tribute to the memory of a man, who 
while living, would as much detest to receive an^^thing 
that wore the appearance of flattery, as I should to 
offer it. 

I know not how to turn so trite a subject out of the 
beaten road of commonplace, except by Ulustrating it. 



rather by the assistance of my memory than judgement ; 
and, instead of malting reflections, by telling a story. 

A Chinese, who had long studied the works of Con- 
fucius, who knew the characters of fourteen thousand 
words, and could read a great part of every book that 
came in his way, once took it into his head to travel 
into Europe, and observe the customs of a people which 
he thought not very much inferior even to his own 
countrymen. Upon his arrival at Amsterdam, his 
passion for letters naturally led him to a bookseller's 
slo ; and, as he could speak a little Dutch, he civilly 
asiiod the bookseller' for the works of the immortal 
Xixofou. The bookseller assured him he had never 
heard the book mentioned before. ' Alas ! ' cries our 
traveller, ' to what purpose, then, has he fasted to death, 
' to gain a renown which has never travelled beyond 
' the precincts of China ! ' 

There is soaree a village in Europe, and not one 
university, that is not thus furnished with its little 
great men. The head of a petty corporation, who 
opposes the designs of a prince who would tyrannically 
force his subjects to save their best clothes for Sundays ; 
the puny pedant, who finds one undiscovered property 
in the polype, or describes an unheeded process in the 
skeleton of a mole, and whose mind, like his microscope, 
perceives nature only in detail ; the rhymer, who makes 
smooth verses, and paints to our imagination, when he 
should only sp?ak to our hearts,— all equally fancy 
themselves walking forward to immortality, and desire 
the crowd behind them to look on. The crowd takes 
them at their word. Patriot, philosopher, and poet, are 
shouted in their train. ' Where was there ever so much 
' merit seen ; no times so important as our own ; ages, 
' yet unborn, shall gaze with wonder and applause ! ' To 
such music the important pigmy moves forward, bustling 


and swelling, and aptly compared to a puddle in a 

I have lived to see generals who once had crowds 
hallooing after them wherever they went, who were 
bepraised by newspapers and magazines, those echoes 
of the voice of the vulgar, and yet they have long sunk 
into merited obscurity, with scarce even an epitaph left 
to flatter. A few years ago the herring-fishery employed 
all Grub Street ; it was the topic in every coffee-house, 
and the burden of every ballad. We were to drag up 
oceans of gold from the bottom of the sea ; we were 
to supply all Europe with herrings upon our own terms. 
At present, we hear no more of all this. We have fished 
up very little gold that I can learn ; nor do we furnish 
the world with herrings, as was e.xpected. Let us wait 
but a few years longer, and we shall find all our ezpwta- 
tions an herring-fishery. 


We essayists, who are allowed but one subject at 
a time, are by no means so fortunate as the writers of 
magazines, who write upon several. If a magaziner be 
dull upon the Spanish war, he soon has us up again 
with the Ghost in Cock Lane ; if the reader begins to 
doze upon that, he is quickly roused by an Eastern tale ; 
tales prepare us for poetry, and poetry for the meteoro- 
logical history of the weather. The reader, like the 
sailor's horse, when he begins to tire, has at least 
the comfortable refreshment of having the spur 

As I see no reason why these should carry off all the 
rewards of genius, I have some thoughts, for the future, 



of making my Essays a magazine in miniatuiu : I shall 
hop from subject to subject ; and, if properly en- 
couraged, I intend in time to adorn my feuiUe vdtanU 
with pictures, coloured to the perfection. But to begin, 
in the usual form, 

A MODEST Address to the Public in Bbhau of the 
Infernal Magazine. 

The public has been so often imposed upon by the 
unperforming promises of others, that it is with the 
utmost modesty we assure them of our inviolable design 
to give the very bes^ collection that ever astonished 
society. The public we honour and regard, and therefore 
to instruct and entertain them is our highest ambition, 
with labours calculated as well to the head as the heart. 
If four extraordinary pages of letterpress be any recom- 
mendation of our wit, we may at least boast the honour 
of vindicating our own abilities. To say more in favour 
of the Infernal Magazine, would be unworthy the 
Public ; to say less, would be injurious to ourselves. As 
we have no intere.steJ motives for this undertaking, 
being a society of gentlemen of distinction, we disdain to 
eat or write like hirelings ; we are all gentlemen, and 
therefore are resolved to sell oiir magazine for sixpence 
merely for our own amusement. 

Be careful to ask for the Infernal Magazine. 

Dedication to the Tripolinb Ambassador. 
May it please your Excellency, 

As your taste in the fine arts is universally allowed 
and admired, permit the authors of the Infibnal 
Magazine to lay the following sheets humbly at your 
Excellency's toe ; and, should our labours ever have 
the happiness of one day adorning the courts of Fez, we 



doubt not that the influence wherewith we are honoured, 
shall be ever retained with the most warm ardour, by, 
May it please your excellency. 

Your most devoted humble servants. 

The Authors of the Infernal Magazine. 

A Speech spoken in the Political Club atCatbaton 


My honest friends and brother politicians ; I perceive 
that the intended war with Spain makes many of you 
uneasy. Yesterday, as we were told, the stocks rose, 
and you were glad ; to-day they fall, and you are 
again miserable. But, my dear friends, what is the rising 
or the falling of the stocks to us, who have no money Y 
Let Nathan Ben Funk, the Dutch Jew, be glad or sorry 
for this ; but, my good Mr. Bellows-mender, what is all 
this to you or me ? You must mend broken bellows, 
and I write bad prose, as long as we live, whether we 
like a Spanish war or not. Believe me, my honest 
friends, whatever you may talk of Uberty and your own 
reason, both that liberty and reason are conditionally 
resigned by every poor man in every society ; and, as 
we are bom to work, so others are bom to watch over 
us while we are working. In the name of common 
sense then, my good friends, let the great keep watch 
over us, and let us mind our business, and perhaps 
we may at last get money ourselves, and set beggars to 
work in our turn. I have a Latin sentence that is worth 
its weight in gold, and which I shall beg leave to translate 
for your instruction. An author, called Lilly's Grammar, 
finely observes, that ' Aes in praesenti perfectum format ; ' 
that is, ' Ready money makes a man perfect.' Let us, 
then, to become perfect men, get ready money ; and 
let them that will, spend theirs by going to war with 





thlL^rJH " ""'' *"""' y"" ""y ""»«' 'he room with 
three loud hems, march deliberately up to the chL-^ney 
and turn your ba, '. to the fire. If you be a poor man 
I would advise you to shrink into the room^fast as 
you can, and place yourself, as usual, upon the comer of 

home chair m a comer. 

When you are desired to sing in company, I would 

advse you to refuse. It is a thousand to one but that 

you torment us with , affectation, ignorance of music 

or a bad voice. This is a very good rule 

If you be young, and live with an old man, I would 

Don't laugh much in public ; the spectators that are 
not as merry as you, will hate yo,i, either because they 
envy your happiness, or fancy themselves the subject 
of your mirth. ' 

RvLw FOR RAISING THE Dbvii.. Translated from the 
Latin of Danaeus de Sortiariis, a Writer contemporary 
with Calvin, and one of the Reformers of oii 

The person who desires to raise the Devil ig to 

to iJeelzebub. He is to swear an etemal obedience, and 
then to receive a mark in some unseen place, either 
under the eyehd, or in the roof of the mo^th, 4flicted 
by the Devil him«,lf. Upon this he has power given 
him over three spirits ; one for earth, another for air 
and a thud for the sea. Upon certain times the Devil 
holds an assembly of magicians, in which each is to (rive 
an account of what evil he has done, and what he wishes 


to do. At this assembly he appears in the Bhape of an 
old man, or often like a goat with largo horns. They, 
upon this occasion, renew their vows of obedience ; and 
then form a grand dance in honour of their false deity. 
The Devil instructs them in every method of injuring man- 
kind, in gathering poisons, and of riding upon wcasion 
through the air. Ho shows them the whole method, upon 
examination, of gi\ing evasive answers ; his spirits have 
power to assume the form of angels of light, and there 
is but one method of detecting them ; viz. to ask them, 
in proper form. What mctho<l is the most certain to 
propagate the faith over all the worid » To this they 
are not permitted by the Superior Power to make a false 
reply, nor are they willing to give the true one, where- 
fore they continue silent, and arc thus detected. 



[Altered from Letter LIV in The Citizen of the World] 

TH0170H naturally pensive, yet I am fond of gay 
company, and take every opportunity of thus dismissing 
the mind from duty. From this motive I am often 
found in the centre of a crowd ; and wherever pleasure 
is to be sold, am always a purchaser. In those places, 
without being remarked by any, I join in whatever 
goes forward, work my passions into a similitude of 
frivolous earnestness, shout as they shout, and condemn 
as they happen to disapprove. A mind thus sunk for 
a while below its natural standard, is qualified for 
stronger flights ; as those first retire who would spring 
forward with greater vigour. 

Attracted by the serenity of the evening, a friend and 
I lately went to gaze upon the company in one of the 



puW.. ivalks near the city. Here we sauntered together 
for some time, either praising the beauty of such aa were 
handsome, or the dresses of such as had nothing else 
to recommend them. We had gone thus deliberately 
forward for some time, when my frietd stopping on a 
sudden, caught me by the elbow, imd led me out of the 
public walk ; I could peroeive, by the quickness of his 
pace, and by his frequently looking behind, that he was 
attempting to avoid somebody who followed ; we now 
turned to the right, then to the left ; as we went forward, 
he still went faster, but in vain ; the person whom he 
attempted to escape, hunted us through every doubling, 
and gained upon us each moment ; so that, at last, 
we fairly stood still, resolving to face what we could 
not avoid. 

Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all th» 
familiarity of an old acquaintance. ' My dear Charlei 
cries he, shaking my friend's hand, 'where have >. 
' been hiding this half a century ? Positively I L,d 
' fancied you were gone down to cultivate matrimony 
'and your estate in the country.' During the reply, 
I had an opportunity of surveying the appearance of our 
new companion. His hat was pinched up with peculiar 
smartness ; his looks were pa e, thin, and sharp ; round 
his neck he wore a broad black ribbon, and in his 
bosom a buckle stu ed with glass ; his coat was trimmed 
with tarnished twist ; he wore by his side a sword with 
a black hilt ; and his stockings of silk, though newly 
washed, were grown yellow by long service. I was so 
much engaged with the peculiarity of his dress, that I 
attended only to the latter part of my friend's reply, 
in which he complimented Mr. Tibbs on the taste of his 
clothes, and the bloom in his countenance. ' Psha, psha, 
' Charles," cried the figure, ' no more of that if you love 
' me ; you know I hate flattery, on my soul I do ; and 



yet to be sure an intimacy with the great will improve 
' one's appearance, and a course of venison will fatten ; 
' and yet, faith, I despise the great as much as you do ; 
' but there are a great many damned honest fellows 
' among them ; and we must not quarrel with one half 
' because the other wants breeding. If they were all 
' such as my Lord Mudlor, one of the most good-natured 
' creatures that ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself 
' be among the number of their admirers, I was yester- 
' day to dine at the Duchess of Piccadilly's, My lord was 
' there. " Ned," says he to me, " Ned," says he, " I'll 
' hold gold to silver I can tell where you were poaching 
'last night." "Poaching, my lord," says I; "faith, 
' you have missed already ; for I stayed at home 
' and let the girls poach for me." That 's my way ; 
' I take a fine woman as some animals do their 
' prey ; stand still, and swoop, they fall into my 
' mouth.' 

' Ah, Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow,' cried my 
companion with looks of mfinite pity, ' I hope your 
' fortune is as much improved as your understanding 
' in such company ? ' ' Improved ! ' replied the other ; 
' you shall know, — but let it go no farther, — a great 
' secret — five hundred a year to begin with — My lord's 
' word of honour for it — His lordship took me down in 
' his own chariot yesterday, and we had a l(te-d-l(te 
' dinner in the country, where we talked of nothing 
' else.' ' I fancy you forgot, sir,' cried I, ' you told us 
' but this moment of your dining yesterday in town ! " 
' Did I say so ? ' replied he coolly. ' To be sure, if I said 
' so it was so. — Dined in town : egad, now I do re- 
' member I did dine in town ; but I dined in the coimtry 
' too : for you must know, my boys, I eat two dinners. 
' By the by, I am grown as nice as the devil in my 
' eating. I'll tell you a pleasant affair about that : we 



were a gelect party of us to dine at Lady Orogram'. • 
an affected piece, but let it go no farther ; a aecret • 
Well, Bayg I, 111 hold a thou«ind guinea., and «iy 
<lono fln.t. that-But, dear Charlc, yo. an honc/t 
creature, lend mo half-a-crown for a minute or two 
or »o, juHt till-But hnr! , a«< mo for it tho next 
time wo meet, or it may bo n.cnty to one but I foraet 
to pay you.' 

When he left u», our conversation naturally turned 
upon 80 extraordinary a character. ' Hig very drew ' 
one* mj „iend, '!« not lew extraordinary than h^ 
conduct If you moot him this day, you find him in 
■ -i; >f the next, in embroidery. With those persons 
o distmction, of whom he talks so familiarly, he has 
• scarce a coffee-house acquaintance. However, both for 
the mterest of society, and perhaps for his own. 
Heaven has made him poor ; and, while all the world 
perceives his wants, ho fancies them concealed from 
^ every eye. An agreeable companion, because he under 
stands flattery ; and all must be pleased with the 
^ first part of his conversation, though all are sure of 
us ending with a demand on their purse. While his 
_' youth countenances the levity of his conduct, he may 
thus earn a precarious subsistence ; but, when age 
' comes on, the gravity of which is incomparable with 
buffoonery, then will he find himself forsaken by all 
^ Condemned in the decline of life to hang upon some 
_ rich family whom he once dcHpised, there to undergo 
^ all the ingenuity of studied contempt ; to be employed 
^ only as a spy upon the servants, or a bugbear to 
fright children into duty.' 


BEAU I'IBRS (co»/i«Mcrf) 

[Altered from Letter LV o( TAr (V/cii ../ Mr H'l^WJ 
There are soino aoquuintunceH whom it in no cngy 
matter to shake off. My little bvau yeBterday overtook 
me again in one of the public walks, and, slapping me 
on the shoulder, saluted mo with an air of the most 
perfect familiarity. His dress was the same as usual, 
except that he had more |K>wder in his hair, wore a 
dirtier shirt, and had on a pair of temple spectacles, with 
his hat under his arm. 

As I knew him to be a harmless amusing little thing, 
I could not return his smiles with any degree of severity • 
so we walked forward on terms of the utmost intimacy, 
and in a few minutes discussed all the usual topics of 
a general conversation. 

The oddities that marked his character. »",«<n' i 
soon began to appear ; he bowed to scvcro' «i ii-divc. 1 
persons, who, by their manner of returnii the ■■ompi.. 
ment, appeared perfect strangers. At intt> , , '\' rb.-^v 
out a pocket-book, seeming to take memoranilum: 
before all the company, with much importance •! 
assiduity. In this manner he led me through the j ^.a 
of the whole Mall, fretting at his absurdities, and fancy- 
ing myself laughed at as well as he by every spectator. 
When we were got to the end of our procession, ' Blast 
' me,' cries he, with an air of vivacity, ' I nt c ,aw the 
' Park so thin in my life before ; there 's no company at 
' all to-day. Not a single face to be seen.' ' No com- 
' pany ! ' interrupted I peevishly ; ' no company where 
' there is such a crowd ! Why, man, there is too much. 
' What are the thousands that have been laughing at us 
' but company f ' ' Lord, my dear,' returned he, with 



the utmost good humour, 'you seem immensely 

chagnned ; but, blast me, when the world laughT^ 

■T:, -li'^^t?* '^^ '"'''''' "'"^ «> ""> ''«' even My 

• make ''U^'" ^T"" '"^ ^'^"' ^^ ^- -«««•-« 
make a party at being ridiculous ; but I see you are 
grave; so if you are for a fine grave sentimental 
oompamon, you shall dine with my wife ; " 

_ ms«t on -t. I'll introduce you to mL. Tibte. a TJy 

• i^'.,Tu ^ ' ^*'^^" ourselves, under the inspec- 
t.on of the Countess of Shor^toh. A charming My 

■?ou shall °";°^°'*'""'«''^«'-" «'-"--»« 

• 111. t-kT ""^ ''*"' «^' **~' C""'^"^ Wilhelmina 
' ftr^v T^^'rl''^'** P''"^ •"*''*"™ : I design her 
•^.Z\ "f.^""'"'"^'' *'''^^* «"'': »>"» that's in 

friendship, let it go no farther ; she 's but six years 
old and yet she walks a minuet, and plays on t^ 
guitar immensely already. I intend she shall be a! 

• Lf .. "' ^^ ^ !" ^^""^ accomplishment. In the 
first place, I'll make her a scholar; I'll teach her 

•™^ 7r"' ""^ ^ ^'""'^ *° 1««™ that language 
purposely to instruct her ; but let that be a secret 
Thus saymg, without waiting for a reply, he took me 

Inv/T'.r"'* ^f"^ """ '''""K- W« P^^ though 
many darkalleys and winding ways. From some motives 
to me unknown, he seemed to have a particular aversion 
to every frequented street ; but, at la^t, we got to the 
door of a dismal-looking house in the outlets of the town 
Tf th" 11"^°"^'^ ""^ '"' "hose to reside for the benefit 

We entered the lower door, which seemed ever to 
he most hospitably open ; and began to ascend an old 
and creakmg staircase ; when, as he momited to show 
me the way, he demanded whether I delighted in 
prospects; to which answering in the aflLative 


•Then,' says he, 'I shall show you one of the most 
_ charming out of my windows, for I live at the top of 
_ the house ; wo shall see the ships sailing, and the whole 
_ """"♦'•y for twenty miles round, tip-top, quite high. 
_ My Lord Swamp would give ten thousand guineas for 
_ such a one ; but, as I sometimes pleasantly tell him 
I always love to keep my prospects at home, that my 
friends may come to see me the oftener.' 
By this time we were arrived as high as the staira 
would permit us to ascend, till we came to what he was 
facetiously pi, sed to call the first floor down the 
clumney ; and knocking at the door, a voice, with 
a Scotch accent, from withi,., demanded, ' Wha 's there » ' 
My conductor answered, that it was him. But this not 
satisfying the querist, the voice again repeated the 
demand ; to which he answered louder than before • and 
now the door was opened by an old maid-servant, with 
cautious reluctance. 

When we were got in, he welcomed me to his house 

with great ceremony, and turning to the old woman 

asked where her lady was. ' Good troth,' replied she in 

the northern dialect, 'she 's washing your twa shirts at 

the next door, because they have taken an oath 

agamst lending out the tub any longer.' ' My two 

shirts ! ' cries he, in a tone that faltered with confusion 

what does the idiot mean ? ' ' I ken what I mean well 

enough,' replied the other ; 'she 's washing your twa 

shirts at the next door, because—' 'Fire and fury no 

more of thy stupid explanations,' cried he ; 'go 'and 

inform her we have got company. Were that Scotch 

hag, continued he, turning to me, ' to be for ever in 

my family, she would never learn politeness, nor forget 

that absurd poisonous accent of hers, or testify the 

smallest specimen of breeding or high life ; and yet it 

18 very surprising too, as I had her from a Parliament- 



man, a friend of mine, from the Highlands, one of the 
' politest men in the world ; but that 's a secret.' 

We waited some time for Mrs. Tibbs's arrival, during 
which interval 1 had a full opportunity of surveying the 
chamber and all its furniture ; which consisted of four 
chairs with old wrought bottoms, that he assured me 
were his wife's embroidery ; a square table that had been 
once japanned, a cradle in one comer, a lumbering cabinet 
in the other ; a broken shepherdess, and a Mandarin 
without a head, were stuck over the chimney ; and 
round the walls several paltry, unfr^imed pictures, which 
he observed were all of his own drawing : ' What do 
' you think, sir, of that head in the comer, done in the 
' manner of Grisoni ? There 's the tme keeping in it ; 
' it 's my own face ; and, though there happens to be no 
' likeness, a countess offered me a hundred for its fellow : 
' I refused her, for, hang it, that would be mechanical, 
' you know.' 

The wife, at last, made her appearance, at once 
a slattern and a coquette ; much emaciated, but still 
carrying the remains of beauty. She made twenty 
apologies for being seen in such an odious dishabille but 
hoped to be excused, as she had stayed out all night at 
Vauxhall Gardens with the countess, who was excessively 
fond of the homs. ' And, indeed, my dear,' added she, 
turning to her husband, ' his lordship drank your health 
' in a bumper.' ' Poor Jack,' cries he, ' a dear good- 
' natured creature, I know he loves me. But I hope, my 
' dear, you have given orders for dinner ; you need 
' make no great preparations neither, there are but 
' three of us ; something elegant and little will do ; 
' a turbot, an ortolan, or a — — .' ' Or what do you 
' think, my dear,' interrupts the wife, ' of a nice pretty 
' bit of ox-cheek, piping hot, and dressed with a little 
' of my own sauce ? ' ' The very thing," replies he ; 'it 



' will eat best with some smart bottled beer ; but be sure 
' to let 's have the sauce his grace was so fond of. I hate 
' your immense loads of meat ; that is country all over ; 
'extreme disgusting to those who are in the least 
'acquainted with high life.' 

By this time my curiosity began to abate, and my 
appetite to increase ; the company of fools may at first 
make us smile, but at last never fails of rendering us 
melancholy. I therefore pretended to recollect a prior 
engage.aent, and, after having sh- wn my respect to the 
house, by giving the old servant a ^ iece of money at the 
door, I took my leave ; Mr. Tibbs assuring me, that 
dumer, if I stayed, would be ready at least in less than 
two hours. 



[Altered from Letter LXI of The Cilizen of the WoM] 

As it has been obs >!. ved that few are better qualified 
to give others advice, than those who have taken the 
least of it themselves ; so in this respect I find myself 
perfectly authorized to oSFer mine ; and must take " 
leave to throw together a few observations upon that 
part of a young man's conduct on his entering into life, 
as it is called. 

The most usual way among young men who have no 
resolution of their own, is first to ask one friend's advice, 
and follow it for some time; then to ask advice of 
another, and turn to that ; so of a third ; still unsteady, 
always changing. However, every change of this nature 
is for the worse ; people may tell you of your being 
unfit for some peculiar occupations in life ; but heed 
them not ; whatever employment you follow with 



perseverance and assiduity, will be found fit for yon ; 
it will be your support in youth, and comfort in age. In 
learning the useful part of every profession, very moder- 
ate abilities will suffice : great abilities are generally 
obnoxious to the possessors. Life has been compared 
♦o a race ; but the allusion still improves, by observing, 
that the most swift are ever the most cpt to stray from 
the course. 

To know one profession only, is enough for one man to 
know ; and this, whatever the professors may tell you 
to the contrary, is soon learned. Be contented, therefore, 
with one good employment ; for if you understand two 
at a time, people will give you business in neither. 

A conjurer and a tailor once happened to converse 
together. ' Alas ! ' cries the tailor, ' what an imhappy 
' poor creature am 1 ! If people ever take it into their 
' heads to live without clothes, I am undone ; I have 
' no other trade to have recourse to.' ' Indeed, friend, 
' I pity you sincerely,' replies the conjurer ; ' but, thank 
' Heaven, things are not quite so bad with me : for, if 
' one trick should fail, I have a hundred tricks more for 
' them yet. However, if at any time you are reduced 
' to beggary, apply to me, and I will relieve you.' A 
famine overspread the land ; the tailor made a shift 
to live, because his customers could not be without 
clothes ; but the poor conjurer, with all his hundred 
tricks, could find none that had money to throw away : 
it was in vain that he promised to eat fire, or to vomit 
pins ; no single creature would relieve him, till he was 
at last obliged to beg from the very tailor whose calling 
he had formerly despised. 

There are no obstructions more fatal to fortune than 
pride and resentment. If you must resent injuries at 
all, at least suppress your indignation till you become 
rich, and then show away. The resentment of a poor 


man is like the efforts of a harmless insect to stmg ; it 
mayget him cinshed, but cannot defend him. Who values 
that anger which is consumed only in empty menaces ? 
Once upon a time a goose fed its young by a pond- 
side ; and a goose, in such circumstances, is always 
extremely proud, and excessive punctilious. If any 
other animal, without the least design to offend, happened 
to pass that way, the goose was immediately at it. The 
pond, she said, was hers, and she would maintain her 
right in it, and support her honour, while she had a bill 
to hiss, or a wing to flutter. In this manner she drove 
away ducks, pigs, and chickens ; nay, even the insidious 
cat was seen to scamper. A lounging mi.stiff, however, 
happened to pass by, and thought it no harm if he 
should lap a little of the water, as he was thirsty. The 
guardian goose flew at him like a fury, pecked at him 
with her beak, and slapped him with her feathers. The 
dog grew angry, and had twenty times a mind to give 
her a sly snap ; but suppressing his indignation, because 
his master was nigh, ' A pox take thee,' cried he, ' for a 
' fool ! sure those who have neither strength nor weapons 
' to fight, at least should be civil.' So saying, he went 
forward to the pond, quenched his thirst, in spite of the 
goose, and followed his master. 

Another obstruction to the fortune of youth is, that, 
while they are wiUing to take offence from none, they are 
also equally desirous of giving nobody offence. From 
hence they endeavour to please all, comply with every 
request, and attempt to suit themselves to every company ; 
have no will of their own ; but, like wax, catch every con- 
tiguous impression. By thus attempting to give universal 
satisfaction, they at last find themselves miserably 
disappointed ; to bring the generality of admirers on 
our side, it is sufficient to attempt pleasing a very few. 
A painter of eminence was once resolved to finish 



a piece which should please the whole world. When, 
therefore, he had drawn a picture, in which his utmost 
skill was exhausted, it was exposed in the public market- 
place, with directions at the bottom for every spectator 
to mark with a brush, that lay by, every limb and 
feature which seemed erroneous. The spectators came, 
and, in general, applauded ; but each, willing to show 
his talent at criticism, stigmatized whatever he thought 
proper. At evening, when the painter came, he was 
mortified to find the picture one universal blot ; not 
a single stroke that had not the marks of disapprobation. 
Not satisfied with thisi trial, the next day he was resolved 
to try them in a different manner ; and exposing his 
picture as before, desired that every spectator would 
mark those beauties he approved or admired. The 
people complied ; and the artist returning, foimd his 
picture covered with the marks of beauty ; every stroke 
that had been yesterday condemned, now received the 
character of approbation. ' Well,' cries the painter, 
' I now find, that the best way to please all the world, 
' is to attempt pleasing one half of it.' 

ESSAY xni 


[Altered from Letter LXIX of JTAc Citizen of Ok WorU\ 

Indulgent nature seems to have exempted this 
island from many of those epidemic evils which are so 
fatal in other parts of the world. A want of rain for 
a few days beyond the expected season, in some parts of 
the globe, spreads famine, desolation, and terror over 
the whole country ; but, in this fortunate land of Britain, 
the inhabitant courts health in every breeze, and the 
husbandman ever sows in jojrful expectation. 


But. though the nation be exempt from real evils it 
18 not more happy on this account than others. The 
peop e are afflicted, it is true, with neither famine nor 
pestilence ; but then there is a disorder peculiar to the 
country, which every season makes strange ravages 
among them; it spreads with pestilential rapidity, and 
infects almost every rank of people ; what is still more 
strange, the natives have no name for this peculiar 
malady, though well known to foreign physicians by the 
appellation of Epidemic Terror. 

A season is never known to pass in which the people 
are not visited by this cruel calamity in one shape or 
another, seemingly different, though ever the same; one 
year it issues from a baker's shop in the shape of a 
sixpenny loaf; the next it takes the appearance of 
a comet with a fiery tail; the third it threatens like 
a flat-bottomed boat, and the fourth, it carries con- 
sternation in the bite of a mad dog. The people, when 
once infected, lose their relish for happiness, samiter 
about with looks of despondence, ask after the calamities 
Of the day and receive no comfort but in heighteninir 
each other s distress. It is insignificant how remote or 
near, how weak or powerful, the object of terror may be 
when once they resolve to fright and be frighted ; the 
merest trifles sow consternation and dismay; each 
proportions his fears, not to the object, but to the dread 
he discovers in the countenance of others ; for when 
once fermentation is begun, it goes on of itself, though 
the ongmal cause be discontinued which first set it in 

A dread of mad dogs is the epidemic terror which now 
prevails, and the whole nation is at present actually 
groaning under the malignity of its influence. The 
peopte sally from their houses with that circumspection 
which IS prudent in such as expect a mad dog at every 



turning. The physician publishes his prescription, the 
beadle prepares his halter, and a few of unusual bravery 
arm themselves with boots and buff gloves, in order to 
face the enemy if he should offer to attack them. In 
short, the whole people stand bravely upon their defence, 
and seem, by their present spirit, to show a resolution of 
being tamely bit by mad dogs no longer. 

Their manner of knowing whether a dog be mad or 
no, somewhat resembles the ancient Gothic custom of 
trying witches. The old woman suspected was tied 
hand and foot, and thrown into the water. If she swam, 
then she was instiintly carried off to be burnt for a 
witch ; if she sunk, then indeed she was acquitted of 
the charge, but drowned in the experiment. In the 
same manner a crowd gather round a dog suspected of 
madness, and they begin by teasing the devoted animal 
on every side. If he attempts to stand upon the de- 
fensive, and bite, then he is unanimously found guilty, 
for ' A mad dog always snaps at everything.' If, on the 
contrary, he strives to escape by running away, then he 
can expect no compassion, for ' mad dogs always nm 
' straight forward before them.' 

It is pleasant enough for a neutral being like me, who 
have no share in those ideal calamities, to mark the 
stages of this national disease. The terror at first feebly 
enters with a disregarded story of a little dog, that ha^ 
gone through a neighbouring village, which was thought 
to be mad by tiveral who had seen him. The next ac- 
count comes, that a mastiff ran through a certain town, 
and had bit five geese, which immediately ran mad, 
foamed at the bill, and died in great agonies soon after. 
Then comes an affecting history of a little boy bit in the 
leg, and gone down to be dipped in the salt water. When 
the people have sufSciently shuddered at that, they are 
next congealed with a frightful account of a man who 



was said lately to have dieil from a bite he had received 
some years before. This relation only prepares the way 
for another, still more hideous ; as how the master of 
a family with seven small children, were all bit by a mad 
lap-dog ; and how the poor father first perceived the 
infection by calling for a draught of water, where he saw 
the lap-dog swimming in the cup. 

When epidemic terror is thus once excited, every 
morning comes loaded with some new disaster ; as in 
stories of ghosts each loves to hear the account, though 
it only serves to make him uneasy ; so here each listens 
with eagerness, and adds to the tidings with new circum- 
stances of peculiar horror. A lady, for instance, in the 
country, of very weak nerves, has been frighted by the 
barking of a dog; and this, alns ! too frequently happens. 
The story soon is improved and spreads, that a mad dog 
had frighted a lady of distinction. These circumstances 
begin to grow terrible before they have reached the 
neighbouring village ; and there the report is, that 
a lady of quality was bit by a mad mastiff. This account 
every moment gathers new strength, and grows more 
dismal as it approaches the capital ; and, by the time 
it has arrived in town, the lady is described with wild 
eyes, foaming mouth, rimniujr mad tijKm all four, barking 
like a dog, biting her scivants, and at last smothered 
between two beds by the advice of her dortovB ; while 
the mad mastiff is, in the meantime, ViV\\Hii\g the whole 
country over, slawving at the lunuth, and seeking whom 
he may devour. 

My landlady, a good-n«t«w<v\ Woman, but a little 
credulous, waked me some mornings ago, before the 
usual hour, with horror and astonishment in her look. 
She desired me, if I had any reganl for my safety, to keep 
within ; for, a few days ago, so dismal an accident had 
happened, as to put all the world upon their guard. 




A mad (log down in the country, she amurod m„ »,» i x.u 

to Buffer were no way injured ; and that of thZ To 

devoted animal's services. The midnight S if W 
healthful chase repairs many a worn constitutir' and 
esserhr^^n ""'; '" •'•^ ''"^ "^ ^'"-« assistant TageS 

• cretS' Tt°"' °?.''' "="8"^" P°«*«. ' - «n honest " 

creature, and I am a friend to doKs ' Of all th-. »^ / 
that graze the lawn or hunt the fZt a do^^is .h ■ 

ness a^d pleasure ; for him bean, famine and fatigue with 



Patiencf and rcHignatmn ■ n. • • ■ 

fidelity; „odiHt,.«fi'h.."° "'J''"-:"" "'""o h.3 

h«mb,o, stcaSCCda '"*!■; ""r"' "'' " ""•» - 
i« not flattery. How unkfrnl /h '" •"'" "''""' '"'^'"g 

•^atu«.. who\a» left theiuo" ^'°"r '•''■" '-^^^ 
"»n ! How ungrateful a re^ 1 ? t"" "''' "'•'"^''«''" "' 
all its services f '""" *° ^^° "-"^ty animal for 


AOE, that lessenH the . ujovment nf lif ■ 
dcHire of living. Those daii™ whi/h ' T""""' ""^ 
youth, we had learned to de^ ',t; '" '"« :'«°" "' 
we grow old. Our eaution !^' "''"*' '*'™™ as 

increase, fear beeomes at Ct h '"« "" °" ■^'^ars 
the mind ; and the s^„ *.''t, ^"'^'''""g Pa^-ion of 

in uselessWoit CoffTtV' '"^ ^^ *'"^''" "^ 
continued existence. ' '"' P'^^^^ 'or a 

Strange contradiction in our nnf.,™ 
even the wise are liable ! If T I '7. ', "'"^ *° ^''''^'' 
of life which lies Wore me L t, ; J"u''«' °* '^"^ P"'* 
-n. the prospect is h^.l^u " E ^^'^7 ""tf ^ 
my past enjoyments have brought^" Tal ^r-T' '•"" 
sensation assures me that f I, t u ' ^'''""'y ^ and 

tban those which a^ tu Tm ' vlt'^'* "^^ «'™"«" 
sensation i„ vain persuade h experience and 

either, dresses out the rttL""*' """'' ^^'''''' '"an 
«>">« happiness i„,Z,"'P~'P''^""'ancied beaut v; 

to pursue 2 liietr""*""' "*'" '"'"'""'' ">« 

•Ji-pi-inticnTioiLes „,';::"« T'"''"'-- ^^'"^^' -- 

WHen. then i^l: ^^^rS "^ E 



growH upon UR with our your* ; whence come* it, that 
we thuH make greater effortu to preaerve our existence, 
at a period when it bocomeH iicaroo worth the keeping t 
Is it that Nature, attentive to the preservation ol man- 
kind, increases our wishes to live, while she lessens our 
enjoyments ; and, as she robs the senses of every 
pleasure, equips imagination in the spoils T Life would 
bo insupportable to an old man, who, loaded with 
infirmities, feanxl death no more than when in the 
vigour of manhood ; the numberless calamities of 
decaying nature, and, the consciousness of surviving every 
pleasure, would at once induce him, with his own hand, 
to terminate the scene of misery ; but happily the 
contempt of death forsakes him at a time when it could 
only be prejudicial ; and life acquires an imaginary 
value, in proportion as its real value is no more. 

Our attachment to every object around us increases, 
in general, from the length of our acquaintance with it. 
' I would not choose,' says a French philosopher, ' to 
' see an old post pulled up with which I had been long 
' acquainted.' A mind long habituated to a certain set 
of objects, insensibly becomes fond of seeing them ; 
visits them from habit, and parts from them with 
reluctance : from hence proceeds the avarice of the old 
in every kind of possession ; they love the world and 
all that it produces ; they love life and all its advantages ; 
not because it gives them pleasure, but because they 
have known it long. 

Chinvang the Chaste, ascending the throne of China, 
commanded that all who were unjustly detained in 
prison, during the preceding reigns, should be set free. 
Among the number who came to thank their deliverer 
on this occasion, there appeared a majestic old mon, who, 
falling at the emperor's feet, axidressed him as follows : 
• Great father of China, behold a wretch, now eighty-five 


' years old, who wan nhut up in a dungeon at ' :io age of 
' twenty-two. I wan impriitoned, though a Blrangcr to 
' crime, or without being oven confrmii d by my accuncm. 
' I have now lived in nolitude and dnikm-Kit for more than 
' fifty years, and am grown familinr with dlHtrcss. Ah 
'yet, dazzled with the uplen'l.iir nf that huh to which 
'you have restored mo, T liivo been wandering the 
'streets to fliid out some frirtid ilint woul,' nisi or 
'relieve, or remember me , I ut Uiv ii'ci lU, my fuinily, 
' and relations, are all dead, and J n m f -gof '•■n! J'erniit 
' me then, Chinvang, to wear out tin ii.tclu-.l remains 
' of life in my former prison ; the w.iiU ct my dungeon 
' are to me more pleasing than the most splendid pidaco : 
' I have not long to live, and shall be unhappy except 
' I spend the rest of, my days where my youth was passed ; 
' in that prison from whence you were pleawd to roIcaHe 
' me.' 

The old man's passion for confinement is similar to 
that we all have for life. Wo are habituatofl to the 
prison, we look round with discontent, are dinpliused 
with the abode, and yet the length of our captivity only 
increases our fondness for the cell. The trees we have 
planted, the bouses we have built, or the posterity we 
have begotten, alt serve to bind us closer to the earth, 
and embitter our parting. Life sues the young like 
a new acquaintance ; the companion, as yet unexhausted, 
is at once instructive and amusing ; its company pleases ; 
yet, for all this, it is bii( MttL regarded. To us, who are 
declined in years, life appears like an old friend ; its 
jests have been anticipated in former conver- tion ; it 
has no new story to make us smile, no new i ovement 
with which to surprise, yet still we love it ; destitute 
of every enjoyment, still we love it ; husband the 
wasting treasure with increasing fnigJvUty, and feel all 
the poignancy of anguish in the fatal separation. 





Sir Philip Mordaimt was young, beautiful, sincere 
brave, an EigliBhman. He had a complete fortunt of 
h.s ow^, and the love of the king his master, which Z 
cqnvalent to riches. Life opened all her t,.asu..s 
He cl ; ^j,^?'"'^^'^ " '°n« ^^^cesxion of happiness, 
even T;^ ,!^ "^ '^' entertainment, but was disgusted 
even at the begmnmg. He professed an aversion to 
hvmg, was of walking round the same circle- 
Had tried every enjoyment, and found them all grow 
weaker at every repetition. 'If life be, in youth si 
d.spleasmg,' cried he to himself, ' what w.lHt appeir 

■sur't^v^lHh^'L""'' \f *" ^* P"«^"' ^<J'ff--'. 
.ZZ fl <. ^ ''^««'''We.' This thought embittered 
every reflection ; till, at last, -^th all the serenity of 

2ilt' -'"^'-^ed man been apprised . .at exTstence 

hav7,r"'. T':'f *° "' *••« '°"8«' ^« "-*. he would 
have then faced old age without shrinking ; he would 
have boMly da«,d to live ; and served that society bv 

J serttr ''• ^''"'' "^ "^'y ^^"^ ^y^ 

[Altered from • On Dress ' in The Bt^, No. II] 
POEEIONERS Observe that there an, no ladies in the 
^rid more beautiful, or mor« ill.<iressed, than those of 
ttfi ; country-women have been compared to 

those pictures where the face is the work of a Raphael 
but the draperies thrown out by some empty pretender' 
destitute of taste, and unacquainted with design 
If I were a poet, I might observe, on this occasion, 


that 80 much beauty, set off with all the advantages of 
dress, would be too powerful an antagonist for the 
opposite sex ; and therefore it was wisely ordered that 
our ladies should want taste, lest their admirers should 
entirely want reason. 

But to confess a truth, I do not find they have a 
greater aversion to fine clothes than the women of any 
other country whatsoever. I can't fancy that a shop- 
keeper's wife in Cheapside has a greater tenderness for the 
fortune of her husband than a citizen's wife in Paris- 
or that Miss in a boarding-school is more an economist 
m dress than Mademoiselle in a nunnery. 

Although Paris may be accounted the soil in which 
almost every fashion takes its rise, its influence is never 
so general there as with us. They study there the 
happy method of uniting grace and fashion, and never 
excuse a woman for being awkwai-dly dressed, by saying 
her clothes are in the mode. A Frenchwoman is a perfect 
architect m dress ; she never, with Gothic ignorance 
mixes the orders ; she never tricks out a squabby Doric 
shape with Cormthian finery; or, to speak without 
metaphor, she conforms to a general fashion only when it 
hapiK-ns not to be repugnant to private beauty. 

The English ladies, on the contrary, seem to have no 
other standard of grace but the run of the town If 
fashion gives the word, .very distinction of beauty 
complexion, or stature, ceases. Sweeping trains, Prussian 
bonnets, and trollopees, as like each other as if cut from 
the same piece, level all to one standard. The Mall the 
gardens, and playhouses, are filled with ladies in uniform ; 
and their whole appearance shows as little variety or 
taste as if their clothes were bespoke by the colonel of 
a marchmg regiment, or fancied by the artist who dresses 
the three battalions of guards. 
But not only the ladies of every shape and complexion. 



but of every age too, are posseBsed of this unaccountable 
P«^.o„ for leveling all diHtinction in d«s». The 2 
of no quahty travels fa«t behind the lady of «ome qualitv 

itiLTr "' '"^''i:' ^""'-^ ^" •>- granTda'ugte": 
th .f .■"■""• " «<^-"''t"'*d old man, amused me 
^e other day, .ith an account of h. jo'umey to The 
Mall. It Heems, m hi« walk thither, he, for some time 

t^f «t ' t"' "^ '" *''°"«'" "^^ "- -^-V ™a» 
nlH f 5. i'- ^' '"'' '''^>'' ^'^g*"". and youthful Mv 
old fnend had called up all his uoetrv on thL ■ 

aiir) fo„„;„-i * X „ "^ "" i'°*"y on this occasion, 
and fancied twenty Cupids prepared for execution i.^ 
every foldmg of her white negligee. He had prepaid h" 

T.ZTfl7:::T'''''- • •""* -^^^^-^ort ! 

th!n hi « '^l ""-^^"O' goddess was no other 

than hseousm Hannah, some years older than himself 
_ But to give It m his ow-n words, ' After the transport! 

'r r;;f !r'"*^'"^'"t' '--"--i-uidraC 

running my eye over her whole appearance Her 
gown was of cambric, cut short before, i^ order to 
^d|«=over a high-h«,led shoe, which was buckl^ 
almost at the toe. Her cap consisted of a few bits 2 
cambric and flowers of painted paper stuck on L^e 

but the hand of time these twenty yea™, rose suing 

than a handkerchief of Paris net to shade her beau"es 

• L° ktr: ;rb:;i?^ rt^'i ".«"-*° - --^ 

♦k u-^ ^ ^ female breast is generallv 

thought more beautiful as it ismoresparmglydifr;^ 
•notL7u ''"'' ""* P"' °" ''l' this finery fo 

' whenThl;o"" 'I 'J *"" '""^"'^ °"' »° *^« ^-k 
when I had overtaken her. Perceiving, however that 

I haa on my best wig, she offered, if I w';uld 'l^i^etl 

here, to send home the foo*man. Though I trembW 

for our reception in public, yet I could not, S atj 




' in f* h^? T-^ ^"- ^""dabout, I mean the fat Jadv 
m the lutestrmg troUopee. Between you and I ITl 
but a cutlers wife. .See how she'H dressed, a» toe a 
hands and pms can make her, while her tw^ man^^Le 
aWe daughters, like hunters, in stuff gow^s, ar^mw 

House Odious puss, how she waddles along, with her 

have he,r .nonstrous tails trundled along i„ a go^art 

lor all her a„s. it goes to her husband'! heart' to sel' 

_^ur yards of good lutestring wearing agains tth^ 

peak my mmd, cousm Jeflery, I never liked those 

tails , for suppose a young fellow should be rude and 

_ the lady should offer to step back in the fright. falt^S 

of retirmg, she treads upon her train, and faL S 

Cy^ s^'iL^"^ ''"- - ^- ---^-1^^^^^^ 

'i.! 't^p**!!' ^^^"^ ■ ^^'^ ^^ «'^°"W not miss her 
■Miss th^th' " *'; ™°"'*™"'' ^"-- bonnet 

'ffnest butt""": ""'r '' ^''° •""• -'"i«^ her 

• of rssine her ^. '''' ^T'^ "' '^''^^^ ''"^' ^«t«ad 
o: oressmg her customers, laid out aU her goods in 

,y uaa oeen long latunate esteemed friends and 




' acquaintance. Both were so pleased at this happy 
' rencounter, that they were resolved not to part for the 
' day. So we all crossed the Park together, and I saw 
' them into a hackney-coach at St. James's.' 


Where Tauris lifts its head above the storm, and 
presents nothing to the sight of the distant traveller 
but a prospect of nodding rocks, falling torrents, and all 
the variety of tremendous nature ; on the bleak bosom 
of this frightful mountain, secluded from society and 
detesting the ways of men, lived Asem the Man-hater. 

Asem had spent his youth with men ; had shared in 
their amusements ; and had been taught to love his 
fellow creatures with the most ardent affection : but 
from the tenderness of his disposition, he exhausted all 
his fortune in relieving the wants of the distressed. The 
petitioner never sued in vain ; the weary traveller never 
passed his door ; he only desisted from doing good when 
he had no longer the power of relieving. 

From a fortune thus spent in benevolence, he expected 
a grateful return from those he had formerly relieved ; 
and made his application with confidence of redress : 
the ungrateful world soon grew weary of his importunity ; 
for pity is but a short-lived passion. He soon, therefore, 
began to view mankind in a very different light from 
that in which he had before beheld them : he perceived 
a thousand vices he had never before suspected to exist : 
wherever he turned, ingratitude, dissimulation, and 
treachery, contributed to increase his detestation of them. 
Resolved therefore to continue no longer in a world 
which he hated, and which repaid his detestation with 



•civiUty refuse ; so, to be as gallant as possible, I took 

her hand m my arm, and thus we marched on together 

When we made our entry at the Park, two antfquated 

_ figures, so pohte and so tender, soon attracted the lyl 

of the company. As we made our way among crowds 

• et: :r °"' ^V^-*"- finery as w^ll as wf.wW 

C hus Th"'' 'rr''Tr'' "^ ''•'"«''' goodiumour 
with us The pohte could not forbear smiling and the 
vulgar bu^t out into a horse-laugh at our gr'esque 

•ofTe're^TT ",7"''' "'° ""' P^^ectly conscZ 
of the rectitude of her own appearance, attributed all 
this mn^h to the oddity of mine ; whUe I as cordiaUv 
paced the whole to her account. Thus, from be'g two 
of the best-natured creatures alive, before wo got half- 
_ way up the Mall, we both began to grow peevfh and, 
like two mice on a string, endeavoured to revenge the 
_ impertmenee of the spectators upon each other "I am 
amazed, cousin Jeffery," says Miss, -that I can never 
get you to dress like a Christian. I knew we shouTd 
have the eyes of the Park upon us, with your great wig 
_^o frizzled and yet so beggarly, and yLr Tustrou's 

'Z n K •""" °^'°"' ""^f"" I «o"W have 
patiently borne a criticUm on all the rest of my 

a little and hrowmg my eyes with a spiteful air 
on her bosom, I could heartily wish, madam," replied 
1, that, for your sake, my muff was cut into a tippet " 

'asham^ofT"' '^, '''^ "'"^'' "'^^ «--" ^^^^Y 
ashamed of her gentleman-usher, and as I was never 

very fond of any kind of exhibition myself it wis 

mu uaUy agi^ed to retire for a while to on; of The 

as they had remarked on us. 

'When seated we continued silent for some time 
O 3 



'employed in very different speculations. I regarded 
' the whole company, now passing in review before me, 
' as drawn out merely for my amusement. For my 
' entertainment the beauty had, all that morning, been 
' improving her charms ; the beau had put on lace, and 
' the young doctor a big wig, merely to please me. But 
' quite different were the sentiments of cousin Hannah ; 
' she regarded every well-dressed woman as a victorious 
' rival ; hated every face that seemed dressed in good 
' humour, or wore the appearance of greater happiness 
' than her own. I perceived her uneasiness, and at- 
' tempted to lessen it, by observing that there was no 
'company in the Park to-day. To this she readily 
' assented ; " and yet," says she, " it is full enough of 
' scrubs of one kind or another." My smiling at this 
' observation gave her spirits to pursue the bent of her 
' inclination, and now she began to exhibit her skill in 
'secret history, as she found me disposed to listen. 
Observe," says she to me, " that old woman in tawdry 
'silk, and dressed out beyond the fashion. That is 
'Miss Biddy Evergreen. Miss Biddy, it seems, has 
' money ; and as she considers that money was never 
' so scarce as it is now, she seems resolved to keep what 
' she has to herself. She is ugly enough, you see ; yet, 
' I assure you, she has refused several offers, to my own 
' knowledge, within this twelvemonth. Let me see ; 
' three gentlemen from Ireland wno study the law, two 
' waiting-captains, her doctOi-, and a Scotch preacher, 
' who had like to have carried her off. A!( her time is 
' passed between sickcess and finery. Thus she spends 
'the whole Mc<=k in a close chamber, with no other 
' company but her monkey, her apothecary, and cat ; 
' and comes dressed out to the Park every Sunday, 
' to show her airs, to get new lovers, to catch a new cnid, 
' and to make new work for the doctor. 


formed agreeable to your own ideas ; they are absolutely 
without vice. In other respects it resembles your 
earth, but differs from it in being wholly inhabited by 
men who never do wrong. K yon find this world more 
agreeable than that you so lately left, you have fteo 
permission to spend the remainder of your days in it ; 
but permit me, for some time, to attend you, that 
I may silence your doubts, and make you better 
acquainted with your company and your new habita- 

' A world without vice ! Rational beings without 
immorality ! ' crie<l Asem, in a rapture ; ' I thank 
thee, O ABah, who hast at length heard my petitions ; 
this, this indeed will produce happiness, ^stasy, and 
ease. O for an immortality, to spend it among men 
who are mcspable of ingratitude, injustice, fraud, 
violence, and a thousand other crimes, that render 
society miserable.' 

' Cease thine acclamations,' replied the Genius. ' Look 
around thee ; reflect on every object and action before 
us, and communicate to me the result of thine observa- 
tions. Lead wherever you think proper, I shaU be 
your attendant and instructor.' Asem and his com- 
panion travelled on in silence f. some time, the former 
being entu^ly lost in astonishment; but. at last, 
recovering his former serenity, he could not help ob- 
serving, that the face of the country bore a near resem- 
blance to that he had left, except that this subterranean 
world still seemed to retain its primaeval wildness. 
'Here,' cried Asem, 'I perceive animals of prey, 
and others that seem only designed for their sub- 
sistence ; it is the very same in the world over our 
heads. But had I been permitted to instruct our 
Prophet, r would have removed this defect, and formed 
no voracious or destructive animals, which only prey 



' on the other parts of the creation.' ' Your t«*deme«« 

'for inferior animals is, I find, remark»Wi^,' sAid the 

Oemus, smiling ' But, with regard to memer ««ature«, 

this world exactly resembles the other ; »nd, indeed, 

' for obvious re sons : for the e«rth can support a more' 

•considerable r.umber of animals, bv llleir thus becora- 

^ ing food fo- oach other, than if thev had lived entirely 

on the vegotablo protluctions. So that animals of 

different natures thus formed, instead of lessening their 

I multitude, subsist in the gr««teat number possible. But 

' let us hasten on to the inhabited country before us, and 

' see what that oflert for instruction.' 

They soon gained the utmost verge of the forest and 
entered the country inhabited by men without vice ; 
and Asem anticipated in idea the rational delight he 
hoped to experience in such an mnocent society. But 
they had scarce left the confines of the wood, when they 
beheld one of the inhabitants flying with hasty steps 
and terror in his countenance, from an army of squirrels 
that closely pursued him. ' Heavens ! ' cried Asem 
' why does he fly ? What can he fear from animals so 
contemptible ? ' He had scarce spoke when he per- 
ceived two dogs pursuing another of the human species 
who, with equal terror and haste, attempted to avoid 
them. 'This,' cried Asem to his guide, 'is truly 
surprising; nor can I conceive the reason for so 
strange an action.' 'Every species of animals" 
replied the Genius, 'has of late grown very pov.erfu'l 
' in this country ; for the inhabitants, at first, thinking 
It unjust to use either fraud or force in destroying them 
'they have insensibly increased, and now frequently 
'ravage their harmless frontiers.' 'But they should 
* have been destroyed,' cried Asem ; ' you see the 
' consequence of such neglect.' ' Where is then that 
'tenderness you so lately expressed for subordinate 


contempt, he retired to this region of storility, in order to 
brood over his resentment in solitude, nnd ronverse with 
the only honest heart he knew ; nanicly, with his own. 

A cave was his only shvltii- from tlio inilemcncy of 
the weather ; fruits gathered with difticulty from the 
mountain's side, his only food; and his drink was 
fetched with danger and toil from the headlong torrent. 
In this manner he lived, sequestered from society, pas.sing 
the hours in meditation, and sometimes exulting that 
ho was able to live independently of his fellow creatures. 

At the foot of the mountain, an extensive lake dis- 
played its glassy bosom ; reflecting, on its broad surface 
the impending horrors of the mountain. To this capa- 
cious mirror ho would sometimes descend, and, reclining 
on its steep Ijank, cast nn eager look on the smooth 
expanse that lay )>efore him. ' How beautiful,' he often 
cried, ' is Nature ! how lovely, even in her wildest 
scenes ! How finely contrasted is the level plain that 
lies beneath me, with yon awful pile that hides its 
tremendous head in clouds ! But the beauty of tuese 
scenes is no way comparable with their utility ; from 
hence an hundred rivers aio supplied, which distribute 
health and verdure to the various countries through 
which they flow. Every part of the universe is 
beautiful, just, and wise, but man : vile man is a 
solecism in Nature ; the only monster in the creation. 
Tempests and whirlwinds have their use ; but vicious,' 
ungrateful man is a blot in the fair page of universal 
beauty. Why was I bom of that detested species, 
whose vices are almost a reproach to the wisdom of 
the Divine Creator ! Were men entirely free from vice, 
all would he uniformity, harmony, and order. A world 
of moral rectitude should be the result of a perfectly 
moral agent. Why, why then, O Allah ! must I be 
thu.s confined in darkness, doubt, and despair V 



Jurt M he uttered the woH despair, he was goinB to 
phmge ,„to the lake beneath him. .t o^ce to ^af^n^Vu 
doubt, and put a period to hi» anxiety; when he 
^ThJt I "«"•' -""je-tio being walldng on the suliaoe 
1^ ^ • ""** "PP'^-'hing the banlc on which he 

purpose : ho stopped, contemplated, and fancied he saw 
somethmg awful and divine in his a;pect. 

Son of Adam,' cried the Oeniua, 'atop thy ra»h 

fuTr/h *'^^''*''" °' "•" ^''"*"«' »•- -" % 

o afford iirr'^' ^''^ '""""'"' »«» "-'h »«"' "- 
to afford and admm«ter relief. Give me thine hand, 

and follow, without trembling, wherever I shall lead ■ 

in me behold the Genius of Conviction, kept by thJ 

great Prophet, to t.™ from their er«,rs tho^ who go 

Follow '""T """"""y- but a rectitude of intention, 
follow me, and be wise.' 

..ufTT 'T^fr*!'^ descended upon the lake, and his 
gmde conducted him along the surface of th; water; 
tm, commg near the centre of the lake, they both begai^ 
U, smk: the waters closed over their heads ; tW 
descended several hundi^ fathoms, till Asem, jus ready 
to up his life as inevitably lost, found himself ^ 
hm celestial guide in another world, at the bottom of 
the waters where human foot had never trod before 
His astomshment was beyond description, when he saw 
a sun hke that he had left, a serene sky over his head 
and bloommg verdure under his feet. 

' I plainly perceive your amazement,' said the Genius • 
but suspend .t for a while. This world was formed ^ 
Allah, at the request, and under the inspection of 
our great Prophet, who once entertained the same 
doubts which filled your mind when I found you. and 
from the consequence of which you were so lately 
rescued. The rational inhabitants of this world are 



;it bfo min., J They nev.r «^ po..,^^., ,., „ ^^ 
n^l mor. than u, ,„.ceH«ary ; ami *hut i. ,,Sy 
necessary cannot be ,li»penHo<I «ith.' ■ Thov «houd 
have boon supplied ,,th ,„„,, ,h„„ ,-, „rco«,„ v erS. 

_ tuHion Even the want of .ngrntit..<lo i„ „„ virtu,, h.-rr 

over another cxcolk e, yet behind ; the love of the.r 

country „ «till, I hope., on. ..f thei; darhng virtue • 
Peace, Anen,,' replied theCiuanli..,, «ith a oof.nt „„,^ 

P^tens.ons to wisdom ; the same selfinh ,n,.ive« by 
which wo prefer our own int<.re«t to th.t .,f ..the™ 
mduoe u. .o repard our c„M„,ry preferably t., Zoi 
another. .Nothing !,.« th„. unive^al benevoW -f 
free from v.oe, and that ou «■« is practiced he,^' 
Strange I enes the disappointed pilgrim. i„ an agony 

' 11 ^u'^T"^ " ""«'" '■''■*"'^' »"" that of temper- 
ance, which they practise; and in that they are no 
way Hupenor to the ve,^ brute creation. There israree 
an amuse„u.nt which they enjoy ; fortitude, liberality 

_ fnendsh.p w>.,dom, conversation, and love ;f cou^'^' 
aJl are virtues entir.,ly unknown here ; thun it seems' 
that, to be unacquainted with ^ice I not to know 

' u- ^^'f r'""' ° "'^ «-"""•■ '»-k <" that verT 

Allah for Its contriver is much more wiselv formed 
■ nltt H "'"' '" '^" P'°i-*"' 'V Mahomet 

for perhaps I have deserved them. When I arraigned 

the wisdom of Providence. I only showed my T^ 
_ -gnorance ; henceforth let me keep from vice my^T 

and pity it in others.' "lyseu. 





■ 2J 

■ 12 


■ 25 






t65J Easl Main Slreat 

RochatUr, N«w York 14609 USA 

(716) *82 - 0300 - Phone 

(716) 280-5989 - Foi. 



He had Hcarce ended, when the Genius, asRuming nu 
air of terrible complacency, called all his thunders 
around him, and vanished in a whirlwind. Asem, 
astonished at the terror of the scene, looked for his 
imaginary world ; when, casting his eyes around, ho 
perceived himself in the very situation, and in the very 
place, where he first Ijegan to repine and despair ; his 
right foot had been just advanced to take the fatal 
plunge, nor had it been yet withdrawn ; so instantly did 
Providence strike the series of truths just imprinted on 
his soul. He now departed from the waterside in 
tranquillity, and, leaving his horrid mansion, travelled 
10 Segestan, his native city ; where he diligently applied 
himself to commerce, and put in practice that wisdom 
he had learned in solitude. The frugality of a few years 
soon produced opulence ; the number of his domestics 
increased ; his friends came to him from every part of 
the city ; nor did he receive them with disdain ; and 
a youth of misery was concluded with an old age of 
elegance, affluence, and ease. 



[From The Ladies' Magazine] 
It is allowed on all hands, that our English divines 
receive a more liberal education, and improve that 
education, by frequent study, more than any others of 
this reverend profession in Europe. In general, also, it 
may be observed, that a greater degree of gentility is 
annexed to the character of a student in England than 
elsewhere ; by which means our clergy have an oppor- 
tunity of seeing better company while young, and of 



' animalH ? ' replied the Genius smiling : ' you seem to 
' have forgot that branch of justice.' ' I must acknow - 
' ledge my mistake,' returned Asem ; ' I am now 
' convinced that wc must be guilty of tyranny and 
' injustice to the brute creation, if we would enjoy the 
' world ourselves. But let us no longer observe the 
' duty of man to these irrational creatures, but survey 
' their connexions with cue another.' 

As they walked farther up the country, the more he 
was surprised to see no vestiges of handsome houses, 
nocities, nor any mark of elegant d<-.ign. His conductor, 
perceiving his surprise, observed, that the inhabitants of 
this new world were perfectly content with their ancient 
simplicity ; each had a house, which, though homely, was 
sufficient to lodge hia little family ; they were too good 
to build houses, which could only increase their own 
pride, and the envy of the spectator ; what they built 
was for convenience, and not for show. ' At least, 
' then,' said Asem, ' they have neither architects, 
' painters, or statuaries, in their society ; but these 
'are idle arts, and may be spared. However, before 
' I spend much more time here, you should have my 
' thanks for introducing me into the society of some 
' of their wisest men : there is scarce any pleasure to 
' me equal to a refined conversation ; there is nothing 
' of which I am so enamoured as wisdom.' ' Wisdom ! ' 
replie<l his instructor, ' how ridiculous ! We have no 
' wisdom here, for we have no occasion for it ; true 
' wisdom is only a knowledge of our own duty, and the 
' duty of others to us ; but of what use is such wisdom 
' here ? each intuitively performs what is right in 
' himself, and expects the same from others. If by 
' wisdom you should mean vain curiosity and empty 
' speculation, as such pleasures have their origin in 
' vanity, luxury, or avarice, we are too good to pursue 



them. All this may bo right,' says Asem ; 'but 
_ methmks I observe a solitary disposition prevail among 
_ the people ; each family keeps separately within their 
_ own precincts, without society, or without intercourse.' 
That indeed, is true,' replied the other; 'here is no 
_ established society; nor should there be any all 
societies are made either through fear or friendship • 
the people we are among, are too good to fear each 
_ other ; and there are no motives to private friendship 
where aU are equally meritorious.' ' Well then,' saW 
the sceptic, 'as I am to spend my time here, if I am 
_ to have neither the polite arts, nor wisdom, nor friend- 
^ ship, m such a world, I should be glad, at least, of an 
_ easy companion, who may tell me his thoughts, and to 
_ whom I may co.nmunioate mine.' ' And to what 
purpose should either do this?' says the Genius: 
^ flattery or curiosity are vicious motives, and never 
allowed of here ; and wisdom is out of the question.' 
Still, however,' said Asem, 'the inhabitants must 
_ be happy ; each is contented with his o^vn possessions 
_ nor avariciously endeavours to heap up more than is 
_ necessary for his own subsistence : each has therefore 
leisure to pity those that stand in need of his com- 
passion.' He had scarce spoken when his ears were 
assaulted with the lamentations of a wretch who sat bv 
the wayside, and, in the most deplorable distress, seemed 
gently to murmur at his own misery. Asem immediately 
ran to his relief, and found him in the last stage of 
a consumption. 'Strange,' cried the son of Adam 
^ that men who are free from vice should thus suffer so 
much misery without relief ! ' ' Be not surprised ' 
said the wretch who was dying; 'would it not be the 
_ utmost injustice for beings, who have only just sufficient 
^ to support themselves, and are content with a bare 
subsistence, to take it from their own mouths to put 


they, of all profesRJons, seem the most bashful, wLo have 
the greatest right to glory in their commission. 

The French preachers generally assume all that 
dignity which becomes men who arc ambassadors from 
Christ ; the English divines, like erroneous envoys, 
seem more solicitous not to offend the court to which 
they are sent, than to drive home the interests of their 
employer. The Bishop of Massillon, in the first sermon 
he ever preached, found the whole audience, upon his 
getting into the pulpit, in a disposition no way favourable 
to his intentions ; their nods, whispers, or drowsy be- 
haviour, showed him that there was no great profit to 
be expected from his sowing in a soil so improper ; how- 
ever, he soon changed the disposition of his audience by 
his manner of beginning : ' If,' says he, ' a cause, the 
' most important that could be conceived, were to be 
I tried at the bar before qualified judges ; if this cause 
I interested ourselves in particular ; if the eyes of the 
' whole kingdom were fixed upon the event ; if the most 
' eminent counsel were employed on both sides ; and if 
' we had heard from our infancy of this yet undeter- 
^ mined trial ; would you not all sit with due attention, 
' and warm expectations, to the pleadings on each side 1 
' would not all your hopes and fears be hinged upon the 
I final decision ? And yet, let me tell you, you have 
' this moment a cause of much greater importance before 
' you ; a cause where not one nation, but all the world, 
' are spectators ; tried not before a faUible tribunal, but 
' the awful throne of Heaven, where not your temporal 
^ and transitory interests are the subject of debate, but 
' your eternal happiness or misery, where the cause is stil? 
' undetermined ; but, perhaps, the very moment I am 
' speaking, may fix the irrevocable decree that shall last 
' for ever ; and yet, notwithstanding all this, you can 
' hardly sit with patience to hear the tidings of your own 



attended with the ^1!^ "f ■ **"' '" ^''^ ''"'P'' '' - 
which, in the clo«e XhrXTTT ^ """ ''*^'-- 
tte true mode of e oaue'e h^ r""' "'""y' ««"»« 
compodtion. under Zt^tt ?' ^ '"'''"" "^""^ "^ «"" th. .thor hL ifl .t.""™""' »'"" I ''« not 
to be used mZm^ZT . 7T ' '"^ ''"' ""«^"t« 
"peaking well iS^Ji "!'"*'>','''*- ^'om those of 

been alLdy ob^rve^ 1,^"'"°"'* ^"^ ''^'^^- "« »""' 
aeeomplishmenta S;''^,;t^''l'l"^^^ ^''^'^ "« 
candidate who will be at th^"- ' "^ ''^ "^"'y 

with a Ben»e Tfthe trutLT "T^^' '"^^"^''^ 
preacher disregard; the ann? " ''^'"' *" ''«''^«'. <» 
audience, and Ltllwv ' "^ *'"' """''"»?' °^ '^i" 
sincerity With thisT T f """'' " •''"^' ""^ '"""'y 
-dra^ardiSLtri— ^^^^ 
sense ; what number* converted to rh!? ! ™'"'"°" 
way sometimes set an examnlff ^^™*'«'"*y- Folly 
and our regular diW . ' '^"''°« *° P'l^tise, 

eveuMethoSts ir^thelefT "^'"^'"'°" ^-- 
among the populace E vfn S^ ma' Tf ™ 
a model to some of our yom^rS ' T^,^ P''^."':'' ^ 

ex;:i,res':faTi:t:i*^^'' 'y -^'^rthe 

for estimation: the;e wSvl^"*''/^''''"""' t"" tiffing 

brought up on tW^clio^ "T'"' "''''"' "'^"^^y 
elocution, may be rera^^ ' fT' ''""'"'^> «^ace, 
complete the ^chara"rlr.:°'"*''^ "^''^^^'y *° 
-mmon sense is sridom^wrjed brfi^f,'" '^^"^'^^'^ = 
Penods, ,ust attitudes, or t^lX^, ^--^t 


sooner wearing off tho«, preju.lieoH young men are apt 

uhich "'"y 1- ju tly tern.e<l the vulgar errors of the wi*. 
iet «11 these advantages, it is very obvious that 
tl>e elergy are nowhere so little thought of, by the 
populaee, a« here and. though our divines are forclost 
^u h respeet to abU.ties, yet they are f.und last in th^ 
efleets of the.r ministry ; the vulgar, in general,! 
mg no way nupressed with a sense of religious duty 
I am not for whining at the depravity of the times, or 
for endeavourmg to paint a prospeet more gloomy than 
m nature ; but eertain it is, no person who ha« travelled 
^v.ll con rad.ct n>e, when I aver that the lower orders of 
mankmd. m other eountries, testify, on every occasion 
the profoundest awe of religion ; while in England the^ 
are scarcely awakened ir,to a sense of its duties, even i^ 
circumstances of the greatest distress 

This dissolute and fearless conduct foreigners are apt 
to attribute to climate and constitution ; may nZ the 

f?or;h ^^ Ti^ '""'='' '''^^''""^ ^ °"^ exhortations 
from the pulpit, be a conspiring cause V Our divines 
seldom stoop to their mean capacities; and tZ 

a^tLrel""'""""'^ '""'' ''"' '^^^^ - °- -''«-« 
Whatever may become of the higher orders of man- 
kmd who are generally possessed of collateral motives 
to virtue the vulgar should be particularly regarded 
whose behaviour in civil life is totally hinged upon the^ 
hopes and fea^. Those who constitute the basTof the 
great fabric of society should be particularly regarded • 
tor ui policy as in architecture, ruin is most fatal when 
it begms from the bottom. 

Men of real sense and understanding prefer a prudent 
nediocnty to a precarious popularity; and. fearing to 
outdo then: auty, leave it half done. Their discourses 



from the pulpit nro generally dry, methodical, and 
uuaffectmg ; delivered with the most insipid calmness • 
insomuch, that, should the peaceful preacher lift his 
head over the cushion, which alone he seems to address 
he might discover his audience, instead of being awakened 
to reinorso, actually sleeping over his methodical and 
laboured composition. 

This method of preaching is, however, by some called 
an address to reason, and not to the passions ; this is 
styled the making of converts fro;.; conviction • but 
such are indiffe tly acquainted with human nature 
who are not sei. ble, that men seldom reason about 
their debaucheries till they are committed , reason is 
but a weak antagonist when headlong passion dictates • 
in all such cases wo should arm one passion against 
another ; it is with the human mii.d as in nature, from 
the mixture of two opposites the result is most frequently 
neutral tranquillity. Those who attempt to reason us 
out of our foUies, begin at the wrong end, since the 
attempt naturally presupposes us capable of reason • but 
to be made capable of this, is one great point of the cure 
There are but few talents requisite to become a popular 
preacher, for the people are easily pleased if they perceive 
any endeavours in the orator to please them; the 
meanest qualifications will work this effect if the 
preacher sincerely sets about it. Perhaps little, indeed 
very little, more is required, than sincerity and assurance- 
and a becoming sincerity is always certain of producing 
a becoming assurance. ' Si vis me flere, doknJum est 
■^primum tibi ipsi,' is so trite a quotation, that it almost 
demands an apoloty to repeat it ; yet, though all alow 
the justice of the remark, how few do wo find put it in 
practice V Our orators, with the mo,;, faulty bashfulness 
seem impressed rather with an awe c. their audience than 
with a just respect for the truths they are about to deliver- 



kerchief ; oratorial behaviour, cxcej)! in very able handi. 
indeed, gencruUy sinks into awkward and paltry affettn- 

It must be observed, however, that these rules are 
ealculated only for him who would instruct the vulgar, 
who stand in most need of instruction; to address 
philosophers, and to obtain the character of a jxilite 
preacher among the i)olite— a much more useless, though 
more sought-for character— requires a different method 
of proceeding. All I shall observe on this head is, to 
entreat the polemic divine, in his controversy with the 
Deists, to act rather offensively than to defend ; to push 
home the grounds of his belief, and the impracticability 
of theirs, rather than to spend time in solving the 
objections of every opponent. ' It is ten to one,' savs 
a lato writer on the art of war, ' but that the assailant 
'who attacks the enemy -in his trenches, is always 
' victorious.' 

Yet, upon the whole, our clergy might employ them- 
selves more to the benefit of society, by declining all 
controversy, than by exhibiting even the profouudest 
skill in polemic disputes ; their contests with each other 
often turn on speculative trifles ; and their disputes with 
the Deists are almost ui an end since they can have 
no more than victory, and that they are already possessed 
of, as their antagonists have been driven into a confession 
of the necessity of revelation, or an open avowal of 
theism. To continue the dispute longer would only 
endanger it ; the sceptic is ever expert at puzzling a 
debate which he finds himself unable to conti-je; 
' and, like an Olympic boxer, generally fights best when 
' undermost.' 





[Al . n.<l from U'ttor CVHI of Th,' Cllhin of :!,, MorW] 

I iiAVK frc<|iiently Iwcu aiiiuml at the igiioniiicc of 
iilmont all the European travellers who have iH-netratcd 
any conHiderable way eastward into Asia. They have 
all been infliiei.eed either by motives of coninicice or 
piety, and their accounts are such as might reasonably 
be expected from men of a very narrow- or very pre- 
judiced education, the dictates of superstition, or the 
result of Ignorance. Is it not surprisijig, that, of such 
o variety of adventurers, not one single philosopher 
should be found omong the number ? For, as to the 
travels of Gemelli, the learned arc long agrewl that the 
whole is but an imposture. 

There is scprce any country, how rude or uncultivated 
soever, where the inhabitants are not possessed of some 
per-uliar secrets, either in nature or art, which might Iw 
transplanted with success : thus, for instance, in , -rian 
Tartary, the natives extract a strong spirit from nnlk, 
wh;Dh is a secret probably unknown to the chemists of 
Europe. In the most savage parts of India they are 
possessed of the secret of dyeing vegetable substances 
scarlet, ar. ' likewise that of refining lead into a metal, 
which, for hardness and colour, is little inferior to silver ■ 
-lot one of which secrets but Mould in Europe, make 
a lean's fortune. The power of the Asiatics in producing 
wmds, or bringing down rain, the Europeans are apt to 
treat as fabulous, because they have no instances of the 
like nature among themselves ; but they would have 
treated the secrets of gunpowder, and the mariner's 
compass, in the same manner, had they been told the 



"'in tneniiH'lvcH ut hoii!; 

Of nil th,. KngliHh ,.hil„„„,,h..r«, I ,„.Mt „.ve«.>u,. 
«««..., th.t ,<rcat „,ul lumly „e„i„H : l.,- it i» wl,.<. hunrnu ourionity to oxun.iu.. .wry Z ^i 

HUhjoet the tcniiK.-t, the thiuwler, and even ...,rti m,«keH 
t«hu.n„„e„ntr„l. Oh! ha.. „ „.„n „, hin darl/.g «' 
'f hm genn.H, jK-netration, „„,! leanung, travelled „ 
thoHc countneH «hieh have Ix... visited ,.nlv the 

c«T HoV"' Tr"'- ^•'"" '"'«•'» ""■'<'' 

expect 1 How would he enlighten the regionn to whieh 
he travelled! and what a variety of know!e.lge and 

UHefum,„t would he n<.t bring ..aekinexehange! 
There m pM]y no eountry .so barbarouH, that would 

ready to give n.ore knowledge .han he reeeiv'e.l would 
he w^ome wl^erever he eame. All hin care in travl g 
^"M only bo to .uit his intclleetual banquet to e 
people with wh.n. he eonver«3d : he shoukl ,„t atten " 
to teaeh the unlettenxl Tartar astronon.y, nor 3 

^ Bhould endeavour to in.prove the barbarian in the 
rrorll 7 ^'"^"^'"">-= «"'• 'I- inhabitant of 
Lrr w ""'' T'"'^ "' '^^ «P<'<'"'"tive pleasures of 
se.enee. How much nobly would a philoiophe. thus 
employed, spend his time, than by sittM.g at bo.m 
eameetly i..tent upon adding one 'tar 2re '.' h s 
caalogu^. or one „..>„ter more to his collection; o 

tion of fleas, or the sculpture of cherry-stones 

that none of those society-, so laudably established in 



England for the proniotiun i>f artK and learning, have 
cvfr thuuglit of Hcnding one of their nienilKTH into the 
nioHt rantom part* of Ania, to make vliat (liHcoverieH 
he wnH oble. To bo convinced of the utility of nuch an 
undertaking, let them but read the relatiouK of their own 
travelleni. It Mill then? Ix* found, that they are aH often 
deceived themwIveB, an they attempt to deceive othem. 
The inerehuntH tell uh, |H'rhapH, the price of different 
conunoditicH, the mtthotlx of baling them up, and thu 
pro|)crcHt maimer for a EuroiKan to i)re«erve Inn health 
in the country. The iniimioner, on the other hand, 
informs uh with what pleUKUre the country to which hu 
waH Hcnt embraced (.'hriHtiunity, and the immberH hu 
eonvertt-d ; what inethodH ho took to keep Lent in 
n region where there va8 no fish, or the shiftH he made 
t<i eelebrato the rites of hid religion, ui i)laces where 
there was neither bread nor wine : nuch accounts, with 
the usual appendage of marriages and funerals, inseri])- 
ti(ms, rivers, and mountains, make up the whole of 
a Kuroi)ean traveller's diary ; but as to all the secrets 
of which tho inhabitants are jtossessed, those are 
universally attributed to magic ; and when the traveller 
can give no other account of the wonders he sees per- 
formed, ho very contented' ' U' .ibes them to tho devil. 
It was a usual observation of Boy'c, the English 
chemist, that, if every artist would but discover what 
new observations occurred to him in the exercisa of his 
trade, philosophy would thence gain iiummerablo 
improvements. It may b© observed, with still greater 
justice, that, if the useful knowledge of every country, 
howsoever barbarous, was gleaned by a judicious ob- 
server, the advantages would bo inestimable. Are there 
not, even in Europe, many useful inventions, known or 
practised but in one place ? The instrument, as an 
example, for cutting down corn in Germany, is much 


morr nml .■xp<..litioiiK, j,, ,„v opinion, ( th.- 
Huklo „Ho,l in EnKl-n,l. Th.- .K.m.,, „n,l ,.x,H.,litio„H 
manm „f nmUmg vinognr. ^.i(^,c..t prrvi,. s f.-rmontn- 
ti<m, iH kn.wr. „nly in n p«rt of Kninw. If M„.h ,ii„. 
c..vorirH rcmnin ill f„ («• known nt ho„„. 
wh..t fnndH nf kno«l,.,lK„ „,i„ht not l,o ..olIiTt,.,! in' 
"'"ntri.M ,v,.( un...xplor..,l, or only pnKHcl through by 
iKiiornnt trnvrllcrK in h,i»tv carnvnnH » 

The cnution will, .hic.'h forri^nrrH arc rofoivo.! i , 
AHin nmy Ix. «il..K,.,l „„ „„ „l,j,,.,|„„ ,„ „„^^ „ ^^ 
JJnt how rra.lily hav,. Hovcral Enrop,.nn nHTclmtttH 
foumi a<l„ .Hum into r<KionH the m,m> HiiNpioiouH, niider 
fho chnra,. T of SanjapinH, or northern pilgriniH ? To 
«iich, not own China itHcIf donicH aocoiiH. 

To «.n<l out n travcllrr properly ..iialifiod for thmr 
purpo«0H, mipht Ik. an object of national concern • it 
would, m «on,e measnrr repair the breaches made by 
ambitmn ; and might .w that there were still some 
who boasted « greater name than that of patriots, who 
professed themselves lovers of men. 

The only difficulty would remain in •^cosing a propc- 
person for so ard.ious an enterpris. He shouk; b« 
o man of a philosophical ttim, one ai.. to deduce con- 
sequences of general utility from particular occurrences 
neither swollen with pride, nor hardened by prejudice! 
neither wedded to one particular system, nor instructed 
only in one particular science ; neither wholly a botanist 
nor quite an antiquarian : his mind should be tinctured 
with miscellaneous knowledge, and his mamiers human- 
ized by an intercourse with men. He should be in 
some measure, an enthusiast to the design ; fond of 
ravelling from a rapid imagination, and an innate 
ovc of change ; furnished with a body capable of sus- 
tammg every fatigue, and a heart not easUy terrified 




The improvements we make in mental acquirements, 
only render us each day more sensible of the defects of 
our constitution : with this in view, therefore, Jet us 
often recur to the amusements of youth ; endeavour to 
forget ago and wisdom, and, as far as innocence goes, be 
as much a boy as the best of them. 

Let idle declaimers mourn over the degeneracy of the 
age; but, in myopinion, every age is the same. This I am 
sure of, that man, in every season, is a poor fretful being, 
with no other means to escape the calamities of the 
tunes but by endeavouring to forget them ; for, if he 
attempts to resist, he is certainly undone. If 1 feel 
poverty and pain, I am not so hardy as to quarrel with 
the executioner, even while under correction : I find 
mj'self no way disposed to make fine speeches, while I am 
making wry faces. In a word, let me drink when the 
fit is on, to make me insensible ; and drink when it 
IS over, for joy that I feel pain no longer. 

The character of old Falstaff, even with all his faults, 
gives me more consolation than the most studied efforts 
of wisdom: I here behold an agreeable old fellow, 
forgetting age, and showing me the way to be young at 
sixty-five. Sure I am weU able to be as merry, though 
not so comical, as he. Is it not in my power to have, 
though not so much wit, ut least as much vivacity ?' 
Age, care, wisdom, reflection, be gone— I give you to the 
winds. Let 'shave t'other bottle: here 's to the memory 
of Shakespeare, Falstaff, and all the merry men of 
Such were the reflections that naturaUy arose while 


I sat at the Boar's Head Tavern, still kept at East- 
cheap. Here, by a pleasant fin., in the very room where 
oW Sir John Falstaff craeked his jokes, in the very 
chair which was sometimes honoured by Prince Henrv 
and sometimes polluted by his immortal merry com- 
panions, I sat and rnminated on the follies of youth ■ 
wi,she,l to l3e young again ; but was resolved to make 
the best of l,f„ while it lasted, and now ami then emn! 

mvlV^f/ , T""' ''"""' *"8''t'«''- I ™"«i'l«red 
myself as the only living representative of the old knieht 
and transported my imagination back to the times 

even debauchery not disgusting. The room also con- 
Bpired to throw my reflections back info antiquity : the 
oak floor, the Gothic windows, and the ponderou! 
chimney-pieee, had long withstood the tooth of time • 

stolT nff ""'" f"^ ^""^ ''''^"' '■ ™^ «°'"P«nio"« had ali 
lanHI f'T T" ""'" '"""'^'"^ '"h ">« but the 
landlord. From him I could have wished to know the 
history of a taveru that had such a long succession of 
customers. I eoidd not help thinking that an account of 
this kmd would be a pleasing contrast of the manners 
of different ages; but my landlord eould give me no 
mformation. He continued to doze and sot and tell 
a tedious story, as most other landlords usually do • 
and though he said nothing, yet was never silent : one' 
good joke followed another good joke ; and the best 
joke of all was generally begun towards the end of 
a bottle. I found at last, however, his wine and his 
conversation operate by degrees. He insensibly began 
to alter his appearance : his cravat seemed quilled tato 
a ruff, and h^ br^ehes swelled out into a fardingale. 
I now fancied him changing sexes : and, as my eves 
began to close in slumber, I imagined my fat landlord 
actually converted into as fat a landlady. However 



sleep made but few changes in my situation : the tavern, 
the apartment and the table, continued as before; 
nothing suffered mutation but my host, who was fairly 
altered into a gentlewoman, whom I knew to be Dame 
Quickly, mistress of this tavern in the days of Sir John ; 
and the liquor we were drinking, seemed converted into 
sack and sugar. 

' My dear Mrs. Quickly,' cried I (for I knew her 
perfectly well at first sight), ' I am heartily glad to see 
' you. How have you left Falstaff, Pistol, and the rest of 
• our friends below stairs ? Brave and hearty, I hope ? ' 
_'In good sooth," replied she, 'he did deserve to 
' live for ever ; but he maketh foul work on't where he 
= hath flitted. Queen Proserpine and he have quarrelled 
'for his attempting a rape upon her divinity; and 
' were it not that she stiU had bowels of compassion, 
■ it more than seems probable he might have been now 
' sprawling in Tartarus.' 

I now found that spirits stiU preserve the fraUties of 

the flesh ; and that, according to the laws of criticism 

and dreaming, ghosts have been known to be guilty of 

even more than platonio affection : wherefore, as I found 

her too much moved on such a topic to proceed, I was 

resolved to change the subject ; and desiring she would 

pledge me in a bumper, observed, with a sigh, that our 

sack was nothing now to what it was in former days : 

• Ah Mrs. Quickly, those were merry times when you 

' drew sack for Prince Henry : men were twice as strong, 

' and twice as wise, and much braver, and ten thousand 

•times more charitable, than now. Those were the 

' times ! The Battle of Agincourt was a victory indeed ! 

' Ever since that we have only been degenerating ; and 

' I have lived to see the day when drinking is no longer 

' fashionable ; when men wear clean shirts, and women 

'show their necks and arms. All are degenerated. 


'Mrs. Quickly; and we shall probably, in another 
' century, be frittered away into beaux or monkcj-s. Had 
' you been on earth to see what I have seen, it would 
' congeal all the blood in your body (your soul, I mean). 
'Why, our very nobility now have the intolerable 
■' arrogance, in spite of what is every day remonstrated 
' from the press ; our very nobility, I say, have the 
' assurance to frequent assemblies, and presume to be as 
' merry as the vulgar. See, my very friends have scarce 
' manhood enough to sit to it till eleven ; and I only am 
' left to make a night on 't. Prithee do me the favour 
' to console me a little for their absence by the story 
' of your own adventures, or the history of the tavern 
' where we are now sitting : I fancy the narrative may 
' have something singular.' 

' Observe this apartment,' interrupted my companion ; 
'of neat device and excellent workmanship — In this 
' room I have lived, child, woman, and ghost, more than 
' three hundred years : I am ordered by Pluto to keep 
' an annual register of every transaction that passed here ; 
'and I have whilom compiled three hundred tomes, 
'which eftsoons may be submitted to thy regards.' 
' None of your whiloms or eftsoons, Mrs. Quickly, if you 
I please,' I replied : ' I know you can talk every whit as 
' well as I can ; for, as you have lived here so long, it 
' is but natural to suppose you should learn the con- 
' versation of the company. Believe me, dame, at best, 
' you have neither too much sense nor too much language 
' to spare ; so give me both as well as you can : but, 
' first, my service to you : old women should water their 
' clay a little now and then ; and now to your story.' 

' The story of my own adventures,' replied the vision, 
' is but short and unsatisfactory ; for, believe me, 
' Mr. Rigmarole, believe me, a woman with a butt of 
'sack at her elbow is never long-lived. Sir ujhn's 




'death afflicted mo to such a degree, that I sincerely 
' believe, to drown sorrow, I drank more liquor myself 
' than I drew for my customers : my grief was sincere, 
' and the sack was excellent. The prior of a neigh- 
' bouring convent (for our priors then had as much power 
' as a Middlesex justice now), he, I say, it was who gave 
'me a licence for keeping a disorderly house, upon 
■ condition, that I should never make hard barga-ns with 
' the clergy, that he should have a bottle of sack every 
'morning, and the liberty of confessing which of my 
' girls he thought proper in private every night. I had 

* continued, for several years, to pay this tribute ; and 
'he, it must be confessed, continued as rigorously to 
' exact it. I grew old insensibly ; my customers con- 
' tinned, however, to compliment my looks while I was 
' by, but I could hear them say I was wearing when my 
' back was turned. The priot, however, still was constant, 
' and 80 were half his convent : but one fatal morning 
' he missed the usual beverage ; for I had incautiously 
' drank over night the last bottle myself. What will you 
' have on 't ? — ^The very next day Doll Tearsheet and 
' I were sent to the house of correction, and accused of 
' keeping a low bawdy-house. In short, we were so well 

* purified there with stripes, mortification, and penance, 
' that we were afterwards utterly unfit for worldly 
' conversation : though sack would have killed me, had 
'I stuck to it, yet I soon died for want of a drop of 
' something comfortable, and fairly left my body to the 
' care of the beadle. 

' Such is my own history ; but that of the tavern, 
' where I have ever since been stationed, affords greater 
' variety. In the history of this, which is one of the 
' oldest in London, you may view the different manners, 
' pleasu- J, and follies, of men at different periods. You 
' will find mankind neither better nor worse now than 


• oZ T ''? « r'"'^- '' '" ""' '«""<' '"xu2y which 
formeriy stuffed your alderman with plum.portd«e 
and now crams him with turtle It is til ^ ,«"' 

;ambi,.on that formerly ind.L'd a etHiX";^ 
h.H rehgion to please his king, and now persuaderh,™ 

_ o „p h.s conscience to please his m^is'r it ™ 

hi. to m.k. h„ ,<>,k jiiij, „ j^ . M 

Ita „™ M,, „j ,1,, „_ „„]y TpS™ 

■ *r;,r„s :m' •" «'- ^ '■*-"' 

V you please then, sir,' returned my companion ' I'll 

, read you an abstract which I made of L thTkuM 

volumes I mentioned just now.' Hundred 

'My body was no sooner laid in the dust than tl, 

pnor and several of his convent came o puS he 

hlled It. Masses were said in every room relics were 
. ^^PO^ed upcn every piece of fumitL, ank tie wlo^ 
house washed with a deluge of h;iy.wate . My 
habitation was soon converted into a monastcrv 

' 2 ;' m •'"''""'™ "°" *PP'^« f- «aek andtZ' 
my rooms were crowded with images, relics saints 
whore., and friars. Instead of bein^ a^c:„e of oecl-' 



' sional debauchery, it wuh now filled with continual 
' lewdness. The prior led the fashion, and the whole 
'convent imitated his pious example. Matrons came 
' hither to confess their sins, and to commit new. Virgins 
' came hither who seldom went virgins away. Nor was 
' this a convent peculiarly wicked ; every convent at 
' that period was equally fond of pleasure, and gave 
'a boundless loose to appetite. The laws allowed it; 
' each priest had a right to a favourite companion, and 
' a power of discarding her as often as he pleased. The 
•laity grumbled, quarrelled with their wives and 
' daughters, hated their confessors, and maintained them 
' in opulence and ease. These, these were happy times, 

• Mr. Rigmarole ; these were times of piety, bravery, 

• and simplicity ! '— ' Not so very happy, neither, good 
' madam ; pretty much like the present ; those that 

• labour starve, and those that do nothing wear fine 
' clothes and live in luxury.' 

* In this manner the fathers lived, for some years, 
'without molestation; they transgressed, confessed 
'themselves to each other, and were forgiven. One 
' evening, however, our prior keeping a lady of distinction 
' somewhat too long at ooufession, her husband unex- 
' pectedly came upon them, and testified all the indigna- 
' tion which was natural upon such an occasion. The 
' prior assured the gentleman that it was the devil who 
' hud put it into his heart ; nd the lady was very 
' certain, that she was under the influence of magic, or 
' she could never have behaved in so unfaithful a manner. 
' The husband, however, was not to be put off by such 
' evasions, but summoned both before the tribunal of 
'justice. His proofs were flagrant, and he expected 
' large damages. Such, indeed, he had a right to expect, 
* were the tribuna: i of those days constituted in the same 
' manner as they are now. The cause of the priest was to 

' be tried )K;foro an assembly of prieslH ; and a layman 
^ was to exjwct redress only from their impartiality and 
candour. What plea then do you think the prior nmdo 
^ to obviate this accusation 1 He denied the fact, and 
_ challenged the plaintiff to try the merits of their cause 
^ by smgle combat. It was a little hard, you may be 
sure, upon the poor gentleman, not only to be made 
a cuckold, but to bo obliged to fight » duel into the 
bargam ; yet such was the justice of the times. The 
prior threw down his glove, and the injured husband 
^ was obliged to take it up, ui token of his accepting the 
_ challenge. Upon this the priest supplied his champion 
for It was not lawful for the clergy to fight ; and the 
defendant and plaintiff, according to custom, were put 
^ m prison ; both ordered to fast and pray, every method 
_ bemg previously used to induce both to a confession of 
^ the truth. After a month's imprisonment, the hair of 
^ each "as cut, the bodies anointed with oil, the field of 
_ battle appointed and guarded by soldiers, while his 
niajesty presided over the whole in person. Both the 
^ champions were sworn not to seek vietory either by 
fraud or magic. They prayed and confessed upon their 
^ knees ; and after these ceremonies, the rest was left 
^ to the courage and conduct of the combatants. As th» 
champion whom the prior had pitched upon ha 
_ fought SIX or eight times upon similar occasions it wa. 
_ no way extraordinary ♦.o find him victorious in the 
present combat. In short, the husband was dis- 
comfited; he was taken from the field of battle. 
_ stripped to his shirt, and, after one of his legs was 
cut off, as justice ordained in such cases, he was 
_ hanged as a ten-or to future offenders. These these 
_ were the times, Mr. Rigmarole ; you see how' much 
_ inore just, and wise, and valiant, our ancestors were 
than us.'— 'I rather fancy, madam, that the times 



' lhe;i were pretty much like our own ; where a mult'- 
' plicity of lawH give a judge as much power a8 a want 
' of law ; since he is ever sure to find among the number 
' some to countenance his partiality.' 

' Our convent, victorious over their enemies, now gave 
' a loose to every demonstration of joy. The lady 
' became a nun, the pri r was made a bishop, and three 
' Wiokliflitcs were bunied in the illuminations and fire- 
' works that were made on the present occasion. Our 
' convent now began to enjoy a very high degree of 
' reputation. There was not one in London that had 
' the character of hating heretics so much as ours. LaJies 
' of the first distinction chose from our convent their 
' confessors ; in short, it floarithed, and might have 
' flourished to this hour, but for a fatal accident which 
' terminated in its over'hrow. The lady, whom the prior 
' had placed in a nunnery, and whom he continued to 
' visit for some time with great punctuality, began at 
' last to perceive that she was quite forsaken. Secluded 
'from convert tion, as usual, she now entertained the 
' visions of a devotee ; found herself strangely disturbed ; 
' but hesitated in determining, whether she was possessed 
' by an angel or a demon. She was not long in suspense ; 
' for upon vomiting a large quantity of crooked pins, and 
' finding the palms of her hands turned outwards, she 
' quickly concluded that she was possessed by the devil. 
' She soon lost entirely the use of speech ; and, when she 
' seemed to speak, everybody that was present perceived 
' that her voice was not her own, but that of the devil 
' within her. In short, she was bewitched ; and all the 
' difficulty lay in determining who it could be that 
' bewitched her. The nuns and the monks all demanded 
' the magician's name, but the devil made no reply ; for 
' he knew they had no authority to ask questions. By 
' the rules of witchcraft, when au evil spirit has taken 


;po»e«^n, he may r^fuBo to „,.wor any queBtionn 
a*kcd h.m. unlesH they are put by a binhop and to 
the* ho « obI.^.ed to «ply. A binhop. there ore wa» 
Hent or, and now the whole Bc.cret came out : Z'ilril 

^ reluctantly owned that ho wan a servant of the priol 

_ tion , and that, without hin command, he was resolved 

• he ZvlTTT- l*"" ^''^"^ """ «" "We exorcist ; 
he dreve the dev.l out by force of mystical arms ; the 

• sZL V""'^''' '"' *'*"''"™" = ^^-^ Witnesses were 
strong and numerous against him, not less than fourteen 
persons bemg by who heard the devil talk Latin. Theio 
was no resisting such a cloud of witnesses ; the prior 

^ was condemned ; and he ^. ho had assisted at so mTny 
'timTM' T ''"'T"' '•''""^" ^ *"">• These were 
_ not mfidels as now, but sincere believcw ! •_' Equally 
faulty with ourselves; they believed what the devil 
was pleased to teU them ; and we seem resolved, 2 
last, to believe neither God nor devil- 

• I'^J'^f " t^^ "P"" ""^ •'°"^«"'- " «•«« not to be 

■ Z^/ T"^^ '"^''* ''"y '""««' : 'he fathers were 

ordered to decamp, and the house was once again 

_ of his cast-off mistresses ; she was constituted landlady 

neghbourhood of the court, and the mistress a very 
_ pohte woman, it began to have more business than ever 

and sometimes took not less than four shillings a day.' 
_ But perhaps you are desirous of knowing what wer" 
_ the peculiar qualifications of women of fashion at that 
■ ^ ,; u ^ " ^^^O'-'Ption of the present landlady, 
_ you wiU have a tolerable idea of all the rest. This lady 
_ was the daughter of a nobleman, and received such an 

education m the country as became her quality 



' beauty, iiiul groat cxiK-ctationi. She could make 
' Hhi(t» uiul how) for herwlf ami all the wrvanlH of the 
■ family, wlicu tihc wan twelve ycain old. fShe knew the 
' iiamoB of the four and twenty lettern, ho that it waH 
' impoHMiblc to bewitch her ; and thin wa» a greater 
' piece of learning than any lady ii' the whole country 
' could pn tend to. She wa» alwavH up early, and now 
' brcakfa»t servetl in the great hall by six o'clock. At 
' this Hocno of fcKtivity Hho generally improved good 
' humour, by telling her dreams, relating Btorics of 
' spirits, several of v.hich she herself had seen, and oiio 
' of which she was reported to have killed with a blacfi- 
' hafted knife. From hence she usually went to make 
' pastry in the larder, and hero she was followed by her 
' sweethearts, who were much helped on in conversation 
' by struggling with her fof kissos. About ten. Miss 
' generally went to play at hot-cockles ,\nd blindman's 
' buff in the parlour ; and when the young folks (for 
' they seldom played at hot-cockles when grown old) 
' were tired of such amusements, the gentlemen enter- 
' taincd Miss with the history of their greyhounds, 
' bear-baitings, and victories at cudgel-playing. If the 
' weather was fine, they ran at the ring, shot at butts, 
' while Miss held in her hand a ribbon, with which she 
' adorned the conqueror. Her mental qualifications were 
' exactly fitted to her external accomplishments. Before 
' she was fifteen, she could tell the story of Jack the 
' Giant Killer, could name every mountaiii that was 
' inhabited by fairies, knew a witch at first sight, and 
* could repeat four Latin prayers without a prompter. 
' Her dress was perfectly fashionable ; her arms and her 
' hair were completely covered ; a monstrous ruff was 
' put round her neck ; so that her head seemed like that 
' of John the Baptist placed in a charger. In short, 
' when completely equipped, her appearance was so very 

I modct, that »ho diKiovcrcU little n.oit. thu.i her noK) 
Tht.e wore the timen. Mr. Rigmarole; wh... every 
lady that had a g,xxl no«o .night «..t up f„r « beauty • 
when every woman thnt could t,.|| »t..rieH might u! 
cned up for a wit.'-' I „„, ar much <lfspU.a„c.,l at tho«<. 
.re««c« wluoh c .ccnl t.K. ,„uch, an «t thone whieh 
d.Hcover too much : I „.„ equally ..n enen.y to a female 
ilunco or a female pedunt.' 

. ' ^°" T^ ^ """^ ">at MiBH ehoHC- a huHban.l with 
^ quahfications re»embling her own ; »he pit,.|,ed u|H,n 
_ a courtier, equally remarkable for hunting an.l drinking 

^ the daughtcn. of his tenants ond domenticH. They fell 
_ m love at first H^gh'. (for such was the gallantry of the 
times) wore married, came to court, and Madam 
appeared with superior qualifications. The king was 
struck with her beauty. All property was t the king's 
command ; the husband was obliged to resign aU 
pretensions in his wife to the sovereign whom God had 
^omted, to commit adultery where he thought proper. 
The kmg loved her for some time ; but at length 
repentmg of his misdeeds, and instigated by his father- 
confessor, from a principle of conscience, removed her 
from his levee to the bar of this tavern, and took a new 
mistress in her stead. Ut it not surprise you to 
^ behold the mistifiss of a king degraded to so humble an 
_ oflice. As the ladies had no mental accomplishments 
_ a good face was enough to raise them to the royal 
couch; and she who was this day a royal mistres., 
might the next, when her beauty palled ujwn enjoy- 
mcnt, be doomed to infamy and want. 
_ 'Under the care of this lady, the tavern grew into 
^ great reputation ; the courtiers had not yet learned to 
^ game, but they paid it off by drinking : drunkenness is 
ever the vice of a barbarous, and gaming of a luxurious. 

H ' 



' age. Thoy hail not mich frequent entertainmrntM bn 
■ the modcmH have, but were luoro cxpt-UHivo anU nioro 
' luxuriouH in thuno they hud. All their foolerioH were 
' more claburute, and more adinin-d by the xrcut and 
' the vulgar than now. A courtier huit Ixt-n known to 
' »pcnd hiH whole fortune at a Mingle feuHt, a king to 
< mortgage hiii dominiouii to fumiiih out the fripiwry of 
' a tournament. There were certain days oppointcd for 
' riot and debi uchery, and ti Hober at Huch timcM wok 
' reputed a crime. KingH ti..uiiielvc8 net the example ; 
' and I have Keen monaroh« in thiv room drunk before 
' the entertainment wan half com 'uded. Those were the 
' times, sir, when kingx kept miHtrcwicB, and got drunk in 
' public ; they were too plain and simple in those happy 
' times to hide their vices, and oct the hypocrite, as now.' 
— ' Lord ! Mrs. Quickly,' intciTupting her, * I expected 
* to have heard a story, and hero you are going to i. :i 
' me I know not what of times and vices ; prithee let 
'mo entreat thee once moits to waive reflc-'' ;, and 
' give thy history without deviation.' 

' No lady upon earth,' continued my visiomi ' corre- 
spondent, ' knew how to put off her damaged vine or 
' women with more art than she. When these grew 
' flai, or those paltry, it was but changing the names ; 
' the wine became excellent, and the girls agreeable. She 
'was also nossessed of i lo engaging leer, the, chuck 
' under the chin, winked at a double entendre, could 
' nick the opportunity of calling for something comfort- 
' able, and perfectly understood the discreet moments 
' when to withdraw. The gallants of those times pretty 
' much resembled the bloods of ours ; they were fond 
' of pleasure, but quite ignorant of the art of refining 
' upon it : thus a court-bawd of those times resembled 
' the common low-lived tiarridan of a modem 'oignio. 
' Witness, ye powers of debauchery, how often I have 


; been pH-Hcnt at the varioun appt-oruncfH of Urunkcno^H 
• huln" « ""•' '"'••'"^ ' ^ '-■-"' '« » true ,"£ " ; 

Upon th,. |a<|y , dccoaw tho w«. Huccx.H«ivelv 
occupied by adventumn. hnlli... „: "uttT-wiivny 

lowardH tho concluwon of the reign of Henry V IlgnminB 

' r^^l * them«<.lveH have Uen known to play off 
at ftimcro, not only all tho ...oney and jomlH thev 

a»t Henry pi„yed ^way, in thin very roon,, not onl^ 

"nago of St. Paul, which Htood upon the top of tho 

• ne" da°v " ''^''^^JT'"''- -"« '-" them d':! he 
next day, and »old them by auction. Have you then 
, any oau«, to «gret being born in the timen y^u fow 
•a Z of th r"* "'"'^ "'"'• " *" "•'^^'vo the 
••".ir^ found'' «'•> ?*"* '" ■"»"''""•• >°"^ '"'-'"«™ 

•i^^lotl than Vr «'°""' ■'^"''- «"d "-^-n 

tusnonest, than you. If, forsiking history wo onlv 

■ TJ^rzti '""" °' *""—"' ""'' ^^"^^S 

devoted to pleasure, and infmitely more «elfi«h. "^ 

The la«t h08te«8 of note I find upon record was 

'oMhe r"i "'^"''^ •""' <""-« ^« lower aX 
of he people; and, by frugality and extreme com 

th«, she might have enjoyed for many yean., had .he 
not^fortunatelyquarrelled with one o^herncighlr 

• thr^rr ° T '" '''8'' ™P"t« '0^ sanctity throuS 
the whole par«h. In the times of which I «Jeak two 
«omca seldom nuarrelled, that one did not accuse the 



'other of witchcraft, and she who first contrived to 
' vomit croolied pins was sure to come off victorious. 
' The scandal of a modem tea-table differs widely from 
' the scandal of former times : the fascination of a lady's 
' eyes, at present, is regarded as a compliment ; but if 
' a lady, formerly, should be accused of having witchcraft 
' in her eyes, it were much better, both for her soul and 
' body, that she had no eyes at all. 

' In short, Jane Rouse was accused of witchcraft ; and, 
' though she made the best defence she could, it was all 
' to no purpose ; she was taken from her own bar to 

• the bar of the Old Bailey, condemned, and executed 
' accordingly. These were times, indeed ! when even 
' women could not scold in safety. 

' Since her time the tavern underwent several revolu- 

• tions, according to the spirit of the times, or the dis- 
' position of the reigning monarch. It was this day 
' a brothel, and the next a conventicle for enthusiasts. 
' It was one year noted for harbouring Whigs, and the 

• next infamous for a retreat to Tories. Some years ago 
' it was in high vogue, but at present it seems declining. 
' This only may be remarked m general, that whenever 
'taverns flourish most, the times are then most ex- 

' travagant and luxurious.' ' Lord ! Mrs. Quickly,' 

interrupted I, ' you have really deceived mo ; I expected 
' a romance, and here you have been this half-hour 
' giving me only a description of the spirit of the times : 
'if you have nothing but tedious remarks to com- 
' municate, seek some other hearer ; I am determined 
' to hearken only to stories.' 

I had scarce concluded, when my eyes and ears 
seemed opened to my landlord, who had been all this 
while giving me an account of the repairs he had made 
in the house, and was now got into the story of the 
cracked glass in the dining-room. 



[Altered from Lottcm XXIV ami LXVIII of The Cillzen nj Ihe World] 
Whatever may be the merits of the English in other 
sciences, they seem peculiarly excellent in the art of 
healing. There is scarcely a disorder incident to 
humanity, against which our advertising doctors are 
not possessed with a most infallible antidote. The 
professors of other arts confess the inevitable intricacy 
of things ; talk with doubt, and decide with hesita- 
tion ; but doubting is entirely unknown in medicine ; 
the advertising professors here delight in cases of 
difficulty : be the disorder never so desperate or radical, 
you will find numbers in every street, who, by levelling 
a pill at the part afliected, promise a certain cure, without 
loss of time, knowledge of a bedfellow, or hindrance of 

When I consider the assiduity of this profession, their 
benevolence amazes me. They not only, in general, 
give their medicines for half value, but use the most 
persuasive remonstrances to induce the sick to come 
and be cured. Sure there must be something strangely 
obstinate in an English patient, who refuses so much 
health upon such easy terms ! Does he take a pride in 
being bloated with a dropsy ? Does he find pleasure in 
the alternations of an intermittent fever ? or feci as 
much satisfaction in nursing up his gout, as he found 
pleasure in acquiring it ? He must, otherwise he would 
never reject such repeated assurances of instant relief. 
What can be more convincing than the manner in which 
the sick are invited to be well ? The doctor first begs 
the most earnest attention of the public to what he 
is going to propose ; ho solemnly affirms the pill was 



never found to want success ; he produces a list of those 
who have been rescued from the grave by taking it. Yet, 
notwithstanding all this, there are many here who now 
and then think proper to be sick. Only sick ! did I say ? 
There are some who even think proper to die. Yes, 
by the head of Confucius, they die ; though they might 
have purchased the health-restoring specific for half 
a crown at every comer. 

I can never enough admire the sagacity of this country 
for the encouragement given to the professors of this art. 
With what indulgence does she foster up those of her 
own growth, aij'l kindly cherish those that come from 
abroad ! Like a skilful gardener, she invites them from 
every foreign climate to herself. Here every great exotic 
strikes root as soon as imported, and feels the geni> 
beam of favour ; while the mighty metropolis, like one 
vast munificent dunghill, receives them indiscriminately 
to her breast, and supplies each with more than native 

In other countries, the physician pretends to cure 
disorders in the lump : the same doctor who combats 
the gout in the toe, shall pretend to prescribe for a pain 
in the head ; and he who at one time cures a consump- 
tion, shall at another give drugs for a dropsy. How 
absurd and ridiculous ! This is being a mere jack of all 
trades. Is the animal machine less complicated than 
a brass pin ? Not less than ten different hands are 
required to make a brass pin ; and shall the body be set 
right by one single operator ? 

The English are sensible of the force of this reasoning ; 
they have therefore one doctor for the eyes, another for 
the toes ; they have their sciatica doctors, and inocula- 
ting doctors ; they have one doctor who is modestly 
content with securing them from bug-bites, and five 
hundred who prescribe for the bite of mad dogs. 


But as nothing pleases curiosity more than anecdotes 
of the great, however minute or trifling, I must present 
you, madequate as my abilities are to the subject with 
an account of one or two of those personages who lead 
m this honourable profession. 

The first upon the list of glory is Doctor Richard Rock 
This great man is short of stature, is fat, and waddles 
as he walks. He always wears a white three-tailed wig 
nicely combed, and frizzled upon each check. Some- 
times he carries a cane, but a hat never; it is indeed 
very remarkable that this extraordinarv personage 
should never wear a hat, but so it is; a hat he never 
wears. He is usually drawn, at the top of his own bills 
sittmg in his arm-chair, holding a little bottle between 
his finger and thumb, and surrounded with rotten teeth 
nippers, pills, packets, and gallipots. No man can 
promise fairer or better than he ; for, as he observes, 
^ Be your disorder never so far gone, be under no un' 
' easiness, make yourself quite easy, I can cure you.' 

The next in fame, though by some reckoned of equal 
pretensions, is Doctor Timothy Franks, living in the 
Old Bailey. As Rock is remarkob'v squab, his great 
rival Pranks is remarkably tall, he was Ijom in the 
year of the Christian era 1602, and is, MhUe I now 
write, exactly sixty-eiglit years, three months and four 
days old. Age, however, has no ways impair-d his usual 
health and vivacity ; I am told he generally walks with 
his breast open. This gentleman, who is of a mixed 
reputation, is particulariy remarkable for a becoming 
assurance, which carries him gently through life ; for, 
except Doctor Rock, none are more blessed with the 
advantage of face than Doctor Franks. 

And yet the great have their foibles as well as the 
little. I am almost ashamed to mention it— let the 
foibles of the great rest in peace— yet I must impart the 


whole. These two great men are actually now at 
variance ; like mere men, mere common mortals. Bock 
advises the world to beware of bog-trotting quacks ; 
Franks retorts the wit and the sarcasm, by fixing on 
his rival the odious appellation of Dumpling Dick. He 
calls the serious Doctor Rock, Dumplin Dick ! What 
profanation ! Dumplin Dick ! What a pity, that the 
learned, who were bom mutually to assist in enlighten- 
ing the world, should thus differ among themselves, and 
make even the profession ridiculous ! Sure the world is 
wide enough, at least, for two great personages to figiu^ 
in ; men of science should leave controversy to the V*tle 
world below them ; and then we might see Rock and 
Franks walking together, hand in hand, smiling, onward 
to immortality. 


I AM fond of amusement, in whatever company it is 
to be found ; and wit, though dressed in rags, is ever 
pleasing to me. I went some days ago to take a walk 
in St. James's Park, about the hour in which company 
leave it to go to dinner. There were but few in the 
walks, and those who stayed, seemed by their looks 
rather more willmg to forget that they had an appetite 
than gain one. I sat down on one of the benches, at the 
other end of which was seated a man in very shabby 

We continued to groan, to hem, and to cough, as 
usual upon such occasions ; and, at last, ventured upon 
conversation. ' I beg pardon, sir,' cried I, ' but I think 
' I have seen you I jfore ; your face is familiar to me.' 
' Yes, sir,' replied he, ' I have a good familiar faoe, as 


' my friends tell me. I am as well known in every town 
' in England as the dromedary, or live crocodile. You 
' must understand, sir, that I have been these sixteen years 
' Merry Andrew to a puppet-show; last Bartholomew Fair 
' my master and I quarrelled, boat each other, and parted ; 
' he to sell his puppets to the pincushion-makers in' 
' Rosemary Lane, and I to starve in St. James's Park.' 

' I am sorry, sir, that a person of your appearance 
' should labour under any difficulties.' ' 0, sir,' returned 
he, ' my appearance is very much at your service ; but 
^ though I cannot boast of eating much, yet there are 
' few that are merrier : if I had twenty thousand a year, 
' I should be very merry ; and, thank the fates, though 
^ not worth a groat, I am very merry still. If I have 
' three-pence in my pocket, I never refuse to be ray 
' three halfpence ; and if I have no money, I never 
' scorn to be treated by any that are kind enough to 
' pay my reckoning. What think you, sir, of a steak 
' and a tankard ? You shall treat me now, and I will 
' treat you again when I find you in the Park in love 
' with eating, and without money to pay for a dinner.' 

As I never refuse a small expense for the sake of a 
merry companion, we instantly adjourned to a neigh- 
bouring alehouse, and in a few moments had a frothing 
tankard and a smoking steak spread on the table before 
us. It is impossible to express how much the sight of 
such good cheer improved my companion's vivacity. 
'I like this dinner, sir,' says he, 'for three reasons: 
' first, because I am naturally fond of beef ; secondly, 
' because I am hungry ; and, thirdly and lastly, because 
^ I get it for nothing : no meat eats so sweet as that for 
' which we do not pay.' 

He therefore now fell to, and his appetite seemed to 

correspond « ith his inclination. After dinner was over, 

observe that the steak was tough ; ' and yet, sir,' 



returns he, ' bad aa it was, it seemed a rump-steak to 
• me. Oh, the delights of poverty and a good appetite ! 
' We beggars ore the very foundlings of Nature ; the 
' rich she treats lilte an arrant stepmother ; they are 
' pleased with nothing : cut a steak from what part you 
' will, and it is insupportably tough ; dress it up with 
' pickles, — even pickles cannot procure them an appetite. 
' But the whole creotion is filled with good things for 
' the beggar ; Calvert's butt out-tastes champagne, and 
'Sedgeley's home-brewed excels tokay. Joy, joy, my 
' blood ! though our estates lie nowhere, we have fortunes 
' wherever we go. If an inundation sweeps away half 
' the grounds of Cornwall, I om content ; I have no 
' lands there : if the stocks sink, that gives me no 
' uneasiness ; I am no Jew'.' The fellow's vivacity, 
joined to his poverty, I own, raised my curiosity to 
know something of his life and circumstances,; and I 
entreated that he would indulge my desire. — ' That I will 
' sir,' said he, ' and welcome ; only let us drink to prevent 
'our sleeping; let us have another tankard while we 
' are awake ; let us have another tankard ; for, ah, how 
' charming a tankard looks when full ! 

' You must know, then, that I am very well descended ; 
' my ancestors have made some noise in the world ; for 
' my mother cried oysters, and my father beat a drum : 
' I am told we have even had some trumpeters in our 
' family. Many a nobleman cannot show so respectful 
' a genealogy : but that is neither here nor there. As 
' I was their only child, my father designed to breed me 
' up to his own employment, v/hich was that of drummer 
' to a puppet-show. Thus the whole employment of my 
' younger years was that of interpreter to P>unch and 
' King Solomon in all his glory. But, though my father 
' was very fond of instructing me in beating all the 
'marches and points of war, I made no very great 



'progress, because I naturally had no ear for music • 
' 2 ? h ; "'" "l '''""' ' "«"* -'"'• '-^ fori sTdlr" 

' that i't^n^L""" *"""■"« " ''"""- «" ^ «-" '- d 

ttet I disliked carrying a musket also; neither the 
one trade nor the other was to my taste, for I wt! 

obliged to obey my captain ; he has his will, I hive 

■rmant^;^! I "'^' """=•* """'^ -mfortable for 
a man to obey his own will than another's. 

Ihe life of a soldier soon therefore gave me the 

' tTtal and^'t '^"^ *° ''''' ''^ ^^'^ "*•' 
' kiTd intl. T^' ""^ ""P*"*" *'>»"''^'J me for my 

kmd intention, and said, because he had a regard for 
, me, we should not part. 1 wrote to my fathTa very 
_ dismal penitent letter, and desired Uiat he wouW 

■ mTwT"% *°.T. '"' -"^ '*'-»'-«« ■' but the Tot 
man was as fond of drinking as I was (Sir, my service Z 


' Zh t1 ^''^* """Id be done ? If I haye not money 
said I to myself, to pay for my discharge ImuTt 
find an equiyalent some other way ; and tha musTte 
by runmng away. I deserted, and that answered my 


■mienf / 1 ^ oyertaken, took the most infre 

' to^ T; P'T'"!!'* "«'"■ ^bom I afterwards founi 
to be the curate of the parish, thrown from his horse 

He desired my assistance ; I gaye it, and drew him out 
with some difficulty. He thanked me for my troTible 



' and was going off ; but I followwl him home, for I 
' loved alwayH to have a man thanic me at hiH own door. 
' The curate aslced an hundred qucotionx ; as, whose son 
' I was ; from whence I came ; and whether I would 
' be faithful ? I answered hiin greatly to his satisfaction, 
' and gave myself one of the best characters in the 
' world for sobriety fSir, I have the honour of drinking 
' your health), discretion, and fidelity. To make a long 
' story short, he wanted a servant, and hired me. With 
' him I lived but two months ; we did not much like 
' each other ; I was fond of eating, and he gave me 
' but little to eat : I loved a pretty girl, and the old 
' woman, my fellow servant, was ill-natured and ugly. 
' As they endeavoured to starve me between them, 
' I made a pious resolution to prevent their committing 
' murder ; I stole the eggs as soon as they were laid ; 
' I emptied every unfinished' bottle that I could lay my 
' hands on ; whatever eatable came in my way was 
' sure to disappear : in short, they found I would not 
' do ; so I was discharged one morning, and paid three 
' shillings and sixpence for two months' wages. 

'While my money was getting ready, I employed 
' myself in making preparations for my departure ; 
' two hens were hatching in an out-house ; I went and 
' habitually took the eggs ; and, not to separate the 
' parents from the children, I lodged hens and all in my 
' knapsack. After this piece of frugality, I returned to 
' receive my money, and, with my knapsack on my back, 
' and a staff in my hand, I bid adieu, with tears in my eyes, 
' to my old benefactor. I had not gone far from the 
' house when I heard behind me the cry of " Stop 
' thief ! " but this only increased my dispatch ; it would 
' have bjen foolish to stop, as I knew *^- voice could 
' not be levelled at me. But hold, I thii. ^ passed those 
' two months at the curate's without drinking. Come, 


' the timeH aro dry, and may tniH bo my poiHon if ever 
' I spent two more piouH, utupid months in nil my life. 

' Well, after travelling Honic days, whom should I 
^ hght upon but a compony of strolling players. The 
' moment I how them at a distance my heart warmed to 
' them ; I had n sort of natural love for evervthing of the 
' vagabond order: they were employed in settling their 
' baggage, which had been overturned in a narrow way ; 
' I offered my assistance, which they accepted ; and we 
' soon became so well acquainted, that they took me as 
' a servant. This was a paradise to me ; they sung 
' danced, drank, eat, and travelled, all at the same time! 
' By the blood of the Mirabels, I thought I had never 
' lived till then ; I grew as merry as a grig, and laughed 
at every word that was simken. They liked mo as 
^ much as I liked them ; I was a very good figure, as 
' you see ; and, though I was poor, I was not modest. 

' I love a straggling life above all things in the world ; 
' sometimes good, sometimes bad ; to be warm to-day,' 

■ and cold to-morrow ; to eat when one can get it, and 
' drink when (the tankard is out) it stands before me. 
_ We arrived that evenmg at Tcnderdcn, and took a 
' large room at the Greyhound, where we resolved to 

■ exhibit Romeo and Juliet, with the funeral procession, 
' the grave, and the garden scene. Romeo was to be 
' performed by a gentleman from the Theatre Royal in 
' Drury Lane ; Juliet by a lady who had never appeared 
^ on any stage before ; and I was to snuff the candles : 
' aU excellent in our way. We had figures enough, but 
^ the diificulty was to dress them. The same coat'that 
' served Romeo, turned with the blue lining outwards, 
' served for his friend Mercutio : a large piece of crape 
' sufficed at once for Juliet's petticoat and pall : a pestle 

and mortar, from a neighbouring apothecary's, answered 
' aU the purposes of a bell ; and our landlord's own 



family, wrapped in white sheets, served to fill up the 
procession. In short, there were but three figures 
among us that might bo said to bo dressed with any 
propriety : I mean the nurse, the starved apothecary, 
and myself. Our performance gave universal satis- 
faction : the whole audience were enchanted with our 
powers, and Tendcrden is a town of taste. 

' There is one rule by which a strolling player may bo 
ever secure of succes!* ; that is, in our theatrical way of 
expressing it, to make a great deal of the character. 
To speak and act cs in common life, is not playing, nor 
is it what people come to see : natural sopaking, like 
sweet wine, runs glibly over the palate, and scaioe 
leaves any taste behind it ; but being high in a part 
resembles vinegar, which grates upon the taste, and 
one feels it while he is drinking. To please in town or 
country, the way is, to cry, wring, cringe into attitudes, 
mark the emphasis, slap the pockets, and labour like 
one in the falling sickness : that is the way to work 
for applause ; that is the way to gain it. 

' As we received much reputation for our skill on this 
first exhibition, it was but natural for me tu ascribe 
part of the success to myself : I snuffed the candles, 
and let me toll you, that without a candle-snuffer 
the piece would lose half its embellishments. In this 
manner we continued a fortnight, and drew tolerable 
houses ; but the evening before our intended departure, 
we gave out our very best piece, in which all our 
strength was to be exerted. We had great expectations 
from this, and even doubled our prices, when behold 
one of the principal actors fell ill of a violent fever. 
This was a stroke like thunder to our little company : 
t^' V were resolved to go, in a body, to scold the man 
for i.illing sick at so inconvenient a time, and that too 
of a disorder that threatened to be expensive ; I seized 


' the moment, and offered to act the iwrt myself in hi. 
Btead. The case was desiwrato ; thev accepted niy 
offer ; and I accordingly Hat down, with the part in 
my hand and a tankard before mo (Sir, health) 
and studied the character, which »«» to be rehearsed 
the next day, and played soon after. 
' r found my memory excessively hel|)ed by drinking • 
I Icarnwl my part with astonishing rapidiiy, and bid 
adieu to snuffing candles over after. I found that 
Mature had designed mo for more noble employments 
and I was resolved to take her when in the humour 
_ Wo got together in orrJer to r,.b,arse; and I informed mv 
_ companions, masters now no longer, of the surprisinjt 
chanfeo I felt within me. " Let the sick man," said 
_ 1, be under no uneasiness to get well again ; I'll fill 
_ his place to universal satisfaction : he may even die 
If he thinks proper; I'll engage that ho shall never 
_ be missed. I rehearsed before them, strutted, ranted 
and received applause. They soon gave out that a new 
_ actor of eminence was to appear, and immediately aU 
the genteel places were bespoke. Before I ascended 
^ the stage, however, I concluded within myself, that as 
_ 1 brought money to the house, I ought to have mv 
_ share in the profits. " Gentlemen," said I, addressing 
^ our company, " I don't pretend to direct you ; far be 
^ It from me to treat you with so much ingratitude • you 
_ have published my name in the bills with the utmost 
_ good nature ; and, as affairs stand, caimot act without 
^ me ; so, gentlemen, to show you my gratitude, I expect 
_ to be paid for my acting as much as anv of you, other- 
_ wise I declare off ; I'll brandish my snuffers, and clip 
candlesas usual." Thiswasaverydisagreeable proposal, 
^ but they found that it was impossible to refuse it • it 
^ was irresistible, it was adamant : they consented, and 
I went on in King Bajazet : mv frowning brown 



bound with a Ktocking ituflod into a turban, wbilv on 
my oaptiv'd armii I brandiKhotl a jack-chain. Nature 
Bcomed to haw fltted nio for the jMirt ; I whh tall, and 
hail a loud voice ; my wry entrance excited universal 
applauHo ; I looked round on the audience with a Huiile, 
and made a moHt low and graceful bow, for that in the 
rule among uh. Ah it wait a very jMNHiunato part, 
I invigorated my HpiritH with three full glaxiieH (the 
tankard i» alinoHt out) of brandy. By Allah 1 it is 
almoHt inconceivable how I went through it ; Tamer- 
lane waH but a fool to mo ; though ho wuh sometimes 
loud enough too, yet I was Htill louder than ho : but 
then, besideB, I uod attitudes in abundance : in general 
I kept my arms folded up thug upon the pit of my 
Htomach ; it i» the way at Drury Lane, and huH always 
a fine effect. The tankard would sink to the bottom 
before I could get through the whole of my merits : 
in short, I came off like a, prodigy ; and such was my 
success, that I could ravibh the laurels even from a 
sirloin of beef. The principal ger'Iemcn nnd ladies of 
the town came to me, after the play was over, to 
compliment me upon my success : one praised my 
voice, another my person. " Upon my word," says the 
squire's lady, " he will make one of the finest actors 
in Europe ; I say it, and I think I am something of 

a judge." Praise in the beginning is agreeable 

enough, and we receive it as a favour ; but when it 
comes in great quantities, we regard it only as a debt, 
which nothing but our merit could extort : instead of 
thanking them, I internally applauded myself. We 
were desired to give our piece a second time ; we 
obeyed, and I was applauded even more than before. 
' At last we left the town, in order to be at a horse- 
race at some distance from thence. I shall never 
think of Tenderden without tears of gratitude and 


' reii|iect. Tho lulicH aiul KcntUiiU'ii thfiv, take my word 
• for it, an- vi-r.v ({wkI judge* of plajH and a<t.irH. C'onu-, 
^ let UN drink tlu-ir heultliH, if you pkaw, xir. \Vi' quittwl 
' the town, I »ay ; and thrrt! whh a wide diffirc-mo 
' betwc'tn my coming iji and going out : 1 entered the 

' town a candle-»nu(Ier, and I (luittetl it an hero ; 

' Hueh iM tho world ; little to-day, and great to-morrow. 
' I could May a great deal more upon that HuhjccI ; 
' Homethiiig truly »ublime, iijion tho upn an<l downH of 
I fortune ; but it woukl give u» both the Hplccn, and no 
' I shall pa»B it over. 

• Tho raccH were ended before we arrived at the next 
^towii, which was no »mall diBappointment to our 
' company ; however, we were renolvcd to take all wo 
' could get. I played capital chnracterH there too, and 
I came off with my UHual brilliancy. I nincerely believe 
' I iihoujd have been tho first actor of Europe]^ had my 
'growing merit l-en properly cultivated; but there 
' came an unkindly frost, which nipped me in tho bud, 
'and levelled mo once more down to the common 
^ standard of humanity. I pli^yed Sir Harry Wildair ; 
' all the country ladies were charmed : if I but drew 
' out my snuff-box, tho whole house was in a roar of 
' rapture ; when I exercised my cudgel, I thought they 
' would have fallen into convulsions. 

• There was here a lady who had received an education 
' of nine months in London ; and this gave her pre- 
' tensions to taste, which rendered her the indisputable 
'mistress of the ceremonies wherever she came. She 
' was informed of my merits ; everybody praised me ; 
^ yet she refused at first going to see me perform : she 
' could not conceive, she said, anything but stuff from 
' a stroller ; talked something in praise of Garrick inj 
' amazed the ladies with her skill in enunciations, iMiea, 
' and cadences : she was at last, however, prevailed upon 



'to go ; and it was privately intimated to me what 
' a judge was to be present at my next exhibition : 
' however, no way intimidated, I came on in Sir Harry, 
' one hand stuck in my breeches, and the other in my 
' bosom, as usual at Drury Lane ; but, instead of looking 
' at me, I perceived the whole audience had their eyes 
' turned upon the lady who had been nine months in 
' London ; from her they expected the decision which 
' was to secure the general's truncheon in my hand, 
' or sink me down into a theatrical letter-carrier. I 
' opened my snuff-box, took snuff ; the lady was 
' solemn, and so were the rest ; I broke my cudgel on 
' Alderman Smuggler's back ; still gloomy, melancholy 
' all : the lady groaned and shrugged her shoulders ; 
' I attempted, by laughing myself, to excite at least 
' a smile ; but the devil a cheek could I perceive wrinkled 
' into sympathy : I found it would not do ; all my 
' good humour now became forced ; my laughter was 
' converted into hysteric grinning ; and, while I pre- 
' tended spirits, my eye showed the agony of my heart : 
' in short, the lady came with an intention to l)e dis- 
' pleased, and displeased she was ; my fame expired ; 
' I am here, and (the tankard is no more !) ' 




[From The Ladies^ Magazint\ 
When Catharina Alexowna was made Empress of 
Russia, the women were in an actual state of bondage, 
but she umdertook to introduce mixed assembUcs, as in 
other parts of Europe : she altered the women's dress 
by substituting the fashions of England ; instead of 
furs, she brought in the use of taffeta and damask ; and 


comets and commodes instead of caps of sable. The 
women now found themselves no longer shut up in 
separate apartments, but saw company, visited each 
other. ?;u; \\( -o present at every entertainment. 

Bu us the liiw ., i.j this effect were directed to a savage 
peop , if is amusi.ig enough, the manner in which the 
ordmi'.;./ r.ii). Assemblies were quite unknown among 
them ; the Czaruia was satisfied with introducing them, 
for she found it impossible to render them polite. An 
orduiance was therefore published according to their 
notions of breeding ; which, as it is a curiosity, and has 
never been before printed, that we know of, we shall 
give our readers. 

' I. The person at whoso house the assembly is to 
' be kept, shall signify the same by hanging out a bill, 
'or by giving some other public notice, by way of 
' advertisement, to iiersons of both sexes. 

' II. The assembly shall not be oix^n sooner than four 
' or five o'clock in the afternoon, nor continue longer 
' than ten at night. 

' III. The master of the house shall not be obliged to 
' meet his guests, or conduct them out, or keep them 
' company ; but, though he is exempt from all this, he 
' is to find them chairs, candles, liquors, and all other 
' necessaries that company may ask for : he is likewise 
' to provide them with cards, dice, and every necessary 
' for gaming. 

' IV. There shall be no fixed hour for coming or going 
' away; it is enough for a person to appear iirthe assembly. 

' V. Every one shall be free to sit, walk, or game, 
' as he pleases ; nor shall any one go about to hinder 
' him, or take exceptions at what he does, upon pain of 
' emptying the great eagle (a pint-bowl full of brandy) : 
' it shall likewise be sufficient, at entering or retiring, to 
' salute the company. 



' VI. Persons of diHtinction, noblemen, superior 
' officers, merchants, and tradesmen of note, head- 
' workmen, especially carpenters, and persons employed 
' in chancery, arc to have liberty to enter the assemblies ; 
' as likewise their wives and children. 

' VII. A particular place shall be assigned the foot- 
' men, except those of the house, that there may be room 
• enough in the apartments designed for the assembly. 

' VIII. No ladies are to get drunk upon any pretence 
' whatsoever, nor shall gentlemen be drunk before nine. 

' IX. Ladies who play at forfeitures, questions and 
•commands, &c. shall not be riotous: no gentleman 
' shall attempt to force a kiss, and no person shall offer 
' to strike a woman in the assembly, under pain of 
' future exclusion.' 

Such are the statutes upon this occasion, which, in 
their very appearance, carry an air of ridicule and 
satire. But politeness must enter every country by 
degrees ; and these rules resemble the breeding of a 
clown, awk'vard but sincere. 



[Altered from Letter CXIV of The Citizen 0/ tU H'orW] 

The formalities, delays, and disappointments, that 
precede a treaty of marriage here, are usually as numerous 
as those previous to a treaty of peace. The laws of this 
country are finely calculated to promote all commerce 
but the commerce between the sexes. Their encourage- 
ments for propagating hemp, madder, and tobacco, are 
indeed admirable ! Marriages are the only commodity 
that meets with discouragement. 

Yet, from the vernal softness of the air, the verdure of 



the fields, the transparency of the streams, and the 
beauty of the women, I know few countries more proper 
to invite to courtship. Here Love might sport among 
painted lawns and warbling groves, and revel amidst 
gales, wafting at once both fragrance and harmony. 
Yet it seems he has forsaken the island ; and, when a 
couple are now to be married, mutual love, or an union of 
minds, is the last and most trifling consideration. If their 
goods and chattels can be brought to unite, their sym- 
pathetic souls are ever ready to guarantee the treaty. The 
gentleman's mortgaged lawn becomes enamoured of the 
lady's marriageable grove ; the match is struck up, 
and both parties are piously in love — according to act 
of parliament. 

Thus they who have fortune, are possessed at least 
of something that is lovely ; but I actually pity those 
who have none. I am told there was a time, when 
ladies, with no other merit but youth, virtue, and beauty, 
had a chance for husbands, at least among our clergy- 
men and officers. The blush and innocence of sixteen 
w > 'd to have a powerful influence over these two 
pi is. But of late, all the little traffic of blushing, 

ogh .g, dimpling, and smiUng, has been forbidden by an 
act in that case wisely made and provided. A lady's 
whole cargo of smiles, sighs, itnd whispers, is declared 
utterly contraband, till she arrives in the warm latitude 
of twenty-two, where commodities of this nature are 
too often found to decay. She is then permitted to 
dimple and smile, when the dimples begin to forsake 
her ; and, when perhaps grown ugly, is charitably 
entrusted with an unlimited use of her charms. Her 
lovers, however, by this time, have forsaken her ; the 
captain has changed for another mistress ; the priest 
himself leaves her in solitude, to bewail her virginity, 
and she dies even without benefit of clergy. 


Thus you find the Europeans discouraging Love with 
as much earnestness as the nidett savage of Sofala. The 
Genius is surely now no more. In every region there 
seem enemies in arms to oppress him. Avarice in Europe, 
jealousy in Persia, ceremony in China, poverty among 
the Tartars, and lust in Circassif., are all prepared to 
oppose his power. The Genius is certainly banished from 
earth, though once adored under such a variety of forms. 
He is nowhere to 1).> found ; and all that the ladies of 
each country can produce, are but a few trifling relics, 
as instances of his former residence and favour. 

'The Genius of Love,' says the Eastern Apologue, 
' had long resided in the happy plains of Abra, where 
' every breeze was health, and every sound produced 
' tranquillity. His temple at first wa; crDwded, but 
' every age lessened the number of his votaries, or 
' cooled ^heir devotion. Perceiving therefore his altars 
' at length quite deserted, he was resolved to remove to 
' some more propitious region ; and he apprised the fair 
' sex of every country, where Lj could hope for a proper 
' reception, to assert their right to his presence among 
' them. In return to this proclamation, embassies were 
' sent from the ladies of every part of the world to 
' invite him, and to display the superiority of their 
' claims. 

' ' And, first, the beauties of China appeared. No 
' country could compare with them for modesty, either 
' of look, dress, or behaviour ; their eyes were never 
' lifted from the ground ; their robes, of the most 
' beautiful silk, hid their hands, bosom, and neck, while 
' their faces only were left uricovered. They indulged 
' no airs that might express loose desire, and they 
' seemed to study only the graces of inanimate beauty. 
' Their black teeth and plucked eyebrows were, however, 
' alleged by the Genius against them, but he set them 



'entirely aside when he came to examine their little 
' feet. 

' The beauties of Circaasia next made their appearc nee. 
' They advanced hand in hand, singing the most im- 
' modest airs, and leading up a dance in the most 
' luxurious attitudes. Their dress was but half a cover- 
' ing ; the neck, the left breast, and all the limbs, were 
'exposed to view; which, after some time, seemed 
' rather to satiate than inflame desire. The lily and the 
' rose contended in forming their complexions ; and 
' a soft sleepiness of eye added irresistible poignance to 
' their charms : but their beauties were obtruded, not 
' offered, to their admirers ; they seemed to give rather 
' than receive courtship ; and the Genius of Love 
'diLMisscd them as unworthy his regard, since they 
' exchanged the duties of love, and made themselves not 
' the pursued, but the pursuing sex. 

' The kingdom of Kashmire next produced its charm- 
'ing deputies. This happy region seemed peculiarly 
' sequestered by nature for his abode. Shady mountains 
'fenced it on one side from the scorching sun, and 
' sea-borne breezes on the other gave peculiar luxuriance 
' to the air. Their complexions were of a bright yellow, 
' that appeared almost transparent, while the crimson 
' tulip seemed to blossom on their cheeks. Their features 
' and limbs were delicate beyond the statuary's power to 
' express ; and their teeth whiter than their own ivory. 
' He war almost persuaded to reside among them, when 
' unfortunately one of the ladies talked of appointing 
' his seraglio. 

' In this procession the naked inhabitants of Southern 
' America would not be left behind ; their charms were 
'found to surpass whatever the warmest imagination 
^ could conceive; and served to show, that beauty 
' could bo perfect, even with the seeming disadvantage 



■ of a brown complexion. But their savage education 
' remlerc<l them utterly unqualifio<l to make the proper 
' use of their power, and they were rejected as being 
' incapable of uniting mental with sensual satisfaction. 
' In this manner the deputies of other kingdoms had 
' their suits rejected ; the black beauties of Benin, and 
' the tawny daughters of Borneo ; the women of Wida 
' with scarred faces, and the hideous virgins of C'affraria ; 
' the squab ladies of Lapland, three feet high, and the 
' giant fair ones of Patagonia. 

' The beauties of Europe at last appeared : grace in 
their steps, and sensibility smiling in every eye. It was 
' the universal opinion, while they were approaching, 
' that they would prevail ; and the Genius seemed to 
' lend them his most favourable attention. They opened 
' their pretensions with the utmost modesty ; but 
' unfortunately, as their orator proceeded, she happened 
' to let fall the words, " House in town," " Settlement," 
' and " Pin-money." These seemingly harmless terms 
' had instantly a surprising effect : the Genius, with 
' ungovernable rage, burst from amidet the circle ; and, 
' waving his youthful pinions, left this earth, and flew 
' back to those ethereal mansions from whence he 
' descended. 

" The whole assembly was struck with amazement ; 
' they now justly apprehended that female power would 
' be no more, since Love had forsaken them. They 
' continued some time thus in a state of torpid despair ; 
' when it was proposed by one of the number, that, since 
'the real Genius of Love had left them, in order to 
' continue their power, they should set up an idol in 
' his stead ; and that the ladiei of every country should 
' furnish him with what each liked best. This proposal 
' was instantly relished and agreed to. An idol of gold 
' was formed by uniting the capricious gifts of all the 


'assembly, though no way resembling the departed 
' QeniuH. The ladies of China furnished the monster with 
I wings ; those of Kashmiro supplied him with horns ; 
' the dames of Europe clapped a purse into his hand ; 
'and the virgins of Congo furnished him wi'h a tail. 
' Since that time, all the vows addressed to Love are in 
■ itfality paid to the idol ; while, as in other false 
' religions, the adoration seems most fervent, where the 
' heart is least sincere.' 


[Altered from Letter CXIX of The Citizen of the World] 
No observation is more common, and at the same time 
more true, than that one half of the world are ignorant 
how the other half lives. The misfortunes of the great 
are held up to engage our attention ; are enlarged upon 
in tones of declamation ; and the world is called upon to 
gaze at the noble sufferers : the great, under the pressure 
of calamity, are conscious of several others sympathizing 
with their distress ; and have, at once, the comfort of 
admiration and pity. 

There is nothing magnanimous in bearing misfortunes 
with fortitude, when the whole world is looking on : men 
in such circumstances will act bravely even from motives 
of vanity ; but he who, in the vale of obscurity, can 
brave adversity; who, without friends to encourage, 
acquamtances to pity, or even with /ut hope to alleviate 
his misfortunes, can behave with tranquillity and 
indifference, is truly great : whether peasant or courtier, 
he deserves admiration, and should be held up for our 
imitation and respect. 

While the slightest inconveniences of the great ate 




magnified into calamities ; while tragedy mouths out 
their sufferings in all the strains of eloquence, the miseries 
of the poor are entirely disregarded ; and yet som j t the 
lower ranks of people undergo more real hardships in 
one day, than those of a more exalted station suffer in 
th?ir whole lives. It is inconceivable what difficulties 
the meanest of our common sailors and soldiers ondure 
without murmuring or regret; without passionately 
declaiming against Providence, or calling their fellows 
to be gazers on their intrepidity. Every day is to them 
a day of misery, and yet they entertain their hard fate 
without repining. 

With what indignation do I hear an Ovid, a CSoero, or 
a Rabutin, complain of their misfortunes and hardships, 
whose greatest calamity was that of being unable to 
visit a certain spot of earth, to which they had foolishly 
attached an idea of happiness. Their distresses were 
pleasures, compared to what many of the adventuring 
poor every day endure without murmuring. They ate, 
drank, and slept ; they had slaves to attend them, and 
were sure of subsistence ior life : while many of their 
fellow creatures are obliged to wander without a friend 
to comfort or assist them, and even without shelter 
from the severity of the season. 

I have been led into these reflections from accidentally 
meeting, some days ago, a poor fellow, whom I knew 
when a boy, dressed in a sailor's jacket, and begging at 
one of the outlets of the town, with a wooden leg. I 
Imew him to have been honest and industrious when 
in the country, and was curious to lecm what had 
reduced him to his present situation. Wherefore, after 
giving him what I thought proper, I desired to know 
the history of his life and misfortunes, and the manner 
in which he was reduced to his present distress. The 
disabled soldier, for such he was, though dressed in 

a Miior'8 habit, scratohinir hu hei«l »nH i • 

Ihavetocompan: therois Bill Tiki, , "vin, mac 

'another puuh umi .h . ■?' ^^ **"' "■" ^ 

'IthoZlTi t ' P*"""" *"» "'« •« a third 

'dav and hi!) ' °"ly "'"'ught ten hours in the 

'law tA . '"^t"""* ""'^ ''""'' P'°vidcd for my 
' We fo f L '' .1"" "°* ^"'^''^ »° «'- -t of the 
■ what ;, ThntT rA'^ ''''''■ ^ ^'"'"''J '"» "^^oy : but 
' the varf''^*; ^ ''f, *\^ '•'^^y "f the whole houl and 
•me Tt /r u**" ''''°'' """^ '•"** ^■'^ enough for 
CnhnL ,'" '^""'' °"' *° " former, where I was 
• ll? T'^ ""'' ""^^ = ''"* I "t^ ''nd d;ark well and 

In thas znanner I went fr^m town to town, worked 



when I could get employment, and starved when 
I could get none ; when bapiiening one day to go 
through a field belonging to a juHtieo of |N'ucc, I Hpied 
a hare croHHing the path ju8t before mo ; and I believe 
the devil put it in my head to fling my Htick at it. — 
Well, what will you have on 't ? I killed the hare, and 
was bringing it away, when the justico himself met me : 
he called mo a poacher and a villain ; and collaring 
me, desired I would give an account of myself : I fell 
upon my knees, begged his worship's pardon, and 
began to give a full account of all that I knew of my 
breed, seed, and generation ; but though I gave 
a very true account, the justice said I could give no 
account ; so I was indicted at sessions, found guilty 
of being poor, ai. 1 sent ' up to London to Newgate, 
ir order to be transported as a vagabond 

' People may say this and that of being in jail ; but, 
for my part, I found Newgate as agreeable a place as 
ever I was in in all my life. I had my bellyful to eat 
and drink, and did no work at all. This kind of life 
was too good to last for ever ; so I was taken out of 
prison, after five months, put on board a ship, and 
sent off, with two hundred more, to the plantations. 
We had but an indifferent passage, for, being all 
confined in the hold, more than a hundred of our 
people died for want of sweet air ; and those that 
remained were sickly enough, God knows. When we 
came ashore, we were sold to the planters, and I was 
bound for seven years more. As I was no scholar, 
for I did not know my letters, I was obliged to work 
among the negroes ; and I served out my time, as in 
duty bound to do. 

' When my time was expired, I worked my passage 
home, and glad I was to see Old England again, because 
I loved my country. I was afraid, however, that I should 


'be indictH for a vagabond once more, ho ditl not 
' much care to go down into the country, but kept about 
' the town, and did little jolw when I could get them. 

' I was very happy in thin manner for Home time, till 
' one evening, coming homo from work, two men knocked 
• me down, and then dcHired me to Htand. They belonged 
' to a pre»B-gang : I was carriwl before the justice, and, 
' as I could give no account of myself, I had my choice 
' left, whether to go on board a man-of-war, or list for 
' a soldier. I chose the latter ; ond, in this [XMt of 
' a gentleman, I served two campaigns in Flanders, was 
' at the battles of Val and F.)ntenoy, and ri-coiveci but 
'one wound, through the breast here ; but the doctor 
' of our regiment mmn made me well again. 

' When the peace catuo on I was discharged ; and 
^ as I could not work, because my wound was sometimes 
' troublesome, I listed for a landman in the East India 
^ Company's service. I hero fought the French in six 
' pitched battles ; and I verily believe, that if ould 
'road or write, our captain would have made me a 
■ corporal. But it was not my good fortune to have any 
' promotion, for I soon fell sick, and so got leave to 
' return homo again with forty pounds in my pocket. 
'This was at the beginning u. the present war, and 
' I hoped to be set on shore, and to have the pleasure of 
'spending my money; but the Government wanted 
' men, and so I was presaod for a sailor before ever 
' I could set foot on shore. 

' The boatswain found me, as he said, an obstinate 
' follow : he swore he know that I understood ray business 
' well, but that I shammed Abraham, to be idle ; but 
' God knows, I knew nothing of sea-business, and he 
' beat me without considering what he was about. I had 
' nti!!, however, my forty pounds, and that was some 
' comfort to me under every beating ; and the money 



* I might havo had to thin day, but that our ithip was 
' talcrn by the French, and no I lout all, 

' Our crow waH carried into Brent, and many of them 
' died, bocauao they were not used to live in a jail ; but, 
'for my part, it yiuh nothing to mo, for I was acaaoned. 
' One night, as I was sleeping on the bed of boards, 
' with a warm blanket about me, for I always ?ovcd to 
' lie well, I was awakenc<l by the boatswain, who had 
' a dark lantern in hin hand ; " Jack," says he to me, 
' " will you knock out the French sentrioa' brains ? " 
' " I don't care," says I, striving to keep myself awake, 
' " if I lend a han<l." " Then follow me," says he, " and 
' I hope we shall do busineHs." 80 up I got, and tied my 
' blanket, which waH all the clothes I had, about my 
' middle, and went with him to fight the Frenchmen. 
' I hate the French be';au«o they are all slaves, and 
' wear wooden shoes. 

' Though we had no arms, one Englishman is able to 
' beat five French at any tiiiio ; so we went down to 
' the door, where both the sf-ntries were poste , and 
' rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, 
' and knocked them down. From thence, nine of us 
' ran together to the quay, and, seizing the first boat 
' we met, got out of the harbour and put to seo. We 
' had not been here thrco days before we were taken 
' up by the Dorset privateer, who were glad of so many 
' good hands ; and we consented to run our chance. 
' However, wo had not as much luck as we expected. In 
'three days we fell in with the Pompadcur privateer, 
' of forty guns, while we had but twenty-three ; so to 
' it we went, yard-arm and yard-arm. The fight laMed 
'for three hours, and I verily believe wc should have 
' taken the Frenchman, had we but had some more men 
' left behind : lut, unfortunately, we lost all our men 
' just as we were going to get the victory. 


'I wan once more in the power of the French, and 

■ I believe it would have gone hard with me bad I been 

• brought bacli to BreHt ; but, by goo<l fortune, »« wew 
retaken by the Viper. I had almost forgot to tell you, 

' that, in that engagement, I was woundcil in two places : 
' I loHt four fingem of the left hand, and my leg was 
' shot off. If I had had the goo«l fortune to "have lost 

• my leg and mho of my hand on board a king's iihip, 
' and not aboard a privateer, I «hould have been entitled 

■ to clothing and maintenance during the rest of my life ; 

• but that was not my chance : one man is bom with 

■ a silver H|i<)oii in his mouth, and another with a wf)oden 

■ ladle. However, blessed bo Go<l, I enjoy goml healUi. 

• and will for ever love liberty and Old England. Liberty, 

■ pro|Krty, and Old Kngland, for ever, huzza I ' 

ThuN sayinj?, he limped off, leaving me in admiration 
at his intr.i>idity and content; nor could I avoid 
aeknowlctlging, that an habitual acquaintance with 
misery serves better than philo«ophy to teach us to 
despise it. 



Man is a most frail being, incapable of directing his 
steps, unacquainted with what is to happen in this life ; 
and perhaps no man is a more manifest instance of the 
truth of this maxim, than Mr. The. Cibber, just now 
gone out of the world. Such a variety of turns of 
fortune, yet such a persevering uniformity of conduct, 
appears in all that happened in his short span, that the 
whole may be looked upon as one regular confusion : 
every action of his life was matter of wonder and surprise, 
and his death -nnn an astonishment. 



This gentleman was bom of creditable parents, who 
gave him a very good education, and a great deal of 
good learning, so that he could read and write before 
he was sixteen. However, he early discovered an 
inclination to follow lewd courses ; he refused to take 
the advice of his parents, and pursued the bent of his 
inclination ; he played at cards on Sundays ; called 
himself a gentleman ; fell out with his mother and 
laundress ; and, even in these early days, his father was 
frequently heard to observe, that young The. — ^would be 

As he advanced in years, he grew more fond of 
pleasure ; would eat an ortolan for dinner, though he 
begged the guinea that bought it ; and was once known 
to give three pounds for a plate of green peas, which 
he had collected overnight as charity for a friend in 
distress : he ran into debt with everybody that would 
trust him, and none could build a sconce better than he ; 
so that at last his creditors swore, with one accord, that 
The. — would be hanged. 

But, as getting into debt by a man who had no 
visible means but impudence for subsistence, is a thing 
that every reader is not acquainted with, I must explain 
that point a little, and that to his satisfaction. 

There are three ways of getting into debt ; first, by 
pushing a face ; as thus : ' You, Mr. Lutestring, send 
' me home six yards of that paduasoy, dammee ; — ^but, 
'harkee, don't think I ever intend to pay you for it, 
' dammee.' At this, the mercer laughs heartily ; cuts 
off the paduasoy, and sends it home ; nor is he, till too 
late, surprised to find the gentleman had said nothing 
but truth, and kept his word. 

The second method of running into debt is called 
fineering ; which is getting goods made up in such a 
fashion as to be unfit for every other purchaser ; and 


if the tradesman refuses to give them upon credit, then 
threaten to leave them upon his hands. 
^ But the third and best method is called, ' Being the 
good customer > The gentleman first buys some trifle, 
and pays for ,t m ready money : he comes a few days 
after with nothmg about him but bank bills, and buys 
we will suppose, a sixpenny tweezer-case ; the bills ar^ 
too great to be changed, so he promises to return 
punctually the day af K^r and pay for what he has bought 
In this promise he is punctual, and this is repeated for 
eight or ten times, till his face is well known, and he 
has got, at last, the character of a good customer. Bv 
this means he gets credit for something considerable, 
ana then never pays for it. 

In all this, the young man who is the unhappy subject 
of our present reflections was very expert ; and could 
face, fineer, and bring custom to a shop with any man 
m England : none of his companions could exceed him 
m this; and his very companions at last said that 
ihe.— would be hanged. 

As he grew old, he grew never the better ; he loved 
ortolans and green peas as before ; he drank gravy-soup 
when he could get it, and always thought his oysteii 
tasted best when he got them for nothing ; or which 
was ju-t the same, when he bought them upon tick : 
thus the old man kept up the vices of the youth and 
what he wanted in power, he made up by mclination ; 
so that all the world thought that old The.-would be 

And now, reader, I have brought him to his last 
scene ; a scene where, perhaps, my duty should have 
obhged me to assist. You expect, perhaps, his dyins 
words, and the tender farewell he took of his wife and 
chUdren ; you expect an account of his eoflSn and whito 
gloves, his pious ejaculations, and the papers he left 



behind him. In this I cannot indulge your curiosity ; 

for, oh ! the mysteries of fate, The. was drown'd 1 

' Eeader,' as Hervey saith, ' pause and ponder ; and 
' ponder and pause ; who knows what thy own end may 


The following ivas written at the time of the last Coronation, 
and supposed to come from a Common Council-man. 


I have the honour of being a Common Council- 
man, and am greatly pleased with a paragraph from 
Southampton in yours of yesterday. There we learn, 
that the mayor and alderman of that loyal borough, had 
the particular satisfaction of celebrating the royal nuptials 
by a magnificent turtle feast. By this means the gentle- 
men had the pleasure of filling their bellies, and showing 
their loyalty together. I must confess, it would give me 
some pleasure to see some such method of testifying our 
loyalty practised in this metropolis, of which I am an 
unworthy member, instead of presenting His Majesty 
(God bless him) on every occasion with our formal 
addresses, we might thus sit comfortably down to dinner, 
and wish him prosperity in a sirloin of beef ; upon our 
army levelling the walls of a town, or besieging a fortifica- 
tion, we might at our city feast imitate our brave troops, 
and demolish the walls of venison paaty, or besiege the 
shell of a turtle, with as great a certainty of success. 

At present, however, we have got into a sort of dry, 
imsocial manner of drawing up addresses upon every 
occasion ; and though I have attended upon six 
cavalcades, and two foot processions in a single year, 
yet I came away as lean and hungry as if I had been 

* Firat inserted in second edition. 


lirrr V^" ^'^ ^"'y- ^"^ -"y P*rt> Mr. Printer, 
I don t see what « got by these processions and addresses 

Lserfo?if°l'T' ^'*'"'"' ^"" '-^'"« "- o*" 
.rT v.. ; " *™^' °" K''"'"^ °f ""•marine blue 

ft fhl'f /"': "'* " P^^"y ««"■•« --gh, parading 
.t through the streets, and so my wife tells mo I„ fact 

fuuX: "^ W 1° "" "^ -<!-■"*--. -hen thus iri 

neir «r;' ^^ ''^ '™"'' ""^ **' '^'' "'°*''- 

But even though all this bustling, parading and 

powdermg through the streets be agrLble .Zgh "o 

whether the'; "" \ """" '""^ ""^ ''''''''^- --Mor 
whether the frequent repetition of it be so very agreeable 

our betters above. To be intr^uced to'^cfurt t 
see the Queen, to kiss hands, to smile upon lords to 
ogle the ladies, and all the other fine things th^.; 
may, I grant, be a perfect show to us that view it but 
seldom ; but it may be a troublesome business enough 
to those who are to settle such ceremonies as these every 
day. To use an mstance adapted to all our apprehensions • 
-PPO- my family and I should go to B^artholZew 
siahtis!!'J ? ' f'"« *° Bartholomew Fair, the whole 
Ind aw!r^"b f^T "* 'T' ^''° ^'' °"ly spectators once 

anJ fiT- « i *"" °* "P*"'""' *•■** '^^ wire-walker 
and firewater find no such great sport in all this ; I am 

o opmion, they had as lief remain behind the curtain 

ToXTbar '"^'' '™'^'"« "--■ -*^« ^'^^^™p«. --^ 

Besides, what can we tell His Majesty i„ all wo say 
IV^ ■> °tT,'°"'' ''"* ^*''* ^' ''"°''« Perfectly weU 
fed above five hundred disaffected in the whole kingdom 
and here are we every day teUing His Majesty how loya 
we are. Suppow the addresses of a people for instance 


should run thuB. ' May it please your M y, we are 

' many of us worth a hundred thousand pounds ; and 
' are possessed of several other Inestimable advantages. 
' For the preservation of this money and those advantages 

'we are chiefly indebted to your M y. We are 

' therefore once more assembled to assure your M y 

' of our fidelity. This, it is true, we have lat«ly assured 

' your M y five or six times, but we are willing once 

' more to repeat what can't be doubted, and to kiss your 
' royal hand, and the Queen's hand, and thus sincerely 
' to convince you, that we shall never do anything to 
' deprive you of one loyal subject, or any one of ourselves 
' of one hundred thousand pounds.' Should we not upon 
reading such an address, think that people a little silly, 

who thus made such unmeaning professions ? Excuse 

me, Mr. Printer, no man upon earth has a more profound 
respect for the abilities of the aldermen and the Common 
Coimcil than I ; but I could wish they would not take 
up a monarch's time in these good-natured trifles, who 
I am told seldom spends a moment in vain. 

The example set by the CSty of London will probably 
be followed by every other community in the British 
Empire. Thus we shall have a new set of addresses from 
every little borough with but four freemen and a burgess ; 
day after day shall we see them come up with hearts 
filled with gratitude, laying the vows of a loyal people 
at the foot of the throne. Death ! Mr. Printer, they'll 
hardly leave our courtiers time to scheme a single 
project for beating the French ; and our enemies may 
gain upon us, whUe we are thus employed in teUing our 
governor how much we intend to keep them under. 

But a people by too frequent a use of addresses may 
by this means come at last to defeat the very purpose 
for which they are designed. If we are "hus exclaiming 
in raptures upon every occasion, we deprive ourselves 


ment, I ve go the cramp, I've got the cramp ; ■ the 
boa men pushed off once or twice, and they found it Js 
fun, he soon after cried out in earnest, but nobody 
believed him, and so he sunk to the bottom 
nJ™ *"*' T } '"'' "l""^ displeased with any un- 
necessary cavalcade whatever. I hope we shall soon have 
occasion to triumph, and then I shall be ready mS 

and will lend either my faggot at the fire, or flourish 
my hat at every loyal health that may be proposed. 
I am. 

Sir, &o. 




I am the same Common Council-man who troubled 
you some days ago. To whom can I complain but to 
you ? for you have many a dismal correspondent ; in this 
time of joy my wife does not choose to hear me, because 
she says I m always melancholy when she's in spirits. 
I have been to see the Coronation, and a fine sight it was, 
as I am told. To those who had the pleasu4 of being 
near spectators, the diamonds, I am told, were as thick 
as Br«tol stones m a show-glass ; the ladies and gentle- 
men walked all along, one foot before another, and threw 
their eyes about them, on this side and that, perfectly 

iS. '^^"'.^•u ^^ ■ ^- ^'"*«'' '* •""» ^"^ fine 
sight mdeed, ,f there wa., but a little more eating. 

' First inserted in second edition. 


Instead of thvt, there we sat, penned up in our 
scaffoldings, like sheep upon a market-day in Smiihfield ; 
but the devil a thing could I get to eat (God pardon me 
for swearing) except the fragments of a plum-cake, that 
was all squeezed into crumbs in my wife's pocket, as she 
came through the crowd. 

You must know, sir, that in order to do the thing 
genteelly, and that all my family might be amused at 
the same time, my wife, my daughter, and I, took two 
guinea places for the Coronation, and I gave my two 
eldest boys (who, by the by, are twins, fine children) 
eighteenpence apiece to go to Sudrick Fair, to see the 
court of the Black King of Morocco, which will serve 
to please children well enough. 

That we might have good places on the scaffolding, 
my wife insisted upon going at seven o'clock the evening 
before the Coronation, for she said she would not lose 
a full prospect for the world. This resolution I own 
shocked me. ' Grizzle,' said I to her, ' Grizzle, my dear, 
' consider that you are but weakly, always ailing, and 
' will never bear sitting out all night upon the scaffold. 
' You remember what a cold you caught the last fast- 
' day, by rising but half an hour before your time to go 
' to church, and how I was scolded as the cause of it. 
' Beside, my dear, our daughter Anna Amelia Wilhelmina 
' Carolina, will look like a perfect fright, if she sits up, 
' and you know the girl's face is something at her time 
' of life, considering her fortune is but small.' ' Mr. 
' Qrogan,' replied my wife, ' Mr. Grogan, this is always 
' the case, when you find me in spirits ; I don't want to 
' go, not I ; nor I don't care whether I go at all, it is 
' seldom that I am in spirits, but this is always the case.' 
In short, Mr. Printer, what will you have on 't ? to the 
Coronation we went. 

What difficulties we had in getting a coach, how we 



were shoved about in the mob, how I had my pocket 
picked of the last new almanac, and my steel tobacco-box • 
how my daughter lost half an eyebrow and her laced 
shoe m a gutter ; my wife's Umentation upon this with 
the adventures of the crumbled plum cake, and broken 
brandy-bottle, what need I relate aU these ; we suffered 
this and ten times more before we got to our places. 

At last, however, we were seated. Mv wife is certainly 
a heart of oak; I thought sitting up in the damp night 
mr would have killed her ; I have known her for two 
months take possession of our easy-chair, mobbed up in 
flannel nighteaps, and trembling at a breath of air- 
but she now bore the night as merrily as if she had sat 
up at a christening. My daughter and she did not seem 
to value It of a farthing. She told me two or three 
stones that she knows will always make me laugh and 
my daughter sung me the Noontide air, towards one 

clock m the morning. However, with all their en- 
deavours I was as cold and as dismal as ever I remember. 
If this be the pleasures of a coronation, cried I to myself 

1 had rather see the court of King Solomon in all his 
glory at my ease in Bartholomew Fair. 

Towards morning sleep began to come fast upon me- 
and the sun rising and warming the air, still inclined mo 
to rest a little. You must know, sir, that I am naturally 
of a sleepy constitution ; I have often sat up at table 
with my eyes open, and have been asleep all the whil^ 
What will you have on 't ? just about eight o'clock in the 
mommg I fell fast asleep. I fell into the most pleasing 
dream in the world. I shall never forget it ; I dreamed 
that I was at my Lord Mayor's feast, and had scaled 
the crust of a venison pasty. I kept eating and eating, 
in my sleep, and thought I could never have enough! 
After some time, the pasty methought was taken away, 
and the dessert was brought in its room. Thought I to 



mjraeU, if I have not got enough of the venison, I am 
resolved to make it up by the largest snap at the sweet- 
meats. Accordingly, I grasped a whole pyramid ; the 
rest of the guests seeing me with so much, one gave me 
a snap, and the other gave me a snap, I was pulled this 
way by my neighbour on the right hand, and that by 
my neighbour on the left, but still kept my groimd 
without flinching, and continue J eating and pocketing 
a > fast as I could. I never was so pulled and hauled in 
my whole life. At length, however, going to smell to 
a lobster that lay before me, metbought it caught me 
with its claws fast by the nose. The pain I felt upon this 
occasion is inexpressible ; in fact it broke my dream ; 
when, awaking, I found my wife and t \ughter applying 
a smelling-bottle to my nose ; and tcJing me it was 
time to go home, they assured me every means had 
been tried to awake me, while the procession was going 
forward, but that I still continued to sleep till the whole 
ceremony was over. Mr. Printer, this is a hard case, 
and as I read your most ingenious work, it will be some 

comfort, when I sse this inserted, to find that 1 write 

for it too. 

I am, 

Your distressed, 

Humble Servant, 
L. Gbooan. 






1 TAKB the liberty to communicate to the public 

oftl7h ri r'*"' "P°" " ""'•J""* *Wch. though 
often handled, has not yet, in my opinion, been fully 
d,«=„«»d,_I n,o»„ national concord, or unanimHv 
wUch .„ tUs kingdom has been generally considld as' 

ti„^ «^T ""^.' *•"* """^ ""*»'««' but in specula- 
tion. Such a union is perhaps neither to be expected 

uL7h«l '" ?:r"*'^ ^""^ "'"'*y depends mher 

Xch tLrh"" .^ ^^''' *'"'" "P"" ''"y pn^cautions 
which they have taken in a constitutional way for the 
guard and preservation of this inestimable blessing. 

Ihere » a very honest gentleman with whom I have 
been acquamted these thirty years, during which there 
has not been one speech uttered against the ministry in 
parliament, nor a struggle at an election for a burgess to 
«.rve m the House of Commons, nor a pamphlef pub! 
.shed in opposition to any measure of the administra- 
tion nor even a private censure passed in his hearing 
upon the misconduct of any person concerned in public 
afturs, but he is immediately alarmed, and loudly 
exclaims against such factious doings, in order to set 
the peopte by the ears together at such a delicate 
uncture At any other time,' says he, • such opposi- 
tmn might not be improper, and I don't question the 
acts that are alleged ; but at this crisis, sir, to inflame 
the nation !_the man deserves to be punished as a traitor 

lniLr?K '^■' ^ V°"*' ''""°"^"8 '° *•>*« gentleman's 
opinion, the nation has been in a violent crisis at any 
time these thirty years ; and were it possible for him 
to live another century, he would never find any period 
a which a man might with »afvty impusn the infalli- 
miity of a mimster. 



The oa«e Ir no mors than thin : my honeat friend haii 
inveited hU whole fortune in the stookit, on Oovcmment 
lecurity, and trembleH at every whiff ot popular din- 
content. Wore every BritiHh Huhjcet of tho hbiiio tame 
and timid diHpoaition, Magna Chnrta (to uho tho ooaree 
phraae of Oliver Cromwr ' i would bo no more regarded 
by an ambitious prince than Magna F— ta, and the 
liberties of Kii^luml expire without a groan. Opposition, 
when rcBtru!'j<;.i within due boundit, is tho salubrious 
gale that ventilates the opinions of tho people, which 
might otherwise stagnate into tho most abject sub- 
misftion. It may be said to purify the atmosphere of 
politics ; to dispel the gross vapours raised by the 
influence of ministerial artifito and corruption, until the 
constitution, like a mighty rock, stands full disclosed 
to the view of every individual who dwells within the 
shade of its protection. Even when this gale blows 
with augmented violence, it generally tends to the 
advantage of the commonwealth : it awakes the appre- 
hension, and consequently arouses all the faculties of 
the pilot at the helm, who redoubles ••is vigilance and 
caution, exerts his utmost skill, and, becoming acquainted 
with the nature of the navigation, in a little time learns 
to suit his canvas to the roughness of the sea and the 
trim of the vessel. Without these intervening storms 
of opposition to exercise his faculties, he would become 
enervate, negligent, and presumptuous ; and in the 
wantonness of his power, trusting to some deceitful 
calm, perhaps hazard a step that would wreck the con- 
stitution. Yet there is a measure in all things. A 
moderate frost will fertilize the glebe with nitrous par- 
ticles, and destroy the eggs of pernicious insects that 
prey upon the fancy of the year: but if this frost 
increases in severity and duration, it will ehill the seeds, 
and even freeze up the roots of vegetables ; it will 


check the bloom, nip the budu, and blaHt all the promiiw 
of the Bprinij. The vemal broeie that '''-pii the frogs 
before it, thiit bruMhea the cobweb* f .1 . bougha, 
that faiM the air, am! foHtent vegcUtion, if augmented 
to a (> ,npc«t, will Htrip the IcaveB, overthrow the tree, 
and deiwlate the ganlen. The auKpiciouH gale before 
which the trim veiinel ploughii the bonom of the Bea, 
while the niarinerH are kept alert in duty and in gpiritui 
if converU'il to a hurricane, overwhelnm the crew with 
terror and confusion. The HailH are rent, the cordage 
cracked, the maata give way ; the ma»t<«r cyea the havoc 
with mute denpair, and the vcesel founden. in the Btomi. 
Oppoaition, when confined within ita proper channel, 
awocpg away thooe beds of soil and bankii of aand which 
corruptive power had gathered ; but when it overflowg 
its banks, and deluges the plain, its course is marked 
by ruin and devastation. 

The opposition necessary in a free state, like that 
of Great Britain, is not at all incompatible with that 
national concord which ought to unite the people on 
all emergencies in which the gener?'. ,, fety is at stake. 
It is the jealousy of patriotic.. .t .h, ., „cour of party 

— the warmth of candour, -.n tbe vi: i,:,-e of hate 

a transient dispute amon| - .-u. „ot .n "mplacable 
feud that admits of no reconciiiiiiio»i. F'-.e h.story of all 
ages teems with the fatal cHeofs r i- .vial discord; 
and were history and tradition m ^oed, common 
sense would plainly point out the iiiischiefs that must 
arise from want of harmony and national union. Every 
schoolboy can have recourse to the fable of the rods, 
which, when united in a bur " no strength could bend, 
but when separated into single twigs, a child could break 
with ease. 



I HAVE spent the greater part of my life in making 
observationH on men and things, and in projecting 
schemes for the advantage of my country ; and though 
my labours have met with an ungrateful return, I will 
still persist in ray endeavours for its service, like that 
venerable, unshaken, and neglected patriot, Mr. Jacob 
Henriquez, who, though of the Hebrew nation, hath 
exhibited a shining example of Christian fortitude and 
perseverance. And here my conscience urges me to 
confess, that the hint upon which the following proposals 
are built was taken from an advertisement of the said 
patriot Henriquez, in which he gives the public to under- 
stand, that Heaven had indulged him with ' seven 
blessed daughters.' Blessed they are, no doubt, on 
account of their own and their father's virtues ; but 
more blessed may they bo, if the scheme I offer should 
be adopted by the legislature. 

The proportion which the number of females bom in 
these kingdoms bears to the male children is, I think, 
supposed to be as thirteen to fourteen ; but as women are 
not so subject as the other sex to accidents and intem- 
perance, in numbering adults we shall find the balance 
on the female side. If, in calculating the numbers 
of the people, we take in the multitudes that emigrate 
to the plantations, from whence they never return ; 
those that die at sea, and make their exit at Tyburn ; 
together with the consumption of the present war, by 
sea and land, in the Atlantic, Mediterranean, in the 
German and Indian Oceans, in Old France, New France, 
North America, the Leeward Islands, Germany, Africa, 
and Asia, we may fairly state the loss of men during 
the war at one hundred thousand. If this bo the case, 


there must be a superplus of the other sex, amounting 
to the same number, and this superplus will consist of 
women able to bear arms ; as I take it for granted, that 
all those who are fit to bear children are likewise fit to 
bear arms. Now, as we have seen the nation governed 
by old women, I hope to make it appear, that it may be 
defended by young women: and surely this scheme will 
not be rejected as unnecessary at such a juncture [17621 
when our armies, in the four quarters of the globe are' 
Jn want of recruits ; when we find ourselves entangled in 
a new war with Spain, on the eve of a rupture in Italy 
and, mdeed, in a fair way of being obliged to make head 
agamst all the great potentates of Europe. 

But, before I unfold my design, it may be necessary 
to obviate, from experience, as well as argument, the 
objections which may be made to the delicate frame and 
tender deposition of the female sex, rendering them 
incapable of the toils, and insuperably averse to the 
horrors, of war. All the world has heard of the nation 
of Amazons, who inhabited the banks of the river 
Thermodoon in Cappadocia, who expelled their men by 
force of arms, defended themselves by their own prowess 
managed the reins of government, prosecuted th^ 
operations in war, and held the other sex in the utmost 
contempt. We are informed by Homer that Penthesilea, 
queen of the Amazons, acted as auxiliary to Priam' 
and fell, valiantly fighting in his cause, before the 
walls of Troy. Quintus Curtius tells us, that Thalestris 
brought one hundred armed Amazons in a present 
•to Alexander the Great. Diodorus Siculus expressly 
says there was a nation of female warriors in Africa 
who fought against the Lybian Hercules. We read in 
the voyages of Columbus, that one of the Caribbeo 
Islands was possessed by a tribe of female warriors 
who kept all the neighbouring Indians in awe ; but we 



need not go further than our own age and country to 
prove, that the spirit and constitution of the fair sex 
are equal to the dangers and fatigues of war. Every 
novice who has read the authentic and important 
History of the Pirates is well acquainted with the exploits 
of two heroines, called Mary Read and Anne Bonny. 
I ni}rself have had the honour to drink with Anne 
Gassier, alias Mother Wade, who had distinguished her- 
self among the Buccaneers of America, and in her old 
age kept a punch-house, in Port-Royal of Jamaica. 
I have likewise conversed with Moll Davis, who had 
served as a dragoon in all Queen Anne's wars, and was 
admitted on the pension of Chelsea. The late war with 
Spain, and even the present, hath produced instances of 
females enlisting l)oth in tim land and sea service, and 
behaving with remarkable bravery in the disguise of 
the other sex. And who has not heard of the celebrated 
Jenny Cameron, and some other enterprising ladies of 
North Britain, who attended a certain Adventurer in all 
his expeditions, and headed their respective clans in 
a military character ? That strength of body is often 
equal to the courage of mind implanted in the fair sex 
will not be denied by those who have seen the water- 
women of Plymouth ; the female drudges of Ireland, 
Wales, and Scotland ; the fishwomen of Billingsgate ; 
the weeders, podders, and hoppers, who swarm in the 
fields ; and the hunters who swagger in the streets of 
London ; not to mention the indefatigable trulls who 
follow the camp, and keep up with the line of march, 
though loaded with bantlings and other baggage. 

There is scarcely a street in this metropolis without 
one or more viragos, who discipline their husbands and 
domineer over the whole neighbourhood. Many months 
are not elapsed since I was witness to a pitched battle 
between two athletic females, who fought with equal 


skill and fury until ono of them gave out, after having 
«us amed seven falls on the hard stones. They were 
both stripped to the under petticoat ; their breasts were 
carefully swathed with handkerchiefs ; and as no vestiges 
of features were to be seen in either when I came up 
1 imagined the combatants were of the other sex, until 
a bystander assured me of the contrary, giving me to 
understand, that the conqueror had lain-in about five 
weeks of twm-bastards, begot by her second, who was 
an Insh chairman. When I sec the avenues of the 
Strand beset every night with troops of fierce Amazons 
who with dreadful imprecations, stop, and beat and 
plunder passengers, I camiot help wishing that such 
martial talents were converted to the benefit of the 
public ; and that those who were so loaded with tem- 
poral fire and so little afraid of eternal fire, should, 
instead of ruining the souls and bodies of their fellow 
citizens, be put in a way of turning their destructive 
qualities against the enemies of the nation 

Having thus demonstrated that the fair sex are not 
deficient m strength and resolution, I would humblv 
propo«,, that as there is an excess on their side in 
quantity to the amount of one hundred thousand, part 
of that number may be employed in recruiting the army 
as -m .: as in raising thirty new Amazonian regiments, 

with the left breast bare, an open jacket, and touseiB 
that descended no farther than the knee ; the rieht 
breast was destroyed, that it might not impede them 
m bending the bow, or darting the javelin: but there 
IS no occasion for this cruel excision in the present 
discipline as we have seen instances of women who 
handle the musket, without finding any incunvenience 
trom that protuberance. 



As the sex love gaiety, they may be clothed in vests 
of pink satin, and open drawers of the same, with 
buskins on their feet and legs, their hair tied behind, 
and floating on their shoulders, and their hats adorned 
with white feathers : they may be armed with light 
carbines and long bayonets, without the encumbrance 
of swords or shoulder-belts. I make no doubt but many 
young ladies ,of figure and fashion will undertake to 
raise companies at their own expense, provided they like 
their colonels ; but I must insist upon it, if this scheme 
should be embraced, that Mr. Henriquez's seven blessed 
daughters may be provided with commissions, as the 
projoc't is in some measure owing to the hints of that 
venerable patriot. I, moreover, give it as my opinion, 
that Mrs. Kitty Fishori shall have the command of 
a battalion, and the nomination of her own officers, 
provided she will warrant them all sound, and be 
content to wear proper badges of distinction. 

A female brigade, properly disciplined and accoutred, 
would not, I am persuaded, be afraid to charge a 
numerous body of the enemy, over whom they would 
have a manifest advantage ; for if the barbarous 
Scythians were ashamed to fight with the Amazons who 
invaded them, surely the French, who pique themselves 
on their sensibility and devotion to the fair ses, would 
not act upon the offensive against a band of female 
warriors, arrayed in all the charms of youth and beauty. 


As I am one of that sauntering tribe of mortals who 
spend the greatest part of their time in taverns, coQee- 
houses, and other places of public resort, I have thereby 
an opportunity of observing an infinite variety of 
characters, which to a person of a contemplative turn 



is a much higher entertainment than a view of all f K. 

as they were equally divided in ♦!«.,•> .■ '"""''• 

Amongst a multiplicity of othpr ffir.,v= . , 

h« hat, and assummg such an air of importance as tf 
he had possessed all the merit of the EngHshTation in 
h.s own person, declared that the Dutch wfre a 1 " ^ 
of avancious wretches ; the IVench a 1 of fllf 
sycophants ; that the Germans were drunli Its ^ 
beastly gluttons ; and the SpaniaHis proud WhTv 
and surly tyrants; but that in brave^^ geneS' 

This very learned and judicious remark was received 
-Uh a general smile of approbation by all the crmZj 
,W i. r"""' ''"* ^°"'- •""»•"« «"vant, who, endeZur 
my Head upon my arm, continued for some timp n 
a posture of affected thoughtfulness, a "ThaTLn 
musmg on something else, and did not seem to atS 

s atid^tSis:;;::^:^:.;-?- r^ *^' " 

But my pseudo-patriot had no mind to let me escane 

without contradiction, he was determined to havfu 
ratified by the suffrage of every one in the oo^Zy- 




for which purpose, addressing himself to tne with an air 
of inexpressible confidence, he asked me if I was not of 
the same way of thinking. As I am never forward in 
giving my opinion, especially when I have reason to 
believe that it will not be agreeable ; so, when I am 
obliged to give it, I always hold it for a maxim to speak 
my real sentiments. I therefore told him that, for my 
own part, I should not have ventured to talk in such 
a peremptory strain unless I had made the tour of 
Europe, and examined the manners of these several 
nations with great care and accuracy : that perhaps 
a more impartial judge would not scruple to affirm, that 
the Dutch were more frugal and industrious, the French 
more temperate and polite, the Germans more hardy 
and patient of labour iind fatigue, and the Spaniards 
more staid and sedate, than the English ; who, though 
undoubtedly brave and generous, were at the same 
time rash, headstrong, and impetuous ; too apt to be 
elated with prosperity, and to despond in adversity. 

I could easily perceive, that all the company began 
to regard me with a jealous eye before I had finished 
my answer, which I had no sooner done, than the patriotic 
gentleman observed, with a contemptuous sneer, that 
he was greatly surprised how some people could have 
the conscience to live in a country which they did not 
love, and to enjoy the protection of a government to 
which in their hearts they were inveterate enemies. 
Finding that by this modest declaration of my senti- 
ments I had forfeited the good opinion of my com- 
panions, and given them occasion to call my political 
principles in question, and well knowing that it was in 
vain to argue with men who were so very full of them- 
selves, T threw down my reckoning and retired to my 
own lodgings, reflecting on the absurd and ridiculous 
nature of national prejudice and prepossession. 



nn^T! f ^^ ''""°"'' '»y'"8'' °f ontiquity there is 
none tha doe« greater honour to the author or StiH 
grater pleanure to the reader (at leant if he LI Sn 
of a generous and benevolent heart) th„n *h ! ^^ 

^p&tt^ • •^'"« -'"' ^^X'^^:^ 

replied, that he was ' a citizen of the world ' How (2 

Sien n![!h°°" "t'^'"" "° '""«'' Englishmen. 
wr!«^„ I ^"*°'"."«°' Spaniards, or Germans, that 
we are no longer citizens of the world • so much th« 

3 rhirntfo zVot t ^r r r 


an?,owesrof^rfr: '"r °"'^ '""°"« *•"« ~ 
ana lowest of the people, perhaps they might be excused 

as they have few. if any. opportu^ties of co^ctTnt 
them byr^ad^g, travelling.orconversingwithforS^S 
but the misfortune s, that thev infp^t fh. ."''sn*'™- 

iter t r ""■^-" ^ - SiLtT'S^^^^^^^^ 

I mean, who have every title to this appel ation but 
an exemption from prejudice, which, hoSr °" mv 

opmion, ought to be regarded as the characteriltTc'almaA 
of a gentleman ; for let a man's birth be ever so hiih I 
station ever so exalted, or his fortune ever so la^ge' vt' 
If he IS not free from national and all other preudirs 
1 hould make bold to tell him, that he had a low a^d 
vulgar mmd. and had no just claim to the chlraclr o1 
a^ntleman. And. in fact, you will always Z that 
tho^ are most apt to boast of national merit, w^o have 

J^u^'Totr.* *'""*" '°'*^P^»''-=*'»--'"ct^ 
De sure, nothing is more natural: the slender vine twists 

but becauseithasnot strength sufflcientto support itS. 





Should it be alleged in defence of nation»l prejudice, 
that it is the natural and necessary growth of love to 
our country, and that therefore the former cannot be 
destroyed without hurting the latter, I answer that this 
is a gross fallacy and delusion. That it is the growth of 
love to our country, I will allow ; but that it is the 
natural and necessary growth of it, I absolutely deny. 
Superstition and enthusiasm, too, are the growth of 
religion; but who ever took it in his head to affirm, 
that they are the necessary growth of this noble prin- 
ciple ? They are, if you will, the bastard sprouts of 
this heavenly plant, but not its natural and genuine 
branches, and may safely enough be lopt oft, without 
doing any harm to the parent stock : nay, perhaps, till 
once they are lopped off, this goodly tree can never 
flourish in perfect health' and vigour. 

Is it not very possible that I may love my own 
country, without hating the natives of other countries f 
that I may exert the most heroic bravery, the most 
undaunted resolution, in defending its laws and liberty, 
without despising all the rest of the worid as cowards 
and poltroons t Most certainly it is ; and if it were 
not— But why need I suppose what is absolutely impos- 
sible ? — But if it were not, I must own I should prefer 
the title of the ancient philosopher, viz. a citizen of 
the world, to that of an Englishman, a Frenchman, 
an European, or to any other appellation whatever. 


A SCHOOL, in the polite arts, propei signifies that 
succession of artists which has learned the principles of 
the art from some eminent master, either by hearing 
his lessons or studying his works, and consequently who 
imitate his manner either through design or from habit. 


uumoer Of parts, nor unexpected fliBhts mt l,« • 
-.versally allowed to be the musical CX ia.;" 


«er^P„i:J, 1 ir ."">' ■"^t«»«« t^at song i„ the 
The Ita..«„a„utB in general have followed hiHre'r, 



yet seem fond of embellishing the delicate simplicity of 
the original. Thoir style in music seems somewhat to 
nssemblo that of Senoca in writing, where there are some 
beautiful starts of thought ; but the whole is Ulled with 
studied elegance and unaffccting affectation. 

Lully, in Franco, first attempted the improvement of 
their music, which in general resembled that of our old 
solemn chants in churches. It is worthy of remark, in 
general, that the music of every country is solemn in 
proportion as the inhabitants arc merry ; or, in other 
words, the merriest sprightliest nations are remarked 
for having the slowest music ; and those whoso character 
it is to be melancholy are pleased with the most brisk 
and airy movements. Thus, in France, Poland, Ireland, 
and Switzerland, the national music is slow, melanc holy, 
and solemn ; in Italy, England, Spain, and Germany, 
it is faster, proportionably as the people arc grave. 
Lully only changed a bad manner, which he found, for 
a bad one of his own. His drowsy pieces arc played 
still to the most sprightly audience that can be con- 
ceived ; and even though Ramcuu, who is at once 
a musician and a philosopher, has shown, both by 
precept and example, what improvements French music 
may still admit of, yet his countrymen seem little con- 
vinced by his reasonings ; and the Pont-Neuf taste, as it 
is called, still prevails in their best performances. 

The English school was first planned by Purcell : he 
attempted to unite the Italian manner that prevailed 
in his time with the ancient Celtic carol and the Scotch 
ballad, which probably had also its origin in Italy; for 
some of the best Scotch ballads,— ' The Broo.n of 
CowdenknowR,' for instance, — are still ascribed to David 
Bizzio. But be that as it will, his manner was some- 
thing peculiar to the English ; and he might have con- 
tinued as head of the English school, had not his merits 


onp,.al y a German, yea adoptcl the English ,n«nner • 
he haa ong Iabo„.«d to plcano by Italian' compcition,' 
a™ r oula"""""; I';'' *'""'«'' '"" ^"«""'' °«*''"- 

«nnpl,c.ty : Lully wa« lemarkahlc for cr^atiVg a now 
«pec>e» of mu«c, whe«, all i» elegant, but notWng 

«ubl.mity; he has employed all the variety of sound 
and parts m all his pieees : the performances of the 
rest may be pleasing, though executed by f.w per- 
formers ; his require the full band. The attentioris 
awakened, the soul is roused up at his pieces; but 
dmtmct passion ,s seldom expressed. 1„ this particular 
he has seldom found success ; he has been obliged in 
order to express passion, to imitate words by souiids 
wh,eh, though it gives the pleasure which LrSn 
always produces, yet it fails of exciting those lasting 
affections wh,ch it is in the power of sounds to produce 
ma word, no man ever understood harmony so well 
as he ; but m melody he has been exceeded by several. 


There can be perhaps no greater entertainment than 
to compare the rude ttltic simplicity with ,„oden" 
refinement. Books, however, seem incapal' Tu". 
nishmg the parallel; and to be acquainteu with th 
ancient manners of our own ancestor, we should 
^ndeavour to look for their remains in those countries^ 
which bemg m some measure retired from an interc , ,urso 
with other nations, are still untinctured «ith foreim 
reiuiement, language, or breeding " 

. OOUIBIIRH. in _ 



The Irish will latiiify curiosity in this rrapect prefer- 
ably to all other nationn I have seen. They in several 
parts of that country still adhere to their ancient 
language, dress, furniture, and superstitions ; several 
customs among them still speak their original ; and 
in some respects, Caesar's description of the ancient 
Britons is applicable to those. 

Their bards, in particular, are still held in great 
veneration among them ; those traditional heralds are 
invited to every funeral, in order to flU up the intervals 
of the howl with their songs and harps. In these they 
rehearso the actions of the ancestors of the deceased, 
bewail the bondage of their country under the English 
government, and generally conclude with advising the 
young men and maidens to make the best use of their 
time ; for they will soon, for all their present bloom, 
be stretched under the table, like the dead body before 

Of all the bards this country ever produced, the last 
and the greatest was Cabolan the Bund. He was at 
once a poet, a musician, a composer, and sung his own 
verses to his harp. The original natives never mention 
his name without rapture ; both his poetry and music 
they have by heart ; and even some of the English 
themselves, who have been transplanted there, find his 
music extremely pleasing. A song beginning, ' O'Rourke's 
noble fare will ne'er be forgot,' translated by Dean 
Swift, is of his composition; which, though perhaps by 
this means the best known of his pieces, is yet by no 
means the most deserving. His songs, in general, may 
be compared to those of Pindar, as they have frequently 
the same flights of imagination, and are composed (I 
don't say written, for he could not write) merely to 
flatter some man of fortune upon some excellence of 
tho same kind. lu these one man is praised for the 


oxcellenee of hm rtable. an in Pin'.r , „ for hi« 
hospitality, a third for the beau , *ife „„,i 

^Idren, and a fourth for ;'.o anti ,„h family. 

Whenever any of the origu ,l , ativcH u. notion »en, 
asKmbled at feasting or rovo .ng, Curolan «... generally 
there, where ho»«.» alwayn ready with hi» harp to 
celebrate their ,„,„.e». He «eemed by nature formc.l 
for hiH profeHnioi. ; for an ho wan bom blind, «o nJHo he 
was pow8«e<l „( a moHt aHtopi^hing memory, an.l 
a facetious aun of thinking, whirh gave hi. entertainers 
infinite s.vtul Mlion. Being once at the house of an 
Insh nobH-„„.n, whm. t!,. ,. «.„ a musician pres-nt<.n. i., ■I,< (.rof,,.s«i„„. Ca.^lan immediately 
challenged him fa „ frfn' of »kill. To carry the jest 
forward h.8 lor<l l,i, jkts udod tlio musidnn to accept 
the challenge and ho ..cordini^ly played over on hi. 
fiddle the fifth concerto of Viv;,kU. Carolan, imraeii: 
ately taking his harp, jh.yed ov.r the whole piect, aft,-i 
ium, without missing a note, though ho had nevt. , ,• „,j 
It before ; which produced soino sHrprisc : b; „ thir 
astonishment increased, when he assured them 1,. ..,'iil!'l 
make a concerto in the same taste himself, ^ !,,, ; I, 
instantly composed, and that \>ith such s|,ui' ,.n,; 
elegance, that it may compare (for we have it sti!:. 
with the finest compositions of Italy. 

His death was not more remarkable than his life 
Homer was never more fond of a gla«s than ho • ho' 
would drink whole pints of usquebaugh, and, as he used 
to think, without any ill consequence. His intemper- 
ance, however, in this respect, at length brought on an 
incurable disorder, and when just at the poi'it of death 
ho calU .1 foi a cup of his beloved liquor. Those who 
were standing round him, surpri.,ed at the demand 
endeavoured to persuade hir , o the contrary ; but he' 
persisted, and when the bow. .s brought him, attempted 




to drink, but could not ; wherefore, giving away the 
bowl, he observed, with a smile, that it would be hard 
if two such friends as he and the cup should part at 
least without kissing ; and then expired. 


Of all men who form gay illusions of distant happi- 
ness, perhaps a poet is the most sanguine. Such is the 
ardour of his hopes, that they often are equal to actual 
enjoyment ; and he feels more in expectance than actut 1 
fruition. I have often regarded a character of this kind 
with some degree of envy. A man possessed of such 
warm imagination commands all nature, and arrogates 
possessions of which ths owner has a blunter relish. 
While life continues, the alluring prospect lies before 
him ; he travels in the pursuit with confidence, and 
resigns it only with his last breath. 

It is this happy r "idence which gives life its true 
relish, and keeps up „ spirits amidst every distress 
and disappointment. How much less would be done, 
if a man knew how little he can do ! How wretched 
a creature would he be if he saw the end as well as the 
beginning of his projects I He would have nothing left 
but to sit down in torpid despair, and exchange employ- 
ment for actual calamity. 

I was led into this train of thinking upon lately 
visiting the beautiful gardens of the late Mr. Shenstflne, 
who was himself a poet, and possessed of that warm 
imagination which made him ever foremost in the pur- 
suit of flying happiness. Could he but have foreseen 
the end of all hit schemes, for whom he was improving, 
and what changes his designs were to undergo, he 
would have scarcely amused his innocent life with what. 


for several years, employed him in a most harmless 
mamier, and abridged his scanty fortune. As the pro- 
gress of this Improvement is a true picture of sublunary 
vicissitude, I could not help calling up my imagination 
which, while I walked pensively along, suggested tho 
roUowmg Reverie. 

As I was turning my back upon a beautiful piece of 
water, enlivened with cascades and rock-work and 
entering a dark walk, by which ran a prattling biook 
the Genius of the place appeared before mo, but more 
resembling the God of Time, than him more peculiarly 
appomted to the care of gardens. Instead of shears he 
bore a scythe ; and he appeared rather with the imple- 
ments of husbandry than those of a modem gardener 
Having remembered this place in its pristine beauty, 
X could not help condoling with him on its present 
rmnous situation. I spoke to him of the many altera- 
tions which had been made, and all for the worse • of 
the many shades which had been taken away, of the 
bowers that were destroyed by neglect, and the hedge- 
rows that were spoiled by clipping. The Genius, with 
a sigh, received my condolement, and assured me that 
he was equally a martyr to ignorance and taste, to 
refinement and rusticity. Seeing me desirous of know- 
ing farther, he went on : 

You see, in the place before you, the paternal 
inheritance of a poet ; and, to a man content with little, 
fullysufficient for his subsistence : but a strong imagina- 
tion, and a long acquaintance with the rich, are dangerous 
foes to contentment. Our poet, instead of sitting down 
to enjoy life, resolved to prepare for its future enjoy- 
ment, and set about converting a place of profit into 
a scene of pleasure. This he at first supposed could be 
accomplished at a small expense ; and he was willing 
for a while to stint his income, to have an opportunity 


'of displaying his taste. The Improvement in thismanner 
' went forward ; one beauty attained led him to wish for 
some other ; but he still hoped that every emendation 
would be the last. It was now therefore found, that 
the Improvement exceeded the subsidy— that the place 
was grown too large and too fine for the inhabitant. 
But that pride which was once exhibited could not 
retire ; the garden was made for the owner, and though 
it was become unfit for him, he could not willingly 
resign it to another. Thus the firet idea, of its beauties 
contributing to the happiness of his life, was found 
unfaithful ; so that, instead of looking within tor 
satisfaction, he began to think of having recourse to 
the praises of those who came to visit his Improve- 

' In consequence of this hope, which now took posses- 
sion of his mind, the gardens were opened to the visits 
of every stranger ; and the country flocked round to 
walk, to criticize, to admire, and to do mischief. He 
soon found that the admirers of his taste left by no 
means such strong marks of their applause, as the 
envious did of their malignity. All the windows of his 
temples and the walls of his retreats were impressed 
with the characters of profaneness, ignorance, and 
obscenity ; his hedges were broken, his statues and 
urns defaced, and his lawns worn bare. It was now, 
therefore, necessary to shut up the gardens once more, 
and to deprive the public of that happiness which had 
before ceased to be his own. 

' In this situation the poet continued for a time, in 
the character of a jealous lover, fond of the beauty he 
keeps, but unable to supply the extravagance of every 
demand. The garden by this time was completely 
grown and finished ; the marks of art were covered up 
by the luxuriance of nature ; the winding walks were 


' grown dark ; the brook ansumed a nataral Hylvage ; 
' and the rocks were covered with mow. Nothing now 
' remained but to enjoy the beauties of the place, when 
' the poor poet died, and his garrlen was oblige'i to be 
' sold for the benefit of those 'iho had contributed to its 
' embellishment. 

' The beauties of the place had now for some time 
' been celebrated as well in prose as in verse ; and all 
' men of taste wished for so envied a spot, where every 
'turn was marked with the poet's pencil, and every 
' walk awakened genius and meditation. The first pur- 
' chaser was one Mr. Truepenny, a button-maker, who 
' was possessed of three thousand pounds, and was willing 
' also to be possessed of taste and genius. 

' As the poet's ideas were for the natural wildne* of 
' the landscape, the button-maker's were for the more 
' regular productions of art. Heconccived, perhaps, that 
' as it is a beauty in a button to be of a regular pattern, 
' so the same regularity ought to obtain in a landscape. 
' Be this as it will, he employed tlie shears to some pur- 
' pose ; he clipped up the bedfles, cut down the gloomy 
' walks, made vistas upon the stables and hog-sties, and 
' showed his friend* tbat a man of taste should always 
' be doing. 

' The next candidate for taste and genius was a captain 
' of • «hip, who bought the garden because the former 
' possessor could find nothing more to mend : but un- 
' fortunately he had taste too. His great passion lay in 
'building, in making Chinese temples and cage-work 
' summer-houses. As the place before had an appearance 
' of retirement and inspired meditation, he gave it a more 
' peopled air ; every turning presented a cottage, or ice- 
' house, or a temple ; the Improvement was converted 
' into a little city, and it only wanted inhabitants to give 
' it the air of a village in the East Indies. 

ii ! 


' In this manner, in less than ten years, the Improve- 
ment has gone through the hands of as many proprietors, 
who were all willing to have taste, and to show their 
taste too. As the place had received its best finishing 
from the hand of the first possessor, so every innovator 
only lent a hand to do mischief. Those parts which 
were obscure, have been enlightened ; those walks 
which led naturally, have been twisted into serpentine 
wmdings. The colour of the flowers of the field is not 
more various than the variety of tastes that have been 
employed here, and all in direct contradiction to the 
onginal aim of the first improver. Could the original 
possessor but revive, with what a sorrowful heart would 
he look upon his favourite spot again ! He would 
scarcely recollect a Driyad or a Wood-nymph of his 
former acquaintance, and might perhaps find himself 
as much a stranger in his own plantation as in the 
f'eserts of Siberia.' 


The theatre, like all other amusements, has its 
fashions and its prejudices ; and when satiated with 
its excellence, mankind begin to mistake change for 
improvement. For some years tragedy was the reigning 
entertainment ; but of late it has entirely given way to 
comedy, and our best efforts are now exerted in these 
lighter kinds of composition. The pompous train, the 
swelling phrase, and the unnatural rant are displaced 
for that natural portrait of human folly and frailty, of 
which all are judges, because all have sat for the 

But as in describing nature it is presented with 
a double face,, either of mirth or sadness, our modem 



writers find themgelves at a loss which chiefly to copy 
from ; and it is now debated, whether the exhibition 
of human distress is likely to afford the mind more 
entertainment than that of human absurdity ? 

Comedy is defined by Aristotle to be a picture of the 
frailties of the lower part of mankind, to distinguish it 
from tragedy, which is an exhibition of the misfortunes 
of the great. When comedy, therefore, ascends to pro- 
duce the characters of princes or generals upon the 
stage, it is out of its walk, since low life and middle life 
are entirely its object. The principal question therefore 
is, whether, in describing low or middle life, an exhibition 
of its follies be not preferable to a detail of its calamities ? 

Or, in other words, which deserves the preference, 

the weeping sentimental comedy so much in fashion at 
present [1773], or the laughing and even low comedy 
which seems to have been last exhibited by Vanbrugh 
and Cibber ? 

K we apply to authorities, all the great masters in 
the dramatic art have but one opinion. Their rule is, 
that as tragedy displays the calamities of the great, so 
comedy should excite our laughter by ridiculously 
exhibiting the follies of the lower part of mankind. 
Boileau, one of the best modem critics, asserts that 
comedy will not admit of tragic distress : 

la comique, ennemi dea soupin ct de« picure, 
N'admet point dana aes vera de tragiquea douleurs. 
Nor is this rule without the strongest foundation in nature, 
as the distresses of the mean by no means affect us so 
strongly as the calamities of the gitjat. When tragedy 
exhibits to us some great man fallen from his height, and 
struggling with want and adversity, we feel his situation 
in the same manner as we suppose he himself must feel, 
and our pity is increased in proportion to the height from 
whence he fell. On the contrary, we do not so strongly 


sympathize with one bom in humbler circumstanoes, 
and encountering accidental distrew; bo that while we 
melt for Belioarius, we scarce give halfpence to the 
beggar who accoetj us in the street. The one has our 
pity ; the other our contempt. Distress, therefore, is 
the proper object of tragedy, since the great excite our 
pity by their fall ; but not equally so of comedy, since 
the actors employed in it are originally so mean, that 
they sink but little by their fall. 

Since the first origin of the stage, tragedy and comedy 
have run in distinct channels, and never till of late 
encroached upon the provinces of each other. Terence, 
who seems to have made the nearest approaches, always 
judiciously stops short before he comes to the downright 
pathetic ; and yet he ia even reproached by Caesar for 
wanting the via comica. All the other comic writers of 
antiquity aim only at rendering folly or vice ridiculous, 
but never exalt their characters into buskuied pomp, 
or make what Voltaire humorously calls a tradesman's 

Yet notwithstanding this weight of authority, and 
the universal {Hractice of former ages, a new species of 
dramatic composition has been introduced, under the 
name of sentimental comedy, in which the virtues of 
private life are exhibited, rather than the vices exposed ; 
and the distresses rather than the faults of mankind 
make our interest in the piece. These comedies have 
had of late great success, perhaps from their novelty, 
and also from their flattering every man in his favourite 
foible. In these plays almost all the characters are 
good, and exceedingly generous ; they arc lavish enough 
of their tiu money on the stage ; and though they want 
humour, have abundance of sentiment and feeling. If 
they happen to have faults or foibles, the spectator is 
taught, not only to pardon, but to applaud them, in 


congidcration of the goodness of their hearts ; go that 
folly, instead of being ridiculed, jh commended, and the 
comedy aims at touching our passions without the 
power of being truly pathetic. In this manner we are 
hkely to lose one great source of entertainment on the 
stage ; for while the comic poet is invading the province 
of the tragic muse, he leaves her lovely sister quit.' 
neglected. Of this, however, he is no way solidtous, 
as he measures his fame by his profitH. 

But it will be said that the theatre is formed to 
amuse mankind, and that it matters little, if this end 
be answered, by what means it is obtained. If man- 
kmd find delight in weeping at comedy, it would be cruel 
to abndge them in that ..r any other innocent pleasure 
If those pieces are denied the name of comedies yet 
call them by any other name, and if they are delightful 
they are good. Their success, it will be said, i> a mark 
of their merit, and it is only abridging our happiness to 
deny us an inlet to amusement. 

These objections, however, are rather specious than 
solid It is true that amusement is a great object of 
the theatre, and it will be allowed that these sentimental 
p»ces do often amuse us ; but the question is, whether 
the true comedy would not amuse us more? The 
question is, whether a character supported throughout 
a piece with its ridicule still attending, would not give 
us more delight than this species of bastard tragedy, 
which only is applauded because it is new ? 

A friend of mine, who was sitting unmoved at one of 
these sentimental pieces, was asked how he could be so 
indifferent ? 'Why, truly,' says he, ' as the hero is but a 
^ tradesman, it is indifferent to me whether he be turned 
^ out of his counting-house on Fish-street Hill, since he 
WTLll still have enough left to open shop in St. Giles's.' 
The other objection is as ill-grounded ; for though 



we should give these pieces another name, it will not 
mend their efficacy. It will continue a kind of mulish 
production, with all the defects of its opposite parents, 
and marked with sterility, U w« are permitted to make 
comedy weep, we haw »« e<)«Ml right to make tragedy 
laugh, and to set dow» in blank verse the jests and 
repartees of all tl»e attendants in a funeral procession. 

But there is one ailment in favour of sentimental 
comedy, which will ke»>p it on the stage, in spite of all 
that can be said ugainst it. It is, of all others, the most 
easily written. Those abilities that can hammer out 
a novel are fully sufficient for the production of a 
sentimental comedy. It is only sufficient to raise the 
characters a little ; to deck out the hero with a riband, 
or give the heroine a title ; then to put an insipid 
dialogue, without character or humour, into their 
mouths, give them mighty good hearts, very fine 
clothes, furnish a new set of scenes, make a pathetic 
scene or two, with a sprinkling of tender melancholy con- 
versation through the whole, and there is no doubt but 
all the ladies will cry, and all the gentlemen applaud. 

Humour at present seems to be departing frcm the 
stage, and it will soon happen that oui comic plnyers 
will have nothing left for it but a fine co.t and a song. 
It depends upon the audience whether they will actually 
drive those poor merry creatures from the stage, or sit 
at a play as gloomy as at the tabernacle. It is not easy 
to recover an art when once lost ; and it will be but 
a just punishment, that when, by our bsing too fastidious, 
we have banished humour from the stage, we should 
ourselves be deprived of the art A laughing. 

I If 



As I r«o you are fond of gallantry, and soem willing 
to Bot young people tog(-ther n8 soon as you can, I cannot 
help lending my asBistance to your endeavours, as I am 
greatly concerned in the attempt. You must know 
sir, that I am Inmilndy of one of the most noted inns 
on the road to Scotland, and have seldom less thavj 
eight or ten couples a week, who go down rapturous 
lovers, and return man and wife. 

If there be in this world an agreeable situation, it 
must be that in which a young couple find themselves, 
when just let loose from confinement, and whirling off 
to the land of promise. When the post-chaise is driving 
off, and the blinds are drawn up, sure nothing can 
equal it. And yet, I do not know how, what with the 
fears of being pursued, or the wishes for greater happi- 
ness, not one of my customers but seen\« gloomy and 
out of temper. The gentlemen are all sullen, and the 
ladies discontented. 

But if it be so going down, how is ii with them coming 
back ? Having been for a fortnight together, they are 
then mighty good company to be sure. It is then that the 
young lady's indiscretion stares her in the face, and the 
gentleman himself finds that much is to be done before 
the money comes in. 

For my own part, sir, I was married in the usual way ; 
all my friends were at the wedding ; I was conducted 
with great ceremony from the table to the bed ; and 
I do not find that it any ways diminished my happi- 
ness with my husband, while, poor man ! ho continued 
with me. For my part, I am entirely for doing things 
m the old family way; I hato your new-fashioned 



mannen, and never loved an outlandish marriage in 
my life. 

Ab I have had numbem call at my houtie, you may 
be sure I wag not idle in inquiring who they were, and 
how they did in the world after they left me. I cannot 
Ray that I ever heard much good come of them : and 
of a history of twenty-five that I noted down in my 
ledger, I do not know a single couple that would not 
have been full as happy if they had gone the plain way 
to work, and asked the consent of their parents. To 
convince you of it, I will mention the names of a few, 
and refer the rest to some fitter opportunity. 

Imprimis, Miss Jenny Hastings went down to Scotland 
with a tailor, who, to be sure, for a tailor, was a very 
agreeable sort of man.' But, I do not know how, he 
did not take proper measure of the young lady's dis- 
position they quarrelled at my house on their return ; 
so she left him for a comet of dragoons, and he went 
back to his shop-board. 

Miss Rachel Runfort went off with a grenadier. They 
spent all their money going down ; so that he carried 
her down in a post-chaise, and coming back, she helped 
to carry his knapsack. 

Miss Racket went down with her lover in their own 
phaeton ; but upon their return, being very fond of 
driving, she would be every now and then for holding 
the whip. This bred a dispute ; and before they were 
a fortnight together, she felt that he could exercise the 
whip on somebody else besides the horses. 

Miss Meekly, though all compliance to the will of her 
lover, could never reconcile him to the change of his 
situation. It seems he married her supposing she had 
a large fortune ; but being deceived in his expectations, 
they parted ; and they now keep separate garrets in 
Rosemary Lane. 



The next couple uf whom I have any account nctually 
lived together in great harmony and uneloying kimlnc-H 
for no lew than a month ; hut the Indy, who ««» n little 
in yearn, having parted with her fortimo to her dcnifttt 
life, he left her to make love to that better piirt of lier 
which he valued more. 

The next pair consiHted of an Irish fortuno-hunter 
and one of the prettient, modeHte§t i.ulicM that ever mv 
eyes beheld. As he was :i well-looking gentleman, ull 
dressed in lace, and as she seemed very fond of him. 
1 thought they were blest for life. Yet i was i|iiickly 
miataken. The luly was no Ix-tter thon a eommon 
woman of the town, iin^t ho was no Iwtter than a sharper ; 
so thcj agreed upon ,» mutual divorce : ho now dresses 
at the York Ball, and she is in keeping by the member 
for our borough in Parliament. 

In this manner we see that nil those marriages, in 
which there is icterest on one side, and disobedience on 
the other, are lot likely to promise a long har\est of 
delights. If our fortune-hunting gentlemen would but 
speak out, the young lady, instead of a lover, would 
often find a sneaking rogue, that only wnnte<l the lady's 
purse, and not her heart. For my own part, I never 
saw anything but design and falsehood in every one of 
them ; and my blood has Ixiiled in my veins when 
I saw a young fellow of twenty kneeling at the feet of 
a twenty-thousand pounder, professing his passion, 
while ho was taking aim at her money. I do not deny 
but there may be love in .i Scotch marriage, but it is 
generally all on one side. 

Of all the sincere admirers I ever knew, a man of my 
acquaintance, who however did not run away with his 
mistress to Scotland, was the most so. An old excise^ 
man of our town, who, as you may guess, was not ^ery 
rich, had a daughter who, as you shall see, was not 




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very handsome. It wa« the opinion of everybody that 
this young woman would not soon be married, as she 
wanted two main articles, beauty and fortune. But, 
for all this, a very well-looking man, that happened to 
be travelling those parts, came and asked the excise- 
man for his daughter in marriage. The exciseman, 
willing to deal openly by him, asked if be had seen the 
girl ; ' for,' says he, ' she is humpbacked.' — ' Very 
' well,' cried the stranger, 'that will do for me.' — 'Aye,' 
says the exciseman, ' but my daughter is as brown as 

• a berry.' — ' So much the better,' cried the stranger ; 

* such skills wear well.' — ' But she is bandy-legged,' 
says the exciseman. — ' No matter,' cries the other ; 
' her petticoats will hidi that defect.' — ' But then she is 
' very poor, and wants an eye.' — ' Your description 
' delights me,' cries the stranger : ' I have been long 
' looking out for one of her make ; for I keep an ex- 
' hibition of wild beasts, and intend to show her oS 
' for a chimpanzee.' 



O F 



Mafter of the Ceremonies at Bath. 

Extraded principally from 

Non e^ paucis 

Offendar Maculis. Hor. 



Printed for J. Newbery, in St. Paul's Church- 
yard} W. Frederick, at Bath; and 
G. Faulkener, in Dublin, 







By their 
Most Obedient Humble Servant, 



The following memoir is neither calculated to inflame 
the reader's passions with deacriptions of gallantry, nor 
to gratify his malevolence with details of scandal. The 
amours of coxcombs, and the pursuits of debauchees, are 
as destitute of novelty to attract us, as they are of 
variety to entertain, they still present us but the same 
picture, a picture we have seen a thousand times repeated. 
The life of Mr. Nash is incapable of supplymg any 
entertainment of this nature to a prurient curiosity. 
Though it was passed in the very midst of debauchery, 
he practis-^d but few of those vices he was often obliged 
to assent to. Though he lived where gallantry was the 
capital pursuit, he was never known to favour it by his 
example, and what authority he had was set to oppose 
it. Instead therefore of a romantic history, Bllcd with 
warm pict.. , and fanciful adventures, the reader of 
the following account must rest satisfied with a genuine 
and candid recital compiled from the papers he left 
behind, and others equally authentic ; a recital neither 
written with a spirit of satire nor panegyric, and with 
scarce any other art than that of arranging the materials 
in their natural order. 

But though little art has been used, it is hoped that 
some entertainment may be collected from the life of 
a person so much talked of, and yet so little known, as 


Mr. Nash. The history of a man, who for more than 
fifty years presided over the pleasures of a polite 
kingdom, and whose life, though without anything to 
surprise, was ever marked with singularity, deserves 
the attention of the present age ; the pains he took in 
pursuing pleasure, and the solemnity he assumed in 
adjusting trifles, may on., y claim the smile of posterity. 
At least such a history is well enough calculated to supply 
a vacant hour with innocent amusement, however it may 
fail to open the heart, or improve the understanding. 

Yet his life, how trifling soever it may appear to the 
inattentive, was not without its real advantages to 
the public. He was the first who diffused a desire of 
society, and an easiness of address, among a whole people 
who were formerly censured by foreigners for a reserved- 
ness of behaWour and an awkward timidity in their 
first approaches. He first taught a familiar intercourse 
among strangers at Bath and Tunbridge, which still 
subsists among them. That ease and open access first 
acquired there, our gentry brought back to the metropolis, 
and thus the whole kingdom by degrees became more 
refined by lessons originally derived from him. 

Had it been my design to have made this history 
more pleasing at the expense of truth, it had been easily 
performed ; but I chose to describe the man as he was, 
not such as imagination could have helped in completing 
his picture ; he will be found to be a weak man, govern- 
ing weaker aubjeots, and may be considered as resem- 
bling a monarch of Cappadocia, whom Ciceio somewhere 
calls, Ike littk king of a Uttk peopk. 


But while I have been careful in describing the 
monarch, his dominions have claimed no Hmall share 
of my attention ; I have given an exact account of the 
rise, regulation, and nature of the amusements of the 
city of Bath, how far Mr. Nash contributed to establish 
and refine them, and what pleasure a stranger may 
expect there upon his arrival. Such anecdotes as are 
at once true and worth preserving are produced in their 
order, and some stories are added, which, though 
commonly known, more necessarily belong to this 
history than to the places from whence they have 
been extracted. But it is needless to point out the 
pains that have been taken, or the entertainment that 
may be expected from the perusal of this performance. 
It is but an indifferent way to gain the reader's esteem, 
to be my own panegyrist, nor is this preface so much 
designed to lead him to beauties, as to demand pardon 
for defects. 

1 1 '. 


We have the permiaaion o^ George Scott, Esq. (who kindly 
undortook to settle the aflaira o( Mr. Nash, for the benefit of his 
famUy and creditors) to assure the pubUc, that all the pajwrs found 
in the custody of Mr. Nash, which any ways respects his life, and 
were thought i..tere8ting to the public, were communicated to the 
Editor of this volume ; so that thu reader wUl, at least, have the 
satisfaction of perusing an that is genuine, and not the 
work of imagination, as biographical writings too frequently are. 


HiSTORv owes its excellence more to the writer's 
manner than the materials of which it i» composed. 
The intrigues of courts, or the devastation of armies, 
are regarded by the remote spectator with as little 
attention as the squabbles of a village, or the fate of 
a malefactor, that fall under his own observation. The 
great and the little, as they have the same H(;nse8, and 
the same affections, generally present the same picture 
to the hand of the draughtsman ; and whether the 
hero or the clown be the subject of the memoir, it is only 
man that appears with all his native minuteness about 
him ; for nothing very great was ever yet formed from 
the little materials of humanity. 

Thus none can properly be said to write history, but 
he who understands the human heart, and its whole 
train of affections and follies. Those affections and 
follies are properly the materials he has to work upon. 
The relations of great events may surprise indeed ; they 
may be calculated to instruct those very few who 
govern the million beneath, but the genera.'=ty of man- 
kind find the most real improvement from relations 
which are levelled to the general surface of life ; which 
cell, not how men learned to conquer, but how they 
endeavoured to live ; not how they gained the shout 
of the admiring crowd, but how they acquired the 
esteem of their friends and acquaintance. 

Every man's own life would perhaps furnish the 
most pleasing materials for history, if he only had 
candour enough to be sincere, and skill enough to select 



guch parts as once making him more pnident, might 
servo to render his readers more cautious. There are 
few who do not prefer a page of Montaigne or Colley 
fibber, who candidly I II us what they thought of the 
world and the world thought of them, to the moro 
stately memoirs and transactions of Europe, where we 
see kings pretending to immortality, that are now 
almost forgotten, and statesmen planning frivolous 
negotiations, that scarce outlive the signing. 

It were to be wishctl that ministers and kings were 
left to write their own histories ; they are truly useful 
to few but themselves ; ' -it for men who are contented 
with more humblj stations, I fancy such truths only 
are serviceable as may conduct them safely through life. 
That knowledge which we can turn to our real ben >fit 
should be most eagerly purs led. Treasures which we 
cannot use but little increase the happiness or even the 
pride of the possessor. 

I profess to write the history of a man placed in 
the middle rankb of life ; of or' , whose vices and 
virtues were open to the eye of the most undisceming 
spectator ; who was placed in public view, without power 
to repress censure, or command adulation ; who had too 
much merit not to become remarkable, yet too much 
folly to arrive at greatness. I attempt the charactsr of 
one, who was just such a man as probably you or I may 
be, but with this difference, that he never performed an 
action which thf world did not know, or ever formed 
a wish which he did not take pains to divulge. In short, 
I have chosen to write the life of the noted Mr. Nash, 
an it will be the delineation of a mind without disguise, 
of a man ever assiduous without industry, and pleasing 
to his superiors, without any superiority of genius or 
understanding. . 

Yet if there be any who think the subject of too little 


importnneo to cnniiiianil uttriitioii, iiiul h..(l rather gazo 
at the uctioiiN of the urcat, than be direeted in Kiiiding 
their own, ! liave one undeii ' il>|.- claini to their attention. 
Mr. Nash waH hiniMelf a king. In this partieular, iK'rhapn 
no biographer haH been »o happy .ih I. They who aro 
for a delineation of men and ninnnerM may tind n,)mo 
Hatisfaction that way, and thoHc who delight in adven- 
tures of kings and (juccus, may perhaps find their hopes 
satisfied in another 

It IS a matter of very little importance who were the 
parents, or what was the education, of a man who 
owed so little of his advancement to cither. Ho seldom 
boasted of family or learning, and his father's name 
circumktances were so little known, that Doctor Cheync 
used frequently to say, that Nash had no father. The 
Duchess of Marlljorough one day rallying him in public 
company upon the obscurity of his birth, compared him 
to Gil Bias, who was ashamed of his father ' No, 
' Madam,' replied Nash, ' I seldom mention my father in 
' company, not because I have any riason to be ashame<i 
' of him, bui. Ijecause ho has so.'io reason to be ashamed 
' of me.' 

However, though such anecdotes be immaterial, to 
go on In the usual course of history, it may be proper 
to observe, that Richard Nash, Esq., the subject of this 
memoir, was born in the town of Swansea, in Glamorgan- 
shire, on the 18th of O:;tol)er, in the year 1674.' His 
father Mas a gentleman, whose principal income arose 
' This iccount of bin birt'' and parentage m conlirmod by the 
following memorandum, wri. .n by Mr. Xwh bimsclf in a book 
bdongmg to Mr. Charles Moi^an, at the Coffcc-Hou80 in Bath ; 
whence it was transcribed by Ocorxo Scott. Esq. ; to whom we 
are indebted for this and many other anecdotes rcsiiecting the I'fe 
of Mr. '' h. 

'Mj ither was a Welch Gentleman, my mo. he- niece to Col. 
Foyer, who was murdered by Oliver for i fcndinK Pembroke. I wa« 
bora Oct. 18, 1074, in Swansey, GUmorgaashire." 



from .1 partnernhip in n glaHH-houiw ; hiH mother wan 
niece to Colonel Poyor, who wb« killcil by Oliver Crom- 
well, for defending Pembroke Cn«tlo ngninBt the rebels. 
Ho WttH educated under Mr. MaddockH at Carmarthen 
School, and from thence ncnt to Jcbuh College, in Oxford, 
in order to prepare him for the Btudy of the law. Hin 
father had utrained his little income to give his don such 
an education ; but from the boy's natural vivacity, he 
hoped a recompense from his future preferment. In 
college, however, he soon showed that though much 
might be expected from his genius, nothing eould be 
hoped from his industry. A mind strongly turned to 
pleasure, always is first seen at the University : there 
the youth first finds hin^elf freed from the restraint of 
tutors, and being treated by his friends in some measure 
as a man, assumes the passions and desires of riper 
age, and discovers in the boy, what are likely to bo the 
affections of his maturity. 

The first method Mr. Nash took to distinguish himself 
at college was not by application to study, but by his 
assiduity in Intrigue. In the neighbourhoc-f of every 
University there are girls who with sor j b> .luty, some 
coquetry, and little fortune, lie upon the watch for 
every raw amorous youth, more inclined to make love 
than to study. Our hero was quickly caught, and went 
through all the mazes and adventures of a college 
intrigue, before he was seventeen ; he offered marriage, 
the offer was accepted, but the whole affair coming to 
the knowledge of his tutor, his happiness, or perhaps 
his future misery, was prevented, and he was sent home 
from ( allege, with necessary advice to him, and proper 
instructions to his father.' 

' Since the publication of the fint edition of this book, notice 
has been taken in some of the newtpapcrs of Mr. Nash's leaving the 
University without di»oh»rginf( a small debt which he owed to the 
college where he was placed, -nd which stands on their books to thia 


men a mon kiiowH > ^h p„w.r ovor tho fai- wx, ho 
generally cmnmvAvvH their n.I„„H.r for the rent „t life 
Th«t triumph which he ..btairis over one, , -ly n.akeH 
him tho «lave of another ; an.l thuH he pHK^eecIn, etm- 
queriiig and conquered, to the clo»inK of the Hcene Tlio 
army Heemc<I the moHt likely profe»Hi,m in which to 
display this mcliaation for gnllant, he thciffore 
purchased a pair of colours, coininenced « profeKwd 
admirer of tho sex, and dresHcd to the verv cIrc of his 
financeH, But the life of o Mol.lier is nmv pleasing to 
tho spectator at a distan. than to the j.erson who 
makes the experiment. Mr. Nash soon found that a red 
coat alone would never succeed, that tho company o' 
the fair box is not to bo procured without expense, and 
that hig scanty commission could never p. cure hin. the 
proper reimbursements. Ho found too lat tho pro- 
frssion of arms required attendance and uutv, and often 
encroached upon those hours ho could havo wished to 
dedicate to softer purposes. In short, he soon became 
disgusted with the life of a soldier, quitted tho army 
entered his name as a student in the Temple books, and 
here went to the very summit of second-rate luxury. 
Though very poor he was very fine ; he spread the little 
gold he had, m tho most ostentatious manner, and 
though the gilding was but thin, he laid it on as far as 
It would go. They who know tho town, cannot be 

anothTatl ' "" ™«'" ■"'" '" '■»'•<' """■" »»""' "»""^ •>{ 
Zln • ,?"""""'"''*«' «» "». "I'i.h was. that when ho 

P »>». a tobacco-box, and a fiddle, which had engaged mor,- Lf hi" 

. weraV.t"„tt''" ".""i-'". •" P"™'" '-'"-■ !"■"•»<'■« 
Uor h ^ ■ ™"''' """"^ """>" entertainment nor cdifica 

tion, they were purposely omitted. 



unacquainted with Huch a character as I describe ; one, 
who, though he may have dined in private upon a 
banquet served cold from a cook's shop, shall dress at 
six for the side-box ; one of those, whose wan*s are 
only known to their laundress and tradesmen, and their 
fine clothes to half the nobility ; who spend more in 
chair hire, than housekeeping ; and prefer a bow from 
a Lord, to a dinner from a Commoner. 

In this manner Mr. Nash spent some years about 
town, till at last his genteel appearance, his constant 
civiUty, and sti!'. more, his assiduity, gained him the 
acquaintance of several persons qualified to lead the 
fashion both by birth and fortune. To gain the friend- 
ship of the young nobility, little more is requisite than 
much submission and very fine clothes ; dress has 
a mechanical influence upon the mind, and we paturally 
are awed into respect and esteem at the elegance of 
those, whom even our reason would teach us to contemn. 
He seemed early sensible of human weakness in this 
respect ; he brought a person genteelly dressed to every 
assembly ; he always made one of those who are called 
very good company, and assurance gave him an air of 
elegance and ease. 

When King William was upon the throne, Mr. Nash 
was a member of the Middle Temple. It had been long 
customary for the Inns of Court to entertain our 
monarchs upon their accession to the crown, or some 
such remarkable occasion, with a revel and pageant. In 
the earlier periods of our history, poets were the con- 
ductors of these entertainments ; plays were exhibited, 
and complimentary verses were then written ; but by 
degrees the pageant alone was continued. Sir John Davis 
being the last poet that wrote verses upon such an 
occasion, in the reign of James I. 

This ceremony, which hab boon at length totally 


discontinued, was last exhibited in honour of King 
Wilham, and Mr. Nash was chosen to conduct the whole 
with proper decorum. He was then but a very young 
man, but we see at how early an age he was thought 
proper to guide the amusements of his country, and bo 
the Arbiter Elegantiarum of his time ; we see how early 
he gave proofs of that spirit of regularity, for which he 
afterwards became famous, and showed an attention to 
those little circumstances, of which, though the observ- 
ance be trifling, the neglect has often interrupted men 
of the greatest abilities in the progress of their fortunes. 

In conducting this entertainment, Nash had an 
opportur.ity of exhibiting all his abilities, and King 
Wilham was so well satisfied with his performance, that 
he made him an offer of knighthood. This, however, he 
thought proper to refuse, which in a person of his 
disposition seems strange. ' Please your Majesty,' replied 
he, when the offer was made him, ' if you intend to 
' make me a knight, I wish it may be one of your poor 
' Knights of Windsor, and then I shall have a fortune 
' at least able to support my title.' Yet we do not find 
that the King took the hint of increasing his fortune ; 
perhaps he could not : he had at that time numbers 
to oblige, and he never cared to give money without 
important services. 

But though Nash acquired no riches by his late office, 
yet he gained many friends, or what is more easily 
obtained, many acquaintance, who often answer the 
end as well. In the populous city where he resided, to 
be known was almost synonymous with being in the 
road to fortune. How many little things do we see, 
without merit, or without friends, push themselves 
forward into public notice, and by self-advertising, 
attract the attention of the day. The wise despise them, 
but the public are not all wise. Thus they succeed, rise 



upon the wing of folly, or of fashion, and by their 
success give a new sanction to e£frontery. 

But beside his assurance, Mr. Nash had in reality 
some merit and some virtues. He was, if not a brilliant, 
at least an easy companion. He never forgot good 
manners, even in the highest warmth of familiarity, and, 
as I hinted before, never went in a dirty shirt to disgrace 
the table of his patron or his friend. These qualifications 
might make the furniture of his head ; but for his heart, 
that seemed an assemblage of the virtues which display 
an honest benevolent mind, with the vices which 
spring from too much good nature. He had pity for 
every creature's distress, but wanted prudence in the 
application of his benefits. He had generosity for the 
wretched in the highest degree, at a time when his 
creditors complained of his justice. He often spoke 
falsehoods, but never had any of his harmless tales 
tinctured with malice. 

An instance of his humanity is told us in the Spectator, 
though his name is not mentioned. When he was to 
give in his accompts to the Masters of the Temple, 
among other articles, he charged ' For making onj man 
' happy, £10.' Being questioned about the meaning of 
so strange an item, he frankly declared, that happening 
to overhear a poor man declare to his wife and a large 
family of children, that £10 would make him happy, 
he could not avoid trying the experiment. He added, 
that if they did not choose to acquiesce in his charge, 
he was ready to refund the money. The Masters, struck 
with such an uncommon instance of good nature, publicly 
thanked him for his benevolence, and desired that the 
sum might be doubled as a proof of their satisfaction. 

Another instance of his unaccountable generosity, 
and I shall proceed. In some transactions with one of 
his friends, Mr. Nash was brought in debtor twenty 


pounds. His friend frequently asked for the money, 
and was as often denied. He found at last, that assiduity 
was likely to have no effect, and therefore contrived an 
honourable method of getting back his money without 
dissolving the friendship that subsisted between them. 
One day, returning from Nash's chamber with the usual 
assurance of being paid to-morrow, he went to one of 
their mutual acquaintance, and related the frequent 
disappointments he had received, and the little hopes 
he had of being ever paid. ' My design,' continues he, 
' is that you should go, and try to borrow twenty pounds 
'from Nash, and brmg me the money. I am apt to 
' think he will lend to you, though he will not pay me. 
'Perhaps we may extort from his generosity, what 
' I have failed to receive from his justice.' His friend 
obeys, and going to Mr. Nash, assured him, that, unless 
relieved by his friendship, he should certainly be undone; 
he wanted to borrow twenty pounds, and had tried all his 
acquaintance without success. Mr. Nash, who had, but 
some minutes before, refused to pay a just debt, was 
in raptures at thus giving an instance of his friendship, 
and instantly lent what was required. Immediately 
upon the receipt, the pretended borrower goes to the 
real creditor, and gives him the money, who met 
Mr. Nash the day after ; our hero, upon seeing him, 
immediately began his usual excuses, that the billiard- 
room had stripped him, that he was never so damnably 
out of cash ; but that in a few days — ' My dear sir, be 
' under no uneasiness,' replied the other, ' I would not 
' interrupt your tranquillity for the world ; you lent 
' twenty poi.nds yesterday to our friend of the back 
' stairs, and he lent it to me ; give him your receipt, and 
' you shall have mine.' ' Perdition seize thee,' cried 
Nash, ' thou hast been too many for me. You demanded 
' a debt, he asked a favour ; to pay thee, would not 


' increase our friendship, but to lend him was procuring 
' a new friend, by conferring a new obligation.' 

Whether men, at the time I am now talking of, had 
more wit than at present, I will not take upon me to 
determine , but certam it is, they took more pains 
to show what they had. In that age, a fellow of 
high humour would drink no wine but what was 
strained through his mistress's smock. He would eat 
a pair of her shoos tossed up in a fricassee. He would 
swallow tallow-candles instead of toasted cheese, and 
even run naked about town, as it was then said, to divert 
the ladies. In short, that was the age of such kind of 
wit as is the most distant of all others from wisdom. 

Mr. Nash, as he spmetimes played tricks with others, 
upon certain occasions received very severe retaliations. 
Being at York, and having lost all his money, some of 
his companions agreed to equip him with fifty guineas, 
upon this proviso, that he would stand at the great door 
of the Minster, in a blanket, as the people were coming 
out of church. To this proposal he readily agreed, but 
the Dean passing by, unfortunately knew him. ' What,' 
cried the divine, ' Mr. Nash, in masquerade ? ' ' Only 
' a Yorkshire penance, Mr. Dean, for keeping bad 
' company,' says Nash, pointing to his companions. 

Some time after this, he won a wager of still greater 
consequence, by riding naked through a village upon 
a cow. This was then thought a harmless froUc ; at 
present it would be looked upon with detestation. 

He was once invited by some gentlemen of the navy 
on board a man-of-war, that had sailmg orders for the 
Mediterranean. Tb' was soon after the affair of the 
revels, and iieing ii,norant of any design against him, he 
took his bottle with freedom. But he soon found, to 
use the expression then in fashion, that he vi'as absolutely 
bitten. The ship sailed away before he was aware of 


his situation, and ho was obliged to make the voyage in 
the company where he had spent the night. 

Many lives are often passed without a single adventure, 
and I do not know of any in the life of our hero that can 
be called such, except what we are now relating. During 
this voyage, ho was in an engagement, in which his par- 
ticular friend was killed by his side, and he himself 
wounded in the leg. For the anecdote of his being 
wounded, we are solely to trust to his own veracity ; 
but most of his acquaintance were not much inclmed to 
believe him, when he boasted on those occa.sions. Telling 
one day of the wound he had received for his country, in 
one of the public rooms at Bath (Wiltshire's, if I don't 
forget), a lady of distinction, that sat by, said it was 
all false. ' I protest. Madam,' replied he, ' it is true ; 
'and if I cannot be believed, your Ladyship may, if 
' you please, receive farther information, and feel the 
' ball in my leg.' 

Mr. Nash was now fairly for life entered into a new 
course of gaiety and dissipation, and steady in nothing 
but in pursuit of variety. He was thirty years old, 
without fortune, or useful talents to acquire one. He 
had hitherto only led a life of expedients, he thanked 
chance alone for his support, and having been long 
precariously supported, he became, at length, totally 
a stranger to prudence, or precaution. Not to disguise 
any part of his character, he was now, by profession, 
a gamester, and went on from day to day, feeling the 
vicissitudes of rapture and anguish, in proportion to the 
fluctuations of fortune. 

At this time, London was the only theatre in England, 
for pleasure, or intrigue. A spirit of gaming had been 
introduced in the licentious age of Charles II, and had by 
this time thriven surprisingly. Yet all its devastations 
were confined to London alone. To this great mart of 

OOLDSaOTH. Ill j^ 



every folly, sharperii from every country daily arrived, 
for the winter, but were obliged to leave the kingdom 
at the approach of summer, in order to open a new 
campaign at Aix, Spa, or the Hague. Bath, Tunbridge, 
Scarborough, and other places of the same kind here, 
were then frequented only by such as really went for 
relief ; the pleasures they afforded were merely rural, 
the company splenetic, rustic, and vulgnr. In this 
situation of things, people of fashion had no agreeable 
summer retreat from the town, and tisually spent that 
season amidst a solitude of country squires, parsons' 
wives, and visiting tenants, or farmers ; they wanted 
some place where they might have each other's company, 
and win each other's money, as they had done during 
the winter in towni 

To a person who docs not thus calmly trace things to 
their source, nothing will appear more strange, than 
how the healthy could ever consent to follow the sick 
to those places of spleen, and live with those, whose 
disorders are ever apt to excite a gloom in the spectator. 
The truth is, the gaming-table was properly the salutary 
font to which such numbers flocked. Gaming will ever 
be the pleasure of the rich, while men continue to be 
men ; while they fancy more happiness in being possessed 
of what they want, than they experience pleasure in the 
fruition of wha'^they have. The wealtuy only stake 
those riches, which give no real content, for an expecta- 
tion of riches, in which they hope for satisfaction. By 
this calculation, they cannot lose happiness, as they 
begin with none ; and they hope to gain it, by being 
possessed of something they have not had already. 

Probably upon this principle, and by the arrival of 
Queen Anne there for her health, about the year 1703, 
the city of Bath became in some measure frequented 
by people of distinction. The company was numerous 


enough to form a country danre upon the bowling green ; 
they were amused with a fiddle and hautboy, and diverted 
with the romantic walkH round the city. They uHually 
sauntered in fine weather in the grove, between two 
rowH of sycamore treen. Several learned, 
Doctor .Jordan and others, had even then praised the 
salubrity of the wells, and the aniiiHcnuntn were i>ut 
under the direction of a master of the cereiiionitH. 

Captain Webster was the predecessor of Mr. Natli. 
This I take to Ijc the same gentleman whom Mr. Lueai, 
describes in his history of the lives of the gamesters, by 
which it appears, that Bath, even before (he arrival of 
Mr. Nash, was found a proper retreat for men of that 
profession. This gentleman, in the year 1704, carried 
the balls to the town hall, each man paying half a guinea 
each ball. 

Still, however, the amusements of this place were 
neither elegant, nor conducted with delicacy. General 
society among people of rank or fortune was by nc 
means established. The nobility still preserved a 
tincture of Gothic haughtiness, and refused to keep 
company with the gentry at any of the public entertain- 
ments of the place. Smoking in the rooms was per- 
mitted ; gentlemen and ladies appeared in a disrespect- 
ful manner at public entertainments in aprons and boots. 
With an eagerness common to those whoso pleasures 
come but seldom, they generally continued them too 
long ; and thus they were rendered disgusting by too 
free an enjoyment. If the company liked each other, 
they danced till morning ; if any person lost at cards, 
he insisted on continuing the game till luck should turn. 
The lodgings for visitants were paltry, though expensive; 
the dining-rooms and other chambers were floored with 
boards, coloured brown with soot and small beer, to 
hide the dirt ; the walls were covered with unpainted 



wainscot; the I'urniturc cnrreHpondcd with the meanness 
.•'■ 'be architecture ; a few oak chairn, n small looking- 
glass, with a fender and tongs, composed the magnificence 
of these temporary habitations. The city was in itself 
mean and contemptible : no elegant buildings, no open 
streets, nor uniform squares. The Pump-house was 
without any director ; the chairmen permitted no 
gentlemen or ladies to walk homo by night without 
insulting them ; and to ad<l to all this, <mc of the 
greatest physicians of his age conceived a design of 
ruining the city, by writing against the efficacy of the 
WHters. It was from a resentment of some affronts he 
had received there, that he took this resolution ; and 
accordingly published a pamphlet, by which ho said, 
he would mst a load into the spring. 

In this situation of things it wits, that Mr. Nash first 
came into that city, and hearing the threat of this 
physician, he humorously assured the people, that if 
they would give him lea'.e, ho would charm away the 
poison of the Doctor's toi ', as they usually charmed the 
venom of the Tarantula, by music. He therefore was 
immediately empowered to set up the force of a band of 
music, against the poison of the Doctor's reptile ; the 
company very sensibly increased, Nash triumphed, and 
the sovereignty of the city was decreed to him by every 
rank of people. • 

We arc now to behold this gentleman as arrived at 
a new dignity for which nature seemed to have formed 
him ; we are to see him directing pleasures, which none 
had better learned to share ; placed over rebellious and 
refractory subjects, that were to be ruled only by the 
force of his address, and governing such as had been 
accustomed to govern others. We see a kingdom 
beginning with him, and sending oS Tunbridge as one of 
its colonies. 


But to talk more Himply. when wo talk at best of 
triflcH. None could poHHJbly coiioeivo a pomon more 
fit to fill this employment than i.nHh : he had Homo wit, 
BH I have Haid once or twice tiefore ; hut it woh of that 
sort which in rather happy than pj-rnianent. Onco a 
week ho might »ay a good thing ; this the little ones 
about him took care to divulge ; or if they hapjiened to 
forget the joke, ho usually remembered to reix-at it 
himself. In a long intercourse with the world he had 
acquired an impenetrable assurance ; and the freedom 
with which he was received by the great, furnished him 
with vivacity, which could be conminnded at any time, 
and which some mistook for wit. His former intercourse 
among people of fashion in town, had let hini into most 
of the characters of the nobility ; and he was acquainted 
with many of their private intrigues. Ho imderstood 
rank and precedence with the utmost exactness, was 
fond of show and finery himself, and generally set a 
pattern of it to others. These were his favourite 
talents, and he was the favourite of such as had no 

But to balance these, which some may consider as 
foibles, he was charitable himself, and generally shamed 
his betters into a similitude of sentiment, if they were 
not naturally so before. He was fond of ai'vising those 
young men, who, by youth and too much money, are 
taught to look upon extravagance as a virtue. He was 
an enemy to rudeness in others, though in the latter 
part of his life he did not much seem to encourage a 
dislike of it by his own example. None talked with more 
humanity of the foibles of others, when absent, than he, 
nor kept those secrets with which he was entrusted 
more inviolably. But above all (if moralists will allow 
it among the number of his virtues) though he gamed 
high, he always played very fairly. These were his 



qualifications. Some of the nobility regarded him m an 
inoffcnuivc, UHefiil companion, the niz* of whoso under- 
standing was, in general, level with their own ; but 
their little imitators admired him ns a person of fine 
sense, and gi^at good breeding. Thus jieople became 
fond of ranking him in the number of their acquaintance, 
told over his jei ts, and Beau Nash at length became the 
fashionable companion. 

His first care, when made master of the ceremonies, 
or King of Bath, as it is called, to promote a music 
subscription, of one guinea each, for a band which was 
to consist of Kix performers, who wore to receive a guinea 
a week each fo- their trouble. Ho allowed also two 
guineas a week for lighting and sweeping the rooms, for 
which he occoujited to the subscribers by receipt. 

The Pump-house was immediately put under the care 
of an officer, by tho name of the Pumper ; for which he 
paid the corporation an annual rent. A row oi new 
houses •< 18 begun on the south side of the gravel walks, 
before which a handsome pavement was then made for 
the ' impany to walk on. Not less than soventoen or 
eighteen hundred pounds was raised this year, and in 
the beginning of 1706, by subscription, and laid out in 
repairing the roads near the city. The streets began to 
be better paved, cleaned and lighted, the licences of the 
chairmen were repressed, and, by an Act of Pariiament 
procured on this occasion, the invalids, who came to 
drink or bathe, were exempted from all manner of toll, 
as often as they should go out of the city for recreation. 
The houses and streets now began to improve, and 
ornaments were lavished upon them even to profusion. 
But in the midst of this splendour the company still 
were obliged to assemble in a booth to drink tea and 
chocolate, or to game. Mr. Nash imdertook to remedy 
this inconvenience. By his direction, one Thomas 


Harriaon ereotml a hanilHomo Aiuwmbly-houiio for thcHo 
purposes. A bettor Imnd of muHio was also procured, 
and the former Hubncription of one guinea wbh rained to 
two. Harrison had three guineas .veek for (he room 
and candles, and the music two guineas a man. The 
money Mr. Nash received and accounted for with the 
utmost \,,ctnes« and punctuality. To this house were 
also added gardens for people of rank and fashion to 
walk in ; and the beauty of the suburbs continued to 
increase, notwithstanding the opposition that was made 
by the corporation, who, at that time, looked upon every 
useful improvement, particularly without the walls, as 
dangerous to the inhabitants within. 

His dominion was now extensive and secUA--, and ho 
determined to support it with the strictest attention. 
But, ir order to proceed in everything like a king, he 
wos resolved to give his subjects a law, and the following 
rules were accordingly put up in the Pump-room. 

RULES to be observed at Bath. 

1. That a visit of ceremony at first coming and 
another at going away, are all that are expected or 
desired, by ladies of quality and faHhion.^-exccpt 

2. That ladies coming to the ball appoint a time for 
their footmen coming to wait on them home, to prevent 
disturbance and inconveniences to themselves and others. 

3. That gentlemen of fashion never appearing in 
a morning before the ladies in gowns and caps, show 
breeding and respect. 

4. That no person take it ill that any one goes to 
another's play, or breakfast, and not theirs ; — except 
captious \ty nature. 

5. That no gentleman give his ticke> . .le balls 



to any but gentlewomen.— N.B. Unleim he hsH none of 
hii acquaintance. 

6. That gentlemen crowding before the ladiei at the 
ball, dhow ill manners ; and that none do no for the 
future, — except such aH renpect nolxxly but theniHelveH. 

7. That no gentleman or lady taken it ill that another 
dances before them ;- «xcept such a ivo no pretence 
to dance at all. 

8. That the elder ladies and children be content with 
a second bench at the ball, as being past ■ r not come to 

9. That the younger ladies take notice how many 
eyes observe them. N.B. This does not extend to the 

10. That all whisperers of lies and scandal, bo taken 
for their authors. 

11. That all repeaters of such, and scandal, ' 
shunned by all company ; — except such as have be 
guilty of the same crime. 

N.B. Seiieral men of no character, old women and 
young ones of questioned reputation, are greai authors of 
lies in these places, being of the sect of levellers. 

Theso laws were vitten by Mr. '^sh himself, and, by 
the manner in which they are drawn up, he undoubtedly 
designed them for wit. The reader, however, it in 
feared, will think them dull. Poor Nash was not born 
a writer ; for whatever humour he might have in 
conversation, he used to call a pen his torpedo ; when- 
ever he grasped it, it numbed all .'lis faculties. 

But were we to give laws to a nursery, wo should make 
them childish laws ; his statutes, though stupid, were 
addressed to fine gentlemen and ladies, and were probably 
received with sympathetic approbation. It is cert&in, 
they were in general religiously observed by his tubjects. 


and executed by him with impartiality ; neither rank nor 
fortune xhielded the refractory from hiH nmntmcnt. 

The bnllH, by hJN ilircctionit, were to begin at Mix, anil 
to emi at eleven. Nor would he nuffcr thcni to rontinuo a 
moment longer, lent invniidii might commit irregulorition 
to counteract the lienefit of the wate™. Kverything wan 
to be performed in proper order. Each ball wan to open 
with a minuet, danced by two pcrMmH of the highcHt 
dutinction preaent. When the minuet conclude<l, the 
lady wai to return to her Heat, and Mr. Nash was to bring 
the gentleman a new partner. ThiH ceremony wn« to be 
obeerved by every guccecding couple, every gentleman 
being obliged to dance with two ladled till the minuets 
weid over, which generally continued two hourH. At 
eight, the country dances were to begin; ladies of quality, 
according to their rank, standing up first. About nine 
o'clock a short interval was allowed for rest, and for the 
gentlemen to help their partners to tea. That over, 
the company were *■> pursue their amusements till '.he 
clock struck eleven Then the master of the < cremonie - 
entering the baUrpom, ordered the music to desist, L^ 
lifting up his finger. The dances discontinued, and some 
time aUowed for becoming cool, the ladies were handed 
to their chairs. 

Even the Royal Family themselves had not influence 
enough to make him deviate from any of these lules. 
The Princess Amelia once applying to him for one 
dance more, after he had given the signal to withdraw, 
he assured Her Royal Highness, that the establishtd rules 
of Bath resembled the laws of Lycurgus, which would 
admit of no alteration, without an utter subversion of 
all his authority. 

He was not less strict with regard to the dresses, in 
which ladies and gentlemen were to apijear. He had 
the strongest aversion to a white apron, and absolutely 


excluded all who ventured to come to the assembly 
dressed in that manner. I have known him on a ball 

night strip even the Duchess of Q , and throw her 

apron at one of the hinder benches among the ladies' 
women ; observing, that none but Abigails appeared in 
white aprons. This from another would be insult, in 
him it was considered as a just reprimand ; and the 
good-natured duchess acquiesced in his censure, and with 
great good sense, and good humour, begged his Majesty's 

B'lt he found more difficulty in attacking the gentle- 
men's irregularities ; and for some time strove, but in 
vain, to prohibit the use of swords. Disputes arising 
from love or play, were sometimes attended with fatal 
effects. To use his own expression, he was resolved to 
hinder people from doing what they had no mind to ; 
but for some time without effect. However, there 
happened about that time a duel between two gamesters, 
whose names were Taylor and Clarke, which helped to 
promote his peaceable intentions. They fought by 
torchlight in the grove ; Taylor was run through the 
body, but lived seven years after, at which time his 
wound breaking out afresh, it caused his death. Clarke 
from that time pretended to be a Quaker, but the ortho- 
dox brethren never cordially received him among their 
number ; and he died at London, about eighteen years 
after, in poverty and contrition. From that time it was 
thought necessary to forbid the wearing of swords at 
Bath, as they often tore the ladies' clothes, and frighted 
them, by sometimes appearing upon trifling occasions. 
Whenever therefore Nash heard of a challenge given, 
or accepted, he instantly had both parties arrested. The 
gentlemen's boots also made a very desperate stand 
against him, the country squires were by no means 
submissive to his usurpations; and probably his authority 


alone would never have carried him through, had he not 
remforced it with ridicule. He wrote a «ong upon the 
occasion which, f„r the honour of his jKx^tical talents 
the world shall see. 

Fkontinella's invitation to the Assembly. 

Come, one and all, to Hoyden Hall, 
For there 's the assembly this night ; ' 

None but prude fools, 

Mind manners and rules ; 
We Hoydens do decency slight. 

Come, Trollops and Slatterns, 

Cock'd hats and white aprons, 
This best our modesty suits ; 

For why should not wo 

In dress be as free 
As Hogs-Norton squires in boots ? 

The keenness, severity, and paiticularly the good 

rhymes of this little morccau, which was at that time 

highly relished by many of the nobility at Bath gained 

hira a temporary triumph. But to push his victories ho 

got up a puppet-show, in which Punch came in booted 

and spurred, in the character of a country squire He 

was introduced as courting his mistress, and having 

obtained her consent to comply with his wishes, upon 

going to bed, he is desired to pull off his boots. ' Mv 

boots ! • replies Punch, 'why, madam, you may as well 

bid me pull off my legs; I never go without 'boots I 

never ride, I never dance, without them ; and this 

piece of politeness is quite the thing at Bath. We 

always dance at our town in boots, and the ladies often 

move mmuets in riding-hoods.' Thus he goes on till 

Ins mistress, grown impatient, kicks him off the stage. 

From that lime few ventured to appear at the assem- 



blies in Bath in a riding-dreas ; and whenever any 
gentleman, through ignorance, or haste, appeared in the 
rooms in Ixwts, Nash would make up to him, and, 
bowing in an arch manner, would tell him, that he had 
forgot his horse. Thus ho was at last completely 

Dolisque coaeti 

Quos neque Tydides nee Lariasaeua Achilles 

Non anni domuere decern. 
He began therefore f ' reign without a rival, and like 
other kings had his mistresses, flatterers, enemies and 
calumniators. The amusements of the place however 
wore a very different aspect from what they did formerly. 
Regularity repressed pride, and that lessened, people 
of fortune became fit for society. Let the morose and 
grave censure an attention to forms and ceremonies, 
and rail at those, whose only business it is to regulate 
them ; but though ceremony is very different from 
politeness, no country was ever yet polite, that was 
not first ceremonious. The natural gradation of breeding 
begins in savage disgust, proceeds to indifference, 
improves into attention, by degrees refines into cere- 
monious observance, and the trouble of being cere- 
monious at length produces politeness, elegance and 
ease. There is therefore some merit in mending society, 
even in one of the inferior steps of this gradation ; and 
no man was more happy in this respect than Mr. Nash. 
In every nation there are enough who have no other 
business or care, but that of buying pleasure ; and he 
taught them, who bid at such an auction, the art of 
procuring what they sought, without diminishing the 
pleasure of others. 

The city of Bath, by such assiduity, soon became 
the theatre of summer amusements for all people of 
fashion ; and the manner of spending the day there 


must amuse any, but such as disease or spleen had 
made uneasy to themselves. The following is a faint 
picture of the pleasures that scene affords. Upon a 
stranger's arrival at Bath, he is welcomed by a peal of 
the Abbey bells, and in the next place, by the voice and 
music of the city waits. For these civilities the ringers 
have generally a present made them of half a guinea • 
and the waits of half a crown, or more, in proportion tci 
the person's fortune, generosity, or ostentation. These 
custoir-, though disagreeable, are however generally 
like<l, 01 they would not continue. The greatest incom- 
modity attending them is the disturbance the bells 
must give the sick. But the pleasure of knowing the 
name of every family that comes to town recomiienses 
the inconvenience. Invalids are fond of news, and 
upon the first sound of the bells, everybody sends out 
to mquire for whom they ring. 

After the family is thus welcomed to Bath, it is the 
custom for the master of it to go to the public places 
andsubscribe two guineas at the assembly-houses towards 
the balls and music in the Pump-house, for which h . is 
entitled to three tickets every ball night. His next 
subscription is a crown, half a guinea, or a guinea 
according to his rank and quality, for the liberty of 
walking in the private walks belonging to Simpson's 
Assembly-house; a cro^vn or half a guinea is also 
given to the book,sellers, for which the gentleman is to 
have what books he pleases to read at his lodgings. 
And at the Coffee-house another subscription is taken 
for pen, ink and paper, for such letters as the subscriber 
shall write at it during his stay. The ladies too may 
subscnbe to the booksellers, and to a house by the 
Pump-room, for the advantage of reading the new.^, and 
for enjoying each other's conversation. 
Thing.'i being thus adjusted, the amusements of the 



day are generally begun by bathing, which in no iin- 
pleasing method of passing away an hour or so. 

The baths are five in number. On the south-west 
Hide of the Abbey church is the King's Bath, which is an 
oblong square ; the walls are full of niches, and at every 
corner are steps to descend into it : this bath is said to 
contain 427 tons and 60 gallons of water ; and on its 
rising out of the giound over the springs, it is sometimes 
too hot to be endured by those who bathe therein. 
Adjoining to the King's Bath there is another, called the 
Queen's Bath ; this is of a more temperate warmth, 
as lK>rrowing its water from the other. 

In the south-west part of the city are thi'ee other 
baths, viz. : The Hot Bath, which is not much inferior 
in heat to the Kijig's Bath, and contains 53 tons 2 hogs- 
heads and 11 gallons of water. The Cross Bath, which 
contains 52 tons 3 hogsheads and 11 galJuns; and the 
Leper's Bath, which is not so much frequented as the 

The King's Bath (according to the best observations) 
will fill in about nine hours and a half ; the Hot Bath in 
about eleven hours and a half ; and the Cross Bath in 
about the same time. 

The hours for bathing are commonly between six 
and nine in the morning; and the baths are every 
morning supplied with fresh water; for when the 
people have done bathing, the sluices in each bath are 
pulled up, and the water is carried oS by drains into 
the river Avon. 

In the morning the lady is brought in a close chair, 
dressed in her bathing clothes, to the bath : and, bemg 
in the water, the woman who attends presents her 
with a little floating dish like a basin ; into which the 
lady puts a handkerchief, a sr jff-box, and a nosegay. 
She then traverses the bath ; if a novice, with a guide ; 


if otherwise, by herself ; and having amused herself 
thus while she thinks proper, calls for her chair, and 
returns to her lodgings. 

The amusement of bathing is immediately succeeded 
by a general assembly of people at the Pump-house, 
some for pleasure, and some to drink the hot waters. 
Three glasses, at three different times, is the usual 
portion for every drinker ; and the intervals between 
every glass are enlivened by the harmony of a small 
band of music, as well as by the conversation of the gay, 
the witty, or the forward. 

From the Pump-house the ladies, from time to time, 
withdraw to a female coffee-house, and from thence 
return to their lodgings to breakfast. The gentlemen 
withdraw to their coffee-houses, to read the papers, or 
converse on the news of the day, with a freedom and 
ease no', to bo found in the metropolis. 

People of fashion make public breakfasts at the 
assembly-houses, to which they invite their acquain- 
tances, and they sometimes order private concerts ; or 
when so disposed, attend lectures upon the arts and 
sciences, which are frequently taught there in a pretty 
superficial manner, so as not to tease the understanding, 
while they afford the imagination some amusement. 
The private concerts are performed in the ballrooms, 
the tickets a crown each. 

Concert breakfasts at the Assembly-house sometimes 
make also a part of the morning's amusement here, the 
expenses of which are defrayed by a subscription among 
the men. Persons of rank and fortune who can perform 
are admitted into the orchestra, and find a pleasure in 
joining with the performers. 

Thus we have the tedious morning fairly over. When 
noon approachp- and church (if any please to go there) 
is done, some 3 compa. y appear upon the Parade, 



and other public walks, where they continue to chat 
and amuse each other, till they have formed parties for 
the play, carda, or dancing for the evening. Another part 
of the company divert themselves with reading in the 
booksellers' shops, or are generally seen tasting the air 
and exercise, some on horseback, some in coaches. 
Some walk in the meadows round the town, winding 
along the side of the river Avon and the neighbouring 
canal ; while others are seen scaling some of those 
romantic precipices that overhang the city. 

When the hour of dinner draws nigh, and the company 
is returned to their different recreations, the provisions 
are generally served with the utmost elegance and 
plenty. Their mutton, butter, fish, and fowl, are all 
allowed to be excellent, and their cookery still exceeds 
their meat. 

Aft. r dinner is over, and evening prayers ended, the 
company meet a second time at the Pump-house. From 
this they retire to the walks, and from thence go to 
drink tea at the assembly-houses, and the rest of the 
evenings are concluded either with balls, plays or visits. 
A theatre was erected in the year 1705 by subscription, 
by people of the highest rank, who permitted their arms 
to be engraven on the inside of the house, as a public 
testimony of their liberality towards it. Every Tuesday 
and Friday evening is concluded with a public ball, the 
contributions to which are so numerous, that the price 
of each ticket is trifling. Thus Bath yields a continued 
rotation of diversions, and people of all ways of thinking, 
even from the libertine to the methodist, have it in their 
power to complete the day with employments suited to 
their inclinations. 

In this manner every amusement soon improved under 
Mr. Nash's administration. The magistrates of the city 
found that he was necessary and useful, and took every 


opportunity of paying the same respect to his fictitious 
royalty, that is generally extorted by real power. The 
same satisfaction a young lady finds upon jeing singled 
out at her first appearance, or an applauded poet on 
the success of his first tragedy, influenced him. All 
admired him as an extraordinary character ; and some 
who knew no better, as a very fine gentleman ; he was 
perfectly happy in their little applause, and affected at 
length something particular in his dress, behaviour and 

His equipage was sumptuous, and he usually travelled 
to Tunbridge in a post chariot and six greys, with 
outriders, footmen, French horns, and every other 
appendage of expensive parade. He always wore a 
white hat, and, to apologize for this singularity, said, he 
did it purely to secure it from being stolen ; his dress 
was tawdry, though not perfectly genteel ; he might be 
considered as a beau of several generations, and in his 
appearance he, in some measure, mixed the fashions of 
the last age with those of the present. He perfectly 
understood elegant expense, and generally passed his 
time in the very best company, if persons of the first 
distinction deserve that title. 

But I hear the reader now demand, what finances 
were to support all this finery, or where the treasures, 
that gave him such frequent opportunities of displaying 
his benevolence, or his vanity V To answer this, wc must 
now enter upon another part of his character, his talents 
as a gamester ; for by gaming alone at that period, of 
which I speak, he kept up so very genteel an appearance. 
When he first figured at Bath, there were few laws 
against this destructive amusement. The gaming-table 
was the constant resource of despair and indigence, 
and the frequent ruin of opulent fortunes. Wherever 
people of fashion came, needy adventurers were generally 



found in waiting. With such Bath Hwarmed, and 
among thin class Mr. Nash wan certainly to be numbered 
in the beginning, only with this difference, that he 
wanted the corrupt heart, too commonly attending 
a life of expedients ; for he was generous, humane and 
honourable, even though by profession a gamester. 

A thousand instances might be given of his integrity, 
oven in this infamous profession ; whore his generosity 
often impelled him to act in contradiction to his interest. 
Wherever he found a novice in the hands of a sharper, 
ho generally forewarned him of the danger ; whenever he 
found any inclined to play, yet ignorant of the game, ho 
would offer his services, and play for them. I remember 
an instance to this effect, though too nearly concerned 
in the affair to publish the gentleman's name of whom it 
is related. In the year 1725, there came to Bath a giddy 
youth, who had just resigned his fellowship at Oxford. 
He brought his whole fortune with him there ; it was 
but a trifle ; however, he was resolved to venture it all. 
Good fortune seemed kinder than could bo expected. 
Without the smallest skill in play, he won a sum 
sufficient to make any unambitious man hippy. His 
desire of gain increasing with his gains, in the October 
following he was at all, and added four thousand pounds 
to his former capital. Mr. Nash one night, after losing 
a considerable sum to this undeserving son of fortune, 
invited him to supper. ' Sir,' cried this honest, though 
veteran gamester, ' perhaps you may imagine I have 
' invited you, in order to have my revenge at home ; 
' but, sir ! I scorn so inhospitable an action. I desired 
' the favour of your company to give you some ar' ' e, 
' which you will pardon me, sir, you seem to st^.-a in 
' need of. You are now high in spirits, and drawn away 
' by a torrent of success. But there will come a time, 
' when you will repent having left the calm of a college 


'life for the turbulent profefision of a gamester. Ill 
' runs will come, an sure as tiny and night succeed each 
' other. Be therefore ndvincd, remain content with your 
' present gains ; for be jx-rsuadcd, that had you the 
' Bank of England, with your present ignorance of gaming 
' it would vanish like a fairy dream. You are a stranger 
' to me, but to convince you of the part I take in your 
' welfare, I'll give you fifty guineas, to forfeit twenty, 
' every time you lose two hundred at one sitting.' The 
young gentleman refused his offer, and was at last 
undone ! 

The late Duke t)f B. Ix-ing chngrinifl at losing a 
considerable sum, pressed Mr. Nash to tie him up for 
the future from playing deep. Accordingly, the beau 
gave his Grace a hundred guineas, to forfeit ten thousand, 
whenever ho lost a sum to the same amount at play, in 
one sitting. The Duke loved play to distraction, and 
soon after at hazard lost eight thousand guineas, and 
was going to throw for three thousand more ; when 
Nash, catching hold of the dice-box, entreated his Grace 
to reflect upon the penalty if he lost : the Duke for 
that time desisted ; but so strong was the furor of play 
upon him, that soon after, losing a considerable sum at 
Newmarket, he was contented to pay the penalty. 

When the late Earl of T d was a youth, he was 

passionately fond of play, and never better pleased than 
with having Mr. Nash for his antagonist. Nash saw 
with concern his lordship's foible, and undertook to 
cure him, though by a very disagreeable remedy. Con- 
scious of his own superior skill, he determined to engage 
him in single play for a very considerable sum. His 
lordship, in proportion as he lost his game, lost his 
temper too ; and as he approached the gulf, seemed 
still more eager for ruin. He lost his estate ; some 
writings were put into the winner's possession ; bis very 



equipage was deposited ai a last Btako, and ho lout that 
also. But, when our gencroun gamester had found his 
lordship sufficiently punished for his temerity, ho 
returned all ; only stipulating, that he should be paid 
five thousand pounds whenever he should think proper 
to make the demand. However, ho never made any 
such demand during his lordship's life ; but some time 
after his decease, Mr. Nash's affairs being in the wane, 
ho demanded the money oi his lordship's heirs, who 
honourably paid it without any hesitation. 

But whatever skill Nash might have acquired by lon^ 
practice in play, he was never formed by nature for 
a successful gamester. Ho was constitutionally passionate 
and generous. To acquire a perfection in that art, 
a man must be naturally phlegmatic, reserved and cool ; 
every passion must learn to obey control ; but he 
frequently was unable to restrain the violence of his, and 
was often betrayed by this means into unbecoming 
rudeness, or childish impertinence ; was sometimes 
a minion of fortune, and as often depressed by adversity. 
While others made considerable fortunes at the gaming- 
table, he was ever in the power of chance ; nor did even 
the intimacy with which ho was received by the great, 
place him in a state of independence. 

The considerable inconveniences that were found to 
result from a permission of gaming, at length attracted 
the attention of the legislature, and in the twelfth year 
of his late Majesty, the most prevalent games at that 
time were declared fraudulent and unlawful. Every age 
has had its peculiar modes of gaming. The games of 
Gleek, Primero. In and In, and several others now 
exploded, em].ii._ .d our sharping ancestors ; to these 
succeeded the Ace of Hearts, Pharaoh, Basset, and 
Hazard, all games of chance like the former. But 
though in these the chances seemed equal to the novice. 



in general thoHe who kept the bank were coniiiderable 
winners. The Act therefore, paaiiecl u]H>n thiH occaaion, 
declared all Niich gameii and lottcricH illicit, and directed, 
that all whu Hhould Hct up Huch ganicH, Khould forfeit 
two hundred poundx, to be levie<l by diHtrew on the 
offender's gogda ; one-third to go to the informer, the 
residue to the poor. 

The Act further declared, that every perxon who 
player! in any place, except in the royal piilace where 
His Majesty resided, should forfeit fifty pounds, and 
should be condemned to pay treble costs in case of an 

This law was scarcely made, before it was eluded by 
the invention of divers fraudulent and deceitful games ; 
and a particular game, called Passage, was daily prac- 
tised, and contributed to the ruin of thousands. To 
prevent this, the ensuing year it was enacted, that this 
and every other gamu invented, or to be invented, with 
one die, or more, or any other instrument of the same 
nature, with numbers thereon, should be subject to 
a similar penalty ; and at the same time, the persons 
playing with such instruments should be punished as 

This amendment of the law soon gave birth to new 
evasions ; the game of Roily Polly, Marlborough's 
Battles, but particularly the E 0, were set up ; and 
strange to observe ! several of those very noblemen who 
had given their voices to suppress gaming, were the 
most ready to encourage it. This game was at first set 

up at Tunbridge. It was invented by one C k, and 

carried on between him and one Mr. A e, proprietor 

of the Assembly-room at that place ; and was reckoned 
extremely profitable to the bank, as it gained two and 
a half per cent, on all that wan loKt or won. 

At all goi ig was suppressed but this, Mr. Nash was 



now utterly dpstituto of any n.w.iirco that he could 
expect from hiK Hiijx'rior Hkill, and long experience in 
the art. The money to lie Rained in private gaming in at 
Ijcst but trifling, and the opiwrtunity preoariouH. The 
minds of the generality of mankind nhrink with their 
oircumntanccs ; and Nanh, upon the immediate prospect 
of poverty, wan now mean enough (I will call it no 
worse) to enter into a base eonfwlcraey with thodo low 
creaturen to evade the law, and to share the plunder. 
The occasion was as follows. The profits of the table 

were, as 1 observed, dividetl between C k, the 

inventor, and A e, the room -keeper. The first year's 

profits were extraordinary, and A o the room- 
keeper now began to wish himself sole proprietor. The 
combinations of the worthless are ever of short duration. 

The next year, therefore, A c turne<l C k out of 

his room, and sot up the game for himself. The gentle- 
men and ladies who frcqucnte<l the Wells, immindful of 
the immense profit gained by these reptik.;, si.', con- 
tinued to game as before ; and A e was triumphing 

m the success of his politics, when he was infonned, that 

C k and his friends hired the crier to cry the game 

down. The consequences of this would have been fatal 

*° ■* e's interest, for by this means frauds might have 

been discovered which would deter even the most 
ardent lovers of play. Immediately, therefore, while 
the crier was yet upon the walks, he applied to Mr. Nash 
to stop these proceedings, and, at the same time, offered 
him a fourth share of the bank, which Mr. Nash was 
mean enough to accept. Thi,s is the greatest blot in his 
hfe, and this it is hoped will find pardon. 

The day after, the inventor offered a half of the bank ; 
but this Mr. Nash thought proper to refuse, being pre- 
engaged to A e. Upon which, being tlisappointed 

he applied to one Mr J v, and under Lis pix>tection 



another tabic was nut up, and ihu c'uni|)any xovnipd to 
be divided e<jually bttwctn them. I cannot reHeet, 
without Hurpriw, at the wiwlom of the gi-ntlenicn and 
ladien, to Huffor thcmwIvcM to 1* thuH iiurcillicl out 
between a puck of HharprrM, and |K'rnilt thcmwIvcH to be 
defrauded, without even the nhow of opimoition. The 
company thuH divided, Mr. Nnsh onoo more availed 
himself of their partiex, and prevailed upon thcni to 
unite their banks, and to divide the gains into three 
■hares, of which he reserved one to himself. 

Nash had hitherto enjoyed a iluctuating fortune ; and, 
had he taken the advantage of the present opportunity, ho 
might have been for the future not only alxivu want, 
but even in circumstances of opulence . Had he cautiously 
employed himself in computing the benefits of the 
table, and exacting his stipulated share, he might hove 
soon grown rich ; but he entirely left the management of 
it to the people of the rooms ; he took them (as ho 
says in one of his memorials upon this occasion) to l)e 
honest, and never inquired what wok won oi ;>.8t ; and, 
it is probable, they were seldom assiduous in informing 
him. I find a secret pleasure in thus diH|)laying the 
insecurity of friendships among the base. They 
pretended to pay him regularly at first, but he soon 
discovered, as ho says, that at Tunbridge he had suffered 
to the amount of two thousand guineas. 

In the meantime, as the E tabic thus succeeded at 
Tunbridge, Mr. Nash was resolved to introduce it ut 
Hath, and previously asked the opinion of several 
lawyers, who declared it no way illegal. In consequence 

of this, ho wrote to Mrs. A e, who kept one of the 

great rooms at Bath, acquainting her with the profits 
attending such a scheme, and proposing to have a fourth 

share with her and Mr. \V- , the proprietor of the 

other room, for his authority, and protection. To this 



Mr. W and she returned him for answer, that they 

would grant him a fifth share ; which he consented to 
accept. Accordingly, he made a journey to London, 
and bespoke two tables, one for each room, at the rate 
of fifteen pounds each table. 

The tables were no sooner set up at Bath, than they 
were frequented with a greater concourse of giimesters 
than those at Tunbridge. Men of that infamous pro- 
fession, from every part of the kingdom, and even other 
parts of Europe, flocked here to feed on the ruins of 
each other's fortune. This afforded another opportunity 
for Mr. Nash to become rich ; but, as at Tunbridge, he 
thought the people here also would take care of him, 
and therefore he employed none to look after his 
interest. The first year they paid him what he thought 
just ; the next, the woman of the room dying, her son 
paid him, and showed his books. Some time after the 
people of the rooms offered him one hundred pounds 
a year each for his share, which he refused ; every 
succeeding year they continued to pay him less and less ; 
till at length he found, as he pretends, that he had thus 
lost not less than twenty thousand pounds. 

Thus they proceeded, deceiving the public and each 
other, till the legislature thought proper to suppress 
these seminaries of vice. It was enacted, that after the 
24th of June, 1745, none should be permitted to keep a 
house, room or place, for playing, upon pain of such 
forfeitures as were declared in former Acts instituted for 
that purpose. 

The legislature likewise amended a law, made in the 
reign of Queen Anne, for recovering money lost at play, 
on the oath of the winner. By this Act, no person was 
rendered incapable of being a witness ; and every 
person present at a gaming-table might be summoned 
by the magistrate who took cognizance of the affair. 



No privilege of Parliament was allowed to those con- 
victed of having gamii:r: . .i.lts in their houses. Those 
who lost ten pound, it one li.ii , were liable to be 
indicted within six r viihs after rue offence was com- 
mitted; and being .c.>'viet(d, vero to be fined five 
times the value of the sum won or lost, for the use of 
the poor. Any offender, before conviction, discovering 
another, so as to be convicted, was to Ix' discharged 
from the penalties incurred by his own offences. 

By this wise and just act, all Nash's future hopes of 
succeeding by the tables were blown up. He had now- 
only the justice and generosity of his confederates to 
trust to ; but that he soon found to be a vain expecta- 
tion ; for, if we can depend on his own memorials, what 
at one time they confessed, thej' would at another deny ; 
and though upon some occasions they seemed at variance 
with each other, yet when they were to oppose him, 
whom they considered as a common enemy, they 
generally united with confidence and success. He now 
therefore had nothing but a lawsuit to confide in for 
redress ; and this is ever the last expedient to retrieve 
a desperate fortune. He accordingly threw his suit into 
Chancery, and, by this means, the public became ac- 
quainted with what he had long endeavoured to conceal. 
They now found that he was himself concerned in the 
gaming-tables, of which he only seemed the conductor ; 
and that he had shared part of the spoil, though he 
complained of having been defrauded of a just share. 

The success of his suit was what might have been 
naturally expected ; he had but at best a bad cause, 
and as the oaths of the defendants were alone sufficient 
to cast him in Chancery, it was not surprising that ho 
was nonsuited. But the consequence of this affair was 
much more fatal than he had imagined ; it lessened him 
in the esteem of the public, it drew several enemies 



against him, and in oome measure diminished the 
authority of any defence he could make. From that 
time (about the year 1745), I iind this poor, good- 
natured, but misguided man involved in continual 
disputes, every day calumniated with some new slander, 
and continually endeavouring to obviate its effects. 

Upon these occasions his usual method was, by 
printed bills handed about among his acquaintance, to 
inform the public of his most private transactions with 
some of those creatures with whom he had formerly 
associated ; but thebe apologies served rather to blacken 
his antagonists, than to vindicate him. They were in 
general extremely ill written, confused, obscure, and 
sometimes unintelligible. By these, however, it ap- 
peared, that W was originally obliged to him for 

the resort of company to his room ; that Lady H , 

who had all the company before W 'a room was 

built, offered Mr. Nash a hundred pounds for his pro- 
tection ; which he refused, having previously promised 

to support Mrs. W . It appears by these apologies, 

that the persons concerned in the rooms made large 
fortunes, while he still continued in pristine indigence ; 
and that his nephew, for whom he had at first secured 
one of the rooms, was left in as great distress as he. 

His enemies were not upon this occasion contented 
with aspersing him, as a confederate with sharpers : 
they even asserted, that he spent and embezzled the 
subscriptions of gentlemen and ladies, which were given 
for useful or charitable purposes. But to such aspersions 
he answered, by declaring, to use his own expression, 
before God and man, that he never diverted one shilling 
of the said subscriptions to his own use ; nor was he 
ever thought to have done it, till new enemies started 
up against him. Perhaps the reader may be curious to 
see one of these memorials, written by himself ; and 


I will indulge his curiosity, merely to show a specimen 
of the style and manner of a man whose whole life was 
passed in a round of gaiety and conversation, whose 
jests were a thousand times repeated, and whose 
company was courted by every son and daughter of 
fashion. The following is particularly levelled against 
those, who, in the latter part of his life, took every 
opportunity to traduce his character. 


' Fat (he Lord halah lying and deceilful /t>j,— Psilm. 
'The curse denounced in my motto, is sufficient to 
' intimidate any person who is not quite abandoned in 
' their evil ways, and who have any fear of God before 
' their eyes ; everlasting burnings are a terrible reward 
' for their misdoings ; and nothing but the most 
' hardened sinners will oppose the judgements of heaven, 
^ being without end s 's reflection must be shocking 
'to such, as are Cv s to themselves, of having 

' erred fro.n the sacrei dictates of the Psalmist, and who 
I following the blind impulse of passion, daily forging 
' lies and deceit, to annoy their neighbour. But there 
'are joys in heaven which they can never arrive at, 
' whoso whole study is to destroy the peace and harmony, 
' and good order of society, in this place." 

This carries little the air of a bagatelle ; it rather 
seems a sermon in miniature, so different are some men 
in the closet and in conversation. The following I have 
taken at random from a heap of other memorials, all 
tending to set his combination with the aforementioned 
partners in a proper light. 

' E O was first set up in A e room, the profits 

divided between one C k (the inventor of the game) 

and A e. 



' The next year, A 
tageous, turned C — 

— i^ finding the game so advan- 
k out of his room, and set the 

game up himself ; but C It and his friends hired the 

erier to cry the game down ; upon which A e came 

running to me to stop it, after he had cried it once, which 
I immediately did, and turned the crier off the walks. 

' Then A c asked me to go a fourth with him in the 

bank, which I consented to ; C k next day took me 

into his room which he had hired, and proffered me to 
go half with him, which I refused, being engaged before 
to A e. 

' 'f e then set up the same game, and complained 

that he hid not half play at his room ; upon which 
I made them agree to join their banks, and divide 
equally the gain <ind loss, and I to go the like share in 
the bank. 

' I, taking them to be honest, never inquired what was 
won or lost ; and thought they paid me honestly, till it was 
discovered that they had defrauded me c' 2,000 guineas. 

' I then arrested A e, who told me I must go into 

Chancery, and that I should begin with the people of 
Bath, who had cheated me of ten times as much ; and 

told my attorney, that J e had cheated me of 500, 

and wrote me word that I probably had it not under 
his hand, which never was used in play. 

' Upon my arresting A e, I received a letter not to 

prosecute J e, for he would bo a very good witness : 

I wrote a discharge to J e for £125 in full, though he 

never paid me a farthing, upon his telling me, if his 
debts were paid, he was not worth a shilling. 

' Every article of this I can prove from A e's own 

mouth, as a reason that he allowed the bank- keepers 
but 10 per cent, because I went 20 ; and his suborning 
* * * * to alter his informations. 

'RicHAED Nash.' 


ThiH gentleman's simplicity, in trusting persons whom 
he had no previous reasons to place confidence in, seems 
to be one of those lights into his character, which, while 
they impeach his understanding, do honour to his 
benevolence. The low and timid are over suspicious ; 
but a heart impressed with honourable sentiments, 
exjiects from others sympathetic sincerity. 

But now that we have viewed his conduct as a gamester, 
and seen him on that side of his charactia-, which is by 
far the unfa%ourable, seen him declining from his 
former favour and esteem, the just consequence of his 
quitting, though but ever so little, the paths of honour ; 
let me turn to those brighter parts of his life and character 
which gained the aP-setion of his friends, the esteem of 
the corporation which he assisted, and may possibly 
attract the attention of posterity. By his successes we 
shall find, that figuring in life, proceeds less from the 
possess'on of great talents, than from the proper applica 
tion of moderate ones. Some great minds are only fitted 
to put forth their powers in the storm ; and the occasion 
is often wanting during a whole life for a great exertion : 
but trifling opportunities of shining are almost every 
hour offered to the little sedulous mind ; and a person 
thus employed, is not only more pleasing, but more 
useful in a state of tranquil society. 

Though gaming first introduced him into polit« 
company, this alone could hardly have carried him 
forward, without the assistance of a genteel address, 
much vivacity, some humour, and some wit. But once 
admitted into the circle of the Beau Monde, he then laid 
claim to all the privileges by which it is distinguished. 
Among others, in the early part of his life, he entered 
himself professedly into the service of the fair sex ; he 
set up for a man of gallantry and intrigue ; and if we can 
credit the boasts of his old age, he often succeeded. In 



fact, the business of love somewhat resembles the busi- 
ness of physic ; no matter for qualifications, he that 
makes vigorous pretensions to either is surest of success. 
Nature had by no means formed Mr. Nash for a Beau 
Gar9on ; his person was clumsy, too large and awkward, 
and his features harsh, strong, and peculiarly irregular ; 
yet even, with those disadvantages, he made love, 
became a universal admirer of the sex, and was 
universally admired. He was possessed, at least, of 
some requisites of a lover. He had assiduity, flattery, 
fine clothes, and as much wit as the ladies he addressed. 
Wit, flattery, and fine clothes, he used to say, were 
enough to debauch a nunnery. But my fair readers of 
the present day are exempt from this scandal ; and 
it is no matter now, what he said of their grand- 

As Nestor was a man of three ages, so Nash sometimes 
humorously called himself a beau of three generations. 
He had seen flaxen bobs succeeded by majors, which in 
their turn gave way to negligents, which were at last 
totally routed by bags and ramilies. The manner in 
which gentlemen managed their amours, in these 
different ages of fashion, were not more different than 
their periwigs. The lover in the reign of King Charles 
was solemn, majestic, and formal. He visited his 
mistress in state ; languished for the favour, kneeled 
when he toasted his goddess, walked with solemnity, 
performed the most trifling things with decorum, and 
even took snuff with a flourish. The beau of the latter 
part of Queen Anne's reign was disgusted with so much 
formality ; he was pert, smarts and lively ; his billets 
doitx were written in a quite different style from that of 
his antiquated predecessor ; he was ever laughing at his 
own ridiculous situation ; till at last, he persuaded the 
lady to become as ridiculous as himself. The beau of 


the third age, in which Mr. Nash died, van still more 
extraordinary thnn cither ; his whole secret in intrigue 
consisted in perfect indifference. The only way to make 
love now, I have heard Mr. Nash say, was to take no 
manner of notice of the lady, which method was found 
the surest way to secure her affections. 

However these things (x., this gentleman's successes 
m amour were in reality very much confined in the 
second and third age of intrigue ; his character was 
too public for a lady to consign her reputation to his 
keeping. But in the Ix-ginning of life, it is said, he 
knew the secret history of the times, and contributed 
himself to swell the page of scandal. Were I upon the 
present occasion to" hold the pen of a novelist, I could 
recount some amours, in which he was successful. I 
could fill a volume with little anecdotes, which contain 
neither pleasure nor instruction ; with histories of 
professing lovers, and poor believing girls deceived by 
such professions. But such adventures are easily 
written, and as easily achieved. The plan even of 
fictitious novel is quite exhausted ; but truth, which 
I have followed here, and ever design to follow, presents 
in the affair of love scarce any variety. The manner in 
which one reputation is lost, exactly resembles that by 
which another is taken away. The gentleman begins at 
timid distance, grows more bold, becomes rude, till the 
lady is married or undone ; such in the substance of every 
modern novel ; nor will I gratify the pruriency of folly, 
at the expense of every other pleasure my naiTation mav 
afford. ^ 

Mr. Nash did not long continue a universal gallant ; 
but in the earlier years of his reign, entirely gave up his 
endeavours to deceive the sex, in order io become the 
honest protector of their innocence, the guardian of their 
reputation, and a friend to their virtue. 



This was a character he boro for many yearH, and 
Biipportcd it with integrity, aNsiduity and succcsb. It 
was his constant practice to do everything in his power 
to prevent the fatal consequences of rash and inconsider- 
ate love ; and there are many persons now alive, who 
owe their prcscnl happiness to his having interrupted the 
progress of un amour, that threatened to become un- 
hai)py, or oven criminal, by jM-ivately making their 
guardians or parents acquainted with what he could 
discover. And his manner of disconcerting these schemes 
was such as generally secured him from the rage and 
resentment of the disappointed. One night, when I was 
in Wiltshire's room, Nash came up to a lady and her 
daughter, who were people of no inconsiderable fortune, 
and bluntly told the mother, she had better be at home : 
this was at that time thought an audacious piece of 
impertinence, and the lady turned away piqued and 
disconcerted. Nash, however, pursued her, and repeated 
the words again ; when the old lady, wisely conceiving 
there might be some hidden meaning couched under this 
seeming insolence, retired, and coming 'o her lodgings, 
found a coach and six at the door, which a sharper had 
provided to carry off her eldest daughter. 

I shall beg leave to give some other instances of 
Mr. Nash's good sense and good nature on these occa- 
sions, as I have had the accounts from himself. At 
the conclusion of the treaty of peace at Utrecht, Colonel 

M was one of the thoughtless, agreeable, gay 

creatures, that drew the attention of the company at 
Bath. He danced and talked with great vivacity ; and 
when he gamed among the ladies, he showed, that his 
attention was employed rather upon thehr hearts than 
their fortunes. His own fortune however was a trifle, 
when compared to the elegance of his expense ; and his 
imprudence at last was so great, that it obliged him to 



(tell . 

I an annuity, arising from hii* comniisHion, to keep up 
his splendour a little longer. 
However thoughtlesH he might be, he had the happi- 

neHH of gaining the affections of Miss L , whoso 

father designed her a very large fortune. This lady was 
courted by a nobleman of distinction, but she refused 
his addresses, resolve I xxpo., gratifying rather her inclina- 
tions than her avarice. The intrigue went on successfully 
between her and the Colonel, and they both would 
certainly have been married, and been undone, had 
not Mr. Nash apprised her father of their intentions. 
The old gentleman recalled his daughter from Bath, and 
offered Mr. Nash a very considerable present, for the 
care he had taken, which he refused. 

In the meantime Colonel M had an intimation 

how his mtrigue came to be discovered ; and by ta.\ing 
Mr. Nash, found that his suspicions were not without 
foundation. A challenge was the immediate conse- 
quence, which the King of Bath, conscious of having 
only done his duty, thought proper to decline. As none 
are permitted to wear swords at Bath, the Colonel found 
no opportunity of gratifying his resentment, and waited 
with impatience to fin ' Mr. Nash in town, to require 
proper satisfaction. 

During this interval, however, he found his creditors 
became too importunate for him to remain longer at 
Bath ; and his finances and credit being quite ex- 
hausted, he took the desperate resolution of going over 
to the Dutch army in Manders, where he enlisted himself 
a volunteer. Here he underwent all the fatigues of a 
private sentinel, with the additional misery of receiving 
no pay, and his friends in England gave out, that he was 

shot at tha battle of . 

In the meantime the nobleman pressed his passion 
with ardour, but during the progress of his amour, the 

OOLDBini'H. ni *f 



young lady'H father dictl, and It-ft her heiress to a fortune 
of fifteen hundred a year. She thought herself now 
disengaged from her former passion. An absence of two 
years had in some measure abated her love for the 
Colonel ; and the assiduity, the merit, and real regard of 
the gentleman who still continued to solicit her, were 
almost too powerful for her constancy. Mr. Nash, in 
the meantime, took every opportunity of inquiring after 

Colonel M , and found, thot he had for some time 

been returned to England, but changed his name, in 
order to avoid the fury of his creditors ; and that he 
was entered into a company of strolling players, who 
wore at that time exhibiting at Peterborough. 

Ho now therefore thought he owed the Colonel, in 
justice, an opportunity of promoting his fortune, as he 
had once deprived him of an occasion of satisfying his 
love. Ou iteau therefore invited the lady to be of a 
party to ictcrborough, and offered his own equipage, 
which was then one of the most elegant in England, to 
conduct her there. The proposal being accepted, the 
lady, the nobleman, and Mr. Nash, arrived in town just 
as the players were going to begin. 

Colonel M , who used every means of remaining 

incognito, and who was too proud to make his distresses 
known to any of his former acquaintonce, was now 
degraded into the character of Tom in the Conscious 

Lovers. Miss L was placed in the foremost row of 

the spectators, her lord on one side, and the impatient 
Nash on the other ; when the unhappy youth appeared 
in that despicable situation upon the stage. The 
moment he came on, his former mistress struck his view, 
but his amazement was increased when he saw her 
fainting away in the arms of those who sat behind her. 
He was incapable of proceeding, and scarce knowing 
what he did, he flew and caught her in his arms. 


'Colonel,' orie,l NaHh. «hcn they were i,. «„„o 
mcaHurc recovered, 'you oneo thought mo v..„r enemy 

•r^h?r r ;r"""^' '" P"*"'"' J"» '^"h '«>" 
rummg ench other ; you were then «TOng, nnd you 

hnve long had my forgiveneRH. If you love 'ell enough 
now for m„trm,o„y, you fairly have my consent, and 
<l— -n hmi, Hay I, that attempts to part you.' Their 
I'Tr " '';;'^/".'^">"'«''' "°«n ofter, and affluence adde,l 
a zcHt to all thcr future enjoymentH. Mr. Nanh had the 
thankH of each, and ho afterwards spent several agreeable 
days .n that society, which he had contributed tfTnder 

I shall bog the rentiers patience, while I give another 
mstanco, m which ho ineffectually offen-d hi assistance 
and advice. This story is not from himself ; but told 
us partly by Mr Wood, the architect of Bath, as it fell 
particularly within his own knowledge ; and partly from 
another memoir, to which ho rofers. 

Miss Sylvia S— - was descended from one of the best 

ZnZ^ ^" ^'"f"'"' """ ""« ^''' » '"^g^ fortune 
upon her sisters decease. She had early in life been 
intm^uced into the best company, and contracted a 
,K ;. ■ '"' !**"** *"'• expense. It is usual to make 
the heroine of a story very witty, and very beautifuj, 
and such circumstances are so surely expected, that 
they are scarce attended to. But whatever the finest 
poet could conceive of wit, or the most celebrated painter 
.magme of beauty, were excelled in the perfections of 
this young lady. Her superiority in both was allowed 
by all who either heard, or had seen her. She was 
naturally gay, generous to a fault, good-natured to the 
highest degree, affable in conversation, and some of her 
lette™ and other writings, as well in verse as prose, 
would have shone amongst those of the most celebrated 
wits of this, or any other age, had they been published. 




But thrao great qualiflcatioitH were marked by another, 
H'hirli leMienecl the value of them all. She wan inipnident I 
But let it not l)e imagined, that her reputation or honour 
Huffered by her imprudence ; I only mean, Bhe had no 
knowledge of the UHe of money ; nhe relieve<l diHtreHH, by 
putting hemclf into the circumKtance» of the object 
whoHC unntH hHo nupplied. 

She waH arrived at the age of nineteen, when the 
crowd of her lovers, and the continual rejKtition of new 
flattery, had taught her to think she could never be 
forsaken, and never poor. Young ladieH are opt to expect 
n certainty of bucccss, from a number of lovcm ; and yet 
I have Heldom seen a girl courted by a hundred lovers 
that found a husband in any. Before the choice is 
fixed, she has either lost her reputation, or her good 
sense ; and the loss of either is sutTicient to consign her 
to perpetual virginity. 

Among the number of this young lady's lovers was 

the celebrated S , who, at that time, went by the 

name of the good-natured man. This gentleman, with 
talents that might have done honour to humanity, 
suffered himself to fall at length into the lowest state of 
debasement. He followed the dictates of every newest 
passion, his love, his pity, his generosity, and even his 
friendships were all in excess ; he was imable to make 
head against any of his sensations or dcsircc, but they 
were in general worthy wishes and desires ; for he was 
constitutionally virtuous. This gentleman, who at last 
died in a jail, was ot that time this lady's envied 

It is probable that he, thoughtless creature, had no 
other prospect from this amour but that of passing the 
present moments agreeably. He only courted dissipa- 
tion, but the lady's thoughi were fixed on happiness. At 
length, however, his debts amounting to a considerable 


Hum, ho was iirrt«twl, aixl thrown into prison Ho 
eridcavouroil nt tln-t to ..oi.ooul his »it,mti„„ fr,„„ hi» 
bcnutifiil iniHtriH,) ; but Hha noon oaiiio t» a k.ioHlo.lKo 
of hiN diHtroHH, urul tcMjIt ,1 fatal roHolutioii ..f fm.i„g him 
from confinement by ili»charging all tho (lemamlN of hiM 

Mr. Na«h was at that tinio in London, and rcpn wntod 
to tho thoiightloHH young lady, that with a nica»uw 
would cffc-jtually ruin both ; that ho warm a concern 

for tho intercHtH of Mr. S , would in tho Hrnt plaoo 

quite iniimir her fortune, in the eyen of our Hex ; and 
what was worHe, IcHHon her reputation in tho»o of her 

own. He added, that thus bringing Mr. S . from 

priHon, would bo only a temporary relief ; that a mind 
Hc generous as his would become bankrupt, under the 
load of gratitude ; and instead of improving in friend- 
ship or affection, hc would only study to avoid a creditor 
he could never repay ; that though small favours i)roduce 
g(K)dwill, groat ones destroy friendship. These admoni- 
tions, however, were disregarded, and she too late found 
the prudence and truth of her adviser. In short, her 
fortune was by this means exhausted ; and, with all 
her attractions, she foimd her acquaintance' began to 
diHORteen) her, in proportion as she became jraor. 

1m <ln, situation she accepted Mr. Nash's invitation 
of returning to Bath ; he promised to introduce her to 
the best company there, and he was assured that her 
merit would do the rest : upon her very first appearance, 
ladies of the highest distinction courted her friendship 
and esteem; but a settled melancholy had taken 
poEsession of her mind, and no amusements that they 
could propose were sufficient to divert it. Yet still 
us if froni habit, she followed the crowd in its levities' 
and frequented those places where all persons endeavour 
to forget themselves in the bustle of ceremony and show. 




Her beauty, her simpUcity, and her unguarded situa- 
tion, soon drew the attention of a designing wretch, who 
at that time kept one of the roomB at Bath, and who 
thought that this lady's merit, properly managed, 
might turn to good account. This woman's name was 
Dame Lindsey, a creature, who, though vicious, was m 
appearance sanctified ; and, though designing, had some 
wit and humour. She began by the humblest assiduity 

to ingratiate herself with Miss S ; showed that she 

could be amusing as a companion, and by frequent 
offers of money, proved, that she could be useful as 
a friend. Thus, by degrees, she gained an entire ascen- 
dant over this pooi, thoughtless, deserted girl ; and, in 
less than one year, namely about 1727, Miss S— -, 
without ever transgressing the laws of virtue, had 
entirely lost her reputation. Whenever a person was 
wanting to make up a party for play at Dame Lindsey's, 
Sylvia as she was then famiUarly called, was sent for, 
and was obliged to suffer all those slights which the 
rich but too often let faU upon their inferiors in pomt 

of fortune. ,. i <. 

In most, even the greatest, minds, the heart at last 
becomes level with the meanness of its condition ; but, 
in this charming girl, it struggled hard with adversity 
and yielded to every encroachment of contempt with 
sullen reluctance. 

But though in the course of three years she was m 
the very eye of public inspection, yet Mr. Wood, the 
architect, avers, that he could never, by the strictest 
observations, perceive her to be tainted with any other 
vice, than that of suffering herself to be decoyed to the 
gaming-table, and, at her own hazard, playing for the 
amusement and advantage of others. Her friend, Mr. 
Nash, therefore, thought proper to induce her to break 
off aU connexions with Dame Lindsey, and to rent part 


of Mr. Wood's house, in Queen Square, where ehe 
behaved with the utmost complaisance, regularity, and 

In this situation her detestation of life still continued ; 
she found that time would infallibly deprive her of part 
of her attractions, and that continual solicitude would 
impair the rest. With these reflections she would 
frequently entertain herself and an old faithful maid in 
the vales of Bath, whenever the weather would permit 
them to walk out. She would even sometimes start 
questions in company, with seeming unconcern, in order 
to know what act of suicide was easiest, and which was 
attended with the smallest pain. When tired with exer- 
cise, she generally retired to meditation, and she became 
habituated to early hours of sleep and rest. But when 
the weather prevented her usual exercise, and her sleep 
was thus more difficult, she made it a rule to rise from 
her bed, and walk about her chamber, till she began to 
find an inclination for repose. 

This custom made it necessary for her to order 
a burning candle to be kept all night in her room. And 
the maid usuaUy, when she withdrew, locked the chamber 
door, and pushing thj key under it beyond reach, her 
mistress by that constant method lay undisturbed till 
seven o'clock in the morning, then she arose, unlocked 
the door, and rang the bell, as a signal for the maid to 

This stat« of seeming piety, regularity, and prudence, 
continued for some time, till the gay, celebrated, toasted 
Miss Sylvia was sunk into a housekeeper to the gentleman 
at whose house she lived. She was unable to keep 
company for want of the elegances of dress, that are the 
usual passport among the poUte, and she was too haughty 
to seem to want them. The fashionable, the amusing, 
and the polite in society now seldom visited her, and 

\> a 


from being once the object of every eye, she was now 
deserted by aU, and preyed upon by the bitter reflections 
of her own imprudence. 

Mr. Wood, and part of his family, were gone to 
London. Miss Sylvia was left with the rest as a governess 
at Bath. She sometimes saw Mr. Nash, and acknow- 
ledged the friendship of his admonitions, though she 
refused to accept any other marks of his generosity, than 
that of advice. Upon the close of the day, in which 
Mr. Wood was expected to return from London, she 
expressed some uneasiness at the disappointment of not 
seeing him ; took particular care to settle the affairs 
of his family, and then as usual sat down to meditation. 
She now cast a retr9spect over her past misconduct, and 
her approaching misery ; she saw, that even affl-ence 
gave her no real happiness, and from indigence she 
thought nothing could be hoped but lingering calamity. 
She at length conceived the fatal resolution of leaving 
a life in which she could see no comer for comfort, and 
terminating a scene of imprudence in suicide. 

Thus resolved, she sat down at her dining-room 
window, and with cool intrepidity, wrote the following 
elegant lines on one of the panes of the window. 

death ; thou pleasing end of human woe : 
Thou cure for life ! Thou greatest good below i 
Still may'st thou fly the coward, and the slave, 
And thy soft slumbers only bless the brave. 

She then went into company with the most cheerful 
serenity ; talked of indifferent subjects till supper, which 
she ordered to be got ready in a little library belonging 
to the family. There she spent the remaining hours, 
preceding bed-time, in dandling two of Mr. Wood's 
children on her knees. In retiring from thence to her 
chamber, she went into the nursery, to take her leave 
of another child, as it lay sleeping in the cradle. Struck 


with the innocence of the little babe's looks, and the 
consciousness of her meditated guilt, she could not avoid 

then bid her qld servant a good night, for the first time 
she had ever done so, and went to bed as usual 

it 18 probable she soon quitted her bed, and was 
seized with an alternation of passions, befoi. she yielded 
to the impulse of despair. She dressed herself in clean 
linen, and white garments of every kind, like a bride- 
maid. Her gown was pinned over her breast, just as 
a nurse pms the swaddling clothes of an infant. A pink 
silk girdle was the instrument with which she ..solved 
to termmate her misery, and this was lengthened by 
another made of gold thread. The end of the former 
was tied with a noose, and the latter with three knots 
at a small distance from one another 

.JYl ^^^^^; ^^^ ^*' "^"^ ^8''^' ^°d read; for 
she left the book open at that place, in the story of 
Olympia m the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto, where by 
the perfidy and ingratitude of her bosom friend, she was 
ruined, and left to the mercy of an unpitying world. 
This tragical event gave her fr«sh spirits to go through 
her fatal purpose; so, standing upon a stool, and 
flingmg the girdle, which was tied round her neck over 
a closet-door that opened into her chamber, she remained 
suspended. Her weight, however, broke the girdle, and 
the poor despan^r feU upon the floor with such violence 
that her faU awakened a workman that lay in the house 
atwut half an hour after two o'clock 

Recovering herself, she began to walk about the room 
as her usual custom was when she wanted sleep ; and 
the workman imagining it to be only some ordinary 
accident, agam went to sleep. She once mor«, therefore 
had recourse to a stronger girdle made of silver thread ; 
and this kept her suspended tiU she died. 




Her old maid continued in the morning to wait aa 
usual for the ringing of the bell, and protracted her 
patience, hour after hour, till two o'clock in the after- 
noon ; when the workmen at length entering the room 
through the window, found their unfortunate mistress 
still hanging, and quite cold. The coroner's jury being 
empanelled, brought in their verdict lunacy ; and her 
corpse was next night decently buried in her father's 
grave, at the charge of a female companion, with whom 
she had for many years an inseparable intimacy. 

Thus ended a female wit, a toast, and a gamester ; 
loved, admired, and forsaken. Formed for the delight of 
society, fallen by imprudence into an object of pity. 
Hundreds in high life lamented her fate, and wished, 
when too late, to redress her injuries. They who once 
had helped to impair her fortune, now regretted that 
they had assisted in so mean a pursuit. The little 
effects she had left behind were bought up with the 
greatest avidity, by those who desired to preserve some 
token of a companion, that once had given them such 
delight. The remembrance of every virtue she was 
possessed of was now improved by pity. Her former 
follies were few, but the last swelled them to a large 
amount. As she remains the strongest instance to 
posterity, that want of prudence, alone, almost cancels 
every other virtue. 

In all this unfortunate lady's affairs Mr. Nash took 
a peculiar concern ; he directed her when they played, 
advised her when she deviated from the rules of caution, 
and performed the last offices of friendship after her 
decease, by raising the auction of her little effects. 

But he was not only the assistant and the friend of 
the fair sex, but also their defender. He secured their 
persons from insult, and their reputations from scandal. 
Nothing offended him more, than a young fellow's 


pretending to receive favours from ladieH he probably 
never saw ; nothing pleased him so much, as seeing such 
a piece of deliberate mischief punished. Mr. Nash and 
one of his friends, being newly arrived at Tunbridge from 
Bath, were one day on the Walks, and seeing a young 
fellow of fortune, with whom they had some slight 
acquaintance, joined him. Alter the usual chat and 
news of the day was over, Mr. Nash asked him, how long 
he had been at the Wells, and what company was there ? 
The other replied, he had been at Tunbridge a month ; 
but as for company, he could find as good at a Tyburn 
baU. .Not a soul was to bo seen, except a parcel of 
gamesters and whores, who would grant the last favour 
for a single stake at the Pharaoh bank. ' Look you 
there,' continued he, ' that Goddess of midnight so 
fine, at t'other end of the Walks, by Jove, she was 
mine this morning for half a guinea. And she there 
who brings up the rear with powdered hair and dirty 
ruffles, she 's pretty enough, but cheap, perfectly cheap ■ 
why, my boys, to my own knowledge, you may have 
her for a crown, and a dish of chocolate into the 
bargam. Last Wednesday night wo were happy. 
Hold there, sir,' cried the gentleman ; ' as for your 
ha,vmg the first lady, it is possible it may be true, and 
I mtend to ask her about it, for she is my sister ; but 
as to your lying with the other last Wednesday, I am 
sure you are a lying rascal— she is my wife, and wo 
came here but last night.* The buck vainly asked 
pardon ; the gentleman was going to give him projjcr 
chastisement ; when Mr. Nash interposed in his behalf, 
and obtained his pardon, upon condition that he quitted 
Tunbridge immediately. 

But Mr. Nash not only took care, during his administra- 
tion, to protect the ladies from the insults of our sex, 
but to guard them from the slanders of each other. He 


in the first place, prevented a' .y animonities that might 
arise from place and precedence, by being previously 
acquainted with the rank and quality of almost every 
family in the British dominions. He endeavoured to 
render scandal odious, by marking it as the result of 
envy and folly united. Not oven Solon could have 
enacted a wissr law in such a society as Bath. The 
gay, the heedless, and the idle, which mostly compose 
the group of water-drinkers, seldom are at the pains 
of talking upon universal topics, which require com- 
prehensive thought, or abstract reasoning. The adven- 
tures of the little circle of their own acquaintance, or of 
some names of quality and fashion, make up their whole 
conversation. But it is too likely, that when we mention 
those, we wish to depress them, in order to render 
ourselves more conspicuous ; scandal must therefore 
have fixed her throne at Bath, preferable to any other 
part of the kingdom. However, though these endeavours 
oould not totally suppress this custom among the fair, 
yet they gained him the friendship of several ladies of 
distinction, who had smarted pretty severely under 
the lash of censure. Among this number was the old 
Duchess of Marlborough, who conceived a particular 
friendship for him, and which continued during her life. 
She frequently consulted him in several concerns of 
a private nature. Her letting leases, building bridges, or 
forming canals, were often carried on under his guidance ; 
but she advised with him particularly in purchasing 
liveries for the footmen ; a business to which she thought 
his genius best adapted. As anything relative to her 
may please the curiosity of such as delight in the 
anecdotes and letters of the great, however dull and 
insipid, I shall beg leave to present them with one or 
two of her letters, collected at a venture from several 
others to the same purpose. 

To Mr. Nash, at the Bath. 


B'cniteim, Stpl. 18, 172t 

Mr. .Ibnnens will give you an account how little time 

I have in my power, and that will make my excuse for 

not thanking you sooner for the favour of your Uter 

and for the trouble you have given yourself in bespeak- 

mg the cloth, which I am sure will be good, since you 

have undertaken to order it. Pray ask Mrs. Jennens 

concerning the cascade, which will satisfy all your 

doubts in that matter ; she saw it play, which it will 

do in great beauty, for at least six hours together, and it 

runs enough to cover all the stones constantly, and is 

a hundred feet broad, which I am told is a much greater 

breadth than any cascade is in England ; and this will be 

yet better than it is, when it is quite finished ; this water 

is a great addition to this place, and the lake being 

thirty acres, out of which the cascade comes and falls 

mto the canal that goes through the bridge, it makes 

that look as if it was necessary, which before seemed so 


I am 
Your most humble Servant, 

S. Marlborouoh. 


To Mr. Noah, at the Bath. 

Marlborough House, May 17, 1735. 

I have received the favour of yours of the tenth 
of May, with that from Mr. Harvey. And by last post 
I received a letter from Mr. Overton, a sort of a bailiff 
and a surveyor, whom I have employed a great while upon 
my estates in Wiltshire. He is a very active and very 
useful man of his sort. He writes to me, that Mr. 
Harvey has been with him, and brought him a paper. 



which I Hcnt you. He myn, that finding he wm a man 
that was desiroiii to serve me, he had assisted him all 
he could, by informations which he has given ; and 
that he should continue to assist him. I have writ to 
him that ho did mighty well. There is likewise a con- 
siderable tenant of my Lord Bruce 's, his name is Cannons, 
who has promised me his assistance towards rL'-ommcnd- 
ing tenants fo t hese farms. And if Mr. Harvey happens 
to know such a man, he may put him in mind of it. 
I am sure you do me all the good you can. And I hope 
you are sure that I shall always be sensible of the 
obligations I have to you, and ever be 

Your most thankful and obliged 

I humble Servant, 

S. Marlboeough. 
Mr. Harvey may conclude to take any prices that were 
given you in the paper. But as I know that wo have 
been scandalously cheated, if he finds that anything 
can be let better than it has been let, I do not doubt 
but he will do it. 

The Duchess of Marlborough seems not to be a much 
better writer than Mr. Nash, but she was worth many 
hundred thousand pounds, and that might console her. 
It may give splenetic philosophy, however, some scope 
for meditation, when it considers, what a parcel of 
stupid trifles the world is ready to admire. 

Whatever might have been Mr. Nash's other excel- 
lences, there was one in which few exceeded him ; I 
mean his extensive humanity. None felt pity more 
strongly, and none made greater efforts to relieve 
distress. If I were to name any reigning and fashionable 
virtue in the present age, I think it should be charity. 
The numberless benefactions privately given, the various 
public solicitations for charity, and the success they 


meet with, nerre to prove, that though we may fall 
short of our ancestors in other respects, yet in this 
instance we greatly excel them. I know not whether 
it may not be spreading the influence of Mr. Nash too 
widely to say, that he was one of the principal causes of 
introducing this noble emulation among the rich ; but 
certain it is, no private man ever relieved the distresses 
of so many as he did. 

Before gaming was suppressed, and in the meridian 
of his life and fortune, his benefactions were generally 
found to equal his other expenses. The money he got 
without pain, he gave away without reluctance ; and 
whenever unable to relieve a wretch who sued for assist- 
ance, he has been often seen to shed tears. A gentleman 
of broken fortune, one day standing behind his chair, as 
he was playing a game of picquet for two hundred pounds, 
and obf erving with what indifference he won the money, 
could not avoid whispering these words to another 
who stood by, * Heavens ! how happy would all that 
money make me ! ' Nash, overhearing him, clapped the 
money into his hand ; and cried, ' Go and be happy.' 

About six and thirty years ago, a clergyman brought 
his family to Bath for the benefit of the waters. His 
wife laboured under a lingering disorder, which it was 
thought nothing but the Hot Wells could remove. The 
expenses of living there soon lessened the poor man's 
finances ; his clothes were sold, piece by piece, to 
provide a temporary relief for his little family ; and his 
appearance was at last so shabby, that, from the number 
of holes in his coat and stockings, Nash gave him the 
name of Doctor Cullender. Our beau, it seems, was rude 
enough to make a jest of poverty, though he had sensi- 
bility enough to relieve it. The poor clergyman combated 
his distresses with fortitude ; and, instead of attempting 
to solicit relief, endeavoured to conceal them. Upon 

! J! 

i I. 



a living of thirty pounds a year ho endeavoured to 
maintain hia wife and six ohildron ; but all his remuioeH 
at last failed him, and nothing but famine was seen in 
f- wretched family. The poor man's oiroumstanoes wer» 
»i last communicated to Nash ; who, with his usual 
cheerfulness, undertook to relieve him. On a Sunday 
evening, at a public tea-drinking at Harrison's, he went 
about to collect a subscription, and began it himself, by 
giving Hve guineas. By this means, two hundred guineas 
were collected in less than two ^ ours, and the poor family 
raised from the lowest despondence into affluence and 
felicity. A bounty so unexpected had a better influence 
even upon the woman's constitution than all that 
either the physicians or the waters of Bath could 
produce, and she recovered. But his good offices did not 
rest here. He prevailed upon a nobleman of his acquaint- 
ance to present the Doctor with a living of a hundred 
and sixty pounds a year, which made that happiness, he 
had before produced, in some measure permanent. 

In the severe winter, which happened in the 'ear 
1730, his charity was great, useful, and extensiv He 
frequently, at that season of calamity, ente- .. the 
houses of the poor, whom he thought too proud w> beg 
and generously relieved them. The colliers were at this 
time peculiarly distressed; and, in onJer to excite 
compassion, a number of them yoked themselves to 
a wagon loaded with coals, and drew it into Bath and 
presented it to Mr. Nash. Their scheme had the proper 
effect. Mr. Na-.h procured them a subscription, and gave 
ten guineas to rds it himself. The weavers also shared 
his bounty at that season. They came begging in a body 
mto Bath, and he provided a plentiful dinner for their 
entertainment, and gave each a week's subsistence at 
going away. 
There are few pubUc charities to which he was not 


l^"^I' ""'^ ""l"^ '"' P""'''P»"y contributed to 
"upport. Among others, Mr. Anne«lcy, that .trsngo 
example of the mutability of fortune, and the ineffioacy 
of our l8w«, shared hu interest and bounty. I have now 
before me a well-written letter, addressed to Mr. Nash 
m order to obtain his interest for that unhappy gentle^ 

tZT^ 1 r^"^ adventurer's interest, and, I am 
told, fell with him. 

My Good Fribnd, ^'^'^ °^' ^'^ ""^ 

♦ T Y^r ^.^"^ ""^ '"'"'""' °' conversing with thee 

stllar"?:-'" '''"*'"'"' """• -"-™'n« that mS 
wngular stnkmg case of Mr. Annasley, whom I have 

e^T.rr ^u T "•""* "'' y""" "'-l. I being then 
emp'.y^ by thelate I.,rd Baron of Altham, his father 
as h s agent. Fro„ what I know of the affairs of tha 
amily. I am well assured, that Mr. Annesley is tno 
legitimate son of the late Ix,rd Baron of Altham, and in 

of Anglesey. Were I not well assured of his right to 
thc»e honours and estates, I would not give countenance 
to h,s ela.m.-I well remember, that then then madest 
tTat w^r*',!' ""'^r}^ ^ """'"^^K " "Ubscription, 
nof^thil tK^?""/* JT''"''«'= ''"*' o'thatplaiewas 
not wthm the l.m.ts of thy province, thou couldest not 
promise to do much there. But thou saidst, that in case 
he would go to Bath in the season, thou wouldest then 
and there show how much thou wouldest be his friend 
«n7M T' "y ^"^ ^™"''' "' *■»« ««»°n is come on,' 

thl^fh'^^^ ""^ "* ^"'' ' ^« '""^^ t° ™™ind 
thee of that promise ; and that thou wilt keep in full view 

redound to thee from thy benevolence, and crown all the 



good actionn of thy life. — I nay, now in the vaki of life, 
to relieve a dixtreiaed young nobleman, to extricate so 
immenne an eatate, from the hnndii of oppremion ; to 
do thin, will fix «nch a ray of glory on thy memory, aH 
will speak forth thy praiw to future aged. — Thii with 
great reitpcct is the needful, 

from thy assur i Friend, 

WiLUAM Henderson. 
Be pleased to give mi roipccts to Mr. Annesley and 
his spouse. 

Mr. Nash punctually kept his word with this gentle- 
man : ho began the subscription himself with the utmost 
librr..iity, and procured such a list of encouragers, as at 
o]'oe did honour to Mr. Annesley 's cause, and their own 
generosity. What a pity it was, that this money, which 
was given for the relief of indigence only, went to feed 
a set of reptiles, who batten upon our weakness, miseries, 
and vice. 

It may not be known to the generality' of my readers, 
that the last act of the comedy, callc<l Esop, which was 
added to the French plot of Boursault, by Mr. Van'-rugh, 
was taken from n story told of Mr. Nash, upon a similar 
occasion. He had in the early part of life made proposals 

of marriage to Miss V , of D ; his affluence at 

that time, and the favour which he was in with the 
nobility, readily induced the young lady's father to 
favour his addresses. However, upon opening the afiair 
to herself, she candidly told him, her affections were 
placed upon another, and that she could not possibly 
comply. Though this answer satisfied Mr. Nash, it was 
by no means sufficient to appease the father ; and he 
peremptorily insisted upon her obedience. Things were 
carried to the last extremity ; when Mr. Nash under- 
took to settle the affair : and desiring his favoured rival 


to »jp «.nt for, with hU ..«-n hnn.l prr»ontr<l hJH mi«tifHH 
to him, together with n fortune rc|.ml to whnt her 
father intended to give her. .S.,,!, ,.„ uncommon 
inHtnnco of generoHity hnd nn inntiint effect upon the 
Hcvere parent ; he conHidered nuch diHinterentedneHH m 
a JUHt reproneh to bin ,:^^n mercenary di»,x>»ition, and 
took hm dnughter once more into favour. 1 wish, for the 
dignity of history, that the sequel could bo conceale<l • 
but the young rnn nwny with her foofmnn, before 
half a year wan expired ; nnd her huHbnnd died of grief 
In general, the benefaction» of a generuuH man are 
but III bestowed. His heart seldom given him leave to 
examine the real diHtrens of the object whirli micm for 
pity ; hiH goo<l nature taken the alarm too Hoon, and he 
bcHtows hi« fortune on only apparent WTctchednenH. The 
man naturally frugal, on the other hand, seldom n-Iievc« • 
but when he .Iocs, hin reason, and not his sensntionH,' 
generally find out the object. Ever>- instance of hin 
bounty iH therefore permanent, and Ix-ars witness fo his 

Of all the immense sums which XnKh lavished upon 
real or apparent wretchedness, the effects nfte- f « 
.years, seemed to disappear. His money wa» v„orallv 
given to support immediate want, or to , '.^ve li.i'- 
provident indolence, and therefore it vanisi . 
hour. Perhaps towards the close of life, were he to loc'- 
round on the thousands he had relieved, he would fii. 
but few made happy, or fixed by his bounty in a st. • 
of thriving industry ; it was enough for him. that he 
gave to those that wantefl ; he never considered, that 
chanty to some might impoverish himself without 
relieving them ; he seldom considered the mi the 

industry of the petitioner ; or he rather fancied, that 
misery was an excuse for indolence and guilt. It was 
a usual s«ying of his, when ho went to beg for anv 



person in distresfl, that they who could stoop to the 
meanness of solicitation, must certainly want the favour 
for which they petitioned. 

In this manner, therefore, he gave away immense sums 
of his own, and still greater, which he procured from 
others. His way was, when any person was proposed 
to him as an object of charity, to go round with his hat, 
first among the nobility, according to their rank, and so 
on, till he left scarce a single person unsolicited. They 
who go thus about to beg for others, generally find 
a pleasure in the task. They consider, in some measure, 
every benefaction they procure, as given by themselves, 
and have at once the pleasure of being liberal, without 
the self-reproach of being profuse. 

But of all the inktances of Mr. Nash's bounty, none 
docs him more real honour than the pains he took in 
establishing a hospital at Bath, in which benefaction, 
however. Doctor Oliver had a great share. This was one 
of those well-guided charities, dictated by reason, and 
supported by prudence. By this institution the diseased 
poor might recover health, when incapable of receiving 
it in any other part of the kingdom. As the disorders of 
the poor, who could expect to find relief at Bath, were 
mostly chronical, the expense of maintaining them there 
was found more than their parishes thought proper to 
afford. They therefore chose to support them in a 
continual state of infirmity, by a small allowance at 
home, rather than be at the charge of an expensive cure. 
A hospital therefore at Bath, it was thought, would be an 
asylum, and a place of relief to those disabled creatures, 
and would, at the same time, give the physician more 
thorough insight into the efficacy of the waters, from the 
regularity with which such patients would be obliged to 
take them. These inducements therefore influenced 
Doctor Oliver, and Mr. Nash, to promote a subscription 


towards Buch a benefaction. The design was set on foot 

T.lf^Z'^^ f*' ""■ *•"* "°* con^Pleted till the year 
1742. Thas delay, which seems surprising, was in fact 
owing to the want of a proper fund for carrying the work 
mto execution. What 1 said above, of charity being the 
characteristic virtue of the present age, will be more 
fully evmced, by comparing the old and new .ubscrip- 
tions for this hospital. These will show the difference 
between ancient and modem benevolence. When I run 
my eye over the list of those who subscribed in the 
year 1723, I find the subscription in general seldom rise 
above a guinea each person ; so that, at that time, with 
all their efforts, they were unable to raise four hundred 
pounds ; but in bout twenty years after, each particular 
subscription was greatly increased-ten, twenty, thirty 
pounds, being themostord„.,ryGumssubscribed, andthey 
soon raised above two thousand pounds for the purpose. 
Thus, chiefly by the means of Doctor Oliver and 
Mr. Nash, but not without the assistance of the good 
Mr. Allen, who gave them the stone for building and 
other benefactions, this hospital was erected, and it is 
at present fitted up for the reception of patients, the 
cases most paralytic or leprous. The following conditions 
are observed previous to admittance. 
^ ' I. The case of the patient must be described by 
^ some physician, or person of skill, in the neighbour. 
^ hood of the place where the patient has resided for some 
^ time ; and this description, together with a certificate 
_ of the poverty of the patient, attested by some persons 
_ of credit, must be sent in a letter post-paid, directed 

to the register of the General Hospital at Bath. 
_ 'II. After the patient's case has been thus described, 

. fn f °v' """* ^""^^ '" *''" "«""' P''"'^ «>• residence 
tiU he has notice of a vacancy, signified by a letter 
trom tno register. 



' III. Upon the receipt of such a letter, the patient 
must set forward for Bath, bringing with him this 
letter, the parish certificate duly executed, and allowed 
by two justices, and three pounds caution-money, if 
from any part of England or Wales ; but if the patient 
comes from Scotland or Ireland, then the caution- 
money, to be deposited before admission, is the sum of 
five pounds. 

' IV. Soldiers may, instead of parish certificates, bring 
a certificate from their commanding officers, signifying 
to what corps they belong, and that they shall be 
received into the same corps, when discharged from 
the Hospital, in whatever condition they are. But it is 
necessary that their cases bo described, and sent 
previously, and that they bring with them three 
pounds caution-money. 

'Note. The intention of the caution-money is to 
defray the expenses of returning the patients after they 
are discharged from the Hospital, or of their burial in 
case they die there. The remainder of the caution- 
money, after these expenses are defrayed, will be 
returned to the person who made the deposit.' 
I am unwaiing to leave this subject of his benevolence, 
because it is a virtue in his character which must stand 
almost single against a hundred follies ; and it deserves 
the more to be insisted on, because it was large enough to 
outweigh them all. A man may be a hypocrite safely 
in every other instance, but in charity ; there are few 
who will buy the character of benevolence at the rate 
for which it must be acquired. In short, the sums he 
gave away were immense ; and, in old age, when at 
last grown too poor to give relief, he gave, as the poet 
has it, all he had, a tear ; when incapable of relieving the 
agonies of the wretched, he attempted to relieve his own 
by a flood of sorrow. 


The suras he gave and collected for the hospital, were 

great, and his manner of doing it was no less admirable 

1 am told that he was once collecting money in Wiltshire's 

room for that purpose, when a lady entered who is more 

remarkable for her wit than her charity, and not being 

able to pass by him unobserved, she gave him a pat 

with her fan, and said, ' You must put down a trifle for 

me, Nash, for I have no money in my pocket ' ' Yes 

_ madam,' says he, ' that I will with pleasure, if your 

Grace will tell me when to stop ' : then taking a handful 

of guineas out of his pocket, he began to tell them into 

his white hat, one, two, three, four, five. ' Hold hold ' 

says the Duchess, 'consider what you are kbout!' 

Consider your rank and fortmie, madam,' says Nash 

and contmued telling, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Here' 

the Duchess called again, and seemed angry • Pray 

compose yourself, madam,' cried Nash, 'and don't 

interrupt the work of charity ; eleven, twelve, thirteen. 

fourteen, fifteen.' Hero the Duchess stormed, and 

iaught hold of his hand. ' Peace, madam,' says Nash ; 

you shall have your name written in letters of gold 

madam, and upon the front of the building, madam! 

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty* I 

won't pay a farthinir more,' says the Duchess. ' Charity 

hides a multitude o' sins,' rephes Nash. ' Twenty-one, 

twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five' 

Nash, says she, ' I protest you frighten me out of my 

wits. L d, I shall die!' ' Madam, vou will never 

die with doing good ; and if you do, it will be the 
better for you,' answered Nash, and was about to 
proceed ; but perceiving her Grace had lost all patienos 
a parley ensued, when he, after much altercation agreed 
to stop his hand, and compound with her Grace for thirty 
guineas. The Duchess, however, seemed displeased the 
whole evening ; and when he came to the table whew 



she Hfis playing, bid him, 'Stand farther, an ugly devil, 
for «he hated the eightof him.' But LcrGrace afterwards, 
having a run of good luck, called Nash to her. ' Come,' 
says she, ' I will be friends with you, though you ai« 
' a fool ; and to let you see I am not angry, there is ten 
* guineas more for your charity. But this 1 insist on, 
' that neither my name, nor the sum, shall be mentioned.' 
From the hospital erected for the benefit of the poor, 
it is an easy transition to the monuments erected by him 
in honour of the great. Upon th-* recovery of the Prince 
of Orange, by drinking the Bath waters, Mr. Nash caused 
a small obelisk, thirty feet high, to be erected in a grove 
near the Abbey church, since called Orange Grove. This 
Prince's arms adori^ the west side of the body of the 
pedestal. The inscription is on the opposite side, in the 
following words : 

In memoriam 


Principi Auriaeo 

Aquarum tliermalium potu, 

Favente Deo, 

Ovante Britannia, 

Wdieiter reatitiUce, 


In English thus : 

In memory 

Of the happy restoration 

Of the health of the 

Prince of Orange, 

Through the favour of God, 

And to the great joy of Britain, 

By drinking the Bath waters. 


I find it a general custom, at all baths and spas, to 


erect monuments of this kind to the memory of every 
pnnee who has received benefit from the waters. Aix, 
a™;rnH r- u""^ ""'' inscriptions of this natui,, 
apparently domg honour to the prince, but in realitv 
celebratmg the efficacy of their springs. It is ™ 

thr/wH*" "'" '""'" monuments instances of gratitude.' 
though they may wear that appearance 

In the year 1738, the ft-ince of Wales came to Bath 
who presented Mr. Nash with a large gold enamelled' 

Ch I T T" ^^ ''«Pa««»^. Nash, as King of 
^th erected an obelisk in honour of this prince, al he 
had before done for the Prince of Orange. This hand- 
TmTo"^ '" «°"°" °^ '^''' good-natured prince is 
balustrade, and m the middle of every side there are 

feet high, and termmatmg in a point. The expenses of 
th.s were eighty pounds ; and Mr. Nash was de^rmined 
the ni t' ^;TP*!°".«''0"ld answer the magnificence o 
the pde. With this view he wrote to Mr. Pope, at London 
requestmg an inscription. I should have%;en glad to 
have g.ven Mr. Nash's letter upon this occasion; the 
reader, however, must be satisfied with Pope's reply 
which IS as follows. ^^ ' 


in n.J!^^^ "^"^l^^ ^°""' ^"^ *''«"'' your partiality 
m my favour You say words cannot express the 
gratitude you feel for the favour of his R. H.; and vet 
you would have me express what you feel, and in a few 
words. I own myself unequal to the task ; for even 
granting ,t possible to express an inexpressible idea 
1 am the worst person you could have pitched upon 
for this purpose, who have received so few favours 
irom the great myself, that I am utterly unacquaint^ 



with what kind of thanks they like best. Whether the 

P most loves poetry or prose, I protest I do not 

know ; but this I dare venture to affirm, that you can 
give him as much satisfaction in either as I can, 
I am. 
Your affectionate Servant, 
A. Pope. 

What Mr. Nash's answer to this billet was, I cannot 
take upon me to ascertain, but it was probably a per- 
severance in his former request. The following is the 
copy of Mr. Pope's reply to his second letter. 


I had sooner answered yours, but in the hope 
of procuring a properer hand than mine ; and then in 

consulting with some, whose office about the P 

might make them the best judges, what sort of inscription 
to set up. Nothing can be plainer than the enclosed ; 
it is nearly the common sense of the thing, and I do not 
know how to flourish upon it. But this you would do 
as well, or better yourself, and I dare say may mend the 
expression. I am truly, 

Dear Sir, 

Your affectionate Servant, 

A. Pope. 
I think I need not tell you my name should not be 

Such a letter as this was what might naturally be 
expected from Mr. Pope. Notwithstanding the seeming 
modesty towards the conclusion, the vanity of an 
applauded writer bursts through every line of it. The 
difficulty of concealing his hand from the clerks at the 


tli8 letters 80 eagerly opened by the clerks of the Office 
as he Beems always to think. But in all his letteras 
well as those of Swift, there runs a strain of pride as i^ 
the world talked of nothmg but themselver ' ^Ua^ ' 

world will be as merry as usual ! ' Very strange that 

rc:fr;oe?r "°^ '^^ ^■'^'^^"^''^ ^^^^^^ ^°"- '^« 

wh?h ^""f '°° "^f^^-^ to in this letter, was the same 
which was afterwards engraved on the obelisk ; and isl 

In memory of honours bestow'd 

And m gratitude for benefits conferred m' this city 

By his Royal Highness 

Frederick, Prince of Wales, 

And his Royal Consort, 

In the Year 1738, 

This obelisk is erected by 

Richard Nash, Esq. 

Coun^r '''".*'7,*° «*y' *''«'* ^"» soarce a Common 
CouncU-man m the corporation of Bath, but could have 
Jne this as well. Nothing can be mor; frigid ; thoujh 

About this period every season brought some new 
accession of honour to Mr. Nash ; and the corporatiol 
now unive^ally found, that he wa« absolutely ^ssary 
for promotmg the welfare of the city ; so that this year 
seems to have been the meridian of his glorv. About 
this time he arrived at such a piteh of authority, that 




I really believe Alexander was not greater at PersepolU. 
The countenance ho received from the Prince of Orange, 
the favour he was in with the Prince of Wales, and the 
caresses of the nobility, all conspired to lift him to the 
utmost pitch of vanity. The exultation of a little mind, 
upon being admitted to the familiarity of the great, is 
inexpressible. The Prince of Orange had made him 
a present of a very fine snuff-box. Upon this some of 
the nobility thought it would be proper to give snuff- 
boxes too ; they were quickly imitated by the middling 
gentry, and it soon became the fashion to give Mr. Nash 
snuff-boxes ; who had in a little time a number sufficient 
to have furnished a good toy-shop. 

To add to his honours, there was placed a full-length 
picture of him, in Wiltshire's Ballroom, between the 
busts of Newton anti Pope. It was upon this occasion 
that the Earl of Chesterfield wrote the following severe 
but witty epigram : 

Immortal Newton never spoke 
More truth than here you'll find ; 

Nor Pope himself e'er penn'd o joke 
Severer on mankind. 

This picture placed these busts between. 

Gives satire its full strength ; 
Wisdom and Wit are little seen, 

But Folly ot full length. 

There is also a full-length picture of Mr. Nash in 
Simpson's Ballroom ; and his statue at full length in 
the Pump-room, with a plan of the Bath Hospital in 
hand. He was now treated in every respect like a grei 
man ; he hai' his levee, his flatterers, his buffoons, hiK 
good-natured creatures, and even his dedicators. A 
trifling ill-supported vanity wa« his foible, and while ht 
received the homage of the vulgar, and enjoyed the 


familiarity of the great, he felt no pain for the un- 
promismg view of poverty that lay before him ; ho 
enjoyed the world n» it went, and drew upon content for 
the deflcjenceH of fortune. If a cringing wn-teh called 
him hi« Honour, he was plenHcd ; internally conscioun, 
tnat He had the justest pretensiouH to the title If 
a be^ar called him my Lord, he wa« happv, and generally 
sent the flatterer off happy too. I have known him in 
London, wait a whole day at a window in the Smyrna 
Coffee-house, in order to receive a bow from the Prince 
or the Duchess of Marlborough, as they passed bv whcni 
he was standing ; and he would then look round upon 
the company for admiration and respect. 

But perhaps the reader desires to know, who could be 
low enough to flatter a man, who himself lived in some 
measure by dependence. Hundreds are read v upon those 
occasions. The very needy are almost ev;r flatterers. 
A man in wretched circumstances forgets his own value 
and feels no pain in giving up superiority to every claim! 
ant. Ihe very vain are ever flatterers ; as they find it 
necessary to make use of all their arts, to keep company 
with such as are superior to themselves. But particularly 
the prodigal are prone to adulation, in order to open 
new supplies for their extravagance. The poor, the vain 
and extravagant, are chiefly addicted to this vice • and 
such hung upon his good nature. When these three 
characters are found united in one person, the com- 
position generally becomes a siv.t man's favourite It 
was not difficult to collect 8uch n group in .1 citv that was 
the centre of pleasure. Nash had them of M\ Mzrs tx-om 
the half-pay captain in laced clothes, (,» t\w humble 
boot-catcher at the Bear. 

I have before me a bundle of letters all addressed 
from a pack of flattering reptile*, (o his Honour • and 
even some printed dedications, in the same sernlc strain. 



In these his Honour is complimented m the gnat en- 
courager of the polite arts, aa a gentleman of the mort 
aooompliahed taste, of the most extensive learning, and, 
in short, of everything in the world. But perhaps it will 
be thought wrong in me, to unveil the blushing muse, to 
brand learning with the meanness of its professors, or to 
expose scholars in a state of contempt.— For the honour 
of letters, the dedications to Mr. Nash are not written 
by scholars or poets, but by people of a different stamp. 
Among this number was the highwayman, who was 
taken after attempting to rob and muider Doctor 
Hancock. He was called Poulter, aliat Baxter, and 
published a book, exposing the tricks of gamblers, thieves 
and pickpockets. This he intended to have dedicated to 
Mr. Nash ; but the generous patron, though no man 
loved praise more, was too modest to have it printed. 
However, he took care to preserve the manuscript, 
among the rest of his papers. The book was entitled, 
The diaamries 0} John Poulter, alias BaxUr, who was 
apprehended for roMnng Doctor Hancock, of Salisbury, on 
Claverton Doien near Bath; and who has since Uen 
admitted king's evidence, and discovered a most numerous 
gang of villains. Being a fuU account of aU the robberies 
he committed, and the surprising tricks and frauds he has 
practised for the space of five years last past, in different 
parts of England, paHicutarly in the West. Written 
wholly by himself. The dedication intended to be 
prefixed is as follows, and will give a specimen of the 
style of a highwayman and a gambler. 

To the Honourable Richard Nash, Esq. 
May it please your Honour, 

With humblest submission, I make bold to present 
the following sheets to your Honour's consideration, 
and well-known humanity. Aslam industriously careful, 


bnngrng them to the gallow, T„ \! ^'"'' ''^ 

gentry, whether the life of one ncr^n W . f"""'' *"'' 
would answer the enrf °' ""^^I*""" Iw'ng taken away. 

villain,, wrohla i't^e 1" ' "**"'* """'' "^ "•"»»»' ° 

inchnation, wL ^v r L T'' ''°"^'"«'>- « -ny 

-g^atanuXTvilTwiSr''' '^'?''' '" '' ^ 
A« your Honour'. J",* \*®" "'^y '""«"lt together. 

the friend of XV^^for'/Z'^i^ir' ^**"^* "- 
Honour's feet the f^^^ ' , ^* "^'^ *« '»y. «» your 

honeat man upl„ h° 2'"* ''"^''■."'•'^'' -'" P"* e^.y 

honoured Sir, "^ «™*'««' gratitude. 

Your Honour's 
Most truly devoted and obedient Servant, 
T.«nton G«i, "^°®' Povuim, alia, Baxmb. 

June 2nd. 

buf Se'^iirVo""*"' "" *'^' "- -»M think 
wasploaJtrft': heT;^\T^l!!, '^' *•"" ^^^^ 
and Honourable ; and t^rWghl^rait'"":^''""""'' 
e:cperienoed his generosity ^''^"y"^'' """^ than once 


c-ntrymen;L'dZ;edTg::£rar^ ^" '^^^"^ 
"" uy gamblers, at a game called 



Pricking in tho Belt, or tho Old Nob. This in a leathern 
•trop, folded up double, and then laid upon a table ; if the 
penon who playg with a bodkin pricks into the loop of the 
belt he wins; if otherwiHe, heloncB. However, by (dipping 
one end of tho strop, the sharper can win with pleasure. 

' There are generally four persons concerned in this 
' fraud, one to personate a tiaihr. called a Legg CuU, 
' another called the Capper, who always keeps with the 
Sailor ; and two pickers up, or Money-Dropperg, to 
' bring in Flats or Bubbles. The first thing they do at 
I a fair, is to look for a room clear of company, which the 
I Sailor and Capper immediately take, while the Money. 
' Droppers go out to look for a Fht. If they see a country- 
I man, whose looks they like, one drops j shUling, or 
' half a crown, juBt^ before him, and picking it up again, 
I looks the man in the face, and says, I have found 
' a piece of money, friend, did you sen me pick it up ? 
' The man says, yes : Then says the sharper, if you had 
' found it, I would have had half, so I will do as I would 
' be done unto ; come, honest friend, we will not part 
I with dry iips. Then taking him into the room where 
'the other two are, he cries. By your leave, gentlemen, 
^ 1 hope we don't disturb the company. No, cries the 
I -Sot/or ; no, brothers ; Will you drink a glass of 
'brandy, I don't like your weak liquors; and then 
I begins a discourse, by asking the Capper how far it is 
'to London ; who replies, I don't know ; perhaps the 
' gentleman there can Ml you, directing his discourse to 
'the Flat; perhaps the Flat wiU answer, a hundred 
' miles ; the Sailor cries, I can ride that in a day, ay, 
' in four or five hours ; for, says he, my horse will run 
twenty knots an hour for twenty-four hours together : 
'Capper, or tho Sailor's supposed companion, says, I 
' believe. Farmer, you have not got such a horse as the 
Sailor has ; the Farmer cries No, and laughs ; and 



' then the Saihr mvm r m., . ' 

' -".ndy. ,„, I r;;/p^"l«; "■<? «« h-'f a pint , 
''"PP^r, affecting a l!^'T -^ ''"'^'« 'h-" Th 
; observe, that itlJl'^',-'"^- 'n h. ,, ^„^ 

.»«":.- for that thor.lw.C CT' ^ "^ '' '•*« 

. buying a hone of „,y „,.„ ' , "" , "* him till now. 

«t ■?«. and hae got about fo.... ^ T '""' *■"" «*«'' 
money, but I believe rwiVr ."""''' P"""''" ?"»- 
>v., gating j„,t now ;S a ' " '?." ''*"^- '»^ he 
forty Hhilling«, at a hT an«.. : '""^'''""*' ""^ '"«* 
«™>g. Did either of yo" J :'' ' '" '"'"''''" '" " 
.continued the ra;,p,r.7L;' "'" " ^''"""'■•n'"-. / 
|»k him to .howTfor III'" "' """•^'<. I will 
h« money aa any b,;iyeir- ^'„ 7, "'" ^"""' "' 

«T. Do. Then in cornel the ,11 '"" ""' ^>''i'7''' 
d™nk. and crie«, WhaTchlr S'' '"•«'^''™« -"^ « 
"een a p,«tty girf i„ the fal L ''^ ' ^ ^"^'^ J'"" 
her, we made a bargain Idr' '".''^ ^"""^ ^ 

tWrty»hillingpie«,.bra'„3i-h": '" " "'^ ^^ 
and called her away but I h ''/'"" ""ther, can.., 

'to me presently; ^hen th« r^ "'"' *'" =°'»'' back 
Have you got your mlj of "'^'^ '""^h^, and «y«, 
»y».No; but/hewilTooZtoirr'"^ '^"""'^^ 
all laugh. This is done to 1 ' ."* """* • ^hen they 
the Ca;^,, What ha^e youar f"' ' '''^" ""^^ 
the string, Sailor v he anl T"" ""« ««<=k and 
I bought of the boys viT""' ^'""' ^hat which 
"0tseUit,andthenheDuM« ! f '' ''"^- but will 

WhatdoyouthinrigZfor" ''r'\^°''^'-y«8. 
_ and as much brandy as th!. J «* « but six-pence. 

- n^ade out of a mLZyt^Tl" '\'^"'^ "^^^ ; it' 
>nd they told me, ther^"^^' > "" ''"' ^^^^ toW me, 

which no body can H^? ^"""^ *° be played - it 

•aboa^shira'dSa;Srm?r''"= '^^'^ ' - 
OOUV.W.. m P'*^ ""'h my Captain^ and I do not 


. fear but I shall win his ship and ""rgo : then they all 

. lauKh and the Sailor makes up the Old Nobb, and the 

• Capp^ lays a shilling, and pricks himself and w.ns ; 
. the Lior cries. You are a dab, I will not lay with you. 
. but if you will call a stranger. I will lay agam ; why 
. if youVhink me a dab. as you call it. I -» 8«* ^» 
' strange gentleman, or this (pointmg to the Fhi). 
' Done cries the SaiU^, but you shall not tell h.m ; hen 

• he makes up the Nob. and Capper lays a shilhng 

' FUil pricks, being permitted to go sixpence ; to which 

• he agreeing, wins ; and Capper says to the fW Can 

• you Lnge me half a crown 1 This is done to find the 
' depth of his pocket ; if they see a good deal of gold 

• f to must win three or four times ; if no gold, but 
'twice. Sometimes, if the FUU has no money, the 
' Saihr cries. I have more money than ""y /""fj "> *°« 
•fair and pulls out his purse ot gold, and saith, Not 
. one'of you can beg. borrow, or half this sum in an 

• hour for a guinea. Capper c: -, I have laid out aU 

• mine ; Farm^, Can you ? Til go your halves, rf you 
■ think you can do it. The Saihr saith, you must not 
' bring any body with you ; then the Z»roM«r goes 
' theFlai, and saith. You must not tell your friend it « 
' for a wa«er -, if you do, he will not lend it you. FM 

• goes and borrows it, and brings it to the SavU>r, shows 

• it him. and wins the wager ; then the SavU^ pmehes 
' the Nob again, and the Capper whispers to the Flat, 
' to prick out purposely this time, saying, it will make 

■ the Sailor more eager to lay on ; we may as well wm 
•his money as not, for he will spend it upon whores. 

• FUU with all the wisdom in the world, loses on purpose ; 
' upon which the Sailor sweare, puUs out all his money, 

■ throws it about the room, and cries, I know no man 
•can win for ever, and then lays a guinea, but wiU 
' not lot him prick, but throws down five guineas ; and 


' I'll lay no ies« tha„ tt^n^^ "" '"^ "* '""='' «« that ; 

winning, he instnntl,, ..' ""'''''*■"« certain of 

'whole. Vent S„::?'"n'''' ^ '"^^ »"« 
' Copper takes him bl thl' " *" '"■^''^ ''''". the 

'doorBfand tre Zo^*'''"'" ■.'''" ''»"''' Wm out of 
' within, the i^'Td^W ^ '."n'" """"' """^ P"'" 
'another way. Whe„thcv2 . °" '''"'' ''"'' n'" 

'Sailor for a bWImL "m^ i "''' ""^ ^'^^ '^hThe 
' but when the is gts to the h '" "".' «'°'™* ""^^ ' 
' and then ho knowMhIt t k'!' u' '^"'''' '^'"^ «""«. 
* dearly paid for iC '' ^'*' *•"' ""' «" ^e has 

By this fellow's discoveries Mr K„.h 
serve many of the nobilifv .T ^ "'**' ^""^led to 
ance ; he Leived a S ^, "^f .f '""^ °' '"^ ''-luaint. 

Which harho„.ro;;ri«'^*;;.- ;:rr "'-^''™ 

furnish travellers witl, «w, ""gues, and took care to 
It was odd en?u;ht'^:™f"^'"''^°'■^»''-• 
l^detecti„gthefLd:orgambre^*^^ *"" ^'"^'°^^''' 

It i« prefixed ^ a ^^r'Tttt 7. ""'" ^''^ P--'^'"*- 
or a nco method oft^t^J ^f^ T"^^ ^'^'^^^^ 

-uchdo;o7etee"ttV.f /^^r^ *"'' •'"»"»"^. - 
charity, a'nd evl^'ottrw^lnh^"''''" benevolence, 

- refine, the hLa„ sp^^r t vf ^ f^m^iS 




bold to prefix your name, though without permisHion, to 
the following work, which stands in need of such a patron, 
to excuse its errors, with a candour, only known to such 
a heart as your own ; the obligations I have received 
at your hands, it is impossible for me ever to repay, 
except by my entleavourH, as in the present case, to 
make known the many excellent virtues which you 
pofisess. But what can my wit do t<) recommend such 
a genius as yours : a single word, a smile from yourself, 
outweighs all that J, or perhaps the best of our poets, 
could express in writing to the compass of a year. It 
would ill become my sex, to declare what power you have 
over us, but your generosity is, oven in this instance, 
greater than your desire to oblige. The following sheets 
were drawn up at my hours of leisure, and may be 
serviceable to such of my sex, as are more willing to 
employ their time in laudable occupations and domestic 
economy, than in dress and dissipation. What reception 
they may receive from your Honour, I am incapable of 
telling; however, fromyourknowncandourandhumanity, 
I expect the most favourable. 

I am. Honoured Sir, 
Your most obedient, 

and obliged bumble Servant, 

H. W. 

A musician in his dedication still exceeds the other 
two in adulation. However, though the matter may 
be some impeachment on his sincerity, the maimer in 
which it is written reflects no disgrace upon his under- 

To Richard Nash, Esq. 


The kind partiality of my friends prevailed with 
me to present to the world these my first attempts in 
musical composition ; and the generous protection you 



1, u - 357 

of all polite art« • fn, , ' *'"" ^"' oncourager 

nor SyZ i /rLTfo/:;;?:'*" '""*" "° *»""^^: 

ennobles and Z«™!T ''■'^"^*-^ °' ™"«'' ^h'^h 

than for tha/hum:„Tv "rdT'T^"'^'™^^"""-*' 

you the f.e„d anrCjel^f": r:i,«J'^'V""^ 
the poorami therioh ti, j- '" "lanKind. To you, 

aged and ^yj^ '„t eZ f ""V"' '^'''*''^' '"^ 
veniency, and evervtnl T ^ """'"'*• "^"^ «»"" 
heart, the I'tTj", '""""«"'«"»' that the best^ti r.Zrt^jf'' ^^^ 
deeply practised in all the "XiL^r/? "«"■ "" 
gives you this testimony : etn^-f^-^f"^'' P'---. 
engaged in all thn u„„ t.,. ''^^' *^ ardently 

gives^ou th pti^rp' ''" '""'' ""hounded charit/ 

this fi„,t opSrtuni vTf "J ^™"'' '"^''""«' 'f I »««> 
whieh, • *"""'' ""'' P™f"™tl respect, with 

I am, Sir, 
Your most obliged, most devoted 

and most obedient Servant, 

a.iSiL'^Tn;LT:sr r -"- -'^ '- 

panegyrists ; howe^ ' J ^ * fi ^1 °' "'"^ "'^^ant 
tion, withou giving a sLc^en? '" '"" "' '1"°*'^- 
him upon a eertX „1?^ °^ P°"*'^'- "'''h^'sed to 

defenoTis, thafthose wTo" ^ ""f "" ' "•■"" '"^^ '" ''» 

dedication;, Jll „oTdTslil.:"th' "' ""' *'>^ P""- 
poetry. ''''" 'he present attempt in 



To Richard Nash, Esq. 
On hia eickness at Tunbridge. 
Say, mu8t the friend of human kind, 
Of most reiin'd — of most diffusive mind ; 
Must Nash himself beneath these ailments grieve ? 
He felt for all — He felt — but to relieve. 
To heal the sick — the wounded to restore. 
And bid desponding nature mourn no more. 
Thy quick'ning warmth, O let thy patron feel, 
Improve thy springs with double power to heal : 
Quick, hither, all-inspiring health, repair. 
And save the gay — and wretched from despair ; 
Thou only Esra's drooping sons can'st cheer. 
And stop the soft-ey'd virgin's trickling tear ; 
In murmurs who their monarch's pains deplore ; 
While sickness faiiits — and pleasure is no more ; 
O let not death, with hasty strides advance, 
Thou, mildest charity, avert the lance ; 
His threat 'ning power, celestial maid ! defeat ; 
Nor take him with thee, to thy well known seat ; 
Leave him on earth some longer dale behind. 
To bless, — to polish, — and relieve mankind : 
Come then, kind health, O quickly come away. 
Bid Nash revive — and all the world be gay. 

Such addresses as thene were daily offered to our titular 
King. When in the meridian of power, scarce a morning 
passed, that did not increase the number of his humble 
admirers, and enlarge the sphere of his vanity. 

The man, who is constantly served up with adulation, 
must be a first-rate philosopher, if he can listen without 
contracting new affectations. The opinion we form of 
ourselves, is generally measui'ed by what we hear from 
others ; and when they conspire to deceive, we too 
readily concur in the delusion. Among the number of 


much applauded men in the cirele of our own friends wo 
can recollect but few that have heads quite strong 
enough to bear a loud acclamation of public praise in 
their favour; among the whole \ut. we shall scarce 
find one, that has not thus been made, on some side of 
His character, a coxcomb. 

When the best head turns and grows giddy with praise 
IS It to be wondered that poor Nash should be driven 
by It almost mto a phrenzy of affectation ? Towards 
the close of life ho became affected. He chiefly laboured 
to be thought a sayer of good things ; and by frequent 
attempts was now and then successful, for he ever lav 
upon the lurch. 

There never perhaps was a more silly passion, than 
this desire of having a man's jests recorded. For this 
purpose, ,t is necessary to keep ignorant or ill-bred 
company, who are only fond of repeating such stories ; 
in the next place, a person must tell his own jokes in 
order to make them more universal ; but what is worst 
of all, Bcaree a joke of this kind succeeds, but at the 
expense of a man's good nature ; and he who exchange, 
the character of being thought agreeable, for that of 
bemg thought witty, makes but a very bad bargain. 

The success Nash sometimes met with led him on 
when late in life, to mistake his true character. He was 
really agreeable, but he chose to be thought a wit. 
He therefore indulged his inclination, and never mattered 
how rude he was, provided he was thought comical He 
thus got the applause he sought for, but too often found 
enemies, where he least expected to find them. Of all 
the jests recorded of him. I scaree find cne that is not 
marked with petulance ; he said whatever came upper- 
most, and in the number of his remarks it might naturally 
be expected that some were worth repeating ; he threw 
often, and sometimes had a lucky casit. 

"r '-jP'r w J ' « , li'iijimi. 



In a life of almost ninety yean, spent in the very 
point of public view, it in not strange, that five or six 
sprightly things of his have been collected, particularly 
as he took every opportunity of repeating them hirasdf. 
His usual way, when he thought he said anything 
clever, was to strengthen it with an oath, and to make up 
its want of sentiment by asseveration and grimace. For 
many years he thus entertained the company at the coffee- 
house with old Etories, in which he always made himself 
the principal character. Strangers liked this well 
enough ; but they who were used to his convereation 
found it insupportable. One story brought on another, 
and each came in the same order that it had the day 
preceding. But this custom may bo rather ascribed to 
the peculiarity of age, than a peculiarity of character ; 
it seldom happens, that old men allure, at least by 
novelty ; age that shrivels the body contractu the 
understanding ; instead of exploring new regions, they 
rest satisfied in the old, and walk around the circle of 
their former discoveries. His manner of telling a story, 
however, was not displeasing, but few of those he told 
are worth transcribing. Indeed it is the manner, which 
places the whole difference between the wit of the 
vulgar, and of those who assume the name of the polite ; 
one has in general as much good sense as the other ; 
a story transcribed from the one, will bo as entertaining 
as that copied from the other ; but in conversation, the 
manner will give charms even to stupidity. The follow- 
ing is the story which he most frequently toW, and pretty 
much in these words. Suppose the company to be 
talking of a German war, or Elizabeth Canning, he would 
begin thus : 'I'll tell you Bomething to that purpose 
' that I fancy will make you laugh. A covetous old par- 
' son, as rich as the Devil, scraped a fresh acquaintance 
' with me several years ago at Bath. I knew him when 



'house in Joh„'rS.urt ^i^'^^T"' ^"" "» "'7 

' I hannRn^i * ^^°'"n"*- About six months after 

;^^f rtrs:„-rar„ar.t^^^^^^ - ::: 

' »■«« 'f T "• ^ suspected, h,.wever that h« 

' was vei^n T" '^ ''T'' "'"•'rtaming me. This 

' very cL :* ' ''""' '"y*' ^ t° *»>« ""id, " « » 
very cojd, extreme cold indeed, and 1 am »f«i^ 

• i^r-^^-ir ^•:^ -^ -^ ^ "«^* - '^« «^. ■' - 

' unltennelled the old fnv • ,1 . '* 1""''''^ 


' jumps, backward or foruard. One, two, three, dart 
' like an arrow out of a bow. But I am old now. I 
' remember I once leaped (or three hundred guinean with 
' Count Klopstock, the great leapcr, Icaping-mnBter Ui the 
' Prince of Pa^Hau ; you must nil have heanl vi him. 
' First he began with the running jumiK am) a most 
' damnable bounce it was, that '» certain : everybody 
' concluded that he had the mat<>h hollow ; when only 
' taking off i-.y hat, stripping off neither coat, shoes, nor 
' stockings mind me, I fetches a r»», ,\nd went beyond 
' him one 'it, three inche« and throe quarters, measured, 
' upon my soul, by Captain Pately's own standard.' 

&it in this torrent of insi)>idity, there sometimes were 
found very severe satire, stn>kes of true wit, and lines of 
humour, cum fiuerenl lutvkntua, <tc. He rallied very 
successfully, for he never felt another's joke ; and drove 
home his own without pity. With his superiors he was 
familiar and blunt, the inferiority of his station secured 
him from their resentment ; but the same bluntness 
which they laughed at, was by his equals regarded as 
insolence. Something like a familiar boot-catcher at an 
inn, a gentleman would bear that joke from him, for 
which a brother boot-catcher would knock him down. 

Among other stories of Nash's telling, I remember one, 
which I the more cheerfully repeai, as it tends to correct 
a piece of impertinence that reigns in almost every 
country assembly. The principal inhabitants of a market- 
town, at a great distance from the capital, in order to 
encourage that harmony which ought to subsist in 
society, and to promote a mutual intercourse between 
the sexes, so desirable to both, and so necessarj' for 
all, had established a monthly assembly in the Town 
Hall, which was conducted with such decency, decorum, 
and politeness, that it drew the attention of the gentle- 
men and ladies in the neighbourhood ; and a nobleman 



;^n:'"s:„r;r'^' """-r "•- *'«• ^^^^ 

-mp«„y. „„d the a««e.„Vt^ltr ti ; '■"""' T'* 
now-admitted ladies took if HT,^ ' , " """"' "' *'«' 
trade«me..Hdau«hteJ^ J, '"'"^ ''^■'"l"' ^^at the 


complaint was\^^„ L bv^u*'''' '""" ■'"-"'«. ""d that 
mo«, pert than ^Z^^uL^T"'}'^ gentlemen, «ho, 

- dan., With Cit' IXt-'iV'tT^""''' 
eminent tradesmen considered a«-,r' ^^ "'""* 

«elveB, and being men of „Lh T™ ', °" *''•'"'■ 
independently thevri. T ' ""'' "'''" »» 'ive 
give no eredit'^iuS theTrr '!?"''' *^'" *"">■ «°"''' 
discharge the ir a Loun ' ^ ' '^ "" ""'"" »" 

-me wfitH were aet„X ilTou ""T'""-""'-" = 
would have happened ha.I n T r ' ""'^ '""''' '"''»«'«'' 
no party, kinX^nterfj^ ""' ""^ ^"'' *''° "''^d with 
The'l^'X'Xtt ;::t-°^^^^^ the differenee 

Iamtold,are„otfn7nrVeT,h r^^','"'* '^' ^''""''•". 
thirty years ago ^ *' *''°"8'' ^^"^ »«"'' happened 


backof aninE w'^r; "" 'V"'^ '"-^ 'he 
to order, and desiredTh^n, ? f **' ''^ "'*"■>■« """ed 
With commonTenS^,"" ITll^' """"l T "^'-^-^ 
gentlemen drew off >i{L fh \ . """ '"'''*'' ""<« 
Without standing :; ^uVe 7 ** ^""^ ''"'"' " •''"'^<'. 
up to them ani afte ! ! T"''^"''''^'''''''«»'»de 
dancing, toirthlX^i^^^^ ^'^'^ had done 
they stood up for the Zf ^ "* "° '"""' ""''''«' 
always was 0^^^ hTJo^ "" '''"^ '^"*^"'" »- 




Na«h, though no great wit, had the art of «oiiietimet 
saying rude things with decency, and rendering them 
pleasing by an uncommon turn. — But most of the good 
things attributed to him, which have found their way 
into the jest-boolis, are no better than puns ; the 
smartest things I have seen are against him. One day 
in tlie grove, he joined some ladies, and aslcing one of 
them, who was croolced, whence she came 1 she replied, 
' Straight from London.' ' Confound me, madam,' said 
he, ' then you must hare been damnably warped by the 
' way.' 

She soon, however, had ample revenge. Sitting the 
following evening in one of the rooms, he once more 
joined her company, and with a sneer and a bow, asked 
her, if she knew her Qatechism, and could tell the name 
of Tobit's dog ? ' His name, sir, was Nash,' replied the 
lady, ' and an impudent dog he was.' This story is told 
in a celebrated romance ; I only repeat it here to have 
an opportunity of observing, that it actually happened. 

Queen Anne once asked him, why he would not accept 
of knighthood ? To which he replied, lest Sir William 
Bead, the mountebank, who had been just Imighted, 
should call him brother. 

A house in Bath was said to be haunted by the 
Devil, and a great noise was made about it, when Nash, 
going to the minister of St. Michael's, entreated him to 
drive the Devil out of Bath for ever, if it were only to 
oblige the ladies. 

Nash used sumntimes to visit the great Doctor Clarke. 
The Doctor wai one day conversing with Locke, and two 
or three more of his learned and intimate companions, 
with that freedom, gaiety and cheerfulness, which is 
ever the result of innocence. In the midst of their 
mirth and laughter, the Doctor, looking from the 
window, saw Nash's chariot stop at the door. ' Boys, 



Irt U8 now 

' hoy^' cried the philowipher, to liis Iricnds 
' be wi»o, (or here jh a fool coming.' 

Na.h wa« one day complaining in the following manner 

to the Earl of Che»ter«eld of hi« bad luck at play 

Would you think it, my L.,rd. that da..,ne<l bitch 

_ fortune, no later than la«t night, tricked me out of 

. L ■ .J '* "°* ™n'ri«'ng,' continued he, ' that my luck 

should never turn, that I should (hu» etemallv bo 

mauled T ' I dont bonder at your losing money, 

Nash, says his lord.hip, ' but all the world i» Hurpriscd 

where you get it to lose.' 

Doctor Cheney oner when Nash wbh ,11, drew ui> 
a prescription for him, which >vn,s sent in n„„Rlinglv 
The next day the Doctor coming ,., see his patient 
found hin. up and weil; upon which he asked, if he had 
followed hiH prescription f ' Followed your pres. rintion ' 
oned Nash. ' No.-Egad, if I had, 1 should hn vc broke ray 
neck, for 1 Hung it out of the two pair stairs window ■ 

Itwould have beenwell. had =,o conHned himself to such 
sall,e« ; but as he grew old he grew insolent, and seemed 
m some measure, insensible of the pain his attempts to b^ 
a w,t gave others. Upon asking a lady to dance a minuet- 
If she refused, he would often .lemand, if she had got 
bandy legs. He would attempt to ridicule natural do- 
fects ; he forgot the deference due to birth and quality 
and mistook the manner, of settling rank and pifceden™ 
upon many occasions. He now seemed no longer fashion- 
able among the present race of gentry ; he grow peevish 
and fretful, and they who only saw the remnant of 
a man severely returned that laughter upon him, which 
he had once lavished upon others. 

Poor Nash was no longer the gay, thoughtless, idly 
mdustnous creature he once was ; he now forgot how 
to supply new modes of entertainment, and became too 
ngid. to wind with ease through the vicissitudes of 





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fashion. The evening of his life began to grow cloudy. 
His fortune was gone, and nothing but poverty lay in 
prospect. To embitter his hopes, he found himself 
abandoned by the great, whom he had long endeavoured 
to serve : and was obliged to Hy to those of humbler 
stations for protection, whom he once affected to despise. 
He now began to want that charity, which he had never 
refused to any ; and to find, that a life of dissipation 
and gaiety, is ever terminated by misery and regret. 

Even his place of master of the ceremonies (if I can 
trust the papers he has left behind him) was sought 
after. I would willingly be tender of any living reputa- 
tion ; but these papers accuse Mr. Qum of endeavouring 
to supplant him. He has even left us a letter, which 
he supposed was written by that gentleman, soliciting 
a Lord for his interest upon the occasion. As I choose 
to give Mr. Quin an opportunity of disproving this, I will 
insert the letter, and, to show the improbability of its 
being his, with all its faults, both of style and spelling. 
I am the less apt to believe it written by Mr. Quin, as 
a gentleman, who has mended Shakespeare's plays so 
often, would surely be capable of something more correct 
than the following. It was sent, as it should seem, from 
Mr. Quin to a nobleman, but left open for the perusal 
of an intermediate friend. It was this friend who sent 
a copy of it to Mr. Nash, who caused it to be instantly 
printed, and left among his other papers. 

The Idler from the. intermediate friend to Nash, 

is as foUows. 

■r> nT London, October 8, 1760. 

Deab Nash, 

Two posts ago I received a letter from Quin, the 
old player, covering one to my Lord, which he left open 
for my perusal, which after reading he desired I might 


seal up and deliver. The reauest h» „, i, • 
ordinar,, that it ha, inducXl to ^d Z 2 ''^™- 
of h.s letter to my Lord, which i« as Ww', *'' "^^ 

My dee Lord ' ^""'' October 3, 1760. 


cereymoineH. should h7 J^eo™.'^,. 71""'**' "^ '•"« 
of thi. city will be n.eind aXr^eomt "'f *,""' ' 
to eome to Bath on his acc^t '^<'™P«ney declineH 

beheZd"':t'r i'tt:/LTd ^''-''^ '>°- -" 

which was Tus'daX't A V ''r. *'"'^' ''«''»°" 

todanceaminueatsheL */ ^'^' ^^^ *"' ""'''«• 

this/olJ Nash'caM :„tl : lot l" 'hT = "P"" 
companey in the room, 0,1 dam vo M ^ ^l "" *''" 
ness have yo here if vo ^„ ?I ' ^'^'""' '^'"'* '"'»- 

5^, ... i ^it^:£z .trr .tt^;: 

that night. In comitrv dL •' "''" " ""wueat 

except 'two bo"/; t^ ^1 ZTT "' r ^''"'^ 

i' would give any nVXt ^TtTuT ''^,*'%«''»' - '".t 
letter was really found amon^ Mr V Z ' "^ '"""^ '-The 

at any time prove, and TZ Z,nZ\' "^T'^ *'"' ^*'"' »° 
were u»ed. by thos^ who i JlX^y 'hrn 1^"^^' '""«"^' 
upon a poor old man, and to embiMl hi I .* """"'■ '° ™I«" 

Thi, Note has be™ rondel nsir^'lT"'''- , 
without candour, and an epwram witS' ^ T"^ "' "'"'"■™ 
thi, occasion. i„ the public^^pT,^ ' ""' '""* 'PP<""«1 ™ 



all the habberdas'here' machinukes and inkeepers in the 
three kingdoms' brushed up and colexted togither. 

I have known upon such an occaison as' thisg' seven- 
teen Dutchess' and Contiss' to be at the opening of the 
ball at Bath now not one. This man by his' pride and 
extravagancis has out-lived his' teasein it would be 
happy for thiss' city that he was dcd ; and is, now only 
fitt to reed Shirlock upon death by which he may seave 
his soul and gaine more than all the profSts he can 
make, by his white hatt, suppose it was to bo died red ; 

The fav' I have now to reques't by what 1 now have 
wrote yo ; is' that your Lordship will speke to Mr. Pitt, 
for to recommend me to the corporeatian of this city 
to succede this old sinner as master of the cerremonies 
and yo will much oblige. 

My Lord your 
Lords and Hu° 
Obt Sert. 

N.B. There were some other private matters and 
offers in Quin's letter to my Lord, which do not relate 
to you. 

Here Nash, if I may be permitted the use of a polite 
and fashionable phrase, was humm'd ; but he experi- 
enced such rubs as these, and a thousand other morti- 
fications every day. He found poverty now denied him 
the indulgence not only of his favoiirite follies, but of 
his favourite virtues. The poor now solicited him in 
vain ; he was himself a more pitiable object than they. 
The child of the public seldom has a friend, and he who 
once exercised his wit at the expense of others, must 
naturally have enemies. Exasperated at last to the 
highest degree, an unaccountable whim struck him ; 
poor Nash was resolved to become an author ; he who, 
in the vigour of manhood, was incapable of the task, 


now at the impotent age of eighty-six, was determined 
to wnte hj8 own history ! From the many specimens 
already given of his style, the reader will not much 
regret that the historian was interrupted in his design 
Yet as Montaigne observes, as the adventures of an 
infant, if an infant could inform us of them, would be 
pleasing ; so the life of a beau, if a beau could write 
would certainly serve to regale curiosity. 

Whether he really intended to put this design in 
execution, or did it only to alarm the nobility 1 will 
not take upon me to determine ; but certain it is, that 
his fnends went about collecting subscriptions for the 
work, and he received several encouragements from such 
as were willing to be politely charitable. It was thought 
by many, that this history would reveal the intrigues 
of a whole age ; that he had numberless secrets to dis- 
close ; but they never considered, that persons of public 
character, like him, were the most unlikely in the world 
to be made partaker^ of 'hose secrets which people 
desired the public should not know. In fact, he had 
few secrets to discover, and those he had, are now buried 
with him in the grave. 

He was now past the pow.x of giving or receiving 
pleasure, for he was poor, old 1 peevish ; yet still he 
was mcapable of turning from ...s former manner of life 
to pursue his happiness. The old man endeavoured to 
practise the follies of the boy, he spurred on his jaded 
passions after every trifle of the day ; tottering with 
age he would be ever an unwelcome guest in the assem- 
blies of the youthful and gay ; and he seemed wiUing 
to find lost appetite among those scenes where he was 
once young. 

An old man thus striving after pleasure is indeed an 
object of pity ; but a man at once old and poor, running 
on m this pursuit, might eioit* astonishment. To see 



a being both by fortune and constitution rendered in- 
capable of enjoyment, still haunting those pleasures he 
was no longer to share in ; to see one of almost ninety 
settling the fashion of n lady's cap, or assignrng her 
place m a country dance ; to see him unmindful of his 
own reverend figure, or the respect he should have for 
himself, toasting demireps, or attempting * wtertain 
the lewd and idle ; a sight like this mighi; . ,11 serve 
as a satire on humanity ; might show that man is the 
only preposterous creature alive, who pursues the shadow 
of pleasure without temptation. 

But he was not permitted to run on thus without 
severe and repeated reproof. The clergy sent him fre- 
quent calls to reformation ; but the asperity of their 
advice in general abated its intended effects; they 
threatened him with fire and brimstone, for what he 
had long been taught to consider as foibles, and not 
vices ; so, like a desperate debtor, he did not care to 
settle an account, that, upon the first inspection, he 
found himself utterly unable to pay. Thus begins one 
of his monitors. 

' This admonition comes from your friend, and one 
'that has your interest deeply at heart : It comes on 
'a design altogether important, and of no less conse- 
' quence than your everiastin;.; happiness ; so that it 
' may justly challenge your careful regard. It is not to 
^ upbraid or reproach, much less to triumph and insult 
'over your misconduct or misery ; no, 'tis pure bene- 
'volence, it is disinterested goodwill prompts me to 
' writ* ; I hope therefore I shall not raise your resent- 
' ment. Yet be the consequence what it will, I cannot 
' bear to see you walk in the paths that lead to death, 
'without warning you of the danger, without sounding 
'in your ear the lawful admonition, " Return and live ! 
Why do you such things ? I hear of your evil dealings 


odious to God as a pnrrM^. vuTue. You are as 

'in the chaXrrd';r„'l--:;;h«''- putrefying 
'duty, or endeavouring afw " , ,.^""" '^"'"8 3'°"^ 

weeping and wailing, and incessant JT t^'""*"*^ '"»" 
' sure you would ' R„t C. T".""* fn«shing of teeth ? 

' be doL by amusem nts w^r"; L'"* *''" *'" "-" 
' ^pertinent = aTd for Ihafjf tr !' "':.*"''*"« ""'' 
' foolish and sinful 'Ti. I ° "^^^ "'««"'. 

' ment and mTurlin/r "" '^"°"^"^«^ = '*« by r«tire- 
•and desiraWe dXtanc: XuZ^T'"" '''' «-"' 
■the head of every X dL J * "°* "P'*'*' ** 

'your closet, and nhut th ' H ' •''°" """'* ^"*" '"*» 
•own heart.'a„?s:;it tdefeT""^^^^^^^^^^ 

' n^ightilyt^C.:^. Turlxl^f'^ ^ *^"*' °' ^'- 
: have been extremely ^^"^^TISTI 




o. ft ! ' 

' no amends but an a' ration of your conduct, as signal 
' and remarkable as your peraon and name. 

' If you do not by this method remedy in some degree 
' the evils that you have sent abroad, and prevent the 
' mischievous consequonccH that may ensue — wretched 
' will you be, wretched above all men to eternity. The 
' blood of souls will be laid to your charge ; God's 
'jealousy, like a consuming flame, will smoke against 
' you ; as you yourself will see in that day, when the 
' mountains shall quake, and the hills melt, ai the 
earth be burnt up at His presence. 
■ Once more then I exhort you as a friend ; I beseech 
' you as a brother ; I charge you as a messenger from 
' God, in His own most solemn words ; " Cast away 
from you your traiiHgressions ; make you a new heart, 
' "and a new spirit ; so iniquity shall not bo your ruin." 
' Perhaps you may be disponed to contemn this, and 
' its serious purport ; or to recommend it to your com- 
' panions as a subject for raillery. Yet let me tell you 
' beforehand, that for this, as well as for other things, 
' God will bring you to judgement. He sees me now 
' I write : He will observe you while you read. He notes 
' down my words ; He will also note down your conse- 
' quent procedure. Not then upon me, not upon me ; but 
' upon your own soul, will the neglecting or despising my 
' sayings turn. " H thou be wise, thou shalt be wise for 
thyself ; if thou scomest, thou alone shalt bear it." ' 
Thus we see a variety of causes concurred to embitte • 
his departing life. The weakness and infirmities of 
exhausted nature, the admonitions of the grave, who 
aggravated his follies into vices ; the ingratitude of his 
dependants, who formerly flattered his fortunes ; but 
particularly the contempt of the great, many of whom 
quite forgot him in his wants ; all these hung upon his 
spirits and soured his temper, and the poor man of 


hlTnTfl!'*'!^* '"*'"' '"""""»«• hiH life very tragically, 
h^ not tho Corporation of Bath charitably renolved to 
grant hun ten gumeas the Hr«t Monday of every month. 
Thu, bounty served to keep him fn,m actual nece«,ity 
though far too trifling to enable him to «up^Tthe 
character of a gentleman. Habit, and not natu^make 
almost all our want, ; and he who had been accustomed 
in the early parts of life to affluence and prodigality 
when reduced to a hund,«d and twenty-L i^ll 
» year, must pme in actual indigence 
In this variety of uneasiness his health began to fail. 

nJZ7^» r'" ''?'*"'^"'^' """"e ^' '™"ds, that he 
never followed a smgle prescription in his life ; however, 
m this he was one day detected on the Parade ; for 
boastmg there of his contempt and utter disu^, o[ 
med,cme. unluckily the water of two blisters, which 
Dr. Oliver had prescribed, and which he then had upon 
each leg. oo2ed through his stockings, and betrayed him. 

S ™T""°!L!° ^''T- ^"^''^"■•' *«« f«q"ently a topic 
of raillery between him and Doctor Cheney, who was 

"""^f^"^" '''* ""d breeding. When Cheney recom- 
mended his vegetable diet, Nash would swear that his 
design was to send half the world grazing like Nebuchad- 
nezzar. Aj'e,' Cheney would reply. ' Nebuchadnezzar 
was never such an infidel as thou art. It was but last 
week, gentlemen, that I attended this fellow in a fit of 
Hickness ; there 1 found him rolling up his eyes to 
Heaven, and crying for mercy ; he would then swallow 
my drugs like bieasl-milk, yet you now hear him, 
how the old dog blasphemes the faculty.' What Cheney 
said in , est was true, he feared the approaches of death 
more than the generality of mankind, and was generally 
very devout while it threatened him. Though he wag 




• ' 

somewhat the libertine in action, none believed or trem- 
bled more than he ; for a mind neither «chooIed by philo- 
ftophy, nor encouraged by cimscioUH innocence, h ever 
timid at the apiwaranco of danger. 

For some time before his decease nature gave warning 
of his appro.Khing dissolution. The worn machine had 
run Itself down to an utter impossibility of repair • he 
saw that he must die, and shuddered at the thought. 
His virtues were not of the great, but the amiable kind • 
so that fortitude was not among the number. Anxious' 
timid, his thoughts still hanging on a receding world he 
desired to enjoy a little longer that life, the -niseries of 
which he had experienced so long. T>-o poor unsuccess- 
ful gamester husbanded the wasting moments, with an 
increased desire to coAtinue the game, and to the last 
eagerly wished for one yet more happy throw. K, died 
at his house •■•1 St. John's Court, Bath, on the 12th of 
Feb.-uary, 1761, aged eighty-seven years, three months 
and some days. 

Hi8 death was sincerely regretted by the citv, to 
which he had been so long and so great a benefactor. 
The day after he died, the Mayor of Bath called the 
Corporation together, where they granted fifty pounds 
towards burying their soVereign with proper respect. 
After the corpse had lain four days, it was conveyed to 
the Abbey ohuroh in that city, with a solemnay some- 
what peculiar to his character. About five the pro- 
cession moved from his house ; the charity girls two 
and two preceded, next the boys of tne charity school 
singing a solemn occasional hymn.i Next marched the 

' The Hymn mng at hw Funeral. 

Most unhappy are we here. 
Full of Bin and full of fear. 
Ever weary, ne'er at rest. 
When, Lord, shall we be bleat t 



P»1I supported bythoHixL T P'""" '' '"«' ""e 

bcadleH of that h^rita LT^ T 'u"' "'""""""' ^ "■» 
'anjely to endow X"'jf "'',,'';', ''"•J -"tributed «„ 
patients them»elvt.« tL ! ' u ^""' °' ""■ "'« P««r 
Jeebie. UW^ t/. ! S ^^017.0;^^' ""r*' 
ding unfeigned lean, an,l l„ J ? ? ^'" 8™'''- "'"d- 

filled, but, as one otZ T"' ""'^ **"> "»"«'*'' *ero 

>ventheCo?thehltj°"'^'''" '" " '""' "-P""-" it. 
' each thought iei"r Z "°'''""' ^''^ -P«^'«t°" 
'as when a real kLrdtl'K "'"'*''' then^^Wen most 

^rth -da clog, a pageant liie, 
RUdwh folly, g„u.,„^.„i, 
J-U we all unite in Thee, 
With oureelves wo disagree. 


What '» our con, Tort here below 1 

Empty bubble, lran.ient show 

Wrapt 1, the body, vife disguiU. 
None truly i, untU he dies. 

Here we dwell, but not at home. 
To other world, „,dain'd to roam; 
^et still we seek for joys that waste 

Fleeting as the vernal bl,,!' 

Lord remove th. shadows hence 

ieach us here in life to die 
That w may live eternally. 




' ijore. The awfulneaii u( ttto Milcninity maclo the deepent 
' imprewion on the minitM uf tko dutrvHiicd inbabitantH. 
' The peawnt diiicoiitiiiuecl hi>< toil, tho ox rcHtcd from 
' the plough, all nature wemcd to iiym|>athizo with their 
' lou, and tho mufRed bollH rung a peal of Bob Major.' 

Our decpeat aoIeninitieR have Bom^thing truly 
ridiculoua in them : there in Homcwhat ludicrouH in the 
folly of historians, who thus dcclnim upon the death of 
kings and princes, an if there was anything dismal, or 
ai'ything unusual in it. ' For my part,' says Poggi, the 
Florentine, ' I can no more grieve for another's death, 
' than I could for my own. I have over regarxled death 
' as a very trifling affair ; nor can black staves, long 
' cloaks, or mourning coaches, in the leait influence my 
' spirits. Let us live here as long, and as merrily as we 
' can ; and when we must die, why, let us die merrily too, 
' but die so as to be happy.' 

Tho few things he was possessed of were left to his 
relations. A small library of well-chosen books, some 
trinkets and pictures, were his only inheritance. Among 
the latter (besides the box given him by the Prince of 
Wales), were a gold box, which was presented to him 
by the Countess of Burlington, with Lady Euston's 
picture in the lid ; an itui, mounted in gold, with a 
diamond to open it, and ornamented with another 
diamond at the top, given him by the Princess-Jowager 
of Wales. He had also a silver t«rene, which was given 
him by the Princess Amelia ; and some other things ol 
no gieat value. The rings, watcheti, and pictures, which 
he formerly received from others, would have come 
to a considerable amount ; but these his necessities had 
obliged him to dispose of : Eomc family pictures, how- 
ever, remained, which were told by advertisement, for 
five guineas each, after Mr. Nash's decease. 

It. was natural to expect, that the death of a person 
so long in the eye of the public, must have produced 



were flIM with olcgicn, «„,„„« „„,| ..hnrn.terH • „nd 
writor. ?r I wnicmbor ono of lho«. <h«r«ctor 

l.m,ni.u™, „w. i ,;" """"" "' •" '►" 

'>^^^vzz:^i::::^':z^':^ - 

Huch another. '*'' "''"" ""«''• finJ 

But though he was Hatiriad with the pm.HeH of those 

and (.erhap, many will find in cither enoutrh „nnn 
unimportant a subject as Mr V„Hh-- Tf .' ^ "" 
curiosity The fijf ^. ki- f J ''''"' *" """t'^fv 

Oliver written u^^h '^ ^ '''■ ""^ *''"* ••>• ""•'t"' 

Lume^rhis motto th?'" "" """'"'■" »''"' "^ »•- 
spa..a his fSnT" j, t tZuT h " '"'"'''''''''' '""" 
entixel^topaosthemT^ri 'Z?^ """ *"° '""'"'• 



A iTAiNT Sketch of the Life, Chabactgb, and Mannebs, 
OF THE late Mr. Nash. 

Imperium in Imperio. 

De mortuU nil nisi bonum. 

Bath, February 13, 1761. 

This morning died 


Aged eighty-eight. 

He was by birth a, gentleman, an ttncient Briton ; 

By education, a student of Jesus College, in Oxford ; 

By profession 

His natural gei^us was too volatile for any. 

He tried the army and the law ; 
But soon found his mind superior to both — 
He was bom to govern. 
Nor was his dominion, like that of other legislators. 
Over the servility of the vulgar. 
But over the ptide of the noble, and the opulent. 
His public character was great, 
As it was self-built, and self-maintained : 
His private amiable. 
As it was grateful, beneficent, and generous. 
By the force of genius 
He erected the city of Bath into a province of pleasure, 
And became, by universal consent. 
Its legislator, and ruler. 
He planned, improved, and regulated all the amuse- 
ments of the place ; 
His fundamental law was, that of good breeding ; 
Hold sacred decency, and decorum. 
His constant maxim : 
Nobody, howsoever exalted 
By beauty, blood, titles, or riches. 



Could be guilty of a breach of it, unpunished 

To maantam the sovereignty he had established, 

Whi.h f ^t^." '''^'^""^""''^'"'Viour, 

A^H V T *^": P"'P"«ty. acquired the fox^e of laws • 

And the highest never infringed, withouir • 
mediately undergoing the public censure. 

He kept the mm in order; most wisely 

By prohibiting the wearing swo'rds in hirLinions • 

Hy which means 

He prevented sudden passion from causing 

The bitterness of unavailing repentance.— 

In all quarrels he was chosen the Umpire^ 

And so just were his decisions. 

That peace generally triumphed. 

Crowned with the mutual thanks of both parties 

By"'S"w''*'"'"'"^*'"»'"'^= mostei^ tuaTly 
By a nice observance of the rules of place and pr^e- 

d6nc6 * 

By ordaining scandal to b; the infallible mark 

Of a foolish head, and a malicious heart 

Always rendering more suspicious ' 

The reputation of her who propagated it, 

Than that of the person abused. 

Of the young, the gay, the heedless fair 

Just launching into the dangereus sea of ple^^ure 

He was ever, unsolicited (sometimes ur^r^arM)' 

The kind protector : 

Humanely comcting even their mistakes in dress 

As well as improprieties in conduct : 

Nay, often warning them, 

Though at the hazard of his life 

Or an improper acquaintance with women of doubtful 



Thus did he establidh his government on pillars 

Of honour and politeness, 

Which could never be shaken : 

And maintained it, for full half a century. 

With reputation, honour, and undisputed authority, 

Beloved, respected, and revered. 

Of his private character, be it the first praise, 

That, while by his conduct, the highest ranks became 

his subjects. 

He himself became 

The servant of the poor and the distressed : 

Whose cause he ever pleaded amongst the rich. 

And enforced with all the eloquence of a good example : 

They were ashamed not to relieve those wants, 

To which they saw him administer with 

So noble an heart, and so liberal an hand. 

Nor was his munificence confined to particulars. 

He being, to all the public charities of this city, 

A liberal benefactor ; 

Not only by his own most generous subscriptions. 

But, by always assuming, in their behalf, the character of 

A sturdy beggar ; 

Which he performed with such an authoritative address 

To all ranks, without distinction. 

That few of the worst hearts had courage to refuse. 

What their own inclinations would not have prompted 

them to bestow. 

Of a noble public spirit, 


A warm grateful heart. 

The obelisk in the grove. 


The beautiful needle in the square, 

Are magnificent testimonies 

The One 



Erected to preserve the memory of a 

Most interesting event to his countrv- 

The rest.tut.on of health, by the healing wate™ of this 


To the illustrious Prince of Orange, 

Who came hither in a most languishing condition : 

The Other, 

T .u , ^ ""We offering of thanks 

To the late Prince of Wales, and his royal Consort, 

tor favours hestmved, 

And honours by them conferred, on this city. 

His long and peaceful reign of 

Absolute power 

Was so tempered by his 

Excesdve good-nature, 

That no mstance can be given either of his own cruelty, 

')r of his suffenng that of othera, to escape 

Its proper reward. 

Example miprecedented amongst absolute monarchs. 


This monarch was a man 

Whi ., ^"'' .^*'^ '''' '""''''''' ^"^ ''is faults : 

Which we would wish covered with the veil of good 


Made of the same piece with his own • 

iJut, truth foreeth us unwillingly to confess. 

Hia passions were strong • 

Which as they fired him to act strenuously in good 

Hi, fi« . . " *° '°'"'' ^""^^^ °f evil. 

H.S fire, not used to be kept wider by an early restraint. 

^"nt°ut too often into flaming acts 

Without waiting for the cool approbation of his judge. 



His generosity was so great, 

That Prudence often whispered him, in vain, 

That she feai'ed it would enter the neighbouring confines 

of profusion ■ 

His charity so unbounded, 

That the severe might suspect it sometimes to be 

The offspring of folly, or ostentation. 


With all these, 
Be they foibles, follies, faults, or frailties. 
It will bo difficult to point out. 
Amongst his cotemporary Kings of the whole earth, 
kore than ONE 
Who hath fewer, or less pernicious to mankind. 
His existence 
(For life it scarcely might be called) 
Was spun out to so great an age, that 
Was sunk, like many former heroes, in 
The weakness and infirmities of exhausted nature ; 
The unwilling tax all animals must pay 
For multiplicity of days. 
Over his closing scene. 
Charity long spread her all-covering mantle, 
And dropped the curtain. 
Before the poor actor, though he played his part. 
Was permitted to quit the stage. 
Now may she protect his memory ! 
Every friend of Bath, 
Every lover of decency, decorum, and r jd breeding, 
Must sincerely deplore 
The loss of so excellent a governor ; 
And join in tue most fervent wishes (would I could say 

That there may soon be found a man 
Able and worthy, 
To succeed him. 


intimate friend held he Idl the C'"''"' '^' "" 
Bay nothing of the dead Ctt ha W^^ '^r V° 
a maxim, though if ..•„ u- , ^ ' *"" ^^"^ 

had^ ca,;:S\:V™ 'IX^ ''^ ''^^ 
to those of ^^oTt Lyc:Ss^"'' ^"'^" '^^ '"- "- 

Epitaphium Richabdi Nash, Ar,<meiu. 

H. 8. E. 


Obscuro loco natus, 
Et nullis ortus majoribus : 
Cui tamen 
(O rem miram, et incredibilem t ) 
Regnum opulentissimum florentissimumque 
«ebs, proceres, principes, 
Liberia suis suffragiis 
Ultro detulenint. 
Quod et ipse summa cum dignitate tenuif 
-Annos plus quinquaginta 
Universo populo consentiente, approbe^nte plaudent« 
Una voce pr^^... „„„,„, „„„ f/^ o^ilL' tttu 
Ad impenum suum adjuncta est 
Magni nominis > Provincia 
Quam admirabili consilio et ratione 
fer se, non nnquam per legates, ad.mmstravit ; 
' Tunbridge. 


Earn quotannig invisere dignatua, 

Et apud provinciales, quoad necesse iuit, 

Solitus manere. 

In tanta fortuna 

Neque fastu turgiduB Rex incessu patuit, 

Weque, tyrannonim more, ee jussit coli, 

Aut amplos honores, titulosque sibi airogavit ; 

Sed cuncta insignia, etiam regium diadema rejicieng, 

Caput contentus fuit ornare 

Galero also, 

Manifssto aiiimi sui candoris signo. 

LkqisiiATOR prudcntissimus, 

Vel Solone et Lycurgo illustrior 

Leges, quasctuique voluit, 

E^atuit, fixit, promulgavit : 

Omnes quidem cum civibus suis, 

Turn vero hospitibus, advenis, peregrinis, 

Gratas, jucundas, utiles. 

VoLUPTATUM arbiter et minister, 

Sed gravis, sed elcgans, sed nrbanus, 

Et in summa comitate satis adhibens severitatis, 

Imprimis ciuavit, 

Ut iu virorum et foeminarum coetibus 

Nequis impudenter faceret, 

Neque in iis quid inesset 

Impuritatis, clamoris, tumulti. 

CiviTATBM banc celeberrimam, 

Delicias suas, 

Non modo pulcberrimis aediflciis auxit, 

Sod praeclara disciplina et moribus omavit : 

Quippe nemo quisquam 
To PRF.FOS melius intellesit, excoluit, docuit. 


Atque am.ouH omnibus praeoipue mi^ris et cge„i«. 

Nullos habuit inimicos 

Pmeter mngnos quosdam ardeliones, 

Et d«Iamatore8 eos .ristcB et fanaticos 

Qui fcenen humane sunt inimicteimi. 

Pacts et patriae amang, 

Conoordiam. felicem et perpetnam. 

In regno suo constituit, 

Usque adeo, 

Ut nullua alteri petnlanter maledicere, 

Aut facto nooera auderet ; 

Neque, tanquam sibi metuens. 

In publicum armatus prodi ^. 

Frrr quanqnam potentissimne 

Omnia arbitrio bug gubernans : 

Haud tamen ipsa libertas 

Magis usquam floruit 

Gratia, gloria, anctoritate. 

Singulare enim temperamentum invenit 

(Rem magnae cogitationis, 

*■*"""" o°>°ium fortasse dilBcillimaml 

Quo ignob, es cum nobilibus, paupex^s cum dTiibus 

Indocti cum doctissimis, ignavi cum fortissTmis 

Aequari sc putarent, 

Rbx Omnibus Idem. 

QuioQuiD Peccaveeit, 
(Nam peccamus omnes) 
Wf ■„ ^" *^'P»"°i magis, quam in alios, 
Et errore, aut imprudentia magis quam scele«, ant 
Peccavit ; 




Nmqaani vero ignnratione decori, aut honesti, 

Neque ita quidem usquam, 

Ut non veniam ab humaniH onmibiu 

Facile impetrarit. 

Hcjcs vitae morumque exemplar 

8i coeteri reges, regulique, 

Et quotquot 8unt regnorara pracfecti, 

Imitaientur ; 

(Utinam ! iterumque utinam !) 

Et ipsi essent beati, 

Et cunctae Oxbia regiones beatiasimae. 

Talem vipm, tantumque ademptum 

Lugeant mueae, charitesque ! 

Lugeant Veneres, Cupidinesque ! 

Lugeant on. les juvenum et nympharum chori ! 

Tu vero, O Bathonia, 

Ne cesses tuum lugere 

I^ncipem, praeoeptorem, amicum, }>atronum ; 

Heu, heu, numquam posthac 

Habitura paiem 1 

The following translation of this Epitaph will give 
the English reader an idea of its contents, thi ugh not 
of its elegance. 

The Epitaph or Richabd Nash, Esq. 

Here lies 


Bom in an obscure village, 

And from mean ancestors. 

To whom, however, 

Strange to relate. 

Both the vulgar, and the mighty, 


51 ve 

Without bribe or compuWon. 

Unanimously gave 

A fangdora equally rich and flourishing. 

A langdom which ho governed * 
More than fifty yearn, 
W,th universal approbation and applaud. 
To h« empire also was added, 
By the consent of all orders 

vn uu -* '*'«''"^*ed province • 
""1 oh he ever s waved with <»~„i. . 
Not hv H»i . I *""* prudence, 

Not by delegated power, but in pereon. 

AnH»K-i .?° ''^'«^ *° ^Wt it every year 
A^d while the necessities of state demaX his presence 
He usually continued there P"**"*"' 

His nnVl« A- *""'' greatness of fortune 
«18 pnde discovered i«splf K„ „ 

Audlaymgas,de all royal splendour 
H„ ». Wearmg not even the diadem 

He was content with being distinguistd 'only by the 
ornamental ensign 
Of a white hat , 
A symbol of the candour of his mind 
He was a most prudent legislator ' 
And more remarkable even than Solon "iycurgu. 
He at once established and authorized '^• 
Whatever laws wer^ thought convent 
Whrch wero equally serviceable to the cL 
And grateful to strangers. ^' 

HewasatoncTaZ'd^ratr'"'^- , 
But still conducteirm ;?;aS:nd2"""^' 
And ..pressed licentionsnefS ^ve^S""' 
' Xunbridge, 




HIh chief care waa employed 

In preventing obiicenity or impudence 

From offending the modesty or the morals 

Of the Fair Sex, 

And in banishing from their aaiieinblies 

Tumult, clamour, and abuse. 

He not only adorned this city, * 

Which he loved, 

With beautiful structures, 

But improved it by hio example ; 

As no man know, no man taught, what was becoming 

Better than he. 

He was just, liberal, kind, and facetious, 

A friend to a)l, but particularly to the poor. 

He had no enemies, 

Except xome of the trifling great. 

Or dull declaimers, foes to all mankind. 

Equally a lover of peace and of his country, 

He fixed a happy auU lasting concord 

In his kingdom. 

So that none dare convey scandal, or injure by open 

violence the universal peace, 

Or even by carrying arms appear prepared for war, 

With impunity. 

But though his power was boundless. 

Yet never did liberty flourish more, which he promoted. 

Both by his authority, and cultivated for his fame. 

He found out the happy secret 

(A thing not to be considered without surprise) 

Of uniting the vulgar and the great. 

The poor and the rich. 

The learned and ignorant. 

The cowardly and the brave. 

In the bonds of society, an equal king to all. 





Whatovor hiH fimlts wore, 

For wo have nil faultH, 

T^y wero rather obnoxious t„ hin,«,lf than othe « • 

Aevcr from dishoneHty or corrupt principle. 

But so h i ulesH were they. 

That though they failed to create our cntcem. 

3fct can they not want our pardon. 

Could other king* and governor 

But learn to imitate his example. 

(Would to heaven they could I) 

Then might they see themselvcB happy 

And their people still enjoying 

more 'rue felicity. 

Ye Muses and Graces mourn 

His death ; 

Ye powers of love, ye chuirs 

of youth and virgins. 

But thou, O Bathonia, more than the rest, 

Cease not to weep 

Your king, your teacher, patron, friend, 

Never, ah, never, to behold 

His equal. 

Whatever might have been justly observed of Mr 

S h:t"rc"imp:rarr\" ''-" '* -"^ ^' 


with impetuosity. They both seem to have loved hi^ 

Ship. But a cool biographer, unbiased by reBentmenfc 
or regard, will probably find nothing in tl^ ™uh» 



truly greot, or itrongly vicloun. Hi* virtuen were all 
nmiablo, and nuire adapted to procure friondn than 
admiren, they were more capable of rowing lo\e than 
eateem. He was naturally endued with good sennc ; but 
by having been long accuatomed tx> pumuo trifles, hi» 
mind shrunk to the aize of the little objerta on which 
it wai employed. Ilia generoaity was boundlexa, because 
hia tcndemeas nnd hia vanity were in equal proportion ; 
the one impel' 'i him to relievo misery , and the other 
to make hia U,,ufactiona known. In all hia actions, 
however virtuous, ue was guided by sensation and not 
by reason ; so that the uppermost passion wo» ever sure 
to prevail. Hia being conatantly in company had made 
him an easy though not a polite companion. He chose 
to be thought rather an odd fellow, than a well-bred 
man ; perhaps that mixture of respect and ridicule, with 
which luH mock royalty was treated, first inspired him 
with this resolution . The foundations of his empire were 
laid in vicious compliance, the continuance of his reign 
waa supported by ,■ virtuous impartiality. In the 
beginning of his auth Tity, he in reality obeyed those 
whom he pretended to govern ; tr. wards the end, he 
attempted to extort a real obedience from hia xubjects, 
and supported his right by preccription. Like a monarch 
Tacitus talks of, hey complied with him at i^rst because 
they loved, they obeyed at last because they feared him. 
He often led the rich into new follies, in order to promote 
the happiness of the poor, and aerved the one at the 
expense of the other. Whatever his vices were, they 
were of use to society ; and this neither Petronius, nor 
Apicius, nor Tigellius, nor any other professed volup- 
tuary, could say. To set him up, as some do, for a 
pattern of imitation, is wrong, since all his virtues 
received a tincture from the neighbouring folly ; to 
denounce peculiar judgements against him, is equally 


unjuiit. BN hi* fBuIti raim rather our mirth 
dete^tntion. He w«« fltte.1 for the ntntion 
fortune placed him. It require.1 no poU n 
fill It, and few of great abilities but woul.l hnvc 
the employment. He led a life of vnnitv 
miitook it for happincM. Unfortunntciv he » 
«f iMt to know, that u man of plonHure jendn 
unpleasant life in the world. 


than our 
in which 

ibiliticH to 
and long 

n» taught 
the moit 



A Letter from Mr.**** in Tunbridge, to Lord in 

London; found among the Papers of Mr. Nash, and 
prepared by him for the press. 

My Lord, 

What I foresaw has arrived ; poor Jenners, after 
losing all his fortune, has shot himself through the head. 
His losses to Bland were considerable, and his playing 
soon after with Spedding contributed to hasten his ruin. 
No man was ever more enamoured of play, or under- 
stood it less. At whatever game he ventured his money, 
he was most usually the dupe, and still foolishly attri- 
buted to his bad luck, those misfortunes that entirely 
proceeded from his want of judgement. 

After finding that he had brought on himself irrepar- 
able indigence and contempt, his temper, formerly so 
sprightly, began to ^ow gloomy and unequal ; he grew 
more fond of solitude, and more liable to take offence 
at supposed injuries ; in short, for a week before he 
shot himself, his friends were of opinion that he medi- 
tated some such horrid design. He was found in his 
chamber fallen on the floor, the bullet having glanced 
on the bo: ?, and lodged behind his right eye. 

You remember, my Lord, what a charming fellow 
this deluded man was once. How benevolent, just, 
temperate, and every way virtuous ; the only faults of 
his mind arose from motives of humanity ; he was too 
easy, credulous and good-natured, and unable to resist 
temptation, when recommended by the voice of friend- 
ship. These foibles the vicious and the needy soon 
perceived, and what was at first a weakness they soon 
perverted into guilt ; he became a gamester, and con- 
tinued the infamous profession, till he could support the 
miseries it brought with it no longer. 
1 have often been not a little concerned to see the 


&8t introduction of a young man of fortune to tho 
gammg-table With what eagerness his company is 
courted by the whole fraternity of sharpers ; how they 
find out his most latent wishes, in order to make way 
to his affections by gratifying them ; and continue to 
hang upon him with the meanest degree of condescen- 
Hion. The youth.ul dupe, no way suspecting, imagines 
himse f surrounded by friends and gentlemen, anf i^ 
capable of even suspecting that men of such seeming 
good sense, and so genteel an appearance, should deviat^ 
from the laws of honour, walks into the snare, nor is he 
undeceived till schooled by the severity of experience 

As I suppose no man would be a gamester unless he 
hoped to win, so I fancy it would be easy to reclaim 
tim. ,f he was once effectually convinced, that by con- 
tmumg to play he must certainly lose. Permit me, my 
i^rd, to attempt this task, and to show, that no yomig 
gentleman by a year's run of play, and in a mixed 
company, can possibly be a gainer 

on both sides are equal, that there are no marked cards 
no pmching, shufHing, nor hiding ; let me suppose that 
the players also have no advantage of each other in 
pomt of judgement, and still further let me grant, that 
the party is only formed at home, without going to the 
usual expensive places of resort fi^quented by gamesters. 
Even with all these circumstances in the young game- 
ster s favour, it is evident he cannot be a gainer With 
equal players after a year's continuance of anv particular 
game It will be found, that, whatever has been played 
tov the winnings on either side are very inconsiderable 
and most commonly nothing at all. Here then is a year's 
anxiety, pain, jarring, and suspense, and nothing gained ■ 
were the parties to sit down and professedly play for 
nothing, they would contemn the proposal ; they would 



call it trifling away time, and one of the most insipid 
amusements in nature ; yet in fact, how do equal 
players differ V It is allowed that little or nothing can 
be gained ; but much is lost ; our youth, our time, 
those moments that may be laid out in pleasure or 
improvement, are foolishly squandered away, in Umhig 
cards, fretting at ill-luck, or, even with a run of luck 
in our favour, fretting that our winnings are so small. 

I have now stated gaming in that point of view in 
which it is alone defensible, as a commerce carried on 
with equal advantage and loss to either party, and it 
appears, that the loss is great, and the advantage but 
small. But let me suppose the players not to be equal, 
but the superiority of judgement in our own favour. 
A person who plays under this conviction, however, 
must give up all pretensions to the approbation of his 
own mind, and is guilty of as much injustice as the thief 
who robbeu a blind man because he knew he could not 
swear to his person. 

But in fact, when I allowed the superiority of skill 
on the young beginner's side, I only granted an impos- 
sibility. Skill in gaming, like skill in making a watch, 
can only be acquired by long and painful industry. The 
most sagacious youth alive was never taught at once 
all the arts and all the niceties of gaiiing. Every 
passion must be schooled by long habit into caution, 
and phlegm ; the very countenance must be taught 
proper discipline ; and he who would practise this art 
with success, must practise on his own constitution all 
the severities of a martyr, without any expectation of 
the reward. It is evident therefore every beginner must 
be a dupe, and can only be expected to learn his trade 
by losses, disappointments, and dishonour. 

If a young gentleman therefore begins to game, the 
commencements are sure to be to his disadvantage ; and 


all thit he can promise himself is, that the company 
he keeps, though superior in skill, are above taking 
advantage of his ignorance, and unacquainted with any 
smister arts to correct fortune. But this, however is 
but a poor hope at best, and what is worse, most fre- 
quently a false one In general, I might almost have 
said always those who live by gaming, are not beholding 
to chance alone for their support, but take every advan 
tage which they can practise without danger of detection 
I know many are apt to say, and I have once said so 
myself, that after I have shuffled the cards, it is not In 
the power of a sharper to pack them ; but at present I 
can cx,nfldently assure ; ur todship, that such reasoners 
are deceived I have seen men, both in Paris, the 
Hague, and Ix,ndon, who, after three deals, could give 
whatever :ds they pleased to all the company. How- 
ever the usual way with sharpers is to correct fortune 
thus but once in a night, and to play in other respects 
without b under or mistake, and a perseverance in^his 
practice always balances the year in their favour 

It IS impossible to enumerate all the tricks and arts 
practised upon cards ; few but have seen those bungling 
poor fellows who go about at coffee-houses, perform their 

tZ'/TT" T' -^'««'*"% «« they are vei^d 
m the trade they often deceive us ; when Lh as these 
are possessed of so much art, what must not those be 
who have been bred up to gaming from their infancy.' 
whose hands are not like those mentioned above 
rendered callous by labour, who have continual practice' 
in the trade of deceiving, and where the eye of the 
spectator is upon its guard. 

oI^ITa'T^ ^^^^' °"'y '^''^•" ^y ^ha' "^ variety 

w lentil " '^f '•"' *° '=^^** ^"'' *"d I^'haps it 
will check his confidence. His antagonists may act by 
Signs and confederacy, and this he can never' detect • 



they may cut to a particular card after three or four 
hands have gone about, either by having that card 
pinched, or broader than the rc8t, or by having an 
exceeding iine wire thrust between the folds of the paper, 
and just peeping out at the edge. Or the cards may 
be chalked with particular marks, which none but the 
sharper can understand, or a new pack may be slipped 
in at a proper opportunity. I have known myself in 
Paris, a fellow thus detected with a tin case, containing 
two packs of cards concealed within his shirt sleeve, 
and which, by means of a spring, threw the cards ready 
packed into his hands. These and a hundred other arts 
may be practised with impunity, and escape detection. 
The great error lies in imagining every fellow with 
a laced coat to be a gentleman. The address and 
transient behaviour of a man of breeding are easily 
acquired, and none are better qualified than gamesters 
in this respect. At ftat, their complaisance, civility, and 
apparent honour is pleasing, but upon examination, few 
of them will be found to have their minds sufficiently 
stored with any of the more refined accomplishments, 
which truly characterize the man of breeding. This 
will commonly serve as a criterion to distinguish them, 
though there are other marks which every ; oung gentle- 
man of fortune should be apprised of. A sharper, when 
he plaj"- generally handles and deals the cards awk- 
wardly like a bungler ; he advances his bets by degrees, 
and keeps his antagonist in spirits by small advantages 
and alternate succcjs at the beginning ; to show all his 
force at once, would but fright the bird he intends to 
decoy ; he talks of honour and virtue, and his being 
a gentleman, and that he knows great men, and mentions 
his coal-mines, and his estate in the country ; he is 
totally divested of that masculine confidence vhich is 
the attendant of real fortune ; he turns, yields, assents. 


P^lT'" he i! Jr^ 1" •* '"°''' ^'^"""8 t° •>"« destined 
particularly if ,„ better company ; as ho grows richer 

so that seeing a gamester growing finer each day i 
a certain symptom of his success ^' 

. J*?*; ^T^ g«nt'e>nan «bo plays with such men for 
considerable sums, is sure to be undone, and ylt we 
seldom see even the rook himself make a fortune A hfe 
of gaming must necessarily be a life of extravagance 
parties of this kind are formed in houses w^ he 
whole profits are consumed ; and while those wh^p ay 
mutua ,y ^,„ each other, they only who keep the house 
or the ta .. acquire fortunes. Thus gaming may rendilv 
ruin a fortune, but has seldom been Lndfo ^"o t 

haZ h""'^' '"'^ "^^^ ^'='1"'"^'' -*•• indTs^r; and 
strtsw f""^'"'^ '"' "8es by prudence and'^foi. 
Bight, IS swept away on a .udden ; and when a besieging 
harper sits down before ar. estate, the property iXif 

r:;'rth^^^^ '"^' ''V'"' ^'"'"8^ -" ^ '•™- 
the r^r P°^^T'°"- The neglect of business, and 

the extravagance of a mind which has been taught to 
cove precarious possession, brings on pi^matui. Zru ? 

and though his rum be slow, yet it is certain. 

A thousand instances could be given of the f»tal 
tendency of this passion, which first impover shes the 
mmd, and then perverts the understanding ftrm t mo 
to mention one, not caught from report, or d^d up 
by fancy but such as has actually failen under ,„; ow^ 
observation, and of the truth of which. I beg ""r 
Lordship may rest satisfied. ^ ^ 

At Tunbridge, in the year 1715, Mr. J. Hedges made 



''iWif '■ 

a very brilliant appearance ; he had been married rbout 
two years to a young lady of great beauty and ,dige 
fortune ; they had one child, a boy, on whom they 
bestowed all that affection which they could spare from 
each other. He knew nothing of gaming, nor seemed 
to have the least passion for play ; but he was un- 
acquainted with his own heart ; he began by degrees 
to bet at the tables for trifling sums, and his soul took 
fire at the prospect of immediate gain ; he was soon 
surrounded with sharpers, who with calmness lay in 
ambush for his fortune, and coolly took advantage of 
the precipitancy of his passions. 

His lady perceived the ruin of her family approaching, 
but, at first, without being able to form any scheme to 
prevent it. She advised with his brother, who, at that 
time, was possessed of a small fellowship in Cambridge. 
It was easily seen, that whatever passion took the lead 
in her husband's mind, seemed to be there fixed unalter- 
ably ; it was determined, therefore, to let him pursue 
fortune, but previously tak. measures to prevent the 
pursuits being fatal. 

Accordingly every night this gentleman w as a constant 
attcnder at the hazard table ; he understood neither the 
arts of sharpers, nor even the allowed strokes of a con- 
noisseur, yet still he played. The consequence is obvious ; 
he lost his estate, his equipage, his wife's jewels, and 
every other movable that could be parted with, except 
a repeating watch. His agony upon this occasion was 
inexpressible ; he was even mean enough to ask a gentle- 
man, who sat near, to lend him a few pieces, in order 
to turn his fortune ; but this prudent gamester, who 
plainly saw there were no expectations of being repaid, 
refused to lend a farthing, alleging a former resolution 
against lending. Hedges was at last furious with the 
continuance of ill-success, and pulling out his watch. 


aaked if any person in company would set him sixty 
guineas upon ,t : the con.pany ,vere silent ; he then 
demanded fifty; still no answer; he sunk to forty 
L. ^' Jl'^' "1!"« ">e company still without answer- 
.n« hecned out, 'By shall never go for less,' ar a 
dashed .t against the Hoor, at the same time attempting to 
dash out his brains against the marble chimney piece. 

This last act of desperation immediately excited the 
attention of the whole company ; they instantly gathered 
™und and prevented the effects of his pass'i'n ; and 
after he again became cool, he was permitted to return 
home, with sullen discontent, to his wife. Upon his 
entering her apartment, she received him with her usual 
tenderness and satisfaction ; while ho answered her 
caresses with contempt and severity ; his disposition 
being qmte altered with his misfortunes. ' But my dear 
_ Jemmy,' says his -vife, ' perhaps you don't know the 
_ news I have to tell : My Mammal oU uncle is dead. 
^ the messenger ts now in the house, and ycm How his 
estate u settled upon you.' This account seemed only 
to increase his agony, and looking angrily at her, he 
cned, There you lie, my dear, his estate is not settled 
_ upon me. ' I beg your pardon,' says she, ' I really 
_ thought It wa., at least you have always told me so ' 
No, returned he. 'as sure as you and I are to be 
_ miserable here, and our children beggars hereafter. 
_ I have sold the reversion of it this day, and have lost 
^ every farthmg I got for it at the hazard table.' ' What 
all! ' replied the lady. ' Yes, every farthing,' returned 
lie, and I owe a thousand pounds more than I have 
to pay ' Thus speaking, he took a few frantic steps 
across the room. When the lady had a little enjoyed 
his perplexity, 'No, ray dear,' cried she, ' vou have 
_ lost but a trifle, and you owe nothing. Our brother 
and I have taken care to prevent the efEects of your 



^ rashnem, and are actually the persons who have won 
' your fortune ; we employed proper persons for this 
^ purpose, who brought their winnings to me ; your 
' money, your equipage, are in my possession, and here 
^ I return them to you, from whom they were unjustly 
I taken. I only ask permission to keep my jewels, and 
^ to keep you, my greatest jewel, from such dangers for 
' the future.' Her prudence had the proper effect : be 
ever after retained a sense of his former foIUes, and 
uever played for the smallest sums, even for amusement. 

Not less than three persons in one day, fell a sacrifice 
at Bath, to this destructive passion. Two gentlemen 
fought a duel, in which one was killed, and the other 
desperately wounded ; and a youth of great expectation, 
and excellent disposition, at the same time ended his 
own life by a pistol. If there be any state that deserves 
pity. It must be th^it of a gamester ; U: the state of 
a dymg gamester is of all situations the most deplorable. 

There is another argument which your Lordship I 
fancy, will not entirely despise ; beauty, my Lord, I own 
IS at best but a trifle, but such as it is, I fancy few 
wouJd willingly part with what little they have. A man 
with a healthful complexion, how great a philosopher 
soever he be, would not willingly exchange it for a sallow 
hectic phiz, pale eyes, and a sharp wrinkled visage 
I entreat you only to examine the faces of all the noted 
gamblers round one of our public tables ; hava you ever 
seen anything more haggard, pinched, and miserable » 
and It 18 but natural that it should be so. The succession 
of passions flush the cheek with red, and all such flushings 
are ever succeeded by consequent paleness; so that 
a gamester contracts the sickly hue of a student, while 
he IS only acquiring the stupidity of a fool. 

Your good sense, my Lord, I have often had an 
occasion of knowing, yet how miserable is it to be in 


a net of company where the most wnsiblo In cv.r the 
lenrt skilful : your footman, with a little instruction 
would, I dare venture to affirm, make a better and more' 
KUccesHful gamester than you ; want of passions, and low 
cunnmg, are the two great arts ; and it is ,)eculiar to 
this Hcicnco aloiie, that they who have the grealeht pas- 
Hion for It, are <,f all others the moHt unfit to practise it 
Of all the men I ever knew, .S,x!dding was the greatest 
blockhea.l, and yet the best gamester : he h«w almost 
intuitively the advantage on either side, and ever took 
It ; ho could calculate the odds in a moment, and decide 
upon the merits of a cock or a horse, tetter than any 
man in England ; in short, he was such an adept in 
gaming, that he brought it up to a pitch of sublimity 
It had never attained before : yet, with all this, Spedding 
could not write his own name. What he died worth 
I cannot tell ; but of this I am certain, he might have 
possessed a ministerial estate, and that won from men 
famed for their sense, literature, and patriotism. 

If, after this description, your Lordship is yet resolved 
to hazard your fortune at gaming, I beg you would 
advert to the situation of an old and luckless gamester. 
Perhaps there is not in nature a more deplorable being- 
his character is too well marked, he is too well known 
to be trusted. A man that has been often a bankrupt 
and renewed trade upon low compositions, may as well 
expect extensive credit as such a man. His reputation 
IS blasted, his constitution worn, by the extravagance and 
111 hours of his profession ; he is now inccpable of alluring 
his dupes, and like a superannuated savage of the forest, 
he is starved for want of vigour to hunt after prey. 

Thus gaming is the source of poverty, and still worse 

the parent of infamy and vice. It is an inlet to de- 

.tichery : for the money thus acquired is but little 

valued. Every gamester is a rake, and his morals worse 



th«n hiH myHtopy, It i. hiN intomtt to be exemplary 
in every Hccnc of debauchery, bin prey in to be courted 
with every guilty plcaBur.- ; but thcne are to be changed 
repeated, ami eml»lli»hed, in order to employ hiii 
imagination, while hiH reason !» kept asleep ; a young 
mmd i» apt to Rhrink at the prospect of ruin ; care must 
bo taken to harden bin courage, and make him keep 
hw rank ; ho must be either found a libertine, or he 
muHt be made one. And when a man has parted with 
hiH money like a fool, he generally sends his conscience 
after it like a villain, and the nearer he is to the brink 
of destruction, the fonder does he grow of ruin. 

Your friend and mine, my Lord, had been thus driven 
to the last reserve : he found it impossible to disentangle 
his affairs, and look the world in the face ; impatience 
at length throw him into the abyss he fearwl, and life 
became a burthen, because he feared to die. But I own 
that play is not ahVays attended with such tragical 
ciroumstances : some have had courage to survive their 
losses, and go on content with beggary ; and sure those 
misfortunes, which are of our own production are of 
all others most pungent. To see such a poor disbanded 
being an unwelcome guest at every table, and often 
flapped off like a fly, is affecting ; in this case the closest 
alliance is forgotten, and contempt is too strong for the 
ties of blood to unbind. 

But however fi-tal this passion may be in its con- 
sequence, none allures so much in the beginning ; the 
person once listed as a gamester, if not soon reclaimed 
pursues it through his whole life ; no loss can retard,' 
no danger awaken him to common sense ; nothing can 
termmate his career but want of money to play, or of 
honour to be trusted. 

J^mong the number of my acquaintance, I knew but 
of two who succeeded by gaming ; the or- , phlegmatic 



heavy man, who would have made a fortune in whatovor 
way of life he happened to be placed ; the other who 
had lout a fine estate in hin youth by piny, anil n-trievod 
a greater at the ago of Hixty five, when he might be 
justly said, to be pant the jwwer of enjoying it. One 
or two Buccefwful gamesterH arc thuH w^t up in an age to 
allure the young beginner ; »e all regard Huch, nn the 
highest prize ina lottery, unmindful of the numero«»loRBC)i 
that go to the accumulation of such infrequent hUccoKH. 
Yet I would not be no morose, as to refuse your youth 
all kinds of play : the innocent aniuHcmcnts of a family 
must often bo indulged, and cards allowed to HUiiply 
the intervals of more real pleasure ; but the sum played 
for in such cases should always be a triHe ; something 
to call up attention, but not engage the jmssions. The 
usual excuse for laying large sums is, to make the players 
attend to their game ; but in fact, he that plays only for 
shillings, will mind his cartls equally well, with him that 
bets guineas ; for the mind, habituated to stake largo 
sums, will consider them as trifles at last ; and if one 
shilling could not exclude indifference at first, neither 
will a hundred in the end. 

I have often asked myself, how it is possible that ho 
who is possessefl of competence, can ever be induced to 
make it precarious by beginning play with the o<lds 
against him ; for wherever he goes to sport his money, 
he will find himself overmatched and cheated. Either 
at White's, Newmarket, the Tcnnis-Court, the Cock- 
Pit, or the Billiard-Table, he will find numbers who have 
no other resource, but their acquisitions there ; and if 
such men live like gentlemen, he may readilj conclude 
it must be on the spoils of his foitune, or the fortunes of 
ill-judging men like himself. Was he to attend but a 
moment to their manner of betting at those places, he 
would readily find the gamester seldom proposing bets 



but with the advantage in bin own favour. A man of 
honour oontinuea to lay on the niile on which ho first 
won ; but gamcntem shift, change, lie upon the lurch, and 
take every advantage, either of our ignorance or neglect. 
In Hhort, my Lord, if a man denignn to lay out hia 
fortune in quest of pleasure, the gaming table i», of all 
other plaooH, that where he can have least for his money. 
The company are superficial, extravagant, and un- 
entertaining; the conversation flat, debauche<l, and 
absurd ; the hours unnatural, and fatiguing ; the 
anxiety of losing is greater than the pleasure of winning ; 
friendship must bo banished from that society, the 
members of which are intent only on ruining each other ; 
every other improvement, cither in knowledge or virtue, 
can scarce find room in that breast which is possessed oy 
the spirit of play ; the spirits become vapid, the con- 
stitution is enfeebled, the complexion grows pale ; till, 
in the end, the mind, body, friends, fortune, and even 
the hopes of futurity sink together ! Happy, if nature 
terminates the scene, and neither justice nor suicide are 
called in to accelerate her tardy approach. 

I am 

my Lord, &c. 

Among other Papers in the custody of Mr. Nash, was the 
JoUowing angry Letter, addressed to him in this manner. 
To Richard Nash, Esq. 
Sire, ^'^ "f ^'b. 

I must desire your Majesty to order the enclosed 
to be read to the great Mr. Hoyle, if he be found in any 
part of your dominions. Yon will perceive that it is 
a panegyric on his manifold virtues, and that he is 
thanked more particularly for spending his time so much 
to the emolument of the public, and for obliging the 


world with a book more road than the Bible, and which 
no eminently tendH to promote Chrintion knowlrdgr, 
Hound morality, and the haiipinciw of mankind. 

{The ftulotcd we have omilleii, as it rotilainn a nalue on 
gaming, and may probably give ojfenee to our hrllert.) 

This author, however (continue* the letter-writer), has 
not net forth half the nieritH of the piece under con- 
Hideration, nor in the great care «hich ho haH taken 
to prevent our reading any other book, instead of this, 
been aufficiontly taken notice of : beware of counterfeits ; 
these books are not to be depended on unless signed by 
E. Hoyle, in a charitable admonition. As you have ho 
much power at Bath, and are absolute, I think you 
should imitate other great monarchs, by rewarding those 

^ with honours who have been serviceable in your state ; 

J and I beg that a new order may be established for that 

purpose. I«t him who has done nothing but game all his 
life.and has reduced the most families to ruinand beggary, 
be made a Marshal of the Black Ace; and those who are 
everyday making proselytes to the tables, have the honour 
of knighthood conferred on them, and be distinguished 
by the style and title of Knights of the four Knaves 

The moment I came into Bath, my ears were saluted 
with the news of a gentleman's being plundered at the 
gaming table, and having lost his senses on the occasion. 
The same day a duel was fought between two gentlemen 
gamesters on the Downs, and in the evening another 
hanged himself at the Bear ; but first wrote a note, 
which was found near nim, importing that ho had 
injured the best of friends. These are the achievements 
of your Knights of the four Knaves. The Devil will pick 
the bones of all gamesters, that 's eertam ! — Ay ! and 
of duellers too ! but in the meantime let none think 
that duelling is a mark of courage ; for I know it is not. 



A person served under me in Flanders who had fought 

four duels, and depended so much on his skill, the 

strength of his arm, and the length of his sword, that 

he would take up a quarrel for anybody ; yet, in the 

field, I never saw one behave so like a poltroon. If 

a few of these gamesters and duellers were gibbeted, it 

might perhaps help to amend the rest. I have often 

thought, that the only way, or at least, the most effectual 

way, to prevent duelling, would be to hang both parties, 

the living and the dead, on the same tree ; > and if the 

' A scheme to prevent duelling, similar to this, was attempted 

by GustiTus Adolphus ; and m thus recorded by the writer of his life. 

' In one of the Prusjian Campaigns, when the irrational practice 

I of duelling arose to a considerable height in the Swedish army, 

' not only amongst peraons of rank and fashion, but even amongst 

I common soldiers, this prince published a severe edict, and de- 

' nounocd death against cveiy delinquent. Soon after a quarrel 

I arose between two offioijrs of very high command, and as they knew 

' the kmg's firmness in preserving his word inviolable, they agreed to 

' request an audience, and besought his permission to decide the 

I afiair like men of honour. His Majesty took fire in a moment, but 

' repressed his passion with such art, that they easily mistook him ; 

' of course with some reluctance, but under the app^ ..ranee of pitying 

I brave men, who thought their reputation mjuied, ho told them, 

I that he blamed them much for their mistaken notions, concerning 

' Fame and Glory ; yet as this unreasonable determmation appeared 

' to be the result of deliberate reflection, to the best of their deluded 

I capacity, he would allow them to decide the affair at the time and 

' place specified : " and, gentlemen," said he, " I will bo an eye- 

' witness myself of your extraordinary valour and prowess." 

'At the hour appointed Gustavus arrived, accompanied by 
I a small body of infantry, whom he formed into a circle round the 
I combatants. " Now," says he, " fight till one man dies ; " and 
' calling the executioner of the army to hun (or the provost-marehal, 
' as the language then ran), " Friend," added he, " the instant one U 
' killed, behead the other before my eyes." 

' Astonished with such mflexible firmness, the two generals, after 
' pausing a moment, fell down on their knees, and asked the king's 
' forgiveness, who made them embrace each other, and give their 
'promise to continue faithful friends to their hist moments; as 
■ they did with sincerity and thankfuhiess.' 



winner and the loser were treated in the same manner, 
It would be better for the public ; since the tucking up 

of a few R Is might be a warning to others, and save 

many a worthy family from destruction 

I a youi'!i, & . 

Theauthorof thisletter appears to havS'onvcryar^y 
and not without reason ; for, if I am rightly imoimed] 
his only son was ruined at Bath, and by sharpers. But why 
18 Nash to be blamed for this ? It must be acknow- 
ledged, that he always took pains to preventthe ruin of the 
youth of both sexes, and had so guarded against duelling, 
that he would not permit a sword to be worn in Bath. ' 
As the heart of a man is better known by his private 
than public actions, let us take a view of Nash in domestic 
life ; among his servants and dependants, where no gloss 
was required to colour his sentiments and disposition, 
nor any mask necessary to conceal his foibles. Here we 
shall find him the same open-hearted, generous, good- 
natured man we have already described ; one who was 
ever fond of promoting the interests of his friends, his 
servants, and dependants, and making them happy. In 
his own house no man perhaps was more regular, cheer- 
ful, and beneficent than Mr. Nash. His table was 
always free to those who sought his friendship, or wanted 
a dinner ; and after grace was said, he usually accosted 
the company in the following extraordinary manner, to 
take ofiF all restraint and ceremony : ' Come, gentlemen 
eat and welcome ; spare, and the Devil choke you.' 
I mention this circumstance for no other reason but 
because it is well known, and is consistent with the 
singularity of his character and behaviour. 

As Mr. Nash's thoughts were entirely employed in the 
affairs of his government, he was seldom at home but at 
the time of eating or of rest. His table was well served 



but bis entertainment consisted principally of plain 
dishes. Boiled chicken and roast mutton were his 
favourite meats, and he was so fond of tho small sort of 
potatoes, that he called them English pine-apples, and 
generally oat them as others do fruit, after dinner. In 
drinking he was altogether as regular and abstemious. 
Both in this, and in eating, he seemed to consult Nature, 
and obey only her dictates. Good small beer, with or 
without a glass of wine in it, and sometimes wine and 
water, was hisdrink at meals, andafterdinner he generally 
drank one glass of wine. He seemed fond of hot suppers, 
usually supped about nine or ten o'clock, upon roast 
breast of mutton and his potatoes, and soon after supper 
went to bed ; which induced Dr. Cheney to tell him 
jestingly, that he. behaved like other brutes, and lay dotvn 
as soon as he had filled his belly. ' Very true,' replied 
Nash, ' and this prescription I had from my neighbour's 
' cow, who is a better physician than you, and a superior 
' judge of plants, notwithstanding you have writt/Cn so 
' learnedly on the vegetable diet.' 

Nash generally arose early in the morning, being 
seldom in bed after five ; and to avoid disturbing the 
family and depriving his servants of then- rest, he had 
the fire laid after he was in bed, and in the morning 
lighted it himself, and sat down to read some of his 
few but well-chosen books. After reading some time, 
he usually went to the Pump-room and drank the waters ; 
then took a walk on the parade, and went to the coffee- 
house to breakfast ; after which, till two o'clock (his 
usual time of dinner), his hours were spent in arbitrating 
differences amongst his neighbours, or the company 
resorting to the wells ; directing the diversions of the 
day, in visiting the new-comers, or receiving friends at 
his own house, of which there were a great concourse 
till within six or eight years before his death. 


Hi» generosity and charity in piivato life, though not 
80 conspiououH, was a« great an that in public, and 
indeed far more considerable than his little income 
would admit of. He couM not stifle the natural impulse 
which he had to do good, but frequently borrowed 
money to relieve the distressed ; and when he knew not 
conveniently where to borrow, he has been often observed 
to shed tears, as he passed through the wretched 
supplicants who attended his gate. 

This sensibility, this power of feeling the misfortunes 
of the miserable, and his address and earnestness in 
rehevmg their wants, exalts the character of Mr. Nash 
and draws an impenetrable veil over his foibles. His 
singularities are forgotten when we behold his virtues 
and he who laughed at the whimsical character and 
behaviour of this Monarch of Bath, now laments that 
he is no more. 


(See pp. 147, 151) 
[From The Citizen 0/ the World, Letter LXXI] 
The people of London are as fond of walking as our 
fnends at Pekin of riding ; one of the principal entertain- 
ments of the citizens here in summer is to repair about 
nightfall to a garden not far from town, where they 
walk about, show their best clothes and best faces and 
listen to a concert provided for the occasion 

I accepted an invilatio.i a few eve:::ngs ago from my 
old fnend, the man in black, to be one of a party that 
was to sup there ; and at the appointed hour waited 
upon him at his lodgings. There I found the company 
assembled and expectinc my arrival. Our party Von- 
sisted of my friend in superlative finery, his stockings 
rolled, a black velvet waistcoat which was formerly new 
and his grey wig combed down in imitation of hair' 
A pawn-broker's widow, of whom, by the by, my friend 
was a professed admirer, dressed out in green damask 
with three gold rin^s on every finger. Mr. Tibbs, the 
second-rate beau. I have formerly described ; together 
with his lady, in flimsy silk, dirty gauze instead of linen, 
and an hat as big as an umbrella. 

?"^^*,?*^''"'*y ^^^ ■" ^"'«g ^°^ ^^ should set 
out. Mrs. Tibbs had a natural aversion to the water 
and the widow being a little in flesh, as warmly protested 
against walking ; a coach was therefore agreed upon ■ 
which being too small to carry five, Mr. Tibbs consented 
to sit m his wile's lap. 

In this manner therefore we set forward, being 
entertamed by the way with the bodings of Mr. Tibbs, 



who assured us, he did not expect to see a single creature 
for the evening above the degree of a cheesemonger ; 
that this was the last night of the gardens, and that 
consequently we should be pestered with the nobility 
and gentry from Thames Street and Crooked Lane ; 
with several other prophetic ejaculations probably 
inspired by the uneasiness of his situation. 

The illuminations began before we arrived, and I must 
confess, that upon entering the gardens I found every 
sense overpaid with more than expected pleasure ; the 
lights every where glimmering through the scarcely 
moving trees ; the full-bodied concert bursting on the 
stillness of the night, the natural concert of the birds, 
in the more retired part of the grove, vying with that 
which was formed by art ; the company gaily dressed, 
looking satisfaction ; and the tables spread with various 
delicacies, — all conspired to fill my imafr.iation with the 
visionary, happiness of the Arabian lawgiver, and lifted 
me into an ecstasy of admiration. ' Head of Confucius,' 
cried I to ray friend, ' this is fine I this unites rural 
beauty with courtly magnificence ! if we except the 
virgins of immortality that hang on every tree, and 
may be plucked at every desire, I don't see how this 
falls short of Mahomet's Paradise ! ' 'As for virgins,' 
cries my friend, ' it is true, they are a fruit that don't 
much abound in our gardens here ; but if ladies as plenty 
as apples in autumn, and as complying as any Houri of 
them all can content you, I fancy we have no need to 
go to heaven for Paradise.' 
I was going to second his remarks, when we were called 
to a consultation by Mr. Tibba and the rest of the com- 
pany, to know in what manner we were to lay out the 
evening to the greatest advantage. Mrs. Tibbs was for 
keeping the genteel walk of the garden, where she 
observed there was always the very best company ; 



the widow, on the contrary, who came but once a season, 
was for securing a good standing place to sec the water- 
works, which she assured us would begin in less than 
an hour at farthest ; a dispute therefore began, and as 
it was managed between two of very opposite characters, 
It threatened t» grow more bitter at every reply. Mrs. 
Tibbs wondered how people could pretend to know the 
pohte world who had received all their rudiments of 
breedmg behind a counter ; to which the other replied, 
that though some people sat behind counters, yet they 
could sit at the head of their own tables too, and carve 
three good dishes of hot meat whenever they thought 
proper, which was more than some people could say for 
themselves, that hardly knew a rabbit and onions from 
a green goose and gooseberries. 

It is hard to say where this might have ended, had not 
the husband, who probably knew the impetuosity of 
his wife's disposition, proposed to end the dispute by 
adjourning to a box, and try if there was anything to 
be had for supper that was supportable. To this we 
all consented, but here a new distress arose : Mr. and 
Mrs. Tibbs would sit in none but a genteel box, a box 
where they might see and be seen— one, as they expressed 
it, in the very focus of public view ; but such a box 
was not easy to be obtained, fcr though we were perfectly 
convinced of our own gentility, and the gentility of our 
appearance, yet we found it a difficult matter to persuade 
the keepers of the boxes to be of our opinion ; they 
chose to reserve genteel boxes for what they judged more 
genteel company. 

At last however we were fixed, though somewhat 
obscurely, and supplied with the usual entertainment of 
the place. The widow found the supper excellent, but 
Mrs. Tibbs thought every thing detestable. ' Come, 
' dear,'cries the husband, by way of consolation, 



' to be sure we can't find such dressing here as we have 
' at Lord Crump's or Lady Crimp's ; but for Vauxhall 
^ dressing it is pretty good ; it is not their victuals indeed 
' I find fault with, but their wine ; their wine," cries he, 
drinking off a glass, ' indeed, is most abominable." 

By this last contradiction the widow was fairly 
conquered in point of politeness. She perceived now 
that she had no pretensions in the world to taste ; her 
very senses were vulgar, since she had praisec! detestable 
custard, and smacked at wretched wine; she was 
therefore content to yield the victory, and for the rest 
of the night to listen and improve. It is true, she would 
now and then forget herself, and confess she was pleased, 
but they soon brought her back again to miserable 
refinement. She once praised the painting of the box 
in which we were sitting, but was soon convinced that 
such paltry pieces ought rather to excite horror than 
satisfaction ; she ventured again to commend one of 
the singers, but Mrs. Tibbs soon let her know, in the 
style of a connoisseur, that the singer in question had 
neither ear, voice, nor judgement. 

Mr. Tibbs, now willing to prove that his wife's pre- 
tensions to music were just, entreated her to favour the 
company with a song ; but to this she gave a positive 
denial, 'for you know very well, my dear,' says she, 
' that I am not in voice to-day, and when one's voice is 
' not equal to one's judgement, what signifies singing ? 
' besides, as there is no accompaniment, it would be but 
' spoiling music' All these excuses however were over- 
ruled by the rest of the company, who, though one 
would think they ahready had music enough, joined in 
the entreaty. But particularly the widow, now willing 
to convince the company of her breeding, pressed so 
warmly that she seemed determined to take no refusal. 
At last then the lady complied, and after humming for 



some minut;s, began with such a voice, and inch 
affectation, a I could perceive gave but little Batisfaction 
to any exi;ept her husband. Ho sat with rapture in his 
eye, and beat time with his hand on the table. 

You must observe, my friend, that it is the custom 
of this country, when a lady or gentleman happens to 
sing, for the company to sit as mute und motionless as 
statues. Every feature, every limb, must seem to 
correspond in fixed attention, and while the song con- 
tinues, they are to remain in a state of universal petrifac- 
tion. In this mortifying situation we had continued 
for some time, listening to the song, and looking with 
tranquillity, when the master of the box came to inform 
us, that the water-works were going to begin. At this in- 
formation I could instantly perceive the widow bounce 
from her seat ; but correcting herself, she sat down 
again, repressed by motives of good breeding. Mrs. Tibbs, 
who had seen the water-works an hundred times] 
resolving not to be interrupted, continued her song 
without any share of mercy, nor had the smallest pity 
on our impatience. The widow's face, I own, gave me 
high entertainment; in it I could plainly read the 
struggle she felt between good breeding ,aid curiosity ; 
she talked of the water-works the whole evening before! 
and seemed to have come merely in order to see them ; 
but then she could not bounce out in the very middle of 
a song, for that would be forfeiting all pretensions to 
high life, or high-lived company ever after : Mrs. Tibbs, 
therefore, kept on singing, and we continued to listen, till 
at last, when the song was just concluded, the waiter 
came to inform us that the water-works were over. 

' The water-works over ! ' cried the widow ; ' the 
' water-works over already, that 's impossible, they can't 
be over so soon ! '— ' It is rot my business,' replied the 
fellow, ' t» contradict your ladyship ; I'll run again and 



■68. He went, and aoon returned with a confirmation 
of the .diRDul tiding.. No ceremony could now bind 
my friend's diaappointed mistreH. She testified her 
displeasure in the openest manner; in short, she now 
began to find fault in turn, and at last insisted upon gdns 
home, just at the Ume that Mr. and Mrs. Tibbe assured 
the company that the polite hours were going to begin, 
and that the ladies would instantaneously be entertained 
With the hums. — Adieu.