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K-jcl^ |-3y 


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v.- ^ / 

v.*.' ■ -- ■ 

BISHOP or ri.OY>-E. 

Znint-riMMirl t^.^n ^ 1 tf ■ ■ 








VOL. xvn. 



sharps; r. lea; darton and harvey ; j. nunn; lackington 




■- / 






N» 55 122. 




55. Importance of Christianihr to Virtue berkblct 

56. Reproof and Reproach, a vision parnell 

57. Of Conrtship — Questions and Rules for Steele 

58. Public Spirit — ^Letter from a Hackney 

Author — ^firom a Patriotic Drinker — 

from an ostentatious Lady • — 

59. Letters on Cato ;. 

60. On the various modes of reading Books • — < 

61. On Cruelty to the Brute Creation — Fa- 

ble of PUpay POPE 

62. Visit to Westminster Schools-Utility of 

public Seminaries .• • • • Berkeley 

65. Strictures on the Examiner — Extract 

from liucas* Practical Christianity .... Steele 

64. Petition of the Artificers, of Esau Ring- 

ivoody Susannah How-d'ye-call, and 

Hu^ Pounce— Letter on Cato — . 

65. Improper Conduct at Church— Poverty, 
of the clergy, hurtfrd to Religion .... 

66* Common Fame, a Vision parnell 

67. Fate of Poets — Recommendation of 

Tom D*Urfey addison 

68. Letters on the Wife proposed to Six Hax- 

ryUzurd •••••,•••••««•••• vt^^ev^ 



69. On FeneloD*8 Dtmonstration of the Ex- 

istence, Wisdom and Omnipotence of 


70. Analogy between St. Paul's and the 

Christian Chnrch — Narrowness of Free- 
thinkers BERKELEY 

71. Observations on the Increase of lions — 

Character of a Lion aooison 

72. On the Oxford Terrae-filios — ^Abuse of 

his Office STEELE 

73. On the improper Interference of Pa- 

rents in the Disposal of their Children 
— Letters on Passion — Peevishness — 
Shyness - 

74. Extract from a^ Sermon of Bishop Be- 

veridge > — 

75. Extracts from the Sermons of two 


76. Endeavour to reconcile tiie lAQded and 

Trading Interests 

77. On the Shortsightedness of Critics, 

Misers, and Freethinkers Berkeley 

78. Receipt to make an Epic Poem .... pope 

79. On the Miseries of the Poor — Recom- 

mendation of their Case Steele 

80. Strictures on the Examiner ....... 

8J. Soliloquy of an Atibtenian Libertine — 

Prayer of one who had been a Liber- 
tine . . • ■ 

8S. Death and Chaoracter of Peer the Come- 

83. On happiness^-obstmcted by the Free- 

thinkers BERKELEY 

84. Silly Habits of Coffee-house Orators- 

twisting off Buttons STEELE 

85. On Scandal— Letter from ^ Sufferer by 

Calumny— from Dani/el Button .... 

86. Classical De8cription»--ofthe War Horse 

in Job 

87. General Taste for intrigue— Immondity 

of Servants : Chq^cter of a Master ■ 

88. Superiority of the Christian Ideas of 

tae Being, and Attributes of a Ood . . i^^^i&xixx 



89. Christian Ideas of a future State . . • • besi^let 

90. Strictures on the Examiner — ^Lietter to 

one of the Writers in the Guardian. . steklb 

91. Account of the Short Club pope 

92. The same Characters of the Members . — 

93. Thoughts on the Immortality of the 

Soul— on the Pharisees and Saddacees wotton 

94. On Education steelb 

95. Adventure of a Strolling Company — 

Letters on lions — Coiree-houses — a 
, Virtuoso — on the Terrae-filius . . . • - ■ 

96. A Proposal for Honorary Howards — 

Coins and Medals ...•'*...«• addison 

97. Letter from Simon Softly, complaining 

of a Widow — Advice to him ■ — — 

98. Notice of the Tatier and Spectator- 

Scheme of a Lion's Head at Button's 

99. Essay on National Justice — a Persian 


100. On the Tucker — naked Necks — ^Laws 

of Lycui^s — Position of Venus . . . ■ 

101. Letters from Fi-ance—Gaiety of the 

French , - 

102. Variableness of the English Climate . . 

103. On the Fireworks — serious reflections 

on the same ' 

104. Story of a French Gentleman — Letter 

on the Manners of the French • « . ■ — 

105. Exhibition of the Charity Children— 

Proposals to extend our Charities • • 

lOd. Vision of Aurelia with a window iu her 

Breast - . . . . '-^ 

107. Letter from a Projector, offering him- 

self as a Nomenclator — Letter from 

Messrs. Ditton and Whiston 

108. Institution of the Tall Club 

109. Correspondence on tiie Tucker ■ — 

110. On the language of TVeaty — Impropri- 

eties instanced 

m . Improper Conduct of the British Youth 

— Love of Knowledge-Solomon's 

Choice .,....• — _— — 

11 2. Art of Flviiig«— Letter firom Ds&^na — 

MemarkBon modem DaedalttU • . • 



113. Letter from a Citizen in his Honey- 

moon — Tom Trnelove's Conrtship . . addison 

114. Erection of/ the Lion's Head — Remarlu 

on Lions — on Petticoats ■ 

115. On Criticism — Strada's Prolusion .... ■ 

116. Matters of Dress not to be introduced 

in the Pulpit — ^Letter on naked 

Breasts • . . . , 

117. Happiness of living under the Protec- 

tion of Omnipotence 

118. Informatioo from a Lioness — Offer of 

an out-riding Lion 

tl9. Translation of Strada's Prolusion . . . ^ 

120. On Female Gamesters 

131. Account of the Silent Club, Pearcb ; 

on Female Undressing 

199* Sequel of Strada's Prolusion 



N' 55. THURSDAY, MAY 14, 1713. 

quia enim tirtuiem ampleeiitur ipiom. 

Prtgmia si toUas? JUV. Sat 10. t. 141 

For who won'd virtue for herself regard. 
Or wed, without the portion of re^nutl ? 


1 T is usual with polemical writers to object ill de- 
signs to their adversaries. This turns their argu- 
ments into satire, which, instead of 'shewing an 
error in the understanding, tends only to expose the 
morals of those they write against. I shall not 
act after this manner with respect to the free- 
thinkers. Virtue, and the happiness of society, 
are the great ends which all men ought to promote ; 
and some of that sect would be thought to have at 
heart above the rest of mankind. But supposing 
those who make that profession to carry on a good 
design in the simplicity of their hearts, and ac- 
cording to their best knowledge, yet it is much to 
be feared, those well-meaning souls, while they en* 
deavoured to recommend virtue, have in reality 

VOL. XV IX- » 

2 ^ GUARDIAN. K"" 55. 

been advancing the interests of vice ; which, as I 
take to proceed from their ignorance of human na- 
ture, we may hope, when they become sensible of 
their mistake, they will, in consequence of that 
beneficent princij^e they pretend to act upon, re- 
form their practice for the ^ture. 

The sages, whom I have in my eye, speak of 
virtue as the most, amiable thing in the world ; but 
at the same time that they extol her beauty, they 
take care to lessen her portion. Such innocent 
creatures are they, and so great strangers to the 
world, that they think this a likely method to in- 
crease the number ofher admirers. 

Virtue has in herself the most engaging charms ; 
and Christianity, as it places her in the strongest 
light, and adorned with all her native attractions, 
so it kindles a new fire in the soul, by adding to 
them the unutterable rewards which attend her 
Votaries in an eternal state. Or if there are men 
o)fa saturnine and heavy complexion, who are not 
easily lifled up by hope, there is the prospect of 
everlasting punifhments to agitate their souls, and 
firighten mem into the practice of virtue, and an 
jftversion from vice. 

Whereas your sober free-thinkers tell you, that 
virtue indeed is beautiful, and vice deformed ; the 
former deserves your love, and the latter your ab- 
liorrence ; but then it is for their own sake, or on 
account of the good and evil which immediately at- 
tend them, and are inseparable from their respec- 
Jtive natures. As for the immortality of the soul 
or eternal punishments and rewards, those ar< 
openly ridiculed, or rendered suspicious by th< 
most sly and laboured artifice. 

I will not say, these men act treacherously in tb< 
cause of virtue ; but will any one deny, that ^e^ 


M** 55. OlTARDXAK; 3 

act foolishly, who pretend to advance the interest 
of it hy destroying or weakening the strongest mo- 
tives to it, which are accommodated to all capa- 
cities, and fitted to work on all dispositions, and 
enforcing those alone which can affect only a ge- 
nerous and exalted mind. 

Surely they must he destitute of passion them^- 
selves, and unacquainted with the force it hs^th on 
the minds of others, who can imagine that the 
mere beauty of fortitude, temperance, and justice, 
is sufficient to sustain the mind of man in a severe 
course of self-denial against all the temptations of 
present profit, and sensuality. 

It is my opinion that free-thinkers should be 
treated as a set of poor ignorant creatures, that 
have not sense to discover the excellency of reli* 
gion ; it being evident those men are no witches^ 
nor likely to be guilty of any deep design, who 
proclaim aloud to the world, that they have less 
motives to honesty than the rest of tibeir fellow 
subjects, who have all the inducements to the ex-*- 
ercise of any virtue which a free-thinker can pos-* 
sibly have ; and besides that, the expectation of 
never-ending happiness, or misery, as the conse* 
quence of their choice, 

Are not men actuated by their passions? and 
are not hope and fear the most powerful of our 
passions? and are there any objects which can 
rouse and awaken our hopes and fears, like those 
prospects that warm and penetrate the heart of a ' 
Christian, but are not regarded by a free-thinker ? 

It is not only a clear point, that a Christian 
breaks though stronger engagements whenever he 
surrenders himself to commit a criminal action, 
and is stqng with a sharper remorse after it, than 
9 free^-tbinker ; but it should eveti «i^Ta^^\. % xd»jx 

4 GUARDIAN. N* 55. 

who believes no future state^ would act a foolish 
part in being thorouglily honest. For what reason 
is there why such a one should postpone his own 
private interest, or pleasure, to the doing his duty ? 
If a Christian foregoes some present advantage for 
the sake of his conscience, he acts accountably, 
because it is with the view of gaining some gpreater 
future good : but he that, having no such view, 
should yet conscientiously deny himself a present 
good in any incident where he may save appear- 
ances, is altogether as stupid as he that would 
trust him at such a juncture. 

It will, perhaps, be said, that virtue is hfr own 
reward, that a natural gratification attends good 
actions, which is alone sufficient to excite men to 
the . performance of them. But although there is 
nothing more lovely than virtue; and the practice 
of it is the surest way to solid natural happiness, 
' even in this life ; yet titles, estates, and fantastical 
pleasures, are more ardently sought after by most 
men, than the natural gratifications of a reasonable 
mind; and it cannot be denied, that virti:^ and in- 
nocence are not always the readiest methods to 
a^ain that sort of happiness. Besides, the fumes 
of passion must be allayed, and reason must bum 
brighter than ordinary, to enable men to see and 
rehsh all the native beauties and delights of a vir- 
tuous life. And though we should grant our free- 
thinkers to be a set of refined spirits, capable only 
of being enamoured of virtue, yet what would be- 
come of the bulk of mankind who have gross un- 
derstandings, but lively senses, and strong passions ? 
What a deluge of lust, and fraud, and violence, 
would in a little time overflow the whole nation, if 
tliese wise advocates for morality were universally 
hearkened to ! Xiastly, opportunities do sometimes 


N 55. GVAEBlAir. S 

offer, in which a man may wickedly make his for- 
tune, or indulge 9^ p)e;isure, without fear qf tem- 
poral damage, either in reputation, health or for- 
tune. In such cases what restraint do they lie 
tinder who have no regardS*t^yond the grave ; the 
inward compunctions of a wicked, as well ^ the 
joys of an upright mind, heing grafted on the ^nse 
of another state ? 

The thought^ ' that our existence termiuates with 
this life,' doth naturally check the soul in any 
generous pursuit, contract her views, and fix them 
on temporary and selfish ends. It dethrones the 
reason^ extinguishes all noble and heroic 8ent^<» 
ments, and subjects the mind to the slavery Af 
every present passion. The wise heathens of antN 
quity were not ignorant of this : hence they endeav 
voured by fables, and conjectures, and the gliiQ- 
merinss of nature, to possess the minds of men 
with tne behef pf a future state, which has beeii 
since brought to hght by the gospel, and is now 
most inconsistently decried by a few weak men, 
who would have us believe that they promote yiv* 
tue^ by t;!uming religion into ridicule. 

. lO 



N'56. FRIDAY, MAY 15, 1713. 

Quid metUem traxisse polo, quid fn-qfuit aUum 
Erexiste caput? pecudum si more pererrant^ clauu. 

What profits bs, that we from heaven derive 
A tout immortal, and vrith looks erect 
Survey the stars*, if, like the brutal kind, 
We follow where ear passions lead the way ? 

J WAS considering last night, when I could nof 
.jileep, how noble a part of the creation man was 
.designed to be, and how distinguished in all his aq-, 
!tions above other earthly creatures. "From whence. 
1 fell to take a view of the change and corruption 
which he has introduced into his own condition, the 
groveling appetites, the mean characters of sense, 
and wild courses of passions, that cast him from 
the degree in which Providence had placed him; 
the debasing himself with qualifications not his 
own ; and his degenerating into a lower sphere of 
action. This inspired me with a mixture of con- 
tempt and anger ; which, however, was net so vio- 
lent as to hinder the return of sleep, but grew 
confused as that came upon me, and made me 
end my reflections with giving mankind the oppro- 
brious names of inconsiderate, mad, and foolish. 

Here, methought, where my waking reason left 
the subject, my fancy pursued it in a dream ; and 
I imagined myself in a loud soliloquy of passion, 
railing at my species, and walking hard to get rid 
of the company I despised; when two men, who 
had overbeard me, made u]^ ou either hand. 

n"" 56. 6UABD1AN. f 

These I observed had many features in common 
which might occasion the mistake of one for the 
other in those to whom they appear single ; but I» 
who saw them together, could easily perceive, that 
though there was an air of severity in each, it was 
tempered with a natural sweetness in the one, and 
by turns constrained or ruffled by the designs of 
malice in the other. 

I was at a loss to know the reason of their join* 
ing me so briskly: when he, whose appearance 
displeased me most, thus addressed his companion : 
' Pray, brother, let me alone, and we shall imme- 
diately see him transformed into a tyger/ This 
struck me with horror, which the other perceivedl, 
and, pitying my disorder, bid me be of good cou- 
rage, for though I had been savage in my treatment 
of mankind (whom I should rather reform thtm 
rail against,) he would, however, endeavour to res- 
cue me from my danger. At thu I looked a little 
more chearful, and while I testified my resignation 
to him, we saw the angry brother fling away from 
us in a passion for his disappointment. Beinff now 
left to iny friend, I went back with him at his desire, 
that I might know the meaning of those w<»tls wludi 
had so affrighted me. 

As we went along, ' To inform you,' says he, 
' with whom you have this adventure, mv name ia 
Beproof, and his Reproach, both bom of the same 
mother; but of different fathers. • Truth is our 
common parent Friendship, who saw her, fell in 
love with her, and she being pleased with him, he 
begat me upon her; but, a while after. Enmity 
lying in ambush for her, became the father of him 
whom you saw along with me. The te^ipcr of our 
mother inclines us to the same sort oC ^^raa\Tw«^« ^Sut 
inforo^ing mankind of their fou\U \ WX VSol^ 

9 OVARDIAir. M* 5tf. 

tompiexions of oar fathers make us differ in our 
designs and company. I have a natural benevo- 
lence in my mind which engages me with friends ; 
and he a natural impestuosity in his, which casts 
him amonff enemies/ 

As he thus discoursed, we came to a place where 
lliert were three entrances into as many several 
walks, which lay aside of one another. We passed 
into the middlemost, a plain straight regular walk, 
•et witii trees, which added to the beauty of the 
place, but did not so close their boughs over head 
as to exclude the light frpm it. Here as we walked 
I was made to observe, how the road on one hand 
was fuH of rocks and precipices, over which Re- 
proach (wfae had already gotten thither) was furi« 
ously driving unhappy wretches; the other side 
was all laid out in gardens of gaudy tulips, amongst 
whose leaves the serpents wreathed, and at the end 
of every grassy waBt the inchantress Flattery was 
weaving bowers to lull souls asleep in. We conti- 
nued still ' walking on the middle way« until we 
arrived at a building in which it terminated. This 
was formerly erect^ by Truth for a watch-tower, 
fipom whence she took a view of the earth, and, as 
6he saw occasion, sent out Reproof, or even Re- 
proacl^, for our reformation. Over the door I 
toodc notice that a face was carved with a heart 
upon the lips of it, and presently called to mind 
t£at this was the ancients' emblem of sincerity. 
In the entrance I met with Freedom of Speech and 
Complaisance, who had for a long time looked 
vspaa one > another as enemies ; but Reproof has so 
happily brought them together, that they now act 
aa mends and fellow agents in 1;he same family. 
Bttfbre I asc^ded the stairs, I had my eyes purified 
^ # meer which made me tee eiidcrtxck^^ ^V,«.t\ 

n"" 56. GUARDIAN. 9 

and I think they said it sprung in a pit> from 
whence (as Democritus had reported) they formerly 
had brought up Truths who had hid herself in it« 
I was then admitted to the upper chamber of pros- 
pect^ which was caUed the Knowledge of Mankind : 
here the window was no sooner opened, but I per« 
ceived the clouds to roll off and part before me, 
and a scene of all the variety of the world pre- 
sented itself. 

But how different was mankind in this view from 
what it used to appear! Methous'ht the very shape 
of most of them was lost; some had the heads of 
dogs, others of apes or parrots, and, in shorty 
wherever any one took upon him the inferior and 
unwordiy qualities of other creatures, the diange 
of his soul became visible in his countenance. 
The strutting pride of him who is endued with bru- 
tality instead of courage, made his face shoot out 
into the form oi a horse's; his eyes became pro« 
minent, his nostrils widened, and his wig untying 
flowed down on one side of his neck in a waving 
mane. The talkativeness of those whor love the 
ill-nature of conversation made them turn into as-^ 
semblies of getse, their lips hardened to bills by 
external using, they gabbled for diversion, they 
hissed in scandal, and their ruffles falling back on 
their arms, a succession of little feathers appeared, 
which formed wings for them to flutter wim from 
one visit to another. The «kivious and malicious 
lay on the ground with the heads of different sorts 
of serpents ; and not. endeavouring to erect them- 
selves, but meditating mischief to others, they 
sucked the poison of the earth, sharpened their 
tongues to stings upon the stones, and rolled their 
trains unperceivably beneath their habits. The 
hypocritical oppressors wore tht ti^ce o^ cs^)C^^dk2&«^' 

to OtTABDlAK* N'' 56. 

tfaeif mouffas were infitruments of cruelty, their 
eyes of deceit; they committed wickedness, and 
bemoaned that there should be so much of it in the 
world; they devoured the unwary and wept over 
the remains of them. The covetous had so hooked 
Und worn their fingers by counting interests upon 
interests, tliat they were converted to the claws of 
harpies, and these they still were stretching out for 
taore, yet still seemed unsatisfied with their acqui- 
sitions. The sharpers had the looks of camelions ; 
they every minute changed their appearance, and 
fed on awarms of flies which fell as so many cullies 
(unongst them. The buUy seemed a dunghiU cock : 
he crested well and bore his comb aloft ; he was 
beaten by almost every one, yet still sung for tri« 
timph ; and only the mean coward pricked up his 
ears c^ a hare to fly before him. Critics were 
tamed into cats, whose pleasure and grumbling go 
together. Fops were apes in embroidered jackets, 
flatterers were curled spaniels, fawning and crouch- 
ing. The crafty had the face of a fox, the slothftil 
or an jass, the cruel of a wolf, the ill-bred of a 
bear, the leachers were goats, and the gluttons 
smne. Drunkenness was the only vice that did 
not change the face of its professors into that of 
iiioth» creature ; but this I took to be far from a 
privilege^ for these two reasons; beeause it suffi- 
ciently dcforHis them of itself, and because none of 
the lower rank of beHigs is guilty of so foolish an 

As I was takii^g a view of these representations 
of things without any more order than is usual in a 
dream, or ijfi the confusion of the world itself, I 
perceived a oancem within me for what I saw. My 
eyes began to moisten, as if the virtue of that water 
wSwb they were purified was loft fn* a timei 

»*d6. GUAftMAir* 11 

by their being touched with that which arose from 
passion. The clouds immediately began to gather 
again, and. close from either hand upon the pros- 
pect I then turned towards my guide, who ad* 
dressed himself to me after this manner : ' You 
have seen the condition of mankind when it de« 
scends from its dignity ; now therefore guard youf* 
self from that degeneracy by a modest greatness of 
spirit on one side, and a conscious shame on the 
other. Endeavour also with a generosity of good- 
ness to make your friends aware of it; let them 
know what defects you perceive are growing upoti 
them ; handle the matter as you see reatoti, eithef 
with the airs of severe or humourous affection ; 
sometimes plainly describing the degeneracy in its 
fbn proper colours, or at other times letting them 
know, that, if they proceed as they have begun, you 
give them to such a day, or so many months, to 
turn bears, wolves, or foxes, &c. Neither neglect 
your more remote acquaintance, where you see any 
worthy aiid susceptible of admoniticm. fixpose 
the beasts whose qualities you see them putting on^ 
where you have no mind to engage with their per- 
sons. Ibe possibihty of their applying thitf is very 
obvious. T^e Egyptians saw it so clearly, that they 
made the pictures of animals explain their minds to 
One another instead of writing; and, indeed, it is 
hardly to be missed, since .£sop took them out 
of their mute condition, and tau^t them to speak 
for themselves with relation to the actions of man<* 

My guide had thus concluded, and I was pro- 
mising to write down what was shewn me for the 
ftervice of the worid, when I was awakened by a 
teabus t>ld' servant of mine, who brougbt m« the 
Examiner, and toki me with \i3io\a fA ^ t^SGSKvtfib^ 
he wasaHraid I was in it again« 

12 OVARDIAN. M** 57* 

N*57. SATURDAY, MAY 16, 1713. 

Quim mmU€ v^uiia •epracajhrni mmnbmi! 

TBR. Ueant. Act. iv. Sg. 7« 

How many in^t and wrong things are antfaorised by custom ! 

It is of no small concern to me, that the interests 
of virtue are supplanted by common custom and 
regard for indifferent things. Thus mode and 
fashion defend the most absurd and unjust proceed- 
ings^ and nobody is out of countenance for doing 
what every body practises, though at the same time 
there is no one who is not convinced in his own 
judgment of the errors in which he goes on with the 
multitude^ My correspondent, who writes me the 
following letter, has put together a great many 
points which would deserve serious consideration, 
as much as things which at first appearance bear a 
weightier aspect He recites almost all the little 
arts that are used in the way to matrimony, by the 
parents of young women. There is nothing more 
common than for people, who have good and wor- 
thy characters, to run, without respect to the laws 
of gratitude, into the most exorbitant demands for 
their children, upon no other foundation than that 
which should incline them to the quite contrary, 
the unreserved affection of the lover. I shall at 
this time, by inserting my correspondent's letter, 
lay such offences before all parents and daughters 
respectively, and reserve the particular instances 
to be considered in future precaution^. 

K*57* GUARDIAN. 13 



* I HAVE for some time retired myself 
from the town and business to a little seat, where 
a pleasant champain country, good roads, and 
healthful air, tempt me often abroad ; and being 
a single man, have contracted more acquaintance 
than is suitable to my years, or agreeable to the 
intentions of retirement I brought down with me 
hither. Among others, I have a young neighbour, 
who, yesterday, imparted to me the history of an 
honourable .amour, which has been carried on a 
considerable time with a great deal of love on his 
side, and (as he says he has been made to believe) 
with something very unlike aversion on the young 
lady's* But so matters have been contrived, that 
he could never get to know her mind thoroughly. 
When he was first acquainted with her, he might be 
as intimate with her as other people ; but since he 
first declared his passion, he has never been ad* 
mitted to wait upon her, or to see her, other than 
in public. If he went to her father's house, and 
desired to visit her, she was either sick or 
out of the way, and nobody would come near him 
in two hours, and then he should be received as if 
he had committed some strange offence. If he 
asked her father's leave to visit her, the old gen- 
tleman was mute. If he put it negatively, and 
asked if he refused it, the father would answer 
with a smile, " No, I do not say so neither." If 
they talked of the fortune, he had considered his 
circumstances, and it every day diminished. If the 
settlements came into debate, he had considered 
the young gentleman's estate, aud daa\^ *\\tf:.\ev»K^ 
VOL. xvn, c 

14 GUARDIAN. N** 57. 

his expectations. If the mother was consulted, 
she was mightily for the match, but affected 
strangely to shew her cunning in perplexing mat- 
ters. It went off seemingly several times, but my 
young neighbour's passion was such that it easily 
revived upon the least encouragement given him ; 
but tired out with writing (the only liberty allowed 
him), and receiving answers at cross purposes, 
destitute of all hopes, he at length wrote a rormal 
adieu ; but it was very unfortunately timed, for 
soon after he had the long wished-for opportunity 
of finding her at a distance from her parents. Strudk 
with the joyful news, in heat of passion, resolute 
to do any thing rather than leave her, down he 
comes post, directly to the house where she was, 
without any preparatory intercession after the pro- 
vocation of an adieu. She, in a premeditated an- 
ger to shew her resentment, refused to see him. 
He in a kind of fond phrenzy, absent firom himself, 
and exasperated into rage, cursed her heartily ; 
but returning to himself was all confusion, re- 
pentance, and submission. But in vain ; the lady 
continued inexorable, and so the aflkir ended in a 
manner that renders them very unlikely ever to 
meet again. Through the pursuit of the whole 
«tory (whereof I give but a short abstract) my 
young neighbour appeared so touched, and dis- 
covered such certain marks of unfeigned love, that 
I caiuiot but be heartily sorry for them both. When 
be was gone, I sat down immediately to my scrutoir, 
to give you the account, whose business, as a Guar- 
dian, it is to tell your wards what is to be avoided, 
as weU as what is fit to be done. And I humbly 
propose, that you will, upon this occasion, extend 
3four instructions to all sorts of people concerned in 
treutks of this nature, (which of aU others do most 

k"" si. guabdiak. \6 

nearly concern human life) such as parents, daugh-* 
ters^ lovers^ and confidents of hoth sexes. I desune 
leave to observe, that the mistakes in this courtship 
(which might otherwise probably have succeeded 
happily) seem chiefly these four, viz. 

' 1. The father's close equivocal management, so 
as always to keep a reservation to use upon occasion, 
when he found himself pressed. 

' 3. The mother's afiecting to appear extremely 

' 3. A notion in the daughter (who is a lady of 
singular good sense and virtue) that no man can love 
her as he ought, who can deny any thiT>g her parent* 

' 4. Carrying on the aflair by letters and confi-* 
dants, without sufficient interviews. 

' I think you cannot fail obliging many in the 
world, besides my young neighbour and me, if yoti 
please to g^ve your thoughts upon treaties of this 
nature, wnerein all the nobihty and gentry of thi» 
nation (in the unfortunate method marnages are 
at present in) come at one time or other unavoid- 
ably to be engaged ; especially it is my humble re- 
quest, you will be particular in speaking to the fol<» 
lowing points, to wit, 

* 1. Whether hcmourable love ought to be men- 
tioned first to the young lady, or her parenta ? 

'3. If to the young lady first, whether a man is 
obliged to comply with all the parents demand 
afterwards, under pain of breaking ofF dishonour-^ 
ably ? 

^3. If to the parents first, whether the lover may 
insist upon what the father pretends to give, and 
refiue to make such settlement as must incapacitate 
him for any thing afterwards ; without just im.^ul%.« 
tioni of being mercenary, or puUine 9i iKx^goX ^ac^{9»«^ 

c 3 

16 IIVABDIitN. . M^ 57* 

the lady, by entertaining views upon the contin- 
gency of her death ? 

* 4. What instructions a mother ought to give 
her daughter upon such occasions, and what the old 
lady's part properly is in such treaties, her husband 
being alive? 

' 5. How far a young lady is in duty obhged to 
observe her mothers directions, and not to receive 
any letters or messages without her knowledge? 

' 6. How far a daughter is obhged to exert the 
power she has over her lover, for the ease and ad- 
vantage of her father and his family ; and how far 
she may consult and endeavour the interest of the 
family she is to marry into? 

* 7. How far letters and confidants of both sexes 
may regularly be employed, and wherein they are 
iinproper ? 

* 8. When a young lady's pen is employed about 
settlements, fortunes, or the luce, whether it be an 
affront to give the same answers as if it had been in 
the hand-writing of those that instructed her. 

' Lastly, be pleased at your leisure to correct 
that too common way among fathers, of publishing 
in the world, that they wm give their daughters 
twice the fortune they really intend, and thereby 
drawing young gentlemen, whose estates are often 
in debt, into a dilemma, either of crossing a fixed 
inclination, contracted by a long habit of thinking 
upon the same person, and so being miserable that 
way; or else beginning the world under a burden 
they can never get quit of. 

** Thus, sage sir, have I laid before you all that 
does at present occur to me on the important sub- 
ject of marriage ; but before I seal up my epistle, 
I must desire you farther to consider, how far 
Ijvaties of this sort come under the head of bargain 

,n^6$. avARDiAJi. 17 

and sale; and whether you cannot find out mea- 
sures to have the whole transacted in fairer aad 
more open market than at present. How would it 
become you to put the iaw3 in execution asainst 
fiurett^lersy who take the young things of each sex 
before they are exposed to an honest' sale, or the 
worth <Nr imperfection of the purchase is thorough- 
ly considered? 

* We mightily want a demand for women in these 

I am, sagacious Sir, 

Your most dt>edient and 

most humble servant, 

T. L. 

N*58. MONDAY, MAY 18, 1713. 

tedtUigmdiym «e cralerf miiihIo. locajt* 
Mol for btnifdf, bat for tbe woild, ba fives. 

A FUBuc spirit is so great and amiable a character, , 
that most people pretend to it, and perhaps think 
they have it in the most ordinary occurrences of life. 
Mrs. Cornelia lizard buys abundance of romances 
for the encouragement of learning; and Mr8.An- 
nabella squanders away her money in buying fine 
clothes, because it sets a great many poor people at 
w^rk. I know a gentleman, who drinks vast quan- 
tities of ale and October to encmsi^ ^ws fsw^^oAr 
nvfMctom; andanotfier whotakiia\Aa\bs«»>y:M^^^^ 


^^ buARDIAN. K*58. 

- French claret every night, because it brings a great 
custom to the crown. 

I have been led into this chat> by reading some 
letters upon my paper of Thursday was se'nnight 
Having there acquainted the worid, that I have, 
by long contemplation and philosophy, attained to 
so g^at a strength of fancy, as to believe every 
thing to be my own, which other people possess 
only for ostentation; it seems that some persons 
have taken it in their heads, that they are public 
benefactors to the world, while they are only in- 
dulging their own ambition, or infirmities. My 
first letter is from an ingenious author, who is a 
gpFeat friend to his country, because he can get 
neither victuals nor clothes any other way. 


*' sin. 

Of all the precautions, with which you 
have instructed the world, I like that best, which 
is upon natural and fantastical pleasure, because it 
falls in very much with my own way of thinking. 
As you receive real delight from what creates only 
imaginary satisfactions in others ; so do I raise to 
myself all the conveniences of life by amusing the 
. fancy of the world. I am, in a word, a member 
of that numerous tribe, who write for their daily 
bread. I flourish in a dearth (^ foreign news; 
and though I do not pretend to the spleen, I am 
n&f&t so weU as in the time of a westerly wind. 
When it blows ^m that auspicious point, I raise 
'to myself contributions from the British isle, by 
afiiighting my superstitious countrymen with print- 
ed relations of morders^ spirits, prodigies, or mon« 

ii**58. • GUAltBlAN. 19 

sters. According as my necessities suggest to me, 
I hereby provide for my being. The last summer 
I paid a large debt for brandy and tobacco, by a 
wonderful description of a fiery dr^on, and lived 
for ten days together upon a whale and a mermaid. 
When winter draws near, I generafly conjure up 
my spirits, and hate my apparitions ready agauut 
long dark evenings. From November last tiU Ja- 
nuary, I lived solely upon murders ; and have, since 
that time, had a comfortable subsistence from a 
plague and a famine. I made the Pope pay for 
my beef and mutton last Lent, out of pure spite to 
the Romish religion ; and at present my good friend 
-the king of Sweden finds me in clean linen, and the 
Mufti gets me credit at the tavern. 

* The astonishing accounts that I record, I 
usually enliven with wooden cuts^ and the like pal* 
try embellishments. Tliey administer to the curio- 
«ity of my fellow -subjects, and not only advance 
religion and virtue, but take restless spirits off from 
meddling with the public affairs. I therefore can- 
not think myself an useless burden upon earth ; and 
that I may still do the more good in my generation, 
I shall give the world, in a short time, an history 
of my life, studies, maxims, and atchievements, 
provided my bookseller advances a, round sum for 
my copy. 

'I am. Sir, yours.' 

The second is from an old friend of mine ii>. the 
country, who fancies that he is perpetually doing 
.good, because he cannot Uve without drinking. 

♦ Old Iron, 

' We take thy papers in at the Bowl- 
ing-Grcien, where the country gettdcmfcu xofc^x. «^«i 

90 OVABPIAN. .JK* 69 

Tuesday^ and we loak upon thee as a comical dog. 
Sir Harry wag hugely pleased at thy fancy of gprow- 
ing. rich at oth^r folks cost ; and for my own part I 
lik^ my own way of life the better since I find I do 
my neighbours as much good as myself. I now 
•m<dLe my pipe with the greater pleasure, because 
my wife says, she likes it well enough at second 
hand ? and drink stale beer the more hardily, be- 
cause unless I will^ nobody else does. I design to 
stand for our borough the next election, on purpose 
to make the squire on the other side, tap lustily for 
the good of our town ; and have some thoughts of 
trying to get knighted, because our neighbours take 
a pride in saying, they have been with Sir such a 

* I have a pack of pure slow hounds against thou 
comest into the country, and Nanny my fat doe 
ahall bleed when we have thee at Hawthorn-hall. 
Pr'ythee do not keep staring at gilt coaches, and 
stealing necklaces and trinkets from people with 
thy looks. Take my word for it, a gallon of my 
October will do thee more good than all thou canst 
get by fine sights at London, which I will engage 
thou majr'st put in the shine''^ of thine eye, 

I am. Old Iron, 

thine to command, 

Nic. Hawthomi. 

Tlie third is from a lady who is going to ruin her 
fiimily by coaches and liveries, purely out of com- 
passion to us poor people that cannot go to the price 
•f them. 

*!.«• And never see tiMwonate it A. 

K^£8* 6UABDIAN. < £1 

* SIR, 

' I AM a lady of birth and fortune, 
but never knew^ until last Thursday, that the 
splendour of my equipage was so beneficial to my 
country. I wiU not deny that I have drest for 
some years out of the pride of my heart ; but am 
▼ery glad that you have so far settled my con- 
science in that particular^ that I can now look upon 
my vanities as so many virtues. Since I am satis- 
fied that my person and 'garb give pleasure to my 
fellow-creatures, I shall not think the three hours 
business I usuaUy attend at my toilette, below the 
dignity of a rational soul. I am content to suffer 
great torment from my stays, that my shape may 
appear graceful to the eyes of others ; and often 
m(»tify myself with fasting, rather than my fatness 
^lould give distaste to any man in England. 

' I am making up a rich brocade n>r the benefit 
of mankind, and oesign, in a little time, to treat 
the town with a thousand pounds worth of jewels. 
I have ordered my chariot to be new painted for 
your use, and me world's; and have prevailed 
upon my husband to present you with a pair of fine 
Flanders mares^ by driving them every evening 
round the ring. Gay pendants for my ears, a costly 
cross for my neck, a diamond of the best water for 
my finger, shall be purchased at any rate to enridi 
you ; and 1 am resolved to be a patriot in every 
limb. My husband will not scruple to oblige me in 
these trifles, since I have persuaded him from your 
scheme, that pin money is only so much set apart 
for charitable uses. You see, sir, how expensive 
you are to me, and I hope you will esteem me ac- 
cordingly-; especially when I assure you that I am, 
as far as you can see me. 

Entirely yours, C\:«.q^k! 

8£ OOABDIAN. H* 50. 

N'59. TUESDAY, MAY 19, 1718. 

Sie honor et nomen dMnis vatilms aique 

Carminibus tmU'- — hor. Am. Poct.Ter. 400» 

So ancient if the pedi^nree of verset 

And io divine a poet*a fondion. rosco won. 

The tragedy of Cato has increased the nvimber of 
my correspondents, but none of them can take it 
ill, that I give the preference to the letters which 
come from a learned body, and which on this occa- 
$ion may not impropeiiy be termed the Plausus 
Academici. The first is from my lady Lizard's 
youngest son, who, (as I mentioned in a former 
precaution) is fellow of All-souls, and applies him- 
self to the study of divinity, 

' SIR, 

' I RETURN you thanks for your pre- 
sent of Cato: I have read it over several times 
with the greatest attention and pleasure imaginable. 
You desire to know my thoughts of it, and at the 
iame time compliment me upon my knowledge of 
the ancient poets. Perhaps you may not allow me 
to be a gooa judge of them, when I tell you, that 
the tragedy of Cato exceeds, in my opinion, any of 
the dramatic pieces of the ancients. But these a^e 
books I have uxae time since laid by; being, as 
you know, engaged in the reading of divinity, and 
conversant chiefly in the poetry of the truly in- 
tpired wr'iten. I scarce \\xo\x^\. wk^ xqM&wx 

K* 59* GUABBIAK. 29 

tragedy could have mixed suitably with such seri- 
ous studies, and little imagined to have found such 
exquisite poetry, much less such exalted senti- 
ments of virtue, in the dramatic performance of a 

* How elegant, just and virtuous is that reflec- 
tion of Fortius ? 

* The ways of heaven tre dark and intricate, 
pBzried in maeesy and perplex'd with errors; 
Our understanding traces them in vain. 
Lost and bewildered in the fruitless search; 
Nor sees with &ow much art the windings run, 
Nor where Ae regular confusion ends.' 

* Cato's soliloquy at the beginning of the fifth 
act is inimitable, as indeed is almost every thing in 
the whole play : but what I would observe, by par- 
ticularly pointing at these places, is, that such vir- 
tuous and moral sentiments were never before put 
into the mouth of a British actor ; and I congra- 
tulate my countrymen on the virtue they have 
shown in giving them (as you tell me) such loud 
and repeated applauses. They have now cleared 
themselves of the imputation which a late writer 
had thrown upon them in his 503d speculation. 
Give me leave to transcribe his words. 

'* In the first scene of Terence's play, the Self- 
Tormentor, when one of the old men accuses the 
other of impertinence for interposing in his affairs, 
he answers, ' I am a man, and cannot help feeling 
any sorrow that can arrive at man«' It is said this 
sentence was received with universal applause. 
There cannot be a greater argument of the general 
good understanding of a peope, than a sudden con- 
sent to give their approbation of a sentiment which 
has no emotion in it 

t4 OUABDIAN. H^ 59.: 

" If it were spoken with never so great skill in 
the actor, the manner of uttering that sentence 
could have nothing in it which could strike any but 
people of the greatest humanity, nay people ele- 
gant and skilful in observations upon it. It it 
possible he might have laid his hand on his breast 
and with a winning insinuation in his countenance, 
expressed to his neighbour, that he was a man who 
made his case his own ; yet I will engage a player 
in Covent-garden might hit such an attitude a thou- 
sand times hiefore he would have been regarded." 
* Tliese observations in favour of the Roman peo- 
ple, may now be very justly applied to our own 

^ Here will I bold* If there's a power above ui, 
(And that there w, all nature cries aload 
Throagh all her works) He must delight in virtue; 
And t^t which He deUghtt in must be hiq>py.' 

' This will be allowed, I hope, to be as virtuous 
a sentiment as that which he quotes out of Terence ; 
and the general applause with which (you say) it 
was received, must certainly make this writer (not- 
withstanding his great assurance in pronouncing 
upon our ill taste) alter his opinion of his country- 

' Our poetry, I believe, and not our morals, 
has been generally worse than that of the Romans ; 
for it is plain, when we can equal the best dramatic 
performance of that polite age, a British audience 
may vie with the Roman theatre in the virtue of 
their applauses. 

' However different in other things our opinions 
may be, all parties agree in doing JbonouiC to a man, 
who is an honour to our country. How are our 
}iearts wanned by this excellent tragedy with the 


love of liberty, and our constitution ! How irre- 
sistible is virtue in Uie character of Cato ! Who 
nrould not say with the Numidian prince to Marcia, 

* ril gaze for ever on thy godlike father, 
Transplantingy one by one, into m^life 
His )>rigbt perfectionf , till I shine like hinu' 

Rome herself received not so great advantages from 
ler patriot^ as Britain will from this admirable re- 
presentation of him. Our British Cato improves 
>ur language, as well as our morals, nor will it be 
n the power of tyrants to rob us of him, (or to use 
:he last line of an epigram to the author) 

< In vain your Cato stabs, he cannot die/ 

I am, Sir, 

your most. obliged 
>xon. An-souls Col. humble servant. 

May 6. William Lizard.' 

Oxon. Christ'Churchj May 7. 

* Mr. Ironside, 

* You are, I perceive, a very wary old 
ellow, more cautious than a late brother-writer of 
^ours, who at the rehearsal of a new play, would at 
he hazard of his judgment, endeavour to prepos- 
ess the town in its favour ; whereas you very 
prudently waited until the tragedy of Cato had 
gained an universal and irresistible applause, and 
hen with great boldness venture to pronounce 
'our opinion of it to be die same with titiat of all 
aankind. I will leave you to consider whether 
ach a conduct becomes a Guardian, who ought to 
»oint out to us proper entertainments, and instruct 
IS when to bestow our applause. However, in so 
lain a case we did not wut for ^o>as d^x^OLVscw^S 


Sn eVAItDIAN n"" 59* 

and Imnst teB you, that none here were earlier or 
louder in their praises of Cato, than we at Christ- 
church. This may, I hope, convince you, that 
we do not deserve the character (which envious 
dull fellows give us) of allowing nobody to have 
wit or parts but those of our own body, especially 
when I let you know that we are many of us. 

Your affectionate 

humble servants/ 


Oxm. Wad. Coll. May 7. 

' Mr. Ironside, 

' Were the seat of the muses silen^ 
while London is so loud in their applause of Cato* 
the university's title to that name might very well 
be suspected ; — in justice therefore to your alma 
mater, let the world know bur opinion of that 
tragedy here. 

* The author's other works had raised our ex- 
pectation of it to a very great height, yet it ex- 
ceeds whatever we could promise ourselves from 
so great a genius. 

* Csesar will no longer be a hero in our decla- 
mations. This tragedy has at once stripped him of 
all the flattery and false colours, which historians 
and the classic authors had thrown upon him, and 
we shall for the future treat him as a murderer of 
the best patriot of his age, and a destroyer of the 
liberties of his country. Cato as represented in 
these scenes, will cast a blacker shade on the me- 
mory of that usurper, than the picture of him di4 
upon his triumph. Had this finished dramatic 
piece appeared some hundred years ago, Caesar 
would hare lost so inany centuries of fame, and 

M* 60. GUARDXAK* 27 

monarchs liad -disdained to let themselfes be called 
by his name. However it will be an honour to the 
times we live in, to have had such a work produced 
in them, and a pretty speculation for posterity to 
observe, that the tragedy of Cato was acted with 
(;;'eneral applause in 1713. 
I am. Sir, 

your most humble servant, Sue, 


' P. S. The French translation of Cato now in 
the press, will* I hope, be tTmmmJkiphim. 

N'' 60. WEDNESDAY, MAY ^, 1713. 

NikUUgdmifuodwmexeerperei* plin. epitt* 

He pick'd something o«t of eveiy tMng lie read* 


' SIR, 

Theke is nothing in which men deceive them« 
selves more ridiculously, than in the point of read- 
ing, and which, as it is commonly practised under, 
the notion of improvement, has less advanta^. 
The generality of readers who are pleased with 
wandering oyer a number of books, almost at the 
same instant, or if confined to one, who '^\^«0l<& >^^ 
author iridli much hurry and impatVenc^ loX^^X^a^- 

D 3 


page, must without doubt be allowed to be notable 
dieesters. This unsettled way of reading naturally 
seduces us into as undetermined a manner of think* 
ing, which unprofitably fatigues the imagination, 
when a continued chain of thought would probably 
produce inestimable conclusions. All authors are 
eligible either for their matter, or style ; if for the 
first, the elucidation and disposition of it into pro- 
per lights ought to employ a judicious reader : if 
for the last, he ought to observe how some com- 
mon words are started into a new sigpiification, 
how such epithets are beautif^Qly reconciled to 
things that seemed incompatiable, and must often 
remember the whole structure of a period, because 
by the least transposition, that assemblage of words 
which is called a style becomes utterly annihilated. 
The swift dispatch of common reacfers not onfy 
eludes their memory, but betrays their apprehen- 
sion, when the turn of thought and expression 
would insensibly grow natural to them, would they 
but give themselves time to receive the impression. 
Suppose we fix one of these readers in an easy 
chair, and observe him passing through a book 
with a grave ruminating face, how ridiculously must 
he look, if we desire him to give an account of an 
author he has just read over ! and how unheeded 
must the general character of it be, when given by 
one of these serene unobservers ! The common de- 
fence of these people is, that they have no design 
m reading but for pleasure, which I think shodd 
rather arise from the reflection and remembrance- 
of what one has read, than from the transient satis- 
faction of what one does, and we should be pleased 
proportionably as we are profited. It is prodigi- 
ous arrogance in any one to imagine, that by one 
hasty course through a book he can fully «nter into 

the soul and secrets <yf a writer^ whose tifie perhaps 
has been busied in the birth of such proauction. 
Books that do not immediately concern some pro<< 
fession or science, are generatty run over as mere 
empty entertainments, rather than as matter of 
improvement ; though, in my opinion, a refined 
speculation upon morality, or history, requires as 
much time and capacity to collect and digest, as 
the most abstruse treatise of any profession ; .and I 
think, besides, there can be no book well written, 
but what must necessarily improve the understand*^ 
ing of the reader, even in the very profession to 
which he applies himself. For to reason with 
strength, and express himself with pn^riety, must 
equally concern the divine, the physician, and ths 
lawyer. My own course of looking into books has 
occasioned these reflections, and die following fte** 
count may suggest more. 

' Having been bred up under a relation that had 
a pretty large study of books, it became my pro-. 
Tince once a wedc to dust them. In the perform-^ 
ance of this my duty, as I was obliged to take 
down every particular book, 1 thought there was 
no way to deceive the toil of my journey through 
the different abodes and habitations of th^ authcMrs 
but by reading something in every one of them ; 
and in this manner to make my passage easy from 
the comely foho in the \ipper shelf or region, even 
through the crowd of duodecimo's in Qie lower. 
By frequent exercise I became so great a proficient 
in this transitory application to hooks, that I could 
hold open half a dozen smaU authors in my hand, 
grasping them with as secure a dexterity as a drawer 
doth his glasses, and feasting my curious eye with 
all of thein at the same instant. Through these 
methods the natural icresohiUoii oS iscy -j^Mi^ "^iraik 

30 GUAEBtAN. N^flO. 

much streng;thened^ and hmyin^ no leisure, if I 
had had inclination, to make pertinent obsenra* 
tions in writine, I was thus confirmed a yery earty 
wanderer. -When I was sent to Oxford, my chiefett 
expence run upon books, and my only considera- 
tion in such expence upon numbers, so that you 
may be sure I had what they call a choice collection, 
sometimes buying by the pound, sometimes by the 
dozen, at other times by the hundred. For the 
more pleasant use of a multitude of books, I had 
by frequent conferences with an ingenious joiner, 
contrived a machine of an orbicular structure, that 
had its particular receptions for a dozen authors, 
and which, with the least touch of the finger, would 
whirl round, and present the reader at once with 
a delicious view of its full furniture. Thrice a day 
did I change, not only the books, but the lan- 
guages ; and had used my eye to such a quick suc- 
cession of objects, that in the most precipitate twirl 
I could catch a sentence out of each author, as it 
passed fleeting by me. Thus my hours, days, and 
years, flew unprofitably away, but yet were agree- 
bly lengthened by being distinguished with this 
endearing variety ; and I cannot but think myself 
very fortunate in my contrivance of this engine, 
with its several new editions and amendments, 
which have contributed so much to the delight of 
all studious vagabonds. When I had been resident 
the usual time at Oxford that gains one admission 
into the public hbrary, I was the happiest creature 
on earth, promising to myself most delightful travels 
through this new world of literature. Sometimes 
you might see me mounted upon a ladder, in search 
of some Arabian manuscripts, which had slept in a 
cretain comer undisturbed for many years. Once 
I had the miifcNrtane to fall from this eminence, and 

9* 60* «1TABDIA2Cr SI 

catching at the chains of. the books, was seen bang* 
ing in a very merry posture^ with two or three large 
folio's ratthng about my neck, 'till the humanity 
of Mr. Crab* the librarian disentangled us. 

' As I always held it necessary to read in public 
places, by way of ostentation, but could not pos* 
sibly travel with a library in my pockets, I took 
the following method to gratify this errantry of 
mine. I contrived a little pocket-book, each leaf 
of which was a different author, so that my wander- 
ing was indulged and concealed within the same in« 

' This extravagant humour* which should seem 
to pronounce me irrecoverable, bad the contrary 
effect ; and my t^nd and eye being thus confined 
to a single book, in a little - time ' reconciled me to 
the perusal of a single author. However, I chose 
such a one as had as little connexion as possible, 
turning to the Proverbs of Sf<domon, where the 
best instructions are thrown: together in the most 
beautiful range imaginable, and where I found all 
that variety which I had before sought in so many 
different authors, and which was so neceasaryto 
beguile my attention. By these proper degrees, I 
have made so glorious a reformation in my studies, 
that I can keep company with TuUy in his most ex- 
tended periods* and work through the continued 
narrations of the, most prolix historian. I now 
read nothing without making exact collections, 
and shall shortly give the world an instance of this 
in the publication of the following discourses. The 
first is a learned controversy about the existence of 
griiSns, in which I hope to convince the world, that 
notwithstanding such a mixt creature has been al« 

* .Though Oxford is mentioned in the text* this seems to be 
an oblique stroke at Dr. Bentiey. 

ioiwed by iElian^ Solinus^ Mela^ and Herodotus^ 
that tfaey have been perfectly mistaken in that mat- 
i^g and shall support myself by the authority of 
Albertus^ Pliny, Aidrovandns, and Matthias Mi- 
cfaovios, which two last have clearly argued that 
animal out of the creation. 

' Ihe second is a treatise of sternutation or 
snee^sing, with the original custom of saluting or 
blessing upon that motion ; as also with a problem 
from Aristotle, shewing why sneezing from noon 
to night was innocent enough, from night to noon, 
extremely unfortunate. 

^ The third and most curious is my discourse 
upon the nature of the lake A^haltites, or the 
lake of Sodom,, being a very carmil inquiry whe- 
ther brickbats and iron will swim in that lake, and 
feathers sink; as Hiny and MandeviUe have aver- 

' The discussing these difficulties without per- 
plexity or prejudice, the labour in collecting and 
collating matters of this nature, will, I hope, in a 
great measure atone for the idle hours I hdve 
trifled away in matters of less importance. 

I am. Sir, . 

your humble senranti' 

61 G1IABDIAK. S*( 

N-fil. THURSDAY, MAY 21, 1713. 

-PrimUque i ctgdifentntm 

TnetUmae pmUm maciUatwm 9aMgiMtefemiM» 

0T10. VET. XV. lOtf* 

. Th' essay of bloody feasts on bratas begao» 
And after forg'd the Sword to murder man. 


CANNOT think it extrayagant to imagine^ that 
inkind are no less in propiMrtion accountable for 
; ill use of their dominion over creatures of the 
irer rank of beings^ than for the exercise of 
*anny over their own species. Tlie more entirely 
t inferior creation is submitted to our power^ the 
>re answerable we should seem for our misma- 
gement of it ; and the rather^ as the very condi- 
>n of nature renders these creatures incapable of 
:eiying any recompence in another life for their 
treatment in this. 

It is observable of those noxious animals, which 
ve qualities most powerful to ii^jure us, that they 
turally avoid mankind, and never hurt us unless 
ovoked or necessitated by hunger. Man, on the 
her hand, seeks out and pursues even the most in- 
Eensive animals, on purpose to persecute and de- 
poy them. 

Montaigne thinks it some reflection upon human 
iture itself, that few people take delight in seeing 
iasts caress or play together, but almost every 
le is pleased to see them lacerate and worry one 

94' GUARDIAN. N*€l. 

another. I am sorry this temjpcr is become aknost 
a distinguishing character oi our own nation, from 
the observation which is made by foreigners of our 
beloved pastimes, bear-bating, cock-fighting, and 
the like. We should find it hard to vindicate the 
destroying of any thing that has hfe, merely out of 
wantonness ; yet in this principle our children are 
bred up, and one of the first pleasures we allow 
them is the licence df inflicting pain upon poor 
animals ; almost as soon as we are sensible what 
life is ourselves, we make it our sport to take it 
from other creatures. I cannot but beheve a very 
good use tnight be made of the fancy which chil- 
dr^ ll%ve for birds, and insects. Mr. Locke takes 
notice of a mother who permitted them to her chil- 
clret>, but rewarded or punished them as they treated 
them well, or iU. TIms was no other than entering 
thepi betimes into a daily exercise of humanity, 
i^nd improving tbeir very diversion to a virtue. 

I fancy too, pome advantage might be taken of 
the common notion, that it is ominous or unlucky 
to destroy some sorts of birds, as swallows or mar- 
tins; this opinion might possibly arise from the 
confidence these birds seem to put in us by build-^ 
ing under our roofs, so that it is a kind of violation 
of the laws of hospitality, to murder them. As for 
robin-red-breasts in particuliur, it is not improbable 
they owe their security to the old ballad of the Chil- 
dren in the Wood. However it be, I do not know, 
) say, why this prejudice, well improved and carried 
a9 far as it would go, might not be made to conduce 
to Uie preservation of many innocent creatures, 
which are now exposed to all the wantonness of an 
ignorant barbarity. 

There ^re other animals that have the misfor- 
tune, for no manner of reason, to be treated u 

N* 6t. euABDiAir. S5 

common enemies wherever foand* The conceit 
that a cat has nine hves^ has cost at least nine li?e« 
in ten of the whole race of them. Scaree a hoy in 
the streets hut has in this point outdone Hercules 
himself^ who was famous for killing a monster that 
had hut three lives. Whether ue unaccountahle 
animosity against this useful domestic may he any 
cause of the general persecution of owls (who are a 
sort of feathered cats)^ or whether it he only an un« 
reasonable pique the modems have taken to fk 
serious countenance* I shall not determine. Though 
I am inclined to beheve the former ; ance I ob- 
serve the sole reason alledged for the destruction 
of firogs^ is because they are like toads. Yet amidst 
all Iht mi^ortunes of, these unfriended creatures* it 
is some happiness that we have not yet taken a 
fancy to eat them: for should our countrymen re- 
fine upon the French never so httle* it is not to be 
conceived to what unheard-of toppents owls, cats* 
and frogs may be yet reserved. ^ 

When we grow up to men* we have another suc- 
cession of sanguinary sports ; in particular hunting. 
I dare not attack a diversion which has sueh autho- 
rity and custom to support it ; but must have leave 
to be of opinion, that the agitation of diat exercise* 
with the example and number of the chasers* not 
a little contribute to resist those checks* Vhich com^ 
passion would naturally suggest in behalf of iht 
animal pursued. Nor shall I say with monsieur 
neury* that this sport is a remain of the Gothic 
barbarity. But I must animadvert upon a certain 
custom yet in use with us* and barbarous enough 
to be derived from the Goths* or even the Scythians ; 
I mean that savage comphment our huntsmen pass 
.upon ladies ofqu^ity* who are present at the death 
0f attag* whenthey put the knife iathek \vuy^\x» 

S6 OUARDIAN. .N*6f. 

cut the throat of a helpless^ trembling and weepuig 

Atque imploranii simUu. 

Quetiuque crueniiu. 

That lies beneath the luaife, 

Looks up, and from her batcher begs her life.' 

But if our sports are destructive, our gluttony is 
more so^ and in a more inhuman manner. Lob- 
sters roasted alive, pigs whipt to death, fowls sew'd 
up, are testimonies of our outrageous luxury. 
Those who (as Seneca expresses it) divide their 
lives betwixt an anxious conscience and a nau- 
seated stomach, have a just reward of their gluttony 
in the diseases it brings with it ; for human savages, 
like other wild beasts, find snares and poison in 
the provisions of life, and are allured by their appe- 
tite to their dflstruction. I know nothing more 
shocking or horrid than the prospect of one of their 
kitchens covered with blood, and filled with the 
cries of creatures expiring in tortures. It gives 
one an image of a giant's-den in a romance, be- 
strewed with the scattered heads and mangled limbs 
of those who/wero slain by his cruelty. 

The exceUent Plutarch (who has more strokes 
of good-nature in his writings than I remember in 
any author) cites a saying of Cato to this effect, 
" That it is no easy task to preach to the belly, 
which has no ears." ' Yet if,' says he, ' we are 
ashamed to be so out of fashion as not to offend, let 
us at least offend with some discretion and measure. 
If we kill an animal for our provision, let us do it 
with the meltings of compassion, and without tor- 
menting it. Let us consider, that it is in its own 
ftature cruelty to put a hving creature to death , 

n'61. guardian. 37 

we at least destroy a soul that has sense and per- 
ception/ — In the life of Cato the Censor, he takes 
occasion from the severe disposition of that man 
to discourse in this manner : ' It ought to be es- 
teemed a happiness to mankind, that our humanity 
has a wider sphere to exert itself in than bare jus- 
tice. It is no more than the obligation of our very 
birth to practise equity to our own kind ; but hu- 
manity may be extended through the whole order 
of creatures, even to the meanest. Such actions of 
charity are the overflowings of~ a mild good-nature 
on all below us. It is certainly the part of a well- 
natured man to take care of his horses and dogs, 
not only in expectation of their labour while they 
are foals and whelps, but even when their old age 
has made them incapable of service.' 

History tells us of a wise and polite nation that 
rejected a person of the first quality, who stood for 
a judiciary office, only because he had been ob- 
served in his youth to take pleasure in tearing and 
murdering of birds. And of another that expelled 
a man out of the senate, for dashing a bird against 
the ground which had taken shelter in his bosom. 
Every one knows how remarkable the Turks are 
for dieir humanity in this kind. I remember an 
Arabian author,* who has written a treatise to 
show, how far a man supposed to have subsisted in 
a desert island, without any instruction, or so much 
as the sight of any other man, may, by the pure 
light of nature, attain the knowledge of philosophy 
and virtue. One of the first things he makes him 
observe is, that universal benevolence of nature in 
the protection and preservaftion of its creatures. 
In imitation pf which the first act of virtue he 

♦ Telliamed. 


38 6UA&0iAN« n'' &U 

thinks his self-taught philosopher woi:dd of courae 
fall into is^ to relieve and assist all the animals Bboni 
him in their wants and distresses. 

Ovid has some very tender and pathetic lines ap- 
plicable to this occasion : 

* Quid meruistUy ones pUteidum pecuB^ wque tegendu 
]ffatum homines^ pleno quaferti» in vb^neet^r? 
MolHa ^U4g nobis vettrm vebuminn kmaa 
Prabetm ; wthque nuigis quUm moriejmmtis, 
Quid meruere boves, aninuU $ine/rande d9U$i^e, 
Innoeuumy Bimplex^ natum toleran labores? 
immemor est demuMj necfnigum munire dijgnuSf 
Qui potuUy cnni dempto modo pondere wraJkri^ 
Atcrtcolani wiateime smm Met. xv* lid* 

^ QuUm maU eonsuevity qudm se pant iile entari 
Impius humanOf vUuli qvigitttura cuUro 
Rumpitf et immotas pribet mugitibus aures! 
Aut qui vagitus similes pumlVius keedum 
Edentemjuguiarepsiestl — IK ver, 463. 

' The Sheqi^ras sacrificed on no pretence^ 

But meek and unresisting innocence. 

A patient, useful creature, bom to bear 

The warm and woolly fleece, that cloth'd her murderer; 

And daily to give down the milk she bred, 

A tribute for the grass on which she fed, 

living, botli food and raiment she supplies^ 

And is of least advantage when she cues. 

How did the toUing ox bis deatfi deserve; 

A downright simple dmdjj^e, and bom to serve ? 

O -tyrant ! with what justice canst thou hope 

The promise of the year, a plenteous crop ; 

When thou destroVst thy laboring steer, vmo till'd, 

And plou^'d with pains, thy else uugrateful -field I 

From his yet reekiiij| neck to draw the yoke. 

That neck, with which the surly dods he htike : 

And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman, 

Who finish'd autumn, and tbe spring began? 

What more advance call mortals make in sia 
So near p^nfection, who with blood begia? 

ff"* 6l. Q1?ABDIAN. 39 

Deaf to the calf that lies beneath the knifi^ 
Looks npf and from her batcher begs her Ufe : 
Deaf to the harmless kid, that ere he dies. 
All methods to secure thy mercy tries. 
And imitates in vain the children's cries.' 

Perhaps that voice or cry ho neariy resembling Uie 
human, with which Providence has endued so many 
different animals, might purpoftely be given them to 
move our pity, and prevent those cruelties we are 
too apt to inflict on our fellow-creatures. 

Tliere is a passage in the book of Jonas, when 
God declares his unwillingness to destroy Nineveh^ 
where methinks that compassion of the Creator, 
which extends to the meanest rank of his creatures, 

is exjmsaed with wonderful tenderness. * Should 

I not spare Nineveh that great city, wherein are 

ipore than six score thousand persons' and 

aiko much cattle?' And we have in Deuteronomy a 
precept of great good-nature c( this sort, with a 
blessing in form annexed to it, in those words ; 
' If thou shak fmd a bird's nest in the way, thou 
shalt not take the dam with the young : But thou 
ahalt in any wise let the dam go ; that it may be 
well with tnee, and that thou may'st prolong thy 

To conclude, there is certainly a degree of grati* 
tude owing to those animals that serve us. A« for 
such as are mortal or noxious, we have a right to 
destroy them ; and for those that are neither of ad- 
vantage of prejudice to us, the common enjoyment 
of life is what I cannot think we ought to deprive 
them of. 

This whole matter with regard to each of these 
considerations, is set in a very agreeable li?ht in 
one of the Persian fables of rilpay, with waich I 
Aall eod thifi paper. 

B 2 

40 OUABDIAH. n"* 6L 

A traveller passing through a thicket^ and seeing 
a few sparks of a 6re^ which some passengers had 
kindled as they went that way before, made up to 
it. On a sudden the sparks caught hold of a bush 
in the midst of which lay an adder, and set it in 
flames. The adder intreated the traveller's assist- 
ance, who tying a bag to the end of his staffs reach- 
ed it,^ and drew him out: he then bid him go where 
he pleased, but never more be hurtful to men, 
since he owed his life to a man's compassion. The 
adder, however, prepared to sting him, and when 
he expostulated how unjust it was to retahate good 
with evil, ' I shall do no more,' said the adder, 
' than what you men practise every day, whose 
custom it is to requite benefits with ingratitude. 
If you cannot deny this truth, let us refer it to the 
first we meet.' The man consented, and seeing a 
tree, put the question to it, in what manner a good 
turn was to be recompensed ? ' If you mean ac- 
cording to the usage of men,* replied the tree, ' by 
its contrary : I have been standing here these hun- 
dred years to protect them from the scorching sun, 
and in requital they have cut down my branches, 
and are going to saw my body into planks.' Upon 
this, the adder insulting the man, he appealed to a 
second evidence, which was granted, and inunedi- 
ately. they met a cow. The same demand was 
made, and much the same answer given, that 
among men it was certainly so. ' I know it,' said 
the cow, ' by woful experience ; for I have served 
a man this long time with milk, butter, and cheese, 
and brought him besides a calf every year ; but 
now I am old, he turns me into this pasture with 
design to sell me to a butcher, who will shortly 
make an end of me.' The traveUer upon this stood 
confounded, but desired, of courtesy, oae trial 

6%. GDA»9I4K. 41 

ure^ to be finally judged by the next beast they 
3uld meet. This happened to be the fox^ whct» 
on hearing the story in all its circumstaiicea^ 
uld not be persuaded it wa^ posnible fqr the adder 
enter into so narrow a bag. The adder, to coa- 
ice him, went in again ; when the fox t«>ld the 
in he had now his enemy in his power, and with 
It he fastened the bag, and crushed him to 

JT 62. FRIDAY, MAY 2fi, 1713. 

OforhmOtos pi$inkmf ma si &Ma nMnt / 

VIRO. Georg. u. ver. A59. 

Too happy, if they knew their happy state. 

PON the late election of king's scholars, my cu- 
)6ity drew me to Westminster-school. The sight 
a place where I had not been for many years^ 
med in my thpughts the tender images of my 
lildhood, wluch by a great length of time had 
•ntcacted a si^ess, that rendered them inexpres- 
>ly agreeable. As it is • usual with me to draw a 
cret unenvied pleasure from a thousand incidents 
erlooked by other men, I threw myself into a 
ort transport, forgetting my age, and fancying 
yself a school-boy. 

This imagination was strongly favoured by the 
'esence uf so many young boys, in whose looks 
sne legible the sp^rigbtly passions of that age which 


4fl GUAADlAN. »" 62. 

raised in me a sort of sympathy^ Warm blood 
thrilled through every vein ; the faded memory of 
•those enjoyments that once gave me pleasure put 
on more lively colours^ and a thousand gay amuse-* 
ments filled my mind. 

It was not without regret, that I was forsaken by 
this waking dream. The cheapness of puerile de- 
lights, the guiltless joy they leave upon the mind, 
the blooming hopes that lift up the soul in the. ascent 
of life, the pleasure that attends the gradual open- 
ing of the imagination, and the dawn of reason, 
made me think most men found that stage the most 
agreeable part of their journey. 

When men come to riper years, the innocent 
diversions which exalted the spirits, and produced 
health of body, indolence of mind, and refreshing 
slumbers, are too often exchanged for criminal 
delights, which fill the soul with anguish, and the 
body with' disease. The grateful employment of 
admiring and raising themselves to an imitation of 
the polite style, beautiful images, and noble senti- 
ments of ancient authors, is abandoned for law- 
latin, the lucubrations of our paltry news-mongers, 
and that swarm of vile pamphlets, which corrupt 
oar taste, and infest jthe public. The ideas of vir- 
tue which the characters of heroes had imprinted on 
their minds> insensibly wear out, and they come to 
be influenced by the nearer examples of a degene- 
rate age. 

In the morning of life, when the soul first makes 
her entrance into the world, all things look firegh 
and gay ; their novelty surprises, and every little 
glitter or gaudy colour transports the stranger. But 
by degrees the sense grows callous, and we lose 
that exquisite relish of trifles by the time our minds 
•hould be supposed ripe for rational entertainments. 

S* 62 GUARDIAN^ 43 

I cannot make this reflection without being touched 
with a commiseration of that species called beaus^ 
the happiness of those men necessarily terminating 
with their childhood ; who from a want of knowing 
other pursuits^ continue a fondness for the delights 
of that age> after the relish of them is decayed. 

Providence hath with a bountiful hand prepared 
variety of pleasures for the various stages of life. 
It behoves us not to be wanting to ourselves, in for- 
warding the intention of nature, by the culture of 
our minds, and a due preparation of each faculty 
for the ei^oyment of those objects it is capable of 
beint; aHected with. 

. As our parts open and display by gentle degrees, 
we rise from the gratifications of sense, to relish 
those of the mind. In the scale of pleasure, the 
lowest are sensual delights, which are succeeded by 
the more enlarged views and gay portraitures of a 
lively imagination ; and these give way to the sub- 
limer pleasures of reason, which discover the causes 
and designs, the frame, connexion, and symmetry 
of things, and fill the mind with the contemplation 
of intellectual beauty, order, and truth. 

Hence I regard our public schools and universi- 
ties, not only as nurseries of men for the service of 
the church and state, but also as places designed to 
teach mankind the most refined luxury, to raise the 
mind to its due perfection, and give it a taste for 
those entertainments which afford the highest trans* 
port, without the grossness or remorse that attend 
vulgar enjoyments. 

In those blessed retreats men enjoy the sweets of 
solitude, and yet converse with the greatest genii 
that have appeared in every age, wander through 
the delightful mazes of every art and science, and 
as they gradually enlarge their sphere of kn.QV(\edj^<^, 

44 otjardiak; n^68. 

at once rejoice in their present possessions^ and are 
animated by the boundless prospect of future dis- 
coveries. There a generous emulation^ a noble 
thirst of fame^ a love of truth and honourable re- 
gards, fcim in minds as yet untainted from the 
world. There, the stock of learning transmitted 
down from the ancients, is preserved, and receives 
a daily increase; and it is thence props^ted by 
men, who, having fmished their studies, go into the 
world, and spread that general knowledge and good 
taste throughout the land, which is so distant from 
the barbarism of its ancient inhabitants, or the 
fierce genius of its invaders. And as it is evident 
that our literature is owing to the schools and uni- 
versities, so it cannot be denied that these are owing 
to our religion. 

It was chiefly, if not altogether, upon religious 
considerations that princes, as well as private per- 
sons, have erected colleges, and assigned liberal 
endowments to students and professors. Upon the 
same account they meet with encouragement and 
protection from all Christian states as being esteem'* 
ed a necessary means'*^ to have the sacred oracletf 
and primitive traditions of Christianity preserved 
and understood. And it is well known that after 
a long night of igpiorance and superstition, the re- 
formation of the church and that of learning began 
together, and made proportionable advances, the 
latter having been the effect of the former, which of 
course engaged men in the study of the learned lan- 
guages, and of antiquity. 

Or, if a firee-thinker is igpiorant of these facts, he 
may be convinced' from the manifest reason of the 
thing. Is it not plain that our skill in literature is 

* Meui ; pliiraliHr Jtlie aiognlar aojnber. 

It"" 6i. GVARDIAX. 45 

owing to the knowledge of Greek and Latin^ which 
that they are still preserved among us, can be as- 
cribed only to a religious regard ? What else should 
be the cause why the youth of Christendom, above 
the rest of mankind, are educated in the painful 
study of those dead languages; and that religious 
societies should peculiarly be employed in acquir- 
ing that sort of knowledge, and teaching it to 
others ? 

And it is more than probable, that in case our 
free-thinkers could once atchieve their glorious de- 
sign of sinking the credit of the Christian rehgion, 
and causing those revenues to be withdrawn which 
their wiser forefathers had appointed to the support 
and encouragement of its teachers, in a little time 
the Shaster would be as intelligible as tlie Greek 
testament; and we, who want that spirit and cu- 
riosity which distinguished the ancient Grecians, 
would by degrees relapse into the same state of 
barbarism, which over-spread the northern nations, 
before they were enlightened by Christianity. 

Some perhaps, from the ill-tendency and vile 
taste which appear in their writings, may suspect 
that 'the free-thinkers are carrying on a malicious 
design against the belles lettres : for my part, I 
rather conceive them as unthinking wretches of 
short views and narrow capacities, who are not 
able to penetrate into the causes or consequences of 


46 eVABDiilK. n"^ 

N'es. SATURDAY, MAY fiS, 1713. 

*£9 H ^Ami uai tku-aw. HOM. B. xvii. 645* 

O Kingi O Father ! hear my hnmble prayer : 

IMspel this cloncl, the lig^t of heaven restore, 

Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more: 

If Greeoe qiisI perish, we thy will obey, 

Bot let 08 perish in the face of day! POPE. 

I AM obliged^ for mamy reasons, to insert this first 
letter, though it takes me out of my way, especiaDy 
on a Saturday ; but the ribaldry of some part w 
that will be abundantly made up by the quotation in 
the second. 


' SIR, Friday, May 22, 171S. 

' Thb Examiner of this day consists of 
reflections upon the letter I writ to you, published 
in yours of the twelfth instant. The sentence upon 
which he spends most of his invectives, is thi^ 
*' I will give myself no manner of liberty to make 
guesses at him, if I may say ' him ;' for though 
sometimes I have been told by familiar friends, that 
they saw me such a time talking to the Examiner: 
others who have rallied me upon the sins of my 
youth, tell me it is credibly reported that I have 
formerly lain with the Examiner.'' 

n'' 63. GUARDIAN. 47 

* Now, Mr. Ironside, what was there in all this 
but saying, '' I cannot tell what to do in this case. 
There has been named for this paper one, for whom 
I have a value,^ and another whom I cannot but 
neglect ?'' I have named no man, but if there be any 
gentleman, who wrongfully hes under the imputation 
of being or assisting the Examiner, he would do 
well to do himself justice, under his own hand, in 
the eye of the world. As to the exasperated mis- 
tress,t the Examiner demands in her behalf, a '* re- 
paration for offended innocence.'' This is pleasant 
language, when spoken of this person ; he wants to 
have me unsay what he makes me to have said be- 
fore. I declare then it was a false report, which 
was spread concerning me and a lady, sometimes 
reputed the author of the Examiner ; and I can 
now make her no reparation, but in begging her 
pardon, that I never lay with her. 

' I speak all this only in regard to the Examiner's 
offended innocence, and will make no reply as to 
what relates merely to myself. *' I have said be- 
fore he is welcome from henceforward, to treat me 
as he pleases." But the bit of Greek, which I in- 
treat you to put at the front of to-morrow's paper, 
speaks all my sense on this occasion. It is a speech 
put in the mouth of Ajax, who is engaged in the 
dark : He cries out to Jupiter, *' Give me but day- 
light, let me but see my foe, and let him destroy 
me if he can." 

' But when he repeats his story of the *' general 
for life," I cannot hear him with so much patience. 
He may insinuate what he pleases to the ministry 
of me ; but I am sure I could not, if I would, by 
detraction, do them more injury, than he does by 

* Dr. Swift. t Mi^. D, Manley. 

48 GUARDIAN. N^ 65. 

his ill-placed, ignorant, nauseous flattery. One of 
them, whose talent is address, and skill in the 
world, he calls Cato ; another, whose praise is con- 
versation-wit and a taste of pleasures, is also Cato.* 
Can any thing in nature be more out of character, 
or more expose those, whom he would recommend 
to the raillery of his adversaries, than comparing 
these to Cato? But gentlemen of their eminence 
are to be treated with respect, and not to sufter be- 
cause a sycophant has applauded them in a wrong 

' As much as he says> I am in defiance with those 
in present power, I will lay before them one point 
that would do them more honour than any one cir- 
cumstance in their whole administration ; which is, 
to shew their resentment of the Examiner's nause- 
ous applause of themselves, and licentious calumny 
of their predecessors. Till they do themselves that 
justice, men of sense will believe they are pleased 
with the adulation of a prostitute, who heaps upon 
them injudicious applauses, for which he makes 
way, by random abuse upon those who are in pre- 
sent possession of all that is laudable. 

I am. Sir, 

your most humble servant, 

Richard Steele.* 


* SIR, 

' A MIND SO well qualified as your's, 
must receive every day large improvements, when 
exercised upon such truths which are the glory of 

* See Examinery VoL III. No. 47, in folio, Harley and 

If* 63. GUARDIAN. 49 

our natures ; such as those which lead us to an end- 
less happiness in our life succeeding this. I here- 
with send you Dr. Lucas's Practical Christianity, 
for your serious perusal. If you have already read 
it, I desire you would give it to one of your friends 
who has not. I think you cannot recommend it 
better than in inserting by way of specimen these 
passages which I point to you, as follows. 

' 'niat I have, in this state I am now in, a soul 
as well as a body, whose interest concerns me, is a 
truth my sense sufficiently discovers : For I feel 
joys and sorrows, which do not make their abode 
in the organs of the body, but in the inmost recesses 
of the mind ; pains and pleasures which sense is 
too gross and heavy to partake of, as the peace or 
trouble of conscience in the reflection upon good or 
evil actions, the delight or vexation of 'the mind, 
in the contemplation of, or a fruitless enquiry after, 
excellent and important truths. 

' And since I have such a soul capable of hs^ppi* 
ness or misery, it naturally follows, that it were 
sottish and unreasonable to lose this soul for the 
gain of the whole world. For my soul is I myself, 
and if that be miserable, I must needs be so. Out- 
ward circumstances of fortune may give the world 
occasion to think me happy, but they can never 
make me so. Shall I call myself happy, if discon* 
tent and sorrow eat out the life and spirit of my 
soul ? if lusts and passions riot and mutiny in my 
bosom? if my sins scatter an uneasy shame all 
over me, and my guilt appals and frights me ? What 
avaik it me, that my rooms are stately, my tables 
full, my attendants numerous, and my attire gaudy, 
if all this while my very being pines and languishes 
away? These indeed are rich and pleasant things, 
but I nevertheless am a poor and miserable mau« 


50 GUARDIAN. n"* 63. 

Therefore I conclude, that whatever this thing be I 
call a soul, though it were a perishing, dying thing, 
and would not out-live the body, yet it were my 
wisdom and interest to prefer its content and satis- 
faction before aQ the world, unless I could chuse to 
be miserable, and delight to be unhappy. 

' This very consideration, supposing the uncer- 
tainty of another world, would yet strongly engage 
me to the service of religion; for all it aims at, is 
to banish sin out of the world, which is tlie source 
and original of all the troubles that disquiet the 
mind; 1. Sin, in its very essence, is nothing dse 
but disordered, distempered passions, afiections 
foolish and preposterous in their choice, or wild 
and extravagant in their proportion, which our 
own experience sufficiently convinces us to be pain- 
ful and uQ/easy. 9. It engages us in desperate 
hazards, wearies us with dai^ toik, and often bu- 
ries us in tile ruins we bring upon ourselves ; and 
lastly, it fills our hearts with distrust, and fear, and 
•hame ; for we shall never be able to persuade our- 
selves fully, that there is no difference between 
good and evil ; that there is no God, or none that 
concerns himself at the actions of this life : and if 
ive cannot, we can never rid ourselves of the pangs 
and stings of a troubled conscience ; we shall never 
be able to establish a peace and calm in ou^ bosoms ; 
and so enjoy our pleasure with a clear and unin- 
terrupted freedom. But if we could persuade our- 
selves into the utmost height of atheism, yet still 
we shall be under these two strange inconveniences : 
1. That a life of sin will be still irregular and db- 
orderly, and therefore troublesome : 2. That we 
shall nave dismantled our souls of their greatest 
strength, and disarmed them of that faith which 
can only support them under the afflictions of this 

K* 64. GVAKBIAN. 51 

IT 64. MONDAY, MAY 25, 1713. 

— Larimm ifeeimnU rcriMk VIRO. Georg. hr. Tcr, S. 
THflei let oot to shew. 

I AM told by several persons whom I have taken 
into my ward,''^ that it is to their great damage I 
have digressed so much of late from the naUira! 
course of my precautions. They have addressed 
and petitioned me with appellations and titles, 
which admonish me to be that sort of patron which 
they want me to be, as fc^ows. 

' Patr<m of the industrious. 

* The humble petition of John Longbottom, 

Charles LiUy, Bat Pidgeon, and J. Norwood, 
capital artifrcers, most humbly sheweth, 

' That your petitioners behold with gpreat sorrow, 
your honour employing your important moments 
in remedying matters which nothing but time can 
cure, and which do not so immediately, or at least 
so professedly, appertain to your office, as do the 
concerns of us your petitioners, and other handi- 
craft persons, who excel in their difierent and re- 
spective dexterities. 

* That as all mechanics are employed in accom- 
modating the dwellings, clothing the persons, or 

• Wardship. 

r 3 

fyQ GUARDIAN. K^65. 

preparing the diet of mankind, your petitioners 
ought to be placed first in your guardianship, as be- 
ing useful in a degpree superior to all other workmen, 
and as being wholly conversant in clearing and 
adorning the head of man. 

' That the said Longbottom, above all the rest 
of mankind, is skilful in taking off that horrid ex- 
crescence on the chins of all males, and casting, 
by the touch of his hand, a chearfulness where that 
excrescence grew ; an art known only to this your 

' That Charles Lilly prepares snuff, and perfumes, 
which refresh the brain in those that have too much 
for their quiet, and gladdens it in those who have 
'too little to know their want of it. 

' ' That Bat. Pidgeon cuts the luxuriant locb 
growing from the upper part of the head, in so art- 
ful a manner, with regard to the visage, that he 
makes the ringlets, falling by the temples, conspire 
with the brows and lashes of the eye, to heighten 
the expressions of modesty and intimations of good- 
will, which are most infalHbly communicated by 
ocular glances. 

' That J. Norwood forms periwigs with respect 
to particular persons and visages, on the same plan 
that Bat. Pidgeon corrects natural hair; that he 
has a strict regard to the climate under which his 
customer was bom, before he pretends to cover his 
head ; that no part of his wig is composed of hair 
which grew above twenty miles from the buyer's 
.place of nativity ; that the very neck-lock grew in 
the same country, and all the hair to the face in the 
very parish where he was born. 

' That these your cephalic operators humbly in- 
treiatt your more frequent attention to the mechanic 
arts, and that you would place your petitioners at 

N* 64. GUARDIAK. 58 

the head of the family of coemetics^ and your peti- 
tioners shall ever pray^ &c/ 

Guardian of good fame. 

' The memorial of Esau Ringwood sheweth, 

' That though nymphs and shepherds, sonnets 
and complaints, are no more to he seen or heard in 
the forests and chases of Great Britain, yet are not 
(he huntsmen who now frequent the woods so har- 
harous as represented in | the Guardian of the 
twenty-fhrst instant ; that tl^ knife is not presented 
to the lady of quatity hy the huntsman to cut the* 
throat of the deer; but after he is killed, that in- 
strument is given her, as the animal is now become 
food, in token that all our labour, joy, and exulta- 
tion in the pursuit, were excited from the sole hope 
of making the siae an offering to her table; Hoat 
yoiHT honour has detracted from the humanity of 
qportamen in this representation ; that they demand 
you would retract your error, and distinguish Bri- 
tons from Scythians. 

' P. S. Repent, and eat venison.* 

Avenger of detraction. 

' The humble petition of Susanna How-d'ye-call 

most humbly shewetb, 

- * That your petitioner is mentioned at all visits, 
with an account of facts done by her, of speeches 
the has made, and of journeys she has taken, to all 
vfaidi circumstances your petitioner is wholly a 
stranger; that in every family in Great Britain, 

F 3 

54 -^ OUARDIAN. .K*64. 

glasses and cups are broken^ and utensils displaced, 
and all these faults laid upon Mrs. How-d'ye-call ; 
that your petitioner has applied to counsel> upon 
these grievances; that your petitioner is advised, 
that her case is the same with that of John-a-Styles, 
and that she is abused only by way of form ; your 
petitioner therefore most humbly prays, that in be- 
half of herself, and all others defamed under the 
term of Mr. or Mrs. How-d'ye-call, you will grant 
her and them the following concessions ; that no re- 
proach shall take place where the person has not an 
opportunity of defending himself; that the phrase 
of a ' certain person' means ' no certain person :' 
that the ' How-d'ye-calls,* ' some people/ ' a cer- 
tain set of men/ ' there are folks now-a-days,' and 
' things are come to that pass/ are words that shall 
concern ' nobody^ after the present Monday in 
Whitsun-week, 1713. 

' . That it is baseness to ofFepd any person, except 
the offender exposes himself to that person's exami- 
nation ; that no woman is defamed by any man, 
without he names her name; that 'exasperated 
mistress,' ' false fair/ and the like, shall from the 
same Whitsun-Monday, signify no more than Cloe, 
Corinna, or Mrs. How-d'ye-call; that your petition- 
er, being an old maid, may be joined in marriage 
to John-a-Nokes, or, in case of his being resolved 
upon celibacy, to Tom Long the carrier, and your 
petitioner shall ever pray, &c.' 


' The humble petition of Hugh Pounce, of Grub- 
street, sheweth, 

' That in your first paper you have touched 
upon the affinity between all arts which concern the 

.»* 64. . OUARDIAK. dS 

good of society, and professed that you should pro- 
mote a good understanding between them. 

' Hiat your petitioner is skilful in the art and 
mystery of writing verses or disticht. 

' That your petitioner does not write for vain- 
glory, but for the use of society. 

' That, like the art of painting upon glass,* the 
more durable work of writing upon iron is almost 

' That your petitioner is retained as poet to the 
Iromnongers company. 

' Your petitioner therefore humbly desires you 
would protect him in the sole making of posies for 
knives, and all manner of learning to be wrought 
on iron, and your petitioner shall ever pfay.^ 


' SIR, 

' Though every body has been talk- 
ing of writing on the subject of Cato, ever since 
the world was obliged with that tragedy, there has 
not, metliinks, been an examination of it, which 
sufficiently shows the skiU of the author merely as 
a poet. There are peculiar graces which ordinary 
readers ought to be instructed how to admire ; 
among others, I am charmed with his artificial ex- 
pressions in well adapted similies: there is no part 
of writing in which it is more difficult to succeed, 
for on sublime occasions it requires at once the 
utmost strength of the imagination, and the severest 
correction of the judgment. Thus Syphax, when 
he is forming to himself the sudden and unexpected 
destruction which is to befal the man he hates, 

* The art of painting od glass was never lost. See Wal- 
pole's Anecdotes of Paintiog, &c. vol. ii. p. 26. nt teq. 

66 OVARDIAK. N^ 64. 

expretees iiimself in an image which ncme but a 
Numidian could have a Hvely sense of; but yet, if 
the author had ranged over aU the objects upon the 
face of the earth, he could not have found a repre- 
sentation of a disaster so greats so sudden, and so 
dreadful as this ; 

< So wliere oar wide NnmidiaD ^Fastes extcndy 
Sadden th' impetuons harricanes descend. 
Wheel through the air, ia circling eddies play. 
Tear ap the sands, and sweep whole plains away, 
The helpless traveller, with wild sorprisey 
Sees the dry desert all around him nse. 
And smothn'd in the dusty whiilwind, dies.' 

^\'hen Sempronius promises himself the possession 
of Marcia by a rape, he triumphs in the prospect, 
and exults in his villainy, by representing it to him- 
self in a manner vironaerfiQly suited to the vanity 
and impiety of his character. 

* So Plato, seiz'd of Proseipine, conveyed 
To hell's tremendous gloom th' afirigfated nuud ; 
There grimly smiF^ pleased with tl^ beanteoos priiCy 
Nor envy'd Jove his sandune and his skies. 

Pray old Nestor, trouble thyself no more with the 
squabbles of old lovers ; teU them from me, now 
they are past the sins of the flesh, they are got 
mto those of the spirit ; Desire hurts the soul kss 
than Malice; it is not now, as when they were 
Sa.ppho and Phaon. 
I am> Sir, 

Your affectionate humble servant, 


r''64. GUARDIAN* &J 

W 65. TUESDAY, MAY 26, 1713. 

Inter scabiem iaiUmnet contagia. 

HOR. 1 £p. xu. IS. 
Amidst the poison of such infections times. 

There is not any where> I believe, so n|uch talk 
bout religion^ as among us in England ; nor do I 
hink it possible for the wit of man to devise forms 
address to the Almighty^ in more ardent and 
brcibk terms than are every where to be found in 
►ur book of common prayer ; and yet I have heard 
t read with such negligence^ affectation and im^ 
»atience^ that the efficacy of it has been apparent- 
ly, lost to all the congregation. For my part, I 
nake no scruple to own it> that I go some^times to 
. particular place in the city, far distant from my 
>^n home, to hear a gentleman, whose manner I 
dmire, read the hturgy. I am persuaded devo- 
ion is the greatest pleasure of his soul, and there 
} none hears him read without the utmost reve- 
ence. I have seen the young people, who have 
»een interchanging glances of passion to each 
tther's persons, checked into an attention to the 
ervice at the interruption which the authority of 
lis voice has given them. But the other morning 
happened to rise earlier than ordinary, and 
bought I could not pass my time better, than to 
;o upon the admonition of the morning bell, ta 
he church prayers at six of the clock. I was there 
be first of any in the congregation, and had the 

6B GUARDIAN. H* 65. 

opportunity^ however I made use of it, to look 
back on aU my life> and contemplate the bkising 
and advantage of such stated early hours for o£fer- 
\ng ourselves to our Creator^ aad preposseflamg 
ourselves with the love of Him, and the hopes we 
have from Him, against the snares of business and 
pleasure in the ensuing day. But whether it be 
that people think fk to indulge their own ease in 
some secret, pleasing fault, or whatever it was, 
there was none''^ at the confession but a set <^ poor 
scrubs of us, who could sin only in our wills, whose 
persons could be no temptation to one another^ 
and might have, without interruption from any 
body else, humble, lowly hearts, in frigbtfiil loob 
and dirty dresses, at our leisure. Wron we po6r 
souls had presented ourselves with a contrition suit- 
able to our worthlessness, some pretty young ladies 
in mobs, popped in here and there abmit the 
church, clattering the pew-door after them, and 
squatting into a whisper behind their fans. Among 
others, one of lady Lizard's daughters, and her 
hopefUl maid, made their entrance : the young lady 
dia not omit the ardent form behind the fan, white 
the maid immediately gaped round her to look for 
some other devout person, whom I saw at a distance 
very well dressed; his air and habit a little military, 
but in the pertness, not the true possession, of the 
martial character. This jackanapes was fixed at 
the end of a pew, with the utmost impudence, de- 
claring, by a fixed eye on that seat (where our 
beauty was placed) the object of his devotion. 
This obscene sight gave me all the indignation 
imaginable, and I could attend to nothing but- the 
reflection that the greatest afironts imaginal^ are 

* Cflsitr. for no one. 

V*65m GUARDIAN. 39 

such as no «ne can take notice of. Before I was 
out of such vexatious inadvertencies to the husi- 
ness of the place^ there was a great deal of good 
company now^ come in. There was a good numher 
of very janty slatterns, who gave us to understand, 
that lit is neither dress nor art to which they were 
heholden for the town's admiration. Besides these 
there were also by this time arrived two or three 
sets of whisperers, who carry on most of their 
calumnies by what they entertain one another with 
in that place, and we were now altogether very 
good company. There were indeed a few, in whose 
looks there appeared an heavenly joy and gladness 
upon the entrance of a new day, as if they had gone 
to sleep with expectation of it. For the ss^e of 
these it is worth while that the church keeps up such 
early mattins throughout the cities of London and 
Westminster; but me generality of those who ob- 
serve that hour, perform it with so tasteless a 
behaviour, that it appears a task rather than a 
voluntaiT act. But of all the world, those fami- 
liar ducks who are, as it were, at home at the 
chorcb, and by frequently meeting there throw the 
time of prayer very negUgently into their common 
life, and make their coming together in that place 
aJ9 ordinaiy as any other action, and do not turn 
their conversation upon any improvements suitable 
to the true des^ of that house, but on trifles be- 
low even their worldly concerns and characters.**^ 
These are little groups of acquaintance dispersed in 
ail parts of the town, who are, forsooth, the only 
pneople of unspotted characters, and throw all the 
spots that stick on those of other people. Malice 
is the ordinary vice of those who live in the mode 

* A verb seems wantiiig here, to explain the censure iin* 
pKed in this sentence. 

Co OVABDIAN. K*" 65. 

of relij^ion, without the spirit of it The pleasur- 
ahle world are hurried hy their passions above the 
consideration of what others think of them, into a 
pursuit of irregular enjoyments ; while these, who 
forbear the gratifications of flesh and blood, with* 
out having won over the spirit to the interests of 
virtue, are implacable in defamations on the errors 
of such who offend without respect to fame. Bat 
the consideration of persons whom one cannot bat 
take notice of, when one sees them in that place, 
has drawn me out of my intended talk, which was 
to bewail that people do not know the pleasure of 
early hours, and of dedicating their first moments 
of the day, with joy and singleness of heart, to 
their Creator. Experience womd convince us, that 
the earlier we lefl our beds, the seldomer we should 
be confined to them. 

One great good which would also accrue from 
this, were it become a fashion, would be, that it is 
possible our chief divines would condescend to pray 
themselves, or at least those whom they substitute 
would be better supplied, than to be forced to ap- 
pear at those oraisons in a garb and attire which 
makes them appear mortified with worldly want, 
and not abstracted from the world by the contempt 
of it. How is it possible for a gentleman, under 
the income of fifty pounds a year, to be attentive 
to sublime things ? He must rise and dress like a 
labourer for sordid hire, instead of approaching his 
place of service with the utmost pleasure and satis- 
faction, that now he is going to be mouth of a 
crowd of people who have laid aside all the distinc- 
tions of this contemptible being, to beseech a pro- 
tection under its manifold pains and disadvantages, 
or a release from it, by his favour who sent them 
into it. He would, with decent superiority, lode 

k'*65. GUAttDIAN. 61 

upon himself as orator before the throne of ^race« for 
a drowdy who hang upon his words, while he asks 
for them all that is necessary in a transitory life; 
from the assurance that a good behaviour, for a few 
m<Mnents in it, will purchase endless joy and happy 

But who can place himself in this view, who, 
thgugh not pinched with want, is distracted with 
care from the fear of it ? No ; a man, in the least 
degree below the spirit of a saint or a martyr, will 
loH, huddle over his duty, look confused, or as-* 
sume a resolution in his behaviour which will be 
quite as ungraceful, except he is supported above 
the necessities of life. 

' Power and commandment to his minister to 
declare and pronounce to his people,' is mentioned 
with a very unguarded* air, when the speaker is 
known in his own private condition to be almost an 
object of their pity and charity. This last circum- 
stance, with many others here loosely suggested^ 
are the occasion that one knows not how to recom- 
mend, to such as have not already a fixed sense of 
devotiop, the pleasure of passing the earliest hou^ 
of the day in a public congregation. But were this 
morning solemnity as mucm in vogue, even as it is 
now at more advanced hours of the day, it would .^i^ 
necessarily have so good an effect upon us, as to ^ 
make us more disengaged and cheerful in conver-* 
satioD, and less artful and insincere in business. 
The world would be quite another place, than it is 
now, the rest of the day ; and every face would 
have an alacrity in it, which can be borrowed from 
no other reflections, but those which give us the ^9 
ftured protection of Omnipotence. 

* Unregarded^ 
Vox. xvtu « 


fH 0«ASBIAN. 11*60, 

W 66. WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 17 »3. 

Seepe tribuB Uctit tideas ccenare quatenwa ; 
E qvibiu umu anel otioois mpei^gr^' cunetoM^ 
pTigter eum qui prabet aquam ; p<Mrf) kune quoque — 

HOR. 1. Sat. iv. 85. 

^et twdve «t mpper ; one above tbe rest 
Takes all the talk, and breakt a scurvy jest 
On ally exc^t the master of the feast : 
At last on him— 

The following letter is full of imagination, and in 
a fabulous manner sets forth a connection between 
tilings, and an alliance between persons, that are 
very distant and remote to common eyes. I think 
I know the hand to be that of a very ingenious 
man,* and shall therefore give it the reader without 
farther preface. 


• ' SIB, 

' T-RERE is a set of mankiBd, who are 
wholly empbyed in the iU-natured office of gather- 
ing up a coUection 4£ stories that lessen the ipeputa- 
tien of cdiers, and sipreading them abroad wi& a 
certain air ef satiafactioD. I^ediaps indeed, an iD- 
nooent unmeaning curiosity, a desire of being in- 
formed concenuing lliose we live with, or a wiUifig'' 
ness to profit by reflection upon the actions ^ 
others, may sometimes aiffibrd an excuse, or aone- 
times a defence for iuquisitiveness; but certainly 
it is beyond all excuse a transgression against huma- 

• Bt. ParaeW. 

V* 0S. OUABDIAV^ 63 

lutjTy to cany the matter farther, to tear off the 
dressings as I may saj, from the wotmcla of a 
friend, and expose them to the air in crael fits of 
diversion ; and yet we have something more to be- 
moan, an outrage of a higher nature, which man- 
kind is guilty of when <hey are not content to 
spread the stories of foUy, frailty, and vice, but 
even enlarge them, or invent new ones, and blacken 
characters, that we may appear ridici^ous or hate- 
ful to one another. From such practices as these 
it happens, that some feel a sorrow, and others are 
agitaied with a spirit of revenge ; tiiat scandals or 
lies are tcdd, because another has told such before ; 
that resentments and quarrels arise, and afironts 
and ii]\juries are given, received and multipUed, in 
a scene of vengeance. 

' All this I have often observed with abundance 
of concern, and having a perfect desire to furthe;r 
the happiness of mankind, I lately set myself to 
CfKDsider the cause from whence such evils arise, 
and the remedies whidi may be applied. Where- 
upon I shut my eyes to prevent a distraction from 
outward objects, and a while after shot away, upon 
an impulse of thought, into the world of ideas^ 
where abstracted qualities became visible in such 
appearances as were agreeable to each of their 

* That part of the country where I happened to 
liffbt» was the most noisy that I had ever known. 
Ine winds whistled, the leaves rustled, the brooks 
rumbled, the birds chattered, the tongues of men 
were heard, and the echo mingled something of 
every sound in its repetition, so that there was a 
strange confusion and uproar of sounds about me. 
At length, as the noise still increased, I could dis- 
cern a man habited like a herald, and (as I a&et* 

c 2 

64 GUARDIAN^ M'^66. 

wards understood) called Novelty, that came for- 
ward proclaiming a solemn day to be kept at the 
house of Common Fame. Immediately behind him 
advanced three nymphs> who had monstrous ap- 
pearances. I1ie first of these was Curiosity, habit- 
ed like a virgin, and having an hundred ears about 
her head to serve in her inquiries. The second of 
these was Talkativeness^ a little better grown ; she 
seemed to be like a young wife, and had an hun- 
dred tongues to spread her stories. The third was 
Censoriousness, habited like a widow, and surround- 
ed with an hundred squinting eyes of a malignant 
influence, which so obliquely darted on all around, 
that it was impossible to say which of them had 
brought in the information she boasted of. These, 
as I was informed, had been very instrumental in 
preserving and rearing Common Fame, when upon 
her birth-day she was shuffled into a crowd, to es- 
cape the search which Truth might have made after 
her and her parents. Curiosity found her there, 
Talkativeness conveyed her away, and Censoriousr 
ness so nursed her up, that in a short time she 
grew to a prodigious size, and obtained an empire 
over the universe; wherefore the Power, in grati- 
tude for these services, has since advanced them to 
her highest employments. The next who came for- 
ward in the procession was a light damsel, called 
Credulity, who carried behind them the lamp, the 
silver vessel with a spout, and other instruments 
proper for this solemn occasion.'*^ 

' She had formerly seen these three together, 
and coiyecturing from the number of their ears, 
tongues, and eyes, that they might be the proper 
genii of Attention, Familiar Converse, and Ocular 

* Tea equipage. 

N* 66. OUABDIAN. 65 

DemonstratioD, she from that time gave herself up 
to attend them. The last who followed were some 
who had closely muffled themselves in upper gar- 
ments, so that 1 could not discern who they were ; 
but just as the foremost of them was come up, I am 
glad, says she, calling me by my name, to meet 
you at this time ; stay close by me, and take a strict 
observation of aU that passes : her voice was sweet 
and commanding, I thought I had somewhere heard 
it; and from her, as I went along, I learned the 
meaning of every thing which offered. 

' We now marched forward through the Rookery 
of Rumours, which flew thick, and with a terrible 
din, all around us. At length we arrived at the 
house of Common Fame, where a hecatomb of re- 
putations was that day to fall for her pleasure. The 
house stood upon an eminence, having a thousand 
passages to it, and a thousand whispering holes for 
the conveyance of sound. The nail we entered 
was formed with tlie art of a music-chamber for the 
improvement of noises. Rest and silence are ba- 
nished the place. Stories of different natures wan- 
der in light flocks all about, sometimes truths and 
lies, or sometimes lies themselves clashing i^inst 
one another. In the middle stood a table painted 
afler the manner of the remotest Asiatic coun- 
tries, upon which the lamp, the silver vessel, and 
cups of a white earthy were planted in order. 
Then dried herbs were broup^t, collected for the 
solemnity in moon-shine, and water being put to 
them, there was a greenish liquor made, to which 
they ad<][ed the flower of milk, and an extraction 
from the panes of America, for performing a libation 
to the infernal powers of Mischief. After diis. 
Curiosity, Vetiring to a withdrawing room, brought 
&rtl). the victims, being to appearance a set o€ 

c 3 

00 OtJARDIAN. H^ 66. 

imall waxen images, which she laid upon the table 
one after another. Immediately then Talkativeness 
gave each of them the name of some <Hie, whom 
TOT that time they were to represent ; and Censori- 
ousness stuck them all ahout with hlack pins, stiO 
pronouncing at every one she stuck, something to 
the prejudice of the persons represented. No soon- 
er were these rites performed, and incantations 
uttered, but the sound of a speaking trumpet was 
heard in the air, by which they knew the deity of 
the place was propitiated, and assisting. Upon this 
the sky grew darker, a storm arose, and murmurs, 
sighs, groans, cries, and the words of gprief, or re- 
sentment, were heard within it. Thus the three 
sorceresses discovered, that they whose names they 
had given to the images, were already affected with 
what was done to them in effigy. The knowledge 
of this was received with the loudest laughter, and 
in many congratulatory words they applauded one 
another's wit and power. 

' As matters were at this high point of disorder, 
the muffled lady, whom I attended on, being no 
longer able to endure such barbarous proceedings, 
threw off her upper garment of Reserve, and ap- 

E eared to be Truth. As soon as she had confessed 
erself present, the speaking-trumpet ceased to 
sound, tne sky cleared up, the storm abated, the 
noises which were heard in it ended, the laughter 
of the company was over, and a serene light, until 
then unknown to the place, difiused around it. At 
this the detected sorceresses endeavoured to escape 
in a cloud which I saw begin to thicken round 
l^em ; but it was soon dispersed, their charms be- 
ing controlled, and prevailed over by the superior 
divinity. . For my part I was exceedingly glad to 
see it so, and began to consider what punishment 

n? 66« GUABDIAN. 67 

she would inflict upon them. I fancied it would he 
proper to cut off Curiosity^s ears^ and fix them to 
the eaves of the houses: to nail the tonnes of 
Talkativeness to Indian tables ; and to put out the 
eyes of Censoriousness with a flash of her light. In 
respect of Credulity, I had indeed some little pity, 
ana had I been judge she mighty perhaps^ have 
escaped with a hearty reproof. 

' But I soon found that the discerning judge had 
othef designs. She knew them for such as will not 
be destroyed entirely while mankind is in being, 
and yet ought to have- a brand and punishment 
affixed to them that they may be avoided. Where- 
fore she took a seat for judgment, and had the 
criminals brought forward by Shame ever blushing, 
and Trouble with a whip of many lashes ; two 
phantoms who had dogged the procession in dis- 
guise, and waited until they had an authority from 
Truth to lay hands upon them. Immediately then 
she ordered Curiosity and Talkativeness to be fet- 
tered together, that the one should never suffer the 
other to rest, nor the other ever let her remain un- 
discovered. Light Credulity she linked to Shame 
at the tormentor's own request, who was pleased to 
be thus secure that her prisoner could not escape ; 
and this was ' done partly for her punishment, and 
partly for her amendment. Censoriousness was also 
in like manner be^^d by Trouble, and had her 
asjsi^ed for an eternal companion. After they 
werfe thus chained with one another, by the judged 
order, she drove them from the presence to wander 
for ever through the world, with Novelty stalking 
before them. 

' The cause being now; over, she retreated from 
fight within the splendour of her own glory ; which 
leaving the house it had brightened, the %Q\i\N!da^ 

68 GVARpiAir. li* 67. 

that were proper to the place began to be as loud 
and confused as when we entered; and there being 
no longer a clear distinguished appearance of any 
objects represented to me, I returned fipom the «• 
cursion I nad made in fancy/ 

N*67. THURSDAY, MAY M, 1713. 

ntfcfik pudmi 

SHe Hbi Muia hfra iolen, et cantor ApoUo. 

HOR. An. Po^t T, 40i. 

Blnth not to patronise the muse's skilL 

It has been remarked, by curious observers, that 
poets are generally long-lived, and run beyond the 
usual age of man, if not cut off by some accident 
or excess, as Anacreon, in the midst of a very 
merry old as;e, was choaked with a grape-stone* 
The same redundancy of spirits that produces the 
poetical flame, keeps up the vital warmth, and ad- 
ministers uncommon fuel to life. I question not 
but several instances will occur to my reader's 
memory, from Homer down to Mr. Dryden. I 
shall only take notice of two who have excelled in 
lyrics ; the one an ancient, and the other a modem. 
The first gsined an immortal reputation by cele- 
brating several jockeys in the Olympic games, thej 
last has signalized himself on the same occasion by 
the ode that begins with — ' To horse, brave boys^ 
to Newmarket, to horse/ My reader will, by this. 


t • 

)r'67. GUABDIAN. 69 

K time, know that the two poets I have mentioned^ 
^ are Pindar and Mr. D'Urtey. The former of these 
f is long ^ince laid in his urn, after havings many 
years together, endeared himself to ail Greece by 
his tuneml compositions. Our countryman is still 
living, and in a blooming old age, that still promises 
many musical productions; for if I am not mis- 
taken, our British swan will sing to the last. The 
best judges who have perused his last song on The 
moderate Man, do not discover any decay in his 
parts, but think it deserves a place amongst the 
finest of those works with which he obliged the 
world in his more early years. 

I am led into this subject by a visit which I 
lately received from my good old friend and con- 
temporary. As we both flourished together in king 
Charles the Second's reign, we diverted ourselves 
with the remembrance of several particulars that 
passed in the world before the greatest part of my 
readers were born, and could not but smile to 
&ink how insensibly we were grown into a couple 
of venerable old gentlemen. Tom observed to me, 
that after having written more odes than Horace, 
and about four times as many comedies as Terence, 
he was reduced to great difficulties by the impor- 
tunities of a set of men, who, of late years, had 
furnished him with the accommodations of life, and 
would not, as we say, be paid with a song. In 
order- to extricate my old friend, I immediately 
sent for the three directors of the playhouse, and 
desired them that they would in their turn do a 
good office for a man, who, in Shakspeare's phrase, 
had often filled their mouths, I mean with plea- 
santry, and popular conceits. They very gene- 
rously listened to my proposal, and agreed to act 
the Plotting Sisters, (a very taking play of my old 

70 GHARDIAir.^ v' 07. 

friend's composing) on the 15th of the next month, 
for the benent of the author. 

My kindness to the agreeable Mr. d'Urfev wil 
be imperfect, if after having engaged the playen 
in his favour, 1 do not get tne town to eome into 
it. I must therefore heartily recommend to aH the 
youne ladies, my disciples, the case of my old 
friend, who has often made their grand-mothers 
merry, and whose sonnets have perhaps hifled 
asleep many a present toasts when she lay in her 

I have already prevailed on my lady Lizard to be 
at the house in one of the front boxes, and desigo, 
if I am in town, to lead her in myself at the hoid 
of her daughters. The gentleman I am speaking of 
has laid obTigations on so many of his countrymeo, 
that I hope they will think this but a just return ta 
the good service of a veteran poet. 

I myself remember king Charles the Second lean- 
ing on Tom d'Urfey's shoulder more than cmce, and 
humming over a song with him. It is certain that 
nionarch was not a little supported by ' Joy to great 
Caesar,'' which gave the whigs such a blow as they 
were not able to recover uiat whole reign» My 
friend afterwards attacked popery with the same 
success, having exposed Bellarmine and Porto-Car- 
rero more than once in short satirical compositions, 
which have been in every body's mouth. He has 
made use of Italian tunes and sonatas for promoting 
the Protestant interest, and turned a considerable 

Eart of the Pope's music against himself. In short 
e has obliged the court wiSi political sonnets, the 
country with dialogues and pastorals, the city with 
descriptions of a lord mayors feast, not to mention 
his little ode upon Stool-Ball, with many other of 
the like nature. 

V07. OVAEDIAN. 71 

Should the very individuals he has celebrated 
make their appearance tc^ther^ they would be suf- 
ficient to fill the play-house. Pretty Peg of Wind- 
tor, Gillian of Croydon, with Dolly and MoUy, 
and Tommy and Johnny, with many others to be 
met with in the Musical Miscellanies, entided, PiUs 
to purge Melancholy, would make a good benefit 

As my fiiend, after the manner of the old lyrics, 
accompanies his works with his own voice, he has 
beed uie delight off the most polite companies and 
comreraations, from the beginning of king Charles 
the Second's reign to our present times. Many an 
honest gentleman has got a reputation in his coun- 
try, by pretending to have been in company with 
Tom dllrfey. 

I might here mention several other merits in my 
fiiend; as his enriching our language with a mul- 
titude of rhimes, and bringing words together, 
that widiout his good offices, would never have 
been acquamted wiui one another, so long as it had 
been a tongue. But I must not omit that my old 
fiiend angles for a trout, the best of any man in 
England. May-flies come in late this season, or I 
myself should before now, have had a trout of his 

- After what I have said, and much more that I 
might say, on this subject, I question not but the 
world wUl think that my old friend ought not to 
pass the remainder of his life in a cage like a 
sin^ng bird, but enjoy all that pindaric liberty 
which is suitable to a man of his genius. He has 
made the worid merry, and I hope they will make 
him easy, so long as he stays among us. This I 
win take upon me to say, they cannot do a kind- 
ness to a more diverting companion, or a ickot^ 
cbeaifiil honest, and good-natured man. <4^ 

72 GVABDIAN. V*69' 

N*68. FRIDAY, MAY 29, 1713. 

Inspicerey tanquam in apeculuniy in tUasomwium 
Jubeoy atque ex aliis sumere exemplum sibi, 

TER. Adelph. Act iii. Sc. S. 

My advice to him is, to consalt the lives of other men as 
he would a lookiog-glass, and from thence fetch exam- 
ples for his own imitation. 

The paper of to-day shall consist of a letter from 
my friend sir Harry Lizard, which, with my answer, 
may be worth the perusal of young men of estates, 
and young women without fortunes. It is abso- 
lutely necessary, that in our first vigorous years we 
lay down some law to ourselves for the conduct of 
future life, which may at least prevent essential mis- 
fortunes. The cutting cares which attend such an 
affection as that against which I forewarn my friend 
sir Harry, art very well known to all who are called 
the men of pleasure ^ but when they have opposed 
their satisfaction to tlieir anxieties in an impartial 
examination, they will find their life not only a 
dream, but a troubled and vexatious one. 


' I BELIEVE you are very much sur- 
prised^ thjit in the several letters I have written to 
you, since the receipt of that wherein you recom- 
mend a young lady for a wife to your humble ser- 
vant^ I have not made the least mention of that 
matter. It happens at this time that I am not much 
inclined to marry ; there are very many matches in 

«* 61; OUABDIANa 73 

our country^ wherein the parties live flo insipidly, 
or 80 vezatiouslyj that I am afraid to venture from 
their example. Besides, to tell you the truth, good 
Aestor, I am informed your fine young woman is 
soon to be disposed of elsewhere. As to the young 
ladies of my acquaintance in your great town, I do 
not know one whom I could think of as a wife, 
who is not either prepossessed with some incUna- 
tion for some other man, or affects pleasures and 
entertainments, which she prefers to the conversa- 
tion of any man living. Women of this kind are 
the most finequently met with of any sort whatever ; 
I mean they are the most frequent among people 
of condition, that is to say, such are easily to be 
had as would sit at the head of your estate and 
table, lie-in by you for the sake of receiving visits 
in pomp at the end of the month, and enjoy the 
like gratifications from the support of your fortune ; 
but you yourself would signify no more to one of 
them, than a name in trust in a settlement which 
conveys land and goods, but has no right for its 
own use. A woman of this turn can no more make 
a wife, than an ambitious man can be a firiend; 
they both sacrifice all the true tastes of being, and 
motives of life, for the ostentation, the noise, and 
the appearance of it. Their hearts are turned to 
unnatural objects, and as the men of design can 
carry them on with an exclusion of their daily com- 
panions, so women of this kind of gaiety, can live 
at bed and board with a man, without any affection 
to his .person. As to any woman that you examine 
hereafter for my sake, if you can possibly, find 
means to converse with her at some country seat. 
If she has no relish for rural views, but is unde- 
lighted with streams, fields, and groves, I desire to 


74 ^t ARDIAN4 A* 08. 

bear no more of her ; she has departed from na^^ 
ture, and is irrecoverably engaged in vanity. 

* I have ever been curious to observe Uie arror 

Ence of a towii-lady when ^e first comes down to 
r husband's seat, and beholding her country 
neighbours, wants somebody to laugh with her, at 
the frightfiil things, to whom she herself is equally 
lidiculous. The pretty pitty-pat «tep, the playing 
head, and the faU-back in me courtesy, she doei 
not imagine, make her as unconversable, and inac- 
cessible to our plain people, as the loud voice, and 
ungainly stride, render one of our huntresses to 
her. In a word, dear Kestor; I beg you to sos- 

Cnd all inquiries towards my matrimony until you 
ar further from. 

Sir, your most obliged and, 

most humble servant, 

Harry Lizard/ 

A certain loose turn in this letter, mixed indeed 
with some real exceptions to the two frequent silly 
choice made by country gentlemen, has given me 
no small anxiety : and I have sent sir Harry an ac- 
comit of my suspicions as follows. 


' SIR, 

Your letter I have read over two or 
three times, and must be so free with you as to 
tell you, it has in it something which betrays "you 
have lost that simplicity of heart with relation to 
love, which I promised myself would crown your 
days with happiness and honour* The alteration 
of your mind towards marriage is not represented 
as flowing from discretion and warinesa in the 

u^ 68. avARinAir. 7^ 

choice* but a disinclination to that state in general ; 
you seem secretly to propose to yourself (for I 
will think no otherwise of a man of your age and 
temper) att its satisfactions out of it, and to avoid 
the care and inconveuiencies that attend those who 
enter into it. 1 will not urge at this time the 
greatest consideration of aU, to wit, regard of in^^ 
nocence ; but having, I think, in my eye, what you 
aim at, I must as I am your friend, acquaint youy 
that you are g^ing into a wilderness of cares and 
distractions, from which you will never be able to 
extricate yourself, while the compunctions €»f ho- 
ROHr and pity are yet alive in you. 

' Without naming names, I have long suspected 
your designs upon a young gentlewoman in your 
neighbourhood; but give me leave to tell you, 
with all the eamestnesa of a faithful friend, that to 
enter into a criminal commerce with a woman of 
merit, whom you find innocent, is of all' the folliea 
in this life^ the most Ihutfid of sorrow. You must 
make your approaches to her with the benevolence 
and language of a good angeL in order to bring 
upon her pollution and shame, which' is the work of 
a demon. The fashion of the world, the warmth of 
youth, and the affluence of fortune, may, perhaps, 
make you look upon me in this talk, like a poor 
well-meaning old man, who is past those ardencies 
in which you at pi*esent triumph; but believe me, 
sir, if you succeed in what I fear you design, you 
will find the sacrifice of beauty and innocence so 
strong an obligation upon you, that your whole life 
wil^ pass away in the worst condition imaginable, 
that of doubt and irresolution ; you will ever be de* 
sigmng* to leave her, and never do it ; or else leave 
her for another, wiih a constant longing after her. 
He is a very unhappy man who doe^ not re^tv^ 


76 OUABDIAK. v** 68. 

the-most pure and kind affections of his heart for his 
marriage-bed, he will otherwise be reduced to this 
melancholy circumstance, that he gave his mistress 
that kind of affection which was proper for his wife, 
and has not for his wife either that, or the usual 
inclination which men bestow upon their mistresses. 
After such an affair as this, you are a very lucky 
man if you find a prudential marriage is only in- 
sipid, and not actually miserable ; a woman of as 
ancient a family as your own, may come into the 
house of the Lizards, murmur in your bed, growl 
at your table, rate your servants, and insult your- 
self, while you bear all this with this unhappy re- 
flection at the bottom of your heart, '* This is all 

for the injured ** The heart is ungovernable 

enough, without being biassed by prepossessions; 
how emphatically unhappy therefore is he, who 
besides die natural vagrancy of affection, has a 
passion to one particular object, in which he sees 
nothing but what is lovely, except what prooeeds 
from his own guilt against it I I speak to you, my 
dear friend, as one who tenderly regards your 
welfare, and beg of you to avoid this great error, 
which has rendered so many agreeable men unhappy 
before you. When a man is engaged among die 
dissolute, gay, and artful of the fair sex, acJmow- 
ledge of their manners and designs, their favours 
unendeared by truth, their feigned sorrows and 
gross flatteries, must in time rescue a reasonable 
man from the inchantment ; but in a case wherein 
you have none but yourself to accuse, you will find 
the best part of a generous mind torn away with 
her, whenever you take your leave of an injuredr 
deserving woman. Come to town, fly from Olinda, 
to Your obedient humble servant, 

Nestor Ironsids.' 

^^69. OT7ARDTAir. 77 

N*69. SATURDAY, MAY 30, 1713. 

JiKpUer tri f iMicMifMe mdet lucah. 

"Wliere'er yoo turn yonr eyes, 'tis God yoa see. 

I H A D this morning a very valuable and kind pre<- 
sent sent me of a translated work of a most ex- 
eeUent foreigpn writer^ who makes a very considera- 
ble figure in the learned and Christian world. It 
is entitled, A Demonstration of the Existence, 
Wisdom, and Omnipotence of God, drawn from the 
knowledge of nature, particularly of man, and 
fitted to the meanest capacity, by the archbishop 
of Cambray, author of Telemachus, and -translated 
from the French by the same hand that englished 
that excellent piece. This great author, in the 
writings which he has before produced, hasmani- 
fested a heart full of virtuous sentiments, great be- 
nevolence to mankind, as well as a sincere and 
fervent piety towards his Creator. His talents and 
parts are a very great good to the world, and it is a 
pleasing thing to behmd the poUte arts subservient 
to religion, and recommending it from its natural 
beauty. Looking over the letters of my corres- 
pondents, I find one which celebrates this treatise, 
and reciHnmends it to my readers. 



' I THINK I have somewhere read, in 
the writings of one whom I take to be a friend of 
jour^a, a aaying which struck m^c x«i^ tsluOx^ ^sA 


78 GUARDIAN. M'^bO- 

m I remember, it was to this purpose : *' The ex- 
istence of a God is so far from being a thing that 
wants to be proved, that I think it is the only thing 
of which we are certain/' ITiis is a sprightly and 
just expression ; however, I dare say, you will not 
be displeased that I put you in mind of sayin? some- 
thing on the Demonstration of the bishop of Cam- 
bray. A man of his talents views all things in a 
light different from that in which ordinary men see 
them, and the devout disposition of his soul turns 
all those talents to the improvement of the pka^ 
sures of a good hfe. His style clothes philosophy 
in a dress almost poetic; and his readers enjoy in 
full perfection the advantage, while they are reading 
him, of being what he is. The pleasing represen- 
tation of the animal powers in the beginning of his 
work, and his consideration of the nature of man 
with the addition of reason in the subsequent dis- 
course, impresses upon the mind a strong satisfac- 
tion in itself, and gratitude towards Him who 
bestowed that superiority over the brute-workL 
These thoughts had such an effect upon the author 
himself, that he has ended his discourse with a 
prayer. This adoration has a subUmity in it be- 
fitting his character, and the emotions of his heart 
flow from wisdom and knowledge. I thought it 
would be proper for a Saturday's paper, and have 
translated it to make you a present of it. I have 
not, as the translator was obliged to do, confined 
myself to an exact version from the original, but 
have endeavoured to express the spirit of it, by 
taking the liberty to render his thoughts in such a 
way as I should have uttered them if they had been 
my own. It has been observed, that the private 
letters of great men are the best pictures of their 
jouls; but certainly their private devotions wocM 

n"* G9 . GUARDIAN. 79 

be still more instructive^ and I know not why they 
should not be as curious and entertaining. 

' If you insert this prayer, I know not but I may 
send you, for another occasion, one used by a very 
great wit of the last age, which has allusions to the 
errors of a very wild life ; and, I believe you would 
think it written with an uncommon spirit. The 
person whom I mean was an excellent writer, and 
the publication of this prayer of his may be, 
perhaps, some kind of antidote against the infec* 
tion in his other writings. But this supplication of 
the bishop has in it a more happy ana untroubled 
spirit; it is (if that is not saying something too 
fond) the worship of an angel concerned for those 
who had fallen, but himself still in the stale of 
glory and innocence. The book ends with an act 
of devotion, to this effect. 

** O my God, if the greater number of mankind 
do not discover Thee in that glorious show of na« 
ture which thou hast placed before our eyes» it is 
not because lliou art far from every*^ one of us, 
Tliou art present to us more than any object which 
we touch with our hands ; but our senses, and the 
passions which they produce in us, turn our atten- 
tion from Thee. Thy hght shines in the midst of 
darkness, but the darkness comprehends it not. 
Thou, O Lord, dost every way display thyself. 
Thou shinest in all thy works, but art not regarded 
by heedless and unthinking man. The whole crea- 
tion talks aloud of Thee, and echos with the repe- 
titions of thy holy name. But such is our insensi- 
bility that we are deaf to the great aud universal 
voice of nature. ITiou art every where about us, 
and within us \ but we wander from ow2»elves, be- 

* Any. 

80 cvAxiirAir. 1P 69* 

come strangm to our own Muds, tnddo not ap^ 
preheud thy pneseiioe. O Thou, who art the eternal 
fountain of hs:ht and beautY» who art the ancient of 
days without hes:innincr and without end ; O Hioi^ 
who art the lil^ of all that truly live, those can 
never fail to find Thee, who seek for Thee within 
themselves. But alas * the voy grifb which Thou 
bestowest upon us do so employ our thoughts, that 
they hinder us from perceiving the hand wnich con- 
veys them to us. We live by thee, and vet we 
live without thinkincr on Thee ; hut* O Lord, what 
is life in the ignonuice of Thee ! A dead unactive 
piece of matter; a* fiower that withers; a river 
that <;1ide8 away ; a palace that hastens to its ruin ; 
a^ picture made up of fading' colours; a mass <^ 
shining ore ; strike our imaginations, and make ui 
sensible of their existence ; we regard them as ob* 
jects capable of giving us pleasupe, not considering 
that thou conveyest, through them, all the plea- 
sure which we imagine they give us. Such vain 
empty objects that are only the shadows of being, 
are proportioned to oiir low and grovding thoughti. 
That beauty which Thou hast poured out on thy 
creation,- is as a veil which hides thee from our 
eyes. As Thou art a beii^ too pure and exalted 
to pass through our senses, ThoU' art not regarded 
by men, who have debased their nature, and have 
made themselves like the beasts that perish.. So 
infatuated: are they, that notwithstanding ihey 
know what is wisdom and virtue,, which have nei- 
ther sound, nor colour, nor smell, nor .taste, nor 
figure, nor any other sensible quality, they can 
doubt of Thy existence, because Thou art not appre- 
lieiided by the grosser organs of sense. Wretches 
that we are ! we consider shadows as realities, and 

truth a» a phantom. ipiuX vrhich is uoUupc« is sll 

M*69* GUARDIAN. 81 

to us ; and that which is all, appears to us nothing. 
What do we see in all nature but Thee, O my 
God ! Hiou^ and only Thou> appearest in evciy 
thing. When I consider Thee, O Lord, I am 
swallowed up, and lost in contemplation of Thee. 
Efery thing besides Thee, even my o\^ existence, 
vanishes and disappears in the contemplation of 
Thee. I am lost to myself, and fall into nothing, 
when I think on Thee. The man who does not see 
Thee, has beheld nothing; he who does not taste 
Thee, has a relish of nothing. His being is vain« 
and his hfe but a dream. Set up Thyself, O Lord, 
set up Thyself, that we may behold Thee. As wax 
consumes before the fire, and as the smoke is driven 
away, so let thine enemies vanish out of thy pre- 
sence. How unhappy is that soul who, without the 
sense of Thee, has no God, no hope, no comfort to 
support him ! But how happy the man who searches, 
sighs, and thirsts afler thee ! But he only is fully 
happy, on whom Thou Uflest up the light of thy 
countenance, whose tears thou hast wiped away, 
and whp ei^joys in thy loving-kindness the comple-> 
tion of all Ins desires. How long, how long, O 
Lcnrd, shall I wait for that day when I shall possess, 
in thy presence, fullness of joy and pleasures for 
evermore ? O my God, in this pleasing hope, my 
bones rejoice and cry out. Who is like unto Thee ! 
My heart melts away, and my soul faints within me 
when I look up to Thee, who art tlie God of my 
life, and my portion to all eternity .'' 

M OOABDTAm ii^7<k 

N* 70. MONDAY, JUNE ly 17-15. 


Of thoDf^ts enliurg'd,. aod monS esodted miBd* - 

xVs I was the other day tiJtiiig a solitary ihiK in 
St. Paul's, I indulged my thoo^ts in tMte punoit 
of a certain analogy between that fabric and tiier 
Christian church in the largest sense. The diyine' 
order and oeconomy of the one seemed to be em-' 
blematically set forth by the jostj plain, and ma- 
jestic architecture of the other. And' as the one 
oonsists of a great Tariety of parts united in the 
same regvdar msigU) according to the truest art, 
and most exact proportion- ; so the other containi 
a decent subordination* of* members^ various sacred 
institutions, sublime doctrines, atid solid- pfeeepti 
of morality digested infto the same designy- and* with 
an admirable concurrence tending to 'one view, the 
happiness and exaltation of htiman nature. 

In the midst of my contemplation, I beheld » 
fly upoiv' one of the pillars; and it straightway 
came into'my heady- that thivsame fly was a fref- 
thinker. For it required some comprehension- in 
tlie eye of the spectator, to'take in- at one view the 
various parts of the building, in order to observe 
their symmetry and design. But to the fly, whose 
prospect was confined to a little part of one of the 
stones of a single pillar, the joint beauty of the 
whole, or the distinct use of its parts, were incon- 
spjcuous^ and nothing could appear but smaD in* 

1*70* -ovAitDi^ir. tod 

equalities in the surface of the hewn stone, Whicih 
in. the jriew of that insect seemed so many deformed 
Jooks and precipices. 

The thou^ts of a free-thinker are employed on 
%rtain minute particularities of religion, the dif- 
iculty of a sin^ text, or the unaccountableness 
f some step of Proridence or point of doctrine to 
is narrow fisLcalties, without comprehending the 
rape and design of Christianity, the perfection to 
hich it raiseu human nature, the light k hath 
led abroad in Ihe world, and the close connection 
hath as well with the good of public societies, as 
ithithat ci particular persons. 

This raised in me some reflections on that frame 
r disposition which is called largeness of mind, 
B necessity towards f(»rming a true judgment of 
iingsy and where the soul is not incurauy stinted 
f nature, what are the likeliest methods to give it 

It is evident that philosophy doth open and eni- 
fge the mind, by the genend views to which men 
re habituated in that study, and by the contempla- 
on of more numcsrous and distant objects, that 
lU within the sphere of mankind in the ordinary 
ursuits of life. Hence it comes to paw, that' 
bilosophers judge of most things very differently 
"om the vulgar. Some instances of this may be 
sen in die Theoetetus of Plato, where Socrates makes 
le following remaiks, among others of the like 

' When a philosopher hears ten thousand acres 
lentioned as a gpreat estate, he looks upon it as 
n inconsiderable spot, having been used to con- 
implate the whole globe of earth. Or when he- 
»eholds a man elated with the nobility of his race, 
KH:ause he can reckon a series of seveu t\c!^ ^w 

84 OUABDiitK. H*7Q' 

cestors; the philosopher thinks him a stupid i^o- 
rant fellow^ iivhose mind cannot reach to a general 
view of human nature, which would shew him that 
we have all innumerable ancestors, amone whom 
are crowds of rich and poor, kings and slavo^ 
Greeks and barbarians/ Thus far Socrates, who 
was accounted wiser than the rest of the heatheuie 
for notions which approach the nearest to Christian 

As all parts and branches of philosophy, or spe- 
culative knowledge, are useful in that respect, 
^Lstronomy is peculiarly adapted to remedy a Utde 
and narrow spirit. In that science there are eooA 
i^easons assigned to prove the sun an hundred thou- 
sand times bigger than our earth, and the distance 
of the stars so prodigious, that a cannon-bullet 
continuing in its ordinary rapid motion, would not 
%rriye from hence at the nearest of them in the 
space of an hundred and iifty thousand years. Those 
ijdeas wonderfully dilate and expand the xRind. 
'Inhere is something in the immensity of this dis- 
tance that shocks and overwhelms the imagina- 
tion ; it is too big for the grasp of a human intel- 
lect: estates, provinces, and kingdoms, vanish at 
its presence. It were to be wished a certain prince,* 
who hath encouraged the study of it in his sub- 
jects, had been himself a proficient in astronomy. 
This might have shewed him how mean on ambition 
that was, which terminated in a small part of what 
is itself but a point, in respect to tliat part of the 
universe which lies within our view. 

But the Christian religion ennobleth and en- 
largeth the mind beyond any other profession or 
science whatsoever. Upon that scheme, while the 

• Lewis XIV. 



enthy and th^ transient c^joymentf of this life, 
ihrink into the narrowest dimensions, and are ac- 
counted as ' the dust of a balance, the drop of a 
bucket, yea, less than nothing,' the intellectual 
world opens wider to our riew. The perfections 
of the Deitj, the nature and excellence of virtue, 
the digtaity of the human soul, are displayed in the 
jjvgest characters. The mind of man seems to 
adiqpt itaelf to the di£ferent nature of its objects ; it 
is contracted and debased by being conversant in 
little and low things, and feels a proportionable en- 
liigement arising from the contemplation of these 
gTMt and sublime ideas. 

The grfeatness of things is comparative ; and this 
does not only hdd, in respect of extension, but 
Bkewiae in respect of dignity, duration, and all 
kinds of perfection. Astronomy opens Uie mind, 
ttid alters our judgment, with regara to the magni- 
tude of extended lyings; but Christianity produceth 
in universal g^atness of souL Philosophy in- 
creaaeth our views in every respect, but Christianity 
extends them to a degree b^ond the light of na- 

How mean must the most exalted potentate upon 
earth Wp^^ur to that eye which takes in innumerable 
QKden of Idased spirits, difiering in glory and per- 
ftdioa ! How little must the amusements of sense, 
and the ordinary occupations of mortal men, seem 
to one who is engaged in so noble a pursuit, as the 
asaimiktion of hin^f to the Diety, which is the 
proper employment of every Christian ! 

And the improvement which grows from habituat- 
ing the mind to the comprehensive views of religion 
must not be thought wholly to regard the under- 
standing. Nothing is of greater force to subdue 
the inordinate motions of the heart, and to re^u- 

VOL. XYJi. 1 

86 GVAE0IAK« > N^70*' 

l^te the m\L Whether a man be actuated by his 
passions, or his reason, these are first wrought upon 
oy some object, which stirs the soul in proportion 
to its apparent dimensions. Hence irreligipus men, 
whose short prospects are filled with earth, and 
sense, arid mortal life, are invited, by these mean 
ideas, to actions proportionably Httle and lowJdt 
But a mind, whose views are enlightened and ex-fl 
tended by religion, is animated to nobler pursuits^ 
by more sublime and remote objects. 

■ There is not any instance of weakness in the free- 
thinkers that raises my indignation more, than 
their pretending to ridicule Christians, as men of 
narrow understandings, and to pass themselves up- 
on the world for persons of superior sense, and 
more enlarged views.. But I leave it to any impar- 
tjial man to judge which hath the nobler sentiments, 
which the greater views ; he whose notions art 
stinted to a few miserable inlets of sense, or he j 
whose sentiments are raised above the common 1 
taste, by the anticipation of those delights whidi 
will satiate the soul, when the whole capacity of' 
her nature is branched out into new faculties ? .He' 
who looks for nothing beyond this short span of 
duration, or he whose aims are co-extended with the 
endless length of eternity ? He who derives his spirit 
from the elements, or he who thinks it was inspired 
by the Almighty ? ' 

^I'l. OUABDIAN. i7 

N*7l. TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 17 IS. 



Qude fortaUun^ ne^[ue milUarU 
Dmnda in ktU alit etculetU ; 
Nee Jubtt tettru geturai, Ufrnum 

Arida mOrix. HOR. 1 Od. zzil IS. 

No beast, of more portentoas sin, 

In the Ktercioiaii forest lies ; 

Nor fiercer in Numidia bred. 

With Carthage were in triumph ImL ROSfCOMMOK. 

I QUESTION not but my country customers will be 
surprized to hear me complain tnat this town is, of 
Jate years, very ihuch infested with lions ; and will, 
jierhapSy look upon it as a strange piece of news 
when I assure them that there are many of these 
hearts of prey, who walk our streets in broad day- 
li^t, beating about from coffee-house to cofiee- 
hoaaej and seeking whom they may devour. 

To unriddle this paradox, I must acquaint my 
rural reader that we pohte men of the town give 
the name of a lion to any one who is a great man's 
spy. And whereas I cannot discharge my office of 
Guardian, without setting a mark on such a noxious 
animal, and cautioning my wards against him, I 
design this whole paper as an essay upon the poUti-> 
cal Uon. 

It has cost me a great deal of time to discover 
the reason of this appellation, but after many dis- 
quisitions and conjectures on so obscure a subject^ 
I find there are two accounts of it more satisfactory 


88 evARDiA^if. n* 71. 

than the rest. In the republic of Venice, which hat 
been always the mother of pohties, there are near 
the doge'b palace several large figures of Hods curi- 
ously wrought in marble, with mouths gaping in a 
most enormous manner. Those who have a mind 
to give the state any private intelligence of what 
passes in the city, put their hands into the mouth j 
of one of these lions, and conrejf into it a paper t^M 
such private informations as any way r^^nl tiie 
interest or safety of the cocamonwealth. By thit 
means all the secrets of state come out of the Uon'i 
mouth. The informer i» concealed ; it is Ae lion 
that tells every thing, in ^ort, there ia not a 
mismanagement in offi<se, or a murmur in conver- 
sation, which the hon does not acquaint the govern- 
ment with. For this reason, say the learned, a 
spy is very properly distinguished by the nant of 

I must confess this etymology is plausibie 
enough, and I did for some time acquieace in i^ 
witil about a year or two ago I met with a iittk 
manuscript which sets this whole matter in a clear 
}ight. In the reign of queen Ehzabeth, says my 
author, the renowned Wakingham had manyspiei 
in his service, from whom the government received 
p-eat advantage. The most eminent among thea 
was the statesman's barber, whose surname wai 
Lion. This fellow had an admirable knack of fill- 
ing out the secrets of his customers, as they were 
under his hands. He would rub and lather a mao'i 
head, until he had got out every thing that was in 
it. He had a certain snap in his nngers and a 
volubility in his tongue, that would engage a man 
to talk with him whether he would or no. By this 
means he became an inexhaustiMe fund of private 
intelligence, and so signalized lumself in the capa* 

.H*?!* GUARDIAN. 89 

city of a spy^ that from his time a master-spy goes 
,imder the name of a hon. 

Walsingham had a most excellent penetration^ 
'and never attempted to turn any man into a Hon 
whom he did not see highly qualified for it, when 
he was in his human condition. Indeed the spe- 
culative men i)i those times say of him, that he 
l''Would now and then play them off, and expose 
4hem a little unmercifully; but that, in my opi- 
nionj seems only good policy, for otherwise they 
might set up for men again, when they thought fit, 
and desert his service. But however, though in that 
very corrupt- age he made use of these animals, 
he had a great esteem for true men, and always 
exerted the highest generosity in offering them 
more, without asking, terms of them, and doing 
more for them out of mere respect for their talents, 
though against him, than they could expect from 
any other minister whom they had served never so 
conspicuously. This made Raleigh (who profest 
hipiself his opponent) say one day to a friend, 
' iPox take this Walsingham, he baffles every body ; 
-he won't so much as let a man hate him in private.' 
IVue it is, that by the wanderings, roarings, and 
lurkings, of his lions, he knew the way to every 
man breathins^, who had not a contempt for the 
WOTld itself; be had lions rampant whom he used 
for the service of the .church, and couchant who 
were to. lie down for the queen. They were so 
much at command, that the couchant would act as 
the rampant, and the rampant as couchant, with- 
out being the least out of countenance, and all this 
within mur and twenty hours. Walsingham had 
.the pleasantest life in the world ; for, by the force 
of his power and intelligence, he saw men as they 
really were^ and not as the world thought of them. 

I 3 

Ail this WHS principaRy brought about by feeding 
his lions well, or keeping thera hungry^ according t^ 
their different constitutions. 
fHaving given this short but necessary account of 
this" statesman and his barber, who, like the taSor 
in Shakespeare's Pjrramus and Thisbe, was a man 
made as other men are, notwithstanding he was a 
nominal lion^ I shall proceed to the description af 
this strange species of creatures. Ever since the 
wise Wabingham was secretary in this nation^ our 
statesmen are said to have encouraged the breed 
among us, as very well knowing that a lion in our 
British arms is one of the supporters of the crown, 
and that it is impossible for a government, in whicft 
there are such a variety of factions and intrig^s, to 
subsist without this necessary animal. 

A lion, or a master-spy, hath several jack-cafll 
under him, who are his retailers in intelligence, and 
bring him in materials for his report ; his chief hannt 
is a coffee-house, and as his voice is exceeding 
strong, it aggravates the sound of every thing it re- 

As the lion generally thirsts after blood, and is of 
a fierce and cruel nature, there are no secrets which 
be hunts after with more delight, than those that 
cut off heads, hang, draw, and quarter, or end in 
the ruin of the person who becomes his prey. If he 
gets the wind of any word or action that may do t 
man good, it is not for his purpose, he quits the 
chace and falls into a more agreeable scent. 

He discovers a wonderful sagacity in seeking after 
his prey. He couches and frisks about in a thousand 
sportful motions to draw it within his reach, and has 
a particular way of imitating the sound of the crea- 
ture whom he would ensnare ; an artifice ta be met 
with in no beast of prey, except the hyeena and the 
politicsil lion. 

S*7\. OUABWAW. &I 

You seldom see a cluster of news-mongers with- 
out a lion in the midst of them. He never misses 
takiag his stand within ear-flhot of one of those 
little ambitious men who set up for orators in places 
of pubhc resort. If there is a whispering-hole, or 
any public spirited comer in a conee -house, you 
never fail of seeing a lion couched upon his elbow 
in some part of the neighbourhood. 

A tion is particularly addicted to the perusal of 
every loose paper that lies in his way. He appears 
mere than orainary attentive to what he feads« 
while he tistens to those who are about him. He 
takes up the post-man, and snuffs the candle that 
he may hear the better by it. I have seen a lion 
pore upon a single paragraph in an old gazette for 
two hours together, if his neighbours have been 
talking all that while. 

Having given a full description of this monster, 
for the benefit of such innocent persons as may fa^ 
into his walks, I shall appTy a word or two to the 
li(Hi himself, whom I would desire to consider that 
he is a creature hated both by God and man, and 
regarded with the utmost contempt even by such as 
mke use of him. Hangmen and executioners are 
necessary in a state, and so may the animal I have 
been here mentioning; but how despicable is the 
wretch that takes on him so vile an employment ? 
There is scarce* a being that would not sufier by a 
comparison with him, except that being only who 
acts the same kind of part, and is both the tempter 
and accuser of mankind. 

' N. B. Mr. Ironside has, within five weeks last 
past, muzzled three lions, gorged five, and killed 
one. On Monday next the skin of the dead one wiU 
he hung up in terrorem, at Button's co&e-house, 
over-against Tom'8> iir Cofient-{[arden/ '^ 

P% ODA&DlAir. N* 71 

N* 72. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 3, 1713. 

In vitium liberiaa exciditf ^ mm 

Dtgnam Uge regi HOR. An. Poet ▼• 282. 

Its Uberty was tuin'd to rage ; 

Such rage as civil power was forc'd to tame. CREBCH. 

Oxford is a place which I am more inquisitive 
about than even that of my nativity ; and when I 
have an account of any sprightly sayings or rising; 
genius from thence, it brings my own youthful days 
into my mind, and throws me forty years back into 
life. It is for this reason, that I have thought my- 
self a little neglected of late by Jack Lizard, from 
whom I used to hear at least once a week. The 
last post brought me his excuse, which is, that he 
bath been wholly taken up in preparing s(Hne exer- 
cises for the theatre. He tells me likewise^ that 
the. talk there is about a public act, and that the 
gay part of the university have great expectation of 
a Terrse-filius, who is to lash and sting all the world 
in a satyrical speech. Against the great licence 
ivhich hath heretofore been taken in these libels, 
be expresses himself with such humanity, as is very 
unusual in a young person, and ought to be cherish- 
ed and admired. For my own part, I so far agree 
with him, and if the university permits a tiling, 
which I think much better let alone ; I hope those, 
whose duty it is to appoint a proper person for that 
o^ce; will take care that he utter nothing un- 
becotaing a geutkman, i, y&^^xtf ^soA a Christian. 

kforeorer I would htve them consider that their 
earned body hath already enenies enough, who are 
prepared to aggprarate all irreverent insinuations^ 
nd to interpret all oblique indecencies^ who will 
riumph in such a victory, and bid the university 
hank herself for the consequences. 

In my time I remember the Terr»-filius con* 
ented himself with beinff bitter upon the Pope, or 
:hastising the Turk; and raised a serious and manly 
oirth, and adapted to the dignity of his auditory, 
ly exposing the false reasoning of the heretic, or 
idiculing the clumsy pretenders to gaaius and po* 
iteness. In the jovial reign of king Charles the 
Second, wherein never did more wit or more ribiMry 
ibound, the fashion of being arch upon all that was 
pwe, and waggish upon the ladies, crept into our 
leats of learning upon these oceasions. This was 
managed grossly and aukwardly enough, in a place 
Fhere the general plainness and simplicity of man- 
ners could ill bear the mention of such crimes, as 
m ecMirts and great cities are caUed by the specious 
names of air and gallantry. It is to me amazing^ 
diat ever any man, bred up in the knowledge of 
rirtue and humanity, should so ^r cast off all shame 
Bnd tenderness, as to stand up in the &ce of thou<^ 
nnds, and utter such contumelies as I have read and 
heard of. Let such an one know that he is making 
foob merry, and wise men sick; and that, in the 
eye of considering persons, he hath less compunc-* 
tioa than the common hangman, and less uiame 
khan a prostitute. 

Infamy is so cutting an evil, that most persons 
who have any elevation of soul, think it worse than 
death. Those who have it not in their power to 
revenge it, often pine away in anguish, and loath 
their being ; and those who have, enjoy no rest 

94 ovABDiAiff. ir*72' 

until they have rengeance. I shall therefore make 
it the business of this paper to shew how base and 
ungenerous it is to traduce the women, and how 
dangerous it is to expose men of learning and cha- 
racter, who have generally been the subjects of these 

. It hath been often said, that women seem formed 
to soften the boisterous passions, and sooth the 
cares and anxieties to wnich men are exposed in 
the many perplexities of life. That having weaker 
bodies, and less strength of mind, than man, Na* 
ture.hath poured out her charms upon them, and 

given them such tenderness of heart, that the most 
dicate delight we receive from them is, in think- 
ing them intirely ours, and under our protection. 
Accordingly we find, that all nations have paid a 
decent homage to this weaker and lovelier part of 
the rational creation, in proportion to their re- 
moval from savageness and barbarism. Chastity 
and truth are the only due returns that they can 
make for this generous disposition in the nobler 
fiex» For beauty is so far from satisfying us of 
itself, that whenever we think that it is communi- 
cated to others, we behold it with regret and dis- 
dain. Whoever therefore robs a woman of her re* 
putation, despoils a poor defenceless creature of 
all that makes her valuable, turns her beauty into 
loathsomeness, and leaves her friendless, absuidoo- 
ed, and undone. There are many tempers so 
soft, that the least calumny gives them pains they 
are not able to bear. They give themselves up to 
strange fears, gloomy reflections, and deep melan- 
choly. How savage must he be, who can sacrifice 
the quiet of such a mind to a transient burst of 
mirth! Let him who wantonly sports away the 
j>eace of a poctr lady, consider what discord Uq 

y' 7^ GUARDIAN.^ 95 

SOWS in ftnulies ; how often he wrings the heart of 
an hoarv parent ; how often he rouses the fury of a 
jealous husband; how he extorts from the abused 
woman curses, perhaps not unheard, and poured 
out in the bitterness of her soul ! What weapons 
hath she wherewith to repel such an outrage ! 
How sihall she oppose her softness and imbecili^ 
to the hardened forehead of a coward, who hath 
trampled upon weakness that could not resist him ! 
to a buffoon, who hath slandered innocence, to 
raise the laughter of fools ! who hath ' scattered 
firebrands, arrows and death, and said, am I not in 

Irreverent reflections upon men of learning and 
note, if their character be sacred, do great ^sser- 
vice to religion, and betray a vile mind in the au- 
thor. I have therefore always thought, with indig- 
nationt upon that ' accuser of the brethren,' the 
famous antiquary,* whose employment it was for 
several years, to rake up all the iU-natured stories 
that had ever been fastened upon celebrated men, 
and transmit them to posterity with cruel industry, 
and malicious joy. Though the good men, iU-used, 
may out of a meek and christian disposition, so 
far mibdue their natural resentment, as to neglect 
and forgive ; yet the inventors of such calumnies 
will find ffenerous persons, whose bravery of mind 
makes mem think themselves proper instru- 
ments to chastise such insolence. And I have in 
ray time, more than once known the discipline of 
the blanket administered to the offenders, and, all 
their slanders answered by that kind of syllogism 
which the ancient Romans called the ' argumentam 

* Mr. Anthony a Wood. 

9S OVABDIA V. ir* 7^ 

I have lest compiainil for men of sprightly parts 
and geniosy whose idbtncterB are jrfayed upon, be- 
cause they have it in their power to revenge them* 
eehres tenfold. Bat I think of all the classes of man- 
kind, they aoe the most pardonaUe if diey pay the 
slanderer in his own coin. For their names beinf 
already Uazed zbroad in the worid, the least blot 
thrown upon them is displayed far and wide ; and 
they have this sad privilege above the men in ob- 
scurity, that the dishonour travels as far as their 
fame. To-be even therefore with their enemy, they 
ace buttoo«ptto difiuse his in£uny as far as their 
own reputation; and perhaps triumph in ^cret» 
that they have it in their power to make his name 
the scon and derision of after-ages, lliis, I sqr« 
they are too apt to do. For sometimes they resent 
the exposing of their little afiectaticms or slips in 
writings as much as wounds iqion their honour. The 
first are trifles they should laugh away, but the latter 
deserves their utmost severity. 

I must confess a warmth against the l^ufiboneries 
mentioned in the beginning en this paper, as they 
have so many circumstances to aggravate their 
g^lt. A licence for a man to stand up in the 
schoob of the prophets, in a granre decent habit, 
and audaciously vent his obloquies against the 
doctors of our church, and directors of our youn^ 
nobihty, gentry and clergy, in their hearing and 
before their eyes ; to throw calumnies upon poor 
defenceless women, and ofiend dieir ears with nau- 
seous ribaldry, and name' their names at length 
in a {niblic theatre, when a queen''^ is upon the 
throne ; each a licence aa this never yet gained 
ground in our playhouses; and I hope will not 

* Queen Anae, mentioiied merely d| a qaecn. 

^ 7li* •QARDIAM. 97 

*ed a law to forbid it Were I to advise in this 
latter, I should rqnresent to the orator how noble 

field there lay before him for panegyric ; what a 
■ppy opportunity he had of aoing justice to the 
reat men who once were of that famous body, or 
ow stmt forth in it; nor ahouhl I negiect to in- 
nuate the advantages he might propose by gain- 
ig their friendship, whose worth, by a contrary 
■eatment, he will be imagined either not to know, 
r to envy. This might rescue the name from scan- 
al ; and if, as it ought, this performance turned 
31^ upon matters of wit and learning, it might 
kye the honour of being one of the first productions 
f the magnificent printing house, just erected at 

Hiis paper is written with a design to make my 
Ofomey to Oxford agreeable to me, where I design 
o be at the Public Act* If my advice is neglected, 
; shall not scruple to insert in the Guardian what- 
!ver the .men of letters and genius transmit to me, 
H their own vindiGati<»i ; and I hereby promise that 
[ myself will: draw my pen in defence of all injured 

* Hm Qarendon priating-lioiisef 

VOL. Xflh 

'98 .aoASsiAV. K* 71 

N* 73. THURSDAY, JUNE 4, 1713. 

In Amnt hoe inmad omiiia.— T£R. Eon* Act. i. Se. 1* 
All these thiDgs are inseparable from loye* 

It Is a matter of great concern that there come so 
many letters to me^ wherein I see parents make lofe 
for their children, and without any manner of regard 
to the season of life, and the respective interests of 
their progeny, judge of their future happiness by 
the rules of ordinary commerce. When a man fab 
in love in spme families, they use him as if his land 
was mortgaged to them, and he cannot discharge 
'himself, but by really making it the same ' thing in 
■an unreasonable settlement, or foregoing whs^t is 
dearer to him than his estate itself. These extor- 
tioners are of all others the most cruel; and the 
sharks, who prey upon the inadvertency of 'young 
heirs, are more pardonable than those who trespass 
upon the good opinion of those who treat with tnem 
upon the foot of choice and respect. The following 
letters may place in the reader s view uneasinesses 
of this sort, which may perhaps be useful to some 
under the circumstances mentioned by my corres- 

From a certain town in Cumberland, May 31. 


' It is impossible to^ express the uni- 
Tersal satbfaction your precautions give in a coun- 
try so far north as our^;, and mdeed it were imper- 

if 7^* OVABDIAW. 99 

tinent to expatiate in a case that it by no means 
particular to ourselves, aU mankind^ who wish well 
to one another, being equally concerned in their 
success. However, as all nations have not the 
genius, and each particular man has his different 
news and taste, we northerns cannot but acknow* 
ledge our obligations in a more especial manner, for 
your matrimonial precautions, which we more im* 
mediately are interested in. Our climate has ever 
been recorded as friendly to the continuation of our 
kind; and the ancient histories are not more full 
(3i their Goths and Vandals, that in swarms over- 
spread all Europe, than modem story of its Yorkshire 
hortlers and attorneys, who are remarkably eminent 
and beneficial in every market-town, and most inna 
in this kingdom. I shall not here presume to enter, 
with the ancient sages, into a particular reasoning 
iqpon the case, as whether it proceeds from the 
c»ld temper of the air, or the particular cpnstitu* 
tions of the persons, or both ; from the fashionable 
want of artifice in the women, and their entire sa- 
tiB&Gtion in one conquest only, or the happy ig- 
-4{orance in the men, of those southern vices which 
effeminate mankind. 

' From this encomium, I do not question but by 
this time you infer me happy already in the legal 
possession of some fair one, or in a probable way 
of being so. But alas ! neither is my case, and 
from the cold damp which this minute seizes upon 
my heart, I presage never will. What shall I do ? 
To complain here is to talk to winds, or mortals as 
regardless as they. The tempestuous storms in the 
neighbouring mountains, are not more relentless, 
or the crags more deaf, than the old gentleman ia 
to my sight and prayers. The lovely Pastorella in-> 
deed hears and gently sighs, but it is only to ia« 

K 3 

100 OlTARDt All» M"* 7i 

create my iorturet ; she is too dutiful to disobey • 
father ; and I am neither able, nor fonmrd, to re- 
ceive her by an act of disobedience. 

* At to myself^ my humour^ until this accident to 
ruffle it, has ever been gay and thoughtless, perpe- 
tually to^ng amongst the women, luncing briddj 
and unging softly. For I take it^ more men mis- 
carry amongst them for having too much than too 
little understanding. Pastorella seems willing to re- 
lieve me from my frights ; and by her constant car- 
riage, by admitting my visits at all hours, has con- 
vinced all hereabouts of my happiness with her, 
and occasicmed a total defection amongst her for- 
mer lovers,, to my infinite contentment. Ah ! Mr. 
Ironside, could you but see in a calm evening the 
prcrfusion of ease »id tenderness betwixt us ! llie 
murmnrine river that ghdes gently by, the cocmi^ 
turtles in mt neighbouring groves, are harsh com- 
pared to her more tuneful voice. The happy pair, 
first joined in Paradise, not more enamoured walk- 
ed ! more sweetly k>ved ! But alas ! what is all this ! 
an imaginary joy, in which we trifle away our pre- 
cious time, without coming together for ever. That 
must depend upon the old gentleman^ who sees 
I cannot five without his daughter, and knows I 
cannot, upon his terms, be ever happy with her. 
I beg of you to send for us all up to town together, 
that we may be heard before you (for we all agree 
in a deference to vour judgment) upon these heads. 
Whether the aumority of a father should not ac- 
commodate itself to the liberty of a f^-bom Eng- 
lish woman ? 

' Whether, if you think fit to take the old gentle- 
man into your care, the daughter may not choose 
her lover for her Guardian > 

H^ 7^- GVABDIAK- )01 

' Whether all parents are not obliged to provide 
for the just passions of their children when grown- 
up, as well as food and raiment in their tender 
years ? 

' These - and such points being unsettled in the 
worid, are cause of great distraction, and it would 
be worthy your great age and experience, to con- 
sider thi^ distinctly for the benefit of domestic 
life. All which, most venerable Nestor, is humbly 
submitted by all your northern friends, as well as 

Your most obedient, and 

devoted humble servant. 

Pastor Fido/ 


' We who subscribe this, are man and 
wife, and have been so these fifteen years : but you 
must know we have quarrelled twice a day ever 
since we came together, and at the same time have 
a very tender regard for one another. We observe 
this habitual disputation has an ill effect upon our. 
children, and they lose their respect towards us 
firom this janghn^ of ours. We lately entered into 
an agreement, that from that time forward, when 
either should fall into a passion, the party angry 
should go into another room, and write a note to 
the other by one of the children, and the person 
writ to, rignt or wrong, beg pardon; because the 
writing to avoid passion, is m itself an act of kind- 
ness. This little methcnl, with the smiles of the 
messengers, and other nameless incidents in the 
management of this correspondence with the next 
room, has produced inexpressible delight, made 
our children and servants chearful under our care 
«Bd protection, and made us ourselves sensible of a 


liM 6trAB9TAir. 9* 75. 

thousand sood qualitieB we now see in each other, 
which coiud not before shine oiit» because of oar 
mutnal impatience. 

Your humble servants^ 

Fhiuf and Maxt! 

• P. S. Since the above, ray wife it gone out of 
the room, and writes word by IKHy that she woidd 
hare in the above letter, tite words '' jan|;Ung of 
ours," changed into the words, * these our frequent 
debates/' I aRow of the amendment, and desire you 
would understand accordingly, that we never jangledi 
but went into frequent debates, which were alwayi 
held in a committee of the whole house/ 



*■ We married men reckon dnrsehres 
under your ward, as weBt as those who live fn a tea 
regular condition. Yon must know, I have a wife, 
who is one of those good women who are riefet 
very angry, or very much pleased. My dear is ra^ 
ther inclined to the former, and will walk about 
in soHloquy, dropping sentences to herself of nia« 
nagement, saying- '^ ate wifl say nothing, but she 
knows when her head i» laid wfaat-^^' am: the rest 
of that kind of half expressions. I am never iniqili- 
sitive to know ' what is her mevance, becausi? t 
know it is only constitution, i call her by tfte kind* 
ap|>eilatTon of: my gentfe Murmur^ and I son sO 
used to hear her, that I believe I could not iteep' 
without it. It would not be amiss if you commu- 
nicated this to the public, that many who tibink^ 
tbeir wi¥» angry, may Va^ow Wie^ ^x^ otSl^ x^sqi 

' 79- cnrjcftmAir. 109 

eased, and that very many come into this worid, 
id go out of it at a very good old age, without 
.ving ever heen much trat^ported wSh joy, or 
ieC in their whole lives. 

Your humble servant, 

Arthur Smooth/ 


' I AM now three and twenty, and in 
t utmost perplexity how to behave myself towards 
^tleman whom my father has admitted to visit 
s as a lover. I plainly perceive my father designa 
take advantage of his passion towards me, and 
{aire terms of him which will make him fly off. 
uve orders to be cold to him in all my behaviour ; 
t if you insert this letter in the Guardian, he will 
Qiw that distance is constrained. I love him better 
■d life, am satisfied with the ofier he has made, 
d desire l^m to stick to it, that he may nothere- 
ier think he has purchased me too dear. My mo- 
ar knows I love himA so that my father must com« 


Your thankful Ward, 


■'P. S. I give my service to him, and desire the 
ddttent may be such as shows I have m^ thoughts 
id upon my happiness in beipg his wife, rather 
10 hiswidow.'^ 

JM GUAE0IAK. K* 74» 

.• I 

N*74. FRIDAY, JCNE5, I71S. 

Magne Parenty sancid qudm mqjeitate verendutf BUCH. 
Great Parent) how majestic ! how adorable! 

I wiLi. make no apology for preferring this letter, 
and the extract following^ to any thing else whick 
I could possibly insert. 

« * 

* SIR, Cambridge, May Sh 

' You having been pleased fo take 
natice of what you conceived excellent in some of 
our English divines, I have here presumed to send 
a specimen, which if I am not mistaken, may foir 
acuteness of judgment, ornament of speech, and 
true sublime, compare with any of the choiceflt 
writings of the ancient fathers or doctors of the 
church, who lived nearest to the apostles' times. 
The subject is no less than that of God himself; 
lUid the design, besides doing some honour to our 
own nation, is to shew by a fresh example, to what 
a height and strength of thought a person, wha ap- 
pears not to be by nature endued with the quickest 
parts, may arrive, through a sincere and steady^ 
pra.ctice of the Christian reugion, I mean, as tauc^^ 
and administered in the church of England : . which; 
will, at the same time, prove that the force of gpt* 
ritual assistance is not at all abated by length of 
time^ or the iniquity of mankind ; but that if men 
were npt wanting to tYieTn:»d\e.%> ^xA^ovsseiceU 

74. GUARDIAK. 105 

; author speaks) could but be persuaded to con** 
n to our church's rule8> they might still lire at 
primitiTe Christians did^ and come short of none 
note eminent saints for rirtue and holiness. The 
hor from whom this coHection is made, is bishop 
'endge, voL ii. serm. 1. 


jn treating upon that passage in the book of 
>dus, where Moses being crdered to lead the 
Idren of Israel out of Egypt, he asked God what 
oe he should mention him by to that people, in 
er to dispose them to obey him : and God an* 
red, ' I Am that I Am ;' ana bade him tell 
m, ' I Am hath sent me unto you ;' the admi- 
le author thus discourses: ' God having been 
lied to reveal himself to us under this name or 
^ ''I Am that I Am,'' he thereby scu^ests to 
that he would not have us apprehend of him» 
)f any particular or limited being, but as a being 
jaiml, or the Being of all beings ; who giveth 
ng to, and therefore exerciseth authority over« 
things m the world. He did not answer Moses, 
am the great, the living, the true, the everlast- 
6od,'' he did not say, " I am the almighty 
ator. Preserver, and Governor, of the nmde 
W but '' I Am that I Am :'' intimating, that 
Coses desired such a name of God as might fully 
cribe his nature in itself, that is a thing impos* 
e, there being no words to be found in any Ian- 
ige, whereby to express the glory of an infinite 
ns, especially so as that finite creatures should 
able fully to conceive iu Yet, however, in 
se words he is pleased to acquaint us what kind 
thoughts he would have us eutettdiiv ^^ Vixxslx 
nnudi, that could we but righfty a?^^T^^\i^ 


what is cooclied under, and intended l^ them, we 
flhould doubtkis have as high and true coneeptioDi 

cf' God as it is powiUe for creatures to hare.' 

The answer g^ven su^pests farther to us these fol- 
lowing notions of tl^ most high God. ' Font, 
that he is one being, existing in and of himself: 
his unity is implied in that he saith, " I ;" his ex- 
istence in that he saith, " I Am ;'' his existence in 
and of himself, in that he saith, '' I Am that I 
Am,'' that is, *' I Am in and of myself," not re- 
ceivii^ any thing from, nor depending upon any 

other. ^The same expression imphes, that ag 

God is only one, so that he is a most pure and 
simple being ; for here, we see, he admits nothing 
into the manifestation of himself but pure essence, 
^ying^ " I Am that I Am,'' thai is, being itself, 
without any mixture or composition. And there- 
fore we must not conceive of God, as made up of 
several parts, or faculties, or ingredients, but only 
as one who " Is that He Is," and whatsoever is in 
Him is himself: And although we read of several 
properties attributed to him in scripture, as wisdom, 
goodness, justice, kc. we must not apprehend them 
t6 be several powers, habits, or qualities, as they 
are in us ; for as they are in God, they are neither 
distinguished from one another, nor from his nature 
or essence, in whom they are said to be. In whom> 
I say, they are said to be : for to speak properly, 
they are not in him, but are his very essence, or na- 
ture itself; which acting severally upon several ob- 
jects, seems to us to act from several properties or 
perfections in him ; whereas all the difierence is 
only, in our different apprehensions of the 'same 
thing. God in himself is a most simple and pure 
act, and therefore cannot have any thing in turn, 
bjJt what is that most simple and pure act itself i 

y? 74. (StuAttDiAic. 10)" 

which (seeing^ it bringeth upon every creature what 
it deserves^ we conceive of it as of several divine 
perfections in the same Ahnighty Being. Where- 
as Gody whose understanding is infinite as Himself, 
doth not apprehend himself under the distinct no- 
tions of wisdom, or goodness, or justice, or the like, 
but only as Jehovah : And therefore, in this place, 
he doth not say, *' I am wise, or just, or good/' but 
«imply, '* I Am that I Am" 

- Having thus offered at something towards the ex- 
ptication of the first of these mysterious sayings 
in the answer God made to Moses, when he de- 
signed to encourage him to lead his people out of 
Egypt, he proceec^ to consider the other, whereby 
Ood calls himself absolutely * I Am/ Concerning 
which he takes notice, that though, " I Am'' be 
commonly a verb of the first person, yet it is here 
used as a noun substantive, or proper name, and is 
the nominative case to another verb of the third 
person in these words, *' I Am hath sent me unto 
you/' A strange expression ! But when God speaks 
of himself, he cannot be confined to grammar-rules, 
being infinitely above and beyond the reach of aH 
languages in the world. And therefore, it is no 
wonder that when he would reveal himself, he goes 
pat of our common way of speaking one to another^ 
and expresseth himself in a way peculiar to himself, 
and such as is suitable and proper to his own nature 
mi glory. 

* Hence therefore, as when he speaks of him- 
sdf and his own eternal essence, he saith, " I Am 
that: I Am ;" so when he speaks of himself, witli re- 
ference to his creatures, and especially to his 
pe<^le, he saith, " I Am/' He doth not say " I 
Am their hght, their life, their guide, their strength, 
or ^ower," out only " I Am :" He sets as. it were 

198 viiABDiAii. y* 74. 

tuBbandttti^blank, that his people may write under 
it what they j^ease that is good for them. As if 
he should say« '^ Are they weak? 1 am strength. 
Are Uiey poor ? I am riches. Are they in trouble? 
I mt comfort* ASre they «cki I am health* Ait 
they dying ? I am life. Have they nothing ? I am 
aU thii^;s. I am wisdom and power, I am jnsto 
imd mercy. I am grace and goodness, I am gkry, 
heauty, holiness, eminency, supereminency, perfcc* 
tion, aU'Sufficiency, etemity> Jehovah, I Am. Whst- 
sover is suitaUe to their nature, or convenient te 
them in their several conditions, that I Am. Hl^hat* 
soever is amiable in itaeli^ or desioraUe iinto tiic8l« 
thatlAm* Whatsoever is pure and holy; what* 
soever is great or pleasant ; whatsoever is gooA sr 
needful to make men happy ; that I Am.'' Sa tliat^ 
in sluHTt, God here represents him^etf unto ua as an 
universal good, and leaves us to make the a pp li ca tion 
of it to ourselves, according to our several wanti^ 
capacities, and desirei, by saying only in gentrd^ 
" I Am,'' 

Again, page S7, he thus discoorses ; * Tkae u 
more solid joy and c«mfoit, more real delight and 
satisfaction of mind* in one single tbought of Grod» 
rightly formed, than aU the riches, and honoiBV^ 
and pleasures of this world, put tiiem all togeAer, 
are aole to afford. — Let us then call in aU our 8Cat« 
tered thoughts from all things here below, and 
raise them up and unite them all to the moat fa^ 
God; apprenending him under the idea, image, or 
likeness of any thing dse, bat as infinitely greater, 
and hi^er, and better than all things ; as onie fo- 
isting m and ai himself, and giving essence and 
existence to all things in the world besides himsdf; 
a4 one so pure and simple diat there is noUi&ng in 
him but himself but essence and being itKif ; ai 

5*74. Ckfl^K^IAlf. lOf 

<Hie to infinite and omnipotent, that wheresoever 
any thing dse is in the whole world, there he is, 
•nd beyond the world, where nothing else is, there 
an things are, because he is there, as one so wise, 
ID knowing, so omniscient, that he at this very mo- 
ment, and always, sees what all the angels are doing 
in heaven ; what all the fowls are doing in the air ; 
what all the fishes are doing in the waters ; what all 
the devib are doing in heu ; what all the men and 
beasts, and the very insects, are doing upon earth ; 
as one so powerful and omnipotent, that he can do 
whatsoever he will, only by willing it should be 
dcme; asohe so great, so good, so glorious, so im« 
mutable^ so transcendent, so infinite, so incompre- 
heinsibk, so eternal, what shall I say? so Jehovah, 
that the more we think of him, the more we 
tdmire him, the more we adore him, the more we 
love him, the more we may and ought ; our highest 
conceptions . of him being as mudi beneath nim, 
as our greatest services come short <^ what we owe 

. ' Seeing therefiore we cannot think of God so 
highly as he is, let us think of him as hig^y as we 
can : and for ihnt end let us get above ourselves, 
and above the world, and raise up our thoughts 
lugfaer and higher, and higher still, and when we 
have sot them up as high as possibly we can, let us 
apprehend a Beinff infinitely mgher &an the highest 
of them ; and iSntn finding ourselves at a loss, 
amazedf confounded at such an infinite height of 
infinite perfections, let us fall down in humbfo aiid 
hi^arty desires to be fireed firom those dark prisons 
n^horein we are now immured, that we may tak& 
our.flight into eternity, and there (tluroughthe merits 
of our blessed Saviour) see this infinite Being &ce to 
face, and engoy him for ever/ 
VOL. xvu* L 

flO oOAlibiAH.^ V* 75. 

N' 75. SATURDAY, JUNE 6, 171- 

Hkisty autnutpumf quod quarimia, 

HOR. 1 £p. ZTD. 39. 

— ^Here, or no where, we may hope to find 

What we desire. CREECH. 

This paper shall consist of extracts from two great 
divines, but of very different genius. The one it 
to be admired for convincing the understanding, 
the other for inflaming the heart. The former urges 
us in this plain and rorcible manner to an inquiry 
into religion, and practising its precepts. 

' Suppose the world began some time to be ; it 
must either be made by counsel and design, that 
is, produced by some Being that knew what it did, 
that did contrive it and frame it as it is ; which it 
is easy to conceive, a Being that is infinitely good 
and wise, and powerful, might do: but this is^to 
own a God. Or else the matter of it being sup- 
posed to have been always, and in continual mo- 
tion and tumult, it at iast happened to fall into 
this order, and the parts of matter, after various 
agitations, were at length entangled and knit toge- 
ther in this order, in which we see the world to be. 
But can any man think this reasonable to imagine, 
that in the infinite variety which is in Ihe world, 
all things should happen by chance, as well, and 
as orderly, as the greatest wisdom could have con- 
trived them ? Whoever can believe this, must do it 
with hia wiW, and not wvUn l\ls urvdei-standing. 

* Supposing the reaaens for/ and against, the 
principles of religion^ were equals yet the danger 
and hazard is so unequal, as would sway a jMrudent 
man to the affirmative. Suppose a man believe 
there is no God, nor life after this, and suppose he 
be in the right, but not certain that he is (for that 
I am sure in this case is impossible ;) all the advan- 
tage he hath by this opinion relates only to this 
worid and this present time ;. for he cannot be the 
better for it when he is not Now what advantage 
will it be to him in this life ? He shall have the more 
liberty to do what he pleaseth ; that is, it fumishetb 
him with a stronger temptation to be intemperate, 
and lustfiil, and unjust, that is, to do those things 
which prejudice his body« and his health, which 
cloud his reason, and dariLen his understanding, 
which will make him enemies in the world, will 
bring him into danger. So that it is no advantage 
to any man to be vicious ; and yet this is the 
gpneatest use that is made of atheistical principles ^ 
to comfort men in their vicious courses. But if thou 
hast a mind to be virtuous, and temperate, and just, 
the belief of the principles of religion will be no 
obstacle, but a furtherance to thee in this course 
All the advantage a man can hope for, by disbe- 
lieving the principles of religion^ is to escape trouble 
and persecution in this world, which may happen 
to him upon account of religion. But supposing 
there be a God and a life after this ; then what a 
vast difference is jthere of the consequence of these 
opinions ! As much as between finite and infinite, 
time and eternity. 

* To persuade men to believe the scriptures, I 
only refer this to men's consideration. K there be 
a God, whose providence governs the world, and 
ill the creatures in it, is it not reasonable to think 


that he hath a particular care of tuen, the tioblest 
part of this visible World f And seeing he hadi 
made them capable of eternal duration ; that he 
hath provided for their eternal happiness, and 
suffltiently revealed to them the way to it» and the 
terms and conditions of it ! Now let any man pro- 
duce any bode in the world, that pretends to b^ 
from God, and to do this, that for the matter of it 
is so worthy of God, the doctrines whereof are ao 
useful, and the precepts so reasonable, and the 
arguments so powerful, the truth of all which wag 
confirmed by so many great and unquestionable 
miracles, the relation of which has been trans- 
mitted to posterity in pubUc and authentic records, 
written by those who were eye and ear witnesses of 
what diey wrote, and jfree from suspicion of any 
worldly interest and design; let any produce a 
book like to this, in all tl^se respects ; and which 
over and besides, hath by the power and reason- 
ableness of the doctrines contained in it, prevailed 
so miraculously in the worlds by weak and incon- 
siderable means, in opposition to all the wit and 
power of iht world, and under such discourage- 
ments as no other religion was ever assaulted with ; 
let any man bring forth such a book, and he hath 
my leave to believe it as soon as the Bible. But 
if there be none such, as I am well assured there is 
not, then ever^ one that thinks God hath revealed 
himself to men, ought to embrace and entertain 
the doctrine of the holy scriptures, as revealed by 

' And now having presented men with such 
arguments and considerations as are proper, and I 
think sufficient to induce belief, I think it not un- 
reasonable to intreat and urge men diligently and 
impartially to consider these matters ; and if tfaertf 

H" 70r •UARDIAN. lis 

be weight in these considerations to sway reasonable 
raeii, that they would not suffer themselves to be 
biassed by prejudice or passion, or interest, to a con- 
trary persuasion. Thus much I may with reason 
desire of men ; for though men cannot believe what 
they will, yet men may, if they will, consider things 
seriously and impartially, and yield or withhold theic 
assent, as they shaU see cause, after a thorough search 
and examination. 

' K any man will ofler a serious argument against 
any of the principles of religion, and will &bate 
the matter soberly, as one that considers the infinite 
consequences of these things one way or other, and 
would gladly be satisfied, he deserves to be heard 
what he can say ; but if a man will turn religion 
into raillery, and confute it by two or three odd 
jests, he dodi not make religion, but himself, ridi- 
culous, in the opinion of all considerate men, be- 
cause he sports with his life. 

* So that it concerns every man that would not 
trifle away his soul, and fool himself into irrecovera- 
ble misery, with the greatest seriousness to inquire, 
into these things, whether they be so, or no, and 
patiently to consider the arguments that are brought 
for them. 

' And when you are examining these matters^ 
do not take into consideration any sensual or 
worldly interest; but deal fairly and impartially 
with yourselves. Think with yourselves that you 
have not the making of things true and false, that 
the principles of religion are either true or false, 
before you think of them. The truth of things is 
already fixed ; either there is a God, or no God ; 
either your souls are immortal or they are not ; 
either the scriptures are a divine revelation, or an 
imposture; one of these is certain and uecc^Mx^^k 

L 3 

fl4 OtJAABlAK. W^Tft. 

and they are not now to be altered. Things will 
not comply with your coticeits^ and bend tbem- 
telves to your interests: therefore do not think what 
Vou would have to be ; but consider impartially what 

The other ^reat writer is particulaiiy usefid in hii 
rapturous soliloquies, wherein he thinks of the Deity 
with the highest admiration, and beholds himsen 
with the most contrite lowliness. ' My present bui»i- 
ness, says he, is to treat of God, his being and attri-: 
botes ; but *' who is sufficient for these things ?'' At 
kast, who am I, a siDy worm, that I should xSkA upon 
me to speak of Him, by whom alone I speak ; and 
being myself but a fmite sinM creature, diould 
ibriveto imyeil the nature of the infinite andMo^t 
Holy God ! Alas ! I cannot so much as begin to think 
of him, but immediately my thoughts are confotlnd- 
ed, my heart is perplexed, my mind amazed, mf 
head turns round, my whole soul seems to be oa- 
binged and orerwhelmed within me. His mercy ex- 
riti me : His justice depresseth me. His wisdom 
astonisheth me. His power afirights me. His glory 
dazzles mine eyes ; and *' by reason of his highness 
as Job speaks, I cannot enchire : But the kast glimii^ 
of Him makes me abhor myself and repent in duft 
and ashes before Him.' 

H^ 79. Ot AltDtAtf • 1 15 

N'76. MONDAY, JUNES, 17 IS, 

StiUioUhmemterif ftomm 

HOR. 1 ISp. xf . 41. 

ThMe are blest, arid oaly tboae^ 

WImmo atetelj houM their bidden treafiwe shows. 


I £VSE tbotlght it my duty to preserve peace and 
tore among my wlurds. And since I have set up for 
an utiirersil Guardiati, I havfe laid nothing more to 
heatt than the differences and quarrels between the 
landed ^d the trading interests of tny country, 
Which indeed compf*ehend the whole. I shall always 
coiitribut^, to the utmost of my power, to reconcile 
dieae interests to each other, and to ms^e them both 
sensible that their mutual happiness depends upon 
flieif being friends. 

They mutually furnish each other with all the 
neceibaries and convettiencies of life ; the Uij^d 
supplies the traders with comi cattle, wool, and 
generally all materials, either for their subsistence 
or l^ir riches; the traders in TCtmn provide the 
gentlemen with houses, clothes and many other 
mittgs, without which their life at best would be 
uncomfortable. Yet these very interests are al- 
most always clashing; the traders consider every 
hig^ duty upon any part of their trade as proceed* 
ing ftom jealousy in ue gentlemen of their rivalling 
thc!m too fkst ; and they are <!f{ten euem\^ ^xv ^\b 
Mccoupt The gentleifnen, on lYie olO^tt ^\A, 


think they can never lay too great a burden upon 
trade, though in every thing they eat and drink 
and wear, they are sure to bear uie gpreatett part 

I shall endeavour as much as possible, to re- 
move this emulation between the parties, and in 
the first place to convince the traders, that in 
many instances high duties may be laid upon their 
imports, to enlarge the general trade of the king- 
dom. For example, if there should be laid a pro- 
hibition, or high duties which shall amount to. a 
prohibition, upon the imports from any other 
country which takes from us a million sterling 
every year, and returns us nothing else but manu- 
factures for the consumption of our own people, it 
is certain this ought to be considered as the increase 
of our trade in general ; for if we want these manu- 
factures, we shall either make them ourselves, or, 
which is the same thing, import them from other 
countries in exchange for our own. In either of 
which cases, our foreign or inland trade is en- 
larged, and so many more of our own people are 
employed and subsisted for that money which was 
mnnnauy exported, that is> in all probability, a 
hundred and fifty thousand of our people for the 
yearly sum of one million. If our traders would 
consider many of our prohibitions or high duties 
in this light, they would think their country and 
t^mselves obliged to the landed interest for these 
* Again, gentlemen are too apt to envy the traders 
every sum of money they import, and gain from 
abroad, as if it was so much loss to themselves ; 
but if they could be convinced, that for every 
million that shall be imported and gained by thJi 
tb^aders, more than twice that sum is gained by the 

K* 76. OITAtDiAir. 117 

landed interest, they would never be arehe to tbe 
trading part of the nation. To convince them there- 
fore that this is the fact» shall be the remaining pari 
of this discourse. 

Let us suppose then, that a million, or if you 
please,, that twenty miUions were to be imported, 
and sained by trade : to what uses could it be ap- 

eiedr Which would be the greatest gainers, tne 
dded or the trading interest? Suppose it to be 
twenty millions. 

It cannot at all be doubted, that a part of the 
afere-mentioned turn would be laid out in luxury, 
such as the magnificence of buildings, the plate 
and fiurniture of houses, jeweb, and rich apparel, 
the degance of diet, the splendor of coaches and 
eqikipage, and such other things as are an expence 
to the owneki, and bring in no manner of profit. 
But because it is seldom seen, that persons who 
by great industry hare gained estates, are extra- 
vagant in their lutury ; and because the revenue 
most be still sufficient to support the annual ex- 
pence, it is hard to conceive that more than two 
of the twenty millions can be converted into this 
dead stock, at least eighteen must still be left to 
ruse an annual interest to the owners ; and the 
revenue fit)m the eighteen millions, at six per cen- 
tum, win be little more than one million per an- 

Again, a part of the twenty millions is very 
likely to be converted to increase the stock of our 
inland trade, in which is comprehended that upon 
an our ^rms. This is the trade which provides for 
die annual consumption of our people, and a stock 
of the value of two years consumption b generally 
beheved to be sufficient for this purpose. If the 
eighteen millions above-mentioned will not raise a 

118 GUABDXA!^^ 11*76. 

revenue of more than one million per annum, it ii 
certain that no more than this last value can be add- 
ed to our annual consiunption, and that two of the 
twenty millions will be sufficient to add to the stock 
of our inland trade. 

Our foreign trade is considered upon another foot; 
for though it provides in part for the annual ooa- 
sumption of our own people, it provides also for Ae 
consumption of foreign nations. It exports our su- 
perfluous manufactures, and should make retunu 
of bullion, or other durable treasure* Our foreign 
trade for forty years last past> in the judgment of ue 
most intelligent persons, has been managed by a 
stock not less than four, and not exceeding eight 
millions, with which last sum they think it is driven 
at this time, and that it cannot be carried much 
farther, unless our merchants shall endeavour to 
open a trade to Terra Australis incognita, or some 
place that would be equivalent. It will therefore 
DC a very large allowance, that one of the twenty 
millions can be added to the capital stock of our fo- 
reign trade. 

There may be another way of raising interest, 
that Is, by laying up, at a cheap time, com or 
other goods or manufactures that will keep, for 
fhe consumption of future years, and when the 
markets may happen to call for them at an advanced 
price. But as most goods are perishable, and waste 
something every year, by which means a part of 
the principle is still lost, and as it is seldom seen 
that these engrossers get more than their principal, 
and the common interest of their money, this way 
is so precarious and full of hazard, that it is very 
unlikely any more than three of the twenty millions 
will be applied to engrossing. It were to be wished 
the engrossers were more profitable traders for 

M* 76. OUARDIAK . 1 IQ 

tfaemsdves; they are certainly very beneficial for 
Hie common-wealth ; they are a mancet for the rich, 
in a time of plenty, and ready at hand with rehef 
for the poor, in a time of dearth. They prevent the 
eiqportation of many necessaries of life, when they 
are very cheap; so that we are not at the charge of 
bringing them back again, when they are very dear. 
Tbey save the money that is paid to foreign countries 
for mterest, and warehouse room; but there is so 
much hazard, and so little profit in this business, 
that if twenty miUions were to be imported, scarce 
tibree of them would be applied to the making maga- 
zines for the kingdom. 

If any of the money should be lent at interest to 
persons that shall apply the same to any of the 
purposes above-mentioned, it is still the same 
thing. K I have given good reasons for what I 
have -said, no more than eight of the twenty mil- 
lions can be apptied either to our dead stock of 
luxury, our stock in inland or foreign trade, or 
our stores or magazines. So that stiU there wiU 
remain twelve miflions, which are now no other- 
wise to be disposed of than in buying of lands or 
houses, or our new parliamentary funds, or in 
being lent out at interest upon mortgages of those 
securities, or to persons who have no other ways 
to repay the value than by part of the things them- 

The question then is, what efiect these twelve 
minions wiU have towards reducing the interest of 
money, or raising the value of estates ; for as the 
former grows less, the latter will ever rise in pro- 
portion. For example, while the interest of money 
is, five per cent per annum, a man lends two 
thousand pounds, to raise a revenue of one hun- 
dred pounds per annum, by the inteiest of his 

money ; and for the same reason he gives tv( 
sand pounds or more> to purchase an estate^ 
hundred pounds per annum. Ag[ain^ if the i 
of money shall fjul one per cent be must be 
tp lend twa thousand four hundred poands» 1 
the revenue of one hundred pounds per anmu 
for the s^me reason he must give at least tw< 
sand four hundred pounds^ to purchase an ei 
the same yearly rent. Therefore if these twcdb 
lions newly gained shall reduce one per cent, 
present interest of iponey^ they must of ne 
increase every estate at least four years value 

It is ever easier to meet with men that wi 
row money than sell their estates. An evide 
this is^ that we never have so good a reven 
buying, as by lending. Ibe first thing ihi 
that will be attempted with these twelve miUi 
to lend money to those that want it This cap 
fail of reducing one per cent of the present ii 
of money, and consequently of raising every 
four years value in the purchase. 

For in all probability all the money or valu< 

in England, not applied to any of the uses i 

mentioped, and which therefore lies dead, * 

fprds no revenue to the owners, until it c 

disposed of to such uses, doth not exceed i 

millions ; yet this sum, whatever it is, is su£ 

to keep down money to the present interest^ 

to hold up lands to. their present value. 

would imagine then^ if this sum should be doi 

if twelve iz^llio^. extraordinary should be i 

to it, they should reduce half the present iq 

of moneys and double the present value of ei 

But it will easily be allowed they must redue 

per cent, of the present interest of mpney, an 

N*76. GUARDIAN. 121 

the value of four years rent to the purchase of every 


To confirm the belief of this, an argument might 

be taken from what really happened in the province 

of Holland before the year one thousand six hun- 
and seventy. I think it is in sir William Tem* 
Observations upon the United Netherlands, 
government there was indebted about thirteen 
millions, and paid the interest of five per cent, per 
aonum.- They had got a sum of money, I think 
not above a million, with which they prepared to 
discharge such a part of the principal. The credi- 
tors were so unable to find so good an interest else* 
where, that they petitioned Uie states to keep their 
money, with an abatement of one per cent, of their 
interest. The same money was offered to the same 
number of other creditors with the same success, 
imtil one per cent, of their whole interest was 

^abated, yet at last such a part of the principal was 
diflchargiMl. And when this sum came to be lent to 
private persons, it had the same efiect ; there one 

^per cent, of the common interest was abated through- 
out the whole province, as well between subject 
and subject, as between the subjects and their go- 
veniors. And nothing is so notorious,' as that the 
value of lands in that country has risen in propor- 
tion, and that estates are sold there for thirty years 
value of their < whole rents. It is n^t then to be 
doubted, that twelve millions extraordnary to be- 
lent at interest^ or purchase lands, or government 
securities, must have the lilsie^eflect- in England, at 
least that lands . will rise four years rent in everjr 
purchase above their present value. And ho^ 
great an improvement must this be of the landed 
interest ! 


122 GUARDIAN. If 77. 

The rents of England, according to the propor- 
tion of the knd-tax^ should be little more than eigbt 
millions, yet perhaps they may be twelve. If there 
is made an aadition of four years value in every pur- 
chase ; this upon all the rents of England, amounts 
to. forty-eight millions. So that, by .die importation 
and clear gain of twenty millions by trade, the l&nd^ 
ed interest gains an improvement, of forty-eight omJIi^; 
lions, at least six times as much as all other intereSr "^ 
joined together. 

•I should think this argument, which I have en- 
deavoured to set in a clear lieht, must. needs be 
sujfficient to shew, that the landed and the trading 
interests cannot in reality but be friends to each 

N*77. TUESDAY, JUNE 9, 1715. ' 

— Certum voto peteftnem. HOR. t £p. i. 56«. 


—To wishes fix an end. CREECH. 

The writers of ^lorality assign two sorts of goods, 
tlie one is in itself desirable, the other is to be 
desired, not on account of its own excellency, but 
for the sake: of some other thing which it is in- 
strumental to obtain. • These are usually distinguish- 
ed by the appellations of end anl means. We are 
prompted by nature to desire the former, but that we 
have any appetite for the latter is owing to choice and 


But as wise men engage in the pursuit of means, 
from a farther view of some natural good with whieh 
they are connected ; fools, who are actuated by imi- 
tation and not by reason, blindly piu-sue the means^ 
without any design or prospect of applying them. 
The result whereof is, that they entail upon them- 
:iriy^s the anxiety and toil, but are -debarred from 
ve subsequent delights which arise to wiser men ; 
since their views not reaching the end, terminate in 
those things, which although they > hare a relative 
goodness, yet, considered absolutely, are indifferent, 
or it may be, .«viL 

- The principle of this misconduct is a certain short- 
sightedness in the mind: and as this defect is branch- 
ed forth into innumerable errors in life, and hath 
infected all ranks and conditions of men ; so it more 
eminently appears in three species, the critics, mi- 
sers, and free-thinkers. I shall endeavour to make 
good this observation with regard to each of them. 
And first of the critic. 

Profit and pleasure are the ends that a reason- 
able creature would propose to obtain by study, 
or indeed by any other undertaking. Those parts 
of learning which relate to the imagination, as 
eloquence and poetry, produce an immediate plea- 
sure in the mind. And sublime and usefiil truths, 
when they are conveyed in apt allegoriep or beauti- 
ful images, make more distinct and lasting impres- 
sions ; by which means the fancy becomes Sub- 
servient to the understanding, . and the mind is at 
the same time dehghted and instructed. The exer- 
cise of the understanding in the discovery of truth, 
is likewise attended with great pleasure, as well as 
jmiiiediate profit. It not only strengthens our 
faculties, purifies the soul, subdues the passions ; 
biit besides these advantages, there is al&o a ^cx^l 

M 3 


184 GUABDIAN. n'77. 

joy that flows from intellectual operations^ propor- 
tioned to the nobleness of the faculty, and not the 
less aflecting because inward and unseen. 

But the mere exercise of the memory as such, 
instead of bringing pleasure or immediate benefit, 
is a thing of vain irksomeness and fatigue^ especial- 
ly when employed in the acquisition of languaga^ 
which is of all others the most dry and painH 
occupation. There must be therefore soinetliiig 
further proposed, or a wise man would never en- 
gage in it. And, indeed, the very reason of tte 
thing plainly intimates that the motive which fint 
drew men to aSect a knowledge in dead tongno^ 
was that they looked on them as means to con?e| 
more useful and entertaining knowledge into thcii 

There are nevertheless certain critics, who, •e^ 
ing that Greek and Latin are in request^ join in i 
thoughtless pursuit of those languages, without any 
further view. They look on the ancient authori, 
but it is with an eye to phraseology, or certain mi- 
nute particulars which are valuable for no othei 
reason but because they are despised and forgotten 
by the rest of mankind. The divine maxims of mo* 
rality, the exact pictures of human life, the profound 
discoveries in the arts and sciences, just thought^ 
bright images, sublime sentiments, are overlooked^ 
while the mind is learnedly taken up in verbal re< 

Was a critic ever known to read Plato with i 
contemplative mind, or Cicero, in order to im* 
bibe the noble sentiments of virtue and a public 
spirit, which are conspicuous in the writings of that 
great man ; or to peruse the Greek or Romas 
histories, with an intention to form his own Kfii 
upon the plan of the illustrious patterns they e%i 

N'77." CUAEDIAN. 125 

hibit to our view ? Plato wrote in Greek. Cicero'i. 
Latin is fine. And it often lies in a man's way to 
quote the ancient historians. 

.. There is no entertainment upon earth more noble 
and befitting a reasonable mind, than the perusal of 
flood authors ; or that better qualifies a man to pass. 
fib life with satisfaction to himself, or advantage to 
the public. But where men of short views and mean . 
souls give themselves to that sort of employment' 
which nature never designed them for, they indeed 
keep one another in countenance ; but ^instead of 
cultivating and adorning their own minds, or ac* 
quiring an ability to be useful to the world, they reap. 
no other advantage from their labours, than the dry. 
consolation arising from the applauses they bestow 
upon each other. 

And the same Weakness, or defect of the mind 
from whence pedantry takes its rise, does likewise 
give birth to avarice. Words and money are both 
to be regarded as only marks of things ; and as the 
knowledge of the one, so the possession of the 
oth^r is of no use, unless directed to a further end. 
A mutual commerce could not be carried on among 
men, if some common standard had not been agreed 
upon, to which the value of all the various pro- 
ducts of art and nature were reducible, and which 
might be of the same use in the conveyance of pro- 
perty, as words "are in that of ideas. Gold by its 
beauty, scarceness, and durable nature, seems de- 
simed by Providence to a purpose so excellent and 
advantageous to mankind. Upon these considera- 
tions that metal, came fii^t into esteetn. But such 
who cannot see beyond what is nearest in the pur- 
suit, beholding mankind touched with an affection 
for. gold, . and being ignorant of the true reason 
that introduced this odd passion into Wxci^xi Tx^xn^, 

M 3 

126 GUARDIAN. N^78 

imagine some intrinsic worth in the mieta] to be the 
cause of it. Hence the same men wfao^ had they 
been turned towards learning, would have employed 
themselves in laying up words in their memory, are 
by a different apphcation employed to as mucn po^ 
pose, in treasuring up gold m their cofiers. They 
differ only in the object ; the principle on which they 
act, and the inward frame of mind, is the same in 
the critic and the miser. 

And upon a thorough observation, our modem 
sect of free-thinkers wiU be found to labour under 
the same defect with those two inglorious species. 
Their short views are terminated in the next objects, 
and their specious pretences for liberty and truth, 
are so many instances of mistakmg 'tne meads for 
the end. But the setting these points in a clear light 
iQUSt be the subject of another paper. 

N*78. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 10, 1713. 


Undeparentur opes; quid alai, f^rmetque Poetam* 

HOR. An Poet, ven S06. 

I will teach to write^ 

Tell what the duty of a Po«t i^y 
Wherein his wealth and ornament consist. 
And how he way be formed, and how improv'd. 


It is no small pleasure to me, who am zealous in 
theinterests of learning, to think I may have Hat 
honour of leading the Iowa VqXa ^ 't^'t^ \i^^ vaUA 

uncommon ro^ of criticism. A& that kind of lite- 
rature is at present carried on« it consists only in a 
knowledge of mechanic rules which contribute to 
the structure of different sorts of poetry ; as the re- 
ceipts of good housewivea do to the making pud- 
dinffs of flour^ orangey, plumbs, or any other in- 
jireoients. It would, m^thinks^ make these my 
mstructions more easily intelligible to ordinary 
readers, if I discoursed of these matters in the style 
in whidi ladies learned in ceconomics, dictate to their 
pupils for the improvement of the kitchen and 

I shall begin with epic poetry, because the critics 
agree it is the greatest work human nature is ca- 
pable of. I know the French have already laid down 
many mechanical rules for compositions of this sort, 
but at the same time they cut off almost all under- 
takers frotn the possibility of ever performing them ; 
for the first qualification they unanimously require 
in a poet, is a genius. I shall here endeavour (for 
the benefit of my countrymen) to make it manifest, 
that epic poems may be made * without a genius,' 
nay, without learning, or much reading. This must 
necessarily be of great use to all those poets who con- 
fess they never read, and of whom the world is con- 
vinced they never learn. What Moliere observes of 
making a dinner, that any man can do it with 
money, and if a profest cook cannot without, he 
has his art for nothing ;'^ the same may be said 
of making a poem, it is easily brought about by him 
that has a genius, but the skill lies in doing it with 
out one. Li pursuance of this end, I sh^l present 
the reader with a plain and certain recipe, by which 
even sonneteers and ladies may be quaUfied for this 
grand performance. 

^tbemmoibgnf his art is (otd foi TLOl&&De^ 

i-erf guabdian; k*78. 

' I know it will be objected, that one of the chief 
qualifications of an epic poet, is to be knowing in 
dl arts and sciences. But this ought not to dis-' 
courage those that have no learning, as long as in- 
dexes and dictionaries may be had, which are Ae, 
compendium of all knowledge. Besides, since it h 
hn established rule, that noYie of the terms of thoisc] 
arts and sciences are to be made lise of, one may 
venture to affirm our poet cannot impertinently of- 
fend in tliis point; The learning which will be more 
particularly necessary to h!m, is the ancient geogra- 
phy of towns, mountains, and rivers : for this let 
• him take Cluverius, value four-pence. 

Another quality required is a complete skill in 
language. To this I answer, that it is notorious per- 
sons of no genius have been oftentimes great 
Ifnguists. To instance in the Greek, of which 
there are two sorts ; the original Greek, and that 
from which our modern authors translate. I should 
be unwilling to promise impossibilities, but mo- 
destly speaking, this may be learned in about an 
hour's time with ease. I have known one, who 
became a sudden professor of Greek, immediately 
upon application of the left-hand page of the 
Cambridge Homer to his eyes. It is in these days, 
with authors as with other men, the well-bred are 
familiarly acquainted with them at first sight ; and 
as it 'is sufficient for a good general to have sur- 
veyed the ground he is to conquer, so it is enough 
f6r a good poet to have seen the author he is to he 
master of. But to proceed to the purpose of this 

i,. . \^i4.'JI^^PPP^ .^^ make ^ an Epic Poem, 


* Take^out^ of any old poertv, Ivvalorj book, ro- 
mance, d^fegfehd (f6r'\nslaivce ^ttSv"^ o\^wvBCiQ.>a5^, 

N^78. GUARDIAN. 129 

or don Beli&nis of Greece) those parts of story which 
afibrd most scope for long descriptions. Put these 
pieces together^ and throw all the adventures you 
rancy into one tale. Then take a hero whom you 
may choose^or the sotmd of his name, and put him 
into the midst of these adventures. There let him 
woik^ for twelve hooks ;- at the end of which you 
may take him out ready prepared to conquer, or to 
marry ; it being necessary that the conclusion of an 
epic poem, he fortunate.' 

To make an episode. — * Take any remaining ad- 
venture of your former collection, in which you 
eould no way involve^ your hero; or any unfortu- 
nate accident that was toogood to be thrown away ; 
and it will be of use, . applied to any other jierson, 
who may be lost and evaporate in the course of the 
work, without the least damage to the composi* 

For tbcmordland oU^^ory.-^^^ These you may ex- 
tract out of the faible afterwards at your leisure. Be 
sure you straia them sufficiently.' 


' For those t)f the hero, take all the best quali- 
•ties-you can find in all the celebrated heroes of an- 
tiquity; if they will not be reduced to a consis- 
tency, lay them all on a heap upon him. But be 
mire they are qualities which your patron would be 
thought to have : and to prevent any mistake which 
the world may be subject to, select from the al- 
phabet those capital letters that compose hi^ 
name, and set them at the head of a dedication be- 
fore your poem. However, do hot absolutely ob- 
serve the exact quantity of these virtues, it not 
being determined, whether or no it be necessary for 
the hero of a poem, to be an honest maxi.— *¥qx 


the under characters^ gather them from Homer and 
Virgil^ and change the names as occasion serves.' 


' Take of deities, male and female, as many as you 
can use. Separate them into equal parts, and keep 
Jupiter in the middle. Let Juno put him in a fer- 
meivt, and ' Venus mollify him. Remember on all 
occasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If y<M 
have need of devils, draw them out of Milton'i 
Paradise, and extract your spirits from Tasso. 11m 
use of these machines is evident ; for since no epk 
poem can possibly subsist without them, the wisest 
way is to reserve them for your greatest necessitia. 
Wiien you cannot extricate your hero by any humai 
means, or yourself by your own wits, seek reliel 
from heaven, and the gods will do your busineif 
•very readily. This is according to the direct pre- 
pcription of Horace in the Art of Poetry :' 

* Nee Deus intersit, nisi dignus vtndice Nodu$ 
Inciderit ' ver. »91 

* Never presume to make a God appear. 
But for a business worthy of a God.' ROSCOMMON 

That is to say, a poet should never call upon tl» 
gods for their assistance, but when he is in grea 


For a tempest. — ' Take Eurus, Zephyr, Auster 

and Boreas, and cast them together in one verse 

Add to these of rain, lightning, and of thunder (th< 

loudest you can) quantum mfficit. Mix your cloud 

and billows well* toge\]liet \«v\j\ >3cvc^ ^owsv/ an< 

N' ^8. GUARDIAN. , l^l 

ihiqken your description bere^nd there with a quick* 
sand* !Brew your tempest well in your head^ before 
you set it a blowing^/ 

For a battle.—' Pick a large quantity of images 
and descriptions from Homer's Iliad, with a spice 
or two of Virgil, and if there remain any overplus 
you may lay them by for a skirmish. Season it 
well with similes, and it will make an excellent 

For burning a town, — * If such a description' be 
necessary, because it is certain there is one in Vir- 
gil, Old Troy is ready burnt to your hands. But if 
you fear that would be thought borrowed, a chapter 
or tw.o of the. theory of conflagration,'* well cir- 
cumstanced, and done into verse, will be a good 

' As for similes and metaphors, they may be found 
all over the creation ; the most ignorant may gather 
them,, but the. danger is in applying them. For this, 
advise with your bookseller. 


(I mean the diction.) • 'Here it will do well to 
be an imitator of Milton, for you will find it easier 
to imitate him in this, than any thing else. He- 
braisms and Grecisms are to be found in him, with- 
out the trouble of learning the languages. I knew 
a painter, who (like our poet) had no genius, make 
his daubihgs to be thought originals by setting them 
in the smoke. You may in the same manner give 
the venerable air. of antiquity to. your piece, by 
darkening it up and down with Old English. With 

f Frpm lib. in. J}^ CoQflagratioQe Mundi of Tellaris Theo- 
tig Saera: pabli8h,ed in 4tOy I6ft9> by Pr. T|ioinas .Bvmet^ 
MiMer'orraeCliarter-hdise. ' 

1S2 OUABl^IAN. M*79. 

tbb you may be easfly fumuhed upon any occanoh, 
by the dictionary commonly printe<l at the end of 

I must not conclude^ without cautioning aU wri* 
ters without genius in one material point, which u, 
never to he afraid of having too much fii« in their 
works. I should advise rather to 'take their warmeit 
thoughts, and spread them abroad upon paper ; for 
they are observed to cool before they are read. 

N*79. THURSDAY, JUNE 11, 1713. 

^-* PraeUtra et pmUkra mmantem 

Vivere nee recU, nee mtamier HOR. 1 ^» viil. 3> 


— ^I make a noise, a gandy show, 

I promise mighty things, I nobly strive; 

Yet what an iU, unpleasant life I live ! CREECH. 

It is an employment worthy a reasonable creature, 
to examine into the disposition of men's affections 
towards each other, and a& far as one can, to im- 
prove all tendencies . to good.Jiature and charity. 
No one could be unmoved with this epistle, ^diich 
I received the other day from one of my correspon- 
dents, and which is. fuU of the most ardent benevo- 


• SIK, 

* I SELDOM read your political, your 

critical, your ludicrous, or if you will call them so^ 

jrour polite papers, but wVven \ ^^wct^t «k^ \hui^ 

|l*79» GUARDIAN. 133 

wbich^t think written for the advancement of good- 
will aniongst men, and laying before them objects 
of charity, I am very zealous for the promotion of 
ao honest a design. Believe me, sir, want of wit, 
«r wisdom, is not the infirmity of this age ; it is the 
dnm^fild apphcatioo of both that is the crying eviL 
As for my- own part, I am always endeavouring at 
least to be better, rather dian richer, or wiser. 
But I never laniented that I was not a wealthy man 
JK> heartily as the other day. You must understand 
diat I now and then take a walk of mortification, 
wad pass A whole day in making myself profitably 
sad. I for this end visit the hospitals about this 
city; and when I have rambled, about the galleries, 
at jSedlam, and seen for an hour the utmost of all . 
lamentable objects, human reason distracted ; when 
I have from grate to grate offered up my prayers 
for a wretch who has been reviling me, for a figure 
that has seemed petrified with anguish — ^for a man 
that has held up his face in a posture of adoration 
towards heaven to utter execrations and blasphe- 
mies; I bay, when I have beheld all these thin^, 
and thorougUy reflected on them, until I have 
startlM myself out of my present iU course ; I have 
thought fit to pass to the jobservation of less eyils, 
and relieve niyself by going to those charitable re- 
ceptacles about this town, appointed only for bo- 
dily distresses. The gay and frolic part of man- 
kind are wholly unacquainted with the numbers of 
their* fellaw-creatares, who languish under pain and 
agony, for want of a trifle out of that expence by 
Mrfaieh those fortunate persons purchase the gratifi-. 
cation of a superfluous passion, or appetite. I 
ended the last of these pilgrimages which I made, 
at St Thomas's hospital in Soumwark. I had seen. 
iU the variety of woe, which can arise from the dis- 

VOIm xvij. N 

134 CUARDIAN, '|l*79. 

tempers which attend human frailty; but th^ cir- 
cumstance which occasioned this letter, and gaye 
me the quickest compassion, was beholding a litde 
boy of ten years of age, who was just then to be ex- 
pelled the house as incurable. My heart melted 
within me to think what would become of the poor 
child, who as I was informed, had not a fartmng 
m the world, nor father nor mother, nor friend to 
help it. The infant saw my sorrow for it, and came 
towards me, and bid me speak, that it might die in 
the house. ' 

• * Alas! There are crowds cured in this place, 
and the strictest care taken, in the distribution of 
the charity, for wholesome food, good physic, and 
tender care in behalf of the patients ; but the pro- 
vision is not large enough for those whom they do 
itot despair of recovering, which makes it necessary 
tb turn out the incurable, for the sake of those 
whom they can relieve. I was informed this was 
the fate of many in a year, as well as of this poor 
child, who I suppose, corrupted away yet alive in 
the streets. He was to be sure removed when he 
\^as only capable of giving offence, though avoided 
when still an object of compassion. There are not 
words 'to give mankind compunction enough on 
such aii occasion ; but I assure you I think the 
miserable have a property in the superfluous pos- 
sessions of Che fortunate; though I despair of 
seeing right done them until the day wherein those 
distinctions shall cease for ever, and they must both 
give an acc6unt for their behaviour under their re- 
spective suflferings, and enjoyments. However, you 
would do your part as a guardian, if you wmild 
menti'on, in the most pathetic terms, these misera- 
ble objects, and put the good part of the world in 
mind of e^terting the. most noble benevolence that 

K 79. OUARDlArf. 135 

c^ be imagined; in alleviating the few remaining 
moments of the incurahle. 

'A gentleman who belonged to the hospital^ was 
•aying, he believed it would be done as soon as tnen- 
tioned> if it \^ere proposed that a ward might be 
erected for the accommodation of such as have no 
more to do in this world, but resign themselves to 
d^ath. I know no readier way of communicating 
this thought to the world, tha'n by your paper. If 
you omit to publish this, I shall never esteem you to 
be the man you pretend ; and so recommendrng the 
incurable to your Guardianship, 

I remain, Sh, 

Your most humble servant, . 


• • • . ' 

It must -be confessed, that if one turns one's 
eyes round these cities of London and Westminster^ 
one cannot overlook the exemplary instances of he- 
roic charity, in providing restraints for the wicked, 
instructions for the young, food and raiment for 
the aged, with regard also to all other circum- 
stances and relations of human life ; but it is to be 
lamente'd that these provisions are made only by the 
middle kind of people, while those of fashion anc( 
power are raised above the species itself, and are 
unacquainted or unmoved with the calamities of 
qtheifs. But, alas ! how monstrous is this hard« 
ness* of heart ! How is it possible that the returnii 
of hunger and thirst should not importune men, 
though in the highest affluence, to consider the 
ittiseries of their fellow -treat ures who languish 
under necessity : But as I hinted just now, the dis- 
tinctions of mankind are almost wholly to be. re- 
tSdved into those of the rich and the poor; for 
as ^certainly as wealth gives acceptance and griace tb 

N 3 

136 QVAUDIAV. Jf19* 

all that its possessor says or does;/ so yaiftftf de- 
ates disesteem, 8Corn> and prejudice to aU.tfaem- 
dertakings of the indigent. The necessitous man 
has neither hands^ lips, or understs^nding:, for Ui 
own or friend's use, hut is in the sanoe vcopditioii 
with the sick, with this difference only, fh^thisii 
an infection no man will relieve, or assist, or if he 
does, it is seldom witi:^ so much pity as iiontempkt 
«nd rather for the ostentation of the physiciflOb 
than compassion on the patient It is a circum- 
stance, wherein a man finds aU the good he desenw 
inaccessible, all the ill unavoidable; and the poor 
hero is as certainly ragged, as the poor villain 
hanged. Under Inese pressures the poor man 
speaks with liesitation, undertakes with irresolo- 
tion, and acts with disappointment. He is slighted 
in men's conversation, overlooked, in their assem- 
blies, and beaten at their doors. 3ut from whence 
alas, has he this treatment? firom a creature that 
has only the supply of, but not an exemptipn from, 
the wants, for which he despises bun. \et such is 
the unaccountable insolence of man, that he wil 
not see that he who is supported, is in the same 
class of natural necessity with him that wants « 
support; and to be he]pe4 implies to be indigent 
In aword, after all you can say of a m^n, ^^nchide 
that he is rich, and you have made, him friends; 
nor have you utterly overthrown a man m iht 
world's opinion, until you have said he is poob 
This is the emphatical expression of praise atiJ 
blame : for men so stupidly forget their natural im^ 
potence and want, that* Riches and Poverty ham 
taken in our imagination the place of Innocence and 

Reflections of this kind 60 but waste one^s beings 
without Capacity of helping the distressed ; yd 

H*66.- guardian; 137 

Uiough I know* no way to do any service to my bre- 
thren under such calamities^ I cannot help having 
so much respect for them^ as to suffer with them in 
a firuitlefls fdlow-feeling. 

N*80. FRIDAY, JUNE 12, 1713. 

CetUitibus Ira, VIRG. ^n. i. 15. 

Anger in heav'nly minds. 

I. HAVE found by experience, that it is impossible 
to talk distinctly without defining the words of 
which' we make use. There is not a term in our 
language which wants explanation so much as the 
woni Church. One would think when pcDple utter 
it, they should have in their minds ideas of virtue 
and rehgion; but that important monosyllable drags 
all the other words in the language afler it, and it 
i&made use of to express both praise and blaine', 
according to the character of him who speaks it. 
By' this means it happens, that no one knows What 
his neighbour means when he says such a one is 
for, or against the church. It has happened that 
the person, who is seen every day at church, has 
not been in the eye of the world a church-man ; 
and he who* is. very zealous to oblige every, mail to 
frequent it, but himself, has been held a very good 
sort 'of the church. This prepossession is the best ^ 

Jf 3 

138 GVARDIAK. N^Stfe 

handle imaginable for politicians to make uft <l& ftr 
managing the loves, and hatreds of mankind, to the 
purposes to which they would lead thepu But Uui 
is not a thing for fools to nteddle with» for tliey on^ 
bring disesteem upon those whom they attempt to 
serve, when they unskilfully pronounce terms of art, 
I have observed great evils arise from this practice^ 
and not only the cause of piety, but also the secular 
interest of clergymen, has extremely suffered by 
the general unexplaitved signifieatio^ of the wont 
church. ' 

The Examiner, upon the strength of being a re- 
ceived churchman, has offended in this particular 
more grossly than any other man ever did before^ 
and almost as grossly as ever he himself did, sup- 
posing the allegations in the following^ letter are 
just. To slander any man is a very neinous of- 
fence ; b\it the crime is still greater, when it falls 
upon such as ought to give example to others. I 
cannot imagine how the Examiner can divest any 
part of the clergy of the respect due to their cha* 
racters, so as to treat them as he does, without Bn 
indulgence unknown to our religion, though taken 
up in the name of it, in order to disparage such of 
its communicants, as will not sacriEce weir con* 
science to their fortunes.^ This confusion and sub- 
division of interests and sentiments, among p^ple 
of the same communion, is what would be a very 
good subject of mirth ; but when 1 cotisider against 
whom this insult is committed^ I. think it too great# 
and of too ill a consequence,, to be in good humour 
cuQ the occasion. 

' «», June 9, 171S. 

' YouB character of Universal Guar* 
cb'as. Joined to the conceru ^oi^i. ci^&^x. VaVl^^ W 


Ae came rf virtue and reli^on, aanire me you will 
not thiidE tluit dfergrymen when injured, have the 
least Tight to your protection *; and it is from that 

amirance I troable you with this, to complain of the 
Enminer^ who calumniates as freely as he cora* 
mendsy and whose invectives are as groundless as his 

. ' In his paper of the eighth instant, after a most 
ihrioiis ihvectiVe aejiiinst many noble lords> a con- 
siderabk number of the Conmions, and a very great 
|iait of her majesty's good subjects, as disaffected 
and ftdl' ci discontent, which by the way, is but an 
anikward oom|diment to the prince whose greatest 
gfery it is to retgn in the hearts of her people, that 
the clergy may 'not go without their share of his 
FMntment, he concludes with a most malicious 
reflection upon some of them. He names indeed 
nobody, but ptots to Windsor and St. Paul's, 
where be tells us. some are disrespectful to the 
queen, and enemies to her peace ; most odious 
dharacters, especially in clergymen, whose profes- 
sioa is peace, and to whose duty and affection 
her mUgesty has a more immediate right, by her 
8iiig;ular piety and great goodness to them. '^ They 
have sacked in," he says, " this warlike principle 
from their arbitrary patrons." It is not enough, it 
seems;, to calumniate them, unless their patrons 
also be- insulted, no less patrons than., the late king 
aftd Ibe duke of Marlborough. These are his 
aj^trary meh ; though nothing be more certain 
than that without die king, the shadow of a legal 
government had not been 1^ to us ; nor did there 
ever live a man, who in the nature and temper of 
him, leas deserved the character of arbitrary than 
the duke* How now is this terrible charge against 
those clergymen supported? Wbyi as to St raulV 


the fkct^ according to him, is this H''' Some of tU 
church, to affront the queen, on the day the peace 
was proclaimed, ^ave orders for parochial prayen' 
only, without singing, as is used upon fast-days^ 
though in this particular their inferiors were to 
very honest to disobey them/* This the Examiner 
roundly affirms after his usual manner, but without 
the least regard to truth ; for it is fallen in my w^y 
without inquiring, to be exactly informed of thii 
matter, and therefore I take upon me in their vin- 
dication to assure you, that every part of what . ii^ 
said is absolutely false, and the truth is just the 
reverse. The inferiors desired there might be only 
parochial prayers ; but the person applied to was 
aware to what construction it might be liable, and 
therefore would not consent to the request, though 
very innocent and reasonable. The case was this : 
the procession of the ceremony had reached Lud- 
gate just at the time of prayers, and there was such 
a prodigious concourse of people, that one of the 
vergers came to the residentiary in waiting, to re- 
present, that it would be impossible to. have prayen 
that afternoon ; that the crowds all round the 
church were so great, there would be no getting 
in : but it was insisted,' that there must be prayers, 
only the tolling of the bell should be deferred a 
litde until the head of the procession was got be- 
yond the church. When the bell had done, and 
none of the quire appeared, but one to read, it 
was upon this again represented, that there could 
be only parochial prayers, a thing that sometimes 
hfappens, twice or thrice perhaps in a year, wheil 
i^on some allowable occasions the absence of the 
quire-men is so great, as not to leave the necessary 
voices for cathedral service ; which very lately was 
the case upon a performance of the thanksgivinj^' 

9*80. 'OtABDIA!^. m 

mnflic at Whitehall. So that had the prayers, on 
^t occasion, been parochial only, it had been 
ndther new nor criminal, but necessary and un- 
afoidable> unless the Examiner can tell how the 
•enrice may be sun^ decently without singing-mep. 
Howerer to leave mformers no room for calumny, 
k was expressly urged, that parochial prayers on 
iodi a day, wodd look ill ; that ^erefore, if pot- 
iiUe, it should be avoided, and the service should 
be begun as usual, in hopes one or two of the quire 
ndghtcome in before the psalms; and the verger 
Wi» ordered to look out, if he could see any of the 
quire, to hasten them to their places; and so it 
proved, two of the best voices came in time enough, 
and the service was performed cathedral-wise, 
though in a manner to bare walls, with an anthem 
loitable to the'dsnr. This is the fact on which the 
Examiner grouniu a charge of factious and sediti^ 
ous principles against some at St Paulas, and I 
am persuaded there is as little truth in what he 
charges some of Windsor with, though I know not 
certainly whom he means. Were I disposed to ex* 
postulate^ with the Examiner, I would ask him if 
ae seriously thinks this be answering her majesty's 
intentions ' Whether disquieting the minds of her 
people is the way to calm them ? Or to traduce 
men of learning and virtue, be to cultivate the 
srts of peace ? But I am too well acquainted with 
his writings not to see he is past correction ; nor 
does any thing in his paper surprise me, merely 
because it is false ; for to use his own words, not a 
day passes with him, but '* it brings forth a mouse 
or a monster, some ridiculous lie, some vile calum- 
ny or forgery." He is almost equally false in 
every thing he says; but it is not always equally 
easy to maS^e his falsehood plain and palpable. And 

142 GUARDIAN. If*?l. 

it is chiefly for tbat reascm I desife yoli tcF gire' this 
letter a place in your papers^ that those that are 
willing to be undeceived may learn, from so clear an 
instance, what a faithful, modest writer this is, who 
pretends to teach them how to think and speak of 
things and persons they know nothing of themselves. 
As this is no way disagreeable to your character of 
Guardian, your publication of it is a favour which I 
flatter myself you will not deny to. 


your humble servant^- ? 


W 81. SATURDAY, JUNE 13, 1713. 

Quiets et puri atque elegtaUer acta igtoHs placida ae lenis rem' 
. datio. CICERO. 

Placid and sootbiug n the remembrance of a life passed witli 
quiety innocence, and eleg^ce. 

The paper which was published on the thirtieth of 
last month, ended with a piece of devotion written 
by the archbishop of Cambray. It would (as it 
was hinted in that precaution) be of singular use 
for the improvement of our minds, to have the 
secret thoughts of men of good talents on such 
occasions. I shall for the entertainment of this dsiy 
give my reader two pieces, which if he is curious 
will be pleasing for that reason, if they prove to 
baye no other effect upon\vvtcv. Otv^ <i^ iVvemwas 

^•-81. GUARDIAN. 143 

{ound in the closet of an Athenian lihertine, who 
lived many ages ago^ and is a soliloquy wherein he 
contemplates his own life and actions according to 
the lights men have from nature^ and the compunc- 
tions of natural reason. The other is a prayer of a 
gentleman who died within a few years last past ; 
snd lived to a very great age i but had passed his 
youth in all the vices in fashion. The Athenian is 
supposed to have been Alcibiades, a man of great 
^irit, extremely addicted to pleasures, but at the 
lame time very capable, and upon occasion very 
attentive to business. He was by nature endued 
with all the accomplishments she could bestow; he 
had beauty, wit, courage, and a great understand- 
ing ; : but in the first bloom of his life was s^rrogautly 
affected with the advantages he had over others. 
That temper is pi*etty visible in an expression of his: 
when it was proposed to him to learn to play upon 
a musical instrument ; he answered, ' It is not for 
mate give, but to receive delight.* However, the 
conversation of Socrates tempered a strong inclina- 
tion to licentiousness into reflections of philosophy ; 
and if it had not the force to make a man of his 
genius and fortune wholly regular, it gave him some 
cool moments, and this following soliloquy is sup- 
posed by the learned to have been thrown together 
before some expected engagement, and seems to be 
very much the picture of the man : 

. ' I am now wholly alone, my ears are not en- 
tertained with music, my eyes with beauty, nor 
any of my senses so forcibly affected, as to divert 
the course of my inward thoughts. Methinks there 
is something sacred in myself, now I am alone. 
What is this being of mine ? I came into it without 
my choice, and yet Socrates says it is to be imputed 
. to me. . In this repose of- my senses wherein they 


communicate nothing stronglv to myielf, I 
methinks, a being distinct n*oin thepr apt, 
WTiy may not then my soul exists .when., 
wholly gone out of these organs ? I can. in 
my facmties grow stronger^ the less I aoii 
pleasures of sense; and the. nearer I place 
to a bare existence, the more worthy, the 
noble, the more celestial does that existence i 
to me. If my soul is weakened rather ths 
proved by all that the body administers to hi 
may reasonably be supposed to be designei 
mansion more suitable than this, wherein wfa 
lights her diminishes her excellence, and that 
afflicts her adds to her perfection. There is ai 
after, and I will not fear to be immortal for tl 
of Athens/ 

This soliloquy is but the first dawnings oft! 
in the mind of a mere man given up to sent 
The paper which I mention of our contem 
was K)und in his scrutoir after his death, bu 
municated to a friend or two of his in his lifi 
You see in it a man wearied with the vanities 
life ; and the reflections which the success of 
and gallantry bring upon his old age, are i 
worthy the observation of those who possess t 

' Oh, Almighty Being ! How shall I look 
wards Thee, when 1 reflect that I am. of n 
sideration but as I have offended ? My exi 
O my God, without thy mercy, is not to I 
longed in this or another world but for my ] 
ment. I apprehend. Oh, my Maker, let it 
too late : I apprehend, and tremble at th 
•ence ; and shall I not consider .Thee, who 
goodness, but with terror ? Oh, my Redeer 
Thou behold my anguish. Turn to m<^ 

N^'Sl. GVABDIAN. 145 

Saviour of the world ? wbo has offended like me ? 
Oh, my God, I cannot fly out of Thv presence, let 
me fall down in it ; I humble myself in contrition 
of heart; but alas! I have not only swerved from 
lliee, but have laboured against Thee. If Thou 
dost pardon what I have committed, how wilt 
Thou pardon what I have made others commit ? I 
have rejoiced in ill, as in a prosperity. Forgive, 
oh my God, all who have offended by my profes-^ 
sion, all who have transgressed by my example. 
Canst Thou, O God, accept of the confession of 
old age, to expiate all the labour and industry of 
youth spent in transgressions against Tliee ? While 
I am still alive, let me implore Thee to recall to 
Thy grace all whom I have made to sin. Let, oh 
Lord, Thy goodness admit of his prayer for Uieir 
pardon, by whose instigation they have transgressed. 
Accept, O God, of this interval of age, between my 
sinful days and the hour of my dissolution, to wear 
away the corrupt habits in my soul, and prepare my- 
self for the mansions of purity and joy. Impute not 
to me, oh my God, the offences I may give, after 
my death, to those I leave behind me; let me. not 
transgress when I am no more seen ; but prevent the 
ill eflccts of my ill-applied studies, and receive me 
into thy mercy. 

It is the most melancholy circumstance that can 
be imagined, to be on a death-bed, and wish all 
that a man has most laboured to bring to pass were 
obliterated for ever. How emphatically worse is 
this, than having passed all one's days in idleness ! 
Yet this is the frequent case of many men of re« 
fined talents. It is, methinks, monstrous that the 
love of fame, and value of the fashion of the world, 
can transport a man so far as even in solitude to 
act with so little reflection upon bis real interest. 



This, is premeditated madness, for it is an error 
done with the assistance of all the faculties of the 

When every circumstance about us is a constant 
admonition, how transient is every labour of man, 
it should, methinks^ be no hard matter to bri^g one's 
self to consider the emptiness of all our endeavours ; 
but I was riot a little charmed the other day, when 
sitting with an old friend and communing together 
on such subjects, he expressed himself after this 

' It is unworthy a christian philosopher to let any 
thing here below stand in the least competition with 
ftis duty. In vain is reason fortified by faith, if it 
produces in our practice no greater effects than what 
reason wrought in mere man. 
^ ' I, contemn, (in dependence on the support of 
heaven I speak it), I contemn all which the generality 
of mankind call great and glorious. I will no longer 
think or act like, a mortal, but consider myself as a 
being that commenced at my birth, and is to endure 
to all eternity. The accident of death will not end 
but improve my being ; I will think of myself, and 
provide for myself as an immortal ; and P will do no* 
thing now which I do not believe I shall approve a 
thousand years hence.' 

n'82. guardian. 147 

N* 82. MONDAY, JUNE 15, 1713.. 

Cedai uH eanviva saim-. HOR. 1 Sat L 119. 

■■■■■. ■ . ' * 

Let him depart like a contented guest. 

Though men see every day people go to their long 
lome, who are younger than themselves^ they are 
lot so apt to be alarmed at that^ as at the decease , 
»f those who have lived longer in their sight. They 
USB their acquaintance, and are surprised at the 
MS <^ an habitual object. This fi^ve me so much • 
oncem for the death of Mr. William Peer of the . 
lieatre-royal, who was an actor at the ^Restora-^ 
[pn, and took his theatrical degree with Better-, 
>n, Kyna^ton and Harris. Though his station 
'as humble, he performed it well ; and the com- . 
ion comparison with the stage and human life, 
hich has been so often made, may well be brought 
ut upon this occasion. It is ho matter, say the 
loralists, whether you act the prince or the *beg- 
ar, the business h to do your part weH. Mr. 
iTilham Peer distinguished himself particularly in 
¥o characters, whicn no man ever Could touch but 
imself ; one of them was the speaker of the pro- 
»gue to the play, which is contrived in the tragedy 
r Hamlet, to awake the conscience of the guilty 
rinces. Mr. William Peer spoke that prefafce to 
le play with such an air, as represented that he 
'as an actor, and with such an inferior miomer as 

o 2 


only acting an actor, a^ made the others on tl 
stage appear real great persons, and not represent 
tives. This was a nicety in acting that none b 
the most subtle player could so much as concen 
( remember his speaking these words, in whi 
there is no great matter but in the right adju 
ment of the air of the speaker, with universal a 

* For VLB and for onr traeedy^ 
Here stooping to your demency. 
We beg your hearing patiently.' 

tiamlet says very archly upon the pronouncing 
it, * Is this a prologue, or a posy of a ring ?' no 
ever, the speaking of it got Mr. Peer more repu 
tion, than those who spew the length of a purita 
aermon every night will ever attain to« Besit 
this, Mr. P^er got a great fame on another lit 
occasion, tie played the Apothecary in Ca 
Marius^ as it is called by Otway; but Romeo a 
Juliet, as originally in Shakespeare ; it will be neo 
sary to recite mofe out of the play than he spo 
to nave a right concfeption of what Peer did in 
M^rius; weary of life, recollects means to be rid 
it after this manner : 

. ' I do remember an apotheear3r 
That dwelt about this rendezvous of death t 
Meagre and very rueful were his looks, 
Sharp miseiy had worn him to the bones.' 

When this spectre of poverty appeared, Mari 
addressed him thus : 

A I see thou art very poor, 
Thou inay'st do any thing, here's fifty drachmas, 
.Get me a draught of what will soonest free 
A wretch t:om all his cates.' 

(• 82. OUAEWAN, 149 

\rhfin the apothecary objecto that it is iinlawful,, 
larius urges, 

* Art thou 80 base and fViIl of wTetdiednett 
Yet fi^ur'st to die ! Famine is in thy cheeks^ - 
Need and oppression staretfa in thy eyes. 
Contempt and beggaiy hans; on thy liack ; 
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's laws: 
The world affords no law to make thee ridi ; 
Then be not poor^ but break it, and take this.' 

Without all this quotation the reader could not 
uve a just idea of the visage and manner which ' 
i^eer assumed, when in the most lamentable, tone 
maginable he consents; and delivering the poisdH^ 
ike a man reduced to the drinking it himself, if he 
lid not vend it, says to Marius, 

< My poverty, bat not my will, consents ; 
Take this and drink it off, the work is done.' 


■ It was an odd excellence, and a very particular 
:ircumstance this of Peer^s, that his whole action 
3f life depended upon speaking five lines better. than 
any man else in the world. But this-^ eminence 
lying in so narrow a compass, the governors of the' 
theatre observing his talents to lie in a certain 
knowledge of propriety, and his person admitting 
bim to shine only in the two above parts, his sphere 
of action was enlarged by the addition of the post 
of property-man. This officer has always ready, * 
in a place appointed for him behind the prompter, 
aft such tools and implements as arc necessary in 
the play, and it is his business never to want billet- 
doux, poison, false money, thunderbolts, daggers, 
scrolls of parchment, wine, pomatum, truncheons 
and wooden legs, ready- at the call of the said 
prompter, according as his respective utensils were 
necessary for promoting what was to pass on the 

o 3 

l)R> GUABDIAK. )(*8€ 

stage. The addition of diis officer, so important t 
the conduct of the whole affair of the stage, aiK 
the g^ood oecoDomy obsenred by their present ma 
nasers in punctual paymentB, made Mr. P^ 
subsistence very comfortable. But it freqnentl; 
happens, that fnen lose their virtue' in prospm^ 
who wefe shmitfg chara.eten» in the contrary con^ 
tion. Good fortune indeed had no efiect on th 
mind, bul very much on the body of Mr. Peei 
Rnr in the seveiotienth year of his age he grew fa 
which rendered his figure unfit for tlie utterance < 
the five Khes above-mentioned. He had now un 
fortunately lofet the wan distress necessary for 'tb 
coontenlinoe of the apothecary, and was too joll 
to speak the prologue with the pro{>er hum: 
lity. It is thought this calamity went too nes 
him. It did not a little contribute to the shorter 
ing his days ; and as there is no state of real happi 
ness in this life, Mr. Peer was undone by his sue 
cess, and lost all by arriving at what is the end < 
all other men's pursuits, his ease. 

I could not rorbear inquiring into the effects M 
Peet left behind him, but find there is no deman 
^ue to him from the house, but the following bill 

For hire of six ciat of pistols 

A drum for Mrs. BignaU in the Pilgrim 

A truss of straw for the madmen - 

Potnatum and vermHlion to grease the > ^ ^ 

fac^ of the stuttering cook 5 

For boarding a setting dog two days to ) 

fdlbW Mr. Johnson in Epsom Wells i 
FdrUoodia Macbeth - - - 
Raisins tnd almonds for a witch's ban- } r) q 
. ^nct • • • • # 





ir^'B^ iSUABDIAN. 151 

This contemporary of mine, whom I have often 
rallied for the narrow compass of his singular per- 
fections, is now at peace, and wants no further 
assistance from any man ; but men of extensive 
genius, now living, still depend upon the good 
offices of the town. 

I am therefore to remind my reader, that on this 
day, being the fifteenth of June, the Plotting Sisters 
is to be acted for the benefit of the author, my old 
friend Mr. D^rfey. This comedy was honoured 
with the presence of King Charles the Second three 
of its first five nights. 

My friend has in this work shewn himself a 
master, and made not only the characters of the 
play, but also the fiimiture of the house contribute 
to the main design. He has made excellent use 
of a table with a carpet, and the key of a closet. 
With these two implements, which would, perhaps, 
have been overlooked by an ordinary writer, ne 
contrives the most natural perplexities (allowing 
only the use of these household goods in poetry) 
that ever were represented on a stage. He has 
also made good advantage of the knowledge of the 
stage itself; for in the nick of being surprised, the 
lovers are let down and escape at a trap-door. In 
a word, any who have the curiosity to observe 
what pleasea in the last generation, and does not 
go to a comedy with a resolution to be grave, will 
nnd this evening ample food for mirth. Johnson, 
who understands what he does as well as any man, 
exposes the impertinence of an old fellow, who has 
lost his senses, still pursuing pleasures, with ^reat 
mastery. The ingenious Mr. Pinkethman is a 
bashful rake, and is sheepish without having mo- 
desty, with great success. Mr. Bullock succeeds 
Nokes in the part of Bubble, and in my o^iiskkovx v% 

162 GUARDIAN. »*S3. 

■ « • • • 

ot^much .below him : for iie does exceUently that 
:!'>rt of foUy we call absurdity, which is the very, 
contrary of wit, but next to that, is of all things 

lie properest to excite mirth. What is foolish is 
•ne object of pity ; but absurdity often proceeds 
vom, aii opinion of sufficiency, and consequently is 
;;i honest ojccasipn for laughter. Tliese characters 
111 this ipfay cannot choose but make it a very plea- 

• int entertainment, and the decorations of singing 
ij'id dancing will more than repay the good-nature 

• *t* those who tnake an honest man a visit of two 
merry hours to make his following year unpainful. 

N'83. TUESDAY, JUNE 16, 1713. 

Nimirum insanus puitcis videatur, ed qudd 
Maxima para hominum morbo jactatur eodem, 

HOR. « Sat. ui. 120. 

Few think these mad, for most like these, 

Are'sick and troubled with the same disease. 


Tin: RE is a restless endeavour in the mind of man 
-Her happiness. This appetite is wrought into the 
original frame of our nature, and exerts itself in all 
>arts of the creation ttha are endued with any de- 
cree of thought or sense. But as the human mind 
i.^ dignified by a more comprehensive faculty than 
tan be found in the inferior animals, it is natural 


n'83. cuaedian. \S3 

for men not only to have an eye, each to his own 
happiness, but also to endeavour to promote that 
of others in the same rank of being : and in pr<^r- 
tion to the generosity that is ingredient in the 
temper of the soul, the object of its benevolence is 
of a larger and narrower extent There is hardly 
a spirit upon earth so mean and contracted, as to 
centre all regards on its own interest, exclusive of 
the rest of mankind. Even the selfish man has 
tome share of love, which he bestows on his family 
a&d his friends. A nobler mind hath at heart the 
common interest of the society or country of which 
he makes a part. And there is still a more diffu* 
Qve spirit, whose being or intentions reach the 
whole mass of mankind, and are continued beyond 
the present age, to a succession of future genera- 

The advantage arising to him who hath a tincture 
it this generosity on his soul, is, that he is affected 
nth a subliiner joy than can be comprehended by 
me who is destitute of that noble relish. The hap- 
>iaess of the reat of mankind hath a natural connec- 
ion with that of a reasonable mind. And in pro- 
>9rtion, as the actions of each individual contribute 
o this end, be must be thought to deserve well or 
)1, both of the world^ and of himself. I have in a 
ate paper, observed, that men who have no reach 
)f thought do often misplace their affections on the 
[neans, without respect to the end ; and by a prepos- 
terous desire of things in themselves mdifferent, 
fotego the enjoyment of that happiness which 
those things are instrumental to obtain; This ob- 
<;ervation has been considered with regard to critics 
and misers; I shall now apply it to free-thinkers. 

Liberty and trutli are the main points which 
these gentlemen pretend to have in view ; to pro- 

156 GUARDIAN, !t^83 

introduce slavery and error Among men. There an 
two parts in our nature ; the baser which conniti 
of our senses and passions, and the more noble AM 
rational, whicb is properly the human part, flu 
other being common to us with brutes. The infe 
rior part is generally much stronger, and has alwtj 
the start of reason, which if in the perpetual stmg 
gle between them, it were not aided from heava 
by religion, would almost universally be vanquished 
and man become a slave to his passions, which a 
it is the most grievous and shameful slavery, sol 
is the genuine result of that liberty which is pro 
posed by overturning religion. Nor is the othe 
part of their design better executed. Look int 
their pretended truths': are they not so man 
virretched absurdities, maintained in o])position t 
the heht of nature and divine revelation by d 
inuendoes and cold jests, by such pitiful sophisna 
and such confused and indigested notions, that <m 
would vehemently suspect iliose men usurped th 
name of free-thinkers, with the same view that hy 
pochrites do that of godliness, that it may serve fo 
a cloak to cover the contrary defect ^ 

I shall close this discourse with a parallel reilec 
tion on these three species, who seem to be allie 
by a certain agreement in mediocrity of understand 
ing. A critic is entirely given up to the pursuit o 
learning; when he has got it, is his judgmen 
clearer, his imagination livelier, or his manner 
more polite, than those of other men ? Is it ob 
served that a miser, when he has acquired his su 
perfluous estate, eats, drinks, or sleeps with mon 
satisfaction, that he has a chearfuller mind, or re 
lishes any of the enjoyments of life better than hi 
neighbours r The free-thinkers plead hard for J 
licence to think freely ; they have it : but what us- 

K*84« OVARDIAN. 157 

do they make of it ? Are they eminent for any 
nUime discoveries in any of the arts and sciences ? 
Htye they been authors of any inventions that con- 
duce to the well-being of mankind ? Do their writ- 
ings show a greater depth of design, a clearer me- 
thod, or more just and correct reasoning than those 
)f oUier men ? 

There is a great resemblance in their genius ; but 
he critic and miser are only ridiculous and con- 
emptible creatures, while the free-thinkers is also a 
emicious one. 

N' 84. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 17, 1713. 

Non mUsura cutem nuti plena cmorw hirudo, 

HOR. Ars. Poet. vcr. ult 

Sticking like leeches^ till they burst with blood. 



' SIB, Middle Temple, June 12. 

PaEsmiiNG you may sometimes condescend to take 
:ognizance of small enormities, I here lay one be- 
ore you, which I proceed to without farther apo- 
^gy, as well knowing the best compliment to a man 
f business is to come to the point 

' There is a silly habit among many of our minor 
rators, who display their eloquence in the sevc'*'*! 


158 6UA&DIA.N. n- 84. 

coffee-houses of this fair city, to the no small an- 
noyance of considerable numbers of her majest/^ 
spruce and loving subjects^ and that is a humour 
they have got of twisting off your buttons. Theie 
ingenious gentlemen are not able to advance three 
words until they have got fast hold of one of yov 
buttons; but as soon as they have procured sudi 
an exc^^lknt handle for discourse, they' will indeed 
proceed with great elocution. I know not hov 
well some may have escaped, but for my part I 
fiave often met with them to my cost; lutvihg I 
believe within these three years last^^test been 
argued out of several dozens; inmtiiiai that I 
have for some time ordered my taylor to bring me 
home with every suit a dozen at least of spare ones, 
to supply the place of such as from time to time are 
detached as an help to discourse, by the vehement 
gentlemen before mentioned. This way of holdin| 
a man in discourse is much practised in the cofiee- 
houses within the city, and does not indeed so much 
prevail at the politer end of the town. It is like- 
wise more frequently made use of among the small 
politicians, than any other body of men ; I am 
therefore something cautious of entering into a 
controversy with this species' of statesmen, especiaDy 
the younger fry ; for if you offer in the least to dis- 
sent from any thing that one of these advances, be 
immediately steps up to you, takes hold of one of 
your buttons, and indeed will soon convince you 
of the strength of his argumentation. I ranember, 
upon the news of Dunkirk's being delivered into 
our hands, a brisk little fellow, a politician and an 
able engineer, had got into the middle of Batso&'s 
coffee-house, and was fortifying GraveUng for the 
service of the most christian king, with aU imagin- 
able expedition. The work was carried on with 

9*^84] OOAIDIAK. 1^ 

inch success, that in less than a quarter of an 
haur'a time, be had made it almost impregnable, 
and in the opinion of several worthy citizens who 
had eathered round him, full as strong both by sea 
and bnd as Dunkirk ever could pretend to be. I 
happened however unadvisedly to attack some of 
his outworks; upon which, to show his great skill 
likewise in the offensive part, he immediately made 
•a assault upon one of my buttons, and carried it 
in less than two minutes, tiotwithstanding I made 
•s handsome a defence as was possible. He had 
likewise invested a second, and would certainly 
have been master of that too in a very little time, 
had he^ot been diverted from this enterprize by 
the arrival of a courier, who brought advice that 
his presence was absolutely necessary in the dis- 
|K»ai of a beaver,* upon which he raised the siege, 
and indeed retired with some precipitation. In the 
4»fiee-hott8es here about the Temple, you may 
harangue even among our dabblers in politics for 
about two buttons a day, and many times for less. 
I had yesterday the good fortune to receive very 
cimsiderable additions to my knowledge in state 
affiurs, and I find this morning, that it has not 
stood me in above a button. In most of the emi- 
nent oofiee-houses at the other end of the town, 
for example, to go no farther than Will's in Co- 
vent-g^arden, the company is so refined, that you 
may hear and be heard, and not be a button the 
worse for it. Besides the gentlemen before-men- 
tiooed, there are others who are no less active in 
their harangues, but with gentle services rather 

* The real peraon here aUnded to was a Mr. James Hey« 
wood, a Unen draper, who was the writer of a letter in tht 
Spectator, sigaed James fia^y. 

. 160 .GUABDIAN. M 

.than. robberies. These while they are impr 
your understanding, are at the same time » 
off your person ; they will new-plait and* : 
your njeckcloth. 

' But though I can bear with this kind of c 
who is so humble as to aim at the good will 
hearer by being his valet de chambrc, I must 
asrainst another sort of them. Tlitre are 
sir, that do not stick to take a man by the 
when they have a mind to persuade him. 
your business, I humbly presume, Mr. Ironsi 
interpose that a man is not brought over tor I 
ponent by force of arms. It were requisite 
fore that you should name a certain interval 
ought to be preserved between the speaker an 
to whom he speaks. For sure no man has a 
because I am not of his opinion, to take aiiy 
clothes from me, or dress me according to hi 
liking. I assure you the most becoming th 
. me in the world is in a campaign periwig t 
one side before and the other cast upon tl: 
lateral shoulder. But there is a friend of 
who never talks to me but he throws that v 
wear forward upon my shoulder, so that in 
ing it to its place I lose two or three hairs 
the lock upon my buttons ; though I never U 
him in my whole Hfe, and have been acqi 
with him these ten years. I have seen my 
friend in danger sometimes of a quarrel by 

/»iistnm. fnr thpr#* arp mnrf* vniino* frenf]eme 

1 84. «ll ABDIAN. I6l 

^▼e him the liherty of heing seen^ fdt, beard, and 
understood all at once. 

I am« Sir, yuur most humble servant, 


« p. S. I have a sister who saves herself from be- 
ing handled by one of these manual rhetoricians by 
giving him her fan to play with ; but I appeal to 
you in the behalf of us poor hdpless men/ 

Jtmtfl5. 1713, 
I am of opinion, that no orater or speaker in 
public or private has any right to meddle with any 
Dody^s clothes but his own. I indulge men in the 
liberty of playing with their own hats, fumbling in 
their own pockets, setthng their own periwigs, 
toating or twisting their heads, and all other gesti- 
culations which may contribute to their elocution ; 
but pronounce it an infringement of the English 
liberty for a man to keep his neigbour's person In 
custody in order to force an hearing ; and farther 
declare, that all assent given by an auditor under 
«u^ constraint, is of it^lf void and of no effect. 

Nestor Ihonsidb. 


162 •' GUARDIAN, t^K, 

N' 85. THURSDAY, JUNE 18, 1713. 

Sed te decor istef quod optiu 

Ene tctaty votoqne tuo tua forma refmgnat, 

OVID. Met. i. 488. 

But so moch yoatb, with so muck bean^ join'd, . 
Oppose the state, which thy desires design'd. 


To sufTer scandal (says somebody) is the tax whid 
every person of merit pays to the public ; and nr 
lord Verulam finely observes, that a man who hi 
no virtue in himself, ever envies virtue in othen 
I know not how it comes to pass, but detractioi 
through all ages, has been found a vice which tli 
fair sex too easily give into. Not the Roman satyrii 
could use them with more severity than they then 
selves do one another. Some audacious critic 
iu my opinion, have launched out a little too ft 
when they take upon them to prove, in oppositio 
to history, that Lais was a woman of as much vh 
tue as beauty, which violently displeasing th 
Phrynes of those times, they secretly prevails 
%vith the historians to deliver her down to posterit 
under the infamous character of an extorting prw 
titute. But though I have the greatest regar 
imaginable to that softer species, yet am I sorr 
to find they have very little for themselves. S 
far are they from being tender of one another's n 
putation, that they take a malicious pleasure i 
destroying it. My lady the other day, when Jac 

N* 85. GUARDIAN. 169 

was' asking who could be so 1>a8e as to spread such a 

report about Mrs. , answered, ' None, you 

may be sure, but a woman/ A little after, Dick 
told my lady, that he had heard FloreUa hint as if 
Cleora wore artificial teeth. The reason is, said 
she, because Cleora first gave out that FloreUa 
owed her complexion to a wash. Thus the in- 
dustrious pretty creatures take pains by invention, 
to throw blemishes on each other, when they do 
not consider that there is a profligate set of fel- 
lows too ready to taint the character of the virtu- 
ous, or blast the charms of the blooming virgin^ 
The young lady from whom I had the honour of 
receiving the following letter, deserves or rather 
claims, protection from our sex, since so barba- 
rously treated by her own. Certainly they ought 
to defend innocence from injury who gave igno- 
rantly the occasion of its being assaulted. Had 
the men been less liberal of their applauses, the 
women had been more sparing of their calumnious 


' SIR, 

' I DO not know at what nice point 
you fix the bloom of a young lady ; but I ani one 

• who can just look back upon fifteen. My father 
dying three years ago, left me under the care and 
direction of my mother, with a fortune not pro- 
fusely great, yet such as might demand a very 
handsome settlement, if ever proposals of marriage 
should be offered. My mother, after the usual 
time of retired mourning was over, was so affec- 
tionately indulgent to me, as to take me along 

^ with her in all her visits : but still not thinkina> 



Wf Y&i^St cBMigiiv pcrtuttod hb 
to go wtt WKj fciadoBi to all the ] 
Imt iiiitii#*ni ditcnumieiiti, wImi 
too imi f cJ to appear bcnelf. The ti 
jean ct WKJ teens were easy, my, and ddi| 
Epery one careaed ne ; die old ladies told n 
Ikndj I grev, and die young ones were pro 
wtj eoanany. But whoi die third year hnd 
adf an ced» my rdatioiii med to tdl my i 
that pret^ uum Clary was diot up into a m 
The gendemen hegan now not to let thei 
^anoe over me, and in most places I found 
distingnished ; bat ohserred, the more I gic 
the esteem of their sex, the more I lost the 
of my own. Some of diose whom I had been 
liar widi, grew oold and indifierent; othen 
took by doign, my meaning, made me sped 
I nerer dioi^;lit, and so by degrees took oc 
to break off afl acquaintance. There were i 
litde insignificant reflections cast upon me, as 
a lady of a great many quaintnesses and sud 
whicn I seemed not to take notice of. Bi 
mother coming home about a week ago, tc 
there was a scandal spread about town by m 
mies, that would at once ruin me for ever 
beauty : I earnestly intreated her to know i 
refused me, but yesterday it discorered itself 
injB^ in an assembly of gentleman and ladic 
oi the gentlemen who had been very faceti 
several of the ladies, at last turning to me, 
as for you, madam, Pkior has a&eady gii 
your character, 

^ That air and harmony of shape expren, 
Ffaie by degreeiy yet beantifoUy leas." 

I perceived immediately a malignant smile d 
itself in the counteuv^c^ o( «^\xn& ^S. ^^^& 

V"* 85. . 6UARBI AM • l6b 

which they seconded with a sconiful flutter of the 
fan ; until one of them,' unable any Jonger to con- 
tain, a^ed the gentleman if he did not remember 
what Congreve said about Aurelia, for she thought 
it mighty pretty. He made no answer, but instant- 
ly repeated the verses : 

** The Malcibers who in the Blinories sweat. 
And massive bars on stubborn anvils beat : 
Defoiu'd themselves, yet forge those stays of steel. 
Which arm Aorelia with a shape to kiU." 

This was no sooner over, but it was easily discern-* 
ible what an ill-natured satisfaction most of the 
company took ; and the more pleasure they shew- 
ed by dwelling upon the two last lines, the more 
they increased my trouble and confusion. And 
-now, sir, after this tedious account, what would 
you advice me to ? Is there no way to be cleared of 
these mahcious calumnies ? What is beauty worth 
-that makes the possessor thus unhappy } Why was 
nature so lavish of her gifts to me, as to make her 
Jundness prove a cruelty? They tell me v^j shape 
is delicate, my eyes sparkling, my lips I know not 
what, my cheeks, forsooth, adorned with a just 
mixture of the rose and lily ; but I wish this face 
was barely not disagreeable, this voice harsh and 
unharmonious, these limbs only not deformed, and 
then perhaps I might live easy and unmolested, and 
neither raise love, and admiration in the men, nor 
scandal and hatred in the women. 

Your very humble servant, 


The best answer I can make my fair comespon* 

dent is, that she ought to comfort herself with this 

^consideration^ that those who talk thus of her 

166 GVAEDIAIf. N*85. 

know it u Take^ but wish they could make otben 
believe it true. It is not they think you deformed, 
but are vexed that they themselves were not as 
nicely framed. If you will take an old roan's 
advice, laugh, and be not ^concerned at them: 
they have attained what they endeavoured if they 
make you unea^; for it is envy that has made 
them so. I would not have you wish your shape 
one sixtieth part of an inch dispropor&med, nor 
desire your face might be impoveri^d with the 
ruin of half a feature, though numbers of remam- 
ing beauties might make the loss insennible ; but 
take courage, go into the brightest assemUies, and 
the world will quickly confess it to be. a scandal 
Thus Plato, hearing it was asserted by some per- 
sons that he was a very bad man, ' I shall take 
care, said he, ' to live so, that no body will be- 
lieve them.' 

I shall conclude this paper with a relation of 
matter of fact. A gay young gentleman in the 
country, not many years ago, kU desperately in 
love with a blooming fine creature, whom give me 
leave to call Melissa. After a pretty long delay, 
and frequent solicitations, she refused several otben 
of larger estates, and consented to make him happy. 
But they bad not been married much above a 
twelvemonth, until it appeared too true what Juba 

' Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover. 
Fades in the eye, and palls upon the sense.' 

Polydore (for that was his name) finding himself 
grow every day more uneasy, and unwilling she 
should discover the cause, for diversion came up 
to town, and to avoid all suspicions, brought 
Melissa along with him. After some stay here^ 

'85. QUARDIAN. 107 

>lydore was one day informed^ that a set of ladies 
er their tea-tahle, in the circle of scandal^ had 

ached upon Melissa And was that the sillj 

ing so much talked of! How did she ever grow 
to a toast ! For their parts they had eyes as well 
the men> hut could not discover where her 
Auties lay. Polydore upon hearing thisi, flew im« 
ediately home and told Melissa with the utmost 
uisport^. that he was now fully convinced bow 
imberless were her charms^ since her own sex 
ould not allow her any. 

* Mr. Ironside, Button^s Coffee-house. 

* I HAVE observed that this day you 
ake mention of Will's coffee-house, as a place 
here people are too polite to hold a man in dis* 
mrse by the button. Every body knows your 
3nour frequents this house; therefore they will 
ke an advantage against me, and say, if my com- 
any was as civil as that at Will's, you would say 
K therefore pray your honour do not be afraid of 
Ding me justice, because people would think it may 
e a conceit below you on mis occasion to name 
le name of 

Your humUe servant, 


* The young poets are in the back room> and tak^ 
leir places as you directed.' 

'^I>aniel Button had been a servant in ^e countess of War* 
ick^ fiuwly/ and under the patronage of Addison kept » 
jffMiOQse On the south side of Rnawl-fitreet, about two, 
DOrs from Ck>vent-garden. Here it was that the wits of thait 
Sie dsed to assemble. It is said that when Addison had 
I0ered any vexation from the countessi he. withdrew tbe 
nqpaoy from Dnttoii'S'hoase, 

168 OOASOIAK. M'Sd. 

N' 86. FRIDAY, JUNE 19, 1713. 

'Cui meiu diviniar, atqueos 

Magna aonaharum HOR. 1 Sat. iv. 45* 

: who writes 

With fancy high, and bold and daring fligfati. 



*' SIR, Osford, June 16, 1713. 

* The classical writers, according to your advice^ 
are by no means neglected by me, while I pursue 
my studies in divinity. I am persuaded that they 
are fountains of good sense and eloquence.; aud 
that it is absolutely necessary for a young mind to 
form itself upon such models. For by a careful 
study of their style and manner, we shall at least 
avoid those faults, into which a youthful imagina- . 
tion is apt to hurry us ; such as luxuriance of fan- 
cy, licentiousness of style, redundancy of thought, 
and false ornaments. As I have been flattered by 
my friends, that I have some genius for poetry, I 
sometimes turn my thoughts that way : and with 
pleasure reflect, that I have got over that childish 
part of life, which delights in points and turns of 
wit : and that I can take a manly and rational satis- • 
faction in that which is called painting la poetry. 
Whether it be, that in these copyings^ of nature, ' 
the object is placed in such lights and. circum* . 
stances as strike the fancy agreeably \ or whether « 


we are surprized to find objects thai are absent, 
placed before our eyes ; or whether it be our admi- 
ration of the author's art and dexterity ; or whether 
we amuse ourselves with comparing the picture and 
the original; or rather (which is most probable) 
because all other reasons concur to effect us; we 
are wonderfully charmed with these drawings after 
the life^ this magic that raises apparitions in the 

' Landskips, or still-life^ work much less upon 
as> than representations of the postures or passions 
of living creatures. Again> those passions or pos- 
tures strike us more or less in proportion to the ease 
or violence of their motions. An horse grazing 
moves us less than one stretching in a race, and a 
racer less than one in the fury of a battle. It is 
very difficult, I beUeve, to express violent motions 
which are fleeting and transitory, either in colours, 
or words. In poetry it requires great spirit in 
thought, and energy in style ; which we find more 
of in the eastern poetry, than in either the Greek 
or Roman. The great Creator, who accommodated 
himself to those he vouchsafed to speak to, hath 
put into the mouth of his prc^hets such sublime 
sentiments and exalted language, as must abash 
the phde and wit of man. In the book of Job, the 
most ancient poem in the world, we have such 
paintings and descriptions as I have spoken of, in 
great variety. I shall at present make some re- 
marks on the celebrated description of the horse in 
that holy book, and compare it with those drawn by 
Homer and Virgil. 

' Homer hath the following similitude of an horse 
:wice over in the Hiad, which Virgil hath copied 
Tom him; at least he hath deviated less from 
lomer, than Mr. Dryden hath from him : 

VOL. XYil. Q 

170 GUAVI^IAlf. 

« Freed froM hk keepeti, IkM with bratai 
Tht wanton Conner pnnccs o*er tiie plaint; 
Or in tfaepride of yontli o'eileips the mowMJi^ 
And mdn the females in forbidden gromnda; 
Or seeks his watering in tilie wdl-known flood, . 
To qnench his tinrst, and cool his fiery bkMMl: 
He swims Inxnri^nt in the li4|nid ptain. 
And o'er his shoidders flows his wafing mane ; 
He nei|^ he snortSy he bears his head on h^;b| 
Before his ample chest the foaming waters fly.* 

Virgil's description is much fuller than the fereflnj 
which, as I said, is only a simile ; whereas Vl 
professes to treat of the nature of the horse. 1 
thus admirably translated : 

** The fiery conrser, when he hears fit>m fiur 
The sprightly trmnpets, and the shonts of war. 
Pricks np his ears, and trembling with delight. 
Shifts pace, and paws ; and hopes the pronus'd fi|jbA 
On his right shomder his thick mane reclin'd, 
Rnflles at speed, and dances in the wind. 
His homy hoofs are jetty black and round : 
His chin is doable ; starting, with a boond 
He tnms the turf, and shakes the solid gronnd. 
Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nos^ilt flow ; 
He bears hb rider headlong on the foe."* 

** Now follows that in the book of Job ; w 
under all the disadvantages of having been wri 
in a language little understood ; of being exprc 
in phrases peculiar to a part of the worlds w 
manner of thinking and speaking seems to ua 
uncouth ; and, above all, of appearing in a f 
translation ; is nevertheless so transceiidently a 
the heathen deacriptions, that hereby we may 
ceive how faint and languid the images are« w 
are formed bv mortal authors, when compared 
that which is figured as it were, just as it ap] 
in the eye of the Creator. God speaking to 

»* 86L GUARDIAN. 171 

*' Hast thou gWen the horse streogth ? hast thou 
dodied his neck with thunder? Canst thou make 
him afraid as a grasshopper? The glorv of his 
Boetrils is terrible. He paweth in the vaUey, and 
rq|oiceth in his strength. He goeth on to meet the 
anned men. • He mocketh at tear, and is not af- 
firighted ; neither tumeth he back from the sword. 
Tbe quiver rattleth against him, the ghttering spear, 
and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with 
fierceness and rage ; neither believeth he that it is 
fllie sound of the trumpet. He saith amongst the 
trumpets. Ha, ha ; and he smelleth tbe battle afar 
off; the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.^' 

* Here are all the great and sprightly images, 
that thought can form of this generous beast* ex- 
pressed in such force and vigour of style, as would 
axft eiven the great wits of antiquity new laws for 
the sublime, had they been acquainted with these 
writings. I cannot but particiuarly observe, that 
whereas the classical poets chiefly endeavour to 
paint the outward figure, lineaments, and motions ; 
the sacred poet makes all the beauties to flow from 
an inward principle in the creature he describes^ 
and thereby gives great spirit and vivacity to his 
description. The following phrases and circum* 
stances seem singularly remarkable : 

'' Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder ?'' 
Homer and Virgil mention nothing about the neck 
of the horse, but his mane. The sacred author, 
by the bold figure of thunder, not only expresses 
the shaking^ of that remarkable beauty in the horse, 
and the fi^es of hair which naturally suggest the 
idea of lightning ; but likewise the violent agitation 
and force of the neck, which in the oriental tongues 
had been flatly exprest by a metaphor less flian 


172 OUARDIAK. N* 8fl. 


Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? 
There is a twofold beauty in this expression^ which 
not only marks the courage of this beasts by asking 
if he can be scared ? but hkewise raises a noble 
image of his swiftness, by insinuating, that if he 
could be frighted, he would bound away with the 
nimbleness of a grasshopper. 

" The glory of his nostrils b. terrible/' This is 
more strong and concise than that of Virgil, which 
yet is the noblest line that was ever written without 
inspiration : . 

^ CoUectutnque premetu volvit sub naribui ignemr** 

GEORO. iii. 85. 

** And in his nostrils rolls collected fire." 

" He rejoiceth in his strength- He mocketh at 

fear neither believeth he that it is the sound of 

the trumpet-r-He saith among the trumpets. Ha, 
ha;" — are signs of courage as I said before, flow- 
ing from an inward principle. There is a peculiar 
beauty in his *' not believing it is the sound of the 
trumpet :" that is, he cannot believe it for joy ; 
hut when he was sUre of it, and is " amongst tiie 
trumpets, he saith. Ha, ha ;" he neighs, he re- 
joices. His docility is elegantly painted in his 
bieing unmoved at the " rattling quiver, the gUtter- 
ing spear and the shield ;" and is well imitated bj 
Oppian (who undoubtedly read Jbb as well as Vir- 
gil) in his poem upon hunting : 

'' How firm the managed war^borse keeps his gronnd, 
Noj* breaks his order, tiio' the trumpets sound ! 
With fearless eye the glittering host surveys. 
And glares directly at the helmet's blaze ! 
The master's wordy the laws of war he knows. 
And when to stop, and when to char|[c tb^ foes.*' 

r 66. OUABDIAN. 175 

^ He fwaDoweth the gtound/' is an expression 
ar prodigious swiftness, in use among the Arabians, 
obrs countrymen, at this day. The Latins have 
oneduDg like it : 

^ Latwmfne fi$gtk cotuumere campwm," NEMESIAN. 
** In flight the extended cfaampain to consmne." 

« Cgrptfi jfTota fugh/* YIRO. Oeorg. iii. 14f. 

^ Infli^ t» crop the meadk" 

auwjpumqfte volaht 

^ Ckm rmpwre^ pedmn vntigia fiMfrof." 8IL. Ital. 

^ When in their flight the champahi they have Riatch'd 
No traclt is left behind." 

It is indeed the boldest and noblest of images for 
inftness ; nor have I met with any thing that comes 
» near it, as Mr. Pope's in Windsor Forest : 

<* The hnpatieat oonrser panti m every vein, 
Aad pawing, seenu to beat the distant plain ; 
BiUs, vales, and floods, appear ahready crost. 
And cfe be starts, a thousand steps are lost." 

He Mnelleth the battle afar off,'* and what follows 
boot the shouting, is a circumatance expressed with 
;icst spirit by LiK^an : 

** So when the ring with ioyfhl shoots rebounds. 
With rage and pride the unprison'd courser bounds : 
He frets, he foams, he rends his idle rein; 
Springs o'er the feac< and hea^ttimg seeks the pfaum" 

I am. Sir, 

Your ever obliged servant, 

John Lizard.' 


174 OVABDIAN. 11*87. ,' 

N° 87. SATURDAY, JUNE fiO, 1713. 

ConatUerant hinc Thisbef Piramus iUvHe, 

Inque vicem fuerat japtatua mUuUiuB orta. '* 

OVID. Met !▼. TL 

Here Pyramiis, there gentle Thisbe^ strove 

To catch each other's breath, the balmy breexe of lofe. 

,My precautions are made up of all that|I can hear 
and gee, translate^ borrow^ paraphrase, or contract, 
from the persons with whom I mingle and con- 
verse, and the authors whom I read. But' the 
^ve discourses which I sometimes give the town, 
do not win so much attention as lighter matters. 
For this reason it is, that I am obliged to consider 
vice as it is ridiculous, and accompanied with gal- 
lantry, else I find in a very short time I shall lie 
like waste paper on the tables of coffee-houses. 
Where I have taken most pains I often find myself 
least read. Tliere is a spirit of intrigue got into 
all, even the meanest of the people, and me very 
servants are bent upon delights, and commence 
oglers and languishers. I happened the other day 
to pass by a gentleman's house, and saw the most 
flippant scene of low love that I have ever ob- 
served. The maid was rubbinff the windows with- 
in side of the house, and her humble servant the 
footman was so happy a man as to be employed in 
cleaning the same glass on the side towards the 
street. The wench began with the greatest seve- 
rity of aspect imaginable, and breathing on tbs 

K* 87. ©tJAHDl AN. 175 

• • • • ■ 

glass, followed it with a dry cloth ; her opposite 
observed her, and fetching a deep sigh, as if it 
were his last, with a very disconsolate air did the 
same on his side of the window. He still worked 
on and languished, until at last his fair one smiled, 
but covered herself, and spreading the napkin in 
her hand, "concealed herself from her admirer, 
while he took pains, as it were, to work through 
all that intercepted their meeting. This pretty 
contest held for four or five large panes of glass, 
until at last the waggery was turned into a humo- 
rous way of breathing in each other's faces, and 
catching the impression. The gay creatures were 
thus loving and pleasing their imaginations with 
their nearness and distance, until the windows were 
so transparent that the beauty of the female made 
the man-servant impatient of beholding it, and the 
whole house besides being abroad, he ran in, and 
they romped out of my sight. It may be imagined 
these oglers of no quality, made a more sudden 
application of the intention of kind sighs and 
glances, than those whose education lays them 
under greater restraints, and who are consequently 
more slow in their advances. I have often ob- 
served all the low part of the town in love, and 
taking a hackney-coach have considered all that 
passed by me in that light, as these cities are com- 
posed of crowds wherein there is not one who is 
not lawfully or unlawfully engaged in that passion. 
When one is in this speculation, it is not unplea- 
sant to observe alliances between those males and 
females whose lot it is to act in public. Thus the 
woods in the middle of summer are not more en- 
tertaining with the different notes of birds, than 
the town is of different voices of the several sorts 
of people who act in public; Ihey are divided intc 

176 GUARDIAN, H^ 87* 

classes, and crowds made for crowds. The had* 
ney-coachmen, chairmen, and porten;, are die 
lovers of the hawker-women, fhiitrcsses, and milk- 
maids. They are a wild world of themselves, tad 
have voices significant of their private indinationi, 
which strangers can take no notice of. Tims a 
wench with fruit looks like a mad woman when die 
cries wares you see she does not carry, but those m 
the secret know that cry is only an assignation to 
an hackney-coachman who is driving by, and un- 
derstands her. The whole people is in an intrigue, 
and the undiscerning passengers are unacquainted 
with the meaning of what they hear aU round 
them. Thej know not how to separate the cries 
of mercenary traders, from the sighs and lamenta- 
tions of lan^ishing lovers. The common £aLce of 
modesty is lost among the ordinary part of the 
world, and the general corruption of manners is 
visible from the loss of all deference in the low 
people towards those of conditicm. One order of 
mankind trips fast after the next above it, and by 
,wis rule you may trace iniquity from the conversir 
tions of the most wealthy, down to those of the 
humblest degree. It is an act of great resolution to 
pass by a crowd of polite footmen, who can raDy, 
make love, ridicule, and observe upon all the pas* 
sengers who are obliged to go by ihe places where 
they wait. This licence makes difi^erent characters 
among them, and there are beaux, party-men, and 
free-thinkers in livery. I take it for a rule, that 
there is no bad man but makes a bad woman, and 
the contagion of vice is what should make people 
cautious of their behaviour. Juvenal says, there is 
the greatest reverence to be had to the presence of 
children ; it may be as well said of the presence of 
aervanttf^ and it would be some kind of virtue, if 

»• 87. GUARDIAN^ 177 

ire kept our vices to ourselves. It is a feeble au- 
bority which has not the support of personal re- 
pect^ and the dependence founded only upon their 
eceiving their maintenance of us is not of force 
nough to support us against an habitual behaviour^ 
t>r which they contemn and deride us. No man 
an be" well served, but by those who have an 
»pinion of his merit ; and that opinion cannot be 
:ept up, but by an exemption from those faults 
rhich we would restrain in our dependents. 

Though bur fopperies imitated are subjects of 
aughter, our vices transferred to our servants give 
Batter of lamentation. But there is nothiug in 
¥hich our families are so docile, as in the imitation 
)f our delights. It is therefore but common pru- 
lence to take care, that our inferiors know of none 
jut our innocent ones. It is, methinks, a very ar- 
rogant thing to expect, that the single consideration 
>f not offending us should curb our servants from 
dee, when much higher motives' cannot moderate 
yta own inclinations. But I began this paper 
with an observation, that the lower world is got 
into fashionable vices, and above all to the under- 
standing the language of the eye. There is nothing 
but writing songs which the footmen do not prfic- 
tise ais well as their masters. Spurious races of 
mankind, which pine in want, and perish in tbeir 
(irst months of being, come into the world from 
this degeneracy. 'fhe possession of wealth from 
affluence seems to carry some faint extenuation of 
his guilt who is sunk by it into luxury ; but poverty 
and servitude accompanied with the vices of wealth 
and licentiousness, is I believe, a circumstance of 
ill peculiar to our age. This may, perhaps, be mat- 
ter of jest, or is overlooked by those who do not 
turn their thoughts upon the actions of others. 

11% mVAM^lAM* v* 87. 

But finoai dial one partkulff, of die immorality of 
oar aqiauto arimg finom die negfigenoe of masten 
of Unifies in dieircaie of diem, flows diatirrens« 
tible toncnl of ditaiten wfaidi qveads itidf dunough 
aB famno life. Old i^ oppicated widi beggary, 
yondi dnrnn into die conmiMOQ ni mnnjen and 
robtMiin, bc4h owe their disaaler to tliia e^iL If we 
coDnder the h^pinev which gfows out of a fiitheriy 
conduct towards fernmtB, it would enconraee aman 
to dial sort of care, as much as the effects c? a Uber* 
tine hdianoor to them would affright us. 

Lycnrgns is a man of diat noble diq;M)sitioD, ditt 
his domeitics, in a nation of die gr^Uest libertyt 
enjoy a freedom known only to thenweives^ who life 
mider his root He is the banker, die counsel^ Ihe 
parent of all his nmneroos dependents. Kindnew ii 
the law of his house, and the way to his finroiir h 
being gende, and wefl-natnred to didr feOow-ter- 
▼ants. £rery one recommends himseH; by appear- 

Xc^cions to let their patron know the merit of 
rs under his care. Many litde fortunes hate 
streamed out of his favour; and lus prudence is 
such, that the fountain is not exhausted by the 
channels from it, but its way cleared to run new 
meanders. He bestows widi so much judgmeoU 
that his bounty is the increase of hb wealui ; al 
who share his favour, are enabled to e^joy it by h» 
example, and be has not only made, but qualified 
many ajnan to be rich. 

88; GVAEDIAN. 179 

N^8& MONDAY, JUNE 2£, 1713. 

Mmn^MtttmioUm TIRO, jfik ▼!• m. 


*o ODe who regardB things with a philosophical 
ye, uid hath a soul cap(U)le of heing dehghted 
rith the aeiue that truth and knowledge prevail 
mong men, it must he a gratefiil refiection to 
Uak that die suhlimest truths, which among the 
cathen^ only here and there one of hrighter parts 
nd more leisure than ordinary could attain to, are 
law grown famihar to the meanest inhabitants of 
bese nations. 

Whence came this sorinrising change, that re- 
;ioDa formerly inhabited by ignorant and savage 
tcso]^ should now outshine ancient Greece, and 
he olhec eastern countries so renowned of old, in 
he most derated notions of theology and mora- 
ity ? Ii it the effect of our own parts and industry ? 
Save our common mechanics more refined under- 
tandingfl tiian the ancient philosophers? It is 
Ofingta the God of truth, who came down from 
leaFen, aiid condescended to be himself our 
eadMT* It ia as. we are Christians, that we profits 
aose ezceUent and cUvine truths than the rest of 

IT thnoebe any of the free-thinkers who are not 
Ikect atheists, charity would incline one to believe 
hem ignorant of what is here advanced. And vt 
isfor tbeir io^Mination that I wi\\ft \3da» "gv^* "^^ 

180 GUARDIAN. 1« 87. 

design of which is to compare the ideas that Chris- 
tians entertain of the being and attributes of a God, 
with the gross notions of the heathen world, h it 
possible for the mind of man to conceive a more 
august idea of the Deity than is set forth in the 
holy scriptures ? I shall throw together some pas- 
sages relating to this subject^ which I propose only 
as philosophical sentiments^ to be considered by a 

' Though there be that are called gods^ yet to v» 
there is but one God. He made the heaven, and 
heaven of heavens, with all their host ; the earth 
and all things that are therein ; the seas, and aU 
that is therein ; He said. Let them be, and it was 
so. He hath stretched forth the heavens. . He 
hath founded the earthy and hung it upon nodiing. 
He hath shut up the sea with doors, and said^ Hi- 
therto shalt thou come and no farther, and here 
shall thy proud waves be staid. The Lord is an in- 
visible spirit, in whom we live, and move, and have 
our being. He is the fountain of life. He pre- 
serveth man and beast. He giveth food to all 
flesh. In his hand is the soul of every living thins, 
and the breath of all mankind. The Lord maketo 
poor and maketh rich. He bringeth low and lifteth 
up. He killeth and maketh alive. He wpundeth 
and he healeth. By him kings reign, and princes 
decree justice, and not a sparrow falleth to the 
ground without him. All angels, authorities, and 
powers, are subject to him. He appointedi the 
moon for seasons, and the sun knoweth his eoing- 
down. He thundereth with his voice, and direct- 
eth it under the whole heaven, and his Uefatiiing 
unto the ends of the earth. Fire and hail, snow 
and vapour, wind and storm, fulfil his word. The 
Lord is kinjg for ever and ever, and his domiQioQ il 

r88. GUARDIAN. 181 

in everlasting dominion. The earth and the hea- 
vens shall perish^ but thou, O Lord, remainest. 
Phey all shall wax old, as doth a garment, and as 
I vesture shalt thou fold them up, and they shall be 
changed ; but thou art the same, and thy years 
ihall have no end. God is perfect in knowledge ; 
lis understanding is infinite. He is the Father of 
ights. He looketh to the ends of the earth, and 
leeth under the whole heaven. The Lord behold- 
?th all the children of men from the place of his 
labitation, and considereth all their works. He 
moweth our down-sitting and up-rising. He com- 
3a8seth our path, and counteth our steps. He is 
icquainted with all our ways ; and when we enter 
)ur closet, and shut our door, he seeth us. He 
cnoweth the things that come into our mind, every 
>ne of them ; and no thought can be withholden 
irom him. The Lord is good to all, and his tender 
nercies are over all his works. He is a father of 
:he fatherless, and a judge of the widow. He is 
'he God of peace, the Father of mercies, and the 
Sod of all comfort and consolation. The Lord is 
^reat, and we know him not ; his greatness is un- 
learchable. Who but he hath measured the waters 
n the hollow of his hand, and meted out the hea- 
vens with a span ? Thine, O Lord, is the greatness, 
md the' power, and the glory, and the victory, and 
:he majesty. Thou art very great, thou art clothed 
¥itb honour. Heaven is thy throne and earth is thy 

Can the mind of a philosopher rise to a more 
ust and magnificent, and at the same time a more 
imiable idea of the Beity than is here set forth, in 
he strongest images and most emphatical language ? 
ind yet this is the language of shepherds, and 
ishermen. The illiterate Jews, and poor perse- 


189 GUABDIAN. h'^iQ. 

cuted Christians retained these noble sentiments, 
while the polite and powerful nations of the earth 
were given up to that sottish sort of worship, of which 
the following elegant description is extracted from 
one of the inspired writers. 

' Who hath formed a god, and molten an image 
that is profitable for nothing? The smith with the 
tongs both worketh in the coals and fashioneth it 
with hammers, and worketh it with the strength of 
his arms : yea he is hungry, and his streng^ railetfa. 
He drinketh no water and is faint A man planteth 
an ash, and the rain doth nourish it He bameth 
part thereof in the fire. He rosteth rost He warm- 
eth himself. And the residue thereof he maketh a 
god. He falleth down unto it, and worshippeth it, 
and prayeth unto it, and saith. Deliver me, for thoa 
art my god. None considereth in his heart, I 
have burnt part of it in the fire, yea also, I have 
baked bread upon the coals thereof; I have roasted 
flesh and eaten it, and shall I make the residue 
thereof an abomination ? Shall I fall down to the 
stock of a tree ?'* 

In such circumstances as these, for a man to de- 
clare for free-thinking, and disengage himself from 
the yoke of idolatry, were doing honour to human 
nature, and a work well becoming the great as- 
serters of reason. But in a church, where our ado- 
ration is directed to the Supreme Being, and (to say 
the least) where is nothing either in the olyect or 
manner of worship that contradicts the light of na- 
ture ; there, under the pretence of free-thinking, to 
rail at the relie[ious institutions of their country, 
^eweth an undistinguishing genius that mistakes 
opposition for freedom of thought. And indeed, 

i. zUt. ftunn. 

a* 89. OUABDI AN. 183 

lOtwithstanding the pretences of some few among 
)ur free-thinkers, I can hardly think there are men 
o stupid and inconsistent with themsdves, as to 
tare a serious regard for natural religion, and at the 
ame time use their utmost endeavours to destroy the 
ledit of those sacred writii^, which, as they have 
»een the means of bringing Siese parts of the world 

the knowledge of natund religion, so in case they 
ose their authority over the minds of men, we should 
if course sink into the same idolatry which we see 
iracUsed by other unenhghtened nations. 

If a person who exerts himself in the modem way 
if free-thinking be not a stupid idolater, it is undeni- 
tbk that he contributes all he can to the making 
rther inen so, either by ignorance or design ; which 
1^ him under the dilemma, I will not say of beinff a 

001 or knave, but of incurring the contempt or oe« 
estation of mankind. 

N' 89. TUESDAY, JUNE 23, 1713. 

IgneuseBtoUUvigoTj et ettUiHa aHgo 

Semmiinu VmO. JEo. vi* 730. 

They boast ethereal vigonr, and are formed 
From seeds of heavenly birth. 

tuE same faculty of reason and understanding 
vhich placeth us above the brute part of the crea* 
ion, doth also subject our minds to greater and 
Dore manifold disquiets than creatures of>an intjp* 


184 GUARD'/AN. N*89. 

rior rank are sensible of. It is by this that we an- 
ticipate future disasters, and oft create to ourselves 
real pain from imaginary evils, as well as multiply 
the pangs arising from those which cannot be 

It behoves us therefore to make the best use of that 
sublime talent, which so long as it continues the in- 
strument of passion, will serve only to make us more 
miserable, in proportion as we are more excellent 
than other beings. 

It is the privilege of a thinking being to with- 
draw from the objects that solicit his senses, and 
turn his thoughts inward on himself. For my own 
part I often mitiigate the pain arising from the little 
misfortunes and disappointments that checker hu- 
man life by this introversion of my- faculties, 
wherein I regard my own soul as the image of her 
Creator, and receive great consolation from behold- 
ing those perfections which testify her divine origi- 
nal, and lead me into some knowledge of her ever- 
lasting Archetype. 

But there is not any property or circumstance 
of my being that I contemplate with more joy than 
my immortality. I can easily overlook any present 
momentary sorrow, when I reflect that it is in my 
power to be happy a thousand years hence. If it 
were not for this thought, I had rather be an oyster 
than a man, the most stupid and senseless of ani- 
mals, than a reasonable mind tortured with an ex- 
treme innate desire of that perfection which it de- 
spairs to obtain. 

It is with great pleasure that I behold instinct, 
reason, and faith, concurring to attest this com- 
fortable truth. It is revealed from heaven, it is 
discovered by philosophers ; and the ignorant, un- 
enlightened part of mankind have a natural pro» 

9^89. «VABI^tAK. 185 

pen&ity to beli^rt it It is an agreeable entertain* 
ment to reflect on the Tarious sfaapes under which 
this doctrine has appeared in the workU The Py- 
thagorean transmigration^ the sensual habitations 
•f the Mahometan^ and die shady reahns of Pluto, 
do all agree in the main points, tibie continuation of 
our existence, and the (ustribution of rewards and 
punishments, proportioned to the merits or deme- 
rits of men in this life. 

But in all these schemes there is something gross 
and improbable, that shocks a reasonable and specu- 
lative mind. Whereas nothing can be more rational 
and sublime than the Christian idea of a future state. 
' Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it 
entered into the heart of man to conceive, the things 
which God hath prepared for those that love him/ 
The above -9iehtioned schemes are narrow tran- 
scripts of our present state : but in this indefinite 
description there is something ineffably great and 
. noble. The mind of man must be raised to a higher 
pitch, not only to partake the enjoyments of the 
Christian paradise, but even to be able to frame any 
notion of them. 

Nevertheless, in order to gratify our imagination, 
and by way of condescension to our low way of 
thinking, the ideas of light, glory, a crown, &c. are 
made use of to adumbrate that which we cannot 
directly understand. 'The Lamb which. is in the 
midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead 
them unto living fountains of waters; and Gud 
shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. And 
there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor 
crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for 
the former things are passed away, and behold all 
things are new. There shall be no night there, 
and they need no candle, neither light of the suiax 


186 CUABDIAK. N* 89* 

for the Lorii God giveth them light> and shall make 
them drink of the river of his pleasures ; and they 

- shall reign for ever and ever. They shaU receive a 
crown 01 glory which fadeth not away/ 

These are chearing reflections ; and I have often 
wondered that men could he found so dull and phleg- 
matic, as to prefer the thought of annihilation 
before them; or so ill-natured, as to endeavour to 
persuade mankind to the disbelief of what is so 
pleasing and profitable even in the prospect ; or so 
blind, as not to see there is a Deity, and if there be, 

. that this scheme of things flows from his attributes, 
and evidently corresponds with the other parts of his 

I know not how to account for> this absurd turn 
of thought, except it proceed from a want of other 

• employment joined with an affection of singularity. 
I shall, therefore, inform our modem free-thinkers 
of two points whereof they seem to be ignorant. 
The first is, that it is not the being singular, but 
being singular for something, that argrues either ex- 
traordinary endowments of nature, or benevolent 
intentions to mankind, which draws the admiration 
and esteem of the world. A mistake in this point 
naturally arises from that confusion of thought 
which I do not remember to have seen so great in- 
stances of in any writers, as in certain modem free- 

The other point is, that there are innumerable 
objects within the reach of a human mind, and each 
of these objects may be viewed in innumerabk 
lights and positions, and the relations arising be- 
tween them are innumerable. There is therefore 
an infinity of things whereon to employ their 

.thoughts, if not with advantage to the world, at 
least with amusement to themselves, and without 

offence or prejudice to oXScvet ^to^^. \S. >^^^ ^tQ- 

ft' 90. OtTABDIAK. 1^ 

ceed io exert their talent of free-thinking in this 
• way ; they may be innocently dull, and no one take 
any notice of it. But to see men without either wit 
or argument pretend to run down divine and human 
laws, and treat their fellow-subjects with contempt 
for professing a belief of those points on which the 
present as well as future interest of mankind de- 
pends, is not to be endured. For my own part, I 
shall omit no endeavours to render their persons as 
despicable, and their practices as odious, in the eye 
of the world, as they deserve. 

N-QO. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 24, 1713. 

— — Fungar tfice cotis — Hor. Are Poet ver. 304. 

rU play the whetstone. CREECH. 

It is, they say> frequent with authors to write letters 
to themselves, either out of laziness or vanity. 

The following is genuine, and I think, deserves 
the attention of every man of sense in England. 

' SIR, June 20. 

' Though 1 am not apt to make com- 
I^ints, have never yet troubled you with any, and 
little thought I ever should, yet seeing that in 

188 OI7AKD1AK- »* 90, 

your paper of tbU day^ you take dq ootice^of yei- 
terday's Examiner, as I hoped you would; mv 
love for my religion, which is so nearly coDcemed» 
would not permit me to be nileut. The matter, lir, 
is thU. A bishop of our chUreh (to whom the 
Examiner himself has nothing to object, but hiscsie 
and concern £or the protestant religion, which by 
him, it seems, is thought a sufficient fault) has latdy 
published a book, in which he endeavours to tbew 
the folly, ignorance, and mistake of the church (yf 
Rome in its worship of saints. From this the Ex- 
aminer takes occasion to fa]I upon the author with 
his utmost malice, and to make him the subject of 
his ridicule. Is it then become a crime for a pro- 
testant to speak or write in defence of his religion ? 
Shall a papist have leave to print and publish in 
England what he pleases in defence of his own opi- 
nions, with the Examiner's approbation ; and shall 
not a protestant be permitted to write an answer to 
it? For this, Mr. Guardian, is the present case. 
Last year a papist (or to please Mr. Examiner, a 
Roman catholic) published the life of St. Wene- 
frede, for the use of those devout pilgrims who go 
in great numbers to offer up their prayers to her at 
her well. This gave occasion to the worthy pre- 
late, in whose diocese that well is, to make some 
observations upon it ; and in order to undeceive so 
many poor deluded people, to show how little rea- 
son, and how small authority there is, not only to 
believe any of the miracles attributed to St. Wene- 
frede, but even to believe there ever was such a 
person in the world. And shall then a g^ood man, 
upon such an account, be liable to be abused in so 
public a manner? Can any good Church-of-Eng- 
land man bear to see a bishop, one whom her pre* 
seat majesty was pleased to make, treated in so 


• N 90. • G\JABDIAN. 189 

' ludicrofus a way? Or sball one pass by the scurrility 
and the immodesty that is to be found in several 
parts of the paper ? Who can with patience see St. 
Faul and St. Wenefrede set by the Examiner, upon 
a level, and the authority for one made by him to be 
equal with that for the other ? Who that is ft Chris- 
tian, can endure his insipid mirth upon so serious 

• an occasion ? I must confess it raises my indigna- 
tion to the greatest height, to see a pen that has 

' been lon^ employed in writing panegyrics upon 
persons of the first rank (who would be indeed to 
be pitied were they to depend upon that for their 
praise) to see, I say, the same pen at last made use of 
in defence of popery. 

■ * ' I think I may now with justice, congratulate 
with those whom the -Examiner dislikes; since for 
ipy own part, I should reckon it my great honour 
to be worthy his dis-esteem, and should count his 
censure praise. 

J am. Sir, 

Your most humble servant.' 

The above letter complains, with great justice, 
against this incorrigible creature ; but I do not in- 
sert any thing concerning him, in hopes what I say 
will have any effect upon him, but to prevent the 
impression which what he says may have upon 
others. I shall end this paper with a letter I have 
just now written to a gentleman, whose writings are 
often inserted in the Guardian, without deviation of 
one tittle from what he sends. 

• . 'SIR, • June 23. 

' I HAVE received the favour of yours 
with the inclosed, which made up the papers of 
tht iwo last days. I cannot but look upon myself 

IpO GUARDIAN. K 91: 1^. 

With great contempt and mortification, when I re- 
flect that I ha^e thrown away more hours than you 
have lived, though you so much excel me in every 
thing for which I would live. Until I knew you, I 
thought it the privilege of angels only to he very V 
knowing and very innocent. In the warmth of 
youth to he capable of such abstracted and virtaoui ^ 
reflections (with a suitable life) as those with which 
you entertain yourself, is the utmost of human per* 
fection and fdicity. The gpreatest honour I can 
conceive done to another, is when an elder does re- 
verence to a younger, though that younger is not 
distinguished above him by fortune. Your contenqft 
of pleasures, riches and honour will crown you wHh 
them all, and I wish you them not for your own 
sake, but for the reason which only would nuike them 
eligible to yourself, the good of others. 

I am, dearest youth. 

Your friend and admirer, 

Nestor Ibomsidl' 

N' 9lr THURSDAY, JUNE 25, 171S. 

Tnui $na gratia partis. 

little tilings have thtir value. 

It is the great rule of behaviour ' to foOow na- 
ture/ The author of the following letter is so much 
convinced of this truth, that he turns what would 
rendet a man of httle soul exceptious, humonrsoim 

1^91. GUABBIAN. 191 

nd particular in all bis actions, to a subject of 
aiBery and mirtb. He is, you must know, but balf 
s tall as an ordinary man, but is contented to be still 
t his friend's elbow, and has set up a club, by which 
le hopes to bring those of his own size into a little 



* I REMEMBER a sayiug of yours con- 
cerning persons in low circumstances of stature, 
hat their littleness would hardly be taken notice 
d( if they did not manifest a consciousness of it 
themselves in all their behaviour. Indeed, the obser- 
vation that no man is ridiculous, for being what 
be is, but only in the affectation of being something 
more, is equally true in regard to the mind and the 

' I question not but it will be pleasing to you to 
hear that a set of us have formed a society, who 
are sworn to "dare to be short," and boldly bear 
out the dignity of littleness under the noses of those 
enormous engrossers of manhood, those hyperboli- 
cal monsters of the species, the tall fellows that 
overlook us. 

* The day of our institution was the tenth of De- 
cember, being the shortest of the year, on which 
we are to hold an annual feast over a dish of 

' The place we have chosen for this meeting is in 
the Little Piazza, not without an eye to the neigh- 
bourhood of Mr. Powel's opera, for the performers 
of \vhich we Ijave, as becomes us, a brotherly af- 

193 GCAEI>lAir. H*9. 

' At our first resort hither an eld woman brooght 
her son to the club-room, desiring he might be 
educated in this school, because she saw here were 
finer boys than ordinary. However, this accident 
no way discouraged our designs. We began with 
sending invitations to those of a stature not exceed- 
ing five foot, to rapair to our assembly ; but the 
greater part returned excuses, or pretended they 
were not qualified 

' One said he was mdeed but five foot at pre- 
sent, but represented he should soon exceed that 
proportion, his periwig-maker and shoe-maker 
having lately promised him three inches more be- 
twixt them. 

' Another alledged, he was so unfortunate as to 
have one leg shorter than the other, and whoever 
had determined his stature to five foot, had taken 
him at a disadvantage ; for when he was mounted on 
the other leg, he was at least five foot two inches and 
a half. 

' There were some who questioned the exactness 
of our measures ; and others, instead of complying* 
returned us, informations of people yet shorter than 
themselves. In a word, almost every one recom- 
mended some neighbour or acquaintance, whom he 
was willing wo should look upon to be less than he. 
We were not a little ashamed that t^ose who are past 
the years of growth, and whose beards pronotinc^ 
them men, should be guilty of as many unfair tricks 
in this point, as the most aspiring children when 
thcv are measured. 

* We therefore proceeded to fit up the club- 
voom, and provide conveniencies for our accom- 
modation. In the first place we caused a total re- 
moval of all chairs, stools, and tables, which had 
served the gross of mankind for many years. The 

lf*0). GUARDIAN. 193 

disadvantages we had undergone while we made use 
of these^ were unspeakable. The president's whole 
body was sunk in the elbow chair : and when his 
arms were spread over it, he appeared (to the great 
lessening of his dignity) like a child in a go-cart. 
It was also so wide in tiie seat, ias to give a wag oc- 
casion of saying, that notwithstanding the president 
sat in it, there was a sedc vacante. 

' The table was so high, that one who came by 
chance to the door, seeing our chins just above 
the pewter dishes, took us for a circle of men that 
sat ready to be diaved, and sent in half a dozen 
barbers. Another time one of the^ club spoke con- 
tumeliously of the president, imagining he had 
been absent, when he was only eclipsed by a flask 
of Florence which stood on the table in a parallel 
line before his face. We therefore new-furnished 
the room in all respects proportionably to us, and 
had the door mad«^ Jower, so as to admit no man 
above five foot high, without brushing his foretop, 
which whoever does is utterly unqualified to sit 
among us. 

' Some qf the statutes of the club are as follow : 

' * I. If it be proved upon any member, though 
never so duly qualified, that he strives as much as 
possible to get above his size, by stretching, cock- 
ing, or the like ; or that he hath stood on tiptoe 
in a crowd, with design to be taken for as tall a 
man as the rest: or hath privily conveyed any large 
book, cricket, or other device under him, to exalt 
him on his seat : every such offender shall be sen- 
tenced to walk in pumps for a whole month. 

' II. If any member shall take advantage from 
the fulness or length of his wig, or any part of hi* 
dress, or the immoderate extent of his hat, or 

VOL. xvii. s 

194 GUAmBIAN. N* gi. 

Otherwise, to seem larger or higher than he is ; it 
is ordered, he shall wear red heels to his shoes, 
and a red feather in his hat, which may apparently 
mark and set hounds to the extremities of his smaU 
dimension, that aU people may readily find him 
out between his hat and his shoes. 

' III. If any member shall purchase a horse for 
his own riding above fourteen hands and a half in 
height, that horse shall forthwith be sold, a Scotch 
galloway bought in its stead for him, and the over- 
plus of the money shall treat the club. 

' IV.. If any member, in direct contradiction to 
the fundamental laws of the society, shall wear the 
heels of his shoes exceeding one inch and half, it 
•hall be interpreted as an open renunciation of lit- 
tleness, and the criminal shall be instantly expelled 
Note, The form to be used in expelUng a member 
shall be in these words, ' Go from among us, and 
be tall if you can ! 

Mt is the unanimous opinion of our whole so- 
ciety, that since the race oi mankind is granted to 
have decreased in stature from the beginning to 
this present, it is the intent of nature itself, that 
men should be little ; and we believe that all hu- 
man kind shall at last grow down to perfection, 
that is to say, be reduced to our own measure. 

I am, very literally. 

Your humble servant. 

Bob Short/ 

K*g2. GUARDIAN. 195 

N»92. FRIDAY, JUNE 26, 1713, 

IBomuuculiiiwmttsunty cum recttgite ! PLAUTUS. 

Now IrecoUect) how considerable ace these little men! 


* SIR, 

* The club, rising early this evening I have time to 
finish my account of it You are already acquaint 
«d with the nature and design of our institution ; 
the characters of the members, and the topics of 
our coprersation, are what remain for the subject 
of this epistle. 

^ The most eminent persons of our assembly 
ar>^, a little poet, a little lover^ a little politician, 
and . a little hero. The first of these, Dick Distich 
by name, we have elected president, not only as 
he is the shortest of us all, but because he has en- 
tertained so just a sense of the stature, as to go 
generally in black, that he may appear yet less. 
Nay, to that perfection is he arrived, that he stoops 
as he walks. The figure of the man is odd enough : 
he is a hvely litde creature, with long arms and 
legs. A spider is no ill emblem of him. He has 
been taken at a distance for a small windmill. But 
indeed what principally moved us in his favour was 
jtiis talent in poetry, for he hath promised to un- 
dertake a long work in short verse to celebrate the 

s 2 

196 GUARDIAN. m"92' 

heroes of our size. He has entertained so great a 
respect for Statius, on the score of tliat line, 

'' Mqjor in exiguo regnabat corpore vkHuJ'* 

** A larger portion of heroic fire 

Did his small limbs and little breast inspire,*' — 

that he once designed to translate the whole Thebaid 
for the sake of little Tydeus. 

' Tom Tiptoe, a dapper hiack fellow, is the most 
gallant lover of the age. He is particularly nice 
in his hahiliments ; and to the end justice tnay be 
done him that way, constantly employs the same 
artist who makes attire for the neighhouring princes 
and ladies of quality at Mr. Powel's. The vivacity 
of his temper incUnes him sometimes to boast of 
the favours of the fair. He was the other nigfa^ 
excusing his absence from the club upon account 
of an assignation with a lady, (and, as he had the 
vanity to tell us, a tall one too) who had consent- 
ed to the full accomplishment of his desires that 
evening; but one of the company, who was his 
confident, assured us she was a woman of humour, 
and made the agreement on this condition, that his 
toe ^ should be tied to hers. 

' Our politician is a person of real gravity, and 
professed wisdom. Gravity in a man of this size, 
compared with that of one of ordinary bulk, ap- 
pears like the gravity of a cat, compared with that 
of a lion. This gent' ''.man is accustomed to talk 
to himself, and was once over-heard to pompare 
his own person to a little cabinet, wherein are 
locked up all the secrets of state, and refined 

* Pope seems to allude here, and at the close of this paper, 
to his waggish ronndeau on Mrs. Eliz. Thomas, mistress to 
H, Cromwell, esq. See Biofgr* IkUX. «su "^^^^^ ^« 3414. 

If* 9^. OUABDIAN. 197 

schemes of princes. His face is pale and meagre, 
which proceeds from much . watching and studying 
for the welfare of Europe, which isdso thought to 
have stinted his growth : for he hath destroyed his 
own constitution with taking care of that of the 
nation. He is what Mons. Balzac calls a great 
distiller of the maxims of Tacitus. When he 
speaks, it is slowly, and word by word, as one that 
is loih to enrich you too fast with his observations: 
like a limbec that gives you drop by drop, an ex- 
tract of the simples in it. 

' The last I shall mention is Tim Tuck, the hero« 
He is particularly remarkable for the length of his 
sword, which intersects his person in a cross line, 
and makes him appear riot unlike a fly, that the 
boys have run a pin through and set a walking. 
He once challenged a tall fellow for giving him a 
blow on the pate with his elbow as he passed along 
the street. But what he especially values himself 
upon is, that in all the campaigns he has made, he 
never once ducked at the whiz of a cannon-ball. 
Tim was full as large at fourteen years old as he is 
now. This we are tender of mentioning, your lit- 
tle heroes being generally choleric. 

' These are the gentlemen that most enliven our 
conversation. The discourse generally turns upon 
such accidents, whether fortunate or unfortunate, as 
are daily occasioned by our size. These we faith- 
fully communicate, either as matter of mirth or of 
consolation to each other. The president had 
lately an unlucky fall, being unable to keep his 
legs on a stormy day ; whereupon he informed us, 
it was no new disaster, but the same a certain 
ancient poet had been subject to, who is recorded 
to have been so light, that he was obliged to poise 
himself against the wind with lead on one -side ^wi 

s 3 

198 GUARDIAN. H*9«. 

his own works on the other. The lover confessed 
the other night that he. had been cured of love to a 
tall woman by reading over the legend of Ragotine 
in Scarron, with his tea, three mornings successively. 
Our hero rarely acquaints us with any of his un- 
successful adventures. And as for the pohticiaoi 
he declares himself an utter enemy to a3l kind of 
burlesque, so will never discompose the austerity 
2of his aspect by laughing at our adventures, much 
less discover any of his own in this ludicrous light 
Whatever he tells of any accidents thj^t befal him, 
.18 byway of complaint, nor is he to be laughed at, 
but in his absence. 

. ' We are likewise particularly careful to. com- 
municate in the club all such passages of history, 
.or characters of illustrious personages, as any way 
reflect honour on httle men. Tim Tuck having 
but just reading enough for a military man> per- 
petually entertains us with the same stories, of lit- 
tle David, that conquered the mighty Goliah^ and 
little Luxembourg, that made Lewis XIV. a grand 
monarque, never forgetting little Alexander the 
Great. Dick Distich celebrates the exceeding 
humanity of Augustus, who called Horace Lepi- 
dissimum Homunciolum ; and is wonderfully pleased 
with Voiture and Scarron, for having so well de- 
scribed their diminutive forms to all posterity. He 
is peremptorily of opinion, against a great reader, 
and all his adherents, that JEsop was not a jot 
properer or handsomer than he is represented by 
the common pictures. But the soldier believes 
with the learned person above-mentioned; for he 
thinks, none but an impudent tall author could be 
guilty of such an unmannerly piece of satire on lit- 
tle warriors, as his battle of the mou^ and the 
frog. The politician is very proud of a certain 

r*g2. GVAKDIAN. IQ9 

ing of Egypt, called Bocchor, v/ho, as Diodorus 
ssures us, was a person of very low stature, but 
ir exceeded all that went before him in discretion 
ad politics. 
' As 1 am secretary to the club, it is my busi- 
ess whenever we meet to take minutes of the 
*ansactions. This has enabled me to send you 
le foregoing particulars, as I may hereafter other 
lemoirs. We have spies appointed in every quar- 
tr of the town, to give us informations of the 
lisbehayiouf of such refractory persons as refuse 
> be subject to our statntes. Whatsoever aspiring 
ractices any of these our people shall be guilty of 
1 their amours, single combats, or any indirect 
leans to manhood, we shall certainly be acquainted 
ith, and publish to the world for their punishment 
nd reformation. For the president has granted 
le the sole property of exposing and shewing to 
le town all such intractable dwarfs, whose circum- 
:ances exemj)t them from being carried about in 
oxes; reserving only to himself, as the right of a 
oet, those smart characters that will shine in 
pigrams. Venerable Nestor, I salute you in the 
ame of the club^ 

Bob Short, Secretary/ 

200 GUARniAN H*93. 

N'93. SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 1713. 

Est animus luds eantemptor. virg. JEn. ix. S05. 

The thing calPd life with ease I can disclaim. DRYDEN. 

The following letters are curious and instructive, 
and shall make up the business of the day. 


* SIR, June 25, 1713. 

' The inclosed is a faithful translation 
from an old author, which if it deserves your no- 
tice, let the readers guess whether he was a heathen 
or a Christian*. 

I am. 

Your most humble servant* 

" I CANNOT, my friends, forbear letting^ you 
know what I think of death ; for methinks I view 
and understand it much better, the nearer I ap- 
proach to it. I am convinced that your fathers, 
those illustrious persons whom I so much loved and 
honoured, do not cease to live, though they have 
passed through what we call death ; they are un- 
doubtedly still hving, but it is that sort of life 

• Xenoph. Opera, vol. i. p. 547, ei seq, edit. A Eraesti, 8vo. 
Lips. 1763. 4 torn. M. T. Cicer. Opera, Pars Xmas p. 3754,rf 
seg, Cato Major, De Senectute, xxii. edit. J. Verbur^j, 8v«. 
Amst lT24i. 

^""93. OUARDIAN. 201. 

which alone deserves truly to be called life. In 
effect, while we are confined to bodies, we ought to 
esteem ourselves no other than a sort of galley- 
slaves at the chain, since the soul, which is some- 
what divine, and descends from heaven as the place 
of its original, seems debased and dishonoured by 
the mixture with flesh and blood, and to be in a 
state of banishment from its celestial country. I 
cannot help thinking too, that one main reason of 
uniting souls to bodies was, that the great work of 
the universe might have spectators to admire the 
beautiful order of nature, tlie regular motion of 
heavenly bodies, who should strive to express that 
regularity in the uniformity of. their lives. When I 
consider the boundless activity of our minds, the 
remembrance we have of things past, our foresight 
of what is to come ; when I reflect on the noble 
discoveries and vast improvements, by which these 
minds have advanced arts and sciences ; . I am 
entirely persuaded, and out of all doubt that a 
nature which has in itself a fund of so many excel- 
lent things cannot possibly be mortal. I observe 
further, that my mind is altogether simple, without 
the mixture of any substance or nature different 
from its own; I conclude from thence that it is 
indivisible, and consequently cannot perish. 

*' By no means think, therefore, my dear friends, 
when I shall have quitted you, that I cease to be, 
or shall subsist no where. Remember that while 
we live together, you do not see my mind, and yet 
are sure that I have one actuating and moving my 
body ; doubt not then but that this same mind will 
have a being when it is separated, though you can- 
not then perceive its actions. What nonsense 
would it be to pay those honours to great mei^ 
irfter their deaths, which we constantly do, if their 

t02 GUARDIAN. N 93* 

sciuls did not then subsist? For my own part, I 
could never imagine that our minds live only when 
united to bodies, and die when they leave them ; 
or that they shall cease to think and understand 
when disengaged from bodies, which without them 
have neither sense nor reason : on the contrary, I 
believe the soul when separated from matter, to 
enjoy the greatest purity and simplicity oi its 
nature, and to have 'much more wisdom and bgfat 
than while it was united. We see when the body 
dies what becomes of all the parts which composed 
it ; but we do not see the mind, either in the body, 
or when it leaves it. Nothing more resembles 
death than sleep, and it is in that state the 
soul chiefly shews it has something divine in its 
nature. How much more then nnist it shew it 
when entirely disengaged ?" 


' SIR, 

' Since you have not refused to in- 
sert matters of a theological nature in those ex- 
cellent papers with which you daily both instruct 
and divert us, I earnestly desire you to print the 
following paper. The notions therein advanced 
are, for aught I know, new to the English reader, 
and if they are true, will afford room for many use- 
ful inferences. 

' No man that reads the evangelists, but must 
observe that our blessed Saviour does upon every 
occasion bend all his force and zeal to rebuke and 
correct the hypocrisy of the Pharisees. Upon that 
subject he shews a warmth which one meets with 
in no other part of his sermons. They were so 
enraged at this pubhc detection of their secret 

N 93. GUARDIAN. 9,03 

viilanies, by one who saw through all their dis- 
guises, that they joined in the prosecution of him^ 
which was so vigorous^ that Pilate at last consent- 
ed to his death. The frequency and vehemence of 
these representations of our Lord, have made the 
word Pharisee to be looked upon as odious amongst 
Christians, and to mean only one who lays the 
utmost stress upon the outward, ceremonial, and 
ritual part of his rehgion, without having such an 
inwaixl sense of it, as would lead him to a general 
and sincere observance of those duties which can 
only arise from the heart, and which cannot be 
supposed to spring from a desire of applause or 

' Tliis is plain from the history of the life and 
actions of our Lord in the four evangelists. One 
of them, St. Luke, continued his history down in 
a second part, which we commonly call The Acts 
of ttfe Apostles. Now it is observable, that in this 
second part, in which he gives a particular account 
of what the apostles did and suffered at Jerusalem 
upon their first entering upon their commission, 
and also of what St. Paul did afler he was conse- 
crated to the apostleship until his journey to Rome, 
we find not only no opposition to Christianity from 
the Pharisees, but several signal occasions in which 
they assisted its first teachers, when the Christian 
church was in its infant state. The true, zealous 
and hearty persecutors of Christianity at that time 
were the Sadducees, whom we may truly call the 
fireethinkers among the Jews. They believed nei- 
ther resurrection, nor angel, nor spirit, i. e. in 
plain English, they were deists at least, if not 
atheists. They could outwardly comply with, and 
conform to the establishment in church and stute, 
and they pretended forsooth to belong only to a 

204 OOARDIAN. 'N*9S. 

particular sect ; and because there was nothing in 
the law of Moses which in so many words asserted 
a resurrection> they appeared to adhere to that in 
a particular manner beyond any other part of the 
old testament. These men therefore justly dread- 
ed the spreading of Christianity after the ascension 
of our Lord^ because it was wholly founded upon 
his resurrection. 

' Accordingly therefore when Peter and John 
had cured the lame man at the Beautiful Gate of 
the Temple, and had thereby raised a wonderful 
expectation of themselves among the people, the 
priests and Sadducees, Acts iv. clapt them up, and 
sent them away for the first time with a ^vere re- 
primand. Quickly afler, when the deaths of Ana- 
nias and Sapphira, and the many miracles wrought 
after those severe instances of the apostolical power 
had alarmed the priests, who looked upon the 
temple-worship, and consequently their bread, to 
be struck at ; these priests, and all they that were 
with them, who were of the sect of the Sadducees, 
imprisoned the apostles, intending to examine them 
in the great council the next day. Where, when 
the council met, and the priests and Sadducees 
proposed to proceed with great rigour against them, 
we find that Gamaliel, a very eminent Pharisee, 
St. Paul's master, a man of great authority among 
the people, many of whose determinations we have 
still preserved iu the body of the Jewish traditions, 
commonly called the Talmud, opposed their heat, 
and told them, for aught they knew, the apostles 
might be actuated by the Spirit of God, and that 
in such a case it would be in vain to oppose them, 
since if they did so, they would only fight against 
God, whom they could not overcome. Gamaliel 
was so considerable a man among his own sect, 

N* 9^. GVARDIAN* 205 

that we may reasonably believe he spoke the sense 
of his party as well as his own. St. Stephen's mar- 
tyrdom came on presently after, in which we do 
not find the Pharisees, as such, had any hand; it 
is probable that he was prosecuted by those who 
had before imprisoned Peter and John. One novice 
indeed of that sect was so zealous, that he kept 
the clothes of those that stoned him. This novice, 
whose zeal went beyond all bounds, was the gpreat 
St Paul, who was peculiarly honoured with a call 
from heaven by which he was converted, and he 
was afterwards, by God himself, appointed to be 
the apostle of the Gentiles. Besides him, and him 
too reclaimed in so glorious a manner, we find no 
one Pharisee either named or hinted at by St. 
Luke^ as an opposer of Christianity in these earliest 
days. What others might do we know not. But 
we find the Sadducees pursuing St. Paul even to 
death at his coming to Jerusalem, in the 21st of 
the Acts. He then, upon all occasions, owned 
himself to be a Pharisee. In the 22nd chapter he 
told the people, that he had been bred up at the 
feet of Gamaliel after the strictest manner, in the 
law of his fathers. In the 23rd chapter he told the 
council that he was a Pharisee, the son of a Pha* 
risee, and that he was accused for asserting the 
hope and resurrection of the dead, which was their 
darling doctrine. Hereupon the Pharisees stood 
by him, though they did not own our Saviour to 
be the Messiah, yet they would not deny but some 
angel or spirit might have spoken to him, and then 
if uiey opposed him, they should fight against God. 
This was the very argument Gamaliel had used 
before. The resurrection of our Lord, which they 
•aw so strenuously asserted by the apostles, whose 
i^racles they also saw and owned, (Acts iv. 16\ 
VOL. xvij. T 

0.06 GUAKDIAX. N*{)5. 

seems to have struck them, and many of them were 
converted (Acts xv. 5) even without a miracle, and 
the rest stood still and made no opposition. 

' We see here what the part was which the 
Pharisees acted in this important conjuncture. Of 
the Sadducees we meet not with one in the whole 
apostolic history that was converted. We hear of 
no miracles wrought to convince any of thenii 
though there was an eminent one wrought to re- 
claim a Pharisee. St. Paul we see, after his con- 
version, always eloried in his having been bred a 
Pharisee. He <ud so to the people of Jerusalem, 
to the great council, to king Agrippa, and to the 
Philippians. So that from hence we may justly 
infer, that it was not their institution, which was 
in itself laudable, which our blessed Saviour found 
fault with, but it was their hypocrisy, their covet- 
ousness, their oppression, their overvaluing them- 
selves upon their zeal for the ceremonial law, and 
their adding to that yoke by their traditions all 
which were not properly essentials of their institu- 
tion, that our Lord blamed. 

' But I must not nm on. What I would observe, 
sir, is that atheism is more dreadful, and would 
be more grievous to human society, if it were in- 
vested with sufficient power, than religion under 
any shape, where its professors do at the bottom 
believe what they profess. I despair not of a 
papist's conversion, though I would not willingly 
lie at a zealot papist's mercy, (and no protestant 
would, if he knew what popery is) though he truly 
believes in our Saviour. But the free-thinker who 
scarcely believes there is a God, and certainly dis- 
believes revelation, is a very terrible animal. He 
will talk of natural rights, and the just freedoms o{ 
mankind, no longer than until he himiself gets into 


34. GUARDIAN. i207 

^er; and by the instance before us, we have 
II grounds to hope for his salvation, or that 
I will ever vouchsafe him sufficient grace to re- 
in him from errors, which have been so imme- 
jelj levelled against himself. 
If these notions be true, as I verily believe 
f are, I thought they might be worth publishing 
his time, for which reason they are sent in this 
iner to you by. Sir, 

Your most humble servant, 

WilliaM WottoN. 



N* 94. MONDAY, JUNE 29, 1713. 

Infenium sUn quod vacuus desumpsit AihenaSy 
Et studiis tumoa septem dedU^ insenuitque 
JLibris et cutis; statud. taciturtdus exit 

Picrumque, et risu papulum quatit 

HOR. C Ep. ii. 81. 


The mao, who stretch'd in Isis* calm retreat. 
To books and study gives seven years conipleat. 
See ! strow*d with learned Just, his night-cap-on, 
He walks, an object new beneath the sun ! 
The boys flock round him, and tiie people stare; 
So stiff, so mute ! some statue, you would swear, 
Stept from its pedestal to take the air ? POPE. 

cE our success in worldly matters may be said 
iepend upon our education, it will be very much 
iie purpose to inquire if the foundations of our 
:une could not be laid deeper and surer than 

^08 GUABBIAK. N 94. 

they are. The education of youth falls of necessity 
•under the direction of those^ who through fondness 
to us and our abilities^ as well as to their own un- 
warrantable conjectures, are very likely to be de- 
reived ; and the miseiy of it is, that the poor cm- 
jtures, who are the sufferers upon wrong advances, 
seldom find out the errors, until they become irre- 
trievable. As the greater number of all degrees 
and conditions have their education at the univer- 
sities, the errors which I conceive to be in those 
places fall most naturally under the following ob- 
servations. The first mismanagement in these pub- 
lic nurseries, is the calling together a number of 
pupils, of howsoever difTerent ages, views and ca- 
pacities, to the same lectures. Surely there can 
be no reason to think, that a delicate tender babe, 
just weaned from the bosom of his mother, indulged 
in all the . impertinencies of his heart's desire, 
should be equally capable of receiving a lecture of 
philosophy, with a hardy ruffian of full age, who 
has been occasionally scourged through some of the 
-great schools, groaned un&r constant rebuke and 
chastisement, and maintained a ten years war with 
literature, under very strict and rugged discipline. 

I know the reader has pleased himself with an 
answer to this already, viz. lliat an attention to 
the particular abilities and designs of the pupil 
<;annot be expected from the trifling salary paid 
upon such account. The price indeed which is 
thought a sufficient reward for any advantages a 
youth can receive from a man of learning, is an 
abominable consideration ; -the enlarging which 
would not only increase the care of tutors, but 
would be a very great encouragement to such ai 
.designed to take this province upon, them, to fur- 
nish themselves with a more general and extensiTC 

M* 94. GUARDIAN. $09 

knowledge. As the case now stands^ those of the 
first quality pay then* tutors but little above half so 
much as they do their footmen: what morality, 
what history, what taste of the modern languages, 
what lastly, that can make a man happy or great, 
may not be expected in return for such an immense 
treasure. It is monstrous indeed, that the men of 
the best estates and families, are more solicitous 
about the tutelage of a favourite dog or horse, than 
of their heirs male. The next evil is the pedantical 
veneration that is maintained at the university for 
the Greek and Latin, which puts the youth upon 
such exercises as many of them are incapable of 
performing, with any tolerable success. Upon 
this emergency they are succoured by the allowed 
wits of their respective colleges, who are always 
ready to befriend them with two or three hundred 
Latin or Greek words tlirown together, with a very 
small proportion of sense. 

But the most established error of our university 
education, is the general neglect of all the little 
qualifications and accomplishments which make up 
the character of a well-bred man, and the general 
attention to what is called deep learning. But as 
there are very few blessed with a genius, that shall 
force success by the strength of itself alone, and 
few occasions of life that require the aid of such 
genius; the vast majority of the unblessed souls 
ought to store themselves with such acquisitions, 
in which every man has capacity to make a consi- 
derable progress, and from which every common 
occasion of life may reap great advantage. The 
persons that may be useful to us in the making our 
fortunes, are., such as are already happy in their 
own; I may proceed to say, that the men of figure 
and family are more superficial in liVvevt ^^wca^^^ss^1 

T a 

ftiO GrAK1>L4V. 11*94. 

than those of a less degree, and of coaTse, are 
jreadr to eocoora^ and protect that qualificatioD in 
anotiier, which ther theimiriveg are masters oC 
For their awn applicatioii implies the pursuit of 
jomfthing commendahle ; and when they see their 
own dazncten proposed as imitable, they must be 
won hy soch an irresistible flattery. But those of 
the tmirersityy who are to make their fortunes by 
a ready insinuation into the favour of their sope- 
riorsy contemn this necessary f<^pery so far, as not 
to be able to speak common sense to them without 
hesitation, perplexity, and confusimi. For want of 
care in acquiring less accomplishments which adorn 
ordinary life, he that h so unhappy as to be bom 
poor, is condemned to a method that will very prO" 
nably keep him so. 

I hope all the learned will forgive me what is said 
purely for their service, and tends to no other in- 
jury against them, than admonishing them not to 
overlook such little qualifications, as they every 
day see defeat their greater excellencies in tfie pur- 
suit both of reputation, and fortune. 

If the youth of the university were to be ad- 
vanced, according to their sufficiency in the se- 
vere progress of learning; or ' riches could be 
secured to men of understanding, and favour to 
men of skill ;' then indeed all studies were solemnly 
to be defied, that did not seriously pursue the 
main end; but since our merit is to be tried by the 
unskilful many, we must gratify the sense of the in- 
judicious majority, satisfy ourselves that the shame 
of a trivial qualification, sticks only upon him that 
prefers it to one more substantial. The more ac- 
complishments a man is master of, the better is be 
prepared for a more extended acquaintance, and 
UDon these cona\deral\oY\% vrvthout doubt, the au- 

N*g4. GUAkDIAK. 211 

thor of the Italian book called II Cortegiano, or 
the courtier,* makes throwing the bar, vaulting 
the horse, nay even wrestling, with several other 
ts low qualifications, necessary for the man whom 
he figures for a perfect courtier ; for this reason no 
doubt, because his end being to find grace in the 
eyes of men of all degrees, the means to pursue 
this end, was the furnishing him with such real and 
seeming excellencies as each degree had its parti- 
cular taste of. But those of the university, instead 
of employing their leisure hours in the pursuit of 
such acquisitions as would shorten their way to 
better fortune, enjoy those moments at certain 
houses in the town, or repair to others at very 
pretty distances out of it, where ' they drink and 
loTget their poverty, and remember their misery 
no more.' Persons of this indigent education are 
apt to pass upon themselves and others for modest, 
especially in the point of behaviour ; though it is 
easy to prove, that this mistaken modesty not only 
arises from ignorance, but begets the appearance 
of its opposite, pride. For he that is conscious of 
his own insufficiency to address his superiors with- 
out appearing ridiculous, is by that betrayed into 
the same neglect and indifference towaros them, 
which may bear the construction of pride. From 
this habit they begin to argue against the base sub- 
missive application from men of letters to men of 
fortune, and be grieved when they see, as Ben Jon • 
son says, 

-The learned pate 

Dack to the golden fool- 

* Written by Conte Baldassar Castiglione, and published in 
Italian and English, with a life of tiie author, by A. P. Castig- 
Itone; of the same family. 4to. liond. \1^ . 

£1^ GVABDIAN. K* 94. 

though these arc points of necessity and conve- 
nience^ and to he esteemed suhmissions rather to 
the occasion than to the person. It was a fine an- 
swer of Diogenes^ who being asked in mockery, 
why philosophers were the followers of rich men. 
and not rich men of philosophers, replied, ' Be- 
cause the one knew what they had need of, and 
the other did not/ It certainly must be difficult 
to prove, that a man of business, or a profession, 
ought not to be what we call a gentleman, but yet 
very few of them are so. Upon this account they 
have little conversation with those who might do 
them most service, but upon such occasions only 
as application is made to them in their particular 
calling ; and for any thing they can do or say in 
such matters have their reward, and therefore ra- 
ther receive than confer an obligation : whereas he 
that adds his being agreeable to his being service- 
able, is constantly in a capacity of obliging others. 
The character of a beau, is, I think, what the men 
that pretend to learning please themselves in ridi- 
culing : and yet if we compare these persons as we 
see them in public, we shall find that the lettered 
coxcombs without good-breeding, give more just 
occasion to raillery, than the unlettered coxcombs 
with it : as our behaviour falls within the judgment 
of more persons than our conversation, and a failure 
in it is therefore more visible. What pleasant 
victories over the loud, the saucy, and the illite- 
rate, would attend the men of learning and breed- 
ing ; which quaUfications, could we but join them, 
would beget such a confidence, as arising from good 
sense and good-nature, would never let us. oppress 
others, or desert ourselves. In short, whether a 
man intends a life of business or pleasure, it is im- 
possihle to pursue eitViet m «xi ek^nt manner, 


l5. •UARDIAN. 219 

LOUt the help of good breeding. I shall con- 
e with the face at least of a regular discourse ; 
8ay> if it is our behaTiour and address upon all 
isions that prejudice people in our favour, or to 
disadvantage, and the more substantial parts, 
ur learning and industry, cannot possibly ap- 
r but to few; it is not justifiable to spend so 
:h time, in that which so very few are judges 
and utterly neglect that which falls within the 
sure of so many. 

N!95. TUESDAY, JUNE 30, 1715. 

•^AVuna negotia cenium HOR* 2 Sat vi. 33. 

A crowd of petitioners. CREECH. 

•iND business increase upon me very much, as 
1 appear by the following letters. 

' SIR, Oxford, June 24, 1713. 

' This day Mr. Oliver Purville, gen- 
man, property-man to the theatre royal in the 
>m of Mr. William Peer, deceased, arrived here 

widow Bartlett's waggon. He is an humble 
»mber of the Little Club, and a passionate man, 
lich makes him tell the disasters which he met 
th on his road hither, a little too incoherently 

be rightly understood. By what I can gather 
Nu him, it seems that within thee miles of this 

214 OUARDIAN, N*95. 

side Wickham, the party \va» set upon by high- 
waymen. Mr. Purville was supercargo to the great 
hamper in which were the foUowing goods. The 
chains of Jaffier and Pierre; the crowns and scep- 
ters of the posterity of Banquo ; the bull, bear and 
horse of captain Otter; bones^ skulls^ pickaxes, a 
bottle of brandy^ and five muskets ; fourscore pieces 
of stock-gold> and thirty pieces of tin-silver hid in 
a green purse within a skull. These the robbers, 
by being put up safe, supposed to be true, and rid 
off with, not forgetting to take Mr. Purville's own 
current coin. They broke the armour of Jacomo, 
which was cased up in the same hamper, and one 
of them put on the said Jacomo's mask to escape. 
They also did several extravagancies with no other 
purpose but to do mischief; they broke a mace for 
the lord mayor of London. They also destroyed 
the world, the sun and moon, which lay loose in 
the waggon. Mrs. Bartlett is frighted out of her 
wits, for Purville says he has her servant's receipt 
for the world, and expects she shall make if good. 
Purville is resolved to take no lodgings in town, 
but makes behind the scenes a bed chamber of the 
hamper. His bed is that in which Desdemona is to 
die, and he uses the sheet in which Mr. Johnson is 
tied up in a comedy, for his own bed of nights. 
It is to be hoped the great ones will consider Mr. 
Purvilk's loss. One of the robbers has sent, by a 
country fellow, the stock gold, and had the impu- 
dence to write the following letter to Mr.^Purville. 

*' SIR, 

" If you had been an honest man, you 
would not have put bad money upon men who ven- 
ture their lives for it. But we shall see you when 
you come back. Philip Scowrbb." 

n'^QS. guardian. 215 

' There are many things in this master which 
Employ the ahlest men here, as whether an action 
will he for the world among people who make the 
most of words ? or whether it be adviseable to call 
that romid ball the world, and if we do not call it 
so, whether we can have any remedy ? the ablest 
lawyer here says there is no help ; for if you call 
it the world, it will be answered how could the 
world be in one shire, to wit, that of Buckingham ; 
for the county must be named, and if you do not 
name it we shaH certainly be nonsuited. I do not 
know whether I make myself understood ; but you 
understand me right when you believe I am 

Your most humble servant, 

and faithful correspondent. 

The Prompter/ 

' Honoured Sir, 

' Your character of Guardian makes 
it not only necessary, but becoming, to have seve- 
ral employed under you. And being myself ambi- 
tious oi your service, I am now your humble peti- 
tioner to be admitted into a place I do not find yet 
disposed of — 1 mean that of your lion-catcher. It 
was, sir, for want of such commission from your 
honour, that very many lions have lately escaped. 
However, I made bold to distinguish a couple. 
One I found in a coffee house — He was of the larger 
sort, looked tierce, and roared loud. I considered 
•wherein he was dangerous; and accordingly ex- 
pressed my displeasure against him, in such a man- 
ner upon his chaps, that now he is not able to show 
his teeth. The other was a small lion, who was 
shpping by me as I stood at the corner of an alley — 
I smelt the creature presently, and catched at him. 
but he got off* with the loss of a lock of hair only. 

210 GUARDIAN. M*9^' 

which proved of a dark colour. This and the teeth 
above-mentioDed I have by me, and design them 
both for a present to Button's coffee house. 

* Besides this way of dealing with them^ I have 
invented many curious traps, snares, and artificial 
baits, which, it is humbly conceived, cannot fail 
of clearing the kingdom of the whole species in a 
short time. 

' This is humbly submitted to your honour^i 
consideration; and I am ready to appear before 
your honour, to answer to such questions as you, 
in your great wisdom, shall thii^ meet to ask, 
whenever you please to command. 

Your Honour's most obedient 
humble servant, 
Midsammer-day. Hercules Crabtrel 

' N. B. I have an excellent nose.* 

Tom*s coffee-house, in Comhili, June 19, 1713. 

' SIR, 

* Reading in your yesterday's paper 
a letter from Daniel Button, in recommendation 
of his coffee-house for polite conversation and free- 
dom from the argument by the Button, I make 
bold to send you this to assure you, that at this 
place there is as yet kept up as good a decorum in 
the debates of politics, trade, stocks, &c. as at 
Will's, or at any other coffee-house at your end of 
the town. In order therefore to preserve thii 
house from the arbitrary way of forcing an assent, 
by seizing on the collar, neckcloth, or any other 
part of the body, or dress, it would be of signal 
service if you would be pleased to intimate, that 
we, who frequent this place after Exchange-timei 

N* 95. GUARDtAN« 21? 

nhall have the honour of seeing you here sometimes; 
for that would he a sufficient guard to us from all 
such petty practices^ and also he a means of en- 
abling the honest man^ who keeps the house, to 
continue to serve us with the best bohea and greea 
tea, and coffee, and will in a particular manner 

Your humble servant, * 

James Diapek. 

* P. S. The room above stairs is the handsomest 
jn this part of the town, furnished with large pier 
glasses for persons to view themselves in, who have 
no business with any body else, and every way fit 
for the reception of fine gentlemen/ 

* SIR, 

' I AM a very gpreat scholar, wear a 
fair wig, and have an immense number of books 
curiously bound and gilt. I excel in a singularity 
of diction and manners, and visit persons of the 
first quality. In fine, I have by me a great quan- 
tity of cockle-shells, which, however, does not de- 
fend me from the insults of another learned man, 
who neglects me. in a most insupportable manner : 
for I have it from persons of undoubted veracity, 
that he presumed once to pass by my door without 
waiting upon me. Whether this be consistent with 
the respect which we learned men ought to have 
for each other, I leave to your judgment, and am. 

Your affectionate friend, 


VOL. tvu. U' 


Oxford, June 18, H13. 

' Friend Nestor, 

• I HAD always a great value for thee, 
and have so still : but I must tell thee, that thou 
itrangely aflectest to be sage and solid : now pr'3rthee 
let me observe to thee, that though it be commoa 
enough for people as they grow older to grow 

f raver, yet it is not so common to become wiser, 
erily to me thou seemest to keep strange com- 
pany, and with a positive sufficiency incident to 
old age, to follow too much thine own inventions. 
Thou dependest top much likewise upon thy corres- 
pondence here, and art apt to take people's words 
without consideration. But my present business 
with thee is to expostulate with thee about a late 
paper occasioned as thou say'st, by Jack Lizard's 
information (my very good friend), that we are to 
have a Public Act. 

' Now I say, in that paper, there is nothing 
contended for which any man of common -sense 
will deny ; all that is thf re said, is that no man or 
woman's reputation ought to be blasted, i. e. no- 
body ought to have an ill character, who does not 
deserve it. Very true; but here's this false con- 
sequence insiimated, that therefore nobody ought 
to hear of their faults ; or in other words, let any 
body do as much ill as he pleases, he ought not lu 
be told of it. Art thou a patriot, Mr. Ironside, 
and wilt thou affirm, that arbitrary proceedings and 
oppressions ought to be concealed, or justified? 
Art thou a gentleman, and would'st thou have 
base, sordid, ignoble tricks connived at, or tole- 
rated? Art thou a scholar, and would'st thou hnve 
learning and good -manners discouraged ? Would'st 
thou have cringing servility, parasitical shuffling. 

K'' 95. GUABDIAK. 219 

fawning, and dishonest compliances^ made the road 
to success? Art thou a Christian, and would'st 
thou have all villanies within the law practised 
with impunity ? Should they not be told of it ? It 
is certain, there are many things which though 
there are no laws against them, yet ought not to 
be done ; and in such cases there is no argument so 
likely to hinder their being done, as the fear of 
public shame for doing them. The two great rea*- 
sons against an Act are always, the saving of 
money, and hiding of roguery. 

*' Here many things are omitted which will be 
in the speech of the Terrflefilius/' 

' And now dear Old Iron, I am glad to hear 
that at these years thou hast gallantry enough left 
te have thoughts pf setting up for a knight-errant, 
a tamer of monsters, and a defender of distrest 

* Adieu, old fellow, and let me give thee this 
advice at parting ; E'en get thyself case-hardened ;* 
for though the very best steel may snap, yet old 
iron you know will rust. 

' Be just, and publish this.' 

' Mr. Ironside, Oxford, Sat, 27, 1713. 

' This day arrived the vanguard of 
the theatrical army. Your friend, Mr, George 
Powel, commanded the artillery both celestial and 
terrestrial. ITie magazines of snow, lightning, and 
thunder, are safely laid up. We have had no dis- 
aster on the way, but that of breaking Cupid's bow 
by a jolt of the waggon : but they tell us they make 


* A conceit on SteeFs name; case-hardening of iron it n 
raperficial conversion of that metal into uteel. 

S£0 GUARDIAN^ . N*96. 

them very well in Oxford. We all went in a body, 
and were shown your chambers in Lincoln college. 
The Teraefilius expects you down, and we of the 
theatre design to bring you into town with all our 
guards. Those of Alexander the Great, Juliui 
Caesar, and the faithful retinue of Cato, shall meet 
you at Shotover. The ghost of Hamlet, and the 
statue which supped with Don John, both say, that 
though it be at noon -day, they will attend your 
entry. Every body expects you with great im- 
patience. We shall be in very good order when aU 
are come down. We have sent to town for a brick- 
wall which we forgot. The sea is to come by 

Your most humble servant, 

and faithful correspondent. 
The Prompter. 

N* 90. WEDNESDAY, JULY l, 1713. 

CuncH adsitti, meritaque expectent pramia ftalnux, 

VIRG. JEu. V. 70. 

Let all be present at the games prepared ; 
And joyful victors wait tlie just reward. 


There is no maxim in politics more indisputable, 
than that a nation should have many honours in 
reserve for those who do national services. Tbii 

N^'gS.' OUABDIA.N. 221. 

raises emulation, cherishes public merit, and in- 
spires every one with an ambition which promotes 
:he good of his country. The less expensive these 
lonours are to the public the more still do they 
:um to its advantage. 

The Romans abounded with these little honorary 
•ewards, that without conferring wealth or riches, 
rave only place and distinction to the person who 
•eceived them. An oaken garland to be worn on 
festivals and public ceremonies, was the glorious 
•ecompence of one who had covered a citizen in 
3attle. A soldier would not only venture his life 
for a mural crown, but think the most hazardous 
enterprise sufficiently repaid by so noble a donation. 

But among all honorary rewards which are nei- 
ther dangerous nor detrimental to the donor, I 
remember none so remarkable as the titles which 
are bestowed by the emperor of China. These are 
never given to any subject, says monsieur le 
Comte, until the subject is dead. If he has pleased 
his emperor to the last, he is called in all public 
memorials by the title which the emperor confers 
on him after his death, and his childen take their 
ranks accordingly. This keeps the ambitious sub- 
ject in a perpetual dependence, making him always 
vigilant and active, and in every thing conform- 
able to the will of his sovereign. 

There are no honorary rewards among us, which 
are more esteemed by the person who receives 
them, and are cheaper to the prince, than the giving 
of medals. But there is something in the modern 
manner of celebrating a great action in medals, 
which makes such a reward much less valuable 
than it was among the Romans. There is generally 
but one coin stamped on the occasion, which is 
made a present to the person who is celebrated on 


2M GtrAEDlAW. »*96. 

it. By this means his whole fame is in his own 
custody. The applause that is bestowed upon him 
is too much limited and confined. He is in pos- 
session < of an honour which the world perhapi 
knows nothing of. He may be a great man in his 
own family; his wife and children may see the 
monument of an exploit, which the public in a lit- 
tle time is a stranger to. The Romans took a quite 
different method in this particular. Their medals 
were their current money. When an action de- 
served to be recorded in coin, it was stamped per- 
haps upon an hundred thousand pieces of money 
like our shillings, or hialfpence, which were issued 
out of the mint, and became current. This method 
published every noble action to advantage, and in 
a short space of time spread through the whole 
Roman empire. The Romans were so careful to 
preserve the memory of great events upon their 
coins, that when any particular piece of money 
grew very scarce, it was often re-coined by a suc- 
ceeding emperor, many years afler the death of the 
emperor to whose honour it was first struck. 

A friend"'^ of mine drew up a project of this kind 
during the late ministry, which would then have 
been put in execution had it not been too busy a 
time for thoughts of that nature. As this project 
has been very much talked of by the gentleman 
above-mentioned to men of the greatest genius, as 
well as qualitity ; I am informed there is now a de- 
sign on foot for executing the proposal which was 
then made, and that we shall have several farthings 
and halfpence charged on the reverse with many of 
the glorious particulars of her majesty^s reign. 
This is one of those arts of peace which may very 

Dr. Swift. 

*g6. OVARDIAN. 2M3 

ill deserve to be cultivated, aiid which may be 
great use to posterity. 

As I have in my possession the copy of the paper 
ove-mentioned, which was dehvered to the late 
d treasurer, I shall here give the public a sight 
it. Fori do not question but that the curious 
rt of my readers will be very much pleased to see 
much matter, and so many useful hints upon 
is subject, laid together in so clear and concise a 

Thb English have not been so careful as other 
lite nations to preserve the memory of their 
fat actions and events on medals. Their sub- 
:ts are few, their mottos and devices mean, and 
i coins themselves not numerous enough to 
nead among the people, or descend to poste- 

The French have outdone us in these particulars, 
d by the establishment of a society for the in^ 
ition of proper inscriptions and designs, have 
? whole history. of their present king in a regular . 
ies of medals. 

They have failed as well as the English, in coin- 
r so small a number of each kind, and those of 
ih costly metals, that each species may be lost 
a few ages, and is at present no where to be met 
th but in the cabinets of the curious. 
The ancient Romans took the only effectual 
;thod to disperse and preserve their medals, by 
iking them their current money. 
Every thing glorious or useful, as well in peace 
war, gave occasion to a different coin. Not 
ly an expedition, victory, or triumph, but the 
ercise of a solemn devotion, the remission of a 
ty or tax, a new temple, sea-port, or high 

war, vere truMnitted to porteriij after this 

llie ^:reateflt rariety of devices are on their cop- 
per moner, which have most of the designs that are 
to be met with on the gold and sihrer, and seTeral 
pecuhar to that metal (mly. By this means tbey 
were dispersed into the remotest comers of the 
empire, came into the possession of the poor as 
weU as rich, and were in no danger of perilling in 
the hands of those that might have melted down 
coins of a more valuable metal. 

Add to all thisy that the designs were invented by 
men of genius, and executed by a decree of senate. 

It is therefore pr(^)osed, 

I. That the English fardiings and halfpence be 
re-coined upon the union of the two nations. 

II. That they bear the devices and inscriptions al- 
luding to all the most remarkable parts of her 
majesty's reign. 

III. That there be a society established for the 
finding out of proper subjects, inscriptions, and 

IV. That no subject, inscription, or device, be 
stamped without the approbation of this society, 
nor if it be thought proper, without the authority 
of privy-council. 

By this means, medals that are at present only 
a dead treai?ure, or mere curif>sities, will be of use 
in the ordinary commerce of life, and at the same 
time, perpetuate the glories of her majesty's reign, 
reward the labours of her ffreatest subjects, keep 
alive in the people a gratitude for public services, 
and excite the emulation of posterity. To these 
generous purposes nothing can so much contribute 
as medals of this kind, which are of undoubted 
authority, of necessary use and observation, not 

» i)7. GUABDIAW. 225 

perisbable by time, nor, confined to any certain 
place ; properties not to be found in books, statues, 
pictures, buildings, or any other monuments of 
illustrious actions. 

If"97i THURSDAY, JULY 2, 171.?. 

— Fiir0r e9t poit omma perdere noMlum, JUV. Sat viii. 97« 
O^ifl mad to layish ivhat their rapine left STEPNEY. 

' SIR, 

' I WAS left a thousand pounds by an uncle, and 
being a man to my thinking very likely to get a 
rich widow, I laid aside all thoughts of making my 
fortune any other way, and without loss of time 
made my application to one who had buried her 
husband about a week before. By the help of some 
of her she-friends who were my relations, I got 
into her company when she would see no man be- 
tides myself and her lawyer, who is a httle, rivelled, 
spindle shanked gentleman, and married to boot, 
so that I had no reason to fear him. Upon my 
first seeing her, she said in conversation within my 
hearing, that she thought a pale complexion the 
most agreeable either in man or woman. Now you 
must know, sir, my face is as white as chalk. 
This gave me some encouragement; so that to 
4^end the matter J bought a fine fiaxen long wig 

026' GUARDIAN.^ N^Q?; 

that cost me thirty guineas, and found an opportu- 
nity of feeeing her in it the next day. She then let 
drop some expressions ahout an agate snuff-box. 
1 immediately took the huit^ and bought oae, 
being unwilling to omit any thing that might make 
me desirable in her eyes. I was betrayed after the 
same manner into a brocade waistcoat, a sword 
knot^ a pair of silver fringed gloves, and a dia- 
mond ring. But whether out of fickleness or a 
design upon me, I cannot tell ; but I found by her 
discourse, that what she liked one day, she disliked 
another : so th£it in six months space I was forced 
to equip myself above a dozen times. As I told 
you before, I took her hints at a distance, for I 
could never find an opportunity of talking with her 
directly to the point. All this time, however, I 
was allowed the utmost familiarities with her lap- 
dog, and have played with it above an hour toge- 
ther, without receiving the least reprimand, and 
had many other marks of favour shown me, which 
I thought amounted to a promise. If she chanced 
to drop her fan, she received it from my hands 
with great civility. If she wanted any thing, I 
reached it for her. I have filled her tea-pot above 
an hundred times, and have afterwards received a 
dish of it from her own hands. Now, sir, do you 
judge, if after such encouragements, she was not 
obliged to marry me. I forgot to tell you that I 
kept a chair by the week, on purpose to carry me 
thither and back again. Not to trouble you with 
a long letter, in the space of about a twelvemonth 
I have run out of my whole thousand pound upon 
her, having laid out the last fifty in a new suit of 
clothes, in which I was resolved to receive a final 
answer, which amounted to this, '* that she was 
engaged to another ; that she never dreamt I had 

* 97. GUARDIAN. 827 

y -such thing in my head as marriage ; and that 
e thought I had frequented her house only be- 
use I loved to be in company with my relations. 
iis> you know, sii% is using a man like a fool^ 
d so I -told her; but the worst of it is, that I 
ve spent my fortune to no purpose. All there- 
•e that 1 desire of you is, to tell me whether 
•on exhibiting the several particulars which I 
ve related to you, I may not sue her for damages 
a court of justice. Your advice in this parti- 
lar will very much oblige 

Your most humble admirer, 

Simon Softly.* 

Before I answer Mr. Softly's request, I find 
yself under a necessity of discussing two nice 
)ints. First of all. What it is, in cases of this 
iture, that amounts to an encouragement ? Se- 
►ndly. What it is that amounts to a promise ? 
ich of which subjects requires more time to exa- 
ine than I am at present master of. Besides, I 
ould have my friend Simon . consider, whether he 
LS any counsel that will undertake his cause in 
rma pauperisi, he having unluckily disabled him- 
If, by his account of the matter, from prosecut- 
g his suit any other way. 

In answer however to Mr. SofUy's request, I 
lall acquaint him with a method made use of by a 
mng fellow in king Charles the Second's reign, 
horn I shall here call Silvio, who had long made 
ve with much artifice and intrigue, to a rich 
idpw, whose true name I shall conceal under that 
■■ Zelinda. Silvio, who was much more smitten 
ith her fortune than her person, finding a twelve- 
loiith's application unsuccessful, was resolved to 
take a saving bargain of it; and since he could 


fi^ GUARDIAN. V 97- 

not get tlie widow's estate into hi» possession, to 
recover at least what he had laid out of bis own in 
. the pursuit of it 

Li order to this he presented her witli a biU of 
costs^ having particularized in it ^le several ei- 
pences he had been at in his long perplexed amour. 
Zelinda was so pleased with the humour of the fel- 
low^ and his frank way of dealing, that upon the 
perusal of the bill, she sent him a purse of fifteeo 
hundred guineas, by the right application of which, 
the lover in less than a year, got a woman of a 
greater fortune than her he had missed. The seve- 
ral articles in the bill of costs I pretty well re- 
member, though I have forgotten the particular 
sum charged to each article. 

Laid out in supemumeraiy full-bottom wigs. 

Fiddles for a serenade, with a speaking 

Gilt paper in letters, and billet-doux, with per- 
fumed wax. 

A ream of sonnets and love-verses, purchased at 
different times of Mr. Triplet at a crown a sheet. 

To Zelinda two sticks of May-cherries. 

Last summer at several times, a bushel of 

Three porters whom I planted about her to watch 
her motions. 

The first who stood centry near her door. 

The second who had his stand at the stabks 
where her coach was put up. 

The third who kept watch at the comer of the 
street where Ned Courtall lives, who has since 
1 married her. 

Two additional porters planted over her during 
the whole month or May. 

Five conjurors kept in pay all last winter. 

11*98. •UABDIAK. €99 

Spy-money to John Trott her footman, and Mrs. 
Sarah Wheedle her companion. 

A new Conningsmark blade to fight Ned Courtall. 

To Zehnda's woman (Mrs. Abigail) an Indian 
fan, a dozen pair of white kid gloves, a piece of 
Flanders lace, and fifteen guineas in dry money. 

Secret-service money to Betty at the ring. 

Ditto to Mrs. Tape the mantua-maker. 

Loss of time. t^. 

N"98. FRIDAY, JULY 3, 1713. 

In seae redit. VIRG. Georg. iv. 444. 

He resumes himself^ 

The first who undertook to instruct the world in 
single papers was Isaac Bickerstalf of famous me- 
mory : a man nearly related to the family of tlie 
Ironsides. We have oflen smoaked a pipe toge- 
ther ; for i was so much in his books,* that at his 
decease he left me a silver standish, a pair of spec- 
tacles, and the lamp by which he used to write his 

The venerjible Isaac was succeeded by a gentle- 
man of the same family, very memorable for the 
shortness of his face and of his speeches. This iur 
genious author published his thoughts, and held his 
tongue with great applause^ for two years together, 

* BookB, L e. good graces. 
yoL^ xvij, X 

230 GUARDIAN. N* 98. 

1 Nestor Ironside, have now for some time un- 
dertaken to fill the place of these my two renowned 
kinsmen and predecessors. For it is observed of 
every branch of our family, that we have all of us 
a wonderful inclination to give good advice, though 
it is remarked of some of us, that we are apt on 
this occasion, rather to give than take.* 

However it be, I cannot but observe with some 
secret pride, that this way of writing diurnal papers 
has not succeeded for any space of time in the 
hands of any persons who are not of our line. I 
believe I speak within compass, when I affirm that 
above a hundred different authors have endea^ 
voured after our family-way of writing, some of 
which have been writers in other kinds pf the 
greatest eminence in the kingdom: but I do not 
know how it has happened, they have none of them 
hit upon the art. Their projects have always dropt 
after a few unsuccessful essays. It puts me in mind 
of a story which was lately told me of a pleasant 
friend of mine, who has a very fine hand on the 
violin. His maid servant seeing his instrument 
lying upon the table, and being sensible there was 
music in it, if she knew how to fetch it out, drew 
the bow over every part of the strings, and at last 
told her master she had tried the fiddle all over, but 
could not for her heart find where about the tunc 

But though the whole burthen of such a paper is 
only fit to rest on the shoulders of a BickerstafF or an 
Ironside ; there are several who can acquit them- 
selves of a single day's labour in it with suitable 
abilities. These are gentlemen whom I have often 
invited to this trial of wit, and who have several of 

* An allusion to Steele. 

n" 98. GUARDIAN. tSl 

them acquitted themselves to my private emolu- 
ments ; as well as to their own reputation. My 
paper among the republic of letters is the Ulyses 
his bow, in which every man of wit or learning 
may try his strength. One who does not care tp 
write a book without being sure of his abilities, 
may see by this means if his parts and talents are 
to the public taste. 

This I take to be of great advantage to men of 
the best sense, who are always diffident of their 
private judgment, until it receives a sanction froii^ 
the public. ' Provoco ad popvlum,' ' I appeal to 
the people,' was the usual saying of a very excel- 
lent dramatic poet, when he had any dispute with 
particular persons about the justness and regularity 
of his productions. It is but a melancholy com** 
fort for an author to be satisfied that he has written^ 
up to the rules of art, when he finds he has no sid- 
mirers in the world besides himself. Common 
modesty should, on this occasion, make a man 
suspect his own judgment, and that he misapplies 
the rules of his art, when he finds himself singular 
in the applause which he bestows upon his own 

The public is always even with an author who 
has not a just deference for them. The contempt 
is reciprocal. ' I laugh at every one,' said an old 
cynic, ' who laughs at me.' ' Do you so,* replied 
the philosopher; ' then let me tell you, you live 
the merriest life of any man in Athens.' 

It is not therefore the least use of this my paper, 
that it gives a timorous writer, and such is every 
good one, an opportunity of putting his abilities to 
the proof, and of sounding the public before he 
launches into it. For this reason I look upon my 
paper as a kipd of nursery for authors, and ques» 

X 2 


tion not but some who have made a good figure 
here, will hereafter flourish under their own names 
in more long and elaborate works. 

After having thus far enlarged upon this parti- 
cular, I have one favour to beg of the candid and . 
courteous reader, that when he meets wKh any 1 
thing in this paper which may appear a little duu 
and neavy (though I hope this will not be often) he 
will believe it is the work of some other person, i 
and not of Nestor Ironside. 

I have, I know not how, been drawn into tattle 
of myself, more majorum, almost the length of a 
whole Guardian; I shall therefore fill up the re- 
maining part of it with what still relates to my own 
person, and my correspondents. Now I would 
have them all know, that on the twentieth instant 
it is my intention to erect a lion's head in imitation 
of those I have described in Venice, through which 
all the private intelligence of that common-wealth 
is said to pass. This head is to open a most wide 
and voracious mouth, which shall take in such let- 
ters and papers as are conveyed to me by my cor- 
respondents, it being my resolution to have a par- 
ticular regard to all such matters as come to my 
hands through the mouth of the lion. There wiU 
be under it a box, of which the key will be kept in 
my own custody, to receive such papers as are 
dropped into it. Whatever the lion swallows I 
shall digest for the use of the public. Tliis head 
requires some time to finish, the workman being re- 
solved to give it several masterly touches, and to 
represent it as ravenous as possible. It will be set 
up in Button's coffee-house in Covent-garden,* 

^ The Hon'shead, formerly at Button's coffee-honse, is still 
preserved at the Shakspeare tavern in Qovejut garden. There 


N* 99. GUARDIAN. 233 


who is directed to shew the way to the lion's head 
and to instruct any young author how to convey his 
vrorks into the mouth of it with safety and se* 
crecy. ' cc^. 

W99. SATURDAY, JULY 4, 1713, 

Ju9hiM et tenacem propositi virumy A 

Non civium ardor praca jvbetUium^ . "\ 

Non vultus instantis tyratmi, xj, 

Mente quatit $olid&; neque ouster '-^^ ~_^ 
Dax inquieti turbidus Adi'ta, "^ 

Nic fulminaniis magna Jovis tnanus : 
Sifractus illabatur orbiSf 
Impanjidvmferient ruintB, HOR. 3 Od. iii. l« 


Tlie man resoly'd and steady to his trust. 
Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just, 
May the rude rabble's insolence despise, 
Their senseless clamours, and tumultuous cries : 

The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles, 
And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies, 

And with superior greatness smiles. 

Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms 
Adiia's black gulpb, and vexes it with storms, 

is under it rn inscription incorrectly formed from the two fo]« 
lowing detached lines of Martial : 

' Servantur magnis isti cirviciims ungues: 
^ojt nisi di^d pascitur ilk ferhJ 

See Ibe Ctentlemao's Magazine, vo\« \vu. ^% SVV. 

X 8 

€34 GU4RDIA1C. H*95f 

r " 

The stnUioni Tirtnes of his loal chi more; 
Not the red arm of angry Jove, 
That fliiigs the thonder fitim the iky. 

And gives it rage to roar, and streng& to fly. 

Should the whole frame of uatnre round htm break, 
In ruin and confusion hori'd. 

He unconcem'd would hear the mighty crack. 

And stand secure amidst the falling world. ANON. 

There is no virtue so truly ^eat and godlike as 
justice. Most of the otiier virtues are the virtues 
of created heings^ or accommodated to our nature 
as we are men. Justice is that which is practised 
by God himself^ and to be practised in its perfec- 
tion by none but him. Omniscience and omnipo- 
tence are requisite for the full exertion of it. The 
one to discover every degree of uprightness or ini- 
quity in thoughts, words, and actions. The other, 
to measure out and impart suitable rewards and 

As to be perfectly just is an attribute in the 
Divine Nature, to be so to the utmost of our abili- 
ties is the glory of a man. Such an one who has 
the public administration in his hands, acts like the 
representative of his maker, in recompensing the 
virtuous, and punishing the offender. By the ex- 
tirpating of a criminal he averts the judgments of 
Heaven, when ready to fall upon an impious 
people ; or as my friend Cato expresses it much 
better in a sentiment conformable to his character, 

* When by just vengeance impious mortals perish. 
The Gods behold their punishment with pleasure. 
And lay th' uplifted thunderbolt mde.* 

When a nation once loses its regard to justice; 
when they do not look upon it as something vene- 
ralAe, holy and iiivio\^\e\ ViYweivw^ ^^ \b£mdare 


presume to lessen^ affront or terrify those who hare^ 
the distribution of it in their hands: when a judge 
is capable of being influenced by any thing but 
law, or a cause may be recommended by any thing 
that is foreign to its own merits, we may venture 
to pronounce that such a nation is hastening to its 

For this reason the best law that has ever past 
in our days, is that which continues our judges in 
their posts during their good behaviour, without 
leaving them to the mercy of such who in ill times 
might, by an undue influence over them, trouble 
and pervert the course of justice. I dare say the 
extraordinary person who is now posted in the chief 
station of the law*, would have been the same had 
that act never past ; but it is a great satisfaction to 
all honest men, that while we see the greatest or- 
nament of the protfession in its highest post, we are 
sure he cannot hurt himself by that assiduous, re- 
gular and impartial administration of justice, for 
which he is so universally celebrated by the whole 
kingdom. Such men are to be reckoned among the 
greatest national blessings, and should have that 
honour paid them whilst they are yet living, which 
will not fail to crown their memory when dead. 

I always rejoice when I see a ^tribunal filled with 
a man of an upright and inflexible temper, who in 
the execution of his country's laws can overcome 
all private fear, resentment, solicitation, and even 
pity itself. Whatever passion enters into a sen- 
tence or decision, so far will there be in it a tinc- 
ture of injustice. In short, justice discards party, 
friendship, kindred, and is Uierefore always repre- 

* Sir Thomas Parker, I. c. j. of the queen's b^ocb^ aftcr« 
wards earl of Macclesfield and lord cbanceUor. 

2.16 G VABDIAN. M* 99- 

sented as blind, that we may supi>06e her thoughts 
are wholly intent on the equity of a cause, without 
being diverted or prejudiced by objects foreign 
to it. 

I shall conclude this paper with a Persian story, 
which is very suitable to my present subject It 
will not a little please the reader, if he has the 
same taste of it which I myself have. 

As one of the sultans lay encamped on the plains 
of Avala, ^ certain great man of the army entered 
by force into a peasant's house, and finding his 
wife very handsome, turned the good man out of 
his dwelling and went to bed to her. The peasant 
complained the next morning to the sultan, and de- 
sired redress ; but was not able to point out the 
criminal. The emperor, who was very much in- 
censed at the injury done to the poor man, told 
him that probably the offender might give his wife 
another visit, and if he did, commanded him im- 
mediately to repair to his tent and acquaint him 
with it. Accordingly within two or three days the 
officer entered again the peasant's house, and turned 
the owner out of doors; who thereupon applied 
himself to the imperial tent, as he was ordered. 
The sultan went in person, with his guards, to the 
poor man's house, where he arrived about mid- 
night. As the attendants carried each of them a 
flambeau in their hands, the sultan, afler having 
ordered all the lights to be put out, gave the word 
to enter the house, find out the criminal, and put 
him to death. This was immediately executed, and 
the corpse laid out upon the floor by the emperor's 
command. He then bid every one light his flam- 
beau, and stand about the dead body. The sultan 
approaching it, looked about the face, and immedi- 
f^tely fell upon his kn^ts \u ^if^^ex* U^on his 

r"99. GUARDIAN, M7 

«ing up, he ordered the peasant to set before him 
hatever food he had ixx the house^ The peasant 
rought out a good deal of coarse fare, of which 
le emperor eat very heartily. The peasant seeing 
im in good humour, presumed to ask of him, why 
e had ordered the flambeaux to be put out before 
e had commanded the adulterer should be slain ? 
Vliy, upon their being lighted again, he looked 
pon the face of the dead body, and fell down in 
»rayer ? And why, after this, he had ordered meat 
i> be set before him, of which he now eat so hear- 
ily ? The sultan being willing to gratify the curio* 
ity of his host, answered him in diis manner. 
Upon hearing the greatness of the offence whiqh 
ad been committed by one of the army, I had rea* 
Dn to think it might have been one of my own son8> 
i>r' who else would have been so audacious and 
resuming ! I gave orders therefore for the hghts 
3 be extinguished, that I might not be led astray> 
y partiality or compassion, from doing justice on 
tie criminal. Upon the lighting the flambeaux a 
scond time, I looked upon the face of the dead 
erson, and to my unspeakable joy, found it wa9 
ot my son. It was for this reason that I immedi- 
tely fell upon my knees and gave thanks to GocL 
Ls for my eating heartily of the food you have set 
efore me, you will cease to wonder at it, when 
ou know that the great anxiety of mind I have 
een in upon this occasion since tne first complaints, 
ou brought me, has hindered me eating any thing 
rom that time until this very moment.' ffj*. 

288' guaedian; . «* ioo. 

N'lOO. MONDAY, JULY 6, 1713. 

Hoc V08 pracipue, niveau decet; hoc vbi vidiy 
Oacvlaferre humerOf qud patet, usque Ubet, 

OVID. An Amator. ill S09. 

If SBOwy-white your neck, you still should wear 
That and the shoulder of the left arm, bare; 
Such sights ne'er ^1 to fire my am'rous hearty 
And make me pant to kisi the naked part. 


There is a certain female ornament by some 
called a tucker, and by others the neck-piece, 
being a slip of fine linen or muslin that used to run 
in a small kind of ruffle round the uppermost verge 
of the woman's stays, and by that means covered 
a great part of the shoulders and bosom. Having 
thus given a definition, or rather description of the 
tucker, I must take notice that our ladies have of 
late thrown aside this fig-leaf, and exposed in its 
primitive nakedness that gentle swelling of the 
breast which it was used to conceal. What their 
design by it is, they themselves best know. 

I observed this as I was sitting the other day by 
a famous she-visitant at my lady Lizard's, when 
accidently as I was looking upon her face, letting 
my sight fall into her bosom, I was surprised with 
beauties which I never before discovered, and do 
not know where my eye would have run, if I had 
not immediately checked it. The lady herself 
could not forbear blushing, when she observed by 
my looks that she had made her neck too beautiful 

St"" 100. QUABDIAN. JiSg 

md glaring an object^ even for a man of my cba- 
acter and gravity. I could scarce forbear making 
ise of my hand to cover so unseemly a sight. 

If we survey the pictures of our great grand- 
nothers in queen Elizabeth's time> we see them 
clothed down to the very wrists, and up to the 
^ery chin. The hands and face were the only 
samples they gave of their beautiful persons. The 
following a^ of females made larger discoveries of 
their complexion. They first of all tucked up 
their garments to the elbow, and notwithstanding 
the tenderness of their sex, were content, for the 
information of mankind, to expose their arms to 
the coldness of the air, and injuries of the weather. 
This artifice hath succeeded to their wishes, and 
betrayed many to their arms, who might have 
escaped them had they been still concealed. 

About the same time the ladies considering that 
the neck was a very modest part in a human body^ 
they freed it from those yokes, I mean those mon-* 
strous linen rui]&, in which the simplicity of their 
grand-mothers had inclosed it. In proportion as 
the age refined, the dress still sunk lower ; so that 
when we now say a woman has a handsome neck, 
we reckon into it many of the adjacent parts. The 
disuse of the tucker has still enlarged it, insomuch 
that the neck .of a fine woman at present takes in 
almost half the body. 

Since the female neck thus grows upon us, and 
the ladies seem disposed to discover themselves to 
us more and more, I would fain have them tell u6 
once for all, how far they intend to go, and whether 
they have yet determined among themselves where 
to make a stop. 

For my own part, their necks as they call them^ 

fM GITABDIAN. N* 100. 

are no more than busts of alabaster in my eye. I 
can look upon 

* Tbe yielding marble of a snowy breast.' 

with as much coldness as this line of Mr. Waller 
represents in the object itself. But my fair readers 
ought to consider that all their beholders are not 
Nestors. Every man is not sufficiently qualified 
with age and philosophy, to be an indiflerent ^ec- 
tator of such allurements. The eyes of young men 
are curious and penetrating, their imaginations are 
of a roving nature^ and their passions under no 
discipline or restraint. I am in pain for a woman 
of rank, when I see her thus exposing herself to the 
regard of every impudent staring fellow. How can 
she expect that her quality can defend her, when 
•he gives such provocation? I could not but ob- 
serve last winter, that upon the disuse of the neck- 
piece (the ladies will pardon me, if it is not the 
fashionable term of art) the whole tribe of oglers 
gave their eyes a new determination and stared the 
fair sex in the neck rather than in the face. To 
prevent these saucy familiar glances, I would in- 
treat my gentle readers to sew on their tuckers 
again, to retrieve the modesty of their characters, 
and not to imitate the nakedness but the innocence 
of their mother Eve. 

What most troubles and indeed surprises roe in 
this particular, I have observed that the leaders in 
this fashion were most of them married, women. 
What their design can be in making themselves bare 
I cannot possibly imagine. Nobody exposes warei 
that are appropriated. When the bird is taken, 
the snare ought to be removed. It was a remark- 
able circumstance in the institution of the severe 
LycQTgus : as ttial ^taX \vn^^« >uDkS« ^SajLt the 

Irealth and strength of a republic consisted in the 
multitude of citizens, he did all he could to encou- 
rag'e marriage. In order to it he prescribed a cer- 
tain loose drefli for the Spartan maid8> in ivhich 
there were several artificial rents and openings^ 
that upon their putting themselves in motion^ dis- 
covered several limbs of the body to the beholders. 
Such were the baits and temptations made use of, 
by that wise law-giver, to incline the young men of 
his age to marriage. But when the maid was once 
i^ed, she was not suffered to tantalize the male 
part of the common -wealth. Her garments were 
closed up, stitched together with the greatest care 
imaginable. The shape of her limbs and com- 
plexion of her body had gained their ends, and 
were ever after to be concealed from the notice of 
the public. 

I shall conclude this discourse of the tucker with 
a moral which I have taught upon all occasions, 
and shall still continue to inculcate into my female 
readers; namely, that nothing bestows so much 
beauty on a woman as Modesty. This is a maxim 
laid down by Ovid himself, the greatest master in 
iiie art love. He, observes upon it, that Venus 
pleases most when she appears (semuredacta) in a 
figure vsrithdrawing herself from the eye of the be- 
holder. It is very probable he had in his thoughts 
the statue which we see in the Venus de Medicis^ 
where she is represented in such a shy retiring pos- 
ture, and Rovers her bosom with one of her bauds. 
In short, modesty givies the maid greater beauty 
than even the bloom of youth, it bestows on the 
wife the dignity of a matron^ and reinstates the 
wido^ in her viginity* rj*. 

9A/g 6UAED1AN> ir* lOh 

N* 101. TUESDAY, JULY 7, 1713. 

Trm Tfrume mUd imlU diaenmhe JbflMvrJ 

VIR6. JEn. i. 579. 

and Tyrian differ bat in name, 
Bodi to my fiiTonr have an equal cUunu 

This beine the great day of thanki^ying for the 
peace, I £all present my reader wiUi a couple of 
letters that are the fruits of it. They are written 
by a gentleman who has taken this opportunity to 
see France, and has given his friends in England a 
general account of what he has there met with, in 
several epistles. Those which follow were put into 
my hands with liberty to make them public, and I 
question not but my reader will think himself ob« 
iiged to me for so doing. 

' SIR, 

' Since I had the happiness to see you 
last, I have encountered as many misfortunes as a 
knight errant. I had a fall into the water at Calais, 
and since that several bruises upon the land, lame 
post-horses by day, and hard beds at night, with 
many other dismal adventures, 

^ Quorum animus meminme horret, luduque rrfugit." 

VIRG. JEn. m If. 


At which my memory with grief recoils." 

' My arrival at Paris was at first no less uncom- 
fortable^ wher« I could not see a face norhedfa 

N* 101. GUAEDIAN. 243 

w<H*d that I ever met with before ; so that my most 
agreeable companions have been statues and pic- 
tures, which ate many of them very extraordinary ; 
but what particularly recommends them to me is, 
that they do not speak French, and have a very 
good quality, rarely to be met with in this country, 
of not being too talkative. 

* I am settled for some time at Paris. Since 
my being here I have made the tour of all the king^s 
palaces, which has been I think the pleasantest part 
of my life. I could not believe it was in the power 
<^ art, to furnish out such a multitude of noble 
scenes as I there met with, or that so many delight- 
fvl prospects could lie within the compass of a 
man's imagination. There is every thing done that 
can be expected from a prince who removes moun>- 
tains, turns the course of rivers, raises woods in a 
day's time, and plants a village or town on such a 
particular spot of ground only for the bettering of 
a view. One would wonder to see how many 
tricks he has made the water play for his diversion. 
It turns itself into pyramids, triumphal arches, 
glass bottles, imitates a fire work, rises in a mist, 
or tells a story out of ^op. 

' I do not believe, as good a poet as you are, 
that you can make finer landscapes than those 
about the king's houses, or with all your descrip- 
tions raise a more magnificient palace than Ver- 
sailles. I am however so singular as to prefer Fon- 
tainbleau to all the rest. It is situated among rocks 
and woods, that give you a fine variety of savage 
prospects. The king has humoured the genius of 
the place, and only made use of so much art as- is 
necessary to help and regulate nature, without re- 
forming her too much. The cascades seem to 
blreak uirough the clefb and cracks of rocka that 

V 3 

: 144 GUASDI AK. M* lOl. 

mre covered over with moss, and look as if they 
were piled upon one another by accident. There 
is an artificial wildness in the meadiprs, wa&s, and 
canals ; and the garden, instead of a wall, is fenced 
on the lower end by a natural mound of rock* 
work that strikes the eye very agreeably. For my 
part, I think there is something more charming ia 
these rude heaps of stone than in so many statoei^ 
and would as soon see a river winding through 
woods and meadows, as when it is tossed up in so 
many whimsical figures at Versailles. To pas 
from works of nature to those of art. In my opi^ 
nion, the pleasantest part of Versailles is the ^• 
lery. Every one sees on each side of it something 
that will be sure to please him. For one of them 
commands a view of the finest garden in the wodd, 
and the other is wainscotted with looking-glass.* 
The history of the present king until the year 16^. 
is painted on the roof by Le Brun, so that his ma- 
jesty has actions enough by him to furnish another 
gallery much longer than the present. 

' The painter has represented his most christian 
majesty under the figure of Jupiter, throwing thun- 
derbolts all about the ceiling, and striking terror 
into the Danube, and Rhine, that lie astonished 
and blasted with lightning above the cornice. 

' But what makes all these shows the more 
agreeable, is the great kindness and afiability that 
is shown to strangers. If the French do not excd 
the English in all the arts of humanity, they do 
at least in the outward expressions of it. And 
upon this, as well as other accounts, though I be- 

* There are vast windows into the garden, and the same ia 
. Jookiug glass opposite to them, on the blank side, which pfo- 
liiice a line effect, for yon see the |^den on both sides of yoaH 
you walk aionj( the foilery* 

IT* 101. OUABD1A19. 245 

here the English are a much wis^r nation, the 
French are undoubtedly much more happy. Their 
old men in particular are> I believe, the most agree- 
able in the world. An antediluvian could not have 
more Hfe and briskness in him at threescore and 
ten : for that fire and levity which makes the young 
cades scarce conversible, when a little wasted and 
tempered by years, makes a very pleasant and gay 
•Id s^e. Besides, this . national fault of being so 
Very talkative looks natural and graceful in one 
that has grey hairs to countenance it The men- 
tioning this fault in the French must put me in 
mind to finish my letter, lest you think me already 
too much infected by their conversation ; but I 
must desire you to consider, that travelling does in 
this respect lay a little claim to the privilege of 
iM age. 

I am. Sir, &c. 

' SIR, Blois, May 15, N.S. 

' I CANNOT pretend to trouble you 
with any news from this place, where the only ad- 
vantage I have besides getting the language, is to 
see the manners and tempers of the people, which 
I beUeve may be better learnt here than in courts 
and greater cities, where artifice and disguise are 
more in fashion. 

' I have already seen, as I informed yoti in my 
last, all the king's palaces, and have now seen a 
great part of the country. I never thought there 
had been in the world such an excessive magnifi- 
cence or poverty as I have met with in both toge- 
ther. One can scarce conceive the pomp that ap- 
pears in every thing about the king ; but at the 
same time it makes half his subjects go bare* 


€46 GUABBIAK* ll^lOl. 

.foot. The people are however the happiest in the 
world> and enjoy from the benefit of their climate, 
and natural constitution, such a perpetual gladness 
of heart and easiness of temper as even liberty and 
plenty cannot bestow on those of other natimu. 
It is not in the power of want or davery, to make 
them miserable. There is nothing to be met with 
in the country, but mirth, and poverty. E?ery 
one sings, laughs, tod starves. Their conversa- 
tion is generally agreeable ; for if they have any 
wit or sense, they are sure to show it. They never 
mend upon a second meeting, but use all the free* 
dom and familiarity at first sight, that a long in- 
timacy or abundance of wine can scarce draw from 
an Englishman. Their women are perfect mis- 
tresses in the art of showing themselves to the best 
advantage. They are always gay and sprightly, and 
set off the worst faces in Europe with the best airs. 
Every one knows how to give herself as charming a 
look and posture as sir Godfrey Kneller could draw 
her in, I cannot end my letter without observing, 
that from what I have already seen of the world, 
I cannot but set a particular mark of distinction 
upon those who abound most in the virtues of the 
nation, and least with its imperfections. When 
tlierefore I see the good sense of an Englishman ia 
its highest perfection without any mixture of the 
spleen, I hope you will excuse me, if I admire the 
character, and am ambitious of subscribing myself 

Sir, yours, &c.* 

H* lot. OVABOIAR. 247 

IT 102. WEDNESDAY, JULY 8, 1713. 

NatP9 ad fluminm primAm 

rmusp tavoque g^ dMramus et nndis, 

VIKG. JEn. ix. 605. 

Strong from the cracDe, of a sturdy brood. 
We b«ir our new4N>m infimts to the flood ; 
13iere bath'd amid the stream, onr boys we hold. 
With winter harden'd, and innr'd to cold. 


I AM always beating about in my thoughts for 
something mat may turn to tlie benefit of my dear 
countrymen. The present season of the year hav- 
ing put most of them in slight summer-suits^ has 
tamed my speculations to a subject that concerns 
€tery one who is sensible of cold or heat, which I 
believe takes in the greatest part of my readers. 

There is nothing in nature more inconstant than 
the British climate, if we except the humour of its 
inhabitants. We have frequently in one day all the 
seasons of the year. I have shivered in the dog- 
days, and been forced to throw off my coat in 
January. I have gone to bed in August, and rose 
in December. Summer has oflen caught me in my 
Drap de Berry, and winter in my Doily* suiL 

I remember a very whimsical fellow (commonly 
known by the name of Posture master f) in king 

* Doily was a ftmous draper abont this time, probably Aa 

inventor, certainly a principal vender of this kind of clo^^ &<u 

f JUr, Josfipb dark, commonly called \)[ve i^<A\»x%raM\ft\^ 

948 GUABDIAN. W 1C2. 

Charies the Second's reign, who was the plague of 
all the taylors ahout town. He would often send 
for one of them to take measure of him, but would 
so contrive it as to have a most immoderate rising 
ill one of his shoulders. When the clothes were 
brought home and tried upon him, the deformity 
was removed into the other shoulder. Upon which 
the taylor begged pardon for the mistake, and 
mended it as fast as he could, but upon a third trial 
found him a straight-shouldered man as one would 
desire to see, but a little unfortunate in a hump 
back. In short, this wandering tumour puzzled 
all the workmen about town, who found it impos- 
sible to accommodate so a changeable a customer. 
My reader will apply this to any one who would 
adapt a suit to a season of our English climate. 

After this short descant on the uncertainty of 
our English weather, I come to my moral. 

A man should take care that his body be not too 
soft for his climate ; but rather, if possible, harden 
and season himself beyond the degree of cold 
wherein he lives. Daily experience teaches us 
how we may inure ourselves by custom to bear the 
extremities of weather without injury. The inhabi- 
tants of Nova Zembla go naked, without complain- 
ing of the bleakness of the air in which they are 
born, as the armies of the northern nations keep 
the field all winter. The softest of our British 
ladies expose their arms and necks to the open air, 
which the men could not do without catching cold, 
for want of being accustomed to it. The whole 
body by the same means might contract the same 
firmness and temper. The Scythian that was asked 
how it was possible for the inhabitants of his frozen 
climate to go naked, replied, ' Because we aft all 
prer &ce/ Mr. Lock^ advises parents to blive 


their duldrens* feet washed every tnorning in cold 
water^ which might probably prolong multitudes of 

I verily believe a cdd bath would be one of the 
111061 healthful exercises in the worlds were it made 
-Qse of in the education of youth. It would make 
their bodies more than proof to the injuries of the 
air and weather. It would be somewhat like what 
the poets tell us of Achilles, whom bis nu>ther is 
said to have dipped, when he was a child, in the 
river Styx. The story adds, that this made him 
mvid&erable all over, excepting that part which 
bis mother held in her hand during this immersion^ 
and which by that means lost the benefit of these 
hardening waters. Our common practice runs in 
a quite contrary method. We are perpetually 
softening ourselves by good fires and warm clothes. 
The air within our rooms has generally two or three 
degprees more of heat in, than the air without 

CrassQS is an old lethargic valetudinarian. For 
these twenty years last. past he has been clothed in 
finzc of the same colour, and of the same piece. 
He iancies he should catch his death in any other 
kind of manufacture ; aiid though his avarice would 
incline him to wear it until it was threadbare, he 
dares not do it lest he should take cold when the 
bsap is off. He could no more live without his 
irize-eoat, than without his| skin. It is not indeed 
so properly his coat as what the anatomists call 
one of the integuments of the body. 

How different an old man is Crassus from my- 
adfl It is indeed the particular distinction of the 
Ironsides to be robust and hardy^, to defy the cold 
and rain, and let the weather do its worst. My 
father Uved until a hundred without a cough ; and 

250 GUARDIAN. V^ lOS* 

we have a tradition in the family^ that my grand- 
father used to throw off his hat, and go open- 
breasted, after fourscore. As for myself, they 
used to sowse me over head and ears in water when 
I was a boy, so that I am now looked upon as one 
of the most case-hardened of the whole family of 
the Ironsides. In short, I have been so plunged 
in water and inured to the cold, that I regard my- 
self as a piece of true-tempered steel, and can say 
with the above mentioned Scythian, that I am face« 
or, if my enemies please, forehead all over. 

N^ 103. THURSDAY, JULY 9, 1713- 

Dumflammas Jovit, et sonitus imitatur olympi, 

VIRG. JEja. vi. 586. 

With mimic thunder impiously he plays, 
And darts the artificial lightning's blaze. 

I AM considering how most of the great phaencHnena 
or appearances in nature, have been imitated by 
the art of man. Thunder is grown a common drug 
among the chimists. Lighting may be bought by 
the pound. If a man has occasion for a lambent 
flame, you have whole sheets of it in a handful of 
phosphor. Showers of rain are to be met with in 
every water-work; and we are informed, that some 
years ago the virtuosos of France covered a little 
vault with arti&cial «t\qw, v^\i\cb. V\v&^ \ to fall 


Jl*^103i OTJARDIAIC^ 851 

above an hour together for the entertainment of 
his present majesty. 

: I am led into this train of thinking by the noble 
^rework that was exhibited last night upon the 
Thames. You might there see a little sky filled 
with imnumerable blazing stars and meteors. No- 
thing could be more astonishing than the pillars of 
flame^ clouds of smoke^ and multitudes of stars 
mingled together in such an agreeable confusion. 
Every rocket ended in a constellation^ and strowed 
the air with, such a shower of silver spangles^, as 
opened and enlightened the whole scene from time 
to time. It put me in mind of the lines in CBdipus, 

* Why from tlie bleeding womb of monstrous oight 
Burst forth such myria£ of abortive stars? 

In short> the artist did his part to admiration^ and 
was so encompassed with fire and smoke that one 
would have thought nothing but a Salamander 
could have been safe in such a situation. 

I was in company with two or three fanciful 
friends during this whole show. One of them 
being a critic^ that is^ a man who on all occasions 
is more attentive to what is wanting than what is 
present, began to exert his talent upon the several 
objects we had before us, ' I am mightily pleased,' 
says he, ' with that burning cypher. There is no 
niatter in the world so proper to write with as wild- 
fire> as no character can be more legible than those 
which are read by their own light. But as for your 
cardinal virtues, I do not care for seeing them in 
such combustible figures. Who can imagine Chas- 
tity with a body of fire, or Temperance in a flame ? 
Justice} indeed may be fiimished out of this element 
as far as her sword goes, and Courage may be all 
over one continued blaze if the artist pleases.' 

€51 ^VABDIAN. X*10S. 

Our companion ob^nring that we laughed at thb 
unseasonable severity, let drop the critic, and pro- 
posed a subject for a fire -work, which he thoag^ 
would be very amusing, if executed by ao able as 
artist^ as be who was at that time entertaining iB. 
Tlie plan he mentioned was a scene in Milton. He 
would have a large piece of machinery represent 
the Pau-dsemonium, where 

< from the arched roof 

Pendant by subtle magic, many a row 
Of starry lamps, and blazing cressets, fed 
With Naphtha and Asphaltus, yielded light 
As from a sky 

'Fills might be fmely represented by several Wami* 
nations disposed in a great frame of wood, with ten. 
thousand beautiful exhaltations of fire, which mea 
versed in this art know very well how to raise. 
The evil spirits at the same time might very proper- 
ly appear in vehicles of flame, and employ ill die 
tricks of Art to terrify and surprise the Spectator. 

We were well enough pleased with this start <jf 
thought, but fancied tliere wa^ something in it to# 
serious, and perhaps too horrid, to be put in ex€' 

Upon this a friend of mine gave us an account 
of a fire-work described, if I am not mistaken, by 
Strada. A prince of Italy, it seemsj entertained 
his mistress with it upon a great lake. In the 
midst of this lake was a huge floating mountain 
made by art. The mountain represented lEJtat, 
being bored through the top with a monstrous 
©rifice. Upon a signal given the eruption began. 
Fire and smoke, mixed with several unusual pro* 

* There were two artists on Hus occasion, colonel Hogkejt 
4Uid colonel Boigard. 

K* 103. GtJARDIAN. 253 

digies and figures^ made their appearance for some 
time. On a sudden there was heard a most dread- 
ful rumblinor noise within the entrails of the ma- 
chine. After which the mountain bursty and dis- 
covered a vast cavity in that side which faced the 
4>rince and his court. Within this hollow was Vul- 
can's shop full of fire, and clock-work. A column 
of blue flame issued out incessantly from the forge. 
Vulcan was employed in hammering out thunder- 
bolts, that every now and then flew up from tlie 
anvil with dreadful cracks and flashes. Venus 
stood by him in a figure of the brightest fire, with 
numberless Cupids on all sides of her, that shot 
out voliies of burning arrows. Before her was an 
altar with hearts of fire flaming on it. I have for- 
got several other particulars no less curious, and 
have only mentioned these to shew that there may 
be a sort of fable or design in a fire-work which 
may give an additional beauty to those suprising 

I seldom see any thing that raises wonder in me 
which does not give my thoughts a turn that makes 
my heart the better for it. As I was lying in my 
bed, and ruminating on what I have seen, I could 
not forbear reflecting on the insignificancy of human 
art, when set in comparison with the designs of 
Providence. In the pursuit of this thought I con- 
sidered a comet, or, in the language of the vulg^ar, 
a blazing-star, as a sky rocket discharged by an 
hand that is Almighty. Many of my readers saw 
that in the year 1680, and if they are not mathe- 
maticians, will be amazed to hear that it travelled 
in a much greater degree of swiftness than a can- 
non-ball, and drew after it a tail of fire that wa$ 
fourscore millions of miles in length. What an 
tinazing thought it is to consider this «tu|)endouft 

VOL. xvii. z 

254 GUARDIAN. N 103. 

body traTcnhig the immensity of the creation with 
fiich a rapidity, and at the same time wheeling 
about in that Hne which the Almighty has pre- 
scribed for it ! that it should move in such incon- 
cievable fury and combustion, and at the same time 
with such an exact regularity ! How spacious must 
the universe be that give such bodies as these their 
full play, without suffering the least disorder or 
conmsion ! What a glorious show are those beings 
entertained with, that can look into this great 
theatre of nature, and see myriads of such tremen- 
dous objects wandering through those immeasur- 
able depths of ether, and running their appointed 
courses ! Our eyes may hereafter be strong enougb 
to command this magnificent prospect, and our 
understandings able to find out the several uses of 
these great parts of the universe. In the mean 
time they are very proper objects for our imagina- 
tions to contemplate, that we may form more 
exalted notions of Infinite Wisdom and Power, and 
learn to think humbly of ourselves, and of aU the 
little works of human invention. ^. 


N 104. GUARDIAN* £55 

N* 104. FRIDAY, JULY «2, 1713. 

The &rther fetched, tiie more th€y please. 

>N Tuesday last I pubtished two letters written by 
I gentlemen in his travels. As they were applaudbd 
vy my best readers, I shall this day publish two 
Qore from the same hand. The first of them con- 
ains a matter of fact which is very curious, and 
nay deserve the attention of those who are versed 
Q our British antiquities. 

' SIR, Blots, May 15, n. s. 

' Because I am at present out of the 
oad of news, I shall send you a story that was 
itely given me by a gentleman of this country, 
rho is descended from one of the persons con- 
erned in the relation, and very inquisitive to 
now if there be any of the famUy now in England. 
\ I shall only premise to it, that this story is 
•reserved with great care among the writings of 
[lis gentleman's family, and that it has been given 
y two or three of our English nobility, when they 
^ere in these parts, who could not return any satis- 
ictory answer to the gentleman, whether there be 
ny of that family now remaining in Great Britain.' 

" In the reign of king John there lived a noble- 
lan called John de Sigonia, lord q{ IbaX. ^W:.<^ \cw 


f56' •tJARDlAN. M* lOi 

Fouraine, his brothers were Philip and Briant. 
Brianty when very young, was made one of tiie 
French king^s pages, and served him in that quality 
when he was taken prisoner by the English. The 
king of England chanced to see the youths and 
being much pleased with his person and behaviouri 
begged him of the king his prisoner. It happened, 
some years after this, that John the other brother, 
who in the course of the war had raised himself to 
a considerable post in the French army, was taken 
prisoner by Briant, who at that time was an officer 
in the king of England's guards. Briant knew no- 
thing of his brother, and being naturally of an 
haughty temper, treated him very insolently, and 
more hke a criminal than a prisoner of war. This 
John resented so highly, that he challenged him to 
a single combat. The challenge was accepted, and 
time and place assigned them by the king's appoint- 
ment. Both appeared on the day prefixed, and 
entered the lists completely armed amidst a great 
multitude of spectators. Their first encounters 
were very furious, and the success equal on both 
sides; until after some toil and bloodshed they 
were parted by their seconds to fetch breath, and 
prepare themselves afresh for the combat. Briant, 
in the mean time had cast his eye upon his brother's 
escutcheon, which he saw agree in all points with 
his own. I need not tell you after this, with what 
joy and surprise the story ends. King Edward, 
who knew all the particulars of it, as a mark 
of his esteem, gave to each of them, by the 
king of France's consent, the following coat of 
arms, which I will send you in the original lan- 
guage, not being herald enough to blazon it ip 

f* 104. GUAHDIAN. £57 

" Lc Roi d'Angletore par permission du Roi de 
'France, pour perpetuellc memoire de \leuTs grands faits 
Varmes ei fidelite envers lews Rois, leur donna par 
\mpliation d leurs armes en une croix d'argent cantonee 
\e quatre coquilles d'or en champ de sable, qu'ils 
moient auparavant, une endenteleuse faite en faqons 
le croix de gueulle inseree au dedans de la ditte croix 
I' argent et par le milieu dHcelle que est participation 
ks deux croix que portent les dits Rois en. la guerre'^ 

' I am afraid by this time you begin to wonder 
hat I should send you for news a tide of three or 
bur hundred years old; and I dare say never 
bought, when you desired me to write to you, that 

should trouble you with a story of king John, 
specially at a time when there is a monarch on 
he French throne that furnishes discourse for all 
ilurope. But I confess I am the more fond of the 
elation, because it brings to mind the noble ex- 
>loits of our own countrymen : though at the same 
ime I must own it is not so much the vanity of an 
Englishman which puts me upon writing it, as that 

have of taking an occasion to subscribe myself, 
Jir, Yours, &c/ 

' SIR, Blois May 20, n. s. 

' I am extremely obHged to you for 
our last kind letter, which was the only English 
hat had been spoken to me for some months toge- 
her, for I am at present forced to think the absence 
f my countrymen my good fortune : 

*■ Votum in amante novum ! vellum quod amatur abeaset^* 

OVID. Met Ui. ^68. 

< Strange wish, to harbour in a lover's breast ! 
I wish that absent, which I love the best.' 


^58 OVARDIAK* n'104* 

This is an advantage that I could not have hoped 
for, had I stayed near the French court, though I 
must confess I would not but have seen it, because 
I beheve it shewed me some of the finest places, 
and of the greatest persons in the world. One 
cannot hear a name mentioned in it that does not 
bring to mind a piece of a gazette, nor see a man 
that has not signalized himself in a battle. One 
would fancy one's self to be in the inchanted 
palaces of a romance; one meets with so many 
heroes, and finds something so like scenes of magic 
in the gardens, statues, and water-works. I am 
ashamed that I am not able to make a quicker pro- 
gress through the French tongue, because I l)elieve 
it is impossible for a learner of a language to find 
in any nation such advantages as in this, where 
every body is so very courteous, and so very talk- 
ative. They always take care to make a noise as 
long as they are in company, and are as loud any 
hour in the morning, as our own countrymen at 
midnight. By what I have seen, there is more 
mirth in the French conversation, and more wit in 
the English. You abound more in jests, but they 
in laughter. Their language is indeed extremely 
proper to tattle in, it is made up of so much re- 
petition and compliment. One may know a fo- 
reigner by his answering only No or Yes to a 
question, which a Frenchman generally makes a 
sentence of. They have a set of ceremonious phrases 
that run through all ranks and degrees among them. 
Nothing is more common than to hear a shop- 
keeper desiring his neighbour to have the goodness 
to tell him what it is o'clock, or a couple of 
coblers, that arc extremely glad of the honour of 
seeing one another* 

T^" 105, GUAftDIAK. toQ 

' The face of the whole country where I now 
am, is at this season pleasant heyond imagination. 
I cannot but fancy the birds of this place, as well 
as the men, a great deal merrier than those of our 
own nation. I am sure the French year has got 
the start of ours more in the works of nature, than 
in the new stile. I have past one March in my life 
without being ruffled with the winds, and one 
April without being washed with rains. 

I am. Sir, yours, &c. g^*. 

NM05. SATURDAY, JULY, ll, 1713. 

Quod neque in Armemis tigres fecere lutebiis: 

Perdere ne'e foeltvi ansa Leana suo8» 
At tener a fuciunt, sed non impune, pfiella ; 

Sape, suos utero qua nccaf, ipsa perit, 

OVID. Amor. *j Eleg. xiv. 55. 

The tigresses, that liaiint th' Armenian wood. 
Will spare their proper young, tho' pinched for food ! 
Nor will the Lyhian lionesses slay 
Their whelps : but women are more fierce than they, * ' 
More barbarous to the tender fruit they bear ; 
Nor Nature*s call, tho* loud she cries, 'will hear. 
But righteoas vengeance oft their crimes pursuei^ 
And they are lost themseWes who would theii- cliildrea- 
lose. ANON. 

There was no part of the show on the thanks- 
giving-day that so much pleased and affected me as 
the little boys and girls who were T^xv^<i4 n^'vCcl 'i^ 

£60 GUARDIAN. N*105« 

much order and decency in that part of the Strand 
which reaches from the May-pole to Exeter-change. 
Such a numerous and innocent multitude, clothed 
in the charity of their benefactors, was a spectacle 
pleasing both to God and man, and a more beauti- 
ful expression of joy and thanksgiving than could 
have been exhibited by all the pomps of a Roman 
triumph. Never did a more full and unspotted 
chorus of human creatures join together in a hymn 
of devotion. The care and tenderness which ap- 
peared in the looks of their several instructors, 
who were disposed among this little helpless peo- 
ple, could not forbear touching every heart that bad 
any sentiments of humanity. 

I am very sorry that her msgesty did not sec 
this assembly of objects, so proper to excite that 
chanty and compassion which she bears to all who 
stand in need of it, though at the same time 1 
question not but her royal bounty will extend itself 
to them. A charity bestowed on the education of 
so many of her young subjects, has more merit in 
it than a thousand pensions to those of a higher for- 
tune who are in greater stations in life. 

I have always looked on this institution of cha- 
rity-schools, which of late years has so universally 
prevailed through the whole nation, as the glory 
of the age we live in, and the most proper means 
that can be made use of to recover it out of its 
present degeneracy and depravation of manners. 
It seems to promise us an honest and virtuous 
posterity. There will be few in the next genera- 
tion, who will not at least be able to write and 
read, and have not had an early tincture of reli- 
gion. It is therefore to be hoped that the several 
persons of wealth and quality, who made their 
procession through the members of these new- 


N* 105. CUARDIAN. f6l 

erected seminaries, will not regard them only as 
an empty spectacle, or the materials of a fiiie sbow^ 
hut contribute to their maintenance and encrease. 
For my part, I can scarce forbear looking on the 
astonishing victories our arms have been crowned 
with, to be in some measure the blessings returned 
upon that national charity which has been so con- 
spicuous of late ; and that the great successes of 
the last war, for which we lately offered up our 
thanks, were in some measure occasioned by the 
•everal objects which then stood before us. 

Since I am upon this subject, I shall mention a 
piece of charity which has not been yet exerted 
among us, and which deserves our attention the 
more, because it is practised by most of the na«> 
tions about us« I mean a provision for found- 
lings, or for those children who through want of 
such a provision are exposed to the barbarity of 
cruel and unnatural parents. One does not know 
how to speak on such a subject without horror: 
but what multitudes of infants have been made 
away by those who brought them into the world, 
and were afterwards either ashamed, or unable to 
provide for them ! 

There is scarce an assizes where some unhappy 
wretch is not executed for the murder of a chila» 
And how many more of these monsters of inhu- 
manity may we suppose to be wholly undiscover* 
ed, or cleared for want of legal evidence ! Not .to 
mention those, who by unnatural practices do in 
some measure defeat the intentions of Providence, 
and destroy their conceptions even before they see 
the light. In all these the guilt is ec![ual, though 
the punishment is not so. But to pass by the 
greatness of the crime (which is not to be ex- 
pressed by words) if we only consider it as it robs 

fiGft GUAKDIAX. N* 105. 

the oominomreallh of its fbU number of citizens, 
it oertainlj deserves die utmost application and 
wisdom of a pe<^ile to pierent it. 

It is certain, that which generaD j betrays these 
profligate women into it, and overcomes the teo- 
cLemess which is natural to them on other occa- 
sionsi, is the fear of sh^ne, or their inability to 
support those whom they g^re life to. I shall 
therefore shew how this eril is presented in other 
countries, as I have learned from those who ha?e 
been conversant in the several great cities in Eu- 

There are at Paris, Madrid, Lisbon, Rome, and 
many other large towns, great hospitals built like 
our colleges. In the wads of these hospitals are 
placed machines, in the shape of large lanthoms, 
with a little door in the side of them tamed to- 
wards the street, and a bell banging by them. The 
ehild is depc^ited in this lanthom, which is im- 
mediately turned about into the inside of the hos- 
pital. The person who conveys the child, rings 
the bell, and leaves it there, upon which the proper 
officer comes and receives it without making further 
inquiries. The parent, or ber friend, who lays the 
child there, generally leaves a note with it,, de- 
claring whether it be yet christened, the name it 
should be called by, the particular marks upon it, 
and the like. 

it often happens that the parent leaves a note 
for the maintenance and education of the child, or 
takes it out after it has been some years in the 
hospital. Nay, it has been known that the father 
has afterwards owned the young foundling for his 
son, or left his estate to him. lliis is certain, that 
many are by this means preserved and do signal 
•erviceji to their country, who without such ^ pro- 

N*" 106* GUARDIAN. 263 

vision might have perished as abortives, or have 
come to an untimely end, and perhaps have 
brought upon their guilty parents the like destruc* 

This I think is a subject that deserves our most 
serious consideration, for which reason I hope I 
riiall not be thought impertinent in laying it before 
my readers. B^^ 

N^ 106. MONDAY, JULY 13, 1713. 

Qwd laiei arcandi non enarrabUeftbrd. 

PERS. Sat V. 29. 

The deep recesses of the human breast. 

As I was makii^ up my Monday's provision for 
the public, I received the following letter, which 
being a better entertainment than any I can furnish 
out myself, I shall set it before the reader, and de- 
sire him to fall on without farther ceremony. 

* SIR, 

' Your two kinsmen and predeceisors 
of immortal memory, were very famous for their* 
dreams and visions, and contrary to all other au- 
thors never pleased their readers more than when 
they were nodding. Now it is observed, that the 
second sight generally runs in the blood; and, sir, 
we are in hopes that you yourself, like the rest of 

t64 QUABDIAK. II* 106. 

your family^ may at length prove a dreamer of 
dreams, and a seer of visions. In the mean while 
I beg leave to make you a present of a dream, 
which may serve to lull your readers until such time 
as you yourself shall thiiiK fit to gratify the public 
with any of your nocturnal discoveries. 

* You must understand, sir, I had yesterday 
been reading and ruminating upon that passage 
where Momus is said to have fcund fault with the 
make of a man, because he had not a window in 
his breast. The moral of this story is very obvious, 
and means no more than that the heart of man i* 
so full of wiles and artifices, treachery and deceit, 
that there is no guessing at what he is, from bii 
speeches, and outward appearances. I was imme- 
diately reflecting how hajjpy each of the sexes 
would be, if there v» as a window in the breast of 
every one that makes or receives love. What pro- 
testations and perjuries would be saved on the one 
side, what hypocrisy and dissimulation on the 
otlicr! I am myself very far gone in this passion for 
Aurelia a woman of an unsearchable heart. I 
would give the world to know the secrets of it, and 
particularly whether I am really in her good graces, 
or if not, who is the happy person. 

' I fell asleep in this agreeable reverie, when on 
a sudden methought Aurelia lav by my side. I was 
placed by her in the posture of Milton's Adam, and 
with looks of cordial love " hung over her ena- 
mour'd." As I cast my eye upon her bosom, it 
appeared to be all of crystal, and so wonderfully 
trans])arent that I saw every thought in her heart. 
The first images I discmered in it were fans, silk, 
ribbands, laces, and many other gewgaws, which 
lay JO thick together, that the whole heart wa« 
nothing else, but a toyshop. These all faded away 

K* 106. aUAKDIAII. tflS 

and vanished, when immediately I discerned a lonf 
train of coacbet and six, equipages and liveriei, 
that ran ihrongh the heart one after another in a 
very great hurry for ahove half an hour together. 
Af^r this, looking very attentively* I observed the 
whole space to be filled with a hand of cards, in 
wliich I could see distinctly thre« mattadiuv. 
There then followed a quick succesticm of different 
scenes. A playhouse, a church, a court, a puppet* 
show, rose up one after another, until at last uiey 
all of them gave place to a pair of new shoes^ 
which kept footing in the heart for a whole hour. 
These were driven at last off by a lap-dog, who 
was succeeded by a guinea-pig, a squirrel, and a 
monkey. I myself, to my no small joy, brought 
up the rear of these worthy favourites. I was ra- 
vished at being so happily posted and in full pKisseS'^ 
aion of the heart : but as I saw the little figure of 
myself simpering and mightily pleased with its situa- 
tion, on a sudden the heart methougbt gave a sigh^ 
in which, as I found afterwards, my little represen- 
tative vanished ; for upon applying my eye, I found 
my place taken up by an ill bred, aiikward puppy, 
with a money-bag under each arm. This gentle- 
man however did not keep his station long, before 
he yielded it up to a wi^ht as disagreeable as him- 
self, with a white stick m his hand. These three 
last figures represented to me, in a lively manner, 
the conflicts in Aurelia's heart, between Love, Ava- 
rice, and Ambition, for we justled one another out 
by turns, and disputed the post for a great while. 
But at last, to my unspeakable satisfaction, I saw 
myself entirely settled in it I was so transported 
witli my success, that I could not forbear hugging 
my dear piece of crystal, when to my unspea^abll 


180 •V4BDI4V. if 106. 

moitificttioii I airalEed, and fimnd mj miftreit me- 
tammphoted into a inBow. h^ 

' Init is not the nral time I hditHiin thus dii- 

« O Tenerabk Nestor, if yon hare any dull in 
dreams, let roe know whether I have the same 
place in theteal heart, that I had in the yisionar? 
one. To tell yon tmly, I am perplexed to death 
between hope and fear. I was rery aangaine until 
eleven o'clock this morning, when I <»verheard an 
unlucky old woman idling her neiffhboiir thit 
dnams always went by contraries. I did not in- 
derd before much like the crystal heart, remem- 
bering that confounded simile in Vakntinian, of a 
maid '' as cold as crystal never to be thawdL'' 
Besides, I verily bdieve if I had dept a httk Imiger, 
that aukward whdp with his money-btfgs wodd 
certainly have made his second entrance. If jwl 
can tell the fair-one's mind, it will be no smsD 
proof of your art, for I dare say it is more than 
she herself can do. Every s^itence she speaks is 
a riddle ; all that I can be certain of is., that I am 
her and 

Your humble servant;, 

Pbtir Puzzle.** 

N* 107*' CrUARDIAK* SO? 

N* 107. TUESDAY, JULY 14, 1713. 

leHUmdMvUni ' VIRO. Giorg. SL |L 

in tiy tbe experiment 

I HATE lately entertained -my reader with two « 
three letters from a traveller, and may possibly, ia> 
some of my future papers, oblige him with more 
from the same hand. The following one comes 
fihom a projector, which is a sort of correspondent 
at diverting as a traveller ; his subject having the 
same grace of novelty to recommend it> and being 
eljually adapted to the curiosity of the reader. For 
my own part, I have always had a particular fond-t 
neas for a project, and may say without vanity, that 
I have a pretty tolerable genius that way mysdf. 
I could mention some wUldi I have brought to ma*- 
turity, others which have miscarried, and many 
more which I have yet by me, and areto take their ^ 
fate in the world when L fiee a proper juncture : 
I had a hand in the land bank,* and was ccmsulted - 
with upon the reformation of manners. I hav^ 
had several designs upon the Thames and the New*' 
river,t not to mention my refinements upon lot*- 

* The land bank was once redly proposed, and derfgntasjra 
rival bank, to lend money npon ted secmityr 

t This seems to refer to .Steele's gofitrivance for bringing fish 
to London, which was not completed tillfbbr or fivsr yetrs 4ftlr 
tkm date of tiws paper, and did not toccKed. 

A a S ' . ^ 

18ft GOARniAN. a* 107. 

teries^* and iosurances, and that never to-be-for- 
gotten project^ which if it had succeeded to mj 
wishes^ wmild have made gold as plentiful in this 
nation as tin or copper.f if my countrymen have 
not reaped any advantages from these my design^ 
it was not for want of any good-will towards tltem. 
They are obliged to me for my kind intentions as 
much as if they had taken effect Projects are of 
a two-fold nature : the first arising from public- 
spirited persons, in which number 1 declare myself: 
the other proceeding from a regard to our private 
interest, of which nature is that in the foBovii^ 

' SIB, 

' A MAN of your reading knows rerv well 
that there were a set of men in old Ronie, called by 
the name of Nomenclators, that is, in EngUdi, 
men who call every one by his name. WIkd a 
great man stood for any public office, as that of a 
tribune, a consul, or a censor, he had always one 
of tliese nomenclators at his elbow, who whispered 
in his ear the name of every one he met with, and 
by that means enabled him to salute every Roman 
citizen by his name when he asked him for his vote. 
To come to my purpose : I have with much pauu 
and assiduity qualified myself for a nomenclator to 
this great city, and shadl gladly enter upon my 
office as soon as I meet with suitable encourage- 
ment. I will let myself out by the week to any cu* 

* This leems to allode to Steide's Multiplication Table; a 
species of lottery which proved iilegaL 

.t This appears to be another of Addison*s oblique strokes st 
Steele, who is said .to have been one of the last eminent roeu io 
this country who wastad money in search of th^ philosopber's 

2f*107« GUARDIAN. WB^ 

rious country gentleman or foreigner. If he takes 
me with him in a coach to the Ring,* I will under- 
take to teach him> in two or three evenings, die 
names of the most celebrated persons who frequent 
that place. If }ie idants me by his side in the pit»' 
I will call over to him, in the same manner, the 
whole circle of beauties that are disposed among 
the boxes, and at the same time point out to him 
the persons who ogle them from their respective 
stations. I need not tell you that I may be of the 
same use in any other public assembly. Nor do I 
only profess the teaching of names, but of things. 
Upon the sight of a reigning beauty, I shall mention 
her admirers, and discover her gallantries, if they 
are of public notoriety. I shall likewise mark out. 
every toast, the club in which she was elected, and 
the number of votes that were on her side. Not a 
woman shall be unexplained that makes a figure 
either as a maid, a wife, or a widow. The men 
too shall be set out in% their distinguishing charac* 
ters, and declared whose properties uey are* 
nieirwit, wealth, or good-humour, their persons,- 
stations, and titles, shall be described at large. 

' I have a wife who is a pomenclatress, and wijl 
be ready, on any occasion, to attend the ladies. 
She is of a much more communicative nature than 
mysdf, and is acquainted with all the nrivate his- 
tory of London and ' Westminster, and ten mika 
round. She has fifty private amours which nobody 
yet knows any thing of but herself, and thirty clan- 
destine marriages . that have not been touched by 
the tip of atongoe. She will wait upon any lady 
at her own lodgings, and talk by the clock after 
the rate of three guineas an hour. 

, . ^ - 

* la Hydt-paik| tfaenafiMliiooaUepkcaofrisort. 


S70 «0AKD1AK« N* 107. 

' N. B. She is a near kinswoman of the author 
4ii the New Atalantis.* 

' I need not recommend to a man of your saga- 
city, the usefulness of this project, and do there- 
fore beg your encouragement of it, which will lay 
a very great obligation upon 

Your humUe servant.* 

. After this letter from my whimsical correspon- 
dent, I shall puUish one of a more serious nature, 
which deserves the utmost attention of the public, 
and in particular of such who are lovers of man* 
kind. It is on no less a subject than that of dis- 
covering the longitude, and deserves a much higher 
name than that of a project, if our language 
afforded any such term. But all I can say on this 
subject Mill be superfluous when the reader sees the 
names of those persons by whom this letter is sub- 
scribed, and who have done me the honour to send 
kme. I must only take notice, that the first of 
these gentlemen is the same person who has latelj 
obliged the world with that noble plan, intitled, A 
Scheme of the Solar System, with the orbits of the 
planets and comets belonging thereto, described 
from Dr. Halley's accurate Table of Comets, Pbi- 
losoph. Trans. No. 297, founded on sir Isaac New- 
ton's wonderful discoveries, by Wifliam Whiston, 


At Button's CoffeC'House, near Covint' Garden. 

*siR, . London, Jtdy II, 1718. 

' Havii^g a discovery of copsidi^rable 
importance to communiciite to the public^ and 

N* 107 evAEi>iAli« fi71 

finding that you are pleased to concern yourself in 
any thing that tends to the common benefit of 
mankind, we take the liberty to desire the insertioii 
of this letter into your Guardian. We expect no 
other recommendation of it from you, but the 
allowing of it a place in so useful a paper. Nor 
do we insist on any protection from you, if what we 
propose should fall short of what we pretend to; 
since any disgrace, which in that case must be ex- 
pected, ought to lie wholly at our own doors, and 
to be entirely borne by ourselves^ which we hope 
we have provided for by putting our own names to 
this paper. 

' It is well known, sir, to yoursdf and to the 
learned, and trading, and sailing worlds that the 
great defect of the art of navigation is, that a ship 
at sea has no certain method, in either her eastern 
or western voyages, or even in her less distant 
sailing from the coasts to knpw her longitude, or 
how much she is gone eastward or westward, as it 
can easily be known in any dear day or night, how 
much she is gone northward or southward. The 
several method by lunar eclipses, by those of Ju- 
piter's satellites, by the appulses of the moon to 
fixed stars, and by the even motions of pendulum 
clocks and watchea^, upon how solid foundations 
soever they are built, still failing in long voyages 
at sea, when they come to be pi^actised ; and leaving 
the poor sailors frequently to die great inaccuracy 
of a log-line, or dead reckoning. This defect is so 

Seat, and so many ships have been lost by it, and 
is has been so long and so sensibly Imown by 
trading nations,, that ^at rewards are said to hie 
publicly ofiered for its supply. We are well satis- 
fied, that the discovery we have to make as to this 
matter is easilj intemgible fay all* andxead^ t<^b^ 

473 •VAIMAV. 11*107. 

{Practised at sea as well as at land ; that the latitude 
will thereby be likewise found at the same time ; 
and that with proper charges it may be made as 
universal as the worid shall please ; nay that the 
longitude and latitude may be generally hereby de- 
termined to a greater degree of exactness than the 
latitude itself is now usually found at sea. So that 
on all accounts n^e liope it will appear very worthy 
the public consideration. We are ready to disclose 
it to the worlds if we may be assured that no other 
person shall be allowed to deprive us of those re- 
wards which the pubUc shall think fit to bestow for 
such a discovery ; but do not desire actually to re- 
ceive any benefit of that nature till sir Isaac Newton 
himself^ with such other proper persons as shall be 
chosen to assist him, have given their opinion in 
favour of this discovery. If Mr. Ironside pleases so 
&r to oblige the public as to communicate this 
proposal to the world, he will also lay a great ob- 
ligation on 

His very humble servants. 

Will. Whiston, 

Humphry Ditton.' 

r 108. OUARDIAN. VJ3 

N" IDS. WEDNESDAY, JULY 15, 1715. 

AhUtibuaJwenes p€hiis et mmMui tmu . 

VIRG. Sxu ix. 674* 

•Youths, of height and 8is€t 

Like firs that on their mother-mountaia nse* 


DO not care for burning my fingers in a t|uarrel, 
)Ut since I have <;ommunicated to the worid a plan 
rhicb has given ofience to some gentlemen vnom 
t would not be Tery safe to disoblige^ I must in- 
ert the foUowing remonstrance; and at the same 
ime promise those of my correspondents who have 
rawn this upon diemselves to exhibit to ^e publie 
ny such answer as they shall think proper to mi^e 
[> it. 

' MR. GVARDUir, 

' I WAS very much troubled to see the 
iro letters which you lately published concerning 
le short club. You cannot imagine ^at airs all 
le little pragmatical fellows about us have given 
lemselves since the reading of those papers. 
Ivery one cocks and struts upon it« and pretends to 
eerlook us who are two foot higher than them- 
ilves. I met with one the other day who was at 
last three inches above five foot« which you know 
I the statutable measure of that club. This over* 
it>wn nint has struck off his heeb^ lowered his 
>retop^ and contracted his figure, thtt bft mM 

^4 «if AmBiAN. ly* 108. 

looked upon as a member of this new-erected so- 
ciety ; nay so far did his vanity carry him that he 
talked familiarly of Tom Uptoe^ and pretends to 
be an intimate acquaintance of Tim Tudu For my 
part, I scorn to speak any thing to the diminution 
of these little creatures, and should not have 
minded them had they been still shuffled among 
the crowd. Shrubs and underwoods lo<^ well 
enough whik they grow within the shades of oaks 
and cedars; but when these pigmies pretend to 
draw themselves out from the rest of the worid, 
and form themselves into a body, it is time for us 
who are men of figure to look about us. If the 
ladies should once take a liking to such a diminu- 
tive race of lovers, we should, in a little time, see 
mankind epitomized, and the whole n>ecies in mi- 
niature ; daisy roots'*^ would grow a fashionable diet. 
In order therefore to keep our posteri^ from dwind* 
hng, and fetch down the pride of this aspiring 
race of upstarts, we have here instituted a Tau 

' As the short club consists of those who are 
under five foot^ ours is to be composed of such as 
are above six. These we look upon as the two ex- 
tremes and antagonists of the species : considering 
all those as neuter, who fiH up the middle space. 
When a man rises beyond six foot, he is an hyper- 
meter, and may be a^itted into the tall club. 

' We have already chosen thirty members, the 
most sightly of all her majesty's subjects. We 
elected a president, as many of the ancients did 
their kinp, by reason of his height, having only 
confirmed him in that station above us which nature 
had given him. He is a Scotch Highlander, and 

* Daisy rootSi boiled ia milk, are said to check the growir 

X* 108. 0UARDIAK. 1175 

within an inch of a show. As for my ovn part, I 
am but a sesquipedid, having only six foot and a 
half in stature. Being the wortest member of the 
club, I am appointed secretary. If you saw us all 
together you would take us for the sons of Anak. 
Our meetings are held like the old gothic parha- 
ments, sub aio, in open air ; but we shall make an 
interest, if we can, that we may hold our assem- 
blies in Westminster-hall when it is not term-time. 
I must add to the honour of our club, that it is one 
of our society who is now finding out the longi* 
tude."*^ The device of our public seal is, a crane 
grasping a pigmy in his right foot. 

' iknow the short club value themselves very 
much upon Mr. Distich, who may possibly play 
some of his pentameters upon us, but if he does he 
shall certainly be answered in Alexandrines. ' For 
we have a poet among us of a senius as exalted ai 
his stature, and who is very well read in Longinus 
his treatise concerning the sublime.f Besides, •{ 
would have Mr. Distich consider, that if Horaee 
was a short man, Musseus, who makes such a noUo 
figure in Virgil's sixth JEneid, was taller by the 
head and shoulders than all the people of Elysium, 
I shall therefore confront his UpidUnmum hamundo" 
nem C^, short quotation, and fit for a member of 
their club) with one diat is much longer, and 
therefore more suitable to a member of ours. 

** Quo§eireiui^usas8icittfffiUal^Ua', 
Mmaum mUe omnes : medUmi wtm phirwuLturba 
Hume htJfdf atpu humeriM exUmtem mupieii aUU." 

Yirg. .£n. vi« 666, 

* Probably Mr. Whiston* 

t Leonard Welstady whose translatioB of Longinns first ap- 
-paared in 171f* 

9,76 GUABDlAlf. 11*106. 

To titese tfae SiM thni lier npeech ftddress'd : 
And fint to him^ smrouiided by tbe rest: 
Tow*riiis bb hekht« and ample was bis breast. 


• If after all, this society of little men proceed 
asthey.bave begun, to magnify themselves^ and 
lesser men of higher stature, we have resolved to 
make a detachment, some evening or other, that 
shall bring away their whde club in a pair of pan- 
niers, and imprison them in a cupboard whicn we 
have set apart for that use, until thev have made a 
public recantation. As for the little bully, Tim 
Tuck, if he pretends to be choleric, we shall treat 
him like his friend little Dicky, and hang him 
upon a peg until he comes to himself. I have toH 
you our design, and let their little Machiavel pre- 
vent it if he can. 

' This is, sir, the long and the short of tbe 
matter, I am sensible I shall stir up a nest of 
wasps by it, but let them do their worst. I think 
that we serve our country by discouraging this 
little breed, and hindering it from coming into 
fashion. If the fair sex look upon us with an eye 
of favour, we shall make some attempts to lengthen 
out the human figure, and restore it to its ancient 
procerity. In the mean time we hope old age luu 
not inclined you in favour of our antagonists ; I do 
assure you sir, we are all your nigh adiiiirrn) 
though none more than. 

Sir, yoursy &c/ t^. 

* Mnseus. 

109> 40ABDIAN. • 877 

N' 109. THURSDAY, JULY ifl, 1713. 

TugmM hmkA ted tmnen iiU iigi, 

OVID. Amor. 1 Eleg. t. 14. 

Yet itill die strove her naked charms to. hide. 

SAVE received many letters from persons of all 
aditions in reference to my late discourse con- 
ming the tucker. Some of them are filled with 
[iroaches and invectives. A lady who suhscribes 
rself . Teraminta, bids me in a very pert manner 
ind my own afiair6> and not pretena to meddle 
th their linen ; for that they do not dress for an 
i fellow^ who cannot see them without a pair of 
ectacles. Another who calls herself Bubnelia 
nts her passion in scurrilous terms ; an old ninny* 
mmer, a dotard^ a nincompoop, is the best Ian* 
lage she can afford me. Florella indeed expostu* 
tea with me upon this subject, and only com* 
ains that she is forced to return a pair of stays 
biich were made in the extremity of the fashion, 
at she might not bd thought to encourage peeping. 
But if on the one side I have been used ill (the 
»mmon fate of all reformers) I have on the other 
]e received great applause and acknowledgments 
r what I have done, in having put a seasonable 
|>p to this unaccountable humour of stripping, 
^t was got among our British ladies. As I woidd 

ch ratner^he world should know what is said to 
praise, than to my disadvanta^, I %baSL ^9qe^« 

ss what has been written to ici^ Vs ^^^5*^* ^"^^ 

'?L. xrn. -ft \> 


S78 QUABDIAN.. H* tOfti 

have reviled me on this occasion, and only publish 
those letters which approve my proceedings. 

' SIR, 

' I AM to give you thanks in the name 
of half a dozen superannuated beauties, for your 
paper of the 6th instant. We all of us pass for 
women of fifty, and a man of your tense knows 
how many additional years are always to be thrown 
into femde computations of this nature. We are 
very sensible that several young flirts about town 
had a design to call us out of the fashionably 
world, and to leave us in the lurch by some of their 
late refinements. Two or three of them have been, 
heard to say, that they would kiU every old woman 
about town. In order to it, they b^an to throw 
off their clothes as fast as they coiud^ and have 
played all those pranks which you have so season- 
ably taken notice of. We were forced to uncover 
after them, being unwilling to give out so soon, 
and be regarded as veterans in the beau monde. 
Some of us have already caught our deaths by it. 
For my own part, I have not been without a cold 
ever since this foolish fashion came up. I have 
followed it thus far with the hazard of my life ; and 
how much farther I must go, nobody knows, if 
your paper does not bring us relief. You may.i 
assure yourself that all the antiquated necks about] 
town are very much obliged to you. Whateve^ 
fires and flames are concealed in our bosoms (ic } 
which perhaps we vie with the youngest of the se?. j 
they are not sufficient to preserve us against tl i 
wind and weather. In taking so many old wpms i 
under your care, you have ^en a real Guardi/ $ 
touBf and saved the life of many of yourconter' t 

•ft* 109* OUARDIAN. C79 

pararies. In shorty we all of U9 beg leave to sub* 
«cribe ourselves^ 

Most venerable Nestor, 
Your humble servants and sisters/ 

I am very well pleased with this approbation of 
my good sisters. 1 must confess I have always 
looked OR the tucker to be the ' decus et tutamen*/ 
the ornament and defence, of the female neck. 
My good old lady, the lady Lizard, condemned 
this fashion from the beginning, and has observed 
to me, with some concern, that her sex at the same 
time they are letting down their stays, are tucking 
up their petticoats, which grow shorter and shorter 
every day. The leg discovers itself in proportion 
with the neck. But 1 may possibly take another 
occasion of handling this extremity, it being my 
design to keep a watchful eye over every part <h 
the female sex, and to regulate them from head to 
foot In the mean time I shall fill up my paper 
with a letter which comes to me from another of 
my obliged correspondents. 


' This comes to you from one of those 
untuckered ladies whom you were so sharp upoB 
on Monday was se'nnight. I think myself mightily 
.beholden to you for the reprehension you then gave 
U8. You must know I am a famous olive beauty, 
i But though this complexion makes a very good 
4 face when there are a couple of black sparkling 
ll eves set in it, it makes but a very indifferent necl^ 
H Your fair women therefore thought by this fashion 


^ * The words milled on the larger silver and gold coins of this 


2 iba 

C80 GUAmDiAK. R* lOgi. 

to insult the olives and At brunettes* They knar 
very well, tliat a neck of ivory does . not make so 
fine a show as one of alabaster. It is for this ret- 
son« Mr. Ironside^ that they are so * liberal in their 
discoveries. We know very weU^ that a woman 
4^ the whitest neck in the world, is to you no 
more than a woman of snow ; but Ovid, in Mr. 
Duke's translation of him, seems to look upon it 
with another eye, when he talks of Corinnat <u4 

** h tr heaving breast* 

Courting the hand, and suing to be ptt§V 

' Women of my complexion ought; to be more 
modest, especially since our faces debar us &om 
an artificial whitenings. Could you examine many 
.of these ladies who present you with such beautifid 
anowy chests, you wonld find they are not all of a 
piece. Good father Nestor, do not let us alone 
until you have shortened our necks, and reduced 
them to their ancient standard. 

Your most obliged humble servant, 


I shall have a just regard to Olivia'a remon« 
strance, though at the same time I cannot but 
observe that her modesty seems to be intirely the 
result of her complexion. I^« 

'Sr'lio. kvakoian. t9\ 

N* 110. FRIDAY, JULY 17, 1713. 

Nam eg^ p&MtU 

Offenia wmntUB^ qwu ma imewria/kdii 
Aut kummmpanun cmnt mtfura 

HOIL An Poet. S51. 

I win not quarrel with a slif^t mistakey 
8ach as onr nature's frailty may excuse. 


Ths candour which Horace shows in the motto of 
my paper, is that which distinguishes a critic from 
a caviller. He declares that he is not offended 
with those little faults in a poetical .composition, 
which may be imputed to inadvertency, . or to the 
imperfection of human nature. The truth of it is, 
there can be no more a perfect work in the world, 
than a perfect man. To say of a celebrated piece 
that there are faults in it, is in effect to say no 
more, than that the author of it was a man. For 
this reason I consider every critic that attacks an 
author in high reputation, as the slave in the Ro- 
man triumph, who was to call out to the conqueror, 
* Remember, sir, that vou are a man.' I speak 
this in relation to the foUowing letter, which criti- 
cises the works of a great poet, whose very fkults 
have more beauty in them than the most elaborate 
compositions of many more correct writers. The 
remarks are very curious and just, and introduced 
by a compliment to the work of an author^ ^h» t 
nm $ure would not care fgr being igim««^ "^^. ^^ ^sfr 


pence ofanotherH reputation. I must 'ttiercibie 
desire my correspondent to excuse me, if I do not 
publish either the preface or conclusion of his let- 
ter, but only the critical part of it 


' Our tragedy writers have been no- 
toriously defective in giving proper sentiinents to 
the persons they introduce. Nothing is more 
common than to h^ar an heathen talking of angdi 
and devils, the joys of heayen^ and the pains of 
heU, according to the christian system. Lee*! 
Alexander discovers himself to be a Cartesian io 
tbe first page of CEdipus ; 

M ■ T he sun's sick too, . 
Shortly he'll be an eart h 

As Dryden's Cleomenes is acquainted with the 
Copemican hypothesis two thousand years before 
its mvention. 

^* I am pleased with mv own work ; Joto was not more 
With infant nature, when his spacious hand 
Had rounded his huge bdl of earth and seas^ 
To give it the tirst push, and see it roll 
Along the ?ast abyss——*' 

• I have now Mr. Dryden's Don. Sebastian be- 
fore me, in which I find frequent allusions to an- 
cient history, and the old mythology of the hea- 
then. It is not very natural to suppose a king of 
Portugal would be borrowing thoughts out of Ovid's 
Metamorphoses when he talkM even to those of 
his own court ; but to allude to these Roman fables 
when he taUc& to an ^m^x^ ^^ ^^^j^iVsi^T^^ ^^:mfi 

9^ 110. GUARDIAN. C83 

ipeiy extraordinarj.' Bot observe how he desireg 
Iiim out of the classics, in the following lines : 

^ Why didst not thda enme me man to man. 
And try tha viitQe of that Goigon fkca 
To stum me into statne f* 

* Almeyda at the same time is more book 
learned than Don Sebastian. She plays an hydra 
upon the emperor that is full as good as tke 

^ O tiiat I had the firaitftil heads of Inrdra. 
That one might bouigeon where another rell! 
Still would 1 give th^ work» ttiU, still, thoa tyrant^ 
And hiss thee with the last ** 

* She afterwards, in allusion to Hercules, bids 
. him '* lay down the lion's skin, and take the dis- 
taff;'' and in the following speech utters her pas* 
aion stiQ more learnedly. 

.^ No, were vre join*d, even the' it were in death, 
Onr bodies buruing in one Ameral pile, 
The prodigy of Thebes won'd be renew'd, ' 

And ray divided flame should break from thine." 

* The emperor of Barbary shews himself ac» 
quainted with the Roman poets as weU as either of 
bis prisoners, and answers the foregoing speech in 
Uie same classic strain : 

** Seipeat, I will engender poison with thee; 
Our offspring/ like the seed of dragons teeth, 
Shall issue erased, and fight themselves to death/', 

f Orid seems to have been Muky Molock'^^ 
&Torite author, witness the lines that follow : 

<< She still ioesorable, still hnperions ' ^ 

A^ tond^ as if Ilka Bacchoi bom in thander.^ 


' I shaD conclude my reinarkB on his part with 
that poetical complaint of his being in love» and 
leave my reader to consider how prettily it t^oold 
found in the mouth of an emperor of Morocco: 

** The god of love once more has shot Us fiits 
Into my soul, and my whoU heart receives him." 

' Muley Zeydan is as ingenious a man as his 
brother Muley Molock ; as where he hints at the 
itory of Castor and Pollux: 

** May we ne'er meet! 
For like the twins of Leda, when I moimty 
He gallops down the skies '* 

' As for the mufli, we will suppose that he was 
bred up a scholar^ and not only versed in the law 
of Mahomet^ but acquainted with all kinds of po- 
lite learning. For this reason he is not at all 8ur-> 
prised when Dorax calls him a Phaeton in ont 
place^ and in another tells him he is like Archi- 

' The mufti afterwards mentions Ximenes, Al» 
bornoz> and cardinal Wolsey by name, llie poet 
seems to think he may make every person in hU 
play know as much as himself^ and talk as well as 
be could have done on - the same occasion. At 
least I believe every reader will agree with m^ 
that the above mentioned sentiments, to which J 
might have added several others, would have been 
better suited to the court of Augustus, than that 
of Muley Molock. I grant they are beautiful ia 
themselves, and much more so m that noble lan- 
guage, which was peculiar to this gpreat poet. I 
only observe that they are improper tor the persons 
who make use of them. Dryaen is indeed generally 
wrong in his sentiments. Let any one read the 

m^ no. GUARDIAN. tas 

dialoffue between Octavia and Cleopatra, and he 
will oe amazed to hear a Roman lady^s mouth 
filkd with such obscene raillery. If the virtuous 
Octavia departs from her character, th^ loose 
Dolabella is no less inconsistent with himself, when 
«M of a sudden he drops the pagan, and tf^ks in 
the sentiments of reveakd religion. 

*' — — — Heaven has bnt 
Onr sorrow for oir sins, and then deliglits 
To pardon erring man. Sweet mercy seems 
Its darling attribute, which limits justice -, 
As if there were degrees in infinite : 
And infinite would rather want perfection 
Than punish to extent " 

* I might shew several faults of tbe same nature 
In the celebrated Aurence Zebe. The impropriety 
of thoughts in the speeches of the great mogul and 
his emplress has been generally censured. Take 
the sentiments out of the shining dress of words, 
ynd they would be too coarse for a scene in Bil- 


NMll. SATURDAY, JULY 18, 17 IS. 

Bk «/tfittfl de gnte kireosi Cenhaimium 
Dicvt : quod trntU etf, $mpi9 mMs; turn ef9 
E$$e qu9d AreaikM, a i- umn§§ iqki Sohmet, 


Bat, here, some captain of the land or iteet^ 
Stoat of his hands, bat of a soldier's wit, 
Ciies, I have sense, to serve my toni, in store; 
And he's a rascal who pretends to more : 
Dnnme wfaatt*er those book-leimedbloekhMdi ny, 
Solon's the Tersest ibol in all the plagr. 


I AM very much concerned when I see young gea- 
tlemen of fortune and quality ao wholly set upon 
pleasures and diversions^ that they neglect all thoae 
improvements in wisdom and knowledge which may 
make them tasy to themselves^ and useful to the 
world. The greatest part of our British youth lose 
their figure, and grow out of fashion by that time 
they are five and twenty. As soon as the natural 
gaiety and amiableness of the young man wears off, 
they have nothing left to recommend them, but lie 
by the rest of their lives among the lumber and re- 
fuse of the species. It sometimes happens indeed, 
that for want of applying themselves in due time to 
the pursuits of knowledge, they take up a book in 
their declining years^ and grow very hopeful scho- 
lars by that time they are threescore. I must tbere- 
fore earnestly pretia \xv^ i«*j\&t*» -^V^ ^xe in the 

!l* 11^ eUABDIAK* fl87 

[ower of their youth, to labour at these accom- 
ilishments which may set off their persons when 
heir bloom is gone> and to lay in timely provi- 
ioiw for manhood and old age. In short, I would 
dvise the youth of fifteen to be dressing up every 
lay the man of fifty, or to consider how to make 
limself venerable at threescore. 

Young men, who are naturally ambitious, would 
\o well to observe how the greatest men of anti- 
[uity made it their ambition, to excel all their 
ontemporaries in knowledge. Julius Cssar and 
Alexander, the most celebrated instances of human 
;reatne86, took a particular care to distinguish 
hemselves by their skill in the arts and- sciences, 
^e have still extant several remains of the former^ 
rhich justify the character given of him by the 
earned. men of his own age. As for the latter, it 
B a known saying of his, ' that he was more obliged 
o. Aristotle who had instructed him, than to Philip 
rho had given him life and empire.' There is a 
»tter of his recorded by Plutarch and Aulus Gel- 
ius, which he wrote to Aristotle upon hearing that 
le had published those lectures he had given . him 
n private. This letter was written in the followi* 
ng words at a time when he was in the height of 
lis Pe]:sian conquests. 


' You have not done well to publish 
rouT books of Select Knowledge ; for what is there 
low in which I can surpass c&ers, if those things 
rhich I have been instnicted in i^re communicated 
o^eveiy body? For my own part I declare to yo>i, 
'. wouid rather excel others in knowledge than 
>ower. Farewell.' 

C8S •UABBI AN. jf 111. 

We see by- this letter, that the lore of cmiqiiest 
was but the second ambition in Alexander** souL 
Knowledge is indeed that which^ next to Tirtue, 
truly and essentially raises one man aboFC another. 
It finishes one half of the human soul. It makes 
being pleasant to us, fills the mind with entertain* 
ing views, and administers to it a perpetual series 
of gratifications. It gives ease to soUtude, and 
gracefulness to retirement. It fills a pubtic station 
with suitable abilities, and adds a lustre to those 
who are in possession of them. 

Learning, by which I mean all useful knowledge, 
whether speculative or practical, is in popular and 
mixt governments tlie natural source of wealth and 
honour. If we look into most of the reigns from 
the conquest, we shall find that the faronrites of 
each reign have been those who have raised them- 
selves. The greatest men are generally the growth 
of that particular age in which they flourish. A 
i^uperior capacitj' for bu'siness, and a more exten- 
sive knowledge, are the steps by which a new man 
often mounts to favour, and outshines the rest of 
his contemporaries. But when men are actually 
born to titles, it is almost impossible that they 
should fail of receiving an additional greatness, if 
they take care to accomplish themselves for it. 

The story of Solomon's choice does not only in- 
struct us in that point of history, but ^furnishes out 
a very fine moral to us, namely, that he who ap- 
plies his heart to wisdom, does at the same time 
take the most proper method of gaining long lifc> 
riches, and reputation, which are veiy often not 
only the rewards but the eilects of wisdom. 

As it is very suitable to my present subject, I 
shall first of all quote this pa<^age in the word^ of 
sacred writ, and afterwards mention m allegorr, 

K*in« GUARDIAN. f8& 

in which this whole passage is represented by a 
famous French poet; not questioning but it will 
be rery pleasing to such of my readers as hare % 
taste ofjnne writing. 

' In juibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a 
dream'b^ night : and God said. Ask what I shall 
give thee. And Solomon said. Thou ha^t lAiowed 
imto thy servant David my father great mercy, ac* 
cording as he walked berore thee in truth aiiid in 
righteousness, and in uprightness of heart widi Hbee, 
and thou hast kept for him this great kindness, that 
^ou hast given him a son to sit on his throne, at 
it is at this day. And now, O Lord my God, diou 
hast made thy servant king instead of David my 
father: and I am but a little child; I know not 
how to go out or come in. Give therefore thy 
servant an understanding heart to judge thy people^ 
that I may discern between good and bad: for who 
is able to judge, this thy so gre^t a people ? And the 
speech pleased the Lord, that Solomon had asked 
this thing. And God said unto him. Because thou 
hast asked this thing^ and hast not a^ed for thyself 
long life, neither hast asked riches for thyself, nor 
hast asked the life of thine enemies, but hast asked 
for thyself understanding to discern judgment : 
Behold I have done according to thy words : Lo» 
I have given thee a wise' and understanding heart, 
so that there was none like thee before thee, nei- 
ther after thee shall any arise like unto thee. And 
I have also given thee that which thou hast not 
asked, both riches and honour, so that there shall 
not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy 
days. And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to keep 
my statutes and my commandments, as thy. father 
David did walk, then I will lengthen thy days. Ana 
Solomon awoke, and behold it was a dream. * ' 


iga QOABDfAK. N^lll 

The French poet has shadowed this story in an 
allegory, of which he seems to have taken the hint 
from the fable of the three goddesses appearing to 
Paris, or rather from the vision of Hercules, re- 
corded by Xenophon, where Pleasure and Virtue 
are represented as red persons making their court 
to the hero with aU their several charms and allure- 
ments. Health, Wealth, Victory and Honour an* 
introduced successively in their prop^ emblems 
and characters, each of them spreading her tempta- 
tions, and recommending herself to the young 
monarch's choice. Wisdom enters the last, and 
so captivates him with her appearance, that he 

gives himself up to her. Upon which sl^ informs 
im, that those who appeared before her were no- 
thing else but her equipage : and that since he bad 
placed his heart upon Wisdom; Healtli, Wealth, 
Victory, and Honour, should always wait on her 
as her handmaids. f^. 

N^ 112. MONDAY, JULY 20, 1713. 


Spemit humtmfugiente pennA. . HOR« f OcL nl tS* 

Scorns the base earth, and crowd below ; 
And with a soaring wing still mounts on high. 


The philosophers of king Charles his reig^ were 
busy in finding out the art of flying. The famous 
bishop Wilkins wa,% so cotv^^«v:»x. ^'l «vi^K«»& in it, 

that he says he does not question but in the next 
age it will be as usual to hear a man call for hit 
wings when he is going a joumey> as it now to 
call for his boots. The humour so pre\railed among 
the virtuosos of this reign, that they were actually 
making parties to go up to the moon together, and 
were more put to it in their thoi^hts how to meet 
with accommodations by the way, than how to get 
thither. Every one knows the story of the great 
lady,* who at the same time was bnilding castles 
in the air for their reception, f I always leave 
such trite quotations to my reader's private recol- 
lection. For which reason also I shaU forbear ex- 
tracting out of authors several instances of parti- 
cular persons who have arrived at some- perfection - 
in this art, and exhibited specimens of it before = 
multitudes of beholders. Instead of this I shall 
present my reader with the following letter from an 
artist, who is now taken up with this invention, and 
conceals his true name under that of Dsdalus. 

' Mr. Ironside, 

' Knowing that you are a great en- 
courager of ingenuity, I think fit to acquaint you* 
that I have made a considerable progress in the 
art of flying. I flutter about my room two or 
tliree hours in a morning, and when my wings are 
on, can go above a hundred yards at a hop, step, 
and jump. I can fly already as well as a turkey- 
cock, and improve every day. If I proceed as I 

* Mai^garet dncheas of Newcastle. 

t The duchess of Newcastle objected to bifliM>p Wilkiiis^ 
tiie want of baiting-places in the way to his New Worid ; tbft 
bishop expreased his snrprise that this otjection .should ba 
made by a lady who has been all her lifa employed in baHd* 
ing casnes in tiie sir. 

c c 2 

f9% aviLEDiAifi K* 113( 

kave hegvokt I intead to give the world a proof of 
my proficiency in this art Upon the next public 
thanlcsgiving day it is my design to sit astria^ the 
dragon upon Bow steeple, from whence, after the 
first discharge of the Tower guns, I intend to mount 
into the air, fly over Fleet-street, and pitch upon 
the May-pole in the strand. Fron^ thence, by a 
eradual decent, I shall make the best of my way 
S>r St. JamesVpark, and Ught upon the ground 
Dear Rosamond's-pond. This I doubt not wUl con- 
vince the world tluit I am no pretender ; but before 
I set out, I shall desire to have a patent for mak' 
ing of wings, and that none shall presume to fly, 
under pain of death, with w'mgs of any other man's 
making. I intend to work for the court myself# 
and will have journeymen under me to furnish the 
iKsst of the nation. I Ukewise desire, that I may 
have the sole teaching of persons of quality, in 
ifrhich I shall spare neither time nor pains until I 
have made them as expert as myselr. I wiU fly 
with the women upon my back for the first fort** 
night. I shall appear at the next masquerade 
dressed up in my feathers and plumage like an 
Indian prince, that the quality may see how pretty 
they will look in their travelling habits. You 
know, sir, there is an unaccountable prejudice to 
projectors of all kinds, for which reason when t 
talk of practising to fly, silly people think me an 
owl for my pains ; but, sir, you know better things. 
I need not enumerate to vou the benefits which 
will accrue to the public n'om this invention ; as 
bow the roads of England vfiW be saved when we 
travel through these new highways, and how sll 
family accounts wiU be lessened in the article of 
coaches and horses. I need not mention post and 
packet-boatSj with many other conveniences of life. 

n''112. quakdian*. 993 

which will be Mipplied this way. hk tbairt, aur, 
when mankind are in pofisession of thi4 art^ they 
will be able to dp more business in threescore and 
ten years, then they could do in a thousand- by the 
methods now in use. I therefore recommend my- 
self and art to your patronage, and am your most 
humble servant, 


I have fully considered the prcject of these our 
modem Dsedalists, and am resolved so far to dis* 
courage it, as to prevent any person flying in my 
time. It would fill the world tvith innumerable 
immoralities, and give such occasions for intriguet- 
as people cannot meet with who have nothing but 
legs to carry them. You should have a couple of 
lovers make a midnight assignation upon the top of 
the monument, and see the cupola of St. Paul's 
covered with both sexes like the outside of a pigeon 
house. Nothing would be more frequent than to 
see a beau flying in at a garret window, or a gal- 
lant giving chace to bis mistress, like a hawk after 
a lark. There would be no walking in a shady 
wood without springing a covey of toasts. The 
poor husband could not dream what was doing over 
his head. If he were jealous indeed he might clip 
his wife's wings, but what would this avail when there 
were 'flocks of whore-masters perpetually hover- 
ing over his house ? What concern would the father 
of a family be in all the time his daughter viras upon 
the wing? Every heiress must have an old woman 
flying' at her h^els. In short, the whole air would- 
be full of this kind of gibier,^ as the French call 
h. I do allow, with my correspondent, that there*' 

* Gibi^Agaifies 310 more thattft^Vn^iBaB^ 

99* «VAm]>IAK« M* lis. 

wmM be modi more bonneai done dian there is at 
pRsenU Hofverer^ ahoald lie apply for such a 
psteot as lie wpetkM cf, I q«M8lioo not but theit 
would be more pedtions out of the city against it, 
dian ever yet appeared asainat aay other mcmopoly 
whattoever. Etery tradeaman that cannot keep 
his wife a coach could keep her a pair of wings/ 
and diere is no doubt hot die would be every 
morning and evening taking the air with them. 

I have here only considered the ifl consequeticet 
of this invention in the influence it would have on 
love-afiaira. I have mmy more dgeetions to mskt 
on other accounts; but these I shall de^ puib^ah* 
ing until I see my friend astride the dragon. |^< 

N* US. TUESDAY, JULY 21, 1713. 

tntiiimi; aaraiU ntk^ cwr mrcnM exiif 

HOK. AfB Poet. ver. fii 

WImo yo« begin with so nmdi poolp aad ahtfir^ 
Why ia tke ead ao little wA ao low ? 


I LAST night received a letter from aA honest eid- 
0en, wlio it seems is iff his honey-moon, it if 
written by a idain man on a plain subject, but h^ 
an air of good sense and natural honesty in it, whi4^ 
JM/peclupsp\jbas^\hi&'^<d[diK. la ^ttpacltjn myseUl 

K*119; dtAftbUlTtf 995 

I shall not therefore scruple the givinig; it 4a place in 
my paper, which is designed for common use; and 
fbr die benefit of th^ pocfr as well as rich. 

^ 90^t M](. IRONSIDSi 

Cheaptide, July la 

' I Mrt liteiy married a rery prfett^ 
tiody^ ^ho being something younger and richer 
than myselfi I was advised to go a wooing to her 
in a finer suit of clothes than ever I wore in my 
life; for I love to dress f^ain, and suitable to « 
man of my ranb However, I gained htf heart by 
it. Upon the wedding day I put myself^ according 
to custom^ in another suit, fire-new, with silver 
buttons to it. I am so out of countenance among 
iny neighboiirs upon being so tine, that I heartily 
#ish my clothes well worn oUt. I faney evety body 
observes me as I walk the street, and long to be 
in my old plain geer again. Besides forsooUi, th^y 
have put me in a silk night-gown and a gaudy (ooiLa 
cap, and make me now and then stand in the nf in- 
dow with it. I am ashamed to be d^dled thus^ 
and cannot look in the glass without blushing to see 
myself turned into siteh a pretty {it|le master; 
They tell me I must appear iti thy .wiedding-suit for 
the first month at least ; after which jt am resolved 
to oome again to my every day's dothesj for at 
present every day is Sunday with me. Now in my 
mindi Mr. Ironside, this is the wrongest way of 
proceeding in the world. When a man's person li 
new and unaccustomed to a young hodv, he does 
not want any thing eke to set him. off. The novelty 
<^ the lover has more charms than al wedding-suiti 
I should ^ink therefore, that .a man should keep 
bis finery fys the latter leaaons of marrla^> ^sl^.'b^^ 

fl9Q 9VA.BD1AK. N* lis* 

h^gin to dresg until the honey-moon u over. I have 
qmerred at a lord m^yot^u feast that the sweet- 
meats do not make their appearance until people 
are cloyed with beef and mutton, and begin to lose 
their stomachs. But instead of this, we serve up 
delicacies to our guests, when their appetites are 
keen, and coarse diet when their bellies are full. 
As bad as I hate my tilver-buttoned icoat and silk 
Bight-gown, I am afraid of leaving them off, not 
knowing whether my wife would not repent c^ her 
marriage when she sees what a plain man she has to 
her husband. Pray, Mr. Ironside> write aomethingr 
U^ prepare her for it, and let me knpw whether you 
think she can ever love me in a hair button. 

I am, Soc. 

* P. S. I forgot to tell you of my white gloves, 
which they say too, I must wear all the first month.* 

My correspondent's observations are very just,* 
and may be useful in low life ; but to turn them to 
the advantage of people in higher stations, I shall 
raise the moriU, and observe something parallel to 
the wooing and wedding-suit, in the behaviour of 
persons of figure. After long experience in the 
world, and reflections upon mankind, I find one 
particular occasion of unhappy marriages, which, 
though very common, is not very much attended 
to. What I mean is this. Every man in the timtf 
of courtship, and in the first entrance of marriagej 
puts on a behaviour like my correspondent's holiday 
suit, which is to last no longer than until he is 
settled in the possession of his mistress. He resign 
his inclinations and understanding to her humour 
and opinion; He neither loves nor hates, nor 
talks nor thinks, in contradiction to her. He it 
Cfwtrolled by anod^ mot^SSwdL.\^^ %^»wnEi, a^d tran* 

sported by a smile. The poor younj^ lady falls in 
iove with this supple creature, and expects of him 
the same behavioilr fbr lif^. Iii a little time khe 
finds that he has a will of his own, that he pretends 
to dislike what she approves, and that instead of 
treating her like a goddess, he uses her like a 
woman. Wliat still makes the misfortuiie worse, 
we find Ihe most object flatterers degenerate into 
the greatest tyrants. This naturally fills the spouse 
with siillcnness and discontent, spleen and vapour; 
which, with a little discreet management, make a 
V^y comfortable marriage. 1 very nxuch approve 
of my friend Tom Truelove in this particular. 
Tom made love to a woman of sense, and alwi^ys 
treated her as such during the whole time of court- 
ship. His natural temper and good breeding hin- 
dered him from doing any thing disagree^blCi as his 
sincerity and frankness of behaviour made him con- 
verse with her> before marriage, in the same manner 
he intended to continue to do afierwards; Tom 
would often tell her> 'Madam, you see. what a sort 
pfmanlam. If you will tak« me with all my 
faults about me, I promise to mend rather than 
flrrow worse.' I remember Tom was once hinting 
his dislike of some little trifle ^is mistress had said 
or done. Upon which she asked him, how he would 
talk to her after marriaoe, if he talked at this rate 
Wore ? ' No, madam,^ says Tom, * I mention thiti 
now becausi; you are at your own disposal ; . were 
you at mine I should be too generous to do iti* 
In short, Tom succeeded, and has ever since been 
better than his word. I1ie lady has been disap- 
pointed on the right side, and has found nothing 
more disagreeable in the husband than she disc<>- 
vered in the lover. I^» 




N* 1 14. WEDNESDAY, JULY 22, 1713. 

Jkeps meipiiey ei eeris opus nffkniiis: 
Fuel recustmtj tmikiii eomditio placet, 


" Ttk£ the hiTM^ and empty your work into the combi -, 
The drones renue, the beet accept the pr(^>osaL 

.1 THiKX mvaelf obliged to acquaint the puUic 
>that the lion s head, of which I advertised them 
•about a fortnight ago, is now erected at Button's 
. cofiee-house in Russel-street, Covent-garden, where 
k opens its mouth at all hours for the reception of 
such intelligence as shall be thrown into it It is 
reckoned an excellent piece of workmanship, and 
was designed by a great hand in imitation of the 
antique .^yptian hon, the face of it being com- 
pounded out of that of a lion and a wizard. The 
features are strong and well furrowed. The whis- 
kers are admired by all that have seen them. It it 
planted on the western side of the coffee-house, 
holding its paws under the chin upon a box, which 
contains every thing that he swallows. He is in- 
deed a proper emblem of knowledge and action, 
being ail head and paws. I need n6t acquaint my 
readers, that my lion, like a moth, or book -worm, 
feeds upon nothing but paper, and shall only beg 
of them to diet him with wholesome and substan- 
tial food. I must therefore desire that they will 
not.gorge him either with nonsense or obscenity ; 
Mad must likewise insist^ that his mouth be not dc- 



N* 114. GUAEDIAN? 299 

filed with scandal^ for I would not make use of him 
to revile the human species, and satyr ize those who' 
are his hetters. I shall not suffer him to worry 
any man's reputation, nor indeed fall on any per- 
son whatsoever, such only excepted as disgrace the 
name of this generous animal, and under the title 
of lions contrive the ruin of their felloW-subjects. 
I must desire likewise, that intriguers will not mak^ 
a pimp of my lion, and by his means convey their 
thoughts to one another. Those who are read in 
the history of the popes, observe that the Leos 
have been the best, and the Innocents the worst of 
that species, and I hope that I shall not be thought 
to derogate from my lion's character,, by repre-. 
gentinghim as such a peaceable good-natured well-, 
designing beast. 

I intend to publish once every week, ' the roar- 
ings of the lion,' and hope to make hmi roar so 
loud as to be heard all over the British nation . . 

If my correspondents will do their parts m 
prompting him, and supplying him with suitable 
provision, I question not but the lion's head wiU 
be reckoned the best head in England. 

There is a notion generally received in the world, 
that a lipn is a dangerous creature to all women 
\irho are not virgins : which may have given occa* 
»ion to a foolish report, that my lion's jaws are so 
contrived, as to snap the hands of any of the female 
sex, who are not thus qualified to approach it 
with safety. I shall not spend much time in ex- 
posing the falsity of this report, which I believe 
will not weigh any thing with women of sense. 
I shall only say, that there is not one of the sex in 
all the neighbourhood of Covent-garden, who may 
not put her hand in his mouth with the same se* 
curity as if she were a vestaL Howe.vex^ VbAK.'Csift, 

ladies fpay pot be deterred from corresppnding with 
ine by this method^ I must acquaint them that the 
cfpfiec-man has a littl^ daughter of al>out foiir jear^ 
pid who has b^en ?irt^ousl^ edu(:^ted> and will 
lend her hand upon this occasion tp any li^y thai 
•hall desire it other. 

' In the mean time I niust further acqoaint my fair 
readers, that I have thoughts of making a further 
provision for them e^t my ingenious friend ]V^r. Mot-. 
teux*s or at Corticehi^s, or some other place fre- 

?uented by the wits and beauties of fhe sesc. A^ 
have here a lion's head for the men, I shall there 
erect an unicorn's head for the ladies^ and will so. 
^ontriye it, that they may put in theif in^lligence 
at the top of the horn, wnich shall convey it into 
a little receptacle at the bottom prepared f^r thaf 
purpose, put of ttiese \wo pagazines I shali sup- 
ply the town from time to time with what may tend 
to their edification, and at the same time Qarry op 
an epistolary correspondence between the two 
heads, not ifi little beneficial both to the public 
audio myself. As these monsters >vill be very 
mtatiable, and devour great quantities of paper^ 
there will be no small use redound from them to that 
manufacture in particular. 

The following letter having been left with the 
keeper of the lion, with a request from the writer 
that it may be the first morsel which is put into hi« 
mouth, I shall communicate it to the public as it 
came to my hand, without examining whether it b^ 
proper nourishment, as I intend to do for th^ 


» • . ■ 


' Your predecessor, the Spectator/ 
fpdeavoured, but in vain, ^o improve the charn^ 

M* 114» GUARDIAN. 301 

of the fair sex, by exposing their dress whenever . 
it launched into extremities. Among the rest the 
^reat petticoat came under his consideration, but 
in contradiction to whatever he has said, they still 
resolutely persist in this fashion. The form of their 
bottom is not, I confess, altogether the same; for 
whereas before it was of an orbicular make, they 
now look as if the^^ were pressed, so that they seem 
to deny access to any part but the middle. Many 
are the inconveniences that accrue to her 'majesty's 
loving subjects from the said petticoats, as hurting 
men's shin's, sweeping down the wares of industrious 
females in the streets, &c. I saw a young lady 
fall down the other day; and beUeve me, sir, she 
yery much resembled an overturned bell without a 
clapper. Many other disasters I could tell you cf, 
that befal themselves, as well as others, by means 
of this unwieldy garment. I wish, Mr. Guardian, 
you would join with me in shewing your dislike of 
•uch a monstrous fashion^ and I hope when the 
ladies see it is the opinion of two of the wisest men 
in England, they will be convinced of their folly. 

I am. Sir, 
Your daily reader and admirerA 

Tom PtAiN.* 

VOL. XVll. D d 

802 GVABDIAH. jC 115 

N« 115. THURSDAY, JULY 23, 1713, 

Ingadtm par mtierut JUV. Stt L 151. 

A geniiu equal to the sotject. 

When I read rules of criticigm I immediately in- 
quire after the works of the author who has writ- 
ten tbein^ and by that means discover what it is he 
likes in a composition ; for there is no question but 
every man aims at least at what he thinks beauti- 
fill in others. If I find by his own manner of writ- 
ing that he is heavy ana tasteless^ I throw a^ 
his criticisms with a secret indignation^ to «ee'a 
man without genius or politeness dictating to the 
world on subjects which I find are above his reach. 

If the critic has publishisd nothing but rules and 
observations in criticism^ I then consider whether 
there be a propriety and elegance in his thoughU 
and words, clearness and delicacy in his remarks, 
wit and good breeding in his raillery ; but if in the 
place of all these, I find nothing but dogmatical 
stupidity, I must beg such a writer's pardon if I 
have no manner of deference for his judgment, and 
refuse to conform myself to his taste. 

< So Macer and Mondmigiis school the thnes. 

And write in nigged prose the softer rales of rfainei • 

Well do they play tiie careful critic's part, 

Instmcting doably by their matchless art : 

K files for good verse they first with pains indite, 

'Ihen shew us what are bad by what they write.' 

"Mill. Cwi^'«iVN'?Atv^\x'Vl.TT3C?LF. 

K* 115. OUABBIA^. 305 

The greatest critics among the ancients are those 
who have the most excelled in all other kinds of 
composition, and have shown the height of good 
writing even in the precepts which they have. given 
for it. 

Among the modems likewise no critic has ever 
pleasedi or been looked upon as authentic, who 
did not shew by his practice that he was a master 
of the theory. I have now one before me, Who^ 
after having given many proofs of his performances 
both in poetry and prose, obliged the world with 
several critical works. The author I mean is 
Strada. His prolusion''^ on the stile of the most 
famous among the ancient Latin poets who are ex- 
tant, and have written in epic verse, is one of the 
most entertaining, as well as the most just pieces 
of criticism that I have ever read, I shall make 
l)ie plan of it the subject of this day's paper. 

It is commonly known that Pope Leo the tenth, 
was a great patron of learnings and used to be 
present at the performances, conversations, and 
disputes of all the most polite writers of his time. 
Upon this bottom Strada founds the following 
-narrative. When this pope was at his villa, that 
■tood upon an eminence on the banks of the Tiber, 
the poets contrived the following pageant or ma- 
chine for his entertainment They made a hu^e 
floating mountain, that was split at the top m 
imitation of Parnassus. There were several marks 
on it that distinguished it for the habitations of he- 
roic poets. Of all the muses Calliope only made 
her appearance. It was covered up and down with 
groves of laurel. Pegasus appeared hanging off 
the side of a rock, with a fountain running from his 

* 8trad» ProK Acad< lib. ii« ProL Poet« v. 


^(H 617ABOIAN. M*lio. 


htel. Thi« floaiin^ Funassus fell down the river \ 

lo the >(Hiud of trumpets, and in a kind of epic 
mea^uv. for ii vas roved forward by 8ix huge 
whee^ three on each side, that by their constant 
motion cjtrried on the machine, until it arrived be- 
fore the pope's villa. 

The repmcntatirirs of the ancient poets were 
di^poRxl in stations suitable to their respectiTe 
characters. Statius was posted on the highest of 
the two summits, which was fashioned in Uie form 
of a precipice, and hung over the rest of the moun- 
tain in a dnradful manner, so that people regarded 
him with the same terror and curiosity as they look 
upon a daring rope-dancer whom they expect to 
fiiD every moment. 

Claudian was seated on the other summit, which 
was lower, and at the same time more smooth and 
even than the fonner. It was observed likewise to 
be more barren, and to produce, on some spots of 
it, plants that are unknown to Italy, and such as 
tlio i^tinlonors call exotics. 

Lucretius was very busy about the roots of the 
mountains, being wholly intent upon the motion 
and management of the machine which was imder 
his conduct, and was indeed of his invention. He 
was sometimes so engaged among the wheels, and 
covered with machinery, that not above half the 
poet appeared to the spectators, though at other 
times, by the working of the engines, he was raised 
ip, and became as conspicuous as any of the bro- 

Ovid did not settle in any particular place, but 
ranged over all Parnassus with gn^at nimbleness 
and activity. But as he did not much care for the 
toil and pains that were requisite to climb the upper 
part of the hill, he was generally roving about the 
bottom of it. 

If* 115* GUARJDIAII. S05 

But there was none who was placed in a more 
eminent station^ and had a greater prospect under 
him than Lucan. He vaulted u{^n Pegasus with 
all the heat and intrepidity of youtii^ and seemed 
desirous of mounting into the clouds upon the back 
of him. But as the hinder feet of the horse stuck 
to the mountain while the body reared up in the 
air, the poet with great difficulty kept himself from 
sUding off his back^ insomuch that the people often 
gave him for gone^ and cried out every now and 
then that he was tumbling. 

Virgil, with great modesty in his looks, was- 
leated by CaUiope, in the midst of a plantation of 
laurels which grew thick about him, and almost 
covered him with their shade. He would not 
perhaps have been seen in this retirement, but that 
it was impossible to look upon Calliope, without 
seeing Virgil at the same time. 

This poetical masquerade was no sooner arrived 
before tiie pope's villa, but they received an invi- 
tation to land, which they did accordingly. The 
hall prepared for their reception was iilled with an 
audience of the greatest eminence for quality and 
politeness. The poets took their places, and re- 
peated each of them a poem written in the style 
and spirit of those immortal authors whom they 
represented. The subject of these several poems 
with the judgment passed upon each of them, may 
be an agreeable entertainment for another day's 



S06 GUARDIAN.' N* U6. 

N" llG. FRIDAY, JULY 24, 1715. 

Ridiculum acri 

Fortius et melius liOR. 1 S*t. x. 14. 

A jest in scorn points out, and hits the thing 
More home, than the morosest satire's sting. 

There are many little enormities in the world, 
which our preachers would be very glad to see re- 
moved ; but at the same time dare not meddle with 
them, for fear of betraying the dignity of the pulpit. 
Should they recommend the tucker in a pathetic 
discourse, their audiences would be apt to laugh 
out. 1 knew a parish, where the top-woman of it 
used always to appear with a patch upon some part 
of her forehead. The good man of the place 
preached at it with great zeal for almost a twelve- 
month : but instead of fetching out the spot which 
he pei'pctually aimed at, he only got the name of 
Parson Patch for his pains. Another is to this day 
called by the name of Doctor Topknot, for reasons 
of the same nature. I remember the clergy durinsj 
the time of Cromwell's usurpation, were very much 
taken up in reforming the female world, and show- 
ing the vanity of those outward ornaments in which 
the sex so much delights. I have heard a whole 
sermon against a white-wash, and have known a 
<'4»loured ribbon made the mark of the unconverted. 
'J^ije clergy of the present age are not transported 
with these in(V\scTce\. iet\o\yc%, ^^V\\qp^\w«; that it is 
hnnl to. a rcform^v to ^noIx^ x\v^\v:.\^vi, ^\vt\\ \>!t \s 

N* 116. GUARDIAN. 307 

severe upon subjects which are rather apt to pro- 
duce mirth than seriousness. For this reason I look 
upon myself to be of great use to these good men. 
While they are employed in extirpating mortal sins^ 
and crimes of a higher nature, I should be glad to 
rally the world out of indecencies and venial tra'xs- 
gressions. While the doctor is curing distempers 
that have the appearance of danger or death in 
them, the merry-andrew has his separate packet 
for the megrims and tooth-ach. 

Thus much I tliought fit to premise before I re- 
* sume the subject which I have already handled, I 
mean the naked bosoms of our British ladies. I 
hope they will not take it ill of me, if I still beg 
that they will be covered. I shall here present 
them with a letter on that particular, as it was 
yesterday conveyed to me through the lion^s mouth. 
\t comes from a quaker^ and is as follows : 


' Our friends hke thee. We rejoice 
to find thou beginnest to have a glimmering of the 
light in thee. We shall pray for thee, that thou 
inayest be more and more enlightened. Thou 
givest good advice to the women of this world to 
clothe themselves like unto our friends, and not to 
Expose their fleshly temptations, for it is against 
the record. The lion is a good lion ; he roareth 
loud, and is heard a great way, even unto the sink 
of Babylon ! for the scarlet whore is governed by 
the voice of thy lion. Look on his order. 

," Rome, July 8, 1713. A placard is published 
here, forbidding women of whatsoever quality, to 
go with naked breasts ; and the priests are oraered 
not to admit the transgres8ot& of X.V\\^ V^vi \i^ ^^s^^^- 

«08 btJASMAir. K" li6 

tioD, nor to communion, neither iktc tbey to enter 
the cmthedralsy under severe penalties/ 

' llMse lines are faithfully copied fVom the 
nightly paper, with this title written over it, " The 
Efeniog Post, firom Saturday, July the eighteenth; 
to Tuesday, July the twenty-first.'' 

Seeing thy lion is obeyed at this distance, we 
hope the foolish women in thy own eountry will 
listen to thy admonitions. Otherwise thou art de- 
sired to make him still Toar till all the beasts of the 
forest shall tremble. I must again repeat unto 
thee, friend Nestor, the whole brotherhood have 
great hopes of thee, and expect to see thee so in- 
spired with the light, as thou mayest speedily 
become a great preacher of the word. I wish it 

Tliine, in every thing that is praise-worthy, 

Tom** coffwshouse, io Birehin-Iane, Tr^i^* nPoT-wn.r ' 
the f 3rd day of the month called July. ^ om i remble. 

It happens very oddly that the pope and I should 
have the same thoughts much about the same time. 
My enemies will be apt to say, that we hold a 
correspondence together, and act by concert in 
this matter. Let that be as it will, I shall not be 
ashamed to join with his holine« in those particu- 
lars which are indifferent between us, especially 
when it is for the reform 'it^rvn of the finer half of 
mankind. Weartboi',*!' us a-.^our the same age, 
and consider this fa*l ;:i in I'i • y.xuw. view. I hope 
that it will not \y' anit- i ^ vM^r his bull and my 
lion. I am on'y -lira <i litut our iudies will take 
occasion from iiciii v {.■• tb-.w their zviil i4»r the pro- 
testant n.'ligion , lu:] prcrd to t'vpu>vi iheir naked 
bosoms oiil V Hi oy)j^»osVvVov\ v.«^ vq>^^^^ . 

N* 117. GUABDIAN. 309 

N^ 117. SATURDAY, JULY 25, 1713 

CwapiiDUinmt Oyid. Met. viii. 7U. 

The good are Heayen't peculiar care. 

I^OKiNG over the late edition of monsieur Boi« 
lean's Works, I was very much pleased with the 
article which he has added to his notes on the trans- 
lation ot Longinus. He there teUs us^ that the 
sublime in writing rises either from the nobleness 
of the thought, the magnificence of the words, or 
the harmonious and lively turn of the phrase, anii 
that the perfect sublime aris^ from all these three 
in conjunction together. He produces an instance 
of this perfect sublime in four verses from ^the 
Athalia of monsieur Racine. When Abner, one of 
the chief officers of the court,, represents to . Joad 
the high-priest, that the queen, was incensed against 
him, me high-priest, not in the least terrified at 
the news, returns this answer. 

< Celui qui met unfrem d lafurewr deiJIotSf 

Sgait aussi des mSchaus mriter ki compMs, 

Sifumis aoec respect d ea voUmtS aaxnte^ 

Je craxM Dieu, cher Abner y ett^ai point ^auire ermnie,* 

' He who ruleth the raging of the sea, knows 
abo how to check the designs of the ungodly. I 
submit myself with reverence to his holy will, O 
Abner, I fear my God, and I fear none but hiia.' 

aiO (iUAEDIAN. »• 11?. 

Such a thought gives no less a sublimity to human 
nature, than it does to good writing. This reli- 
gious fear, when it is produced hy just apprehen- 
sions of a Divine Power, naturally overlooks all 
human greatness that stands in competition with it, 
and extinguishes every other terror that can settle 
itself in the heart of man ; it lessens and contracts 
the figure of the most exalted person ; it disarms 
the tyrant and executioner ; and represents to out 
minds the most enraged and the most powerful as 
altogether harmless and impotent < 

"Hiere is no true fortitude which is not founded 
upon this fear, as there is no other principle of so 
settled and fixed a nature. Courage that grows 
from constitution very often forsakes a man when 
be has occasion for it ; and when it is only a kind 
of instinct in the soul, breaks out on all occasions 
without judgment, or discretion. That courage 
which proceeds from the sense of our duty, and 
firom the fear of offending Him that made us, acts 
always in a uniform manner, and according to the 
dictates of right reason. 

What can the man fear, who takes care in all 
his actions to please a Being that is onnnipotent ? 
A Being who is able to crush all his adversaries? 
A Being that can divert any misfortune from be- 
falling him, or turn any such misfortune to his ad- 
vaiUajje ? The person who lives with this constant 
and habitual res^ard to the great superintendant of 
tho world, is indeed sure that no real evil can come 
into his lot. Blessings may appear under the shapt 
of pAin«. Kv^i^es. and disappointments; but let him 
ha\e patience, an«l he will see them in their proper 
figures* I>angers may threaten him, but he may 
fwt Mti^tWd that they' will either not reach him ; 
W (bat, if tl\ey do> vhcv wdL be the instruments of 

:s'* 117* GUARDIAN. Sll 

good to him. In shorty he may look upon all 
crosses and accidents^ sufferings and afflictions, as 
means which are made use of to bring him to hap ^ 
piness. This is even the worst of that man's con- 
dition whose mind is possessed with the habitual 
fear of which I am now speaking. But it very 
oilen happens, that those which appear evils in our 
own eyes, appear also as such to Him who has 
human nature under his care ; in which case they 
are certainly averted from the person who has by 
this virtue made himself an object of Divine Fa- 
vour. Histories are full of instances of this nature, 
where men of virtue have had extraordinary 
escapes out of such dangers as have enclosed them, 
and which have seemed inevitable. 

There is no example of this kind in pagan his- 
tory which more pleases me, than that which is 
recorded in the life of Timoleon, This extraor- 
dinary man Was famous for referring all his successes 
to Providence. Cornelius Nepos acquaints us that 
he had in his house a private chapel, in which he 
used to pay his devotions to the goddess who re- 
presented Providence among the heathens. I think 
no man was ever more distinguished by the Deity, 
whom he blindly worshipped, than the great person 
I am speaking of in several occurrences of his 
life; but particularly in the following one which 
I shall relate out of Plutarch. 

Three persons had entered into a conspiracy to 
assassinate Timoleon, as he was offering up his de- 
votions in a certain temple. In order to it, they 
took their several stands in the most convenient 
places for their purpose. As they were waiting for 
an opportunity to put their design in execution, a 
stranger having observed one of the conspirators, 
fell upon him and slew him. Upon which the 

312 GUARDIAN. N* 117* 

other two, thinking their plot had heen discovered, 
threw themselves at Timoleon's feet> and confessed 
the whole matter. This stranger, upon examina- 
tion, was fomid to have understood nothing of the 
intended^ assasanation ; hut haying several years 
before had a brother killed by the conspirator, 
whom he here put to death, and having until now 
sought in vain for an opportunity of revenge, he 
rhanced to meet the murderer in the temple, who 
had planted himself there for the above-mentioned 
purpose. Rutarch cannot forbear on this occa- 
non, speaking with a kind of rapture on the schemes 
of Providence ; which, in this particular, had so 
contrived it, that the stranger should, for so great 
a space of time, be debarred the means of doing 
justice to his brother, until by the same blow that 
reveneed the death of one innocent man, he pre- 
served the life of another. 

For my own part, I cannot wonder that a man 
of Timoleon's religion, should have his intrepidity 
and firmness of mind; or that he should be 
distinguished by such a deliverance, as I have here 
related. ^, 

N" 118. GUAKDIAK. 313 

N» 118. MONDAY, JULY,27, 1713. 

— largUor ingeni 
Venter PERS, Prol. ver, 10. 

Witty waot DRYDEN. 


I AM very well pleased to find that my lion has 
given such universal content to all that have seen 
hinu He has had a greater number of visitants 
than any of his brotherhood in the tower. I this 
morning examiner* his maw, where among much 
other food I found the following delicious morsels. 


' Mb. Guardian, 

' I AM a daily peruser of your papers. 
I have read over and over your discourse concern- 
ing the tucker ; as likewise your paper of Thursday 
the 16th instant, in which you say it is your, inten- 
tion to keep a watchful eye over every part of the 
female sex, and to regulate them from head to 
foot* Now, sir, being by profession a mantua- 
maker, who am employed by the most fashionable 
ladies about town, I am admitted to them freely 
at all hours; and seeing them both drest and un- 
drest, I think there is no person better qualified 
than myself to serve you (if your honour pleases) 
in the nature of a lioness. I am in the whole secret 
of their fashion ; and if you think fit to entertain 
ine \i\ this character, I will have a constant watch 
•ver tliem, and doiibt not I sliall send you from 


314 GUARDIAN. ' KM18. 

time to time such private intelligence, as you will 
find of use to you in your future papers. 

' Sir, this being a new proposal, I hope yoa 
will not let me lose the bencdBt of it ; but that you 
will first hear me roar before you treat with any 
body else. As a sample of my intended services, 
1 grive you this timely notice of an improvement 
you will shortly see in the exposing of the female 
chest, which in defiance of your g^ravity is going to 
be uncovered yet more and more ; so that, to tell 
you truly, Mr. Ironside, I am in some fear lest 
my profession should in a htUe time become wholly 
unnecessary. I must here explain to you a small 
covering, if I may call it so, or rather an ornament 
for the neck, which you have not yet taken notice 
of. This consists of a narrow lace, or a small 
skirt of fine ruffled linen, which runs along the 
upper part of the stays before, and crosaies the 
breasts, without rising to the shoulders ; and being 
as it were a part of the tucker, yet kept in use, is 
therefore by a particular name called the modesty- 
piece. Now, sir, what I have to communicate to 
you at present is, that at a late meeting of the 
stripping ladies, in which were present several 
eminent toasts and beauties, it was resolved for the 
future to lay the modesty-piece wholly aside. It 
is intended at the same time to lower the stays con- 
siderably before, and nothing but the unsettled 
weather has hindered this design from being already 
put in execution. Some few indeed objected to 
this last improvement, but were over-ruled by the 
rest, who alleged it was their intention, as they 
ingeniously expressed it, to level their breast- 
works entirely, and to trust to no defence but 
their own virtue. I am Sir, 

( if yow p\c;i^e^ -^our secret servant. 


N 118. GUABDIAN. 315 

* Deax Sir, 

' As by name, and duty bound, I 
yesterday brought in a prey of paper for my pa- 
tron's dinner ; but by the forwarduiess of his paws, 
he seemed ready to put it into his own mouth, 
which does not enough resemble its prototypes, 
whose throats are open sepulchres. I assure you, 
sir, unless he gapes wider he will sooner be felt 
than heard. Witi^ess my hand, 



Sage Nestor, 

* Lions being esteemed by naturalists 
the most generous of beasts, the noble and majestic 
appearance they make in poetry, wherein they so 
often represent the hero himself, made me always 
think that name very ill applied to a proflieat (tet 
of men, at present going about seeking whom to 
devour : and though I cannot but acquiesce in your 
account of the derivation of that title to them, it 
is with great satisfaction I hear you are about to 
restore them to their former dignity, by producing 
one of that species so public spirited, as to roar 
for reformation of manners. *' I will roar/' says 
the Clown in Shakspeare, '' that it will do any 
man's heart good to hear me ; I will roar, that I 
will make the duke say. Let him roar again, let 
him roar again." Such success, and such applause, 
I do not question but your lion will meet with, 
whilst, like that of Sampson, his strength shaU 
bring forth sweetness, and his entrails abound with 

' At the time that I congratulate with the re* 
public of beasts upon this honour done to <h^vc 

E e % 


kln|r» I inuHt condole with us 
liy dUtiinor of place are rendered m c s^ hk « fn- 
IDK mir rmpfcU to him, with the aune ■iiimIbm m 
tluwr who arc mhcrcd into his presence br ^£i- 
rrrrt Nfr« lUitton. Upon this account, 
itUlfi I Hin become a suitor to jcfu, to cioosdtitfe m 
<mt*ridin|{ lion; or if you plesue, a jadcadi ertv«^ 
tn ffcrivr and remit our homage in a mofr pn- 
iMtlar uiHunrr than is hitherto provided. AsitM^ 
uur tontlrr* of duty every now and then muony 
hy \\\r way ; at leant the natural sdf-lore ii. 
•nakoN UN unwilling; to think any thing that cobs 
iVum UM worthy of contempt, incUnes as to bcfieie 
M% Mcthinki* it wcrc^ likewise necessary to speeify, 
t>y what uwanA a present from a fair hand 1119 
rt'arh hin hrindlod mt^esty ; the place of his lea- 
dt'ucr lu'ini;; very unfit for a lady's personal appeir- 
«tna\ I am 

Vour nuvit ctmstant reader, and admirer, 

N. B.' 

* Draw Nrstor, 

* It is a well known proverb in cer- 
tain part of thii) kinij^dom, " Love me, love my 
iU^ ;* and I hope you will take it as a mark of my 
rt'Hpvct ihv your pei^son that I here bring a bit for 
your lion/ ***^ 

What tVillowsi Ikmuk secret history, it will be 
printed in other papers ; wherein the lion will pub- 
lisli his private iutelli]y|^'nce. SS* 


^ • 119. GUARDIAN. Ci7 

W. 119. TUESDAY, JULY 28, 1713. 

SU mihi HOR. 1 Sat iv. UU 

A band of poets to my aid 111 ciU. CREECH. 

There is nothing which more ahows the want of 
taste and discernment in a writer than the decrying 
of any author in gross ; especially of an author 
who has been the admiration of multitudes, and 
that too in several ages of the world. This how- 
ever is the general practice of all illiterate and un- 
distinguishing critics. Because Homer and Virgil 
and Sophocles have been commended by the learn- 
ed of all times^ every scribbler who has no relish 
of their beauties^ gives himself an air of rapture 
when he speaks of them. But as he praises these 
he knows not why, there are others wnom he de- 
preciates with the same t^iitomence, and upon the 
same account. We mav see after what a different 
manner Strada proceeds in his judgment on the 
Latin poets ; for I intend to publish, in this paper 
a contmuation of that prolusion which was the 
subject of the last Thursday.* I shall therefore 
give my reader a short account in prose of every 
poem which was produced in the learned assembly 
there described ; and if he is thoroughly conversant 
in the works of those ancient authors, he will see 
with how much judgment every suliject is adapted 

* See No» 1X5, and fbr tba coud^wi'^^* Wl. 

E « 3 

318 GUARDIAN. N* 119. 

to the poet who makes use of it, and with how 
much dehcacy ereiy particular poet's way of writ- 
ing is characterised in the censure that is passed 
upon it. Lucan's representative was the -first who 
recited before that au<nist assembly. As Locan 
was a Spaniard, his poem does honour to that 
nation, which at the same time makes the romantic 
bravery in the hero of it more probable. * 

Alphonso was the governor of a town invested 
by the Moors. During the blockade they made 
his only son their prisoner, whom they broi^ht 
before their walls, and exposed to his father's sight, 
threatening to put him to death, if he did not im- 
mediately give up the town. The father tells them 
if he had an hundred sons he would rather see 
them all perish, than do an ill action, or betray 
his country. ' But,* sap he, ' if you take a plea- 
sure in destroying the innocent, you may do it if 
{ou please: behold a sword for your purpose/ 
Ipon which he threw his sword from the wall, re- 
turned to his palace, and was able, at such a junc- 
ture, to sit down to the repast, which was prepared 
for him. He was soon raised by the shouts of the 
enemy, and the cries 'bf the besieged. Upon, re- 
turning again to the avails, he saw his son lying in 
the pangs of death; but far from betraying any 
weakness at such a spectacle, he upbraid his 
friends for their sorrow, and returns to finish his 

Upon the recital of this story, which is exqui- 
sitely drawn up in Lucan's spirit and language, the 
whole assembly declared their opinion of Lucan in 
a confused munnur. The poem was praised or 
censured according to the prejudices which every 
one had conceived in favour or disadvantage of the 
author. Tliese weie so n^\^ sgt^^x, \5aa.t some had 

N* 119 GVABDIAN. 319 

placed him in their opinions, above the highest, 
and others beneath the lowest of the Latin poets. 
Most of them however agreed, that Lucan's genius 
was wonderfully great, but at the same time too 
haughty and headstrong to be governed by art, 
and that his style was like his genius, learned, bold, 
and lively, but withal too tragical and blustering. 
fn a word ; that he chose rather a great than a just 
reputation ; to which they added, that he was the 
first of the Latin poets who deviated from the purity 
of the Roman language. 

The representative of Lucretius told the assem- 
bly, that they should soon be sensible of the dif- 
ference between a poet who was a native of Rome, 
and a stranger who had been adopted into it : afler 
which he entered upon his subject, which I find ex- 
hibited to my hand in a speculation of one of my 
predecessors. * 

Strada, in the person of Lucretius, gives an ac- 
count of a chimerical correspondence between two 
friends by the help of a certain loadstone, which 
had such a virtue in it, that if it touched two seve- 
ral needles, when one of the needles so touched 
began to move, the other, though at never so 
great a distance, moved at the same time, and in 
the same manner. He tells us, that two friends, 
being each of them possessed of one of these needles, 
made a kind of dial-plate, inscribing it with the 
four and twenty lettei s, in the same manner as the 
hours of the day are marked upon the ordinary dial- 
plate. Then they fixed one of the needles on each 
of these plates in such a manner that it could move 
round without impediment, so as to touch any of 
the four and twenty letters. Upon their separat- 

*See Spect. No. 241, by Addisoii, YiUo tti\\ft.%>SMai^^^^ 
pujiL-rapb verhsitim from hiinscU\ 

^0 GtJAEDlAN. ff* Ug. 

ing from one another into distant countries, they 
a^rreed to withdraw themselves punctually into their 
closets at a certain hour of the day« and to con- 
Terse with one another hy means of this their in- 
vention. Accordingly, when they were some hun- 
dred miles asunder, each of them shut himself up 
in his closet at the time appointed, and immediately 
cast his eyes upon his dial-plate. If he had a mind 
to write any thing to his friend, he directed hii 
netrdle to every letter that formed the words which 
he had occasion for, making a little pause at the 
end of every word or sentence to avoid confusion. 
The friend, in the mean while, saw his own sym- 
pathetic needle moving of itself to every letter, 
which that of his correspondent pointed at. By 
this means they talked together across a whole con- 
tinent, and conveyed their thoughts to one another 
in an instant over cities or mountains, seas or 

Tlie whole audience were pleased with the arti- 
fice of the poet who represented Lucretius, observ- 
ing very well how he had laid asleep their attention 
to the simplicity of his style in some of his verses, 
and to the want of harmony in others, by fixing 
their minds to the novelty of his subject, and to 
the experiment which he related. Without such 
an artifice they were of opinion that nothing would 
have sounded more harsh than Lucretius's diction 
and numbers. But it was plain that the more learn- 
ed part of the assembly were quite of another mind. 
These allowed that it was peculiar to Lucretius, above 
all other poets, to be always doing or teaching 
•omething, that no other style was so proper to 
teach in, or gave a greater pleasure to those who 
had a true relish for the Roman tongue. They 
added further, that if Lucretius had not been em- 

N 119. GUARDIAN. 321 

embarrassed with the difficulty of his matter, and a 
little led away by an affectation of antiquity, there 
could not have been any thing more perfect than 
his poem. 

Claudian succeeded Lucretius, having chosen for 
his subject the famous Contest between the nightin- 
gale and the lutanist, which every one is acquaint- 
ed with, especially since Mr. Philips has so finely ' 
improved that hint in one of his pastorals. 

He had no sooner finished but the assembly rung 
with acclamations made in his praise. His first 
beauty, which every one owned, was the great 
clearness and perspicuity which appeared in the 
plan of his poem. Others were wonderfiiDy charm- 
ed with the smoothness of his verse and the flow«> 
ing of his numbers, in which there were none of 
th^se elisions and cuttings off so frequent in the 
works of other poets. There were several however 
of a more refined judgment, who ridiculed that in* 
fusion of foreign phrases with which he had cor- 
rupted the Latin tonffue, and spoke with contempt 
of the equability of his numbers, that cloyed aod 
satiated me ear for want of variety : to which they 
likewise added, a frequent and unseasonable af- 
fectation of appearing sonorous and sublime. 

The sequel of this prolusion shall be the Work of 
{mother day."*^ 9^ 

* Se« Strada, ]ih. ii. ProL €. 

sea eUABDlAN. M* IflO. 

N' 190. WEDNESDAY, JULY 29, 1713. 

— ^NoUunf lovelier cut be found 
In wonuuiy than to study houhold good^ 
And good works in her husband to promote. 


* SIR, 

• As soon as you hare set up your unicorn,* there 
is no question but the ladies will make him push 
very furiously at the men ; for which reason I think 
it is good to be before-hand with them, and make 
the lion roar aloud at female irregularities. Among 
these, I wonder how their gaming has so long 
escaped your notice. You who converse with the 
sober family of the Lizards, are perhaps a stranger 
to these viragos ; but what would you say, should 
you see the Sparkler shaking her elbow for a whole 
night together, and thumping the table with a dice- 
box ? Or how would you like to hear the good 
widow-lady herself returning to her house at mid- 
night, and alarming the whole street with a most 
enormous rap, afler having sat up until that time 
at crimp, or ombre ? Sir, I am the husband of one 
of these female gamesters, and a great loser by it 
both in my rest, and my pocket. As my wife reads 
your papers, one upon this subject might be of use 
both to her, and 

Your humble Servant.* 

K* 120. OUABDIAN. 523 

I should ill deserve the name of Guardian^ did I 
not caution all my fair wards against a practice 
which when it runs to excess^ is the most shameful, 
but one, that the female world can fall into. The 
ill consequences of it are more than can be con* 
tained in this paper. However, that I may pro- 
ceed in method, I shall consider them; first, as 
they relate to the mind; secondly, as ihej relate 
to the body. 

Could we look into the mind of a female game- 
ster, we should see it full of nothing but trumps 
and mattadores. Her slumbers are haunted with 
kings, queens and knaves. The day lies heavy 
upon her until the play-season returns, when for 
half a dozen hours together all her faculties are 
employed in shuffling, cutting, dealing, and sort- 
ing out a pack of cards, and no ideas to be dis- 
covered in a soul which calls itself rational, except- 
ing little square figures of painted and spotted 
paper. Was the understanding, that divine part in 
our composition, given for such an use ? Is it thus 
that we improve the greatest talent human nature is 
endowed with ? What would a superior being think 
were he shown this intellectual faculty in a female^ 
gamester, and at the same time told, that it was 
by this she was distinguished from brutes, and allied 
to angels ? 

When our women thus fill their imaginations 
with pips and counters, I cannot wonder at the 
story I have lately heard of a new-bom child that 
was marked with the five of clubs. 

Their passions suffer no less by this practice than 
their understandings and imaginations. What hope 
and fear, joy and anger, sorrow and discontent, 
break out all at once in a fair assembly upon so 
noble an occasion as that of Vuxtvvtv«^ w^ ^ ^-^x^V 

524 GCABDIAN. K* 120 

Who can consider without a secret indignation that 
aD those affections of the mind which should be 
consecrated to their chihben, husbands and parents, 
are thus fikly prostituted and thrown away upon a 
hand at loo! For my own part, I cannot but be 
grieved when I see a fine woman fretting and bleed- 
ing inwardly from such triyial motives; when I 
behold the face of an angel agitated and discom- 
posed by the heart of a fury. 

Our minds are of such a make, that they naturally 
give themselves up to every diversion which they 
are much accustomed to ; and we always find that 
play, when fc^owed with assiduity, engrosses the 
whole woman. She quickly grows uneasy in her 
own family, takes but Uttle pleasure in all the 
domestic innocent endearments of life, and grows 
more fond of Pam, than of her husband. My 
friend Theophrastus, the best of husbands and of 
fathers, has often complained to me, with tears in 
his eyes, of the late hours he is forced to keep if he 
would enjoy his wife's conversation. * When she 
returns to me with joy in her face, it does not arise,' 
says he, ' from the sight of her husband, but from 
the good luck she has had at cards. On the con- 
trary/ says he, ' if she has been a loser, I am 
doubly a sufferer by it. She comes home out of 
humour, is angry with every body, displeased with 
all I can do or say, and in reality for no other rea- 
son, but because she has been throwing away my 
estate/ What charming bedfellows and companions 
for life are men likely to meet with that choose 
their wives out of such women of vogue and 
fashion! What a race of worthies, what patriots, 
what heroes, must we expect from mothers of thi* 
make ? 

N**120. GUAEDUN. 325 

I come in the next place to consider the ill con- 
sequences which gaming has on the bodies of our 
female adventurers. It is so ordered that almost 
every thing which corrupts the soul decays the 
body. The beauties of the face and mind are 
generally destroyed by the same means. Tiiis con- 
sideration should have a particular weight with the 
female world, who were designed to please the eye 
and attract the regards of the other half of the 
species. Now there is nothing that wears out a 
fine face like the vigils of the card-table, and those 
cutting passions which naturally attend them. Hol- 
low eyes, hagard looks, and pale complexions^ are 
the natural indications of a female gamester. Her 
morning sleeps are not able to repair her midnight 
watchings. I have known a woman carried off half- 
dead from bassette ; and have many a time grieved 
to see a person ofquality gliding by me in her chair 
at two o'clock in Hhe * morning, and looking hke* a 
spectre amidst a glare of flambeau^. In short, I 
never knew a thorough-paced female gamester hold 
her beauty two winters together. 

But there is still another case in which the body 
is more endangered than in the former. All play- 
debts must be paid in specie, or by an equivalent. 
The man that plays beyond his income pawns his 
estate ; the woman must find out something else to 
mortgage, when her pin-money is gone. The 
husband has his lands to dispose of, the wife her 
person. Now when the female body is once dip- 
ped, if the creditor be very importunate, I leave 
my reader to consider the consequences. 

VOL. XVII. t i 

326 «^UARDIAK If* 1SJ« 

N* 121. THURSDAY, JULY 30, 1713. 

Hmc eteoiMttri gemiiuM, ir^ifue ieoman, 

YIRO. iEn. m II. 

Hence to oor ew the roar of Iiobb came- 


' Ever since the first notice you gave of the 
erection of that useful monument of yours in But- 
ton's coffee-house^ 1 have had a restless amhition 
to imitate the renowned London Prentice, and 
boldly venture my hand down the tbroftt of your 
lion. The subject of this letter is the relation of a 
club whereof' I am member, and which has made a 
considerable noise of late, I mean the Silent club. 
The year of our institution is 1694, the number of 
members twelve, and the place of our meeting is 
Dumb*s-alley, in Holborn. We look upon our- 
selves as the relics of the old Pythagoreans, and 
have this maxim in common with them, which is 
.the foundation of our design, that " Talking spoiU 
company/* The president of our society is one 
who was born deaf and dumb, and owes tliat bles- 
sing to nature, which in the rest of us is owing to 
industry alone. I find upon inquiry, that the 
greater part of us ate va^xtv^d men, and such whose 
wives are remarkabVy Vom^ ^v Vwskfc. ^ftj^Jcftx we 
% for refuge, and enio^ ^^. owc^ ^^ v^^ ^^^^^«w\. 

N 121. GUARDIAN. S27 

and most valuable blessingSj company and retire- 
ment. When that eminent relation of yours, the 
Spectator, published his weekly papers, and gave 
us that remarkable account of his silence (for you 
must know, though we do not read, yet we in- 
spect all such useful essays) we seemed unanimous 
to invite him to partake our secrecy, but it was un- 
luckily objected, tliat he had just then published a 
discourse of his at his own club, and had not arrived 
to that happy inactivity of the tongue, which we ex- 
pected from a man of his understanding. You wi^ 
wonder, perhaps, how we managed this debate; 
but it will be easily accounted for, when I tell you 
that our fingers are as nimble, and as infallible in- 
terpreters of our thoughts, as other men's tongues 
are ; yet even this mechanic eloquence is only al- 
lowed upon the weightiest occasions. We admire 
the wise institutions of the Turks, and other Eastern 
nations, where all commands are performed by of- 
ficious mutes ; and we wonder that the polite 
courts of Christendom should come so far short of 
the magesty of barbarians. Ben Johnson has gained 
an eternal reputation among us by his play called 
The Silent Woman. Every member here is another 
Morose^ while the club is sittinfi;, but at home 
may talk as much and as fast as his family occa- 
sions require, without breach of statute. The ad- 
vantages we find from this quaker-like assembly 
are many. We consider, that the understanding 
of a man is liable to mistakes, and his will fond of 
contradictions ; that disputes, which are of no 
weight in themselves, are often very considerable 
in their effects. Tlie disuse of the tongue is the 
only efiectual remedy against these. All party 

* The name of a character in the Silent Woman. 

3S8 ^uabdian; n"" 121. 

coiioenis> all private scandal, all insults over an- 
other man's weaker reasons, must there be lost, 
where no dilutes arise. Another advantage which 
follows from the first (and which is very rarely to 
he met with) is, that we are all upon the same 
level in conversation. A wag of my acquaintance 
used to add a third, viz. that if ever we do debate, 
we are sure to have aU our arguments at our fingers 
ends. Of all Longinus's remarks, we are most en- 
amoured with that excellent passage, where he 
mentions Ajax's silence as one of the noblest in- 
stances of the subUme ; and, if you will allow me 
to be free with a namesake of yours, I should think 
that the everiasting story-teller Nestor,* had he 
been likened to the ass instead of our hero, he had 
sufiered less by the comparison. 

' I have already described the practice and sen- 
timents of this society, and shall but barely men- 
tion the report of the neighbourhood, that 'we are 
not only as mute as fishes, but that we drink like 
fishes too; that we are like the Welshman's owl, 
though we do not sing, we pay it ofi* with thinking. 
Others take us for an assembly of disaffected per- 
sons ; nay, their zeal to the government has car- 
ried them so far as to send, last week, a party of 
constables to surprize us. You may easily imagine 
how exactly we represented the Roman senators of 
old, sitting with majestic silence, and undaunted 
at the approach of an army of Gauls. If you ap- 
prove of our undertaking, you need not declare it 
to the world; your silence shall be interpreted as 
consent given to the honourable body of Mutes, 
and in particular to 

Your humble servant, Ned Mum. 

* Meaning the character exhibited nodcr the name «f 
Nntor in Homer'i Poemi, 

I. ' 

K 1^1« OtARDIAN. 91^ 

' P. S. We have had but one word spoken since 
the foundation, for which the memher was expelled 
by the old Roman custom of bending back the 
thumb. He had just received the news of the bat*^' 
tie of Hochstet, and being too impatient to com« 
municate his joy, was unfortunately betrayed into 
a lapsus lingua. We acted on the principles of the 
Eoman Manlius, and though we approved of the 
cause of his error as just, we condemned the eflPect 
as a manifest violation ot his duty/ 

I never could have thought a dumb man would 
have roared so well out of my lion's mouth. My 
next pretty correspondent, lie Shakspeare's lion 
ii) Py ramus and Thisbe, roars and it were any 

' MR. IRONSIDE, Jft^ 28, 1713. 

I WAS afraid at first you were only 
in jest, and had a mind to expose our nakedness 
lor tJie diversion of the town ; but since I see that 
you are in good earnest, and have infaUibility of 
your side, I cannot forbear returning my thanks to 
you for the care you take of us, having a friend who 
hiis promised me to give my letters to the lion, 
until we can communicate our thoughts to you 
through our own proper vehicle. Now you must 
know, dear sir, that if you do not take care to 
suppress this exorbitant growth of the female chest, 
all that is left of my waist must inevital^y perish. 
It is at this time reduced to the depth of four inches, 
by what I have already made over to iny neck. 
But if the stripping design mentioned by Mn. Fig* 
leaf yesterday should t^ effect, sir, I dread to 
think. what it will come to. In short, there b no 
help for it, my girdle and all must ga This b the 
naked truth of t£& matter. Have pit^ o\k ^BQft.^2B«&Qh^ 

530 OOARDIAK. M'' 192. 

my dear Guardian, and preserve me from being 'ai 
inhumanly exposed. I do assure you that I follow 
your precepts as much as a young woman can, who 
will hre in the world without being laughed at. I 
have no hooped petticoat, and when I am a matron 
will wear broad tuckers whether you succeed or no. 
If the flying project takes, I intend to be the last in 
wings, being resolved in every thing to behave my- 
self as becomes 
t:^. Your most obedient Ward.' 

N" 122. FRIDAY, JULY 13, 1713. 

Nee magiM exprari rulha per ahenem rigna, 

HOR. i. Ep. it 948. 


Not with such majes^, such bold relief, 

The forms august, of king, or conqu*riug chief, 

Fer swell'd on marble. POPE. 

That I may get out of debt with the public as fast 
as I can, I shall here give them the remaining part 
of Strada's criticism on the Latin heroic poets 
My readers may see the whole work in the three 
papers numbered 115, 119, 122. Those who are 
acquainted with the authors themselves cannot but 
be pleased to see them so justly represented ; and 
BM JOt those who \vacie ivexec i^eruaed the original^ 

M* 12^.' GiTAimiAK. ^ 5S'f: 

they may form a judgment of them from such accu-^^' 
rate and entertaining copies. The whole piece will- 
show al least how a man of genius (and none eke 
should call himself a critic) can make the driest art 
a pleasing amusement. 

The Sequel of Strada^s Prolusion, lib, it, proL 6. 

The poet who personated Ovid, gives an account 
of the chryso-magnet> or of the load-stone which-, 
attracts eold, after the same manner as the com* 
mon load-stone attracts iron, llie author, that ha 
might express Ovid's way of thinking, derives this- 
virtue to the chryso-magnet from a poetical meta- 

' As I was sitting by a well/ says he, * when I 
was a boy, my ring dropped into it, when im-- 
mediately my father fastening a certain stone to 
the end of a line, let it down into the well. It no 
sooner touched the surface of the water, but the 
ring leaped up from the bottom, and clung to it in 
such a manner, that he drew it out like a fish. My 
father seeing me wonder at the experiment, gave 
me tlie ioUowiiig account of it. When Deucalion 
and Pyrrha went about the world to repair mankind 
by throwing stones over their heads; the men who 
rose from them differed in their inclinations ac- 
cording to the places on which the stones fell. 
Those which fell in the fields became plourmen and 
shepherds. Those which fell into the water pro- 
duced sailors and fishermen. Those that fell among 
the woods and forests gave birth to huntsmen 
Among the rest there were several that fell upon 
mountains that had mines of gold and silver in 
them. This last race of men immediately betook 
themselves to the search of these preciouii vQfi.<»U\ 

S3d cuAJioiAir« H* 1«« 

but nature beins^ di^leased to see herseff ransack** 
cd, withdrew th^ her treasures towards the centa 
of the earth. The aTarice of man however per* 
Ailed in its former }NirEuits, and ransacked her in* 
most bowels in quest of the ridiea which they con- 
tained. Nature seeing herself thus plundered by a 
swarm of miners^ was so highly incensed, that she 
•hook the whde place with an earthquake, and 
buried the men under their own works. The 
Stygian flames which lay in the neighbourhood of 
thrse deep mines^ broke out at the same time with 
great fury, burning up the whole mass of human 
limbs and earth, until they were hardened and 
baked into stone. The human bodies that were 
delving in iron mines were converted into those 
common loadstones which attract that mefal. 
Those which were in search of gold became chryao- 
mag^nets, and still keep their former avarice in their 
present state of petrifaction.' 

0>*id had no sooner given over speaking, but the 
assembly pronounced their opinions of him. Seve- 
ral were so taken with his easy way of writing, and 
had so formed their tastes upon it, that they had 
no relish for any composition which was not framed 
in the Ovidian manner. A great many howaer 
were of a contrary opinion ; until at length it wa5 
determinated by a plurality of voices, that Ovid 
highly deserved the name of a witty man, but that 
his lani^imge was vulgar and trivial, and of the 
nature -of those things which cost no labour in the 
invention, but are ready found out to a man's 
hand. In the last place they all agreed, that the 
greatest objection which lay against Ovid, both as 
to his life and writings, was his having too much 
wit, and that he would have succeeded better in 
fcoth, had he xaXVv^x: ^^^OisA. \ikaii indulged it. 

N* fi2I. GUARDlAi^. S33 

Statius Btood up next with a swelling and haughty 
air, and made the following story the subject of his 

A German and a Portuguese, whent Vienna wai 
besieged, having had frequent contests of rivalry^ 
were preparing for a single duel, when on a sudden 
the walls were attacked by the enemy. Upon this 
both the German and Portuguese consented to sacri- 
fice their private resentments to the public, and to 
see who could signalize himself most upon the com* 
mon foe. Each of them aid wonders in repelling 
the enemy from different parts of the wall. The 
German was at len^h engaged amidst a whole army 
of Turks until his left arm that held the shield was 
unfortunately lopped off, and he himself so stunned 
with a blow he had received, that he fell down as 
dead. The Portuguese seeing the condition of his 
rival, very generously flew to his succour, dis- 
persed the multitude that were gathered about him^ 
and fought over him as he lay upon the ground. 
In the mean while the German recovered from his 
trance, and rose up to the assistance of the Por- 
tug^iese, who a little after had his right arm, which 
held his sword, cut off by the blow of a sabre. He 
would have lost his life at the same time by a spear 
which was aimed at his back, had not the Grerman 
slain the person who was aiming at him. These 
two competitors for fame having received such 
mutual obligations, now fought in conjunction, and 
as the one was only able to manage the sword, and 
the other a shield, made up but one warrior be-^ 
twixt them. The Portuguese covered the German, 
while the German dealt destruction among the ene- 
my. At length finding themselves faint with loss of 
blood, and resolving to perish nobly, they advanced 
to the most shattered part of the vi^, «xA •'icR^^ 


S34 OUAEDIAH. M* 122. 

tbeniBelres down, with a huge firagment of it, upon 
the heads of the besiegers. 

When Statins ceased, the old factions imme- 
diately broke out concerning bis manner of writ- 
ing. Some g^ve him very loud acclamations, such 
as he had received in his hfe-time, declaring him 
the only man who had written in a style which was 
truly heroical, and that he was above all others in 
his fame as well as in his diction. Others censured 
him as one who went beyond all bounds in hit 
images and expressions, laughing, at the cruelty of 
his conceptions, the rumbling of his numbers, and 
the dreadiul pomp and bombast of his egressions. 
There were however a few select judges who mode- 
rated between both these extremes, and pronounced 
upon Statius, that there appeared in his style much 
poetical heat and fire, but withal so much smoke 
as sullied the brightness of it That there was a 
majesty in his verse, but that it was the majesty 
rather of a tyrant than of a king. That he was 
oftcQ towering among the clouds, but often met 
with the fate of Icarus. In a word, that Statius 
was among the poet**, what Alexander the Great is 
among heroes, a man of great virtues and of great 

Virgil was the last of the ancient poets who pro- 
duced himself upon this occasion. His subject was 
the story of Theutilla,* which being so near that 
of Judith in all its circumstances, and at the same 
time translated by a very ingenious gentleman in 
one of Mr. Dryden's Miscellanies, I shall here 
give no further account of it. When he had done, 
the whole assembly declared the works of this great 

* The rape of Thcutilla, imitated from the LatiD of Faniisa 
StndsL. By Mr. TVu^m^ \«li«u« 




poet a subject rather for their admiration than for 
their applause, and that if any thing was wanting 
in VirgiPs poetry, it was to be ascribed to a de- 
ficiency in the art itself, and not in the genius of 
this g^eat man. There were however some envi- 
ous murmurs and detractions heard among the 
crowd, as if there were very frequently verses in 
him which flagged or wanted spirit, and were rather 
to be looked upon as faultless than beautiful. But 
these injudicious censures were heard with a gene- 
ral indignation. 

I need not observe to my learned reader, that 
the foregoing story of the German and Portuguese 
is almost the same in every particular with that of 
the two rival soldiers in Csesar's Commentaries. 
This prolusion ends with the performance of an 
Italian poet full of those little witticisms and con- 
ceits which have infected the greatest part of mo- 
dern poetry. t^. 


J. M^Crebry, Printer* 
Bfaick. Horse-conrti Fleet-Street. 

*. .;•'