V so

the used by none but pedants in our own country; first and at the same time fill their writings with such poor imaginations and conceits, as our youths are ashamed of, before they have been two years at hich the university. Some may be apt to think that it the is the difference of genius which produces this difugh, ference in the works of the two nations; but to put show that there is nothing in this, if we look into rtin the writings of the old Italians, such as Cicero and ugh Virgil, we shall find that the English writers, in their way of thinking and expressing themselves, ted resemble those authors much more than the modern this Italians pretend to do. And as for the poet himtors, self, from whom the dreams of this opera* are im- taken, I must entirely agree with Monsieur Boiosed léau, that one verse in Virgil is worth all the clinprise quant or tinsel of Tasso.




But to return to the sparrows: there have been ging so many flights of them let loose in this opera, that d in it is feared the house will never get rid of them; have and that in other plays they may make their entrance in very wrong and improper scenes, so as From to be seen flying in a lady's bed-chamber, or perchable ing upon a king's throne; besides the inconvehean niences which the heads of the audience may somenent times suffer from them. I am credibly informed, o is that there was once a design of casting into an and opera the story of Whittington and his Cat+, and upon that in order to it, there had been got together a nuch great quantity of mice; but Mr. Rich, the proI en-prietor of the playhouse, very prudently considered at a that it would be impossible for the cat to kill them ould all, and that consequently the princes of the stage end- might be as much infested with mice, as the prince at he of the island was before the cat's arrival upon it; e he for which reason he would not permit it to be acted in his house. And indeed I cannot blame him: very for, as he said very well upon that occasion, I do ts of not hear that any of the performers in our opera ns of pretend to equal the famous pied piper‡, who e ar- made all the mice of a great town in Germany poor follow his music, and by that means cleared the s re- place of those little noxious animals.

ano.) Before I dismiss this paper, I must inform my find reader, that I hear there is a treaty on foot beart, tween London and Wise (who will be appointed f the gardeners of the playhouse) to furnish the opera of Rinaldo and Armida with an orange-grove; and shall that the next time it is acted, the singing birds lines will be personated by tom-tits: the undertakers to di being resolved to spare neither pains nor money borto for the gratification of the audience.

I con



entle * Rinaldo, an opera, by Aaron Hill.

ough rtive

+ See No 14; and Tat. No 78.

The records of Hamelen, an ancient city on the banks e the of the Weser, give an account of a strange accident which befel them, on the 26th of June, 1284.

15808.' 'Being at that time much pestered with rats, which they andel could by no means destroy, a stranger at last undertook it, n the on the promise of reward; and immediately taking a tabret this and pipe, the rats followed his music to the river, where they were all drowned; but, being denied his reward, he left the vhose town in a rage, and threatened revenge: accordingly he The returned next year, and by the same music enticed most of odern the children of the town after him to the mouth of a great cave on the top of a neighbouring hill called Koppelberg, m of where he and they entered, but were never more heard of. In remembrance of this sad accident, the citizens, for many years after, dated all their public writings from the day they lost their children, as appears by many old deeds and records. They still call the street through which the chilen he dren passed, Tabret Street; and at the mouth of the cave (now there is a monument of stone, with an inscription, in barbathea- rous Latin verse, giving an account.of this tragical story, Euro- by which the citizens lost 130 boys.'

5 are

The queen's gardeners.

N° 6. WEDNESDAY, MARCH 7, 1710-11.

Credebant hoe grande nefas, et morte piandum,
Si juvenis vetulo non ascurrexerat-

JUV. Sat. xiii. 54.
"Twas impious then (so much was age rever'd)
For youth to keep their seats when an old man appear'd.
I KNOW no evil under the sun so great as the
abuse of the understanding, and yet there is no one
vice more common. It has diffused itself through
both sexes, and all qualities of mankind; and there
is hardly that person to be found, who is not more
concerned for the reputation of wit and sense, than
of honesty and virtue. But this unhappy affecta-
tion of being wise rather than honest, witty than
good-natured, is the source of most of the ill habits
of life. Such false impressions are owing to the
abandoned writings of men'of wit, and the awk-
ward imitation of the rest of mankind.

For this reason Sir Roger was saying last night, that he was of opinion none but men of fine parts deserve to be hanged. The reflections of such men are so delicate upon all occurrences which they are concerned in, that they should be exposed to more than ordinary infamy and punishment, for offending against such quick admonitions as their own souls give them, and blunting the fine edge of their minds in such a manner, that they are no more shocked at vice and folly than men of slower capacities. There is no greater monster in being, than a very ill man of great parts. He lives like a man in a palsy, with one side of him dead. While perhaps he enjoys the satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, of ambition, he has lost the taste of good-will, of friendship, of innocence. Scarecrow, the beggar in Lincoln's-Inn Fields, who disabled himself in his right leg, and asks alms all day to get himself a warm supper and a trull at night, is not half so despicable a wretch as such a man of sense. The beggar has no relish above sensations; he finds rest more agreeable than motion; and while he has a warm fire and his doxy, never reflects that he deserves to be whipped. Every man who terminates his satisfactions and enjoyments within the supply of his own necessities and passions, is, says Sir Roger, in my eye, as poor a rogue as Scarecrow. * But,' continued he, for the loss of public and private virtue we are beholden to your men of fine parts forsooth; it is with them no matter what is done, so it be done with an air. But to me, who am so whimsical in a corrupt age as to act according to nature and reason, a selfish man, in the most shining circumstance and equipage, appears in the same condition with the fellow above mentioned, but more contemptible in proportion to what more he robs the public of, and enjoys above him. I lay it down therefore for a rule, that the whole man is to move together; that every action of any importance, is to have a prospect of public good; and that the general tendency of our indifferent actions ought to be agreeable to the dictates of reason, of religion, of good-breeding; without this, a man, as I have before hinted, is hopping instead of walking, he is not in his entire and proper motion.'

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instead of that, you see, it is often subservient to it; and, as unaccountable as one would think it, a wise man is not always a good man.' This degeneracy is not only the guilt of particular persons, but also at some times of a whole people; and perhaps it may appear, upon examination, that the most polite ages are the least virtuous. This may be attributed to the folly of admitting wit and learning as merit in themselves, without considera ing the application of them. By this means it becomes a rule, not so much to regard what we do, as how we do it. But this false beauty will not pass upon men of honest minds, and true taste. Sir Richard Blackmore says, with as much good sense as virtue, It is a mighty shame and dishonour to employ excellent faculties and abundance of wit, to humour and please men in their vices and follies. The great enemy of mankind, notwithstanding his wit and angelic faculties, is the most odious being in the whole creation.' He goes on soon af ter to say very generously, that he undertook the writing of his poem*, 'to rescue the Muses out of the hands of ravishers, to restore them to their sweet and chaste mansions, and to engage them in an employment suitable to their dignity.' This certainly eught to be the purpose of every man who appears in public; and whoever does not proceed upon that foundation, injures his country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When modesty ceases to be the chief ornament of one sex, and integrity of the other, society is upon a wrong basis, and we shall be ever after without rules to guide our judgment in what is really becoming and ornamental. Nature and reason direct one thing, passion and humour another. To follow the dictates of these two latter, is going into a road that is both endless and intricate; when we pursue the other, our passage is delightful, and what we aim at easily attainable.

I do not doubt but England is at present as polite a nation as any in the world; but any man who thinks can easily see, that the affectation of being gay and in fashion has very near eaten up our good sense and our religion. Is there any thing so just, as that mode and gallantry should be built upon exerting ourselves in what is proper and agreeable to the institutions of justice and piety among us? And yet is there any thing more common, than that we run in perfect contradiction to them? All which is supported by no other pretension, than that it is done with what we call a good grace.

Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming, but what nature itself should prompt us to think so. Respect to all kind of superiors is founded, I think, upon instinct; and yet what is so ridiculous as age? I make this abrupt transition to the mention of this vice more than any other, in order to introduce a little story, which I think a pretty instance, that the most polite age is in danger of being the most vicious.

It happened at Athens, during a public representation of some play exhibited in honour of the commonwealth, that an old gentleman came too late for a place suitable to his age and quality. Many of the young gentlemen who observed the difficulty and confusion he was in, made signs to him that they would accommodate him if he came where they sat. The good man bustled through While the honest knight was thus bewildering the crowd accordingly; but when he came to the himself in good starts, I looked attentively upon seats to which he was invited, the jest was to sit him, which made him, I thought, collect his mind a close and expose him, as he stood, out of countęlittle. What I am at,' says he, is to represent,nance, to the whole audience. The frolic went that I am of opinion, to polish our understandings, round the Athenian benches. But on those occaand neglect our manners, is of all things the most sions there were also particular places assigned for inexcusable. Reason should govern passion, but

* Creation.

ds was some traditionary superstition in it; and at therefore, in obedience to the lady of the house, I up disposed of my knife and fork in two parallel ed lines, which is the figure I shall always lay them ly in for the future, though I do not know any reaeir son for it.

nd It is not difficult for a man to see that a person er- has conceived an aversion to him. For my own c-part, I quickly found, by the lady's looks, that

she regarded me as a very odd kind of fellow, with an unfortunate aspect. For which reason I took my leave immediately after dinner, and withdrew to my own lodgings. Upon my return home I fell into a profound contemplation on the evils that attend these superstitious follies of mankind; how they subject us to imaginary afflictions, and additional sorrows, that do not properly come within our lot. As if the natural calamities of life were not sufficient for it, we turn the most indifferent circumstances into misfortunes, and suffer as much from trifling accidents as from real evils. I have known the shooting of a star spoil a night's rest; ery and have seen a man in love grow pale, and lose of his appetite, upon the plucking of a merrythought. nge A screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a family aid more than a band of robbers; nay, the voice of a eir cricket hath struck more terror than the roaring of ved a lion. There is nothing so inconsiderable, which h I may not appear dreadful to an imagination that is ard filled with omens and prognostics. A rusty nail, or ner a crooked pin, shoot up into prodigies.


e a

I remember I was once in a mixt assembly, that her was full of noise and mirth, when on a sudden an was old woman unluckily observed there were thirteen hey of us in company. The remark struck a panic the terror into several who were present, insomuch go that one or two of the ladies were going to leave she, the room; but a friend of mine, taking notice that egin one of our female companions was big with child, ster affirmed there were fourteen in the room, and that, ect- instead of portending one of the company should and die, it plainly foretold one of them should be born. as a Had not my friend found this expedient to break st of the omen, I question not put half the women in er a the company would have fallen sick that very did night.

that An old maid that is troubled with the vapours, edi- produces infinite disturbances of this kind among pon her friends and neighbours. I know a maiden con- aunt of a great family, who is one of these antiself, quated Sybils, that forebodes and prophesies from ught one end of the year to the other. She is always ver, seeing apparitions, and hearing death-watches; her and was the other day almost frighted out of her ever wits by the great house-dog that howled in the tan stable, at a time when she lay ill of the tooth-ach. nore Such an extravagant cast of mind engages multiaself tudes of people, not only in impertinent terrors, ours but in supernumerary duties of life; and arises ild,' from that fear and ignorance which are natural to fter- the soul of man. The horror with which we enter

the tain the thoughts of death (or indeed of any future next evil), and the uncertainty of its approach, fill a Al- melancholy mind with innumerable apprehensions re I and suspicions, and consequently dispose it to the dis-observation of such groundless prodigies and premy dictions. For as it is the chief concern of wise , the men to retrench the evils of life by the reasonings and of philosophy; it is the employment of fools to , de-multiply them by the sentiments of superstition. For my own part, I should be very much trouside bled were I endowed with this divining quality, had though it should inform me truly of every thing there that can befal me. I would not anticipate the

is to


relish of any happiness, nor feel the weight of any misery, before it actually arrives.

I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these gloomy presages and terrors of mind, and that is, by securing to myself the friendship and protection of that Being who disposes of events, and governs futurity. He sees, at one view, the whole thread of any existence, not only that, part of it which I have already passed through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity. When I lay me down to sleep, 1 recommend myself to his care: when I wake, I give myself up to his directions. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help, | and question not but he will either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it; because I ¦ am sure that he knows them both, and that he will not fail to comfort and support me under them.' G.


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servation, especially since the persons it is cor posed of are criminals too considerable for ti animadversions of our society. I mean, sir, ti Midnight Mask, which has of late been frequent held in one of the most conspicuous parts of th town, and which I hear will be continued with a ditions and improvements*. As all the perso who compose this lawless assembly are maske we dare not attack any of them in our way, le we should send a woman of quality to Bridewel or a peer of Great Britain to the Counter; b sides that their numbers are so very great, that am afraid they would be able to rout our who fraternity, though we were accompanied with a our guard of constables. Both these reason which secure them from our authority, make the obnoxious to yours; as both their disguise and the numbers will give no particular person reason think himself affronted by you.

If we are rightly informed, the rules that a observed by this new society are wonderfully co trived for the advancement of cuckoldom. The w men either come by themselves, or are introduced b friends who are obliged to quit them, upon their fir entrance, to the conversation of any body that ac dresses himself to them. There are several room where the parties may retire, and, if they pleas show their faces by consent. Whispers, squeeze nods, and embraces, are the innocent freedoms the place. In short, the whole design of this lib dinous assembly seems to terminate in assignation and intrigues; and I hope you will take effectua methods, by your public advice and admonitions, t prevent such a promiscuous multitude of both sexe from meeting together in so clandestine a mauner 1 am Your humble servant, ⚫ and fellow-labourer,

'T. B.

Not long after the perusal of this letter I re the date and style of it, I take to be written by ceived another upon the same subject; which, by some young Templar:


Middle Temple, 1710-11.

I AM one of the directors of the society for the reformation of manners, and therefore think myself a proper person for your correspondence. I have thoroughly examined the present state of religion in Great Britain, and am able to acquaint you with the predominant vice of every market-WHEN a man has been guilty of any vice or town in the whole island. I can tell you the pro- folly, I think the best atonement he can make for gress that virtue has made in all our cities, bo- it, is to warn others not to fall into the like. In roughs, and corporations; and know as well the order to this I must acquaint you, that some time evil practices that are committed, in Berwick or in February last I went to the Tuesday's masqueExeter, as what is done in my own family. In a rade. Upon my first going in I was attacked by word, sir, I have my correspondents in the remotest half a dozen female quakers, who seemed willing parts of the nation, who send me up punctual ac- to adopt me for a brother; but, upon a neares counts from time to time of all the little irregu- examination, I found they were a sisterhood of larities that fall under their notice in their several coquettes, disguised in that precise habit. I was districts and divisions. soon after taken out to dance, and, as I fancied by a woman of the first quality, for she was very tall, and moved gracefully. As soon as the minuet was over, we ogled one another through our masks; and as I am very well read in Waller, 1 repeated to her the four following verses out of his poem to Vandyke:

I am no less acquainted with the particular quarters and regions of this great town, than with the different parts and distributions of the whole nation. I can describe every parish by its inpieties, and can tell you in which of our streets lewdness prevails; which gaming has taken the possession of, and where drunkenness has got the better of them both. When I am disposed to raise a fine for the poor, I know the lanes and alleys that are inhabited by common swearers, When I would encourage the hospital of Bridewell, and improve the hempen manufacture, I am very well acquainted with all the haunts and resorts of female night-walkers.

• After this short account of myself, I must let you know, that the design of this paper is to give you information of a certain irregular assembly, which I think falls very properly under your ob

"The heedless lover does not know
Whose eyes they are that wound him so;
But confounded with thy art,

Inquires her name that has his heart."

I pronounced these words with such a languishing air, that I had some reason to conclude I had made a conquest. She told me that she hoped my face was not akin to my tongue, and looking upon her watch, I accidentally discovered the figure of a coronet on the back part of it. I was so trans

* See Nos. 14 and 101.

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Every one has heard of the club, or rather the nconfederacy, of the Kings. This grand alliance n was formed a little after the return of King Charles the Second, and admitted into it men of I all qualities and professions, provided they agreed at in the surname of King, which, as they imagined, r-sufficiently declared the owners of it to be altogeether untainted with republican and anti-monarchical principles.

d A christian name has likewise been often used as is a badge of distinction, and made the occasion of a s- club. That of the George's, which used to meet at to the sign of the George, on St. George's day, and swear Before George,' is still fresh in every one's memory.

There are at present in several parts of this city what they call Street-clubs, in which the chief inhabitants of the street converse together every in night. I remember, upon my inquiring after lodgillings in Ormond-street, the landlord, to recomht mend that quarter of the town, told me there was

at that time a very good club in it; he also told me, upon further discourse with him, that two or three noisy country squires, who were settled there the year before, had considerably sunk the price of house-rent; and that the club (to prevent the like inconveniences for the future) had thoughts of taking every house that became vacant into their own hands, till they had found a tenant for it, of a sociable nature and good conversation.

The Hum Drum club, of which I was formerly an unworthy member, was made up of very honest gentlemen of peaceable dispositions, that used to n- sit together, smoke their pipes, and say nothing c till midnight. The Mum club (as I am informed) to is an institution of the same nature, and as great an enemy to noise.



set After these two innocent societies, I cannot forar, bear mentioning a very mischievous one, that was res erected in the reign of King Charles the Second; ce I mean the club of Duellists, in which none was to be admitted that had not fought his man. The n, president of it was said to have killed half a dozen ot in single combat; and as for the other members, er- they took their seats according to the number of to their slain. There was likewise a side table, for ere such as had only drawn blood, and shown a lauaddable ambition of taking the first opportunity to ite qualify themselves for the first table. This club, If consisting only of men of honour, did not continue his long, most of the members of it being put to the as sword, or hanged, a little after its institution. Our modern celebrated clubs are founded upon g- eating and drinking, which are points wherein re- most men agree, and in which the learned and ilve literate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and if the buffoon, can all of them bear a part. The Kit-Cat itself is said to have taken its original





*This club, consisting of the most distinguished wits and ld statesmen among the Whigs, met in Shire-lane, and was named from a pastry-cook (Christopher Cat), who was famous for making mutton-pies, which constantly formed a in- part of their refreshment. The portraits of its members, the done by Sir Godfrey Kneller, were all at Barnes, in the possession of the late Mr. Jacob Tonson, whose father was secretary to the club. From Mr. Tonson's, they have since become, by inheritance, the property of William Baker, Esq. In order so adapt them to the height of the clubroom, the pictures were painted of a size less than a whole, and larger than a half length, admitting only one arm; and hence all pictures of that size have since been called Kit Cats.





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