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reparation for past injuries, and the only favour he could do him, to rescue him from the ignominy of the wheel by stabbing him. As he is going to make this dreadful request, he is not able to communicate it; but withdraws his face from his friend's ear, and bursts into tears. The melancholy silence that follows hereupon, and continues until he has recovered himself enough to reveal his mind to his friend, raises in the spectators a grief that is inexpressible, and an idea of such a complicated distress in the actor, as words cannot utter. It would look as ridiculous to many readers, to give rules and directions for proper silences, as for penning a whisper:' but it is certain, that in the extremity of most passions, particularly surprise, admiration, astonishment, nay, rage itself, there is nothing more graceful than to see the play stand still for a few moments, and the audience fixed in an agreeable suspense, during the silence of a skilful actor.

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But silence never shows itself to so great an advantage, as when it is made the reply to calumny and defamation, provided that we give no just occasion for them. We might produce an example of it in the behaviour of one, in whom it appeared in all its majesty, and one, whose silence, as well as his person, was altogether divine. When one considers this subject only in its sublimity, this great instance could not but occur to me; and since I only make use of it to show the highest example of it, I hope I do not offend in it. To forbear replying to an unjust reproach, and overlook it with a generous, or, if possible, with an entire neglect of it, is one of the most heroic acts of a great mind: and, I must confess, when I reflect upon the behaviour of some of the greatest men in antiquity, I do not so much admire them, that they deserved the praise of the whole age they lived in, as because they contemned the envy and detraction of it.

I must not close my discourse upon silence without informing my reader, that I have by me an elaborate treatise on the aposiopesis called an et cætera; it being a figure much used by some learned authors, and particularly by the great Littleton, who, as my lord chief justice Coke observes, had a most admirable talent at an &c.


To oblige the pretty fellows, and my fair readers, I have thought fit to insert the whole passage above-mentioned relating to Dido, as it is translated by Mr. Dryden.*

Not far from thence, the mournful fields appear;
So call'd from lovers that inhabit there.
The souls, whom that unhappy flame invades,
In secret solitude, and myrtle shades,
Make endless moans; and, pining with desire,
Lament too late their unextinguish'd fire.
Here Procris, Eriphyle here, he found
Baring her breast, yet bleeding with the wound
Made by her son. He saw Pasiphac there,
With Phædra's ghost, a foul incestuous pair:
There Laodamia with Evadne moves:
Unhappy both; but loyal in their loves.
Coenens, a woman once, and once a man;
But ending in the sex she first began.
Not far from these Phenician Dido stood;
Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath'd in blood
Whom, when the Trojan hero hardly knew,
Obscure in shades, and with a doubtful view,
(Doubtful as he who runs thro' dosky night,
Or thinks he sees the moon's uncertain light,)
With tears he first approach'd the sullen shade
And, as his love inspir'd him, thus he said:

"Unhappy queen! then is the common breath
Of rumour true, in your reported death?
And I, alas, the cause! by heav'n I vow,
And all the powers that rule the realms below,
Unwilling I forsook your friendly state
Commanded by the gods, and forc'd by fate;
Those gods, that fate, whose unresisted might
Have sent me to these regions void of light,
Through the vast empire of eternal night.
Nor dar'd I to presume, that, pressed with grie,
My flight should urge you to this dire relief.
Stay, stay your steps, and listen to my vows;
'Tis the last interview that fate allows!'
In vain he this attempts her mind to move,
With tears and prayers, and late repenting love.
Disdainfully she look'd; then turning round,
But fix'd her eyes unmov'd upon the ground;
And what he says, and swears, regards no more
Than the deaf rocks, when the loud billows roar;
But whirl'd away, to shun his hateful sight.
Hid in the forest, and the shades of night:
Then sought Sichæus through the shady grove,
Who answer'd all her cares, and equal'd all her love.

All that is incumbent on a man of worth, who suffers under so ill a treatment, is to lie by for some time in silence and obscurity, until the prejudice of the times be over, and his reputation cleared. I have often read, with a great deal of pleasure, a legacy of the famous lord Bacon, one of the greatest geniuses that our own or any country has produced. After having bequeathed his soul, body, and estate, No. 134.] Thursday, February 16, 1709. in the usual form, he adds, My name and memory I leave to foreign nations, and to my countrymen after some time be passed over.'

Quis talia fando

Myrmidonum, Dolopumve, aut duri miles Ulyssei,
Temperet à lacrymis ?

Virg. Æn. ii. 8.

Such woes
Not even the hardest of our foes could hear,
Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.



At the same time, that I recommend this philosophy to others, I must confess, I am so poor a proficient in it myself, that if in the course of my lucubrations it happens, as it has done more than once, that my paper is duller than in conscience it ought to be, I think the time an age until I have an opportunity of the distant crowing of a cock, which I thought

putting out another, and growing famous again

Sheer-lane, February 15.

I WAS awakened very early this morning by

for two days.

Eneid, book vi. 46.

year's income in the redemption of larks or linnets that had unhappily fallen into the hands of bird-catchers; that it was also usual to run between a dog and a bull to keep them from hurting one another, or to lose the use of a limb in parting a couple of furious mastiffs. He then insisted upon the ingratitude and disingenuity of treating in this manner a neces

had the finest pipe I ever heard. He seemed | frequent than to see a dervise lay out a whole to me to strain his voice more than ordinary, as if he designed to make himself heard to the remotest corner of this lane. Having enter tained myself a little before I went to bed with a discourse on the transmigration of men into other animals, I could rot but fancy that this was the soul of some drowsy bell-man who used to sleep upon his post, for which he was condemned to do penance in feathers, and dis-sary and domestic animal, that has made the tinguish the several watches of the night under the outside of a cock. While I was thinking of the condition of this poor bell-man in masquerade, I heard a great knocking at my door, and was soon after told by my maid, that my worthy friend, the tall black gentleman, who frequents the coffee-houses hereabouts, desired to speak with me. This ancient Pythagorean, who has as much honesty as any man living, but good nature to an excess, brought me the following petition; which I am apt to believe he penned himself, the petitioner not being able to express his mind on paper under his present form, however famous he might have been for writing verses when he was in his original shape.

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To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire, Censor of
Great Britain.

'The humble petition of Job Chanticleer, in
behalf of himself, and many other poor suf-
ferers in the same condition;


From my Coop in Clare-market,
Feb. 13, 1709.

whole house keep good hours, and called up the cook-maid for five years together. What would a Turk+ say,' continued he, 'should he hear, that it is à common entertainment in a nation, which pretends to be one of the most civilized of Europe, to tie an innocent animal to a stake, and put him to an ignominious death, who has perhaps been the guardian and proveditor of a poor family, as long as he was able to get eggs for his mistress?'

I thought what this gentleman said was very reasonable; and have often wondered, that we do not lay aside a custom, which makes us appear barbarous to nations much more rude and unpolished than ourselves. Some French writers have represented this diversion of the common people much to our disadvantage, and imputed it to natural fierceness and cruelty of temper; as they do some other entertainments peculiar to our nation: I mean those elegant diversions of bull-bating and prize-fighting, with the like ingenious recreations of the Bear-garden. I wish I knew how to answer this reproach which is cast upon us, "That whereas your petitioner is truly de- and excuse the death of so many innocent scended of the ancient family of the Chanti-cocks, bulls, dogs, and bears, as have been set cleers, at Cock-hall near Rumford in Essex, it together by the ears, or died untimely deaths, has been his misfortune to come into the mer-only to make us sport. cenary bands of a certain ill-disposed person, commonly called a higgler, who, under the close confinement of a pannier, has conveyed him and many others up to London; but hearing by chance of your worship's great humanity towards robin-red-breasts and tom-tits, he is emboldened to beseech you to take his deplorable condition into your tender consideration, who otherwise must suffer, with many thousands more as innocent as himself, that inhuman barbarity of a Shrove-Tuesday persecution. We humbly hope, that our courage and vigilance may plead for us on this occasion.

Your poor petitioner most earnestly implores your immediate protection from the in solence of the rabble, the batteries of cat-sticks, and a painful lingering death,

And your petitioner, &c.'

Upon delivery of this petition, the worthy gentleman, who presented it, told me the customs of many wise nations of the east, through which he had travelled; that nothing was more

* The original date of this paper is From Tuesday Feb. 14, to Thurday Feb. 16, 1709.'

It will be said, that these are the entertainments of common people. It is true; but they are the entertainments of no other common people. Besides, I am afraid, there is a tincture of the same savage spirit in the diversions of those of higher rank, and more refined relish. Rapin observes, that the English theatre very much delights in bloodshed, which he likewise represents as an indication of our tem. pers. I must own, there is something very horrid in the public executions of an English tragedy. Stabbing and poisoning, which are performed behind the scenes in other nations, must be done openly among us, to gratify the audience.

When poor Sandford was upon the stage, I have seen him groaning upon a wheel, stuck


+ The word Turk, is used here to signify a savage, or a barbarian; but in the language of Turkey it means a shepherd or herdsman

↑ Sandford was an excellent actor in disagreeable charac. ters; he had a low and crooked person, and such bodily defects as were too strong to be admitted into great or amiable characters, so that he was the stage-villain, not by choice, but from necessity.

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with daggers, impaled alive, calling his execu- | tioners, with a dying voice, cruel dogs and villains! and all this to please his judicious spectators, who were wonderfully delighted with seeing a man in torment so well acted. The truth of it is, the politeness of our English stage, in regard to decorum, is very extraordinary. We act murders, to show our intrepidity; and adulteries, to show our gallantry: both of them are frequent in our most taking plays, with this difference only, that the former are done in the sight of the audience, and the latter wrought up to such a height upon the stage, that they are almost put in execution before the actors can get behind the scenes.

I would not have it thought, that there is just ground for those consequences which our enemies draw against us from these practices; but methinks one would be sorry for any manner of occasion for such misrepresentations of us. The virtues of tenderness, compassion, and humanity, are those by which men are distinguished from brutes, as much as by reason itself; and it would be the greatest reproach to a nation, to distinguish itself from all others by any defect in these particular virtues. For which reasons, I hope that my dear countrymen will no longer expose themselves by an effusion of blood, whether it be of theatrical heroes, coeks, or any other innocent animals, which we are not obliged to slaughter for our safety, convenience, or nourishment. When any of these ends are not served in the destruction of a living creature, I cannot but pronounce it a great piece of cruelty, if not a kind of murder.

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Sheer-lane, February 1′′.

SEVERAL letters, which I have lately received, give me information, that some welldisposed persons have taken offence at my using the word Free-thinker as a term of reproach. To set, therefore, this matter in a clear light, I must declare, that no one can have a greater veneration than myself for the Free-thinkers of antiquity; who acted the same part in those times, as the great men of the reformation did in several nations of Europe, by exerting themselves against the idolatry and superstition of the times in which they lived. It was by this noble impulse that Socrates and

his disciples, as well as all the philosophers of note in Greece, and Cicero, Seneca, with all the learned men of Rome, endeavoured to enlighten their contemporaries amidst the darkness and ignorance in which the world was then sunk and buried.

The great points which these free-thinkers endeavoured to establish and inculcate into the minds of men, were, the formation of the universe, the superintendency of providence, the perfection of the Divine Nature, the immortality of the soul, and the future state of rewards and punishments. They all complied with the religion of their country, as much as possible, in such particulars as did not contradict and pervert these great and fundamental doctrines of mankind. On the contrary, the persons who now set up for free-thinkers, are such as endeavour, by a little trash of words and sophistry, to weaken and destroy those very principles, for the vindication of which, freedom of thought at first became laudable and heroic. These apostates from reason and good sense, can look at the glorious frame of nature, without paying an adoration to Him that raised it; can consider the great revolutions in the universe, without lifting up their minds to that superior power which hath the direction of it; can presume to censure the Deity in his ways towards men; can level mankind with the beasts that perish; can extinguish in their own minds all the pleasing hopes of a future state, and lull themselves into a stupid security against the terrors of it. If one were to take the word priestcraft out of the mouths of these shallow monsters, they would be immediately struck dumb. It is by the help of this single term that they endeavour to disappoint the good works of the most learned and venerable order of men, and harden the hearts of the ignorant against the very light of nature, and the common-received notions of mankind. We ought not to treat such miscreants as these upon the foot of fair disputants; but to pour out contempt upon them, and speak of them with scorn and infamy, as the pests of society, the revilers of human nature, and the blasphemers of a Being, whom a good man would rather die than hear dishonoured. Cicero, after having mentioned the great heroes of knowledge that recommended this divine doctrine of the immortality of the soul, calls those small pretenders to wisdom, who declared against it, certain minute philosophers, using a diminutive even of the word little, to express the despicable opinion he had of them. The contempt he throws upon them in another passage is yet more remarkable; where, to show the mean thoughts he entertains of them, he declares he would rather be in the wrong with Plato, than in the right with such com pany.' There is, indeed, nothing in the world so ridiculous as one of these grave philosophical

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free-thinkers, that hath neither passions nor might not run away with it; and, to do further appetites to gratify, no heats of blood, nor vi-justice upon himself, desired them to tie a halter gour of constitution, that can turn his systems about his neck, as a mark of that ignominious of infidelity to his advantage, or raise pleasures punishment, which, in his own thoughts, he had out of them which are inconsistent with the so justly deserved. belief of a hereafter. One that has neither wit, gallantry, mirth, or youth, to indulge by these notions, but only a poor, joyless, uncomfortable vanity of distinguishing himself from the rest of mankind, is rather to be regarded as a mischievous lunatic, than a mistaken philosopher. A chaste infidel, a speculative libertine, is an animal that I should not believe to be in nature, did I not sometimes meet with this species of men, that plead for the indul-rest in hope, and shall rise in glory. But at the gence of their passions in the midst of a severe studious life, and talk against the immortality of the soul over a dish of coffee.

I would fain ask a minute philosopher, what good he proposes to mankind by the publishing of his doctrines? Will they make a man a better citizen, or father of a family; a more endearing husband, friend, or son? will they enlarge his public or private virtues, or correct any of his frailties or vices? What is there either joyful or glorious in such opinions? do they either refresh or enlarge our thoughts? do they contribute to the happiness, or raise the dignity, of human nature? The only good that I have ever heard pretended to, is, that they banish terrors, and set the mind at ease. But whose terrors do they banish? It is certain, if there were any strength in their arguments, they would give great disturbance to minds that are influenced by virtue, honour, and morality, and take from us the only comforts and supports of affliction, sickness, and old age. The minds, therefore, which they set at ease, are only those of impenitent criminals and malefactors, and which, not the good of mankind, should be in perpetual terror and alarm.

I must confess, nothing is more usual than for a free-thinker, in proportion as the insolence of scepticism is abated in him by years and knowledge, or humbled and beaten down by sorrow or sickness, to reconcile himself to the general conceptions of reasonable creatures; so that we frequently see the apostates turning from their revolt towards the end of their lives, and employing the refuse of their parts in promoting those truths which they had before endeavoured to invalidate.

The history of a gentleman in France is very well known, who was so zealous a promoter of infidelity, that he had got together a select company of disciples, and travelled into all parts of the kingdom to make converts. In the midst of his fantastical success he fell sick, and was reclaimed to such a sense of his condition, that after he had passed some time in great agonies and horrors of mind, he begged those who had the care of burying him, to dress his body in the habit of a capuchin, that the devil

I would not have persecution so far disgraced, as to wish these vermin might be animadverted on by any legal penalties; though I think it would be highly reasonable, that those few of them who die in the professions of their infidelity, should have such tokens of infamy fixed upon them, as might distinguish those bodies which are given up by the owners to oblivion and putrefaction, from those which

same time that I am against doing them the honour of the notice of our laws, which ought not to suppose there are such criminals in being, I have often wondered, how they can be tolerated in any mixed conversations, while they are venting these absurd opinions; and should think, that if, on any such occasions, half a dozen of the most robust Christians in the company would lead one of those gentlemen to a pump, or convey him into a blanket, they would do very good service both to church and state. I do not know how the laws stand in this particular; but I hope, whatever knocks, bangs, or thumps, might be given with such an honest intention, would not be construed as a breach of the peace. I dare say; they would not be returned by the person who receives them; for whatever these fools may say in the vanity of their hearts, they are too wise to risk their lives upon the uncertainty of their opinions.

When I was a young man about this town, I frequented the ordinary of the Black-horse in Holborn, where the person that usually presided at the table was a rough old-fashioned gentleman, who, according to the customs of those times, had been the major and preacher of a regiment. It happened one day that a noisy young officer, bred in France, was venting some new-fangled notions, and speaking, in the gayety of his humour, against the dispensations of Providence. The major, at first, only desired him to talk more respectfully of one for whom all the company had an honour; but, finding him run on in his extravagance, began to reprimand him after a more serious manner. Young man,' said he, do not abuse your Benefactor whilst you are eating his bread. Consider whose air you breathe, whose presence you are in, and who it is that gave you the power of that very speech which you make use of to his dishonour.' The young fellow, who thought to turn matters into a jest, asked him if he was going to preach?' but at the same time desired him, to take care what he said when he spoke to a man of honour.' 'A man of honour!' says the major; thou art an infidel and a blasphemer, and I shall use

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merchant's wife. He no sooner thought of this adventure, but he began it by au amorous epistle to the lady, and a faithful promise to wait upon her at a certain hour the next evening, when he knew her husband was to be absent.

The letter was no sooner received, but it was communicated to the husband, and produced no other effect in him, than that he

could out of this fantastical piece of gallantry. They were so little concerned at this dangerous man of mode, that they plotted ways to perplex Varnish comes exhim without hurting him.

thee as such.' In short, the quarrel ran so high, that the major was desired to walk out. Upon their coming into the garden, the old fellow advised his antagonist to consider the place into which one pass might drive him; but, finding him grow upon him to a degree of scurrility, as believing the advice proceeded from fear; Sirrah,' says he, if a thunderbolt does not strike thee dead before I come at thee, I shall not fail to chastise thee for thy pro-joined with his wife to raise all the mirth they faneness to thy Maker, and thy sauciness to his servant. Upon this he drew his sword, and cried out with a loud voice, The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!' which so terrified his antagonist, that he was immediately dis-actly at his hour; and the lady's well-acted armed, and thrown upon his knees. In this confusion at his entrance gave him opportunity posture he begged his life; but the major re- to repeat some couplets very fit for the occasion fused to grant it, before he had asked pardon with very much grace and spirit. His theafor his offence in a short extemporary prayer, trical manner of making love was interrupted which the old gentleman dictated to him upon by an alarm of the husband's coming; and the the spot, and which his proselyte repeated after wife, in a personated terror, beseeched him, him in the presence of the whole ordinary, if he had any value for the honour of a woman that were now gathered about him in the gar- that loved him, he would jump out of the den. window.' He did so, and fell upon featherbeds placed on purpose to receive him.

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It is not to be conceived how great the joy of an amorous man is when he has suffered for his mistress, and is never the worse for it. Varnish the next day writ a most elegant billet, wherein he said all that imagination could form upon the occasion. He violently protested, 'going out of the window was no way terrible, but as it was going from her;' with several other kind expressions, which procured him a second assignation. Upon his second visit, he was conveyed by a faithful inaid into her bedchamber, and left there to expect the arrival of her mistress. But the wench, according to her instructions, ran in again to him, and locked the door after her to keep out her master. She had just time enough to convey the lover into a chest before she admitted the husband and his wife into the room.

You may be sure that trunk was absolutely necessary to be opened; but upon her husband's ordering it, she assured him, she ha‍d taken all the care imaginable in packing up the things with her own hands, and he might send the trunk abroad as soon as he thought fit.' The easy husband believed his wife, and the good couple went to bed; Varnish having the happiness to pass the night in his mistress's

THE HISTORY OF TOM VARNISH. BECAUSE I have a professed aversion to long beginnings of stories, I will go into this at once, by telling you, that there dwells near the Royal Exchange as happy a couple as ever entered into wedlock. These live in that mutual confidence of each other, which renders the satisfaction of marriage even greater than those of friendship, and makes wife and husband the dearest appellations of human life. Mr. Balance is a merchant of good consideration, and understands the world, not from speculation, but practice. His wife is the daughter of an honest house, ever bred in a family-way; and has, from a natural good understanding, and great innocence, a freedom which men of sense know to be the certain sign of virtue, and fools take to be an encouragement to vice. Tom Varnish, a young gentleman of the Middle Temple, by the bounty of a good fa-bed-chamber without molestation. The mornther, who was so obliging as to die, and leave him, in his twenty-fourth year, besides a good estate, a large sum which lay in the hands of Mr. Balance, had by this means an intimacy at his house; and, being one of those hard students who read plays for the improvement in the law, took his rules of life from thence. Upon mature deliberation, he conceived it very proper, that he, as a man of wit and pleasure of the town, should have an intrigue with his

ing arose, but our lover was not well situated to observe her blushes; so that all we know of his sentiments on this occasion is, that he heard Balance ask for the key, and say,' he would himself go with this chest, and have it opened before the captain of the ship, for the greater. safety of so valuable a lading.'

The goods were hoisted away; and Mr. Balance, marching by his chest with great care and diligence, omitted nothing that might give

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