Grecian Coffee-house, July 27.

In the several capacities I bear, of astrologer, civilian, and physician, I have with great application studied the public emolument: to this end serve all my lucubrations, speculations, and whatever other labours I undertake, whether nocturnal or diurnal. On this motive am I induced to publish a never-failing medicine for the spleen: my experience in this distemper came from a very remarkable cure on my ever worthy friend Tom Spindle,[454] who, through excessive gaiety, had exhausted that natural stock of wit and spirits he had long been blessed with: he was sunk and flattened to the lowest degree imaginable, sitting whole hours over the "Book of Martyrs," and "Pilgrim's Progress"; his other contemplations never rising higher than the colour of his urine, or regularity of his pulse. In this condition I found him, accompanied by the learned Dr. Drachm, and a good old nurse. Drachm had prescribed magazines of herbs, and mines of steel. I soon discovered the malady, and descanted on the nature of it, till I convinced both the patient and his nurse, that the spleen is not to be cured by medicine, but by poetry. Apollo, the author of physic, shone with diffusive rays the best of poets as well as of physicians; and it is in this double capacity that I have made my way, and have found, sweet, easy, flowering numbers, are oft superior to our noblest medicines. When the spirits are low, and nature sunk, the muse, with sprightly and harmonious notes, gives an unexpected turn with a grain of poetry, which I prepare without the use of mercury. I have done wonders in this kind; for the spleen is like the tarantula,[455] the effects of whose malignant poison are to be prevented by no other remedy but the charms of music: for you are to understand, that as some noxious animals carry antidotes for their own poisons; so there is something equally unaccountable in poetry: for though it is sometimes a disease, it is to be cured only by itself. Now I knowing Tom Spindle's constitution, and that he is not only a pretty gentleman, but also a pretty poet, found the true cause of his distemper was a violent grief that moved his affections too strongly: for during the late Treaty of Peace, he had written a most excellent poem on that subject; and when he wanted but two lines in the last stanza for finishing the whole piece, there comes news that the French tyrant would not sign. Spindle in few days took his bed, and had lain there still, had not I been sent for. I immediately told him, there was great probability the French would now sue to us for peace. I saw immediately a new life in his eyes; and knew, that nothing could help him forward so well, as hearing verses which he would believe worse than his own; I read him therefore the "Brussels Postscript";[456] after which I recited some heroic lines of my own, which operated so strongly on the tympanum of his ear, that I doubt not but I have kept out all other sounds for a fortnight; and have reason to hope, we shall see him abroad the day before his poem. This you see, is a particular secret I have found out, viz., that you are not to choose your physician for his knowledge in your distemper, but for having it himself. Therefore I am at hand for all maladies arising from poetical vapours, beyond which I never pretend. For being called the other day to one in love, I took indeed their three guineas, and gave them my advice; which was, to send for AEsculapius.[457] AEsculapius, as soon as he saw the patient, cries out, "'Tis love! 'tis love! Oh! the unequal pulse! these are the symptoms a lover feels; such sighs, such pangs, attend the uneasy mind; nor can our art, or all our boasted skill, avail—Yet O fair! for thee—" Thus the sage ran on, and owned the passion which he pitied, as well as that he felt a greater pain than ever he cured. After which he concluded, "All I can advise, is marriage: charms and beauty will give new life and vigour, and turn the course of nature to its better prospect." This is the new way; and thus AEsculapius has left his beloved powders, and writes a recipe for a wife at sixty. In short, my friend followed the prescription, and married youth and beauty in its perfect bloom.

Supine in Silvia's snowy arms he lies, And all the busy care of life defies: Each happy hour is filled with fresh delight, While peace the day, and pleasure crowns the night.

From my own Apartment, July 27.

Tragical passion was the subject of the discourse where I last visited this evening; and a gentleman who knows that I am at present writing a very deep tragedy, directed his discourse in a particular manner to me. "It is the common fault," said he, "of you, gentlemen, who write in the buskin style, that you give us rather the sentiments of such who behold tragical events, than of such who bear a part in them themselves. I would advise all who pretend this way, to read Shakespeare with care, and they will soon be deterred from putting forth what is usually called 'tragedy.' The way of common writers in this kind, is rather the description, than the expression of sorrow. There is no medium in these attempts; and you must go to the very bottom of the heart, or it is all mere language; and the writer of such lines is no more a poet, than a man is a physician for knowing the names of distempers, without the causes of them. Men of sense are professed enemies to all such empty labours: for he who pretends to be sorrowful, and is not, is a wretch yet more contemptible than he who pretends to be merry, and is not. Such a tragedian is only maudlin drunk." The gentleman went on with much warmth; but all he could say had little effect upon me: but when I came hither, I so far observed his counsel, that I looked into Shakespeare. The tragedy I dipped into was, "Harry the Fourth." In the scene where Morton is preparing to tell Northumberland of his son's death, the old man does not give him time to speak, but says,

"The whiteness of thy cheeks Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand; Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woebegone, Drew Priam's curtain at the dead of night, And would have told him half his Troy was burnt: But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue, And I my Percy's death ere thou reportest it"[458]

The image in this place is wonderfully noble and great; yet this man in all this is but rising towards his great affliction, and is still enough himself, as you see, to make a simile: but when he is certain of his son's death, he is lost to all patience, and gives up all the regards of this life; and since the last of evils is fallen upon him, he calls for it upon all the world.

"Now let not Nature's hand Keep the wild flood confined; let Order die, And let the world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a lingering act; But let one spirit of the firstborn Cain Reign in all bosoms, that each heart being set On bloody courses, the wide scene may end, And darkness be the burier of the dead."

Reading but this one scene has convinced me, that he who describes the concern of great men, must have a soul as noble, and as susceptible of high thoughts, as they whom he represents: I shall therefore lay by my drama for some time, and turn my thoughts to cares and griefs, somewhat below that of heroes, but no less moving. A misfortune proper for me to take notice of, has too lately happened: the disconsolate Maria[459] has three days kept her chamber for the loss of the beauteous Fidelia, her lap-dog. Lesbia herself[460] did not shed more tears for her sparrow. What makes her the more concerned, is, that we know not whether Fidelia was killed or stolen; but she was seen in the parlour window when the train-bands went by, and never since. Whoever gives notice of her, dead or alive, shall be rewarded with a kiss of her lady.



[Footnote 450: See No. 16.]

[Footnote 451: Intercourse.]

[Footnote 452: Henry Cromwell (died 1728) was a correspondent of Pope's, and a friend of Wycherley's. "I cannot choose," wrote Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas, "but be pleased with the conquest of a person whose fame our incomparable Tatler has rendered immortal, by the three distinguishing titles of 'Squire Easy the amorous bard'; 'Sir Timothy the critic'; and 'Sir Taffety Trippet the fortune-hunter'" ("Pylades and Corinna," i. 96, 194). See also Nos. 49, 165. Cromwell was a man about town, of private means, with property in Lincolnshire, who had contributed verses to Tonson's "Miscellany." Gay ("Mr. Pope's Welcome from Greece," st. xvii.) speaks of "Honest, hatless Cromwell, with red breeches."]

[Footnote 453: Called forth, drawn as with an alarum.]

[Footnote 454: Henry Cromwell; see note on p. 380. According to another suggestion, Spindle is intended for Thomas Tickell, who published a poem, "The Prospect of Peace," in 1713; but it is not probable that in 1709 either Addison or Steele would have satirised him; and Cromwell may very likely have written verses on the same subject.]

[Footnote 455: A spider named from Tarentum, in Apulia. Strange stories were told of the effects of its bite, and of their cure by music and dancing.]

[Footnote 456: See No. 46.]

[Footnote 457: Dr. Radcliffe. See No. 44.]

[Footnote 458: 2 Henry IV., act i. sc. I.]

[Footnote 459: "This Tatler I know nothing of, only they say the Dutchess of Montague has lately lost a bitch she call'd fidel, and has had it cry'd."—(Peter Wentworth to Lord Raby; "Wentworth Papers," p. 97.)]

[Footnote 460: See Catullus, passim.]



No. 48. [STEELE.

From Thursday, July 28, to Saturday, July 30, 1709.

—Virtutem verba putant, et Lucum ligna. HOR., 1 Ep. vi. 31.

* * * * *

From my own Apartment, July 29.

This day I obliged Pacolet to entertain me with matters which regarded persons of his own character and occupation. We chose to take our walk on Tower Hill; and as we were coming from thence in order to stroll as far as Garraway's,[461] I observed two men, who had but just landed, coming from the waterside. I thought there was something uncommon in their mien and aspect; but though they seemed by their visage to be related, yet was there a warmth in their manner, as if they differed very much in their sentiments of the subject on which they were talking. One of them seemed to have a natural confidence, mixed with an ingenious freedom in his gesture, his dress very plain, but very graceful and becoming: the other, in the midst of an overbearing carriage, betrayed (by frequently looking round him) a suspicion that he was not enough regarded by those he met, or that he feared they would make some attack upon him. This person was much taller than his companion, and added to that height the advantage of a feather in his hat, and heels to his shoes so monstrously high, that he had three or four times fallen down, had he not been supported by his friend. They made a full stop as they came within a few yards of the place where we stood. The plain gentleman bowed to Pacolet; the other looked on him with some displeasure: upon which I asked him, who they both were, when he thus informed me of their persons and circumstances.

"You may remember, Mr. Isaac, that I have often told you, there are beings of a superior rank to mankind, who frequently visit the habitations of men, in order to call them from some wrong pursuits in which they are actually engaged, or divert them from methods which will lead them into errors for the future. He that will carefully reflect upon the occurrences of his life, will find he has been sometimes extricated out of difficulties, and received favours where he could never have expected such benefits; as well as met with cross events from some unseen hand, which have disappointed his best laid designs. Such accidents arrive from the interventions of aerial beings, as they are benevolent or hurtful to the nature of man, and attend his steps in the tracts of ambition, of business, and of pleasure. Before I ever appeared to you in the manner I do now, I have frequently followed you in your evening walks, and have often, by throwing some accident in your way, as the passing by of a funeral, or the appearance of some other solemn object, given your imagination a new turn, and changed a night you had destined to mirth and jollity, into an exercise of study and contemplation. I was the old soldier who met you last summer in Chelsea Fields, and pretended that I had broken my wooden leg, and could not get home; but I snapped it short off on purpose, that you might fall into the reflections you did on that subject, and take me into your hack. If you remember, you made yourself very merry on that fracture, and asked me, whether I thought I should next winter feel cold in the toes of that leg? As is usually observed, that those who lose limbs, are sensible of pains in the extreme parts, even after those limbs are cut off. However, my keeping you then in the story of the battle of the Boyne, prevented an assignation, which would have led you into more disasters than I then related.

"To be short; those two persons you see yonder, are such as I am; they are not real men, but are mere shades and figures: one is named Alethes; the other, Verisimilis. Their office is to be the guardians and representatives of Conscience and Honour. They are now going to visit the several parts of the town, to see how their interests in the world decay or flourish, and to purge themselves from the many false imputations they daily meet with in the commerce and conversation of men. You observed Verisimilis frowned when he first saw me. What he is provoked at, is, that I told him one day, though he strutted and dressed with so much ostentation, if he kept himself within his own bounds, he was but a lackey, and wore only that gentleman's livery whom he is now with. This frets him to the heart; for you must know, he has pretended a long time to set up for himself, and gets among a crowd of the more unthinking part of mankind, who take him for a person of the first quality; though his introduction into the world was wholly owing to his present companion."

This encounter was very agreeable to me, and I was resolved to dog them, and desired Pacolet to accompany me. I soon perceived what he told me in the gesture of the persons: for when they looked at each other in discourse, the well-dressed man suddenly cast down his eyes, and discovered that the other had a painful superiority over him. After some further discourse, they took leave. The plain gentleman went down towards Thames Street, in order to be present, at least, at the oaths taken at the Custom-house; and the other made directly for the heart of the city. It is incredible how great a change there immediately appeared in the man of honour when he got rid of his uneasy companion: he adjusted the cock of his hat anew, settled his sword-knot, and had an appearance that attracted a sudden inclination for him and his interests in all who beheld him. "For my part," said I to Pacolet, "I cannot but think you are mistaken in calling this person, of the lower quality; for he looks much more like a gentleman than the other. Don't you observe all eyes are upon him as he advances: how each sex gazes at his stature, aspect, address, and motion?" Pacolet only smiled, and shaked his head; as leaving me to be convinced by my own further observation. We kept on our way after him till we came to Exchange Alley, where the plain gentleman again came up to the other; and they stood together after the manner of eminent merchants, as if ready to receive application; but I could observe no man talk to either of them. The one was laughed at as a fop; and I heard many whispers against the other, as a whimsical sort of fellow, and a great enemy to trade. They crossed Cornhill together, and came into the full 'Change, where some bowed, and gave themselves airs in being known to so fine a man as Verisimilis, who, they said, had great interests in all princes' courts; and the other was taken notice of by several as one they had seen somewhere long before. One more particularly said, he had formerly been a man of consideration in the world; but was so unlucky, that they who dealt with him, by some strange infatuation or other, had a way of cutting off their own bills, and were prodigiously slow in improving their stock. But as much as I was curious to observe the reception these gentlemen met with upon 'Change, I could not help being interrupted by one that came up towards us, to whom everybody made their compliments. He was of the common height, and in his dress there seemed to be great care to appear no way particular, except in a certain exact and feat[462] manner of behaviour and circumspection. He was wonderfully careful that his shoes and clothes should be without the least speck upon them; and seemed to think, that on such an accident depended his very life and fortune. There was hardly a man on 'Change who had not a note upon him; and each seemed very well satisfied that their money lay in his hands, without demanding payment. I asked Pacolet, what great merchant that was, who was so universally addressed to, yet made too familiar an appearance to command that extraordinary deference? Pacolet answered, "This person is the demon or genius of credit: his name is Umbra. If you observe, he follows Alethes and Verisimilis at a distance; and indeed has no foundation for the figure he makes in the world, but that he is thought to keep their cash; though at the same time, none who trust him would trust the others for a groat." As the company rolled about, the three spectres were jumbled into one place: when they were so, and all thought there was an alliance between them, they immediately drew upon them the business of the whole 'Change. But their affairs soon increased to such an unwieldy bulk, that Alethes took his leave, and said, he would not engage further than he had an immediate fund to answer. Verisimilis pretended that though he had revenues large enough to go on his own bottom, yet it was below one of his family to condescend to trade in his own name; therefore he also retired. I was extremely troubled to see the glorious mart of London left with no other guardian, but him of credit. But Pacolet told me, that traders had nothing to do with the honour or conscience of their correspondents, provided they supported a general behaviour in the world, which could not hurt their credit or their purses: "for," said he, "you may in this one tract of building of London and Westminster see the imaginary motives on which the greatest affairs move, as well as in rambling over the face of the earth. For though Alethes is the real governor, as well as legislator of mankind, he has very little business but to make up quarrels, and is only a general referee, to whom every man pretends to appeal; but is satisfied with his determinations no further than they promote his own interest. Hence it is, that the soldier and the courtier model their actions according to Verisimilis' manner, and the merchant according to that of Umbra. Among these men, honour and credit are not valuable possessions in themselves, or pursued out of a principle of justice; but merely as they are serviceable to ambition and to commerce. But the world will never be in any manner of order or tranquillity, till men are firmly convinced, that conscience, honour, and credit, are all in one interest; and that without the concurrence of the former, the latter are but impositions upon ourselves and others. The force these delusive words have, is not seen in the transactions of the busy world only, but also have their tyranny over the fair sex. Were you to ask the unhappy Lais, what pangs of reflection, preferring the consideration of her honour to her conscience, has given her? She could tell you, that it has forced her to drink up half a gallon this winter of Tom Dassapas' potions; that she still pines away for fear of being a mother; and knows not, but the moment she is such, she shall be a murderess: but if conscience had as strong a force upon the mind, as honour, the first step to her unhappy condition had never been made; she had still been innocent, as she's beautiful. Were men so enlightened and studious of their own good, as to act by the dictates of their reason and reflection, and not the opinion of others, Conscience would be the steady ruler of human life; and the words, Truth, Law, Reason, Equity, and Religion, would be but synonymous terms for that only guide which makes us pass our days in our own favour and approbation."



[Footnote 461: A coffee-house in Exchange Alley, Cornhill, with an auction-room on the first floor, where wine and other things were sold (see No, 147). Thomas Garway was originally a tobacconist and coffee-man. Defoe ("Journey through England") says that this coffee-house was frequented by "the people of quality who have business in the City, and the most considerable and wealthy citizens."]

[Footnote 462: Adroit.]



No. 49. [STEELE.

From Saturday, July 30, to Tuesday, August 2, 1709.

Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli. JUV., Sat. i. 85, 86.

* * * * *

White's Chocolate-house, August 1.

The imposition of honest names and words upon improper subjects, has made so regular a confusion amongst us, that we are apt to sit down with our errors, well enough satisfied with the methods we are fallen into, without attempting to deliver ourselves from the tyranny under which we are reduced by such innovations. Of all the laudable motives of human life, none has suffered so much in this kind as love; under which revered name, a brutal desire called lust is frequently concealed and admitted; though they differ as much as a matron from a prostitute, or a companion from a buffoon. Philander[463] the other day was bewailing this misfortune with much indignation, and upbraided me for having some time since quoted those excellent lines of the satirist:

To an exact perfection they have brought The action love, the passion is forgot.[464]

"How could you," said he, "leave such a hint so coldly? How could Aspasia[465] and Sempronia[466] enter into your imagination at the same time, and you never declare to us the different reception you gave them? The figures which the ancient mythologists and poets put upon love and lust in their writings, are very instructive. Love is a beauteous blind child, adorned with a quiver and a bow, which he plays with, and shoots around him, without design or direction; to intimate to us, that the person beloved has no intention to give us the anxieties we meet with; but that the beauties of a worthy object are like the charms of a lovely infant: they cannot but attract your concern and fondness, though the child so regarded is as insensible of the value you put upon it, as it is that it deserves your benevolence. On the other side, the sages figured Lust in the form of a satyr; of shape, part human, part bestial; to signify, that the followers of it prostitute the reason of a man to pursue the appetites of a beast. This satyr is made to haunt the paths and coverts of the wood-nymphs and shepherdesses, to lurk on the banks of rivulets, and watch the purling streams (as the resorts of retired virgins), to show, that lawless desire tends chiefly to prey upon innocence, and has something so unnatural in it, that it hates its own make, and shuns the object it loved, as soon as it has made it like itself. Love therefore is a child that complains and bewails its inability to help itself, and weeps for assistance, without an immediate reflection of knowledge of the food it wants: Lust, a watchful thief which seizes its prey, and lays snares for its own relief; and its principal object being innocence, it never robs, but it murders at the same time. From this idea of a Cupid and a Satyr, we may settle our notion of these different desires, and accordingly rank their followers. Aspasia must therefore be allowed to be the first of the beauteous Order of Love, whose unaffected freedom, and conscious innocence, give her the attendance of the graces in all her actions. That awful distance which we bear towards her in all our thoughts of her, and that cheerful familiarity with which we approach her, are certain instances of her being the truest object of love of any of her sex. In this accomplished lady, love is the constant effect, because it is never the design. Yet, though her mien carries much more invitation than command, to behold her is an immediate check to loose behaviour; and to love her is a liberal education:[467] for, it being the nature of all love to create an imitation of the beloved person in the lover, a regard for Aspasia naturally produces decency of manners, and good conduct of life in her admirers. If therefore the giggling Lucippe could but see her train of fops assembled, and Aspasia move by them, she would be mortified at the veneration with which she is beheld, even by Lucippe's own unthinking equipage, whose passions have long taken leave of their understandings. But as charity is esteemed a conjunction of the good qualities necessary to a virtuous man, so love is the happy composition of all the accomplishments that make a fine gentleman. The motive of a man's life is seen in all his actions; and such as have the beauteous boy for their inspirer have a simplicity of behaviour, and a certain evenness of desire, which burns like the lamp of life in their bosoms; while they who are instigated by the satyr are ever tortured by jealousies of the object of their wishes; often desire what they scorn, and as often consciously and knowingly embrace where they are mutually indifferent.

Florio, the generous husband, and Limberham, the "kind keeper,"[468] are noted examples of the different effects which these desires produce in the mind. Amanda, who is the wife of Florio, lives in the continual enjoyment of new instances of her husband's friendship, and sees it the end of all his ambition to make her life one series of pleasure and satisfaction; and Amanda's relish of the goods of life, is all that makes them pleasing to Florio: they behave themselves to each other when present with a certain apparent benevolence, which transports above rapture; and they think of each other in absence with a confidence unknown to the highest friendship: their satisfactions are doubled, their sorrows lessened by participation. On the other hand, Corinna, who is the mistress of Limberham,[469] lives in constant torment: her equipage is, an old woman, who was what Corinna is now; an antiquated footman, who was pimp to Limberham's father; and a chambermaid, who is Limberham's wench by fits, out of a principle of politics to make her jealous and watchful of Corinna. Under this guard, and in this conversation, Corinna lives in state: the furniture of her habitation, and her own gorgeous dress, make her the envy of all the strolling ladies in the town; but Corinna knows she herself is but part of Limberham's household stuff, and is as capable of being disposed of elsewhere, as any other movable. But while her keeper is persuaded by his spies, that no enemy has been within his doors since his last visit, no Persian prince was ever so magnificently bountiful: a kind look or falling tear is worth a piece of brocade, a sigh is a jewel, and a smile is a cupboard of plate. All this is shared between Corinna and her guard in his absence. With this great economy and industry does the unhappy Limberham purchase the constant tortures of jealousy, the favour of spending his estate, and the opportunity of enriching one by whom he knows he is hated and despised. These are the ordinary and common evils which attend keepers, and Corinna is a wench but of common size of wickedness. Were you to know what passes under the roof where the fair Messalina reigns with her humble adorer! Messalina is the professed mistress of mankind; she has left the bed of her husband and her beauteous offspring, to give a loose to want of shame and fulness of desire. Wretched Nocturnus, her feeble keeper! How the poor creature fribbles in his gait, and scuttles from place to place to despatch his necessary affairs in painful daylight, that he may return to the constant twilight preserved in that scene of wantonness, Messalina's bedchamber. How does he, while he is absent from thence, consider in his imagination the breadth of his porter's shoulders, the spruce nightcap of his valet, the ready attendance of his butler! Any of all whom he knows she admits, and professes to approve of. This, alas! is the gallantry; this the freedom of our fine gentlemen: for this they preserve their liberty, and keep clear of that bugbear, marriage. But he does not understand either vice or virtue, who will not allow, that life without the rules of morality is a wayward uneasy being, with snatches only of pleasure; but under the regulation of virtue, a reasonable and uniform habit of enjoyment. I have seen in a play of old Heywood's, a speech at the end of an act, which touched this point with much spirit. He makes a married man in the play, upon some endearing occasion, look at his spouse with an air of fondness, and fall into the following reflection on his condition:

"O Marriage! happiest, easiest, safest state; Let debauchees and drunkards scorn thy rights, Who, in their nauseous draughts and lusts, profane Both thee and Heaven by whom thou wert ordained. How can the savage call it loss of freedom, Thus to converse with, thus to gaze at A faithful, beauteous friend? Blush not, my fair one, that thy love applauds thee, Nor be it painful to my wedded wife, That my full heart overflows in praise of thee. Thou art by law, by interest, passion, mine: Passion and reason join in love of thee. Thus, through a world of calumny and fraud, We pass both unreproached, both undeceived; While in each other's interest and happiness, We without art all faculties employ, And all our senses without guilt enjoy."

St. James's Coffee-house August 1.

Letters from the Hague of the 6th instant, N.S., say, that there daily arrive at our camp deserters in considerable numbers; and that several of the enemy concealed themselves in the town of Tournay when the garrison marched into the citadel; after which, they presented themselves to the Duke of Marlborough; some of whom were commissioned officers. The Earl of Albemarle is appointed governor of the town. Soon after the surrender, there arose a dispute about a considerable work, which was asserted by the Allies to be part of the town, and by the French to belong to the citadel. It is said, Monsieur de Surville was so ingenious as to declare, he thought it to be comprehended within the limits of the town; but Monsieur de Mesgrigny, governor of the citadel, was of a contrary opinion. It is reported, that this affair occasioned great difficulties, which ended in a capitulation for the citadel itself; the principal article of which is, that it shall be surrendered on the 5th of September next, in case they are not in the meantime relieved. This circumstance gives foundation to believe, that the enemy have acted in this manner, rather from some hopes they conceive of a treaty of peace before that time, than any expectation from their army, which has retired towards their former works between Lens and La Bassee. These advices add, that his Excellency the Czarish Ambassador has communicated to the States-General, and the foreign Ministers residing at the Hague, a copy of a letter from his master's camp, which gives an account of the entire defeat of the Swedish army. They further say, that Count Piper is taken prisoner, and that it is doubted whether the King of Sweden himself was not killed in the action. We hear from Savoy, that Count Thaun having amused the enemy by a march as far as the Tarantaise, had suddenly repassed Mount Cenis, and moved towards Briancon. This unexpected disposition is apprehended by the enemy as a piece of the Duke of Savoy's dexterity; and the French adding this circumstance to that of the Confederate squadron's lying before Toulon, convince themselves, that his royal highness has his thoughts upon the execution of some great design in those parts.



[Footnote 463: See No. 13.]

[Footnote 464: See No. 5.]

[Footnote 465: Lady Elizabeth Hastings (see No. 42).]

[Footnote 466: See No. 33.]

[Footnote 467: In the Spectator for March 29, 1884, Mr. Swinburne published a letter saying that Steele was not the author of these famous words,—"the most exquisite tribute ever paid to the memory of a noble woman"; for the article in No. 42 was by Congreve. But Mr. Justin McCarthy afterwards pointed out that these words occur in No. 49, not No. 42; and whether or no Congreve wrote the paper in No. 42 which is at least doubtful—the article in No. 49 is certainly Steele's.]

[Footnote 468: The title of one of Dryden's plays.]

[Footnote 469: Henry Cromwell and Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas. See No. 47.]



END OF VOL. I.

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