The Tatler (Vol 4)

The True Spanish Blacking for Shoes, &c.[99 - The True Spanish Blacking was advertised in opposition to "London Fucus for Shoes."]

The Beautifying Cream for the Face, &c.[100 - "An incomparable beautifying cream for the face, neck, and hands; takes away all freckles, spots, pimples, wrinkles, roughness, scurf, yellowness, sun-burning; renders the skin admirably clear, fair, and beautiful; has an excellent pretty scent; is very safe and harmless, and vastly transcends all other things; for it truly nourishes the skin, making it instantly look plump, fresh, smooth, and delicately fair, though before wrinkled and discoloured. Sold only at Mr. Lawrence's Toy Shop at the Griffin, the corner of the Poultry near Cheapside, at 2s. 6d. a gallipot, with directions" (Tatler, No. 140).]

Pease and Plaisters, &c. Nectar and Ambrosia, &c.[101 - "Nectar and Ambrosia, the highest cordial in the world, being prepared from the richest spices, herbs, and flowers, and drawn from right brandy, comforting the stomach, immediately digesting anything that offends, cherishing the heart, fortifying the brain, and so cheers the spirits, that it makes the whole body lively, brisk, and vigorous. This is the cordial dram that the Czar of Muscovy so highly approved of. Sold in 1s. and 2s. bottles by some one person in many cities and county towns; and by wholesale by J. Hows, in Ram-head Innyard, Fenchurch Street, London" (Merlinus Liberatus; Partridge's Almanac for 1699).]

Four Freehold Tenements of £15 per Annum, &c.[102 - "Twenty freehold tenements to be sold, lying in Wapping… Inquire at the Union Coffee-house, at King Edward's Stairs, in Wapping" (Tatler, No. 215).]

⁂ "The Present State of England," &c.[103 - "Anglia Notitia; or, The Present State of England," was begun by Edward Chamberlayn in 1669, and was continued for a number of years by his son, John Chamberlayn, who died in 1724.]

†‡† "Annotations upon the Tatler," &c.[104 - "This day is published, 'Learned Annotations on the Tatler,' Part I. Printed for B. Lintott" (Daily Courant, August 31, 1710).]

A Commission of Bankrupt being awarded against B. L., Bookseller, &c.[105 - I cannot find any notice in the London Gazette or elsewhere of the bankruptcy of Bernard Lintott, who is no doubt here referred to. It almost seems as if Addison inserted the initials of the flourishing bookseller in retaliation for the publication by Lintott of the satirical "Annotations on the Tatler."]

No. 225. [Steele.

From Thursday, Sept. 14, to Saturday, Sept. 16, 1710

– Si quid novisti rectius istis,
Candidus imperti; si non, his utere mecum.

    Hor., 1 Ep. vi. 67.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 15

The hours which we spend in conversation are the most pleasing of any which we enjoy; yet, methinks, there is very little care taken to improve ourselves for the frequent repetition of them. The common fault in this case, is that of growing too intimate, and falling into displeasing familiarities: for it is a very ordinary thing for men to make no other use of a close acquaintance with each other's affairs, but to tease one another with unacceptable allusions. One would pass over patiently such as converse like animals, and salute each other with bangs on the shoulder, sly raps with canes, or other robust pleasantries practised by the rural gentry of this nation: but even among those who should have more polite ideas of things, you see a set of people who invert the design of conversation, and make frequent mention of ungrateful subjects; nay, mention them because they are ungrateful; as if the perfection of society were in knowing how to offend on the one part, and how to bear an offence on the other. In all parts of this populous town you find the merry world made up of an active and a passive companion; one who has good-nature enough to suffer all his friend shall think fit to say, and one who is resolved to make the most of his good-humour to show his parts. In the trading part of mankind, I have ever observed the jest went by the weight of purses, and the ridicule is made up by the gains which arise from it. Thus the packer allows the clothier to say what he pleases, and the broker has his countenance ready to laugh with the merchant, though the abuse is to fall on himself, because he knows that, as a go-between, he shall find his account in being in the good graces of a man of wealth. Among these just and punctual people, the richest man is ever the better jester; and they know no such thing as a person who shall pretend to a superior laugh at a man, who does not make him amends by opportunities of advantage in another kind: but among people of a different way, where the pretended distinction in company is only what is raised from sense and understanding, it is very absurd to carry on a rough raillery so far, as that the whole discourse should turn upon each other's infirmities, follies, or misfortunes.

I was this evening with a set of wags of this class. They appear generally by two and two; and what is most extraordinary, is, that those very persons who are most together, appear least of a mind when joined by other company. This evil proceeds from an indiscreet familiarity, whereby a man is allowed to say the most grating thing imaginable to another, and it shall be accounted weakness to show an impatience for the unkindness. But this and all other deviations from the design of pleasing each other when we meet, are derived from interlopers in society, who want capacity to put in a stock among regular companions, and therefore supply their wants by stale histories, sly observations, and rude hints, which relate to the conduct of others. All cohabitants in general run into this unhappy fault; men and their wives break into reflections which are like so much Arabic to the rest of the company; sisters and brothers often make the like figure from the same unjust sense of the art of being intimate and familiar. It is often said, such a one cannot stand the mention of such a circumstance: if he cannot, I am sure it is for want of discourse, or a worse reason, that any companion of his touches upon it.

Familiarity, among the truly well-bred, never gives authority to trespass upon one another in the most minute circumstance, but it allows to be kinder than we ought otherwise presume to be. Eusebius has wit, humour, and spirit; but there never was a man in his company who wished he had less, for he understands familiarity so well, that he knows how to make use of it in a way that neither makes himself or his friend contemptible; but if any one is lessened by his freedom, it is he himself, who always likes the place, the diet, and the reception, when he is in the company of his friends. Equality is the life of conversation; and he is as much out who assumes to himself any part above another, as he who considers himself below the rest of the society. Familiarity in inferiors is sauciness; in superiors, condescension; neither of which are to have being among companions, the very word implying that they are to be equal. When therefore we have abstracted the company from all considerations of their quality or fortune, it will immediately appear, that to make it happy and polite, there must nothing be started which shall discover that our thoughts run upon any such distinctions. Hence it will arise, that benevolence must become the rule of society, and he that is most obliging must be most diverting.

This way of talking I am fallen into from the reflection that I am wherever I go entertained with some absurdity, mistake, weakness, or ill luck of some man or other, whom not only I, but the person who makes me those relations has a value for. It would therefore be a great benefit to the world, if it could be brought to pass that no story should be a taking one, but what was to the advantage of the person of whom it is related. By this means, he that is now a wit in conversation, would be considered as a spreader of false news is in business.

But above all, to make a familiar fit for a bosom friend, it is absolutely necessary that we should always be inclined rather to hide than rally each other's infirmities. To suffer for a fault is a sort of atonement; and nobody is concerned for the offence for which he has made reparation.

P.S.– I have received the following letter, which rallies me for being witty sooner than I designed; but I have now altered my resolution, and intend to be facetious till the day in October heretofore mentioned, instead of beginning for that day.[106 - See No. 217.]

    Sept. 6, 1710.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"By your own reckoning, you came yesterday about a month before the time you looked yourself, much to the satisfaction of

    "Your most obliged
    "Humble Servant,
    "Plain English."

St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 15

Advices from Madrid of the 8th say, the Duke of Anjou, with his Court, and all the Councils, were preparing to leave that place in a day or two, in order to remove to Valladolid. They add, that the palace was already unfurnished, and a declaration had been published, importing, that it was absolutely necessary, in the present conjuncture of affairs, that the Court were absent for some time from Madrid, but would return thither in six weeks. This sudden departure is attributed to the advice that the Portuguese army was in motion to enter Spain by Braganza, and that his Catholic Majesty was on the march with a strong detachment towards Castille. Two thousand horse were arrived at Agreda, and it is reported they were to join the rest of the body, with the King, and advance to Calatayud, on their way to Madrid, whilst General Staremberg observed the enemy on the frontier of Navarre. They write from Bayonne, that the Duke of Vendôme set forwards to Spain on the 14th.

No. 226. [Addison.

From Saturday, Sept. 16, to Tuesday, Sept. 19, 1710

-Juvenis quondam, nunc femina, Cænis,
Rursus et in veterem fato revoluta figuram.

    Virg., Æn. vi. 448.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 18

It is one of the designs of this paper to transmit to posterity an account of everything that is monstrous in my own times. For this reason I shall here publish to the world the life of a person who was neither man nor woman, as written by one of my ingenious correspondents, who seems to have imitated Plutarch in that multifarious erudition, and those occasional dissertations, which he has wrought into the body of his history. The Life I am putting out, is that of Margery, alias John Young, commonly known by the name of Dr. Young, who (as the town very well knows) was a woman that practised physic in man's clothes, and after having had two wives and several children, died about a month since.

"Sir,

"I here make bold to trouble you with a short account of the famous Dr. Young's life, which you may call (if you please) a second part of the farce of the 'Sham Doctor.' This perhaps will not seem so strange to you, who (if I am not mistaken) have somewhere mentioned with honour your sister Kirleus[107 - See No. 14.] as a practitioner both in physic and astrology: but in the common opinion of mankind, a she-quack is altogether as strange and astonishing a creature as the centaur that practised physic in the days of Achilles, or as King Phys in 'The Rehearsal.'[108 - The Physician was one of the usurping Kings of Brentford.] Æsculapius, the great founder of your art, was particularly famous for his beard, as we may conclude from the behaviour of a tyrant who is branded by heathen historians as guilty both of sacrilege and blasphemy, having robbed the statue of Æsculapius of a thick bushy golden beard, and then alleged for his excuse, that it was a shame the son should have a beard when his father Apollo had none. This latter instance indeed seems something to favour a female professor, since (as I have been told) the ancient statues of Apollo are generally made with the head and face of a woman: nay, I have been credibly informed by those who have seen them both, that the famous Apollo in the Belvedere did very much resemble Dr. Young. Let that be as it will, the doctor was a kind of Amazon in physic, that made as great devastations and slaughters as any of our chief heroes in the art, and was as fatal to the English in these our days, as the famous Joan d'Arc was in those of our forefathers.

"I do not find anything remarkable in the Life I am about to write till the year 1695, at which time the doctor, being about twenty-three years old, was brought to bed of a bastard child. The scandal of such a misfortune gave so great uneasiness to pretty Mrs. Peggy (for that was the name by which the doctor was then called), that she left her family, and followed her lover to London, with a fixed resolution some way or other to recover her lost reputation: but instead of changing her life, which one would have expected from so good a disposition of mind, she took it in her head to change her sex. This was soon done by the help of a sword and a pair of breeches. I have reason to believe, that her first design was to turn man-midwife, having herself had some experience in those affairs: but thinking this too narrow a foundation for her future fortune, she at length bought her a gold button coat, and set up for a physician. Thus we see the same fatal miscarriage in her youth made Mrs. Young a doctor, that formerly made one of the same sex a Pope.

"The doctor succeeded very well in his business at first, but very often met with accidents that disquieted him. As he wanted that deep magisterial voice which gives authority to a prescription, and is absolutely necessary for the right pronouncing of those words, 'Take these pills,' he unfortunately got the nickname of the Squeaking Doctor. If this circumstance alarmed the doctor, there was another that gave him no small disquiet, and very much diminished his gains. In short, he found himself run down as a superficial prating quack in all families that had at the head of them a cautious father or a jealous husband. These would often complain among one another, that they did not like such a smock-faced physician; though in truth had they known how justly he deserved that name, they would rather have favoured his practice than have apprehended anything from it.

"Such were the motives that determined Mrs. Young to change her condition, and take in marriage a virtuous young woman, who lived with her in good reputation, and made her the father of a very pretty girl. But this part of her happiness was soon after destroyed by a distemper which was too hard for our physician, and carried off his first wife. The doctor had not been a widow long before he married his second lady, with whom also he lived in very good understanding. It so happened that the doctor was with child at the same time that his lady was; but the little ones coming both together, they passed for twins. The doctor having entirely established the reputation of his manhood, especially by the birth of the boy of whom he had been lately delivered, and who very much resembles him, grew into good business, and was particularly famous for the cure of venereal distempers; but would have had much more practice among his own sex, had not some of them been so unreasonable as to demand certain proofs of their cure, which the doctor was not able to give them. The florid blooming look, which gave the doctor some uneasiness at first, instead of betraying his person, only recommended his physic. Upon this occasion I cannot forbear mentioning what I thought a very agreeable surprise in one of Molière's plays, where a young woman applies herself to a sick person in the habit of a quack, and speaks to her patient, who was something scandalised at the youth of his physician, to the following purpose: 'I began to practise in the reign of Francis I., and am now in the hundred-and-fiftieth year of my age; but, by the virtue of my medicaments, have maintained myself in the same beauty and freshness I had at fifteen.' For this reason Hippocrates lays it down as a rule, that a student in physic should have a sound constitution and a healthy look, which indeed seem as necessary qualifications for a physician as a good life and virtuous behaviour for a divine. But to return to our subject. About two years ago the doctor was very much afflicted with the vapours, which grew upon him to such a degree, that about six weeks since they made an end of him. His death discovered the disguise he had acted under, and brought him back again to his former sex. 'Tis said, that at his burial the pall was held up by six women of some fashion. The doctor left behind him a widow and two fatherless children, if they may be called so, besides the little boy before mentioned; in relation to whom we may say of the doctor, as the good old ballad about the 'Children in the Wood' says of the unnatural uncle, that he was father and mother both in one. These are all the circumstances that I could learn of Dr. Young's life, which might have given occasion to many obscene fictions: but as I know those would never have gained a place in your paper, I have not troubled you with any impertinence of that nature; having stuck to the truth very scrupulously, as I always do when I subscribe myself,

    "Sir,
    "Your, &c.

"I shall add, as a postscript to this letter, that I am informed, the famous Saltero,[109 - See No. 34] who sells coffee in his museum at Chelsea, has by him a curiosity which helped the doctor to carry on his imposture, and will give great satisfaction to the curious inquirer."

No. 227. [Steele.

From Tuesday, Sept. 19, to Thursday, Sept. 21, 1710

Omnibus invideas, Zoile,[110 - "Livide" (Martial).] nemo tibi. – Martial, Epig. i. 40.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 20

It is the business of reason and philosophy to soothe and allay the passions of the mind, or turn them to a vigorous prosecution of what is dictated by the understanding. In order to this good end, I would keep a watchful eye upon the growing inclinations of youth, and be particularly careful to prevent their indulging themselves in such sentiments as may embitter their more advanced age. I have now under cure a young gentleman, who lately communicated to me, that he was of all men living the most miserably envious. I desired the circumstances of his distemper; upon which, with a sigh that would have moved the most inhuman breast: "Mr. Bickerstaff," said he, "I am nephew to a gentleman of a very great estate, to whose favour I have a cousin that has equal pretensions with myself. This kinsman of mine is a young man of the highest merit imaginable, and has a mind so tender and so generous, that I can observe he returns my envy with pity. He makes me upon all occasions the most obliging condescensions: and I cannot but take notice of the concern he is in to see my life blasted with this racking passion, though it is against himself. In the presence of my uncle, when I am in the room, he never speaks so well as he is capable of, but always lowers his talents and accomplishments out of regard to me. What I beg of you, dear sir, is to instruct me how to love him, as I know he does me; and I beseech you, if possible, to set my heart right, that it may no longer be tormented where it should be pleased, or hate a man whom I cannot but approve."

The patient gave me this account with such candour and openness, that I conceived immediate hopes of his cure; because in diseases of the mind the person affected is half recovered when he is sensible of his distemper. "Sir," said I, "the acknowledgment of your kinsman's merit is a very hopeful symptom; for it is the nature of persons afflicted with this evil, when they are incurable, to pretend a contempt of the person envied, if they are taxed with that weakness. A man who is really envious will not allow he is so; but upon such an accusation is tormented with the reflection, that to envy a man is to allow him your superior. But in your case, when you examine the bottom of your heart, I am apt to think it is avarice which you mistake for envy. Were it not that you have both expectations from the same man, you would look upon your cousin's accomplishments with pleasure. You that now consider him as an obstacle to your interest, would then behold him as an ornament to your family." I observed my patient upon this occasion recover himself in some measure; and he owned to me, that he hoped it was as I imagined; for that in all places but where he was his rival, he had pleasure in his company. This was the first discourse we had upon this malady; and I do not doubt but, after two or three more, I shall by just degrees soften his envy into emulation.

Such an envy as I have here described may possibly creep into an ingenuous mind; but the envy which makes a man uneasy to himself and others, is a certain distortion and perverseness of temper, that renders him unwilling to be pleased with anything without him that has either beauty or perfection in it. I look upon it as a distemper in the mind (which I know no moralist that has described in this light), when a man cannot discern anything which another is master of that is agreeable. For which reason I look upon the good-natured man to be endowed with a certain discerning faculty which the envious are altogether deprived of. Shallow wits, superficial critics, and conceited fops are with me so many blind men in respect of excellences. They can behold nothing but faults and blemishes, and indeed see nothing that is worth seeing. Show them a poem, it is stuff; a picture, it is daubing. They find nothing in architecture that is not irregular, or in music that is not out of tune. These men should consider, that it is their envy which deforms everything, and that the ugliness is not in the object, but in the eye. And as for nobler minds, whose merits are either not discovered, or are misrepresented by the envious part of mankind, they should rather consider their defamers with pity than indignation. A man cannot have an idea of perfection in another which he was never sensible of in himself. Mr. Locke tells us, that upon asking a blind man, what he thought scarlet was, he answered, that he believed it was like the sound of a trumpet. He was forced to form his conceptions of ideas which he had not by those which he had. In the same manner, ask an envious man, what he thinks of virtue? he will call it design: what of good-nature? and he will term it dulness. The difference is, that as the person before mentioned was born blind, your envious men have contracted the distemper themselves, and are troubled with a sort of an acquired blindness. Thus the devil in Milton, though made an angel of light, could see nothing to please him even in Paradise, and hated our first parents, though in their state of innocence.[111 - "Paradise Lost," iv. 358 seq.]

No. 228. [Steele.

From Thursday, Sept. 21, to Saturday, Sept. 23, 1710

-Veniet manus, auxilio quæ
Sit mihi —