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The very bed, which on thy wedding-night
Receiv'd thee to the arms of Belvidera,
The scene of all thy joys, was violated
By the coarse hands of filthy dungeon villains,
And thrown amongst the common lumber.'

Nothing indeed can be more unhappy than the condition of bankruptcy. The calamity which happens to us by ill fortune, or by the injury of others, has in it some consolation; but what arises from our own misbehaviour, or error, is the state of the most exquisite sorrow. When a man considers not only an ample fortune, but even the very necessaries of life, his pretence to food itself, at the mercy of his creditors, he cannot but look upon himself in the state of the dead, with his case thus much worse, that the last office is performed by his adversaries instead of his friends. From this hour the cruel world does not only take possession of his whole fortune, but even of every thing else, which had no relation to it. All his indifferent actions have new interpretations put upon them; and those whom he has favoured in his former life, discharge themselves of their obligations to him, by joining in the reproaches of his enemies. It is almost incredible that it should be so; but it is too often seen that there is a pride mixed with the impatience of the creditor; and there are who would rather recover their own by the downfal of a prosperous man, than be discharged to the common satisfaction of themselves and their creditors. The wretched man, who was lately master of abundance, is now under the direction of others; and the wisdom, economy, good sense, and skill, in human life before, by reason of his present misfortune, are of no use to him in the disposition of any thing. The incapacity of an infant or a lunatic is designed for his provision and accommodation; but that of a bankrupt, without any mitigation in respect of the accidents by which it arrived, is calculated for his utter ruin, except there be a remainder ample enough, after the discharge of his creditors, to bear also the expense of rewarding those by whose means the effect of all his labour was transferred from him. The man is to look on and see others giving directions upon what terms and conditions is goods are to be purchased; and all this usually done, not with an air of trustees to dispose of his effects, but destroyers to divide and tear them to pieces.

There is something sacred in misery to great and good minds; for this reason all wise lawgivers have been extremely tender how they let loose even the man who has right on his side, to act with any mixture of resentment against the defendant. Virtuous and modest men, though they be used with some artifice, and have it in their power to avenge themselves, are slow in the application of that power, and are ever constrained to go into rigorous measures. They are careful to demonstrate themselves not only persons injured, but also that to bear it no longer would be a means to make the offender injure others, before they proceed. Such men clap their hands upon their hearts, and consider what it is to have at their mercy the life of a citizen. Such would have it to say to their own souls, if possible, that they were merciful, when they could have destroyed, rather than when it was in their power to have spared a man they destroyed. This is a due to the common calamity of human life, due in some measure to our very enemies. They who scruple doing the least injury, are cautious of exacting the utmost justice.

Let any one who is conversant in the variety of human life reflect upon it, and he will find the

man who wants mercy has a taste of no enjoy zarz of any kind. There is a natural disrelish of every thing which is good in his very nature, and ar n born an enemy to the world. He is ever extreamly, partial to himself in all his actions, and has m sense of iniquity but from the punishment wa shall attend it. The law of the land is his gospel, and all his cases of conscience are determined by his attorney. Such men know not what it is to gladden the heart of a miserable man, that riches are the instruments of serving the purposes of bra ven or hell, according to the disposition of the possessor. The wealthy can torment or gratity as who are in their power, and choose to do one œ other, as they are affected with love or hatred to mankind. As for such who are insensible of tar concerns of others, but merely as they affect thes selves, these men are to be valued only for ther mortality, and as we hope better things from th heirs. I could not but read with great delight a letter from an eminent citizen, who has failed, to one who was intimate with him in his better førtune, and able by his countenance to retrieve in lost condition.

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'SIR,

IT is in vain to multiply words and make apo gies for what is never to be defended by the bes advocate in the world, the guilt of being unfortenate. All that a man in my condition can do er say, will be received with prejudice by the gen rality of mankind, but I hope not with you: you have been a great instrument.in helping me to ga what I have lost; and I know (for that reason, as well as kindness to me) you cannot but be in pas to see me undone. To show you I am not a masa incapable of bearing calamity, I will, thonga a poor man, lay aside the distinction between #. and talk with the frankness we did when we wife uearer to an equality: as all I do will be received with prejudice, all you do will be looked upo with partiality. What I desire of you is, that y0. who are courted by all, would sunile upon me, who am shunned by all. Let that grace and favour which your fortune throws upon you, be turned to make up the coldness and indifference that is mod towards me. All good and generous men will have an eye of kindness for me for my own sake, and the rest of the world will regard me for you There is a happy contagion in riches, as well as destructive one in poverty: the rich can make rich without parting with any of their store: aud tor conversation of the poor makes men pour, though they borrow nothing of them. How this is to be accounted for I know not; but men's estims, on follows us according to the company we keep If you are what you were to me, you can go a great way towards my recovery; if you are nik, my good fortune, if ever it returns, will retura by slower approaches. 'I am, SIR, 'Your affectionate friend,

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happened to you. I shall not only countenance your affairs with my appearance for you, but shall accommodate you with a considerable sum at common interest for three years. You know I could make more of it; but I have so great a love for you, that I can wave opportunities of gain to help you; for I do not care whether they say of me, after I am dead, that I had an hundred or fifty thousand pounds more than I wanted when I was living.

STEELE.

N° 457.

'Your obliged humble servant.'

T.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 14, 1712.

Multa et præclara minantis.

there was no one that overheard him, has communicated to them in a low voice, and under the seal of secresy, the death of a great man in the country, who was, perhaps, a fox-hunting the very momeat this account was given of him. If upon your entering into a coffee-house you see a circle of heads bending over the table, and lying close by one another, it is ten to one but my friend Peter is among them. I have known Peter publishing the whisper of the day by eight o'clock in the morning at Garraway's, by twelve at Will's, and before two at the Smyrna. When Peter has thus effectually launched a secret, I have been very well pleased to hear people whispering it to one another at second hand, and spreading it about as their own; for you must know, sir, the great incentive to whispering is the ambition which every one has of being thought in the secret, and being looked upon as a man who has access to greater people than one would imagine. After having given you this account of Peter Hush, I proceed to that virtuous lady, the old Lady Blast, who is to communicate to me the private transactions of the crimptable, with all the arcana of the fair sex. The

HOR. Sat. iii. 1. 2. ver. 9. Seeming to promise something wondrous great. I SHALL this day lay before my readers a letter written by the same hand with that of last Friday*, which contained proposals for a printed newspaper that should take in the whole circle of the penny-Lady Blast, you must understand, has such a par

post.

SIR,

THE kind reception you gave my last Friday's letter, in which I broached my project of a newspaper, encourages me to lay before you two or three more; for you must know, sir, that we look upon you to be the Lowndest of the learned world, and cannot think any scheme practicable or rational before you have approved of it, though all the money we raise by it is in our own funds, and for our private use.

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'I have often thought that a news-letter of whispers, written every post, and sent about the kingdom, after the same manner as that of Mr. Dyer, Mr. Dawkes, or any other epistolary historian, might be highly gratifying to the public, as well as beneficial to the author. By whispers I mean those pieces of news which are communicated as secrets, and which bring a double pleasure to the hearer; first, as they are private history; and, in the next place, as they have always in them a dash of scandal. These are the two chief qualifications in an article of news, which recommend it, in a more than ordinary manner, to the ears of the curious. Sickness of persons in high posts, twilight visits paid and received by ministers of state, clandestine courtships and marriages, secret amours, losses at play, applications for places, with their respective successes and repulses, are the materials in which I chiefly intend to deal. I have two persons, that are each of them the representative of a species, who are to furnish me with those whispers which I intend to convey to my correspondents. The first of these is Peter Hush, descended from the ancient family of the Hushes. The other is the old Lady Blast, who has a very numerous tribe of daughters in the two great cities of London and Westminster. Peter Hush has a whispering-hole in most of the great coffee-houses about town. If you are alone with him in a wide room, he carries you up into a corner of it, and speaks in your ear. I have seen Peter seat himself in a company of seven or eight persons, whom he never saw before in his life; and, after having looked about to see

* No 452.

ticular malignity in her whisper, that it blights like
an easterly wind, and withers every reputation
that it breathes upon. She has a particular knack
at making private weddings, and last winter mar-
ried about five women of quality to their footmen.
Her whisper can make an innocent young woman
big with child, or fill an healthful young fellow
with distempers that are not to be named. She
can turn a visit into an intrigue, and a distant
salute into an assignation. She can beggar the
In short, she can
wealthy, and degrade the noble.
whisper men base or foolish, jealous or ill-natured;
or, if occasion requires, can tell you the slips of
their great grandmothers, and traduce the memory
of honest coachmen that have been in their graves
above these hundred years. By these and the like
helps, I question not but I shall furnish out a very
handsome news-letter. If you approve my project,
I shall begin to whisper by the very next post, and
question not every one of my customers will be
very well pleased with me, when he considers that
every piece of news I send him is a word in his
ear, and lets him into a secret.

Having given you a sketch of this project, I
shall, in the next place, suggest to you another for
a monthly pamphlet, which I shall likewise submit
I need not tell you,
to your spectatorial wisdom.
sir, that there are several authors in France, Ger-
many, and Holland, as well as in our own country,
who publish every month what they call " An Ac-
count of the Works of the Learned," in which
they give us an abstract of all such books as are
Now, sir, it is my
printed in any part of Europe.
design to publish every month," An Account of
the Works of the Unlearned." Several late pro-
ductions of my own countrymen, who many of
them make a very eminent figure in the illiterate
world, encourage me in this undertaking. I may,
in this work, possibly make a review of several
pieces which have appeared in the foreign ac-
counts above mentioned, though they ought not to
have been taken notice of in works which bear
such a title. I may, likewise, take into considera-
tion such pieces as appear, from time to time,
under the names of those gentlemen who compli-
ment one another in public assemblies, by the title
of "The learned Gentlemen." Our party-authors

At that time secretary of the treasury, and director of will also afford me a great variety of subjects, not

the mint.

to mention the editors, commentators, and others,

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I COULD not but smile at the account that was yesterday given me of a modest young gentleman, who, being invited to an entertainment, though he was not used to drink, had not the confidence to refuse his glass in his turn, when on a sudden he grew so flustered, that he took all the talk of the table into his own hands, abused every one of the company, and flung a bottle at the gentleman's head who treated him. This has given me occasion to reflect upon the ill effects of a vicious modesty, and to remember the saying of Brutus, as it is quoted by Plutarch, that the person has had but an ill education, who has not been taught to deny any thing. This false kind of modesty has, perhaps, betrayed both sexes into as many vices as the most abandoned impudence; and is the more inexcusable to reason, because it acts to gratify others rather than itself, and is punished with a kind of remorse, not only like other vicious habits when the crime is over, but even at the very time that it is committed.

Nothing is more admirable than true modesty, and nothing is more contemptible than the false. The one guards virtue, the other betrays it. True modesty is ashamed to do any thing that is repugnant to the rules of right reason: false modesty is ashamed to do any thing that is opposite to the humour of the company. True modesty avoids every thing that is criminal, false modesty every thing that is unfashionable. The latter is only a general undetermined instinct; the former is that instinct, limited and circumscribed by the rules of prudence and religion.

We may conclude that modesty to be false and vicious which engages a man to do any thing that is ill or indiscreet, or which restrains him from doing any thing that is of a contrary nature. How many men, in the common concerns of life, lend sums of money which they are not able to spare, are bound for persons whom they have but little friendship for, give recommendatory characters of men whom they are not acquainted with, bestow places on those whom they do not esteem, live in such manner as they themselves do not approve, and all this merely because they have not the confidence to resist solicitation, importunity, or example?

fearful of doing what may look singular in the company where he is engaged. He falls in wai the torrent, and lets himself go to every action or discourse, however unjustifiable in itself, so it be in vogue among the present party. This, thoug one of the most common, is one of the most ridies. lous dispositions in human nature, that men sho not be ashamed of speaking or acting in a dissolut or irrational manner, but that one who is in the company should be ashamed of governing hiri by the principles of reason and virtne.

In the second place, we are to consider fa modesty, as it restrains a man from doing what's good and laudable. My reader's own thoughts wi suggest to him many instances and examples unde this head. I shall only dwell upon one reflection, which I cannot make without a secret concert We have in England a particular bashfulness à every thing that regards religion. A well-br man is obliged to conceal any serious sentiment e this nature, and very often to appear a great libertine than he is, that he may keep himself countenance among the men of mode. Our exces of modesty makes us shame-faced in all the es ercises of piety and devotion. This humour pre vails upon us daily; insomuch that, at many wes bred tables, the master of the house is so very no dest a man, that he has not the confidence to se grace at his own table: a custom which is not en practised by all the nations about us, but was never omitted by the heathens themselves. English gr tlemen, who travel into Roman-catholic countras are not a little surprised to meet with people of the best quality kneeling in their churches, engaged in their private devotions, though in de not at the hours of public worship. An other the army, or a man of wit and pleasure, in th countries, would be afraid of passing not only fr an irreligious, but an ill-bred man, should be be seen to go to bed, or sit down at table, without offering up his devotions on such occasions. Te same show of religion appears in all the foreign reformed churches, and enters so much into thes ordinary conversation, that an Englishman is ap to term them hypocritical and precise.

This little appearance of a religious deportes: in our nation, may proceed in some measure fr that modesty which is natural to us; but the great occasion of it is certainly this. Those swarmı il sectaries that overran the nation in the time of the great rebellion, carried their hypocrisy so bek that they had converted our whole language inte a jargon of enthusiasm; insomuch that, upon the storation, men thought they could not recede to far from the behaviour and practice of those persons who had made religion a cloak to so MALAY villanies. This led them into the other extreme; every appearance of devotion was looked up as puritanical, and falling into the hands of t

ridiculers' who flourished in that reign, and a tacked every thing that was serious, it has ever since been out of countenance among us. By tha means we are gradually fallen into that vicima modesty, which has in some measure worn out fres among us the appearance of Christianity in 1920 nary life and conversation, and which distingue us from all our neighbours.

Nor does this false modesty expose us only to such actions as are indiscreet, but very often to Hypocrisy cannot indeed be too much detes, such as are highly criminal. When Xenophanes but at the same time is to be preferred to open was called timorous, because he would not venture impiety. They are both equally destructive to the his money in a game at dice; ' I confess,' said he,person who is possessed with them; but, is regu that I am exceeding timorous, for I dare not do to others, hypocrisy is not so pernicious as any ill thing. On the contrary, a man of vicious faced irreligion. The due mean to be observed a modesty complies with every thing, and is only to be sincerely virtuous, and at the same time in

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RELIGION may be considered under two general heads. The first comprehends what we are to believe, the other what we are to practise. By those things which we are to believe, I mean whatever is revealed to us in the holy writings, and which we could not have obtained the knowledge of by the light of nature; by the things which we are to practise, I mean all those duties to which we are directed by reason or natural religion The first of these I shall distinguish by the name of faith, the second by that of morality.

If we look into the more serious part of mankind, we find many who lay so great a stress upon faith, that they neglect morality; and many who build so much upon morality, that they do not pay a due regard to faith. The perfect man should be defective in neither of these particulars, as will be very evident to those who consider the benefits which arise from each of them, and which I shall make the subject of this day's paper.

Notwithstanding this general division of Christian duty into morality and faith, and that they have both their peculiar excellencies, the first has the pre-eminence in several respects.

First, Because the greatest part of morality (as I have stated the notion of it) is of a fixed eternal nature, and will endure when faith shall fail, and be lost in conviction.

Secondly, because a person may be qualified to do greater good to mankind, and become more beneficial to the world, by morality without faith, than by faith without morality.

Thirdly, Because morality gives a greater perfection to human nature, by quieting the mind, moderating the passions, and advancing the happiness of every man in his private capacity.

Fourthly, Because the rule of morality is much more certain than that of faith, all the civilized nations of the world agreeing in the great points of morality, as much as they differ in those of faith.

Fifthly, Because infidelity is not of so malignant a nature as immorality; or, to put the same reason in another light, because it is generally owned, there may be salvation for a virtuous infidel (particularly in the case of invincible ignorance), but none for a vicious believer.

Sixthly, Because faith seems to draw its principal, if not all its excellency, from the influence it has upon morality; as we shall see more at large, if we consider wherein consists the excellency of faith, or the belief of revealed religion; and this I think is,

First, In explaining, and carrying to greater heights, several points of morality.

Secondly, In furnishing new and stronger motives to enforce the practice of morality.

Thirdly, In giving us more amiable ideas of the

Supreme Being, more endearing notions of one another, and a truer state of ourselves, both in regard to the grandeur and vileness of our natures.

Fourthly, By showing us the blackness and deformity of vice, which in the Christian system is so very great, that he who is possessed of all perfection, and the sovereign judge of it, is represented by several of our divines as hating sin to the same degree that he loves the sacred person who was made the propitiation of it.

Fifthly, In being the ordinary and prescribed method of making morality effectual to salvation. I have only touched on these several heads, which every one who is conversant in discourses of this nature will easily enlarge upon in his own thoughts, and draw conclusions from them which may be useful to him in the conduct of his life. One I am sure is so obvious, that he cannot miss it, namely, that a man cannot be perfect in his scheme of morality, who does not strengthen and support it with that of the Christian faith.

Besides this, I shall lay down two or three other maxims which I think we may deduce from what has been said.

First, That we should be particularly cautious of making any thing an article of faith, which does not contribute to the confirmation or improvement of morality.

Secondly, That no article of faith can be true and authentic, which weakens or subverts the practical part of religion, or what I have hitherto called morality.

Thirdly, That the greatest friend of morality or natural religion, cannot possibly apprehend any danger from embracing Christianity, as it is preserved pure and uncorrupt in the doctrines of our national church.

There is likewise another maxim which I think may be drawn from the foregoing considerations, which is this, that we should, in all dubious points, consider any ill consequences that may arise from them, supposing they should be erroneous, before we give up our assent to them.

For example, In that disputable point of prosecuting men for conscience sake, besides the imbittering their minds with hatred, indignation, and all the vehemence of resentment, and insnaring them to profess what they do not believe; we cut them off from the pleasures and advantages of society; afflict their bodies, distress their fortunes, hurt their reputations, ruin their families, make their lives painful, or put an end to them. Sure when I see such dreadful consequences rising from a principle, I would be as fully convinced of the truth of it, as of a mathematical demonstration, before I would venture to act upon it, or make it a part of my religion.

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In this case the injury done our neighbour is plain and evident; the principle that puts us upon doing it, of a dubious and disputable nature. rality seems highly violated by the one; and whether or no a zeal for what a man thinks the true system of faith may justify it, is very uncertain. I cannot but think, if our religion produces charity as well as zeal, it will not be for showing itself by such cruel instances. But to conclude with the words of an excellent author *, ' We have just enough religion to make us hate but not enough to

make us love one another.'

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the sky to which he pointed, and observed a the blue prospect, which cleared as mountains 17. summer morning when the mists go off, and the p lace of Vanity appeared to sight.

The foundation hardly seemed a foundation, t a set of curling clouds, which it stood upon by m. gical contrivance. The way by which we ascend". was painted like a rainbow; and as we west, 1 breeze that played about us bewitched the sca The walls were gilded all for show; the lowest of pillars were of the slight fine Corintitian ord and the top of the building being rounded, bare far the resemblance of a bubble.

OUR defects and follies are too often unknown to us; nay, they are so far from being known to us, that they pass for demonstrations of our worth. This makes us easy in the midst of them, fond to show them, fond to improve in them, and to be At the gate the travellers neither met with a pr esteemed for them. Then it is that a thousand un- ter, nor waited till one should appear; every as accountable conceits, gay inventions, and extra-thought his merits a sufficient passport, and prevagant actions, must afford us pleasures, and display us to others in the colours which we ourselves take a fancy to glory in. Indeed there is something so amusing for the time in this state of vanity and ill-grounded satisfaction, that even the wiser world has chosen an exalted word to describe its enchantments, and called it, 'The Paradise of Fools.'

Perhaps the latter part of this reflection may seem a false thought of some, and bear another turn than what I have given; but it is at present none of my business to look after it, who am going to confess that I have been lately amongst them in a vision.

Methought I was transported to a hill, green, flowery, and of an easy ascent. Upon the broad top of it resided squint-eyed Error, and Popular Opinion with many heads; two that dealt in sorcery, and were famous for bewitching people with the love of themselves. To these repaired a multitude from every side, by two different paths which lead towards each of them. Some who had the most assuming air, went directly of themselves to Error, without expecting a conductor; others of a softer nature went first to Popular Opinion, from whence, as she influenced and engaged them with their own praises, she delivered them over to his government.

When we had ascended to an open part of the summit where Opinion abode, we found her entertaining several who had arrived before us. Her voice was pleasing; she breathed odours as she spoke. She seemed to have a tongue for every one: every one thought he heard of something that was valuable in himself, and expected a paradise which she promised as the reward of his merit. Thus were we drawn to follow her, till she should bring us where it was to be bestowed: and it was observable, that all the way we went, the company was either praising themselves for their qualifications, or one another for those qualifications which the took to be conspicuous in their own characters, or dispraising others for wanting theirs, or vying in the degrees of them.

At last we approached a bower, at the entrance of which Error was scated. The trees were thick woven, and the place where he sat artfully contrived to darken him a little. He was disguised in a whitish robe, which he had put on, that he might appear to us with a nearer resemblance to Truth: and as she has a light whereby she manifests the beauties of nature to the eyes of ber adorers, so he had provided himself with a magical wand, that he might do something in imitation of it, and please with delusions. This he lifted solemnly, and muttering to himself, bid the glories which he kept under enchantment to appear before us. Immediately we cast our eyes on that part of

forward. In the hall we met with several y. toms, that roved amongst us, and ranged the on pany according to their sentiments. There a decreasing Honour, that had nothing to show but an old coat of his ancestor's achievemer. There was Ostentation, that made himself his ov: constant subject, and Gallantry strutting upɑn ! tip-toes. At the upper end of the hill stoor » throne, whose canopy glittered with all t riches that Gaiety could contrive to lavish on r. and between the gilded arms sat Vanity, deck in the peacock's feathers, and acknowledged bi another Venus by her votaries. The boy who stu beside her for a Cupid, and who made the wor to bow before her, was called Self-concet. # eyes had every now and then a cast inwards to me neglect of all objects about bin; and the arr which he made use of for conquest, were borroRTY from those against whom he had a desigs. I' arrow which he shot at the soldier, was firdr from his own plume of feathers; the dart hea rected against the man of wit, was winged fr the quills he writ with; and that which he s against those who presumed upon their riches, # headed with gold out of their treasuries. He nets for statesmen from their own contrivancehe took fire from the eyes of ladies, with watch ve melted their hearts; and lightning from the tong of the eloquent, to inflame them with their **. glories. At the foot of the throne sat three faw graces; Flattery with a shell of paint; Affectats with a mirror to practise at, and Fashida eve changing the posture of her clothes. These plied themselves to secure the conquests which conceit had gotten, and had cach of them the particular polities. Flattery gave new colost, an complexions to all things; Affectation new airs-at appearances, which, as she said, were not väg and Fashion both concealed some home drina and added some foreign external beauties.

As I was reflecting upon what I saw, I heart. voice in the crowd bemoaning the condition mankind, which is thus managed by the breath # Opinion, deluded by Error, fired by Self-conces and given up to be trained in all the courses a Vanity, till Scorn or Poverty come up. * These expressions were no sooner handed abər, but I immediately saw a general disorder, tul » last there was a parting in one place, and a cra old man, decent and resolute, was led forward t be punished for the words he had uttered. He 4 peared inclined to have spoken in his our dele, ! but I could not observe that any one was wir to hear him. Vanity cast a scornful smile a, bar Self-conceit was angry; Flattery, who kủew kii for Plain-dealing, put on a wizard, and away; Affectation tossed her fan, made mus. and called him Eavy or Slander; and Fa

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