Books: Isaac Bickerstaff
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Richard Steele >> Isaac Bickerstaff
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It is a mistaken sense of superiority to believe a figure, or
equipage, gives men precedence to their neighbours. Nothing can
create respect from mankind, but laying obligations upon them; and
it may very reasonably be concluded, that if it were put into a due
balance, according to the true state of the account, many who
believe themselves in possession of a large share of dignity in the
world, must give place to their inferiors. The greatest of all
distinctions in civil life is that of debtor and creditor; and there
needs no great progress in logic to know which, in that case, is the
advantageous side. He who can say to another, "Pray, master," or
"pray, my lord, give me my own," can as justly tell him, "It is a
fantastical distinction you take upon you, to pretend to pass upon
the world for my master or lord, when, at the same time that I wear
your livery, you owe me wages; or, while I wait at your door, you
are ashamed to see me till you have paid my bill."
The good old way among the gentry of England to maintain their
pre-eminence over the lower rank, was by their bounty, munificence,
and hospitality; and it is a very unhappy change, if at present, by
themselves or their agents, the luxury of the gentry is supported by
the credit of the trader. This is what my correspondent pretends to
prove out of his own books, and those of his whole neighbourhood.
He has the confidence to say, that there is a mug-house near Long
Acre, where you may every evening hear an exact account of
distresses of this kind. One complains that such a lady's finery is
the occasion that his own wife and daughter appear so long in the
same gown. Another, that all the furniture of her visiting
apartment are no more hers than the scenery of a play are the proper
goods of the actress. Nay, at the lower end of the same table, you
may hear a butcher and a poulterer say, that, at their proper
charge, all that family has been maintained since they last came to
town.
The free manner in which people of fashion are discoursed on at such
meetings is but a just reproach for their failures in this kind; but
the melancholy relations of the great necessities tradesmen are
driven to, who support their credit in spite of the faithless
promises which are made them, and the abatement which they suffer
when paid by the extortion of upper servants, is what would stop the
most thoughtless man in the career of his pleasures, if rightly
represented to him.
If this matter be not very speedily amended, I shall think fit to
print exact lists of all persons who are not at their own disposal,
though above the age of twenty-one; and as the trader is made
bankrupt for absence from his abode, so shall the gentleman for
being at home, if, when Mr. Morphew calls, he cannot give him an
exact account of what passes in his own family. After this fair
warning, no one ought to think himself hardly dealt with, if I take
upon me to pronounce him no longer master of his estate, wife, or
family, than he continues to improve, cherish, and maintain them
upon the basis of his own property, without incursions upon his
neighbour in any of these particulars.
According to that excellent philosopher Epictetus, we are all but
acting parts in a play; and it is not a distinction in itself to be
high or low, but to become the parts we are to perform. I am, by my
office, prompter on this occasion, and shall give those who are a
little out in their parts such soft hints as may help them to
proceed, without letting it be known to the audience they were out;
but if they run quite out of character, they must be called off the
stage, and receive parts more suitable to their genius. Servile
complaisance shall degrade a man from his honour and quality, and
haughtiness be yet more debased. Fortune shall no longer
appropriate distinctions, but nature direct us in the disposition
both of respect and discountenance. As there are tempers made for
command and others for obedience, so there are men born for
acquiring possessions, and others incapable of being other than mere
lodgers in the houses of their ancestors, and have it not in their
very composition to be proprietors of anything. These men are moved
only by the mere effects of impulse: their good-will and disesteem
are to be regarded equally, for neither is the effect of their
judgment. This loose temper is that which makes a man, what Sallust
so well remarks to happen frequently in the same person, to be
covetous of what is another's, and profuse of what is his own. This
sort of men is usually amiable to ordinary eyes; but, in the sight
of reason, nothing is laudable but what is guided by reason. The
covetous prodigal is of all others the worst man in society. If he
would but take time to look into himself, he would find his soul all
over gashed with broken vows and promises; and his retrospect on his
actions would not consist of reflections upon those good resolutions
after mature thought, which are the true life of a reasonable
creature, but the nauseous memory of imperfect pleasures, idle
dreams, and occasional amusements. To follow such dissatisfying
pursuits is it possible to suffer the ignominy of being unjust? I
remember in Tully's Epistle, in the recommendation of a man to an
affair which had no manner of relation to money, it is said, "You
may trust him, for he is a frugal man." It is certain, he who has
not a regard to strict justice in the commerce of life, can be
capable of no good action in any other kind; but he who lives below
his income, lays up every moment of life armour against a base
world, that will cover all his frailties while he is so fortified,
and exaggerate them when he is naked and defenceless.
ADVERTISEMENT.
*** A stage-coach sets out exactly at six from Nando's coffee-house
to Mr. Tiptoe's dancing-school, and returns at eleven every evening,
for one shilling and four-pence.
N.B.--Dancing shoes, not exceeding four inches height in the heel,
and periwigs, not exceeding three feet in length, are carried in the
coach-box gratis.
XX.--FALSE DOCTORING.
From my own Apartment, October 2O.
I do not remember that in any of my lucubrations I have touched upon
that useful science of physic, notwithstanding I have declared
myself more than once a professor of it. I have indeed joined the
study of astrology with it, because I never knew a physician
recommend himself to the public who had not a sister art to
embellish his knowledge in medicine. It has been commonly observed,
in compliment to the ingenious of our profession, that Apollo was
god of verse as well as physic; and in all ages, the most celebrated
practitioners of our country were the particular favourites of the
Muses. Poetry to physic is indeed like the gilding to a pill; it
makes the art shine, and covers the severity of the doctor with the
agreeableness of the companion.
The very foundation of poetry is good sense, if we may allow Horace
to be a judge of the art.
"Scribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons."
HOR. ARS POET. 3O9.
"Such judgment is the ground of writing well."
ROSCOMMON.
And if so, we have reason to believe that the same man who writes
well can prescribe well, if he has applied himself to the study of
both. Besides, when we see a man making profession of two different
sciences, it is natural for us to believe he is no pretender in that
which we are not judges of, when we find him skilful in that which
we understand.
Ordinary quacks and charlatans are thoroughly sensible how necessary
it is to support themselves by these collateral assistances, and
therefore always lay their claim to some supernumerary
accomplishments, which are wholly foreign to their profession.
About twenty years ago, it was impossible to walk the streets
without having an advertisement thrust into your hand, of a doctor
"who was arrived at the knowledge of the 'Green and Red Dragon,' and
had discovered the female fern-seed." Nobody ever knew what this
meant; but the "Green and Red Dragon" so amused the people, that the
doctor lived very comfortably upon them. About the same time there
was pasted a very hard word upon every corner of the streets. This,
to the best of my remembrance, was
TETRACHYMAGOGON,
which drew great shoals of spectators about it, who read the bill
that it introduced with unspeakable curiosity; and when they were
sick, would have nobody but this learned man for their physician.
I once received an advertisement of one "who had studied thirty
years by candle-light for the good of his countrymen." He might
have studied twice as long by daylight and never have been taken
notice of. But elucubrations cannot be over-valued. There are some
who have gained themselves great reputation for physic by their
birth, as the "seventh son of a seventh son," and others by not
being born at all, as the unborn doctor, who I hear is lately gone
the way of his patients, having died worth five hundred pounds per
annum, though he was not born to a halfpenny.
My ingenious friend, Doctor Saffold, succeeded my old contemporary,
Doctor Lilly, in the studies both of physic and astrology, to which
he added that of poetry, as was to be seen both upon the sign where
he lived, and in the pills which he distributed. He was succeeded
by Doctor Case, who erased the verses of his predecessor out of the
sign-post, and substituted in their stead two of his own, which were
as follow:--
"Within this place
Lives Doctor Case."
He is said to have got more by this distich than Mr. Dryden did by
all his works. There would be no end of enumerating the several
imaginary perfections and unaccountable artifices by which this
tribe of men ensnare the minds of the vulgar and gain crowds of
admirers. I have seen the whole front of a mountebank's stage from
one end to the other, faced with patents, certificates, medals, and
great seals, by which the several princes of Europe have testified
their particular respect and esteem for the doctor. Every great man
with a sounding title has been his patient. I believe I have seen
twenty mountebanks that have given physic to the Czar of Muscovy.
The Great Duke of Tuscany escapes no better. The Elector of
Brandenburg was likewise a very good patient.
This great condescension of the doctor draws upon him much good-will
from his audience; and it is ten to one but if any of them be
troubled with an aching tooth, his ambition will prompt him to get
it drawn by a person who has had so many princes, kings, and
emperors under his hands.
I must not leave this subject without observing that, as physicians
are apt to deal in poetry, apothecaries endeavour to recommend
themselves by oratory, and are therefore, without controversy, the
most eloquent persons in the whole British nation. I would not
willingly discourage any of the arts, especially that of which I am
an humble professor; but I must confess, for the good of my native
country, I could wish there might be a suspension of physic for some
years, that our kingdom, which has been so much exhausted by the
wars, might have leave to recruit itself.
As for myself, the only physic which has brought me safe to almost
the age of man, and which I prescribe to all my friends, is
Abstinence. This is certainly the best physic for prevention, and
very often the most effectual against a present distemper. In
short, my recipe is "Take nothing."
Were the body politic to be physicked like particular persons, I
should venture to prescribe to it after the same manner. I remember
when our whole island was shaken with an earthquake some years ago,
there was an impudent mountebank who sold pills, which, as he told
the country people, were "very good against an earthquake." It may,
perhaps, be thought as absurd to prescribe a diet for the allaying
popular commotions and national ferments. But I am verily persuaded
that if in such a case a whole people were to enter into a course of
abstinence, and eat nothing but water-gruel for a fortnight, it
would abate the rage and animosity of parties, and not a little
contribute to the care of a distracted nation. Such a fast would
have a natural tendency to the procuring of those ends, for which a
fast is usually proclaimed. If any man has a mind to enter on such
a voluntary abstinence, it might not be improper to give him the
caution of Pythagoras in particular, Abstine a fabis, "Abstain from
beans," that is, say the interpreters, "Meddle not with elections,"
beans having been made use of by the voters among the Athenians in
the choice of magistrates.
XXI.--DRINKING.
From my own Apartment, October 23.
A method of spending one's time agreeably is a thing so little
studied, that the common amusement of our young gentlemen,
especially of such as are at a distance from those of the first
breeding, is Drinking. This way of entertainment has custom on its
side; but as much as it has prevailed, I believe there have been
very few companies that have been guilty of excess this way, where
there have not happened more accidents which make against than for
the continuance of it. It is very common that events arise from a
debauch which are fatal, and always such as are disagreeable. With
all a man's reason and good sense about him, his tongue is apt to
utter things out of mere gaiety of heart, which may displease his
best friends. Who then would trust himself to the power of wine
without saying more against it, than that it raises the imagination
and depresses the judgment? Were there only this single
consideration, that we are less masters of ourselves when we drink
in the least proportion above the exigencies of thirst, I say, were
this all that could be objected, it were sufficient to make us abhor
this vice. But we may go on to say, that as he who drinks but a
little is not master of himself, so he who drinks much is a slave to
himself. As for my part, I ever esteemed a drunkard of all vicious
persons the most vicious: for if our actions are to be weighed and
considered according to the intention of them, what cannot we think
of him, who puts himself into a circumstance wherein he can have no
intention at all, but incapacitates himself for the duties and
offices of life by a suspension of all his faculties? If a man
considered that he cannot, under the oppression of drink, be a
friend, a gentleman, a master, or a subject: that he has so long
banished himself from all that is dear, and given up all that is
sacred to him: he would even then think of a debauch with horror.
But when he looks still further and acknowledges that he is not only
expelled out of all the relations of life, but also liable to offend
against them all; what words can express the terror and detestation
he would have of such a condition? And yet he owns all this of
himself who says he was drunk last night.
As I have all along persisted in it, that all the vicious in general
are in a state of death; so I think I may add to the non-existence
of drunkards, that they died by their own hands. He is certainly as
guilty of suicide who perishes by a slow, as he that is despatched
by an immediate, poison. In my last lucubration I proposed the
general use of water gruel, and hinted that it might not be amiss at
this very season. But as there are some whose cases, in regard to
their families, will not admit of delay, I have used my interest in
several wards of the city, that the wholesome restorative
above-mentioned may be given in tavern kitchens to all the morning
draughtsmen within the walls when they call for wine before noon.
For a further restraint and mark upon such persons, I have given
orders, that in all the offices where policies are drawn upon lives,
it shall be added to the article which prohibits that the nominee
should cross the sea, the words, "Provided also, that the
above-mentioned A. B. shall not drink before dinner during the term
mentioned in this indenture."
I am not without hopes, that by this method I shall bring some
unsizable friends of mine into shape and breadth, as well as others,
who are languid and consumptive, into health and vigour. Most of
the self-murderers whom I yet hinted at are such as preserve a
certain regularity in taking their poison, and make it mix pretty
well with their food. But the most conspicuous of those who destroy
themselves, are such as in their youth fall into this sort of
debauchery; and contract a certain uneasiness of spirit, which is
not to be diverted but by tippling as often as they can fall into
company in the day, and conclude with downright drunkenness at
night. These gentlemen never know the satisfaction of youth, but
skip the years of manhood, and are decrepit soon after they are of
age. I was godfather to one of these old fellows. He is now three-
and-thirty, which is the grand climacteric of a young drunkard. I
went to visit the wretch this morning, with no other purpose but to
rally him under the pain and uneasiness of being sober.
But as our faults are double when they affect others besides
ourselves, so this vice is still more odious in a married than a
single man. He that is the husband of a woman of honour, and comes
home overloaded with wine, is still more contemptible in proportion
to the regard we have to the unhappy consort of his bestiality. The
imagination cannot shape to itself anything more monstrous and
unnatural than the familiarities between drunkenness and chastity.
The wretched Astraea, who is the perfection of beauty and innocence,
has long been thus condemned for life. The romantic tales of
virgins devoted to the jaws of monsters, have nothing in them so
terrible as the gift of Astraea to that Bacchanal.
XXII.--NIGHT AND DAY.
From my own Apartment, December 13.
An old friend of mine being lately come to town, I went to see him
on Tuesday last about eight o'clock in the evening, with a design to
sit with him an hour or two and talk over old stories; but, upon
inquiring after him, his servant told me he was just gone to bed.
The next morning, as soon as I was up and dressed, and had
despatched a little business, I came again to my friend's house
about eleven o'clock, with a design to renew my visit: but, upon
asking for him, his servant told me he was just sat down to dinner.
In short, I found that my old-fashioned friend religiously adhered
to the example of his forefathers, and observed the same hours that
had been kept in the family ever since the Conquest.
It is very plain that the night was much longer formerly in this
island than it is at present. By the night, I mean that portion of
time which Nature has thrown into darkness, and which the wisdom of
mankind had formerly dedicated to rest and silence. This used to
begin at eight o'clock in the evening, and conclude at six in the
morning. The curfew, or eight o'clock bell, was the signal
throughout the nation for putting out their candles and going to
bed.
Our grandmothers, though they were wont to sit up the last in the
family, were all of them fast asleep at the same hours that their
daughters are busy at crimp and basset. Modern statesmen are
concerting schemes, and engaged in the depth of politics, at the
time when their forefathers were laid down quietly to rest and had
nothing in their heads but dreams. As we have thus thrown business
and pleasure into the hours of rest, and by that means made the
natural night but half as long as it should be, we are forced to
piece it out with a great part of the morning; so that near
two-thirds of the nation lie fast asleep for several hours in broad
day-light. This irregularity is grown so very fashionable at
present, that there is scarcely a lady of quality in Great Britain
that ever saw the sun rise. And, if the humour increases in
proportion to what it has done of late years, it is not impossible
but our children may hear the bell-man going about the streets at
nine o'clock in the morning, and the watch making their rounds till
eleven. This unaccountable disposition in mankind to continue awake
in the night and sleep in sunshine, has made me inquire, whether the
same change of inclination has happened to any other animals? For
this reason, I desired a friend of mine in the country to let me
know whether the lark rises as early as he did formerly; and whether
the cock begins to crow at his usual hour? My friend has answered
me, "that his poultry are as regular as ever, and that all the birds
and the beasts of his neighbourhood keep the same hours that they
have observed in the memory of man; and the same which in all
probability they have kept for these five thousand years."
If you would see the innovations that have been made among us in
this particular, you may only look into the hours of colleges, where
they still dine at eleven, and sup at six, which were doubtless the
hours of the whole nation at the time when those places were
founded. But at present, the courts of justice are scarce opened in
Westminster Hall at the time when William Rufus used to go to dinner
in it. All business is driven forward. The landmarks of our
fathers, if I may so call them, are removed, and planted farther up
into the day; insomuch, that I am afraid our clergy will be obliged,
if they expect full congregations, not to look any more upon ten
o'clock in the morning as a canonical hour. In my own memory, the
dinner has crept by degrees from twelve o'clock to three, and where
it will fix nobody knows.
I have sometimes thought to draw up a memorial in the behalf of
Supper against Dinner, setting forth, that the said Dinner has made
several encroachments upon the said Supper, and entered very far
upon his frontiers; that he has banished him out of several
families, and in all has driven him from his headquarters, and
forced him to make his retreat into the hours of midnight; and, in
short, that he is now in danger of being entirely confounded and
lost in a breakfast. Those who have read Lucian, and seen the
complaints of the letter T against S, upon account of many injuries
and usurpations of the same nature, will not, I believe, think such
a memorial forced and unnatural. If dinner has been thus postponed,
or, if you please, kept back from time to time, you may be sure that
it has been in compliance with the other business of the day, and
that supper has still observed a proportionable distance. There is
a venerable proverb which we have all of us heard in our infancy, of
"putting the children to bed, and laying the goose to the fire."
This was one of the jocular sayings of our forefathers, but maybe
properly used in the literal sense at present. Who would not wonder
at this perverted relish of those who are reckoned the most polite
part of mankind, that prefer sea-coals and candles to the sun, and
exchange so many cheerful morning hours, for the pleasures of
midnight revels and debauches? If a man was only to consult his
health, he would choose to live his whole time, if possible, in
daylight, and to retire out of the world into silence and sleep,
while the raw damps and unwholesome vapours fly abroad, without a
sun to disperse, moderate, or control them. For my own part, I
value an hour in the morning as much as common libertines do an hour
at midnight. When I find myself awakened into being, and perceive
my life renewed within me, and at the same time see the whole face
of nature recovered out of the dark uncomfortable state in which it
lay for several hours, my heart overflows with such secret
sentiments of joy and gratitude, as are a kind of implicit praise to
the great Author of Nature. The mind, in these early seasons of the
day, is so refreshed in all its faculties, and borne up with such
new supplies of animal spirits, that she finds herself in a state of
youth, especially when she is entertained with the breath of
flowers, the melody of birds, the dews that hang upon the plants,
and all those other sweets of nature that are peculiar to the
morning.
It is impossible for a man to have this relish of being, this
exquisite taste of life, who does not come into the world before it
is in all its noise and hurry; who loses the rising of the sun, the
still hours of the day, and, immediately upon his first getting up
plunges himself into the ordinary cares or follies of the world.
I shall conclude this paper with Milton's inimitable description of
Adam's awakening his Eve in Paradise, which indeed would have been a
place as little delightful as a barren heath or desert to those who
slept in it. The fondness of the posture in which Adam is
represented, and the softness of his whisper, are passages in this
divine poem that are above all commendation, and rather to be
admired than praised.
Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime,
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep
Was airy light from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland; which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan,
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve,
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest. He on his side
Leaning half-raised, with looks of cordial love,
Hung over her enamoured, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces. Then, with voice
Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: "Awake,
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven's last, best gift, my ever-new delight,
Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How Nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet."
Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake:
"O soul! in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection, glad I see
Thy face, and morn returned."
PAR. LOST, V.1.
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