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guarded him to his lodgings in the same manner that we brought him to the play-house; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only with the performance of the excellent piece which had been presented, but with the satisfaction which it had given to the good old man.

(The Spectator, No. 335.)

The Committee, one of Sir Robert Howard's plays (see Vol. I. p. 787), was very popular after the Restoration, on account of its political bias. See Pepys's Diary, 12th June 1663. The Distressed Mother (a version of Racine's Andromaque), by Ambrose Philips, was acted on 17th March 1712 and printed in 1713. Steele wrote the Prologue, and Addison and Budgell the Epilogue. It was burlesqued by Fielding in his Covent Garden Tragedy (1732).

Nature and Art.

If we consider the works of nature and art, as they are qualified to entertain the imagination, we shall find the last very defective in comparison of the former; for though they may sometimes appear as beautiful or strange, they can have nothing in them of that vastness and immensity, which afford so great an entertainment to the mind of the beholder. The one may be as polite and delicate as the other, but can never show herself so august and magnificent in the design. There is something more bold and masterly in the rough careless strokes of nature than in the nice touches and embellishments of art. The beauties of the most stately garden or palace lie in a narrow compass, the imagination immediately runs them over, and requires something else to gratify her; but in the wide fields of nature, the sight wanders up and down without confinement, and is fed with an infinite variety of images, without any certain stint or number. For this reason we always find the poet in love with a country life, where nature appears in the greatest perfection, and furnishes out all those scenes that are most apt to delight the imagination.

'Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus et fugit urbes.' -HORACE.

'Hic secura quies, et nescia fallere vita,
Dives opum variarum, hic latis otia fundis,
Speluncae, vivique lacus, hic frigida Tempe,
Mugitusque boum, mollesque sub arbore somni.'
-VIRGIL.

But though there are several of these wild scenes that are more delightful than any artificial shows; yet we find the works of nature still more pleasant the more they resemble those of art: for in this case our pleasure rises from a double principle; from the agreeableness of the objects to the eye, and from their similitude to other objects: we are pleased as well with comparing their beauties as with surveying them, and can represent them to our minds either as copies or originals. Hence it is that we take delight in a prospect which is well laid out, and diversified with fields and meadows, woods and rivers; in those accidental landscapes of trees, clouds, and cities, that are sometimes found in the veins of marble; in the curious fret-work of rocks and grottos; and, in a word, in anything that hath such a variety or regularity as may seem the effect of design, in what we call the works of chance.

If the products of nature rise in value, according as they more or less resemble those of art, we may be sure that artificial works receive a greater advantage from their resemblance of such as are natural; because here the similitude is not only pleasant, but the pattern more perfect. The prettiest landscape I ever saw was

one drawn on the walls of a dark room, which stood opposite on one side to a navigable river, and on the other to a park. The experiment is very common in optics. Here you might discover the waves and fluctuations of the water in strong and proper colours, with the picture of a ship entering at one end, and sailing by degrees through the whole piece. On another there appeared the green shadows of trees, waving to and fro with the wind, and herds of deer among them in miniature, leaping about upon the wall. I must confess, the novelty of such a sight may be one occasion of its pleasantness to the imagination, but certainly the chief reason is its near resemblance to nature, as it does not only, like other pictures, give the colour and figure, but the motion of the things it represents.

We have before observed that there is generally in nature something more grand and august than what we meet with in the curiosities of art. When therefore we see this imitated in any measure, it gives us a nobler and more exalted kind of pleasure than what we receive from the nicer and more accurate productions of art. On this account our English gardens are not so entertaining to the fancy as those in France and Italy, where we see a large extent of ground covered over with an agreeable mixture of garden and forest, which represent everywhere an artificial rudeness, much more charming than that neatness and elegancy which we meet with in those of our own country. It might, indeed, be of ill consequence to the public, as well as unprofitable to private persons, to alienate so much ground from pasturage and the plough in many parts of a country that is so well peopled and cultivated to a far greater advantage. But why may not a whole estate be thrown into a kind of garden by frequent plantations, that may turn as much to the profit as the pleasure of the owner? A marsh overgrown with willows, or a mountain shaded with oaks, are not only more beautiful but more beneficial than when they lay bare and unadorned. Fields of corn make a pleasant prospect, and if the walks were a little taken care of that lie between them, if the natural embroidery of the meadows were helped and improved by some small additions of art, and the several rows of hedges set off by trees and flowers that the soil was capable of receiving, a man might make a pretty landscape of his own possessions.

Writers who have given us an account of China tell us the inhabitants of that country laugh at the planta tions of our Europeans, which are laid out by the rule and line; because, they say, any one may place trees in equal rows and uniform figures. They choose rather to show a genius in works of this nature, and therefore always conceal the art by which they direct themselves. They have a word, it seems, in their language, by which they express the particular beauty of a plantation that thus strikes the imagination at first sight, without discovering what it is that has so agreeable an effect. Our British gardeners, on the contrary, instead of humouring nature, love to deviate from it as much as possible. Our trees rise in cones, globes, and pyramids. We see the marks of the scissors upon every plant and bush. I do not know whether I am singular in my opinion, but for my own part I would rather look upon a tree in all its luxuriancy and diffusion of boughs and branches, than when it is thus cut and trimmed into a mathematical figure; and cannot but fancy that an orchard in flower looks infinitely more delightful than all the little laby.

rinths of the most finished parterre. But as our great modellers of gardens have their magazines of plants to dispose of, it is very natural for them to tear up all the beautiful plantations of fruit trees, and contrive a plan that may most turn to their own profit, in taking off their evergreens and the like moveable plants with which their shops are plentifully stocked.

(The Spectator, No. 414.)

For similar treatment of this topic, see Pope's Moral Essays, Epist. iv. The earlier or formal (or 'Dutch') style, made fashionable by the gardeners London & Wise (Spectator No. 5), was succeeded by a freer style, which was popularised by the gardeners Bridgeman & Kent, and was praised by Walpole and by Pope, who 'twisted and twirled' his garden at Twickenham. This later type became known on the Continent, through the Duc de Nivernois' translation of Walpole's Essay on Modern Gardening, as the jardin à l'anglaise.

On Naked Bosoms.

There are many little enormities in the world, which our preachers would be very glad to see removed, but at the same time dare not meddle with them, for fear of betraying the dignity of the pulpit. Should they recommend the tucker in a pathetic discourse, their audiences would be apt to laugh out. I knew a parish where the top woman of it used always to appear with a patch upon some part of her forehead: the good man of the place preached at it with great zeal for almost a twelvemonth; but instead of fetching out the spot which he perpetually aimed at, he only got the name of Parson Patch for his pains. Another is to this day called by the name of Doctor Topknot for reasons of the same nature. I remember the clergy, during the time of Cromwell's usurpation, were very much taken up in reforming the female world, and showing the vanity of those outward ornaments in which the sex so much delights. I have heard a whole sermon against a whitewash, and have known a coloured ribbon made the mark of the unconverted. The clergy of the present age are not transported with these indiscreet fervours, as knowing that it is hard for a reformer to avoid ridicule, when he is severe upon subjects which are rather apt to produce mirth than seriousness. For this reason, I look upon myself to be of great use to these good men ; while they are employed in extirpating mortal sins and crimes of a higher nature, I should be glad to rally the world out of indecencies and venial transgressions. While the Doctor is curing distempers that have the appearance of danger or death in them, the Merry Andrew has his separate packet for the meagrims and the tooth-ache.

Thus much I thought fit to premise before I resume the subject which I have already handled, I mean the naked bosoms of our British ladies. I hope they will not take it ill of me, if I still beg that they will be covered. I shall here present them with a letter on that particular, as it was yesterday conveyed to me through the lion's mouth. It comes from a Quaker, and is as follows:

'NESTOR IRONSIDE,

'Our friends like thee. We rejoice to find thou beginnest to have a glimmering of the light in thee: we shall pray for thee, that thou mayest be more and more enlightened. Thou givest good advice to the women of this world to clothe themselves like unto our friends, and not to expose their fleshly temptations, for it is against the Record. Thy lion is a good lion; he roareth loud, and is heard a great way, even unto

the sink of Babylon; for the scarlet whore is governed Look on his order.

by the voice of thy lion. 'Rome, July 8, 1713. "A placard is published here, forbidding women, of whatsoever quality, to go with naked breasts; and the priests are ordered not to admit the transgressors of this law to confession, nor to communion; neither are they to enter the cathedrals under severe penalties."

'These lines are faithfully copied from the nightly paper, with this title written over it, The Evening Post, from Saturday, July the 18th, to Tuesday, July the 21st.

'Seeing thy lion is obeyed at this distance, we hope the foolish women in thy own country will listen to thy admonitions. Otherwise thou art desired to make him still roar, till all the beasts of the forests shall tremble. I must again repeat unto thee, friend Nestor, the whole brotherhood have great hopes of thee, and expect to see thee so inspired with the light, as thou mayest speedily become a great preacher of the word. I wish it heartily. Thine, in everything that is praiseworthy,

Tom's Coffee-house in Birchin Lane, the

23rd day of the month called July.

TOM TREMBLE.'

It happens very oddly that the Pope and I should have the same thought much about the same time. My enemies will be apt to say that we hold a correspondence together, and act by concert in this matter. Let that be as it will, I shall not be ashamed to join with his Holiness in those particulars which are indifferent between us, especially when it is for the reformation of the finer half of mankind. We are both of us about the same age, and consider this fashion in the same view. I hope that it will not be able to resist his bull and my lion. I am only afraid that our ladies will take occasion from hence to show their zeal for the Protestant religion, and pretend to expose their naked bosoms only in opposition to Popery.

(The Guardian, No. 116.)

Thy lion is obeyed. The Venetian Lion's Head Letter-Box at Button's Coffee-House for receiving contributions to the Guardian. There is a sketch of it in the English Illustrated Magazine, September 1884. It is now preserved at Woburn Abbey.

English Fickleness.

If we may believe the observation which is made of us by foreigners, there is no nation in Europe so much given to change as the English. There are some who ascribe this to the fickleness of our climate, and others to the freedom of our government. From one or both of these causes their writers derive that variety of humours which appears among the people in general, and that inconsistency of character which is to be found in almost every particular person. But as a man should always be upon his guard against the vices to which he is most exposed, so we should take more than ordinary care not to lie at the mercy of the weather in our moral conduct, nor to make a capricious use of that liberty which we enjoy by the happiness of our civil constitution.

This instability of temper ought in a particular manner to be checked, when it shows itself in political affairs, and disposes men to wander from one scheme of government to another; since such a fickleness of behaviour in public measures cannot but be attended with very fatal effects to our country.

In the first place, it hinders any great undertaking, which requires length of time for its accomplishment, from being brought to its due perfection. There is not

any instance in history which better confirms this observation, than that which is still fresh in every one's memory. We engaged in the late war with a design to reduce an exorbitant growth of power in the most dangerous enemy to Great Britain. We gained a long and wonderful series of victories, and had scarce anything left to do but to reap the fruits of them when on a sudden our patience failed us; we grew tired of our undertaking, and received terms from those who were upon the point of giving us whatever we could have demanded of them.

This mutability of mind in the English makes the ancient friends of our nation very backward to engage with us in such alliances as are necessary for our mutual defence and security. It is a common notion among foreigners that the English are good confederates in an enterprise which may be despatched within a short compass of time, but that they are not to be depended upon in a work which cannot be finished without constancy and perseverance. Our late measures have so blemished our national credit in this particular, that those potentates who are entered into treaties with his present Majesty have been solely encouraged to it by their confidence in his personal firmness and integrity.

I need not, after this, suggest to my reader the ignominy and reproach that falls upon a nation which distinguishes itself among its neighbours by such a wavering and unsettled conduct.

6

This our inconsistency in the pursuit of schemes which have been thoroughly digested, has as bad an influence on our domestic as on our foreign affairs. We are told that the famous Prince of Condé used to ask the English ambassador, upon the arrival of a mail, Who was Secretary of State in England by that post?' as a piece of raillery upon the fickleness of our politics. But what has rendered this a misfortune to our country is that public ministers have no sooner made themselves masters of their business than they have been dismissed from their employments; and that this disgrace has befallen very many of them, not because they have deserved it, but because the people love to see new faces in high posts of honour.

It is a double misfortune to a nation which is thus given to change, when they have a sovereign at the head of them that is prone to fall in with all the turns and veerings of the people. Sallust, the gravest of all the Roman historians, who had formed his notions of regal authority from the manner in which he saw it exerted among the barbarous nations, makes the following remark: Plerumque regiae voluntates, uti vehementes, sic mobiles, saepe ipsae sibi advorsae. The wills of kings, as they are generally vehement, are likewise very fickle, and at different times opposite to themselves.' Were there any colour for this general observation, how much does it redound to the honour of such princes who are exceptions to it!

The natural consequence of an unsteady government is the perpetuating of strife and faction among a divided people. Whereas a king who persists in those schemes which he has laid, and has no other view in them but the good of his subjects, extinguishes all hopes of advancement in those who would grow great by an opposition to his measures, and insensibly unites the contending parties in their common interest.

Queen Elizabeth, who makes the greatest figure among

our English sovereigns, was most eminently remarkable for that steadiness and uniformity which ran through all her actions, during that long and glorious reign. She kept up to her chosen motto in every part of her life, and never lost sight of those great ends, which she proposed to herself on her accession to the throne, the happiness of her people and the strengthening of the Protestant interest. She often interposed her royal authority to break the cabals which were forming against her first ministers, who grew old and died in those stations which they filled with so great abilities. By this means she baffled the many attempts of her foreign and domestic enemies, and entirely broke the whole force and spirit of that party among her subjects which was popishly affected, and which was not a little formidable in the beginning of her reign.

The frequent changes and alterations in public proceedings, the multiplicity of schemes introduced one upon another, with the variety of short-lived favourites that prevailed in their several turns under the government of her successors, have by degrees broken us into those unhappy distinctions and parties, which have given so much uneasiness to our kings, and so often endangered the safety of their people.

I question not but every impartial reader hath been beforehand with me in considering on this occasion the happiness of our country under the government of his present Majesty, who is so deservedly famous for an inflexible adherence to those counsels which have a visible tendency to the public good, and to those persons who heartily concur with him in promoting these his generous designs.

A prince of this character will be dreaded by his enemies, and served with courage and zeal by his friends; and will either instruct us by his example to fix the unsteadiness of our politics, or by his conduct hinder it from doing us any prejudice.

Upon the whole, as there is no temper of mind more unmanly in a private person, nor more pernicious to the public in a member of a community, than that changeableness with which we are too justly branded by all our neighbours, it is to be hoped that the sound part of the nation will give no further occasion for this reproach, but continue steady to that happy establishment which has now taken place among us. And as obstinacy in prejudices which are detrimental to our country, ought not to be mistaken for that virtuous resolution and firmness of mind which is necessary to our preservation, it is to be wished that the enemies to our constitution would so far indulge themselves in this national humour, as to come into one change more, by falling in with that plan of government which at present they think fit to oppose. At least we may expect they will be so wise as to show a legal obedience to the best of kings, who profess the duty of passive obedience to the worst. (The Freeholder, No. 25.)

The dates of the first appearance of the individual works are given in the biographical notice. Collected editions: Works, ed. Tickell, 4 vols. 4to (1721); Miscellaneous Works, ed. Tickell (1726); Works, Baskerville edition, 4 vols. (1761); Works, ed. Hurd, 6 vols. (1800-11); Works, based on Hurd's edition (Bohn's Library), 1st ed. (1853-56). The Spectator: many eighteenth century editions; the chief during the nineteenth century are Chalmers's (1806); Tegg's (1850); Morley's, n.d.; Aitken's (1897); Gregory Smith's (the original text with critical notes, and an introduction by Austin Dobson), 8 vols. (1897-98).

G. GREGORY SMITH.

Sir Richard Steele.*

Steele (1672-1729) has described himself as 'an Englishman born in Dublin,' and his biographers, after some balancing of contradictory authorities, have established the date of his birth in the month of March 1672. Of his parentage little is known. His mother is said to have been Irish, of a Wexford family; his father appears to have been a lawyer, probably an attorney, in Dublin. What is essential in the facts of his origin is that, like Swift, Goldsmith, Sterne, Burke, and Sheridan, he was one of that brilliant band of AngloIrish writers to whom English literature in the eighteenth century owed so much.

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In 1694 the martial atmosphere of the times, charged with glory and gunpowder from the Boyne and Steinkirk and Landen, seems to have fired Steele's brain, for, like Coleridge a century afterwards, he disappeared from college and enlisted as a private soldier in the Life Guard's. It was as a gentleman of the army' that he next year published a set of verses on the death of Queen Mary, entitled The Procession-a frigid effusion of fervid loyalty, but notable in the

way of biography and bibliography as his first volume, and also as the first utterance of that sturdy Whiggism which was his lifelong political creed. Good fortune followed the dedication of the poem to Lord Cutts, the 'Salamander' of Namur fame, who almost immediately took the author into his service as secretary, and ere long got him a pair of colours in the Coldstream Guards. There is no evidence that Steele ever saw active military service, in Flanders or some time before elsewhere; but the end of the century he had risen from the rank of ensign to that of captain in Lord Lucas's regiment of Fusiliers. He must have become also one of the recognised wits of Will's Coffee-house, for in 1700 we find him, along with Vanbrugh, Garth, and others, replying to a ponderous satire of Sir Richard Blackmore's, and addressing himself particularly to the defence of his friend Addison.

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SIR RICHARD STEELE.

(From the Portrait by Jonathan Richardson in the National Portrait Gallery.)

and sent him to school and college in England. In 1684, through the Duke's nomination, Steele was admitted to the Charterhouse, where, as he himself tells us, he suffered very much for two or three false concords,' after the Spartan manner of the place and time. A more notable and profitable experience was the beginning of his almost lifelong friendship with Addison, which may probably be fixed in the years when the two were schoolboys together in cloisters which Thackeray has glorified as 'Greyfriars.' After five years at the Charterhouse, Steele went up to Oxford as an exhibitioner, matriculating there at Christ Church in the beginning of 1690, but removing from that college to Merton in the following year. The sole noteworthy incident of his Oxford days was the composition of a comedy, which, on the advice of a critical fellow-student, was (no doubt wisely) committed to the flames.

In the year 1701 appeared his Christian Hero, a tract of some eighty or ninety pages, essaying to prove that no principles but those of religion are sufficient to make a great man.' It was written, he tells us, at first for his own private use, 'to fix upon his own mind a strong impression of virtue and religion in opposition to a stronger propensity towards unwarrantable pleasures,' encouraged by the temptations incident to his position as an Ensign of the Guards,' a way of life exposed to much irregularity. Practically, it is a

*Copyright 1902 by J. B. Lippincott Company, to the selection entitled "Love, Grief, and Death," page 233.

somewhat crude rehearsal of the moralisings of the Tatler and Spectator, illustrated by 'a view of some eminent heathen, by a distant admiration of the life of our Saviour, and a near examination of that of His Apostle St Paul,' and concluding with a kind of topical parallel, or rather contrast, between Louis XIV. and William III. Naturally there was much satirical criticism of the discrepancy between this preaching and the preacher's own conducta conduct of which the imperfection was habitually only too frankly owned by Steele himself. 'Everybody,' he says, speaking of himself in the third person, measured the least levity in his words and actions with the character of a Christian Hero, while one or two of his acquaintances thought fit to misuse him and try their valour upon him.' Perhaps it was this misuse' that brought about his only recorded duel-an occurrence of rather uncertain date, but apparently belonging, by a most awkward coincidence, to this very time. In justice to the fallible Christian Hero,' however, it must be remembered that the only version of this rather vague story represents him as drawn into the quarrel with great reluctance, as accepting his adversary's challenge most unwillingly, and running him through in a well-meant effort to disarm him. It has to be added that in after-years, in the Tatler and the Spectator, Steele was incessant in his ridicule and denunciation of the duel.

The same year which saw the publication of the Christian Hero witnessed the appearance-on the stage at all events-of Steele's first play, The Funeral; or, Grief à la Mode. This was followed in 1703 by The Lying Lover, in 1705 by The Tender Husband, and in 1722 by The Conscious Lovers. These four comedies, though they do not give Steele a high place among our dramatic authors, render him an important figure in the history of the English stage. In 1697 Jeremy Collier's famous diatribe had given utterance to the general disgust at the indecencies of Wycherley and Congreve; and in the first year of the new century a very salutary reaction— salutary at least so far as concerned the morals of the drama-began to set in. In this reaction Steele was a principal agent, and he became, indeed, the founder of that ‘Sentimental Comedy' which, in the early Georgian times, supplanted the Restoration comedy of wit and intrigue. It is true that from the modern standpoint of manners and morals his plays seem anything but faultless, containing, as they do, not only frequent examples of coarseness in language, but also some dubious situations and scenes. These, however, are but superficial defects, which no way impair the essential soundness of the morality inculcated by the author or diminish the force of the contrast which his comedies present to their immediate predecessors. With Steele the patient or deluded husband is no longer the butt of ridicule, nor do breaches of the marriage tie furnish the material of his plots. On the contrary, his theme is the

honourable and faithful love of youths and maidens: his heroines, whether sentimental or worldly, are never immodest; his heroes at the worst are only foolish and reckless young sparks, while at the best they tend to be priggish.

It is noteworthy that in every one of the four plays the dénouement involves the foiling of some mercenary matrimonial design and the substitution of a true-love match in its stead, and that in two of them the evils of the duel are exposed. The moral purpose is, indeed, only too apparent, and it is not surprising that the Lying Lover was 'damned,' as Steele himself confesses, 'for its piety.' The comic vein is seen mainly in such minor characters as Humphrey Gubbin, a kind of earlier Tony Lumpkin, and Biddy Tipkin, in whom there is a clear suggestion of Sheridan's Lydia Languish.

There are but scanty notices of Steele's life during the time when the first three of his plays were written. He himself asserted that his name in 1702 was down in King William's last 'tablebook' for promotion; but the king's death deferred any such advancement for some years. Chemical experiments in search of the philosopher's stone seemed to have consumed some of his time and money, and he is believed to have been one of the earliest members of the Kit-Cat Club. In 1705 he married a Mrs Margaret Stretch, a widow with some West Indian property, who, however, died not long after the marriage. In 1706 the office of Gentleman Waiter to Prince George of Denmark, the consort of Queen Anne, was bestowed upon him; and in May of the next year he obtained the then important post of Gazetteer, or editor of the London Gazette. In September 1707 he was married again, this time to a Welsh lady of some fortune, named Mary Scurlock, who plays rather an important part in his biography thenceforth. She was evidently a somewhat peevish and capricious beauty, who delighted in finding fault with her not impeccable husband; and Steele seems to have led very much the same kind of life with his dear Prue,' as he called her, as his hero, the great Duke of Marlborough, had with the termagant Duchess. A collection of his letters, written to her both before and after marriage, which was published by Nichols the antiquary in 1787, gives a very intimate revelation of his character. It shows him the most affectionate and generous of men, guilty of too frequent convivial excesses, after the manner of the time, 'hopelessly sanguine, restless, and impulsive,' and well-nigh as great a spendthrift as Sheridan or Goldsmith. In spite of what must have been a fairly good income, he was always in debt, and sometimes in the hands of the bailiffs; but it would seem that Macaulay's picture of him 'dicing himself into a spunging-house and drinking himself into a fever' is somewhat of an exaggeration. It was doubtless partly the journalistic opportunities possessed by Steele in his character of

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