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ouse as much as he that re all in awe of him; and equent his company, yield edience. I do not know How as this myself. But I this is to be called a club, tinents will break in upon appointment? Clinch of meeting, and shows to every nd pay; but then he is the d people miscall things? If oncert, why may not mine T, sir, I submit it to you,


ur most obedient, &c.


essed against each other last which uneasy posture we most half an hour. I thank ties ever since, in being of rever you meet me. But the off your hat to me in the king with my mistress. She and said she wondered what acquainted with. Dear sir, as my life is worth, if she intimate; therefore I earnhe future to take no manner


obliged humble servant,


e is also very troublesome to e intelligent part of the fair a great inconvenience, that t capacities will pretend to deed they are qualified rather re of the house (by filling an the conversation they come A friend of mine hopes for by the publication of her letich she thinks those she would o themselves. It seems to be to one of those pert, giddy, o, upon the recommendation -person and a fashionable air, e upon a level with women of

o acquaint you with what comms would never permit me to to wit, that you and 1, though nd fortune, are by no means s. You are, it is true, very and make a very good figure bly; but alas, madam, you er; distance and silence are mendations; therefore let me to make me any more visits. iteral sense to see one, for you say. I do not say this, that I ans lose your acquaintance; but up with the strictest forms of Let us pay visits, but never see ou will be so good as to deny ome, I shall return the obligae same orders to my servants. kes us meet at a third place, we ment the misfortune of never find

* See No 31.

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To prevent all mistakes that may happen among gentlemen of the other end of the town, who come but once a week to St. James's coffee-house, either by miscalling the servants, or requiring such things from them as are not properly within their respective provinces; this is to give notice, that Kidney, keeper of the book-debts of the outlying customers, and observer of those who go off without paying, having resigned that employment, is succeeded by John Sowton; to whose place of enterer of messages and first coffeegrinder, William Bird is promoted; and Samuel Burdock comes as shoe-cleaner in the room of the

said Bird.



N° 25. THURSDAY, MARCH 29, 1710-11.

-Egrescitque medendo.

VIRG. Æn. xii. 46.

And sickens by the very means of health. THE following letter will explain itself, and needs no apology:


I AM One of that sickly tribe who are commonly known by the name of Valetudinarians; and do confess to you, that I first contracted this ill habit I no sooner began to peruse books of this nature, of body, or rather of mind, by the study of physic. but I found my pulse was irregular; and scarce ever read the account of any disease that I did not fancy myself afflicted with*. Dr. Sydenham's learned treatise of fevers threw me into a lingering hectic, which hung upon me all the while I was reading that excellent piece. I then applied myself to the study of several authors, who have written upon phthisical distempers, and by that means fell into a consumption; till at length, growing fat, I was in a manner shamed out of that imagination. Not long after this I found in myself all the symptoms of the gout, except pain; but was cured of it by a treatise upon the gravel, written by a very ingenious author, who (as it is usual for physicians to convert one distemper into another) eased me of the gout by giving me the stone. length studied myself into a complication of distempers; but, accidentally taking into my hand that ingenious discourse written by Sanctorius+, I

I at


* Mr. Tickell, in his preface to Addison's Works, says, 'Addison never had a regular pulse.' + The inventor of the thermometer. He was professor of medicine in the university of Padua in the beginning of the seventeenth century; and, by means of a weighing-chair of his own invention, made many curious and important disco veries relative to insensible perspiration. He published at Venice, in 1634, an ingenious book, entitled "De Medicina Statica," which is the work here alluded to.

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in a flight than in a battle; and may be applied to those multitudes of imaginary sick persons that break their constitutions by physic, and throw themselves into the arms of death, by endeavouring to escape it. This method is not only dangerous, but below the practice of a reasonable creature. To consult the preservation of life, as the only end of it, to make our health our business, to engage in no action that is not part of a regimen, or course of physic, are purposes so abject, so mean, so un

was resolved to direct myself by a scheme of rules, which I had collected from his observations. The learned world are very well acquainted with that gentleman's invention; who, for the better carrying on of his experiments, contrived a certain mathematical chair, which was so artificially hung upon springs, that it would weigh any thing as well as a pair of scales. By this means he discovered how many ounces of his food passed by perspiration, what quantity of it was turned into nourishment, and how much went away by the other chan-worthy human nature, that a generous soul would nels and distributions of nature.

rather die than submit to them. Besides, that a continual anxiety for life vitiates all the relishes of it, and casts a gloom over the whole face of nature; as it is impossible we should take delight in any thing that we are every moment afraid of losing.

I do not mean, by what I have here said, that I think any one to blame for taking due care of their health. On the contrary, as cheerfulness of mind, and capacity for business, are in a great measure the effects of a well-tempered constitution, a man cannot be at too much pains to cultivate and preserve it. But this care, which we are prompted to, not only by common sense, but by duty and instinct, should never engage us in ground

Having provided myself with this chair, I used to study, eat, drink, and sleep in it: insomuch that I may be said, for these last three years, to have lived in a pair of scales. I compute myself, when I am full in health, to be precisely two hundred weight, falling short of it about a pound after a day's fast, and exceeding it as much after a full meal; so that is my continual employment to trim the balance between these two volatile pounds in my constitution. In my ordinary meals I fetch myself up to two hundred weight and half a pound: and if, after having dined, I find myself fall short of it, I drink just so much small beer, or eat such a quantity of bread, as is sufficient to make me weight. In my greatest excesses I do not trans-less fears, melancholy apprehensions, and imaginary gress more than the other half pound: which, for my health's sake, I do the first Monday in every month. As soon as I find myself duly poised after dinner, I walk till I have perspired five ounces and four scruples; and when I discover, by my chair, that I am so far reduced, I fall to my books, and study away three ounces more. As for the remaining parts of the pound, I keep no account of them. I do not dine and sup by the clock, but by my chair; for when that informs me my pounding for death. of food is exhausted, I conclude myself to be hungry, and lay in another with all diligence. In my days of abstinence I lose a pound and a half, and on solemn fasts am two pounds lighter than on other days in the year.

distempers, which are natural to every man who is more anxious to live, than how to live. In short, the preservation of life should be only a secondary concern, and the direction of it our principal. If we have this frame of mind, we shall take the best means to preserve life, without being over solicitous about the event; and shall arrive at that point of felicity which Martial has mentioned as the perfection of happiness, of neither fearing nor wish

In answer to the gentleman, who tempers his health by ounces and by scruples, and instead of complying with those natural solicitations of hunger and thirst, drowsiness or love of exercise, governs himself by the prescriptions of his chair, I shall tell 'I allow myself, one night with another, a quar-him a short fable. Jupiter, says the mythologist, ter of a pound of sleep, within a few grains more to reward the piety of a certain countryman, proor less; and if, upon my rising, I find that I have mised to give him whatever he would ask. The not consumed my whole quantity, I take out the countryman desired that he might have the managerest in my chair. Upon an exact calculation of ment of the weather in his own estate. He obwhat I expended and received the last year, which tained his request, and immediately distributed I always register in a book, I find the medium to rain, snow, and sunshine, among his several fields, be two hundred weight, so that I cannot discover as he thought the nature of the soil required. At that I am impaired one ounce in my health during the end of the year, when he expected to see a a whole twelvemonth. And yet, sir, notwithstand-more than ordinary crop, his harvest fell infinitely ing this my great care to ballast myself equally every day, and to keep my body in its proper poise, so it is, that I find myself in a sick and languishing condition. My complexion is grown very sallow, my pulse low, and my body hydropical. Let me therefore beg you, sir, to consider me as your patient, and to give me more certain rules to walk by than those I have already observed, and you will very much oblige

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short of that of his neighbours. Upon which (says the fable) he desired Jupiter to take the weather again into his own hands, or that otherwise he should utterly ruin himself.


N° 26. FRIDAY, MARCH 30, 1711.


Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Regumque turres. O beate Sexti,

Vita summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.
Jam te premet nor, fabulæque manes,
Et domus exilis Plutonia-

HOR. 1 Od. iv. 13.

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and the use to which it is maity of the building, and ople who lie in it, are apt kind of melancholy, or raat is not disagreeable. I le afternoon in the churchthe church, amusing myself and inscriptions that I met gions of the dead. Most of else of the buried person, pon one day, and died upon tory of his life being comcircumstances that are comI could not but look upon tence, whether of brass or atire upon the departed pero other memorial of them, n, and that they died. They eral persons mentioned in the s, who have sounding names her reason but that they may ebrated for nothing but beead.

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surveyed this great magazine were in the lump, I examined by the accounts which I found onuments which are raised in hat ancient fabric. Some of with such extravagant epitaphs, ible for the dead person to be m, he would blush at the praises ave bestowed upon him. There sively modest, that they deliver e person departed in Greek or hat means are not understood onth. In the poetical quarter, poets who had no monuments, hich had no poets. I observed, resent war had filled the church e uninhabited monuments, which to the memory of persons whose ips buried in the plains of Blenom of the ocean.

be very much delighted with seitaphs, which are written with of expression and justness of efore do honour to the living as As a foreigner is very apt to

conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation from the turn of their public monuments and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius before they are put in execution. Sir Cloudesly Shovel's monument has very often given me great offence. Instead of the brave rough English admiral, which was the distinguishing character of that plain gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the fgur of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of celebrating the many remarkable actions, he had performed in the service of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it was impossible for him to reap any honour. The Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an infinitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments of their admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves, and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, and coral.

But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those objects, which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me: when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together.

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So slow th' unprofitable moments roll,
That lock up all the functions of my soul;
That keep me from myself, and still delay
Life's instant business to a future day:
That task, which as we follow, or despise,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise:
Which done, the poorest can no wants endure,
And which not done, the richest must be poor.


I KNOW not with what words to express to you the sense I have of the high obligation you have laid upon me, in the penance you enjoined me, of doing some good or other to a person of worth every day I live. The station I am in furnishes me with daily opportunities of this kind : and the noble principle with which you have inspired me, THERE is scarce a thinking man in the world, who of benevolence to all I have to deal with, quickens is involved in the business of it, but lives under a my application in every thing I undertake. When secret impatience of the hurry and fatigue he suf- I relieve merit from discountenance, when I assist fers, and has formed a resolution to fix himself, a friendless person, when I produce concealed one time or other, in such a state as is suitable to worth, I am displeased with myself, før having dethe end of his being. You hear men every day in signed to leave the world in order to be virtuous. conversation profess, that all the honour, power, I am sorry you decline the occasions which the conand riches, which they propose to themselves, can-dition I am in might afford me of enlarging your not give satisfaction enough to reward them for fortunes; but know I contribute more to your sahalf the anxiety they undergo in the pursuit or pos- tisfaction, when I acknowledge I am the better man, session of them. While men are in this temper from the influence and authority you have over, (which happens very frequently) how inconsistent 'SIR, are they with themselves! They are wearied with Your most obliged and the toil they bear, but cannot find in their hearts to relinquish it; retirement is what they want, but they cannot betake themselves to it. While they pant after shade and covert, they still affect to appear in the most glittering scenes of life: but sure this is but just as reasonable as if a man should call for more light when he has a mind to go to sleep.

Since then it is certain, that our own hearts deceive us in the love of the world, and that we cannot command ourselves enough to resign it, though we every day wish ourselves disengaged from its allurements; let us not stand upon a formal taking of leave, but wean ourselves from them while we

are in the midst of them.

It is certainly the general intention of the greater part of mankind to accomplish this work, and live according to their own approbation, as soon as they possibly can. But since the duration of life is so uncertain, and that has been a common topic of discourse ever since there was such a thing as life itself, how is it possible that we should defer a moment the beginning to live according to the rules of reason?


' most humble servant,

'R. O.'

I AM entirely convinced of the truth of what you were pleased to say to me, when I was last with you alone. You told me then of the silly way was in; but you told me so, as I saw you loved me, otherwise I could not obey your commands in letting you know my thoughts so sincerely as I do at present. I know the creature, for whom I resign so much of my character," is all that you said of her; but then the trifler has something in her so undesigning and harmless, that her guilt in one kind disappears by the comparison of her innocence in another. Will you virtuous men allow no alteration of offences? Must dear Chloe be called by the hard name you pious people give to common women? I keep the solemn promise I made you, in writing to you the state of my mind, after your kind admonition; and will endeavour to get the better of this fondness, which makes me so much her humble servant, that I am almost ashamed to subscribe myself yours,

• SIR,

'T. D.'

THERE is no state of life so anxious as that of a

The man of business has ever some one point to carry, and then he tells himself he will bid adieu to all the vanity of ambition. The man of pleasure resolves to take his leave at least, and part civilly man who does not live according to the dictates of with his mistress; but the ambitious man is en-his own reason. It will seem odd to you, when I tangled every moment in a fresh pursuit, and the lover sees new charms in the object he fancied he could abandon. It is therefore a fantastical way of thinking, when we promise ourselves an alteration in our conduct from change of place, and difference of circumstances; the same passions will attend us wherever we are, till they are conquered; and we can never live to our satisfaction in the deepest retirement, unless we are capable of living so, in some measure, amidst the noise and business of the world.

I have ever thought men were better known by what could be observed of them from a perusal of their private letters, than any other way. My friend the clergyman, the other day, upon serious discourse with him concerning the danger of procrastination, gave me the following letters from persons with whom he lives in great friendship and intimacy, according to the good breeding and good sense of his character. The first is from a man of business, who is his convert: the second from one of whom he conceives good hopes: the third from one who is in no state at all, but carried one way and another by starts.

assure you that my love of retirement first of all brought me to court; but this will be no riddle, when I acquaint you that I placed myself here with a design of getting so much money as might enable me to purchase a handsome retreat in the country. At present my circumstances enable me and my duty prompts me, to pass away the remaining part of my life in such a retirement as i at first proposed to myself: but to my great misfortune I have entirely lost the relish of it, and should now return to the country with greater reluctance than I at first came to court. I am so unhappy, as to know that what I am fond of are trifles, and that what I neglect is of the greatest importance: in short, I find a contest in my own mind between reason and fashion. I remember you once told me, that I might live in the world and out of it, at the same time. Let me beg of you to explain this paradox more at large to me that I may conform my life, if possible, both to my duty and my inclination.


'I am yours, &c.

R. B.'


AY, APRIL 2, 1711.

per arcum

HOR. 2 Od. x. 19. always bend his bow.

y reader with a letter from g a new office which he contribute to the embellishthe driving barbarity out ler it as a satire upon proa lively picture of the whole

have thoughts of creating , for the inspection of sewhich you yourself cannot daily absurdities hung out f this city, to the great scan-ll as those of our own counpectators of the same; I do ou would be pleased to make t of all such figures and dee made use of on this occa

lar or defective. For want e is nothing like sound literao be met with in those obhere thrusting themselves out avouring to become visible. with blue boars, black swans, mention flying pigs, and hogs

other creatures more extra

he deserts of Afric. Strange! the birds and beasts in nature ald live at the sign of an Ens

angel, or a tailor at the lion? A cook should not live at the boot, nor a shoemaker at the roasted pig; and yet, for want of this regulation, I have seen a goat set up before the door of a perfumer, and the French king's head at a sword-cutler's.

'An ingenious foreigner observes, that several of those gentlemen who value themselves upon their families, and overlook such as are bred to trade, bear the tools of their forefathers in their coats of arms. I will not examine how true this is in fact. But though it may not be necessary for posterity thus to set up the sign of their forefathers, I think it highly proper for those who actually profess the trade, to show some such marks of it before their doors.

When the name gives an occasion for an ingenious sign-post, I would likewise advise the owner to take that opportunity of letting the world know who he is. It would have been ridiculous for the ingenious Mrs. Salmon to have lived at the sign of the trout; for which reason she has erected before her house the figure of the fish that is her namesake. Mr. Bell has likewise distinguished himself by a device of the same nature: and here, sir, I must beg leave to observe to you, that this particu lar figure of a bell has given occasion to several pieces of wit in this kind. A man of your reading must know, that Abel Drugger gained great apto rectify or expunge what-plause by it in the time of Ben Jonson. Our apocryphal heathen god * is also represented by this figure; which, in conjunction with the dragon, makes a very handsome picture in several of our streets. As for the bell-savage, which is the sign of a savage man standing by a bell, I was formerly very much puzzled upon the conceit of it, till I accidentally fell into the reading of an old romance, translated out of the French; which gives an account of a very beautiful woman who was found in a wilderness, and is called in the French La belle Sauvage †, and is every where translated by our countrymen the bell-savage. This piece of efore should be, like that of philosophy will, I hope, convince you that I have e city from monsters. In the made sign-posts my study, and consequently quaforbid, that creatures of jar-lified myself for the employment which I solicit at natures should be joined to- your hands. But before I conclude my letter, I gn: such as the bell and the must communicate to you another remark, which and the gridiron, The fox I have made upon the subject with which I am now oposed to have met, but what entertaining you, namely, that I can give a shrewd seven stars to do together? guess at the humour of the inhabitant by the sign mb and dolphin ever meet, that hangs before his door. A surly choleric felost? As for the cat and fiddle, low generally makes choice of a bear; as men of ; and therefore I do not intend milder dispositions frequently live at the lamb. e here said should affect it. Seeing a punch-bowl painted upon a sign near rve to you upon this subject, Charing-cross, and very curiously garnished, with young tradesman, at his first a couple of angels hovering over it, and squeezing his own sign that of the masa lemon into it, I had the curiosity to ask after d; as the husband, after marthe master of the house, and found upon inquiry, e to his mistress's arms in his as I had guessed by the little agremens upon his ake to have given rise to many sign, that he was a Frenchman. I know, sir, it is which are committed over our not requisite for me to enlarge upon these hints to am informed, first occasioned a gentleman of your great abilities; so humbly rea hare, which we see so fre- commending myself to your favour and patronage, ther. I would therefore esta. I remain, &c.' or the determining how far one the sign of another, and in be allowed to quarter it with

ce, I would enjoin every shop gn which bears some affinity to it deals. What can be more 0 see a bawd at the sign of the

on the subject of sign-posts, &c. will man's Magazine, vol. xi. 408.

I shall add to the foregoing letter another, which came to me by the same penny post.

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