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Novel project files--something became screwed up in the transformation, and now nothing is being output and I'm getting a couple error messages in oxygen. Namespaces are a mystery... :(
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<p>Published as part of The Novel in Context project.</p>
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<sourceDesc>
<p>Originally published in 1750</p>
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<title type="issue">No. 4 </title>
<title type="main">The RAMBLER.</title>
<byline>By <docAuthor rend="italics">Samuel Johnson</docAuthor></byline>
<epigraph>
<quote rend="italics">Simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae.</quote>
<bibl> Horace, Ars Poetica</bibl>
<quote rend="italics">And join both profit and delight in one.</quote>
<bibl> Creech</bibl>
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<dateline>Saturday, 31 March 1750</dateline>
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<div>
<p>The works of fiction, with which the present generation seems more particularly
delighted, are such as exhibit life in its true state, diversified only by
accidents that daily happen in the world, and influenced by passions and
qualities which are really to be found in conversing with mankind. </p>
<p>This kind of writing may be termed not improperly the comedy of romance, and is
to be conducted nearly by the rules of comic poetry. Its province is to bring
about natural events by easy means, and to keep up curiosity without the help of
wonder: it is therefore precluded from the machines and expedients of the heroic
romance, and can neither employ giants to snatch away a lady from the nuptial
rites, nor knights to bring her back from captivity; it can neither bewilder its
personages in desarts, nor lodge them in imaginary castles. </p>
<p>I remember a remark made by Scaliger upon Potanus, that all his writings are
filled with the same images; and that if you take from him his lillies and his
roses, his satyrs and his dryads, he will have nothing left that can be called
poetry. In like manner, almost all the fictions of the last age will vanish, if
you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, a battle and a shipwreck. </p>
<p>Why this wild strain of imagination found reception so long, in polite and
learned ages, it is not easy to conceive; but we cannot wonder that, while
readers could be procured, the authors were willing to continue it: for when a
man had by practice some fluency of language, he had no further care than to
retire to his closet, let loose his invention, and heat his mind with
incredibilities; a book was thus produced without fear of criticism, without the
toil of study, without knowledge of nature, or acquaintance with life. </p>
<p>The task of our present writers is very different; it requires, together with
that learning which is to be gained from books, that experience which can never
be attained by solitary diligence, but must arise from general converse, and
accurate observation of the living world. Their performances have, as Horace
expresses it, <em>plus oneris quantum veniae minus,</em> little indulgence, and
therefore more difficulty. They are engaged in portraits of which every one
knows the original, and can detect any deviation from exactness of resemblance.
Other writings are safe, except from the malice of learning, but these are in
danger from every common reader; as the slipper ill executed was censured by a
shoemaker who happened to stop in his way at the Venus of Apelles. </p>
<p>But the fear of not being approved as just copyers of human manners, is not the
most important concern that an author of this sort ought to have before him.
These books are written chiefly to the young, the ignorant, and the idle, to
whom they serve as lectures of conduct, and introductions into life. They are
the entertainment of minds unfurnished with ideas, and therefore easily
susceptible of impressions; not fixed by principles, and therefore easily
following the current of fancy; not informed by experience, and consequently
open to every false suggestion and partial account. </p>
<p>That the highest degree of reverence should be paid to youth, and that nothing
indecent should be suffered to approach their eyes or ears; are precepts
extorted by sense and virtue from an ancient writer, by no means eminent for
chastity of thought. The same kind, tho' not the same degree of caution, is
required in every thing which is laid before them, to secure them from unjust
prejudices, perverse opinions, and incongruous combinations of images. </p>
<p>In the romances formerly written, every transaction and sentiment was so remote
from all that passes among men, that the reader was in very little danger of
making any application to himself; the virtues and crimes were equally beyond
his sphere of activity; and he amused himself with heroes and with traitors,
deliverers and persecutors, as with beings of another species, whose actions
were regulated upon motives of their own, and who had neither faults nor
excellences in common with himself. </p>
<p>But when an adventurer is levelled with the rest of the world, and acts in such
scenes of the universal drama, as may be the lot of any other man; young
spectators fix their eyes upon him with closer attention, and hope by observing
his behaviour and success to regulate their own practices, when they shall be
engaged in the like part. </p>
<p>For this reason these familiar histories may perhaps be made of greater use than
the solemnities of professed morality, and convey the knowledge of vice and
virtue with more efficacy than axioms and definitions. But if the power of
example is so great, as to take possession of the memory by a kind of violence,
and produce effects almost without the intervention of the will, care ought to
be taken that, when the choice is unrestrained, the best examples only should be
exhibited; and that which is likely to operate so strongly, should not be
mischievous or uncertain in its effects. </p>
<p>The chief advantage which these fictions have over real life is, that their
authors are at liberty, tho' not to invent, yet to select objects, and to cull
from the mass of mankind, those individuals upon which the attention ought most
to be employ'd; as a diamond, though it cannot be made, may be polished by art,
and placed in such a situation, as to display that lustre which before was
buried among common stones. </p>
<p>It is justly considered as the greatest excellency of art, to imitate nature; but
it is necessary to distinguish those parts of nature, which are most proper for
imitation: greater care is still required in representing life, which is so
often discoloured by passion, or deformed by wickedness. If the world be
promiscuously described, I cannot see of what use it can be to read the account;
or why it may not be as safe to turn the eye immediately upon mankind, as upon a
mirror which shows all that presents itself without discrimination. </p>
<p>It is therefore not a sufficient vindication of a character, that it is drawn as
it appears, for many characters ought never to be drawn; nor of a narrative,
that the train of events is agreeable to observation and experience, for that
observation which is called knowledge of the world, will be found much more
frequently to make men cunning than good. The purpose of these writings is
surely not only to show mankind, but to provide that they may be seen hereafter
with less hazard; to teach the means of avoiding the snares which are laid by
Treachery for Innocence, without infusing any wish for that superiority with
which the betrayer flatters his vanity; to give the power of counteracting
fraud, without the temptation to practise it; to initiate the youth by mock
encounters in the art of necessary defense, and to increase prudence without
impairing virtue. </p>
<p>Many writers, for the sake of following nature, so mingle good and bad qualities
in their principal personages, that they are both equally conspicuous; and as we
accompany them through their adventures with delight, and are led by degrees to
interest ourselves in their favour, we lose the abhorrence of their faults,
because they do not hinder our pleasure, or, perhaps, regard them with some
kindness for being united with so much merit. </p>
<p>There have been men indeed splendidly wicked, whose endowments threw a brightness
on their crimes, and whom scarce any villainy made perfectly detestable, because
they never could be wholly divested of their excellencies; but such have been in
all ages the great corruptors of the world, and their resemblance ought no more
to be preserved, than the art of murdering without pain.</p>
<p>Some have advanced, without due attention to the consequences of this notion,
that certain virtues have their correspondent faults, and therefore that to
exhibit either apart is to deviate from probability. Thus men are observed by
Swift to be "grateful in the same degree as they are resentful." This principle,
with others of the same kind, supposes man to act from a brute impulse, and
persue a certain degree of inclination, without any choice of the object; for,
otherwise, though it should be allowed that gratitude and resentment arise from
the same constitution of the passions, it follows not that they will be equally
indulged when reason is consulted; yet unless that consequence be admitted, this
sagacious maxim becomes an empty sound, without any relation to practice or to
life.</p>
<p>Nor is it evident, that even the first motions to these effects are always in the
same proportion. For pride, which produces quickness of resentment, will
obstruct gratitude, by unwillingness to admit that inferiority which obligation
implies; and it is very unlikely, that he who cannot think he receives a favour
will acknowledge or repay it.</p>
<p>It is of the utmost importance to mankind, that positions of this tendency should
be laid open and confuted; for while men consider good and evil as springing
from the same root, they will spare the one for the sake of the other, and in
judging, if not of others at least of themselves, will be apt to estimate their
virtues by their vices. To this fatal error all those will contribute, who
confound the colours of right and wrong, and instead of helping to settle their
boundaries, mix them with so much art, that no common mind is able to disunite
them.</p>
<p>In narratives, where historical veracity has no place, I cannot discover why
there should not be exhibited the most perfect idea of virtue; of virtue not
angelical, nor above probability, for what we cannot credit we shall never
imitate, but the highest and purest that humanity can reach, which, exercised in
such trials as the various revolutions of things shall bring upon it, may, by
conquering some calamities, and enduring others, teach us what we may hope, and
what we can perform. Vice, for vice is necessary to be shewn, should always
disgust; nor should the graces of gaiety, or the dignity of courage, be so
united with it, as to reconcile it to the mind. Wherever it appears, it should
raise hatred by the malignity of its practices, and contempt by the meanness of
its stratagems; for while it is supported by either parts or spirit, it will be
seldom heartily abhorred. The Roman tyrant was content to be hated, if he was
but feared; and there are thousands of the readers of romances willing to be
thought wicked, if they may be allowed to be wits. It is therefore to be
steadily inculcated, that virtue is the highest proof of understanding, and the
only solid basis of greatness; and that vice is the natural consequence of
narrow thoughts, that it begins in mistake, and ends in ignominy.</p>
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<title type="statusBar">Chapter VII from More, STRICTURES ON THE MODERN SYSTEM OF FEMALE EDUCATION</title>
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<author>Hannah Moore</author>
<title>Strictures on the modern system of female education</title>
<imprint>
<date>1799</date>
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<title type="main">Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education</title>
<byline>By <docAuthor rend="italics">Hannah More</docAuthor></byline>
<dateline>1799</dateline>
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<div type="chapter">
<span rend="sectionHeader">CHAP. VII. On female study, and initiation into knowledge.—Error of cultivating
the imagination to the neglect of the judgment.—Books of reasoning
recommended.</span>
<pb n="154"/>
<p>As this little work by no means assumes the character of a general scheme of
edu|cation, the author has purposely avoided expatiating largely on any kind of
in|struction; but so far as it is connected, either immediately or remotely, with
ob|jects of a moral or religious nature. Of course she has been so far from thinking
it necessary to enter into the enumeration of those books which are useful in general
instruction, that she has forborne to mention any. With such books the rising
generation is far more copiously and ably furnished than any preceding period has <pb
n="155"/> been; and out of an excellent variety the judicious instructor can
hardly fail to make such a selection as shall be beneficial to the pupil.</p>
<p> But while due praise ought not to be withheld from the improved methods of
communicating the elements of general knowledge; yet is there not some danger that
our very advantages may lead us into error, by causing us to repose so con|fidently
on the multiplied helps which facilitate the entrance into learning, as to render our
pupils superficial through the very facility of acquirement? Where so much is done
for them, may they not be led to do too little for themselves? May there not be a
moral disadvantage in possessing them with the notion that learn|ing may be acquired
without diligence and labour? Sound education never can be made a "primrose path of
dalliance." Do what we will we cannot cheat children into learning or play them into
knowledge, according to the smoothness of the modern <pb n="156"/> creed. There is no
idle way to any acquisi|tions which really deserve the name. And as Euclid, in order
to repress the im|petuous vanity of greatness, told his Sove|reign that there was no
royal way to geometry, so the fond mother may be assured that there is no short cut
to any other kind of learning. The tree of knowledge, as a punishment perhaps, for
its having been at first unfairly tasted, cannot now be climbed without difficulty;
and this very circumstance serves afterwards to furnish not only literary pleasures,
but moral advantages: for the knowledge which is acquired by unwearied assiduity is
last|ing in the possession, and sweet to the possessor; both perhaps in proportion to
the cost and labour of the acquisition. And though an able teacher ought to
endeavour, by improving the communicat|ing faculty in himself, (for many know what
they cannot teach,) to soften every difficulty; yet in spite of the kindness and
ability with which he will smooth every <pb n="157"/> obstruction, it is probably,
among the wise institutions of Providence, that great diffi|culties should still
remain. For education is but an initiation into that life of trial to which we are
introduced on our entrance into this world. It is the first breaking-in to that state
of toil and labour to which we are born; and in this view of the subject the
acquisition of learning may be converted to higher uses than such as are purely
literary.</p>
<p>Will it not be ascribed to a captious singularity if I venture to remark that real
knowledge and real piety, though they have gained in many instances, have suffered in
others from that profusion of little, amusing, sentimental books with which the
youthful library overflows? Abundance has its dangers as well as scarcity. In the
first place may not the multiplicity of these alluring little works increase the
natural reluctance to those more dry and uninteresting studies, of which after all,
the rudiments of every <pb n="158"/> part of learning must consist? And, secondly, is
there not some danger (though there are many honourable exceptions) that some of
those engaging narratives may serve to infuse into the youthful heart a sort of
spurious goodness, a confi|dence of virtue? And that the benevolent actions with the
recital of which they abound, when they are not made to flow from any source but
feeling, may tend to inspire self-complacency, a self-gratu|lation, a "stand by, for
I am holier than "thou?" May they not help to infuse a love of popularity and an
anxiety for praise, in the place of that simple and unostentatious rule of doing
whatever good we do, because it is the will of God? The universal substitution of
this principle would tend to purify the worldly morality of many a popular little
story. And there are few dangers which good parents will more carefully guard against
than that of giving their children a mere political piety; that sort of religion
which just goes to make <pb n="159"/> people more respectable, and to stand well with
the world *.</p>
<p> There is a certain precocity of mind which is much helped on by these super|ficial
modes of instruction; for frivolous reading will produce its correspondent effect, in
much less time than books of solid instruction; the imagination being liable to be
worked upon, and the feelings to be set a going, much faster than the understanding
can be opened and the judgment enlightened. A talent for con|versation should be the
result of educa|tion, not its precursor; it is a golden fruit when suffered to ripen
gradually on the tree of knowledge; but if forced in the <pb n="160"/> hot-bed of a
circulating library, it will turn out worthless and vapid in proportion as it was
artificial and premature. Girls who have been accustomed to devour frivolous books,
will converse and write with a far greater appearance of skill as to style and
sentiment at twelve or four|teen years old, than those of a more advanced age who are
under the discipline of severer studies; but the former having early attained to that
low standard which had been held out to them, became stationary; while the latter,
quietly pro|gressive, are passing through just gradations to a higher strain of mind;
and those who early begin with talking and writing like women, commonly end with
thinking and acting like children.</p>
<p> The swarms of Abridgments, Beauties, aud Compendiums, which form too con|fiderable a
part of a young lady's library, may be confidered in many instances as an infallible
receipt for making a superficial mind. The names of the renowned cha|racters <pb
n="161"/> in history thus become familiar in the mouths of those who can neither
attach to the idea of the person, the series of his actions, nor the peculiarities of
his character. A few fine passages from the poets (passages perhaps which derived
their chief beauty from their position and connection) are huddled together by some
extract-maker, whose brief and dis|connected patches of broken and dis|cordant
materials, while they inflame young readers with the vanity of reciting, neither fill
the mind nor form the taste: and it is not difficult to trace back to their shallow
sources the hackney'd quotations of cer|tain accomplished young ladies, who will be
frequently found not to have come legiti|mately by any thing they know: I mean, not
to have drawn it from its true spring, the original works of the author from which
some beauty-monger has severed it. Human inconsistency in this, as in other cases,
wants to combine two irreconcile|able things; it strives to unite the reputa|tion <pb
n="162"/> of knowledge with the pleasures of idleness, forgetting that nothing
that is valuable can be obtained without sacrifices, and that if we would purchase
knowledge we must pay for it the fair and lawful price of time and industry.</p>
<p> This remark is by no means of general application; there are many valuable works
which from their bulk would be almost inaccessible to a great number of readers, and
a considerable part of which may not be generally useful. Even in the best written
books there is often super|fluous matter; authors are apt to get enamoured of their
subject, and to dwell too long on it: every person cannot find time to read a longer
work on any subject, and yet it may be well for them to know something on almost
every subject; those therefore, who abridge voluminous works judiciously, render
service to the commu|nity. But there seems, if I may venture the remark, to be a
mistake in the use of abridgments. They are put systematically <pb n="163"/> into the
hands of youth, who have, or ought to have leisure for the works at large; while
abridgments seem more im|mediately calculated for persons in more advanced life, who
wish to recal something they had forgotten; who want to restore old ideas rather than
acquire new ones; or they are useful for persons immersed in the business of the
world who have little leisure for voluminous reading. They are excellent to refresh
the mind, but not competent to form it.</p>
<p> Perhaps there is some analogy between the mental and bodily conformation of women.
The instructor therefore should imitate the physician. If the latter pre|scribe
bracing medicines for a body of which delicacy is the disease, the former would do
well to prohibit relaxing reading for a mind which is already of too soft a texture,
and should strengthen its feeble tone by invigorating reading.</p>
<p> By softness, I cannot be supposed to mean imbecility of understanding, but <pb
n="164"/> natural softness of heart, with that indo|lence of spirit which is
fostered by indulg|ing in seducing books and in the general habits of fashionable
life.</p>
<p> I mean not here to recommend books which are immediately religious, but such as
exercise the reasoning faculties, teach the mind to get acquainted with its own
nature, and to stir up its own powers. Let not a timid young lady start if I should
venture to recommend to her, after a proper course of preparation, to swallow and
digest such strong meat, as Watts's or Duncan's little book of Logic, some parts of
Mr. Locke's Essay on the Human Un|derstanding, and Bishop Butler's Analogy. Where
there is leisure, and capacity, and an able counsellor, works of this nature might be
profitably substituted in the place of so much English Sentiment, French Philo|sophy,
Italian Poetry, and fantastic German imagery and magic wonders. While such enervating
or absurd books sadly disqualify the reader for solid pursuit or vigorous <pb n="165"
/> thinking, the studies here recommended would act upon the constitution of the mind
as a kind of alterative, and, if I may be allowed the expression, would help to brace
the intellectual stamina.</p>
<p> This is however by no means intended to exclude works of taste and imagination,
which must always make the ornamental part, and of course a very considerable part of
female studies. It is only sug|gested that they should not form them entirely. For
what is called dry tough reading, independent of the knowledge it conveys, is useful
as an habit and whole|some as an exercise. Serious study serves to harden the mind
for more trying con|flicts; it lifts the reader from sensation to intellect; it
abstracts her from the world and its vanities; it fixes a wandering spirit, and
fortifies a weak one; it divorces her from matter; it corrects that spirit of
trifling which she naturally contracts from the frivolous turn of female
conversation, <pb n="166"/> and the petty nature of female employ|ments; it
concentrates her attention, assists her in a habit of excluding tri|vial thoughts,
and thus even helps to qualify her for religious pursuits. Yes; I repeat it, there is
to woman a Christian use to be made of sober studies; while books of an opposite
cast, however unex|ceptionable they may be sometimes found in point of expression;
however free from evil in its more gross and palpable shapes, yet by their very
nature and constitution they excite a spirit of relaxation, by exhibiting scenes and
ideas which soften the mind; they impair its general powers of resistance, and at
best feed habits of improper indulgence, and nonrish a vain and visionary indolence,
which lays the mind open to error and the heart to seduction.</p>
<p> Women are little accustomed to close reasoning on any subject; still less do they
inure their minds to consider particular <pb n="167"/> parts of a subject; they are
not habituated to turn a truth round and view it in all its varied aspects and
positions; and this per|haps is one cause (as will be observed in another * place) of
the too great confi|dence they are disposed to place in their opinions. Though their
imagination is already too lively, and their judgment naturally incorrect; in
educating them we go on to stimulate the imagination, while we neglect the regulation
of the judgment. They already want ballast, and we make their education consist in
continually crowding more sail than they can carry. Their intellectual powers being
so little strengthened by exercise, makes every little business appear a hardship to
them: whereas ferious study would be useful, were it only that it leads the mind to
the habit of conquering difficulties. But it is peculiarly hard to turn at once from
<pb n="168"/> the indolent repose of light reading, from the concerns of mere
animal life, the objects of sense, or the frivolousness of chit chat; it is
peculiarly hard, I say, to a mind so softened, to rescue itself from the dominion of
self-indulgence, to resume its powers, to call home its scat|tered strength, to shut
out every foreign intrusion, to force back a spring so un|naturally bent, and to
devote itself to religious reading, reflection, or self-examination: whereas to an
intellect accustomed to think at all the difficulty of thinking seriously is
obviously lessened.</p>
<p> Far be it from me to desire to make scholastic ladies or female dialecticians; but
there is little fear that the kind of books here recommended, if thoroughly studied,
and not superficially skimmed, will make them pedants or induce conceit; for by
shewing them the possible powers of the human mind, you will bring them to see the
littleness of their own, and to <pb n="169"/> get acquainted with the mind and to
regu|late it, does not seem the way to puff it up. But let her who is disposed to be
elated with her literary acquisitions, check her vanity by calling to mind the just
remark of Swift, <quote>that after all her boasted acquirements, a woman will,
ge|nerally speaking, be found to possess less of what is called learning than a
common school-boy.</quote></p>
<p>Neither is there any fear that this sort of reading will convert ladies into authors.
The direct contrary effect will be likely to be produced by the perusal of writers
who throw the generality of readers at such an unapproachable distance. Who are those
ever multiplying authors, that with un|paralleled fecundity are overstocking the
world with their quick succeeding progeny? They are novel writers; the easiness of
whose productions is at once the cause of their own fruitfulness, and of the almost
infinitely numerous race of imitators to <pb n="170"/> whom they give birth. Such is
the fright|ful facility of this species of composition, that every raw girl while she
reads, is tempted to fancy that she can also write. And as Alexander, on perusing the
Iliad, found by congenial sympathy the image of Achilles in his own ardent soul, and
felt himself the hero he was studying; and as Corregio, on first beholding a picture
which exhibited the perfection of the Graphic art, prophetically felt all his own
future greatness, and cried out in rapture, "And I too am a painter!" so a thorough
paced novel reading Miss, at the close of every tissue of hackney'd adven|tures,
feels within herself the stirring impulse of corresponding genius, and triumphantly
exclaims, <quote>And I too am an author!—</quote> The glutted imagination soon
overflows with the redundance of cheap sentiment and plentiful incident, and by a
sort of arithmetical proportion, is enabled by the perusal of any three <pb n="171"/>
novels to produce a fourth; till every fresh production, like the progeny of Banquo,
is followed by <quote>Another, and another, and another *</quote> Is a lady, however
destitute of talents, education, or knowledge of the world, whose studies have been
completed by a circulating library, in any distress of mind? the writing a novel
suggests itself as the best soother of her sorrows! Does she labour under any
depression of circum|stances? writing a novel occurs as the readiest receipt for
mending them! And she solaces herself with the conviction that <pb n="172"/> the
subscription which has been given to her importunity or her necessities, has been
given to her genius. And this confi|dence instantly levies a fresh contribution for a
succeeding work. Capacity and cultivation are so little taken into the account, that
writing a book seems to be now considered as the only sure resource which the idle
and the illiterate have always in their power.</p>
<p> May I be indulged in a short digression to remark, though rather out of its place,
that the corruption occasioned by these books has spread so wide, and de|scended so
low, that not only among milleners, mantua-makers, and other trades where numbers
work together, the labour of one girl is frequently sacrificed that she may be spared
to read those mischievous books to the others; but the Author has been assured by
clergymen, who have witnessed the fact, that they are procured and greedily read in
the wards of our Hospitals! an awful hint, that those who <pb n="173"/> teach the
poor to read, should not only take care to furnish them with principles which will
lead them to abhor corrupt books, but should also furnish them with such books as
shall strengthen and confirm their principles *. And let every Christ|ian remember,
that there is no other way of entering truly into the spirit of that divine prayer,
which petitions that the name of God may be "hallowed," that <quote>his kingdom (of
grace) may come,</quote> and that <quote>his will may be done on earth as it <pb
n="174"/> is in heaven,</quote> than by each individual contributing according
to his measure to accomplish the work for which he prays; for to pray that these
great objects may be promoted, without contributing to their promotion, is a palpable
inconsistency.</p>
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<pb facs="images/238a.jpg" n="1"/>
<opener>
<title type="issue" style="text-align:right">Numb. 238</title>
<title type="main">The TATLER.</title>
<byline>By <docAuthor rend="italics">Isaac Bickerstaff </docAuthor><span type="suffix">Esq;</span></byline>
<epigraph>
<quote rend="italics">--- Poetica surgit Tempestas.</quote><bibl>--- Juv. </bibl>
</epigraph>
<dateline>From <date rend="italics">Saturday October</date> 14. to <date rend="italics">Tuesday October</date> 17. 1710</dateline>
</opener>
<div>
<!-- begin prose essay -->
<!-- need to indicate beginning of two-column format -->
<cb/>
<div type="titlepage">
<p>From <placeName ref="#apartment">my own Apartment</placeName>, <date>October
16</date>.</p>
</div>
<div>
<p>STORMS at Sea are so frequently described by the ancient Poets, and copied by
the Moderns, that whenever I find the Winds begin to rise in a new Heroick
Poem, I generally skip a Leaf or two till I come into Fair Weather.
<persName ref="#VG">Virgil</persName>'s Tempest is a Master-piece in
this Kind, and is indeed so naturally drawn, that one who has made a Voyage
can scarce read it without being Sea-sick. </p>
<p>Land Showers are no less frequent among the Poets than the former: But I
remember none of them which have not fallen in the Country; for which Reason
they are generally filled with the Lowings of Oxen, and the Bleatings of
Sheep, and very often embellished with a Rainbow.</p>
<p><persName ref="#VG">Virgil</persName>'s Land Shower is likewise the best in
its Kind: It is indeed a Shower of Consequence, and contributes to the main
Design of the Poem, by cutting off a tedious Ceremonial, and bringing
Matters to a speedy Conclusion between Two Potentates of different Sexes. My
ingenious Kinsman <persName>Mr. <forename>Humphrey</forename>
<surname>Wagstaff</surname></persName>, who treats of every Subject
after a Manner that no other Author has done, and better than any other can
do, has sent me the Description of a City Shower. I do not question but the
Reader remembers <rs ref="#JS">my Cousin</rs>'s Description of the Morning
as it breaks in Town, which is printed in the 9th Tatler, and is another
exquisite Piece of this local Poetry.</p>
</div>
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<l real="10|01|01|01|01/" rend="indent">Careful Observers may foretell the Hour </l>
<l> (By sure Prognosticks) when to dread a Shower; </l>
<l> While Rain depends, the pensive Cat gives o'er </l>
<l> Her Frolicks, and pursues her Tail no more. </l>
<l> Returning Home at Night, you'll find the Sink </l>
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/"> Strike your offended Sense with double Stink. </l>
<l> If you be wise, then go not for to dine, </l>
<l> You'll spend in Coach-hire more than save in Wine. </l>
<l> A coming Show'r your shooting Corns presage, </l>
<l> Old Aches throb, your hollow Tooth will rage. </l>
<!-- column break -->
<cb/>
<l real="11|01|01|01|01/"> Sauntering in Coffee-house is Dulman seen; </l>
<l> He damns the Climate, and complains of Spleen.</l>
</lg>
<lg type="paragraph" part="F">
<l real="10|01|10|01|01/" rend="indent"> Mean while the South rising with dabbled Wings, </l>
<l> A Sable Cloud athwart the Welkin flings, </l>
<l> That swill'd more Liquor than it could contain, </l>
<l> And like a Drunkard gives it up again. </l>
<l> Brisk <persName>Susan</persName> whips her Linen from the Rope, </l>
<l real="00|11|01|01|01/"> While the first drizzling Show'r is borne aslope. </l>
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/"> Such is that Sprinkling which some careless Quean </l>
<l real="10|01|01|01|01"> Flirts on you from her Mop, but not so clean. </l>
<l> You fly, invoke the Gods; then turning, stop </l>
<l real="01|11|01|11|01/"> To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop. </l>
<l> Not yet, the Dust had shunn'd th'unequal Strife, </l>
<l> But aided by the Wind, fought still for Life; </l>
<l> And wafted with its Foe by violent Gust, </l>
<l> 'Twas doubtful which was Rain, and which was Dust. </l>
<l real="11|01|01|01|01/"> Ah! where must needy Poet seek for Aid, </l>
<l> When Dust and Rain at once his Coat invade; </l>
<l> His only Coat, where Dust confus'd with Rain </l>
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/"> Roughen the Nap, and leave a mingled Stain. </l>
</lg>
<lg type="paragraph">
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/" rend="indent"> Now in contiguous Drops the Flood comes down, </l>
<l real="11|01|01|01|01/"> Threat'ning with Deluge this devoted Town. </l>
<l> To Shops in Crowds the daggled Females fly, </l>
<l> Pretend to cheapen Goods, but nothing buy. </l>
<l> The Templer spruce, while ev'ry Spout's a-broach, </l>
<l real="11|01|01|01|01/"> Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a Coach. </l>
<l> The tuck'd-up Sempstress walks with hasty Strides, </l>
<l> While Streams run down her oil'd Umbrella's Sides. </l>
<l> Here various Kinds by various Fortunes led, </l>
<l> Commence Acquaintance underneath a Shed. </l>
<l> Triumphant Tories, and desponding Whigs, </l>
<l> Forget their Fewds and join to save their Wigs. </l>
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/"> Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient sits, </l>
<l> While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Roof by Fits; </l>
<cb/>
<pb facs="images/238b.jpg" n="2"/>
<l> And ever and anon with frightful Din </l>
<l> The Leather sounds, he trembles from within. </l>
<l real="10|11|01|01|01/"> So when Troy chair-men bore the Wooden Steed, </l>
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/"> Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed. </l>
<l> (Those Bully Greeks, who, as the Moderns do, </l>
<l> Instead of paying Chair-men, run them thro'.) </l>
<l>
<persName ref="#LAO1">Laoco'n </persName><ptr rend="+" target="#LAO"/>struck the Outside with his
Spear, </l>
<l> And each imprison'd Hero quak'd for Fear. </l>
</lg>
<lg type="paragraph">
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/" rend="indent"> Now from all Parts the swelling Kennels flow, </l>
<l> And bear their Trophies with them as they go: </l>
<l real="10|11|01|01|01/"> Filth of all Hues and Odours seem to tell </l>
<l> What Street they sail'd from, by their Sight and Smell.</l>
<l real="10|01|01|01|01/"> They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force, </l>
<l real="01|00|01|01|01/"> From <placeName>Smithfield</placeName> or <placeName>St.
Pulchre</placeName>'s shape their Course, </l>
<l> And in huge Confluent join'd at <placeName>Snow-Hill Ridge</placeName>, </l>
<l> Fall from the Conduit, prone to <placeName>Holbourn-Bridge</placeName>. </l>
<l real="10|01|01|11|01/"> Sweeping from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts, and Blood, </l>
<l real="11|01|01|01|01/"> Drown'd Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench'd in Mud, </l>
<l real="110|101|010|101/"> Dead Cats and Turnip-Tops come tumbling down the Flood. </l>
</lg>
<!-- end inserted poem -->
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<div type="advertisements">
<head>Advertisements.</head>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>The THIRD Volume of the Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff Esq; on a large
Letter, in Octavo, being now in the Press; such as please to subscribe
for it on a Royal Paper, to kee pup their sets, are desired to send
their names to Charles Lilly, Perfumer, the Corner of Beauford-Buildings
in the Strand, and Jon Morphew near Stationer-Hall. Where the First and
Second Volumes are to be delivered.</p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>THE Household Goods of Mrs. Bradshaw will be sold to Morrow at her House
at Sandy-End in Fulham Road, over-against the Bull Alehouse, she being
removed from thence, and now keeping the Kensington Coffee-house, lately
kept by Mrs. Tilly. A short and easy Method for those that will learn
French or English; to give them an Idea or true Notion of Celestial and
Terrestrial Beings; and to teach them the Names of most Things that are
useful and necessary to uman Life; as also of Arts and Sciences, Plants,
Fruits, and living Creatures; as Fishes, Birds, and Four-footed Beasts.
French and English. Represented by many Hundred Figures, in 38 Copper
Plates. Fit for such Persons who are desirous to learn those Languages.
Sold by Peter Varenne at Seneca's Head near Smerset-House, Paul
Vaillent, Anthony Meuss, Peter du Noyer, in the Strand; and John Morphew
near Stationers-Hall.</p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>ALL Sorts of fine Silks and Mercery Goods for Blank Lottery Tickets, at
7l. 10s. a Ticket, and sold as cheap as for specie, at the Eagle and
Child on Ludgate Hill. MOrning-Gowns for Men and Women, of Silk, Stuff,
and Callicoe's (being the Goods of Persons that failed) which were to be
disposed of at the Olive-Tree and Still, are now to be sold at the
Golden Sugar-Loaf up one Pair of Stairs, over-agaiinst the House at
Charing-Cross; with a fresh Parcel at very low Rates, the Prices being
set on each Gown. </p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>FOR Sale by the Candle on Thursday next the 19th Instant, at Lloyd's
Coffee-house in Lombard-street, at Four in the Afternoon (only 1 Cask in
a Lot) viz. 15 Half Hhds. and 6 Puncheons, of excellent French Bourdeaux
and Coigniac Brandy, neat and entire, under the China-house of Mr. John
Ferguson, at the Corner of the Paved Alley in Lyme-street, passing into
Leadenhall-marker; a Hhds. of White, 2 Ditto of Red, and 9 Pipes of
Ditto, New Oporto, extraordinary good Wines, neat, an entire Parcel; 12
Pipes of New excellent Red Florence Wines, also neat, and an entire
Parcel: Both in a Vault over against Mr. Barefoot's at the Vine in
Miles-lane, near Croked-lane and Fishmongers-hall, in Thames-street.
6Buts and 1 Ullo?? Hhd, of new Mountain dry Malaga Wines, neat; 2 Pipes
of excellent Canary Wine, perfect fine, and fit for Draught: Both in a
Cellar over-against the House of Mr. Charles Savage in Mark lane,
between Fenchurch-street and Tower-street. Note, the aforesaid French
Brandies are only to be ?? all Day to Morrow, and all Thursday till the
Time of Sale: But the Oporto, lorence, Mountain Malaga, and Canary
Wines, are to be tasted? this Day and to Morrow from 7 to 1, and from 2
to 6, and all Thursday till the Time of Sale. To be sold by Thomas
Tomkins, broker, in Seething lane, between Tower-street and
Crouched-Fryars.</p>
<cb/>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>SIR William Read, Her Majesty's Principal Oculist and Operator for
the Eyes, and in that Quality sworn Servant in Ordinary as he was to
His late Majesty King William III. is constantly to be advised with
at his House in Durham-yard in the Strand, London; where he will
give careful Attendance to all Her Majesty's Seamen and Soldiers
that have or may receive any Injuries in their Sights: Which Work he
has performed since the Beginning of the last War, has cured above
2000Seamen, besides Soldiers in the Land Service, and is the first
Person who shewed his Generosity, and still continues it; so that
others who pretend to it may be justly suspected to deceive the
Publick, and lessen his Reputation. Drinking-Glasses, Decanters,
Cruets, &amp;c. </p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>THere having of late been many Advertisements published, of
Flint-Glass sold at some particular Places at 12 d. per Pound; This
is to give Notice, That 12 d. per pound is the Current Price the
Shopkeepers of London and Westminster do sell at. And all Gentlemen
and others may, at any of the said shops, have any Sort of
Flint-Glasses, (and glasses made to Pattern) at 12 d. per Pound. MR.
Fary's 16s. Bohee Tea; not much inferior in Goodness to the best
Foreign Bohee Tea, is sold by himself only at the Bell in
Gracechurch-street. Note, the best Foreign Bohee Tea is worth 30s. a
Pound; so that what is sold at 20s. or 24s. must be either faulty
Tea, or mix'd with a proportionate Quantity of damaged Green or
Bohee, the worst of which will remain Black after Infusion.</p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>ONE Hundred Pounds for Half a Crown : Or, Proposals for several
Prizes, by Mr. William Morris; a fine Diamond Cross set transparent
with a Button all Brilliant, Plate, Atlasses on Silk, six Silk
Night-Gowns, and several other valuable Things. It's proposed to
deliver out by Subscription Two Thousand Five Hundred Tickets, in
which thse are 177 Prizes, the highest 100 l. the lowest 11 s. and
13 Blanks to a Prize. Tickets to be had at Mrs. Pinkney's, a
Milliner, in Tavistock-street, next to the Cheesmonger's in
Southhampton-street in Bedford-Buildings; Mr. Andrew's, Glover, at
the Ball and Glove in Charles-court in the Strand, near
York-Buildings; Mr. Green's in Casy-lane, near Goldsmiths-hall; Mr.
Barnard's, Gloveseller, at Mr. Tompion's, the Corner of Water-lane,
Fleet-street; Mr. Stokoe's, Bookseller, at the Key and Bible against
the Mews-gate, Charing-Cross. Note, The Goods are to be seen at Mr.
Andrews's aforesaid, and will certainly be drawn on Thursday the
26th Instant, out of two Wheels by two parish Boys, at the Great
Room in York-Buildings.</p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>MRs. Cornwell's Sale of Goods and Plate at Mrs. Turners, Milliner, in
Bow-street, Bloomsbury, over-against the three Kings, will be drawn
the 31st Instant without fail, at the Court-House in
Bloomsbury-Market. Being a few Tickets to dispose of, any Person may
be furnished at Mrs. Turners aforesaid at 1 s. each. FOur hundred
and twenty Pounds for Half a Crown, Whereas by a former
Advertisement twas propos'd, that the Sale of a new built Brick
House next but one to the Fountain Tavern in the Strand, with
valuable and weighty Pieces of Plate, &amp;c. was to be drawn at the
Great Dancing Room in St. Alban's-street; But by reason 'twas not
then compleatly full, and it being design'd to be drawn full, and in
the fairest Manner, that there may be no Suspicion of some Practices
which have been occasioned by the leaving of Tickets undisposed of;
and there being some few left, you are desired to take 'em out
forthwith, all Things being almost ready for the said Sale at the
Place mentioned in the former Advertisements. Tickets may be had at
the House and Places in the Proposals. Note, The Tickets are rowling
up at the House. </p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p> THE Sale of Goods to be disposed of by Way of Loss, wherein a
stitch'd Gown and Petticoat, valued at 25 l. the highest Prize. One
Lot of fine Lace, at 10 l. one Lot of Six Holland Shirts, at 6 l.
Six Shifts, at 5 l. Four Scarves, at 3 l. each, with many other
Goods of Value. The lowest Prize 5 s. Some few Tickets undisposed
of, at 12 d. per Ticket, may be had at the Golden Glove next the
Horse-shoe Tavern in Princes-street, Drury-lane; and at Mrs. Ay??'s
next Door to the Black Raven in Fetter-Lane, Holborn; and at the
Place of Drawing, which will be on Thursday the 26th Instant at the
King's-head the Corner of Lambeth-hill, Old-Fish-street, near
Docto?s-Commons. The Goods to be delivered Three Days after
Drawings.</p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p> THE Sale of Goods at Mrs. Stokes's, Two Doors within Crown-Court, on
the one L?T Hand in ???? ???-street, Covent-Garden, is put off
????????????????????? day, till the 7th of November next; and then
it ???? ????? be drawn without any further ?????????? ????. Tickets
may be had at the Place aforesaid. </p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>MRs. Fardell, Milliner, her Sale of Plate, and choice new Goods,
could not be drawn by reason ?? ???????kers were obliged to be out
of Town. This gives Notice, That the abovementioned Sale will
certainly be drawn on Tuesday the 24th Instant. There are few small
B???fits, and what never yet was in any Sale, each Benefit is rated
at the intrinsick Value. All Tickets are called in, and from this
Day none to be had, except at Mrs. Fardell's aforesaid, Mr.
Prich???'s, Goldsmith, near Colston's-Court, Drury-lane; and at the
Men of Kent near Hand-alley, over-agaiinst Great Turn-stile in
Holborn. </p>
</div>
<div type="advertisement">
<p>ALL Sorts of fine Silks and Mercery Goods for Blank Lottery Tickets,
at 7l. 10s. a Ticket, and sold as cheap as for specie, at the Eagle
and Child on Ludgate Hill. MR. Fary's 16s. Bohee Tea; not much
inferior in Goodness to the best Foreign Bohee Tea, is sold by
himself only at the Bell in Gracechurch-street. Note, the best
Foreign Bohee Tea is worth 30s. a Pound; so that what is sold at
20s. or 24s. must be either faulty Tea, or mix'd with a
proportionate Quantity of damaged Green or Bohee, the worst of which
will remain Black after Infusion.</p>
</div>
</div>
<closer>
Sold by <persName rend="italics"><forename >John </forename><surname>Morphew </surname></persName> <address><addrLine>near <span rend="italics">Stationers-Hall</span>; where Advertisements are taken in.</addrLine></address>
</closer>
</div>
</div>
</body>
</text>
</TEI>
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