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'A gentleman who belonged to the hospital, was saying, he believed it would be done as soon as mentioned, if it were proposed that a ward might be erected for the accommodation of such as have no more to do in this world, but resign themselves to death. I know no readier way of communicating this thought to the world, than by your paper. If you omit to publish this, I shall never esteem you to be the man you pretend; and so recommending the incurable to your guardianship, I remain, sir, your most humble servant,

'PHILANTHROPOS.'

your polite papers, but when I observe any thing | wherein those distinctions shall cease for ever, which I think written for the advancement of and they must both give an account for their good-will amongst men, and laying before them behaviour under their respective sufferings and objects of charity, I am very zealous for the enjoyments. However, you would do your part promotion of so honest a design. Believe me, as a guardian, if you would mention, in the sir, want of wit or wisdom, is not the infirmity most pathetic terms, these miserable objects, of this age; it is the shameful application of and put the good part of the world in mind of both that is the crying evil. As for my own exerting the most noble benevolence that can part, I am always endeavouring at least to be be imagined, in alleviating the few remaining better, rather than richer or wiser. But I never moments of the incurable. lamented that I was not a wealthy man so heartily as the other day. You must understand that I now and then take a walk of mortification, and pass a whole day in making myself profitably sad. I for this end visit the hospitals about this city, and when I have rambled about the galleries at Bedlam, and seen for an hour the utmost of all lamentable objects, human reason distracted; when I have from grate to grate offered up my prayers for a wretch who has been reviling me, for a figure that has seemed petrified with anguish, for a man that has held up his face in a posture of adoration toward heaven to utter execrations and blasphemies; I say, when I have beheld all these things, It must be confessed, that if one turns one's and thoroughly reflected on them, until I have eyes round these cities of London and Weststartled myself out of my present ill course, I minster, one cannot overlook the exemplary in have thought fit to pass to the observation of stances of heroic charity, in providing restraints less evils, and relieve myself by going to those for the wicked, instructions for the young, food charitable receptacles about this town, appoint- and raiment for the aged, with regard also to ed only for bodily distresses. The gay and fro- all other circumstances and relations of human lic part of mankind are wholly unacquainted life; but it is to be lamented that these provi with the numbers of their fellow-creatures who sions are made only by the middle kind of peolanguish under pain and agony, for want of a ple, while those of fashion and power are raised trifle out of that expense by which those fortu- above the species itself, and are unacquainted nate persons purchase the gratification of a su- or unmoved with the calamities of others. But, perfluous passion or appetite. I ended the last alas! how monstrous is this hardness of heart! of these pilgrimages which I made, at St. Tho- How is it possible that the returns of hunger mas's hospital in Southwark. I had seen all the and thirst should not importune men, though in variety of woe which can arise from the distem- the highest affluence, to consider the miseries pers which attend human frailty; but the cir- of their fellow-creatures who languish under cumstance which occasioned this letter, and necessity. But as I hinted just now, the disgave me the quickest compassion, was behold- tinctions of mankind are almost wholly to be ing a little boy of ten years of age, who was resolved into those of the rich and the poor; for just then to be expelled the house as incurable. as certainly as wealth gives acceptance and My heart melted within me to think what would grace to all that its possessor says or does; so become of the poor child, who, as I was inform- poverty creates disesteem, scorn, and prejudice, ed, had not a farthing in the world, nor father, to all the undertakings of the indigent. The nor mother, nor friend to help it. The infant necessitous man has neither hands, lips, or unsaw my sorrow for it, and came towards me, derstanding, for his own or friend's use, but is and bid me speak, that it might die in the house. in the same condition with the sick, with this 'Alas! there are crowds cured in this place, difference only, that his is an infection no man and the strictest care taken, in the distribution will relieve or assist, or if he does, it is seldom of the charity, for wholesome food, good physic, with so much pity as contempt, and rather for and tender care in behalf of the patients; but the ostentation of the physician, than compas. the provision is not large enough for those sion on the patient. It is a circumstance, whom they do not despair of recovering, which wherein a man finds all the good he deserves makes it necessary to turn out the incurable, inaccessible, all the ill unavoidable; and the for the sake of those whom they can relieve. I poor hero is as certainly ragged, as the poor vilwas informed this was the fate of many in a lain hanged. Under these pressures the poor year, as well as of this poor child, who I sup- man speaks with hesitation, undertakes with pose, corrupted away yet alive in the streets. irresolution, and acts with disappointment. He He was to be sure removed when he was only is slighted in men's conversations, overlooked capable of giving offence, though avoided when in their assemblies, and beaten at their doors. still an object of compassion. There are not But from whence, alas! has he this treatment? words to give mankind compunction enough from a creature that has only the supply of, but on such an occasion; but I assure you I think not an exemption from, the wants, for which he the miserable have a property in the superflu- despises him. Yet such is the unaccountable ous possessions of the fortunate; though I de- insolence of man, that he will not see that he spair of seeing right done them until the day who is supported, is in the same class of natural

up in the name of it, in order to disparage such of its communicants as will not sacrifice their conscience to their fortunes. This confusion and subdivision of interests and sentiments among people of the same communion, is what would be a very good subject of mirth; but when I consider against whom this insult is committed, I think it too great, and of too ill a consequence, to be in good humour on the oc

necessity with him that wants a support; and | to be helped implies to be indigent. In a word, after all you can say of a man, conclude that he is rich, and you have made him friends; nor have you utterly overthrown a man in the world's opinion, until you have said he is poor. This is the emphatical expression of praise and blame: for men so stupidly forget their natural impotence and want, that riches and poverty have taken in our imagination the place of in-casion. nocence and guilt. Reflections of this kind do but waste one's 'SIR,-Your character of universal Guarbeing, without capacity of helping the dis-dian, joined to the concern you ought to have tressed; yet though I know no way to do any for the cause of virtue and religion, assure me service to my brethren under such calamities, you will not think that clergymen when injured, I cannot help having so much respect for them, have the least right to your protection; and it as to suffer with them in a fruitless fellow-is from that assurance I trouble you with this, feeling.

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I HAVE found, by experience, that it is impossible to talk distinctly without defining the words of which we make use. There is not a term in our language which wants explanation so much as the word Church. One would think when people utter it, they should have in their minds ideas of virtue and religion; but that important monosyllable drags all the other words in the language after it, and it is made use of to express both praise and blame, according to the character of him who speaks it. By this means it happens, that no one knows what his neighbour means when he says such a one is for or against the church. It has happened that the person, who is seen every day at church, has not been in the eye of the world a churchman; and he who is very zealous to oblige every man to frequent it, but himself, has been held a very good son of the church. This prepossession is the best handle imaginable for politicians to make use of, for managing the loves and hatreds of mankind, to the purposes to which they would lead them. But this is not a thing for fools to meddle with, for they only bring disesteem upon those whom they attempt to serve, when they unskilfully pronounce terms of art. I have observed great evils arise from this practice, and not only the cause of piety, but also the secular interest of clergymen, has extremely suffered by the general unexplained signification of the word Church.

The Examiner, upon the strength of being a received church-man, has offended in this particular more grossly than any other man ever did before, and almost as grossly as ever he himself did, supposing the allegations in the following letter are just. To slander any man is a very heinous offence; but the crime is still greater, when it falls upon such as ought to give example to others. I cannot imagine how the Examiner can divest any part of the clergy of the respect due to their characters, so as to treat them as he does, without an indulgence unknown to our religion, though taken

'June 9, 1713.

to complain of the Examiner, who calumniates as freely as he commends, and whose invectives are as groundless as his panegyrics.

'In his paper of the eighth instant, after a most furious invective against many noble lords, a considerable number of the commons, and a very great part of her majesty's good subjects, as disaffected and full of discontent, (which, by the way, is but an awkward compliment to the queen, whose greatest glory it is to reign in the hearts of her people,) that the clergy may not go without their share of his resentment, he concludes with a most malicious reflection upon some of them. He names indeed nobody, but points to Windsor and St. Paul's, where he tells us some are disrespectful to the queen, and enemies to her peace; most odious characters, especially in clergymen, whose profession is peace, and to whose duty and affection her majesty has a more immediate right, by her singular piety and great goodness to them. "They have sucked in," he says, "this war-like principle from their arbitrary patrons." It is not enough, it seems, to calumniate them, unless their patrons also be insulted, no less patrons than the late king and the duke of Marlborough. These are his arbitrary men; though nothing be more certain than that without the king, the shadow of a legal government had not been left to us; nor did there ever live a man, who in the nature and temper of him, less deserved the character of arbitrary than the duke. How now is this terrible charge against those clergymen supported? Why, as to St. Paul's, the fact, according to him, is this: "Some of the church, to affront the queen, on the day the peace was proclaimed, gave orders for parochial prayers only, without singing, as is used upon fast-days, though in this particular their inferiors were so very honest to disobey them." This the Examiner roundly affirms, after his usual manner, but without the least regard to truth; for it is fallen in my way, without inquiring, to be exactly informed of this matter, and therefore, I take upon me in their vindication to assure you, that every part of what is said is absolutely false, and the truth is just the reverse. inferiors desired there might be only parochial prayers; but the person applied to was aware to what construction it might be liable, and therefore would not consent to the request, though very innocent and reasonable. The case was this: the procession of the ceremony had

The

No. 81.]

Saturday, June 13, 1713.

Quiete et pure atque eleganter actæ ætatis placida ac lenis recordatio. Cicero. Placid and soothing is the remembrance of a life

passed with quiet, innocence, and elegance.

THE paper which was published on the thir. tieth of last month, ended with a piece of devotion written by the archbishop of Cambray. It would (as it was hinted in that precaution) be of singular use for the improvement of our minds, to have the secret thoughts of men of good talents on such occasions. I shall for the entertainment of this day give my reader two pieces, which, if he is curious, will be pleasing for that reason, if they prove to have no other effect upon him. One of them was found in the closet of an Athenian libertine, who lived many ages ago, and is a soliloquy wherein he contem. plates his own life and actions according to the lights men have from nature, and the compunc tions of natural reason. The other is a prayer of a gentleman who died within few years last past; and lived to a very great age; but had passed his youth in all the vices in fashion. The Athenian is supposed to have been Alcibiades, a man of great spirit, extremely addicted to pleasures, but at the same time very capable, and upon occasion very attentive to business. He was by nature endued with all the accomplishments she could bestow; he had beauty, wit, courage, and a great understanding; but in the first bloom of his life was arrogantly affected with the advantages he had over others. That temper is pretty visible in an expression of his: when it was proposed to him to learn to play upon a musical instrument, he answered, 'It is not for

reached Ludgate just at the time of prayers, and there was such a prodigious concourse of people, that one of the vergers came to the residentiary in waiting, to represent, that it would be impossible to have prayers that afternoon; that the crowds all round the church was so great, there would be no getting in: but it was insisted, that there must be prayers, only the tolling of the bell should be deferred a little, until the head of the procession was got beyond the church. When the bell had done, and none of the choir appeared, but one to read, it was upon this again represented, that there could be only parochial prayers, a thing that sometimes happens, twice or thrice perhaps in a year, when, upon some allowable occasion, the absence of the choir-men is so great, as not to leave the necessary voices for cathedral service; which very lately was the case upon a performance of the thanksgiving music at Whitehall. So that had the prayers, on this occasion, been parochial only, it had been neither new nor criminal, but necessary and unavoidable, unless the Examiner can tell how the service may be sung decently without singing-men. However, to leave informers no room for calumny, it was expressly urged, that parochial prayers on such a day, would look ill; that therefore, if possible, it should be avoided, and the service should be begun as usual, in hopes one or two of the choir might come in before the psalms; and the verger was ordered to look out, if he could see any of the choir, to hasten them to their places; and so it proved, two of the best voices came in time enough, and the service was performed cathedral-wise, though in a manner to bare walls, with an anthem suitable to the day. This is the fact on which the Exa-me to give, but to receive delight.' However, miner grounds a charge of factious and seditious principles against some at St. Paul's, and I am persuaded there is as little truth in what he charges some of Windsor with, though I know not certainly whom he means. Were I disposed to expostulate with the Examiner, I would ask him if he seriously thinks this be answering her majesty's intentions? Whether disquieting the minds of her people is the way to calm them? Or to traduce men of learning 'I am now wholly alone, my ears are not enand virtue, be to cultivate the arts of peace? tertained with music, my eyes with beauty, nor But I am too well acquainted with his writings any of my senses so forcibly affected, as to dinot to see he is past correction; nor does any vert the course of my inward thoughts. Mething in his paper surprise me, merely because thinks there is something sacred in myself now it is false; for to use his own words, "not a day I am alone. What is this being of mine? I passes," with him, "but it brings forth a mouse came into it without my choice, and yet Socrates or a monster, some ridiculous lie, some vile ca- says it is to be imputed to me. In this repose lumny or forgery." He is almost equally false of my senses wherein they communicate nothing in every thing he says; but it is not always strongly to myself, I taste, methinks, a being equally easy to make his falsehood plain and distinct from their operation. Why may not palpable. And it is chiefly for that reason I then my soul exist, when she is wholly gone out desire you to give this letter a place in your of these organs? I can perceive my faculties papers, that those that are willing to be unde- grow stronger, the less I admit the pleasures of ceived may learn, from so clear an instance, sense; and the nearer I place myself to a bare what a faithful, modest writer this is, who pre-existence, the more worthy, the more noble, the tends to teach them how to think and speak of things and persons they know nothing of them. selves. As this is no way disagreeable to your character of Guardian, your publication of it is a favour which I flatter myself you will not deny to, sir, your humble servant,

'R. A.'

the conversation of Socrates tempered a strong inclination to licentiousness into reflections of philosophy; and if it had not the force to make a man of his genius and fortune wholly regular, it gave him some cool moments, and this following soliloquy is supposed by the learned to have been thrown together before some expected engagement, and seems to be very much the picture of the man.

more celestial does that existence appear to me. If my soul is weakened rather than improved by all that the body administers to her, she may reasonably be supposed to be designed for a mansion more suitable than this, wherein what delights her diminishes her excellence, and that which afflicts her adds to her perfection. There

is an hereafter, and I will not fear to be immortal for the sake of Athens.'

This soliloquy is but the first dawnings of thought in the mind of a mere man given up to sensuality. The paper which I mention of our contemporary was found in his scrutoire after his death, but communicated to a friend or two of his in his life-time. You see in it a man wearied with the vanities of this life; and the reflections which the success of his wit and gallantry bring upon his old age, are not unworthy the observation of those who possess the like advantages.

'Oh, Almighty Being! How shall I look up towards thee, when I reflect that I am of no consideration but as I have offended? My existence, O my God, without thy mercy, is not to be prolonged in this or another world but for my punishment. I apprehend, oh, my Maker, let it not be too late: I apprehend, and tremble at thy presence; and shall I not consider thee, who art all goodness, but with terror? Oh, my Redeemer, do thou behold my anguish. Turn to me, thou Saviour of the world: Who has offended like me? Oh, my God, I cannot fly out of thy presence, let me fall down in it; I humble myself in contrition of heart; but alas! I have not only swerved from thee, but have laboured against thee. If thou dost pardon what I have committed, how wilt thou pardon what I have made others commit? I have rejoiced in ill, as in a prosperity. Forgive, oh my God, all who have offended by my persuasion, all who have transgressed by my example. Canst thou, O God, accept of the confession of old age, to expiate all the labour and industry of youth spent in transgressions against thee? While I am still alive, let me implore thee to recall to thy grace all whom I have made to sin. Let, oh Lord, thy goodness admit of his prayer for their pardon, by whose instigation they have transgressed. Accept, O God, of this interval of age, between my sinful days and the hour of my dissolution, to wear away the corrupt habits in my soul, and prepare myself for the mansions of purity and joy. Impute not to me, oh my God, the offences I may give, after my death, to those I leave behind me; let me not transgress when I am no more seen; but prevent the ill-effects of my ill-applied studies, and receive me into thy mercy.'

It is the most melancholy circumstance that can be imagined, to be on a death-bed, and wish all that a man has most laboured to bring to pass were obliterated for ever. How emphatically worse is this, than having passed all one's days in idleness! Yet this is the frequent case of many men of refined talents. It is, methinks, monstrous that the love of fame, and value of the fashion of the world, can transport a man so far as even in solitude to act with so little reflection upon his real interest. This is premedi tated madness, for it is an error done with the assistance of all the faculties of the mind.

When every circumstance about us is a constant admonition how transient is every labour of man, it should, methinks, be no hard matter to bring one's self to consider the emptiness of our endeavours; but I was not a little charmed the other day, when sitting with an old friend

and communing together on such subjects, he expressed himself after this manner :

It is unworthy a Christian philosopher to let any thing here below stand in the least competition with his duty. In vain is reason fortified by faith, if it produces in our practice no greater effects than what reason wrought in mere man. 'I contemn, (in dependence on the support of heaven I speak it) I contemn all which the generality of mankind call great and glorious. I will no longer think or act like a mortal, but consider myself as a being that commenced at my birth, and is to endure to all eternity. The accident of death will not end but improve my being; I will think of myself, and provide for myself as an immortal; and I will do nothing now which I do not believe I shall approve a thousand years hence.'

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THOUGH men see every day people go to their long home, who are younger than themselves, they are not so apt to be alarmed at that, as at the decease of those who have lived longer in their sight. They miss their acquaintance, and are surprised at the loss of an habitual object. This gave me so much concern for the who was an actor at the Restoration, and took death of Mr. William Peer of the theatre-royal, his theatrical degree with Betterton, Kynaston, and Harris. Though his station was humble, he performed it well; and the common comparibeen so often made, may well be brought out son with the stage and human life, which has upon this occasion. It is no matter, say the mo ralists, whether you act a prince or a beggar, the business is to do your part well. Mr. William Peer distinguished himself particularly in two characters, which no man ever could touch but himself; one of them, was the speaker of the prologue to the play, which is contrived in the tragedy of Hamlet, to awake the consciences of the guilty princes. Mr. William Peer spoke that preface to the play with such an air, as represented that he was an actor, and with such an inferior manner as only acting an actor, as made the others on the stage appear real great persons, and not representatives. This was a nicety in acting that none but the most subtle player could so much as conceive. I remember his speaking these words, in which there is no great matter but in the right adjustment of the air of the speaker, with universal applause :

For us and for our tragedy, Here stooping to your clemency, We beg your hearing patiently.' Hamlet says very archly upon the pronouncing of it, 'Is this a prologue, or a posy of, a ring?" However, the speaking of it got Mr. Peer more reputation, than those who speak the length of a puritan's sermon every night will ever attain to. Besides this, Mr. Peer got a great fame on another little occasion. He played the apothecary in Caius Marius, as it is called by Otway; but

Romeo and Juliet, as originally in Shakspeare; | did not a little contribute to the shortening it will be necessary to recite more out of the his days; and, as there is no state of real happlay than he spoke, to have a right conception piness in this life, Mr. Peer was undone by his of what Peer did in it. Marius, weary of life, success, and lost all by arriving at what is the recollects means to be rid of it after this manner: end of all other men's pursuits, his ease.

'I do remember an apothecary

That dwelt about this rendezvous of death!
Meagre and very rueful were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones.'

When this spectre of poverty appeared, Marius
addresses him thus:

'I see thou art very poor,

Thou may'st do any thing, here's fifty drachmas,
Get me a draught of what will soonest free
A wretch from all his cares.'

I could not forbear inquiring into the effects Mr. Peer left behind him, but find there is no demand due to him from the house, but the following bill:

For hire of six case of pistols,

A drum for Mrs. Bignall in the Pil-
grim,

A truss of straw for the madmen,
Pomatum and vermillion to grease
the face of the stuttering cook,

When the apothecary objects that it is unlaw- For boarding a setting dog two days

ful, Marius urges,

'Art thou so base and full of wretchedness
Yet fear'st to die! Famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression stareth in thy eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang on thy back;
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's laws:
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.'

Without all this quotation the reader could not have a just idea of the visage and manner which Peer assumed, when in the most lamentable tone imaginable he consents; and delivering the poison, like a man reduced to the drink. ing it himself, if he did not vend it, says to

Marius,

'My poverty, but not my will, consents;

Take this and drink it off, the work is done.'

to follow Mr. Johnson in Epsom
Wells,

For blood in Macbeth,

Raisins and almonds for a witch's
banquet,

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This contemporary of mine, whom I have often rallied for the narrow compass of his singular perfections, is now at peace, and wants no further assistance from any man; but men of extensive genius, now living, still depend upon the good offices of the town.

this day, being the fifteenth of June, the PlotI am therefore to remind my reader, that on ting Sisters is to be acted for the benefit of the author, my old friend Mr. d'Urfey. This comedy was honoured with the presence of king Charles the Second three of its first five nights.

It was an odd excellence, and a very particular circumstance this of Peer's, that his whole action of life depended upon speaking five lines My friend has in this work shown himself a better than any man else in the world. But this master, and made not only the characters of the eminence lying in so narrow a compass, the play, but also the furniture of the house contrigovernors of the theatre observing his talents to bute to the main design. He has made excellie in a certain knowledge of propriety, and his lent use of a table with a carpet, and the key of person admitting him to shine only in the two a closet. With these two implements, which above parts, his sphere of action was enlarged would, perhaps, have been overlooked by an or by the addition of the post of property-man. dinary writer, he contrives the most natural This officer has always ready, in a place ap- perplexities (allowing only the use of these pointed for him behind the prompter, all such household goods in poetry) that ever were retools and implements as are necessary in the presented on a stage. He has also made good play, and it is his business never to want billet- advantage of the knowledge of the stage itself; doux, poison, false money, thunderbolts, dag- for in the nick of being surprised, the lovers are gers, scrolls of parchment, wine, pomatum trun- let down and escape at a trap-door. In a word, cheons, and wooden legs, ready at the call of the any who have the curiosity to observe what said prompter, according as his respective uten- pleased in the last generation, and does not go sils were necessary for prompting what was to to a comedy with a resolution to be grave, will pass on the stage. The addition of this office, find this evening ample food for mirth. Johnso important to the conduct of the whole affair son, who understands what he does as well as of the stage, and the good economy observed by any man, exposes the impertinence of an old their present managers in punctual payments, fellow, who has lost his senses, still pursuing made Mr. Peer's subsistence very comfortable. pleasures, with great mastery. The ingenious But it frequently happens, that men lose their Mr. Pinkethman is a bashful rake, and is sheepvirtue in prosperity, who were shining charac-ish without having modesty with great success. ters in the contrary condition. Good fortune Mr. Bullock succeeds Nokes in the part of indeed had no effect on the mind, but very much on the body of Mr. Peer. For in the seventieth year of his age he grew fat, which rendered his figure unfit for the utterance of the five lines above-mentioned. He had now unfortunately lost the wan distress necessary for the countenance of the apothecary, and was too jolly to speak the prologue with the proper humility. It is thought this calamity went too near him.

It

Bubble, and in my opinion is not much below him: for he doos excellently that sort of folly we call absurdity, which is the very contrary of wit, but, next to that, is of all things the properest to excite mirth. What is foolish is the object of pity; but absurdity often proceeds from an opinion of sufficiency, and consequently is an honest occasion for laughter. These characters in this play cannot choose but make

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