From Tuesday, Sept. 13, to Thursday, Sept. 15, 1709.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 14.[134]

The progress of our endeavours will of necessity be very much interrupted, except the learned world will please to send their lists to the chamber of fame[135] with all expedition. There is nothing can so much contribute to create a noble emulation in our youth, as the honourable mention of such whose actions have outlived the injuries of time, and recommended themselves so far to the world, that it is become learning to know the least circumstance of their affairs. It is a great incentive to see that some men have raised themselves so highly above their fellow-creatures; that the lives of ordinary men are spent in inquiries after the particular actions of the most illustrious. True it is, that without this impulse to fame and reputation, our industry would stagnate, and that lively desire of pleasing each other die away. This opinion was so established in the heathen world, that their sense of living appeared insipid, except their being was enlivened with a consciousness that they were esteemed by the rest of the world. Upon examining the proportion of men's fame for my table of twelve, I thought it no ill way, since I had laid it down for a rule, that they were to be ranked simply as they were famous, without regard to their virtue, to ask my sister Jenny's advice, and particularly mentioned to her the name of Aristotle. She immediately told me, he was a very great scholar, and that she had read him at the boarding-school. She certainly means a trifle sold by the hawkers, called "Aristotle's Problems." But this raised a great scruple in me, whether a fame increased by imposition of others is to be added to his account, or that these excrescences, which grow out of his real reputation, and give encouragement to others to pass things under the cover of his name, should be considered in giving him his seat in the chamber? This punctilio is referred to the learned. In the meantime, so ill-natured are mankind, that I believe I have names already sent me sufficient to fill up my lists for the dark room, and every one is apt enough to send in their accounts of ill deservers. This malevolence does not proceed from a real dislike of virtue, but a diabolical prejudice against it, which makes men willing to destroy what they care not to imitate. Thus you see the greatest characters among your acquaintance, and those you live with, are traduced by all below them in virtue, who never mention them but with an exception. However, I believe I shall not give the world much trouble about filling my tables for those of evil fame, for I have some thoughts of clapping up the sharpers there as fast as I can lay hold of them.

At present, I am employed in looking over the several notices which I have received of their manner of dexterity, and the way at dice of making all rugg,[136] as the cant is. The whole art of securing a die has lately been sent me by a person who was of the fraternity, but is disabled by the loss of a finger, by which means he cannot practise that trick as he used to do. But I am very much at a loss how to call some of the fair sex who are accomplices with the knights of industry; for my metaphorical dogs are easily enough understood; but the feminine gender of dog has so harsh a sound, that we know not how to name it. But I am credibly informed that there are female dogs as voracious as the males, and make advances to young fellows, without any other design but coming to a familiarity with their purses. I have also long lists of persons of condition, who are certainly of the same regimen with these banditti, and instrumental to their cheats upon undiscerning men of their own rank. These add their good reputation to carry on the impostures of others, whose very names would else be defence enough against falling into their hands. But for the honour of our nation, these shall be unmentioned, provided we hear no more of such practices, and that they shall not from henceforward suffer the society of such as they know to be the common enemies of order, discipline, and virtue. If it appear that they go on in encouraging them, they must be proceeded against according to severest rules of history, where all is to be laid before the world with impartiality, and without respect to persons.

Will's Coffee-house, September 14.

I find left here for me the following epistle:

"Sir,

"Having lately read your discourse about the family of Trubies,[138] wherein you observe that there are some who fall into laughter out of a certain benevolence in their temper, and not out of the ordinary motive, viz., contempt and triumph over the imperfections of others, I have conceived a good idea of your knowledge of mankind. And as you have a tragi-comic genius, I beg the favour of you to give us your thoughts of a quite different effect, which also is caused by other motives than what are commonly taken notice of. What I would have you treat of, is, the cause of shedding tears. I desire you would discuss it a little, with observations upon the various occasions which provoke us to that expression of our concern, &c."

To obey this complaisant gentleman, I know no way so short as examining the various touches of my own bosom, on several occurrences in a long life, to the evening of which I am arrived, after as many various incidents as anybody has met with. I have often reflected, that there is a great similitude in the motions of the heart in mirth and in sorrow; and I think the usual occasion of the latter, as well as the former, is something which is sudden and unexpected. The mind has not a sufficient time to recollect its force, and immediately gushes into tears before we can utter ourselves by speech or complaint. The most notorious causes of these drops from our eyes, are pity, sorrow, joy, and reconciliation. The fair sex, who are made of man, and not of earth, have a more delicate humanity than we have, and pity is the most common cause of their tears: for as we are inwardly composed of an aptitude to every circumstance of life, and everything that befalls any one person might have happened to any other of human race, self-love, and a sense of the pain we ourselves should suffer in the circumstances of any whom we pity, is the cause of that compassion. Such a reflection in the breast of a woman immediately inclines her to tears; but in a man, it makes him think how such a one ought to act on that occasion, suitable to the dignity of his nature. Thus a woman is ever moved for those whom she hears lament, and a man for those whom he observes to suffer in silence. It is a man's own behaviour in the circumstances he is under which procures him the esteem of others, and not merely the affliction itself which demands our pity: for we never give a man that passion which he falls into for himself. He that commends himself never purchases our applause; nor he who bewails himself, our pity. Going through an alley the other day, I observed a noisy impudent beggar bawl out, that he was wounded in a merchantman, that he had lost his poor limbs, and showed a leg clouted up. All that passed by, made what haste they could out of sight and hearing. But a poor fellow at the end of the passage, with a rusty coat, a melancholy air, and a soft voice, desired them to look upon a man not used to beg. The latter received the charity of almost every one that went by. The strings of the heart, which are to be touched to give us compassion, are not so played on but by the finest hand. We see in tragical representations it is not the pomp of language, or magnificence of dress, in which the passion is wrought that touches sensible spirits, but something of a plain and simple nature which breaks in upon our souls, by that sympathy which is given us for our mutual good-will and service.[139] In the tragedy of "Macbeth," where Wilks[140] acts the part of a man whose family has been murdered in his absence, the wildness of his passion, which is run over in a torrent of calamitous circumstances, does but raise my spirits, and give me the alarm; but when he skilfully seems to be out of breath, and is brought too low to say more, and upon a second reflection, cry, only wiping his eyes, "What, both children! Both, both my children gone!" there is no resisting a sorrow which seems to have cast about for all the reasons possible for its consolation, but has no recourse. There is not one left, but both, both are murdered![141] Such sudden starts from the thread of the discourse, and a plain sentiment expressed in an artless way, are the irresistible strokes of eloquence and poetry. The same great master, Shakespeare, can afford us instances of all the places where our souls are accessible, and ever commands our tears; but it is to be observed, that he draws them from some unexpected source, which seems not wholly of a piece with the discourse. Thus when Brutus and Cassius had a debate in the tragedy of "CÆsar," and rose to warm language against each other, insomuch that it had almost come to something that might be fatal, till they recollected themselves; Brutus does more than make an apology for the heat he had been in, by saying, "Porcia is dead."[142] Here Cassius is all tenderness, and ready to dissolve, when he considers that the mind of his friend had been employed on the greatest affliction imaginable, when he had been adding to it by a debate on trifles; which makes him in the anguish of his heart cry out, "How scaped I killing when I thus provoked you?"[143] This is an incident which moves the soul in all its sentiments; and Cassius's heart was at once touched with all the soft pangs of pity, remorse, and reconciliation. It is said indeed by Horace, "If you would have me weep, you must first weep yourself."[144] This is not literally true, for it would have been as rightly said, if we observe nature, that I shall certainly weep if you do not; but what is intended by that expression is, that it is not possible to give passion except you show that you suffer yourself. Therefore the true art seems to be, that when you would have the person you represent pitied, you must show him at once, in the highest grief and struggling, to bear it with decency and patience. In this case, we sigh for him, and give him every groan he suppresses.[145] I remember, when I was young enough to follow the sports of the field, I have more than once rode off at the death of a deer, when I have seen the animal in an affliction which appeared human without the least noise, let fall tears when he was reduced to extremity; and I have thought of the sorrow I saw him in when his haunch came to the table. But our tears are not given only to objects of pity, but the mind has recourse to that relief on all occasions which give us much emotion. Thus, to be apt to shed tears is a sign of a great as well as little spirit. I have heard say, the present Pope[146] never passes through the people, who always kneel in crowds and ask his benediction, but the tears are seen to flow from his eyes. This must proceed from an imagination that he is the father of all those people, and that he is touched with so extensive a benevolence that it breaks out into a passion of tears. You see friends, who have been long absent, transported in the same manner: a thousand little images crowd upon them at their meeting, as all the joys and griefs they have known during their separation; and in one hurry of thought, they conceive how they should have participated in those occasions, and weep, because their minds are too full to wait the slow expression of words.

There is lately broke loose from the London Pack[148] a very tall dangerous biter. He is now at the Bath, and it is feared will make a damnable havoc amongst the game. His manner of biting is new, and called the Top. He secures one die betwixt his two fingers: the other is fixed by the help of a famous wax invented by an apothecary, since a gamester; a little of which he puts upon his forefinger, and that holds the die in the box at his devotion. Great sums have been lately won by these ways; but it is hoped that this hint of his manner of cheating will open the eyes of many who are every day imposed upon.

There is now in the press, and will be suddenly published, a book entitled "An Appendix to the Contempt of the Clergy,"[149] wherein will be set forth at large, that all our dissensions are owing to the laziness of persons in the sacred ministry, and that none of the present schisms could have crept into the flock but by the negligence of the pastors. There is a digression in this treatise, proving that the pretences made by the priesthood from time to time that the Church was in danger, is only a trick to make the laity passionate for that of which they themselves have been negligent. The whole concludes with an exhortation to the clergy, to the study of eloquence, and practice of piety, as the only method to support the highest of all honours, that of a priest, who lives and acts according to his character.