From Thursday, Sept. 22, to Saturday, Sept. 24, 1709.

White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 23.

I have taken upon me no very easy task in turning all my thoughts on panegyric, when most of the advices I receive tend to the quite contrary purpose; and I have few notices but such as regard follies and vices. But the properest way for me to treat, is to keep in general upon the passions and affections of men, with as little regard to particulars as the nature of the thing will admit. However, I think there is something so passionate in the circumstances of the lovers mentioned in the following letter, that I am willing to go out of my way to obey what is commanded in it.

"Sir,

London, September 17.

"Your design of entertaining the town with the characters of the ancient heroes, as persons shall send an account to Mr. Morphew's, encourages me and others to beg of you, that in the meantime (if it is not contrary to the method you have proposed) you would give us one paper upon the subject of PÆtus and his wife's death, when Nero sent him an order to kill himself: his wife setting him the example, died with these words, 'PÆtus, it is not painful.' You must know the story, and your observations upon it will oblige,

"Sir,

Your most humble Servant."

When the worst man that ever lived in the world had the highest station in it, human life was the object of his diversion; and he sent orders frequently, out of mere wantonness, to take off such-and-such, without so much as being angry with them. Nay, frequently his tyranny was so humorous, that he put men to death because he could not but approve of them. It came one day to his ear, that a certain married couple, PÆtus and Arria, lived in a more happy tranquillity and mutual love than any other persons who were then in being. He listened with great attention to the account of their manner of spending their time together, of the constant pleasure they were to each other in all their words and actions; and found by exact information, that they were so treasonable as to be much more happy than his Imperial Majesty himself. Upon which he wrote PÆtus the following billet:—

"PÆtus, you are hereby desired to despatch yourself. I have heard a very good character of you; and therefore leave it to yourself, whether you will die by dagger, sword, or poison. If you outlive this order above an hour, I have given directions to put you to death by torture.

Nero."

This familiar epistle was delivered to his wife Arria, who opened it.

One must have a soul very well turned for love, pity, and indignation, to comprehend the tumult this unhappy lady was thrown into upon this occasion. The passion of love is no more to be understood by some tempers than a problem in a science by an ignorant man: but he that knows what affection is, will have, upon considering the condition of Arria, ten thousand thoughts flow in upon him, which the tongue was not formed to express. But the charming statue is now before my eyes, and Arria, in her unutterable sorrow, has more beauty than ever appeared in youth, in mirth, or in triumph. These are the great and noble incidents which speak the dignity of our nature, in our sufferings and distresses. Behold her tender affection for her husband sinks her features into a countenance which appears more helpless than that of an infant: but, again, her indignation shows in her visage and her bosom a resentment as strong as that of the bravest man. Long she stood in this agony of alternate rage and love; but at last composed herself for her dissolution, rather than survive her beloved PÆtus. When he came into her presence, he found her with the tyrant's letter in one hand, and a dagger in the other. Upon his approach to her, she gave him the order; and at the same time, stabbing herself, "PÆtus," said she, "it is not painful," and expired. PÆtus immediately followed her example. The passion of these memorable lovers was such, that it eluded the rigour of their fortune, and baffled the force of a blow, which neither felt, because each received it for the sake of the other. The woman's part in this story is by much the more heroic, and has occasioned one of the best epigrams transmitted to us from antiquity.

From my own Apartment, Sept. 23.

The boy says, one in a black hat left the following letter:

"Friend,

19th of the 7th month.

"Being of that part of Christians whom men call Quakers; and being a seeker of the right way, I was persuaded yesterday to hear one of your most noted teachers. The matter he treated was the necessity of well-living, grounded upon a future state. I was attentive; but the man did not appear in earnest. He read his discourse (notwithstanding thy rebukes) so heavily, and with so little air of being convinced himself, that I thought he would have slept, as I observed many of his hearers did. I came home unedified, and troubled in mind. I dipped into the Lamentations, and from thence turning to the 34th chapter of Ezekiel, I found these words: 'Woe be to the shepherds of Israel, that do feed themselves! Should not the shepherds feed the flock? Ye eat the fat, and ye clothe you with the wool: ye kill them that are fed; but ye feed not the flock. The diseased have ye not strengthened; neither have ye healed that which was sick; neither have ye bound up that which was broken; neither have ye brought again that which was driven away; neither have ye sought that which was lost; but with force and with cruelty have ye ruled them,' &c. Now I pray thee, friend, as thou art a man skilled in many things, tell me, who is meant by the diseased, the sick, the broken, the driven away, and the lost? and whether the prophecy in this chapter be accomplished, or yet to come to pass? And thou wilt oblige thy friend, though unknown."

This matter is too sacred for this paper; but I can't see what injury it would do any clergyman, to have it in his eye, and believe, all that are taken from him by his want of industry, are to be demanded of him. I daresay, Favonius[177] has very few of these losses. Favonius, in the midst of a thousand impertinent assailants of the divine truths, is an undisturbed defender of them. He protects all under his care, by the clearness of his understanding, and the example of his life: he visits dying men with the air of a man who hoped for his own dissolution, and enforces in others a contempt of this life, by his own expectation of the next. His voice and behaviour are the lively images of a composed and well-governed zeal. None can leave him for the frivolous jargon uttered by the ordinary teachers among Dissenters, but such who cannot distinguish vociferation from eloquence, and argument from railing. He is so great a judge of mankind, and touches our passions with so superior a command, that he who deserts his congregation must be a stranger to the dictates of nature, as well as to those of grace.

But I must proceed to other matters, and resolve the questions of other inquirers; as in the following:

"Sir,

Heddington, Sept. 19.

"Upon reading that part of the Tatler, No. 69, where mention is made of a certain chapel-clerk, there arose a dispute, and that produced a wager, whether by the words chapel-clerk was meant a clergyman or a layman? By a clergyman, I mean one in holy orders. It was not that anybody in the company pretended to guess who the person was; but some asserted, that by Mr. Bickerstaff's words must be meant a clergyman only: others said, that those words might have been said of any clerk of a parish; and some of them more properly, of a layman. The wager is half-a-dozen bottles of wine; in which (if you please to determine it) your health, and all the family of the staffs, shall certainly be drunk; and you will singularly oblige another very considerable family. I mean that of

"Your humble Servants,

The Trencher-Caps."

It is very customary with us learned men, to find perplexities where no one else can see any. The honest gentlemen who wrote me this, are much at a loss to understand what I thought very plain; and in return, their epistle is so plain that I can't understand it. This, perhaps, is at first a little like nonsense; but I desire all persons to examine these writings with an eye to my being far gone in the occult sciences; and remember, that it is the privilege of the learned and the great to be understood when they please: for as a man of much business may be allowed to leave company when he pleases; so one of high learning may be above your capacity when he thinks fit. But without further speeches or fooling, I must inform my friends the Trencher-Caps in plain words, that I meant in the place they speak of, a drunken clerk of a church: and I will return their civility among my relations, and drink their healths as they do ours.