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conversation, it might on other occasions deal with local or temporary things such as the Italian opera, London street-cries, duelling; again it is a didactic tale or an imaginative character portrayed as a model or a warning for the reader; sometimes it is a satirical sketch of contemporary life and manners, sometimes a veiled attack upon a current foible or affectation, sometimes an excursion into literary criticism. The periodical essay contains the germs of several forms that were later to become differentiated but even to-day the essay shows, in its ability to assume various shapes, its descent from the periodical essay of the Tatler and the Spectator.

Joseph Addison and Richard Steele were both born in 1672. Their friendship began in the Charterhouse School, was continued at Oxford, and lasted almost till Addison's death. Steele entered the army; Addison went into the civil service, rising to the position of Secretary of State. Steele also wrote a number of plays; Addison wrote a tragedy, Cato, and some poetry. Steele's warm-hearted nature and Addison's polish and gentle kindliness are equally revealed in the essays.

JOSEPH ADDISON (1672-1719)
RICHARD STEELE (1672-1729)

THE TATLER

[Tatler, No. 1.

and well-affected members of the commonwealth may be instructed, after their reading, what to think; which shall be the end and purpose of this my paper, wherein I shall, from time to time, report and consider all matters of what kind soever that shall occur to me, and publish such my advices and reflections every Tuesday, Steele. Tuesday, April Thursday, and Saturday in the week, for 12, 1709.]

PROSPECTUS

Quicquid agunt homines

nostri est farrago libelli.1
-Juvenal.

Though the other papers, which are published for the use of the good people of England, have certainly very wholesoine effects, and are laudable in their particular kinds, they do not seem to come up to the main design of such narrations, which, I humbly presume, should be principally intended for the use of politic persons, who are so public-spirited as to neglect their own affairs to look into transactions of state. Now these gentlemen, for the most part, being persons of strong zeal, and weak intellects, it is both a charitable and necessary work to offer something, whereby such worthy

Whatever men do is fodder for our booklet.

the convenience of the post. I resolve to have something which may be of entertainment to the fair sex, in honor of whom I have invented the title of this paper. I therefore earnestly desire all persons, without distinction, to take it in for the present gratis, and hereafter at the price of one penny, forbidding all hawkers to take more for it at their peril. And I desire all persons to consider, that I am at a very great charge for proper materials for this work, as well as that, before I resolved upon it, I had settled a correspondence in all parts of the known and knowing world. (And forasmuch as this globe is not trodden upon by mere drudges of business only, but that men of spirit and genius are justly to be esteemed as considerable agents in it, we shall not, upon a dearth of news, present you with musty foreign edicts, and dull proclamations, but shall divide our rela

tion of the passages which occur in action or discourse throughout this town, as well

COMPANIONS

July 23, 1709.]

as elsewhere, under such dates of places [Tatler, No. 45, III. Steele. Saturday, as may prepare you for the matter you are to expect, in the following manner.)

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I once more desire my reader to consider, that as I cannot keep an ingenious man to go daily to Will's under two-pence each day, merely for his charges; to White's under six-pence; nor to the Grecian, without allowing him some plain Spanish, to be as able as others at the learned table; and that a good observer cannot speak with even Kidney 2 at St. James's without clean linen; I say, these considerations will, I hope, make all persons willing to comply with my humble request (when my gratis stock is exhausted) of a penny apiece; especially since they are sure of some proper amusement, and that it is impossible for me to

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From my own Apartment, July 22.

I am got hither safe, but never spent time with so little satisfaction as this evening; for, you must know, I was five hours with three Merry, and two Honest, Fellows. The former sang catches; and the latter even died with laughing at the noise they made.

"Well," says Tom Bellfrey, "you scholars, Mr. Bickerstaff, are the worst company in the world."

"Ay," says his opposite, "you are dull to-night; pr'ythee be merry."

With that I huzzaed and took a jump cross the table, then came clever upon my legs, and fell a-laughing.

"Let Mr. Bickerstaff alone," says one of the Honest Fellows; "when he is in a good humor, he is as good company as any man in England."

He had no sooner spoke but I snatched his hat off his head and clapped it upon my own and burst out a-laughing again; upon which we all fell a-laughing for half an hour. One of the Honest Fellows got behind me in the interim and hit me a sound slap on the back; upon which he got the laugh out of my hands; and it was such a twang on my shoulders that I confess he was much merrier than I. I was half angry; but resolved to keep up the good humor of the company; and after hallooing as loud as I could possibly, I drank off a bumper of claret that made. me stare again.

"Nay," says one of the Honest Fellows, "Mr. Isaac is in the right; there is no conversation in this; what signifies jumping, or hitting one another on the back? let us drink about."

We did so from seven of the clock until eleven; and now I am come hither and, after the manner of the wise Pythagoras, begin to reflect upon the passages of the day. I remember nothing but that I am bruised to death; and as it is my way to write down all the good things I have heard in the last conversation, to furnish my paper, I can from this only tell you my sufferings and my bangs.

I named Pythagoras just now, and I protest to you, as he believed men after death entered into other species, I am now and then tempted to think other animals enter into men, and could name several on two legs that never discover any sentiments above what is common with the species of a lower kind; as we see in these bodily wits with whom I was to-night, whose parts consist in strength and activity; but their boisterous mirth gives me great impatience for the return. of such happiness as I enjoyed in a conversation last week. Among others in that company we had Florio, who never interrupted any man living when he was speaking; or ever ceased to speak but others lamented that he had done. His discourse ever rises from the fullness of the matter before him and not from ostentation or triumph of his understanding; for though he seldom delivers what he need fear being repeated, he speaks without having that end in view; and his forbearance of calumny or bitterness is owing rather to his good nature than his discretion; for which reason he is esteemed a gentleman perfectly qualified for conversation, in whom a general good will to mankind takes. off the necessity of caution and circumspection.

We had at the same time that evening the best sort of companion that can be, a good-natured old man. This person in the company of young men meets with

veneration for his benevolence; and is not only valued for the good qualities of which he is master but reaps an acceptance from the pardon he gives to other men's faults: and the ingenuous sort of men with whom he converses have so just a regard for him that he rather is an example than a check to their behavior. For this reason, as Senecio never pretends to be a man of pleasure before youth, so young men never set up for wisdom before Senecio; so that you never meet where he is those monsters of conversation who are grave or gay above their years. He never converses but with followers of nature and good sense, where all that is uttered is only the effect of a communicable temper, and not of emulation to excel their companions; all desire of superiority being a contradiction to that spirit which makes a just conversation, the very essence of which is mutual good will. Hence it is that I take it for a rule that the natural, and not the acquired man, is the companion. Learning, wit, gallantry, and good breeding are all but subordinate qualities in society, and are of no value but as they are subservient to benevolence and tend to a certain manner of being or appearing equal to the rest of the company; for conversation is composed of an assembly of men as they are men and not as they are distinguished by fortune: therefore he who brings his quality with him into conversation should always pay the reckoning; for he came to receive homage and not to meet his friends. But the din about my ears from the clamor of the people I was with this evening has carried me beyond my intended purpose, which was to explain upon the order of merry fellows; but I think I may pronounce of them, as I heard good Senecio, with a spice of the wit of the last age, say, viz., "That a merry fellow is the saddest fellow in the world.”

TRAVELERS' MOODS

[Tatler, No. 192. Addison. Saturday, July 1, 1710]

Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens.1
-Horace.

From my own Apartment, June 30 Some years since, I was engaged with a coachful of friends to take a journey as far as the Land's End. We were very well pleased with one another the first day; every one endeavoring to recommend himself by his good humor and complaisance to the rest of the company. This good correspondence did not last long; one of our party was soured the very first evening by a plate of butter which had not been melted to his mind and which spoiled his temper to such a degree that he continued upon the fret to the end of our journey. A second fell off from his good humor the next morning, for no other reason that I could imagine but because I chanced to step into the coach before him and place myself on the shady side. This, however, was but my own private guess; for he did not mention a word of it, nor indeed of any thing else for three days following. The rest of our company held out very near half the way, when, on a sudden, Mr. Sprightly fell asleep; and, instead of endeavoring to divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto done, carried himself with an unconcerned, careless, drowsy behavior, until we came to our last stage. There were three of us who still held up our heads and did all we could to make

our journey agreeable; but, to my shame be it spoken, about three miles on this side Exeter, I was taken with an unaccountable fit of sullenness, that hung upon me for above threescore miles; whether it were for want of respect, or from an accidental tread upon my foot, or

1 With the I would gladly live, with thee gladly meet death.

from a foolish maid's calling me "the old gentleman," I cannot tell. In short, there was but one who kept his good humor to the Land's End.

There was another coach that went along with us, in which I likewise observed that there were many secret jealousies, heart-burnings, and animosities: for when we joined companies at night, I could not but take notice that the passengers neglected their own company and studied how to make themselves esteemed by us, who were altogether strangers to them; until at length they grew so well acquainted with us that they liked us as little as they did one another. When I reflect upon this journey, I often fancy it to be a picture of human life, in respect to the several friendships, contracts, and alliances that are made and dissolved in the several periods of it. The most delightful and most lasting engagements are generally those which pass between man and woman; and yet upon what trifles are they weakened or entirely broken! Sometimes the parties fly asunder even in the midst of courtship, and sometimes grow cool in the very honey-month. Some separate before the first child, and some after the fifth; others continue good until thirty, others until forty; while some few, whose souls are of a happier make, and better fitted. to one another, travel on together to the end of their journey in a continual intercourse of kind offices, and mutual endearments.

When we therefore choose our com

panions for life, if we hope to keep both

them and ourselves in good humor to the last stage of it, we must be extremely careful in the choice we make, as well as in the conduct on our part. When the persons to whom we join ourselves can stand an examination and bear the scrutiny; when they mend upon our acquaintance with them and discover new

beauties the more we search into their characters; our love will naturally rise in proportion to their perfections.

few

But because there are very possessed of such accomplishments of body and mind, we ought to look after those qualifications both in ourselves and others, which are indispensably necessary towards this happy union and which are in the power of every one to acquire, or, at least, to cultivate and improve. These, in my opinion, are cheerfulness and constancy. A cheerful temper, joined with innocence, will make beauty attractive, knowledge delightful, and wit goodnatured. It will lighten sickness, poverty, and affliction; convert ignorance into an amiable simplicity; and render deformity itself agreeable.

Constancy is natural to persons of even tempers and uniform dispositions; and may be acquired by those of the greatest fickleness, violence, and passion, who consider seriously the terms of union on which they come together, the mutual interest in which they are engaged, with all the motives that ought to incite their tenderness and compassion toward those who have their dependence upon them and are embarked with them for life in the same state of happiness or misery. Constancy, when it growes in the mind upon considerations of this nature, becomes a moral virtue and a kind of goodnature that is not subject to any change of health, age, fortune, or any of those accidents which are apt to unsettle the best dispositions that are founded rather in constitution than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting, the most inflamed passion may fall away into coldness and indifference, and the most melting tenderness degenerate into hatred and aversion. I shall conclude this paper with a story that is very well known in the north of England.

that had several passengers on board was cast away upon a rock and in so great danger of sinking that all who were in it endeavored to save themselves as well as they could; though only those who could swim well had a bare possibility of doing it. Among the passengers there were two women of fashion, who, seeing themselves in such a disconsolate condition, begged for their husbands not to leave them. One of them chose rather to die with his wife than to forsake her; the other, though he was moved with the utmost compassion for his wife, told her, "that for the good of their children, it was better one of them should live than both perish." By a great piece of good luck, next to a miracle, when one of our good men had taken the last and long farewell in order to save himself and the other held in his arms the person that was dearer to him than life, the ship was preserved. It is with a secret sorrow and vexation of mind that I must tell the sequel of the story and let my reader know that this faithful pair who were ready to have died in each other's arms, about three years after their escape, upon some trifling disgust, grew to a coldness at first and at length fell out to such a degree that they left one another and parted forever. The other couple lived together in an uninterrupted friendship and felicity; and, what was remarkable, the husband, whom the shipwreck had like to have separated from his wife, died a few months after her, not being able to survive the loss of her.

I must confess, there is something in the changeableness and inconstancy of human nature that very often both dejects and terrifies me. Whatever I am at present, I tremble to think what I may be. While I find this principle in me, how can I assure myself that I shall be always true to my God, my friend, or myself? In short, without constancy there is neither

About thirty years ago, a packet-boat love, friendship, or virtue, in the world.

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