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 dogs 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 regiment 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 the severest rules of history, where all is to be laid before the world with impartiality, and without respect to persons;

So let the stricken deer go weep.'

WILL'S COFFEE-HOUSE, SEPTEMBER 14.

I FIND left here for me the following epistle :

HAVING lately read your discourse about

i See Tatler, No. 59. Signior Hawksleigh's maid Sisly. See also 'Memoirs of Gamesters,' page 167, &c. and the story of the earl of D—, page 71, &c.

the family of Trubies, wherein you observe, that there are some 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 any body 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 every thing that befals any one person might have happened to any other of human race; self-love, and a sense of the pain we our

See Tatler, No. 63.

selves 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 suitably 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 merchant-man; that he had lost his poor limbs;' and showed a leg clouted up. All that passed by made what haste they could out of his sight and hearing; but a poor fellow at the end of the passage, with a rusty coat, a melancholy air, and 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, nor the 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.

In the tragedy of Macbeth,' where Wilks" acts m Robert Wilks, esq. was descended of a good family, at Coleshill in Warwickshire: but his father settling in Ireland, this his second son was born at Rathfarnan, near Dublin, in 1665. He was bred up under Mr.

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 cries 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 There is not one left; but both, both are murdered!' Such sudden starts from the thread of the discourse, and a plain sentiment expressed in

resource.

Secretary Southwell, and for some years had a seat in his office. Upon the breaking out of the wars in Ireland, he was forced into the army, and became clerk of the camp; but an inclination for the stage prompting him to quit that kingdom, about 1692 he became an adventurer at Drury-lane. Disliking his situation there, he in a few years returned to Dublin, where he continued till about 1700, when he once more was restored to his former theatre, where he remained the rest of his life. During the latter part of it, he was, as the periodical publications of the times say, one of the patentees and managers of his majesty's comedians, and the most celebrated actor of his time. He was an indulgent parent, a tender husband, a kind master, and a faithful friend.

In king James's reign he had been some time employed in the secretary's office in Ireland (his native country), and remained in it till after the battle of the Boyne, which completed the Revolution. Upon that happy and unexpected deliverance, the people of Dublin, among the various expressions of their joy, had a mind to have a play; but the actors being dispersed during the war, some private persons agreed, in the best manner they were able, to give one to the public, gratis, at the theatre. The play was Othello, in which Wilks acted the Moor; and the applause he received in it warmed him to so strong an inclination for the stage, that he immediately preferred it to all his other views in life: for he quitted his post, and with the first fair occasion came over to try his fortune, in the (then only) company of actors in London. The person who, supplied his post in Dublin, he told me, raised to himself, from thence, a fortune of fifty thousand pounds.

Wilks never lost an hour of precious time, and was, in all his parts, perfect to such an exactitude, that I question if in forty years he ever five times changed or misplaced an article in any one of them,"

Life, p. 191.

Mr. Wilks died September 27, 1732.

S

an artless way, are the irresistible strokes of eloquence and poetry. The same great master, Shakspeare, 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, Portia is dead.' 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?' 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.' 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. 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 stuggling to bear it with decency and patience. In this case, we sigh for him, and give him every groan he suppresses.

I remember, when I was young enough to follow the sports of the field, I have more than once rode