to a degree not to be expressed. I will work my brains and fingers to procure us plenty of all things, and demand nothing of you but to take delight in agreeable dresses, cheerful discourses and gay sights, attended by me. This may be done by putting the kitchen and the nursery in the hands I propose; and I shall have nothing to do but to pass as much time at home as I possibly can, in the best company in the world. We cannot tell here what to think of the trial of my Lord Oxford; if the ministry are in earnest in that and I should see it will be extended to a length of time, I will leave them to themselves, and wait upon you. Miss Moll grows a mighty beauty, and she shall be very prettily dressed, as likewise shall Betty and Eugene; and if I throw away a little money in adorning my brats, I hope you will forgive me: They are, I thank God, all very well; and the charming form of their mother has tempered the likeness they bear to their rough sire, who is, with the greatest fondness, your most obliged and most obedient husband,

RICH. STEELE.

CXV.

George II.'s Poet Laureate was seventy-six years of age when he wrote the following letter of advice to Mrs. Pilkington. From its remarkably familiar tone it will be readily understood that it was addressed to a person the writer did not respect but was anxious to befriend. Lætitia Pilkington, whose career was neither very interesting nor very reputable, was proud of the friendship of this dissipated old dramatist.

Colley Cibber to Mrs. Pilkington.

June 29, 1747.

Thou frolicsome farce of fortune. What! Is there another act to come of you then? I was afraid, some time ago, you had made your last exit. Well ! but without wit or compliment, I am glad to hear you are so tolerably alive. I have your incredible narrative from Dublin before me, and shall, as you desire me, answer every paragraph in its turn, without considering its importance or connection.

You say I have for many years been the kind preserver of your life. In this, I think, I have no great merit; because you seem to set so little value upon it yourself: otherwise you would have

considered, that poverty was the most helpless handmaid that ever waited upon a high-spirited lady. But as long as the world allowed you wit and parts, how poor (compared to you without a shilling in your pocket) was an illiterate queen of the Indies. Oh, the glory of a great soul! Why, to be sure, as you say, it must be a fine thing indeed! But a word in your Majesty's earcommon sense is no contemptible creature, notwithstanding you have thought her too vulgar to be one of your maids of honour.

Common sense might have prevented as many misfortunes as your high-and-mightiness has run through. It is true, you have stood them all with a Catonian constancy; but I fancy you might have passed your life as merrily without them. You see I am still friend enough to be free with your failings: but make the best of a bad market. You seem now to have a glimpse of a new

world before you!

Think a little how you are to squeeze through the crowd, with such a bundle at your back; and don't suppose it possible you can have a grain of wit, till you have twenty pounds in your pocket. With half that sum, a greater sinner than you may look the devil in the face. Few people of sense will turn their back upon a woman of wit, that does not look as if she came to borrow money of them but, when want brings her to her wits' end, every fool will have wit enough to avoid her. But as this seems now to be your case, I am more afraid of your being out of your wits at your good, than your bad fortune; for I question whether you are as able to bear the first as the last. If you don't tell me a poetical fib, in saying that people of taste so often borrow Cicero of you, I will send you half a score of them, with which you may compliment those whom you suppose to be your friends; perhaps you may have a chance of having the favour returned with something more than it is worth. Generosity is less shy of shewing itself, when it only appears to be grateful. In a word, if you would have these books, you must order some friend in London to call upon me for them; for you know I hate care and trouble.

I am not sure your spouse's having taken another wife, before you came over, might not have proved the only means of his being a better husband to you; for, had he picked up a fortune, the hush! hush of your prior claim to him, might have been worth a better separate maintenance, than you are now like to get out of him.

As for my health and spirits, they are as usual, and full as strong as any body's that has enjoyed his the same number of years. If the value I have for you gives you any credit in your own country pray stretch it as far as you think it can be serviceable to you; for under all the rubbish of your misfortunes, I can see your merit sparkle like a lost jewel. I have no greater pleasure, than in placing my esteem on those who can feel and value it. Had you been born to a larger fortune, your shining qualities might have put half the rest of your sex out of countenance. If any of them are uncharitable enough to call this flattery, tell them what a poor devil you are, and let that solace you. If ever you should recover enough of the public favour to dissipate your former sorrows, I should be glad to see you here. In the mean time you will fully repay any service I may have done you, by sometimes letting me hear of your well-doing. I hope you have but one volume of your Memoirs in the press; because, if that meets with any success, I believe I could give you some natural hints, which, in the easy dress of your pen, might a good deal enliven it.

You make your court very ill to me, by depreciating the natural blessings on your side the water.

What have you to boast of, that you want, but wealth and insolent dominion? Is not the glory of God's creation, lovely woman! there in its highest lustre? I have seen several and frequent examples of them here; and have heard of many, not only from yourself, but others, who, for the agreeable entertainments of the social mind, have not their equal playfellows in Old England. And pray what, to me, would life be worth without them? dear soft souls! for now too they are lavish of favours, which, in my youth, they would have trembled to trust me with. In a word, if, instead of the sea, I had only the dry-ground Alps to get over, I should think it but a trip to Dublin. In the mean time we must e'en compound for such interviews as the post or the packet can send to you, or bring to

Your real Friend and Servant

C. CIBBER.

CXVI.

Joseph Addison gives his impressions of the French bourgeoisie, represented by the good people of Blois, at a time when the extravagant tastes and costly wars of the Grand Monarque culminated in the imposition, for the first time, of a capitation tax on people already poverty-stricken through burthensome

taxation.

Joseph Addison to Charles Montagu, Esq.

Blois: October, 1699.

Honoured Sir,-You will be surpris'd I dont question to find among your Correspondencies in Foreign parts a Letter Dated from Blois : but as much out of ye world as we are, I have often the pleasure to hear you mention'd among the Strangers of other Nations whose company I am here sometimes Engag'd in; I have found since my leaving England that 'tis Impossible to talk of her with those that know there is such a Nation, but you make a part of the Discourse. Your name comes in upon the most different subjects, if we speak of the men of Wit or the men of Business, of Poets or Patrons, Politicians or Parliament men. I must confess I am never so sensible of my Imperfection in the French Language as when I would express myself on so agreeable a subject; tho' if I understood it as well as Mother Tongue I shou'd want words on this occasion. I cant pretend to trouble you with any News from this place, where the only Advantage I have besides getting the Language is to see the manners and temper of the people, which I believe may be better learn't here than in Courts and greater Citys where Artifice and Disguise are more in fashion. And truly by what I have yet seen they are the Happiest nation in the World. Tis not in the pow'r of Want or Slavery to make 'em miserable. There is nothing to be met with in the Country but Mirth and Poverty. Ev'ry one sings, laughs and starves. Their Conversation is generally Agreeable; for if they have any Wit or Sense, they are sure to show it. They never mend upon a Second meeting, but use all the freedom and familiarity at first Sight that a Long Intimacy or Abundance of wine can scarce draw from an Englishman: Their Women are perfect Mistresses in this Art of showing themselves to the best Advantage. They are always gay and sprightly and set off ye Worst Faces in

N

Europe with ye best airs. Ev'ry one knows how to give herself as charming a Look and posture as Sr Godfrey Kneller cd draw her in. I cannot end my letter without observing, that from what I have already seen of the world I cannot but set a particular mark upon those who abound most in the Virtues of their Nation and least with its Imperfections. When therefore I see the Good sense of an Englishman in its highest perfection without any mixture of the Spleen, I hope you will excuse me if I admire the Character and am Ambitious of subscribing myself

Honrd Sir,

Yor &c.

CXVII.

In 1700 Boileau had almost entirely retreated from the world, and it was by special favour that he received the elegant young Englishman, as yet known to fame only as a singularly accomplished Latinist; but Malebranche, like Saint Evremond in the generation before him, had more friends in London than in Paris, and to pay him a visit was the duty of every lettered Englishman who found himself in France.

Joseph Addison to Bishop Hough.

December, 1700.

My Lord, I receiv'd ye honour of your L'ship's Letter at Paris, and am since got as far as Lyons in my way for Italy. I am at present very well content to quit ye French conversation, which since ye promotion of their young prince begins to grow Insupportable. That wh was before ye Vainest nation in ye world is now worse than ever. There is scarce a man in it that does not give himself greater airs upon it, and look as well pleased as if he had rec'd some considerable advancement in his own fortunes. The best company I have met with since my being in this country has been among ye men of Letters, who are generally easy of access, especially ye Religious who have a great deal of time on their hands, and are glad to pass some of it off in ye society of strangers. Their Learning for ye most part lies among ye old schoolmen. public disputes run upon ye Controversys between the Thomists and Scotists, which they manage with abundance of Heat and False Latin. When I was at Paris I visited ye Père Malbranche who has a particular esteem for ye English Nation, where I believe he has more admirers than in his own. The French dont

Their