-

I have dwelt the longer upon this, because I persuade myself it might be useful, at a time when we have no theatre, to divert ourselves at this great one. Here is a glorious standing comedy of Fools, at which every man is heartily merry, and thinks himself an unconcerned spectator. This (to our singular comfort) neither my Lord Chamberlain, nor the Queen herself can ever shut up or silence. While that of Drury (alas !) lies desolate, in the profoundest peace and the melancholy prospect of the nymphs yet lingering about its beloved avenues, appears no less moving than that of the Trojan dames lamenting over their ruined Ilium! What can they hope, dispossessed of their ancient seats, but to serve as captives to the insulted victors of the Hay-market? The afflicted subjects of France do not, in our Postman, so grievously deplore the obstinacy of their arbitrary monarch, as these perishing people of Drury the obdurate heart of that Pharaoh, Rich, who, like him, disdains all proposals of peace and accommodation. Several libels have been secretly affixed to the great gates of his imperial palace in Bridges-street; and a memorial, representing the distresses of these persons, has been accidentally dropt (as we are credibly informed by a person of quality) out of his first minister the chief box-keeper's pocket, at a late conference of the said person of quality, and others, on

What follows to the end of this Letter, is omitted in the Author's own Edit. W.

"A full account of these Theatrical squabbles may be seen in Cibber's entertaining Life, and in Davies' Dramatic Miscellanies.

the part of the Confederates, and his Theatrical Majesty on his own part. Of this you may expect a copy as soon as it shall be transmitted to us from a good hand. As for the late Congress, it is here reported, that it has not been wholly ineffectual; but this wants confirmation; yet we cannot but hope the concurring prayers and tears of so many wretched ladies may induce this haughty prince to reason. I am, etc.

LETTER X.

Oct. 19, 1709.

I MAY truly say I am more obliged to you this summer than to any of my acquaintance, for had it not been for the two kind letters you sent me, I had been perfectly oblitusque meorum, obliviscendus et illis. The only companions I had were those Muses, of whom Tully says, Adolescentiam alunt, senectutem oblectant, secundas res ornant, adversis perfugium ac solatium præbent, delectant domi, non impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur: which indeed is as much as ever I expected from them : for the Muses, if you take them as companions, are very pleasant and agreeable, but whoever should be forced to live or depend upon them, would find himself in a very bad condition. That Quiet, which Cowley calls the Companion of Obscurity, was not wanting to me, unless it was interrupted by those fears you so justly guess I had for our friend's welfare. 'Tis

extremely kind in you to tell me the news you heard of him, and you have delivered me from more anxiety than he imagines me capable of on his account, as I am convinced by his long silence. However, the love of some things rewards itself, as of virtue, and of Mr. Wycherley. I am surprised at the danger you tell me he has been in, and must agree with you, that our nation would have lost in him as much wit and probity, as would have remained (for ought I know) in the rest of it. My concern for his friendship will excuse me (since I know you honour him so much, and since you know I love him above all men) if I vent part of my uneasiness to you, and tell you, that there has not been wanting one, to insinuate malicious untruths of me to Mr. Wycherley, which, I fear, may have had some effect upon him. If so, he will have a greater punishment for his credulity than I could wish him, in that fellow's acquaintance. The loss of a faithful creature is something, though of ever so contemptible a one; and if I were to change my dog for such a man as the aforesaid, I should think my dog undervalued: who follows me about as constantly here in the country, as I was used to do Mr. Wycherley in the town.

Now I talk of my dog, that I may not treat of a worse subject, which my spleen tempts me to, I will give you some account of him; a thing not wholly unprecedented, since Montaigne (to whom I am but a dog in comparison) has done the same thing of his cat. Dic mihi quid melius desidiosus agam? You are to know then, that as 'tis likeness begets affection, so my favourite dog is a little one, a lean one, and

none of the finest shaped. He is not much a spaniel in his fawning, but has (what might be worth any man's while to imitate him in) a dumb surly sort of kindness, that rather shews itself when he thinks me ill-used by others, than when we walk quietly and peaceably by ourselves. If it be the chief point of friendship to comply with a friend's motions and inclinations, he possesses this in an eminent degree; he lies down when I sit, and walks when I walk, which is more than many good friends can pretend to, witness our walk a year ago in St. James's Park.

be

-Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends, but I will not insist upon many of them, because it is possible some may almost as fabulous as those of Pylades and Orestes, etc. I will only say for the honour of dogs, that the two most ancient and esteemable books, sacred and prophane, extant, (viz. the Scripture and Homer,) have shewn a particular regard to these animals. That of Toby is the more remarkable, because there seemed no manner of reason to take notice of the dog, besides the great humanity of the author. Homer's account of Ulysses's dog Argus is the most pathetic imaginable, all the circumstances considered, and an excellent proof of the old bard's good-nature, Ulysses had left him at Ithaca when he embarked for Troy, and found him at his return after twenty years; (which by the way is not unnatural, as some critics have said, since I remember the dam of my dog was twenty-two years old when she died: may the omen of longevity prove fortunate to her successors). You shall have it in verse:

ARGUS.

When wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost,
Arriv'd at last, poor, old, disguis'd, alone,

To all his friends, and even his Queen unknown:
Chang'd as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrow'd his reverend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forc'd to ask his bread,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew;

The faithful dog alone his rightful master knew!
Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay,
Like an old servant now cashier'd, he lay;
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient Lord again.
Him when he sawo—he rose, and crawl'd to meet,
('Twas all he cou'd,) and fawn'd, and kiss'd his feet,
Seiz'd with dumb joy-then falling by his side,

Own'd his returning Lord, look'd up, and died!

Plutarch relating how the Athenians were obliged to abandon Athens in the time of Themistocles, steps back again out of the way of his history, purely to describe the lamentable cries and howlings of the poor dogs they left behind. He makes mention of one that followed his master across the Sea to Salamis, where he died, and was honoured with a tomb by the Athenian, who gave the name of the Dog's Grave to that part of the island where he was buried. This respect to a dog in the most polite people in the world, is very observable. A modern instance

I know not sweeter lines in our language than these four; Prior says well in Solomon, b. i.

And dying licks his long-lov'd master's feet. Which my friend Dobson admirably translated,

Et lambit carum lingua moriente magistrum.