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mourners and will making lawyers. By the death of King William he lost his chances of promotion in the army, and turned all his powers to literature and politics. In 1703 appeared his comedy of The Tender Husband; in 1704 the Lying Lovers,' a piece too tame and moralising to succeed on the stage of those days. About 1705, through the influence of his friend Addison, he was appointed Gazetteer-" the lowest Minister of State," as he facetiously styled himself. We shall not follow the windings of his fortunes chronologically. His literary projects were 'The Tatler,' "The Spectator,' The Guardian,' and 'The Lover,' already mentioned; The Englishman' and 'The Crisis,' 1714 (two intense political pamphlets, which led to his expulsion from the House of Commons); 'The Reader,' 1714, also political, like Addison's 'Whig Examiner,' an opposition print to the Tory 'Examiner'; occasional political and anti-Popery tracts; a collection of his political writings, 1715; 'The Town-Talk,' 'The Tea-Table,' 'The Chit-Chat,' short lived periodicals, 1716; in 1719 'The Plebeian,' which was opposed by Addison in the 'Old Whig,' and produced a quarrel between the two friends; 'The Theatre,' a periodical, 1719-20, under the feigned name of Sir John Edgar; The Conscious Lovers,' his best comedy, 1722. His Government appointments were, after the Gazetteership, Commissionership of Stamps, 1710; Surveyorship of the Royal Stables at Hampton Court, and Governorship of the Royal Company of Comedians, 1715; Commissionership of Forfeited Estates in Scotland, 1717.

His personal appearance would seem to have been rather unfavourable. The satirical portrait by John Dennis is said by Thackeray to bear "a dreadful resemblance" to the original"Sir John Edgar, of the county of —, in Ireland, is of a middle stature, broad shoulders, thick legs, a shape like the picture of somebody over a farmer's chimney-a short chin, a short nose, a short forehead, a broad flat face, and a dusky countenance."

As we may judge from this picture, he possessed, great bodily energy, and his constitutional vigour supported him in the heartiest enjoyment of life. Living in a whirl of social dissipation, he yet, as Gazetteer, as editor of periodicals, and in other offices, went through a great deal of worrying business; and in the hurry of his active life was constantly snatching moments to despatch little notes to his "dearest Prue." Of these affectionate billets, Mrs Steele preserved no less than 400.

His intellect was of a rougher cast than his friend's. It is the emotional character of the man that renders him interesting, and entitles him to a good secondary place among our great writers of prose. Probably a large fraction of his energy was spent in the rollicking enjoyment of existence; otherwise his rank would have been higher than it is. His contributions to the 'Spectator' and

allied periodicals take their distinction from his prevailing tenderness of heart and wide acquaintance with human life. To him these papers owe their pathos, their humour, and their extraordinary variety of characters. He loved company, and the quickness of his sympathies made him constantly alive to differences in the personalities of his companions.

His habits were irregular; he had not the familiar routine and select circle of Addison. He was under no necessity of economis ing his energies; he seems to have been capable of bearing practically any amount of work and dissipation. He had small power of resisting the impulses of emotion. His plans for the day were easily disconcerted by the entrance of a good companion. In politics, when any of his darling principles seemed to be in danger, he rushed to the rescue without regard to consequences.

In this place we shall remark upon and exemplify chiefly his pathos and his humour. His characters are really artistic creations, and belong to poetry and fiction.

On the other qualities of his style we remark cursorily. In command of words he is not equal to Addison; his choice is much less felicitous. His sentence composition is irregular and careless, often ungrammatical: writing in the character of a Tatler, he thought it incumbent to assume "incorrectness of style, and an air of common speech"-a style very agreeable to his own inclinations. He has not the polished and felicitous melody of Addison. His language and sentiments are much more glowing and extravagant; his papers may be distinguished by this feature alone.

The chief differences between his own style and Addison's are well summed up by himself—" The elegance, purity, and correctness in his writings were not so much my purpose as, in any intelligible manner as I could, to rally all those singularities of human life, through the different professions and characters in it, which obstruct anything that was truly good and great."

Pathos.-Steele is one of the most touching of our writers. Himself of a nature the reverse of melancholy, he yet at certain seasons "resolved to be sorrowful"; and when the sorrowful mood was upon him, the incidents that he recalled or imagined were of the most heartrending character. The kind of pathos that we find in him would not be pathetic at all, in a poetic sense, to the more delicate order of sensibilities: it would be a pain, and not an aesthetic pleasure. There are not many of these affecting papers in either Tatler,' 'Spectator,' or 'Guardian.' Most of those that do appeal to our tender sensibilities lay before us situations of extreme anguish. We shall quote two examples, in which the extreme painfulness of the incidents is relieved only

by the exhibition of extreme devotedness.

The first is the story

of Unnion and Valentine ('Tatler,' No. 5):—

"At the siege of Namur by the Allies, there were in the ranks, of the company commanded by Captain Pincent, in Colonel Frederick Hamilton's regiment, one Unnion, a corporal, and one Valentine, a private centinel; there happened between these two men a dispute about a matter of love, which, upon some aggravations, grew to an irreconcileable hatred. Unnion, being the officer of Valentine, took all opportunities even to strike his rival, and profess the spite and revenge which moved him to it. The centinel bore it without resistance, but frequently said he would die to be revenged of that tyrant. They had spent whole months thus, one injuring, the other complaining; when, in the midst of this rage towards each other, they were commanded upon the attack of the castle, where the corporal received a shot in the thigh, and fell; the French pressing on, and he expecting to be trampled to death, called out to his enemy, Ah, Valentine! car you leave me here?' Valentine immediately ran back, and in the midst of a thick fire of the French, took the corporal upon his back, and brought him through all that danger, as far as the abbey of Salsine, where a cannon-ball took off his head: his body fell under his enemy whom he was carrying off. Unnion immediately forgot his wound, rose up, tearing his hair, and then threw himself upon the bleeding carcase, crying, 'Ah, Valentine! was it for me, who have so barbarously used thee, that thou hast died? I will not live after thee!' He was not by any means to be forced from the body, but was removed with it bleeding in his arms, and attended with tears by all their comrades who knew their enmity. When he was brought to a tent, his wounds were dressed by force; but the next day, still calling upon Valentine, and lamenting his cruelties to him, he died in the pangs of remorse and despair."

This story is given "in order to inspire the love and admiration of worthy actions," and "as an instance of the greatness of spirit in the lowest of her Majesty's subjects." The next is a deathbed scene, from an account of a family where Mr Bickerstaff was very intimate (Tatler,' Nos. 95, 114):

"I went up directly to the room where she lay, and was met at the entrance by my friend, who, notwithstanding his thoughts had been composed a little before, at the sight of me turned away his face and wept. The little family of children renewed their expressions of their sorrow according to their several ages and degrees of understanding. The eldest daughter was in tears, busied in attendance upon her mother; others were kneeling about the bedside; and what troubled me most was, to see a little boy, who was too young to know the reason, weeping only because his sisters did. The only one in the room who seemed resigned and comforted was the dying person. At my approach to the bedside, she told me, with a low broken voice, 'This is kindly done. Take care of your friend--do not go from him.' She had before taken leave of her husband and children, in a manner proper for so solemn a parting, and with a gracefulness peculiar to a woman of her character. My heart was torn in pieces, to see the husband on one side suppressing and keeping down the swellings of his grief, for fear of disturbing her in her last moments; and the wife, even at that time, concealing the pains she endured, for fear of increasing his affliction. She kept her eyes upon him for some moments after she grew speechless, and soon after closed them for ever. In the moment of her departure, my

friend, who had thus far commanded himself, gave a deep groan, and fell into a swoon by her bedside."

We have evidence that Steele himself was overpowered by the painfulness of his own creations. It is said that after writing the above deathbed scene he was so affected as to be unable to proceed the cominonplace consolations that follow in the original are said to have been appended by Addison. Sometimes he seeks relief from his painful recollections or imaginations by violent expedients. In one paper a most touching soliloquy is interrupted by a knock at the door, and the arrival of a hamper of wine; whereupon he sends for three of his friends, and restores himself to cheerfulness by the generous warmth of two bottles. In another he works upon his reader's feelings till they reach the point of agony, and then suddenly transfers the horrible scene to dreamland:

"I was once myself in agonies of grief that are unutterable, and in so great a distraction of mind, that I thought myself even out of the possibility of receiving comfort. The occasion was as follows. When I was a youth in a part of the army which was then quartered at Dover, I fell in love with an agreeable young woman of a good family in those parts, and had the satisfaction of seeing my addresses kindly received, which occasioned the perplexity I am going to relate.

"We were in a calm evening diverting ourselves upon the top of the cliff with the prospect of the sea, and trifling away the time in such little fondnesses as are most ridiculous to persons in business, and most agreeable to those in love.

"In the midst of these our innocent endearments, she snatched a paper of verses out of my hand, and ran away with them. I was following her when on a sudden the ground, though at a considerable distance from the verge of the precipice, sank under her, and threw her down from so prodigious a height, upon such a range of rocks, as would have dashed her into ten thousand pieces, had her body been made of adamant. It is much easier for my reader to imagine my state of mind upon such an occasion than for me to express it. I said to myself, It is not in the power of Heaven to relieve me when I awaked, equally transported and astonished, to see myself drawn out of an affliction which, the very moment before, appeared to me altogether inextricable."

The Ludicrous.-Steele's humour is distinguished from Addison's chiefly by two circumstances—unaffected geniality and heartiness, and less delicate elaboration.

Steele was a kindly observer of human frailties. Against what he considered to be heartlessness and vice he was openly indignant: his natural tendency was to use the lash freely in hot blood-not to introduce galling points of satire with a smiling countenance. Minor faults, affectation, presumption, a dictatorial manner, and suchlike, he ridiculed with good-humour, with a certain fellowfeeling for the objects of his ridicule.

At the same time, he had not enough patient skill to work out

a ludicrous conception into the exquisite details that give such a charm to the papers of Addison. By comparison with his coadjutor, he is sketchy and declamatory.

It is not difficult to find illustrations of both of these points. In several cases Addison has taken up Steele's conception, and worked it out with more elaborate skill, at the same time turning it into a more slyly malicious, or at least a colder, vein.

For example, we have quoted (p. 390) Addison's exquisite paper on the use of the Fan. Let us look now at the original conception in the 'Tatler.' The "beauteous Delamira" being about to be married, the “matchless Virgulta" beseeches her to tell the secret of her manner of charming :

"Delamira heard her with great attention, and with that dexterity which is natural to her, told her that all she had above the rest of her sex and contemporary beauties was wholly owing to a fan (that was left her by her mother, and had been long in the family), which, whoever had in posses sion, and used with skill, should command the hearts of all beholders; and since,' said she, smiling, I have no more to do with extending my con quests or triumphs, I will make you a present of this inestimable rarity.' Virgulta made her expressions of the highest gratitude for so uncommon a confidence in her, and begged she would 'show her what was peculiar in the management of that utensil, which rendered it of such general force while she was mistress of it.' Delamira replied; You see, madam, Cupid is the principal figure painted on it; and the skill in playing this fan is, in your several motions of it, to let him appear as little as possible; for honourable lovers fly all endeavours to ensnare them; and your Cupid must hide his bow and arrow, or he will never be sure of his game. You may observe,' continued she, that in all public assemblies, the sexes seem to separate themselves, and draw up to attack each other with eye-shot: that is the time when the fan, which is all the armour of a woman, is of most use in our defence; for our minds are construed by the waving of that little instru ment, and our thoughts appear in composure or agitation, according to the motion of it. Cymon, who is the dullest of mortals, and though a wonderful great scholar, does not only pause, but seems to take a nap with his eyes open between every other sentence in his discourse: him have I made a leader in assemblies; and one blow on the shoulder as I passed by him has raised him to a downright impertinent in all conversations. The airy Will Sampler is become as lethargic by this my wand, as Cymon is sprightly. Take it, good girl, and use it without mercy.'

Compare this with Addison's railing proposal to teach the use of the fan, and his elaborate exposure of all the arts. A gallant tenderness for the sex shines through “good-hearted Dick's” mockheroic humour. Addison politely holds the sex up to ridicule; Steele sympathises with their little artifices, and even insinuates a piece of genuine good advice as to the best means of success.

As another field for comparison, take their sketches of Clubs. None of Addison's Clubs have the rollicking humour of the Ugly Club, and none of Steele's have the mean and sordid insinuations contained in the rules of the Twopenny Club. On the other hand,