count, that the enemy had formed a design to surprise two battalions of the allies, which lay at Alost; but those battalions received advice of their march, and retired to Dendermond. LieutenantGeneral Wood appeared on this occasion at the head of five thousand foot and one thousand horse; upon which the enemy withdrew, without making any further attempt. FROM MY OWN APARTMENT. I am sorry I am obliged to trouble the public with so much discourse upon a matter which I at the very first mentioned as a trifle, viz. the death of Mr. Partridge,* under whose name there is an almanack come out for the year 1709; in one page of which is asserted by the said John Partridge, that he is still living, and not only so, but that he was also living some time before, and even at the instant when I writ of his death. I have in another place, and in a paper by itself, sufficiently convinced this man that he is dead, and, if he has any shame, I do not doubt but that by this time he owns it to all his acquaintance: for though the legs and arms and whole body of that man may still appear, and perform their animal functions; yet since, as I have elsewhere observed, his art is gone, the man is gone. I am, as I said, concerned, that this little matter should make so much noise; but since I am engaged, I take myself obliged in honour to go on in my lucubrations, and by the help of these arts of which I am master, as well as my skill in astro * Dr. Swift, in his 'Predictions for 1708,' foretold that Partridge the almanack-maker would infallibly die on the 29th of March, about eleven at night, of a raging fever. The wits resolved to support this prediction, and uniformly insisted that Partridge actually died at that time. logical speculations, I shall, as I see occasion, proceed to confute other dead men, who pretend to be in being, although they are actually deceased. I therefore give all men fair warning to mend their manners; for I shall from time to time print bills of mortality; and I beg the pardon of all such who shall be named therein, if they who are good for nothing shall find themselves in the number of the deceased. No. 2. THURSDAY, APRIL 14, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines· - nostri est farrago libelli. JUV. SAT. i. 85, 86. Whate'er men do, or say, or think, or dream, POPE. WILL'S COFFEE-HOUSE, APRIL 13. THERE has lain all this evening on the table the following poem. The subject of it being matter very useful for families, I thought it deserved to be considered, and made more public. The turn the poet gives it is very happy; but the foundation is from a real accident which happened among my acquaintance. A young Gentleman of a great estate fell desperately in love with a great Beauty of very high quality, but as ill-natured as long flattery and an habitual selfwill could make her. However, my young Spark VOL. I. 7 ventures upon her like a man of quality, without being acquainted with her, or having ever saluted her, till it was a crime to kiss any woman else. Beauty is a thing which palls with possession; and the charms of this lady soon wanted the support of good-humour and complacency of manners: upon this, my Spark flies to the bottle for relief from satiety. She disdains him, for being tired with that for which all men envied him; and he never came home, but it was"Was there no sot that would stay longer? would any man living but you? did I leave all the world for this usage?" to which he "Madam, split me, you are very impertinent!" In a word, this match was wedlock in its most terrible appearances. She, at last, weary of railing to no purpose, applies to a good uncle, who gives her a bottle, he pretended he had bought of Mr. Partridge, the conjurer. This, said he, I gave ten guineas for. The virtue of the enchanted liquor, said he that sold it, is such, that if the woman you marry proves a scold, (which, it seems, my dear niece, is your misfortune, as it was your good mother's before you,) let her hold three spoonfuls in her mouth for a full half hour after you come home-but I find I am not in humour for telling a tale; and nothing in nature is so ungraceful as story-telling against the grain; therefore take it as the author has given it to you.* THE MEDICINE. A TALE-FOR THE LADIES. Miss Molly, a fam'd Toast, was fair and young, Had wealth and charms-but then she had a tongue! * These verses are by Mr. William Harrison. From morn till night th' eternal larum run, Oft as the watchful bellman march'd his round, 'Till morn sends staggering home a drunken beast, Resolv'd to break my heart, as well as rest." 66 Hey! hoop! d'ye hear my damn'd obstreperous spouse; What, can't you find one bed about the house? Will that perpetual clack lie never still? That rival to the softness of a mill! Some couch and distant room must be my choice, With snarling meals, and each a sep'rate bed. "Cheer up!" cry'd he, "and I'll remove the cause. 'Tis water call'd, but worth its weight in wine. If in his sullen airs Sir John should come, Three spoonfuls take, hold in your mouth-then mum. A water bottle's brought for her relief; The bonny knight reels home exceeding clear, Entering, he cries, "Hey! where 's our thunder fled! Curt'sies, looks kind, but not a word she speaks; "Why how now, Molly, what's the crotchet now?" These night-clothes, Moll, become thee mightily!" 'Twas used and gone-then midnight storms arose, ST. JAMES'S COFFEE-HOUSE, APRIL 13. Letters from Venice say, the disappointment of their expectation to see his Danish Majesty |