te, who
was fooled in like manner. [T.S.]]

[Footnote 4: Morphew's "Tatler" for January 13th, 1710 (No. 276),
contains the following: "Whereas an advertisement was yesterday delivered
out by the author of the late 'Female Tatler,' insinuating, [according to
his custom] that he is Isaac Bickerstaff Esq.; This is to give notice,
that this paper is continued to be sold by John Morphew as formerly,"
etc.

"The Female Tatler, by Mrs. Crackenthorpe, a Lady that knows every thing,"
had been begun July 8th, 1709, but was now defunct. [T.S.]]

THE TATLER, No. 5.

----_Laceratque, trahitque_
_Molle pecus_ VIR.[1]

FROM TUESDAY JAN. 23. TO SATURDAY JAN. 27. 1710.[2]

Amongst other severities I have met with from some critics, the cruellest
for an old man is, that they will not let me be at quiet in my bed, but
pursue me to my very dreams. I must not dream but when they please, nor
upon long continued subjects, however visionary in their own natures;
because there is a manifest moral quite through them, which to produce as
a dream is improbable and unnatural. The pain I might have had from this
objection, is prevented by considering they have missed another, against
which I should have been at a loss to defend myself. They should have
asked me, whether the dreams I publish can properly be called
Lucubrations, which is the name I have given to all my papers, whether in
volumes or half-sheets: so manifest a contradiction _in terminis_, that I
wonder no sophister ever thought of it: But the other is a cavil. I
remember when I was a boy at school, I have often dreamed out the whole
passages of a day; that I rode a journey, baited, supped, went to bed,
and rose the next morning: and I have known young ladies who could dream
a whole contexture of adventures in one night large enough to make a
novel. In youth the imagination is strong, not mixed with cares, nor
tinged with those passions that most disturb and confound it, such as
avarice, ambition, and many others. Now as old men are said to grow
children again, so in this article of dreaming, I am returned to my
childhood. My imagination is at full ease, without care, avarice, or
ambition, to clog it; by which, among many others, I have this advantage
of doubling the small remainder of my time, and living four-and-twenty
hours in the day. However, the dream I am now going to relate, is as wild
as can well be imagined, and adapted to please these refiners upon sle