nstairs, which he did,
and then was got quietly to bed."(104)

There is another amusing story which, I believe, that renowned collector,
Mr. Joseph Miller, or his successors, have incorporated into their work.
Sir Richard Steele, at a time when he was much occupied with theatrical
affairs, built himself a pretty private theatre, and, before it was opened
to his friends and guests, was anxious to try whether the hall was well
adapted for hearing. Accordingly he placed himself in the most remote part
of the gallery, and begged the carpenter who had built the house to speak
up from the stage. The man at first said that he was unaccustomed to
public speaking, and did not know what to say to his honour; but the
good-natured knight called out to him to say whatever was uppermost; and,
after a moment, the carpenter began, in a voice perfectly audible: "Sir
Richard Steele!" he said, "for three months past me and my men has been
a-working in this theatre, and we've never seen the colour of your
honour's money: we will be very much obliged if you'll pay it directly,
for until you do we won't drive in another nail." Sir Richard said that
his friend's elocution was perfect, but that he didn't like his subject
much.

The great charm of Steele's writing is its naturalness. He wrote so
quickly and carelessly, that he was forced to make the reader his
confidant, and had not the time to deceive him. He had a small share of
book-learning, but a vast acquaintance with the world. He had known men
and taverns. He had lived with gownsmen, with troopers, with gentleman
ushers of the Court, with men and women of fashion; with authors and wits,
with the inmates of the spunging-houses, and with the frequenters of all
the clubs and coffee-houses in the town. He was liked in all company
because he liked it; and you like to see his enjoyment as you like to see
the glee of a box full of children at the pantomime. He was not of those
lonely ones of the earth whose greatness obliged them to be solitary; on
the contrary, he admired, I think, more than any man who ever wrote; and
full of hearty applause and sympathy, wins upon you by calling you to
share his delight and good humour. His laugh rings through the whole
house. He must have been invaluable at a tragedy, and have cried as much
as the most tender young lady in the boxes. He has a relish for beauty and
goodness wherever he meets it. He admired Shakespeare affectionately, and
more than any man