I have also heard that several of those 'Letters', which came as from unknown hands, were written by Mr. Henley: which is an answer to your query, 'Who those friends are whom Mr. Steele speaks of in his last 'Tatler?''
But to proceed with my account of our other papers. The expiration of 'Bickerstaff's Lucubrations' was attended with much the same consequences as the death of Meliboeus's 'Ox' in Virgil: as the latter engendered swarms of bees, the former immediately produced whole swarms of little satirical scribblers.
One of these authors called himself the 'Growler', and assured us that, to make amends for Mr. Steele's silence, he was resolved to 'growl' at us weekly, as long as we should think fit to give him any encouragement. Another Gentleman, with more modesty, called his paper the 'Whisperer'; and a third, to please the Ladies, christened his the 'Tell tale'.
At the same-time came out several 'Tatlers'; each of which, with equal truth and wit, assured us that he was the genuine 'Isaac Bickerstaff'.
It may be observed that when the 'Esquire' laid down his pen; though he could not but foresee that several scribblers would soon snatch it up, which he might (one would think) easily have prevented: he scorned to take any further care about it, but left the field fairly open to any worthy successor. Immediately, some of our Wits were for forming themselves into a Club, headed by one Mr. Harrison, and trying how they could shoot in this Bow of Ulysses; but soon found that this sort of writing requires so fine and particular a manner of thinking, with so exact a knowledge of the World, as must make them utterly despair of success.
They seemed indeed at first to think that what was only the garnish of the former 'Tatlers', was that which recommended them; and not those Substantial Entertainments which they everywhere abound in. According they were continually talking of their 'Maid', 'Night Cap', 'Spectacles', and Charles Lillie. However there were, now and then, some faint endeavours at Humour and sparks of Wit: which the Town, for want of better entertainment, was content to hunt after through a heap of impertinences; but even those are, at present, become wholly invisible and quite swallowed up in the blaze of the 'Spectator'.