For these and other Reasons I shall set out for
London
to Morrow,
having found by Experience that the Country is not a Place for a Person
of my Temper, who does not love Jollity, and what they call
Good-Neighbourhood. A Man that is out of Humour when an unexpected Guest
breaks in upon him, and does not care for sacrificing an Afternoon to
every Chance-comer; that will be the Master of his own Time, and the
Pursuer of his own Inclinations makes but a very unsociable Figure in
this kind of Life. I shall therefore retire into the Town, if I may make
use of that Phrase, and get into the Crowd again as fast as I can, in
order to be alone. I can there raise what Speculations I please upon
others without being observed my self, and at the same time enjoy all
the Advantages of Company with all the Privileges of Solitude. In the
mean while, to finish the Month and conclude these my rural
Speculations, I shall here insert a Letter from my Friend
Will.
Honeycomb
, who has not lived a Month for these forty Years out of the
Smoke of
London
, and rallies me after his way upon my Country Life.
Dear Spec,
'I Suppose this Letter will find thee picking of Daisies, or smelling
to a Lock of Hay, or passing away thy time in some innocent Country
Diversion of the like Nature. I have however Orders from the Club to
summon thee up to Town, being all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not
be able to relish our Company, after thy Conversations with Moll
White and Will. Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send us up any more Stories
of a Cock and a Bull, nor frighten the Town with Spirits and Witches.
Thy Speculations begin to smell confoundedly of Woods and Meadows. If
thou dost not come up quickly, we shall conclude that thou art in
Love with one of Sir Roger's Dairy-maids. Service to the Knight. Sir
Andrew is grown the Cock of the Club since he left us, and if he does
not return quickly will make every Mother's Son of us Commonwealth's
Men.
Dear Spec,
Thine Eternally,
Will. Honeycomb.
C.
an
that
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Wednesday, August 1, 1711 |
Steel |
... Qui aut Tempus quid postulet non videt, aut plura loquitur, aut se
ostentat, aut eorum quibuscum est rationem non habet, is ineptus esse
dicitur.
Tull.
Having notified to my good Friend Sir
Roger
that I should set out for
London
the next Day, his Horses were ready at the appointed Hour in
the Evening; and attended by one of his Grooms, I arrived at the
County-Town at twilight, in order to be ready for the Stage-Coach the
Day following. As soon as we arrived at the Inn, the Servant who waited
upon me, inquir'd of the Chamberlain in my Hearing what Company he had
for the Coach?
Fellow answered, Mrs.
Betty Arable
, the great
Fortune, and the Widow her Mother; a recruiting Officer (who took a
Place because they were to go;) young Squire
Quickset
her Cousin
(that her Mother wished her to be married to;)
Ephraim
the Quaker
her Guardian; and a Gentleman that had studied himself dumb from Sir
Roger De Coverley's
. I observed by what he said of my self, that
according to his Office he dealt much in Intelligence; and doubted not
but there was some Foundation for his Reports of the rest of the
Company, as well as for the whimsical Account he gave of me. The next
Morning at Day-break we were all called; and I, who know my own natural
Shyness, and endeavour to be as little liable to be disputed with as
possible, dressed immediately, that I might make no one wait. The first
Preparation for our Setting-out was, that the Captain's Half-Pike was
placed near the Coach-man, and a Drum behind the Coach. In the mean Time
the Drummer, the Captain's Equipage, was very loud, that none of the
Captain's things should be placed so as to be spoiled; upon which his
Cloake-bag was fixed in the Seat of the Coach: And the Captain himself,
according to a frequent, tho' invidious Behaviour of Military Men,
ordered his Man to look sharp, that none but one of the Ladies should
have the Place he had taken fronting to the Coach-box.
We were in some little Time fixed in our Seats, and sat with that
Dislike which People not too good-natured usually conceive of each other
at first Sight. The Coach jumbled us insensibly into some sort of
Familiarity: and we had not moved above two Miles, when the Widow asked
the Captain what Success he had in his Recruiting? The Officer, with a
Frankness he believed very graceful, told her,
'That indeed he had but very little Luck, and had suffered much by
Desertion, therefore should be glad to end his Warfare in the Service
of her or her fair Daughter. In a Word, continued he, I am a Soldier,
and to be plain is my Character: You see me, Madam, young, sound, and
impudent; take me your self, Widow, or give me to her, I will be
wholly at your Disposal. I am a Soldier of Fortune, ha!'
This was followed by a vain Laugh of his own, and a deep Silence of all
the rest of the Company. I had nothing left for it but to fall fast
asleep, which I did with all Speed.
'Come, said he, resolve upon it, we will make a Wedding at the next
Town: We will wake this pleasant Companion who is fallen asleep, to be
the Brideman, and' (giving the Quaker a Clap on the Knee) he
concluded, 'This sly Saint, who, I'll warrant, understands what's what
as well as you or I, Widow, shall give the Bride as Father.'
The Quaker, who happened to be a Man of Smartness, answered,
'Friend, I take it in good Part that thou hast given me the Authority
of a Father over this comely and virtuous Child; and I must assure
thee, that if I have the giving her, I shall not bestow her on thee.
Thy Mirth, Friend, savoureth of Folly: Thou art a Person of a light
Mind; thy Drum is a Type of thee, it soundeth because it is empty.
Verily, it is not from thy Fullness, but thy Emptiness that thou hast
spoken this Day. Friend, Friend, we have hired this Coach in
Partnership with thee, to carry us to the great City; we cannot go any
other Way. This worthy Mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs utter
thy Follies; we cannot help it, Friend, I say: if thou wilt we must
hear thee: But if thou wert a Man of Understanding, thou wouldst not
take Advantage of thy courageous Countenance to abash us Children of
Peace. Thou art, thou sayest, a Soldier; give Quarter to us, who
cannot resist thee.
Why didst thou fleer at our Friend, who feigned
himself asleep? he
said2 nothing: but how dost thou know what he
containeth? If thou speakest improper things in the hearing of this
virtuous young Virgin, consider it is an Outrage against a distressed
Person that cannot get from thee: To speak indiscreetly what we are
obliged to hear, by being hasped up with thee in this publick Vehicle,
is in some Degree assaulting on the high Road.'
Here
Ephraim
paused, and the Captain with an happy and uncommon
Impudence (which can be convicted and support it self at the same time)
cries,
'
Faith, Friend, I thank thee; I should have been a little impertinent
if thou hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou art, I see, a smoaky old
Fellow, and I'll be very orderly the ensuing Part of the Journey. I
was
going3 to give my self Airs, but, Ladies, I beg Pardon.'
The Captain was so little out of Humour, and our Company was so far from
being sowered by this little Ruffle, that
Ephraim
and he took a
particular Delight in being agreeable to each other for the future; and
assumed their different Provinces in the Conduct of the Company. Our
Reckonings, Apartments, and Accommodation, fell under
Ephraim:
and the Captain looked to all Disputes on the Road, as the good
Behaviour of our Coachman, and the Right we had of taking Place as going
to
London
of all Vehicles coming from thence. The Occurrences we
met with were ordinary, and very little happened which could entertain
by the Relation of them: But when I consider'd the Company we were in, I
took it for no small good Fortune that the whole Journey was not spent
in Impertinences, which to one Part of us might be an Entertainment, to
the other a Suffering.
What therefore
Ephraim
said when we were almost arriv'd at
London
, had to me an Air not only of good Understanding but good
Breeding. Upon the young Lady's expressing her Satisfaction in the
Journey, and declaring how delightful it had been to her,
Ephraim
declared himself as follows:
'There is no ordinary Part of humane Life which expresseth so much a
good Mind, and a right inward Man, as his Behaviour upon meeting with
Strangers, especially such as may seem the most unsuitable Companions
to him: Such a Man, when he falleth in the way with Persons of
Simplicity and Innocence, however knowing he may be in the Ways of
Men, will not vaunt himself thereof; but will the rather hide his
Superiority to them, that he may not be painful unto them.
My good Friend, (continued he, turning to the Officer) thee and I are
to part by and by, and peradventure we may never meet again: But be
advised by a plain Man; Modes and Apparel are but Trifles to the real
Man, therefore do not think such a Man as thy self terrible for thy
Garb, nor such a one as me contemptible for mine.
When two such as thee and I meet, with Affections as we ought to have
towards each other, thou should'st rejoice to see my peaceable
Demeanour, and I should be glad to see thy Strength and Ability to
protect me in it.'
The man who would not fight received the name of Ephraim
from the 9th verse of
Psalm
lxxviii, which says:
'The children of Ephraim, being armed and carrying bows, turned back
in the day of battle.'
sayeth
a going
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Thursday, August 2, 1711 |
Steele |
Quis Desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam Chari capitis?
Hor.
There is a sort of Delight, which is alternately mixed with Terror and
Sorrow, in the Contemplation of Death. The Soul has its Curiosity more
than ordinarily awakened, when it turns its Thoughts upon the Conduct of
such who have behaved themselves with an Equal, a Resigned, a Chearful,
a Generous or Heroick Temper in that Extremity.
We are affected with these respective Manners of Behaviour, as we
secretly believe the Part of the Dying Person imitable by our selves, or
such as we imagine our selves more particularly capable of.
Men of exalted Minds march before us like Princes, and are, to the
Ordinary Race of Mankind, rather Subjects for their Admiration than
Example. However, there are no Ideas strike more forcibly upon our
Imaginations; than those which are raised from Reflections upon the
Exits of great and excellent Men. Innocent Men who have suffered as
Criminals, tho' they were Benefactors to Human Society, seem to be
Persons of the highest Distinction, among the vastly greater Number of
Human Race, the Dead. When the Iniquity of the Times brought
Socrates
to his Execution, how great and wonderful is it to
behold him, unsupported by any thing but the Testimony of his own
Conscience and Conjectures of Hereafter, receive the Poison with an Air
of Mirth and good Humour, and as if going on an agreeable Journey
bespeak some Deity to make it fortunate.
When
Phocion's
good Actions had met with the like Reward from his
Country, and he was led to Death with many others of his Friends, they
bewailing their Fate, he walking composedly towards the Place of
Execution, how gracefully does he support his Illustrious Character to
the very last Instant. One of the Rabble spitting at him as he passed,
with his usual Authority he called to know if no one was ready to teach
this Fellow how to behave himself. When a Poor-spirited Creature that
died at the same time for his Crimes bemoaned himself unmanfully, he
rebuked him with this Question, Is it no Consolation to such a Man as
thou art to die with
Phocion?
At the Instant when he was to die,
they asked him what commands he had for his Son, he answered, To forget
this Injury of the
Athenians. Niocles
, his Friend, under the same
Sentence, desired he might drink the Potion before him:
Phocion
said, because he never had denied him any thing he would not even this,
the most difficult Request he had ever made.
Instances
were very noble and great, and the Reflections of
those Sublime Spirits had made Death to them what it is really intended
to be by the Author of Nature, a Relief from a various Being ever
subject to Sorrows and Difficulties.
Epaminondas
, the
Theban
General, having received in Fight
a mortal Stab with a Sword, which was left in his Body, lay in that
Posture 'till he had Intelligence that his Troops
had
obtained the
Victory, and then permitted it to be drawn
out
, at which Instant he
expressed himself in this manner,
This is not the end of my Life, my
Fellow-Soldiers; it is now your Epaminondas is born, who dies in
so much Glory.
It were an endless Labour to collect the Accounts with which all Ages
have filled the World of Noble and Heroick Minds that have resigned this
Being, as if the Termination of Life were but an ordinary Occurrence of
it.
This common-place way of Thinking I fell into from an awkward Endeavour
to throw off a real and fresh Affliction, by turning over Books in a
melancholy Mood; but it is not easy to remove Griefs which touch the
Heart, by applying Remedies which only entertain the Imagination. As
therefore this Paper is to consist of any thing which concerns Human
Life, I cannot help letting the present Subject regard what has been the
last Object of my Eyes, tho' an Entertainment of Sorrow.
I went this Evening to visit a Friend, with a design to rally him, upon
a Story I had heard of his intending to steal a Marriage without the
Privity of us his intimate Friends and Acquaintance.
came into his
Apartment with that Intimacy which I have done for very many Years, and
walked directly into his Bed-chamber, where I found my Friend in the
Agonies of Death
. What could I do? The innocent Mirth in my Thoughts
struck upon me like the most flagitious Wickedness: I in vain called
upon him; he was senseless, and too far spent to have the least
Knowledge of my Sorrow, or any Pain in himself. Give me leave then to
transcribe my Soliloquy, as I stood by his Mother, dumb with the weight
of Grief for a Son who was her Honour and her Comfort, and never till
that Hour since his Birth had been an Occasion of a Moment's Sorrow to
her.
'How surprising is this Change! from the Possession of vigorous Life
and Strength, to be reduced in a few Hours to this fatal Extremity!
Those Lips which look so pale and livid, within these few Days gave
Delight to all who heard their Utterance: It was the Business, the
Purpose of his Being, next to Obeying him to whom he is going, to
please and instruct, and that for no other end but to please and
instruct. Kindness was the Motive of his Actions, and with all the
Capacity requisite for making a Figure in a contentious World,
Moderation, Good-Nature, Affability, Temperance and Chastity, were the
Arts of his Excellent Life. There as he lies in helpless Agony, no
Wise Man who knew him so well as I, but would resign all the World can
bestow to be so near the end of such a Life. Why does my Heart so
little obey my Reason as to lament thee, thou excellent Man. ...
Heaven receive him, or restore him ... Thy beloved Mother, thy obliged
Friends, thy helpless Servants, stand around thee without Distinction.
How much wouldst thou, hadst thou thy Senses, say to each of us.
But now that good Heart bursts, and he is at rest — with that Breath
expired a Soul who never indulged a Passion unfit for the Place he is
gone to: Where are now thy Plans of Justice, of Truth, of Honour? Of
what use the Volumes thou hast collated, the Arguments thou hast
invented, the Examples thou hast followed. Poor were the Expectations
of the Studious, the Modest and the Good, if the Reward of their
Labours were only to be expected from Man. No, my Friend, thy intended
Pleadings, thy intended good Offices to thy Friends, thy intended
Services to thy Country, are already performed (as to thy Concern in
them) in his Sight before whom the Past, Present, and Future appear at
one View. While others with thy Talents were tormented with Ambition,
with Vain-glory, with Envy, with Emulation, how well didst thou turn
thy Mind to its own Improvement in things out of the Power of Fortune,
in Probity, in Integrity, in the Practice and Study of Justice; how
silent thy Passage, how private thy Journey, how glorious thy End!
Many have I known more Famous, some more Knowing, not one so
Innocent.'
R.
From Plutarch's
Life of Phocion.
This friend was Stephen, son of Edmund Clay, haberdasher.
Stephen Clay was of the Inner Temple, and called to the bar in 1700.
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Friday, August 3, 1711 |
Steele |
... Opiferque per Orbem
Dicor ...
Ovid.
During my Absence in the Country, several Packets have been left for me,
which were not forwarded to me, because I was expected every Day in
Town. The Author of the following Letter, dated from
Tower-Hill
,
having sometimes been entertained with some Learned Gentlemen in Plush
Doublets, who have vended their Wares from a Stage in that Place, has
pleasantly enough addressed Me, as no less a Sage in Morality, than
those are in Physick. To comply with his kind Inclination to make my
Cures famous, I shall give you his Testimonial of my great Abilities at
large in his own Words.
Sir,
'Your saying t'other Day there is something wonderful in the
Narrowness of those Minds which can be pleased, and be barren of
Bounty to those who please them, makes me in pain that I am not a Man
of Power: If I were, you should soon see how much I approve your
Speculations. In the mean time, I beg leave to supply that Inability
with the empty Tribute of an honest Mind, by telling you plainly I
love and thank you for your daily Refreshments. I constantly peruse
your Paper as I smoke my Morning's Pipe, (tho' I can't forbear reading
the Motto before I fill and light) and really it gives a grateful
Relish to every Whif; each Paragraph is freight either with useful or
delightful Notions, and I never fail of being highly diverted or
improved. The Variety of your Subjects surprizes me as much as a Box
of Pictures did formerly, in which there was only one Face, that by
pulling some Pieces of Isinglass over it, was changed into a grave
Senator or a Merry Andrew, a patch'd Lady or a Nun, a Beau or a
Black-a-moor, a Prude or a Coquet, a Country 'Squire or a Conjurer,
with many other different Representations very entertaining (as you
are) tho' still the same at the Bottom. This was a childish Amusement
when I was carried away with outward Appearance, but you make a deeper
Impression, and affect the secret Springs of the Mind; you charm the
Fancy, sooth the Passions, and insensibly lead the Reader to that
Sweetness of Temper that you so well describe; you rouse Generosity
with that Spirit, and inculcate Humanity with that Ease, that he must
be miserably Stupid that is not affected by you. I can't say indeed
that you have put Impertinence to Silence, or Vanity out of
Countenance; but methinks you have bid as fair for it, as any Man that
ever appeared upon a publick Stage; and offer an infallible Cure of
Vice and Folly, for the Price of One Penny. And since it is usual for
those who receive Benefit by such famous Operators, to publish an
Advertisement, that others may reap the same Advantage, I think my
self obliged to declare to all the World, that having for a long time
been splenatick, ill natured, froward, suspicious, and unsociable, by
the Application of your Medicines, taken only with half an Ounce of
right Virginia Tobacco, for six successive Mornings, I am become
open, obliging, officious, frank, and hospitable.
I am, Your Humble Servant, and great Admirer,
George Trusty.
Tower-hill,
July 5, 1711.
This careful Father and humble Petitioner hereafter mentioned, who are
under Difficulties about the just Management of Fans, will soon receive
proper Advertisements relating to the Professors in that behalf, with
their Places of Abode and Methods of Teaching.
July the 5th, 1711.
Sir,
'In your Spectator of June the 7th you Transcribe a Letter sent
to you from a new sort of Muster-master, who teaches Ladies the whole
Exercise of the Fan; I have a Daughter just come to Town, who tho' she
has always held a Fan in her Hand at proper Times, yet she knows no
more how to use it according to true Discipline, than an awkward
School-boy does to make use of his new Sword: I have sent for her on
purpose to learn the Exercise, she being already very well
accomplished in all other Arts which are necessary for a young Lady to
understand; my Request is, that you will speak to your Correspondent
on my behalf, and in your next Paper let me know what he expects,
either by the Month, or the Quarter, for teaching; and where he keeps
his Place of Rendezvous. I have a Son too, whom I would fain have
taught to gallant Fans, and should be glad to know what the Gentleman
will have for teaching them both, I finding Fans for Practice at my
own Expence. This Information will in the highest manner oblige,
Sir, Your most humble Servant,
William Wiseacre.
As soon as my Son is perfect in this Art (which I hope will be in a
Year's time, for the Boy is pretty apt,) I design he shall learn to
ride the great Horse, (altho' he is not yet above twenty Years old) if
his Mother, whose Darling he is, will venture him.
To the Spectator.
The humble Petition of Benjamin Easie, Gent.
Sheweth,
'That it was your Petitioner's Misfortune to walk to Hackney
Church last Sunday, where to his great Amazement he met with a Soldier
of your own training: she furls a Fan, recovers a Fan, and goes
through the whole Exercise of it to Admiration. This well-managed
Officer of yours has, to my Knowledge, been the Ruin of above five
young Gentlemen besides my self, and still goes on laying waste
wheresoever she comes, whereby the whole Village is in great danger.
Our humble Request is therefore that this bold Amazon be ordered
immediately to lay down her Arms, or that you would issue forth an
Order, that we who have been thus injured may meet at the Place of
General Rendezvous, and there be taught to manage our Snuff-Boxes in
such manner as we may be an equal Match for her:
And your Petitioner shall ever Pray, &c.
R.
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Saturday, August 4, 1711 |
Addison |
Est brevitate opus, ut currat Sententia ...
Hor.
I have somewhere read of an eminent Person, who used in his private
Offices of Devotion to give Thanks to Heaven that he was born a
Frenchman:
For my own part, I look upon it as a peculiar Blessing
that I was Born an
Englishman
.
many other Reasons, I think
my self very happy in my Country, as the
Language
of it is
wonderfully adapted to a Man
who
is sparing of his Words, and an
Enemy to Loquacity.
As I have frequently reflected on my good Fortune in this Particular, I
shall communicate to the Publick my Speculations upon the,
English
Tongue, not doubting but they will be acceptable to all
my curious Readers.
The
English
delight in Silence more than any other
European
Nation, if the Remarks which are made on us by
Foreigners are true. Our Discourse is not kept up in Conversation, but
falls into more Pauses and Intervals than in our Neighbouring Countries;
as it is observed, that the Matter of our Writings is thrown much closer
together, and lies in a narrower Compass than is usual in the Works of
Foreign Authors: For, to favour our Natural Taciturnity, when we are
obliged to utter our Thoughts, we do it in the shortest way we are able,
and give as quick a Birth to our Conception as possible.
This Humour shows itself in several Remarks that we may make upon the
English
Language. As first of all by its abounding in
Monosyllables, which gives us an Opportunity of delivering our Thoughts
in few Sounds. This indeed takes off from the Elegance of our Tongue,
but at the same time expresses our Ideas in the readiest manner, and
consequently answers the first Design of Speech better than the
Multitude of Syllables, which make the Words of other Languages more
Tunable and Sonorous.
Sounds of our
English
Words are
commonly like those of String Musick, short and transient,
which
rise and perish upon a single Touch; those of other Languages are like
the Notes of Wind Instruments, sweet and swelling, and lengthen'd out
into variety of Modulation.
In the next place we may observe, that where the Words are not
Monosyllables, we often make them so, as much as lies in our Power, by
our Rapidity of Pronounciation; as it generally happens in most of our
long Words which are derived from the
Latin
, where we contract
the length of the Syllables that give them a grave and solemn Air in
their own Language, to make them more proper for Dispatch, and more
conformable to the Genius of our Tongue. This we may find in a multitude
of Words, as
Liberty, Conspiracy, Theatre, Orator
, &c.
The same natural Aversion to Loquacity has of late Years made a very
considerable Alteration in our Language, by closing in one Syllable the
Termination of our Præterperfect Tense, as in the Words,
drown'd,
walk' d, arriv'd
, for
drowned, walked, arrived
, which has
very much disfigured the Tongue, and turned a tenth part of our
smoothest Words into so many Clusters of Consonants. This is the more
remarkable, because the want of Vowels in our Language has been the
general Complaint of our politest Authors, who nevertheless are the Men
that have made these Retrenchments, and consequently very much increased
our former Scarcity.