The Divine
Socrates
is here represented in a Figure worthy his
great Wisdom and Philosophy, worthy the greatest mere Man that ever
breathed. But the modern Discourse is written upon a Subject no less
than the Dissolution of Nature it self. Oh how glorious is the old Age
of that great Man, who has spent his Time in such Contemplations as has
made this Being, what only it should be, an Education for Heaven! He
has, according to the Lights of Reason and Revelation, which seemed to
him clearest, traced the Steps of Omnipotence: He has, with a Celestial
Ambition, as far as it is consistent with Humility and Devotion,
examined the Ways of Providence, from the Creation to the Dissolution of
the visible World. How pleasing must have been the Speculation, to
observe Nature and Providence move together, the Physical and Moral
World march the same Pace: To observe Paradise and eternal Spring the
Seat of Innocence, troubled Seasons and angry Skies the Portion of
Wickedness and Vice.
this admirable Author has reviewed all that
has past, or is to come, which relates to the habitable World, and run
through the whole Fate of it, how could a Guardian Angel, that had
attended it through all its Courses or Changes, speak more emphatically
at the End of his Charge, than does our Author when he makes, as it
were, a Funeral Oration over this Globe, looking to the Point where it
once stood
?
Let us only, if you please, to take leave of this Subject, reflect
upon this Occasion on the Vanity and transient Glory of this habitable
World. How by the Force of one Element breaking loose upon the rest,
all the Vanities of Nature, all the Works of Art, all the Labours of
Men, are reduced to Nothing. All that we admired and adored before as
great and magnificent, is obliterated or vanished; and another Form
and Face of things, plain, simple, and every where the same,
overspreads the whole Earth. Where are now the great Empires of the
World, and their great Imperial Cities? Their Pillars, Trophies, and
Monuments of Glory? Shew me where they stood, read the Inscription,
tell me the Victors Name. What Remains, what Impressions, what
Difference or Distinction, do you see in this Mass of Fire? Rome it
self, eternal Rome, the great City, the Empress of the World, whose
Domination and Superstition, ancient and modern, make a great Part of
the History of the Earth, what is become of her now? She laid her
Foundations deep, and her Palaces were strong and sumptuous; She
glorified her self, and lived deliciously, and said in her Heart, I sit
a Queen, and shall see no Sorrow: But her Hour is come, she is
wiped away from the Face of the Earth, and buried in everlasting
Oblivion. But it is not Cities only, and Works of Mens Hands, but the
everlasting Hills, the Mountains and Rocks of the Earth are melted as
Wax before the Sun, and their Place is no where found. Here
stood the Alps, the Load of the Earth, that covered many
Countries, and reached their Arms from the Ocean to the Black
Sea; this huge Mass of Stone is softned and dissolved as a tender
Cloud into Rain. Here stood the African Mountains, and
Atlas with his Top above the Clouds; there was frozen
Caucasus, and Taurus, and Imaus, and the
Mountains of Asia; and yonder towards the North, stood the
Riphaean Hills, cloathd in Ice and Snow. All these are
Vanished, dropt away as the Snow upon their Heads. Great and
Marvellous are thy Works, Just and True are thy Ways, thou King of
Saints! Hallelujah.
Tusculan Questions
, Bk. I.
Theory of the Earth
, Book III., ch. xii.
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Saturday, August 18, 1711 |
Steele |
Pronuntiatio est Vocis et Vultus et Gestus moderatio cum venustate.
Tull.
Mr.
Spectator,
The well Reading of the Common Prayer is of so great Importance, and
so much neglected, that I take the Liberty to offer to your
Consideration some Particulars on that Subject: And what more worthy
your Observation than this? A thing so Publick, and of so high
Consequence. It is indeed wonderful, that the frequent Exercise of it
should not make the Performers of that Duty more expert in it. This
Inability, as I conceive, proceeds from the little Care that is taken
of their Reading, while Boys and at School, where when they are got
into
Latin, they are looked upon as above
English, the
Reading of which is wholly neglected, or at least read to very little
purpose, without any due Observations made to them of the proper
Accent and Manner of Reading; by this means they have acquired such
ill Habits as won't easily be removed. The only way that I know of to
remedy this, is to propose some Person of great Ability that way as a
Pattern for them; Example being most effectual to convince the
Learned, as well as instruct the Ignorant.
You must know, Sir, I've been a constant Frequenter of the Service of
the Church of
England for above these four Years last past, and
'till
Sunday was Seven-night never discovered, to so great a
Degree, the Excellency of the Common-Prayer. When being at St.
James's Garlick-Hill Church, I heard the Service read so
distinctly, so emphatically, and so fervently, that it was next to an
Impossibility to be unattentive. My Eyes and my Thoughts could not
wander as usual, but were confin'd to my Prayers: I then considered I
addressed my self to the Almighty, and not to a beautiful Face. And
when I reflected on my former Performances of that Duty, I found I had
run it over as a matter of Form, in comparison to the Manner in which
I then discharged it. My Mind was really affected, and fervent Wishes
accompanied my Words. The Confession was read with such a resigned
Humility, the Absolution with such a comfortable Authority, the
Thanksgivings with such a Religious Joy, as made me feel those
Affections of the Mind in a Manner I never did before.
To remedy
therefore the Grievance above complained of, I humbly propose, that
this excellent Reader
1, upon the next and every Annual Assembly of
the Clergy of
Sion-College, and all other Conventions, should
read Prayers before them. For then those that are afraid of stretching
their Mouths, and spoiling their soft Voice, will learn to Read with
Clearness, Loudness, and Strength. Others that affect a rakish
negligent Air by folding their Arms, and lolling on their Book, will
be taught a decent Behaviour, and comely Erection of Body. Those that
Read so fast as if impatient of their Work, may learn to speak
deliberately. There is another sort of Persons whom I call Pindarick
Readers, as being confined to no set measure; these pronounce five or
six Words with great Deliberation, and the five or six subsequent ones
with as great Celerity: The first part of a Sentence with a very
exalted Voice, and the latter part with a submissive one: Sometimes
again with one sort of a Tone, and immediately after with a very
different one. These Gentlemen will learn of my admired Reader an
Evenness of Voice and Delivery, and all who are innocent of these
Affectations, but read with such an Indifferency as if they did not
understand the Language, may then be informed of the Art of Reading
movingly and fervently, how to place the Emphasis, and give the proper
Accent to each Word, and how to vary the Voice according to the Nature
of the Sentence. There is certainly a very great Difference between
the Reading a Prayer and a Gazette, which I beg of you to inform a Set
of Readers, who affect, forsooth, a certain Gentleman-like Familiarity
of Tone, and mend the Language as they go on, crying instead of
Pardoneth and Absolveth, Pardons and Absolves. These are often pretty
Classical Scholars, and would think it an unpardonable Sin to read
Virgil or
Martial with so little Taste as they do Divine
Service.
This Indifferency seems to me to arise from the Endeavour of avoiding
the Imputation of Cant, and the false Notion of it. It will be proper
therefore to trace the Original and Signification of this Word. Cant
is, by some People, derived from one
Andrew Cant, who, they
say, was a Presbyterian Minister in some illiterate Part of
Scotland, who by Exercise and Use had obtained the Faculty,
alias Gift, of Talking in the Pulpit in such a Dialect, that
it's said he was understood by none but his own Congregation, and not
by all of them. Since
Mas. Cant's time, it has been understood
in a larger Sense, and signifies all sudden Exclamations, Whinings,
unusual Tones, and in fine all Praying and Preaching, like the
unlearned of the Presbyterians. But I hope a proper Elevation of
Voice, a due Emphasis and Accent, are not to come within this
Description. So that our Readers may still be as unlike the
Presbyterians as they please. The Dissenters (I mean such as I have
heard) do indeed elevate their Voices, but it is with sudden jumps
from the lower to the higher part of them; and that with so little
Sense or Skill, that their Elevation and Cadence is Bawling and
Muttering. They make use of an Emphasis, but so improperly, that it is
often placed on some very insignificant Particle, as upon
if,
or
and. Now if these Improprieties have so great an Effect on
the People, as we see they have, how great an Influence would the
Service of our Church, containing the best Prayers that ever were
composed, and that in Terms most affecting, most humble, and most
expressive of our Wants, and Dependance on the Object of our Worship,
dispos'd in most proper Order, and void of all Confusion; what
Influence, I say, would these Prayers have, were they delivered with a
due Emphasis, and apposite Rising and Variation of Voice, the Sentence
concluded with a gentle Cadence, and, in a word, with such an Accent
and Turn of Speech as is peculiar to Prayer?
As the matter of Worship is now managed, in Dissenting Congregations,
you find insignificant Words and Phrases raised by a lively Vehemence;
in our own Churches, the most exalted Sense depreciated, by a
dispassionate Indolence.
I remember to have heard Dr.
S —
e2 say in his Pulpit, of the Common-prayer, that,
at least, it was as perfect as any thing of Human Institution: If the
Gentlemen who err in this kind would please to recollect the many
Pleasantries they have read upon those who recite good Things with an
ill Grace, they would go on to think that what in that Case is only
Ridiculous, in themselves is Impious.
But leaving this to their own
Reflections, I shall conclude this Trouble with what
Cæsar said
upon the Irregularity of Tone in one who read before him,
Do you
read or sing? If you sing, you sing very ill3.
The Rec. Philip Stubbs, afterwards Archdeacon of St. Alban's.
Smalridge?
Si legis cantas; si cantas, male cantas.
The word Cant is rather from
cantare
, as a chanting whine, than from the
Andrew Cants, father and son, of Charles the Second's time.
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Monday, August 20, 1711 |
Steele |
Exempta juvat spinis e pluribus una.
Hor.
My Correspondents assure me that the Enormities which they lately
complained of, and I published an Account of, are so far from being
amended, that new Evils arise every Day to interrupt their Conversation,
in Contempt of my Reproofs. My Friend who writes from the Coffee-house
near the
Temple
, informs me that the Gentleman who constantly
sings a Voluntary in spite of the whole Company, was more musical than
ordinary after reading my Paper; and has not been contented with that,
but has danced up to the Glass in the Middle of the Room, and practised
Minuet-steps to his own Humming. The incorrigible Creature has gone
still further, and in the open Coffee-house, with one Hand extended as
leading a Lady in it, he has danced both
French
and
Country-Dances, and admonished his supposed Partner by Smiles and Nods
to hold up her Head, and fall back, according to the respective Facings
and Evolutions of the Dance. Before this Gentleman began this his
Exercise, he was pleased to clear his Throat by coughing and spitting a
full half Hour; and as soon as he struck up, he appealed to an
Attorney's Clerk in the Room, whether he hit as he ought
Since you
from Death have saved me?
and then asked the young Fellow (pointing
to a Chancery-Bill under his Arm) whether that was an Opera-Score he
carried or not? Without staying for an Answer he fell into the Exercise
Above-mentioned, and practised his Airs to the full House who were
turned upon him, without the least Shame or Repentance for his former
Transgressions.
I am to the last Degree at a Loss what to do with this young Fellow,
except I declare him an Outlaw, and pronounce it penal for any one to
speak to him in the said House which he frequents, and direct that he be
obliged to drink his Tea and Coffee without Sugar, and not receive from
any Person whatsoever any thing above mere Necessaries.
As we in
England
are a sober People, and generally inclined
rather to a certain Bashfulness of Behaviour in Publick, it is amazing
whence some Fellows come whom one meets with in this Town; they do not
at all seem to be the Growth of our Island; the Pert, the Talkative, all
such as have no Sense of the Observations of others, are certainly of
foreign Extraction. As for my Part, I am as much surprised when I see a
talkative
Englishman
, as I should be to see the
Indian
Pine growing on one of our quick-set Hedges. Where these Creatures get
Sun enough, to make them such lively Animals and dull Men, is above my
Philosophy.
There are another Kind of Impertinents which a Man is perplexed with in
mixed Company, and those are your loud Speakers: These treat Mankind as
if we were all deaf; they do not express but declare themselves. Many of
these are guilty of this Outrage out of Vanity, because they think all
they say is well; or that they have their own Persons in such
Veneration, that they believe nothing which concerns them can be
insignificant to any Body else. For these Peoples sake, I have often
lamented that we cannot close our Ears with as much ease as we can our
Eyes: It is very uneasy that we must necessarily be under Persecution.
Next to these Bawlers, is a troublesome Creature who comes with the Air
of your Friend and your Intimate, and that is your Whisperer. There is
one of them at a Coffee-house which I my self frequent, who observing me
to be a Man pretty well made for Secrets, gets by me, and with a Whisper
tells me things which all the Town knows. It is no very hard matter to
guess at the Source of this Impertinence, which is nothing else but a
Method or Mechanick Art of being wise. You never see any frequent in it,
whom you can suppose to have anything in the World to do. These Persons
are worse than Bawlers, as much as a secret Enemy is more dangerous than
a declared one. I wish this my Coffee-house Friend would take this for
an Intimation, that I have not heard one Word he has told me for these
several Years; whereas he now thinks me the most trusty Repository of
his Secrets. The Whisperers have a pleasant way of ending the close
Conversation, with saying aloud,
Do not you think so?
Then whisper
again, and then aloud,
but you know that Person;
then whisper again.
The thing would be well enough, if they whisper'd to keep the Folly of
what they say among Friends; but alas, they do it to preserve the
Importance of their Thoughts. I am sure I could name you more than one
Person whom no Man living ever heard talk upon any Subject in Nature, or
ever saw in his whole Life with a Book in his Hand, that I know not how
can whisper something like Knowledge of what has and does pass in the
World; which you would think he learned from some familiar Spirit that
did not think him worthy to receive the whole Story. But in truth
Whisperers deal only in half Accounts of what they entertain you with. A
great Help to their Discourse is, 'That the Town says, and People begin
to talk very freely, and they had it from Persons too considerable to be
named, what they will tell you when things are riper.' My Friend has
winked upon me any Day since I came to Town last, and has communicated
to me as a Secret, that he designed in a very short Time to tell me a
Secret; but I shall know what he means, he now assures me, in less than
a Fortnight's Time.
But I must not omit the dearer Part of Mankind, I mean the Ladies, to
take up a whole Paper upon Grievances which concern the Men only; but
shall humbly propose, that we change Fools for an Experiment only. A
certain Set of Ladies complain they are frequently perplexed with a
Visitant who affects to be wiser than they are; which Character he hopes
to preserve by an obstinate Gravity, and great Guard against discovering
his Opinion upon any Occasion whatsoever. A painful Silence has hitherto
gained him no further Advantage, than that as he might, if he had
behaved himself with Freedom, been excepted against but as to this and
that Particular, he now offends in the whole. To relieve these Ladies,
my good Friends and Correspondents, I shall exchange my dancing Outlaw
for their dumb Visitant, and assign the silent Gentleman all the Haunts
of the Dancer; in order to which, I have sent them by the Penny-post the
following Letters for their Conduct in their new Conversations.
Sir,
I have, you may be sure, heard of your Irregularities without regard
to my Observations upon you; but shall not treat you with so much
Rigour as you deserve. If you will give yourself the Trouble to repair
to the Place mentioned in the Postscript to this Letter at Seven this
Evening, you will be conducted into a spacious Room well-lighted,
where there are Ladies and Musick. You will see a young Lady laughing
next the Window to the Street; you may take her out, for she loves you
as well as she does any Man, tho' she never saw you before. She never
thought in her Life, any more than your self. She will not be
surprised when you accost her, nor concerned when you leave her.
Hasten from a Place where you are laughed at, to one where you will be
admired. You are of no Consequence, therefore go where you will be
welcome for being so.
Your most Humble Servant.'
Sir,
'The Ladies whom you visit, think a wise Man the most impertinent
Creature living, therefore you cannot be offended that they are
displeased with you. Why will you take pains to appear wise, where you
would not be the more esteemed for being really so? Come to us; forget
the Gigglers; and let your Inclination go along with you whether you
speak or are silent; and let all such Women as are in a Clan or
Sisterhood, go their own way; there is no Room for you in that Company
who are of the common Taste of the Sex.'
For Women born to be controll'd
Stoop to the forward and the bold;
Affect the haughty, and the proud,
The gay, the frolick, and the loud.1
T.
Waller
Of Love.
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Tuesday, August 21, 1711 |
Steele |
Cui in manu sit quem esse dementem velit,
Quem sapere, quem sanari, quem in morbum injici,
Quem contra amari, quem accersiri, quem expeti.
Cæcil. apud Tull.
The following Letter and my Answer shall take up the present Speculation.
Mr.
Spectator,
'I am the young Widow of a Country Gentleman who has left me Entire
Mistress of a large Fortune, which he agreed to as an Equivalent for
the Difference in our Years. In these Circumstances it is not
extraordinary to have a Crowd of Admirers; which I have abridged in my
own Thoughts, and reduced to a couple of Candidates only, both young,
and neither of them disagreeable in their Persons; according to the
common way of computing, in one the Estate more than deserves my
Fortune, and in the other my Fortune more than deserves the Estate.
When I consider the first, I own I am so far a Woman I cannot avoid
being delighted with the Thoughts of living great; but then he seems
to receive such a Degree of Courage from the Knowledge of what he has,
he looks as if he was going to confer an Obligation on me; and the
Readiness he accosts me with, makes me jealous I am only hearing a
Repetition of the same things he has said to a hundred Women before.
When I consider the other, I see myself approached with so much
Modesty and Respect, and such a Doubt of himself, as betrays methinks
an Affection within, and a Belief at the same time that he himself
would be the only Gainer by my Consent. What an unexceptionable
Husband could I make out of both! but since that's impossible, I beg
to be concluded by your Opinion; it is absolutely in your Power to
dispose of
Your most Obedient Servant,
Sylvia.
Madam,
You do me great Honour in your Application to me on this important
Occasion; I shall therefore talk to you with the Tenderness of a
Father, in Gratitude for your giving me the Authority of one. You do
not seem to make any great Distinction between these Gentlemen as to
their Persons; the whole Question lies upon their Circumstances and
Behaviour; If the one is less respectful because he is rich, and the
other more obsequious because he is not so, they are in that Point
moved by the same Principle, the Consideration of Fortune, and you
must place them in each others Circumstances before you can judge of
their Inclination. To avoid Confusion in discussing this Point, I will
call the richer Man
Strephon, and the other
Florio. If
you believe
Florio with
Strephon's Estate would behave
himself as he does now,
Florio is certainly your Man; but if
you think
Strephon, were he in
Florio's Condition, would
be as obsequious as
Florio is now, you ought for your own sake
to choose
Strephon; for where the Men are equal, there is no
doubt Riches ought to be a Reason for Preference. After this manner,
my dear Child, I would have you abstract them from their
Circumstances; for you are to take it for granted, that he who is very
humble only because he is poor, is the very same Man in Nature with
him who is haughty because he is rich.
When you have gone thus far, as to consider the Figure they make
towards you; you will please, my Dear, next to consider the Appearance
you make towards them. If they are Men of Discerning, they can observe
the Motives of your Heart; and
Florio can see when he is
disregarded only upon your Account of Fortune, which makes you to him
a mercenary Creature: and you are still the same thing to
Strephon, in taking him for his Wealth only: You are therefore
to consider whether you had rather oblige, than receive an Obligation.
The Marriage-Life is always an insipid, a vexatious, or an happy
Condition. The first is, when two People of no Genius or Taste for
themselves meet together, upon such a Settlement as has been thought
reasonable by Parents and Conveyancers from an exact Valuation of the
Land and Cash of both Parties: In this Case the young Lady's Person is
no more regarded, than the House and Improvements in Purchase of an
Estate: but she goes with her Fortune, rather than her Fortune with
her. These make up the Crowd or Vulgar of the Rich, and fill up the
Lumber of human Race, without Beneficence towards those below them, or
Respect towards those above them; and lead a despicable, independent
and useless Life, without Sense of the Laws of Kindness, Good-nature,
mutual Offices, and the elegant Satisfactions which flow from Reason
and Virtue.
The vexatious Life arises from a Conjunction of two People of quick
Taste and Resentment, put together for Reasons well known to their
Friends, in which especial Care is taken to avoid (what they think the
chief of Evils) Poverty, and insure to them Riches, with every Evil
besides. These good People live in a constant Constraint before
Company, and too great Familiarity alone; when they are within
Observation they fret at each other's Carriage and Behaviour; when
alone they revile each other's Person and Conduct: In Company they are
in a Purgatory, when only together in an Hell.
The happy Marriage is, where two Persons meet and voluntarily make
Choice of each other, without principally regarding or neglecting the
Circumstances of Fortune or Beauty. These may still love in spite of
Adversity or Sickness: The former we may in some measure defend our
selves from, the other is the Portion of our very Make. When you have
a true Notion of this sort of Passion, your Humour of living great
will vanish out of your Imagination, and you will find Love has
nothing to do with State. Solitude, with the Person beloved, has a
Pleasure, even in a Woman's Mind, beyond Show or Pomp. You are
therefore to consider which of your Lovers will like you best
undressed, which will bear with you most when out of Humour? and your
way to this is to ask your self, which of them you value most for his
own sake? and by that judge which gives the greater Instances of his
valuing you for your self only.
After you have expressed some Sense of the humble Approach of
Florio, and a little Disdain at
Strephon's Assurance in
his Address, you cry out,
What an unexceptionable Husband could I
make out of both? It would therefore methinks be a good way to
determine your self:
Take him in whom what you like is not
transferable to another; for if you choose otherwise, there is no
Hopes your Husband will ever have what you liked in his Rival; but
intrinsick Qualities in one Man may very probably purchase every thing
that is adventitious in
another1. In plainer Terms: he whom you
take for his personal Perfections will sooner arrive at the Gifts of
Fortune, than he whom you take for the sake of his Fortune attain to
Personal Perfections. If
Strephon is not as accomplished and
agreeable as
Florio, Marriage to you will never make him so;
but Marriage to you may make
Florio as rich as
Strephon?
Therefore to make a sure Purchase, employ Fortune upon Certainties,
but do not sacrifice Certainties to Fortune.
I am, Your most Obedient, Humble Servant.
any other.
Contents
Contents p.5
|
Wednesday, August 22, 1711 |
Budgell |
Nil habet infelix paupertas durius in se,
Quàm quod ridiculos homines facit ...
Juv.
As I was walking in my Chamber the Morning before I went last into the
Country, I heard the Hawkers with great Vehemence crying about a Paper,
entitled,
The ninety nine Plagues of an empty Purse
. I had indeed some
Time before observed, that the Orators of
Grub-street
had dealt very
much in
Plagues
. They have already published in the same Month,
The
Plagues of Matrimony, The Plagues of a single Life, The nineteen Plagues
of a Chambermaid, The Plagues of a Coachman, The Plagues of a Footman
,
and
The Plague of Plagues
. The success these several
Plagues
met
with, probably gave Occasion to the above-mentioned Poem on an
empty
Purse
. However that be, the same Noise so frequently repeated under my
Window, drew me insensibly to think on some of those Inconveniences and
Mortifications which usually attend on Poverty, and in short, gave Birth
to the present Speculation: For after my Fancy had run over the most
obvious and common Calamities which Men of mean Fortunes are liable to,
it descended to those little Insults and Contempts, which though they
may seem to dwindle into nothing when a Man offers to describe them, are
perhaps in themselves more cutting and insupportable than the former.
Juvenal
with a great deal of Humour and Reason tells us, that nothing
bore harder upon a poor Man in his Time, than the continual Ridicule
which his Habit and Dress afforded to the Beaus of
Rome
.
Quid, quod materiam præbet causasque jocorum
Omnibus hic idem? si fœda et scissa lacerna,
Si toga sordidula est, et rupta calceus alter
Pelle patet, vel si consuto vulnere crassum
Atque recens linam ostendit non una Cicatrix.
(Juv. Sat. 3.)
Add, that the Rich have still a Gibe in Store,
And will be monstrous witty on the Poor;
For the torn Surtout and the tatter'd Vest,
The Wretch and all his Wardrobe are a Jest:
The greasie Gown sully'd with often turning,
Gives a good Hint to say the Man's in Mourning;
Or if the Shoe be ript, or Patch is put,
He's wounded I see the Plaister on his Foot.
(Dryd.)
'Tis on this Occasion that he afterwards adds the Reflection which I
have chosen for my Motto.
Want is the Scorn of every wealthy Fool,
And Wit in Rags is turn'd to Ridicule.
(Dryd.)
It must be confess'd that few things make a Man appear more despicable
or more prejudice his Hearers against what he is going to offer, than an
awkward or pitiful Dress; insomuch that I fancy, had
Tully
himself
pronounced one of his Orations with a Blanket about his Shoulders, more
People would have laughed at his Dress than have admired his Eloquence.
This last Reflection made me wonder at a Set of Men, who, without being
subjected to it by the Unkindness of their Fortunes, are contented to
draw upon themselves the Ridicule of the World in this Particular; I
mean such as take it into their Heads, that the first regular Step to be
a Wit is to commence a Sloven. It is certain nothing has so much debased
that, which must have been otherwise so great a Character; and I know
not how to account for it, unless it may possibly be in Complaisance to
those narrow Minds who can have no Notion of the same Person's
possessing different Accomplishments; or that it is a sort of Sacrifice
which some Men are contented to make to Calumny, by allowing it to
fasten on one Part of their Character, while they are endeavouring to
establish another. Yet however unaccountable this foolish Custom is, I
am afraid it could plead a long Prescription; and probably gave too much
Occasion for the Vulgar Definition still remaining among us of an
Heathen Philosopher
.
I have seen the Speech of a
Terræ-filius
, spoken in King Charles II's
Reign; in which he describes two very eminent Men, who were perhaps the
greatest Scholars of their Age; and after having mentioned the entire
Friendship between them, concludes, That
they had but one Mind, one
Purse, one Chamber, and one Hat
. The Men of Business were also infected
with a Sort of Singularity little better than this. I have heard my
Father say, that a broad-brimm'd Hat, short Hair, and unfolded
Hankerchief, were in his time absolutely necessary to denote a
notable
Man;
and that he had known two or three, who aspired to the Character
of
very notable
, wear Shoestrings with great Success.
To the Honour of our present Age it must be allowed, that some of our
greatest Genius's for Wit and Business have almost entirely broke the
Neck of these Absurdities.
Victor
, after having dispatched the most important Affairs of the
Commonwealth, has appeared at an Assembly, where all the Ladies have
declared him the genteelest Man in the Company; and in
Atticus
, though
every way one of the greatest Genius's the Age has produced, one sees
nothing particular in his Dress or Carriage to denote his Pretensions to
Wit and Learning: so that at present a Man may venture to cock up his
Hat, and wear a fashionable Wig, without being taken for a Rake or a
Fool.