Chapter XXVI: Introduction (26)

As we were riding away, Sir ROGER told me, that he knew several sensible People who believed these Gypsies now and then foretold very strange things; and for half an Hour together appeared more jocund than ordinary. In the Height of his good-Humour, meeting a common Beggar upon the Road who was no Conjurer, as he went to relieve him he found his Pocket was picked: That being a Kind of Palmistry at which this Race of Vermin are very dextrous.

I might here entertain my Reader with Historical Remarks on this idle profligate People, [who [3]] infest all the Countries of _Europe_, and live in the midst of Governments in a kind of Commonwealth by themselves. But instead of entering into Observations of this Nature, I shall fill the remaining Part of my Paper with a Story [which [4]] is still fresh in _Holland_, and was printed in one of our Monthly Accounts about twenty Years ago.

'As the _Trekschuyt_, or Hackney-boat, which carries Passengers from
_Leyden_ to _Amsterdam_, was putting off, a Boy running along the
[Side [5]] of the Canal desired to be taken in; which the Master of
the Boat refused, because the Lad had not quite Money enough to pay
the usual Fare. An eminent Merchant being pleased with the Looks of
the Boy, and secretly touched with Compassion towards him, paid the
Money for him, [6] and ordered him to be taken on board. Upon talking
with him afterwards, he found that he could speak readily in three or
four Languages, and learned upon farther Examination that he had been
stoln away when he was a Child by a Gypsie, and had rambled ever since
with a Gang of those Strollers up and down several Parts of _Europe_.
It happened that the Merchant, whose Heart seems to have inclined
towards the Boy by a secret kind of Instinct, had himself lost a Child
some Years before. The Parents, after a long Search for him, gave him
for drowned in one of the Canals with which that Country abounds; and
the Mother was so afflicted at the Loss of a fine Boy, who was her
only Son, that she died for Grief of it. Upon laying together all
Particulars, and examining the several Moles and Marks [by] which the
Mother used to describe the Child [when [7]] he was first missing, the
Boy proved to be the Son of the Merchant whose Heart had so
unaccountably melted at the Sight of him. The Lad was very well
pleased to find a Father [who [8]] was so rich, and likely to leave
him a good Estate; the Father on the other hand was not a little
delighted to see a Son return to him, whom he had given for lost, with
such a Strength of Constitution, Sharpness of Understanding, and Skill
in Languages.'

Here the printed Story leaves off; but if I may give credit to Reports, our Linguist having received such extraordinary Rudiments towards a good Education, was afterwards trained up in every thing that becomes a Gentleman; wearing off by little and little all the vicious Habits and Practises that he had been used to in the Course of his Peregrinations: Nay, it is said, that he has since been employed in foreign Courts upon National Business, with great Reputation to himself and Honour to [those who sent him, [9]] and that he has visited several Countries as a publick Minister, in which he formerly wander'd as a Gypsie.

C.

[Footnote 1: that]

[Footnote 2: that]

[Footnote 3: that]

[Footnote 4: that]

[Footnote 5: Sides]

[Footnote 6: About three pence.]

[Footnote 7: by when]

[Footnote 8: that]

[Footnote 9: his Country]

* * * * *

No. 131. Tuesday, July 31, 1711. Addison.

'... Ipsæ rursum concedite Sylvæ.'

Virg.

It is usual for a Man who loves Country Sports to preserve the Game in his own Grounds, and divert himself upon those that belong to his Neighbour. My Friend Sir ROGER generally goes two or three Miles from his House, and gets into the Frontiers of his Estate, before he beats about in search of [a [1]] Hare or Partridge, on purpose to spare his own Fields, where he is always sure of finding Diversion, when the worst comes to the worst. By this Means the Breed about his House has time to encrease and multiply, besides that the Sport is the more agreeable where the Game is the harder to come at, and [where it] does not lie so thick as to produce any Perplexity or Confusion in the Pursuit. For these Reasons the Country Gentleman, like the Fox, seldom preys near his own Home.

In the same manner I have made a Month's Excursion out of the Town, which is the great Field of Game for Sportsmen of my Species, to try my Fortune in the Country, where I have started several Subjects, and hunted them down, with some Pleasure to my self, and I hope to others. I am here forced to use a great deal of Diligence before I can spring any thing to my Mind, whereas in Town, whilst I am following one Character, it is ten to one but I am crossed in my Way by another, and put up such a Variety of odd Creatures in both Sexes, that they foil the Scent of one another, and puzzle the Chace. My greatest Difficulty in the Country is to find Sport, and in Town to chuse it. In the mean time, as I have given a whole Month's Rest to the Cities of _London_ and _Westminster_, I promise my self abundance of new Game upon my return thither.

It is indeed high time for me to leave the Country, since I find the whole Neighbourhood begin to grow very inquisitive after my Name and Character. My Love of Solitude, Taciturnity, and particular way of Life, having raised a great Curiosity in all these Parts.

The Notions which have been framed of me are various; some look upon me as very proud, [some as very modest,] and some as very melancholy. _Will. Wimble_, as my Friend the Butler tells me, observing me very much alone, and extreamly silent when I am in Company, is afraid I have killed a Man. The Country People seem to suspect me for a Conjurer; and some of them hearing of the Visit [which [2]] I made to _Moll White_, will needs have it that Sir ROGER has brought down a Cunning Man with him, to cure the old Woman, and free the Country from her Charms. So that the Character which I go under in part of the Neighbourhood, is what they here call a _White Witch_.

A Justice of Peace, who lives about five Miles off, and is not of Sir ROGER'S Party, has it seems said twice or thrice at his Table, that he wishes Sir ROGER does not harbour a Jesuit in his House, and that he thinks the Gentlemen of the Country would do very well to make me give some Account of my self.

On the other side, some of Sir ROGER'S Friends are afraid the old Knight is impos'd upon by a designing Fellow, and as they have heard that he converses very promiscuously when he is in Town, do not know but he has brought down with him some discarded Whig, that is sullen, and says nothing, because he is out of Place.

Such is the Variety of Opinions [which [2]] are here entertained of me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected Person, and among others for a Popish Priest; among some for a Wizard, and among others for a Murderer; and all this for no other Reason, that I can imagine, but because I do not hoot and hollow and make a Noise. It is true my Friend Sir ROGER tells them, _That it is my way_, and that I am only a Philosopher; but [this [2]] will not satisfy them. They think there is more in me than he discovers, and that I do not hold my Tongue for nothing.

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.

[Footnote 1: an]

[Footnotes 2: that]

* * * * *

No. 132. Wednesday, August 1, 1711. Steele.

'... 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? The 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 [1] 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 [said [2]] 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 [going [3]] 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.'

[Footnote 1: 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.']

[Footnote 2: sayeth]

[Footnote 3: a going]

* * * * *

No. 133. 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.

These Instances [1] 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. I 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. [2] 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.

[Footnote 1: From Plutarch's 'Life of Phocion'.]

[Footnote 2: This friend was Stephen, son of Edmund Clay, haberdasher. Stephen Clay was of the Inner Temple, and called to the bar in 1700.]

* * * * *

No. 134. 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.

* * * * *

No. 135. 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_. Among many other Reasons, I think my self very happy in my Country, as the _Language_ of it is wonderfully adapted to a Man [who [1]] 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. The Sounds of our _English_ Words are commonly like those of String Musick, short and transient, [which [2]] 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.

This Reflection on the Words that end in _ed_, I have heard in Conversation from one of the greatest Genius's this Age has produced. [3] I think we may add to the foregoing Observation, the Change which has happened in our Language, by the Abbreviation of several Words that are terminated in _eth_, by substituting an _s_ in the room of the last Syllable, as in _drowns, walks, arrives_, and innumerable other Words, which in the Pronunciation of our Forefathers were _drowneth, walketh, arriveth_. This has wonderfully multiplied a Letter which was before too frequent in the _English_ Tongue, and added to that _hissing_ in our Language, which is taken so much notice of by Foreigners; but at the same time humours our Taciturnity, and eases us of many superfluous Syllables.

I might here observe, that the same single Letter on many Occasions does the Office of a whole Word, and represents the _His_ and _Her_ of our Forefathers. There is no doubt but the Ear of a Foreigner, which is the best Judge in this Case, would very much disapprove of such Innovations, which indeed we do our selves in some measure, by retaining the old Termination in Writing, and in all the solemn Offices of our Religion.

As in the Instances I have given we have epitomized many of our particular Words to the Detriment of our Tongue, so on other Occasions we have drawn two Words into one, which has likewise very much untuned our Language, and clogged it with Consonants, as _mayn't, can't, shd'n't, wo'n't_, and the like, for _may not, can not, shall not, will not_, &c.

It is perhaps this Humour of speaking no more than we needs must, which has so miserably curtailed some of our Words, that in familiar Writings and Conversations they often lose all but their first Syllables, as in _mob._ _rep._ _pos._ _incog._ and the like; and as all ridiculous Words make their first Entry into a Language by familiar Phrases, I dare not answer for these that they will not in time be looked upon as a part of our Tongue. We see some of our Poets have been so indiscreet as to imitate _Hudibras's_ Doggrel Expressions in their serious Compositions, by throwing out the Signs of our Substantives, which are essential to the English Language. Nay, this Humour of shortning our Language had once run so far, that some of our celebrated Authors, among whom we may reckon Sir _Roger E Estrange_ in particular, began to prune their Words of all superfluous Letters, as they termed them, in order to adjust the Spelling to the Pronunciation; which would have confounded all our Etymologies, and have quite destroyed our Tongue.

We may here likewise observe that our proper Names, when familiarized in English, generally dwindle to Monosyllables, whereas in other modern Languages they receive a softer Turn on this Occasion, by the Addition of a new Syllable. _Nick_ in _Italian_ is _Nicolini_, _Jack in French _Janot_; and so of the rest.

There is another Particular in our Language which is a great Instance of our Frugality of Words, and that is the suppressing of several Particles which must be produced in other Tongues to make a Sentence intelligible. This often perplexes the best Writers, when they find the Relatives whom, which, or they at their Mercy whether they may have Admission or not; and will never be decided till we have something like an Academy, that by the best Authorities and Rules drawn from the Analogy of Languages shall settle all Controversies between Grammar and Idiom.

I have only considered our Language as it shows the Genius and natural Temper of the _English_, which is modest, thoughtful and sincere, and which perhaps may recommend the People, though it has spoiled the Tongue. We might perhaps carry the same Thought into other Languages, and deduce a greater Part of what is peculiar to them from the Genius of the People who speak them. It is certain, the light talkative Humour of the _French_ has not a little infected their Tongue, which might be shown by many Instances; as the Genius of the _Italians_, which is so much addicted to Musick and Ceremony, has moulded all their Words and Phrases to those particular Uses. The Stateliness and Gravity of the _Spaniards_ shews itself to Perfection in the Solemnity of their Language, and the blunt honest Humour of the _Germans_ sounds better in the Roughness of the High Dutch, than it would in a politer Tongue.

C.

[Footnote 1: that]

[Footnote 2: that]

[Footnote 3: Swift.]

* * * * *

No. 136. Monday, August 6, 1711. Steele.

'... Parthis mendacior ...'

Hor.

According to the Request of this strange Fellow, I shall Print the following Letter.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I shall without any manner of Preface or Apology acquaint you, that I
am, and ever have been from my Youth upward, one of the greatest Liars
this Island has produced. I have read all the Moralists upon the
Subject, but could never find any Effect their Discourses had upon me,
but to add to my Misfortune by new Thoughts and Ideas, and making me
more ready in my Language, and capable of sometimes mixing seeming
Truths with my Improbabilities. With this strong Passion towards
Falshood in this kind, there does not live an honester Man or a
sincerer Friend; but my Imagination runs away with me, and whatever is
started I have such a Scene of Adventures appears in an Instant before
me, that I cannot help uttering them, tho', to my immediate Confusion,
I cannot but know I am liable to be detected by the first Man I meet.

Upon occasion of the mention of the Battel of _Pultowa_, I could not
forbear giving an Account of a Kinsman of mine, a young Merchant who
was bred at _Mosco_, that had too much Metal to attend Books of
Entries and Accounts, when there was so active a Scene in the Country
where he resided, and followed the Czar as a Volunteer: This warm
Youth, born at the Instant the thing was spoke of, was the Man who
unhorsed the _Swedish_ General, he was the Occasion that the
_Muscovites_ kept their Fire in so soldier-like a manner, and brought
up those Troops which were covered from the Enemy at the beginning of
the Day; besides this, he had at last the good Fortune to be the Man
who took Count _Piper_ [1] With all this Fire I knew my Cousin to be
the Civilest Creature in the World. He never made any impertinent Show
of his Valour, and then he had an excellent Genius for the World in
every other kind. I had Letters from him (here I felt in my Pockets)
that exactly spoke the Czar's Character, which I knew [perfectly [2]]
well; and I could not forbear concluding, that I lay with his Imperial
Majesty twice or thrice a Week all the while he lodged at _Deptford_.
[3] What is worse than all this, it is impossible to speak to me, but
you give me some occasion of coming out with one Lie or other, that
has neither Wit, Humour, Prospect of Interest, or any other Motive
that I can think of in Nature. The other Day, when one was commending
an Eminent and Learned Divine, what occasion in the World had I to
say, Methinks he would look more Venerable if he were not so fair a
man? I remember the Company smiled. I have seen the Gentleman since,
and he is Coal-Black. I have Intimations every Day in my Life that no
Body believes me, yet I am never the better. I was saying something
the other Day to an old Friend at _Will's_ Coffee-house, and he made
me no manner of Answer; but told me, that an Acquaintance of _Tully_
the Orator having two or three times together said to him, without
receiving any Answer, That upon his Honour he was but that very Month
forty Years of Age; Tully answer'd, Surely you think me the most
incredulous Man in the World, if I don't believe what you have told me
every Day this ten Years. The Mischief of it is, I find myself
wonderfully inclin'd to have been present at every Occurrence that is
spoken of before me; this has led me into many Inconveniencies, but
indeed they have been the fewer, because I am no ill-natur'd Man, and
never speak Things to any Man's Disadvantage. I never directly defame,
but I do what is as bad in the Consequence, for I have often made a
Man say such and such a lively Expression, who was born a mere Elder
Brother. When one has said in my Hearing, Such a one is no wiser than
he should be, I immediately have reply'd, Now 'faith, I can't see
that, he said a very good Thing to my Lord such a one, upon such an
Occasion, and the like. Such an honest Dolt as this has been watch'd
in every Expression he uttered, upon my Recommendation of him, and
consequently been subject to the more Ridicule. I once endeavoured to
cure my self of this impertinent Quality, and resolved to hold my
Tongue for seven Days together; I did so, but then I had so many Winks
and unnecessary Distortions of my Face upon what any body else said,
that I found I only forbore the Expression, and that I still lied in
my Heart to every Man I met with. You are to know one Thing (which I
believe you'll say is a pity, considering the Use I should have made
of it) I never Travelled in my Life; but I do not know whether I could
have spoken of any Foreign Country with more Familiarity than I do at
present, in Company who are Strangers to me. I have cursed the Inns in
_Germany_; commended the Brothels at _Venice_; the Freedom of
Conversation in _France_; and tho' I never was out of this dear Town,
and fifty Miles about it, have been three Nights together dogged by
Bravoes for an Intreague with a Cardinal's Mistress at _Rome_.

It were endless to give you Particulars of this kind, but I can assure
you, Mr. SPECTATOR, there are about Twenty or Thirty of us in this
Town, I mean by this Town the Cities of _London_ and _Westminster;_ I
say there are in Town a sufficient Number of us to make a Society
among our selves; and since we cannot be believed any longer, I beg of
you to print this my Letter, that we may meet together, and be under
such Regulation as there may be no Occasion for Belief or Confidence
among us. If you think fit, we might be called _The Historians_, for
_Liar_ is become a very harsh Word. And that a Member of the Society
may not hereafter be ill received by the rest of the World, I desire
you would explain a little this sort of Men, and not let us
_Historians_ be ranked, as we are in the Imaginations of ordinary
People, among common Liars, Makebates, Impostors, and Incendiaries.
For your Instruction herein, you are to know that an Historian in
Conversation is only a Person of so pregnant a Fancy, that he cannot
be contented with ordinary Occurrences. I know a Man of Quality of our
Order, who is of the wrong Side of Forty-three, and has been of that
Age, according to _Tully's_ Jest, for some Years since, whose Vein is
upon the Romantick. Give him the least Occasion, and he will tell you
something so very particular that happen'd in such a Year, and in such
Company, where by the by was present such a one, who was afterwards
made such a thing. Out of all these Circumstances, in the best
Language in the World, he will join together with such probable
Incidents an Account that shews a Person of the deepest Penetration,
the honestest Mind, and withal something so Humble when he speaks of
himself, that you would Admire. Dear Sir, why should this be Lying!
There is nothing so instructive. He has withal the gravest Aspect;
something so very venerable and great! Another of these Historians is
a Young Man whom we would take in, tho' he extreamly wants Parts, as
People send Children (before they can learn any thing) to School, to
keep them out of Harm's way. He tells things which have nothing at all
in them, and can neither please [nor [4]] displease, but merely take
up your Time to no manner of Purpose, no manner of Delight; but he is
Good-natured, and does it because he loves to be saying something to
you, and entertain you.

I could name you a Soldier that [hath [5]] done very great things
without Slaughter; he is prodigiously dull and slow of Head, but what
he can say is for ever false, so that we must have him.

Give me leave to tell you of one more who is a Lover; he is the most
afflicted Creature in the World, lest what happened between him and a
Great Beauty should ever be known. Yet again, he comforts himself.
_Hang the Jade her Woman. If Mony can keep [the] Slut trusty I will do
it, though I mortgage every Acre;_ Anthony _and_ Cleopatra _for that;
All for Love and the World well lost ...

Then, Sir, there is my little Merchant, honest _Indigo_ of the
_Change_, there's my Man for Loss and Gain, there's Tare and Tret,
there's lying all round the Globe; he has such a prodigious
Intelligence he knows all the _French_ are doing, or what we intend or
ought to intend, and has it from such Hands. But, alas, whither am I
running! While I complain, while I remonstrate to you, even all this
is a Lie, and there is not one such Person of Quality, Lover, Soldier,
or Merchant as I have now described in the whole World, that I know
of. But I will catch my self once in my Life, and in spite of Nature
speak one Truth, to wit that I am

_Your Humble Servant_, &c.

T.

[Footnote 1: Prime Minister of Charles XII.]

[Footnote 2: exactly]

[Footnote 3: In the Spring of 1698.]

[Footnote 4: or]

[Footnote 5: has]

* * * * *

No. 137. Tuesday, August 7, 1711. Steele.

At hæc etiam Servis semper libera fuerunt, timerent, gauderent,
dolerent, suo potius quam alterius arbitrio.

Tull. Epist.

It is no small Concern to me, that I find so many Complaints from that Part of Mankind whose Portion it is to live in Servitude, that those whom they depend upon will not allow them to be even as happy as their Condition will admit of. There are, as these unhappy Correspondents inform me, Masters who are offended at a chearful Countenance, and think a Servant is broke loose from them, if he does not preserve the utmost Awe in their Presence. There is one who says, if he looks satisfied, his Master asks him what makes him so pert this Morning; if a little sour, Hark ye, Sirrah, are not you paid your Wages? The poor Creatures live in the most extreme Misery together: The Master knows not how to preserve Respect, nor the Servant how to give it. It seems this Person is of so sullen a Nature, that he knows but little Satisfaction in the midst of a plentiful Fortune, and secretly frets to see any Appearance of Content, in one that lives upon the hundredth Part of his Income, who is unhappy in the Possession of the Whole. Uneasy Persons, who cannot possess their own Minds, vent their Spleen upon all who depend upon them: which, I think, is expressed in a lively manner in the following Letters.

_August_ 2, 1711.

_SIR_,

I have read your Spectator of the third of the last Month, and wish I
had the Happiness of being preferred to serve so good a Master as Sir
ROGER. The Character of my Master is the very Reverse of that good and
gentle Knight's. All his Directions are given, and his Mind revealed,
by way of Contraries: As when any thing is to be remembered, with a
peculiar Cast of Face he cries, _Be sure to forget now_. If I am to
make haste back, _Don't come these two Hours; be sure to call by the
Way upon some of your Companions_. Then another excellent Way of his
is, if he sets me any thing to do, which he knows must necessarily
take up half a Day, he calls ten times in a Quarter of an Hour to know
whether I have done yet. This is his Manner; and the same Perverseness
runs through all his Actions, according as the Circumstances vary.
Besides all this, he is so suspicious, that he submits himself to the
Drudgery of a Spy. He is as unhappy himself as he makes his Servants:
He is constantly watching us, and we differ no more in Pleasure and
Liberty than as a Gaoler and a Prisoner. He lays Traps for Faults, and
no sooner makes a Discovery, but falls into such Language, as I am
more ashamed of for coming from him, than for being directed to me.
This, Sir, is a short Sketch of a Master I have served upwards of nine
Years; and tho' I have never wronged him, I confess my Despair of
pleasing him has very much abated my Endeavour to do it. If you will
give me leave to steal a Sentence out of my Master's _Clarendon_, I
shall tell you my Case in a Word, _Being used worse than I deserved, I
cared less to deserve well than I had done_.

_I am, SIR_,
_Your Humble Servant_,
RALPH VALET.