fusion in the pursuit. For these reasons the country gentleman, like the fox, feldom 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 myself, and I hope to others. I am here forced to use a great deal of diligence before I canspring any thing to my mind, whereas in town, whilst I am following orde character, it is ten to one but I am croffed in my way by another, and put up fuch a variety of odd creatures in both sexes, that they foil the scent of one another, and puzzle the chase. greatest difficulty in the country is to find sport, and in town to choose it. In the mean time, as I have given a whole month's rest to the cities of London and Westminster, I promise myself abundance of new game upon my return thither. My It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, fince I find the whole neighbourhood begin to grow very inquifitive after my name and character: my love of folitude, taciturnity, and particular way of life, having raised a great curiofity in all these parts. upon him, and does not care for facrificing an afternoon to every chance-comer; that will be the mafter 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 phrafe, 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 myself, and at the fame time onjoy all the advantages of company with all the privileges of folitude. In the mean while, to finish the month and conclude these my rural speculations, I shall here infert 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. ८ * Dear Spec, I SUPPOSE this letter will find thee picking of daifies, or fmelling to a lock of hay, or paffing away thy time in fome innocent country diversion of the like nature. I have however orders from the club to fummon 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 do not fend us any more stories of a cock and bull, nor frighten the town with fpirits and witches. Thy specula The notions which have been framed of me are various; some look upon me as very proud, some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my friend the butler tells me, obferving me very much alone, and extremely filent when I am intions begin to smell confoundedly of woods company, is afraid I have killed a man, The country people feem to fufpect me for a conjurer; and fome of them hearing of the vifit which I made to Moll White, will needs have it that Sir Roger has brought down a cunningman with him, to cure the old woman, and free the country from her charms. So that the cha racter which I go under in part of the neighbourhood, is what they here call a White Witch. and meadows. If thou dost not come up quickly, we fhall 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 fince 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, A justice of peace, who lives about five miles C off, and is not of Sir Roger's party, has it feems faid twice or thrice at his table, that he wishes Sir Roger does not harbour a Jefuit in his house, and that he thinks the gentlemen of the country would do very well to make me give fome account of myself. On the other fide, some of Sir Roger's friends are afraid the old knight' is impofed 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 fome difcarded Whig, that is fullen, and says nothing because he is out of place. Such is the variety of opinions which are here entertained of me, so that I pass among fome for a disaffected perfon, and among others for a popish prieft; among fome for a wizard, and among others for a murderer; and all this for no other reafon, that I can imagine, but because I do not hoot and halloo and make a noife. It is true my friend Sit Roger tells them, that it is my way, and that I am only a philofopher; but this will not fatisfy 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 fet 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 expected guest breaks in Will Honeycomb No 132. WEDNESDAY, AUGUST L -Dui, aut tempus quid poftulet non videt, aut plura loquitur, aut fe oftentat, aut eorum quibufcum eft ra tionem non habet, is ineptus effe dicitur. TULL. That man is guilty of impertinence, who confiders not the circumftances of time, or engroffes the conversation, or makes himself the fubject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the company he is in, AVING notified to my good friend Sir H Roger that I should fet out for London the next day, his horfes 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 ftage-coach the day following. As foon 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 the widow her mother; a recruiting officer, who took a place because they were to go; young Squire Quickset her coufin, that her mother wifhed 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 had faid of myself, that according Y cording to his office he dealt much in intelli- "said nothing; but how doft thou know what gence; 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 fetting-out was, that the captain's half-pike was placed near the coachman, 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 fo as to be spoiled; upon which the cloke-bag was fixed in the feat of the coach: and the captain himself, according to a frequent, though invidious behaviour of military men, ordered his man to look sharp, that none but one of the ladies would have the place he had taken fronting the coach-box. " " We were in some little time fixed in our feat, and fat with that diflike which people not too good-natured usually conceive of each other at first fight. The coach jumbled us insensibly into fome fort 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 fuffered much by defertion, therefore should be glad to end "his warfare in the fervice of her or her fair "daughter. In a word, continued he, I am a "foldier, and to be plain is my character: you "see me, Madam, young, found, and impu"dent; take me yourself, widow, or give me "to her; I will be wholly at your disposal. I am a foldier of fortune, ha!" This was followed by a vain laugh of his own, and a deep filence 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, faid he, refolve upon it, we will make a wedding at next town: we will awake this pleafant companion "who is fallen asleep, to be the bride-man, and, giving the quaker a clap on the knee, he con"cluded, This fly faint, who, I will warrant, " understands what is what as well as you or I, "widow, shall give the bride as father." The quaker, who happened to be a man of smartness, anfwered, 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, favoureth of folly: thou art a perfon " of a light mind; thy drum is a type of thee, "it foundeth because it is empty. Verily, it " is not from thy fulness, 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 can"not go any other way. This worthy mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs utter thy "follies; we cannot help it, friend, I fay; if " thou wilt, we must hear thee; but if thou wert a man of understanding, thou wouldst not take advantage of thy courageous coun "tenance to abash us children of peace. Thou art, thou fayft, a foldier; give quarter to us, who cannot refift thee. Why did thou fleer at our friend, who feigned himself afleep? he " ८८ "he containeth? If thou speakest improper "things in the hearing of this virtuous young "virgin, confider 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 " public vehicle, is in fome degree affaulting on "the high road." Here Ephraim paused, and the captain with an unhappy and uncommon impudence, which can be convicted and support itself at the fame time, cries, Faith, friend, I thank thee; I "should have been a little impertinent if thou "hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou art, "I fee, a smoky old fellow, and I will be very "orderly the ensuing part of my journey. I was "going to give myself airs, but, ladies, I beg " pardon." The captain was so little out of humour, and our company was so far from being foured 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 confidered the company we were in, I took it for no small good-fortune that the whole journey was not spent in impertinences, which to the one part of us might be an entertainment, to the other a fuffering. What therefore Ephraim faid when we were almost arrived at London, had to me an air not only of good understanding but good breeding. Upon the young's lady's expreffing her fatisfaction in the journey, and declaring how delightful it had been to her, Ephraim delivered himself as follows: "There " is no ordinary part of human life which ex"presseth so much a good mind, and a right in"ward man, as his behaviour upon meeting "with strangers, especially fuch as may feem "the most unsuitable companions to him: fuch " a man, when he falleth in the way with per"fons of fimplicity and innocence, however "knowing he may be in the ways of men, will "not vaunt himself thereof; but will the rather hide his fuperiority to them, that he may not " be painful unto them. My good friend, con"tinued 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 trifßes "to the real man, therefore do not think fuch à "man as thyself terrible for thy garb, nor fuch " a one as me contemptible for mine, When " two fuch as thee and I meet, with affections "as we ought to have towards each other, thou "shouldst rejoice to see my peaceful demeanour, " and I should be glad to see thy ftrength and ability to protect me in it." No, 133. N° 133. THURSDAY, AUGUST 2. Quis defiderio fit pudor, aut modus Tam chari capitis? HOR. Od. 24. 1. 1. V. I. -Who can grieve too much, what time shall end Our mourning for so dear a friend? T HERE is CREECH. a fort of delight, which is alternately mixed with terror and forrow, in the contemplation of death. The foul has its curiosity more than ordinarily awakened, when it turns its thoughts upon the subject of such who have behaved themselves with an equal, a refigned, a chearful, a generous or heroic temper in that exrremity. We are affected with these respective manners of behaviour, as we fecretly believe the part of the dying person imitable by ourselves, or such as we imagine ourselves more particularly capable of. Men of exalted minds march before us like princes, and are, to the ordinary race of mankind, rather fubjects for their admiration than example. However, there are no ideas striķe more forcibly upon our imaginations, than those which areraised from reflections upon the exits of great and excellent men. Innocent men who have suffered as criminals, though they were benefactors to human society, feem to be persons of the highest distinction, among the vastly greater 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 teftimony of his own confcience and conjectures of hereafter, receive the poison with an air of mirth and good-humour, and as if going on an agreeable journey bespeak fome deity to make it fortu nate. When Phocion's good actions had met with the like reward from this 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 fupport 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 confolation to fuch a man as thou art to die with Phocion? At the instant when he was to die, they asked what commands he had for his fon: he answered, to forget this injury of the Athenians. Niocles, his friend, under the same sentence, defired 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 were very noble and great, and the reflections of those fublime 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 forrows and difficulties. Epaminondas the Theban general, having received in fight a mortal stab with a fword, which was left in his body, lay in that posture until 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 manher, "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 heroic 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 aukward endeavour to throw off a real and fresh affliction, by turning over books in a melancholy mood; but it is not eafy to remove griefs which touch the heart, by applying remedies which only entertain the imagination. As therefore this paper is to confift of any thing which concerns human life, I cannot help letting the present subject regard what has been the laft object of my eyes, though an entertainment of forrow. I went this evening to visit a friend, with a defign 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. 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 forrow, or any pain in himself. Give me leave then to tranfcribe my foliloquy, as I stood by his mother, dumb with the weight of grief for a son who was her honour and her comfort, and never until that hour since his birth had been an occafion of a moment's forrow to her. H OW surprising is this change! from the of vigorous life and strength, "to be reduced in a few hours to this fatal ex"tremity! Those lips which look so pale and liv. "id, within these few days gave delight to all "who heard their utterance; it was the bufi"ness, the purpose of his being, next to obeying " him to whom he is going, to please and in"struct, and that for no other end but to please "and instruct, Kindness was the motive of his " actions, and with all the capacity requifite for " making a figure in a contentious world, mo"deration, 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 fo well as I, but would refign "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 excel. "lent man Heaven receive him, or restore "him. Thy beloved mother, thy obliged " friends, thy helpless servants, stand around "thee without distinction. How much would " est thou, hadst thou thy senses, say to each of "us! "But now that good heart bursts, and he is at "reft-with that breath expired a foul 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 in"vented, the examples thou hast followed ? "Poor were the expectations of the studious, the "modest and the good, if the reward of their la"bours were only to be expected from man. " No, my friend, thy intended pleadings, thy in tended fervices to "rended good offices to thy friends, thy intended thy country, are already performed, as to thy concern in them, in his fight before whom the past, present, and future appear at one view, White others with thy talents were tormented with ambition, with vain-glory, "with envy, with emulation, how well didft thou turn thy mind to its own improvement in things out of the power of fortune; in probity, in integrity, în the practice and study of juf tice, how filent thy paffage, how private thy journey, how glorious thy end! many have I known more famous, some more knowing, not one fo înnocent." N° 134. FRIDAY, AUGUST 3. Opiferque per ortem R Dicor D URING my abfence in the country, feveral packets frave 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 "ower-hill, having fometimes been entertained with some learned gentlemen in plusn doublets, who havevended their wares from a flage in that place, has pleafantly enough addrelled to me, as no lefs a fage in morality, than those are in phyfic, To comply with his kind inclination to make my cures famous, I shall give you his teftimonial of my great abilities at large in his own words. You the other fomer OUR faying the other day there is fome 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 foon fee how much I approve your fpeculations. In the mean time I • beg leave to fupply that inability with the empty tribute of an honest mind, by telling * you plainly I love and thank you for your daily • refreshments. I conftantly perufe your paper ⚫ as I fmoke my morning's pipe, though, I can⚫ not forbear reading the motto before I fill and light, and really it gives a grateful relith to every whiff; each paragraph 'is freighted either with useful or delightful notions, and I never • fail of being highly diverted or improved. The variety of your fubjects surprizes me as much as a box of pictures did formerly, in which there was only one face, that by pulling fome pieces of ifinglafs over it, was changed into a grave fenator or a Merry-Andrew, a patched lady or a nun, a beau or a black-a-moor, a prude or a coquette, a country 'fquire or a conjurer; with many other different representations, very entertaining, as you are, though ftill the fame at 'the bottom. This was a childisi amusement ' when I was carried away with outward appearance, but you make a deeper impreffion, and affect the fecret springs of the mind; you charm the fancy, froth the paffions, and infenfibly lead the reader to that sweetness of temper that you fo well describe; you rouse generofity with that spirit, and inculcate humanity * with ti ac eafe, that he must be miferably stupid ، that is not affected by you. I cannot say indeed that you have put impertinence to filence, 'or vanity out of countenance; but methinks you have bid as fair for it, as any man that ever appeared upon a public stage; and offer an in'fallible cure of vice and folly, for the price of one penny. And since it is usual for those who receive benefit by fuch famous operators, to publish an advertisement, that others may reap the fame advantage, I think myfelf obliged to declare to all the world, that having for a long time been fplenetic, ill-natured, froward, fufpicious and unsociable, by the application of 'your medicines, taken only with half an ounce of right Virginia tobacco, for fix fucceffive mornings, I am become open, obliging, officious, frank, and hofpitable. I am, Tower-hill, Your humble servant, July 5, 1711. f and great admirer, George Trufly. The careful father and humble petitioner hereafter mentioned, who are under difficulties about the just management of fans, will foon receive proper advertisements relating to the profeffors in that behalf, with their places of abode and me thods of teaching. SIR, July the 5th, 1711. N your Spectator of June the 7th, you transcribe a letter fent to you from a new fort of mufter-master, who teaches ladies the whole • exercife of the fan; I have a daughter just come to town, who though the has always held a fan in her hand at proper times, yet the knows no 'more how to use it according to true difcipline, than an aukward school-boy does to make use of his new-fword: I have fent for her on purpofe to learn the exercise, the being already • very well accomplished in all other arts which are neceffary for a young lady to understand; my request is, that you will speak to your correfpondent 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 fon ' too, whom I would fain have taught to gallant fans, and fhould beglad to know what the gentleman will have for teaching them both, I finding fans for practice at my ewn expence. This inforniation will in the highest manner oblige, Sir, your most humble servant, The humble petition of Benjamin Easy, Gent, • Sheweth, THAT HAT it was your petitioner's misfortune to to Hackney church laft Sunday, where to his great amazement he met with a foldier of your own training: the furls a fan, recovers a ' fan, and goes thro' the whole excercise of it to admiration. This well-managed officer of yours has, to my knowledge, been the ruin of above five young gentlemen befides myself, and 6 I Have fomewhere 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 bleffing 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 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 public my speculations upon the English tongue, not doubting but they will be acceptable to all my curious readers. The English delight in filence more than any other European nation, if the remarks which are made on us by foreigners are true. Our difcourse is not kept up in converfation, but falls into more pauses and intervals than in our neighbouring countries; as it is obferved, that the matter of our writings is thrown much closer together, and lies in a narrower compafs than is ufual 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 conceptions as possible. This humour shews itself in several remarks that we may make upon the English language, As first of all by its abounding in monofyllabies, which gives us an opportunity of delivering our ur thoughts in few founds. This indeed takes off from the elegance of our tongue, but at the fame -time expresses our ideas in the readieft manner, and confequently answers the first design of speech better than the multitude of fyllables, which make the words of other languages more tunable and fonorous. The founds of our English words are commonly like those of string mufic, short and tranfient, which rise and perish upon a single touch; those of other languages are like the notes of wind instruments, sweet and swelling, and lengthened out into variety of modulation. formable to the genius of our tongue. This we may find in a multitude of words, as liberty, conspiracy, theatre, orator, &c. The fame natural aversion to loquacity has of late years made a very confiderable alteration in our language, by clofing in one fyllable the ter mination of our præterperfect tense, as in there 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 fmoothest words into so many clusters of confonants. This is the more remarkable, becaufe the want of vowels in our language has beca the general complaint of our politeft authors, who nevertheless are the men that have made these retrenchments, and confequently 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. I think we may add to the foregoing observation, the change which has happened in our language, by the abbreviation of feveral words that are terminated in eth, by substituting an s in the room of the last fyllable, 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 hifing in our language which is taken fo much notice of by foreigners; but at the fame time humours our taciturnity, and eases us of many superfluous fyllables. I might here observe, that the fame single letter on many occafions does the office of a whole word, and represents the his or her of our forefathers. There is no doubt but the ear of a foreigner, which is the best judge in this cafe, would very much disapprove of fuch innovations, which indeed we do ourselves in fome measure by retaining the old termination in writing, and in all the folemn 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 occafions we have drawn two words into one, which has likewise very much untuned our language, and clogged it with confonants, as mayn't, can't, shan't, won'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 fo miferably curtailed fome of our words, that in familiar writings and conversations they often lose all but their first fyllables, as in mob. rep. pof, incog.. and the like; and as all ridiculous words make their first entry into a language by familiar phrafes, I dare not answer for these that they will not in time be looked upon as a part of our, tongue. We fee fome of our poets have been fo indifcreet as to imitate Hudibras's doggrel expreffions in their ferious compositions, by throw ing out the figns of our fubftantives, whicla are effential to the English language. Nay, this humour of shortening our language had once run fo far, that fome of our celebrated authors, among whom we may reckon Sir Roger L'E In the next place we may observe, that where the words are not monofyllables, we often make them fo, as much as lies in our power, by our rapidity of pronunciation; as it generally happens in most of our long words which are de-strange in particular, began to prune t'eir words rived from the Latin, where we contract the length of the fyllables that gives them a grave and folemn air in their own language, to make them more proper for difpatch, and more con of all fuperfluous letters, as they ter med them, in order to adjust the spelling to the pronunciation; which would have confounded all our ety mologies, and have quite destroyed our tongue. We |