[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_,