[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_.'