countryman, yet you cannot call me a rustic (as you would imply in your
letter) as long as I live in so civil and noble a family, as long as I
lodge in so virtuous and regular a house as any, I believe, in the land,
both for economical government and the choice company; for I never saw
yet such a dainty race of children in all my life together. I never saw
yet such an orderly and punctual attendance of servants, nor a great
house so neatly kept; here one shall see no dog, nor a cat, nor cage to
cause any nastiness within the body of the house. The kitchen and
gutters and other offices of noise and drudgery are at the fag-end;
there's a back-gate for the beggars and the meaner sort of swains to
come in at; the stables butt upon the park, which, for a cheerful rising
ground, for groves and browsings for the deer, for rivulets of water,
may compare with any of its bigness in the whole land; it is opposite
to the front of the great house, whence from the gallery one may see
much of the game when they are a-hunting. Now for the gardening and
costly choice flowers, for ponds, for stately large walks green and
gravelly, for orchards and choice fruits of all sorts, there are few the
like in England; here you have your Bon Chretien pear and Burgamot in
perfection; your Muscadel grapes in such plenty that there are some
bottles of wine sent every year to the King: and one Mr. Daniel, a
worthy gentleman hard by who hath been long abroad, makes good store in
his vintage. Truly this house of Long Melford tho' it be not so great,
yet is so well compacted and contriv'd with such dainty conveniences
every way; that if you saw the landskip of it, you would be mightily
taken with it and it would serve for a choice pattern to build and
contrive a house by. If you come this summer to your Manor of Sheriff in
Essex, you will not be far off hence; if your occasions will permit, it
will be worth your coming hither, tho' it be only to see him, who would
think it a short journey to go from St. David's Head to Dover Cliffs to
see and serve you, were there occasion; if you would know who the same
is, 'tis--
Yours,
J. H.
20. May, 1619.
12. TO MR. E. D.
Sir,
I thank you a thousand times for the noble entertainment you gave me at
Bury; and the pains you took in showing me the antiquities of that
place. In requital, I can tell you of a strange thing I saw lately here,
and I believe 'tis true. As I passed by St. Dunstan's in Fleet Street
the last Saturday, I stepped into a lapidary, or stone-cutter's shop,
to treat with the master for a stone to be put upon my father's tomb;
and casting my eyes up and down, I might spy a huge marble with a large
inscription upon't, which was thus to my best remembrance:
_Here lies _John Oxenham_, a goodly young man, in whose
chamber, as he was struggling with the pangs of death, a
bird with a white breast was seen fluttering about his bed,
and so vanished._
_Here lies also _Mary Oxenham_, the sister of the said
_John_, who died the next day, and the said apparition was
seen in the room._
Then another sister is spoke of, then,
_Here lies hard by _James Oxenham_, the son of the said
_John_, who died a child in his cradle a little after; and
such a bird was seen fluttering about his head, a little
before he expired, which vanished afterwards._
At the bottom of the stone there is:
_Here lies _Elizabeth Oxenham_ the mother of the said
_John_, who died sixteen years since, when such a bird with
a white breast was seen about her bed before her death._
To all these there be divers witnesses, both squires and ladies, whose
names are engraven upon the stone. This stone is to be sent to a town
hard by Exeter, where this happened. Were you here, I could raise a
choice discourse with you hereupon. So, hoping to see you the next term,
to requite some of your favours,
I rest--
Your true friend to serve you,
J. H.
WESTMINSTER, 3 July. 1632
FOOTNOTES:
[96] _Epistolae Hoelianae or Familiar Letters_ (1657).
[97] Indeed his correspondents are probably sometimes, if not always,
imaginary: and many of the letters are only what in modern periodicals
are called "middle" articles on this and that subject, headed and tailed
with the usual letter-formulas.
JOHN EVELYN (1620-1706)
As is naturally the case with writers of "Diaries,"
"Memoirs," "Autobiographies," and the like, a good deal of
matter is deflected into Evelyn's famous _Diary_ from
possible letters: while his numerous and voluminous
published works may also to some extent abstract from or
duplicate his correspondence. But there is enough of
this[98] to make him a noteworthy epistoler. And it is
interesting, though not perhaps surprising, to find that
while his Diary is less piquant than his friend Mr. Pepys's,
his letters are more so. Not surprising--first, because
official letter-writers (Evelyn did a good deal of public
work but was never _exactly_ an official) often get into a
habit of noncommittal; and secondly, because there is, in
these things as in others, a principle of compensation.
Evelyn was almost sure to be a good letter-writer[99] for he
had a ready pen, a rather extraordinary range of interests
and capacities, plenty of time and means, extensive
knowledge of the world, and last but not least, a
tendency--not missed by the aforesaid Mr. Pepys--to bestow
his information and opinion freely upon less fortunately
endowed and equipped mortals. If he never quite reaches in
letters the famous passages of the Diary, describing the
great Fire, and Whitehall on the eve of Charles the Second's
mortal seizure, he sometimes comes near to this, and
diffuses throughout a blend of humanism, and humanity, of
science and art, which is very agreeable. His wife also was
no mean letter-writer, but only one of the minor stars of
that day round the moon, Dorothy Osborne, to whom we come
next. Of Evelyn's own letters several are specially
tempting. His curious plan (a particularly favourite craze
of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) for a small
"college" or lay convent of ladies and gentlemen, a sort of
miniature "Abbey of Thelema" is one. His magnificent eulogy
of the Duchess of Newcastle (Lamb's "dear Margaret"), which
puzzled his editor Bray (from this and other notes a rather
stupid man), is another: and his very interesting letter to
Pepys on Dreams (Oct. 4, 1689) a third. But on the whole I
have preferred the following, which may remind some readers
of Mr. Kipling's charming poem on the wonderful things our
fathers did and believed, with its invaluable reminder that
after all it would be lucky for us if we were no worse than
they. The date is not given: but the letter is printed
between one of August and one of September, 1668. [Greek:
kollourion] = Collyrium = "eyewash." "Stillatim" = "drop by
drop." "Lixivium" (Fr. "lessive") = "lye," "soapwater."
"Catoptrics" and "otacoustics" (though the "ot" = "ear" has
gone)--are fairly modern words, "phonocamptics" scarcely so.
In fact, I do not remember seeing it elsewhere. It does not
appear to be a classical Greek compound, but should mean
"the art of guiding and managing the voice."[100] The Tom
Whittal story shows that Evelyn, though given to
seriousness, could (God rest his soul) be a merry man
sometimes. The other proper names, from Mr. Oldenburg to
Thom. Fazzello, could be expounded without difficulty, but
with unnecessary expenditure of space.
13. JOHN EVELYN TO DOCTOR BEALE
Sir,
I happened to be with Mr Oldenburg some time since, almost upon the
article of his receiving the notice you sent him of your fortunate and
useful invention; and I remember I did first of all incite him, both to
insert it into his next transactions, and to provoke your further
prosecution of it; which I exceedingly rejoice to find has been so
successful, that you give us hopes of your further thoughts upon that,
and those other subjects which you mention. You may haply call to
remembrance a passage of the Jesuit Honorati Fabri, who speaking of
perspectives, observes, that an object looked on through a small hole
appears magnified; from whence he suggests, the casting of two plates
neatly perforated, and fitted to look through, preferable to glasses,
whose refractions injure the sight. Though I begin to advance in years
(being now on the other side of forty), yet the continuance of the
perfect use of my senses (for which I bless Almighty God) has rendered
me the less solicitous about those artificial aids; which yet I foresee
I must shortly apply myself to, and therefore you can receive but
slender hints from me which will be worthy your acceptance upon that
argument; only, I well remember, that besides Tiberius of old (whom you
seem to instance in), Joseph Scaliger affirms the same happened both to
his father Julius and himself, in their younger years. And sometimes,
methinks, I myself have fancied to have discerned things in a very dark
place, when the curtains about my bed have been drawn, as my hands,
fingers, the sheet, and bedclothes; but since my too intent poring upon
a famous eclipse of the sun, about twelve years since, at which time I
could as familiarly have stared with open eyes upon the glorious planet
in its full lustre, as now upon a glow-worm (comparatively speaking), I
have not only lost the acuteness of sight, but much impaired the vigour
of it for such purposes as it then served me. But besides that, I have
treated mine eyes very ill near these twenty years, during all which
time I have rarely put them together, or composed them to sleep, before
one at night, and sometimes much later: that I may in some sort redeem
my losses by day, in which I am continually importuned with visits from
my neighbours and acquaintance, or taken up by other impertinencies of
my life in this place. I am plainly ashamed to tell you this,
considering how little I have improved myself by it; but I have rarely
been in bed before twelve o'clock as I said, in the space of twenty
years; and yet I read the least print, even in a jolting coach, without
other assistance, save that I now and then used to rub my shut eye-lids
over with a spirit of wine well rectified, in which I distil a few
rosemary flowers much after the process of the Queen of Hungary's water,
which does exceedingly fortify, not only my sight, but the rest of my
senses, especially my hearing and smelling; a drop or two being
distilled into the nose or ears, when they are never so dull; and other
[Greek: kollourion] I never apply. Indeed, in the summer time, I have
found wonderful benefit in bathing my head with a decoction of some hot
and aromatical herbs, in a lixivium made of the ashes of vine branches;
and when my head is well washed with this, I immediately cause abundance
of cold fountain water to be poured upon me _stillatim_, for a good
half-hour together; which for the present is not only one of the most
voluptuous and grateful refreshments imaginable, but an incredible
benefit to me the whole year after: for I never need other powdering to
my hair, to preserve it bright and clean, as the gallants do; but which
does certainly greatly prejudice transpiration by filling up, or lying
heavy upon the pores. Those, therefore, who (since the use of perukes)
accustom to wash their heads, instead of powdering, would doubtless find
the benefit of it; both as to the preventing of aches in their head,
teeth, and ears, if the vicissitude and inconstancy of the weather, and
consequently the use of their monstrous perukes, did not expose them to
the danger of catching colds. When I travelled in Italy, and the
Southern parts, I did sometimes frequent the public baths (as the manner
is), but seldom without peril of my life, till I used this frigid
effusion, or rather profusion of cold water before I put on my garments,
or durst expose myself to the air; and for this method I was obliged to
the old and noble Rantzow, in whose book _De conservanda valetudine_ I
had read a passage to this purpose; though I might have remembered how
the Dutchmen treated their labouring horses when they are all over in a
froth, which they wash off with several buckets of cold water, as I have
frequently observed it in the Low Countries.
Concerning other aids; besides what the masters of the catoptrics,
phonocamptics, otacoustics, &c., have done, something has been attempted
by the Royal Society; and you know the industrious Kircher has much
laboured. The rest of those artificial helps are summed up by the Jesuit
And. Schottus. I remember that Monsieur Huygens (author of the
pendulum), who brought up the learned father of that incomparable youth
Monsieur de Zulichem, who used to prescribe to me the benefit of his
little wax taper (a type whereof is, with the history of it, in some of
our Registers) for night elucubrations, preferable to all other candle
or lamp light whatsoever. And because it explodes all glaring of the
flame, which by no means ought to dart upon the eyes, it seems very much
to establish your happy invention of tubes instead of spectacles, which
have not those necessary defences.
Touching the sight of cats in the night, I am not well satisfied of the
exquisiteness of that sense in them. I believe their smelling or hearing
does much contribute to their dexterity in catching mice, as to all
those animals who are born with those prolix smelling hairs. Fish will
gather themselves in shoals to any extraordinary light in the dark
night, and many are best caught by that artifice. But whatever may be
said of these, and other senses of fish, you know how much the sagacity
of birds and beasts excel us; how far eagles and vultures, ravens and
other fowls will smell the carcase; _odorumque canum vis_, as Lucretius
expresses it, and we daily find by their drawing after the games. Gesner
affirms that an otter will wind a fish four miles distance in the water,
and my Lord Verulam (cent. 8) speaks of that element's being also a
medium of sounds, as well as air. Eels do manifestly stir at the
cracking of thunder, but that may also be attributed to some other
tremulous motion; yet carps and other fish are known to come at the call
and the sound of a bell, as I have been informed. Notorious is the story
of Arion, and of Lucullus's lampreys which came _ad nomen_; and you have
formerly minded me of Varro's Greek pipe, of which Lucian and Cicero (ad
Atticum) take occasion to speak. Pliny's dolphin is famous, and what is
related of the American Manati: but the most stupendous instance, that
of the xiphia or sword-fish, which the Mamertines can take up by no
other strategem than a song of certain barbarous words, as the thing is
related by Thom. Fazzello. It is certain that we hear more accurately
when we hold our mouths a little open, than when we keep them shut; and
I have heard of a dumb gentleman in England who was taught to speak (and
therefore certainly brought to hear in some degree) by applying the head
of a base viol against his teeth, and striking upon the strings with the
bow. You may remember the late effect of the drum extending the tympanum
of a deaf person to great improvement of his hearing, so long as that
was beaten upon; and I could at present name a friend of mine, who
though he be exceedingly thick of hearing, by applying a straight stick
of what length soever, provided it touch the instrument and his ear,
does perfectly and with great pleasure hear every tune that is played:
all which, with many more, will flow into your excellent work, whilst
the argument puts me in mind of one Tom Whittal, a student of Christ
Church, who would needs maintain, that if a hole could dexterously be
bored through the skull to the brain in the midst of the forehead, a man
might both see and hear and smell without the use of any other organs;
but you are to know, that this learned problematist was brother to him,
who, preaching at St. Mary's, Oxford, took his text out of the history
of Balaam, Numb. xxii., "Am I not thine ass?" Dear Sir, pardon this
rhapsody of,
Sir, your, &c.
FOOTNOTES:
[98] Some 400 pages from and to him in the most compendious edition.
[99] He thought, writing to Lord Spencer about 1690, that we have "few
tolerable letters of our own country" excepting--and that only in a
fashion--those of Bacon, Donne and Howell.
[100] "_Odorumque canum vis_--as Lucretius expresses it"--perhaps
requires a note. Evelyn ought to have known his Lucretius, the first
book of which he translated and which he was only prevented from
completing by some foolish scruples which Jeremy Taylor wisely but
vainly combated. And Lucretius is fond of _vis_ as meaning "quality" or
"faculty." But Evelyn almost certainly was thinking also, more or less,
of Virgil's "odora canum vis," _Aen._ iv. 132.
DOROTHY OSBORNE (1627-1695)
This very delightful lady--who became the wife of Sir
William Temple, famous in political and literary history,
and, by so doing or being, mistress of the household in
which Swift lived, suffered, but met Stella--was the
daughter of Sir Peter Osborne, one of the stoutest of
Royalists who, as Governor of Guernsey, held its Castle
Cornet for years against the rebels. Whether she was (in
1627) born there--her father had been made _Lieutenant_
Governor six years earlier--is not known and has been
thought unlikely: but the present writer (who has danced,
and played whist within its walls) hopes she was. When we
come to know her she was living at Chicksands in
Bedfordshire and hoping to marry Temple, though the course
of love ran by no means smooth. Attention was first drawn to
her letters, and some of them were partly printed, in
Courtenay's _Life_ of her husband--a book which was reviewed
by Macaulay in a famous essay, not overlooking Dorothy. But
as a body, they waited till some half century later, when
they were published by Judge Parry and received with joy by
all fit folk. They were written between 1652 and 1654. The
first passage is in her pleasant mood and touches on a
subject--aviation--which interested that day and interests
this. The second strikes some people as one of the most
charming specimens of the love-letter--written neither in
the violent delight that has violent end, nor in namby-pamby
fashion.[101]
14. TO SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE
Sir,--
You say I abuse you; and Jane says you abuse me when you say you are not
melancholy: which is to be believed? Neither, I think; for I could not
have said so positively (as it seems she did) that I should not be in
town till my brother came back: he was not gone when she writ, nor is
not yet; and if my brother Peyton had come before his going, I had
spoiled her prediction. But now it cannot be; he goes on Monday or
Tuesday at farthest. I hope you did truly with me, too, in saying that
you are not melancholy (though she does not believe it). I am thought
so, many times, when I am not at all guilty on't. How often do I sit in
company a whole day, and when they are gone am not able to give an
account of six words that was said, and many times could be so much
better pleased with the entertainment my own thoughts give me, that 'tis
all I can do to be so civil as not to let them see they trouble me. This
may be your disease. However, remember you have promised me to be
careful of yourself, and that if I secure what you have entrusted me
with, you will answer for the rest. Be this our bargain then; and look
that you give me as good an account of one as I shall give you of
t'other. In earnest I was strangely vexed to see myself forced to
disappoint you so, and felt your trouble and my own too. How often I
have wished myself with you, though but for a day, for an hour: I would
have given all the time I am to spend here for it with all my heart.
You could not but have laughed if you had seen me last night. My brother
and Mr. Gibson were talking by the fire; and I sat by, but as no part of
the company. Amongst other things (which I did not at all mind), they
fell into a discourse of flying; and both agreed it was very possible to
find out a way that people might fly like birds, and despatch their
journeys: so I, that had not said a word all night, started up at that,
and desired they would say a little more on't, for I had not marked the
beginning; but instead of that, they both fell into so violent a
laughing, that I should appear so much concerned in such an art; but
they little knew of what use it might have been to me. Yet I saw you
last night, but 'twas in a dream; and before I could say a word to you,
or you to me, the disorder my joy to see you had put me into awakened
me. Just now I was interrupted, too, and called away to entertain two
dumb gentlemen;--you may imagine whether I was pleased to leave my
writing to you for their company;--they have made such a tedious visit,
too; and I am so tired with making of signs and tokens for everything I
had to say. Good God! how do those that live with them always? They are
brothers; and the eldest is a baronet, has a good estate, a wife and
three or four children. He was my servant heretofore, and comes to see
me still for old love's sake; but if he could have made me mistress of
the world I could not have had him; and yet I'll swear he has nothing to
be disliked in him but his want of tongue, which in a woman might have
been a virtue.
I sent you a part of _Cyrus_ last week, where you will meet with one
Doralise in the story of Abradate and Panthee. The whole story is very
good; but the humour makes the best part of it. I am of her opinion in
most things that she says in her character of "L'honnest homme" that she
is in search of, and her resolution of receiving no heart that had been
offered to anybody else. Pray, tell me how you like her, and what fault
you find in my Lady Carlisle's letter? Methinks the hand and the style
both show her a great person, and 'tis writ in the way that's now
affected by all that pretend to wit and good breeding; only, I am a
little scandalized to confess that she uses that word faithful,--she
that never knew how to be so in her life.
I have sent you my picture because you wished for it; but, pray, let it
not presume to disturb my Lady Sunderland's. Put it in some corner where
no eyes may find it out but yours, to whom it is only intended. 'Tis not
a very good one, but the best I shall ever have drawn of me; for, as my
Lady says, my time for pictures is past, and therefore I have always
refused to part with this, because I was sure the next would be a worse.
There is a beauty in youth that every one has once in their lives; and I
remember my mother used to say there was never anybody (that was not
deformed) but were handsome, to some reasonable degree, once between
fourteen and twenty. It must hang with the light on the left hand of it;
and you may keep it if you please till I bring you the original. But
then I must borrow it (for 'tis no more mine, if you like it), because
my brother is often bringing people into my closet where it hangs, to
show them other pictures that are there; and if he miss this long
thence, 'twould trouble his jealous head.
15.
Sir,--
Who would be kind to one that reproaches one so cruelly? Do you think,
in earnest, I could be satisfied the world should think me a dissembler,
full of avarice or ambition? No, you are mistaken; but I'll tell you
what I could suffer, that they should say I married where I had no
inclination, because my friends thought it fit, rather than that I had
run wilfully to my own ruin in pursuit of a fond passion of my own. To
marry for love were no reproachful thing if we did not see that of the
thousand couples that do it, hardly one can be brought for an example
that it may be done and not repented afterwards. Is there anything
thought so indiscreet, or that makes one more contemptible? 'Tis true
that I do firmly believe we should be, as you say, _toujours les
mesmes_; but if (as you confess) 'tis that which hardly happens once in
two ages, we are not to expect the world should discern we were not like
the rest. I'll tell you stories another time, you return them so
handsomely upon me. Well, the next servant I tell you of shall not be
called a whelp, if 'twere not to give you a stick to beat myself with. I
would confess that I looked upon the impudence of this fellow as a
punishment upon me for my over care in avoiding the talk of the world;
yet the case is very different, and no woman shall ever be blamed that
an inconsolable person pretends to her when she gives no allowance to
it, whereas none shall 'scape that owns a passion, though in return of a
person much above her. The little tailor that loved Queen Elizabeth was
suffered to talk out, and none of her Council thought it necessary to
stop his mouth; but the Queen of Sweden's kind letter to the King of
Scots was intercepted by her own ambassador, because he thought it was
not for his mistress's honour (at least that was his pretended reason),
and thought justifiable enough. But to come to my Beagle again. I have
heard no more of him, though I have seen him since; we meet at Wrest
again. I do not doubt but I shall be better able to resist his
importunity than his tutor was; but what do you think it is that gives
him his encouragement? He was told I had thought of marrying a gentleman
that had not above two hundred pound a year, only out of my liking to
his person. And upon that score his vanity allows him to think he may
pretend as far as another. Thus you see 'tis not altogether without
reason that I apprehend the noise of the world, since 'tis so much to my
disadvantage.