They were both of them men of good sense and great virtue. They
prosecuted their studies together in their earliest years, and entered
into such a friendship as lasted to the end of their lives.
_Eudoxus_, at his first setting out in the world, threw himself
into a court, where, by his natural endowments and his acquired
abilities, he made his way from one post to another, till at length he
had raised a very considerable fortune. _Leontine_ on the contrary
sought all opportunities of improving his mind by study, conversation,
and travel. He was not only acquainted with all the sciences, but with
the most eminent professors of them throughout _Europe_. He knew
perfectly well the interests of its princes, with the customs and
fashions of their courts, and could scarce meet with the name of an
extraordinary person in the _Gazette_ whom he had not either talked
to or seen. In short, he had so well mixed and digested his knowledge of
men and books, that he made one of the most accomplished persons of his
age. During the whole course of his studies and travels, he kept up a
punctual correspondence with _Eudoxus_, who often made himself
acceptable to the principal men about court, by the intelligence which
he received from _Leontine_. When they were both turned of forty
(an age in which, according to Mr. _Cowley, there is no dallying with
life_) they determined, pursuant to the resolution they had taken in
the beginning of their lives, to retire, and pass the remainder of their
days in the country. In order to this, they both of them married much
about the same time. _Leontine_, with his own and his wife's
fortune, bought a farm of three hundred a-year, which lay within the
neighbourhood of his friend _Eudoxus_, who had purchased an estate
of as many thousands; they were both of them fathers about the same
time, _Eudoxus_ having a son born to him, and _Leontine_ a
daughter; but to the unspeakable grief of the latter, his young wife (in
whom all his happiness was wrapt up) died in a few days after the birth
of her daughter. His affliction would have been insupportable, had he
not been comforted by the daily visits and conversations of his friend.
As they were one day talking together with their usual intimacy,
_Leontine_, considering how incapable he was of giving his daughter
a proper education in his own house, and _Eudoxus_ reflecting on
the ordinary behaviour of a son who knows himself to be the heir of a
great estate, they both agreed upon an exchange of children, namely,
that the boy should be bred up with _Leontine_ as his son, and that
the girl should live with _Eudoxus_ as his daughter, till they were
each of them arrived at years of discretion. The wife of _Eudoxus_,
knowing that her son could not be so advantageously brought up as under
the care of _Leontine_, and considering at the same time that he
would be perpetually under her own eye, was by degrees prevailed upon to
fall in with the project. She therefore took _Leonilla_, for that
was the name of the girl, and educated her as her own daughter. The two
friends on each side had wrought themselves to such an habitual
tenderness for the children who were under their direction, that each of
them had the real passion of a father, where the title was but
imaginary. _Florio_, the name of the young heir that lived with
_Leontine_, though he had all the duty and affection imaginable for
his supposed parent, was taught to rejoice at the sight of
_Eudoxus_, who visited his friend very frequently, and was dictated
by his natural affection, as well as by the rules of prudence, to make
himself esteemed and beloved by _Florio_. The boy was now old
enough to know his supposed father's circumstances, and that therefore
he was to make his way in the world by his own industry. This
consideration grew stronger in him every day, and produced so good an
effect, that he applied himself with more than ordinary attention to the
pursuit of every thing which _Leontine_ recommended to him. His
natural abilities, which were very good, assisted by the directions of
so excellent a counsellor, enabled him to make a quicker progress than
ordinary through all the parts of his education. Before he was twenty
years of age, having finished his studies and exercises with great
applause, he was removed from the University to the Inns of Court, where
there are very few that make themselves considerable proficients in the
studies of the place, who know they shall arrive at great estates
without them. This was not _Florio's_ case; he found that three
hundred a-year was but a poor estate for _Leontine_ and himself to
live upon, so that he studied without intermission till he gained a very
good insight into the constitution and laws of his country.
I should have told my reader, that whilst _Florio_ lived at the
house of his foster-father, he was always an acceptable guest in the
family of _Eudoxus_, where he became acquainted with
_Leonilla_ from her infancy. His acquaintance with her by degrees
grew into love, which, in a mind trained up in all the sentiments of
honour and virtue, became a very uneasy passion. He despaired of gaining
an heiress of so great a fortune, and would rather have died than
attempted it by any indirect methods. _Leonilla_, who was a woman
of the greatest beauty joined with the greatest modesty, entertained at
the same time a secret passion for _Florio_, but conducted herself
with so much prudence that she never gave him the least intimation of
it. _Florio_ was now engaged in all those arts and improvements
that are proper to raise a man's private fortune, and give him a figure
in his country, but secretly tormented with that passion which burns
with the greatest fury in a virtuous and noble heart, when he received a
sudden summons from _Leontine_ to repair to him in the country the
next day. For it seems _Eudoxus_ was so filled with the report of
his son's reputation, that he could no longer with-hold making himself
known to him. The morning after his arrival at the house of his supposed
father, _Leontine_ told him that _Eudoxus_ had something of
great importance to communicate to him; upon which the good man embraced
him, and wept. _Florio_ was no sooner arrived at the great house
that stood in his neighbourhood, but _Eudoxus_ took him by the
hand, after the first salutes were over, and conducted him into his
closet. He there opened to him the whole secret of his parentage and
education, concluding after this manner: _I have no other way left of
acknowledging my gratitude to_ Leontine, _than by marrying you to
his daughter. He shall not lose the pleasure of being your father by the
discovery I have made to you._ Leonilla _too shall still be my
daughter; her filial piety, though misplaced, has been so exemplary,
that it deserves the greatest reward I can confer upon it. You shall
have the pleasure of seeing a great estate fall to you, which you would
have lost the relish of had you known yourself born to it. Continue only
to deserve it in the same manner you did before you were possessed of
it. I have left your mother in the next room. Her heart yearns towards
you. She is making the same discoveries to_ Leonilla _which I have
made to yourself._ _Florio_ was so overwhelmed with this
profusion of happiness, that he was not able to make a reply, but threw
himself down at his father's feet, and, amidst a flood of tears, kissed
and embraced his knees, asking his blessing, and expressing in dumb show
those sentiments of love, duty, and gratitude that were too big for
utterance. To conclude, the happy pair were married, and half
_Eudoxus_'s estate settled upon them. _Leontine_ and
_Eudoxus_ passed the remainder of their lives together; and
received in the dutiful and affectionate behaviour of _Florio_ and
_Leonilla_ the just recompense as well as the natural effects of
that care which they had bestowed upon them in their education. L.
No. 125. TUESDAY, JULY 24.
_Ne, pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella,
Neu patrice validas in viscera vertite vires._
VIRG. AEn. vi. v. 832.
Embrace again, my sons, be foes no more,
Nor stain your country with her children's gore.
DRYDEN.
My worthy friend Sir Roger, when we are talking of the malice of
parties, very frequently tells us an accident that happened to him when
he was a schoolboy, which was at a time when the feuds ran high between
the Round-heads and Cavaliers. This worthy Knight, being then but a
stripling, had occasion to inquire which was the way to St.
_Anne_'s Lane, upon which the person whom he spoke to, instead of
answering his question, called him a young Popish Cur, and asked him who
had made _Anne_ a saint! The boy, being in some confusion, inquired
of the next he met, which was the way to _Anne_'s Lane; but was
called a prickeared cur for his pains, and instead of being shown the
way, was told that she had been a saint before he was born, and would be
one after he was hanged. Upon this, says Sir Roger, I did not think fit
to repeat the former question, but going into every lane of the
neighbourhood, asked what they called the name of that lane. By which
ingenious artifice he found out the place he inquired after, without
giving offence to any party. Sir ROGER generally closes this narrative
with reflections on the mischief that parties do in the country; how
they spoil good neighbourhood, and make honest gentlemen hate one
another; besides that they manifestly tend to the prejudice of the land-
tax, and the destruction of the game.
There cannot a greater judgment befal a country than such a dreadful
spirit of division as rends a government into two distinct people, and
makes them greater strangers and more averse to one another, than if
they were actually two different nations. The effects of such a division
are pernicious to the last degree, not only with regard to those
advantages which they give the common enemy, but to those private evils
which they produce in the heart of almost every particular person. This
influence is very fatal both to men's morals and their understandings;
it sinks the virtue of a nation, and not only so, but destroys even
common sense.
A furious party-spirit, when it rages in its full violence, exerts
itself in civil war and bloodshed; and when it is under its greatest
restraints naturally breaks out in falsehood, detraction, calumny, and a
partial administration of justice. In a word, it fills a nation with
spleen and rancour, and extinguishes all the seeds of good-nature,
compassion, and humanity.
_Plutarch_ says very finely, that a man should not allow himself to
hate even his enemies, because, says he, if you indulge this passion in
some occasions, it will rise of itself in others; if you hate your
enemies, you will contract such a vicious habit of mind, as by degrees
will break out upon those who are your friends, or those who are
indifferent to you. I might here observe how admirably this precept of
morality (which derives the malignity of hatred from the passion itself,
and not from its object) answers to that great rule which was dictated
to the world about an hundred years before this philosopher wrote; but,
instead of that, I shall only take notice, with a real grief of heart,
that the minds of many good men among us appear soured with party-
principles, and alienated from one another in such a manner, as seems to
me altogether inconsistent with the dictates either of reason or
religion. Zeal for a publick cause is apt to breed passions in the
hearts of virtuous persons, to which the regard of their own private
interest would never have betrayed them.
If this party-spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it has likewise
a very great one upon our judgments. We often hear a poor insipid paper
or pamphlet cried up, and sometimes a noble piece depreciated, by those
who are of a different principle from the author. One who is actuated by
this spirit is almost under an incapacity of discerning either real
blemishes or beauties. A man of merit in a different principle is like
an object seen in two different mediums, that appears crooked or broken,
however straight and entire it may be in itself. For this reason there
is scarce a person of any figure in _England_, who does not go by
two contrary characters, as opposite to one another as light and
darkness. Knowledge and learning suffer in a particular manner from this
strange prejudice, which at present prevails amongst all ranks and
degrees in the _British_ nation. As men formerly became eminent in
learned societies by their parts and acquisitions, they now distinguish
themselves by the warmth and violence with which they espouse their
respective parties. Books are valued upon the like considerations: an
abusive scurrilous style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party-
notions is called fine writing.
There is one piece of sophistry practised by both sides, and that is the
taking any scandalous story that has been ever whispered or invented of
a private man, for a known undoubted truth, and raising suitable
speculations upon it. Calumnies that have been never proved, or have
been often refuted, are the ordinary postulatums of these infamous
scribblers, upon which they proceed as upon first principles granted by
all men, though in their hearts they know they are false, or at best
very doubtful. When they have laid these foundations of scurrility, it
is no wonder that their superstructure is every way answerable to them.
If this shameless practice of the present age endures much longer,
praise and reproach will cease to be motives of action in good men.
There are certain periods of time in all governments when this inhuman
spirit prevails. _Italy_ was long torn in pieces by the
_Guelfes_ and _Gibellines_, and _France_ by those who
were for and against the League: but it is very unhappy for a man to be
born in such a stormy and tempestuous season. It is the restless
ambition of artful men that thus breaks a people into factions, and
draws several well-meaning persons to their interest, by a specious
concern for their country. How many honest minds are filled with
uncharitable and barbarous notions, out of their zeal for the publick
good? What cruelties and outrages would they not commit against men of
an adverse party, whom they would honour and esteem, if, instead of
considering them as they are represented, they knew them as they are?
Thus are persons of the greatest probity seduced into shameful errors
and prejudices, and made bad men even by that noblest of principles, the
love of their country. I cannot here forbear mentioning the famous
_Spanish_ proverb, _If there were neither fools nor knaves in the
world, all people would be of one mind_.
For my own part, I could heartily wish that all honest men would enter
into an association, for the support of one another against the
endeavours of those whom they ought to look upon as their common
enemies, whatsoever side they may belong to. Were there such an honest
body of neutral forces, we should never see the worst of men in great
figures of life, because they are useful to a party; nor the best
unregarded, because they are above practising those methods which would
be grateful to their faction. We should then single every criminal out
of the herd, and hunt him down, however formidable and overgrown he
might appear: On the contrary, we should shelter distressed innocence,
and defend virtue, however beset with contempt or ridicule, envy or
defamation. In short, we should not any longer regard our fellow-
subjects as Whigs or Tories, but should make the man of merit our
friend, and the villain our enemy. C.
No. 126. WEDNESDAY, JULY 25.
_Tros Rutulusve fuat, nullo discrimim habebo._
VIRG. AEn. x. ver. 108.
_Rutulians_, _Trojans_, are the same to me.
DRYDEN.
In my yesterday's paper I proposed, that the honest men of all parties
should enter into a kind of association for the defence of one another,
and the confusion of their common enemies. As it is designed this
neutral body should act with a regard to nothing but truth and equity,
and divest themselves of the little heats and prepossessions that cleave
to parties of all kinds, I have prepared for them the following form of
an association, which may express their intentions in the most plain and
simple manner.
_We whose names are hereunto subscribed do solemnly declare, That we
do in our consciences believe two and two make four; and that we shall
adjudge any man whatsoever to be our enemy who endeavours to persuade us
to the contrary. We are likewise ready to maintain with the hazard of
all that is near and dear to us, That six is less than seven in all
times and all places; and that ten will not be more three years hence
than it is at present. We do also firmly declare, That it is our
resolution, as long as we live, to call black, black; and white, white.
And we shall upon all occasions oppose such persons, that, upon any day
of the year, shall call black white, or white black, with the utmost
peril of our lives and fortunes_.
Were there such a combination of honest men, who, without any regard to
places, would endeavour to extirpate all such furious zealots as would
sacrifice one half of their country to the passion and interest of the
other; as also such infamous hypocrites, that are for promoting their
own advantage, under colour of the publick good; with all the profligate
immoral retainers to each side, that have nothing to recommend them but
an implicit submission to their leaders; we should soon see that furious
party-spirit extinguished, which may in time expose us to the derision
and contempt of all the nations about us.
A member of this society, that would thus carefully employ himself in
making room for merit, by throwing down the worthless and depraved part
of mankind from those conspicuous stations of life to which they have
been sometimes advanced, and all this without any regard to his private
interest, would be no small benefactor to his country.
I remember to have read in _Diodorus Siculus_ an account of a very
active little animal, which I think he calls the _Ichneumon_, that
makes it the whole business of his life to break the eggs of the
crocodile, which he is always in search after. This instinct is the more
remarkable, because the _Ichneumon_ never feeds upon the eggs he
has broken, nor any other way finds his account in them.
Were it not for the incessant labours of this industrious animal,
_AEgypt_, says the historian, would be over-run with crocodiles; for
the _AEgyptians_ are so far from destroying those pernicious
creatures, that they worship them as gods.
If we look into the behaviour of ordinary Partizans, we shall find them
far from resembling this disinterested animal; and rather acting after
the example of the wild _Tartars_, who are ambitious of destroying
a man of the most extraordinary parts and accomplishments, as thinking
upon his decease the same talents, whatever post they qualified him for,
enter of course into his destroyer.
As in the whole train of my Speculations, I have endeavoured as much as
I am able to extinguish that pernicious spirit of passion and prejudice,
which rages with the same violence in all parties, I am still the more
desirous of doing some good in this particular, because I observe that
the spirit of party reigns more in the country than in the town. It here
contracts a kind of brutality and rustick fierceness, to which men of
politer conversation are wholly strangers. It extends itself even to the
return of the bow and the hat; and at the same time that the heads of
parties preserve towards one another an outward show of good-breeding,
and keep up a perpetual intercourse of civilities, their tools that are
dispersed in these outlying parts will not so much as mingle together at
a cock-match. This humour fills the country with several periodical
meetings of Whig Jockeys and Tory Fox-hunters; not to mention the
innumerable curses, frowns, and whispers it produces at a quarter-
sessions.
I do not know whether I have observed in any of my former papers, that
my friends Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY and Sir ANDREW FREEPORT are of
different principles, the first of them inclined to the _landed_
and the other to the _monied_ interest. This humour is so moderate
in each of them, that it proceeds no farther than to an agreeable
rallery, which very often diverts the rest of the club. I find however
that the Knight is a much stronger Tory in the country than in town,
which, as he has told me in my ear, is absolutely necessary for the
keeping up his interest. In all our journey from _London_ to his
house we did not so much as bait at a Whig inn; or, if by chance the
coachman stopped at a wrong place, one of Sir ROGER'S servants would
ride up to his master full speed, and whisper to him that the master of
the house was against such an one in the last election. This often
betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer; for we were not so inquisitive
about the inn as the inn-keeper; and, provided our landlord's principles
were sound, did not take any notice of the staleness of his provisions.
This I found still the more inconvenient, because the better the host
was, the worse generally were his accommodations; the fellow knowing
very well that those who were his friends would take up with coarse diet
and an hard lodging. For these reasons, all the while I was upon the
road, I dreaded entering into an house of any one that Sir ROGER had
applauded for an honest man.
Since my stay at Sir ROGER'S in the country, I daily find more instances
of this narrow party-humour. Being upon a bowling-green at a
neighbouring market-town the other day, (for that is the place where the
gentlemen of one side meet once a week) I observed a stranger among them
of a better presence and genteeler behaviour than ordinary; but was much
surprised, that notwithstanding he was a very fair _bettor_, no
body would take him up. But upon inquiry I found, that he was one who
had given a disagreeable vote in a former parliament, for which reason
there was not a man upon that bowling-green who would have so much
correspondence with him as to win his money of him.
Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit one which concerns
myself. _Will Wimble_ was the other day relating several strange
stories that he had picked up no body knows where, of a certain great
man; and upon my staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear such
things in the country, which had never been so much as whispered in the
town, _Will_ stopped short in the thread of his discourse, and
after dinner asked my friend Sir ROGER in his ear if he was sure that I
was not a fanatick.
It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dissension in the
country; not only as it destroys virtue and common sense, and renders us
in a manner barbarians towards one another, but as it perpetuates our
animosities, widens our breaches, and transmits our present passions and
prejudices to our posterity. For my own part, I am sometimes afraid that
I discover the seeds of a civil war in these our divisions; and
therefore cannot but bewail, as in their first principles, the miseries
and calamities of our children. C.
No. 127. THURSDAY, JULY 26.
_Quantum est in rebus inane?_
PERS. Sat. i. ver. 1.
How much of emptiness we find in things!
It is our custom at Sir ROGER'S, upon the coming in of the post, to sit
about a pot of coffee, and hear the old Knight read _Dyer_'s
letter; which he does with his spectacles upon his nose, and in an
audible voice, smiling very often at those little strokes of satire,
which are so frequent in the writings of that author; I afterwards
communicate to the Knight such packets as I receive under the quality of
SPECTATOR. The following letter chancing to please him more than
ordinary, I shall publish it at his request.
'Mr. SPECTATOR,