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 hare or partridge, on purpose to spare his own
fields, where he is always sure of finding to diversion, when the worst
comes to the worst. By this means the breed about his house has time to
increase and multiply, beside 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 myself, and I hope to others. I
am here forced to use a great deal of diligence before I can spring
anything 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 myself 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 extremely 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 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 myself.
On the other side, some of Sir ROGER'S friends are afraid the old Knight
is imposed 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 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 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 myself, 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 do not 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 dairymaids. 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_
'WILL HONEYCOMB.'
C.
No. 132. WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 1.
_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.
That man is guilty of impertinence, who considers not
The circumstances of time, or engrosses the conversation,
or makes himself the subject of his discourse, or
pays no regard to the company he is in.
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
country 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, inquired 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, her guardian; and a gentleman that had studied himself dumb,
from Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY'S. I observed by what he said of myself, that
according to his office he dealt much in intelligence; and doubted not
but there was some foundation for his reports for 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 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 so as to be spoiled; upon which his
cloak-bag was fixed in the seat 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 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
yourself, 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 nothing; but how dost thou know what he
containeth? If thou speakest improper things in the hearing of this
virtuous young virgin, consider it as 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 some degree assaulting on the high road.'
Here _Ephraim_ paused, and the captain with a happy and uncommon
impudence (which can be convicted and support itself 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
smoky old fellow, and I'll 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 soured 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 upon 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 considered the company we were in, I
took it for no small good-fortune that the whole journey was not spent
in impertinencies, which to the one part of us might be an
entertainment, to the other a suffering. What therefore _Ephraim_
said when we were almost arrived 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_ delivered himself as follows: 'There
is no ordinary part of human 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
thyself terrible for thy garb, nor such a one as me contemptible for
mine. When two such as thee and I meet, with affections such as we ought
to have towards each other, thou shouldst rejoice to see my peaceable
demeanour, and I should be glad to see thy strength and ability to
protect me in it.' T.
No. 269. TUESDAY, JANUARY 8.
_Aevo rarissima nostro
Simplicitas._
OVID, Ars Am. lib. i. ver. 241.
And brings our old simplicity again.
DRYDEN.
I was this morning surprised with a great knocking at the door, when my
landlady's daughter came up to me, and told me that there was a man
below desired to speak with me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told
me it was a very grave elderly person, but that she did not know his
name. I immediately went down to him, and found him to be the coachman
of my worthy friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY. He told me, that his master
came to town last night, and would be glad to take a turn with me in
_Gray's-Inn_ walks. As I was wondering in myself what had brought
Sir ROGER to town, not having lately received any letter from him, he
told me that his master was come up to get a sight of Prince
_Eugene_, and that he desired I would immediately meet him.
I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old Knight, though
I did not much wonder at it, having heard him say more than once in
private discourse, that he looked upon Prince _Eugenio_ (for so the
Knight always calls him) to be a greater man than _Scanderbeg_.
I was no sooner come into _Gray's-Inn_ walks, but I heard my friend
upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice to himself with great vigour,
for he loves to clear his pipes in good air (to make use of his own
phrase), and is not a little pleased with any one who takes notice of
the strength which he still exerts in his morning hems.
I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good old man, who
before he saw me was engaged in conversation with a beggar man that had
asked an alms of him. I could hear my friend chide him for not finding
out some work; but at the same time saw him put his hand in his pocket
and give him sixpence.
Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consisting of many kind
shakes of the hand, and several affectionate looks which we cast upon
one another. After which the Knight told me my good friend his chaplain
was very well, and much at my service, and that the _Sunday_ before
he had made a most incomparable sermon out of Dr. _Barrow_. 'I have
left,' says he, 'all my affairs in his hands, and being willing to lay
an obligation upon him, have deposited with him thirty merks, to be
distributed among his poor parishioners.'
He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of _Will Wimble_.
Upon which he put his hand into his fob, and presented me in his name
with a tobacco-stopper, telling me that _Will_ had been busy all
the beginning of the winter in turning great quantities of them; and
that he made a present of one to every gentleman in the country who has
good principles, and smokes. He added, that poor _Will_ was at
present under great tribulation, for that _Tom Touchy_ had taken
the law of him for cutting some hazel-sticks out of one of his hedges.
Among other pieces of news which the Knight brought from his country-
seat, he informed me that _Moll White_ was dead; and that about a
month after her death the wind was so very high, that it blew down the
end of one of his barns. 'But for my own part,' says Sir ROGER, 'I do
not think that the old woman had any hand in it.'
He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions which had passed in
his house during the holidays; for Sir ROGER, after the laudable custom
of his ancestors, always keeps open house at _Christmas_. I learned
from him that he had killed eight fat hogs for this season, that he had
dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his neighbours, and that
in particular he had sent a string of hogs-puddings with a pack of cards
to every poor family in the parish. 'I have often thought,' says Sir
ROGER, 'it happens very well that _Christmas_ should fall out in
the middle of winter. It is the most dead uncomfortable time of the
year, when the poor people would suffer very much from their poverty and
cold, if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and _Christmas_
Gambols to support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this
season, and to see the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a
double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set it a running for
twelve days to every one that calls for it. I have always a piece of
cold beef and a mince-pye upon the table, and am wonderfully pleased to
see my tenants pass away a whole evening in playing their innocent
tricks, and smutting one another. Our friend _Will Wimble_ is as
merry as any of them, and shews a thousand roguish tricks upon these
occasions.'
I was very much delighted with the reflexion of my old friend, which
carried so much goodness in it. He then launched out into the praise of
the late act of Parliament for securing the Church of _England_,
and told me, with great satisfaction, that he believed it already began
to take effect, for that a rigid dissenter who chanced to dine at his
house on _Christmas_ day, had been observed to eat very plentifully
of his plumb-porridge.
After having dispatched all our country matters, Sir ROGER made several
inquiries concerning the club, and particularly of his old antagonist
Sir ANDREW FREEPORT. He asked me with a kind of a smile, whether Sir
ANDREW had not taken the advantage of his absence, to vent among them
some of his republican doctrines; but soon after gathering up his
countenance into a more than ordinary seriousness, 'Tell me truly,' says
he, 'do not you think Sir ANDREW had a hand in the Pope's procession?'--
but without giving me time to answer him, 'Well, well,' says he, 'I know
you are a wary man, and do not care to talk of public matters.'
The Knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eugenio, and made me
promise to get him a stand in some convenient place, where he might have
a full sight of that extraordinary man, whose presence does so much
honour to the _British_ nation. He dwelt very long on the praises
of this great General, and I found that, since I was with him in the
country, he had drawn many just observations together out of his reading
in _Baker's_ Chronicle, and other authors, who always lie in his
hall window, which very much redound to the honour of this Prince.
Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in hearing the
Knight's reflexions, which were partly private, and partly political, he
asked me if I would smoke a pipe with him over a dish of Coffee at
_Squire's_. As I love the old man, I take delight in complying with
every thing that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to
the coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of
the whole room. He had no sooner seated himself at the upper end of the
high table, but he called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish
of coffee, a wax-candle, and the _Supplement_, with such an air of
cheerfulness and good humour, that all the boys in the coffee-room (who
seemed to take pleasure in serving him) were at once employed on his
several errands, insomuch that no body else could come at a dish of tea,
until the Knight had got all his conveniences about him. L.
No. 329. TUESDAY, MARCH 18.
_Ire tamen restat,
Numa quo devenit, et Ancus._
HOR. Ep. vi. 1. i. ver. 27.
With _Ancus_, and with _Numa_, kings of _Rome_,
We must descend into the silent tomb.
My friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY told me the other night, that he had
been reading my paper upon _Westminster Abbey_, 'in which,' says
he, 'there are a great many ingenious fancies.' He told me at the same
time, that he observed I had promised another paper upon _the
Tombs_, and that he should be glad to go and see them with me, not
having visited them since he had read history. I could not at first
imagine how this came into the Knight's head, till I recollected that he
had been very busy all last summer upon _Baker's_ Chronicle, which
he has quoted several times in his disputes with Sir ANDREW FREEPORT
since his last coming to town. Accordingly I promised to call upon him
the next morning, that we might go together to the _Abbey_.
I found the Knight under his butler's hands, who always shaves him. He
was no sooner dressed than he called for a glass of the widow
_Trueby's_ water, which they told me he always drank before he went
abroad. He recommended to me a dram of it at the same time, with so much
heartiness, that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got
it down, I found it very unpalatable, upon which the Knight observing
that I had made several wry faces, told me that he knew I should not
like it at first, but that it was the best thing in the world against
the stone or gravel.
I could have wished indeed that he had acquainted me with the virtues of
it sooner; but it was too late to complain, and I knew what he had done
was out of good-will. Sir ROGER told me further, that he looked upon it
to be very good for a man whilst he staid in town, to keep off
infection, and that he got together a quantity of it upon the first news
of the sickness being at _Dantzick_: When of a sudden, turning
short to one of his servants who stood behind him, he bid him call a
hackney-coach, and take care it was an elderly man that drove it.
He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. _Trueby's_ water, telling
me that the widow _Trueby_ was one who did more good than all the
doctors or apothecaries in the country: That she distilled every poppy
that grew within five miles of her; that she distributed her water
_gratis_ among all sorts of people; to which the knight added, that
she had a very great jointure, and that the whole country would fain
have it a match between him and her; 'and truly,' says Sir ROGER, 'if I
had not been engaged, perhaps I could not have done better.'
His discourse was broken off by his man's telling him he had called a
coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast his eye upon the wheels,
he asked the coachman if his axle-tree was good; upon the fellow's
telling him he would warrant it, the Knight turned to me, told me he
looked like an honest man, and went in without further ceremony.
We had not gone far, when Sir ROGER, popping out his head, called the
coachman down from his box, and, upon presenting himself at the window,
asked him if he smoked; as I was considering what this would end in, he
bid him stop by the way at any good tobacconist's and take in a roll of
their best _Virginia_. Nothing material happened in the remaining
part of our journey, till we were set down at the west end of the
_Abbey_.
As we went up the body of the church, the Knight pointed at the trophies
upon one of the new monuments, and cried out, 'A brave man, I warrant
him!' Passing afterwards by Sir _Cloudesly Shovel_, he flung his
hand that way, and cried, 'Sir _Cloudesly Shovel_! a very gallant
man!' As he stood before _Busby's_ tomb, the Knight uttered himself
again after the same manner, 'Dr. _Busby_, a great man! he whipped
my grandfather; a very great man! I should have gone to him myself, if I
had not been a blockhead; a very great man!'
We were immediately conducted to the little chapel on the right hand.
Sir ROGER, planting himself at our historian's elbow, was very attentive
to every thing he said, particularly to the account he gave us of the
lord who had cut off the king of _Morocco's_ head. Among several
other figures, he was very well pleased to see the statesman
_Cecil_ upon his knees; and concluding them all to be great men,
was conducted to the figure which represents that martyr to good
housewifery, who died by the prick of a needle. Upon our interpreter's
telling us that she was a maid of honour to queen _Elizabeth_, the
Knight was very inquisitive into her name and family; and after having
regarded her finger for some time, 'I wonder,' says he, 'that Sir
_Richard Baker_ has said nothing of her in his Chronicle.'