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Charles the Second's reign, the people | time of the year; and set the heads of our having made very little variations in their servant-maids so agog for husbands that we dress since that time. The smartest of do not expect to have any business done as the country 'squires appear still in the it should be, whilst they are in the country. Monmouth-cock, and when they go a woo-I have an honest dairy-maid who crosses ing (whether they have any post in the their hands with a piece of silver every militia or not) they generally put on a red summer, and never fails being promised the coat. We were, indeed, very much sur- handsomest young fellow in the parish for prised, at the place we lay at last night, to her pains. Your friend the butler has been meet with a gentleman that had accoutred fool enough to be seduced by them; and himself in a night-cap-wig, a coat with long though he is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or pockets and slit sleeves, and a pair of shoes a spoon every time his fortune is told him, with high scollop tops; but we soon found generally shuts himself up in the pantry by his conversation that he was a person with an old gipsy for above half an hour who laughed at the ignorance and rusticity once in a twelve-month. Sweethearts are of the country people, and was resolved to the things they live upon, which they belive and die in the mode. stow very plentifully upon all those that apply themselves to them. You see now and then some handsome young jades among them: the sluts have very often white teeth and black eyes.'
Sir Roger observing that I listened with great attention to his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, told me, that, if I would, they should tell us our fortunes. As I was very well pleased with the knight's proposal, we rid up and communicated our hands to them. A Cassandra of the crew, after having examined my lines very diligently, told me, that I loved a pretty maid in a corner, that I was a good woman's man, with some other particulars which I do not think proper to relate. My friend Sir Roger alighted from his horse, and exposing his palm to two or three that stood by him, they crumpled it into all shapes, and diligently scanned every wrinkle that could be made in it; when one of them, who was older and more sun-burnt than the rest, told him, that he had a widow in his line of life. Upon which the knight cried, Go, go, you are an idle baggage;' and at the same time smiled upon me. The gipsy finding he was not displeased in his heart, told him after a farther inquiry into his hand, that his true-love was constant, and that she should dream of him to-night. My old friend cried Pish! and bid her go on. The gipsy told him that he was a bachelor, but would not be so long; and that he was dearer to somebody than he thought. The knight still repeated, 'She was an idle baggage,' and bid her go on. 'Ah, master,' says the gipsy, that roguish leer of yours makes a pretty woman's heart ache; you have not that simper about the mouth for nothing.-The uncouth gibberish with which all this was uttered, like the darkness of an oracle, made us the more attentive to it. To be short, the knight left the money with her that he had crossed her hand with, and got up again on his horse.
As we were riding away, Sir Roger told me, that he knew several sensible people, who believed these gipsies now and ther foretold very strange things; and for halt an hour together appeared more jocund than ordinary. In the height of his goodi humour; meeting a common beggar upon
Sir, if you think this account of my travels may be of any advantage to the public, I will next year trouble you with such occurrences as I shall meet with in other parts of England. For I am informed there are greater curiosities in the northern circuit than in the western; and that a fashion makes its progress much slower into Cumberland than into Cornwall. I have heard in particular, that the Steenkirk* arrived but two months ago at Newcastle, and that there are several commodes in those parts which are worth taking a journey thither to see.' C.
No. 130.] Monday, July 30, 1711.
As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my friend Sir Roger, we saw at a little distance from us a troop of gipsies. Upon the first discovery of them, my friend was in some doubt whether he should not exert the justice of the peace upon such a band of lawless vagrants; but not having his clerk with him, who is a necessary counsellor on these occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare the worse for it, he let the thought drop; but at the same time gave me a particular account of the misChiefs they do in the country, in stealing people's goods and spoiling their servants. If a stray piece of linen hangs upon a hedge,' says Sir Roger, they are sure to have it; if a hog loses his way in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes their prey: our geese cannot live in peace for them; if a man prosecutes them with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay for it. They generally straggle into these parts about this
The Steenkirk was a military cravat of black silk. This, as well as many other ornaments of dress, received the name from the overjoyed Parisians after the battle of Steenkirk, fought Aug. 2. 1692; and the English, with their accustomed complacency towards every thing French, adopted it, although its very name was in
tended to perpetuate the remembrance of their own Sovereign's defeat.
the road, who was no conjurer, as he went | ral countries as a public minister, in which
Virg. Ec. x. 63.
I might here entertain my reader with
ing part of my paper with a story which is
No. 131.] Tuesday, July 31, 1711.
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. character which I go under in neighbourhood, is what they 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.
So that the | Moll White, and Will Wimble. Prythee part of the do not send us any more stories of a cock here call a and a bull, nor frighten the town with gin to smell confoundedly of woods and spirits and witches. Thy speculations bemeadows. 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,
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 No. 132.] Wednesday, August 1, 1711.
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 halloo, 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 meanwhile, 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.
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
Qui, aut tempus quid postulet non videt, aut plura tionem non habet, is ineptus esse dicitur.-Tull. loquitur, aut se ostentat, aut eorum quibuscum est ra
not the circumstances of time, or engrosses the conversaThat man may be called impertinent, who considers tion, or makes himself the subject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the company he is in.
Roger that I should set out for London the HAVING notified to my good friend Sir 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, berlain in my hearing what company he had who waited upon me, inquired of the chamfor 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 of the rest of the company, as well as for the whimsical account he gave of me. morning at day-break we were all called; The next 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 the coachbox.
pertinent if thou hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou art, I see, a smoky old fellow, and I will 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 beha
We were in some little time fixed in our seats, an 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 iniles, 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 im-viour of our coachman, and the right we pudent; take me yourself, widow, or give had of taking place, as going to London, of me to her; I will be wholly at your disposal. all vehicles coming from thence. The ocI am a soldier of fortune, ha!'-This was currences we met with were ordinary, and followed by a vain laugh of his own, and a very little happened which could entertain deep silence of all the rest of the company. I by the relation of them: but when I conhad nothing left for it but to fall fast asleep, sidered the company we were in, I took it which I did with all speed.—'Come,' said for no small good-fortune, that the whole he, resolve upon it, we will make a wed- journey was not spent in impertinences, ding at the next town: we will wake this which to one part of us might be an enterpleasant companion who is fallen asleep, to tainment, to the other a suffering. What, be the brideman; and,' giving the quaker a therefore, Ephraim said, when we were clap on the knee, he concluded, this sly almost arrived at London, had to me an air saint, who, I will warrant, understands not only of good understanding, but good what is what as well as you or I, widow, breeding. Upon the young lady's expressshall give the bride as father.' The quaker, ing her satisfaction in the journey, and dewho happened to be a man of smartness, claring how delightful it had been to her, answered, Friend, I take it in good part Ephraim declared himself as follows:that thou hast given me the authority of a There is no ordinary part of human life, father over this comely and virtuous child; which expresseth so much a good mind, and I must assure thee, that if I have the and a right inward man, as his behaviour giving her, I shall not bestow her on thee. upon meeting with strangers, especially Thy mirth, friend, savoureth of folly: thou such as may seem the most unsuitable comart a person of a light mind, thy drum is a panions to him: such a man, when he falleth type of thee, it soundeth because it is empty. in the way with persons of simplicity and Verily, it is not from thy fulness, but thy innocence, however knowing he may be in emptiness, that thou hast spoken this day. the ways of men, will not vaunt himself Friend, friend, we have hired this coach in thereof, but will the rather hide his supepartnership with thee, to carry us to the riority to them, that he may not be painful great city; we cannot go any other way. unto them. My good friend,' continued he, This worthy mother must hear thee, if thou turning to the officer, 'thee and I are to wilt needs utter thy follies; we cannot help part by and by, and peradventure we may it, friend, I say: if thou wilt, we must hear never meet again: but be advised by a plain thee; but if thou wert a man of understand-man; modes and apparel are but trifles to ing, thou wouldst not take advantage of thy the real man, therefore do not think such a courageous countenance to abash us chil- man as thyself terrible for thy garb, nor dren of peace. Thou art, thou sayest, a sol- such a one as me contemptible for mine. dier; give quarter to us, who cannot resist When two such as thee and I meet, with thee. Why didst thou fleer at our friend, affections as we ought to have towards each who feigned himself asleep? He said no- other, thou shouldst rejoice to see my thing; but how dost thou know what he peaceable demeanor, and I should be glad containeth? If thou speakest improper to see thy strength and ability to protect things in the hearing of this virtuous young me in it.’ T. virgin, consider it as an cutrage against a distressed person that cannot get from thee:
to speak indiscreetly what we are obliged No. 133.] Thursday, August 2, 1711. 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
THERE is a sort of delight, which is al
thank thee; I should have been a little im- I ternately mixed with terror and sorrow, in
Quis desiderio sit pudor, aut modus
Tam chari capitis? Her. Lib. 1. Od. xxiv. 1.
Such was his worth, our loss is such,
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 cheerful, a generous or heroic 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 ourselves, or such as we imagine ourselves 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, though 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 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.'
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 heroic 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, though 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.-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
'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 gone, 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, goodnature, 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,
These instances 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, hav-thou excellent man?-Heaven receive him
ing 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
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: