thereof, but will the rather hide his su them, that he may not be painful unto good friend," continued he, turning to "thee and I are to part by and by, an ture we may never meet again; but be a plain man: modes and apparel are 1 the real man, therefore do not think su thyself terrible for thy garb, nor such contemptible for mine. When two s and I meet, with affections as we ou toward each other, thou shouldst rejoi peaceable demeanor, and I should be thy strength and ability to protect me No. 133.] THURSDAY, AUGUST Quis desiderio sit pudor, aut modus will make a wedding at the next town: we will make this pleasant companion who is fallen asleep, to be the bride-man; and," giving the Quaker a clap on the knee, he concluded, "this sly saint, who, I will warrant you, understands what is 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, savoreth 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 advan tage 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 im-vior, as we secretly believe the part proper things in the hearing of this virtuous young virgin, consider it is an outrage against a distressed person that cannot get from thee; to speak indiscreetly what we are obliged to hear, by being hasped up with thee in this 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 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 humor, 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 behavior 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 goodfortune, that the whole journey was not spent in impertinences, which to one part of us might be an entertainment, to the other a suffering. What therefore Ephraim said when we were almost 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 declared 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 behavior 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 THERE is a sort of delight, which is mixed with terror and sorrow in the co of death. The soul has its curiosity ordinarily awakened, when it turns upon the conduct of such who have be selves with an equal, a resigned, a che erous, or heroic temper in that extrem affected with these respective mann person imitated by ourselves, or suc agine ourselves more particularly capa of exalted minds march before us like are to the ordinary race of mankind ra of their admiration than example. there are no ideas strike more forcib imaginations, than those which are reflections upon the exits of great a men. Innocent men who have suffer nals, though they were benefactors society, seem to be persons of the tinction, among the vastly greater human race, the dead. When the ini times brought Socrates to his executio and wonderful is it to behold him, by anything but the testimony of h science and conjectures of hereafter poison with an air of warmth and and, as if going on an agreeable jour some deity to make it fortunate! When Phocion's good actions had like reward from his country, and h death with many other of his frien wailing their fate, he walking compo the place of his execution, how grace support his illustrious character to instant! One of the rabble spitting passed, with his usual authority he ca if no one was ready to teach this fe behave himself. When a poor-spir that died at the same time for his cri ed himself unmanfully, he rebuked b question, "Is it no consolation to su thou art to die with Phocion?" A when he was to die, they asked wha he had for his son: he answered, "T injury of the Athenians." Niocles under the same sentence, desired he the potion before him: Phocion said never had denied him anything, h even this, the most difficult request made." These instances were very noble a the reflections of those sublime spiri death to them what it is really inter the Author of nature, a relief from a v ever subject to sorrows and difficultie Epaminondas, the Theban general ceived in fight a mortal stab with a sword, which was left in his body, lay in that posture till he had intelligence that his troops had obtained the victory, and then permitted it to be drawn out, at which instant he expressed himself in this manner: "This is not the end of my life, my fellow-soldiers; it is now your Epaminondas is born, who dies in so much glory." It were an endless labor 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 commonplace way of thinking I fell into from an awkward endeavor 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 anything 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 are already performed (as to thy concern in them) in his sight, before whom the past, present, and future appear at one view. While others with their talents were tormented with ambition, with vain-glory, with envy, with emulation-how well didst thou turn thy mind to its own improvement in things out of the power of fortune: in probity, in integrity, in the practice and study of justice! How silent thy passage, how private thy journey, how glorious thy end! Many have I known more famous, some more knowing, not one so innocent.""-R. And am the great physician call'd below.-DRYDEN. DURING my absence in the country, several packets have been left for me, which were not forwarded to me, because I was expected every day in town. The author of the following letter dated from Tower-hill, having sometimes been entertained with some learned gentlemen in plushI went this evening to visit a friend, with a doublets, who have vended their wares from a design to rally him, upon a story I had heard of stage in that place, has pleasantly enough adhis intending to steal a marriage without the pri-dressed to me as no less a sage in morality, than vity of us his intimate friends and acquaintance. those are in physic. To comply with his kind I came into his apartment with that intimacy inclination to make my cures famous, I shall give which I have done for very many years, and walk- you his testimonial of my great abilities at large ed directly into his bed-chamber, where I found in his own words. my friend in the agonies of death.-What could I do? The innocent mirth of 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 honor and her comfort, and never till that hour since his birth had been a moment's sorrow to her. SIR, Tower-hill, July 5, 1711. "Your saying the other day there is something wonderful in the narrowness of those minds which can be pleased, and be barren of bounty to those who please them, makes me in pain that I am not a man of power. If I were, you should soon see how much I approve your speculations. In the meantime, I beg leave to supply that inability with the empty tribute of an honest mind, by telling you plainly, I love and thank you for "How surprising is the change! From the pos- your daily refreshments. I constantly peruse session of vigorous life and strength, to be re- your paper as I smoke my morning's pipe duced in a few hours to this fatal extremity! (though I cannot forbear reading the motto beThose lips which look so pale and livid, within fore I fill and light), and really it gives a grateful these few days gave delight to all who heard their relish to every whiff; each paragraph is fraught utterance; it was the business, the purpose of his either with useful or delightful notions, and I being, next to obeying him to whom he is gone, never fail of being highly diverted or improved. to please and instruct, and that for no other end The variety of your subject surprises me as much but to please and instruct. Kindness was the as a box of pictures did formerly in which there motive of his actions, and with all the capacity was only one face, that, by pulling some pieces requisite for making a figure in a contentious of isinglass over it, was changed into a grave world, moderation, good-nature, affability, temper- senator or a Merry-Andrew, a patched lady or a ance, and chastity, were the arts of his excellent nun, a beau or a black-a-moor, a prude or a colife.-There as he lies in helpless agony, no wise quette, a country esquire or a conjurer, with many man who knew him so well as I, but would re-other different representations very entertaining sign all the world can bestow to be so near the (as you are), though still the same at the bottom. end of such a life. Why does my heart so little This was a childish amusement, when I was carobey my reason as to lament thee, thou excellent ried away with outward appearance; but you man?-Heaven receive him or restore him!-Thy make a deeper impression, and affect the secret beloved mother, thy obliged friends, thy helpless springs of the mind; you charm the fancy, soothe servants, stand around thee without distinction. the passions, and insensibly lead the reader to How much wouldst thou, hadst thou thy senses, say that sweetness of temper that you so well describe; you rouse generosity with that spirit, and inculcate humanity with that ease, that he must be miserably stupid that is not affected by you. I cannot say, indeed, that you have put impertinence to silence, or vanity out of countenance; but methinks, you have bid as fair for it as any man that ever appeared upon a public stage; and offer an infallible cure of vice and folly, for the price of one penny. And since it is usual for those who receive benefit by such famous operators, to publish an advertisement that others may reap the same to each of us! But now that good heart bursts, and he is at rest. With that breath expired a soul who never indulged a passion unfit for the place he is gone to. Where are now thy plans of justice, of truth, of honor? Of what use the volumes thou hast collated, the arguments thou hast invented, the examples thou hast followed? Poor were the expectations of the studious, the modest, and the good, if the reward of their labors were only to be expected from man. No, my friend; thy intended pleadings, thy intended good offices to thy friends, thy intended services to thy country, *Viz: Quack-doctors. advantage, I think myself obliged to declare to all the world, that having for a long time been splenetic, ill-natured, froward, suspicious and unsociable by the application of your medicines, taken only with half an ounce of right Virginia tobacco for six successive mornings, I am become open, obliging, officious, frank, and hospitable. I am, "Your humble servant and great admirer, The careful father and humble petitioner hereafter mentioned, who are under difficulties about the just management of fans, will soon receive proper advertisements relating to the professors in that behalf, with their places of abode and methods of teaching. "SIR, July 5, 1711. "In your Spectator of June the 27th, you transcribe a letter sent to you from a new sort of muster-master, who teaches ladies the whole exercise of the fan. I have a daughter just come to town, who though she has always held a fan in her hand at proper times, yet she knows no more how to use it according to true discipline, than an awkward school-boy does to make use of his new sword. I have sent for her on purpose to learn the exercise, she being already very well accomplished in all other arts which are necessary for a young lady to understand; my request is, that you will speak to your correspondent on my behalf, and in your next paper let me know what he expects, either by the month or the quarter for teaching; and where he keeps his place of rendezvous. I have a son too, whom I would fain have taught to gallant fans, and should be glad to know what the gentleman will have for teaching them both, I finding fans for practice at my own expense. This information will in the highest manner oblige, Sir, your most humble servant, "WILLIAM WISEACRE." "That it was your petitioner's misfortune to walk to Hackney church last Sunday, where to his great amazement he met with a soldier of your own training; she furls a fan, recovers a fan, and goes through the whole exercise of it to admiration. This well-managed officer of yours has, to my knowledge, been the ruin of above five young gentlemen beside myself, and still goes on laying waste wheresoever she comes, whereby the whole village is in great danger. Our humble request is therefore, that this bold Amazon be ordered immediately to lay down her arms, or that you would issue forth an order, that we who have been thus injured may meet at the place of general rendezvous, and there be taught to manage our snuff-boxes, in such a manner as we may be an equal match for her; "And your petitioner shall ever pray," etc. R. No. 135.] SATURDAY, AUGUST HOR. Let brevity dispatch the rapid thought. I HAVE Somewhere read of an emine who used in his private offices of d give thanks to Heaven that he wa Frenchman: for my own part, I look up peculiar blessing that I was born an En Among many other reasons, I think m happy in my country, as the languag wonderfully adapted to a man who is his words, and an enemy to loquacity. As I have frequently reflected on my tune in this particular, I shall communi public my speculations on the Englis not doubting but they will be accepta my curious readers. The English delight in silence more other European nation, if the remarks made on us by foreigners are true. Our is not kept up in conversation, but more pauses and intervals than in our ing countries; as it is observed, that of our writings is thrown much close and lies in a narrower compass than i the works of foreign authors; for, to natural taciturnity, when we are oblige our thoughts, we do it in the shortest v able, and give as quick a birth to our c as possible. This humor shows itself in several re we may make upon the English lang first of all by its abounding in mon which gives us an opportunity of deli thoughts in few sounds. This indeed from the elegance of our tongue, but at time expresses our ideas in the readies and consequently answers the first speech better than the multitude of which makes the words of other langu tunable and sonorous. The sounds of lish words are commonly like those music, short and transient, which rise upon a single touch; those of other lan like the notes of wind-instruments, swelling, and lengthened out into a modulation. In the next place we may observe, t the words are not monosyllables, we o them so, so much as lies in our powe rapidity of pronunciation; as it gene pens in most of our long words whic rived from the Latin, where we co length of the syllables that gives ther and solemn air in their own language them more proper for dispatch, and formable to the genius of our tongue. may find in a multitude of words, as conspiracy, theater, orator," etc. The same natural aversion to loquaci late years made a very considerable alt our language, by closing in one syllabl mination of our preterperfect tense, as words, "drown'd, walk'd, arriv'd," for " walked, arrived," which has very mu gured the tongue, and turned a tenth p smoothest words into so many clusters nants. This is the more remarkable, be want of vowels in our language has general complaint of our politest auth nevertheless are the men that have m retrenchments, and consequently very creased our former scarcity. This reflection on the words that en have heard in conversation from one of th 1 geniuses this age has produced.* I think we may add to the foregoing observation, the change which has happened in our language, by the abbreviation of several words that are terminated in "eth," by substituting an s in the room of the last syllable, as in "drowns, walks, arrives," and innumerable other words, which in the pronunciation of our forefathers were "drowneth, walketh, arriveth." This has wonderfully multiplied a letter which was before too frequent in the English tongue, and added to that hissing in our language, which is taken so much notice of by foreigners; but at the same time humors our taciturnity, and eases us of many superfluous syllables. I might here observe, that the same single letter on many occasions does the office of a whole word, and represents the "his" and "her" of our forefathers. There is no doubt but the ear of a foreigner, which is the best judge in this case, would very much disapprove of such innovations, which indeed we do ourselves in some measure, by retaining the old termination in writing, and in all solemn offices of our religion. As in the instances I have given we have epitomized many of our particular words to the detriment of our tongue, so on other occasions we have drawn two words into one, which has likewise very much untuned our language, and clogged it with consonants-as "mayn't can't, shan't, won't," and the like, for " may not, cannot, shall not, will not," etc. It is perhaps this humor of speaking no more than we needs must, which has so miserably curtailed some of our words, that in familiar writings and conversations they often lose all but their first syllables, as in "mob, rep. pos. incog." and the like; and as all ridiculous words make their first entry into a language by familiar phrases, I dare not answer for these, that they will not in time be looked upon as a part of our tongue. We see some of our poets have been so indiscreet as to imitate Hudibras's doggerel expressions in their serious compositions, by throwing out the signs of our substantives which are essential to the English language. Nay, this humor of shortening our language had once run so far, that some of our celebrated authors, among whom we may reckon Sir Roger L'Estrange in particular, began to prune their words of all superfluous letters, as they termed them, in order to adjust the spelling to the pronunciation; which would have confounded all our etymologies, and have quite destroyed our tongue. We may here likewise observe, that our proper names, when familiarized in English, generally dwindle to monosyllables, whereas in other modern languages they receive a softer turn on this occasion, by the addition of a new syllable. Nick, in Italian, is Nicolini: Jack, in French, Jeannot; and so of the rest. There is another particular in our language which is a great instance of our frugality of words, and that is the suppressing of several particles which must be produced in other tongues to make a sentence intelligible. This perplexes the best writers, when they find the relatives 'whom,' which, or they,' at their mercy, whether they may have admission or not; and will never be decided until we have something like an academy, that by the best authorities and rules drawn from the analogy of languages, shall settle all controversies between grammar and idiom. This was probably Dean Swift, who has made the same observation in his proposal for correcting, improving, and scertaining the English tongue, etc. See Swift's Works. I have only considered our language as it shows the genius and natural temper of the English, which is modest, thoughtful and sincere, and which perhaps may recommend the people, though it has spoiled the tongue. We might perhaps carry the same thought into other languages, and deduce a great part of what is peculiar to them from the genius of the people who speak them. It is certain, the light talkative humor of the French has not a little infected their tongue, which might be shown by many instances; as the genius of the Italians, which is so much addicted to music and ceremony, has moulded all their words and phrases to those particular uses. The stateliness and gravity of the Spaniards shows itself to perfection in the solemnity of their language; and the blunt honest humor of the German sounds better in the roughness of the High-Dutch, than it would in a politer tongue.-C. No. 136.] MONDAY, AUGUST 6, 1711. A greater liar Parthia never bred. "I shall without any manner of preface or apology acquaint you, that I am, and ever have been, from my youth upward, one of the greatest liars this island has produced. I have read all the moralists upon the subject, but could never find any effect their discourses had upon me, but to add to my misfortune by new thoughts and ideas, and making me more ready in my language, and capable of sometimes mixing seeming truths with my improbabilities. With this strong passion toward falsehood in this kind, there does not live an honester man, or a sincerer friend; but my imagination runs away with me; and whatever is started, I have such a scene of adventures appear in an instant before me, that I cannot help uttering them, though, to my immediate confusion, I cannot but know I am liable to be detected by the first man I meet. "Upon occasion of the mention of the battle of Pultowa, I could not forbear giving an account of a kinsman of mine, a young merchant who was bred at Moscow, that had too much mettle to attend books of entries and accounts, when there was so active a scene in the country where he resided, and followed the Czar as a volunteer. This warm youth (born at the instant the thing was spoken of) was the man who unhorsed the Swedish general; he was the occasion that the Muscovites kept their fire in so soldier-like a manner; and brought up those troops which were covered from the enemy at the beginning of the day; beside this, he had at last the good fortune to be the man who took Count Piper.+ With all this fire I knew my cousin to be the civilest creature in the world. He never made any impertinent show of his valor, and then he had an excellent genius for the world in every other kind. I had letters from him (here I felt in my pockets) that exactly spoke the Czar's character, which I knew perfectly well; and I could not forbear concluding, that I lay with his imperial majesty twice or thrice a week all the while he lodged at Deptford. What is worse than all this, it is impossible to speak to me but * Fought July 8, 1709, between Charles XII, of Sweden, and Peter I, Emperor of Russia; wherein Charles was entirely defeated. + Prime Minister of Charles XII. In the spring of the year 1698. 1 He tells things which have nothing at all and can neither please nor displease, bu take up your time to no manner of pu manner of delight; but he is good-natu does it because he loves to be saying so to you, and entertain you. you give me some occasion of coming out with so pregnant a fancy, that he cannot be one lie or other, that has neither wit, humor, pros- with ordinary occurrences. I know a pect of interest, or any other motive that I can quality of our order, who is of the wron think of in nature. The other day, when one forty-three, and has been of that age, a was commending an eminent and learned divine, to Tully's jest, for some years since, w what occasion in the world had I to say, 'Me- is upon the romantic. Give him the le thinks he would look more venerable if he were sion, and he will tell you something so not so fair a man?' I remember the company ticular that happened in such a year, an smiled. I have seen the gentleman since, and he is company, where by-the-bye was presen coal black. I have intimations every day in my life one, who was afterward made such a thi that nobody believes me; yet I am never the better. of all these circumstances, in the best lar I was saying something the other day to an old the world, he will join together with suc friend at Will's coffee-house, and he made me no ble incidents an account that shows a l manner of answer; but told me that an acquaint- the deepest penetration, the honestest n ance of Tully the orator having two or three times withal something so humble when he s together said to him, without receiving any ans- himself, that you would admire. Dear wer, that upon his honor he was but that very should this be lying? there is nothing so month forty years of age,' Tully answered, Sure- ive. He has withal the gravest aspec ly you think me the most incredulous man in the thing so very venerable and great! An world, if I do not believe what you have told me these historians is a young man whom v every day these ten years.' The mischief of it is take in, though he extremely wants parts I find myself wonderfully inclined to have been ple send children (before they can le present at every occurrence that is spoken of be-thing) to school, to keep them out of har fore me; this has led me into many inconveniences, but indeed they have been the fewer, because I am no ill-natured man, and never speak things to any man's disadvantage. I never directly defame, but I do what is as bad in the consequence, for I have often made a man say such and such a lively expression, who was born a mere elder brother. When one has said in my hearing, such a one is no wiser than he should be,' I immediately have replied, 'Now 'faith, I cannot see that; he said a very good thing to my lord such-a-one, upon such an occasion,' and the like. Such an honest dolt as this has been watched in every expression he uttered, upon my recommendation of him, and consequently been subject to the more ridicule. I once endeavored to cure myself of this impertinent quality, and resolved to hold my tongue for seven days together; I did so; but then I had so many winks and unnecessary distortions of my face upon what anybody else said, that I found I only forbore the expression, and that I still lied in my heart to every man I met with. You are to know one thing (which I believe you will say is a pity con: sidering the use I should have made of it), I never traveled in my life; but I do not know whether I could have spoken of any foreign country with more familiarity than I do at present, in company who are strangers to me. I have cursed the inns in Germany; commended the brothels at Ve nice the freedom of conversation in France; and though I was never out of this dear town, and fifty miles about it, have been three nights together dogged by bravos, for an intrigue with a car dinal's mistress at Rome. "It were endless to give you particulars of this kind; but I can assure you, Mr. Spectator, there are about twenty or thirty of us in this town-I mean by this town the cities of London and Westminster-I say there are in town a sufficient number of us to make a society among ourselves; and since we cannot be believed any longer, I beg of you to print this my letter, that we may meet together, and be under such regulation as there may be no occasion for belief or confidence among us. If you think fit, we might be called the historiaus,' for liar is become a very harsh word. And that a member of the society may not hereafter be ill received by the rest of the world, I desire you would explain a little this sort of men, and not let us historians be ranked, as we are in the imaginations of ordinary people, among common fiars, makebates, impostors and incendiaries. For your instruction herein, you are to know that a historian in conversation is only a person of "I could name you a soldier that ha very great things without slaughter; he giously dull and slow of head, but wha say is forever false, so that we must have "Give me leave to tell you of one mor a lover; he is the most afflicted creatur world lest what happened between hir great beauty should ever be known. Y he comforts himself, 'Hang the jade her If money can keep the slut trusty, I wi though I mortgage every acre; Antony a patra for that; All for Love and the W Lost.' "Then, Sir, there is my little merchan Indigo of the 'Change, there is my man and gain; there is tare and tret, there is round the globe; he has such a prodigiou gence, he knows all the French are doing we intend or ought to intend, and has such hands. But, alas, whither am I ru while I complain, while I remonstrate to all this is a lie, and there is not one suc of quality, lover, soldier, or merchant, a now described in the whole world that I But I will catch myself once in my life spite of nature speak one truth, to wit, th T. "Your humble servant Even slaves were always at liberty to fear, r grieve, at their own rather than another's pleasur Ir is no small concern to me, that I many complaints from that part of whose portion it is to live in servitude, th whom they depend upon will not allow be even as happy as their condition will There are, as these unhappy correspond form me, masters who are offended at a countenance, and think a servant is bro from them, if he does not preserve the awe in their presence. There is one who he looks satisfied, his master asks him, makes him so pert this morning?" if |