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robe os linen was no less deficient; and she discovered several chasms in our furnilurc, especially in the articles of plate and china. She also determined to fee a little pleasure, as (he calls it, and has actuallymade a party to go to the next opera. Now, in order to supply these immediate wants and necessities, ihe has prevailed on me (though at a great loss) to turn the prize into ready money; which 1 dared not refuse her because the numb;r was her own choosing: and Ihe has further persuaded me (as we have had such good luck) to lay out a great part of the produce in purchasing more tickets, all of her own choosing. To me it is indifferent which way the money goes; for, upon my makr ing out the balance, I already find I shall be a looser by my gains: andall my fear is, that one of the tickets may come up a five thousand or ten thousand.
Your very humble servant,
J EOff ReY Chance.
P. S. I am just going to club—I hope they u ont desire me to treat them again.
§ 141. Characters of CaUILLa and Flora.
Camilla is really what writers have so often imagined; or rather, she possesses a combination of delicacies, which they have seldom had minuteness of virtue and taste enough to conceive; to lay (he is beautiful, ihe is accomplished, Ihe is generous, (he is tender, is talking in general, and it is the particular I would describe. In her person Ihe is almost tall, and almost thin; graceful, commanding, and inspiring a kind of tender respect; the tone of her voice is melodious, and (he can neither look nor move without expressing something to her advantage. Possessed of almost every excellence, (he is unconscious of any, and this heightens them all: she is modest and diffi Jent of her own opinion, yet always perfectly comprehends the subject on which (he gives it, and fees the question in its true light: (he has neither pride, prejudice, nor precipitancy to misguide her; (he is true, and therefore judges truly. If there are subjects too intricate, too complicated for the feminine simplicity of her soul, her igporance of them serves only to display a new beauty in her character, which results from her acknowledging, nay, perhaps from her possessing that very ignorance,
The great characteristic of Camilla's understanding is taste ; but when siie lays m<H upon a subject, slie still shews that (he has much more to fay, and by this unwillingness to triumph, (he persuades the more. With the most n fined sentiments, she possesses the softest sensibility, and it lives anj speaks in every feature of her face. Is Camilla melancholy? does Ihe sigh? Ever/ body is affected: they enquire whether any misfortune has happened to Camilla; they find that (he sighed for the misfortune of another, and they are affected still more. Ycung, lovely, and high born, Camilla graces every company, and heightens the brilliancy of courts; wherever (he appears, all others seem by a natural impulse to feel her superiority; and yet when she converses, Ihe has the art of inspiring others w ith an ease which they never knew before: she joins to the most scrupulous politeness a certaine feminine gaiety, free both from restraint and boldnels; always gentle, yet never inferior; always unassuming, yet never astiamed or awkward; for shame ani awkwardness are the fssects of pride, which is too often miscalled modesty: nay, to the most critical discernment, she adds something of a blushing timidity, which serves but to £ive a meaning and piquancy even to her looks, an admiiable effect of true superiority! by this silent unassuming merit she over-awes the tutbuleot and the proud, and stops the torrent of that indecent, that overbearing noise, with which inferior natures in superior stations overwhelm the slavish and the mean. Yes all admire, and love, and reverence Camilla.
You fee a character that you admire, and you think it perfect; do you therefore conclude that every different character is imperfect? what, will you allow a variety of beauty almost equally striking in the art of a Corregio, a Guido, and a Raphael, and refuse it to the infinity os nature! How different from lovely Camilla is the beloved Flora! In Camilla, nature has displayed the beauty of exact regularity, and the elegant softness of female pro-; priety: in Flora, (he charms with a certain artless poignancy, a graceful negligence, and an ur.controuled, yet blameless freedom. Flora has something original and peculiar about her, a charm which is not easily defined; to know her and to love her is the fame thing; but you cannot know her by description. Her person is rather touching than majestic, her features more expressive than regular, and her manner
pleases pleases rather because is is restrained by no rule, than because it is conformable to any that custom has established. Camilla puts you in mind of the most perfect music that can be composed; Flora, of the wild sweetness which is sometimes produced by the irregular play of the breeze upon the Æolian harp. Camilla reminds youof a lovely young queen; Flora, of her more lovely maid of honour. In Camilla you admire the decency of the Graces; in Flora, the attractive sweetness of the Loves. Artless sensibility, wild, native feminine gni;ty, and the most touching tenderness of foul, are the strange characteristics of Flora. Her countenance glows with youthful beauty, which all art seems rather to diminish than increase, rather to hide than adorn; and while Camilla charms >ou with the choice osher dress,Flora enchants you with the neglect of hers. Thus different are the beauties which nature 1ns manifested in Camilla and Flora ! yet while she has, in this contrarity, shewn the extent of her power to please, (he has also proved, that truth and virtue are always the fame. Generosity and tenderness are the first principles in the minds of both favourites, and were never possessed in an higher degree than they are possessed by Flora: she is just as attentive to the interest of others, as (he is negligent of her own; and tho' she could submit to any misfortune that could befal her.'elf, yet she hardly knows how to bear the misfortunes of another. Thus does Flora unite the strongest sensibility with the most lively gaiety; and both are expressed with the most bewitching mixture in her countenance. While Camilla inspires a reverence that keeps you at a respectful, yet admiring distance, Flora excites the most ardent, yet most elegant desire. Camilla reminds you of the dignity of Diana, Flora of the attractive sensibility of Calisto: Camilla almost elevates you to the sensibility of angels, Flora delights you with the loveliest idea of woman. Greville.
§ 14.Z. A Fable by the celebrated Linnæus, tranf.atedfrom ihe La/in.
Once upon a time the seven wife men of Greece were met together at Athens, and it was proposed that every one of them should mention what he thought the greatest wender in the creation. One of them, of higher conceptions than the rest, proposed the opinion of some of the astronomers about the fixed stars, which they believed to be so mail)' fun;, that had each
their planets rolling about them, and were stored with plants and an;ma!s like this earth. Fired with this thought, they agreed to supplicate Jupiter, that he would at least permit them to take a jourr.ey to the moon and stay there three days in order to fee the wonders of that place, and give .111 account of them at their return. Jupiter consented, and ordered them to assemble on a high mountain, where there should be a cloud ready to convey them to the place they desired to see. They picked out some chosen companions, who might assist them in describing and painting the objects they should meet with. At length they arrived at the moon, and sound a palace there well fitted up for their reception. The next day being very much fatigued with their journey, they kept quiet at home till noon; and being still saint, they refreshed themselves with a moll delicious entertainment, which they relished so well, that it overcame their curiosity. This day they only saw through the window that delightful spot, adorned with the most beautiful flowers, to which the beams of the fun gave an uncommon lustre, and heard the singing of most melodious birds till evening came on. The next day they rose very early in order to begm their observations; but some very beautiful young ladies of that country coming to make them a visit, advised them first to recruit their strength before they exposed themselves to the laborious talk they were about to undertake.
The delicate meats, the rich wines, the beauty of these damsels, prevailed over the resolution of these strangers. A fine concert of music is introduced, the young or.es begin to dance, and all is turned to jollity; so that this whole day was spent in gallantry, till some of the neighbouring inhabitants growing envious at their mirth, rushed in with swords. The elder part of the company tried to appease the younger, romismg the very next day they would ring the rioters to justice. This they performed, and the third day the cause was heard; and what with accusations, pleadings, exceptions, and the judgment itself, the whole day was taken up, on which the term set by Jupiter expired. On their return to Greece, all the country flocked in upon them to hear the wonders of the moon described, but all they could tell was, for that was all they knew, that the ground was covered with green intermixed with flowers, and that the birds fung among the branches of the trt.es; but what kind of
flowers they saw, or what kind of birds they heard, they v»ere totally ignorant. Upon which they were treated every where with contempt.
If we apply this fable to men of the present age, we shall perceive a very just similitude. By these three days the table denotes the three ages of man. First, youth, in which we are too feeble in every respect to look into the works of the Creator: all that season is given to i J lends luxury, and pastime. Secondly, manhood, in which men are emp'oved in settling, marrying, educating children, providing fortunes for them, and raising a family. Thirdly, old age, in which after having made their fortunes, they are overwhelmed with law-suits and proceedings relating to their estates. Thus it frequently happens that men never consider to what end tiey were destined, and why they were brought into the world. B. Thornton.
§ 143. Mercy recommm Jed.
My uncle Toby was a man patient of injuries;—not from want of courage,— where just occasions presented, or called it forth,—I know no man under whose arm I should sooner have taken shelternor did this arise from any insensibility or obtuseness of his intellectual parts:—he was of a peaceful, placid nature,—no jarring element in it.—all was mixed up ib kindly within him: my uncle Toby had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly:—Go,— says he, one day at dinner, to an overgrown one who had buzzed about his noie, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time,— and which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last, as it flew by him ;—I'll not hurt thee, fays my uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going across the room, with the fly in his hand.—I'll not hurt a hair of thy head:—Go, fays he, lifting up the fash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape;—go poor devil,—get thee gone, why should I hurt thee?—This world, surely, is wide enough to hold both thee and me.
%• This is to serve for parents and governors instead of a whole volume upon the subject. Sterne.
§ 144. The Starling.
—Beshrew the sombre pencil! said I vauntingly—for I envy not its powers, which paints the evils of life with so hard and deadly a colouring. The mind sit3 terrified at the objects (he has magnified
herself and blackened: reduce them to their proper size and hue, stie overlooks them.——'Tis true, said I, correcting the proposition—the Bastile is not an evil to be despised—but strip it of its towerssill up the folle—imbarricade the doors— call it simply a confinement, and suppose 'ih some tyrant of a distemper, and not of a man—which holds you in it—the evil vanishes, and you bear the other half without complaint.
I was interrupted in the hey-day of this soliloquy, with .1 voice which I took to be of a child, which complained " it could "not get out."——I looked up and down the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, nor child, I went out without further attention.
In my return back through the passage, I heard the tame words repeated twice over; and looking up I saw it was a
S'ariing hung in a little cage "I can't
get out—1 can't got out," said the Starling.
I stood looking at the bird; and to every person who came through the passage, it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approached it with the fame lamentations of its captivity—" I can't get out," said the Starling—God help thee! taid s, but I will le: thee out, cost what it will; so I turned about the cage to get at the door; it was twisted and double twisted so fast with wire, there was no getting it open without pulling the cage to pieces—I took both hands to it.
The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance, and thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his breast against it, as if impatient.—I fear, poor creature! said I, 1 cannot set thee at
liberty—" No," said the Starling "I
"can't get out, I can't get out," said the Starling.
I vow I never had my affections more tenderly awakened; nor do I remember an incident in my life, where the dissipated spirits to which my reason had been a bubble, were so suddenly called home. Mechanical as the notes were, yet so true in tune to nature were they chanted, that in one moment they overthrew all ray systematic reasonings upon the Bastile; and I heavily walked up stairs, unsaying every word I had said in going down them.
Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery! said I—still thou irt a bitter draught! and though thousands in all ai^es have been made to drink of thee, thou ait no less bitter ter on that account.—'Tis thou, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, addressing myself to Liberty, whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till Nature herself shall change—no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy
sceptre into iron --with thee to smile
upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled !—Gracious Heaven! cried I, kneeling down upon the last step
but one in my ascent Grant me but
health, thou great Bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion —and (hower down thy mitres, if it seems good unto thy divine providence, upon those heads which are aching for them!
§ 145. The Captive. The bird in his cage pursued me into my room; I sat down close by my table, and leaning my" head upon my hand, 1 began to figure to myself the miseries of confinement: I was in a right frame for it, and lo 1 gave full scope to my imagination .
1 was going to begin with the millions of my fellow-creatures born to no inheritance but stavery; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that 1 could not bring it near me, and that the multitude of fad groupes in it did but distract me
1 took a single captive, and having first shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take his picture.
I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it was which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverilh; in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood—he had seen no fun, no moon, in all that time—nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice—his children—
—But here my heart began to bleed— and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait.
He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the furthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed: a little calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there—he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etch
ing'another day of misery to add to the1 heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it down—ihoak his head, and went on with his work of -Æktion. i heard his chains upon his legs', as he turned his bodv to lay his little stick upon the bundle—He gaveadeep sigh—[ saw the iron enter his foul—I burst into tears—I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn.
§ 14&. Trim's Explanation of the Fifth Commandment.
Pr'ythee, Trim, quoth my father,—What dost thou mean, by "honour"ing thy father and mothers"
Allowing them, an't please your honour, three halfpence a day out of my pay, when they grow old.—And didst thou do that,Trim i said Yorick.—He did indeed, replied my uncle Toby.—Then, Trim, said Yorick, springing out of his chair, and taking the Corporal by the hand, thou art the best commentator upon that part of the Decalogue; and I honour thee more for it, Corporal Trim, than if thou hadll had a hand in the Talmud itself. Ibid.
§ 147. Health.
O blessed health! thou art above all gold and treasure; 'tis thou who enlargest the soul—and openest all its powers tortceive instruction, and to relish virtue.—' He that has thee, has little more to wilb for! and he that is so wretched as to want thee,—wants every thing with thee.
§ I48. A Voyage to Lilliput.
The author gives some account of him/elf and family: his f.rft inducements to travel: He isJhipturecicd, andpvjims for bis life: gets safe on jhore in the country of Lilliput \ is made a prisoner, and carried up the country.
My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the third of five sons. He sent me to Emanuel college in Cambridge at fourteen years old, where I resided three years, and applied myself close to my studies; but the charge of maintaining me", although I had a very scanty allowance, being too great for a narrow fortune, J wa» bound apprentice to Mr. James Bates, an x eminent eminent surgeon in London, with whom I continued four years; and my father now and then sending me small sums of money, I laid them out in learning navigation, and other parts of the mathematics, useful to those who intend- to travel, as I always believed it would be some time or other my fortune to do. When I left Mr. Bates, I went down to my father; where, by the assistance of him and my uncle John, and some other relations, I got forty pounds, and a promise of thirty pounds a year to maintain me at Leyden: there I studied physic two years and seven months, knowing it would be useful in long voyages.
Soon after my return from Leyden, I was recommended by my good master Mr. Bates to be surgeon to the Swallow, captain Abraham Pannell, commander; with whom I continued three years and a half, making a voyage or two into the Levant, and some other parts. When I came back, I resolved to settle in London, to which Mr. Bates, my master, encouraged me, and by him I was recommended to several patients. I took part of a small house in the Old-Jewry; and being advised to alter my condicion, I married Mrs. Mary Burton, second daughter to Mr. Edmund Burton, hosier, in Newgate-street, with whom I received four hundred pounds for a portion.
But, my good master Bates dying in two years after, and I having few friends, my business began to fail; for my conscience would not suffer me to imitate the bad practice of too many among my brethren. Having therefore consulted with my wise, and some of my acquaintance, I determined to go again to sea. I was surgeon successively in two ships, and made several voyages for six years to the East and WellIndies, by which I got some addition to my fortune. My hours of leisure I spent in reading the best authors, antient and modern, being always provided with a good number of books; and when I was ashore, in observing the manners and dispositions of the people, as well as learning their language, wherein I had a great facility by the strength of my memory.
The last of these voyages not proving very fortunate, I grew weary of the sea, and intended to stay at home with my wife and family. I removed from the OldJewry to Fetter-lane, and from thence to Wapping, hoping to get business among the sailors: but it would not turn to account. After three years expectation that
things would mend, I accepted an advantageous offer from Captain William Pritchard, master of the Antelope, who was making a voyage to the South-Sea. We set fail frora Bristol, May 4th, 1699, and our voyage at first was very prosperous.
It would not be proper, for some reasons, to trouble the reader with the particulars of our adventures in those seas: let it suffice to inform him, that, ia our passage from thence to the East-Indies, ive were driven by a violent storm to the north-west of Van Diemcn's land. By an observation we sound ourselves in the latitude of 30 degrees 2 minutes south. Twelve of our crew were dead by immoderate labour, and ill food; the rest were in a very weak condition. On the fifth of November, which was the beginning of summer in those parts, the weather being very hazy, the seamen spied a rock within half a cable's length of the ship; but the wind was so strong, that we were driven directly upon it, and immediately split. Six of the crew, ot whom • I was one, having let down the boat into the sea, made a ihist to get clear of the ship and the rock. We rowed by my computation about three leagues, till we were able to work no longer, being already spent with labour while we were in the ship. We therefore trusted ourselves to the mercy of the waves, and in about half an hour the boat was overset by a sudden flurry from the north. What became os my companions in the boat, as well as of those who escaped on the rock, or were lest in the vessel, I cannot tell; but conclude they were all lost. For my own part, I swam as fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide. I often let my legs drop, and could feel no bottom: but when I was almost gone, and able to struggle no longer, I found myself within my depth; and by this time the storm wa9 much abated. The declivity was so small, that I walked near a mile before I got to the shore, which I conjectured was about eight o'clock in the evening. I then advanced forward near half a mile, but couiJ not discover any signs of houses or inhabitants; at least I was in so weak a condition, that I did not observe them. I was extremely tired, and with that, and the heat of the weather, and about half a pint of brandy that I drank as I left the ship, I found myself much inclined to steep. I lay down on the grass, which was very short and soft, where I slept sounder than ever I remembered to have done in my