Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

but she persevered in her notions, and with- | first; when I was playing with one in my lap, drew her subscription. Few listen without a I was forced to keep the rest in expectation. desire of conviction to those who advise them to That which was not gratified always resented spare their money. Her example and her ar- the injury with a loud outcry, which put my guments gained ground daily; and in less than mistress in a fury at me, and procured sugara year the whole parish was convinced, that plums to the child. I could not keep six chilthe nation would be ruined, if the children of dren quiet, who were bribed to be clamorous; the poor were taught to read and write. and was therefore dismissed, as a girl honest, but not good-natured.

Our school was now dissolved; my mistress kissed me when we parted, and told me, that, being old and helpless, she could not assist me, advised me to seek a service, and charged me not to forget what I had learned.

My reputation for schola.ship, which had hitherto recommended me to favour, was, by the adherents to the new opinion, considered as a crime; and, when I offered myself to any mistress, I had no other answer than Sure, child, you would not work! hard work is not fit for a pen-woman; a scrubbing brush would spoil your hand, child!

I then lived with a couple that kept a petty shop of remnants and cheap linen. I was qualified to make a bill or keep a book; and being therefore often called, at a busy time, to serve the customers, expected that I should now be happy, in proportion as I was useful. But my mistress appropriated every day part of the profit to some private use, and, as she grew bolder in her theft, at last deducted such sums, that my master began to wonder how he sold so much, and gained so little. She pretended to assist his inquiries, and began, very gravely, I could not live at home; and while I was to hope that Betty was honest, and yet those sharp considering to what I should betake me, one of girls were apt to be light fingered. You will bethe girls, who had gone from our school to Lon-lieve that I did not stay there much longer. don, came down in a silk gown and told her acquaintance how well she lived, what fine things she saw, and what great wages she received. I resolved to try my fortune, and took my passage in the next week's wagon to London. I had no snares laid for me at my arrival, but came safe to a sister of my mistress, who undertook to get me a place. She knew only the families of mean tradesmen; and I, having no high opinion of my own qualifications, was willing to accept the first offer.

The rest of my story I will tell you in ano-
ther letter; and only beg to be informed in some
paper, for which of my places, except perhaps
the last, I was disqualified by my skill in read-
ing and writing.
I am, Sir,

Your very humble servant,
BETTY BROOM.

No. 27.] SATURDAY, OCT. 21, 1758.

My first mistress was wife of a working watchmaker, who earned more than was suffi-Ir has been the endeavour of all those whom cient to keep his family in decency and plenty; the world has reverenced for superior wisdom, but it was their constant practice to hire a to persuade man to be acquainted with himself, chaise on Sunday, and spent half the wages of to learn his own powers and his own weakness, the week on Richmond Hill; of Monday he to observe by what evils he is most dangerously commonly lay half in bed, and spent the other beset, and by what temptations most easily half in merriment; Tuesday and Wednesday overcome. consumed the rest of his money; and three days every week were passed in extremity of want by us who were left at home, while my master lived on trust at an ale-house. You may be sure, that of the sufferers, the maid suffered most; and I left them, after three months, rather than be starved.

I was then maid to a hatter's wife. There was no want to be dreaded, for they lived in perpetual luxury. My mistress was a diligent woman, and rose early in the morning to set the journeymen to work; my master was a man much beloved by his neighbours, and sat at one club or other every night. I was obliged to wait on my master at night, and on my mistress in the morning. He seldom came home before two, and she rose at five. I could no more live without sleep than without food, and therefore entreated them to look out for

another servant.

My next removal was to a linen-draper's, who had six children. My mistress, when I first entered the house, informed me, that I must never contradict the children, nor suffer them to cry, I had no desire to offend, and readily promised to do my best. But when I gave them their breakfast, I could not help all

[ocr errors]

This counsel has been often given with serious dignity, and often received with appearance of conviction; but, as very few can search deep into their own minds without meeting what they wish to hide from themselves, scarcely any man persists in cultivating such disagreeable acquaintance, but draws the veil again between his eyes and his heart, leaves his passions and appetites as he found them, and advises others to look into themselves.

This is the common result of inquiry even among those that endeavour to grow wiser or better; but this endeavour is far enough from frequency; the greater part of the multitudes that swarm upon the earth have never been disturbed by such uneasy curiosity, but deliver themselves up to business or to pleasure, plunge into the current of life, whether placid or turbulent, and pass on from one point of prospect to another, attentive rather to any thing than the state of their minds; satisfied, at an easy rate, with an opinion, that they are no worse than others, that every man must mind his own interest, or that their pleasures hurt only themselves, and are therefore no proper subjects of censure

Some, however, there are, whom the intru

sion of scruples, the recollection of better no- They are sufficient to give hope but not seco tions or the latent reprehension of good exam-rity; to animate the contest, but not to pro ples, will not suffer to live entirely contented mise victory. with their own conduct; these are forced to pacify the mutiny of reason with fair promises, and quiet their thoughts with designs of calling all their actions to review, and planning a new scheme for the time to come.

Those who are in the power of evil habits, must conquer them as they can; and conquered they must be, or neither wisdom nor happiness can be attained; but those who are not yet subject to their influence may, by timely caution, preserve their freedom; they may effectu ally resolve to escape the tyrant, whom they

There is nothing which we estimate so fallaciously as the force of our own resolutions, nor any fallacy which we so unwillingly and tardi-will very vainly resolve to conquer. ly detect. He that has resolved a thousand times, and a thousand times deserted his own

TO THE IDLER.

purpose, yet suffers no abatement of his confi- No. 28.] SATURDAY, OCT. 28, 1758.
dence, but still believes himself his own master;
and able, by innate vigour of soul, to press for-
ward to his end through all the obstructions
that inconveniences or delights can put in his

way.

That this mistake should prevail for a time is very natural. When conviction is present, and temptation out of sight, we do not easily conceive how any reasonable being can deviate from his true interest. What ought to be done, while it yet hangs only in speculation, is so plain and certain, that there is no place for doubt; the whole soul yields itself to the predominance of truth, and readily determines to do what, when the time of action comes, will be at last omitted.

I believe most men may review all the lives that have past within their observation, without remembering one efficacious resolution, or being able to tell a single instance of a course of practice suddenly changed in consequence of a change of opinion, or an establishment of determination. Many, indeed, alter their conduct, and are not at fifty what they were at thirty; but they commonly varied imperceptibly from themselves, followed the train of external causes, and rather suffered reformation than made it.

It is not uncommon to charge the difference between promise and performance, between profession and reality, upon deep design and studied deceit; but the truth is, that there is very little hypocrisy in the world: we do not so often endeavour or wish to impose on others as on ourselves; we resolve to do right, we hope to keep our resolutions, we declare them to confirm our own hope, and fix our own inconstancy by calling witnesses of our actions; but at last habit prevails, and those, whom we invited to our triumph, laugh at our defeat.

Custom is commonly too strong for the most resolute resolver, though furnished for the assault with all the weapons of philosophy. "He that endeavours to free himself from an ill habit," says Bacon, "must not change too much at a time, lest he should be discouraged by difficulty; nor too little, for then he will make but slow advances." This is a precept which may be applauded in a book, but will fail in the trial, in which every change will be found too great or too little. Those who have been able to conquer habit, are like those that are fabled to have returned from the realms of Pluto:

Pauci, quos æquus amarit Jupiter, atque ardens evexit ad æthera virtus.

SIR,

It is very easy for a man who sits idle at home, and has nobody to please but himself, to ridicule or to censure the common practices of mankind; and those who have no present temptation to break the rules of propriety, may applaud his judgment, and join in his merriment; but let the author or his readers mingle with common life, they will find themselves irresistibly borne away by the stream of custom, and must submit after they have laughed at others, to give others the same opportunity of laughing at them.

There is no paper published by the Idler which I have read with more approbation than that which censures the practice of recording vulgar marriages in the newspapers. I carried it about in my pocket, and read it to all those whom I suspected of having published their nuptials, or of being inclined to publish them, and sent transcripts of it to all the couples that transgressed your precepts for the next fortnight. I hoped that they were all vexed, and pleased myself with imagining their misery.

But short is the triumph of malignity. I was married last week to Miss Mohair, the daughter of a salesman; and, at my first appearance after the wedding night, was asked by my wife's mother whether I had sent our marriage to the Advertiser; I endeavoured to show how unfit it was to demand the attention of the public to our domestic affairs; but she told me with great vehemence, "That she would not have it thought to be a stolen match; that the blood of the Mohairs should never be disgraced; that her husband had served all the parish offices but one; that she had lived five-and-thirty years at the same house, and paid every body twenty shillings in the pound, and would have me know, though she was not as fine and as flaunting as Mrs. Gingham, the deputy's wife, she was not ashamed to tell her name, and would show her face with the best of them, and since I had married her daughter

At this instant entered my father-inlaw, a grave man, from whom I expected suc cour: but upon hearing the case, he told me, "That it would be very imprudent to miss such an opportunity of advertising my shop; and that when notice was given of my mar riage, many of my wife's friends would think themselves obliged to be my customers." I was

[blocks in formation]

all who require our assistance. It is common for men of the most unwieldy corpulence to crowd themselves into a chair, and demand to be carried for a shilling as far as an airy young lady whom we scarcely feel upon our poles. Surely we ought to be paid like all other mortals, in proportion to our labour. Engines should be fixed in proper places to weigh chairs as they weigh wagons; and those, whom ease and plenty have made unable to carry themselves, should give part of their superfluities to those who carry them.

SIR,

I am, Sir, &c.

SATURDAY, Nov. 4, 1758.

TO THE IDLER.

I HAVE often observed that friends are lost by discontinuance of intercourse, without any of fence on either part, and have long known, that it is more dangerous to be forgotten than to be blamed; I therefore make haste to send you the rest of my story, lest, by the delay of another fortnight, the name of Betty Broom might be no longer rememberd by you or your readers.

I AM the unfortunate wife of the grocer whose
letter you published about ten weeks ago, in
which he complains like a sorry fellow, that I
loiter in the shop with my needle-work in my
hand, and that I oblige him to take me out on No. 29.]
Sundays, and keep a girl to look after the child.
Sweet Mr. Idler, if you did but know all, you
would give no encouragement to such an un-
reasonable grumbler. I brought him three
hundred pounds, which set him up in a shop,
and bought in a stock, on which, with good
management, we might live comfortably; but
now I have given him a shop, I am forced to
watch him and the shop too. I will tell you,
Mr. Idler, how it is. There is an alehouse
over the way, with a nine-pin alley, to which
he is sure to run when I turn my back, and
there he loses his money, for he plays at nine-
pins as he does every thing else. While he is
at this favourite sport, he sets a dirty boy to
watch his door, and call him to his customers;
but he is so long in coming, and so rude when
he comes, that our custom falls off every day.
Those who cannot govern themselves, must
be governed; I am resolved to keep him for the
future behind his counter, and let him bounce
at his customers if he dares. I cannot be above
stairs and below at the same time, and have
therefore taken a girl to look after the child, and
dress the dinner; and, after all, pray who is
to blame?

Having left the last place in haste, to avoid the charge or the suspicion of theft, I had not secured another service, and was forced to take a lodging in a back street. I had now got good clothes. The woman who lived in the garret opposite to mine was very officious, and offered to take care of my room and clean it, while I went round to my acquaintance to inquire for a mistress. I knew not why she was so kind, nor how I could recompense her; but in a few days I missed some of my linen, went to another lodging, and resolved not to have another friend in the next garret.

In six weeks I became under-maid at the

On a Sunday, it is true, I make him walk abroad, and sometimes carry the child ;-I won-house of a mercer in Cornhill, whose son was der who should carry it! But I never take him out till after church-time, nor would I do it then, but that if he is left alone, he will be upon the bed. On a Sunday, if he stays at home he has six meals; and, when he can eat no longer, has twenty stratagems to escape from me to the ale-house; but I commonly keep the door locked, till Monday produces something for him to do.

[blocks in formation]

his apprentice. The young gentleman used to sit late at the tavern, without the knowledge of his father; and I was ordered by my mistress to let him in silently to his bed under the counter, and to be very careful to take away his candle. The hours which I was obliged to watch, whilst the rest of the family was in bed, I considered as supernumerary, and, having no business assigned for them, thought myself at liberty to spend them my own way: I kept myself awake with a book, and for some time liked my state the better for this opportunity of reading. At last, the upper-maid found my book, and showed it to my mistress, who told me, that wenches like me might spend their time better; that she never knew any of the readers that had good designs in their heads; that she could always find something else to do with her time, than to puzzle over books; and did not like that such a fine lady should up for her young master.

sit

This was the first time that I found it thought criminal or dangerous to know how to read. I was dismissed decently, lest I should tell tales, and had a small gratuity above my wages.

I then lived with a gentlewoman of a small her chicken. A third was made, and destroyed fortune. This was the only happy part of a because she heard a mouse within the wainscot, my life. My mistress, for whom public diver- and was sure that I should suffer her to be carsions were too expensive, spent her time withried away alive. After this I was for some books, and was pleased to find a maid who could partake her amusements. I rose early in the morning, that I might have time in the afternoon to read or listen, and was suffered to tell my opinion, or express my delight. Thus fifteen months stole away, in which I did not repine that I was born to servitude. But a burning fever seized my mistress, of whom I shall say no more, than that her servant wept upon her grave.

I had lived in a kind of luxury which made me very unfit for another place; and was rather too delicate for the conversation of a kitchen; so that when I was hired in the family of an East India director, my behaviour was so different, as they said, from that of a common servant, that they concluded me a gentlewoman in disguise, and turned me out in three weeks, on suspicion of some design which they could not comprehend.

time out of favour, but as her illness grew upon
her, resentment and sullenness gave way to
kinder sentiments. She died, and left me five
hundred pounds; with this fortune I am going
to settle in my native parish, where I resolve
to spend some hours every day in teaching
poor girls to read and write.
I am, Sir,

[ocr errors]

Your humb.e servant,
BETTY BROOM.

No. 30.] SATUrday, Nov. 11, 1758.

THE desires of man increase with his acquisitions; every step which he advances brings something within his view, which he did not see before, and which, as soon as he sees it, he begins to want. Where necessity ends, curiosity begins; and no sooner are we supplied with every thing that nature can demand, than we sit down to contrive artificial appetites.

By this restlessness of mind, every populous and wealthy city is filled with innumerable employments, for which the greater part of man

I then fled for refuge to the other end of the town, where I hoped to find no obstruction from my new accomplishments, and was hired under the housekeeper in a splendid family. Here I was too wise for the maids, and too nice for the footman; yet I might have lived on without much uneasiness, had not my mis-kind is without a name; with artificers, whose tress, the housekeeper, who used to employ me in buying necessaries for the family, found a bill which I had made of one day's expense. I suppose it did not quite agree with her own book, for she fiercely declared her resolution, that there should be no pen and ink in that kitchen but her own.

[ocr errors]

labour is exerted in producing such petty conveniences, that many shops are furnished with instruments of which the use can hardly be found without inquiry, but which he that once knows them quickly learns to number among necessary things.

Such is the diligence with which, in coun She had the justice, or the prudence, not to tries completely civilized, one part of mankind injure my reputation; and I was easily admit- labours for another, that wants are supplied ted into another house in the neighbourhood, faster than they can be formed, and the idle and where my business was, to sweep the rooms luxurious find life stagnate for want of some and make the beds. Here I was for some time desire to keep it in motion. This species of the favourite of Mrs. Simper, my lady's wo-distress furnishes a new set of occupations; man, who could not bear the vulgar girls, and and multitudes are busied from day to day, in was happy in the attendance of a young woman finding the rich and the fortunate something to of some education. Mrs. Simper loved a no-do. vel, though she could not read hard words, and It is very common to reproach those artists therefore when her lady was abroad, we always as useless, who produce only such superfluities laid hold on her books. At last, my abilities as neither accommodate the body, nor improve became so much celebrated, that the house- the mind; and of which no other effect can be steward used to employ me in keeping his ac-imagined, than that they are the occasions of counts. Mrs. Simper then found out, that my spending money and consuming time. sauciness was grown to such a height that nobody could endure it, and told my lady, that there had never been a room well swept since Betty Broom came into the house.

I was then hired by a consumptive lady, who wanted a maid that could read and write. I attended her four years, and though she was never pleased, yet when I declared my resolution to leave her, she burst into tears, and told me that I must bear the peevishness of a sick bed, and I should find myself remembered in her will. I complied, and a codicil was added in my favour; but in less than a week, when I set her gruel before her, I laid the spoon on the left side, and she thew her will into the fire. In two days she made another, which she burnt in the same manner, because she could not eat

But this censure will be mitigated when it is scriously considered that money and time are the heaviest burdens of life, and that the unhappiest of all mortals are those who have more of either than they know how to use. To set himself free from these incumbrances, one hurries to Newmarket; another travels over Europe; one pulls down his house and calls architects about him; another buys a seat in the country, and follows his hounds over hedges and through rivers; one makes collections of shells; and another searches the world for tulips and carnations.

He is surely a public benefactor who finds employment for those to whom it is thus difficult to find it for themselves. It is true, that this is seldom done merely from generosity or

compassion, almost every man seeks his own | No. 31.] SAIURDAY, Nov. 18, 1758.
advantage in helping others, and therefore it
is too common for mercenary officiousness to
tonsider rather what is grateful, than what is
right.

We all know that it is more profitable to be loved than esteemed; and ministers of pleasure will always be found, who study to make themselves necessary, and to supplant those who are practising the same arts.

One of the amusements of idleness is reading without the fatigue of close attention; and the world, therefore, swarms with writers whose wish is not to be studied, but to be read.

No species of literary men has lately been so much multiplied as the writers of news. Not many years ago the nation was content with one gazette; but now we have not only in the metropolis papers for every morning and every evening, but almost every large town has its weekly historian, who regularly circulates his periodical intelligence, and fills the villages of his district with conjectures on the events of war, and with debates on the true interests of Europe.

MANY moralists have remarked, that pride has of all human vices the widest dominion, appears in the greatest multiplicity of forms, and lies hid under the greatest variety of disguises; of disguises which, like the moon's veil of brightness, are both its lustre and its shade, and betray it to others, though they hide it from our selves.

It is not my intention to degrade pride from this pre-eminence of mischief; yet I know not whether idleness may not maintain a very doubtful and obstinate competition.

There are some that profess idleness in its full dignity, who call themselves the Idle as Busiris in the play calls himself the Proud; who boast that they can do nothing, and thank their stars that they have nothing to do; who sleep every night till they can sleep no longer, and rise only that exercise may enable them to sleep again; who prolong the reign of darkness by double curtains; and never see the sun but to tell him how they hate his beams; whose whole labour is to vary the posture of indulgence, and whose day differs from their night but as a couch or chair differs from a bed.

These are the true and open votaries of idle

pies, and into whose cup she pours the waters of oblivion; who exist in a state of unruffled stupidity forgetting and forgotten; who have long ceased to live, and at whose death the survivors can only say that they have ceased to breathe.

To write news in its perfection requires such a combination of qualities, that a man completely fitted for the task is not always to be found. In Sir Henry Wotton's jocular defini-ness, for whom she weaves the garlands of pop tion, An ambassador is said to be a man of virtue sent abroad to tell lies for the advantage of his country; a newswriter is a man without virtue, who writes lies at home for his own profit. To these compositions is required neither genius nor knowledge, neither industry nor sprightliness; but contempt of shame, and indifference to truth, are absolutely necessary. He who by a long familiarity with infamy has obtained these qualities, may confidently tell to-day what he intends to contradict to-morrow; he may affirm fearlessly what he knows that he shall be obliged to recant, and may write letters from Amsterdam or Dresden to himself.

In a time of war the nation is always of one mind, eager to hear something good of themselves, and ill of the enemy. At this time the task of news-writers is easy; they have nothing to do but to tell that the battle is expected, and afterwards that a battle has been fought, in which we and our friends, whether conquering or conquered, did all, and our enemies did nothing.

Scarcely any thing awakens attention like a tale of cruelty. The writer of news never fails in the intermission of action to tell how the enemies murdered children and ravished virgins; and if the scene of action be somewhat distant, scalps half the inhabitants of a province.

Among the calamities of war, may be justly numbered the diminution of the love of truth, by the falsehoods which interest dictates, and credulity encourages. A peace will equally leave the warrior and relator of wars destitute of employment; and I know not whether more is to be dreaded from streets filled with soldiers accustomed to plunder, or from garrets filled with scribblers accustomed to lie.

But idleness predominates in many lives where it is not suspected; for, being a vice which terminates in itself, it may be enjoyed without injury to others; and it is therefore not watched like fraud, which endangers property; or like pride, which naturally seeks its gratifications in another's inferiority. Idleness is a silent and peaceful quality, that neither raises envy by ostentation, nor hatred by opposition; and therefore nobody is busy to censure or detect it.

As pride sometimes is hid under humility, idleness is often covered by turbulence and hurry. He that neglects his known duty and real employment, naturally endeavours to crowd his mind with something that may bar out the remembrance of his own folly, and does any thing but what he ought to do with eager diligence, that he may keep himself in his own favour.

Some are always in a state of preparation, occupied in previous measures, forming plans, accumulating materials, and providing for the main affair. These are certainly under the secret power of idleness. Nothing is to be expect ed from the workman whose tools are for ever to be sought. I was once told by a great master that no man ever excelled in painting, who was eminently curious about pencils and colours.

There are others to whom idleness dictates another expedient, by which life may be passed unprofitably away without the tediousness of many vacant hours. The art is, to fill the day with petty business, to have always something

« AnteriorContinuar »