‘In the former Part of what you said,’ replied Jones, ‘I most heartily and readily concur; but I believe, as well as hope, that the Abhorrence which you express for Mankind, in the Conclusion, is much too general. Indeed you here fall into an Error, which, in my little Experience, I have observed to be a very common one, by taking the Character of Mankind from the worst and basest among them; whereas indeed, as an excellent Writer observes, nothing should be esteemed as characteristical of a Species, but what is to be found among the best and most perfect Individuals of that Species.2 This Error, I believe, is generally committed by those who, from Want of proper Caution in the Choice of their Friends and Acquaintance, have suffered Injuries from bad and worthless Men; two or three Instances of which are very unjustly charged on all Human Nature.’
‘I think I had Experience enough of it,’ answered the other. ‘My first Mistress, and my first Friend, betrayed me in the basest Manner, and in Matters which threatened to be of the worst of Consequences, even to bring me to a shameful Death.’
‘But you will pardon me,’ cries Jones, ‘if I desire you to reflect who that Mistress, and who that Friend were. What better, my good Sir, could be expected in Love derived from the Stews, or in Friendship first produced and nourished at the Gaming-Table! To take the Characters of Women from the former Instance, or of Men from the latter, would be as unjust as to assert, that Air is a nauseous and unwholesome Element, because we find it so in a Jakes. I have lived but a short Time in the World, and yet have known Men worthy of the highest Friendship, and Women of the highest Love.’
‘Alas! young Man,’ answered the Stranger, ‘you have lived, you confess, but a very short Time in the World; I was somewhat older than you when I was of the same Opinion.’
‘You might have remained so still,’ replies Jones, ‘if you had not been unfortunate, I will venture to say incautious, in the placing your Affections. If there was indeed much more Wickedness in the World than there is, it would not prove such general Assertions against human Nature, since much of this arrives by mere Accident, and many a Man who commits Evil, is not totally bad and corrupt in his Heart. In Truth, none seems to have any Title to assert human Nature to be necessarily and universally evil, but those whose own Minds afford them one Instance of this natural Depravity; which is not, I am convinced, your Case.’
‘And such,’ said the Stranger, ‘will be always the most backward to assert any such Thing. Knaves will no more endeavour to persuade us of the Baseness of Mankind, than a Highwayman will inform you that there are Thieves on the Road. This would indeed be a Method to put you on your Guard, and to defeat their own Purposes. For which Reason tho’ Knaves, as I remember, are very apt to abuse particular Persons; yet they never cast any Reflection on Human Nature in general.’ The old Gentleman spoke this so warmly, that as Jones despaired of making a Convert, and was unwilling to offend, he returned no Answer.
The Day now began to send forth its first Streams of Light, when Jones made an Apology to the Stranger for having staid so long, and perhaps detained him from his Rest. The Stranger answered, ‘He never wanted Rest less than at present; for that Day and Night were indifferent Seasons to him, and that he commonly made use of the former for the Time of his Repose, and of the latter for his Walks and Lucubrations. However,’ said he, ‘it is now a most lovely Morning, and if you can bear any longer to be without your own Rest or Food, I will gladly entertain you with the Sight of some very fine Prospects, which I believe you have not yet seen.’
Jones very readily embraced this Offer, and they immediately set forward together from the Cottage. As for Partridge, he had fallen into a profound Repose, just as the Stranger had finished his Story; for his Curiosity was satisfied, and the subsequent Discourse was not forcible enough in its Operation to conjure down the Charms of Sleep. Jones therefore left him to enjoy his Nap; and as the Reader may perhaps be, at this Season, glad of the same Favour, we will here put an End to the Eighth Book of our History.
BOOK IX.
Containing twelve Hours.
CHAPTER I.
Of those who lawfully may, and of those who may not write such Histories as this.
Among other good Uses for which I have thought proper to institute these several introductory Chapters, I have considered them as a Kind of Mark or Stamp, which may hereafter enable a very indifferent Reader to distinguish what is true and genuine in this historic Kind of Writing, from what is false and counterfeit. Indeed it seems likely that some such Mark may shortly become necessary, since the favourable Reception which two or three Authors have lately procured for their Works of this Nature from the Public,1 will probably serve as an Encouragement to many others to undertake the like. Thus a Swarm of foolish Novels, and monstrous Romances will be produced, either to the great impoverishing of Booksellers, or to the great Loss of Time, and Depravation of Morals in the Reader; nay, often to the spreading of Scandal and Calumny, and to the Prejudice of the Characters of many worthy and honest People.
I question not but the ingenious Author of the Spectator was principally induced to prefix Greek and Latin Mottos to every Paper from the same Consideration of guarding against the Pursuit of those Scribblers, who, having no Talents of a Writer but what is taught by the Writing-master, are yet nowise afraid nor ashamed to assume the same Titles with the greatest Genius, than their good Brother in the Fable was of braying in the Lion’s Skin.2
By the Device therefore of his Motto, it became impracticable for any Man to presume to imitate the Spectators, without understanding at least one Sentence in the learned Languages. In the same Manner I have now secured myself from the Imitation of those who are utterly incapable of any Degree of Reflection, and whose Learning is not equal to an Essay.
I would not be here understood to insinuate, that the greatest Merit of such historical Productions can ever lie in these introductory Chapters; but, in Fact, those Parts which contain mere Narrative only, afford much more Encouragement to the Pen of an Imitator, than those which are composed of Observation and Reflection. Here I mean such Imitators as Rowe was of Shakespear, or as Horace hints some of the Romans were of Cato, by bare Feet and sour Faces.3
To invent good Stories, and to tell them well, are possibly very rare Talents, and yet I have observed few Persons who have scrupled to aim at both; and if we examine the Romances and Novels with which the World abounds, I think we may fairly conclude, that most of the Authors would not have attempted to shew their Teeth (if the Expression may be allowed me) in any other Way of Writing; nor could indeed have strung together a dozen Sentences on any other Subject whatever. Scribimus indocti doctique passim, * may be more truly said of the Historian and Biographer, than of any other Species of Writing: For all the Arts and Sciences (even Criticism itself) require some little Degree of Learning and Knowledge. Poetry indeed may perhaps be thought an Exception; but then it demands Numbers, or something like Numbers; whereas to the Composition of Novels and Romances, nothing is necessary but Paper, Pens and Ink, with the manual Capacity of using them. This, I conceive, their Productions shew to be the Opinion of the Authors themselves; and this must be the Opinion of their Readers, if indeed there be any such.
Hence we are to derive that universal Contempt, which the World, who always denominate the Whole from the Majority, have cast on all historical Writers, who do not draw their Materials from Records. And it is the Apprehension of this Contempt, that hath made us so cautiously avoid the Term Romance, a Name with which we might otherwise have been well enough contented. Though as we have good Authority for all our Characters, no less indeed than the vast authentic Doomsday-Book of Nature, as is
elsewhere hinted, our Labours have sufficient Title to the Name ofHistory. Certainly they deserve some Distinction from those Works, which one of the wittiest of Men regarded only as proceeding from a Pruritus, or indeed rather from a Looseness of the Brain.5
But besides the Dishonour which is thus cast on one of the most useful as well as entertaining of all Kind
s of Writing, there is just Reason to apprehend, that by encouraging such Authors, we shall propagate much Dishonour of another Kind; I mean to the Characters of many good and valuable Members of Society: For the dullest Writers, no more than the dullest Companions, are always inoffensive. They have both enough of Language to be indecent and abusive. And surely, if the Opinion just above cited be true, we cannot wonder, that Works so nastily derived should be nasty themselves, or have a Tendency to make others so.
To prevent therefore for the future, such intemperate Abuses of Leisure, of Letters, and of the Liberty of the Press, especially as the World seems at present to be more than usually threatned with them, I shall here venture to mention some Qualifications, every one of which are in a pretty high Degree necessary to this Order of Historians.
The first is Genius, without a full Vein of which, no Study, says Horace, can avail us.6 By Genius I would understand that Power, or rather those Powers of the Mind, which are capable of penetrating into all Things within our Reach and Knowledge, and of distinguishing their essential Differences. These are no other than Invention and Judgment; and they are both called by the collective Name of Genius, as they are of those Gifts of Nature which we bring with us into the World. Concerning each of which many seem to have fallen into very great Errors: For by Invention, I believe, is generally understood a creative Faculty; which would indeed prove most Romance-Writers to have the highest Pretentions to it; whereas by Invention is really meant no more, (and so the Word signifies) than Discovery, or finding out; or to explain it at large, a quick and sagacious Penetration into the true Essence of all the Objects of our Contemplation. This, I think, can rarely exist without the Concomitancy of Judgment: For how we can be said to have discovered the true Essence of two Things, without discerning their Difference, seems to me hard to conceive. Now this last is the undisputed Province of Judgment, and yet some few Men of Wit have agreed with all the dull Fellows in the World, in representing these two to have been seldom or never the Property of one and the same Person.7
But tho’ they should be so, they are not sufficient for our Purpose without a good Share of Learning; for which I could again cite the Authority of Horace, and of many others, if any was necessary to prove that Tools are of no Service to a Workman, when they are not sharpened by Art, or when he wants Rules to direct him in his Work, or hath no Matter to work upon. All these Uses are supplied by Learning: For Nature can only furnish us with Capacity, or, as I have chose to illustrate it, with the Tools of our Profession; Learning must fit them for Use, must direct them in it; and lastly, must contribute, Part at least, of the Materials. A competent Knowledge of History and of the Belles Lettres, is here absolutely necessary; and without this Share of Knowledge at least, to affect the Character of an Historian, is as vain as to endeavour at building a House without Timber or Mortar, or Brick or Stone. Homer and Milton, who, though they added the Ornament of Numbers to their Works, were both Historians of our Order, and Masters of all the Learning of their Times.
Again, there is another Sort of Knowledge beyond the Power of Learning to bestow, and this is to be had by Conversation. So necessary is this to the understanding the Characters of Men, that none are more ignorant of them than those learned Pedants, whose Lives have been entirely consumed in Colleges, and among Books; For however exquisitely human Nature may have been described by Writers, the true practical System can be learnt only in the World. Indeed the like happens in every other Kind of Knowledge. Neither Physic, nor Law, are to be practically known from Books. Nay, the Farmer, the Planter, the Gardener, must perfect by Experience what he hath acquired the Rudiments of by Reading. How accurately soever the ingenious Mr. Miller may have described the Plant, he himself would advise his Disciple to see it in the Garden.8 As we must perceive, that after the nicest Strokes of a Shakespear, or a Johnson, of a Wycherly, or an Otway, some Touches of Nature will escape the Reader, which the judicious Action of a Garrick, of a Cibber, or a Clive, *9 can convey to him; so on the real Stage, the Character shews himself in a stronger and bolder Light, than he can be described. And if this be the Case in those fine and nervous Descriptions, which great Authors themselves have taken from Life, how much more strongly will it hold when the Writer himself takes his Lines not from Nature, but from Books! Such Characters are only the faint Copy of a Copy, and can have neither the Justness nor Spirit of an Original.
Now this Conversation in our Historian must be universal, that is, with all Ranks and Degrees of Men: For the Knowledge of what is called High-Life, will not instruct him in low, nor e converso, will his being acquainted with the inferior Part of Mankind, teach him the Manners of the superior. And though it may be thought that the Knowledge of either may sufficiently enable him to describe at least that in which he hath been conversant; yet he will even here fall greatly short of Perfection: for the Follies of either Rank do in reality illustrate each other. For instance, the Affectation of High-Life appears more glaring and ridiculous from the Simplicity of the Low; and again, the Rudeness and Barbarity of this latter, strikes with much stronger Ideas of Absurdity, when contrasted with, and opposed to the Politeness which controuls the former. Besides, to say the Truth, the Manners of our Historian will be improved by both these Conversations: For in the one he will easily find Examples of Plainness, Honesty, and Sincerity; in the other of Refinement, Elegance, and a Liberality of Spirit; which last Quality I myself have scarce ever seen in Men of low Birth and Education.
Nor will all the Qualities I have hitherto given my Historian avail him, unless he have what is generally meant by a good Heart, and be capable of feeling. The Author who will make me weep, says Horace, must first weep himself.10 In reality, no Man can paint a Distress well, which he doth not feel while he is painting it; nor do I doubt, but that the most pathetic and affecting Scenes have been writ with Tears. In the same Manner it is with the Ridiculous. I am convinced I never make my Reader laugh heartily, but where I have laughed before him; unless it should happen at any Time, that instead of laughing with me, he should be inclined to laugh at me. Perhaps this may have been the Case at some Passages in this Chapter, from which Apprehension I will here put an End to it.
CHAPTER II.
Containing a very surprizing Adventure indeed, which Mr. Jones met with in his Walk with the Man of the Hill.
Aurora now first opened her Casement, Anglicè, the Day began to break, when Jones walked forth in Company with the Stranger, and mounted Mazard Hill;1 of which they had no sooner gained the Summit, than one of the most noble Prospects in the World presented itself to their View, and which we would likewise present to the Reader; but for two Reasons. First, We despair of making those who have seen this Prospect, admire our Description. Secondly, We very much doubt whether those, who have not seen it, would understand it.
Jones stood for some Minutes fixed in one Posture, and directing his Eyes towards the South; upon which the old Gentleman asked, What he was looking at with so much Attention? ‘Alas, Sir,’ answered he with a Sigh, ‘I was endeavouring to trace out my own Journey hither. Good Heavens! what a Distance is Gloucester from us! What a vast Tract of Land must be between me and my own Home.’ ‘Ay, ay, young Gentleman,’ cries the other, ‘and, by your Sighing, from what you love better than your own Home, or I am mistaken, I perceive now the Object of your Contemplation is not within your Sight, and yet I fancy you have a Pleasure in looking that Way.’ Jones answered with a Smile, ‘I find, old Friend, you have not yet forgot the Sensations of your Youth.——I own my Thoughts were employed as you have guessed.’
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