Volume Ii Part 24 (2/2)
and Mrs. Careless and Alice Addertongue, the figures brought to our eye by the _Pennsylvania Gazette_. Indeed, Addison himself would have had no occasion to be ashamed of them, if they had been figments of his own fancy.
In his letter to the editor of the _Gazette_, Anthony Afterwit told him that about the time that he first addressed his spouse her father let it be known that, if she married a man of his liking, he would give two hundred pounds with her on the day of marriage, and that he had made some fine plans, and had even, in some measure, neglected his business on the strength of this a.s.surance, but that, when the old gentleman saw that the writer was pretty well engaged, he, without a.s.signing any reason, grew very angry, forbade him the house and told his daughter that, if she married him, he would not give her a farthing. However (as the father foresaw), he stole a wedding, and took his wife to his house, where they were not in quite so poor a condition as the couple described in the Scotch song who had
”Neither Pot nor Pan, But four bare Legs together,”
for he had a house tolerably furnished for an ordinary man. His wife, however, was strongly inclined to be a gentlewoman. His old-fas.h.i.+oned looking-gla.s.s was one day broke, ”_No Mortal could tell which way_,” she said, and was succeeded by a large fas.h.i.+onable one. This in turn led to another table more suitable to such a gla.s.s, and the new table to some very handsome chairs. Thus, by degrees, he found all his old furniture stored up in the garret and everything below altered for the better.
Then, on one pretext or another, came along a tea-table with all its appurtenances of china and silver, a maid, a clock, and a pacing mare, for which he paid twenty pounds. The result was that, receiving a very severe dun, which mentioned the next court, he began in earnest to project relief.
His dear having gone over the river the preceding Monday to see a relation, and stay a fortnight, because she could not bear the heat of the town, he took his turn at alterations. He dismissed the maid, bag and baggage; he sold the pacing mare, and bought a good milch cow with three pounds of the money; he disposed of the tea-table, and put a spinning wheel in its place; he stuffed nine empty tea canisters with flax, and with some of the money, derived from the sale of the tea-furniture, he bought a set of knitting needles; ”for to tell you a truth, which I would have go no farther,” added honest Anthony, ”_I begin to want stockings_.” The stately clock he transformed into an hour gla.s.s, by which he had gained a good round sum, and one of the pieces of the old looking-gla.s.s, squared and framed, supplied the place of the old one. In short, the face of things was quite changed, and he had paid his debts and found money in his pocket. His good dame was expected home next Friday, and, if she could conform with his new scheme of living, they would be the happiest couple, perhaps, in the Province, and, by the blessings of G.o.d, might soon be in thriving circ.u.mstances. He had reserved the great gla.s.s for her, and he would allow her, when she came in, to be taken suddenly ill with the _headache_, the _stomachache_, the fainting fits, or whatever other disorder she might think more proper, and she might retire to bed as soon as she pleased, but, if he did not find her in perfect health, both of body and mind, the next morning, away would go the aforesaid great gla.s.s, with several other trinkets, to the _vendue_ that very day.
That the wife of Anthony did succ.u.mb to the situation, we know, for it was an unfortunate reference to her that caused Celia Single to write her letter to the editor of the _Gazette_. During the morning of the preceding Wednesday, she said, she happened to be in at Mrs. Careless', when the husband of that lady returned from market, and showed his wife some b.a.l.l.s of thread which he had bought. ”My Dear,” says he, ”I like mightily these Stockings, which I yesterday saw Neighbour Afterwit knitting for her Husband, of Thread of her own Spinning. I should be glad to have some such stockins myself: I understand that your Maid Mary is a very good Knitter, and seeing this Thread in Market, I have bought it, that the Girl may make a Pair or two for me.” Then, according to Celia, there took place in her presence a dialogue between husband and wife so animated that, knowing as she did that a man and his wife are apt to quarrel more violently, when before strangers, than when by themselves, she got up and went out hastily.
She was glad, however, to understand from Mary, who came to her of an errand in the evening, that the couple dined together pretty peaceably (the b.a.l.l.s of thread, that had caused the difference, being thrown into the kitchen fire).
The story, beginning with the reply of Mrs. Careless to the offensive suggestion of Mr. Careless, is too good not to be reproduced in full.
Mrs. Careless was just then at the Gla.s.s, dressing her Head, and turning about with the Pins in her Mouth, ”Lord, Child,” says she, ”are you crazy? What Time has Mary to knit? Who must do the Work, I wonder, if you set her to Knitting?” ”Perhaps, my Dear,” says he, ”you have a mind to knit 'em yourself; I remember, when I courted you, I once heard you say, that you had learn'd to knit of your Mother.” ”I knit Stockins for you!”
says she; ”not I truly! There are poor Women enough in Town, that can knit; if you please, you may employ them.” ”Well, but my Dear,” says he, ”you know _a penny sav'd is a penny got_, A pin a day is a groat a year, every little makes a muckle, and there is neither Sin nor Shame in Knitting a pair of Stockins; why should you express such a mighty Aversion to it? As to _poor_ Women, you know we are not People of Quality, we have no Income to maintain us but what arises from my Labour and Industry: Methinks you should not be at all displeas'd, if you have an Opportunity to get something as well as myself.”
”I wonder,” says she, ”how you can propose such a thing to me; did not you always tell me you would maintain me like a Gentlewoman? If I had married Captain ----, he would have scorn'd even to mention Knitting of Stockins.” ”Prithee,” says he, (a little nettled,) ”what do you tell me of your Captains? If you could have had him, I suppose you would, or perhaps you did not very well like him. If I did promise to maintain you like a Gentlewoman, I suppose 'tis time enough for that, when you know how to behave like one; Meanwhile 'tis your Duty to help make me able. How long, d'ye think, I can maintain you at your present Rate of Living?” ”Pray,” says she, (somewhat fiercely, and das.h.i.+ng the Puff into the Powder-box,) ”don't use me after this Manner, for I a.s.sure you I won't bear it.
This is the Fruit of your poison Newspapers; there shall come no more here, I promise you.” ”Bless us,”
says he, ”what an unaccountable thing is this? Must a Tradesman's Daughter, and the Wife of a Tradesman, necessarily and instantly be a Gentlewoman? You had no Portion; I am forc'd to work for a Living; you are too great to do the like; there's the Door, go and live upon your Estate, if you can find it; in short, I don't desire to be troubled w'ye.”
And then it was that Celia Single gathered up her skirts and left.
The letter from Alice Addertongue to the editor of the _Gazette_ is exactly in the manner of the _School for Scandal_, written many years later. She is a young girl of about thirty-five, she says, and lives at present with her mother. Like the Emperor, who, if a day pa.s.sed over his head, during which he had conferred no benefit on any man, was in the habit of saying, _Diem perdidi_, _I have lost a Day_, she would make use of the same expression, were it possible for a day to pa.s.s over her head, during which she had failed to scandalize someone; a misfortune, thanks be praised, that had not befallen her these dozen years.
My mother, good Woman, and I [the forked tongue plays precisely as it might have done in the mouth of Lady Sneerwell] have heretofore differ'd upon this Account.
She argu'd, that Scandal spoilt all good Conversation; and I insisted, that without it there would be no such Thing. Our Disputes once rose so high, that we parted Tea-Tables, and I concluded to entertain my Acquaintance in the Kitchin. The first Day of this Separation we both drank Tea at the same Time, but she with her Visitors in the Parlor. She would not hear of the least Objection to anyone's Character, but began a new sort of Discourse in some queer philosophical Manner as this; ”I am mightily pleas'd sometimes,” says she, ”when I observe and consider, that the World is not so bad as People out of humour imagine it to be.
There is something amiable, some good Quality or other, in everybody. If we were only to speak of People that are least respected, there is such a one is very dutiful to her Father, and methinks has a fine Set of Teeth; such a one is very respectful to her Husband; such a one is very kind to her poor Neighbours, and besides has a very handsome Shape; such a one is always ready to serve a Friend, and in my opinion there is not a Woman in Town that has a more agreable Air and Gait.”
This fine kind of Talk, which lasted near half an Hour, she concluded by saying, ”I do not doubt but everyone of you have made the like Observations, and I should be glad to have the Conversation continu'd upon this Subject.” Just at that Juncture I peep'd in at the Door, and never in my Life before saw such a Set of simple vacant Countenances. They looked somehow neither glad, nor sorry, nor angry, nor pleas'd, nor indifferent, nor attentive; but (excuse the Simile) like so many blue wooden images of Rie Doe. I in the Kitchin had already begun a ridiculous Story of Mr.
----'s Intrigue with his Maid, and his Wife's Behaviour upon the Discovery; at some Pa.s.sages we laugh'd heartily, and one of the gravest of Mama's Company, without making any Answer to her Discourse, got up _to go and see what the Girls were so merry about_: She was follow'd by a Second, and shortly by a Third, till at last the old Gentlewoman found herself quite alone, and, being convinc'd that her Project was impracticable, came herself and finish'd her Tea with us; ever since which _Saul also has been among the Prophets_, and our Disputes lie dormant.
It was in the _Pennsylvania Gazette_, too, that Franklin published his ”Dialogue between Philocles and Horatio,” in which Philocles twice meets Horatio in the fields, and, in accents full of persuasive blandishment, diverts his feet from the pursuit of sensual pleasure into paths of contentment and peace. In the first dialogue, the moralist takes as his thesis the proposition that self-denial is not only the most reasonable but the most pleasant thing in the world. In the second, he holds up to Horatio the constant and durable happiness, so unlike the chequered, fleeting pleasures of Sense, which springs from acts of humanity, friends.h.i.+p, generosity and benevolence. One maxim in the last dialogue is worth many of the sayings of Poor Richard: ”The Foundation of all Virtue and Happiness is Thinking rightly.”
Other papers from the hand of Franklin that appeared in the _Gazette_ were _A Witch Trial at Mount Holly_, _An Apology for Printers_, _A Meditation on a Quart Mugg_, _Shavers and Trimmers_, and _Exporting of Felons to the Colonies_.
In the ”Witch Trial at Mount Holly,” Franklin describes in a highly humorous manner the results of the ordeals to which a man and a woman, accused by a man and a woman of witchcraft, were subjected. One of these ordeals consisted in weighing the accused in scales against a Bible for the purpose of seeing whether it would prove too heavy for them.
Then [the facetious narrative relates] came out of the House a grave, tall Man carrying the Holy Writ before the supposed Wizard etc., (as solemely as the Sword-Bearer of London before the Lord Mayor) the Wizard was first put in the Scale, and over him was read a Chapter out of the Books of Moses, and then the Bible was put in the other Scale, (which, being kept down before) was immediately let go; but, to the great surprize of the Spectators, Flesh and Bones came down plump, and outweighed that great good Book by abundance. After the same Manner the others were served, and their Lumps of Mortality severally were too heavy for Moses and all the Prophets and Apostles.
This ordeal was followed by the Trial by Water. Both accused and accusers were stripped, except that the women were not deprived of their s.h.i.+fts, bound hand and foot and let down into the water by ropes from the side of a barge. The rest is thus told:
The accused man being thin and spare with some Difficulty began to sink at last; but the rest, every one of them, swam very light upon the Water. A Sailor in the Flat jump'd out upon the Back of the Man accused thinking to drive him down to the Bottom; but the Person bound, without any Help, came up some time before the other. The Woman Accuser being told that she did not sink, would be duck'd a second Time; when she swam again as light as before. Upon which she declared, That she believed the Accused had bewitched her to make her so light, and that she would be duck'd again a Hundred Times but she would duck the Devil out of her.
The Accused Man, being surpriz'd at his own swimming, was not so confident of his Innocence as before, but said, ”If I am a Witch, it is more than I know.” The more thinking Part of the Spectators were of Opinion that any Person so bound and placed in the Water (unless they were mere Skin and Bones) would swim, till their breath was gone, and their Lungs fill'd with Water. But it being the general Belief of the Populace that the Women's s.h.i.+fts and the Garters with which they were bound help'd to support them, it is said they are to be tried again the next Warm Weather, naked.
In the ”Apology for Printers,” Franklin defends his guild with much point and good sense, in terms modern enough to be fully applicable to newspapers at the present time. It was inspired by the resentment which his advertis.e.m.e.nt relating to Sea Hens and Black Gowns excited, and, though written in a half-humorous style, states the difficulties of an editor, between his duty to publish everything, and the certainty of private resentment, if he does, with about as much felicity of presentation as they are ever likely to be stated. Among the various solid reasons, set forth in formal numerical sequence, that he gave, by way of mitigation, for publis.h.i.+ng the advertis.e.m.e.nt, he mentioned these, too:
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