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O rus, quando ego te aspiciam, quandoque licebit,
Ducere solicitae jucunda oblivia vitae?
VIRG.
Whenshall I to the shades retire,
And bid adieu to worldly care;
The country’s tranquil charms admire,
And find the peace that’s treasur’d there>
It may, I believe, be said with great truth, that no one was ever engaged in the bustle and business of life, who did not look to some future period, with a satisfactory expectation, when he should retire from its cares and anxieties to the enjoyment of peace and tranquillity. But of the numbers who have entertained such pleasing hopes, the greater part have not, I fear, obtained the flattering object. Misfortune too often renders the design abortive; infirmities frequently annihilate the desire of enjoying it; while worldly interests and rooted habits detain no small portion of them from carrying their purpose into execution, till the hour arrives when the landscape of life is fading before them. But this is not all:—-how few of those who live to accomplish the project, find it a scene of contentment!
A man who retires from the active concerns of life, must carry something more along with him, than the money sufficient to purchase the accommodations which he had fancied would give all the agreeableness he expected from his new situation. He must take a mind stored with something more than a sense of his prosperity, or a recollection of the fortunate circumstances and active industry which combined to acquire it. When the change is so great, as to be from the anxious occupation of every moment to the having nothing to do, from full employment to vacant hours, there must be some preparatory power to preserve the mind, not merely from listlessness, but, I might almost say, from misery; and that such precious attainments are not always possessed by those who have been the fabricators of their own fortunes, especially when trade and commerce have formed the scene of their activity, no one, I believe, will venture to controvert. Rural occupations, country society, and provincial duties, differ so much from their accustomed habits and pursuits, that they do not readily enjoy the one, as they are very rarely, if ever, qualified to perform the other.
It may be also observed, that those who have been accustomed to live altogether in the metropolis, and have, consequently, formed their notions of life from the manners and occupations of its inhabitants, are disposed to make pleasing pictures, in their own minds, of the tranquil enjoyments and amiable simplicity of those who have always lived in the country, which a practical experience of them will soon destroy. The vices which disgrace the human character, and the passions that disturb it, though they may appear in a new and less prominent state, will be found sufficient, in the remotest village, to disperse the fancied dreams of rural virtue and pastoral innocence.
These thoughts have been suggested by a letter which I have received from the country, and which I shall, without any further observation, present to my readers.
TO THE MODERN SPECTATOR. Sir,
As you have invited correspondents, I beg leave to become one of them. The history of my perplexities may not perhaps be unamusing; as, had they happened to another, they would probably have been entertaining to myself.
A life of commercial business had confined me to London and its immediate vicinity, till, by the death of a very wealthy relation, I found myself in possession of a fortune, which set me above the desire of making any addition to it; and determined me to get rid of all my trading concerns, in order that I might pass the rest of my days in the enjoyment of every rational pleasure that my added riches could procure me.
In the occasional intervals of business, I had frequently felt an anxious desire to see the distant parts of England; and had, from year to year, intended to accept the kind invitations of some relations in the country, which used to accompany the turkies, chines, and hampers of game, they occasionally sent me. But the necessary leisure never arrived; nor do I know when I should have found the expected opportunity, if the last will and testament of my deceased uncle had not presented it to me.
Having, in a few months, disentangled myself from all my commercial engagements, I wrote to my relation, Sir Wm. Overhill, to inform him of my intention to pay him the long-promised visit, and waited with a school-boy's impatience for the day when I was to turn my back upon London, in search, as it were, of a new life, and, as yet, untasted pleasures, in a distant part of the kingdom.
My journey was one continued scene of delightful variety. The manufacturing towns through which I passed, being in some degree connected with my former profession, had a natural claim to my attention. The navigable river, the verdant pasture, and expanding harvest, were not unfamiliar to my commercial reflections: but the mountain, the hanging wood, the jutting rock, and the roaring water-fall, awakened sensations of pleasure as yet unknown to me, and of which I was delighted to find myself susceptible. The bold abruptness of nature I had never before seen but in the representation of the painter.
Glowing with these impressions, panting after new objects of delight, and eager to see a part of my family I had not seen for many years, I arrived at the entrance of the stately old avenue which led to the mansion of my country cousin.
As I was hourly expected, the servants were on the watch to give notice of my approach, and when my chaise reached the door, I found the old Gothic porch filled with the family, who were ready to receive me with all those respectful attentions which so near and so wealthy a relation might be supposed to deserve.
On my descending from the chaise, Sir William received me with a look of real satisfaction; and having almost dislocated my wrist, by the hearty shake of the hand with which he welcomed me, he presented me to his lady, who concluded many expressions of regard, by saying, "that long-look'd-for was come at last." She then ordered her three daughters to come forward and salute their London cousin. The young ladies, indeed, did not seem so bashful as I expected from a country education, but concluding that their unembarrassed reception of my embrace arose from their joy to see me, I checked the rising surprise.
It was about seven in the evening; and, on my mentioning tea as the refreshment most agreable [sic] to me, Sir William's countenance seemed not to possess all the approbation which would probably have accompanied my proposal for a bowl of punch or a bottle of wine. The tea-table, however, soon made its appearance, and my three fair cousins were hardly constrained by my presence from engaging in a very unpleasant contest about the honour of preparing the regale which I had requested. It was, however, determined by the mother, that Peggy, who was her favourite, should perform the ceremony; while her two sisters sat in malignant sulkiness, watching her motions, and ridiculing her civilities to me, and whispering their wishes, that the tea-pot might fall from her hand, or the boiling water be poured upon it.
I took my beverage without appearing to observe the little hostilities which were passing around me: and continued answering the reiterated questions of the baronet and his lady, till 1 became quite exhausted, and was on the point of desiring to be conducted to my chamber, when supper was announced; and I was ushered into a large adjoining room, where a banquet was prepared that would have satisfied the hungry expectation of gluttony itself.
Instead of that rest which I so much wanted, I was forced to a meal of which I had no appetite to partake; and though I resisted, with all the politeness I was capable of exerting, the various recommendations of the good things placed before me, I was so far obliged to comply with the hospitable solicitations, that I retired at a late hour to my chamber, with a loaded stomach, and found my servant so completely inebriated as to be totally disqualified from any one act of his usual duty. In this situation I passed a restless night; and at an early hour of the morning, when nature, after the struggles of indigestion, was yielding to repose, I was disturbed by Sir William's entrance into my chamber, in order to conduct me to the stable and the dog-kennel.
This invitation, which was intended as a civility, I knew not how to resist, and I obeyed with the best grace in my power: when, after having been deafened with the noise of dogs, and poisoned with the smell of horse-flesh, 1 was hurried to the stable to take a view of the stud, and to be particularly instructed in all the merits of a famous race-horse; who, from my want of caution in approaching too near him, was within a few inches of kicking me out of existence.
We now retreated to coffee, tea, and chocolate, with hot loaves soaked in butter, and the teasing civilities of my rival cousins. The moment the breakfast was over I was hurried round a large park, and rowed about a large lake of water, beneath the scorching influence of a meridian sun: in short, every day brought a hurry of entertainments along with it; and what with visiting and receiving visits, attending horse-races and assemblies, with jaunts to shew me the country, during the six weeks I had promised to stay with this family, I scarce had a moment I could call my own; and often did I long to be restored to the quiet of my little garden at Clapham, where, after the fatigues of business, I was wont to find that tranquillity which I have now sought in vain at a hundred and fifty miles distance from the capital.
But my country history ends not here: for I found that this family, where I had expected to find the plain unassuming virtues of a provincial life, was an epitome of the fashionable busy world; and that not only the London fashions, but some of its dissipations, to say no worse, were to be seen at Overhill Hall. The baronet himself let me into the secret of a little dairy-maid, who was very pretty and very kind; while the good lady, his wife, was never so happy as when Mr. Sturdy, the curate, came to read a new novel to her on a rainy morning. My young cousins have each of them a secret lover; and the youngest, with all her family pride, would certainly have decamped with a young apothecary in the neighbourhood, if I had not been accidentally in the way to prevent such a miserable expedition.
Envy, scandal, and calumny seem to be as well understood there, and as liberally practised, as in the metropolis. In short, I rejoiced that the term of my visit was concluded; and when I took leave of my hospitable relations, for hospitable they were, 1 seemed to find tranquillity on a turnpike road and in a public inn.
I am your obedient servant,
HENRY TRUEMAN.