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says she, “I assure you!" "Yes, madam," cried he, "he might, from a person of your excellent understanding. And pardon me for saying, such a condescension would have shown a superiority of sense even to your husband himself.” "But, dear sir," said she, "why should I submit when I am in the right?" "For that very reason," answered he; "it would be the greatest instance of affection imaginable; for can anything be a greater object of our compassion than a person we love in the wrong?" "Aye, but I should endeavour," said she, "to set him right.” "Pardon me, madam," answered Paul, "I will apply to your own experience if you ever found your arguments had that effect. The more our judgments err, the less we are willing to own it. For my own part, I have always observed the persons who maintain the worst side in any contest are the warmest." "Why," says she, “I must confess there is truth in what you say, and I will endeavour to practise it."
The husband then coming in, Paul departed. And Leonard, approaching his wife with the air of good humour, told her he was sorry for their foolish dispute the last night; but he was now convinced of his error. She answered, smiling, she believed she owed his condescension to his complacence; that she was ashamed to think a word had passed on so silly an occasion, especially as she was satisfied she had been mistaken. A little contention followed, but with the utmost goodwill to each other, and was concluded by her asserting that Paul had thoroughly convinced her she had been in the wrong. Upon which they both united in the praises of their common friend.
Paul now passed his time with great satisfaction, these disputes being much less frequent, as well as shorter than usual. But the devil, or some unlucky accident in which
perhaps the devil had no hand, shortly put an end to his happiness. He was now eternally the private referee of every difference; in which, after having perfectly, as he thought, established the doctrine of submission, he never scrupled to assure both privately that they were in the right in every argument, as before he had followed the contrary method.
One day a violent litigation happened in his absence, and both parties agreed to refer it to his decision. The husband professing himself sure the decision would be in his favour; the wife answered, he might be mistaken; for she believed his friend was convinced how seldom she was to blame; and that if he knew all The husband replied: "My dear, I have no desire of any retrospect; but I believe, if you knew all, too, you would not imagine my friend so entirely on your side." "Nay," says she, " since you provoke me, I will mention one instance. You may remember our dispute about sending Jackey to school in cold weather, which point I gave up to you from mere compassion, knowing myself to be in the right; and Paul himself told me afterward he thought me so." "My dear," replied the husband, "I will not dispute your veracity; but I assure you solemnly, on my applying to him, he gave it absolutely on my side, and said he would have acted in the same manner." They then proceeded to produce numberless other instances, in all of which Paul had, on vows of secrecy, given his opinion on both sides. In the conclusion, both believing each other, they fell severely on the treachery of Paul, and agreed that he had been the occasion of almost every dispute which had fallen out between them. They then became extremely loving, and so full of condescension on both sides, that they vied with each other in censuring their own conduct, and jointly vented their indignation on Paul, whom the wife, fearing a bloody consequence, earn
estly entreated her husband to suffer quietly to depart the next day, which was the time fixed for his return to quarters, and then drop his acquaintance.
However ungenerous this behaviour in Leonard may be esteemed, his wife obtained a promise from him (though with difficulty) to follow her advice. But they both expressed such unusual coldness that day to Paul, that he, who was quick of apprehension, taking Leonard aside, pressed him so home that he at last discovered the secret. Paul acknowledged the truth, but told him the design with which he had done it. To which the other answered, he would have acted more friendly to have let him into the whole design, for that he might have assured himself of his secrecy. Paul replied, with some indignation, he had given him a sufficient proof how capable he was of concealing a secret from his wife. Leonard concluded with warmth, he had more reason to upbraid him, for that he had caused most of the quarrels between them by his strange conduct, and might (if they had not discovered the affair to each other) have been the occasion of their separation.-" Joseph Andrews."
OUR captain, who was a very good and experienced seaman, having been above thirty years the master of a vessel, part of which he had served, so he phrased it, as commander of a privateer, and had discharged himself with great courage and conduct, and with as great success, discovered the utmost aversion to the sending his boat ashore whenever we lay wind-bound in any of our harbours. This aversion did
not arise from any fear of wearing out his boat by using it, but was, in truth, the result of experience, that it was easier to send his men on shore than to recall them. They acknowledged him as their master while they remained on shipboard, but did not allow his power to extend to the shores, where they had no sooner set their foot than every man became his own master, and thought himself at full liberty to return when he pleased. Now it is not any delight that these fellows have in the fresh air or verdant fields on the land. Every one of them would prefer his ship and his hammock to all the sweets of Arabia the Happy; but, unluckily for them, there are in every seaport in England certain houses whose chief livelihood depends on providing entertainment for the gentlemen of the jacket. For this purpose they are always well furnished with those cordial liquors which do immediately inspire the heart with gladness, banishing all careful thoughts, and indeed all others, from the mind, and opening the mouth with songs of cheerfulness and thanksgiving for the many wonderful blessings with which a seafaring life overflows.
For my own part, however whimsical it may appear, I confess I have thought the strange story of Circe in the "Odyssey" no other than an ingenious allegory, in which Homer intended to convey to his countrymen the same kind of instruction which we intend to communicate to our own in this digression. As teaching the art of war to the Greeks was the plain design of the "Iliad," so was teaching them the art of navigation the no less manifest intention of the "Odyssey." For the improvement of this their situation was most excellently adapted; and accordingly we find Thucydides, in the beginning of his history, considers the Greeks as a set of pirates or privateers, plundering each other by sea. This being
probably the first institution of commerce before the Ars Cauponaria was invented, and merchants, instead of robbing, began to cheat and outwit each other, and by degrees changed the Metabletic, the only kind of traffic allowed by Aristotle in his "Politics," into the Chrematistic.
By this allegory, then, I suppose Ulysses to have been the captain of a merchant-ship, and Circe some good ale-wife, who made his crew drunk with the spirituous liquors of those days. With this the transformation into swine, as well as all other incidents of the fable, will notably agree; and thus a key will be found out for unlocking the whole mystery, and forging at least some meaning to a story which, at present, appears very strange and absurd.
Hence, moreover, will appear the very near resemblance between the seafaring men of all ages and nations; and here, perhaps, may be established the truth and justice of that observation, which will occur oftener than once in this voyage, that all human flesh is not the same flesh, but that there is one kind of flesh of landmen and another of
Philosophers, divines, and others, who have treated the gratification of human appetites with contempt, have, among other instances, insisted very strongly on that satiety which is so apt to overtake them even in the very act of enjoyment. And here they more particularly deserve our attention, as most of them may be supposed to speak from their own experience, and very probably gave us their lessons with a full stomach. Thus hunger and thirst, whatever delight they may afford while we are eating and drinking, pass both away from us with the plate and the cup. A second haunch of venison, or a second dose of turtle, would hardly allure a city glutton with its smell. Even the celebrated Jew himself,