ployments, during that space of time. This kind of self-examination would give them a true state of themselves, and incline them to consider seriously what they are about. One day would rectify the omissions of another, and make a man weigh all 5 those indifferent actions, which, though they are easily forgotten, must certainly be accounted for. No. 323. TUESDAY, MARCH 11. [1712.] 1 Modo vir, modo femina.-VIRG. THE Journal with which I presented my reader on Tuesday last, has brought me in several letters with 1 accounts of many private lives cast into that 10 form. I have the Rake's Journal, the Sot's Journal, the Whoremaster's Journal, and among several others a very curious piece, entitled, The Journal of a Mohock. By these instances I find that the intention of my last Tuesday's paper has been mis- 15 taken by many of my readers. I did not design so much to expose vice as idleness, and aimed at those persons who pass away their time rather in trifles 2 and impertinence, than in crimes and immoralities. Offences of this later kind are not to be dallied with, 20 or treated in so ludicrous a manner. In short, my journal only holds up folly to the light, and shows the disagreeableness of such actions as are indifferent in themselves, and blameable only as they proceed from creatures endowed with reason. My following correspondent, who calls herself Clarinda, is such a journalist as I require: she 25 seems by her letter to be placed in a modish state of indifference between vice and virtue, and to be susceptible of either, were there proper pains taken with her. Had her journal been filled with gal5 lantries, or such occurrences as had shown her wholly divested of her natural innocence, notwithstanding it might have been more pleasing to the generality of readers, I should not have published it; but as it is only the picture of a life filled with a 10 fashionable kind of gaiety and laziness, I shall set down five days of it, as I have received it from the hand of my correspondent.3 15 DEAR MR. SPECTATOR, You having set your readers an exercise in one of your last week's papers, I have performed mine according to your orders, and herewith send it you enclosed. You must know, Mr. Spectator, that I am a maiden lady of a good fortune, who have had several matches offered me for these ten years last past, and have at present warm applications made to me by a very 20 pretty fellow. As I am at my own disposal, I come up to town every winter, and pass my time in it after the manner you will find in the following journal, which I began 5 to write upon the very day after your Spectator upon that subject. TUESDAY night. Could not go to sleep till one in the morning 25 for thinking of my journal. 30 Drank two dishes of WEDNESDAY. From Eight till Ten. chocolate in bed, and fell asleep after them.6 From Ten to Eleven. Eat a slice of bread and butter, drank a dish of bohea, read the Spectator. From Eleven to One. At my toilette, tried a new head. Gave orders for Veny to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best in blue. From One till half an hour after Two. Drove to the Change. Cheapened a couple of fans. Till Four. At dinner. Mem. Mr. Froth passed by in his new liveries. From Four to Six. Dressed, paid a visit to old Lady Blithe 5 and her sister, having before heard they were gone out of town that day. From Six to Eleven. At basset. Mem. Never set again upon the ace of diamonds. THURSDAY. From Eleven at night to Eight in the morning. 10 Dreamed that I punted to Mr. Froth. From Eight to Ten. Chocolate. Read two acts in Aurenzebe a-bed. From Ten to Eleven. Tea-table. Sent to borrow Lady Faddle's Cupid for Veny. Read the play-bills. Received a letter 15 from Mr. Froth. Mem. Locked it up in my strong box. Rest of the morning. Fontange, the tire-woman, her account of my Lady Blithe's wash. Broke a tooth in my little tortoiseshell comb. Sent Frank to know how my Lady Hectic rested after her monkey's leaping out at window. Looked pale. Fon- 20 tange tells me my glass is not true. Dressed by Three. Dinner cold before I sat down. From Three to Four. From Four to Eleven. Saw company. Mr. Froth's opinion of Milton. His account of the Mohocks. His fancy for a pincushion. Picture in the lid of his snuff-box. Old Lady Faddle 25 promises me her woman to cut my hair. Lost five guineas at crimp. Twelve a clock at night. Went to bed. FRIDAY. Eight in the morning. A-bed. Read over all Mr. Froth's letters. Cupid and Veny. 30 Ten a clock. Stayed within all day, not at home. From Ten to Twelve. In conference with my mantuamaker. Sorted a suit of ribands. Broke my blue china cup. From Twelve to One. Shut myself up in my chamber, practised Lady Betty Modely's skuttle. 35 One in the afternoon. Called for my flowered handkerchief. Worked half a violet leaf in it. Eyes ached and head out of order. Threw by my work, and read over the remaining part of Aurenzebe. From Three to Four. Dined. From Four to Twelve. Changed my mind, dressed, went 5 abroad, and played at crimp till midnight. Found Mrs. Spitely at home. Conversation: Mrs. Brillant's necklace false stones. Old Lady Loveday going to be married to a young fellow that is not worth a groat. Miss Prue gone into the country. Tom Townley has red hair. Mem. Mrs. Spitely whispered in my ear Io that she had something to tell me about Mr. Froth, I am sure it is not true. Between Twelve and One. Dreamed that Mr. Froth lay at my feet, and called me Indamora. SATURDAY. 15 to my toilette. Rose at eight a clock in the morning. Sat down From Eight to Nine. Shifted a patch for half an hour before I could determine it. From Nine to Twelve. From Twelve to Two. Drank my tea, and dressed. At chapel. A great deal of good com 20 pany. Mem. The third air in the new opera. Lady Blithe dressed frightfully. From Three to Four. Dined. Mrs. Kitty called upon me to go to the opera before I was risen from table. From dinner to Six. Drank tea. Turned off a footman for 25 being rude to Veny. Six a clock. Went to the opera. I did not see Mr. Froth till the beginning of the second act. Mr. Froth talked to a gentleman in a black wig. Bowed to a lady in the front box. Mr. Froth and his friend clapped Nicolini in the third act. Mr. 30 Froth cried out Ancora. Mr. Froth led me to my chair. I think he squeezed my hand. Melancholy dreams. Me Eleven at night. Went to bed. thought Nicolini said he was Mr. Froth. SUNDAY. Indisposed. 35 MONDAY. Eight a clock. [Waked] by Miss Kitty. Auren7 1712, Ancoza, corrected in No. 325 (1712) to Ancora, 8 1712, waked; 1721, walked. Went in our mobs to the dumb zebe lay upon the chair by me. Kitty repeated without book the eight best lines in the play. man, according to appointment. began with a G. Mem. The conjurer was within a letter of Mr. Froth's name, etc. 5 Upon looking back into this my journal, I find that I am at a loss to know whether I pass my time well or ill; and indeed never thought of considering how I did it, before I perused your speculation upon that subject. I scarce find a single action in these five days that I can thoroughly approve of, except the 10 working upon the violet leaf, which I am resolved to finish the first day I am at leisure. As for Mr. Froth and Veny, I did not think they took up so much of my time and thoughts, as I find they do upon my journal. The latter of them I will turn off if you insist upon it; and if Mr. Froth does not bring matters to a 15 conclusion very suddenly, I will not let my life run away in a dream. Your humble servant, CLARINDA. first paper, 9 20 my To resume one of the morals of and to confirm Clarinda in her good inclinations, I would have her consider what a pretty figure she would make among posterity, were the history of her whole life published like these five days of it. I shall conclude my paper with an epitaph 10 written 25 by an uncertain author on Sir Philip Sidney's sister, a lady who seems to have been of a temper very much different from that of Clarinda. The last thought of it is so very noble, that I dare say my reader will pardon 11 the quotation. On the Countess Dowager of Pembroke. Underneath this marble hearse Lies the subject of all verse, 9 10 1712, papers. 1712, the epitaph which Ben Jonson has written on. 11 1712, pardon me the. 30 |