I have sometimes thought to draw up a memorial in the behalf of Supper against Dinner,setting forth,that the said Dinner has made several encroachments upon the said Supper,and entered very far upon his frontiers;that he has banished him out of several families,and in all has driven him from his headquarters,and forced him to make his retreat into the hours of midnight;and,in short,that he is now in danger of being entirely confounded and lost in a breakfast.Those who have read Lucian,and seen the complaints of the letter T against S,upon account of many injuries and usurpations of the same nature,will not,I believe,think such a memorial forced and unnatural.If dinner has been thus postponed,or,if you please,kept back from time to time,you may be sure that it has been in compliance with the other business of the day,and that supper has still observed a proportionable distance.There is a venerable proverb which we have all of us heard in our infancy,of "putting the children to bed,and laying the goose to the fire."This was one of the jocular sayings of our forefathers,but maybe properly used in the literal sense at present.Who would not wonder at this perverted relish of those who are reckoned the most polite part of mankind,that prefer sea-coals and candles to the sun,and exchange so many cheerful morning hours,for the pleasures of midnight revels and debauches?If a man was only to consult his health,he would choose to live his whole time,if possible,in daylight,and to retire out of the world into silence and sleep,while the raw damps and unwholesome vapours fly abroad,without a sun to disperse,moderate,or control them.For my own part,Ivalue an hour in the morning as much as common libertines do an hour at midnight.When I find myself awakened into being,and perceive my life renewed within me,and at the same time see the whole face of nature recovered out of the dark uncomfortable state in which it lay for several hours,my heart overflows with such secret sentiments of joy and gratitude,as are a kind of implicit praise to the great Author of Nature.The mind,in these early seasons of the day,is so refreshed in all its faculties,and borne up with such new supplies of animal spirits,that she finds herself in a state of youth,especially when she is entertained with the breath of flowers,the melody of birds,the dews that hang upon the plants,and all those other sweets of nature that are peculiar to the morning.
It is impossible for a man to have this relish of being,this exquisite taste of life,who does not come into the world before it is in all its noise and hurry;who loses the rising of the sun,the still hours of the day,and,immediately upon his first getting up plunges himself into the ordinary cares or follies of the world.
I shall conclude this paper with Milton's inimitable deion of Adam's awakening his Eve in Paradise,which indeed would have been a place as little delightful as a barren heath or desert to those who slept in it.The fondness of the posture in which Adam is represented,and the softness of his whisper,are passages in this divine poem that are above all commendation,and rather to be admired than praised.
Now Morn,her rosy steps in the eastern clime,Advancing,sowed the earth with orient pearl,When Adam waked,so customed;for his sleep Was airy light from pure digestion bred,And temperate vapours bland;which the only sound Of leaves and fuming rills,Aurora's fan,Lightly dispersed,and the shrill matin song Of birds on every bough;so much the more His wonder was to find unwakened Eve,With tresses discomposed,and glowing cheek,As through unquiet rest.He on his side Leaning half-raised,with looks of cordial love,Hung over her enamoured,and beheld Beauty,which,whether waking or asleep,Shot forth peculiar graces.Then,with voice Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,Her hand soft touching,whispered thus:"Awake,My fairest,my espoused,my latest found,Heaven's last,best gift,my ever-new delight,Awake;the morning shines,and the fresh field Calls us;we lose the prime,to mark how spring Our tended plants,how blows the citron grove,What drops the myrrh,and what the balmy reed,How Nature paints her colours,how the bee Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet."Such whispering waked her,but with startled eye On Adam,whom embracing,thus she spake:
"O soul!in whom my thoughts find all repose,My glory,my perfection,glad I see Thy face,and morn returned."PAR.LOST,V.1.
