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to reform any irregular or indecent practice, I present the following as one which requires your correction. Myself and a great many good people who frequent the divine service at St. Paul's have been a long time scandalized by the imprudent conduct of Stentor* in that cathedral. This gentleman, you must know, is always very exact and zealous in his devotion, which I believe nobody blames ; but then he is accustomed to roar and bellow so terribly loud in the responses, that he frightens even us of the congregation who are daily used to him: and one of our petty canons, a punning Cambridge scholar, calls his way of worship a bulloffering His harsh, untunable pipe is no more fit than a raven's to join with the music of a choir; yet nobody having been enough his friend, I suppose, to inform him of it, he never fails, when present, to drown the harmony of every hymn and anthem, by an inundation of sound beyond that of the bridge at the ebb of the tide, or the neighbouring lions in the anguish of their hunger. This is a grievance, which, to my certain knowledge, several worthy people desire to see redressed ; and if, by inserting this epistle in your paper, or by representing the matter your own way, you can convince Stentor, that discord in a choir is the same sin that schism is in the church in general, you would lay a great obligation upon us ; and make some atonement for certain of your paragrahs, which have not been highly approved by us. I am, Sir,
“ Your most humble servant,
“JEOFFRY CHANTICLEER.' " St. Paul's Church-Yard, August 11."
* Dr. William Stanley, Dean of St. Paul's.
It is wonderful that there should be such a general lamentation, and the grievance so frequent, and yet the offender never know any thing of it. I have received the following letter from my
kinsman at the Herald's-office, near the same place.
" DEAR COUSIN,
“This office, which has had its share in the impartial justice of your censures, demands at present your vindication of their rights and privileges. There are certain hours when our young heralds are exercised in the faculties of making proclamation, and other vociferations, which of right belong to us only to utter: but at the same hours Stentor in St. Paul's church, in spite of the coaches, carts, London cries, and all other sounds between us, exalts his throat to so high a key, that the most noisy of our order is utterly unheard. If you please to observe upon this, you will ever oblige,” &c.
There have been communicated to me some other ill consequences from the same cause; as, the overturning of coaches by sudden starts of the horses as they passed that way, women pregnant frightened, and heirs to families lost; which are public disasters, though arising from a good intention ; but it is hoped, after this admonition, that Stentor will avoid an act of so great supererogation, as singing without a voice.
But I am diverted from prosecuting Stentor's reformation, by an account, that the two faithful lovers, Lisander and Coriana, are dead; for, no longer ago than the first of the last month, they swore eternal fidelity to each other, and to love till death. Ever since that time, Lisander has been twice a day at the chocolate-house, visits in every
circle, is missing four hours in four-and-twenty, and will give no account of himself. These are undoubted proofs of the departure of a lover; and consequently Coriana is also dead as a mistress. I have written to Stentor, to give this couple three calls at the church-door, which they must hear if they are living within the bills of mortality; and if they do not answer at that time, they are from that moment added to the number of my defunct.
No. 55. TUESDAY, AUGUST 16, 1709.
-Paulo majora canamus.
VIRG. ECL. iv. 1.
'-Begin a loftier strain.'
WHITE'S CHOCOLATE-HOUSE, AUGUST 15. WHILE others are busied in relations which con cern the interests of princes, the peace of nations and revolutions of empire; I think, though these are very great subjects, my theme of discourse is sometimes to be of matters of a yet higher consideration. The slow steps of Providence and nature, and strange events which are brought about in an instant, are what, as they come within our view and observation, shall be given to the public. Such things are not accompanied with show and noise, and therefore seldom draw the eyes of the unattentive part of mankind; but are very proper at once to exercise our humanity, please our imaginations, and improve our judgments. It may not, therefore, be unuseful to relate many circumstances, which were observable upon a late cure done upon a young gentleman who was born blind, and on the twenty-ninth of June last received his sight, at the age of twenty years, by the operation of an oculist. This happened no further off than Newington; and the work was prepared for in the following manner.
The operator, Mr. Grant, having observed the eyes of his patient, and convinced his friends, and relations, among others the reverend Mr. Caswell, minister of the place, that it was highly probable he should remove the obstacle which prevented the use of his sight; all his acquaintance, who had any regard for the young man, or curiosity to be present when one of full age and understanding received a new sense, assembled themselves on this occasion. Mr. Caswell, being a gentleman particularly curious, desired the whole company, in case the blindness should be cured, to keep silence : and let the patient make his own observations, without the direction of any thing he had received by his other senses, or the advantage of discovering his friends by their voices. Among several others, the mother, brethren, sisters, and a young gentlewoman for whom he had a passion, were present. The work was performed with great skill and dexterity. When the patient first received the dawn of light, there appeared such an ecstasy in his action, that he seemed ready to swoon away in the surprise of joy and wonder. The surgeon stood before him with his instruments in his hands. The young man observed him from head to foot; after which he surveyed himself as carefully, and seemed to compare him to himself; and observing both their hands, seemed to think they were exactly alike, except the instruments, which he took for parts of his hands. When he had continued in his amazement some time, his mother could not longer bear the agitations of so many passions as thronged upon her; but fell upon his neck, crying out, “My son ! my son!' The youth knew her voice, and could speak no more than, 'Oh me! are you my mother?' and fainted. The whole room, you will easily conceive, were very affectionately employed in recovering him; but, above all, the young gentlewoman who loved him, and whom he loved, shrieked in the loudest manner. That voice seemed to have a sudden effect upon him as he recovered, and he showed a double curiosity in observing her as she spoke and called to him; till at last he broke out, 'What has been done to me? Whither am I carried ? Is all this about me, the thing I have heard so often of? Is this the light? Is this seeing ? Were you always thus happy, when you said you were glad to see each other? Where is Tom, who used to lead me ? But I could now, methinks, go anywhere without him.' He offered to move, but seemed afraid of every thing around him, When they saw his difficulty, they told him, “till he became better acquainted with his new being, he must let the servant still lead him. The boy was called for, and presented to him. Mr. Caswell asked him, “What sort of thing he took Tom to be before he had seen him ?' He answered, ‘he believed there was not so much of him as himself; but he fancied him the same sort of creature. The noise of this sudden change made all the neighbourhood throng to the place where he was. As he saw the crowd thickening, he desired Mr. Caswell to tell him how many there were in all to be seen. The gentleman, smiling, answered him, that “it would be very proper