“I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought Philosophy out of Closets and Libraries,Schools and Colleges, to dwell in Clubs and Assemblies, at Tea-tables, and in Coffee houses.” The Spectator 12th March 1711

I am in a hearty mood this evening. On the advice of my Lord Chetwynd I sold my shares in the South Seas Company this very morning yet by noon their price was little more than nihil.

In celebration of my good fortune, I partook of a most convivial luncheon at Will’s Coffee House. The conversation was about September’s races in Newmarket. Lord Wharton did vouchsafe to the company that the recent Foul Pestilence has led His Majestie to decree that all who attend the meeting must stand no less than two yards and six inches apart and wear masks so that we should be protected from the Miasma. There was much pishing and pshawing at the table that our Liberties should be so curtailed. 

At Will’s Mr Tonson was accompanied by a man of letters recently arrived from Ireland, to wit, George Berkeley. He is a most brilliant man and a philosopher. I told him of my Intention to write a Treatise concerning the Theory of Sleeplessness. Mr Berkeley was clearly so taken with my idea that he was able to say nothing.

The philosopher then expounded his own Philosophie telling me that he has written his own Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge some years since. As far as I could understand his Theory it is that Matter is nothing but an Idea in the Mind of God. If so, I said, we must all be duty bound never to let God sleep otherwise we all would disappear (my intention being, you understand, to be satirick about the proponents of sleeplessness). My Lord Godolphin said that he thought my quip most witty before turning to discuss a horse with my Lord Wharton.

It has been a most gratifying that my learning should be recognised by a philosopher of Mr Berkeley eminence and my wit by no less than Lord Godolphin. So encouraged, I firmly believe that my Treatise will find much favour.

While the commencement of my Treatise has been delayed, the proponents of the Theory of Sleeplessness have determined not only to pull down statuary but to silence the singing of patriotic songs lest they cause the listener to fall into a stupor. Indeed, as I and Mr Tonson were promenading back from Will’s this very afternoon we were beset by a crowd of young jackanapes who pretended to take offence at our singing the Lillibullero in cheerful merriment. “You may whistle the tune, but you must not sing the words”, sayeth their leader, an ill-starred fellow named Davie. “Why so, Sir?” I replied. “The words offend mine ears”, saith he. A swift blow with my stick soon saw him off. But I fear for the safety of the Res Publica when I gentleman can no longer sing ditties in good companie without complaint. This is something to which I shall turn when I commence my Treatise. 

I remain your humble and obedient servant,

The Somnambulist