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 ^'^'^ 
 
 
STANDARD LITERATURE SERIES 
 
 THE SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 PAPERS -^^*' 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT HALE, Jr., Ph.D. 
 
 PROFESSOR or ENGLISH, UNION COLLEGE 
 
 UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK . BOSTON . NEW ORLEANS 
 
CLASSi O-XXc. No. 
 
 ^ (^ o 3 ^r 
 
 COPY B 
 
 Copyright, 1904, by 
 UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 ^2729 
 
OOE"TE]^TS 
 
 TRODUCTION 
 
 The Spectator and Its Authors . 
 
 Addison and Steele 
 
 The Age of Queen Anne .... 
 The Place of the "■Sjiectator'" in Literature 
 
 The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers 
 The Language and ^ Style ^ . 
 The Subject Matter 
 The Characters and the Ideas 
 
 Suggestions to Teachers 
 Examination Questio7is 
 
 THE SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY PAPE 
 _ I. The Spectator - . . . 
 ^I. The Club .... 
 4III. Sir Roger on Men of Parts 
 s:^lV. The Spectator at His Club- 
 V. A Lady's Library 
 VI. Sir Roger at Home 
 . VII. The Coverley Household 
 !!yill. Will Wimble . 
 
 IX. The Coverley Portraits — r 
 X. The Coverley Ghost . 
 XI. A Country Sunday 
 XII. Sir Roger in Love -^ 
 ! XIII. EconoxMY in Affairs ■*. 
 XIV. Bodily Exercise t^^ 
 XV. The Coverley Hunt y 
 XVI. The Coverley Witch -t 
 
 -n 
 
 RS. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Steele. 
 
 Steele. 
 Addison. 
 Addison. 
 Addison. 
 
 Steele. 
 Addison. 
 
 Steele. 
 Addison. 
 Addison. 
 
 Steele. 
 
 Steele. 
 Addison. 
 Budgell 
 Addison. 
 
 PACJE 
 V 
 
 V 
 V 
 
 ix 
 xi 
 
 Xlll 
 
 xiv 
 xvii 
 xix 
 
 xxiv 
 
 xxv 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 12 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 2" 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4o 
 
 54 
 
 58 
 
 62 
 
 67 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE SSiR ROGER DE COVERLEY FAVERS—{Conti7iued) 
 
 XVII. Sir Roger on the Widow 
 XVIII. Town and Country Manners "^ 
 XIX. Instinct in Animals 
 XX. Instinct in Animals 
 XXI. Sir Roger at the Assizes 
 XXII. The Education of an Heir . 
 
 XXIII. The Mischiefs of Party Spirit - 
 
 XXIV. The Mischiefs of Party Spirit 
 XXV. Sir Roger and the Gypsies . 
 
 XXVI. The Spectator decides to retire 
 Town 
 
 XXVII./The Spectator's Journey to London 
 XXVIII. Sir Roger and Sir Andrew Freeport 
 xXXIX. Sir Roger comes to Town 
 \ "XXX. Sir Roger in Westminster Abbey 
 
 -JkXXI. Sir Roger upon Beards 'i J 
 X XXXII'. Sir Roger at the Play . 
 \XXXIII. Will Honeycomb on Love 
 XXXIV. Sir Roger at Vauxhall 
 XXXV. Death of Sir Roger 
 
 Steele. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Addison. 
 to the 
 
 . Addison. 
 Steele. 
 Steele. 
 . Addison. 
 . Addison. 
 . Budgell. 
 . Addison. 
 . Budgell. 
 . Addison. 
 . Addison. 
 
 71 
 75 
 
 78 
 82 
 87 
 92 
 97 
 101 
 105 
 
 109 
 113 
 117 
 121 
 126 
 130 
 133 
 137 
 141 
 144 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Spectator and its Authors. 
 
 One may read the " Sir Roger de Coverley Papers" or the 
 ^' Spectator/^ and enjoy them, without much knowledge of 
 their author. It is true that Addison himself says that 
 particulars as to complexion and disposition and station in 
 life " conduce very much to the right understanding of an 
 author." But that was a bit of his humor : the real thing 
 of value is what the author says. Franklin got as much 
 good out of the '^ Spectator " as most people have : he learned 
 from it how to write and how to argue, and learned to do 
 both things better than any other American of his day. Yet 
 he had, at first, only a stray volume which he picked up at 
 the bookstall, with little or no information as to the author. 
 And the people for whom the '^Spectator" was originally 
 written, had generally very slight knowledge of the authors 
 of the speculations thab amused and interested them, in spite 
 of the careful information given them at the outset. 
 
 But although it is liot a necessity, we can certainly gain an 
 additional enjoyment by knowing something of the authors 
 of this remarkable periodical, and, we may add, of the 
 time in which it was written and of its place in literature. 
 Addison is a famous name in English literature, and Steele 
 is a name only less famous. The Age of Queen Anne is a 
 famous period, even if not quite so absolutely perfect as it 
 seemed to itself. And the " Spectator" has been a remark- 
 able force in literature; indeed, much of what we read is 
 what it is by its influence. 
 
 Addison and Steele. 
 
 Of the two authors' of the Sir Roger de Coverley papers 
 the greater was Joseph Addison. His life was a typical case 
 
 » No8, 116 and 331 were written by Eustace Biidgell, 1686-1737. 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 of a fortunate literary career. He was born of educated 
 people and received the best education of the day. He won 
 notice and distinction in youth by his intellectual ability and 
 received early in life recognition and reward. When he had 
 completed his early studies and had seen something of the 
 world, the way to honorable exertion in literature and poli- 
 tics was open to him, and he availed himself of each oppor- 
 tunity. In public affairs he became a distinguished figure 
 and in literature he became one of the great men of letters 
 of his day. He was loved and honored by his own time and 
 has retained the regard of posterity. So far as constant 
 success and sufficient reward is concerned it is hard to see 
 where Addison's career could have been improved. The 
 only other figure in later English letters equally successful 
 and equally rewarded is that of Macaulay, who, like 
 Addison, was an important figure both in literature and 
 in public life, who, like Addison, was successful in every- 
 thing to which he turned his hand, and, like Addison, was 
 honored and loved from the moment that his great talents 
 began to make themselves known. Other great men, Milton 
 and Wordsworth, Johnson and Oarlyle, have had their meas- 
 ure of bitterness or struggle, of scorn or neglect, but Addi- 
 son and Macaulay had good reason to feel that the world was 
 on their side. Hence their work has a good humored and 
 optimistic quality : hence, also, it lacks something that we 
 find in the others. 
 
 Addison was born at Milston May 1st, 1672, the son of 
 Rev. Lancelot Addison, a clergyman of some note. He 
 was educated at the Charterhouse School, London, where 
 he made the acquaintance of Richard Steele, with whom he 
 had much to do later in life, and at the University of Ox- 
 ford. He was entered at Queen's College, but after a time 
 was elected to a scholarship and subsequently a fellowship 
 at Magdalen College, with which his name is associated, and 
 where they still show you the place where he used to walk 
 up and down in the beautiful college garden. He remained 
 
INTRODUCTION Vll 
 
 at Oxford for ten years, reading the classics and occasionally 
 writing verses in English or Latin which were greatly ad- 
 mired. 
 
 He might naturally have followed his father and become 
 a clergyman, but he had attracted the attention of men in 
 public life who understood how valuable his genius might 
 be to their cause. Through their efforts he received a pen- 
 sion, and traveled abroad to fit himself especially for some 
 diplomatic position. 
 
 With the death of William III in 1703, and the accession of 
 Anne, Addison's friends went out of power, and Addison lost 
 his pension. He returned to England, and for a time was 
 uncertain as to his prospects. But a poem upon the battle 
 of Blenheim, entitled " The Campaign," gave him prom- 
 inence, and he received as a mark of appreciation an office. 
 From this time on he held generally some public appoint- 
 ment, and finally attained the position of Secretary of State. 
 This success he owed largely to his power as a writer, for he 
 was neither an orator nor a statesman. He was, however, a 
 great man of letters, the greatest of his political party. 
 
 In 1708 Addison became Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant 
 of Ireland. While he was in Dublin, a friend of his asked 
 his help in a plan which, as it turned out, offered to Addison 
 the true opportunity that his genius needed. He would 
 never have been remembered as a statesman, nor even as a 
 man of letters would the poems and travels he had so far 
 published have given him a permanent reputation. If it had 
 not been for the "Tatler" and the '^ Spectator, " Addison 
 would have obtained no greater reputation than a hundred 
 others of his day. 
 
 The person who offered this opportunity to Addison was 
 an old friend. Richard Steele was born in Dublin in the 
 same year as Addison, and had been a schoolfellow with 
 him. He had gone to Oxford, but instead of finding there 
 the easy path to success which had opened to Addison, he 
 had remained but a short time, and then entered the army. 
 
Vin INTRODUCTION 
 
 It is probable that he never saw active service, but in the 
 course of ten years he became a captain, and also a man 
 somewhat known for literary ability. Indeed, as Addison 
 began to make his way in politics by his literature, so, more 
 strangely, did Steele in the army. As time went on he came 
 into political life, and in 1706 became editor of the official 
 Gazette. It was not long after tliis that he conceived the 
 idea of the ^^Tatler.'' 
 
 Although a close friend of Addison^s, Steele was in char- 
 acter and career very unlike him. Addison had an almost 
 unbroken path of success : Steele was constantly up or down ; 
 if he had a good position for two or three years he was sure 
 to lose it by some political circumstance, and equally sure to 
 get another in a year or so. So it was with personal charac- 
 ter. Addison was a man of sound principle and correct life ; 
 Steele had excellent principles, but in practice he would seem 
 often to have done one day things he had condemned the day 
 before and that he repented of the day after. It may be that 
 his biographers have rather exaggerated the contrast. He 
 was certainly a man of most affectionate and lovable char- 
 acter. The circumstances of the time and especially of his 
 life were such as to lead readily to extravagance both in 
 meats and drinks, and in money matters : that Steele erred 
 in these directions more than many men cannot be shown ; 
 but it cannot be denied that he had a more kindly heart 
 than most. 
 
 Addison and Steele joined in the production of the '' Tat- 
 ler,^' and when that periodical came to an end, in the ^SSpec- 
 tator.'^ Steele was the chief writer for the first, and Addi- 
 son for the second ; the different names are characteristic of 
 the men. When the '^SSpectator^^ came to an end, they 
 carried on at one time or another, together, or singly, other 
 periodicals of something the same kind though usually with 
 more of a political turn, but each had by that time done the 
 work in life which has rendered him famous. 
 
 The remainder of Addison's life is without especial inter- 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 est so far as literature is concerned. In 1713 he produced a 
 tragedy, entitled '' Cato," which was received with immense 
 favor, and which, although it lias not kept the stage, is not 
 unknown to-day. Tlie ^' Guardian " (1713), a new series of 
 the ^^ Spectator '' (1714), the ^^ Freeholder '' (1715) repre- 
 sent his work in the direction that had made him famous. 
 He was successively Secretary for Ireland (1715), a Commis- 
 sioner for Trade and the Colonies (1716), and a Secretary 
 of State (1717-1718). In 1716 he married the Dowager 
 Countess of AVarwick. He died, full of honors though not 
 of years, in London, June 17, 1719. 
 
 Steele's life was more varied, though not so brilliant. He 
 founded the '' Guardian, ""^ and subsequently the '' English- 
 man '^ (1714), and the '^Plebeian'' (1718), periodicals for 
 political purposes. He was elected to Parliament in 1714, 
 but was almost immediately expelled by the Tory majority 
 for his political writings. Shortly afterward George I came 
 to the throne, and Steele received several minor offices, 
 among them that of supervisor of Drury Lane Theatre, 
 where, during the later years of his life, he produced a num- 
 ber of plays. He was again elected to Parliament and was 
 also knighted. He engaged in various pursuits, political and 
 theatrical, as well as some business schemes, and died at 
 Carmarthen, Wales, 1729. 
 
 The Age of Quee^i Anne. 
 
 Such were the lives of two of the most noted men of let- 
 ters of the Age of Queen Anne. To-day they are remem- 
 bered as essayists, but in their own time their lives were as 
 much devoted to politics as to letters. The same thing 
 might be said of Defoe and of Swift : we think of them as 
 having written "Robinson Crusoe "and '^^Gulliver's Travels,'' 
 but in their own time they were political pamphleteers. 
 With the striking exception of the great poet of the day, 
 Alexander Pope, who was excluded from public life on ac- 
 count of his religion, all the noteworthy figures in literature 
 
X INTKODUCTION 
 
 were noteworthy also in politics. This is something charac- 
 teristic of the reign of Queen Anne, which cannot be said of 
 the Elizabethan era or of the great period at the begin- 
 ning of the nineteenth century. 
 
 The Age of Queen Anne was a time of great activity in 
 public life, and it was not unnatural that literature, the ex- 
 pression of a nation's life, should have quickened with the 
 quickening of politics. The Revolution of 1688, and the 
 establishment of the Protestant Succession, had put politics 
 upon a new basis. Kingship now depended upon an act of 
 Parliament. Parliament was henceforth supreme, and the 
 supremacy of Parliament was the supremacy of the people. 
 Not, it must be understood, of the ''people" as we use the 
 word to-day ; not even of the great middle class of the 
 nation, for the early part of the eighteenth century was a 
 period of power for the great aristocratic families, but there 
 was still a supremacy of the people in a sense not known be- 
 fore. Government became government by party. The 
 Queen had to allow power to her Ministers ; the Ministers 
 had to count upon a Parliamentary majority, and Parlia- 
 ment had to have some regard to the voters. And hence 
 began an appeal to people in general ; in politics, an appeal 
 to reason, to intelligence, to common sense. 
 
 It is proper to say that this tendency was but the develop- 
 ment in one direction of the general growth of intellectual- 
 ism which found expression in many other ways. Science 
 was the object of great interest. Religion became rational 
 instead of spiritual. Social life became reasonable and sen- 
 sible. Philosophy devoted itself to the exploration of the 
 powers of human thought. Literature also became a matter 
 of the intelligence, of reason, and of common sense. It was 
 not remarkable, therefore, that it should have become an 
 important factor in public life. 
 
 This phase of literary life and activity had to express itself 
 in special ways. And one of these ways was the periodical 
 essay. The newspaper, though by no means what we now 
 
INTRODUCTION XI 
 
 think of, had become a matter of some importance. Still ifc 
 was, as its name implies, a matter of news. Opinions might 
 be expressed in a pamphlet written on any occasion that 
 seemed to call for one. Steele saw the value of joining 
 the essential characteristics of the two. Defoe had already 
 done something of the sort in his Review. Steele held the 
 position of Gazetteer whereby he had early access to the 
 news. He thought he could readily publish a sheet contain- 
 ing the news of the day and also a little comment on current 
 conditions. It is noteworthy that all this was to be done in 
 a paper of three or four pages, somewhat larger than this, 
 published three times a week. 
 
 As things continued it became apparent that the important 
 part of the new venture was the essay, and the news was more 
 and more omitted. And in the '' Spectator," established 
 when Steele brought the " Tatler " to an end, the essay alone 
 remained. Nor was the essay, as will be seen from the 
 papers here presented, merely a comment upon current cir- 
 cumstances. It became an expression of the ideas of the 
 author upon any subject that was of interest to him. 
 
 TJie Place of the "Spectator'' in Literature. 
 
 The " Spectator," beside being of interest in itself, has a 
 very important place in the history of literature. It gave 
 rise to a whole series of periodicals more or less like itself, 
 gave a definite model to the essay as a literary form, and was 
 of some influence in the development of the novel. We who 
 are surrounded with magazines and novels and essays can 
 hardly imagine a literature when such things were not. 
 Leonora read novels, it is true, but Cassandra, Cleopatra, 
 Astrgea, the Grand Cyrus were books very different from 
 any novel that we ever read. They lacked entirely the pre- 
 sentation of story, character, manners that is so familiar to 
 us. Magazines, Leonora knew nothing of at all, nor of 
 essays. 
 
 The '* Spectator" and the " Tatler " showed that there could 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 be light and easy writing about matters of great or little im- 
 portance, tliat should be amusing and not without character. 
 Prose literature ceased to be a matter of treatises only, of 
 philosophy, of theology, of history. Poetry ceased to be the 
 only form of belles lettres. A different tone began in litera- 
 ture: it ceased to be something for scholars only, and became 
 something for men and women. 
 
 There had undoubtedly been Essays in English literature 
 before Addison. Those of Cowley (see p. 56) are very charm- 
 ing examples in a limited sphere of much the kind of writing 
 of which Addison was such a master. The Essays of Bacon 
 are brilliant examples of a kind of writing rather different. 
 But whatever essays may have been written, there was not 
 anything till the ''Tatler" and the ^^ Spectator" which 
 showed the possibilities of the essay, how it could be light or 
 serious, satirical or humorous, how it could sketch a charac- 
 ter, or express a theory, how it could serve as a means of 
 expression for a brilliant mind, continually observing and 
 reflecting on the affairs of the world. Lamb, Hazlitt and 
 Thackeray, Irving, Emerson and Lowell have shown us what 
 may be done with it. The essay is the easy talk of a literary 
 man. It is true that we give the name essay to those famous 
 pieces by Macaulay and Matthew Arnold, that present care- 
 ful and finished thought on matters of importance. But the 
 characteristic essay is a Roundabout Paper as Thackeray 
 called his, it is Table Talk like Hazlitt's, it is by My Study 
 Window, or Among My Books like Lowell's.' And it is this 
 sort of writing in which Addison and Steele excelled. AVe 
 Americans of the present day sometimes find an essay hard 
 to appreciate, for it does not seem to us to be practical. 
 We ask what it is about, what it tries to say? The true 
 essayist sometimes has something very definite to say, but 
 often enough he is content to suggest an idea or a point of 
 view, as in most of those essays in this book which are not 
 definitely narrative or descriptive. 
 
 1 whose writings are commonly more formal essays lilie Macaulay's. 
 
INTRODUCTION Xlll 
 
 Those papers that are narrative or descriptive introduce 
 us to another matter. They give us characters and manners, 
 people that we might know living a life which we know of. 
 If there were any story, any plot, the Spectator's visit to Sir 
 Roger would practically be a novel. Yet the first real English 
 novel ' was not published for thirty years. 
 
 Fiction there had been. Sir Thomas Moore had put his 
 ideas on society in the form of the account given by Raphael 
 Hythloday of the strange country Utopia. Sir Philip Sidney's 
 '^Arcadia" was a pastoral poem in prose. In ^^ Euphues " 
 John Lily had put liis ideal of education and gentle life. 
 In the '^Pilgrim's Progress" Bunyan had given allegorical 
 figures the likeness and interest of real people. But these are 
 not novels. Even *^ Robinson Crusoe," by Defoe, shortly 
 after the ^' Spectator," is not a novel according to our pres- 
 ent ideas, any more than is " Jack Wilton," which Thomas 
 Nash wrote long before. No one of these books Iried to 
 give a picture of the characters and manners of the life with 
 which we are familiar. But this was one of the chief aims 
 of Addison and Steele. The characters they introduced, the 
 sketches of life that they gave, were perfectly familiar to their 
 readers. If they had written stories, they would have been 
 novelists, and even as it is they have created this one charac- 
 ter. Sir Roger de Coverley, the true country gentleman, who 
 is a more definite figure in the mind of the world than many 
 a character of later novelists. 
 
 The ''Sir Roger de Coverlet Papers." 
 
 The ''Spectator" in its larger aspects, then, is of inter- 
 est to- us because it is so characteristic of the literature of 
 its time, and because it was such an influence upon the lit- 
 erature that followed. Its writers are striking examples of 
 the man of letters and of public affairs so noticeable a figure 
 in the reign of Queen Anne : its pages are full of the most 
 
 1 " Pamela," by Samuel Richardson, 1740, is generally given this distinction. 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION 
 
 suggestive hints and descriptions that open to us much of 
 the life of that reign. And the ^^ Spectator" was the fore- 
 runner of many periodicals and many essays, not in England 
 only and here in America, but on the Continent of Europe. 
 And, further, we may see in the mass of fiction, novel and 
 short story, much that has its forerunner in the ^' Specta- 
 tor's " account of the old Knight of Coverley Hall. 
 
 Let us, however, now fix our attention more particularly 
 upon the '' Spectator '' itself. Indeed, perhaps, this was the 
 first thing to do : at any rate, this may be done without 
 the other, whereas knowledge about the " Spectator " and its 
 time, without knowledge of the " Spectator" itself, is hardly 
 worth while, save as any historical knowledge is worth while. 
 
 The Language and the Style. 
 
 And first something must be said of the language, more 
 particularly of the meaning of words. We must remember 
 that language changes in form and in meaning as well. Ad- 
 dison is nearer Shakespeare in point of time than he is to 
 us, and in Shakespeare there are many words which we use 
 in senses very different from those of the plays. /It is true 
 that this element in the ^'^ Spectator" is not large. Still it 
 is the part of the careful scholar to take account of it. It is 
 better to know a modest number of words and to know them 
 thoroughly, than it is to have an enormous vocabulary and 
 to use it loosely. ) It is only by having a particular feeling 
 for the meanings of words that we shall follow rightly the 
 full thought of the writer. One word that Addison uses 
 often is wit : it was a typical word of the age of Queen 
 Anne. But it was often used in senses not usual to-day : 
 read Pope's ^^ Essay on Criticism" for examples. Addison 
 sometimes means by wit what we do, that bright sparkle 
 and brilliancy of speech or thought that gives such a zest to 
 conversation or literature. But he more often means by the 
 word a more general mental power, as in No. 6, where he 
 writes, ^^wit and sense" (5); "men of wit" (10); "wit 
 
INTRODUCTION XV 
 
 and learning" (02) ; ^^ excellent faculties and abundance of 
 wit " (69) ; '^ wit and angelic faculties " (71); and in the next 
 paper, 'Madies . . . not those of the most wit" (20). Here 
 the word has more the general sense of intellectuality, and if 
 we think of the word in its present sense we gain a false 
 notion. So with the other word that we often contrast 
 with wity humor and the word less common now formed 
 from it, humorist. We meet both words frequently in these 
 papers, but rarely with exactly our modern sense : humor 
 (108, 45, 91) means some fanciful or out-of-the-way notion 
 or manner of thought, not necessarily funny or ludicrous, 
 but rather extravagant or fantastic ; a humorist (106, 58, 
 and elsewhere) is an eccentric. So it is with not a few 
 words : sometimes they have gone out of use ; sometimes 
 the meaning has changed. Thus Sir Roger speaks of '' men 
 of fine parts " (6, 12), and the Spectator himself, as a boy, 
 is said to have solid parts (1, 36). In like manner Eng- 
 land is said to be ?i polite nation (6, 88), the Lacedaemonians 
 are more virtuous than polite, but the meaning is not merely 
 that they were of good manners. The word conversation 
 (2, 150 ; 37, 96 ; 106, 53 ; 109, 4) will be found to have a 
 sense somewhat different from that to which we are accus- 
 tomed. The word speculation (1, 81 ; 34, 16 ; 106, 5 ; 383, 
 11) is used with a particular meaning not common to-day. 
 There are a number of other examples, as ^' o, handsome 
 elocution" (106, 115), *^ people of quality" (34, 24); Sir 
 Roger is ''a good husband," though not married (107, 53), 
 and Leonora, in her garden, keeps turtles in cages (37, 109). 
 One must not think it pedantic to pay attention to these 
 matters. It is certainly pedantic to think that they are of 
 the greatest importance, to spend time upon them that 
 should be given to getting at the ideas. But something of 
 the sort one must do or lose much of the delicacy of the 
 style. A general understanding of what is said anyone may 
 gain at a first reading, but it is the part of the scholar to 
 get the best enjoyment, and that certainly must be based 
 
XVI INTRODUCTION 
 
 upon a knowledge of what our author had in mind when he 
 wrote. That is the thing we want to get at, and only as it 
 helps us to just that are these written words of value to us. 
 
 Having a correct idea of the meanings of his words we shall 
 want to have some notion and appreciation of Addison's style 
 in general, for it is a very famous style. That his manner 
 of writing is marked by ease and elegance will probably be 
 perceived by all, though possibly less attention will be given 
 to these qualities than they deserve, because so many people 
 can write with ease and elegance nowadays, since Addison 
 has shown how it may be done. It will, perhaps, be more 
 readily noted by the close student that this ease and elegance 
 is sometimes attained by a sacrifice of correctness. It is not 
 worth while to cite examples, but almost every paper will offer 
 an instance of some construction which is grammatically 
 careless. Not merely are there constructions once common 
 but now out of use, but there are constructions in which the 
 simplest conventions of syntax are disregarded. The same 
 thing is true to a greater degree with Shakespeare. Our 
 time is more particular about grammatical nicety than was 
 Addison's or Shakespeare's : our thoughts do not seem to 
 be much improved thereby. It does not seem worth while 
 to spend time on these passages. When Addison writes 
 '^ there is no rank . . . who have not their representatives," 
 we have an example of grammatical carelessness common in 
 Addison's time. Our time is more particular and exact ; 
 but it is better to search Addison for points in which he is 
 superior to us than to look for places where he does not come 
 up to our ideas. The main thing about Addison's writing is 
 no particularity about sentences or figures of speech, but the 
 fact that he could write easily and pleasantly about a very 
 large range of subjects, could make all sorts of things the 
 subject for his thought and the object of our interest. No 
 matter what he writes about — and these papers give at least 
 some idea of his range — he puts his ideas simply and easily 
 and with delicacy and humor, so that, whether he be telling 
 
INTRODUCTION XVll 
 
 a story or j^ointing a moral or offering a bit of satire, he is 
 never heavy, nor long-winded, nor pompous, nor wearisome. 
 It will generally be found that he is simpler and clearer in 
 the expression of his ideas than we could be ourselves. 
 Franklin used to try to re-write the essays in the " Specta- 
 tor " as an exercise in the art of writing, and learned much 
 by comparing his work with the original. Some teachers 
 and students like to do the same thing to-day, and the ex- 
 periment is pretty sure to show that it is not at all easy to 
 attain the clearness and simplicity of the original, let alone 
 its humor and good sense. 
 
 The Subject Matter. 
 
 To pass on from the matter of language or style to the 
 matter of these essays, we shall first remark that the follow- 
 ing papers were not originally written as a single piece. 
 
 The "Sir Roger de Coverley Papers^' were originally writ- 
 ten at one time or another for the "Spectator" by Addison 
 or Steele, whichever happened to feel in the humor. Ex- 
 tracted now and put together, it is clear that they cannot 
 possess that unity of subject or of treatment that we natu- 
 rally expect in a common piece of writing. The only obvious 
 unity that they have is that all in some way or other men- 
 tion Sir Roger de Coverley, and in some cases the mention 
 is very slight indeed. But this very lack of unity which in 
 another piece might be annoying, can here be turned to ac- 
 count, for it serves to give us an idea of the general content 
 of the whole work from which these essays are taken. As 
 we see from the essay describing the Club, it was the plan of 
 the "Spectator" that its different ideas should be put for- 
 ward by different characters, and No. 34 shows us what very 
 different views were possible by this device. So, naturally, 
 several of the papers contain "speculations," as Addison 
 would have said, which are attributed to Sir Roger, only as 
 a mode of presentation. It will be useful to run over all the 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 papers and note of each what its subject is, that we may 
 understand correctly just what we have in these extracts. 
 
 First let us note those papers which seem to have for their 
 object merely the presentation of the character of Sir Roger, 
 like No. 2, or that part of it which is given to him. Such 
 papers are 113 in which the Knight gives us an idea of him- 
 self in early life, 118 where we have some of his reflections 
 and meditations on the Widow, No. 517 in which we have 
 an account of his death. Other papers, certainly, give us 
 something of his character, but these seem devoted espe- 
 cially to that purpose. 
 
 Next come those papers which form the bulk of the col- 
 lection, in which the Spectator describes his visit to Cov- 
 erley Hall (Nos. 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 112, 116, 117, 118, 
 122, 130), his journey back to London (Nos. 131, 132), and 
 the Knight's return visit to the City (Nos. 269, 329, 335, 
 383). These make up a sort of story, they require but a lit- 
 tle more in the way of plot to be as much of a story as, for 
 instance, " A Legend of Sleepy Hollow.'' Their interest is 
 narrative as well as descriptive of manners. 
 
 These are the papers distinctly dedicated to Sir Roger de 
 Coverley, but there are a number of others in which he has 
 his part. 
 
 Thus Nos. 1, 2, 34, 108, 174, 359, are either character 
 sketches or serve to enforce characters already drawn. No. 
 34 has its point aside from its personalities, but its interest 
 is largely from the view it gives us of the gentlemen to whom 
 we are introduced in the first account of the Club. No. 108, 
 the account of Will Wimble, has its part in the description 
 of life at Coverley Hall, but it has independent interest, too, 
 as describing a character which we may take as a representa- 
 tive type, fairly presented or not, of an element in society in 
 the time. 
 
 The other papers have a general rather than a personal 
 interest, and in this respect are more representative of the 
 '* Spectator" than those of which we have been speaking. 
 
INTRODUCTION XIX 
 
 Some contain chiefly the satire for which Addison is famous, 
 as Xo. 37, where he presents to us the advanced woman of 
 his day, the club-woman she would be now, or No. 3;U, 
 where, under the guise of a fantasy on Beards, we have a bit 
 of the satire on fashions of the day of which there is much 
 in the '' Spectator." Rather more of the remaining papers 
 have remarks upon what may be called general topics, as 
 Nos. 125, 126, which contain a discussion of the good and the 
 bad in party spirit, or No. 119, which considers the differ- 
 ence between the manners of the town and the country, or 
 No. 115, which presents the value of exercise. These papers 
 might have been written without any reference to Sir Roger : 
 but it was the plan of the Spectator to give his speculations 
 an intimate, a personal character, or to have them arise 
 naturally out of circumstances in which the reader had an 
 interest. There remain to be noted the two papers on In- 
 stinct, which are rather scientific than social in character, 
 but may be included under this head. 
 
 Such is the general analysis of the papers in this book, 
 which may be put in a formal way as follows : 
 
 I. Papers pertaining especially to Sir Roger: 
 
 1. His Character: 2, 113, 118, 517. 
 
 2. The Spectator's Visit to him: 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 
 
 112, 116, 117, 118, 122, 130, 131, 132. 
 
 3. His Visit to London: 269, 329, 335, 383. 
 
 II. More general Papers: 
 
 1. Presenting Character: 1, 2, 31, 108, 174, 359. 
 
 2. " Satire: 37, 331. 
 
 3. *^ Observation and Reflection on Life and 
 Society: 6, 114, 115, 119, 120, 121, 123, 125, 126. 
 
 The Characters and The Ideas. 
 
 It is not enough however to know what a book is about. 
 It is true that by such knowledge we appreciate its ideas 
 better. Still the real object of reading is to get the ideas 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 themselves that they may be to us as much as possible. AVe 
 want not only to know that some of the Koger de Coverley 
 papers give us the character of the good Knight and country 
 gentleman, but we want to appreciate that character to the 
 full. We want not only to know that other papers describe 
 eighteenth-century life in country and in town, but we want 
 to know what that life was, we want to know it and get the 
 good out of it. And we want not only to know that other 
 papers give us Addison^s observations and reflections upon 
 life and society, but we want to know what those observa- 
 tions and reflections were, and further, whether they were 
 sound and good, and whether they were merely temporary, 
 or of some value to us nowadays as we consider the life and 
 society of our own world. In other words we want not only 
 to know what our subject matter is, but we want to know its 
 value. 
 
 Of the first two of these matters very little need be said 
 in the way of explanation and commentary, for it is one of the 
 best known parts of literary study to determine them. The 
 characters of Sir Roger, of the Spectator and the others 
 of the Club, of Will Wimble, and even of Tom Touchy, 
 these are particularly presented to us in the Papers, and it 
 would be impertinent to try and summarize here, or to say 
 over, what Addison and Steele say so well later on. It is 
 besides one of the best of exercises for the student to form 
 his own ideas on these things, and to express them either by 
 a talk in class, or by writing a sketch of one character or 
 another, or some adaptation of the circumstances or charac- 
 ters to life with which we are more familiar. It is worth not- 
 ing that we must not expect the most absolute consistency 
 in these studies of character. They were written at differ- 
 ent times by different persons. It seems probable that 
 Addison who elaborated the character thought of him as 
 rather older than did Steele who first sketched it. Thus 
 Steele says particularly that Sir Roger was fifty-six years. 
 Addison always speaks of him as an old man, indeed says 
 
INTRODUCTION XXI 
 
 that he had courted the widow forty years hefore, which we 
 otherwise learn was when he was twenty-three or more. 
 Some other slight inconsistencies may be noted, and the fact 
 warns ns that it is not in a minor way that we are to draw 
 the character of the country gentleman, but in its general 
 lines. We may perhaps inquire, if Budgell had a correct 
 idea of the old sportsman when he tells that he imported 
 foxes from another country to gain credit by hunting them. 
 But in general we shall find that Addison and Steele had 
 very nearly the same ideas. 
 
 In the same way we may form some conception of the life 
 of the time, at least in its more superficial aspects. These 
 little matters alluded to so lightly, the theatre, the puppet- 
 show, the coffeehouse, the club in the town, the hunt, the 
 assizes, the country mansion in the country, these should be 
 hints or suggestions by which we can go farther and form 
 some idea of social life of the day. But such study demands 
 a little more than can be given in a short introduction. If 
 the school library permit, each allusion or reference may be 
 made the starting point of an inquiry in some good book on 
 the period.' Thus the paper on Leonora compared with 
 Will Honeycomb's remarks in No. 34: may make us want to 
 know something about the fine lady of the period, and the 
 account of the clergyman at Coverley Hall may lead us to 
 ask about the religion of the day. (The papers on party 
 politics illustrate the history of the time, the paper on man- 
 ners gives us something of the social life. Everything shows 
 us a life a little different from our own. But, recognizing 
 this difference, we shall generally observe, too, that every- 
 thing at bottom is not unlike our own life, and that makes 
 it all interesting, to see the mind of man, always much the 
 same, devising all sorts of new forms for himself. 
 
 As to the third matter of importance, our authors' observa- 
 
 1 Lecky's " History of England in the Eighteenth Century " is a great book 
 covering more than our period, but valuable if it happen to be at hand. Ashton's 
 '• Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne " has a great deal of good material. Green's 
 "History of the English People " and TrailPs " Social England " are also excellent. 
 
XXU INTRODUCTION 
 
 tions and reflections, or, in shorter words, their ideas, we are 
 often inclined with such books as the '^ Spectator " not to con- 
 sider the value of these matters in themselves. Let us, how- 
 ever, for a moment consider their opinions and see whether 
 they have anything of value for us. For their own day 
 there can be little doubt that they had value : Addison and 
 Steele meant not only to amuse their readers but to help them 
 along, and certainly there is much in the essays of one sort 
 or another which they might readily have taken to heart. 
 
 Let us look for a moment at the ideas. In No. 6 we have 
 a discussion which, though put in the mouth chiefly of Sir 
 Eoger, was undoubtedly of interest in itself. It is a good 
 exercise to try to sum up in a sentence of, say thirty or forty 
 words, the idea that Steele had it in mind to present. We 
 will not try to do that here, but we will present merely one 
 statement in the paper, namely this : ^^ There is hardly that 
 person to be found who is not more concerned for the repu- 
 tation of wit and sense, than honesty and virtue.'^ Is this 
 true to-day ? and if so what are we to think of it ? Can we 
 get anything of value out of Steele's discussion of it that 
 will help us to make up our own minds about it and to 
 follow our own course in the matter ? 
 
 Or take another idea that may seem a little more to the 
 point. There is the charming Leonora of No. 37. Doubt- 
 less there were Leonoras among Addison's readers and many 
 more who saw the point of the humorist's satire. Who was 
 Leonora ? She was a lady who had been unfortunately 
 relieved of the duties of a wife and a mother, and who, as 
 the next best thing, turned to self-cultur3 as an object in 
 life. She certainly became a cultivated woman — we shall see 
 that if we read of her indoor amusements and her outdoor 
 employments, and substitute, for what was in fashion two 
 centuries ago, the things that are in fashion to-day. Who 
 can draw a picture of the Leonora of to-day ? What is to 
 take the place of the " Grand Cyrus" and the Locke on the 
 Understanding in her library, and of the walks and grottos 
 
INTRODUCTION XXUl 
 
 of her country seat ? And if we can form in our own mind 
 a picture of the Leonora of to-day, what shall we say of the 
 Spectator's comment, '' I look upon her with a mixture of 
 admiration and pity ? " Is there ground for the same satire 
 to-day upon our college women and club women that Addi- 
 son offered upon the blue stockings of two centuries ago ? 
 
 What are the ideas worth ? That should always be a 
 question with us. We are, some of us, too much in the 
 habit of thinking that if we get at the ideas of the author, 
 know what they are and that they are his, we have done the 
 main thing. But of what use is it to us as reasonable crea- 
 tures to know that Addison or Steele had such and such 
 thoughts if we do not understand the value of the thoughts 
 and their application to ourselves ? Undoubtedly some of 
 the ideas will not have much application : No. 117 is on 
 Witchcraft, and there is little real interest in that subject 
 to-day save as history, nor can we gather much from the 
 paper if we take it as a comment upon superstition in gen- 
 eral. But usually the ideas have application. No. 174 
 gives us an argument which presents the views of the two 
 great elements in English life, the money interest and the 
 landed interest. Undoubtedly we cannot say that those 
 interests exist to-day and in our own country in just the 
 same relation that they held in the days when Sir Roger 
 and Sir Andrew disputed over them. But there is a money 
 interest in this country and there is what is practically a 
 land interest. Steele's sympathy seems to have been 
 chiefly with the moneyed men, as was not unnatural from 
 his political connections. How would it be with one of us 
 to-day ? What sort of discussion could we write if we tried 
 to put No. 174 into modern form ? 
 
 Let us then think over the ideas and see what we 
 can get out of them. We want to state for ourselves the 
 general idea of any paper and consider it for what it is 
 worth, as, for instance, the idea in Nos. 125, 126, that 
 furious party spirit is likely to result in civil war and blood- 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTION 
 
 shed. Or we want to give fair consideration to particular 
 thoughts as we go along, as to Sir Andrew's remark that ''it 
 would be worth while to consider, whether so many artificers 
 at work ten days together by my appointment, or so many 
 peasants made merry on Sir Roger's charge, are the men 
 more obliged." When we have really considered what Addi- 
 son says, looked at it from different sides, compared it with 
 our own experience, got the reason for it and valued it, then 
 we shall have a far better opinion of Addison's value as a 
 writer than if we knew all that could be said of the qualities 
 of his style. 
 
 Suggestions to Teachers. 
 
 It may be well to add a word to teachers, although teach- 
 ers of literature usually and with reason prefer to follow 
 their own methods. And with this book the right introduc- 
 tion to the average boy or girl lies very largely with the 
 teacher's manner or method, for, as most writers on the matter 
 are agreed, the chief thing to do is to get the pupil inter- 
 ested, after which, things will go easily. And in such a 
 matter as arousing interest a teacher must depend on indi- 
 vidual methods and experience. 
 
 The editor indicates in the foregoing pages his idea of the 
 important element in the study of these essays. He believes 
 that a study and discussion of the ideas to be found and of 
 the characters presented is the means of gaining from these 
 papers what is best worth having. It is true that supple- 
 mentary reading and knowledge of the authors and their 
 time is very interesting, much more so with this book than 
 with some others that are a good deal studied. Still the 
 gaining the subject matter of a book, the making it one's 
 own, the assimilating and digesting its thought, the com- 
 paring, considering, discussing its ideas and views of life is 
 such a useful habit that it is worth doing with any book that 
 has stood the test of time. Now undoubtedly neither Addi- 
 
INTRODUCTION XXV- 
 
 .son nor Steele is very deep, still they are eminently sensi- 
 ble and right-minded. John Gay, a critic and friend, says 
 of the ''Tatler'' in a much-quoted passage that **his 
 [Steele^s] writings have set all our wits and men of let- 
 ters on a new way of thinking." It is such a remarkable ex- 
 perience to acquire a new way of thinking that it is cer- 
 tainly worth while to make an effort after it in this case. 
 
 It is therefore thought that the best course of study upon 
 these papers will consist 
 
 1. In getting the true meaning of the text and under- 
 standing it thoroughly. This is not a very difficult matter : 
 to tliis end pp. xiv-xvi are devoted and the few notes. 
 
 2. An appreciation and assimilation of the subject matter. 
 This should not be especially difficult either : it may be car- 
 ried on by talking over in class the characters and the ideas, 
 and by writing, out of class, papers on such subjects as pre- 
 sent themselves to the mind of teacher or scholar. A few 
 such subjects are suggested below. 
 
 The Younger Days of Sir Roger. 
 
 Will Wimble and Will Honeycomb. 
 
 The Value of Satire. (No. 34.) 
 
 The Position of Sir Roger on his Estate. (No. 107.) 
 
 Will Wimble as example of the Younger Son. (No. 108.) 
 
 Instinct in the light of Darwinism. (No. 121.) 
 
 Does Party Spirit do more Good than Harm ? (Nos. 125, 
 126.) 
 
 AVhy not Read Classic Sermons instead of Preaching? 
 (No. 106.) 
 
 " Numbers are the measure of everything that is valuable." 
 (No. 174.) 
 
 Manners in City and Country. 
 
 Other subjects of the same sort are suggested on pp. xxii- 
 xxiv. 
 
 Examination Questions. 
 
 It may be added that the Examinations for Entrance to 
 College usually ask for a short essay upon a subject like 
 
XXVI INTRODUCTION 
 
 the following, all of which have been offered in recent 
 years. 
 
 Eighteenth-century life as shown in the Papers. 
 
 A Sunday at Coverley Hallrj, 
 
 Sir Roger's Household. 
 
 Sir Roger and the Widow. 
 
 Sir Roger in Town. 
 
 Sir Roger and the People on his Estate. 
 
 Addison's purpose in writing these Papers. 
 
 Will Wimble and Addison's reason for drawing such a 
 character. 
 
 Sir Roger and Dr. Primrose in the ''Vicar of Wakefield." 
 
 Sir Roger and Squire Thornhill as examples of the Coun- 
 try Squire. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 I. THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 No. 1.] Thursday, March 1, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem 
 Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat. 
 
 Horace, Ars Poeftca,lid. 
 
 One with a flash hegins and ends in smoke ; 
 Another out of smoke brings glorious light, 
 And {without raising expectation high) 
 Surprises us ivith dazzling miracles. — Roscommon. 
 
 I HAVE observed that a reader seldom peruses a book with 
 pleasure ^till he knows whether the writer of it be a black ^ 
 or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a 
 bachelor, with other particulars of the like nature, that con- 
 duce very much to the right understanding of an author.^ To 5 
 gratify this curiosity, which is so natural to a reader, I de- 
 sign this paper and my next as prefatory discourses to my 
 following writings, and shall give some account in them of 
 the several persons that are engaged in this work. As the 
 chief trouble of compiling, digesting, and correcting, will fall 10 
 to my share, I must do myself the justice to open the work 
 with my own history. 
 
 I was born to a small hereditary estate, which, according to 
 the tradition of the village where it lies, w^as bounded by the 
 same hedges and ditches in William the Conqueror's time that 15 
 it is at present, and has been delivered down from father to 
 
 » (lark : so, often, in Shakespeare. 
 
 2 The last remark is a piece of Addison's humor : the idea lie speaks of is current 
 to-day, in theory at least. 
 
2 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 son whole and entire, without the loss or acquisition of a 
 single field or meadow, during the space of six hundred years. 
 There runs a story in the family, that, before my birth, my 
 
 20 mother dreamt that she was delivered of a judge. Whether 
 this might proceed from a lawsuit which was then depending 
 in the family, or my father's being a justice of the peace, I 
 cannot determine; for I am not so vain as to think it pre- 
 saged any dignity that I should arrive at in my future life, 
 
 25 though that was the interpretation which the neighborhood 
 put upon it. The gravity of my behavior at my very first 
 appearance in the world and during my babyhood, seemed to 
 favor my mother's dream : for, as she has often told me, I 
 threw away my rattle before I was two months old, and would 
 
 30 not make use of my coral till they had taken away the bells 
 from it. 
 
 As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it 
 remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence. I find, that, dur- 
 ing my nonage, I had the reputation of a very sullen youth, 
 
 35 but was always a favorite of my schoolmaster, who used to 
 say, " that my parts ^ were solid, and would wear well." I had 
 not been long at the University, before I distinguished my- 
 self by a most profound silence; for, during the space of 
 eight years, excepting in the j^ublic exercises of the college, 
 
 40 I seaj'ce uttered the quantity of an hundred words; and in- 
 deed do not remember that I ever spoke three sentences to- 
 gether in my whole life. Whilst I was in this learned body, 
 I applied myself with so much diligence to my studies, that 
 there are very few celebrated books, either in the learned or 
 
 45 the modern tongues, which I am not acquainted with, 
 
 Upon the death of my father, I was resolved to travel into 
 foreign countries, and therefore left the University with the 
 character of an odd unaccountable fellow, that had a great 
 deal of learning, if I would but show it. An insatiable thirst 
 
 50 after knowledge carried me into all the countries of Europe, 
 
 > intellectual attainments: Cf. 2, 5. 
 
THE SPECTATOR 3 
 
 in which there was anything new or strange to be seen; nay, 
 to such a degree was my curiosity raised, that having read the 
 controversies of some great men concerning the antiquities 
 of Egypt, I made a voyage to Grand Cairo, on purpose to take 
 the measure of a pyramid; and, as soon as I had set myself 55 
 right in that particular, returned to my native country with 
 great satisfaction. 
 
 I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am fre- 
 quently seen in most public places, though there are not above 
 half a dozen of my select friends that know me; of whom 60 
 my next paper shall give a more particular account. There 
 is no place of general resort wherein I do not often make my 
 appearance; sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a 
 round of politicians at Will's,^ and listening with great atten- 
 tion to the narratives that are made in those little circular 65 
 audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at Child's, and, while 
 I seem attentive to nothing but the Postman,^ overhear the 
 conversation of every table in the room. I appear on Sunday 
 nights at St. James's coffee-house,^ and sometimes join the 
 little committee of politics in the inner room, as one who 70 
 comes there to hear and improve. My face is likewise very 
 well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa Tree, and in the theatres 
 both of Drury Lane and the Hay Market.* I have been taken 
 for a merchant upon the Exchange ^ for above these ten years, 
 and sometimes pass for a Jew in the assembly of stock-jobbers 75 
 at Jonathan's. In short, wherever I see a cluster of people, 
 I always mix with them, though I never open my lips but in 
 my own club.® 
 
 1 In Addison's day there were many coffee-houses in London, each having a i)artic- 
 ular set of visitors. Thus Wills' was the literary coffee-house (though Addison speaks 
 of politicians), Childs' the ministers' and doctors', the Grecian the lawyers'; the St. 
 James was political, used chiefly by the Whigs, as the Cocoa-tree was by the Tories. 
 
 ' a penny paper of the time. 
 
 'Addison was on the Whig side in politics, and rose to be Secretary of State. 
 
 * two famous theatres of the time. 
 
 »the Royal Exchange or meeting place for merchants. 
 
 * A club in Addison's day was a group which met, generally in the evening, at some 
 tavern. 
 
4 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 ' Thus 1 live in the world rather as a Spectator of mankind 
 
 80 than as one of the species; by which means I have made 
 myself a specidative statesman, soldier, merchant, and artisan, 
 without ever meddling with any practical part in life. I am 
 very well versed in the theory of an husband or a father, and 
 can discern the errors in the economy, business, and diversion 
 
 85 of others, better than those who are engaged in them; as 
 standers-by discover blots, which are apt to escape those who 
 are in the game. I never espoused any party with violence, 
 and am resolved to observe an exact neutrality between the 
 Whigs and Tories,^ unless I shall be forced to declare myself 
 
 90 by the hostilities of either side. In short, I have acted in all 
 the parts of my life as a looker-on, w^hich is the character I 
 intend to preserve in this paper. 
 
 I have given the reader just so much of my history and 
 character, as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified 
 
 95 for the business I have undertaken. As for other particulars 
 in my life and adventures, I shall insert them in following 
 papers, as I shall see occasion. In the meantime, when I 
 consider how much I have seen, read, and heard, I begin to 
 blame my own taciturnity; and since I have neither time nor 
 
 100 inclination to communicate the fulness of my heart in speech, 
 I am resolved to do it in writing, and to print myself out, if 
 possible, before I die. I have been often told by my friends, 
 that it is pity so many useful discoveries which I have made 
 should be in the possession of a silent man. For this reason, 
 
 105 therefore, I shall publish a sheet full of thoughts every morn- 
 ing, for the benefit of my contemporaries; and if I can any 
 way contribute to the diversion or improvement of the country 
 in which I live, I shall leave it when I am summoned out of 
 it, with the secret satisfaction of thinking that I have not 
 
 110 lived in vain. 
 
 There are three very material points which I have not 
 
 1 The old i)arry names in England, corresponding to the Liberals and Conservatives 
 of the present. The uames arose toward the end of the seventeenth century. 
 
THE SPECTATOR 5 
 
 spoken to in this paper^ and which, for several important 
 reasons, I must keep to myself, at least for some time: I 
 mean, an account of my name, miy age, and my lodgings. I 
 must confess I would gratify my reader in anything that is 115 
 reasonable; but as for these three particulars, though I am 
 sensible they might tend very much to the embellishment of 
 my paper, 1 cannot yet come to a resolution of communicating 
 them to the public. They would indeed draw me out of that 
 obscurity which I have enjoyed for many years, and expose 120 
 me in public places to several salutes and civilities, which 
 have been always very disagreeable to me; for the greatest 
 pain I can suffer is the being talked to, and being stared at. 
 It is for this reason likewise that I keep my complexion and 
 dress as very great secrets; though it is not impossible but 125 
 I may make discoveries of both in the progress of the work 
 I have undertaken. 
 
 After having been thus particular upon myself, I shall 
 in to-morrow's paper give an account of those gentlemen who 
 are concerned with me in this work; for, as I have before 130 
 intimated, a plan of it is laid and concerted (as all other 
 matters of importance are) in a club. However, as my 
 friends have engaged me to stand in the front, those who 
 have a mind to correspond with me may direct their letters 
 to The Spectator, at Mr. Buckley's in Little Britain. For 135 
 1 must further acquaint the reader, that though our club 
 meets only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we have appointed 
 a committee to sit every night, for the inspection of all such 
 papers as may contribute to the advancement of the public 
 weal. 140 
 
6 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 II. THE CLUB. 
 
 No. 2.] Friday, March 2, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 — Ast alii sex, 
 Et plures, uno conclamant ore. 
 
 Juvenal, Satire vii. 167. 
 
 Six more, at least, join their consenting voice. 
 
 The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, 
 of ancient descent, a baronet/ his name Sir Eoger de Coverley. 
 His great-grandfather was inventor of that famous country 
 dance which is called after him. All who know that shire 
 
 5 are very well acquainted with the parts ^ and merits of Sir 
 Eoger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in his be- 
 havior, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, and 
 are contradictions to the manners of the world only ^ as he 
 thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humor 
 
 10 creates him no enemies, for he does nothing wdth sourness 
 or obstinacy; and his being unconfined to modes and forms 
 makes him but the readier and more capable to please and 
 oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in 
 Soho Square.* It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by 
 
 15 reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow ^ 
 of the next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir 
 Eoger was what 3^ou call a fine gentleman, had often supped 
 with my Lord Eochester ® and Sir George Etherege,"^ fought 
 a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Daw- 
 
 20 son in a public coffee-house for calling him "youngster." 
 But being ill-used by the above mentioned widow, he was 
 very serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper 
 
 1 Baronet is the hereditary title of an order of hnighthood just below the nobility. 
 
 2 Cf. 1, 36. 
 
 3 modifies contradictions. 
 
 < a fashionable part of London, laid out in the reign of Charles II. 
 
 f^Cf. No. 113. 
 
 • an extravagant nobleman of the time of Charles II. 
 
 ' a dissipated dramatist. 
 
THE CLUB 7 
 
 being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless 
 of himself, and never dressed afterwards.^ He continues 
 to wear a coat and doublet of the same cut that were in 35 
 fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humors, 
 he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first 
 wore it.- He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, 
 and hearty; keeps a good house in both town and country; 
 a great lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful cast 30 
 in his behavior, that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His 
 tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young 
 women profess love to him, and the young men are glad of 
 his company: when he comes into the house he calls the 
 servants by their names, and talks all the way upstairs to a 35 
 visit. I must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice of the 
 quorum ; ^ that he fills the chair at a quarter-session * with 
 great abilities, and, three months ago, gained universal ap- 
 plause by explaining a passage in the Game Act. 
 
 The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is 40 
 another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple,^ a 
 man of great probity, wit, and understanding; but he has 
 chosen his place of residence rather to obey the direction of 
 an old humorsome ' father, than in pursuit of his own in- 
 clinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the 45 
 land, and is the most learned of any of the house ^ in those 
 of the stage. Aristotle ^ and Longinus ^ are much better 
 understood by him than Littleton ^ or Coke.^ The father sends 
 up every post questions relating to marriage-articles, leases, 
 and tenures, in the neighborhood; all which questions he 50 
 
 * He used to be very well dressed: Cf. 113, 43. 
 3 thirty-three years before: 113, 37. 
 
 3 the justices of the peace of any coanty, Bo-called from the first words of the com- 
 mission appointing them. 
 
 ♦ of the magistrates of the county. 
 
 6 The Temple had long been the home of two of the great societies of the Law. 
 
 • fanciful: Cf. humor, 6, 84. 
 ' of his brother lawyers. 
 
 8 two of the great literary critics of antiquity. 
 
 • great authorities on the law. 
 
8 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 agrees with an attorney to answer and take care of in the 
 lump. He is studying the passions themselves, when he 
 should he inquiring into the debates among men which arise 
 from them. He knows the argument of each of the orations 
 
 55 of Demosthenes and Tully, but not one case in the reports 
 of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but 
 none, except his intimate friends, know he has a great deal 
 of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and 
 agreeable: as few of his thoughts are drawn from business, 
 
 60 they are most of them fit for conversation. His taste of 
 books is a little too just for the age he lives in; he has read 
 all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with the 
 customs, manners, actions, and writings of the ancients makes 
 him a very delicate observer of what occurs to him in the 
 
 65 present world. He is an excellent critic, and the time of the 
 play is his hour of business ; exactly at five he passes through- 
 New Inn, crosses through Kussell Court, and takes a turn at 
 WilFs till the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his 
 periwig powdered at the barber's as you go into the Eose. 
 
 70 It is for the good of the audience w^hen he is at a play, for 
 the actors have an ambition to please him. 
 
 The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, 
 a merchant of great eminence in the city ^ of London, a per- 
 son of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great experi- 
 
 75 ence. His notions of trade are noble and generous, and (as 
 every rich man has usually some sly way of jesting, which 
 would make no great figure were he not a rich man) he calls 
 the sea the British Common. He is acquainted with com- 
 merce in all its parts, and will tell 3^ou that it is a stupid and 
 
 80 barbarous way to extend dominion by arms; for true power 
 is to be got by arts and industry.^ He will often argue that 
 
 1 the old part of London, where the merchants had their shops, and, in Addison's 
 day, their houses too: Cf. 34, 29. 
 
 2 The world has not reached this point of wisdom yet: it now endeavors chiefly to 
 extend its commerce, but very often by means of war. Sir Andrew would have reversed 
 the maxim, " Trade follows the flag." 
 
THE CLUB 9 
 
 if this part of our trade were well cultivated, we should gain 
 from one nation; and if another, from another. I have 
 heard him prove that diligence makes more lasting acquisi- 
 tions than valor, and that sloth has ruined more nations than 85 
 the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst 
 which the greatest favorite is, '^ A penny saved is a penny 
 got." A general trader of good sense is pleasanter company 
 than a general scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural 
 unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives the 90 
 same pleasure that wit would in another man. He has made 
 his fortunes himself, and says that England may be richer 
 than other kingdoms by as plain methods as he himself is 
 richer than other men; though at the same time I can say 
 this of him, that there is not a point in the compass but blows 95 
 home a ship in which he is an owner. 
 
 Xext to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain Sentry, 
 a gentleman of great courage, good understanding, but in- 
 vincible modesty. He is one of those that deserve very well, 
 but are very awkward at putting their talents within the 100 
 observation of such as should take notice of them. He was 
 some years a captain, and behaved himself with great gal- 
 lantry in several engagements and at several sieges; l)ut 
 having a small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir 
 Roger, he has quitted a way of life in which no man can rise 105 
 suitably to his merit who is not something of a courtier as 
 well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament that in a . 
 profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, 
 impudence should get the better of modesty. When he has 
 talked to this purpose T never heard him make a sour expres- 110 
 sion, but frankly confess that he left tlie world because he 
 was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even, regular 
 ])ehavior are in themselves obstacles to him that must press 
 through crowds, who endeavor at the same end with himself, 
 — the favor of a commander. He will, however, in this way 115 
 of talk excuse generals for not disposing according to men's 
 
10 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 desert, or inquiring into it : " ioT," says he, " that great man 
 who has a mind to help me, has as man}^ to break through 
 to come at me, as I have to come at him ; " therefore he will 
 
 120 conclude, that the man who wo\ild make a figure,^ especially 
 in a military way, must get over all false modesty, and assist 
 his patron against the imjDortunity of other pretenders by a 
 proper assurance in his own vindication. He says it is a civil 
 cowardice to be backward in asserting what you ought to ex- 
 
 125 pect, as it is a military fear to be slow in attacking when it is 
 your duty. With this candor does the gentleman speak of him- 
 self and others. The same frankness runs through all his con- 
 versation. The military part of his life has furnished him 
 with many adventures, in the relation of which he is very 
 
 130 agreeable to the company ; for he is never overbearing, though 
 accustomed to command men in the utmost degree below 
 him; nor ever too obsequious from a habit of obeying men 
 highly above him. 
 
 But that our society may not appear a set of humorists - 
 
 135 unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, 
 we have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman 
 who according to his years should be in the decline of his 
 life, but having ever been very careful of his person, and 
 always had a very easy fortune, time has made but very little 
 
 140 impression either by wrinkles on his forehead, or traces in 
 his brain. His person is well turned, and of good height. 
 He is very, ready at that sort of discourse with which men 
 usually entertain women. He has all his life dressed very 
 well, and remembers habits as others do men. He can smile 
 
 145 when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the 
 history of every mode, and can inform you from whom our 
 wives and daughters had this manner of curling their hair, 
 that way of placing their hoods, or that sort of petticoat, and 
 whose vanity to show her foot made that part of the dress 
 
 150 so short in such a year. In a word, all his conversation and 
 
 1 be prominent. ^ whimsical fellows. 
 
titE CLUB 11 
 
 knowledge lias been in the female world. As other men of 
 his age will take notice to you what such a minister said 
 upon such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the 
 Duke of Monmouth ^ danced at court such a woman was then 
 smitten, another was taken with him at the head of his troop 155 
 in the Park. In all these important relations, he has ever 
 about the same time received a kind glance or a blow of a 
 fan from some celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord 
 Such-a-one. If you speak of a young commoner that said 
 a lively thing in the House, he starts up : " He has good IGO 
 blood in his viens; Tom Mirabell begot him; the rogue 
 cheated me in that affair; that young fellow's mother used 
 me more like a dog than any w^oman I ever made advances 
 to.'^ This w^ay of talking of his very much enlivens the 
 conversation among us of a more sedate turn ; and I find there 165 
 is not one of the company, but myself, who rarely speak at 
 all, but speaks of him as of that sort of man who is usually 
 called a well-bred fine gentleman. To conclude his character, 
 where women are not concerned, he is an honest w^orthy man. 
 
 I cannot.tell whether I am to account him wdiom I am next 170 
 to speak of as one of our company, for he visits us but seldom ; 
 l)ut when he does, it adds to every man else a new enjoyment 
 of himself. He is a clergyman, a very philosophic man, of 
 general learning, great sanctity of life, and the most exact 
 good breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak 175 
 constitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares 
 and business as preferments in his function would oblige him 
 to; he is therefore among divines w^hat a chamber-counsellor 
 is among law-yers. The probity of his mind, and the integ- 
 rity of his life, create him followers, as being eloquent or 180 
 loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he 
 speaks upon; but w^e are so far gone in years, that he ob- 
 serves, w^hen he is among us, an earnestness to have him fall 
 on some divine topic, which he always treats with much 
 
 * an unfortunate eon of Charles II. 
 
12 SIR ROGER BE COVERLET 
 
 185 authority, as one who has no interest in this world, as one 
 who is hastening to the object of all his washes, and conceives 
 hope from his decays and infirmities. These are my ordinary 
 companions. 
 
 III. SIR ROGER ON MEN OF PARTS. 
 
 No. 6.] Wednesday, March 7, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Credehant hoc grande nefas, et morte piatidum, 
 Sijuvenis vetulo non assurrexerat — 
 
 Juvenal, Satire xiii. 54. 
 
 Twas impious theti (so much was age revered) 
 
 For youth to Tieep their seats ivhen an old man appeared. 
 
 I KNOW no evil under the sun so great as the abuse of the 
 understanding, and yet there is no one Tice more common. 
 It has diffused itself through both sexes, and all qualities of 
 mankind; and there is hardly that person to be found, who 
 
 5 is not more concerned for the reputation of wit and sense, 
 than honesty and virtue. But this unhappy affectation of 
 being wise rather than honest, witty than good-natured, is 
 the source of most of the ill habits of life. Such false im- 
 pressions are owing to the abandoned ^ writings of men of 
 
 10 wit, and the awkward imitation of the rest of mankind. 
 
 For this reason Sir Eoger was saying last night, that he 
 was of opinion that none but men of fine parts deserve to be 
 hanged. The reflections of such men are so delicate upon all 
 occurrences which they are concerned in, that they should be 
 
 15 exposed to more than ordinary infamy and punishment, for 
 offending against such quick admonitions as their own souls 
 give them, and blunting the fine edge of their minds in such 
 a manner, that they are no more shocked at vice and folly 
 than men of slower capacities. There is no greater monster 
 
 * i. e. by sense and morality. 
 
SIR ROGER ON MEN OF PARTS 13 
 
 in being than a very ill ^ man of great parts : lie lives like a 20 
 man in a palsy, with one side of him dead. While perhaps 
 he enjoys the satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, of ambition, 
 he has lost the taste of good-will, of friendship, of iniiocence. 
 Scarecrow, the beggar, in Lincoln^s-inn-fields, who disabled 
 himself in his right leg, and asks alms all day to get himself 25 
 a warm supper and a bed at night, is not half so despicable a 
 wretch, as such a man of sense. The beggar has no relish 
 above sensations; he finds rest more agreeable than motion; 
 and while he has a warm fire and his doxy, never reflects 
 that he deserves to be whipped. " Every man who terminates 30 
 his satisfaction and enjoyments within the supply of his own 
 necessities and passions is," says Sir Eoger, "in my eye, as poor 
 a rogue as Scarecrow. But," continued he, " for the loss of 
 public and private virtue, we are beholden to your men of 
 parts forsooth; it is with them no matter what is done, so it 35 
 is done with an air.^ But to me, who am so whimsical, in a 
 corrupt age, as to act according to nature and reason, a selfish 
 man, in the most shining circumstance and equipage, appears 
 in the same condition with the fellow above-mentioned, but 
 more contemptible in proportion to what more he robs the 40 
 public of, and enjoys above him. I lay it down therefore for 
 a rule, that the whole man is to move together; that every 
 action of any importance is to have a prospect of public good ; 
 and that the general tendency of our indifferent actions ought 
 to be agreeable to the dictates of reason, of religion, of good- 45 
 breeding; without this, a man, as I have before hinted, is 
 hopping instead of walking, he is not in his entire and proper 
 motion." 
 
 While the honest Knight was thus bewildering himself in 
 good starts,^ I looked intentively upon him, which made him, 50 
 I thought, collect his mind a little. " What I aim at," says 
 
 ibad. 
 
 » in a striking manner, as though it were a matter of great importance. 
 
 8 He liad Bome good ideas, bnt he conld not follow them out. 
 
14 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 he, "is to represent that I am of opinion, to polish our 
 understandings, and neglect our manners, is of all things the 
 most inexcusable. Eeason should govern passion, but instead 
 55 of that, you see, it is often subservient to it; and, as unac- 
 countable as one would think it, a wise man is not always 
 a good man." 
 
 This degeneracy is not only the guilt of particular per- 
 sons, but also, at some times, of a whole people; and per- 
 60 haps it may appear upon examination, that the most polite 
 ages are the least virtuous. This may be attributed to 
 the folly of admitting wit and learning as merit in them- 
 selves, without considering the application of them. By this 
 means it becomes a rule, not so much to regard what we do, 
 65 as how we do it. But this false beauty will not pass upon 
 men of honest minds and true taste. Sir Eichard Black- 
 more ^ says, with as much good sense as virtue, " It is a 
 mighty dishonor and shame to employ excellent faculties and 
 abundance of wit, to humor and please men in their vices and 
 70 follies. The great enemy of mankind, notwithstanding his 
 wit and angelic faculties, is the most odious being in the 
 whole creation.'' He goes on soon after to say, very gener- 
 ously, that he undertook the writing of his poem - " to rescue 
 the Muses out of the hands of ravishers, to restore them to 
 75 their sweet and chaste mansions, and to engage them in an 
 employment suitable to their dignity." This certainly ought 
 to be the purpose of every man who appears in public, and 
 whoever does not proceed upon that foundation injures his 
 country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When modesty 
 80 ceases to be the chief ornament of one sex, and integrity of 
 the other, society is upon a wrong basis, and we shall be ever 
 after without rules to guide our judgment in what is really 
 becoming and ornamenial. Nature and reason direct one 
 thing, passion and humor another. To follow the dictates 
 
 1 a poet of the day, usually thought rather dull. 
 » Hie poem " Creation " was published in 1712. 
 
SIR ROGER OK MEN OF PARTS 15 
 
 of the two latter is going into a road that is both endless and 85 
 intricate; when we pursue the other, our passage is delight- 
 ful, and what we aim at easily attainable. 
 
 1 do not doubt but England is at present as polite ^ a na- 
 tion as any in the world; but any man w^ho thinks can easily 
 see, that the affectation of being gay and in fashion has very 00 
 near eaten up our good sense and our religion. Is there 
 anything so just as that mode and gallantry should be built 
 upon exerting ourselves in what is proper and agreeable to the 
 institutions of justice and piety among us ? And yet is there 
 anything more common than that we run in perfect contra- 9.'' 
 diction to them? A.11 wdiich is supported by no other pre- 
 tension than that it is done with what we call a good grace. 
 
 Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming, but what 
 nature itself should prompt us to think so. Respect to all 
 kinds of superiors is founded methinks upon instinct ; and yet 100 
 what is so ridiculous as age? I make this abrupt transition 
 to the mention of this vice, more than any other, in order 
 to introduce a little story, which I think a pretty instance that 
 the most polite age is in danger of being the most vicious. 
 
 It happened at Athens, during a public representation of 105 
 some play exhibited, in honor of the commonwealth, that an 
 old gentleman came too late for a place suitable to his age and 
 quality. Many of the .young gentlemen, who observed the 
 difficulty and confusion he was in, made signs to him that 
 they w^ould accommodate him if he came where they sat. The 110 
 good man bustled through the crowd accordingly; but when 
 he came to the seats to which he was invited, the jest was to 
 sit close and expose him, as he stood, out of countenance, to 
 the whole audience. The frolic went around all the Athenian 
 benches. But on those occasions there w^ere also particular 115 
 places assigned for foreigners. When the good man skulked 
 towards the boxes appointed for the Lacedaemonians, that 
 
 » polished, elegant in manners and behavior: 112, 56. 
 ' on the part of the young men. 
 
16 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 honest people, more virtuous than polite, rose up all to a man, 
 and with the greatest respect received him among them. The 
 120 Athenians being suddenly touched with a sense of the Spartan 
 virtue and their own degenerac}^, gave a thunder of applause; 
 and the old man cried out, " The Athenians understand what 
 is good, but the Lacedemonians practise it." 
 
 IV. THE SPECTATOR AT HIS CLUB. 
 No. 34.] Monday, April 9, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 — jiarcit 
 Cognatis maculis similis fera — 
 
 Juvenal, Satire xv. 159. 
 
 From spotted skins the leopard does refrain. — Tate. 
 
 The club of which I am a member is very luckily com- 
 posed of such persons as are engaged in different ways of life, 
 and deputed as it were out of the most conspicuous classes 
 of mankind : ^ by this means I am furnished with the greatest 
 5 variety of hints and materials, and know everything that 
 passes in the different quarters and divisions, not only of this 
 great city, but of the whole kingdom. My readers, too, have 
 the satisfaction to find, that there is no rank or degree among 
 them who have not their representative in this club, and that 
 
 10 there is always somebody present who will take care of their 
 respective interests, that nothing may be written or published 
 to the prejudice or infringement of their just rights and 
 privileges. 
 
 I last night sat very late in company with this select body 
 
 15 of friends, who entertained me with several remarks which 
 they and others had made upon these my speculations, as also 
 with the various success, which they had met with among 
 their several ranks and degrees of readers. Will Honeycomb 
 
 » There were a country gentleman and a man about town, a man of law and a clergy- 
 man, a merchant and a soldier. 
 
THE SPECTATOR AT HIS CLUB 17 
 
 told 1110, in the softest iiianner he could, that there were some 
 ladies (But for your comfort, says Will, they are not those of 20 
 the most wit) that were offended at the liherties I had taken 
 with the opera and the puppet-show;^ that some of them 
 were likewise very much surprised, that I should think such 
 serious jDoints as the dress and equipage - of persons of quality 
 proper suhjects for raillery. 25 
 
 He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him up 
 short, and told him, that the papers he hinted at had done 
 great good in the city, and that all their wives and daughters 
 were the better for them: and further added, that the whole 
 city thought themselves very much obliged to me for declar- 30 
 ing my generous intentions to scourge vice and folly as they 
 appear in a multitude, without condescending to be a pub- 
 lisher of particular intrigues. " In short,'' says Sir Andrew, 
 " if you avoid that foolish beaten road of falling upon alder- 
 men and citizens, and employ your pen upon the vanity and 35 
 luxury of courts, 3'our paper must needs be of general use.'' 
 
 Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew, that 
 he wondered to hear a man of his sense talk after that man- 
 ner; that the city had always been the province for satire; 
 and that the wits of King Charles's time jested upon nothing 40 
 else during his whole reign. He then showed, by the ex- 
 amples of Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and the best writers of 
 every age, that the follies of the stage and court had never 
 been accounted too sacred for ridicule, how great soever the 
 persons might be that patronized them. But after all, says 45 
 he, I think your raillery has made too great an excursion, in 
 attacking several persons of the Inns of Court^; and I do not 
 believe you can show me any precedent for your behavior in 
 that particular.* 
 
 ^ly good friend Sir Roger de Coverley, who had said noth- 50 
 
 1 This refers to some previous Spectators. ^ bearing, or, here perhaps, retinue. 
 
 3 The four great societies of the Law are so called. 
 
 * Each one thinks the Spectator at fault in commenting upon his own special world. 
 
18 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 ing all this while, began his speech with a Pish ! and told us, 
 that he wondered to see so many men of sense so very serious 
 upon fooleries. " Let our good friend/' says he, " attack 
 every one that deserves it ; I would only advise you, Mr. Spec- 
 
 55 tator," applying himself to me, " to take care how you m^eddle 
 with country squires: they are the ornaments of the English 
 nation ; men of good heads and sound bodies ! and let me tell 
 you, some of them take it ill of you, that you mention fox 
 hunters with so little respect." ' 
 
 60 Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. 
 What he said was only to commend my prudence in not touch- 
 ing upon the army, and advised me to continue to act dis- 
 creetly in that point. 
 
 By this time I found every subject of my speculations was 
 
 65 taken away from me, by one or other of the club ; and began 
 to think to myself in the condition of the good man that had 
 one wife who took a dislike to his gray hairs, and another 
 to his black, till by their picking out what each of them had 
 an aversion to, they left his head altogether bald and naked. 
 
 70 While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend 
 the clerg}^man, who, very luckily for me, was at the club that 
 night, undertook my cause. He told us, that he wondered any 
 order of persons should think themselves too considerable to 
 be advised: that it was not quality, but innocence, which ex- 
 
 75 empted men from reproof : that vice and folly ought to- be 
 attacked wherever they could be met with, and especially 
 when they were placed in high and conspicuous stations of 
 life. He further added, that my paper would only serve to 
 aggravate the pains of poverty, if it chiefly exposed thosd 
 
 80 who are already depressed, and in some measure turned into 
 ridicule, by the meanness of their conditions and circum- 
 stances. He afterwards proceeded to take notice of the great 
 use this paper might be of to the public, by reprehending 
 those vices which are too trivial for the chastisement of the 
 
 85 law, and too fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit. He 
 
THE SPECTATOR AT HIS CLUB 19 
 
 then advised me to prosecute my undertaking with cheerful- 
 ness, and assured me, that whoever might be displeased with 
 me, I should be approved by all those whose praises do honor 
 to the persons on whom they are bestowed. 
 
 The whole club pays a particular deference to the discourse 90 
 of this gentleman, and are drawn into what he says, as much 
 by the candid and ingenuous manner with which he delivers 
 himself, as by the strength of argument and force of reason 
 which he makes use of. Will Honeycomb immediately agreed 
 that what he had said was right; and that for his part, 95 
 he would not insist upon the quarter which he had demanded 
 for the ladies. Sir Andrew gave up the city with the same 
 frankness. The Templar would not stand out, and was fol- 
 lowed by Sir Eoger and the Captain, who all agreed that I 
 should be at liberty to carry the war into what quarter I 100 
 pleased, provided I continued to combat with criminals in a 
 body, and to assault the vice without hurting the person. 
 
 This debate, which was held for the good of mankind, put 
 me in mind of that which the Eoman triumvirate were for- 
 merly engaged in, for their destruction.^ Every man at 105 
 first stood hard for his friend, till they found that by this 
 means they should spoil their proscription; and at length, 
 making a sacrifice of all their acquaintance and relations,' 
 furnished out a very decent execution. 
 
 Having thus taken my resolution to march on boldly in the 110 
 cause of virtue and good sense, and to annoy their adversaries 
 in whatever degree or rank of men they may be found, I shall 
 be deaf for the future to all the remonstrances that shall be 
 made to me on this account. If Punch grow extravagant, I 
 shall reprimand him very freely ; if the stage becomes a nur- 115 
 sery of folly and impertinence, I shall not be afraid to anim-. 
 advert upon it. In short, if I meet with anything in cityj 
 ^'►urt, or country, that shocks modesty or good manners, I 
 si all use my utmost endeavors to make an example of it. I 
 
 1 The iucident is immortalized in " Julius Caesar," iv, 1. 
 
20 SIR ROGEE DE COVERLEY 
 
 must, however, intreat every particular person, who does me 
 the honor to be a reader of this paper, never to think him- 
 self, or any one of his friends or enemies, aimed at in what 
 is said; for I promise him never to draw a faulty character 
 which does not fit at least a thousand people, or to publish 
 a single paper that is not written in the spirit of benevolence, 
 and with a love to mankind. 
 
 V. A LADY'S LIBRARY. 
 
 No. 87.] Thursday, April 12, 171L [Addison. 
 
 — Non ilia colo calathisve Mineriw 
 Fmmineas assueta manus. — 
 
 Virgil, ^neid, vii. 805. 
 
 Unhred to spin7ii7ig, i7i the loom unsMlVd. — Dryden. 
 
 Some months ago, my friend Sir Eoger, being in the 
 country, enclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain lady, 
 whom I shall here call by the name of Leonora, and, as it 
 contained matters of consequence, desired me to deliver it to 
 
 5 her with my own hand. iVccordingly I waited upon her 
 ladyship pretty early in the morning, and was desired by her 
 woman to walk into her lady's library, till such time as she 
 was in a readiness to receive me. The very sound of a lady's 
 library gave me a great curiosity to see it; and, as it was some 
 
 10 time before the lady came to me, I had an opportunity of 
 turning over a great many of her books, which were ranged 
 together in a very beautiful order. At the end of the folios 
 (which were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of china 
 placed one above another in a very noble piece of architecture. 
 
 15 The quartos were separated from the octavos by a pile of 
 smaller vessels, which rose in a delightful pyramid. Thf 
 octavos were bounded by tea-dishes of all shapes, colors, an( 
 sizes, which were so disposed on a wooden frame that th© 
 
A lady's library 21 
 
 looked like one continued i^illar indented with the finest 
 strokes of sculpture^ and stained with the greatest variety 20 
 of dyes. That part of the library which was designed for 
 the reception of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers, 
 w^as enclosed in a kind of square, consisting of one of the 
 prettiest grotesque works that ever I saw, and made up of 
 scaramouches, lions, monkeys, mandarins, trees, shells, and 25 
 a thousand other odd figures in chinaware. In the midst of 
 the room was a little japan table, with a quire of gilt paper 
 upon it, and on the paper a silver snuff-box made in the shape 
 of a little l)ook. I found there were several other counterfeit 
 books upon the upper shelves, which were carved in wood, 30 
 and served only to fill up the numlDer, like fagots in the 
 muster of a regiment. I was wonderfully pleased with such 
 a mixed kind of furniture, as seemed very suitable both to 
 the lady and the scholar, and did not know at first whether 1 
 should fancy myself in a grotto, or in a library. 35 
 
 Upon my looking into the books, I found there were some 
 few which the lady had bought for her own use, but that 
 most of them had been got together, either because she had 
 heard them praised, or because she had seen the authors of 
 them. Among several that I examined I very well remember 40 
 these that follow. 
 
 Ogilby's Virgil. 
 
 Dryden's Juvenal. 
 
 Cassandra.'^ 
 
 Cleopatra.^ 45 
 
 Astrcea.^ 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton's works. 
 
 The Grand Cyrus, ^ with a pin stuck in one of the middle 
 leaves. 
 
 Pembroke's Arcadia} 50 
 
 ^' 1 popular romances from the French. 
 /\ 'a French romance of great popularity. 
 
 * «The "Arcadia" was dedicated by Sir Philip Sidney to his sister, the countess of 
 Pembroke. 
 
22 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 Locke of Human Understanding,^ with a i)aper of patches 
 in it. 
 
 A spelling-book. 
 
 A dictionary for the explanation of hard words. 
 55 Sherlock u|)on Death. 
 
 The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony. 
 
 Sir William Temple's Essays. 
 
 Father Malebranche's Search after Truth, translated into 
 English. 
 60 A book of novels. 
 
 The Academy of Compliments. 
 
 Culpepper's Midwifery. 
 
 The Ladies' Calling.^ 
 
 Tales in Verse, by Mr. Durfey/ bound in red leather, gilt 
 65 on the back, and doubled down in several places. 
 
 All the classic authors in wood."* 
 
 A set of Elzevirs by the same hand. 
 
 Clelia,^ which opened of itself in the place that describes 
 two lovers in a bower. 
 70 Baker's Chronicle.^ 
 
 Advice to a Daughter. 
 
 The New Atlantis, with a key ^ to it. 
 
 Mr. Steele's ^ Christian Hero. 
 
 A prayer-book ; with a bottle of Hungary water by the side 
 75 of it. 
 
 Dr. Sacheverell's Speech.^ 
 
 Fielding's Trial. 
 
 1 Leonora probably read Locke as little as she did Newton, 1. 47. Patches of court 
 plaster were common in those days even with those who had no need for them. 
 
 2 a religious work. 
 
 9 a light author of tales and verses. 
 
 * as noted in 1. 30. 
 
 6 a romance of the school of the Grand Cyrus. 
 
 • an old history of England: Sir Roger was devoted to it: Cf. 329, 9. 
 
 ' an explanation of what real persons were represented by the characters. 
 ** Addison's colaborer on the Spectator. 
 
 ^ Dr. Sacheverell was a clergyman of the day. He had been made the victim of a 
 political prosecution that had caused immense excitement. 
 
A lady's libeary 23 
 
 Seneca's Morals. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living and Dying. 
 
 La Ferte's Instructions for Country Dances. 80 
 
 I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these, and 
 several other authors, when Leonora entered, and, upon my 
 presenting her with the letter from the Knight, told me, with 
 an unspeakable grace, that she hoped Sir Eoger was in good 
 health. I answered " Yes," for I hate long speeches, and 85 
 after a bow or two retired. 
 
 Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is still a 
 very lovely woman. She has been a widow for two or three 
 years, and being unfortunate in her first marriage, has taken 
 a resolution never to venture upon a second. She has no 90 
 children to take care of, and leaves the management of her 
 estate to my good friend Sir Eoger. But as the mind natu- 
 rally sinks into a kind of lethargy, and falls asleep, that is 
 not agitated by some favorite pleasures and pursuits, Leonora 
 has turned all the passions of her sex into a love of books 95 
 and retirement. She converses chiefly with men (as she has 
 often said herself), but it is only in their writings; and she 
 admits of very few male visitants, except my friend Sir 
 Eoger, whom she hears with great pleasure, and without 
 scandal. As her reading has lain very much among ro- 100 
 mances, it has given her a very particular turn of thinking, 
 and discovers itself even in her house, her gardens, and her 
 furniture. Sir Eoger has entertained me an hour together 
 with a description of her country-seat, which is situated in 
 a kind of wilderness, about an hundred miles distant from 105 
 London, and looks like a little enchanted palace. The rocks 
 about her are shaped into artificial grottoes, covered with 
 woodbines and jessamines. The woods are cut into shady 
 walks, twisted into bowers, and filled with cages of turtles.^ 
 The springs are made to run among pel)l)les, and by that 110 
 
 1 turtle doves. Half a century after this Dr. Johnson says that tu7'tle is used for 
 tortoise by sailors and gluttong, 
 
24 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 means taught to murmur very agreeably. They are likewise 
 collected into a beautiful lake, that is inhabited by a couple 
 of swans, and empties itself by a little rivulet which runs 
 through a green meadow, and is known in the family by the 
 
 115 name of " The Purling Stream." The Knight likewise tells 
 me, that this lady preserves her game better than any of the 
 gentlemen in the country.^ " Not," says Sir Eoger, " that 
 she sets so great a value upon her partridges and pheasants, 
 as upon her larks and nightingales. For she says that every 
 
 120 bird which is killed in her ground will spoil a concert, and 
 that she shall certainly miss him the next year." 
 
 When I think how oddly this lady is improved by learning, 
 I look upon her with a mixture of admiration and pity. 
 Amidst these innocent entertainments which she has formed 
 
 125 to herself, how much more valuable does she appear than 
 those of her sex, who employ themselves in diversions that 
 are less reasonable, though more in fashion ! What improve- 
 ments would a woman have made, who is so susceptible of im- 
 pressions from what she reads, had she been guided to such' 
 
 130 books as have a tendency to enlighten the understanding and 
 rectify the passions, as well as to those which are of little 
 more use than to divert the imagination ! - 
 
 But the manner of a lady's employing herself usefully in 
 reading shall be the subject of another paper, in which I de- 
 
 135 sign to recommend such particular books as may be proper 
 for the improvement of the sex. And as this is a subject of 
 a very nice^ nature, I shall desire my correspondents ta give 
 me their thoughts upon it. 
 
 ' Preserving game is one of the traditional duties of an English landlord. 
 3 evidently the Spectator had a slight opinion of novel-reading, 
 s particular, delicate. 
 
SIR ROGER AT HOME I20j 
 
 VI. SIR ROGER AT HOME.' 
 
 No. 106.] Monday, July 2, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 IIi7ic tibi copia 
 Manahit ad plenum, benigno 
 Huris honorum opmlenta cornu. 
 
 Horace, Odes, I. xvii. 14. 
 
 Here pleyity's liberal horn shall pour 
 Of fruits for thee a cojyioiis shower, 
 Rich honors of the quiet plain. 
 
 Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir 
 Eoger de Coverley to pass away a month with him in the coun- 
 try, I last week accompanied him thither, and am settled with 
 him for some time at his country house, where I intend to 
 form several of my ensuing speculations. Sir Eoger, who is 5 
 very well acquainted with my humor, lets me rise and go to 
 bed when I please, dine at his own table or in my chamber 
 as I think fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me 
 be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see 
 him, he only shows me at a distance. As I have been walking 10 
 in his fields I have observed them stealing a sight of me over 
 an hedge, and have heard the Knight desiring them not to 
 let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 
 
 1 am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it 
 consists of sober and staid persons; for, as the Knight is the 15 
 best master in the world, he seldom changes his servants ; and 
 as he is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for 
 leaving him ; by this means his domestics are all in years, and 
 grown old with their master. You would take his valet dc 
 chamhre for his brother, his butler is gray-headed, his groom 20 
 is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his 
 
 » The papers describing the Spectator's visit to Sir Roger make up the main part of the 
 Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. Talcen together tiiey constitute a cliaracter elietcli of tlie 
 greatest interest in the development of English fiction, as noticed in the Introduction, 
 p. xiii, 
 
26 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 coachman has the looks of a privy counsellor. You see the 
 goodness of the master even in the old house-dog, and in a 
 gray pad that is kept in the stable with great care and ten- 
 
 25 derness, out of regard to his past services, though he has 
 been useless for several years. 
 
 I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure, the 
 joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domes- 
 tics upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of 
 
 30 them could not refrain from tears at the sight of their old 
 master; every one of them pressed forward to do something 
 for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. 
 At the same time the good old Knight, with a mixture oi 
 the father and the master of the family, tempered the in- 
 
 35 quiries after his own affairs with several kind questions relat- 
 ing to themselves. This humanity and good-nature engages 
 everybody to him, so that when he is pleasant ^ upon any of 
 them, all his family are in good humor, and none so much 
 as the person whom he diverts himself with : on the contrar}^ 
 
 40 if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy 
 for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of 
 all his servants. 
 
 My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of 
 his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the 
 
 45 rest of his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing 
 me, because they have often heard their master talk of me 
 as of his particular friend. 
 
 My chief companion, when Sir Eoger is diverting himself 
 in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever 
 
 50 with Sir Eoger, and has lived at his house in the nature of 
 a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a person 
 of good sense and some learning, of a very regular life and 
 obliging conversation : he heartily loves Sir Eoger, and knows 
 that he is very much in the old Knight's esteem, so that he 
 
 55 lives in the family rather as a relation than a dependent. 
 
 » makes his joke upon: Cf. 107, 45. 
 
SIR ROGER AT HOME 27 
 
 I have observed in several of my papers that my friend Sir 
 Koger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an hu- 
 morist ; ^ and that his virtues as well as imperfections are, 
 as it were, tinged by a certain extravagance, which makes 
 them particularly his, and distinguishes them from those of 60 
 other men. This cast of mind, as it is generally very inno- 
 cent in itself, so it renders his conversation highly agreeable, 
 and more delightful than the same degree of sense and virtue 
 would appear in their common and ordinary colors. As I 
 was walking with him last night, he asked me how I liked 65 
 the good man whom I have just now mentioned, and without 
 staying for my answer told me, that he was afraid of being 
 insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table,^ for which 
 reason he desired a particular friend of his at the University 
 to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much 70 
 learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, and, 
 if possible, a man that understood a little of backgammon. 
 " My friend,'' says Sir Roger, " found me out this gentleman, 
 who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they tell 
 me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have given 75 
 him the parsonage of the parish; and, because I know his 
 value, have settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he 
 outlives me, he shall find tliat he was higher in my esteem 
 than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me 
 thirty years, and, though he does not know I have taken notice 80 
 of it, has never in all that time asked anything of me for 
 himself, though he is every day soliciting me for something 
 in behalf of one or other of my tenants his parishioners. 
 There has not been a lawsuit in the parish since he has lived 
 among them : if any dispute arises they apply themselves to 85 
 him for the decision; if they do not acquiesce in his judg- 
 ment, which I think never happened above once or twice at 
 most, they appeal to me. At his first settling with me I made 
 
 1 a somewhat eccentric fellow. 
 
 ' He himself had probably never studied either language, or had forgotten what he 
 knew. 
 
28 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 him a present of all the good sermons which have been printed 
 90 in English, and only begged of him that every Sunday he 
 would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly 
 he has digested them into such a series, that they follow one 
 another naturally, and make a continued system of practical 
 divinity." 
 95 As Sir Eoger was going on in his story, the gentleman we 
 were talking of came up to us ; and upon the Knight's asking 
 him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night) 
 told us the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning, and Dr. 
 South ^ in the afternoon. He then showed us his list of 
 
 100 preachers for the whole year, where I saw with a great deal 
 of pleasure Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunderson, Dr. 
 Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with several living authors who have 
 published discourses of practical divinity. I no sooner saw^ 
 this venerable man in the pulpit, but I very much approved 
 
 105 of my friend's insisting upon the qualifications of a good 
 aspect and a clear voice; for I was so charmed with the 
 gracefulness of his figure and delivery, as well as with the 
 discourses he pronounced,, that I think I never passed any 
 time more to my satisfaction. A sermon repeated after this 
 
 110 manner is like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a 
 graceful actor. 
 
 I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy 
 would follow this example; and, instead of wasting their 
 spirits in laborious compositions of their own, would endeavor 
 
 115 after ^ a handsome ^ elocution, and all those other talents that 
 are proper to enforce what has been penned by greater mas- 
 ters. This would not only be more easy to themselves, but 
 more edifying to the people. 
 
 1 Sermons were much published and read in Addison's day. The clergymen mentioned 
 were famous preachers of the end of the seventeenth century. 
 
 2 try to gain. 
 
 3 elegant. 
 
THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD 29 
 
 VII. THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 No. 107.] Tuesday, July 3, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 ^sopo ingentem statuam posuere Attici, 
 Servumgue collocdrunt (cterna in basi, 
 Patere hojioris scirent ut cuncti viam. 
 
 Ph^drus, Epilog, i. 2. 
 
 The Athenians erected a large statue to ^sop, and placed him, though 
 a slave, on a lasting pedestal : to show that the way to honor lies open 
 indifferently to all. 
 
 The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed free- 
 dom, and quiet, which I meet with here in the country, has 
 confirmed me in the opinion I always had, that the general 
 corruption of manners in servants is owing to the conduct of 
 masters. The aspect of every one in the family ^ carries so 5 
 much satisfaction that it appears he knows the happy lot 
 which has befallen him in being a member of it. There is 
 one particular which I have seldom seen but at Sir Roger's; 
 it is usual in all other places, that servants fly from the parts 
 of the house through which their master is passing; on the 10 
 contrary, here they industriously place themselves in his way; 
 and it is on both sides, as it were, understood as a visit, when 
 the servants appear without calling. This proceeds from the 
 humane and equal temper of the man of the house, who also 
 perfectly well knows how to enjoy a great estate with such 15 
 economy as ever to be much beforehand. This makes his own 
 mind untroubled, and consequently unapt to vent peevish ex- 
 pressions, or give passionate or inconsistent orders to those 
 about him. Thus respect and love go together, and a certain 
 cheerfulness in performance of their duty is the particular 20 
 distinction of the lower part of this family. When a servant 
 is called before his master, he does not come with an expecta- 
 tion to hear himself rated for some trivial fault, threatened to 
 be stripped, or used with any other unbecoming language, 
 
 > meaning the whole household. 
 
80 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 25 which mean masters often give to worthy servants; but it is 
 often to know what road he took that he came so readily back 
 according to order; whether he passed by such a ground; if 
 the old man who rents it is in good health; or whether he 
 gave Sir Roger's love to him, or the like. 
 
 30 A man who preserves a respect founded on his benevo- 
 lence to his dependents lives rather like a prince than a master 
 in his family; his orders are received as favors, rather than 
 duties; and the distinction of approaching him is part of 
 the reward for executing what is commanded by him. 
 
 35 There is another circumstance in which my friend excels 
 in his management, which is the manner of rewarding his 
 servants : he has ever been of opinion that giving his cast ^ 
 clothes to be worn by valets has a very ill effect upon little 
 minds, and creates a silly sense of equality between the par- 
 
 40 ties, in persons affected only with outward things. I have 
 heard him often pleasant^ on this occasion, and describe a 
 young gentleman abusing his man in that coat which a month 
 or two before was the most pleasing distinction he was con- 
 scious of in himself. He w^ould turn his discourse still more 
 
 45 pleasantly upon the ladies' bounties of this kind ; and I have 
 heard him say he knew a fine woman, who distributed rewards 
 and punishments in giving becoming or unbecoming dresses 
 to her maids. 
 
 But my good friend is above these little instances of good- 
 
 50 will, in bestowing only trifles on his servants; a good servant 
 to him is sure of having it in his choice very soon of being 
 no servant at all. As I before observed, he is so good an 
 husband, and knows so thoroughly that the skill of the purse 
 is the cardinal virtue of this life, — I say, he knows so well that 
 
 55 frugality is the support of generosity, that he can often spare 
 a large fine when a tenement falls,^ and give that settlement 
 
 » cast off. 2 in joking mood: Cf. 106, 37. 
 
 " In legal language a tenement was anything held of another, most commonly a house 
 (517, 46). The person holding it was a tenant. When a tenement changed hands it was 
 
THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD 31 
 
 to a good servant who has a mind to go into the world, or 
 make a stranger pay the fine to tliat servant, for his more 
 comfortable maintenance, if he stays in his service. 
 
 A man of honor and generosity considers it would be mis- GO 
 erable to himself to have no will but that of another, though 
 it were of the best person breathing, and for that reason goes 
 on as fast as he is able to put his servants into independent 
 livelihoods. The greatest part of Sir Soger's estate is ten- 
 anted by persons who have served himself or his ancestors ^ 65 
 It was to me extremely pleasant to observe the visitants from 
 several parts to welcome his arrival into the country; and all 
 the difference that I could take notice of between the late 
 servants who came to see him, and those who stayed in the 
 family, was that these latter were looked upon as finer gentle- 70 
 men and better courtiers. 
 
 This manumission and placing them in a way of livelihood 
 I look upon as only what is due to a good servant, which 
 encouragement will make his successor be as diligent, as 
 humble, and as ready as he was. There is something won- 75 
 derful in the narrowness of those minds which can be pleased 
 and be barren of bounty to those who please them. 
 
 One might, on this occasion, recount the sense that great 
 persons in all ages have had of the merit of their dependents, 
 and the heroic services which men have done their masters 80 
 in the extremity of their fortunes ; and shown to their undone 
 patrons that fortune was all the difference between them ; but 
 as I design this my speculation only as a gentle admonition 
 to thankless masters, I shall not go out of the occurrences of 
 common life, but assert it as a general observation, that I 85 
 never saw, but in Sir Eoger's family, and one or two more. 
 
 said to fall, and the condition of knighfs tenure then demanded the payment of a sum 
 of money to the landlord. Sir Roger often remitted these payments, if the tenement 
 went to a servant of hie, or gave the fine to a servant if the tenement went to a stranger. 
 ' Sir Roger was practically a feudal lord whose land was tenanted by people person- 
 ally bound to him. It was natural, therefore, that service near his person should have 
 been regarded as something of a privilege. 
 
32 SIR ROGER DE GOVERLEY 
 
 good servants treated as they ought to be. Sir lioger's kind- 
 ness extends to their children's children, and this very morn- 
 ing he sent his coachman's grandson to prentice.^ I shall 
 
 00 conclude this paper with an account of a picture in his gallery, 
 where there are many which will deserve my future observa- 
 tion. 
 
 At the very upper end of this handsome structure I saw the 
 portraiture of two young men standing in a river, the one 
 
 95 naked, the other in a livery. The person supported seemed 
 half dead, but still so much alive as to show in his face ex- 
 quisite joy and love towards the other. I thought the faint- 
 ing figure resembled my friend Sir Eoger ; and looking at the 
 butler, who stood by me, for an account of it, he informed me 
 
 100 that the person in the livery was a servant of Sir Eoger's, 
 who stood on the shore while his master was swimming, and 
 observing him taken with some sudden illness, and sink under 
 water. Jumped in and saved him. He told me Sir Eoger 
 took off the dress ^ he was in as soon as he came home, and 
 
 105 by a great bounty at that time, followed by his favor ever 
 since, had made him master of that pretty seat which we saw 
 at a distance as we came to this house. I remembered indeed 
 Sir Roger said there lived a very worthy gentleman, to whom 
 he was highly obliged, without mentioning anything further. 
 
 110 Upon my looking a little dissatisfied at some part of the 
 picture, my attendant informed me that it was against Sir 
 Roger's will, and at the earnest request of the gentleman 
 himself, that he was drawn in the habit in which he had 
 saved his master. 
 
 1 apprenticed them, probably paying the premium himself. 
 ^ 2 i. e, hie livery: the pronouns make the sentence confused. 
 
WILL WIMBLE 33 
 
 Vlll. WILL WIMBLE. 
 
 No. 108.] Wednesday, July 4, ITU. [Addison. 
 
 Gratis aiihelans, multa agendo nihil age7is. 
 
 Ph^drus, Fab. v. 3. 
 
 Out of breath to no purpose, ajid very busy about nothing. 
 
 As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Roger be- 
 fore bis bouse, a country fellow brought him a huge fish, 
 which, be told him, Mr. William Wimble had caught that 
 very morning; and that be presented it, with his service to 
 him, and intended to come and dine with him. At the same 5 
 time he delivered a letter, which my friend read to me as 
 soon as the messenger left him. 
 
 " Sir Roger, — I desire you to accept of a jack, which is 
 the best I have caught this season. I intend to come and 
 stay with you a week, and see how the perch bite in the Black 10 
 River. I observed with some concern, the last time I saw 
 you upon the bowling-green, that your whip wanted a lash 
 to it; I will bring half a dozen with me that I twisted last 
 week, which I hope will serve you all the time you are in the 
 country. I have not been out of the saddle for six days last 15 
 past, having been at Eton with Sir John's eldest son. He 
 takes to his learning hugely. 
 
 " I am, sir, your humble servant, 
 
 " Will Wimble.^' 
 
 This extraordinary letter, and message that accompanied 20 
 it, made me very curious to know the character and quality 
 of the gentleman who sent them, which I found to be as fol- 
 lows. Will Wimble is younger brother to a baronet, and - 
 descended of the ancient family of the Wimbles. He is now 
 between forty and fifty; but, being bred to no business and 25 
 
34 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 born to no estate, he generally lives with his elder brother 
 as superintendent of his game. He hunts a pack of dogs 
 better than any man in the country, and is very famous for 
 finding out a hare. He is extremely well versed in all the 
 
 30 little handicrafts of an idle man : he makes a may-fly to a 
 miracle, and furnishes the whole country with angle-rods. 
 As he is a good-natured officious ^ fellow, and very much 
 esteemed upon account of his family, he is a welcome guest 
 at every house, and keeps up a good correspondence among 
 
 35 all the gentlemen about him. He carries a tulip-root in his 
 pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy between 
 a couple of friends that live perhaps in the opposite sides of 
 the county. Will is a particular favorite of all the young 
 heirs, whom he frequently obliges with a net that he has 
 
 40 weaved, or a setting-dog that he has made - himself. He now 
 and then presents a pair of garters of his own knitting to 
 their mothers or sisters; and raises a great deal of mirth 
 among them, by inquiring as often as he meets them how they 
 wear. These gentlemen-like manufactures and obliging little 
 
 45 humors make Will the darling of the country. 
 
 Sir Eoger was proceeding in the character of him, when 
 we saw him make up to us with two or three hazel-twigs in 
 his hand, that he had cut in Sir Eoger's woods, as he came 
 through them, in his way to the house. I was very muclf 
 
 50 pleased to observe on one side the hearty and sincere welcome 
 with which Sir Eoger received him, and, on the other, the 
 secret joy which his guest discovered at sight of the good old 
 Knight. After the first salutes were over. Will desired Sir 
 Eoger to lend him one of his servants to carry a set of shuttle- 
 
 55 cocks he had with him in a little box to a lady that lived 
 about a mile off, to whom it seems he had promised such a 
 present for above this half-year. Sir Eoger's back was no 
 sooner turned but honest Will began to tell me of a large 
 cock-pheasant that he had sprung in one of the neighlioring 
 
 > without the disagreeable sense of the present day. * trained. 
 
WILL WIMBLE 35 
 
 woods, with two or three other adventures of the same nature. 60 
 Odd and uncommon characters are the game that I look for 
 and most delight in ; for which reason I was as much pleased 
 with the novelty of the j^erson that talked to me, as he could 
 be for his life with the springing of a pheasant, and there- 
 fore listened to him with more than ordinary attention. 65 
 
 In the midst of his discourse the bell rung to dinner, where 
 the gentleman I have been speaking of had the j^leasure of 
 seeing the huge jack he had caught served up for the first 
 dish in a most sumptuous manner. Upon our sitting down 
 to it he gave us a long account how he had hooked it, played 70 
 with it, foiled it, and at length drew it out upon the bank, 
 with several other particulars that lasted all the first course. 
 A dish of wild fowl that came afterwards furnished conversa- 
 tion for the rest of the dinner, which concluded with a late 
 invention of Will's for improving the quail-pipe. 75 
 
 Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I was se- 
 cretly touched with compassion towards the honest gentleman 
 that had dined with us, and could not but consider, with a 
 great deal of concern, how so good an heart and such busy 
 hands were wholly employed in trifles ; that so much humanity 80 
 should be so little beneficial to others, and so much industry 
 so little advantageous to himself. The same temper of mind 
 and application to affairs might have recommended him to 
 the public esteem, and have raised his fortune in another 
 station of life. What good to his countr}^ or himself might 85 
 not a trader or merchant have done with such useful though 
 ordinary qualifications ? 
 
 Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother of a 
 great family, who had rather see their children starve like 
 gentlemen than thrive in a trade or profession that is beneath 90 
 their quality. This humor fills several parts of Europe with 
 pride and beggary. It is the happiness of a trading nation, 
 like ours, that the younger sons, tliough incapable of any 
 liberal art or profession, may be placed in such a way of life 
 
36 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 95 as may perhaps enable tliem to vie with the best of their 
 family. Accordingly, we find several citizens that were 
 launched into the world with narrow fortunes, rising by an 
 honest industry to greater estates than those of their elder 
 brothers. It is not improbable but Will was formerly tried 
 
 100 at divinity, law, or physic; and that, finding his genius did 
 not lie that way, his parents gave him up at length to his own 
 inventions. But certainly, however improper he might have 
 been for studies of a higher nature, he was perfectly well 
 turned for the occupations of trade and commerce. As I 
 
 105 think this is a point which cannot be too much inculcated, I 
 shall desire my reader to compare what I have here written 
 with what I have said in my twenty-first speculation.^ 
 
 IX. THE COVERLEY PORTRAITS. 
 
 No. 109.] Thursday, July 5, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Abnor?uis scqnejis. 
 
 Horace, Satires, II. ii. 3. 
 
 Of 2)lain good sense, u7itutor''d in the schools. 
 
 I WAS this morning walking in the gallery,- when Sir 
 Roger entered at the end opposite to me, and, advancing to- 
 wards me, said he was glad to meet me among his relations 
 the De Coverleys, and hoped I liked the conversation ^ of so 
 5 much good company, who were as silent as myself. I knew 
 he alluded to the pictures ; and, as he is a gentleman who does 
 not a little value himself upon his ancient descent, I expected 
 he would give me some account of them. We were now ar- 
 rived at the upper end of the gallery, when the Knight faced 
 
 1 The character of Will Wimble is the most foreign to American ideas of all in the De 
 Coverley Papers, on account of our idea that everybody will do something in the world 
 to support himself and those dependent upon him. We are accustomed, in a measure, 
 to those born to great fortunes being persons of leisure. But we do not readily appre- 
 ciate the dignity of being entirely supported, even by an elder brother. 
 
 « the picture gallery. s goci^l intercpuree: 119, IQ. 
 
THE COVERLEY PORTRAITS 37 
 
 I 
 towaMs one of the pictures, and, as we stood before it, lie 10 
 entered into the matter, after his blunt way of saying things 
 as they occur to his imagination without regular introduction 
 or care to preserve the appearance of chain of thought. 
 
 " It is,'' said he, " worth while to consider the force of 
 dress, and how the persons of one age differ from those of 15 
 another merely by that only. One may observe, also, that the 
 general fashion of one age has been followed by one particular 
 set of people in another, and by them preserved from one 
 generation to another. Thus the vast jetting coat and small 
 bonnet, which was the habit in Harry the Seventh's time, is 20 
 kept on in the yeomen of the guard ; ^ not without a good 
 and politic view, because they look a foot taller, and a foot and 
 an half broader : besides that the cap leaves the face expanded, 
 and consequently more terrible, and fitter to stand at the 
 entrance of palaces. 25 
 
 " This predecessor of ours, you see, is dressed after this 
 manner, and his cheeks would be no larger than mine were 
 he in a hat as I am. He was the last man that won a prize 
 in the Tilt Yard ^ (which is now a common street before 
 Whitehall). You see the broken lance that lies there by his 30 
 right foot: he shivered that lance of his adversary all to 
 pieces; and, bearing himself, look you, sir, in this manner, 
 at the same time he came within the target of the gentleman 
 who rode against him, and taking him with incredible force 
 before him on the pommel of his saddle, he in that manner 35 
 rid the tournament over, with an air that showed he did it 
 rather to perform the rule of the lists than expose his enemy ; 
 however, it appeared he knew how to make use of a victory, 
 and, with a gentle trot, he marched up to a gallery where 
 their mistress sat (for they were rivals) and let him down 40 
 
 > commonly called Beef-eaters. Tlie chief examples of the custom in this country are 
 found in the uniforms of some of our regiments of the National Guard and in the dress- 
 coats of gentlemen and waiters. 
 
 ' Tilting was the running a course with lances. The old forms of warfare were going 
 out of use in the beginning of the sixteenth century. 
 
38 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 with laudable courtesy and pardonable insolence. I don't 
 know but it might be exactly where the coffee-house is now. 
 " You are to know this my ancestor was not only of a mili- 
 tary genius, but fit also for the arts of peace, for he played 
 
 45 on the bass-viol as well as any gentlemen at court; you see 
 where his viol han^s by his basket-hilt sword. The action 
 at the Tilt Yard you may be sure won the fair lady, who was 
 a maid of honor, and the greatest beauty of her time; here 
 she stands, the next picture. You see, sir, my great-great- 
 
 50 great-grandmother has on the new-fashioned petticoat, ex- 
 cept that the modern is gathered at the waist; my grand- 
 mother appears as if she stood in a large drum, whereas the 
 ladies now walk as if they were in a go-cart. For all this lady 
 was bred at court, she became an excellent country wife, she 
 
 55 brought ten children, and, when I show you the library, you 
 shall see, in her own hand (allowing for the difference of the 
 language),^ the best receipt now in England both for an 
 hasty-pudding and a white-pot. 
 
 " If you please to fall back a little, because 'tis necessary to 
 
 CO look at the three next pictures at one view; these are three 
 sisters. She on the right hand, who is so very beautiful, died 
 a maid; the next to her, still handsomer, had the same fate, 
 against her will; this homely thing in the middle had both 
 their portions added to her own, and was stolen by a neigh- 
 
 65 boring gentleman, a man of stratagem and resolution, for he 
 poisoned three mastiffs to come at her, and knocked down 
 two deer-stealers in carrying her off. Misfortunes happen in 
 all families; the theft of this romp and so much money was 
 no great matter to our estate. But the next heir that pos- 
 
 70 sessed it was this soft gentleman, whom you see there; ob- 
 serve the small buttons, the little boots, the laces, the slashes 
 about his clothes, and, above all, the posture he is drawn in 
 (which to be sure was his own choosing) ; you see he sits 
 with one hand on a desk, writing and looking as it were an- 
 
 » The language of Henry the Seventh's day would seem old-faehioned. 
 
THE COVEKLEY PORTRAITS 39^ 
 
 other way, like an easy writer, or a sonneteer. He was one of 75 
 those that had too much wit to know how to live in the world ; 
 he was a man of no justice, but great good manners ; he ruined 
 everybody that had anything to do with him, but never said 
 a rude thing in his life; the most indolent person in the 
 world, he would sign a deed that passed away half his estate 80 
 with his gloves on, but would not put on his hat before a 
 lady if it were to save his country. He is said to be the first 
 that made love by squeezing the hand. He left the estate 
 with ten thousand pounds debt upon it; but, however, by all 
 hands I have been informed that he was every way the finest 85 
 gentleman in the world. That debt lay heavy on our house 
 for one generation; but it was retrieved by a gift from that 
 honest man you see there, a citizen of our name, but nothing 
 at all akin to us. I know Sir Andrew Freeport has said be- 
 hind my back that this man was descended from one of the 90 
 ten children of the maid of honor I showed you above ; but it 
 was never made out. We winked at the thing, indeed, because 
 money was wanting at that time." 
 
 Here I saw my friend a little embarrassed, and turned my 
 face to the next portraiture. 95 
 
 Sir Roger went on with this account of the gallery in the 
 following manner. "This man" (pointing to him I looked 
 at) " I take to be the honor of our house, Sir Humphrey de 
 Coverley; he was in his dealings as punctual as a tradesman, 
 and as generous as a gentleman. He would have thought 100 
 himself as much undone by breaking his word, as if it were 
 to be followed by bankruptcy. He served his country as 
 knight of this shire ^ to his dying day. He found it no easy 
 matter to maintain an integrity in his words and actions, even 
 in things that regarded the offices which were incumbent upon 105 
 him, in the care of his own affairs and relations of life, and 
 therefore dreaded (though he had great talents) to go into 
 employments of state, where he must be exposed to the snares 
 
 1 a representative of the shire in Parliament. 
 
40 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 of ambition. Innocence of life and great ability were the dis- 
 
 110 tinguishing parts of his character; the latter, he had often 
 observed, had led to the destruction of the former, and used 
 frequently to lament that great and good had not the same 
 signification. He was an excellent husbandman,^ but had 
 resolved not to exceed such a degree of wealth; all above it 
 
 115 he bestowed in secret bounties many years after the sum he 
 aimed at for his own use was attained. _Yet he did not 
 slacken his industry, but to a decent old age spent the life 
 and fortune which was superfluous to himself in the service 
 of his friends and neighbors." 
 
 120 Here we were called to dinner, and Sir Eoger ended the 
 discourse of this gentleman by telling me, as we followed the 
 servant, that this his ancestor was a brave man, and narrowly 
 escaped being killed in the Civil War ; " for," said he, " he 
 was sent out of the field upon a private message the day 
 
 125 before the battle of Worcester." 
 
 The whim of narrowly escaping by having been within a 
 day of danger, with other matters above mentioned, mixed 
 with good sense, left me at a loss whether I was more de- 
 lighted with my friend's wisdom or simplicity. 
 
 X. THE COVERLEY GHOST. 
 
 No. 110.] Friday, July 6, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Horror uhique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent. 
 
 Virgil, j^neid, ii. 755. 
 
 • All things are full of horror and affright, 
 
 And dreadful ev'vi the sile7ice of the night. — Dryden. 
 
 At a little distance from Sir Roger's house, among tne 
 ruins of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged elms, which 
 are shot up so very high, that, when one passes under them, 
 the rooks and crows that rest upon the tops of them seem to 
 
 » one who manages an estate: Cf. 107, 53. 
 
THE COVERLEY GHOST 41 
 
 ])e cawing in another region. I am very much delighted witn 5 
 this sort of noise, which I consider as a kind of natural prayer 
 to that Being who supplies the wants of his whole creation, 
 and who, in the beautiful language of the Psalms/ feedeth 
 the young ravens that call upon Him. I like this retirement 
 the better, because of an ill report it lies under of being 10 
 haunted; for which reason (as I have been told in the family) 
 no living creature ever w^alks in it besides the chaplain. My 
 good friend the butler desired me, with a very grave face, 
 not to venture myself in it after sunset, for that one of the 
 footmen had been almost frighted out of his wits by a spirit 15 
 that appeared to him in the shape of a black horse without 
 an head; to which he added, that about a month ago one 
 of the maids coming home late that way with a pail of milk 
 upon her head, heard such a rustling among the bushes that 
 she let it fall. 20 
 
 I was taking a walk in this place last night between the 
 hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one of the 
 most proper scenes in the world for a ghost to appear in. 
 The rums of the abbey are scattered up and down on every 
 side, and half covered with ivy and elder bushes, the harbors 25 
 of several solitary birds, which seldom make their appearance 
 till the dusk of the evening. The place was formerly a 
 churchyard, and has still several marks in it of graves and 
 1)urying-places. There is- such an echo among the old ruins 
 and vaults, that if you stamp but a little louder than ordinary 30 
 3'ou hear the sound repeated. At the same time the walk 
 of elms, with the croaking of the ravens, which from time 
 to time are heard from the tops of them, looks exceeding 
 solemn and venerable. These objects naturally raise serious- 
 ness and attention; and when night heightens the awfulness 35 
 of the place, and pours out her supernumerary horrors upon 
 everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak minds fill 
 it with spectres and apparitions. 
 
 1 Psalm 147. 9. 
 
42 SIR ROGEE DE COVERLEY 
 
 Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the Association of Ideas/ has 
 
 40 very curious remarks to show how, by the prejudice of educa- 
 tion, one idea often introduces into the mind a whole set 
 that bear no resemblance to one another in the nature of 
 things. Among several examples of this kind, he produces 
 the following instance : — " The ideas of goblins and sprites 
 
 45 have really no more to do with darkness than light; yet, let 
 but a foolish maid inculcate these ^ t)f ten on the mind of a 
 child, and raise them there together, possibly he shall never 
 be able to separate them again so long as he lives, but dark- 
 ness shall ever afterwards bring with it those frightful ideas, 
 
 50 and they shall be so joined that he can no more bear the one 
 than the other." 
 
 As I was walking in this solitude, where the dusk of the 
 evening conspired with so many other occasions of terror, I 
 observed a cow grazing not far from me, which an imagina- 
 
 55 tion that is apt to startle ^ might easily have construed into 
 a black horse without an head : and I dare say the poor foot- 
 man lost his wits upon some such trivial occasion. 
 
 My friend Sir Eoger has often told me with a great deal 
 of mirth, that at his first coming to his estate, he found 
 
 60 three parts of his house altogether useless ; that the best room 
 in it had the reputation of being haunted, and by that means 
 was locked up; that noises had been heard in his long gal- 
 lery, so that he could not get a servant to enter it after eight 
 o'clock at night; that the door of one of his chambers was 
 
 65 nailed up, because there went a story in the family that a 
 butler had formerly hanged himself in it; and that his 
 mother, who lived to a great age, had shut up half the rooms 
 in the house, in which either her husband, a son, or daughter 
 had died. The Knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so 
 
 70 small a compass, and "himself in a manner shut out of his 
 
 1 Chapter 33 of Book 11 of the Essay Concerning the Human Understanding, which 
 was published about twenty years before this time. 
 
 2 these ideas. ^ ^iBed transitively. 
 
THE COVERLEY GHOST 43 
 
 own house, upon the death of his mother ordered all the 
 apartments to be flung open and exorcised by his chaplain, 
 who lay in every room one after another, and by that means 
 dissipated the fears which had so long reigned in the family. 
 
 I should not have been thus -particular upon these ridicu- 75 
 lous horrors, did I not find them so very much prevail in all 
 parts of the country. At the same time, I think a person 
 who is thus terrified with the imagination of ghosts and 
 spectres much more reasonable than one, who, contrary to 
 the reports of all historians, sacred and profane, ancient and 80 
 modern, and to the traditions of all nations, thinks the ap- 
 pearance of spirits fabulous and groundless. Could not I give 
 myself up to this general testimony of mankind, I should 
 to the relations of particular persons who are now living, and 
 whom I cannot distrust in other matters of fact. I might 85 
 here add, that not only the historians, to whom we may join 
 the poets, but likewise the philosophers of antiquity have 
 favored this opinion. Lucretius ^ himself, though by the 
 course of his philosophy he was obliged to maintain that the 
 soul did not exist separate from the body, makes no doubt of 90 
 the reality of apparitions, and that men have often appeared 
 after their death. This I think very remarkable; he was so 
 pressed with the matter of fact, which he could not have the 
 confidence to deny, that he was forced to account for it by 
 one of the most absurd unphilosophical notions that was ever 95 
 started. He tells us that the surfaces of all bodies are per- 
 petually flying off from their respective bodies, one after 
 another; and that these surfaces or thin cases that included 
 each other whilst they were joined in the body, like the coats 
 of an onion, are sometimes seen entire when they are sepa- 100 
 rated from it; by which means we often l^ehold the shapes 
 and shadows of persons who are either dead or absent. 
 
 1 shall dismiss this paper with a story out of Josephus,^ 
 
 * a Roman poet who lacked many beliefs common in antiquity. The passage is from 
 the '♦ De Natura Rerum," IV, 33-50. 2 Josephus wrote a History of the Jews. 
 
44 SIR ROGER I)E COVERLET 
 
 not so much for the sake of the story itself as for the moral 
 
 105 reflections with which the author concludes it^ and which I 
 shall here set down in his own words. " Glaphyra, the daugh- 
 ter of king Archelaus^ after the death of her two first hus- 
 bands (being married to a third, who was brother to her first 
 husband, and so passionately in love with her, that he turned 
 
 110 off his former wife to make room for this marriage), had 
 a very odd kind of dream. She fancied that she saw her 
 first husband coming towards her, and that she embraced 
 him with great tenderness ; when in the midst of the pleasure 
 which she expressed at the sight of him, he reproached her 
 
 115 after the following manner : ^ Glaphyra,' says he, ' thou hast 
 made good the old saying, that women are not to be trusted. 
 Was not I the husband of thy virginity? Have I not chil- 
 dren by thee? How couldst thou forget our loves so far as 
 to enter into a second marriage, and after that into a third, 
 
 120 nay to take for thy husband a man who has so shamelessly 
 crept into the bed of his brother ? However, for the sake of 
 our past loves, I shall free thee from thy present reproach, 
 and make thee mine forever.' Glaphyra told this dream to 
 several women of her acquaintance, and died soon after. I 
 
 125 thought this story might not be impertinent in this place, 
 wherein I speak of those kings. Besides that, the example 
 deserves to be taken notice of, as it contains a most certain 
 proof of the immortality of the soul, and of Divine Provi- 
 dence. If any man thinks these facts incredible, let him 
 
 130 enjoy his own opinion to himself, but let him not endeavor 
 to disturb the belief of others, who by instances of this nature 
 are excited to the study of virtue." 
 
\ A COUNTKY SUNDAY 46 
 
 XL A COUNTRY SUNDAY. 
 
 No. 112.] Monday, July 9, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 '' Adavdrovs fx^v irpujTa 6eovs vSfxcf cbs Std/ceirat, 
 
 TlyLCa— 
 
 Pythagoras, Carmina Aurea, 1-3, 
 
 First, in obedience to thy countnfs rites. 
 Worship th' immortal gods. 
 
 I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and 
 think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human 
 institution, it Avould be the best method that could have been 
 thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It 
 is certain the country people would soon degenerate into a 5 
 kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such frequent 
 returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet 
 together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, 
 to converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear 
 their duties explained to them, and join together in adoration 10 
 of the Supreme Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the 
 udiole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the no- 
 tions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing 
 in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities 
 as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A. 15 
 country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the church- 
 yard, as a citizen does upon the ^Change, the whole parish 
 politics being generally discussed in that place, either after 
 sermon or before the bell rings. 
 
 My friend Sir Eoger, being a good churchman, has beauti- 20 
 fied the inside of his church with several texts of his own 
 choosing; he has likewise given a handsome pulpit cloth, and 
 railed in the communion table at his own expense. He has 
 often told me that, at his coming to his estate, he found his 
 parishioners very irregular; and that in order to make them 25 
 kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them 
 
46 SIE EOGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 a hassock and a Common Prayer Book : and at the same time 
 employed an itinerant singing master^ who goes about the 
 country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes 
 
 30 of the Psalms; upon which they now very much value them- 
 selves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches that 
 I have ever heard. 
 
 As Sir Eoger is landlord to the whole congregation/ he 
 keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to 
 
 35 sleep in it besides himself; for if by chance he has been 
 surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out 
 of it he stands up and looks about him, and, if he sees any- 
 body else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his 
 servant to them. Several other of the old Knight's particu- 
 
 40 larities break out upon these occasions; sometimes he will be 
 lengthening out a verse in the singing Psalms half a minute 
 after the rest of the congregation have done with it; some- 
 times, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he 
 pronounces Amen three or four times to the same prayer ; and 
 
 45 sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, 
 to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are 
 missing. 
 
 I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, 
 in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews 
 
 50 to mind what he was about, and not disturb the congrega- 
 tion. This John Matthews it seems is remarkable for being 
 an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his 
 diversion. This authority of the Knight, though exerted in 
 that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances 
 
 55 of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not 
 polite 2 enough to see anything ridiculous in his behavior ; 
 besides that the general good sense and worthiness of his 
 character makes his friends observe these little singularities 
 as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities. 
 
 1 He owned all the country round, and all the farms were leased of him. 
 
 2 used to good society. 
 
A COUNTRY SUNDAY 47 
 
 As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir 60 
 till Sir Eoger is gone out of the church. The Knight walks 
 down from his seat in the chancel ^ between a double row of 
 his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side, and 
 every now and then inquires how such an one's wife, or 
 mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church, 65 
 — which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person 
 that is absent. 
 
 The chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising 
 day, when Sir Eoger has been pleased with a boy that answers 
 well, he has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his 70 
 encouragement, and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch 
 of bacon to his mother. Sir Eoger has likewise added five 
 pounds a j^ear to the clerk's place ; " and that he may en- 
 courage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the 
 church service, has promised, upon the death of the present 75 
 incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit. 
 
 The fair understanding between Sir Eoger and his chap- 
 lain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the 
 more remarkable, because the very next village is famous for 
 the differences and contentions that rise between the parson 80 
 and the squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The 
 parson is always preaching at the squire, and the squire, to 
 be revenged on the parson, never comes to church. The 
 squire has made all his tenants atheists and tithe-stealers ; ^ 
 while the parson instructs them every Sunday in the dignity 85 
 of his order, and insinuates to them in almost every sermon 
 that he is a better man than his patron.* In short, matters 
 are come to such an extremitv, that the squire has not said 
 his prayers either in public or private this half-year; and 
 
 1 The chancel is the central part of a church that is built in the shape of a cross. 
 
 ' The clerk is a lay official who leads the congregation in reading the responses. 
 
 3 The parish churches in England were formerly supported by tithes, or one-tenth of 
 the profits on laud or cattle, levied on the inhabitants of the parish. 
 
 * The " patron " was the person who had the right to appoint the clergyman : often 
 it was the lord of the manor. 
 
48 Sm ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 90 that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his man- 
 ners, to pray for him in the face of the whole congregation. 
 Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, 
 are very fatal to the ordinary people; who are so used to be 
 dazzled with riches, that they pay as much deference to the 
 
 95 understanding of a man of an estate as of a man of learning ; 
 and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how im- 
 portant soever it may be, that is preached to them, when they 
 know there are several men of five hundred a year who do 
 not believe it. 
 
 XII. SIR ROGER IN LOVE. 
 
 No. 113.] Tuesday, July 10, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 — H(Erent infixi pectore vultus. 
 
 Virgil, ^neid, iv. 4. 
 
 Her looks ivere deep imprinted in his heart. 
 
 In my first description of the company in which I pass 
 most of my time it may be remembered that I mentioned a 
 great affliction which my friend Sir Eoger had met with in 
 his youth: which was no less than a disappointment in love. 
 5 It happened this evening that we fell into a very pleasing 
 walk at a distance from his house: as soon as we came into 
 it, " It is," quoth the good old man, looking round him with 
 a smile, " very hard, that any part of my land should be 
 settled upon one who has used me so ill as the perverse 
 
 10 Widow did; and yet I am sure I could not see a sprig of any 
 bough of this whole walk of trees, but I should reflect upon 
 her and her severity. She has certainly the finest hand of 
 any woman in the world. You are to know this was the 
 place wherein I used to muse upon her; and by that custom 
 
 15 I can never come into it, but the same tender sentiments re- 
 vive in my mind as if I had actually walked with that 
 beautiful creature under these shades. I have been fool 
 
SIR ROGER IN LOVE 49 
 
 enough to carve her name on the bark of several of these 
 trees; so unhappy is the condition of men in love to attempt 
 the removing of their passion by the methods which serve 20 
 only to imprint it deeper. She has certainly the finest hand 
 of any woman in the world." 
 
 Here f olloAved a profound silence ; and I was not displeased 
 to observe my friend falling so naturally into a discourse 
 which I had ever before taken notice he industriously avoided. 25 
 After a very long pause he entered upon an account of this 
 great circumstance in his life, with an air which I thought 
 raised my idea of him above what I had ever had before ; and 
 gave me the picture of that cheerful mind of his, before it 
 received that stroke which has ever since affected his words 30 
 and actions. But he went on as follows: — 
 
 '' I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and re- 
 solved to follow^ the steps of the most w^orthy of my ancestors 
 who have inhabited this spot of earth before me^ in all the 
 methods of hospitality and good neighborhood, for the sake 35 
 of my fame,^ and in country sports and recreations, for the 
 sake of my health. In my twenty-third year I was obliged 
 to serve as sheriff of the county ; and in my servants, officers, 
 and whole equipage, indulged the pleasure of a young man 
 (who did not think ill of his own person) in taking that 40 
 public occasion of showing my figure and behavior to ad- 
 vantage. You may easily imagine to yourself what appear- 
 ance I made, who am pretty tall, rid ^ well, and was very well 
 dressed, at the head of a whole county, with music before me, 
 a feather in my hat, and my horse well bitted. I can assure 45 
 you I was not a little pleased with the kind looks and glances 
 I had from all the balconies and windows as I rode to the 
 hall where the assizes ^ were held. But when I came there, 
 a beautiful creature in a widow's habit ^ sat in court, to hear 
 
 ' reputation. 
 
 ^ rode, an incorrect form, made on the analogy of ridden. 
 
 3 See No. 122. * costume. 
 
50 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 50 the event ^ of a cause concerning her dower.^ This com- 
 manding creature (who was born for destruction of all who 
 behold her) put on such a resignation in her countenance, 
 and bore the whispers of all around the court, with such 
 a pretty uneasiness, I warrant you, and then recovered herself 
 
 55 from one eye to another, till she was perfectly confused by 
 meeting something so wistful in all she encountered, that at 
 last, with a murrain ^ to her, she cast her bewitching eye upon 
 me. I no sooner met it but I bowed like a great surprised 
 booby; and knowing her cause to be the first which came on, 
 
 60 I cried, like a captivated calf as I was, ^ Make way for the 
 defendant's witnesses/ This sudden partiality made all the 
 county immediately see the sheriff also was become a slave to 
 the fine Widow. During the time her cause was upon trial, 
 she behaved herself, I warrant you, with such a deep attention 
 
 65 to her business, took opportunities to have little billets handed 
 to her counsel, then would be in such a pretty confusion, occa- 
 sioned, you must know, by acting before so much company, 
 that not only I but the whole court was prejudiced in her 
 favor; and all that the next heir to her husband had to urge 
 
 70 was thought so groundless and frivolous,* that when it came 
 to her counsel to reply, there was not half so much said as 
 every one besides in the court thought he could have urged 
 to her advantage. You must understand, sir, this perverse 
 woman is one of those unaccountal^le creatures, that secretly 
 
 75 rejoice in the admiration of men, but indulge themselves in 
 no further consequences. Hence it is that she has ever had 
 a train of admirers, and she removes from her slaves in town 
 to those in the country, according to the seasons of the year. 
 She is a reading lady, and far gone in the pleasures of friend- 
 
 80 ship; she is always accompanied by a confidante, who is wit- 
 ness to her daily protestations against our sex, and conse- 
 
 ' outcome. 
 
 2 the life-right of a widow in a part of the real property of her former husband. 
 
 3 a plague. 
 
 ■* He probably claimed somethiug that lessened her rights. 
 
SIR ROGER IN LOVE 61 
 
 quently a bar to her first steps towards love^ upon tlie strength 
 of her own maxims and declarations. 
 
 " However, I must needs say this accomplished mistress of 
 mine has distinguished me above the rest, and has been known 85 
 to declare Sir Eoger de Coverley was the tamest and most 
 human of all the brutes in the country. I was told she said 
 so by one who thought he rallied me; but upon the strength 
 of this slender encouragement of being thought least detest- 
 able, I made new liveries, new paired my coach-horses, sent 90 
 them all to town to be bitted, and taught to throw their legs 
 well, and move all together, before I pretended to cross the 
 country and wait upon her. As soon as I thought my retinue 
 suitable to the character of my fortune and youth, I set out 
 from hence to make my addresses. This particular skill of 95 
 this lady has ever been to inflame your wishes, and yet com- 
 mand respect. To make her mistress of this art, she has a 
 greater share of knowledge, wit, and good sense than is usual 
 even among men of merit. Then she is beautiful beyond the 
 race of women. If you won't let her go on with a certain 100 
 artifice with her eyes, and the skill of beauty, she will arm 
 herself with her real charms, and strike you with admiration. 
 It is certain that if you were to behold the whole woman, 
 there is that dignity in her aspect, that composure in her 
 motion, that complacency in her manner, that if her form 105 
 makes you hope, her merit makes you fear. But then again, 
 she is such a desperate scholar, that no country gentleman 
 can approach her without being a jest. As I was going to 
 tell you, when I came to her house I was admitted to her 
 presence with great civility; at the same time she placed her- no 
 self to be first seen by me in such an attitude, as I think you 
 call the posture of a picture, that she discovered new charms, 
 and I at last came towards her with such an awe as made me 
 speechless. This she no sooner observed but she made her 
 advantage of it, and began a discourse to me concerning love 115 
 and honor, as they both are followed by pretenders, and the 
 
52 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 real votaries to them. When she had discussed tliese points 
 in a discourse^ which I verily believe was as learned as the 
 best philosopher in Europe could possibly make, she asked 
 
 120 me whether she was so happy as to fall in with my sentiments 
 on these important particulars. Her confidante sat by her, 
 and upon my being in the last confusion and silence, this 
 malicious aid of hers turning to her says, * I am very glad 
 to observe Sir Roger pauses upon this subject, and seems 
 
 125 resolved to deliver all his sentiments upon the matter when 
 he pleases to speak.' They both kept their countenances, and 
 after I had sat half an hour meditating how to behave before 
 such profound casuists, I rose up and took my leave. Chance 
 has since that time thrown me very often in her way, and 
 
 130 she as often has directed a discourse to me which I do not 
 understand. This barbarity has kept me ever at a distance 
 from the most beautiful object my eyes ever beheld. It is 
 thus also she deals with all mankind, and you must make 
 love to her, as you would conquer the sphinx,^ by posing her. 
 
 135 But were she like other women, and that there were any talk- 
 ing to her, how constant must the pleasure of that man be, 
 who could converse with a creature — But, after all, you 
 may be sure her heart is fixed on some one or other; and yet 
 I have been credibly informed — but who can believe half that 
 
 140 is said? After she had done speaking to me, she put her 
 hand to her bosom and adjusted her tucker. Then she cast 
 her eyes a little down, upon my beholding her too earnestly. 
 They say she sings excellently: her voice in her ordinary 
 speech has something in it inexpressibly sweet. You must 
 
 145 know I dined with her at a public table the day after I first 
 saw her, and she helped me to some tansy in the eye of all 
 the gentlemen in the country : she has certainly the finest 
 hand of any woman in the world. I can assure you, sir, 
 were you to behold her, you would be in the same condition; 
 
 150 for as her speech is music, her form is angelic. But I find 
 
 1 by asking a question she cannot answer. 
 
SIR ROGER IN LOVE 53 
 
 I grow irregular while I am talking of her; but indeed it 
 would be stupidity to be unconcerned at such perfection. Oh 
 the excellent creature ! she is as inimitable to all women as 
 she is inaccessible to all men." 
 
 I found my friend begin to rave, and insensibly led him 155 
 towards the house, that we might be joined by some other 
 company; and am convinced that the Widow is the secret 
 cause of all that inconsistency which appears in some parts 
 of my friend's discourse; though he has so much command 
 of himself as not directly to mention her, yet according to 160 
 that [passage] of Martial, which one knows not how to render 
 in English, Dum tacet hanc loquitur. I shall end this paper 
 with that whole epigram, which represents with much humor 
 my honest friend's condition. 
 
 Quicquid agit Eufus nihil est nisi Naevia Rufo, 165 
 
 Si gaudet, si flet, si tacet, hanc loquitur : 
 Ccenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit, una est 
 
 Naevia; si non sit Nfi?via mutus erit. 
 Scriberet hesterna patri cum luce salutem, 
 
 Na?via lux, inquit, Najvia lumen, ave. 170 
 
 Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk. 
 
 Still he can nothing but of Naevia talk ; 
 
 Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute, 
 
 Still he must speak of Naevia, or be mute ; 
 
 He writ to his father, ending with this line, 175 
 
 " I am, my lovely Naevia, ever thine." 
 
64 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 XIII. ECONOMY IN AFFAIRS. 
 
 No. 114.] Wednesday, July 11, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Paupertatis pudor et fuga — 
 
 Horace, Epistles, I. xviii. 24. 
 
 The dread of nothing more 
 Than to be thought necessitous and poor. — Pooly. 
 
 Economy in our affairs has the same effect upon our for- 
 tunes which good breeding has upon our conversations. There 
 is a pretending behavior in both cases, which, instead of 
 making men esteemed, renders them both miserable and con- 
 5 temptible. We had yesterday at Sir Soger's a set of country 
 gentlemen who dined with him; and after dinner the glass 
 was taken, by those who pleased, pretty plentifully. Among 
 others, I observed a person of a tolerable good aspect, who 
 seemed to be more greedy of liquor than any of the company, 
 
 10 and yet, methought, he did not taste it with delight. As he 
 grew warm, he was suspicious of everything that was said; 
 and as he advanced towards being fuddled, his humor grew 
 worse. At the same time his bitterness seemed to be rather 
 an inward dissatisfaction in his own mind than any dislike 
 
 15 he had taken at the company. Upon hearing his name, I 
 knew him to be a gentleman of a considerable fortune in this 
 county, but greatly in debt. What gives the unhappy man 
 this peevishness of spirit, is, that his estate is dipped,^ and 
 is eating out with usury; and yet he has not the heart to sell 
 
 20 any part of it. His proud stomach, at the cost of restless 
 nights, constant inquietudes, danger of affronts, and a thou- 
 sand nameless inconveniences, preserves this canker in his 
 fortune, rather than it shall be said he is a man of fewer 
 hundreds a year than he has been commonly reputed. Thus 
 
 25 he endures the torment of poverty, to avoid the name of 
 being less rich. If you go to his house you see great plenty, 
 
 1 financially embarrassed. 
 
ECONOMY IN AFFAIRS 55 
 
 but served in a manner that shows it is all unnatural, and that 
 the master^s mind is not at home. There is a certain waste 
 and carelessness in the air of everything, and the whole ap- 
 pears but a covered indigence, a magnificent povert}^ That 30 
 neatness and cheerfulness which attends the table of him who 
 lives within compass is wanting, and exchanged for a liber- 
 tine ^ way of service in all about him. 
 
 This gentleman's conduct, though a very common way of 
 management, is as ridiculous as that officer's would be, who 35 
 had but few men under his command, and should take the 
 charge of an extent of country rather than of a small pass. 
 To pay for, personate, and keep in a man's hands a greater 
 estate than he really has, is of all others the most unpardon- 
 able vanity, and must in the end reduce the man who is guilty 40 
 of it to dishonor. Yet if we look round us in any county 
 of Great Britain, we shall see many in this fatal error ; if that 
 may be called by so soft a name which proceeds from a false 
 shame of appearing what they really are, when the contrary 
 behavior would in a short time advance them to the condition 45 
 which they pretend to. 
 
 Laertes has fifteen hundred pounds a year, which is mort- 
 gaged for six thousand pounds; but it is impossible to con- 
 vince him that if he sold as much as would pay off that debt 
 he would save four shillings in the pound, which he gives 50 
 for the vanity of being the reputed master of it. Yet if 
 Laertes did this, he would perhaps be easier in his own for- 
 tune ; but then Irus, a fellow of yesterday, who has but twelve 
 hundred a year, would be his equal. Rather than this shall 
 be, Laertes goes on to bring well-born beggars into the world, 55 
 and every twelvemonth charges his estate with at least one 
 year's rent more by the birth of a child. 
 
 Laertes and Irus are neighbors, whose way of living are 
 an abomination to each other. Irus is moved by the fear of 
 poverty, and Laertes by the shame of it. Though the motive 60 
 
 ' free ana reckless. 
 
56 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 of action is of so near affinity in both, and may be resolved 
 into this, that to each of them poverty is the greatest of all 
 evils, yet are their manners very widely different. Shame 
 of poverty makes Laertes launch into unnecessary equipage. 
 
 65 vain expense, and lavish entertainments; fear of poverty 
 makes Irus allow himself only plain necessaries, appear witli- 
 out a servant, sell his own corn, attend his laborers, and be 
 himself a laborer. Shame of poverty makes Laertes go 
 every day a step nearer to it, and fear of poverty stirs up 
 
 70 Irus to make every day some further progress from it. 
 
 These different motives produce the excesses which men are 
 guilty of in the negligence of an provision for themselves. 
 Usury, stock-jobbing, extortion, and oppression have their 
 seed in the dread of want; and vanity, riot, and prodigality, 
 
 75 from the shame of it: but both these excesses are infinitely 
 below the pursuit of a reasonable creature. After we have 
 taken care to command so much as is necessary for main- 
 taining ourselves in the order of men suitable to our char- 
 acter, the care of superfluities is a vice no less extravagant 
 
 80 than the neglect of necessaries would have been before. 
 
 Certain it is, that they are both out of nature, when she 
 is followed with reason and good sense. It is from this re- 
 flection that I always read Mr. Cowley ^ with the greatest' 
 pleasure. His magnanimity - is as much above that of other 
 
 85 considerable men as his understanding; and it is a true dis- 
 tinguishing spirit in the elegant author who published his 
 works, to dwell so much upon the temper of his mind and 
 the moderation of his desires. By this means he has rendered 
 his friend as amiable as famous. That state of life which 
 
 90 bears the face of poverty with Mr. Cowley's " great vulgar " ^ 
 
 1 Abraham Cowley (1G18-1687) was a poet who, in Queen Anne's time, was still very 
 highly valued. " greatness of mind. 
 
 3 " The great vulgar and the small " is Cowley's expression : he means those, whether 
 great or small, who are made unnatural by love of money and the vanities of life. The 
 meaning is "that state of life which seems like poverty to people who measure every- 
 thing by money, is admirably described." 
 
ECONOMY IN AFFAIRS 57 
 
 is admirably described; and it is no small satisfaction to 
 those of the same turn of desire, that he produces the au- 
 thority of the wisest men of the best age of the world to 
 strengthen his opinion of the ordinary pursuits of mankind. 
 
 It would, methinks, be no ill maxim of life, if according 95 
 to that ancestor of Sir Roger whom I lately mentioned, every 
 man would point to himself what sum he would resolve not 
 to exceed. He might by this means cheat himself into a 
 tranquillity on this side of that expectation, or convert what 
 he should get above it to nobler uses than his own pleasures 100 
 or necessities. This temper of mind would exempt a man 
 from an ignorant envy of restless men alcove him, and a more 
 inexcusable contempt of happy men below him. This would 
 be sailing by some compass, living with some design; but to 
 be eternally bewildered in prospects of future gain, and 105 
 putting on unnecessary armor against improl^able blows of 
 fortune, is a mechanic being ^ which has not good, sense for 
 its direction, but is carried on by a sort of accpiired instinct 
 towards things below our consideration, and unworthy our 
 esteem. 110 
 
 It is possible that the tranquillity I now enjoy at Sir Roger's 
 may have created in me this way of thinking, which is so 
 abstracted from the common relish of the world : but as I am 
 now in a pleasing arbor, surrounded with a beautiful land- 
 scape, I find no inclination so strong as to continue in these 115 
 mansions, so remote from the ostentatious scenes of life; and 
 am at this present writing philosopher enough to conclude 
 with Mr. Cowley, — 
 
 " If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat, 
 With any wish so mean as to be great, 120 
 
 Continue, Heav'n, still from me to remove 
 The humble blessings of that life I love." 
 
 1 a sort of automaton, 
 
58 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 XIV. BODILY EXERCISE. 
 
 No. 115.] Thursday, July 12, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Ut sit meris sana in corpore sano. 
 
 Juvenal, Satire x. 356. 
 
 A healthy body and a mind at ease. 
 
 Bodily labor is of two kinds, either that which a man 
 
 submits to for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes for 
 
 his pleasure. The latter of them generally changes the name 
 
 of labor for that of exercise, but differs only from ordinary 
 
 5 labor as it rises from another motive. 
 
 A country life abounds in both these kinds of labor, and 
 for that reason gives a man a greater stock of health, and 
 consequently a more perfect enjoyment of himself, than any 
 other way of life. I consider the body as a system of tubes 
 
 10 and glands, or, to use a more rustic phrase, a bundle of pipes 
 and strainers, fitted to one another after so wonderful a man- 
 ner as to make a proper engine ^ for the soul to work with. 
 This description does not only comprehend the bowels, bones, 
 tendons, veins, nerves, and arteries, but every muscle and 
 
 15 every ligature, which is a composition of fibres, that are so 
 many imperceptible tubes or pipes interwoven on all sides 
 with invisible glands or strainers. 
 
 This general idea of a human body, without considering it 
 in its niceties of anatomy, lets us see how absolutely neces- 
 
 20 sary labor is for the right preservation of it. Th-ere must 
 be frequent motions and agitations, to mix, digest, and sepa- 
 rate the juices contained in it, as well as to clear and cleanse 
 that infinitude of pipes and strainers, of which it is com- 
 posed, and to give their solid parts a more firm and lasting 
 
 25 tone. Labor or exercise ferments the humors,- casts them 
 
 ' Before the steam engine was developed the word enqhie was used for any mechanical 
 contrivance. Pope calls a pair of scissors an engine in " The Rape of the Lock," III, 149. 
 ^ the various forms of physical moisture. 
 
BC ILY EXERCISE 59 
 
 into their proper channels, throws off redundancies, and helps 
 nature in those secret distributions, without which the body 
 cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the soul act with cheerfulness. 
 
 I might here mention the effects which this has upon all 
 the faculties of the mind, by keeping the understanding clear, 30 
 the imagination untroubled, and refining those spirits that 
 are necessary for the proper exertion of our intellectual facul- 
 ties, during the present laws of union between soul and body. 
 It is to a neglect in this particular that we must ascribe the 
 spleen ^ which is so frequent in men of studious and seden- 35 
 tary tempers, as well as the vapors ^ to which those of the 
 other sex are so often subject. 
 
 Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our w^ell- 
 being, nature would not have made the body so proper - for 
 it, by giving such an activity to the limbs, and such a pliancy 40 
 to every part as necessarily produce those compressions, ex- 
 tensions, contortions, dilatations, and all other kinds of mo- 
 tions that are necessary for the preservation of such a system 
 of tubes and glands as has been before mentioned. And 
 that we might not want inducements to engage us in such 45 
 an exercise of the body as is proper for its welfare, it is so 
 ordered that nothing valuable can be procured without it. 
 Not to mention riches and honor, even food and raiment are 
 not to be come at without the toil of the hands and sweat 
 of the brows. Providence furnishes materials but expects 50 
 that we should work them up ourselves. The earth must 
 be labored before it gives its increase, and w^hen it is forced 
 into its several products, how many hands must they pass 
 through before they are fit for use! Manufactures, trade, 
 and agriculture naturally employ more than nineteen parts 55 
 of the species in twenty ; and as for those w^ho are not obliged 
 to labor, by the condition in w^hich they are born, they are 
 more miserable than the rest of mankind unless they indulge 
 
 • The spleen and the vapors were two forms of despondency or ill-humor. 
 " well-adapted. 
 
60 SIR ROGER DE C( <ERLEY 
 
 themselves in that voluntary labcr which goes by the name 
 
 60 of exercise. 
 
 My friend Sir Eoger has been an indefatigable man in 
 business of this kind, and has hung several parts of his house 
 with the trophies of his former labors. The walls of his great 
 hall are covered with the horns of several kinds of deer that 
 
 65 he has killed in the chase, which he thinks the most valuable 
 furniture of his house, as they afford him frequent topics of 
 discourse, and show that he has not been idle. At the lower 
 end of the hall is a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which 
 his mother ordered to be hung up in that manner, and the 
 
 70 Knight looks upon with great satisfaction, because it seems 
 he was but nine years old when his dog killed him. A little 
 room adjoining to the hall is a kind of arsenal filled with 
 guns of several sizes and inventions, with which the Knight 
 has made great havoc in the woods, and destroyed many 
 
 75 tliousands of pheasants, partridges, and woodcocks. His 
 stable doors are patched with noses that belonged to foxes 
 of the Knight's own hunting down. Sir Roger showed me 
 one of them that for distinction sake has a brass nail struck 
 through it, which cost him about fifteen hours' riding, carried 
 
 80 him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace of geld- 
 ings, and lost above half his dogs. This the Knight looks 
 upon as one of the greatest exploits of his life. The per- 
 verse Widow, whom I have given some account of, was the 
 death of several foxes; for Sir Roger has told me that in 
 
 85 the course of his amours he patched the western door of his 
 stable. Whenever the Widow was cruel, the foxes were sure 
 to pay for it. In proportion as his passion for the Widow 
 abated and old age came on, he left off foxhunting; but a 
 hare is not yet safe that sits within ten miles of his house. 
 
 90 There is no kind of exercise which I would so recommend 
 to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as there is none 
 which so much conduces to health, and is every way accom- 
 modated to the body, according to the idea which I have 
 
BODILY EXERCISE 61 
 
 given of it. Doctor Sydenham ^ is very lavish in its praises ; 
 and if the English reader will see the mechanical effects of 95 
 it described at length, he may find them in a book published 
 not many years since under the title of Medicina Gymnastica. 
 For my own part, when I am in town, for want of these 
 opportunities, I exercise myself an hour every morning upon 
 a dumb-bell - that is placed in a corner of my room, and 100 
 pleases me the more because it does everything I require of 
 it in the most profound silence. My landlady and her 
 daughters are so well acquainted with my hours of exercise, 
 that they never come into my room to disturb me whilst I 
 am ringing. 105 
 
 When I was some years younger than I am at present, I 
 used to employ myself in a more laborious diversion, which 
 I learned from a Latin treatise of exercises that is written 
 with great erudition; it is there called the a-Ktofmxtoi, or the 
 fighting with a man^s own shadow, and consists in the bran- 110 
 dishing of two short sticks grasped in each hand, and loaded 
 with plugs of lead at either end. This opens the chest, ex- 
 ercises the limbs, and gives a man all the pleasure of boxing, 
 without the blows. I could wish that several learned men 
 would lay out that time which they employ in controversies 115 
 and disputes about nothing, in this method of fighting with 
 their own shadows. It might conduce very much to evaporate 
 the spleen, which makes them uneasy to the public as well as 
 to themselves. 
 
 To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and body, I con- 120 
 sider myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties; and I 
 think I have not fulfilled the business of the day when I do 
 not thus employ the one in labor and exercise, as well as the 
 other in study and contemplation. 
 
 » Thomas Sydenham (1624-1689), a very famouB EngliBh physician. 
 ' The Spectator's exercise is somewhat mysterious. It would seem as though the exer- 
 cise described later were with the dumb-bells. 
 
62 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 XV. THE COVERLEY HUNT. 
 
 No. 116.] Friday, July 13, 1711. [Budgell. 
 
 Vocat ingeiiti clamore Cithaeron, 
 
 Taygetique canes — 
 
 Virgil, Georgics, iii. 43. 
 
 The echoing hills and chiding hounds invite. 
 
 Those who have searched into human nature observe that 
 nothing so much shows the nobleness of the soul, as that its 
 felicity consists in action. Every man has such an active 
 principle in him, that he will find out something to employ 
 5 himself upon, in whatever place or state of life he is posted. 
 I have heard of a gentleman who was under close confine- 
 ment in the Bastile seven years; during which time he 
 amused himself in scattering a few small pins about his 
 chamber, gathering them up again, and placing them in dif- 
 
 10 ferent figures on the arm of a great chair. He often told 
 his friends afterwards, that unless he had found out this 
 piece of exercise, he verily believed he should have lost his 
 senses. 
 
 After what has been said, I need not inform my readers, 
 
 15 that Sir Roger, with whose character I hope they are at 
 present pretty well acquainted, has in his youth gone through 
 the whole course of those rural diversions which the country 
 abounds in; and which seem to be extremely well suited to 
 that laborious industry a man may observe here in a far 
 
 20 greater degree than in towns and cities. I have before hinted 
 at some of my friend's exploits : he has in his youthful days 
 taken forty coveys of partridges in a season; and tired many 
 a salmon with a line consisting but of a single hair. The 
 constant thanks and good wishes of the nighborhood always 
 
 25 attended him on account of his remarkable enmity towards 
 foxes; having destroyed more of those vermin in one year 
 than it was thought the whole country could have produced. 
 
THE COVERLEY HUNT 6S 
 
 Indeed^ the Kniglit does not scruple to own among his most 
 intimate friends, that in order to establish his reputation 
 this way, he has secretly sent for great numbers of them out 30 
 of other counties, which he used to turn loose about the 
 country by night, that he might the better signalize himself 
 in their destruction the next day. His hunting horses were 
 the finest and best managed in all these parts: his tenants 
 are still full of the praises of a gray stone horse that un- 35 
 happily staked himself several years since, and was buried 
 wath great solemnity in the orchard. 
 
 Sir Eoger, being at present too old for foxhunting, to keep 
 himself in action, has disposed of his beagles and got a pack 
 of stop-hounds. What these want in speed he endeavors to 40 
 make amends for by the deepness of their mouths and the 
 variety of their notes, which are suited in such manner to each 
 other that the whole cry makes up a complete concert. He 
 is so nice ^ in this particular, that a gentleman having made 
 him a present of a very fine hound the other day, the Knight 45 
 returned it by the servant w^ith a great many expressions of 
 civility; but desired him to tell his master that the dog^he 
 had sent was indeed a most excellent bass, but that at present 
 he only w^anted a counter-tenor.^ Could I believe my friend 
 had ever read Shakespeare, I should certainly conclude he 50 
 had taken the hint from Theseus in The Midsummer Night's 
 Dream ^ : — 
 
 ** My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 So fiew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 55 
 
 Crook-knee'd and dew lapp'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouths like bells, 
 Each under each : a cry more tuneable 
 Was never hoUa'd to, nor cheer'd with horn." 
 
 Sir Eoger is so keen at this sport tliat he has been out 60 
 almost every day since I came down ; and upon the chaplain's 
 
 1 particular, delicate, 37, ,137. 2 a high tenor. ' IV, i, 124. 
 
64 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 offering to lend nie his easy pad/ I was prevailed on yesterday 
 morning to make one of the company. I was extremely 
 pleased, as we rid along, to observe the general benevolence 
 
 65 of all the neighborhood towards my friend. The farmers' 
 sons thought themselves happy if they could open a gate for 
 the good old Knight as he passed by; which he generally 
 requited with a nod or a smile, and a kind inquiry after 
 their fathers and uncles. 
 
 70 After we had rid about a mile from home, we came upon 
 a large heath, and the sportsmen began to beat. They 
 had done so for sometime, when, as I was at a little distance 
 from the rest of the company, I saw a hare pop out from a 
 small furze-brake almost under my horse's feet. I marked 
 
 75 the way she took, which I endeavored to make the company 
 sensible of by extending my arm ; l)ut to no purpose, till Sir 
 Eoger, who knows that none of my extraordinary motions 
 are insignificant, rode up to me, and asked me if puss ^ was 
 gone that way. Upon my answering " Yes,'' he immediately 
 
 80 called in the dogs and put them upon the scent. As they 
 were going off, I heard one of the country fellows muttering 
 to his companion that 'twas a wonder they had not lost all 
 their sport, for want of the silent gentleman's crying " Stole 
 away ! " 
 
 85 This, with my aversion to leaping hedges, made me with- 
 draw to a rising ground, from whence I could have the 
 picture of the whole chase, without the fatigue of keeping 
 in with the hounds. The hare immediately threw them 
 above a mile behind her; but I was pleased to find that in- 
 
 90 stead of running straight forwards, or in hunter's language, 
 " flying the country," as I was afraid she might have done, 
 she wheeled about, and described a sort of circle round the 
 hill where T had taken my station, in such manner as gave 
 me a very distinct view of the sport. I could see her first 
 
 95 pass by, and the dogs some time afterwards unravelling the 
 
 1 an easy-going horse. 2 the hare. 
 
THE COVERLEY HUNT 65 
 
 whole track she had made, and following her through all 
 her doubles. I was at the same time delighted in observing 
 that deference which the rest of the pack paid to each par- 
 ticular hound, according to the character he had acquired 
 amongst them: if they were at fault, and an old hound of 100 
 reputation opened but once, he was immediately followed by 
 the whole cry ; while a raw dog, or one who was a noted liar, 
 might have yelped his heart out, without being taken notice 
 of. 
 
 The hare now, after having squatted two or three times, 105 
 and been put up again as often, came still nearer to the place 
 where she was at first started. The dogs pursued her, and 
 these were followed by the jolly Knight, who rode upon a 
 white gelding, encompassed by his tenants and servants, and 
 cheering his hounds with all the gaiety of five-and-twenty. 110 
 One of the sportsmen rode up to me, and told me that he 
 was sure the chase was almost at an end, because the old dogs, 
 which had hitherto lain behind, now headed the pack. The 
 fellow was in the right. Our hare took a large field just 
 under us, followed by the full cry " In view." I must con- 115 
 fess the brightness of the weather, the cheerfulness of every- 
 thing around me, the chiding of the hounds, which was 
 returned upon us in a double echo from two neighboring 
 hills, with the holloaing of the sportsmen, and the sounding 
 of the horn, lifted my spirits into a most lively pleasure, which 120 
 I freely indulged because I was sure it was innocent. If I 
 was under any concern, it was on the account of the poor hare, 
 that was now quite spent, and almost within the reach of 
 her enemies; when the huntsman, getting forward, threw 
 down his pole before the dogs. They were now within eight 125 
 yards of that game which they had been pursuing for almost 
 as many hours; yet on the signal before-mentioned they all 
 made a sudden stand, and though they continued opening as 
 much as before, durst not once attempt to pass beyond the 
 pole. At the same time Sir Roger rode forward, and alight- 130 
 
66 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 ing, took up the hare in his arms; which he soon delivered 
 up to one of his servants with an order, if she could be kept 
 alive, to let her go in his great orchard; where it seems he 
 has several of these prisoners of war, who live together in a 
 
 135 very comfortable captivity. I was highly pleased to see the 
 discipline of the pack, and the good-nature of the Knight, 
 who could not find in his heart to murder a creature that 
 had given him so much diversion. 
 
 As we were returning home, I remembered that Monsieur 
 
 140 Pascal, in his most excellent discourse on The Misery of Man, 
 tells us, that all our endeavors after greatness proceed from 
 nothing but a desire of being surrounded by a multitude of 
 persons and affairs that may hinder us from looking into 
 ourselves, which is a view we cannot bear. He afterwards 
 
 145 goes on to show that our love of sports comes from the same 
 reason, and is particularly severe upon hunting. " What,'' 
 says he, " unless it be to drown thought, can make men throw 
 away so much time and pains upon a silly animal, which 
 they might buy cheaper in the market ? " The foregoing 
 
 150 reflection is certainly just, when a man suffers his whole 
 mind to be drawn into his sports^ and altogether loses himself 
 in the woods; but does not affect those who propose a far 
 more laudable end from this exercise, I mean the preservation 
 of health, and keeping all the organs of the soul in a condi- 
 
 155 tion to execute her orders. Had that incomparable person, 
 whom I last quoted, been a little more indulgent to himself 
 in this point, the world might probably have enjoyed him 
 much longer; whereas through too great an application to his 
 studies in his youth, he contracted that ill habit of body, 
 
 160 which, after a tedious sickness, carried him off in the fortieth 
 year of his age ; and the whole history we have of his life till 
 that time is but one continued account of the behavior of a 
 noble soul struggling under innumerable pains and dis- 
 tempers. 
 
 165 For my own part I intend to hunt twice a week during my 
 
THE COVERLEY WITCH 67 
 
 stay with Sir Eoger; and shall prescriho the moderate use 
 of this exercise to all my country friends, as the l^est kind 
 of physic for mending a had constitution, and preserving a 
 good one. 
 
 I cannot do this better, than in the following lines out of 170 
 Mr. Dryden: — 
 
 " The first physicians by debauch were made ; 
 Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. 
 By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food ; 
 Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood ; 175 
 
 But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men, 
 Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. 
 Better to hunt in fields for health unbought 
 Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 
 
 The wise for cure on exercise depend : 180 
 
 God never made His work for man to mend." 
 
 XVI. THE COVERLEY WITCH. 
 
 No. 117.] Saturday, July 14, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Ipsi sibi somnia fingunt. 
 
 Virgil, Eclogues, viii. 108. 
 
 With voluntary dreams they cheat their minds. 
 
 There are some opinions in which a man should stand 
 neuter, without engaging his assent to one side or the other. 
 Such a hovering faith as this, which refuses to settle upon 
 any determination, is absolutely necessary to a mind that is 
 careful to avoid errors and prepossessions. When the argu- 5 
 ments press equally on both sides in matters that are indif- 
 ferent to us, the safest method is to give up ourselves to 
 neither. 
 
 It is with this temper of mind that I consider the subject 
 of witchcraft. When I hear the relations that are made from 10 
 all parts of the world, not only from N'orway and Lapland, 
 from the East and West Indies, but from every particular 
 
68 SIR ROGER DE COYERLEY 
 
 nation in Europe, I cannot forbear thinking that there is such 
 an intercourse and commerce with evil spirits as that which 
 
 15 we express by the name of witchcraft. But when I consider 
 that the ignorant and credulous parts of the world abound 
 most in these relations, and that the persons among us who 
 are supposed to engage in such an infernal commerce are 
 people of a weak understanding and a crazed imagination, 
 
 20 and at the same time reflect upon the many impostures and 
 delusions of this nature that have been detected in all ages, 
 I endeavor to suspend my belief till I hear more certain 
 accounts than any which have yet come to my knowledge. In 
 short, when I consider the question, whether there are such 
 
 25 persons in the world as those we call witches, my mind is 
 divided between the two opposite opinions; or rather (to 
 speak my thoughts freely) I believe in general that there is, 
 and has been, such a thing as witchcraft ; but at the same time 
 can give no credit to any particular instance of it. 
 
 30 I am engaged in this speculation by some occurrences that 
 I met with yesterday, which I shall give my reader an acount 
 of at large. As I was walking with my friend Sir Roger by 
 the side of one of his woods, an old woman applied herself 
 to me for my charity. Her dress and figure put me in mind 
 
 35 of the following description in Otway ^ : — 
 
 *' In a close lane as I pursued ray journey, 
 I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double, 
 Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself. 
 Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd and red ; 
 
 40 Cold palsy shook her head ; her hands seem'd withered ; 
 
 And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd 
 The tatter'd remnants of an old striped hanging, 
 Which served to keep her carcase from the cold : 
 So there was nothing of a piece about her. 
 
 45 Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd 
 
 With diff'rent colour'd rags, black, red, white, yellow, 
 And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness." 
 
 1 Thomas Otway (1652-1685), a dramatist of the generation preceding Addison, 
 
THE COVERLEY WITCH 69 
 
 As I was musing on this descrij^tion, and comparing it 
 with the object before me, the Knight told me that this very 
 old woman had the reputation of a witch all over the country, 50 
 that her lips were observed to be always in motion, and that 
 there was not a switch about her house which her neighbors 
 did not believe had carried her several hundreds of miles. If 
 she chanced to stumble, they always found sticks or straws 
 that lay in the figure of a cross before her. If she made any 55 
 mistake at church, and cried Amen in a wrong place, they 
 never failed to conclude that she was saying her prayers back- 
 wards. There was not a maid in the parish that would take 
 a pin of her, though she would offer a bag of money with it. 
 She goes by the name of Moll White, and has made the coun- 60 
 try ring with several imaginary exploits which are palmed 
 upon her. If the dairy maid does not make her butter come 
 so soon as she should have it, Moll White is at the bottom of 
 the churn. If a horse sweats in the stable, Moll White has 
 been upon his back. If a hare makes an unexpected escape 65 
 from the hounds, the huntsman curses Moll White. " N'ay," 
 says Sir Roger, " I have known the master of the pack, upon 
 such an occasion, send one of his servants to see if Moll White 
 had been out that morning." 
 
 This account raised my curiosity so far, that I begged my 70 
 friend Sir Eoger to go with me into her hovel, which stood 
 in a solitary corner under the side of the wood. Upon our 
 first entering Sir Roger winked to me, and pointed at some- 
 thing that stood behind the door, which, upon looking that 
 way, I found to be an old broomstaff. At the same time he 75 
 whispered me in the ear to take notice of a tabby cat that 
 sat in the chimney corner, which, as the old Knight told me, 
 lay under as bad a report as Moll WTiite herself; for besides 
 that Moll is said often to accompany her in the same shape, 
 the cat is reported to have spoken twice or thrice in her life, 80 
 and to have played several pranks above the capacity of an 
 ordinary cat. 
 
70 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so much 
 wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time could not 
 85 forbear smiling to hear Sir Eoger, who is a little puzzled 
 about the old woman, advising her as a justice of peace to 
 avoid all communications with the devil, and never to hurt 
 any of her neighbors' cattle. We concluded our visit with 
 a bounty, which was very acceptable. 
 90 In our return home, Sir Roger told me that old Moll had 
 been often brought before him ^ for making children spit pins, 
 and giving maids the nightmare ; and that the country people 
 would be tossing her into a pond - and trying experiments 
 with her every day, if it was not for him and his chaplain. 
 95 I have since found upon inquiry that Sir Roger was several 
 times staggered with the reports that had been brought him 
 concerning this old woman, and would frequently have bound 
 her over to the county sessions had not his chaplain with 
 much ado persuaded him to the contrary. 
 
 100 I have been the more particular in this account, because I 
 hear there is scarce a village in England that has not a Moll 
 White in it. When an old woman begins to dote, and grow 
 chargeable to a parish,^ she is generally turned into a witch, 
 and fills the whole country with extravagant fancies, imag- 
 
 105 inary distempers and terrifying dreams. In the mean time, 
 the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many evils 
 begins to be frighted at herself, and sometimes confesses 
 secret commerce and familiarities that her imagination forms 
 in a delirious old age. This frequently cuts off charity from 
 
 110 the greatest objects of compassion, and inspires people with 
 a malevolence towards those poor decrepit parts of our species 
 in whom human nature is defaced by infirmity and dotage.* 
 
 1 as a magistrate. 
 
 2 You could tell whether a person were a witch by throwing her into the water. If she 
 floated she was a witch; if she sank she wae not. 
 
 ^ if she has to be cared for by the parish. 
 
 * It is worth noting that this essay, which really shows no belief in witchcraft, in spite 
 of the protestation at the beginning, was written only twenty years after the Salem 
 
SIR ROGER ON THE WIDOW 71 
 
 XVII. SIR ROGER ON THE WIDOW. 
 
 No. 118.] Monday, July 16, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Hceret lateri lethalis arundo. 
 
 Virgil, JEneid, iv. T6. 
 
 The fatal dart 
 Sticks in his side and rankles in his heart. — Dryden. 
 
 This agreeable seat is surrounded with so many pleasing 
 walks which are struck out of a wood in the midst of which 
 the house stands, that one can hardly ever be w^eary of ram- 
 bling from one labyrinth of delight to another. To one used 
 to live in a city the charms of the country are so exquisite 5 
 that the mind is lost in a certain transport which raises us 
 above ordinary life, and is yet not strong enough to be in- 
 consistent with tranquillity.^ This state of mind was I in, 
 ravished with the murmur of waters, the whisper of breezes, 
 the singing of birds ; and whether I looked up to the heavens, 10 
 down on the earth, or turned to the prospects around me, 
 still ^ struck with new sense of pleasure ; when I found by 
 the voice of my friend, who walked by me, that we had in- 
 sensibly strolled into the grove sacred to the Widow.^ " This 
 woman,^^ says he, "is of all others the most unintelligible; 15 
 she either designs to marry, or she does not.* What is the 
 most perplexing of all is, that she doth not either say to her 
 lovers she has any resolution against that condition of life in 
 general, or that she banishes them ; but conscious of her own 
 merit, she permits their addresses without fear of any ill 20 
 consequence, or want of respect, from their rage or despair. 
 
 witchcraft delusion, in which the wisest as well as the most foolish of New England 
 went equally astray. 
 
 > Compare this with Addison's view in the next essay of the first reflectione of a man 
 leaving the city for the country. 
 
 ' always. • Cf. 113, at the beginning. 
 
 * It would not have been strange had she held the latter idea; she must have been about 
 the age of Sir Roger himself, and seems to have remained unmarried about thirty or 
 forty years. 
 
72 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 She has that in her aspect against which it is impossible to 
 offend. A man whose thoughts are constantly bent upon so 
 agreeable an object must be excused if the ordinary occur- 
 
 25 rences in conversation are below his attention. I call her 
 indeed perverse, but, alas! why do I call her so? Because 
 her superior merit is such, that I cannot approach her with- 
 out awe, that my heart is checked by too much esteem; I am 
 angry that her charms are not more accessible, that I am 
 
 30 more inclined to worship than salute her. How often have 
 I wished her unhappy that I might have an opportunity of 
 serving her! and how often troubled in that very imagina- 
 tion, at giving her the pain of being obliged! Well, 1 
 have led a miserable life in secret upon her account; but 
 
 35 fancy she would have condescended to have some regard 
 for me, if it had not been for that watchful animal, her 
 confidante. 
 
 " Of all persons under the sun," continued he, calling me 
 by my name, '^ be sure to set a mark upon confidantes ; ^ they 
 
 40 are of all people the most impertinent. What is most pleasant 
 to observe in them is that they assume to themselves the merit 
 of the persons whom they have in their custody. Orestilla 
 is a great fortune, and in wonderful danger of surprises, 
 therefore full of suspicions of the least indifferent thing, par- 
 
 45 ticularly careful of new acquaintance, and of growing too 
 familiar with the old. Themista, her favorite woman, is 
 every whit as careful of whom she speaks to, and what she 
 says. Let the ward be a beauty, her confidante shall treat 
 you with an air of distance; let her be a fortune, and she 
 
 50 assumes the suspicious behavior of her friend and patroness. 
 Thus it is that very many of our unmarried women of dis- 
 tinction are to all intents and purposes married, except the 
 consideration of different sexes. They are directly under the 
 conduct of their whisperer; and think they are in a state of 
 
 1 Cf. Sir Roger's earlier experience with confidantes, who were combinations of chape- 
 rone and companion. 
 
SIR ROGER ON THE WIDOW 73 
 
 freedom, while they can prate with one of these attendants 55 
 of all men in general and still avoid the man they most like. 
 You do not see one heiress in an hundred whose fate does 
 not turn upon this circumstance of choosing a confidante. 
 Thus it is that the lady is addressed to, presented and flat- 
 tered, only by prox}^, in her woman. In my case, how is it CO 
 possible that — " 
 
 Sir Eoger was proceeding in his harangue, when we heard 
 the voice of one speaking very importunately, and repeating 
 these words, " What, not one smile ? " We followed the 
 sound till we came to a close thicket, on the other side of Go 
 which we saw a young woman sitting as it were in a per- 
 sonated sullenness just over a transparent fountain. Oppo- 
 site to her stood Mr. William, Sir Roger's master of the game. 
 The Knight whispered me, " Hist, these are lovers." The 
 huntsman looking earnestly at the shadow of the young 70 
 maiden in the stream, " thou dear picture, if thou couldst 
 remain there in the absence of that fair creature, whom you 
 represent in the water, how willingly could I stand here satis- 
 fied for ever, without troubling my dear Betty herself with 
 any mention of her unfortunate William, whom she is angry 73 
 with : but alas ! when she pleases to be gone, thou wilt also 
 vanish — yet let me talk to thee while thou dost stay. Tell 
 my dearest Betty thou dost not more depend upon her than 
 does her William: her absence will make away with me as 
 well as thee. If she offers to remove thee, I'll jump into these 80 
 waves to lay hold on thee; herself, her own dear person, I 
 must never embrace again. — Still do you hear me without 
 one smile — it is too much to bear." He had no sooner spoke 
 these words but he made an offer of throwing himself into 
 the water; at which his mistress started up, and at the next 85 
 instant he jumped across the fountain and met her in an 
 embrace. She, half recovering from her fright, said in the 
 most charming voice imaginable, and witli a tone of com- 
 plaint, " I thought how well you would drown yourself. No, 
 
74 sill ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 90 no^ you won't drown yourself till you have taken your leave 
 of Susan Holliday." The huntsman, with a tenderness that 
 spoke the most passionate love, and with his cheek close to 
 hers, whispered the softest vows of fidelity in her ear, and 
 cried, " Don't, my dear, believe a word Kate Willow says ; 
 95 she is spiteful and makes stories, because she loves to hear 
 me talk to herself for your sake." " Look you there," quoth 
 Sir Koger, " do you see there, all mischief comes from con- 
 fidantes ! But let us not interrupt them ; the maid is honest, 
 and the man dares not be otherwise, for he knows I loved 
 
 100 her father; I will interpose in this matter, and hasten the 
 wedding. Kate Willow is a witty mischievous wench in the 
 neighborhood, who was a beauty; and makes me hope I shall 
 see the perverse Widow in her condition. She was so flippant 
 with her answers to all the honest fellows that came near her, 
 
 105 and so very vain of her beauty, that she has valued herself 
 upon her charms till they are ceased. She therefore now 
 makes it her business to prevent other young women from 
 being more discreet than she was herself; however, the saucy 
 thing said the other day well enough, ^ Sir Koger and I must 
 
 110 make a match, for we are both despised by those we loved.' 
 The hussy has a great deal of power wherever she comes, 
 and has her share of cunning. 
 
 " However, when I reflect upon this woman, I do not know 
 whether in the main I am worse for having loved her; when- 
 
 115 ever she is recalled to my imagination my youth returns and 
 I feel a forgotten Avarmth in my veins. This affliction in my 
 life has streaked all my conduct with a softness of which I 
 should otherwise have been incapable. It is, perhaps, to this 
 dear image in my heart owing, that I am apt to relent, that 
 
 120 I easily forgive, and that many desirable things are grown 
 into my temper, which I should- not have arrived at by better 
 motives than the thought of being one day hers. I am pretty 
 well satisfied such a passion as I have had is never well cured ; 
 and between you and me, I am often apt to imagine it has 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY MANNERS 75 
 
 had some wliimsical eU'ect upon my brain. ^ For 1 frequently 125 
 Und, that in my most serious discourse I let fall some comical 
 familiarity of speech or odd phrase that makes the company 
 laugh; however, I cannot but allow she is a most excellent 
 woman. When she is in the country, I warrant she does not 
 run into dairies, but reads upon the nature of plants; but 130 
 has a glass hive, and comes into the garden out of books to 
 see them work, and observe the policies of their common- 
 wealth. She understands everything. I'd give ten pounds 
 to hear her argue with my friend Sir Andrew Freeport about 
 trade. No, no, for all she looks so innocent as it were, take 135 
 my word for it she is no fool." 
 
 XVTIT. TOWN AND COUNTRY MANNERS. 
 
 No. 119.] Tuesday, July 17, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Urhem quam dicunt Ro7nam, Melibope, putavi 
 Stultus ego huic nostrce similem — 
 
 Virgil, Eclogues, i. 20. 
 
 The city men call Rome, unskilful cloivn, 
 
 I thought resembled this our humble toiim. — Warton. 
 
 The first and most obvious reflections which arise in a man 
 who changes the city for the country - are upon the different 
 manners of the people whom he meets with in those two dif- 
 ferent scenes of life. By manners I do not mean morals, but 
 l)ehavior and good breeding as they show themselves in the 5 
 town and in the country. 
 
 And here, in the first place, I must observe a very great 
 revolution that has happened in this article of good breeding. 
 Several obliging deferences, condescensions, and submissions, 
 with many outward forms and ceremonies that accompany ^10 
 them, were first of all brought up among the politer part of 
 
 ' The Spectator had Boniething tliesame idea. 
 
 2 Compare this with Steele's reflections at tlie beginniug of the preceding essay. 
 
76 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 mankind^ who lived in courts and cities, and distinguished 
 themselves from the rustic part of the species (who on all 
 occasions acted bluntly and naturally) by such a mutual com- 
 
 15 plaisance and intercourse of civilities. These forms of con- 
 versation ^ by degrees multiplied and grew troublesome ; the 
 modish world found too great a constraint in them, and have 
 therefore thrown most of them aside. Conversation, like the 
 Eomish religion, was so encumbered with show and ceremony, 
 
 20 that it stood in need of a reformation to retrench its super- 
 fluities, and restore it to its natural good sense and beauty. 
 At present therefore an unconstrained carriage, and a certain 
 openness of behavior, are the height of good breeding. The 
 fashionable world is grown free and easy; our manners sit 
 
 25 more loose upon us. Nothing is so modish as an agreeable 
 negligence. In a word, good breeding shows itself most, 
 where to an ordinary eye it appears the least. 
 
 If after this we look on the people of mode in the country, 
 we find in them the manners of the last age. They have no 
 
 30 sooner fetched themselves up to the fashion of the polite 
 world, but the town has dropped them, and are nearer to the 
 first state of nature than to those refinements which formerly 
 reigned in the court, and still prevail in the country. One 
 may now know a man that never conversed in the world by 
 
 35 his excess of good breeding. A polite country squire shall 
 make you as many bows in half an hour as would serve a 
 courtier for a week. There is infinitely more to do about 
 place and precedency in a meeting of justices' wives - than 
 in an assembly of duchesses. 
 
 40 This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man of my 
 temper, who generally take the chair that is next me, and 
 walk first or last, in the front or in the rear, as chance directs. 
 I have known my friend Sir Roger's dinner almost cold before 
 the company could adjust the ceremonial, and be prevailed 
 
 1 social intercourse as in 109, 4. Cf. 1. 15 below. 
 . 2 wives of those in the quorum, like Sir Roger. 
 
TOWN AND COUNTRY MANNERS 77 
 
 upon to sit down; and have heartily pitied my old friend, 45 
 when I have seen him forced to pick and cull his guests, as 
 they sat at the several parts of his table, that he might drink 
 their healths according to their respective ranks and qualities: 
 Honest Will Wimble, who I should have thought had been 
 altogether uninfected with ceremony, gives me abundance of 50 
 trouble in this particular. Though he has been fishing all 
 the morning, he will not help himself at dinner till I am 
 served. When we are going out of the hall, he runs behind 
 me; and last night, as we were walking in the fields, stopped 
 short at a stile till I came up to it, and upon my making signs 55 
 to him to get over, told me, with a serious smile, that sure I 
 believed they had no manners in the country. 
 
 There has happened another revolution in the point of good 
 breeding, which relates to the conversation among men of 
 mode, and which I cannot but look upon as very extraor- 60 
 dinary. It was certainly one of the first distinctions of a 
 well-bred man, to express everything that had the most re- 
 mote appearance of being obscene in modest terms and distant 
 phrases; whilst the clown, who had no such delicacy of con- 
 ception and expression, clothed his ideas in those plain, homely 65 
 terms that are the most obvious and natural. This kind of 
 good manners was perhaps carried to an excess, so as to make 
 conversation too stiff, formal, and precise; for which reason 
 (as hypocrisy in one age is generally succeeded by atheism in 
 another) conversation is in a great measure relapsed into the 70 
 first extreme; so that at present several of our men of the 
 town, and particularly those who have been polished in 
 France, make use of the most coarse uncivilized words in our 
 language, and utter themselves often in such a manner as a 
 clown would blush to hear. 75 
 
 This infamous piece of good breeding, which reigns among 
 the coxcombs of the town, has not yet made its way into the 
 country; and as it is impossible for such an irrational way 
 of conversation to last long among a people that make any 
 
78 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 80 profession of religion, or show of modesty, if the country 
 gentlemen get into it they will certainly be left in the lurch. 
 Their good breeding will come too late to them, and they will 
 be thought a parcel of lewd clowns, while they fancy them- 
 selves talking together like men of wit and pleasure. 
 
 85 As the two points of good breeding which I have hitherto 
 insisted upon regard behavior and conversation, there is a 
 third, which turns upon dress. In this, too, the country are 
 very much behindhand. The rural beaus are not yet got out 
 of the fashion that took place at the time of the Revolution,^ 
 
 00 but ride about the country in red coats and laced hats, while 
 the women in many parts are still trying to outvie one another 
 in the height of their head-dresses. 
 
 But a friend of mine, who is now upon the western circuit, 
 having promised to give me an account of the several modes 
 
 95 and fashions that prevail in the different parts of the nation 
 through which he passes, I shall defer the enlarging upon 
 this last topic till I have received a letter from him, which I 
 expect every post.^ 
 
 XTX. INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 
 
 No. 120.] Wednesday, July 18, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis 
 
 Ingenium — 
 
 Virgil, Oeorgics, i. 451. 
 
 / thinTc their breasts ivith heavenly souls inspired. 
 
 My friend Sir Roger is very often merry with me upon my 
 passing so much of my time among his poultry. He has 
 caught me twice or thrice looking after a bird's nest, and 
 several times sitting an hour or two together near an hen and 
 5 chickens. He tells me he believes I am personally acquainted 
 with every fowl about his house; calls such a particular cock 
 
 » twenty-five years before. ^Spectatoi\ No. 129. 
 
INSTINCT IN ANIMALS 79 
 
 my favorite, and frequently comjilains that his ducks and 
 geese have more of my company than himself. 
 
 I must confess I am infinitely delighted with those specu- 
 lations of nature which are to be made in a country life; and 10 
 as my reading has very much lain among books of natural 
 history, I cannot forbear recollecting upon this occasion the 
 several remarks which I have met with in authors, and com- 
 paring them with what falls under my own observation: the 
 arguments for Providence drawn from the natural history of 15 
 animals being in my opinion demonstrative.^ 
 
 The mnke of every kind of animal is different from that 
 of every other kind; and yet there is not the least turn in 
 the muscles or twist in the fibres of any one, which does not 
 render them more proper for that particular animal's way of 20 
 life than any other cast or texture of them would have been. 
 
 The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and 
 hunger. The first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate 
 their kind; the latter to preserve themselves. 
 
 It is astonishing to consider the different degrees of care 25 
 that descend from the parent to the young, so far as is abso- 
 lutely necessary for the leaving a posterity. Some creatures 
 cast their eggs as chance directs them, and think of them no 
 farther, as insects and several kinds of fish ; others, of a nicer 
 frame, find out proper beds to deposit them in, and there 30 
 leave them, as the serpent, the crocodile, and ostrich; others 
 hatch their eggs and tend the birth, till it is able to shift for 
 itself. 
 
 \Vhat can we call the principle which directs every different 
 kind of bird to observe a particular plan in the structure of 35 
 its nest, and directs all of the same species to work after the 
 same model? It .cannot be imitation; for though you hatch 
 a crow under a hen, and never let it see any of the works of 
 its own kind, the nest it makes shall be the same, to the laying 
 of a stick, with all the other nests of the same species. It 40 
 
 1 that is they demonstrate or show forth the existence of a God. 
 
80 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 cannot be reason; for were animals indued witli it to as great 
 a degree as man, their buildings would be as different as ours, 
 according to the different conveniences that they would pro- 
 pose to themselves. 
 
 45 Is it not remarkable, that the same temper of weather, 
 which raises this genial warmth in animals, should cover the 
 trees with leaves, and the fields with grass, for their security 
 and concealment, and produce such infinite swarms of insects 
 for the support and sustenance of their respective broods? 
 
 50 Is it not wonderful that the love of the parent should be 
 so violent while it lasts, and that it should last no longer 
 than is necessary for the preservation of the young? 
 
 But notwithstanding this natural love in brutes is much 
 more violent and intense than in rational creatures, Provi- 
 
 55 dence has taken care that it should be no longer troublesome 
 to the parent than it is useful to the young; for so soon as 
 the wants of the latter cease, the mother withdraws her fond- 
 ness, and leaves them to provide for themselves; and what is 
 a very remarkable circumstance in this part of instinct, we 
 
 60 find that the love of the parent may be lengthened out be- 
 yond its usual time, if the preservation of the species requires 
 it: as we may see in birds that drive away their young as 
 soon as they are able to get their livelihood, but continue to 
 feed them if they are tied to the nest, or confined within a 
 
 C5 cage, or by any other means appear to be out of a condition 
 of supplying their own necessities. 
 
 This natural love is not observed in animals to ascend 
 from the young to the parent, which is not at all necessary for 
 the continuance of the species ; nor indeed in reasonable crea- 
 
 70 tures does it rise in any proportion, as it spreads itself down- 
 wards ; for in all family affection, w^e find protection granted 
 and favors bestowed are greater motives to love and tender- 
 ness than safety, benefits, or life received. 
 
 One would wonder to hear skeptical men ^ disputing for the 
 
 J such as could not believe in religion. 
 
INSTINCT IN ANIMALS 81 
 
 reason of animals, and telling us it is only our pride and 75 
 prejudices that will not allow them the use of that faculty. 
 
 lleason shows itself in all occurrences of life; whereas the 
 brute makes no discovery of such a talent, but ^ in what im- 
 mediately regards his own preservation or the continuance 
 of his species. Animals in their generation are wiser than 80 
 the sons of men; but their wisdom is confined to a few par- 
 ticulars, and lies in a very narrow compass. Take a brute 
 out of his instinct, and you find him w^holly deprived of 
 understanding. To use an instance that comes often under 
 observation : 85 
 
 With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest in 
 places unfrequented, and free from noise and disturbance! 
 When she has laid her eggs in such a manner that she can 
 cover them, what care does she take in turning them fre- 
 quently, that all parts may partake of the vital warmth ! 00 
 When she leaves them, to provide for her necessary susten- 
 ance, how punctually does she return before they have time 
 to cool, and become incapable of producing an animal ! In 
 the summer you see her giving herself greater freedoms, and 
 quitting her care for above two hours together; but in winter, 95 
 when the rigor of the season would chill the principles of life, 
 and destroy the young one, she grows more assiduous in her 
 attendance, and stays away but half the time. When the 
 birth approaches, with how much nicety and attention does 
 she help the chick to break its prison ! not to take notice of 100 
 her covering it from the injuries of the weather, providing 
 it proper nourishment, and teaching it to help itself; nor to 
 mention her forsaking the nest, if after the usual time of 
 reckoning the young ones does not make its appearance. A 
 chemical operation could not be followed with greater art or 105 
 diligence than is seen in the hatching of a chick; though there 
 are many other birds that show an infinitely greater sagacity 
 in all the forementioned particulars. 
 
 1 except. 
 
82 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming 
 
 110 ingenuity (which is indeed absolutely necessary for the propa- 
 gation of the species), considered in other respects, is without 
 the least glimmerings of thought or common sense. She mis- 
 takes a piece of chalk for an egg, and sits upon it in the same 
 manner; she is insensible of any increase or diminution in 
 
 115 the number of those she lays; she does not distinguish between 
 her own and those of another species; and when the birth 
 appears of never so different a bird, will cherish it for her 
 own. In all these circumstances which do not carry an im- 
 mediate regard to the subsistence of herself or her species, 
 
 120 she is a very idiot. 
 
 There is not, in my opinion, anything more mysterious in 
 nature than this instinct in animals, which thus rises above 
 reason, and falls infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted 
 for by any properties in matter, and at the same time works 
 
 125 after so odd a manner, that one cannot think it the faculty 
 of an intellectual being. For my own part, I look upon it as 
 upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be 
 explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies them- 
 selves, nor from any laws of mechanism, but according to the 
 
 130 best notions of the greatest philosophers is an immediate 
 impression from the first Mover, and the Divine energy acting 
 in the creatures. 
 
 XX. INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 
 
 No. 121.] Thursday, July 19, -1711. [Addison. 
 
 Jovis omnia plena. 
 
 Virgil, Eclogues, iii. CO. 
 
 All things are full of Jove. 
 
 As I was walking this morning in the great yard that be- 
 longs to my friend's country house, I was wonderfully pleased 
 to see the different workings of instinct in a hen followed by 
 
INSTINCT IN ANIMALS 83 
 
 a brood of ducks. The young, upon the sight of a pond, 
 immediately ran into it; while the stepmother, with all im- 5 
 aginable anxiety, hovered about the borders of it, to call them 
 out of an element that appeared to her so dangerous and 
 destructive. As the different principle which acted in these 
 different animals cannot be termed reason, so, when we call 
 it instinct, we mean something we have no knowledge of. 10 
 To me, as I hinted in my last paper, it seems the immediate 
 direction of Providence, and such an operation of the Su- 
 preme Being, as that which determines all the portions of 
 matter to their proper centres. A modern philosopher, quoted 
 by Monsieur Bayle in his learned Dissertation on the Souls 15 
 of Brutes, delivers the same opinion, though in a bolder form 
 of words, where he says, Deus est anima hrutorum, — " God' 
 himself is the soul of brutes." Who can tell what to call 
 that seeing sagacity in animals, which directs them to such 
 food as is proper for them, and makes them naturally avoid 20 
 whatever is noxious or unwholesome ? Tully ^ has observed 
 that a lamb no sooner falls from its mother, but immediately 
 and of its own accord applies itself to the teat. Dampier,- in 
 his Travels, tells us that, when seamen are thrown upon any 
 of the unknown coasts of America, they never venture upon 25 
 the fruit of any tree, how tempting soever it may appear, 
 unless they observe that it is marked with the pecking of 
 birds; but fall on without any fear or apprehension where 
 the birds have been before them. 
 
 But notwithstanding animals have nothing like the use of 30 
 reason, we find in them all the lower parts of our nature, the 
 passions and senses, in their greatest strength and perfection. 
 And here it is worth our observation, that all beasts and 
 birds of prey are wonderfully subject to anger, malice, re- 
 venge, and all the other violent passions that may animate 35 
 
 ' Marcus Tullius Cicero. 
 
 2 William Dampier (1652-1715) was an English sailor who sailed around the world 
 and wrote an account of his voyages. 
 
84 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 them in search of their proper food; as those that are incapa- 
 ble of defending themselves, or annoying others, or whose 
 safety lies chiefly in their flight, are suspicious, fearful and 
 apprehensive of everything they see or hear; whilst others 
 
 40 that are of assistance and use to man, have their natures 
 softened with something mild and tractable, and by that 
 means are qualified for a domestic life. In this case the 
 passions generally correspond with the make of the body. We 
 do not find the fury of a lion in so weak and defenceless an 
 
 45 animal as a lamb, nor the meekness of a lamb in a creature 
 so armed foi* battle and assault as the lion. In the same 
 manner, we find that particular animals have a more or less 
 exquisite sharpness and sagacity in those particular senses 
 which most turn to their advantage, and in which their 
 
 50 safety and welfare is the most concerned. 
 
 Nor must we here omit that great variety of arms with 
 which nature has differently fortified the bodies of several 
 kinds of animals, such as claws, hoofs and horns, teeth and 
 tusks, a tail, a sting, a trunk, or a proboscis. It is likewise 
 
 55 observed by naturalists, that it must be some hidden prin- 
 ciple, distinct from what we call reason, which instructs ani- 
 mals in the use of these their arms, and teaches them to man- 
 age them to the best advantage ; because they naturally defend 
 themselves with that part in which their strength lies, before 
 
 60 the weapon be formed in it ; as is remarkable in lambs, which, 
 
 though they are bred within doors, and never saw the actions 
 
 of their own species, push at those who approach them with 
 
 their foreheads, before the first budding of a horn appears. 
 
 I shall add to these general observations an instance, which 
 
 65 Mr. Locke has given us,^ of Providence even in the imper- 
 fections of a creature which seems the meanest and the most 
 despicable in the whole animal world. " We may," says he, 
 " from the make of an oyster or cockle, conclude that it has 
 not so many nor so quick senses as a man, or several other 
 
 1 in the Essa^ Concerning tlie Human Understanding, already quoted. 
 
INSTINCT IN ANIMALS 85 
 
 animals; nor if it had, would it, in that state and incapacity 70 
 of transferring itself from one place to another, be bettered 
 by them. What good would sight and hearing do to a crea- 
 ture, that cannot move itself to or from the object, wherein 
 at a distance it perceives good or evil? .And would not 
 quickness of sensation be an inconvenience to an animal that 75 
 must be still where chance has once placed it, and there receive 
 the afflux of colder or warmer, clean or foul water, as it 
 happens to come to it ? ^' 
 
 I shall add to this instance out of Mr. Locke another out 
 of the learned Dr. More, who cites it from Cardan, in rela- 80 
 tion to another animal which Providence has left defective, 
 but at the same time has shown its wisdom in the formation 
 of that organ in which it seems chiefly to have failed. " What 
 is more obvious and ordinary than a mole ? and yet what more 
 palpable argument of Providence than she? The members 85 
 of her body are so exactly fitted to her nature and manner 
 of life: for her dwelling being under ground, wdiere nothing 
 is to be seen, nature has so obscurely fitted her with eyes, that* 
 naturalists can hardly agree whether she have any sight at 
 all or no. But for amends, what she is capable of for her 90 
 defence and warning of dangers, she has very eminently con- 
 ferred upon her; for she is exceeding quick of hearing. And 
 then her short tail and short legs, but broad fore-feet armed 
 with sharp claws, — we see by the event to what purpose they 
 are, she so swiftly working herself under ground, and making 95 
 her way so fast in the earth, as they that behold it cannot but 
 admire it. Her legs therefore are short, that she need dig no 
 more than will serve the mere thickness of her body ; and her 
 fore-feet are broad, that she may scoop away much earth at a 
 time; and little or no tail she has, because she courses it not 100 
 on the ground like the rat or mouse, of whose kindred she is, 
 but lives under the earth, and is fain to dig herself a dwelling 
 there. And she making her way through so thick an element, 
 which will not yield easily, as the air or the water, it had 
 
86 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 105 been dangerous to have drawn so long a train behind her ; for 
 her enemy might fall upon her rear, and fetch her out before 
 she had completed or got full possession of her works/' 
 
 I cannot forbear mentioning Mr. Boyle's remark upon this 
 last creaturC;, who I remember somewhere in his works ob- 
 
 110 serves, that though the mole be not totally blind (as it is com- 
 monly thought) she has not sight enough to distinguish par- 
 ticular objects. Her eye is said to have but one humor ^ in 
 it, which is supposed to give her the idea of light, but of 
 nothing else, and is so formed that this idea is probably pain- 
 
 115 ful to the animal. Whenever she comes up into broad day 
 she might be in danger of being taken, unless she were thus 
 affected by a light striking u.pon her eye, and immediately 
 warning her to bury herself in her proper element. More 
 sight would be useless to her, as none at all might be fatal. 
 
 120 I have only instanced such animals as seem the most im- 
 perfect works of nature; and if Providence shows itself even 
 in the blemishes of these creatures, how much more does it 
 discover itself in the several endowments which it has vari- 
 ously bestowed upon such creatures as are more or less finivshed 
 
 125 and completed in their several faculties, according to tiie 
 condition of life in which they are posted. 
 
 I could wish our Royal Society would compile a body of 
 natural history, the best that could be gathered together from 
 books and observations. If the several writers among them 
 
 130 took each his particular species, and gave us a distinct account 
 of its original, birth, and education, its policies, hostilities, 
 and alliances, with the frame and texture of its inward and 
 outward parts, and particularly those that distinguish it from 
 all other animals, with their peculiar aptitudes for the state 
 
 135 of being in which Providence has placed them, it would be 
 one of the best services their studies could do mankind, and 
 not a little redound to the glory of the all-wise Contriver. 
 It is true such a natural history, after all the disquisitions 
 
 > ft kind of moisture, 
 
SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES 87 
 
 of the learned, would be infinitel}^ short and defective. Seas 
 and deserts hide millions of animals from our observation. 140 
 Innumerable artifices and stratagems are acted in the " howl- 
 ing wilderness '' and in the " great deep/' that can never come 
 to our knowledge. Besides that there are infinitely more 
 species of creatures which are not to be seen without nor 
 indeed with the help of the finest glasses, than of such as 145 
 are bulky enough for the naked eye to take hold of. How- 
 ever, from the consideration of such animals as lie within the 
 compass of our knowledge, we might easily form a conclusion 
 of the rest, that the same variety of wisdom and goodness 
 runs through the whole creation and puts every creature in 150 
 a condition to provide for its safety and subsistence in its 
 proper station.^ 
 
 TuUy has given us an admirable sketch of natural history 
 in his second book concerning The Nature of the Gods; and 
 that in a style so raised by metaphors and descriptions, that 155 
 •it lifts the subject above raillery and ridicule, which fre- 
 quently fall on such nice observations when they pass through 
 the hands of an ordinary writer. 
 
 XXI. SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES. 
 
 No. 123.] Friday, July 20, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Comes jiicundus in via pro vehiculo est. 
 
 PuBLius Syrus, Fragments. 
 
 An agreeable companion on the road is as good as a coach. 
 
 A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his 
 own heart; his next to escape the censures of the world. If 
 the last interferes with the former, it ought to be entirely 
 neglected ; hut otherwise there cannot be a greater satisfaction 
 
 ' Such speculations as the foregoing have long interested mankind. Facts like those 
 remarked are at the bottom of the theory of Darwin, although they led that great 
 student to a view very different, at least superficially, from that of 11. 50-52. 
 
88 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 5 to an honest mind than to see those approbations which it 
 gives itself seconded by the applauses of the public. A man 
 is more sure of his conduct when the verdict which he passes 
 upon his own behavior is thus warranted and confirmed by 
 the opinion of all that know him. 
 
 10 My worthy friend Sir Koger is one of those who is not only 
 at peace within himself, but beloved and esteemed by all about 
 him. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal bene- 
 volence to mankind in the returns of affection and good-will 
 which are paid him by every one that lives within his neigh- 
 
 15 borhood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that 
 general respect which is shown to the good old Knight. He 
 would needs carry Will Wimble and myself with him to the 
 county assizes.^ As we were upon the road, Will Wimble 
 joined a couple of plain men who rid - before us, and con- 
 
 20 versed with them for some time; during which my friend 
 Sir Roger acquainted me with their characters. 
 
 " The first of them,'' says he, " that has a spaniel by his. 
 side, is a yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year,^ an 
 honest man. He is just within the Game Act,* and qualified 
 
 25 to kill an hare or a pheasant. He knocks down a dinner with 
 his gun twice or thrice a week ; and by that means lives much 
 cheaper than those who have not so good an estate as him- 
 self. He would be a good neighbor if he did not destroy so 
 many partridges; in short, he is a very sensible man, shoots 
 
 30 flying, and has been several times foreman of the petty jury.^ 
 
 " The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy, a 
 
 fellow famous for taking the law of everybody. There is not 
 
 one in the town where he lives that he has not sued at a 
 
 quarter sessions. The rogue had once the impudence to go 
 
 ' the sittings of the county magistrates and higher judges on circuit. 
 2Cf. 113, 43. 
 3 I. e. with that income. 
 
 « The CJame Act settled various questions concerning this very Important matter, and 
 among them the right to shoot. 
 6 the ordinary jury as distinguished from the grand jury. 
 
SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES 89 
 
 to law with the Widow. His head is full of costs, damages, 35 
 and eje(!tments; he plagued a couple of honest gentlemen so 
 long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges, till he was 
 forced to sell the ground it enclosed to defray the charges of 
 the prosecution. His father left him fourscore pounds a year, 
 but he has cast and been cast ^ so often that he is not now 40 
 worth thirty. I suppose he is going upon the old business, 
 of the willow tree." - 
 
 As Sir Eoger was giving me this account of Tom Touchy, 
 Will Wimble and his two companions stopped short till we 
 came up to them. After having paid their respects to Sir 45 
 Roger, Will told him that Mr. Touchy and he must appeal to 
 him upon a dispute that arose between them. Will, it seems, 
 had been giving his fellow-traveller an account of his angling 
 one day in such a hole; when Tom Touchy, instead of hear- 
 ing out his story, told him that Mr. Such-an-one, if he pleased, 50 
 might take the law of him for fishing in that part of the river. 
 My friend Sir Eoger heard them both, upon a round trot ; and 
 after having paused some time, told them, with the air of a 
 man who would not give his judgment rashly, that much 
 might be said on both sides. They were neither of them dis- 55 
 satisfied with the Knight's determination, because neither of 
 them found himself in the wrong by it. Upon which we made 
 the best of our way to the assizes. 
 
 The court was sat before Sir Eoger came; but notwith- 
 standing all the justices had taken their places upon the 60 
 bench, they made room for the old Knight at the head of 
 them; who, for his reputation in the country, took occasion 
 to whisper in the judge's " ear, that he was glad his lordship 
 had met with so much good weather in his circuit. I was 
 listening to the proceeding of the court with much attention, 65 
 and infinitely pleased with that great appearance and sol- 
 
 ' to be cast in damasres, ia the fuller expression, 
 'evidently Bonie well-known matter of no importance. 
 3 the judge who was holding court on circuit. 
 
90 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 enmity which so properly accompanies such a public adminis- 
 tration of our laws; when, after about an hour's sitting, I 
 observed, to my great surprise, in the midst of a trial, that 
 
 70 my friend Sir Eoger was getting up to speak. I was in some 
 pain for him, till I found he had acquitted himself of two or 
 three sentences, with a look of much business and great 
 intrepidity. 
 
 Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a general 
 
 75 whisper ran among the country people that Sir Eoger was 
 up. The speech he made was so little to the purpose, that 
 I shall not trouble my readers with an account of it; and I 
 believe was not so much designed by the Knight himself to 
 inform the court, as to give him a figure in my eye, and keep 
 
 80 up his credit in the country. 
 
 I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the 
 gentlemen of the country gathering about my old friend and 
 striving who should compliment him most; at the same time 
 that the ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, not 
 
 85 a little admiring his courage, that was not afraid to speak to 
 the judge. 
 
 In our return home we met with a very odd accident, which 
 I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how desirous all 
 who know Sir Eoger are of giving him marks of their esteem. 
 
 90 When we were arrived upon the verge of his estate, we 
 stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and our horses. 
 The man of the house had, it seems, been formerly a ser- 
 vant in the Knight's family; and to do honor to his old 
 master, had some time since, unknown to Sir Eoger, put 
 
 95 him up in a sign-post before the door; so that the Knight's 
 Head had hung out upon the road about a week before 
 he himself knew anything of the matter. As soon as Sir 
 Eoger was acquainted with it, finding that his servant's 
 indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection and good-will, 
 100 he only told him that he had made him too high a compli- 
 ment; and when the fellow seemed to think that could hardly 
 
SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES 91 
 
 be, added, with a more decisive look, that it was too great 
 an honor for any man under a duke; but tokl him at the 
 same time that it might be altered with a very few touches, 
 and that he himself would be at the charge of it. Accord- 105 
 ingly they got a painter, by the Knight's directions, to add a 
 pair of whiskers to the face, and by a little aggravation of 
 the features to change it into the Saraeen's Head.^ I should 
 not have known this story had not the innkeeper, upon Sir 
 Eoger's alighting, told him in my hearing, that his honor's 110 
 head was brought back last night with the alterations that 
 he had ordered to be made in it. Upon this my friend, with 
 his usual cheerfulness, related the particulars above men- 
 tioned, and ordered the head to be brought into the room. I 
 could not forbear discovering greater expressions of mirth 115 
 than ordinary upon the appearance of this monstrous face, 
 under which, notwithstanding it was made to frown and stare 
 in a most extraordinary manner, I could still discover a dis- 
 tant resemblance of my old friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing 
 me laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I thought it pos- 120 
 sible for people to know him in that disguise. I at first kept 
 my usual silence; but upon the Knight's conjuring me to 
 tell him whether it was not still more like himself than a 
 Saracen, I composed my countenance in the best manner I 
 could, and replied " That much might be said on both sides." 125 
 
 These several adventures, with the Knight's behavior in 
 them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any 
 of my travels. 
 
 » a favorite sign for inns. 
 
y2 Sm ROGER BE COVERLET 
 
 XXII. THE EDUCATION OF AN HEIR. 
 
 No. 123.] Saturday, July 21, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam 
 Rectique cultus pectora roborant : 
 
 Utcunque defecere mores, 
 
 Dedecorant bene nata culpce. 
 
 Horace, Ode iv. 4. 33. 
 
 Yet the best blood by learning is refined. 
 And virtue arms the solid mind ; 
 Whilst vice ivill stain the noblest race, 
 And the pater7ial stamp efface. — Oldisworth, 
 
 As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend Sir 
 Roger, we were met by a fresh-colored, ruddy young man, 
 who rid ^ by us full speed, with a couple of servants behind 
 him. Upon my inquiry who he was. Sir Roger told me that he 
 5 was a young gentleman of a considerable estate, who had been 
 educated by a tender mother, that lives not many miles from 
 the place where we were. She is a very good lady, says my 
 friend, but took so much care of her son's health, that she 
 has made him good for nothing. She quickly found that 
 
 10 reading was bad for his eyes, and that writing made his 
 head ache. He was let loose among the woods as soon as he 
 was able to ride on horseback, or to carry a gun upon his 
 shoulder. To be brief, I found by my friend's account of 
 him, that he had got a great stock of health, but nothing else ; 
 
 15 and that if it were a man's business only to live, there would 
 not be a more accomplished young fellow in the whole 
 country. 
 
 The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts I have 
 seen and heard innumerable instances of young heirs and 
 
 20 elder brothers, who either from their own reflecting upon 
 the estates they are born to, and therefore thinking all other 
 accomplishments unnecessary, or from hearing these notions 
 
 J Cf. 116, 64; 122, 119. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF AN HEIR 93 
 
 frequently inculcated to them by the flattery of their servants 
 and domestics, or from the same foolish thought prevailing 
 in those who have the care of their education, are of no man- 25 
 ner of use but to keep up their families, and transmit their 
 lands and houses in a line to posterity. 
 
 This makes me often think on a story I have heard of two 
 friends, which I shall give my reader at large, under feigned 
 names. The moral of it may, I hope, be useful, though there 30 
 are some circumstances which make it rather appear like a 
 novel than a true story. 
 
 Eudoxus and Leontine began the world with small estates. 
 They were both of them men of good sense and great virtue. 
 They prosecuted their studies together in their earlier years, 35 
 and entered into such a friendship as lasted to the end of 
 their lives. Eudoxus, at his first setting out in the world, 
 threw himself into a court,^ where by his natural endowments 
 and his acquired abilities he made his way from one post to 
 another, till at length he had raised a very considerable for- 40 
 tune. Leontine, on the contrary, sought all opportunities of 
 improving his mind by study, conversation, and travel. He 
 was not only acquainted with all the sciences, but with the 
 most eminent professors of them throughout Europe. He 
 knew perfectly well the interests of its princes, with the cus- 45 
 toms and fashions of their courts, and could scarce meet with 
 the name of an extraordinary person in the Gazette whom 
 he had not either talked to or seen. In short, he had so well 
 mixed and digested his knowledge of men and books, that 
 he made one of the most accomplished persons of his age. 50 
 During the whole course of his studies and travels he kept 
 up a punctual correspondence with Eudoxus, who often made 
 himself acceptable to the principal men about court by the 
 intelligence which he received from Leontine. When they 
 were both turned of forty (an age in which, according to Mr. 55 
 Cowley, "there is no dallying with life") they determined, 
 
 » of some king or prince. 
 
94 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 pursuant to the resolution they had taken in the beginning 
 of their lives, to retire, and pass the remainder of their days 
 in the country. In order to this, they both of them married 
 
 60 much about the same time. Leontine, with his own and his 
 wife's fortune, bought a farm of three hundred a year, which 
 lay within the neighborhood of his friend Eudoxus, who had 
 purchased an estate of as many thousands. They were botli 
 of them fathers about the same time, Eudoxus having a son 
 
 65 born to him, and Leontine a daughter; but to the unspeak- 
 able grief of the latter, his young wife, in whom all his hap- 
 piness was wrapt up, died in a few days after the birth of 
 her daughter. His affliction would have been insupportable, 
 had not he been comforted by the daily visits and conversa- 
 
 70 tions of his friend. As they were one day talking together 
 with their usual intimacy, Leontine considering how incapable 
 he was of giving his daughter a proper education in his own 
 house, and Eudoxus reflecting on the ordinary behavior of 
 a son who knows himself to be the heir of a great estate, they 
 
 75 both agreed upon an exchange of children; namely, that the 
 boy should be bred up with Leontine as his son, and that the 
 girl should live with Eudoxus as his daughter, till they were 
 each of them arrived at years of discretion. The wife of 
 Eudoxus, knowing that her son could not be so advantageously 
 
 80 brought up as under the care of Leontine, and considering 
 at the same time that he would be perpetually under her own 
 eye, was by degrees prevailed upon to fall in with the project. 
 She therefore took Leonilla, for that was the name of the 
 girl, and educated her as her own daughter. The two friends 
 
 85 on each side had wrought themselves to such an habitual ten- 
 derness for the children who were under their direction, that 
 each of them had the real passion of a father where the title 
 was but imaginary. Florio, the name of the young heir that 
 lived with Leontine, though he had all the duty and affec- 
 
 90 tion imaginable for his supposed parent, was taught to rejoice 
 at the sight of Eudoxus, who visited his friend very fre- 
 
THE EDUCATION OF AN HEIR 95 
 
 quently, and was dictated by his natural affection, as well as 
 by the rules of prudence, to make himself esteemed and be- 
 loved by Florio. The boy was now old enough to know his 
 supposed father's circumstances, and that therefore he was 95 
 to make his way in the world by his own industry. This 
 consideration grew stronger in him every day, and produced 
 so good an effect, that he applied himself with more than 
 ordinary attention to the pursuit of everything which Leon- 
 tine recommended to him. His natural abilities, which were 100 
 very good, assisted by the directions of so excellent a coun- 
 sellor, enabled him to make a quicker progress than ordinary 
 through all the parts of his education. Before he was twenty 
 years of age, having finished his studies and exercises with 
 great applause, he was removed from the university to the 105 
 Inns of Court,^ where there are very few that make them- 
 selves considerable proficients in the studies of the place who 
 know they shall arrive at great estates without them. This 
 was not Florio's case; he found that three hundred a year 
 was but a poor estate for Leontine and himself to live upon, 110 
 so that he studied without intermission till he gained a very 
 good insight into the constitution and laws of his countr}^ 
 
 I should have told my reader that whilst Florio lived at the 
 house of his foster-father he was always an acceptable guest 
 in the family of Eudoxus, where he became acquainted .with 115 
 Leonilla from her infancy. His acquaintance with her by 
 degrees grew into love, which in a mind trained up in all the 
 sentiments of honor and virtue became a very uneasy pas- 
 sion. He despaired of gaining an heiress of so great a for- 
 tune, and would rather have died than attempted it by any 120 
 indirect methods. Leonilla, who was a woman of the greatest 
 beauty joined with the greatest modesty, entertained at the 
 same time a secret passion for Florio, but conducted herself 
 with so much prudence that she never gave him the least 
 intimation of it. Florio was now engaged in all those arts 125 
 
 1 The four great societies of lawyers are bo called. 
 
96 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 and improvements that are proper to raise a man^s private 
 fortune, and give him a figure in his country, but secretly 
 tormented with that passion which burns with the greatest 
 fury in a virtuous and noble heart, when he received a sud- 
 
 130 den summons from Leontine to repair to him into the country 
 the next day. For it seems Eudoxus was so filled with the 
 report of his son's reputation, that he could no longer with- 
 hold making himself known to him. The morning after his 
 arrival at the house of his supposed father, Leontine told him 
 
 135 that Eudoxus had something of great importance to com- 
 municate to him; upon which the good man embraced him 
 and wept. Florio was no sooner arrived at the great house 
 that stood in his neighborhood, but Eudoxus took him by 
 the hand, after the first salutes were over, and conducted 
 
 140 him into his closet. He there opened to him the whole se- 
 cret of his parentage and education, concluding after this 
 manner : " I have no other way left of acknowledging my 
 gratitude to Leontine, than by marrying you to his daughter. 
 He shall not lose the pleasure of being your father by the 
 
 145 discovery I have made to you. Leonilla, too, shall be still 
 my daughter; her filial piety, though misplaced, has been so 
 exemplary that it deserves the greatest reward I can confer 
 upon it. You shall have the pleasure of seeing a great estate 
 fall io you, which you would have lost the relish of had you 
 
 150 known yourself born to it. Continue only to deserve it in 
 the same manner you did before you were possessed of it. I 
 have left your mother in the next room. Her heart yearns 
 toward you. She is making the same discoveries to Leonilla 
 which I have made to yourself." Florio was so overwhelmed 
 
 155 with this profusion of happiness, that he was not able to make 
 a reply, but threw himself down at his father's feet, and 
 amidst a flood of tears kissed and embraced his knees, asking 
 his blessing, and expressing in dumb show those sentiments of 
 love, duty, and gratitude that were too big for utterance. To 
 
 160 conclude, the happy pair were married, and half Eudoxus's 
 
THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT 97 
 
 estate settled upon them. Leontine and Eudoxus passed the 
 remainder of their lives together; and received in the dutiful 
 and affectionate behavior of Florio and Leonilla the just rec- 
 ompense, as well as the natural effects, of that care which 
 they had bestowed upon them in their education. 165 
 
 XXIII. THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 
 
 No. 125.] Tuesday, July 24, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Ne pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite hella : 
 Neu patriiB validas in viscera vertite vires. 
 
 Virgil, ^neid, vi. 832. 
 
 Embrace again, my sons ; be foes no more, 
 
 Nor stain your coimtry ivith her children's gore. — Dryden. 
 
 My worthy friend Sir Eoger, when we were talking of the 
 malice of parties/ very frequently tells us an accident that 
 happened to him when he was a schoolboy, which was at a 
 time when the feuds ran high between the Roundheads and 
 Cavaliers.^ This worthy Knight, being then but a stripling, 5 
 had occasion to enquire which was the way to St. Anne's 
 Lane, upon which the person whom he spoke to, instead of 
 answering his question, called him a young Popish cur, and 
 asked him who had made Anne a saint. The boy, being in 
 some confusion, inquired of the next he met, which was the 10 
 way to Anne's Lane; but was called a prick-eared cur for 
 his pains, and instead of being shown the way, was told that 
 she had been a saint before he was born, and would be one 
 after he was hanged. " L^pon this," says Sir Eoger, " I did 
 not think fit to repeat the former question, but going into 15 
 every lane of the neighborhood, asked what they called the 
 name of that lane." By which ingenious artifice he found 
 out the place he inquired after, without giving offence to any 
 
 > party politics ran high in Addison's day. 
 
 2 Sir Roger was born about 1G55. This would have been in the early days of the Resto- 
 ration. 
 
98 SIR ROGER BE COVERLET 
 
 party. Sir Eoger generally closes this narrative with reflec- 
 
 20 tions on the mischief that parties do in the country; how 
 
 they spoil good neighborhood/ and make honest gentlemen 
 
 hate one another; besides that they manifestly tend to the 
 
 prejudice of the land tax, and the destruction of the game.^ 
 
 There cannot a greater judgment befall a country than such 
 
 25 a dreadful spirit of division as rends a government into two 
 distinct people, and makes them greater strangers and more 
 averse to one another, than if they were actually two different 
 nations. The effects of such a division are pernicious to the 
 last degree, not only with regard to those advantages which they 
 
 30 give the common enem}^, but to those private evils which they 
 produce in the heart of almost every particular person. This 
 influence is very fatal both to men's morals and their under- 
 standings; it sinks the virtue of a nation, and not only so, 
 but destroys even common sense. 
 
 35 A furious party spirit, when it rages in its full violence, 
 exerts itself in civil war and bloodshed; and when it is under 
 its greatest restraints naturally breaks out in falsehood, de- 
 traction, calumny, and a partial administration of justice. In 
 a word, it fills a nation with spleen and rancor, and extin- 
 
 40 guishes all the seeds of good-nature, compassion, and hu- 
 manity. 
 
 Plutarch ^ says very finely, that a man should not allow 
 himself to hate even his enemies, because, says he, if you in- 
 dulge this passion in some occasions, it will rise of itself in 
 
 45 others; if you hate your enemies, you will contract such a 
 vicious habit of mind, as by degrees will break out upon those 
 who are your friends, or those who are indifferent to you. 
 I might here observe how admirably this precept of morality 
 (which derives the malignity of hatred from the passion 
 
 50 itself, and not from its object) answers to that great rule 
 
 » the condition of living in a neighborly manner. 
 
 2 This is an illustration of the inconsiBtency of Sir Roger's discourBe. 
 
 3 the great biographer of antiquity. 
 
THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT 99 
 
 which was dictated to the world about an hundred years be- 
 fore this philosopher ^ wrote ; but instead of that, I shall only 
 take notice, with a real grief of heart, that the minds of many 
 good men among us appear soured with party principles, and 
 alienated from one another in such a manner, as seems to me 55 
 altogether inconsistent with the dictates either of reason or 
 religion. Zeal for a public cause is apt to breed passions in 
 the hearts of virtuous persons, to which the regard of their 
 own private interest would never have betrayed them. 
 
 If this party spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it 60 
 has likewise a very great one upon our judgments. We often 
 hear a poor insipid paper or pamphlet cried up, and some- 
 times a noble piece depreciated, by those who are of a dif- 
 ferent principle from the author. One who is actuated by 
 this spirit is almost under an incapacity of discerning either 65 
 real blemishes or beauties. A man of merit in a different 
 principle is like an object seen in two different mediums,^ that 
 appears crooked or broken, however straight and entire it may 
 be in itself. For this reason there is scarce a person of any 
 figure in England who does not go by two contrary characters, 70 
 as opposite to one another as light and darkness. Knowledge 
 and learning suffer in a particular manner from this strange 
 prejudice, which at present prevails amongst all ranks and 
 degrees in the British nation. As men formerly became 
 eminent in learned societies by their parts and acquisitions, 75 
 the}^ now distinguish themselves by the warmth and violence 
 with which they espouse their respective parties. Books are 
 valued upon the like considerations. An abusive, scurrilous 
 style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party notions is 
 called fine writing. 80 
 
 There is one piece of sophistry practised by both sides, and 
 that is the taking any scandalous story that has been ever 
 whispered or invented of a private man, for a known un- 
 
 1 Plutarch lived in the second half of the first century, and may have written as late as 
 130 A. D. 3 ag a stick in water seems to be bent. 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
100 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 doubted truth, and raising suitable speculations upon it. 
 85 Calumnies that have been never proved, or have been often 
 refuted, are the ordinary postulatums ^ of these infamous 
 scribblers, upon which they proceed as upon first principles 
 granted by all men, though in their hearts they know they 
 are false, or at best very doubtful. When they have laid these 
 90 foundations of scurrility, it is no wonder that their super- 
 structure is every way answerable to them. If this shameless 
 practice of the present age endures much longer, praise and 
 reproach will cease to be motives of action in good men. 
 There are certain periods of time in all governments when 
 95 this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was long torn in pieces 
 by the Guelphs and Ghibellines,^ and France by those who 
 were for and against the League : ^ but it is very unhappy for 
 a man to be born in such a stormy and tempestuous season. 
 It is the restless ambition of artful men that thus breaks a 
 
 100 people into factions, and draws several well-meaning persons 
 to their interest by a specious concern for their country. How 
 many honest minds are filled with uncharitable and barbarous 
 notions, out of their zeal for the public good ! What cruelties 
 and outrages would they not commit against men of an ad- 
 
 105 verse party, whom they would honor and esteem, if instead of 
 considering them as they are represented, they knew them 
 as they are ! Thus are persons of the greatest probity se- 
 duced into shameful errors and prejudices, and made bad men 
 even by that noblest of principles, the love of their country. 
 
 110 I cannot here forbear mentioning the famous Spanish proverb, 
 "If there were neither fools nor knaves in the world, all 
 people would be of one mind." 
 
 For my own part I could heartily wish that all honest 
 men would enter into an association for the support of one 
 
 > things taken for granted. 
 
 'The GuelphB were the adherents of the party of the Pope, the Ghibellinee of the 
 Emperor. 
 
 3 an association in Prance in the sixteenth century, formed to connteract Protestantism 
 in that country. 
 
THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT 101 
 
 another against the endeavors of those whom they ought to 115 
 look upon as their common enemies, whatsoever side they may 
 belong to. Were there such an honest body of neutral forces, 
 we should never see the worst of men in great figures of life, 
 because they are useful to a party; nor the best unregarded, 
 because they are above practising those methods which would 120 
 be grateful to their faction. We should then single every 
 criminal out of the herd, and hunt him down, however for- 
 midable and overgrown he might appear; on the contrary; 
 we should shelter distressed innocence, and defend virtue, 
 however beset with contempt or ridicule, envy or defamation. 125 
 In short, we should not any longer regard our fellow subjects 
 as Whigs or Tories, but should make the man of merit our 
 friend, and the villain our enemy. 
 
 XXIV. THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 
 
 No. 126.] \ Wednesday, July 25, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Tros Rutulusve fuat, nullo discrimine habebo. 
 
 Virgil, jEneid, x. 108. 
 
 Butulians, Trojajis, are the same to me. — Dryden. 
 
 In my yesterday's paper I proposed that the honest men 
 of all parties should enter into a kind of association for the 
 defence of one another, and the confusion of their common 
 enemies. As it is designed this neutral body should act with 
 a regard to nothing but truth and equity, and divest them- 5 
 selves of the little heats and prepossessions that cleave to 
 parties of all kinds, I have prepared for them the following 
 form of an association, which may express their intentions in 
 the most plain and simple manner: — 
 
 We whose names are hereunto subscribed do solemnly de- 10 
 dare, that ive do in our consciences believe two and two mal'c 
 four; and that we shall adjudge any man whatsoever to be 
 
102 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 our enemy who endeavors to persuade us to the contrary. We 
 are likewise ready to maintain, with the hazard of all that 
 
 15 is near and dear to us, that six is less than seven in all times 
 
 and all places, and that ten will not he more three years 
 
 ■ hence than it is at present. We do also -firmly declare, that 
 
 it is our resolution as long as we live to call hlacJc hlach, and 
 
 white white. And we shall upon all occasions oppose such 
 
 20 persons that upon any day of the year shall call black white, 
 or white hlack, with the utmost peril of our lives and for- 
 tunes. 
 
 Were there such a combination of honest men, who without 
 any regard to places would endeavor to extirpate all such 
 
 35 furious zealots as would sacrifice one half of their country to 
 the passion and interest of the other; as also such infamous 
 hypocrites, that are for promoting their own advantage under 
 color of the public good; with all the profligate immoral re- 
 tainers to each side, that have nothing to recommend them 
 
 30 but an implicit submission to their leaders; — we should soon 
 see that furious party spirit extinguished, which may in time 
 expose us to the derision and contempt of all the nations 
 about us. 
 
 A member of this society, that would thus carefully em- 
 
 35 ploy himself in making room for merit, by throwing down 
 the worthless and depraved part of mankind from those con- 
 spicuous stations of life to which they have been sometimes 
 advanced, and all this without any regard to his private in- 
 terest, would be no small benefactor to his country. 
 
 40 I remember to have read in Diodorus Siculus ^ an account 
 of a very active little animal, which I think he calls the 
 ichneumon,^ that makes it the whole business of his life to 
 break the eggs of the crocodile, which he is always in search 
 after. This instinct is the more remarkable, because ^^.. 
 
 45 ichneumon never feeds upon the eggs he has broken, nor in 
 
 ' a Greek historian, of the first century b. c, born in Sicily. 
 » an animal something like the weasel, found iu Egypt. 
 
THE MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT 103 
 
 an}^ other way finds his account in them. Were it not for the 
 incessant labors of this industrious animal, Egypt, says the 
 historian, would be overrun with crocodiles; for the Egyp- 
 tians are so far from destroying those pernicious creatures, 
 that they worship them as gods. 50 
 
 If we look into the behavior of ordinary partisans, we shall 
 find them far from resembling this disinterested animal; and 
 rather acting after the example of the wild Tartars, who are 
 ambitious of destroying a man of the most extraordinary 
 parts and accomplishments, as thinking that upon his decease 55 
 the same talents, whatever post they qualified him for, enter 
 of course into his destroyer. 
 
 As in the whole train of my speculations I have endeavored, 
 as much as I am able, to extinguish that pernicious spirit of 
 passion and prejudice which rages with the same violence 60 
 in all parties, I am still the more desirous of doing some good 
 in this particular, because I observe that the spirit of party 
 reigns more in the country than in the town. It here con- 
 tracts a kind of brutality and rustic fierceness, to which men 
 of a politer conversation are wholly strangers. It extends it- 65 
 self even to the return of the bow and the hat; and at the 
 same time that the heads of parties preserve toward one an- 
 other an outward show of good breeding, and keep up a per- 
 petual intercourse of civilities, their tools ^ that are dispersed 
 in these outlying parts will not so much as mingle together 70 
 at a cock-match. This humor fills the country with several 
 periodical meetings of Whig jockeys and Tory foxhunters, 
 not to mention the innumerable curses, frowns, and whispers 
 it produces at a quarter sessions. 
 
 I do not know whether I have observed in any of my former 75 
 papers, that my friends Sir Roger de Coverley and Sir Andrew 
 1 ) port are of different principles, the first of them inclined 
 to the landed and the other to the moneyed interest.- This 
 
 ' subordinates. 
 
 * The landed interest (174, 8) was chiefly Tory, the moneyedjnterest Whig. 
 
104 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 humor is so moderate in each of them, that it proceeds no 
 
 80 farther than to an agreeable raillery, which very often diverts 
 the rest of the Club. I find, however, that the Knight is d 
 much stronger Tory in the country than in town, which, as 
 he has told me in my ear, is absolutely necessary for the keep- 
 ing up his interest.^ In all our journey from London to his 
 
 85 house we did not so much as bait at a Whig inn; or if by 
 chance the coachman stopped at a wrong place, one of Sir 
 Eoger's servants would ride up to his master full speed, and 
 whisper to him that the master of the house was against such 
 an one in the last election. This often betrayed us into hard 
 
 90 beds and bad cheer; for we were not so inquisitive about the 
 inn as the innkeeper; and, provided our landlord's principles 
 were sound, did not take any notice of the staleness of his 
 provisions. This I found still the more inconvenient, be- 
 cause the better the host was, the worse generally were his 
 
 95 accommodations ; the fellow knowing very well that those who 
 were his friends would take up with coarse diet and a hard 
 lodging. For these reasons, all the while I was upon the 
 road I dreaded entering into an house of any one that Sir 
 Eoger had applauded for an honest man. 
 100 Since my stay at Sir Roger's in the country, I daily find 
 more instances of this narrow party-humor. Being upon a 
 bowling-green at a neighboring market-town the other day 
 (for that is the place where the gentlemen of one side meet 
 once a week), I observed a stranger among them of a better 
 105 presence and genteeler behavior than ordinary; but was much 
 surprised, that, notwithstanding he was a very fair better, 
 nobody would take him up. But upon inquiry I found that 
 he was one who had given a disagreeable vote in a former 
 parliament, for which reason there was not a man upon that 
 110 bowling-green who would have so much correspondence with 
 him as to win his money of him. 
 
 Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit one 
 
 ' general position and reputation. 
 
SIR ROGER AND THE GYPSIES 105 
 
 which concerns myself. Will Wimble was the other day re- 
 lating several strange stories that he had picked up, nobody 
 knows where, of a certain great man; and upon my starin* lir> 
 at him, as one that was surprised to hear sucli things in the 
 country, which had never been so much as whispered in the 
 town. Will stopped short in the thread of his discourse, and 
 after dinner asked my friend Sir Eoger in his ear if he vras 
 sure that I was not a fanatic. 120 
 
 It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dissen- 
 sion in the country; not only as it destroys virtue and com- 
 mon sense, and renders us in a manner barbarians towards 
 one another, but as it perpetuates our animosities, widens our 
 breaches, and transmits our present passions and prejudices 125 
 to^our posterit3\ For my own part, I am sometimes afraid 
 that I discover the seeds of a civil war in these our divisions; 
 and therefore cannot but bewail, as in their first principles, 
 the miseries and calamities of our children.^ 
 
 XXV. SIR ROGER AXD THE GYPSIES. 
 
 No. 130,] Monday, July 30, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Semperqiie recentes 
 
 Convectare juvat prcedas, et vivere rapto. 
 
 Virgil, ^neid, vii. 748. 
 
 A plundering race, still eager to invade, 
 
 On spoil they live, and make of theft a trade. 
 
 As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my friend 
 Sir Eoger, we saw at a little distance from us a troop of 
 gypsies. Upon the first discovery of them, my friend was 
 in some doubt whether he should not exert the justice of the 
 peace upon such a band of lawless vagrants; but not having 5 
 
 ' No civil war resulted, although party strife continued for more than a hundred years 
 to exhibit the utmoat -violence, rancor aud meanneee- 
 
106 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 his clerk with him, who is a necessary counsellor on these 
 occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare the worse 
 for it, he let the thought drop; but at the same time gave 
 me a particular account of the mischiefs they do in the 
 
 10 country, in stealing people's goods and spoiling their ser- 
 vants. " If a stray piece of linen hangs upon an hedge," says 
 Sir Eoger, " they are sure to have it ; if the hog loses his way 
 in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes their prey; our 
 geese cannot live in peace for them ; if a man prosecutes them 
 
 15 with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay for it. They 
 generally straggle into these parts about this time of the year ; 
 and set the heads of our servant-maids so agog for husbands, 
 that we do not expect to have any business done as it should 
 be whilst they are in the country. I have an honest dairy- 
 
 20 maid who crosses their hands with a piece of silver every 
 summer, and never fails being promised the handsomest young 
 fellow in the parish for her pains. Your friend the butler 
 has been fool enough to be seduced by them; and, though he 
 is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon every time his for- 
 
 25 tune is told him, generally shuts himself up in the pantry 
 with an old gypsy for above half an hour once in a twelve- 
 month. Sweethearts are the things they live upon, which 
 they bestow very plentifully upon all those that apply them- 
 selves to them. You see now and then some handsome young 
 
 30 jades among them; they have very often white teeth and 
 black eyes." 
 
 Sir Eoger, observing that I listened with great attention 
 to his account of a people who are so entirely new to me,' 
 told me that if I would they should tell us our fortunes. As 
 
 35 I was very well pleased with the Knight's proposal, we rid 
 up and communicated our hands to them. A Cassandra ^ of 
 the crew, after having examined my lines very diligently, 
 told me that I loved a pretty maid in a corner, that I was a 
 
 1 Cassandra was a Greek prophetess, whose prophecies were no more believed than the 
 gypsies'. 
 
SIR ROGER AND THE GYPSIES 107 
 
 good woman's man, with some other jjarticuhirs which I do 
 not think proper to relate. My friend Sir Ivoger alighted 40 
 from his horse, and exposing his palm to two or three that 
 stood by him, they crumpled it into all shapes, and diligently 
 scanned every wrinkle that could be made in it; when one 
 of them, who was older and more sunburnt than the rest, 
 told him that he had a widow in his line of life ; upon which 45 
 the Knight cried, " Go, go, you are an idle baggage," and 
 at the same time smiled upon me. The gypsy, finding he 
 was not displeased in his heart, told him, after a farther in- 
 quiry into his hand, that his true love was constant, and 
 that she should dream of him to-night; my old friend cried 50 
 " Pish ! " and bid her go on. The gypsy told him that he 
 was a bachelor, but would not be so long; and that he was 
 dearer to somebody than he thought. The Knight still re- 
 peated she was an idle baggage, and bid her go on. " Ah, 
 master,'^ says the gypsy, "that roguish leer of yours makes 55 
 a pretty woman's heart ache; you ha'n't that simper about 
 
 the mouth for nothing ." The uncouth gibberish with 
 
 which all this was uttered, like the darkness of an oracle, 
 made us the more attentive to it. To be short, the Knight 
 left the money with her that he had crossed her hand with, 60 
 and got up again on his horse. 
 
 As we were riding away. Sir Rodger told me that he knew 
 several sensible people who believed these gypsies now and 
 then foretold very strange things; and for half an hour to- 
 gether appeared more jocund than ordinary. In the height 65 
 of his good humor, meeting a common beggar upon the road, 
 who was no conjurer, as he went to relieve him he found his 
 pocket was picked, that being a kind of palmistry at which 
 this race of vermin are very dexterous. ' 
 
 I might here entertain my reader with historical remarks TO 
 on this idle profligate people, who infest all the countries of 
 Europe, and live in the midst of governments in a kind of 
 commonwealth by themselves. But instead of entering into " 
 
108 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 observations of this nature, I shall fill the remaining part 
 
 75 of my paper with a story which is still fresh in Holland, and 
 was printed in one of our monthly accounts about twenty 
 years ago. " As the trekscliuyt, or hackney-boat, which car- 
 ries passengers from Leyden to Amsterdam, was putting off, 
 a boy running along the side of the canal desired to be taken 
 
 80 in; in which the master of the boat refused, because the lad 
 had not quite money enough to pay the usual fare. An 
 eminent merchant being pleased with the looks of the boy, 
 and secretly touched with compassion towards him, paid the 
 money for him, and ordered him to be taken on board. Upon 
 
 85 talking with him afterwards, he found that he could speak 
 readily in three or four languages, and learned upon farther 
 examination that he had been stolen away when he was a 
 child by a gypsy, and had rambled ever since with a gang 
 of those strollers up and down several parts of Europe. It 
 
 90 happened that the merchant, whose heart seems to have in- 
 clined towards the boy by a secret kind of instinct, had him- 
 self lost a child some years before. The parents, after a 
 long search for him, gave him for drowned in one of the 
 canals with which that country abounds ; and the mother was 
 
 95 so afflicted at the loss of a fine boy, who was her only son, 
 that she died for grief of it. Upon laying together all par- 
 ticulars, and examining the several moles and marks by 
 which the mother used to describe the child when he was 
 first missing, the boy proved to be the son of the merchant, 
 100 whose heart had so unaccountably melted at the sight of him. 
 The lad was very well pleased to find a father who was so 
 rich, and likely to leave him a good estate; the father on the 
 other hand was not a little delighted to see a son return to 
 him, whom he had given for lost, with such a strength of 
 105 constitution, sharpness of understanding, and skill in lan- 
 guages." Here the printed story leaves off; but if I may 
 give credit to reports, our linguist having received such ex- 
 traordinary rudiments towards a good education, was after- 
 
THE SPECTATOR DECIDES TO RETIRE TO TOWN 109 
 
 wards trained up in everything that becomes a gentleman; 
 wearing off by little and little all the vicious habits and prac- 110 
 tices that he had been used to in the course of his peregrina- 
 tions. Xay, it is said that he has since been employed in for- 
 eign courts upon national business, with great reputation to 
 himself and honor to those who sent him/ and that he has 
 visited several countries as a public minister, in which he 115 
 formerly wandered as a gypsy. 
 
 XXVI. THE SPECTATOR DECIDES TO RETIRE TO 
 THE TOWN. 
 
 No. 131.] Tuesday, July 31, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Tpsce rurswn concedite sylvce. 
 
 Virgil, Eclogues, x. 63. 
 
 Once more, ye woods, adieu. 
 
 It is usual for a man who loves country sports to preserve 
 the game ^ in his own grounds, and divert himself upon those 
 that belong to his neighbor. My friend Sir Roger generally 
 goes two or three miles from his house, and gets into the 
 frontiers of his estate, before he beats about in search of a 5 
 hare or partridge, on purpose to spare his own fields, where 
 he is always sure of finding diversion when the worst comes 
 to the worst. By this means the breed about his house has 
 time to increase and multiply; besides that the sport is the 
 more agreeable where the game is the harder to_come at, and 10 
 where it does not lie so thick as to produce any perplexity or 
 confiision in the pursuit. For these reasons the country 
 gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys near his own home. 
 
 In the same manner I have made a month's excursion out 
 of the town, which is the great field of game for sportsmen 15 
 of my species, to try my fortune in the country, where I have 
 
 I Cf. 37, 116. 
 
110 SIK EOGER DE COVERLET 
 
 started several subjects, and hunted tliem down, with some 
 pleasure to myself, and I hope to others. I am here forced 
 to use a great deal of diligence before I can spring anything 
 
 20 to my mind; whereas in town, whilst I am following one 
 character, it is ten to one but I am crossed in my way by 
 another, and put up such a variety of odd creatures in both 
 sexes, that they foil the scent ^ of one another, and puzzle 
 the chase. My greatest difficulty in the country is to find 
 
 25 sport, and, in town, to choose it. In the mean time, as I 
 have given a whole month's rest to the cities of London and 
 Westminster,^ I promise myself abundance of new ghue upon 
 my return thither. 
 
 It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, since I 
 
 80 find the whole neighborhood begin to grow very inquisitive 
 after my name and character ; my love of solitude, taciturnity, 
 and particular way of life having raised a great curiosity in all 
 these parts. 
 
 The notions which have been framed of me are various; 
 
 35 some look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, and 
 some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my friend the 
 butler tells me, observing me very much alone, and extremely 
 silent when I am in company, is afraid I have killed a man. 
 The country people seem to suspect me for a conjurer; and, 
 
 40 some of them hearing of the visit which I made to Moll 
 White, Avill needs have it that Sir Eoger has brought down 
 a cunning man with him, to cure the old woman, and free 
 the country from her charms. So that the character which 
 I go under in part of the neighborhood is what they here call 
 
 45 a " white witch." ^ 
 
 A justice of peace, who lives about five miles off, and is not 
 of Sir Roger's party, has, it seems, said twice or thrice at his 
 table, that he wishes * Sir Eoger does not harbor a Jesuit in 
 
 1 mix the ecent, bo as to throw the hounds out. 
 
 2 London and Westminster make now but one city. 
 
 3 a witch whose acts are good and useful. 
 
 4 hopes. 
 
THE SPECTATOR DECIDES TO RETIRE TO TOWN 111 
 
 his house, and that he thinks the gentlemen of the country 
 would do very well to make me give some account of myself. 50 
 
 On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are afraid 
 the old Knight is imposed upon hy a designing fellow, and 
 as they have heard that he converses very promiscuously when 
 he is in town, do not know but he has brought down with 
 him some discarded Whig, that is sullen and says nothing 55 
 because he is out of place. 
 
 Such is the variety of opinions which are here entertained 
 of me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected person, 
 and among others for a Popish priest; among some for a 
 wizard, and among others for a murderer; and all this for 60 
 no other reason, that I can imagine, but because I do not 
 hoot and halloa and make a noise. It is true my friend Sir 
 Roger tells them that it is my way, and that I am only a 
 philosopher ; but this will not satisfy them. They think there 
 is more in me than he discovers, and that I do not hold my 65 
 tongue for nothing. 
 
 For these and other reasons I shall set out for London 
 to-morrow, having found by experience that the country is 
 not a place for a person of my temper, who does not love 
 jollity, and what they call good neighborhood.^ A man that 70 
 is out of humor when an unexpected guest breaks in upon 
 him, and does not care for sacrificing an afternoon to every 
 chance-comer, that will be the master of his own time, and 
 the pursuer of his own inclinations, makes but a very un- 
 sociable figure in this kind of life. I shall therefore retire 75 
 into the town, if I may make use of that phrase, and get 
 into the crowd again as fast as I can, in order to be alone. 
 [ can there raise what speculations I please upon others 
 without being observed myself, and at the same time enjoy 
 all the advantages- of company with all the privileges of soli- 80 
 tude. In the meanwhile, to finish the month, and conclude 
 these my rural speculations, I shall here insert a letter from 
 
 1 Cf. 125, 21. 
 
112 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 my friend Will Honeycomb, wlio lias not lived a month for 
 these forty years out of the smoke of London, and rallies me 
 85 after his way upon my country life. 
 
 '' Dear Spec, — 
 
 " I suppose this letter will find thee picking of daisies, or 
 smelling to ^ a lock of hay, or passing away thy time in some 
 innocent country diversion of the like nature. I have, how- 
 90 ever, orders from the Club to summon thee up to town, being 
 all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not be able to relish our 
 company, after thy conversations with Moll White and Will 
 Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send us up any more stories of a 
 cock and a bull, nor frighten the town with spirits and witches. 
 95 Thy speculations begin to smell confoundedly of woods and 
 meadows. If thou dost not come up quickly, we shall con- 
 clude that thou art in love with one of Sir Roger's dairy- 
 maids. Service to the Knight. Sir Andrew is grown the 
 cock of the Club since he left us, and if he does not return 
 100 quickly will make every mother's son of us Commonwealth's 
 men.^ 
 
 " Dear Spec, 
 
 " Thine eternally, 
 
 " Will Honeycomb." 
 
 1 Modern use is at or no preposition at all. 
 
 2 Of the party of the Commonwealth sixty years before, which had preceded the Whigs. 
 
THE SPECTATOR'S JOURNEY TO LONDON 113 
 
 XXVII. THE SPECTATOR'S JOURNEY TO LONDON. 
 
 No. 132.] Wednesday, August 1, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 — Qui, aut tempus quid postulet non videt, aut plara loquitur, aut se 
 ostentat, aut eormn quihuscum est, . . . ratiouem non hahet, . . . is 
 ■inept us esse diciiur. 
 
 Cicero, De Oratore, ii. 4. 
 
 That man may he called impertinent, ivlio considers not the circum- 
 stances of time, or engrosses the conversation, or makes himself the sub- 
 ject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the company he is in. 
 
 Having notified to my good friend Sir Roger that I should 
 set up for London the next day, his horses were ready at the 
 appointed hour in the evening; and attended hy one of his 
 grooms, I arrived at the county town at twilight, in order to 
 be ready for the stage-coach the day following. As soon as 5 
 we arrived at the inn, the servant who waited upon me in- 
 quired of the chamberlain, in my hearing, what company he 
 had for the coach. The fellow answered, " Mrs. Betty 
 Arable, the great fortune, and the widow her mother; a re- 
 cruiting officer (who took a place because they were to go) ; 10 
 young Squire Quickset, her cousin (that her mother wished 
 her to be married to) ; Ephraim the Quaker, her guardian; 
 and a gentleman that had studied himself dumb, from Sir 
 Roger de Coverley's." I observed by what he said of my- 
 self, that according to his office, he dealt much in intelli- 15 
 gence ; and doubted not but there was some foundation for his 
 reports of the rest of the company, as well as for the whim- 
 sical account he gave of me. The next morning at day- 
 break we were all called; and I, who know my own natural 
 shyness, and endeavor to be as little liable to be disputed 20 
 with as possible, dressed immediately, that I might make no 
 one wait. The first preparation for our setting out was, 
 that the captain's half pike ^ was placed near the coachman, 
 
 • a short spear-headed weapon, carried by officers. 
 
114 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 and a drum behind the coach. In the mean time the drum- 
 
 25 mer, the captain's equipage/ was very loud that none of the 
 captain's things should be placed so as to be spoiled; upon 
 which his cloak-bag was fixed in the seat of the coach; and 
 the captain himself, according to a frequent, though invidious 
 behavior of military men, ordered his man to look sharp, that 
 
 30 none but one of the ladies should have the place he had taken 
 fronting to the coach-box. 
 
 We were in some little time fixed in our seats and sat with 
 that dislike which people not too good-natured usually con- 
 ceive of each other at first sight. The coach Jumbled us in- 
 
 S5 sensibly into some sort of familiarity, and we had not moved 
 above two miles, when the widow asked the captain what 
 success he had in his recruiting. The officer, with a frank- 
 ness he believed very graceful, told her that indeed he had 
 but very little luck, and had suffered much by desertion, 
 
 40 therefore should be glad to end his warfare in the service 
 of her or her fair daughter. " In a word," continued he, 
 " I am a soldier, and to be plain is my character ; you see me, 
 madam, young, sound, and impudent; take me yourself, 
 widow, or give me to her, I will be wholly at your disposal. 
 
 45 I am a soldier of fortune, ha ! '' This was followed by a 
 vain laugh of his own and a deep silence of all the rest of 
 the company. I had nothing left for it but to fall fast asleep, 
 which I did with all speed. " Come," said he, " resolve upon 
 it, we will make a wedding at the next town; we will make 
 
 50 this pleasant companion who has fallen asleep, to be the bride- 
 man, and " (giving the Quaker a clap on the knee) he con- 
 cluded, " this sly saint, who, I'll warrant, understands what's 
 what as well as you or I, widow, shall give the bride as father." 
 The Quaker, who happened to be a man of smartness, an- 
 
 55 swered, " Friend, I take it in goood part that thou hast given 
 me the authority of a father over this comely and virtuous 
 child; and I must assure thee, that if I have the giving her, 
 
 » follower; Cf. 34, 24. 
 
THE SPECTATORS JOURNEY TO LONDON 115 
 
 I shall not bestow her on thee. Thy mirth, friend, savoreth 
 of folly; thou art a person of light mind; thy drum is a 
 type of thee, it soundeth because it is empty. Verily it is 60 
 not from thy fulness, but thy emptiness, that thou hast spoken 
 this day. Friend, friend, we have hired this coach in partner- 
 ship with thee to carry us to the great city ; we cannot go any 
 other way. This worthy mother must hear thee, if thou wilt 
 needs utter thy follies; we cannot help it, friend, I say — if 65 
 thou wilt, we must hear thee; but if thou wert a man of 
 understanding, thou wouldst not take advantage of thy cour- 
 ageous countenance to abash us children of peace. Thou art, 
 thou sayest, a soldier; give quarter to us, who cannot resist 
 thee. Why didst thou fleer at our friend, who feigned him- 70 
 self asleep ? He said nothing, but how dost thou know what 
 he containeth? If thou speakest improper things in the 
 hearing of this virtuous young virgin, consider it is an out- 
 rage against a distressed person that cannot get from thee; 
 to speak indiscreetly what we are obliged to hear, by being 75 
 hasped up with thee in this public vehicle, is in some degree 
 assaulting on the high road.^^ 
 
 Here Ephraim paused, and the captain with an happy and 
 uncommon impudence (which can be convicted and support 
 itself at the same time) cries, "Faith, friend, I thank thee; 80 
 I should have been a little impertinent if thou hadst not 
 reprimanded me. Come, thou art, I see, a smoky^ old fellow, 
 and I'll be very orderly the ensuing part of the journey. I 
 was going to give myself airs, but, ladies, I beg pardon." 
 
 The captain was so little out of humor, and our company 85 
 was so far from being soured by this little ruffle, that Ephraim 
 and he took a particular delight in being agreeable to each 
 other for the future; and assumed their different provinces^ 
 in the conduct of the company. Our reckoning, apartments, 
 and accommodation fell under Ephraim ; and the capcain 90 
 looked to all disputes on the road, as the good l)ohavior of 
 
 1 suspicious. 2 the especial duty of each one. 
 
116 SIR ROGER DE OOVERLEY 
 
 our coachman, and the right we had of taking place as going 
 to London of all vehicles coming from thence. The occur- 
 rences we met with were ordinary, and very little happened 
 
 95 which could entertain by the relation of them; but when I 
 considered the company we were in, I took it for no small 
 good fortune that the whole journey was not spent in imper- 
 tinences, which to one part of us might be an entertainment, 
 to the other a suffering. What, therefore, Ephraim said 
 
 100 when we were almost arrived at London, had to me an air not 
 only of good understanding but good breeding. Upon the 
 young lady's expressing her satisfaction in the journey, and 
 declaring how delightful it had been to her, Ephraim declared 
 himself as follows : " There is no ordinary part of human 
 
 105 life which expresseth so much a good mind, and a right in- 
 ward man, as his behavior upon meeting with strangers, espe- 
 cially such as may seem the most unsuitable companions to 
 him; such a man, when he falleth in the way with persons 
 of simplicity and innocence, however knowing he may be in 
 
 110 the ways of men, will not vaunt himself thereof; but will the 
 rather hide his superiority to them, that he may not be pain- 
 ful unto them. My good friend" (continued he, turning 
 to the officer), "thee and I are to part by and by, and per- 
 adventure we may never meet again; but be advised by a 
 
 115 plain man : modes and apparel are but trifles to the real man, 
 therefore do not think such a man as thyself terrible for 
 thy garb, nor such a one as me contemptible for mine. When 
 two such as thee and I meet, with affections as we ought to 
 have towards each other, thou shouldst rejoice to see my 
 
 120 peaceable demeanor, and I should be glad to see thy strength 
 an ability to protect me in it." 
 
SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW FREEPORT 117 
 
 XXVIII. SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW FREEPORT. 
 
 No. 174.] Wednesday, September 19, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 IltBc memini et victum frustra contendere Tliyrsin. 
 * Virgil, Eclogues, vii. 69. 
 
 The ivhole debate in memory I retain. 
 When Thyrsis argued warmly, hut in vain. 
 
 There is scarce anything more common than animosities 
 between parties that cannot subsist but by their agreement: 
 this was well represented in the sedition of the members of 
 the human body in the old Roman fable.^ It is often the 
 case of lesser confederate states against a superior power, 5 
 which are hardly held together, though their unanimity is 
 necessary for their common safety; and this is always the 
 case of the landed and trading interest of Great Britain;'^ 
 the trader is fed by the product of the land, and the landed 
 man cannot be clothed but by the skill of the trader ; and yet 10 
 those interests are ever jarring. 
 
 We had last winter an instance of this at our club, in Sir 
 Eoger de Coverley and Sir Andrew Freeport, between whom 
 there is generally a constant, though friendly, opposition of 
 opinions. It happened that one of the company, in an his- 15 
 torical discourse, was observing, that Carthaginian faith ^ was 
 a proverbial phrase to intimate breach of leagues. Sir Roger 
 said it could hardly be otherwise: that the Carthaginians 
 were the greatest traders in the world; and as gain is the 
 chief end of such a people, they never pursue any other: the 20 
 means to it are never regarded. They will, if it comes easily, 
 get money honestly ; but if not, they will not scruple to attain 
 
 > The Btory told by Menenius Agrippa to the Commons can be conveniently read in the 
 first scene of "Coriolanus.'" 
 
 2 Cf. 126, 78 
 
 3 The phrase originated among the Romans, as Sir Andrew remarks, 1. 70, during their 
 wars with Carthage. 
 
118 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 it by fraud, or cozenage. And indeed, what is the whole 
 business of the trader's account, but to overreach him who 
 
 25 trusts to his memory ? But were that not so, what can there 
 great and noble be expected from him whose attention is for- 
 ever fixed upon balancing his books, and watching over his 
 expenses? And at best, let frugality and parsimony be the 
 virtues of the merchant, how much is his punctual dealing 
 
 30 below a gentleman's charity to the poor, or hospitality among 
 his neighbors ! 
 
 Captain Sentry observed Sir Andrew very diligent in hear- 
 ing Sir Roger, and had a mind to turn the discourse, by tak- 
 ing notice in general, from the highest to the lowest parts 
 
 35 of human society, there was a secret, though unjust, way 
 among men, of indulging the seeds of ill-nature and envy, 
 by comparing their own state of life to that of another, and 
 grudging the approach of their neighbor to their own happi- 
 ness; and on the other side, he who is the less at his ease, 
 
 40 repines at the other, who he thinks has unjustly the advantage 
 over him. Thus the civil and military lists look upon each 
 other with much ill-nature; the soldier repines at the cour- 
 tier's power, and the courtier rallies the soldier's honor; or, 
 to come to lower instances, the private men in the horse and 
 
 45 foot of an army, the carmen and coachmen in the city streets, 
 mutually look upon each other with ill-will, when they are in 
 competition for quarters or the way, in their respective 
 motions. 
 
 "It is very well, good Captain," interrupted Sir Andrew, 
 
 50 " you may attempt to turn the discourse if you think fit ; but 
 I must however have a word or two with Sir Eoger, who, I 
 see, thinks he has paid me off, and been very severe upon the 
 merchant. I shall not," continued he, " at this time remind 
 Sir Eoger of the great and noble monuments of charity and 
 55 public spirit, which have been erected by merchants since the 
 Reformation, but at present content myself with what he 
 allows us, parsimony and frugality. If it were consistent 
 
SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW FREEPORT 119 
 
 with the quality of so ancient a baronet as Sir Eoger, to keep 
 an account;, or measure things by the most infallible way, 
 that of numbers, he would prefer our parsimony to his hos- 60 
 pitality. If to drink so many hogsheads is to be hospitable, 
 we do not contend for the fame of that virtue; but it would 
 be worth while to consider, whether so many artificers at work 
 ten days together by my appointment, or so many peasants 
 made merry on Sir Eoger's charge, are the men more obliged ? 65 
 I believe the families of the artificers will thank me more than 
 the households of the peasants shall Sir Eoger. Sir Roger 
 gives to his men, but I place mine above the necessity or 
 obligation of my bounty. I am in very little pain for the 
 Roman proverb upon the Carthaginian traders; the Romans 70 
 were their professed enemies. I am only sorry no Cartha- 
 ginian histories have come to our hands ; we might have been 
 taught perhaps by them some proverbs against the Roman 
 generosity, in fighting for and bestowing other people's goods. 
 But since Sir Roger has taken occasion from an old proverb 75 
 to be out of humor with merchants, it should be no offence 
 to offer one not quite so old, in their defence. When a man 
 happens to break in Holland, they say of him that ^ he has 
 not kept true accounts.' This phrase, perhaps, among us, 
 would appear a soft or humorous way of speaking, but with 80 
 that exact nation it bears the highest reproach. For a man 
 to be mistaken in the calculation of his expense, in his ability 
 to answer future demands, or to be impertinently sanguine in 
 putting his credit to too great adventure, are all instances of 
 as much infamy as with gayer nations to be failing in courage 85 
 or common honesty. 
 
 " Numbers are so much the measure of everything that is 
 valuable, that it is not possible to demonstrate the success of 
 any action, or the prudence of any undertaking, without them. 
 I say this in answer to what Sir Roger is pleased to say, ^ that 90 
 little that is truly noble can be expected from one who is ever 
 poring on his cash-book, or balancing his accounts/ When 
 
120 SIR ROGER L>E COVERLEY 
 
 I have my returns from abroad, I can tell to a shilling, by 
 the help of numbers, the profit or loss by my adventure; but. 
 
 95 1 ought also to be able to show that I had reason for making; 
 it, either from my own experience or that of other people,, 
 or from a reasonable presumption that my returns will be. 
 sufficient to answer my expense and hazard; and this is never; 
 to be done without the skill of numbers. For instance, if I 
 
 100 am to trade to Turkey, I ought beforehand to know the de- 
 mand of our manufactures there as well as of their silks in 
 England, and the customary prices that are given for both im 
 each country. I ought to have a clear knowledge of these 
 matters beforehand, that I may presume upon sufficient re- 
 
 105 turns to answer the charge of the cargo I have fitted out, the 
 freight and assurance out and home, tlie custom to the 
 Queen, and the interest of my own money, and besides all 
 these expenses a reasonable profit to myself. Now what is 
 there of scandal in this skill ? What has the merchant done^ 
 
 110 that he should be so little in the good graces of Sir Eoger? 
 He throws down no man's enclosures, and tramples upon no 
 man's corn; he takes nothing from the industrious laborer;; 
 he pays the poor man for his work ; he communicates his profit 
 with mankind; by the preparation of his cargo, and the manu- 
 
 115 facture of his returns, he furnishes employment and sub- 
 sistence to greater numbers than the richest nobleman; and 
 even the nobleman is obliged to him for finding out foreign 
 markets for the produce of his estate, and for making a great 
 addition to his rents; and yet 'tis certain that none of all 
 
 120 these things could be done by him without the exercise of his 
 skill in numbers. 
 
 " This is the economy of the merchant ; and the conduct of 
 the gentleman must be the same, unless by scorning to be the 
 steward, he resolves the steward shall be the gentleman. The 
 
 125 gentleman, no more than the merchant, is able, without the 
 help of numbers, to account for the success of any action, or 
 the prudence of any adventure. If, for instance, the chase 
 
SIR ROGER COMES TO TOWN 121 
 
 is his whole adventure, his only returns must be the stag's 
 horns in the great hall, and the fox's nose upon the stable 
 door. Without doubt Sir Roger knows the full value oi 130 
 these returns ; and if beforehand he had computed the charges 
 of the chase, a gentleman of his discretion would certainly 
 have hanged up all his dogs; he would never have brought 
 baek so many fine horses to the kennel; he would never have 
 gone so often, like a blast, over fields of corn. If such, too, had 135 
 been the conduct of all his ancestors, he might truly have 
 boasted at this day, that the antiquity of his family had never 
 been sullied by a trade ; a merchant had never been permitted 
 with his whole estate to purchase a room for his picture in the 
 gallery of- the Coverleys, or to claim his descent from the 140 
 maid of honor. But 'tis very happy for Sir Eoger that the 
 merchant paid so dear for his ambition. 'Tis the misfortune 
 of many other gentlemen to turn out of the seats of their 
 ancestors, to make way for such new masters as have been 
 more exact in their accounts than themselves; and certainly 145 
 he deserves the estate a great deal better who has got it by his 
 industry than he who has lost it by his negligence." 
 
 XXIX. SIR ROGER COMES TO TOWN. 
 
 Xo. 269.] Tuesday, January 8, 1712. [Addison. 
 
 j^vo rarissima nostro 
 
 Simplicitas 
 
 Ovid, Ars Amatoria, i. 241. 
 
 Most rare now is our old simplicity. 
 
 T WAS this morning surprised with a great knocking at the 
 door, when my landlady's daughter came up to me, and told 
 me that there was a man below desired to speak with me. 
 Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it was a very 
 grave, elderly person, but that she did not know his name. 5 
 
122 SIK ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 I immediately went down to him, and found him to be 
 the coachman of my worthy friend Sir lioger de Coverley. 
 He told me that his master came to town last night, and 
 would be glad to take a turn with me in Gray's Inn Walks. ^ 
 
 10 As I was wondering in myself what had brought Sir Eoger 
 
 to town, not having lately received any letter from him, he 
 
 told me that his master was come up to get a sight of Prince 
 
 Eugene,^ and that he desired I would immediately meet him. 
 
 I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old 
 
 15 Knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having heard 
 him say more than once in private discourse, that he looked 
 upon Prince Eugenio ^ (for so the Knight always calls him) 
 to be a greater man than Scanderbeg.* 
 
 I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn Walks, but I heard 
 
 20 my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice to him- 
 self with great vigor, for he loves to clear his pipes in good 
 air (to make use of his own phrase), and is not a little 
 pleased with any one who takes notice of the strength which 
 he still exerts in his morning hems. 
 
 25 I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good old 
 man, who before he saw me was engaged in conversation with 
 a beggar-man that had asked an alms of him. I could hear 
 my friend chide him for not finding out some work; but at 
 the same time saw him put his hand in his pocket and give 
 
 30 him sixpence. 
 
 Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consisting 
 of many kind shakes of the hand, and several affectionate 
 looks which we cast upon one another. After which the 
 
 1 Gray's Inn was one of the Inns of Court like the Inner and Middle Temple and Lin- 
 coln's Inn. 
 
 ' Prince Eugene of Savoy was the general of the Imperial troops who had cooperated 
 with the English in the campaigns against the French. 
 
 ' The House of Savoy is more Italian than French. 
 
 4 or IskanderBeg, the Turkish name for Georges Castriota, an Albanian patriot of the 
 fifteenth century. He was long a type of valor. A hundred years after this Spectator 
 Byron wrote: 
 
 "Land of Albania! Where Iskander rose, 
 Theme of the young and beacon of the wise." 
 
SIR ROGER COMES TO TOWN 123 
 
 Kiiiglit told me my good friend his chaplain was very well, 
 and much at my service, and that the Sunday hefore he had 35 
 made a most incomparable sermon out of Doctor Barrow. 
 " T have left/' says he, " all my affairs in his hands, and being 
 willing to lay an obligation upon him, have deposited with 
 him thirty marks, to be distributed among his poor parish- 
 ioners/' 40 
 
 He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of Will 
 Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob and pre- 
 sented me in his name with a tobacco-stopper,^ telling me 
 that Will had been busy all the beginning of the winter, in 
 turning great quantities of them ; and that he made a present 45 
 of one to every gentleman in the country who has good prin- 
 ciples and smokes. He added that poor Will was at present 
 under great tribulation, for that Tom Touchy had taken the 
 law of him for cutting some hazel sticks out of one of his 
 hedges.^ 50 
 
 Among other pieces of news which the Knight brought from 
 his country seat, he informed me that Moll White^ was dead ; 
 and that about a month after her death the wind was so very 
 high that it blew down the end of one of his barns. "'But 
 for my own part," says Sir Roger, " I do not think that the 55 
 old woman had any hand in it." 
 
 He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions which 
 had passed in his house during the holidays; for Sir Roger, 
 after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always keeps open 
 house at Christmas. I learned from him that he had killed 60 
 eight fat hogs for the season, that he had dealt about his 
 chines very liberally amongst his neighbors, and that in par- 
 ticular he had sent a string of hogs-puddings with a pack of 
 cards to every poor family in the parish. " I have often 
 thought," says Sir Roger, " it happens very well that Christ- 65 
 mas should fall out in the middle of the winter. It is the 
 
 ' a little wooden ping for pushing tobacco into a pipe, 
 a See 122, 37. Hhe witch. 
 
124 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 most dead uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor 
 people would suffer very much from their poverty and cold, 
 if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols 
 
 70 to support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this 
 season, and to see the whole village merry in my great hall. 
 I allow a double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set 
 it a-running for twelve days to every one that calls for it. I 
 have always a piece of cold beef and a mince-pie upon the 
 
 75 table, and am wonderfully pleased to see my tenants pass 
 away a whole evening in playing their innocent tricks, and 
 smutting one another. Our friend Will Wimble is as merry 
 as any of them, and shows a thousand roguish tricks upon 
 these occasions.'^ 
 
 80 I was very much delighted with the reflection of my old 
 friend, which carried so much goodness in it. He then 
 launched out into the praise of the late Act of Parliament ^ 
 for securing the Church of England, and told me, with great 
 satisfaction, that he believed it already began to take effect, 
 
 85 for that a rigid Dissenter, who chanced to dine at his house 
 on Christmas day, had been observed to eat very plentifully 
 of his plum-porridge. 
 
 After having dispatched all our country matters. Sir Eoger 
 made several inquiries concerning the Club, and particularly 
 
 90 of his old antagonist Sir Andrew Freeport. He asked me 
 with a kind of smile whether Sir Andrew had not taken ad- 
 vantage of his absence to vent among them some of his re- 
 publican doctrines; but soon after, gathering up his counten- 
 ance into a more than ordinary seriousness, " Tell me truly," 
 
 95 says he, " don't you think Sir Andrew had a hand in the 
 Pope's Procession ? " ^ — but without giving me time to an- 
 swer him, " Well, well," says he, " I know you are a wary 
 man, and do not care to talk of public matters." 
 
 ' the Occaeional Act, which excluded from office those not members of the Established 
 Church. 
 
 'a procession on the anniversary of the accession of Queen Elizabeth. This year it 
 had been the occasion of a great political disturbance. 
 
SIK ROGER COMES TO TOWN 125 
 
 The Knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eugenio, 
 and made me promise to get him a stand in some convenient 100 
 place where he might have a full sight of that extraordinary 
 man, whose presence does so much honor to the British na- 
 tion. He dwelt very long on the praises of this great general, 
 and I found that, since I was with him in the country, he had 
 drawn many observations together out of his reading in 105 
 Baker's Chronicle, and other authors, who always lie in his 
 hall window, which very much redound to the honor of this 
 prince. 
 
 Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in 
 hearing the Knight's reflections, which were partly private, HO 
 and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke a pipe 
 with him over a dish of coffee at Squire's. As I love the old 
 man, I take delight in complying with everything that is 
 agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to the coffee- 
 house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of H^ 
 the whole room. He had no sooner seated himself at the 
 upper end of the high table, but he called for a clean pipe, a 
 paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax candle, and the Sup- 
 plement, with such an air of cheerfulness and good-humor, 
 that all the boys in the coffee-room (who seemed to take 1^0 
 pleasure in serving him) were at once employed on his several 
 errands, insomuch that nobody else could come at a dish of 
 tea, till the Knight had got all his conveniences about him. 
 
126 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 XXX. SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 No. 329.] Tuesday, March 18, 1712. [Addison. 
 
 Ire tamen restat, Numa quo devenit, et Aricus. 
 
 Horace, Epistles, I. vi. 27. 
 
 With Ancus, and with Numa, kings of Rome, 
 We must descend into the silent tomb. 
 
 My friend Sir Eoger de Coverley told me t'other night that 
 he had been reading my paper upon Westminster Abbey, in 
 which, says he, there are a great many ingenious fancies. He 
 told me, at the same time, that he observed I had promised 
 
 5 another paper upon the tombs, and that he should be glad to 
 go and see them with me, not having visited them since he 
 had read history. I could not at first imagine how this came 
 into the Knight's head, till I recollected that he had been 
 very busy all last summer upon Baker's Chronicle,^ which he 
 
 10 has quoted several times in his disputes with Sir Andrew 
 Freeport since his last coming to town. Accordingly, I prom- 
 ised to call upon him the next morning, that we might go 
 together to the /Vbbey. 
 
 I found the Knight under his butler's hands, who always 
 
 15 shaves him. He was no sooner dressed than he called for a 
 glass of the Widow Trueby's water,^ which he told me he 
 always drank before he went abroad. He recommended me 
 to a dram of it at the same time with so much heartiness, 
 that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got 
 
 20 it down, I found it very unpalatable ; upon which the Knight, 
 observing that I had made several wry faces, told me that 
 he knew I should not like it at first, but that it was the best 
 thing in the world against the stone or gravel. 
 
 I could have wished, indeed, that he had acquainted me 
 
 25 with the virtues of it sooner; but it was too late to complain, 
 
 1 alluded to in the previouB paper. * a sort of medicinal preparation. 
 
SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 127 
 
 and I knew what he had done was out of goodwill. Sir 
 Eoger told me, further, that he looked upon it to be very good 
 for a man whilst he stayed in town, to keep off infection; and 
 that he got together a quantity of it upon the first news of 
 the sickness ^ being at Dantzic : when of a sudden, turning 30 
 short to one of his servants, who stood behind him, he bade 
 him call a hackney-coach, and take qare it was an elderly man 
 that drove it. 
 
 He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Trueby's water, 
 telling me that the Widow Trueby was one who did more 35 
 good than all the doctors and apothecaries in the county ; that 
 she distilled every poppy that grew within five miles of her ; 
 that she distributed her water gratis among all sorts of peo- 
 ple; to which the Knight added, that she had a very great 
 jointure, and that the whole country ^would fain have it a 40 
 match between him and her ; " And truly,'^ says Sir Roger, 
 •'if I had not been engaged, perhaps I could not have done 
 better.'^ 
 
 His discourse was broken off by his man's telling him he 
 had called a coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast 45 
 liis eye upon the wheels, he asked the coachman if his axle- 
 tree was good ; upon the fellow's telling him he would war- 
 rant it, the Knight turned to me, told me he looked like an 
 honest man, and went in without further ceremony. 
 
 We had not gone far, when Sir Roger, popping out his head, 50 
 called the coachman down from his box, and upon his pre- 
 senting himself at the window, asked him if he smoked ; as I 
 was considering what this would end in, he bade him stop by 
 the way at any good tobacconist's, and take in a roll of theii: 
 best Virginia. Nothing material happened in the remaining 55 
 part of our journey till we were set down at the west end of 
 the Abbey. 
 
 As we went up the body of the church, the Knight pointed 
 at the trophies upon one of the new monuments, and cried 
 
 •the plague. 
 
128 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 60 out, " A brave man, I warrant him ! " Passing afterwards 
 by Sir Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand that way, and" 
 cried, " Sir Cloudesley Shovel ! ^ a very gallant man ! " As 
 we stood before Busby's ^ tomb, the Knight uttered himself 
 again after the same manner : " Dr. Busby, a great man ! he 
 
 65 whipped my grandfather ; a very great man ! I should have 
 gone to him myself if I' had not been a blockhead; a very 
 great man ! " 
 
 We were immediately conducted into the little chapel on 
 the right hand. Sir Eoger, planting himself at our his- 
 
 70 torian's elbow, was very attentive to everything he said, par- 
 ticularly to the account he gave us of the lord who had cut 
 off the King of Morocco's head. Among several other figures, 
 he was very well pleased to see the statesman Cecil ^ upon 
 his knees; and, concluding them all to be great men, was 
 
 75 conducted to the figure which represents that martyr to good 
 housewifery, who died by the prick of a needle. Upon our 
 interpreter's telling us that she was a maid of honor to Queen 
 Elizabeth, the Knight was very inquisitive into her name and 
 family; and, after having regarded her finger for some time, 
 
 80 " I wonder," says he, " that Sir Eichard Baker has said 
 nothing of her in his Chronicle/' 
 
 We were then conveyed to the coronation chairs,* where 
 my old friend, after having heard that the stone underneath 
 the most ancient of them, which was brought from Scotland, 
 
 85 was called Jacob's Pillar, sat himself down in the chair; and, 
 looking like the figure of an old Gothic king, asked our inter- 
 preter what authority they had to say that Jacob had ever 
 been in Scotland. The fellow, instead of returning him an 
 answer, told him that he hoped his honor would pay his for- 
 
 90 feit. I could observe Sir Eoger a little ruffled upon being 
 thus trepanned; but, our guide not insisting upon his de- 
 
 > an English admiral (1650-1707), very successful against the French. 
 
 8 head master at Eton for many years. 
 
 8 Lord Burleigh, prime minister to Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 * one was modern at that time, but the other was very ancient. 
 
SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 129 
 
 inantl, the Kniglit soon recovered his good humor, and whis- 
 pered in my ear that if Will Wimhle were witli us, and saw 
 those two chairs, it would go hard but he would get a tobacco- 
 stopper out of one or t'other of them. 95 
 
 Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward 
 the Third's sword, and, leaning upon the pommel of it, gave 
 us the whole history of the Black Prince ; concluding that, in 
 Sir Ki chard Baker's opinion, Edward the Third was one of 
 the greatest princes that ever sat upon the English throne. 100 
 
 We were then shown Edward the Confessor's tomb, upon 
 which Sir Roger acquainted us that he was the first who 
 touched for the evil,^ and afterwards Henry the Fourth's, 
 upon which he shook his head, and told us there was fine read- 
 ing in the casualties in that reign. 105 
 
 Our conductor then pointed to that monument where there 
 is the figure of one of our English kings without an head ; and 
 upon giving us to know that the head, which was of beaten 
 silver, had been stolen away several years since, " Some Whig, 
 ril warrant you," says Sir Roger; "you ought to lock up 110 
 your kings better ; they will carry off the body too if you don't 
 take care." 
 
 The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen Eliza- 
 beth gave the Knight great opportunities of shining and of 
 doing justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our Knight ob- 115 
 served with some surprise, had a great many kings in him 
 whose monuments he had not seen in the Abbey. 
 
 For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see the 
 Knight show such an honest passion for the glory of his 
 country, and such a respectful gratitude to the memory of 120 
 its princes. 
 
 I must not omit that the benevolence of my good old friend, 
 which flows out tow^ards every one he converses with, made 
 him very kind to our interpreter, whom ho looked upon as an 
 extraordinary man;- for which reason he shook him by the 125 
 
 ' 80 Shakespeare in Macbeth, IV, iii, 146-159. ' because he knew so much history. 
 
130 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 hand at parting, telling him that he should be very glad to 
 see him at his lodgings in Norfolk Buildings, and talk over 
 these matters with him more at leisure. 
 
 XXXI. SIR ROGER UPON BEARDS. 
 
 No. 331.] Thursday, March 20, 1713. [Budgell. 
 
 Stolidam pnehet tihi vellere harham. 
 
 Persius, Satires, ii. 28. 
 
 Holds out his foolish beard for thee to pluck. 
 
 When I was last with my friend Sir Eoger in Westminster 
 Abbey, I observed that he stood longer than ordinary before 
 the bust of a venerable old man. I was at a loss to guess the 
 reason of it, when, after some time, he pointed to the figure, 
 
 5 and asked me if I did not think that our forefathers looked 
 much wiser in their beards than we do without them ? ^ " For 
 my part," says he, " when I am walking in my gallery in the 
 country, and see my ancestors, who many of them died before 
 they were of my age, I cannot forbear regarding them as so 
 
 10 many old patriarchs, and at the same time looking upon my- 
 self as an idle smock-faced young fellow. I love to see 3^our 
 Abrahams, your Isaacs, and your Jacobs, as we have them 
 in old pieces of tapestry, with beards below their girdles, that 
 cover half the hangings." The Knight added, if I would 
 
 15 recommend beards in one of my papers, and endeavor to re- 
 store human faces to their ancient dignity, that upon a month's 
 warning he would undertake to lead up the fashion himself 
 in a pair of whiskers. 
 
 I smiled at my friend's fancy; but, after we parted, could 
 
 20 not forbear reflecting on the metamorphoses our faces have 
 undergone in this particular. 
 
 1 It was the fashion to shave and wear flowing wigs. 
 
SIR ROGER UPON BEARDS 131 
 
 The beard, conformable to the notion of my friend Sir 
 Roger, was for many ages looked upon as the type of wisdom. 
 Lucia n ^ more than once rallies the philosophers of his time ; 
 who endeavored to rival one another in beard : and represents 25 
 a learned man who stood for a professorship in philosophy as 
 unqualified for it by the shortness of his beard. 
 
 Aelian,- in his account of Zoilus, the pretended critic, who 
 wrote against Homer and Plato, and thought himself wiser 
 than all who had gone before him, tells us that this Zoilus 30 
 had a very long beard that hung down upon his breast, but 
 no hair upon his head, which he always kept close shaved, 
 regarding, it seems, the hairs of his head as so many suckers, 
 which, if they had been suffered to grow, might have drawn 
 away the nourishment from his chin, and by that means have 35 
 starved his beard. 
 
 I have read somewhere that one of the popes refused to 
 accept an edition of a saint's works, which were presented 
 to him, because the saint, in his effigies before the book, was 
 drawn without a beard. 40 
 
 We see by these instances what homage the world has for- 
 merly paid to beards ; and that a barber was not then allowed 
 to make those depredations on the faces of the learned, which 
 have been permitted him of later years. 
 
 Accordingly several wise nations have been so extremely 45 
 jealous of the least ruffle offered to their beard that they seem 
 to have fixed the point of honor principally in t^at part. The 
 Spaniards were wonderfully tender in this particular. 
 
 Don Quevedo, in his third vision on the last judgment, has 
 carried the humor very far, when he tells us that one of his 50 
 vain-glorious countrymen, after having received sentence, was 
 taken into custody by a couple of evil spirits; but that his 
 guides happening to disorder his mustachios, they were forced 
 to recompose them with a pair of curling-irons, before they 
 could get him to file off. 55 
 
 » a blithe Greek Batirist, ' a Romau writer of the second century, a.d. 
 
132 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 If we took into the history of our own nation, we shall find 
 that the beard flourished in the Saxon heptarchy, but was very 
 much discouraged under the Norman line. It shot out, how- 
 ever, from time to time, in several reigns under different 
 
 60 shapes. The last effort it made seems to have been in Queen 
 Mary's days, as the curious reader may find if he pleases to 
 peruse the figures of Cardinal Pole and Bishop Gardiner; 
 though, at the same time, I think it may be questioned, if 
 zeal against popery has not induced our Protestant painters 
 
 65 to extend the beards of these two persecutors beyond their 
 natural dimensions, in order to make them appear the more 
 terrible. 
 
 I find but few beards worth taking notice of in the reign 
 of King James the First. 
 
 70 During the civil wars there appeared one, which makes too 
 great a figure in story to be passed over in silence: I mean 
 that of the redoubted Hudibras,^ an account of which Butler 
 has transmitted to posterity in the following lines:— 
 
 "His tawny beard was th' equal grace 
 75 Both of his wisdom and his face ; 
 
 In cut and dye so like a tile, 
 A sudden view it would beguile ; 
 The upper part thereof was whey, 
 The nether orange mixt with grey." 
 
 80 The whisker continued for some time among us after the 
 expiration of beards; but this is a subject which I shall not 
 here enter upon, having discussed it at large in a distinct 
 treatise, which I keep by me in manuscript, upon the mus- 
 tachio. 
 
 85 If my friend Sir Eoger's project of introducing beards 
 should take effect, I fear the luxury of the present age would 
 make it a verv expensive fashion. There is no question but 
 the beaux would soon provide themselves with false ones of 
 
 > Hudibras is the chief figure in a violent satire on the Puritans by Samuel Butlef, 
 
SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY 133 
 
 the lightest coloi* and the most immoderate lengths.^ A fair 
 beard^ of the tapestry size Sir Roger seems to approve, could 
 not come under twenty guineas. The famous golden beard 
 of Aesculapius would hardly be more valuable than one made 
 in the extravagance of the fashion. 
 
 Besides, we are not certain that the ladies would not come 
 into the mode, when they take the air on horseback. They 
 already appear in hats and feathers, coats and periwigs; and 
 I see no reason why we should not suppose that they would 
 have their riding-beards on the same occasion. 
 
 XXXII. SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY. 
 
 No. 335.] Tuesday, March 25, 1712. [Addison. 
 
 Respicere exemplar vitm morumque juheho 
 Doctum imitator em, et veras hinc ducere voces. 
 
 Horace, Ars Poetica, 327. 
 
 Keep Nature's great original in view, 
 
 And thence the living images pursue. — Francis. 
 
 My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met to- 
 gether at the Club, told me that he had a great mind to see 
 the new tragedy with me, assuring me at the same time that 
 he had not been at a play these twenty years. " The last I 
 saw,'^ said Sir Roger, " was The Committee ^ which I should 
 not have gone to neither, had not I been told beforehand that 
 it was a good Church of England comedy." He then pro- 
 ceeded to inquire of me who this distressed mother ^ was, 
 and, upon hearing that she w^as Hector's w^idow, he told me 
 that her husband was a brave man, and that when he was a 
 schoolboy, he had read his life at the end of the dictionary. 
 
 * judging from the custom with wigs. 
 
 a "The Committee " was a play by Sir Henry Howard first acted about 1665, in the 
 days of Sir Roger's youth. 
 
 s " The Distressed Mother " was a play produced just about this time by Phillips, a 
 friend of Addison's. 
 
134 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 My friend asked me, in the next place, if tliere would not be 
 some danger in coming home late, in case the Mohocks ^ 
 should be abroad. " I assure you/' says he, " I thought I had 
 
 15 fallen into their hands last night ; for I observed two or three 
 
 lusty black men ^ that followed me half way up Fleet Street, 
 
 and mended their pace behind me in proportion as I put on 
 
 .to get away from them. You must know," continued the 
 
 Knight with a smile, " I fancied they had a mind to hunt 
 
 20 me; for I remember an honest gentleman in my neighbor- 
 hood who was served such a trick in King Charles the 
 Second's time ; ^ for which reason he has not ventured him- 
 self in town ever since. I might have shown them very good 
 sport had this been their design; for, as I am an old fox- 
 
 25 hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have played 
 them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their lives be- 
 fore." Sir Eoger added that if these gentlemen had any 
 such intention they did not succeed very well in it : " for I 
 threw them out," says he, " at the end of Norfolk Street, 
 
 30 where I doubled the corner and got shelter in my lodgings 
 before they could imagine what was become of me. How- 
 ever," says the Knight, " if Captain Sentry will make one 
 with us to-morrow night, and if you will both of 3'ou call 
 upon me about four o'clock,* that we may be at the house 
 
 35 before it is full, I will have my own coach in readiness to 
 attend you, for John tells me he has got the fore wheels 
 mended." 
 
 The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the 
 appointed hour, bid Sir Eoger fear nothing, for that he had 
 
 40 put on the same sword which he made use of at the battle 
 of Steenkirk.-"^ Sir Eoger's servants, and among the rest my 
 old friend the butler, had, I found, provided themselves with 
 
 * Mohocks was a slang name for the bands of young men of fashion who roamed 
 the town at night, doing all sorts of outrageous things. 
 
 2 Cf. 1, 2. 3 the time of Sir Roger's days in town. 
 
 * The play began about five or a little after: Cf. 2, 66. 
 
 * a victory of the French over the English and Putcb, Aug,-31, 1692. 
 
SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY 135 
 
 good oaken plants to attend their master upon this occasion. 
 When he had placed him in his coach with myself at his left 
 hand, the Captain before him, and his butler at the head of 45 
 his footmen in the rear, we convoyed him in safety to the 
 playhouse, where, after having marched up the entry in good 
 order, the Captain and I went in with him, and seated him 
 betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house was full, and 
 the candles lighted, my old friend stood up and looked about 50 
 him with that pleasure which a mind seasoned with humanity 
 naturally feels in itself at the sight of a multitude of people 
 who seem pleased with one another, and partake of the same 
 common entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as 
 the old man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he made 55 
 a very proper center to a tragic audience. Upon the entering 
 of Pyrrhus, the Knight told me that he did not believe the 
 King of France himself had a better strut. I w^as, indeed, 
 very attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I looked 
 upon them as a piece of natural criticism, and was well pleased 60 
 to hear him, at the conclusion of almost every scene, telling 
 me that he could not imagine how the play would end. One 
 while he appeared much concerned for Andromache, and a 
 little while after as much for Hermione, and was extremely 
 puzzled to think what would become of Pyrrhus. 65 
 
 When Sir Eoger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to her 
 lover's importunities, he whispered me in the ear that he was 
 sure she would never have him; to which he added, with a 
 more than ordinary vehemence, " You can't imagine, Sir, ' 
 what 'tis to have to do with a widow." Upon Pyrrhus his 70 
 threatening afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook his 
 head, and muttered to himself, " Ay, do if you can." That 
 part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagination, that at 
 the close of the third act, as I was thinking of something else, 
 he whispered in my ear, " These widows, Sir, are the most 75 
 perverse creatures in the world.^ But pray," says he, "you 
 
 J See 113, 9 and 73. 
 
136 SIK ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 that are a critic, is this play according to your dramatic rules, 
 as you call them? Should your people in tragedy always 
 talk to be understood? Why, there is not a single sentence 
 
 80 in this play that I do not know the meaning of/' 
 
 The fourth act very luckily began before I had time to give 
 the old gentleman an answer. " Well," says the Knight, sit- 
 ting down with great satisfaction, " I suppose we are now to 
 see Hector's ghost." He then renewed his attention, and, 
 
 85 from time to time, fell a-praising the widow. He made, 
 indeed, a little mistake as to one of her pages, whom at his 
 first entering he took for Astyanax ; ^ but he quickly set him- 
 self right in that particular, though, at the same time, he 
 owned he should have been very glad to have seen the little 
 
 90 boy, " who," says he, " must needs be a very fine child by the 
 account that is given of him." Upon Hermione's going off 
 with a menace to Pyrrhus, the audience gave a loud clap, to 
 which Sir Koger added, " On my word, a notable young bag- 
 gage ! " 
 
 95 As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness in the 
 audience during the whole action, it was natural for them to 
 take the opportunity of these intervals between the acts to 
 express their opinion of the players and of their respective 
 parts. Sir Roger hearing a cluster of them praise Orestes, 
 100 struck in with them, and told them that he thought his friend 
 Pylades was a very sensible man; as they were afterwards 
 applauding Pyrrhus, Sir Roger put in a second time : " And 
 let me tell you," says he, " though he speaks but little, I like 
 the old fellow in whiskers as well as any of them." Captain 
 105 Sentry seeing two or three wags, who sat near us, lean with 
 an attentive ear towards Sir Roger, and fearing lest they 
 should smoke - the Knight, plucked him by the elbow, and 
 whispered something in his ear, that lasted till the opening 
 of the fifth act. The Knight was wonderfully attentive to 
 110 the account wliicli Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his death, and, 
 
 1 the son of Hector and Andromache. ' make game of. 
 
WILL HONEYCOMB ON LOVE 137 
 
 at the conclusion of it, told nie it was such a blood}' piece of 
 work that he was glad it was not done upon the stage. See- 
 ing afterwards Orestes in his raving fit, he grew more than 
 ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralize (in his way) 
 upon an evil conscience, adding, that Orestes, in his madness, 115 
 looked as if he saw something. 
 
 As we were the first that came into the house, so we were 
 the last that went out of it; being resolved to have a clear 
 passage for our old friend, whom we did not care to venture 
 among the jostling of the crowd. Sir Roger went out fully 120 
 satisfied with his entertainment, and we guarded him to his 
 lodgings in the same manner that we brought him to the 
 play-house; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only 
 with the performance of the excellent piece which had been 
 presented, but with the satisfaction which it had given to the 1^5 
 good old man. 
 
 XXXIII. WILL HONEYCOMB ON LOVE. 
 
 No. 359.] Tuesday, April 22, 1712. [Budgell. 
 
 Torva lemna lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam ; 
 Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella. 
 
 Virgil, Eclogues, ii. 63. 
 
 Lions the wolves, and wolves the kids pursue, 
 
 The kids sweet thyme, — and still I follow you. — Warton. 
 
 As we were in the Club last night, I observed that my friend 
 Sir Roger, contrary to his usual custom, sat very silent, and, 
 instead of minding what was said by the company, was 
 whistling to himself in a very thoughtful mood, and playing 
 with a cork. I jogged Sir Andrew Freeport, who sat between 5 
 us; and as we were both observing him, we saw the Knight 
 shake his head, and heard him say to himself. " A foolish 
 woman ! I can't believe it." Sir Andrew gave him a gentle 
 pat upon the shoulder, and offered to lay him a bottle of wine 
 
188 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
 
 10 that he was thinking of the Widow. My old friend started, 
 and recovering out of his brown study, told Sir Andrew that 
 once in his life he had been in the right. In short, after 
 some little hesitation. Sir Koger told us in the fulness of his 
 heart, that he had just received a letter from his steward, 
 
 15 which acquainted him that his old rival and antagonist in 
 the county, Sir David Dundrum, had been making a visit to 
 the Widow. " However," says Sir Eoger, " I can never think 
 that she'll have a man that's half a year older than I am, and 
 a noted Eepublican into the bargain." 
 
 20 Will Honeycomb, who looks upon love as his particular 
 province, interrupting our friend with a jaunty laugh ; ^^ I 
 thought, Knight," says he, " thou hadst lived long enough in 
 the world not to pin thy happiness upon one that is a woman 
 and a widow. I think that without vanity I may pretend 
 
 25 to know as much of the female world as any man in Great 
 Britain, though the chief of my knowledge consists in this, 
 that they are not to be known." Will immediately, with his 
 usual fluency, rambled into an account of his own amours. 
 " I am now," says he, " upon the verge of fifty " (though, by 
 
 30 the way, we all knew he was turned of threescore). "You 
 may easily guess," continued Will, " that I have not lived so 
 long in the world without having had some thoughts of set- 
 tling in it, as the phrase is. To tell you truly, I have several 
 times tried my fortune that way, though I can't much boast 
 
 35 of my success. 
 
 " I made my first addresses to a young lady in the country ; 
 but when I thought things were pretty well drawing to a 
 conclusion, her father happening to hear that I had formerly 
 boarded with a surgeon, the old put ^ forbid me his house, 
 
 40 and within a fortnight after married his daughter to a fox- 
 hunter in the neighborhood. 
 
 "I made my next applications to a widow, and attacked 
 her so briskly that I thought myself within a fortnight of 
 
 1 d slang term of contempt. 
 
WILL HONEYCOMB ON LOVE 139 
 
 her. As I waited upon her one morning, she tokl me tliat 
 she intended to keep her ready money and jointure in her 45 
 own hand, and desired me to call upon her attorney in Lyon's 
 Inn, v/ho would adjust with me what it was proper for me 
 to add to it. I was so rebuffed by this overture that I never 
 inquired either for her or her attorney afterwards. 
 
 " A few months after I addressed myself to a young lady. 50 
 who was an only daughter, and of a good family. I danced 
 with her at several balls, squeezed her by the hand, said soft 
 things to her, and, in short, made no doubt of her heart ; and, 
 though my fortune was not equal to hers, I was in hopes that 
 her fond father would not deny her the man she had fixed 55 
 her affections upon. But as I went one day to the house in 
 order to break the matter to him, I found the whole family 
 in confusion, and heard, to my unspeakable surprise, that 
 Miss Jenny was that very morning run away w^ith the butler. 
 
 " I then courted a second w4dow, and am at a loss to this 60 
 day how^ I came to miss her, for she had often commended 
 my person and behavior. Her maid, indeed, told me one day, 
 that her mistress had said she never saw a gentleman with 
 such a spindle pair of legs as Mr. Honeycomb. 
 
 " After this I laid siege to four heiresses successively, and 65 
 being a handsome young dog in those days, quickly made a 
 breach in their hearts ; but I don't know how it came to pass, 
 though I seldom failed of getting the daughters' consent, I 
 could never in my life get the old people on my side. 
 
 " I could give you an account of a thousand other unsuc- 70 
 cessful attempts, particularly of one which I made some years 
 since upon an old woman, whom I had certainly borne away 
 with flying colors, if her relations had not come pouring in 
 to her assistance from all parts of England; na}^ I believe 
 I should have got her at last, had not she heen carried off ^ 75 
 by an hard frost." 
 
 As Will's transitions are extremely quick, he turned from 
 
 1 and died. 
 
140 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 Sir Eoger, and^ applying himself to me, told me there was a 
 passage in the book I had considered last Saturday/ which 
 80 deserved to be writ in letters of gold ; and taking out a pocket 
 Milton, read the following lines, which are part of one of 
 Adam's speeches to Eve after the fall: — 
 
 "Oh! why did God 
 
 Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n 
 85 With spirits masculine, create at last 
 
 This novelty on earth, this fair defect 
 
 Of Nature ? and not fill the world at once 
 
 With men, as angels, without feminine, 
 
 Or find some other way to generate 
 90 Mankind ? This mischief had not then befall'n. 
 
 And more that shall befall; innumerable 
 
 Disturbances on earth through female snares. 
 
 And strait conjunction with this sex: for either 
 
 He never shall find out fit mate, but such 
 95 As some misfortune brings him, or mistake; 
 
 Or, whom he wishes most shall seldom gain 
 
 Through her perverseness; but shall see her gain'd 
 
 By a far worse ; or if she love, withheld 
 
 By parents ; or his happiest choice too late 
 100 Shall meet, already link'd and wedlock bound 
 
 To a fell adversary, his hate or shame; 
 
 Which infinite calamity shall cause 
 
 To human life, and household peace confound." 
 
 Sir Eoger listened to this passage with great attention, and 
 
 105 desiring Mr. Honeycomb to fold down a leaf at the place, and 
 
 lend him his book, the Knight put it up in his pocket, and 
 
 told us that he would read over those verses again before he 
 
 went to bed. 
 
 1 At this time Addison was publishing a criticism on " Paradise Lost " in the Spectator. 
 
SIR ROGER AT VAUXHALL 141 
 
 XXXIV. SIR ROGER AT VAUXHALL. 
 
 No. 383.] Tuesday, May 20, 1712. [Addison. 
 
 Criminihus debent Ilortos 
 
 Juvenal, Satires, i. 75. 
 
 A beauteous garden, but by vice maintain''d. 
 
 As I was sitting in my chamber and thinking on a subject 
 for my next ^Spectator, I heard two or three irregular bounces 
 at my landlady's door, and, upon the opening of it, a loud, 
 cheerful voice inquiring whether the philosopher was at home. 
 The child who went to the door answered very innocently, 5 
 that he did not lodge there. I immediately recollected that 
 it was my good friend Sir Roger's voice; and that I had 
 promised to go with him on the water to Spring Garden, in 
 case it proved a good evening. The Knight put me in mind 
 of my promise from the bottom of the staircase, but told me 10 
 that if I was speculating ^ he would stay below till I had done. 
 Upon my coming down, I found all the children of the family 
 got about my old friend, and my landlady herself, who is a 
 notable prating gossip, engaged in a conference with him, 
 being mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy upon 15 
 the head, and bidding him be a good child, and mind his 
 book. 
 
 We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs,- but we were 
 surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us their re- 
 spective services. Sir Roger, after having looked about him 20 
 very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg, and immediately 
 gave him orders to get his boat ready. As we were walking 
 towards it, " You must know," says Sir Roger, " I never 
 make use of an3^body to row me that has not either lost a leg 
 
 1 thinking over a Bubject. Hi8 writings are often called speculations. Cf . 1, 81 ; 34, 16. 
 
 2 The Temple, formerly the home of the Knights Templars, but at this time occupied 
 by two of the Inns of Court, was on the Thames, and had steps going down to the river 
 for those who wished to take boat. 
 
142 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 25 or an arm. I would rather bate him a few strokes of his 
 oar than not employ an honest man that has been wounded in 
 the Queen's service. If I was a lord or a bishop, and kept 
 a barge, I would not put a fellow in my livery that had not 
 a wooden leg." 
 
 30 My old friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed 
 the boat with his coachman, who, being a very sober man, 
 always serves for ballast on these occasions, we made the best 
 of our way to Vauxhall.^ Sir Eoger obliged the waterman 
 to give us the history of his right leg, and hearing that he 
 
 35 had left it at La Hogue,^ with many particulars which passed 
 in that glorious action, the Knight, in the triumph of his 
 heart, made several reflections on the greatness of the British 
 nation ; as, that one Englishman could beat three Frenchmen ; 
 that we could never be in danger of Popery so long as we 
 
 40 took care of our fleet; that the Thames was the noblest river 
 in Europe; that London Bridge was a greater piece of work 
 than any of the seven wonders of the world ; with many other 
 honest prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart of a 
 true Englishman. 
 
 45 After some short pause, the old Knight, turning about his 
 head twice or thrice to take a survey of this great metropolis, 
 bid me observe how thick the City was set with churches, and 
 that there was scarce a single steeple on this side Temple 
 Bar.^ " A most heathenish sight ! " says Sir Eoger ; " there 
 
 50 is no religion at this end of the town. The fifty new 
 churches * will very much mend the prospect ; but church 
 work is slow, church work is slow ! " 
 
 I do not remember I have an3rwhere mentioned, in Sir 
 Roger's character, his custom of saluting everybody that 
 
 ' Vauxhall or Spring Gardens was a place of resort throughout the century. It was on 
 the south bank of the river, which had long been a place for popular diversion. Here 
 had stood Shakespeare's theatre, the Globe. 
 
 ' a naval victory over the French in 1692. 
 
 * that is, on the side toward Westminster. 
 
 * An act had been recently passed establishing a number of churches. 
 
SIR ROGER AT VAUXHALL 143 
 
 passes by liim with a good-morrow or a good-night. This 55 
 the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, 
 though at the same time it renders him so popular among all 
 his country neighbors, that it is thought to have gone a good 
 Avay in making him once or twice knight of the shire.^ He 
 cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even in town, 60 
 when he meets with any one in the morning or evening walk. 
 It broke from him to several boats that passed by us upon 
 the w^ater; but to the Knight's great surprise, as he gave the 
 good-night to two or three young fellows a little before our 
 landing, one of them, instead of returning the civility, asked 65 
 us what queer old put we had in the boat, with a great deal 
 of the like Thames ribaldr}^ Sir Roger seemed a little 
 shocked at first, but at length, assuming a face of magistracy, 
 told us that if he were a Middlesex justice, he would make 
 such vagrants know that Her Majesty's subjects w^ere no more 70 
 to be abused by water than by land. 
 
 We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely 
 pleasant at this time of year. Wlien I considered the fra- 
 grancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that 
 sang upon the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked 75 
 under their shades, I could not but look upon the place as a 
 kind of Mahometan paradise. Sir Roger told me it put him 
 in mind of a little coppice by his house in the country, which 
 his chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales. " You 
 must understand," says the Knight, " there is nothing in the 80 
 world that pleases a man in love so much as your nightingale. 
 Ah, Mr. Spectator! the many moonlight nights that I have 
 walked by myself, and thought on the Widow by the niusic 
 of the nightingales ! " He here fetched a deep sigh, and was 
 falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came behind 85 
 him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked him 
 if he would drink a bottle of mead with her. But the Knight 
 being startled at so unexpected a familiarity, and displeased 
 
 » Cf. 109, 103. 
 
144 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 to be inteiTiipted in his thoughts of the Widow, told her she 
 90 was a wanton baggage, and bid her go about her business. 
 We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale and a 
 slice of hung beef. When we had done eating ourselves, the 
 Knight called a waiter to him, and bid him carry the re- 
 mainder to the waterman that had but one leg. I perceived 
 95 the fellow stared upon him at the oddness of the message, and 
 was going to be saucy; upon which I ratified the Knight's 
 commands with a peremptory look. 
 
 As we were going out of the garden, my old friend, think- 
 ing himself obliged, as a member of the quorum, to animad- 
 100 vert upon the morals of the place, told the mistress of the 
 house, who sat at the bar, that he should be a better customer 
 to her garden if there were more nightingales and fewer bad 
 characters. 
 
 XXXV. THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER DE COVERLET. 
 
 No. 517.] Thursday, October 23, 1712. [Addison. 
 
 Heu Pietas ! lieu prisca Fides ! 
 
 Virgil, .Miieid, vi. 878. 
 
 Mirror of micient faith ! 
 
 Undaunted worth ! Inviolable truth .^— Dryden. 
 
 We last night received a piece of ill news at our Club, 
 which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not 
 but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of 
 it. To keep them no longer in suspense. Sir Eoger de Cov- 
 
 5 erley is dead. He departed this life at his house in the 
 country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport 
 has a letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, that 
 informs him the old man caught a cold at the county-sessions, 
 as he was very warmly promoting an address of his own pen- 
 
 10 ning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes. But 
 
THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 145 
 
 this particular ^ comes from a Whig Justice of peace, who 
 was always Sir Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters 
 both from the chaplain and Captain Sentry ^ which mention 
 nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the 
 honor of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from 15 
 the butler/ who took so much care of me last summer when 
 I was at the Knight's house. As my friend the butler men- 
 tions, in the simi3licity of his heart, several circumstances the 
 others have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a 
 copy of his letter, without any alteration or diminution. 20 
 
 " Honored Sir, 
 
 " Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I 
 could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his 
 death, which has afflicted the whole country, as well as his 
 poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did 25 
 our lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last county 
 sessions, where he would go to see justice done to a poor 
 widow woman, and her fatherless children, that had been 
 wronged by a neighboring gentleman; for you know, sir, my 
 good master was always the poor man's friend. Upon his 30 
 coming home, the first complaint he made was that he had 
 lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin,' 
 which was served up according to custom ; and you know he 
 used to take great delight in it. From that time forward 
 he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good heart to the 35 
 last. Indeed we were once in great hope of his recovery, upon 
 a kind message that was sent him from the widow lady whom 
 he had made love to the forty last years of his life; but this 
 only proved a lightening before death. He has bequeathed 
 to this lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, 40 
 and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged 
 
 ' the idea that Sir Roger was merely looking after hie own interests. The butler 
 later gives a different account. 
 2 already mentioned (2, 104) as heir to Sir Roger. 
 
146 SIR ROGER DE COVERLET 
 
 to my good old lady his mother. He has bequeathed the fine 
 white gelding, that he used to ride a-hunting upon, to his 
 chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him; and 
 
 45 has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to 
 the chaplain a very pretty tenement ^ with good lands about 
 it. It being a very cold day when he made his will, he left 
 for mourning, to every man in the parish, a great frieze coat, 
 and to every woman a black riding-hood. It was a most 
 
 50 moving sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, com- 
 mending us all for our fidelity, whilst we were not able to 
 speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are grow gray- 
 headed in our dear master's service, he has left us pensions 
 and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon the 
 
 55 remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal 
 more in charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge, and 
 it is peremptorily said in the parish, that he has left money 
 to build a steeple to the church ; for he was heard to say some 
 time ago, that if he lived two years longer, Coverley Church 
 
 CO should have a steeple to it. The chaplain tells everybody that 
 he made a very good end, and never speaks of him without 
 tears. He was buried, according to his own directions, among 
 the family of the Coverleys, on the left hand of his father 
 Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six of his tenants, and 
 
 G5 the pall held up by six of the Quorum. The whole parish 
 followed the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their mourning 
 suits, the men in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. 
 Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken possession of 
 the hall-house, and the whole estate. When my old master 
 
 70 saw him a little before his death, he shook him by the hand, 
 and wished him joy of the estate which was falling to him, 
 desiring him only to make good use of it, and to pay the 
 several legacies, and the gifts of charity which he told him 
 he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The Captain truly 
 
 75 seems a courteous man, though he says but little. He makes 
 
 1 Cf . 107, 56. 
 
THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 147 
 
 much of those whom my master loved, and shows great kind- 
 ness to the old house-dog, that you know my poor master was 
 so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have heard 
 the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my mas- 
 ter's death. He has never joyed himself since; no more 80 
 has any of us. 'Twas the melancholiest day for the poor 
 people that ever happened in Worcestershire. This being all 
 from, 
 
 " Honored Sir, 
 
 " Your most sorrowful servant, 85 
 
 ^' Edward Biscuit. 
 
 ''' P.S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, that 
 a book which comes up to you by the carrier should be given 
 to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name.'' 
 
 This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of 90 
 writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that 
 upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the Club. 
 Sir Andrew opening the book, found it to be a collection of 
 Acts of Parliament. There was in particular the Act of 
 Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's 95 
 own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or 
 three points, which he had disputed with Sir Eoger the last 
 time he appeared at the Club. Sir Andrew, who would have 
 been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the 
 sight of the old man's handwriting burst into tears, and put 100 
 the book into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me, that 
 the Knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the 
 Club. 
 
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