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Chautauqua Library. .... Garnet Series. 
 
 SELECTED ESSAYS 
 
 JOSEPH ADDISON 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 C. T. WINCHESTER, 
 
 PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY. 
 
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 BOSTON: 
 CHAUTAUQUA PRESS, 
 
 117 FRANKLIN STREET. 
 1886. 
 
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 Copyright, 1886, 
 By RAND, AVERY, & CO. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction i 
 
 I. 
 Mr. Spectator and his Paper n 
 
 II. 
 Society, Fashions, Minor Morals 30 
 
 III. 
 Sir Roger de Coverley 89 
 
 IV. 
 Literary and Critical Topics 123 
 
 V. 
 Morals and Religion 146 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " Born to write, converse, and live with ease." 
 
 In this oft-quoted line, Mr. Pope, with his own 
 admirable terseness, has summed up the character of 
 his great contemporary Joseph Addison. For Mr. 
 Addison seems to have had by nature that most excel- 
 lent gift, an even and cheerful temper. One thinks 
 of him as wearing a certain calm dignity and decorum 
 always. Courteous, urbane, with no angularities of 
 character, throughout a long and busy life he seldom 
 gave offence to any one ; and when he did give offence 
 he offered his enemy no point of attack. And he had 
 a good luck to match his good temper. Pensions and 
 places he seemed to get without seeking, and to keep 
 when everybody else lost them. " I believe Mr. Addi- 
 son might be king if he chose/' said Swift once, with a 
 twinge of envy. The truth is, however, that Addison's 
 good luck, like most good luck, was no mere accident, 
 but the result of uniform good sense and good humor. 
 
 He was born on May-day, 1672. His father, Launce- 
 lot Addison, was a clergyman of the Church of England, 
 and, when young Addison was eleven years of age, was 
 
2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 made dean of the cathedral church of Lichfield. Here 
 at home, in the quiet deanery under the shadow of the 
 great cathedral, the boy early learned that courtesy of 
 manner, that interest in the best things of letters, and 
 that respect for the grave proprieties of religion, which 
 he kept all his days. Richard Steele, who began his 
 lifelong friendship with Addison when the two were 
 boys together at the Charterhouse School in London, 
 wrote years after, in "TheTatler," of good Dean Addi- 
 son : " I remember during all my acquaintance but one 
 man whom I thought to live with his children in equa- 
 nimity and good grace. It was an unspeakable pleas- 
 ure to visit or to sit at a meal in that family." 
 
 At Oxford, whither he went in 1687, it seems to have 
 been generally thought that Addison would go into 
 the Church. His father was a dean, his mother was a 
 bishop's sister, and all through his life he seemed very 
 like a parson himself; but he could never persuade 
 himself to take orders. He passed ten studious though 
 leisurely years at the university. He was then fortu- 
 nate enough to be sent to the Continent for further 
 study, on a pension secured him by the good offices 
 of that great Whig statesman, Montague, Lord Halifax. 
 But when, in 1702, Queen Anne came to the throne, 
 and called the Tory party to power, Addison's pension 
 was cancelled, and he was obliged to return to London. 
 Thus far his youth had been one of much promise, 
 but of little performance. He had written some Latin 
 verses that were very good, and some English verses 
 that were not very good. On his return from the Con- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 tinent, he printed a rather dull account of his travels, 
 which few people read then, and which nobody reads 
 now. He was known to a little circle of the best peo- 
 ple ; but when he settled himself in humble lodgings up 
 three flights, in the Haymarket, he was dangerously near 
 poverty. Every one remembers that famous stroke of 
 fortune, two years later, which took Mr. Addison out 
 of his obscurity, and introduced him to a career. In 
 that year 1704, the Duke of Marlborough won the 
 famous victory of Blenheim, and forthwith the little \ 
 Whig poets began to sing it. But their verses were so 
 atrociously bad that even the minister Godolphin, who 
 pretended to little knowledge in such matters, began 
 to see that the great triumph was suffering at home for 
 want of a poet. In this difficulty he applied to Mon- 
 tague, and Montague referred him to Addison. Thus 
 it came about that the Right Hon. Henry Boyle, Chan- 
 cellor of the Exchequer, is said to have climbed the 
 stair to the Haymarket lodgings to invite Mr. Addison 
 to write a poem. The poem Mr. Addison wrote at this 
 august invitation was thought to be of most surprising 
 excellence in his day ; but posterity has hardly con- 
 firmed that estimate. One passage in particular, in 
 which Marlborough was compared to a destroying 
 angel of storm, seems to have captivated the rather 
 sluggish imagination of Godolphin, and won for Addi- 
 son an appointment to the snug office of commis- 
 sioner of appeals. From that time until his death he 
 was never out of political life. In 1 706 he was made 
 under-secretary of state ; next year, elected to Parlia- 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ment ; next year, appointed chief secretary for Ireland. 
 When the Whigs went out of power in 1710, he lost 
 his employments, but he kept his seat in Parliament. 
 After the death of Queen Anne in 17 14, he went to 
 Ireland again as secretary, and not long before his 
 death reached his highest political dignity as secretary 
 of state. It was a career of uninterrupted success. 
 
 But it is not his political work that gives Addison 
 his fame. In 1 709 Richard Steele made that happiest 
 venture in the history of our literature, — he established 
 "The Tatler." Addison joined his old friend as a con- 
 tributor to "The Tatler" with its eighteenth number, 
 and soon became an indispensable auxiliary. " When 
 once I had called him in," said Steele generously, " I 
 could not subsist without dependence on him." " The 
 Tatler" came suddenly to an end in January, 1711 ; 
 and on the 1st of March following, the two friends began 
 that now more famous paper, "The Spectator." "The 
 Spectator" continued daily, with ever-increasing suc- 
 cess, until Dec. 6, 171 2 ; and a later series, under the 
 sole conduct of Addison, was issued during the latter 
 half of the year 1714. The remarkable success of these 
 charming papers had established the reputation of 
 Addison as. the greatest living master of English prose, 
 when in 1713 he crowned his fame by writing the drama 
 of " Cato." To most readers of to-day, the " Cato " 
 seems little better than a series of sonorous declama- 
 tions, without movement and without characters. But 
 those who read and heard it in 1713 were not of that 
 way of thinking. It was acted every week-night for a 
 
INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 month, and all the town flocked to see it. " Cato was 
 not so much the wonder of Rome in his day as he is of 
 Britain in ours," writes Mr. Pope. The critics, too, vied 
 with the playgoers in their admiration, and declared 
 that at last we had in England a " correct " play, based 
 on classical models. 
 
 With the "Cato," Addison touched the highest point 
 of all his greatness. The second series of " The Spec- 
 tator " and " The Freeholder" — a somewhat similar 
 paper which he conducted for some months in the 
 year 1 715-16 — sustained but hardly increased his fame. 
 From 1 713 until his death he was the acknowledged 
 head of the little world of letters, the authority and 
 oracle of the wits. He set up an old servant of his, 
 one Buttons, as keeper of a coffee-house in Russell 
 Street ; and there Mr. Spectator reigned, 
 
 " And gave his little senate laws." 
 
 There was only one voice to break the general accord 
 of admiration for the great writer and the genial friend. 
 The story of that memorable rupture between Pope 
 and Addison is too long to be recited here. Mr. 
 Addison seems sometimes, it must be confessed, to have 
 worn towards his rivals a placid air of superiority that 
 might have been very irritating ; yet it has been gener- 
 ally agreed that in this quarrel it was not the bland 
 Spectator, but the envious poet, that was most at fault. 
 The last days of Addison were passed in the dignified 
 retirement of Holland House. For in 1716, after a 
 very assiduous courtship, he had married the great lady 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to whom that great house belonged, the Countess dow- 
 ager of Warwick. It is to be feared that Mr. Spectator 
 in those last days would sometimes have preferred the 
 dinner of herbs at the club ; for, unless all reports are 
 false, he must often have found at Holland House 
 something too much of that society which the experi- 
 ence of Solomon pronounced worse than a continual 
 dropping in a very rainy day. " She married him," 
 says Johnson with a wicked chuckle, " on terms much 
 like those on which a Turkish princess is espoused, 
 to whom the Sultan is reported to pronounce, ' Daugh- 
 ter, I give thee this man for thy slave.' " 
 
 " Marrying discord in a noble wife," 
 
 was Pope's last fling at his rival. He did not long 
 enjoy the fortune — good or bad — that he had won. 
 His health failed in 171 7, and he died June 17, 1719. 
 He had many friends among those people whose 
 friendship was best worth having ; and no man in Eng- 
 land had fewer enemies. 
 
 It is not too much to say that Addison is the founder 
 of modern popular English prose style. He introduced 
 in the "Tatler" and "Spectator" a prose, which, to 
 use the apt though oft-quoted words of Johnson, was 
 >liiamiliar but not coarse, elegant but not ostentatious." 
 Before him, we have in the writings of such men as 
 Sir Thomas Browne or Jeremy Taylor, or Fuller and 
 Walton, a prose eloquent, or poetic, or quaint. Dryden 
 had written a clear and vigorous prose, but only on 
 critical subjects, and for scholarly readers. But about 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 the beginning of the eighteenth century, a new read- 
 ing public demanded a new kind of reading. There 
 had grown up a large trading middle class, intelligent, 
 active, curious. Politically this class was every day 
 becoming more powerful ; both parties were bidding 
 for its support; and now that the enormous growth 
 of London had drawn together large numbers of this 
 class, within easy reach of the journalist, it was found 
 that the pamphlet of Defoe or Swift was a far more 
 effective political instrument than any speech shut up 
 within the walls of St. Stephen's. Furthermore, with 
 the growth of town life in Queen Anne's reign, there was 
 a great increase of interest in all social matters. Good 
 society began to talk about itself. The gossip of the 
 clubs, the last opera, the fashion or the whim of the day, 
 — these things now began to find their way into litera- 
 ture. In such circumstances we have, for the first time, 
 a clear, vigorous, popular prose. Defoe and Steele 
 were already writing such a prose : to Addison was re- 
 served the credit of seeing that this prose was capable 
 of artistic treatment. That minute care, that trained 
 skill, which had hitherto been reserved for poetry, he 
 bestowed upon his prose papers. He saw that the 
 gravest truths of society and morals gain a new per- 
 suasiveness from the graces of style. He saw, also, 
 that in the new vein of satire upon the minor moralities 
 of society, which his friend Steele had opened in " The 
 Tatler," there was opportunity for the nice taste, the 
 delicate fancy, the refined humor, which can raise to 
 the rank of literature a dainty essay upon a fan or a 
 
8 INTRODUCTIONS 
 
 ruffle. He was the first Englishman to write a prose 
 easy, idiomatic, popular, and at the same time highly 
 finished. Their graceful rhythm, ingenious illustration, 
 nice taste, and delightful humor combine to make 
 Addison's best papers models of familiar composition. 
 Of their sort, what have we had since that is better? 
 
 Addison's contributions to the " Spectator " and 
 "Tatler " may be grouped, according to their subjects, 
 in three classes, — critical, ethical, and social. The 
 first two classes have, it must be confessed, little in- 
 terest for most readers of to-day. Some of the more 
 elaborate critical papers, especially those upon Milton's 
 " Paradise Lost," were accounted very remarkable efforts 
 in their own age, and are still sometimes spoken of in 
 admiration — generally by those who have never read 
 them. But the truth is, Addison's criticism is thoroughly 
 conventional. He gravely sets out to pi-ove that the 
 " Paradise Lost " is a great poem, because it conforms 
 to certain external laws of structure. Of what is origi- 
 nal in any book, its spiritual vitality and power, such 
 a criticism can tell us very little. If we read any of 
 Addison's critical papers now, it is only those in lighter 
 vein, which touch some contemporary phase of taste or 
 language. 
 
 Nor are the moral and religious papers (which usu- 
 ally appeared on Saturdays) likely to fare much better 
 with the modern reader. Mr. Spectator's sermons, 
 short as they are, do sometimes make us yawn. They 
 are all aimed at the head rather than at the heart, being 
 designed to show the reasonableness of a religious life ; 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 but, somehow, they do not seem to touch the doubts 
 and difficulties of these modern days, while their con- 
 stant parade of prudential motives is not very in- 
 spiring. The best papers in this class are those in 
 which a train of grave and earnest thought seems to 
 rise unconsciously out of the narrative, as in that most 
 impressive essay on Westminster Abbey — perhaps the 
 most finished passage in " The Spectator." It is a calm 
 and cheerful religion Mr. Addison has to recommend ; 
 and Mr. Addison practised it himself. He would link 
 religion with all the fair humanities of life, and add the 
 charm of a rational piety to the manifold graces of 
 culture and of art. 
 
 But it is in the third class of papers that we shall 
 find Addison's best and most enduring work. These 
 social papers on manners, fashions, minor morals, are 
 among the highest examples of lighter prose satire in 
 our own or any language. In them Addison's quick 
 perception, his fertility of invention, his suavity of 
 manner, and his delightful vein of humor are all seen 
 at their best. These papers moreover, even while they 
 seem only to play lightly among the whims and follies 
 of society, reveal a profound insight into character, and 
 are instinct with that broad and gracious human sym- 
 pathy which marks the greatest masters. For Addison's 
 humor is eminently a good humor ; never cynical, and 
 never idle, but springing from wise and healthy moral 
 feeling. His sense of the ethical value of manners 
 gives a certain grave humanity to his writing ; however 
 brilliant his pleasantry may be, it is never merely flip- 
 
10 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 pant. But, on the other hand, he is never insistent 
 with his morality, and he is never dull. His best 
 papers of this sort have a delicacy, a lightness of touch, 
 that comes only of excellent taste. It is so fatally 
 easy in writing upon such matters, to be too much in 
 earnest, and to pass that line which separates well-bred 
 raillery and gossip from loud banter on the one side, 
 and preaching on the other. But Addison never loses 
 the graceful urbanity of a courteous Spectator. He 
 keeps you smiling, but he never laughs aloud ; and al- 
 though there is a deal of sense and goodness under the 
 bland humor of this kindly observer, yet he never bores 
 you with it. To read Addison's best papers is to take 
 a lesson in good manners as well as in good literature. 
 He has not the imagination, largeness, intensity, of 
 the greatest writers ; but he is certainly among the most 
 pleasing. A man who united in a very high degree 
 goodness and good-nature \ who did more than any 
 one else to popularize an English style at once familiar 
 and elegant ; who in a delightful variety of social satire 
 showed a grace, urbanity, and humor never since sur- 
 passed ; and who gave us at least one character, Sir 
 Roger de Coverley, as familiar to us as any other in 
 fiction, — this is the high praise that posterity accords 
 to Joseph Addison. 
 
READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 
 I. MR. SPECTATOR HIMSELF. 
 
 I have observed that a reader seldom peruses a 
 book with pleasure, until he knows whether the writer 
 of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric dis- 
 position, married or a bachelor, with other particulars 
 of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right 
 understanding of an author. To gratify this curiosity, 
 which is so natural to a reader, I design 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 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, ac- 
 cording to the tradition of the village where it lies, was 
 bounded by the same hedges and ditches in William 
 
12 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 the Conqueror's time that it is at present, and has 
 been delivered down from father to 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 when my mother 
 was gone with child of me about three months, she 
 dreamed that she was brought to bed 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 presaged any dignity that I should 
 arrive at in my future life, though that was the interpre- 
 tation which the neighborhood put upon it. The gravity 
 of my behavior at my very first appearance in the world, 
 and all the time that I sucked, 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 not make use of my coral until 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 during my nonage, I had the reputation of a very 
 sullen youth, but was always a favorite of my school- 
 master, who used to say that my parts were solid, and 
 would wear well. I had not been long at the university, 
 before I distinguished myself by a most profound 
 silence ; for during the space of eight years, excepting 
 in the public exercises of the college, I scarce uttered 
 the quantity of an hundred words ; and indeed do not 
 remember that I ever spoke three sentences together 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 1 3 
 
 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 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 after knowledge carried 
 me into all the countries of Europe, in which there was 
 any thing 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 anti- 
 quities 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 right in that particular, 
 returned to my native country with great satisfaction. 
 
 I have passed my latter years in this city, where I 
 am frequently seen in most public places, though there 
 are not above half a dozen of my select friends that 
 know me ; of whom my next paper shall give a more 
 particular account. There is no place of general re- 
 sort, wherein I do not often make my appearance. 
 Sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a round 
 of politicians at Will's, x and listening with great atten- 
 tion to the narratives that are made in those little 
 
 1 The coffee-houses mentioned here had each its distinctive character. 
 Will's was the resort of wits, and men of letters; Child's, of the clergy; St. 
 James's, of Whig politicians ; the Grecian, of scholars ; the Cocoa-tree, of Tory 
 politicians; and Jonathan's, of stock-jobbers. 
 
14 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 circular audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at 
 Child's, and, whilst 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 comes there 
 to hear and improve. My face is likewise very well 
 known at the Grecian, the Cocoa- tree, and in the thea- 
 tres both of Drury Lane and the Haymarket. 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 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. 
 Thus I live in the world rather as a spectator of 
 mankind, than as one of the species ; by which means 
 I have made myself a speculative statesman, soldier, 
 merchant, and artisan, without ever meddling with any 
 practical part in life. I am very well versed in the 
 theory of a husband or a father, and can discern the 
 errors in the economy, business, and diversion 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 neu- 
 trality between the Whigs and Tories, unless I shall be 
 forced to declare myself by the hostilities of either side. 
 In short, I have acted in all the parts of my life as a 
 looker-on, which is the character I intend to preserve 
 in this paper. 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 1 5 
 
 I have given the reader just so much of my history 
 and character as to let him see I am not altogether 
 unqualified 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 mean time, when I consider how much I have 
 seen, read, and heard, I begin to blame my own taci- 
 turnity ; and since I have neither time nor 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 a pity so many useful discov- 
 eries which I have made should be in the possession 
 of a silent man. For this reason, therefore, I shall 
 publish a sheet-full of thoughts every morning, 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 lived in vain. 
 
 There are three very material points which I have 
 not 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, my age, 
 and my lodgings. I must confess, I would gratify my 
 reader in any thing that is reasonable ; but as for these 
 three particulars, though I am sensible they might tend 
 very much to the embellishment of my paper, I can- 
 not yet come to a resolution of communicating them 
 to the public. They would indeed draw me out of that 
 
l6 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 obscurity which I have enjoyed for many years, and 
 expose me in public places to several salutes and civili- 
 ties 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 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 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 corre- 
 spond with me may direct their letters to The Specta- 
 tor, at Mr. Buckley's, in Little Britain. For I 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. — Spectator, No. I. 
 
 2. MR. SPECTATOR RECOMMENDS HIS PAPER. 
 
 It is with much satisfaction that I hear this great 
 city inquiring, day by day, after these my papers, and 
 receiving my morning lectures with a becoming seri- 
 ousness and attention. My publisher tells me that 
 there are already three thousand of them distributed 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. I? 
 
 every day ; so that, if I allow twenty readers to every 
 paper, which I look upon as a modest computation, 
 I may reckon about threescore thousand disciples in 
 London and Westminster, who I hope will take care 
 to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless herd of 
 their ignorant and unattentive brethren. Since I have 
 raised myself to so great an audience, I shall spare no 
 pains to make their instruction agreeable, and their 
 diversion useful. For which reasons I shall endeavor 
 to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with 
 morality, that my readers may, if possible, both ways 
 find their account in the speculation of the day. And 
 to the end that their virtue and discretion may not be 
 short, transient, intermitting starts of thought, I have 
 resolved to refresh their memories from day to day 
 till I have recovered them out of that desperate state 
 of vice and folly into which the age is fallen. The 
 mind that lies fallow but a single day sprouts up in 
 follies that are only to be killed by a constant and 
 assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates, that he 
 brought philosophy down from heaven to inhabit 
 among men ; and I shall be ambitious to have it said 
 of me, that I have brought philosophy out of closets 
 and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs 
 and assemblies, at tea-tables, and in coffee-houses. 
 
 I would therefore, in a very particular manner, rec- 
 ommend these my speculations to all well-regulated 
 families, that set apart an hour in every morning for 
 tea and bread and butter ; and would earnestly advise 
 them, for their good, to order this paper to be punc- 
 
1 8 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 tually served up, and to be looked upon as a part of 
 the tea-equipage. 
 
 Sir Francis Bacon observes, that a well-written book, 
 compared with its rivals and antagonists, is like Moses' 
 serpent, that immediately swallowed up and devoured 
 those of the Egyptians. I shall not be so vain as to 
 think that where The Spectator appears, the other pub- 
 lic prints will vanish : but shall leave it to my reader's 
 consideration, whether it is not much better to be let 
 into the knowledge of one's self, than to hear what 
 passes in Muscovy or Poland ; and to amuse ourselves 
 with such writings as tend to the wearing out of igno- 
 rance, passion, and prejudice, than such as naturally 
 conduce to inflame hatreds, and make enmities irrec- 
 oncilable. - 
 
 In the next place, I would recommend this paper to 
 the daily perusal of those gentlemen, whom I cannot 
 but consider as my good brothers and allies, I mean 
 the fraternity of spectators, who live in the world with- 
 out having any thing to do in it ; and either by the 
 affluence of their fortunes, or laziness of their disposi- 
 tions, have no other business with the rest of man- 
 kind but to look upon them. Under this class of men 
 are comprehended all contemplative tradesmen, titular 
 physicians, fellows of the Royal Society, Templars that 
 are not given to be contentious, and statesmen that 
 are out of business ; in short, every one that considers 
 the world as a' theatre, and desires to form a right 
 judgment of those who are the actors on it. 
 
 There is another set of men that I must likewise lay 
 
MR, SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 1 9 
 
 a claim to, whom I have lately called the blanks of 
 society, as being altogether unfurnished with ideas till 
 the business and conversation of the day has supplied 
 them. I have often considered these poor souls with 
 an eye of great commiseration, when I have heard 
 them asking the first man they have met with, whether 
 there was any news stirring ? and, by that means, gath- 
 ering together materials for thinking. These needy 
 persons do not know what to talk of till about twelve 
 o'clock in the morning; for, by that time, they are 
 pretty good judges of the weather, know which way 
 the wind sits, and whether the Dutch mail be come in. 
 As they lie at the mercy of the first man they meet, 
 and are grave or impertinent all the day long, accord- 
 ing to the notions which they have imbibed in the 
 morning, I would earnestly entreat them not to stir 
 out of their chambers till they have read this paper, 
 and do promise them that I will daily instil into them 
 such sound and wholesome sentiments as shall have 
 a good effect on their conversation for the ensuing 
 twelve hours. 
 
 But there are none to whom this paper will be more 
 useful than to the female world. I have often thought 
 there has not been sufficient pains taken in finding out 
 proper employments and diversions for the fair ones. 
 Their amusements seem contrived for them, rather as 
 they are women, than as they are reasonable creatures, 
 and are more adapted to the sex than to the species. 
 The toilet is their great scene of business, and the 
 right adjusting of their hair the principal employment 
 
20 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 of their lives. The sorting of a suit of ribbons is 
 reckoned a very good morning's work ; and if they 
 make an excursion to a mercer's or a toy-shop, so great 
 a fatigue makes them unfit for any thing else all the 
 day after. Their more serious occupations are sewing 
 and embroidery, and their greatest drudgery the prep- 
 aration of jellies and sweetmeats. This, I say, is the 
 state of ordinary women ; though I know there are 
 multitudes of those of a more elevated life and con- 
 versation, that move in an exalted sphere of knowledge 
 and virtue, that join all the beauties of the mind to 
 the ornaments of dress, and inspire a kind of awe and 
 respect, as well as love, into their male beholders. I 
 hope to increase the number of these by publishing 
 this daily paper, which I shall always endeavor to 
 make an innocent, if not an improving entertainment, 
 and by that means at least divert the minds of my 
 female readers from greater trifles. At the same time, 
 as I would fain give some finishing touches to those 
 which are already the most beautiful pieces of human 
 nature, I shall endeavor to point out all those imper- 
 fections that are the blemishes, as well as those virtues 
 which are the embellishments, of the sex. In the 
 mean while I hope these my gentle readers, who have 
 so much time on their hands, will not grudge throw- 
 ing away a quarter of an hour in a day on this paper, 
 since they may do it without any hinderance to busi- 
 ness. 
 
 I know several of my friends and well-wishers are 
 in great pain for me, lest I should not be able to keep 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 21 
 
 up the spirit of a paper which I oblige myself to fur- 
 nish every day ; but to make them easy in this partic- 
 ular, I will promise them faithfully to give it over as 
 soon as I grow dull. This I know will be matter of 
 great raillery to the small wits ; who will frequently 
 put me in mind of my promise, desire me to keep my 
 word, assure me that it is high time to give over, with 
 many other little pleasantries of the like nature, which 
 men of a little smart genius cannot forbear throwing 
 out against their best friends, when they have such a 
 handle given them of being witty. But let them re- 
 member that I do hereby enter my caveat against this 
 piece of raillery. — Spectator, No. 10. 
 
 3. THE CLUB DISCUSS THE PAPER. 
 
 The club of which I am a member is very luckily 
 composed 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 variety of hints and mate- 
 rials, and know every thing that passes in the different 
 quarters and divisions, not only of this great city, but 
 of the whole kingdom. My readers too have the sat- 
 isfaction to find, that there is no rank or degree among 
 them who have not their representative in this club, 
 and that there is always somebody present who will 
 take care of their respective interests, that nothing may 
 be written or published to the prejudice or infringe- 
 ment of their just rights and privileges. 
 
 I last night sat very late in company with this select 
 
22 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 body of friends, who entertained me with several re- 
 marks 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 told me, in the softest man- 
 ner he could, that there were some ladies (but for your 
 comfort, says Will, they are not those of the most wit) 
 that were offended at the liberties 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 points as the dress and equipage of persons of 
 quality, proper subjects for raillery. 
 
 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 declaring my generous 
 intentions to scourge vice and folly as they appear in 
 a multitude, without condescending to be a publisher 
 of particular intrigues. " In short," says Sir Andrew, 
 " if you avoid that foolish beaten road of falling upon 
 aldermen and citizens, and employ your pen upon the 
 vanity and luxury of courts, your 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 manner ; that the city had always been the prov- 
 ince for satire ; and that the wits of King Charles's 
 time jested upon nothing else during his whole reign. 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 2$ 
 
 He then showed, by the examples 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 
 he, " I think your raillery has made too great an ex- 
 cursion 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." 
 
 My good friend Sir Roger de Coverley, who had said 
 nothing 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. Spectator," applying 
 himself to me, " to take care how you meddle with 
 country squires : they are the ornaments of the Eng- 
 lish 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." 
 
 Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occa- 
 sion. What he said was only to commend my prudence 
 in not touching upon the army, and advised me to 
 continue to act discreetly in that point. 
 
 By this time I found every subject of my specula- 
 tions was taken away from me, by one or other of the 
 club ; and began to think 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 
 
24 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 picking out what each of them had an aversion to, 
 they left his head altogether bald and naked. 
 
 While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy 
 friend the clergyman, 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 exempted 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 those who are already depressed, and in some 
 measure turned into ridicule, by the meanness of their 
 conditions and circumstances. He afterwards pro- 
 ceeded 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 law, 
 and too fantastical for the cognizance, of the pulpit. 
 He then advised me to prosecute my undertaking with 
 cheerfulness ; 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 of this gentleman, and are drawn into what 
 he says as much by the candid ingenuous manner with 
 which he delivers himself, as by the strength of argu- 
 ment and force of reason which he makes use of. Will 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 2$ 
 
 Honeycomb immediately agreed, that what he had 
 said was right ; and that, for his part, 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 followed by Sir Roger and the captain ; who all 
 agreed that I should be at liberty to carry the war into 
 what quarter I pleased, provided I continued to com- 
 bat with criminals in a body, and to assault the vice 
 without hurting the person. 
 
 This debate which was held for the good of man- 
 kind put me in mind of that which the Roman trium- 
 virate were formerly engaged in for their destruction. 
 Every man at first stood hard for his friend, till they 
 found that by this means they should spoil their pro- 
 scription ; and at last, making a sacrifice of all their 
 acquaintance and relations, furnished out a very decent 
 execution. 
 
 Having thus taken my resolutions to march on 
 boldly in the 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 grows extravagant, I shall 
 reprimand him very freely : if the stage becomes a 
 nursery of folly and impertinence, I shall not be afraid 
 to animadvert upon it. In short, if I meet with any 
 thing in city, court, or country, that shocks modesty 
 or good manners, I shall use my utmost endeavors to 
 make an example of it. I must, however, entreat 
 
26 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 every particular person who does me the honor to be 
 a reader of this paper, never to think himself, 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. — Specta- 
 tor, No, 34. 
 
 4. THE HALFPENNY STAMP RAISES THE PRICE OF THE 
 SPECTATOR. 
 
 I find, by several letters which I receive daily, that 
 many of my readers would be better pleased to pay 
 three halfpence for my paper than twopence. 1 The 
 ingenious T. W. tells me that I have deprived him of 
 the best part of his breakfast, for that since the rise of 
 my paper he is forced every morning to drink his dish 
 of coffee by itself without the addition of " The Specta- 
 tor," that used to be better than lace to it. Eugenius 
 informs me very obligingly that he never thought he 
 should have disliked any passage in my paper, but that 
 of late there have been two words in every one of 
 them which he could heartily wish left out ; viz., " Price 
 Twopence." I have a letter from a soap-boiler, who 
 condoles with me very affectionately upon the neces- 
 
 1 On the 1st of August, 1712, a halfpenny stamp was imposed on "every 
 pamphlet or paper contained in a half-sheet or any lesser piece of paper." 
 This extinguished at once a considerable number of penny political journals: 
 it was the season of" the fall of the leaf," as Addison wittily said in his first 
 paper after the rise in price. All the other surviving journals raised their 
 price just the cost of the stamp; but The Spectator put on a whole penny, and 
 prospered more than ever. 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 2? 
 
 sity we both lie under of setting an higher price on our 
 commodities, since the late tax has been laid upon 
 them, and desiring me, when I write next on that sub- 
 ject, to speak a word or two upon the duties upon 
 Castle soap. But there is none of these my corre- 
 spondents, who writes with a greater turn of good sense 
 and elegance of expression, than the generous Philo- 
 medes, who advises me to value every " Spectator " at 
 sixpence, and promises that he himself will engage 
 for above a hundred of his acquaintance, who shall 
 take it in at that price. 
 
 Letters from the female world are likewise come to 
 me, in great quantities, upon the same occasion ; and 
 as I naturally bear a great deference to this part of 
 our species, I am very glad to find that those who 
 approve my conduct in this particular are much more 
 numerous than those who condemn it. A large family 
 of daughters have drawn me up a very handsome re- 
 monstrance, in which they set forth, that, their father 
 having refused to take in "The Spectator" since the ad- 
 ditional price was set upon it, they offered him unani- 
 mously to bate him the article of bread and butter in 
 the tea-table account, provided " The Spectator" might 
 be served up to them every morning as usual. Upon 
 this the old gentleman, being pleased it seems with their 
 desire of improving themselves, has granted them the 
 continuance both of " The Spectator " and their bread 
 and butter, having given particular orders that the tea- 
 table shall be set forth every morning with its custom- 
 ary bill of fare, and without any manner of defalcation. 
 
28 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 I thought myself obliged to mention this particular, 
 as it does honor to this worthy gentleman ; and if the 
 young lady Lsetitia, who sent me this account, will 
 acquaint me with his name, I will insert it at length 
 in one of my papers, if he desires it. 
 
 I should be very glad to find out any expedient 
 that might alleviate the expense which this my paper 
 brings to any of my readers ; and, in order to it, must 
 propose two points to their consideration. First, that 
 if they retrench any, tlfe smallest particular in their 
 ordinary expense, it will easily make up the halfpenny 
 a day which we have now under consideration. Let 
 a lady sacrifice but a single ribbon to her morning 
 studies, and it will be sufficient ; let a family burn but 
 a candle a night less than their usual number, and 
 they may take in " The Spectator " without detriment 
 to their private affairs. 
 
 In the next place, if my readers will not go to the 
 price of buying my papers by retail, let them have 
 patience, and they may buy them in the lump without 
 the burden of a tax upon them. My speculations, 
 when they are sold single like cherries upon the stick, 
 are delights for the rich and wealthy ; after some time 
 they come to market in greater quantities, and are 
 every ordinary man's money. The truth of it is, they 
 have a certain flavor at their first appearance, from 
 several accidental circumstances of time, place, and 
 person, which they may lose if they are not taken 
 early ; but in this case every reader is to consider, 
 whether it is not better for him to be half a year 
 
MR. SPECTATOR AND HIS PAPER. 29 
 
 behindhand with the fashionable and polite part of the 
 world, than to strain himself beyond his circumstances. 
 My bookseller has now about ten thousand of the third 
 and fourth volumes, which he has ready to publish, 
 having already disposed of as large an edition both of 
 the first and second volumes. As he is a person whose 
 head is very well turned for his business, he thinks 
 they would be a very proper present to be made to 
 persons at christenings, marriages, visiting-days, and 
 the like joyful solemnities, as several other books are 
 frequently given at funerals. He has printed them in 
 such a little portable volume, that many of them may 
 be ranged together upon a single plate ; and is of 
 opinion that a salver of " Spectators " would be as 
 acceptable an entertainment to the ladies, as a salver 
 of sweetmeats. — Spectator \ No. 488. 
 
30 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 II. 
 SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 
 5. THE TULIP MANIA. 1 
 
 I chanced to rise very early one particular morning 
 this summer, and took a walk into the country to di- 
 vert myself among the fields and meadows, while the 
 green was new, and the flowers in their bloom. As at 
 this season of the year every lane is a beautiful walk, 
 and every hedge full of nosegays, I lost myself with a 
 great deal of pleasure among several thickets and 
 bushes that were filled with a great variety of birds, 
 and an agreeable confusion of notes, which formed 
 the pleasantest scene in the world to me who had 
 passed a whole winter in noise and smoke. The fresh- 
 ness of the dews that lay upon every thing about me, 
 with the cool breath of the morning, which inspired 
 the birds with so many delightful instincts, created in 
 
 1 A little after the middle of the seventeenth century, there was a rage for 
 tulips in England. The bulbs were mostly grown in Holland, and sold for 
 fabulous prices. Dealing in them became a kind of speculation: and tulips 
 were bought and sold on the exchange, as stocks are now, without changing 
 hands at all. As much as a thousand pounds has been paid for a single tulip- 
 bulb. The Dutch government finally passed a law that no more than two 
 hundred francs (forty dollars) should be charged for one bulb. By the time 
 Addison was writing, the fever had much abated ; yet fancy varieties still 
 brought fancy prices, and it is probable the gardener did not much exaggerate 
 the cost of his dish of soup. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS, 3 1 
 
 me the same kind of animal pleasure, and made my 
 heart overflow with such secret emotions of joy and 
 satisfaction as are not to be described or accounted 
 for. On this occasion, I could not but reflect upon a 
 beautiful simile in Milton : — 
 
 "As one who long in populous city pent, 
 Where houses thick, and sewers, annoy the air, 
 Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breathe 
 Among the pleasant villages, and farms 
 Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight ; 
 The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, 
 Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound." 
 
 Those who are conversant in the writings of polite 
 authors receive an additional entertainment from the 
 country, as it revives in their memories those charming 
 descriptions with which such authors do frequently 
 abound. 
 
 I was thinking of the foregoing beautiful simile in 
 Milton, and applying it to myself, when I observed to 
 the windward of me a black cloud falling to the earth 
 in long trails of rain, which made me betake myself 
 for shelter to a house which I saw at a little distance 
 from the place where I was walking. As I sat in the 
 porch, I heard the voices of two or three persons, who 
 seemed very earnest in discourse. My curiosity was 
 . raised when I heard the names of Alexander the Great 
 and Artaxerxes ; and as their talk seemed to run on 
 ancient heroes, I concluded there could not be any 
 secret in it ; for which reason I thought I might very 
 fairly listen to what they said. 
 
32 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 After several parallels between great men, which 
 appeared to me altogether groundless and chimerical,/' 
 I was surprised to hear one say, " That he valued the 
 Black Prince more than the Duke of Vendosme." 
 How the Duke of Vendosme should become a rival 
 of the Black Prince's, I could not conceive ; and was 
 more startled, when I heard a second affirm with great 
 vehemence, "That if the Emperor of Germany was 
 not going off he should like him better than either of 
 them. ,, He added, " That though the season was so 
 changeable, the Duke of Marlborough was in bloom- 
 ing beauty." 
 
 I was wondering to myself from whence they had 
 received this odd intelligence, especially when I heard 
 them mention the names of several other great gen- 
 erals, as the Prince of Hesse, and the King of Sweden, 
 who, they said, were both running away. To which 
 they added, what I entirely agreed with them in, 
 " That the Crown of France was very weak, but that 
 the Marshal Villars still kept his colors." At last one 
 of them told the company, " If they would go along 
 with him, he would show them a Chimney Sweeper 
 and a Painted Lady in the same bed, which he was 
 sure would very much please them." The shower 
 which had driven them, as well as myself, into the 
 house, was now over ; and as they were passing by me 
 into the garden, I asked them to let me be one of their 
 company. 
 
 The gentleman of the house told me, " If I delighted 
 in flowers, it would be worth my while, for that he be- 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 33 
 
 lieved he could show me such a blow of tulips as was 
 not to be matched in the whole country." 
 
 I accepted the offer, and immediately found that 
 they had been talking in terms of gardening, and that 
 the kings and generals they had mentioned were only 
 so many tulips, to which the gardeners, according to 
 their usual custom, had given such high titles and 
 appellations of honor. 
 
 I was very much pleased and astonished at the glori- 
 ous show of these gay vegetables, that arose in great 
 profusion on all the banks about us. Sometimes I con- 
 sidered them, with the eye of an ordinary spectator, 
 as so many beautiful objects, varnished over with a 
 natural gloss, and stained with such a variety of colors 
 as are not to be equalled in any artificial dyes or tinc- 
 tures. Sometimes I considered every leaf as an elab- 
 orate piece of tissue, in which the threads and fibres 
 were woven together in different configurations, which 
 gave a different coloring to the light as it glanced on 
 the several parts of the surface. Sometimes I con- 
 sidered the whole bed of tulips, according to the 
 notion of the greatest mathematician and philosopher 
 that ever lived, as a multitude of optic instruments, 
 designed for the separating light into all those various 
 colors of which it is composed. 
 
 I was awakened out of these my philosophical spec- 
 ulations, by observing that the company often seemed 
 to laugh at me. I accidentally praised a tulip as one 
 of the finest I ever saw ; upon which they told me it 
 was a common Fool's-coat. Upon that I praised a 
 
34 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 second, which it seems was but another kind of Fool's- 
 coat. I had the same fate with two or three more ; 
 for which reason I desired the owner of the garden to 
 let me know which were the finest of the flowers, for 
 that I was so unskilful in the art, that I thought the 
 most beautiful were the most valuable, and that those 
 which had the gayest colors were the most beautiful. 
 The gentleman smiled at my ignorance : he seemed a 
 very plain, honest man, and a person of good sense, 
 had not his head been touched with that distemper 
 which Hippocrates calls the Tulippo- Mania, TvXltttto- 
 ixavia ; insomuch that he would talk very rationally on 
 any subject in the world but a tulip. He told me " That 
 he valued the bed of flowers which lay before us, and 
 was not above twenty yards in length, and two in 
 breadth, more than he would the best hundred acres 
 of land in England ; " and added, " That it would have 
 been worth twice the money it is, if a foolish cook- 
 maid of his had not almost ruined him the last winter, 
 by mistaking an handful of tulip-roots for an heap of 
 onions, and by that means (says he) made me a dish 
 of pottage that cost me above a thousand pounds 
 sterling." He then showed me what he thought the 
 finest of his tulips, which I found received all their 
 value from their rarity and oddness, and put me in 
 mind of your great fortunes, which are not always the 
 greatest beauties. 
 
 I have often looked upon it as a piece of happiness, 
 that I have never fallen into any of these fantastical 
 tastes, nor esteemed any thing the more for its being 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 35 
 
 uncommon and hard to be met with. For this reason 
 I look upon the whole country in springtime as a spa- 
 cious garden, and make as many visits to a sport of 
 daisies, or a bank of violets, as a florist does to his 
 borders and parterres. There is not a bush in blos- 
 som within a mile of me which I am not acquainted 
 with, nor scarce a daffodil or cowslip that withers 
 away in my neighborhood without my missing it. I 
 walked home in this temper of mind through several 
 fields and meadows with an unspeakable pleasure, not 
 without reflecting on the bounty of Providence, which 
 has made the most pleasing and most beautiful objects 
 the most ordinary and most common. — Tatler, No. 
 218. 
 
 6. SIGNIOR NICOLTNI AND THE LION IN THE OPERA. 
 
 There is nothing that of late years has afforded mat- 
 ter of greater amusement to the town than Signior 
 Nicolini's * combat with a lion in the Haymarket, which 
 has been very often exhibited to the general satisfac- 
 tion of most of the nobility and gentry in the kingdom 
 of Great Britain. Upon the first rumor of this in- 
 
 1 The Italian opera was a novel form of entertainment in the London of 
 1711, and Addison seems to have appreciated its absurdities and affectations 
 more than its music. Nicolini was the manager under whom for the first time 
 an opera was sung wholly in Italian on an English stage. Hydaspes, by Buo- 
 nocini, was produced in London in the winter of 1710-11. 
 
 " Hydaspes is a sort of profane Daniel, who, being thrown into an amphi- 
 theatre to be devoured by a lion, is saved, not by faith, but by love; the pres- 
 ence of his mistress among the spectators inspiring him with such courage, 
 that after appealing to the monster in a minor key, and telling him that he may 
 tear his bosom but cannot touch his heart, he attacks him in the relative major, 
 and strangles him." — Sutherland Edwards' History of the Opera. 
 
36 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 tended combat it was confidently affirmed, and is 
 still believed by many in both galleries, that there 
 would be a tame lion sent from the Tower every opera 
 night, in order to be killed by Hydaspes : this report, 
 though altogether groundless, so universally prevailed 
 in the upper regions of the playhouse, that some of 
 the most refined politicians in those parts of the audi- 
 ence gave it out in a whisper, that the lion was a 
 cousin-german of the tiger who made his appearance 
 in King William's days, and that the stage would be 
 supplied with lions at the public expense, during the 
 whole session. Many likewise were the conjectures 
 of the treatment which this lion was to meet with from 
 the hands of Signior Nicolini : some supposed that 
 he was to subdue him in recitativo, as Orpheus used 
 to serve the wild beasts in his time, and afterwards to 
 knock him on the head ; some fancied that the lion 
 would not pretend to lay his paws upon the hero, by 
 reason of the received opinion that a lion will not 
 hurt a virgin ; several, who pretended to have seen 
 the opera in Italy, had informed their friends that the 
 lion was to act a part in High Dutch, and roar twice 
 or thrice to a thorough-bass, before he fell at the feet 
 of Hydaspes. To clear up a matter that was so vari- 
 ously reported, I have made it my business to examine 
 whether this pretended lion is really the savage he 
 appears to be, or only a counterfeit. 
 
 But before I communicate my discoveries I must 
 acquaint the reader, that upon my walking behind the 
 scenes last winter, as I was thinking on something else, 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. ^7 
 
 I accidentally jostled against a monstrous animal that 
 extremely startled me, and, upon my nearer survey of 
 it, appeared to be a lion rampant. The lion, seeing 
 me very much surprised, told me, in a gentle voice, 
 that I might come by him if I pleased; "for," says 
 he, " I do not intend to hurt anybody." I thanked 
 him very kindly, and passed by him ; and, in a little 
 time after, saw him leap upon the stage, and act his 
 part with very great applause. It has been observed 
 by several, that the lion has changed his manner of 
 acting twice or thrice since his first appearance ; which 
 will not seem strange, when I acquaint my reader that 
 the lion has been changed upon the audience three 
 several times. The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who 
 being a fellow of a testy, choleric temper, overdid his 
 part, and would not suffer himself to be killed so easily 
 as he ought to have done ; besides, it was observed of 
 him, that he grew more surly every time he came out 
 of the lion ; and having dropt some words in ordinary 
 conversation, as if he had not fought his best, and 
 that he suffered himself to be thrown upon his back in 
 the scuffle, and that he would wrestle with Mr. Nico- 
 lini for what he pleased, out of his lion's skin, it was 
 thought proper to discard him ; and it is verily believed 
 to this day, that, had he been brought upon the stage 
 another time, he would certainly have done mischief. 
 Besides, it was objected against the first lion, that he 
 reared himself so high upon his hinder paws, and 
 walked in so erect a posture, that he looked more like 
 an old man than a lion. 
 
38 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 The second lion was a tailor by trade, who belonged 
 to the playhouse, and had the character of a mild and 
 peaceable man in his profession. If the former was 
 too furious, this was too sheepish, for his part ; inso- 
 much that after a short modest walk upon the stage, 
 he would fall at the first touch of Hydaspes, without 
 grappling with him, and giving him an opportunity of 
 showing his variety of Italian trips : it is said, indeed, 
 that he once gave him a rip in his flesh-color doublet, 
 but this was only to make work for himself in his 
 private character of a tailor. I must not omit that it 
 was this second lion who treated me with so much 
 humanity behind the scenes. 
 
 The acting lion at present is, as I am informed, a 
 country gentleman who does it for his diversion, but 
 desires his name may be concealed. He says very 
 handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act 
 for gain, that he indulges an innocent pleasure in it ; 
 and that it is better to pass away an evening in this 
 manner, than in gaming and drinking ; but at the same 
 time says, with a very agreeable raillery upon himself, 
 that, if his name should be known, the ill-natured world 
 might call him, The ass in the lion's skin. This gen- 
 tleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture 
 of the mild and the choleric, that he outdoes both his 
 predecessors, and has drawn together greater audiences 
 than have been known in the memory of man. 
 
 I must not conclude my narrative without taking 
 notice of a groundless report that has been raised, to 
 a gentleman's disadvantage of whom I must declare 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 39 
 
 myself an admirer ; namely, that Signior Nicolini and 
 the lion have been seen sitting peaceably by one 
 another and smoking a pipe together behind the 
 scenes ; by which their common enemies would insin- 
 uate, that it is but a sham combat which they represent 
 upon the stage : but upon inquiry, I find that, if any 
 such correspondence has passed between them, it was 
 not till the combat was over, when the lion was to be 
 looked upon as dead, according to the received rules 
 of the drama. Besides, this is what is practised every 
 day in Westminster Hall, where nothing is more usual 
 than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing 
 each other to pieces in the court, embracing one 
 another as soon as they are out of it. 
 
 I would not be thought, in any part of this relation, 
 to reflect upon Signior Nicolini, who in acting this part 
 only complies with the wretched taste of his audience. 
 He knows very well that the lion has many more ad- 
 mirers than himself; as they say of the famous eques- 
 trian statue on the Pont-Neuf at Paris, that more 
 people go to see the horse than the king who sits upon 
 it. On the contrary, it gives me a just indignation to 
 see a person whose action gives new majesty to kings, 
 resolution to heroes, and softness to lovers , thus sink- 
 ing from the greatness of his behavior, and degraded 
 into the character of the London 'prentice. I have 
 often wished that our tragedians would copy after this 
 great master in action. Could they make the same 
 use of their arms and legs, and inform their faces with 
 as significant looks and passions, how glorious would 
 
40 READINGS FPOM ADDISON. 
 
 an English tragedy appear with that action, which is 
 capable of giving a dignity to the forced thoughts, 
 cold conceits, and unnatural expressions of an Italian 
 opera ! In the mean time, I have related this combat 
 of the lion to show what are at present the reigning 
 entertainments of the politer part of Great Britain. 
 
 Audiences have often been reproached by writers 
 for the coarseness of their taste ; but our present griev- 
 ance does not seem to be the want of a good taste, 
 but of common-sense. — Spectator, No. ij. 
 
 7. PARTY PATCHES. 1 
 
 About the middle of last winter I went to see an 
 opera at the theatre in the Haymarket, where I could 
 not but take notice of two parties of very fine women, 
 that had placed themselves in the opposite side boxes, 
 and seemed drawn up in a kind of battle array one 
 against another. After a short survey of them, I 
 found they were patched differently ; the faces on one 
 hand being spotted on the right side of the forehead, 
 and those upon the other on the left. I quickly per- 
 ceived that they cast hostile glances upon one another, 
 and that their patches were placed in those different 
 situations as party signals to distinguish friends from 
 foes. In the middle boxes, between these two oppo- 
 site bodies, were several ladies who patched indiffer- 
 ently on both sides of their faces, and seemed to sit 
 
 1 This curious custom of sticking upon the face patches of paper of differ- 
 ent colors and shapes seems to have been introduced into England as early as 
 the reign of Charles I. in the seventeenth century, and to have been revived at 
 intervals until quite recent times. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 4 1 
 
 there with no other intention but to see the opera. 
 Upon inquiry I found that the body of amazons on 
 my right hand were Whigs, and those on my left 
 Tories ; and that those who had placed themselves in 
 the middle boxes were a neutral party, whose faces 
 had not yet declared themselves. These last, however, 
 as I afterwards found, diminished daily, and took 
 their party with one side or the other ; insomuch that 
 I observed in several of them, the patches, which were 
 before dispersed equally, are now all gone over to the 
 Whig or Tory side of the face. The censorious say 
 that the men, whose hearts are aimed at, are very 
 often the occasions that one part of the face is thus 
 dishonored, and lies under a kind of disgrace, while 
 the other is so much set off and adorned by the own- 
 ers ; and that the patches turn to the right or to the 
 left, according to the principles of the man who is 
 most in favor. But whatever may be the motives of a 
 few fantastical coquettes, who do not patch for the 
 public good so much as for their own private advan- 
 tage, it is certain that there are several women of 
 honor, who patch out of principle, and with an eye to 
 the interest of their country. Nay, I am informed 
 that some of them adhere so steadfastly to their party, 
 and are so far from sacrificing their zeal for the public 
 to their passion for any particular person, that in a late 
 draught of marriage articles a lady has stipulated with 
 her husband, that, whatever his opinions are, she shall 
 be at liberty to patch on which side she pleases. 
 
 I must here take notice that Rosalinda, a famous 
 
42 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 Whig partisan, has most unfortunately a very beautiful 
 mole on the Tory part of her forehead ; which, being 
 very conspicuous, has occasioned many mistakes, and 
 given an handle to her enemies to misrepresent her 
 face, as though it had revolted from the Whig interest. 
 But, whatever this natural patch may seem to intimate, 
 it is well known that her notions of government are 
 still the same. This unlucky mole, however, has mis- 
 led several coxcombs; and, like the hanging-out of 
 false colors, made some of them converse with Rosa- 
 linda in what they thought the spirit of her party, 
 when on a sudden she has given them an unexpected 
 fire, that has sunk them all at once. If Rosalinda is 
 unfortunate in her mole, Nigranilla is as unhappy in 
 a pimple, which forces her, against her inclinations, to 
 patch on the Whig side. 
 
 I am told that many virtuous matrons, who for- 
 merly have been taught to believe that this artificial 
 spotting of the face was unlawful, are now reconciled, 
 by a zeal for their cause, to what they could not be 
 prompted by a concern for their beauty. This way of 
 declaring war upon one another puts me in mind of what 
 is reported of the tigress, that several spots rise in her 
 skin when she is angry ; or, as Mr. Cowley has imitated 
 the verses that stand as the motto of this paper : — 
 
 She swells with angry pride, 
 And calls forth all her spots on every side. 
 
 When I was in the theatre the time above mentioned, 
 I had the curiosity to count the patches on both sides, 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 43 
 
 and found the Tory patches to be about twenty 
 stronger than the Whig ; but to make amends for this 
 small inequality, I the next morning found the whole 
 puppet-show filled with faces spotted after the Whig- 
 gish manner. Whether or no the ladies had retreated 
 hither in order to rally their forces, I cannot tell ; but 
 the next night they came in so great a body to the 
 opera, that they outnumbered the enemy. 
 
 This account of party patches will, I am afraid, ap- 
 pear improbable to those who live at a distance from 
 the fashionable world ; but as it is a distinction of a 
 very singular nature, and what perhaps may never meet 
 with a parallel, I think I should not have discharged 
 the office of a faithful Spectator, had not I recorded it. 
 
 I have, in former papers, endeavored to expose this 
 party rage in women, as it only serves to aggravate the 
 hatred and animosities that reign among men, and in 
 a great measure deprives the fair sex of those pecul- 
 iar charms with which nature has endued them. 
 
 When the Romans and Sabines were at war, and 
 just upon the point of giving battle, the women who 
 were allied to both of them interposed with so many 
 tears and entreaties, that they prevented the mutual 
 slaughter which threatened both parties, and united 
 them together in a firm and lasting peace. 
 
 I would recommend this noble example to our 
 British ladies at a time when their country is torn with 
 so many unnatural divisions, that, if they continue, it 
 will be a misfortune to be born in it. The Greeks 
 thought it so improper for women to interest them- 
 
44 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 selves in competitions and contentions, that for this 
 reason, among others, they forbade them under pain 
 of death to be present at the Olympic games, notwith- 
 standing these were the public diversions of all 
 Greece. 
 
 As our English women excel those of all nations in 
 beauty, they should endeavor to outshine them in all 
 other accomplishments proper to the sex, and to dis- 
 tinguish themselves as tender mothers and faithful 
 wives, rather than as furious partisans. Female vir- 
 tues are of a domestic turn. The family is the proper 
 province for private women to shine in. If they must 
 be showing their zeal for the public, let it not be 
 against those who are perhaps of the same family, or 
 at least of the same religion or nation, but against 
 those who are the open, professed, undoubted enemies 
 of their faith, liberty, and country. When the Romans 
 were pressed with a foreign enemy, the ladies volun- 
 tarily contributed all their rings and jewels to assist 
 the government under a public exigence ; which ap- 
 peared so laudable an action in the eyes of their 
 countrymen, that from thenceforth it was permitted by 
 a law to pronounce public orations at the funeral of a 
 woman in the praise of the deceased person, which till 
 that time was peculiar to men. Would our English 
 ladies, instead of sticking on a patch against those 
 of their own country, show themselves so truly public- 
 spirited as to sacrifice every one her necklace against 
 the common enemy, what decrees ought not to be 
 made in favor of them ! 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS, 45 
 
 Since I am recollecting upon this subject such pas- 
 sages as occur to my memory out of ancient authors, 
 I cannot omit a sentence in the celebrated funeral 
 oration of Pericles, in Thucydides, which he made in 
 honor of those brave Athenians that were slain in a 
 fight with the Lacedaemonians. After having addressed 
 himself to the several ranks and orders of his country- 
 men, and shown them how they should behave them- 
 selves in the public cause, he turns to the female part 
 of his audience : ' And as for you/ says he, i I shall 
 advise you in very few words : aspire only to those vir- 
 tues that are peculiar to your sex ; follow your natural 
 modesty, and think it your greatest commendation not 
 to be talked of one way or other." — Spectator, No. 
 81. 
 
 8. THE EXERCISE OF THE FAN. 
 
 I do not know whether to call the following letter 
 a satire upon coquettes, or a representation of their 
 several fantastical accomplishments, or what other title 
 to give it ; but as it is, I shall communicate it to the 
 public. It will sufficiently explain its own intentions, 
 so that I shall give it my readers at length, without 
 either preface or postscript. 
 
 Mr. Spectator, — Women are armed with fans, as men 
 with swords, and sometimes do more execution with them. To 
 the end therefore that ladies may be entire mistresses of the 
 weapon which they bear, I have erected an academy for the 
 training-up of young women in the " Exercise of the Fan," ac- 
 cording to the most fashionable airs and motions that are now 
 practised at court. The ladies who " carry " fans under me are 
 
46 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 drawn up twice a day in my great hall, where they are instructed 
 in the use of their arms, and exercised by the following words 
 of command*. — 
 
 " Handle your fans, 
 
 Unfurl your fans, 
 
 Discharge your fans, 
 
 Ground your fans, 
 
 Recover your fans, 
 
 Flutter your fans." 
 
 By the right observation of these few plain words of com- 
 mand, a woman of a tolerable genius, who will apply herself 
 diligently to her exercise for the space of but one half year, 
 shall be able to give her fan all the graces that can possibly 
 enter into that little modish machine. But to the end that my 
 readers may form to themselves a right notion of this exercise, 
 I beg leave to explain it to them in all its parts. When my 
 female regiment is drawn up in array, with every one her 
 weapon in her hand, upon my giving the word to "handle 
 their fan," each of them shakes her fan at me with a smile, 
 then gives her right-hand woman a tap upon the shoulder, then 
 presses her lips with the extremity of her fan, then lets her 
 arms fall in an easy motion, and stands in a readiness to receive 
 the next word of command. All this is done with a close fan, 
 and is generally learned in the first week. 
 
 The next motion is that of " unfurling the fan," in which are 
 comprehended several little flirts and vibrations, as also grad- 
 ual and deliberate openings, with many voluntary fallings asun- 
 der in the fan itself, that are seldom learned under a months 
 practice. This part of the exercise pleases the spectators more 
 than any other, as it discovers on a sudden an infinite number 
 of cupids, garlands, altars, birds, beasts, rainbows, and the like 
 agreeable figures, that display themselves to view, whilst every 
 one in the regiment holds a picture in her hand. 
 
 Upon my giving the word to "discharge their fans," they 
 give one general crack that may be heard at a considerable 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS, 47 
 
 distance when the wind sits fair. This is one of the most diffi- 
 cult parts of the exercise ; but I have several ladies with me 
 who at their first entrance could not give a pop loud enough 
 to be heard at the further end of a room, who can now " dis- 
 charge a fan " in such a manner that it shall make a report 
 like a pocket-pistol. I have likewise taken care (in order to 
 hinder young women from letting off their fans in wrong 
 places or unsuitable occasions) to show upon what subject the 
 crack of a fan may come in properly. I have likewise invented 
 a fan with which a girl of sixteen, by the help of a little wind, 
 which is enclosed about one of the largest sticks, can make as 
 loud a crack as a woman of fifty with an ordinary fan. 
 
 When the fans are thus " discharged," the word of command 
 in course is to "ground their fans." This teaches a lady 
 to quit her fan gracefully when she throws it aside in order to 
 take up a pack of cards, adjust a curl of hair, replace a falling 
 pin, or apply herself to any other matter of importance. This 
 part of the exercise, as it only consists in tossing a fan with an 
 air, upon a long table (which stands by for that purpose), may 
 be learned in two days' time as well as in a twelvemonth. 
 
 When my female regiment is thus disarmed, I generally let 
 them walk about the room for some time, when on a sudden 
 (like ladies that look upon their watches after a long visit) 
 they all of them hasten to their arms, catch them up in a hurry, 
 and place themselves in their proper stations, upon my calling 
 out, " Recover your fans ! " This part of the exercise is not 
 difficult, provided a woman applies her thoughts to it. 
 
 The " fluttering of the fan " is the last and indeed the mas- 
 terpiece of the whole exercise ; but if a lady does not mis- 
 spend her time, she may make herself mistress of it in three 
 months. I generally lay aside the dog-days and the hot time 
 of the summer for the teaching this part of the " exercise ; " 
 for as soon as ever I pronounce, " Flutter your fans," the 
 place is filled with so many zephyrs and gentle breezes as are 
 very refreshing in that season of the year, though they might 
 be dangerous to ladies of a tender constitution in any other. 
 
48 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 There is an infinite variety of motions to be made use of in 
 the " flutter of a fan : " there is the angry flutter, the modest flut- 
 ter, the timorous flutter, the confused flutter, the merry flutter, 
 and the amorous flutter. Not to be tedious, there is scarce any 
 emotion in the mind which does not produce a suitable agita- 
 tion in the fan ; insomuch, that, if I only see the fan of a dis- 
 ciplined lady, I know very well whether she laughs, frowns, or 
 blushes. I have seen a fan so very angry, that it would have 
 been dangerous for the absent lover who provoked it to have 
 come within the wind of it ; and at other times so very lan- 
 guishing, that I have been glad for the lady's sake the lover 
 was at a sufficient distance from it. I need not add, that a fan 
 is either a prude or coquette, according to the nature of the 
 person who bears it. To conclude my letter, I must acquaint 
 you that I have from my own observations compiled a little 
 treatise for the use of my scholars, entitled " The Passions of 
 the Fan ; " which I will communicate to you, if you think it may 
 be of use to the public. I shall have a general review on 
 Thursday next; to which you shall be very welcome if you 
 will honor it with your presence. 
 
 I am, etc. 
 
 P. S. I teach young gentlemen the whole act of gallanting 
 a fan. 
 
 N. B. I have several little plain fans made for this use, to 
 avoid expense. 
 
 9. THE HOOD. 
 
 One of the fathers, if I am rightly informed, has 
 denned a woman to be £aw <j>i\ok6o-/jlov, an animal 
 that delights in finery. I have already treated of the 
 sex in two or three papers, conformably to this defini- 
 tion ; and have in particular observed, that in all ages 
 they have been more careful than the men to adorn 
 that part of the head which we generally call the outside. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 49 
 
 This observation is so very notorious, that when in 
 ordinary discourse we say a man has a fine head, a 
 long head, or a good head, we express ourselves meta- 
 phorically, and speak in relation to his understanding ; 
 whereas, when we say of a woman, she has a fine, a 
 long, or a good head, we speak in relation to her 
 commode. 
 
 It is observed among birds, that Nature has lavished 
 all her ornaments upon the male, who very often 
 appears in a most beautiful headdress ; whether it be 
 a crest, a comb, a tuft of feathers, or a natural little 
 plume, erected like a kind of pinnacle on the very top 
 of the head. As Nature, on the contrary, has poured 
 out her charms in the greatest abundance upon the 
 female part of our species, so they are very assiduous 
 in bestowing upon themselves the finest garnitures 
 of art. The peacock, in all his pride, does not dis- 
 play half the colors that appear in the garments of a 
 British lady, when she is dressed either for a ball or 
 a birthday. 
 
 But to return to our female heads. The ladies have 
 been for some time in a kind of moulting season, with 
 regard to that part of their dress, having cast great 
 quantities of ribbon, lace, and cambric, and in some 
 measure reduced that part of the human figure to the 
 beautiful globular form which is natural to it. We 
 have for a great while expected what kind of orna- 
 ment would be substituted in the place of those anti- 
 quated commodes. But our female projectors were all 
 the last summer so taken up with the improvement 
 
SO READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 of their petticoats, that they had not time to attend to 
 any thing else ; but having at length sufficiently adorned 
 their lower parts, they now begin to turn their thoughts 
 upon the other extremity as well, remembering the old 
 kitchen proverb, "That if you light a fire at both ends, 
 the middle will shift for itself." 
 
 I am engaged in this speculation by a sight which I 
 lately met with at the opera. As I was standing in the 
 hinder part of the box, I took notice of a little cluster 
 of women sitting together in the prettiest colored 
 hoods that I ever saw. One of them was blue, another 
 yellow, and another philomot; the fourth was of a 
 pink color, and the fifth of a pale green. I looked 
 with as much pleasure upon this little party-colored 
 assembly, as upon a bed of tulips, and did not know 
 at first whether it might not be an embassy of Indian 
 queens ; but upon my going about into the pit, and tak- 
 ing them in front, I was immediately undeceived, and 
 saw so much beauty in every face, that I found them 
 all to be English. Such eyes and lips, cheeks and fore- 
 heads, could be the growth of no other country. The 
 complexion of their faces hindered me from observing 
 any further the color of their hoods, though I could 
 easily perceive by that unspeakable satisfaction which 
 appeared in their looks, that their own thoughts were 
 wholly taken up on those pretty ornaments they wore 
 upon their heads. 
 
 I am informed that this fashion spreads daily, inso- 
 much that the Whig and Tory ladies begin already to 
 hang out different colors, and to show their principles 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 5 1 
 
 in their headdress. Nay, if I may believe my friend 
 Will Honeycomb, there is a certain old coquette of 
 his acquaintance, who intends to appear very suddenly 
 in a rainbow hood, like the Iris in Dryden's Virgil, 
 not questioning but that among such a variety of 
 colors she shall have a charm for every heart. 
 
 My friend Will, who very much values himself upon 
 his great insights into gallantry, tells me that he can 
 already guess at the humor a lady is in by her hood, 
 as the courtiers of Morocco know the disposition of 
 their present emperor by the color of the dress which 
 he puts on. When Melesinda wraps her head in flame- 
 color, her heart is set upon execution. When she 
 covers it with purple, I would not, says he, advise her 
 lover to approach her ; but if she appears in white, it 
 is peace, and he may hand her out of her box with 
 safety. 
 
 Will informs me likewise, that these hoods may be 
 used as signals. Why else, says he, does Cornelia 
 always put on a black hood when her husband is gone 
 into the country? 
 
 Such are my friend Honeycomb's dreams of gallan- 
 try. For my own part, I impute this diversity of col- 
 ors in the hoods to the diversity of complexion in the 
 faces of my pretty countrywomen. Ovid, in his " Art 
 of Love," has given some precepts as to this particular ; 
 though I find they are different from those which pre- 
 vail among the moderns. He recommends a red 
 striped silk to the pale complexion, white to the 
 brown, and dark to the fair. On the contrary, my 
 
52 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 friend Will, who pretends to be a greater master in 
 this art than Ovid, tells me that the palest features 
 look the most agreeable in white sarcenet, that a face 
 which is over-flushed appears to advantage in the 
 deepest scarlet, and that the darkest complexion is 
 not a little alleviated by a black hood. In short, he 
 is for losing the color of the face in that of the hood, 
 as a fire burns dimly and a candle goes half out in the 
 light of the sun. This, says he, your Ovid himself has 
 hinted, when he treats of these matters, when he tells 
 us that the blue water-nymphs are dressed in sky- 
 colored garments; and that Aurora, who always ap- 
 pears in the light of the rising sun, is robed in saffron. 
 
 Whether these his observations are justly grounded, 
 I cannot tell ; but I have often known him, as we have 
 stood together behind the ladies, praise or dispraise 
 the complexion of a face which he never saw, from 
 observing the color of her hood, and has been very 
 seldom out in these his guesses. 
 
 As I have nothing more at heart than the honor 
 and improvement of the fair sex, 1 I cannot conclude 
 this paper without an exhortation to the British ladies, 
 that they would excel the women of all other nations 
 as much in virtue and good sense as they do in beauty, 
 which they may certainly do, if they will be as indus- 
 trious to cultivate their minds as they are to adorn 
 their bodies. In the mean while I shall recommend 
 
 1 Some of the Spectator's critics thought he harped rather too much on this 
 string. " I will not meddle with the Spectator," said Swift: " let him ' fair sex ' 
 it to the world's end." 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 53 
 
 to their most serious considerations the saying of an 
 old Greek poet, — 
 
 YwfklKl KO&JJLOS O T/307T09, KOV XP V(Tia ' 1 
 
 IO. A LADY'S LIBRARY. 
 
 Some months ago my friend Sir Roger, 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 her with my own hand. Accord- 
 ingly 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 readi- 
 ness to receive me. The very sound of a lady's library 
 gave me a great curiosity to see it ; and, as it was 
 some time before the lady came to me, I had an op- 
 portunity 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. The quartos 
 were separated from the octavos by a pile of smaller 
 vessels, which rose in a delightful pyramid. The 
 octavos were bounded by tea-dishes of all shapes, col- 
 ors, and sizes, which were so disposed on a wooden 
 frame, that they looked like one continued pillar in- 
 dented with the finest strokes of sculpture, and stained 
 with the greatest variety of dyes. That part of the 
 
 1 Manners, and not dress, are the ornament of woman. 
 
54 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 library which was designed for the reception of plays 
 and pamphlets, and other loose papers, was enclosed 
 in a kind of square, consisting of one of the prettiest 
 grotesque works that I ever saw, and made up of 
 scaramouches, lions, monkeys, mandarins, trees, shells, 
 and a thousand other odd figures in china-ware. In 
 the midst of the room was a little japan table, with a 
 quire of gilt paper upon it, and upon the paper a silver 
 snuff-box made in the shape of a little book. I found 
 there were several other counterfeit books upon the 
 upper shelves, which were carved in wood, and served 
 only to fill up the number, 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 I should fancy myself in a grotto or in a library. 
 
 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 these that follow : — 
 
 Ogleby's Virgil. 
 
 Dryden's Juvenal. 
 
 Cassandra. 
 
 Cleopatra. 
 
 Astraea. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton's works. 
 
 The Grand Cyrus ; with a pin stuck in one of the 
 middle leaves. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 55 
 
 Pembroke's Arcadia. 
 
 Locke on Human Understanding ; with a paper of 
 patches in it. 
 
 A spelling-book. 
 
 A dictionary for the explanation of hard words. 
 
 Sherlock upon Death. 
 
 The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony. 
 
 Sir William Temple's Essays. 
 
 Father Malbranche's Search after Truth, translated 
 into English. 
 
 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 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. 
 
 Baker's Chronicle. 
 
 Advice to a Daughter. 
 
 The New Atalantis, with a key to it. 
 
 Mr. Steele's Christian Hero. 
 
 A Prayer-book ; with a bottle of Hungary water by 
 the side of it. 
 
 Dr. Sacheverell's Speech. 
 
 Fielding's Trial. 
 
 Seneca's Morals. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living and Dying. 
 
56 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 La Ferte's Instructions for Country-dances. 
 
 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 Roger was in good health : I answered " Yes," for I 
 hate long speeches, and 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 children to take care of, and 
 leaves the management of her estate to my good friend 
 Sir Roger. But as the mind naturally 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 
 and retirement. She converses chiefly with men, as 
 she has often said herself, but it is only in their writ- 
 ings ; and admits of very few male visitants, except 
 my friend Sir Roger, whom she hears with great pleas- 
 ure, and without scandal. As her reading has lain 
 very much among romances, it has given her a very 
 particular turn of thinking, and discovers itself even in 
 her house, her gardens, and her furniture. Sir Roger 
 has entertained me an hour together with a description 
 of her country-seat, which is situated in a kind of wil- 
 derness, about an hundred miles distant from London, 
 and looks like a little enchanted palace. The rocks 
 about her are shaped into artificial grottos covered 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. S7 
 
 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 
 pebbles, and by that means taught to murmur very 
 agreeably. They are likewise collected into a beauti- 
 ful 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 
 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 
 Roger, that she sets so great a value upon her par- 
 tridges and pheasants as upon her larks and night- 
 ingales :*for she says that every 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 to herself, how much more valu- 
 able does she appear than those of her sex who em- 
 ploy themselves in diversions that are less reasonable, 
 though more in fashion ? What improvements would 
 a woman have made, who is so susceptible of impres- 
 sions from what she reads, had she been guided to such 
 books as have a tendency to enlighten the understand- 
 ing 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 
 
58 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 which I design 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 to give me their thoughts upon it. 
 — Spectator, No. J/. 
 
 II. PRIDE OF BIRTH. 
 
 Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and indeed the greatest 
 writers in almost every age, have exposed with all the 
 strength of wit and good sense, the vanity of a man's 
 valuing himself upon his ancestors, and endeavored to 
 show that true nobility consists in virtue, not in birth. 
 With submission, however, to so many great authori- 
 ties, I think they have pushed this matter a little too 
 far. We ought in gratitude to honor the posterity of 
 those who have raised either the interest or reputation 
 of their country, and by whose labors we ourselves are 
 more happy, wise, or virtuous than we should have 
 been without them. Besides, naturally speaking, a 
 man bids fairer for greatness of soul, who is the de- 
 scendant of worthy ancestors, and has good blood in 
 his veins, than one who is come of an ignoble and 
 obscure parentage. For these reasons, I think a man 
 of merit, who is derived from an illustrious line, is very 
 justly to be regarded more than a man of equal merit 
 who has no claim to hereditary honors. Nay, I think 
 those who are indifferent in themselves, and have noth- 
 ing else to distinguish them but the virtues of their 
 forefathers, are to be looked upon with a degree of 
 veneration even upon that account, and to be more 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 59 
 
 respected than the common run of men who are of 
 low and vulgar extraction. 
 
 After having thus ascribed due honors to birth and 
 parentage, I must, however, take notice of those who 
 arrogate to themselves more honors than are due to 
 them upon this account. The first are such who are 
 not enough sensible that vice and ignorance taint the 
 blood, and that an unworthy behavior degrades and 
 disennobles a man in the eyes of the world, as much 
 as birth and family aggrandize and exalt him. 
 
 The second are those who believe a new man of an 
 elevated merit is not more to be honored than an in- 
 significant and worthless man who is descended from 
 a long line of patriots and heroes ; or, in other words, 
 behold with contempt a person who is such a man as 
 the first founder of their family was, upon whose repu- 
 tation they value themselves. 
 
 But I shall chiefly apply myself to those whose qual- 
 ity sits uppermost in all their discourses and behavior. 
 An empty man of a great family is a creature that is 
 scarce conversible. You read his ancestry in his smile, 
 in his air, in his eyebrow. He has, indeed, nothing 
 but his nobility to give employment to his thoughts. 
 Rank and precedency are the important points which 
 he is always discussing within himself. A gentleman 
 of this turn began a speech in one of King Charles's 
 parliaments : " Sir, I had the honor to be born at a 
 time " — upon which a rough, honest gentleman took 
 him up short, " I would fain know what that gentleman 
 means : is there any one in this house that has not 
 
60 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 had the honor to be born as well as himself? " The 
 good sense which reigns in our nation has pretty well 
 destroyed this starched behavior among men who have 
 seen the world, and know that every gentleman will 
 be treated upon a foot of equality. But there are 
 many who have had their education among women, 
 dependents or flatterers, that lose all the respect which 
 would otherwise be paid them, by being too assiduous 
 in procuring it. 
 
 My Lord Froth has been so educated in punctilio, 
 that he governs himself by a ceremonial in all the ordi- 
 nary occurrences of life. He measures out his bow to 
 the degree of the person he converses with. I have 
 seen him in every inclination of the body, from a 
 familiar nod to the low stoop in the salutation-sign. I 
 remember five of us, who were acquainted with one 
 another, met together one morning at his lodgings, 
 when a wag of the company was saying, it would be 
 worth while to observe how he would distinguish us at 
 his first entrance. Accordingly he no sooner came into 
 the room, but, casting his eye about, " My lord such a 
 one (says he) your most humble servant. — Sir Richard, 
 your humble servant. — Your servant, Mr. Ironside. — 
 Mr. Ducker, how do you do? — Hah ! Frank, are you 
 there?" 
 
 There is nothing more easy than to discover a 
 man whose head is full of his family. Weak minds 
 that have imbibed a strong tincture of the nursery, 
 younger brothers that have been brought up to 
 nothing, superannuated retainers to a great house, 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 6l 
 
 have generally their thoughts taken up with little 
 else. 
 
 I had some years ago an aunt of my own, by name 
 Mrs. Martha Ironside, who would never marry beneath 
 herself, and is supposed to have died a maid in the 
 fourscorth year of her age. She was the chronicle of 
 our family, and passed away the greatest part of the 
 last forty years of her life in recounting the antiquity, 
 marriages, exploits, and alliances of the Ironsides. 
 Mrs. Martha conversed generally with a knot of old 
 virgins, who were likewise of good families, and had 
 been very cruel all the beginning of the last century. 
 They were every one of them as proud as Lucifer, but 
 said their prayers twice a day, and in all other respects 
 were the best women in the world. If they saw a fine 
 petticoat at church, they immediately took to pieces 
 the pedigree of her that wore it, and would lift up 
 their eyes to heaven at the confidence of the saucy 
 minx, when they found she was an honest tradesman's 
 daughter. It is impossible to describe the pious indig- 
 nation that would rise in them at the sight of a man 
 who lived plentifully on an estate of his own getting. 
 They were transported with zeal beyond measure, if 
 they heard of a young woman's matching into a great 
 family upon account only of her beauty, her merit, or 
 her money. In short, there was not a female within 
 ten miles of them that was in possession of a gold 
 watch, a pearl necklace, or a piece of Mechlin lace, 
 but they examined her title to it. My aunt Martha 
 used to chide me very frequently for not sufficiently 
 
62 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 valuing myself. She would not eat a bit all dinner- 
 time, if at an invitation she found she had been seated 
 below herself; and would frown upon me for an hour 
 together, if she saw me give place to any man under a 
 baronet. As I was once talking to her of a wealthy 
 citizen whom she had refused in her youth, she de- 
 clared to me with great warmth, that she preferred a 
 man of quality in his shirt to the richest man upon 
 the change in a coach and six. She pretended that 
 our family was nearly related by the mother's side to 
 half a dozen peers ; but as none of them knew any 
 thing of the matter, we always kept it as a secret among 
 ourselves. A little before her death, she was reciting 
 to me the history of my forefathers ; but dwelling a 
 little longer than ordinary upon the actions of Sir 
 Gilbert Ironside, who had a horse shot under him at 
 Edgehill fight, I gave an unfortunate pish / and asked, 
 "What was all this to me?" upon which she retired to 
 her closet, and fell a-scribbling for three hours together ; 
 in which time, as I afterwards found, she struck me 
 out of her will, and left all that she had to my sister 
 Margaret, a wheedling baggage, that used to be asking 
 questions about her great-grandfather from morning 
 to night. She now lies buried among the family of the 
 Ironsides, with a stone over her, acquainting the reader 
 that she died at the age of eighty years, a spinster, and 
 that she was descended of the ancient family of the 
 Ironsides ; after which follows the genealogy drawn up 
 by her own hand. — Guardian, No. ij/. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 6$ 
 
 12. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER. 
 
 I have received private advice from some of my 
 correspondents, that if I would give my paper a gen- 
 eral run I should take care to season it with scandal. 
 I have indeed observed of late, that few writings sell 
 which are not filled with great names and illustrious 
 titles. The reader generally casts his eye upon a new 
 book, and if he finds several letters separated from 
 one another by a dash, he buys it up, and peruses it 
 with great satisfaction. An Mand an h, a 7^ and an r, 
 with a short line between them, has sold many an in- 
 sipid pamphlet. Nay, I have known a whole edition 
 go off by virtue of two or three well- written Z^c's. 
 
 A sprinkling of the words " faction," " Frenchman," 
 "Papist," "plunderer," and the like significant terms, 
 in an Italic character, have also a very good effect 
 upon the eye of the purchaser ; not to mention " scrib- 
 bler," " liar," " rogue," "rascal," "knave," and "vil- 
 lain," without which it is impossible to carry on a 
 modern controversy. 
 
 Our party writers are so sensible of the secret virtue 
 of an innuendo to recommend their productions, that 
 
 of late they never mention the Q — n or P 1 at 
 
 length, though they speak of them with honor, and 
 with that deference which is due to them from every 
 private person. It gives a secret satisfaction to a 
 peruser of these mysterious works, that he is able to 
 decipher them without help, and by the strength of 
 his own natural parts to fill up a blank space, or 
 
64 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 make out a word that has only the first or last letter 
 to it. 
 
 Some of our authors indeed, when they would be 
 more satirical than ordinary, omit only the vowels of a 
 great man's name, and fall most unmercifully upon all 
 the consonants. This way of writing was first of all 
 introduced by T-m Br-wn, 1 of facetious memory, who, 
 after having gutted a proper name of all its interme- 
 diate vowels, used to plant it in his works, and make 
 as free with it as he pleased, without any danger of the 
 statute. 
 
 That I may imitate these celebrated authors, and 
 publish a paper which shall be more taking than ordi- 
 nary, I have here drawn up a very curious libel, in 
 which a reader of penetration will find a great deal 
 of concealed satire, and, if he be acquainted with the 
 present posture of affairs, will easily discover the mean- 
 ing of it. 
 
 " If there are four persons in the nation who en- 
 deavor to bring all things into confusion, and ruin their 
 native country, I think every honest Engl-shm-n ought 
 to be upon his guard. That there are such, every one 
 will agree with me who hears me name ****, with his 
 first friend and favorite ****, not to mention ****, 
 nor ****. These people may cry ch-rch, ch-rch, as 
 long as they please ; but to use a homely proverb, The 
 proof of the p-dd-ng is in the eating. This I am sure 
 of, that if a certain prince should concur with a certain 
 prelate (and we have Monsieur Z n's word for it), 
 
 1 Thomas Brown, a forgotten writer of Dryden's time. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 6$ 
 
 our posterity would be in a sweet p-ckle. Must the 
 British nation suffer forsooth, because my Lady Q-p-t-s 
 has been disobliged? Or is it reasonable that our 
 English fleet, which used to be the terror of the ocean, 
 
 should lie wind-bound for the sake of a ? I love 
 
 to speak out, and declare my mind clearly, when I am 
 talking for the good of my country. I will not make 
 
 my court to an ill man, though he were a B y or 
 
 a T 1. Nay, I would not stick to call so wretched 
 
 a politician a traitor, an enemy to his country, and a 
 bl-nd-rb-ss," etc., etc. 
 
 The remaining part of this political treatise, which 
 is written after the manner of the most celebrated au- 
 thors in Great Britain, I may communicate to the 
 public at a more convenient season. In the mean 
 while I shall leave this with my curious reader, as 
 some ingenious writers do their enigmas ; and if any 
 sagacious person can fairly unriddle it I will print his 
 explanation, and, if he pleases, acquaint the world 
 with his name. 
 
 I hope this short essay will convince my readers, it 
 is not for want of abilities that I avoid state-tracts, and 
 that, if I would apply my mind to it, I might in a little 
 time be as great a master of the political scratch as 
 any of the most eminent writers of the age. I shall 
 only add, that in order to outshine all the modern 
 race of Syncopists, and thoroughly content my Eng- 
 lish readers, I intend shortly to publish a " Spectator " 
 that shall not have a single vowel in it. — Spectator, 
 No. 567. 
 
66 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 13. COFFEE-HOUSE COMMENTS ON THE ABOVE LETTER. 
 
 I was yesterday in a coffee-house not far from the 
 Royal Exchange, where I observed three persons in 
 close conference over a pipe of tobacco ; upon which, 
 having filled one for my own use, I lighted it at the little 
 wax candle that stood before them, and, after having 
 thrown in two or three whiffs amongst them, sat down 
 and made one of the company. I need not tell my 
 reader, that lighting a man's pipe at the same candle 
 is looked upon among brother-smokers as an overture 
 to conversation and friendship. As we here laid our 
 heads together in a very amicable manner, being in- 
 trenched under a cloud of our own raising, I took up 
 the last " Spectator," and casting my eye over it, " 'The 
 Spectator/ " says I, " is very witty to-day ; " upon which 
 a lusty, lethargic old gentleman, who sat at the upper 
 end of the table, having gradually blown out of his 
 mouth a great deal of smoke, which he had been col- 
 lecting for some time before, " Ay," says he, " more 
 witty than wise, I am afraid." His neighbor who sat 
 at his right hand immediately colored, and, being an 
 angry politician, laid down his pipe with so much 
 wrath that he broke it in the middle, and by that 
 means furnished me with a tobacco-stopper. I took 
 it up very sedately, and, looking him full in the face, 
 made use of it from time to time all the while he was 
 speaking. " This fellow," says he, " can't for his life 
 keep out of politics. Do you see how he abuses four 
 great men here? " I fixed my eye very attentively on 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS, 6/ 
 
 the paper, and asked him if he meant those who were 
 represented by asterisks. " Asterisks," says he, " do 
 you call them? they are all of them stars. He might 
 as well have put garters to them. Then pray do but 
 mind the two or three next lines : ch-rch and p-dd-ng 
 in the same sentence ! our clergy are very much be- 
 holden to him." Upon this the third gentleman, who 
 was of a mild disposition, and, as I found, a Whig in 
 his heart, desired him not to be too severe upon " The 
 Spectator " neither ; " For," says he, " you find he is 
 very cautious of giving offence, and has therefore put 
 two dashes into his pudding." — " A fig for his dash ! " 
 says the angry politician. " In his next sentence he 
 gives a plain innuendo, that our posterity will be in a 
 sweet p-ckle. What does the fool mean by his pickle ? 
 Why does he not write it at length if he means hon- 
 estly ? " — "I have read over the whole sentence," says 
 I ; " but I look upon the parenthesis in the belly of it 
 to be the most dangerous part, and as full of insinua- 
 tions as it can hold. But who," says I, " is my Lady 
 Q-p-t-s? " — " Ay, answer that if you can, sir," says 
 the furious statesman to the poor Whig that sat over 
 against him. But without giving him time to reply, 
 " I do assure you," says he, " were I my Lady Q-p-t-s, 
 I would sue him for scandalum magnatum. What is 
 the world come to? Must everybody be allowed 
 
 to ? " He had by this time filled a new pipe, 
 
 and applying it to his lips, when we expected the last 
 words of his sentence, put us off with a whiff of to- 
 bacco ; which he redoubled with so much rage and 
 
68 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 trepidation that he almost stifled the whole company. 
 After a short pause I owned that I thought " The Spec- 
 tator " had gone too far in writing so many letters of 
 my Lady Q-p-t-s's name ; " But, however," says I, 
 " he has made a little amends for it in his next sen- 
 tence, where he leaves a blank space without so much 
 as a consonant to direct us. I mean," says I, " after 
 those words, ' the fleet, that used to be the terror of 
 the ocean, should be wind-bound for the sake of a 
 ' ; after which ensues a chasm, that in my opin- 
 ion looks modest enough. " — " Sir," says my antago- 
 nist, " you may easily know his meaning by his gaping : 
 I suppose he designs his chasm, as you call it, for a 
 hole to creep out at; but I believe it will hardly 
 serve his turn. Who can endure to see the great 
 
 officers of state, the B ys and T ts, treated 
 
 after so scurrilous a manner? " — "I can't imagine," 
 says I, "who they are 'The Spectator' means." — 
 " No ? " says he, — " your humble servant, sir ! " Upon 
 which he flung himself back in his chair after a con- 
 temptuous manner, and smiled upon the old lethargic 
 gentleman on his left hand, who I found was his great 
 admirer. The Whig, however, had begun to conceive 
 a good will towards me, and, seeing my pipe out, very 
 generously offered me the use of his box ; but I de- 
 clined it with great civility, being obliged to meet a 
 friend about that time in another quarter of the city. 
 
 At my leaving the coffee-house, I could not forbear 
 reflecting with myself upon that gross tribe of fools 
 who may be termed the over-wise, and upon the difli- 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 69 
 
 culty of writing any thing in this censorious age, which 
 a weak head may not construe into private satire and 
 personal reflection. 
 
 A man who has a good nose at an innuendo smells 
 treason and sedition in the most innocent words that 
 can be put together, and never sees a vice or folly stig- 
 matized, but finds out one or other of his acquaint- 
 ance pointed at by the writer. I remember an empty 
 pragmatical fellow in the country, who, upon reading 
 over "The Whole Duty of Man," l had written the 
 names of several persons in the village at the side of 
 every sin which is mentioned by that excellent author ; 
 so that he had converted one of the best books in the 
 world into a libel against the squire, church-wardens, 
 overseers of the poor, and all other the most consid- 
 erable persons in the parish. This book, with these 
 extraordinary marginal notes, fell accidentally into the 
 hands of one who had never seen it before; upon 
 which there arose a current report that somebody had 
 written a book against the squire, and the whole parish. 
 The minister of the place, having at that time a con- 
 troversy with some of his congregation upon the 
 account of his tithes, was under some suspicion of 
 being the author, until the good man set his people 
 right, by showing them that the satirical passages might 
 be applied to several others of two or three neighbor- 
 ing villages, and that the book was writ against all the 
 sinners in England. — Spectator, No. 368. 
 
 1 A very popular religious book, first published in 1660. It went through 
 several editions, and was widely read, but to this day its author is unknown. 
 
JO READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 14. THE ROYAL EXCHANGE. 
 
 There is no place in the town which I so much 
 love to frequent as the Royal Exchange. It gives me 
 a secret satisfaction, and, in some measure, gratifies 
 my vanity, as I am an Englishman, to see so rich an 
 assembly of countrymen and foreigners consulting to- 
 gether upon the private business of mankind, and mak- 
 ing this metropolis a kind of emporium for the whole 
 earth. I must confess I look upon High Change to 
 be a great council, in which all considerable nations 
 have their representatives. Factors in the trading 
 world are what ambassadors are in the politic world : 
 they negotiate affairs, conclude treaties, and maintain 
 a good correspondence between those wealthy socie- 
 ties of men that are divided from one another by seas 
 and oceans, or live on the different extremities of a 
 continent. I have often been pleased to hear disputes 
 adjusted between an inhabitant of Japan and an alder- 
 man of London, or to see a subject of the Great Mogul 
 entering into a league with one of the Czar of Mus- 
 covy. I am infinitely delighted in mixing with these 
 several ministers of commerce, as they are distin- 
 guished by their different walks and different lan- 
 guages. Sometimes I am jostled among a body of 
 Armenians ; sometimes I am lost in a crowd of Jews ; 
 and sometimes make one in a group of Dutchmen. I 
 am a Dane, Swede, or Frenchman, at different times ; 
 or rather fancy myself like the old philosopher, who, 
 upon being asked what countryman he was, replied 
 that he was a citizen of the world. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. J\ 
 
 Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude 
 of people, I am known to nobody there but my friend 
 Sir Andrew, who often smiles upon me as he sees me 
 bustling in the crowd, but at the same time connives 
 at my presence without taking any further notice of 
 me. There is indeed a merchant of Egypt who just 
 knows me by sight, having formerly remitted me some 
 money to Grand Cairo ; but as I am not versed in the 
 modern Coptic, our conferences go no further than a 
 bow and a grimace. 
 
 This grand scene of business gives me an infinite 
 variety of solid and substantial entertainments. As I 
 am a great lover of mankind, my heart naturally over- 
 flows with pleasure at the sight of a prosperous and 
 happy multitude, insomuch that at many public so- 
 lemnities I cannot forbear expressing my joy with tears 
 that have stolen down my cheeks. For this reason I 
 am wonderfully delighted to see such a body of men 
 thriving in their own private fortunes, and at the same 
 time promoting the public stock ; or, in other words, 
 raising estates for their own families, by bringing into 
 their own country whatever is wanting, and carrying 
 out of it whatever is superfluous. 
 
 Nature seems to have taken a particular care to dis- 
 seminate her blessings among the different regions of 
 the world, with an eye to this mutual intercourse and 
 traffic among mankind, that the natives of the several 
 parts of the globe might have a kind of dependence 
 upon one another, and be united together by their 
 common interest. Almost every degree produces some- 
 
J2 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 thing peculiar to it. The food often grows in one coun- 
 try, and the sauce in another. The fruits of Portugal 
 are corrected by the products of Barbadoes, the in- 
 fusion of a China plant sweetened with the pith of an 
 Indian cane. The Philippine Islands give a flavor to 
 our European bowls. The single dress of a woman 
 of quality is often the product of an hundred climates. 
 The muff and the fan come together from the different 
 ends of the earth. The scarf is sent from the torrid 
 zone, and the tippet from beneath the pole. The 
 brocade petticoat rises out of the mines of Peru, and 
 the diamond necklace out of the bowels of Indostan. 
 If we consider our own country in its natural pros- 
 pect, without any of the benefits and advantages of 
 commerce, what a barren, uncomfortable spot of earth 
 falls to our share ! Natural historians tell us, that no 
 fruit grows originally among us, besides hips and haws, 
 acorns and pig-nuts, with other delicacies of the like 
 nature ; that our climate of itself, and without the assist- 
 ances of art, can make no further advances towards a 
 plum than to a sloe, and carries an apple to no greater 
 perfection than a crab ; that our melons, our peaches, 
 our figs, our apricots and cherries, are strangers among 
 us, imported in different ages, and naturalized in our 
 English gardens ; and that they would all degenerate 
 and fall away into the trash of our own country, if they 
 were wholly neglected by the planter, and left to the 
 mercy of our sun and soil. Nor has traffic more en- 
 riched our vegetable world, than it has improved the 
 whole face of nature among us. Our ships are laden 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 7$ 
 
 with the harvest of every climate ; our tables are 
 stored with spices, and oils, and wines; our rooms 
 are filled with pyramids of china, and adorned with 
 the workmanship of Japan ; our morning's draught 
 comes to us from the remotest corners of the earth ; 
 we repair our bodies by the drugs of America, and 
 repose ourselves under Indian canopies. My friend 
 Sir Andrew calls the vineyards of France our gardens ; 
 the Spice Islands, our hot-beds ; the Persians, our silk- 
 weavers ; and the Chinese, our potters. Nature in- 
 deed furnishes us with the bare necessaries of life ; but 
 traffic gives us a great variety of what is useful, and at 
 the same time supplies us with every thing that is con- 
 venient and ornamental. Nor is it the least part of this 
 our happiness, that, whilst we enjoy the remotest prod- 
 ucts of the North and South, we are free from those 
 extremities of weather which give them birth; that 
 our eyes are refreshed with the green fields of Britain, 
 at the same time that our palates are feasted with fruits 
 that rise between the tropics. 
 
 For these reasons there are not more useful mem- 
 bers in a commonwealth than merchants. They knit 
 mankind together in a mutual intercourse of good 
 offices, distribute the gifts of nature, find work for the 
 poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnificence to the 
 great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his 
 own country into gold, and exchanges his wool for ru- 
 bies. The Mahometans are clothed in our British 
 manufacture, and the inhabitants of the frozen zone 
 warmed with the fleeces of our sheep. 
 
74 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 When I have been upon the Change, I have often 
 fancied one of our old kings standing in person, where 
 he is represented in effigy, 1 and looking down upon 
 the wealthy concourse of people with which that place 
 is every day filled. In this case, how would he be sur- 
 prised to hear all the languages of Europe spoken in 
 this little spot of his former dominions, and to see so 
 many private men, who in his time would have been 
 the vassals of some powerful baron, negotiating like 
 princes for greater sums of money than were formerly 
 to be met with in the royal treasury ! Trade, without 
 enlarging the British territories, has given us a sort of 
 additional empire ; it has multiplied the number of the 
 rich, made our landed estates infinitely more valuable 
 than they were formerly, and added to them the ac- 
 cession of other estates as valuable as the lands them- 
 selves. — Spectator, No. 6g. 
 
 15. WILL HONEYCOMB, THE MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 My friend Will Honeycomb values himself very 
 much upon what he calls the knowledge of mankind, 
 which has cost him many disasters in his youth ; for 
 Will reckons every misfortune that he has met with 
 among the women, and every rencounter among the 
 men, as parts of his education, and fancies he should 
 never have been the man he is, had he not broke 
 windows, knocked down constables, disturbed honest 
 people with his midnight serenades, and beat up 
 
 1 The statues of the English kings stood in niches on the old Exchange 
 Building. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. J$ 
 
 Phryne's quarters, when he was a young fellow. The 
 engaging in adventures of this nature, Will calls the 
 studying of mankind, and terms this knowledge of the 
 town, the knowledge of the world. Will ingenuously 
 confesses, that for half his life his head ached every 
 morning with reading of men over night ; and at pres- 
 ent comforts himself under sundry infirmities with the 
 reflection that without them he could not have been 
 acquainted with the gallantries of the age. This Will 
 looks upon as the learning of a gentleman, and regards 
 all other kinds of science as the accomplishments of 
 one whom he calls a scholar, a bookish man, or a 
 philosopher. 
 
 For these reasons Will shines in a mixed company, 
 where he has the discretion not to go out of his depth, 
 and has often a certain way of making his real ignor- 
 ance appear a seeming one. Our club, however, has 
 frequently caught him tripping, at which times they 
 never spare him. For as Will often insults us with the 
 knowledge of the town, we sometimes take our revenge 
 upon him by our knowledge of books. 
 
 He was last week producing two or three letters 
 which he writ in his youth to a coquette lady. The 
 raillery of them was natural, and well enough for a 
 mere man of the town ; but very unluckily, several of 
 the words were wrong spelt. Will laughed this off at 
 first as well as he could ; but finding himself pushed 
 on all sides, and especially by the Templar, he told us 
 with a little passion that he never liked pedantry in 
 spelling, and that he spelt like a gentleman and not 
 
y6 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 like a scholar : upon this Will had recourse to his old 
 topic of showing the narrow-spiritedness, the pride 
 and ignorance, of pedants ; which he carried so far, 
 that, upon my retiring to my lodgings, I could not 
 forbear throwing together such reflections as occurred 
 to me upon that subject. 
 
 A man who has been brought up among books, and 
 is able to talk of nothing else, is a very indifferent 
 companion, and what we call a pedant. But, me- 
 thinks, we should enlarge the title, and give it to every 
 one that does not know how to think out of his pro- 
 fession and particular way of life. 
 
 What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the 
 town? Bar him the play-houses, a catalogue of the 
 reigning beauties, and an account of a few fashionable 
 distemper sthat have befallen him, and you strike him 
 dumb. How many a pretty gentleman's knowledge 
 lies all within the verge of the court ! He will tell you 
 the names of the principal favorites, repeat the shrewd 
 sayings of a man of quality, whisper an intrigue that is 
 not yet blown upon by common fame ; or, if the 
 sphere of his observation is a little larger than ordi- 
 nary, will -perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns, 
 and revolutions in a game of ombre. When he has gone 
 thus far, he has shown you the whole circle of his 
 accomplishments, his parts are drained, and he is dis- 
 abled from any further conversation. What are these 
 but rank pedants? and yet these are the men who 
 value themselves most on their exemption from the 
 pedantry of colleges. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. JJ 
 
 I might here mention the military pedant, who 
 always talks in a camp, and is storming towns, making 
 lodgements, and fighting battles from one end of the 
 year to the other. Every thing he speaks smells of 
 gunpowder: if you take away his artillery from him, 
 he has not a word to say for himself. I might like- 
 wise mention the law pedant, that is perpetually put- 
 ting cases, repeating the transactions of Westminster 
 Hall, wrangling with you upon the most indifferent 
 circumstances of life, and not to be convinced of the 
 distance of a place, or of the most trivial point in con- 
 versation, but by dint of argument. The state pedant 
 is wrapped up in news, and lost in politics. If you 
 mention either of the kings of Spain or Poland, he 
 talks very notably ; but if you go out of the Gazette, 
 you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, a mere sol- 
 dier, a mere scholar, a mere any thing, is an insipid 
 pedantic character, and equally ridiculous. 
 
 Of all the species of pedants which I have men- 
 tioned, the book pedant is much the most support- 
 able : he has at least an exercised understanding, and 
 a head which is full though confused, so that a man 
 who converses with him may often receive from him 
 hints of things that are worth knowing, and what he 
 may possibly turn to his own advantage, though they 
 are of little use to the owner. The worst kind of 
 pedants among learned men are such as are naturally 
 endowed with a very small share of common-sense, 
 and have read a great number of books without taste 
 or distinction. 
 
78 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 The truth of it is, learning, like travelling, and all 
 other methods of improvement, as it finishes good 
 sense, so it makes a silly man ten thousand times more 
 insufferable, by supplying variety of matter to his im- 
 pertinence, and giving him an opportunity of abound- 
 ing in absurdities. 
 
 Shallow pedants cry up one another much more 
 than men of solid and useful learning. To read the 
 titles they give an editor, or collator of a manuscript, 
 you would take him for the glory of the commonwealth 
 of letters, and the wonder of his age ; when perhaps 
 upon examination you find that he has only rectified a 
 Greek particle, or laid out a whole sentence in proper 
 commas. 
 
 They are obliged indeed to be thus lavish of their 
 praises, that they may keep one another in counte- 
 nance ; and it is no wonder if a great deal of knowl- 
 edge, which is not capable of making a man wise, has 
 a natural tendency to make him vain and arrogant. 
 — Spectator, No. ioj. 
 
 l6. WILL HONEYCOMB MARRIED. 
 
 It is very usual for those who have been severe 
 upon marriage, in some part or other of their lives to 
 enter into the fraternity which they have ridiculed, and 
 to see their raillery return upon their own heads. I 
 scarce ever knew a woman-hater that did not sooner 
 or later pay for it. Marriage, which is a blessing to 
 another man, falls upon such a one as a judgment. 
 Mr. Congreve's "Old Bachelor" is set forth to us 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 79 
 
 with much wit and humor as an example of this kind. 
 In short, those who have most distinguished them- 
 selves by railing at the sex in general, very often make 
 an honorable amends by choosing one of the most 
 worthless persons of it for a companion and yoke- 
 fellow. Hymen takes his revenge in kind, on those 
 who turn his mysteries into ridicule. 
 
 My friend Will Honeycomb, who was so unmerci- 
 fully witty upon the women, in a couple of letters l 
 which I lately communicated to the public, has given 
 the ladies ample satisfaction by marrying a farmer's 
 daughter ; a piece of news which came to our club by 
 the last post. The Templar is very positive that he 
 has married a dairy- maid ; but Will, in his letter to me 
 on this occasion, sets the best face upon the matter 
 that he can, and gives a more tolerable account of his 
 spouse. I must confess I suspected something more 
 than ordinary, when upon opening the letter I found 
 that Will was fallen off from his former gayety, having 
 changed Dear Spec, which was his usual salute at the 
 beginning of the letter, into My worthy friend, and 
 subscribed himself at the latter end of it, at full length, 
 William Honeycomb. In short, the gay, the loud, the 
 vain Will Honeycomb, who had made love to every 
 great fortune that has appeared in town for above 
 thirty years together, and boasted of favors from ladies 
 whom he had never seen, is at length wedded to a 
 plain country girl. 
 
 His letter gives us the picture of a converted rake. 
 
 1 Spectator, Nos. 409, 511; not included in this volume. 
 
80 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 The sober character of the husband is dashed with the 
 man of the town, and enlivened with those little cant 
 phrases which have made my friend Will often thought 
 very pretty company. But let us hear what he says 
 for himself. 
 
 My Worthy Friend. 
 
 I question not but you, and the rest of my acquaintance, 
 wonder that I, who have lived in the smoke and gallantries of 
 the town for thirty years together, should all on a sudden grow 
 fond of a country life. Had not my dog of a steward run 
 away as he did, without making up his accounts, I had still 
 been immersed in sin and sea-coal. x But since my late forced 
 visit to my estate, I am so pleased with it, that I am resolved 
 to live and die upon it. I am every day abroad among my 
 acres, and can scarce forbear filling my letter with breezes, 
 shades, flowers, meadows, and purling streams. The simpli- 
 city of manners which I have heard you so often speak of, and 
 which appears here in perfection, charms me wonderfully. As 
 an instance of it, I must acquaint you, and by your means the 
 whole club, that I have lately married one of my tenants' 
 daughters. She is born of honest parents, and though she has 
 no portion she has a great deal of virtue. The natural sweet- 
 ness and innocence of her behavior, the freshness of her com- 
 plexion, the unaffected turn of her shape and person, shot me 
 through and through every time I saw her, and did more execu- 
 tion upon me in grogram than the greatest beauty in town or 
 court had ever done in brocade. In short, she is such a one 
 as promises me a good heir to my estate ; and if by her means 
 I cannot leave to my children what are falsely called the gifts 
 of birth, high titles and alliances, I hope to convey to them 
 the more real and valuable gifts of birih, strong bodies and 
 healthy constitutions. As for your fine women, I need not tell 
 thee that I know them. I have had my share in their graces, 
 1 Spectator, Nos. 409, 511; not included in this volume. 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS, 8 1 
 
 but no more of that. It shall be my business hereafter to live 
 the life of an honest man, and to act as becomes the master 
 of a family. I question not but I shall draw upon me the rail- 
 lery of the town, and be treated to the tune of The Marriage- 
 hater matched; 1 but I am prepared for it. I have been as 
 witty upon others in my time. To tell thee truly, I saw such a 
 tribe of fashionable young fluttering coxcombs shot up, that I 
 did not think my post of an homme de ruelle any longer tenable. 
 I felt a certain stiffness in my limbs, which entirely destroyed 
 that jauntiness of air I was once master of. Besides, for I may 
 now confess my age to thee, I have been eight and forty above 
 these twelve years. Since my retirement into the country will 
 make a vacancy in the club, I could wish you would fill up my 
 place with my friend Tom Dapperwit. He has an infinite deal 
 of fire, and knows the town. For my own part, as I have said 
 before, I shall endeavor to live hereafter suitable to a man in 
 my station, as a prudent head of a family, a good husband, a 
 careful father (when it shall so happen), and as 
 
 Your most sincere friend and humble servant, 
 
 William Honeycomb. 
 Spectator, No, jjo. 
 
 17. THE TORY FOX-HUNTER. 
 
 For the honor of his Majesty, and the safety of his 
 government, we cannot but observe, that those who 
 have appeared the greatest enemies to both are of that 
 rank of men who are commonly distinguished by the 
 title of Fox-hunters, As several of these have had no 
 part of their education in cities, camps, or courts, it is 
 doubtful whether they are of greater ornament or use 
 to the nation in which they live. It would be an ever- 
 lasting reproach to politics, should such men be able 
 
 1 A forgotten comedy, by Thomas Durfey. 
 
82 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 to overturn an establishment which has been formed 
 by the wisest laws, and is supported by the ablest heads. 
 The wrong notions and prejudices which cleave to 
 many of these country gentlemen, who have always 
 lived out of the way of being better informed, are 
 not easy to be conceived by a person who has never 
 conversed with them. 
 
 That I may give my readers an image of these rural 
 statesmen, I shall, without further preface, set down 
 an account of a discourse I chanced to have with one 
 of them some time ago. I was travelling towards 
 one of the remotest parts of England, when, about three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, seeing a country gentleman 
 trotting before me with a spaniel by his horse's side, I 
 made up to him. Our conversation opened, as usual, 
 upon the weather ; in which we were very unanimous, 
 having both agreed that it was too dry for the season of 
 the year. My fellow-traveller, upon this, observed to 
 me, that there had been no good weather since the 
 Revolution. 
 
 I was a little startled at so extraordinary a remark, 
 but would not interrupt him until he proceeded to 
 tell me of the fine weather they used to have in King 
 Charles the Second's reign. I only answered that I 
 did not see how the badness of the weather could be 
 the king's fault; and, without waiting for his reply, 
 asked him whose house it was we saw upon a rising 
 ground at a little distance from us. He told me that 
 it belonged to an old fanatical cur, Mr. Such-a-one. 
 "You must have heard of him," says he: " he's one 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS, 83 
 
 of the Rump." I knew the gentleman's character 
 upon hearing his name, but assured him that to my 
 knowledge he was a good Churchman. "Ay!" says 
 he, with a kind of surprise. "We were told in the 
 country that he spoke twice in the queen's time against 
 taking off the duties upon French claret." 
 
 This naturally led us into the proceedings of late 
 parliaments, upon which occasion he affirmed roundly, 
 that there had not been one good law passed since 
 King William's accession to the throne, except the act 
 for preserving the game. I had a mind to see him 
 out, and therefore did not care for contradicting him. 
 " Is it not hard," says he, " that honest gentlemen 
 should be taken into custody of messengers to prevent 
 them from acting according to their consciences? 
 But," says he, " what can we expect when a parcel of 
 factious sons of" — 
 
 He was going on in a great passion, but chanced to 
 miss his dog, who was amusing himself about a bush 
 that grew at some distance behind us. We stood still 
 till he had whistled him up ; when he fell into a long 
 panegyric upon his spaniel, who seemed indeed ex- 
 cellent in his kind ; but I found the most remarkable 
 adventure of his life was, that he had once like to 
 have worried a dissenting teacher. The master could 
 hardly sit on his horse for laughing all the while he was 
 giving me the particulars of the story, which I found 
 had mightily endeared his dog to him, and, as he him- 
 self told me, had made him a great favorite among all 
 the honest gentlemen of the country. 
 
84 READINGS FROM ADDISON, 
 
 We were at length diverted from this piece of mirth 
 by a post-boy, who winding his horn at us, my com- 
 panion gave him two or three curses, and left the way 
 clear for him. " I fancy," said I, " that post brings 
 news from Scotland. I shall long to see the next 
 Gazette." — " Sir," says he, " I make it a rule never to 
 believe any of your printed news. We never see, sir, 
 how things go, except now and then in ' Dyer's Let- 
 ter,' and I read that more for the style than the news. 
 The man has a clever pen, it must be owned. But is 
 it not strange that we should be making war upon 
 Church-of- England men, with Dutch and Swiss sol- 
 diers, men of anti-monarchical principles? These 
 foreigners will never be loved in England, sir : they 
 have not that wit and good-breeding that we have." 
 
 I must confess I did not expect to hear my new 
 acquaintance value himself upon these qualifications ; 
 but finding him such a critic upon foreigners, I asked 
 him if he had ever travelled. He told me, he did 
 not know what travelling was good for,, but to teach 
 a man to ride the great horse, to jabber French, and to 
 talk against passive obedience. To which he added, 
 that he scarce ever knew a traveller in his life who had 
 not forsook his principles, and lost his hunting-seat. 
 " For my part," says he, " I and my father before me 
 have always been for passive obedience, and shall be 
 always for opposing a prince who makes use of minis- 
 ters that are of another opinion. — But where do you 
 intend to inn to-night? (for we were now come in sight 
 of the next town.) I can help you to a very good 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORALS. 85 
 
 landlord if you will go along with me. He is a lusty, 
 jolly fellow, that lives well, at least three yards in girth, 
 and the best Church-of- England man upon the road." 
 I had the curiosity to see this High- Church innkeeper, 
 as well as to enjoy more of the conversation of my 
 fellow-traveller, and therefore readily consented to set 
 our horses together for that night. As we rode side 
 by side through the town, I was let into the characters 
 of all the principal inhabitants whom we met in our 
 way. One was a dog, another a whelp, and another a 
 cur, under which several denominations were compre- 
 hended all that voted on the Whig side in the last 
 election of burgesses. As for those of his own party, 
 he distinguished them by a nod of his head, and ask- 
 ing them how they did by their Christian names. 
 
 Upon our arrival at the inn, my companion fetched 
 out the jolly landlord, who knew him by his whistle. 
 Many endearments and private whispers passed be- 
 tween them ; though it was easy to see, by the land- 
 lord's scratching his head, that things did not go to 
 their wishes. The landlord had swelled his body 
 to a prodigious size, and worked up his complexion to 
 standing crimson, by his zeal for the prosperity of the 
 Church, which he expressed every hour of the day, as 
 his customers dropped in, by repeated bumpers. He 
 had not time to go to church himself, but, as my 
 friend told me in my ear, had headed a mob at the 
 pulling-down of two or three meeting-houses. While 
 supper was preparing, he enlarged upon the happiness 
 of the neighboring shire ; " For," says he, " there is 
 
86 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 scarce a Presbyterian in the whole country, except the 
 bishop." In short, I found by his discourse that he 
 had learned a great deal of politics, but not one word 
 of religion, from the parson of his parish ; and indeed, 
 that he had scarce any other notion of religion, but that 
 it consisted in hating Presbyterians. I had a remark- 
 able instance of his notions in this particular. Upon 
 seeing a poor decrepit old woman pass under the win- 
 dow where he sat, he desired me to take notice of her ; 
 and afterwards informed me, that she was generally 
 reputed a witch by the country people, but that, for 
 his part, he was apt to believe she was a Presbyterian. 
 Supper was no sooner served in, than he took occa- 
 sion, from a shoulder of mutton that lay before us, to 
 cry up the plenty of England, which would be the 
 happiest country in the world, provided we would live 
 within ourselves. Upon which, he expatiated on the 
 inconveniences of trade, that carried from us the com- 
 modities of our country, and made a parcel of upstarts 
 as rich as men of the most ancient families of Eng- 
 land. He then declared frankly that he had always 
 been against all treaties and alliances with foreigners. 
 " Our wooden walls," says he, " are our security, and 
 we may bid defiance to the whole world, especially if 
 they should attack us when the militia is out." I 
 ventured to reply, that I had as great an opinion of the 
 English fleet as he had ; but I could not see how they 
 could be paid, and manned, and fitted out, unless we 
 encouraged trade and navigation. He replied with 
 some vehemence, " That he would undertake to prove 
 
SOCIETY, FASHIONS, MINOR MORA IS. 87 
 
 trade would be the ruin of the English nation." I 
 would fain have put him upon it ; but he contented 
 himself with affirming it more eagerly, to which he 
 added two or three curses upon the London merchants, 
 not forgetting the directors of the Bank. After sup- 
 per he asked me if I was an admirer of punch ; and 
 immediately called for a sneaker. 
 
 I took this occasion to insinuate the advantages of 
 trade, by observing to him, that water was the only 
 native of England that could be made use of on this 
 occasion ; but that the lemons, the brandy, the sugar, 
 and the nutmeg were all foreigners. This put him 
 into some confusion ; but the landlord, who overheard 
 me, brought him off by affirming, " That for constant 
 use there was no liquor like a cup of English water, 
 provided it had malt enough in it." My squire laughed 
 heartily at the conceit, and made the landlord sit down 
 with us. 
 
 We sat pretty late over our punch ; and, amidst a 
 great deal of improving discourse, drank the healths 
 of several persons in the country, whom I had never 
 heard of, that, they both assured me, were the ablest 
 statesmen in the nation; and of some Londoners, 
 whom they extolled to the skies for their wit, and who, 
 I knew, passed in town for silly fellows. It being now 
 midnight, and my friend perceiving by his almanac 
 that the moon was up, he called for his horse, and 
 took a sudden resolution to go to his house, which was 
 at three miles distance from the town, after having 
 bethought himself that he never slept well out of his 
 
88 READINGS FROM ADDISON'. 
 
 own bed. He shook me very heartily by the hand at 
 parting, and discovered a great air of satisfaction in 
 his looks that he had met with an opportunity of show- 
 ing his parts, and left me a much wiser man than he 
 found me. 1 — Freeholder, No, 22. 
 
 1 It will be observed that the charming humor of this paper is used in the 
 service of the Whig party, which was strongest in towns and among the 
 trading class. The Freeholder, unlike the Tatler and Spectator, was freely 
 open to political discussion. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 89 
 
 III. 
 
 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 
 
 [The first mention of Sir Roger de Coverley occurs in " Spectator " 
 No. 2, which gives an account of the several members of the Specta- 
 tors. This paper seems to have been written by Steele, perhaps with 
 the advice and assistance of Addison. Indeed, it is probable that to 
 Steele we owe the original conception of the character of the old 
 knight, though its development was the work of Addison's nicer art. 
 The portrait of Sir Roger is given here as a fitting introduction to 
 the papers which follow.] 
 
 The first of our society is a gentleman of Worces- 
 tershire, of ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir 
 Roger de Coverley. His great-grandfather was invent- 
 or of that famous country-dance which is called after 
 him. All who know that shire are very well ac- 
 quainted with the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He 
 is a gentleman that is very singular in his behavior ; 
 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 creates him no enemies, for he does nothing 
 with 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. 
 
90 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 When he is in town he lives in Soho Square. It is 
 said, he keeps himself a bachelor, by reason he was 
 crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the 
 next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir 
 Roger was what you call a fine gentleman; had 
 often supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George 
 Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, 
 and kicked Bully Dawson 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 being natur- 
 ally 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 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 both in town and country ; a great lover of man- 
 kind ; but there is such a mirthful cast 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 a house, he 
 calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way 
 up-stairs to a 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 applause by explaining a passage 
 in the Game Act. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 9 1 
 
 l8. SIR ROGER AT HOME. 
 
 Having often received an invitation from my friend 
 Sir Roger de Coverley to pass away a month with him 
 in the country, 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 Roger, who is 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 in his fields, I have observed them steal- 
 ing 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. 
 
 I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, be- 
 cause it consists of sober and staid persons : for, as 
 the knight is the 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-de- 
 chambre for his brother ; his butler is gray-headed ; his 
 groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen ; 
 and his coachman has the looks of a privy-councillor. 
 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 tenderness, out of regard to his 
 
92 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 past services, though he has been useless for several 
 years. 
 
 I could not but observe with a great deal of pleas- 
 ure the joy that appeared in the countenance of these 
 ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his 
 country-seat. Some of 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 of 
 the father and the master of the family, tempered the 
 inquiries after his own affairs with several kind ques- 
 tions relating 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 contrary, 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 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 Roger is diverting 
 himself in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable 
 man who is ever with Sir Roger, 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 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 93 
 
 learning, of a very regular life and obliging conversa- 
 tion : he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is 
 very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives 
 in the family rather as a relation than a dependant. 1 
 I have observed in several of my papers, that my 
 friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is some- 
 thing of an humorist ; and that his virtues, as well as 
 imperfections, are, as it were, tinged by a certain ex- 
 travagance, which makes them particularly his, and 
 distinguishes them from those of other men. This 
 cast of mind, as it is generally very innocent 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 or ordinary 
 colors. As I was walking with him last night, he 
 asked me how I liked 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 learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a socia- 
 ble temper, and if possible a man that understood 
 a little about 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 
 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 that he was 
 
94 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 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 of it, has never 
 in all that time asked any thing 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 him for the decision ; if they do 
 not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never 
 happened above once or twice at most, they appeal to 
 me. At his first settling with me, I made him a pres- 
 ent of all the good sermons which have been printed in 
 English, and only begged of him that every Sunday he 
 would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Accord- 
 ingly he has digested them into such a series, that 
 they follow one another naturally, and make a con- 
 tinued system of practical divinity." 
 
 As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentle- 
 man 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 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 dis- 
 courses of practical divinity. I no sooner saw this ven- 
 erable man in the pulpit, but I very much approved 
 of my friend's insisting upon the qualifications of a 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVE RLE Y. 95 
 
 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 manner is like the compo- 
 sition 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 wast- 
 ing their spirits in laborious compositions of their own, 
 would endeavor after a handsome elocution, and all 
 those other talents that are proper to enforce what has 
 been penned by greater masters. This would not only 
 be more easy to themselves, but more edifying to the 
 people. — Spectator, No. 106. 
 
 19. SIR ROGER AT CHURCH. 
 
 I am always very well pleased with a country Sun- 
 day, and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were 
 only a human institution, it would be the best method 
 that could have been thought of for the polishing and 
 civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country peo- 
 ple would soon degenerate into a 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 of the Supreme Being. Sunday clears 
 away the rust of the whole week, not only as it re- 
 freshes in their minds the notions of religion, but as 
 
96 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 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 country fellow distinguishes himself as much in 
 the churchyard 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 Roger, being a good Churchman, has 
 beautified the inside of his church with several texts 
 of his own choosing ; he has likewise given a hand- 
 some 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 kneel, and 
 join in the responses, he gave every one of them 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 of the psalms, upon which they 
 now very much value themselves, and, indeed, outdo 
 most of the country churches that I have ever heard. 
 
 As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, 
 he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer 
 nobody to 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 anybody else nodding, either 
 wakes them himself, or sends his servants to them. Sev- 
 eral other of the old knight's particularities break out 
 upon these occasions : sometimes he will be lengthening 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 97 
 
 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 devo- 
 tion, he pronounces Amen three or four times to the 
 same prayer ; and sometimes stands up when every- 
 body else is upon their knees, to count the congrega- 
 tion, 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 to mind what he was about, and not 
 disturb the congregation. 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 
 of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are 
 not polite enough to see any thing 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. 
 
 As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes 
 to stir till Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The 
 knight walks down from his seat in the chancel be- 
 tween a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing 
 to him on each side ; and every now and then inquires 
 how such a one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do, 
 whom he does not see at church, — which is under- 
 stood as a secret reprimand to the person that is 
 absent. 
 
98 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 The chaplain has often told me, that upon a cate- 
 chising day, when Sir Roger has been pleased with a 
 boy that answers well, he has ordered a Bible to be 
 given him next day for his encouragement ; and some- 
 times accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his 
 mother. Sir Roger has likewise added five pounds a 
 year to the clerk's place ; and, that he may encourage 
 the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the 
 church service, has promised, upon the death of the 
 present incumbent (who is very old), to bestow it 
 according to merit. 
 
 The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his 
 chaplain, 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 and the squire, who live in a per- 
 petual 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 of 
 his order, and insinuates to them in almost every ser- 
 mon that he is a better man than his patron. In short, 
 matters are come to such an extremity, that the squire 
 has not said his prayers either in public or private this 
 half year; and that the parson threatens him, if he 
 does not mend his manners, 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 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 99 
 
 are so used to be dazzled with riches, that they pay as 
 much deference to the understanding of a man of an 
 estate, as of a man of learning ; and are very hardly 
 brought to regard any truth, how important 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. — Spectator, No. 112. 
 
 20. SIR ROGER AT THE COUNTY ASSIZES. 
 
 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 ; but otherwise there 
 cannot be a greater satisfaction 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 con- 
 firmed by the opinion of all that know him. 
 
 My worthy friend Sir Roger is one of those who is 
 not only at peace within himself, but beloved and es- 
 teemed by all about him. He receives a suitable trib- 
 ute for his universal benevolence to mankind, in the 
 returns of affection and good-will which are paid him 
 by every one that lives within his neighborhood. 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 rode 
 
IOO READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 before us, and conversed 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 a hundred pounds a 
 year, an honest man : he is just within the Game Act, 
 and qualified to kill a 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 himself. He would be 
 a good neighbor if he did not destroy so many par- 
 tridges : in short, he is a very sensible man ; shoots 
 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 to law with the widow. His 
 head is full of costs, damages, and ejectments ; 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 four- 
 score pounds a year ; but he has cast and been cast so 
 often, that he is not now worth thirty. I suppose he 
 is going upon the old business of the willow-tree." 
 
 As Sir Roger was giving me this account of Tom 
 Touchy, Will Wimble and his two companions stopped 
 short until we came up to them. After having paid 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 1 01 
 
 their respects to Sir 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 giv- 
 ing his fellow-traveller an account of his angling one 
 day in such a hole ; when Tom Touchy, instead of 
 hearing out his story, told him, that Mr. Such-an-one, 
 if he pleased, might take the law of him , for fishing in 
 that part of the river. My friend Sir Roger 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 
 dissatisfied 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 set before Sir Roger came ; but not- 
 withstanding all the justices had taken their places 
 upon the 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 
 proceedings of the court with much attention, and in- 
 finitely pleased with that great appearance and solem- 
 nity which so properly accompanies such a public 
 administration of our laws; when, after about an 
 hour's sitting, I observed to my great surprise, in the 
 midst of a trial, that my friend Sir Roger was getting 
 up to speak. I was in some pain for him till I found 
 
102 READINGS FROM ADDISON 
 
 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 whisper ran among the country people that 
 Sir Roger 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 de- 
 signed by the knight himself to inform the court, as to 
 give him a figure in my eye, and keep 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 a little admiring his courage, 
 that was not afraid to speak to the judge. 
 
 In our return home we met with a very odd acci- 
 dent ; which I cannot forbear relating, because it 
 shows how desirous all who know Sir Roger are of 
 giving him marks of their esteem. 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 servant in 
 the knight's family : and, to do honor to his old mas- 
 ter, had some time since, unknown to Sir Roger, put 
 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 any thing of the matter. 
 As soon as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, finding 
 that his servant's indiscretion proceeded wholly from 
 
SIR ROGER BE COVERLEY. IO3 
 
 affection and good-will, he only told him that he had 
 made him too high a compliment ; and when the fel- 
 low seemed to think that could hardly be, added with 
 a more decisive look, that it was too great an honor 
 for any man under a duke ; but told 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. Ac- 
 cordingly 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 Sar- 
 acen's Head. I should not have known this story, had 
 not the innkeeper, upon Sir Roger's alighting, told him 
 in my hearing that his honor's 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 mentioned, 
 and ordered the head to be brought into the room. I 
 could not forbear discovering greater expressions of 
 mirth than ordinary upon the appearance of this mon- 
 strous face, under which, notwithstanding it was made 
 to frown and stare in a most extraordinary manner, I 
 could still discover a distant resemblance of my old 
 friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me 
 to tell him truly if I thought it possible for people to 
 know him in that disguise. I at first kept my usual 
 silence ; but upon the knight conjuring me to tell him 
 whether it was not still more like himself than a Sara- 
 cen, I composed my countenance in the best manner 
 I could, and replied, That much might be said on both 
 sides. 
 
104 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 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. — Spectator, No. 122. 
 
 21. SIR ROGER IN TOWN. 
 
 I 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. I immediately went 
 down to him, and found him to be the coachman of 
 my worthy friend Sir Roger 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. As I 
 was wondering in myself what had brought Sir Roger 
 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, 1 and that he desired I would 
 immediately meet him. 
 
 I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the 
 old 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 Scander- 
 beg. 2 
 
 1 Prince Eugene of Savoy, the ablest general among the allies of the 
 English in the great war of the Spanish succession. He came to London in 
 January, 1712, to watch and if possible impede the progress of the negotiations 
 for peace with his enemy Ixwis XIV. of France. 
 
 2 Scanderbeg was a Greek hero who checked the advance of the Turks in 
 the fifteenth century. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 105 
 
 I was no sooner come into Gray's-inn walks, but I 
 heard my friend upon the terrace, hemming twice or 
 thrice to himself 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. 
 
 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 into ' his pocket, and give him six- 
 pence. 
 
 Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, con- 
 sisting of many kind shakes of the hand, and several 
 affectionate looks which we cast upon one another. 
 After which the knight told me my good friend his 
 chaplain was very well, and much at my service, and 
 that the Sunday before he had made a most incom- 
 parable sermon out of Dr. Barrow. " I have left/' 
 says he, "all my affairs in his hands, and, being willing 
 to lay an obligation upon him, have deposited with 
 him thirty merks to be distributed among his poor 
 parishioners." 
 
 He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare 
 of Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into 
 his fob, and presented 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 
 
106 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 them, and that he made a present of one to every 
 gentleman in the country who has good principles, 
 and smokes. He added, that poor Will was at pres- 
 ent under great tribulation, for that Tom Touchy had 
 taken the law of him for cutting some hazel sticks out 
 of one of his hedges. 
 
 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 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 eight fat hogs for this 
 season ; that he had dealt about his chines very liber- 
 ally amongst his neighbors ; and that in particular he 
 had sent a string of hog's-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 Christmas should fall out in the middle of winter. 
 It is the most dead and uncomfortable time of the 
 year, when the poor people would suffer very much 
 from their poverty and cold, if they had not good 
 
 1 A poor old creature who lived near Sir Roger, and was much suspected 
 by the neighbors of being a witch. Her story is told in Spectator, No. 117; 
 not included in this volume. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVER LEY, \0J 
 
 cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols to support 
 them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this sea- 
 son, 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 table, and am wonderfully 
 pleased to see my tenants pass away a whole evening 
 in playing their innocent tricks, and smutting one an- 
 other. Our friend Will Wimble is as merry as any of 
 them, and shows a thousand roguish tricks upon these 
 occasions. " 
 
 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, 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 despatched all our country matters, Sir 
 Roger made several inquiries concerning the club, and 
 particularly of his old antagonist Sir Andrew Freeport. 
 He asked me, with a kind of smile, whether Sir Andrew 
 had not taken the advantage of his absence to vent 
 among them some of his republican doctrines ; but 
 soon after, gathering up his countenance into a more 
 than ordinary seriousness, "Tell me truly," said he, 
 " don't you think Sir Andrew had a hand in the Pope's 
 
108 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 procession ?" " but without giving me time to answer 
 him, " Well, well," says he, " I know you are a wary 
 -man, and do not care for talking of public matters." 
 
 The knight then asked me if I had seen Prince 
 Eugenio, and made me promise to get him a stand in 
 some convenient place where he might have a full 
 sight of that extraordinary man, whose presence does 
 so much honor to the British nation. 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 
 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 morn- 
 ing in hearing the knight's reflections, which were 
 partly private 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 every thing that is agreeable to him, 
 and accordingly waited on him to the coffee-house, 
 where his venerable aspect drew upon us the eyes of 
 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 
 
 1 The Pope's procession was an annual Protestant demonstration held for 
 many years on Nov. 17, the anniversary of the accession of Queen Elizabeth; 
 so called because images of the Pope were often carried in the procession, and 
 afterward burnt in effigy. The Duke of Marlborough came home from his 
 campaign of 171 1 in November, and the more zealous Whigs proposed to turn 
 the usual demonstration of Nov. 17 into "a magnificent reception of the Duke; 
 but the Tory government got wind of the preparations, and forbade them. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVE RLE Y. IO9 
 
 wax-candle, and the Supplement, with such an air of 
 cheerfulness and good-humor, that all the boys in the 
 coffee-room (who seemed to take 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. — Spectator, No. 269* 
 
 22. SIR ROGER VISITS WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 My friend Sir Roger de Coverley told me t'other 
 night, that he had been reading my paper upon West- 
 minster Abbey, 1 in which, says he, there are a great 
 many ingenious fancies. He told me at the same time, 
 that he observed I had promised 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 has quoted several times in his 
 disputes with Sir Andrew Freeport since his last com- 
 ing to town. Accordingly I promised to call upon 
 him the next morning, that we might go together to 
 the Abbey. 
 
 I found the knight under his butler's hand, who 
 always 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 to me a dram of it at the 
 
 1 Spectator, No. 26. See p. 146 of this volume. 
 
I IO READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 same time, with so much heartiness, that I could not 
 forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got 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 with the virtues of it sooner ; but it was too late to 
 complain, and I knew what he had done was out of 
 good-will. Sir Roger 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 short to one 
 of his servants who stood behind him, he bid him call 
 a hackney-coach, and take care 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 good than all the doctors and apothecaries 
 in the country; that she distilled every poppy that 
 grew within five miles of her ; that she distributed her 
 water gratis among all sorts of people : to which the 
 knight added, that she had a very great jointure, and 
 that the whole country would fain have it a match be- 
 tween 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 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. Ill 
 
 him he had called a coach. Upon our going to it, 
 after having cast his eye upon the wheels, he asked 
 the coachman if his axletree was good ; upon the fel- 
 low's telling him he would warrant 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, called the coachman down from his box, and, 
 upon his presenting himself at the window, asked him 
 if he smoked. As I was considering what this would 
 end in, he bid him stop by the way at any good tobac- 
 conist's, and take in a roll of their best Virginia. Noth- 
 ing material happened in the remaining 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 monu- 
 ments, and cried out, " A brave man, I warrant him ! " 
 Passing afterwards by Sir Cloudsley Shovel, he flung his 
 hand that way, and cried, "Sir Cloudsley Shovel, a 
 very gallant man ! " As we stood before Busby's x 
 tomb, the knight uttered himself again after the same 
 manner : " Dr. Busby, a great man ! he 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 
 
 1 Remembered by thousands of men in the seventeenth century as a very 
 vigorous schoolmaster. He was head master of Westminster School from 1460 
 to 1695. 
 
112 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 chapel on the right hand. Sir Roger, planting himself 
 at our historian's elbow, was very attentive to every 
 thing he said, particularly to the account he gave us 
 of the lord who 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, con- 
 cluding them all to be great men, was conducted to 
 the figure which represents that martyr to good house- 
 wifery, 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, "I wonder," says he, "that Sir 
 Richard Baker has said nothing of her in his Chronicle." 
 We were then conveyed to the two coronation 
 chairs, where my old friend, after having heard that 
 the stone underneath the most ancient of them, which 
 was brought from Scotland, was called Jacob's Pillar, 
 set himself down in the chair ; and, looking like the 
 figure of an old Gothic king, asked our interpreter 
 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 forfeit. I could observe Sir Roger a 
 little ruffled upon being thus trepanned ; but, our guide 
 not insisting upon his demand, the knight soon re- 
 covered his good humor, and whispered in my ear, that 
 if Will Wimble were with 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. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 113 
 
 Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon 
 Edward the Third's sword, and, leaning upon the pom- 
 mel of it, gave us the whole history of the Black 
 Prince ; concluding, that, in Sir Richard Bakers opin- 
 ion, Edward the Third was one of the greatest princes 
 that ever sat upon the English throne. 
 
 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 reading in the casualties of that reign. 
 
 Our conductor then pointed to that monument 
 where there is the figure of one of our English kings l 
 without a head ; and upon giving us to know that the 
 head, which was of beaten silver, had been stolen away 
 several years since, "Some Whig, I'll warrant you," says 
 Sir Roger. " You ought to lock up 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 
 Elizabeth gave the knight great opportunities of shin- 
 ing, and of doing justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as 
 our knight observed 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 its princes. 
 
 1 The statue of Henry V. ; but the head was stolen at the time of the 
 Reformation. 
 
1 14 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 I must not omit, that the benevolence of my good 
 old friend, which flows out towards every one he con- 
 verses with, made him very kind to our interpreter, 
 whom he looked upon as an extraordinary man ; for 
 which reason he shook him by the 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. — Spectator, N0.32Q. 
 
 23. SIR ROGER GOES TO THE PLAY. 
 
 My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met 
 together 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 Moth- 
 er " * was ; and upon hearing that she was Hector's 
 widow, 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. My friend asked me, in 
 the next place, if there would not be some danger 
 in coming home late, in case the Mohocks 2 should be 
 abroad. " I assure you," says he, " I thought I had 
 
 1 A play by Ambrose Philips, founded on Racine's Andromaque. 
 
 2 A company of young rascals who amused themselves of nights by beat- 
 ing belated passers, making them dance, heading them up in barrels and 
 rolling them down hill, and other diversions of that character. They seem to 
 have been particularly troublesome during the winter of 1711-12. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 115 
 
 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 me ; for I remember 
 an honest gentleman in my neighborhood, who was 
 served such a trick in King Charles II.'s time, for 
 which reason he has not ventured himself in town ever 
 since. I might have shown them very good sport, 
 had this been their design ; for, as I am an old fox- 
 hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have 
 played them a thousand tricks they had never seen 
 in their lives before." Sir Roger 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, where I doubled the corner, 
 and got shelter in my lodgings before they could ima- 
 gine what was become of me. However," says the 
 knight, " if Captain Sentry will make one with us to- 
 morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon 
 me about four o'clock, that we may be at the house 
 before it is full, I will have my own coach in readi- 
 ness 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 Roger fear nothing, for 
 that he had put on the same sword which he made use 
 of at the battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's servants, 
 and among the rest my old friend the butler, had, I 
 
Il6 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 found, provided themselves with good oaken plants 
 to attend their master upon this occasion. When we 
 had placed him in his coach, with myself at his left 
 hand, the Captain before him, and his butler at the 
 head of 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 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 par- 
 take of the same common entertainment. I could 
 not but fancy myself, as the old man stood up in the 
 middle of the pit, that he made a very proper centre 
 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 was indeed 
 very attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I 
 looked upon them as a piece of natural criticism ; 
 and was well pleased 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 ap- 
 peared much concerned for Andromache, and a little 
 while after as much for Hermione ; and was extremely 
 puzzled to think what would become of Pyrrhus. 
 
 When Sir Roger 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 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. \\*J 
 
 which he added with a more than ordinary vehemence, 
 " You can't imagine, sir, what it is to have to do with 
 a widow." l Upon Pyrrhus his threatening afterwards 
 to leave her, the knight shook his head, and muttered 
 to himself, "Ay, do if you can." This 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 perverse creatures in the world. But pray," says 
 he, " you 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 in this play that I do not 
 know the meaning of." 
 
 The fourth act, very unluckily, began before I had 
 time to give the old gentleman an answer. "Well," 
 says the knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, 
 "I suppose we are now to see Hector's ghost." He 
 then renewed his attention, and from time to time fell 
 a-praising the widow. He made indeed a little mis- 
 take as to one of her pages, whom at his first entering 
 he took for Astyanax ; but he quickly set himself right 
 in that particular, though at the same time he owned 
 he should have been very glad to have seen the little 
 boy, " who," said he, " must needs be a very fine child, 
 by the account that is given of him." Upon Her- 
 mione's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus, the audi- 
 
 1 On this point, however, Sir Roger was mistaken: Mr. Spectator did 
 know how that was himself. At this time he had been paying diligent court 
 for some two years to that great lady, the dowager Countess of Warwick — 
 and with varying hopes. 
 
Il8 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 ence gave a loud clap ; to which Sir Roger added, 
 " On my word, a notable young baggage ! " 
 
 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 play- 
 ers and of their respective parts. Sir Roger, hearing 
 a cluster of them praise Orestes, struck in with them, 
 and told them that he thought his friend Pylades was 
 a very sensible man. As they were afterwards ap- 
 plauding 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 Sentry seeing two or three 
 wags who sat near us, lean with an attentive ear to- 
 wards 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 
 the account which Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his death, 
 and at the conclusion of it told me, it was such a 
 bloody piece of work, that he was glad it was not 
 done upon the stage. Seeing 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, 
 looked as if he saw something. 
 
 As we were the first that came into the house, so 
 
 1 Smoke = detect, find out ; a very common slang word in Queen Anne 
 English. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 119 
 
 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 satisfied with his entertain- 
 ment, and we guarded him to his lodgings in the same 
 manner that we brought him to the playhouse ; 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 good old man. — Spectator, No. jjj. 
 
 24. THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER. 
 
 We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, 
 which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I ques- 
 tion not but my readers themselves will be troubled 
 at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in sus- 
 pense, Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. He departed this 
 life at his house in the country, after a few weeks 7 sick- 
 ness. 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 
 penning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes. 
 But 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 the butler, who took so much 
 care of me last summer when I was at the knight's 
 
120 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 house. As my friend the butler mentions, in the sim- 
 plicity 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. 
 
 " 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 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 
 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 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 lightning before death. He has bequeathed to 
 this lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, and 
 a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged 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 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 moving sight to see him 
 take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our 
 fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a word for weeping. 
 As we most of us are grown gray-headed in our dear master's 
 
SIR ROGER BE COVERLEY*. 121 
 
 service, he has left us pensions and legacies, which we may- 
 live very comfortably upon the 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 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 the pall held up by six of the quo- 
 rum ; 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 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 a 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 seems 
 a courteous man, though he says but little. He makes much 
 of those whom my master loved, and shows great kindnesses 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 master's death. He 
 has never joyed himself since ; no more has any of us. 'Twas 
 the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever happened 
 in Worcestershire. This is all from, 
 
 " Honored sir, your most sorrowful servant, 
 
 "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." 
 
122 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner 
 of 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 own hand. Sir Andrew 
 found that they related to two or three points which 
 he had disputed with Sir Roger the last time he ap- 
 peared 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 the book into his pocket. Captain Sentry 
 informs me that the knight has left rings and mourn- 
 ing for every one in the club. — Spectator, No. jjo. 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 12$ 
 
 IV. 
 
 LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 
 
 25. NED SOFTLY THE POET. 
 
 I yesterday came hither about two hours before 
 the company generally make their appearance, with a 
 design to read over all the newspapers ; but upon my 
 sitting down I was accosted by Ned Softly, who saw 
 me from a corner in the other end of the room, where 
 I found he had been writing something. 
 - "Mr. Bickers taff," says he, "I observe, by a late 
 paper of yours, that you and I are just of a humor ; 
 for you must know, of all impertinences, there is noth- 
 ing which I so much hate as news. I never read a 
 gazette in my life, and never trouble my head about 
 our armies, whether they win or lose, or in what part 
 of the world they lie encamped." Without giving me 
 time to reply, he drew a paper of verses out of his 
 pocket, telling me that he had something which would 
 entertain me more agreeably, and that he would desire 
 my judgment upon every line ; for that we had time 
 enough before us until the company came in. 
 
 Ned Softly is a very pretty poet, and a great admirer 
 of easy lines. Waller is his favorite ; and as that ad- 
 
124 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 mirable writer has the best and worst verses of any 
 among our great English poets, Ned Softly has got all 
 the bad ones without book, which he repeats upon 
 occasion, to show his reading and garnish his conver- 
 sation. Ned is indeed a true English reader, incapa- 
 ble of relishing the great and masterly strokes of this 
 art, but wonderfully pleased with the little Gothic or- 
 naments of epigrammatical conceits, turns, points, and 
 quibbles, which are so frequent in the most admired 
 of our English poets, and practised by those who want 
 genius and strength to represent, after the manner of 
 the ancients, simplicity in its natural beauty and per- 
 fection. 
 
 Finding myself unavoidably engaged in such a 
 conversation, I was resolved to turn my pain into 
 a pleasure, and to divert myself, as well as I could, 
 with so very odd a fellow. 
 
 "You must understand," says Ned, "that the son- 
 net I am going to read to you was written upon a lady 
 who showed me some verses of her own making, and 
 is, perhaps, the best poet of our age. But you shall 
 hear it ! " Upon which he began to read as follows : — 
 
 TO MIRA, ON HER INCOMPARABLE POEMS. 
 
 When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine, 
 And tune your soft, melodious notes, 
 
 You seem a sister of the Nine, 
 Or Phoebus' self in petticoats. 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 12$ 
 
 I fancy, when your song you sing 
 
 (Your song you sing with so much art), 
 
 Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing ; 
 For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart. 
 
 " Why," says I, " this is a little nosegay of conceits ; 
 a very lump of salt : every verse hath something in 
 it that figures ; and then the ' dart/ in the last line, is 
 certainly as pretty a sting in the tail of an epigram 
 (for so I think your critics call it), as ever entered 
 into the thought of a poet." 
 
 "Dear Mr. BickerstafT," says he, shaking me by the 
 hand, " everybody knows you to be a judge of these 
 things; and, to tell you truly, I read over Roscom- 
 mon's translation of Horace's 'Art of Poetry' three 
 several times, before I sat down to write the sonnet 
 which I have shown you. But you shall hear it again ; 
 and pray observe every line of it, for not one of them 
 shall pass without your approbation. 
 
 ' When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine. , 
 
 This is," says he, " when you have your garland on ; 
 when you are writing verses." To which I replied, 
 " I know your meaning ; a metaphor." — " The same," 
 said he ; and went on, — 
 
 * And tune your soft, melodious notes.' 
 
 Pray observe the gliding of that verse ; there is scarce 
 a consonant in it. I took care to make it run upon 
 
126 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 liquids. Give me your opinion of it." — " Truly," said 
 I, "I think it is as good as the former." — " I am very 
 glad to hear you say so," says he. "But mind the 
 next : — 
 
 ' You seem a sister of the Nine.' 
 
 That is," says he, " you seem a sister of the Muses : 
 for, if you look into ancient authors, you will find it 
 was their opinion that there were nine of them." — "I 
 remember it very well," said I ; " but pray proceed." 
 
 * Or Phoebus* self in petticoats.' 
 
 Phoebus," says he, "was the god of poetry. These 
 little instances, Mr. Bickerstaff, show a gentleman's 
 reading. Then to take off from the air of learning 
 which Phcebus and the Muses have given to this first 
 stanza, you may observe how it falls, all of a sudden, 
 into the familiar, — 'in petticoats ! ' 
 
 1 Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.* " 
 
 "Let us now," says I, "enter upon the second 
 stanza. I find the first line is still a continuation of 
 the metaphor : — 
 
 * I fancy, when your song you sing.* " 
 
 " It is very right," says he \ " but pray observe the 
 turn of words in those two lines. I was a whole hour 
 in adjusting of them, and have still a doubt upon me 
 whether, in the second line, it should be ' Your song 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. \2J 
 
 you sing/ or, 'You sing your song.' You shall hear 
 them both : — 
 
 ' I fancy, when your song you sing 
 
 (Your song you sing with so much art), 
 or, 
 
 ' I fancy, when your song you sing 
 (You sing your song with so much art).' " 
 
 "Truly," said I, " the turn is so natural, either way, 
 that you have made me almost giddy with it." — "Dear 
 sir," said he, grasping me by the hand, " you have a 
 great deal of patience. But pray what do you think 
 of the next verse ? 
 
 * Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing/ " 
 
 " Think ! " says I, " I think you have made Cupid 
 look like a little goose." — "That was my meaning," 
 says he ; "I think the ridicule is well enough hit off. 
 But we come now to the last, which sums up the whole 
 matter : — 
 
 ' For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart.' 
 
 Pray how do you like that ah? doth it not make a 
 pretty figure in that place ? Ah ! it looks as if I felt 
 the dart, and cried out at being pricked with it. 
 
 ' For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart.' 
 
 "My friend Dick Easy," continued he, "assured 
 me he would rather have written that ' ah ! ' than to 
 have been the author of the ^Eneid. He indeed 
 
128 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 objected, that I made Mira's pen like a quill in one 
 of the lines, and like a dart in the other. But as to 
 that" — 
 
 " Oh, as to that," says I, " it is but supposing Cupid 
 to be like a porcupine, and his quills and darts will be 
 the same thing." He was going to embrace me for 
 the hint; but half a dozen critics coming into the 
 room, whose faces he did not like, he conveyed the 
 sonnet into his pocket, and whispered me in the ear, 
 he would show it me again as soon as his man had 
 written it over fair. — Tatkr, No. i6j. 
 
 26. FRENCH INVASION OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 I have often wished, that, as in our constitution 
 there are several persons whose business it is to watch 
 over our laws, our liberties, and commerce, certain 
 men might be set apart as superintendents of our 
 language, to hinder any words of a foreign coin from 
 passing among us ; and in particular to prohibit any 
 French phrases from being current in this kingdom, 
 when those of our own stamp are altogether as valu- 
 able.- The present war has so adulterated our tongue 
 with strange words, that it would be impossible for one 
 of our great-grandfathers to know what his posterity 
 have been doing, were he to read their exploits in a 
 modern newspaper. Our warriors are very industrious 
 in propagating the French language, at the same time 
 that they are so gloriously successful in beating down 
 their power. Our soldiers are men of strong heads 
 for action, and perform such feats as they are not able 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 1 29 
 
 to express. They want words in their own tongue to 
 tell us what it is they achieve, and therefore send us 
 over accounts of their performances in a jargon of 
 phrases, which they learn among their conquered 
 enemies. They ought, however, to be provided with 
 secretaries, and assisted by our foreign ministers, to 
 tell their story for them in plain English, and to let us 
 know in our mother-tongue what it is our brave coun- 
 trymen are about. The French would indeed be in 
 the right to publish the news of the present war in 
 English phrases, and make their campaigns unintelligi- 
 ble. Their people might flatter themselves that things 
 are not so bad as they really are, were they thus palli- 
 ated with foreign terms, and thrown into shades and 
 obscurity. But the English cannot be too clear in 
 their narrative of those actions, which have raised 
 their country to a higher pitch of glory than it ever 
 yet arrived at, and which will be still the more admired 
 the better they are explained. 
 
 For my part, by that time a siege is carried on two 
 or three days, I am altogether lost and bewildered in 
 it, and meet with so many inexplicable difficulties, that 
 I scarce know what side has the better of it, till I am 
 informed by the Tower guns that the place is surren- 
 dered. I do indeed make some allowance for this part 
 of the war, fortifications having been foreign inven- 
 tions, and upon that account abounding in foreign 
 terms. But when we have won battles, which may be 
 described in our own language, why are our papers 
 filled with so many unintelligible exploits, and the 
 
130 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 French obliged to lend us a part of their tongue 
 before we can know how they are conquered ? They 
 must be made accessary to their own disgrace, as the 
 Britons were formerly so artificially wrought in the 
 curtain of the Roman theatre, that they seemed to 
 draw it up, in order to give the spectators an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing their own defeat celebrated upon the 
 stage ; for so Mr. Dryden has translated that verse in 
 Virgil : — 
 
 " Purpurea intexti tollunt aulaea Britannia 
 
 Georg. iii. 25. 
 
 " Which interwoven Britons seem to raise, 
 And show the triumph that their shame displays." 
 
 The histories of all our former wars are transmitted 
 to us in our vernacular idiom, to use the phrase of a 
 great modern critic. 1 I do not find in any of our 
 chronicles, that Edward III. ever reconnoitred the 
 enemy, though he often discovered the posture of the 
 French, and as often vanquished them in battle. 
 The Black Prince passed many a river without the 
 help of pontoons, and filled a ditch with fagots as 
 successfully as the generals of our times do it with 
 fascines. Our commanders lose half their praise, and 
 our people half their joy, by means of those hard 
 words and dark expressions in which our newspapers 
 do so much abound. I have seen many a prudent 
 citizen, after having read every article, inquire of his 
 next neighbor what news the mail had brought. 
 
 1 Bentley. 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 131 
 
 I remember, in that remarkable year, when our 
 country was delivered from her greatest fears and 
 apprehensions, and raised to the greatest height of 
 gladness it had ever felt since it was a nation, — I 
 mean the year of Blenheim, — I had the copy of a 
 letter sent me out of the country, which was written 
 from a young gentleman in the army to his father, a 
 man of a good estate and plain sense. As the letter 
 was very modishly checkered with this modern military 
 eloquence, I shall present my reader with a copy of it. 
 
 "Sir, — Upon the junction of the French and Bavarian 
 armies, they took post behind a great morass, which they 
 thought impracticable. Our general the next day sent a party 
 of horse to reconnoitre them from a little hauteur, at about a 
 quarter of an hour's distance from the army, who returned 
 again to the camp unobserved through several defiles, in one 
 of which they met with a party of French that had been ma- 
 rauding, and made them all prisoners at discretion. The day 
 after, a drum arrived at our camp, with a message which he 
 would communicate to none but the general : he was followed 
 by a trumpet, who they say behaved himself very saucily, with 
 a message from the Duke of Bavaria. The next morning our 
 army, being divided into two corps, made a movement towards 
 the enemy. You will hear in the public prints how we treated 
 them, with the other circumstances of that glorious day. I 
 had the good fortune to be in that regiment that pushed the 
 Gens d'Armes. Several French battalions, who some say were 
 a corps de reserve, made a show of resistance; but it only 
 proved a gasconade, for upon our preparing to fill up a little 
 fosse, in order to attack them, they beat the chamade, and sent 
 us charte blanche. Their commandant, with a great many other 
 general officers, and troops without number, are made prisoners 
 of war, and will, I believe, give you a visit in England, the 
 
132 READINGS FROM ADDISON, 
 
 cartel not being yet settled. Not questioning but those par- 
 ticulars will be very welcome to you, I congratulate you upon 
 them, and am your most dutiful son," etc. 
 
 The father of the young gentleman, upon the perusal 
 of the letter, found it contained great news, but could 
 not guess what it was. He immediately communicated 
 it to the curate of the parish, who upon the reading 
 of it, being vexed to see any thing he could not under- 
 stand, fell into a kind of a passion, and told him that 
 his son had sent him a letter that was neither fish, 
 flesh, nor good red-herring. " I wish," says he, " the 
 captain may be compos mentis : he talks of a saucy 
 trumpet, and a drum that carries messages ; then who 
 is this Charte Blanche ? He must either banter us, 
 or he is out of his senses." The father, who always 
 looked upon the curate as a learned man, began to 
 fret inwardly at his son's usage, and producing a letter 
 which he had written to him about three posts before, 
 " You see here," says he, " when he writes for money 
 he knows how to speak intelligibly enough ; there's no 
 man in England can express himself clearer, when he 
 wants a new furniture for his horse." In short, the 
 old man was so puzzled upon the point, that it might 
 have fared ill with his son, had he not seen all the 
 prints about three days after filled with the same terms 
 of art, and that Charles only wrote like other men. — 
 Spectator, No. i6j. 
 
 27. ON TASTE. 
 
 Gratian very often recommends the fine taste as the 
 utmost perfection of an accomplished man. As this 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 1 33 
 
 word arises very often in conversation, I shall endeavor 
 to give some account of it, and to lay down rules how 
 we may know whether we are possessed of it, and 
 how we may acquire that fine taste of writing which 
 is so much talked of among the polite world. 
 
 Most languages make use of this metaphor to ex- 
 press that faculty of the mind which distinguishes all 
 the most concealed faults and nicest perfections in 
 writing. We may be sure this metaphor would not 
 have been so general in all tongues, had there not 
 been a very great conformity between that mental 
 taste which is the subject of this paper, and that sensi- 
 tive taste which gives us a relish for every different 
 flavor that affects the palate. Accordingly we find 
 there are as many degrees of refinement in the intel- 
 lectual faculty, as in the sense which is marked out 
 by this common denomination. 
 
 I knew a person who possessed the one in so great 
 a perfection, that, after having tasted ten different 
 kinds of tea, he would distinguish, without seeing the 
 color of it, the particular sort which was offered him ; 
 and not only so, but any two sorts of them that were 
 mixed together in an equal proportion ; nay, he has 
 carried the experiment so far, as, upon tasting the com- 
 position of three different sorts, to name the parcels 
 from whence the three several ingredients were taken. 
 A man of a fine taste in writing will discern after the 
 same manner, not only the general beauties and im- 
 perfections of an author, but discover the several ways 
 of thinking and expressing himself which diversify him 
 
134 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 from all other authors, with the several foreign in- 
 fusions of thought and language, and the particular 
 authors from whom they were borrowed. 
 
 After having thus far explained what is generally 
 meant by a fine taste in writing, and shown the pro- 
 priety of the metaphor which is used on this occasion, 
 I think I may define it to be, that faculty of the soul, 
 which discerns the beauties of an author with pleasure, 
 and the imperfections with dislike. If a man would 
 know whether he is possessed of this faculty, I would 
 have him read over the celebrated works of antiquity, 
 which have stood the test of so many different ages 
 and countries, or those works among the moderns 
 which have the sanction of the politer part of our con- 
 temporaries. If, upon the perusal of such writings, 
 he does not find himself delighted in an extraordinary 
 manner, or if, upon reading the admired passages in 
 such authors, he finds a coldness and indifference 
 in his thoughts, he ought to conclude, not (as is too 
 usual among tasteless readers) that the author wants 
 those perfections which have been admired in him, 
 but that he himself wants the faculty of discovering 
 them. 
 
 He should, in the second place, be very careful to 
 observe whether he tastes the distinguishing perfec- 
 tions, or, if I may be allowed to call them so, the 
 specific qualities, of the author whom he peruses ; 
 whether he is particularly pleased with Livy for his 
 manner of telling a story ; with Sallust, for his enter- 
 ing into those internal principles of action which arise 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 1 35 
 
 from the characters and manners of the persons he 
 describes ; or with Tacitus, for his displaying those 
 outward motives of safety and interest, which give 
 birth to the whole series of transactions which he 
 relates. 
 
 He may likewise consider how differently he is 
 affected by the same thought which presents itself in 
 a great writer, from what he is when he finds it 
 delivered by a person of an ordinary genius. For 
 there is as much difference in apprehending a thought 
 clothed in Cicero's language, and that of a common 
 author, as in seeing an object by the light of a taper, 
 or by the light of the sun. 
 
 It is very difficult to lay down rules for the acquire- 
 ment of such a taste as that I am here speaking of. 
 The faculty must in some degree be born with us, and 
 it very often happens that those who have other quali- 
 ties in perfection are wholly void of this. One of the 
 most eminent mathematicians of the age has assured 
 me, that the greatest pleasure he took in reading Vir- 
 gil was in examining ^Eneas's voyage by the map ; as 
 I question not but many a modern compiler of history 
 would be delighted with little more in that divine 
 author, than in the bare matters of fact. 
 
 But notwithstanding this faculty must in some 
 measure be born with us, there are several methods 
 for cultivating and improving it, and without which it 
 will be very uncertain, and of very little use to the 
 person that possesses it. The most natural method 
 for this purpose is to be conversant among the writings 
 
136 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 of the most polite authors. A man who has any 
 relish for fine writing either discovers new beauties, or 
 receives stronger impressions from the masterly strokes 
 of a great author every time he peruses him ; besides 
 that he naturally wears himself into the same manner 
 of speaking and thinking. 
 
 Conversation with men of a polite genius is another 
 method for improving our natural taste. It is impos- 
 sible for a man of the greatest parts to consider any 
 thing in its whole extent, and in all its variety of lights. 
 Every man, besides those general observations which 
 are to be made upon an author, forms several re- 
 flections that are peculiar to his own manner of think- 
 ing ; so that conversation will naturally furnish us with 
 hints which we did not attend to, and make us enjoy 
 other men's parts and reflections as well as our own. 
 This is the best reason I can give for the observation 
 which several have made, that men of great genius in 
 the same way of writing seldom rise up singly, but at 
 certain periods of time appear together, and in a body, 
 as they did at Rome in the reign of Augustus, and in 
 Greece about the age of Socrates. I cannot think 
 that Corneille, Racine, Moliere, Boileau, la Fontaine, 
 Bruyere, Bossu, or the Daciers, would have written so 
 well as they have done, had they not been friends and 
 contemporaries. 
 
 It is likewise necessary for a man who would form 
 to himself a finished taste of good writing, to be well 
 versed in the works of the best critics, both ancient 
 and modern. I must confess that I could wish there 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 1 37 
 
 were authors of this kind, who, besides the mechanical 
 rules, which a man of very little taste may discourse 
 upon, would enter into the very spirit and soul of fine 
 writing, and show us the several sources of that pleasure 
 which rises in the mind upon the perusal of a noble 
 work. Thus, although in poetry it be absolutely ne- 
 cessary that the unities of time, place, and action, with 
 other points of the same nature, should be thoroughly 
 explained and understood, — there is still something 
 more essential to the art, something that elevates and 
 astonishes the fancy, and gives a greatness of mind to 
 the reader, which few of the critics besides Longinus 
 have considered. 
 
 Our general taste in England is for epigram, turns 
 of wit, and forced conceits, which have no manner of 
 influence either for the bettering or enlarging the 
 mind of him who reads them, and have been carefully 
 avoided by the greatest writers both among the ancients 
 and moderns. I have endeavored in several of my 
 speculations to banish this Gothic taste which has 
 taken possession among us. I entertained the town, 
 for a week together, with an essay upon wit ; in which 
 I endeavored to detect several of those false kinds 
 which have been admired in the different ages of 
 the world, and at the same time to show wherein the 
 nature of true wit consists. I afterwards gave an in- 
 stance of the great force which lies in a natural sim- 
 plicity of thought to affect the mind of the reader, 
 from such vulgar pieces as have little else besides this 
 single qualification to recommend them. I have like- 
 
138 READINGS FROM ADDISON, 
 
 wise examined the works of the greatest poet which 
 our nation, or, perhaps any other, has produced ; and 
 particularized most of those rational and manly beau- 
 ties which give a value to that divine work. I shall 
 next Saturday enter upon an essay on the pleasures of 
 imagination, which, though it shall consider that sub- 
 ject at large, will perhaps suggest to the reader what 
 it is that gives a beauty to many passages of the finest 
 writers both in prose and verse. As an undertaking 
 of this nature is entirely new, I question not but it 
 will be received with candor. — Spectator, No. 409. 
 
 28. ON METHOD IN DISCUSSION. 
 
 Among my daily papers which I bestow on the pub- 
 lic, there are some which are written with regularity 
 and method, and others that run out into the wildness 
 of those compositions which go by the name of Essays. 
 As for the first, I have the whole scheme of the dis- 
 course in my mind before I set pen to paper. In the 
 other kind of writing, it is sufficient that I have several 
 thoughts on a subject, without troubling myself to range 
 them in such order that they may seem to grow out 
 of one another, and be disposed under their proper 
 heads. Seneca and Montaigne are patterns for writing 
 in this last kind, as Tully and Aristotle excel in the 
 other. When I read an author of genius who writes 
 without method, I fancy myself in a wood that abounds 
 with a great many noble objects, rising among one 
 another, in the greatest confusion and disorder. When 
 I read a methodical discourse, I am in a regular plan- 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 1 39 
 
 tation, and can place myself in its several centres, so 
 as to take a view of ail the lines and walks that are 
 struck from them. You may ramble in the one a whole 
 day together, and every moment discover some thing 
 or other that is new to you ; but when you have done, 
 you will have but a confused, imperfect notion of the 
 place : in the other your eye commands the whole 
 prospect, and gives you such an idea of it, as is not 
 easily worn out of the memory. 
 
 Irregularity, and want of method, are only support- 
 able in men of great learning or genius, who are often 
 too full to be exact, and therefore choose to throw 
 down their pearls in heaps before the reader, rather 
 than be at the pains of stringing them. 
 
 Method is of advantage to the work, both in respect 
 to the writer and the reader. In regard to the first, it 
 is a great help to his invention. When a man has 
 planned his discourse, he finds a great many thoughts 
 rising out of every head, that do not offer themselves 
 upon the general survey of a subject. His thoughts 
 are at the same time more intelligible, and better dis- 
 cover their drift and meaning, when they are placed 
 in their proper lights, and follow one another in a 
 regular series, than when they are thrown together 
 without order and connection. There is always an 
 obscurity in confusion, and the same sentence that 
 would have enlightened the reader in one part of the 
 discourse, perplexes him in another. For the same 
 reason likewise every thought in a methodical discourse 
 shows itself in its greatest beauty, as the several figures 
 
I4O READINGS FROM ADDISON, 
 
 in a piece of painting receive new grace from their 
 disposition in the picture. The advantages of a reader, 
 from a methodical discourse, are correspondent with 
 those of the writer. He comprehends every thing 
 easily, takes it in with pleasure, and retains it long. 
 
 Method is not less requisite in ordinary conver- 
 sation than in writing, provided a man would talk to 
 make himself understood. I, who hear a thousand 
 coffee-house debates every day, am very sensible of 
 this want of method in the thoughts of my honest 
 countrymen. There is not one dispute in ten which 
 is managed in those schools of politics, where, after 
 the three first sentences, the question is not entirely 
 lost. Our disputants put me in mind of the cuttle- 
 fish, that, when he is unable to extricate himself, 
 blackens all the water about him till he becomes 
 invisible. The man who does not know how to meth- 
 odize his thoughts, has always, to borrow a phrase from 
 the " Dispensary," x a barren sicperfluity of words : 
 the fruit is lost amidst the exuberance of leaves. 
 
 Tom Puzzle is one of the most eminent immethod- 
 ical disputants of any that has fallen under my obser- 
 vation. Tom has read enough to make him very 
 impertinent ; his knowledge is sufficient to raise doubts, 
 but not to clear them. It is pity that he has so much 
 learning, or that he has not a great deal more. With 
 these qualifications Tom sets up for a free-thinker, 
 finds a great many things to blame in the constitution 
 of his country, and gives shrewd intimations that he 
 
 1 The Dispensary, a poem by Samuel Garth. 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. I4I 
 
 does not believe in another world. In short, Puzzle is 
 an atheist as much as his parts will give him leave. He 
 has got about half a dozen commonplace topics, into 
 which he never fails to turn the conversation, what- 
 ever was the occasion of it : though the matter in 
 debate be about Douay or Denain, it is ten to one but 
 half his discourse runs upon the unreasonableness and 
 bigotry of priestcraft. This makes Mr. Puzzle the 
 admiration of all those who have less sense than him- 
 self, and the contempt of all those who have more. 
 There is none in town whom Tom dreads so much as 
 my friend Will Dry. Will, who is acquainted with 
 Tom's logic, when he finds him running off the ques- 
 tion, cuts him short with a " What then ? We allow 
 all this to be true, but what is it to our present pur- 
 pose ? " I have known Tom eloquent half an hour 
 together, and triumphing, as he thought, in the superi- 
 ority of the arguments, when he has been nonplussed 
 on a sudden by Mr. Dry's desiring him to tell the 
 company what it was that he endeavored to prove. 
 In short, Dry is a man of a clear methodical head, but 
 few words, and gains the same advantages over Puzzle, 
 that a small body of regular troops would gain over 
 a numberless and undisciplined militia. — Spectator, 
 No. 476. 
 
 29. LIFELESS ORATORY. 
 
 Most foreign writers who have given any character 
 of the English nation, whatever vices they ascribe to 
 it, allow, in general, that the people are naturally 
 modest. It proceeds, perhaps, from this our national 
 
I42 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 virtue, that our orators are observed to make use of 
 less gesture or action than those of other countries. 
 Our preachers stand stock still in the pulpit, and will 
 not so much as move a finger to set off the best ser- 
 mons in the world. We meet with the same speaking 
 statues at our bars, and in all public places of debate. 
 Our words flow from us in a smooth continued stream, 
 without those strainings of the voice, motions of the 
 body, and majesty of the hand, which are so much 
 celebrated in the orators of Greece and Rome. We 
 can talk of life and death in cold blood, and keep our 
 temper in a discourse which turns upon every thing 
 that is dear to us. Though our soul breaks out in the 
 finest tropes and figures, it is not able to stir a limb 
 about us. I have heard it observed more than once, 
 by those who have seen Italy, that an untravelled 
 Englishman cannot relish all the beauties of Italian 
 pictures, because the postures which are expressed in 
 them are often such as are peculiar to that country. 
 One who has not seen an Italian in the pulpit will not 
 know what to make of that noble gesture in Raphael's 
 picture of St. Paul preaching at Athens, where the 
 apostle is represented as lifting up both his arms, and 
 pouring out the thunders of his rhetoric amidst an 
 audience of pagan philosophers. 
 
 It is certain that proper gestures and vehement 
 exertions of the voice cannot be too much studied by 
 a public orator. They are a kind of comment to what 
 he utters, and enforce every thing he says, with weak 
 hearers, better than the strongest argument he can 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 1 43 
 
 make use of. They keep the audience awake, and fix 
 their attention to what is delivered to them, at the 
 same time that they show the speaker is in earnest, 
 and affected himself with what he so passionately 
 recommends to others. Violent gesture and vocifera- 
 tion naturally shake the hearts of the ignorant, and fill 
 them with a kind of religious horror. Nothing is 
 more frequent than to see women weep and tremble 
 at the sight of a moving preacher, though he is placed 
 quite out of their hearing ; as in England we very fre- 
 quently see people lulled asleep with solid and elabo- 
 rate discourses of piety, who would be warmed and 
 transported out of themselves by the bellowings and 
 distortions of enthusiasm. 
 
 If nonsense, when accompanied with such an emo- 
 tion of voice and body, has such an influence on men's 
 minds, what might we not expect from many of those 
 admirable discourses which are printed in our tongue, 
 were they delivered with a becoming fervor, and with 
 the agreeable graces of voice and gesture ? 
 
 We are told that the great Latin orator very much 
 impaired his health by this laterum contention — this 
 vehemence of action with which he used to deliver 
 himself. The Greek orator was likewise so famous 
 for this particular in rhetoric, that one of his antago- 
 nists, whom he had banished from Athens, reading 
 over the oration which had procured his banishment, 
 and seeing his friends admire it, could not forbear 
 asking them, if they were so much affected by the 
 bare reading of it, how much more they would have 
 
144 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 been alarmed, had they heard him actually throwing 
 out such a storm of eloquence. 
 
 How cold and dead a figure, in comparison of these 
 two great men, does an orator often make at the 
 British bar, holding up his head with the most insipid 
 serenity, and stroking the sides of a long wig that 
 reaches down to his middle ! The truth of it is, there 
 is often nothing more ridiculous than the gestures of 
 an English speaker; you see some of them running 
 their hands into their pockets as far as ever they can 
 thrust them, and others looking with great attention 
 on a piece of paper that has nothing written in it; 
 you may see many a smart rhetorician turning his hat 
 in his hands, moulding it into several different cocks, 
 examining sometimes the lining of it, and sometimes 
 the button, during the whole course of his harangue. 
 A deaf man would think he was cheapening a beaver, 
 when perhaps he is talking of the fate of the British 
 nation. I remember when I was a young man, and 
 used to frequent Westminster Hall, there was a coun- 
 sellor who never pleaded without a piece of pack- 
 thread in his hand, which he used to twist about a 
 thumb, or a finger, all the while he was speaking ; the 
 wags of those days used to call it the thread of his 
 discourse, for he was not able to utter a word without 
 it. One of his clients, who was more merry than 
 wise, stole it from him one day in the midst of his 
 pleading ; but he had better have let it alone, for he 
 lost his cause by his jest. 
 
 I have all along acknowledged myself to be a dumb 
 
LITERARY AND CRITICAL TOPICS. 1 45 
 
 man, and therefore may be thought a very improper 
 person to give rules for oratory ; but I believe every 
 one will agree with me in this, that we ought either to 
 lay aside all kinds of gesture (which seems to be very 
 suitable to the genius of our nation), or at least to 
 make use of such only as are graceful and expressive. 
 — Spectator, No, 407. 
 
I46 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 V. 
 
 MORALS AND RELIGION. 
 
 30. MEDITATIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 When I am in a serious humor, I very often walk 
 by myself in Westminster Abbey ; where the gloomi- 
 ness of the place, and the use to which it is applied, 
 with the solemnity of the building, and the condition 
 of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind 
 with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, 
 that is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed a whole 
 afternoon in the churchyard, the cloisters, and the 
 church, amusing myself with the tombstones and in- 
 scriptions that I met with in those several regions 
 of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of 
 the buried person, but that he was born upon one 
 day, and died upon another : the whole history of his 
 life being comprehended in those two circumstances, 
 that are common to all mankind. I could not but 
 look upon these registers of existence, whether of 
 brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed 
 persons, who had left no other memorial of them, but 
 that they were born and that they died. They put 
 one in mind of several persons mentioned in the bat- 
 tles of heroic poems, who have sounding names given 
 them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 147 
 
 and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on 
 the head. 
 
 Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque. — Virg. 
 
 The life of these men is finely described in Holy 
 Writ by " the path of an arrow/ ' which is immediately 
 closed up and lost. 
 
 Upon my going into the church, I entertained my- 
 self with the digging of a grave ; and saw, in every 
 shovel-full of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a 
 bone or skull intermixed with a kind of fresh moulder- 
 ing earth that some time or other had a place in the 
 composition of a human body. Upon this I began 
 to consider with myself, what innumerable multitudes 
 of people lay confused together under the pavement of 
 that ancient cathedral ; how men and women, friends 
 and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebenda- 
 ries, were crumbled amongst one another, and blended 
 together in the same common mass ; how beauty, 
 strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and de- 
 formity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous 
 heap of matter. 
 
 After having thus surveyed this great magazine of 
 mortality, as it were in the lump, I examined it 
 more particularly by the accounts which I found on 
 several of the monuments which are raised in every 
 quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them were 
 covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that, if it 
 were possible for the dead person to be acquainted 
 with them, he would blush at the praises which his 
 
148 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 friends have bestowed upon him. There are others 
 so excessively modest, that they deliver the character 
 of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by 
 that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth. 
 In the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who 
 had no monuments, and monuments which had no 
 poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had 
 filled the church with many of these uninhabited mon- 
 uments, which had been erected to the memory of 
 persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the 
 plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. 
 
 I could not but be very much delighted with several 
 modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance 
 of expression and justness of thought, and therefore 
 do honor to the living as well as to the dead. As a 
 foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the igno- 
 rance or politeness of a nation from the turn of their 
 public monuments and inscriptions, they should be 
 submitted to the perusal of men of learning and gen- 
 ius before they are put in execution. Sir Cloudesley 
 Shovel's monument has very often given me great 
 offence ; instead of the brave, rough English admiral, 
 which was the distinguishing character of that plain, 
 gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the 
 figure of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and re- 
 posing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy 
 of state. The inscription is answerable to the monu- 
 ment ; for instead of celebrating the many remarkable 
 actions he had performed in the service of his coun- 
 try, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 49 
 
 in which it was impossible for him to reap any honor. 
 The Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of 
 genius, show an infinitely greater taste of antiquity and 
 politeness in their buildings and works of this nature, 
 than what we meet with in those of our own country. 
 The monuments of their admirals, which have been 
 erected at the public expense, represent them like 
 themselves ; and are adorned with rostral crowns and 
 naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of seaweed, 
 shells, and coral. 
 
 But to return to our subject. I have left the repos- 
 itory of our English kings for the contemplation of 
 another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for 
 so serious an amusement. I know that entertainments 
 of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts 
 in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations : but for 
 my own part, though I am always serious, I do not 
 know what it is to be melancholy ; and can therefore 
 take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, 
 with the same pleasure as in her most gay and de- 
 lightful ones. By this means, I can improve myself 
 with those objects which others consider with terror. 
 When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emo- 
 tion of envy dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of 
 the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; when 
 I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, 
 my heart melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb 
 of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of 
 grieving for those whom we must quickly follow ; when 
 I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I 
 
150 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy 
 men that divided the world with their contests and 
 disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on 
 the little competitions, factions, and debates of man- 
 kind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, 
 of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred 
 years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all 
 of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance 
 together. — Spectator •, No. 26. 
 
 31. THE VISION OF MIRZAH. 
 
 When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several 
 Oriental manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among 
 others I met with one entitled " The Visions of Mir- 
 zah," which I have read over with great pleasure. I 
 intend to give it to the public when I have no other 
 entertainment for them, and shall begin with the first 
 vision, which I have translated word for word, as 
 follows : — 
 
 " On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the cus- 
 tom of my forefathers, I always kept holy, after having washed 
 myself, and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the 
 high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day in 
 meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the 
 tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on 
 the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to 
 another, 'Surely,' said I, 'man is but a shadow, and life a 
 dream.' Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards 
 the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I dis- 
 covered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little musical 
 instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him, he applied it 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 151 
 
 to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was 
 exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were 
 inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from any thing 
 I had ever heard : they put me in mind of those heavenly airs 
 that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their 
 first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last 
 agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. 
 My heart melted away in secret raptures. 
 
 " I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt 
 of a genius, and that several had been entertained with music 
 who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had 
 before made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts, 
 by those transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleas- 
 ures of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one aston- 
 ished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed 
 me to approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that 
 reverence which is due to a superior nature ; and as my heart 
 was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I 
 fell down at his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me 
 with a look of compassion and affability that familiarized him 
 to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and ap- 
 prehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from 
 the ground, and taking me by the hand, * Mirzah,' said he, ' I 
 have heard thee in thy soliloquies : follow me.' 
 
 " He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and 
 placing me on the top of it, * Cast thy eyes eastward,* said he, 
 4 and tell me what thou seest.' — * I see/ said I, ' a huge valley, 
 and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it.* — ' The valley 
 that thou seest,' said he, * is the vale of misery, and the tide of 
 water that thou seest is part of the great tide of eternity.' — 
 * What is the reason,' said I, ' that the tide I see rises out of a 
 thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at 
 the other ? ' — ' What thou seest,' said he, * is that portion of 
 eternity which is called time, measured out by the sun, and 
 reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation. 
 Examine now,' said he, * this sea that is thus bounded with dark- 
 
152 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 ness at both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it.' — 'I 
 see a bridge,' said I, * standing in the midst of the tide.' — ' That 
 bridge thou seest,' said he, * is human life : consider it atten- 
 tively.' Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it 
 consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several 
 broken arches, which, added to those that were entire, made up 
 the number about an hundred. As I was counting the arches, 
 the genius told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thou- 
 sand arches ; but that a great flood swept away the rest, and left 
 the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. ' But tell 
 me further/ said he, * what thou discoverest on it.' — ' I see mul- 
 titudes of people passing over it,' said I, ' and a black cloud 
 hanging on each end of it.' As I looked more attentively, I 
 saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge, 
 into the great tide that flowed underneath it ; and upon further 
 examination, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that 
 lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner 
 trod upon, but they fell through into the tide, and immediately 
 disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at the 
 entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner 
 broke through the cloud but many of them fell into them. 
 They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay 
 closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire. 
 
 "There were indeed some persons, but their number was very 
 small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken 
 arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and 
 spent with so long a walk. 
 
 " I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful 
 structure, and the great variety of objects which it presented. 
 My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several drop- 
 ping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and catch- 
 ing at every thing that stood by them to save themselves. 
 Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful 
 posture, and in the midst of a speculation stumbled, and fell 
 out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of 
 bubbles that glittered in their eyes and danced before them; 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION 1 53 
 
 but often, when they thought themselves within the reach of 
 them, their footing failed, and down they sank. In this con- 
 fusion of objects, I observed some with cimeters in their 
 hands, and others with [pills and powders], who ran to and fro 
 upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on trap-doors which 
 did not seem to lie in their way, and which they might have 
 escaped had they not been thus forced upon them. 
 
 "The genius, seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy 
 prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it. 'Take 
 thine eyes off the bridge,' said he, ' and tell me if thou yet 
 seest any thing thou dost not comprehend.' Upon looking up, 
 * What mean,' said I, ' those great flights of birds that are per- 
 petually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from 
 time to time ? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and 
 among many other feathered creatures several little winged 
 boys, that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches.* 
 — 'These,' said the genius, 'are envy, avarice, superstition, 
 despair, love, with the like cares and passions that infest hu- 
 man life.' 
 
 ' I here fetched a deep sigh. ' Alas,' said I, ' man was made 
 in vain ! How is he given away to misery and mortality ! tor- 
 tured in life, and swallowed up in death ! ' The genius, being 
 moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfort- 
 able a prospect. ' Look no more,' said he, l on man in the first 
 stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast 
 thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the sev- 
 eral generations of mortals that fall into it.' I directed my 
 sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no the good genius 
 strengthened it with a supernatural force, or dissipated part of 
 the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I 
 saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spreading forth 
 into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant run- 
 ning through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal 
 parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that 
 I could discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to me a 
 vast ocean planted with innumerable islands, that were covered 
 
154 READINGS FROM ADDISON 
 
 with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little 
 shining seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed 
 in glorious habits, with garlands upon their heads, passing among 
 the trees, lying down by the sides of the fountains, or resting on 
 beds of flowers ; and could hear a confused harmony of sing- 
 ing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. 
 Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so delightful a 
 scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly 
 away to those happy seats ; but the genius told me that there 
 was no passage to them, except through the gates of death that 
 I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. ' The islands,' 
 said he, ■ that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with which 
 the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou 
 canst see, are more in number than the sands on the sea-shore ; 
 there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here dis- 
 coverest, reaching farther than thine eye or even thine imagin- 
 ation can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men 
 after death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue 
 in which they excelled, are distributed among these several 
 islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and 
 degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who 
 are settled in them ; every island is a paradise accommodated 
 to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirzah, habita- 
 tions worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that 
 gives thee opportunities of earning such a reward ? is death to 
 be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence ? 
 Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity 
 reserved for him.' I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on 
 these happy islands. At length, said I, * Show me now, I be- 
 seech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds 
 which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of ada- 
 mant.' The genius making me no answer, I turned about to 
 address him a second time, but I found that he had left me : I 
 then turned again to the vision which I had been so long 
 contemplating ; but instead of the rolling tide, the arched 
 bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long, hoi- 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 55 
 
 low valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing 
 upon the sides of it." 
 
 The end of the first vision of Mirzah. — Spectator, 
 No. 15Q. 
 
 32. THE GOLDEN SCALES. 
 
 was lately entertaining myself with comparing 
 Homer's balance, in which Jupiter is represented as 
 weighing the fates of Hector and Achilles, with a 
 passage of Virgil, wherein that deity is introduced as 
 weighing the fates of Turnus and ./Eneas. I then 
 considered how the same way of thinking prevailed in 
 the Eastern parts of the world, as in those noble pas- 
 sages of Scripture wherein we are told that the great 
 king of Babylon, the day before his death, had been 
 weighed in the balance and been found wanting. 
 In other places of the holy writings, the Almighty is 
 described as weighing the mountains in scales, making 
 the weight for the winds, knowing the balancings of the 
 clouds ; and in others, as weighing the actions of men, 
 and laying their calamities together in a balance. Mil- 
 ton, as I have observed in a former paper, had an eye 
 to several of those foregoing instances, in that beautiful 
 description wherein he represents the archangel and 
 the evil spirit as addressing themselves for the com- 
 bat, but parted by the balance which appeared in the 
 heavens, and weighed the consequences of such a 
 battle. 
 
156 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 " The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray, 
 Hung forth in heaven his golden scales, yet seen 
 Betwixt Astraea and the Scorpion sign, 
 Wherein all things created first he weighed, 
 The pendulous round earth, with balanced air 
 In counterpoise, now ponders all events, 
 Battles and realms : in these he put two weights, 
 The sequel each of parting and of fight; 
 The latter quick up flew, and kicked the beam ; 
 Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend: — 
 
 " Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine, 
 Neither our own, but given. What folly, then, 
 To boast what arms can do ? since thine no more 
 Than Heaven permits ; nor mine, though doubled now 
 To trample thee as mire. For proof look up, 
 And read thy lot in yon celestial sign, 
 Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak, 
 If thou resist. — The fiend looked up, and knew 
 His mounted scale aloft : nor more ; but fled 
 Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night." * 
 
 These several amusing thoughts having taken pos- 
 session of my mind some time before I went to sleep, 
 and mingling themselves with my ordinary ideas, raised 
 in my imagination a very odd kind of vision. I was, 
 methought, replaced in my study, and seated in my 
 elbow-chair, where I had indulged the foregoing specu- 
 lations, with my lamp burning by me as usual. Whilst 
 I was here meditating on several subjects of morality, 
 and considering the nature of many virtues and vices, 
 as materials for those discourses with which I daily 
 entertain the public, I saw, methought, a pair of golden 
 
 Paradise Lost, Book IV., ad Jin. 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 57 
 
 scales hanging by a chain of the same metal over the 
 table that stood before me ; when on a sudden there 
 were great heaps of weights thrown down on each side 
 of them. I found, upon examining these weights, they 
 showed the value of every thing that is in esteem 
 among men. I made an essay of them by putting the 
 weight of wisdom in one scale, and that of riches in 
 another ; upon which the latter, to show its compara- 
 tive lightness, immediately flew up, and kicked the 
 beam. 
 
 But, before I proceed, I must inform my reader, that 
 these weights did not exert their natural gravity till 
 they were laid in the golden balance, insomuch that 
 I could not guess which was light or heavy whilst I 
 held them in my hand. This I found by several in- 
 stances ; for upon my laying a weight in one of the 
 scales, which was inscribed by the word Eternity, 
 though I threw in that of time, prosperity, affliction, 
 wealth, poverty, interest, success, with many other 
 weights, which in my hand seemed very ponderous, 
 they were not able to stir the opposite balance, nor 
 could they have prevailed, though assisted with the 
 weight of the sun, the stars, and the earth. 
 
 Upon emptying the scales, I laid several titles and 
 honors, with pomps, triumphs, and many weights of 
 the like nature, in one of them ; and seeing a little 
 glittering weight lie by me, I threw it accidentally into 
 the other scale, when, to my great surprise, it proved 
 so exact a counterpoise, that it kept the balance in an 
 equilibrium. This little glittering weight was inscribed 
 
158 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 upon the edges of it with the word Vanity. I found 
 there were several other weights which were equally 
 heavy, and exact counterpoises to one another ; a few 
 of them I tried, as avarice and poverty, riches and 
 content, with some others. 
 
 There were likewise several weights that were of the 
 same figure, and seemed to correspond with each other, 
 but were entirely different when thrown into the scales ; 
 as, religion and hypocrisy, pedantry and learning, wit 
 and vivacity, superstition and devotion, gravity and 
 wisdom, with many others. 
 
 I observed one particular weight, lettered on both 
 sides, and, upon applying myself to the reading of it, 
 I found on one side written, " In the dialect of men," 
 and underneath it, CALAMITIES ; on the other side 
 was written, " In the language of the gods," and under- 
 neath, BLESSINGS. I found the intrinsic value of 
 this weight to be much greater than I imagined ; for 
 it overpowered health, wealth, good fortune, and many 
 other weights, which were much more ponderous in 
 my hand than the other. 
 
 There is a saying among the Scots, that " An ounce 
 of mother wit is worth a pound of clergy." I was 
 sensible of the truth of this saying, when I saw the 
 difference between the weight of natural parts and that 
 of learning. The observation which I made upon 
 these two weights opened to me a new field of dis- 
 coveries; for notwithstanding the weight of natural 
 parts was much heavier than that of learning, I ob- 
 served that it weighed an hundred times heavier than 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION 1 59 
 
 it did before, when I put learning into the same scale 
 with it. I made the same observation upon faith and 
 morality; for notwithstanding the latter outweighed 
 the former separately, it received a thousand times 
 more additional weight from its conjunction with the 
 former than what it had by itself. This odd phenome- 
 non showed itself in other particulars, as in wit and 
 judgment, philosophy and religion, justice and human- 
 ity, zeal and charity, depth of sense and perspicuity of 
 style, with innumerable other particulars too long to be 
 mentioned in this paper. 
 
 As a dream seldom fails of dashing seriousness with 
 impertinence, mirth with gravity, me thought I made 
 several other experiments of a more ludicrous nature : 
 by one of which I found that an English octavo was 
 very often heavier than a French folio ; and by another, 
 that an old Greek or Latin author weighed down a 
 whole library of moderns. Seeing one of my " Specta- 
 tors" lying by me, I laid it into one of the scales, and 
 flung a two-penny piece into the other : the reader will 
 not inquire into the event, if he remembers the first 
 trial which I have recorded in this paper. I after- 
 wards threw both the sexes into the balance ; but, as it 
 is not for my interest to disoblige either of them, I 
 shall desire to be excused from telling the result of this 
 experiment. Having an opportunity of this nature in 
 my hands, I could not forbear throwing into one scale 
 the principles of a Tory, and into the other those of a 
 Whig; but, as I have all along declared this to be a 
 neutral paper, I shall likewise desire to be silent under 
 
l6o READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 this head also, — though, upon examining one of the 
 weights, I saw the word TEKEL engraven on it in 
 capital letters. 
 
 I made many other experiments; and, though I 
 have not room for them all in this day's speculation, 
 I may perhaps reserve them for another. I shall only 
 add, that upon my awaking I was sorry to find my 
 golden scales vanished, but resolved for the future to 
 learn this lesson from them : Not to despise or value 
 any things for their appearances, but to regulate my 
 esteem and passions towards them according to their 
 real and intrinsic value. — Spectator, No. 463. 
 
 33. PURITANIC PIETY. 
 
 About an age ago it was the fashion in England, for 
 every one that would be thought religious, to throw as 
 much sanctity as possible into his face, and in particu- 
 lar to abstain from all appearances of mirth and pleas- 
 antry, which were looked upon as the marks of a carnal 
 mind. The saint was of a sorrowful countenance, and 
 generally eaten up with spleen and melancholy. A 
 gentleman, who was lately a great ornament to the 
 learned world, has diverted me more than once with 
 an account of the reception which he met with from 
 a very famous Independent minister, who was head of 
 a college in those times. This gentleman was then a 
 young adventurer in the republic of letters, and just 1 
 fitted out for the university with a good cargo of Latin 
 and Greek. His friends were resolved that he should 
 try his fortune at an election which was drawing near 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. l6l 
 
 in the college, of which the Independent minister 
 whom I have before mentioned was governor. The 
 youth, according to custom, waited on him in order 
 to be examined. He was received at the door by a 
 servant, who was one of that gloomy generation that 
 were then in fashion. He conducted him, with great 
 silence and seriousness, to a long gallery which was 
 darkened at noonday, and had only a single candle 
 burning in it. After a short stay in this melancholy 
 apartment, he was led into a chamber hung with black, 
 where he entertained himself for some time by the 
 glimmering of a taper, till at length the head of the 
 college came out to him from an inner room, with 
 half a dozen nightcaps upon his head, and religious 
 horror in his countenance. The young man trembled ; 
 but his fears increased, when, instead of being asked 
 what progress he had made in learning, he was exam- 
 ined how he abounded in grace. His Latin and 
 Greek stood him in little stead : he was to give an 
 account only of the state of his soul ; whether he was 
 of the number of the elect ; what was the occasion of 
 his conversion ; upon what day of the month, and hour 
 of the day, it happened ; how it was carried on, and 
 when completed. The whole examination was summed 
 up with one short question ; namely, Whether he was 
 prepared for death ? The boy, who had been bred 
 •up by honest parents, was frighted out of his wits at 
 the solemnity of the proceeding, and by the last dread- 
 ful interrogatory \ so that, upon making his escape out 
 of the house of mourning, he could never be brought 
 
1 62 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 a second time to the examination, as not being able 
 to go through the terrors of it. 
 
 Notwithstanding this general form and outside of 
 religion is pretty well worn out among us, there are 
 many persons, who, by a natural uncheerfulness of 
 heart, mistaken notions of piety, or weakness of under- 
 standing, love to indulge this uncomfortable way of 
 life, and give up themselves a prey to grief and melan- 
 choly. Superstitious fears and groundless scruples cut 
 them off from the pleasures of conversation, and all 
 those social entertainments which are not only inno- 
 cent, but laudable ; as if mirth were made for repro- 
 bates, and cheerfulness of heart denied those who are 
 the only persons that have a proper title to it. 
 
 Sombrius is one of these sons of sorrow. He thinks 
 himself obliged in duty to be sad and disconsolate. 
 He looks on a sudden fit of laughter as a breach of 
 his baptismal vow. An innocent jest startles him like 
 blasphemy. Tell him of one who is advanced to a 
 title of honor, he lifts up his hands and eyes ; describe 
 a public ceremony, he shakes his head ; show him a 
 gay equipage, he blesses himself. All the little orna- 
 ments of life are pomps and vanities. Mirth is wan- 
 ton, and wit profane. He is scandalized at youth for 
 being lively, and at childhood for being playful. He 
 sits at a christening, or a marriage- feast, as at a funeral ; 
 sighs at the conclusion of a merry story, and grows 
 devout when the rest of the company grow pleas- 
 ant. After all, Sombrius is a religious man, and 
 would have behaved himself very properly, had he 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 63 
 
 lived when Christianity was under a general persecu- 
 tion. 
 
 I would by no means presume to tax such charac- 
 ters with hypocrisy, as is done too frequently ; that 
 being a vice which I think none but he who knows 
 the secrets of men's hearts should pretend to dis- 
 cover in another, where the proofs of it do not amount 
 to a demonstration. On the contrary, as there are 
 many excellent persons who are weighed down by 
 this habitual sorrow of heart, they rather deserve our 
 compassion than our reproaches. I think, however, 
 they would do well to consider whether such a be- 
 havior does not deter men from a religious life, by 
 representing it as an unsociable state, that extinguishes 
 all joy and gladness, darkens the face ofnature, and 
 destroys the relish of being itself. 
 
 I have, in former papers, shown how great a tend- 
 ency there is to cheerfulness in religion, and how 
 such a frame of mind is not only the most lovely, but 
 the most commendable in a virtuous person. In 
 short, those who represent religion in so unamiable a 
 light are like the spies sent by Moses to make a dis- 
 covery of the land of promise, when by their reports 
 they discouraged the people from entering upon it. 
 Those who show us the joy, the cheerfulness, the good- 
 humor, that naturally spring up in this happy state, 
 are like the spies bringing along with them the clus- 
 ters of grapes and delicious fruits, that might invite 
 their companions into the pleasant country which pro- 
 duced them. 
 
164 READINGS FROM ADDISON, 
 
 An eminent Pagan writer x has made a discourse to 
 show that the atheist, who denies a God, does him 
 less dishonor than the man who owns his being, but 
 at the same time believes him to be cruel, hard to 
 please, and terrible to human nature. For my own 
 part, says he, I would rather it should be said of me, 
 that there was never any such man as Plutarch, than 
 that Plutarch was ill-natured, capricious, or inhumane. 
 
 If we may believe our logicians, man is distinguished 
 from all other creatures by the faculty of laughter. 
 He has a heart capable of mirth, and naturally dis- 
 posed to it. It is not the business of virtue to extir- 
 pate the affections of the mind, but to regulate them. 
 It may moderate and restrain, but was not designed 
 to banish gladness from the heart of man. Religion 
 contracts the circle of our pleasures, but leaves it wide 
 enough for her votaries to expatiate in. The contem- 
 plation of the Divine Being, and the exercise of virtue, 
 are in their own nature so far from excluding all glad- 
 ness of heart, that they are perpetual sources of it. 
 In a word, the true spirit of religion cheers as well as 
 composes the soul; it banishes indeed all levity of 
 behavior, all vicious and dissolute mirth, but in ex- 
 change fills the mind with a perpetual serenity, unin- 
 terrupted cheerfulness, and an habitual inclination to 
 please others, as well as to be pleased in itself. — 
 Spectator, No. 494. 
 
 1 Plutarch, De Suf>crstitione. 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. l6$ 
 
 34. SATURDAY SERMON ON CHEERFULNESS AND MIRTH. 
 
 I have always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The 
 latter I consider as an act, the former as a habit of 
 the mind. Mirth is short and transient,, cheerfulness 
 fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into 
 the greatest transports of mirth, who are subject to the 
 greatest depressions of melancholy : on the contrary, 
 cheerfulness, though it does not give the mind such 
 an exquisite gladness, prevents us from falling into any 
 depths of sorrow. Mirth is like a flash of lightning, 
 that breaks through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for 
 a moment ; cheerfulness keeps up a kind of daylight 
 in the mind, and fills it with a steady and perpetual 
 serenity. 
 
 Men of austere principles look upon mirth as too 
 wanton and dissolute for a state of probation, and as 
 filled with a certain triumph and insolence of heart, 
 that is inconsistent with a life which is every moment 
 obnoxious to the greatest dangers. Writers of this com- 
 plexion have observed, that the sacred Person who was 
 the great pattern of perfection was never seen to laugh. 
 
 Cheerfulness of mind is not liable to any of these 
 exceptions : it is of a serious and composed nature ; 
 it does not throw the mind into a condition improper 
 for the present state of humanity, and is very con- 
 spicuous in the characters of those who are looked 
 upon as the greatest philosophers among the heathens, 
 as well as among those who have been deservedly es- 
 teemed as saints and holy men among Christians. 
 
1 66 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 If we consider cheerfulness in three lights, with 
 regard to ourselves, to those we converse with, and to 
 the great Author of our being, it will not a little rec- 
 ommend itself on each of these accounts. The man 
 who is possessed of this excellent frame of mind is 
 not only easy in his thoughts, but a perfect master of 
 all the powers and faculties of his soul ; his imagina- 
 tion is always clear, and his judgment undisturbed; 
 his temper is even and unruffled, whether in action or 
 in solitude. He comes with a relish to all those goods 
 which nature has provided for him, tastes all the pleas- 
 ures of the creation which are poured about him, and 
 does not feel the full weight of those accidental evils 
 which may befall him. 
 
 If we consider him in relation to the persons whom 
 he converses with, it naturally produces love and good- 
 will towards him. A cheerful mind is not only dis- 
 posed to be affable and obliging, but raises the same 
 good humor in those who come within its influence. 
 A man finds himself pleased, he does not know why, 
 with the cheerfulness of his companion : it is like a 
 sudden sunshine that awakens a secret delight in the 
 mind, without her attending to it : the heart rejoices 
 of its own accord, and naturally flows out into friend- 
 ship and benevolence towards the person who has so 
 kindly an effect upon it. 
 
 When I consider this cheerful state of mind in its 
 third relation, I cannot but look upon it as a constant 
 habitual gratitude to the great Author of nature. An 
 inward cheerfulness is an implicit praise and thanks- 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 67 
 
 giving to Providence under all its dispensations : it is 
 a kind of acquiescence in the state wherein we are 
 placed, and a secret approbation of the Divine will in 
 his conduct towards men. 
 
 There are but two things, which, in my opinion, can 
 reasonably deprive us of this cheerfulness of heart. 
 The first of these is the sense of guilt. A man who 
 lives in a state of vice and impenitence can have no 
 title to that evenness and tranquillity of mind which is 
 the health of the soul, and the natural effect of virtue 
 and innocence. Cheerfulness in an ill man deserves 
 a harder name than language can furnish us with, and 
 is many degrees beyond what we commonly call folly 
 or madness. 
 
 Atheism, by which I mean a disbelief of a Supreme 
 Being, and consequently of a future state, under what- 
 soever titles it shelters itself, may likewise very reason- 
 ably deprive a man of this cheerfulness of temper. 
 There is something so particularly gloomy and offen- 
 sive to human nature in the prospect of non-existence, 
 that I cannot but wonder, with many excellent writers, 
 how it is possible for a man to outlive the expectation 
 of it. For my own part, I think the being of a God 
 is so little to be doubted, that it is almost the only 
 truth we are sure of, and such a truth as we meet with 
 in every object, in every occurrence, and in every 
 thought. If we look into the characters of this tribe 
 of infidels, we generally find they are made up of 
 pride, spleen, and cavil. It is indeed no wonder that 
 men who are uneasy to themselves should be so to the 
 
1 68 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 rest of the world ; and how is it possible for a man 
 to be otherwise than uneasy in himself, who is in dan- 
 ger every moment of losing his entire existence, and 
 dropping into nothing? 
 
 The vicious man and atheist have therefore no pre- 
 tence to cheerfulness, and would act very unreasonably 
 should they endeavor after it. It is impossible for 
 any one to live in good-humor, and enjoy his present 
 existence, who is apprehensive either of torment or of 
 annihilation, — of being miserable, or of not being at 
 all. 
 
 After having mentioned these two great principles, 
 which are destructive of cheerfulness in their own 
 nature, as well as in right reason, I cannot think of 
 any other that ought to banish this happy temper from 
 a virtuous mind. Pain and sickness, shame and re- 
 proach, poverty and old age, nay, death itself, consid- 
 ering the shortness of their duration, and the advantage 
 we may reap from them, do not deserve the name of 
 evils : a good mind may bear up under them with 
 fortitude, with indolence, and with cheerfulness of 
 heart. The tossing of a tempest does not discom- 
 pose him, which he is sure will bring him to a joyful 
 harbor. 
 
 A man who uses his best endeavors to live accord- 
 ing to the dictates of virtue and right reason has two 
 perpetual sources of cheerfulness, in the consideration 
 of his own nature, and of that Being on whom he 
 has a dependence. If he looks into himself, he can- 
 not but rejoice in that existence which is so lately 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 69 
 
 bestowed upon him, and which, after millions of ages, 
 will be still new, and still in its beginning. How many 
 self- congratulations naturally arise in the mind, when 
 it reflects on this its entrance into eternity, when it 
 takes a view of those improvable faculties, which in 
 a few years, and even at his first setting out, have 
 made so considerable a progress, and which will be 
 still receiving an increase of perfection, and conse- 
 quently an increase of happiness ? The consciousness 
 of such a being spreads a perpetual diffusion of joy 
 through the soul of a virtuous man, and makes him 
 look upon himself every moment as more happy than 
 he knows how to conceive. 
 
 The second source of cheerfulness, to a good mind, 
 is its consideration of that Being on whom we have 
 our dependence, and in whom, though we behold him 
 as yet but in the first faint discoveries of his perfec- 
 tions, we see every thing that we can imagine as great, 
 glorious, or amiable. We find ourselves everywhere 
 upheld by his goodness, and surrounded with an im- 
 mensity of love and mercy. In short, we depend 
 upon a Being whose power qualifies him to make us 
 happy by an infinity of means, whose goodness and 
 truth engage him to make those happy who desire it 
 of him, and whose unchangeableness will secure us in 
 this happiness to all eternity. 
 
 Such considerations, which every one should per- 
 petually cherish in his thoughts, will banish from us 
 all that secret heaviness of heart which unthinking 
 men are subject to when they lie under no real afflic- 
 
170 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 tion, all that anguish which we may feel from any evil 
 that actually oppresses us, to which I may likewise 
 add those little cracklings of mirth and folly that are 
 apter to betray virtue than support it ; and establish in 
 us such an even and cheerful temper, as makes us 
 pleasing to ourselves, to those with whom we con- 
 verse, and to Him whom we were made to please. — 
 Spectator, No. 381. 
 
 35. SATURDAY SERMON ON RECKONING OUR NEIGHBORS' 
 MISFORTUNES AS JUDGMENTS. 
 
 We cannot be guilty of a greater act of uncharitable- 
 ness, than to interpret the afflictions which befall our 
 neighbors, as punishments and judgments. It aggra- 
 vates the evil to him who suffers, when he looks upon 
 himself as the mark of Divine vengeance, and abates 
 the compassion of those towards him, who regard him 
 in so dreadful a light. The humor of turning every 
 misfortune into a judgment proceeds from wrong 
 notions of religion, which, in its own nature, produces 
 good-will towards men, and puts the mildest construc- 
 tion upon every accident that befalls them. In this 
 case, therefore, it is not religion that sours a man's 
 temper, but it is his temper that sours his religion : 
 people of gloomy, uncheerful imaginations, or of envi- 
 ous, malignant tempers, whatever kind of life they are 
 engaged in, will discover their natural tincture of mind 
 in all their thoughts, words, and actions. As the finest 
 wines have often the taste of the soil, so even the most 
 religious thoughts often draw something that is par- 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION, \J\ 
 
 ticular from the constitution of the mind in which they 
 arise. When folly or superstition strikes in with this 
 natural depravity of temper, it is not in the power even 
 of religion itself, to preserve the character of the per- 
 son who is possessed with it from appearing highly 
 absurd and ridiculous. 
 
 An old maiden gentlewoman, whom I shall conceal 
 under the name of Nemesis, is the greatest discoverer 
 of judgments that I have met with. She can tell you 
 what sin it was that set such a man's house on fire, or 
 blew down his barns. Talk to her of an unfortunate 
 young lady that hath lost her beauty by the small-pox : 
 she fetches a deep sigh, and tells you that when she 
 had a fine face she was always looking on it in her 
 glass. Tell her of a piece of good fortune that has 
 befallen one of her acquaintance ; and she wishes it 
 may prosper with her, but her mother used one of her 
 nieces very barbarously. Her usual remarks turn upon 
 people who had great estates, but never enjoyed them, 
 by reason of some flaw in their own or their fathers' 
 behavior. She can give you the reason why such a 
 one died childless ; why such a one was cut off in the 
 flower of his youth ; why such a one was unhappy in 
 her marriage ; why one broke his leg in such a particu- 
 lar spot of ground ; and why another was killed with a 
 back-sword, rather than with any other kind of weapon. 
 She has a crime for every misfortune that can befall 
 any of her acquaintance ; and when she hears of a 
 robbery that has been made, or a murder that has 
 been committed, enlarges more on the guilt of the suf- 
 
172 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 fering person than on that of the thief or assassin. In 
 short, she is so good a Christian, that whatever happens 
 to herself is a trial, and whatever happens to her neigh- 
 bors is a judgment. 
 
 The very description of this folly, in ordinary life, is 
 sufficient to expose it ; but when it appears in a pomp 
 and dignity of style, it is very apt to amuse and terrify 
 the mind of the reader. Herodotus and Plutarch very 
 often apply their judgments as impertinently as the old 
 woman I have before mentioned, though their manner 
 of relating them makes the folly itself appear venerable. 
 Indeed, most historians, as well Christian as Pagan, 
 have fallen into this idle superstition, and spoken of ill 
 success, unforeseen disasters, and terrible events, as if 
 they had been let into the secrets of Providence, and 
 made acquainted with that private conduct by which 
 the world is governed. One would think several of 
 our own historians in particular had many revelations 
 of this kind made to them. Our old English monks 
 seldom let any of their kings depart in peace who had 
 endeavored to diminish the power or wealth of which 
 the ecclesiastics were in those times possessed. Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror's race generally found their judg- 
 ments in the New Forest, where their fathers had 
 pulled down churches and monasteries. In short, 
 read one of the chronicles written by an author of this 
 frame of mind, and you would think you were reading 
 an history of the kings of Israel and Judah, where the 
 historians were actually inspired, and where, by a par- 
 ticular scheme of Providence, the kings were distin- 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 73 
 
 guished by judgments or blessings, according as they 
 promoted idolatry or the worship of the true God. 
 
 I cannot but look upon this manner of judging upon 
 misfortunes not only to be very uncharitable in regard 
 to the persons whom they befall, but very presumptuous 
 in regard to him who is supposed to inflict them. It 
 is a strong argument for a state of retribution here- 
 after, that in this world virtuous persons are very often 
 unfortunate, and vicious persons prosperous ; which is 
 wholly repugnant to the nature of a Being who appears 
 infinitely wise and good in all his works, unless we may 
 suppose that such a promiscuous and undistinguished 
 distribution of good and evil, which was necessary for 
 carrying on the designs of Providence in this life, will 
 be rectified and made amends for in another. We 
 are not therefore to expect that fire should fall from 
 heaven in the ordinary course of Providence ; nor, 
 when we see triumphant guilt or depressed virtue in 
 particular persons, that Omnipotence will make bare 
 its holy arm in defence of the one or punishment of 
 the other. It is sufficient that there is a day set apart 
 for the hearing and requiting of both according to 
 their respective merits. 1 — Spectator, No. 483. 
 
 36. SATURDAY SERMON ON AIDS TO FAITH. 
 (Concluding paragraph.) 
 
 The Supreme Being has made the best arguments 
 for his own existence in the formation of the heavens 
 and earth ; and these are arguments which a man of 
 
 1 This paper is abridged here by the omission of two paragraphs. 
 
174 READINGS FROM ADDISON. 
 
 sense cannot forbear attending to, who is out of the 
 noise and hurry of human affairs. Aristotle says, that 
 should a man live under ground, and there converse 
 with works of art and mechanism, and should after- 
 wards be brought up into the open day, and see the 
 several glories of the heaven and earth, he would im- 
 mediately pronounce them the works of such a being 
 as we define God to be. The Psalmist has very beau- 
 tiful strokes of poetry to this purpose in that exalted 
 strain, " The heavens declare the glory of God : and 
 the firmament showeth his handywork. One day tell- 
 eth another : and one night certifleth another. There 
 is neither speech nor language : but their voices are 
 heard among them. Their sound is gone out into 
 all the lands : and their words unto the ends of the 
 world." As such a bold and sublime manner of 
 thinking furnished very noble matter for an ode, the 
 reader may see it wrought into the following one. 
 
 The spacious firmament on high, 
 
 With all the blue ethereal sky, 
 
 And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
 
 Their great original proclaim : 
 
 The unwearied sun, from day to day, 
 
 Does his Creator's power display, 
 
 And publishes to every land 
 
 The work of an almighty hand. 
 
 ii. 
 Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
 
MORALS AND RELIGION. 1 75 
 
 And nightly to the listening earth 
 
 Repeats the story of her birth ; 
 
 Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 in. 
 What though, in solemn silence, all 
 Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
 What though nor real voice nor sound 
 Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
 In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice, 
 Forever singing, as they shine, 
 " The hand that made us is divine." 
 
 Spectator y No. 463. 
 
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