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Professor of English in Eichmond College 




Jobnson Series ot }£naltsb 

by Prof. G. C. Edwards. 

by Dr. James M. Garnett 

TENNYSON'S PRINCESS. Edited by Dr. C. W. Kent. 

DISON. Edited by Dr. C. Alphonso Smith. 

POPE'S HOMER'S ILIAD. Edited by Professors 
F. E. Shoup and Isaac Ball. 

Edited by Prof. John Calvin Metcalf. 

by Dr. Robert Sharp. 

THE ANCIENT MARINER. Edited by Prof. Nor- 
man H. Pitman. 

Others to be Announced. 

Copyright 1910 
By B. F. JOHNSON publishing CO. 

l()-4— H. P.— 1 ed. 

C 0! A:^51553 


It has been the purpose of the editor of this volume 
to furnish the student or general reader with such 
information in the introduction and notes as will en- 
able him to form some general notion of the social 
setting of The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 

To those who would gain a more intimate know- 
ledge of that fascinating period, the Age of Queen 
Anne, extended reading in the more accessible books 
mentioned in the brief bibliography is strongly 
recommended. Such books as Thackeray's great 
work, Henry Esmond, and his English Humourists, 
along with Ashton's Social Life in the Age of Queen 
Anne, will help the imagination to reconstruct the 
period. But, above all else, the student should read 
widely in The Tatler and The Spectator, to which this 
selection of papers is simply an introduction. 

The text is essentially that of Morley's edition of 
The Spectator, with capitalization, spelling, and 
punctuation modernized, and with a word or phrase 
changed here and there. The headings to the various 




papers (not found in the originals, of course,) have 
almost become the common property of editors, and 
little originality in phrasing is possible. The selec- 
tions included in this volume have likewise become 
established by the general agreement of editors, 
though the name of Sir Roger de Coverley occurs 
in several other numbers of The Spectator. These 
thirty-three papers, however, include all that really 
has to do with the career and personality of that 

worthy knight. 

J. C. M. 
Biclimond, Ya., March 1, 1910, 


Introduction: page 

I. Addison and Steele vii 

II. The Tatler and The Spectator xvi 

III. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers xxiii 

Brief Bibliography xxvii 

The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers: 

I. A Description of the Spectator 1 

II. The Members of the Club 7 

III. Politeness and Morality 15 

IV. A Meeting of the Club 20 

V. Sir Roger at His Country Home 25 

VI. The Coverley Household 30 

VII. Will Wimble .35 

VIII. Sir Roger's Family Portraits 40 

IX. The Coverley Ghost 45 

X. Sir Roger at Church 51 

XI. Sir Roger in Love 55 

XII. A Little Sermon on Economy 62 

XIII. Health and Exercise 67 

XIV. A Hunt with Sir Roger 72 

XV. The Coverley Witch 79 

XVI. Sir Roger Discourses on Love 84 

XVII. Town and Country Manners 90 

XVIII. Sir Roger at the Assizes 94 




XIX. Florio and Leonilla 99 

XX. The Spectator on Party Spirit 106 

XXL Whig and Tory 112 

XXII. A Gypsy Camp 118 

XXIII. Reasons for Returning to Town 123 

XXIV. The Journey Back to London 127 

XXV. Sir Roger and Sir Andrew 132 

XXVI. Sir Roger in Town 138 

XXVII. Sir Roger in Westminster Abbey 143 

XXVIII. Sir Roger at the Play 148 

XXIX. Will Honeycomb's Love Affairs 153 

XXX. Sir Roger at Vauxhall 158 

XXXI. The Death of Sir Roger 163 

XXXII. Will Honeycomb's Marriage 168 

XXXIII. The Club is Dissolved 172 

Notes ,,.177 


I. Addison and Steele 

The two men who wrote most of the papers con- 
tained in that famous collection of periodical essays, 
The Spectator, were Joseph Addison and Richard 
Steele. There were other contributors, to be sure, 
but they exercised no shaping hand in this journal 
of manners and morals. Steele originated The SpeC' 
tator, but Addison may be said to have perfected it; 
and Addison's name is associated with it in the 
popular mind almost to the neglect of Steele's, 
though Steele's contribution is very large. The 
name of Addison, even in his own day, had greater 
weight than that of Steele, and so it has continued. 
The two men were closely associated from boyhood; 
their very differences of temperament drew them 
together; they were in a sense complementary, and 
we cannot well understand the one without reference 
to the other. Apart from his literary activity, Addi- 
son was a busy man in affairs of State, while Steele 
turned his hand to many things, from soldiering to 
pamphleteering and play-writing. The versatility of the 
two men was remarkable ; but posterity has for the 
most part forgotten their political ambitions, their 
'dramas, their pamphlets offensive and defensive, and 
remembers them as writers of delightful essays and 



character-sketches, unambitious human documents, 
known collectively as The Tatler and The Spectator. 

Joseph Addison, son of Rev. Launcelot Addison, 
was born at Milston, Wiltshire, May i, 1672. The 
elder Addison was a man of literary tastes and 
author of several books. He later became Dean of 
Lichfield, where Joseph Addison studied at the gram- 
mar school before going to the famous Charter 
House in London. From this school he proceeded 
to the University of Oxford in 1687 at the age of 
fifteen, where he entered Queen's College. His 
proficiency in the classics, especially in the writing 
of Latin verse, won for him a scholarship in Magda- 
len College, whither he went in 1689. He received 
the degree of master of arts in 1693 and was made 
a Fellow in 1698, retaining his fellowship until 171 1, 
though he left Oxford in 1699. 

During those eleven or twelve years at the Uni- 
versity, Addison read widely in the classics, trans- 
lated parts of Virgil's Georglcs and Ovid's Metamor- 
phoses, and composed remarkably smooth Latin 
verses. He wrote, besides. An Account of the Greatest 
English Poets in verse, some lines in honor of the old 
poet, John Dryden, and a poetical tribute to King 
William. This studious life of Addison at Oxford 
seemed to indicate that he would become a clergy- 
man. The quiet dignity of the young Fellow of 
Magdalen, whose favorite walk was under the elms 
along the peaceful Cherwell, sorted well with that 


impression. But the fates willed otherwise. Dryden 
introduced Addison to Congreve, the dramatist, and 
he in turn presented him to Charles Montague, later 
Lord Halifax, whom Addison had praised in his 
Account of the English Poets and in a Latin poem. 
Montague obtained for him a traveling pension of 
three hundred pounds a year in order that he might 
visit foreign lands, learn French, and prepare him- 
self for diplomatic service. Accordingly, in 1699, at 
the age of twenty-seven, Addison left Oxford for the 

When after a stay of four years on the continent, 
mostly in France and Italy, Addison returned to 
England, he found a new sovereign on the throne, 
his pension gone, and himself without a livelihood; 
for the Whigs, among whom were his political 
friends, no longer directed the government. He 
turned to literature for support, and from his garret 
in London sent forth an account of his travels, a 
book which added little to his fame and still less to 
his purse. About this time, however, when Addi- 
son's fortunes were at their lowest ebb, his friend 
Montague again helped him. Godolphin, the Lord 
Treasurer, asked Montague to recommend a poet 
who could celebrate in worthy verse the recent great 
victory at Blenheim under the Duke of Marlborough. 
Montague mentioned Addison ; whereupon Godol- 
phin sent Boyle, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
to see the impecunious poet at his lodgings up three 


flights of stairs over a shop in the Haymarket. The 
outcome of this visit was The Campaign, Addison's 
first really significant poem, in which the Duke of 
Marlborough, victor at Blenheim, is glorified as the 
avenging angel upon England's foes. The poem 
was immensely popular. 

Addison's long political career began the same 
year in which The Campaign was written, 1704, with 
his appointment as Commissioner of Appeals, to be 
followed two years later by his promotion to the 
office of Under-Secretary of State. Elected to Par- 
liament in 1708, he served as a member of the House 
of Commons until his death. In 1709 he was sent 
to Ireland as Under-Secretary, but lost that office 
the following year through the fall of the Whig 
ministry. The supreme political honor of his life 
came to him in 1717, two years before his death, 
when he was made Secretary of State. 

Throughout these years of active participation in 
State affairs, Addison's literary activity continued. 
To The Tatler, which His friend and schoolmate 
Richard Steele had begun in 1709, he was a regular 
contributor. The Spectator, running through iyii-12 
and revived in 1714 for a year, shows Addison at his 
best. The essays written for two later periodicals, 
The Guardian and The Freeholder, are of less literary 
importance because they are partisan. Addison 
wrote, moreover, two dramas in verse, Rosamond, an 
opera which was performed in 1706, and Cato, a rather 


stiff and stately tragedy which was begun during his 
travels on the continent, though not finished until 
1713. Rosamond was deservedly a failure, but Cato 
was highly successful in an age which esteemed cold- 
ness and correctness of form in literature above faith- 
fulness to human nature. It is difficult, indeed, for 
the modern reader, while admitting the elegance and 
dignity of many passages in Cato, to understand the 
enthusiastic references to this drama by contemporary 

The remainder of Addison's life was passed in the 
ease which an assured position in literature, in society, 
and in politics brings with it. He was one of the 
foremost men of letters in England, the centre of a 
circle of admirers at Button's Coffee-house, as Dry- 
den had been at Will's twenty years before. His 
marriage to the Countess Dowager of Warwick in 
1716, to whom he had paid long court, may have in- 
creased his social prestige, though, if reports be cor- 
rect, it did not add to his happiness. In the company 
of a few congenial friends at his coffee-house Addison 
doubtless found during these last years his greatest 
happiness. On June 17, 1719, Addison died at 
Holland House, and was buried in Westminster 
Abbey by the side of his "loved Montague." 

Addison as a man was universally popular in an 
age of bitter partisanship. Though he was no 
speaker, he was repeatedly elected to Parliament and 
appointed without personal solicitation to important 


offices of State. Though a Whig, he was once or 
twice returned to ParHament by Tory votes. His 
popularity is attested by Swift who wrote to Steele: 
*T believe if he had a mind to be chosen king, he 
would hardly be refused." Somewhat proud, very 
sensitive, reserved, and self conscious, it may appear 
strange that Addison was popular; but at heart he 
was one of the kindest, most sympathetic of men, 
however cold he may have seemed. His was the 
scholar's austerity, and his very dignity and silence 
inspired confidence, while his freedom from party 
bitterness gave him a certain judicial poise. To his 
purity of character were added the urbanity of good 
breeding, the courage of real conviction, and the 
sensibility of genius. 

Richard Steele was born in Dublin in 1672, the 
birth-year of his friend and associate, Joseph Addi- 
son. Steele's father was English, his mother Irish; 
and in the son there was a curious blending of 
national traits, but the Irish were more pronounced. 
His parents died while he was a mere child, and 
an uncle took charge of him. This uncle sent him 
at the age of twelve to the Charter House school in 
London where he met Addison. In 1691 Steele went 
to Oxford, first to Christ Church College and later 
to Merton College ; but he was not of a studious 
temperament, and after a few years at the University, 
pining for a life of action, he left Oxford without 
a degree. We next hear of him as a member of the 


Horse Guards, playing soldier, for his campaigning 
must have been mostly local. Here he remained 
over ten years, during which he wrote a poem in 
honor of Lord Cutts, a well-known military man of 
the day, a devotional manual named The Christian 
Hero, and a play called The Funeral, satirizing the 
pretentious social follies of the time. Thus early 
his versatile genius is shown. 

Under the patronage of Lord Cutts, Steele was 
becoming known to the wits and men of letters who 
gathered at Will's Coffee-house. Two other plays 
soon followed, The Lying Lover (1703) and The 
Tender Husband (1705), the beginnings of that 
species of drama termed 'sentimental comedy,' the 
purpose of which was to give a moral tone to plays 
as opposed to the dissolute language of the Restora- 
tion Comedy of Manners. In writing the second of 
these two plays Steele was assisted by Addison. 
Soon after this Steele married Margaret Stretch, a 
widow, who died in 1706, leaving him an income 
of eight hundred pounds a year. In 1707, he was 
made official Gazetteer, and distinguished by other 
marks of court favor. The same year he married 
Miss Scurlock, to whom he was ever a devoted 
husband throughout their married life of over 
twenty years. Indeed, there is not to be found in 
eighteenth century literature a series of more affec- 
tionate love-letters than Steele's almost daily notes 
to his somewhat exacting but eminently sensible and 


attractive wife. By this time Steele was a well- 
known writer with political aspirations, who was 
convivial with the leading wits at the Kit-Cat Club, 
and whose finances were usually in a bad condition. 

In 1709, partly as a money-making enterprise, 
Steele began the publication of the periodical 
through which the world came to know him at his 
best, The Tatler. Two years later he planned with 
Addison, who had been a contributor to The Tatler, 
a new journal of manners, letters, and morals, which 
was continued through 1712. For the next few 
years Steele began one periodical after another, but 
without conspicuous success, for he had now thrown 
himself with energy into politics and the partisan 
tone of his journals detracted from their social and 
literary interest. When George I succeeded to the 
throne in 1714, Steele became an aggressive cham- 
pion of the House of Hanover and was promptly 
rewarded with an appointment to several minor 
offices, among which was that of Supervisor of 
Drury Lane Theatre. The next year he was knighted 
and again elected to Parliament, from which in the 
preceding year under the Tory ministry he had been 
expelled because of certain attacks on the govern- 
ment in one of his papers. Luckily at this critical 
juncture when poverty seemed dangerously near, 
unknown admirers had sent him three thousand 

The rest of Steele's life was devoted in the main 


to politics. As Supervisor of Drury Lane, he exer- 
cised a wholesome restraint upon the management 
of that theatre ; as one of the royal commissioners 
he visited Scotland several times on government 
business ; and as opponent of the South Sea Scheme, 
he gained wide favor when that speculative bubble 
burst. Unfortunately, in 1719 only a little while 
before Addison's death, he and Addison had a dis- 
agreement about the bill for limiting the number of 
Peers. The two old friends attacked each other 
in two rival periodicals of the day. But after Addi- 
son's death, Steele's affection for his friend showed 
itself in a generous tribute to his memory. The 
last important contribution which Steele made to 
literature was the comedy of The Conscious Lovers 
in 1722, the most successful of his plays. The later 
years of his life were spent in promoting certain 
schemes for the public welfare and for his own private 
fortune. He wished to leave something to his chil- 
dren (his wife had died in 1718), but disease weak- 
ened his native vigor and made weary his hopeful 
spirit. In Wales, at Carmarthen, whither he had 
gone to look after his wife's estates, Steele died in 
1729, and there he was buried. 

Impulsive, careless, inconsistent, warm-hearted, 
improvident, Steele was one of those characters who 
get close to the human heart. His vitality was as 
buoyant as his sympathies were broad; he entered 
with whole-hearted enjoyment into the life about 



him, a man of action with an immense capacity for 
social intercourse. He was courageous, with an 
instinct for social and political reform, a chivalrous 
defender of woman in an age of lax morals, a loyal 
friend, a good father and husband. What particu- 
larly impresses the student of Steele's life is the 
man's ceaseless activity, his abounding energy ; and 
with it all there goes that saving irrepressible good 
nature, that human quality, which makes the world 
love him, if it does not revere him. 

II. The Tatler and The Spectator. 

The Age of Queen Anne was above all else a 
social age. After the gloom of Puritanism in the 
middle of the seventeenth century came the gayety 
of the Restoration when French influence prevailed 
in literature as well as in London society. The 
Court was the center from which spread fashions in 
letters, in politics, in religion. It was upon the whole 
a superficial age, in which urbanity of manner 
counted for more than depth of thought or sincerity 
of conviction. The moral tone was low, manifesting 
itself in coarseness of speech and in recklessness of 
conduct. Gambling and drinking were prevalent! 
vices ; the laws were poorly enforced ; all sorts of 
swindling schemes flourished; highwaymen infested 
the country roads, and riotous gangs of young men, 
often from good families, made night hideous in 
London by attacking pedestrians, beating some and 


compelling others to dance at the sword's point, or 
by nailing women in barrels and rolling them down 
inclines. The streets were narrow, poorly paved, ill- 
lighted, and wretchedly dirty, often with reeking 
gutters along the sidewalks. Of sanitation, as we 
imderstand it to-day, there was little or none. Lon- 
don, as compared with that modern vast hive of 
human industry, was not a very big city, having 
hardly more than a half million people ; and for 
that very reason its citizens could get together 
oftener and come to feel the bonds of human 
interest. It was withal a lively throng of mortals, 
who, feeling the delight of the passing hour, loved to 
meet in groups and talk and show themselves. 

The most noteworthy centers of this social con- 
tact were the coffee-houses, the clubs, the theatres, 
and the various public parks and pleasure gardens, 
like Vauxhall, for instance, in and about the metro- 
polis. Coffee-houses and clubs had very largely 
taken the place of the taverns of Shakespeare's day 
as meeting-places for men of wit. Will's was still 
the most famous headquarters of literary men, while 
for politicians, lawyers, clergymen, there were coffee- 
houses professionally adapted. The merchants, too, 
had their coffee-houses and clubs, for the great mid- 
dle class, the tradesmen, were growing powerful in 
municipal and national life. All sorts of clubs, from ' 
the exclusive Kit-Cat Club to the lower tavern gath- 
erings, flourished in the heart of London, where con- 


genial companions ate, drank, and made merry. At 
the theatres, Drury Lane, Covent Garden, the Hay- 
market, all classes assembled to hear a new comedy 
by Congreve, or Gibber, or Steele. Here in the 
boxes the nobles sat and talked court news, 

"Who loses and who wins, who's in, who's out" — 

and fine ladies exchanged court gossip. Here you 
met your friends, and from here, when the curtain 
fell, you went back to the cofifee-house for a chat 
or to the Mall for a promenade. 

Such great social activity could of course exist 
only in a time of leisure attendant upon material 
prosperity. All this meant a large class of readers 
who demanded entertainment from lighter forms of 
literature. To supply this demand various journals 
came into existence, some to furnish foreign or 
domestic news, others court news, some to set forth 
dramatic criticism, others to comment upon the 
manners of the day. The first daily newspaper. The 
Daily Courant, began in 1702, a single sheet eight 
by fourteen inches; Defoe started his Review in 1704. 
Of the long list of weekly and monthly periodicals 
born in the first decade of the eighteenth century 
the greater part were short-lived; but the popularity 
of several of these journals proved that henceforth 
this form of literature was to be reckoned with by 
aspiring young authors. The bounds of literature 


were about to be enlarged by the inclusion of the 
periodical essay, which is the literary offspring of a 
quickened social sense. 

The two men of that time best qualified by tem- 
perament and by training to seize upon a popular 
form and raise it to the dignity of literature were 
Richard Steele and Joseph Addison. Steele in par- 
ticular knew the town intimately and loved to min- 
gle freely with the passing throngs of London life. 
He well understood their wants, he felt keenly 
enough his own pecuniary needs, and he had an 
ambition, no doubt, to enter a field whence he might 
exert a wider influence. Accordingly, on April 12, 
1709, Steele issued the first number of The Tatler 
tmder the pseudonym of Isaac Bickerstaff, a name 
which he borrowed from Swift. The little folio, 
double-columned paper was published three times 
a week up to January 2, 171 1, at one penny a copy. 
Of the two hundred and seventy-one numbers issued 
Steele wrote one hundred and eighty-eight, Addison 
wrote forty-two. The rest were contributed by 
friends or by Steele and Addison together. At first 
Steele had intended to make The Tatler strictly a 
newspaper, but he soon decided to enlarge the scope 
so as to touch on matters social, literary, and moral, 
with helpful purpose. To the first collected volume 
of papers from The Tatler Steele prefixed this state- 
ment: 'The general purpose of this paper is to 
expose the false arts of life, to pull off the disguises 


of cunning, vanity, and affectation, and to recommend 
a general simplicity in our dress, our discourse, and 
our behaviour." 

The success of The Tatler led Steele to plan, in 
conjunction with his friend Addison, a new periodi- 
cal of wider range. The Spectator began March i, 
171 1, and appeared six times a week until December 
6, 1712. After an intermission of about a year and a 
half, Addison revived The Spectator, issuing it three 
times a week, and wrote for it alone until its dis- 
continuance, December 20, 1714. Of the six hun- 
dred and thirty-five numbers in the two series, two 
hundred and seventy-four were written by Addison, 
two hundred and thirty-six by Steele ; the rest were 
contributed by friends of the two men, including 
Eustace Budgell, Hughes, Tickell, Pope, and others. 
To each number of this little double-columned sheet 
was prefixed as a motto an apt quotation from some 
Latin or Greek author. 

The Spectator was pitched upon a higher plane than 
The Tatler, due in large measure, it may be safely 
said, to the serene, reflective spirit of Addison, the 
calm observer of men and things, somewhat detached 
from the throng while keenly watching it with a 
quiet sense of humor. The seriousness of purpose 
which inspired Addison in writing these delightful 
papers is thus set forth in No. 10 of The Spectator: 

"Since I have raised to myself so great an 
audience, I shall spare no pains to make their 


instruction agreeable and their diversion useful. For 
which reason I shall endeavour to enliven morality 
with wit, and to temper wit with morality. 
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 desper- 
ate 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." 
This ethical purpose Addison kept steadily in view. 
The contents of The Spectator were varied to suit all 
tastes to which the principles of common sense and 
common decency were likely to make an appeal. 
Stories, character-sketches, literary and dramatic 
criticism, playful social satire, penetrating comments 
on morality and religion, filled the pages of the little 
paper which was daily laid upon the breakfast tables 
of the citizens of London. Queen Anne herself is 
said to have read The Spectator at breakfast. In 
Scotland it was regarded as suitable Sunday reading, 
promotive of discussions on religion and morals. 
That The Spectator reached a large public, even at 


the outset, may be gathered from Addison's state- 
ment in No. 10 : "My pubHsher tells me that there are 
already three thousand of them distributed every 
day." This number rapidly increased, of course, with 
the growing popularity of the paper ; until, towards 
the close of its career, as Courthope remarks in his 
Life of Addison, "It is not unreasonable to conclude 
that the usual daily issue of The Spectator to readers 
in all parts of the kingdom would have reached ten 
thousand copies." 

Aside from the mere entertainment which this 
periodical afiforded its readers, there can be no doubt 
that it exercised a distinctly wholesome restraint upon 
manners and morals. Without being offensively 
didactic. The Spectator made morality fashionable 
and moderated social license until the standards of 
common sense once more prevailed in a nation 
which had, for a time, departed from its traditions 
under the impulse of reaction from puritanical 
repression. But it did still more : by reflecting local 
manners, sketching character in a concrete and real- 
istic way, by portraying homely scenes, and by 
creating vividly human personalities socially 
grouped. The Spectator, which was another name for 
Addison, hastened the advent of the English novel 
thirty years later. Not the least, in truth, 
among the glories of the two originators of the 
periodical essay, Steele and Addison, is the signifi- 
cant contribution which they, all unconsciously, made 


throug-h The Tatler and The Spectator to the most 
democratic form of literature known to man, the 

III. The Sir Roger De Coverlet Papers. 

Of the thirty-three selections from The Spectator 
included in this volume under the general title of 
The Sir Roger de CoverUy Papers, twenty-two are by 
Addison, nine by Steele, and two by Eustace Budgell 
(see notes to page 72). The characters who figure 
in these papers are members of an imaginary Club 
of which the Spectator is the central personage. 
Sir Roger, the dominant character, is the landed 
country gentleman and staunch Tory; Sir Andrew 
Freeport is a prosperous London merchant and a 
devoted Whig; Captain Sentry represents the army, 
the Templar the law, the Clergyman the church; 
Will Honeycomb is the society man. Little effort is 
made to develop the outline of each character given 
in the second paper of The Spectator, always except- 
ing Sir Roger, of course. Sir Andrew is somewhat 
pale. Captain Sentry is indistinct, Will Honeycomb 
is fairly clear-cut, while the other two are entirely 
nes:ative. Steele sketched the characters and left 
the enlargement of them into life-like portraits to 
Addison, returning time and again to the old knight 
through sheer love of him. Indeed, both writers 
seem to have become so absorbed in this one domi- 
nating figure as almost to forget about the others, 


contenting themselves with the introduction now and 
then of a contrasted character by way of variety and 
consistency. It is Steele who introduced Sir Roger 
de Coverley (Spectator, No. 2) ; it is Steele who 
dwells longer upon the whims of the old baronet ; 
and it is Steele, who tells so inimitably the story 
of Sir Roger and the perverse widow — that invisible 
but familiar personage in the club. It is Addison, 
however, who elaborates the character of Sir Roger 
de Coverley until there lives before us a typical, old- 
fashioned country gentleman of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, endeared to us by his eccentricities, his preju- 
dices, his touch of superstitittion, his rusticity, which 
only serve to give color to his large humanity. The 
old knight in the midst of the congregation on 
Sunday ; the visit to the theatre and the comments 
on the play ; the walk through Westminster Abbey, 
with the recital from Baker's Chronicle to the 
impatient verger and the cool appropriation of the 
coronation chair; the moral reflections in Vauxhall 
Gardens ; and that pathetic letter of the old steward 
telling of Sir Roger's death : all these ever memora- 
ble scenes are painted by Addison. The full-length 
portrait of this famous character is a clever blending 
of the sentimental touches of Steele and the more 
refined shadings, the soberer coloring of the genius 
of Addison. Upon the whole, however, when we 
have examined in detail the elements which united 
make this one of the most distinct and lovable char- 


acters in literature, we conclude that Sir Roger de 
Coverley is manifestly the creation of Addison. 

But back of this engaging figure is the Spectator 
himself. Parts of the characterization in the first 
paper may be applied, directly or indirectly, to 
Addison the man. "It is not easy to doubt," says 
Macaulay, ''that the portrait was meant to be in some 
features a likeness of the painter." Shy and silent in 
company, but altogether charming as a talker when 
with several congenial spirits, Addison was a man 
of sensitive temperament despite his fondness for 
public life. A delicate humor pervades the best of 
his social essays, while throughout others, as, for 
example, the Vision of Mirza (No. 159), or the 
reflections on the tombs in Westminster Abbey (No. 
26), there is a subdued and solemn music, a lingering 
cadence. He was not, like Steele, a hasty or careless 
writer, but refined and polished his periods. His 
sense for words is discriminating, and his apprecia- 
tion of the telling adjustment of phrases is evident 
to the trained ear. He is master of an elegant style ; 
though at times it verges upon the colloquial, it is 
always graceful and sustained. As the man himself 
was urbane, so is his style. Addison succeeded, as 
no one before him had done, in writing prose that 
was at once idiomatic and polished. It is the easy, 
familiar, but refined style of the well-bred man of 
the world, who is at the same time something of the 
scholar, It is not a vigorous style, not epigram,^ 


matic. "He thinks justly," said Dr. Johnson, "but 
he thinks faintly." Although not a profound writer, 
Addison perceived the possibilities of prose as a 
medium of artistic expression. He had, moreover, 
the industry and the critical acumen to demonstrate 
these possibilities by treating subjects of the day 
with a nicety of phrase and an elevation of sentiment 
which have made our language and our literature his 
lasting debtors. It was a notable accomplishment, 
indeed, to reconcile wit and virtue in his own age ; 
it is, perhaps, a still greater achievement to have 
given to the world a new literary form. 

But, in the last analysis, the appeal of Addison is 
not to be found in his ethical teaching or in the 
mere form of his utterance, important as these are, 
but rather in a personality of compelling charm. 

"Whoever wishes," says Johnson in an oft-quoted 
sentence, "to attain an English style, familiar but not 
coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give 
his days and nights to the volumes of Addison." 
True as this is, it is altogether likely that Addison 
himself, were he to speak, would wish his books 
read for simple enjoyment, without a thought of 
style. After two hundred years, those who love The 
Spectator best think of Addison not as a classic, but 
as a friend. His volumes are among the great com- 
panionable books of our literature. 


Editions of the Spectator 

Henry Morley's, 3 vols., 1883, or i vol., 1888; G. Gregory 
Smith's, 8 vols., 1897-1898. These are the best modern edi- 
tions of The Spectator complete. Excellent single volumes 
of selections from Addison's works are: J. R. Green's, 1880; 
Wendell and Greenough's, 1905 ; Reed's, 1906. 

Biography and Criticism 

Life of Addison, by W. J. Courthope, in the English Men 
of Letters Series, 1884, is the best brief biography. The Life 
and Writings of Addison, by T. B. Macaulay, among his 
essays, is a good estimate though it is over-emphatic here 
and there; first appeared in Edinburgh Review, 1843. Addi- 
son, in the Lives of the Poets, by Samuel Johnson, 1781, re- 
mains one of the most sensible, judicious estimates. Lectures 
on the English Humourists, Addison, by W. M. Thackeray. 


Life of Richard Steele, by George A. Aitken, 1899. Rich- 
ard Steele, by Austin Dobson, in the English Worthies Series, 
1886. These are the best recent biographies. Lectures on the 
English Humourists, by W. M. Thackeray, 1851. This esti- 
mate hardly does Steele justice. 

History and Social Life 

A History of Eighteenth Century Literature, by Edmund 
Gosse. English Literature in the Eighteenth Century, by T. 



S. Perry. An Illustrated History of English Literature, by 
Richard Garnett and Edmund Gosse, Vol. III. The illustra- 
tions and facsimiles in this work are very helpful to the 
student and reader. 

Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne, by John Ashton, 
is an invaluable work on social customs, dress, amusements, 
travel, etc., and should be accessible to every student of Addi- 
son and Steele. Social England, by H. D. Traill, Vol. IV. 
London in the Eighteenth Century, by Walter Besant. The 
Llistory of England, by T. B. Macaulay, Chapter III. This 
chapter is a brilliant account of social conditions in later 
seventeenth century and early eighteenth century England. 

Henry Esmond, by W. M. Thackeray, reproduces the atmos- 
phere of the Age of Queen Anne. 

The Advertisements of the Spectator, by Lawrence Lewis, 
1909, is helpful towards understanding the manners of the 

Among the valuable political histories of the Queen Anne 
period are: Morris's The Age of Anne (Epochs of Modern 
History Series) ; Lecky's A History of England in the Eigh- 
teenth Century, Vol. I ; McCarthy's The Reign of Queen 
Anne, dealing with literary and social matters also; Burton's 
A History of the Reign of Queen Anne; Green's History of 
the English Veople, Vol. IIL 


Sir Roger de Coverley 

A Description of the Spectator. 

No. I. Addison". 

^Non fumum ex fiilgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem 
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat. 

— HOR. 

I have observed that a reader seldom peruses a 
book with pleasure till he knows whether the writer 
of it be a ^black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric 5 
disposition, married or a bachelor, with other particu- 
lars 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 fol- lo 
lowing 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 cor- 
recting will fall to my share, I must do myself the jus- 
tice to open the work with my own history. 15 

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 the Conqueror's time that it is at present, and 
has been delivered down from father to son, whole 20 

C I 3 


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 shortly 
before I came into this world my mother dreamt that 
5 she gave birth to a judge. Whether this might pro- 
ceed 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 

lo future life, though that was the interpretation which 
the neighbourhood put upon it. The gravity of my 
behaviour at my first appearance in the world seemed 
to favour my mother's dream ; for, as she has often 
told me, I threw away my rattle before I was two 

15 months old, and would not make use of my ^coral 
till they had taken away the bells from it. 

As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing 
in it remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence. I find 
that during my ^nonage I had the reputation of a 

20 very sullen youth, but was always a favourite of my 
schoolmaster, who used to say that 'my parts were 
solid, and would wear well.' I had not been long at 
the University before I distinguished myself by a 
most profound silence ; for during the space of eight 

25 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 in my whole life. Whilst I was in 
this learned body, I applied myself with so much dili- 

30 gence 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, unaccount- 5 
able fellow, that had a great deal of learning, if I 
would but show it. An insatiable thirst after knowl- 
edge carried me into all the countries of Europe in 
which there was anything new or strange to be seen ; 
nay, to such a degree was my curiosity raised that, 10 
having read the controversies of some great men con- 
cerning the antiquities of Egypt, I made a voyage to 
Grand Cairo on purpose to take the measure of a 
^pyramid ; and, as soon as I had set myself right in 
that particular, returned to my native country with 15 
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 20 
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, and listening with great atten- 
tion to the narratives that are made in those little cir- 25 
cular audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at Child's ; 
and, while I seem attentive to nothing but the Tost- 
man, 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 30 


of politics in the inner room, as one who comes there 
to hear and improve. My face is hkewise very well 
known at the Grecian, the Cocoa-tree, and in the 
^theatres both of Drury Lane and the Haymarket. I 
5 have been taken for a merchant upon the ^Exchange 
for above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a 
Jew in the assembly of stockjobbers 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 

lo 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 

15 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 

20 those who are in the game. I never espoused any 
party with violence, and am resolved to observe an 
exact neutrality between the Whigs and Tories, unless 
I shall be forced to declare myself by the hostilities of 
either side. In short, I have acted in all the parts of 

2^ my life as a looker-on, which is the character I intend 
to preserve in this paper. 

I have given the reader just so much of my history 
and character as to let him see I am not altogether 
unqualified for the business I have undertaken. As 

30 for other particulars in my life and adventures, I shall 


insert them in following papers, as I shall see 
occasion. In the meantime, when I consider how 
much I have seen, read, and heard, I begin to blame 
my own taciturnity ; and since I have neither time 
nor inclination to communicate the fulness of my heart 5 
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 use- 
ful discoveries which I have made should be in the 
possession of a silent man. For this reason, there- 10 
fore, I shall publish a sheetful of thoughts every 
morning for the benefit of my contemporaries ; and if 
I can any way contribute to the diversion or improve- 
ment of the country in which I live, I shall leave it, 
when 1 am summoned out of it, with the secret satis- ^5 
faction 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, 20 
and my lodgings. I must confess I would gratify my 
reader in anything 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 cannot yet come to a resolution of communi- 25 
eating them to the public. They would indeed draw 
me out of that obscurity which I have enjoyed for 
many years, and expose me in public places to sev- 
eral salutes and civilities, which have been always 
very disagreeable to me; for the greatest pain I can 30 


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 im- 
possible but I may make ^discoveries of both in the 

5 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 

lo 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 

15 further acquaint the reader that, though our club 
meets only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we have ap- 
pointed a committee to sit every night for the inspec- 
tion of all such papers as may contribute to the 
advancement of the public weal. 

The Members of the Club. 


No. 2. Steele. 

— ''Ast alii sex 
Et plures uno conclamant ore. 

— Juv. 

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 in- 
ventor of that famous ^country-dance which is called 
after him. All who know that shire are very well 
acquainted with the parts and merits of Sir Roger. 
He is a gentleman that is very singular in his be- 
haviour, 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 Miumour creates him no enemies, for 
he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy ; and his 
being unconfined to modes and forms makes him but 15 
the readier and more capable to please and oblige all 
who know him. When he is in town, he lives in ^Soho 
Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by 
reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful 
widow of the next county to him. Before this dis- 20 
appointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine 
gentleman, had often supped with my ^Lord Roches- 
ter 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 naturally jovial, he at last got over it, 

5 he grew careless of himself, and never dressed after- 
wards. 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 humours, he tells us, has 
been in and out twelve times since he first wore it. 

10 He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and 
hearty ; keeps a good house both in town and coun- 
try ; a great lover of mankind ; but there is such a 
mirthful cast in his behaviour that he is rather be- 
loved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his 

15 servants look satisfied, all the young women profess 
love to him, and the young men are glad of his com- 
pany. When he comes into a house, he calls the ser- 
vants by their names, and talks all the way up-stairs 
to a visit. I must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice 

2Q 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. 

The gentleman next in esteem and authority among 

25 us is another bachelor, who is a member of the ^Inner 
Temple, a man of great probity, wit, and understand- 
ing; but he has chosen his place of residence rather 
to obey the direction of an old humoursome father 
than in pursuit of his own inclinations. He was 

30 placed there to study the laws of the land, and is the 


most learned of any of the house in those of the stage. 
^Aristotle and Longinus are much better understood 
by him than ^Littleton or Coke. The father sends up 
every post questions relating to marriage articles, 
leases, and tenures, in the neighbourhood; all which 5 
questions he agrees with an attorney to answer and 
take care of in the lump. He is studying the passions 
themselves, when he should be inquiring into the 
debates among men which arise from them. He 
knows the argument of each of the orations of 10 
Demosthenes and ^Tully, but not one case in the re- 
ports of our own courts. No one ever took him for a 
fool ; but none, except his intimate friends, know he 
has a great deal of wit. This turn makes him at once 
both disinterested and agreeable. As few of his 15 
thoughts are drawn from business, they are most of 
them fit for conversation. His taste of books is a 
little too just for the age he lives in ; he has read all, 
but approves of very few. His familiarity with the 
customs, manners, actions, and writings of the an- 20 
cients makes him a very delicate observer of what 
occurs to him in the present world. He is an excel- 
lent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of busi- 
ness : exactly at five he passes through ^New Inn, 
crosses through Russell Court, and takes a turn at 25 
Will's till the play begins ; he has his shoes rubbed 
and his periwig powdered at the barber's, as you go 
into ^the Rose. It is for the good of the audience 
when he is at the play, for the actors have an ambi- 
tion to please him. ~q 


The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew 
Freeport, a merchant of great eminence in the city of 
London : a person of indefatigable industry, strong 
reason, and great experience. His notions of trade 

5 are noble and generous, and, as every rich man has 
usually some sly way of jesting, which would make 
no great figure were he not a rich man, he calls the 
sea the British Common. He is acquainted with com- 
merce in all its parts ; and will tell you that it is a 

lo stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by 
arms ; for true power is to be got by arts and industry. 
He will often argue that, if this part of our trade were 
well cultivated, we should gain from one nation ; and 
if another, from another. I have heard him prove that 

15 diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valour, 
and that sloth has ruined more nations than the 
sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, 
amongst which the greatest favourite is, "A penny 
saved is a penny got." A general trader of good 

2Q sense is pleasanter company than a general scholar ; 
and Sir Andrew having a natural unaffected elo- 
quence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives the same 
pleasure that Vit would in another man. He has made 
his fortunes himself ; and says that England may be 

25 richer than other kingdoms by as plain methods as he 
himself is richer than other men ; though at the same 
time I can say this of him, that there is not a point in 
the compass but blows home a ship in which he is an 

30 Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain 


Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, good under- 
standing, but invincible modesty. He is one of those 
that deserve very well, but are very awkward at put- 
ting their talents within the observation of such as 
should take notice of them. He was some years a cap- 5 
tain, and behaved himself with great gallantry in sever- 
al engagements and at several sieges ; but having a 
small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir 
Roger, he has quitted a way of life in which no man 
can rise suitably to his merit who is not something of 10 
a courtier as well as a soldier. I have heard him often 
lament that, in a profession where merit is placed in 
so conspicuous a view, impudence should get the bet- 
ter of modesty. When he has talked to this purpose, 
I never heard him make a sour expression, but frankly j^ 
confess that he left the world because he was not fit 
for it. A strict honesty and an even, regular behaviour 
are in themselves obstacles to him that must press 
through crowds who endeavour at the same end with 
himself — the favour of a commander. He will, how- 20 
ever, in this way of talk, excuse generals for not *dis- 
posing according to men's desert, or inquiring into it ; 
for, says he, that great man who has a mind to help 
me has as many to break through to come at me as I 
have to come at him. Therefore he will conclude that ^^ 
the man who would make a figure, especially in a 
military way, must get over all false modesty, and 
assist his patron against the importunity of other 
pretenders by a proper assurance in his own vindica- 
tion. He says it is a ^civil cowardice to be backward 



in asserting what you ought to expect, as it is a mili- 
tary fear to be slow in attacking when it is your duty. 
With this candour does the gentleman speak of him- 
self and others. The same frankness runs through 
5 all his conversation. The military part of his life has 
furnished him with many adventures, In the relation of 
which he is very agreeable to the company ; for he is 
never overbearing, though accustomed to command 
men in the utmost degree below him ; nor ever too 

lo obsequious, from a habit of obeying men highly above 

But that our society may not appear a set of 
^humourists, unacquainted with the gallantries and 
pleasures of the age, we have among us the gallant 

i^ Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, according to his 
years, should be in the decline of his life ; but having 
ever been very careful of his person, and always had 
a very easy fortune, time has made but very little im- 
pression, either by wrinkles on his forehead or traces 

20 in his brain. His person is ^well turned and of a good 
height. He is very ready at that sort of discourse 
with which men usually entertain women. H^ has all 
his life dressed very well ; and remembers Miabits as 
others do men. He can smile when one speaks to 

25 him, and laughs easily. He knows the history of every 
^mode, and can inform you from which of the French 
king's favourites our wives and daughters had this 
manner of curling their hair, that way of placing their 
hoods ; whose frailty was covered by such a sort of 

^o petticoat; and whose vanity to show her foot made 


that part of the dress so short in such a year. In a 
word, all his ^conversation and knowledge have been 
HI the female world. As other men of his age will 
take notice to you what such a minister said upon 
such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the 5 
Duke of ^Monmouth danced at court, such a woman 
was then smitten, another was taken with him at the 
head of his troop in the park. In all these important 
relations, he has ever about the same time received a 
kind glance, or a blow of a fan, from some celebrated ^° 
beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one. If you 
speak of a young commoner that said a lively thing in 
the House, he starts up, "That young fellow's mother 
used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made 
advances to." This way of talking of his very much 15 
enlivens the conversation among us of a more sedate 
turn ; and I find there is not one of the company, but 
myself, who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of 
that sort of man who is usually called a well-bred fine 
gentleman. To conclude his character, where women 20 
are not concerned, he is an honest worthy man. 

I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I 
am next to speak of as one of our company; for he 
visits us but seldom, but when he does it adds to every 
man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergy- 25 
man, a very philosophic man, of general learning, 
great sanctity of life, and the most ^exact good breed- 
ing. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak con- 
stitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares 
and business as ^preferments in his function would 3° 



oblige him to. He is, therefore, among divines what a 
^chamber-counsellor is among lawyers. The probity 
of his mind, and the integrity of his life create him 
followers, as being eloquent or loud advances others. 
5 He seldom introduces the subject he speaks upon; 
but we are so far gone in years that he observes, when 
he is among us, an earnestness to have him fall on 
some divine topic, which he always treats with much 
authority, as one who has no interests in this world, as 
lo one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, 
and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. 
These are my ordinary companions. 

Politeness and Morality. 

No. 6. Steele. 

^Credehant hoc graiide nefas, et morte piandiim, 
Si jiivenis vctiilo non assnrrexcrat. 

— Juv. 

I know no evil under the sun so great as the abuse 
of the understanding, and yet there is no one vice 
more common. It has diffused itself through both 5 
sexes and all qualities of mankind ; and there is 
hardly that person to be found who is not more con- 
cerned for the reputation of Vit and sense than hon- 
esty and virtue. But this unhappy affectation of being 
wise rather than honest, witty than good-natured, is lo 
the source of most of the ill habits of life. Such false 
impressions are owing to the abandoned writings of 
men of wit, and the awkward imitation of the rest of 

For this reason, Sir Roger was saying last night 15 
that he was of opinion that none but men of fine parts 
deserved to be hanged. The reflections of such men 
are so delicate upon all occurrences which they are 
concerned in, that they should be exposed to more 
than ordinary infamy and punishment for offending 20 
against such ^quick admonitions as their own souls 
give them, and blunting the fine edge of their minds 
in such a manner that they are no more shocked at 



vice and folly than men of slower capacities. There 
is no greater monster in being than a very ill man of 
great parts. He lives like a man in a palsy, with one 
side of him dead. While perhaps he enjoys the satis- 

5 faction of luxury, of wealth, of ambition, he has lost 
the taste of good-will, of friendship, of innocence. 
Scarecrow, the beggar in "Lincoln's Inn Fields, who 
disabled himself in his right leg, and asks alms all 
day, is not half so despicable a wretch as such a 

lo man of sense. The beggar has no relish above sen- 
sations ; he finds rest more agreeable than motion ; 
.and, while he has a warm fire, never reflects that 
he deserves to be whipped. Every man who termi- 
nates his satisfactions and enjoyments within the 

^5 supply of his own necessities and passions is, says Sir 
Roger, in my eyes as poor a rogue as Scarecrow. 
*'But," continued he, "for the loss of public and 
private virtue, we are beholden to your men of parts, 
forsooth; it is with them no matter what is done, so 

20 it is done with an air. But to me, who am so whim- 
sical in a corrupt age as to act according to nature 
and reason, a selfish man in the most shining cir- 
cumstances and ^equipage appears in the same con- 
dition with the fellow above mentioned, but more 

25 contemptible, in proportion to what more he robs 
the public of, and enjoys above him. I lay it down, 
therefore, for a rule that the whole man is to 
move together; that every action of any importance 
is to have a prospect of public good ; and that the 

30 general tendency of our indifferent actions ought to 


be agreeable to the dictates of reason, of religion, of 
good breeding : without this, a man, as I before have 
hinted, is hopping instead of walking ; he is not in his 
entire and proper motion." 

While the honest knight was thus bewildering him- 5 
self in good starts, I looked ^intentively upon him, 
which made him, I thought, collect his mind a little, 
"what I aim at," says he, "is to represent that I am 
of opinion to polish our understandings and neglect 
our ^manners is of all things the most inexcusable. 10 
Reason should govern passion ; but, instead of that, 
you see, it is often subservient to it ; and, as unac- 
countable as one would think it, a wise man is not 
always a good man." This degeneracy is not only the 
guilt of particular persons, but also at some times of 15 
a whole people ; and perhaps it may appear upon 
examination that the most ^polite ages are the least 
virtuous. This may be attributed to the folly of ad- 
mitting wit and learning as merit in themselves, with- 
out considering the application of them. By this 20 
means it becomes a rule, not so much to regard what 
we do, as how we do it. But this false beauty will not 
pass upon men of honest minds and true taste. ^Sir 
Richard Blackmore says, with as much good sense as 
virtue, "It is a mighty dishonour and shame to em- 25 
ploy excellent faculties and abundance of wit to 
humour and please men in their vices and follies. 
The great enemy of mankind, notwithstanding his wit 
and angelic faculties, is the most odious being in the 
whole creation." He goes on soon after to say, very 30 


generously, that he undertook the writing of his poem 
*'to rescue the Muses out of the hands of ravishers ; 
to restore them to their sweet and chaste mansions ; 
and to engage them in an employment suitable to 
5 their dignity." This certainly ought to be the purpose 
of every man who appears in public ; and whoever 
does not proceed upon that foundation injures his 
country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When 
modesty ceases to be the chief ornament of one sex, 

lo and integrity of the other, society is upon a wrong 
basis ; and we shall be ever after without rules to 
guide our judgment in what is really becoming and 
ornamental. Nature and reason direct one thing; 
passion and humour another. To follow the dictates 

15 of the two latter is going into a road that is both end- 
less and intricate ; when we pursue the other, our 
passage is delightful, and what we aim at easily at- 

I do not doubt but England is at present as polite a 

20 nation as any in the world ; but any man who thinks 
can easily see that the affectation of being gay and in 
fashion has very near eaten up our good sense and our 
religion. Is there anything so just as that ''mode and 
gallantry should be built upon exerting ourselves in 

25 what is proper and agreeable to the institutions of 
justice and piety among us? And yet is there any- 
thing more ^common than that we run in perfect con- 
tradiction to them? All which is supported by no 
other pretension than that it is done with what we 

30 call a good grace. 


Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming 
but what nature itself should prompt us to think so. 
Respect to all kinds of superiors is founded, methinks, 
upon instinct; and yet what is so ''ridiculous as age? 
I make this abrupt transition to the mention of this ^ 
vice more than any other, in order to introduce a little 
story, which I think a pretty instance that the most 
polite age is in danger of being the most vicious. 

''It happened at Athens, during a public representa- 
tion of some play exhibited in honour of the common- 10 
wealth, that an old gentleman came too late for a 
place suitable to his age and quality. Many of the 
young gentlemen, who observed the difficulty and con- 
fusion he was in, made signs to him that they would 
accommodate him if he came where they sat. The 15 
good man bustled through the crowd accordingly; 
but when he came to the seats to which he was in- 
vited, the jest was to sit close and expose him, as he 
stood out of countenance, to the whole audience. 
The frolic went round all the Athenian benches. But 20 
on those occasions there were also particular places 
assigned for foreigners. When the good man skulked 
towards the boxes appointed for the Lacedaemonians, 
that honest people, more virtuous than ^polite, rose 
up all to a man, and with the greatest respect received 25 
him among them. The Athenians, being suddenly 
touched with a sense of the Spartan virtue and their 
own degeneracy, gave a thunder of applause ; and the 
old man cried out, 'The Athenians understand what 
is good, but the Lacedaemonians practise it.' " -^ 

A Meeting of the Club. 

No. 34. Addison. 

— ^parcit 
Cognatis maculis similis (era — . 

— Juv. 

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 everything that passes in the different 
quarters and divisions, not only of this great city, but 

10 of the whole kingdom. My readers, too, have the 
satisfaction to find that there is no rank or degree 
among them who have not their rer^resentative in this 
club, and that there is always somebody present who 
will take care of their respective interests, that noth- 

15 ing may be written or published to the ^prejudice or 
infringement of their just rights and privileges. 

I last night sat very late in company with this 
select body of friends, who entertained me with sev- 
eral remarks which they and others had made upon 

20 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 manner he could, that there were some 
ladies ("but for your comfort," says Will, "they are 

25 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 hkewise very much sur- 
prised that I should think such serious points as the 
dress and equipage of persons of quality proper sub- 
jects for raillery. 5 

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 10 
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 15 
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 20 
that manner ; that the city had always been the pro- 
vince for satire ; and that the wits of ^King Charles's 
time jested upon nothing else during his whole reign. 
He then showed, by the examples of ^Horace, Juvenal, 
Boileau, and the best writers of every age, that the 25 
follies of the stage and court had never been accounted 
too sacred for ridicule, how great soever the persons 
might be that patronised 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 30 


Court ; and I do not believe you can show me any 
precedent for your behaviour in that particular." 

My good friend Sir Roger de Coverley, who had 
said nothing all this while, began his speech with a 

5 ^'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 

lo 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- 

j^ sion. What he said was only to commend my pru- 
dence 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 grey hairs, and another to his black, till by their 
picking out what each of them had an aversion to, they 
left his head altogether bald and naked. 

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 

-Q it was not Equality, but innocence, which exempted 




men from reproof; that vice and folly ought to be 
attacked wherever they could be met with, and espe- 
cially 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 5 
chiefly exposed those who are already "depressed, and 
in some measure turned into ridicule by the mean- 
ness of their conditions and circumstances. He after- 
wards proceeded to take notice of the great use this 
paper might be of to the public by reprehending those 10 
vices which are too trivial for the chastisement of the 
law, and too ^fantastical for the cognisance of the pul- 
pit. 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 15 
all those whose praises do honour 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 20 
with which he delivers himself as by the strength of 
argument and force of reason which he; makes use of. 
Will Honeycomb immediately agreed that what he 
had said was right ; and that, for his part, he would 
not insist upon the quarter w^hich he had demanded 25 
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 3° 



combat 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- 

5 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 length, making a sacrifice of all their 
acquaintance and relations, furnished out a very de- 

^° cent execution. 

Having thus taken my resolution 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 

^5 to all the remonstrances that shall be made to me on 
this account. If ^Punch grow extravagant, I shall 
reprimand him very freely; if the stage becomes a 
nursery of folly and impertinence, I shall not be 
afraid to animadvert upon it. In short, if I meet with 

^° anything in city, court, or country, that shocks mod- 
esty or good manners, I shall use my utmost endeav- 
ours to make an example of it. I must, however, 
intreat every particular person who does me the 
honour to be a reader of this paper, never to think 

^5 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 thou- 
sand people ; or to publish a single paper that is not 
written in the spirit of benevolence, and with a love to 

30 mankind. 

Sir Roger at His Country Home. 

No. 1 06. Addison. 

— "Hinc tibi copia 
Manabit ad plenum, benigno 
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu. 

— HOR. 

Having often received an invitation from my friend 
Sir Roger de Coverley to pass away a month with 5 
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 ^humour, 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 with- 
out 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 15 
observed them stealing a sight of me over an hedge, 
and have heard the knight desiring them not to let 
me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 

I am the more at ease in ^Sir Roger's family, because 
it consists of sober and staid persons ; for as the knight 20 
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 25 

[25 ] 


brother, his butler is grey-headed, his groom is one of 
the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his coach- 
man has the looks of a privy-counsellor. You see the 
goodness of the master even in the old house-dog, and 
5 in a grey ^pad that is kept in the stable with great care 
and tenderness out of regard to his past services, 
though he has been useless for several years. 

I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure 
the joy that appeared in the countenances of these 

lo 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 

15 the same time the good old knight, with a mixture of 
the father and the master of the family, tempered the 
inquiries after his ov/n affairs with several kind ques- 
tions relating to themselves. This humanity and good 
nature engages everybody to him, so that when he ^is 

20 pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good 
humour, 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 

25 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 de- 
sirous of pleasing me, because they have often heard 

30 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 5 
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 de- 
pendent. 10 

I have observed in several of my papers that my 
friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is 
something of an ^humourist ; and that his virtues, as 
well as imperfections, are, as it were, tinged by a cer- 
tain extravagance, which makes them particularly his, 15 
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 and ordinary 20 
colours. 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 25 
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 of backgammon. "My friend," says Sir Roger, 30 


"found me out this gentleman, who, besides the en- 
dowments 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 

5 his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for 
life. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher 
in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has 
now been with me thirty years ; and, though he does 
not know I have taken notice of it, has never in all 

lo that time asked anything of me for himself, though he 
is every day soliciting me for something in behalf of 
one or other of my tenants, his parishioners. There 
has not been a law-suit in the parish since he has lived 
among them. If any dispute arises, they apply them- 

15 selves 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 present of all the good 
sermons which have been printed in English, and only 

20 begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce 
one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has 
digested them into such a series that they follow one 
another naturally, and make a continued system of 
practical divinity." 

25 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 

30 then showed us his list of preachers for the whole 


year, where I saw with a great deal of pleasure ''Arch- 
bishop Tillotson, Bishop Saimderson, Doctor Barrow, 
Doctor Calamy, with several living authors who have 
published discourses of practical divinity. I no sooner 
saw this venerable man in the pulpit, but I very much 5 
approved of my friend's insisting upon the qualifica- 
tions of a good aspect and a clear voice ; for I was so 
charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and de- 
livery, as well as with the discourses he pronounced, 
that I think I never passed any time more to my sat- 10 
isfaction. A sermon repeated after this manner is 
like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a 
graceful actor. 

I could heartily wish that more of our country 
clergy would follow this example ; and, instead of 15 
wasting their spirits in laborious compositions of their 
own, would endeavour 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 edify- 20 
ing to the people. 

The Coverley Household. 

No. 107. Steele. 

^jfEsopo ingenteni statitam posiiere Attici, 
Servumqiie coUocCi ccterna in basi, 
Patere honoris scirent ut cuncti viam. 

— Ph^dr. 

The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed 

5 freedom, and quiet, which I meet with here in the 
country has confirmed me in the opinion I always 
had, that the general corruption of manners in ser- 
vants is owing to the conduct of masters. The aspect 
of every one in the family carries so much satisfaction 

10 that it appears he knows the happy lot which has be- 
fallen him in being a member of it. There is one par- 
ticular which I have seldom seen but at Sir Roger's . 
It is usual in all other places that servants fly from the 
parts of the house through which their master is pass- 

15 ing; on the contrary, here they industriously place 
themselves in his way ; and it is on both sides, as it 
were, understood as a visit when the servants appear 
without calling. This proceeds from the humane and 
equal temper of the man of the house, who also per- 

20 fectly well knows how to enjoy a great estate with 
such economy .as ever to be much ^beforehand. This 
makes his own mind untroubled, and consequently 
unapt to vent peevish expressions, or give passionate 
or inconsistent orders to those about him. Thus re- 

25 spect and love go together ; and a certain cheerfulness 




in performance of their duty is the particular distinc- 
tion of the lower part of this family. When a servant 
is called before his master, he does not come with an 
expectation to hear himself rated for some trivial fault, 
threatened to be ^stripped, or used with any other un- 5 
becoming language, which mean masters often give to 
worthy servants ; but it is often to know what road he 
took that he came so readily back according to order ; 
whether he passed by such a ground ; if the old man 
who rents it is in good health ; or whether he gave Sir 10 
Roger's love to him ; or the like. 

A man who preserves a respect founded on his be- 
nevolence to his dependents lives rather like a prince 
than a master in his family ; his orders are received as 
favours rather than duties ; and the distinction of ap- 15 
proaching him is part of the reward for executing 
what is commanded by him. 

There is another circumstance in which my friend 
excels in his management, which is the manner of re- 
warding his servants. He has ever been of opinion 20 
that giving his cast clothes to be worn by valets has a 
very ill efifect upon little minds, and creates a silly 
sense of equality between the parties, in persons af- 
fected only with outward things. I have heard him 
often ^pleasant on this occasion, and describe a young 25 
gentleman abusing his man in that coat which a month 
or two before was the most pleasing distinction he 
was conscious of in himself. He would turn his dis- 
course still more pleasantly upon the ladies' bounties 
in this kind ; and I have heard him say he knew a fine 30 



woman who distributed rewards and punishments in 
giving becoming or unbecoming dresses to her maids. 
But my good friend is above these Httle instances of 
good-will in bestowing only trifles on his servants ; a 
5 good servant to him is sure of having it in his choice 
very soon of being no servant at all. As I before 
observed, he is so good an ^husband, and knows so 
thoroughly that the skill of the purse is the cardinal 
virtue of this life ; I say he knows so well that fru- 

lo gality is the support of generosity that he can often 
spare a large fine ^when a tenement falls, and give 
that settlement to a good servant who has a mind to 
go into the world, or make a stranger pay the fine to 
that servant, for his more comfortable maintenance, if 

15 he stays in his service. 

A man of honour and generosity considers it would 
be miserable to himself to have no will but that of 
another, though it were of the best person breathing, 
and for that reason goes on as fast as he is able to put 

20 his servants into independent livelihoods. The great- 
est part of Sir Roger's estate is tenanted by persons 
who have served himself or his ancestors. It was to 
me extremely pleasant to observe the ^visitants from 
several parts to welcome his arrival into the country; 

25 and all the difference that I could take notice of be- 
tween the late servants who came to see him, and those 
who stayed in the family, was, that these latter were 
looked upon as finer gentlemen and better courtiers. 
This manumission and placing them in a way of 

30 livelihood, I look upon as only what is due to a good 


servant ; which encouragement will make his successor 
be as diligent, as humble, and as ready, as he was. 
There is something wonderful in the narrowness of 
those minds which can be pleased and be barren of 
bounty to those who please them. 5 

One might, on this occasion, recount the sense that 
great persons in all ages have had of the merit of their 
dependents, and the heroic services which men have 
done their masters in the extremity of their fortunes, 
and shown to their ^undone patrons that fortune was 10 
all the difference between them ; but as I design this 
my speculation only as a gentle admonition to thank- 
less masters, I shall not go out of the occurrences of 
common life, but assert it as a general observation 
that I never saw, but in Sir Roger's family and one or 15 
two more, good servants treated as they ought to be. 
Sir Roger's kindness extends to their children's chil- 
dren, and this very morning he sent his coachman's 
grandson to ^prentice. I shall conclude this paper 
with an account of a picture in his gallery, where there 20 
are many which will deserve my future observation. 

At the very upper end of this handsome structure I 
saw the portraiture of two young men standing in a 
river : the one naked, the other in a livery. The per- 
son supported seemed half dead, but stilT so much alive 25 
as to show in his face exquisite joy and love towards 
the other. I thought the fainting figure resembled my 
friend Sir Roger ; and looking at the butler, who stood 
by me, for an account of it, he informed me that the 
person in the livery was a servant of Sir Roger's, who 30 



stood on the shore while his master was swimming, 
and observing him taken with some sudden illness, 
and sink under water, jumped in and saved him. He 
told me Sir Roger "took off the dress he was in as soon 

5 as he came home, and by a great bounty at that time, 
followed by his favour ever since, had made him 
master of that pretty seat which we saw at a distance 
as we came to this house. I remembered, indeed. Sir 
Roger said there lived a very worthy gentleman, to 

lo whom he was highly obliged, without mentioning any- 
thing further. Upon my looking a little dissatisfied 
at some part of the picture, my attendant informed 
me that it was against Sir Roger's will, and at the 
earnest request of the gentleman himself, that he was 

15 drawn in the habit in which he had saved his master. 

Will Wimble. 

No. 1 08. Addison. 

'^Gratis anhelans, midta agendo nihil agens. 

— Ph^dr. 

As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Roger 
before his house, a country fellow brought him a huge 
fish, which, he told him, *Mr. William Wimble had 
caught that very morning; and that he presented it 5 
with his service to him, and intended to come and 
dine with him. At the same time he delivered a let- 
ter, which my friend read to me as soon as the mes- 
senger left him. 

"Sir Roger, 10 

"I desire you to accept of a ^jack, which is the best 
I have caught this season. I intend to come and stay 
with a you a week, and see how the perch bite in the 
Black River. I observe with some concern the last 
time I saw you upon the bowling-green that your 15 
whip wanted a lash to it; I will bring half a dozen 
with me that I twisted last week, which I hope will 
serve you all the time you are in the country. I have 
not been out of the saddle for six days last past, 
having been at ^Eton with Sir John's eldest son. He 20 
takes to his learning hugely. I am. 

Sir, Your humble servant, 

Will Wimble." 

[35 ] 


This extraordinary letter, and message that accom- 
panied it, made me very curious to know the charactei 
and quality of the gentleman who sent them ; which I 
found to be as follows. Will Wimble is ^younger 
5 brother to a baronet, and descended of the ancient 
family of the Wimbles. He is now between forty and 
fifty; but being bred to no business and born to no 
estate, he generally lives with his elder brother as 
superintendent of his game. He hunts a pack of dogs 

lo better than any man in the country, and is very fa- 
mous for finding out a hare. He is extremely well 
versed in all the little handicrafts of an idle man. He 
makes a "May-fly to a miracle, and furnishes the whole 
country with angle-rods. As he is a good-natured, 

15 ^officious fellow, and very much esteemed upon ac- 
count of his family, he is a welcome guest at every 
house, and keeps up a good ^correspondence among 
all the gentlemen about him. He carries a *tulip-root 
in his pocket from one to another, or exchanges a 

20 puppy between a couple of friends that live perhaps in 
the opposite sides of the county. Will is a particular 
favourite of all the young heirs, whom he frequently 
obliges with a net that he has weaved, or a setting- 
dog that he has 'made' himself. He now and then 

25 presents a pair of garters of his own knitting to their 
mothers or sisters, and raises a great deal of mirth 
among them by inquiring as often as he meets them 
'how they wear.' These gentleman-like manuTac- 
tures and obliging little humours make Will the dar- 

30 ling of the country. 



• Sir Roger was proceeding in the ^character of him 
when he saw him make up to us with tv/o or three 
hazel twigs in his hand that he had cut in Sir Roger's 
woods, as he came through them in his way to the 
house. I was very much pleased to observe on one ^ 
side the hearty and sincere welcome with which Sir 
Roger received him, and on the other, the secret joy 
which his guest discovered at sight of the good old 
knight. After the first salutes were over, Will desired 
Sir Roger to lend him one of his servants to carry a lo 
set of shuttlecocks he had with him in a little box to a 
lady that lived about a mile off, to whom it seems he 
had promised such a present for above this half year. 
Sir Roger's back was no sooner turned but honest 
Will began to tell me of a large cock pheasant that he 15 
had sprung in one of the neighbouring woods, with 
two or three other adventures of the same nature. 
Odd and uncommon characters are the game that I 
look for, and most delight in ; for which reason I 
was as much pleased with the novelty of the person 2c 
that talked to me as he could be for his life with the 
springing of a pheasant, and therefore listened to him 
with more than ordinary attention. 

In the midst of his discourse the bell rung to dinner, 
where the gentleman I have been speaking of had the 25 
pleasure of seeing the huge jack he had caught served 
up for the first dish in a most sumptuous manner. 
Upon our sitting down to it, he gave us a long ac- 
count how he had hooked it, played with it, foiled it, 
and at length drew it out upon the bank, with several 30 


other particulars that lasted all the first course. A 
dish of wildfowl that came afterwards furnished con- 
versation for the rest of the dinner, which concluded 
with a late invention of Will's for improving the 
5 ^quail-pipe. 

Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I 
was secretly touched with compassion towards the 
honest gentleman that had dined with us ; and could 
not but consider, with a great deal of concern, how so 

lo good a heart and such busy hands were wholly em- 
ployed in trifles ; that so much humanity should be so 
little beneficial to others, and so much industry so lit- 
tle advantageous to himself. The same temper of 
mind and application to afifairs might have recom- 

15 mended him to the public esteem, and have raised his 
fortune in another station of life. What good to his 
country or himself might not a trader or a merchant 
have done with such useful though ordinary qualifica- 
tions ? 

20 Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger 
brother of a great family, who had rather see their 
children starve like gentlemen than thrive in a trade 
or profession that is beneath their quality. This 
humour fills several parts of Europe with pride and 
beggary. It is the happiness of a trading nation like 
ours that the younger sons, though incapable of any 
liberal art or profession, may be placed in such a way 
of life as may perhaps enable them to vie with the best 
of their family. Accordingly we find several citizens 

.Q that w^re launch^cj ir^to the WQ^W with narrow for- 


tunes rising by an honest industry to greater estates 
than those of their elder brothers. It is not improba- 
ble but Will was formerly tried at divinity, law, or 
physic ; and that, finding his genius did not lie that 
way, his parents gave him up at length to his own in- 5 
ventions. But certainly, however ^improper he might 
have been for studies of a higher nature, he was per- 
fectly well ^turned for the occupations of trade and 
commerce. As I think this is a point which cannot be 
too much inculcated, I shall desire my reader to com- 10 
pare what I have here written with what I have said 
in my "twenty-first speculation. 

Sir Roger's Family Portraits. 

No. 109. Steele. 

— ^Abnormis sapiens. 

— HOR. 

I was this morning walking in the gallery, when 
Sir Roger entered at the end opposite to me, and, ad- 
vancing towards me, said he was glad to meet me 
5 among his relations the De Coverleys, and hoped I 
liked the conversation of so much good company, who 
were as silent as myself. I knew he alluded to the 
pictures, and, as he is a gentleman who does not a 
little value himself upon his ancient descent, I ex- 

10 pected he would give me some account of them. We 
were now arrived at the upper end of the gallery, 
when the knight faced towards one of the pictures, and 
as we stood before it, he entered into the matter after 
his blunt way of saying things as they occur to his 

15 imagination, without regular introduction or care to 
preserve the appearance of chain of thought. 

"It is," said he, ''worth while to consider the force 
of dress, and how the persons of one age differ from 
those of another, merely by that only. One may ob- 

20 serve also that the general fashion of one age has been 
followed by one particular set of people in another, 
and by them preserved from one generation to an- 
other. Thus the vast ^jetting coat and small bonnet, 
which was the ^habit in Harry the Seventh's time, is 

25 kept on in the ^yeomen of the guard; not without a 



good and politic view, because they look a foot taller, 
and a foot and a half broader; besides that the cap 
leaves the face expanded, and consequently more ter- 
rible and fitter to stand at the entrance of palaces. 

''This predecessor of ours, you see, is dressed after 5 
this manner, and his cheeks would be no larger than 
mine, were he in a hat as I am. He was the last man 
that won a prize in the ^Tilt-yard, which is now a 
common street before Whitehall. You see the broken 
lance that lies there by his right foot. He shivered 10 
that lance of his adversary all to pieces ; and bearing 
himself, look you, sir, in this manner, at the same time 
he ^came within the target of the gentleman who rode 
against him, and taking him with incredible force 
before him on the pommel of his saddle, he in that j^ 
manner rid the tournament over with an air that 
showed he did it rather to perform the rule of the lists 
than expose his enemy ; however, it appeared he knew 
how to make use of a victory, and with a gentle trot 
he marched up to a gallery where their mistress sat 20 
(for they were rivals), and let him down with laudable 
courtesy and pardonable insolence. I don't know, but 
it might be exactly where the ^coflfee-house is now. 

"You are to know this my ancestor was not only of 
a military genius, but fit also for the arts of peace, for 25 
he played on the bass-viol as well as any gentleman at 
court ; you see where his viol hangs by his basket-hilt 
sword. The action at the Tilt-yard you may be sure 
won the fair lady, who was a maid of honour and the 
greatest beauty of her time ; here she stands, the next 30 


picture. You see, sir, my great-great-great-grand- 
mother has on the *new-fashioned petticoat, except 
that the modern is gathered at the waist; my grand- 
mother appears as if she stood in a large drum, 

5 whereas the ladies now walk as if they were in a 
go-cart. For all this lady was bred at court, she 
became an excellent country wife ; she brought ten 
children ; and when I show you the library, you 
shall see in her own hand, allowing for the difiference 

^° of the language, the best receipt now in England both 
for a hasty-pudding and a Vhite-pot. 

"If you please to fall back a little, because 'tis 
necessary to look at the three next pictures at one 
view; these are three sisters. She on the right hand, 

15 who is so very beautiful, died a maid ; the next to her, 
still handsomer, had the same fate, against her will; 
this homely thing in the middle had both their por- 
tions added to her own, and was stolen by a neigh- 
bouring gentleman, a man of stratagem and resolu- 

20 tion, for he poisoned three mastiffs to come at her, 
and knocked down two deer-stealers in carrying her 
off. Misfortunes happen in all families. The theft of 
this romp and so much money was no great matter 
to our estate. But the next heir that possessed it was 

25 this soft gentleman, whom you see there. Observe 
the small buttons, the little boots, the laces, the 
^slashes about his clothes, and above all the posture he 
is drawn in, which to be sure was his own choosing; 
you see he sits with one hand on a desk writing and 

30 looking as it were another way, like an easy writer or 
a ^sonneteer. He was one of those that had too much 



wit to know how to live in the world; he was a man 
of no justice, but great good manners. He ruined 
everybody that had anything to do with him, but 
never said a rude thing in his life ; the most indolent 
person in the world, he would sign a deed that passed 5 
away half his estate with his gloves on, but would not 
put on his hat before a lady if it were to save his coun- 
try. He is said to be the first that made love by 
squeezing the hand. He left the estate with ten thou- 
sand pounds debt upon it; but, however, by all hands 10 
I have been informed that he was every way the finest 
gentleman in the world. That debt lay heavy on our 
house for one generation, but it was retrieved by a 
gift from that honest man you see there, a ^citizen of 
our name, but nothing at all akin to us. I know Sir ^5 
Andrew Freeport has said behind my back that this 
man was descended from one of the ten children of 
the maid of honour I showed you above; but it was , 
never made out. We winked at the thing indeed, be- 
cause money was wanting at that time." 20 

Here I saw my friend a little embarrassed, and 
turned my face to the next portraiture. 

Sir Roger went on with his account of the gallery 
in the following manner. ''This man," pointing to 
him I looked at, *T take to be the honour of our 25 
house : Sir Humphrey de Coverley. He was in his 
dealings as punctual as a tradesman and as generous 
as a ^gentleman. He would have thought himself as 
much undone by breaking his word as if it were to be 
followed by bankruptcy. He served his country as 30 



'knight of this shire to his dying day. He found it no 
easy matter to maintain an integrity in his words and 
actions, even in things that regarded the offices which 
were incumbent upon him, in the care of his own af- 

5 fairs and relations of Hfe, and therefore dreaded, 
though he had great talents, to go into employments 
of state, where he must be exposed to the snares of 
ambition. Innocence of life and great ability were the 
distinguishing parts of his character; the latter, he 

lo had often observed, had led to the destruction of the 
former, and he used frequently to lament that great 
and good had not the same signification. He was an 
excellent "husbandman, but had resolved not to ex- 
ceed such a degree of wealth ; all above it be bestowed 

15 in secret bounties many years after the sum he aimed 
at for his own use was attained. Yet he did not 
slacken his industry, but to a decent old age spent the 

^ life and fortune which was superfluous to himself in 
the service of his friends and neighbours." 

20 Here we were called to dinner, and Sir Roger ended 
the discourse of this gentleman by telling me, as we 
followed the servant, that this his ancestor was a 
brave man, and narrowly escaped being killed in the 
civil war. "For," said he, "he was sent out of the field 

25 upon a private message the day before the ^battle of 
Worcester." The whim of narrowly escaping by hav- 
ing been within a day of danger, with other matters 
above mentioned, mixed with good sense, left me at a 
loss whether I was more delighted with my friend's 

30 wisdom or simplicity. 

The Coverley Ghost. 

No. no. Addison. 

^Horror uhique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent. 

— ViRG. 

At a little distance from Sir Roger's house, among 
the ruins of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged 
elms, which are shot up so very high that when one 
passes under them the rooks and crows that rest upon 5 
the tops of them seem to be cawing in another region. 
I am very much delighted with this sort of noise, 
which I consider as a kind of natural prayer to that 
Being who supplies the wants of His whole creation, 
and who, in the beautiful language of the Psalms, ^^ 
feedeth the young ravens that call upon Him. I like 
this retirement the better, because of an ill report it 
lies under of being haunted ; for which reason, as I 
have been told in the family, no living creature ever 
walks in it besides the chaplain. My good friend the 15 
butler desired me with a very grave face not to ven- 
ture myself in it after sunset, for that one of the foot- 
men had been almost frighted out of his wits by a 
spirit that appeared to him in the shape of a black 
horse without an head ; to which he added that about a 20 
month ago one of the maids, coming home late that 
way with a pail of milk upon her head, heard such a 
rustling among the bushes that she let it fall. 

I was taking a walk in this place last night between 

[ 45 ] 


the hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it 
one of the most proper scenes in the world for a 
ghost to appear in. The ruins of the abbey are scat- 
tered up and down on every side, and half covered 
5 with ivy and elder bushes, the harbours of several soli- 
tary birds which seldom make their appearance till 
the dusk of the evening. The place was formerly a 
churchyard, and has still several marks in it of graves 
and burying places. There is such an echo among the 

lo old ruins and vaults that, if you stamp but a little 
louder than ordinary, you hear the sound repeated. At 
the same time, the walk of elms, with the croaking of 
the ravens, which from time to time is heard from the 
tops of them, looks exceeding solemn and venerable. 

^5 These objects naturally raise seriousness and atten- 
tion; and when night heightens the awfulness of the 
place, and pours out her supernumerary horrors upon 
everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak 
minds fill it with spectres and apparitions. 

2o Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the ^Association of 
Ideas, has very curious remarks to show how, by the 
prejudice of education, one idea often introduces into 
the mind a whole set that bear no resemblance to one 
another in the nature of things. Among several ex- 

25 amples of this kind, he produces the following in- 
stance : *'The ideas of goblins and sprites have really 
no more to do with darkness than light ; yet let but a 
foolish maid inculcate these often on the mind of a 
child, and raise them there together, possibly he shall 

30 never be able to separate them again so long as he 


lives; but darkness shall ever afterwards bring with 
it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined that 
he can no more bear the one than the other." 

As I was walking in this solitude, where the dusk 
of the evening conspired with so many other occa- 5 
sions of terror, I observed a cow grazing not far from 
me, which an imagination that is apt to startle 
might easily have construed into a black horse with- 
out a head ; and I dare say the poor footman lost his 
wits upon some such trivial occasion. 10 

My friend Sir Roger has often told me, wdth a great 
deal of mirth, that at his first coming to his estate he 
found three parts of his house altogether useless ; that 
the best room in it had the reputation of being 
haunted, and ^by that means was locked up ; that 15 
noises had been heard in his long gallery, so that he 
could not get a servant to enter it after eight o'clock 
at night ; that the door of one of his chambers was 
nailed up, because there went a story in the family 
that a butler had formerly hanged himself in it; and 20 
that his mother, who lived to a great age, had shut up 
half the rooms in the house, in which either her hus- 
band, a son, or daughter, had died. The knight, see- 
ing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and 
himself in a manner shut out of his own house, upon 25 
the death of his mother ordered all the apartments to 
be flung open and 'exorcised' by his chaplain, who lay 
in every room one after another, and by that means 
dissipated the fears which had sq long reigned in the 
family, 30 


I should not have been thus particular upon these 
ridiculous horrors, did not I find them so very much 
prevail in all parts of the country. At the same time 
I think a person who is thus terrified with the imagi- 

5 nation of ghosts and spectres much more reasonable 
than one, who, contrary to the reports of all historians, 
sacred and profane, ancient and modern, and to the 
traditions of all nations, thinks the appearance of 
spirits fabulous and groundless. Could not I give my- 

^° self up to this general testimony of mankind, I should 
to the relations of particular persons who are now liv- 
ing, and whom I cannot distrust in other matters of 
fact. I might here add that not only the historians, 
to whom we may join the poets, but likewise the 

15 philosophers of antiquity, have favoured this opinion. 
Lucretius himself, though by the course of his philos- 
ophy he was obliged to maintain that the soul did 
not exist separate from the body, makes no doubt of 
the reality of apparitions, and that men have often ap- 

20 peared after their death. This I think very 'remark- 
able : he was so pressed with the matter of fact, which 
he could not have the confidence to deny, that he was 
forced to account for it by one of the most absurd 
unphilosophical notions that was ever started. ^He 

25 tells us that the surfaces of all bodies are perpetually 
flying off from their respective bodies, one after 
another ; and that these surfaces or thin cases that in- 
cluded each other whilst they were joined in the body 
like the coats of an onion are sometimes seen entire 

30 when they are separated from it ; by which means we 


often behold the shapes and shadows of persons who 
are either dead or absent. 

I shall dismiss this paper with a story out of "Jose- 
phus, not so much for the sake of the story itself as 
for the moral reflections with which the author con- 5 
eludes it, and which I shall here set down in his own 
words. **Glaphyra, the daughter of King Archelaus, 
after the death of her two first husbands, being mar- 
ried to a third, who was brother to her first husband, 
and so passionately in love with her that he turned off 10 
his former wife to make room for this marriage, had a 
very odd kind of dream. She fancied that she saw her 
first husband coming towards her, and that she em- 
braced him with great tenderness ; when in the midst 
of the pleasure which she expressed at the sight of 15 
him, he reproached her after the following manner : 
'Glaphyra,' says he, 'thou hast made good the old 
saying, that women are not to be trusted. Was not I 
thy husband ? How couldst thou forget our loves so far 
as to enter into a second marriage, and after that into 20 
a third, nay to take for thy husband my brother ? How- 
ever, for the sake of our past loves, I shall free thee 
from thy present reproach and make thee mine for- 
ever.' Glaphyra told this dream to several women of 
her acquaintance, and died soon after. I thought 25 
this story might not be ''impertinent in this place, 
wherein I speak of those kings. Besides that, the ex- 
ample deserves to be taken notice of as it contains a 
most certain proof of the immortality of the soul, and 
of Divine Providence. If any man thinks these facts 30 



incredible, let him enjoy his opinion to himself, but 
let him not endeavour to disturb the belief of others, 
who by instances of this nature are excited to the 
study of virtue/' 


Sir Roger at Church. 

No. 112. Addison. 

^'Adavdrovg fiev irpura deovg, vofiu ug diaKeirai^ Ttng. — 

— Pyth. 

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 5 
civilising of mankind. It is certain the country people 
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 j^ 
converse with one another upon indififerent 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 15 
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 20 
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 

[51 ] 


his own choosing. He has Hkewise 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 

5 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 

lo 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 sufifer 

15 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 servant to them. 

20 Several other of the old knight's ^particularities break 
out upon these occasions. Sometimes he will be 
lengthening out a verse in the singing Psalms half a 
minute after the rest of the congregation have done 
with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter 

25 of his devotion, he pronounces amen three or four 

times to the same prayer; and sometimes stands up 

when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the 

congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing. 

I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my 

30 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 5 
odd manner which accompanies him in all circum- 
stances of life, has a very good efifect upon the parish, 
who are "not polite enough to see anything ridiculous 
in his behaviour; besides that the general good sense 
and worthiness of his character makes his friends ob- ^° 
serve these little singularities as foils that rather set 
ofif 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 an 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 ab- 20 

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- 25 
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 3° 


present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it ac- 
cording to merit. 

The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his 
chaplain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, 

5 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 

lo 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 almost in every ser- 
mon that he is a better man than his patron. In short, 

i^ 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. 

20 Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the 
country, are very fatal to the ordinary people, who are 
so used to be dazzled with riches that they pay as 
much deference to the understanding of a man of an 
estate as of a man of learning; and are ^very hardly 

25 brought to regard any truth, how impprtant 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. 


Sir Roger in Love. 

No. 113. Steele. 

— ^Hcurent iniixi pectore vultns. y 

In my first description of the company in which I 
pass most of my time, it may be remembered that I 
mentioned a great affliction which my friend Sir 
Roger had met with in his youth ; which was no less 
than a disappointment in love. It happened this even- 
ing that we fell into a very pleasing walk at a distance 
from his house. As soon as we came into it, "It is," 
quoth the good old man, looking round him with a 
smile, "very hard that any part of my land should be 
settled upon one who has used me so ill as the per- 
verse widow did ; and yet I am sure I could not see a 
sprig of any bough of this whole walk of trees, but I 
should reflect upon her and her severity. She has cer- 
tainly the finest hand of any woman in the world. You 
are to know this was the place wherein I used to muse 
upon her; and by that custom I can never come into 
it, but the same tender sentiments revive in my mind 
as if I had actually walked with that beautiful creature 
under these shades. I have been fool enough to carve 
her name on the bark of several of these trees ; so un- 
happy is the condition of men in love to attempt the 
removing of their passion by the methods which serve 
only to imprint it deeper. She has certainly the finest 
hand of any woman in the world." 

[55 ] 






Here followed a profound silence; and I was not 
displeased to observe my friend falling so naturally 
into a discourse, which I had ever before taken notice 
he industriously avoided. After a very long pause, 

5 he entered upon an account of this great circumstance 
in his life with an air which I thought raised my idea 
of him above what I had ever had before, and gave 
me the picture of that cheerful mind of his before it 
received that stroke which has ever since affected his 

lo words and actions. But he went on as follows : 

"I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and 
resolved to follow the steps of the most worthy of my 
ancestors who have inhabited this spot of earth before 
me, in all the methods of hospitality and good neigh- 

15 bourhood, for the sake of my fame ; and in country 
sports and recreations, for the sake of my health. In 
my twenty-third year, I was obliged to serve as sheriff 
of the county ; and in my servants, officers, and whole 
equipage, indulged the pleasure of a young man, who 

20 did not think ill of his own person, in taking that 
public occasion of showing my figure and behaviour 
to advantage. You may easily imagine to yourself 
what appearance I made, who am pretty tall, rid 
well, and was very well dressed, at the head of a whole 

25 county, with music before me, a feather in my hat, and 
my horse well bitted. I can assure you I was not a 
little pleased with the kind looks and glances I had 
from all the balconies and windows as I rode to the 
hall where the ^assizes were held. But when I came 

30 there, a beautiful creature in a widow's habit sat in 


court to hear the *event of a cause concerning her 
dower. This commanding creature, who was born 
for destruction of all who behold her, put on such 
a resignation in her countenance, and bore the whis- 
pers of all around the court with such a pretty uneasi- 5 
ness, I warrant you, and then recovered herself from 
one eye to another, till she was perfectly confused by 
meeting something so wistful in all she encountered, 
that at last, with a ^murrain to her, she cast her be- 
witching eye upon me. I no sooner met it but I 10 
bowed like a great surprised booby ; and, knowing 
her cause to be the first which came on, I cried, like a 
captivated calf as I was, 'Make way for the defend- 
ant's witnesses.' This sudden partiality made all the 
county immediately see the sheriff also was become a 15 
slave to the fine widow. During the time her cause 
was upon trial, she behaved herself, I warrant you, 
with such a deep attention to her business, took op- 
portunities to have little billets handed to her counsel, 
then would be in such a pretty confusion, occasioned, 20 
you must know, by acting before so much company, 
that not only I, but the whole court, was prejudiced 
in her favour; and all that the next heir to her hus- 
band had to urge was thought so groundless and 
frivolous that, when it came to her counsel to reply, 25 
there was not half so much said as every one besides 
in the court thought he could have urged to her ad- 
vantage. You must understand, sir, this perverse 
woman is one of those unaccountable creatures that 
secretly rejoice in the admiration of men, but indulge 30 


themselves in no further consequences. Hence it is 
that she has ever had a train of admirers, and she re- 
moves from her slaves in town to those in the country 
according to the seasons of the year. She is a read- 

5 ing lady, and far gone in the pleasures of friendship. 
She is always accompanied by a confidante, who is 
witness to her daily protestations against our sex, and 
consequently a bar to her first steps towards love, upon 
the strength of her own maxims and declarations. 

lo "However, I must needs say, this accomplished mis- 
tress of mine has distinguished me above the rest, and 
has been known to declare Sir Roger de Coverley was 
the tamest and most human of all the brutes in the 
country. I was told she said so by one who thought 

15 he ^rallied me ; but upon the strength of this slender 
encouragement of being thought least detestable, I 
made new liveries, new-paired my coach-horses, sent 
them all to town to be bitted, and taught to throw 
their legs well, and move all together, before I pre- 

20 tended to cross the country and wait upon her. As 
soon as I thought my retinue suitable to the character 
of my fortune and youth, I set out from hence to make 
my addresses. The particular skill of this lady has 
ever been to inflame your wishes, and yet command 

25 respect. To make her mistress of this art, she has a 
greater share of knowledge, wit, and good sense than 
is usual even among men of merit. Then she is beau- 
tiful beyond the race of women. If you won't let her 
go on with a certain artifice with her eyes and the 

30 skill of beauty, she will arm herself with her real 


charms, and strike you with admiration instead of 
desire. It is certain that if you were to behold the 
whole woman, there is that dignity in her aspect, that 
composure in her motion, that complacency in her 
manner, that if her form makes you hope, her merit 5 
makes you fear. But then again she is such a des- 
perate scholar that no country gentleman can ap- 
proach her without being a jest. As I was going to 
tell you, when I came to her house, I was admitted to 
her presence with great civility ; at the same time she 10 
placed herself to be first seen by me in such an atti- 
tude as I think you call the posture of a picture, that 
she discovered new charms, and I at last came to- 
wards her with such an awe as made me speechless. 
This she no sooner observed but she made her ad- 15 
vantage of it, and began a discourse to me concerning 
love and honour, as they both are followed by pre- 
tenders, and the real votaries to them. When she 
had discussed these points in a discourse, which I 
verily believe was as learned as the best philosopher in 20 
Europe could possibly make, she asked me whether 
she was so happy as to fall in with my sentiments on 
these important particulars. Her confidante sat by 
her, and, upon my being in the last confusion and 
silence, this malicious aid of hers, turning to her, says, 25 
*I am very glad to observe Sir Roger pauses upon 
this subject, and seems resolved to deliver all his sen- 
timents upon the matter when he pleases to speak.' 
They both kept their countenances, and after I had 
sat half an hour meditating how to behave before such 30 


profound casuists, I rose up and took my leave. 
Chance has since that time thrown me very often in 
her way, and she as often has directed a discourse to 
me which I do not understand. This barbarity has 
5 kept me ever at a distance from the most beautiful 
object my eyes ever beheld. It is thus also she deals 
with all mankind; and you must make love to her, as 
you would conquer the Sphinx, by ^posing her. But 
were she like other women, ^and that there were any 

lo talking to her, how constant must the pleasure of that 
man be who could converse with a creature — but, 
after all, you may be sure her heart is fixed on some 
one or other ; and yet I have been credibly informed — 
but who can believe half that is said? After she had 

15 done speaking to me, she put her hand to her bosom 
and adjusted her ^tucker. Then she cast her eyes a 
little down upon my beholding her too earnestly. 
They say she sings excellently : her voice in her ordi- 
nary speech has something in it inexpressibly sweet. 

20 You must know I dined with her at a public table the 
day after I first saw her, and she helped me to some 
^tansy in the eye of all the gentlemen in the country. 
She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the 
world. I can assure you, sir, were you to behold her, 

25 you would be in the same condition ; for as her speech 
is music, her form is angelic. But I find I grow 
irregular while I am talking of her; but indeed it 
would be stupidity to be unconcerned at such perfec- 
tion. Oh, the excellent creature! she is as inimitable 

30 to all women as she is inaccessible to all men." 


I found my friend begin to rave, and insensibly led 
him towards the house, that we might be joined by 
some other company ; and am convinced that the 
widow is the secret cause of all that inconsistency 
which appears in some parts of my friend's discourse ; 5 
though he has so much command of himself as not 
directly to mention her, yet according to ^that of 
Martial, which one knows not how to render into 
English, dum tacet, lianc loquitur. I shall end this 
paper with that whole epigram, which represents with 10 
much humour my honest friend's condition : 

^Quidquid agit Rnfus, nihil est nisi NcBvia Rufo, 
Si gaudet, si Het, si facet, hanc loquitur; 
Coenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annnit, una est 

N^via; si non sit Ncevia, mutiis erit. 15 

Scriberet hesternd patri cum luce salutem, 
N(Bvia lux, inquit, Ncevia! lumen, ave. 

Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk, 

Still he can nothing but of Naevia talk. 

Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute, 20 

Still he must speak of Naevia, or be mute. 

He writ to his father, ending with this line, 

I am, my lovely Naevia, ever thine. 

A Little Sermon on Economy. 

No. 114. Steele. 

'^Paupertatis pudor et fuga. 

— HOR. 

Economy in our affairs has the same effect upon 
our fortunes which good breeding has upon our con- 
versations. There is a pretending behaviour in both 

5 cases, which, instead of making men esteemed, ren- 
ders them both miserable and contemptible. We had 
yesterday at Sir Roger's a set of country gentlemen 
who dined with him ; and after dinner the glass was 
taken, by those who pleased, pretty plentifully. 

10 Among others I observed a person of a tolerable good 
aspect, who seemed to be more greedy of liquor than 
any of the company, and yet, methought, he did not 
taste it with delight. As he grew warm, he was sus- 
picious of everything that was said ; and as he ad- 

15 vanced towards being fuddled, his humour grew worse. 
At the same time his bitterness seemed to be rather 
an inward dissatisfaction in his own mind than any 
dislike he had taken at the company. Upon hearing 
his name, I knew him to be a gentleman of a consid- 

20 erable fortune in this county, but greatly in debt. 
What gives the unhappy man this peevishness of 
spirit is that his estate is dipped, and is ^eating out 
with usury; and yet he has not the heart to sell any 
part of it. His proud ^stomach, at the cost of restless 

[62 ] 


nights, constant inquietudes, danger of affronts, and a 
thousand nameless inconveniences, preserves this 
canker in his fortune, rather than it shall be said he is 
a man of fewer hundreds a year than he has been com- 
monly reputed. Thus he endures the torment of 5 
poverty to avoid the name of being less rich. If you 
go to his house you see great plenty, but served in a 
manner that shows it is all unnatural, and that the 
master's mind is not at home. There is a certain waste 
and carelessness in the air of everything, and the 10 
whole appears but a covered indigence, a magnificent 
poverty. That neatness and cheerfulness which at- 
tends the table of him who lives within compass is 
wanting, and exchanged for a libertine way of service 
in all about him. ^5 

This gentleman's conduct, though a very common 
way of management, is as ridiculous as that officer's 
would be who had but few men under his command, 
and should take the charge of an extent of country 
rather than of a small pass. To pay for, ^personate, 20 
and keep in a man's hands a greater estate than he 
really has, is of all others the most unpardonable 
vanity, and must in the end reduce the man who is 
guilty of it to dishonour. Yet if we look around us in 
any county of Great Britain, we shall see many in this 25 
fatal error; if that may be called by so soft a name 
which proceeds from a false shame of appearing 
what they really are, when the contrary behaviour 
would in a short time advance them to the condition 
which they pretend to. 30 


Laertes has ^fifteen hundred pounds a year, which 
is mortgaged for six thousand pounds ; but it is im- 
possible to convince him that if he sold as much as 
would pay of¥ that debt, he would save four shillings 

5 in the pound, which he gives for the vanity of being 
the reputed master of it. Yet if Laertes did this, he 
would perhaps be easier in his own fortune ; but then 
Irus, a fellow of yesterday, who has but twelve hun- 
dred a year, would be his equal. Rather than this 

lo shall be, Laertes goes on to bring well-born beggars 
into the world, and every twelve month charges his 
estate with at least one year's rent more by the birth 
of a child. 

Laertes and Irus are neighbours, whose way of 

15 living are an abomination to each other. Irus is 
moved by the fear of poverty, and Laertes by the 
shame of it. Though the motive of action is of so 
near affinity in both, and may be resolved into this, 
that to each of them poverty is the greatest of all 

20 evils ; yet are their manners very widely different. 
Shame of poverty makes Laertes launch into unneces- 
sary equipage, vain expense, and lavish entertain- 
ments ; fear of poverty makes Irus allow himself only 
plain necessaries, appear without a servant, sell his 

25 own corn, attend his labourers, and be himself a la- 
bourer. Shame of poverty makes Laertes go every 
day a step nearer to it, and fear of poverty stirs up 
Irus to make every day some further progress from it. 
These different motives produce the excesses which 

30 men are guilty of in the negligence of and provision 


for themselves. Usury, *stock jobbing, extortion, and 
oppression have their seed in the dread of want ; and 
vanity, ^riot, and prodigahty, from the shame of it. 
But both these excesses are infinitely below the pur- 
suit of a reasonable creature. After we have taken 5 
care to command so much as is necessary for main- 
taining ourselves in the order of men suitable to our 
character, the care of superfluities is a vice no less 
extravagant than the neglect of necessaries would 
have been before. 10 

Certain it is that they are both out of nature, when 
she is followed with reason and good sense. It is 
from this reflection that I always read ^Mr. Cowley 
with the greatest pleasure. His magnanimity is as 
much above that of other considerable men as his un- 15 
derstanding; and it is a true distinguishing spirit in 
the elegant ^author who published his works, to dwell 
so much upon the temper of his mind and the mod- 
eration of his desires. By this means he has rendered 
his friend as amiable as famous. That state of life 20 
which bears the face of poverty with Mr. Cowley's 
great ^Vulgar is admirably described ; and it is no 
small satisfaction to those of the same turn of desire, 
that he produces the authority of the wisest men of 
the best age of the world to strengthen his opinion of 25 
the ordinary pursuits of mankind. 

It would, methinks, be no ill maxim of life, if, ac- 
cording to that ancestor of Sir Roger whom I lately 
mentioned, every man would "point to himself what 
sum he would resolve not to exceed. He might by 30 


this means cheat himself into a tranquilHty on this 
side of that expectation, or convert what he should 
get above it to nobler uses than his own pleasures or 
necessities. This temper of mind would exempt a 

5 man from an ignorant envy of restless men above him, 
and a more inexcusable contempt of happy men below 
him. This would be sailing by some compass, living 
with some design ; but to be eternally bewildered in 
prospects of future gain, and putting on unnecessary 

lo armour against improbable blows of fortune, is a "me- 
chanic being which has not good sense for its direc- 
tion, but is carried on by a sort of acquired instinct 
towards things below our consideration and unworthy 
our esteem. 

^5 It is possible that the tranquillity I now enjoy at 
Sir Roger's may have created in me this way of think- 
ing, which is so abstracted from the common relish of 
the world. But as I am now in a pleasing arbour sur- 
rounded with a beautiful landscape, I find no inclina- 

2o tion so strong as to continue in these mansions, so 
remote from the ostentatious scenes of life ; and am 
at this present writing philosopher enough to conclude 
with Mr. Cowley : 

'If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat, 
25 With any wish so mean as to be great, 

Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove 
The humble blessings of that life I love. 

Health and Exercise. 

No. 115. Addison. 

— "Ut sit mens sana in cor pore sano. 

— Juv. 

Bodily labour is of two kinds, either that which a 
man submits to for his livelihood, or that which he 
undergoes for his pleasure. The latter of them gen- 
erally changes the name of labour for that of exercise, ^ 
but differs only from ordinary labour as it rises from 
another motive. 

A country life abounds in both these kinds of labour, 
and for that reason gives a man a greater stock of 
health, and consequently a more perfect enjoyment jq 
of himself, than any other way of life. I consider 
the body as a system of tubes and glands, or, to use 
a more rustic phrase, a bundle of pipes and strainers, 
fitted to one another after so wonderful a manner as 
to make a proper engine for the soul to work with. 15 
This description does not only comprehend the bow- 
els, bones, tendons, veins, nerves, and arteries, but 
every muscle and every ligature, which is a composi- 
tion of fibres, that are so many imperceptible tubes 
or pipes, interwoven on all sides with invisible glands 20 
or strainers. 

This general idea of a human body, without con- 
sidering it in its niceties of anatomy, lets us see how 
absolutely necessary labour is for the right preserva- 

[67 ] 


tion of it. There must be frequent motions and agita- 
tions to mix, digest, and separate the juices contained 
in it, as well as to clear and cleanse that infinitude of 
pipes and strainers of which it is composed, and to 
5 give their solid parts a more firm and lasting tone. 
Labour or exercise ferments the ^humours, casts them 
into their proper channels, throws oi¥ redundancies, 
and helps nature in those secret distributions, with- 
out which the body cannot subsist in its vigour, nor 

lo the soul act with cheerfulness. 

I might here mention the effects which this has 
upon all the faculties of the mind, by keeping the un- 
derstanding clear, the imagination untroubled, and 
refining ^those spirits that are necessary for the proper 

15 exertion of our intellectual faculties during the pres- 
ent laws of union between soul and body. It is to a 
neglect in this particular that we must ascribe the 
'spleen, which is so frequent in men of studious and 
sedentary tempers, as well as the ^vapours to which 

20 those of the other sex are so often subject. 

Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our 
well-being. Nature would not have made the body so 
proper for it, by giving such an activity to the limbs, 
and such a pliancy to every part as necessarily pro- 

25 duce those compressions, extensions, contortions, dila- 
tations, and all other kinds of motions that are neces- 
sary for the preservation of such a system of tubes 
and glands as has been before mentioned. And that 
we might not want inducements to engage us in such 

30 an exercise of the body as is proper for its welfare, it 


is so ordered that nothing valuable can be procured 
without it. Not to mention riches and honour, even 
food and raiment are not to be come at without the 
toil of the hands and sweat of the brows. Providence 
furnishes materials, but expects that we should work ^ 
them up ourselves. The earth must be laboured be- 
fore it gives its increase, and when it is forced into its 
several products, how many hands must they pass 
through before they are fit for use ! Manufactures, 
trade, and agriculture naturally employ more than 10 
nineteen parts of the species in twenty ; and as for 
those who are not obliged to labour, by the condition 
in which they are born, they are more miserable than 
the rest of mankind, unless they indulge themselves 
in that voluntary labour which goes by the name of 15 

My friend Sir Roger has been an indefatigable man 
in business of this kind, and has hung several parts of 
his house with the trophies of his former labours. The 
walls of his great hall are covered with the horns of 20 
several kinds of deer that he has killed in the chase, 
which he thinks the most valuable furniture of his 
house, as they afford him frequent topics of discourse, 
and show that he has not been idle. At the lower end 
of the hall is a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, 25 
which his mother ordered to be hung up in that man- 
ner, and the knight looks upon with great satisfac- 
tion, because it seems he was but nine years old when 
his dog killed him. A little room adjoining to the 
hall is a kind of arsenal filled with guns of several 30 


sizes and inventions, with which the knight has made 
great havoc in the woods and destroyed many thou- 
sands of pheasants, partridges, and woodcocks. His 
stable-doors are patched with noses that belonged to 

5 foxes of the knight's own hunting down. Sir Roger 
showed me one of them that for distinction sake has a 
brass nail struck through it, which cost him about 
fifteen hours riding, carried him through half a dozen 
counties, killed him a brace of geldings, and lost 

lo above half his dogs. This the knight looks upon as 
one of the greatest exploits of his life. The perverse 
widow, whom I have given some account of, was the 
death of several foxes ; for Sir Roger has told me that 
in the course of his amours he patched the western 

15 door of his stable. Whenever the widow was cruel, 
the foxes were sure to pay for it. In proportion as his 
passion for the widow abated and old age came on, he 
left ofif fox-hunting ; but a hare is not yet safe that sits 
within ten miles of his house. 

20 There is no kind of exercise which I would so 
recommend to my readers of both sexes as this of 
riding, as there is none which so much conduces to 
health, and is every way accommodated to the body, 
according to the idea which I have given of it. ^Doc- 

25 tor Sydenham is very lavish in its praises ; and if the 
English reader will see the mechanical efifects of it 
described at length, he may find them in a book pub- 
lished not many years since under the title of the 
^Medicina Gymnastica. For my own part, when I 

30 am in town, for want of these opportunities, I exer- 


cise myself an hour every morning upon a dumb bell 
that is placed in a corner of my room, and it pleases 
me the more because it does everything I require of 
it in the most profound silence. My landlady and her 
daughters are so well acquainted with my hours of 5 
exercise that they never come into my room to dis- 
turb me whilst I am ringing. 

When I was some years younger than I am at pres- 
ent, I used to employ myself in a more laborious 
diversion, which I learned from a ^Latin treatise of 10 
exercises that is written with great erudition. It is 
there called the oKiofiax'ia, or the fighting with a man's 
own shadow, and consists in the brandishing of two 
short sticks grasped in each hand, and loaden with 
plugs of lead at either end. This opens the chest, 15 
exercises the limbs, and gives a man all the pleasure 
of boxing without the blows. I could wish that sev- 
eral learned men would lay out that time which they 
employ in controversies and disputes about nothing in 
this method of fighting with their own shadows. It 20 
might conduce very much to evaporate the spleen, 
which makes them uneasy to the public as well as to 

To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and 
body, I consider myself as obliged to a double scheme 25 
of duties ; and I think I have not fulfilled the business 
of the day when I do not thus employ the one in 
labour and exercise as well as the other in study and 

A Hunt with Sir Roger. 

No. 1 1 6. BUDGELL. 

^Vocat ingenti clamore Cithcuron, 
Taygetique canes. — Virg. 

Those who have searched into human nature ob- 
serve that nothing so much shows the nobleness of 
5 the soul as that its felicity consists in action. Every- 
man has such an active principle in him that he will 
find out something to employ himself upon in what- 
ever place or state of life he is posted. I have heard 
of a gentleman who was under close confinement in 

lo the* Bastile seven years, during which time he amused 
himself in scattering a few small pins about his cham- 
ber, gathering them up again, and placing them in 
different figures on the arm of a great chair. He often 
told his friends afterwards that, unless he had found 

15 out this piece of exercise, he verily believed he should 
have lost his senses. 

After what has been said, I need not inform my 
readers that Sir Roger, with whose character I hope 
they are at present pretty well acquainted, has in his 

20 youth gone through the whole course of those rural 
diversions which the country abounds in, and which 
seem to be extremely well suited to that laborious in- 
dustry a man may observe here in a far greater degree 
than in towns and cities. I have before hinted at some 

25 of my friend's exploits. He has in his youthful days 

[ 72 ] 


taken forty coveys of partridges in a season, and tired 
many a salmon with a line consisting but of a single 
hair. The constant thanks and good wishes of the 
neighbourhood always attended him on account of his 
remarkable enmity towards foxes, having destroyed 5 
more of those vermin in one year than it was thought 
the whole country could have produced. Indeed, the 
knight does not scruple to own among his most inti- 
mate friends that, in order to establish his reputation 
this way, he has secretly sent for great numbers of ^° 
them out of other counties, which he used to turn 
loose about the country by night, that he might the 
better signalize himself in their destruction the next 
day. His hunting horses were the finest and best 
managed in all these parts. His tenants are still full of 15 
the praises of a gray "stone-horse that unhappily 
staked himself several years since, and was buried 
with great solemnity in the orchard. 

Sir Roger, being at present too old for fox-hunting, 
to keep himself in action, has disposed of his ^beagles 20 
and got a pack of ^top-hounds. What these want in 
speed he endeavours to make amends for by the deep- 
ness of their mouths and the variety of their notes, 
which are suited in such manner to each other that 
the whole cry makes up a complete ^consort. He is so 25 
nice in this particular that a gentleman having made 
him a present of a very fine hound the other day, the 
knight returned it by the servant with a great many 
expressions of civility ; but desired him to tell his mas- 
ter that the dog he had sent was indeed a most excel- 3o 


lent bass, but that at present he only wanted a counter- 
tenor. Could I believe my friend had ever read 
Shakespeare, I would certainly conclude he had taken 
the hint from Theseus in the Midsummer Night's 
^ Dream : 

*My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So "flew'd, so "sanded ; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook-knee'd and ^dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bull; 
^o Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 

Each under each : a cry more tuneable 
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn. 

Sir Roger is so keen at this sport that he has been 
out almost every day since I came down ; and upon 

15 the chaplain's offering to lend me his easy ^pad, I was 
prevailed on yesterday morning to make one of the 
company. I was extremely pleased, as we rid along, 
to observe the general benevolence of all the neigh- 
bourhood towards my friend. The farmers' sons 

20 thought themselves happy if they could open a gate 
for the good old knight as he passed by ; which he 
generally requited with a nod or a smile, and a kind 
inquiry after their fathers and uncles. 

After we had rid about a mile from home, we came 

25 upon a large heath, and the sportsmen began to beat. 
They had done so for some time, when, as I was at a 
little distance from the rest of the company, I saw a 
hare pop out from a small furze-brake almost under 
my horse's feet. I marked the way she took, which I 

30 endeavoured to make the company sensible of by ex- 


tending my arm; but to no purpose, till Sir Roger, 
who knows that none of my extraordinary motions 
are insignificant, rode up to me and asked me if 'puss 
was gone that way.' Upon my answering "Yes," he 
immediately called in the dogs and put them upon the 5 
scent. As they were going off, I heard one of the 
country fellows muttering to his companion that 'twas 
a wonder they had not lost all their sport for want of 
the silent gentleman's crying ''Stole away!" 

This, with my aversion to leaping hedges, made me 10 
withdraw to a rising ground, from whence I could 
have the picture of the whole chase without the 
fatigue of keeping in with the hounds. The hare im- 
mediately threw them above a mile behind her ; but 
I was pleased to find that instead of running straight 15 
forwards, or, in hunter's language, "flying the coun- 
try," as I was afraid she might have done, she wheeled 
about, and described a sort of circle round the hill 
where I had taken my station, in such manner as gave 
me a very distinct view of the sport. I could see her 20 
first pass by, and the dogs some time afterwards un- 
ravelling the whole track she had made, and following 
her through all her doubles. I was at the same time 
delighted in observing that deference which the rest 
of the pack paid to each particular hound, according 25 
to the character he had acquired amongst them. If 
they were at fault, and an old hound of reputation 
opened but once, he was immediately followed by the 
whole cry; while a raw dog, or one who was a noted 
liar, might have yelped his heart out without being ^q 
taken notice of. 


The hare now, after having squatted two or three 
times and been put up again as often, came still nearer 
to the place where she was at first started. The dogs 
pursued her, and these were followed by the jolly 
5 knight, who rode upon a white gelding, encompassed 
by his tenants and servants, and cheering his hounds 
with all the gaiety of five-and-twenty. One of the 
sportsmen rode up to me and told me that he was 
sure the chase was almost at an end, because the old 

lo dogs, which had hitherto lain behind, now headed the 
pack. The fellow was in the right. Our hare took a 
large field just under us, followed by the full cry "in 
view." I must confess the brightness of the weather, 
the cheerfulness of everything around me, the *chid- 

15 ing' of the hounds, which was returned upon us in a 
double echo from two neighbouring hills, with the hol- 
loaing of the sportsmen and the sounding of the horn, 
lifted my spirits into a most lively pleasure, which I 
freely indulged because I was sure it was innocent. 

20 If I was under any concern, it was on the account of 
the poor hare, that was now quite spent and almost 
within the reach of her enemies ; when the huntsman, 
getting forward, threw down his pole before the dogs. 
They were now within eight yards of that game which 

^5 they had been pursuing for almost as many hours; 
yet on the signal before mentioned they all made a 
sudden stand, and though they continued opening as 
much as before, durst not once attempt to pass be- 
yond the pole. At the same time Sir Roger rode for- 

30 ward, and alighting, took up the hare in his arms; 


which he soon deHvered up to one of his servants with' 
an order, if she could be kept aHve, to let her go in his 
great orchard, where it seems he has several of these 
prisoners of war, who live together in a very com- 
fortable captivity. I was highly pleased to see the dis- 5 
cipline of the pack and the good nature of the knight, 
who could not find in his heart to murder a creature 
that had given him so much diversion. 

As we were returning home, I remembered that 
Monsieur ^Pascal, in his most excellent discourse on lo 
the "Misery of Man," tells us that ''all our endeavours 
after greatness proceed from nothing but a desire of 
being surrounded by a multitude of persons and af- 
fairs that may hinder us from looking into ourselves, 
which is a view we cannot bear." He afterwards goes ^5 
on to show that our love of sports comes from the 
same reason, and is particularly severe upon hunting. 
"What," says he, "unless it be to drown thought, can 
make men throw away so much time and pains upon 
a silly animal, which they might buy cheaper in the 20 
market?" The foregoing reflection is certainly just, 
when a man suffers his whole mind to be drawn into 
his sports, and altogether loses himself in the woods ;. 
but does not affect those who propose a far more laud- 
able end from this exercise, I mean the preservation 25 
of health, and keeping all the organs of the soul in a 
condition to execute her order. Had that incompara- 
ble person, whom I last quoted, been a little more in- 
dulgent to himself in this point the world might 
probably have enjoyed him much longer; whereas, 30 



through too great an application to his studies in his 
youth, he contracted that ill habit of body, which, after 
a tedious sickness, carried him ofi. in the fortieth year 
of his age ; and the whole history we have of his life 
till that time is but one continued account of the be- 
haviour of a noble soul struggling under innumerable 
pains and distempers. 

For my own part, I intend to hunt twice a week 
during my stay with Sir Roger and shall prescribe 
the moderate use of this exercise to all my country 
friends as the best kind of physic for mending a bad 
constitution and preserving a good one. 

I cannot do this better than in the following lines 
out of Mr. Dryden : 

^5 'The first physicians by debauch were made; 

Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. 

By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food ; 

Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood ; 

But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men, 
20 Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. 

Better to hunt in fields for health unbought 

Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 

The wise for cure on exercise depend : 

God never made His work for man to mend. 

The Coverley Witch. 

No. 117. Addison. 

'^Ipsi sibi s omnia Ungunt. _, 

— ViRG. 

There are some opinions in which a man should 
stand ''neuter, without engaging his assent to one side 
or the other. Such a hovering faith as this, which 
refuses to settle upon any determination, is absolutely ^ 
necessary in a mind that is careful to avoid errors and 
prepossessions. When the arguments press equally 
on both sides in matters that are indifferent to us, the 
safest method is to give up ourselves to neither. 

It is with this temper of mind that I consider the 10 
subject of witchcraft. When I hear the ^relations that 
are made from all parts of the world, not only from 
Norway and Lapland, from the East and West Indies, 
but from every particular nation in Europe, I cannot 
forbear thinking that there is such an intercourse and 15 
commerce with evil spirits as that which we express 
by the name of witchcraft. But when I consider that 
the ignorant and credulous parts of the world abound 
most in these relations, and that the persons among us 
who are supposed to engage in such an infernal com- 20 
merce, are people of a weak understanding and crazed 
imagination, and at the same time reflect upon the 
many impostures and delusions of this nature that 
have been detected in all ages, I endeavour to suspend 

L 79 J 





my belief till I hear more certain accounts than any 
which have yet come to my knowledge. In short, 
when I consider the question whether there are such 
persons in the world as those we call witches, my mind 
is divided between two opposite opinions ; or rather, 
to speak my thoughts freely, I believe in general that 
there is, and has been, such a thing as witchcraft, but 
at the same time can give no credit to any particular 
instance of it. 

I am engaged in this speculation by some occur- 
rences that I met with yesterday, which I shall' give 
my reader an account of at large. As I was walking 
with my friend Sir Roger by the side of one of his 
woods, an old woman applied herself to me for my 
charity. Her dress and figure put me in mind of the 
following description in ^Otway : 

In a close lane, as I pursued my journey, 
I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double, 
Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself. 
Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red; 
Cold palsy shook her head ; her hands seemed withered ; 
And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapt 
The tattered remnant of an old striped hanging, 
Which served to keep her carcase from the cold : 
25 So there was nothing of a piece about her. 

Her lower *weedswere all o'er coarsely patched 
With different coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow, 
And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness. 

As I was musing on this description, and compar- 
3° ing it with the object before me, the knight told me 


that this very old woman had the reputation of a witch 
all over the country, that her lips were observed to be 
always in motion, and that there was not a switch 
about her house which her neighbours did not believe 
had ^carried her several hundreds of miles. If she 5 
chanced to stumble, they always found sticks or 
straws that lay in the figure of a cross before her. H 
she made any mistake at church, and cried "Amen'* 
in a wrong place, they never failed to conclude that 
she was saying her prayers backwards. There was not 10 
a maid in the parish that would take a pin of her, 
though she should ofifer a bag of money with it. She 
goes by the name of Moll White, and has made the 
country ring with several imaginary exploits which 
are palmed upon her. If the dairymaid does not make 15 
her butter to come as soon as she would have it, Moll 
White is at the bottom of the churn. If a horse sweats 
in the stable, Moll White has been upon his back. If 
a hare makes an unexpected escape from the hounds, 
the huntsman curses Moll White. "Nay," says Sir 20 
Roger, "I have known the master of the pack, upon 
such an occasion, send one of his servants to see if 
Moll White had been out that morning." 

This account raised my curiosity so far that I 
begged my friend Sir Roger to go with me into her 25 
hovel, which stood in a solitary corner under the side 
of the wood. Upon our first entering. Sir Roger 
winked to me, and pointed at something that stood 
behind the door, which, upon looking that way, I 
found to be an old broom-stafif. At the same time, he 30 


whispered me in the ear to take notice of a tabby cat 
that sat in the chimney corner, which, as the old knight 
told me, lay under as bad a report as Moll White 
herself; for besides that Moll is said often to accom- 

5 pany her in the same shape, the cat is reported to 
have spoken twice or thrice in her life, and to have 
played several pranks above the capacity of an ordi- 
nary cat. 

I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so 

lo much wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time 
could not forbear smiling to hear Sir Roger, who is 
a little puzzled about the old woman, advising her, as 
a justice of peace, to avoid all communication with 
the devil, and never to hurt any of her neighbours* 

15 cattle. We concluded our visit with a bounty, which 
was very acceptable. 

In our return home, Sir Roger told me that old 
Moll had been often brought before him for making 
children spit pins, and giving maids the nightmare; 

20 and that the country people would be tossing her into 
a pond and ""trying experiments with her every day, if 
it was not for him and his chaplain. 

I have since found upon inquiry that Sir Roger was 
several times staggered with the reports that had been 

25 brought him concerning this old woman, and would 
frequently have ^bound her over to the county ses- 
sions, had not his chaplain, with much ado, persuaded 
him to the contrary. 

I have been the more particular in this account 

30 because I hear there is scarce a village in England 


that has not a Moll White in it. When an old woman 
begins to ^dote and grow chargeable to a parish, she 
is generally turned into a witch, and fills the whole 
country with extravagant fancies, imaginary distem- 
pers, and terrifying dreams. In the mean time, the 5 
poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many 
evils begins to be frighted at herself, and sometimes 
confesses secret commerces and familiarities that her 
imagination forms in a delirious old age. This fre- 
quently cuts of¥ charity from the greatest objects of 10 
compassion, and inspires people with a malevolence 
towards those poor decrepit parts of our species, in 
whom human nature is defaced by infirmity and 

Sir Roger Discourses on Love. 

No. 1 1 8. Steele. 

*H(Bret lateri lethalis arundo. 

— ViRG. 

This agreeable seat is surrounded with so many 

pleasing walks, which are struck out of a wood in the 

midst of which the house stands, that one can hardly 

5 ever be weary of rambling from one labyrinth of de- 

. light to another. To one used to live in a city the 
charms of the country are so exquisite that the mind 
is lost in a certain transport which raises us above 
ordinary life, and is yet not strong enough to be in- 

^° consistent with tranquillity. This state of mind was 
I in, ravished with the murmur of waters, the whisper 
of breezes, the singing of birds ; and whether I looked 
up to the heavens, down on the earth, or turned to the 
prospects around me, still struck with new sense of 

15 pleasure ; when I found by the voice of my friend, who 
walked by me, that we had insensibly strolled into the 
grove sacred to the Widow. "This woman," says he, 
**is of all others the most unintelligible : she either de- 
signs to marry, or she does not. What is the most 

20 perplexing of all is, that she doth not either say to her 
lovers she has any resolution against that condition of 
life in general, or that she banishes them ; but con- 
scious of her own merit, she permits their addresses 
without fear of any ill consequence, or want of respect, 



from their rage or despair. She has that in her aspect 
against which it is impossible to offend. A man whose 
thoughts are constantly bent upon so agreeable an 
object must be excused if the ordinary occurrences in 
conversation are below his attention. I call her indeed c 
perverse, but, alas ! why do I call her so ? Because 
her superior merit is such that I cannot approach her 
without awe, that my heart is checked by too much 
esteem : I am angry that her charms are not more 
accessible, that I am more inclined to worship than 10 
salute her. How often have I wished her unhappy that 
I might have an opportunity of serving her ! And how 
often troubled in that very imagination, at giving her 
the pain of being obliged ! Well, I have led a miser- 
able life in secret upon her account; but fancy she 15 
would have condescended to have some regard for 
me, if it had not been for that watchful animal, her 

*'Of all perspns under the sun," continued he, call- • 
ing me by my name, "be sure to set a mark upon con- 20 
fidantes ; they are of all people the most impertinent. 
What is most ^pleasant to observe in them is that they 
assume to themselves the merit of the persons whom 
they have in their custody. Orestilla is a great for- 
tune, and in wonderful danger of surprises ; therefore 25 
full of suspicions of the least indifferent thing, particu- 
larly careful of new acquaintance and of growing too 
familiar with the old. Themista, her favourite woman, 
is every whit as careful of whom she speaks to, and 
what she says. Let the ward be a beauty, her confi- 30 


dante shall treat you with an air of distance; let her 
be a fortune, and she assumes the suspicious behaviour 
of her friend and patroness. Thus it is that very many 
of our unmarried women of distinction are to all in- 

5 tents and purposes married, except the consideration 
of different sexes. They are directly under the con- 
duct of their whisperer, and think they are in a state 
of freedom, while they can prate with one of these at- 
tendants of all men in general and still avoid the man 

lo they most like. You do not see one heiress in an 
hundred whose fate does not turn upon the circum- 
stance of choosing a confidante. Thus It is that the 
lady is addressed to, presented, and flattered, only by 
proxy, in her woman. In my case, how is it possible 

15 that—" 

Sir Roger was proceeding in his harangue, when 
we heard the voice of one speaking very importu- 
nately, and repeating these words, "What, not one 
smile ?" We followed the sound till we came to a close 

20 thicket, on the other side of which we saw a young 
woman sitting as it were in a ^personated sullenness 
just over a transparent fountain. Opposite to her 
stood Mr. William, Sir Roger's master of the game. 
The knight whispered me, "Hist, these are lovers." 

25 The huntsman, looking earnestly at the shadow of the 
young maiden in the stream, "O thou dear picture, if 
thou couldst remain there in the absence of that fair 
creature whom you represent in the water, how will- 
ingly could I stand here satisfied forever, without 

30 troubling my dear Betty herself with any mention of 


her unfortunate William, whom she is angry with. 
But alas ! when she pleases to be gone, thou wilt also 
vanish. Yet let me talk to thee while thou dost stay. 
Tell my dearest Betty thou dost not more depend 
upon her than does her William : her absence will ^ 
make away with me as well as thee. If she offers to 
remove thee, I'll jump into these waves to lay hold on 
thee ; herself, her own dear person, I must never em- 
brace again. — Still do you hear me without one 
smile?- — It is too much to bear." — He had no sooner 10 
spoke these words but he made an ofifer of throwing 
himself into the water; at which his mistress started 
up, and at the next instant he jumped across the foun- 
tain and met her in an embrace. She, half recovering 
from her fright, said in the most charming voice imagi- i5 
nable, and with a tone of complaint, "I thought how 
well you would drown yourself. No, no, you won't 
drown yourself till you have taken your leave of Susan 
Holiday." The huntsman, with a tenderness that spoke 
the most passionate love, and with his cheek close to 20 
hers, whispered the softest vows of fidelity in her ear, 
and cried, ''Don't, my dear, believe a word Kate Wil- 
low says; she is spiteful and makes stories, because 
she loves to hear me talk to herself for your sake." 

"Look you there," quoth Sir Roger, "do you see 25 
there, all mischief comes from confidantes ! But let 
us not interrupt them ; the maid is honest, and the 
man dares not be otherwise, for he knows I loved her 
father. I will interpose in this matter, and hasten the 
wedding. Kate Willow is a witty mischievous woman 30 


in the neighbourhood, who was a beauty ; and makes 
me hope I shall see the perverse Widow in her con- 
dition. She was so flippant with her answers to all 
the honest fellows that came near her, and so very 
5 vain of her beauty, that she has valued herself upon 
her charms till they are ceased. She therefore now 

• makes it her business to prevent other young women 
from being more discreet than she was herself. How- 
ever, the saucy thing said the other day well enough, 

^° 'Sir Roger and I must make a match, for we are both 
despised by those we loved.' The hussy has a great 
deal of power wherever she comes, and has her share 
of cunning. 

''However, when I reflect upon "this woman, I do 

^5 not know whether in the main I am the worse for 
having loved her. Whenever she is recalled to my 
imagination, my youth returns and I feel a forgotten 
warmth in my veins. This affliction in my life has 
streaked all my conduct with a softness of which I 

2o should otherwise have been incapable. It is, per- 
haps, to this dear image in my heart owing, that I 
am apt to relent, that I easily forgive, and that many 
desirable things are grown into my temper, which I 
should not have arrived at by better motives than the 

25 thought of being one day hers. I am pretty well satis- 
fied such a passion as I have had is never well cured ; 
and, between you and me, I am often apt to imagine 
it has had some whimsical effect upon my brain. For 
I frequently find that in my most serious discourse I 

30 let fall some comical familiarity of speech or odd 


phrase that makes the company laugh. However, I 
cannot but allow she is a most excellent woman. 
When she is in the country, I warrant she does not 
run into dairies, but reads upon the nature of plants; 
but has a glass hive, and comes into the garden out 5 
of books to see ''them work, and observe the policies 
of their commonwealth. She understands everything. 
I'd give ten pounds to hear her argue with my friend 
Sir Andrew Freeport about trade. No, no, for all she 
looks so innocent as it were, take my word for it she lo 
is no fool." 

Town and Country Manners. 

No. 119. Addison. 

^Urbem quam dicunt Romam, Melibcee, putavi 
Stultus ego nostrce similem. — Virg. 

The first and most obvious reflections which arise 
in a man who changes the city for the country are 

^ upon the different manners of the people whom he 
meets with in those two different scenes of Hfe. By 
manners I do not mean morals, but behaviour and 
good breeding as they show themselves in the town 
and in the country. 

And here, in the first place, I must observe a very 
great revolution that has happened in this article of 
good breeding. "Several obliging deferences, conde- 
scensions, and submissions, with many outward forms 
and ceremonies that accompany them, were first of 

^^ all brought up among the politer part of mankind, 
who lived in courts and cities, and distinguished them- 
selves from the rustic part of the species (who on all 
occasions acted bluntly and naturally) by such a mu- 
tual ^complaisance and intercourse of civilities. These 

20 forms of "conversation by degrees multiplied and grew 
troublesome ; the modish world found too great a 
constraint in them, and have therefore thrown most 
of them aside. Conversation, like the Romish re- 
ligion, was so encumbered with show and ceremony 

25 that it stood in need of a reformation to retrench its 



superfluities and restore it to its natural good sense 
and beauty. At present, therefore, an unconstrained 
^carriage, and a certain openness of behaviour, are 
the height of good breeding. The fashionable world 
is grown free and easy; our manners sit more loose 5 
upon us. Nothing is so modish as an agreeable neg- 
ligence. In a word, good breeding shows itself most, 
where to an ordinary eye it appears the least. 

If after this we look on the people of mode in the 
country, we find in them the manners of the last age. 10 
They have no sooner fetched themselves up to the 
fashion of the polite world, but the town has dropped 
them, and are nearer to the first state of nature than 
to those refinements which formerly reigned in the 
court, and still prevail in the country. One may now ^5 
know a man that never ^conversed in the world by 
his excess of good breeding. A polite country squire 
shall make you as many bows in half an hour as would 
serve a courtier for a week. There is infinitely more 
^to do about place and precedency in a meeting of 20 
justices' wives than in an assembly of duchesses. 

This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man 
of my temper, who generally take the chair that is 
next me, and walk first or last, in the front or in the 
rear, as chance directs. I have known my friend Sir 25 
Roger's dinner almost cold before the company could 
adjust the ceremonial and be prevailed upon to sit 
down; and have heartily pitied my old friend, when 
I have seen him forced to pick and cull his guests, as 
they sat at the several parts of his table, that he might 30 


drink their healths according to their respective ranks 
and quahties. Honest Will Wimble, who I should 
have thought had been altogether uninfected with 
ceremony, gives me abundance of trouble in this par- 

5 ticular. Though he has been fishing all the morning, 
he will not help himself at dinner till I am served. 
When we are going out of the hall, he runs behind 
me; and last night, as we were walking in the fields, 
stopped short at a stile till I came up to it, and upon 

lo my making signs to him to get over, told me, with a 
serious smile, that sure I believed they had no man- 
ners in the country. 

There has happened another revolution in the point 
of good breeding, which relates to the conversation 

15 among men of mode, and which I cannot but look 
upon as very extraordinary. It was certainly one of 
the first distinctions of a well-bred man, to express 
everything that had the most remote appearance of 
being obscene in modest terms and distant phrases; 

20 whilst the clown, who had no such delicacy of con- 
ception and expression, clothed his ideas in those 
plain, homely terms that are the most obvious and 
natural. This kind of good manners was perhaps 
carried to an excess, so as to make conversation too 

25 stifif, formal, and precise : for which reason (as hypoc- 
risy in one age is generally succeeded by atheism in 
another) conversation is in a great measure relapsed 
into the first extreme; so that at present several of 
our men of the town, and particularly those who have 

30 been polished in France, make use of the most coarse. 


uncivilized words in our language, and utter them- 
selves often in such a manner as a clown would blush 
to hear. 

This infamous piece of good breeding, which reigns 
among the coxcombs of the town, has not yet made 5 
its way into the country ; and as it is impossible for 
such an irrational way of conversation to last long 
among a people that make any profession of religion 
or show of modesty, if the country gentlemen get 
into it they will certainly be left in the lurch. Their 10 
good breeding will come too late to them, and they 
will be thought a parcel of lewd clowns, while they 
fancy themselves talking together like men of wit and 

As the two points of good breeding which I have 15 
hitherto insisted upon regard behaviour and conver- 
sation, there is a third, which turns upon dress. In 
this, too, the country are very much behind-hand. 
The rural beaus are not yet got out of the fashion 
that took place at the time of ^the Revolution, but 20 
ride about the country in red coats and laced hats, 
while the women in many parts are still trying to out- 
vie one another in the height of their head-dresses. 

But a friend of mine, who is now Hipon the western 
circuit, having promised to give me an account of the 25 
several modes and fashions that prevail in the diflfer- 
ent parts of the nation through which he passes, I 
shall defer the enlarging upon this last topic till I 
have received a letter from him, which I expect every 
post. 30 

Sir Roger at the Assizes. 

No. 122. Addison. 

^Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est. 

— PuBL. Syr. Frag. 

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 

5 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 

10 passes upon his own behaviour is thus warranted and 
confirmed 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 
esteemed by all about him. He receives a suitable 

15 tribute 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 neighbourhood. 
I lately met with two or three odd instances of that 
general respect which is shown to the good old knight. 

20 He would needs carry Will Wimble and myself with 
him to the county "assizes. As we were upon the 
road, Will Wimble joined a couple of plain men who 
rid before us, and conversed with them for some 
time, during which my friend Sir Roger acquainted 

25 me with their characters. 



'The first of them," says he, "that has a spaniel by 
his side, is a ^yeoman of about an hundred pounds a 
year, an honest man. He is ^just within the Game 
Act, and quahfied to kill an hare or a pheasant. He 
knocks down a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a 5 
week; and by that means lives much cheaper than 
those who have not so good an estate as himself. He 
would be a good neighbour if he did not destroy so 
many partridges. In short, he is a very sensible man ; 
shoots flying; and has been several times foreman of 10 
the petty jury. 

'The other that rides along with him is Tom 
Touchy, a fellow famous for 'taking the law' of every- 
body. There is not one in the town where he lives 
that he has not sued at a quarter sessions. The rogue 15 
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 inclosed to defray the 20 
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 25 
Touchy, Will Wimble and his two companions 
stopped short till we came up to them. After having 
paid their respects to Sir Ro^er, Will told him that 
Mr. Touchy and he must appeal to him upon a dis- 
pute that arose between them. Will, it seems, had 30 


been giving 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 

5 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 determi- 
nation, because neither of them found himself in the 
wrong by it. Upon which we made the best of our 
way to the assizes. 

The court was sat before Sir Roger came ; but not- 

15 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 

20 good weather in his circuit." I was listening to the 
proceeding of the court with much attention, and in- 
finitely pleased with that great appearance and 
solemnity which so properly accompanies such a pub- 
lic administration of our laws, when, after about an 

25 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 
he had acquitted himself of two or three sentences 
with a look of much business and great intrepidity. 

20 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 read- 
ers with an account of it; and I believe was not so 
much designed by the knight himself to inform the 5 
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 10 
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 15 
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 20 
knight's family; and, to do honour to his old master, 
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 anything of the matter. As soon as 25 
Sir Roger was acquainted with it, finding that his ser- 
vant's indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection 
and good will, he only told him that he had made 
him too high a compliment; and, when the fellow 
seemed to think that could hardly be, added, with a 30 


more decisive look, that it was too great an honour 
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- 

5 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 
"Saracen's Head.' I should not have known this story 
had not the innkeeper, upon Sir Roger's alighting, told 

lo him in my hearing that his honour'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 

15 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 

20 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's conjuring me to tell 
him whether it was not still more like himself than a 

25 Saracen, I composed my countenance in the best man- 
ner I could, and replied that ''''much might be said on 
both sides." 

These several adventures, with the knight's beha- 
viour in them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I 

30 met with in any of my travels. 

Florioand Leonilla. 

No. 123. Addison. 

^Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam 

Rectique cultus pectora roborant; 

Utcunque defecere mores, 

Dedecorant bene nata culpce. 

— HOR. 

As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend 5 
Sir Roger, we were met by a fresh-colored, ruddy 
young man, who rid by us full speed, with a couple 
of servants behind him. Upon my inquiry who he 
was. Sir Roger told me that he was a young gentle- 
man of a considerable estate, who had been educated 10 
by a tender mother, that lives not many miles from 
the place where we were. She is a very good lady, 
says my friend, but took so much care of her son's 
health that she has made him good for nothing. She 
quickly found that reading was bad for his eyes, and 15 
that writing made his head ache. He was let loose 
among the woods as soon as he was able to ride on 
horseback, or to carry a gun upon his shoulder. To 
be brief, I found by my friend's account of him, that 
he had got a great stock of health, but nothing else; 20 
and that if it were a man's business only to live, there 
would not be a more accomplished young fellow in 
the whole country. 

The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts 

[ 99 ] 


I have seen and heard innumerable instances of young 
heirs and elder brothers who either from their own 
reflecting upon the estates they are born to, and there- 
fore thinking all other accomplishments unnecessary, 

5 or from hearing these notions frequently inculcated 
to them by the flattery of their servants and domes- 
tics, or from the same foolish thought prevailing in 
those who have the care of their education, are of no 
manner of use but to keep up their families and trans- 

lo mit their lands and houses in a line to posterity. 

This makes me often think on a story I have heard 
of two friends, which I shall give my reader at large 
under feigned names. The moral of it may, I hope, 
be useful, though there are some circumstances which 

15 make it rather appear like a "novel than a true story. 
Eudoxus and Leontine began the world with small 
estates. They were both of them men of good sense 
and great virtue. They prosecuted their studies to- 
gether in their earlier years, and entered into such a 

20 friendship as lasted to the end of their lives. Eudoxus, 
at his first setting out in the world, threw himself 
into a court, where by his natural endowments and 
his acquired abilities he made his way from one post 
to another, till at length he had raised a very consid- 

25 erable fortune. Leontine, on the contrary, sought 
all opportunities of improving his mind by study, 
conversation, and travel. He was not only acquainted 
with all the sciences, but with the most eminent pro- 
fessors of them throughout Europe. He knew per- 

30 fectly well the interests of its princes, with the cus- 


toms and fashions of their courts, and could scarce 
meet with the name of an extraordinary person in 
the ^Gazette whom he had not either talked to or 
seen. In short, he had so well mixed and digested 
his knowledge of men and books, that he made one 5 
of the most accomplished persons of his age. During 
the whole course of his studies and travels he kept up 
a punctual correspondence with Eudoxus, who often 
made himself acceptable to the principal men about 
court by the intelligence which he received from 10 
Leontine. When they were both turned of forty (an 
age in which, ^according to Mr. Cowley, 'there is no 
dallying with life'), they determined, pursuant to the 
resolution they had taken in the beginning of their 
lives, to retire, and pass the remainder of their days 15 
in the country. In order to this, they both of them 
married much about the same time. Leontine, with 
his own and his wife's fortune, bought a farm of three 
hundred a year, which lay within the neighbourhood 
of his friend Eudoxus, who had purchased an estate 20 
of as many thousands. They were both of them 
fathers about the same time, Eudoxus having a son 
born to him, and Leontine a daughter ; but to the un- 
speakable grief of the latter, his young wife, in whom 
all his happiness was wrapt up, died in a few days 25 
after the birth of her daughter. His affliction would 
have been insupportable, had not he been comforted 
by the daily visits and conversations of his friend. As 
they were one day talking together with their usual 
intimacy, Leontine considering how incapable he was 30 


of giving his daughter a proper education in his own 
house, and Eudoxus reflecting on the ordinary be- 
haviour of a son who knows himself to be the heir of 
a great estate, they both agreed upon an exchange of 
5 children, namely, that the boy should be bred up with 
Leontine as his son, and that the girl should live with 
Eudoxus as his daughter, till they were each of them 
arrived at years of discretion. The wife of Eudoxus, 
knowing that her son could not be so advantageously 

lo brought up as under the care of Leontine, and con- 
sidering at the same time that he would be perpetu- 
ally under her own eye, was by degrees prevailed 
upon to fall in with the project. She therefore took 
Leonilla, for that was the name of the girl, and edu- 

15 cated her as her own daughter. The two friends on 
each side had wrought themselves to such an ha- 
bitual tenderness for the children who were under 
their direction, that each of them had the real passion 
of a father, where the title was but imaginary. Florio, 

20 the name of the young heir that lived with Leontine, 
though he had all the duty and afifection imaginable 
for his supposed parent, was taught to rejoice at the 
sight of Eudoxus, who visited his friend very fre- 
quently, and was dictated by his natural afifection, as 

25 well as by the rules of prudence, to make himself 
esteemed and beloved by Florio. The boy was now 
old enough to know his supposed father's circum- 
stances, and that therefore he was to make his way 
in the world by his own industry. This considera- 

30 tion grew stronger in him every day, and produced 



so good an effect that he appHed himself with more 
than ordinary attention to the pursuit of everything 
which Leontine recommended to him. His natural 
abilities, which were very good, assisted by the direc- 
tions of so excellent a counsellor, enabled him to 5 
make a quicker progress than ordinary through all 
the parts of his education. Before he was twenty 
years of age, having finished his studies and exercises 
with great applause, he was removed from the uni- 
versity to the ^Inns of Court, where there are very 10 
few that make themselves considerable proficients in 
the studies of the place who know they shall arrive at 
great estates without them. This was not Florio's 
case; he found that three hundred a year was but a 
poor estate for Leontine and himself to live upon, so 15 
that he studied without intermission till he gained a 
very good insight into the constitution and laws of 
his country. 

I should have told my reader that whilst Florio 
lived at the house of his foster-father, he was always 20 
an acceptable guest in the family of Eudoxus, where 
he became acquainted with Leonilla from her infancy. 
His acquaintance with her by degrees grew into love, 
which in a mind trained up in all the sentiments of 
honour and virtue became a very uneasy passion. He 25 
despaired of gaining an heiress of so great a fortune, 
and would rather have died than attempted it by any 
indirect methods. Leonilla, who was a woman of the 
greatest beauty joined with the greatest modesty, 
entertained at the same time a secret passion for 30 


Florio, but conducted herself with so much prudence 
that she never gave him the least intimation of it. 
Florio was now engaged in all those arts and im- 
provements that are proper to raise a man's private 

5 fortune and give him a figure in his country, but 
secretly tormented with that passion which burns 
with the greatest fury in a virtuous and noble heart, 
when he received a sudden summons from Leontine 
to repair to him into the country the next day. For 

lo it seems Eudoxus was so filled with the report of his 
son's reputation, that he could no longer withhold 
making himself known to him. The morning after 
his arrival at the house of his supposed father, Leon- 
tine told him that Eudoxus had something of great 

15 importance to communicate to him ; upon which the 
good man embraced him and wept. Florio was no 
sooner arrived at the great house that stood in his 
neighbourhood, but Eudoxus took him by the hand, 
after the first salutes were over, and conducted him 

20 into his closet. He there opened to him the whole 
secret of his parentage and education, concluding 
after this manner: *T have no other way left of 
acknowledging my gratitude to Leontine than by 
marrying you to his daughter. He shall not lose the 

25 pleasure of being your father by the discovery I have 
made to you. Leonilla, too, shall be still my daugh- 
ter; her filial piety, though misplaced, has been so 
exemplary that it deserves the greatest reward I can 
confer upon it. You shall have the pleasure of see- 

30 ing a great estate fall to you, which you would have 


lost the relish of had you known yourself born to it. 
Continue only to deserve it in the same manner you 
did before you were possessed of it. I have left your 
mother in the next room. Her heart yearns towards 
you. She is making the same discoveries to Leonilla 5 
which I have made to yourself." Florio was so over- 
whelmed with this profusion of happiness that he was 
not able to make a reply, but threw himself down at 
his father's feet, and amidst a flood of tears kissed 
and embraced his knees, asking his blessing, and ex- 10 
pressing in dumb show those sentiments of love, duty, 
and gratitude that were too big for utterance. To 
conclude, the happy pair were married, and half 
Eudoxus's estate settled upon them. Leontine and 
Eudoxus passed the remainder of their lives together, 15 
and received in the dutiful and afifectionate behaviour 
of Florio and Leonilla the just recompense, as well 
as the natural effects, of that care which they had 
bestowed upon them in their education. 

The Spectator on Party-spirit. 

No. 125. Addison". 

'^Ne, pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite hella; 
Neu Patrice validas in viscera vertite vires. 

— ViRG. 

My worthy friend Sir Roger, when we are talking 
of the "malice of parties, very frequently tells us an 
5 accident that happened to him when he was a school- 
boy, which was at a time when the feuds ran high be- 
tween the ^Roundheads and Cavaliers. This worthy 
knight, being then but a stripling, had occasion to 
inquire which was the way to St. Anne's Lane, upon 

10 which the person whom he spoke to, instead of an- 
swering his question, called him a young Popish cur, 
and asked him who had made Anne a saint. The boy, 
being in some confusion, inquired of the next he met 
which was the way to Anne's Lane ; but was called a 

15 prick-eared cur for his pains, and, instead of being 
shown the way, was told that she had been a saint 
before he was born, and would be one after he was 
hanged. "Upon this," says Sir Roger, "I did not 
think fit to repeat the former question, but, going 

20 into every lane of the neighbourhood, asked what 
they called the name of that lane." By which ingen- 
ious artifice he found out the place he inquired after 
without giving offence to any party. Sir Roger gen- 
erally closes this narrative with reflections on the mis- 

[ 106] 


chief that parties do in the country; how they spoil 
good neighbourhood, and make honest gentlemen 
hate one another; besides that they manifestly tend 
to the ''prejudice of the land-tax and the destruction 
of the game. 

There cannot a greater judgment befall a country 
than such a dreadful spirit of division as rends a 
government into two distinct people, and makes them 
greater strangers and more averse to one another 
than if they were actually two different nations. The jq 
effects of such a division are pernicious to the last 
degree, not only with regard to those advantages 
which they give the common enemy, but to those 
private evils which they produce in the heart of al- 
most every particular person. This influence is very j^ 
fatal both to men's morals and their understandings; 
it sinks the virtue of a nation, and not only so, but 
destroys even common sense. 

A furious party spirit, when it rages in its full vio- 
lence, exerts itself in civil war and bloodshed; and ^o 
when it is under its greatest restraint, naturally 
breaks out in falsehood, detraction, calumny, and a 
partial administration of justice. In a word, it fills 
a nation with spleen and rancour, and extinguishes 
all the seeds of good nature, compassion, and hu- 25 

^Plutarch says, very finely, that a man should not 
allow himself to hate even his enemies, "because," says 
he, *'if you indulge this passion in some occasions, it 
will rise of itself in others ; if you hate your enemies, 30 


you will contract such a vicious habit of mind, as by 
degrees will break out upon those who are your 
friends, or those who are indifferent to you." I 
might here observe how admirably this precept of 

5 morality (which derives the malignity of hatred from 
the passion itself, and not from its object) answers to 
"that great rule which was dictated to the world about 
an hundred years before this philosopher wrote; but 
instead of that, I shall only take notice, with a real 

lo grief of heart, that the minds of many good men 
among us appear soured with party principles, and 
alienated from one another in such a manner as 
seems to me altogether inconsistent with the dictates 
either of reason or religion. Zeal for a public cause 

15 is apt to breed passions in the hearts of virtuous per- 
sons, to which the regard of their own private interest 
would never have betrayed them. 

If this party spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, 
it has likewise a very great one upon our judgments. 

20 We often hear a poor, insipid paper or pamphlet 
cried up, and sometimes a noble piece depreciated, by 
those who are of a different principle from the author. 
One who is actuated by this spirit is almost under an 
incapacity of discerning either real blemishes or beau- 

25 ties. A man of merit in a different principle is like an 
object seen in two different mediums, that appears 
crooked or broken, however straight and entire it may 
be in itself. For this reason there is scarce a person 
of any figure in England who does not go by two con- 

30 trary characters, as opposite to one another as light 


and darkness. Knowledge and learning suffer in a 
particular manner from this strange prejudice, which 
at present prevails amongst all ranks and degrees in 
the British nation. As men formerly became eminent 
in learned societies by their parts and acquisitions, 5 
they now distinguish themselves by the warmth and 
violence with which they espouse their respective 
parties. Books are valued upon the like considera- 
tions. An abusive, scurrilous style passes for satire, 
and a dull ^scheme of party notions is called fine 10 

There is one piece of sophistry practised by both 
sides, and that is the taking any scandalous story 
that has been ever whispered or invented of a private 
man, for a known, undoubted truth, and raising suit- 15 
able speculations upon it. Calumnies that have been 
never proved, or hav^e been often refuted, are the 
ordinary postulatums of these infamous scribblers, 
upon which they proceed as upon first principles 
granted by all men, though in their hearts they know 20 
they are false, or at best very doubtful. When they 
have laid these foundations of scurrility, it is no won- 
der that their superstructure is every way answerable 
to them. If this shameless practice of the present age 
endures much longer, praise and reproach will cease 25 
to be motives of action in good men. 

There are certain periods of time in all govern- 
ments when this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was 
long torn in pieces by the ^Guelphs and Ghibellines, 
and France by those who were for and against the 30 


"League. But it is very unhappy for a man to be born 
in such a stormy and tempestuous season. It is the 
restless ambition of artful men that thus breaks a 
people into factions, and draws several well-meaning 

5 persons to their interest by a specious concern for 
their country. How many honest minds are filled 
with uncharitable and barbarous notions, out of their 
zeal for the public good ! What cruelties and out- 
rages would they not commit against men of an ad- 

lo verse party, whom they would honour and esteem, if, 
instead of considering them as they are represented, 
they knew them as they are ! Thus are persons of 
the greatest probity seduced into shameful errors and 
prejudices, and made bad men even by that noblest 

15 of principles, the love of their country. I cannot for- 
bear mentioning the famous Spanish proverb, 'Tf 
there were neither fools nor knaves in the world, all 
people would be of one mind." 

For my own part I could heartily wish that all 

20 honest men would enter into an association for the 
support of one another against the endeavours of 
those whom they ought to look upon as their com- 
mon enemies, whatsoever side they may belong to. 
Were there such an honest body of neutral forces, we 

25 should never see the worst of men in great figures of 
life, because they are useful to a party; nor the best 
unregarded, because they are above practising those 
methods which would be grateful to their faction. 
We should then single every criminal out of the herd, 

30 and hunt him down, however formidable and over- 


grown he might appear. On the contrary, we should 
shelter distressed innocence, and defend virtue, how- 
ever beset with contempt or ridicule, envy or defama- 
tion. In short, we should not any longer regard our 
fellow-subjects as Whigs or Tories, but should make 
the man of merit our friend, and the villain our 

whig and Tory. 

No. 126. Addison. 

^Tros Rutulusve fuat, nullo discrimine habebo. 

— ViRG. 

In my yesterday's paper I proposed that the honest 
men of all parties should enter into a kind of associa- 
tion for the defence of one another and the confusion 
5 of their common enemies. As it is designed this neu- 
tral body should act with a regard to nothing but 
truth and equity, and divest themselves of the little 
heats and prepossessions that cleave to parties of all 
kinds, I have prepared for them the following form 

^° of an association, which may express their intentions 
in the most plain and simple manner : 

"We, whose names are hereunto subscribed, do 
solemnly declare, that we do in our consciences be- 
lieve two and two make four; and that we shall 

^5 adjudge any man whatsoever to be our enemy who 
endeavours to persuade us to the contrary. We are 
likewise ready to maintain, with the hazard of all that 
is near and dear to us, that six is less than seven in 
all times and all places ; and that ten will not be more 

20 three years hence than it is at present. We do also 
firmly declare, that it is our resolution as long as we 
live to call black black, and white white. And we 
shall upon all occasions oppose such persons that 
upon any day of the year shall call black white, or 

[112] ' 


white black, with the utmost peril of our lives and 

Were there such a combination of honest men, 
who without any regard to places would endeavour to 
extirpate all such furious zealots as would sacrifice 5 
one-half of their country to the passion and interest 
of the other; as also such infamous hypocrites, that 
are for promoting their own advantage under colour 
of the public good ; with all the profligate immoral 
retainers to each side, that have nothing to recom- 10 
mend them but an implicit submission to their lead- 
ers ; we should soon see that furious party spirit ex- 
tinguished, which may in time expose us to the deri- 
sion and contempt of all the nations about us. 

A member of this society that would thus carefully 15 
employ himself in making room for merit, by throw- 
ing down the worthless and depraved part of man- 
kind from those conspicuous stations of life to which 
they have been sometimes advanced, and all this with- 
out regard to his private interest, would be no small 20 
benefactor to his country. 

I remember to have read in ^Diodorus Siculus an 
account of a very active little animal, which I think 
he calls the 'ichneumon,' that makes it the whole busi- 
ness of his life to break the eggs of the crocodile, 25 
which he is always in search after. This instinct is 
the more remarkable, because the ichneumon never 
feeds upon the eggs he has broken, nor in any other 
way finds his account in them. Were it not for the 
incessant labors of this industrious animal, Egypt, 30 


says the historian, would be overrun with crocodiles ; 
for the Egyptians are so far from destroying those 
pernicious creatures that they worship them as gods. 
If we look into the behaviour of ordinary partisans, 
5 we shall find them far from resembling this disinter- 
ested animal; and rather acting after the example of 
the wild Tartars, who are ambitious of destroying a 
man of the most extraordinary parts and accomplish- 
ments, as thinking that upon his decease the same 

lo talents, whatever post they qualified him for, enter of 
course into his destroyer. 

As in the whole train of my speculations, I have 
endeavoured, as much as I am able, to extinguish that 
pernicious spirit of passion and prejudice which rages 

15 with the same violence in all parties, I am still the 
more desirous of doing some good in this particular, 
because I observe that the spirit of party reigns more 
in the country than in the town. It here contracts a 
kind of brutality and rustic fierceness, to which men 

20 of a politer conversation are wholly strangers. It 
extends itself even to the return of the bow and the 
hat ; and at the same time that the heads of parties 
preserve toward one another an outward show of 
good breeding, and keep up a perpetual intercourse 

25 of civilities, their tools that are dispersed in these out- 
lying parts will not so much as mingle together at a 
*cock-match. This humour fills the country with 
several periodical meetings of Whig jockeys and 
Tory fox-hunters, not to mention the innumerable 

30 curses, frowns, and whispers it produces at a quarter- 


I do not know whether I have observed in any of 
my former papers, that my friends Sir Roger de 
Coverley and Sir Andrew Freeport are of different 
principles, the first of them incHned to the landed 
and the other to the moneyed interest. This humour 5 
is so moderate in each of them, that it proceeds no 
farther than to an agreeable raillery, which very often 
diverts the rest of the club. I find, however, that the 
knight is a much stronger Tory in the country than 
in town, which, as he has told me in my ear, is abso- 10 
lutely necessary for the keeping up his interest. In 
all our journey from London to his house we did not 
so much as ^bait at a Whig inn ; or if by chance the 
coachman stopped at a wrong place, one of Sir 
Roger's servants would ride up to his master full 15 
speed, and whisper to him that the master of the 
house was against such an one in the last election. 
This often betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer ; 
for we were not so inquisitive about the inn as the 
inn-keeper; and, provided our landlord's principles 20 
were sound, did not take any notice of the staleness 
of his provisions. This I found still the more incon- 
venient, because the better the host was, the worse 
generally were his accommodations ; the fellow know- 
ing very well that those who were his friends would 25 
take up with coarse diet and an hard lodging. For 
these reasons, all the while I was upon the road I 
dreaded entering into an house of any one that Sir 
Roger had applauded for an honest man. 

Since my stay at Sir Roger's in the country, I 30 


daily find more instances of this narrow party 
humour. Being upon a bowling green at a neigh- 
bouring market town the other day (for that is the 
place where the gentlemen of one side meet once a 
5 week), I observed a stranger among them of a better 
presence and genteeler behaviour than ordinary; but 
was much surprised that, notwithstanding he was a 
very fair better, nobody would take him up. But 
upon inquiry I found that he was one who had given 

lo a disagreeable vote in a former parliament, for which 
reason there was not a man upon that bowling green 
who would have so much correspondence with him 
as to win his money of him. 

Among other instances of this nature, I must not 

15 omit one which concerns myself. Will Wimble was 
the other day relating several strange stories that he 
had picked up, nobody knows where, of a certain 
great man ; and upon my staring at him, as one that 
was surprised to hear such things in the country, 

20 which had never been so much as whispered in the 
town. Will stopped short in the thread of his dis- 
course, and after dinner asked my friend Sir Roger 
in his ear if he was sure that I was not a "fanatic. 
It gives me a serious concern to see a spirit of dis- 

25 sension in the country ; not only as it destroys virtue 
and common sense, and renders us in a manner bar- 
barians towards one another, but as it perpetuates our 
animosities, widens our breaches, and transmits our 
present passions and prejudices to our posterity. For 

30 my own part, I am sometimes afraid tl^at I discover 


the seeds of a civil war in these our divisions ; and 
therefore cannot but bewail, as in their first principles, 
the miseries and calamities of our children. 

A Gypsy Camp. 

No. 130. Addison. 

— ^Semperque recentes 
Convectare juvat prcBdas, et vivere rapto. 

— ViRG. 

As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my 
friend Sir Roger, we saw at a Httle distance from us 

5 a troop of gypsies. Upon the first discovery of them, 
my friend was in some doubt whether he should not 
exert the justice of the peace upon such a band of 
lawless vagrants; but not having his clerk with him, 
who is a necessary counsellor on these occasions, and 

10 fearing that his poultry might fare the worse for it, he 
let the thought drop ; but at the same time gave me a 
particular account of the mischiefs they do in the. 
country in stealing people's goods and spoiling their 
servants. "If a stray piece of linen hangs upon an 

15 hedge," says Sir Roger, ''they are sure to have it; if 
the hog loses his way in the fields, it is ten to one but 
he becomes their prey ; our geese cannot live in peace 
for them ; if a man prosecutes them with severity, his 
hen-roost is sure to pay for it. They generally strag- 

20 gle into these parts about this time of the year, and 
set the heads of our servant-maids so agog for hus- 
bands that we do not expect to have any business 
done as it should be whilst they are In the country. 
I have an honest dairymaid who "crosses their hands 

[ 118 ] 


with a piece of silver every summer, and never fails 
being promised the handsomest young fellow in the 
parish for her pains. Your friend the butler has been 
fool enough to be seduced by them, and though he is 
sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon every time his 5 
fortune is told him, generally shuts himself up in 
the pantry with an old gypsy for above half an hour 
once in a twelve-month. Sweethearts are the things 
they live upon, which they bestow very plentifully 
upon all those that apply themselves to them. You 10 
see now and then some handsome young jades 
among them; the vagabonds have very often white 
teeth and black eyes." 

Sir Roger, observing that I listened with great at- 
tention to his account of a people who were so en- ^5 
tirely new to me, told me that, if I would, they should 
tell us our fortunes. As I was very well pleased with 
the knight's proposal, we rid up and communicated 
our hands to them. A ^Cassandra of the crew, after 
having examined my "lines very diligently, told me 20 
that I loved a pretty maid in a corner, that I was a 
good woman's man, with some other particulars 
which I do not think proper to relate. My friend Sir 
Roger alighted from his horse, and exposing his palm 
to two or three that stood by him, they crumpled it 25 
into all shapes, and diligently scanned every wrinkle 
that could be made in it ; when one of them, who was 
slder and more sunburnt than the rest, told him that 
he had a widow in his line of life. Upon which the 
knight cried, "Go, go, you are an ^idle baggage," and 30 


at the same time smiled upon me. The gypsy, finding 
he was not displeased in his heart, told him, a'fter a 
farther inquiry into his hand that his true-love was 
constant, and that she should dream of him to-night. 
5 My old friend cried "Pish," and bid her go on. The 
gypsy told him that he was a bachelor, but would not 
be so long ; and that he was dearer to somebody than 
he thought. The knight still repeated, 'she was an 
idle baggage,' and bid her go on. "Ah, master," 

lo says the gypsy, "that roguish leer of yours makes a 
pretty woman's heart ache; you ha'n't that simper 
about the mouth for nothing." The uncouth gib- 
berish with which all this was uttered, like the dark- 
ness of an oracle, made us the more attentive to it. 

15 To be short, the knight left the money with her that 
he had crossed her hand with, and got up again on 
his horse. 

As we were riding away, Sir Roger told me that he 
knew several sensible people who believed these 

20 gypsies now and then foretold very strange things ; 
and for half an hour together appeared more jocund 
than ordinary. In the height of his good humour, 
meeting a common beggar upon the road, who was 
no conjurer, as he went to relieve him he found his 

25 pocket was picked, that being a kind of palmistry at 
which this race of vermin are very dexterous. 

I might here entertain my reader with historical 
remarks on this idle profligate people, who infest all 
the countries of Europe, and live in the midst of gov- 

30 ernments in a kind of commonwealth by themselves. 


But instead of entering into observations of this na- 
ture, I shall fill the remaining part of my paper with 
a story which is still fresh in Holland, and was printed 
in one of our monthly accounts about twenty years 
ago. "As the 'trekschuyt,' or hackney-boat, which car- 5 
ries passengers from Leyden to Amsterdam, was put- 
ting ofif, a boy running along the side of the canal 
desired to be taken in ; which the master of the boat 
refused, because the lad had not quite money enough 
to pay the usual fare. An eminent merchant, being lo 
pleased with the looks of the boy, and secretly touched 
with compassion towards him, paid the money for 
him, and ordered him to be taken on board. Upon 
talking with him afterwards, he found that he could 
speak readily in three or four languages, and learned i5 
upon farther examination that he had been stolen 
away when he was a child by a gypsy, and had ram- 
bled ever since with a gang of those strollers up and 
down several parts of Europe. It happened that the 
merchant, whose heart seems to have inclined to- 20 
wards the boy by a secret kind of instinct, had him- 
self lost a child some years before. The parents, 
after a long search for him, gave him for drowned in 
one of the canals with which that country abounds; 
and the mother was so afflicted at the loss of a fine 25 
boy, who was her only son, that she died for grief of 
it. Upon laying together all particulars, and exam- 
ining the several moles and marks by which the 
mother used to describe the child when he was first 
missing, the boy proved to be the son of the mer- ^o 


chant, whose heart had so unaccountably melted at 
the sight of him. The lad was very well pleased to 
find a father who was so rich and likely to leave him 
a good estate ; the father on the other hand was not a 

5 little delighted to see a son return to him, whom he 
had given for lost, with such a strength of constitu- 
tion, sharpness of understanding, and skill in lan- 
guages." Here the printed story leaves ofif; but if I 
may give credit to reports, our linguist having re- 

lo ceived such extraordinary rudiments towards a good 
education, was afterwards trained up in everything 
that becomes a gentleman ; wearing ofi by little and 
little all the vicious habits and practices that he had 
been used to in the course of his peregrinations. Nay, 

15 it is said that he has since been employed in foreign 
courts upon national business, with great reputation 
to himself and honour to those who sent him, and that 
he has visited several countries as a public minister 
in which he formerly wandered as a gypsy. 

Reasons for Returning to Town. 

No. 131. Addison. 

*Ipsce rursum concedite sylva. 

— ViRG. 

It is usual for a man who loves country sports to 
preserve the game in his own grounds, and divert 
himself upon those that belong to his neighbour. My 
friend Sir Roger generally goes two or three miles 5 
from his house, and gets into the frontiers of his 
estate, before he beats about in search of a hare or 
partridge, on purpose to spare his own flelds, where 
he is always sure of finding diversion, when the worst 
comes to the worst. By this means the breed about ^o 
his house has time to increase and multiply, besides 
that the sport is the more agreeable where the game 
is the harder to come at, and where it does not lie so 
thick as to produce any perplexity or confusion in the 
pursuit. For these reasons, the country gentleman, 15 
like the fox, seldom preys near his own home. 

In the same manner, I have made a month's excur- 
sion out of the town, which is the great field of game 
for sportsmen of my species, to try my fortune in the 
country, where I have started several subjects and 20 
hunted them down with some pleasure to myself, and 
I hope to others. I am here forced to use a g^reat dea^ 
of diligence before I can spring anything to my 
mind, whereas in town, whilst I am following one 

[ 123 ] 


character, it is ten to one but I am crossed in my way 
by another, and put up such a variety of odd crea- 
tures in both sexes, that they foil the scent of one 
another and puzzle the chase. My greatest difficulty 
5 in the country is to find sport, and in town to choose 
it. In the mean time, as I have given a whole month's 
rest to the ^cities of London and Westminster, I 
promise myself abundance of new game upon my re- 
turn thither. 

lo It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, 
since I find the whole neighbourhood begin to grow 
very inquisitive after my name and character; my 
love of solitude, taciturnity, and particular way of life, 
having raised a great curiosity in all these parts. 

15 The notions which have been framed of me are 
various ; some look upon me as very proud, some as 
very modest, and some as very melancholy. Will 
Wimble, as my friend the butler tells me, observing 
me very much alone, and extremely silent when I am 

20 in company, is afraid I have killed a man. The coun- 
try people seem to suspect me for a conjurer; and 
some of them, hearing of the visit which I made to 
Moll White, will needs have it that Sir Roger has 
brought down a ^cunning man with him, to cure the 

25 old woman and free the country from her charms. 

So that the character which I go under in part of the 

neighbourhood is what they here call a ^White Witch. 

A justice of peace, who lives about five miles off, 

and is not of Sir Roger's party, has, it seems, said 

30 twice or thrice at his table, that he wishes Sir Roger 
does not harbour a ^Jesuit in his house, and that he 


thinks the gentlemen of the country would do very 
well to make me give some account of myself. 

On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are 
afraid the old knight is imposed upon by a designing 
fellow ; and, as they have heard that he converses very 5 
promiscuously when he is in town, do? not know but 
he has brought down with him some ^discarded 
Whig, that is sullen and says nothing, because he is 
^out of place. 

Such is the variety of opinions which are here en- 10 
tertained of me, so that I pass among some for a dis- 
afifected person, and among others for a popish priest ; 
among some for a wizard, and among others for a 
murderer; and all this for no other reason that I can 
imagine, but because I do not hoot, and hollow, and ^5 
make a noise. It is true, my friend Sir Roger tells 
them that 'it is my way,' and that I am only a 
philosopher; but this will not satisfy them. They 
think there is more in me than he discovers, and that 
I do not hold my tongue for nothing. 20 

For these and other reasons I shall set out for Lon- 
don to-morrow, having found by experience that the 
country is not a place for a person of my temper, who 
does not love jollity and what they call good neigh- 
bourhood. A man that is out of humour when an 25 
unexpected guest breaks in upon him, and does not 
care for sacrificing an afternoon to every chance- 
comer, that will be the master of his own time and 
the pursuer of his own inclinations, makes but a very 
unsociable figure in this kind of life. I shall there- 3° 
fore retire into the town, if I may make use of that 


phrase, and get into the crowd again as fast as I can, 
in order to be alone. I can there raise what specula- 
tions I please upon others without being observed 
myself, and at the same time enjoy all the advan- 

5 tages of company with all the privileges of solitude. 
In the meanwhile, to finish the month and conclude 
these my rural speculations, I shall here insert a let- 
ter from my friend Will Honeycomb, who has not 
lived a month for these forty years out of the smoke 

lo of London, and rallies me after his way upon my 
country life. 

"Dear Spec, 

"I suppose this letter will find thee picking of 
daisies, or smelling to a Mock of hay, or passing away 

^5 thy time in some innocent country diversion of the 
like nature. I have, however, orders from the club 
to summon thee up to town, being all of us cursedly 
afraid thou wilt not be able to relish our company 
after thy conversations with Moll White and Will 

2o Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send us up any more stories 
of a 'cock and a bull, nor frighten the town with 
spirits and witches. Thy speculations begin to smell 
confoundedly of woods and meadows. If thou dost 
not come up quickly, we shall conclude thou art in 

25 love with one of Sir Roger's dairy-maids. Service to 

the knight. Sir Andrew is grown the cock of the club 

since he left us, and if he does not return quickly, will 

make every mother's son of us ^commonwealth's men. 

"Dear Spec, Thine eternally, 

30 "Will Honeycomb/' 

The Journey Back to London. 

No. 132. Steele. 

"^Qui, aut tempus quid postulet non videt, aut plura loquitur, 
aut se ostentat, aut corum quibuscum est rationem non habet, 
is ineptus esse dicitur. — Tull. 

Having notified to my good friend Sir Roger that 
I should set out for London the next day, his horses 5 
were ready at the appointed hour in the evening ; and, 
attended by one of his grooms, I arrived at the county 
town at twiHght, in order to be ready for the stage- 
coach the day following. As soon as we arrived at 
the inn, the servant who waited upon me inquired of 10 
the ''chamberlain in my hearing what company he had 
for the coach. The fellow answered, "^Mrs. Betty 
Arable, the great fortune, and the widow her mother ; 
a recruiting officer, who took a place because they 
were to go ; young Squire Quickset, her cousin, that j^ 
her mother wished her to be married to ; ^Ephraim the 
Quaker, her guardian ; and a gentleman that had 
studied himself dumb from Sir Roger de Coverley's." 
I observed, by what he said of myself, that according 
to his ofifice he dealt much in intelligence ; and 20 
doubted not but there was some foundation for his 
reports of the rest of the company, as well as for the 
whimsical account he gave of me. The next morning 
at daybreak we were all called ; and I, who know my 
own natural shyness, and endeavour to be as little 

E 127 1] 



liable to be disputed with as possible, dressed imme- 
diately, that I might make no one wait. The first 
preparation for our setting out was, that the captain's 
half pike was placed near the coachman, and a drum 

5 behind the coach. In the mean time, the drummer, 
the captain's ^equipage, was very loud 'that none of 
the captain's things should be placed so as to be 
spoiled ;' upon which his cloak-bag was fixed ''in the 
seat of the coach ; and the captain himself, according 

lo to a frequent, though invidious, behaviour of military 
men, ordered his man to look sharp that none but 
one of the ladies should have the place he had taken 
fronting the coach-box. 

We were in some little time fixed in our seats, and 

15 sat with that dislike which people not too good- 
natured usually conceive of each other at first sight. 
The coach jumbled us insensibly into some sort of 
familiarity; and wfe had not moved above two miles, 
when the widow asked the captain what success he 

20 had in his recruiting. The officer, with a frankness 
he believed very graceful, told her that ''indeed he had 
but very little luck, and had suffered much by deser- 
tion; therefore should be glad to end his warfare in 
the service of her or her fair daughter. In a word," 

25 continued he, "I am a soldier, and to be plain is my 
character: you see me, madam, young, sound and 
impudent ; take me yourself, widow, or give me to 
her ; I will be wholly at your disposal. I am a soldier 
of fortune, ha!" This was followed by a vain laugh 

^Q of his own, and a deep silence of all the rest of the 


company. I had nothing- left for it but to fall fast 
asleep, which I did with all speed. ''Come," said he, 
"resolve upon it, we will make a wedding at the next 
town. We will wake this pleasant companion, who is 
fallen asleep, to be the brideman ; and," giving the 5 
Quaker a clap on the knee, he concluded, ''this sly 
saint, who I'll warrant understands what's what as 
well as you or I, widow, shall give the bride as 
father." The Quaker, who happened to be a man of 
smartness, answered, ''Friend, I take it in good part 10 
that thou hast given me the authority of a father over 
this comely and virtuous child ; and I must assure 
thee, that if I have the giving her, I shall not bestow 
her on thee. Thy mirth, friend, savoureth of folly: 
thou art a person of a light mind ; thy drum is a type 15 
of thee : it soundeth because it is empty. Verily, it is 
not from thy fulness, but thy emptiness, that thou 
hast spoken this day. Friend, friend, we have hired 
this coach in partnership with thee, to carry us to the 
great city ; we cannot go any other way. This worthy 20 
mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs utter thy 
follies ; we cannot help it, friend, I say ; if thou wilt, 
we must hear thee. But if thou wert a man of under- 
standing, thou wouldst not take advantage of thy 
courageous countenance to abash us children of 25 
peace. Thou art, thou sayest, a soldier; give quarter 
to us, who cannot resist thee. Why didst thou fleer 
at our friend, who feigned himself asleep? He said 
nothing; but how dost thou know what he con- 
taineth? If thou speakest improper things in the -q 


hearing of this virtuous young virgin, consider it as 
an outrage against a distressed person that cannot 
get from thee. To speak indiscreetly what we are 
obhged to hear, by being Miasped up with thee in 
5 this pubHc vehicle, is in some degree assaulting on 
the high road." 

Here Ephraim paused, and the captain with a 
happy and uncommon impudence, which can be con- 
victed and support itself at the same time, cries, 

lo "Faith, friend, I thank thee; I should have been a 
little impertinent if thou hadst not reprimanded me. 
Come, thou art, I see, a ^smoky old fellow, and I will 
be very orderly the ensuing part of the journey. I 
was going to give myself airs, but, ladies, I beg par- 

15 don." 

The captain was so little out of humour, and our 
company was so far from being soured by this little 
ruffle, that Ephraim and he took a particular delight 
in being agreeable to each other for the future; and 

20 assumed their different provinces in the conduct of 
the company. Our reckonings, apartments, and ac- 
commodation fell under Ephraim; and the captain 
looked to all disputes on the road, as the good be- 
haviour of our coachman, and the "right we had of 

25 taking place, as going to London, of all vehicles com- 
ing from thence. The occurrences we met with were 
ordinary, and very little happened which could enter- 
tain by the relation of them. But when I considered 
the company we were in, I took it for no small good 

30 fortune that the whole journey was not spent in im- 


pertinences, which to one part of us might be an 
entertainment, to the other a suffering. What, there- 
fore, Ephraim said when we were almost arrived at 
London, had to me an air not only of good under- 
standing, but good breeding. Upon the young lady's 5 
expressing her satisfaction in the journey, and de- 
claring how delightful it had been to her, Ephraim 
delivered himself as follows : "There is no ordinary 
part of human life which expresseth so much a good 
mind, and a right inward man, as his behaviour upon 10 
meeting with strangers, especially such as may seem 
the most unsuitable companions to him. Such a man, 
when he falleth in the way with persons of simplicity 
and innocence, however knowing he may be in the 
ways of men, will not vaunt himself thereof, but will 15 
the rather hide his superiority to them, that he may 
not be painful unto them. My good friend," con- 
tinued he, turning to the officer, '*thee and I are to 
part by and by, and peradventure we may never meet 
again. But be advised by a plain man ; modes and 20 
apparel are but trifles to the real man ; therefore do 
not think such a man as thyself terrible for thy garb, 
nor such a one as me contemptible for mine. When 
two such as thee and I meet, with affections as we 
ought to have towards each other, thou shouldst re- 25 
joice to see my peaceable demeanour, and I should 
be glad to see thy strength and ability to protect me 
in it." 

Sir Roger and Sir Andrew. 

No. 174. Steele. 

"Hcec memini, et victum frustra contendere Thyrsin. 

— ViRG. 

There is scarce anything more common than ani- 
mosities between parties that cannot subsist but by 
their agreement : this was well represented in the sedi- 
5 tion of the members of the human body in the old 
*Roman fable. It is often the case of lesser confeder- 
ate states against a superior power, which are hardly 
held together, though their unanimity is necessary for 
their common safety ; and this is always the case of 

10 the landed and trading interest of Great Britain: 

the trader is fed by the product of the land, and the 

landed man cannot be clothed but by the skill of the 

trader ; and yet those interests are ever jarring. 

We had last winter an instance of this at our club, 

15 in Sir Roger de Coverley and Sir Andrew Freeport, 
between whom there is generally a constant, though 
friendly, opposition of opinions. It happened that 
one of the company, in an historical discourse, was 
observing that "Carthaginian faith was a proverbial 

20 phrase to intimate breach of leagues. Sir Roger said 
it could hardly be otherwise : that the Carthaginians 
were the greatest traders in the world ; and, as gain is 
the chief end of such a people, they never pursue any 
other: the means to it are never regarded; they will, 

[ 132 ] 



if it comes easily, get money honestly ; but if not, they 
will not scruple to attain it by fraud or cozenage. 
And indeed, what is the whole business of the trader's 
account, but to overreach him who trusts to his 
memory? But were that not so, what can there great 5 
and noble be expected from him whose attention is 
forever fixed upon balancing his books and watching 
over his expenses ? And at best, let frugality and par 
simony be the virtues of the merchant, how much is 
his punctual dealing below a gentleman's charity to 10 
the poor, or hospitality among his neighbours ! 

Captain Sentry observed Sir Andrew very diligent 
in hearing Sir Roger, and had a mind to turn the dis- 
course, by taking notice in general, from the highest 
to the lowest parts of human society, there was a 15 
secret, though unjust, way among men of indulging 
the seeds of ill-nature and envy, by comparing their 
own state of life to that of another, and grudging the 
approach of their neighbour to their own happiness ; 
and on the other side, he who is the less at his ease 20 
repines at the other, who, he thinks, has unjustly the 
advantage over him. Thus the civil and military lists 
look upon each oher with much ill-nature ; the sol- 
dier repines at the courtier's power, and the courtier 
rallies the soldier's honour; or, to come to lower in- 25 
stances, the private men in the horse and foot of an 
army, the carmen and coachmen in the city streets, 
mutually look upon each other with ill will, when 
they are in ^competition for quarters, or the way in 
their respective motions. 30 


"It is very well, good captain," interrupted Sir 
Andrew: "you may attempt to turn the discourse if 
you think fit; but I must, however, have a word or 
two with Sir Roger, who, I see, thinks he has paid 

5 me off, and been very severe upon the merchant. I 
shall not," continued he, "at this time remind Sir 
Roger of the great and noble monuments of charity 
and public spirit which have been erected by mer- 
chants since the Reformation, but at present content 

lo myself with what he allows us, parsimony and fru- 
gality. If it were consistent with the quality of so 
ancient a baronet as Sir Roger, to keep an account, 
or measure things by the most infallible way, that of 
numbers, he would prefer our parsimony to his hos- 

15 pitality. If to drink so many hogsheads is to be hos- 
pitable, we do not contend for the fame of that virtue ; 
but it would be worth while to consider, whether so 
many artificers at work ten days together by my ap- 
pointment, or so many peasants made merry on Sir 

20 Roger's charge, are the men more obliged. I believe 
the families of the artificers will thank me more than 
the households of the peasants shall Sir Roger. Sir 
Roger gives to his men ; but I place mine above the 
necessity or obligation of my bounty. I am in very 

25 little pain for the Roman proverb upon the Car- 
thaginian traders ; the Romans were their professed 
enemies. I am only sorry no Carthaginian histories 
have come to our hands : we might have been taught 
perhaps by them some proverbs against the Roman 

30 generosity in fighting for atid bestowing other peo- 


pie's goods. But since Sir Roger has taken occasion 
from an old proverb to be out of humour with mer- 
chants, it should be no offence to offer one not quite 
so old in their defence. When a man happens to 
break in Holland, they say of him that iie has not 5 
kept true accounts.' This phrase, perhaps, among us 
would appear a soft or humorous way of speaking, 
but with that exact nation it bears the highest re- 
proach. For a man to be mistaken in the calculation 
of his expense, in his ability to answer future de- 10 
mands, or to be ^impertinently sanguine in putting 
his credit to too great adventure, are all instances of 
as much infamy as with gayer nations to be failing in 
courage or common honesty. 

"Numbers are so much the measure of everything 15 
that is valuable, that it is not possible to demonstrate 
the success of any action, or the prudence of any 
undertaking, without them. I say this in answer to 
what Sir Roger is pleased to say, that iittle that is 
truly noble can be expected from one who is ever 25 
poring on his cash-book, or balancing his accounts.' 
When I have my returns from abroad, I can tell to a 
shilling, by the help of numbers, the profit or loss by 
my adventure ; but I ought also to be able to show 
that I had reason for making it, either from my own 25 
experience or that of other people, or from a reason- 
able presumption that my returns will be sufficient to 
answer my expense and hazard ; and this is never to 
be done without the skill of numbers. For instance, 
if I am to trade to Turkey, I ought beforehand to 30 


know the demand of our manufactures there, as well 
as of their silks in England, and the customary prices 
that are given for both in each country. I ought to 
have a clear knowledge of these matters beforehand, 
5 that I may presume upon sufficient returns to answer 
the charge of the cargo I have fitted out, the freight 
and ^assurance out and home, the customs to the 
queen, and the interest of my own money; and, be- 
sides all these expenses, a reasonable profit to myself. 

10 Now what is there of scandal in this skill ? What has 
the merchant done that he should be so little in the 
good graces of Sir Roger? He "throws down no 
man's enclosures, and tramples upon no man's corn ; 
he takes nothing from the industrious labourer; he 

15 pays the poor man for his work ; he communicates his 
profit with mankind ; by the preparation of his cargo 
and the manufacture of his returns, he furnishes em- 
ployment and subsistence to greater numbers than 
the richest nobleman ; and even the nobleman is 

20 obliged to him for finding out foreign markets for the 
produce of his estate, and for making a great addition 
to his Vents ; and yet 'tis certain that none of all these 
things could be done by him without the exercise of 
his skill in numbers. 

25 "This is the economy of the merchant ; and the con- 
duct of the gentleman must be the same, unless, by 
scorning to be the steward, he resolves the steward 
shall be the gentleman. The gentleman, no more 
than the merchant, is able, without the help of num- 

30 bers, to account for the success of any action, or the 


prudence of any adventure. If, for instance, the chase 
is his whole adventure, his only returns must be the 
stag's horns in the great hall and the fox's nose upon 
the stable door. Without doubt Sir Roger knows the 
full value of these returns ; and if beforehand he had 5 
computed the charges of the chase, a gentleman of his 
discretion would certainly have hanged up all his 
dogs ; he would never have brought back so many 
fine horses to the kennel; he would never have gone 
so often, like a blast, over fields of corn. If such, too, 10 
had been the conduct of all his ancestors, he might 
truly have boasted at this day, that the antiquity of 
his family had never been "sullied by a trade; a mer- 
chant had never been permitted with his whole estate 
to purchase a room for his picture in the gallery of 15 
the Coverley's, or to claim his descent from the maid 
of honour. But 'tis very happy for Sir Roger that 
the merchant paid so dear for his ambition. 'Tis the 
misfortune of many other gentlemen to turn out of 
the seats of their ancestors, to make way for such new 20 
masters as have been more exact in their accounts 
than themselves ; and certainly he deserves the estate 
a great deal better who has got it by his industry than 
he who has lost it by his negligence." 

Sir Roger in Town. 

No. 269. Addison. 

^2Evo rarissima nostra 
Simplicitas. — Ovid. 

I was this morning surprised with a great knock- 
ing at the door, when my landlady's daughter came 

5 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 per- 
son, but that she did not know his name. I imme- 
diately went down to him, and found him to be the 

10 coachman of my worthy friend Sir Roger de Cover- 
ley. 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 

15 lately received any letter from him, he told me that 
his master was come up to get a sight of ^Prince 
Eugene, and that he desired I would immediately 
meet him. 

I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the 

20 old knight, though I did not much wonder at it, 
having heard him say more than once in private dis- 
course, that he looked upon Prince Eugenio (for so 
the knight always calls him) to be a greater man than 

2c I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn Walks, but 

[1 138 ] 


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 5 
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 10 
not finding: out some work ; but at the same time saw 
him put his hand in his pocket and give him six- 

Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, 
consisting of many kind shakes of the hand, and sev- 15 
eral affectionate looks which we cast upon one an- 
other. After which the knight told me my good 
friend his chaplain was very well, and much at my 
service, and that the Sundav before he had made a 
most incomparable sermon out of ""Doctor Barrow. 20 
*'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 marks, to be distrib- 
uted among his poor parishioners." 

He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare 25 
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 them ; and that he made a present of one to every 30 


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 
5 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 

lo down the end of one of his barns. "But for my 
own part," says Sir Roger, 'T do not think that the 
old woman had any hand in it." 

He afterwards fell into an account of the diver- 
sions which had passed in his house during the holi- 

15 days ; 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 the season, that he had dealt about his chines 
very liberally amongst his neighbours, and that in par- 

20 ticular he had sent a string of ^hogs-puddings with a 
pack of cards to every poor family in the parish. 
"I have often thought," says Sir Roger, "it happens 
very well that Christmas should fall out in the mid- 
dle of the winter. It is the most dead uncomfortable 

25 time of the year, when the poor people would suffer 
very much from their poverty and cold, if they had 
not good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols 
to support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts 
at this season, and to see the whole village merry in 

30 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 mince pie upon the table, and am 
wonderfully pleased to see my tenants pass away a 
whole evening in playing their innocent tricks, and 5 
smutting one another. 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. 10 
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 Dis- 
senter, who chanced to dine at his house on Christ- 15 
mas day, had been observed to eat very plentifully 
of his "plum-porridge. 

After having dispatched all our country matters, 
Sir Roger made several inquiries concerning the 
club, and particularly of his old antagonist Sir An- 20 
drew Freeport. He asked me with a kind of smile 
whether Sir Andrew had not taken advantage of 
his absence to vent among them some of his republi- 
can doctrines ; but soon after, gathering up the coun- 
tenance into a more than ordinary seriousness, "Tell 25 
me truly," says he, "don't you think Sir Andrew- 
had a hand in the ^Pope's Procession?" — but with- 
out giving me time to answer him, **Well, well," 
says he, *'I know you are a wary man, and do not 
care to talk of public matters." 30 


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 

5 so much honour 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 

fo lie in his hall window, which very much redound to 
the honour 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 

j^ would smoke a pipe with him over a dish of coflfee at 
Squire's, As I love the old man, I take delight in 
complying with everything that is agreeable to him, 
and accordingly waited on him to the cofTee-house, 
where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of 

20 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 cofifee, a 
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 serv- 
ing him) were at once employed on his several er- 
rands, insomuch that nobody else could come at a 
dish of tea, till the knight had got all his conven- 
iences about him. 

Sir Roger in Westminster Abbey. 

No. 329. Addison. 

*Ire tamen restat Numa quo devenit et Ancus. 

— HOR. 

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley told me t'other 
night that he had been reading ^my paper upon West- 
minster Abbey, ''in which," says he, "there are a great 
many ingenious fancies." He told me at the same 5 
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 historv. I could not at first imagine how 
this came into the knight's head, till I recollected that 10 
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 15 
the Abbey. 

I found the knight under his butler's hands, 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 20 
abroad. He recommended me to a dram of it at the 
same time with so much heartiness that I could not 
forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got it down, 1 
found it very unpalatable; upon which the knight,, 

[ 143] 



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 
5 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 staid in 

lo town, to keep ofif infection, and that he got together a 
quantity of it upon the first news of the ^sickness be- 
ing 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 

15 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 

20 g'^^w 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 
between him and her ; "and truly," says Sir Roger, 

25 ''if I had not been ^engaged, perhaps I could not have 
done better." 

His discourse was broken oflf by his man's telling 
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 axle-tree 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 5 
if he smoked. As I was considering what this would 
end in, he bid him stop by the way at any good 
tobacconist's and take in a roll of their best Virginia. 
Nothing material happened in the remaining part of 
our journey, till we were set down at the west end of 10 
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 V* 
Passing afterwards by ^Sir Cloudsley Shovel, he 15 
flung his hand that way, and cried, "Sir Cloudsley 
Shovel ! a very gallant man." As we stood before 
^Busby's tomb, the knight uttered himself again af- 
ter the same manner: ''Dr. Busby! a great man: he 
whipped my grandfather ; a very great man ! I should 20 
have gone to him myself, if I had not been a block- 
head ; a very great man !" 

We were immediately conducted into the ^little 
chapel on the right hand. Sir Roger, planting him- 
self at our historian's elbow, was very attentive to 25 
everything he said, particularly to the account he 
gave us of the lord who had cut ofif the King of 
Morocco's head. Among several other figures he was 
very well pleased to see the statesman "Cecil upon his 
knees ; and, concluding them all to be great men, 30 


was conducted to the figure which represents that 
martyr to good housewifery who died by the ^prick 
of a needle. Upon our interpreter's telHng us that 
she was a maid of honour to Queen EHzabeth, the 
5 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, 
sat himself down in the chair, and, looking like the 
figure of an old Gothic king, asked our interpreter 

^5 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 Honour 
would pay his forfeit. I could observe Sir Roger a 
little ruffled upon being thus ^trepanned; but our 

20 guide not insisting upon his demand, the knight soon 
recovered his good humour, 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. 

25 Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon 
Edward the Third's sword, and leaning upon the 
pommel of it, gave us the whole history of the Black 
Prince ; concluding, that in Sir Richard Baker's 
opinion, Edward the Third was one of the greatest 

^Q princes that ever sate 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 

Our conductor then pointed to that monument 
where there is the figure of one of our English kings 
^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," ic 
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 
EHzabeth gave the knight great opportunities of 15 
shining, 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 20 
the knight show such an honest passion for the glory 
of his country, and such a respectful gratitude to the 
memory of its princes. 

I must not omit that the benevolence of my good 
old friend, which flows out towards every one he con- 25 
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 Building, and talk over these 3o 
matters with him more at leisure. 

Sir Roger at the Play. 

No. 335. Addison. 

^Respicere exemplar vitce morumque jubebo 
Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces. 

— HOR. 

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met 
together at the club, told me that he had a great mind 

5 to see the new tragedy with me, assuring me at the 
same time that he had not been at a play these twen- 
ty 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 

10 Church of England comedy. He then proceeded to 
inquire of me who this ""Distressed Motlier 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 

^5 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 should be abroad. 
"I assure you," says he, "I thought I had fallen into 
their hands last night ; for I observed two or three 

20 lusty black men that followed me half-way up Fleet 
Street, and mended their pace behind me in propor- 
tion 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 

[ 148 t] 


honest gentleman in my neighbourhood who was 
served such a trick in King Charles the Second'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 5 
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 "ii 
these gentlemen had any such intention, they did not 
succeed very well in it; for I threw them out," says 10 
he, "at the end of Norfolk Street, where I doubled 
the corner, and got shelter in my lodgings before 
they could imagine what was become of me. How- 
ever," says the knight, ''if Captain Sentry will make 
one with us to-morrow night, and if you will both of ^5 
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 readiness to attend you, for John tells me he 
has got the fore-wheels mended." 

The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at 20 
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 found, provided themselves with good oaken 25 
plants, to attend their master upon this occasion. 
When he had placed him in his coach, with my- 
self 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 30 



having marched up the entry in good order, the cap- 
tain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us 
in the pit. As soon as the house was full, and the can- 
dles lighted, my old friend stood up and looked about 

5 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 an- 
other and partake of the same common entertain- 
ment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old 

lo man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he made 
a very proper centre to a tragic audience. Upon 
the entering of a "Pyrrhus, the knight told me that he 
did not believe the King of France himself had a bet- 
ter strut. I was indeed very attentive to my old 

j^ 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 appeared much concerned for 

2Q 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 re- 
fusal to her lover's importunities, he whispered me in_ 

25 the ear, that he was sure she would never have him ; 
to which he added, with a more than ordinary ve- 
hemence, "You can't imagine, sir, what it is to have 
to do with a widow." 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 5 
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 

The fourth act very luckily begun before I had 10 
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 15 
mistake 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," says he, "must needs be a 20 
very fine child by the account that is given of him." 
Upon Hermione's going of¥ with a menace to Pyr- 
rhus, the audience gave a loud clap, to which Sir 
Roger added, "On my word, a notable young bag- 
gage !" 25 

As there was a very remarkable silence and still- 
ness in the audience during the whole action, it was 
natural for them to take the opportunity of these in- 
tervals between the acts, to express their opinion of 
the players and of their respective parts. Sir Roger, 30 
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 applauding Pyrrhus, Sir Roger put in a 
second time. *'And let me tell you," says he, 
5 "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 towards Sir Roger, and fearing lest 
they should ^smoke the knight, plucked him by the 

lo 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 

15 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 mor- 
alise, in his way, upon an evil conscience, adding, that 
" Orestes in his madness looked as if he saw some- 

20 thing." 

As we were the first that came into the house, so 
we were the last that went out of it ; being resolved 
to have a clear passage for our old friend, whom we 
did not care to venture among the justling of the 

25 crowd. Sir Roger went out fully satisfied with his 
entertainment, and we guarded him to his lodgings 
in the same manner that we had brought him 
to the playhouse ; being highly pleased, for my own 
part, not only with the performance of the excellent 

30 piece which had been presented, but with the satisfac- 
tion which it had given to the good old man. 

Will Honeycomb's Love Affairs. 

^o. 359. Steele. 

'■Torva lecena lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam: 
Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella. 

— ViRG. 

As we were at the club last night, I observed 
that my friend Sir Roger, contrary to his usual cus- 
tom, sat very silent, and, instead of minding what ^ 
was said by the company, was whistling to himself 
in a very thoughtful mood, and playing with a cork. 
I jogged Sir Andrew Freeport, who sat between us ; 
and, as we were both observing him, we saw the 
knight shake his head, and heard him say to him- j^ 
self, "A foolish woman! I can't believe it." Sir 
Andrew gave him a gentle pat upon the shoulder, 
and offered to lay him a bottle of wine that he was 
thinking of the widow. My old friend started, and 
recovering out of his brown study, told Sir Andrew j^ 
that once in his life he had been in the right. In 
short, after some little hesitation. Sir Roger told 
us, in the fullness of his heart, that he had just re- 
ceived a letter from his steward, which acquainted 
him that his old rival and antagonist in the country, ^o 
Sir David Dundrum, had been making a visit to the 
widow. ''However," says Sir Roger, "I can never 
think that she'll have a man that's half a year older 
than I am, and a noted ^Republican into the bargain." 

[ 153] 


Will Honeycomb, who looks upon love as his par- 
ticular province, interrupting our friend with a jaunty 
laugh, "I thought, knight," says he, "thou hadst lived 
long enough in the world not to pin thy happiness 

5 upon one that is a woman and a widow. I think 
that without vanity I may pretend to know as much 
of the female world as any man in Great Britian; 
though the chief of my knowledge consists in this, 
that they are not to be known." Will immediately, 

10 with his usual fluency, rambled into an account of 
his own amours. **I am now," says he, "upon the 
verge of fifty," (though, by the way, we all knew he 
was turned of threescore). "You may easily guess," 
continued Will, "that I have not lived so long in the 

15 world without having had some thoughts of settling 
in it, as the phrase is. To tell you truly, I have 
several times tried my fortune that way, though I 
can't much boast of my success. 

"I made my first addresses to a young lady in 

20 the country ; but, when I thought things were pretty 
well drawing to a conclusion, her father happening 
to hear that I had formerly boarded with a surgeon, 
the old ^put forbid me his house, and within a fort- 
night after married his daughter to a fox-hunter in the 

25 neighbourhood. 

"I made my next applications to a widow, and 
attacked her so briskly that I thought myself within 
a fortnight of her. As I waited upon her one morn- 
ing, she told me that she intended to keep her ready 

,0 money and jointure in her own hand, and desired me 


to call upon her attorney in ^Lyon's Inn, who would 
adjust with me what it was proper for me to add to it. 
I was so rebuffed by this overture, that I never in- 
quired either for her or her attorney afterwards. 

"A few months after, I addressed myself to a 5 
young lady who was an only daughter, and of a good 
family. I danced with her at several balls, squeezed 
her by the hand, said soft things to her, and, in short, 
made no doubt of her heart ; and though my fortune 
was not equal to hers, I was in hopes that her fond 10 
father would not deny her the man she had fixed her 
affections upon. But as I went one day to the house, 
in order to break the matter to him, I found the 
whole family in confusion, and heard, to my un- 
speakable surprise, that Miss Jenny was that very 15 
morning run away with the butler. 

"I then courted a second widow, and am at a loss 
to this day how I came to miss her, for she had often 
commended my person and behaviour. Her maid, 
indeed, told me one day that her mistress had said she 20 
never saw a gentleman with such a spindle pair of 
legs as Mr. Honeycomb. 

"After this I laid siege to four heiresses succes- 
sively, and, being a handsome young dog in those 
days, quickly made a breach in their hearts ; but I ^5 
don't know how it came to pass, though I seldom 
failed of getting the daughter's consent, I could 
never in my life get the old people on my side. 

"I could give you an account of a thousand other 
unsuccessful attempts, particularly of one which I 30 


made some years since upon an old woman, v«'hom I 
had certainly borne away with flying colours, if her 
relations had not come pouring in to her assistance 
from all parts of England; nay, I believe I should 
5 have got her at last, had not she been carried ofif by 
a hard frost." 

As Will's transitions are extremely quick, he turned 
from Sir Roger, and, applying himself to me, told 
me there was a passage in the ''book I had con- 
10 sidered last Saturday which deserved to be writ in 
letters of gold ; and, taking out a pocket Milton, 
read the ^following lines, which are part of one of 
Adam's speeches to Eve after the fall: — 

— Oh ! why did our 

15 Creator wise ! that peopled highest heaven 

With spirits masculine, create at last 
This novelty on earth, this fair defect 
Of nature, and not fill the world at once 
With men, as angels, without feminine? 

20 Or find some other way to generate 

Mankind? This mischief had not then befallen, 
And more that shall befall ; innumerable 
Disturbances on earth, through female snares, 
And strait conjunction with this sex: for either 

2c He never shall find out fit mate, but such 

As some misfortune brings him, or mistake; 
Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain, 
Through her perverseness ; but shall see her gain'd 
By a far worse; or, if she love, withheld 

30 By parents ; or his happiest choice too late 

Shall meet, already linked and wedlock-bound 
To a fell adversary, his hate or shame : 
Which infinite calamity shall cause 
To human life, and household peace confound. 


Sir Roger listened to this passage with great atten- 
tion, and, desiring Mr. Honeycomb to fold down a 
leaf at the place and lend him his book, the knight 
put it up in his pocket, and told us that he would read 
over those verses again before he went to bed. 

Sir Roger at Vauxhall. 

No. 383. Addison. 

^Criminibus debent hortos. 

— Juv. 

As I was sitting in my chamber, and thinking on a 

subject for my next Spectator, I heard two or three 

irregular ^bounces at my landlady's door, and upon 

5 the opening of it, a loud cheerful voice inquiring 

whether the philosopher was at home. The child 

who went to the door answered very innocently that 

he did not lodge there. I immediately recollected 

that it was my good friend Sir Roger's voice; and 

10 that I had promised to go with him on the water to 

^Spring Garden, in case it proved a good evening. 

The knight put me in mind of my promise, from 

the bottom of the staircase, but told me that if I was 

speculating he would stay below till I had done. 

^5 Upon my coming down, I found all the children of 

the family got about my old friend, and my landlady 

herself, who is a notable prating gossip, engaged in 

a conference with him ; being mightily pleased with 

his stroking her little boy upon the head, and bidding 

20 him be a good child and mind his book. 

We were no sooner come to the ^Temple Stairs, 
but we were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, 
offering us their respective services. Sir Roger, after 
having looked about him very attentively, spied one 

[ 158] 


with a wooden leg, and immediately gave him orders 
to get his boat ready. As we were walking towards 
it, "You must know," says Sir Roger, '*I never make 
use of anybody to row me that has not either lost a 
leg or an arm. I would rather bate him a few 5 
strokes of his oar than not employ an honest man 
that has been wounded in the Queen's service. If I 
was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would 
not put a fellow in my livery that had not a wooden 
leg." 10 

My old friend, after having seated himself, and 
trimmed the boat with his coachman, who, being a 
very sober man, always serves for ballast on these oc- 
casions, we made the best of our way for Foxhall. 
Sir Roger obliged the waterman to give us the his- j^ 
tory of his right leg ; and, hearing that he had left it 
at ^La Hogue, with many particulars which passed in 
that glorious action, the knight, in the triumph of his 
heart, made several reflections on the greatness of 
the British nation ; as, that one Englishman could 20 
beat three Frenchmen; that we could never be in 
danger of popery so long as we took care of our fleet ; 
that the Thames was the noblest river in Europe ; 
that London Bridge was a greater piece of work 
than any of the seven wonders of the world ; wuth 25 
many other honest prejudices which naturally cleave 
to the heart of a true Englishman. 

After some short pause, the old knight turning 
about his head twice or thrice, to take a survey of 
this great metropolis, bid me observe how thick the 30 


city was set with churches, and that there was scarce 
a single steeple on this side ^Temple Bar. *'A 
most heathenish sight !" says Sir Roger ; "there is 
no religion at this end of the town. The ^fifty new 

5 churches will very much amend the prospect; but 
church work is slow, church work is slow." 

I do not remember I have any where mentioned in 
Sir Roger's character, his custom of saluting every 
body that passes by him with a good morrow, or 

lo a good night. This the old man does out of the 
overflowings of his humanity ; though, at the same 
time, it renders him so popular among all his country 
neighbours, that it is thought to have gone a good 
way in making him once or twice ^knight of the shire. 

15 He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even 
in town, when he meets with any one in his morning 
or evening walk. It broke from him to several 
boats that passed by us upon the water; but, to the 
knight's great surprise, as he gave the good night to 

20 two or three young fellows a little before our landing, 
one of them, instead of returning the civility, asked 
us what queer old put we had in the boat, 
with a great deal of the like Thames ribaldry. 
Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but at 

25 length, assuming a face of magistracy, told us that 'if 
he were a Middlesex justice, he would make such 
vagrants know that her Majesty's subjects were no 
more to be abused by water than by land.' 

We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is 

30 exquisitely pleasant at this time of year. When I 


considered the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, 
with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, 
and the loose tribe of people that walked under their 
shades, I could not but look upon the place as a 
kind of ^Mahometan paradise. Sir Roger told me it 5 
put him in mind of a little coppice by his house in 
the country, which his chaplain used to call an aviary 
of nightingales. "You must understand," says the 
knight, ''there is nothing in the world that pleases a 
man in love so much as your nightingale. Ah, 1° 
Mr. Spectator, the many moonlight nights that I 
have walked by myself, and thought on the widow by 
the music of the nightingales!" He here fetched a 
deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, when 
*a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle 15 
tap upon the shoulder and asked him if he would, 
drink a bottle of mead with her. But the knight, 
being startled at so unexpected a familiarity, and 
displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts of the 
widow, told her 'she was a wanton baggage,' and 20 
bid her go about her business. 

We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton 
ale and a slice of "hung beef. When we had done 
eating ourselves, the knight called a waiter to him, 
and bid him carry the remainder to the waterman that 25 
had but one leg. I perceived the fellow stared upon 
him at the oddness of the message, and was going to 
be saucy ; upon which I ratified the knight's com- 
mands with a peremptory look. 

As we were going out of the garden, my old friend, 30 


thinking himself obHged, as a "member of the quorum, 
to animadvert upon the morals of the place, told the 
mistress of the house, who sat at the bar, that he 
should be a better customer to her garden, if there 
were more nightingales and fewer improper persons. 

The Death of Sir Roger. 

No. 517. Addison. 

^Heu pietas! heu prisca fides. 


We last night received a piece of ill news at our 
club which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I 
question not but my readers themselves will be 
troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no long- ^ 
er in suspense, *Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. He 
departed this life at his house in the country, after a 
few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a 
letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, 
that informs him the old man caught a cold at the 10 
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 15 
from the chaplain and Captain Sentry, which mention 
nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to 
the honour 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 house. As 20 
my friend the butler mentions, in the simplicity of his 
heart, several circumstances the others have passed 
over in silence, I shall give my readers a copy of his 
letter, without any alteration or diminution. 

[ 163 ] 


"Honoured Sir, 
"Knowing that you was my old master's good 
friend, I could not forbear sending you the melan- 
choly news of his death, which has afflicted the 
5 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, 

lo that had been wronged by a neighbouring gen- 
tleman ; 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 

15 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 hopes of his recovery, upon a kind 

20 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 

25 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 

-Q 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 5 
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 service, he has left us pensions and legacies 
which we may live very comfortably upon the re- 10 
maining 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 15 
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, 20 
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 quorum. The whole parish followed 
the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their mourning 
suits ; the men in frieze, and the women in riding- 25 
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 be 
fore his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished 
him joy of the estate which was falling to him, desir- 3° 


ing 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 

5 says but little. He makes much of those whom my 
master loved, and shows great kindness 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 

1^ day of my master's death. He has ne'er enjoyed 
himself since; no more hp= ^^nv of us. 'Twas the 
melancholiest day for the poor people that ever hap- 
pened in Worcestershire. This being all from, 

"Honoured sir, 

15 **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 car- 
rier, should be given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his 

20 name." 

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's man- 
ner 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 
25 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 appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who 
would have been merry at such an incident on an- 
other occasion, at the sight of the old man's hand- 
writing burst into tears, and put the book into his 
pocket. Captain Sentry informs me that the knight 
has left ^rings and mourning for every one in the club. 

Will Honeycomb's Marriage. 

No. 530. Addison. 

^Sic visum Veneri; cui placet unpares 
Formas atque animos sub juga aJienea 
Scevo mittere cum joco. — Hor. 

It is very usual for those who have been severe 
5 upon marriage in some part or other of their Hves, 
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 

10 blessing to another man, falls upon such a one as a 
judgment. Mr. ^Congreve's Old Bachelor is set 
forth to us with much wit and humour, as an example 
of this kind. In short, those who have most dis- 
tinguished themselves by railing at the sex in general, 

15 very often make an honourable amends, by choosing 
one of the most worthless persons of it for a com- 
panion 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- 

20 fully witty upon the women in a ^couple of letters 
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 

25 married a dairy-maid ; but Will, in his letter to me on 

[ 168 ] 


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 gaiety, hav- 5 
ing changed "Dear Spec," which was his usual salute 
at the beginning of the letter, into "My worthy 
friend," and subscribed himself in the latter end of 
it at full length, William Honeycomb. In short, the 
gay, the loud, the vain Will Honeycomb, who had 10 
made love to every great fortune that has appeared in 
town for above thirty years together, and boasted of 
favours 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. 15 
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. 20 

"My Worthy Friend, 
"I question not but you, and the rest of my ac- 
quaintance, 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 25 
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. 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 simplicity of 
5 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 tenant's daughters. She is 

lo born of honest parents ; and though she has no por- 
tion, she has a great deal of virtue. The natural 
sweetness and innocence of her behaviour, the fresh- 
ness of her complexion, the unaffected turn of her 
shape and person, shot me through and through 

15 every time I saw her, and did more execution upon 
me in grogram, than the greatest beauty in town or 
court had ever done in brocade. In short, she is 
such an one as promises me a good heir to my estate ; 
and if by her means I cannot leave to my children 

20 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 birth — strong bodies and 
healthy constitutions. As for your fine women, I 
need not tell thee that I know them. I have had my 

25 share in their graces ; 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 raillery 
of the town, and be treated to the tune of ^The Mar- 

30 riage-Jiater Matched; 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 de- 5 
stroyed 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 10 
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 endeavour to live 
hereafter suitable to a man in my station, as a prudent 
head of a family, a good husband, a careful father 15 
(when it shall so happen) and as 

"Your most sincere friend 

"and humble servant, 

"WiiLLiAM Honeycomb." 

The Club is Dissolved. 

No. 549. Addison. 

"Quamvis digressu veteris confusus amici, 
Laudo tarn en. — ^Juv. 

I believe most people begin the world with a reso- 
lution to withdraw from it into a serious kind of 
5 solitude or retirement when they have made them- 
selves easy in it. Our unhappiness is that we find 
out some excuse or other for deferring such our 
good resolutions till our intended retreat is cut off by 
death. But among all kinds of people there are none 

10 who are so hard to part with the world as those who 
are grown old in the heaping up of riches. Their 
minds are so warped with their constant attention to 
gain, that it is very difficult for them to give their 
souls another bent, and convert them towards those 

15 objects which, though they are proper for every 
stage of life, are so more especially for the last. 
Horace describes an old usurer as so charmed with 
the pleasures of a country life that in order to make 
a purchase he called in all his money; but what was 

20 the event of it? Why, in a very few days after he 
put it out again. I am engaged in this series of 
thought by a discourse which I had last week with 
my w^orthy friend Sir Andrew Freeport, a man of 
so much natural eloquence, good sense, and probity 

25 of mind, that I always hear him with a particular 

[ 172 d 


pleasure. As we were sitting together, being the sole 
remaining members of our club, Sir Andrew gave me 
an account of the many busy scenes of life in which 
he had been engaged, and, at the same time, reckoned 
up to me abundance of those lucky hits, which at 5 
another time he would have called pieces of good for- 
tune ; but in the temper of mind he was then, he term- 
ed them mercies, favours of Providence, and bless- 
ings upon an honest industry. "Now," says he, "you 
must know, my good friend, I am so used to consider 10 
myself as creditor and debtor, that I often state my ac- 
counts after the same manner with regard to heaven 
and my own soul. In this case, when I look upon 
the debtor side, I find such innumerable articles that 
I want arithmetic to cast them up ; but when I look 15 
upon the creditor side, I find little more than blank 
paper. Now, though I am very well satisfied that it 
is not in my power to balance accounts with my 
Maker, I am resolved, however, to turn all my future 
endeavours that way. You must not therefore be 20 
surprised, my friend, if you hear that I am betak- 
ing myself to a more thoughtful kind of life, and if 
I meet you no more in this place." 

I could not but approve so good a resolution, not- 
withstanding the loss I shall suffer by it. Sir An- 25 
drew has since explained himself to me more at large 
in the following letter, which is just come to my 
hands : — 

"Good Mr. Spectator, 

"Notwithstanding my friends at the club have 30 


always rallied me when I have talked of retiring from 
business, and repeated to me one of my own say- 
ings, that "a merchant has never enough till he has 
got a little more," I can now inform you, that there 
5 is one in the world who thinks he has enough, and 
is determined to pass the remainder of his life in the 
enjoyment of what he has You know me so well 
that I need not tell you, I mean by the enjoyment of 
my possessions the making of them useful to the 

^° public. As the greatest part of my estate has been 
hitherto of an unsteady and volatile nature, either 
tossed upon seas or fluctuating in funds, it is now 
fixed and settled in substantial acres and tenements. 
I have removed it from the uncertainty of stocks, 

15 winds, and waves, and disposed of it in a considerable 
purchase. This will give me great opportunity of 
being charitable in my way, that is, in setting my 
poor neighbours to work, and giving them a com- 
fortable subsistence out of their own industry. My 

20 gardens, my fish-ponds, my arable and pasture 
grounds, shall be my several hospitals, or rather 
workhouses, in which I propose to maintain a great 
many indigent persons, who are now starving in 
my neighbourhood. I have got a fine spread of 

25 improvable lands, and in my own thoughts am already 
ploughing up some of them, fencing others, planting 
woods, and draining marshes. In fine, as I have 
my share in the surface of this island, I am resolved 
to make it as beautiful a spot as any in her Majesty's 

30 dominions ; at least there is not an inch of it which 


shall not be cultivated to the best advantage, and do 
its utmost for its owner. As in my mercantile em- 
ployment I so disposed of my afifairs that, from what- 
ever corner of the compass the wind blew, it was 
bringing home one or other of my ships, I hope as a 5 
husbandman to contrive it so, that not a shower of 
rain or a glimpse of sunshine shall fall upon my es- 
tate without bettering some part of it, and contribu- 
ting to the products of the season. You know it has 
been hitherto my opinion of life, that it is thrown ^^ 
away when it is not some way useful to others. But 
when I am riding out by myself in the fresh air on 
the open heath that lies by my house, I find several 
other thoughts growing up in me. I am now of opin- 
ion that a man of my age may find business enough ^^ 
on himself, by setting his mind in order, preparing it 
for another world, and reconciling it to the thoughts 
of death. I must, therefore, acquaint you, that be- 
sides those usual methods of charity, of which I have 
before spoken, I am at this very instant finding out a ^^ 
convenient place where I may build an almshouse, 
which 1 intend to endow very handsomely, for a 
dozen superannuated husbandmen. It will be a great 
pleasure to me to say my prayers twice a day with 
men of my own years, who all of them, as well as my- ^^ 
self, may have their thoughts taken up how they 
shall die, rather than how they shall live. I remember 
an excellent saying that I learned at school ''Finis 
coronat opus. You know best whether it be in Vir- 
gil or in Horace; it is my business to apply it. If 30 



your affairs will permit you to take the country air 
with me sometimes, you shall find an apartment fitted 
up for you, and shall be every day entertained with 
beef or mutton of my own feeding, fish out of my own 
ponds, and fruit out of my own gardens. You shall 
have free egress and regress about my house, without 
having any questions asked you ; and, in a word, such 
a hearty welcome as you may expect from 
**Your most sincere friend 

*'and humble servant, 

''Andrew Freeport." 

The club of which I am a member being entirely 
dispersed, I shall consult my reader next week upon 
a project relating to the institution of a new one. 

lOCQUE (1720 AND 1741) 



Page 1, lines 1-2, Motto: Horace, Ars Poetica, 143- 
144. — His purpose is to bring light out of smoke, not smoke 
from flame, that he may thence display his shining won- 

P. 1, 1. 5. A black or a fair man. — That is, a man of 
black or light hair and complexion. 

P. 2, 1. 6. Depending. — Pending is the more modern 
form of the participle in the legal sense of "undecided." 

P. 2, 1. 15. Coral. — A toy, made up of a stick of coral 
with ring, small bells and sometimes a whistle attached. 
Compare Beaumont and Fletcher, The Captain, III, 5: 
"I'll be thy nurse, and get a coral for thee, 
And a fine ring of bells." 

P. 2, 1. 19. Nonage. — Minority or legal infancy: non 
4- age. 

P. 3, 1. 14. Pyramid. — An allusion to the long and tedious 
discussion in Addison's time about the exact dimensions 
of the pyramids, especially of the Great Pyramid. John 
Greaves (1605-1652), an Oxford professor, had visited 
Egypt and had published a volume on the measurements 
of the pyramids. The intimation in Addison's words that 
a man's education was not complete until he had measured 
a pyramid is, of course, in ridicule of the pedantic con- 
troversy on the subject. 

P. 3, 11. 23-24. A round of politicians at Will's.— That is, 
a company (in a circle) of politicians at Will's Coffee- 
house. Coffee-houses were the most popular centers of 
resort in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries 


178 NOTES. 

for hearing the latest news and discussions of political 
and literary matters. Of numerous coffee-houses in Lon- 
don, Will's, situated on the northwest corner of Russell 
and Bow streets, Covent Garden, was the most famous 
because of the presence for long years of the poet John 
Dryden. Around Dryden gathered the writers and wits 
of the day as well as an idle crowd curious to see the 
great man. The proprietor of the house was William 
Urwin. The modern club is a development of the coffee- 

Child's (in St. Paul's churchyard), St. James's (St. 
James street), Grecian (the Strand), were other promi- 
nent coffee-houses. The cocoa-tree was a celebrated 
chocolate-house on St. James street and headquarters for 
Tories as the St. James w^as for Whigs. 

P. 3, 1. 27. Postman. — The name of a popular penny 
journal edited by a Frenchman, M. Fonvive. 

P. 4, 1. 4. Theatres both of Drury Lane and the Hay- 
market. — The two most prosperous London theatres in 
Queen Anne's reign, one being called the "Theatre Royal 
in Drury Lane", the other the "Queen's Theatre in the 
Haymarket." Drury Lane was built in 1663 and the Hay- 
market in 1705. 

P. 4, 1. 5. The Exchange. — The Royal Exchange, 
founded by Sir Thomas Gresham in 1566, burned a hun- 
dred years later and afterwards rebuilt, w'as the daily 
meeting-place of merchants. A Frenchman, writing in 
1708, calls it "the most noble edifice of its kind in the 
world". See Spectator 69. 

P. 4, 1. 7. Jonathan's. — A coffee-house in 'Change Alley, 
the resort of stock-jobbers. 

P. 4, 1. 19. Blots. — Referring to the game of back- 
gammon, a "blot" being a single exposed piece liable to be 
taken up. 

P. 6, 1. 4. Discoveries. — Disclosures. 

NOTES. 179 

P. 6, 1. 14. MP. Buckley's in Little Britain. — Mr. Buckley 
was the publisher of the Spectator. Little Britain. — A 
neighborhood east of Christ's Hospital, off Aldersgate 
street. The Dukes of Brittany once lived there; hence 
the name. See "Little Britain" in Irving's Sketch-Book. 

P. 7, 11. 1-2. Motto: Juvenal, Satire VII, 167: Six others 
and more cry out with one voice. 

P. 7, 1. 6. Country-dance. — A dance like the Virginia 
reel: partners, arranged opposite in the two facing rows, 
dance in couples down the lines and back to their 
original places. Sv/ift suggested the name Sir Roger de 
Coverley (a popular dance-tune) for Addison's knight, 
according to Steele, 

P. 7, 1. 13. Humour. — This interesting word has here 
the older meaning of 'peculiarity of disposition'. For the 
changes of meaning which the word has undergone, see 

P. 7, 11. 22-23. Lord Rochester and Sir George 
Etherege. — Fashionable courtiers and wits in the dissolute 
reign of Charles II. Etherege was the founder of the 
brilliant but corrupt Comedy of Manners of which Con- 
greve was the most striking writer. 

P. 7, I. 24. Bully Dawson. — A swaggering imitator of the 
manners and morals of the higher social classes. 

P. 8, 1. 20. Quorum. — The number of justices of the 
peace necessary to constitute "a bench" for trying cases. 
Formerly those justices noted for their learning were 
specially designated for the "quorum," but now all 
justices are "of the quorum". 

Quarter-session is the name of a criminal court held 
quarterly by justices of the peace in English counties. 

P. 8, 1. 23. Game Act. — A law against poaching in which 
certain restrictions as to the ownership of guns and bows 
and hunting-grounds were set forth. The rights of the 
landed class and the preservation of game were the vital 

i8o NOTES. 

points, no doubt, in Sir Roger's explanation of the passage. 

P. 8, 1. 25. Inner Temple. — One "of the four societies of 
lawyers in London called the Inns of Court, the other 
three being the Middle Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and Gray's 

P. 9, 11. 2-3. Aristotle and Longinus 

Littleton or Coke.— Aristotle (384-322 B. C.) and Longinus 
(210-273 A. D.), Greek philosophers, were classic authori- 
ties in literary criticism, while Littleton (1421-1481) and 
Coke 1549-1634) were established authorities on English] 

P. 9, 1. 11. Demosthenes and Tully. — The greatest 
orator, respectively, of the Greeks and Romans. Tully 
is Marcus Tullius Cicero. The lawyer whom Steele is 
here characterizing understood classic philosophy and 
oratory much better than he did English law. Indeed, 
during the latter part of the seventeenth and the first 
half of the eighteenth century classic standards determined 
the point of view of writers and professional men in 
general. This is apparent throughout the Spectator. 

Page 9, 11. 24 and 28. New |nn * * * * The Rose.— 
New Inn was a precinct of Middle Temple noted for its 
attractive grounds and walks. The Rose was a well- 
known tavern in Russell street near Drury Lane Theatre, 
and hence a favorite resort of playgoers. In 1711 plays 
began at five or six o'clock, two or three hours later than 
in Shakespeare's time. 

The dinner-hour was three or four o'clock. The London 
beau liked to spend an hour before the play at a coffee- 

P. 10, 1. 23. Wit.— Intellectual ability. 

P. 11, 1. 21. Disposing. — Making military appointments 
according to individual fitness alone. 

P. 11, 1. 30. Civil cowardice. — Civic cowardice, or a 
weak sense of the duties of citizenship. The older mean- 

NOTES. i8i 

ing of civil (pertaining to citizenship) is still found in such 
expressions as "civil suit", "civil service", "civil law", 

P. 12, 1. 13. Humourists. — Odd or eccentric persons. 
See note to p. 7, 1. 13. 

P. 12, 11. 20, 23, 26. Well turned. — Well shaped or 
graceful. Habits. — Dress, garments. Mode.— Manner of 
dressing, fashion. Fashions of the day were borrowed 
from the French court. 

P. 13, 1. 2. Conversation. — Association. 

P. 13, 1. 6. Dui<e of Monmouth. — James Stuart, the pre- 
tended Prince of Wales, who invaded England in 1685, 
was defeated at the battle of Sedgemoor, and shortly 
afterwards executed. Though of no great ability, the Duke 
of Monmouth was handsome and of engaging manners. 
He was son of Charles II and Lucy Walters. 

P. 13, 11. 27 and 30. Exact good breeding.— Perfect polite- 
ness. Preferments. — Conspicuous positions of honor or 

P. 14, 1. 1. Chamber-counsellor. — An office-lawyer who 
simply gives advice. 

P. 15, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Juvenal, Satire XIII, 54.— They 
used to think it a serious crime, one deserving of death, 
if a youth did not rise up in the presence of an older 

P. 15, 1. 8. Wit and sense.— In the age of Queen Anne 
keenness of intellect and mere conversational brilliancy 
were held in the highest esteem. Outwardly polished, 
urban society was inwardly corrupt, caring more for form 
than for spirit both in religion and literature. The bril- 
liant comedy of the latter half of the seventeenth century 
was morally rotten. Steele thought that wit and good 
morals should go together. 

P. 15, 1. 21. Quick admonitions. — Lively warnings. 

P. 16, 1. 7. Lincoln's Inn Fields. — A large square near 

i82 NOTES. 

Lincoln's Inn, frequented until 1735 (when it was fenced 
off) by beggars and other disreputable characters. 

P. 16, 1. 23. Equipage. — Showy equipment, whether in 
dress, retinue of servants, carriage of state, furniture, etc. 

P. 17, 1. 6. I ntentively.— Attentively. 

P. 17,41. 10, 17. Manners. — Conduct, behavior. Polite. — 
Polished, outwardly refined. 

P. 17, 1. 24. Sir Richard Blackmore.— A dull but highly 
respected poet of the time whose verses were more vir- 
tuous than brilliant. The quotation in the text is from 
the preface to an epic poem of his called Prince Arthur. 

P. 18, 1. 23. Mode and gallantry. — Fashion and polite- 

P. 18, 1. 27. Common.— That is, usual. 

P. 19, 1. 4. Ridiculous as age. — That is, judging from the 
present disrespect to age. Disrespect to age is the 'vice' 
mentioned two lines below. See motto to this paper. 

P. 19, 1. 24. Polite.— See note to p. 17, 1. 17. 

P. 20, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Juvenal, Satire XV, 159.— The 
wild beast spares those marked like itself. 

P. 20, 1. 5, 15. Deputed. — Appointed, chosen. Preju- 
dice. — Injury, detriment. 

P. 21, 1. 1. Opera and the puppet show. — The Italian 
opera, a recent importation upon the English stage, is 
often ridiculed in the pages of the Spectator (See Nos. 
5, 13, 14, 18, 22). The fantastic absurdities in language 
and scenery of these foreign shows provoked. Addison and 
other patriotic Englishmen to caustic criticism. Besides, 
the utter unreality of such spectacles shocked the common 
sense of conservative men. For a time, however, they 
were very fashionable, and hence the offense to some 
ladies, referred to by Will Honeycomb, caused by Addi- 
son's reflections on the opera and puppet show in a num- 
ber of the Spectator the week before. 

P. 21, 1. 19. Templar.. — A lawyer who had rooms in the 

NOTES. 183 

Temple in London. The Inns of Court, mentioned on page 
21, line 30, consisted of the Inner and the Middle Tem- 
ple, the residence of lawyers or students of law. These 
buildings stand on the site of the old Temple occupied 
during the middle ages by the Knights Templars. 

P. 21, 1. 22. The wits of King Charles's time. — Reference 
to the writers of the Comedy of Manners during the reign 
of Charles II — Congreve, Wycherley, Vanbrugh, and 
others, whose plays are chiefly concerned with intrigues. 
The moral purpose of the Spectator is shown in its attacks 
upon the licentiousness of London society. 

P. 21, 11. 24, 25. Horace, Juvenal, Boileau. — ^Horace (65-8 
B. C.) and Juvenal (first century A. D.) were the greatest 
Roman satirists; Boileau (1636-1711), a French satirist and 
critic in the reign of Louis XIV. These three were 
regarded in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries 
as supreme authorities in literary criticism. 

P. 21, 1. 30. Inns of Court.— See note to p. 21, 1. 19. 

P. 22, 11. 28, 30. Order . . . quality. — Persons of 
high official or social rank. 

P. 23, 1. 6. Depressed. — Kept down by poverty. Com- 
pare this literal use of the word in Johnson's famous lines 
(London, lines 172, 173) : 

"This mournful truth is every where confessed, 
Slow rises worth, by poverty depressed". 

P. 23, 11. 8-12. — In this sentence Addison well states 
the general purpose of the Spectator as a social critic. 
Fantastical vices are those which are too absurd or 
grotesque to be discussed in the pulpit. 

P. 24, 1. 4. Roman triumvirate. — After Julius Caesar's 
death, the Roman world was divided among three men, 
Octavius (later, Augustus Csesar), Mark Antony, and 
Lepidus. For an account of their quarrel, see Plutarch's 

i84 NOTES. 

Life of Mark Antony and Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, 
IV, 1. 

P. 24, 1. 16. Punch. — The chief performer in the "Punch 
and Judy" puppet show. Robert Powell, a dwarfish hunch- 
back, kept a famous puppet show in Covent Garden in 
Addison's time and grew wealthy from extensive patron- 
age. Punch sometimes talked pretty freely; hence Addi- 
son's use of the name for any person of extravagant 
speech. In No. 262 of the Spectator Addison again asserts 
that it is not his aim to attack specific individuals. 

P. 25, 11. 1-3. Motto: Horace, Odes I, XVII, lines 14-17.— 
Hence for thee will flow to the full from kindly horn a 
rich abundance of rural honors. 

P. 25, 1. 10. Humour. — Peculiarity of disposition, whim, 

P. 25, 1. 19. Family. — In the sense of household or 
domestic establishment. 

P. 26, 1. 5, Pad. — An easy-going horse. 

P. 26, 1. 19. Is pleasant upon. — That is, deals jestingly 
with. Compare the word pleasantry. 

P. 26, 1. 27. Prudent. — Politic; having an eye to self- 

P. 27, 11. 4-6. In the nature of a chaplain, etc. — The 
country clergy were in Addison's time not held in specially 
high esteem. Reflections upon their character and learn- 
ing may be found in much of the prose literature of the 

P. 27, 1. 13. Humourist. — A man of eccentric disposition. 
See note, p. 25, 1. 10. 

P. 27, 1. 24. Insulted with Latin and Greek. — Conver- 
sations of the day were liberally sprinkled with classical 
quotations; but country squires were likely to forget their 
Latin and Greek. Sir Roger did not want a chaplain 
more learned than himself; at any rate, he must not 

NOTES. 185 

'show it'. Sir Roger's amiable chaplain is not unlike Dr. 
Primrose in Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. 

P. 28, 11. 28, 29. Bishop of Asaph .... Dr. 
South. — The Bishop of Asaph was probably William Fleet- 
wood (1656-1723). Robert South (1633-1716) had been 
chaplain at the Court. They were both eloquent preachers. 

P. 29, 11. 2, 3. Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunderson, 
Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy. — Famous divines of the day. Til- 
lotson was Archbishop of Canterbury; Saunderson was 
Bishop of Lincoln; Isaac Barrow was a notable mathema- 
tician as well as theologian; Calamy was a Presbyterian. 

P. 30, 11. 1-3. Motto: Phaedrus, Epilogue 2. — The 
Athenians erected a mighty statute to Aesop, slave though 
he was, and placed it on an enduring foundation, that all 
should know how open lies the path tO' Honour. 

P. 30, 1. 21. Beforehand. — ^In good pecuniary condition; 
having a considerable surplus after expenses are paid. 

P. 31, 1. 5. Stripped. — That is, stripped of his livery; 
dismissed from service. 

P. 31, 1. 25. Pleasant on this occasion. — Jocular on this 
subject. See note, p. 26, 1. 19. 

P. 32, 1. 7. So good a husband. — So economical; sa 
good a manager. Compare the phrase, "to husband one's 
strength, resources", etc. 

P. 32, 1. 11. When a tenement falls. — A legal expression 
signifying the termination of the right to occupy a house 
or lands. In English law a 'fine' is a sum of money paid 
by the tenant of a knight whenever he makes over his 
land or house to another. Sir Roger would remit this 
'fine' in the case of a good servant, or make the 'stranger', 
who leases the property, pay it. 

P. 32, 1. 23. Visitants. — Somewhat ceremonial or for- 
mal visitors. 

P. 33, 1. 10. Undone patrons. — Masters who had suffered 
a reverse of fortune or financial loss. 

i86 NOTES. 

P. 33, 1. 19. Prentice. — That is, bound him out to learn 
a trade or business from some one. 'Prentice^ is, of 
course, the colloquial form of 'apprentice'. 

P. 34, 1. 4. Took off the dress. — That is, removed the 
livery or badge of service from the man who had saved 

P. 35, 1. 1. Motto: Ph?edrus, Fadles II, V, 3.— Out of 
breath to no purpose; busy about many things, and yet 
accomplishing nothing. 

P. 35, 1. 4. Mr. William Wimble.— The word 'wimble' 
means 'gimlet'; this has led some editors to suggest 
that Addison meant to call Will Wimble a bore. Pro- 
fessor Winchester adds: "Quite as possibly he meant that 
the fellow was always turning about, yet making a very 
small hole". — (Winchester: De Coverley Papers, p. 229). 

P. 35, 1. 11. Jack.— A pickerel. 

P. 35, 1. 20. Eton. — The famous English school on the 
Thames near Windsor. 

P. 36, 1. 4. Younger brother to a baronet. — The eldest 
son inherited his father's estate and title; the younger 
sons being without means and not trained to any business 
were generally dependent upon their relatives. In Tatler 
No. 256, Steele draws a portrait of a younger son of the 
nobility: "He was the cadet of a very ancient family; 
and according to the principles of all the younger 
brothers of the said family, he had never sullied himself 
with business; but had chosen rather to starve like a 
man of honor, than to do anything beneath his quality. 
He produced several witnesses that he had never 
employed himself beyond the twisting of a whip, or the 
making of a pair of nut-crackers, in which he only worked 
for his diversion, in order to make a present now and 
then to his friends." 

P. 36, 1. 13. May-fly.— Artificial fly for fishing. 

P. 36, 1. 15. Officious.— Kind; obliging. 

NOTES. 187 

P. 36, 1. 17. Correspondence. — Friendly intercourse or 

P. 36, 1. 18. Tulip-root. — There was a mania for tulips 
in England in the seventeenth century which lasted, in 
a modified form, through the first decade or two of the 
eighteenth. Tulip-bulbs were imported from Holland, 
sometimes at fabulous prices, as much as a thousand 
pounds, it is said, being paid for one particularly fine 
bulb. They became objects of speculation on the 
exchange, until finally the Dutch government passed a law 
limiting the price of a bulb. In Addison's time they were 
still prized. 

P. 37, 1. 1. Character. — Characterization. 

P. 37, 1. 8. Discovered. — Showed, disclosed. 

P. 38, 1. 5. Quail-pipe. — A pipe for imitating and call- 
ing up quail. 

P. 39, 11. 6, 8. Improper. — Unfit. Turned.— Adapted by 

P. 39, 1. 12. Twenty-first speculation. — In Spectator No. 
21, Addison discusses the overcrowding of the three 
learned professions, law, medicine, and divinity. 

P. 40, 1. 1. Motto: Horace, Satires, II, II, 3.— Wise, but 
not according to rule. 

P. 40, 11. 23, 24. Jetting.— Jutting, or projecting. Habit.— 
Costume or dress. 

P. 40, 1. 25. Yeomen of the guard.— The attendants or 
bodyguard of the king on state occasions, one hundred 
men who wore the kind of dress mentioned in the pre- 
ceding lines. They were the "beefeaters" whose uniform 
is still worn by the guards in the grounds of the Tower 
of LfOndon. 

P. 41, 1. 8. Tilt-yard. — Tournament- ground formerly in 
St. James Park. 

P. 41, 1. 13. Within the target.— That is, within the 

i88 NOTES. 

P. 41, 1. 23. Coffee-house. — Jenny Mann's Coffee-house. 

P. 42, 1. 2. The new fashioned petticoat. — Bell-shaped, 
widening from the waist, hooped. The drum-shaped 
petticoat, or 'wheel farthingale', seems to have been worn 
by Sir Roger's grandmother. 

P. 42, 1. 11. White-pot. — Made of milk, eggs, sugar, 
bread, or rice. Resembling rice or bread pudding. 

P. 42, 1. 27. Slashes. — Slits cut in the cloth in order 
to show a differently colored kind of goods beneath. 

P. 42, 1. 31. Sonneteer. — A writer of sonnets or short 
love poems, light, airy, and graceful; a typical Cava- 

P. 43, 11. 14, 15. A citizen of our name, — A member 
of the trading or business class as opposed to the landed 
gentry. Sir Roger's family did not like to acknowledge 
kinship or obligation to a tradesman of the same name; 
but financial need had caused them to 'wink at' some 

P. 43, 1. 28. Gentleman. — A man of gentle birth, belong- 
ing to the landed aristocracy. 

P. 44, 1. 1. Knight of this shire. — Representative in 
Parliament from that shire. 

P. 44, 1. 13. Husbandman. — Good manager or economist. 

P. 44, 1. 25. Battle of Worcester.— September 3, 1651, 
between the "Roundheads" under Cromwell, the victors, 
and the Royalists, the army of Charles I. 

P. 45, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Aeneid, 11, 755. — Horror on 
all sides seizes the mind; the very silence terrifies. 

P. 46, 1. 20. Association of Ideas. — The reference is to 
Book II, Chapter 33, Section 10, of Essay on Human 
Understanding by John Lrocke, the English philosopher 
who lived between 1632 and 1704. 

P. 47, 1. 15. By that means. — For that reason. 

P. 48, 11. 24, 25. He tells us, etc.— That is, Lucretius, 

NOTES. 189 

Roman poet and philosopher, of the first century B. C., 
in his De Rerum Natura, Book IV. 

P. 49, 11. 3, 4, ff. Josephus.— The Jewish historian 
(37-95 A. D.) The passage is quoted from Josephus' 
Antiquities of the Jews, Book XVII, Chapter 13. 

P. 49, 1. 26. Impertinent. — Irrelevant, inapplicable. 

P. 51, 1. 1. Motto: Pythagoras, Fragments. — First 
honour the immortal gods, as the law commands. 

P. 51, 1. 16. Puts both the sexes upon appearing, etc. — 
That is, stimulates or incites them to look and talk their 

P. 51, 1. 20. 'Change. — Short form of 'Exchange'; place 
of business, especially for the buying and selling of 
stocks, etc. 

P. 52, 1. 20. Particularities. — Eccentricities, peculiarities. 
Note the loose grammar in the use of pronouns in lines 
19 and 27. 

P. 53, 1. 8. Not polite enough. — Not sufficiently refined. 

P. 53, 1. 28. The clerk's place.— The clerk leads the 
responses in the church service. 

P. 54, 1. 11. Tithe-stealers. — Those who do not pay 
their tithes or church dues. 

P. 54, 1. 24. Very hardly. — With difficulty, scarcely. 

P. 55, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Aeneid, IV, 4. — Her looks 
are fixed deep in his heart. 

P. 56, 1. 29. Assizes. — Sessions of court in English 
countries for trying civil or criminal cases. 

P. 57, 1. 1. Event. — Result, issue. 

P. 57, 1. 9. With a murrain to her. — Plague take her! 

P. 58, 1. 15. Rallied me. — Dealt jestingly with; bantered. 

P. 59, 1. 13. Discovered.— See p. 37, 1. 8. 

P. 60, 1. 8. Sphinx. — Fabulous monster, having a 
woman's head and a lion's body, who destroj-'ed those 
unable to answer her riddle. Oedipus answered her riddle 
and so conquered her and saved his countrymen. 



For the 'riddle' and other details, see Classical Dic- 
tionary. 'Posing is short lor 'opposing', that is, answering 
her. The more exact meaning of the word, however, is 
to silence by asking a puzzling question, such as the 
Sphinx, rather than her opponent, was accustomed to 

P. 60, 1. 9. And that there v^ere, etc. — And if there 
were any such thing as talking to her. 

P. 60, 1. 16. Tucker*. — A narrow piece of lace or muslin 
folded across the neck or bosom above the dress. 

P. 60, 1. 22. Tansy. — A seventeenth and eighteenth 
century dish made of eggs, sugar, rose water, cream, and 
butter, and flavored with tansy. 

P. 61, 11. (^-S That of Martial, etc.— That epigram of 
Martial, Latin poet of about 100 A. D., Bk. I, 69. Dum 
tacet, hanc loquitur: Even when silent he is speaking of 

P. 62, 1. 1. Motto: Horace, Epistles, I, XVIII, 24.— The 
shame of poverty and the dread of it. 

P. 62, 1. 22. Dipped. — Mortgaged. Eating out with 
usury. — Wasting away from payment of interest. 

P. 62, 1. 24. His proud stomach. — His proud nature or 

P. 63, 1. 20. Personate. — To keep up appearances, to 
act the part of unembarrassed ownership. 

P. 64, 1. 1. Laertes has fifteen hundred pounds — Laertes 
and Irus are classical names used for imaginary land- 
owners. In Greek legend Laertes was the father of 
Ulysses (Homer's Odyssey) and Irus was a beggar. 
Laertes has to pay one-fifth of his income of fifteen 
hundred pounds as interest on his mortgage of six thou- 
sand, or three hundred pounds a year. 

P. 65, 11. 1, 3. Stockjobbing. — Speculating in stocks. 
Riot. — Reckless living. 

P. 65, 11. 13-17 ff. Mr. Cowley, etc.— Abraham Cowley 

NOTES. 191 

(1618-1667), widely read and oft-quoted English poet in 
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. He is known 
to-day mainly through his prose essays. 

The 'elegant author' who published his works is Thomas 
Sprat, Bishop of Rochester. Sprat edited Cowley's poems 
and wrote a biography of him in 1680. 

'Great Vulgar' (line 22) is a reference to Cowley's 
paraphrase of Horace's famous ode (Bk. Ill, I), Odi Pro- 
fanum Vulgus : 

"Hence, ye profane, I hate ye all, 
Both the great vulgar and the small." 

The last sentence in this paragraph is an example of 
Steele's careless English. 

P. 65, 1. 29. Point to himself.— That is, appoint for 
himself, or point out (designate) for himself. 

P. 66, 11. 10, 11. Mechanic being. — Machine-like way of 

P. 66, 1. 24. If e'er ambition, etc. — Verses taken from 
Cowley's essay on Greatness. 

P. 67, 1. 1. Motto: Juvenal, Satires, X, 356.— That a 
sound mind may be in a sound body. 

P. 68, 1. 6. Humours.— Fluids. According to ancient 
physicians there were four cardinal or principal liu^nours 
or fluids in the body, the blood, choler, bile, phlegm. 
Health, physical and mental, depended upon a proper 
combination of these humours in the individual. This old 
notion influenced popular speech long after It was scientifi- 
cally rejected. 

P. 68, I. 14. Those spirits.— What we call 'animal 

P. 68, 11. 18, 19. Spleen. — Supposed seat of melancholy, 
or ill-humour. Vapours. — Depression of spirits, the blues. 

192 NOTES. 

P. 70, 1. 25. Doctor Sydenham. — ^Dr. Thomas Sydenham 
(1624-1689), a famous English physician. 

P. 70, 1. 29. Medicina Gymnastica. — A book on the 
Power of Exercise by Francis Fuller, published in 1704. 

P. 71, 1. 10. Latin treatise of exercise. — Artis Gymnas- 
ticae apud Antiquos, by Hieronymus Mercurialis, Venice, 

P. 72. This paper (No. 116) was written by Eustace 
Budgell, a kinsman of Addison as well as a literary and 
political associate of his. He was clerk to Addison during 
the latter's Secretaryship in Ireland. After holding several 
important positions, Budgell gave himself wholly to 
literature, contributing from time to time a paper to the 
Tatler and the Spectator. Despondent at the loss of 
large sums of money through speculation, accused of 
forgery, and pursued by enemies, this gifted man drowned 
himself in the Thames in 1736. 

P. 72, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Virgil, Georgics, III, 43.— 
Cithaeron calls with noisy clamour, and the dogs of 
Tygetus loudly bay. (Cithaeron and Tygetus are moun- 
tains in Greece). 

P. 72, 1. 10. Bastiie. — The famous old prison in Paris 
which was destroyed in 1789, at the beginning of the 
French Revolution. 

P. 73, 11. 16, 17. Stone-horse that unhappily staked 
itself. — Stallion that impaled itself in trying to jump the 

P. 73, 11. 20, 21. Beagle.— A small hound. Stop- 
hounds. — Those trained to stop promptly at the hunts- 
man's signal. 

P. 73, 1. 25. Consort. — Harmony of sounds; concert. 

P. 74, 11. 6, 7. My hounds are bred, etc. — Midsummer 
Night's Dream, IV, I, line 124 ff. Flew'd. — Deepmouthed 
with long chaps or upper lips. Sanded. — Of a sandy color. 

NOTES. 193 

P. 74, 1. 9. Dew-lapped. — ^With skin hanging down 
beneath the throat. 

P. 74, 1. 15. See p. 26, 1. 5. 

P. 77, 1. 10. Pascal. — French philosopher and mathe- 
matician of the seventeenth century. As the following 
lines in the text indicate, Pascal's life was spent in phy- 
sical pain. 

P. 78, II. 15-24. These lines are from Dryden's Epistle 
to his Kinsman, J. Dryden, Esq., of Chesterton. John 
Dryden (1631-1700) was the chief English poet of the 
seventeenth century after Milton's death. He was, 
besides, a great critic and a prolific dramatist. 

P. 79, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Eclogues, VIII, 108.— They 
shaped for themselves visions. 

P. 79, 1. 3. Neuter.— Neutral. 

P. 79, 11. 11, 12 ff. Relations that are made.— Stories 
about witches. The belief in witches still existed in the 
eighteenth century among the masses of the people; 
indeed, it was not confined to the uneducated, for Dr. 
Samuel Johnson was not even as skeptical on the subject 
as Addison. In 1716 a Mrs. Hicks and her little daughter 
were executed at Huntingdon as witches, while the law 
making witchcraft a capital crime was not repealed until 

P. 80, 1. 16. Otway.— Thomas Otway (1651-1685), 
writer of tragedies. His Venice Preserved and The Orphan 
are among the few really strong poetic plays of the 
Restoration period. The lines quoted in the text are from 
The Orphan, II, 1. 

P. 80, 1. 26. Weeds.— Garments. 

P. 81, 1. 5. Carried her several hundred miles. — Allu- 
sion to the superstition that witches rode on broom- 
sticks. Witches were supposed to be tortured inwardly 
with pins (lines 10-12). 

P. 82, 1. 21. Trying experiments with her. — If the 

194 NOTES. 

accused floated she was held to be bewitched; if she 
sank, she was innocent. 

P. 82, 1. 26. Bound her over to appear, etc. — That is, 
would have cited her to appear for trial before the county 

P. 83, 1. 2. Dote. — To grow weak-minded from age. 

P. 84, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Aeneid, IV, 72.— The fatal 
arrow sticks in his side. 

P. 85, 1. 22. Pleasant. — Amusing. 

P. 86, 1. 21. Personated. — Assumed. 

P. 88, 1. 14. This woman. — The widow, of course. 

P. 89, 1. 6. To see them work. — Comes into the garden 
to see the bees work in the glass hive, having left her 

Steele frequently uses a personal pronoun with an 
antecedent merely implied, not expressed. 

P. 90, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Virgil, Eclogues, I, 20.— The city 
they call Rome, Melibaeus, I foolishly thought like our 
small town. 

P. 90, 1. 12. Several.— Various. 

P. 90, 1. 19. Complaisance. — Courtesy. 

P. 90, 1. 20. Conversation. — Social intercourse. 

P. 91, 1. 3. Carriage. — Manner. 

P. 91, 1. 16. Conversed in the world. — That is, never 
associated with the "modish" or fashionable world. 'Them' 
in line 13 refers to the fashions; the subject of 'are' 
(in the same line) is, of course, 'town' thought of indi- 

P. 91, 1. 20. To do.— A-do; fuss. 

P. 93, 11. 20, 21. The Revolution ... red coats and 
laced hats. — The Revolution of 1688 when James II was 
dethroned and William of Orange made king. The red 
coats and laced hats (i. e., edged with gold lace) came 
into fashion about this time, but were not fashionable in 
1711 when Addison was writing. Addison gives an exceed- 

NOTES. 195 

ingly interesting account of women's head-dress in Spec- 
tator 98. 

P. 93, 1. 24. Upon the western circuit.— That is, of the 
eight judicial divisions of England and Wales. 

P. 94, 1. 1. Motto: Publius Syrus, Frag^nents. — An agree- 
able companion on the road is as good as a coach. 

P. 94, 1. 21. Assizes. — Periodical sessions of court held 
in an English county by at least one judge from the 
superior courts. 

P. 95, 1. 2. Yeoman. — A freeholder, in order of rank 
just below the gentry. 

P. 95, 1. 3. Just within the Game Act.— That is, 
possessed of an income of forty pounds or more; for 
according to a law passed in the reign of James I, no 
person with a smaller income was allowed to shoot game. 

P. 95, 1. 19. Till. — We should now use 'that' in correla- 
tion with 'so' in the preceding line. 

P. 95, 1. 22. Cast and been cast. — That is, has won and 

P. 98, 1. 7. Aggravation. — That is, by adding to the 
features; distortion of the features. 

P. 98, 1. 8. Saracen's Head. — After the Crusades a 
Saracen's, or Turk's head was frequently painted on sign- 
boards. Hotels in English towns and villages are often 
designated by some painted figure hanging over the door; 
as, for example, the Red Horse Inn at Stratford. This 
custom arose from the need of distinguishing buildings 
by some sign easily intelligible to illiterate people. See 
Spectator No. 28. 

P. 98, 11. 26, 27. "Much might be said on both sides".— 
Sir Roger's' famous decision has become a proverb. 

P. 99, 11. 1-4. Motto: Horace, Odes IV, 33. — Learning 
helps native talent and right training makes strong the 
heart; but when character is wanting, natural endow- 
ments are brought to shame. 

196 NOTES. 

P. 100, 1. 15. Novel. — The word is not used here in the 
modern sense, but means a short story or tale. The 
modern novel, with long complicated plot reflecting con- 
temporary life, began with Richardson's Pamela about 
1740. Before this, translations of Italian novelle, or 
romantic tales, were common in England. There had, 
of course, been long stories of adventure like Defoe's, 
but none in which character was realistically treated. 
The character-sketches in the Spectator and Tatler con- 
tributed to the making of the novel. 

P. 101, 1. 3. Gazette. — Official newspaper of the British 
government in which are announced appointments, court 
events, etc. 

P. 101, 1. 12. According to Mr. Cowley. — In Cowley's 
Essay on the Danger of Procrastination occurs this 
sentence: "There is no fooling with life when it is once 
turned beyond forty". 

See note to p. 65, 1. 13. 

P. 103, 1. 10. Inns of Court.— See note p. 21, 1. 19. 

P. 106, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Virgil, Aeneid, VI, 832.— Do not, 
my sons, accustom yourselves to such great strife nor 
direct your strength against your country's breast. 

P. 106, 1. 4. Malice of parties. — During the first years 
of the eighteenth century party feeling ran high. Whig 
and Tory hurled epithets at each other in public and in 
private. Most writers of the day show their partisanship, 
but Addison wisely kept the Spectator out of politics, 
although his Whig preferences are now and then apparent. 

P. 106, 1. 7. Roundheads and Cavaliers. — The Round- 
heads were the followers of Cromwell during the Civil 
War which resulted in the beheading of Charles I and the 
establishment of a Protectorate; the Cavaliers were 
Royalists. The Roundheads were so called because they 
wore short hair, while the Cavaliers had flowing locks. 

P. 107, 1. 4. Prejudice of the land-tax. — That is, bring 

NOTES. 197 

about an increase of taxes to pay war-debts. The Whigs 
supported the War of the Spanish Succession in Queen 
Anne's reign, and the landed class, or Tories (to which 
Sir Roger belonged) opposed it. 

P. 107, 1. 27. Plutarch. — The Greek writer of the first 
century A. D., whose Lives, or biographies of famous 
Greeks and Romans, every young person ought to read. 
The quotation in the text is, in substance, from his 
treatise On the Usefulness of Enemies. 

P. 108, 1. 7. That great rule.— The Golden Rule: Luke 
VI, 31. 

P. 109, 1. 10. Scheme. — Statement or setting forth of 
partisan principles. 

P. 109, 1. 29. Guelphs and Ghibellines. — Great political 
parties in Italy from the twelfth to the fifteenth century 
which were constantly struggling for the supremacy. The 
Guelphs were the partisans of the Pope, and the Ghibel- 
lines the supporters of the Emperor. 

P. 110, 1. 1. The League. — The great Catholic League 
of the sixteenth century under the leadership of the 
Duke of Guise, the purpose of which was to insure a 
Catholic successor to Henry III of France. 

P. 112, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Aeneid, X, 108.— Whether 
he be Trojan or Rutulian, he shall receive no difference 
of treatment from me. 

P. 118, 1. 22. Diodorus Siculus. — A Greek historian, 
bom in Sicily, who lived in the times of Julius Csesar and 
Augustus. Of his voluminous History of the World only 
fragments remain. 

P. 114, 1. 27. Cock-match.— A cock-fight. Cock-fighting 
was a favorite amusement of country gentlemen. 

P. 115, 1. 13. Bait. — Stop for a meal or for refresh- 

P. 116, 1. 23. Fanatic. — Equivalent here to Puritan. 

P. 118, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Virgil, Aeneid, VII, 748,— They 

198 NOTES. 

always delight to collect fresh booty and to live by plun- 

P. 118, 1. 24. Crosses their hands. — That is, makes the 
sign of the cross in the gypsy's hand with the coin as 
she gives it, possibly against evil influence. 

P. 119, 1. 19. Cassandra. — Daughter of King Priam of 
Troy. Apollo had endowed her with the gift of prophecy, 
but afterwards becoming angry with her, he decreed that 
she should never be believed. Hence, though a true 
prophetess, she was regarded as a false one. 

P. 119, 1. 20. Lines. — According to believers in palm- 
istry, certain significant lines in the palm of the hand. 
So in line 29, page 119, the gypsy discovers a widow's face 
outlined in Sir Roger's hand. 

P. 119, 1. 30. Idle baggage. — Saucy, worthless person. 

P. 123, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Eclogues, X, 63. — Once more, 
ye woods, adieu. 

P. 124, 1. 7. Cities of London and Westminster. — In 
Addison's time London and Westminster were far less 
compactly built together than now, being popularly 
thought of as separate, though adjoining cities. 

P. 124, 1. 24. Cunning man. — A fortune-teller; clair- 
voyant; wonderworker. • 

P. 124, 1. 27. White Witch.— That is, a good witch, as 
opposed to black and gray witches who worked evil 

P. 124, 1. 31. Jesuit. — Jesuits, or members of the 
Catholic Society of Jesus, were regarded with suspicion 
by the Whigs as being secretly allied with the Tories 
for the purpose of restoring the Stuarts to the throne. 
The justice of the peace mentioned, "not of Sir Roger's 
party," was of course a Whig. 

P. 125, 11. 7, 9. Discarded Whig . . . out of place.— 
That is, a Whig not in favor with his own party, but 'out 
of place' among such Tories as Sir Roger and the country 

NOTES. 199 

gentry. Addison lost his Irish secretaryship in 1710 
through the fall of the Whig ministry, and it is possible 
that the word 'discarded' may be a personal allusion, for 
Addison was 'out of political place'. 

P. 126, 1. 14. Smelling to a lock of hay. — Smelling of, 
or at, a handful of hay. *To' was often used provincially 
or colloquially for 'at', 'on', etc. 

P. 126, 1. 21. Cock and bull. — Cock and bull stories are 
wildly improbable tales. 

P. 126, 1. 28. Commonwealth's men. — ^Whigs or Republi- 
cans, supposed to entertain principles somewhat similar 
to those of the supporters of the Commonwealth in Crom- 
well's time. 

P. 127, 11. 1-3. Motto: Cicero, Be Oratore, II, 4. — That 
man who does not see what the occasion demands, or 
who talks too much or makes a display of himself, or 
who regards not the person he is with, is said to be 

P. 127, 1. 11. Chamberlain. — The head servant of an 

P. 127, 1. 12. Mrs. Betty Arable. — ^We should now say 
Miss Betty Arable, 'Mrs.' (Mistress) was at one time 
applied both to married and unmarried women, while 
'Miss' was applied to girls, or used in a depreciatory 
sense. Cf. 'Miss Jenny,' p. 155. 

P. 127, 1, 16. Ephraim the Quaker. — Ephraim was a 
name often given to Quakers, in allusion, no doubt, to 
the man mentioned in Psalm LXXVIII, 9, whose children 
refused to fight. 

P. 128, 1. 6. Equipage. — Humorous reference to the 
captain's single attendant as if he were an entire retinue. 

P. 128, 1. 8. In the seat.— That is, directly under the 

P. 130, 1. 4. Hasped up. — That is, fastened, or shut up. 

P. 130, 1. 24. Right we had of taking place.— The roads 

200 NOTES. 

at that time were often so narrow as to make it difficult, 
tor two coaches to pass unless one of them stopped. The 
coach bound for London had the right of way. 

P. 132, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Eclogues, VII, 69.— These 
things I remember, and how that Thyrsis was vanquished 
in argument. 

P. 132, 1. 6. Roman fable.— The fable of the Belly and 
the Members. See Livy, Book II, chapter 32; and 
Shakespeare's Coriolanus, I, sc. 1. 

P. 132, 1. 19. Carthagenian faith, — Punica fides meant 
to the Romans supreme treachery. 

P. 133, 1. 29. Competition for quarters, etc. — That is, 
the soldiers, cavalry and infantry, compete for quarters, 
while the drivers of carts and coaches contend about 
the right of way in narrow streets. 

P. 135, 1. 11. Impertinently sanguine. — Unreasonably 
confident or hopeful. 

P. 136, 1. 7. Assurance out and home. — Insurance on ship 
and cargo to and from Turkey. Customs to the Queen. — 
Tariff or duty. 

P. 136, 1. 12. Throws down . . . and tramples upon 
no man's corn. — Before the reign of George III, country 
gentlemen had the right to ride through wheat fields in 
hunting and to throw down fences which stood in their 
way. Grain ready for harvesting was often ruined by 
the heedless sportsman. 

P. 136, 1. 22. Rents.— Incomes. 

P. 137, 1. 12. Smoky. — Suspicious, quizzical. To 'smoke' 
a person was to quiz, banter, or make sport of him. 

P. 137, 1. 13. Sullied by a trade.— See note to p. 43, 
11, 14, 15. 

P, 138, 11. 1, 2. Motto; Ovid, Ar$ Amoris, I, 241. — Sim- 
plicity most rare in our age, 
P, 13S, I. 13, Gray's Inn Walks— The grounds about 

NOTES. 201 

Gray's Inn, one of the four societies of lawyers in 

P. 138, 1. 16. Prince Eugene. — Prince Eugene of Savoy, 
the Austrian general who was associated with the Duke 
of Marlborough in the War of the Spanish Succession. 
Prince Eugene visited London in 1711 to urge the restora- 
tion to favor of his friend the Duke of Marlborough, but 
without avail. He was enthusiastically received in Lon- 

P. 138, 1. 24. Scanderbeg. — The correct form is 
Iskander (Alexander) Bey, a famous Albanian chief who 
lived in the fifteenth century. He fought against the 
Turks for Albania and for Christianity. George Castriot 
was his real name. 

P. 139, 1. 20. Doctor Barrow. — ^Isaac Barrow, a noted 
preacher of the day. 

P. 139, 1. 23. Thirty marks. — The value of a mark was 
thirteen shillings and four pence The 'mark' in England 
was simply a measure of value, not a coin. 

P. 139, 1. 27. Tobacco-stopper. — A small wooden plug 
for pressing down the tobacco in a pipe. 

P. 140, 1. 20. Hogs-puddings. — Sausages. 

P. 141, 1. 11. Late Act of Parliament. — An act passed 
in 1710 called the 'Act to Repress Occasional Conformity', 
really an amendment to the Test Act of 1673. By the Test 
Act all office-holders were required to take the sacrament 
at specified times as administered in the Established 
Church. This was intended to exclude from office 
Catholics and Dissenters; but, as a matter of fact, Dis- 
senters, in order to get or retain office, occasionally took 
communion in the Church of England. The new act was 
intended to repress this 'occasional conformity', and thus 
to strengthen politically the Established Church. 

P. 141, 1. 17. Plum-porridge. — The Dissenters, like the 
Puritans, were supposed to be opposed to plum puMlng 

202 NOTES. 

and other special Christmas dishes, and, indeed to Christ- 
mas festivities in general, as suggesting 'popery'. 

P. 141, 1. 27. Pope's Procession. — A procession of Pro- 
testants through London on November 17th, the anni- 
versary of Queen Elizabeth's accession, in which was 
borne an effigy of the Pope. This was carried to a bon- 
fire and burned, as an expression of anti-Catholic senti- 
ment. The procession in 1711, arranged by Whigs, was so 
offensive that the government suppressed it. 

P. 142, 1. 9. Baker's Chronicle. — Chronicle of the Kings 
of England from the time of the Romans' Government 
unto the Death of King James, by Sir Richard Baker, 

P. 142, 1. 23. The Supplement. — A periodical of the day, 
probably issued later than other papers. 

P. 143, 1. 1. Motto: Horace, Epistles, I, VI, 27.— Still, 
we must go where Numa and Ancus have gone before. 

P. 143, 1. 3. My paper upon Westminster Abbey. — No. 
26 of the Spectator, published March 30, 1711. This is 
one of the most admired of the Spectator papers. 

P. 143, 1. 19. Widow Trueby's Water. — One of the 
numerous compounds or nostrums of the day, usually 
called 'strong waters', of which alcoholic spirits formed 
a liberal part, and corresponding to some of our patent 
medicines. For an interesting collection of notices on the 
virtues of these 'strong waters', see The Advertisements 
of the Spectator, by Lawrence Lewis, pp. 276-288. 

P. 144, 1. 11. Sickness being at Dantzic. — The great 
plague at Dantzig, Germany, in 1709, which reduced the 
population nearly half. 

P. 144, 1. 22. Jointure. — "An estate or property settled 

on a woman in consideration of marriage, and to be enjoyed 

by her after her husband's decease." — Century Dictionary. 

P. 144, 1. 25. Engaged. — Not, of course, in the usual 

sense, but as having his affections 'engaged'. 

NOTES. 203 

P. 145, 1. 15. Sir Cloudsley Shovel. — A noted English 
admiral who was drowned off the Scilly Isles in 1707, when 
four of his ships went down. The monument in the Abbey- 
is justly criticised by Addison (Spectator, 26) as being in 
bad taste. 

P. 145, 1. 18. Busby's tomb. — Dr. Richard Busby, head- 
master of Westminster School from 1640 to 1695, was a 
famous teacher and a forceful wielder of the rod. 

P. 145, 1. 23. Little chapel on the right hand.— The chapel 
of St. Edmund. 

P. 145, 1. 29. Cecil upon his knees. — William Cecil, Lord 
Burleigh, Secretary of State to Queen Elizabeth, kneeling 
at the tomb of his wife and daughter. 

P. 146, 1. 2. Prick of a needle. — The figure of Elizabeth 
Russell used to be pointed out as that of the lady who 
died from the pricking of a needle. Doubtless the guide 
glibly repeated this piece of fiction to Sir Roger and Addi- 
son, i 

P. 146, 11. 9, 10. Coronation chairs. — These two chairs 
are in the Chapel of Edward the Confessor. One, in which 
every English sovereign from Edward the Confessor (1042- 
1066) has been crowned, has under the seat the famous 
'Stone of Scone'. This stone upon which the ancient 
Scottish kings sat when crowned, was brought from Scot- 
land (Scone Abbey) by Edward I, in 1296. According to 
the legend, it was the rock on which Jacob pillowed his 
head at Bethel. The other chair was made in 1689 for 
Queen Mary, joint sovereign with William III. 

P. 146, 1. 19. Trepanned. — Caught, snared. The more 
correct spelling is 'trapanned'. The guide demanded a 
forfeit of Sir Roger for sitting down in the chair. 

P. 147, 1. 2. Touched for the evil. — Scrofula was called 
'king's evil' because it was thought curable at the touch 
of a truly annointed king. Queen Anne was the last 

204 NOTES. 

English sovereign who touched for the scrofula. See 
Macbeth, IV, 3. 

P. 147, 1. 8. Without a head.— That is, Henry V, the sil- 
ver head of whose effigy was stolen in the reign of Henry 

P. 148, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Horace, Ars Poetica, V. 327.— I 
will bid the learned imitator look at life and manners, and 
from them shape his words true to life, 

P. 148, 11. 7, 8. The Committee. — A comedy satirizing 
the Puritans, by Sir Robert Howard, brother-in-law of the 
poet Dryden. 

P. 148, 1. 11. Distressed Mother. — This is the 'new 
tragedy' mentioned in line 5, page 148, a play by Ambrose 
Phillips in 1712, translated and adapted from the 
Andromaque of Racine, the great French dramatist. 

P. 148, 1. 17. Mohocks. — A gang of rioters who roamed 
the London streets at night assaulting persons and 
destroying property. The name is taken from the 
Mohawks, the tribe of American Indians. Various refer- 
ences are made to these lawless street-bands in the 
Spectator and in other literature of the Queen Anne 
period. The London streets were poorly lighted and 
policed. An interesting account of street conditions may 
be found in Ashton's Social Life in the Time of Queen 
Anne, Chapter 36. 

P. 149, 1. 23. Battle of Steenkirk.— Battle between Wil- 
liam III and the French, August 3, 1692, in which the 
English were defeated. Steenkirk (Steenkerque) is in 

P. 149, 1. 21. Plants.— Sticks. 

P. 150, 1. 12. Pyrrhus. — Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, wooed 
Andromache, widow of Hector and mother of the boy 
Astyanax. Andromache reluctantly consents to marry 
Pyrrhus because he promises to make Astyanax king. 
Finally Astyanax is proclaimed king; Hermione, betrothed 

NOTES. 205 

to Pyrrhus, stirs up the Greeks against Pyrrhus, because 
of her jealousy. Orestes, devoted to Hermione, kills 
Pyrrhus, after which Hermione slays herself. Orestes him- 
self goes mad. This is the version of the story in Racine's 


P. 150, 1. 28. Pyrrhus his. — After a noun ending in s, 
particularly a proper noun, 'his' was often used to indicate 
the possessive instead of the regular genitive ending of 
the noun itself. This use of 'his' was more common in the 
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Ben Jonson called 
one of his plays Sejanus His Fall, i. e., Sejanus's Pall. The 
's is properly a contraction of the older genitive es, 
and not of 'his' as once explained. (See Addison, Spec- 
tator, 135). 

P. 151, 1. 13. Now to see Hector's ghost.— The tomb of 
Hector was to be visited by Andromache in the fourth 


P. 152, 1. 5. Old fellow in whiskers.— Phoenix, friend and 

adviser of Pyrrhus. 

P. 152, 1. 9. Smoke. — Ridicule; chaff. 

P. 153, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Virgil, Eclogues, II, 63.— The 
savage lioness follows the wolf, the wolf the kid; the frisky 
kid seeks the flowering clover. 

P. 153, 1. 24. Republican. — See note to p. 126, 1. 28. 

P. 154, 1. 23. Old put.— Old clown; rustic. 

P. 155, 1. 1. Lyon's Inn. — One of the smaller societies 
of lawyers in London. 

P. 156, 1. 9. Book I had considered last Saturday. — That 
Is, Paradise Lost. Each Saturday between January 5 and 
May 3, 1712, Addison wrote a critical essay on Milton's 
Paradise Lost. The paper referred to here is No. 357 of 
the Spectator, April 19, 1712. 

P. 156, 1. 12. Following lines. — Paradise Lost, X, 888-908. 

P. 158, 1. 1. Motto: Juvenal, Satire I, 75.— To vice they 
owe their gardens. 

2o6 NOTES. 

P. 158, 1. 4. Bounces. — Bangs; blows. 

P. 158, 1. 11. Spring Garden. — A pleasure resort near 
Lambeth on the south or Surrey side of the Thames, better 
known as Foxhall or Vauxhall, and famous throughout the 
eighteenth century. Vauxhall is frequently mentioned in 
the literature of the eighteenth and early nineteenth cen- 
tury as the favorite place of public amusement in London. 
The gardens were closed in 1859. 

P. 158, 1. 21. Temple stairs. — A boat-landing on the 
Thames at Temple Gardens. 

P. 159, 1. 17. La Hogue. — On the northwest coast of 
France, where, in 1692, the combined English and Dutch 
fleets defeated the French. Browning's Herve Riel Is a 
spirited account of this famous sea-fight. 

P. 160. 1. 2. Temple Bar. — A gateway in London for- 
merly dividing 'the city' (the old walled part of London) 
from Westminster, Fleet Street being on the east side of 
Temple Bar and the Strand on the west. It was torn 
down in 1878. 

P. 160, 1. 4. Fifty new churches. — By vote of the House 
of Commons in 1711 fifty new churches were to be built 
in London and Westminster, most of them, of course, in 
the growing suburbs. By 'this side of the Temple Bar' 
Sir Roger means the Westminster side. 

P. 160, 11 14. Knight of the shire.— See note to p. 44, 
1. 1. 

P. 160, 1. 5. Mahometan Paradise. — Paradise, as 
described in the Koran, abounds in objects pleasing to the 
senses, including the 'houris', or 'black-eyed' maidens. 

P. 161, 1. 15. A mask. — That is, a woman wearing a 

P. 161, 1. 23. Hung beef.— Dried beef. Burton ale was 
from Burton- on -Trent in East Staffordshire. 

P. 162, 1. 1. Member of the quorum. — Justice of the 

NOTES. 207 

P. 163, 1. 1. Motto: Virgil, Aeneid, VII, 879.— Alas for 
piety! Alas for old-time faith! 

P. 163, 1. 6. Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. — Eustace 
Budgell, in the first number of The Bee, February 1733, 
made this statement: "Mr. Addison was so fond of this 
character (Sir Roger de Coverley) that a little while 
before he laid down the Spectator (foreseeing that some 
nimble gentleman would catch up his pen the moment 
he quitted it) , he said to an intimate friend, with a certain 
warmth in his expression which he was not often guilty 
of, 'I'll kill Sir Roger that nobody else may murder him.' " 
Addison was preparing to bring the Spectator to a close, 
and so he begins in this paper (No. 517) the gradual 
removal of the characters. 

P. 166, 1. 26. Act of Uniformity.— Passed in 1662, the 
chief provision being that all clergymen should give full 
assent to everything in the Book of Common Prayer and 
use it twice a day. It caused the dividing line between 
the Dissenters and the Established Church to be clearly 
drawn. All Tories heartily approved the Act of Uniform- 

P. 167. Rings and mourning. — Rings, gloves, hatbands, 
etc., were often bequeathed to friends to be worn at the 

P. 168, 11. 1-3. Motto: Horace, Odes, I. XXXIII, 10.— 
Thus it seemed good to Venus, who delights to send, in 
grim jest, under the brazen yoke those unequal in mind 
and fortune. 

P. 168, 1. 11. Congreve's Old Bachelor.— Comedy of Wil- 
liam Congreve (1670-1729), first produced in 1693. 

P. 168, 1. 20. A couple of letters.— Found in Nos. 499 
and 511. 

P. 169, 1. 28. Sea-coal. — Coal was first brought to 
London from Newcastle by sea; hence it was for a long 
time called 'sea-coal'. The names *pit-coal' and 'earth- 

2o8 NOTES. 

coal' were also used to distinguish the new coal from 
'charcoal', the older fuel. 

P. 170, 1. 4. Homme de ruelle. — Society man; ladies' 
man. 'Ruelle' was the narrow passage by the couch on 
which the society queen reclined while receiving her 
adorers. The word then came to mean any fashionable 
reception. 'Fop's Alley' was the colloquial rendering of 
'ruelle' (a little street) in London society, 

P. 172, 11. 1, 2. Motto: Juvenal, Satire III, 1.— Though 
grieved at the departure of my old friend, I nevertheless 
commend his purpose of retiring. 

P. 175, 11. 27, 28. Finis coronat opus. — "The end crowns 
the work", i. e., shows whether the task was worth while. 
A common Latin proverb. 

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