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Transcriber's Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.

Variations in spelling, punctuation and accents are as in the original.

Each page in the main body of the book has every 5th line numbered. The
notes section refers back to the main body by page and line number. In
order to preserve this association, the line numbers have been enclosed
in brackets and left in position. The first numbered line on each page
(5) is preceded by the page number i.e. (75: 5). These pages have not
been re-wrapped.

Italics are represented thus, _italic_ and bold thus, =bold=.

       *       *       *       *       *

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    _GATEWAY SERIES_


    THE

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PREFACE BY THE GENERAL EDITOR


This series of books aims, first, to give the English texts required
for entrance to college in a form which shall make them clear,
interesting, and helpful to those who are beginning the study of
literature; and, second, to supply the knowledge which the student
needs to pass the entrance examination. For these two reasons it is
called _The Gateway Series_.

The poems, plays, essays, and stories in these small volumes are
treated, first of all, as works of literature, which were written to be
read and enjoyed, not to be parsed and scanned and pulled to pieces. A
short life of the author is given, and a portrait, in order to help the
student to know the real person who wrote the book. The introduction
tells what it is about, and how it was written, and where the author
got the idea, and what it means. The notes at the foot of the page are
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  HENRY VAN DYKE.




PREFACE


The text of the _Coverley_ papers in this volume is that of G. Gregory
Smith's edition of _The Spectator_. This edition has been chosen
because it reproduces the original form of the papers after they had
been corrected by Steele and Addison for the first Collected Edition
of _The Spectator_, 1712-1715, and before they had been tampered with
by later editors. In three or four instances, a few words have been
omitted--the omission in every case being indicated, and spelling,
punctuation, and capitalization have been modernized, as they must be
for a school text. In other particulars it is believed the papers stand
in this volume as they were left by their authors.

All the _Coverley_ papers are included except that one by Tickell of
which Addison himself disapproved. I have thought it best, however,
to print only entire papers; and have not, therefore, culled the few
paragraphs in which incidental mention is made of Sir Roger in the
course of essays devoted chiefly to other subjects.

In accordance with the plan of this Series, the occasional brief notes
needed to explain a word or to call attention to some peculiar idiom
or structure are set at the foot of the page; longer, illustrative
notes follow the text at the end of the volume.

The best method of approach to the work of any author is usually
through a study of his life and surroundings; this is certainly true
of a literature so full of personal interest as the literature of the
age of Queen Anne. I have, therefore, in the Introduction attempted to
give some notion of the personality of Steele and Addison, and then
some account of the social conditions that explain the remarkable
success of _The Tatler_ and _The Spectator_. Two or three books, like
Thackeray's _English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century_ and Ashton's
_Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, will help the student in his
endeavour to frame in his imagination a picture of the men and their
time; but for comment on _The Spectator_, nothing, after all, is worth
so much as _The Spectator_ itself. The student should be encouraged to
read more of these charming papers, and to make himself, if possible,
a little at home in that most urbane and hospitable period of English
literature.




CONTENTS


                                                    PAGE

  INTRODUCTION:

  I. Steele and Addison                                11

  II. The Tatler and The Spectator                     22

  III. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers                29

  BIBLIOGRAPHY                                         33

  CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE                                  38

  THE SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY PAPERS:

  I. The Spectator                                     45

  II. The Club                                         51

  III. Sir Roger's Criticisms on Polite Society        59

  IV. The Club and The Spectator                       64

  V. A Lady's Library                                  69

  VI. Coverley Hall                                    75

  VII. The Coverley Household                          80

  VIII. Will Wimble                                    85

  IX. The Coverley Ancestry                            89

  X. The Coverley Ghost                                95

  XI. Sunday with Sir Roger                           100

  XII. Sir Roger in Love                              104

  XIII. How to Bear Poverty                           111

  XIV. Labour and Exercise                            116

  XV. Sir Roger goes A-Hunting                        121

  XVI. The Coverley Witch                             129

  XVII. Sir Roger talks of the Widow                  133

  XVIII. Manners in the Country                       139

  XIX. Sir Roger at the Assizes                       143

  XX. The Education of an Heir                        148

  XXI. Whigs and Tories                               155

  XXII. Whigs and Tories--_continued_                 160

  XXIII. Sir Roger and the Gipsies                    165

  XXIV. The Spectator decides to Return to London     170

  XXV. The Journey to London                          174

  XXVI. Sir Roger and Sir Andrew in Argument          179

  XXVII. Sir Roger in London                          185

  XXVIII. Sir Roger in Westminster Abbey              190

  XXIX. Sir Roger at the Play                         195

  XXX. Will Honeycomb's Experiences                   200

  XXXI. Sir Roger at Vauxhall                         205

  XXXII. Death of Sir Roger                           209

  XXXIII. Captain Sentry as Master of Coverley Hall   213

  NOTES                                               217




INTRODUCTION


I. STEELE AND ADDISON

On the morning of the 12th of April, 1709, there was laid upon all the
coffee-house tables of London the first number of a double-column sheet
in small folio, entitled _The Tatler, or the Lucubrations of Isaac
Bickerstaff_. _The Tatler_ was to be issued thrice a week, on Tuesdays,
Thursdays, and Saturdays, and could be bought for the moderate price
of one penny. The pseudonym Isaac Bickerstaff had been made familiar
all over London, some months before, by an admirable jest played by
Dr. Swift upon a notorious almanac maker and quack astrologer, one
Partridge. Swift, writing over the signature of Bickerstaff, had
gravely predicted that Partridge would infallibly die at a certain
day and hour, and in another pamphlet had given a circumstantial
account of his decease; while poor Partridge convulsed the town with
frantic protestations that he was still alive. But the editor of _The
Tatler_ who now assumed this name of Bickerstaff was not Swift, but
Richard Steele. It seems to have been Steele's intention to keep, for
a time, his editorship a secret; but his disguise was soon penetrated
by at least one of his friends. Joseph Addison, who was in Ireland
when _The Tatler_ appeared, detected the hand of his friend in the
sixth number. He furnished Steele, it is said, with many hints and
suggestions for the early numbers of the paper, and after his return
from Ireland in 1710 became himself a regular contributor. In January,
1711, _The Tatler_ came suddenly to an end, with the 271st number.
Steele, however, had no thought of abandoning this form of literary
effort, and on the first of the following March he started that now
more famous journal, _The Spectator_. _The Spectator_ was similar in
form and purpose to _The Tatler_, but it was to be issued daily. It
is usually spoken of as Addison's _Spectator_; but it was no more
Addison's than Steele's. The two men were associated in the conduct
of it from the start, and their contributions were about equal in
number--Addison writing 274 papers, and Steele 236. The second number
of _The Spectator_, written by Steele, contains the account of that
club, of which Sir Roger de Coverley was the most famous member; and
the Coverley papers followed at intervals through the next year and a
half.

The friendship of Steele and Addison was not of recent growth. They
had been boys together in the Charterhouse School, London. Dick Steele
at that time was a fatherless,[1] and almost friendless, lad who had
been recommended to the Charterhouse by a distant relative, the Duke
of Ormond. Addison was the son of the Dean of Lichfield, and came
up to the Charterhouse from a home of culture and learning. The two
young fellows formed here one of those school friendships that last
a lifetime. Addison, though a little the younger, was doubtless a
good deal the wiser of the two; and there may have been in his regard
a touch of that patronizing temper which in later life he sometimes
showed in too superior a fashion. But for Steele the acquaintance was
certainly very fortunate. There are pleasant glimpses of the young
Irish lad invited for a holiday to the home of his friend Addison, the
quiet deanery under the trees at Lichfield. Good Dean Addison, Steele
said many years after, loved him as one of his own sons; and in that
home the fatherless boy saw how domestic love and purity lend a charm
to manners that all the wit and fashion of the town can never give.
In one of the most delightful of the _Tatler_ papers[2] he gives a
portrait of a father, dignified and decorous yet affectionate, which is
evidently drawn from his recollections of the Lichfield household.

 [1] Read the touching account of his father's death. _The Tatler_, No.
 181.

 [2] No. 235.

Addison was entered at Queen's College, Oxford, in 1687, at the early
age of fifteen, and next year obtained a scholarship at Magdalen, where
he continued in residence, as undergraduate, Master, and Fellow, until
1699. Steele, whose scholarship was probably not brilliant, though he
had been in the Charterhouse two years longer than Addison, did not
follow him to Oxford until 1690, when he was matriculated at Christ
Church. He did not remain there, however, long enough to take any
degree. He never had the retiring and scholarly tastes of his friend
Addison, and after three years in the university could resist the
attractions of the great outside world no longer. Looking about for a
career, he not unnaturally decided for the army; and in 1694 he left
Oxford to enlist as a private in the Horse Guards. He soon received a
commission as ensign in the regiment of Lord Cutts, and before 1700 is
mentioned as Captain Steele.

Steele's soldiering, which was nearly all done in London and served
chiefly to make him acquainted with the town, might be passed over
were it not for one thing that came of it. His life in the Guards
was doubtless not so irregular as that of most soldiers; but it was
more irregular than his conscience could approve. In the sincerity
of his heart the young Captain of the Guards bethought himself of
strengthening his moral and religious principles by writing them down
in black and white, judging, as he said, that he might thereby be led
to think about them the more and by his desire of consistency make his
life conform to them the better. The result was the first--if we except
some verses printed at the death of Queen Mary in 1695--of Steele's
ventures in authorship, _The Christian Hero, An Argument to prove that
No Principles save those of Religion are sufficient to make a Great
Man_. _The Christian Hero_ is by no means a piece of priggery, but a
sensible and wise little book. It shows, moreover, on almost every
page, some flavour of Steele's engaging ingenuousness and humour. It is
of historic interest, too, as introducing a new style of writing. For
it may be called the first attempt to enlist the charm of wit and good
breeding in the service of religion; it contains the germs of scores of
essays Steele afterward wrote with that intent.

_The Christian Hero_ did not correct all of Steele's irregularities;
but it did reveal to him where his best ability lay. He said
complacently, later in life, that when he put on his jack-boots and
mounted his horse as a dragoon he wasn't acquainted with his own
parts, and didn't know that he could handle a pen better than a sword;
_The Christian Hero_ taught him that. As soon as the book was through
the press he tried his hand at a comedy, finding it necessary, as he
said, to "enliven his character." He might seem to have been careful,
however, not to overdo this enlivening of his character, for his comedy
was entitled _The Funeral, or Grief à la Mode_. But in spite of its
lugubrious title, it contained some genuinely humorous scenes, and by
grace of very good acting and the applause of Steele's fellow soldiers
of the Guards--who packed the house--it scored a satisfactory stage
success. Two other comedies followed this in the next three years,
_The Lying Lover_ in 1703, and _The Tender Husband_ in 1705. By this
time Steele's reputation as a wit was assured. Always what Doctor
Johnson used to call "a clubbable man," his easy gayety and rather too
convivial habits made him a typical man about town; and Captain Steele
began to be spoken of as a man who talked charmingly, and who could
write as well as he talked.

In 1705 he married a widow, one Mrs. Stretch, who died a year and a
half later and left him a snug estate in the Barbadoes. Thus secured
against the chance of adverse fortune, he sold his commission in the
army, and set up as man of letters. Like all the writers of his time,
however, he considered his pen to be at the service of his political
party, and expected a reward in some civil office. In 1706 he was
appointed Gentleman Usher to Prince George of Denmark, the stupid
husband of Queen Anne, and in the following year was given the more
lucrative position of Gazetteer. This office he held when, in 1709, he
started _The Tatler_.

About a year after the death of his first wife, Steele had married
again, this time a "Welsh beauty," Miss Mary Scurlock. The letters of
Steele to this lady, during the few weeks of acquaintance that preceded
the marriage and for years thereafter, are the most delightful domestic
correspondence in our language. They are most of them mere notelets,
written in his office, at the club, in a tavern, anywhere whence he
may send her a kind word. Steele never had any mastery of business,
and it is probable that the bailiffs had something to do with the
frequent absences from home that these letters record. Mrs. Steele, on
the other hand, was a woman of unusually thrifty and methodical habit,
to whom the carelessness and extravagance of her husband must have
been very trying. It is evident from his letters that she sometimes
gave him quite as much advice as he felt himself able to use. After
the first few months, he has dropped the "Molly," and the letters are
uniformly addressed to his "Dear Prue"; and once or twice he goes so
far as to remonstrate with her quietly for an unendurable interference
with his "business." Yet nothing disturbs his constant affection, and
the letters are filled with the same playful, tender prettinesses to
the last. That was a truthful signature with which he once signed a
midnight letter when he could not come home: "I am, my dear Prue, a
little in drink, but at all times, Your Own Faithful Husband, Richard
Steele." There was no other man of letters in the Queen Anne time, I am
sure, whose domestic life would bear turning wrong side out so well.
Indeed, no other writer of that age appreciated so well the character
of woman, or has given us such pictures of the beauty and charm of
home. It was Steele who paid to Lady Elizabeth Hastings that best
compliment ever offered to a lady, "To love her is a liberal education."

It was in these happy, early years of his married life, when his
fortunes, though always precarious, were hopeful, when he was enjoying
the friendship of Halifax and Addison and Swift, when his own humor
and invention were at their brightest, that Steele had the one great
inspiration of his life--he conceived the idea of _The Tatler_.

Meantime, Addison had begun his career both in politics and in
letters. He had not been in haste--Mr. Addison was never in haste. In
1698, some three years after his friend Steele left Oxford, he had
been elected Fellow of Magdalen College, and seemed well satisfied
with the retired and scholarly life there. He had some modest literary
aspirations. In 1697 he published some verses entitled _An Account
of the English Poets_, which make it evident that he had no relish
for Chaucer and Spenser, and which do not mention Shakespeare at all.
In Latin poetry his taste was happier. He made a translation of the
Georgics of Virgil, prefaced by an essay that won compliments from the
great Dryden, and he wrote Latin verses of his own that were thought to
be of quite surprising excellence. His classical studies may not have
broadened his taste or his intellect very much, but they doubtless did
something to cultivate that smoothness and nicety of phrase for which
he was afterward to be so noted. In those years at Magdalen everybody
supposed he would go into the church. He seemed a parson born and
bred. And he doubtless would have taken orders, had it not been for a
piece of signal good fortune that befell him. Dryden had introduced
young Addison to Mr. Congreve, and Mr. Congreve had introduced him to
Montague, afterward Lord Halifax. Montague it was worth while to know.
Really a great statesman and financier, he had won some reputation as
a poet in his earlier days, and was always ambitious to be accounted
the friend and patron of letters. In those years the leaders of both
political parties were coming to see the need of enlisting the services
of young men of wit and learning; and Montague, whose appreciation
perhaps was quickened by some complimentary verses in excellent Latin,
deemed this Mr. Addison too promising an ally to lose. Accordingly, in
1699, when he was twenty-seven, Addison was given a handsome pension of
three hundred pounds a year, bidden go travel on the continent, keep
his eyes open, and learn French. He remained on the continent about
three years, when, at the death of King William, his pension lapsed,
and at the breaking out of the great war of the Spanish Succession he
was obliged to return to England. His prospects for the next three
years were not bright. He had written some good Latin verses, and some
English verses that were not so good. On his return from his travels he
printed a rather dull account of them, which few people read then and
which nobody reads now. He was known to a little circle of great men,
but he was dangerously near poverty.

Yet good fortune never deserted Mr. Addison for long. In 1704 the
Duke of Marlborough won the famous victory of Blenheim, and forthwith
the little Whig poets began to sing it. But much of their fustian was
so sublimely bad that even the Lord Treasurer, Godolphin, to whom
all poetry was very much alike, began to see that the triumph was
suffering for lack of a worthy poet. In this emergency he applied
to Montague, whom he supposed to know most about such matters, and
Montague recommended his old protégé, Addison. Thus it happened--if
Pope's story be correct--that one day there climbed to Mr. Addison's
lodgings, up three flights in the Haymarket, no less a person than the
Honorable Henry Boyle, Chancellor of the Exchequer, with the request
that Mr. Addison write a poem. _The Campaign_, which Addison produced
in response to this august invitation, will be voted by most readers
to-day a dull poem; but it was much admired then, and one simile in
particular, comparing Marlborough to an avenging angel, is said to have
captivated the imagination of Godolphin. At all events, _The Campaign_
served to introduce Addison to public life. He was shortly after made
Under-Secretary of State, and was never out of office again so long as
he lived. In 1707 he was elected to Parliament; next year was appointed
Under-Secretary of State for Ireland--where he was residing when Steele
started _The Tatler_,--and although he lost that office when the Whigs
went into a minority in 1710, yet he was one of the few Whigs elected
to Parliament that year; after the death of Anne he went to Ireland
again as Chief Secretary, and for a little time before his death
reached his highest office as Secretary of State for England. It was
a career of easy and uninterrupted prosperity. "I believe Mr. Addison
could be elected king if he chose," said Swift with a twinge of envy.
Yet Addison would never have been remembered for his public services.
His title to lasting fame, like that of Steele, rests upon the work
done for _The Tatler_ and _The Spectator_.

The later writings of the two men are of less importance. _The
Spectator_ was discontinued at the end of 1712, and through the
following year Steele conducted a similar periodical, _The Guardian_,
from which political discussion was not to be so rigidly excluded as
it had been from _The Spectator_. In the next five years he attempted
three or four other papers, but they were all short-lived, and of
little interest. Addison revived _The Spectator_ in 1714, issuing it
thrice a week for a year, and in 1715-16 he conducted for some months
a periodical called _The Freeholder_ in the interest of party measures
he was then advocating. But neither Steele nor Addison ever had much
success in managing an enterprise of this sort alone.

In 1713 Addison produced his once famous play of _Cato_. The reader of
to-day will vote the _Cato_ cold and declamatory; but it was vastly
admired then, as the first correct and dignified tragedy upon the
English stage. The critics and the crowd united to praise, and all the
town went to see it. By this time Addison was regarded as the foremost
man of letters in England. He set up a servant of his, one Buttons, as
proprietor of a coffee-house in Great Russell Street, almost opposite
"Will's," where Dryden had reigned as critic twenty years before, and
here he presided over his circle of friends and admirers, and

    "Gave his little senate laws."

Perhaps in his later years his happiest hours were passed here. In 1716
he had married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, to whom he had long
paid patient and dignified court; but if rumour is to be trusted, his
domestic life was not a happy one.

    "Marrying discord in a noble wife"

was Pope's last thrust at him. He did not long survive his fortune,
good or ill, but died at Holland House, the residence of his Countess,
June 17, 1719, at the early age of forty-seven.

Steele survived his friend more than ten years; but they were years of
inactivity. The great blow of his life fell when his wife died in 1718.
That year was also further embittered by an unfortunate controversy
with Addison, which for the first time in their lives estranged the two
friends. After 1720 Steele retired from London and passed his remaining
years, partly in Hereford and partly in the Welsh town of Carmarthen.
He had succeeded in paying all his debts; he kept the love and esteem
of all his old friends that were left; and his temper was sweet and
gentle to the last. He died at Carmarthen, in September, 1729.


II. THE TATLER AND THE SPECTATOR

The date of the founding of _The Tatler_ is important as marking the
beginning of popular literature in England. From this humble origin
sprang the great army of magazines and reviews which, for the last
two hundred years, have contained so much of the best English writing.
Before _The Tatler_, it may be said that there was no good reading in
popular form. The English novel was not yet born. The newspapers, about
as large as a lady's pocket handkerchief, contained nothing but news,
and very little of that. The political pamphlet was purely partisan,
was usually written by penny-a-liners, and could rarely pretend to
any permanent interest or literary quality. In 1704 Daniel Defoe had
founded his _Review_, which deserves to be called the earliest of
political journals; but the _Review_, though it contains much vigorous
writing, was strictly a party organ. Steele's purpose in _The Tatler_
was quite different. He is a humorist and moralist. He writes to
entertain, and incidentally, to correct or improve; he aims to depict
all the charms and the humours of society, and to turn a playful satire
upon its follies. To do this is always to make literature; to do it as
Steele and Addison could, is to "show the very age and body of the time
his form and pressure."

The immediate success of _The Tatler_ and _The Spectator_ is easily
understood. In the first place, there was now coming to be, for the
first time, a large reading public in England. Before 1700 no English
author had made a fortune or even a competence by the sale of his
books. But the most important social fact in England at the beginning
of the eighteenth century is the rapid growth of a great middle class.
Shrewd, energetic, these men were getting the trade and commerce
of England mostly into their hands, filling up the great towns, and
exerting an influence in public affairs which neither political party
could afford to overlook. It was for them that the political pamphlet
was written. How large a reading public a popular pamphleteer might
command at this time, may be inferred from the fact that sixty thousand
copies of one of Defoe's pamphlets are said to have been sold on the
streets of London, and Swift's famous tract, _The Conduct of the
Allies_, ran through four editions in a week. But these people demanded
something better than the party pamphlet. Intelligent, ambitious,
they had social aspirations, and were interested in the life of the
hour, in the club, in the drawing-room, at the theatre. They had some
relish, too, of the best things in poetry and art. When Pope translated
the _Iliad_ his publisher issued an elegant subscription edition of
six hundred and fifty copies for more aristocratic purchasers; but
he issued also a cheap duodecimo edition for the general public, and
of this he seems to have sold about seven thousand copies almost
immediately after publication. Indeed, if we except Addison, all the
prominent men of letters of the Queen Anne time--Steele, Swift, Pope,
Prior, Gay--themselves belonged to this middle class; they were all the
sons of tradesmen.

The readers for whom Steele and Addison wrote nearly all lived in
London--and loved it. They were interested in the passing life of the
town, in the street, the stage, the coffee-house. Doubtless that old
London was an ugly, unkempt town. Its population was only about half
a million--less than one-tenth what it is to-day. Its streets were
narrow, ill-paved, and dirty, separated from the strip of sidewalk
on either hand by reeking gutters. After nightfall, lighted only by
flickering oil lamps, they were the haunt of footpads who terrorized
the watchmen, and of bands of roistering young blades who headed up
women in barrels and rolled them down hill for diversion, or chased
the unwary stranger into a corner and made him dance by pricking him
with their sword points. Public morals were very low. Drunkenness
and license confronted the decent citizen on every hand, and, in
public gardens like Vauxhall, often held high carnival. Taste and
manners, even in what called itself polite society, were often coarse.
Profanity, loud and open, might have been heard on the lips of fine
ladies in places of public resort; while Swift's _Polite Conversation_
affords convincing proof of how vapid and how gross the talk might be
at the ridotto or over the card table.

Yet if society at this time had its seamy side, it was in the age of
Anne that Englishmen began to feel the charm of wit and manners, of
fashion and breeding. To the man about town, this murky London was
the centre of all that was best and brightest in a new society. It
was not so large but that he felt at home in every part of it. In
one coffee-house he met the wits and men of letters, in another the
scholars and clergy, in another the merchants, in another the men of
fashion and gallantry, and in all he could hear bright talk upon the
news of the day. In the theatre he could see the latest play, written
by Mr. Congreve or Mr. Addison, and with a prologue by Mr. Pope. He
probably belonged to two or three clubs; and in the drawing-room or
at the assembly he enjoyed the society of women with the charm of
gentle manners and brilliant conversation. All that served to make life
attractive and character urbane he found between Hyde Park and the Bank.

Now it was to this quickened social sense that _The Tatler_ and _The
Spectator_ made appeal. They pictured the life of the town from day
to day, especially in its lighter, more humorous phases. And this was
always done with some underlying moral purpose. As the months go past,
we have in these papers an exhaustless flow of kindly satire upon the
manners and minor morals of society,--on behaviour at church, on ogling
the ladies, on snuff-taking, on the folly of enormous petticoats and
low tuckers, on the brainless fops that display themselves in club
windows and the brainless flirts that display themselves in stage
boxes. We have bits of keen character-painting too--the small poet
who assures you that poets are born, not made; the beau who is caught
practising before the mirror to catch a careless air; the man who is
so ambitious to be thought wise that he sets up for a free-thinker and
talks atheism all day at the club, though he says his prayers very
carefully every night at home. One can imagine with what pleasure the
town must have seen its follies taken off so smartly. Occasionally,
too, there are short stories--usually written by Steele--bits of
domestic narrative showing the peace and purity of home. In _The
Spectator_, the papers are somewhat longer and more ambitious than
those of _The Tatler_, and here are many essays on graver themes,
and carefully elaborated critical studies, like the famous series by
Addison on Milton's _Paradise Lost_. Yet, from first to last, the most
interesting papers, both of _The Tatler_ and _The Spectator_, are
those which depict with kindly irony the daily life of the town. There
is not to be found in English literature up to that time any satire
so wholesome, any pictures of contemporary society so vivid and so
entertaining. Indeed, it may perhaps be said that, of the sort, we have
had nothing better in English literature since.

For such writing as this it would be difficult to imagine two men
better fitted than Richard Steele and Joseph Addison. Each supplied the
deficiencies of the other. Steele was an impulsive, warm-hearted man
of the world. Few men knew the society of that day in all its phases
better than he did, and certainly no man liked it better. No English
writer before him feels so keenly the charm of the passing hour, or
takes such brisk and cheery interest in all the thousand events of
daily experience. His sympathies, too, were warm as well as broad.
His heart was tender, and he always carried it on his sleeve. This
amiable and ingenuous temper made his writing very attractive, and
still goes far to atone for all its imperfections. Addison, on the
other hand, was a rather cool, self-contained, observant man, who loved
to sit in his club with a little circle of admirers about him, and
promote the good-nature of the world in a somewhat superior and distant
fashion. His temper, less buoyant than Steele's, was more thoughtful
and reflective; his humour, more delicate and subtle. And if his
observation was not so broad as that of Steele, it was nicer and more
penetrating. Steele, seeing life at more points, struck out more new
incidents and characters; Addison had more skill to elaborate them.

In point of style the work of Addison is manifestly superior to that of
Steele. Steele's writing has, indeed, the great merit of spontaneity.
It is full of himself. To read his easy, lively page is like hearing
him talk at your elbow; and, now and then, when his emotions are
warmed, he can snatch a grace beyond the reach of art. But he was too
impulsive and eager to stay for that painstaking correction without
which literary finish is impossible. His rhetoric and even his grammar
are sometimes sadly to seek. The faults of his extempore writing were
matter of caustic comment by the critics of his own day; and ever since
it has been customary to award the literary honours of _The Tatler_
and _The Spectator_ not to Steele but to Addison. Nor is this unjust.
For Addison was the first of our writers to perceive clearly that
simple and popular prose was capable of finished, artistic treatment.
That minute care, that trained skill which hitherto had been reserved
for poetry, he bestowed upon his prose. He had naturally a nice taste,
an especially quick sense of movement and melody in prose, and he
took infinite pains. He would stop the press to change a phrase, or
set right a conjunction. And this effort issued in a style in which
all sense of effort is lost in graceful ease. His thought is never
profound, and seldom vigorous; his range is not wide; on serious
subjects he is sometimes a little dull, and on lighter subjects
sometimes a little trivial; but his manner is always suave, refined,
urbane. He was the first Englishman who succeeded in writing prose at
once familiar, idiomatic to the very verge of colloquialism, and at the
same time highly finished. You think such writing is easily done until
you try it yourself; then you soon find your mistake.


III. THE SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY PAPERS

The Sir Roger de Coverley papers are often said to be the precursor of
the modern English novel. And in a very real sense they are. There are,
to be sure, crude specimens of prose fiction in the preceding century
that may perhaps dispute this title, though most of them, like the
long-winded romances that found place in the library of Sir Roger's
lady friend, were of French origin or pattern. But these romances,
while they supply the element of plot and adventure most liberally,
were deficient in genuine characters. There are no real men and women
in them. Moreover, they made no attempt to depict contemporary life as
it was. But Sir Roger de Coverley is no personage of romance. He is a
hearty, red-blooded, Tory gentleman who lives in Worcestershire. And he
has no adventures more striking than might naturally befall a country
squire who comes up to London for the season once a year. There were
scores of just such men in every shire in England. His speech, his
habits, his prejudices, are all shown us with simple truth. And yet
this is done with so much art and humour that Sir Roger is one of the
most living persons in our literature. He is as immortal as Hamlet or
Julius Cæsar. We know him as well as we know our nearest neighbour; and
we like him quite as well as we like most of our neighbours.

Now this was something new in English literature. Sir Roger is the
earliest person in English imaginative prose that is really still
alive. There are men and women in our poetry before his day--in
the drama there is, of course, a great host of them; but in prose
literature Sir Roger is the first. Furthermore, the men and women of
the drama, even in that comedy of manners which professed to reflect
most accurately contemporary society, were almost always drawn with
some romantic or satiric exaggeration; but there is no exaggeration
in the character of Sir Roger. Here was the beginning of a healthy
realism. It was only necessary for Richardson and Fielding, thirty
years later, to bring together several such genuine characters into a
group, and to show how the incidents of their lives naturally ran into
plot or story--and we have a novel.

The original suggestion for the character of Sir Roger seems to
have come from Steele, who wrote that account of the Spectator Club
(_Spectator_, No. 2) in which the knight first appears. But it is
to Addison's keener perception and nicer art that we owe most of
those subtle and humorous touches of characterization which make the
portrait so real and so human. There is more of movement and incident
in Steele's papers, and there is more of sentiment. It is Steele, for
example, who tells the story of the Journey to London, and recounts the
adventures of the Coverley ancestry; it is Steele, too, who has most to
say of the widow. But in the best papers by Addison, like the Visit to
the Abbey or the Evening at the Theater, there is hardly a line that
does not reveal, in speech, or manner, or notion, some peculiarity
of the kindly gentleman we know and love so well. If Steele outlined
the portrait, it was left for Addison to elaborate it. Moreover, a
careful reading of the papers will show that Steele's conception of the
character was slightly different from Addison's. Steele's Sir Roger is
whimsical and sentimental, but a man of good sense; not only beloved
but respected. Addison dwells rather upon the old knight's rusticity,
his old-fashioned, patriarchal notions of society, his ignorance of
the town, his obsolete but kindly prejudices. The truth is that in
Addison's portrait there is always a trace of covert satire upon the
narrow conservatism of the Tory country gentleman of his day. Addison's
Sir Roger is amiable and humorous; but he does not represent the party
of intelligence and progress--he is not a Whig.

Yet there are no real inconsistencies in the character of Sir Roger.
His whimsical humor, his sentiment, his credulity, his benevolence, his
amiable though obstinate temper, are all combined in a personality so
convincing that we must always think of him as an actual contemporary
of the men who created him. He is the typical conservative English
country gentleman of the Queen Anne time, not taking kindly to new
ideas, but sturdy, honest, order-loving, of large heart and simple
manners. To such men as he England owes the permanence of much that
is best in her institutions and her national life. As one walks
through Westminster Abbey to-day, listening to the same chattering
verger that conducted Sir Roger--he has been going his rounds ever
since--one almost expects to see again the knight sitting down in the
coronation chair, or leaning on Edward Third's sword while he tells the
discomfited guide the whole story of the Black Prince out of Baker's
Chronicle. If, indeed, we try in any way to bring back to imagination
the life of that bygone age, Sir Roger is sure to come to mind at
once, at the assizes, at Vauxhall, or, best of all, at home in the
country. He is part of that life; as real to our thought as Swift or
Marlborough, or as Steele or Addison themselves.


BIBLIOGRAPHY

No attempt is here made to give an exhaustive bibliography. The
following paragraphs contain only such a selection from the literature
of the subject as may be most accessible and of most service both to
the student and the teacher.


TEXTS

STEELE AND _THE TATLER_

There is no complete and uniform edition of the writings of Steele.
The best edition of _The Tatler_ is that of Chalmers, 4 volumes, 1822
(reissued 1855-1856). A new edition, however, in 4 volumes, edited
by George A. Aitken, is now in preparation. Two well-chosen and
well-edited volumes of selections from Steele's work are, _Selections
from Steele_, edited by G. R. Carpenter (_Athenæum Press Series_,
1897), and _Selections from Steele's Contributions to the Tatler,
Spectator, and Guardian_, edited by Austin Dobson, 1897. Steele's
_Plays_, edited by George A. Aitken (1896), make one volume of _The
Mermaid Series_. For the letters of Steele, see _The Epistolary
Correspondence of Richard Steele_, edited by John Nichols, 2 volumes,
1789 (reissued 1809).


ADDISON AND _THE SPECTATOR_

The best editions of _The Spectator_ are: Henry Morley's, 3 volumes,
1883, or 1 volume, 1888; G. Gregory Smith's, with Introductory Essay
by Austin Dobson, 8 volumes, 1897-1898; and George A. Aitken's, 8
volumes, 1898. The _Complete Works_ of Addison were edited by G. W.
Greene, in 1854; a new issue of this edition appeared in 1891. The best
volume of selections from Addison is that edited by John Richard Green,
_Essays of Joseph Addison_, 1882.


BIOGRAPHY

STEELE

_The Life of Richard Steele_, by George A. Aitken, 1899. This is the
latest and fullest life.

_Richard Steele_, by Austin Dobson, in the _English Worthies Series_,
1886; a brief but appreciative study.

_Biographical Essays_, by John Forster, 1860, _Steele_. This paper,
originally published in the _Quarterly Review_ for March, 1855, gave,
for the first time, that more favourable estimate of the character and
genius of Steele which is now generally accepted.

_Lectures on the English Humorists, Steele_, by W. M. Thackeray.
Thackeray's lecture, delivered first in 1851, is a most charming and
suggestive paper, but hardly just to Steele.


ADDISON

_Addison_, by W. J. Courthope, in the _English Men of Letters Series_,
1884. The best life; it has superseded, for the general reader, the
older _Life of Joseph Addison_, by Lucy Aiken, 1846.

_The Life and Writings of Addison_, by T. B. Macaulay. Macaulay's
familiar essay, which first appeared in the _Edinburgh Review_
for July, 1843, is still the best brief estimate, though it rather
exaggerates the merits both of Addison's genius and his writings.

_The Lives of the Poets, Addison_, by Samuel Johnson, 1781. Judicious
and sensible; of permanent value.

_Lectures on the English Humourists, Addison_, by W. M. Thackeray.

_Le Public et les Hommes de Lettres en Angleterre au XVIII^e Siècle_,
par A. Beljame, 1881. This admirable work--which unfortunately is not
translated--contains a full account of Addison's career, as well as an
estimate of his work. The bibliography in the Appendix is valuable.


HISTORY


POLITICAL

_The Age of Anne_, by E. E. Morris, in the _Epochs of Modern History
Series_, 1877. A brief, but clear and interesting outline of the
history.

_A History of England in the Eighteenth Century_, by W. E. H. Lecky,
1878, Volume I. Perhaps the best account for the general reader.

_A History of the Reign of Queen Anne_, by J. H. Burton, 3 volumes,
1880.

_The Reign of Queen Anne_, by Justin McCarthy, two volumes, 1902.
Contains, also, much valuable information upon literary and social
matters; written in the manner of the journalist, but entertaining and
generally trustworthy.

_History of the English People_, by John Richard Green, Volume III.


SOCIAL

_The History of England_, by T. B. Macaulay (1849-1851), Chapter
III. This famous chapter is still one of the best accounts of social
conditions in England at the end of the seventeenth and the beginning
of the eighteenth centuries.

_Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, by John Ashton, 1882. This is
the best account of dress, manners, amusements, travel, trade, and all
the details of social life; it is frequently referred to in the notes
of this volume.

_Good Queen Anne_, by W. H. D. Adams, 1886.

_England and the English in the Eighteenth Century_, by W. C. Sydney,
1891.

_Social England_, by H. D. Traill, Volume IV., 1895.

_London in the Eighteenth Century_, by Walter Besant, 1903. A
storehouse of curious and valuable information, with many especially
interesting illustrations from contemporary prints, drawings, and
portraits.

_The Popular History of England_, by Charles Knight (1859), Volume V.,
Chapters XXVI-XXX.

Thackeray's _Henry Esmond_--perhaps the most remarkable historical
novel in the language--represents with wonderful fidelity the very
atmosphere of the Queen Anne time.

But, above all, the student who wishes to gain a sympathetic
acquaintance with the life of this most interesting period, and to
enter into its spirit, should read more of its literature--especially
the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_, Swift's _Journal to Stella_, Pope's
_Satires and Epistles_, Gay's _Trivia_, and the _Letters_ of Steele,
Swift, Pope, and Bolingbroke.


LITERARY

_A History of Eighteenth Century Literature_ (1889), and _From
Shakespeare to Pope_ (1885), by Edmund Gosse.

_English Literature in the Eighteenth Century_, by T. S. Perry (1883).

_An Illustrated History of English Literature_, by Richard Garnett and
Edmund Gosse, Volume III., _From Milton to Johnson_, by Edmund Gosse
(1903), Chapter III. A popular survey of English literary history, most
profusely illustrated with portraits and facsimiles.

_A Few Words about the Eighteenth Century_, by Frederic Harrison. (_The
Choice of Books_, 1886.)

_Le Public et les Hommes de Lettres en Angleterre au XVIII^e Siècle_,
by A. Beljame, 1881.

_Lectures on the Comic Writers and Periodical Essayists_, by William
Hazlitt. (Delivered in 1819; best edition in the _Temple Classics_,
edited by Austin Dobson, 1900.)


  Chronological Table

  ====================================+====================================
                                      |
                  STEELE              |           ADDISON
                                      |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------
  1672. March 12. Born in Dublin,     |1672. May 1. Born in Milston,
         Ireland.                     |       England.
                                      |1683. His father appointed Dean
                                      |       of Lichfield.
  1684. November. Enters Charterhouse |1683-85. In the grammar school
         School.                      |       of Lichfield.
                                      |1686. Entered the Charterhouse
                                      |       School.
                                      |1687. Entered Queen's College,
                                      |       Oxford.
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |1689. Obtained a scholarship in
  1690. Matriculates at Christ Church |       Magdalen College.
        College, Oxford.              |
                                      |
                                      |1693. Received the degree of M. A.
  1694. Leaves the University and     |1694. Printed _An Account of the
         enters the army as a cadet,  |       Greatest  English  Poets_.
         under Lord Cutts.            |       Translation of the _Fourth
                                      |       Book of Virgil's Georgics_.
  1695. Publishes _The Procession_, a |1695. _Address to King William_.
         poem on the death of Queen   |
         Mary.                        |
        Secretary to Lord Cutts, and  |1698. Made fellow of Magdalen
         Ensign in the Coldstream     |       College
         Guards.                      |
                                      |1699. _Latin Poems_.
                                      |      Receives a pension of £300
                                      |       a year.
                                      |1699-1703. On the continent.
  1700. Referred to as "Captain."     |
  1701. April. Publishes _The         |
         Christian Hero_.             |
        December. Publishes _The      |
         Funeral_.                    |
  1702. Captain in Lord Lucas'        |1702. His pension lapses.
         Fusiliers.                   |
                                      |1703. Returns to England.
                                      |
  1704. January. Publishes _The Lying |1704. Publishes _The Campaign_;
         Lover_.                      |       appointed Commissioner
                                      |          of Appeals.
  1705. May. Publishes _The Tender    |1705. Publishes _Remarks on
         Husband_.                    |       Several Parts of Italy_.
        Marries Mrs. Margaret Stretch,|
         who died about a year later. |
  1706. Leaves the army.              |1706. Publishes _Rosamund_.
  1707. Appointed Gazetteer and       |      Named Under-Secretary of
         Gentleman Usher to Prince    |      State.
         George of Denmark.           |
        September. Marries Miss Mary  |
         Scurlock.                    |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------

  ====================================+====================================
                                      |
         CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE      |               HISTORY
                                      |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------
  1678. Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_,|1685. Accession of James II.
         Part I.                      |      Monmouth's Rebellion and the
  1681-2. Dryden's _Absalom and       |       Bloody Assize.
         Achitophel_, _MacFlecknoe_.  |1686. Attempted Repeal of the Test
  1684. Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_,|       Act. First Declaration of
         Part II.                     |       Indulgence.
                                      |
  1687. Dryden's _Hind and Panther_.  |
                                      |1688. New Declaration of Indulgence;
                                      |       Trial of the Bishops.
                                      |       Revolution; Accession of
                                      |       William and Mary.
  1690. Locke's _Essay on the Human   |1689. The Toleration Act.
         Understanding_.              |1690. The Battle of the Boyne.
        Treatise on _Civil            |
         Government_.                 |
                                      |1694. Queen Mary died.
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  1697. Dryden's _Alexander's Feast_, |1697. Peace of Ryswick.
         Translation of _Virgil_.     |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  1701. Defoe's _Trueborn Englishman_.|1701. Grand Alliance between
  1702. Defoe's _Shortest Way with    |       England, Austria, Holland,
         Dissenters_.                 |       against France.
                                      |1702. War of Spanish  Succession
                                      |       begins.
                                      |      King William dies; accession
                                      |       of Queen Anne.
                                      |      Tory Party in majority.
  1704. Swift's _Battle of the Books_ |1703. Victory of Blenheim.
         and _Tale of a Tub_.         |      Harley and St. John called to
        Defoe's _Review_ begun.       |       the ministry.
                                      |1705. Increasing power of the Whigs;
                                      |       union of Whigs and moderate
                                      |       Tories.
                                      |1706. Marlborough defeats French at
                                      |       Ramillies.
                                      |1707. Union with Scotland.
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------

  ====================================+====================================
                                      |
                 STEELE               |             ADDISON
                                      |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------
                                      |1708. Chief Secretary to Earl of
                                      |       Wharton, Lord Lieutenant
                                      |       of Ireland.
                                      |
                                      |
  1709. April 12. First number of _The|1709. Joins Steele in the conduct
         Tatler_.                     |       of _The Tatler_.
  1710. January. Appointed            |1710. September, October. Conducts
         Commissioner of Stamps.      |       _The Whig Examiner_. Loses
        October. Loses his place as   |       his Secretaryship.
         Gazetteer.                   |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  1711. January 2. Last number of _The|1711-14. With Steele conducts _The
         Tatler_.                     |         Spectator_.
  March 1. First number of _The       |
         Spectator_.                  |
  1712. December 6. Last number of    |1712. _Poems_.
         _The Spectator_ under the    |
         joint editorship of Steele   |
         and Addison.                 |
  1713. March 12. _The Guardian_      |1713. April 14. _Cato_ first acted;
         begun.                       |      published in the same month.
        August. Elected to Parliament |      Contributes to _The Guardian_.
         from Stockbridge.            |
        October 1. _The Guardian_     |
         discontinued.                |
        October 6. _The Englishman_   |
         begun.                       |
  1714. January. Publishes _The       |1714. Eighth volume of _The
         Crisis_.                     |      Spectator_. Chief Secretary to
        February 15. _The Englishman_ |      the Earl of Sunderland, Lord
         discontinued.                |      Lieutenant of Ireland.
        February 28. _The Lover_      |
         begun; discontinued May 27.  |
        March 18. Expelled from the   |
         House of Commons.            |
        April 22. _The Reader_ begun; |
         discontinued May 10.         |
        October 9. Publishes _The     |
         Ladies Library_.             |
        October 22. Publishes         |
          _Apology for Himself and    |
         his Writings_.               |
  1715. Patentee of Drury Lane        |1715. _The Drummer_ published.
         Theater.                     |       December 23. Started _The
        Knighted by George I.         |       Freeholder_; discontinued
        July 11 to November 21. Second|       June 9, 1716
         volume of _The Englishman_.  |
  1716. Commissioner of Forfeited     |1716. Commissioner for Trade and
         Estates in Scotland.         |       Colonies.
                                      |      Married the Dowager Countess
                                      |       of Warwick.
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------

  ====================================+====================================
                                      |
        CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE       |             HISTORY
                                      |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------
  1708. Swift's _Argument against     |1708. Whigs supreme; forced
         Abolishing Christianity.     |       resignation of Harley
         Sentiments of a Church of    |       and St. John.
         England Man, Predictions of  |      Battle of Oudenarde.
         Isaac Bickerstaff_.          |
  1709. Pope's _Pastorals_. Prior's   |1709. French defeated at
         _Poems_.                     |       Malplaquet.
                                      |      Growing weariness of the
                                      |       war.
                                      |      Sacheverell's sermon
                                      |       (November 9).
  1710. Berkeley's _Principles of     |1710. Trial of Sacheverell
         Human Knowledge_.            |       (February).
        Swift's _Examiner_; _Journal  |      Parliament dissolved;
        to Stella_ begun.             |       elections (November) bring in
                                      |       Tory majorities; Harley (now
                                      |       Earl of Oxford) and St. John
                                      |       (now Viscount Bolingbroke) at
                                      |       the head of the ministry.
  1711. Pope's _Essay on Criticism_.  |1711. Marlborough relieved of
        Swift's _Conduct of the       |       command of the army.
         Allies_.                     |      Creation of twelve new Tory
                                      |       peers; Tories in complete
  1712. Pope's _Rape of the Lock_     |       control of government.
         (First version).             |1712. Negotiations for peace.
        Arbuthnot's _History of John  |
         Bull_.                       |
  1713 Berkeley's _Three Dialogues_.  |1713. Peace of Utrecht.
       Pope's _Windsor Forest_.       |      Growing difference between
       Swift's _Cadenus and Vanessa_. |      Oxford and Bolingbroke.
                                      |
                                      |
  1714. Gay's _Shepherd's Week_.      |1714. Death of Queen Anne; accession
        Pope's _Rape of the Lock_     |       of George I.
         (Second version).            |      Downfall of the Tory party.
        Swift's _Public Spirit of the |
         Whigs_.                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  1715. Gay's _Trivia_. Pope's        |1715. Jacobite rebellion.
         _Translation of the Iliad_,  |
         Vol. I. (Finished in 1720.)  |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------

  ====================================+====================================
                                      |
                 STEELE               |            ADDISON
                                      |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------
                                      |
                                      |1717. April. Named Secretary of
                                      |       State.
                                      |
  1718. December 26. Lady Steele dies.|1718. March. Resigned this
                                      |       position, and granted a
                                      |       pension of £1500.
                                      |
  1719. Publishes _The Plebeian_.     |1719. Replies to Steele's _Plebeian_
                                      |       in _The Old Whig_.
                                      |      June 17. Dies in London.
  1722. March. Elected to Parliament  |
         from Wendover.               |
        December. Publishes _The      |
         Conscious Lovers_.           |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  1725. Living at Hereford.           |
  1726. Retires to Wales.             |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  1729. September 1. Dies at          |
         Carmarthen, Wales.           |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------

  ====================================+====================================
                                      |
          CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE     |            HISTORY
                                      |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |1720. South Sea Bubble.
                                      |
  1722. Defoe's _Journal of the       |
         Plague_.                     |
  1723. Pope's Translation of the     |
         _Odyssey_, Volumes I, II.    |
         (Completed in 1725.)         |
  1724. Swift's _Drapier's Letters_.  |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
  1726. Swift's _Gulliver's Travels_. |
        Thomson's _Winter_.           |
  1727. Thomson's _Summer_.           |1727. George I. dies; accession
                                      |       of George II.
  1728. Gay's _Beggars' Opera_.       |
        Pope's _Dunciad_.             |
        Thomson's _Spring_.           |
  1729. Swift's _Modest Proposal_.    |
  ------------------------------------+------------------------------------




  THE SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY
  PAPERS




  I. THE SPECTATOR

  [No. 1. Thursday, March 1, 1711. ADDISON.]

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

      HOR.


  I have observed that a reader seldom peruses a book
  with pleasure till he knows whether the writer of it be a
  black[3] or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition,
  married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like
  nature that conduce very much to the right understanding (45: 5)
  of an author. To gratify this curiosity, which is so natural
  to a reader, I design this paper and my next as prefatory
  discourses to my following writings, and shall give some
  account in them of the several persons that are engaged
  in this work. As the chief trouble of compiling, digesting, (10)
  and correcting will fall to my share, I must do myself
  the justice to open the work with my own history. I was
  born to a small hereditary estate, which, according 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 and entire, without the loss or acquisition (46: 5)
  of a single field or meadow, during the space of six
  hundred years. There runs a story in the family, that
  my mother ... dreamt that she was brought to bed of a
  judge: whether this might proceed from a lawsuit which
  was then depending[4] in the family, or my father's being a (10)
  justice of the peace, I cannot determine; for I am not
  so vain as to think it presaged any dignity that I should
  arrive at in my future life, though that was the interpretation
  which the neighbourhood put upon it. The gravity
  of my behaviour at my very first appearance in the world, (15)
  and all the time that I sucked, seemed to favour my
  mother's dream; for, as she had often told me, I threw
  away my rattle before I was two months old, and would
  not make use of my coral[5] till they had taken away the
  bells from it. (20)

   [3] _I.e_. of dark complexion. But it will be seen later in the paper
   that the Spectator decides not to gratify the curiosity of his readers
   on this point.

   [4] We should now say, "pending."

   [5] A child's toy, made of a piece of coral, usually with a whistle at
   one end and bells at the other.

  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,[6] I had the reputation of a very sullen
  youth, but was always a favourite of my schoolmaster, who
  used to say that my parts were solid and would wear well. (25)
  I had not been long at the university before I distinguished
  myself by a most profound silence; for during
  the space of eight years, excepting in the public exercises
  of the college, I scarce uttered the quantity of an hundred
  words; and indeed do not remember that I ever (47: 5)
  spoke three sentences together in my whole life. Whilst
  I was in this learned body, I applied myself with so much
  diligence to my studies that there are very few celebrated
  books, either in the learned or the modern tongues, which
  I am not acquainted with. (10)

   [6] Non+age, _i.e_. the years before the youth comes of age.

  Upon the death of my father, I was resolved to travel
  into foreign countries, and therefore left the university
  with the character of an odd, unaccountable fellow, that
  had a great deal of learning, if I would but show it. An
  insatiable thirst after knowledge carried me into all the (15)
  countries of Europe in which there was anything new or
  strange to be seen; nay, to such a degree was my curiosity
  raised, that having read the controversies of some
  great men concerning the antiquities of Egypt, I made a
  voyage to Grand Cairo on purpose to take the measure (20)
  of a pyramid; and as soon as I had set myself right in
  that particular, returned to my native country with great
  satisfaction.

  I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am
  frequently seen in most public places, though there are (25)
  not above half a dozen of my select friends that know
  me; of whom my next paper shall give a more particular
  account. There is no place of general resort wherein I
  do not often make my appearance; sometimes I am seen
  thrusting my head into a round of politicians at Will's,
  and listening with great attention to the narratives that
  are made in those little circular audiences. Sometimes I
  smoke a pipe at Child's, and whilst I seem attentive to
  nothing but the _Postman_, overhear the conversation of (48: 5)
  every table in the room. I appear on Sunday nights at
  St. James's Coffee-house, and sometimes join the little
  committee of politics in the inner room, as one who
  comes there to hear and improve. My face is likewise
  very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa Tree, and in (10)
  the theatres both of Drury Lane and the Haymarket. I
  have been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange for
  above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in
  the assembly of stockjobbers at Jonathan's. In short,
  wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with (15)
  them, though I never open my lips but in my own club.

  Thus I live in the world rather as a Spectator of mankind
  than as one of the species; by which means I have
  made myself a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant,
  and artisan, without ever meddling with any practical (20)
  part in life. I am very well versed in the theory of an
  husband or a father, and can discern the errors in the
  economy, business, and diversion of others better than
  those who are engaged in them: as standers-by discover
  blots[7] which are apt to escape those who are in the game. (25)
  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 my life as a looker-on, which is the
  character I intend to preserve in this paper.

   [7] A blot, in backgammon, is a man left uncovered and so liable to
   capture.

  I have given the reader just so much of my history and (49: 5)
  character as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified
  for the business I have undertaken. As for other
  particulars in my life and adventures, I shall insert them
  in following papers as I shall see occasion. In the mean
  time, when I consider how much I have seen, read, and (10)
  heard, I begin to blame my own taciturnity: and since I
  have neither time nor inclination to communicate the fulness
  of my heart in speech, I am resolved to do it in
  writing, and to print myself out, if possible, before I die.
  I have been often told by my friends that it is pity so many (15)
  useful discoveries which I have made, should be in the possession
  of a silent man. For this reason, therefore, 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 improvement of the country in which I live, (20)
  I shall leave it, when I am summoned out of it, with the
  secret satisfaction of thinking that I have not lived in vain.

  There are three very material points which I have not
  spoken to in this paper, and which, for several important
  reasons, I must keep to myself, at least for some time: I (25)
  mean, an account of my name, my age, 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 communicating 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 several
  salutes and civilities, which have been always very disagreeable (50: 5)
  to me; for the greatest pain I can suffer is the
  being talked to and being stared at. It is for this reason,
  likewise, that I keep my complexion and dress as very
  great secrets: though it is not impossible but I may make
  discoveries[8] of both in the progress of the work I have (10)
  undertaken.

   [8] Disclosures.

  After having been thus particular upon myself, I shall
  in to-morrow's paper give an account of those gentlemen
  who are concerned with me in this work; for, as I have
  before intimated, a plan of it is laid and concerted--as (15)
  all other matters of importance are--in a club. However,
  as my friends have engaged me to stand in the
  front, those who have a mind to correspond with me may
  direct their letters to the Spectator, at Mr. Buckley's in
  Little Britain. For I must further acquaint the reader (20)
  that, though our club meets only on Tuesdays and Thursdays,
  we have appointed a committee to sit every night,
  for the inspection of all such papers as may contribute to
  the advancement of the public weal.                  C.




  II. THE CLUB

  [No. 2. Friday, March 2, 1711. STEELE.]

                       Ast alii sex
      Et plures uno conclamant ore.

      JUV.


  The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire,
  of ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Roger
  de Coverley. His great-grandfather was inventor of that
  famous country-dance which is called after him. All who
  know that shire are very well acquainted with the parts (51: 5)
  and merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is very
  singular in his behaviour, 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 humour creates him no enemies, for he does (10)
  nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being unconfined
  to modes and forms, makes him but the readier
  and more capable[9] 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 (15)
  crossed in love by a perverse, beautiful widow of the next
  county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Roger
  was what you call a fine gentleman; had often supped
  with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, fought
  a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully
  Dawson in a public coffee-house for calling him "youngster."
  But being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow,
  he was very serious for a year and a half; and though, (52: 5)
  his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he
  grew careless of himself, and never dressed afterwards.
  He continues to wear a coat and doublet of the same cut
  that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which,[10] in
  his merry humours, he tells us, has been in and out twelve (10)
  times since he first wore it.... He is now in his fifty-sixth
  year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house
  both in town and country; a great lover of mankind;
  but there is such a mirthful cast in his behaviour that he is
  rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, (15)
  his servants look satisfied, all the young women profess
  love to him, and the young men are glad of his company.
  When he comes into a house, he calls the servants by
  their names, and talks all the way up-stairs to a visit. I
  must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice of the quorum;[11] (20)
  that he fills the chair at a quarter session[12] with great
  abilities; and, three months ago, gained universal applause
  by explaining a passage in the Game Act.

   [9] Is this word correctly used?

   [10] Note the careless use of pronouns in this sentence; Addison would
   hardly have written it.

   [11] Justice of the peace. See _Century Dictionary_ for explanation
   of the Latin phrase _quorum unum A.B. esse volumus_ in the commission
   issued to justices.

   [12] A criminal court held once a quarter, in the counties, by justices
   of the peace.

  The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us
  is another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple;
  a man of great probity, wit, and understanding;
  but he has chosen his place of residence rather to obey
  the direction of an old humoursome father, than in pursuit (53: 5)
  of his own inclinations. He was 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 (10)
  relating to marriage-articles, leases, and tenures, in the
  neighborhood; all which 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 (15)
  them. He knows the argument of each of the orations
  of Demosthenes and Tully but not one case in the reports
  of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but
  none, except his intimate friends, know he has a great
  deal of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested (20)
  and agreeable; as few of his 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 (25)
  of the ancients makes him a very delicate observer
  of what occurs to him in the present world. He is an
  excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of
  business; exactly at five he passes through New Inn,
  crosses through Russell Court, and takes a turn at 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
  a play, for the actors have an ambition to please him. (54: 5)

  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 are noble and generous,
  and--as every rich man has usually some sly way of (10)
  jesting which would make no great figure were he not
  a rich man--he calls the sea the British Common. He
  is acquainted with commerce in all its parts, and will
  tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend
  dominion by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and (15)
  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
  diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valour, and
  that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. He (20)
  abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst which the
  greatest favourite is, "A penny saved is a penny got."
  A general trader of good sense is pleasanter company
  than a general scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural,
  unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse (25)
  gives the same pleasure that wit would in another man.
  He has made his fortunes himself, and says that England
  may be richer than other kingdoms by as plain methods
  as he himself is richer than other men; though at the
  same time I can say this of him, that there is not a point
  in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is an
  owner.

  Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain
  Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, good understanding, (55: 5)
  but invincible modesty. He is one of those that deserve
  very well, but are very awkward at putting their talents
  within the observation of such as should take notice of
  them. He was some years a captain, and behaved himself
  with great gallantry in several engagements and at (10)
  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 a courtier as well as a soldier.
  I have heard him often lament that in a profession (15)
  where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, impudence
  should get the better of modesty. When he has
  talked to this purpose I never heard him make a sour
  expression, but frankly confess that he left the world
  because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an (20)
  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,
  however, in his way of talk, excuse generals for not
  disposing[13] according to men's desert, or inquiring into it. (25)
  "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 vindication.[14] He says it is a civil
  cowardice to be backward in asserting what you ought to (56: 5)
  expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in attacking when
  it is your duty. With this candour does the gentleman
  speak of himself and others. The same frankness runs
  through all his conversation. The military part of his
  life has furnished him with many adventures, in the relation (10)
  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
  obsequious from an habit of obeying men highly above
  him. (15)

   [13] Is this a correct modern use of the word?

   [14] Can you express Steele's meaning in this clause more precisely?

  But that our society may not appear a set of humorists
  unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age,
  we have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman
  who, according to his years, should be in the decline
  of his life, but having[15] ever been very careful of his person, (20)
  and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but
  very little impression either by wrinkles on his forehead
  or traces in his brain. His person is well turned, of a
  good height. He is very ready at that sort of discourse
  with which men usually entertain women. He has all his (25)
  life dressed very well, and remembers habits[16] as others do
  men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs
  easily. He knows the history of every mode,[17] and can
  inform you from which of the French king's wenches our
  wives and daughters had this manner of curling their hair, (57: 5)
  that way of placing their hoods; ... 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
  has been in the female world. As other men of his age
  will take notice to you[18] what such a minister said upon (10)
  such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the
  Duke of Monmouth danced at court such a woman was
  then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of
  his troop in the Park. In all these important relations,[19]
  he has ever about the same time received a kind glance (15)
  or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty, mother
  of the present Lord Such-a-one. If you speak of a young
  commoner that said a lively thing in the House, he starts
  up: "He has good blood in his veins; ... that young
  fellow's mother used me more like a dog than any woman (20)
  I ever made advances to." This way of talking of his
  very much 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, (25)
  fine gentleman. To conclude his character, where
  women are not concerned, he is an honest, worthy
  man.

   [15] Another example of Steele's careless structure; correct the
   sentence.

   [16] Costumes, styles of dress.

   [17] Fashion.

   [18] Change into a modern idiom.

   [19] What is the meaning of this word here?

  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 (58: 5)
  but seldom; but when he does, it adds to every man else
  a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a very
  philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of
  life, and the most exact good breeding. He has the
  misfortune to be of a very weak constitution, and consequently (10)
  cannot accept of such cares and business as
  preferments in his function would 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 (15)
  loud advances others. 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 (20)
  world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his
  wishes, and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities.
  These are my ordinary companions.                    R.




  III. SIR ROGER'S CRITICISMS ON POLITE
  SOCIETY

  [No. 6. Wednesday, March 7, 1711. STEELE.]

       Credebant hoc grande nefas et morte piandum,
      Si iuvenis vetulo non assurrexerat.

      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 sexes and
  all qualities of mankind, and there is hardly that person
  to be found who is not more concerned for the reputation (59: 5)
  of wit and sense, than honesty and virtue. But this unhappy
  affectation of being wise rather than honest, witty
  than good-natured, is the source of most of the ill habits
  of life. Such false impressions are owing to the abandoned
  writings of men of wit, and the awkward imitation (10)
  of the rest of mankind.

  For this reason, Sir Roger was saying last night that
  he was of opinion none but men of fine parts deserve
  to be hanged. The reflections of such men are so delicate
  upon all occurrences which they are concerned in, (15)
  that they should be exposed to more than ordinary infamy
  and punishment for offending against such quick admonitions
  as their own souls give them, and blunting the fine
  edge of their minds in such a manner that they are no
  more shocked at vice and folly than men of slower capacities.
  There is no greater monster 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 (60: 5)
  satisfaction 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 to get himself
  a warm supper ... at night, is not half so despicable (10)
  a wretch as such a man of sense. The beggar has no
  relish above sensations; he finds rest more agreeable
  than motion, and while he has a warm fire ..., never
  reflects that he deserves to be whipped.

  "Every man who terminates his satisfactions and enjoyments (15)
  within the supply of his own necessities and passions,
  is," says Sir Roger, "in my eye, as poor a rogue as
  Scarecrow. But," continued he, "for the loss of public
  and private virtue we are beholden to your men of parts,
  forsooth; it is with them no matter what is done, so it is (20)
  done with an air. But to me, who am so whimsical in a
  corrupt age as to act according to nature and reason,
  a selfish man in the most shining circumstance and equipage,
  appears in the same condition with the fellow above-mentioned,
  but more contemptible in proportion to what (25)
  more he robs the public of and enjoys above him.[20] I lay
  it down therefore for a rule, that the whole man is to
  move together; that every action of any importance is
  to have a prospect of public good; and that the general
  tendency of our indifferent actions ought to be agreeable
  to the dictates of reason, of religion, of good-breeding.
  Without this, a man, as I have before hinted, is hopping
  instead of walking; he is not in his entire and proper (61: 5)
  motion."

   [20] _I.e_. the fellow above mentioned.

  While the honest knight was thus bewildering himself
  in good starts,[21] I looked intentively[22] 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, (10)
  to polish our understandings and neglect our manners[23] is
  of all things the most inexcusable. Reason should govern
  passion, but instead of that, you see, it is often subservient
  to it; and, as unaccountable as one would think
  it, a wise man is not always a good man." (15)

   [21] A term used in hunting. But _is_ Sir Roger bewildering himself?

   [22] Attentively.

   [23] Notice that the word is used in the broad sense of conduct.

  This degeneracy is not only the guilt of particular persons,
  but also at some times of 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 admitting wit and learning as merit in (20)
  themselves, without considering the application of them.
  By this 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 (25)
  virtue,--"It is a mighty dishonour and shame to employ
  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 (62: 5)
  on soon after to say, very generously, that he undertook
  the writing of his poem "to rescue the Muses, ... to
  restore them to their sweet and chaste mansions, and to
  engage them in an employment suitable to their dignity."
  This certainly ought to be the purpose of every man who (10)
  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 and integrity of the other, society
  is upon a wrong basis, and we shall be ever after without (15)
  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 of
  the two latter, is going into a road that is both endless
  and intricate; when we pursue the other, our passage is (20)
  delightful, and what we aim at easily attainable.

  I do not doubt but England is at present as polite a
  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. (25)
  Is there anything so just, as that mode[24] and gallantry[25]
  should be built upon exerting ourselves in what is proper
  and agreeable to the institutions of justice and piety
  among us? And yet is there anything more common,
  than that we run in perfect contradiction to them? All
  which is supported by no other pretension than that it (63: 5)
  is done with what we call a good grace.

   [24] Fashion.

   [25] Politeness, fine manner. Does this sentence seem obscure or
   cumbrous? Can you improve it?

  Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming, but
  what nature itself should prompt us to think so. Respect
  to all kind of superiors is founded, methinks, upon instinct;
  and yet what is so ridiculous as age?[26] I make (10)
  this abrupt transition to the mention of this vice[27] 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.

   [26] _I.e_. what seems nowadays so ridiculous.

   [27] The vice of disrespect for age.

  It happened at Athens, during a public representation (15)
  of some play exhibited in honor of the commonwealth,
  that an old gentleman came too late for a place suitable
  to his age and quality. Many of the young gentlemen
  who observed the difficulty and confusion he was in,
  made signs to him that they would accommodate him if (20)
  he came where they sat. The good man bustled through
  the crowd accordingly; but when he came to the seats
  to which he was invited, the jest was to sit close and
  expose him, as he stood out of countenance, to the
  whole audience. The frolic went round all the Athenian (25)
  benches. But on those occasions there were also particular
  places assigned for foreigners. When the good
  man skulked towards the boxes appointed for the Lacedemonians,
  that honest people, more virtuous than polite,
  rose up all, to a man, and with the greatest respect
  received him among them. The Athenians, being suddenly
  touched with a sense of the Spartan virtue and (64: 5)
  their own degeneracy, gave a thunder of applause; and
  the old man cried out, "The Athenians understand what
  is good, but the Lacedemonians practise it!"         R.




  IV. THE CLUB AND THE SPECTATOR

  [No. 34. Monday, April 9, 1711. ADDISON.]

                              Parcit
      Cognatis maculis similis fera--

      JUV.


  The club of which I am a member is very luckily composed
  of such persons as are engaged in different ways (10)
  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 materials, and know
  everything that passes in the different quarters and divisions,
  not only of this great city, but of the whole kingdom. (15)
  My readers, too, have the satisfaction to find that
  there is no rank or degree among them who have not
  their[28] representative in this club, and that there is always
  somebody present who will take care of their respective
  interests, that nothing may be written or published to
  the prejudice or infringement of their just rights and
  privileges.

   [28] Correct the bad grammar.

  I last night sat very late in company with this select
  body of friends, who entertained me with several remarks (65: 5)
  which they and others had made upon these my speculations,
  as also with the various success which they[29] 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 (10)
  your comfort," says Will, "they are not those of the
  most wit"--that were offended at the liberties I had
  taken with the opera and the puppet-show; that some of
  them were likewise very much surprised that I should
  think such serious points as the dress and equipage of (15)
  persons of quality proper subjects for raillery.

   [29] What is the antecedent?

  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[30] wives and
  daughters were the better for them; and further added, (20)
  that the whole city thought themselves very much obliged
  to me for declaring my generous intentions to scourge
  vice and folly as they appear in a multitude, without condescending
  to be a publisher of particular intrigues. "In
  short," says Sir Andrew, "if you avoid that foolish beaten (25)
  road of falling upon aldermen and citizens, and employ
  your pen upon the vanity and luxury of courts, your paper
  must needs be of general use."

   [30] Whose?

  Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew that
  he wondered to hear a man of his sense talk after that
  manner; that the city had always been the province for
  satire; and that the wits of King Charles's time jested
  upon nothing else during his whole reign. He then (66: 5)
  showed, by the examples of Horace, Juvenal, Boileau,
  and the best writers of every age, that the follies of the
  stage and court had never been accounted too sacred for
  ridicule, how great soever the persons might be that patronized
  them. "But after all," says he, "I think your (10)
  raillery has made too great an excursion, in attacking
  several persons of the Inns of Court; and I do not
  believe you can show me any precedent for your behaviour
  in that particular."

  My good friend Sir Roger de Coverley, who had said (15)
  nothing all this while, began his speech with a "Pish!"
  and told us that he wondered to see so many men of
  sense so very serious upon fooleries. "Let our good
  friend," says he, "attack every one that deserves it; I
  would only advise you, Mr. Spectator,"--applying himself (20)
  to me,--"to take care how you meddle with country
  squires. They are the ornaments of the English
  nation,--men of good heads and sound bodies! and,
  let me tell you, some of them take it ill of you that you
  mention fox hunters with so little respect." (25)

  Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion.
  What he said was only to commend my prudence in not
  touching upon the army, and advised me to continue to
  act discreetly in that point.

  By this time I found every subject of my speculations
  was taken away from me by one or other of the club, and
  began to think myself in the condition of the good man
  that had one wife who took a dislike to his gray hairs, and
  another to his black, till by their picking out what each (67: 5)
  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 (10)
  any order of persons should think themselves too
  considerable to be advised. That it was not quality, but
  innocence, which exempted men from reproof. That vice
  and folly ought to be attacked wherever they could be
  met with, and especially when they were placed in high (15)
  and conspicuous stations of life. He further added, that
  my paper would only serve to aggravate the pains of poverty,
  if it chiefly exposed those who are already depressed,
  and in some measure turned into ridicule, by the meanness
  of their conditions and circumstances. He afterwards (20)
  proceeded to take notice of the great use this
  paper might be of to the public, by reprehending those
  vices which are too trivial for the chastisement of the
  law, and too fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit.
  He then advised me to prosecute my undertaking with (25)
  cheerfulness, and assured me, that whoever might be displeased
  with me, I should be approved by 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 with
  which he delivers himself, as by the strength of argument
  and force of reason which he makes use of. Will Honeycomb (68: 5)
  immediately agreed that what he had said was right,
  and that, for his part, he would not insist upon the quarter
  which he had demanded for the ladies. Sir Andrew gave
  up the city with the same frankness. The Templar would
  not stand out, and was followed by Sir Roger and the (10)
  Captain,--who all agreed that I should be at liberty to
  carry the war into what quarter I pleased, provided I continued
  to combat with criminals in a body, and to assault
  the vice without hurting the person.

  This debate, which was held for the good of mankind, (15)
  put me in mind of that which the Roman triumvirate 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 proscription; and at length,
  making a sacrifice of all their acquaintance and relations, (20)
  furnished out a very decent execution.

  Having thus taken my resolutions to march on boldly
  in the cause of virtue and good sense, and to annoy their
  adversaries in whatever degree or rank of men they may
  be found, I shall be deaf for the future to all the remonstrances (25)
  that shall be made to me on this account. If
  Punch grows extravagant, I shall reprimand him very
  freely. If the stage becomes a nursery of folly and
  impertinence, I shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it.
  In short, if I meet with anything in city, court, or country,
  that shocks modesty or good manners, I shall use my
  utmost endeavours 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 himself, (69: 5)
  or any one of his friends or enemies, aimed at in what is
  said: for I promise him, never to draw a faulty character
  which does not fit at least a thousand people; or to
  publish a single paper that is not written in the spirit of
  benevolence and with a love to mankind. (10)




  V. A LADY'S LIBRARY

  [No. 37. Thursday, April 12, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Non illa colo calathisve Minervae
      Femineas assueta manus....

      VIRG.


  Some months ago, my friend Sir Roger, being in the
  country, enclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain
  lady whom I shall here call by the name of Leonora, and
  as it contained matters of consequence, desired me to
  deliver it to her with my own hand. Accordingly I waited (15)
  upon her ladyship pretty early in the morning, and was
  desired by her woman to walk into her lady's library, till
  such time as she was in a readiness to receive me. The
  very sound of "a lady's library" gave me a great curiosity
  to see it; and as it was some time before the lady came (20)
  to me, I had an opportunity of turning over a great many
  of her books, which were ranged together in a very beautiful
  order. At the end of the folios, which were finely
  bound and gilt, were great jars of china placed one above
  another in a very noble piece of architecture. The quartos (70: 5)
  were separated from the octavos by a pile of smaller
  vessels, which rose in a delightful pyramid. The octavos
  were bounded by tea-dishes of all shapes, colours, and
  sizes, which were so disposed on a wooden frame that
  they looked like one continued pillar indented with the (10)
  finest strokes of sculpture and stained with the greatest
  variety of dyes.

  That part of the library which was designed for the
  reception of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers,
  was enclosed in a kind of square, consisting of one of the (15)
  prettiest grotesque works that ever I saw, and made up
  of scaramouches, lions, monkeys, mandarins, trees, shells,
  and a thousand other odd figures in china ware. In the
  midst of the room was a little japan table, with a quire of
  gilt paper upon it, and on the paper a silver snuff box (20)
  made in the shape of a little book. I found there were
  several other counterfeit books upon the upper shelves,
  which were carved in wood, and served only to fill up the
  number, like fagots[31] in the muster of a regiment. I was
  wonderfully pleased with such a mixed kind of furniture (25)
  as seemed very suitable both to the lady and the scholar,
  and did not know, at first, whether I should fancy myself
  in a grotto or in a library.

   [31] "A person formerly hired to take the place of another at the
   muster of a military company, or to hide deficiency in its number when
   it was not full."--_Century Dictionary_.

  Upon my looking into the books, I found there were
  some few which the lady had bought for her own use;
  but that most of them had been got together, either because (71: 5)
  she had heard them praised, or because she had
  seen the authors of them. Among several that I examined,
  I very well remember these that follow:

  Ogilby's _Virgil_.

  Dryden's _Juvenal_. (10)

  _Cassandra_.

  _Cleopatra_.

  _Astraea_.

  Sir Isaac Newton's Works.

  _The Grand Cyrus_, with a pin stuck in one of the (15)
  middle leaves.

  Pembroke's _Arcadia_.

  Locke of _Human Understanding_, with a paper of
  patches in it.

  A spelling book. (20)

  A dictionary for the explanation of hard words.

  Sherlock upon _Death_.

  _The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony_.

  Sir William Temple's _Essays_.

  Father Malebranche's _Search after Truth_, translated (25)
  into English.

  A book of novels.

  _The Academy of Compliments_.

  Culpepper's _Midwifery_.

  _The Ladies' Calling_.

  _Tales in Verse_, by Mr. D'Urfey; bound in red leather,
  gilt on the back, and doubled down in several places.

  All the classic authors in wood.

  A set of Elzevirs by the same hand. (72: 5)

  _Clelia_, which opened of itself in the place that describes
  two lovers in a bower.

  Baker's _Chronicle_.

  _Advice to a Daughter_.

  _The New Atalantis_, with a key to it. (10)

  Mr. Steele's _Christian Hero_.

  A prayer-book; with a bottle of Hungary water by the
  side of it.

  Dr. Sacheverell's Speech.

  Fielding's Trial. (15)

  Seneca's _Morals_.

  Taylor's _Holy Living and Dying_.

  La Ferte's _Instructions for Country Dances_.

  I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these
  and several other authors, when Leonora entered, and (20)
  upon my presenting her with the letter from the knight,
  told me, with an unspeakable grace, that she hoped Sir
  Roger was in good health. I answered, "Yes," for I
  hate long speeches, and after a bow or two retired.

  Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is still (25)
  a very lovely woman. She has been a widow for two or
  three years, and being unfortunate in her first marriage,
  has taken a resolution never to venture upon a second.
  She has no children to take care of, and leaves the management
  of her estate to my good friend Sir Roger. But
  as the mind naturally sinks into a kind of lethargy, and
  falls asleep, that[32] is not agitated by some favourite pleasures
  and pursuits, Leonora has turned all the passions of
  her sex into a love of books and retirement. She converses (73:5)
  chiefly with men,--as she has often said herself,--but
  it is only in their writings; and admits of very few
  male visitants except my friend Sir Roger, whom she
  hears with great pleasure and without scandal.

    [32] Rearrange this sentence.

  As her reading has lain very much among romances, (10)
  it has given her a very particular turn of thinking, and
  discovers itself even in her house, her gardens, and her
  furniture. Sir Roger has entertained me an hour together
  with a description of her country seat, which is situated
  in a kind of wilderness, about an hundred miles distant (15)
  from London, and looks like a little enchanted palace.
  The rocks about her are shaped into artificial grottoes
  covered with woodbines and jessamines. The woods are
  cut into shady walks, twisted into bowers, and filled with
  cages of turtles.[33] The springs are made to run among pebbles, (20)
  and by that means taught to murmur very agreeably.
  They are likewise collected into a beautiful lake that is
  inhabited by a couple of swans, and empties itself by a
  little rivulet which runs through a green meadow, and is
  known in the family by the name of the Purling Stream. (25)

   [33] Turtle doves.

  The knight likewise tells me that this lady preserves
  her game better than any of the gentlemen in the country.
  "Not," says Sir Roger, "that she sets so great a value
  upon her partridges and pheasants, as upon her larks and
  nightingales; for she says that every bird which is killed
  in her ground will spoil a consort,[34] and that she shall
  certainly miss him the next year."

   [34] Concert.

  When I think how oddly this lady is improved by (74: 5)
  learning, I look upon her with a mixture of admiration
  and pity. Amidst these innocent entertainments which
  she has formed to herself, how much more valuable does
  she appear than those of her sex who employ themselves
  in diversions that are less reasonable, though more in (10)
  fashion. What improvements would a woman have
  made, who is so susceptible of impressions from what
  she reads, had she been guided to such books as have a
  tendency to enlighten the understanding and rectify the
  passions, as well as to those which are of little more use (15)
  than to divert the imagination.

  But the manner of a lady's employing herself usefully
  in reading shall be the subject of another paper, in which
  I design to recommend such particular books as may be
  proper for the improvement of the sex. And as this is a (20)
  subject of a very nice nature, I shall desire my correspondents
  to give me their thoughts upon it.                   C.




  VI. COVERLEY HALL

  [No. 106. Monday, July 2, 1711. 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 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. (75: 5)
  Sir Roger, who is very well acquainted with my
  humor, lets me rise and go to bed when I please, dine at
  his own table or in my chamber, as I think fit, sit still
  and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When
  the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only (10)
  shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his
  fields I have observed them stealing a sight of me over
  an hedge, and have heard the knight desiring them not
  to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at.

  I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family because it (15)
  consists of sober and staid persons; for, as the knight is
  the best master in the world, he seldom changes his servants;
  and as he is beloved by all about him, his servants
  never care for leaving him; by this means his domestics
  are all in years, and grown old with their master. You
  would take his _valet de chambre_ for his brother, his butler
  is gray-headed, his groom is one of the gravest men that
  I have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a
  privy counsellor. You see the goodness of the master (76: 5)
  even in the old house dog, and in a gray pad[35] 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.

   [35] An easy-riding horse.

  I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure (10)
  the joy that appeared in the countenances of these
  ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his country
  seat. Some of them could not refrain from tears at the
  sight of their old master; every one of them pressed forward
  to do something for him, and seemed discouraged (15)
  if they were not employed. At the same time the good
  old knight, with a mixture of the father and the master
  of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs
  with several kind questions relating to themselves. This
  humanity and good nature engages everybody to him, so (20)
  that when he is 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 of his servants.

  My worthy friend has put me under the particular care
  of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as
  the rest of his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of
  pleasing me, because they have often heard their master
  talk of me as of his particular friend.

  My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself
  in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man
  who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in
  the nature[36] of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman
  is a person of good sense and some learning, of a
  very regular life and obliging conversation; he heartily
  loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the (10)
  old knight's esteem, so that he lives in the family rather
  as a relation than a dependant.

   [36] In the capacity of a chaplain.

  I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend
  Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of
  an humorist,[37] and that his virtues as well as imperfections (15)
  are, as it were, tinged by a certain extravagance which
  makes them particularly _his_, and distinguishes them from
  those of other men. This cast of mind, as it is generally
  very innocent in itself, so it renders his conversation
  highly agreeable, and more delightful than the same (20)
  degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common
  and ordinary 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 (25)
  Latin and Greek at _his_ own table, for which reason he
  desired a particular friend of his at the university to find
  him out a clergyman, rather of plain sense than much
  learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper,
  and, if possible, a man that understood a little of
  backgammon. "My friend," says Sir Roger, "found (78: 5)
  me out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments
  required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though
  he does not show it. I have given him the parsonage
  of the parish, and, because I know his value, have settled
  upon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he (10)
  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 that time asked anything of me for himself,
  though he is every day soliciting me for something (15)
  in behalf of one or other of my tenants, his parishioners.
  There has not been a lawsuit in the parish since he has
  lived among them: if any dispute arises they apply themselves
  to him for the decision; if they do not acquiesce
  in his judgment,--which I think never happened above (20)
  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
  begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce
  one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has digested (25)
  them into such a series that they follow one another
  naturally, and make a continued system of practical
  divinity."

   [37] The earlier and more proper sense of the word--a person of
   pleasing eccentricity.

  As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman
  we were talking of came up to us; and upon the knight's
  asking him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday
  night), told us the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning
  and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then showed us his
  list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw, with (79: 5)
  a great deal of pleasure, Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop
  Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with several living
  authors who have published discourses of practical divinity.
  I no sooner saw this venerable man in the pulpit
  but I very much approved of my friend's insisting upon (10)
  the qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice; for
  I was so charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and
  delivery, as well as with the discourses he pronounced,
  that I think I never passed any time more to my satisfaction.
  A sermon repeated after this manner is like the (15)
  composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor.
  I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy
  would follow this example; and instead of wasting their
  spirits in laborious compositions of their own, would endeavor
  after a handsome elocution, and all those other (20)
  talents that are proper to enforce what has been penned
  by greater masters. This would not only be more easy
  to themselves, but more edifying to the people.      L.




  VII. THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD

  [No. 107. Tuesday, July 3, 1711. STEELE.]

      Æsopo ingentem statuam posuere Attici
      Servumque collocarunt aeterna in basi,
      Patere honoris scirent ut cuncti viam.

      PHAED.


  The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed 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 servants is owing to the
  conduct of masters. The aspect of every one in the family (80:5)
  carries so much satisfaction that it appears he knows
  the happy lot which has befallen him in being a member
  of it. There is one particular which I have seldom seen
  but at Sir Roger's: it is usual in all other places that
  servants fly from the parts of the house through which (10)
  their master is passing; 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 perfectly (15)
  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 respect and love
  go together; and a certain cheerfulness in performance
  of their duty is the particular distinction of the lower
  part of this family. When a servant is called before his
  master, he does not come with an expectation to hear (81: 5)
  himself rated for some trivial fault, threatened to be
  stripped,[38] or used with any other unbecoming 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 (10)
  such a ground; if the old man who rents it is in good
  health; or whether he gave Sir Roger's love to him, or
  the like.

   [38] _I.e_. stripped of his livery, dismissed.

  A man who preserves a respect founded on his benevolence
  to his dependants lives rather like a prince than a (15)
  master in his family; his orders are received as favours
  rather than duties; and the distinction of approaching
  him is part of the reward for executing what is commanded
  by him.

  There is another circumstance in which my friend excels (20)
  in his management, which is the manner of rewarding
  his servants. He has ever been of opinion that
  giving his cast[39] clothes to be worn by valets has a very
  ill effect upon little minds, and creates a silly sense of
  equality between the parties, in persons affected only (25)
  with outward things. I have heard him often pleasant
  on this occasion,[40] and describe a young gentleman abusing
  his man in that coat[41] which a month or two before
  was the most pleasing distinction he was conscious of in
  himself. He would turn his discourse still more pleasantly
  upon the ladies' bounties of this kind; and I have
  heard him say he knew a fine woman who distributed (82: 5)
  rewards and punishments in giving becoming or unbecoming
  dresses to her maids.

   [39] Cast-off.

   [40] _I.e_. humorous on this matter.

   [41] _I.e_. while the man was wearing that coat.

  But my good friend is above these little instances of
  good-will, in bestowing only trifles on his servants; a
  good servant to him is sure of having it in his choice very (10)
  soon of being no servant at all. As I before observed,
  he is so good an husband,[42] and knows so thoroughly that
  the skill of the purse is the cardinal virtue of this life,--I
  say, he knows so well that frugality is the support of
  generosity, that he can often spare a large fine[43] when a (15)
  tenement falls,[44] 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 he stays in his service.

   [42] Economist. The verb is still used in that sense.

   [43] A fine, in English law, is a sum of money paid by a tenant at the
   beginning of his tenancy, usually to reduce his rent.

   [44] When the right to occupy a house or lands terminates, by
   expiration of lease or otherwise. The usual term is "falls in."
   The meaning of the whole passage is that when a tenement--house or
   lands--is to be rented, Sir Roger often grants it to one of his
   servants without requiring payment of the customary "fine" on taking
   possession; or, if the servant choose to remain with Sir Roger, he may
   have the fine paid by the "stranger" who leases the property.

  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 his servants
  into independent livelihoods. The greatest part of Sir (83: 5)
  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; and all the difference that I
  could take notice of between the late[45] servants who came (10)
  to see him and those who stayed in the family, was that
  these latter were looked upon as finer gentlemen and
  better courtiers.

   [45] Recent, former.

  This manumission and placing them in a way of livelihood
  I look upon as only what is due to a good servant, (15)
  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. (20)

  One might, on this occasion, recount the sense that
  great persons in all ages have had of the merit of their
  dependants, 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 all the difference (25)
  between them; but as I design this my speculation only
  as a gentle admonition to thankless masters, I shall not
  go out of the occurrences of common life, but assert it, as
  a general observation, that I never saw, but in Sir Roger's
  family and one or two more, good servants treated as
  they ought to be. Sir Roger's kindness extends to their
  children's children, and this very morning he sent his
  coachman's grandson to prentice. I shall conclude (84: 5)
  this paper with an account of a picture in his gallery,
  where there 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 (10)
  one naked, the other in a livery. The person supported
  seemed half dead, but still so much alive 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 (15)
  an account of it, he informed me that the person in the
  livery was a servant of Sir Roger's, who stood on the shore
  while his master was swimming, and observing him taken
  with some sudden illness, and sink under water, jumped
  in and saved him.[46] He told me Sir Roger took off the (20)
  dress he was in as soon 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 (25)
  whom he was highly obliged, without mentioning anything
  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 drawn in the habit in
  which he had saved his master.                       R.

   [46] Can you criticise the use of pronouns in this sentence?




  VIII. WILL WIMBLE

  [No. 108. WEDNESDAY, July 4, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens.

      PHAED.


  As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Roger
  before his house, a country fellow brought him a huge (85: 5)
  fish, which, he told him, Mr. William Wimble had caught
  that very morning; and that he presented it with his service
  to him, and intended to come and dine with him.
  At the same time he delivered a letter, which my friend
  read to me as soon as the messenger left him. (10)

    "Sir Roger,

    "I desire you to accept of a jack,[47] which is the best I
    have caught this season. I intend to come and stay with
    you a week, and see how the perch bite in the Black
    River. I observed with some concern, the last time I (15)
    saw you upon the bowling green, that your whip wanted
    a lash to it; I will bring half a dozen with me that I
    twisted last week, which I hope will serve you all the time
    you are in the country. I have not been out of the saddle
    for six days last past, having been at Eton with Sir John's
    eldest son. He takes to his learning hugely.

    "I am, sir, your humble servant,

    "WILL WIMBLE."

   [47] A pickerel, or small pike.

  This extraordinary letter, and message that accompanied (86: 5)
  it, made me very curious to know the character
  and quality[48] of the gentleman who sent them, which I
  found to be as follows. Will Wimble is younger brother
  to a baronet, and descended of the ancient family of the
  Wimbles. He is now between forty and fifty, but, being (10)
  bred to no business and born to no estate, he generally
  lives with his elder brother as superintendent of his game.
  He hunts[49] a pack of dogs better than any man in the
  country, and is very famous for finding out a hare. He
  is extremely well versed in all the little handicrafts of an (15)
  idle man; he makes a may-fly[50] to a miracle, and furnishes
  the whole country with angle-rods. As he is a good-natured,
  officious fellow, and very much esteemed upon
  account of his family, he is a welcome guest at every
  house, and keeps up a good correspondence among all (20)
  the gentlemen about him. He carries a tulip-root in his
  pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy between
  a couple of friends that live perhaps in the opposite
  sides of the county. Will is a particular favourite of all the
  young heirs, whom he frequently obliges with a net that (25)
  he has weaved, or a setting-dog that he has made[51] himself.
  He now and then presents a pair of garters of his own
  knitting to their mothers or sisters, and raises a great
  deal of mirth among them by inquiring, as often as he
  meets them, how they wear. These gentleman-like manufactures
  and obliging little humours make Will the darling (87: 5)
  of the country.

   [48] Rank.

   [49] _I.e_. hunts with.

   [50] An artificial fly for fishing.

   [51] _I.e_. trained.

  Sir Roger was proceeding in the character of him,
  when he saw him make up to us with two 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 (10)
  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 (15)
  to carry a 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 (20)
  that he 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 that talked to me as (25)
  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
  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 account how he
  had hooked it, played with it, foiled it, and at length (88: 5)
  drew it out upon the bank, with several other particulars
  that lasted all the first course. A dish of wild fowl that
  came afterwards furnished conversation for the rest of the
  dinner, which concluded with a late invention of Will's
  for improving the quail-pipe.[52] (10)

   [52] A pipe to imitate the call of a quail.

  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 good an heart
  and such busy hands were wholly employed in trifles; (15)
  that so much humanity should be so little beneficial to
  others, and so much industry so little advantageous to himself.
  The same temper of mind and application to affairs
  might have recommended him to the public esteem, and
  have raised his fortune in another station of life. What (20)
  good to his country or himself might not a trader or
  merchant have done with such useful though ordinary
  qualifications?

  Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother
  of a great family, who had rather see their children starve (25)
  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
  uncapable 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 that were launched into the world with narrow (89: 5)
  fortunes, rising by an honest industry to greater estates
  than those of their elder brothers. It is not improbable
  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 inventions. But (10)
  certainly, however improper[53] he might have been for
  studies of a higher nature, he was perfectly 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 compare what I have here written, (15)
  with what I have said in my twenty-first speculation.  L.

   [53] Unfit.




  IX. THE COVERLEY ANCESTRY

  [No. 109. Thursday, July 5, 1711. STEELE.]

      Abnormis sapiens.

      HOR.


  I was this morning walking in the gallery, when Sir
  Roger entered at the end opposite to me, and, advancing
  towards me, said he was glad to meet me 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 expected he would give me some account of (90: 5)
  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
  imagination, without regular introduction or care to preserve (10)
  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 observe, also,
  that the general fashion of one age has been followed by (15)
  one particular set of people in another, and by them preserved
  from one generation to another. Thus, the vast
  jetting coat and small bonnet, which was the habit[54] in
  Harry the Seventh's time, is kept on in the yeomen of the
  guard; not without a good and politic view, because they (20)
  look a foot taller, and a foot and an half broader; besides
  that the cap leaves the face expanded, and consequently
  more terrible, and fitter to stand at the entrance of
  palaces.

   [54] Costume.

  "This predecessor of ours, you see, is dressed after (25)
  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 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 (91: 5)
  taking him with incredible force before him on the pommel
  of his saddle, he in that manner rid the tournament
  over, with an air that showed he did it rather to perform
  the rule[55] of the lists than expose his enemy. However, it
  appeared he knew how to make use of a victory; and, (10)
  with a gentle trot, he marched up to a gallery where their
  mistress sat,--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 coffee-house is
  now. (15)

   [55] The law of the tournament.

  "You are to know this my ancestor was not only of a
  military genius, but fit also for the arts of peace; for 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 (20)
  the fair lady, who was a maid of honour, and the greatest
  beauty of her time. Here she stands, the next picture.
  You see, sir, my great-great-great-grandmother has on the
  new-fashioned petticoat, except that the modern is gathered
  at the waist: my grandmother appears as if she (25)
  stood in a large drum, whereas the ladies now walk as
  if they were in a go-cart. For all this lady was bred at
  court, she became an excellent country wife; she brought
  ten children; and, when I show you the library, you shall
  see, in her own hand, allowing for the difference of the
  language, the best receipt now in England both for an
  hasty-pudding and a white-pot.

  "If you please to fall back a little,--because 'tis necessary (92: 5)
  to look at the three next pictures at one view,--these
  are three sisters. She on the right hand, who is so very
  beautiful, died a maid; the next to her, still handsomer,
  had the same fate, against her will; this homely thing in
  the middle had both their portions added to her own, and (10)
  was stolen by a neighbouring gentleman, a man of stratagem
  and resolution, for he poisoned three mastiffs to come
  at her, and knocked down two deer-stealers in carrying
  her off. Misfortunes happen in all families. The theft
  of this romp and so much money was no great matter to (15)
  our estate. But the next heir that possessed it[56] was 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 (20)
  with one hand on a desk, writing and 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 (25)
  with him, but never said a rude thing in his life; the
  most indolent person in the world, he would sign a deed
  that passed away half his estate, with his gloves on, but
  would not put on his hat before a lady if it were to save
  his country. He is said to be the first that made love
  by squeezing the hand. He left the estate with ten thousand
  pounds' debt upon it; but, however, by all hands I
  have been informed that he was every way the finest (93: 5)
  gentleman in the world. That debt lay heavy on our
  house for one generation; but it was retrieved by a gift
  from that honest man you see there, a citizen of our
  name, but nothing at all akin to us. I know Sir Andrew
  Freeport has said behind my back that this man was (10)
  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, because money was
  wanting at that time."

   [56] The estate.

  Here I saw my friend a little embarrassed, and turned (15)
  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--"I take to be the honour of our house, Sir
  Humphrey de Coverley. He was, in his dealings, as (20)
  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 knight of this shire[57] to his dying
  day. He found it no easy matter to maintain an integrity (25)
  in his words and actions, even in things that regarded the
  offices which were incumbent upon him in the care of his
  own affairs and relations of life, and therefore dreaded,
  though he had great talents, to go into employments of
  state, where he must be exposed to the snares of ambition.
  Innocence of life and great ability were the distinguishing
  parts of his character; the latter, he had often
  observed, had led to the destruction of the former, and (94: 5)
  used frequently to lament that _great_ and _good_ had not
  the same signification. He was an excellent husbandman,[58]
  but had resolved not to exceed such a degree of
  wealth; all above it he bestowed in secret bounties many
  years after the sum he aimed at for his own use was attained. (10)
  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."

   [57] Representative of the shire in Parliament.

   [58] Economist.

  Here we were called to dinner; and Sir Roger ended (15)
  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 Wars;
  "for," said he, "he was sent out of the field upon a
  private message the day before the battle of Worcester." (20)

  The whim of narrowly escaping by having been within
  a day of danger, with other matters above mentioned,
  mixed with good sense, left me at a loss whether I was
  more delighted with my friend's wisdom or simplicity.
                                                       R. (25)




  X. THE COVERLEY GHOST

  [No. 110. Friday, July 6, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Horror ubique 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 the tops
  of them seem to be cawing in another region. I am very (95: 5)
  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 (10)
  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 butler desired me, with a very grave face, not
  to venture myself in it after sunset, for that one of the (15)
  footmen 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 month
  ago one of the maids coming home late that way, with a
  pail of milk upon her head, heard such a rustling among (20)
  the bushes that she let it fall.

  I was taking a walk in this place last night between the
  hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one
  of the most proper scenes in the world for a ghost to
  appear in. The ruins of the abbey are scattered up and
  down on every side, and half covered with ivy and elder (96: 5)
  bushes, the harbours of several solitary birds which seldom
  make their appearance till the dusk of the evening. The
  place was formerly a church-yard, and has still several
  marks in it of graves and burying-places. There is such
  an echo among the old ruins and vaults that, if you stamp (10)
  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 are heard
  from the tops of them, looks exceeding solemn and venerable.
  These objects naturally raise seriousness and (15)
  attention; 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.

  Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the Association of Ideas, (20)
  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.[59] Among several examples of this kind,
  he produces the following instance: "The ideas of goblins (25)
  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 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." (97: 5)

   [59] Is the thought expressed with precision?

  As I was walking in this solitude, where the dusk of
  the evening conspired with so many other occasions of
  terror, I observed a cow grazing not far from me, which
  an imagination that is apt to startle might easily have
  construed into a black horse without an head; and I dare (10)
  say the poor footman lost his wits upon some such trivial
  occasion.

  My friend Sir Roger has often told me, with a great
  deal of mirth, that at his first coming to his estate, he
  found three parts of his house altogether useless: that (15)
  the best room in it had the reputation of being haunted,
  and by that means was locked up; that noises had been
  heard in his long 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 (20)
  a story in the family that a butler had formerly hanged
  himself in it; and that his mother, who lived to a great
  age, had shut up half the rooms in the house, in which
  either her husband, a son, or daughter had died. The
  knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a (25)
  compass and himself in a manner shut out of his own
  house, upon the death of his mother ordered all the apartments
  to be flung open and exorcised by his chaplain,
  who lay in every room one after another, and by that
  means dissipated the fears which had so long reigned in
  the family.

  I should not have been thus particular upon these 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 (98: 5)
  who is thus terrified with the imagination of ghosts
  and spectres much more reasonable than one who, contrary
  to the reports of all historians, sacred and profane,
  ancient and modern, and to the traditions of all nations,
  thinks the appearance of spirits fabulous and groundless. (10)
  Could not I give myself up to this general testimony of
  mankind, I should to the relations of particular persons
  who are now living, and whom I cannot distrust in other
  matters of fact. I might here add, that not only the historians,
  to whom we may join the poets, but likewise (15)
  the philosophers of antiquity have favoured this opinion.
  Lucretius himself, though by the course of his philosophy
  he was obliged to maintain that the soul did not exist
  separate from the body, makes no doubt of the reality of
  apparitions, and that men have often appeared after their (20)
  death. This I think very remarkable: he was so pressed
  with the matter of fact which he could not have the confidence
  to deny, that he was forced to account for it by
  one of the most absurd unphilosophical notions that was
  ever started. He tells us that the surfaces of all bodies (25)
  are perpetually flying off from their respective bodies one
  after another; and that these surfaces or thin cases that
  included each other, whilst they were joined in the body,
  like the coats of an onion, are sometimes seen entire when
  they are 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 Josephus,
  not so much for the sake of the story itself as for the (99: 5)
  moral reflections with which the author concludes 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 married to a
  third, who was brother to her first husband, and so passionately (10)
  in love with her that he turned off his former
  wife to make room for this marriage,--had a very odd
  kind of dream. She fancied that she saw her first husband
  coming towards her, and that she embraced him with
  great tenderness; when in the midst of the pleasure which (15)
  she expressed at the sight of 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 the
  husband of thy virginity? Have I not children by thee? (20)
  How couldst thou forget our loves so far as to enter
  into a second marriage, and after that into a third?...
  However, for the sake of our past loves I shall free
  thee from thy present reproach, and make thee mine
  for ever.' (25)

  "Glaphyra told this dream to several women of her
  acquaintance, and died soon after.

  "I thought this story might not be impertinent in this
  place wherein I speak of those kings. Besides that, the
  example deserves to be taken notice of, as it contains a
  most certain proof of the immortality of the soul, and of
  divine providence. If any man thinks these facts incredible,
  let him enjoy his own opinion to himself, but let him
  not endeavour to disturb the belief of others, who by (100: 5)
  instances of this nature are excited to the study of
  virtue."                                             L.




  XI. SUNDAY WITH SIR ROGER

  [No. 112. Monday, July 9, 1711. ADDISON.]
   Ἀθανάτους μὲν πρῶτα θεοὺς, νόμῳ ὡς διάκειται,
   Τίμα.

      PYTH.


  I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday,
  and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a
  human institution, it would be the best method that could (10)
  have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing 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 (15)
  in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another
  upon indifferent[60] 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 refreshes in their minds the notions
  of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing
  in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such
  qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of
  the village. A country fellow distinguishes himself as (101: 5)
  much in the church-yard as a citizen does upon the
  Change,[61] the whole parish politics being generally discussed
  at that place, either after sermon or before the
  bell rings.

   [60] What is the meaning of the word here?

   [61] Short for "Exchange."

  My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has (10)
  beautified the inside of his church with several texts of
  his own choosing; he has likewise given a handsome
  pulpit cloth, and railed in the communion table at his
  own expense. He has often told me that, at his coming
  to his estate, he found his parishioners very irregular; (15)
  and that in order to make them kneel and join in the
  responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and a
  Common Prayer Book, and at the same time employed
  an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country
  for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of (20)
  the Psalms; upon which they now very much value themselves,
  and indeed outdo most of the country churches
  that I have ever heard.

  As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he
  keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to (25)
  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. Several other of the old
  knight's particularities[62] break out upon these occasions:
  sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing (102: 5)
  Psalms half a minute after the rest of the congregation
  have done with it; sometimes, when he is pleased
  with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces "Amen"
  three or four times to the same prayer; and sometimes
  stands up when everybody else is upon their[63] knees, to
  count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are (10)
  missing.

   [62] Peculiarities.

   [63] Correct the English.

  I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old
  friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one
  John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not disturb
  the congregation. This John Matthews, it seems, is (15)
  remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was
  kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of the
  knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies
  him in all circumstances of life, has a very good
  effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see (20)
  anything ridiculous in his behaviour; besides that the general
  good sense and worthiness of his character makes his
  friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather
  set off than blemish his good qualities.

  As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to (25)
  stir till Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The knight
  walks down from his seat in the chancel between a double
  row of his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each
  side, and every now and then inquires how such an one's
  wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not
  see at church,--which is understood as a secret reprimand
  to the person that is absent.

  The chaplain has often told me that, upon a catechizing (103: 5)
  day, when Sir Roger had been pleased with a boy that
  answers well, he has ordered a Bible to be given him
  next day for his encouragement, and sometimes accompanies
  it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger
  has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's (10)
  place; and, that he may encourage the young fellows to
  make themselves perfect in the church service, has promised,
  upon the death of the present incumbent, who is
  very old, to bestow it according to merit.

  The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his (15)
  chaplain and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is
  the more remarkable because the very next village is
  famous for the differences and contentions that rise between
  the parson and the squire, who live in a perpetual
  state of war. The parson is always preaching at the (20)
  squire, and the squire, to be revenged on the parson,
  never comes to church. The squire has made all his
  tenants atheists and tithe stealers; while the parson instructs
  them every Sunday in the dignity of his order,
  and insinuates to them in almost every sermon that he is (25)
  a better man than his patron. In short, matters are come
  to such an extremity that the squire has not said his
  prayers either in public or private this half year; and
  that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his
  manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole
  congregation.

  Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country,
  are very fatal to the ordinary people, who are so used
  to be dazzled with riches that they pay as much deference (104: 5)
  to the understanding of a man of an estate as of a man
  of learning; and are very hardly brought to regard any
  truth, how important soever it may be, that is preached
  to them, when they know there are several men of five
  hundred a year[64] who do not believe it.            L. (10)

   [64] _I.e_. who have an income of five hundred pounds a year.




  XII. SIR ROGER IN LOVE

  [No. 113. Tuesday, July 10, 1711. STEELE.]

      Haerent infixi pectore vultus.

      VIRG.


  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 evening that we fell into a very (15)
  pleasing walk at a distance from his house. As soon as
  we came into it, "It is," quoth the good old man, looking
  round him with a smile, "very hard that any part of my
  land should be settled upon one who has used me so ill
  as the perverse widow did; and yet I am sure I could
  not see a sprig of any bough of this whole walk of trees
  but I should reflect upon her and her severity. She has
  certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world.
  You are to know this was the place wherein I used to (105: 5)
  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 unhappy (10)
  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."

  Here followed a profound silence; and I was not displeased (15)
  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, he entered
  upon an account of this great circumstance in his life,
  with an air which I thought raised my idea of him above (20)
  what I had ever had before; and gave me the picture of
  that cheerful mind of his before it received that stroke
  which has ever since affected his words and actions. But
  he went on as follows:

  "I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and (25)
  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 neighbourhood,
  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 did not think ill of his
  own person, in taking that public occasion of showing my (106: 5)
  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
  county, with music before me, a feather in my hat, and
  my horse well bitted. I can assure you I was not a little (10)
  pleased with the kind looks and glances I had from all
  the balconies and windows, as I rode to the hall where
  the assizes were held. But when I came there, a beautiful
  creature in a widow's habit sat in court, to hear the
  event[65] of a cause concerning her dower. This commanding (15)
  creature (who was born for destruction of all who behold
  her) put on such a resignation in her countenance,
  and bore the whispers of all around the court with such
  a pretty uneasiness, I warrant you, and then recovered
  herself from one eye to another, till she was perfectly confused (20)
  by meeting something so wistful in all she encountered,
  that at last, with a murrain to her,[66] she cast her
  bewitching eye upon me. I no sooner met it but I bowed
  like a great surprised booby; and, knowing her cause to
  be the first which came on, I cried, like a captivated calf (25)
  as I was, 'Make way for the defendant's witnesses!' This
  sudden partiality made all the county immediately see the
  sheriff also was become a slave to the fine widow. During
  the time her cause was upon trial, she behaved herself,
  I warrant you, with such a deep attention to her
  business, took opportunities to have little billets handed
  to her counsel, then would be in such a pretty confusion, (107: 5)
  occasioned, 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 husband
  had to urge was thought so groundless and frivolous
  that, when it came to her counsel to reply, there was not (10)
  half so much said as every one besides in the court
  thought he could have urged to her advantage. You
  must understand, sir, this perverse woman is one of those
  unaccountable creatures that secretly rejoice in the admiration
  of men, but indulge themselves in no further (15)
  consequences. Hence it is that she has ever had a train
  of admirers, and she removes from her slaves in town to
  those in the country according to the seasons of the year.
  She is a reading lady, and far gone in the pleasures of
  friendship; she is always accompanied by a confidante, (20)
  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.

   [65] Outcome, issue. Notice the etymology of the word.

   [66] With a plague upon her!

  "However, I must needs say this accomplished mistress
  of mine has distinguished me above the rest, and (25)
  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 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 altogether,
  before I pretended to cross the country and wait upon
  her. As soon as I thought my retinue suitable to the (108: 5)
  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
  respect. To make her mistress of this art, she has a
  greater share of knowledge, wit, and good sense than is (10)
  usual even among men of merit. Then she is beautiful
  beyond the race of women. If you won't let her go on
  with a certain artifice with her eyes, and the skill of
  beauty, she will arm herself with her real charms, and
  strike you with admiration instead of desire. It is certain (15)
  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 makes you fear. But then
  again, she is such a desperate scholar that no country (20)
  gentleman can approach her without being a jest. As I
  was going to tell you, when I came to her house I was
  admitted to her presence with great civility; at the same
  time she placed herself to be first seen by me in such an
  attitude, as I think you call the posture of a picture, that (25)
  she discovered new charms, and I at last came towards
  her with such an awe as made me speechless. This she
  no sooner observed but she made her advantage of it,
  and began a discourse to me concerning love and honour,
  as they both are followed by pretenders, 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 Europe could possibly make, she
  asked me whether she was so happy as to fall in with my (109: 5)
  sentiments on these important particulars. Her confidante
  sat by her, and upon my being in the last confusion
  and silence, this malicious aid of hers, turning to her,
  says, 'I am very glad to observe Sir Roger pauses upon
  this subject, and seems resolved to deliver all his sentiments (10)
  upon the matter when he pleases to speak.' They
  both kept their countenances, and after I had sat half an
  hour meditating how to behave before such profound
  casuists, I rose up and took my leave. Chance has since
  that time thrown me very often in her way, and she as (15)
  often has directed a discourse to me which I do not
  understand. This barbarity has kept me ever at a distance
  from the most beautiful object my eyes ever beheld.
  It is thus also she deals with all mankind, and you must
  make love to her, as you would conquer the sphinx, by (20)
  posing[67] her. But were she like other women, and that
  there were any 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 (25)
  informed--but who can believe half that is said? After
  she had done speaking to me, she put her hand to her
  bosom and adjusted her tucker. Then she cast her eyes
  a little down, upon my beholding her too earnestly. They
  say she sings excellently; her voice in her ordinary speech (110: 5)
  has something in it inexpressibly sweet. 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, (10)
  were you to behold her, 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 perfection. Oh, the excellent creature! she is as (15)
  inimitable to all women as she is inaccessible to all men."

   [67] The word seems not to be used with precision here. To pose is to
   silence or nonplus one by puzzling or unanswerable questions; it was
   the sphinx that posed all comers with her famous riddle till Œdipus
   answered it.

  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 (20)
  in some parts of my friend's discourse. Though he has
  so much command of himself as not directly to mention
  her, yet, according to that of Martial, which one knows
  not how to render in English, "_Dum tacet hanc loquitur_."
  I shall end this paper with that whole epigram, which (25)
  represents with much humor my honest friend's condition.

      "Quicquid agit Rufus, nihil est nisi Naevia Rufo;
      Si gaudet, si flet, si tacet, hanc loquitur:
      Caenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit,--una est
      Naevia; si non sit Naevia, mutus erit.
      Scriberet hesterna patri cum luce salutem,
      Naevia lux, inquit, 'Naevia lumen, ave.'

      "Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk,
      Still he can nothing but of Naevia talk; (111: 5)
      Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute,
      Still he must speak of Naevia or be mute;
      He writ to his father, ending with this line,--
      'I am, my lovely Naevia, ever thine.'"           R.




  XIII. HOW TO BEAR POVERTY

  [No. 114. Wednesday, July 11, 1711. STEELE.]

     Paupertatis pudor et fuga.

      HOR.


  Economy in our affairs has the same effect upon our (10)
  fortunes which good breeding has upon our conversations.
  There is a pretending behaviour in both cases, which,
  instead of making men esteemed, renders them both
  miserable and contemptible. We had yesterday at Sir
  Roger's, a set of country gentlemen who dined with him; (15)
  and after dinner, the glass was taken by those who pleased
  pretty plentifully. Among others, I observed a person of
  a tolerable good aspect, who seemed to be more greedy
  of liquor than any of the company; and yet, methought,
  he did not taste it with delight. As he grew warm, he (20)
  was suspicious of everything that was said; and as he
  advanced 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 to the company. Upon hearing his name,
  I knew him to be a gentleman of a considerable fortune (112: 5)
  in this county, but greatly in debt. What gives the unhappy
  man this peevishness of spirit is, that his estate is
  dipped,[68] and is eating out with usury;[69] and yet he has
  not the heart to sell any part of it. His proud stomach,[70]
  at the cost of restless nights, constant inquietudes, danger (10)
  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 commonly reputed. Thus he endures the torment
  of poverty, to avoid the name of being less rich. If you (15)
  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 whole appears
  but a covered indigence, a magnificent poverty. (20)
  That neatness and cheerfulness which attends the table
  of him who lives within compass, is wanting, and exchanged
  for a libertine way of service in all about him.

   [68] Mortgaged.

   [69] Interest, not necessarily illegal interest.

   [70] Disposition, spirit; not frequently used in this sense, as here,
   with the adjective "proud."

  This gentleman's conduct, though a very common way
  of management, is as ridiculous as that officer's would be (25)
  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,[71] and keep in a man's
  hands a greater estate than he really has, is of all others[2]
  the most unpardonable vanity, and must in the end reduce (113: 5)
  the man who is guilty of it to dishonour. Yet, if we
  look round us in any county of Great Britain, we shall
  see many in this fatal error,--if that may be called by
  so soft a name which proceeds from a false shame of
  appearing what they really are,--when the contrary behavior (10)
  would in a short time advance them to the condition
  which they pretend to.

   [71] Represent, keep up the appearance of owning.

  Laertes has fifteen hundred pounds a year, which is
  mortgaged for six thousand pounds; but it is impossible
  to convince him that if he sold as much as would pay off (15)
  that debt he would save four shillings 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 hundred a year, would be his equal. (20)
  Rather than this shall be, Laertes goes on to bring well-born
  beggars into the world, and every twelvemonth
  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 living (25)
  are[72] 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 evils," yet are their manners very widely
  different. Shame of poverty makes Laertes launch into
  unnecessary equipage, vain expense, and lavish entertainments; (114: 5)
  fear of poverty makes Irus allow himself only
  plain necessaries, appear without a servant, sell his own
  corn, attend his labourers, and be himself a labourer.
  Shame of poverty makes Laertes go every day a step
  nearer to it, and fear of poverty stirs up Irus to make (10)
  every day some further progress from it.

   [72] Correct the English.

  These different motives produce the excesses which
  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, (15)
  riot, and prodigality, from the shame of it: but both these
  excesses are infinitely below the pursuit of a reasonable
  creature. After we have taken care to command so much
  as is necessary for maintaining ourselves in the order of
  men suitable to our character, the care of superfluities is (20)
  a vice no less extravagant[73] than the neglect of necessaries
  would have been before.

   [73] In what sense here used?

  Certain it is that they are both out of[74] nature when she
  is followed with reason and good sense. It is from this
  reflection that I always read Mr. Cowley with the greatest (25)
  pleasure. His magnanimity is as much above that of
  other considerable men, as his understanding; 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 moderation of his desires. By this
  means he has rendered his friend as amiable as famous.
  That state of life which bears the face of poverty with
  Mr. Cowley's "great vulgar," is admirably described,[75] and (115: 5)
  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 the
  ordinary pursuits of mankind.

   [74] At variance with.

   [75] Can you so paraphrase this sentence as to bring any clear meaning
   out of it?

  It would, methinks, be no ill maxim of life, if, (10)
  according to that ancestor of Sir Roger whom I lately
  mentioned, every man would point to himself what
  sum he would resolve not to exceed. He might by
  this means cheat himself into a tranquillity on this
  side of that expectation, or convert what he should (15)
  get above it to nobler uses than his own pleasures or
  necessities.

  This temper of mind would exempt a man from an
  ignorant envy of restless men above him, and a more
  inexcusable contempt of happy men below him. This (20)
  would be sailing by some compass, living with some
  design; but to be eternally bewildered in prospects of
  future gain, and putting on unnecessary armour against
  improbable blows of fortune, is a mechanic being,[76] which
  has not good sense for its direction, but is carried on by (25)
  a sort of acquired instinct towards things below our consideration
  and unworthy our esteem.

   [76] Steele's careless English again; recast the sentence so as to
   express his meaning more correctly.

  It is possible that the tranquillity I now enjoy at Sir
  Roger's may have created in me this way of thinking,
  which is so abstracted from the common relish[77] of the (116: 5)
  world; but, as I am now in a pleasing arbour, surrounded
  with a beautiful landscape, I find no inclination 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,-- (10)

   [77] So different from the common taste.

      "If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat,
      With any wish so mean as to be great,
      Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove
      The humble blessings of that life I love!"       T.




  XIV. LABOUR AND EXERCISE

  [No. 115. Thursday, July 12, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.

      JUV.


  Bodily labour is of two kinds: either that which a man (15)
  submits to for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes
  for his pleasure. The latter of them generally 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 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, (117: 5)
  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. This description does not only
  comprehend the bowels, bones, tendons, veins, nerves,
  and arteries, but every muscle and every ligature, which (10)
  is a composition of fibres that are so many imperceptible
  tubes or pipes, interwoven on all sides with invisible
  glands or strainers.

  This general idea of a human body, without considering
  it in its niceties of anatomy, lets us see how absolutely (15)
  necessary labour is for the right preservation of it. There
  must be frequent motions and agitations, 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 give their solid parts a more firm and (20)
  lasting tone. Labour or exercise ferments the humours,
  casts them into their proper channels, throws off redundancies,
  and helps nature in those secret distributions
  without which the body cannot subsist in its vigour, nor
  the soul act with cheerfulness. (25)

  I might here mention the effects which this has upon
  all the faculties of the mind, by keeping the understanding
  clear, the imagination untroubled, and refining those
  spirits that are necessary for the proper exertion of our
  intellectual faculties during the present laws of union between
  soul and body. It is to a neglect in this particular
  that we must ascribe the spleen which is so frequent in
  men of studious and sedentary tempers, as well as the vapours
  to which those of the other sex are so often subject. (118: 5)

  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 produce those
  compressions, extensions, contortions, dilatations, and all (10)
  other kinds of motions that are necessary for the preservation
  of such a system of tubes and glands as has been
  before mentioned. And that we might not want inducements
  to engage us in such an exercise of the body as is
  proper for its welfare, it is so ordered that nothing valuable (15)
  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 (20)
  before 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 nineteen parts
  of the species in twenty; and as for those who are not (25)
  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 exercise.

  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 several
  kinds of deer that he has killed in the chase, which he (119: 5)
  thinks the most valuable furniture of his house, as they
  afford him frequent topics of discourse, and show that
  he has not been idle. At the lower end of the hall is
  a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which his mother
  ordered to be hung up in that manner, and the knight (10)
  looks upon it with great satisfaction, because it seems he
  was but nine years old when his dog killed him.[78] A little
  room adjoining to the hall is a kind of arsenal filled with
  guns of several sizes and inventions, with which the
  knight has made great havoc in the woods, and destroyed (15)
  many thousands of pheasants, partridges, and woodcocks.
  His stable doors are patched with noses that belonged
  to foxes of the knight's own hunting down. Sir Roger
  showed me one of them, that for distinction sake has a
  brass nail struck through it, which cost him about fifteen (20)
  hours' riding, carried him through half a dozen counties,
  killed him a brace of geldings, and lost 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; (25)
  for Sir Roger has told me that in the course of his amours
  he patched the western door of his stable. Whenever
  the widow was cruel, the foxes were sure to pay for it.
  In proportion as his passion for the widow abated and
  old age came on, he left off fox-hunting; but a hare is
  not yet safe that sits within ten miles of his house.

   [78] The otter or Sir Roger? Recast the sentence.

  There is no kind of exercise which I would so recommend
  to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as (120: 5)
  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. Dr. Sydenham is very
  lavish in its praises; and if the English reader will see
  the mechanical effects of it described at length, he may (10)
  find them in a book published not many years since,
  under the title of the _Medicina Gymnastica_.

  For my own part, when I am in town, for want of these
  opportunities I exercise myself an hour every morning
  upon a dumb-bell that is placed in a corner of my room, (15)
  and pleases me the more because it does everything I
  require of it in the most profound silence. My landlady
  and her daughters are so well acquainted with my hours
  of exercise, that they never come into my room to disturb
  me whilst I am ringing. (20)

  When I was some years younger than I am at present,
  I used to employ myself in a more laborious diversion,
  which I learned from a Latin treatise of exercises that
  is written with great erudition. It is there called the
  [Greek: skiomachia], or the fighting with a man's own shadow, and (25)
  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, exercises the limbs, and gives a man
  all the pleasure of boxing, without the blows. I could
  wish that several learned men would lay out that time
  which they employ in controversies and disputes about
  nothing, in this method of fighting with their own shadows.
  It might conduce very much to evaporate the spleen,
  which makes them uneasy[79] to the public as well as to (121: 5)
  themselves.

   [79] Disagreeable.

  To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and body, I
  consider myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties,
  and think I have not fulfilled the business of the day
  when I do not thus employ the one in labour and exercise, (10)
  as well as the other in study and contemplation.     L.




  XV. SIR ROGER GOES A-HUNTING

  [No. 116. Friday, July 13, 1711. BUDGELL.]

      ----Vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron,
        Taygetique canes.

      VIRG.


  Those who have searched into human nature observe
  that nothing so much shows the nobleness of the soul as
  that its felicity consists in action. Every man has such
  an active principle in him that he will find out something (15)
  to employ himself upon, in whatever place or state of life
  he is posted. I have heard of a gentleman who was under
  close confinement in the Bastile seven years; during
  which time he amused himself in scattering a few small
  pins about his chamber, gathering them up again, and
  placing them in different figures on the arm of a great
  chair. He often told his friends afterwards, that unless
  he had found out this piece of exercise, he verily believed (122: 5)
  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 youth gone
  through the whole course of those rural diversions which (10)
  the country abounds in, and which seem to be extremely
  well suited to that laborious industry a man may observe
  here in a far greater degree than in towns and cities. I
  have before hinted at some of my friend's exploits: he
  has in his youthful days taken forty coveys of partridges (15)
  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[80] destroyed
  more of those vermin in one year than it was thought the (20)
  whole country could have produced. Indeed, the knight
  does not scruple to own, among his most intimate friends,
  that in order to establish his reputation this way, he has
  secretly sent for great numbers of them[81] out of other
  counties, which he used to turn loose about the country (25)
  by night, that he might the better signalize himself in their
  destruction the next day. His hunting horses were the
  finest and best managed in all these parts: his tenants
  are still full of the praises of a gray stone-horse[82] that
  unhappily staked himself[83] several years since, and was
  buried with great solemnity in the orchard.

   [80] Correct the English.

   [81] Friends or foxes? Correct the sentence.

   [82] Stallion.

   [83] Killed by impaling himself on a fence which he was trying to leap.

  Sir Roger, being at present too old for fox-hunting, to (123: 5)
  keep himself in action has disposed of his beagles and
  got a pack of stop-hounds.[84] What these want in speed
  he endeavours to make amends for by the deepness of their
  mouths and the variety of their notes, which are suited in
  such manner to each other that the whole cry makes up (10)
  a complete concert. He is so nice in this particular that
  a gentleman having made him a present of a very fine
  hound the other day, the knight returned it by the servant
  with a great many expressions of civility, but desired him
  to tell his master that the dog he had sent was indeed a (15)
  most excellent bass, but that at present he only wanted
  a counter tenor. Could I believe my friend had ever read
  Shakespeare, I should certainly conclude he had taken
  the hint from Theseus, in the _Midsummer Night's
  Dream_: (20)

   [84] Hounds trained to stop at a word--as they are said to have done in
   the following paragraph.

      "My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
      So flew'd,[85] so sanded,[86] and their heads are hung
      With ears that sweep away the morning dew:
      Crook-knee'd and dew-lapp'd[87] like Thessalian bulls;
      Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouths,[88] like bells,
      Each under each.[89] A cry more tuneable
      Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn."

   [85] Flews are the chaps or overhanging upper lips of a dog.

   [86] Of such a sandy colour.

   [87] The dew-laps are the folds of skin hanging under the neck in some
   animals, especially cattle.

   [88] Incorrectly quoted for "mouth," meaning bark or voice.

   [89] _I.e_. at proper musical intervals, like a chime of bells.

  Sir Roger is so keen at this sport that he has been out (124: 5)
  almost every day since I came down; and upon 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 neighbourhood towards (10)
  my friend. The farmers' sons thought themselves happy
  if they could open a gate for the good old knight as he
  passed by; which he generally requited with a nod or a
  smile, and a kind inquiry after their fathers and uncles.

  After we had rid about a mile from home, we came (15)
  upon a large heath, and the sportsmen began to beat.[90]
  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 endeavoured to make (20)
  the company sensible of by extending 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 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 (125: 5)
  want of the silent gentleman's crying "Stole away!"

   [90] _I.e_. to beat the bushes or undergrowth in order to rouse any
   game hidden there.

  This,[91] with my aversion to leaping hedges, made me
  withdraw to a rising ground, from whence I could have
  the pleasure of the whole chase, without the fatigue of
  keeping in with the hounds. The hare immediately threw (10)
  them above a mile behind her; but I was pleased to find
  that instead of running straight forwards, or, in hunter's
  language, "flying the country," as I was afraid she might
  have done, she wheeled about, and described a sort of
  circle round the hill where I had taken my station, in (15)
  such manner as gave me a very distinct view of the sport.
  I could see her first pass by, and the dogs some time
  afterwards unravelling 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 (20)
  of the pack paid to each particular hound, according to
  the character he had acquired amongst them: if they
  were at fault, and an old hound of reputation opened[92] but
  once, he was immediately followed by the whole cry;
  while a raw dog, or one who was a noted liar, might have (25)
  yelped his heart out without being taken notice of.

   [91] What?

   [92] Bayed.

  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 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, (126: 5)
  and told me that he was sure the chase was almost at an
  end, because the old dogs, which had hitherto lain behind,
  now headed the pack. The fellow was in the right. Our
  hare took a large field just under us, followed by the full
  cry "in view." I must confess the brightness of the (10)
  weather, the cheerfulness of everything around me, the
  chiding of the hounds, which was returned upon us in a
  double echo from two neighbouring hills, with the hollowing
  of the sportsmen, and the sounding of the horn, lifted
  my spirits into a most lively pleasure, which I freely indulged (15)
  because I was sure it was innocent. If I was
  under any concern, it was on the account of the poor
  hare, that was now quite spent, and almost within the
  reach of her enemies; when the huntsman, getting forward,
  threw down his pole before the dogs. They were (20)
  now within eight yards of that game which they had been
  pursuing for almost as many hours; yet on the signal
  before mentioned, they all made a sudden stand, and
  though they continued opening as much as before, durst
  not once attempt to pass beyond the pole. At the same (25)
  time Sir Roger rode forward, and, alighting, took up the
  hare in his arms, which he soon after delivered up to one
  of his servants with an order, if she could be kept alive, to
  let her go in his great orchard, where it seems he has
  several of these prisoners of war, who live together in a
  very comfortable captivity. I was highly pleased to see
  the discipline of the pack, and the good-nature of the
  knight, who could not find in his heart to murder a
  creature that had given him so much diversion. (127: 5)

  As we were returning home I remembered that Monsieur
  Pascal, in his most excellent discourse on 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 affairs that may (10)
  hinder us from looking into ourselves, which is a view we
  cannot bear. He afterwards goes on to show that our
  love of sports comes from the same reason, and is particularly
  severe upon hunting. "What," says he, "unless
  it be to drown thought, can make men throw away so (15)
  much time and pains upon a silly animal, which they
  might buy cheaper in the 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 (20)
  a far more laudable end from this exercise,--I
  mean, the preservation of health, and keeping all the
  organs of the soul in a condition to execute her orders.
  Had that incomparable person, whom I last quoted, been
  a little more indulgent to himself in this point, the world (25)
  might probably have enjoyed him much longer; whereas
  through too great an application to his studies in his
  youth, he contracted that ill habit of body which, after
  a tedious sickness, carried him off in the fortieth year of
  his age; and the whole history we have of his life till
  that time, is but one continued account of the behaviour
  of a noble soul struggling under innumerable pains and
  distempers.

  For my own part, I intend to hunt twice a week during (128: 5)
  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 (10)
  of Mr. Dryden:

      "The first physicians by debauch were made;
      Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade.
      By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food;
      Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood; (15)
      But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men,
      Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten.
      Better to hunt in fields for health unbought
      Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught.
      The wise for cure on exercise depend: (20)
      God never made his work for man to mend."
                                                       X.




  XVI. THE COVERLEY WITCH

  [No. 117. Saturday, July 14, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Ipsi sibi somnia fingunt.

      VIRG.


  There are some opinions in which a man should stand
  neuter,[93] 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. (129: 5)
  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.

   [93] Neutral.

  It is with this temper of mind that I consider the subject
  of witchcraft. When I hear the relations that are (10)
  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 commerce
  with evil spirits as that which we express by the (15)
  name of witchcraft. But when I consider that the ignorant
  and credulous parts of the world abound most in
  these relations, and that the persons among us who are
  supposed to engage in such an infernal commerce are
  people of a weak understanding and a crazed imagination,
  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 my belief till
  I hear more certain accounts than any which have yet (130: 5)
  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 the
  two opposite opinions; or rather, to speak my thoughts
  freely, I believe in general that there is, and has been, (10)
  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 occurrences
  that I met with yesterday, which I shall give my reader
  an account of at large. As I was walking with my friend (15)
  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, (20)
      I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double,
      Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself.
      Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd and red;
      Cold palsy shook her head; her hands seem'd wither'd;
      And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd (25)
      The tatter'd remnants of an old striped hanging,
      Which served to keep her carcase from the cold:
      So there was nothing of a piece about her.
      Her lower weeds[94] were all o'er coarsely patch'd
      With diff'rent colour'd rags--black, red, white, yellow--
      And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness."

   [94] Garments.

  As I was musing on this description and comparing it
  with the object before me, the knight told me that this
  very old woman had the reputation of a witch all over (131: 5)
  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 chanced to stumble,
  they always found sticks or straws that lay in the figure (10)
  of a cross before her. If 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 a maid in the parish that would
  take a pin of her, though she should offer a bag of money (15)
  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 dairy maid does not
  make her butter come so soon as she should have it,
  Moll White is at the bottom of the churn. If a horse (20)
  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 Roger,
  "I have known the master of the pack, upon such an
  occasion, send one of his servants to see if Moll White (25)
  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 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 broomstaff.
  At the same time, he whispered me in the ear to take
  notice of a tabby cat that sat in the chimney-corner, (132: 5)
  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 accompany 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 (10)
  ordinary cat.

  I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so
  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 (15)
  justice of peace, to avoid all communication with the
  devil, and never to hurt any of her neighbours' cattle.
  We concluded our visit with a bounty, which was very
  acceptable.

  In our return home, Sir Roger told me that old Moll (20)
  had been often brought before him for making children
  spit pins, and giving maids the nightmare; and that the
  country people would be tossing her into a pond and
  trying experiments with her every day, if it was not for
  him and his chaplain. (25)

  I have since found, upon inquiry, that Sir Roger was
  several times staggered with the reports that had been
  brought him concerning this old woman, and would frequently
  have bound her over to the county sessions had
  not his chaplain with much ado persuaded him to the
  contrary.

  I have been the more particular in this account because
  I hear there is scarce a village in England that has not
  a Moll White in it. When an old woman begins to dote, (133: 5)
  and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally turned
  into a witch, and fills the whole country with extravagant
  fancies, imaginary distempers, and terrifying dreams. In
  the mean time the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion
  of so many evils begins to be frighted at herself, and (10)
  sometimes confesses secret commerce and familiarities
  that her imagination forms in a delirious old age. This
  frequently cuts off charity from the greatest objects of
  compassion, and inspires people with a malevolence
  towards those poor, decrepit parts of our species in (15)
  whom human nature is defaced by infirmity and dotage.
                                                       L.




  XVII. SIR ROGER TALKS OF THE WIDOW

  [No. 118. Monday, July 16, 1711. STEELE.]

      Haeret 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 ever be
  weary of rambling from one labyrinth of delight to another. (20)
  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 yet is not
  strong enough to be inconsistent 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 (134: 5)
  I looked up to the heavens, down on the earth, or turned
  on the prospects around me, still struck with new sense of
  pleasure; when I found, by the voice of my friend, who
  walked by me, that we had insensibly strolled into the
  grove sacred to the widow. (10)

  "This woman," says he, "is of all others the most
  unintelligible: she either designs to marry, or she does
  not. What is the most perplexing of all is that she doth
  not either say to her lovers she has any resolution against
  that condition of life in general, or that she banishes (15)
  them; but, conscious 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 (20)
  an object must be excused if the ordinary occurrences
  in conversation are below his attention. I call her indeed
  perverse; but, alas! why do I call her so? Because her
  superior merit is such that I cannot approach her without
  awe, that my heart is checked by too much esteem; I am (25)
  angry that her charms are not more accessible, that I am
  more inclined to worship than salute her. How often
  have I wished her unhappy that I might have an opportunity
  of serving her; and how often troubled in that very
  imagination, at giving her the pain of being obliged!
  Well, I have led a miserable life in secret upon her
  account; but fancy she would have condescended to
  have some regard for me if it had not been for that
  watchful animal, her confidante. (135: 5)

  "Of all persons under the sun," continued he, calling
  me by name, "be sure to set a mark upon confidantes;
  they are of all people the most impertinent. What is most
  pleasant[95] to observe in them is that they assume to themselves
  the merit of the persons whom they have in their (10)
  custody. Orestilla is a great fortune, and in wonderful
  danger of surprises; therefore full of suspicions of the least
  indifferent thing, particularly careful of new acquaintance,
  and of growing too familiar with the old. Themista, her
  favourite woman, is every whit as careful of whom she (15)
  speaks to, and what she says. Let the ward be a beauty,
  her confidante shall treat you with an air of distance; let
  her be a fortune, and she assumes the suspicious behaviour
  of her friend and patroness. Thus it is that very many
  of our unmarried women of distinction are to all intents (20)
  and purposes married, except the consideration of different
  sexes. They are directly under the conduct of their
  whisperer, and think they are in a state of freedom while
  they can prate with one of these attendants of all men in
  general, and still avoid the man they most like.[96] You do (25)
  not see one heiress in a hundred whose fate does not
  turn upon this circumstance of choosing a confidante.
  Thus it is that the lady is addressed to,[97] presented,[98] and
  flattered, only by proxy, in her woman. In my case, how
  is it possible that--"

   [95] Amusing.

   [96] Improve the arrangement of clauses here.

   [97] Addressed, courted.

   [98] Given presents.

  Sir Roger was proceeding in his harangue, when we
  heard the voice of one speaking very importunately, and (136: 5)
  repeating these words: "What, not one smile?" We followed
  the sound till we came to a close thicket, on the
  other side of which we saw a young woman sitting as it
  were in a personated[99] sullenness just over a transparent
  fountain. Opposite to her stood Mr. William, Sir Roger's (10)
  master of the game. The knight whispered me, "Hist,
  these are lovers!" 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 (15)
  water, how willingly could I stand here satisfied for ever,
  without 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. (20)
  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;
  her, herself, her own dear person, I must never embrace (25)
  again. Still do you hear me without one smile?--it is
  too much to bear." He had no sooner spoke these
  words, but he made an offer of throwing himself into the
  water; at which his mistress started up, and at the next
  instant he jumped across the fountain and met her in an (137: 5)
  embrace. She, half recovering from her fright, said in
  the most charming voice imaginable, 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 Holliday." The huntsman, (10)
  with a tenderness that spoke the most passionate love,
  and with his cheek close to hers, whispered the softest
  vows of fidelity in her ear, and cried, "Don't, my dear,
  believe a word Kate Willow says; she is spiteful and
  makes stories, because she loves to hear me talk to herself (15)
  for your sake."

   [99] Assumed: notice how this meaning comes directly from the etymology
   of the word.

  "Look you there," quoth Sir Roger, "do you see
  there, all mischief comes from confidantes! But let us
  not interrupt them; the maid is honest, and the man
  dare not be otherwise, for he knows I loved her father; (20)
  I will interpose in this matter, and hasten the wedding.
  Kate Willow is a witty, mischievous wench in the neighborhood,
  who was a beauty; and makes me hope I shall
  see the perverse widow in her condition. She was so
  flippant with her answers to all the honest fellows that (25)
  came near her, and so very vain of her beauty, that she
  has valued herself upon her charms till they are ceased.
  She therefore now makes it her business to prevent other
  young women from being more discreet than she was
  herself; however, the saucy thing said the other day
  well enough, 'Sir 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. (138: 5)

  "However, when I reflect upon this woman,[100] I do 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 (10)
  with a softness of which I should otherwise have
  been incapable. It is, perhaps, to this dear image in
  my heart owing, that I am apt to relent, that I easily
  forgive, and that many desirable things are grown into
  my temper which I should not have arrived at by better (15)
  motives than the thought of being one day hers. I am
  pretty well satisfied such a passion as I have had is never
  well cured; and between you and me, I am often apt to
  imagine it has had some whimsical effect upon my brain. For
  I frequently find that in my most serious discourse I let (20)
  fall some comical familiarity of speech or odd phrase that
  makes the company laugh; however,[101] 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, (25)
  and comes into the garden out of books[102] to see them[103] 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 is no fool."                     T. (139: 5)

   [100] The widow, not the hussy.

   [101] What is the force of this word here?

   [102] _I.e_. leaves her books to come into the garden.

   [103] What is the antecedent?




  XVIII. MANNERS IN THE COUNTRY

  [No. 119. Tuesday, July 17, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Urbem quam dicunt Romam, Meliboee, putavi
      Stultus ego huic nostrae 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 life. By manners I do not
  mean morals, but behaviour and good breeding as they (10)
  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[104] obliging deferences, condescensions,
  and submissions, with many outward forms and ceremonies (15)
  that accompany them, were first of all brought
  up among the politer part of mankind, who lived in
  courts and cities, and distinguished themselves from the
  rustic part of the species--who on all occasions acted
  bluntly and naturally--by such a mutual complaisance
  and intercourse of civilities. These forms of conversation[105]
  by degrees multiplied and grew troublesome; the
  modish[106] world found too great a constraint in them, and
  have therefore thrown most of them aside. Conversation, (140: 5)
  like the Romish religion, was so encumbered with
  show and ceremony, 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 behavior (10)
  are the height of good breeding. The fashionable
  world is grown free and easy; our manners sit more
  loose upon us. Nothing is so modish as an agreeable
  negligence. In a word, good breeding shows itself most
  where, to an ordinary eye, it appears the least. (15)

   [104] Various.

   [105] Social intercourse.

   [106] Fashionable.

  If after this we look on the people of mode in the
  country, we find in them the manners of the last age.
  They have no sooner fetched themselves up to the fashion
  of the polite world but the town has dropped them,[107] and are[108]
  nearer to the first stage of nature than to those refinements (20)
  which formerly reigned in the court and still prevail
  in the country. One may now know a man that never
  conversed in the world by 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 (25)
  is infinitely more to do about place and precedency
  in a meeting of justices' wives than in an assembly of
  duchesses.

   [107] _I.e_. the fashions, not the people in the country.

   [108] The subject is "town."

  This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man of
  my temper, who generally take the chair that is next me, (141: 5)
  and walk first or last, in the front or in the rear, as
  chance directs. I have known my friend Sir Roger's
  dinner almost cold before the company could adjust the
  ceremonial, and be prevailed upon to sit down; and
  have heartily pitied my old friend, when I have seen him (10)
  forced to pick and cull his guests, as they sat at the
  several parts of his table, that he might drink their
  healths according to their respective ranks and qualities.
  Honest Will Wimble, who I should have thought had
  been altogether uninfected with ceremony, gives me (15)
  abundance of trouble in this particular. Though he has
  been fishing all the morning, he will not help himself at
  dinner till I am served. When we are going out of the
  hall, he runs behind me; and last night, as we were walking
  in the fields, stopped short at a stile till I came up to (20)
  it, and upon my making signs to him to get over, told
  me, with a serious smile, that, sure, I believed they had
  no manners in the country.

  There has happened another revolution in the point
  of good breeding, which relates to the conversation (25)
  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; whilst the clown,
  who had no such delicacy of conception and expression,
  clothed his ideas in most 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 (142: 5)
  conversation too stiff, formal, and precise; for which
  reason (as hypocrisy in one age is generally succeeded
  by atheism in another), conversation is in a great measure
  relapsed into the first extreme; so that at present
  several of our men of the town, and particularly those (10)
  who have been polished in France, make use of the most
  coarse, uncivilized words in our language, and utter
  themselves often in such a manner as a clown would
  blush to hear.

  This infamous piece of good breeding which reigns (15)
  among the coxcombs of the town has not yet made its
  way into the country; and as it is impossible for such an
  irrational way of conversation to last long among a people
  that make any profession of religion, or show of
  modesty, if the country gentlemen get into it they will (20)
  certainly be left in the lurch. Their good breeding will
  come too late to them, and they will be thought a parcel
  of lewd clowns, while they fancy themselves talking
  together like men of wit and pleasure.

  As the two points of good breeding which I have (25)
  hitherto insisted upon regard behaviour and conversation,
  there is a third which turns upon dress. In this, too, the
  country are[109] very much behindhand. The rural beaus
  are not yet got out of the fashion that took place at the
  time of the Revolution, but ride about the country in red
  coats and laced hats, while the women in many parts are
  still trying to outvie one another in the height of their
  head-dresses. (143: 5)

   [109] Is.

  But a friend of mine, who is now upon the western
  circuit, having promised to give me an account of the
  several modes and fashions that prevail in the different
  parts of the nation through which he passes, I shall defer
  the enlarging upon this last topic till I have received a (10)
  letter from him, which I expect every post.          L.




  XIX. SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES

  [No. 122. Friday, July 20, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Comes iucundus in via pro vehiculo est.

      PUBL. SYR.


  A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of
  his own heart; his next, to escape the censures of the
  world. If the last interferes with the former, it ought to
  be entirely neglected; but otherwise there cannot be a (15)
  greater satisfaction to an honest mind than to see those
  approbations which it gives itself seconded by the applauses
  of the public. A man is more sure of his conduct
  when the verdict which he passes upon his own behaviour
  is thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion of all (20)
  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 tribute for his
  universal benevolence to mankind in the returns of affection
  and good-will which are paid him by every one that (144: 5)
  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. 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 (10)
  plain men who rid before us, and conversed with them for
  some time; during which my friend Sir Roger acquainted
  me with their characters.

  "The first of them," says he, "that has a spaniel by
  his side, is a yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year, (15)
  an honest man. He is just within the Game Act and
  qualified to kill an hare or a pheasant. He knocks down
  a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a week; and by that
  means lives much cheaper than those who have not so
  good an estate as himself. He would be a good neighbour (20)
  if he did not destroy so many partridges; in short, he is
  a very sensible man, shoots flying,[110] and has been several
  times foreman of the petty jury.

   [110] Shoots birds on the wing.

  "The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy,
  a fellow famous for taking the law of everybody. There (25)
  is not one in the town where he lives that he has not sued
  at a quarter sessions. The rogue had once the impudence
  to go to law with the widow. His head is full of costs,
  damages, and ejectments; he plagued a couple of honest
  gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking one of his
  hedges, till[111] he was forced to sell the ground it enclosed
  to defray the charges of the prosecution. His father left
  him fourscore pounds a year, but he has cast and been (145: 5)
  cast[112] so often that he is not now worth thirty. I suppose
  he is going upon the old business of the willow tree."

   [111] Modern idiom demands "that."

   [112] Won and lost his case.

  As Sir Roger was giving me this account of Tom
  Touchy, Will Wimble and his two companions stopped
  short till we came up to them. After having paid their (10)
  respects to Sir Roger, Will told him that Mr. Touchy and
  he must appeal to him upon a dispute that arose between
  them. Will, it seems, had been 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 (15)
  that Mr. Such-an-one, if he pleased, might take the law
  of him for fishing in that part of the river. My friend
  Sir Roger heard them both, upon a round trot; and, after
  having paused some time, told them, with the air of a man
  who would not give his judgment rashly, that much might (20)
  be said on both sides. They were neither of them dissatisfied
  with the knight's determination, because neither of
  them found himself in the wrong by it. Upon which we
  made the best of our way to the assizes.

  The court was sat before Sir Roger came; but notwithstanding (25)
  all the justices had taken their places upon the
  bench, they made room for the old knight at the head of
  them; who, for his reputation in the country, took occasion
  to whisper in the judge's ear that he was glad his
  lordship had met with so much good weather in his circuit.
  I was listening to the proceeding of the court with
  much attention, and infinitely pleased with that great (146: 5)
  appearance and solemnity which so properly accompanies
  such a public administration of our laws, when, after about
  an hour's sitting, I observed, to my great surprise, in the
  midst of a trial, that my friend Sir Roger was getting up
  to speak. I was in some pain for him, till I found he (10)
  had acquitted himself of two or three sentences with a
  look of much business and great intrepidity.

  Upon his first rising, the court was hushed, and a general
  whisper ran among the country people that Sir Roger
  was up. The speech he made was so little to the purpose (15)
  that I shall not trouble my readers with an account of it;
  and I believe was not so much designed by the knight
  himself to inform the court, as to give him a figure in my
  eye, and keep up his credit in the country.

  I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the (20)
  gentlemen of the country gathering about my old friend,
  and striving who should compliment him most; at the
  same time that the ordinary people gazed upon him at a
  distance, not a little admiring his courage, that was not
  afraid to speak to the judge. (25)

  In our return home we met with a very odd accident
  which I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how
  desirous all who know Sir Roger are of giving him marks
  of their esteem. When we arrived upon the verge of his
  estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and our
  horses. The man of the house had, it seems, been formerly
  a servant in the knight's family; and, to do 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 (147: 5)
  the knight's head had hung out upon the road about a
  week before he himself knew anything of the matter. As
  soon as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, finding that
  his servant's indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection
  and good-will, he only told him that he had made him (10)
  too high a compliment; and when the fellow seemed to
  think that could hardly be, added with a 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 (15)
  would be at the charge of it. Accordingly 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 (20)
  alighting, told 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 (25)
  room. I could not forbear discovering greater expressions
  of mirth than ordinary upon the appearance of this
  monstrous face, under which, notwithstanding it was made
  to frown and stare in a most extraordinary manner, I
  could still discover[113] a distant resemblance of my old friend.
  Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him
  truly if I thought it possible for people to know him in
  that disguise. I at first kept my usual silence; but upon
  the knight's conjuring me to tell him whether it was not (148: 5)
  still more like himself than a Saracen, I composed my
  countenance in the best manner I could, and replied that
  much might be said on both sides.

   [113] Note the two different senses in which this word is used.

  These several adventures, with the knight's behaviour
  in them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in (10)
  any of my travels.                                  L.




  XX. THE EDUCATION OF AN HEIR

  [No. 123. Saturday, July 21, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam,
      Rectique cultus pectora roborant:
          Utcunque defecere mores,
          Dedecorant bene nata culpae.

      HOR.


  As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend Sir
  Roger, we were met by a fresh-coloured, 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 (15)
  that he was a young gentleman of a considerable estate,
  who had been educated by a tender mother, that lives not
  many miles from the place where we were. She is a very
  good lady, says my friend, but took so much care of her
  son's health, that she has made him good for nothing.
  She quickly found that reading was bad for his eyes,
  and that writing made his head ache. He was let loose (149: 5)
  among the woods as soon as he was able to ride on horse-back,
  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; and that, if it
  were a man's business only to live, there would not be a (10)
  more accomplished young fellow in the whole country.

  The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts I
  have seen and heard innumerable instances of young
  heirs and elder brothers who--either from their own
  reflecting upon the estates they are born to, and therefore (15)
  thinking all other accomplishments unnecessary; or from
  hearing these notions frequently inculcated to them by the
  flattery of their servants and domestics; or from the same
  foolish thought prevailing in those who have the care of
  their education--are of no manner of use but to keep (20)
  up their families, and transmit their lands and houses in
  a line to posterity.

  This makes me often think on a story I have heard of
  two friends, which I shall give my reader at large under
  feigned names. The moral of it may, I hope, be useful, (25)
  though there are some circumstances which make it rather
  appear like a novel than a true story.

  Eudoxus and Leontine began the world with small
  estates. They were both of them men of good sense
  and great virtue. They prosecuted their studies together
  in their earlier years, and entered into such a friendship
  as lasted to the end of their lives. Eudoxus, at his first
  setting out in the world, threw himself into a court, where
  by his natural endowments and his acquired abilities he (150: 5)
  made his way from one post to another, till at length he
  had raised a very considerable 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 (10)
  professors of them throughout Europe. He knew
  perfectly well the interests of its princes, with the customs
  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 (15)
  had so well mixed and digested his knowledge of men
  and books, that he made one 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 (20)
  principal men about court by the intelligence which he
  received from Leontine. When they were both turned of
  forty,--an age in which, according to Mr. Cowley, "there
  is no dallying with life,"--they determined, pursuant to
  the resolution they had taken in the beginning of their (25)
  lives, to retire, and pass the remainder of their days 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 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 unspeakable grief of the latter, his (151: 5)
  young wife, in whom all his happiness was wrapt up, died
  in a few days after the birth of her daughter. His affliction
  would have been insupportable had not he been
  comforted by the daily visits and conversations of his
  friend. As they were one day talking together with their (10)
  usual intimacy, Leontine considering how incapable he
  was of giving his daughter a proper education in his own
  house, and Eudoxus reflecting on the ordinary behaviour
  of a son who knows himself to be the heir of a great
  estate, they both agreed upon an exchange of children: (15)
  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 brought up as under the (20)
  care of Leontine, and considering at the same time that
  he would be perpetually under her own eye, was by degrees
  prevailed upon to fall in with the project. She
  therefore took Leonilla, for that was the name of the girl,
  and educated her as her own daughter. The two friends (25)
  on each side had wrought themselves to such an habitual
  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, the name of
  the young heir that lived with Leontine, though he had
  all the duty and affection imaginable for his supposed
  parent, was taught to rejoice at the sight of Eudoxus,
  who visited his friend very frequently, and was dictated
  by his natural affection, as well as by the rules of prudence, (152: 5)
  to make himself esteemed and beloved by Florio.
  The boy was now old enough to know his supposed
  father's circumstances, and that therefore he was to make
  his way in the world by his own industry. This consideration
  grew stronger in him every day, and produced so (10)
  good an effect that he applied 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 directions of so
  excellent a counsellor, enabled him to make a quicker (15)
  progress than ordinary through all the parts of his education.
  Before he was twenty years of age, having finished
  his studies and exercises with great applause, he was removed
  from the university to the Inns of Court, where
  there are very few that make themselves considerable (20)
  proficients in the studies of the place[114] 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
  that he studied without intermission till he gained a very (25)
  good insight into the constitution and laws of his country.

   [114] Improve the arrangement.

  I should have told my reader, that whilst Florio lived
  at the house of his foster-father, he was always an acceptable
  guest in the family of Eudoxus, where he became
  acquainted with 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 despaired of gaining (153: 5)
  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 Florio, but conducted herself with so much (10)
  prudence that she never gave him the least intimation
  of it. Florio was now engaged in all those arts and
  improvements that are proper to raise a man's private
  fortune, and give him a figure in his country, but secretly
  tormented with that passion which burns with the greatest (15)
  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 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 (20)
  morning after his arrival at the house of his supposed
  father, Leontine told him that Eudoxus had something of
  great 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 (25)
  but Eudoxus took him by the hand, after the first salutes[115]
  were over, and conducted him into his closet. He there
  opened[116] to him the whole secret of his parentage and education,
  concluding after this manner: "I have no other
  way left of acknowledging my gratitude to Leontine than
  by marrying you to his daughter. He shall not lose the
  pleasure of being your father by the discovery I have
  made to you. Leonilla, too, shall be still my daughter; (154: 5)
  her filial piety, though misplaced, has been so exemplary
  that it deserves the greatest reward I can confer upon it.
  You shall have the pleasure of seeing a great estate fall
  to you, which you would have lost the relish of had you
  known yourself born to it. Continue only to deserve it (10)
  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 which I have made to yourself." Florio was
  so overwhelmed with this profusion of happiness that he (15)
  was not able to make a reply, but threw himself down at
  his father's feet, and amidst a flood of tears kissed and
  embraced his knees, asking his blessing, and expressing in
  dumb show those sentiments of love, duty, and gratitude
  that were too big for utterance. To conclude, the happy (20)
  pair were married, and half Eudoxus's estate settled upon
  them. Leontine and Eudoxus passed the remainder of
  their lives together; and received in the dutiful and affectionate
  behaviour of Florio and Leonilla the just recompense,
  as well as the natural effects, of that care which (25)
  they had bestowed upon them in their education.      L.

   [115] Salutations.

   [116] Disclosed.




  XXI. WHIGS AND TORIES

  [No. 125. Tuesday, July 24, 1711. ADDISON.]

     Ne pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella:
      Neu patriae 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 accident that
  happened to him when he was a schoolboy, which was at a
  time when the feuds ran high between the Roundheads
  and Cavaliers. This worthy knight, being then but a stripling, (155: 5)
  had occasion to inquire which was the way to St. Anne's
  Lane; upon which the person whom he spoke to, instead
  of answering his question, called him a young popish cur,
  and asked him who had made Anne a saint! The boy,
  being in some confusion, inquired of the next he met, (10)
  which was the way to Anne's Lane; but was called a
  prick-eared cur for his pains, and instead of being shown
  the way, was told that she had been a saint before he was
  born, and would be one after he was hanged. "Upon
  this," says sir Roger, "I did not think fit to repeat the (15)
  former question, but going into every lane of the neighbourhood,
  asked what they called the name of that lane."
  By which ingenious artifice, he found out the place he
  inquired after without giving offence to any party. Sir
  Roger generally closes this narrative with reflections on
  the mischief 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. (156: 5)

  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 effects of such a division (10)
  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 almost every particular person. This influence is very
  fatal both to men's morals and their understandings; it (15)
  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 violence,
  exerts itself in civil war and bloodshed; and when it is
  under its greatest restraints naturally breaks out in false-hood, (20)
  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 humanity.

  Plutarch says, very finely, that a man should not allow (25)
  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, you will contract
  such a vicious habit of mind as by degrees will break
  out upon those who are your friends, or those who are
  indifferent to you." I might here observe how admirably
  this precept of morality--which derives the malignity of
  hatred from the passion itself, and not from its object--answers
  to that great rule which was dictated to the world (157: 5)
  about an hundred years before this philosopher wrote;
  but instead of that, I shall only take notice, with a real
  grief of heart, that the minds of many good men among
  us appear soured with party principles, and alienated from
  one another in such a manner as seems to me altogether (10)
  inconsistent with the dictates either of reason or religion.
  Zeal for a public cause is apt to breed passions in the
  hearts of virtuous persons to which the regard of their
  own private interest would never have betrayed them.

  If this party spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it (15)
  has likewise a very great one upon our judgements. 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 (20)
  discerning either real blemishes or beauties. A man
  of merit in a different principle,[117] is like an object seen in
  two different mediums,[118] that appears crooked or broken,
  however straight or entire it may be in itself. For this
  reason, there is scarce a person of any figure in England (25)
  who does not go by two contrary 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,
  they now distinguish themselves by the warmth and (158: 5)
  violence with which they espouse their respective parties.
  Books are valued upon the like consideration: an abusive,
  scurrilous style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of
  party notions is called fine writing.

   [117] Of a different opinion.

   [118] As a stick partly in the water and partly out.

  There is one piece of sophistry practiced by both sides; (10)
  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 suitable speculations upon it.
  Calumnies that have been never proved, or have been often
  refuted, are the ordinary _postulatums_[119] of these infamous (15)
  scribblers, upon which they proceed as upon first principles
  granted by all men, though in their hearts they know
  they are false, or at best very doubtful. When they have
  laid these foundations of scurrility, it is no wonder that
  their superstructure is every way answerable to them. If (20)
  this shameless practice of the present age endures much
  longer, praise and reproach will cease to be motives of
  action in good men.

   [119] Assumptions, propositions taken for granted in argument. If the
   Latin form is used, the plural should be _postulata_.

  There are certain periods of time in all governments when
  this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was long torn in pieces (25)
  by the Guelphs and Ghibellines, and France by those who
  were for and against the League; but it is very unhappy
  for a man to be born in such a stormy and tempestuous
  season. It is the restless ambition of artful men that
  thus breaks a people into factions, and draws several well-meaning
  persons to their interest by a specious concern
  for their country. How many honest minds are filled with (159: 5)
  uncharitable and barbarous notions, out of their zeal for
  the public good! What cruelties and outrages would they
  not commit against men of an adverse party, whom they
  would honour and esteem, if, instead of considering them
  as they are represented, they knew them as they are! (10)
  Thus are persons of the greatest probity seduced into
  shameful errors and prejudices, and made bad men even
  by that noblest of principles, the "love of their country."
  I cannot here forbear mentioning the famous Spanish
  proverb, "If there were neither fools nor knaves in the (15)
  world, all people would be of one mind."

  For my own part, I could heartily wish that all honest
  men would enter into an association for the support of one
  another against the endeavours of those whom they ought
  to look upon as their common enemies, whatsoever side (20)
  they may belong to. Were there such an honest body of
  neutral forces, we should never see the worst of men in
  great figures of life, because they are useful to a party;
  nor the best unregarded, because they are above practising
  those methods which would be grateful to their (25)
  faction. We should then single every criminal out of
  the herd, and hunt him down, however formidable and
  overgrown he might appear: on the contrary, we should
  shelter distressed innocence, and defend virtue, however
  beset with contempt or ridicule, envy, or defamation. In
  short, we should not any longer regard our fellow subjects
  as Whigs or Tories, but should make the man of merit our
  friend, and the villain our enemy.                   C.




  XXII. WHIGS AND TORIES.--_Continued_

  [No. 126. Wednesday, July 25, 1711. ADDISON.]

     Tros Rutulusve fuat, nullo discrimine habebo.

      VIRG.


  In my yesterday's paper, I proposed that the honest (160: 5)
  men of all parties should enter into a kind of association
  for the defence of one another, and the confusion of their
  common enemies. As it is designed this neutral body
  should act with a regard to nothing but truth and equity,
  and divest themselves of the little heats and prepossessions (10)
  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 (15)
    that we do in our consciences believe two and two make four; and
    that we shall adjudge any man whatsoever to be our enemy who
    endeavors 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  (20)
    will not be more three years hence than it is at present. We do also
    firmly declare that it is our resolution as long as we live to call
    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 white black, with the utmost peril of our lives and
    fortunes. (161: 5)

  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 one half of their
  country to the passion and interest of the other; as also
  such infamous hypocrites that are for promoting their (10)
  own advantage under colour of the public good; with all
  the profligate, immoral retainers to each side, that have
  nothing to recommend them but an implicit submission
  to their leaders;--we should soon see that furious party
  spirit extinguished, which may in time expose us to the (15)
  derision and contempt of all the nations about us.

  A member of this society that would thus carefully
  employ himself in making room for merit, by throwing
  down the worthless and depraved part of mankind from
  those conspicuous stations of life to which they have been (20)
  sometimes advanced, and all this without any regard to
  his private interest, would be no small 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 (25)
  ichneumon, that makes it the whole business of his life to
  break the eggs of the crocodile, which he is always in
  search after. This instinct is the more remarkable because
  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 labours of this industrious
  animal, Egypt, says the historian, would be overrun with
  crocodiles; for the Egyptians are so far from destroying
  those pernicious creatures that they worship them as (162: 5)
  gods.

  If we look into the behaviour of ordinary partisans, we
  shall find them far from resembling this disinterested
  animal, and rather acting after the example of the wild
  Tartars, who are ambitious of destroying a man of the (10)
  most extraordinary parts and accomplishments, as thinking
  that upon his decease the same talents, whatever post
  they qualified him for, enter of course into his destroyer.

  As in the whole train of my speculations I have endeavoured,
  as much as I am able, to extinguish that pernicious (15)
  spirit of passion and prejudice which rages 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 (20)
  fierceness to which men 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
  outlying 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 curses, frowns, and whispers
  it produces at a quarter sessions.

  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 (163: 5)
  of them inclined to the landed, and the other to the moneyed
  interest. This humour 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 (10)
  in the country than in town, which, as he has told me in
  my ear, is absolutely 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 (15)
  Sir Roger's servants would ride up to his master full
  speed, and whisper to him that the master of the house
  was against such an one in the last election. This often
  betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer; for we were
  not so inquisitive about the inn as the innkeeper; and (20)
  provided our landlord's principles were sound, did not
  take any notice of the staleness of his provisions. This
  I found still the more inconvenient because the better the
  host was, the worse generally were his accommodations;
  the fellow knowing very well that those who were his (25)
  friends would 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 daily find
  more instance of this narrow party humour. Being upon a
  bowling green at a neighbouring market town the other day
  (for that is the place where the gentlemen of one side
  meet once a week), I observed a stranger among them of (164: 5)
  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 a disagreeable
  vote in a former parliament, for which reason (10)
  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 omit
  one which concerns myself. Will Wimble was the other (15)
  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, which had never been so much as
  whispered in the town, Will stopped short in the thread (20)
  of his discourse, 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 such a spirit of
  dissension in the country; not only as it destroys virtue (25)
  and common sense, and renders us in a manner barbarians
  towards one another, but as it perpetuates our animosities,
  widens our breaches, and transmits our present passions
  and prejudices to our posterity. For my own part, I am
  sometimes afraid that I discover the seeds of a civil war
  in these our divisions, and therefore cannot but bewail, as
  in their first principles, the miseries and calamities of our
  children.                                            C.




  XXIII. SIR ROGER AND THE GIPSIES

  [No. 130. Monday, July 30, 1711. ADDISON.]

                            Semperque recentes
      Convectare juvat praedas, et vivere rapto.

      VIRG.


  As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my (165: 5)
  friend Sir Roger, we saw at a little distance from us a
  troop of gipsies. Upon the first discovery of them, my
  friend was in some doubt whether he should not exert the
  justice of the peace[120] upon such a band of lawless vagrants;
  but not having his clerk with him, who is a necessary (10)
  counsellor on these occasions, and fearing that his poultry
  might fare the worse for it, he let the thought drop; but
  at the same time gave me a particular account of the mischiefs
  they do in the country, in stealing people's goods
  and spoiling their servants. "If a stray piece of linen (15)
  hangs upon an hedge," says Sir Roger, "they are sure to
  have it; if a 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 straggle
  into these parts about this time of the year, and set the
  heads of our servant-maids so agog for husbands that we
  do not expect to have any business done as it should be
  whilst they are in the country. I have an honest dairy-maid (166: 5)
  who crosses their hands with a piece of silver every
  summer, and never fails being promised the handsomest
  young fellow in the parish for her pains. Your friend,
  the butler, has been fool enough to be seduced by them;
  and, though he is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon, (10)
  every time his fortune is told him, generally shuts himself
  up in the pantry with an old gipsy for above half an hour
  once in a twelvemonth. Sweethearts are the things they
  live upon, which they bestow very plentifully upon all
  those that apply themselves to them. You see, now (15)
  and then, some handsome young jades among them;
  the [wenches] have very often white teeth and black
  eyes."

   [120] Exert his authority as justice of the peace.

  Sir Roger, observing that I listened with great attention
  to his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, (20)
  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[121]
  very diligently, told me that I loved a pretty maid in a (25)
  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 into all shapes, and diligently scanned every wrinkle
  that could be made in it; when one of them, who was
  older and more sunburnt than the rest, told him that he (167: 5)
  had a widow in his line of life[122]; upon which the knight
  cried, "Go, go, you are an idle baggage!" and at the
  same time smiled upon me. The gipsy, finding he was
  not displeased in his heart, told him, after a farther inquiry
  into his hand, that his true love was constant, and (10)
  that she should dream of him to-night. My old friend
  cried "Pish!" and bid her go on. The gipsy 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 (15)
  go on. "Ah, master," says the gipsy, "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
  gibberish with which all this was uttered, like the
  darkness of an oracle, made us the more attentive to it. (20)
  To be short, the knight left the money with her that he
  had crossed her hand with, and got up again on his
  horse.

   [121] The lines or wrinkles in the palm of the hand supposed to
   indicate the fortune.

   [122] The line beginning at the middle of the wrist and sweeping
   round the base of the thumb. As this is the line upon which are based
   predictions as to length of life and not as to marriage relations, Mr.
   Spectator probably did not report the gipsy correctly.

  As we were riding away, Sir Roger told me that he
  knew several sensible people who believed these gipsies (25)
  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 pocket was picked; that being (168: 5)
  a kind of palmistry at which this race of vermin are very
  dextrous.

  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 governments (10)
  in a kind of commonwealth by themselves. But instead
  of entering into observations of this nature, 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: (15)

    "As the _trekschuyt_, or hackney boat, which carries passengers
    from Leyden to Amsterdam, was putting off, 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 pleased with the (20)
    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 upon farther (25)
    examination that he had been stolen away when he was a child, by a
    gypsy, and had rambled ever since with a gang of those strollers
    up and down several parts of Europe. It happened that the merchant,
    whose heart seems to have inclined towards the boy by a secret
    kind of instinct, had himself lost a child some years before. (30)
    The parents, after a long search for him, gave him for drowned[123]
    in one of the canals with which that country abounds; and the
    mother was so afflicted at the loss of a fine boy, who was her only
    son, that she died for grief of it.

    [123] Gave him up for drowned.

    "Upon laying together all particulars, and examining the (169: 5)
    several moles and marks by which the mother used to describe the
    child when he was first missing, the boy proved to be the son of the
    merchant 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 (10)
    other hand, was not a little delighted to see a son return to him,
    whom he had given for lost, with such a strength of constitution,
    sharpness of understanding, and skill in languages."

  Here the printed story leaves off; but if I may give
  credit to reports, our linguist having received such extraordinary (15)
  rudiments towards a good education, was
  afterwards trained up in everything that becomes a gentleman;
  wearing off by little and little all the vicious habits
  and practices that he had been used to in the course of his
  peregrinations. Nay, it is said that he has since been (20)
  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 gipsy.
  C.      (25)




  XXIV. THE SPECTATOR DECIDES TO RETURN
  TO LONDON

  [No. 131. Tuesday, July 31, 1711. ADDISON.]

      Ipsae rursum concedite silvae.

      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 from his house,
  and gets into the frontiers of his estate, before he beats (170: 5)
  about in search of an hare or partridge, on purpose to
  spare his own fields, where he is always sure of finding
  diversion when the worst comes to the worst. By this
  means the breed about his house has time to increase
  and multiply; besides that the sport is the more agreeable (10)
  where the game is the harder to come at, and
  does not lie so thick as to produce any perplexity or
  confusion in the pursuit. For these reasons the country
  gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys near his own home.
  In the same manner I have made a month's excursion (15)
  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 hunted
  them down, with some pleasure to myself, and I hope to
  others. I am here forced to use a great deal of diligence
  before I can spring anything to my mind; whereas in
  town, whilst I am following one character, it is ten to
  one but I am crossed in my way by another, and put up
  such a variety of odd creatures in both sexes that they (171: 5)
  foil the scent of one another, and puzzle the chase. My
  greatest difficulty in the country is to find sport, and, in
  town, to choose it. In the meantime, as I have given a
  whole month's rest to the cities of London and Westminster,
  I promise myself abundance of new game upon (10)
  my return thither.

  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 (15)
  a great curiosity in all these parts.

  The notions which have been framed of me are various:
  some look upon me as very proud, and some as
  very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my friend the butler
  tells me, observing me very much alone, and extremely (20)
  silent when I am in company, is afraid I have killed a
  man. The country 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 old (25)
  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 twice or
  thrice at his table that he wishes Sir Roger does not
  harbor 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. (172: 5)

  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
  promiscuously when he is in town, do not know but he
  has brought down with him some discarded Whig, that is (10)
  sullen and says nothing because he is out of place.

  Such is the variety of opinions which are here entertained
  of me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected
  person, and among others for a popish priest; among
  some for a wizard, and among others for a murderer: and (15)
  all this for no other reason, that I can imagine, but because
  I do not hoot and hollow and make a noise. It is
  true my friend Sir Roger tells them, that it is my way,
  and that I am only a philosopher; but that will not satisfy
  them. They think there is more in me than he discovers, (20)
  and that I do not hold my tongue for nothing.

  For these and other reasons I shall set out for London
  to-morrow, having found by experience that the country
  is not a place for a person of my temper, who does not
  love jollity, and what they call "good neighbourhood." (25)
  A man that is out of humour when an unexpected guest
  breaks in upon him, and does not care for sacrificing an
  afternoon to every chance comer; that will be the master
  of his own time and the pursuer of his own inclinations;
  makes but a very unsociable figure in this kind of life. I
  shall therefore 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 speculations
  I please upon others without being observed myself, and (173: 5)
  at the same time enjoy all the advantages 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 letter from my friend Will
  Honeycomb, who has not lived a month for these forty (10)
  years out of the smoke 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 lock of hay, or passing away thy time in
    some innocent country diversion of the like nature. I have, (15)
    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 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 (20)
    confoundedly of woods and meadows. If thou dost not come up
    quickly, we shall conclude that thou art in love with one of Sir
    Roger's dairy-maids. Service to the knight. Sir Andrew is grown
    the cock of the club since he left us, and if he does not return
    quickly will make every mother's son of us Commonwealth's men. (25)

    "Dear Spec, thine eternally,

    "WILL HONEYCOMB."
                                                       C.




  XXV. THE JOURNEY TO LONDON

  [No. 132. Wednesday, August 1, 1711. STEELE.]

    Qui aut tempus quid postulet non videt, aut plura loquitur, aut
    se ostentat, aut eorum 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 were
  ready at the appointed hour in the evening; and attended
  by one of his grooms, I arrived at the county town at
  twilight, in order to be ready for the stage-coach the day (174: 5)
  following. As soon as we arrived at the inn, the servant
  who waited upon me inquired of the chamberlain, in my
  hearing, what company he had for the coach. The fellow
  answered, "Mrs. Betty Arable, the great fortune, and the
  widow, her mother; a recruiting officer,--who took a (10)
  place because they were to go; young Squire Quickset,
  her cousin,--that her mother wished her to be married
  to; Ephraim, the Quaker, her guardian; and a gentleman
  that had studied himself dumb from Sir Roger de
  Coverley's." I observed, by what he said of myself, that (15)
  according to his office, he dealt much in intelligence;
  and 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 liable to be disputed with as possible, dressed
  immediately, that I might make no one wait. The first
  preparation for our setting out was, that the captain's (175: 5)
  half-pike was placed near the coachman, and a drum
  behind the coach. In the meantime the drummer, the
  captain's equipage,[124] 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[125] of the coach; (10)
  and the captain himself, according to a frequent though
  invidious[126] 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 to the coach-box.

   [124] Humorously used of the captain's one attendant, the drummer.

   [125] _I.e_. in the box under the seat.

   [126] Presuming, offensive because presuming.

  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
  we had not moved above two miles when the widow asked
  the captain what success he had in his recruiting. The (20)
  officer, with a frankness he believed very graceful, told
  her that indeed he had but very little luck, and had suffered
  much by desertion, therefore should be glad to end
  his warfare in the service of her or her fair daughter.
  "In a word," continued he, "I am a soldier, and to be (25)
  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 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 (176: 5)
  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 has fallen asleep, to be the bride-man,
  and,"--giving the Quaker a clap on the knee,--he
  concluded, "this sly saint, who, I'll warrant, understands (10)
  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,[127]
  answered, "Friend, I take it in good part that thou hast
  given me the authority of a father over this comely and (15)
  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 of thee,--it soundeth because
  it is empty. Verily, it is not from thy fullness, but thy (20)
  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 mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs utter
  thy follies; we cannot help it, friend, I say; if thou wilt, (25)
  we must hear thee: but, if thou wert a man of understanding,
  thou wouldst not take advantage of thy courageous
  countenance to abash us children of peace. Thou
  art, thou sayest, a soldier; give quarter to us, who cannot
  resist thee. Why didst thou fleer at our friend, who
  feigned himself asleep? He said nothing, but how dost
  thou know what he containeth? If thou speakest improper
  things in the hearing of this virtuous young virgin, consider (177: 5)
  it is an outrage against a distressed person that
  cannot get from thee: to speak indiscreetly what we are
  obliged to hear, by being hasped up with thee in this
  public vehicle, is in some degree assaulting on the high
  road." (10)

   [127] Acuteness, quick wit.

  Here Ephraim paused, and the captain, with an happy
  and uncommon impudence,--which can be convicted
  and support itself at the same time,--cries, "Faith,
  friend, I thank thee; I should have been a little impertinent
  if thou hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou (15)
  art, I see, a smoky[128] old fellow, and I'll be very orderly
  the ensuing part of the journey. I was going to give
  myself airs; but, ladies, I beg pardon."

   [128] Quizzical, humorous: "to smoke" one, in the slang of the day, was
   to quiz or ridicule. See the word in No. XXIX, page 199.

  The captain was so little out of humour, and our company
  was so far from being soured by this little ruffle, that (20)
  Ephraim and he took a particular delight in being agreeable
  to each other for the future, and assumed their different
  provinces in the conduct of the company. Our
  reckonings, apartments, and accommodation fell under[129]
  Ephraim; and the captain looked to all disputes on the (25)
  road,--as the good behaviour of our coachman, and the
  right we had of taking place as going to London of all
  vehicles coming from thence.

   [129] Fell under the charge of.

  The occurrences we met with were ordinary, and very
  little happened which could entertain by the relation of
  them; but when I considered the company we were in, I (178: 5)
  took it for no small good fortune that the whole journey
  was not spent in impertinences, which to one part of us
  might be an entertainment, to the other a suffering.

  What, therefore, Ephraim said when we were almost
  arrived at London, had to me an air not only of good (10)
  understanding, but good breeding. Upon the young
  lady's expressing her satisfaction in the journey, and
  declaring how delightful it had been to her, Ephraim
  delivered himself as follows: "There is no ordinary part
  of human life which expresseth so much a good mind, (15)
  and a right inward[130] man, as his behaviour upon 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, (20)
  will not vaunt himself thereof; but will the rather hide
  his superiority to them, that he may not be painful unto
  them. My good friend," continued he, turning to the
  officer, "thee and I are to part by and by,[131] and peradventure
  we may never meet again; but be advised by a (25)
  plain man; modes and apparel are but trifles to the real
  man, therefore do not think such a man as thyself terrible
  for thy garb, nor such a one as me contemptible for
  mine. When two such as thee and I meet, with affections
  as we ought to have towards each other, thou
  shouldst rejoice to see my peaceable demeanour, and I
  should be glad to see thy strength and ability to protect
  me in it."                                           T. (179: 5)

   [130] Genuine.

   [131] Shortly, presently.




  XXVI. SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW IN
  ARGUMENT

  [No. 174. Wednesday, Sept. 19, 1711. STEELE.]

     Haec memini et victum frustra contendere Thyrsin.

      VIRG.


  There is scarce anything more common than animosities
  between parties that cannot subsist but by their
  agreement: this was well represented in the sedition of
  the members of the human body in the old Roman fable.
  It is often the case of lesser confederate states against a (10)
  superior power, which are hardly held together, though
  their unanimity is necessary for their common safety; and
  this is always the case of the landed and trading interest
  of Great Britain: the trader is fed by the product of the
  land, and the landed man cannot be clothed but by the (15)
  skill of the trader; and yet those interests are ever
  jarring.

  We had last winter an instance of this at our club, 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 phrase to intimate breach of leagues.
  Sir Roger said it "could hardly be otherwise; that the (180: 5)
  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, if it comes easily, get money honestly; but if
  not, they will not scruple to attain it by fraud, or cozenage. (10)
  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 and noble be
  expected from him whose attention is forever fixed upon
  balancing his books, and watching over his expenses? (15)
  And at best let frugality and parsimony be the virtues of
  the merchant, how much is his punctual dealing below a
  gentleman's charity to the poor, or hospitality among his
  neighbours?"

  Captain Sentry observed Sir Andrew very diligent in (20)
  hearing Sir Roger, and had a mind to turn the discourse,
  by taking notice, in general, from the highest to the lowest
  parts of human society, there was "a secret though
  unjust way among men of indulging the seeds of ill-nature
  and envy by comparing their own state of life to that of (25)
  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, repines at the other who, he thinks, has
  unjustly the advantage over him. Thus the civil and
  military lists look upon each other with much ill-nature:
  the soldier repines at the courtier's power, and the courtier
  rallies the soldier's honour; or, to come to lower
  instances, the private men in the horse and foot of an
  army, the carmen and coachmen in the city streets, mutually (181: 5)
  look upon each other with ill-will, when they are in
  competition for quarters or the way, in their respective
  motions."[132]

   [132] _I.e_. the soldiers competing for quarters, the carmen and
   coachmen for right of way in the narrow streets.

  "It is very well, good captain," interrupted Sir Andrew;
  "you may attempt to turn the discourse if you think fit; (10)
  but I must, however, have a word or two with Sir Roger,
  who, I see, thinks he has paid me off, and been very severe
  upon the merchant. I shall not," continued he, "at this
  time remind Sir Roger of the great and noble monuments
  of charity and public spirit which have been erected by (15)
  merchants since the Reformation, but at present content
  myself with what he allows us,--parsimony and frugality.
  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 (20)
  prefer our parsimony to his hospitality. If to drink so
  many hogsheads is to be hospitable, we do not contend
  for the fame of that virtue; but it would be worth while
  to consider whether so many artificers at work ten days
  together by my appointment, or so many peasants made (25)
  merry on Sir Roger's charge, are the men more obliged?
  I believe the families of the artificers[133] 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 little pain
  for the Roman proverb upon the Carthaginian traders; the (182: 5)
  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 generosity, in fighting for and bestowing
  other people's goods. But since Sir Roger has taken (10)
  occasion from an old proverb to be out of humour with
  merchants, it should be no offence to offer one not quite
  so old in their defence. When a man happens to break[134]
  in Holland, they say of him that 'he has not kept true
  accounts.' This phrase, perhaps, among us would appear (15)
  a soft or humorous way of speaking; but with that exact
  nation it bears the highest reproach. For a man to be
  mistaken in the calculation of his expense, in his ability
  to answer future demands, or to be impertinently[135] sanguine
  in putting his credit to too great adventure, are all (20)
  instances of as much infamy as, with gayer nations, to be
  failing in courage or common honesty.

   [133] Workmen, mechanics.

   [134] To fail, become bankrupt.

   [135] Unwarrantably.

  "Numbers are so much the measure of everything that
  is valuable, that it is not possible to demonstrate the success
  of any action, or the prudence of any undertaking, (25)
  without them. I say this in answer to what Sir Roger
  is pleased to say, that 'little that is truly noble can be
  expected from one who is ever poring on his cashbook 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 (183: 5)
  my own experience or that of other people, or from a
  reasonable presumption that my returns will be sufficient
  to answer my expense and hazard: and this is never to be
  done without the skill of numbers. For instance, if I am
  to trade to Turkey, I ought beforehand to know the demand (10)
  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, that I may presume upon
  sufficient returns to answer the charge of the cargo I have (15)
  fitted out, the freight and assurance out and home, the
  custom to the queen,[136] and the interest of my own money,
  and besides all these expenses, a reasonable profit to
  myself. Now what is there of scandal in this skill?
  What has the merchant done that he should be so little (20)
  in the good graces of Sir Roger? He throws down no
  man's enclosure, and tramples upon no man's corn; he
  takes nothing from the industrious labourer; he pays the
  poor man for his work; he communicates[137] his profit with
  mankind; by the preparation of his cargo, and the manufacture (25)
  of his returns, he furnishes employment and subsistence
  to greater numbers than the richest nobleman;
  and even the nobleman is obliged to him for finding out
  foreign markets for the produce of his estate, and for
  making a great addition to his rents:[138] and yet it is certain
  that none of all these things could be done by him
  without the exercise of his skill in numbers.

   [136] The tariff, or duty.

   [137] Shares.

   [138] Returns, income.

  "This is the economy of the merchant; and the conduct (184: 5)
  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 numbers, to account
  for the success of any action, or the prudence of any (10)
  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 computed the charges (15)
  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, had been the conduct of all his (20)
  ancestors, he might truly have boasted, at this day, that
  the antiquity of his family had never been sullied by a
  trade; a merchant had never been permitted with his
  whole estate to purchase a room for his picture in the
  gallery of the Coverley's, or to claim his descent from the (25)
  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[139] the
  seats of their ancestors to make way for such new 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."                          T. (185: 5)

   [139] To vacate, be turned out of.




  XXVII. SIR ROGER IN LONDON

  [No. 269. Tuesday, January 8, 1712. ADDISON.]

            Aevo rarissima nostro
      Simplicitas.

      OVID.


  I was this morning surprised with a great knocking at
  the door, when my landlady's daughter came up to me
  and told me that there was a man below desired to
  speak with me. Upon my asking her who it was, she
  told me it was a very grave, elderly person, but that she (10)
  did not know his name. I immediately went down to
  him, and found him to be the coachman of my worthy
  friend, Sir Roger de Coverley. He told me that his master
  came to town last night, and would be glad to take a turn
  with me in Gray's Inn Walks. As I was wondering in (15)
  myself what had brought Sir Roger to town, not having
  lately received any letter from him, he told me that his
  master was come up to get a sight of Prince Eugene,
  and that he desired I would immediately meet him.

  I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old
  knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having heard
  him say more than once in private discourse that he
  looked upon Prince Eugenio--for so the knight always
  calls him--to be a greater man than Scanderbeg. (186: 5)

  I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn Walks, but I
  heard my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or
  thrice to himself with great vigour, 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 (10)
  of the strength which he still exerts in his morning hems.

  I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good
  old man, who before he saw me was engaged in conversation
  with a beggar-man that had asked an alms of him.
  I could hear my friend chide him for not finding out (15)
  some work; but at the same time saw him put his hand
  in his pocket and give him sixpence.

  Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consisting
  of many kind shakes of the hand, and several affectionate
  looks which we cast upon one another. After (20)
  which the knight told me my good friend his chaplain
  was very well, and much at my service, and that the
  Sunday before he had made a most incomparable sermon
  out of Doctor Barrow. "I have left," says he, "all my
  affairs in his hands, and being willing to lay an obligation (25)
  upon him, have deposited with him thirty marks, to be
  distributed among his poor parishioners."

  He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of
  Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob
  and presented me, in his name, with a tobacco stopper,
  telling me that Will had been busy all the beginning of
  the winter in turning great quantities of them, and that
  he made a present of one to every gentleman in the
  country who has good principles and smokes. He added (187: 5)
  that poor Will was at present under great tribulation, for
  that Tom Touchy had taken the law of him for cutting
  some hazel sticks out of one of his hedges.

  Among other pieces of news which the knight brought
  from his country-seat, he informed me that Moll White (10)
  was dead; and that about a month after her death the
  wind was so very high that it blew down the end of one
  of his barns. "But for my own part," says Sir Roger,
  "I do not think that the old woman had any hand in
  it." (15)

  He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions
  which had passed in his house during the holidays; for
  Sir Roger, after the laudable custom of his ancestors,
  always keeps open house at Christmas. I learned from
  him that he had killed eight fat hogs for this season, that (20)
  he had dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his
  neighbours, and that in particular he had sent a string of
  hog's-puddings[140] 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 (25)
  the middle of the winter. It is the most dead, uncomfortable
  time of the year, when the poor people would
  suffer very much from their poverty and cold if they had
  not good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols to
  support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this
  season, and to see the whole village merry in my great
  hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my small beer,
  and set it a running for twelve days to every one that calls (188: 5)
  for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a mince-pie
  upon the table, and am wonderfully pleased to see my
  tenants pass away a whole evening in playing their innocent
  tricks, and smutting one another. Our friend Will
  Wimble is as merry as any of them, and shows a thousand (10)
  roguish tricks upon these occasions."

   [140] Sausages.

  I was very much delighted with the reflection of my old
  friend, which carried so much goodness in it. He then
  launched out into the praise of the late Act of Parliament
  for securing the Church of England, and told me, (15)
  with great satisfaction, that he believed it already began
  to take effect, for that a rigid Dissenter, who chanced to
  dine at his house on Christmas day, had been observed to
  eat very plentifully of his plum-porridge.

  After having dispatched all our country matters, Sir (20)
  Roger made several inquiries concerning the club, and
  particularly of his old antagonist, Sir Andrew Freeport.
  He asked me with a kind of smile whether Sir Andrew
  had not taken advantage of his absence to vent among
  them some of his republican doctrines; but soon after, (25)
  gathering up his countenance into a more than ordinary
  seriousness, "Tell me truly," says he, "don't you think
  Sir Andrew had a hand in the Pope's Procession?" But
  without 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."

  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 (189: 5)
  extraordinary man, whose presence does 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 (10)
  other authors who always lie in his hall window, which
  very much redound to the honour of this prince.

  Having passed away the greatest part of the morning
  in hearing the knight's reflections,[141] which were partly
  private and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke (15)
  a pipe with him over a dish of coffee at Squire's. As I
  love the old man, I take delight in complying with everything
  that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on
  him to the coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew
  upon us the eyes of the whole room. He had no sooner (20)
  seated himself at the upper end of the high table, but he
  called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of
  coffee, a wax candle, and the _Supplement_, with such an
  air of cheerfulness and good humour that all the boys in
  the coffee-room--who seemed to take pleasure in serving (25)
  him--were at once employed on his several errands;
  insomuch that nobody else could come at a dish of tea
  till the knight had got all his conveniences about him.

   [141] Correct the careless grammar.                 L.




  XXVIII. SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

  [No. 329. Tuesday, March 18, 1712. 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 Westminster
  Abbey, "in which," says he, "there are a great many
  ingenious fancies." He told me, at the same time, that
  he observed I had promised another paper upon the (190: 5)
  tombs, and that he should be glad to go and see them
  with me, not having visited them since he had read history.
  I could not at first imagine how this came into the
  knight's head, till I recollected that he had been very
  busy all last summer upon Baker's _Chronicle_ which he (10)
  has quoted several times in his disputes with Sir Andrew
  Freeport since his last coming to town. Accordingly,
  I promised to call upon him the next morning, that we
  might go together to the Abbey.

  I found the knight under his butler's hands, who (15)
  always shaves him. He was no sooner dressed than he
  called for a glass of the Widow Trueby's water, which
  he told me he always drank before he went abroad. He
  recommended me to a dram of it at the same time with
  so much heartiness that I could not forbear drinking it. (20)
  As soon as I had got it down, I found it very unpalatable;
  upon which the knight, observing that I had made several
  wry faces, told me that he knew I should not like it at
  first, but that it was the best thing in the world against
  the stone or gravel. I could have wished, indeed, that (191: 5)
  he had acquainted me with the virtues of it sooner; but
  it was too late to complain, and I knew what he had
  done was out of good-will. Sir Roger told me, further,
  that he looked upon it to be very good for a man, whilst
  he stayed in town, to keep off infection; and that he got (10)
  together a quantity of it upon the first news of the sickness
  being at Dantzic. When, of a sudden, turning short
  to one of his servants, who stood behind him, he bid him
  call a hackney-coach, and take care it was an elderly man
  that drove it. (15)

  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 county; that she distilled every poppy that grew
  within five miles of her; that she distributed her water (20)
  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," said Sir Roger, "if I had not
  been engaged,[142] perhaps I could not have done better." (25)

   [142] In what sense?

  His discourse was broken off 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 fellow'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 (192: 5)
  head, called the coachman down from his box, and upon
  his presenting himself at the window, asked him if he
  smoked; as I was considering what this would end in,
  he bid him stop by the way at any good tobacconist's,
  and take in a roll of their best Virginia. Nothing material (10)
  happened in the remaining part of our journey till we
  were set down at the west end of the Abbey.

  As we went up the body of the church, the knight
  pointed at the trophies upon one of the new monuments,
  and cried out, "A brave man, I warrant him!" Passing (15)
  afterwards by Sir Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand
  that way, and cried, "Sir Cloudesley Shovel! a very gallant
  man!" As we stood before Busby's tomb, the knight
  uttered himself again after the same manner: "Dr. Busby--a
  great man! he whipped my grandfather--a very (20)
  great man! I should have gone to him myself if I had
  not been a blockhead;--a very great man!"

  We were immediately conducted into the little chapel
  on the right hand. Sir Roger, planting himself at our
  historian's[143] elbow, was very attentive to everything he (25)
  said, particularly to the account he gave us of the lord
  who had cut off the King of Morocco's head. Among
  several other figures, he was very well pleased to see the
  statesman Cecil upon his knees; and, concluding them
  all to be great men, was conducted to the figure which
  represents that martyr to good housewifery who died by
  the prick of a needle. Upon our interpreter's telling us
  that she was a maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth, the (193: 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_."

   [143] The guide, or verger.

  We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, (10)
  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 what authority they had to say (15)
  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.[144] I could observe Sir Roger
  a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned;[145] but, our guide
  not insisting upon his demand, the knight soon recovered (20)
  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.

   [144] _I.e_. for sitting down in the chair.

   [145] Snared, caught. It is more properly spelled trapanned, and is not
   to be confused with the verb _trepan_, to remove a piece of the skull.

  Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward (25)
  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 princes that ever sat upon the
  English throne. (194: 5)

  We were then shown Edward the Confessor's tomb, upon
  which Sir Roger acquainted us that he was the first who
  touched for the evil; and afterwards Henry the Fourth's,
  upon which he shook his head and told us there was fine
  reading in the casualties of that reign. (10)

  Our conductor then pointed to that monument where
  there is the figure of one of our English kings without an
  head; and upon giving us to know that the head, which
  was of beaten silver, had been stolen away several years
  since,--"Some Whig, I'll warrant you," says Sir Roger; (15)
  "you ought to lock up your kings better; they will carry
  off the body too, if you don't take care."

  The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen
  Elizabeth gave the knight great opportunities of shining
  and of doing justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our (20)
  knight observed with some surprise, had a great many
  kings in him whose monuments he had not seen in the
  Abbey.

  For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see the
  knight show such an honest passion for the glory of his (25)
  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 converses
  with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he
  looked upon as an extraordinary man; for which reason
  his shook him by the hand at parting, telling him that he
  should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in Norfolk
  Buildings, and talk over these matters with him more at (195: 5)
  leisure.                                             L.




  XXIX. SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY

  [No. 335. Tuesday, March 25, 1712. ADDISON.]

      Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo
      Doctum imitatorem, et vivas 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 to
  see the new tragedy with me, assuring me at the same
  time that he had not been at a play these twenty years. (10)
  "The last I saw," said Sir Roger, "was the _Committee_,
  which I should not have gone to, neither, had not I been
  told beforehand that it was a good Church of England
  comedy." He then proceeded to inquire of me who this
  distressed mother was; and upon hearing that she was (15)
  Hector's widow, he told me that her husband was a brave
  man, and that when he was a schoolboy he had read his
  life at the end of the dictionary. My friend asked me,
  in the next place, if there would not be some danger in
  coming home late, in case the Mohocks should be abroad.
  "I assure you," says he, "I thought I had fallen into their
  hands last night, for I observed two or three lusty black[146]
  men that followed me half way up Fleet Street, and
  mended their pace behind me in proportion as I put on (196: 5)
  to get away from them. You must know," continued the
  knight, with a smile, "I fancied they had a mind to _hunt_
  me, for I remember an honest gentleman in my neighbourhood
  who was served such a trick in King Charles the
  Second's time; for which reason he has not ventured himself (10)
  in town ever since. I might have shown them very
  good sport had this been their design; for, as I am an old
  fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have
  played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in
  their lives before." Sir Roger added that if these gentlemen (15)
  had any such intention they did not succeed very
  well in it; "for I threw them out," says he, "at the end
  of Norfolk Street, where I doubled the corner and got
  shelter in my lodgings before they could imagine what
  was become of me. However," says the knight, "if Captain (20)
  Sentry will make one with us to-morrow night, and
  if you will both of you call upon me about four o'clock,
  that we may be at the house before it is full, I will have
  my own coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells
  me he has got the fore wheels mended." (25)

   [146] Perhaps in black masks.

  The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the
  appointed hour, bid Sir Roger fear nothing, for that he
  had put on the same sword which he made use of at the
  battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's servants, and among
  the rest my old friend the butler, had, I found, provided
  themselves with good oaken plants[147] to attend their master
  upon this occasion. When he had placed him in his
  coach, with myself at his left hand, the captain before (197: 5)
  him, and his butler at the head of his footmen in the
  rear, we convoyed him in safety to the playhouse, where,
  after having marched up the entry in good order, the
  captain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt
  us in the pit. As soon as the house was full and the (10)
  candles lighted, my old friend stood up and looked about
  him with that pleasure which a mind seasoned with humanity
  naturally feels in itself at the sight of a multitude
  of people who seem pleased with one another, and partake
  of the same common entertainment. I could not (15)
  but fancy to myself, as the old man stood up in the middle
  of the pit, that he made a very proper centre to a
  tragic audience. Upon the entering of Pyrrhus, the
  knight told me that he did not believe the King of
  France himself had a better strut. I was, indeed, very (20)
  attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I looked
  upon them as a piece of natural criticism; and was well
  pleased to hear him, at the conclusion of almost every
  scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the play
  would end. One while he appeared much concerned for (25)
  Andromache, and a little while after as much for Hermione;
  and was extremely puzzled to think what would
  become of Pyrrhus.

   [147] Sticks, cudgels.

  When Sir Roger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal
  to her lover's importunities, he whispered me in the ear,
  that he was sure she would never have him; to which he
  added, with a more than ordinary vehemence, "You
  can't imagine, sir, what 'tis to have to do with a widow!" (198: 5)
  Upon Pyrrhus his[148] 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 (10)
  in my ear, "These widows, sir, are the most perverse
  creatures in the world. But pray," says he, "you that
  are a critic, is the play according to your dramatic
  rules, as you call them? Should your people in tragedy
  always talk to be understood? Why, there is not a (15)
  single sentence in this play that I do not know the
  meaning of."

  [148] This form of the possessive was still occasionally used when the
  noun ended in s.

  The fourth act very luckily begun before I had time to
  give the old gentleman an answer. "Well," says the
  knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, "I suppose (20)
  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 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, (25)
  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 very fine child by the account that is
  given of him."

  Upon Hermione's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus,
  the audience gave a loud clap, to which Sir Roger added,
  "On my word, a notable young baggage!" (199: 5)

  As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness in
  the audience during the whole action, it was natural for
  them to take the opportunity of these intervals between
  the acts to express their opinion of the players and of
  their respective parts. Sir Roger, hearing a cluster of (10)
  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, "though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow (15)
  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[149] the knight, plucked him by the elbow,
  and whispered something in his ear that lasted till the (20)
  opening of the fifth act. The knight was wonderfully
  attentive to the account which Orestes gives of Pyrrhus
  his death, and, at the conclusion of it, told me it was such
  a bloody piece of work that he was glad it was not done
  upon the stage. Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving (25)
  fit, he grew more than ordinary serious, and took occasion
  to moralize, in his way, upon an evil conscience, adding
  that Orestes in his madness looked as if he saw something.

   [149] Ridicule, chaff.

  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 crowd. Sir Roger
  went out fully satisfied with his entertainment, and we (200: 5)
  guarded him to his lodgings in the same manner that we
  brought him to the playhouse; being highly pleased, for
  my own part, not only with the performance of the
  excellent piece which had been presented, but with the
  satisfaction which it had given to the good old man. (10)
                                                       L.




  XXX. WILL HONEYCOMB'S EXPERIENCES

  [No. 359. Tuesday, April 22, 1712. BUDGELL.]

      Torva leaena 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 custom, sat very
  silent, and instead of minding what was said by the company,
  was whistling to himself in a very thoughtful mood,
  and playing with a cork. I jogged Sir Andrew Freeport (15)
  who sat between us; and as we were both observing him,
  we saw the knight shake his head and heard him say to
  himself, "A foolish woman! I can't believe it." Sir
  Andrew gave him a gentle pat upon the shoulder, and
  offered to lay him a bottle of wine that he was thinking
  of the widow. My old friend started, and, recovering
  out of his brown study, told Sir Andrew that once in his
  life he had been in the right. In short, after some little
  hesitation, Sir Roger told us, in the fullness of his heart, (201: 5)
  that he had just received a letter from his steward, which
  acquainted him that his old rival and antagonist in the
  county, Sir David Dundrum, had been making a visit to
  the widow. "However," says Sir Roger, "I can never
  think that she'll have a man that's half a year older than (10)
  I am, and a noted Republican into the bargain."

  Will Honeycomb, who looks upon love as his particular
  province, interrupting our friend with a jaunty laugh, "I
  thought, knight," says he, "thou hadst lived long enough
  in the world not to pin thy happiness upon one that is a (15)
  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 Britain, though the chief of my knowledge consists
  in this,--that they are not to be known." Will
  immediately, with his usual fluency, rambled into an (20)
  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 world without having had some thoughts of settling (25)
  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 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[150]
  forbid me his house, and within a fortnight after married
  his daughter to a fox hunter in the neighbourhood. (202: 5)

   [150] Rustic, clown.

  "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 morning, she told me
  that she intended to keep her ready money and jointure[151]
  in her own hand, and desired me to call upon her attorney (10)
  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 inquired either for her or her
  attorney afterwards.

   [151] Property or estate settled on a wife to be enjoyed after the
   death of her husband.

  "A few months after, I addressed myself to a young (15)
  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, and, in short, made no doubt
  of her heart; and, though my fortune was not equal
  to hers, I was in hopes that her fond father would not (20)
  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 unspeakable surprise, that Miss Jenny was
  that very morning run away with the butler. (25)

  "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 never
  saw a gentleman with such a spindle pair of legs as Mr.
  Honeycomb. (203: 5)

  "After this I laid siege to four heiresses successively,
  and being a handsome young dog in those days, quickly
  made a breach in their hearts; but I don't know how it
  came to pass, though I seldom failed of getting the daughter's
  consent, I could never in my life get the old people (10)
  on my side.

  "I could give you an account of a thousand other unsuccessful
  attempts, particularly of one which I made some
  years since upon an old woman, whom I had certainly
  borne away with flying colours if her relations had not come (15)
  pouring in to her assistance from all parts of England;
  nay, I believe I should have got her at last, had not she
  been carried off by an hard frost."

  As Will's transitions are extremely quick, he turned
  from Sir Roger, and applying himself to me, told me (20)
  there was a passage in the book I had considered 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: (25)

                                  "Oh! why did our
      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 (30)
      With men as Angels, without feminine;
      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, (204: 5)
      And straight conjunction[152] with this sex. For either
      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 gained (10)
      By a far worse, or, if she love, withheld
      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 (15)
      To human life, and household peace confound."

   [152] Intimate union.

  Sir Roger listened to this passage with great attention,
  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 (20)
  again before he went to bed.                         X.




  XXXI. SIR ROGER AT VAUXHALL

  [No. 383. Tuesday, May 20, 1712. 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 the opening of
  it, a loud, cheerful voice inquiring whether the philosopher
  was at home. The child who went to the door (205: 5)
  answered very innocently that he did not lodge there. I
  immediately recollected that it was my good friend Sir
  Roger's voice, and that I had promised to go with him
  on the water to Spring Garden, in case it proved a good
  evening. The knight put me in mind of my promise (10)
  from the bottom of the staircase, but told me that if I
  was speculating he would stay below till I had done.
  Upon my coming down, I found all the children of the
  family got about my old friend, and my landlady herself
  who is a notable prating gossip, engaged in a conference (15)
  with him, being mightily pleased with his stroking her
  little boy upon the head, and bidding him be a good
  child and mind his book.

  We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs but we
  were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us (20)
  their respective services. Sir Roger, after having looked
  about him very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg,
  and immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready.
  As we were walking towards it, "You must know," says
  Sir Roger, "I never make use of anybody to row me that (206: 5)
  has not either lost a leg or an arm. I would rather bate
  him a few strokes of his oar than not employ an honest
  man that had 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 occasions,--we
  made the best of our way for Fox-hall. Sir Roger obliged
  the waterman to give us the history of his right leg, and (15)
  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 beat three Frenchmen; that we could never (20)
  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; with many other
  honest prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart of a (25)
  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 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 churches will very much mend the
  prospect; but church work is slow, church work is (207: 5)
  slow!"

  I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned, in Sir
  Roger's character, his custom of saluting everybody that
  passes by him with a good-morrow or a good-night. This
  the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, (10)
  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.

  He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even in (15)
  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 two or three young fellows a
  little before our landing, one of them, instead of returning (20)
  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 length, assuming a face of magistracy, told us that if
  he were a Middlesex justice he would make such vagrants (25)
  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 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 put him in mind of a little coppice (208: 5)
  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, Mr. Spectator!
  the many moonlight nights that I have walked by (10)
  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,[153] who came
  behind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and
  asked him if he would drink a bottle of mead with her. (15)
  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 bid her
  go about her business.

   [153] _I.e_. a woman wearing a mask.

  We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale and (20)
  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 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 (25)
  ratified the knight's commands with a peremptory look.

  As we were going out of the garden, my old friend,
  thinking himself obliged 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 strumpets.                                 I.




  XXXII. DEATH OF SIR ROGER

  [No. 517. Thursday, October 23, 1712. ADDISON.]

      Heu pietas! heu prisca fides!

      VIRG.


  We last night received a piece of ill news at our club (209: 5)
  which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question
  not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the
  hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense,--Sir
  Roger de Coverley _is dead_. He departed this life at his
  house in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir (10)
  Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his correspondents
  in those parts, that informs him the old man caught
  a cold at the county sessions, as he was very warmly
  promoting an address of his own penning, in which he
  succeeded according to his wishes. But this particular (15)
  comes from a Whig justice of peace, who was always Sir
  Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters both from
  the chaplain and Captain Sentry which mention nothing
  of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honour of
  the good old man. I have likewise a letter from the (20)
  butler, who took so much care of me last summer when
  I was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler
  mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances
  the others have passed over in silence, I shall
  give my reader a copy of his letter without any alteration (210: 5)
  or diminution.

    "Honoured Sir,--

    "Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I could
    not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which
    has afflicted the whole country, as well as his poor servants, who (10)
    loved him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid
    he caught his death the last county sessions, where he would go
    to see justice done to a poor widow woman, and her fatherless
    children, that had been wronged by a neighbouring gentleman; for
    you know, sir, my good master was always the poor man's friend. (15)
    Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he
    had lost his roast beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin,
    which was served up according to custom; and you know he used
    to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse
    and worse, but still kept a good heart[154] to the last. Indeed, (20)
    we were once in great hope of his recovery, upon a kind message that
    was sent him from the widow lady whom he had made love to the
    forty last years of his life; but this only proved a light'ning before
    death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a
    great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with (25)
    jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his mother. He has
    bequeathed the fine white gelding, that he used to ride a hunting
    upon, to his chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him,
    and has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to
    the chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It (30)
    being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning,
    to every man in the parish, a great frieze coat, and to every woman
    a black riding-hood. It was a most moving sight to see him take
    leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst
    we were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are
    grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left (211: 5)
    us pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon,
    the remaining part of our days. He has bequeath'd 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 (10)
    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 Coverley's, on the
    left hand of his father, Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six (15)
    of his tenants, and the pall held up by six of the quorum. The whole
    parish follow'd the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their mourning
    suits, the men in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. Captain
    Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken possession of the hall
    house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw him a (20)
    little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished him
    joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to
    make good use of it, and to pay the several legacies, and the gifts
    of charity which he told him he had left as quitrents upon the
    estate. The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says (25)
    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 day of my master's
    death. He has ne'er joyed himself since; no more has any (30)
    of us. 'Twas the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever
    happened in Worcestershire. This being all from,

    "Honoured Sir,

    "Your most Sorrowful Servant,

    "Edward Biscuit."      (35)

    "P. S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a
    book which comes up to you by the carrier should be given to Sir
    Andrew Freeport, in his name."

   [154] Good courage.

  This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner
  of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, (212: 5)
  that upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in
  the club. Sir Andrew, opening the book, found it to be
  a collection of Acts of Parliament. There was in particular
  the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it
  marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew found (10)
  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 another occasion, at the sight of the old
  man's handwriting burst into tears, and put the book (15)
  into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me that the
  knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the
  club.                                                O.




  XXXIII. CAPTAIN SENTRY AS MASTER OF
  COVERLEY HALL

  [No. 544. Monday, Nov. 24, 1712. STEELE.]

      Nunquam ita quisquam bene subducta ratione ad vitam fuit
      Quin res, aetas, usus semper aliquid apportet novi,
      Aliquid moneat: ut illa, quae te scire credas, nescias;
      Et, quae tibi putaris prima, in experiundo ut repudies.

      TER.


  There are, I think, sentiments in the following letter
  from my friend Captain Sentry, which discover a rational
  and equal frame of mind, as well prepared for an advantageous
  as an unfortunate change of condition.

    "Coverley Hall, Nov. 15,      (213: 5)
    "Worcestershire.

    "Sir,

    "I am come to the succession of the estate of my honoured
    kinsman, Sir Roger de Coverley; and I assure you I find it no
    easy task to keep up the figure of master of the fortune which (10)
    was so handsomely enjoyed by that honest, plain man. I cannot
    (with respect to the great obligations I have, be it spoken) reflect
    upon his character, but I am confirmed in the truth which I have,
    I think, heard spoken at the club; to wit, that a man of a warm
    and well-disposed heart, with a very small capacity, is highly (15)
    superior in human society to him who, with the greatest talents,
    is cold and languid in his affections.

    "But, alas! why do I make a difficulty in speaking of my worthy
    ancestor's failings? His little absurdities and incapacity for the
    conversation[155] of the politest men are dead with him, and his
    greater qualities are even now useful to him. I know not whether
    by naming those disabilities I do not enhance his merit, since (214: 5)
    he has left behind him a reputation in his country which would be
    worth the pains of the wisest man's whole life to arrive at.

     [155] The society of.

           *       *       *       *       *

    "But, indeed, my chief business at this time is to represent to
    you my present state of mind, and the satisfactions I promise to
    myself in the possession of my new fortune. I have continued all (10)
    Sir Roger's servants, except such as it was a relief to dismiss into
    little beings[156] within my manor. Those who are in a list of the
    good knight's own hand to be taken care of by me, I have quartered
    upon such as have taken new leases of me, and added so
    many advantages during the lives of the persons so quartered, that (15)
    it is the interest of those whom they are joined with, to cherish
    and befriend them upon all occasions.

     [156] Livings.

    "I find a considerable sum of ready money, which I am laying
    out among my dependants at the common interest, but with a
    design to lend it according to their merit, rather than according (20)
    to their ability. I shall lay a tax upon such as I have highly
    obliged, to become security to me for such of their own poor youth,
    whether male or female, as want help towards getting into some
    being in the world.[157] I hope I shall be able to manage my affairs
    so as to improve my fortune every year by doing acts of kindness. (25)
    I will lend my money to the use of none but indigent men, secured
    by such as have ceased to be indigent by the favour of my family or
    myself. What makes this the more practicable is, that if they will
    do any one good with my money, they are welcome to it upon their
    own security: and I make no exception against it, because the (30)
    persons who enter into the obligations, do it for their own family.
    I have laid out four thousand pounds this way, and it is not to be
    imagined what a crowd of people are obliged by it. In cases where
    Sir Roger has recommended, I have lent money to put out[158] children,
    with a clause which makes void the obligation in case the infant[159]
    dies before he is out of his apprenticeship; by (215: 5) which
    means the kindred and masters are extremely careful of breeding him to
    industry, that he may repay it himself by his labour, in three years'
    journey-work after his time is out, for the use of his securities.[160]
    Opportunities of this kind are all that have occurred since I came to
    my estate; but I assure you I will preserve a constant disposition (10)
    to catch at all the occasions I can to promote the good and
    happiness of my neighbourhood.

     [157] Getting their living in some way.

     [158] Apprentice.

     [159] A minor, one not twenty-one years of age.

     [160] Those who have given security for him. But it is difficult to
     get any precise meaning from the sentence--another instance of
     Steele's carelessness of expression.

    "But give me leave to lay before you a little establishment which
    has grown out of my past life, that I doubt not will administer
    great satisfaction to me in that part of it, whatever that is, (15)
    which is to come.

    "There is a prejudice in favour of the way of life to which a man
    has been educated, which I know not whether it would not be
    faulty to overcome. It is like a partiality to the interest of one's
    own country before that of any other nation. It is from an habit (20)
    of thinking, grown upon me from my youth spent in arms, that I
    have ever held gentlemen who have preserved modesty, good-nature,
    justice and humanity in a soldier's life, to be the most
    valuable and worthy persons of the human race. To pass through
    imminent dangers, suffer painful watchings, frightful alarms, and (25)
    laborious marches for the greater part of a man's time, and pass
    the rest in a sobriety conformable to the rules of the most virtuous
    civil life, is a merit too great to deserve the treatment it usually
    meets with among the other part of the world. But I assure you,
    sir, were there not very many who have this worth, we could never (30)
    have seen the glorious events which we have in our days. I need not
    say more to illustrate the character of a soldier than to tell you he
    is the very contrary to him you observe loud, saucy, and overbearing,
    in a red coat about town. But I was going to tell you that, in honour
    of the profession of arms, I have set apart a certain sum (216: 5)
    of money for a table for such gentlemen as have served their country
    in the army, and will please from time to time to sojourn all or any
    part of the year, at Coverley. Such of them as will do me that
    honour shall find horses, servants, and all things necessary for their
    accommodation and enjoyment of all the conveniences of life in a (10)
    pleasant, various[161] country. If Colonel Camperfelt be in town, and
    his abilities are not employed another way in the service, there is no
    man would be more welcome here. That gentleman's thorough knowledge
    in his profession, together with the simplicity of his manners
    and goodness of his heart, would induce others like him to honour (15)
    my abode; and I should be glad my acquaintance would take themselves
    to be invited or not, as their characters have an affinity to his.

     [161] Varied.

    "I would have all my friends know that they need not fear
    (though I am become a country gentleman) I will trespass against
    their temperance and sobriety. No, sir, I shall retain so much of (20)
    the good sentiments for the conduct of life which we cultivated in
    each other at our club, as to contemn all inordinate pleasures; but
    particularly remember, with our beloved Tully,[162] that the delight in
    food consists in desire, not satiety. They who most passionately
    pursue pleasure, seldomest arrive at it. Now I am writing to a (25)
    philosopher, I cannot forbear mentioning the satisfaction I took in
    the passage I read yesterday in the same Tully. A nobleman of
    Athens made a compliment to Plato the morning after he had
    supped at his house: 'Your entertainments do not only please
    when you give them, but also the day after.' (30)

     [162] Marcus Tullius Cicero.

    "I am, my worthy friend,

    "Your most obedient, humble servant,

    "William Sentry."                                  T.




NOTES

The heavy marginal figures stand for page, and the lighter ones for line


I. THE SPECTATOR

    =Motto.= "He does not lavish at a blaze his fire,
    Sudden to glare and in a smoke expire;
    But rises from a cloud of smoke to light,
    And pours his specious miracles to sight."

    --Horace, _Ars Poetica_, 143. P. Francis's tr.

That is, a well-planned work of art will not begin with a flash and end
in smoke; but, beginning modestly, will grow more lucid and brilliant
as it proceeds. Horace, in the lines immediately preceding these,
quotes in translation the opening words of the _Odyssey_ as an example
of a good introduction.

The mottoes of the Spectator papers--nearly all chosen from the Latin
poets--are usually, as in this case, very apt. They give a certain air
of dignity and easy scholarship to the treatment of familiar themes.
In a later paper (No. 221, written by Addison) the Spectator defends
himself with charming humour against any charge of pedantry in the use
of them.

=45=: 12. =My own history.= In this paper Addison of course is not
giving us his own history; but he _is_ giving us a truthful picture of
his own temperament. His love of reading and of travel, his dignified
composure, his taciturnity, his habit of quiet observation--they are
all faithfully set down.

=47=: 20. =The measure of a pyramid.= Addison perhaps had in mind the
works on this subject by John Greaves (1602-1652), a mathematician
and antiquary; a posthumous pamphlet by him had recently (1706) been
published. Addison's own travels never extended farther than Italy.

=47=: 28. =Place of general resort.= The coffee-houses played a very
important part in the London life of Queen Anne's time. They were
frequented by all classes,--wits and scholars, divines, politicians,
men of business, and men of fashion. Each of the more famous houses
had its own class of patrons, and thus served as a kind of club. Men
frequently had their letters left there--as Swift used to do, instead
of at his lodgings--and could count on meeting congenial acquaintances
there at any time. An observant French traveler, Henri Misson,
whose book was translated in 1719, gives a pleasant glimpse of the
coffee-house interior: "You have all Manner of Newes there: You have
a good Fire, which you may sit by as long as you please; You have a
Dish of Coffee; You meet your Friends for the Transaction of Business;
and all for a Penny, if you don't Care to spend more." In the better
houses, cards or dicing were not allowed, and swearing and quarrelling
were punished by fines.

The coffee-houses mentioned in the text were, in 1710, those most
widely known. Will's, at the corner of Bow and Great Russell streets,
near the Drury Lane Theatre, was the famous house where, during the
last decade of the seventeenth century, the great Dryden had held
his chair as literary dictator, and it was still a favourite resort
both for men of letters and men of affairs; it was from Will's that
Steele dated all those papers in _The Tatler_ which were concerned
with poetry. Child's, in St. Paul's church-yard, was frequented by
the clergy and by men of learning; the Grecian, in Devereaux Court,
just off the Strand, was also the resort of scholars and of barristers
from the Temple--Steele dated from there all "accounts of learning"
in his _Tatler_. The St James, near the foot of St. James Street,
was a thoroughly Whig house, as the Cocoa Tree on the opposite side
of the street was a Tory. Jonathan's, in Exchange Alley, near the
heart of the city, was the headquarters of stockjobbers. All these
were coffee-houses, except the Cocoa Tree, which called itself a
chocolate-house. The chocolate-houses were few in number, higher in
prices, and less popular than the coffee-houses.

Steele gives a pleasant account of coffee-house customs in _Spectator_,
No. 49. See also two papers by Addison on coffee-house talk,
_Spectator_, Nos. 403, 568.

For a fuller account of London Coffee-houses in Addison's time, see
Ashton's _Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap. xviii, and
Besant's _London in the Eighteenth Century_, Chap. xii.

=48=: 5. =The Postman.= One of the little newspapers of the Queen Anne
time, issued thrice a week and edited by a French Protestant named
Fontive.

=48=: 11. =Drury Lane and the Haymarket.= These two famous theaters
were, in 1710, the only ones open in London.

=48=: 16. =Never open my lips but in my own club.= "Addison was perfect
good company with intimates; and had something more charming in his
conversation than I ever knew in any other man; but with any mixture
of strangers, and sometimes only with one, he seemed to preserve his
dignity much, with a stiff sort of silence." Pope, quoted in Spence's
_Anecdotes_, p. 38. It will be noticed that while this taciturnity and
reserve were characteristics of Addison, they were utterly foreign to
the disposition of Steele. Steele often talked too soon and too fast,
and he threw himself most heartily into the game of life.

=48=: 27. =Neutrality between the Whigs and Tories.= The Spectator kept
this resolve, though the restriction was difficult for Steele.

=50=: 19. =Mr. Buckley's in Little Britain.= Samuel Buckley was a
printer who, in 1702, had started the first English daily newspaper,
_The Daily Courant_, a little sheet 14 by 8 inches in size. He
undertook to print _The Spectator_ for Steele and Addison. Little
Britain is the name of a short street in London, near Smithfield.

=50=: 24. =C.= All Addison's papers in _The Spectator_ are signed with
some one of the four letters forming the word Clio, the name of the
muse of history. Steele's are signed R or T. In _Spectator_, No. 221,
Addison gives a droll comment upon these "Capital Letters placed at the
End of the papers."


II. THE CLUB

=Motto.= "But other six and more call out with one voice."--Juvenal,
_Satires_, vii, 167.

=51=: 2. =Sir Roger de Coverley.= "The still popular dance-tune from
which Addison borrowed the name of Sir Roger de Coverley in _The
Spectator_, is contained in Playford's _Division Violin_, 1685; in
_The Dancing Master_ of 1696, and all subsequent editions."--Chappell,
_Popular Music of the Olden Time_.

Steele says it was Swift who made the happy suggestion of calling the
old knight by the name of the popular dance.

=51=: 4. =Country-dance.= This seems to be the original form of which
contre-dance and contra-dance are perversions, naturally arising from
the fact that in such dances the men and women stand in lines facing
each other.

=51=: 14. =Soho Square.= Since the time of Charles II this had been a
fashionable quarter of London, but fell into comparative disfavour as a
place of residence before the close of the eighteenth century.

We do not hear again of this town residence of Sir Roger; he is
considered as a country gentleman, who only makes short visits to
London, and then lodges in Norfolk buildings off the Strand.

=52=: 1. =My Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege.= John Wilmot, Earl
of Rochester (1647-1680), and Sir George Etherege (1634-1694) enjoyed
some little reputation as poets and more notoriety as rakes during
the reign of Charles II. Etherege had considerable dramatic ability;
but both men covered with a veneer of fine manners essentially vulgar
lives, and both died drunkards.

=53=: 2. =Bully Dawson.= "A swaggering sharper of Whitefriars."--Morley.

=53=: 2. =Inner Temple.= The Inns of Court are legal societies in
London which have the exclusive right of admitting candidates to the
bar, and provide instruction and examinations for that purpose. There
are four of these Inns of Court,--Lincoln's Inn, Gray's Inn, the Middle
Temple, and the Inner Temple. The last two derive their names from
the fact that they occupy buildings and gardens on the site formerly
belonging to the military order of Knights Templar, which was dissolved
in the fourteenth century. The famous Temple Church is the only one
of the buildings of the great Knights Templar establishment that now
remains. We hear but little of the Templar in the following papers;
Steele did not find the character as interesting as it might have been
expected he would.

=53=: 8. =Aristotle= (384-322 B.C.), the greatest of Greek philosophers
in his influence upon later thought, was also perhaps the greatest,
as he was the first, of literary critics. The Templar probably cared
quite as much for Aristotle's _Rhetoric_ and _Poetics_ as for his
philosophical works.

=53=: 9. =Longinus= (210-273) was the author of a treatise _On the
Sublime_, more admired two centuries ago than it is to-day.

=53=: 9. =Littleton.= Sir Thomas Littleton (1402-1481), a noted English
jurist, author of a famous work in French on _Tenures_.

=53=: 10. =Coke.= _The Institutes of Sir Edward Coke_ (1552-1634),
a reprint and translation of Littleton's book, with copious
comment,--hence popularly known as _Coke on Littleton_,--are a great
authority upon the law of real property.

=53=: 17. =Tully.= Marcus Tullius Cicero.

=53=: 29. =Exactly at five.= In the Queen Anne days the play began
at six, or often as early as five. The Templar is going to the Drury
Lane Theatre. He passes New Inn, which was one of the buildings of the
Middle Temple, crosses the Strand, and through Russell Court reaches
Will's Coffee-house, where he looks in for coffee and the news, and he
has his shoes rubbed and his wig powdered at the barber's by the Rose
Tavern, which stood just beside the theatre.

=54=: 6. =Sir Andrew Freeport.= Steele's Whig sympathies may be seen in
this picture of the intelligent and enterprising merchant. The trading
classes of England belonged then almost entirely to the Whig party;
the landed aristocracy, on the other hand, country squire and country
parson, were almost always Tories. See note on p. 242.

=54=: 22. =A penny got.= This would seem to be the source of Franklin's
Poor Richard's maxim, "A penny saved is a penny earned."

=57=: 6. =Hoods.= The hood was an important article of woman's attire
at this time. See Addison's delightful paper, _Spectator_, No. 265.

=57=: 12. =The Duke of Monmouth.= The natural son of Charles II, who,
during the reign of James II, in 1685, invaded England and attempted to
seize the crown; but was defeated in the battle of Sedgemoor,--the last
battle fought on English soil,--taken prisoner, and executed on Tower
Hill. He was a young man of little ability; but his personal beauty
and engaging manners won him many friends. See the portrait of him as
Absalom in Dryden's _Absalom and Achitophel_, 29, 30:

    "His motions all accompanied with grace,
    And Paradise was opened in his face."

=58=: 23. =R.= One of Steele's signatures. See note, p. 219.


III. SIR ROGER'S CRITICISMS ON POLITE SOCIETY

=Motto.= "They used to think it a great crime, even deserving of death,
if a young man did not rise up in the presence of an elder."--Juvenal,
_Satires_, xiii. 54.

=59=: 6. =Wit and sense.= These were reckoned in the Queen Anne time
the cardinal virtues not only of literature, but of society. Keenness
and quickness of intellect, grace of form in letters, urbanity and good
breeding, brilliancy of converse in society--these were the qualities
the age most admired. This paper is one of many written by Steele
to protest against the divorce of these qualities from morality and
religion.

=59=: 9. =Abandoned writings of men of wit.= Steele probably has
especially in mind the drama of his time. English comedy was never
so witty and never so abandoned as in the fifty years following the
Restoration.

=60=: 8. =Lincoln's Inn Fields.= A large square just west of Lincoln's
Inn, at this time much frequented by beggars and sharpers.

=61=: 24. =Sir Richard Blackmore= (1650-1729), a dull, long-winded poet
of the time, whose verse has little beside its virtue to recommend
it. In the Preface to his long philosophical poem, _The Creation_,
published a few months after this paper was written, he inveighs at
great length against the licentiousness and atheism of men of wit
and letters; but the sentences in the text seem to be quoted, though
inaccurately, from the Preface to his earlier epic, _Prince Arthur_
(1695).


IV. THE CLUB AND THE SPECTATOR

=Motto.= "A wild beast spares his own kind."--Juvenal, _Satires_, xv.
159.

=65=: 13. =The opera and the puppet-show.= The absurd unrealities
of the Italian opera, then recently introduced into England, were a
subject of frequent sarcastic comment in _The Spectator_. "Audiences,"
says Addison, "have often been reproached by writers for the coarseness
of their taste; but our present grievance does not seem to be the want
of a good taste, but of common sense." For strictures on the opera, see
Nos. 1, 13, 18, 22, 29, 31.

=65=: 15. =Dress and equipage of persons of quality.= Perhaps he refers
to No. 16, in which the Spectator had ventured some criticism upon
muffs and garters and fringed gloves and other "foppish ornaments."

=65=: 19. =The city.= Technically "the city" is that part of London
north of the Thames from Temple Bar on the west to the Tower on the
east, and extending as far as Finsbury on the north, which constituted
the original walled city of London. It is the part of London under the
immediate control of the lord mayor and aldermen, and its residents
are "citizens." The trade and business of London was in Addison's time
almost entirely--and still is very largely--included in this area.

Sir Andrew Freeport, as a merchant, of course stands up for the city.

=66=: 4. =The wits of King Charles's time.= The comedies of the
writers of the time of Charles II--Farquhar, Wycherley, Congreve,
Vanbrugh--usually turn upon intrigue of which the wives and daughters
of citizens are the victims.

=66=: 6. =Horace= (65-8 B.C.) and =Juvenal= (_circa_ 60-140 A.D.), the
masters of Latin satire; =Boileau= (1636-1711), a French satirist and
critic.

=66=: 12. =Persons of the Inns of Court.= See _Spectator_, No. 21.

=66=: 25. =Fox hunters.= Whatever Mr. Spectator may have said in
private, it does not seem that he had thus far written any paper
disparaging fox hunters. A later essay, No. 474,--not written by
Addison,--is rather severe upon them. Addison's famous picture of the
Tory fox hunter is found in _The Freeholder_, No. 22.

=67=: 23. =Vices ... too trivial for the chastisement of the law, and
too fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit.= This is an admirable
indication of the range and purpose of the Spectator's satire.

=68=: 16. =The Roman triumvirate.= Octavius, Antony, Lepidus. For the
account of their "debate," see Plutarch's _Life of Mark Antony_ or
Shakespeare's version of it in _Julius Cæsar_, iv. 1.

=68=: 27. =Punch.= One Robert Powell, a hunchbacked dwarf, kept a
puppet show, or "Punch's theatre," in Covent Garden. The speech of
Punch was often very broad. See Ashton's _Social Life in the Reign of
Queen Anne_, p. 215.


V. A LADY'S LIBRARY

=Motto.= "She had not accustomed her woman's hands to the distaff or
the skeins of Minerva."--Virgil, _Æneid_, vii. 305.

=69=: 13. =Leonora.= A letter from a Leonora, perhaps the lady of this
paper, is to be found in _Spectator_, No. 91.

=70=: 4. =Great jars of china.= The craze for collecting china was then
at its height. It is satirized by Steele in _Tatler_, No. 23, and by
Addison in No. 10 of _The Lover_.

=70=: 17. =Scaramouches.= The Scaramouch is a typical buffoon in
Italian farces; the name is derived from Scaramuccia, a famous Italian
clown of the last half of the seventeenth century.

=70=: 20. =Snuff box.= This indicates that the habit of snuff taking
had been adopted by fine ladies. It would seem, however, to have been a
new fashion, at all events with ladies. See Steele's criticism upon the
habit in _Spectator_, No. 344. For curious facts with reference to the
use of tobacco in the Queen Anne time, see Ashton, _Social Life in the
Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap. xvii.

=71=: 3. =Looking into the books=, etc. The humour consists largely,
of course, in the odd miscellany of books suited "to the lady and the
scholar."

=71=: 9. =Ogilby's Virgil=, the first complete translation of Virgil,
1649.

=71=: 10. =Dryden's Juvenal=, 1693.

=71=: 11, 12, 13. =Cassandra=, =Cleopatra=, and =Astraea= were
translations of long-winded, sentimental French romances, the first two
by La Calprenède, the third by Honoré D'Urfé.

=71=: 15. =The Grand Cyrus= and =Clelia= were even more famous
romances, by Mademoiselle de Scudéry, each in ten volumes. For
delightful satire upon the taste for this sort of reading, see Steele's
comedy, _The Tender Husband_; the heroine, Miss Biddy Tipkin, has been
nourished upon this delicate literature.

=71=: 17. =Pembroke's Arcadia.= Written in 1580-1581, by Sir Philip
Sidney, but published, after his death, by his sister, the Countess of
Pembroke. It is the best of the Elizabethan prose romances.

=71=: 18. =Locke.= John Locke's _Essay on the Human Understanding_, an
epoch-making work in philosophy, published in 1690. Locke was one of
the authors Leonora had "heard praised," and may have "seen"; but she
evidently found better use for his book than to read it. The "patches"
were bits of black silk or paper, cut in a variety of forms, which
ladies stuck upon their faces, presumably to set off their complexions.
See _Spectator_, No. 81. Notice the pun in this use of Locke.

=71=: 22. =Sherlock.= William Sherlock (1641-1707), dean of St. Paul's.

=71=: 23. =The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony=, a translation of a
French book of the fifteenth century, _Quinze Joies de Mariage_.

=71=: 24. =Sir William Temple's Essays=, published 1692.

=71=: 25. =Malebranche's Search after Truth= had been translated from
the French not long before.

=72=: 1. =The Ladies' Calling=, a popular religious book, anonymous,
but ascribed to the unknown author of the most widely circulated
religious book of the seventeenth century, _The Whole Duty of Man_.

=72=: 2. =Mr. D'Urfey.= Thomas D'Urfey (1650-1720), a playwright and
humorous verse writer. His poetical writings were collected, 1720,
under the title, _Pills to purge Melancholy_. In 1704 he published
_Tales, Tragical and Comical_, which is probably the book here referred
to.

=72=: 6. =Clelia.= See note on 71: 15.

=72=: 8. =Baker's Chronicle.= _Sir Richard Baker's Chronicle_ of the
kings of England, 1634. Sir Roger was very familiar with this dull
book. See _Spectator_, No. 329, XXVIII of this volume.

=72=: 9. =Advice to a Daughter.= By George Saville, Marquis of Halifax.

=72=: 10. =The New Atalantis.= By Mrs. Manley, who had an unsavoury
reputation in London journalism during the reign of Anne. This was a
scandalous romance, attacking prominent persons, especially of the Whig
party, under feigned names.

=72=: 11. =Mr. Steele's Christian Hero.= See Introduction.

=72=: 14. =Dr. Sacheverell's Speech.= A Tory high-church preacher
who was impeached before the House of Lords for two violent sermons
assailing the Whig party. His trial caused great excitement, and was
one of the events immediately preceding the downfall of the Whigs in
1710. The "speech" here mentioned is that delivered in his own defence.
It is said to have been written for him by Samuel Wesley, father of
John Wesley.

=72=: 15. =Fielding's Trial.= One Robert Fielding, tried for bigamy
early in the century.

=72=: 16. =Seneca's Morals.= _The Moral Essays of Seneca_ (4 B.C.-65
A.D.). The translation of Roger L'Estrange was popular at this time.

=72=: 17. =Taylor's Holy Living and Dying.= Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667),
the most eloquent of English divines.

=74=: 22. =To give me their thoughts upon it.= Some of "their thoughts"
may be found in Nos. 92 and 340.


VI. COVERLEY HALL

=Motto.= "Hence shall flow to the full for thee, from kindly horn, a
wealth of rural honours."--Horace, _Odes_, I. xvii. 14-17.

=77=: 7. =The nature of a chaplain.= The religious influence of the
clergy, especially of the country clergy, was doubtless very small
in the Queen Anne time. For their condition and work, see Macaulay's
famous Chapter iii. in his _History of England_; Lecky's _History
of England in the Eighteenth Century_, Chap. ii; Ashton's _Social
Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap. xxxii; Besant's _London in
the Eighteenth Century_, chapter on Church and Chapel. Abundant
confirmation of this low estimate of the character and influence
of the clergy may be found in contemporary literature. For example,
see Swift's _Project for the Advancement of Religion_, his satirical
_Argument against the Abolishing of Christianity_, and _Letter to a
Young Clergyman_.

Yet it must be remembered that the Whig prejudices of Addison inclined
him, in his kindly satire, to belittle the attainments and the
influence of the country clergy, who were, almost to a man, Tories.

=79=: 3. =Bishop of St. Asaph= may have been either William Beveridge
(1637-1708) or his successor, William Fleetwood (1656-1723); both had,
before this time, published volumes of sermons.

=79=: 4. =Dr. South.= Robert South (1633-1716), a very high churchman
and a very eloquent preacher.

=79=: 6. =Tillotson.= John Tillotson (1630-1694), made Archbishop of
Canterbury three years before his death.

=79=: 7. =Saunderson.= Robert Saunderson (1587-1663), Bishop of Lincoln.

=79=: 7. =Barrow.= Isaac Barrow (1630-1677) was eminent both as a
theologian and a mathematician.

=79=: 7. =Calamy.= Edmund Calamy (1600-1666) is the only one in the
chaplain's list of preachers who was not a Churchman; Calamy was
a Presbyterian, though a liberal one, who served a little time as
chaplain of Charles II.


VII. THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD

=Motto.= "The Athenians raised a colossal statue to Æsop, though a
slave, and placed it on a lasting foundation, to show that the path of
Honor is open to all."--Phaedrus, _Epilogue_, 2.

=80=: 4. =Corruption of manners in servants.= For interesting
details, see Ashton's _Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap.
vi, Servants. Steele had already written a paper on the subject,
_Spectator_, No. 88.

=83=: 4. =Put his servants into independent livelihoods.= Note the
inconsistency of the statement with those of the previous paper. The
two papers were written at the same time,--they were printed on two
consecutive days,--and Steele and Addison, it is evident, did not very
carefully avoid slight inconsistencies.


VIII. WILL WIMBLE

=Motto.= "Out of breath for naught; doing many things, yet
accomplishing nothing."--Phaedrus, _Fables_, II. v. 3.

=85=: 6. =Wimble.= A wimble is a gimlet--the two words are probably
from the same root. Possibly, as some of his editors have suggested,
Addison meant to indicate that Will Wimble was a small bore. Quite as
possibly he meant that the fellow was always turning about, yet making
a very small hole.

=86=: 1. =Eton.= The most famous of English schools; in sight of
Windsor Castle.

=86=: 8. =Younger brother.= By English law the eldest son succeeds to
the family estate and titles.

=86=: 21. =A tulip-root.= About the middle of the seventeenth century
there was a craze for tulips in England. The bulbs were grown in
Holland, and were sold for fabulous prices. Dealing in them became
a kind of speculation, and tulip bulbs were bought and sold on the
exchange, as stocks are now, without changing hands at all. As much as
a thousand pounds has been paid, it is said, for a single bulb. The
Dutch government finally passed a law that no more than two hundred
francs should be charged for one bulb. By the time this paper was
written the mania had mostly passed, yet tulips were still highly
prized. In _The Tatler_, Addison has a pleasant paper (No. 218) telling
of a cook maid who mistook a "handful of tulip-roots for a heap of
onions and by that means made a dish of pottage that cost above a
thousand pounds sterling." Forty years later, young Oliver Goldsmith,
when a medical student in Leyden, almost beggared himself by the
purchase of a parcel of tulip-roots to send to his good uncle Contarine
in Ireland.

=89=: 1. =Trading nation, like ours.= In such passages as this Addison
betrays his Whig sympathies. The trading and moneyed classes, it will
be remembered, were all in the Whig party; the landed aristocracy, in
the Tory party. In _Spectator_, No. 21,--referred to in the closing
lines of this paper,--he dwells at length on the opportunities and
advantages of the business life as compared with the overcrowded
professions.


IX. THE COVERLEY ANCESTRY

=Motto.= "Wise, but not by rule."--Horace. _Satires_, II. ii. 3.

=90=: 19. =Harry the Seventh.= Henry VII, king of England, 1485-1509.

=90=: 19. =Yeomen of the guard.= The bodyguard of the sovereign,
numbering one hundred, who attend him at banquets and other state
occasions. They are popularly called "beefeaters," and still wear the
uniform here described. The wardens of the Tower of London wear a
uniform differing but slightly from that of the yeomen of the guard.

=90=: 28. =The Tilt-yard= occupied not only a part of the "common
street," now called Whitehall, but the greater part of the "parade
ground" in St. James's Park, just behind the Horse Guards building.

=91=: 14. =The coffee-house.= Jenny Man's coffee-house, one of the
best known in London, stood on the spot now occupied by the paymaster
general's office.

=91=: 24. =New-fashioned petticoat.= The hooped petticoat has made its
appearance, in various forms, at various times, throughout the history
of British female attire. Sir Roger's grandmother apparently wore what
was called the "wheel farthingale," a drum-shaped petticoat worn in the
late sixteenth century. The form in vogue in Addison's time--it came in
about 1707--was bell shaped, and of most liberal dimensions. For some
admirable fooling upon it, see _Spectator_, No. 127, and _Tatler_, No.
116, both by Addison.

=92=: 4. =White-pot.= Made of cream, rice, sugar, and cinnamon, etc. It
was a favourite Devonshire dish, as the famous "clotted cream" of Devon
is now.

=93=: 9. =Sir Andrew Freeport has said.= Sir Andrew characteristically
stands up for the citizens and the moneyed interest. Later on he
reminds Sir Roger of the obligation of his family to trade. See
_Spectator_, No. 174, XXVII of this volume.

=93=: 15. =Turned my face.= Note the delicate courtesy of the Spectator.

=94=: 20. =The battle of Worcester=, September 3, 1651, in which
Cromwell defeated the Scots, supporters of Charles II.


X. THE COVERLEY GHOST

    =Motto.= "All things are full of horror and affright,
    And dreadful e'en the silence of the night."

    --Virgil, _Æneid_, ii. 755. Dryden's tr.

=95=: 9. =Psalms=, cxlvii. 9.

=96=: 20. =Mr. Locke, in his chapter.= _Essay on the Human
Understanding_, Bk. ii, Chap. xxxiii.

=98=: 12. =The relations of particular persons who are now living.=
Addison's opinion as to the reality of ghosts and apparitions was
shared by most people of his time, the thoughtful and educated as well
as the ignorant.

=98=: 17. =Lucretius.= A Roman poet of the century before Christ,
whose one work, _De Rerum Natura_, is a philosophic poem, showing much
subtlety of thought. The "notion" referred to in the text is found in
the early part of the Fourth Book of the _De Rerum Natura_.

=99=: 4. =Josephus= (37-95 A.D.). The Jewish historian. The passage is
found in his _Antiquities of the Jews_, Bk. xvii, Chap. xiii.


XI. SUNDAY WITH SIR ROGER

=Motto.= "First honour the immortal gods, as it is commanded by
law."--Pythagoras, _Fragments_.

=101=: 20. =Instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms.= The
service in the parish churches throughout England at this time was
slovenly and spiritless. Samuel Wesley, father of John, who was then
rector of the parish of Epworth, complains that his people prefer the
"sorry Sternhold Psalms," have "a strange genius at understanding
nonsense," and sing decently only "after it has cost a pretty deal to
teach them."

=103=: 10. =The clerk's place.= In the English parishes the clerk is
the layman who leads in reading the responses of the church service.

=103=: 23. =Tithe stealers.= Tithes are a tax, estimated as a tenth
(tithe) of the annual profits from land and stock, appropriated for the
support of the clergy. The tithes in England are now commuted to rent
charges.


XII. SIR ROGER IN LOVE

=Motto.= "(Her) features remain imprinted on (his) heart."--Virgil,
_Æneid_, iv. 4.

=105=: 1. =The perverse widow.= Ingenious commentators have thought to
identify the lady with a certain Mrs. Catherine Bovey, to whom Steele
dedicated the second volume of his _Ladies Library_; but it seems
altogether improbable that Steele and Addison would intend any of their
characters as actual portraits.

=108=: 20. =Such a desperate scholar that no country gentleman can
approach her.= It is probable that Sir Roger's estimate of the
scholarship of country gentlemen in his time does them no great
injustice. Macaulay says of the country squire at the end of the
seventeenth century: "If he went to school and to college, he generally
returned before he was twenty to the seclusion of the old hall, and
then, unless his mind was very happily constituted by nature, soon
forgot his academical pursuits in rural business and pleasures. His
chief serious employment was the care of his property.... His chief
pleasures were commonly derived from field sports and from unrefined
sensuality. His language and pronunciation were such as we should
now expect to hear only from the most ignorant clowns."--_History of
England_, Chap. iii.

=109=: 20. =Sphinx.= The sphinx was sent by Juno to devastate the
country of the Thebans, until some one could answer her riddle, "What
animal goes on four feet in the morning, two at noon, and three at
night?" Œdipus gave the right answer, "Man," and so saved his
countrymen.

=110=: 3. =Her tucker.= The tucker was an edging of muslin or lace at
the top of the dress, covering the neck and bosom.

=110=: 8. =Some tansy.= A kind of pudding flavored with tansy.

=110=: 24. =Dum tacet hanc loquitur.= Even when silent he is speaking
of her.

=110=: 25. =Epigram.= Martial, _Epigram_, I. lxviii. The last two lines
of the epigram are not quoted.


XIII. HOW TO BEAR POVERTY

=Motto.= "The shame of poverty and the fear of it."--Horace,
_Epistles_, I. xviii. 24.

=111=: 16. =The glass was taken ... pretty plentifully.= The Queen
Anne men were not very temperate. Says Mr. Lecky: "The amount of hard
drinking among the upper classes was still very great, and it is
remarkable how many of the most conspicuous characters were addicted to
it. Addison, the foremost moralist of his time, was not free from it.
Oxford, whose private character was in most respects singularly high,
is said to have come, not infrequently, drunk into the very presence of
the Queen."--_England in the Eighteenth Century_, Chap. iii.

Swift writes in his _Journal to Stella_, October 31, 1710: "I dined
with Mr. Addison and Dick Stuart. They were both half fuddled; but not
I."

=113=: 13, 19. =Laertes ... Irus.= Classical names were frequently
taken for imaginary personages by the writers of this time. Laertes, in
Homer's _Odyssey_, is the father of Ulysses, and Irus is a beggar.

=113=: 16. =Four shillings in the pound.= Laertes evidently has to pay
three hundred pounds a year interest on his mortgage of six thousand
pounds, which is one fifth of his whole income, or "four shillings in
the pound."

=113=: 18. =Easier in his own fortune.= Because, of course, he has to
pay taxes on his whole estate.

=114=: 25. =Mr. Cowley.= Abraham Cowley (1618-1667), one of the most
popular poets of the second third of the seventeenth century. The
vogue of his poetry, however, rapidly declined; but his prose essays
are still very pleasant reading. The essay which Steele seems to refer
to in the latter part of this paragraph is that on _Greatness_, which
closes with a translation of Horace's Ode, _Odi profanum_, Bk. iii. 1.

=114=: 28. =The elegant author who published his works.= Thomas Sprat,
Bishop of Rochester, who issued a complete edition of Cowley's Poetical
Works, prefaced with a Life, in 1680. Sprat's _Life of Cowley_ is one
of the most interesting pieces of biography of the seventeenth century.

=115=: 5. =Great vulgar.= The phrase is from the second line of
Cowley's translation of the _Odi profanum_ of Horace, above mentioned:

    "Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all,
    Both the great vulgar and the small."

But Steele's sentence is certainly obscure.

=116=: 11. =If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat=, etc. These lines are
Cowley's own, and are inserted in the essay on _Greatness_.


XIV. LABOUR AND EXERCISE

=Motto.= "That there may be a sound mind in a sound body."--Juvenal,
_Satires_, x. 356.

=117=: 21. =Ferments the humours.= It was an old medical notion that in
the body there are four _humours_ or fluids,--blood, phlegm, choler,
and bile,--and that health depended upon the due proportion and mixture
of these humours. This conception influenced popular language, after it
was in great part discarded by more accurate medical knowledge. It will
be noticed throughout this paper that Addison's hygiene is better than
his physiology.

=117=: 28. =Refining those spirits.= The name animal spirits was
given to a subtle fluid which, according to ancient medical notions,
permeated the body and served in some way as the medium of sensation
and volition. In its looser and more recent use the phrase means little
more than nervous energy or sometimes physical vivacity.

=118=: 3. =The spleen= was supposed to be the seat of melancholy or
fretfulness, hence was often used for the melancholy itself.

=118=: 5. =Vapours.= The blues, especially used of women.

=120=: 8. =Dr. Sydenham.= Thomas Sydenham (1624-1689), the most noted
physician of his time, surnamed "the English Hippocrates."

=120=: 12. =Medicina Gymnastica=, _or a Treatise concerning the Power
of Exercise_, by Francis Fuller, published in 1704.

=120=: 14. =Exercise myself an hour every morning.= It may be doubted
whether Mr. Addison kept up this healthful practice. At all events,
like most of the fat club goers of the age, he gave evidence in his
later years of the need of more vigorous physical exercise, and he died
at the early age of forty-seven.

=120=: 23. =A Latin treatise of exercises.= _Artis Gymnasticae apud
antiquos_, by Hieronymus Mercurialis, Venice, 1569.


XV. SIR ROGER GOES A-HUNTING

This paper and XXX of the present collection were written by Eustace
Budgell. This sanguine, brilliant, but ill-starred young man was a
cousin of Addison's, an Oxford graduate, and a writer of considerable
promise. He was introduced to public life by Addison, whom he
accompanied as clerk when Addison went to Ireland as secretary. For a
time Budgell was a member of the Irish Parliament, and seemed to have a
successful career in prospect both in politics and in letters; but he
became involved in unfortunate financial speculations, especially in
the notorious South Sea Bubble, was guilty of forgery in his efforts
to extricate himself, and finally, in despair, drowned himself in the
Thames.

=Motto.= "Cithaeron calls aloud and the dogs on Mount
Taygetus."--Virgil, _Georgics_, iii. 43.

Cithaeron and Taygetus were mountains, the one in Boeotia and the other
in Laconia.

=121=: 18. =The Bastile= (modern spelling, Bastille). The famous
prison, for prisoners of state, in Paris; destroyed at the beginning
of the French Revolution, July 14, 1789. The 14th of July is still a
national holiday in France.

=123=: 19. =Midsummer Night's Dream=, iv. 1. 124.

=126=: 20. =Threw down his pole.= Such of the hunters as followed the
chase on foot usually carried long vaulting poles, by the aid of which
they could leap hedges, ditches, or miry places, and thus, by going
cross country, often keep as close to the dogs as the mounted huntsmen.
See Ashton's _Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap. xxiii.

=127=: 7. =Pascal.= Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), French geometrician and
philosopher, and one of the most acute thinkers of his century. His
later years were passed in the celebrated community of Port Royal,
where his metaphysical and religious works were written. After his
death, a number of fragmentary papers intended for a work in defence
of Christianity, which he did not live to finish, were collected and
published under the title _Pensées de M. Pascal sur la Religion_
(Thoughts of Pascal upon Religion). It is from the seventh section
(_Misère de l'homme_) of this work that the quotation in the text is
taken.

=127=: 27. =Too great an application to his studies in his youth.=
Pascal wrote a famous Latin treatise on Conic Sections at the age of
sixteen, invented a calculating machine at the age of nineteen, and
before he was twenty-one was accounted one of the first mathematicians
of the world. But he says that from the age of eighteen he never passed
a day without pain.

=128=: 10. =Lines out of Mr. Dryden.= John Dryden (1631-1700), the
representative English poet of the last half of the seventeenth
century. The lines quoted are from his Epistle XV, to his cousin of the
same name as himself, John Dryden of Chesterton, a robust, fox-hunting
bachelor. The epistle is a good example of Dryden's masculine
common-sense.


XVI. THE COVERLEY WITCH

=Motto.= "They make their own visions."--Virgil, _Eclogues_, viii. 108.

=129=: 9. =The subject of witchcraft.= The Spectator was less
credulous, on this matter of witchcraft, than most of his
contemporaries. The witchcraft craze in Salem, Massachusetts, occurred
in 1692; only a few years before this paper was written, two women had
been hanged in Northampton, England, for witchcraft; and as late as
1716 a certain Mrs. Hicks and her daughter were executed in Huntingdon
for selling their souls to the devil, etc. The statute of James I,
1603, punishing witchcraft by death, was not repealed until 1736;
and the belief in witchcraft continued to be common long after that,
not only among the ignorant, but among the educated. John Wesley, on
most matters a man of very sound practical judgement, writes in his
_Journal_ as late as 1770: "I cannot give up to all the Deists in
Great Britain the existence of witchcraft till I give up the credit of
all history, sacred and profane. And at the present time I have not
only as strong but stronger proofs of this from eye and ear witnesses
than I have of murder; so that I cannot rationally doubt of one any
more than the other." And Samuel Johnson, when questioned by Boswell
on the matter, while he would "not affirm anything positively upon the
subject," reminded Mr. Boswell that in support of witchcraft "You have
not only the general report and belief, but many solemn, voluntary
confessions." (Boswell's _Life of Samuel Johnson_, April 9, 1772.)

For an account of the kind of evidence used against alleged witches,
see a case cited in Ashton's _Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_,
Chap. x.

=130=: 19. =Otway.= Thomas Otway (1651-1685), the best tragic dramatist
of the Restoration period. The passage is from his tragedy, _The
Orphan_, ii. 1.

=131=: 8. =Carried her several hundreds of miles.= In accordance with
the superstition that a witch rode through the air at night on a
broomstick. Other superstitions are referred to in the following lines.

=131=: 15. =Take a pin of her.= Because bewitched people were
frequently said to be tormented with pins, or to be made to vomit pins.
The pins that figured so conspicuously in the Salem witchcraft trials
may still be seen in the Museum there.

=132=: 5. =A tabby cat.= A black cat was traditionally supposed to be
a favourite form in which Satan embodied himself, and hence a constant
figure in all witchcraft stories.

=132=: 15. =Advising her, as a justice of peace.= This sentence
admirably indicates Sir Roger's half belief in the preternatural powers
of the old woman, and his anxiety to avoid any trouble that would
oblige him to come to a conclusion in the matter.

=132=: 24. =Trying experiments with her.= Because, if she floated, she
was accounted a witch; if she sank, she was probably innocent, and they
might pull her out.


XVII. SIR ROGER TALKS OF THE WIDOW

=Motto.= "In [his] side is fixed the fatal arrow."

    --Virgil, _Æneid_, iv. 73.


XVIII. MANNERS IN THE COUNTRY

=Motto.= "The city they call Rome, I had been foolish enough, Melibæus,
to suppose like this town of ours."--Virgil, _Eclogues_, i. 20.

=140=: 11. =The fashionable world is grown free and easy.= This
tendency in manners began to be more marked after the Restoration,
1660. Some reaction toward a more formal and elaborate courtesy in
the world of fashion could be seen about the middle of the eighteenth
century, under the influence of such men as Lord Chesterfield.

For some account of manners in the Queen Anne time, see Ashton, _Social
Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chaps. vii, viii; Trail's _Social
England_, Chaps. xvi, xvii. For telling contemporary satire, see
Swift's _Polite Conversation_.

=143=: 2. =Red coats and laced hats= were fashionable twenty years
before Addison was writing. In 1711 the coat was likely to be of some
more quiet color, though in great variety of shades. At just this time
the skirts were "wired" to make them stand out--as may be seen by a
reference in _Spectator_, No. 145. The laced hat had been replaced by a
low-crowned, black felt hat, with very wide brim, which was looped up
or "cocked." For the variety of shapes into which the dandy would cock
his hat, and other information on the hat, see _Spectator_, No. 319.

=143=: 4. =The height of their head-dresses.= The head-dress
had evidently been much lowered within a few years. Addison, in
_Spectator_, No. 98, declares that "within my own memory I have known
it rise and fall about thirty degrees." In the latter half of the
century, about 1775, it again attained proportions even more startling
than in Addison's day.


XIX. SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES

=Motto.= "A jovial companion on the way is as good as a
carriage."--Publius Syrus, _Maxims_.

=144=: 9. =Assizes.= The periodical sessions held by at least one of
the superior judges in every county in England. For a brief but clear
description of the English judicial system, see Woodrow Wilson's _The
State_, sections 731-745.

=144=: 16. =Just within the Game Act.= This act, passed in the reign of
James I, provided that no person who had not an income of forty pounds
a year, or two hundred pounds' worth of goods and chattels, should be
allowed to shoot game. The law continued in force until 1827.

=144=: 23. =Petty jury.= The twelve men selected to determine cases,
civil or criminal, in court, according to the evidence presented to
them; called petty (or petit) jury to distinguish them from the _grand
jury_, whose principal function is to decide whether the evidence
against a suspected person is sufficient to warrant holding him for
trial by a petty jury.

=144=: 27. =Quarter sessions.= A criminal court held by the justices of
the peace once a quarter in an English county.

=145=: 20. =Much might be said on both sides.= Sir Roger's decision has
passed into a proverb.

=146=: 12. =A look of much business and great intrepidity.= One of
Addison's best bits of description.

=147=: 19. =The Saracen's Head.= In early days, before city streets
were numbered, not only inns but shops usually were designated by some
sign painted or carved at the door. In the case of inns this practice
still survives, and most English inns of the county towns bear the name
of some object that once served as a sign, as the Angel (Lincoln),
the Fountain (Canterbury), the Bull (Cambridge), the Three Swans
(Salisbury). Ever since the time of the Crusades the head of a Saracen,
or Turk, had been a favourite sign. Readers of Boswell's _Life of
Samuel Johnson_ will recall the Turk's Head Tavern in Gerrard Street,
London, where the most famous of clubs used to meet.


XX. THE EDUCATION OF AN HEIR

=Motto.= "Learning improves native genius, and right training
strengthens the character; but bad morals will bring to shame the best
advantages of truth."--Horace, _Odes_, iv. 33.

=149=: 23. =A story I have heard.= Addison probably invented this
story, and he certainly thought well of it himself. On the same day
this paper was printed he sent to his friend Edward Wortley Montague
a letter beginning thus: "Being very well pleased with this day's
_Spectator_, I cannot forbear sending you one of them, and desiring
your opinion of the story in it. When you have a son, I shall be glad
to be his Leontine, as my circumstances will probably be like his." The
tone of discouragement in the last clause is explained by Addison's
statements, later in the letter, that he has recently lost large sums
of money, "and what is worse than all the rest, my mistress." The
Countess of Warwick was evidently not smiling upon him just then, and
Addison saw himself in the future--if not like Leontine, a widower--a
bachelor in humble circumstances.

=149=: 27. =Like a novel.= The word _novel_ was introduced into
English in the sixteenth century as a name for the Italian _novelle_,
or short tales, translations of which were then very numerous in
England. In Addison's time it was still used to designate a short story
as distinguished from the longer romances like those in the _Ladies
Library_ (V of this volume). The modern novel, an extended narrative of
real life, with careful plot usually having for its central motion the
passion of love, was not yet written in English. It is usually said to
begin with the work of Richardson and Fielding, 1740-1750.

=150=: 14. =Gazette.= The official journal of the government. Steele,
it will be remembered, had been gazetteer from May, 1707, to October,
1710, when the Whigs went out of power.

=150=: 23. =According to Mr. Cowley.= "You would advise me not to
precipitate that resolution [of retiring from public life] but to stay
a while longer with patience and complaisance, till I had gotten such
an estate as might afford me (according to the saying of that person
whom you and I love very much and would believe as soon as another man)
'cum dignitate otium.' That were excellent advice to Joshua, who could
bid the sun stay too. But there is no fooling with life when it is once
turned beyond forty. The seeking for a fortune then is but a desperate
after-game."--Cowley's Essay, _The Danger of Procrastination_. Also see
note, p. 234.

=150=: 29. =Of three hundred a year=, _i.e_. yielding an income of
three hundred pounds a year.

=152=: 19. =Inns of Court.= See note, p. 221.


XXI. WHIGS AND TORIES

    =Motto.= "This thirst of kindred blood, my sons, detest,
    Nor turn your force against your country's breast."

    --Virgil, _Æneid_, vi. 832. Dryden's tr.

=155=: 1. =The malice of parties.= Party feeling had perhaps never been
more bitter in England than just at this time; and it was probably all
the more bitter and personal because there were no very clear questions
at issue between the two parties. Swift, writing in the Tory _Examiner_
a few months before the date of this paper (November 16, 1710), says,
"Let any one examine a reasonable honest man, of either side, upon
those opinions in religion and government, which both parties daily
buffet each other about, he shall hardly find one material point in
difference between them." The principal questions upon which Whig and
Tory had once actively differed, and still continued to differ in
theory, were two. The first was the nature of the monarchy and its
relation to the other parts of the government. The extreme Tories
held that the king had a divine right to his throne, by hereditary
succession; that this was indefeasible, and implied the duty of
unconditional obedience from the subject. The extreme Whigs held that
the king was the creation of the people, and held his office purely by
act of Parliament. But it would have been difficult to find many such
extreme Tories or extreme Whigs. The doctrine of the divine right of
kings had been practically refuted by the Revolution of 1688; if there
were any such right, then the crown belonged, not to Anne, but to the
Pretender, son of James II. On the other hand, few Whigs would have
denied that the monarchy was an essential part of the English system of
government, and not the mere creature of parliament.

The other and more important subject of difference between the two
parties was the relation of the Church to the State and to Dissent. The
Tories were Churchmen, and held that the interests of the Church and of
religion demanded more constant and detailed attention from the State,
and more stringent measures to repress dissent. They always called
themselves the Church party; Queen Anne never called them anything
else. The Whigs, on the other hand, though many of them were good
Churchmen, apprehended less danger from dissent and were more liberal
toward it. The Dissenters themselves, of course, were all Whigs.

There was, however, another difference between the two parties quite
as important as any speculative question, and daily growing more
important. As was stated in the Introduction, the most significant
social fact in the England of the first half of the eighteenth century
is the growth of a great middle, commercial class, who were gaining
wealth rapidly and filling up the towns. At the bottom of much
political controversy between 1700 and 1715 was the undefined jealousy
between this class and the landed class. It was trade against land,
new wealth against old aristocracy, town against country. For this
commercial class almost to a man were Whigs; the landed gentry and
their dependants, country squires and country parsons, almost to a man,
were Tories.

This jealousy became extremely bitter about 1710. During all the reign
of Anne, England had been engaged in the great war of the Spanish
succession, the real object of which was to prevent the virtual union
of the crowns of France and Spain. The war was heartily supported from
the first by the Whigs, but opposed, or only languidly supported, by
the Tories. A successful war is always popular, and strengthens the
party that favours it most; accordingly, through the earlier years
of the reign, when the English general Marlborough was winning his
famous victories, the Whigs had everything their own way, and by (1708)
the government was entirely in their hands. But as the war, however
successful, seemed no nearer ending, and its burdens began to press
more heavily, Tory opposition strengthened, and party feeling grew more
and more intense. The financial load fell mostly on the Tory or landed
class; for, as the Tories said, so soon as ever a trading Whig could
get a thousand pounds, he put it into government securities, which he
had to pay no tax upon, while the land had to pay him a handsome rate
of interest. This opposition to the Whigs, strengthened by a feeling
that the cause of the church and of religion was endangered by Whig
supremacy, grew to such volume that in the memorable elections of (1710)
the Whigs were defeated, and a Tory majority brought into the Commons.
The Whig ministers were dismissed; Marlborough, the great general, a
little later was recalled from the army; and finally the queen took the
unprecedented step of creating twelve new Tory peers, and so making a
Tory majority in the House of Lords also.

It was in these stormy years that _The Spectator_ appeared. In the
tumult of partisan controversy Addison succeeded in keeping his
paper out of the strife. He was a pronounced Whig himself, and his
preferences are plainly enough to be seen even in these papers; but he
sincerely deprecated the rancorous tone of party writing, and he wisely
refused to allow _The Spectator_ to become the organ of a party. Steele
had more difficulty in restraining his pen, and finally retired from
_The Spectator_ rather than remain quiet on public questions.

=155=: 4. =Roundheads and Cavaliers.= The Puritans, during the term of
the Civil War, were nicknamed Roundheads because they wore their hair
short (as everybody does now), instead of allowing it to fall over
their shoulders as was the fashion with the Royalists or Cavaliers.

=155=: 6. =St. Anne's Lane.= Probably the lane of that name in
Westminster, near the Abbey.

=155=: 12. =Prick-eared cur.= A dog with pointed ears. The epithet was
applied to the Puritans, because they wore their hair short, and their
ears were not covered by long locks.

=156=: 4. =Tend to the prejudice of the land-tax.= Sir Roger naturally
finds the mischiefs of parties to come mostly from the Whigs, who
support the war, and so raise the land tax.

=156=: 25. =Plutarch.= The Greek historian and moralist, born about 46
A.D. His _Lives_ are perhaps the most interesting work of biography in
the world. The quotation in the text is from his other principal work,
the _Morals_.

=157=: 5. =That great rule.= _Luke_ vi. 27-29.

=157=: 8. =Many good men ... alienated from one another.= It is
probable Addison had especially in mind his own old friendship with
Swift, which had grown very chill of late on account of their political
differences. As early as December 14, 1710, when he began to be
intimate with the new Tory ministry, Swift writes in the _Journal to
Stella_, "Mr. Addison and I are as different as black and white, and I
believe our friendship will go off by this damned business of party."
A month later, January 14, 1711, he says, "At the coffee-house talked
coldly awhile with Mr. Addison; all our friendship and dearness are
off; we are civil acquaintances, talk words, of course, of when we
shall meet, and that is all."

=158=: 26. =Guelphs and Ghibellines.= The two great political parties
in Italy, fiercely opposed to each other from the middle of the
twelfth to the end of the fifteenth century. The Guelphs or popular
party, supported the pope; the Ghibellines, or aristocratic party, the
emperor.

=158=: 27. =The League.= The Holy Catholic League, formed in France,
1546, to resist the claims of Henry IV to the throne, and check the
advance of Protestantism.


XXII. WHIGS AND TORIES--_Continued_

=Motto.= "Trojan or Rutulian, it shall be the same to me."--Virgil,
_Æneid_, x. 108.

=161=: 24. =Diodorus Siculus.= A Greek historian of the first century,
born--as the name implies--in Sicily. He wrote a _Historical Library_,
of which only a part is preserved.

=162=: 19. =The spirit of party reigns more in the country.= Here
speaks the Whig prejudice of Addison; Sir Roger himself might have
thought differently.

=162=: 29. =Tory fox hunters.= See Addison's account of a typical Tory
fox hunter in _The Freeholder_, No. 22.

=164=: 23. =Fanatic.= The term was frequently applied to the Puritans,
and later to Dissenters.


XXIII. SIR ROGER AND THE GIPSIES

=Motto.= "They find their constant delight in gathering new spoils, and
living upon plunder."--Virgil, _Æneid_, vii. 748.

=166=: 2. =Set the heads of our servant-maids so agog=, _i.e_. by
telling their fortunes.

=166=: 6. =Crosses their hands with a piece of silver.= It was
customary to make the sign of the cross upon the hand of the gipsy with
the coin given him--probably with a view to avert any evil influence
from such doubtful characters.

=166=: 23. =A Cassandra of the crew.= Cassandra, daughter of Priam,
king of Troy, had been given by Apollo the gift of prophecy; but the
god, afterward offended by her, rendered the gift futile by decreeing
that she should never be believed.


XXIV. THE SPECTATOR DECIDES TO RETURN TO LONDON

=Motto.= "Once more, ye woods, farewell."--Virgil, _Eclogues_, x. 63.

=171=: 2. =Spring anything to my mind.= The metaphors in this and the
following lines are drawn from the chase. To "spring" is to rouse game
from cover; to "put up" has much the same meaning.

=171=: 6. =Foil the scent.= When a variety of game is started, and
their trails cross, the dogs become confused and cannot follow any one.

=171=: 14. =My love of solitude, taciturnity.= See paper I of this
volume.

=171=: 28. =White Witch.= Called "white" because doing good; most
witches were believed to practise a black art.

=172=: 10. =Some discarded Whig.= Discarded, or he would not have been
staying in the country among Tories.

=173=: 19. =Stories of a cock and a bull.= Any idle or absurd
story. The phrase in this form or in the other now more common, "a
cock-and-bull story," has been common in English for nearly three
hundred years; but its origin is not known.

=173=: 25. =Make every mother's son of us Commonwealth's men.= Sir
Andrew Freeport, it will be remembered, was a pronounced Whig, and the
Whigs were charged with having inherited the doctrines and traditions
of the Commonwealth.


XXV. THE JOURNEY TO LONDON

=Motto.= "We call that man impertinent who does not see what the
occasion demands, or talks too much, or makes a display of himself, or
does not have regard for the company he is in."--Cicero, _De Oratore_,
ii. 4.

=174=: 5. =Ready for the stage-coach.= By 1710 coaches ran regularly
between London and most larger towns in England. The best were called
"flying-coaches," were drawn by six horses, and sometimes made eighty
miles a day. They did not run at night. The fare was about three pence
the mile.

=174=: 7. =The chamberlain= was the chief servant of an inn.

=174=: 9. =Mrs. Betty Arable.= The title _Mrs_. was applied to
unmarried ladies, the term _Miss_ being reserved for young girls and
for people who misbehaved themselves.

=174=: 13. =Ephraim, the Quaker.= The name was frequently applied to
Quakers, because Ephraim "turned his back in battle." See _Psalm_
lxxviii.

=177=: 26. =The right we had of taking place.= Roads were very narrow,
and two coaches meeting often found it difficult to pass; hence
disputes of the coachmen as to the right of way.


XXVI. SIR ROGER AND SIR ANDREW IN ARGUMENT

=Motto.= "I recall the argument, and remember that Thyrsis was
vanquished."--Virgil, _Eclogues_, vii. 69.

=179=: 9. =The old Roman fable.= The fable of the Belly and the
Members, told in Livy, Bk. ii, Chap. xxxii; retold by Shakespeare in
_Coriolanus_, i. 1. 99.

=179=: 13. =The landed and trading interest.= See note, p. 242.

=180=: 3. =Carthaginian faith.= _Punica fides_, a phrase used by the
Romans to characterize the treachery of the Carthaginians.

=183=: 21. =Throws down no man's enclosure, and tramples upon no man's
corn=, as country gentlemen do when hunting over the grounds of their
neighbours or their tenants.

=184=: 22. =His family had never been sullied by a trade.= It will be
remembered that Sir Roger was sensitive on this point. See IX, p. 89.


XXVII. SIR ROGER IN LONDON

=Motto.= "Simplicity, in our age most rare."

    --Ovid, _Ars Amoris_, i. 241.

=185=: 15. =Gray's Inn Walks.= The walks and gardens of Gray's Inn (see
note, p. 221) were a favourite resort.

=185=: 18. =Prince Eugene.= Eugene of Savoy (1663-1736), a famous
Austrian general. He had fought side by side with Marlborough through
several campaigns in the great War of the Spanish Succession that
was now drawing to a close. At this time Marlborough had just been
dismissed from his command in the army (see p. 244), and the English
Tory ministry were making negotiations for a peace. Prince Eugene
visited London to urge the continuance of the war and the restoration
of Marlborough, but his mission was futile.

=186=: 5. =Scanderbeg.= Corrupt form of Iskander (Alexander) Bey; a
noted Albanian chief, whose name was George Castriota, born 1404. He
won many victories against the Turks.

=186=: 24. =Out of Dr. Barrow.= See VI, p. 79. Dr. Isaac Barrow
(1630-1677) was one of the most eloquent divines of his age.

=187=: 1. =Tobacco stopper.= A small plug, made of wood or bone, to
pack the tobacco in the bowl of a pipe.

=188=: 14. =The late Act of Parliament=, the _Act to repress Occasional
Conformity_, passed 1710. By the Test Act of 1673 it was required
of every person filling any civil office that he should take the
sacrament, at certain times, according to the forms of the Church of
England. The object, of course, was to exclude all Romanists and all
Dissenters from office. But it was found that many Dissenters did
not feel themselves forbidden by conscience to take the sacrament
occasionally from the hands of a priest of the Church of England,
if only so they could qualify for office. A bill to prevent this
"Occasional Conformity" was warmly urged through all the earlier years
of the reign of Anne; but so long as the Whigs were in power, it was
impossible to pass it. When the Tories came in, in 1710, they naturally
passed it at once.

=188=: 19. =Plum-porridge.= Extreme Dissenters looked with disfavour
upon all Christmas festivities as savouring of Romish observance.

=188=: 28. =The Pope's Procession.= November 17, the anniversary of
the accession of Queen Elizabeth, was long celebrated by parades and
processions in which the pope and Catholic traditions were turned into
ridicule. These parades were often the occasion of popular tumult; but,
in 1711, some of the more violent Whigs planned an especially offensive
demonstration, which had to be suppressed by the authorities. Swift
writes on the evening of the day: "This is Queen Elizabeth's birth-day"
[he was in error there; it was not her birth, but her accession, that
was celebrated], "usually kept in this town by apprentices, etc.; but
the Whigs designed a mighty procession by midnight, and had laid out
a thousand pounds to dress up the pope, devil, cardinals, Sacheverel,
etc., and carry them with torches about, and burn them.... But they
were seized last night, by order of the secretary; you will have an
account of it, for they bawl it about the streets already. They had
some very foolish and mischievous designs; and it was thought they
would have put the rabble upon assaulting my lord treasurer's house,
and the secretary's; and other violences. The militia was raised to
prevent it, and now, I suppose, all will be quiet."--_Journal to
Stella_, November 17, 1711.

Addison naturally rather minimizes the disturbance by the absurd
question of Sir Roger.

=189=: 10. =Baker's Chronicle.= See note, p. 226. The _Chronicle_ was
a favourite authority with Sir Roger; in the next paper we find him
quoting it at length.

=189=: 16. =Squire's.= A coffee-house in Holborn, near Gray's Inn,
specially frequented by the benchers of the inn.

=189=: 23. =The Supplement.= A newspaper of the time, issued on
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.


XXVIII. SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

=Motto.= "Yet we must go whither Numa and Ancus have gone
before."--Horace, _Epistles_, I. vi. 27.

=190=: 2. =Paper upon Westminster Abbey=, _Spectator_, No. 26. That
paper with this one perhaps show Addison, in two different moods, at
his very best.

=190=: 17. =The Widow Trueby's Water.= The "strong waters" of that
time, like many of the patent medicines of ours, owed their vogue
largely to the fact that they were made of distilled spirits. See
Addison's account of some of the quack medicines of the day in
_Tatler_, No. 224.

=191=: 11. =The sickness being at Dantzic.= The great plague there in
1709.

=191=: 14. =A hackney-coach.= Hackney-coaches, or carriages for hire
in the streets, were introduced into London during the latter half of
the seventeenth century. By Addison's time they had become common;
in 1710, by statute, the number to be licensed in London was fixed
at eight hundred. The fare was a mile and a half for a shilling. The
coachmen were an uncivil and pugnacious class, which accounts for Sir
Roger's preference for an elderly one. Graphic pictures of the manners
of coachmen may be found in Gay's _Trivia_, ii. 230-240, 311-315; iii.
35-50.

=192=: 10. =A roll of their best Virginia.= Tobacco for smoking was
made into ropes or short rolls, and had to be cut up for the pipe.

=192=: 16. =Sir Cloudesley Shovel.= A famous English admiral, who took
a prominent part in the great victory of the combined Dutch and English
fleets over the French, off La Hogue, in May, 1692. He was afterward
drowned at sea; but his body was recovered and buried in the Abbey. The
monument to Sir Cloudesley Shovel Addison, in No. 26, criticizes as in
bad taste, and with very good reason.

=192=: 18. =Busby's tomb.= Richard Busby (1606-1695), for fifty-five
years headmaster of Westminster school. He used to say that "the rod
was his sieve, and that whoever could not pass through that was no boy
for him." He persistently kept his hat on when Charles II came to visit
his school, saying it would never do for his boys to imagine there was
anybody superior to himself.

=192=: 23. =The little chapel on the right hand.= St. Edmund's, in the
south aisle of the choir.

=192=: 26. =The lord who had cut off the King of Morocco's head.= An
inscription recording this feat--probably legendary--formerly hung over
the tomb of Sir Bernard Brocas, who was beheaded on Tower Hill, 1400.

=193=: 1. =Cecil upon his knees.= William Cecil, Lord Burleigh,
Secretary of State to Queen Elizabeth. He is represented "on his knees"
at the magnificent tomb of his wife and daughter. This tomb, however,
is not in the chapel of St. Edmund, but in the adjoining chapel of St.
Nicholas.

=193=: 3. =Who died by the prick of a needle.= This story was formerly
told of Lady Elizabeth Russell, whose richly decorated tomb is in St.
Edmund's chapel.

=193=: 10. =The two coronation chairs.= In that chapel of Edward the
Confessor which is the heart of the Abbey. One chair is said to have
been that of Edward the Confessor; in it every sovereign of England
from Edward I to Edward VII has been crowned. The other was made for
Mary when she and her husband William were jointly crowned king and
queen of England.

=193=: 11. =The stone ... brought from Scotland.= The "stone of Scone,"
traditionally reputed to be that on which Jacob rested his head when
he had the vision of the ladder reaching up to heaven. It was brought
from Ireland to Scone in Scotland, and all Scottish kings were crowned
on it there till Edward I of England brought it to London in 1296, and
ordered it enclosed "in a chair of wood," and placed in the Abbey.

=193=: 25. =Edward the Third's sword.= "The monumental sword that
conquered France," as Dryden calls it, stands between the coronation
chairs.

=194=: 2. =The Black Prince.= Edward, Prince of Wales, eldest son of
Edward III, who died in 1376 before his father. He is buried, not in
the Abbey, but in the cathedral at Canterbury.

=194=: 8. =Touched for the evil.= Scrofula, called "king's evil,"
because it was supposed that it could be cured by the touch of a
legitimate sovereign. King William III, as he was king only by act
of Parliament, had not "touched"; but Queen Anne, unquestionably a
legitimate monarch, resumed the practice. Samuel Johnson was touched
by her in his infancy, but without effect. No sovereign after Anne
pretended to this power. The act of "touching" was accompanied by an
elaborate ceremony, the ritual for which continued to be included in
the Book of Common Prayer until 1719. For an account of the procedure,
see Ashton, _Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap. xxx, pp.
325-326.

=194=: 12. =One of our English kings without an head.= Henry V. The
head of the effigy, which was of solid silver, was stolen in the reign
of Henry VIII, at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries.

=195=: 4. =His lodgings in Norfolk Buildings.= In II Sir Roger is said,
when in town, to "live in Soho Square," a more aristocratic quarter.
That paper was written by Steele; this by Addison.


XXIX. SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY

=Motto.= "I bid the skilful poet find his models in actual life; then
his words will have life."--Horace, _Ars Poetica_, v. 327.

=195=: 11. =The Committee.= A play by Sir Robert Howard, brother-in-law
of Dryden. It was a satire on the Puritans, which explains its
reputation as "a good Church of England play."

=195=: 14. =This distressed mother.= The "new tragedy" Sir Roger went
to see was an adaptation by Addison's friend, Ambrose Phillips, of
Racine's _Andromaque_, and bore the title _The Distressed Mother_.

=196=: 1. =The Mohocks.= A company of young swaggerers who roamed the
streets of London at night, committing various insults upon belated
passers. They were specially bold at just this time. Swift has several
entries in the _Journal to Stella_ about them. March 12: "Here is the
devil and all to do with these Mohocks.... My man tells me that one
of the lodgers heard in a coffee-house, publicly, that one design of
the Mohocks was upon me if they could catch me; and though I believe
nothing of it, I forbear walking late." March 16. "Lord Winchelsea told
me to-day at court that two of the Mohocks caught a maid of old Lady
Winchelsea's, at the door of their house in the park, with a candle
and had just lighted out somebody. They cut all her face and beat her
without provocation." March 18. "There is a proclamation out against
the Mohocks. One of those that was taken is a baronet." March 26. "Our
Mohocks go on still, and cut people's faces every night, but they
shan't cut mine. I like it better as it is." Further facts about them
may be found in _Spectators_, Nos. 324, 332, 347. For a full account,
see Ashton's _Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap. xxxvi.

=196=:23. =That we may be at the house before it is full.= The play
usually began at five o'clock.

=197=:1. =Battle of Steenkirk=, August 3, 1692, in which the English
were defeated by the French. The battle gave name to a kind of
loose cravat or neckcloth for men, introduced from Paris, which was
fashionable for years, called a "steenkirk" or "steinkirk," because its
careless style suggested the eagerness with which the victorious French
gentlemen rushed into battle half dressed.

=197=:18. =Pyrrhus=, the son of Achilles. In the play, Andromache,
the "widow" of Hector, and "the distressed mother" of young Astyanax,
after the fall of Troy is the captive of Pyrrhus. Pyrrhus wooes her,
promising that if she become his wife, her son Astyanax shall be made
king of Troy. She at last consents, secretly resolving to kill herself
before the marriage can be consummated. But Hermione, betrothed to
Pyrrhus, maddened with jealousy, incites the Greeks to rebellion
against Pyrrhus, with the result that just as Astyanax has been
proclaimed king, Pyrrhus is slain by Orestes, Hermione takes her own
life, and Orestes goes mad.

=198=:4. "=You can't imagine, sir, what 'tis to have to do with a
widow!=" But Addison, just about this time, _did_ know how that was
himself. See Introduction.

=198=: 13. =Your dramatic rules.= Perhaps the knight has in mind the
dramatic "unities" of time, place, and subject; but his next sentence
shows that he has no very definite rules in mind. He only knows that
Mr. Spectator has been writing some learned papers of late on the drama
and poetry; and he cannot see why a play so simple as this admits any
laboured criticism.

=198=: 21. =Are now to see Hector's ghost.= Because at the beginning of
the fourth act Andromache proposes to visit the tomb of Hector.

=199=: 15. =The old fellow in whiskers.= Perhaps Phenix, a friend of
Pyrrhus.


XXX. WILL HONEYCOMB'S EXPERIENCES

    =Motto.= "The greedy lioness the wolf pursues,
    The wolf the kid; the wanton kid, the browse."

    --Virgil, _Eclogues_, ii. 63. Dryden's tr.

=202=: 24. =Miss Jenny.= Notice the use of the epithet "Miss"; the day
before Will Wimble would have said "Mistress Jenny." See note on p. 248.

=203=: 21. =The book I had considered last Saturday=, in _Spectator_,
No. 357, April 19, 1712. It was one of the famous series of papers on
Milton's _Paradise Lost_.

=203=: 23. =The following lines.= _Paradise Lost_, x. 888-908. They are
not quoted quite accurately.


XXXI. SIR ROGER AT VAUXHALL

=Motto.= "Their gardens are maintained by vice."

    --Juvenal, _Satires_, i. 75.

=205=: 9. =Spring Garden.= A famous garden and pleasure resort (more
commonly called Fox Hall or Vauxhall Gardens), on the south side of
the Thames, near where the Vauxhall bridge now spans the river. There
was a large garden covering about eleven acres, with arbours, walks
shaded by day and lighted at night by lamps festooned from the trees,
a miniature lake, booths for the sale of refreshments, and a large
central "rotunda" for music. First opened in 1661, Vauxhall was a
favourite place of resort all through the eighteenth century; all the
lighter literature of that century contains frequent references to it.
The Gardens were not finally closed until 1859. For fuller account, see
Besant's _London in the Eighteenth Century_, Chap. iv.

=205=: 19. =Temple Stairs.= A boat-landing near the Temple gardens. The
most pleasant way of getting from the east of London to the west, in
Addison's time, was by boat on the river.

=206=: 16. =La Hogue.= See note on Sir Cloudesley Shovel, p. 251.

=206=: 29. =How thick the city was set with churches.= The "city" is
that part of London originally enclosed by a wall, and extends from the
Tower on the east to Temple Bar on the west. Temple Bar was the gateway
over that great thoroughfare which is called Fleet Street on the east
side of it, and the Strand on the west side. The Bar was demolished in
1878, and its site is marked by a rather ugly monument surmounted by
the arms of the city of London.

=207=: 4. =The fifty new churches.= The Tories had been brought into
power in 1710 very largely by the popular cry, "The Church is in
danger." (See note, p. 249.) Accordingly, one of the first acts of
the House of Commons, in 1711, was to vote the building of fifty new
churches in London.

=208=: 4. =Mahometan paradise=, because the chief attraction of the
Mahometan heaven is the houris, "the black-eyed," whose beauty never
grows old.

=208=: 28. =Member of the quorum.= A justice of the peace.


XXXII. THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER

The first number of _The Bee_, a weekly paper set up in 1733, by
Addison's friend, Budgell, contains the following 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, 'By G----, I'll kill Sir Roger, that
nobody else may murder him.' Accordingly the whole _Spectator_, No.
517, consists of nothing else but an account of the old knight's death,
and some moving circumstances which attended it."

It seems probable that about this time both Steele and Addison were
thinking of bringing _The Spectator_ to a close, and this was the first
of a series of papers which should dismiss all the members of the
Spectator Club. In No. 544--the last of this volume--Captain Sentry
succeeds to Sir Roger's estate, and passes from notice; in No. 549 the
old clergyman is reported dead, and Sir Andrew Freeport gives up his
business and retires into the country to make ready for the end; in No.
555 the Spectator makes his parting bow, and the volume closes.

=Motto.= "Alas for piety and ancient faith."

    --Virgil, _Æneid_, vi. 878.

=211=: 16. =The quorum.= The justices of the peace for the county.

=212=: 9. =The Act of Uniformity=, passed in 1662, provided that all
ministers should declare their unfeigned assent to everything in
the Book of Common Prayer, and should use it at morning and evening
service. The Act threw more than two thousand ministers out of their
livings, and united all Dissenters against the Church. Of course
Tories, like Sir Roger, held it to be a wise and necessary measure, of
utmost importance to the security and stability of the Church.

=212=: 17. =Rings and mourning.= It was customary to give by will
mourning rings and mourning gloves and hat bands to a large number of
friends. They would be worn, of course, by such of the friends as
attended the funeral services; but not afterward. See Ashton's _Social
Life in the Reign of Queen Anne_, Chap. iv.


XXXIII. CAPTAIN SENTRY AS MASTER OF COVERLEY HALL

=Motto.= "No one ever had a scheme of life so well arranged but that
circumstances, or age, or experience, would bring him something new,
and teach him something more: so that you find yourself ignorant of the
things you thought you knew, and on experience you are ready to give up
what you supposed of the first importance."--Terence, _Adelphi_, v. 4.

=216=: 11. =Colonel Camperfelt.= Colonel Kemperfeldt, the father of the
admiral who was lost in the _Royal George_, has often been supposed to
be the model from which the character of Captain Sentry was drawn.




TEACHERS' OUTLINES FOR STUDIES IN ENGLISH

Based on the Requirements for Admission to College

 By GILBERT SYKES BLAKELY, A.M., Instructor in English in the Morris
 High School, New York City.

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HALLECK'S HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE traces the development of
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¶ At the end of each chapter a carefully prepared list of books is
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INTRODUCTION TO AMERICAN LITERATURE

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¶ Throughout the carefully selected examples make clear the meaning of
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INTRODUCTORY COURSE IN ARGUMENTATION

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AN INTRODUCTORY COURSE IN ARGUMENTATION is intended for those who
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Exposition is generally admitted to be the most commonly used form
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, by Various