Chapter II: The Days He Lived in (2)

“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 to something that stood behind the door, which upon looking that way, I found to be an old broom-staff. At the same time he whispered to me in the ear to take notice of a tabby cat that sat in the chimney corner, which, as the old knight told me, lay under as bad a report as Moll herself; for beside that Moll is said 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 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 justice of peace to avoid all communication with the devil, and never to hurt any of her neighbors’ cattle. We concluded our visit with a bounty which was very acceptable.

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

“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 scarcely a village in England that has not a Moll White in it. When an old woman begins to doat, and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally turned into a witch, and fills the whole country into extravagant fancies, imaginary distempers, and terrifying dreams. In the meantime, the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many evils, begins to be frightened at herself, and sometimes confesses secret commerces 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 discrepit parts of our species, in whom human nature is defaced by infirmity and dotage.”

* * * * *

A word of explanation here seems necessary. At the time of Sir Roger’s supposed movements, memory of the great Matthew Hopkins was lively in many places, and, now and then, imitators sprang up, just as today, while the idea is generally discarded and thrown on the scrap heap of exploded opinions, you will find in back country districts, “water witches” who will undertake to locate water or minerals and tell the depth at which they are to be found.

Matthew Hopkins lived in Essex and had made himself conspicuous in discovering the devil’s mark on many witches. He had a peculiar monopoly for a time, and, being a specialist, was much sought after, aiding the judges with his knowledge of “such cattle” as he called them, whenever a witch was suspected. Lesser lights in the way of specialists soon appeared.

Later, he assumed the title of “Witch Finder General” and traveled through the central counties witch hunting. In one year, he brought more than sixty old women to the stake. His favorite method was that advocated by King James in his “Demonologie.” The hands and feet of the suspected one were cross tied, then, wrapped in a blanket, they were laid on their backs in a pond. If they sank, they were adjudged innocent, but if they floated for a short time, as was often the case, especially when they were laid carefully on the water, they were judged guilty and burned.

Another test was to make the suspected one repeat the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed. If a word was missed or wrongly pronounced, she was accounted guilty. It was said that witches could not weep more than three tears, and those only from the left eye. Thus, the natural excitement and its effect became a proof of guilt.

Hopkins traveled through his counties like a man of consideration, attended by two assistants, put up at the chief inn of the place, and always at the cost of the authorities. His charges were twenty shillings a town, his expenses of living while there, and his transportation. This he claimed whether he found witches or not. If he found any, he charged twenty shillings a head in addition when they were brought to execution. For three years he carried on this infamous trade, success making him so insolent and rapacious, that high and low became his enemies. The Rev. Mr. Gaul, a clergyman of Houghton, in Huntingdonshire, wrote a pamphlet accusing him of being a common nuisance. Hopkins replied in an angry letter to the mayor of Houghton, stating his intention of visiting their town, but desiring to know whether it held many such sticklers for witchcraft as Mr. Gaul, and asking whether they were willing to receive and entertain him with the customary hospitality. He added by way of threat, that in case he did not receive a satisfactory reply, “He would waive their shire altogether and betake himself to such places where he might do and punish, not only without control, but with thanks and recompense.”

Mr. Gaul describes, in his pamphlet, one of the modes employed by Hopkins. It was proof even more atrocious than the swimming test. He says, that the “witch-finding general” used to take the suspected witch and place her in the middle of a room, upon a stool or table, cross-legged, or in some other uneasy posture. If she refused to sit in this manner, she was bound with strong cords. Hopkins then placed persons to watch her, for four and twenty hours, during which time she was to be kept with meat and drink. It was supposed that one of her imps would come during that interval, and suck her blood. As the imp might come in the shape of a wasp, a moth, a fly or other insect, a hole was made in the door or window to let it enter. The watchers were ordered to keep a sharp lookout, and endeavor to kill any insect that appeared in the room. If any fly escaped, or if they could not kill it, the woman was guilty; the fly was her imp, and she was sentenced to be burned, and twenty shillings went into the pockets of master Hopkins. In this manner he made one old woman confess because four flies had appeared in the room, that she was attended by four imps, named “Ilemazar,” “Pyewackett,” “Peck-in-the-crown,” and “Grizel-Greedigut.”

Hopkins was eventually caught in his own trap. Suspected presently, he was beset by a mob in the village of Suffolk, and accused of being himself a wizard. An old reproach was brought against him, that he had, by means of sorcery, cheated the devil out of a certain memorandum book, in which Satan had entered the names of all the witches in England. “Thus,” said someone, “you find out witches, not by God’s aid, but by the devil’s.” In vain he denied his guilt. The crowd put him to his own test. He was stripped and given the swimming test. Some say that he floated, was taken out, tried and executed upon no other proof of his guilt. Others assert that he was drowned. As no judicial entry of his trial and execution is found in any register, it appears most probable that he was killed.

SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY.

We come to Sir Roger himself, the character that Addison loved as Dickens loved _Pickwick_, as Cervantes loved _Don Quixote_, as Rabelais loved his _Pantagruel_. Sir Roger was no wooden puppet, no dummy stuffed with straw. He lived. He had his faults, his opinions, his character. His is a type that has passed away. The county squire, in his position as magistrate, land owner, benefactor, respected authority, no longer exists. Be it remembered, there was, as William Morris used to point out, much of good, as well as much of evil, in the feudal system. In that day the land owner’s domain, was a little state, paternally governed. We have freed ourselves from that, to become institution governed. A Sir Roger scolded his tenants, knew their affairs, gave them advice, assistance, orders. There was indeed, a “mixture of the father and the master of the family” in him. He lived with his people and was respected, obeyed, loved; the simplicity of his tastes put him on something very near a level with them. That was something, as it is always something to see authority face to face.

* * * * *

A VISIT TO SIR ROGER.

NO. 106, SPECTATOR, JULY 2, 1711--ADDISON.

“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 hither, and am settled with him for some time at his country-house. Sir Roger, who is well acquainted with my humor, lets me rise and go to bed when I please; dine at his own table or in my own chamber as I see fit; sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shows me at a distance: as I have been walking in his field 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 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 I have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a privy-counsellor. You see the goodness of the master even in the old house dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the stable with great care and tenderness out of regard to his past services, though he has been useless for several years.

“I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics upon my friend’s arrival at his country seat. Some of them could not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master! every one of them pressed forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same time the old knight, with a mixture of the father and 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 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 bystander to observe a secret concern in the looks of all his servants.

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

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

“I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of a humorist; and that his virtues, as well as his imperfections, 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 degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common colours. As I was walking with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man whom I have just mentioned; and without staying for my answer, told me that he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table; for which 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 the back-gammon. My friend, says Sir Roger, found me out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have given him the parsonage of the parish; and, because I know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was 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 in behalf of one or the other of my tenants, his parishioners. There has not been a law-suit in the parish since he has lived among them; if any dispute arises they apply themselves to him for the decision; if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened above once or twice at the 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 them into such a series, that they follow one another naturally, and make a continued system of practical divinity.

“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 tomorrow, (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 a list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw with a great deal of pleasure Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Sanderson, 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 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. The sermon repeated after this manner is like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor.

“I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy would follow this example; and, instead of wasting their spirits in laborious compositions of their own, would endeavor after a handsome elocution, and all those other talents that are proper to enforce what has been penned by greater masters. This would not only be more easy to themselves, but more edifying to the people.”

* * * * *

The peculiar relations between landowner and tenant as pictured by Addison, seem to be confirmed quite independently by that crusted old Tory, Sir Jonah Barrington. He writes:

“At the great house all disputes among the tenants were then settled, quarrels reconciled, old debts arbitrated; a kind Irish landlord reigned despotic in the ardent affections of the tenantry, their pride and pleasure being to obey and support him.

“But there existed a happy reciprocity of interest. The landlord of that period protected the tenant by his influence; any wanton injury to a tenant being considered as an insult to a landlord; and if either of the landlord’s sons were grown up, no time was lost by him in demanding satisfaction from any gentleman, for maltreating even his father’s blacksmith.

“No gentleman of this degree ever distrained a tenant for rent: indeed the parties appeared to be quite united and knit together. The greatest abhorrence, however, prevailed as to tithe protectors, coupled with no great predilection for the clergy who employed them. These latter certainly were, in principle and practice, the real country tyrants of that day, and first caused the assembling of the White Boys.

“I have heard it often said that at the time I speak of, every estated gentleman in the Queen’s county was _honored_ by the gout. I have since considered that its extraordinary prevalence was not difficult to be accounted for, by the disproportionate quantity of acid contained in their seductive beverage, called rum-shrub, which was then universally drunk in quantities incredible, generally from supper time till morning, by all country gentlemen, as they said, to keep down their claret.

“My grandfather could not refrain, and therefore he suffered well; he piqued himself on procuring, through the interests of Batty Lodge (a follower of the family who had married a Dublin grocer’s widow), the very first importation of oranges and lemons to the Irish capital every season. Horse loads of these packed boxes, were immediately sent to the great house of Cullenaghmore; and no sooner did they arrive, than the good news of _fresh fruit_ was communicated to the colonel’s neighboring friends, accompanied by the usual invitation.

“Night after night the revel afforded uninterrupted pleasure to the joyous gentry: the festivity being subsequently renewed at some other mansion, till the gout thought proper to put the whole party _hors de combat_; having the satisfaction of making cripples for a few months of each as he did not kill.

“While the convivials bellowed with only toe or finger agonies, it was a mere bagatelle; but when Mr. Gout marched up the country, and invaded the head or the stomach, it was then called _no joke_; and Drogheda usquebaugh, the hottest distilled drinkable liquor ever invented, was applied to for aid, and generally drove the tormentor in a few minutes to his former quarters. It was, indeed, counted specific; and I allude to it more particularly, as my poor grandfather was finished thereby.

“It was his custom to sit under a very large branching bay-tree in his armchair, placed in a fine, sunny aspect at the entrance to the garden. I particularly remember his cloak, for I kept it twelve years after his death; it was called a _cartouche_ cloak, from a famous French gang who, it was said, invented it for his gang for the purpose of evasion. It was made of very fine broadcloth, of a bright blue color on one side, and a bright scarlet on the other; so that on being turned, it might deceive even a vigilant pursuer.

“There my grandfather used to sit of a hot sunny day, receive any rents he could collect, and settle any accounts which his indifference on that head permitted him to think of.

“At one time he suspected a young rogue of having slipped some money off his table when paying rent; and therefore, when afterwards the tenants began to count out their money, he used to throw the focus of his large reading glass upon their hands: the smart, without any visible cause, astonished the ignorant creatures! they shook their hands, and thought it must be the devil who was scorching them. The priest was let into the secret: he seriously told them all it _was_ the devil, who had mistaken them for the fellow that had stolen the money from the colonel; but that if he (the priest) was _properly considered_, he would say as many masses as would bother fifty devils, were it necessary. The priest got his fee; and another farthing never was taken from my grandfather.”

* * * * *

Addison is too true an artist to give the impression that his character, his Sir Roger, is a type of the squire in general. Lightly, at the close of the essay on Sir Roger at church, he sketches another sort of man, the country squire full of pride and prejudice, who like Fielding’s _Squire Western_ in _Tom Jones_, is a good fellow in the main, but hard, violent, dogmatic. Such a man is like a bull, headstrong, sometimes offensive, quick to anger, always ready to give battle. He is like a badly broken horse and ready to rear and kick at the least sign of opposition to his own will. He will storm and rage, then, of a sudden there is a change and he is swiftly at the other extreme. Consider that glorious creation of Fielding’s, _Squire Western_, a contemporary of Sir Roger.

He is told that _Tom Jones_ has dared to fall in love with his daughter. Then the storm breaks:

It’s well for ’un I could not get at ’un; I’d a licked ’un; I’d a
spoiled his caterwaulin; I’d ha’ taught the son of a whore to meddle
with meat for his master. He shan’t ever have a morsel o’ meat o’
mine, or a farden to buy it. If she will have ’un, one smock shall be
her portion. I’d sooner give my estate to the sinking fund that it
may be sent to Hanover to corrupt our nation with.

Then, soon, there is the change. He is reconciled to _Tom_. He becomes as full of love as he was formerly of hate. The marriage shall not be delayed a day:

To her, boy, to her, go to her. Hath she appointed the day, boy?
What, shall it be tomorrow or the next day? I shan’t be put off a
minute longer than the next day, I am resolved.... I tell thee it’s
all flim flam. Zoodikers! she’d have the wedding tonight with all
her heart. Woulds’t not Sophy?... Where the devil is Allworthy?...
Harkee, Allworthy, I bet thee five pounds to a crown, we have a
boy tomorrow nine months. But prithee, tell me what wut ha? Wut ha
Burgandy, Champagne, or what? For please Jupiter, we’ll make a night
on’t.

Nor again must it be supposed that the picture which Addison gives of the well kept church is actually representative of the condition of all church buildings in that day. Sir Roger, interested in his surroundings, was at no time unwilling to spend time and money on improvements. Others did not. There was another side to the picture. Cowper, writing an article for the _Connoiseur_, (No. 26, August 19, 1756) says:

“The ruinous condition of some of these edifices gave me great offence; and I could not help wishing that the honest vicar, instead of indulging his genius for improvements, by inclosing his gooseberry bushes within a Chinese rail, and converting half an acre of his globe land into a bowling green, would have applied part of his income to the more laudable purpose of sheltering his parishioners from the weather, during their attendance on the divine service. It is no uncommon thing to see the parsonage house well thatched, and in exceeding good repair, while the church, perhaps, has scarce any other roof than the ivy that grows upon it. The noise of owls, bats and magpies, makes the principal part of the church music in many of these ancient edifices; and the walls, like a large map, seem to be portioned out into capes, seas and promontories, by the various colors by which the damps have stained them. Sometimes, the foundation being too weak to support the steeple any longer, it has been expedient to pull down that part of the building, and to hang the bells under a wooden shed on the ground beside it. This is the case in a parish in Norfolk, through which I lately passed, and where the clerk and the sexton, like the two figures in St. Dunstan’s, serve the bells in capacity of clappers, by striking them alternately with a hammer.

“In other churches I have observed that nothing unseemly or ruinous is to be found, except in the clergyman, and the appendages of his person. The squire of the parish or his ancestors, perhaps, to testify their devotion, and leave a lasting memorial of their magnificence, have adorned the altar piece with the richest crimson velvet, embroidered with vine leaves and ears of wheat; and have dressed up the pulpit with the same splendor and expense; while the gentleman who fills it, is exalted in the midst of all this finery, with a surplice as dirty as a farmer’s frock, and a periwig that seems to have transferred its faculty of curling to the band which appears in full buckle beneath it.

“But if I was concerned to see several distressed pastors, as well as many of our country churches in a tottering condition, I was more offended with the indecency of worship in others. I could wish that the clergy would inform their congregations, that there is no occasion to scream themselves hoarse in making the responses; that the town crier is not the only person qualified to pray with due devotion; and that he who bawls the loudest may, nevertheless, be the wickedest fellow in the parish. The old women, too, in the aisle might be told that their time would be better employed in attending to the sermon than in fumbling over their tattered testaments till they have found the text; by which time the discourse is drawing to its conclusion....

“The good old practice of psalm singing is, indeed, wonderfully improved in many country churches since the days of Sternhold and Hopkins; and there is scarce a parish clerk who has so little taste as not to pick his staves out of the New Version. This has occasioned great complaints in some places, where the clerk has been forced to bawl by himself, because the rest of the congregation cannot find the psalm at the end of the prayer book; while others are highly disgusted with the innovation, and stick as obstinately to the Old Version as to the Old Style. The tunes themselves have also been set to jiggish measures; and the sober drawl, which used to accompany the two first staves of the 100th psalm with the _Gloria patri_, is now split into as many quavers as an Italian air. For this purpose there is in every county an itinerant band of vocal musicians, who make it their business to go round to all the churches in their turns, and, after a prelude with the pitch pipe, astonish the audience with hymns set to the new Winchester measure and anthems of their own composing. As these new fashioned psalmodists are necessarily made up of young men and maids, we may naturally suppose that there is a perfect concord and symphony between them; and, indeed, I have known it happen that these sweet singers have more than once been brought into disgrace by too close unison between the thorough bass and the treble.

“... The Squire, like the King, may be styled Head of the Church in his own parish. If the benifice be in his own gift, the vicar is his creature, and of consequence entirely at his devotion; or, if the care of the church be left to a curate, the Sunday fees of roast beef and plum pudding, and a liberty to shoot in the manor, will bring him as much under the Squire’s command as his dogs and horses. For this reason the bell is often kept tolling, and the people waiting in the church yard an hour longer than the usual time; nor must the service begin till the Squire has strutted up the aisle, and seated himself in the great pew in the chancel. The length of the sermon is also measured by the will of the Squire, as formerly by the hour glass; and I know one parish where the preacher has always the complaisance to conclude his discourse, however abruptly, the minute that the Squire gives the signal, by rising up after his nap....

“... The ladies, immediately on their entrance, breathe a pious ejaculation through their fan sticks, and the beaux very gravely address themselves to the haberdasher’s bills glued upon the lining of their hats....”

* * * * *

One incident of Addison’s boyhood is particularly interesting as exemplifying the conflict of opinion on matters religious. All pleasure had been barred under the Puritan rule, and the nation oppressed as never before under a religious despotism. Then, under Charles II, the pendulum swung too far in the other direction and sensual pleasure was exalted into a worship, and impiety into a creed. The aftermath of all that had its effect.

So we have a key to what follows, taken from an essay by Addison in _Spectator_ No. 125:

The worthy knight, being but a stripling, had occasion to inquire
which was the way to St. Anne’s Lane, upon which, the person he spoke
to instead of answering his question called him a young Popish cur,
and asked him who made Anne a saint. The boy, in some confusion,
inquired of the next he met which was the way to Anne’s Lane, but was
called a prick ear’d 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,” said Sir Roger, “I did
not see fit to repeat the former question, but going into every lane
of the neighborhood, asked what they called the name of that lane.”

Again in a _Spectator_ of an earlier date, we find a semi-humorous letter setting forth the troubles of a man, a member of the Established Church, whose wife has become a dissenter. Thus:

I am one of the most unhappy men that are plagued with a gospel
gossip so common among dissenters (especially friends). Lectures in
the morning, church-meetings at noon, and preparation sermons at
night, take up so much of her time, it is very rare she knows what we
have for dinner, unless when the preacher is to be at it. With him,
come a tribe, all brothers and sisters it seems; while others, really
such, are deemed no relations. If at any time I have her company
alone, she is a mere sermon pop-gun, repeating and discharging texts,
proofs, and applications so perpetually, that however weary I may to
bed, the noise in my head will not let me sleep till toward morning.
The misery of my case, and great numbers of such sufferers, plead
your pity and speedy relief; otherwise, I must expect in a little
time, to be lectured, preached, and prayed into want, unless the
happiness of being sooner talked to death prevent it. I am, etc.,

R. G.

* * * * *

SIR ROGER AT CHURCH.

NO. 112, SPECTATOR, JULY 9, 1711--ADDISON.

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 have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country people would soon degenerate into a kind of savage and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time in which the whole village meet together with their best faces and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon different 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 notion 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 much in the church-yard, as a citizen does upon the Change, the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings.

My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has 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; and that, in order to make them kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and a common prayer book; and, at the same time, employed an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the psalms; upon which they very much value themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches that I have ever heard.

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides himself; for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and, if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself or sends his servants to them. Several other of the old knight’s peculiarities break out upon these occasions; sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing-psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it; sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces _Amen_ three or four times in the same prayer; and sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing.

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

As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir until 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 catechising day, when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a bible to be given to him next day for his encouragement; and sometimes accompanies it with a fitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has likewise to add five pounds a year to the clerk’s place; and, that he may encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the church service, has promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit.

This fair understanding between Sir Roger and his chaplain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable, because the very next village is famous for the differences and contentions that arise between the parson and the squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The parson is always preaching at the squire, and the squire, to be revenged on the parson, never comes to church. The squire has made all his tenants atheists and tithe-stealers; while the parson instructs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and insinuates to them in almost every sermon that he is a better man than his patron. In short, matters have 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 difference to the understanding of a man of an estate, as of a man of learning; and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how important soever it may be, that is preached to them, when they know there are several men of five hundred a-year who do not believe it.

* * * * *

Without any doubt whatsoever, the outstanding characteristic of our present day life is the extreme lack of sociability. It is the more apparent to me, because I have lived in countries at times, especially in Patagonia, where, in some respects, the manners and the customs of the people closely approached the manners and customs of the early eighteenth century. There were scandalous roisterers and hard drinkers there, and vice was in fashion, nor was it a delicate kind of vice. Many of the ladies would lend an ear to obscene ballads, on occasions swear and blaspheme very prettily, and consider as a good joke, the coarse words and oaths that flowed through their lovers’ conversation like filth through a sewer. We were never in a hurry and a horseback journey was an occasion for sociability. It was much so in the Addison days. People on the highway had a will to companionship. _Will Wimble_, as you see in the paper that follows, “joined a couple of plain men who rode before,” and “conversed with them.” It was always so. You pick up your Fielding to see _Tom Jones_ traveling mile after mile in company with a chance acquaintance. _Joseph Andrews_ is carried on his way by a man with a spare horse. _Peregrine Pickle_ on the road to Dover overtakes and journeys with all sorts and conditions of sociable men and _Roderick Random_ never lacks a chance friend.

Indeed, in the days when men were not so eager to save time which, when saved, they knew not what to do with, to encounter a fellow wayfarer was counted a high and joyful privilege. It meant companionship and a “God be wi’ ye” at parting. If fellowship is Heaven, as Morris put it, and the lack of fellowship is hell, then indeed we of today are much further advanced along the downward path that is paved with good intentions. Your present-day autoist is far more prone to knock the wayfarer down than to pick him up, or to insult his ears with a derisive fanfare on his klaxon than he is to bid him “God speed.” And so to Sir Roger.

SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES.

NO. 122, 1711, SPECTATOR--ADDISON.

A man’s first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own heart; his next, to escape the censures of the world; if the last interferes with the former, it ought to be entirely neglected; but otherwise there cannot be a greater satisfaction to an honest mind than to see those approbations which it gives itself seconded by the applauses of the public: a man is more sure of his conduct, when the verdict which he passes upon his own behavior is thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion of all that know him.

My worthy friend Sir Roger is one of those who is not only at peace within himself, but beloved and esteemed by all about him. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal benevolence to mankind, in the returns of affection and good will, which are paid him by every one that lives within his neighborhood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that respect which is shown to the good old knight. He would needs carry Will Wimble and myself with him to the country assizes: as we were upon the road Will Wimble joined a couple of plain men who rode before us, and conversed with them for some time; during which my friend Sir Roger acquainted me with their characters.

“The first of them,” says he, “that has a spaniel by his side, is a yeoman of about a hundred pounds a year, an honest man: he is just within the Game-Act, and qualified to kill 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 that have not so good an estate as himself. He would be a good neighbor if he did not destroy so many partridges: in short, he is a very sensible man; shoots flying; and has been several times foreman of the petty jury.

“The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy, a fellow for taking the law of everybody. There is not one in the town where he lives that he has not sued at 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 gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges, till he was forced to sell the ground it enclosed to defray the charges of the prosecution: his father left him fourscore pounds a year; but he has cast and been cast so often, that is not now worth thirty. I suppose he is going upon the old business of the willow-tree.”

As Sir Roger was giving me this account of Tom Touchy, Will Wimble and his two companions stopped short until we came up to them. Will it seems had been giving his fellow traveler an account of his angling one day in such a hole; when Tom Touchy, instead of hearing out his story, told him, that Mr. Such-an-one, if he pleased, might take the law of him for fishing in that part of the river. My friend Sir Roger heard them both upon a round trot; and, after having paused some time, told them, with the air of a man who would not give his judgment rashly, that _much might be said on both sides_. They were neither of them dissatisfied with the knight’s determination, because neither of them found himself in the wrong by it; and upon which we made the best of our way to the assizes.

The court was set before Sir Roger came, but notwithstanding all the justices had taken their places upon the bench, they made room for the old knight at the head of them; who, for his reputation in the country, took occasion to whisper in the judge’s ear, _that he was glad his lordship had met with so much good weather in his circuit_. I was listening to the proceedings of the court with much attention, and infinitely pleased with the great appearance of 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 had acquitted himself of two or three sentences, with a look of much business and great intrepidity.

Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a general whisper ran among the country people that Sir Roger _was up_. The speech he made was so little to the purpose, that I shall not trouble my readers with an account of it; and I believe was not so much 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 gentlemen of the country gathering about my old friend, and striving who should compliment him the most; at the same time that the ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, not a little admiring his courage, that was not afraid to speak to the judge.

In our return home we met with a very odd 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 reappeared upon the verge of his estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and our horses. The man of the house had, it seems, been formerly a servant in the knight’s family; and, to do honor to his old master, had some time since, unknown to Sir Roger, put him up in a sign-post before the door; so that the _Knight’s Head_ had hung out upon the road a week before he himself knew anything of the matter. As soon as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, finding that the servant’s indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection and good-will, he only told him that he had made him too high a compliment; and, when the fellow seemed to think that hardly could be, added with a more decisive look, that it was too great an honor for any man under a duke; but told him at the same time, that it might be altered with a very few touches, and that he himself would be at the charge of it. 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 alighting, told him in my hearing, that his Honor’s head was brought back last night with the alterations that he had ordered to be made in it. Upon this my friend with his usual cheerfulness related the particulars above mentioned, and ordered the head to be brought into the room. I could not forbear discovering greater expressions of mirth than ordinary upon the appearance of this monstrous face, under which, notwithstanding it was made to frown and stare in a most extraordinary manner, I could still discover a distant resemblance of my old friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I thought it possible for the people to know him in that disguise. I at first kept my usual silence; but, upon the knight conjuring me to tell him whether it was not still more like himself than a Saracen, I composed my countenance in the best manner I could, and replied, _that much might be said on both sides_.

These several adventures, with the knight’s behavior in them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any of my travels.

* * * * *

If you went abroad at night in those days, it was better to carry a stout cudgel than a walking cane. Says the poet Gay, in his “Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of London” Part III, ii, 326,

Who has not trembled at the Mohock’s name?
Was there a watchman took his hourly rounds,
Safe from their blows or new invented wounds?
I pass their desperate deeds and mischief done,
Where from Snow hill black steepy torrents run;
How matrons, hoop’d within the hogshead womb,
Were tumbled furious hence.

The young men of the age, like everyone else, mistook brutality for pleasure just as do shallow minds today. The difference is, that whereas we take it out at second hand, looking at blood letting in a moving picture, or wasting time on a so-called funny sheet where the humor turns on someone being hurt, they were more sincere and honest about it. Gay, in his “hogshead womb” refers to the curious practice of the Mohocks, (which seemed to have something in common with our Ku Klux Klans in a love for cruelty and mob work), by which they caught a woman, packed her in a barrel, and set her rolling down a steep hill. You have seen, and perhaps enjoyed that kind of thing in a screen “comedy.” As the screen men at times picture impossible cowboys making innocent citizens dance by firing revolvers close to their feet, so the Mohocks made them dance by pricking their legs with their swords. Sometimes they went further, and, like latter day self-appointed patriotic leagues, killed those they tortured. Of the Mohocks, Swift writes, in his Journal to Stella, “Did I tell you of a race of rakes, called the Mohocks, that play the devil about this town every night, slit people’s noses and beat them? Faith, they shan’t cut mine; I like it better as it is. The dogs will cost me at least a crown a week in chairs.”

The good knight had sufficient reason for his fear, for the Mohocks at one time were a very serious menace. Eustace Bludgell in No. 347 of the _Spectator_, of April 8, 1712, has a paper on the subject. The fellows who banded themselves together to terrorize quiet citizens, sometimes worked upon the superstitious fears of the ignorant, “like those specters and apparitions which frighten several towns and villages in her majesty’s dominions,” says Bludgell. The Mohocks tried to form a sort of invisible empire, like the Ku Klux Klan of today. They had their Emperor of the Mohocks, who sent anonymous letters of a threatening nature, which were signed, ridiculously enough “Taw Waw Eben Zan Kalader.” They pretended to constitute themselves into guardians of law and order, issuing manifestoes setting forth that “We have received information, from sundry quarters of this great and populous city, of several outrages committed” and so on. They were, of course, full of the sentimentality that finds absurd expression in proclamations that they were defenders of the honor of women. Read this, from Bludgell’s paper:

And whereas, we have nothing more at our imperial heart than the
reformation of the cities of London and Westminster, which to our
unspeakable satisfaction we have in some measure already affected.
We do hereby earnestly pray and exhort all husbands, fathers,
housekeepers and masters of families ... not only to repair
themselves to their habitations at early and seasonable hours, but
also to keep their daughters, wives, sons, servants and apprentices,
from appearing in the streets at those times and seasons which may
expose them to military discipline as it is practiced by our good
subjects the Mohocks; and we do further promise on our imperial word,
that as soon as the reformation aforesaid shall be brought about. We
will forthwith cause all hostilities to cease.

Given from our Court at the Devil Tavern, March 15th, 1712.

SIR ROGER AT THE THEATRE.

SPECTATOR, NO. 335, MARCH 1712--ADDISON.