Chapter C: No. 132. WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 1 (1)

_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.

That man is guilty of impertinence, who considers not
The circumstances of time, or engrosses the conversation,
or makes himself the subject of his discourse, or
pays no regard to the company he is in.

Having notified to my good friend Sir ROGER that I should set 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 country town at twilight, in order to be ready for the stage-coach the day following. As soon as we arrived at the inn, the servant, who waited upon me, inquired of the chamberlain in my hearing, what company he had for the coach? The fellow answered, Mrs. _Betty Arable_, the great fortune, and the widow her mother; a recruiting officer (who took a place because they were to go;) young squire _Quickset_ her cousin (that her mother wished her to be married to); _Ephraim_ the quaker, her guardian; and a gentleman that had studied himself dumb, from Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY'S. I observed by what he said of myself, that according to his office he dealt much in intelligence; and doubted not but there was some foundation for his reports for the rest of the company, as well as for the whimsical account he gave of me. The next morning at day-break 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 half-pike was placed near the coachman, and a drum behind the coach. In the mean time the drummer, the captain's equipage, was very loud, that none of the captain's things should be placed so as to be spoiled; upon which his cloak-bag was fixed in the seat of the coach; and the captain himself, according to a frequent, though invidious behaviour of military men, ordered his man to look sharp, that none but one of the ladies should have the place he had taken fronting to the coach-box.

We were in some little time fixed in our seats, and sat with that dislike which people not too good-natured usually 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 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 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 with all speed. 'Come,' said he, 'resolve upon it, we will make a wedding at the next town; we will wake this pleasant companion who is fallen asleep, to be the brideman, and' (giving the quaker a clap on the knee) he concluded, 'This sly saint, who, I'll warrant, understands what's what as well as you or I, widow, shall give the bride as father.' The quaker, who happened to be a man of smartness, answered, 'Friend, I take it in good part that thou hast given me the authority of a father over this comely and virtuous child; and I must assure thee, that if I have the giving her, I shall not bestow her on thee. Thy mirth, friend, savoureth of folly: Thou art a person of a light mind; thy drum is a type of thee, it soundeth because it is empty. Verily, it is not from thy fullness, but thy emptiness that thou hast spoken this day. Friend, friend, we have hired this coach in partnership with thee, to carry us to the great city; we cannot go any other way. This worthy mother must hear thee, if thou wilt needs utter thy follies; we cannot help it, friend, I say: If thou wilt we must hear thee; but, if thou wert a man of 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 it as 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.'

Here _Ephraim_ paused, and the captain with a 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 art, I see, a smoky old fellow, and I'll be very orderly the ensuing part of my journey. I was going to give myself airs, but, ladies, I beg pardon.'

The captain was so little out of humour, and our company was so far from being soured by this little ruffle, that _Ephraim_ and he took a particular delight in being agreeable to each other for the future; and assumed their different provinces in the conduct of the company. Our reckonings, apartments, and accommodation, fell under _Ephraim_: and the captain looked to all disputes upon the 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. 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 took it for no small good-fortune that the whole journey was not spent in impertinencies, which to the 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 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, and a right inward 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, 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, and peradventure we may never meet again: But be advised by a 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 such 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.

No. 269. TUESDAY, JANUARY 8.

_Aevo rarissima nostro
Simplicitas._
OVID, Ars Am. lib. i. ver. 241.

And brings our old simplicity again.
DRYDEN.

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

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 of the strength which he still exerts in his morning hems.

I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good old man, who before he saw me was engaged in conversation with a beggar man that had asked an alms of him. I could hear my friend chide him for not finding out some work; but at the same time saw him put his hand 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 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 Dr. _Barrow_. 'I have left,' says he, 'all my affairs in his hands, and being willing to lay an obligation upon him, have deposited with him thirty merks, to be distributed among his poor parishioners.'

He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of _Will Wimble_. Upon which he put his hand into his fob, and presented me in his name with a tobacco-stopper, telling me that _Will_ had been busy all the beginning of the winter in turning great quantities of them; and that he made a present of one to every gentleman in the country who has good principles, and smokes. He added, that poor _Will_ was at 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_ was dead; and that about a month after her death the wind was so very high, that it blew down the end of one of his barns. 'But for my own part,' says Sir ROGER, 'I do not think that the old woman had any hand in it.'

He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions which had passed in his house during the holidays; for Sir ROGER, after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always keeps open house at _Christmas_. I learned from him that he had killed eight fat hogs for this season, that he had dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his neighbours, and that in particular he had sent a string of hogs-puddings with a pack of cards to every poor family in the parish. 'I have often thought,' says Sir ROGER, 'it happens very well that _Christmas_ should fall out in the middle of 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 for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a mince-pye 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 shews a thousand roguish tricks upon these occasions.'

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

After having dispatched all our country matters, Sir ROGER made several inquiries concerning the club, and particularly of his old antagonist Sir ANDREW FREEPORT. He asked me with a kind of a smile, whether Sir ANDREW had not taken the advantage of his absence, to vent among them some of his republican doctrines; but soon after gathering up his countenance into a more than ordinary seriousness, 'Tell me truly,' says he, 'do not 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 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 just observations together out of his reading in _Baker's_ Chronicle, and other authors, who always lie in his hall window, which very much redound to the honour of this Prince.

Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in hearing the Knight's reflexions, which were partly private, and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke a pipe with him over a dish of Coffee at _Squire's_. As I love the old man, I take delight in complying with every thing that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to the coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of the whole room. He had no sooner seated himself at the upper end of the high table, but he called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a 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 him) were at once employed on his several errands, insomuch that no body else could come at a dish of tea, until the Knight had got all his conveniences about him. L.

No. 329. TUESDAY, MARCH 18.

_Ire tamen restat,
Numa quo devenit, et Ancus._
HOR. Ep. vi. 1. i. ver. 27.

With _Ancus_, and with _Numa_, kings of _Rome_,
We must descend into the silent tomb.

My friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY told me the 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 Tombs_, and that he should be glad to go and see them with me, not having visited them since he had read history. I could not at first imagine how this came into the Knight's head, till I recollected that he had been very busy all last summer upon _Baker's_ Chronicle, which he has quoted several times in his disputes with Sir ANDREW FREEPORT since his last 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 always shaves him. He was no sooner dressed than he called for a glass of the widow _Trueby's_ water, which they told me he always drank before he went abroad. He recommended to me a dram of it at the same time, with so much heartiness, that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got it down, I found it very unpalatable, upon which the Knight observing that I had made several wry faces, told me that he knew I should not like it at first, but that it was the best thing in the world against the stone or gravel.

I could have wished indeed that he had acquainted me with the virtues of it sooner; but it was too late to complain, and I knew what he had done was out of good-will. Sir ROGER told me further, that he looked upon it to be very good for a man whilst he staid in town, to keep off infection, and that he got together a quantity of it upon the first news of the sickness being at _Dantzick_: When of a sudden, turning short to one of his servants who stood behind him, he bid him call a hackney-coach, and take care it was an elderly man that drove it.

He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. _Trueby's_ water, telling me that the widow _Trueby_ was one who did more good than all the doctors or apothecaries in the country: That she distilled every poppy that grew within five miles of her; that she distributed her water _gratis_ among all sorts of people; to which the knight added, that she had a very great jointure, and that the whole country would fain have it a match between him and her; 'and truly,' says Sir ROGER, 'if I had not been engaged, perhaps I could not have done better.'

His discourse was broken off by his man's telling him he had called a coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast 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 head, called the coachman down from his box, and, upon 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 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 afterwards by Sir _Cloudesly Shovel_, he flung his hand that way, and cried, 'Sir _Cloudesly Shovel_! a very gallant man!' As he 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 great man! I should have gone to him myself, if I had not been a blockhead; a very great man!'

We were immediately conducted to the little chapel on the right hand. Sir ROGER, planting himself at our historian's elbow, was very attentive to every thing he said, particularly to the account he gave us of the lord who 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 Knight was very inquisitive into her name and family; and after having regarded her finger for some time, 'I wonder,' says he, 'that Sir _Richard Baker_ has said nothing of her in his Chronicle.'

We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, where my old friend after having heard that the stone underneath the most ancient of them, which was brought from _Scotland_, was called _Jacob's pillar_, sat himself down in the chair; and looking like the figure of an old _Gothick_ king, asked our interpreter, what authority they had to say that _Jacob_ had ever been in _Scotland_? The fellow, instead of returning him an answer, told him, that he hoped his honour would pay his forfeit. I could observe Sir ROGER a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned; but our guide not insisting upon his demand, the knight soon recovered his good-humour, and whispered in my ear, that if WILL WIMBLE were with us, and saw those two chairs, it would go hard but he would get a tobacco-stopper out of one or the other of them.

Sir ROGER, in the next place, laid his hand upon _Edward_ the Third's sword, and leaning upon the pommel of it, gave us the whole history of the _Black Prince_; concluding that, in Sir _Richard Baker's_ opinion, _Edward_ the Third was one of the greatest princes that ever sat upon the _English_ throne.

We were then shewn _Edward_ the Confessor's tomb; upon which Sir ROGER acquainted us, that he was the first who touched for the evil; and afterwards _Henry_ the Fourth's, upon which he shook his head, and told us there was fine reading in the casualties of that reign.

Our conductor then pointed to that monument where there is the figure of one of our _English_ kings 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; '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 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 shew such an honest passion for the glory of his country, and such a respectful gratitude to the memory of its princes.

I must not omit, that the benevolence of my good old friend, which flows out towards every one he converses with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he looked upon as an extraordinary man; for which reason he shook him by the hand at parting, telling him, that he should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in _Norfolk-Buildings_, and talk over these matters with him more at leisure.

NO. 335. TUESDAY, MARCH 25.

_Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo
Doctum unitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces._
HOR. Ars Poet. ver. 317.

Those are the likest copies, which are drawn
From the original of human life.
ROSCOMMON.

My friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY, when we last met together at the club, told me that he had a great mind to see the new tragedy with me, assuring me at the same time, that he had not been at a play these twenty years. 'The last I saw,' said Sir ROGER, 'was the _Committee_, which I should not have gone to neither, had not I been told beforehand that it was a good church-of-_England_ comedy.' He then proceeded to inquire of me who this Distressed Mother was; and upon hearing that she was _Hector's_ widow, he told me that her husband was a brave man, and that when he was a school-boy 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 men that followed me half way up _Fleet-Street_, and mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I put on to get away from them. You must know,' continued the Knight with a smile, 'I fancied they had a mind to _hunt_ me; for I remember an honest gentleman in my neighbourhood, who was served such a trick in King _Charles_ the Second's time, for which reason he has not ventured himself in town ever since. I might have shewn them very good sport, had this been their design; for as I am an old fox-hunter, I should have turned and dogged, and have played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their lives before.'

Sir ROGER added, that if these gentlemen had any such intention, they did not succeed very well in it; 'for I threw them out,' says he, 'at the end of _Norfolk-Street_, where I doubled the corner, and got shelter in my lodgings before they could imagine what was become of me. However,' says the Knight, 'if Captain SENTRY will make one with us to- morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon me about four o'clock, that we may be at the house before it is full, I will have my coach in readiness to attend you, for _John_ tells me he has got the fore-wheels mended.'

The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the appointed hour, bid Sir 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, to attend their master upon this occasion. When we had placed him in his coach, with myself at his left- hand, the Captain before him, and his butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we conveyed him in safety to the play-house, where after having marched up the entry in good order, the Captain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house was full, and the candles lighted, my old friend stood up and looked about him with that pleasure, which a mind seasoned with humanity naturally feels in itself, at the sight of a multitude of people who seemed pleased with one another, and partake of the same common entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he made a very proper center to a tragick audience. Upon the entering of _Pyrrhus_, the Knight told me that he did not believe the King of _France_ himself had a better strut. I was indeed very attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I looked upon them as a piece of natural criticism, and was well pleased to hear him, at the conclusion of almost every scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the play would end. One while he appeared much concerned for _Andromache_; and a little while after as much for _Hermione_; and was extremely puzzled to think what would become of _Pyrrhus_.

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 cannot imagine, Sir, what it is to have to do with a widow.' Upon _Pyrrhus_ his threatening afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook his head and muttered to himself, 'Ay, do if you can.' This part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagination, that at the close of the third act, as I was thinking of something else, he whispered me in the ear, 'These widows, Sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world. But pray,' says he, 'you that are a critick, 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 single sentence in this play that I do not know the meaning of.'

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 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 quickly set himself right in that particular, though, at the same time, he owned he should have been very glad to have seen the little boy, 'who,' says he, 'must needs be a 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!'

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 the intervals between the acts, to express their opinion of the players, and of their respective parts. Sir ROGER hearing a cluster of them praise _Orestes_, struck in with them, and told them, that he thought his friend _Pylades_ was a very sensible man; as they were afterwards applauding _Pyrrhus_, Sir ROGER put in a second time: 'And let me tell you,' says he, 'though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in whiskers as well as any of them.' Captain SENTRY seeing two or three wags, who sat near us, lean with an attentive ear towards Sir ROGER, and fearing lest they should smoke the Knight, plucked him by the elbow, and whispered something in his ear, that lasted till the opening of the fifth act. The Knight was wonderfully attentive to the account which _Orestes_ gives of _Pyrrhus_ his death, and at the conclusion of it, told me it was such a bloody piece of work, that he was glad it was not done upon the stage. Seeing afterwards _Orestes_ in his raving fit, he grew more than ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralize (in his way) upon an evil conscience, adding, that _Orestes, in his madness, looked as if he saw something_.

As we were the first that came into the house, so 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 guarded him to his lodging in the same manner that we brought him to the play-house; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only with the performance of the excellent piece which had been presented, but with the satisfaction which it had given to the old man. L.

No. 359. TUESDAY, APRIL 22.

_Torva leaena lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam;
Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella._
VIRG. Eccl. ii. v. 63.

The greedy lioness the wolf pursues,
The wolf the kid, the wanton kid the browse.
DRYDEN.

As we were at the club last night, I observed my old friend Sir ROGER, contrary to his usual custom, sat very silent, and instead of minding what was said by the company, was whistling to himself in a very thoughtful mood, and playing with a cork. I jogged Sir ANDREW FREEPORT who sat between 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 fulness of his heart that he had just received a letter from his steward, which acquainted him that his old rival and antagonist in the country, Sir _David Dundrum_, had been making a visit to the widow. However, says Sir ROGER, I can never think that she will have a man that is half a year older than 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 had'st lived long enough in the world, not to pin thy happiness upon one that is a woman and a widow. I think that without vanity, I may pretend to know as much of the female world as any man in _Great Britain_, though the chief of my knowledge consists in this, that they are not to be known.' WILL immediately, with his usual fluency, rambled into an account of his own amours. 'I am now,' says he, 'upon the verge of fifty' (though by 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_ in it, as the phrase is. To tell you truly, I have several times tried my fortune that way, though I cannot 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 forbid me his house, and within a fortnight after married his daughter to a fox-hunter in the neighbourhood.

'I made my next application 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 in her own hand, and desired me to call upon her attorney in _Lion'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.

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

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

'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 do not know how it came to pass, though I seldom failed of getting the daughter's consent, I could never in my life get the old people on my side.

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

As Will's transitions are extremely quick, he turned from Sir ROGER, and applying himself to me, told me there was a passage in the book I had 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.

_Oh! why did God,
Creator wise! that peopled highest heav'n
With spirits masculine, create at last
This novelty on earth, this fair defect
Of nature? and not fill the world at once
With men, as angels, without feminine?
Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
This mischief had not then befallen,
And more that shall befall, innumerable
Disturbances on earth through female snares,
And strait conjunction with this sex: For either
He never shall find out fit mate, but such
As some misfortune brings him, or mistake;
Or, whom he wishes most, shall seldom gain
Through her perverseness; but shall see her gain'd
By a far worse; or if she love, withheld
By parents; or his happiest choice too late
Shall meet already link'd, and wedlock-bound
To a fell adversary, his hate or shame;
Which infinite calamity shall cause
To human life, and household peace confound._

Sir 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 again before he went to bed. X.

No. 383. TUESDAY, MAY 20.

_Criminibus debent hortos._
Juv. Sat. i. ver. 75.

A beauteous garden, but by vice maintain'd.

As I was sitting in my chamber and thinking on a subject for my next _Spectator_, I heard two or three irregular bounces at my landlady's door, and upon the opening of it, a loud cheerful voice enquiring whether the Philosopher was at home. The child who went to the door answered very innocently, that he did not lodge there. I immediately recollected that it was my good friend Sir ROGER's voice; and that I had promised to go with him on the water to _Spring- Garden_, in case it proved a good evening. The Knight put me in mind of my promise from the bottom of the staircase, but told me that if I was speculating he would stay below till I had done.

Upon my coming down I found all the children of the family got about my old friend, and my landlady herself, who is a notable prating gossip, engaged in a conference with him; being mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy upon the head, and bidding him be a good child, and mind his book.

We were no sooner come to the _Temple_ Stairs, but we were surrounded with a crowd of watermen offering us their respective services. Sir ROGER, after having looked about him very attentively, spied one 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 any body to row me, that 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 has been wounded in the Queen's service. If I was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a fellow in my livery that had not a wooden leg._

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 _Faux-Hall_. Sir ROGER obliged the waterman to give us the history of his right leg, and hearing that he had left it at _La Hogue_, with many particulars which passed in that glorious action, the Knight in the triumph of his heart made several reflections on the greatness of the _British_ nation; as, that one _Englishman_ could beat three _Frenchmen_; that we could never be in danger of Popery so long as we took care of our fleet; that the _Thames_ was the noblest river in Europe, that _London Bridge_ was a greater piece of work, than any of the seven wonders of the world; with many other honest prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart of a true _Englishman._

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

I do not remember I have any where mentioned in Sir Roger's character, his custom of saluting every body that passes by him with a good-morrow or a good-night. This the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, though at the same time it renders him so popular among all his country neighbours, that it is thought to have gone a good way in making him once or twice Knight of the shire. He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even in town, when he meets with any one in his morning or evening walk. It broke from him to several boats that passed by us upon the water; but to the Knight's great surprise, as he gave the good-night to two or three young fellows a little before our landing, one of them, instead of returning the civility, asked us, what queer old put we had in the boat? with a great deal of the like _Thames_ ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but at length assuming a face of magistracy, told us, _That if he were a_ Middlesex _justice, he would make such vagrants know that her Majesty's subjects were no more to be abused by water than by land._

We were now arrived at _Spring-Garden_, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of the 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 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 myself, and thought on the widow by the musick of the nightingale!_ He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bottle of mead with her? But the Knight, being startled at so unexpected a familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts of the widow, told her, _She was a wanton baggage_, and bid her go about her business.

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

No. 517. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 23.

_Heu pietas! heu prisca fides!_
VIRG. AEn. vi. ver. 878.

Mirrour of ancient faith!
Undaunted worth! Inviolable truth!
DRYDEN.

We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY _is dead_. He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few weeks sickness. Sir ANDREW FREEPORT has a letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the country-sessions, as he was very warmly promoting an address of his own penning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a whig justice of peace, who was always Sir ROGER'S enemy and antagonist. I have letters both from the Chaplain and Captain SENTRY, which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honour of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when I was at the Knight's house. As 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 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 loved him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last country-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. Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin, which was served up according to custom; and you know he used to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good heart to the last. Indeed we were once in great hope of his recovery, upon a kind message that was sent him from the Widow Lady whom he had made love to the forty last years of his life; but this only proved a lightning before death. He has bequeathed to this Lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged to my good old Lady his mother: He has bequeathed the fine white gelding, that he used to ride a-hunting upon, to his Chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him; and has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the Chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning, to every man in the parish, a great frieze coat, and to every woman a black riding-hood. It was a most moving sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left us pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon the remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more in charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge, and it is peremptorily said in the parish, that he has left money to build a steeple to the church; for he was heard to say some time ago, that if he lived two years longer, _Coverley_ church should have a steeple to it. The Chaplain tells every body that he made a very good end, and never speaks of him without tears. He was buried according to his own directions, among the family of the COVERLEYS, on the left hand of his father Sir _Arthur_. The coffin was carried by six of his tenants, and the pall held by six of the _Quorum_: The whole parish followed the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their mourning suits, the men in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. Captain SENTRY, my master's nephew, has taken possession of the hall-house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw him, a little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished him joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several legacies, and the gifts of charity which he told him he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says but little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and shews great kindnesses to the old house- dog, that you know my poor master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my master's death. He has never joyed himself since; no more has any of us. It was the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever happened in _Worcestershire_. This is all from,

'HONOURED SIR,

'Your most sorrowful servant,

'EDWARD BISCUIT.'

'_P. S._ My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book which comes up to you by the carrier, should be given to Sir ANDREW FREEPORT, in his name.'

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir ANDREW opening the book, found it to be a collection of acts of parliament. There was in particular the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir ROGER'S own hand. Sir ANDREW found that they related to two or three points, which he had disputed with Sir ROGER the last time he 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 hand-writing burst into tears, and put the book into his pocket. Captain SENTRY informs me, that the Knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the club.

NOTES

SPECTATOR 1.

Page 1.

9. _black_. Dark. Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet cxxvii:

In the old days black was not counted fair,

or _Love's Labour's Lost_, iv, iii. 265:

Paints itself black to imitate her brow.

Page 2.

6. _depending_. Undetermined. In law, pending. Cf. Shakespeare, _Cymbeline_, iv. iii. 23:

We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
Does yet depend.

24. _public exercises_. Academic discussions maintained by candidates for degrees at the older universities. Traces appear in the term 'Wrangler' (Cambridge) and in the supplementary viva voce examination.

Page 3.

5-10. _I made ... satisfaction_. Addison is alluding to John Greaves, who journeyed to Egypt in 1638 and published a learned work entitled _Pyramidographia_.

17 et seq. _Will's_, v. Appendix I, On Coffee-houses. Also for Child's (3. 19), St. James's (22), the Grecian (25), the Cocoa-Tree (25), and Jonathan's (29).

20. _the Postman_, edited by a Frenchman, M. Fonvive, is mentioned in a contemporary account by John Dunton as the best of the newspapers. It was published weekly.

23. _politics_ was frequently used for _politicians_. Perhaps so used here.

26. _Drury-Lane_ theatre was built in 1674 and burnt down in 1809.