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The Coverley Papers, From 'The Spectator'

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Title: The Coverley Papers, From 'The Spectator'

Author: Joseph Addison
        Eustace Budgell
        Sir Richard Steele

Editor: O. M. Myers


        
Release date: September 1, 2004 [eBook #6482]
                Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6482

Credits: Produced by Tonya Allen, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COVERLEY PAPERS, FROM 'THE SPECTATOR' ***




Produced by Tonya Allen, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.





THE COVERLEY PAPERS


FROM THE 'SPECTATOR'


EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY O. M. MYERS




PREFACE


The following selection comprises all numbers of the _Spectator_
which are concerned with the history or character of Sir Roger de
Coverley, and all those which arise out of the Spectator's visit to his
country house. Sir Roger's name occurs in some seventeen other papers,
but in these he either receives only passing mention, or is introduced
as a speaker in conversations where the real interest is the subject
under discussion. In these his character is well maintained, as, for
example, at the meeting of the club described in _Spectator_ 34,
where he warns the Spectator not to meddle with country squires, but
they add no traits to the portrait we already have of him. No. 129 is
included because it arises naturally out of No. 127, and illustrates the
relation between the town and country. No. 410 has been omitted because
it was condemned by Addison as inconsistent with the character of Sir
Roger, together with No. 544, which is an unconvincing attempt to
reconcile it with the whole scheme. Some of the papers have been
slightly abridged where they would not be acceptable to the taste of a
later age.

The papers are not all signed, but the authorship is never in doubt.
Where signatures are attached, C, L, I, and O are the mark of Addison's
work; R and T of Steele's, and X of Budgell's. [Footnote: _Spectator_
555.]

I have availed myself freely of the references and allusions collected
by former editors, and I have gratefully to acknowledge the help of Miss
G. E. Hadow in reading my introductory essay.

O. M. M.




CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION

COVERLEY PAPERS.

_Spectator_ 1 Addison (C)

" 2 Steele (R)

" 106 Addison (L)

" 107 Steele (R)

" 108 Addison (L)

" 109 Steele (R)

" 110 Addison (L)

" 112 " (L)

" 113 Steele (R)

" 114 " (T)

" 115 Addison (L)

" 116 Budgell (X)

" 117 Addison (L)

" 118 Steele (T)

" 119 Addison (L)

" 120 " (L)

" 121 " (L)

" 122 " (L)

" 123 " (L)

" 125 " (C)

" 126 " (C)

" 127 " (C)

" 128 " (C)

" 129 " (C)

" 130 " (C)

" 131 " (C)

" 132 Steele (T)

" 269 Addison (L)

" 329 " (L)

" 335 Addison (L)

" 359 Budgell (X)

" 383 Addison (I)

" 517 " (O)

NOTES

APPENDIX I. On Coffee-Houses

APPENDIX II. On the Spectator's Acquaintance

APPENDIX III. On the Death of Sir Roger

APPENDIX IV. On the Spectator's Popularity

INDEX




INTRODUCTION


It is necessary to study the work of Joseph Addison in close relation
to the time in which he lived, for he was a true child of his century,
and even in his most distinguishing qualities he was not so much in
opposition to its ideas as in advance of them. The early part of the
eighteenth century was a very middle-aged period: the dreamers of the
seventeenth century had grown into practical men; the enthusiasts of the
century before had sobered down into reasonable beings. We no longer
have the wealth of detail, the love of stories, the delight in the
concrete for its own sake of the Chaucerian and Elizabethan children;
these men seek for what is typical instead of enjoying what is detailed,
argue and illustrate instead of telling stories, observe instead of
romancing. Captain Sentry 'behaved himself with great gallantry in
several sieges' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2.] but the Spectator does
not care for them as Chaucer cares for the battlefields of his Knight.
'One might ... recount' many tales touching on many points in our
speculations, and no child and no Elizabethan would refrain from doing
so, but the Spectator will not 'go out of the occurrences of common
life, but assert it as a general observation.' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 107] He is in perfect harmony with his age, too, in the
intensely rational view which he takes of ghosts [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 110] and witches, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 117] for
it was a period in which men cared very little for things which 'the eye
hath not seen'. In his use of mottoes, again, which are deliberately
sought illustrations for his papers, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 221]
and not the sparks which have fired his train of thought, he is typical
of the period of middle-age in which men amuse themselves with such
academic pastimes. Addison is the very antipodes of the kind of man who

  'Loves t' have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind,
  Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack'--

_he_ remarks soberly that 'it is very unhappy for a man to be born
in such a stormy and tempestuous season.' [Footnote: _Spectator_
125.] He may not have been a great poet, but he was an exquisite critic
of life; he shared his contemporaries' lack of enthusiasm, but he
possessed a fine discrimination, and those less practical, more
irresponsible qualities would have been merely an incumbrance to the
apostle of good sense and moderation. For when men are young they are
much occupied with the framing of ideals and the search after absolute
truth; as they grow older they generally become more practical; they
accept, more or less, the idea of compromise, and make the best of
things as they are or as they may be made. The age being vicious,
Addison did not betake himself to a monastery, or urge others to do so;
he tried to mend its morals. This was a difficult task. The Puritans,
during their supremacy, had imposed their own severity on others; and
now the Court party was revenging itself by indulging in extreme
licentiousness. Its amusements were cruel and vicious, and the Puritans
did nothing to improve them, but denounced them altogether and held
themselves aloof. It was Addison's task to refine the taste of his
contemporaries and to widen their outlook, so that the Puritan and the
man of the world might find a common ground on which to meet and to
learn each from the other; it was his endeavour 'to enliven morality
with wit, and to temper wit with morality ... till I have recovered them
out of that desperate state of vice and folly into which the age is
fallen. [Footnote: _Spectator_ 10.] It was a happy thing for that
and for all succeeding ages that a man of Addison's character and genius
was ready to undertake the work. He was well versed in the pleasures of
society and letters, but his delicate taste could not be gratified by
the ordinary amusements of the town. He treated life as an art capable
of affording the artist abundant pleasure, but he recognized goodness as
a necessary condition of this pleasure. He was the most popular man of
his day; even Swift said that if Addison had wished to be king people
could hardly have refused him; [Footnote: _Journal to Stella_,
October 12, 1710.] and the qualities which endeared him to his friends
were exactly of the kind to enable him to hold the mean between the
bigots and the butterflies, and to dictate without giving offence, for
they were humanity and humour, moderation of character, judgment, and a
most sensitive tact. His qualities and his limitations alike appear in
the _Spectator_. For example, he tells us that he wishes that
country clergymen would borrow the sermons of great divines, and devote
all their own efforts to acquiring a good elocution: [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 106.] here we detect the practical moralist and the man
who likes a thing good of its kind, but not the enthusiast. He upholds
the observance of Sunday on account of its social influences rather than
for its religious meaning; [Footnote: _Spectator_ 112.] Swift's
famous Argument against the Abolition of Christianity is only a
satirical exaggeration of this position. The virtues commended in the
_Spectator_ are those which make for the well-being of society--
good sense and dignity, moderation and a sense of fitness, kindness and
generosity. They are to be practised with an eye to their consequences;
even virtues must not be allowed to run wild. Modesty is in itself a
commendable quality, but in Captain Sentry it becomes a fault, because
it interferes with his advancement. [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2.] The
great function of goodness is to promote happiness; when it ceases to do
this it ceases to be goodness.

But the greatest hindrance that an enthusiastic temperament would have
presented to Addison's work is that it would have spoilt his method. His
aim he declared roundly to be 'the advancement of the public weal',
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 1.] but he did not prosecute it in the usual
way. 'A man,' he says, 'may be learned without talking sentences.'
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 4.] He saw much evil, and he laughed at it.
He has tried, he tells us, to 'make nothing ridiculous that is not in
some measure criminal'; [Footnote: _Spectator_ 445.] an enthusiast
could never have met crime with laughter, unless with the corrosive
laughter of a Swift. Addison's humour is perfectly frank and humane;
himself a Whig, he has given us a picture of the Tory Sir Roger which
has been compared to the portrait of our friend Mr. Pickwick. Sir Roger
put to silence and confusion by the perversity of the widow and her
confidant, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 113.] congratulating himself on
having been called 'the tamest and most humane of all the brutes in the
country', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 113.] seeking to be reassured that
no trace of his likeness showed through the whiskers of the Saracen's
head, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 122.] puzzled by his doubts concerning
the witch, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 117.] and pleased by the artful
gipsies, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 130.] inviting the guide to the
Abbey to visit him at his lodgings in order to continue their
conversation, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 329.] and shocked by the
discourtesy of the young men on the Thames [Footnote: _Spectator_
383.]--these are pictures drawn by one who laughed at what he loved.
Addison's humour has a 'grave composure' [Footnote: Elwin.] and a
characteristic appearance of simplicity which never cease to delight us.

This was the man; and he found the instrument ready to his hand. There
was now a large educated class in circumstances sufficiently prosperous
to leave them some leisure for society and its enjoyments. The peers and
the country squires were reinforced by the professional men, merchants,
and traders. The political revolution of 1688 had added greatly to the
freedom of the citizens; the cessation of the Civil War, the increased
importance of the colonies, the development of native industries, and
the impulse given to cloth-making and silk-weaving by the settlement of
Flemish and Huguenot workmen in the seventeenth century had encouraged
trade; and the establishment of the Bank of England had been favourable
to mercantile enterprise. We find the _Spectator_ speaking of 'a
trading nation like ours.' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 108.] Addison
realized that it is the way in which men employ their leisure which
really stamps their character; so he provided 'wit with morality' for
their reading, and attempted, through their reading, to refine their
taste and conversation at the theatre, the club, and the coffee-house.

Dunton, Steele, and Defoe had modified the periodical literature of the
day by adding to the newspapers essays on various subjects. The aim of
the _Tatler_ was the same as that of the _Spectator_, but it
had certain disadvantages. The press censorship had been abolished in
1695, but newspapers were excepted from the general freedom of the
Press. A more important disadvantage lay in the character of Steele, who
did not possess the balance and moderation required to edit such an
organ. Unlike Addison, he was not a true son of his century. He was
enthusiastic and impulsive, fertile in invention and sensitive to
emotion. His tenderness and pathos reach heights and depths that Addison
never touches, but he has not Addison's fine perception of events and
motives on the ordinary level of emotion. He could not repress his keen
interest sufficiently to treat of politics in his paper and yet remain
the impartial censor. So the _Tatler_ was dropped, and the
_Spectator_ took its place. This differed from its predecessors in
appearing every day instead of three times a week, and in excluding all
articles of news.

The machinery of the club had been anticipated in 1690 by John Dunton's
Athenian Society, which replied to all questions submitted by readers in
his paper, the _Athenian Mercury._ This was succeeded by the
Scandal Club of Defoe's _Review_, and the well-known club of the
_Tatler_, which met at the Trumpet; [Footnote: _Tatler_ 132]
but the plan of arranging the whole work round the doings of the club is
a new departure in the _Spectator_.

It is in these periodicals that we first find the familiar essay. Its
only predecessors are such serious essays as those of Bacon, Cowley, and
Temple, the turgid paragraphs of Shaftesbury, the vigorous but crude and
rough papers of Collier, and the 'characters' of Overbury and Earle.
These 'characters' had always been entirely typical; they were treated
rather from the abstract than from the human point of view, and had no
names or other individualization than that of their character and
calling. In some of the numbers of the Spectator we still find these
'characters' occurring, such as the character of Will Wimble, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 108.] of the honest yeoman, [Footnote: _Spectator_
122.] and of Tom Touchy; [Footnote: _Spectator_ 122.] but they are
surrounded by circumstances peculiar to themselves, and so are much more
highly individualized. The _Tatler_ and the _Spectator_ very
greatly extended the range of essay-writing, and with it the flexibility
of prose style; it is this extension that gives to them their modern
quality. Nothing came amiss: fable, description, vision, gossip,
literary criticism or moral essays, discussion of large questions such
as marriage and education, or of the smaller social amenities--any
subject which would be of interest to a sufficiently large number of
readers would furnish a paper; as Steele wrote at the beginning of the
_Tatler_, 'Quicquid agunt homines nostri libelli farrago.'
Different interests were voiced by the various members of the club, and
the light humorous treatment and an easy style attracted a larger public
than had ever been reached by a single publication. [Footnote: v.
Appendix IV.] The elasticity of the structure enabled Addison to produce
the maximum effect, and to bring into play the full weight of his
character.

The nature of the work was determined throughout by its strongly human
interest. It is significant as standing between the lifeless
'characters' of the seventeenth century and the great development of the
novel. Thackeray calls Addison 'the most delightful talker in the
world', and his essays have precisely the charm of the conversation of a
well-informed and thoughtful man of the world. They are entirely
discursive; he starts with a certain subject, and follows any line of
thought that occurs to him. If he thinks of an anecdote in connexion
with his subject, that goes down; if it suggests to him abstract
speculations or moral reflections he gives us those instead. It is the
capricious chat of a man who likes to talk, not the product of an
imperative need of artistic expression. It is significant that so much
of his work consists of gossip about people. This growing interest in
the individual was leading up to the great eighteenth century novel. It
seems to arise out of a growing sense of identity, a stronger interest
in oneself; there is a common motive at the root of our observation of
other people, of the interest attaching to ordinary actions presented on
the stage, and of the fascination of a reflection or a portrait of
ourselves; by these means we are enabled to some extent to become
detached, and to take an external and impersonal view of ourselves. The
stage had already turned to the representation of contemporary life and
manners; portraiture was increasing in popularity; and the novel was on
its way.

In the Coverley Papers all the characteristic species of the
_Spectator_ are represented except the allegory and the essays in
literary criticism. Steele, who was always full of projects and swift
and spontaneous in invention, wrote the initial description of the club
members, and the characters were sustained by the two friends with
wonderful consistency. Apparently each was mainly responsible for a
certain number of the characters, and Sir Roger was really the property
of Addison, but no one person was strictly monopolized by either. The
papers were written independently, but it is easy to see that the two
authors had an identical conception of their characters. It is true that
the singularity of Sir Roger's behaviour described by Steele in the
first draft of his character is very lightly touched in subsequent
papers, and that, judging by the simplicity of his conduct in town, he
has forgotten very completely the 'fine gentleman' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 2.] period of his life, when, like Master Shallow, he
'heard the chimes at midnight', but these are insignificant details.

Since Sir Roger belongs to Addison, it follows naturally that in the
present selection Addison's share compared with Steele's is larger in
proportion than in the complete _Spectator_, but it would be a
mistake to lose sight of the importance of Steele's part of the work.
Addison was the greater artist, and the balance and shapeliness of his
style enhances the effect of his thought and judgment, but we should be
no less sorry to relinquish Steele's headlong directness and warmth of
feeling. The humorous character sketches of Sir Roger's ancestors
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 109.] are his, and his the passage at arms
between the Quaker and the soldier in the coach--the delightful soldier
of whose remark the _Spectator_ tells us: '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.' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 132.] His, too, is the
charming little idyll of the huntsman and his Betty, who fears that her
love will drown himself in a stream he can jump across, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 118.] and the whole fragrant story of Sir Roger's
thirty years' attachment to the widow. [Footnote: _Spectator_ 113,
118.] But above all, we must not overlook the fact that without Steele,
as he himself says in his dedication to _The Drummer_, Addison
would never have brought himself to give to the world these familiar,
informal essays. Addison was naturally both cautious and shy; the mask
which Steele invented lent him just the security which he needed, and
the _Spectator_ endures as the monument of a great friendship, a
memorial such as Steele had always desired. [Footnote: _Spectator_
555.]

Steele himself explained the other advantages of the disguise: 'It is
much more difficult to converse with the world in a real than in a
personated character,' he says, both because the moral theory of a man
whose identity is known is exposed to the commentary of his life, and
because 'the fictitious person ... might assume a mock authority without
being looked upon as vain and conceited'. [Footnote: _Spectator_
555.] It is to the influence of this mask that much of the self-
complacent superiority which has been attributed to Addison may be
referred; one 'having nothing to do with men's passions and interests',
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 4.] one 'set to watch the manners and
behaviour of my countrymen and contemporaries,' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 435.] and to extirpate anything 'that shocks modesty
and good manners', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 34.] such a censor was
bound to place himself on a pinnacle above the passions and foibles
which he was to rebuke. Yet occasionally Addison does appear a trifle
self-satisfied. Pope's indictment of his character in the person of
Atticus cannot be entirely set aside. His creed, as implied in
_Spectator_ 115, esteems the welfare of man as the prime end of a
fostering Providence, and such an opinion as this, held steadily without
doubt or struggle, would tend to give a man a strong sense of his own
importance. The superiority of his attitude to women, which, however,
does not appear in the Coverley Papers, is attributable partly to his
office of censor, and partly to their position at the time. This sort of
condescension appears most distinctly in his treatment of animals. He is
far more humane in his feeling for them than are the majority of his
contemporaries, but although he likes to moralize over Sir Roger's
poultry, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 120, 121.] he really looks down on
them from the elevation which a reasonable being must possess over the
creatures of instinct. Yet how does he know so certainly that instinct
is actually inferior to reason?

Addison is essentially a townsman, and his treatment of nature is always
cold. The one passage in these papers which evinces a genuine love of
the country is Steele's description of his enjoyment when he is
strolling in the widow's grove. He is 'ravished with the murmur of
waters, the whisper of breezes, the singing of birds; and whether I
looked up to the heavens, down on the earth, or turned to the prospects
around me, still struck with new sense of pleasure'. [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 118.] The style of the two writers reflects the
qualities of their minds. Addison's writing is fluent, easy, and lucid.
He wrote and corrected with great care, and his words very closely
express his thought. Landor speaks of his prose as a 'cool current of
delight', and Dr. Johnson, in an often quoted passage, calls it 'the
model of the middle style ... always equable and always easy, without
glowing words or pointed sentences.... His page is always luminous, but
never blazes in unexpected splendour. He is never feeble, and he did not
wish to be energetic.... Whoever wishes to attain an English style,
familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his
days and nights to the volumes of Addison.'

Steele was a far more rapid writer, and even grammatical faults are not
infrequent in his papers. He explicitly declares that 'Elegance, purity,
and correctness were not so much my purpose, as in any intelligible
manner as I could to rally all those singularities of human life ...
which obstruct anything that was really good and great'. [Footnote:
Dedication to _The Drummer_.] His style varies with his mood, and
with the degree of his interest. Occasionally it reaches the simple,
rhythmic prose of the passage quoted above, but generally it is somewhat
abrupt and a little toneless. But now and again we find the 'unexpected
splendour' in which Addison is wanting, in phrases like 'a covered
indigence, a magnificent poverty', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 114.] or
in the sparkling antitheses of Sir Roger's description of his ancestors.
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 109.] Yet Steele's claim on our admiration
rests not on the quality of his style, but, as Mr. John Forster has
said, on 'the soul of a sincere man shining through it all'.

The influence of the _Spectator_ was incalculable. Addison
succeeded in his principal object. 'I shall be ambitious to have it said
of me that I have brought philosophy out of closets and libraries,
schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables
and in coffee-houses,' and that I have produced 'such writings as tend
to the wearing out of ignorance, passion, and prejudice'. [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 10.] A glance at the social and literary history of the
next thirty or forty years will reveal how fully this wish was
accomplished. It is true that folly and vice have not yet been wiped off
the face of the earth, but the _Spectator_ turned the tide of
public opinion against them. The fashionable ideal was reversed; virtue
became admirable, and though vice could not be destroyed, it was no
longer suffered to plume itself in the eyes of the world. The
_Spectator_ had delivered virtue from its position of contempt, and
'set up the immoral man as the object of derision'. [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 445.]

The _Spectator_ has also acquired an incidental value from the
passage of time. Addison hints at this in his citations from an
imaginary history of Queen Anne's reign, supposed to be written three
hundred years later. In 'those little diurnal essays which are still
extant'--two-thirds of the time has elapsed, and at present the
_Spectator_ is certainly extant--we are enabled 'to see the
diversions and characters of the English nation in his time.' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 101.] It is in the literature of a nation that we find
the history of its life and the motives of its deeds.

Finally, the _Spectator_ has a permanent value as a human document.
'Odd and uncommon characters are the game that I look for and most
delight in,' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 103. ] he tells us, but, with
the exception of the sketch of Tom Touchy [Footnote: _Spectator_
122.], none of his persons are lifeless embodiments of a single trait,
like the 'humours' of the early part of the preceding century. Sir
Roger, who 'calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way
upstairs to a visit', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2.] who is too
delicate to mention that the 'very worthy gentleman to whom he was
highly obliged' was once his footman, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 107.]
who dwells upon the beauty of his lady's hand [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 113.] and can be jealous of Sir David Dundrum
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 359.] after thirty odd years of courtship,
who hardly likes to contemplate being of service to his lady, because of
'giving her the pain of being obliged', [Footnote: _Spectator_
118.] who addresses the court and remarks on the weather to the judge in
order to impress the _Spectator_ and the country, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 122.] who will not own to a mere citizen among his
ancestors, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 109.] and 'very frequently'
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 125.] repeats his old stories--Sir Andrew,
with his joke about the sea and the British common, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 2.] and his tenderness for his old friend and opponent
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 517.]--the volatile Will Honeycomb, whose
gallantry and care of his person [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2, 359.]
remind us of his successor, Major Pendennis--these are all in their
degree intimate friends or acquaintances, as living in our imagination
and in the actual world now as they were two hundred years ago, and
immortal as everything must be which has once been inspired with the
authentic breath of life.




[Illustration: Reduced facsimile of the original single-page issue.]




ADDISON: COVERLEY PAPERS




No. 1. THURSDAY, MARCH 1, 1710-11.

  _Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem
  Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat._
    HOR. Ars Poet. ver. 143.

  One with a flash begins, and ends in smoke;
  The other out of smoke brings glorious light,
  And (without raising expectation high)
  Surprises us with dazzling miracles.
    ROSCOMMON.


I have observed, that a Reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure,
until he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a
mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other
particulars of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right
understanding of an author. To gratify this curiosity, which is so
natural to a reader, I design this paper and my next as prefatory
discourses to my following writings, and shall give some account in them
of the several persons that are engaged in this work. As the chief
trouble of compiling, digesting, and correcting will fall to my share, I
must do myself the justice to open the work with my own history.

I was born to a small hereditary estate, which, according to the
tradition of the village where it lies, was bounded by the same hedges
and ditches in _William_ the Conqueror's time that it is at
present, and has been delivered down from father to son whole and
entire, without the loss or acquisition of a single field or meadow,
during the space of six hundred years. There runs a story in the family,
that when my mother was gone with child of me about three months, she
dreamt that she was brought to bed of a Judge: Whether this might
proceed from a law-suit which was then depending in the family, or my
father's being a justice of the peace, I cannot determine; for I am not
so vain as to think it presaged any dignity that I should arrive at in
my future life, though that was the interpretation which the
neighbourhood put upon it. The gravity of my behaviour at my very first
appearance in the world, and all the time that I sucked, seemed to
favour my mother's dream: For, as she has often told me, I threw away my
rattle before I was two months old, and would not make use of my coral
until they had taken away the bells from it.

As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it remarkable, I
shall pass it over in silence. I find, that, during my nonage, I had the
reputation of a very sullen youth, but was always a favourite of my
schoolmaster, who used to say, _that my parts were solid, and would
wear well_. I had not been long at the university, before I
distinguished myself by a most profound silence; for during the space of
eight years, excepting in the public exercises of the college, I scarce
uttered the quantity of an hundred words; and indeed do not remember
that I ever spoke three sentences together in my whole life. Whilst I
was in this learned body, I applied myself with so much diligence to my
studies, that there are very few celebrated books, either in the learned
or the modern tongues, which I am not acquainted with.

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

I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am frequently seen
in most public places, though there are not above half a dozen of my
select friends that know me; of whom my next paper shall give a more
particular account. There is no place of general resort, wherein I do
not often make my appearance; sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into
a round of politicians at _Will_'s, and listening with great
attention to the narratives that are made in those little circular
audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at _Child_'s, and, whilst I
seem attentive to nothing but the _Postman_, overhear the
conversation of every table in the room. I appear on _Sunday_
nights at _St. James_'s coffee-house, and sometimes join the little
committee of politics in the inner-room, as one who comes there to hear
and improve. My face is likewise very well known at the _Grecian_,
the _Cocoa-Tree_, and in the theatres both of _Drury-Lane_ and
the _Hay-Market_. I have been taken for a merchant upon the
_Exchange_ for above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a
_Jew_ in the assembly of stock-jobbers at _Jonathan_'s: In
short, wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with them,
though I never open my lips but in my own club.

Thus I live in the world rather as a spectator of mankind, than as one
of the species, by which means I have made myself a speculative
statesman, soldier, merchant, and artisan, without ever meddling with
any practical part in life. I am very well versed in the theory of a
husband or a father, and can discern the errors in the oeconomy,
business, and diversion of others, better than those who are engaged in
them; as standers-by discover blots, which are apt to escape those who
are in the game. I never espoused any party with violence, and am
resolved to observe an exact neutrality between the Whigs and Tories,
unless I shall be forced to declare myself by the hostilities of either
side. In short, I have acted in all the parts of my life as a looker-on,
which is the character I intend to preserve in this paper.

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

There are three very material points which I have not spoken to in this
paper; and which, for several important reasons, I must keep to myself,
at least for some time: I mean, an account of my name, my age, and my
lodgings. I must confess, I would gratify my reader in any thing that is
reasonable; but as for these three particulars, though I am sensible
they might tend very much to the embellishment of my paper, I cannot yet
come to a resolution of communicating them to the public. They would
indeed draw me out of that obscurity which I have enjoyed for many
years, and expose me in public places to several salutes and civilities,
which have been always very disagreeable to me; for the greatest pain I
can suffer, is the being talked to, and being stared at. It is for this
reason likewise, that I keep my complexion and dress as very great
secrets; though it is not impossible, but I may make discoveries of both
in the progress of the work I have undertaken.

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




No. 2. FRIDAY, MARCH 2.

  _Ast alii sex
  Et plures uno conclamant ore._
    Juv. Sat. vii. ver. 167.

  Six more at least join their consenting voice.


The first of our society is a gentleman of _Worcestershire_, of
ancient descent, a Baronet, his name Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY. His great-
grandfather was inventor of that famous country-dance which is called
after him. All who know that shire are very well acquainted with the
parts and merits of Sir ROGER. He is a gentleman that is very singular
in his behaviour, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, and
are contradictions to the manners of the world, only as he thinks the
world is in the wrong. However this humour creates him no enemies, for
he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being unconfined to
modes and forms, makes him but the readier and more capable to please
and oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in _Soho-
Square_. It is said, he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was
crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him.
Before this disappointment, Sir ROGER was what you call a Fine
Gentleman, had often supped with my Lord _Rochester_ and Sir
_George Etherege_, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and
kicked Bully _Dawson_ in a public coffee-house for calling him
youngster. But being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow, he was very
serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper being naturally
jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself, and never
dressed afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and doublet of the same
cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry
humours, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first
wore it. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, chearful, gay, and hearty;
keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of mankind;
but there is such a mirthful cast in his behaviour, that he is rather
beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his servants look
satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, and the young men
are glad of his company: When he comes into a house he calls the
servants by their names, and talks all the way upstairs to a visit. I
must not omit, that Sir ROGER is a justice of the _Quorum_; that he
fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities, and three
months ago gained universal applause by explaining a passage in the
game-act.

The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us, is another
bachelor, who is a member of the _Inner-Temple_; a man of great
probity, wit, and understanding; but he has chosen his place of
residence rather to obey the direction of an old humoursome father, than
in pursuit of his own inclinations. He was placed there to study the
laws of the land, and is the most learned of any of the house in those
of the stage. _Aristotle_ and _Longinus_ are much better
understood by him than _Littleton_ or _Coke_. The father sends
up every post questions relating to marriage-articles, leases, and
tenures, in the neighbourhood; all which questions he agrees with an
attorney to answer and take care of in the lump. He is studying the
passions themselves, when he should be inquiring into the debates among
men which arise from them. He knows the argument of each of the orations
of _Demosthenes_ and _Tully_, but not one case in the reports
of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but none, except his
intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. This turn makes him
at once both disinterested and agreeable: As few of his thoughts are
drawn from business, they are most of them fit for conversation. His
taste of books is a little too just for the age he lives in; he has read
all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with the customs,
manners, actions, and writings of the ancients, makes him a very
delicate observer of what occurs to him in the present world. He is an
excellent critick, and the time of the play is his hour of business;
exactly at five he passes through _New-Inn_, crosses through
_Russel-Court_, and takes a turn at _Will_'s until the play
begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's
as you go into the _Rose_. It is for the good of the audience when
he is at a play, for the actors have an ambition to please him.

The person of next consideration is Sir ANDREW FREEPORT, a merchant of
great eminence in the city of _London_. A person of indefatigable
industry, strong reason, and great experience. His notions of trade are
noble and generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of
jesting, which would make no great figure were he not a rich man) he
calls the sea the _British Common_. He is acquainted with commerce
in all its parts, and will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous
way to extend dominion by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and
industry. He will often argue, that if this part of our trade were well
cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if another, from
another. I have heard him prove, that diligence makes more lasting
acquisitions than valour, and that sloth has ruined more nations than
the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst which the
greatest favourite is, 'A penny saved is a penny got.' A general trader
of good sense is pleasanter company than a general scholar; and Sir
ANDREW having a natural unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his
discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would in another man. He has
made his fortunes himself; and says that _England_ may be richer
than other kingdoms, by as plain methods as he himself is richer than
other men; though, at the same time, I can say this of him, that there
is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is an
owner.

Next to Sir ANDREW in the club-room sits Captain SENTRY, a gentleman of
great courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty. He is one of
those that deserve very well, but are very aukward at putting their
talents within the observation of such as should take notice of them. He
was some years a captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry in
several engagements, and at several sieges; but having a small estate of
his own, and being next heir to Sir ROGER, he has quitted a way of life
in which no man can rise suitably to his merit, who is not something of
a courtier, as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament, that in
a profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, impudence
should get the better of modesty. When he has talked to this purpose, I
never heard him make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left
the world because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even
regular behaviour, are in themselves obstacles to him that must press
through crowds, who endeavour at the same end with himself, the favour
of a commander. He will however, in his way of talk, excuse generals,
for not disposing according to men's desert, or inquiring into it: For,
says he, that great man who has a mind to help me, has as many to break
through to come at me, as I have to come at him: Therefore he will
conclude, that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military
way, must get over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the
importunity of other pretenders, by a proper assurance in his own
vindication. He says it is a civil cowardice to be backward in asserting
what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in
attacking when it is your duty. With this candour does the gentleman
speak of himself and others. The same frankness runs through all his
conversation. The military part of his life has furnished him with many
adventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the
company; for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to command men
in the utmost degree below him; nor ever too obsequious, from an habit
of obeying men highly above him.

But that our society may not appear a set of humourists, unacquainted
with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have among us the
gallant WILL HONEYCOMB, a gentleman who, according to his years, should
be in the decline of his life, but having ever been very careful of his
person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but a very
little impression, either by wrinkles on his forehead, or traces in his
brain. His person is well turned, of a good height. He is very ready at
that sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. He has
all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits as others do men.
He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the
history of every mode, and can inform you from which of the
_French_ court ladies our wives and daughters had this manner of
curling their hair, that way of placing their hoods, and whose vanity,
to shew her foot, made that part of the dress so short in such a year.
In a word, all his conversation and knowledge have been in the female
world: As other men of his age will take notice to you what such a
minister said upon such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the
Duke of _Monmouth_ danced at court, such a woman was then smitten,
another was taken with him at the head of his troop in the _Park_.
In all these important relations, he has ever about the same time
received a kind glance or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty,
mother of the present Lord such-a-one.

If you speak of a young commoner that said a lively thing in the House,
he starts up, 'He has good blood in his veins, _Tom Mirabell_ begot
him, that rogue cheated me in that affair; that young fellow's mother
used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made advances to.' This
way of talking of his very much enlivens the conversation among us of a
more sedate turn; and I find there is not one of the company, but
myself, who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort of
man who is usually called a well-bred Fine Gentleman. To conclude his
character, where women are not concerned, he is an honest worthy man.

I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am next to speak of, as
one of our company; for he visits us but seldom, but, when he does, it
adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a
very philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and
the most exact good breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak
constitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares and business
as preferments in his function would oblige him to: He is therefore
among divines what a chamber-counsellor is among lawyers. The probity of
his mind, and the integrity of his life, create him followers, as being
eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he
speaks upon; but we are so far gone in years, that he observes when he
is among us, an earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which
he always treats with much authority, as one who has no interests in
this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, and
conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These are my ordinary
companions. R.




No. 106. MONDAY, JULY 2.

  _Hinc tibi copia Manabit ad plenum,
  benigno Ruris honorum opulenta cornu._
    HOR. Od. xvii. 1. i. v. 14.

  Here to thee shall plenty flow,
  And all her riches show,
  To raise the honour of the quiet plain.
     CREECH.


Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY
to pass away a month with him in the country, I last week accompanied
him thither, and am settled with him for some time at his country-house,
where I intend to form several of my ensuing Speculations. Sir ROGER,
who is very well acquainted with my humour, lets me rise and go to bed
when I please, dine at his own table or in my chamber as I think fit,
sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When the
gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shews me at a
distance: As I have been walking in his fields, I have observed them
stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and have heard the Knight desiring
them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at.

I am the more at ease in Sir ROGER'S family, because it 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
domesticks are all in years, and grown old with their master. You would
take his valet de chambre for his brother, his butler is gray-headed,
his groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his
coachman has the looks of a privy-counsellor. You see the goodness of
the master 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 countenance of these ancient domesticks upon my friend's
arrival at his country-seat. Some of them could not refrain from tears
at the sight of their old master; every one of them pressed forward to
do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed.
At the same time the good old Knight, with a mixture of the father and
the master of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs
with several kind questions relating to themselves. This humanity and
good-nature engages every body 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 stander-by to observe
a secret concern in the looks of all his servants.

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

My chief companion, when Sir ROGER is diverting himself in the woods or
the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever with Sir ROGER, and has
lived at his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This
gentleman is a person of good sense and some 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 dependant.

I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir ROGER,
amidst all his good qualities, is something of an humorist; and that his
virtues, as well as 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 and ordinary colours. As I was walking with
him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man whom I have just
now mentioned? and without staying for my answer, told me, That he was
afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table; for
which reason he desired a particular friend of his at the University to
find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning, of a
good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, and, if possible, a man
that understood a little of 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 any thing of
me for himself though he is every day soliciting me for something in
behalf of one or other of my tenants, his parishioners. There has not
been a lawsuit in the parish since he has lived among them: If any
dispute arises they apply themselves to him for the decision; if they do
not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened above once
or twice at most, they appeal to me. At his first settling with me, I
made him a 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 to-morrow
(for it was _Saturday_ night) told us, the Bishop of St.
_Asaph_ in the morning, and Dr. _South_ in the afternoon. He
then shewed us his list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw
with a great deal of pleasure Archbishop _Tillotson_, Bishop
_Saunderson_, Dr. _Barrow_, Dr. _Calamy_, with several
living authors who have published 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. A sermon repeated after
this manner, is like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a
graceful actor.

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




No. 107. TUESDAY, JULY 3.

  _AEsopo ingentem statuam posuere Attici,
  Servumque collocarunt oeterna in basi,
  Patere honoris scirent ut cunctis viam._
    PHAED. Epilog. 1. 2.

  The _Athenians_ erected a large statue to _AEsop_,
  and placed him, though a slave, on a lasting pedestal;
  to show, that the way to honour lies open indifferently to all.


The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed freedom and quiet,
which I meet with here in the country, has confirmed me in the opinion I
always had, that the general corruption of manners in servants is owing
to the conduct of masters. The aspect of every one in the family carries
so much satisfaction, that it appears he knows the happy lot which has
befallen him in being a member of it. There is one particular which I
have seldom seen but at Sir ROGER'S; it is usual in all other places,
that servants flee from the parts of the house through which their
master is passing; on the contrary, here they industriously place
themselves in his way; and it is on both sides, as it were, understood
as a visit, when the servants appear without calling. This proceeds from
the humane and equal temper of the man of the house, who also perfectly
well knows how to enjoy a great estate, with such oeconomy as ever to be
much beforehand. This makes his own mind untroubled, and consequently
unapt to vent peevish expressions, or give passionate or inconsistent
orders to those about him. Thus, respect and love go together; and a
certain cheerfulness in performance of their duty is the particular
distinction of the lower part of this family. When a servant is called
before his master, he does not come with an expectation to hear himself
rated for some trivial fault, threatened to be stripped or used with any
other unbecoming language, which mean masters often give to worthy
servants; but it is often to know what road he took, that he came so
readily back according to order; whether he passed by such a ground, if
the old man who rents it is in good health; or whether he gave Sir
ROGER'S love to him, or the like.

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

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

But my good friend is above these little instances of good-will, in
bestowing only trifles on his servants; a good servant to him is sure of
having it in his choice very soon of being no servant at all. As I
before observed, he is so good an husband, and knows so thoroughly that
the skill of the purse is the cardinal virtue of this life: I say, he
knows so well that frugality is the support of generosity, that he can
often spare a large fine when a tenement falls, and give that settlement
to a good servant, who has a mind to go into the world, or make a
stranger pay the fine to that servant, for his more comfortable
maintenance, if he stays in his service.

A man of honour and generosity considers it would be miserable to
himself to have no will but that of another, though it were of the best
person breathing, and for that reason goes on as fast as he is able to
put his servants into independent livelihoods. The greatest part of Sir
ROGER'S estate is tenanted by persons who have served himself or his
ancestors. It was to me extremely pleasant to observe the visitants from
several parts to welcome his arrival in the country; and all the
difference that I could take notice of between the late servants who
came to see him, and those who staid in the family, was, that these
latter were looked upon as finer gentlemen and better courtiers.

This manumission, and placing them in a way of livelihood, I look upon
as only what is due to a good servant, which encouragement will make his
successor be as diligent, as humble, and as ready as he was. There is
something wonderful in the narrowness of those minds, which can be
pleased, and be barren of bounty to those who please them.

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

At the very upper end of this handsome structure I saw the portraiture
of two young men standing in a river, the one naked, the other in a
livery. The person supported seemed half dead, but still so much alive
as to shew in his face exquisite joy and love towards the other. I
thought the fainting figure resembled my friend Sir ROGER; and looking
at the butler, who stood by me, for an account of it, he informed me
that the person in the livery was a servant of Sir ROGER'S, who stood on
the shore while his master was swimming, and observing him taken with
some sudden illness, and sink under water, jumped in and saved him. He
told me Sir ROGER took off the dress he was in as soon as he came home,
and by a great bounty at that time, followed by his favour ever since,
had made him master of that pretty seat which we saw at a distance as we
came to this house. I remembered indeed Sir ROGER said there lived a
very worthy gentleman, to whom he was highly obliged, without mentioning
any thing further. Upon my looking a little dissatisfied at some part of
the picture, my attendant informed me that it was against Sir ROGER'S
will, and at the earnest request of the gentleman himself, that he was
drawn in the habit in which he had saved his master. R.




No. 108. WEDNESDAY, JULY 4.

  _Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens._ PHAEDR. Fab. v. 1. 2.

  Out of breath to no purpose, and very busy about nothing.


As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir ROGER before his house, a
country-fellow brought him a huge fish, which, he told him, Mr.
_William Wimble_ had caught that very morning; and that he
presented it, with his service to him, and intended to come and dine
with him. At the same time he delivered a letter which my friend read to
me as soon as the messenger left him.

'Sir ROGER,

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

'Your humble servant,

'WILL WIMBLE.'

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

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

In the midst of his discourse the bell rung to dinner, where the
gentleman I have been speaking of had the pleasure of seeing the huge
jack, he had caught, served up for the first dish in a most sumptuous
manner. Upon our sitting down to it he gave us a long account how he had
hooked it, played with it, foiled it, and at length drew it out upon the
bank, with several other particulars that lasted all the first course. A
dish of wild-fowl that came afterwards furnished conversation for the
rest of the dinner, which concluded with a late invention of
_Will_'s for improving the quail-pipe.

Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I was secretly touched with
compassion towards the honest gentleman that had dined with us; and
could not but consider with a great deal of concern, how so good an
heart and such busy hands were wholly employed in trifles; that so much
humanity should be so little beneficial to others, and so much industry
so little advantageous to himself. The same temper of mind and
application to affairs, might have recommended him to the publick
esteem, and have raised his fortune in another station of life. What
good to his country or himself might not a trader or merchant have done
with such useful though ordinary qualifications?

_Will Wimble_'s is the case of many a younger brother of a great
family, who had rather see their children starve like gentlemen, than
thrive in a trade or profession that is beneath their quality. This
humour fills several parts of _Europe_ with pride and beggary. It
is the happiness of a trading nation, like ours, that the younger sons,
though uncapable of any liberal art or profession, may be placed in such
a way of life, as may perhaps enable them to vie with the best of their
family: Accordingly we find several citizens that were launched into the
world with narrow fortunes, rising by an honest industry to greater
estates than those of their elder brothers. It is not improbable but
_Will_ was formerly tried at divinity, law, or physick; and that,
finding his genius did not lie that way, his parents gave him up at
length to his own inventions. But certainly, however improper he might
have been for studies of a higher nature, he was perfectly well turned
for the occupations of trade and commerce. As I think this is a point
which cannot be too much inculcated, I shall desire my reader to compare
what I have here written with what I have said in my twenty-first
speculation. L.




No. 109. THURSDAY, JULY 5.

  _Abnormis sapiens._
    HOR. Sat. ii. 1. 2. v. 3.

  Of plain good sense, untutor'd in the schools.


I was this morning walking in the gallery when Sir ROGER entered at the
end opposite to me, and advancing towards me, said he was glad to meet
me among his relations the DE COVERLEYS, and hoped I liked the
conversation of so much good company, who were as silent as myself. I
knew he alluded to the pictures, and as he is a gentleman who does not a
little value himself upon his ancient descent, I expected he would give
me some account of them. We were now arrived at the upper end of the
gallery, when the Knight faced towards one of the pictures, and, as we
stood before it, he entered into the matter, after his blunt way of
saying things, as they occur to his imagination, without regular
introduction, or care to preserve the appearance of chain of thought.

'It is,' said he, 'worth while to consider the force of dress; and how
the persons of one age differ from those of another, merely by that
only. One may observe also, that the general fashion of one age has been
followed by one particular set of people in another, and by them
preserved from one generation to another. Thus the vast jetting coat and
small bonnet, which was the habit in _Harry_ the Seventh's time, is
kept on in the yeomen of the guard; not without a good and politick
view, because they look a foot taller, and a foot and an half broader:
Besides that the cap leaves the face expanded, and consequently more
terrible, and fitter to stand at the entrances of palaces.

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

'You are to know this my ancestor was not only of a a military genius,
but fit also for the arts of peace, for he played on the bass-viol as
well as any gentleman at court; you see where his viol hangs by his
basket-hilt sword. The action at the tilt-yard you may be sure won the
fair lady, who was a maid of honour, and the greatest beauty of her
time; here she stands the next picture. You see, Sir, my great-great-
great-grandmother has on the new-fashioned petticoat, except that the
modern is gathered at the waist: my grandmother appears as if she stood
in a large drum whereas the ladies now walk as if they were in a go-
cart. For all this lady was bred at court, she became an excellent
country-wife, she brought ten children, and when I shew you the library,
you shall see in her own hand (allowing for the difference of the
language) the best receipt now in _England_ both for an hasty-
pudding and a white-pot.

'If you please to fall back a little, because it is necessary to look at
the three next pictures at one view: These are three sisters. She on the
right hand, who is so beautiful, died a maid; the next to her, still
handsomer, had the same fate, against her will; this homely thing in the
middle had both their portions added to her own, and was stolen by a
neighbouring gentleman, a man of stratagem and resolution, for he
poisoned three mastiffs to come at her, and knocked down two deer-
stealers in carrying her off. Misfortunes happen in all families: The
theft of this romp and so much money, was no great matter to our estate.
But the next heir that possessed it was this soft gentleman, whom you
see there: Observe the small buttons, the little boots, the laces, the
slashes about his clothes, and above all the posture he is drawn in,
(which to be sure was his own chusing:) You see he sits with one hand on
a desk writing and looking as it were another way, like an easy writer,
or a sonneteer: He was one of those that had too much wit to know how to
live in the world; he was a man of no justice, but great good manners;
he ruined every body that had anything to do with him, but never said a
rude thing in his life; the most indolent person in the world, he would
sign a deed that passed away half his estate with his gloves on, but
would not put on his hat before a lady if it were to save his country.
He is said to be the first that made love by squeezing the hand. He left
the estate with ten thousand pounds debt upon it, but however by all
hands I have been informed that he was every way the finest gentleman in
the world. That debt lay heavy on our house for one generation, but it
was retrieved by a gift from that honest man you see there, a citizen of
our name, but nothing at all akin to us. I know Sir ANDREW FREEPORT has
said behind my back, that this man was descended from one of the ten
children of the maid of honour I shewed you above; but it was never made
out. We winked at the thing indeed, because money was wanting at that
time.'

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

Sir ROGER went on with his account of the gallery in the following
manner. 'This man' (pointing to him I looked at) 'I take to be the
honour of our house, Sir HUMPHREY DE COVERLEY; he was in his dealings as
punctual as a tradesman, and as generous as a gentleman. He would have
thought himself as much undone by breaking his word, as if it were to be
followed by bankruptcy. He served his country as knight of this shire to
his dying day. He found it no easy matter to maintain an integrity in
his words and actions, even in things that regarded the offices which
were incumbent upon him, in the care of his own affairs and relations of
life, and therefore dreaded (though he had great talents) to go into
employments of state, where he must be exposed to the snares of
ambition. Innocence of life and great ability were the distinguishing
parts of his character; the latter, he had often observed, had led to
the destruction of the former, and used frequently to lament that great
and good had not the same signification. He was an excellent husbandman,
but had resolved not to exceed such a degree of wealth; all above it he
bestowed in secret bounties many years after the sum he aimed at for his
own use was attained. Yet he did not slacken his industry, but to a
decent old age spent the life and fortune which was superfluous to
himself, in the service of his friends and neighbours.'

Here we were called to dinner, and Sir ROGER ended the discourse of this
gentleman, by telling me, as we followed the servant, that this his
ancestor was a brave man, and narrowly escaped being killed in the civil
wars: 'For, said he, he was sent out of the field upon a private
message, the day before the battle of _Worcester_.' The whim of
narrowly escaping by having been within a day of danger, with other
matters above-mentioned, mixed with good sense, left me at a loss
whether I was more delighted with my friend's wisdom or simplicity. R.




No. 110. FRIDAY, JULY 6.

  _Horror ubique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent._
    VIRG. AEn. ii. v. 755.

  All things are full of horror and affright,
  And dreadful ev'n the silence of the night.
    DRYDEN.


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

I was taking a walk in this place last night between the hours of nine
and ten, and could not but fancy it one of the most proper scenes in the
world for a ghost to appear in. The ruins of the abbey are scattered up
and down on every side, and half-covered with ivy and elder bushes, the
harbours of several solitary birds, which seldom make their appearance
till the dusk of the evening. The place was formerly a church-yard, and
has still several marks in it of graves and burying-places. There is
such an echo among the old ruins and vaults, that if you stamp but a
little louder than ordinary, you hear the sound repeated. At the same
time the walk of elms, with the croaking of the ravens which from time
to time are heard from the tops of them, looks exceeding solemn and
venerable. These objects naturally raise seriousness and attention; and
when night heightens the awfulness of the place, and pours out her
supernumerary horrors upon every thing in it, I do not at all wonder
that weak minds fill it with spectres and apparitions.

Mr. _Locke_, in his chapter of the Association of Ideas, has very
curious remarks to show how, by the prejudice of education, one idea
often introduces into the mind a whole set that bear no resemblance to
one another in the nature of things. Among several examples of this
kind, he produces the following instance. _The ideas of goblins and
sprights have really no more to do with darkness than light: Yet let but
a foolish maid inculcate these often on the mind of a child, and raise
them there together, possibly he shall never be able to separate them
again so long as he lives; but darkness shall ever afterwards bring with
it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined, that he can no
more bear the one than the other._

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

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

I should not have been thus particular upon these ridiculous horrors,
did not I find them so very much prevail in all parts of the country. At
the same time I think a person who is thus terrified with the
imagination of ghosts and spectres, much more reasonable than one who,
contrary to the reports of all historians sacred and profane, ancient
and modern, and to the traditions of all nations, thinks the appearance
of spirits fabulous and groundless: Could not I give myself up to this
general testimony of mankind, I should to the relations of particular
persons who are now living, and whom I cannot distrust in other matters
of fact. I might here add, that not only the historians, to whom we may
join the poets, but likewise the philosophers of antiquity have favoured
this opinion. _Lucretius_ himself, though by the course of his
philosophy he was obliged to maintain that the soul did not exist
separate from the body, makes no doubt of the reality of apparitions,
and that men have often appeared after their death. This I think very
remarkable. He was so pressed with the matter of fact which he could not
have the confidence to deny, that he was forced to account for it by one
of the most absurd unphilosophical notions that was ever started. He
tells us, That the surfaces of all bodies are perpetually flying off
from their respective bodies, one after another; and that these surfaces
or thin cases, that included each other whilst they were joined in the
body like the coats of an onion, are sometimes seen entire when they are
separated from it; by which means we often behold the shapes and shadows
of persons who are either dead or absent.

I shall dismiss this paper with a story out of _Josephus_, not so
much for the sake of the story itself as for the moral reflexions with
which the author concludes it, and which I shall here set down in his
own words. '_Glaphyra_ the daughter of King _Archelaus_, after
the death of her two first husbands (being married to a third, who was
brother to her first husband, and so passionately in love with her that
he turned off his former wife to make room for this marriage) had a very
odd kind of dream. She fancied that she saw her first husband coming
towards her, and that she embraced him with great tenderness; when in
the midst of the pleasure which she expressed at the sight of him, he
reproached her after the following manner: _Glaphyra_, says he,
thou hast made good the old saying, That women are not to be trusted.
Was not I the husband of thy virginity? Have I not children by thee? How
couldst thou forget our loves so far as to enter into a second marriage,
and after that into a third, nay to take for thy husband a man who has
so shamefully crept into the bed of his brother? However, for the sake
of our passed loves, I shall free thee from thy present reproach, and
make thee mine for ever. Glaphyra told this dream to several women of
her acquaintance, and died soon after. I thought this story might not be
impertinent in this place, wherein I speak of those kings: Besides that
the example deserves to be taken notice of, as it contains a most
certain proof of the immortality of the soul, and of Divine Providence.
If any man thinks these facts incredible, let him enjoy his own opinion
to himself, but let him not endeavour to disturb the belief of others,
who by instances of this nature are excited to the study of virtue.'




No. 112. MONDAY, JULY 9.

  _Athanatous men prota theous,
  nomo hos diakeitai, tima._
    PYTHAG.

  First, in obedience to thy country's rites,
  Worship the immortal Gods.


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 savages and barbarians, were there not such
frequent returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet
together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to
converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties
explained to them, and join together in adoration of the Supreme Being.
_Sunday_ clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it
refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both
the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all
such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the
village. A country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the
_Church-yard_, as a citizen does upon the _Change_, the whole
parish-politicks 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 chusing: He has likewise
given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion-table at his
own expence. He has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he
found his parishioners very irregular; and that, in order to make them
kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and
a common-prayer-book; and at the same time employed an itinerant
singing-master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct
them rightly in the tunes of the psalms; upon which they now very much
value themselves, and indeed out-do 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 no body 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
any body else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servants
to them. Several other of the old Knight's particularities break out
upon these occasions:

Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing psalms, half
a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it;
sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he
pronounces _Amen_ three or four times to the same prayer; and
sometimes stands up when every body else is upon their knees, to count
the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing.

I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst
of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was
about, and not disturb the congregation. This _John Matthews_ it
seems is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was
kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of the Knight,
though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all
circumstances of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are
not polite enough to see any thing ridiculous in his 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, no body presumes to stir till Sir
ROGER is gone out of the church. The Knight walks down from his seat in
the chancel between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing to
him on each side; and every now and then inquires how such an one's
wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church;
which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent.

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

The fair understanding between Sir ROGER and his chaplain, and their
mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable, because the
very next village is famous for the differences and contentions that
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 are come to such an extremity, that the squire has not
said his prayers either in public or private this half year; and that
the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for
him in the face of the whole congregation.

Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are very fatal
to the ordinary people; who are so used to be dazzled with riches, that
they pay as much deference 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. L.




No. 113. TUESDAY, JULY 10.

  _Hoerent infixi pectore vultus._
    VIRG. AEn. iv. ver. 4.

  Her looks were deep imprinted in his heart.


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

Here followed a profound silence; and I was not displeased to observe my
friend falling so naturally into a discourse, which I had ever before
taken notice he industriously avoided. After a very long pause he
entered upon an account of this great circumstance in his life, with an
air which I thought raised my idea of him above what I had ever had
before; and gave me the picture of that cheerful mind of his, before it
received that stroke which has ever since affected his words and
actions. But he went on as follows.

'I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and resolved to follow
the steps of the most worthy of my ancestors who have inhabited this
spot of earth before me, in all the methods of hospitality and good
neighbourhood, for the sake of my fame; and in country-sports and
recreations, for the sake of my health. In my twenty-third year I was
obliged to serve as sheriff of the county; and, in my servants,
officers, and whole equipage, indulged the pleasure of a young man (who
did not think ill of his own person) in taking that publick occasion of
shewing my figure and behaviour to advantage. You may easily imagine to
yourself what appearance I made, who am pretty tall, rid well, and was
very well dressed, at the head of a whole county, with musick before me,
a feather in my hat, and my horse well bitted. I can assure you I was
not a little pleased with the kind looks and glances I had from all the
balconies and windows as I rode to the hall where the assizes were held.
But when I came there, a beautiful creature in a widow's habit sat in
court, to hear the event of a cause concerning her dower. This
commanding creature (who was born for the destruction of all who behold
her) put on such a resignation in her countenance, and bore the whispers
of all around the court, with such a pretty uneasiness, I warrant you,
and then recovered herself from one eye to another, till she was
perfectly confused by meeting something so wistful in all she
encountered, that at last, with a murrain to her, she cast her
bewitching eye upon me. I no sooner met it, but I bowed like a great
surprized booby; and knowing her cause to be the first which came on, I
cried, like a captivated calf as I was, Make way for the defendant's
witnesses.

This sudden partiality made all the county immediately see the sheriff
was also become a slave to the fine widow. During the time her cause was
upon trial, she behaved herself, I warrant you, with such a deep
attention to her business, took opportunities to have little billets
handed to her counsel, then would be in such a pretty confusion,
occasioned, you must know, by acting before so much company, that not
only I, but the whole court was prejudiced in her favour; and all that
the next heir to her husband had to urge, was thought so groundless and
frivolous, that when it came to her counsel to reply, there was not half
so much said as every one besides in the court thought he could have
urged to her advantage. You must understand, Sir, this perverse woman is
one of those unaccountable creatures, that secretly rejoice in the
admiration of men, but indulge themselves in no farther consequences.
Hence it is that she has ever had a train of admirers, and she removes
from her slaves in town to those in the country, according to the
seasons of the year. She is a reading lady, and far gone in the
pleasures of friendship: She is always accompanied by a confident, who
is witness to her daily protestations against our sex, and consequently
a bar to her first steps towards love, upon the strength of her own
maxims and declarations.

'However, I must needs say this accomplished mistress of mine has
distinguished me above the rest, and has been known to declare Sir ROGER
DE COVERLEY was the tamest and most humane of all the brutes in the
country. I was told she said so, by one who thought he rallied me; but
upon the strength of this slender encouragement of being thought least
detestable, I made new liveries, new-paired my coach-horses, sent them
all to town to be bitted, and taught to throw their legs well, and move
all together, before I pretended to cross the country, and wait upon
her. As soon as I thought my retinue suitable to the character of my
fortune and youth, I set out from hence to make my addresses. The
particular skill of this lady has ever been to inflame your wishes, and
yet command respect. To make her mistress of this art, she has a greater
share of knowledge, wit, and good sense, than is usual even among men of
merit. Then she is beautiful beyond the race of women. If you will not
let her go on with a certain artifice with her eyes, and the skill of
beauty, she will arm herself with her real charms, and strike you with
admiration instead of desire. It is certain that if you were to behold
the whole woman, there is that dignity in her aspect, that composure in
her motion, that complacency in her manner, that if her form makes you
hope, her merit makes you fear. But then again she is such a desperate
scholar, that no country-gentleman can approach her without being a
jest. As I was going to tell you, when I came to her house I was
admitted to her presence with great civility; at the same time she
placed herself to be first seen by me in such an attitude, as I think
you call the posture of a picture, that she discovered new charms, and I
at last came towards her with such an awe as made me speechless. This
she no sooner observed but she made her advantage of it, and began a
discourse to me concerning love and honour, as they both are followed by
pretenders, and the real votaries to them. When she discussed these
points in a discourse, which I verily believe was as learned as the best
philosopher in _Europe_ could possibly make, she asked me whether
she was so happy as to fall in with my sentiments on these important
particulars. Her confident sat by her, and upon my being in the last
confusion and silence, this malicious aid of hers turning to her says,
'I am very glad to observe Sir ROGER pauses upon this subject, and seems
resolved to deliver all his sentiments upon the matter when he pleases
to speak.' They both kept their countenances, and after I had sat half
an hour meditating how to behave before such profound casuists, I rose
up and took my leave. Chance has since that time thrown me very often in
her way, and she as often has directed a discourse to me which I do not
understand. This barbarity has kept me ever at a distance from the most
beautiful object my eyes ever beheld. It is thus also she deals with all
mankind, and you must make love to her, as you would conquer the sphinx,
by posing her. But were she like other women, and that there were any
talking to her, how constant must the pleasure of that man be, who would
converse with the creature--But, after all, you may be sure her heart is
fixed on some one or other; and yet I have been credibly informed;--but
who can believe half that is said? After she had done speaking to me,
she put her hand to her bosom and adjusted her tucker. Then she cast her
eyes a little down, upon my beholding her too earnestly. They say she
sings excellently: Her voice in her ordinary speech has something in it
inexpressibly sweet. You must know I dined with her at a publick table
the day after I first saw her, and she helped me to some tansy in the
eye of all the gentlemen in the country. She has certainly the finest
hand of any woman in the world. I can assure you, Sir, were you to
behold her, you would be in the same condition; for as her speech is
musick, her form is angelick. But I find I grow irregular while I am
talking of her; but indeed it would be stupidity to be unconcerned at
such perfection. Oh the excellent creature! she is as inimitable to all
women, as she is inaccessible to all men.'

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

  Quicquid agit Rufus, nihil est, nisi Noevia Rufo,
  Si gaudet, si flet, si tacet, hanc loquitur:
  Coenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit, una est
  Noevia; si non sit Noevia, mutus erit.
  Scriberet hesterna patri cum luce salutem,
  Noevia lux, inquit, Noevia numen, ave._
    Epig. lxix. 1. I.

  Let _Rufus_ weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk,
  Still he can nothing but of Noevia talk;
  Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute,
  Still he must speak of Noevia, or be mute.
  He writ to his father, ending with this line,
  I am, my lovely Noevia, ever thine.




No. 114. WEDNESDAY, JULY 11.

  _Paupertalis pudor & fuga._
    HOR. Ep. xviii. 1. I. v. 24.

  The dread of nothing more
  Than to be thought necessitous and poor.
    POOLY.


Oeconomy in our affairs has the same effect upon our fortunes which
good-breeding has upon our conversations. There is a pretending
behaviour in both cases, which, instead of making men esteemed renders
them both miserable and contemptible. We had yesterday at Sir ROGER'S a
set of country gentlemen who dined with him; and after dinner the glass
was taken, by those who pleased, pretty plentifully. Among others I
observed a person of a tolerable good aspect, who seemed to be more
greedy of liquor than any of the company, and yet, methought, he did not
taste it with delight As he grew warm, he was suspicious of every thing
that was said; and as he advanced towards being fuddled, his humour grew
worse. At the same time his bitterness seemed to be rather an inward
dissatisfaction in his own mind, than any dislike he had taken to the
company. Upon hearing his name, I knew him to be a gentleman of a
considerable fortune in this county, but greatly in debt. What gives the
unhappy man this peevishness of spirit is, that his estate is dipped,
and is eating out with usury; and yet he has not the heart to sell any
part of it. His proud stomach, at the cost of restless nights, constant
inquietudes, danger of affronts, and a thousand nameless inconveniences,
preserves this canker in his fortune, rather than it shall be said he is
a man of fewer hundreds a year than he has been commonly reputed. Thus,
he endures the torment of poverty, to avoid the name of being less rich.
If you go to his house you see great plenty; but served in a manner that
shews it is all unnatural, and that the master's mind is not at home.
There is a certain waste and carelessness in the air of every thing, and
the whole appears but a covered indigence, a magnificent poverty. That
neatness and chearfulness, which attends the table of him who lives
within compass, is wanting, and exchanged for a libertine way of service
in all about him.

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

_Laertes_ has fifteen hundred pounds a year; which is mortgaged for
six thousand pounds; but it is impossible to convince him that if he
sold as much as would pay off that debt, he would save four shillings in
the pound, which he gives for the vanity of being the reputed master of
it. Yet if _Laertes_ did this, he would, perhaps, be easier in his
own fortune; but then _Irus_, a fellow of yesterday, who has but
twelve hundred a year, would be his equal. Rather than this shall be,
_Laertes_ goes on to bring wellborn beggars into the world, and
every twelvemonth charges his estate with at least one year's rent more
by the birth of a child.

_Laertes_ and _Irus_ are neighbours, whose way of living are
an abomination to each other. _Irus_ is moved by the fear of
poverty, and _Laertes_ by the shame of it. Though the motive of
action is of so near affinity in both, and may be resolved into this,
'That to each of them poverty is the greatest of all evils,' yet are
their manners very widely different. Shame of poverty makes
_Laertes_ launch into unnecessary equipage, vain expence, and
lavish entertainments; fear of poverty makes _Irus_ allow himself
only plain necessaries, appear without a servant, sell his own corn,
attend his labourers, and be himself a labourer. Shame of poverty makes
_Laertes_ go every day a step nearer to it; and fear of poverty
stirs up _Irus_ to make every day some further progress from it.

These different motives produce the excesses which men are guilty of in
the negligence of and provision for themselves. Usury, stock-jobbing,
extortion, and oppression, have their seed in the dread of want; and
vanity, riot and prodigality, from the shame of it: But both these
excesses are infinitely below the pursuit of a reasonable creature.
After we have taken care to command so much as is necessary for
maintaining ourselves in the order of men suitable to our character, the
care of superfluities is a vice no less extravagant, than the neglect of
necessaries would have been before.

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

It would methinks be no ill maxim of life, if according to that ancestor
of Sir ROGER, whom I lately mentioned, every man would point to himself
what sum he would resolve not to exceed. He might by this means cheat
himself into a tranquillity on this side of that expectation, or convert
what he should get above it to nobler uses than his own pleasures or
necessities. This temper of mind would exempt a man from an ignorant
envy of restless men above him, and a more inexcusable contempt of happy
men below him. This would be sailing by some compass, living with some
design; but to be eternally bewildered in prospects of future gain, and
putting on unnecessary armour against improbable blows of fortune, is a
mechanick being which has not good sense for its direction, but is
carried on by a sort of acquired instinct towards things below our
consideration and unworthy our esteem. It is possible that the
tranquillity I now enjoy at Sir ROGER'S may have created in me this way
of thinking, which is so abstracted from the common relish of the world:
But as I am now in a pleasing arbour surrounded with a beautiful
landscape, I find no inclination so strong as to continue in these
mansions, so remote from the ostentatious scenes of life; and am at this
present writing philosopher enough to conclude with Mr. Cowley:

  If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat,
  With any wish so mean as to be great;
  Continue heav'n, still from me to remove
  The humble blessings of that life I love.




No. 115. THURSDAY, JULY 12.

  _Ut sit mens sana in corpore sano._
    Juv. Sat. x. v. 356.

  A healthy body and a mind at ease.


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

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

This general idea of a human body, without considering it in its
niceties of anatomy, lets us see how absolutely necessary labour is for
the right preservation of it. There must be frequent motions and
agitations, to mix, digest, and separate the juices contained in it, as
well as to clear and cleanse that infinitude of pipes and strainers of
which it is composed, and to give their solid parts a more firm and
lasting tone. Labour or exercise ferments the humours, casts them into
their proper channels, throws off redundancies, and helps nature in
those secret distributions, without which the body cannot subsist in its
vigour, nor the soul act with cheerfulness.

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

Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our well-being, nature
would not have made the body so proper for it, by giving such an
activity to the limbs, and such a pliancy to every part as necessarily
produce these compressions, extensions, contortions, dilatations, and
all other kinds of motions that are necessary for the preservation of
such a system of tubes and glands as has been before mentioned. And that
we might not want inducements to engage us in such an exercise of the
body as is proper for its welfare, it is so ordered that nothing
valuable can be procured without it. Not to mention riches and honour,
even food and raiment are not to be come at without the toil of the
hands and sweat of the brows. Providence furnishes materials, but
expects that we should work them up ourselves. The earth must be
laboured before it gives its increase, and when it is forced into its
several products, how many hands must they pass through before they are
fit for use? Manufactures, trade, and agriculture, naturally employ more
than nineteen parts of the species in twenty; and as for those who are
not obliged to labour, by the condition in which they are born, they are
more miserable than the rest of mankind, unless they indulge themselves
in that voluntary labour which goes by the name of exercise.

My friend Sir ROGER has been an indefatigable man in business of this
kind, and has hung several parts of his house with the trophies of his
former labours. The walls of his great hall are covered with the horns
of several kinds of deer that he has killed in the chace, which he
thinks the most valuable furniture of his house, as they afford him
frequent topics of discourse, and shew that he has not been idle. At the
lower end of the hall is a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which
his mother ordered to be hung up in that manner, and the Knight looks
upon it with great satisfaction, because it seems he was but nine years
old when his dog killed him. A little room adjoining to the hall is a
kind of arsenal filled with guns of several sizes and inventions, with
which the Knight has made great havock in the woods, and destroyed many
thousands of pheasants, partridges and woodcocks. His stable-doors are
patched with noses that belonged to foxes of the Knight's own hunting
down. Sir ROGER shewed me one of them, that for distinction sake has a
brass nail struck through it, which cost him about fifteen hours riding,
carried him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace of
geldings, and lost above half his dogs. This the knight looks upon as
one of the greatest exploits of his life. The perverse widow, whom I
have given some account of, was the death of several foxes; for Sir
ROGER has told me that in the course of his amours he patched the
western door of his stable. Whenever the widow was cruel, the foxes were
sure to pay for it. In proportion as his passion for the widow abated
and old age came on, he left off fox-hunting; but a hare is not yet safe
that sits within ten miles of his house.

There is no kind of exercise which I would so recommend to my readers of
both sexes as this of riding, as there is none which so much conduces to
health, and is every way accommodated to the body, according to the Idea
which I have given of it. Doctor _Sydenham_ is very lavish in its
praises; and if the _English_ reader will see the mechanical
effects of it described at length, he may find them in a book published
not many years since, under the title of _Medicina Gymnastica._ For
my own part, when I am in town, for want of these opportunities, I
exercise myself an hour every morning upon a dumb bell that is placed in
a corner of my room, and pleases me the more because it does every thing
I require of it in the most profound silence. My landlady and her
daughters are so well acquainted with my hours of exercise, that they
never come into my room to disturb me whilst I am ringing.

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

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




No. 116. FRIDAY, JULY 13.

  _Vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron,
  Taygetique canes._
    Virg. Georg. iii. v. 43.

  The echoing hills and chiding hounds invite.


Those who have searched into human nature observe that nothing so much
shews the nobleness of the soul as that its felicity consists in action.
Every man has such an active principle in him, that he will find out
something to employ himself upon, in whatever place or state of life he
is posted. I have heard of a gentleman who was under close confinement
in the _Bastile_ seven years; during which time he amused himself
in scattering a few small pins about his chamber, gathering them up
again, and placing them in different figures on the arm of a great
chair. He often told his friends afterwards, that unless he had found
out this piece of exercise, he verily believed he should have lost his
senses.

After what has been said, I need not inform my readers that Sir ROGER,
with whose character I hope they are at present pretty well acquainted,
has in his youth gone through the whole course of those rural diversions
which the country abounds in; and which seem to be extremely well suited
to that laborious industry a man may observe here in a far greater
degree than in towns and cities. I have before hinted at some of my
friend's exploits: He has in his youthful days taken forty coveys of
partridges in a season; and tired many a salmon with a line consisting
but of a single hair. The constant thanks and good wishes of the
neighbourhood always attended him, on account of his remarkable enmity
towards foxes; having destroyed more of those vermin in one year, than
it was thought the whole country could have produced. Indeed the knight
does not scruple to own among his most intimate friends, that in order
to establish his reputation this way, he has secretly sent for great
numbers of them out of other counties, which he used to turn loose about
the country by night, that he might the better signalize himself in
their destruction the next day. His hunting-horses were the finest and
best managed in all these parts: His tenants are still full of the
praises of a grey stone-horse that unhappily staked himself several
years since, and was buried with great solemnity in the orchard.

Sir ROGER, being at present too old for fox-hunting, to keep himself in
action, has disposed of his beagles and got a pack of _Stop-
hounds._ What these want in speed, he endeavours to make amends for
by the deepness of their mouths and the variety of their notes, which
are suited in such manner to each other, that the whole cry makes up a
complete concert. He is so nice in this particular, that a gentleman
having made him a present of a very fine hound the other day, the knight
returned it by the servant with a great many expressions of civility;
but desired him to tell his master, that the dog he had sent was indeed
a most excellent _Bass_, but that at present he only wanted a
_Counter-Tenor_. Could I believe my friend had ever read
_Shakespeare,_ I should certainly conclude he had taken the hint
from _Theseus_ in _the Midsummer Night's Dream_.

  _My hounds are bred out of the_ Spartan _kind,
  So flu'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung
  With ears that sweep away the morning dew.
  Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like_ Thessalian _bulls,
  Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouths like bells,
  Each under each: A cry more tuneable
  Was never halloo'd to, nor cheer'd with horn._

Sir ROGER is so keen at this sport, that he has been out almost every
day since I came down; and upon the chaplain's offering to lend me his
easy pad, I was prevailed on yesterday morning to make one of the
company. I was extremely pleased, as we rid along, to observe the
general benevolence of all the neighbourhood towards my friend. The
farmer's sons thought themselves happy if they could open a gate for the
good old Knight as he passed by; which he generally requited with a nod
or a smile, and a kind inquiry after their fathers and uncles.

After we had rid about a mile from home, we came upon a large heath, and
the sportsmen began to beat. They had done so for some time, when, as I
was at a little distance from the rest of the company, I saw a hare pop
out from a small furze-brake almost under my horse's feet. I marked the
way she took, which I endeavoured to make the company sensible of by
extending my arm; but to no purpose, until Sir ROGER, who knows that
none of my extraordinary motions are insignificant, rode up to me, and
asked me _if puss was gone that way?_ Upon my answering _Yes,_
he immediately called in the dogs, and put them upon the scent. As they
were going off, I heard one of the country-fellows muttering to his
companion, _That it was a wonder they had not lost all their sport,
for want of the silent gentleman's crying Stole away_.

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

The hare now, after having squatted two or three times, and been put up
again as often, came still nearer to the place where she was at first
started. The dogs pursued her, and these were followed by the jolly
Knight, who rode upon a white gelding, encompassed by his tenants and
servants, and cheering his hounds with all the gaiety of five and
twenty. One of the sportsmen rode up to me, and told me that he was sure
the chace was almost at an end, because the old dogs, which had hitherto
lain behind, now headed the pack. The fellow was in the right. Our hare
took a large field just under us, followed by the full cry _in
view_. I must confess the brightness of the weather, the cheerfulness
of every thing around me, the _chiding_ of the hounds, which was
returned upon us in a double echo from two neighbouring hills, with the
hallooing of the sportsmen and the sounding of the horn, lifted my
spirits into a most lively pleasure, which I freely indulged because I
knew it was _innocent_. If I was under any concern, it was on the
account of the poor hare, that was now quite spent and almost within the
reach of her enemies; when the huntsman, getting forward, threw down his
pole before the dogs. They were now within eight yards of that game
which they had been pursuing for almost as many hours; yet on the signal
before-mentioned they all made a sudden stand, and though they continued
opening as much as before, durst not once attempt to pass beyond the
pole. At the same time Sir ROGER rode forward, and alighting, took up
the hare in his arms; which he soon delivered to one of his servants,
with an order, if she could be kept alive, to let her go in his great
orchard; where it seems he has several of these prisoners of war, who
live together in a very comfortable captivity. I was highly pleased to
see the discipline of the pack, and the good nature of the Knight, who
could not find in his heart to murder a creature that had given him so
much diversion.

As we were returning home, I remembered that Monsieur _Paschal_ in
his most excellent discourse on _the misery of man_, tells us, that
_all our endeavours after greatness proceed from nothing but a desire
of being surrounded by a multitude of persons and affairs that may
hinder us from looking into ourselves, which is a view we cannot
bear_. He afterwards goes on to show that our love of sports comes
from the same reason, and is particularly severe upon hunting.
_What_, says he, _unless it be to drown thought, can make men
throw away so much time and pains upon a silly animal, which they might
buy cheaper in the market?_ The foregoing reflection is certainly
just, when a man suffers his whole mind to be drawn into his sports, and
altogether loses himself in the woods; but does not affect those who
propose a far more laudable end for this exercise; I mean, _The
preservation of health, and keeping all the organs of the soul in a
condition to execute her orders._ Had that incomparable person, whom
I last quoted, been a little more indulgent to himself in this point,
the world might probably have enjoyed him much longer: Whereas, through
too great an application to his studies in his youth, he contracted that
ill habit of body, which, after a tedious sickness, carried him off in
the fortieth year of his age; and the whole history we have of his life
till that time, is but one continued account of the behaviour of a noble
soul struggling under innumerable pains and distempers.

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

I cannot do this better, than in the following lines out of Mr.
_Dryden_.

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




No. 117. SATURDAY, JULY 14.

  _Ipsi sibi somnia fingunt._
    VIRG. Ecl. viii. ver. 108.

  Their own imaginations they deceive.


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

It is with this temper of mind that I consider the subject of
witchcraft. When I hear the relations that are made from all parts of
the world, not only from _Norway_ and _Lapland_, from the
_East_ and _West Indies_, but from every particular nation in
_Europe_, I cannot forbear thinking that there is such an
intercourse and commerce with evil spirits, as that which we express by
the name of witchcraft. But when I consider that the ignorant and
credulous parts of the world abound most in these relations, and that
the persons among us, who are supposed to engage in such an infernal
commerce, are people of a weak understanding and crazed imagination, and
at the same time reflect upon the many impostures and delusions of this
nature that have been detected in all ages, I endeavour to suspend my
belief till I hear more certain accounts than any which have yet come to
my knowledge. In short, when I consider the question whether there are
such persons in the world as those we call witches, my mind is divided
between the two opposite opinions; or rather, (to speak my thoughts
freely) I believe in general that there is, and has been such a thing as
witchcraft; but, at the same time, can give no credit to any particular
instance of it.

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

  _In a close lane as I pursu'd my journey,
  I spy'd a wrinkled_ Hag, _with age grown double,
  Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself.
  Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd and red;
  Cold palsy shook her head; her hands seem'd withered;
  And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped
  The tatter'd remnants of an old strip'd hanging,
  Which serv'd to keep her carcase from the cold:
  So there was nothing of a piece about her.
  Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsly patch'd
  With different-coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow,
  And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness._

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

This account raised my curiosity so far, that I begged my friend Sir
ROGER to go with me into her hovel, which stood in a solitary corner
under the side of the wood. Upon our first entering Sir ROGER winked to
me, and pointed at something that stood behind the door, which, upon
looking that way I found to be an old broomstaff. At the same time he
whispered me in the ear to take notice of a tabby cat that sat in the
chimney-corner, which, as the old Knight told me, lay under as bad a
report as _Moll White_ herself; for, besides that _Moll_ is
said often to accompany her in the same shape, the cat is reported to
have spoken twice or thrice in her life, and to have played several
pranks above the capacity of an 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 neighbour's cattle. We concluded our visit with a
bounty, which was very acceptable.

In our return home Sir ROGER told me, that old _Moll_ had been
often brought before him for making children spit pins, and giving maids
the nightmare; 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
scarce a village in _England_ that has not a _Moll White_ in
it. When an old woman begins to dote, and grow chargeable to a parish,
she is generally turned into a witch, and fills the whole country with
extravagant fancies, imaginary distempers, and terrifying dreams. In the
mean time, the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many
evils begins to be frighted at herself, and sometimes confesses secret
commerce and familiarities that her imagination forms in a delirious old
age. This frequently cuts off charity from the greatest objects of
compassion, and inspires people with a malevolence towards those poor
decrepid parts of our species, in whom human nature is defaced by
infirmity and dotage. L.




No. 118. MONDAY, JULY 16.

  _Haeret lateri lethalis arundo._
    VIRG. AEn. iv. ver. 73.

  The fatal dart
  Sticks in his side, and rankles in his heart.
    DRYDEN


This agreeable seat is surrounded with so many pleasing walks, which are
struck out of a wood, in the midst of which the house stands, that one
can hardly ever be weary of rambling from one labyrinth of delight to
another. To one used to live in a city the charms of the country are so
exquisite, that the mind is lost in a certain transport which raises us
above ordinary life, and is yet not strong enough to be inconsistent
with tranquillity. This state of mind was I in, ravished with the murmur
of waters, the whisper of breezes, the singing of birds; and whether I
looked up to the heavens, down to the earth, or turned on the prospects
around me, still struck with new sense of pleasure; when I found by the
voice of my friend, who walked by me, that we had insensibly strolled
into the grove sacred to the widow. 'This woman', says he, 'is of all
others the most unintelligible; she either designs to marry, or she does
not. What is the most perplexing of all, is, that she doth not either
say to her lovers she has any resolution against that condition of life
in general, or that she banishes them; but, conscious of her own merit,
she permits their addresses, without fear of any ill consequence, or
want of respect, from their rage or despair. She has that in her aspect,
against which it is impossible to offend. A man whose thoughts are
constantly bent upon so agreeable an object, must be excused if the
ordinary occurrences in conversation are below his attention. I call her
indeed perverse; but, alas! why do I call her so? Because her superior
merit is such, that I cannot approach her without awe, that my heart is
checked by too much esteem: I am angry that her charms are not more
acceptable, that I am more inclined to worship than salute her: How
often have I wished her unhappy, that I might have an opportunity of
serving her? and how often troubled in that very imagination, at giving
her the pain of being obliged? Well, I have led a miserable life in
secret upon her account; but fancy she would have condescended to have
some regard for me, if it had not been for that watchful animal her
confident.

'Of all persons under the sun' (continued he, calling me by my name)' be
sure to set a mark upon confidents: They are of all people the most
impertinent. What is most pleasant to observe in them, is, that they
assume to themselves the merit of the persons whom they have in their
custody. _Orestilla_ is a great fortune, and in wonderful danger of
surprises, therefore full of suspicions of the least indifferent thing,
particularly careful of new acquaintance, and of growing too familiar
with the old. _Themista_, her favourite woman, is every whit as
careful of whom she speaks to, and what she says. Let the ward be a
beauty, her confident shall treat you with an air of distance; let her
be a fortune, and she assumes the suspicious behaviour of her friend and
patroness. Thus it is that very many of our unmarried women of
distinction, are to all intents and purposes married, except the
consideration of different sexes. They are directly under the conduct of
their whisperer; and think they are in a state of freedom, while they
can prate with one of these attendants of all men in general, and still
avoid the man they most like. You do not see one heiress in a hundred
whose fate does not turn upon this circumstance of chusing a confident.
Thus it is that the lady is addressed to, presented and flattered, only
by proxy, in her woman. In my case, how is it possible that--' Sir
ROGER was proceeding in his harangue, when we heard the voice of one
speaking very importunately, and repeating these words, 'What, not one
smile?' We followed the sound till we came to a close thicket, on the
other side of which we saw a young woman sitting as it were in a
personated sullenness, just over a transparent fountain. Opposite to her
stood Mr. _William_, Sir ROGER's master of the game. The Knight
whispered me, 'Hist! these are lovers.' The huntsman looking earnestly
at the shadow of the young maiden in the stream, 'Oh thou dear picture,
if thou couldst remain there in the absence of that fair creature whom
you represent in the water, how willingly could I stand here satisfied
for ever, without troubling my dear _Betty_ herself with any
mention of her unfortunate _William_, whom she is angry with: But
alas! when she pleases to be gone, thou wilt also vanish--yet let me
talk to thee while thou dost stay. Tell my dearest _Betty_ thou
dost not more depend upon her, than does her _William_: Her absence
will make away with me as well as thee. If she offers to remove thee, I
will jump into these waves to lay hold on thee; herself, her own dear
person, I must never embrace again.--Still do you hear me without one
smile--It is too much to bear--' He had no sooner spoke these words, but
he made an offer of throwing himself into the water: At which his
mistress started up, and at the next instant he jumped across the
fountain and met her in an embrace. She, half recovering from her
fright, said, in the most charming voice imaginable, and with a tone of
complaint, 'I thought how well you would drown yourself. No, no, you
won't drown yourself till you have taken your leave of _Susan
Holiday_.' The huntsman, with a tenderness that spoke the most
passionate love, and with his cheek close to hers, whispered the softest
vows of fidelity in her ear, and cried, 'Don't, my dear, believe a word
_Kate Willow_ says; she is spiteful, and makes stories because she
loves to hear me talk to herself for your sake.' 'Look you there,' quoth
Sir ROGER, 'do you see there, all mischief comes from confidents! But
let us not interrupt them; the maid is honest, and the man dares not be
otherwise, for he knows I loved her father: I will interpose in this
matter, and hasten the wedding. _Kate Willow_ is a witty
mischievous wench in the neighbourhood, who was a beauty, and makes me
hope I shall see the perverse widow in her condition. She was so
flippant with her answers to all the honest fellows that came near her,
and so very vain of her beauty, that she has valued herself upon her
charms till they are ceased. She therefore now makes it her business to
prevent other young women from being more discreet than she was herself:
However, the saucy thing said the other day well enough,

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

'However, when I reflect upon this woman, I do not know whether in the
main I am the worse for having loved her: Whenever she is recalled to my
imagination my youth returns, and I feel a forgotten warmth in my veins.
This affliction in my life has streaked all my conduct with a softness,
of which I should otherwise have been incapable. It is, perhaps, to this
dear image in my heart owing that I am apt to relent, that I easily
forgive, and that many desirable things are grown into my temper, which
I should not have arrived at by better motives than the thought of being
one day hers. I am pretty well satisfied such a passion as I have had is
never well cured; and, between you and me, I am often apt to imagine it
has had some whimsical effect upon my brain: For I frequently find, that
in my most serious discourse I let fall some comical familiarity of
speech, or odd phrase, that makes the company laugh; however, I cannot
but allow she is a most excellent woman. When she is in the country I
warrant she does not run into dairies, but reads upon the nature of
plants; but has a glass-hive, and comes into the garden out of books to
see them work, and observe the policies of their commonwealth. She
understands every thing. I would give ten pounds to hear her argue with
my friend Sir ANDREW FREEPORT about trade. No, no, for all she looks so
innocent as it were, take my word for it she is no fool.' T.




No. 119. TUESDAY, JULY 17.

  _Urbem, quam dicunt Romam, Melibaee, putavi
  Stultus ego huic nostrae similem._
    VIRG. Ecl. i. v. 20.

  Fool that I was, I thought imperial _Rome_
  Like _Mantua_.
    DRYDEN.


The first and most obvious reflexions which arise in a man who changes
the city for the country, are upon the different manners of the people
whom he meets with in those two different scenes of life. By manners I
do not mean morals, but behaviour and good-breeding, as they shew
themselves in the town and in the country.

And here, in the first place, I must observe a very great revolution
that has happened in this article of good-breeding. Several obliging
deferences, condescensions and submissions, with many outward forms and
ceremonies that accompany them, were first of all brought up among the
politer part of mankind, who lived in courts and cities, and
distinguished themselves from the rustick part of the species (who on
all occasions acted bluntly and naturally) by such a mutual complaisance
and intercourse of civilities. These forms of conversation by degrees
multiplied and grew troublesome; the modish world found too great a
constraint in them, and have therefore thrown most of them aside.
Conversation, like the _Romish_ religion, was so incumbered with
show and ceremony, that it stood in need of a reformation to retrench
its superfluities, and restore it to its natural good sense and beauty.
At present therefore an unconstrained carriage, and a certain openness
of behaviour, are the height of good-breeding. The fashionable world is
grown free and easy; our manners sit more loose upon us: Nothing is so
modish as an agreeable negligence. In a word, good-breeding shews itself
most where to an ordinary eye it appears the least.

If after this we look on the people of mode in the country, we find in
them the manners of the last age. They have no sooner fetched themselves
up to the fashion of the polite world, but the town has dropped them,
and are nearer to the first state of nature than to those refinements
which formerly reigned in the court, and still prevail in the country.
One may now know a man that never conversed in the world, by his excess
of good-breeding.

A polite country 'Squire shall make you as many bows in half an hour, as
would serve a courtier for a week. There is infinitely more to do about
place and precedency in a meeting of justices' wives, than in an
assembly of duchesses.

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

There has happened another revolution in the point of good-breeding,
which relates to the conversation among men of mode, and which I cannot
but look upon as very extraordinary. It was certainly one of the first
distinctions of a well-bred man, to express every thing that had the
most remote appearance of being obscene, in modest terms and distant
phrases; whilst the clown, who had no such delicacy of conception and
expression, clothed his _ideas_ in those plain homely terms that
are the most obvious and natural. This kind of good-manners was perhaps
carried to an excess, so as to make conversation too stiff, formal, and
precise: For which reason (as hypocrisy in one age is generally
succeeded by atheism in another) conversation is in a great measure
relapsed into the first extreme; so that at present several of our men
of the town, and particularly those who have been polished in
_France_, make use of the most coarse uncivilized words in our
language, and utter themselves often in such a manner as a clown would
blush to hear.

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

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

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




NO. 120. WEDNESDAY, JULY 18.

  _Equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis
  Ingenium._
    VIRG. Georg. i. ver. 415.

  I think their breasts with heav'nly souls inspir'd.
    DRYDEN.


My friend Sir ROGER is very often merry with me upon my passing so much
of my time among his poultry. He has caught me twice or thrice looking
after a bird's nest, and several times sitting an hour or two together
near an hen and chickens. He tells me he believes I am personally
acquainted with every fowl about his house; calls such a particular cock
my favourite, and frequently complains that his ducks and geese have
more of my company than himself.

I must confess I am infinitely delighted with those speculations of
nature which are to be made in a country-life; and as my reading has
very much lain among books of natural history, I cannot forbear
recollecting upon this occasion the several remarks which I have met
with in authors, and comparing them with what falls under my own
observation: The argument for providence drawn from the natural history
of animals being in my opinion demonstrative.

The make of every kind of animal is different from that of every other
kind; and yet there is not the least turn in the muscles or twist in the
fibres of any one, which does not render them more proper for that
particular animal's way of life than any other cast or texture of them
would have been.

The most violent appetites in all creatures are _Lust_ and
_Hunger_: The first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate
their kind; the latter to preserve themselves.

It is astonishing to consider the different degrees of care that descend
from the parent to the young, so far as is absolutely necessary for the
leaving a posterity. Some creatures cast their eggs as chance directs
them, and think of them no farther, as insects and several kinds of
fish; others, of a nicer frame, find out proper beds to deposite them
in, and there leave them; as the serpent, the crocodile, and ostrich:
Others hatch their eggs, and tend the birth, till it is able to shift
for itself.

What can we call the principle which directs every different kind of
bird to observe a particular plan in the structure of its nest, and
direct all the same species to work after the same model? It cannot be
_Imitation_; for, though you hatch a crow under a hen, and never
let it see any of the works of its own kind, the nest it makes shall be
the same, to the laying of a stick, with all the other nests of the same
species. It cannot be _reason_; for, were animals indued with it to
as great a degree as man, their buildings would be as different as ours,
according to the different conveniencies that they would propose to
themselves.

Is it not remarkable, that the same temper of weather, which raises this
genial warmth in animals, should cover the trees with leaves, and the
fields with grass, for their security and concealment, and produce such
infinite swarms of insects for the support and sustenance of their
respective broods?

Is it not wonderful, that the love of the parent should be so violent
while it lasts, and that it should last no longer than is necessary for
the preservation of the young?

The violence of this natural love is exemplified by a very barbarous
experiment; which I shall quote at length, as I find it in an excellent
author, and hope my readers will pardon the mentioning such an instance
of cruelty, because there is nothing can so effectually show the
strength of that principle in animals of which I am here speaking. 'A
person who was well skilled in dissections opened a bitch, and as she
lay in the most exquisite tortures, offered her one of her young
puppies, which she immediately fell a licking; and for the time seemed
insensible of her own pain: On the removal, she kept her eye fixt on it,
and began a wailing sort of cry, which seemed rather to proceed from the
loss of her young one, than the sense of her own torments.'

But, notwithstanding this natural love in brutes is much more violent
and intense than in rational creatures, providence has taken care that
it should be no longer troublesome to the parent than it is useful to
the young; for so soon as the wants of the latter cease, the mother
withdraws her fondness, and leaves them to provide for themselves: And,
what is a very remarkable circumstance in this part of instinct, we find
that the love of the parent may be lengthened out beyond its usual time,
if the preservation of the species requires it; as we may see in birds
that drive away their young as soon as they are able to get their
livelihood, but continue to feed them if they are tied to the nest, or
confined within a cage, or by any other means appear to be out of a
condition of supplying their own necessities.

This natural love is not observed in animals to ascend from the young to
the parent, which is not at all necessary for the continuance of the
species; nor indeed in reasonable creatures does it rise in any
proportion, as it spreads itself downwards: For in all family affection,
we find protection granted and favours bestowed, are greater motives to
love and tenderness, than safety, benefits, or life received. One would
wonder to hear sceptical men disputing for the reason of animals, and
telling us it is only our pride and prejudices that will not allow them
the use of that faculty.

Reason shews itself in all occurrences of life; whereas the brute makes
no discovery of such a talent, but in what immediately regards his own
preservation, or the continuance of his species. Animals in their
generation are wiser than the sons of men; but their wisdom is confined
to a few particulars, and lies in a very narrow compass. Take a brute
out of his instinct, and you find him wholly deprived of understanding.
To use an instance that comes often under observation.

With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest in places
unfrequented, and free from noise and disturbance! When she has laid her
eggs in such a manner that she can cover them, what care does she take
in turning them frequently, that all parts may partake of the vital
warmth? When she leaves them, to provide for her necessary sustenance,
how punctually does she return before they have time to cool, and become
incapable of producing an animal? In the summer you see her giving
herself greater freedoms, and quitting her care for above two hours
together; but in winter, when the rigour of the season would chill the
principles of life, and destroy the young one, she grows more assiduous
in her attendance, and stays away but half the time. When the birth
approaches, with how much nicety and attention does she help the chick
to break its prison? Not to take notice of her covering it from the
injuries of the weather, providing it proper nourishment, and teaching
it to help itself; nor to mention her forsaking the nest, if after the
usual time of reckoning the young one does not make its appearance. A
chymical operation could not be followed with greater art or diligence,
than is seen in the hatching of a chick; though there are many other
birds that shew an infinitely greater sagacity in all the forementioned
particulars.

But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming ingenuity (which
is indeed absolutely necessary for the propagation of the species),
considered in other respects, is without the least glimmerings of
thought or common sense. She mistakes a piece of chalk for an egg, and
sits upon it in the same manner: She is insensible of any increase or
diminution in the number of those she lays: She does not distinguish
between her own and those of another species; and when the birth appears
of never so different a bird, will cherish it for her own. In all these
circumstances, which do not carry an immediate regard to the subsistence
of herself or her species, she is a very idiot.

There is not, in my opinion, any thing more mysterious in nature than
this instinct in animals, which thus rises above reason, and falls
infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted for by any properties in
matter, and at the same time works after so odd a manner, that one
cannot think it the faculty of an intellectual being. For my own part, I
look upon it as upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is
not to be explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies
themselves, nor from any laws of mechanism; but, according to the best
notions of the greatest philosophers, is an immediate impression from
the first mover, and the divine energy acting in the creatures. L.




NO. 121. THURSDAY, JULY 19.

  _Jovis omnia plena_.
    VIRG. Ecl. iii. v. 60.

  All is full of _Jove_.


As I was walking this morning in the great yard that belongs to my
friend's country house, I was wonderfully pleased to see the different
workings of instinct in a hen followed by a brood of ducks. The young,
upon the sight of a pond, immediately ran into it, while the step-
mother, with all imaginable anxiety, hovered about the borders of it, to
call them out of an element that appeared to her so dangerous and
destructive. As the different principle which acted in these different
animals cannot be termed reason, so when we call it _instinct_, we
mean something we have no knowledge of. To me, as I hinted in my last
paper, it seems the immediate direction of providence, and such an
operation of the Supreme Being, as that which determines all the
portions of matter to their proper centres. A modern philosopher, quoted
by Monsieur _Bayle_ in his learned dissertation on the souls of
brutes, delivers the same opinion, though in a bolder form of words,
where he says, _Deus est anima brutorum_, God himself is the soul
of brutes. Who can tell what to call that seeming sagacity in animals,
which directs them to such food as is proper for them, and makes them
naturally avoid whatever is noxious or unwholesome? _Tully_ has
observed, that a lamb no sooner falls from its mother, but immediately
and of his own accord applies itself to the teat. _Dampier_, in his
travels, tells us, that when seamen are thrown upon any unknown coasts
of America, they never venture upon the fruit of any tree, how tempting
soever it may appear, unless they observe that it is marked with the
pecking of birds; but fall on without any fear or apprehension where the
birds have been before them.

But notwithstanding animals have nothing like the use of reason, we find
in them all the lower parts of our nature, the passions and senses in
their greatest strength and perfection. And here it is worth our
observation, that all beasts and birds of prey are wonderfully subject
to anger, malice, revenge, and all the other violent passions that may
animate them in search of their proper food; as those that are incapable
of defending themselves, or annoying others, or whose safety lies
chiefly in their flight, are suspicious, fearful, and apprehensive of
every thing they see or hear; whilst others that are of assistance and
use to man, have their natures softened with something mild and
tractable, and by that means are qualified for a domestic life. In this
case the passions generally correspond with the make of the body. We do
not find the fury of the lion in so weak and defenceless an animal as a
lamb, nor the meekness of a lamb in a creature so armed for battle and
assault as the lion. In the same manner, we find that particular animals
have a more or less exquisite sharpness and sagacity in those particular
senses which most turn to their advantage, and in which their safety and
welfare is the most concerned.

Nor must we here omit that great variety of arms with which nature has
differently fortified the bodies of several kind of animals, such as
claws, hoofs, and horns, teeth, and tusks, a tail, a sting, a trunk, or
a _proboscis_. It is likewise observed by naturalists, that it must
be some hidden principle distinct from what we call reason, which
instructs animals in the use of these their arms, and teaches them to
manage them to the best advantage; because they naturally defend
themselves with that part in which their strength lies, before the
weapon be formed in it; as is remarkable in lambs, which though they are
bred within doors, and never saw the action of their own species, push
at those who approach them with their foreheads, before the first
budding of a horn appears.

I shall add to these general observations an instance, which Mr.
_Locke_ has given us of providence, even in the imperfections of a
creature which seems the meanest and most despicable in the whole animal
world. _We may_, says he, _from the make of an oyster, or cockle,
conclude, that it has not so many nor so quick senses as a man, or
several other animals: Nor if it had, would it, in that state and
incapacity of transferring itself from one place to another, be bettered
by them. What good would sight and hearing do to a creature that cannot
move itself to or from the object, wherein at a distance it perceives
good or evil? And would not quickness of sensation be an inconvenience
to an animal that must be still where chance has once placed it, and
there receive the afflux of colder or warmer, clean or foul water, as it
happens to come to it_.

I shall add to this instance out of Mr. _Locke_ another out of the
learned Dr. _More_, who cites it from _Cardan_, in relation to
another animal which providence has left defective, but at the same time
has shewn its wisdom in the formation of that organ in which it seems
chiefly to have failed. _What is more obvious and ordinary than a
mole? and yet what more palpable argument of providence than she? The
members of her body are so exactly fitted to her nature and manner of
life: For her dwelling being under ground where nothing is to be seen,
nature has so obscurely fitted her with eyes, that naturalists can
hardly agree whether she have any sight at all or no. But for amends,
what she is capable of for her defence and warning of danger, she has
very eminently conferred upon her; for she is exceedingly quick of
hearing. And then her short tail and short legs, but broad forefeet
armed with sharp claws, we see by the event to what purpose they are,
she so swiftly working herself under ground, and making her way so fast
in the earth as they that behold it cannot but admire it. Her legs
therefore are short, that she need dig no more than will serve the mere
thickness of her body; and her fore feet are broad that she may scoop
away much earth at a time; and little or no tail she has, because she
courses it not on the ground, like the rat and mouse, of whose kindred
she is, but lives under the earth, and is fain to dig herself a dwelling
there. And she making her way through so thick an element, which will
not yield easily, as the air or the water, it had been dangerous to have
drawn so long a train behind her; for her enemy might fall upon her
rear, and fetch her out, before she had completed or got full possession
of her works_.

I cannot forbear mentioning Mr. _Boyle's_ remark upon this last
creature, who I remember somewhere in his works observes, that though
the mole be not totally blind (as it is commonly thought) she has not
sight enough to distinguish particular objects. Her eye is said to have
but one humour in it, which is supposed to give her the idea of light,
but of nothing else, and is so formed that this idea is probably painful
to the animal. Whenever she comes up into broad day she might be in
danger of being taken, unless she were thus affected by a light striking
upon her eye, and immediately warning her to bury herself in her proper
element. More sight would be useless to her, as none at all might be
fatal.

I have only instanced such animals as seem the most imperfect works of
nature; and if providence shews itself even in the blemishes of these
creatures, how much more does it discover itself in the several
endowments which it has variously bestowed upon such creatures as are
more or less finished and compleated in their several faculties,
according to the condition of life in which they are posted.

I could wish our Royal Society would compile a body of Natural History,
the best that could be gathered together from books and observations. If
the several writers among them took each his particular species, and
gave us a distinct account of its original, birth and education, its
policies; hostilities and alliances, with the frame, and texture of its
inward and outward parts, and particularly those that distinguish it
from all other animals, with their peculiar aptitudes for the state of
being in which providence has placed them, it would be one of the best
services their studies could do mankind, and not a little redound to the
glory of the All-wise Contriver.

It is true, such a Natural History, after all the disquisitions of the
learned, would be infinitely short and defective. Seas and deserts hide
millions of animals from our observation. Innumerable artifices and
stratagems are acted in the _Howling Wilderness_ and in the
_Great Deep_, that can never come to our knowledge. Besides that
there are infinitely more species of creatures which are not to be seen
without, nor indeed with the help of the finest glasses, than of such as
are bulky enough for the naked eye to take hold of. However, from the
consideration of such animals as lie within the compass of our
knowledge, we might easily form a conclusion of the rest, that the same
variety of wisdom and goodness runs through the whole creation, and puts
every creature in a condition to provide for its safety and subsistence
in its proper station.

_Tully_ has given us an admirable sketch of natural history, in his
second book concerning the nature of the Gods; and that in a style so
raised by metaphors and descriptions, that it lifts the subject above
rallery and ridicule, which frequently fall on such nice observations
when they pass through the hands of an ordinary writer. L.




No. 122. FRIDAY, JULY 20.

  _Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est._
    PUBL. SYR. Frag.

  An agreeable companion upon the road is as good as
  a coach.


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
publick: A man is more sure of his conduct, when the verdict he passes
upon his own behaviour is thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion of
all that know him.

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

The first of them, says he, that has a spaniel by his side, is a yeoman
of about an hundred pounds a year, an honest man: He is just within the
game-act, and qualified to kill an hare or a pheasant: He knocks down a
dinner with his gun twice or thrice a-week; and by that means lives much
cheaper than those who have not so good an estate as himself. He would
be a good neighbour 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
famous for _taking the law_ of every body. There is not one in the
town where he lives that he has not sued at the quarter-sessions. The
rogue had once the impudence to go to law with the _widow_. His
head is full of costs, damages, and ejectments: He plagued a couple of
honest gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges,
till he was forced to sell the ground it inclosed 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 he is not now worth thirty.
I suppose he is going upon the old business of the willow-tree.

As Sir ROGER was giving me this account of _Tom Touchy_, _Will
Wimble_ and his two companions stopped short till we came up to them.
After having paid their respects to Sir ROGER, _Will_ told him that
_Mr. Touchy_ and he must appeal to him upon a dispute that arose
between them. _Will_ it seems had been giving his fellow-traveller
an account of his angling one day in such a hole; when _Tom
Touchy_, instead of hearing out his story, told him that Mr. Such-a-
one, if he pleased, might _take the law of him_ for fishing in that
part of the river. My friend Sir ROGER heard them both, upon a round
trot; and after having paused some time told them, with the air of a man
who would not give his judgment rashly, that _much might be said on
both sides_. They were neither of them dissatisfied with the Knight's
determination, because neither of them found himself in the wrong by it:
Upon which we made the best of our way to the assizes.

The court was sat 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 county
took occasion to whisper in the judge's ear, _That he was glad his
Lordship had met with so much good weather in his circuit_. I was
listening to the proceeding of the court with much attention, and
infinitely pleased with that great appearance and solemnity which so
properly accompanies such a publick 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 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 shews how desirous all who know Sir ROGER
are of giving him marks of their esteem. When we were arrived upon the
verge of his estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and
our horses. The man of the house had it seems been formerly a servant in
the Knight's family; and to do honour to his old master, had some time
since, unknown to Sir ROGER, put him up in a sign-post before the door;
so that _the Knight's head_ had hung out upon the road about a week
before he himself knew any thing of the matter. As soon as Sir ROGER was
acquainted with it, finding that his servant's indiscretion proceeded
wholly from affection and good-will, he only told him that he had made
him too high a compliment; and when the fellow seemed to think that
could hardly be, added with a more decisive look, That it was too great
an honour for any man under a duke; but told him at the same time, that
it might be altered with a very few touches, and that he himself 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 honour's head was
brought back last night with the alterations that he had ordered to be
made in it. Upon this my friend, with his usual cheerfulness, related
the particulars above-mentioned, and ordered the head to be brought into
the room. I 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 people to know him in that disguise. I at first
kept my usual silence; but upon the Knight's conjuring me to tell him
whether it was not still more like himself than a _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 behaviour in them, gave me
as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any of my travels.




No. 123, SATURDAY, JULY 21.

  _Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam,
  Rectique cultus pectora roborant:
  Utcunque defecere mores,
  Dedecorant bene nata culpae._
    HOR. Od. iv. 1. 4. ver. 33.

  Yet the best blood by learning is refin'd,
  And virtue arms the solid mind;
  Whilst vice will stain the noblest race,
  And the paternal stamp efface.
    ANON.


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

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

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

_Eudoxus_ and _Leontine_ began the world with small estates.
They were both of them men of good sense and great virtue. They
prosecuted their studies together in their earliest years, and entered
into such a friendship as lasted to the end of their lives.
_Eudoxus_, at his first setting out in the world, threw himself
into a court, where, by his natural endowments and his acquired
abilities, he made his way from one post to another, till at length he
had raised a very considerable fortune. _Leontine_ on the contrary
sought all opportunities of improving his mind by study, conversation,
and travel. He was not only acquainted with all the sciences, but with
the most eminent professors of them throughout _Europe_. He knew
perfectly well the interests of its princes, with the customs and
fashions of their courts, and could scarce meet with the name of an
extraordinary person in the _Gazette_ whom he had not either talked
to or seen. In short, he had so well mixed and digested his knowledge of
men and books, that he made one of the most accomplished persons of his
age. During the whole course of his studies and travels, he kept up a
punctual correspondence with _Eudoxus_, who often made himself
acceptable to the principal men about court, by the intelligence which
he received from _Leontine_. When they were both turned of forty
(an age in which, according to Mr. _Cowley, there is no dallying with
life_) they determined, pursuant to the resolution they had taken in
the beginning of their lives, to retire, and pass the remainder of their
days in the country. In order to this, they both of them married much
about the same time. _Leontine_, with his own and his wife's
fortune, bought a farm of three hundred a-year, which lay within the
neighbourhood of his friend _Eudoxus_, who had purchased an estate
of as many thousands; they were both of them fathers about the same
time, _Eudoxus_ having a son born to him, and _Leontine_ a
daughter; but to the unspeakable grief of the latter, his young wife (in
whom all his happiness was wrapt up) died in a few days after the birth
of her daughter. His affliction would have been insupportable, had he
not been comforted by the daily visits and conversations of his friend.
As they were one day talking together with their usual intimacy,
_Leontine_, considering how incapable he was of giving his daughter
a proper education in his own house, and _Eudoxus_ reflecting on
the ordinary behaviour of a son who knows himself to be the heir of a
great estate, they both agreed upon an exchange of children, namely,
that the boy should be bred up with _Leontine_ as his son, and that
the girl should live with _Eudoxus_ as his daughter, till they were
each of them arrived at years of discretion. The wife of _Eudoxus_,
knowing that her son could not be so advantageously brought up as under
the care of _Leontine_, and considering at the same time that he
would be perpetually under her own eye, was by degrees prevailed upon to
fall in with the project. She therefore took _Leonilla_, for that
was the name of the girl, and educated her as her own daughter. The two
friends on each side had wrought themselves to such an habitual
tenderness for the children who were under their direction, that each of
them had the real passion of a father, where the title was but
imaginary. _Florio_, the name of the young heir that lived with
_Leontine_, though he had all the duty and affection imaginable for
his supposed parent, was taught to rejoice at the sight of
_Eudoxus_, who visited his friend very frequently, and was dictated
by his natural affection, as well as by the rules of prudence, to make
himself esteemed and beloved by _Florio_. The boy was now old
enough to know his supposed father's circumstances, and that therefore
he was to make his way in the world by his own industry. This
consideration grew stronger in him every day, and produced so good an
effect, that he applied himself with more than ordinary attention to the
pursuit of every thing which _Leontine_ recommended to him. His
natural abilities, which were very good, assisted by the directions of
so excellent a counsellor, enabled him to make a quicker progress than
ordinary through all the parts of his education. Before he was twenty
years of age, having finished his studies and exercises with great
applause, he was removed from the University to the Inns of Court, where
there are very few that make themselves considerable proficients in the
studies of the place, who know they shall arrive at great estates
without them. This was not _Florio's_ case; he found that three
hundred a-year was but a poor estate for _Leontine_ and himself to
live upon, so that he studied without intermission till he gained a very
good insight into the constitution and laws of his country.

I should have told my reader, that whilst _Florio_ lived at the
house of his foster-father, he was always an acceptable guest in the
family of _Eudoxus_, where he became acquainted with
_Leonilla_ from her infancy. His acquaintance with her by degrees
grew into love, which, in a mind trained up in all the sentiments of
honour and virtue, became a very uneasy passion. He despaired of gaining
an heiress of so great a fortune, and would rather have died than
attempted it by any indirect methods. _Leonilla_, who was a woman
of the greatest beauty joined with the greatest modesty, entertained at
the same time a secret passion for _Florio_, but conducted herself
with so much prudence that she never gave him the least intimation of
it. _Florio_ was now engaged in all those arts and improvements
that are proper to raise a man's private fortune, and give him a figure
in his country, but secretly tormented with that passion which burns
with the greatest fury in a virtuous and noble heart, when he received a
sudden summons from _Leontine_ to repair to him in the country the
next day. For it seems _Eudoxus_ was so filled with the report of
his son's reputation, that he could no longer with-hold making himself
known to him. The morning after his arrival at the house of his supposed
father, _Leontine_ told him that _Eudoxus_ had something of
great importance to communicate to him; upon which the good man embraced
him, and wept. _Florio_ was no sooner arrived at the great house
that stood in his neighbourhood, but _Eudoxus_ took him by the
hand, after the first salutes were over, and conducted him into his
closet. He there opened to him the whole secret of his parentage and
education, concluding after this manner: _I have no other way left of
acknowledging my gratitude to_ Leontine, _than by marrying you to
his daughter. He shall not lose the pleasure of being your father by the
discovery I have made to you._ Leonilla _too shall still be my
daughter; her filial piety, though misplaced, has been so exemplary,
that it deserves the greatest reward I can confer upon it. You shall
have the pleasure of seeing a great estate fall to you, which you would
have lost the relish of had you known yourself born to it. Continue only
to deserve it in the same manner you did before you were possessed of
it. I have left your mother in the next room. Her heart yearns towards
you. She is making the same discoveries to_ Leonilla _which I have
made to yourself._ _Florio_ was so overwhelmed with this
profusion of happiness, that he was not able to make a reply, but threw
himself down at his father's feet, and, amidst a flood of tears, kissed
and embraced his knees, asking his blessing, and expressing in dumb show
those sentiments of love, duty, and gratitude that were too big for
utterance. To conclude, the happy pair were married, and half
_Eudoxus_'s estate settled upon them. _Leontine_ and
_Eudoxus_ passed the remainder of their lives together; and
received in the dutiful and affectionate behaviour of _Florio_ and
_Leonilla_ the just recompense as well as the natural effects of
that care which they had bestowed upon them in their education. L.




No. 125. TUESDAY, JULY 24.

  _Ne, pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella,
  Neu patrice validas in viscera vertite vires._
    VIRG. AEn. vi. v. 832.

  Embrace again, my sons, be foes no more,
  Nor stain your country with her children's gore.
    DRYDEN.


My worthy friend Sir Roger, when we are talking of the malice of
parties, very frequently tells us an accident that happened to him when
he was a schoolboy, which was at a time when the feuds ran high between
the Round-heads and Cavaliers. This worthy Knight, being then but a
stripling, had occasion to inquire which was the way to St.
_Anne_'s Lane, upon which the person whom he spoke to, instead of
answering his question, called him a young Popish Cur, and asked him who
had made _Anne_ a saint! The boy, being in some confusion, inquired
of the next he met, which was the way to _Anne_'s Lane; but was
called a prickeared cur for his pains, and instead of being shown the
way, was told that she had been a saint before he was born, and would be
one after he was hanged. Upon this, says Sir Roger, I did not think fit
to repeat the former question, but going into every lane of the
neighbourhood, asked what they called the name of that lane. By which
ingenious artifice he found out the place he inquired after, without
giving offence to any party. Sir ROGER generally closes this narrative
with reflections on the mischief that parties do in the country; how
they spoil good neighbourhood, and make honest gentlemen hate one
another; besides that they manifestly tend to the prejudice of the land-
tax, and the destruction of the game.

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

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

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

If this party-spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it has likewise
a very great one upon our judgments. We often hear a poor insipid paper
or pamphlet cried up, and sometimes a noble piece depreciated, by those
who are of a different principle from the author. One who is actuated by
this spirit is almost under an incapacity of discerning either real
blemishes or beauties. A man of merit in a different principle is like
an object seen in two different mediums, that appears crooked or broken,
however straight and entire it may be in itself. For this reason there
is scarce a person of any figure in _England_, who does not go by
two contrary characters, as opposite to one another as light and
darkness. Knowledge and learning suffer in a particular manner from this
strange prejudice, which at present prevails amongst all ranks and
degrees in the _British_ nation. As men formerly became eminent in
learned societies by their parts and acquisitions, they now distinguish
themselves by the warmth and violence with which they espouse their
respective parties. Books are valued upon the like considerations: an
abusive scurrilous style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party-
notions is called fine writing.

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

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

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




No. 126. WEDNESDAY, JULY 25.

  _Tros Rutulusve fuat, nullo discrimim habebo._
    VIRG. AEn. x. ver. 108.

  _Rutulians_, _Trojans_, are the same to me.
    DRYDEN.


In my yesterday's paper I proposed, that the honest men of all parties
should enter into a kind of association for the defence of one another,
and the confusion of their common enemies. As it is designed this
neutral body should act with a regard to nothing but truth and equity,
and divest themselves of the little heats and prepossessions that cleave
to parties of all kinds, I have prepared for them the following form of
an association, which may express their intentions in the most plain and
simple manner.

_We whose names are hereunto subscribed do solemnly declare, That we
do in our consciences believe two and two make four; and that we shall
adjudge any man whatsoever to be our enemy who endeavours to persuade us
to the contrary. We are likewise ready to maintain with the hazard of
all that is near and dear to us, That six is less than seven in all
times and all places; and that ten will not be more three years hence
than it is at present. We do also firmly declare, That it is our
resolution, as long as we live, to call black, black; and white, white.
And we shall upon all occasions oppose such persons, that, upon any day
of the year, shall call black white, or white black, with the utmost
peril of our lives and fortunes_.

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

A member of this society, that would thus carefully employ himself in
making room for merit, by throwing down the worthless and depraved part
of mankind from those conspicuous stations of life to which they have
been sometimes advanced, and all this without any regard to his private
interest, would be no small benefactor to his country.

I remember to have read in _Diodorus Siculus_ an account of a very
active little animal, which I think he calls the _Ichneumon_, that
makes it the whole business of his life to break the eggs of the
crocodile, which he is always in search after. This instinct is the more
remarkable, because the _Ichneumon_ never feeds upon the eggs he
has broken, nor any other way finds his account in them.

Were it not for the incessant labours of this industrious animal,
_AEgypt_, says the historian, would be over-run with crocodiles; for
the _AEgyptians_ are so far from destroying those pernicious
creatures, that they worship them as gods.

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

As in the whole train of my Speculations, I have endeavoured as much as
I am able to extinguish that pernicious spirit of passion and prejudice,
which rages with the same violence in all parties, I am still the more
desirous of doing some good in this particular, because I observe that
the spirit of party reigns more in the country than in the town. It here
contracts a kind of brutality and rustick fierceness, to which men of
politer conversation are wholly strangers. It extends itself even to the
return of the bow and the hat; and at the same time that the heads of
parties preserve towards one another an outward show of good-breeding,
and keep up a perpetual intercourse of civilities, their tools that are
dispersed in these outlying parts will not so much as mingle together at
a cock-match. This humour fills the country with several periodical
meetings of Whig Jockeys and Tory Fox-hunters; not to mention the
innumerable curses, frowns, and whispers it produces at a quarter-
sessions.

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

Since my stay at Sir ROGER'S in the country, I daily find more instances
of this narrow party-humour. Being upon a bowling-green at a
neighbouring market-town the other day, (for that is the place where the
gentlemen of one side meet once a week) I observed a stranger among them
of a better presence and genteeler behaviour than ordinary; but was much
surprised, that notwithstanding he was a very fair _bettor_, no
body would take him up. But upon inquiry I found, that he was one who
had given a disagreeable vote in a former parliament, for which reason
there was not a man upon that bowling-green who would have so much
correspondence with him as to win his money of him.

Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit one which concerns
myself. _Will Wimble_ was the other day relating several strange
stories that he had picked up no body knows where, of a certain great
man; and upon my staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear such
things in the country, which had never been so much as whispered in the
town, _Will_ stopped short in the thread of his discourse, and
after dinner asked my friend Sir ROGER in his ear if he was sure that I
was not a fanatick.

It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dissension in the
country; not only as it destroys virtue and common sense, and renders us
in a manner barbarians towards one another, but as it perpetuates our
animosities, widens our breaches, and transmits our present passions and
prejudices to our posterity. For my own part, I am sometimes afraid that
I discover the seeds of a civil war in these our divisions; and
therefore cannot but bewail, as in their first principles, the miseries
and calamities of our children. C.




No. 127. THURSDAY, JULY 26.

  _Quantum est in rebus inane?_
    PERS. Sat. i. ver. 1.

  How much of emptiness we find in things!


It is our custom at Sir ROGER'S, upon the coming in of the post, to sit
about a pot of coffee, and hear the old Knight read _Dyer_'s
letter; which he does with his spectacles upon his nose, and in an
audible voice, smiling very often at those little strokes of satire,
which are so frequent in the writings of that author; I afterwards
communicate to the Knight such packets as I receive under the quality of
SPECTATOR. The following letter chancing to please him more than
ordinary, I shall publish it at his request.

'Mr. SPECTATOR,

'You have diverted the town almost a whole month at the expence of the
country, it is now high time that you should give the country their
revenge. Since your withdrawing from this place, the fair sex are run
into great extravagancies. Their petticoats, which began to heave and
swell before you left us, are now blown up into a most enormous concave,
and rise every day more and more: In short, Sir, since our women know
themselves to be out of the eye of the SPECTATOR, they will be kept
within no compass. You praised them a little too soon for the modesty of
their head-dresses; for, as the humour of a sick person is often driven
out of one limb into another, their superfluity of ornaments, instead of
being entirely banished, seems only fallen from their heads upon their
lower parts. What they have lost in height they make up in breadth, and,
contrary to all rules of architecture, widen the foundations at the same
time that they shorten the superstructure.

'I find several speculative persons are of opinion that our sex has of
late years been very saucy, and that the hoop-petticoat is made use of
to keep us at a distance. It is most certain that a woman's honour
cannot be better entrenched than after this manner, in circle within
circle, amidst such a variety of out-works and lines of circumvallation,
A female who is thus invested in whalebone is sufficiently secured
against the approaches of an ill-bred fellow, who might as well think of
Sir _George Etherege_'s way of making love in a tub, as in the
midst of so many hoops.

'Among these various conjectures, there are men of superstitious
tempers, who look upon the hoop-petticoat as a kind of prodigy. Some
will have it that it portends the downfal of the _French_ King, and
observe that the farthingale appeared in _England_ a little before
the ruin of the _Spanish_ monarchy. Others are of opinion that it
fortels battle and bloodshed, and believe it of the same prognostication
as the tail of a blazing star.

'Should this fashion get among the ordinary people, our publick ways
would be so crowded that we should want street-room. Several
congregations of the best fashion find themselves already very much
straitened, and if the mode increase I wish it may not drive many
ordinary women into meetings and conventicles. Should our sex at the
same time take it into their heads to wear trunk-breeches (as who knows
what their indignation at this female treatment may drive them to) a man
and his wife would fill a whole pew.

'You know, Sir, it is recorded of _Alexander the Great_, that in
his _Indian_ expedition he buried several suits of armour, which,
by his direction, were made much too big for any of his soldiers, in
order to give posterity an extraordinary idea of him, and make them
believe he had commanded an army of giants. I am persuaded that if one
of the present petticoats happens to be hung up in any repository of
curiosities, it will lead into the same error the generations that lie
some removes from us, unless we can believe our posterity will think so
disrespectfully of their great-grandmothers, that they made themselves
monstrous to appear amiable.

'When I survey this new-fashioned _Rotunda_ in all its parts, I
cannot but think of the old philosopher, who, after having entered into
an _AEgyptian_ temple, and looked about for the idol of the place,
at length discovered a little black monkey enshrined in the midst of it,
upon which he could not forbear crying out, (to the great scandal of the
worshippers) What a magnificent palace is here for such a ridiculous
inhabitant!

'Though you have taken a resolution, in one of your papers, to avoid
descending to particularities of dress, I believe you will not think it
below you on so extraordinary an occasion, to unhoop the fair sex, and
cure this fa

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