UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 UMiVEkSIlT of CALIFORNIA 
 
 LUS ANGELES 
 LIBRARY
 
 COVERLEY PAPERS FROM THE SPECTATOR 
 
 iM 
 
 4 63& «
 
 COYERLEY PAPERS 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 WITH 
 
 AN INTEODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 K. DEIGHTON 
 
 lottbon 
 MACMILLAN AND CO, Limited 
 
 NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 1897 
 
 AW riglds reserved
 
 First Edition 1896. 
 Reprinted 1897. 
 
 GLASGOW. rnlNTED AT THE UNIVERSITV PRESS 
 BY ROBERT MACLKHOSE AND CO. 
 
 (.63'/-
 
 r IV 
 1 3 (. 4- 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION, ....-- 
 
 CovERLEY Papers from The Spectator — 
 I. The Spectator's Account of Himself, 
 II. Of the Club, - 
 
 III. Sir Roger at Home, 
 
 IV. The Coverley Household, 
 ^ V. Character of Will Wimble, 
 
 VI. Sir Roger's Ancestors, - 
 VII. On Ghosts and Apparitions, 
 ^^^JSfiil. Sir Roger at Church, - 
 
 _--iX. His Account of his Disappointment in 
 
 -^X. On the Shame and Fear of Poverty, 
 
 XI. Labour and Exercise, - 
 ^^XII. A Hunting Scene with Sir Roger, 
 
 XIII. On Witchcraft— Story of Moll White, 
 
 XIV. Sir Roger's Reflections on the Widow, 
 XV. Rural Manners, 
 
 XVI. Instinct in Animals, . . . . 
 XVII. Instinct in Animals — Continued, - 
 XVIIL Sir Roger at the Assizes, 
 
 V 
 
 Love, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 vii 
 
 1 
 
 5 
 
 11 
 
 15 
 18 
 22 
 26 
 29 
 32 
 37 
 41 
 45 
 50 
 54 
 58 
 61 
 65 
 70
 
 VI 
 
 XIX. 
 
 •^xx. 
 
 XXI. 
 XXIII. 
 
 , xx:v. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 '■ XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 ^xxx. 
 
 Notes, 
 Index, 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Education of Couutry Squires, - 
 
 Mischiefs of Party Spirit, - 
 
 Mischiefs of Party Spirit — Continued, 
 
 Sir Roger and the Gipsies, 
 
 The Country's Opinion of The Spectator, 
 
 A Scene in a Stage Coach, 
 
 Sir Roger in Town, . - . - 
 
 Visit to Westminster Abbey, 
 
 Sir Roger at the Theatre, - - • 
 
 Will Honeycomb's Amours, 
 
 Visit to Spring Gardens, - . • 
 
 Death of Sir Roger, - • - - 
 
 PAGE 
 
 74 
 
 79 
 
 83 
 
 87 
 
 91 
 
 94 
 
 98 
 
 102 
 
 106 
 
 110 
 
 113 
 
 116 
 
 120 
 
 195
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Addison's life extends over a period of forty-seven Brief sketch 
 years only, from 1672 to 1719. At his birth, Charles Life, 
 the Second was still on the throne ; when he died, 
 George the First had been reigning for five years. The 
 interval had witnessed scenes as important as almost any 
 in English history, and the change of thought, of social •' 
 manners, of political and religions principles, was marked 
 and permanent. With this change was a change in the 
 tone of literature, to bring which about no one contri- 
 buted more largely than Addison, no one with a spirit 
 so entirely healthy. From the point of view of practical 
 action, Addison's life was uneventful. Though a poli- 
 tician, for many years a Member of Parliament, Under 
 Secretary for Ireland, Chief Secretary for Ireland, and 
 finally Secretary of State, he never distinguished himself 
 as a brilliant administrator, while as a speaker he was 
 a complete failure. The life he loved was that of a 
 stud^t, not so much of books as nf r.-.qnT^i'f|f] • and this 
 life, embellished by literature and poetry, and accom- 
 panied by the honour and respect of all whose honour 
 and respect were worth having, he enjoyed almost 
 without interruption. From the peaceful society of his 
 
 vii
 
 viii THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 well-loved Latin poets during a sojourn of ten years 
 at Oxford, he passed into the larger sphere of the busy 
 world. A poetical address to Dryden on the subject 
 of his translations from the classical poets brought him 
 to the laureate's notice. By him, as it is supposed, 
 the young poet was made known to Congreve, who 
 in his turn, as stated by Steele, introduced him to 
 Montague, then Chancellor of the Exchequer. Montague, 
 himself a man of letters, if not of great literary skill, was 
 struck with Addison's verses, Latin and English ; and 
 feeling that the grace of so facile and polished a writer 
 would be valuable in political affairs, determined to 
 employ him in the diplomatic service. With this object 
 he procured for Addison a pension of £300 a year, to 
 enable him to travel and so acquire that knowledge 
 of foreign languages which was indispensable for a 
 diplomatic career. Furnished with this help, and 
 retaining the fellowship he had won at Oxford, Addison 
 set out for France in 1699, and for nearly a year studied 
 the F rpT^p b language at Blois. Having mastered his 
 task, he repaired, in 1700, to Paris, where he remained 
 till December, mixing with distinguished men of letters, 
 and meeting, among others, the philosopher Malebranche 
 and the critic Boileau. From France he passed on to 
 Italy, and afterwards visited Switzerland, Austria, and 
 Holland, returning to England in the autumn of 1703. 
 Some time before his return, his patron, Montague, now 
 Lord Halifax, had lost office on the accession of Queen 
 Anne, with the consequence to Addison that all his 
 hopes of a diplomatic career came to an end, and his 
 pension was stopped. For more than a year he remained 
 without employment. But "bountiful Fortune," his
 
 INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 "dear lady," was never long from his side. In 1704, the 
 more moderate Tories found it prudent to treat the 
 Whigs with a consideration that in their first elevation 
 to power they had not shown ; and Lord Treasurer 
 Godolphin, at his wits' ends to find a poet who would 
 fittingly commemorate the great victory of Blenheim, 
 Avas glad to conciliate Halifax by accepting his advice 
 that Addison's help should be sought. Addison com- 
 pHed with the request made to him in very flattering 
 terms, and in a short time produced The Campaign. Its 
 success was great and general. As an immediate reward, 
 a Commissionership worth about two hundred pounds 
 a year was bestowed upon the poet; and early in 1706, 
 on the recommendation of Godolphin, his services were 
 further acknowledged by his being made Under Secretary 
 of State. Meanwhile, besides giving considerable help 
 to Steele in his drama of the Tender Husband, Addison 
 had published a narrative of his travels in Italy, and 
 brought out an opera entitled Rosamond, which seems to 
 have failed owing to its being poorly set to music. 
 In 1708 Addison's connection with politics became more 
 definite. He was elected to the House of Commons, 
 first for the borough of Lostwithiel and afterwards 
 for Malmesbury, and in 1709 became Chief Secretary 
 for Ireland, sitting in the Irish parliament as member 
 for Cavan. It was while in Ireland that Addison, 
 through the publication of the Tatler, was brought 
 into that close literary connection with its editor, 
 Steele, that ultimately led to the birth of the Spectator. 
 For a while his papers in the Tatler were few and far 
 between, official duties occupying most of his time. But 
 during the winter of 1709 and the latter part of the
 
 X THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 following year, both periods being spent in London, 
 his contributions became frequent, and in the end so 
 completely overshadowed those by all others that Steele, 
 in his preface to the final volume, speaks of himself as 
 faring " like a distressed prince who calls in a powerful 
 neighbour to his aid. I was undone by my auxiliary ; 
 when I had once called him in, I could not subsist with- 
 out him." The Tatter ceased to appear at the end of 
 1711, and two months later the Spedatm- took its place. 
 The details of its history will be found further on ; but 
 it may here be said that it was a complete success, and 
 pecuniarily most profitable. To Addison this latter fact 
 was of importance. For in 1710 the Ministry had fallen, 
 and with its fall went Addison's secretaryship, as well as a 
 Keepership of Eecords which brought him in between 
 three and four hundred a year. He had, however, enough 
 to live on with comfort, and probably no part of his life 
 was happier than that in which he created and sustained 
 the Spectator. In 1713 he produced his well-known 
 tragedy, Cafo, the first four acts of which he is said to ^ 
 have had by him since his return from Italy. Though a 
 "passionless and mechanical play," as it has been justly 
 styled, Cato had at the time a marvellous success- 
 success in a great measure due to the popularity of its 
 author, and to a determination of both the great political 
 parties to see in its sentiments an endorsement of their 
 own principles. Cato was followed by more essays in 
 the Guardian, a paper edited by Steele after the Spectator 
 had ceased. These, however, were few in number ; and 
 with a prose comedy called the Drummer, Addison's 
 purely literary career came to an end, though in 1715 
 and 1716 he published fifty -five numbers of the Free-
 
 INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 holder, a political paper written in defence of orthodox 
 Whig principles. On the accession of George the First 
 in 1714, Addison again became Chief Secretary for Ire- 
 land, a post which in the following year he resigned for 
 a seat at the Board of Trade. In 1716 he married the 
 Countess of Warwick, and a year later became Secretary 
 of State. His breaking health, however, obliged him to 
 abandon office after a tenure of eleven months only, and 
 in his retirement he again began to use his pen. He 
 was anxious to complete a work on the evidences of the 
 Christian religion, already begun ; but from this he was 
 diverted by a controversy with Steele on the subject of 
 a Peerage Bill introduced by Sunderland, and so great 
 was the acrimony imported into the discussion that his 
 last days were embittered by the complete rupture of a 
 life-long friendship. For his end was now near at hand. 
 Asthma, from which he had long suffered, was followed 
 by dropsy, and on the 17th of July, 1719, he died at 
 Holland House. His body, after lying in state in the 
 Jerusalem Chamber, was buried in Westminister Abbey, 
 where, though only in recent years, a statue by West- 
 macott was erected to his memory in the south transept, 
 near to the "Poet's Corner." "It represents him," says 
 Macaulay, " as we can conceive him, clad in his dressing- 
 gown, and freed from his wig, stepping from his parlour 
 at Chelsea into his trim little garden, with the account 
 of the Everlasting Club, or the Loves of Hilpa and 
 Shalum, just finished for the next day's Spectator, in his 
 hand. Such a mark of national respect was due to the 
 unsullied statesman, to the accomplished scholar, to the 
 master of pure English eloquence, to the consummate 
 painter of life and manners. It Avas due, above all, to
 
 xii THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 j the great satirist, who alone knew how to use ridicule 
 without abusing it, who, without inflicting a wound, 
 effected a great social reform, and who reconciled wit 
 and virtue, after a long and disastrous separation, during 
 which wit had been led astray by profligacy, and virtue 
 by fanaticism. '^ 
 
 Besides the' works already mentioned, Addison was the 
 author of several Latin poems and translations from 
 Latin poets, of a Discourse on Ancient and Modern Learn- 
 ing, a poetical epistle to Halifax, contributions to the 
 JFIiig Examiner, Dialogues on Medals, and some minor 
 pieces. 
 TheSpectator. Previous to the publication of The Tatler, the immediate 
 forerunner of The Spectator, journalism in England had 
 been of the most meagre and untrustworthy character. 
 In its earliest days it confined itself chiefly to the pub- 
 lication of news from abroad, home news of a political 
 nature being forbidden. By the abolition of the Star 
 Chamber in 1641, a loose was given to the expression of 
 political opinion, and various journals, representative of 
 the royalist and the republican causes, sprang into 
 existence ; but this freedom of speech was quickly 
 checked by a Licensing Act, passed in 1647, which 
 virtually gave the Government complete control over 
 the press. Shortly after the expiry of this Act, in 
 1679, a fresh start was made, and among the variety 
 of papers put into circulation were the London Gazette 
 and the Ohservator. Somewhat later, about 1710, ap- 
 peared the Examiner, a Tory paper of which Swift 
 was the mainstay, and the Whig Examiner, largely 
 controlled by Addison. Besides these political organs 
 were others of a more general character, "Men of
 
 INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 active and curious minds, with a little leisure and a 
 large love of discussion, loungers at Will's or at the 
 Grecian Coffee-Houses, were anxious to have their 
 doubts on all subjects resolved by a printed oracle. 
 Their tastes were gratified by the ingejuiity of John 
 Dunton, whose strange account of his Life and- Errors 
 throws a strong light on, the literary history of this 
 period. In 1690 Dunton published his Athenian Gazette, 
 the name of which he afterwards altered to the Athenian 
 Mercury. The object of this paper was to answer 
 questions put to the editor by the public. These were 
 of all kinds on religion, casuistry, love, literature, and 
 manners, no question being too subtle or absurd to 
 extract a reply from the conductor of the paper. The 
 Athenian Mercury seems to have been read by as many 
 distinguished men of the period as Notes and Queries in 
 our own time, and there can be no doubt that the quaint 
 humours it originated gave the first hint to the inventors 
 of The Tatler and The Spectatoi:" ^ The Tatler, originally 
 publishing advertisements and news, as well as papers of 
 criticism, anecdote, original poetry, etc., gradually de- 
 veloped into a series of essays on books, morals, and 
 manners ; and The Spectato)', brought out three months 
 after the Tatler' s disappearance, followed closely its later 
 shape. The plan of The Spectator is undoubtedly Addi- 
 son's, and the portrait of its guiding spirit drawn by him 
 in the first Number is in a measure a portrait of the 
 painter. The club to which he belongs is described by 
 Steele in the next Number, p' Four of the club," says 
 Y^, Macaulay,^ "the templar, the clergyman, the soldier, 
 
 ^Courthope, Addi><on, English Men of Letters Series, pp. 87, 8. 
 pS JSssay on AddtKon.
 
 ^ 
 
 xiv THE .SPECTATOR. 
 
 and the merchant, were uninteresting figures, fit onjy 
 for a background. But the otiier two, an old country 
 baronet and an old town rake, though not delineated 
 with a very delicate pencil, had some good str okes.] 
 Addison took the rude outlines into his own hands, 
 retouched them, coloured them, and is in truth the 
 creatox of the Sir Eoger de Coverley and the Will 
 Honeycomb with whom we are all familiar." ^ / The 
 characters thus grouped "represent considerable classes 
 or sections of the community, and are, as a rule, men df 
 strongly marked opinions, prejudices, and foibles, which 
 furnish inexhaustible matter of comment to the Spec- 
 tator himself, who delivers the judgments of reason and 
 common-sense. Sir Roger de Coverley, with his sim- 
 plicity, his high sense of honour, and his old-world 
 reminiscences, reflects the coimtry gentlema n of the 
 best kind ; Sir Andrew Freeport expresses the opinions 
 of the enterprising, hard-headed, and rather hard-hearted 
 monied interes_fc^yGaptain Sentry speaks for the army; 
 the Templar for the world of taste and learning; the 
 Clergyman for theology and philosophy ;'*^hil^ Will 
 Honeycomb, the elderly man of fashion, gives the 
 Spectator many opportunities for criticizing the tra- 
 ditions of morality and breeding surviving from the 
 
 ^Courthope, p. 174, desclubes these words as "a very mis- 
 leading account of the matteiy" since it seems to suggest that 
 Sir Roger was "merely the strW phantom of Steele's imagina- 
 tion," whereas it "was from the msat intended to be a type of a 
 country gentleman," and was " soNtruly conceived as to lend 
 itself easily to the treatment of writers who approached it with 
 various conceptions and very unequal degrees of skill" ; those 
 writers being Addison, Steele, Budgell, and Tickell.
 
 INTRODUCTKfN. xv 
 
 days of the Eestoration^ The success of The Spectator 
 was immediate and permanent. " The number of copies 
 daily distributed was at first three thousand. It subse- 
 quently increased, and had risen to near four thousand 
 when the stamp tax was imposed. That tax was fatal 
 to a crowd of journals. The Spectator, however, stood 
 its ground, doubled its price, and, though its circulation 
 fell off, still yielded a large revenue to the state and to 
 the authors. For particular papers the demand was 
 immense ; of some, it is said, twenty thousand copies 
 were required. But this was not all. To have the 
 Spectator served up every morning with the bohea and 
 rolls was a luxury for the few. The majority were 
 content to wait till essays enough had appeared to form 
 a volume. Ten thousand copies of each volume were 
 immediately taken off, and new editions were called 
 for. It must be remembered, that the population of 
 England was then hardly a third of what it now is. 
 The number of Englishmen who were in the habit of 
 reading, was probably not a sixth of what it now is. A 
 shopkeeper or a farmer who found any pleasure in 
 literature, was a rarity. Nay, there was doubtless more 
 than one knight of the shire whose country seat did not 
 contain ten books, receipt books and books on farriery 
 included. In these circumstances, the sale of the Spec- 
 tator must be considered as indicating a popularity quite 
 as great as that of the most successful works of Sir 
 Walter Scott and Mr. Dickens in our own time " ^ 
 Addison's share in the work was nearly one half of the 
 whole, his papers being 274 as against 236 contributed 
 
 ^ Courthope, Addison, pp. 106, 7. 
 - Macaulay, E^say on A ddinon.
 
 xvi THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 by Steele, the remainder being made up by various 
 writers, such as Hughes, Budgell, Tickell, Phillips, etc. 
 But the mere number of papers due to Addison is a 
 wholly inadequate measure of their importance. They 
 are not only incomparably superior to all the rest, but 
 the very life and soul of the undertaking. They give to 
 Th&^pedator the tone which runs through it from first 
 to last. They prescribe the area over which discussion 
 shall range. Eigorously excepting everything of a party 
 nature, Addison addresses himself to humanity as a 
 whole. Nothing is too trivial for him, if so be that the 
 men and women of his time may find a healthy interest 
 in it ; if under the mask of humour, banter, and irony 
 he may expose the littleness of ambitions, the follies of 
 fashion, the empty beliefs of a vacant mind ; if the 
 foibles and eccentricities whether of town or country life 
 can be pressed into the service of a warm-hearted, 
 uncensorious philosophy. Allegory and apologue, fable 
 and anecdote, are as much the weapons of his warfare 
 against evil as the more studied exercises of serious 
 argument and lofty morality, and their efficacy without 
 doubt much greater. It was his endeavour, he tells us, 
 " to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with 
 morality," his ambition to have it said of him that he 
 had "^brought Philosophy out of closets and libraries, 
 schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at 
 tea-tables and coffee-houses," his belief that it was better 
 " to amuse ourselves with such writings as tend to the 
 wearing out of ignorance, passion, and prejudice than 
 such as naturally conduce to inflame hatreds, and make 
 enmities irreconcilable." The catholicity of his spirit as 
 regards the public whom he addressed has frequently
 
 INTRODUCTION. xvu 
 
 been pointed out. Swift, indeed, sneered at him for the 
 prominence he gave to feminine affairs and the import- 
 ance he attached to enlisting the interest of women. 
 But Addison knew his times. He knew, what is still 
 better, how largely the purity and the dignity of social 
 life depend upon the place which women hold in that 
 life, how great the influence their cultivation has upon 
 the general cultivation, how varied the power which for 
 good or evil they wield in the education o/ their child- 
 ren ; while at the same time he had the good sense to 
 recognize and the chivalry to avow, as had never before 
 been recognized and avowed, the claims they can put 
 forth to an equality of enjoyment of all that is elevated 
 and noble in literature. If the tone of men's society was 
 to be raised, as Addison hoped to raise it, policy no less 
 than justice demanded a change in the relations of the 
 sexes, demanded that what was pure should also be 
 enlightened, what was naturally refined and tender 
 should be fitted to communicate that refinement and 
 tenderness. Hence no one will nowadays regret the 
 share of The Spectator which falls to womanly pursuits 
 and concerns. Nor merely from the point of interest 
 and enjoyment will there be any wish that that share 
 had been less. For in none of the series is Addison's 
 play of fancy more delicate, in none his grace and pathos 
 more graceful and pathetic. Party Patches and Ladies' 
 Head-dresses may in themselves seem trifles too airy for 
 robust consideration, the Dissection of a Coquette's 
 Heart and the doubts and hesitations that perplexed 
 Hilpa's choice, texts all too slight for the stern moralist ; 
 yet none but a temperament sullen and moody as Swift's 
 would endure to lose the bright imagery with which 
 
 h
 
 xviii THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 they are lighted up, the geniality and picturesque 
 setting that Addison's touch alone could bestow. All 
 these characteristics in more or less prodigality are to be 
 seen throughout his papers. But of the various gifts 
 that fitted him for his self-imposed task, the most perfect 
 was his sense of humour, humour that while free from all 
 bitterness was yet exquisitely penetrative, — a humour, 
 like Jaques's melancholy, " compounded of many 
 simples, extracted from many objects." Amiable and 
 urbane, laughing at his fellow-men but laughing with no 
 scorn, — rather as one who understands and sympathizes, 
 — with gentle pressure he puts his finger on their foibles, 
 and cajoles as much as argues them out of their propen- 
 sities. Popular superstitions, personal whims, caprices, 
 idiosyncrasies, social manners, pursuits, fashions, in their 
 turn find themselves within his hold, to be examined, 
 dandled, caressed, rebuked, sentenced. Irony, all-de- 
 licious in its gravity, forms a large, perhaps the largest, 
 constituent of his humour ; pathos of the truest ring is 
 seldom far off". Argument is pointed by analogy and a 
 sprightly cheerfulness quickens what is serious. Per- 
 vading everything Ave have an imaginative faculty such 
 as belongs to the poet mind alone, an appreciation of 
 the ludicrous that must have demanded constant self- 
 restraint, a delicacy of feeling that made coarseness as 
 impossible to his use as it was painful to his own 
 sensitive organization, an absolute purity of object, a 
 far-seeing philanthropy, a serene dignity of soul and 
 conduct. As regards Addison's style, of no one could it 
 be more truly said that the style is the man. He has 
 a manner, but no mannerism. That manner many have 
 striven to make their own, but have striven in vain.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 For behind ib stand the loving nature to which ever^^- 
 thing human is the object of affectionate concern, the 
 placid temper that no passion could ruffle, a life unsullied 
 by excess, a deep yet simple piet y, powers of observation 
 ever on the watch, the discipline of travel, an inherited 
 love of letters to which the study of his country's master- 
 pieces and the models of classical refinement had given 
 precision, freedom, grace of movement, aptness of illus- 
 tration, sobriety of tone, unerring sense of proportion. 
 Johnson may justly say that " whoever wishes to attain 
 an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but 
 nob ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the 
 volumes of Addison." He must do so, however, with a 
 contented foreknowledge that as easily may he imprison 
 " the viewless winds " as catch the airy grace with which 
 Mr. Spectator bears himself along. 
 
 STEELE. 
 
 The following outline of Steele's career, abridged from 
 Professor Minto's article in the Encyclopedia Britannica, 
 will probably suffice for the student. Born in Dublin 
 in 1672, Kichard Steele entered the Charterhouse in 
 1684, and there first met Addison, his junior in age 
 by a few weeks only. Five years later he proceeded 
 to Merton College, Oxford, Addison being at the time 
 an undergraduate of Magdalen. But the want of 
 steadiness which followed him through life manifested 
 itself even in these early days, and he left the university 
 without taking his degree. His next step was to enter 
 the army as a volunteer, serving for a time under the
 
 XX THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 Duke of Ormonde. A poem on the funeral of Mary 
 (1695), dedicated to Lord Cutts, colonel of the Cold- 
 stream Guards, brought him under the notice of that 
 officer, who gave him a commission in his own regiment, 
 and later procured for him a company in Lord Lucas's 
 fusiliers. A prose treatise, The Christian Hero, 1701, 
 procured him the favour of William, though the king 
 died before anything had been done for its author. His 
 next literary effort, a comedy entitled The Funeral, 1701, 
 was well received on the stage, and was shortly followed 
 by two other comedies. The Lying Lover, 1703, and 
 The Tender Husband, 1705; the former, according to 
 Steele himself, being "damned for its piety," the latter 
 meeting with more success. But the best of his 
 comedies, The Conscious Lovers, did not appear till 1722. 
 In 1707 Steele was appointed to the office of Gazeteer, 
 and his work as editor of the Gazette led to the Tatler, 
 and this in its turn to the Spectator. The Spectator 
 was followed by the Guardian, to which also Addison 
 contributed. Other periodicals set on foot by Steele 
 were the Englishman, 1714, an assailant of the policy 
 of the Tory ministry ; the Lover, more general in its 
 aims; the Reader, an opposition journal to the Tory 
 Examiner ; Town-Talk, the Tea Table, Chit-Chat, and the 
 most famous of his political papers, the Plebeian, in 
 which he carried on a vigorous controversy with Addison 
 over Sunderland's Peerage Bill. His last venture in 
 journalism was the Theatre, 1719-1720; but besides these 
 papers, he was the author of numerous pamphlets on a 
 variety of subjects. A zealous Whig, his fortunes varied 
 with those of his party, and his enthusiasm often 
 brought him into trouble. Thus, on the question of
 
 ♦- 
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 the fortifications of Dunkirk in 1713, he threw up a 
 pension and a commissionership of stamps in order to 
 go into parliament and attack the ministry. The lan- 
 guage of his pamphlet on the Crisis was stigmatized as 
 seditious and he was in consequence expelled the House. 
 His expulsion brought forth An Apology for himself and 
 his Writings which contains many biographical details 
 of importance. On the accession of the house of 
 Hanover, Steele received various lucrative appointments, 
 yet these notwithstanding he could never free himself 
 from his financial difficulties, but was compelled in 
 1724 to retire from London and live in the country. 
 His last years were spent on his wife's estate of Llan- 
 gunnor in Wales, where, after a paralytic seizure which 
 broke down his health, he died 1st September, 1729. 
 As a man, Steele was impulsive, frequent in extremes, 
 careless of the proprieties, but generous, affectionate, 
 full of worthy enthusiasms, modest in his estimate of 
 himself, ever ready to acknowledge superior merit, and 
 charitable towards the faults and follies at which he 
 laughed. As a writer, he is remarkable for his ver- 
 satility in conceiving humorous types of character, 
 for the wide range of his sympathies, for his vigorous, 
 if sometimes commonplace, style, and for the readiness 
 with which he adapts himself to his subject whether 
 grave or gay in character. With Addison he could 
 not compete in delicacy of humour, in scholarly pre- 
 cision, or refinement of thought ; but he undoubtedly 
 possessed greater originality of invention, and perhaps 
 a more masculine turn of mind.
 
 xxii THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 BUDGELL. 
 
 The third of the contributors to the Coverley papers 
 was Eustace Budgell, born in 1685, Like Addison 
 and Steele, he owed part of his education to Oxford, 
 and like the former became a good classical scholar, 
 besides being well read in the best English, French, 
 and Italian authors. From Oxford he proceeded to 
 the Inner Temple, but forsaking law gave himself up 
 to literature. He was befriended by Addison, a con- 
 nection on the mother's side, and when the latter was 
 appointed secretary to Lord Wharton, Lord Lieutenant 
 of Ireland, in 1710, he took Budgell with him as one of 
 the clerks of his office. Later on, through Addison's 
 interest, he obtained several other appointments of 
 much larger emolument ; but owing to a lampoon in 
 which he was unwise enough to satirize the Duke of 
 Bolton, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, under whom 
 he was serving, he forfeited his appointment of comp- 
 troller-general of the revenue in Ireland, and was 
 obliged to return to England. Further misfortunes 
 soon befel him. In 1720 he lost £20,000 in the South 
 Sea scheme, and wasted a further sum of £5,000 in an 
 unsuccessful attempt to get into parliament. In 1733, 
 on the death of Dr. Tindal, a legacy of two thousand 
 guineas was willed to him ; but the bequest (which it 
 was alleged had been inserted in the will by Budgell 
 himself) was successfully disputed by the next of kin, 
 and the unfortunate man, now in great straits, betook 
 himself to the study of law as the only source of live- 
 lihood left to him. After being called to the bar and 
 attending the courts for some time, he found his
 
 INTRODUCTION, xxiii 
 
 affairs desperate, and in 1736 he put an end to his 
 life by drowning himself. He was a contributor to the 
 Taller and the Guardian as well as to the Spectator, and 
 in 1733 he set on foot a weekly periodical, called the 
 Bee, which ran for above a hundred numbers. His 
 writings, if not possessed of any striking qualities, are 
 those of an educated and well-read man, while the two 
 papers included in the present selection betray a turn 
 for humour, with perhaps an attempt at imitating 
 Addison's literary style and habit of thought. 
 
 THE COVERLEY PAPERS. 
 
 To Steele, as has been often pointed out, is due the 
 sug-gestion of Sir Roger's character ; and his paper 
 "Of the Club" shadows forth almost all those traits 
 which Addison aftervyards expanded anji developed with 
 such happy skill. A type of the country g entlem an of 
 those days. Sir Roger has the pride of birth and long 
 descent which belonged to his order, the foibles and 
 oddities that come of a life narrowed by converse chiefly 
 with men of his own class or those in dependence on 
 him, the further foibles and oddities caused by a dis- 
 appointment in love which drove him back upon himself 
 yet withoim souring his nature, the vigorous geniality 
 which life m the open air and the healthy excitement 
 of field sports encourage, the simplicity ot a heart that 
 has hardly known what it is to be deceived, a proper 
 sense of his position as a county r!fe,gnate and of the 
 duties that position involves, the duty of setting an 
 example of decorum in churcli, the duty of strictly 
 preserving game, of looking askance at gipsies, of assert-
 
 xxiv THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 ing his dignity at quarter-sessions, where, as Steele 
 humorously tells us, he on a certain occasion "gained 
 universal applause by explaining a passage in the Game 
 Act," the duty of ungrudging hospitality, the duty of 
 avoiding a Whig inn, even at the cost of thin beer 
 and ill-kept mutton. With these and such-like themes 
 for his discourse, Addison loves to disport himself, draw- 
 ing from each topic some quaint lesson of morality, some 
 material for playful satire, some occasion for depicting 
 the occupations, pursuits, and social doings of a class 
 of men even then fast passing away. If, a Whig him- 
 self, he finds food for mirth in the eccentricities of the 
 simple-minded Tory squire, it is with a tender hand 
 that he holds him up for our amusement, and with 
 genuine delight that he sets in relief the amiable 
 (qualities which mingle with each weakness and more 
 than excuse the old-world prejudices of a character as 
 ttiuch the outcome of its surroundings as due to the 
 onoulding of nature. With all his sly ridicule of whims 
 'and caprices, of ignorances and illiberalities, he takes 
 •care that nothing like contempt should be suggested, 
 ■that nothing but love and respect should be felt for 
 'one who is all love for his fellow-creatures, and who 
 •never forgets his own self-respect. Addison is in fact 
 a gentleman, in the best sense of the word, dealing 
 with a gentleman ; and the mark of his persiflage is 
 not a butt for his scorn. This delicacy of feeling no 
 doubt influenced his coadjutors, and if his richness of 
 fancy and the exquisite touch of his raillery have given 
 to the original outline a finish that was beyond their 
 powers, they have at least not unworthily followed the 
 ma,ster hand in their share of the Coverley picture. 
 
 i
 
 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 I. THE SPECTATOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 
 
 No. 1.] Thursday, March 1, 1710-11. [Addison. 
 
 Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem 
 Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat. 
 
 Hor. A. .P. 143. 
 
 One with a flash begins, and ends in smoke ; 
 Another 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 till 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 jq 
 conduce very much to the, right understanding of an authoi\ 
 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 hereditai^y estate, which according 
 to the tradition of the village where it lies, was bounded by 20 
 the same hedges, and ditches in William the Conqueror's 
 ^ A
 
 2 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 time that it is at present, and has been delivered down from 
 father to son whole and entire, without the loss or acquisi- 
 tion of a single field or meadow, during the space of six 
 hundred years. There runs a story in the family, that,- 
 some time before my birth, my mother dreamt that her 
 child was to be 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 deter- 
 mine ; for I am not so vain as to, think it presaged any 
 
 10 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 afterwards, seemed to favour 
 my mother's dream : for, as she has^ often told me, T threw 
 away my rattle before I was two months old, and would not 
 make use of my coral till they had taken away the bells 
 from it. 
 
 As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it 
 remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence.^ I find that, during 
 
 20 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 hiindred 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, 
 
 30 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 show it. An insati-
 
 THE SPECTATOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 3 
 
 able thirst after knowledge carried me into all the countries 
 of Europe, in which there was anything new or strange to 
 be seen ; nay, to such a degree was my curiosity raised, that 
 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 10 
 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 while I seem attentive to nothing but the Post- 
 Man, overhear the conversation of every table in the room. 
 I appear on Sunday nights at St. James's coffee house, and 20 
 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 man- 30 
 ^kind, than as one of the species, by which means I have 
 made myself a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant, and 
 artizan, 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 economy, 
 business, and diversion of others, better than those who are
 
 4 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 
 
 10 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 meantime, when I 
 consider how much I have seen, read, and heard. I begin to 
 blame my own taciturnity ; and since I have neither time 
 nor inclination to communicate the fulness of my heart in 
 speech, I am resolved to do it in writing, and to print my- 
 self 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. 
 
 20 For this reason, therefore, I shall publish a sheet full of 
 thoughts every morning, for the benefit of my contempo- 
 raries ; 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 
 
 30 must confess I would gratify my reader in anything that is 
 reasonable ; but as for these three particulars, though I am 
 sensible they might tend very much to the embellishment of 
 my paper, I cannot yet come to a resolution of communicat- 
 ing 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,
 
 THE SPECTATOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 5 
 
 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 10 
 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 com- 
 mittee to sit every night, for the inspection of all such 
 papers as may contribute to the advancement of the public 
 weal. , C 
 
 II. OF THE CLUB. 
 
 No. 2.] Friday, March 2, 1710-11. [Steele. 
 
 Ast alii sex 20 
 
 Et plures, uno couclamant ore.— Juv. Sat. vii. 167. 
 Six more at least join their consenting voice. 
 
 The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire 
 of an ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Eoger 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 bis good sense, \ 
 and are contradictions to the manners of the world, only as 3d
 
 6 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 he thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humour 
 creates liim 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. vBefore this disappointment. Sir 
 Eoger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped 
 
 10 with my Lord Eochester 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 
 
 20 is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty ; keeps 
 a good house both in town and country ; a great lover of man- 
 kind ; 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 
 Eoger is a justice of the quorum ; that he fills the chair at a 
 quarter-session with great abilities, and three months ago, 
 
 30 gained universal applause by explaining a passage in the 
 Game- Act. 
 
 'I, The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is 
 another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner-Temgle ; 
 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 incliu-
 
 OF THE CLUB. 7 
 
 ations. 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 Demos- 10 
 thenes and Tully, but not one case in the rejDorts 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 20 
 an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of 
 business ; exactly at five he passes through New-Inn, crosses 
 through Eussel Court, and takes a turn at Will's till the play 
 begins ; he has his shoes rubbed and his perriwig powdered at 
 the barber's as you go into the Eose. 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 per- 
 son of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great ex- 30 
 perience. 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 com- 
 merce in all its parts, and will tell you it is a stupid and 
 barbarous way to extend dominion by arms ; for true power
 
 8 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 acquisi- 
 tions 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 
 
 10 natural unaffected eloquence, the persiDicuity 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 timel 
 can say this ot 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 in- 
 vincible modesty. He is one of those that deserve very well, 
 
 20 but are very awkward at putting their talents within the 
 observation of such as should take notice of them. He was 
 some years a captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry 
 in several engagements, and at several sieges ; but having a 
 small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir Boger, 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 
 
 30 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 this way of 
 talk, excuse generals, for not disposing according to men's
 
 OF THE CLUB. 9 
 
 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 10 
 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 over-bearing, 
 though accustomed to command men in the utmost degree 
 below him ; nor ever too obsequious, from an habit of obey- 
 ing men highly above him. 
 
 But that our society may not appear a set of humorists 
 unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, 
 we have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman 20 
 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 veiy little 
 impression, either by wrinkles on his forehead, or traces in 
 his brain. His person is well turned, and of a good height. 
 He is very ready at that sort of discourse with which men 
 usually entertain women. 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 30 
 French king's favourites our wives and daughters had this 
 manner of curling their hair, that way of placing their hoods ; 
 whose frailty was covered by such a sort of petticoat, and 
 whose vanity to show her foot made that part of the dress so 
 short in such a year. In a word, all his conversation and 
 knowledge has been in the female world. As other men of his
 
 10 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 
 
 10 his veins, Tom Mirabell the 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 that sort of man, who is usually called a well-bred 
 fine gentleman. 
 
 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 
 
 20 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 siibject 
 
 30 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. tL
 
 SIR ROGER AT HOME. H 
 
 ^ III. Sm ROGER AT HOME. 
 
 No. 106.] Monday, July 2, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Hinc tibi copia 
 Manabit ad plenum, benigno 
 Ruris honorum opulenta cornu. — Hor. 1 Od. xvii. 14. 
 
 Here Plenty's liberal liorn shall pour 
 Of fruits for tliee a copious show'r, 
 Rich honours of the quiet plain. 
 
 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 jq 
 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 gentle- 
 men of the country come to see him, he only shows me 
 at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields, I 
 have observed them stealing a sight of me over a hedge, 
 and have heard the knight desiring them not to let me 
 see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 20 
 
 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 ser- 
 vants never care for leaving him : by this means his 
 domestics are all in years, and grown old with their master. 
 You would take his valet de chambre for his brother ; his 
 butler is gray-headed ; his groom is one of the gravest 
 men that I have ever seen ; and his coachman has the 
 looks of a privy-councillor. You see the goodness of the 30 
 master even in the old house-dog ; and in a gray pad that
 
 12 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 is kept in the stable with great care and tenderness out 
 of regard to his past services, though he has beeu useless 
 for several years. 
 
 I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure, 
 the joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient 
 domestics upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. 
 Some of them could not refrain from tears at the sight of 
 their old master ; every one of them pressed forward to 
 do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they 
 
 10 were not employed. At the same time the good old 
 knight, with a mixture of the father and the master of 
 the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs 
 with several kind questions relating to themselves. This 
 humanity and good-nature engages everybody to him, so 
 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 be 
 coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for 
 a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of 
 
 20 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 
 
 30 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 aa 
 a relation than a dependent. 
 
 I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend 
 Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of a
 
 SIR ROGER AT HOME. 13 
 
 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, 10 
 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 backgammon. " My friend" (says Sir 
 Eoger) "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 20 
 upon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he 
 shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps 
 he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years ; 
 and, though he does not know I have taken notice of it, 
 has never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, 
 though he is every day soliciting me for something in behalf 
 of one or other of my tenants, his parishioners. There has 
 not been a law-suit in the parish since he has lived among 
 them : if any dispute arises, they apply themselves to him 
 for the decision ; if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, 30 
 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
 
 14 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 they follow one another naturally, and make a continued 
 system of practical divinity." 
 
 As Sir Eoger was going on in his story, the gentleman 
 we were talking of came up to us ; and upon the knight's 
 asking him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday 
 night), told us, the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning, 
 and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then showed us his 
 list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw with a 
 great deal of pleasure, Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunder- 
 
 10 son. Doctor Barrow, Doctor Calamy, with several living 
 authors who have published discourses of practical divinity. 
 I no sooner saw this venerable man in the pulpit, but I 
 very much 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 discoui-ses 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. 
 
 20 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 endea- 
 vour after a handsome elocution, and all those other talents 
 that are proper to enforce what has been penned by great 
 masters. This would not only be more easy to theniselvea 
 but more edifying to the people.
 
 A' 
 
 THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD. 15 
 
 IV. THE COVEELEY HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 No. 107.] Tuesday, July 3, 17n. [Steele. 
 
 ^sopo ingentem statuam posuere Attici, 
 Servumque coUocarunt jeterna in basi, 
 Patere honoris scirent ut cunctis viam. 
 
 Pliaedr. Epilog. 1. 2. 
 
 The Athenians erected a large statue to ^Esop, and j)laced 
 him, though a slave, on a lasting pedestal; to shew, 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 10 
 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 fly from the parts of the 
 house through which their master is passing ; on the 
 contrary, here they industi'iously place themselves in his 
 way ; and it is on both sides, as it were, understood as 
 a visit, when the servants apjsear without calling. This 20 
 pi"oceeds 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 economy as ever to be much 
 beforehand. This makes his own mind untroubled, and 
 consequently unapt to vent peevish expressions, or give 
 passionate or inconsistent orders to those about him. Thus 
 respect and love go together ; and a certain cheerfulness 
 in performance of their duty is the particular distinction of 
 the lower part of this family. When a servant is called 
 before his master, he does not come with an expectation 30 
 to hear himself rated for some trivial fault, threatened to
 
 16 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 bene- 
 volence to his dependents, lives rather like a prince than 
 
 10 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 com- 
 manded 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 
 
 20 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 bounties 
 of the ladies of this kind ; and I have heard him say he 
 knew a fine woman, who distributed rewards and punish- 
 ments in giving becoming or unbecoming dresses to her 
 maids. 
 
 But my good friend is above these little instances of good- 
 
 30 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 a husband, and knows so thoroughly that 
 the skill of the purse is the cardinal virtue of this life ; 
 fl say he knows so well that frugality is the support of 
 I generosity, that he can often spare a large fine when a
 
 THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD. 17 
 
 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 10 
 himself or his ancestors. It was to me extremely pleasant 
 to observe the visitants from the several parts to welcome 
 his arrival into the country : and all the difference that I 
 could take notice of between the late servants who came 
 to see him, and those who stayed in the family, was that 
 these latter were looked upon as finer gentlemen and 
 better courtiers. 
 
 This manumission and placing them in a way of liveli- 
 hood, I look upon as only what is due to a good servant ; 
 which encouragement will make his successor be as diligent, 20 
 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 depen- 
 dents, and the heroic services which men have done their 
 masters in the extremity of their fortunes ; and shown to 
 their undone patrons, that fortune was all the difference 
 between them ; but as I design this my speculation only 
 as a gentle admonition to thankless masters, I shall not 39 
 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 moi'e, good servants treated as they 
 ought to be. Sir Rogei-'s kindness extends to their chil- 
 dren's children, and this very morning he sent his coachman's 
 grandson to prentice. I shall conclude this paper with an
 
 18 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 account of a picture in his gallery, where there are many 
 which will deserve my future observation. 
 ~ At the very upper end of this very 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 
 show in his face exquisite joy and love towards the other. 
 I thought the fainting figure resembled my friend Sir 
 Roger ; and looking at the butler who stood by me, for 
 
 10 an account of it, he infoi'med 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, 
 
 20 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 R. 
 
 y. CHARACTER OF WILL WIMBLE. 
 
 No. 108.] Wednesday, July 4, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens. — Phaedr. Fab. v. 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, 
 
 30 which, he told him, Mr. William Wimble had caught that
 
 CHARACTER OF WILL WIMBLE. 19 
 
 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 Eoger, 
 
 " 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 10 
 will bring half a dozen with me that I twisted last week, 
 which I hope will serve you all the time you are in the 
 country. I have not been out of the saddle for six days last 
 past, having been at Eton with Sir John's eldest son. He 
 takes to his learning hugely. 
 
 " I am, Sir, your humble Servant, 
 
 "Will Wimble." 
 
 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 20 
 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-i'ods. 
 As he is a good-natured, officious fellow, and very much 30 
 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
 
 20 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 oblig- 
 ing little humours, make Will the darling of the country. 
 
 Sir Roger was proceeding in the character of him, when he 
 saw him make up to us with two or three hazel-twigs in his 
 10 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 wel- 
 come 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 
 20 was no sooner turned, but honest Will began to tell me of a 
 large cock pheasant that he had sprung in one of the neigh- 
 bouring woods, with two or three other adventures of the 
 same nature. Odd and uncommon characters are the game 
 that I look for, and most delight in ; for which reason I was 
 as much pleased with the novelty of the person that talked 
 to me, as 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 rang to dinner, where 
 30 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 con-
 
 CHARACTER OF WILL WIMBLE. 21 
 
 versatioii 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 gentle- 
 man 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 afiairs, might have 10 
 recommended him to the public esteem, and have raised 
 his fortune in another station of life. What good to his 
 country, or himself, might not a trader or merchant have 
 done with such useful, though ordinary, qualifications ? 
 
 Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother I 
 of a great family, who had rather see their children starve J 
 like gentlemen, than thrive in a trade or profession that is 
 beneath their quality. This humoiir fills several parts of 
 Europe with pride and beggary. It is the happiness of a 
 trading nation, like ours, that the younger sons, though 20 
 incapable of any liberal art or profession, may be placed 
 in such a way of life, as may perhaps enable them to vie 
 with the best of their family. Accordingly, we find several 
 citizens 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 physic ; 
 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 30 
 studies of a higlier nature, he was perfectly well turned 
 for the occupations of trade and commerce.
 
 22 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 VI. SIR ROGER'S ANCESTORS. 
 
 No. 109.] Thursday, July 5, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Abnormia sapiens. — Hor. 2 Sat. ii. 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, 
 
 10 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, 
 
 20 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 
 Henry the Seventh's time, is kept on in the yeoman of 
 the guard ; not without a good and politic view, because 
 they look a foot taller, and a foot and an half broader ; 
 besides, that the cap leaves the face expanded, and conse- 
 quently more terrible, and fitter to stand at the entrances 
 of palaces. 
 
 30 " This predecessor of ours you see is dressed after this 
 manner, and his cheeks would be no larger than mine, were
 
 SIR ROGER'S ANCESTORS. 23 
 
 he ill 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 i-ight 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 10 
 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 sate (for they were rivals), and let him down 
 with laudable courtesy and pardonable insolence. I do 
 not know, but it might be exactly where the coffee-house 
 is now. 
 
 " You are to know this, my ancestor was not only of a 
 military genius, but fit also for the arts of peace, for he 
 played on the bass-viol as well as any gentleman at court ; 20 
 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 pictvire. You see, 
 sir, my great great great grandmother has on the new- 
 fashioned petticoat, except that tlie 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 be- 
 came an excellent country-wife, she had ten children, and 30 
 when I show you the library, you shall see in her own 
 hand (allowing for the difference of the language) the 
 best receipt now in England both for an hasty-pudding 
 and a white-pot. 
 
 " If you please to fall back a little, because it is necessary 
 to look at the three next pictures at one view ; these are
 
 24 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 three sisters. She on the right hand, who is so very 
 beautiful, died a maid ; the next to her, still handsomer, had 
 the same fate, against her will ; this homely thing in the 
 middle had both their portions added to her own, and 
 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 
 
 10 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 choosing) ; 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 any thing to 
 
 20 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 
 
 30 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."
 
 SIR ROGER'S ANCESTORS. 25 
 
 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 10 
 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 he used 
 frequently to lament that gi'eat and good had not the 20 
 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, bnt 
 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 30 
 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 
 M^him of narrowly escaping by having been within a day 
 'of danger, with other matters above mentioned, mixed
 
 26 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 with good sense, left me at a loss whether I was more 
 delighted with my friend's wisdom or simplicity. E. 
 
 ^ VII. ON GHOSTS AND APPAEITIONS. 
 
 No. 110.] Friday, Jidy 6, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Horror ubique aiiimos, simul ipsa silentia terrent. 
 
 Virg. Aen. ii. 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 
 
 10 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 
 
 20 myself in it after sun- set, for that one of the footmen 
 had been almost frightened 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 
 
 30 appear in. The ruins of the abbey are scattered up and
 
 ON GHOSTS AND APPARITIONS. 27 
 
 down on every side, and half covered with ivy and elder 
 bushes, the harbours of several solitary birds which sel- 
 dom make their appearance till the dusk of the evening. 
 The place was formerly a churchyard, and has still several 
 marks in it of graves and burying-places. There is such 
 an echo among the 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 10 
 venerable. These objects naturally raise seriousness and 
 attention ; and when night heightens the awfulness of the 
 place, and pours out her supernumerary horrors upon 
 everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak minds 
 fill it with spectres and apparitions. 
 
 Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the Association of Ideas, 
 has very curious remarks to shew 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 kiud, 20 
 he produces the following instance. "The ideas of goblins 
 and sprites have really no more to do with darkness than 
 light : yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these often on 
 the mind of a child, and raise them there together, 
 possibly he shall 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 30 
 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 Eoger has often told me with a great
 
 28 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 his 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 
 
 10 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 their fears which had so long reigned in 
 the family. 
 
 I should not thus have been particular upon these ridi- 
 
 20 culous horrors, did not I find them so very much prevail 
 in all parts of the country. At the same time 1 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 
 livinff, and whom I cannot distrust in other matters of 
 
 30 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 him- 
 self, 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
 
 ON GHOSTS AND APPARITIONS. 29 
 
 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 10 
 shapes and shadows of persons who are either dead or 
 absent. 
 
 y VIII. SIR ROGER AT CHURCH. 
 
 No. 112.] Monday, July 9, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 'AGavdrovs jJiJv irpwra Gcovs, v6|i<i) ws SictKeiTai, 
 
 TijJ.a. — Pythag. 
 
 First, in obedience to thy countrys' rites, 
 Worship th' immortal Gods. 
 
 I AM always very well pleased with a countiy 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. 20 
 It is certain the country people would soon degenerate into 
 a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such fre- 
 quent 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 sub- 
 jects, 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 30 
 all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the
 
 30 THE SPECTATOR, 
 
 eye of the village. A country fellow distingiiishes himself 
 as much in the churchyard, as a citizen does upon the 
 Change, the whole parish-politics being generally discussed 
 in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings. 
 My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beauti- 
 fied the inside of his church with several texts of his own 
 choosing. He has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, 
 and railed in the communion-table at his own expense. 
 He has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he 
 
 10 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 outdo most 
 of the country churches that I have ever heard. 
 
 As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he 
 keeps them in very good order, and will suffer no body to 
 
 20 sleep in it besides himself ilfior 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 
 
 30 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
 
 SIR ROGER AT CHURCH. 31 
 
 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 make 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 10 
 stir till Sir Eoger 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 suchan__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 Eoger has been pleased with a boy that 
 answers well, he has ordered a bible to be given him next 20 
 day for his encouragement ; and sometimes accompanies it 
 with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has like- 
 wise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place ; and 
 that he may encourage the young fellows to make them- 
 selves 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 30 
 famous for the differences and contentions that rise between 
 the parson and the 'squire, who live in a perpetual state 
 of war. The parson is always preaching at the '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
 
 32 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 coimtry, 
 are very fatal to the ordinary people ; who are so used to 
 10 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. 
 
 •^IX. HIS ACCOUNT OF HIS DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 IN LOVE. 
 
 No. 113.] Tuesday, July 10, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Haerent infixi pectore vultus. — Virg. Aen. iv. 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, tliat I mentioned 
 
 20 a great affliction which my friend Sir Eoger 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 ithe 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 
 
 30 certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world.
 
 ' \ '.-• 
 
 7 
 
 HIS DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE. 33 
 
 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. 1 have been fool enough to 
 carve her name on the bark of several of these trees ; so 
 nnhappy is the condition of men in love, to attempt the 
 removing of their passion by the methods which serve only 
 to imprint it deeper. She has certainly the finest hand of 
 any woman in the world." 10 
 
 Here followed a profound silence ; and I was not dis- 
 pleased to observe my friend falling so naturally into a 
 discourse, which I had ever before taken notice he indus- 
 triously avoided. After a very long pause, he entered 
 upon an account of this great circumstance in his life, 
 with an air which T thought raised my idea of him above 
 what I liad 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 : 20 
 
 "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 recrea- 
 tions, for the sake of my health. In my twenty-third year 
 I was obliged to serve as sheriff of the county ; and in 
 my servants, officers, and whole equipage, indulged the 
 pleasure of a young man (who did not think ill of his own 
 person) in taking that public occasion of shewing my figure 30 
 and behaviour to advantage. You may easily imagine to 
 yourself what aj)pearance I ma,de, who am pretty tall, rid 
 well, and was very well dressed, at the head of a whole 
 county, with music before me, a feather in my hat, and 
 my horse well bitted. I can assure you, I was not a little 
 pleased with the kind looks and glances I had from all
 
 34 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 uneasi- 
 ness, I warrant you, and then recovered herself from one 
 eye to another, until she was perfectly confused by meeting 
 
 10 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 surprised 
 
 booby ; and knowing her cause to be the first which came 
 
 on, I cried, like a captivated calf as I was, "Make way 
 
 for the defendant's witnesses." This sudden partiality made 
 
 all the county immediately see the sheriflf also was become 
 
 a slave to the fine widow. During the time her cause was 
 
 upon trial, she behaved herself, I warrant you, with such 
 
 a deep attention to her business, took opportunities to have 
 
 .■20 little billets handed to her counsel, then would be in such 
 
 A a pretty confusion, occasioned, you must know, by acting 
 
 before so much company, thab 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, 
 
 j/r j 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 
 
 30 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 confidant, 
 who is witness to her daily protestations against our sex,
 
 HIS DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE. 35 
 
 and consequently a bar to her first steps towards love, 
 upon the strength of her own maxims and declarations. 
 
 "However, I must need say, this accomplished mistress 
 of mine has distinguished me above the rest, and has 
 been known to declare Sir Eoger 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, 10 
 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 20 
 certain artifice with her eyes, and the skill of beauty, she 
 will arm herself with her real charms, and strike you with 
 admiration. 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 ; 30 
 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 speech- 
 less. This she no sooiier observed but she made her 
 advantage of it, and began a discourse to me concerning
 
 36 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 love and honour, as thej 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 con- 
 fidant 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 Eoger pauses upon this 
 
 10 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 
 
 20 to her, as you would conquer the sphynx, 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 a creature — But, after 
 all, you may be sure her heart is fixed on some one or 
 other , and yet I have been credibly informed ; but who 
 can believe half that is said ! after she had 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 excel- 
 
 30 lently : her voice in her ordinary speech has something in 
 it inexpressibly sweet. You must know I dined with her 
 at a public table the day after I first saw her, and she 
 helped me to some tansy in the eye of all the gentlemen 
 in the country. She has certainly the finest hand of any 
 woman in the world. I can assure you, sir, were you to 
 behold her, you would be in the same condition ; for as
 
 HIS DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE. 37 
 
 her speech is music, her form is angelic. But I find I 
 grow irregular while I am talking of her ; but indeed it 
 would be stujoidity 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 10 
 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 repre- 
 sents with much humour my honest friend's condition : 
 
 Quicquid agit Rnfus, nihil est, nisi Nsevia Rufo, 
 
 Si gaudet, si fiet, si tacet, hanc loquitur : 
 Coenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit, una est 
 
 Nievia ; si non sit Noevia, mutus erit. 
 Scriberet hesternS, patri cum luce salutem, 20 
 
 Nsevia lux, inquit, Nsevia numen, ave. —E}n(j- i. C9. 
 
 Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk, 
 StiU he can nothing but of Nsevia talk ; 
 Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute. 
 Still he must speak of Nasvia, or be mute. 
 He writ to his father, ending with this line, 
 I am, my lovely Nsevia, ever thine. 
 
 R 
 
 X. ON THE SHAME AND FEAR OF POVERTY. 
 
 No. 114] Wednesday, July 11, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Paupertatis pudor et fuga. — Hor. 1 Ep. xviii. 2-1. 
 
 The dread of nothing more 
 Than to be thought necessitous and poor. — Pooly. 30 
 
 Economy in our affairs has the same effect upon our fortunes 
 which good-breeding has upon our conversation. There is
 
 38 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 a pretending behaviour in both cases, which instead of 
 making men esteemed, renders them both miserable and 
 contemptible. We had yesterday at Sir Eoger's a set of 
 country gentlemen who dined with him : aiui 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 gi'eedy 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 
 
 10 was said, and as he advanced towai'ds 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 con- 
 siderable 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 inquietxides, 
 
 20 danger of affronts, and a thousand nameless inconveniencies, 
 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 jioverty. That neatness 
 
 30 and cheerfulness which attends the table of him who lives 
 within compass, is wanting, and exchanged for a libertine 
 way of service in all about him. 
 
 This gentleman's conduct, though a very common way of 
 management, is as ridiculous as that officer's would be, 
 who had but few men under his command, and should 
 take the charge of an extent of country rather than of a
 
 ON THE SHAME AND FEAR OF POYERTY. 39 
 
 small pass. To pay for, persouate, 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 he 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. 1^ 
 
 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 mucli as would pay off 
 that debt, he would save four shillings in the pound, wliich 
 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. 
 
 Laertes and Irus are neighbours, whose way of living 
 are an abomination to each other. Irus is moved by the 20 
 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 widely 
 difi'erent. Shame of poverty makes Laertes launch into 
 unnecessary equipage, vain expense, and lavish entertain- 
 ments. 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 30 
 nearer to it : and fear of poverty stirs up Irus to make 
 every day some further progress from it. 
 
 These difi'erent motives produce the excesses which men 
 are guilty of in the negligence of and provision for them- 
 selves. Usury, stock-jobbing, extortion, and oppression, y^ 
 have their seed in the dread of want ; and vanity, riot,
 
 40 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 
 
 10 this reflection that I always read Mr. Cowley with the 
 greatest pleasure. His magnanimity is as much above that 
 of other considerable men, as his understanding , and it is 
 a true distinguishing spirit in the elegant author who pub- 
 lished 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, 
 
 20 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 
 
 30 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 mechanic 
 being which has not good sense for its direction, but is
 
 ON THE SHAME AND FEAE OF POVERTY. 41 
 
 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, 1^ 
 
 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 hnmble blessings of that life I love. — T. 
 
 XI. LABOUE AND EXEECISE. 
 
 No. 115.] Thursday, July 12, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Ut sit mens sana in corpore sano. — Juv. Sat. x. 35G, 
 Pray for a sound mind in a sound body. 
 
 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 diflfers only from 20 
 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 descrip- 
 tion does not only comprehend the bowels, bones, tendons, 30 
 veins, nerves, and arteries, but every muscle and every
 
 42 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ligature which is a couipositiou 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 
 i\, in the 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 
 
 10 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 redund- 
 ancies, 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 understand- 
 ing clear, the imagination untroubled, and refining those 
 spirits that are necessary for the proper exertion of our 
 
 20 intellectual faculties, during the present laws of union 
 between soul and body. It is to a neglect in this par- 
 ticular 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 those com- 
 
 30 pressions, 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,
 
 LABOUR AND EXERCISE. 43 
 
 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 10 
 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 20 
 large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which his mother 
 ordered to be hung up in that manner, and the knight (, 
 looks upon 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 havoc 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 himting down. Sir Roger shewed me 30 
 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
 
 44 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 recom- 
 
 10 mend 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 the Medicina Gyninastica. 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 
 
 20 placed in a corner of my room, and it 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 ti'eatise of exercises that is 
 written with great erudition : It is there called the 
 (Txioiiax^a, or the fighting with a man's own shadow, and 
 
 30 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 i^leasure of boxing, without the blows. I could 
 wish that several learned men would lay out that time 
 which they employ in controversies and disjjutes about 
 nothing, in this method of fighting with their own shadows.
 
 LABOUR AND EXERCISE. 45 
 
 It might conduce very mucli 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. 
 
 XII. A HUNTING SCENE WITH SIR ROGER. 
 
 No. 116.] Friday, July 13, 1711. [Budgell. 
 
 Vocat ingenti clamore Cithseron, 
 Taygetique canes. — Virg. Georg. iii. 43. 
 
 The eclioing hills and chiding hounds invite. 10 
 
 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 BastiJe 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 diff"erent figures on the arm of a great chair. He 20 
 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 seems 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 30 
 have before hinted at some of my friend's exploits : he
 
 46 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 has in his youthful days taken forty coveys of partridges 
 in a season ; and tired many a sahnon with a line consist- 
 ing 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 M'as 
 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 
 
 10 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- 
 hirse 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 
 
 20 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 
 
 30 wanted a counter-tenor. Could I believe my friend had 
 ever read Shakspeare, I should certainly conclude he had 
 taken the hint from Theseus in the Midsummer Night's 
 Dream : 
 
 i 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,
 
 A HUNTING SCENE WITH SIR ROGER. 47 
 
 Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls, 
 Slow in pursuit, but matcli'd 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 offeiing 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 10 
 friend. The farmers' sons thought themselves happy if 
 they could opeu 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 or 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 en- 20 
 deavoured to make the company sensible of by extending 
 my arm ; but to no purpose, till Sir Roger, who knows 
 that none of my extraordinary motions are insignificant, 
 rode up to me, and asked me, if puss was gone that way ] 
 Upon my answering, yes, he immediately called in the 
 dogs, and put them upon the scent. As they were going 
 off, I heard one of the country-fellows muttering to his 
 companion, "that 'twas a wonder they had not lost all 
 their sport, for want of the silent gentleman's crying 
 Stole away." 30 
 
 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 about a mile behind her ; but I was pleased to find, 
 that instead of running straight forwards, or in huntei-'a
 
 48 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 language, "flying the country," as I was afraid she might 
 have done, she wheeled about, and described a sort of a 
 circle round the hill where I had taken my station, in 
 such a 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, 
 
 10 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 
 
 20 rode upon a white gelding, encompassed by his tenants 
 and servants, and cheering his hounds with all the gaiet}i 
 of five and twenty. One of the sportsmen rode up to me, 
 and told me, that he was sure the cliace 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 returning upon us 
 
 30 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 was sure it was innocent. If I was 
 under any concern, it was on the account of the poor hare, 
 that was now quite spent, and almost within the reach of 
 her enemies ; when the huntsman getting forward threw
 
 A HUNTING SCENE WITH SIR ROGER. 49 
 
 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 
 Eoger rode forward, and alighting, took up the hare in 
 his arms ; which he soon after delivered up to one of his 
 servants with an order, if she could be kept alive, to let her 
 go in his great orchard ; where it seems he has several of 10 
 these prisoners of war, who live together in a very com- 
 fortable 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 mvirder 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 20 
 looking into ourselves, which is a view we cannot bear. 
 He afterwards goes on to shew 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 V 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 30 
 from this exercise, I mean, the preservation of health, and 
 keeping all the organs of the soul in a condition to exe- 
 cute her orders. Had that incompai^able 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
 
 50 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 his studies in his youth he contracted that i]l 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 innumer- 
 able 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 
 10 kind of physic for mending a bad constitution, and pre- 
 serving a good one. 
 
 I cannot do this better, than in the following lines out 
 of Mr, Dryden : 
 
 1/ 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 j 
 Toil strung the nerves, and purify'd the blood ; 
 But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men, 
 Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten, 
 20 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. 
 
 V 
 
 XIII. ON WITCHCRAFT— STORY OF MOLL WHITK 
 No. 117.] Saturday, July 14, 1711, [Addison, 
 
 Ipsi sibi somnia fingunt. — Virg. Ed. viii. 108. 
 With voluntary dreams they cheat their minds. 
 
 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 
 30 a mind that is careful to avoid errors and prepossessions. 
 When the arguments press equally on both sides in
 
 ON WITCHCRAFT-STORY OF MOLL WHITE. 51 
 
 matters that are indifferent to us, the safest method is to 
 give up ourselves to neither. 
 
 It is with this teiujier 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 think- 
 ing 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 10 
 credulous parts of the world abound most in these rela- 
 tions, 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, 20 
 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 30 
 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 wither'd ;
 
 52 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapt 
 
 The tatter'd remnant 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 coarsely patch'd 
 
 With different colour'd 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 
 
 10 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 
 
 20 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 her 
 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 hunts- 
 man curses Moll White. "Nay," says Sir Koger, "I have 
 known the master of the pack, upon such an occasion, 
 
 30 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. 
 I3pon our first entering, Sir Roger winked to me, and 
 pointed at something that stood behind the door, which
 
 ON WITCHCRAFT— STORY OF MOLL WHITE. 53 
 
 upon looking that way, I found to be an old broom-staff. 
 At the same time he whispered me in the ear to take 
 notice of a tabby cat that sate 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 10 
 much wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time 
 could not forbear smiling to hear Sir Eoger, who is a 
 little puzzled about the old woman, advising her as a justice 
 of peace to avoid all communication with the devil, and never 
 to hurt any of her neighbours' cattle. We concluded our 
 visit with a bounty, which was very acceptable. 
 
 In our return home, Sir Eoger told me, that old Moll 
 had often been 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 try- 20 
 ing experiments with her every day, if it was not for him 
 and his chaplain. 
 
 I have since found upon enquiry, that Sir Roger was 
 several times staggered with the reports that had been 
 brought him concerning this old woman, and would fre- 
 quently 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 30 
 Moll White in it. When an old woman begins to doat, 
 and grow chargeable to a pariah, 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 frightened at herself, and
 
 54 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 sometimes confesses secret commerces and familiarities that 
 her imagination forms in a delirious old age. This fre- 
 quently cuts off charity from the greatest objects of 
 compassion, and inspires people with a malevolence towards 
 those poor decrepit parts of our species, in whom human 
 nature is defaced by infirmity and dotage. L. 
 
 XIV. SIE ROGER'S REFLECTIONS ON THE WIDOW. 
 
 No. 118.] Monday, July 16, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Hseret lateri lethalis arundo. — Virg. Aen. iv. 73. 
 The fatal dart 
 Sticks in his side, and rankles in his heart. — Dryden. 
 
 10 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 yet is 
 not strong enough to be inconsistent with tranquillity. 
 This state of mind was I in, ravished with the murmur 
 of waters, the whisper of breezes, the singing of birds ; 
 
 20 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 joleasure ; 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 does not either say to 
 her lovers she has any resolution against that condition of 
 life in general, or that she banislies them ; but conscious 
 
 30 of her own merit she permits their addresses, without fear 
 af any ill consequence, or want of respect, from their
 
 SIR ROGER'S REFLECTIONS ON THE WIDOW. 55 
 
 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 accessible, that I am more inclined to 
 worship than salute her. How often have I wished her 10 
 unhappy, that I might have an opportunity of serving 
 her 1 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 confidant. 
 "Of all persons under the sun," (continued he, calling me 
 by my name) "be sure to set a mark upon confidants: 
 they are of all people the most impertinent. What is 
 most pleasant to observe in them is, that they assume to 20 
 themselves the merit of the persons wliom they have in 
 their custody. Orestilla is a great fortune, and in wonder- 
 ful danger of surprises, therefore full of suspicions of the 
 least indifferent thing, particularly careful of new acquaint- 
 ance, 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 confidant 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 30 
 it is that very many of our unmarried women of distinc- 
 tion 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
 
 56 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 they most like. Yoii do not see one heiress in a liundred 
 whose fate does not turn upon this circumstance of 
 choosing a confidant. 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 Eoger 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 
 
 10 which we saw a young woman sitting as it were in a 
 personated suUenness 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 
 
 20 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 ofi"ers 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 oflfer of throwing himself into 
 
 30 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 will not drown yourself till you have taken 
 your leave of Susan Holiday." The huntsman, with a tender-
 
 SIR ROGER'S REFLECTIONS ON THE WIDOW. 57 
 
 ness that spoke the most passionate love, and with his 
 cheek close to hers, whispered the softest vows of fidelity 
 in her ear, and cried, "Do not, 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 Koger, " do you see there, all 
 mischief comes from confidants! But let us not interrupt 
 them ; the maid is honest, and the man dare not be other- 
 wise : for he knows I loved her father : I will interpose 
 in this matter, and hasten the wedding. Kate Willow is 10 
 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 Eoger 
 and I must make a match, for we are both despised by 20 
 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 afiliction 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 30 
 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 eff"ect upon my brain : for I frequently find, that
 
 58 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 natui'e 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 
 10 Freeport about trade. No, no, for all she looks so innocent 
 as it were, take my word for it she is no fool." T. 
 
 XV. RURAL MANNERS. 
 
 No. 119.] Tuesday, July 17, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Urbem quam dicunt Roman, Meliboee, putavi, 
 Stultus ego luiic nostrae similem. — Virg. Eel. i 20, 
 
 The city men call Rome, unskilful clown, 
 
 I thought resembled this our humble town. — Warton. 
 
 The first and most obvious reflections which arise in a man 
 who changes the city for the country, are upon the different 
 manners of the peojile whom he meets with in those two 
 different scenes of life. By manners I do not mean morals, 
 
 20 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 rustic part of the species (who on all 
 occasions acted bluntly and naturally) by such a mutual 
 
 30 complaisance and intercourse of civilities. These forms of
 
 RURAL MANNERS, 59 
 
 conversation by degrees multiplied and grew troviblesome ; 
 the modish world found too great a constraint in them, and 
 have therefore thrown most of them aside. Coversation, like 
 the Roman religion, was so encumbered with show and cere- 
 mony, 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 wox-ld is grown free and easy ; 
 our manners sit more loose upon us. Nothing is so modish 10 
 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 coun- 
 try. One may now know a man that never conversed in 
 the world by his excess of good-breeding. A polite country 20 
 esquire 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 takes the chair that is next me, and 
 walk first or last, in the front or in the rear, as chance 
 directs. 1 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 30 
 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, whom I should have 
 thought had been altogether uninfected with ceremony, 
 gives me abundance of trouble in this particular. Though he
 
 60 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 has been fishing all the morning, he will not help himself at 
 dinner until I am served. When we are going ovit 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 
 
 10 of mode, and which I cannot but look upon as very extra- 
 ordinary. It was certainly one of the first distinctions of a 
 well-bred man, to express everything that had the most 
 remote appearance of being obscene, in modest terms and dis- 
 tant phrases ; whilst the clown, who had no such delicacy of 
 conception or 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 stiif, formal, and precise ; for which 
 reason (as hypocrisy in one age is generally succeeded by 
 
 20 atheism in another) conversation is in a great measure re- 
 lapsed 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 co.xcombs 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 makes any 
 
 30 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
 
 RURAL MANNERS. 61 
 
 third which turns upon dress. In this too the country are 
 very much behindhand. The rural beaus are not yet got out 
 of the fashion that took place at the time of the Revolution, 
 but ride about the country in red coats and laced hats ; while 
 the women in many parts are still trying to outvie one 
 another in the height of their head-dresses. 
 
 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 10 
 this last topic till I have received a letter from him, which I 
 expect every post. 
 
 XVI. INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 
 No. 120.] Wednesday, July 18, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis 
 Ingenium. — Virg. Georg. i. 415. 
 
 I deem their breasts inspir'd 
 With a divine sagacity. 
 
 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 20 
 near a 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 30 
 authors, and comparing them with what falls under my
 
 G2 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 own observation •. the arguments 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. 
 
 10 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 deposit 
 them in, and there leave them ; as the serpent, the 
 crocodile, and ostrich , others hatch their eggs and tend 
 their birth, until it is able to shift for itself. 
 
 What can we call the principle which directs every 
 
 20 different kiud of bird to observe a particular plan in the 
 structure of its nest, and directs 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 endued with it to as groat a degree as man, 
 their buildings would be as different as oui's, according 
 to the different conveniencies that they would propose to 
 
 30 theniselves. 
 
 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 gi'ass, for their 
 security and concealment, and produce such infinite swarms 
 of insects for the supj^ort and sustenance of their respective 
 broods 1
 
 INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 63 
 
 Is it not wonderfu], 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? 
 
 But notwithstanding this natural love in brutes is much 
 more violent and intense than in rational creatui'es, Provi- 
 dence has taken care that it should be no longer trouble- 
 some 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 10 
 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 20 
 for the continuance of the sj:)ecies : nor indeed in reasonable 
 ci'eatures does it rise in any proportion, as it spreads itself 
 downwai'd , 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 shows itself in all occurrences of life ; whereas 30 
 the Brute makes no discovery of such a talent, but in what 
 immediately regards his own preservation, or the continu- 
 ance 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
 
 64 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 disturb- 
 ance ! 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 
 
 10 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 
 
 20 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, 
 
 30 is without the least glimmering 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
 
 INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 65 
 
 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 10 
 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. 
 
 XVII. INSTINCT IN Al^HMAluS— Continued. 
 
 No. 121.] Thursday, July 19, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Jovis omnia plena. — Virg. Ed. iii. 60. 
 All things are full of Jove. 
 
 As I was walking this morning in the great yard that 
 belongs to my friend's country-house, I was wonderfully 20 
 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 stepmother, 
 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 30 
 an operation of the supreme Being, as that which deter- 
 
 E
 
 66 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 mines 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 hrutorum, "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 
 
 10 no sooner falls from its mother, but immediately and of 
 its own accord it applies itself to tlie teat. Dampier, in 
 his Travels, tells us, that when seamen are thrown upon 
 any of the 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 
 ^Decking of birds ; but fall on without any fear or appre- 
 hension 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, 
 
 20 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 
 
 30 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 a lion 
 in so weak and defenceless an animal as a Iamb ; 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
 
 INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 67 
 
 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 diflferently fortified the bodies of several 
 kind of animals, such as claws, hoofs, horns, teeth, and 
 tusks, a tail, a sting, a trunk, or a proboscis. It is like- 
 wise 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 10 
 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 actions 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 20 
 the 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 30 
 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
 
 68 • THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 defective, but at the same time has shown 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 scarce 
 agree whether she have any sight at all, or no. But for 
 
 10 amends, what she is capable of for her defence and 
 warning of danger, she has very eminently conferred upon 
 her ; for she is exceeding quick of hearing. And then 
 her short tail and short legs, but broad fore-feet 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 
 
 20 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 or 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." 
 
 30 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 dis- 
 tinguish 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
 
 INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 69 
 
 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 shows itself 
 even in the blemishes of these creatures, how much more 
 does it discover itself in the several endowments which it 10 
 has variously bestowed upon such creatures as are more or 
 less finished and completed in their several faculties, accord- 
 ing to the condition of life in which they are posted. 
 
 I could wish our Boyal 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 dis- 20 
 tinguish 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 disquisi- 
 tions of the learned, would be infinitely short and defective. 
 Seas and deserts hide millions of animals from our observa- 
 tion. Innumerable artifices and stratagems are acted in 
 the "howling wilderness" and in the "great deep," that 30 
 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
 
 70 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 raillery and ridicule, which 
 frequently fall on such nice observations when they pass 
 10 through the hands of an ordinary writer. L. 
 
 1/ XVIII. SIR ROGEE AT THE ASSIZES. 
 
 No. 122.] Friday, July 20, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 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 approba- 
 tions which it gives itself, seconded by the applauses of 
 the public. A man is more sure of his conduct, v/hen the 
 
 20 verdict which 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 uni- 
 versal benevolence to mankind, in the returns of affection 
 and goodwill, 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 
 
 30 the good old knight. He would needs carry Will Wimble 
 and myself with him to the country assizes. As we were
 
 SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES. 71 
 
 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 Eoger acquainted me 
 with their characters. 
 
 " The first of them," says he, " that hath a spaniel by 
 his side, is a yeoman of about a hundred pounds a year, 
 an honest man. He is just within the game act, and 
 qualified to kill an hare or a pheasant. He knocks down ^^ 
 a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a week ; and by 
 that means lives much cheaper than those who have not 10 
 so good an estate as himself. He would be a good neigh- 
 bour 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 everybody. There 
 is not one in the town where he lives that he has not 
 sued at a quarter-sessions. The rogue had once the im- 
 pudence to go to law with the Widow. His head is full 
 of costs, damages, and ejectments. He plagued a couple 20 
 of honest gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking 
 one of his hedges, till he was forced to sell the ground it 
 enclosed to defray the charges of the prosecution. His 
 father left him fourscore pounds a year ; but he has cast 
 and been cast so often, that 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 30 
 Sir Eoger, Will told liim 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'
 
 72 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 notwith- 
 
 10 standing all the justices had taken their places upon the 
 bench, they made room for the old knight at the head of 
 them ; who, for his reputation in the country, took occasion 
 to whisper in the judge's ear, that he was glad his lordship 
 had met with so much good weather in his circuit. I was 
 listening to the proceedings of the court with much atten- 
 tion, and infinitely pleased with that great appearance and 
 solemnity which so properly accompanies such a public 
 administration of our laws ; when, after about an hour's 
 sitting, I observed, to my great surprise, in the midst of 
 
 20 a trial, that my friend Sir Roger was getting up to speak. 
 I was in some pain for him, until 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 
 
 30 keep up his credit in the country. 
 
 I was highly delighted, when the coui-t 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.
 
 SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES. 73 
 
 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 
 Eoger, put him up in a sign-post before the door ; so that 
 the knight's head had hung out upon the road about a 10 
 week before he himself knew anything of the matter. As 
 soon as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, finding that his 
 servant's indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection and 
 good-will, he only told him that he had made him 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. Accoi'dingly they got a painter, by the 20 
 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 inn-keeper, 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 30 
 ordinary upon the appearance of this monstrous face, under 
 which, notwithstanding it was made to frown and stare in 
 the 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. T at
 
 74 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 first kept my usual silence ; but upon the kniglit'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. 
 
 XIX. EDUCATION OF COUNTEY SQUIEES. 
 No, 123.] Saturday, July 21, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam, 
 10 Rectique cultus pectora roborant : 
 
 Utcunque defecere mores, 
 Dedecorant bene nata culpse. — Hor. 4 Od. iv. 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. — Oldisworth. 
 
 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 
 
 20 behind him. Upon my inquiry who he was. Sir Eoger 
 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 to carry a gun upon his shoulder. 
 
 30 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
 
 EDUCATION OF COUNTRY SQUIRES. 75 
 
 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 domestics, or from the same foolish 10 
 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. 20 
 They were both of them men of good sense and great virtue. 
 They prosecuted their studies together in their earlier years, 
 and entered into svich 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 endow- 
 ments and his acquired abilities he made his way from one 
 post to another, imtil at length he had raised a very con- 
 siderable 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 30 
 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 extra- 
 ordinaiy person in the gazette whom he had not either 
 talked to or seen. In short, he had so well mixt and
 
 76 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 deter- 
 mined, pursuant to the resolution they had taken in the 
 
 10 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 
 
 20 up) died in a few days after the birth of her daughter. 
 His affliction would have been insupportable, had not he 
 been comforted by the daily visits and conversation 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 
 
 30 his son, and that the girl should live with Eudoxus as his 
 daughter, until 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
 
 EDUCATION OF COUNTRY SQUIRES. 77 
 
 took Leonilla, for that was the name of the girl, and educated 
 lier 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 10 
 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 there- 
 fore 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 him- 
 self 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 20 
 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 
 ease ; 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 30 
 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 accept- 
 able guest in the family of Eudoxus, where he became 
 acquainted with Leonilla from her infancy. His acquaint- 
 ance with her by degrees grew into love, which in a mind
 
 78 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 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 
 
 10 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 next day. For it seems Eudoxus was 
 so filled with the report of his son's reputation, that he 
 could no longer withhold making himself known to him. 
 The morning after his arrival at the house of his supposed 
 father, Leontine told him that Eudoxus had something of 
 
 20 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 
 
 30 made to you. Leonilla too shall be still 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
 
 EDUCATION OF COUNTRY SQUIRES. 79 
 
 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 con- 
 clude, the happy pair were married, and half Eudoxus's 10 
 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. 
 
 XX. MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 
 
 JSlo. 125.] Tuesday, July 24, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Ne piieri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella : 
 
 Neu patriae validas in viscere vertite vires. — Virg. Aen. vi. 832. 
 
 This thirst of kindred blood, rny sons, detest, 
 
 Nor turn your force against your country's breast. — Dryden. 20 
 
 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 school-boy, which was at 
 the time when the feuds ran high between the Roundheads 
 and Cavaliers. This worthy knight, being then but a 
 stripling, had occasion to inquire which was the way to 
 St. Anne's Lane, upon 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 30
 
 80 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 met, which was the way to Anne's Lane ; but was called 
 a prick-eared cur for his pains, and instead of being shewn 
 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 Eoger, "I did not think fit to repeat the 
 former question, but going into every lane of the neigh- 
 bourhood, 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 
 
 10 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 
 
 20 pernicious to the last degree, not only Avith 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 false- 
 
 30 hood, detraction, calumny, and a partial administration of 
 justice. In a word, it fills a nation with spleen and ran- 
 cour, 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
 
 MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 81 
 
 itself in others; if you hate your enemies, you will con- 
 tract 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 
 admirable 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 philo- 
 sopher wrote ; but instead of that, I shall only take 
 notice, with a real grief of heart, that the minds of many 10 
 good men among us appear soured with party-principles, 
 and alienated from one another in such a manner, as 
 seems to me altogether inconsistent with the dictates 
 either of reason or religion. Zeal for a public cause 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, 20 
 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, how- 
 ever 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 30 
 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. 
 
 F
 
 82 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 — 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 ever 
 been whispered or invented of a private man, for a known 
 undoubted truth, and raising suitable speculations upon it. 
 Calumnies that have never been proved, or have been often 
 refuted, are the ordinary postulatums of these infamous 
 
 10 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 
 ^eV^o 20 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 public good ? What cruelties and outrages 
 would they not commit against men of an adverse party, 
 
 30 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, 
 made bad men even by that noblest of principles, the 
 "love of their country." I cannot here forbear mention- 
 ing the famous Spanish proverb, " If there were neither
 
 MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 83 
 
 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 10 
 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 dis- 
 tressed 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. 
 
 y XXI. MISCHIEFS OF PAPvTY ^YYKHl— Continued. 
 
 No. 126.] Wednesday, July 25, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Tros Kutulusve fuat nullo discrimine habebo. — Virg. Aen. x. 108. 20 
 Kutulians, 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 
 ^jpmon 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 
 thera the following form of an association, which may 
 express their intentions in the most plain and simple 30 
 manner.
 
 84 - THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 " 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 whatso- 
 ever 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 
 
 10 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 public good ; with all 
 
 20 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 
 
 30 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 remark-
 
 MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 85 
 
 able, 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, ^gypt, says the historian, would be 
 over-run with crocodiles ; for the Egyptians are so far 
 from destroying those pernicious creatures, that they 
 worship them as gods. 
 
 If we look into the behaviour of ordinary partizans, we 
 shall find them far from resembling this disinterested 
 animal ; and rather acting after the example of the wild 10 
 Tartars, who are ambitious of destroying a man of the 
 most extraordinary parts and accomplishments, as thinking 
 that upon his decease the same talents whatever post they 
 qualified him for, enter of course into his destroyer. 
 
 As in the whole train of my speculations, I have en- 
 deavoured 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 20 
 in the town. It here contracts a kind of brutality and 
 rustic fierceness, to which men of a politer conversation 
 are wholly strangers. It extends itself even to the return 
 of the bow and the hat ; and at the same time that the 
 heads of parties preserve 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 jockies and Tory fox-hunters ; not to 30 
 mention the innumerable curses, fi'owns, 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 difi'erent principles, the first 
 of them inclined to the landed and the other to the monied
 
 86 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 interest. This liumonr is so moderate in each of them, 
 that it proceeds no farther than to an agreeable raillery, 
 which very often diverts the rest of the club. I find 
 however that the knight is a much stronger Tory in the 
 country than in town, which as he has told me in my ear, 
 is 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 
 
 10 servants would ride up to his master full speed, and whisper 
 to him that the master of the house was against such an 
 one in the last election. This often betrayed us into hard 
 beds and bad cheer ; for we were not so inquisitive about 
 the inn as the innkeeper ; and 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 
 
 20 with coarse diet and a hard lodging. For these reasons, 
 all the while I was upon the road I dreaded entering into 
 a 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 the 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 
 
 30 than ordinary ; but was much surprised, that notwith- 
 standing 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.
 
 MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 87 
 
 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, 
 nobody knows where, of a certain great man ; and upon 
 my staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear 
 such things in the country, which had never been so 
 much as whispered in the town, Will stopped short in the 
 thread of his discourse, and after dinner asked my friend 
 Sir Roger in his ear if he was sure that I was not a 
 fanatic. 10 
 
 It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dis- 
 sension in the countiy ; 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. 20 
 
 XXII. SIR ROGER AND THE GIPSIES. 
 
 No. 130.] Monday, July 30, 1711. [Addison 
 
 Seinperque recentes 
 Convectare juvat praedas, et vivere rapto. 
 
 Virg. ^n. vii. 748. 
 
 A plundering race, still eager to invade, 
 
 On spoil they live, and make of theft a trade. 
 
 As I was yesterday ridin^out in the fields ,!with my friend 
 Sir Roger, Kve saw at a Iffctle distance froni us a troop of 
 gipsies. J /Upon the first discovery of them, my friend was 
 in some doubt whether he should not exert the justice of 
 peace upon such a band of lawless vagrants > but not having 
 his clerk with him, who is a necessary counsellor on these 30
 
 88 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare the worse 
 for it, he let the thought drop li/but at the same time gave 
 me a particular account of the mischiefs they do in the 
 country, in stealing people's goods, and spoiling their ser- 
 vants. V/'If a stray piece of linen hangs upon an hedge," 
 says Sir Roger, " they are sure to have it ; if a hog loses 
 his way in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes their 
 prey : our geese cannot live in peace for them, 'ylf a man 
 prosecutes them with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay 
 
 10 for it. They generally straggle into these parts about this 
 time of the year ; and set the heads of our servant-maids 
 so agog for husbands, that we do not expect to have any 
 business done as it should be, whilst they are in the country^ 
 I have an honest dairy-maid who crosses their hands with 
 a piece of silver every summer, and never fails being pro- 
 mised the handsomest young fellow in the parish for her 
 pains. [^Your friend the butler has been fool enough to be 
 seduced by them ; '■ and though he is sure to lose a knife, 
 a fork, or a spoon every time his fortune is told him, 
 
 20 generally shuts himself up in the pantry with an old gipsy 
 for about half an hour once in a twelvemonth. ^Sweethearts 
 are the things they live upon, which they bestow very 
 plentifully upon all those that apply themselves to them. 
 (You see now and then some handsome young jades among 
 them ; the sluts have very often white teeth and black eyes." 
 H Sir Eoger, observing that I listened with great attention 
 to his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, 
 told me, that if I would, they should tell us our fortunes.V 
 As I was very well pleased with the knight's proposal, we 
 
 30 rid up and communicated our hands to them. A Cassandra 
 of the crew, after having examined my lines very diligently, 
 told me that I loved a pretty maid in a corner, \that I was 
 a good woman's man, with some other particulars, which 
 I do not think proper to relate. My friend Sir Eoger 
 alighted from his horse, and exposing his palm to two or 
 three that stood by him, they crumpled it into all shapes,
 
 SIR ROGER AND THE GIPSIES. 89 
 
 and diligently scanned every wrinkle that could be made 
 in it ;j when one of them, who was older and more sun- 
 burnt than the rest, told him that he had a widow in his 
 line of life. '' Upon which the knight cried, " Go, go, you 
 are an idle baggage " ; and at the same time smiled upon 
 me. The gipsy, finding he was not displeased in his heart, 
 told him, after a farther inquiry into his hand, that his 
 true love was constant, and that she should dream of him 
 to-night. ^My old friend cried Pish, and bid her go on. 
 The gipsy told him that he was a bachelor, but would not 10 
 be so long ; and that he was dearer to somebody than he 
 thought. The knight still repeated, "She was an idle 
 baggage," and bid her go on. j " Ah, master," says the 
 gipsy, " that roguish leer of yours makes a pretty woman's 
 heart ache ; you have not that simper about the mouth 
 for nothing. "/\The uncouth gibberish with which all this 
 was uttered, like the .darkness of an oracle, made us the 
 more attentive to it. i' To be short, the knight left the 
 money with her that he had crossed her hand with, and 
 got up again on his horse. 20 
 
 As we were riding away. Sir Eoger told me, that he 
 knew several sensible people who believed these gipsies 
 now and then foretold very strange things ; and for half 
 an hour together appeared more jocund than ordinary. In 
 the height of this good humour, meeting a common beggar 
 upon the road, who was no conjurer, as he went to relieve 
 him, he found his pocket was picked : that being a kind 
 of palmistry at which this race of vermin are very dexterous. 
 
 I might here entertain my reader with historical remarks 
 on this idle, profligate people, who infest all the countries of 30 
 Europe, and live in the midst of governments in a kind of 
 commonwealth by themselves. But, instead of entering into 
 observations of this nature, I shall fill the remaining part of 
 my paper with a story which Is still fresh in Holland, and 
 was printed in one of our monthly accounts about twenty 
 years ago. "As the trekschuyt, or hackney -boat, which
 
 90 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 carries passengers from Leyden to Amsterdam, was putting 
 off, a boy running along the side of the canal desired to 
 be taken in ; which the master of the boat refused because 
 tlie lad had not quite money enough to pay the usual fare. 
 An eminent merchant being pleased with the looks of the 
 boy, and secretly touched with compassion towards him, 
 paid the money for him, and ordered him to be taken on 
 board. Upon talking with him afterwards, he found that 
 he could speak readily in three or four languages, and 
 
 10 learned, upon further examination, that he had been stolen 
 away when he was a child by a gipsy, and had rambled 
 ever since with a gang of those strollers up and down 
 several parts of Europe. It happened that the merchant, 
 whose heart seems to have inclined towards the boy by a 
 secret kind of instinct, had himself lost a child some years 
 before. The parents, after a long search for him, gave 
 him for drowned in one of the canals with which that 
 country abounds ; and the mother was so afflicted at the 
 loss of a fine boy, who was her only son, that she died 
 
 20 for grief of it. Upon laying together all particulars, and 
 examining the several moles and marks by which the 
 mother used to describe the child when he was first 
 missing, the boy proved to be the son of the merchant, 
 whose heart had so unaccountably melted at the sight of 
 him. Tlie lad was very well pleased to find a father who 
 was so rich, and likely to leave him a good estate : the 
 father, on the other hand, was not a little delighted to see 
 a son return to him, whom he had given for lost, with 
 such a strength of constitution, sharpness of understanding, 
 
 30 and skill in languages." Here the printed story leaves off; 
 but if I may give credit to reports, our linguist having 
 received such extraordinary rudiments towards a good 
 education, was afterwards trained up in everything that 
 becomes a gentleman ; wearing off, by little and little, all 
 the vicious habits and practices that he had been used to 
 in the course of his peregrinations. Nay, it is said, that
 
 SIR ROGER AND THE GIPSIES. " 91 
 
 he has since been employed in foreign courts upon national 
 business, with great reputation to himself, and honour to 
 those who sent him, and that he has visited several 
 countries as a public minister, in which he formerly 
 wandered as a gipsy. 
 
 ^ XXIII. THE COUNTRY'S OPINION OF THE 
 
 SPECTATOR 
 
 No. 131.] Tuesday, July 31, 1711. [Addison. 
 
 Ipsae rursum concedite sylvae. — Virg. Eel. x. 63. 
 Once more, ye woods, adieu. 
 
 It is usual for a man who loves country sports to preserve 
 the game in his own grounds, and divert himself upon those 
 that belong to his neiglibour. My friend Sir Roger gener- 10 
 ally goes two or three miles from his house, and gets into 
 the frontiers of his estate, before he beats about in search 
 of a hare or partridge, on purpose to spare his own fields, 
 where he is always sure of finding diversion, when tlie 
 worst comes to the worst. By this means the breed about 
 his house has time to increase and multiply, besides that 
 the sport is the more agreeable where the game is the 
 harder to come at, and does not lie so thick as to produce 
 any perplexity or confusion in the pursuit. For these 
 reasons the country gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys 20 
 near his own home. 
 
 In tlie same manner I have made a month's excursion 
 out of the town, which is the great field of game for 
 sportsmen of my species, to try my fortune in the country, 
 where I have started several subjects, and hunted them 
 down, with some pleasure to myself, and I hope to others. 
 I am here forced to use a great deal of diligence before I 
 can spring anything to my mind, whereas in town, whilst 
 I am following one character, it is ten to one but I am 
 crossed in my way by another, and put up such a 30 
 variety of odd creatures in both sexes, that they foil
 
 92 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 the scent of one another, and puzzle the chace. My 
 greatest difficulty in the country is to find sport, and in 
 town to choose it. In the mean time, as I have given a 
 whole month's rest to the cities of London and West- 
 minster, I promise myself abundance of new game upon 
 my return thither. 
 
 It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, 
 
 since I find the whole neighbourhood begin to grow very 
 
 inquisitive after my name and character ; my love of 
 
 10 solitude, taciturnity, and particular way of life, having 
 
 raised a great curiosity in all these parts. 
 
 The notions which have been framed of me are various ; 
 some look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, 
 and some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my 
 friend the butler tells me, observing me very much alone, 
 and extremely silent when I am in company, is afraid I 
 have killed a man. The country people seem to suspect 
 me for a conjurer ; and some of them hearing of the visit 
 which I made to Moll White, will needs have it that Sir 
 20 Eoger has brought down a cunning man with him, to 
 cure the old woman, and free the country from her 
 charms. So that the character which I go under in part 
 of the neighbourhood, is what they here call a White 
 Witch. 
 
 A justice of peace, who lives about five miles off, and 
 is not of Sir Rogei"'s party, has it seems said twice or 
 thrice at his table, that he wishes Sir Roger does not 
 harbour a Jesuit in his house, and that he thinks the 
 gentlemen of the country would do very well to make me 
 30 give some account of myself. 
 
 On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are afraid 
 the old knight is imposed upon by a designing fellow, 
 and as they have heard that he converses very pro- 
 miscuously when he is in town, do not know but he has 
 brought down with him some discarded Whig, that is 
 sullen, and says nothing because he is out of place.
 
 THE COUNTRY'S OPINION OF THE SPECTATOR. 93 
 
 Such is the variety of opinions which are here enter- 
 tained of me, so that I pass among some for a dis- 
 affected person, and among others for a popish priest ; 
 among some for a wizard, and among others for a 
 murderer ; and all this for no other reason that I can 
 imagine, but because I do not hoot, and halloo, and make 
 a noise. It is true, my friend Sir Roger tells them, — 
 " That it is my way," and that I am only a philosopher ; 
 but this will not satisfy them. They think there is more 
 in me than he discovers, and that I do not hold my 10 
 tongue for nothing. 
 
 For these and other reasons I shall set out for London 
 to-morrow, having found by experience that the country 
 is not a place for a jDerson of my temper, who does not 
 love jollity, and what they call good neighbourhood. A 
 man that is out of humour when an unexpected guest 
 breaks in upon him, and does not care for sacrificing an 
 afternoon to every chance-comer, that will be the master 
 of his own time, and the pursuer of his own inclinations, 
 makes but a very unsociable figure in this kind of life. 20 
 I shall therefore retire into the town, if I may make use 
 of that phrase, and get into the crowd again as fast as 1 
 can, in order to be alone. I can there raise what 
 speculations I please upon others without being observed 
 myself, and at the same time enjoy all the advantages of 
 company, with all the privileges of solitude. In the mean 
 while, to finish the month, and conclude these my rural 
 speculations, I shall here insert a letter from my friend 
 Will Honeycomb, who has not lived a month for these 
 forty years out of the smoke of London, and rallies me 30 
 after his way upon my country life. 
 
 " Dear Spec, 
 
 "I suppose this letter will find thee picking of 
 daisies, or smelling to a lock of hay, or passing away thy 
 time in some innocent country diversion of the like nature. 
 I have however orders from the club to summon tliee up
 
 94 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 to town, being all of ns cursedly afraid thou wilt not be 
 able to relish our company, after thy conversations with 
 Moll White, and Will Wimble. Pr'ythee do not send us 
 up any more stories of a cock and a bull, nor frighten the 
 town with spirits and witches. Thy speculations begin to 
 smell confoundedly of woods and meadows. If thou dost 
 not come up quickly, we shall conclude that thou art in 
 love with one of Sir Soger's dairy-maids. Service to the 
 knight. Sir Andrew is grown the cock of the club since 
 10 he left us, and if he does not return quickly will make 
 every mother's son of us commonwealth's-men. 
 
 Dear Spec, 
 
 thine eternally, 
 C Will Honeycomb." 
 
 XXIV. A SCENE IN A STAGE COACH. 
 
 No. 132.] Wednesday, August 1, 1711. [Steele. 
 
 Qui, aut tempus quid postulet non videt, aut piura loquitur, aut 
 se ostentat, aut eorum quibuscum est rationem non habet, is ineptus 
 esse dicitur. — Tull. 
 
 That man may be called impertinent, who considers not the 
 circumstances of time, or ingrosses the conversation, or makes 
 20 himself the subject of his discourse, or pays no regard to the 
 
 company he is in. 
 
 Having notified to my good friend Sir Eoger that I should 
 set out for London the next day, his horses were ready at 
 the appointed hour in the evening ; and attended by one 
 of his grooms, I arrived at the county-town at twilight, 
 in order to be ready for the stage-coach the day f olio win o-. 
 As soon as we arrived at the inn, the servant who waited 
 upon me, inquired of the chamberlain in my hearing what 
 company he had for the coach? The fellow answered, 
 30 "Mrs. Betty Arable the great fortune, and the widow 
 her mother; a recruiting officer (who took a place because
 
 A SCENE IN A STAGE COACH. 95 
 
 they were to go) young squire Quickset her cousin (that 
 her mother wished her to be married to) ; Ephraim the 
 quaker, her guardian ; and a gentleman that had studied 
 himself dumb from Sir Eoger de Coverley's." I observed 
 by what he said of myself, that according to his office he 
 dealt much in intelligence ; and doubted not but there was 
 some foundation for his reports of the rest of the company, 
 as well as for the whimsical account he gave of me. The 
 next morning at day-break we were all called ; and I who 
 know my own natural shyness, and endeavour to be as 10 
 little liable to be disputed with as possible, dressed 
 immediately, that I might make no one wait. The first 
 preparation for our setting out was, that the captain's 
 half pike was placed near the coachman, and a drum 
 behind the coach. In the mean time the drummer, the 
 captain's equipage, was very loud, "that none of the 
 captain's things should be placed so as to be spoiled ; " 
 upon which his cloke-bag was fixed in the seat of the 
 coach ; and the captain himself, according to a frequent 
 though invidious behaviour of military men, ordered his 20 
 man to look sharp, that none but one of the ladies should 
 have the place he had taken fronting to the coach-box. 
 /' We were in some little time fixed in our seats, and sat 
 with that dislike which people not too good-natured 
 usually conceive of each other at first sight. The coach 
 jumbled us insensibly into some sort of familiarity : and 
 we had not moved above two miles, when the widow 
 asked the captain what success he had in his recruiting 1 
 The officer, with a frankness he believed very graceful, 
 told her, " that indeed he had but very little luck, and 30 
 had suffered much by desertion, therefore should be glad 
 to end his warfare in the service of her or her fair 
 daughter. In a word," continued he, "I am a soldier, and 
 to be plain is my character : you see me, madam, young, 
 sound, and impudent ; take me yourself, widow, or give 
 me to her, I will be wholly at your disiaosal. I am a
 
 96 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 soldier of fortune, ha '."—This was followed by a vain 
 laugh of his own, and a deep silence of all the rest of the 
 company. I had nothing left for it but to fall fast asleep, 
 which I did with all speed.— " Come," said he, "resolve 
 upon it, we will make a wedding at the next town: we 
 will wake this pleasant companion who has fallen asleep, 
 to be the brideman ; and," giving the quaker a clap on 
 the knee, he concluded, "This sly saint, who, I will 
 warrant, understands what is what as well as you or I, 
 
 10 widow, shall give the bride as father." The quaker, who 
 happened to be a man of smartness, answered, " Friend, I 
 take it in good part that thou hast given me the authority 
 of a father over this comely and virtuous child ; and I 
 must assure thee, that if I have the giving her, I shall 
 not bestow her on thee. Thy mirth, friend, savoureth of 
 folly : thou art a person of a light mind, thy drum is a 
 type of thee, it soundeth because it is empty. Verily, it 
 is not from thy fulness, but thy emptiness that thou hast 
 spoken this day. Friend, friend, we have hired this coach 
 
 20 in partnership with thee, to carry us to the great city ; 
 we cannot go any other way. This worthy mother must 
 hear thee if thou wilt needs utter thy follies ; we cannot 
 help it, friend, I say : if thou wilt, we must hear thee ; 
 but if thou wert a man of understanding, thou wouldst 
 not take advantage of thy courageous countenance to 
 abash us children of peace. — Thou art, thou sayest, a 
 soldier ; give quarter to us, who cannot resist thee. Why 
 didst thou fleer at our friend who feigned himself asleep? 
 He said nothing ; but how dost thou know what he 
 
 30 containeth ? If thou speakest improper things in the 
 hearing of this virtuous young virgin, consider it is an 
 outrage against a distressed person that cannot get from 
 thee : to speak indiscreetly what we are obliged to hear, 
 by being hasped up with thee in this public vehicle, is in 
 some degree assaulting on the high road." 
 
 Here Ephraim paused, and the captain with a happy
 
 A SCENE IN A STAGE COACH. 97 
 
 and uncommon impudence (which can be convicted and 
 support itself at the same time) cries, " Faith, friend, I 
 thank thee ; I should have been a little impertinent if 
 thou hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou art, I see, a 
 smoky old fellow, and I will be very orderly the ensuing 
 part of the journey. I was going to give myself airs, but, 
 ladies, I beg pardon." 
 
 The captain was so little out of humour, and our 
 company was so far from being soured by this little ruffle, 
 that Ephraim and he took a particular delight in being 10 
 agreeable to each other for the future ; and assumed their 
 different provinces in the conduct of the company. Our 
 reckonings, apartments, and accommodation, fell under 
 Ephraim ; and the captain looked to all disputes on the 
 road, as the good behaviour of our coachman, and the 
 right we had of taking place, as going to London, of all 
 vehicles coming from thence. The occurrences we met with 
 were ordinary, and very little happened which could enter- 
 tain by the relation of them : but when I considered the 
 company we were in, I took it for no small good-fortune, 20 
 that the whole journey was not spent in impertinences, 
 which to one part of us might be an entertainment, 
 to the other a suffering. What therefore Ephraim said 
 when we were almost arrived at London, had to me an 
 air not only of good understanding, but good breeding. 
 Upon the young lady's expressing her satisfaction in the 
 journey, and declaring how delightful it had been to her, 
 Ephraim declared himself as follows : " There is no ordinary 
 part of human life, which expresseth so much a good 
 mind, and a right inward man, as his behaviour upon 30 
 meeting with strangers, especially such as may seem the 
 most unsuitable companions to him : such a man, when he 
 falleth in the way with persons of simplicity and innocence, 
 however knowing he may be in the ways of men, will not 
 vaunt himself thereof, but will the rather hide his 
 superiority to them, that he may not be painful unto
 
 98 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 them. My good friend," continued he, turning to the 
 officer, " thee and I are to part by and by, and per- 
 adventure we may never meet again: bnt be advised by a 
 plain man ; modes and apparels are but trifles to the real 
 man, therefore do not think such a man as thyself terrible 
 for thy garb, nor such a one as me contemptible for mine. 
 When two such as thee and I meet, with affections as we 
 ought to have towards each other, thou shouldst rejoice 
 to see my peaceable demeanour, and I should be glad to see 
 10 thy strength and ability to protect me in it." T. 
 
 ^ XXV. SIR ROGER IN TOWN. 
 
 No. 269.] Tuesday, January 8, 1711-12. [Addison. 
 
 ^vo rarissima nostro 
 Simplicitas. — Ovid, Ars Am. i. 241. 
 
 Most rare is now our old Simplicity. — Dryden. 
 
 I WAS this morning surprised with a great knocking at tne 
 door, when my landlady's daughter came up to me and 
 told me that there was a man below desired to speak with 
 me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it was a 
 very grave elderly person, but that she did not know his 
 name. I immediately went down to him, and found him 
 
 20 to be the coachman of my worthy friend. Sir Roger de 
 Coverley. He told me that his master came to town last 
 night, and would be glad to take a turn with me in 
 Gray's-inn walks. As I was wondering with myself what 
 had brought Sir Roger to town, not having lately received 
 any letter from him, he told me that his master was come 
 up to get a sight of Prince Eugene, and that he desii'ed 
 I would immediately meet him. 
 
 I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old 
 knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having heard 
 
 30 him say more than once in private discourse, that he
 
 SIR ROGER IN TOWN. 99 
 
 looked upon Prince Eugenio (for so the knight always calls 
 him) to be a greater man than Scanderbeg. 
 
 I was no sooner come into Gray's-inn walks, but I heard 
 my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice to 
 himself with great vigour, for he loves to clear his pipes 
 in good air (to make use of his own phrase), and is not a 
 little pleased with any one who takes notice of the strength 
 which he still exerts in his morning hems. 
 
 I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good 
 old man, who before he saw me was engaged m conversa- 10 
 tion with a beggar-man that had asked an alms of him. 
 I could hear my friend chide him for not finding out some 
 work ; but at the same time saw him put his hand in his 
 pocket and give him sixpence. 
 
 Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consisting 
 of many kind shakes of the hand, and several affectionate 
 looks which we cast upon one another. After which the 
 knight told me my good friend his chaplain was very well, 
 and much at my service, and that the Sunday before he 
 had made a most incomparable sermon out of Dr. Barrow. 20 
 "I have left," says he, "all my affairs in his hands, and 
 beino- willing to lay an obligation upon him, have deposited 
 with him thirty marks, to be distributed among his poor 
 parishioners." 
 
 He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of 
 Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob 
 and presented me in his name with a tobacco-stopper, 
 telling me that Will had been busy all the beginning of 
 the winter in turning great quantities of them ; and that 
 he made a present of one to every gentleman in the country 30 
 who has good principles, and smokes. He added, that poor 
 Will was at present under great tribulation, for that Tom 
 Touchy had taken the law of him for cutting some hazel 
 sticks out of one of his hedges. 
 
 Among other pieces of news which the knight brought 
 from his country-seat, he informed me that Moll White
 
 100 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 was dead, and that about a month after her death the wind 
 was so very high, that it blew down the end of one of his 
 barns. " But for my own part," says Sir Roger, " I do not 
 think that the old woman had any hand in it." 
 
 He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions 
 which had passed in his house during the holidays ; for 
 Sir Roger, after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always 
 keeps open house at Christmas. I learned from him that 
 he had killed eight fat hogs for this season, that he had 
 
 10 dealt about his chines very libei-ally amongst his neigh- 
 bours, and that in particular he had sent a string of hogs- 
 puddings with a pack of cards to every poor family in the 
 parish. "I have often thought," says Sir Roger, "it happens 
 very well that Christmas should fall out in the middle of 
 winter. It is the most dead uncomfortable time of the 
 year, when the poor people would suffer very much from 
 their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm 
 fires, and Christmas gambols to support them. I love to 
 rejoice their poor hearts at this season, and to see the 
 
 20 whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a double 
 quantity of malt to my small-beer, and set it a running for 
 twelve days to every one that calls for it. I have always a 
 piece of cold beef and a mince-pie upon the table, and am 
 wonderfully pleased to see my tenants pass away a whole 
 evening in playing their innocent tricks, and smutting one 
 another. Our friend Will Wimble is as merry as any of 
 them, and shews a thousand roguish tricks upon these 
 occasions." 
 
 I was very much delighted with the reflection of my 
 
 30 old friend, which carried so much goodness in it. He then 
 launched out into the praise of the late act of parliament 
 for secui-ing the church of England, and told me with great 
 satisfaction, that he believed it already began to take effect, 
 for that a rigid dissenter who chanced to dine at his house 
 on Christmas-day, had been observed to eat very plenti- 
 fully of his plum-porridge.
 
 SIR ROGER IN TOWN. 101 
 
 After having dispatched all our country matters, Sir 
 Roger made several inquiries concerning the club, and 
 particularly of his old antagonist, Sir Andrew Freeport. 
 He asked me with a kind of smile, whether Sir Andrew 
 had not taken advantage of his absence, to vent among 
 them some of his republican doctrines : but soon after 
 gathering up his countenance into a more than ordinary 
 seriousness, "Tell me truly," says he, "don't you think 
 Sir Andrew had a hand in the pope's procession ?" — But 
 without giving me time to answer him, "Well, well," says 10 
 he, "I know you are a wary man, and do not care to 
 talk of public matters." 
 
 The knight then asked me, if I had seen Prince Eugenio, 
 and made me promise to get him a stand in some convenient 
 place where he might have a full sight of that extraordinary 
 man, whose jDresence did so much honour to the British 
 nation. He dwelt very long on the praises of this great 
 general, and I found that since I was with him in the 
 country he had drawn many observations together out of 
 his reading in Baker's Chronicle, and other authors, who 20 
 always lie in his hall window, which very much redound 
 to the honour of this prince. 
 
 Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in 
 hearing the knight's reflections, which were partly private 
 and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke a pipe 
 with him over a dish of coifee at Squire's ? As I love the 
 old man, I take delight in complying with every thing 
 that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him 
 to the coff'ee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon 
 us the eyes of the whole room. He had no sooner seated 30 
 himself at the upper end of the high table, but he called 
 for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax 
 candle, and the Supplement, with such an air of cheerful- 
 ness and good-humour, that all the boys in the coff"ee-room 
 (who seemed to take pleasure in serving him) were at once 
 employed on his several errands, insomuch that nobody
 
 102 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 else could come at a dish of tea, until the knight had got 
 all his conveniencies about him. L. 
 
 ^ XXVI. VISIT TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 No. 329.] Tuesday, March 18, 1712, [Addison 
 
 Ire tamen restat, Numa quo deveuit et Ancus. 
 
 Hor. Epod. vi. 27. 
 
 With Ancus, and with Numa, kings of Eome, 
 \Ye must descend into the silent tomb. 
 
 My friend Sir Eoger de Coverley told me the other night, 
 that he had been reading my paper upon Westminster 
 Abbey, in which, says he, there are a great many ingenious 
 fancies. He told me at the same time, that he observed 
 
 10 I had promised another paper upon the tombs, and that 
 he should be glad to go and see them with me, not having 
 visited them since he had read history. I could not 
 imagine how this came into the knight's head, till I recol- 
 lected that he had been very busy all last summer upon 
 Baker's Chronicle, which he has quoted several times in his 
 disputes with Sir Andrew Freeport, since his last coming 
 to town. Accordingly I promised to call upon him the 
 next morning, that we might go together to the Abbey. 
 I found the knight under his butler's hands, who always 
 
 20 shaves him. He was no sooner dressed, than he called for 
 a glass of the widow Truby's water, which he told me he 
 always drank before he went abroad. He recommended 
 to me a dram of it at the same time, with so much 
 heartiness, that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon 
 as I had got it down, I found it very unpalatable ; upon 
 which the knight, observing that I had made several wry 
 faces, told me that he knew I should not like it at first, 
 but that it was the best thing in the world against the 
 stone or gravel.
 
 VISIT TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 103 
 
 I could haA'e wished, indeed, that he had acquainted me 
 with the virtues of it sooner ; but it was too late to com- 
 plain, and I knew what he had done was out of good-will. 
 Sir Roger told me further, that he looked upon it to be 
 very good for a man whilst he staid in town, to keep off 
 infection, and that he got together a quantity of it upon 
 the first news of the sickness being at Dantzick : when of 
 a sudden turning short to one of his servants, who stood 
 behind him, he bid him call a hackney coach, and take 
 care it was an elderly man that drove it. 10 
 
 He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Truby's water, 
 telling me that the widow Truby was one who did more 
 good than all the doctors and apothecaries in the country ; 
 that slie distilled every poppy that grew within five miles 
 of her ; that she distributed her water gratis among all 
 sorts of people ; to which the knight added that she had 
 a very great jointure, and that the whole country would 
 fain have it a match between him and her ; "and truly," 
 says Sir Roger, " if I had not been engaged, perhaps I 
 could not have done better." 20 
 
 His discourse was broken ofi" by his man's telling him 
 he had called a coach. Upon our going to it, after having 
 cast his eye upon the wheels, he asked the coachman if 
 his axle-tree was good ; upon the fellow's telling him he 
 would warrant it, the knight turned to me, told me he 
 looked like an honest man, and went in without further 
 ceremony. 
 
 We had not gone far, when Sir Roger, popping out his 
 head, called the coachman down from his box, and upon 
 presenting himself at the window, asked him if he smoked. 30 
 As I was considering what this would end in, he bid him 
 atop by the way at any good tobacconist's, and take in a 
 roll of their best Virginia. Nothing material happened in 
 the remaining ])art of our journey, till we were set down 
 at the west end of the Abbey. 
 
 As we went up the body of the church, the knight pointed
 
 104 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 at the tro Jellies upon one of the new monuments, and cried 
 out, " A brave man, I warrant him ! " Passing afterwards 
 by Sir Cloudsley Shovel, he flung his hand that way, and 
 cried, " Sir Cloudsley Shovel ! a very gallant man ! " As 
 we stood before Busby's tomb, the knight uttered himself 
 again after the same manner : " Dr. Busby ! a great man ! 
 he whipped my graadfather ; a very great man ! I should 
 have gone to him myself, if I had not been a blockhead ; 
 a very great man ! " 
 
 10 We were immediately conducted into the little chapel 
 on the right hand. Sir Roger, planting himself at our 
 historian's elbow, was very attentive to everything he 
 said, particularly to the account he gave us of the lord 
 who had cut oiT the king of Morocco's head. Among 
 several other figures, he was very well pleased to see the 
 statesman Cecil upon his knees ; and, concluding them all 
 to be great men, was conducted to the figure which' re- 
 presents that martyr to good housewifery, who died by 
 the prick of a needle. Upon our interpreter's telling us 
 
 20 that she was a maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth, the 
 knight was very inquisitive into her name and family ; 
 and after having regarded her finger for some time, "I 
 wonder," says he, " that Sir Eichard Baker has said nothing 
 of her in his Chronicle." 
 
 We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, 
 where my old friend, after having heard that the stone 
 underneath the most ancient of them, which was brought 
 from Scotland, was called Jacob's Pillow, sat himself down 
 in the chair ; and looking like the figure of an old Gothic 
 
 30 king, asked our interpreter what authority they had to 
 say that Jacob had ever been in Scotland ? The fellow, 
 instead of returning him an answer, told him, that he 
 hoped his honour would pay his forfeit. I could observe 
 Sir Roger a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned ; 
 but our guide not insisting upon his demand, the knight 
 soon recovered his good humour, and whispered in my ear,
 
 VISIT TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 105 
 
 that if Will Wimble were with us, and saw those two 
 chairs, it would go hard but he would get a tobacco- 
 stopper out of one or t'other of them. 
 
 Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward 
 the Third's sword, and leaning upon the pommel of it, 
 gave us the whole history of the Black Prince ; concluding, 
 that, in Sir Richard Baker's opinion, EdAvard the Third 
 was one of the greatest princes that ever sat upon the 
 English throne. 
 
 We were then shewn Edward the Confessor's tomb ; 10 
 upon which Sir Roger acquainted us, that he was the first 
 who touched for the evil : and afterwards Henry the 
 Fourth's ; upon wh'ch he shook his head, and told us, there 
 was fine reading in the casualties of that reign. 
 
 Our conductor then pointed to that monument where 
 there is the figure of one of our English kings without an 
 head ; and upon giving us to know that the head, which 
 was of beaten silver, had been stolen away several years 
 since ; " Some Whig, I'll warrant you," says Sir Roger, 
 " you ought to lock up your kings better ; they will carry 20 
 off the body too, if you don't take care." 
 
 The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen Eliza- 
 beth gave the knight great opportunities of shining, and 
 of doing justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our knight 
 observed with some surprise, had a great many kings in 
 him, whose monuments he had not seen in the Abbey. 
 
 For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see the 
 knight show such an honest passion for the glory of his 
 country, and such a respectful gratitude to the memory of 
 its princes. 30 
 
 I must not omit, that the benevolence of my good old 
 friend, which flows out towards every one he converses 
 with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he 
 looked upon as an extraordinary man ; for which reason he 
 shook him by the hand at parting, telling him, that he 
 should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in Norfolk-
 
 106 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 buildings, and talk over these matters with him more at 
 leisure. 
 
 1/ XXVII. SIR ROGER AT THE THEATRE. 
 No. 335.] Tuesday, March 25, 1711-12. [Addison. 
 
 Respicere exemplar vitse morumque jubebo 
 Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc diicere voces. 
 
 Hor. Ars Poet. 327. 
 Keep Nature's great original in view, 
 And thence the living images pursue. — Francis. 
 
 My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met 
 together at the club, told me, that he had a gr*at mind 
 to see the new tragedy with me, assuring me at the same 
 
 10 time, that he had not been at a play these twenty years. 
 "The last I saw," said Sir Roger, "was The Committee, 
 which I should not have gone to neither, had not I been 
 told beforehand that it was a good Church of England 
 comedy." He then proceeded to inquire of me who this 
 Distressed Mother was ; and upon hearing that she was 
 ^j^,^ y,v«.<k»- Hector's widow, he told me, that her husband was a brave 
 man, and that when he was a school-boy, he had read his 
 life at the end of the dictionary. My friend asked me, in 
 the next place, if there would not be some danger in 
 
 20 coming home late, in case the Mohocks should be abroad. 
 " I assure you," says he, " I thought I had fallen into their 
 hands last night ; for I observed two or three lusty black 
 men that followed me half way up Fleet Street, and 
 mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I put on 
 to get away from them. You must know," continued the 
 knight with a smile, "I fancied they had a mind to hunt 
 me ; for I remember an honest gentleman in my neigh- 
 bourhood, who was served such a trick in King Charles 
 the Second's time ; for which reason he has not ventured 
 
 30 himself in town ever since. I might have shewn them
 
 SIR ROGER AT THE THEATRE. 107 
 
 very good sport, had this been their design ; for as I am 
 an old fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and 
 have played them a thousand tricks they had never seen 
 in their lives before." Sir Eoger added, that "if these 
 gentlemen had any such intention, they did not succeed 
 very well in it ; for I threw them out," says he, " at the end 
 of Norfolk Street, where I doubled the corner, and got 
 shelter in my lodgings before they could imagine what 
 was become of me. However," says the knight, " if Captain 
 Sentry will make one with us to-morrow night, and you 10 
 will both of you call upon me about four o'clock, that we 
 may be at the house before it is full, I will have my own 
 coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells me he has 
 got the fore-wheels mended." 
 
 The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the 
 appointed hour, bid Sir Roger fear nothing, for that he 
 had put on the same sword which he made use of at the 
 battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's servants, and among the 
 rest my old friend the butler, had, I found, provided them- 
 selves with good oaken plants, to attend their master upon 20 
 this occasion. When we had placed him in his coach, with 
 myself at his left hand, the captain before him, and his 
 butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we convoyed 
 him in safety to the " play-house ; where, after having 
 marched up the entry in good order, the captain and I 
 went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the pit. 
 As soon as the house was full, and the candles lighted, my 
 old friend stood up and looked about him with that plea- 
 sure, which a mind seasoned with humanity naturally feels 
 ill itself, at the sight of a multitude of people who seem 30 
 pleased with one another, and partake of the same common 
 entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the 
 old man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he made 
 a very proper centre to a tragic audience. Upon the 
 entering of Pyrrhus, the knight told me, that he did not 
 believe the King of France himself had a better strut. I
 
 108 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 was, indeed, very attentive to my old friend's remarks, 
 because I looked upon them as a piece of natural criticism, 
 and was well pleased to hear him at the conclusion of 
 almost every scene, telling me that he could not imagine 
 how the play would end. One while he appeared much 
 concerned for Andromache ; and a little while after as 
 much for Hermione : and was extremely puzzled to think 
 what would become of Pyrrhus. 
 
 When Sir Roger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to 
 
 10 her lover's importunities, he whispered me in the ear, that 
 he was sure she would never have him ; to which he 
 added, with a more than ordinary vehemence, " You can't 
 imagine, sir, what it is to have to do with a widow." Upon 
 Pyrrhus his threatening afterwards to leave her, the knight 
 shook his head, and muttered to himself, " Ay, do if you 
 can." This part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagina- 
 tion, that at the close of the third act, as I was thinking 
 of something else, he whispered me in my ear, " These 
 widows, sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world. 
 
 20 But pray," says he, " you that are a critic, is the play 
 according to your dramatic rules, as you call them ? 
 Should your people in tragedy always talk to be under- 
 stood ? Why, there is not a single sentence in this play 
 that I do not know the meaning of." 
 
 The fourth act very luckily began before I had time to 
 give the old gentleman an answer ; " Well," says the 
 knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, "I suppose we 
 are now to see Hector's ghost." He then renewed his 
 attention, and from time to time fell a praising the widow. 
 
 30 He made, indeed, a little mistake as to one of her pages, 
 whom, at his first entering, he took for Astyanax ; but he 
 quickly set himself I'ight in that particular, though, at the 
 same time, he owned he should have been very glad to 
 have seen the little boy, "who," says he, "must needs be 
 a very fine child by the account that is given of him." 
 Upon Hermione's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus, the
 
 SIR ROGER AT THE THEATRE. 109 
 
 audience gave a loud clap, to which Sir Roger added, " On 
 my word, a notable young baggage!" 
 
 As there was a vejy remarkable silence and stillness in 
 the audience during the whole action, it was natural for 
 them to take the opportunity of the intervals between the 
 acts, to express their opinion of the players, and of their 
 respective parts. Sir Roger, hearing a cluster of them 
 praise Orestes,"^ struck in with them, and told them, that 
 he thought his friend Pylades was a very sensible man. 
 As they were afterwards applauding Pyrrhus, Sir Roger 10 
 put in a second time, "And let me tell you," says he, 
 "though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in 
 whiskers as well as any of them." Captain Sentry, seeing 
 two or three wags who sat near us, lean with an attentive 
 ear towards Sir Roger, and fearing lest they should smoke 
 the knight, plucked him by the elbow, and whispered 
 something in his ear, that lasted till the opening of the 
 fifth act. The knight was wonderfully attentive to the 
 account which Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his death, and at 
 the conclusion of it, told me it was such a bloody piece of 20 
 work, that he was glad it was not done upon the stage. 
 Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving fit, he grew more 
 than ordinarily serious, and took occasion to moralize (in 
 his way) upon an evil conscience, adding, that " Orestes, in 
 his madness, looked as if he saw something." 
 
 As we were the first that came into the house, so we 
 were the last that went out of it ; being resolved to have 
 a clear passage for our old friend, whom we did not care 
 to venture among the justling of the crowd. Sir Roger 
 went out fully satisfied with his entertainment, and we 30 
 guarded him to his lodging in the same manner that we 
 brought him to the play-house ; being highly pleased, for 
 my own part, not only with the performance of the 
 excellent piece whicli had been presented, but with the 
 satisfaction which it had s^iven to the old man.
 
 110 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 XXVIII. WILL HONEYCOMB'S AMOURS. 
 
 No. 359.] Tuesday, April 22, 1712. [Budgell. 
 
 Torva leaena lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam ; 
 Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella. — Virg. Ed. ii. 63. 
 
 Lions the wolves, and wolves the kids pursue, 
 
 The kids sweet thyme, — and still I follow you. — Warton. 
 
 As we were at the club last night, I observed that my 
 old friend Sir Roger, contrary to his usual custom, sat 
 very silent, and, instead of minding what was said by the 
 company, was whistling to himself in a very thoughtful 
 mood, and playing with a cork. I jogged Sir Andrew 
 
 10 Freeport, who sat between us ; and, as we were both 
 observing him, we saw the knight shake his head, and 
 heard him say to himself, " A foolish woman ! I can't 
 believe it." Sir Andrew gave him a gentle pat upon the 
 shoulder, and offered to lay him a bottle of wine that he 
 was thinking of the widow. My old friend started, and, 
 recovering out of his brown study, told Sir Andrew, that 
 once in his life he had been in the right. In short, after 
 some little hesitation, Sir Roger told us in the fulness of 
 his heart, that he had just received a letter from his 
 
 20 steward, which acquainted him that his old rival and 
 antagonist in the country, Sir David Dundrum, had been 
 making a visit to the widow. "However," says Sir Roger, 
 "I can never think that she'll have a man that's half a 
 year older than I am, and a noted republican into the 
 bargain." 
 
 Will Honeycomb, who looks upon love as his particular 
 province, interrupting our friend with a jaunty laugh, 
 " I thought, knight," said he, " thou hadst lived long 
 enough in the world, not to pin thy happiness upon one 
 
 30 that is a woman, and a widow. I think that, without 
 vanity, I may pretend to know as much of the female 
 world as any man in Great Britain, though the chief of
 
 WILL HONEYCOMB'S AMOURS. Ill 
 
 my knowledge consists in this, that they are not to be 
 known." Will immediately, with his usual fluency, 
 rambled into an account of his own amours. " I am now," 
 says he, "upon the verge of sixty" (though by the way 
 we all knew he was turned of threescore). " You may 
 easily guess," continued Will, that I have not lived so 
 long in the world without having had some thoughts of 
 settling in it, as the phrase is. To tell yovi truly, I have 
 several times tried my fortune that way, though I cannot 
 much boast of my success. 10 
 
 " I made my first addresses to a young lady in the 
 country ; but, when I thought things were pretty well 
 drawing to a conclusion, her father happening to hear that 
 I had formerly boarded with a surgeon, the old put for- 
 bad me his house, and within a fortnight after married 
 his daughter to a fox-hunter in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " I made my next application to a widow, and attacked 
 her so briskly, that I thought myself within a fortnight 
 of her. As I waited upon her one morning, she told me, 
 that she intended to keep her ready money and jointure 20 
 in her own hand, and desired me to call upon her 
 attorney in Lion's inn, who would adjust with me what it 
 was proper for me to add to it. I was so rebuffed by 
 this overture, that I never inquired either for her or her 
 attornev afterwards. 
 
 "A few months after, I addressed myself to a young 
 lady who was an only daughter, and of a good family. I 
 danced with her at several balls, squeezed her by the 
 hand, said soft things to her, and in short made no doubt 
 of her heart ; and, though my fortune was not equal to 30 
 hers, I was in hopes that her fond father would not deny 
 her the man she had fixed her affections upon. But as I 
 went one day to the house, in order to break the matter 
 to him, I found the whole family in confusion, and heard, 
 to my unspeakable surprise, that Miss Jenny was that 
 very morning run away with the butler.
 
 112 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 " 1 then courted a second widow, and ana at a loss to 
 this da}' how I came to miss her, for she had often 
 commended my person and behaviour. Her maid indeed 
 told me one day, that her mistress said she never saw a 
 gentleman with such a spindle pair of legs as Mr. 
 Honeycomb. 
 
 "After this I laid siege to four heiresses successively, 
 and, being a handsome young dog in those days, quickly 
 made a breach in their hearts ; but I don't know how it 
 10 came to pass, though I seldom failed of getting the 
 daughter's consent, I could never in my life get the old 
 people on my side. 
 
 "I could give you an account of a thousand other 
 unsuccessful attempts, particularly of one which I made 
 some years since upon an old woman, whom I had 
 certainly borne away with flying colours, if her relations 
 had not come pouring in to her assistance from all parts 
 of England ; nay, I believe I should have got her at last, 
 had not she been carried off by a hard frost." 
 20 As Will's transitions are extremely quick, he turned 
 from Sir Eoger, and, applying himself to me, told me 
 there was a passage in the book I had considered last 
 Saturday, which deserved to be writ in letters of gold : 
 and, taking out a pocket Milton, read the following lines, 
 which are part of one of Adam's speeches to Eve after 
 the fall. 
 
 Oh ! why did our 
 Creator wife ! that peopled highest heaven 
 With spirits masculine, create at last 
 30 • This novelty on earth, this fair defect 
 
 Of nature, and not fill the world at once 
 With men, as angels, without feminine ? 
 Or find some other way to generate 
 Mankind? This mischief had not then befall'n, 
 And more that shall befall, innumerable 
 Disturbances on earth, through female snares, 
 And straight conjunction with this sex : for either
 
 WILL HONEYCOMB'S AMOURS. 1 13 
 
 He shall never find out fit mate ; but such 
 
 As some misfortune brings him, or mistake ; 
 
 Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain, 
 
 Through her perverseness ; but shall see her gain'd 
 
 By a far worse : or if she love, withheld 
 
 By parents ; or his happiest chose too late 
 
 Shall meet already link'd, and wedlock-bound 
 
 To fell adversary, his hate, or shame : 
 
 "Which infinite calamity shall cause 
 
 To human life, and household peace confound. 10 
 
 Sir Koger listened to this passage with great attention ; 
 and, desiring Mr. Honeycomb to fold down a leaf at the 
 place, and lend him his book, the knight put it up in his 
 pocket, and told us that he would read over these verses 
 again before he went to bed. X- 
 
 ly XXTX. VISIT TO SPRING GARDENS. 
 No. 383.] Tuesday, May 20, 1712 [Addison. 
 
 Criminibus debent hortos.— Juv. Sat. i. 75. 
 A beauteous garden, but by vice maintain'd. 
 
 As I was sitting in my chamber, and thinking on a 
 subject for my next Spectator, I heard two or three 
 irregular bounces at my landlady's door, and, upon the 20 
 opening of it, a loud cheerful voice inquiring whether the 
 philosopher was at home. The child who went to the 
 door answered very innocently, that he did not lodge 
 there. I immediately recollected that it was my good 
 friend Sir Roger's voice ; and that I had promised to go 
 with him on the water to Spring-garden, in case it proved 
 a good evening. The knight put me in mind of my 
 promise from the bottom of the staircase, but told me 
 that if I was speculating, he would stay below till I had 
 done. Upon my coming down, I found all the children 30 
 of the family got about my old friend ; and my landlady 
 
 H
 
 r 
 
 L 
 
 114 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 herself, who is a notable prating gossip, engaged in 
 a conference with him ; being mightily pleased with 
 hia stroking her little boy on the head, and bidding him 
 .to be a good child and mind his book. 
 
 We were no sooner come to the Temple-stairs, but we 
 were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us 
 their respective services. Sir Eoger after having looked 
 about him very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg, and 
 immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready. As 
 10 we were walking towards it, " You must know," says Sir 
 Roger, " I never make use of any body to row me, that 
 . has not lost either a leg or an arm. I would rather bate 
 \ him a few strokes of his oar than not employ an honest 
 ' man that has been wounded in the queen's service. If I 
 j was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not 
 Vnut a fellow in my livery that had not a wooden leg." 
 
 My old friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed 
 L 1 . the boat with his coachman, who, being a very sober man, 
 always serves for ballast on these occasions, we made the 
 20 best of our way for Faux-hall. Sir Eoger obliged the 
 waterman to give us the history of his right leg ; and, hear- 
 ing that he had left it at La Hogue, with many particulars 
 which passed in that glorious action, the knight, in the 
 triumph of his heart, made several reflections on the gre?,t- 
 ness of the British nation ; as, that one Englishman could 
 beat three Frenchmen ; that we could never be in danger 
 of popery so long as we took care of our fleet ; tliat the 
 Thames was the noblest river in Europe ; that London 
 bridge was a greater piece of work than any of the seven 
 30 wonders of the world ; with many other honest prejudices 
 which naturally cleave to the heart of a true Englishman. 
 After some short pause, the old knight, turning about 
 his head twice or thrice, to take a survey of this great 
 metropolis, bid me observe how thick the city was set 
 with churches, and that there was scarce a single steeple 
 on this side Temple-bar. " A most heatiieuish sight ! "
 
 VISIT TO SPRING GARDENS. 115 
 
 says Sir Eoger : "there is no religion at this end of the 
 town. The fifty new churches will very much mend the 
 prospect ; but church-work is slow, church-work is slow." 
 
 I do not remember I have any where mentioned in Sir 
 Eoger's character, his custom of saluting every body that 
 passes by him with a good-morrow, or a good-night. This 
 the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, 
 though at the same time it renders him so popular among 
 all his country neighbours, that it is thought to have 
 gone a good way in making him once or twice knight of 10 
 the shire. He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence 
 even in town, when he meets with any one in his morning 
 or evening walk. It broke from him to several boats that 
 passed by us on the water ; but, to the knight's great 
 surprise, as he gave the good-night to two or three young 
 fellows a little before our landing, one of them, instead of 
 returning the civility, asked us, what queer old put we 
 had in the boat, with a great deal of the like Thames- 
 ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but 
 at length assuming a face of magistracy, told us, that if he 20 
 were a Middlesex justice, he would make such vagrants 
 know that her majesty's subjects were no more to be 
 abused by water than by land. 
 
 We were now arrived at Spring-garden, which is 
 excellently pleasant at this time of the year. When I 
 considered the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, with , 
 the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose 
 tribe of people that walked under their shades, I could 
 not but look upon the place as a kind of Mahometan 
 paradise. Sir Roger told me, it put him in mind of a 30 
 little coppice by his house in the country, which his 
 chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales. "You 
 must understand," says the knight, "that there is nothing 
 in the world that pleases a man in love so much as your 
 nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator, the many moon-light 
 nights that I have walkod by myself, and thought on the
 
 116 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 widow by the music of tlie nightingale!" He here 
 fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, 
 when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle 
 tap upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink 
 a bottle of mead with her ? But the knight, being 
 startled at so unexpected familiarity, and displeased to be 
 interrupted in his thoughts of the widow, told her she 
 was a wanton baggage ; and bid her go about her 
 business. 
 10 We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale, and 
 a slice of hung beef. When we had done eating oui'selves, 
 the knight called a waiter to him, and bid him carry the 
 remainder to the waterman that had but one leg. I 
 perceived the fellow stared upon him at the oddness of 
 the message, and was going to be saucy ; upon which I 
 ratified the knight's conmiands with a peremptory look. 
 
 I. 
 
 ^ XXX. DEATH OF SIR ROGER. 
 No. 517.] Tliursday, October 23, 1712. [Addison. 
 
 Heu pietas ! heu prisca fides ! — Virg. Aen. vi. 878, 
 
 Mirror of ancient faith ! 
 Undaunted worth ! Inviolable truth !— Dryden. 
 
 20 We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which 
 very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but 
 my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. 
 To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de Coverley 
 is dead. He departed this life at his house in the country, 
 after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a 
 letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, that 
 informs him the old man caught a cold at the county sessions, 
 as he was very warmly ]jromoting an address of his own 
 penning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes.
 
 DEATH OF SIR ROGER. 117 
 
 But this particular comes from a Whig justice of peace, who 
 was always Sir Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters 
 both from the chaplain and Captain Sentry, wliich mention 
 nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the 
 honour of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from 
 the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when I 
 was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler mentions, 
 in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the others 
 have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of 
 his letter, withovit any alteration or diminution. 10 
 
 " Honoured Sir, 
 
 " Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I 
 could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his 
 death, which has afflicted the whole country, as well as his 
 poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did 
 our lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last county 
 sessions, where he would go to see justice done to a poor 
 widow woman, and her fatherless children, that had been 
 wronged by a neighbouring gentleman ; for you know, sir, 
 my good master was always the poor man's friend. Upon 20 
 his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he 
 had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a 
 sirloin, which was served up according to custom ; and you 
 know he used to take great delight in it. From that time 
 forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good 
 heart to the last. Indeed we were once in great hope of his 
 recovery, upon a kind message that was sent him from the 
 widow lady whom he had made love to the forty last years 
 of his life ; but this only proved a lightning before death. 
 He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a 30 
 great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set 
 with jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his 
 mother. He has bequeathed the fine white gelding, that 
 he used to ride a hunting upon, to his chaplain, because 
 he thought he would be kind to him, and has left you 
 all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the chap-
 
 118 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 lain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It 
 being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for 
 mourning to every man in the parish a great frieze-coat, 
 and to every woman a black riding-hood. It was a moving 
 sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, com- 
 mending us all for our fidelity, whilst we were not able to 
 speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are grown 
 grey-headed in our dear master's service, he has left us pen- 
 sions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon 
 
 10 the remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great 
 deal more in charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge, 
 and it is peremptorily said in the parish, that he has left 
 money to build a steeple to the church : for he was heard to 
 say some time ago, that if he lived two years longer, Coverley 
 church should have a steeple to it. The chaplain tells every- 
 body that he made a very good end, and never speaks of him 
 without tears. He was buried, according to his own direc- 
 tions, among the family of the Coverlies, on the left hand of 
 his father Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six of his 
 
 20 tenants, and the pall held up by six of the quorum. The 
 whole parish followed the corpse with heavy hearts, and in 
 their mourning suits ; the men in frieze, and the women in 
 riding-hoods. Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken 
 possession of the Hall-hoiise, and the whole estate. When 
 my old master saw him, a little before his death, he shook 
 him by the hand, and wished him joy of the estate which 
 was falling to him, desiring him only to make a good use of 
 it, and to pay the several legacies, and the gifts of charity, 
 which he told him he had left as quit rents upon the estate. 
 
 30 The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says but 
 little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and 
 shows great kindness to the old house-dog, that you know 
 my poor master was so fond of. It would have gone to your 
 heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature made on 
 the day of my master's death. He has never joyed himself 
 since ; no more has any of us. It was the melancholiest day
 
 DEATH OF SIR ROGER. 119 
 
 for the poor people that ever happened in Worcestershire. 
 This being all from, 
 
 Honoured sir, your most sorrowful servant, 
 
 Edward Biscuit." 
 
 " P.S. — My master desired, some weeks before he died, 
 that a book which comes up to you by the carrier, should be 
 given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name." 
 
 This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of 
 writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that, 
 upon the reading of it, there was not a dry eye in the club. 10 
 Sir Andrew opening the book, found it to be a collection of 
 Acts of Parliament. There was, in particular, the Act of 
 Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Eoger's 
 own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or 
 three points, which he had disputed with Sir Roger the last 
 time he appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who would have 
 been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the 
 sight of the old man's writing, burst into tears, and put the 
 book in his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me, that the 
 knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the club. 20
 
 NOTES. 
 
 THE SPECTATOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. No. 1. 
 
 P. I, 1. 7. peruses, reads through, examines, surveys. "A 
 coined word ; from Per- and Use. No other source can well be 
 assigned ; but it must be admitted to be a barbarous and ill- 
 formed word, compounded of Latin and French, and by no means 
 used in the true sense ; since to per-use could only mean to use 
 thoroughly. The sense of the word comes nearer to that of the 
 F. revoir or E. ' survey ' or ' examine ' ; cp. ' Myself I then per- 
 used,' i.e. surveyed, Milton, P. L. viii. 267 ; ' Who first with 
 curious eye Perused him,' id. P. B. i. 320. The F. revoir and E. 
 survey both point to the Lat. videre, to see ; . . . there is a fair 
 argument for the supposed barbarous coinage from per and use, 
 in the fact that compounds with per were once far more common 
 than they are now "... (Skeat, Ety. Diet.). 
 
 1. 8. black, dark ; frequent in Shakespeare in this sense, e.g. 
 T. O. V. 2. 12, " Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes." 
 
 P. 2, 1. 7. then depending, then in progress, not yet settled. 
 
 1. 8. a justice of the peace, a title given to persons of position 
 and character who are appointed to keep the peace of the 
 neighbourhood in which they dwell. 
 
 1. 9. presaged, indicated ; Lat. praesacfire, to feel or perceive 
 beforehand, to have a presentiment of a thing. 
 
 1. 13. to favour, to give countenance to, to support. 
 
 1. 15. my rattle, a rattle and a coral are toys commonly given 
 to infants, the former to amuse by its noise, the latter, which 
 generally has little silver bells attached to it, to be sucked. 
 
 1. 20. nonage, minority, before one comes of age ; Lat. non, 
 not, and aye. sullen, reserved, hard to draw out. 
 
 1. 22. my parts, my natural abilities : would wear well, would 
 be lasting, would stand the wear and tear of time; not fail me as 
 
 120
 
 [pp. 1-3] THE SPECTATOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 121 
 
 I grew older, like those of more precocious children ; a metaphor 
 from the wearing of clothes. 
 
 I. 25. the public exercises, the term formerly given to the 
 scholastic disputations held in colleges or in the public schools of 
 the University as a qualification for a degree ; answering to the 
 examinations of modern times. 
 
 II. 30, 1. the learned ... tongues, used more especially of the 
 classical languages of Greece and Rome. 
 
 I. .35 unaccountable, that no one could make out, understand. 
 
 P. 3, 1. 5. Grand Cairo, in Egypt ; Arabic al Kahira, the vic- 
 torious city. 
 
 II. 7, 8. returned ... satisfaction, a sarcastic allusion to a learned 
 work on the Pyramids, entitled Pyramidographia, by John 
 Greaves (b. 1602, d. 1652), an English Orientalist and mathema- 
 tician, who visited Egypt in 1638. 
 
 1. 15. a round, a circle gathered round the fire : Will's, a coffee- 
 house in Russell Street, Covent Garden, patronized especially by 
 literary men and famous as the constant resort of Dryden. The 
 coffee-houses served most of the puiposca of the modern clubs, 
 though the favourite beverages were then tea, coffee, chocolate 
 and cocoa. 
 
 1. 18. Child's, in St. Paul's Churchyard, a coffee-house especi- 
 ally affected by the clergy : the Post-Man, one of the papers of 
 the day. 
 
 1. 20. St. James's, another coffee-house in St. James's Street ; 
 a great resort of the Whigs. Salmon, Essays from the Spectator, 
 quotes the Spectator, No. 403, ' ' I first of all called in at St. James's, 
 where I found the whole outward room in a buzz of politics. The 
 speculations were but very indifferent towards the door, but 
 grew finer as you advanced to the upper end of the room, and 
 were so improved by a knot of theorists who sat in the inner 
 room, within the steams of the coffee-pot, that 1 there heard the 
 whole Spanish monarchy disposed of, and all the line of Bourbon 
 provided for in less than a quarter of an hour." 
 
 1. 22. improve, neuter ; to improve himself, his understanding, 
 etc. 
 
 I. 23. the Grecian, in Devereux Court in the Strand, the oldest 
 coffee-house in London, much frequented by the barristers of the 
 Temple, the Cocoa-Tree, in St. James's Street, the resort of the 
 Tories in Queen Anne's reign. 
 
 II. 24, 5. the theatres ... Hay-Market, both still in existence 
 and among the most important in London. Drury Lane Theatre 
 was "opened in 1674 with an address by Dryden, who extolled 
 the advantages of its then country situation over those of the 
 ' Duke's Theatre ' in Dorset Gardens : ' Our house relieves the
 
 122 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 ladies from the frights of ill-paved streets and long dark winter 
 nights.' The burning of the theatre (Feb. 24, 1809) is rendered 
 memorable by the publication of the ' Rejected Addresses,' the 
 famous jeu d' esprit of James and Horace Smith [parodying the 
 addresses for the opening of the new theatre supposed to have 
 been sent into the Committee by various then living poets, etc.]" 
 (Hare, Walks in London, i. 123). The Hay-Market, in a street 
 of the same name between Pall Mall and Piccadilly, and parallel 
 to St. James's Sti-eet, so called because a market was held there 
 for hay and straw from Elizabeth's time to the early years of the 
 present century. 
 
 1. 26. the Exchange, the Royal Exchange, in the city at the 
 east end of the Poultry, originally built by Sir Thomas Gresham, 
 the great merchant prince of the sixteenth century, and opened 
 by Elizabeth in 1571 ; destroyed by the Great Fire of London in 
 1666, and again by fire in 1838. The present building was 
 erected in 1844. 
 
 1. 27. Jonathan's, a coffee-house in Cornhill, where the Stock 
 Exchange was originally held, and the great scene of action in 
 the South-Sea Bubble of 1720. 
 
 1. 32. a speculative statesman, a statesman in theory, though 
 not one in practice; the adjective qualifies soldier, merchant, and 
 artizan also. 
 
 1. 34. versed in . . . husband, acquainted with the duties and 
 position of a husband. 
 
 1. 35. economy, management of a household. 
 
 P. 4, 1. 1. blots, mistakes ; the common proverb is " Lookers 
 on see most of the game." 
 
 I. 2. espoused, closely united myself with ; literally to give or 
 take as a spouse. 
 
 II. 4, 5. unless , . . side, unless the hostilities of either party 
 should compel me to range myself on one side or the other. 
 
 I. 12. occasion, opportunity and propriety. 
 
 II. 16, 7. to print myself out, to put on paper all the reflections 
 that have occurred to me, and the experience of the world that I 
 have gained during my life. 
 
 1. 20. a sheet full, as much as is contained in a single sheet. 
 
 1. 27. spoken to, referred to, made mention of. 
 
 1. 32. to the embellishment of my paper, towards making my 
 paper more attractive and interesting. 
 
 1. 36. civilities, acts of civility, polite attentions. 
 
 P. 5, 1. 4. complexion, here probably used, as nowadays, in 
 the restricted sense of the colouring of the face, though formerly 
 frequent in the wider sense of external appearance generally.
 
 .3-6.1 THE SPECTATOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 123 
 
 1. 5. make discoveries of, reveal ; cp. p. 73, 1. 30. 
 
 1. 10. concerted, agreed upon together. 
 
 1. 12. to stand . . . front, to be their representative. 
 
 1. 14. Mr. Buckley's, "Samuel Buckley was what we should 
 now call the publisher of the ' Spectator ' " (Salmon). Little 
 Britain, so called from the mansion of John, Duke of Bretagne in 
 the time of Edward the Second, a street running into Aldersgate 
 Street, and in Addison's day the great quarter of the booksellers. 
 
 OF THE CLUB. No. 2. 
 
 P. 5,1. 25. Sir Eoger. The original of this character was long 
 supposed, though without any sufficient evidence, to be a certain 
 Sir John Packington, a Worcestershire baronet. 
 
 11. 25, 6. that famous country- dance, a dance still in use, more 
 especially at the end of a ball ; so called from being more common 
 in country places than in towns, though connnonly supposed to 
 be from ithe F. contre-dame. ^Vills, quoted by Salmon, says, 
 "An autograph account by Ralph Thoresby, of the family of 
 Calverley of Calverley, in Yorkshire, dated 1717, and wliich is 
 now in the possession of Sir W. Calverley Trevelyan, states that 
 the tune of ' Roger a Calverley' was named after Sir Roger of 
 Calverley, who lived in the time of Richard the First."... 
 27. parts, mental endowments. 
 
 1. 30-P. 6, 1. 1. only as ... wrong, only in so far, in such respects, 
 as his opinions of what is right and wrong differ from those of 
 the world in general ; his singularities not being mere whims and 
 caprices without reasonable foundation or origin. 
 
 1. 3. unconflned ... forms, not hampered by any forms of 
 behaviour that are prescribed merely by fashion and custom. 
 
 1. 6. Solio Square, to the south of Oxford Street, formerly 
 called King's Square, was a very fashionable part of the town 
 from the days of the Stuarts to th middle of the last centui-y. 
 It is said to derive its name from the words " So Hoe," the cry 
 used in hunting the hare, a pastime in which the Mayor and 
 Corporation used to indulge in the fields on which the square 
 was afterwards built. 
 
 1. 7. by reason, because; a phrase now almost obsolete : crossed, 
 thwarted, disappointed, perverse, sc. so far as his wishes were 
 concerned. 
 
 1. 10. my Lord Rocbester ... Etherege, two well-known men of 
 fashion of the time ; the former, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, 
 a courtier and a poet, infamous for his deljauchery ; the latter, 
 Sir George, a writer of comedies and equally loose in his life ; my
 
 124 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 was and still is often prefixed to the title 'Lord,' sometimes in 
 the way of respect, sometimes with a sarcastic emphasis. 
 
 1. 11. Bully Dawson, a notorious sharper and debauchee about 
 town at this period. 
 
 1. 13. ill-used, sc. in being first encouraged and afterwards 
 repulsed. 
 
 1. 15. jovial, merry, generally with tlie idea of boisterous 
 mirth. Like ' mercurial,' ' saturnine,' etc., a relic of the former 
 belief in astrology according to which a man's temperament was 
 supposed to be affected by the planet just rising above the eastern 
 horizon at his birth. Thus the planet of Jupiter or Jove was 
 considered of joyful augury and men born under it to be of a 
 joyous disposition, those born under Satiirn to partake of the 
 gloomy nature of that god, those under Mercury to resemble that 
 light-hearted deity. Other words having a similiar origin are 
 ' disastrous,' ' ill-starred,' ' influence,' etc. 
 
 1. 16. never dressed afterwards, sc. fashionably ; never cared 
 what he wore, whether it was in the fashion or not. 
 
 1. 17. doublet, an inner garment which served, so to speak, as 
 a lining or double to the outer one ; F. double, witli tlie diminu- 
 tive suflix -et. 
 
 1. 1 9. in and out. sc. of f asliion. 
 
 1. 21. a good house, a well-appointed and hospitable house. 
 
 1. 28. a justice of the quorum, one of the county justices, 
 magistrates. The word quorum, now used of a number of 
 members of any body sufficient to transact business, is the Lat. 
 quorum, of ruliom, it being usual formerly to enumerate the 
 members forming a committee, of wJiom a certain number must 
 be present at a meeting. 
 
 I. 29. a quarter-session, the quarterly meeting of the justices 
 for the trial of offenders against the peace ; we now use the 
 plural ' quarter-sessions.' 
 
 II. 30, 1. by explaining ... Game -Act, said with a pleasant sar- 
 casm, as though the Act for the preservation of game was some- 
 thing beyond ordinary comprehension. The (iame Laws are a 
 remnant of the forest laws imposed by William the Conqueror, 
 who, to preserve his game, made it forfeiture of property to 
 disable a wild beast, and loss of eyes for a stag, buck, or boar. 
 The first Game Act was passed in 1496, and there have been 
 many others since then. See note on p. 71, 1. 7. 
 
 1. 33. the Inner-Temple. The military order of " soldiers of 
 the Temple," to protect pilgrims, was founded about 1118 by 
 Baldwin II., King of Jerusalem. The Templars were numerous 
 in several countries, and came to England before 1185. At the 
 suppression of the Order, their dwelling, the Temple, was pur-
 
 6, 7.] OF THE CLUB. 125 
 
 chased by the professors of the common law, and converted into 
 inns, 1311, afterwards called the Inner and Middle Temple. 
 Essex House, also a part of the house of the Templars, was called 
 the Outer Temple, being situated without Temple Bar. 
 
 1. 36. humoursome, fanciful, odd-natured. 
 
 P. 7, 11. 2, 3. and is the most ... stage, but, instead of giving 
 his attention to such matters, devotes himself entirely to theatri- 
 cal affairs. 
 
 1. 3. Aristotle, here referring to the great philosopher's writ- 
 ings on poetry, more especially in regard to the drama. 
 Longinus, a distinguished Greek philosopher and grammarian of 
 the third century of our era, whose work entitled On the Sublime 
 contains, among other subjects, criticisms on poetry. 
 
 1. 4. Littleton or Coke, two distinguished jurists of the seven- 
 teenth century, the latter a rival of Bacon's who was dismissed 
 from his post of Chief Justice, in 1615, for having displeased the 
 King, James the First. 
 
 1. 5. marriage-articles, settlements as to money made at 
 marriages. 
 
 1. 7. to answer ... lump, to consider and answer in return for a 
 lump sum, a sum paid for the whole, not for separate cases. 
 
 1. 11. Tullj', Marcus TuUius Cicero, the great Roman orator 
 and statesman, B.C. 106-43. 
 
 1. 13. TMs turn, this bent or inclination of character. 
 
 1. 14. disinterested, his concern not being with matters of 
 ordinary interest ; he having no personal interest in the affairs 
 which occupied his associates. 
 
 1. 16. too just, too rigorous in his valuation of them. 
 
 I. 19. delicate, nice, fastidious, refined. 
 
 II. 21, 2. his hour of business, the time of the day at which he 
 becomes seriously occupied, while others are relaxing their 
 minds. 
 
 1. 22. New Inn, an old-fashioned brick square in Lincoln's Inn. 
 
 1. 23. takes a turn, spends a short time. 
 
 1. 23. rubbed, dusted, perriwig, now spelt 'periwig.' "The 
 i after r is corruptly inserted ; Minsheu gives the spellings ]ier- 
 wigge and pcrwicke. Of these forms, perwigge is a weakened 
 form of perwicke or perioirk ; and perivick is an E. rendering of 
 the 0. Du. form, as distinct from peruke, which is the F. 
 form — O. Du. pen'uyk... — F. perruque, a peruke [an artificial 
 head of hair] "... (Skeat, Ety. Diet.). 
 
 1. 25. the Rose, then a tavern on the outside of Temple Bar. 
 
 1.33. would make., figure, would not be thought much of, 
 would not be applauded.
 
 126 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 11. 33, 4. lie calls... common, speaks of the sea as though it 
 were as much a British possession as is the common the possession 
 of an English village. A ' Common ' is a portion of meadowland 
 in a village, which for the purpose of feeding animals, for rural 
 sports, etc., is property common to the villagers in general. 
 _ P. 8, 1. 3. and if another, from another, an elliptical expres- 
 sion for ' and if another part of our trade were well cultivated, 
 we should gain from another nation. ' 
 
 11. 15, 6. that there is not ... owner, i.e. that he is a very rich 
 man indeed, and therefore that to say that England ... men is 
 equivalent to saying its wealth would be very much greater than 
 that of any other nation. 
 
 I. 17. Captain Sentry, "It has been said, that the real person 
 alluded to under this name was C. Kempenfelt, father of the 
 Admiral Kempenfelt who deplorably lost his life when the Royal 
 George of 100 guns sunk at Spithead, Aug. 29, 1782" (Ferguson). 
 
 II. 20, 1. at putting... them, in bringing their talents so pro- 
 minently under the notice of those who ought to consider them 
 as to ensure their being properly regarded. 
 
 I. 23. engagements, battles. 
 
 II. 26, 7. who is not .. soldier, unless, in addition to his being 
 an able soldier, he has also enough of the arts of a courtier to 
 recommend himself to those in authority. 
 
 I. 28. impudence, effrontery, unabashed assurance. 
 
 II. 29, 30. talked to this purpose, spoken on this subject in 
 this way, to this purport. 
 
 1. 31. left the world, retired into private life. 
 
 I. 33. him, the man who. 
 
 II. 34, 5. who endeavour ... commander, whose aim is the same 
 as his own, viz., to obtain the good graces of some superior in 
 military command. 
 
 I. 36. disposing, dispensing their favour. 
 P. 9, 1. 2. a mind, an inclination. 
 
 II. 2, 3. to come at me, to reach me, i.e. my case. 
 
 I. 4. would make a figure, aims at winning a high position for 
 himself. See note on p. 7, 1. 33. 
 
 II. 15, 6. in the utmost . . . him, immeasurably his inferiors in 
 rank. 
 
 1. 18. humourists, strange-natured, eccentric fellows. 
 
 I. 19. gallantries, love adventures. 
 
 II. 21, 2. should be ... life, ought to be considered an old man. 
 careful of his person, careful to live a life which should not
 
 7-10.] OF THE CLUB. 127 
 
 prematurely age him, careful of a youthful appearance so far 
 as it may be preserved by a life of moderation. 
 
 I. 2,3. a very easy fortune, such a sufficiency of wealth as pre- 
 vents any anxiety on that score. 
 
 II. 24, 5. traces in his brain, marks of senility in his under- 
 standing, well turned, well formed, of a good figure. 
 
 I. 28. habits, fashions of dress. 
 
 II. 28, 9. He can smile ... easily, i.e. he is not so taken up with 
 himself as not to be able to meet men with ready courtesy. 
 
 1. 30. mode, fashion. 
 
 1. 33. whose frailty ... petticoat, what frail lady of celebrity 
 brought a particular kind of petticoat into fashion ; petticoat, 
 the skirt underneath the lower part of the dress. 
 
 P. lo, 1. 2. the Duke of Monmouth. James Crofts, a natural 
 son of Charles II., by Lucy Waters, b. 1G49, remarkable for his 
 personal beauty and graceful manners. Banished from England 
 in 1683 for complicity in the Rye-house plot ; invaded England 
 in 168.T ; proclaimed king at Taunton, 20th June in the same 
 year, defeated at Sedgemoor, 6th July, beheaded on Tower-hill, 
 15th July. 
 
 1. 3. smitten, sc. with love. 
 
 1. 4. was taken with him, fell in love with him. 
 
 1. 6. a blow of a fan, a tap of the fan as a mark of favourable 
 notice ; the fan played a more important part in the gallantries 
 of those days than it does now ; see the Essay on The Exercise of 
 the Fan. 
 
 I. 7. Lord such-a-one, some lord whose name is not mentioned. 
 
 II. 10, 1. cheated me . affair, craftily won the lady to whom 
 I was a suitor. 
 
 11. 11, 2. used ... than, treated me worse than, made advances 
 to, courted, made love to. 
 
 11. 13, 4. us of ... turn, us who are of a graver disposition. 
 
 11. 20, 1. adds to every man ... himself, puts every man into a 
 better humour with himself and all about him. 
 
 I. 25. preferments in his function, professional advancement, 
 clerical offices, appointments. 
 
 II. 26, 7. a chamber- counsellor, one whose practice consists in 
 giving legal opinions upon matters in dispute, or needing settle- 
 ment, without having to go into court to conduct cases ; such 
 counsellors are chiefly conveyancers, equity lawyers, etc. 
 
 I. 29. advances, brings into repute. 
 
 II. 31 , 2. fall on , . . topic, take up, discourse upon, some question 
 of religion.
 
 128 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 11. 34, 5. conceives ... infirmities, finds in the decay of his 
 physical powers an assurance that he will shortly exchange that 
 decay for life eternal. 
 
 SIR ROGER AT HOME. No. 106. 
 
 P. 11,1. 8. to pass away, we should now omit away. 
 1. 11. speculations, meditations such as a spectator of life 
 might indulge in. 
 
 I. 15. without ... merry, without worrying me by efforts 
 to make me seem more cheerful ; letting me alone when not 
 inclined to mirth. 
 
 II. 16, 7. only shows ... distance, knowing my natural shyness. 
 1. 18. stealing a sight, furtively trying to get a glimpse of me. 
 1. 22. staid, sedate. 
 
 1. 26. are all in years, are all getting old. 
 
 1. 27. valet de chambre, personal servant, one who attends 
 him in his bedroom, helping to dress and undress him, etc. 
 
 1. 30. a privy-councillor, a member of the sovereign's Privy 
 Council, and therefore presumed to be a man of wisdom and 
 discretion. 
 
 1. 31. even ... house-dog, even in the ways of the old house-dog, 
 who shows in his behaviour the affectionate treatment to which 
 he has been used : pad, horse ridden on a pad, or stuffed saddle. 
 So we speak of a ' pad ' elephant as opposed to one carrying a 
 huada. 
 
 P. 12, 1. 12. tempered, mixed. 
 
 1. 14. humanity, kindness of manner : engages, binds with 
 affection. 
 
 1. 15. is pleasant ... them, makes jokes in a pleasant way at 
 their expense : family, household. 
 
 I. 19. concern, anxiety. 
 
 II. 28, 9. in the nature of a chaplain, as a sort of domestic 
 priest. In those days gentlemen of means, especially those 
 living in the country, generally had a private chaplain attached 
 to the household ; and his position, unlike that of Sir Roger's 
 chaplain, was usually of an almost menial character. 
 
 P. 13, 1. 2. extravagance, wildness, exuberance. 
 1. 4. cast, disposition, character, of mind. 
 1. 11. insulted ... Greek, humiliated by a display of learning 
 which his own education had neglected. 
 1. 14. aspect, personal appearance.
 
 10-15.] SIR ROGER AT HOME. 129 
 
 I. 16. backgammon, a game played with moveable pieces, as 
 in draughts, upon a board mai'ked with 'points' or divisions, the 
 moves of the pieces being regulated by the numbers thrown by a 
 pair of dice, and the object being with each player to move his 
 pieces from his own ' table,' or division of the board, to that of 
 his opponent and then to be the first to get them off the board 
 altogether, a result in the main due to luck in throwing the dice, 
 though considerable skill is required in moving the pieces. The 
 game, though still played, is not so much in vogue as in Addison's 
 day ; the origin of the word is uncertain. 
 
 II. 21, 2. lie shall find, the shall indicates determination, not 
 mere futurity. 
 
 1. 35. pronounce, deliver. 
 
 1. 36. digested, arranged. 
 
 P. 14, 1. 5. preached, was to preach, i.e. whose sermon waste 
 be read. 
 
 I. 6. the Bishop of St. Asaph, at that time Dr. William Fleet- 
 wood. 
 
 II. 7-10. South, Tillotson, Saunderson, Barrow, Calamy, all 
 famous divines of the period. 
 
 11. 22, 3. endeavour after, aim at. 
 
 1. 23. a handsome elocution, an agreeable manner of delivery, 
 due to the words being clearly and accurately pronounced, the 
 sentences well marked, the emphasis placed where it should be, 
 etc. 
 
 1. 24. proper to enforce, suited to impress, calculated to lay 
 due stress upon. 
 
 1. 26. edifying, instructive ; originally used in the literal sense 
 of ' building up ' ; now confined to figurative building up. 
 
 THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD. No. 107. 
 
 P. 15. 1. 10. the general ... servants, the bad manners of ser- 
 vants nowadays as compared with their mannei's in former days. 
 
 1. 12. carries ... satisfaction, shows how well contented each is 
 with his lot. 
 
 1. 16. that servants fly, the more usual construction now would 
 
 be ' for servants to fiy.' 
 
 I. 18. industriously, of set purpose. 
 
 II. 19, 20. it is on both sides ... calling, and when a servant 
 makes his appearance without being summoned, the master looks 
 upon it as receiving, and the servant as paying, a friendly visit. 
 
 I
 
 130 NOTES. [pages 
 
 1. 23, 4. as ever ... beforehand, as always to have more than 
 sufficient to meet present demands ; to have money in hand for 
 future contingencies ; to have the balance on the right side. Cp. 
 The Spectator, No. 450, " Having little ornothing beforehand, and 
 living from hand to mouth." So behindhand ='uv arrear as to the 
 discharge of one's liabilities, in debt. Cp. Swift, Tale of a Tub, 
 2, " Having run something behindhand with the world." 
 
 1. 29. the lower . . . family, i. e. the servants. Of old the word 
 family, more commonly than at present, included all who lived in 
 one house or under one head, parents, children, and servants, etc. 
 It is from Lat. familia, household, from famidus, servant. 
 
 I. 31. rated, abused, scolded. 
 
 P. i6, 1. 2. mean, petty-minded, ungenerous: worthy, deserving. 
 
 II. 3, 4. that he came . . . order, as to have made it possible for 
 him to have carried out his orders so quickly. All such inquiries 
 show the master's interest in his servants and in those in his 
 neighbourhood, small as well as great. 
 
 1. 8. preserves a respect, has won and always retains a rever- 
 ential homage ; in all his doings and at all times is regarded by 
 his servants as some one to whom reverence is due. 
 
 1. 11. the distinction, the mark of favour by which he is dis- 
 tinguished from others less worthy ; the honour which he feels it 
 to be to be allowed to come into his master's presence. 
 
 1. 17. cast clothes, clothes which have been worn till they were 
 no longer fit for wearing and then been rejected ; left-ofi clothes. 
 
 1. 19. the parties, i.e. the master who has once worn them and 
 the servant that now wears them after being cast off. 
 
 I. 20. pleasant, facetious, jocular : on this occasion, sc. when 
 it has happened that a servant appears wearing his master's old 
 clothes. 
 
 II, 21, 2. in that coat, when dressed in that coat. 
 
 11. 22, 3. was the most ... himself, was that on which he prided 
 himself more than upon anything else as distinguishing him by 
 its novelty, its splendour, its fashion, etc., from all other persons. 
 Cp. distinction, 1. 11 above. 
 
 1. 25. of this kind, referring to hounties, not to ladies. 
 
 1. 26. a fine woman, a lady of fashion, rank. 
 
 1. 27. becoming, literally suitable, befitting ; and so, graceful, 
 ornamental. 
 
 1. 30-2. a good servant ... all ; one who serves him faithfully is 
 sure to be so well rewarded that after a few years he will be 
 independent of service, and be able to set up for himself in some 
 trade or occupation which he likes.
 
 15-17.] THE COVERLEY HOUSEHOLD. 131 
 
 1. 33. husband, manager of his affairs ; the old sense of the 
 word is ' master of a house,' and so corresponds with 'economist,' 
 one who manages a household ; hence ' a good husband ' = an 
 economical person, a prudent manager of his household affairs, 
 his money matters. 
 
 I. 34. the skill of the purse, care in proportioning his expendi- 
 ture to his income : cardinal, that on which all other virtues 
 hinge, turn, are dependent ; Lat. cardo, a hinge. 
 
 II. 35, 6. that frugality . . . generosity, that liberality is possible 
 only in one who is prudent in his expenditure ; generosity in its 
 larger sense includes all the nobler virtues, the word being from 
 Lat. generosiis, of good or noble birth, and so noble-minded, mag- 
 nanimous ; here it is used in the more restricted sense of liberality 
 in giving, free-handedness. 
 
 1. 36. fine, here used in its strictly legal sense. "The necessary 
 changes which are constantly occurring of the persons who from 
 time to time are tenants on the rolls, form occasionally a source 
 of considerable profit to the lords. For by the custom of manors, 
 on every change of tenancy, whether by death or alienation, fines 
 of more or less amount become payable to the lord. By the 
 customs of some manors the fine payable was anciently arbitrary ; 
 but in modern times, fines, even when arbitrary by custom, are 
 restrained to two years' improved value of the land after 
 deducting quit rents" (Williams, Law of Real Property, p. 323). 
 
 P. 17, 1. 1. a tenement, or thing held, was originally used of 
 lands, houses, and immoveable property, i.e. things held of a feudal 
 superior ; but as in ordinary language, so also in law, a tenement 
 often means merely a house : falls, falls in, reverts to the lord of 
 the manor, the tenancy coming to an end : that settlement, the 
 means of settling himself in life by becoming tenant of a farm, 
 public-house, house of business, etc. 
 
 1. 2. has a mind ... world, is desirous of setting up in business 
 for himself: a stranger, a new comer who enters upon the tenancy. 
 
 I. 6. to have no will ... another, to be always in a state of 
 dependence, the state of a servant. 
 
 II. 8, 9. goes on ...livelihoods, makes every effort to establish 
 his servants in positions in which they can earn their livelihood 
 by independent occupation, such as farming, trading, etc. 
 
 I. 1 2, 3. the visitants . . . country, those who came from various 
 parts of the neighbourhood to pay him a vi&it of welcome on his 
 returning from town to his country seat. 
 
 II. 16, 7. finer gentlemen ... courtiers, men of more refined 
 manners and greater courtesy in their way of welcoming their 
 old master. 
 
 1. 18. manumission, freeing from service ; a Latin term. The 
 oldest form of manunmaio, giving freedom to a slave, was as
 
 132 NOTES. [pages 
 
 follows : The master brought his slave before the magistrate, and 
 stated the grounds of the intended manumission ; the lictor laid 
 a rod on the head of the slave, accompanying the action with 
 certain formal words in which he declared his freedom ; and the 
 master, holding the slave, after pronouncing his wish that he 
 should be set free, turned him round and let him go (emisit e 
 manu), whence the general name of the act of manumission. 
 
 11. 22, 3. which can be pleased . . . them, which while willing to 
 be pleased, ready to accept acta of dutiful service, have not the 
 generosity to reward them. 
 
 11. 27, 8. shown to their undone patrons ... them, behaved in 
 such a manner to their masters when in a state of ruin as to show 
 them that if fortune had changed, everything else remained 
 unchanged, and that thty were as devoted servants as in the days 
 of their masters' fullest prosperity ; under the general sense of 
 protector, defender, the Lat. j^atronus was also the former master 
 of a freedman. 
 
 11. 35, 6. sent ... prentice, put him out as apprentice to some 
 trade by paying the premium required by the master tradesman 
 who was to teach him his trade. 
 
 P. i8, 1. 5. livery, literally, a thing delivered; thence a uniform 
 delivered to servants to be worn by them. 
 
 11. 9, 10. for an account of it, for a relation of the incidents set 
 forth in the picture. 
 
 I. 1 3. some sudden illness, such as cramp in his limbs. 
 
 II. 14, 5. the dress, the livery which the servant had worn up 
 to that time, thus declaring him to be no longer a servant. 
 
 1. 16. bounty, generosity. 
 
 1. 17. seat, place of residence. 
 
 1. 21. a little dissatisfied, sc. at the former servant being 
 painted in his servant's livery, not in such a dress as he now 
 wore. 
 
 1. 24. habit, dress, costume. 
 
 CHARACTER OF WILL WIMBLE. No. 108. 
 
 P. i8. 1. 30. Mr. William Wimble, " A Yorkshire gentleman, 
 whose name was Mr. Thomas Morecraft " (Ferguson). 
 
 P. 19, 1. 1. with his service, with an expression of his good-will ; 
 with his compliments, as we now say. 
 
 1. 6. a jack, a pike, a river fish of a very voracious character 
 and one affording considerable sport to the fisherman ; in some 
 parts of the country the name ' jack ' is used only of young pike.
 
 17-20.] CHARACTER OF WILL WIMBLE. 133 
 
 I. 10. the toowling-green, in former days the game of bowls was 
 a very favourite pastime, and few country seats were without 
 their bowling green ; nowadays these greens are rarely to be seen 
 except in the Fellows' Gardens at the Universities. 
 
 II. 13, 4. I liave not . . . past, i.e. have been constantly on horse- 
 back for the last six days, riding about the country round Eton. 
 
 1. 15. hugely, with the keenest appetite; a word that in a 
 figurative sense seems to be growing obsolete. 
 
 I. 28. handicrafts, manual occupations. The word is "a 
 corruption of handcraft ; the insertion of i being due to an imita- 
 tion of the form of handiwork, in which the i" [representing the 
 prefix ge- in A.S.] " is a real part of the word " (Skeat, Ely. Diet. ): 
 a May-fly, an artificial fly made in imitation of a fly so called 
 which trout take greedily in that month. 
 
 II. 28, 9. to a miracle, with extraordinary skill in imitating 
 the real fly. 
 
 1. 29. angle-rods, fishing rods ; originally the word ' angle ' 
 was used of the rod with its line, as e.g. A. G. ii. 5. 10, "Give me 
 mine angle; we'll to the river." Nowadays 'angling,' i.e. 
 bottom fishing, fishing with a bait that is allowed to fall to the 
 bottom, is csntrasted with fly-fishing, in which the bait is thrown 
 upon the surface of the water and drawn along to tempt the fish 
 by imitating the course of the natural fly. 
 
 1. 30. officious, ready to do a kindness ; at present the word is 
 always used in a bad sense of over-eagerness to meddle in any 
 matter. 
 
 1. 31 . upon . . . family, in consequence of his belonging to a good 
 family, being well born. 
 
 1. 33. a tulip root ; in Addison's day, owing to the introduction 
 of Dutch fashions by William the Third, Prince of Orange, and 
 his followers, tulip growing was more cared for than at present. 
 Here this carrying of a tulip root is merely an instance of the 
 small civilities in which Will Wimble delighted. 
 
 1. 34. exchanges, arranges the exchange between, etc. 
 
 P. 20, 1. 1. weaved, we should now say woven. 
 
 1. 2. a setting dog, a ' setter,' as we now call a spaniel trained 
 to sit as soon as it marks down the game which the sportsman 
 are beating for; other spaniels are called 'pointers,' as being 
 trained to ' point ' l)y lifting up the paw when coming near tlie 
 game, and otliers 'retrievers' from their retrieving, bringing back 
 the game when brought down by the gun : made, trained ; a tech- 
 nical term still in use. 
 
 I. 3. of his own knitting, which he had knitted himself. 
 
 II. 5, 6. how they wear, whether they were wearing well or
 
 134 NOTES. [pages 
 
 are nearly worn out ; they, because his modesty does not like to 
 mention the name of the article. 
 
 1. 7. humours, fanciful ways. 
 
 1. 9. make up to us, approach us ; another (colloquial) sense 
 of the phrase is to pay court to, to approach (figuratively) with 
 servile deference. 
 
 1. 17- shuttlecocks, conical pieces of cork stuck round the edge 
 with small feathers and bandied backwards and forwards by a 
 kind of raquet in the game of battledore and shuttlecock, a game 
 still played by children and sometimes by grown-up people, more 
 commonly indoors on a rainy day. 
 
 I. 21. sprung, disturbed and caused to fly out from its place of 
 concealment in the grass or underwood. 
 
 II. 23, 4. the game that I look for, the game I try to hunt 
 down, the objects of my search. 
 
 I. 32. in a most sumptuous manner, Addison probably refers 
 to the fennel with which it is customary to deck a pike when 
 served at table. 
 
 II. 33, 4. played with it, a fish is said to be ' played with,' or 
 nowadays 'played,' when the line is loosened so as to allow it 
 free play in the water, then tightened to bring it up towards the 
 bank, the operation being repeated time after time until the fish 
 is completely tired out and can be landed : foiled, bafiled its 
 attempts to get off the hook or break the line. 
 
 1. 35. all the first course, all the time we were eating the first 
 course ; the dinner is divided into several courses, ordinarily 
 three or four, consisting of various kinds of food, but sometimes 
 prolonged to as many as seven or more. 
 
 1. 36 -P. 21, 1. 1. furnished conversation. Will Wimble dis- 
 coursing all the time upon his experiences in shooting wild fowl. 
 
 I. 2. the quail-pipe, a pipe or reed used in luring quail ; it is 
 thus described by Bate, quoted in Nares's Glossary, "A quaile 
 pipe or call is a small whistle, and there is over the top of it 
 some writhed wyer [i.e. twisted wire], which must be wrought 
 over with leather ; hold the whistle in your left hand, and the 
 top of the leather betweene the fore finger and top of the tliumbe 
 of your right hand, and by pulling streight the said leather, and 
 letting it slacke nimbi}', it will sound like the cry of a quaile." 
 
 II. 10, 1. might have ... esteem, might have raised him to 
 a position in which he would have gained the esteem of his 
 fellowmen. 
 
 1. 16. had rather see, would prefer to see. 
 
 I. 17. like gentlemen, retaining the position of a gentleman.
 
 20-23.] CHARACTER OF WILL WIMBLE. 135 
 
 1. 18. quality, birth and breeding : humour, caprice, fanciful 
 notions. 
 
 1. 19. happiness, good fortune, fortunate custom. 
 
 1. 21. any liberal ... profession, such as divinity, law, physic 
 
 1. 24. launched, a metaphor from sending a vessel into the 
 water from the slips on which it rests while in the building dock. 
 
 1. 30. improper, unsuited in his qualifications. 
 
 1. 31. turned, formed, adapted. 
 
 SIR ROGER'S ANCESTORS. No. 109. 
 
 P. 22, 1. 3. the gallery, sc. of pictures. 
 
 I. 6. conversation, intercourse ; the older and more literal 
 sense of the word. 
 
 II. 13, 4. after his blunt ... things, in the abrupt way he has of 
 entering upon a subject without anything occurring to lead up 
 to it. 
 
 11. 17, 8. the force of dress, the effect which dress has upon the 
 person and character of the wearer. 
 
 I. 23. jetting, standing out from the body in expansive folds. 
 So jet in Elizabethan English was generally used intransitively, 
 e.g. T. N. ii. 5. 36, "how he jets under his advanced plumes," 
 i.e. struts, stalks ; Per. i. 4. 26, " Whose men and dames so 
 jetted and adorned." The word is from O. F. jeller, to cast, hurl, 
 fling about ; and, when used of the person, means to fling about 
 the limbs in a swaggering manner : bonnet, head-dress ; now used 
 in such a sense only of the Scotch Highland cap ; that worn by 
 yeomen of the guard is round in shape, made of black velvet, 
 with a gold band above the brim. 
 
 \. 23. habit, manner of dress, fashion. 
 
 II. 24, 5. yeoman of the guard, more commonly known as a 
 "beefeater"; formerly an attendant on the person of the 
 sovereign, now one of the subordinate attendants at the Tower 
 of London. 
 
 1. 27. leaves ... expanded, i.e. so that its full breadth can be 
 seen. 
 
 P. 23, 1. 2. the Tilt-yard, a wide open space in front of the Horse 
 Guards, once the tilting-yard (or place where tournaments were 
 held) of St. James's Palace : WhitehaU, formerly a royal palace, 
 occupying almost the whole space between Charing Cross and 
 Westminster on one side, and between St. James's Park and the 
 Thames on the other. Part of the palace was burnt down in 
 1691, and nearly the whole of the remainder was destroyed in 
 the same way in 1G97.
 
 136 NOTES. [pages 
 
 11. 4, 5. he shivered ... pieces, i.e. the lance of his adversary 
 broke into several pieces when it came in contact vi^ith his coat 
 of mail, or his shield. 
 
 11. 5, 6. look you ... manner, as he says this, Sir Roger imitates 
 the action of his ancestor in the tournament. 
 
 11. 6, 7. came . . . target, forced his way right up to his adversary, 
 thrusting his shield aside (so that he was able to put his arm 
 round him and lift him on to his horse); target, a diminutive 
 of targe, originally meant a small shield, buckler ; the present 
 sense of the word, a mark to fire at, is from the resemblance of 
 such a mark to a shield. 
 
 1. 8. pommel, projecting rim in front of a saddle. 
 
 I. 9. in that manner ... over, completed his course or career 
 down the whole length of the lists, carrying his adversary in 
 triumph on his horse : rid, an old preterite of to ride, 
 
 II. 10, 1. with rn air ... enemy, showing by his manner that he 
 did this not in order to hold up his adversary to ridicule, but to 
 carry out the rules prescribed for tournaments. 
 
 I. 1.3. a gaUery, in which sat the "queen of beauty," whose 
 task it was to award the prizes in a tournament to the victorious 
 combatant : their mistress, she who was the object of love to 
 both of them ; she whom each wished to win as his bride. 
 
 II. 14, 5. let him down ... insolence, in helping his adversary to 
 alight on the ground from his uncomfortable position, he showed 
 a praiseworthy courtesy to his vanquished foe, and at the same 
 time an air of triumph such as might be excused in one who had 
 performed so remarkable an exploit. 
 
 1. 16. the coffee-house, Mann's Tilt-yard Coffee-house, still 
 standing early in the present century. The coffee-houses of those 
 days were the forerunners of the modern clubs. 
 
 I. 18. You are to know, as we now say, "you must know," i.e. 
 I wish you to know. 
 
 II. 18, 9. a military genius, one skilled in all the arts of war 
 and warlike exercises. 
 
 1. 20. the bass-viol, a fashionable musical instrument, also 
 called the viol-de.-gamho, gamho being the Italian for leg, and the 
 instrument when played upon being held between the legs. 
 
 1. 21. basket-hilt sword, a "basket-hilt" was one made of 
 narrow plates of steel curved into the shape of a basket, and serv- 
 ing as a protection to the hand. The form is that in use in the 
 swords of the present day, and, made of wicker, in the foils used 
 in single-stick. The older form of hilt was that of a bar of steel 
 at right angles to the blade, but when the thrust, as opposed to 
 the cut, came more into use, that form afforded no protection.
 
 23, 24.] SIR ROGER'S ANCESTORS. 137 
 
 1. 23. a maid of honoiir, one of the ladies who attend upon a 
 queen or princess. 
 
 1. 25. my great . . . grandmotlier, my ancestress of five genera- 
 tions backward. 
 
 I. 26. gathered, sc. in folds, pleats. 
 
 II. 27, 8. as if . . . drum, the hooped petticoats of those days pro- 
 jecting at the hips as widely as at the bottom of the dress. 
 
 1. 29. For all . . . tored, in spite of her having been bred : 
 a go-cart, a circular contrivance on wheels, in the centre 
 of which the child (to be taught to walk) is made to stand up 
 with his feet on the ground, these necessarily moving as the 
 machine is pushed forward ; the resemblance here of the ladies 
 when walking lies in the shortness of their circular petticoats, 
 beneath which their feet and ankles are plainly visible : For 
 aU . . . court, in spite of this lady being brought up in the frivolous 
 atmosphere of court life. 
 
 1. 33. an basty-pudding, also called "hasty-poddish," a pudding 
 made of flour or oatmeal stirred into boiling milk or water. 
 
 1. 34. a wMte-pot, a dish which appears to have been peculiar 
 to Devonshire. Nares gives the following receipt from a Closet 
 of Rarities, 1706: — "Take two quarts of cream, boil in it, in a 
 short time, half an ounce of mace, a piece of cinnamon, and half 
 a nutmeg ; then cut a white penny-loaf exceedingly thin, then 
 lay the slices at the bottom of a dish, and cover them with 
 marrow ; add likewise a dozen yolks of eggs to the cream, well 
 beaten in rosewater, and sweeten it with a sufficient quantity of 
 sugar ; then take out the spices, beat up the cream well, and fill 
 a broad basin in which the bread, raisins, and marrow was laid, 
 and bake it ; when it is enough, scrape white sugar on it, and 
 serve it up." 
 
 I. 35. If you please ... little, a confusion of constructions be- 
 tween "please to fall," etc., and " if you please, fall," etc. 
 
 P. 24, 1. 3. homely, plain-looking and countrified in manner : 
 portions, sc. to be given with them by the father at tlieir 
 marriage. 
 
 II. 6, 7. to come at her, in his determination to get at her to 
 carry her away: the " mastiff's" of course Ijcing set as watclies 
 to prevent his entrance to the house, while tlio " deer-stealers," 
 poachers, apparently attempted to rescue the girl when she was 
 being carried off' 
 
 I. 9. romp, tomboy, noisy-mannered girl : was no great matter, 
 was of no great importance, no great loss ; an elliptical expression. 
 
 I. 11. soft, eff"eminate, weak natiired ; so vulgarly an idiot is 
 called a " softy."
 
 138 NOTES. [pages 
 
 I. 12. slashes, ornamental openings in parts of the dress in 
 order to show some other material underneath. 
 
 II. 21, 2. lie would sign ... on, he would not be at the trouble of 
 taking off his gloves even when about to sign so important a 
 document as one which conveyed half his estate from his 
 possession. 
 
 11. 26, 7. by all hands, on every side ; by every one who knew 
 him. 
 
 I. 31. akin, of kin, related by blood. 
 
 II. 31, 2. Sir Andrew Freeport, see p. 7, 1. 28. 
 
 11. . 34, 5. made out, established, proved. 
 
 11. 35, 6. We winked ... time, the estate being at the time poorly 
 off, we accepted the gift, though secretly ashamed to acknow- 
 ledge so humble a person as a member of the familj'. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 8. undone, ruined : it, the act of breaking his word. 
 
 1. 10. as knight of this shire, member of the House of Commons 
 for the county. 
 
 1. 13. offices, duties. 
 
 1. 22. such . . . wealth, a certain fixed amount of money to be 
 spent upon liimself. 
 
 1. 34. the battle of Worcester ; there were two battles of this 
 name, that of Septeml^er 23rd, 1642, in which Prince Rupert 
 was victorious over the Parliamentarians ; the other, and more 
 famous one, on September 3rd, 1651, wlien Cromwell finally 
 defeated Charles II. The latter is meant here. 
 
 1. 35. whim, fanciful notion. 
 
 ON GHOSTS AND APPARITIONS. No. 110. 
 
 P. 26, 1. 8. are shot up. Here are expresses the present state, 
 whereas have would express the activity necessary to cause the 
 present state. 
 
 1. 9. rooks and crows, both birds of the genus Corvus, the 
 former the corvus fnigilegus, the latter the corvus corone, though 
 the two names are used indiscriminately in various parts of 
 England. 
 
 I. 10. cawing, uttering the cry peculiar to these birds, an 
 imitative word to represent the sound. 
 
 II. 14,5. feedeth ... him, from Psalms, cxlvii. 9, "Hegiveth 
 to the beast his food and to the young ravens that cry," or in the 
 Prayer-book version, " Who giveth fodder unto the cattle : and 
 feedeth the young ravens that call upon him. " 
 
 1. 15. this retirement, this retired spot.
 
 24-28.] ON GHOSTS AND ArPARTTIONS. 139 
 
 1. 19. the butler, see Essay No. lOG, p. 11,1. 27. 
 
 1. 29. most proper, thoroughly well suited. 
 
 P. 27, 11. 1, 2. elder bushes, the Samhucus nigra, a shrub which 
 in old days had an evil reputation both from belief that it was 
 the tree on which Judas hanged himself after betraying Christ, 
 and also from the ranii smell of its leaves and the heavy, nar- 
 cotic, smell of its flowers. 
 
 I. 2. the harbours ... birds, which give shelter to various 
 solitary birds, such as the owl, the raven, etc. 
 
 II. 13, 4. pours out... it, adds to its natural gloominess the 
 terrors that belong to darkness. 
 
 1. 16. Locke, John, the celebrated philosopher, 1632-1704, 
 author of an Essay Concernmy Human Understanding, Treatise 
 on Education, Treatise on Civil Government, etc., etc. 
 
 1. 21. goblins, a kind of mischievous sprite ; ultimately through 
 the Latin and the French from Gk. KoPaXos, an impudent rogue, 
 a mischievous sprite invoked by rogues. 
 
 1. 23. inculcate, literally, to tread in, and so to enforce by 
 repeated telling, or by admonitions. 
 
 1. 24. there, in the child's mind. 
 
 1. 30. conspired, united in producing an effect : occasions of 
 terror, circumstances that occasioned, caused, terror. 
 
 I. 32. to startle, to be startled, alarmed ; the verb is more 
 commonly used now in a transitive sense. 
 
 P. 28, 1. 4. by that means, as we should now say, on that 
 account. 
 
 II. 7, 8. there went a story, a story was current. 
 
 1. 15. exorcised, purified of evil spirits ; the word literally 
 means to drive away by adjuration, and is more commonly used 
 of the evil spirits themselves than of their abode. 
 
 1. 16. lay, slept for a night or two. 
 
 1. 19. I should not... particular, I should not have dwelt in 
 such detail. 
 
 1. 27. give myself . . . mankind, surrender any doubts I might 
 have to the belief to which mankind in general bears witness. 
 
 1. 32. Lucretius, Titus Cams, the celebrated philosophic Roman 
 poet, B.C. 95-52, author of the De Rtrmn Natura, a poem in six 
 books. This work was an attempt to state and develop clearly 
 the leading principles of the Epicurean philosophy, and to show 
 that there is nothing in the history or actual condition of the 
 world which does not admit of explanation without having 
 recourse to the active interposition of divine beings. This theory 
 led him further to maintain, as Addison says, that the soul did
 
 1 40 NOTES. [pages 
 
 not exist separate from the body. The passage here referred to 
 is to be found in bk. iv. 29, etc. 
 
 P. 29, 11. 1, 2. the matter of fact, that which he admitted to 
 be something beyond doubt. 
 
 SIR EOGER AT CHURCH. No. 112. 
 
 P. 29, 1. 17. a country Sunday, a Sunday spent in the country 
 village. 
 
 I. 18. the seventh day. The Jewish Sabbath was the seventh 
 day of the week, but with us Sunday is the first day. 
 
 II. 18, 9. only ... institution. For the divine institution of the 
 Sabbath, see Exodus, xx. 8-11. 
 
 I. 14. with their best faces, in their most cheerful mood. 
 
 II. 27, 8. clears away ... week, brushes off that coating of selfish- 
 ness and roughness of manner which worldly cares and hard 
 labour throw over those in whose lives there is so little diversion 
 or amusement. 
 
 11. 28-30. not only... forms, not only by brightening in their 
 minds their notions of religion which had grown dim in the 
 interval, but by stimulating both the sexes to show themselves 
 at their best. 
 
 I. 31-P. 30, 1. 1. to give them ...village, to make them appear 
 to the best advantage in the eyes of their fellow-villagers. 
 
 II. 1-3. A country-fellow ... Change, the churchyard on such 
 occasions is to the villager just as good a theatre for the display 
 of his acuteness as the exchange is to the stockbroker or the 
 merchant speculating in the funds or in merchandise. For the 
 Royal Exchange, see note on p. 3, 1. 25. The word Change, 
 says Murray, Eng. Diet., has "since 1800 been erroneously 
 treated as an abbreviation of Exchange, and written 'Change." 
 We now say 'upon Change,' not 'upon the Change,' i.e. we 
 regard the word less as tlie name of a place than as that of an 
 occupation. 
 
 1. 4. the bell rings, to summon them to service. 
 
 1. 5. a good churchman, a steady supporter of all church 
 interests, an upliolder of its rights and its sacred customs ; a 
 church-man in old days often meant an ecclesiastic. 
 
 1. 6. texts chosen from the Bible and painted about the walls 
 of the church in illuminated letters. 
 
 1. 7. a handsome pulpit-cloth. These decorations of the pulpit 
 have now gone much out of fashion ; for one reason, that the 
 pulpit is more often made of stone, or marble, instead of wood, 
 and its rich carvings would be hidden by such cloths.
 
 28-31.] SIR ROGER AT CHURCH. Ul 
 
 1. 8. railed in ... expense, erected a railing of wood, iron, 
 brass, etc., in front of the conununion-table, or altar, from which 
 the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist, is celebrated. 
 " In the Church of England, the application of the terms ' com- 
 munion-table' and 'altar' respectively to the 'holy-table' of 
 the Prayer-book, depends more or less on the views held as to 
 the nature of the Communion or Office" (Murray, Enrj. Diet.), 
 i.e. according as the sacrament is looked upon as a sacrifice or 
 merely as an act of communion with God. In Addison's day the 
 word ' altar ' would have been used only by Catholics or by mem- 
 bers of the extreme High Church. 
 
 1. 12. a hassock, a stuffed mat for kneeling on. " The original 
 signification of the word," says Skeat, "is 'sedg-y,' the form 
 being adjectival. — W. hesg-og, sedgy, from hesg, s. pi. sedges." 
 
 1. 16. value themselves, pride themselves upon the correctness 
 of their singing. 
 
 1. 21. surprised ... sermon, suddenly overcome for a while by 
 sleep at sermon time, during the sermon ; for the omission of the 
 definite article after prepositions in adverbial phrases, see Abb. 
 §90. 
 
 1. 23. nodding, sc. while in a dose. 
 
 1. 25. particularitieSj peculiarities, oddities. 
 
 I. 26. the singing psalms, psalms for singing, as contrasted 
 with that portion of the Psalms of David appointed for daily 
 service, which in Addison's day were read by the priest, though ~ 
 now generally chanted by the choir ; the phrase singing-psalms 
 does not of course mean psalms that sing, but as in ' a labouring 
 day,' 'a lending library,' 'a church-going bell,' etc., etc., the 
 word in -ing is a verbal noun. 
 
 II. 28, 9. is pleased ... devotion, deeply feels the prayer which 
 he has been following or repeating after the priest. 
 
 1. 35. to mind . . . about, to take care what he is doing, how he 
 is behaving. 
 
 P. 31, 11. 1, 2. kicking... diversion, amusing himself by idly 
 knocking his heels together and thus diverting the attention of 
 the congregation. 
 
 1. 5. not polite enough, not of sufficiently polished manners. 
 
 1. 8. foils, things that by contrast set off or enchance the 
 beauty of that with which they are contrasted ; literally, leaves, 
 from Lat. folia, pi. of folium, a leaf, but used especially of a leaf 
 of tin -foil placed beneath a precious stone in the setting of a 
 ring, etc., to give it increased brilliancy. 
 
 1. 10. As s®on as ... no body. The phrase " as soon as " is more 
 usually followed by a positive, not a negative like " nobody."
 
 142 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 1. 12. the chancel, the east-end of the church ; so called because 
 it was formerly fenced off by a screen with openings in it, from 
 Low Lat. cancellus, a latticed window. In former days the people 
 of the higher rank among the congregation usually had their 
 pews, or their seats, in the chancel. 
 
 I. 16. which, this inquiry after the absentees. 
 
 II. 18, 9. a catecMsing-day, a day when the children are put 
 through the Church catechism ; see note on 1. 26 above. 
 
 1. 22. a flitch, a side of an animal, especially a share of a pig. 
 The word literally means a slice. 
 
 1. 26. incumbent, holder of the office (of clerk) ; a term more 
 commonly used of the holder of a church living, a rector, or 
 vicar ; from Lat. incunibere, to rest upon, remain in. 
 
 I. 27. it, sc. the office of clerk. This office, the duties of 
 which were to lead the responses, to say ' amen ' at the end of 
 each prayer, to give out the hymns, and generally to attend upon 
 the minister, has now been well nigh reformed out of existence. 
 
 II. 28, 9. The fair understanding . . . chaplain, the friendly terms 
 on which Sir Roger and his chaplain live, a state of things due 
 to each recognizing the good points of the other. 
 
 1. 33. is always . . . 'squire, is always attacking the squire ; the 
 squire is the chief landed proprietor of a village, and the word is 
 a doublet of esq^dre, literally, a shield-bearer, then one entitled 
 to a coat of arms. 
 
 I. 36. tithe-stealers, defrauders in the amount of tithes due to 
 the parson ; tithes are the tenth part of the produce of the land 
 as offered to the clergy. Originally the payjnent was made in 
 kind, but this has since been commuted for a payment in money 
 made according to a periodical valuation of the land. 
 
 P. 32, 1. 1. his order, .sc. the priestly order or class to which 
 he belongs. 
 
 II. 2, 3. Ms patron, the squire who has the giving of the 'living' 
 or benefice held by the parson. 
 
 1. 5. this half year, for the last half year, i. e. for a long while 
 past ; the expression being an indefinite one. 
 
 I. 6. mend his manners, show more respect to religion. 
 
 II. 6, 7. pray ... congregation, pray for him by name in church 
 as being an unrepentant sinner. 
 
 1. 9. are very fatal ... people, have a very evil effect upon the 
 lower classes. 
 
 I. 12. to regard, to pay heed to. 
 
 II. 14, 5. of five hundred a year, in those days a very large 
 income, the purchasing power of money being so much greater 
 than at present.
 
 31-34.] HIS DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE. 143 
 
 HIS ACCOUNT OF HIS DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE. 
 
 No. 113. 
 
 P. 32, 1. 26. settled upon. " Sir Roger did not mean that any 
 part of his estate had been literally settled upon the widow, but 
 that the idea of her was so inseparably associated with a certain 
 avenue that he could not see ' a sprig of any bough of the whole 
 walk ' without reflecting upon her severity " (Salmon). 
 
 I. 27. the perverse widow has by some been supposed to be a 
 certain Mrs. Bovey who died in 1726. There is a monument to 
 her memory by Gibbs, the architect, in the nave of Westminster 
 Abbey, "with," says Hare, "an astonishing epitaph." 
 
 P. 33, 1. 2. by that custom, owing to my having been accus- 
 tomed to do so. 
 
 II. 5, 6. to carve her name, a frequent fancy of old with fond 
 lovers; cp. A. Y. L. iii. 2. 
 
 1. 7. to attempt, as that they attempt. 
 
 1. 27. sheriff of the county, the office of sheriff is an expensive 
 one, he having to give various social entertainments, to maintain 
 a body of javelin men (supposed to be guards for the judges when 
 on circuit), to provide carriages for the judges when going in 
 procession, etc., etc. It is therefore imposed only on wealthy 
 men, and especially on landed proprietors of good standing like 
 Sir Roger. 
 
 I. 30. my figure, sc. in his sheriffs uniform. 
 
 II. 33, 4. at the head . . . county, riding in the judge's procession 
 when entering or leaving the county, and on their visits to 
 different parts of it, at the head of all the chief men of that 
 county. 
 
 1. 34. music bands, such as accompany judges on circuit. 
 
 1. 35. well bitted, with bits in their mouths that enabled the 
 driver to control tliem to the best advantage by pulling them up 
 sharply if necessary, by causing them to toss their heads with 
 impatience, thus showing their mettle, etc. 
 
 P. 34, 11. 1, 2. the assizes, sessions of courts of justice ; from 
 O.F. assis, an assembly of judges, a past participle, O.F. asseoir, 
 to sit at or near. 
 
 1. 4. commanding, imperious looking. 
 
 I. 5. who was born ... her, whose beauty and fascinations were 
 so great as to drive all who looked upon her mad with love. 
 
 1.7. such .. uneasiness, such a graceful, bewitching air of 
 nervousness. 
 
 II. 8, 9. recovered . another, looked first towards one person 
 and then, as her nervousness abated, towards another.
 
 144 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 1. 10. something... encountered, a look of pensive interest in 
 the eyes of all towards whom she turned her gaze ; wistful, 
 eager, earnest, attentive, pensive, is probably a corruption of 
 ivishful. 
 
 I. 11. with a murrain to her, plague upon her! murrain is 
 properly an infectious disease among cattle ; cp. Temp. iii. 
 2. 88, "A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your 
 fingers ! " 
 
 II. 12-4. like a great ... calf, like a great idiot suddenly smitten 
 by a woman's looks. 
 
 11. 16, 7. was become ... widow, had fallen head over ears in 
 love with the handsome widow, and was ready to do her bidding 
 in any matter however extravagant. 
 
 1. 20. little billets, little notes of points which she wished him 
 to press ; billet is in itself a diminutive of bill. 
 
 1.21. a pretty confusion, much the same as "a pretty un- 
 easiness" above, and in both cases probably hinting that this 
 appearance of sensitiveness was put on for the occasion. 
 
 I. 23. was prejudiced ... favour, had made up its mind, even 
 before the evidence had been all heard and the counsel on both 
 sides had stated their arguments, to give a verdict for her. 
 
 U. 23, 4. the next ... husband, i.e. her adversary in the case. 
 
 II. 30, 1. indulge themselves ... consequences, but do not allow 
 themselves to be drawn into love or marriage. 
 
 11. 34, 5. far gone ... friendship, one who finds an excessive plea- 
 sure in the making of friends ; "far gone" is generally used of 
 excessive indulgence in something foolish and wrong. 
 
 P. 35, 1. 1. consequently ... love, sc. by being always ready to 
 remind her of what she has said against that passion. 
 
 11. 5, 6. the tamest ... country, of course a very left-handed 
 compliment. 
 
 11. 7, 8. who thought ... me, who in so doing thought he was 
 making me the butt of his witty banter, thought he was "taking 
 a rise out of me," in the language of slang. 
 
 11. 9, 10. new-paired, took much trouble in matching my pairs 
 of carriage horses, so that they should be exactly of the same 
 height, colour, etc. 
 
 1. 10. to be bitted, to be made accustomed to the bit, so as to 
 answer it readily. 
 
 1. 11. to throw .. well, to move with a good action. 
 
 1. 16. and yet command respect, and yet to keep you in suffi- 
 cient awe to prevent your giving way to a passionate declaration 
 of your love.
 
 34-36.] HIS DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE. 145 
 
 11. 20-3. If you will not ...admiration, if you check her in one 
 direction by your insensibility to a certain way she has of using 
 her eyes to fascinate you, and to the skilful manner in which 
 she displays her beauty to the best advantage, she will attack 
 you on another side, and by revealing to you her truest charms, 
 those of intellect and character, she will inspire you with a feeling 
 of respectful wonder in the place of passionate love. 
 
 11. 23, 4. the whole woman, her complete self as seen in her 
 physical, mental, and moral, excellences. 
 
 1. 26. form, outward beauty. 
 
 1. 33. discovered, revealed. 
 
 1. 35-P. 36, 1. 2. This she no sooner ... them, the moment she 
 saw with what awe her personal appearance had struck me, she 
 took advantage of my condition to further subdue me by entering 
 upon a discourse concerning love and honour, and the way in 
 which those feelings are treated by those who are mere pretenders 
 to them and those who enshriiie them in their hearts and show 
 by their actions the reality of their worship. 
 
 1. 5. happy, fortunate. 
 
 I. 7. in the last confusion, utterly at a loss what answer to 
 make. 
 
 II. 9-11. "I am very glad ... speak," thus adding to his con- 
 fusion by a mock respect for the deliberation with which, from 
 his silence, he seemed to ponder the question. 
 
 I. 12. kept their countenances, refrained from smiling, though 
 inwardly they were laughing at my confusion. 
 
 1. 17. This barbarity ... distance, this cruelty has always de- 
 terred me from venturing to speak of the love that was in my 
 heart. 
 
 1. 20. the sphynx, a she-monster represented in Egyptian art 
 by the figure of a lion without wings in a recumbent attitude, 
 the upper part of the body being that of a human being ; in 
 Grecian art by the winged body of a lion, the breast and upper 
 part being the figure of a woman. She is said to have proposed 
 a riddle to the Thebans, and to have murdered all who were 
 unable to guess it. The riddle was as follows : "A being with 
 four feet has two feet and three feet, and only one voice ; but 
 its feet vary, and when it has most it is weakest." Oedipus, 
 King of Thebes, solved the riddle by saying that it was man, 
 who in infancy crawls upon all fours, in manhood stands erect 
 upon two feet, and in old age supports his tottering legs with a 
 staff. The Sphinx, enraged at the solution of the riddle, threw 
 herself down from the rock on which she sat and perished : by 
 posing her, by placing her in a difficulty from which she is unable 
 to extricate herself. 
 
 K
 
 146 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 11. 21 , 2. and tbat . . her, and if it were at all possible to talk to 
 her, i.e. if everyoue who attempted it did not find himself driven 
 to silence by her superior wit and wisdom. 
 
 1. 28. tucker. Salmon quotes 77ie Gwardjaw, No. 100: "There 
 is a certain female ornament, by some called a thicker, and by 
 others a iieck piece, being a slip of fine linen or muslin that used 
 to run in a small kind of ruffle round the uppermost verge of the 
 women's stays, and by that means covered a great part of the 
 shoulders and bosom." At present the word is used only, or 
 chiefly, for a piece of linen put under a child's chin when eating 
 to prevent its clothes being soiled ; and especially in the phrase 
 "bib and tucker." 
 
 1. 32. at a public table, what in those days was called an 
 'ordinary,' a public dinner where each person paid his share. 
 These vv'ere very fashionable resorts in the times of James I. and 
 subsequent reigns. 
 
 1. 33. tansy, a favourite dish in the seventeenth century, the 
 chief ingredients of which were eggs, cream, herbs, and spices ; 
 the word is al^o the name of an aromatic plant used in cookery 
 and medicine, and comes ultimately from Gk. d9avacria, im- 
 mortality. The fact of the widow's publicly helping Sir Roger 
 to some of this dish was a mark of favour which he remembers 
 and records with pride. 
 
 P. 37, 1. 2. grow irregular, lose myself, wander out of all rule, 
 all moderation. 
 
 I. 3. unconcerned, unmoved. 
 
 II. 7, 8. that we might ... company, sc. by meeting whom he 
 would be diverted from the subject of the widow. 
 
 1. 12. Martial, M. Valerius, a Latin poet, born at Bilbilis in 
 Spain, A.D. 43, died about a.d. 104 ; celebrated for his Epigrams. 
 
 1. 13. dum tacet banc loquitur, even when silent talks of her, 
 i.e. shows by his behaviour that he is ever thinking of her. 
 
 ON THE SHAME AND FEAR OF POVERTY. No. 114. 
 
 P. 38, 1. 1. a pretending behaviour, the appearance without 
 reality. 
 
 1, 5. the glass was taken, wine was drunk. 
 
 1. 9. warm, excited with the M'ine he had drunk. 
 
 1. 10. fuddled, stupefied with wine ; obsolete except as a 
 colloquialism. 
 
 1. 11. humour, frame of mind. 
 
 I. 17. is dipped, burdened by mortgages, involved in debt :is
 
 36-39.] ON SHAME AND FEAR OF POVERTY. 147 
 
 eating . . . usury, is in the process of being consumed by the heavy 
 interest to be paid upon borrowed money. 
 
 11. 18, 9. His proud stomach, his pride ; stomach was of old 
 used for disposition, inclination, and also for pride, arrogance, 
 anger, courage, etc. 
 
 1. 19. at the cost . . . nights, though the consequence of it is that 
 he cannot sleep at night. 
 
 I. 21. this canker, this borrowing which cats into his fortune 
 as the canker-worm eats into the blossoms of flowers ; canker is 
 a doublet of cancer. 
 
 II. 21, 2. rather ... said, rather than allow it to be said, as it 
 would be said if he sold part of his property. 
 
 11. 25, C. served ... unnatural, set upon the table in a very 
 different way from what would be the case if such plenty 
 were the ordinary course in the house. 
 
 11. 26, 7. the master's .. home, the master does not give that 
 attention to the ordering of his table that he would do if his 
 mind were not engaged upon other matters, sc. his debts and 
 difficulties. 
 
 11. 28, 9. but a covered indigence, an indigence which it is 
 sought to veil by an appearance of profusion. 
 
 I. 30. attends the table, belongs to, is the visual accompaniment 
 of, dinners, etc., given by one, etc. 
 
 II. 30, 1. lives within compass, does not exceed his income. 
 
 1. 31. libertine way, careless freedom of beliaviour ; the word, 
 says Trench, was "applied at first to certain heretical sects, and 
 intended to mark the licentious liberty of their creed " ; from 
 Lat. libertinus, of or belonging to a freed man, an enfranchised 
 slave. 
 
 1. 36. an extent of country, a wide area of country. 
 
 P. 39, 1. 1. personate, behave as though he possessed. 
 
 1. 2. of all others, for this Greek construction, see Abbott, 
 § 409, on the confusion of two constructions in superlatives; here 
 the confusion is between " the most unpardonable vanity of all," 
 and " a more unpardonable vanity than all others." 
 
 1. 6. soft, lenient. 
 
 1. 11. Laertes, in Grecian history, was king of Ithaca, while 
 Irus, whose real name was Arnaeus, was a beggar of the same 
 country. Here the two names are used for the rich man and the 
 comparatively poor man. 
 
 1. 14. he would save ... pound, "the Land Tax. If Laertes 
 sold six thousand pounds' Avorth of his laiul he could pay off his 
 debt, and the tax on the unprofitable part of his estate would 
 fall on the purchaser " (Salmon),
 
 148 NOTES. [pages 
 
 1. 16. easier, more comfortable. 
 
 1. 17. a fellow of yesterday, one never heard of till the other 
 day^ a fellow with no ancestry to boast of. 
 
 1. 22. of so near affinity, so closely similar in character, 
 
 1. 28. appear, sc. in public. 
 
 1. 29. attend Ms labourers, in order to see that they do their 
 work. 
 
 1. 35. stock- jobbing, speculating in shares in the stock-market, 
 the Exchange. 
 
 P. 40, 1. 3. to command, to ensure. 
 1. 4. order, rank. 
 
 1. 8. out of nature, out of the regular order of nature, con- 
 trary to nature. 
 
 1. 10. Cowley, Abraham, 1618-1667 ; his best known works are 
 a collection of poems called The Mistress, and his Essays. 
 
 I. 12. considerable men, men of mark and reputation. 
 
 II. 13, 4. the elegant ... works. Bishop Sprat, in 1688. 
 
 1. 16. amiable, lovable in the opinion of those who read this 
 account of his character. 
 
 I. 17. bears ... poverty, is looked upon as poverty. 
 
 II. 17, 8. with Mr. Cowley's great vulgar, with those vulgar- 
 minded rich men described by Cowley ; great vulgar, an 
 expression used in his paraphrase of Hor. Odes, iii. 2. 
 
 1. 25. point to himself, lay down for himself, fix for himself. 
 
 I. 26. to exceed, sc. in acquiring for his own use. 
 
 II. 26, 7. He might . . . expectation, in this way he might per- 
 suade himself to be of a contented mind even if he never suc- 
 ceeded in acquiring the amount which he had fixed as his limit 
 for personal enjoyment. 
 
 11. 30, 1. restless men, men never satisfied with what they had 
 acquired, but impatient to add to their store. 
 
 I. 32. this would ... compass, to do so would be to be guided by 
 right reason, not to beat about aimlessly like a vessel without a 
 compass. 
 
 II. 35, 6. a mechanic being, the existence of a soulless, mind- 
 less, creature. 
 
 P. 41, 1. 1. acquired, as opposed to natural, inborn. 
 
 11. 4, 5. so abstracted . . . world, so far removed in its desires 
 from those things that mankind generally has an appetite for. 
 
 1. 8. mansions, abodes ; a ' mansion ' in its ordinary modern 
 sense means a large and imposing house, but the original sense is
 
 39-44.] ON SHAME AND FEAR OF POVERTY. 149 
 
 merely a place of abode, from Lat. mansio, from mantre,, to 
 dwell. 
 
 1. 9. at tliis present •writing, at the moment of my writing 
 this. 
 
 LABOUR AND EXERCISE. No. 115. 
 
 P. 41, 1. 21. rises, arises, is prompted by. 
 
 1. 26. glands, cells in the body which secrete animal fluid. 
 
 1. 30. tendons, hard strong cords by which muscles are attached 
 to bones : veins, tubes conveying blood to the heart, arteries, 
 tubes conveying blood /rom the heart. 
 
 P. 42, 11. 4, 5. without considering ... anatomy, without going 
 into the minute details of anatomy. 
 
 I. 11. tone, tension, and hence firmness of structure: ferments 
 the humours, stirs into a glow the watery particles in the bo^lily 
 system. 
 
 II. 12, 3. throws o£f redundancies, evaporates what is super- 
 fluous to health. 
 
 1. 22. the spleen, not here the organ of that name, a spongy 
 gland above the kidney, but the morose, melancholy, frame of 
 mind supposed by the ancients to be due to that organ. 
 
 1. 23. sedentary tempers, we should rather say "sedentary 
 habits," or tempers (i.e. moods), produced by a sedentary life. 
 
 1. 24. vapours, capricious fancies. 
 
 1. 27. proper, well adapted. 
 
 1. 35. valuable, worthy of attainment. 
 
 P. 43, 11. 3, 4. work them up, put them into the best shape. 
 
 1. 4. laboured, tilled with labour ; a use almost obsolete now. 
 
 1. 10. condition, rank in life. 
 
 1. 29. patched with noses, ornamented with the snouts of foxes 
 fastened to them here and there. 
 
 U. .32, 3. which cost .. riding, in hunting which he spent about 
 fifteen hours in the saddle ; the animal, it may be presumed, 
 having given him many runs before it was killed. 
 
 1. 36. The perverse widow, the widow who so obstinately refused 
 to marry him ; see p. 6, 1. 7, etc. 
 
 P. 44, 11. 1, 2. was the death ... foxes, sc. by driving him in 
 his disappointment to give himself up more eagerly than ever 
 to fox-hunting. 
 
 1. 3. his amours, his eflbrts to win her love ; nowadays the 
 phrase would mean his various love affairs.
 
 150 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 I. 6. left, gave up. 
 
 1. 7. sits, here a technical term used of a hare when couching 
 in her "form" or "seat" ; cp. Somerville, The Chase, i. 25, "so 
 the wise hares Oft quit their Seats, lest some more curious eyes 
 Should mark their haunts." 
 
 1. 12. accominodated, suited. 
 
 1. 13. Sydenham, Thomas, 1624-1689, a celebrated physician 
 and fellow of All Souls' College, Oxford. 
 
 1. 17. Medicina Gymnastica, the medicine of healthy exercise. 
 
 1. 19. a dumb bell, a heavy weight used for exercising the 
 muscles, so called because the two spherical ends resemble the 
 clapper of a bell. 
 
 1. 24. whilst I am ringing, while I am going through my bell 
 exercise. 
 
 I. 33. boxing, fighting with the fists ; a box in this sense is a 
 blow, from Dan. bash, a slap. 
 
 II. 35, 6. about nothing, about the most trivial subjects. 
 
 1. 36. this method ... shadows, which he implies they are doing 
 in another sense in their controversies. 
 
 P. 45, 1. 2. uneasy, troublesome. 
 
 1. 3. a compound ... body, cp. ii. H. IV. i. 2. 8, " the brain of 
 this foolish comi)02inded clay, man." 
 
 A HUNTING SCENE WITH SIR ROGER. No. 116. 
 
 P. 45, 1. 17. the Bastile, originally a castle in Paris, built by 
 Charles IV., King of France, in 1369, for the defence of the 
 capital against the English ; afterwards used as a state prison. 
 It was destroyed in July, 1789, by the revolutionary mob. 
 
 1. 20. figures, sc. geometrical. 
 
 P. 46, 1. 1. coveys, broods, families ; sometimes used of grouse, 
 ptarmigan, etc., as well as of partridges, and not uncommonly in 
 a figurative sense. From L. cubare. It. covare, Fr. couver, to sit, 
 incubate, hatch. 
 
 1. 3. hair, i.e. horse-hair. 
 
 1. 6. vermin, though more commonly used of small obnoxious 
 insects and animals, such as fleas, lice, rats, mice, is also applied 
 to foxes, badgers, weasels, etc.; ultimately from Lat. vermis, a 
 worm. 
 
 I. 14. managed, trained, broken in. 
 
 II. 15, 6. stone-horse, stallion.
 
 44-47.] A HUNTING SCENE WITH SIR ROGER. 15] 
 
 I. IG. staked Mmself, killed himself by alighting, when jump- 
 ing, upon a sharp-pointed stake, such as are often used in fences. 
 
 II. 18, 9. to keep ... action, as a means of exercise. 
 
 I. 19. beagles, a small variety of hound, tracking by scent, 
 formerly used in hunting hares, but now superseded by the 
 harrier, which sometimes takes the name of beagle. 
 
 1.20. stop-hounds, Salmon quotes Wills: "We infer from 
 Blaine's ' Rural Sports ' that when one of these hounds found the 
 scent, he gave notice of his good fortune by deliberately squatting 
 to impart more effect to his deep tones, and to get wind for a 
 fresh start." want, lack. 
 
 II. 21, 2. deepness of their mouths, depth and volume of voice 
 when "giving tongue" in hunting; for mouths, in this sense, 
 cp. H. V. ii. 4. 70, " for coward dogs Most spend their mouths 
 when what tliey seem to threaten Runs far before them." 
 
 I. 23. cry, pack ; so in the quotation from M. N. D. a little 
 below. 
 
 II. 23, 4. makes . . concert, results in a complete harmony of 
 the various notes. 
 
 1. 24. nice, particular, fastidious. 
 
 1. 29. bass, the deepest male voice, or loM'est tones of a musical 
 instrument, which sound this part ; then a man who possesses 
 such a voice : a counter-tenor, or alto, a part higher in pitch 
 than the tenor, sung by a high male voice ; then a man who 
 possesses such a voice. The humour of the passage consists in 
 the application to hounds of terms usually applied to men. 
 
 1. 34. the Spartan kind, the Spartan breed of hounds was from 
 early days a very famous one. 
 
 1. 35. so flu'd, with flews like those of the Spartan breed ; 
 "flews " are the large, dependent chaps of a hound : so sanded, 
 of tlie same sandy colour, a colour whicli, says Steevens, " is one 
 of the true denotements of a bloodhound." 
 
 1. 36. With ears ... dew, i.e. so long that they almost touch the 
 ground. 
 
 P. 47, 1. 1. dew-lap'd, with dew-laps as broad as those, etc. ; 
 the dew-lap is the loose flesh hanging from the throats of cattle, 
 and is so called from its lapping up the dew as they graze. 
 
 1. 2. match'd...beUs, in former days the greatest attention 
 was paid to the musical quality of the cry of a pack of hounds, 
 and sweetness of cry, loudness of cry, and depth of cry were 
 obtained by frequent crossing of breeds. 
 
 1. 3. Each under each, each subordinate to the other in a 
 regular musical scale.
 
 152 NOTES. t^AGEs 
 
 U. 3, 4. A cry ... to, a more tuneful cry was never answered by 
 huntsman encouraging hounds. 
 
 1. 6. out, sc. hunting. 
 
 1. 7. pad, pad-horse, roadster, horse for riding on roads ; 
 from Du. pad, a path. 
 
 1. 10. benevolence, good-will ; the original sense of the word ; 
 now more commonly used of acts or behaviour practically ex- 
 hibiting that feeling. 
 
 I I. 16. to beat, sc. for the quarry. 
 
 ' 1. 24. puss, the hunter's term for a hare ; in ordinary language 
 a cat. 
 
 ]. 26. put them ... scent, "laid them on" (or formerly, "in") 
 in hunting terms, i.e. showed them the line taken by the hare, 
 for them to follow by scent. 
 
 I. 30. Stole away, the huntsman's cry when the fox or hare 
 breaks cover on seeing that the hounds have viewed him or her, 
 as a hare is usually styled. 
 
 II. 34, 5. immediately ...liLr, put more than a mile between 
 himself and the hounds, having got away without being seen. 
 
 P. 48, 11. 6, 7. unravelling ... made, following by scent the 
 whole line she had taken in all her twists and turns : her 
 doubles, her doubling back upon the line she had first taken. 
 Cp. Somerville, The Chase, 1725, "The puzzling pack unravel 
 wile by wile. Maze within maze " ; and again, " with step revers'd 
 She forms the doubling maze," though in the latter case she is 
 only attempting to blind the scent when retiring to her " form," 
 or bed. 
 
 1. 11. at a fault, unable to pick up the scent. 
 
 1. 12. opened, "gave tongue," to show that he had hit off the 
 scent. 
 
 1. 13. cry, pack ; as above, 1. 23 : raw, new to the chase, not 
 thoroughly trained : who was ... liar, had been repeatedly known 
 to have falsely pretended that he had picked up the scent. 
 
 1. 16. squatted, sat down trying to hide herself ; a hunting 
 term in regard to a hare. 
 
 1. 17. put up again, roused from her hiding place. 
 
 1. 26. took a large field, endeavoured to make her way over, 
 etc. 
 
 1. 29. chiding, noise of the hounds giving tongue ; cp. M. N. D. 
 iv. 1. 120, "never did I hear Such gallant chidi?ig." 
 
 1. 35. spent, exhausted. 
 
 1. 36-P. 49, 1. 1. threw down Ms pole, as a signal to end the 
 chase : possibly an imitation of the custom at combats in a tour- 
 nament when the president tlirew down his warder, or truncheon, 
 
 ?
 
 47-51.] A HUNTING SCENE WITH SIR ROGER. 153 
 
 as an intimation that the combat was to proceed no further ; cp. 
 e.g. R. II. i. 3. 117, "Stay, the king hath tlirown his warder 
 down." The pole was that vised by the huntsman in taking 
 leaps, he being on foot. 
 
 I. 5. opening, see above, 1. 12. 
 
 II. 16, 7. monsieur Paschal, or Pascal, Blaise, 1623-1662, a cele- 
 brated French philosopher and mathematician, author of Lettres 
 Provinciales, in opposition to the Jesuits, and Fensees, a work 
 published after his death. 
 
 I. 29. altogether ... woods, not literally but figuratively ; gives 
 himself up entirely to sport, without a thought for any more 
 serious occupation. 
 
 P. 50, 1. 1. habit of body, bodily condition. 
 
 II. 12, 3. the following ... Dryden, the passage is from an 
 epistle, "To my honoured kinsman, John Driden," 11. 73, 4, and 
 11. 90-5. 
 
 1. 14. made, called into existence. 
 
 1. 20. unbought, that cannot be bought ; for this use of the 
 passive participle, see Abb. § 375. 
 
 1. 23. his work, sc. the human frame. 
 
 ON WITCHCRAFT— STORY OF MOLL WHITE. No. 117. 
 
 P. 50, 1. 27. neuter, neutral : engaging his assent, binding 
 himself by a pledge of assenting. 
 
 11. 28, 9. Such a hovering ... determination, the figure is that 
 of a butterfly, bee, bird, etc. , poising itself )>efore alighting on a 
 flower, the ground, etc. ; determination, fixed opinion. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 1. that are indifferent to us, in which we have no 
 strong interest. 
 
 I. 4. relations, stories of occurrences. 
 
 II. 5, 6. Norway and Lapland, countries in the literature of 
 which stories of witches, and other beings invested witli super- 
 natural powers, abound. In both countries the witches and 
 sorcerers were, among otlier things, credited with the power of 
 giving or selling winds to those who wished to cross the seas. 
 
 1. 7. particular, individual. 
 
 1. 8. commerce, dealings. 
 
 1. 11. abound ... relations, are those among whom these stories 
 are chiefly current. 
 
 1. 17. to suspend my belief, to maintain the " hovering faith " 
 "which refuses to settle upon any determination."
 
 154 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 1. -28. at large, in full. 
 
 1. 30. applied herself, appealed, made application ; the phrase 
 in this sense is now obsolete. 
 
 1. 31. Otway, Thomas, 1651-168.5, a dramatic poet, author of 
 The Orphan (from which these lines are an extract), Venice 
 Preserved, etc. Said to have died of starvation. 
 
 1. 32. close, narrow. 
 
 1. 33. double, her body being so bowed. 
 
 1. 35. scalding rheum, hot salt tears ; rheum is the humid and 
 salt matter excreted from the eyes, from Gk. p€i)p.a, a flow, flux ; 
 cp. Haml. ii. 2. 529, " threatening the flames With bisson 
 rheum": gall'd, inflamed, irritated. 
 
 1. 36. Cold palsy, shivering fits due to the palsy ; palsy is a 
 doublet and contracted form of paralysis. 
 
 P. 52, 1. 1. crooked, bent, rounded, by age. 
 
 1. 2. an old strip'd hanging, an old curtain, or furniture 
 covering, coloured in stripes. 
 
 1. 3. carcase, properly a dead body, and literally a shell, the 
 dead body being merely the shell which once contained the soul ; 
 here used of one who was more like a corpse than a living body. 
 
 1. 4. of a piece, uniform, composed of the same material 
 throughout. 
 
 1. 5. weeds, covei'ing, dress; from A.S. wdd, a garment, in 
 which sense it is frequent in Elizabethan English ; so we still 
 speak of ' widows' weeds,' meaning the head-dress worn by 
 widows. 
 
 I. 7. And seem'd ... wretchedness, and seemed to be typical of 
 the various kinds of woes Avith which she was laden. 
 
 1.11. that her lips . . . motion, i. e. as if she were constantly 
 muttering charms, imprecations, etc. ; the palsy being really the 
 cause of their constant twitching. 
 
 II. 12-4. a switch ... miles, switches being among the things 
 that witches were supposed to mount when traversing the air ; 
 broomsticks were also a favourite vehicle in such airy flights, 
 while for crossing the seas they made use of sieves, eggshells, 
 cockleshells, and the like. 
 
 11. 15, 6. in the figure of a cross, it being believed that those 
 possessed of evil spirits could not pass over such an obstacle ; the 
 cross, the emblem of Christianity, being used to baflle and lay 
 such spirits. 
 
 1. 18. was saying ... backwards, which witches and sorcerers 
 were supposed to do in order to counteract the effect of prayer. 
 
 L 22, ring, resound, be full of.
 
 51-53.] ON WITCHCRAFT. ] 55 
 
 I. 2.3. palmed, imposed upon her, falsely attributed to her ; 
 literally, thrust into her hand. 
 
 II. 2,3-5 If the dairy-maid . . . churn, if the cream is longer than 
 usual in turning into butter, Moll White is suspected of being in 
 the neighbourhood of the churn and niakino; the dairy-maid's 
 efforts of no avail ; cp. M. N. D. ii. 1. 37, "are you not he .. 
 That .. sometimes labour in the quern. And hootlesti make the 
 breathless houseioi/e churn ...t" said of the sprite Robin Good- 
 fellow, or Puck. 
 
 11. 25, 6. If a horse ... back, it being believed that witches 
 often took horses out of the stable at night and used them for 
 long journeys. 
 
 11. 26-8. If a hare .. White, another belief was that witches 
 often took the form of animals pursued by hunters and eluded 
 the speed of the fleetest hounds or suddenly vanished from 
 sight. Various tricks of the kind are described in Johnson's 
 Sad Shepherd. 
 
 P. 53, 1. 1. an old broom-staff, see note on 11. 12-14. 
 
 I. 3. a tabby cat, cats were among the familiars or demons 
 supposed to attend the summons of witches, etc. , or to dwell with 
 them ; tabby, brindled, or diversified in colour like the markings 
 on tabby, a kind of waved silk ; cp. Marb. iv. 1. ], "Thrice the 
 brinded cat hath mew'd" ; said by the First Witch. 
 
 II. 4, 5. lay under . . . report, was spoken as evilly of, said to be 
 as bad. 
 
 1. 6. to accompany . . . shape, witches being said often to take 
 the shape of a cat when they did not wish to be recognized. Old 
 treatises tell us that a witch was permitted to take on her a cat's 
 body nine times. As to a cat's being a favourite with witches, 
 the story is that when Galinthias, the nurse of Alcmena, out- 
 witted Juno in regard to the birth of Hercules, the angry goddess 
 clianged her into a cat, when Hecate, the presiding deity of 
 sorcery and witchcraft, took pity on her and made her her 
 attendant. 
 
 I. 10. concerned, troubled in mind. 
 
 II. 13, 4. a justice of peace, since she was liable, in case of any 
 acts of sorcery being brought home to her, to be punished by him 
 in that capacity ; see note on p. 2, 1. 8. 
 
 11. 14, 5. never ... cattle, that being among the iniquities attri- 
 buted to witches ; cp. e.f/. Middleton's Witch, i. 2. 52, where 
 Hecate says, "Seven of their young pigs I've bewitched, Of the 
 last litter. " 
 
 1. 16. a bounty, a present of money. 
 
 1. 19. spit pins. Among other instances of malevolence 
 attributed to witches was that of causing the objects of their
 
 156 NOTES. [pages 
 
 hate to swallow pins, crooked nails, cinders, refuse, etc., and 
 bewitched persons frequently fell into violent fits during which 
 they vomited needles, pins, stones, nails, etc. : the nightmare 
 was in ancient belief an incubus that visited people in sleep, and 
 by sitting heavily on their chests caused them to dream horrible 
 dreams ; cp. Lear, iii. 4. 126, " S. Withold footed thrice the old; 
 He met the night-mare and her nine-fold." The word is now 
 used only of a horrible dream, and the incubus that produces 
 the oppression on the chest is indigestion. The element — mare, 
 says Skeat, is from the root ma?', to pound, crush. 
 
 1. 20. tossing her into a pond. Among the A'^arious methods 
 of testing a witch was the ordeal of swimming. The victim 
 was stripped naked and crossbound, the I'ight thumb to the 
 left toe, and the left thumb to the right toe ; and in this con- 
 dition she was cast into a pond or river, in which it was held 
 impossible for her, if guilty, to sink. Other experiments with 
 the same object were the weighing of the witch against Church 
 Bibles, when, if the latter were found to outweigh the former, 
 her guilt was clearly proved ; or she was required to say the 
 Lord's Prayer, inability to do which was an equally clear proof ; 
 or she was forced to weep, the popular conviction being that 
 such creatures could shed no more than three tears, and those 
 only from the left eye ; or she was tried by pricking her with 
 pins, or tortured on a stool, etc., etc. 
 
 1. 24. staggered with the reports, so much impressed by the 
 stories told him as to doubt whether she was not really a witch, 
 
 1. 26. hound her ... sessions, compelled her to give security 
 for her appearance at the county sessions when they should 
 come on. 
 
 I. 27. much ado, much trouble, difficulty. 
 
 II. 30, 1. a Moll White, an old woman like Moll White in cir- 
 cumstance and character. 
 
 1. 31. to doat, to become foolish with age. 
 
 I. 32. grow ... parish, have to be supported by the parish 
 rates. Of course the suggestion is that the parishioners would 
 be glad to get rid of her in any way, rather than pay for her 
 maintenance. 
 
 II. 32, 3. she is ... witch, people declare that she is a witch. 
 
 11. 33, 4. and fills . . . dreams, and all manner of wild stories 
 are told in proof of her being given to witchcraft. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 1. secret ... familiarities, sc. -with the devil. 
 
 1. 5. decrepit, worn out, broken down, by old age ; iv6m the 
 Latin decrepitus, that makes no noise ; hence creeping about 
 noiselessly like an old man.
 
 53-56.] REFLECTIONS ON THE WIDOW. 157 
 
 SIR ROGER'S REFLECTIONS ON THE WIDOW. No. 118. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 11 . struck out, formed by clearing away the trees and 
 levelling the ground. 
 
 1. 24. sacred to the widow, see p. 32, 1. 28. 
 
 1. 25. of all others, see note on p. 39, 1. 2. 
 
 P. 55, 11. 1, 2. She has that ... offend, op. p. 35, 11. 24-27, 'there 
 is that dignity in her aspect, ... that if her form makes you hope, 
 her merit makes you fear.' 
 
 I. 5. perverse, see p. 32, 1. 27. 
 
 II. 7, 8. my heart ... esteem, my feelings of respect prevent my 
 giving vent to emotions of passion. 
 
 1. 10. salute, kiss ; literally, wish health to. 
 
 1. 13. of toeing otoliged, of being laid under an obligation to 
 any one. 
 
 I. 18. to set a mark upon, to mark as being creatures to be 
 feared and avoided. 
 
 II. 21, 2. have in their custody, have to watch over lest they 
 should act imprudently. 
 
 1. 22. a great fortune, a rich heiress. 
 
 1. 23. danger of surprises, danger of being suddenly entrapped 
 into an unfortunate marriage. 
 
 I. 27. the ward, she whom the confidant has to guard. 
 
 II. 28, 9. her confidant ... distance, you ivill be sui-e to find 
 that her confidant treats you with an air of reserve, such as 
 will check your advances. 
 
 11. 32, 3. except . . . sexes, except that their marriage is with 
 one of their own sex. 
 
 I. 34. conduct, guidance and control. 
 
 P. 56, 11. 3, 4. is addressed to, paid court to : presented, 
 solicited by presents, gifts ; neither phrase would be now used. 
 
 II. 10, 1. in a personated sullenness, as the very personification 
 of sullen ill-temper. 
 
 11. 12, 3. master of the game, huntsman ; though perhaps the 
 term includes that of gamekeeper generally. 
 
 I. 24. make away with me, destroy me ; of course in a sense 
 different from that in which the image in the water would be 
 destroyed. 
 
 II. 29, 30. made . . . water, started up as if to plunge into the 
 water. 
 
 1. 34. I thought . . . yourself, I knew very well that it was but a 
 pretence you were making of drowning yourself.
 
 158 NOTES. [pages 
 
 I. 35, 6. taken your leave of, bidden a last farewell to, sc. in 
 despair of winning Susan Holiday's love. 
 
 P. 57, 1. 4. Kate Willow, Betty's confidant. 
 
 II. 4, 5. makes stories ... sake, invents false stories of my 
 actions because she takes a pleasure in my talking with her, 
 though I do so only because she is a confidant of yours, i.e. she 
 tries to set you against me, because she would like to win my 
 affections herself. 
 
 I. 8. honest, pure, chaste. 
 
 II. 1 2, 3. and makes me . . condition, i. e. and as she has ever 
 treated her admirers in the same scornful manner as the perverse 
 widow, till now she has ceased to be admired by any, I begin 
 to hope that I shall some day see that widow in the same 
 miserable state. 
 
 11. 13, 4. her answers, sc. when they talked of love. 
 1. 15. valued herself, prided herself, put an exorbitant value 
 upon, etc. 
 
 1. IS. more discreet, wiser in the matter of marriage. 
 1. 20. make a match, marry. 
 
 I. 21. hussy, pert girl, vixen; a shortened form of 'huswife,' 
 which stands for ' housewife,' used in a contemptuous sense ; 
 thougli both here and in "the saucy thing," Sir Roger's contempt 
 is of a good-humoured kind. 
 
 II. 27, 8. has streaked .. softness, has been the origin of a vein 
 of gentleness running through my whole life ; the figure is that 
 of a vein of different colour or consistency running through a 
 block of marble, a bed of quartz, etc. , etc. 
 
 1. 32. better motives, motives nobler in themselves, but not 
 producing so wliolesome a result. 
 
 I. 34. well cured, completely cured. 
 
 II. 34, 5. between you and me, i.e. I say it quite confidentially. 
 
 P. 58, 11. 4, 5. does ... dairies, i.e. to see how the dairymaids 
 ai'e getting on in their making of cream, butter, etc. 
 . 1. 5. reads upon, stiidies treatises upon. 
 
 11. 6, 7. out of books, i.e. her contemplation of the working ot 
 *' the honeybee " is directed bj' what she reads in books upon the 
 subject, not by observation of that working as it is in nature. 
 
 11. 7, 8. the policies of their commonwealth, for a description 
 of such 'policies,' administrative rule, see If. V. i. 2. 187-204, 
 "for so work the honeybees, ... drone." 
 
 1. 10. for all she looks, in spite of her looking: innocent, often 
 used as a substantive in the sense of idiot, one so childish, simple, 
 as to be next door to a fool.
 
 56-60.] RURAL MANNERS. 159 
 
 RURAL MANNERS. No. 119. 
 
 P. 58, 1. 19. By manners ... morals, Addison probably says this 
 because the Latin morts includes botli manners and morals. 
 
 1. 23. article, particular, matter ; literally, a little joint (of the 
 body). 
 
 1. 24. obliging deferences, amiable civilities, courtesies. 
 
 I. 26. brought up, introduced. 
 
 II. 29, .30. mutual complaisance, interchange of endeavours to 
 please : conversation, social intercourse. 
 
 V. 59, 1. 2. modish, fashionable, in accordance vs'ith the mode, 
 or fashion, of the time ; cp. below, p. 60, 1. 10. 
 
 11. 5, 6. to retrench its superfluities, to cut down its useless 
 formalities. 
 
 1. 7. carriage, manner of bearing oneself, deportment. 
 
 1. 10. sit more loose, a figure from clothing ; cp. Macb. i. 3. 
 144-6, " New honours come upon him, Like our strange garments, 
 cleave not to their mouhi But witli the aid of use." 
 
 1. 11. an agreeable negligence, a pleasant informality, neglect 
 of ceremony. 
 
 1. 15. fetched themselves up, brought themselves up to the 
 level of. 
 
 1. 16. but ... them, than the town has discarded those fashions. 
 
 I. 17. the first state of nature, the manners natural before 
 civilization had made any way in tlie world. 
 
 I. 20. his excess of good-breeding, tlie superabundance of polite 
 formalities which he uses. 
 
 II. 22, 3. more to do, more fuss ; to do in this phrase is used 
 as a quasi substantive, as is ado, which is properly an iniinitive 
 verb = at do. 
 
 I. 29. could adjust the ceremonial, coukl settle in what order 
 of precedence the guests were to be ranged at table. 
 
 II. 31,2. pick . . guests, choose out his guests from those among 
 whom tliey were seated. 
 
 1. 36-P. 60, 1. 1. Though ... morning, sc. and must therefore be 
 very hungry. 
 
 1. 2. served, helped to food. 
 1. 6. sure, evidently. 
 1. 10. mode, fashion. 
 
 1. 23. polished in France, a tour on the continent and more 
 especially in France was in those days looked upon as indis-
 
 160 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 pensable for perfecting the manners of all young men of position : 
 uncivilized, boorish, impolite. 
 
 I. 26. This infamous ... good-breeding, this behaviour now 
 accounted a mark of good breeding, but in reality disgraceful. 
 
 II. 30, 1. if the country ... lurch, if the country gentlemen 
 adopt it, they will soon iind that it is given up by the town and 
 they will be left all alone in possession of this unenviable distinc- 
 tion. The phrase to ' leave in the lurch ' was derived from its 
 use in an old game called 'lurch.' "The game," says Skeat, "is 
 mentioned in Cotgrave. — -F. lourche, 'the game called Lurche, or, 
 a Lurch in game ; il demoura lourche, he was left in the lurch'... 
 He also gives ' OurcJte, the game at tables called lurch.' This 
 suggests that lourche stands for I'ourche, the initial I being merely 
 the definite article. A lurch is a term especially used when one 
 person gains every point before another makes one ; hence a 
 plausible derivation may be obtained by supposing that ourche 
 meant the pool in which the stakes were put. The lover's stakes 
 remained hi the lurch, or he was left in the lurch, when he did 
 not gain a single piece from the pool, which all went to others. 
 If this be so, the sense of ourche is easily obtained ; it meant the 
 'pool,' i.e. the vase or jar into which the stakes were cast ... The 
 etymology is then obvious, viz. , from Lat. urceus, a pitcher, vase. 
 But this is a guess." 
 
 1. 32. come too late, it having been abandoned by those whom 
 they fancy they are imitating. 
 
 P. 6 1, 1. 1. turns upon, has to do with, is concerned with. 
 
 1. 6. height of their head-dresses, see Essay No. 98. 
 
 I. 7. upon ... circuit, going the circuit with the judges. The 
 country for the administration of justice is divided into certain 
 circuits to be made periodically by the judges when holding 
 
 assizes. 
 
 INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. No. 120. 
 
 P. 6i, 1. 29. recollecting, recalling ; not the mere passive pro- 
 cess of remembering, but the active one of calling up to his 
 mind the remarks he has read, in order to apply them to the 
 circumstances around him. 
 
 P. 62, 1. 3. demonstrative, capable of being demonstrated as 
 conclusive. 
 
 II. 5, 7. yet there ... render, yet there is in every turn in the 
 muscles or twist in the fibres of each, however slight that turn 
 or twist may be, something which renders ; "there is not [some- 
 thing] which does not," making the statement more emphatic. 
 
 1. 7. proper, suitable, peculiarly its own. 
 
 1. 12. for the leaving a posterity, we should now say either "for
 
 60-64.] INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 161 
 
 the leaving of &,'" etc., or "for leaving a," etc. For of following 
 a verbal noun, see Abb. § 178. 
 
 1. 15. of a nicer frame, constituted with a more delicate per- 
 ception. 
 
 1. 18. their Wrtli, the creature born ; the abstract for the con- 
 crete. 
 
 1. 23. though you hatch, even if you should hatch ; subjunctive. 
 
 1. 25. to the la5mig of a stick, in every particular of the for- 
 mation of the next ; to indicating limit. 
 
 I. 28. different, varied in construction. 
 
 II. 28-30. according ... themselves, according as they desired to 
 adapt their habitations to this or that requirement of situation, 
 of climate, of avoidance of danger, etc. 
 
 I. 31. temper of weather, temperature, degree of heat. 
 P. 63, 1. 20. which is not, for this is not. 
 
 II. 23-5. we find protection ... received, we see that parents who 
 bestow protection and kindness upon their offspring, are more 
 strongly impelled to love and tenderness towards them, from the 
 fact of their having bestowed this protection and kindness, than 
 the offspring are impelled to love and tenderness towards their 
 parents from the fact of having received that protection and kind- 
 ness ; i.e. it might be expected that the receivers would feel 
 this love and tenderness more strongly than the bestowers ; and 
 j'et we find the exact reverse is the case, tliat those who have 
 bestowed, o.nd because Ihey have bestowed, are more full of love, 
 etc. 
 
 I. 26. would wonder, might naturally wonder : sceptical, sc. 
 as to this difference between men and animals. 
 
 II. 26, 7. disputing ... animals, arguing that animals do possess 
 reason. 
 
 I. 31. makes no discovery of, never exhibits, displays. 
 
 II. 33, 4. Animals ... men, an adaptation of Luke, xvi. S, "for 
 the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the 
 children of light ; sons of men, mankind ; also a Biblical phrase. 
 
 11. 35, 6. Take ... instinct, place a dumb animal in a position in 
 which his instinct does not come into play, where there is no 
 scope for his instinct. 
 
 P. 64, 1. 6. cover them, i.e. with her body when sitting upon 
 them in the nest. 
 
 11. 7, 8. the vital warmth, from her body. 
 
 I. 17. nicety, careful skill. 
 
 II. 20-2. nor to mention . . . appearance, thus showing her instinc- 
 tive knowledge that the eggs have become addled and will 
 produce nothing, 
 
 L
 
 162 NOTES. [pages 
 
 11. 32, 3. of any increase ... lays, i.e. if the keeper of the hen- 
 house takes away any of the eggs in the nest or adds others to 
 them. 
 
 11. 35, 6. of never ... bird, of a bird however diflferent in species. 
 Here never is used where we should now say ever ; there is in 
 fact an ellipsis and the full sentence would be "of so different a 
 bird as never was. " See Abb. § 52. 
 
 P. 65, 1. 1. which do not carry ... regard, which do not involve, 
 necessitate, her paying particular attention : very, utter, com- 
 plete. 
 
 1. 7. any properties in matter, anything in the material for- 
 mation, constitution, of the animal. 
 
 1. 15. the first Mover, God. Of gravitation, the law of which 
 was laid down by Newton in his Principia, 1687, the author of 
 that work writes, " I do not anywhere take on me to define the 
 kind or manner of any action, the causes or physical reasons 
 thereof, or attribute forces in a true and physical sense to certain 
 centres, when I speak of them as attracting or endued with 
 attractive powers. " 
 
 INSTINCT IN ANIMALS— Continued. No. 121. 
 
 P. 65, 1. 23. stepmother, properly speaking, the element step-, 
 from A.S. stedp-, orphaned, or deprived ofitsparent, is compounded 
 only with such words as child, son, daughter ; but the use was 
 afterwards extended to form the compounds stepfather, step- 
 mother, to denote the father or mother of the child who had lost 
 one of its parents. Here of course it is applied to the hen who, 
 for whatever reason, had been made to hatch the brood of young 
 ducks. 
 
 P. 66, 1. 1. determines ... centres, causes all the portions of 
 matter to seek their proper positions ; the centripetal force which 
 attracts matter ; see quotation from Newton just above ; deter- 
 mines, causes to find its limit, final resting-place. 
 
 1. 2. Peter Bayle, in his notes to Bereira and Rorarius in his 
 Historical Dictionary, has a very long disquisition called " Con- 
 cerning the opinions about the souls of beasts." Towards the 
 end of the note on Rorarius, he quotes from the Nouvelles de la 
 BepuhUque des Lettres, October, 1700, pp. 419-420 : " Add to this 
 the following words of Mous. Bernard,...'! think I have read 
 somewhere this position, Deus est Anima Brutorum. This ex- 
 pression is somewhat harsh, but it is susceptible of a reasonable 
 sense.'" At the end of the note Bayle says : "I do not question 
 that Dr. Bayle, a physician and professor of the Liberal Arts at 
 Toulouse, has expressed Descartes' opinions on this head in his 
 Physiks, which h« has lately published in three volumes in 4to."
 
 64-68.] INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. 163 
 
 1. 9. TuUy, Marcus Tullius Cicero, the great Roman orator 
 and statesman, B.C. 106-43. 
 
 1. 11. Dampier, William, 1652-1715, navigator and liydro- 
 grapher ; in 1691 published A Voyage. Bound the World. 
 
 1. 16. fall on, eagerly attack, eat. 
 
 P. 67, 11. 14, 5. though they are bred within doors, not that 
 all lambs are so bred, but in those cases in which they are so bred. 
 
 1. 19. Locke, John, 1632-1704, English philosopher ; author, 
 among other works, of Essay concerning Human Understanding, 
 Treatise on Education, etc. 
 
 1. 31. aflElux, access, flowing towards it; a word of rare use 
 nowadays. 
 
 1. 35. More, Henry, 1614-1687, one of the original members of 
 the Royal Society, author of Divine Dialogues and Psychozoia : 
 Cardan, Girolamo Cardano, 1501-1575, born at Pavia, in Italy, 
 natural philosopher and mathematician ; also renowned as a 
 physician. 
 
 P. 68, 1. 1. defective, i.e. in comparison with other animals, 
 though not as regards the kind of life it leads. 
 
 I. 3. obvious, commonplace ; literally, meeting one in one's 
 way. 
 
 II. 10-2. what she is capable of... her, she is richly endowed 
 with capacities for defence and faculties which give her warning 
 of impending danger. 
 
 I. 14. event, result ; the difference between an event, an 
 accident, and a contingency, is that an event is an occurrence 
 whether fortunate or unfortunate ; an accident, an occurrence 
 that takes us by surprise, and so more frequently an unfortunate 
 occurrence ; a contingency, an occurrence which accords with 
 one's expectations, and so one more generally of a fortunate 
 nature. 
 
 II. 18, 9. than will serve ... body, than will be sufficient for 
 covering her body. 
 
 1. 21. courses it not, does not drag it along as she moves. 
 
 I. 23. fain, glad ; but with the notion of being glad to take a 
 certain course in defaidt of opportunity for any tiling better. 
 
 II. 25, 6. had been, would have been. 
 1. 27. fetch her out, pull her out. 
 
 I. .30. Boyle, Robert, 1626-1691, a distinguished man of science, 
 and an early member of the Royal Society. 
 
 II. 34, 5. but one humour, only one layer of watery matter. In 
 the human eye and that of animals in general there are two 
 humours, the aqueous humour, found in the anterior chamber of 
 the eye, and the vitreous humour, filling the posterior chamber
 
 164 NOTES. [pages 
 
 of the eye. Through both of these, as well as through the 
 cornea and the crystalline lens, rays of light pass before reaching 
 the retina and producing a luminous sensation. 
 
 11. 35, 6. the idea of light, the image of light impressed on the 
 eye. 
 
 P. 69, 1. 9. blemishes, comparatively with the structure of other 
 animals. 
 
 1. 18. original, origin. 
 
 1. 30. howling wilderness, desert abounding in all sorts of wild 
 noises, the roar of the wind, the cries of wild beasts ; a quotation 
 from Deuteronomy, xxxii, 10 : the great deep, the main ocean ; 
 from Psalms, li. 10. 
 
 I. 33. the finest glasses, glasses of the highest magnifying 
 power. 
 
 P. 70, 1. 5. Tully, see note on p. 66, 1. 9. 
 
 II. 6, 7. and that in a style, and this sketch written in a 
 style : raised, elevated, 
 
 I. 9. nice, particular, minute. 
 
 II. 9, 10. when they pass . . . writer, when conveyed to us by the 
 writings of a commonplace author. 
 
 SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES. No. 122. 
 
 P. 70, 11. 17, 8. those approbations, that self -approval ; we 
 scarcely use the word in the plural now. 
 
 1. 26. the returns of affection, evidences of affection paid in 
 return. 
 
 1. 30. He would needs, he was determined, had made up his 
 mind. The phrase implies the idea that the act was one which 
 he made necessary to himself though there was really no obliga- 
 tion upon him ; needs, the old genitive used adverbially. 
 
 P. 71,1. 1. plain men, unpretending countrymen, as opposed 
 to the fine gentlemen of the town : rid, a form of the past tense 
 no longer in use. 
 
 1. 7. he is just... game act, this refers to the old game laws 
 by which persons were not allowed to obtain a license unless 
 duly qualified by birth or estate. The ordinary qualification was 
 ownership of lands of the minimum yearly value of £100, and 
 Sir Roger has just spoken of the person in question as being " a 
 yeoman of about a hundred pounds a year." 
 
 1. 13. shoots flying, kills his birds while on the wing, not 
 while sitting on the ground or on a tree, wliich would be a most 
 unsportsmanlike act.
 
 68-73.] SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES. 165 
 
 1. 14. petty-jury, the jury which sits in court to give a verdict 
 on the cases tried, as opposed to the grand jury which decides 
 before trial whether a true bill has been found against the 
 accused and whether they shall be sent for trial or not. 
 
 1. 16. taking the law ... body, going to law with everybody on 
 the slightest provocation. The name "Touchy" indicates his 
 touchiness, his readiness to take offence at anything : one, a 
 single person. 
 
 1. 18. quarter-sessions, see note, p. 6, 1. 29. 
 
 I. 19. the Widow, see p. 6, 1. 7. 
 
 II. 24, 5. cast . . . cast, has won and lost so many lawsuits. 
 
 11. 26, 7. the old... tree, going to the assizes to fight out his 
 old suit, in which a willow tree is the bone of contention. 
 
 P. 72, 1. 2. upon ... trot, as he was riding at full trot ; round, 
 often used, as here, merely with an intensive force ; so we say, 
 ' a round rebuke,' ' a good round sum,' etc., the idea of thorough- 
 ness being due to the completeness of a circle. 
 
 I. 9. The court was sat, the court had assembled, the various 
 officers having taken their seats. The difference between ' was ' 
 and ' had ' in such sentences is that the former indicates a state, 
 the latter tlie activity necessary to cause that state. 
 
 II. 12-4. who, for his reputation . . . circuit, in order to main- 
 tain his reputation as a man of importance and credit with the 
 Judge, made a point of whispering in liis ear as if he had some- 
 tliing of importance to communicate, though in reality his remark 
 was merely about tlie weather. 
 
 11. 25, 6. was up, was on his legs and about to speak. 
 
 1. 26. was so little . . . purpose, had so little in it that was 
 pertinent to the matter in hand. 
 
 1. 29. to give ... eye, to make him appear to me as a man of 
 importance. 
 
 1. 35. his courage, that, the courage of him who, etc. 
 
 P. 73, 1. 9. sign post, here tlie sign was Sir Roger's head. 
 
 I. 14. made Mm, we should now say ' paid him.' 
 
 II. 19, 20. be at the charge of it, bear the expense of its being 
 altered. 
 
 1. 22. aggravation, i.e. making the features larger and fiercer. 
 
 1. 23. the Saracen's Head, this sign, a very common one, was a 
 relic from the Crusades, and may still be seen, as in the Lamb 
 and Saracen's Head in Westminster. 
 
 1. 30. discovering, showing. 
 
 1. 31. upon. ..face, when tliis monstrous face was displayed 
 before us.
 
 166 NOTES. [pages 
 
 P. 74, 1. 1. conjuring, earnestly desiring ; literally, solemnly 
 imploring, from Lat. conjurare, to swear together, to combine 
 by oath. 
 
 1. 3. composed my countenance, put on a serious look. 
 
 1. 4. tliat much ... sides, wittily reproducing Sir Roger's own 
 words when deciding between Will Wimble and Tom Touchy. 
 
 EDUCATION OF COUNTRY SQUIRES. No. 123. 
 
 P. 75, 11. 6, 7. reflecting ... born to, dwelling upon the import- 
 ance in life of the position which they have inherited by birth. 
 
 11. 7, 8. thinking ... unnecessary, thinking that no cultivation 
 of their powers and faculties is necessary to those born to such 
 a position ; of course, strictly speaking, being so born is not an 
 "accomplishment," and therefore the expression "all other 
 accomplishments " is not really logical. 
 
 1. 13. in a line, from father to son. 
 
 1. 19. novel, a short story, generally of love. The word in its 
 modern sense is of late origin ; its earlier use was in the plural, 
 =Fr. nouvelles, news. 
 
 I. 25. threw . . . court, used all his energies to get admitted 
 to a court ; the word threw indicates the ardour and energy 
 with which he pushed his way in. 
 
 II. 32, 3. the interest of its princes, the personal objects which 
 each of the sovereigns had in view. 
 
 P. 76, 1. 1. digested his knowledge, did not merely swallow it 
 down in a crude mass so that it was of no practical use to him, 
 but assimilated it with his mental system in the shape of 
 experience, as well-digested food is assimilated with the bodily 
 system in the shape of blood, bone, flesh, etc. 
 
 1. 7. turned of forty, more than forty years old ; the idea in 
 turned is that of passing round, and so beyond, a fixed point. 
 
 1. 8. there is... life, one can no longer afford to play with life. 
 "Addison is quoting from Cowley's 'Several Discourses by way 
 of Essays in Prose and Verse,' No. 10, ' On the Danger of Pro- 
 crastination ' — ' There's no fooling with life when it is once turned 
 beyond forty'" (Salmon). 
 
 1. 9. pursuant to, following out, in accordance with. 
 
 I. 11. In order to this, with this purpose. 
 
 II. 31, 2. at years of discretion, at an age when they might be 
 supposed capable of managing their own affairs. 
 
 P. 77, 1. 3. had wrought themselves, by constant companion- 
 ship with their adopted children had brought themselves to feel.
 
 74-79.] EDUCATION OF COUNTRY SQUIRES. 167 
 
 1. 10. was dictated . . . affection, was impelled, constrained, by 
 his love as a father. 
 
 1. 13. circumstances, position in life, as regarded money ; 
 here the £300 a year which was Leontine's income. 
 
 1. 14. he was to make, it would be necessary for him to make. 
 
 1. 23. exercises, including physical as well as mental training. 
 
 I. 24. the inns of court, of which the principal are Lincoln's 
 Inn, the Inner and Middle Temple, and Gray's Inn. 
 
 II. 25-7. where there are... them, those who know that they 
 are heirs to large properties, not thinking it worth while to work 
 hard. 
 
 1. 33. foster-father, one who had brought him up. 
 
 P. 78, 1. 2. a very uneasy passion, a passion which caused him 
 great disgust from his not being (as he supposed) her equal in 
 wealth. 
 
 1. 4. indirect, underhand, not straightforward. 
 
 I. 11. give him ... country, enable him to make himself a man 
 of mark and importance. 
 
 II. 20, 1. the good man, sc. Leontine. 
 
 1. 23. salutes, handshakings and exchange of inquiries as to 
 the health and wellbeing of each other. 
 
 1. 24. closet, private room. 
 
 1. 29. your father, i.e. by your marriage with his daughter; 
 father-in-law. 
 
 1. 31. misplaced, as being given to one who was not really her 
 father. 
 1. 34. the relish, the keen pleasure of enjoying. 
 P. 79, 1. 3. discoveries, revelations. 
 1. 8. in dumb show, by his gestures. 
 
 1. 9. that were ... utterance, which so overpowered him that 
 he could not give expression to them in words. 
 
 1, 14. effects, results. 
 
 MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. No. 125. 
 
 P. 79, 1. 24. Roundheads, a term applied in theCivil War between 
 Charles I. and the Parliament to the Parliamentarians ; said to 
 have arisen from those persons having a round bowl or dish put 
 upon their heads and their hair cut to the edge of the bowl in 
 order to contrast themselves with the Cavaliers, or supporters of 
 Charles, who wore their hair in the long curls fashionable at 
 Court; the appellation "Cavaliers" was given originally to a
 
 168 NOTES. [PAGE3 
 
 number of gentlemen who, in 1641, formed themselves into a 
 body-guard for the king. 
 
 11. 25, 6. a stripling, a youth, a lad ; a double diminutive of 
 8trip= ' one as thin as a strip,' a growing lad not yet filled out. 
 
 I. 27. St. Anne's Lane, either the lane of that name on the 
 right of Aldersgate Street, behind the Post Office, or that 
 leading out of St. Peter's Street, Westminster. 
 
 P. 8o, 1. 2. a prick-eared cur, a term of contempt applied to 
 mongrels. Harrison, Eiicjland, bk. iii., c. 7, speaking of English 
 dogs, says, "The last sort consisteth of the currish ... kind, of 
 which the whappet, or prick-eared cur is one " ; and Knight, on 
 H. V. ii. 1. 44, " thou prick-ear' d cur of Iceland," remarks 
 " that the prick-ears are invariable indications of the half- 
 reclaimed animal. The Esquimaux dog, the dog of the Macken- 
 zie River, and the Australasian dog, or dingo — furnish striking 
 examples of this characteristic." This term of contempt was one 
 of frequent use in old days ; but here the special application is 
 to the Puritans whose ears, from their wearing their hair cut so 
 short, stood out prominently to view, and so a " prick-eared 
 cur" is the exact opposite of a " popish cur " — the former of the 
 two persons questioned by young Sir Roger being a Puritan, the 
 latter, one of the High-Church party, or adherents of Charles : 
 for his pains, for taking the trouble to ask him the way to St. 
 Anne's Lane. 
 
 II. 13, 4. besides that ... game, Sir Roger as a landowner and 
 a sportsman naturally refers to matters in which he was specially 
 interested as being affected by revolutionary times, just as a 
 citizen would attribute to such disturbances a rise in the price of 
 bread or of stuff goods. But he is referring in particular to the 
 enhancement of the Land Tax by a more accurate valuation of 
 estates. This tax, imposed in 1699, to meet the cost of the 
 French War, grew out of a subsidy scheme of four shillings 
 in the pound, which in 1692 produced £500,000. In subsequent 
 years the rate varied from one to four shillings in the pound. In 
 1798 Pitt fixed it perpetually at four shillings, but introduced a 
 plan for its redemption. The enhancement of the tax Sir Roger 
 attributes to the bitter feeling of the Whigs (in power in 1699) 
 towards the Tory land-owners ; and the destruction of game to 
 the greater security of poachers in times when the country gentle- 
 men were divided among themselves : spoil good neighbourhood, 
 put an end to that good feeling which should prevail among 
 neighbours. 
 
 1. 15. a greatar judgment, a heavier penalty adjudged by 
 Providence. The word judgment is used in a Biblical sense of 
 evils sent down upon a people by God in punishment of their sins. 
 
 1. 21. common enemy, enemy to both parties.
 
 79-82.] MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 169 
 
 1. 25. sinks, greatly lowers. 
 
 1, 29. breaks out, exhibits itself. 
 
 1. 34. Plutarch, the celebrated Greek biographer, whose most 
 famous work is his Parallel Lives. He flourished in the first 
 century of the Christian era, but the exact dates of his birth 
 and death are uncertain. 
 
 P. 8i, 11. 5-7. wMcli derives... object, according to which the 
 malignity of hatred, the fierce desire to cause injury, is due not 
 to anything in the object of that hatred, but to the evil nature of 
 the passion itself. 
 
 1. 7. tbat great rule, laid down by Christ, Luke, vi. 27-37. 
 
 1. 16. tbe regard of, or, as we should say, "a regard /or." 
 
 1. 20. cried up, highly praised. 
 
 I. 22. of a. different principle, when viewed through principles 
 which he holds in opposition to our own principles. 
 
 II. 25-7. is like ... itself, is like, for example, to a stick which, 
 when viewed through the air alone seems straight and entire, 
 but when viewed through the air and water seems crooked or 
 broken. 
 
 1. 28. figure, mark, note. 
 
 1. 29. who does . . cbaracters, who is not viewed in two different 
 lights according as his principles agree or do not agree with 
 those of the person estimating him. 
 
 1. 34. parts, intellectual qualities. 
 
 P. 82, 11. 2, 3. a dull scheme ... ■writing, a stupid exposition, an 
 outline clumsily executed, of the principles held by a party, is 
 spoken of with admiration by those who belong to that party. 
 
 1. 7. raising ... it, basing upon it inferences as to his character 
 and probable actions. 
 
 I. 9. postulatums, propositions assumed without proof, as 
 being self-evident ; the Latin plural is postulala, and here the 
 sign of the plural in English is added to a word that has never 
 become naturalized in the language. 
 
 II. 10, 1. as upon ... men, as they would do upon first principles 
 universally admitted; "first principles" are those behind, or 
 beyond, which we cannot go. 
 
 1. 20. Guelfes and Gibellines, or Ouelphs and GhibeUnes, 
 " names given to the papal and imperial factions who destroyed 
 the peace of Italy from the r2th to the end of the 15th century 
 (the invasion of Charles VIII. of France in 1495). The origin 
 of the name is dscribed to the contest for the imperial crown 
 between Conrad of Hohenstaufen, duke of Swabia, lord of 
 Wiblingen (hence Ghibelin), and Henry, nephew of Welf or 
 Guelf, duke of Bavaria, in 1138. The former was successful ; but
 
 170 NOTES. [pages 
 
 the popes and several Italian cities took the side of his rival. 
 Hie Guelf and Hie Gibelin are said to liave been used as war- 
 cries in 1140, at a battle before Weinsberg, in Wlirtemberg, when 
 Guelf of Bavaria was defeated by the emperor Conrad IV., who 
 came to help the rival duke Leopold. The Ghibelines were 
 almost totally expelled from Italy in 1267, when Conradin, the 
 last of the Hohenstaufens, was beheaded by Charles of Anjou " 
 (Haydn, Dictionary of Dates). 
 
 1. 21. the league, the Catholic league, formed by Henry, duke 
 of Guise, in 1576, against the Huguenots, or Protestant party, 
 in France. 
 
 I. 22. uahappy, unfortvmate. 
 
 II. 25, 6. a specious concern, a plausible but not real anxiety. 
 P. 83, 11. 8, 9. in great figures of life, in prominent political 
 
 positions : because, merely because. 
 1. 11. grateful, pleasing, acceptable. 
 
 I. 15. innocence ... virtue, innocent and virtuous persons ; the 
 abstract for the concrete. 
 
 II. 17, 8. Whigs or tories, the former answering as a political 
 party to the Liberals of to-day. The word whig is said by 
 Burnet to be a contraction of " toJiiggamor, applied to certain 
 Scotchmen who came from the west in the summer to buy corn at 
 Leith ... A march to Edinburgh made by the Marquis of Argyle 
 and 6000 men was called the ' ivhiggamor's inroad,' and after- 
 wards those who opposed the court came in contempt to be called 
 whigs" ... {Skecit, Ety. Diet.). The derivation of the word is 
 uncertain : the latter answering to the Conservatives of to-day, 
 and like Whig, first used in an obnoxious sense. " Tories," says 
 Trench, Select Glossary, quoted by Skeat, "was a name properly 
 belonging to the Irish bog-trotters, who, during our Civil War, 
 robbed and plundered, professing to be in arms for the royal 
 cause ; and from them, about 1680, to those who sought to main- 
 tain the extreme prerogatives of the Crown." 
 
 MISCHIEFS OF PARTY ^VIRIT—Contimied. No. 126. 
 
 P. 83, 1. 25. As it is designed, as, according to the plan there 
 sketched out, the intention is that, etc. 
 
 P. 84, 1. 1. are hereunto sutoscribed, in imitation of legal 
 phraseology. 
 
 11. 5, 6. with the hazard, at the risk. 
 
 1. 11. such ... that, such as ; see Abb. §§ 278, 279. 
 
 1. 18. are for promoting, desire, seek, to promote. 
 
 1. 19. colour, pretence. 
 
 1. 20. retainers, adherents. 
 
 1. 29. and all this, and would do all this.
 
 82-86.] MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 171 
 
 1. 32. Diodorus Siculus, a Greek historian, born at Agyrium in 
 Sicily, a contemporary of Julius Caesar and Augustus, author of 
 The. Historical Library, a universal history, embracing a period 
 from the earliest mythical ages down to the beginning of Caesar's 
 Gallic wars. 
 
 1. 34. the ichneumon, an Egyptian carnivorous animal, literally, 
 'the tracker,' from Gk. IxveiJeiv, to track, from its tracking out 
 the eggs of the crocodile, which it devours ; though Addison 
 denies this. 
 
 P. 85, 11. 2, 3. finds ...them, turns them to any advantage; 
 account, in this phrase means a reckoning in one's favour ; a 
 similar phrase is to "turn a thing to one's account." 
 
 1, 11. Tartars, more properly Tatars, Persian Tatar, a Tartar 
 or Scythian ; the ordinary spelling being adopted from a false 
 etymology, because their multitudes were supposed to have pro- 
 ceeded from Tartarus, or hell. 
 
 1. 14. of course, as a matter of course ; as a necessary con- 
 sequence. 
 
 1. 21. contracts, becomes infected with ; as we speak of "con- 
 tracting " a disease. 
 
 I. 22. of a politer conversation, accustomed to more refined 
 intercourse, society; the older and more literal sense of "con- 
 versation." 
 
 II. 23, 4. even to ... bow, even to ordinary social courtesies, such 
 as returning the salute of those one meets in the streets, or in 
 another person's house ; the bow, or bending of the body as a 
 mark of recognition, was of old used of men only, as the curtsey 
 (i.e. courtesy) was of women. 
 
 1. 27. tools, inferior agents, instruments, 
 
 I. 28. cock-match, match between fighting-cocks pitted against 
 one another for a stake of money ; a barbarous pastime which, 
 like quail-fighting, was much indulged in by our forefathers. 
 
 II. 29, 30. fills the country... fox-hunters, i.e. this party-spirit is 
 carried so far that the gatherings of racing men and hunting men, 
 which periodically assemble in country localities, are made up of 
 either Whigs only or of Tories only, the two factions never 
 combining even in meetings which have to do with matters of 
 physical diversion. 
 
 1. 32. quarter-sessions, see note on p. 6, 1. 29. 
 
 1. 36-P. 86, 1. 1. the landed ... interest, the one being a land- 
 owner and the other a merchant, their thoughts and preposses- 
 sions are severally inclined, turned, towards the classes to which 
 they belong. We speak of the " landed interest," "the moneyed 
 interest," etc., meaning the class whose interest is in land, 
 money, etc.
 
 172 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 1. 2. tliat it proceeds ... raillery, that it never goes beyond 
 a pleasant interchange of banter ; never exceeds those limits 
 and passes into bitterness or abuse, as is often the case with 
 eager partizans. 
 
 1. 6. for the keeping ... interest, in order to preserve that hold 
 which he has upon the feelings and political support of those 
 about him, who are more narrow-minded than himself, and 
 whose good opinion he would quickly lose if he showed the 
 slightest inclination to more liberal opinions, 
 
 I. 8. bait, refresh ourselves and our horses ; to bait is the 
 causal of to bite. 
 
 II. 11, 2. was against . . . election, did what he could at the last 
 election to prevent Sir Roger's return as member of parliament 
 for the county. 
 
 11. 12, 3. betrayed us ... cheer, obliged us to put up with hard 
 beds and poor food, from our want of caution in inqiiiring as to 
 the character of the inn in regard to these particulars. 
 
 11. 19, 20. take up with, put up with, make no objections to. 
 
 1. 2.3. an honest man, in other words a supporter of the same 
 party as himself. 
 
 1. 26. the bowling-green, the grass-plot, lawn, on which bowls 
 iire played ; the game of bowls was of old a much more favourite 
 pastime than at present. 
 
 1. 28. side, political party. 
 
 1. 29. of a better presence, of a more gentlemanly exterior, 
 appearance. 
 
 I. 31. a very fair bettor, one who paid his bets without demur 
 when he lost. 
 
 II. 31, 2. would take him up, would make abet with him when 
 he offered to lay upon one player, or side, or another. 
 
 1, 33. a disagreeable vote, a vote that did not please them. 
 
 1. 35. correspondence, intercourse, communication. 
 
 P. 87, 1. 4. nobody knows where, i.e. from all manner of un- 
 trustworthy sources. 
 
 I. 5. staring, sc. with incredulity. 
 
 II. 7, 8. stopped short ... discourse, suddenly broke the thread 
 of his discourse, came to an abrupt close in his narrative. 
 
 1. 10. fanatic, madman ; particularly in matters of religion ; 
 a term applied in the latter half of the seventeenth century to 
 Nonconformists as a hostile epithet ; Jjat. fanaiictcs, irom fanum, 
 a temple. Here Will's suspicions are as to the Spectator's 
 sanity in political matters.
 
 86-88.] MISCHIEFS OF PARTY SPIRIT. 173 
 
 I. 11. a serious concern, a feeling of great alarm. 
 
 II. 18, 9. as in their first principles, as in embryo : as already- 
 germinating. 
 
 SIR ROGER AND THE GIPSIES. No. 130. 
 
 P. 87, 1. 27. gipsies, or more properly ' gypsies,' a nomad race 
 whose original home was in India, though the earlier supposition 
 was that they were Egyptians, whence the word, which is merely 
 a corruption of the M.E. Egypcien, an Egyptian. 
 
 11. 28, 9. exert . . . peace, exercise the powers which as justice of 
 the peace he possessed of arresting them. 
 
 1. 30. his clerk, without whose advice he did not like to act. 
 The clerk of a justice of the peace being trained to the law was, 
 like the clerk to the magistrates in the present day, the person 
 on whose advice his superior acted in all cases in which a legal 
 difficulty presented itself. 
 
 P. 88, 11. 1, 2. fearing ...it, sc. by the depredations of their 
 fellow gipsies in case any legal steps should be taken against 
 them. 
 
 1. 6. to have it, to find it out and carry it ofi". 
 
 1. 7. ten to one, i.e. long odds. 
 
 1. 12. so agog, in a state of such eagerness. "Gog signifies 
 eagerness, desire ; and is so used by Beaumont and Fletcher ; 
 ' you have put me into such a gog of going, I would not stay for 
 all the world' (Wit Without Money, iii. 1). To 'set agog' is to 
 put in eagerness, to make one eager or anxious to do a thing" ... 
 (Skeat, Ety. Diet. ). 
 
 I. 14. crosses their hands, with a piece of silver which thereby 
 becomes their property. 
 
 II. 21, 2. Sweethearts ... upon, i.e. by promising lovers to the 
 men and maidens they lure money out of them. 
 
 1. 24. jades, properly tired horses, then applied contemptuously 
 to women ; here used in a good-humoured way. 
 
 1. 25. sluts, properly slovenly women, but here again used in a 
 good-humoured way. 
 
 1. 30. communicated ...them, held out our hands for them to 
 examine : A Cassandra a prophetess ; Cassandra was a daughter 
 of Priam and Hecuba on whom Apollo conferred the gift of 
 prophecy. 
 
 1, 31. crew, company, gang ; generally, except of the crew of a 
 vessel, used, as here, in a contemptuous sense : my lines, the 
 lines running across the palm of the hand.
 
 174 NOTES. [pages 
 
 1. 32. in a corner, where I could have her to myself. 
 
 1. 35. exposing his palm, holding out his hand with the 
 palm of it turned upwards; Gk. iraXdixT). "The sense of 'flat- 
 hand ' is the more original, the tree being named from its flat 
 spreading leaves which bear some resemblance to the hand spread 
 out. Yet it is remarkable that the word was first known in 
 England in the sense of palm-tree " (Skeat, Ety. Diet. ). 
 
 P. 89, 1. 4. line of life, this line, which is supposed to indicate 
 the length and character of the life of a person, runs in a curve 
 from the ball of the forefinger across the whole palm or ' table ' 
 of the hand. 
 
 1. 5. an idle baggage, a silly 'piece of goods,' as we also say, a 
 hussy ; but used good-humouredly. 
 
 1. 14. roguish leer, wicked smile. 
 
 1. 16. fornotMng, without its indicating a fascinating character: 
 uncouth, odd, strange. The literal sense is ' unknown,' from 
 A.S. un-, not, and cm6, known, past participle of cunnan, to 
 know: gibberish, nonsensical talk; formed from 'gibber,' to 
 gabble. 
 
 1. 17. like ... oracle, like the ambiguous terms in which an 
 oracle was delivered. 
 
 1. 24. jocund, merry, in high spirits. 
 
 1. 28. palmistry, the so-called science of reading the destiny of 
 a man from the lines in the palm of his hand, but here meaning 
 sleight of hand : vermin, properly such insects as lice, fleas, etc. , 
 engendered by dirt, and thence used of any obnoxious creature. 
 
 1. 36. trekschuyt, from Du. trekken, to draw, and schuyt, boat ; 
 the Dutch schuyts still bring eels from Holland up the Thames 
 to London. 
 
 P. 90, 11. 1 , 2. putting off, starting from the wharf. 
 
 I. 9. speak readily in, we now omit the preposition. 
 
 II. 16, 7. gave him for drowned, assumed that he had been 
 drowned ; we should now say, ' gave him up for drowned. ' 
 
 1. 20, laying together, comparing. 
 
 1. 31. our linguist, the boy who was so skilled in various 
 languages. 
 
 P. 91, 1. 2. with great reputation, expressing the result of his 
 being so employed. 
 
 COUNTRY'S OPINION OF THE SPECTATOR. No. 131. 
 
 P. 91. 11. 8, 9. to preserve the game, here to spare the game, 
 not to shoot it until he can find no other game to shoot. But a 
 man is said to ' preserve game ' when he protects it from being
 
 88-92.] COUNTRY'S OPINION OF SPECTATOR. 175 
 
 destroyed, either by its eggs being taken or its being killed when 
 young by weasels, etc., and allows no one but himself and his 
 friends to shoot it when of full age. 
 
 I. 12. beats about, sc. with the help of dogs to put up the 
 game. 
 
 II. 14, 5. sure of finding ... -worst, sure of plenty of sport when 
 the fields he has already beaten are drawn blank, when there is 
 no hope of any game being put up in that direction. 
 
 11. 17, 8. is tlie harder ... at, can only be found in small 
 quantities and with much difficulty. 
 
 1. 20. preys, seeks his prey. 
 
 1. 24. sportsmen ... species, i.e. essayists who have to discover 
 subjects for their writing. 
 
 I. 25. started ... bunted, carrying on the same metaphors, as 
 again in " spring," "put up," " foil," "puzzle," " scent," etc. 
 
 II. 25, 6. bunted tbem down, run them down, brought them to 
 a successful termination, issue. 
 
 1. 28. spring anything, start any subject for my pursuit. 
 
 I. 29. following one character, pursuing the study of one 
 character. 
 
 II. 29, 30. it is ten ... crossed, it is long odds in favour of my 
 attention being diverted ; in crossed the metaphor is specially 
 from fox-hunting, where a second fox often crosses the line taken 
 by the fox and so distracts the hounds by a fresh scent. 
 
 I. 31-P. 92, 1. 1. foil tbe scent, make it difficult to follow the 
 scent by confusing one with the other. 
 
 II. 1 -3. My greatest ... it, my greatest difficulty in the one case 
 is to find any subject at all on which to write, in the other to 
 select one from the many that present themselves. 
 
 11. 3-5. as I have given ...Westminster, as during the month 
 I have spent here I have written nothing on subjects connected 
 with London and Westminster ; he speaks as though London and 
 Westminster were coverts that he had not drawn for game during 
 the past montli. 
 
 1. 14. Will Wimble, see Essay No. 108. 
 
 1. 17. killed a man, sc. in a duel. 
 
 1. 19. wiU needs have it, persist in declaring. 
 
 1. 20. a cunning man, an expert in the treatment of witches. 
 
 I. 22. charms, incantations, spells ; literally, things sung : 
 which I go under, which I bear. 
 
 II. 23, 4. a White Witch, witches were divided of old into black 
 and white, evil and good ; those that worked mischief to tlie
 
 176 NOTES. [pages 
 
 bodies of men and beasts, and those who used their powers to re- 
 veal, prevent, or remove, such mischief. 
 
 1. 26. not of Sir Roger's party, a political opponent of Sir 
 Roger. 
 
 I. 27. wishes, hopes ; this is the outward expression of his 
 feelings, while inwardly he feels pretty sure that Sir Roger's 
 guest is a Jesuit, and rejoices at the idea of convicting his 
 opponent of giving shelter to such an odious creature. The mem- 
 bers of the Society of Jesus, founded by Ignatius Loyola in 1534, 
 were of all priests of the Church of Rome the most obnoxious to 
 English Protestants. They were ordered by parliament to be ex- 
 pelled from England in 1579, 1581, 1586, and 1602, and any one 
 harbouring them was liable to heavy penalties. 
 
 II. 28, 9. the gentlemen of the country, the country gentlemen 
 of the neighbourhood. 
 
 I. 30. give . . . myself, say who and what I am, prove that I am 
 a respectable person. 
 
 II. 33, 4. converses very promiscuously, associates with all 
 kinds and classes of persons ; converses, in the older and more 
 literal sense of the word. 
 
 1. 35. some discarded Whig, some Whig whom his own party 
 has thrown aside, will no longer employ. "Addison," says 
 Salmon, ' ' was literally a discarded Whig. His party had been 
 driven from office the year before, and he had himself lost a place 
 worth 2,000 1. a year." To discard is a term in games at cards 
 for throwing away a card that is of little or no use to the hand. 
 
 I. 36. out of place, probably with a double sense, (1) not amid 
 society to his liking, (2) out of official employment. 
 
 P. 93, 11. 2, 3. a disaffected person, one not well affected 
 towards the sovereign. 
 
 II. 6, 7. because ... noise, because I do not follow the manners 
 and customs of the ordinary country gentleman. 
 
 11. 10, 1. that I do not ... nothing, that my silence is due to 
 some very suspicious cause. 
 
 1. 14. temper, disposition, habit of mind. 
 
 1. 15. good neighbourhood, sociability of a somewhat boisterous 
 character. 
 
 1. 17. breaks ... him, suddenly forces his company upon him. 
 
 I. 18. every chance-comer, every one that may chance to pay 
 him a visit, however slight an acquaintance he may be. 
 
 II. 18, 9. will be ... time, is determined to occupy his time as he 
 chooses. 
 
 1. 20. makes . . life, is thought a very unsociable fellow by men
 
 93-95.] COUNTRY'S OPINION OF SPECTATOR. 177 
 
 » 
 
 who have little to occupy their time, very few resources in their 
 own minds. 
 
 11. 21, 2. if I may ... phrase, the ordinary phrase being to retire 
 into the country, where solitude is so much easier. 
 
 I. 23. in order to toe alone, an allusion to the saying, "Never 
 less alone than when alone " : raise, sc. in his own mind, as 
 though they were spectres. 
 
 II. 30, 1 . rallies . . way, banters me in his somewhat clumsy 
 fashion. 
 
 1. 33. picking of, for of, following the verbal noun, see Abb. 
 §178. 
 
 1. 34. smelling' to, now an obsolete construction, and probably 
 intended by Addison to indicate the writer's old-fashioned style : 
 Taylor, the Water Poet, uses the expression "lock of hay," and 
 oddly enough the construction, ' smell unto,' in the same passage, 
 " For never would he touch a locke of hay, or smell unto a heape 
 or provender": a lock, a wisp, bundle. 
 
 P. 94, 1. 1. cursedly, terribly; as he says below and we still 
 say colloquially, ' confoundedly.' 
 
 I, 4. stories of a cock and bull, idle and incredible stories ; 
 the origin of this phrase, which is of early use, lies probably in 
 some fable. Murray, Eiig. Diet., points out that the French have 
 a parallel phrase, coq-a-Vdne. 
 
 II. 5, 6. Thy speculations . . . meadows, i. e. are not such as town- 
 bred men find any delight in ; are altogether too rustical for us. 
 
 1. 8. Service, compliments. 
 
 1. 9. is grown the cock of the club, plumes himself upon being 
 the most important person among us ; rules the roost. For Sir 
 Andrew, see Essay No. 2. 
 
 1. 11. every mother's son of us, a common colloquial expression 
 which is supposed to emphasize the totality, as though it were 
 something more than * every one of us ' : commonwealth's-men, 
 thorough republicans. 
 
 A SCENE IN A STAGE COACH. No. 132. 
 
 P. 94, 1. 28. the chamberlain, the groom of the chambers, the 
 servant whose duty it was to look after the rooms occupied by 
 the various people staying at the inn, and who would consequently 
 know which of them were going by the next day's coach. 
 
 1. 30. Mrs. , here used of an unmarried lady, in whose case we 
 now write il/?'.s.s ; botl\ terms are abbreviations of the same word. 
 Mistress : the great fortune, the well-known heiress. 
 
 1. 31-P. 95, 1. 1. who took ..go, sc. with the object of making 
 
 M
 
 178 NOTES. [pages 
 
 their acquaintance during the journey, and, if possible, of getting 
 into the good graces of the heiress. 
 
 11. 3, 4. a gentleman ... dumb, sc. the Spectator himself, whose 
 reticence has so often been confessed, and who would naturally 
 have got the reputation among the country folk of being dumb. 
 
 11. 5, 6. that according . . . intelligence, that, as was natural in 
 a man like himself, who was always coming in contact Avith a 
 number of people of all sorts, he picked up a good deal of news 
 on various topics and also conveyed a good deal to others ; dealt 
 in, trafficked in, giving and receiving. 
 
 1. 9. called, roused from sleep. 
 
 1. 14. half pike, the pike was a kind of lance, and the half pike, 
 a shortened form of the same weapon, was of old carried by 
 infantry officer^. 
 
 1. 16. equipage, retinue ; more usually of material apparatus : 
 was very loud that, etc., loudly, authoritatively, demanded that, 
 etc. 
 
 1. 18. cloke-bag, portmanteau, as we should now say ; in 
 common use in Elizabethan English, and applied to Falstaff 
 (i. JI. IV. ii. 4. 497, "that stuffed cloak-hag of guts") in one of 
 those ' unsavoury similes ' with which he reproached the Prince : 
 the seat, apparently here the " well " of the coach, as we should 
 now call it, underneath the feet of the inside passengers. 
 
 1. 21. to look sharp, to take good care. 
 
 1. 22. the place . . . coach-box, the most comfortable place in a 
 coach, the motion being less felt there than when sitting back to 
 the horses and so nearer to them. 
 
 1. 24. not too good-natured, not over-burdened with good- 
 nature, with no superabundance of kindly feeling in their nature. 
 
 1. 26. jumbled ... familiarity, obliged us by being thrown into 
 such close contact to behave with a certain amount of friendliness. 
 To jumble is to mix together confusedly, to jolt or shake about 
 together ; in a similar figurative sense we speak of matters 
 shaking down, i.e. gradually coming to a more peaceful, more 
 harmonious, state. 
 
 1. 34. plain, outspoken. 
 
 P. 96, 1. 1. a soldier of fortune is, in common use, a soldier 
 who is ready to serve under any flag so long as he can benefit 
 himself by so doing ; but here there is a veiled allusion to the 
 fortune of the heiress : vain, conceited, affected. 
 
 1. 3. I had ... it, there was nothing left for me to do, after 
 this rude speech of the officer, but to pretend to fall fast asleep, 
 i.e. all conversation was rendered so impossible by this rude 
 speech, that I was quite at a loss what to do, and thought it best 
 to affect to sleep and so appear unconscious of the unpleasant
 
 95, 96.] A SCENE IN A STAGE COACH. 179 
 
 state of affairs and of any further remarks the officers might 
 make. 
 
 1. 7. brideman, " best man," as we now say ; the friend who 
 stands in the same relation to the bridegroom as the bridesmaids 
 to the bride, the assistance rendered in both cases being of a 
 purely formal and ornamental character. 
 
 1. 9. wliat is what, i. e. the fitness of things ; what the occasion 
 requires. ' ' From two of the absurd questions asked in old 
 systems of logic, 'Quid estV ('What is it?') and 'Quid est quidV 
 {' What is what?') we have the noun quiddity (essence) and the 
 phrase 'to know what's what'"... (Salmon). 
 
 1. 10. shall give ... father, shall act the part of father in 
 giving the bride away. At the marriage ceremony of the English 
 Church, in answer to the question put by the priest, "Who 
 giveth this woman in marriage?" the father, or in his absence 
 some person chosen to act for him, answers " I do." 
 
 I. 11. smartness, ready wit. 
 
 II. 11, 2. I take ... part, I am obliged to you for the compli- 
 ment you have paid me. 
 
 1. 12. thou hast, . in the Quaker manner of speech the second 
 person singular is always used in addressing a person, as being 
 more literally in accordance with truth than the plural you. 
 
 I. 14. if I have ... her, if it rests with me to give her in marriage. 
 
 II. 16, 7. thy drum... empty, cp. H. V. iv. 4. 70-3, "I never 
 did know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart ; but the 
 saying is true, ' The empty vessel makes the greater sound ' " ; 
 Lear, i. 1. 150, 7, " Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound 
 Reverbs no hoUowness " ; and Lyly's Euphucs, "The emptie 
 vessel giveth a greater sound than the full barrel." 
 
 1. 20. the great city, sc. London. 
 
 1. 21. we cannot ... way, we cannot, in order to please you, who 
 are only one of the partners to the hire of this coach, turn out of 
 our way and go to the nearest town as you propose. 
 
 1. 25. thy courageous countenance, the boldness which is 
 natural to you as a soldier. 
 
 1. 26. children of peace, with none of your martial courage. 
 
 1. 27. give quarter to us, be merciful to us. 
 
 I. 28. fleer, jeer, speak tauntingly. 
 
 II. 29, 30. what he containeth, what thoughts he had in his 
 mind though he refrained from uttering them. 
 
 1. 34. hasped up, shut up, fastened so that we cannot get out ; 
 not literally, but in the sense that it was impossible to get rid of 
 liis company except by discontinuing their journey and being set 
 down on the high road without any means of proceeding on their
 
 180 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 way ; hasped, a verb formed from the substantive hasp, a clasp, 
 a bolt, a bar. 
 
 11. 34, 5. is in some degree ... road, is little better than the 
 behaviour of a highway robber ; differs only in degree from an 
 assault on the public road, a criminal oflfence. 
 
 1. 36. happy, felicitous, well-timed in its jocularity. 
 
 P. 97, 11. 1, 2. wMch can ... time, which though found guilty 
 is not abashed. 
 
 I. 2. Faith, here and throughout his speech the captain with 
 merry impudence mimics the Quaker's phraseology. 
 
 II, 4, 5. a smoky old fellow, an equivalent in the slang of the day 
 to such modern slang as "one up to snuff," "a downy old cove." 
 "An old smoker," in former days, was one who was well ex- 
 perienced in any matters. The verb to smohe, as a slang term, 
 was used in the sense of to detect, e.g. A. W. iv. 1. 30, "they 
 begin to smoke me," and also for to make fun of. or abuse. See 
 p. 109, 1. 15. 
 
 I. 9. was so far . . . ruffle, was so far from being seriously dis- 
 turbed by this little breeze; the waters were ruffled, but only 
 ruffled : the incident was but a storm in a saucer. 
 
 II. 11, 2. their different ... company, each his own function in 
 providing for the comfort of the party. 
 
 11. 12, 3. Our reckonings ... accommodation, sc. when they 
 stopped to Ijait at an inn. 
 
 1. 16. taking place, taking the best, the middle, of the roadway, 
 and compelling those -whom they met to wait till they had passed. 
 1. 18. entertain, afford amusement, be of interest. 
 1. 30. a right inward man, a really fine character. 
 1. 34. knowing, well versed, skilled. 
 P. 98, 1. 4. modes, fashions of dress, 
 1. 7. aflfections, feelings, dispositions. 
 
 SIR ROGER IN TOWN, No. 269. 
 
 P. 98,1. 23. Gray's-inn walks, or Gray's Inn Gardens, were planted 
 by Lord Bacon, who was Treasurer of Gray's Inn, in 1597. They 
 were a fashionable pi-omenade of Charles the Second's time. 
 Pepys, writing in May 1662, says, " When church was done, my 
 wife and I walked to Gray's Inne, to observe the fashions of the 
 ladies, because of my wife making some clothes." Lamb, Essays 
 of Elia, On some of the old Actors, writes, "I am ill at dates, 
 but I think it is now better than five-and-twenty years ago, that 
 walking in the gardens of Gray's Inn — ... they are still the best
 
 96-99.] SIR ROGER IN TOWN. 181 
 
 gardens of any of the Inns of Court, my beloved Temple not 
 forgotten — have the gravest character ; their aspect bemg alto- 
 gether reverend and law- breathing— Bacon has left the impress 
 of his foot upon their gravel walks," etc. Gray's Inn, Holborn, 
 was in the time of Edward I. the manor of Reginald de Gray, 
 but was leased to the lawyers about the middle of the 14th 
 century, and in Ben Jonson's time stood at the head of the Inns 
 of Court, though now only the fourth in importance. Here 
 Bacon wrote his Novum Organiim, and among the members of 
 the Society were Sir William Gascoigne, who committed Henry 
 v., then Prince of Wales, to prison for contempt of court ; Crom- 
 well, Earl of Essex ; Bishop Gardiner ; Lord Burleigh ; Sir 
 Nicholas Bacon, and his greater son ; Archbishop Whitgift, 
 Bishop Hall, and Archbishop Laud. 
 
 1. 26. Prince Eugene, Fran9ois, Prince of Savoy, 16631367, son 
 of Eugene Maurice, Count of Soissons, entered the Austrian 
 service, distinguished himself against the Turks in 1683, and 
 was present at the siege of Belgrade in 1688. Later on he took 
 part in the War of the Succession in Spain, joined Marlborough 
 in 1704, being present at the battle of Blenheim, and again in 
 Flanders in 1708, at Malplaquet and Oudenarde. Subsequently 
 he distinguished himself against the Turks at the battles of 
 Peterwaradin and Belgrade. Being of an Italian family, he 
 signed himself Eugenio (as Sir Roger styles him). 
 
 1. 28. curiosity, keen interest. 
 
 P. 99, 1. 2. Scanderbeg, George Castriota, 1464-1467, an Albanian 
 prince ; he escaped from the Turks, among whom he had been 
 brought up as a hostage, and having recovered his throne and re- 
 nounced Muhammadanism, maintained a long and successful war 
 against his enemies. Jonson, Every man in his Humour, i. 2, uses 
 his name as an intensive, ' ' Whoreson Scanderbag rogue ! " The 
 name was given him by the Turks in derision and is made up of 
 Scandar, i.e. Iskandar, the Turkish transliteration of Alexander 
 (the Great), and beg, a chief, now used in the form bey. 
 
 I. 5. to clear his pipes, to clear his throat ; the pipes being 
 the bronchial tubes. 
 
 II. 7, 8. the strength ... hems, as showing him still to be a 
 hale, hearty, old man ; hems, ejaculations in clearing his throat. 
 To hem, or to cry hem, is often used of an ejaculation of warning 
 or encouragement. 
 
 1. 11. an alms, we usually say "alms" without the indeiinite 
 article, but an is quite correct, the word being really a singular 
 noun, contracted from A.S. celmcesse, a corriiiition of ecclesias- 
 tical Lat. eleiimosyna, from Gk. €\€T]|AO(rilvTi, compassion, charity. 
 
 1. 19. much at my service, merely a complimentary form of 
 salutation.
 
 182 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 1. 20. made, preached ; the phrase to "make a sermon" being 
 used for to " preach " ; see p. 14, 1. 5. 
 
 1. 22. being willing ... Mm, wishing to give him something to 
 do for me in my absence ; some commission which he would feel 
 a pleasure in executing. 
 
 1. 23. marks. A mark was a sum of money - 13s. 4d. 
 
 1. 26. fob, watch-pocket, or small pocket in the breeches. 
 
 1. 27. a tobacco stopper, a small plug for pressing down tobacco 
 in a pipe when part of the tobacco has been smoked and the rest 
 requires to be tightened in order that the pipe may draw well. 
 
 I. 29. turning, sc. in a turning lathe. 
 
 1.31. who has good ... smokes, speaking as though the two 
 things were almost synonymous. 
 
 II. 32, 3. Tom Touchy, see p. 71, 1. 15 : had taken ... him, had 
 prosecuted him. 
 
 11. 33, 4. some hazel sticks, for shaping into walking sticks, 
 etc, Cp. p. 20, 1. 9. 
 
 P. loo, 11. 3, 4. But for my part ... it. The remark indicates 
 the knight's doubt on the subject, a doubt wliich he does not 
 like to admit, but which is evidently in his mind. 
 
 I. 8. keeps open house, is ready to receive any one as a 
 guest. 
 
 II. 9-11. had dealt ... neighbours, had distributed chines, sides, 
 of pork with great liberality, etc. The chine is properly the 
 spine, back-bone. 
 
 11. 11, 2. hog's-puddings, large sausage-shaped bags of minced 
 pork. 
 
 1. 15. dead, dreary, with no life in it. 
 
 I. IS. to support them, to make life tolerable. 
 
 II. 18, 9. to rejoice, to gladden. 
 
 11. 20, 1. a double ... malt, in order to make it stronger : small- 
 beer, tliin, weak, beer in contrast with ale. 
 
 1. 21. set it a running, allow it to be freely drawn; a here = ow; 
 see Abb. § 24 (2): twelve days, i.e. from Christmas Day till the 
 6th of January, twelfth-day, when the Christmas festivities came 
 to an end. 
 
 I. 23. a mince-pie, a pie made of mince-meat, i.e. of meat 
 minced with raisins, candied-peel, spices, etc., and baked. The 
 modern custom is rather to have a number of small round pies of 
 this kind in a dish ; here Sir Roger's mince-pie is a single large 
 one from which his guests can help themselves as they like. 
 
 II. 25, 6. smutting one another. ' ' This is probably an allusion 
 to an old game in which two persons face each other at some little
 
 I 
 
 gg-lOl.] SIR ROGER IN TOWN. 183 
 
 distance, each holding a plate before him. The person on whom 
 the trick is to be played, being told to imitate the other, in doing 
 so innocently rubs his finger first on the bottom of his plate, 
 (previously blackened by being held over a candle), which being 
 turned from him he cannot see, and then on his face. After some 
 time he is shown a looking-glass, and finds that he has transferred 
 soot from the plate to his face " (F. E. Wilcroft). 
 
 I. 30. which carried ... it, which so clearly showed the goodness 
 of his nature. 
 
 il. 31, 2. the late act ... England. " The Occasional Conformity 
 Bill, which, after being rejected in 1703 by the Whig House of 
 Lords, was passed in 1710 when the Tories were supreme under 
 Harley and St. John. By the Test Act of 1673, no one could hold 
 a civil, military, or magisterial office without receiving the sacra- 
 ment according to the Anglican rite. Many dissenters had 
 complied formally with the Act in order to be able to hold 
 office. The Occasional Conformity Bill enacted that any one, 
 who, after taking the sacrament, attended a religious meeting 
 of dissenters, should lose his appointment and pay a heavy 
 fine " (F. E. Wilcroft). 
 
 II. 35, 6. to eat ... plum-porridge, a thing he would never have 
 done but for this Act ; he thus showing his willingness to conform 
 to Christmas ceremonies which by dissenters were regarded with 
 abhorrence. Plum-porridge, or plum-broth, was a sort of soup 
 made of meat stewed with raisins, spices, etc. Needham, Hist, 
 of the Rebellion (1661), quoted by Brand, Popular Antiquities, 
 laments the decay of Christmas festivities in lines beginning, 
 ' ' All plums the Prophet's sons defy. And spice-broths are too hot ; 
 Treason's in a December-pye, And death within the pot. " 
 
 P. loi, 1. 1. dispatched ... matters, discussed all the topics of 
 interest connected with Sir Roger's house affairs. 
 
 I. 3. his old antagonist, sc. in political matters : see Essay 2, 
 p. 7, 1. 28. 
 
 II. 7, 8. gathering ... seriousness, putting on a look of extreme 
 seriousness. 
 
 1. 9. in the pope's procession. " The burning a Pope in effigy 
 was a ceremony performed upon tlie anniversary of Queen 
 Elizabeth's coronation (November 17tli). When parties ran high 
 betwixt the courtiers and opposition, in the latter part of Charles 
 the Second's reign, these anti-papal solemnities were conducted 
 by the latter with great state and expense, and employed as 
 engines to excite the popular resentment against the Duke of 
 York and his religion" (note by Scott on the last line of the 
 epilogue to Dryden's Oedijjus, the note going on to give the details 
 of the procession, in 1679, and being followed by a facsimile of 
 an old picture of the ceremony). Sir Andrew's taking part in
 
 184 NOTES. [pages 
 
 the procession, if he had done so, would have been a demonstration 
 of his Whig principles. 
 
 1. 11. wary, cautious ; unwilling to say anything that would 
 show his feelings on political matters. 
 
 I. 14. a stand, a place, station, in one of the streets through 
 which Eugene would have to pass in his triumphal progress 
 through the city of London. 
 
 II. 16, 7. whose presence ... nation, Eugene having come to Eng- 
 land to persuade the government to maintain the European 
 alliance against France, thus showing his great respect for the 
 power of England. 
 
 I. 20. Baker's Chronicle, Sir Richard Baker (1558-1645) was 
 author among other works of a " Chronicle of the kings of 
 England from the time of the Romans' government unto the death 
 of King James," 1643. 
 
 II. 21, 2. which very much ... prince, not that Baker's Chronicle, 
 which only goes down to the death of James I., had any mention 
 of Prince Eugene, but that observations in it and the ' other 
 authors,' made upon princes whose acts are therein eulogized, 
 were applied by Sir Roger to this prince. 
 
 I. 26. a dish, a word then and for some time later used for 
 what we should now call a 'cup': Squire's, "a coifee-house 
 situated on the west side of the gate of Gray's Inn " (F. E. 
 Wilcroft). 
 
 II. 28, 9. waited on him to, attended him to, accompanied him 
 to ; the phrase showing his deference to the knight. 
 
 1. 31. the high table, the table reserved for persons of dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 1 32. a clean pipe, a new clay pipe. 
 1. 33. the Supplement, a newspaper of the day. 
 1. 34. hoys, attendants. 
 
 P. I02, 1. 1. could come at, could get brought to them. 
 1. 2. all his conveniencies, all that he required to make him- 
 self comfortable. 
 
 VISIT TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY. No. 329. 
 
 P. 102, 1. 7. my paper, sc. No. 26 of the Spectator. 
 1. 15. Baker's Chronicle, see note, p. 101, 1. 20. 
 1. 16. Sir Andrew Freeport, see Essay No. 2. 
 1. 19. under his butler's hands, being shaved by his butler. 
 1. 21. Widow Truhy's water, a cordial or specihc against in- 
 fection.
 
 101-104.] VISIT TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 185 
 
 11. 28, 9. against . . . gravel, as a precaution against the stone or 
 gravel, diseases of the kidneys and the bladder, the stone being 
 only the gravel in an exaggerated form. 
 
 P. 103, 11. 1, 2. I could have wished ... sooner, because in that 
 case he would not have drunk it : the virtues of it, its medicinal 
 properties. 
 
 I. 7. the sickness, the plague of 1709, which was especially 
 virulent at Dantzic ; the, the well-known sickness, the sickness 
 par excellence; cp. "I am alone the villain of the earth" {A. C. 
 iv. 6); "Where they feared the death, they have born life 
 away" [H.V, iv. 1. 181). Sometimes also prefixed to proper 
 names to give emphasis. 
 
 II. 7-10. of a sudden ... it, this being a ruse to get rid of the 
 servant's presence in order to go on with his story about the 
 widow ; turning short, breaking off and turning suddenly : 
 hackney coach, these coaches, the precursors of the modern 
 'cab,' first came into use in the seventeenth century, public 
 locomotion in London up to that time being chiefly by water ; 
 a ' hackney ' is a horse let out for hire, but the origin of the word 
 is uncertain. 
 
 I. 17. jointure, estate settled on a woman at her marriage to 
 become hers at her husband's death. 
 
 II. 17, 8. the whole country ... her, everybody in his neighbour- 
 hood was anxious that he should marry her, 
 
 I. 19. engaged, not in the common colloquial sense of affianced, 
 but bound by afi"ection to the lady referred to in Essay No. 2. 
 
 II. 32, 3. a roll, tobacco then being sold in that form. 
 
 1. 33. their best Virginia, the plantations in Virginia then, as 
 now, producing the best tobacco. 
 
 P. 104, 1. 3. Sir Cloudsley Shovel, 1650-1707, Commander-in- 
 Chief of the Fleet ; wrecked otf the Scilly Isles when returning 
 from Gibraltar. His body, being washed on shore, was buried 
 by some fisherman, but was afterwards disinterred and laid in 
 Westminster Abbey. 
 
 1. 6. Dr. Bushy, for fifty-five years head-master of Westminster 
 School ; well known by the story of his having kept his cap on 
 when Charles the Second visited the school, saying that it would 
 never do for the boys to think any one superior to himself. 
 
 I. 10. the little chapel, "the chapel of St. Edmund, the King 
 Edmund of East Anglia, who was murdered in 870 a.d., and after 
 whom Bury St. Edmunds is named " (F, E. Wilcroft). 
 
 II. 11, 2. our historian, the verger, or official, who conducted 
 them over the Abbey and gave them the history of the various 
 monuments, etc. 
 
 IL 13, 4. the lord... head, by some supposed to refer to the
 
 186 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 monument to Sir Palmer Fairhorne, in the south aisle of the 
 nave, with an epitaph by Dryden in which he is described as 
 drawing his " well-fleshed sword " against the Moors. He never 
 actually cut off the King of Morocco's head, but was for some 
 years governor of Tangiers, and often fought against his 
 majesty. In the Dictionary of National Biograph;/ it is stated 
 that a Turk's head was included in his arms, and this may 
 account for Addison's expression. Salmon, however, says that 
 the "lord" was "Sir Bernard Brocas, who died in 1396. His 
 head rests on a helmet surrounded by a crest, a crowned Moor's 
 head, whence, doubtless, originated the story of Sir Roger." 
 
 11. 15, 6. the statesman Cecil, Cecil, Lord Burleigh, Secretary of 
 State in the reign of Edward the Sixth, but more prominently 
 known as Lord High Treasurer in that of Elizabeth. 
 
 11. 18, 9. tbat martyr ... needle, the figure shown as this 
 martyr was that of Elizabeth, daughter of John, Lord Russell, 
 second son of the second earl of that name : our interpreter, the 
 'historian' of 1. 11, i.e. the verger. 
 
 I. 25. coronation chairs, the earlier of these two chairs is that 
 in which all the kings of England, since Edward the First, have 
 been crowned ; the later one was made for the coronation of 
 Mary, wife of William the Third. 
 
 II. 26, 7. the stone ...them, this is the sacred stone, originally 
 at Scone in Scotland, on which the Scotch kings were crowned. 
 Edward the First, after defeating. Baliol in 1296, brought it to 
 England, and it was subsequently inserted in an oak chair, which 
 has ever since been used for the sovereign's coronation. 
 
 1. 28. Jacob's Pillow, the pillar erected by Jacob at Bethel, 
 consisting of the stone which he had used for a pillow on the 
 night in which God appeared to him Ln a dream and foretold the 
 future greatness of his race ; see Genesis, xxviii. 10-22. 
 
 1. 33. pay his forfeit, for having seated himself in the coron- 
 ation chair. 
 
 I. 34. ruffled, put out, annoyed : trepanned, ensnared, beguiled, 
 trapped ; from 0. F. trappan, a snare or trap for animals. The 
 word should be spelt trapan, but has been confused with trepan, 
 a small cylindrical saw used in removing a piece of a fractured 
 skull, from Gk. Tpinrdv, to bore. 
 
 P. 105, 11. 2, 3. it would go hard... them, he would manage by 
 some means or other to get a piece of the wood of one of the chairs 
 to make a tobacco stopper out of it ; a tobacco-stopper, a piece 
 of wood, ivory, metal, used for pressing down the tobacco in the 
 bowl of a pipe. 
 
 II. 4, 5. Edward the Third's sword. "Between the [coronation] 
 chairs, leaning against the screen, are preserved the state shield 
 and swerd of Edward III., which were carried before him in
 
 104 106. J VISIT TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 187 
 
 France. This is ' the monumental sword that conquered France/ 
 mentioned by Dryden : it is 7 feet long and weighs 18 lbs." 
 (Hare, Walks in London, ii. 335) : pommel, the nob at the end of 
 the hilt, but here used for the hilt itself. 
 
 I. 12. touched for the evil, here again, the evil, like "the sick- 
 ness," above, for the well-known evil, ' the king's evil,' as it was 
 otherwise called, the scrofula. The belief in the sovereign's 
 power to cure this disease dates backward from the days of 
 Edward the Confessor and continued even to the time of Johnson, 
 who in 1712 was taken to be 'touched' by Queen Anne. Cp. 
 Macb. iv. 3. 140-156, where the process is described. 
 
 II. 13, 4. there was ... reign, there was matter of much interest 
 in the exciting occurrences of that reign. 
 
 11.16,7. one of our... head. This is Henry the Fifth. "Upon 
 it" [his tomb], says Hare, Walks in London, ii. 328, "lay his 
 effigy stretched out, cut from the solid heart of an English oak, 
 plated with silver-gilt, with a head of solid silver. ... The whole 
 of the silver was carried off by some robbers who had ' broken in 
 the night-season into the Church of Westminster,' at the time of 
 the Dissolution [of the monasteries]. " 
 
 1. 18. beaten sUver, hammered silver, solid silver fashioned by 
 the hammer into the shape of a head. 
 
 I. 23. of shining, of showing to advantage the industry and 
 intelligence with which he had studied his Chronicle. 
 
 II. 25, 6. in him, in his Chronicle. 
 
 1. 36. Norfolk-buildings, in Norfolk Street, Strand. 
 
 SIR ROGER AT THE THEATRE. No. 335. 
 
 P. io6, 1. 9. the new tragedy. The Dislrest Mother, a version 
 of Racine's Andromaque by Ambrose Philips (1671-1749), to the 
 reading of which the Spectator had been taken by Will Honey- 
 comb as related in No. 290. 
 
 1. 10. these twenty years, for twenty years or more ; used 
 indefinitely. 
 
 1. 11. The Committee, by Sir Robert Howard, brother-in-law 
 of Dryden, printed in 1665. The play was a caricature of the 
 later Commonwealth period, and ridiculed the Puritans ; whence 
 Sir Roger calls it "a good Church of England comedy." "The 
 plot turns," says Ward, Eng. Dram. Lit., ii. 532, "on the ras- 
 calities perpetrated by Members of Committees of Sequestration 
 in keeping or turning rightful owners out of their property for 
 political disaffection." 
 
 1. 18. at the end of the dictionary, where in former days 
 biographical notices of famous personages were given.
 
 188 NOTES. [pages 
 
 1. 20. tbe Mohocks, bands of riotous youths who infested the 
 streets at night, plundering men and insulting women. They 
 took their name from a tribe of North- American Indians. 
 
 1. 22. lusty, \ngorous, stalwart. 
 
 1. 23. Fleet Street, so called from the river Fleet which in 
 former days ran through London openly, but now is covered over 
 and discharges itself through the sewers. 
 
 1. 24. mended their pace, increased their speed : put on, made 
 an eiTort by walking faster. 
 
 1. 30-P. 107, 1. 1. I might have ... design, I might have given 
 them as much trouble to catch me as a clever fox gives the 
 huntsmen, if that was what they intended. 
 
 1. 6. threw them out, baffled them in their eflforts to catch 
 me ; hounds when they lose the scent of the game are said to be 
 " thrown out." 
 
 I. 7. doubled the corner, eluded them by getting round the 
 corner, as a fox or hare turns and twists to escape the hounds. 
 
 II. 9, 10. Captain Sentry, see p. 8, 1. 17, etc. : make one of us, 
 be of our party, accompany us 
 
 1. 18. battle of Steenkirk, fought in lo92 between the French 
 and William the Third, Prince of Orange. 
 
 1. 20. good oaken plants, stout oak cudgels. 
 
 1. 23. convoyed, escorted, conducted in safety, as a man-of-war 
 convoys a fleet of merchant vessels in time of war. 
 
 1. 26. the pit, then a fashionable part of the theatre, and 
 answering to the modern " stalls." 
 
 1. 34. tragic audience, audience that had come to witness a 
 tragedy. 
 
 1. 35. Pyrrhus, or Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, one of the 
 heroes in the Trojan war who was concealed in the wooden horse 
 filled with armed men, introduced within the walls of Troy. At 
 the taking of the city he killed Priam, and when the Trojan 
 captives were distributed among the victors, Andromache, widow 
 of Hector, was assigned to him. 
 
 1. 36. a better strut, a more dignified manner of walking ; the 
 word strut is generally used of a pompous gait. 
 
 P. 108, 1. 5. One while, at one moment. 
 
 1. 6. concerned, troubled, anxious. 
 
 1. 7. Hermione, daughter of Menelaus and Helen. She had 
 been promised in marriage to Orestes before the Trojan war ; but 
 Menelaus after his return home married her to Pyrrhus. On 
 Orestes claiming her and being refused, he stirred up the 
 Delphians against Pyrrhus who was slain in the tumult. Her- 
 mione afterwards married Orestes.
 
 106-109.] SIR ROGER AT THE THEATRE. 189 
 
 1. 13. to have to do with, herein the sense of wooing her ; with 
 an allusion to his own wooing, see Essay No. 2. 
 
 I. 14. Psrrrhus Ms, " His was sometimes used, by mistake, for 
 's, the sign of the possessive case, particularly after a proper 
 name, and with especial frequency when the name ends in s" ... 
 (Abbott, § 217). 
 
 II. 15, 6. do if you can, hinting that Pyrrhus would find it 
 very difficult to give up the widow. 
 
 11. 22, 3. Should your people ... understood ? intimating his 
 idea that in so lofty a production as a tragedy the actors were 
 not expected always to use language that could be understood by 
 ordinary people, but to indulge in flights of bombast above the 
 intelligence of their audience — a hit, as Salmon says, at the 
 dramas of the Restoration period. 
 
 1. 25. very luckily, because otherwise he would have gone on 
 talking in a way that would have provoked the amusement and 
 ridicule of those in his neighbourhood : begun, though frequent 
 in former days as a past tense, has now given way to ' began.' 
 
 1. 28. Hector's ghost, referring, says Salmon, to the mention 
 of " my Hector's awful shade," at the end of the third act. 
 
 1. 29. fell a praising, took to praising, began and continued to 
 praise ; here a is a corruption of the preposition on. 
 
 1. 31. Astyanax, son of Hector and Andromache ; his proper 
 name was Scamandrius, but he was called Astyanax, or ' lord of 
 the city,' by the Trojans on account of the services of his father. 
 
 1. 36. going off, leaving the stage. 
 
 P. 109, 1. 2. a notable young baggage, a regular young hussy, 
 on account of her treatment of Pyrrhus. 
 
 1. 8. Orestes, son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, and 
 avenger of the murder of the former by the latter : struck in 
 with them, joined in their conversation. 
 
 I. 9. Pylades, nephew of Agamemnon, whose murder he 
 helped Orestes to avenge. The friendship between Orestes and 
 Pylades has become proverbial from its warmth and sincerity. 
 
 II. 12, 3. the old fellow in whiskers, "one of the minor char- 
 acters — Phoenix, counsellor to Pyrrhus " (Salmon). 
 
 11. 15, 6. smoke the knight, make fun of the knight. 
 
 11. 16-8. whispered ... act, and so pi-evented him from continu- 
 ing his conversation with the wags. 
 
 1, 25. as if he saw something, ,sc. a spectre. 
 
 1. 29. justling, we now say ' jostling.'
 
 190 NOTES. [PAGES 
 
 WILL HONEYCOMB'S AMOURS. No. 359. 
 
 P. no, 1. 7. minding, paying heed to. 
 
 1. 9. jogged, nudged ; called attention by a slight push. 
 
 I. 16. torown study, deep reverie, gloomy abstraction ; origin- 
 ally from brown in the sense of gloomy, now often of an idle or 
 purposeless reverie. 
 
 II. 16, 7. that once ... right, though confessing that Sir Andrew 
 has hit the mark, Sir Roger will not let slip the opportunity for 
 a friendly thrust at his old antagonist by intimating that Sir 
 Andrew's sagacity is very rarely so fortunate. 
 
 I. 23. she'll have, will take as a husband. 
 
 II. 26, 7. as his particular province, as a matter peculiarly his 
 own from the wide experience he has had in it. 
 
 I. 27. jaunty, airy and affected, 
 
 II. 29, 30. to pin ... woman, to feel that your happiness depends 
 entirely upon such a weak creature as a woman. 
 
 P. Ill, 1. 3. amours, love affairs. 
 
 1. 13. conclusion, i.e. a satisfactory conclusion, by the lady 
 accepting him. 
 
 1. 14. boarded with a surgeon, which circumstance looked as 
 if I had not been a very healthy person : the old put, the 
 wretched old creature; a Devonshire provincialism for "a 
 stinking fellow." 
 
 1. 18. so briskly, with so much energy. 
 
 1. 19. waited upon her, paid her a visit ; but expressing the 
 deference shown by a man to a woman. 
 
 1. 20. jointure, estate settled on a woman in marriage in case 
 of her husband's death, and here the estate she had acquired by 
 her first husband's death. 
 
 1. 22. Lion's inn, one of the Inns of Court of former days. It 
 stood between Wych Street and Holywell Street, but was de- 
 stroyed in 1863. Among the lawyers by whom it was once 
 tenanted was Sir Edward Coke, whose lectures there attracted 
 to him a crowd of clients. 
 
 1. 24. this overture, this proposition of hers that I should 
 estate her with a further jointure. 
 
 I. 29. soft things, tender things, compliments and assurances 
 of admiration. 
 
 II. 29, 30. made ... heart, felt sure of winning her love, 
 
 11. 33, 4. to break ... him, to disclose to him with all modesty 
 what my hopes were ; his fortune not being equal to the lady's, 
 he was obliged to approach the father on the subject cautiously 
 and with modesty.
 
 110-113.] WILL HONEYCOMB'S AMOURS. 191 
 
 P. 112, 1. 2. to miss her, to fail to win her. 
 
 11. 3, 4. Her maid ... me, sc. which in a measure accounts for 
 her rejecting me. 
 
 1. 5. spindle ... legs, pair of legs resembling in their extreme 
 thinness the stick upon which a thread is spun ; spindle- shank si 
 is a not uncommon term of contempt for a man of unusually 
 thin legs. 
 
 I. 8. dog, used with a complacent recollection of his youthful 
 wildness. 
 
 II. 11, 2. get the old ... side, win the parents' approval. 
 
 1. 16. "With flying colours, in the most triumphant manner, 
 1. 19. carried off, killed ; with a play upon the words in 
 reference to his endeavour to " bear her away " in marriage. 
 
 I. 20. transitions, sc. from one point of a subject to another, 
 and from one person to another. 
 
 II. 22, 3. had considered last Saturday, had discussed in my 
 paper of last Saturday, i.e. No. 337 of the Spectator. The 
 "book" was the tenth book of Paradise Lost, and the lines 
 quoted are 888-908. 
 
 1. 32. as angels, as in the case of angels who are (in Paradise 
 Lost) all masculine. 
 
 1. 37. straight conjunction, close union. 
 
 P. 113, 11. 1, 2. but such ... mistake, the construction is "but 
 such as some misfortune or mistake brings him." 
 
 1. 5. withheld, i.e. shall see her withheld. 
 
 1. 7. link'd, agreeing with his choice {i.e. her whom he had 
 chosen) in the line above : wedlock, though it should be hyphened 
 with hound, belongs equally to link'd. 
 
 1. 8. fell, hateful: his hate, or shame, whom (sc. the woman who 
 should have been his wife) he either hates or regards with shame. 
 
 1. 10. confound, throw into utter confusion, destroy. 
 
 VISIT TO SPRING GARDENS. No. 383. 
 
 P. 113, 1. 20. irregular bounces, random knocks, not the de- 
 liberate rat-tat-tat that would be given by a town-bred visitor. 
 
 1. 26. on the water, by the Thames, then much more of a 
 thoroughfare to various localities than since the introduction of 
 cabs and omnibuses : Spring-Garden, here what was originally 
 known as the New Spring Gardens at Fox Hall, to distinguish 
 them from the Old Spring (Fountain) Garden of 'Whitehall 
 Palace. The name Fox Hall (afterwards altered to Vauxhall) 
 "dates from the marriage of Isabella de Fortibus, Countess of
 
 192 NOTES, [PAGES 
 
 Albemarle . . . with Foukes de Breant, after wliieh the place was 
 called Foukes-Hall" (Hare, Walks in London, ii. 454). 
 
 1. 27. good, fine. 
 
 1. 28. from the ... stair-case, calling out to me from the foot of 
 the stairs. 
 
 1. 29. speculating, i.e. upon subjects for his paper, or perhaps 
 on philosophical questions generally. 
 
 1. 31. got ... friend, surrounding him. 
 
 P. 114, 1. 1. who is ... gossip, who is well known for her love of 
 
 gossiping. 
 
 1. 4. mind Ms hook, pay attention to his lessons. 
 
 I. 5. the Temple-stairs, the stairs at the bottom of the Temple 
 Gardens where the watermen moorel their boats for hire. 
 
 II. 12, 3. bate him., oar, he rowed a little more slowly, owing 
 to his loss of a limb ; bate, abate, and so remit, excuse. 
 
 I. 25. kept a barge, as many persons of rank living near the 
 river did in those days. 
 
 II. 17, 8. trimmed ... coachman, steadied the boat by taking the 
 coachman on board to serve as a make-weight. 
 
 1. 19. ballast, literally "means 'a load behind,' or 'a. load in 
 the rear ' ; and we may conclude that it was so called because 
 the ballast was stowed more in the after part of the ship than in 
 front, so as to tilt up the bows ; a very sensible plan "... (Skeat, 
 Ety. Diet.) 
 
 I. 22. La Hogue, or Hague, in the north-west coast of France, 
 where on May 19th, 1692, the English and Dutch fleets defeated 
 the French fleet, burning thirteen of their vessels and destroying 
 eight more. 
 
 II. 28, 9. London bridge, the bridge here meant was that 
 restored in 1300 after the fire in 1212, and again partially de- 
 stroyed by fire in 1471, 1632, and 1725. The present bridge was 
 begun in 1824 and opened in 1831. 
 
 11. 29, 30. the seven wonders, viz. (1) The pyramids of Egypt. 
 (2) The tomb of Mausolus, King of Caria. (3) The temple of 
 Diana at Ephesus. (4) The walls and hanging gardens of Baby- 
 lon. (5) The Colossus at Rhodes. (6) The ivory and gold 
 statue of Jupiter Olympus, executed by Phidias. (7) The watch- 
 tower built by Ptolemy Philadelphus, king of Egypt. 
 
 11. 34, 5. how thick... churches, at what close intervals the 
 churches were planted in the city ; here the city means the 
 city proper, extending eastward from Temple Bar, as contrasted 
 with the west-end of London. 
 
 P. 115, 1. 2. The fifty new churches, for building which an 
 Act of Parliament was passed in 1710.
 
 113-116.] VISIT TO SPRING GARDENS. 193 
 
 11. 2, 3. mend the prospect, improve the view. 
 
 I. 3. church-work is slow, everything connected with the 
 building or improvement of cluirches is very tedious, as com- 
 pared with the energy displayed in the matter of secular 
 buildings. 
 
 II. 9-11. it is thought ... shire, it is supposed on more than one 
 occasion to have nearly succeeded in getting him returned as 
 Member of Parliament for the county. 
 
 1. 13. broke from him, i.e. it is so much his habit that he 
 almost involuntarily saluted the occupants of the boats that 
 passed by us though he had never seem them before. 
 
 1. 15. gave the good-night, bade good-night, as we should now 
 say. 
 
 1. 17. what queer old put, what strange looking and strangely 
 dressed old creature from the country ; much the same as the 
 "bloke" of modern slang. 
 
 I. 20. assuming ... magistracy, putting on the stern look he 
 would wear on the bench. 
 
 II. 29, 30. Mahometan paradise, a paradise of sensual pleasure 
 such as that promised in the Quran to virtuous Musalmans. 
 
 11. 34, 5. your nightingale, the nightingale that evei'yone knows 
 so well ; for your, in this colloquial sense, see Abb. § 221. From 
 the story of riiilomela who was changed into a nightingale and 
 in that shape poui'ed forth her tale of unfortunate love, the 
 nightingale has always Ijeen considered the bird of love ; cp. 
 Milton's Sonnet, "0 nightingale ... Thou with fresh hope the 
 lover's heart dost fill." 
 
 P. ii6, 1. 1. the widow, see p. 6, 1. 7. 
 
 1. 3. a mask, a woman wearing a mask. 
 
 I. 5. mead, a drink made from honey. 
 
 II. 6, 7. to be interrupted, we should now say " at being inter- 
 rupted." 
 
 I. 8. a wanton baggage, a disreputable liussy, 
 
 II. 8, 9. go about her business, be olT and leave him alone. 
 
 1. 10. Burton ale. " This seems to have just been coming into 
 vogue in Addison's time. In earlier times the monks of Burton 
 were noted for their beer, which, however, was much stronger 
 than the liquor of the same name to-day " (F. E. Wilcrof t). 
 Two of the largest breweries in England, those of Messrs. Bass 
 and Messrs. Allsopp, are at Burton-on-Trent, and the water of 
 the river is said to have something to do with the excellence of 
 the beer. 
 
 1. 11. hung beef, spiced, or salted, beef, which is hung up and 
 keeps good for a long time. 
 
 N
 
 194 NOTES. [PAGES 116-118. 
 
 11. 15, 6. I ratified ... look, I enforced his orders by looking at 
 the waiter in a determined and authoritative manner. 
 
 DEATH OF SIR ROGER. No. 517. 
 
 P. Ii6, 1. 21. sensibly, keenly, feelingly. 
 
 11. 28, 9. very warmly .. penning, eagerly advocating the 
 adoption of an address which he had himself composed. 
 P. 117, 1. 14. country, neighbourhood. 
 
 I. 22. had lost . . stomacli, had no appetite for roast beef ; a 
 dish of which he was always so fond. 
 
 II. 25, 6. kept a good heart, retained his usual good spirits. 
 1. 27. upon a kind message, on his receiving a kind message. 
 
 1. 29. a lightning before .. death, a last bright flicker of the 
 flame of death before it went out for ever. From Eovie.o and 
 Juliet, V. 3. 90. 
 
 1. 32. my good old lady, the good old mistress whom I served. 
 
 P. 118, 1. 1. tenement, a holding, a dwelling inhabited by a 
 tenant. 
 
 1. 3. frieze-coat, a coat made of a coarse woollen cloth ; literally, 
 cloth of Friesland. 
 
 1. 4. riding-hood, such as were worn by women riding to 
 market. 
 
 1. 12. peremptorily, confidently, as being a matter of certainty. 
 
 1. 16. made... end, died peacefully and with resignation to 
 God's will ; cp. H. F. ii. 3. 11, " A' made a finer end and went 
 away an it had been any christian child," said of the dying 
 Falstaff. 
 
 1. 20. the quorum, see note, p. 6, 1. 28. 
 
 1. 29. quit rents, rents reserved in grants of land by pa5Tnent 
 of which the tenant is quit from other service, but in this case 
 charges iipon the estate ; quit is here used in its adjectival sense, 
 and no hyphen is necessary. 
 
 1. 31. makes much of, treats with great kindness. 
 
 I. 35. joyed himself, been cheerful. 
 
 II. 12, 3. Act of Uniformity. There were three Acts of Uni- 
 formity, passed respectively in 1549, 1558, 1662, all prescribing 
 the use in the Church of England of the Book of Common 
 Prayer, founded upon the old Catholic Missal and Breviary, and 
 revised from time to time.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Act, of Occasional Conformity, 
 
 100. 31. 
 Act, of Uniformity, 118. 12. 
 Afflux, 67. 31. 
 Aggravation, 73. 22. 
 Agog, 82. 12. 
 Ale, Burton, 116. 10. 
 Alms, 99. 11. 
 Amours, 44. 3. 
 Angle-rod, 19. 29. 
 Approbations, 70. 18. 
 Assizes, 34. 2. 
 
 B 
 
 Backgammon, 13. 16. 
 Baggage, a, 109. 2. 
 Baker's Chronicle, 101. 20. 
 Basket-hilt, 23. 21. 
 Bass, 46. 29. 
 Bass-viol, 23. 20. 
 Bastile, the, 45. 17. 
 Bayle, 66. 2. 
 Beagles, 46. 19. 
 Beef, hung, 116. 11. 
 Bitted, 33. 35. 
 Bowling-green, 86. 26. 
 Boxing. 44. 33. 
 Boyle, 68. 30. 
 Brideman, 9i). 7. 
 Britain, Little, 5. 14. 
 Brown study, 110. Ki. 
 
 C 
 
 Canker, a, 38. 21. 
 Cardinal, 10. 34. 
 
 Cassandra, 88. 30. 
 Cast clothes, 16. 17. 
 Chamberlain, 94. 28. 
 Chancel, 31. 12. 
 Chaplain, 12. 29. 
 Chiding, 48. 29. 
 Churn, 52. 25. 
 (^'ircuit, 61. 7. 
 Cloke-bag. 94. 18. 
 Cock and bull, 94. 4. 
 Cock-match, 85. 28. 
 Cocoa-tree, the, 3. 23. 
 Coke, 7. 4. 
 Common, a, 7. 34. 
 Commonwealth's men, 94. 11, 
 Coronation chairs, 104. 25. 
 Country-dance, 5. 25. 
 Covey, 46. 1. 
 Cowley, 40. 10. 
 
 D 
 
 Dampier, 66. 11. 
 Dawson, Bully, 6. 11. 
 Decrepit, 54. 5. 
 Dew-lap'd, 47. 1. 
 Diodorus, 84. 32. 
 Discarded, 92. 3. 
 Doubles, 48. 7. 
 Doul)let, 6. 17. 
 
 E 
 Edifying, 14. 26. 
 Elder-bush, 27. 2. 
 Equipage, 94. 16. 
 Etherege, Sir G., 6. 10. 
 Eugene, Prince, 98. 26, 
 
 195
 
 196 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Evil, the, 105. 13. 
 Exchange, the, 3. 25. 
 Exercises, the public, 2, 25. 
 Exorcised, 28. 15. 
 
 F 
 Family, 15. 29. 
 Fine, a, 16. 36. 
 Flitch, 31. 22. 
 Flu'd, 46. 35. 
 Foils, 31. 8. 
 Freeport, Sir A., 7. 28. 
 Frieze-coat, 118. 3. 
 
 G 
 
 Game-Act, 6. 30. 
 Gibellines, 82. 20. 
 Gipsies, 87. 27. 
 Goblins, 27. 21. 
 Go-cart, 23. 29, 
 Gray's Inn, 98. 23. 
 Grecian, the, 3. 23. 
 
 H 
 
 Half-pike, 95. 14. 
 Hasped, 96. 34. 
 Hassock, 30. 12. 
 Hasty-puddmg, 23. 33. 
 Haymarket, the, 3. 25. 
 Hog's-puddings, 100. 11. 
 Humour (of the eye), 68. 35. 
 Hussy, 57. 21. 
 
 Ichneumon, 84. 34. 
 Incumbent, 31. 26. 
 Innocent, 58. 10. 
 
 Jack, a, 19. 6. 
 
 Jacob's Pillow, 104. 28. 
 
 James's, Saint, 3. 20. 
 
 Jesuits, 92. 27. 
 
 Jetting, 22. 23. 
 
 Jointure, 103. 17. 
 
 Jonathan's, 3. 27. 
 
 Jovial, 6. 15. 
 
 Justice of the peace, 2. 8. 
 
 Laertes, 39. 11. 
 La Hogue, 114. 22. 
 Land-tax, 80. 11. 
 League, the, 82. 21. 
 Libertine, 38. 32. 
 Littleton, 7. 14. 
 Livery, 18. 5. 
 Locke, 27. 16. 
 Longinus, 7. 3. 
 Lucretius, 28. 32. 
 Lurch, 60. 31. 
 
 M 
 Mansion, 41. 8. 
 Manumission, 17. IS. 
 Martial, M. Valerius, 37. 12. 
 May-fly, 19. 28. 
 Mince-pie, 100. 23. 
 Modish, 59. 2. 
 Mohocks, 106. 20. 
 Monmouth, Duke of, 10. 2. 
 More, Henry, 67. 35. 
 Mrs., 94. 30. 
 Murrain, 34. 11. 
 
 N 
 Never (elliptical), 64. 35. 
 Nightmare, 53. 19. 
 Nonage, 2. 20. 
 Novel (sk), 75. 19. 
 
 
 
 Officious, 19. 30. 
 Opened (of dogs), 48. 12. 
 Original (sb.), 69. 18. 
 Otway, 51. 31. 
 
 Pad, 47. 7. 
 Palmed, 52. 23. 
 Palmistry, 89. 28. 
 Palsy, 51. 36. 
 Paschal, 49. 17. 
 Patron, 17. 27. 
 Perriwig, 7. 24. 
 Peruse, 1. 7. 
 Petty jury, 71. 14.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 197 
 
 Plum-porridge, 100. 36. 
 
 Plutarch, 80. 34. 
 
 Pommel, 23. 8. 
 
 Pope's procession, the, 101. 9. 
 
 Presaged, 2. 9. 
 
 Prick-ear'd, 80. 2. 
 
 Q 
 
 Quail-pipe, 21. 2. 
 Quarter-session, 6. 29. 
 Quit-rents, 118. 29. 
 Quorum, 6. 28. 
 
 R 
 
 Rattle, a, 2. 15. 
 Rheum, 51. 35. 
 Rochester, Lord, 6. 10. 
 Romp, a, 24. 9. 
 Round, 72. 2. 
 Roundheads, 79. 24. 
 
 S 
 Scanderbeg, 99. 2. 
 Sentry, Captain, 8. 17. 
 Setting dog, a, 20. 2. 
 Sheriff, 33. 27. 
 Shire, Knight of a, 25. 10. 
 Shuttlecocks, 20. 17. 
 Slashes, 24. 12. 
 Smelling to, 93. 34. 
 Smoky, 97. 14. 
 Smutting, 100. 25. 
 Soho Square, 6. 6. 
 Sphinx, the, 36. 20. 
 Spindle, 112. 5. 
 Spring-Garden, 113. 26. 
 Steenkirk, battle of, 107. 18. 
 
 Stepmother, 65. 23. 
 Stomach, 38. 18. 
 Sydenham, Dr., 44. 13. 
 
 Tabby, 53. 3. 
 
 Tansy, 36. 33. 
 
 Target, 23. 7. 
 
 Tartars, 85. 11. 
 
 Tenement, 17. 1. 
 
 Temple, Inner, the, 6. 33. 
 
 Tilt-yard, the, 23. 2. 
 
 Tithe-stealers, 31. 36. 
 
 Tories, 83. 18. 
 
 Tossing (witches), 50. 20. 
 
 Touched (for the evil), 105. 12. 
 
 Trekschuyt, 89. 36. 
 
 Trepanned, 104. 34. 
 
 Tucker, ,36. 28. 
 
 Tulip, 19. 33. 
 
 Valet-de-chambre, 11. 27. 
 Vermin, 46. 6. 
 
 W 
 Weeds, 52. 5. 
 Whigs, 83. 17. 
 Whitehall, 23. 2. 
 White-pot, 23. 34. 
 White witch, 92. 23. 
 Will's (coffee-house), 3. 15. 
 Wonders, the seven, 114. 30. 
 Worcester, battle of, 25. 34. 
 
 Yeoman, of the guard, 22. 34. 
 
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