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The Spectator, Volume 1 by Joseph Addison and Richard Steele

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[Footnote 4: The Night Journey of Mahomet gives its Title to the 17th
Sura of the Koran, which assumes the believer's knowledge of the Visions
of Gabriel seen at the outset of the prophet's career, when he was
carried by night from Mecca to Jerusalem and thence through the seven
heavens to the throne of God on the back of Borak, accompanied by
Gabriel according to some traditions, and according to some in a vision.
Details of the origin of this story will be found in Muir, ii. 219,
Noeld, p. 102. Addison took it from the 'Turkish Tales.']

* * * * *

No 95. Tuesday, June 19, 1711. Steele.

Curae Leves loquuntur, Ingentes Stupent. [1]

Having read the two following Letters with much Pleasure, I cannot but
think the good Sense of them will be as agreeable to the Town as any
thing I could say either on the Topicks they treat of, or any other.
They both allude to former Papers of mine, and I do not question but the
first, which is upon inward Mourning, will be thought the Production of
a Man who is well acquainted with the generous Earnings of Distress in a
manly Temper, which is above the Relief of Tears. A Speculation of my
own on that Subject I shall defer till another Occasion.

The second Letter is from a Lady of a Mind as great as her
Understanding. There is perhaps something in the Beginning of it which I
ought in Modesty to conceal; but I have so much Esteem for this
Correspondent, that I will not alter a Tittle of what she writes, tho' I
am thus scrupulous at the Price of being Ridiculous.


'I was very well pleased with your Discourse upon General Mourning,
and should be obliged to you if you would enter into the Matter more
deeply, and give us your Thoughts upon the common Sense the ordinary
People have of the Demonstrations of Grief, who prescribe Rules and
Fashions to the most solemn Affliction; such as the Loss of the
nearest Relations and dearest Friends. You cannot go to visit a sick
Friend, but some impertinent Waiter about him observes the Muscles of
your Face, as strictly as if they were Prognosticks of his Death or
Recovery. If he happens to be taken from you, you are immediately
surrounded with Numbers of these Spectators, who expect a melancholy
Shrug of your Shoulders, a Pathetical shake of your Head, and an
Expressive Distortion of your Face, to measure your Affection and
Value for the Deceased: But there is nothing, on these Occasions, so
much in their Favour as immoderate Weeping. As all their passions are
superficial, they imagine the Seat of Love and Friendship to be placed
visibly in the Eyes: They judge what Stock of Kindness you had for the
Living, by the Quantity of Tears you pour out for the Dead; so that if
one Body wants that Quantity of Salt-water another abounds with, he is
in great Danger of being thought insensible or ill-natured: They are
Strangers to Friendship, whose Grief happens not to be moist enough to
wet such a Parcel of Handkerchiefs. But Experience has told us,
nothing is so fallacious as this outward Sign of Sorrow; and the
natural History of our Bodies will teach us that this Flux of the
Eyes, this Faculty of Weeping, is peculiar only to some Constitutions.
We observe in the tender Bodies of Children, when crossed in their
little Wills and Expectations, how dissolvable they are into Tears. If
this were what Grief is in Men, Nature would not be able to support
them in the Excess of it for one Moment. Add to this Observation, how
quick is their Transition from this Passion to that of their Joy. I
won't say we see often, in the next tender Things to Children, Tears
shed without much Grieving. Thus it is common to shed Tears without
much Sorrow, and as common to suffer much Sorrow without shedding
Tears. Grief and Weeping are indeed frequent Companions, but, I
believe, never in their highest Excesses. As Laughter does not proceed
from profound Joy, so neither does Weeping from profound Sorrow. The
Sorrow which appears so easily at the Eyes, cannot have pierced deeply
into the Heart. The Heart distended with Grief, stops all the Passages
for Tears or Lamentations.

'Now, Sir, what I would incline you to in all this, is, that you would
inform the shallow Criticks and Observers upon Sorrow, that true
Affliction labours to be invisible, that it is a Stranger to Ceremony,
and that it bears in its own Nature a Dignity much above the little
Circumstances which are affected under the Notion of Decency. You must
know, Sir, I have lately lost a dear Friend, for whom I have not yet
shed a Tear, and for that Reason your Animadversions on that Subject
would be the more acceptable to',
_Your most humble Servant_,

June _the_ 15_th_.


'As I hope there are but few who have so little Gratitude as not to
acknowledge the Usefulness of your Pen, and to esteem it a Publick
Benefit; so I am sensible, be that as it will, you must nevertheless
find the Secret and Incomparable Pleasure of doing Good, and be a
great Sharer in the Entertainment you give. I acknowledge our Sex to
be much obliged, and I hope improved, by your Labours, and even your
Intentions more particularly for our Service. If it be true, as 'tis
sometimes said, that our Sex have an Influence on the other, your
Paper may be a yet more general Good. Your directing us to Reading is
certainly the best Means to our Instruction; but I think, with you,
Caution in that Particular very useful, since the Improvement of our
Understandings may, or may not, be of Service to us, according as it
is managed. It has been thought we are not generally so Ignorant as
Ill-taught, or that our Sex does so often want Wit, Judgment, or
Knowledge, as the right Application of them: You are so well-bred, as
to say your fair Readers are already deeper Scholars than the Beaus,
and that you could name some of them that talk much better than
several Gentlemen that make a Figure at _Will's_: This may possibly
be, and no great Compliment, in my Opinion, even supposing your
Comparison to reach _Tom's_ and the _Grecian_: Surely you are too wise
to think That a Real Commendation of a Woman. Were it not rather to be
wished we improved in our own Sphere, and approved our selves better
Daughters, Wives, Mothers, and Friends?

I can't but agree with the Judicious Trader in _Cheapside_ (though I
am not at all prejudiced in his Favour) in recommending the Study of
Arithmetick; and must dissent even from the Authority which you
mention, when it advises the making our Sex Scholars. Indeed a little
more Philosophy, in order to the Subduing our Passions to our Reason,
might be sometimes serviceable, and a Treatise of that Nature I should
approve of, even in exchange for _Theodosius_, or _The Force of Love_;
but as I well know you want not Hints, I will proceed no further than
to recommend the Bishop of _Cambray's Education of a Daughter, as 'tis
translated into the only Language I have any Knowledge of, [2] tho'
perhaps very much to its Disadvantage. I have heard it objected
against that Piece, that its Instructions are not of general Use, but
only fitted for a great Lady; but I confess I am not of that Opinion;
for I don't remember that there are any Rules laid down for the
Expences of a Woman, in which Particular only I think a Gentlewoman
ought to differ from a Lady of the best Fortune, or highest Quality,
and not in their Principles of Justice, Gratitude, Sincerity,
Prudence, or Modesty. I ought perhaps to make an Apology for this long
Epistle; but as I rather believe you a Friend to Sincerity, than
Ceremony, shall only assure you I am,
_Your most humble Servant_,

[Footnote 1: Seneca, Citation omitted also in the early reprints.]

[Footnote 2: Fenelon was then living. He died in 1715, aged 63.]

* * * * *

No. 96 Wednesday, June 20, 1711. Steele.

... Amicum
Mancipium domino, et frugi ...



I have frequently read your Discourse upon Servants, and, as I am one
my self, have been much offended that in that Variety of Forms wherein
you considered the Bad, you found no Place to mention the Good. There
is however one Observation of yours I approve, which is, That there
are Men of Wit and good Sense among all Orders of Men; and that
Servants report most of the Good or Ill which is spoken of their
Masters. That there are Men of Sense who live in Servitude, I have the
Vanity to say I have felt to my woful Experience. You attribute very
justly the Source of our general Iniquity to Board-Wages, and the
Manner of living out of a domestick Way: But I cannot give you my
Thoughts on this Subject any way so well, as by a short account of my
own Life to this the Forty fifth Year of my Age; that is to say, from
my being first a Foot-boy at Fourteen, to my present Station of a
Nobleman's Porter in the Year of my Age above-mentioned. Know then,
that my Father was a poor Tenant to the Family of Sir _Stephen
Rackrent:_ Sir _Stephen_ put me to School, or rather made me follow
his Son _Harry_ to School, from my Ninth Year; and there, tho' Sir
_Stephen_ paid something for my Learning, I was used like a Servant,
and was forced to get what Scraps of Learning I could by my own
Industry, for the Schoolmaster took very little Notice of me. My young
Master was a Lad of very sprightly Parts; and my being constantly
about him, and loving him, was no small Advantage to me. My Master
loved me extreamly, and has often been whipped for not keeping me at a
Distance. He used always to say, That when he came to his Estate I
should have a Lease of my Father's Tenement for nothing. I came up to
Town with him to _Westminster_ School; at which time he taught me at
Night all he learnt; and put me to find out Words in the Dictionary
when he was about his Exercise. It was the Will of Providence that
Master _Harry_ was taken very ill of a Fever, of which he died within
Ten Days after his first falling sick. Here was the first Sorrow I
ever knew; and I assure you, Mr. SPECTATOR, I remember the beautiful
Action of the sweet Youth in his Fever, as fresh as if it were
Yesterday. If he wanted any thing, it must be given him by _Tom:_ When
I let any thing fall through the Grief I was under, he would cry, Do
not beat the poor Boy: Give him some more Julep for me, no Body else
shall give it me. He would strive to hide his being so bad, when he
saw I could not bear his being in so much Danger, and comforted me,
saying, _Tom, Tom,_ have a good Heart. When I was holding a Cup at his
Mouth, he fell into Convulsions; and at this very Time I hear my dear
Master's last Groan. I was quickly turned out of the Room, and left to
sob and beat my Head against the Wall at my Leisure. The Grief I was
in was inexpressible; and every Body thought it would have cost me my
Life. In a few Days my old Lady, who was one of the Housewives of the
World, thought of turning me out of Doors, because I put her in mind
of her Son. Sir _Stephen_ proposed putting me to Prentice; but my
Lady being an excellent Manager, would not let her Husband throw away
his Money in Acts of Charity. I had sense enough to be under the
utmost Indignation, to see her discard with so little Concern, one her
Son had loved so much; and went out of the House to ramble wherever my
Feet would carry me.

The third Day after I left Sir _Stephen's_ Family, I was strolling up
and down the Walks in the _Temple_. A young Gentleman of the House,
who (as I heard him say afterwards) seeing me half-starved and
well-dressed, thought me an Equipage ready to his Hand, after very
little Inquiry more than _Did I want a Master?,_ bid me follow him;
I did so, and in a very little while thought myself the happiest
Creature in this World. My Time was taken up in carrying Letters to
Wenches, or Messages to young Ladies of my Master's Acquaintance. We
rambled from Tavern to Tavern, to the Play-house, the
Mulberry-Garden,[1] and all places of Resort; where my Master engaged
every Night in some new Amour, in which and Drinking he spent all his
Time when he had Money. During these Extravagancies I had the Pleasure
of lying on the Stairs of a Tavern half a Night, playing at Dice with
other Servants, and the like Idleness. When my Master was moneyless,
I was generally employ'd in transcribing amorous Pieces of Poetry, old
Songs, and new Lampoons. This Life held till my Master married, and he
had then the Prudence to turn me off, because I was in the Secret of
his Intreagues.

I was utterly at a loss what Course to take next; when at last I
applied my self to a Fellow-sufferer, one of his Mistresses, a Woman
of the Town. She happening at that time to be pretty full of Money,
cloathed me from Head to Foot, and knowing me to be a sharp Fellow,
employed me accordingly. Sometimes I was to go abroad with her, and
when she had pitched upon a young Fellow she thought for her Turn, I
was to be dropped as one she could not trust. She would often cheapen
Goods at the _New Exchange_[1] and when she had a mind to be
attacked, she would send me away on an Errand. When an humble Servant
and she were beginning a Parley, I came immediately, and told her Sir
_John_ was come home; then she would order another Coach to prevent
being dogged. The Lover makes Signs to me as I get behind the Coach, I
shake my Head it was impossible: I leave my Lady at the next Turning,
and follow the Cully to know how to fall in his Way on another
Occasion. Besides good Offices of this Nature, I writ all my
Mistress's Love-Letters; some from a Lady that saw such a Gentleman at
such a Place in such a coloured Coat, some shewing the Terrour she was
in of a jealous old Husband, others explaining that the Severity of
her Parents was such (tho' her Fortune was settled) that she was
willing to run away with such a one, tho' she knew he was but a
younger Brother. In a Word, my half Education and Love of idle Books,
made me outwrite all that made Love to her by way of Epistle; and as
she was extremely cunning, she did well enough in Company by a skilful
Affectation of the greatest Modesty. In the midst of all this I was
surprised with a Letter from her and a Ten Pound Note.

_Honest_ Tom,

You will never see me more. I am married to a very cunning Country
Gentleman, who might possibly guess something if I kept you still;
therefore farewell.

When this Place was lost also in Marriage, I was resolved to go among
quite another People, for the future; and got in Butler to one of
those Families where there is a Coach kept, three or four Servants, a
clean House, and a good general Outside upon a small Estate. Here I
lived very comfortably for some Time,'till I unfortunately found my
Master, the very gravest Man alive, in the Garret with the
Chambermaid. I knew the World too well to think of staying there; and
the next Day pretended to have received a Letter out of the Country
that my Father was dying, and got my Discharge with a Bounty for my

The next I lived with was a peevish single man, whom I stayed with for
a Year and a Half. Most part of the Time I passed very easily; for
when I began to know him, I minded no more than he meant what he said;
so that one Day in a good Humour he said _I was the best man he ever
had, by my want of respect to him_.

These, Sir, are the chief Occurrences of my Life; and I will not dwell
upon very many other Places I have been in, where I have been the
strangest Fellow in the World, where no Body in the World had such
Servants as they, where sure they were the unluckiest People in the
World in Servants; and so forth. All I mean by this Representation,
is, to shew you that we poor Servants are not (what you called us too
generally) all Rogues; but that we are what we are, according to the
Example of our Superiors. In the Family I am now in, I am guilty of no
one Sin but Lying; which I do with a grave Face in my Gown and Staff
every Day I live, and almost all Day long, in denying my Lord to
impertinent Suitors, and my Lady to unwelcome Visitants. But, Sir, I
am to let you know that I am, when I get abroad, a Leader of the
Servants: I am he that keep Time with beating my Cudgel against the
Boards in the Gallery at an Opera; I am he that am touched so properly
at a Tragedy, when the People of Quality are staring at one another
during the most important Incidents: When you hear in a Crowd a Cry in
the right Place, an Humm where the Point is touched in a Speech, or an
Hussa set up where it is the Voice of the People; you may conclude it
is begun or joined by,
T. _SIR,
Your more than Humble Servant,_
Thomas Trusty

[Footnote 1: A place of open-air entertainment near Buckingham House.
Sir Charles Sedley named one of his plays after it.]

[Footnote 2: In the Strand, between Durham Yard and York Buildings; in
the 'Spectator's' time the fashionable mart for milliners. It was taken
down in 1737.]

* * * * *

No. 97. Thursday, June 21, 1711. Steele.

'Projecere animas.'


Among the loose Papers which I have frequently spoken of heretofore, I
find a Conversation between _Pharamond_ and _Eucrate_ upon the Subject
of Duels, and the Copy of an Edict issued in Consequence of that

_Eucrate_ argued, that nothing but the most severe and vindictive
Punishments, such as placing the Bodies of the Offenders in Chains, and
putting them to Death by the most exquisite Torments, would be
sufficient to extirpate a Crime which had so long prevailed and was so
firmly fixed in the Opinion of the World as great and laudable; but the
King answered, That indeed Instances of Ignominy were necessary in the
Cure of this Evil; but considering that it prevailed only among such as
had a Nicety in their Sense of Honour, and that it often happened that a
Duel was fought to save Appearances to the World, when both Parties were
in their Hearts in Amity and Reconciliation to each other; it was
evident that turning the Mode another way would effectually put a Stop
to what had Being only as a Mode. That to such Persons, Poverty and
Shame were Torments sufficient, That he would not go further in
punishing in others Crimes which he was satisfied he himself was most
Guilty of, in that he might have prevented them by speaking his
Displeasure sooner. Besides which the King said, he was in general
averse to Tortures, which was putting Human Nature it self, rather than
the Criminal, to Disgrace; and that he would be sure not to use this
Means where the Crime was but an ill Effect arising from a laudable
Cause, the Fear of Shame. The King, at the same time, spoke with much
Grace upon the Subject of Mercy; and repented of many Acts of that kind
which had a magnificent Aspect in the doing, but dreadful Consequences
in the Example. Mercy to Particulars, he observed, was Cruelty in the
General: That though a Prince could not revive a Dead Man by taking the
Life of him who killed him, neither could he make Reparation to the next
that should die by the evil Example; or answer to himself for the
Partiality, in not pardoning the next as well as the former Offender.

'As for me, says _Pharamond_, I have conquer'd _France_, and yet have
given Laws to my People: The Laws are my Methods of Life; they are not
a Diminution but a Direction to my Power. I am still absolute to
distinguish the Innocent and the Virtuous, to give Honours to the
Brave and Generous: I am absolute in my Good-will: none can oppose my
Bounty, or prescribe Rules for my Favour. While I can, as I please,
reward the Good, I am under no Pain that I cannot pardon the Wicked:
For which Reason, continued _Pharamond_, I will effectually put a stop
to this Evil, by exposing no more the Tenderness of my Nature to the
Importunity of having the same Respect to those who are miserable by
their Fault, and those who are so by their Misfortune. Flatterers
(concluded the King smiling) repeat to us Princes, that we are
Heaven's Vice-regents; Let us be so, and let the only thing out of our
Power be _to do Ill_.'

'Soon after the Evening wherein _Pharamond_ and _Eucrate_ had this
Conversation, the following Edict was Published.

_Pharamond's_ Edict against Duels.

Pharamond, _King of the_ Gauls, _to all his loving Subjects sendeth

Whereas it has come to our Royal Notice and Observation, that in
contempt of all Laws Divine and Human, it is of late become a Custom
among the Nobility and Gentry of this our Kingdom, upon slight and
trivial, as well as great and urgent Provocations, to invite each
other into the Field, there by their own Hands, and of their own
Authority, to decide their Controversies by Combat; We have thought
fit to take the said Custom into our Royal Consideration, and find,
upon Enquiry into the usual Causes whereon such fatal Decisions have
arisen, that by this wicked Custom, maugre all the Precepts of our
Holy Religion, and the Rules of right Reason, the greatest Act of the
human Mind, _Forgiveness of Injuries_, is become vile and shameful;
that the Rules of Good Society and Virtuous Conversation are hereby
inverted; that the Loose, the Vain, and the Impudent, insult the
Careful, the Discreet, and the Modest; that all Virtue is suppressed,
and all Vice supported, in the one Act of being capable to dare to the
Death. We have also further, with great Sorrow of Mind, observed that
this Dreadful Action, by long Impunity, (our Royal Attention being
employed upon Matters of more general Concern) is become Honourable,
and the Refusal to engage in it Ignominious. In these our Royal Cares
and Enquiries We are yet farther made to understand, that the Persons
of most Eminent Worth, and most hopeful Abilities, accompanied with
the strongest Passion for true Glory, are such as are most liable to
be involved in the Dangers arising from this Licence. Now taking the
said Premises into our serious Consideration, and well weighing that
all such Emergencies (wherein the Mind is incapable of commanding it
self, and where the Injury is too sudden or too exquisite to be born)
are particularly provided for by Laws heretofore enacted; and that the
Qualities of less Injuries, like those of Ingratitude, are too nice
and delicate to come under General Rules; We do resolve to blot this
Fashion, or Wantonness of Anger, out of the Minds of Our Subjects, by
Our Royal Resolutions declared in this Edict, as follow.

No Person who either Sends or Accepts a Challenge, or the Posterity of
either, tho' no Death ensues thereupon, shall be, after the
Publication of this our Edict, capable of bearing Office in these our

The Person who shall prove the sending or receiving a Challenge, shall
receive to his own Use and Property, the whole Personal Estate of both
Parties: and their Real Estate shall be immediately vested in the next
Heir of the Offenders in as ample Manner as if the said Offenders were
actually Deceased.

In Cases where the Laws (which we have already granted to our
Subjects) admit of an Appeal for Blood; when the Criminal is condemned
by the said Appeal, He shall not only suffer Death, but his whole
Estate, Real, Mixed, and Personal, shall from the Hour of his Death be
vested in the next Heir of the Person whose Blood he spilt.

That it shall not hereafter be in our Royal Power, or that of our
Successors, to pardon the said Offences, or restore [the Offenders
[1]] in their Estates, Honour, or Blood for ever.

_Given at our Court at_ Blois, _the 8th of_ February, 420. _In the
Second Year of our Reign_.


[Footnote 1: them]

* * * * *

No. 98. Friday, June 22, 1711. Addison.

'Tanta est quarendi cura decoris.'


There is not so variable a thing in Nature as a Lady's Head-dress:
Within my own Memory I have known it rise and fall above thirty Degrees.
About ten Years ago it shot up to a very great Height, [1] insomuch that
the Female Part of our Species were much taller than the Men. The Women
were of such an enormous Stature, that _we appeared as Grasshoppers
before them_. [2] At present the whole Sex is in a manner dwarfed and
shrunk into a race of Beauties that seems almost another Species. I
remember several Ladies, who were once very near seven Foot high, that
at present want some inches of five: How they came to be thus curtailed
I cannot learn; whether the whole Sex be at present under any Penance
which we know nothing of, or whether they have cast their Head-dresses
in order to surprize us with something in that kind which shall be
entirely new; or whether some of the tallest of the Sex, being too
cunning for the rest, have contrived this Method to make themselves
appear sizeable, is still a Secret; tho' I find most are of Opinion,
they are at present like Trees new lopped and pruned, that will
certainly sprout up and flourish with greater Heads than before. For my
own part, as I do not love to be insulted by Women who are taller than
my self, I admire the Sex much more in their present Humiliation, which
has reduced them to their natural Dimensions, than when they had
extended their Persons and lengthened themselves out into formidable and
gigantick Figures. I am not for adding to the beautiful Edifices of
Nature, nor for raising any whimsical Superstructure upon her Plans: I
must therefore repeat it, that I am highly pleased with the Coiffure now
in Fashion, and think it shews the good Sense which at present very much
reigns among the valuable Part of the Sex. One may observe that Women in
all Ages have taken more Pains than Men to adorn the Outside of their
Heads; and indeed I very much admire, that those Female Architects, who
raise such wonderful Structures out of Ribbands, Lace, and Wire, have
not been recorded for their respective Inventions. It is certain there
has been as many Orders in these Kinds of Building, as in those which
have been made of Marble: Sometimes they rise in the Shape of a Pyramid,
sometimes like a Tower, and sometimes like a Steeple. In _Juvenal's_
time the Building grew by several Orders and Stories, as he has very
humorously described it.

Tot premit ordinibus, tot adhuc compagibus altum
AEdificat caput: Andromachen a fronte videbis;
Post minor est: Altam credas.


But I do not remember in any Part of my Reading, that the Head-dress
aspired to so great an Extravagance as in the fourteenth Century; when
it was built up in a couple of Cones or Spires, which stood so
excessively high on each Side of the Head, that a Woman, who was but a
_Pigmie_ without her Head-dress, appear'd like a _Colossus_ upon putting
it on. Monsieur _Paradin_ [3] says,

'That these old-fashioned Fontanges rose an Ell above the Head; that
they were pointed like Steeples, and had long loose Pieces of Crape
fastened to the Tops of them, which were curiously fringed and hung
down their Backs like Streamers.'

The Women might possibly have carried this Gothick Building much higher,
had not a famous Monk, _Thomas Conecte_ [4] by Name, attacked it with
great Zeal and Resolution.

This holy Man travelled from Place to Place to preach down this
monstrous Commode; and succeeded so well in it, that as the Magicians
sacrificed their Books to the Flames upon the Preaching of an Apostle,
many of the Women threw down their Head-dresses in the Middle of his
Sermon, and made a Bonfire of them within Sight of the Pulpit. He was so
renowned as well for the Sanctity of his Life as his Manner of Preaching
that he had often a Congregation of twenty thousand People; the Men
placing themselves on the one Side of his Pulpit, and the Women on the
other, that appeared (to use the Similitude of an ingenious Writer) like
a Forest of Cedars with their Heads reaching to the Clouds. He so warmed
and animated the People against this monstrous Ornament, that it lay
under a kind of Persecution; and whenever it appeared in publick was
pelted down by the Rabble, who flung Stones at the Persons that wore it.
But notwithstanding this Prodigy vanished, while the Preacher was among
them, it began to appear again some Months after his Departure, or to
tell it in Monsieur _Paradin's_ own Words,

'The Women that, like Snails, in a Fright, had drawn in their Horns,
shot them out again as soon as the Danger was over.'

This Extravagance of the Womens Head-dresses in that Age is taken notice
of by Monsieur _d'Argentre_ [5] in the History of _Bretagne_, and by
other Historians as well as the Person I have here quoted.

It is usually observed, that a good Reign is the only proper Time for
making of Laws against the Exorbitance of Power; in the same manner an
excessive Head-dress may be attacked the most effectually when the
Fashion is against it. I do therefore recommend this Paper to my Female
Readers by way of Prevention.

I would desire the Fair Sex to consider how impossible it is for them to
add any thing that can be ornamental to what is already the Master-piece
of Nature. The Head has the most beautiful Appearance, as well as the
highest Station, in a human Figure. Nature has laid out all her Art in
beautifying the Face; she has touched it with Vermilion, planted in it a
double Row of Ivory, made it the Seat of Smiles and Blushes, lighted it
up and enlivened it with the Brightness of the Eyes, hung it on each
Side with curious Organs of Sense, given it Airs and Graces that cannot
be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing Shade of Hair as
sets all its Beauties in the most agreeable Light: In short, she seems
to have designed the Head as the Cupola to the most glorious of her
Works; and when we load it with such a Pile of supernumerary Ornaments,
we destroy the Symmetry of the human Figure, and foolishly contrive to
call off the Eye from great and real Beauties, to childish Gewgaws,
Ribbands, and Bone-lace.


[Footnote 1: The Commode, called by the French 'Fontange', worn on their
heads by ladies at the beginning of the 18th century, was a structure of
wire, which bore up the hair and the forepart of the lace cap to a great
height. The 'Spectator' tells how completely and suddenly the fashion
was abandoned in his time.]

[Footnote 2: Numbers xiii 33.]

[Footnote 3: Guillaume Paradin, a laborious writer of the 16th century,
born at Cuizeau, in the Bresse Chalonnoise, and still living in 1581,
wrote a great many books. The passages quoted by the 'Spectator' are
from his 'Annales de Bourgoigne', published in 1566.]

[Footnote 4: Thomas Conecte, of Bretagne, was a Carmelite monk, who
became famous as a preacher in 1428. After reproving the vices of the
age in several parts of Europe, he came to Rome, where he reproved the
vices he saw at the Pope's court, and was, therefore, burnt as a heretic
in 1434.]

[Footnote 5: Bertrand d'Argentre was a French lawyer, who died, aged 71,
in 1590. His 'Histoire de Bretagne' was printed at Rennes in 1582.]

* * * * *

No. 99. Saturday, June 23, 1711. Addison.

'... Turpi secernis Honestum.'


The Club, of which I have often declared my self a Member, were last
Night engaged in a Discourse upon that which passes for the chief Point
of Honour among Men and Women; and started a great many Hints upon the
Subject, which I thought were entirely new: I shall therefore methodize
the several Reflections that arose upon this Occasion, and present my
Reader with them for the Speculation of this Day; after having premised,
that if there is any thing in this Paper which seems to differ with any
Passage of last _Thursday's_, the Reader will consider this as the
Sentiments of the Club, and the other as my own private Thoughts, or
rather those of _Pharamond_.

The great Point of Honour in Men is Courage, and in Women Chastity. If a
Man loses his Honour in one Rencounter, it is not impossible for him to
regain it in another; a Slip in a Woman's Honour is irrecoverable. I can
give no Reason for fixing the Point of Honour to these two Qualities,
unless it be that each Sex sets the greatest Value on the Qualification
which renders them the most amiable in the Eyes of the contrary Sex. Had
Men chosen for themselves, without Regard to the Opinions of the Fair
Sex, I should believe the Choice would have fallen on Wisdom or Virtue;
or had Women determined their own Point of Honour, it is probable that
Wit or Good-Nature would have carried it against Chastity.

Nothing recommends a Man more to the Female Sex than Courage; whether it
be that they are pleased to see one who is a Terror to others fall like
a Slave at their Feet, or that this Quality supplies their own principal
Defect, in guarding them from Insults and avenging their Quarrels, or
that Courage is a natural Indication of a strong and sprightly
Constitution. On the other side, nothing makes a Woman more esteemed by
the opposite Sex than Chastity; whether it be that we always prize those
most who are hardest to come at, or that nothing besides Chastity, with
its collateral Attendants, Truth, Fidelity, and Constancy, gives the Man
a Property in the Person he loves, and consequently endears her to him
above all things.

I am very much pleased with a Passage in the Inscription on a Monument
erected in _Westminster Abbey_ to the late Duke and Dutchess of
_Newcastle:_ 'Her Name was _Margaret Lucas_, youngest Sister to the Lord
_Lucas_ of _Colchester; a noble Family, for all the Brothers were
valiant, and all the Sisters virtuous._

In Books of Chivalry, where the Point of Honour is strained to Madness,
the whole Story runs on Chastity and Courage. The Damsel is mounted on a
white Palfrey, as an Emblem of her Innocence; and, to avoid Scandal,
must have a Dwarf for her Page. She is not to think of a Man, 'till some
Misfortune has brought a Knight-Errant to her Relief. The Knight falls
in Love, and did not Gratitude restrain her from murdering her
Deliverer, would die at her Feet by her Disdain. However he must wait
some Years in the Desart, before her Virgin Heart can think of a
Surrender. The Knight goes off, attacks every thing he meets that is
bigger and stronger than himself, seeks all Opportunities of being
knock'd on the Head, and after seven Years Rambling returns to his
Mistress, whose Chastity has been attacked in the mean time by Giants
and Tyrants, and undergone as many Tryals as her Lover's Valour.

In _Spain_, where there are still great Remains of this Romantick
Humour, it is a transporting Favour for a Lady to cast an accidental
Glance on her Lover from a Window, tho' it be two or three Stories high;
as it is usual for the Lover to assert his Passion for his Mistress, in
single Combat with a mad Bull.

The great Violation of the Point of Honour from Man to Man, is giving
the Lie. One may tell another he Whores, Drinks, Blasphemes, and it may
pass unresented; but to say he Lies, tho' but in Jest, is an Affront
that nothing but Blood can expiate. The Reason perhaps may be, because
no other Vice implies a want of Courage so much as the making of a Lie;
and therefore telling a man he Lies, is touching him in the most
sensible Part of Honour, and indirectly calling him a Coward. [I cannot
omit under this Head what _Herodotus_ tells us of the ancient
_Persians_, That from the Age of five Years to twenty they instruct
their Sons only in three things, to manage the Horse, to make use of the
Bow, and to speak Truth.]

The placing the Point of Honour in this false kind of Courage, has given
Occasion to the very Refuse of Mankind, who have neither Virtue nor
common Sense, to set up for Men of Honour. An _English_ Peer, [1] who
has not been long dead, used to tell a pleasant Story of a _French_
Gentleman that visited him early one Morning at _Paris_, and after great
Professions of Respect, let him know that he had it in his Power to
oblige him; which in short, amounted to this, that he believed he could
tell his Lordship the Person's Name who justled him as he came out from
the Opera, but before he would proceed, he begged his Lordship that he
would not deny him the Honour of making him his Second. The _English_
Lord, to avoid being drawn into a very foolish Affair, told him, that he
was under Engagements for his two next Duels to a Couple of particular
Friends. Upon which the Gentleman immediately withdrew, hoping his
Lordship would not take it ill if he medled no farther in an Affair from
whence he himself was to receive no Advantage.

The beating down this false Notion of Honour, in so vain and lively a
People as those of _France_, is deservedly looked upon as one of the
most glorious Parts of their present King's Reign. It is pity but the
Punishment of these mischievous Notions should have in it some
particular Circumstances of Shame and Infamy, that those who are Slaves
to them may see, that instead of advancing their Reputations they lead
them to Ignominy and Dishonour.

Death is not sufficient to deter Men who make it their Glory to despise
it, but if every one that fought a Duel were to stand in the Pillory, it
would quickly lessen the Number of these imaginary Men of Honour, and
put an end to so absurd a Practice.

When Honour is a Support to virtuous Principles, and runs parallel with
the Laws of God and our Country, it cannot be too much cherished and
encouraged: But when the Dictates of Honour are contrary to those of
Religion and Equity, they are the greatest Depravations of human Nature,
by giving wrong Ambitions and false Ideas of what is good and laudable;
and should therefore be exploded by all Governments, and driven out as
the Bane and Plague of Human Society.


[Footnote 1: Percy said he had been told that this was William
Cavendish, first Duke of Devonshire, who died in 1707.]

* * * * *

No. 100. Monday, June 25, 1711. Steele.

'Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.'


A man advanced in Years that thinks fit to look back upon his former
Life, and calls that only Life which was passed with Satisfaction and
Enjoyment, excluding all Parts which were not pleasant to him, will find
himself very young, if not in his Infancy. Sickness, Ill-humour, and
Idleness, will have robbed him of a great Share of that Space we
ordinarily call our Life. It is therefore the Duty of every Man that
would be true to himself, to obtain, if possible, a Disposition to be
pleased, and place himself in a constant Aptitude for the Satisfactions
of his Being. Instead of this, you hardly see a Man who is not uneasy in
proportion to his Advancement in the Arts of Life. An affected Delicacy
is the common Improvement we meet with in those who pretend to be
refined above others: They do not aim at true Pleasures themselves, but
turn their Thoughts upon observing the false Pleasures of other Men.
Such People are Valetudinarians in Society, and they should no more come
into Company than a sick Man should come into the Air: If a Man is too
weak to bear what is a Refreshment to Men in Health, he must still keep
his Chamber. When any one in Sir ROGER'S Company complains he is out of
Order, he immediately calls for some Posset-drink for him; for which
reason that sort of People who are ever bewailing their Constitution in
other Places are the Chearfullest imaginable when he is present.

It is a wonderful thing that so many, and they not reckoned absurd,
shall entertain those with whom they converse by giving them the History
of their Pains and Aches; and imagine such Narrations their Quota of the
Conversation. This is of all other the meanest Help to Discourse, and a
Man must not think at all, or think himself very insignificant, when he
finds an Account of his Head-ach answer'd by another's asking what News
in the last Mail? Mutual good Humour is a Dress we ought to appear in
whenever we meet, and we should make no mention of what concerns our
selves, without it be of Matters wherein our Friends ought to rejoyce:
But indeed there are Crowds of People who put themselves in no Method of
pleasing themselves or others; such are those whom we usually call
indolent Persons. Indolence is, methinks, an intermediate State between
Pleasure and Pain, and very much unbecoming any Part of our Life after
we are out of the Nurse's Arms. Such an Aversion to Labour creates a
constant Weariness, and one would think should make Existence it self a
Burthen. The indolent Man descends from the Dignity of his Nature, and
makes that Being which was Rational merely Vegetative: His Life consists
only in the meer Encrease and Decay of a Body, which, with relation to
the rest of the World, might as well have been uninformed, as the
Habitation of a reasonable Mind.

Of this kind is the Life of that extraordinary Couple _Harry Tersett_
and his Lady. _Harry_ was in the Days of his Celibacy one of those pert
Creatures who have much Vivacity and little Understanding; Mrs. _Rebecca
Quickly_, whom he married, had all that the Fire of Youth and a lively
Manner could do towards making an agreeable Woman. The two People of
seeming Merit fell into each other's Arms; and Passion being sated, and
no Reason or good Sense in either to succeed it, their Life is now at a
Stand; their Meals are insipid, and their Time tedious; their Fortune
has placed them above Care, and their Loss of Taste reduced them below
Diversion. When we talk of these as Instances of Inexistence, we do not
mean, that in order to live it is necessary we should always be in
Jovial Crews, or crowned with Chaplets of Roses, as the merry Fellows
among the Ancients are described; but it is intended by considering
these Contraries to Pleasure, Indolence, and too much Delicacy, to shew
that it is Prudence to preserve a Disposition in our selves to receive a
certain Delight in all we hear and see.

This portable Quality of good Humour seasons all the Parts and
Occurrences we meet with, in such a manner, that, there are no Moments
lost; but they all pass with so much Satisfaction, that the heaviest of
Loads (when it is a Load) that of Time, is never felt by us. _Varilas_
has this Quality to the highest Perfection, and communicates it wherever
he appears: The Sad, the Merry, the Severe, the Melancholy, shew a new
Chearfulness when he comes amongst them. At the same time no one can
repeat any thing that _Varilas_ has ever said that deserves Repetition;
but the Man has that innate Goodness of Temper, that he is welcome to
every Body, because every Man thinks he is so to him. He does not seem
to contribute any thing to the Mirth of the Company; and yet upon
Reflection you find it all happened by his being there. I thought it was
whimsically said of a Gentleman, That if _Varilas_ had Wit, it would be
the best Wit in the World. It is certain, when a well-corrected lively
Imagination and good Breeding are added to a sweet Disposition, they
qualify it to be one of the greatest Blessings, as well as Pleasures of

Men would come into Company with ten times the Pleasure they do, if they
were sure of hearing nothing which should shock them, as well as
expected what would please them. When we know every Person that is
spoken of is represented by one who has no ill Will, and every thing
that is mentioned described by one that is apt to set it in the best
Light, the Entertainment must be delicate; because the Cook has nothing
brought to his Hand but what is the most excellent in its Kind.
Beautiful Pictures are the Entertainments of pure Minds, and Deformities
of the corrupted. It is a Degree towards the Life of Angels, when we
enjoy Conversation wherein there is nothing presented but in its
Excellence: and a Degree towards that of Daemons, wherein nothing is
shewn but in its Degeneracy.


* * * * *

No. 101. Tuesday, June 26, 1711. Addison.

'Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Castore Pollux,
Post ingentia facta, Deorum in templa recepti;
Dum terras hominumque colunt genus, aspera bella
Componunt, agros assignant, oppida condunt;
Ploravere suis non respondere favorem
Speratum meritis: ...'


Censure, says a late ingenious Author, _is the Tax a Man pays to the
Publick for being Eminent_. [1] It is a Folly for an eminent Man to
think of escaping it, and a Weakness to be affected with it. All the
illustrious Persons of Antiquity, and indeed of every Age in the World,
have passed through this fiery Persecution. There is no Defence against
Reproach, but Obscurity; it is a kind of Concomitant to Greatness, as
Satyrs and Invectives were an essential Part of a _Roman_ Triumph.

If Men of Eminence are exposed to Censure on one hand, they are as much
liable to Flattery on the other. If they receive Reproaches which are
not due to them, they likewise receive Praises which they do not
deserve. In a word, the Man in a high Post is never regarded with an
indifferent Eye, but always considered as a Friend or an Enemy. For this
Reason Persons in great Stations have seldom their true Characters drawn
till several Years after their Deaths. Their personal Friendships and
Enmities must cease, and the Parties they were engaged in be at an End,
before their Faults or their Virtues can have Justice done them. When
Writers have the least Opportunities of knowing the Truth they are in
the best Disposition to tell it.

It is therefore the Privilege of Posterity to adjust the Characters of
illustrious Persons, and to set Matters right between those Antagonists,
who by their Rivalry for Greatness divided a whole Age into Factions. We
can now allow _Caesar_ to be a great Man, without derogating from
_Pompey_; and celebrate the Virtues of _Cato_, without detracting from
those of _Caesar_. Every one that has been long dead has a due Proportion
of Praise allotted him, in which whilst he lived his Friends were too
profuse and his Enemies too sparing.

According to Sir _Isaac Newton's_ Calculations, the last Comet that made
its Appearance in 1680, imbib'd so much Heat by its Approaches to the
Sun, that it would have been two thousand times hotter than red hot
Iron, had it been a Globe of that Metal; and that supposing it as big as
the Earth, and at the same Distance from the Sun, it would be fifty
thousand Years in cooling, before it recovered its natural Temper. [2]
In the like manner, if an _Englishman_ considers the great Ferment into
which our Political World is thrown at present, and how intensely it is
heated in all its Parts, he cannot suppose that it will cool again in
less than three hundred Years. In such a Tract of Time it is possible
that the Heats of the present Age may be extinguished, and our several
Classes of great Men represented under their proper Characters. Some
eminent Historian may then probably arise that will not write
_recentibus odiis_ (as _Tacitus_ expresses it) with the Passions and
Prejudices of a contemporary Author, but make an impartial Distribution
of Fame among the Great Men of the present Age.

I cannot forbear entertaining my self very often with the Idea of such
an imaginary Historian describing the Reign of _ANNE_ the First, and
introducing it with a Preface to his Reader, that he is now entring upon
the most shining Part of the _English_ Story. The great Rivals in Fame
will then be distinguished according to their respective Merits, and
shine in their proper Points of Light. Such [an [3]] one (says the
Historian) tho' variously represented by the Writers of his own Age,
appears to have been a Man of more than ordinary Abilities, great
Application and uncommon Integrity: Nor was such an one (tho' of an
opposite Party and Interest) inferior to him in any of these Respects.
The several Antagonists who now endeavour to depreciate one another, and
are celebrated or traduced by different Parties, will then have the same
Body of Admirers, and appear Illustrious in the Opinion of the whole
_British_ Nation. The deserving Man, who can now recommend himself to
the Esteem of but half his Countrymen, will then receive the
Approbations and Applauses of a whole Age.

Among the several Persons that flourish in this Glorious Reign, there is
no question but such a future Historian as the Person of whom I am
speaking, will make mention of the Men of Genius and Learning, who have
now any Figure in the _British_ Nation. For my own part, I often flatter
my self with the honourable Mention which will then be made of me; and
have drawn up a Paragraph in my own Imagination, that I fancy will not
be altogether unlike what will be found in some Page or other of this
imaginary Historian.

It was under this Reign, says he, that the SPECTATOR publish'd those
little Diurnal Essays which are still extant. We know very little of
the Name or Person of this Author, except only that he was a Man of a
very short Face, extreamly addicted to Silence, and so great a Lover
of Knowledge, that he made a Voyage to _Grand Cairo_ for no other
Reason, but to take the Measure of a Pyramid. His chief Friend was one
Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY, a whimsical Country Knight, and a _Templar_
whose Name he has not transmitted to us. He lived as a Lodger at the
House of a Widow-Woman, and was a great Humourist in all Parts of his
Life. This is all we can affirm with any Certainty of his Person and
Character. As for his Speculations, notwithstanding the several
obsolete Words and obscure Phrases of the Age in which he lived, we
still understand enough of them to see the Diversions and Characters
of the _English_ Nation in his Time: Not but that we are to make
Allowance for the Mirth and Humour of the Author, who has doubtless
strained many Representations of Things beyond the Truth. For if we
interpret his Words in the literal Meaning, we must suppose that Women
of the first Quality used to pass away whole Mornings at a
Puppet-Show: That they attested their Principles by their _Patches_:
That an Audience would sit out [an [4]] Evening to hear a Dramatical
Performance written in a Language which they did not understand: That
Chairs and Flower-pots were introduced as Actors upon the _British_
Stage: That a promiscuous Assembly of Men and Women were allowed to
meet at Midnight in Masques within the Verge of the Court; with many
Improbabilities of the like Nature. We must therefore, in these and
the like Cases, suppose that these remote Hints and Allusions aimed at
some certain Follies which were then in Vogue, and which at present we
have not any Notion of. We may guess by several Passages in the
_Speculations_, that there were Writers who endeavoured to detract
from the Works of this Author; but as nothing of this nature is come
down to us, we cannot guess at any Objections that could be made to
his Paper. If we consider his Style with that Indulgence which we must
shew to old _English_ Writers, or if we look into the Variety of his
Subjects, with those several Critical Dissertations, Moral Reflections,

The following Part of the Paragraph is so much to my Advantage, and
beyond any thing I can pretend to, that I hope my Reader will excuse me
for not inserting it.


[Footnote 1: Swift.]

[Footnote 2: In his 'Principia', published 1687, Newton says this to
show that the nuclei of Comets must consist of solid matter.]

[Footnote 3: a]

[Footnote 4: a whole]

* * * * *

No. 102. Wednesday, June 27, 1711. Addison.

'... Lusus animo debent aliquando dari,
Ad cogitandum melior ut redeat sibi.'


I do not know whether to call the following Letter a Satyr upon Coquets,
or a Representation of their several fantastical Accomplishments, or
what other Title to give it; but as it is I shall communicate it to the
Publick. It will sufficiently explain its own Intentions, so that I
shall give it my Reader at Length, without either Preface or Postscript.


'Women are armed with Fans as Men with Swords, and sometimes do more
Execution with them. To the end therefore that Ladies may be entire
Mistresses of the Weapon which they bear, I have erected an Academy
for the training up of young Women in the _Exercise of the Fan_,
according to the most fashionable Airs and Motions that are now
practis'd at Court. The Ladies who _carry_ Fans under me are drawn up
twice a-day in my great Hall, where they are instructed in the Use of
their Arms, and _exercised_ by the following Words of Command,

_Handle your Fans,
Unfurl your fans.
Discharge your Fans,
Ground your Fans,
Recover your Fans,
Flutter your Fans._

By the right Observation of these few plain Words of Command, a Woman
of a tolerable Genius, [who [1]] will apply herself diligently to her
Exercise for the Space of but one half Year, shall be able to give her
Fan all the Graces that can possibly enter into that little modish

But to the end that my Readers may form to themselves a right Notion
of this _Exercise_, I beg leave to explain it to them in all its
Parts. When my Female Regiment is drawn up in Array, with every one
her Weapon in her Hand, upon my giving the Word to _handle their
Fans_, each of them shakes her Fan at me with a Smile, then gives her
Right-hand Woman a Tap upon the Shoulder, then presses her Lips with
the Extremity of her Fan, then lets her Arms fall in an easy Motion,
and stands in a Readiness to receive the next Word of Command. All
this is done with a close Fan, and is generally learned in the first

The next Motion is that of _unfurling the Fan_, in which [are [2]]
comprehended several little Flirts and Vibrations, as also gradual and
deliberate Openings, with many voluntary Fallings asunder in the Fan
itself, that are seldom learned under a Month's Practice. This Part of
the _Exercise_ pleases the Spectators more than any other, as it
discovers on a sudden an infinite Number of _Cupids_, [Garlands,]
Altars, Birds, Beasts, Rainbows, and the like agreeable Figures, that
display themselves to View, whilst every one in the Regiment holds a
Picture in her Hand.

Upon my giving the Word to _discharge their Fans_, they give one
general Crack that may be heard at a considerable distance when the
Wind sits fair. This is one of the most difficult Parts of the
_Exercise_; but I have several Ladies with me, who at their first
Entrance could not give a Pop loud enough to be heard at the further
end of a Room, who can now _discharge a Fan_ in such a manner, that it
shall make a Report like a Pocket-Pistol. I have likewise taken care
(in order to hinder young Women from letting off their Fans in wrong
Places or unsuitable Occasions) to shew upon what Subject the Crack of
a Fan may come in properly: I have likewise invented a Fan, with which
a Girl of Sixteen, by the help of a little Wind which is inclosed
about one of the largest Sticks, can make as loud a Crack as a Woman
of Fifty with an ordinary Fan.

When the Fans are thus _discharged_, the Word of Command in course is
to _ground their Fans_. This teaches a Lady to quit her Fan gracefully
when she throws it aside in order to take up a Pack of Cards, adjust a
Curl of Hair, replace a falling Pin, or apply her self to any other
Matter of Importance. This Part of the _Exercise_, as it only consists
in tossing a Fan with an Air upon a long Table (which stands by for
that Purpose) may be learned in two Days Time as well as in a

When my Female Regiment is thus disarmed, I generally let them walk
about the Room for some Time; when on a sudden (like Ladies that look
upon their Watches after a long Visit) they all of them hasten to
their Arms, catch them up in a Hurry, and place themselves in their
proper Stations upon my calling out _Recover your Fans_. This Part of
the _Exercise_ is not difficult, provided a Woman applies her Thoughts
to it.

The _Fluttering of the Fan_ is the last, and indeed the Master-piece
of the whole _Exercise_; but if a Lady does not mis-spend her Time,
she may make herself Mistress of it in three Months. I generally lay
aside the Dog-days and the hot Time of the Summer for the teaching
this Part of the _Exercise_; for as soon as ever I pronounce _Flutter
your Fans_, the Place is fill'd with so many Zephyrs and gentle
Breezes as are very refreshing in that Season of the Year, tho' they
might be dangerous to Ladies of a tender Constitution in any other.

There is an infinite Variety of Motions to be made use of in the
_Flutter of a Fan_. There is the angry Flutter, the modest Flutter,
the timorous Flutter, the confused Flutter, the merry Flutter, and the
amorous Flutter. Not to be tedious, there is scarce any Emotion in the
Mind [which [3]] does not produce a suitable Agitation in the Fan;
insomuch, that if I only see the Fan of a disciplin'd Lady, I know
very well whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes. I have seen a Fan so
very angry, that it would have been dangerous for the absent Lover
[who [3]] provoked it to have come within the Wind of it; and at other
times so very languishing, that I have been glad for the Lady's sake
the Lover was at a sufficient Distance from it. I need not add, that a
Fan is either a Prude or Coquet according to the Nature of the Person
[who [3]] bears it. To conclude my Letter, I must acquaint you that I
have from my own Observations compiled a little Treatise for the use
of my Scholars, entitled _The Passions of the Fan_; which I will
communicate to you, if you think it may be of use to the Publick. I
shall have a general Review on _Thursday_ next; to which you shall be
very welcome if you will honour it with your Presence. _I am_, &c.

_P. S._ I teach young Gentlemen the whole Art of Gallanting a Fan.'

_N. B._ I have several little plain Fans made for this Use, to avoid


[Footnote 1: that]

[Footnote 2: is]

[Footnotes 3: that]

* * * * *

No. 103. Thursday, June 28, 1711. Steele.

'... Sibi quivis
Speret idem frusta sudet frustraque laboret
Ausus idem ...'


My Friend the Divine having been used with Words of Complaisance (which
he thinks could be properly applied to no one living, and I think could
be only spoken of him, and that in his Absence) was so extreamly
offended with the excessive way of speaking Civilities among us, that he
made a Discourse against it at the Club; which he concluded with this
Remark, That he had not heard one Compliment made in our Society since
its Commencement. Every one was pleased with his Conclusion; and as each
knew his good Will to the rest, he was convinced that the many
Professions of Kindness and Service, which we ordinarily meet with, are
not natural where the Heart is well inclined; but are a Prostitution of
Speech, seldom intended to mean Any Part of what they express, never to
mean All they express. Our Reverend Friend, upon this Topick, pointed to
us two or three Paragraphs on this Subject in the first Sermon of the
first Volume of the late Arch-Bishop's Posthumous Works. [1] I do not
know that I ever read any thing that pleased me more, and as it is the
Praise of _Longinus_, that he Speaks of the Sublime in a Style suitable
to it, so one may say of this Author upon Sincerity, that he abhors any
Pomp of Rhetorick on this Occasion, and treats it with a more than
ordinary Simplicity, at once to be a Preacher and an Example. With what
Command of himself does he lay before us, in the Language and Temper of
his Profession, a Fault, which by the least Liberty and Warmth of
Expression would be the most lively Wit and Satyr? But his Heart was
better disposed, and the good Man chastised the great Wit in such a
manner, that he was able to speak as follows.

'... Amongst too many other Instances of the great Corruption and
Degeneracy of the Age wherein we live, the great and general Want of
Sincerity in Conversation is none of the least. The World is grown so
full of Dissimulation and Compliment, that Mens Words are hardly any
Signification of their Thoughts; and if any Man measure his Words by
his Heart, and speak as he thinks, and do not express more Kindness to
every Man, than Men usually have for any Man, he can hardly escape the
Censure of want of Breeding. The old _English_ Plainness and
Sincerity, that generous Integrity of Nature, and Honesty of
Disposition, which always argues true Greatness of Mind and is usually
accompanied with undaunted Courage and Resolution, is in a great
measure lost amongst us: There hath been a long Endeavour to transform
us into Foreign Manners and Fashions, and to bring us to a servile
Imitation of none of the best of our Neighbours in some of the worst
of their Qualities. The Dialect of Conversation is now-a-days so
swelled with Vanity and Compliment, and so surfeited (as I may say) of
Expressions of Kindness and Respect, that if a Man that lived an Age
or two ago should return into the World again he would really want a
Dictionary to help him to understand his own Language, and to know the
true intrinsick Value of the Phrase in Fashion, and would hardly at
first believe at what a low Rate the highest Strains and Expressions
of Kindness imaginable do commonly pass in current Payment; and when
he should come to understand it, it would be a great while before he
could bring himself with a good Countenance and a good Conscience to
converse with Men upon equal Terms, and in their own way.

And in truth it is hard to say, whether it should more provoke our
Contempt or our Pity, to hear what solemn Expressions of Respect and
Kindness will pass between Men, almost upon no Occasion; how great
Honour and Esteem they will declare for one whom perhaps they never
saw before, and how entirely they are all on the sudden devoted to his
Service and Interest, for no Reason; how infinitely and eternally
obliged to him, for no Benefit; and how extreamly they will be
concerned for him, yea and afflicted too, for no Cause. I know it is
said, in Justification of this hollow kind of Conversation, that there
is no Harm, no real Deceit in Compliment, but the Matter is well
enough, so long as we understand one another; _et Verba valent ut
Nummi: Words are like Money_; and when the current Value of them is
generally understood, no Man is cheated by them. This is something, if
such Words were any thing; but being brought into the Account, they
are meer Cyphers. However, it is still a just Matter of Complaint,
that Sincerity and Plainness are out of Fashion, and that our Language
is running into a Lie; that Men have almost quite perverted the use of
Speech, and made Words to signifie nothing, that the greatest part of
the Conversation of Mankind is little else but driving a Trade of
Dissimulation; insomuch that it would make a Man heartily sick and
weary of the World, to see the little Sincerity that is in Use and
Practice among Men.

When the Vice is placed in this contemptible Light, he argues
unanswerably against it, in Words and Thoughts so natural, that any
Man who reads them would imagine he himself could have been the Author
of them.

If the Show of any thing be good for any thing, I am sure Sincerity is
better: for why does any Man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is
not, but because he thinks it good to have such a Quality as he
pretends to? For to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the
Appearance of some real Excellency. Now the best way in the World to
seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be.
Besides, that it is many times as troublesome to make good the
Pretence of a good Quality, as to have it; and if a Man have it not,
it is ten to one but he is discovered to want it; and then all his
Pains and Labour to seem to have it, is lost.

In another Part of the same Discourse he goes on to shew, that all
Artifice must naturally tend to the Disappointment of him that practises

'Whatsoever Convenience may be thought to be in Falshood and
Dissimulation, it is soon over; but the Inconvenience of it is
perpetual, because it brings a Man under an everlasting Jealousie and
Suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks Truth, nor
trusted when perhaps he means honestly. When a Man hath once forfeited
the Reputation of his Integrity, he is set fast, and nothing will then
serve his Turn, neither Truth nor Falshood.'


[Footnote 1: This sermon 'on Sincerity,' from John i. 47, is the last
Tillotson preached. He preached it in 1694, on the 29th of July, and
died, in that year, on the 24th of November, at the age of 64. John
Tillotson was the son of a Yorkshire clothier, and was made Archbishop
of Canterbury in 1691, on the deprivation of William Sancroft for his
refusal to take the oaths to William and Mary.]

* * * * *

No. 104. Friday, June 29, 1711. Steele.

'... Qualis equos Threissa fatigat
Harpalyce ...'


It would be a noble Improvement, or rather a Recovery of what we call
good Breeding, if nothing were to pass amongst us for agreeable which
was the least Transgression against that Rule of Life called Decorum, or
a Regard to Decency. This would command the Respect of Mankind, because
it carries in it Deference to their good Opinion, as Humility lodged in
a worthy Mind is always attended with a certain Homage, which no haughty
Soul, with all the Arts imaginable, will ever be able to purchase.
_Tully_ says, Virtue and Decency are so nearly related, that it is
difficult to separate them from each other but in our Imagination. As
the Beauty of the Body always accompanies the Health of it, so certainly
is Decency concomitant to Virtue: As Beauty of Body, with an agreeable
Carriage, pleases the Eye, and that Pleasure consists in that we observe
all the Parts with a certain Elegance are proportioned to each other; so
does Decency of Behaviour which appears in our Lives obtain the
Approbation of all with whom we converse, from the Order, Consistency,
and Moderation of our Words and Actions. This flows from the Reverence
we bear towards every good Man, and to the World in general; for to be
negligent of what any one thinks of you, does not only shew you arrogant
but abandoned. In all these Considerations we are to distinguish how one
Virtue differs from another; As it is the Part of Justice never to do
Violence, it is of Modesty never to commit Offence. In this last
Particular lies the whole Force of what is called Decency; to this
purpose that excellent Moralist above-mentioned talks of Decency; but
this Quality is more easily comprehended by an ordinary Capacity, than
expressed with all his Eloquence. This Decency of Behaviour is generally
transgressed among all Orders of Men; nay, the very Women, tho'
themselves created as it were for Ornament, are often very much mistaken
in this ornamental Part of Life. It would methinks be a short Rule for
Behaviour, if every young Lady in her Dress, Words, and Actions were
only to recommend her self as a Sister, Daughter, or Wife, and make
herself the more esteemed in one of those Characters. The Care of
themselves, with regard to the Families in which Women are born, is the
best Motive for their being courted to come into the Alliance of other
Houses. Nothing can promote this End more than a strict Preservation of
Decency. I should be glad if a certain Equestrian Order of Ladies, some
of whom one meets in an Evening at every Outlet of the Town, would take
this Subject into their serious Consideration; In order thereunto the
following Letter may not be wholly unworthy their Perusal. [1]


'Going lately to take the Air in one of the most beautiful Evenings
this Season has produced, as I was admiring the Serenity of the Sky,
the lively Colours of the Fields, and the Variety of the Landskip
every Way around me, my Eyes were suddenly called off from these
inanimate Objects by a little party of Horsemen I saw passing the
Road. The greater Part of them escaped my particular Observation, by
reason that my whole Attention was fixed on a very fair Youth who rode
in the midst of them, and seemed to have been dressed by some
Description in a Romance. His Features, Complexion, and Habit had a
remarkable Effeminacy, and a certain languishing Vanity appeared in
his Air: His Hair, well curl'd and powder'd, hung to a considerable
Length on his Shoulders, and was wantonly ty'd, as if by the Hands of
his Mistress, in a Scarlet Ribbon, which played like a Streamer behind
him: He had a Coat and Wastecoat of blue Camlet trimm'd and
embroidered with Silver; a Cravat of the finest Lace; and wore, in a
smart Cock, a little Beaver Hat edged with Silver, and made more
sprightly by a Feather. His Horse too, which was a Pacer, was adorned
after the same airy Manner, and seemed to share in the Vanity of the
Rider. As I was pitying the Luxury of this young Person, who appeared
to me to have been educated only as an Object of Sight, I perceived on
my nearer Approach, and as I turned my Eyes downward, a Part of the
Equipage I had not observed before, which was a Petticoat of the same
with the Coat and Wastecoat. After this Discovery, I looked again on
the Face of the fair _Amazon_ who had thus deceived me, and thought
those Features which had before offended me by their Softness, were
now strengthened into as improper a Boldness; and tho' her Eyes Nose
and Mouth seemed to be formed with perfect Symmetry, I am not certain
whether she, who in Appearance was a very handsome Youth, may not be
in Reality a very indifferent Woman.

There is an Objection which naturally presents it self against these
occasional Perplexities and Mixtures of Dress, which is, that they
seem to break in upon that Propriety and Distinction of Appearance in
which the Beauty of different Characters is preserved; and if they
should be more frequent than they are at present, would look like
turning our publick Assemblies into a general Masquerade. The Model of
this _Amazonian_ Hunting-Habit for Ladies, was, as I take it, first
imported from _France_, and well enough expresses the Gaiety of a
People who are taught to do any thing so it be with an Assurance; but
I cannot help thinking it sits awkwardly yet on our _English_ Modesty.
The Petticoat is a kind of Incumbrance upon it, and if the _Amazons_
should think fit to go on in this Plunder of our Sex's Ornaments, they
ought to add to their Spoils, and compleat their Triumph over us, by
wearing the Breeches.

If it be natural to contract insensibly the Manners of those we
imitate, the Ladies who are pleased with assuming our Dresses will do
us more Honour than we deserve, but they will do it at their own
Expence. Why should the lovely _Camilla_ deceive us in more Shapes
than her own, and affect to be represented in her Picture with a Gun
and a Spaniel, while her elder Brother, the Heir of a worthy Family,
is drawn in Silks like his Sister? The Dress and Air of a Man are not
well to be divided; and those who would not be content with the
Latter, ought never to think of assuming the Former. There is so large
a portion of natural Agreeableness among the Fair Sex of our Island,
that they seem betrayed into these romantick Habits without having the
same Occasion for them with their Inventors: All that needs to be
desired of them is, that they would _be themselves_, that is, what
Nature designed them; and to see their Mistake when they depart from
this, let them look upon a Man who affects the Softness and Effeminacy
of a Woman, to learn how their Sex must appear to us, when approaching
to the Resemblance of a Man.

_I am_, SIR,
_Your most humble Servant_.


[Footnote 1: The letter is by John Hughes.]

* * * * *

No. 105. Saturday, June 30, 1711. Addison.

'... Id arbitror
Adprime in vita esse utile, ne quid nimis.'

Ter. And.

My Friend WILL. HONEYCOMB values himself very much upon what he calls
the Knowledge of Mankind, which has cost him many Disasters in his
Youth; for WILL. reckons every Misfortune that he has met with among the
Women, and every Rencounter among the Men, as Parts of his Education,
and fancies he should never have been the Man he is, had not he broke
Windows, knocked down Constables, disturbed honest People with his
Midnight Serenades, and beat up a lewd Woman's Quarters, when he was a
young Fellow. The engaging in Adventures of this Nature WILL. calls the
studying of Mankind; and terms this Knowledge of the Town, the Knowledge
of the World. WILL. ingenuously confesses, that for half his Life his
Head ached every Morning with reading of Men over-night; and at present
comforts himself under certain Pains which he endures from time to time,
that without them he could not have been acquainted with the Gallantries
of the Age. This WILL. looks upon as the Learning of a Gentleman, and
regards all other kinds of Science as the Accomplishments of one whom he
calls a Scholar, a Bookish Man, or a Philosopher.

For these Reasons WILL. shines in mixt Company, where he has the
Discretion not to go out of his Depth, and has often a certain way of
making his real Ignorance appear a seeming one. Our Club however has
frequently caught him tripping, at which times they never spare him. For
as WILL. often insults us with the Knowledge of the Town, we sometimes
take our Revenge upon him by our Knowledge [of [1]] Books.

He was last Week producing two or three Letters which he writ in his
Youth to a Coquet Lady. The Raillery of them was natural, and well
enough for a mere Man of the Town; but, very unluckily, several of the
Words were wrong spelt. WILL. laught this off at first as well as he
could; but finding himself pushed on all sides, and especially by the
_Templar_, he told us, with a little Passion, that he never liked
Pedantry in Spelling, and that he spelt like a Gentleman, and not like a
Scholar: Upon this WILL. had recourse to his old Topick of shewing the
narrow-Spiritedness, the Pride, and Ignorance of Pedants; which he
carried so far, that upon my retiring to my Lodgings, I could not
forbear throwing together such Reflections as occurred to me upon that

A Man [who [2]] has been brought up among Books, and is able to talk of
nothing else, is a very indifferent Companion, and what we call a
Pedant. But, methinks, we should enlarge the Title, and give it every
one that does not know how to think out of his Profession and particular
way of Life.

What is a greater Pedant than a meer Man of the Town? Bar him the
Play-houses, a Catalogue of the reigning Beauties, and an Account of a
few fashionable Distempers that have befallen him, and you strike him
dumb. How many a pretty Gentleman's Knowledge lies all within the Verge
of the Court? He will tell you the Names of the principal Favourites,
repeat the shrewd Sayings of a Man of Quality, whisper an Intreague that
is not yet blown upon by common Fame; or, if the Sphere of his
Observations is a little larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into
all the Incidents, Turns, and Revolutions in a Game of Ombre. When he
has gone thus far he has shown you the whole Circle of his
Accomplishments, his Parts are drained, and he is disabled from any
further Conversation. What are these but rank Pedants? and yet these are
the Men [who [3]] value themselves most on their Exemption from the
Pedantry of Colleges.

I might here mention the Military Pedant who always talks in a Camp, and
is storming Towns, making Lodgments and fighting Battles from one end of
the Year to the other. Every thing he speaks smells of Gunpowder; if you
take away his Artillery from him, he has not a Word to say for himself.
I might likewise mention the Law-Pedant, that is perpetually putting
Cases, repeating the Transactions of _Westminster-Hall_, wrangling with
you upon the most indifferent Circumstances of Life, and not to be
convinced of the Distance of a Place, or of the most trivial Point in
Conversation, but by dint of Argument. The State-Pedant is wrapt up in
News, and lost in Politicks. If you mention either of the Kings of
_Spain_ or _Poland_, he talks very notably; but if you go out of the
_Gazette_, you drop him. In short, a meer Courtier, a meer Soldier, a
meer Scholar, a meer any thing, is an insipid Pedantick Character, and
equally ridiculous.

Of all the Species of Pedants, which I have [mentioned [4]], the
Book-Pedant is much the most supportable; he has at least an exercised
Understanding, and a Head which is full though confused, so that a Man
who converses with him may often receive from him hints of things that
are worth knowing, and what he may possibly turn to his own Advantage,
tho' they are of little Use to the Owner. The worst kind of Pedants
among Learned Men, are such as are naturally endued with a very small
Share of common Sense, and have read a great number of Books without
Taste or Distinction.

The Truth of it is, Learning, like Travelling, and all other Methods of
Improvement, as it finishes good Sense, so it makes a silly Man ten
thousand times more insufferable, by supplying variety of Matter to his
Impertinence, and giving him an Opportunity of abounding in Absurdities.

Shallow Pedants cry up one another much more than Men of solid and
useful Learning. To read the Titles they give an Editor, or Collator of
a Manuscript, you would take him for the Glory of the Commonwealth of
Letters, and the Wonder of his Age, when perhaps upon Examination you
find that he has only Rectify'd a _Greek_ Particle, or laid out a whole
Sentence in proper Commas.

They are obliged indeed to be thus lavish of their Praises, that they
may keep one another in Countenance; and it is no wonder if a great deal
of Knowledge, which is not capable of making a Man wise, has a natural
Tendency to make him Vain and Arrogant.


[Footnote 1: in]

[Footnote 2: that]

[Footnote 3: that]

[Footnote 4: above mentioned]

* * * * *

No. 106. Monday, July 2, 1711. Addison.

'... Hinc tibi Copia
Manabit ad plenum, benigno
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu.'


Having often received an Invitation from my Friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY
to pass away a Month with him in the Country, I last Week accompanied
him thither, and am settled with him for some time at his Country-house,
where I intend to form several of my ensuing Speculations. Sir ROGER,
who is very well acquainted with my Humour, lets me rise and go to Bed
when I please, dine at his own Table or in my Chamber as I think fit,
sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When the
Gentlemen of the Country come to see him, he only shews me at a
Distance: As I have been walking in his Fields I have observed them
stealing a Sight of me over an Hedge, and have heard the Knight desiring
them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at.

I am the more at Ease in Sir ROGER'S Family, because it consists of
sober and staid Persons; for as the Knight is the best Master in the
World, he seldom changes his Servants; and as he is beloved by all about
him, his Servants never care for leaving him; by this means his
Domesticks are all in Years, and grown old with their Master. You would
take his Valet de Chambre for his Brother, his Butler is grey-headed,
his Groom is one of the gravest Men that I have ever seen, and his
Coachman has the Looks of a Privy-Counsellor. You see the Goodness of
the Master even in the old House-dog, and in a grey Pad that is kept in
the Stable with great Care and Tenderness out of Regard to his past
Services, tho' he has been useless for several Years.

I could not but observe with a great deal of Pleasure the Joy that
appeared in the Countenances of these ancient Domesticks upon my
Friend's Arrival at his Country-Seat. Some of them could not refrain
from Tears at the Sight of their old Master; every one of them press'd
forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not
employed. At the same time the good old Knight, with a Mixture of the
Father and the Master of the Family, tempered the Enquiries after his
own Affairs with several kind Questions relating to themselves. This
Humanity and good Nature engages every Body to him, so that when he is
pleasant upon any of them, all his Family are in good Humour, and none
so much as the Person whom he diverts himself with: On the contrary, if
he coughs, or betrays any Infirmity of old Age, it is easy for a
Stander-by to observe a secret Concern in the Looks of all his Servants.

My worthy Friend has put me under the particular Care of his Butler, who
is a very prudent Man, and, as well as the rest of his Fellow-Servants,
wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because they have often heard their
Master talk of me as of his particular Friend.

My chief Companion, when Sir ROGER is diverting himself in the Woods or
the Fields, is a very venerable Man who is ever with Sir ROGER, and has
lived at his House in the Nature of a Chaplain above thirty Years. This
Gentleman is a Person of good Sense and some Learning, of a very regular
Life and obliging Conversation: He heartily loves Sir ROGER, and knows
that he is very much in the old Knight's Esteem, so that he lives in the
Family rather as a Relation than a Dependant.

I have observed in several of my Papers, that my Friend Sir ROGER,
amidst all his good Qualities, is something of an Humourist; 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 it self, so it renders his Conversation
highly agreeable, and more delightful than the same Degree of Sense and
Virtue would appear in their common and ordinary Colours. As I was
walking with him last Night, he asked me how I liked the good Man whom I
have just now mentioned? and without staying for my Answer told me, That
he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own Table;
for which Reason he desired a particular Friend of his at the University
to find him out a Clergyman rather of plain Sense than much Learning, of
a good Aspect, a clear Voice, a sociable Temper, and, if possible, a Man
that understood a little of Back-Gammon.

My Friend, says Sir ROGER, found me out this Gentleman, who, besides
the Endowments [required [2]] of him, is, they tell me, a good
Scholar, tho' he does not shew it. I have given him the Parsonage of
the Parish; and because I know his Value have settled upon him a good
Annuity for Life. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher
in my Esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me
thirty Years; and tho' he does not know I have taken Notice of it, has
never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, tho' he is
every Day solliciting 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 liv'd among them: If any Dispute arises they apply
themselves to him for the Decision; if they do not acquiesce in his
Judgment, which I think never happened above once or twice at most,
they appeal to me. At his first settling with me, I made him a Present
of all the good Sermons [which [3]] have been printed in
_English_, and only begg'd of him that every _Sunday_ he
would pronounce one of them in the Pulpit. Accordingly, he has
digested them into such a Series, that they follov one another
naturally, and make a continued System of practical Divinity.

As Sir ROGER was going on in his Story, the Gentleman we were talking of
came up to us; and upon the Knight's asking him who preached to morrow
(for it was _Saturday_ Night) told us, the Bishop of St. _Asaph_ in the
Morning, and Dr. _South_ in the Afternoon. He then shewed us his List of
Preachers for the whole Year, where I saw with a great deal of Pleasure
Archbishop _Tillotson_, Bishop _Saunderson_, Doctor _Barrow_, Doctor
_Calamy_, [4] with several living Authors who have published Discourses
of Practical Divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable Man in the Pulpit,
but I very much approved of my Friend's insisting upon the
Qualifications of a good Aspect and a clear Voice; for I was so charmed
with the Gracefulness of his Figure and Delivery, as well as with the
Discourses he pronounced, that I think I never passed any Time more to
my Satisfaction. A Sermon repeated after this Manner, is like the
Composition of a Poet in the Mouth of a graceful Actor.

I could heartily wish that more of our Country Clergy would follow this
Example; and instead of wasting their Spirits in laborious Compositions
of their own, would endeavour after a handsome Elocution, and all those
other Talents that are proper to enforce what has been penned by greater
Masters. This would not only be more easy to themselves, but more
edifying to the People.


[Footnote 1: Thomas Tyers in his 'Historical Essay on Mr. Addison'
(1783) first named Sir John Pakington, of Westwood, Worcestershire, as
the original of Sir Roger de Coverley. But there is no real parallel.
Sir John, as Mr. W. H. Wills has pointed out in his delightful annotated
collection of the Sir Roger de Coverley papers, was twice married, a
barrister, Recorder of the City of Worcester, and M. P. for his native
county, in every Parliament but one, from his majority till his death.

The name of Roger of Coverley applied to a 'contre-danse' (i.e. a dance
in which partners stand in opposite rows) Anglicised Country-Dance, was
ascribed to the house of Calverley in Yorkshire, by an ingenious member
thereof, Ralph Thoresby, who has left a MS. account of the family
written in 1717. Mr. Thoresby has it that Sir Roger of Calverley in the
time of Richard I had a harper who was the composer of this tune; his
evidence being, apparently, that persons of the name of Harper had lands
in the neighbourhood of Calverley. Mr. W. Chappell, who repeats this
statement in his 'Popular Music of the Olden Time,' says that in a MS.
of the beginning of the last century, this tune is called 'Old Roger of
Coverlay for evermore. A Lancashire Hornpipe.' In the 'Dancing Master'
of 1696. it is called 'Roger of Coverly.' Mr. Chappell quotes also, in
illustration of the familiar knowledge of this tune and its name in
Addison's time, from 'the History of Robert Powell, the Puppet Showman
(1715),' that

"upon the Preludis being ended, each party fell to bawling and calling
for particular tunes. The hobnail'd fellows, whose breeches and lungs
seem'd to be of the same leather, cried out for 'Cheshire Rounds,
Roger of Coverly'," &c.]

[Footnote 2: I required]

[Footnote 3: that]

[Footnote 4: Archbishop Tillotson's Sermons appeared in 14 volumes,
small 8vo, published at intervals; the first in 1671; the second in
1678; the third in 1682; the fourth in 1694; and the others after his
death in that year. Robert Sanderson, who died in 1663, was a friend of
Laud and chaplain to Charles I., who made him Regius Professor of
Divinity at Oxford. At the Restoration he was made Bishop of Lincoln.
His fame was high for piety and learning. The best edition of his
Sermons was the eighth, published in 1687: Thirty-six Sermons, with Life
by Izaak Walton. Isaac Barrow, Theologian and Mathematician, Cambridge
Professor and Master of Trinity, died in 1677. His Works were edited by
Archbishop Tillotson, and include Sermons that must have been very much
to the mind of Sir Roger de Coverley, 'Against Evil Speaking.' Edmund
Calamy, who died in 1666, was a Nonconformist, and one of the writers of
the Treatise against Episcopacy called, from the Initials of its
authors, Smeetymnuus, which Bishop Hall attacked and John Milton
defended. Calamy opposed the execution of Charles I. and aided in
bringing about the Restoration. He became chaplain to Charles II., but
the Act of Uniformity again made him a seceder. His name, added to the
other three, gives breadth to the suggestion of Sir Roger's orthodoxy.

* * * * *

No. 107. Tuesday, July 3, 1711. Steele.

'AEsopo ingentem statuam posuere Attici,
Servumque collocarunt AEterna in Basi,
Patere honoris scirent ut Cuncti viam.'


The Reception, manner of Attendance, undisturbed Freedom and Quiet,
which I meet with here in the Country, has confirm'd me in the Opinion I
always had, that the general Corruption of Manners in Servants is owing
to the Conduct of Masters. The Aspect of every one in the Family carries
so much Satisfaction, that it appears he knows the happy Lot which has
befallen him in being a Member of it. There is one Particular which I
have seldom seen but at Sir ROGER'S; it is usual in all other Places,
that Servants fly from the Parts of the House through which their Master
is passing; on the contrary, here they industriously place themselves in
his way; and it is on both Sides, as it were, understood as a Visit,
when the Servants appear without calling. This proceeds from the humane
and equal Temper of the Man of the House, who also perfectly well knows
how to enjoy a great Estate, with such Oeconomy as ever to be much
beforehand. This makes his own Mind untroubled, and consequently unapt
to vent peevish Expressions, or give passionate or inconsistent Orders
to those about him. Thus Respect and Love go together; and a certain
Chearfulness in Performance of their Duty is the particular Distinction
of the lower Part of this Family. When a Servant is called before his
Master, he does not come with an Expectation to hear himself rated for
some trivial Fault, threatned to be stripped, or used with any other
unbecoming Language, which mean Masters often give to worthy Servants;
but it is often to know, what Road he took that he came so readily back
according to Order; whether he passed by such a Ground, if the old Man
who rents it is in good Health: or whether he gave Sir ROGER'S Love to
him, or the like.

A Man who preserves a Respect, founded on his Benevolence to his
Dependants, lives rather like a Prince than a Master in his Family; his
Orders are received as Favours, rather than Duties; and the Distinction
of approaching him is Part of the Reward for executing what is commanded
by him.

There is another Circumstance in which my Friend excells in his
Management, which is the Manner of rewarding his Servants: He has ever
been of Opinion, that giving his cast Cloaths to be worn by Valets has a
very ill Effect upon little Minds, and creates a Silly Sense of Equality
between the Parties, in Persons affected only with outward things. I
have heard him often pleasant on this Occasion, and describe a young
Gentleman abusing his Man in that Coat, which a Month or two before was
the most pleasing Distinction he was conscious of in himself. He would
turn his Discourse still more pleasantly upon the Ladies Bounties of
this kind; and I have heard him say he knew a fine Woman, who
distributed Rewards and punishments in giving becoming or unbecoming
Dresses to her Maids.

But my good Friend is above these little Instances of Goodwill, in
bestowing only Trifles on his Servants; a good Servant to him is sure of
having it in his Choice very soon of being no Servant at all. As I
before observed, he is so good an Husband, and knows so thoroughly that
the Skill of the Purse is the Cardinal Virtue of this Life; I say, he
knows so well that Frugality is the Support of Generosity, that he can
often spare a large Fine when a Tenement falls, and give that Settlement
to a good Servant who has a Mind to go into the World, or make a
Stranger pay the Fine to that Servant, for his more comfortable
Maintenance, if he stays in his Service.

A Man of Honour and Generosity considers, it would be miserable to
himself to have no Will but that of another, tho' it were of the best
Person breathing, and for that Reason goes on as fast as he is able to
put his Servants into independent Livelihoods. The greatest Part of Sir
ROGER'S Estate is tenanted by Persons who have served himself or his
Ancestors. It was to me extreamly pleasant to observe the Visitants from
several Parts to welcome his Arrival into the Country: and all the
Difference that I could take notice of between the late Servants who
came to see him, and those who staid in the Family, was that these
latter were looked upon as finer Gentlemen and better Courtiers.

This Manumission and placing them in a way of Livelihood, I look upon as
only what is due to a good Servant, which Encouragement will make his
Successor be as diligent, as humble, and as ready as he was. There is
something wonderful in the Narrowness of those Minds, which can be
pleased, and be barren of Bounty to those who please them.

One might, on this Occasion, recount the Sense that Great Persons in all
Ages have had of the Merit of their Dependants, and the Heroick Services
which Men have done their Masters in the Extremity of their Fortunes;
and shewn to their undone Patrons, that Fortune was all the Difference
between them; but as I design this my Speculation only [as a [1]] gentle
Admonition to thankless Masters, I shall not go out of the Occurrences
of Common Life, but assert it as a general Observation, that I never
saw, but in Sir ROGER'S Family, and one or two more, good Servants
treated as they ought to be. Sir ROGER'S Kindness extends to their
Children's Children, and this very Morning he sent his Coachman's
Grandson to Prentice. I shall conclude this Paper with an Account of a
Picture in his Gallery, where there are many which will deserve my
future Observation.

At the very upper end of this handsome Structure I saw the Portraiture
of two young Men standing in a River, the one naked, the other in a
Livery. The Person supported seemed half dead, but still so much alive
as to shew in his Face exquisite Joy and Love towards the other. I
thought the fainting Figure resembled my Friend Sir ROGER; and looking
at the Butler, who stood by me, for an Account of it, he informed me
that the Person in the Livery was a Servant of Sir ROGER'S, who stood on
the Shore while his Master was swimming, and observing him taken with
some sudden Illness, and sink under Water, jumped in and saved him. He
told me Sir ROGER took off the Dress he was in as soon as he came home,
and by a great Bounty at that time, followed by his Favour ever since,
had made him Master of that pretty Seat which we saw at a distance as we
came to this House. I remember'd indeed Sir ROGER said there lived a
very worthy Gentleman, to whom he was highly obliged, without mentioning
anything further. Upon my looking a little dissatisfy'd 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.


[Footnote 1: a]

* * * * *

No. 108. Wednesday, July 4, 1711. Addison.

'Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens.'


As I was Yesterday Morning walking with Sir ROGER before his House, a
Country-Fellow brought him a huge Fish, which, he told him, Mr. _William
Wimble_ had caught that very Morning; and that he presented it, with his
Service to him, and intended to come and dine with him. At the same Time
he delivered a Letter, which my Friend read to me as soon as the
Messenger left him.

_Sir_ ROGER,

'I desire you to accept of a Jack, which is the best I have caught
this Season. I intend to come and stay with you a Week, and see how
the Perch bite in the _Black River_. I observed with some Concern, the
last time I saw you upon the Bowling-Green, that your Whip wanted a
Lash to it; I will bring half a dozen with me that I twisted last
Week, which I hope will serve you all the Time you are in the Country.
I have not been out of the Saddle for six Days last past, having been
at _Eaton_ with Sir _John's_ eldest Son. He takes to his Learning
hugely. I am,
SIR, Your Humble Servant,
Will. Wimble. [1]'

This extraordinary Letter, and Message that accompanied it, made me very
curious to know the Character and Quality of the Gentleman who sent
them; which I found to be as follows. _Will. Wimble_ is younger Brother
to a Baronet, and descended of the ancient Family of the _Wimbles_. He
is now between Forty and Fifty; but being bred to no Business and born
to no Estate, he generally lives with his elder Brother as
Superintendant 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
extreamly well versed in all the little Handicrafts of an idle Man: He
makes a _May-fly_ to a Miracle; and furnishes the whole Country with
Angle-Rods. As he is a good-natur'd officious Fellow, and very much
esteem'd 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 Poppy between a Couple of Friends that live perhaps in the
opposite Sides of the County. _Will_. is a particular Favourite of all
the young Heirs, whom he frequently obliges with a Net that he has
weaved, or a Setting-dog that he has _made_ himself: He now and then
presents a Pair of Garters of his own knitting to their Mothers or
Sisters; and raises a great deal of Mirth among them, by enquiring as
often as he meets them _how they wear_? These Gentleman-like
Manufactures and obliging little Humours, make _Will_. the Darling of
the Country.

Sir ROGER was proceeding in the Character of him, when we saw him make
up to us with two or three Hazle-Twigs in his Hand that he had cut in
Sir ROGER'S Woods, as he came through them, in his Way to the House. I
was very much pleased to observe on one Side the hearty and sincere
Welcome with which Sir ROGER received him, and on the other, the secret
Joy which his Guest discover'd 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 promis'd such a Present for above this half Year. Sir ROGER'S Back
was no sooner turned but honest _Will._ [began [2]] to tell me of a
large Cock-Pheasant that he had sprung in one of the neighbouring Woods,
with two or three other Adventures of the same Nature. Odd and uncommon
Characters are the Game that I 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 listned to him with more than ordinary Attention.

In the midst of his Discourse the Bell rung to Dinner, where the
Gentleman I have been speaking of had the Pleasure of seeing the huge
Jack, he had caught, served up for the first Dish in a most sumptuous
Manner. Upon our sitting down to it he gave us a long Account how he had
hooked it, played with it, foiled it, and at length drew it out upon the
Bank, with several other Particulars that lasted all the first Course. A
Dish of Wild-fowl that came afterwards furnished Conversation for the
rest of the Dinner, which concluded with a late Invention of _Will's_
for improving the Quail-Pipe.

Upon withdrawing into my Room after Dinner, I was secretly touched with
Compassion towards the honest Gentleman that had dined with us; and
could not but consider with a great deal of Concern, how so good an
Heart and such busy Hands were wholly employed in Trifles; that so much
Humanity should be so little beneficial to others, and so much Industry
so little advantageous to himself. The same Temper of Mind and
Application to Affairs might have recommended him to the publick Esteem,
and have raised his Fortune in another Station of Life. What Good to his
Country or himself might not a Trader or Merchant have done with such
useful tho' ordinary Qualifications?

_Will. Wimble's_ is the Case of many a younger Brother of a great
Family, who had rather see their Children starve like Gentlemen, than
thrive in a Trade or Profession that is beneath their Quality. This

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