The De Coverley Papers

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L.

FOOTNOTES:

[165] _Jointure._ Settlement.

[166] _Engaged._ Pledged.

[167] _Sir Cloudesley Shovel._ Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovel, drowned
off the Scilly Isles, 1707.

[168] _Dr. Busby._ The famous flogging headmaster of Westminster.

[169] _Cecil._ Lord Burleigh, Queen Elizabeth's Lord High Treasurer.

[170] _Forfeit._ Gratuity due for sitting in the chair.

[171] _Pommel._ Part of the hilt.

[172] _Touched for the evil._ The royal touch was regarded as a cure for
scrofula as late as Queen Anne's time.

[173] _Casualties._ Incidents.

NO. 335. TUESDAY, MARCH 25

_Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo
Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces._

HOR. _Ars Poet._ ver. 317.

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

ROSCOMMON.

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we last met together at the club,
told me that he had a great mind to see the new tragedy[174] with me,
assuring me at the same time, that he had not been at a play these twenty
years. "The last I saw," said Sir Roger, "was the _Committee_, which I
should not have gone to neither, had not I been told beforehand that it
was a good Church of England comedy." He then proceeded to inquire of me
who this Distressed Mother was; and upon hearing that she was Hector's
widow, he told me that her husband was a brave man, and that when he was
a schoolboy he had read his life at the end of the dictionary. My friend
asked me, in the next place, if there would not be some danger in coming
home late, in case the Mohocks[175] should be abroad. "I assure you,"
says he, "I thought I had fallen into their hands last night; for I
observed two or three lusty black men that followed me half-way up Fleet
Street, and mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I put on[176]
to get away from them. You must know," continued the Knight with a smile,
"I fancied they had a mind to _hunt_ me; for I remember an honest
gentleman in my neighbourhood, who was served such a trick in King
Charles the Second's time, for which reason he has not ventured himself
in town ever since. I might have shown them very good sport, had this
been their design; for as I am an old fox-hunter, I should have turned
and dodged, and have played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in
their lives before." Sir Roger added, that if these gentlemen had any
such intention, they did not succeed very well in it; "for I threw them
out," says he, "at the end of Norfolk Street, where I doubled the corner,
and got shelter in my lodgings before they could imagine what was become
of me. However," says the Knight, "if Captain Sentry will make one with
us to-morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon me about four
o'clock, that we may be at the house before it is full, I will have my
coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells me he has got the
fore-wheels mended."

The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the appointed hour, bid
Sir Roger fear nothing, for that he had put on the same sword which he
made use of at the battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's servants, and among
the rest my old friend the butler, had, I found, provided themselves with
good oaken plants, to attend their master upon this occasion. When we
had placed him in his coach, with myself at his left hand, the Captain
before him, and his butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we
conveyed him in safety to the play-house, where after having marched up
the entry in good order, the Captain and I went in with him, and seated
him betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house was full, and the candles
lighted, my old friend stood up and looked about him with that pleasure,
which a mind seasoned with humanity[177] naturally feels in itself, at
the sight of a multitude of people who seemed pleased with one another,
and partake of the same common entertainment. I could not but fancy to
myself, as the old man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he made a
very proper centre to a tragic audience. Upon the entering of
Pyrrhus[178], the Knight told me that he did not believe the King of
France himself had a better strut. I was indeed very attentive to my old
friend's remarks, because I looked upon them as a piece of natural
criticism, and was well pleased to hear him, at the conclusion of almost
every scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the play would end.
One while he appeared much concerned for Andromache; and a little while
after as much for Hermione; and was extremely puzzled to think what would
become of Pyrrhus.

When Sir Roger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to her lover's
importunities, he whispered me in the ear, that he was sure she would
never have him; to which he added, with a more than ordinary vehemence,
"You cannot imagine, sir, what it is to have to do with a widow." Upon
Pyrrhus his[179] threatening afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook
his head and muttered to himself, "Ay, do if you can." This part dwelt so
much upon my friend's imagination, that at the close of the third act, as
I was thinking of something else, he whispered me in the ear, "These
widows, sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world. But pray,"
says he, "you that are a critic, is the play according to your dramatic
rules, as you call them? Should your people in tragedy always talk to be
understood? Why, there is not a single sentence in this play that I do
not know the meaning of."

The fourth act very luckily begun before I had time to give the old
gentleman an answer: "Well," says the Knight, sitting down with great
satisfaction, "I suppose we are now to see Hector's ghost." He then
renewed his attention, and, from time to time, fell a praising the widow.
He made, indeed, a little mistake as to one of her pages, whom at his
first entering he took for Astyanax[180]; but quickly set himself right
in that particular, though, at the same time, he owned he should have
been very glad to have seen the little boy, "who," says he, "must needs
be a very fine child by the account that is given of him." Upon
Hermione's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus, the audience gave a loud
clap, to which Sir Roger added, "On my word, a notable young baggage!"

As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness in the audience
during the whole action, it was natural for them to take the opportunity
of the intervals between the acts, to express their opinion of the
players, and of their respective parts. Sir Roger hearing a cluster of
them praise Orestes, struck in with them, and told them, that he thought
his friend Pylades was a very sensible man; as they were afterwards
applauding Pyrrhus, Sir Roger put in a second time: "And let me tell
you," says he, "though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in
whiskers as well as any of them." Captain Sentry seeing two or three
wags, who sat near us, lean with an attentive ear towards Sir Roger, and
fearing lest they should smoke[181] the Knight, plucked him by the elbow,
and whispered something in his ear, that lasted till the opening of the
fifth act. The Knight was wonderfully attentive to the account which
Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his death, and at the conclusion of it, told me
it was such a bloody piece of work, that he was glad it was not done upon
the stage. Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving fit, he grew more than
ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralise (in his way) upon an evil
conscience, adding, that _Orestes, in his madness, looked as if he saw
something_.

As we were the first that came into the house, so we were the last that
went out of it; being resolved to have a clear passage for our old
friend, whom we did not care to venture among the justling of the crowd.
Sir Roger went out fully satisfied with his entertainment, and we guarded
him to his lodging in the same manner that we brought him to the
play-house; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only with the
performance of the excellent piece which had been presented, but with the
satisfaction which it had given to the old man.

L.

FOOTNOTES:

[174] _New tragedy._ _The Distressed Mother_, by Ambrose Phillips.

[175] _Mohocks._ Gangs of rowdies who roamed the streets at night and
assaulted passers-by. See _Spectator_, NO. 324

[176] _Put on._ Put on speed.

[177] _Seasoned with humanity._ Tempered with kindliness.

[178] _Pyrrhus._ Son of Achilles, to whom Hector's widow, Andromache,
had fallen as his share of the plunder of Troy.

[179] _Pyrrhus his._ This use is due to a wrong idea that the possessive
termination is an abbreviation of _his_.

[180] _Astyanax._ Son of Hector and Andromache (and subject of one of
the most touching passages in Homer).

[181] _Smoke._ A slang word, equivalent to the modern _rag_.

NO. 383. TUESDAY, MAY 20

_Criminibus debent hortos._

JUV. _Sat._ i. ver. 75.

A beauteous garden, but by vice maintain'd.

As I was sitting in my chamber and thinking on a subject for my next
_Spectator_, I heard two or three irregular bounces[182] at my landlady's
door, and upon the opening of it, a loud cheerful voice inquiring whether
the Philosopher was at home. The child who went to the door answered very
innocently, that he did not lodge there. I immediately recollected[183]
that it was my good friend Sir Roger's voice; and that I had promised to
go with him on the water to Spring Garden[184], in case it proved a good
evening. The Knight put me in mind of my promise from the bottom of the
staircase, but told me that if I was speculating[185] he would stay below
till I had done. Upon my coming down I found all the children of the
family got about my old friend, and my landlady herself, who is a notable
prating gossip, engaged in a conference with him; being mightily pleased
with his stroking her little boy upon the head, and bidding him be a good
child, and mind his book.

We were no sooner come to the Temple stairs, but we were surrounded with
a crowd of watermen offering us their respective services. Sir Roger,
after having looked about him very attentively, spied one with a wooden
leg, and immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready. As we were
walking towards it, "You must know," says Sir Roger, "I never make use of
any body to row me, that has not either lost a leg or an arm. I would
rather bate him a few strokes of his oar[186] than not employ an honest
man that has been wounded in the Queen's service. If I was a lord or a
bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a fellow in my livery that had
not a wooden leg."

[Illustration: I found all the Children of the Family got about my old
Friend]

My old friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed[187] the boat
with his coachman, who, being a very sober man, always serves for
ballast on these occasions, we made the best of our way for Fox-Hall. Sir
Roger obliged the waterman to give us the history of his right leg, and
hearing that he had left it at La Hogue, with many particulars which
passed in that glorious action, the Knight in the triumph of his heart
made several reflections on the greatness of the British nation; as, that
one Englishman could beat three Frenchmen; that we could never be in
danger of popery so long as we took care of our fleet; that the Thames
was the noblest river in Europe, that London Bridge was a greater piece
of work than any of the seven wonders of the world; with many other
honest prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart of a true
Englishman.

After some short pause, the old Knight turning about his head twice or
thrice, to take a survey of this great metropolis, bid me observe how
thick the city was set with churches, and that there was scarce a single
steeple on this side Temple Bar. "A most heathenish sight!" says Sir
Roger: "there is no religion at this end of the town. The fifty new
churches[188] will very much mend the prospect; but church work is slow,
church work is slow!"

I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned in Sir Roger's character, his
custom of saluting everybody that passes by him with a good-morrow or a
good-night. This the old man does out of the overflowings of his
humanity, though at the same time it renders him so popular among all his
country neighbours, that it is thought to have gone a good way in making
him once or twice knight of the shire[189]. He cannot forbear this
exercise of benevolence even in town, when he meets with any one in his
morning or evening walk. It broke from him to several boats that passed
by us upon the water; but to the Knight's great surprise, as he gave the
good-night to two or three young fellows a little before our landing, one
of them, instead of returning the civility, asked us, what queer old
put[190] we had in the boat? with a great deal of the like Thames
ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but at length
assuming a face of magistracy, told us, "That if he were a Middlesex
justice, he would make such vagrants know that her Majesty's subjects
were no more to be abused by water than by land."

We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at
this time of the year. When I considered the fragrancy of the walks and
bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose
tribe of people that walked under their shades, I could not but look upon
the place as a kind of Mahometan paradise. Sir Roger told me it put him
in mind of a little coppice by his house in the country, which his
chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales. "You must understand,"
says the Knight, "there is nothing in the world that pleases a man in
love so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator! the many moonlight
nights that I have walked by myself, and thought on the widow by the
music of the nightingale!" He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling
into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a
gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bottle of
mead with her? But the Knight, being startled at so unexpected a
familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts of the
widow, told her, "she was a wanton baggage," and bid her go about her
business.

We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale, and a slice of
hung[191] beef. When we had done eating ourselves, the Knight called a
waiter to him, and bid him carry the remainder to the waterman that had
but one leg. I perceived the fellow stared upon him at the oddness of the
message, and was going to be saucy; upon which I ratified the Knight's
commands with a peremptory look.

I.

FOOTNOTES:

[182] _Bounces._ Loud knocks.

[183] _Recollected._ We should now say _recognised_.

[184] _Spring Garden._ At Vauxhall.

[185] _Speculating._ Ruminating.

[186] _Bate him a few strokes of his oar._ Excuse his rowing slowly.

[187] _Trimmed._ Balanced.

[188] _The fifty new churches._ Voted by Parliament in 1711 for the
western suburbs.

[189] _Knight of the shire._ M.P. See p. 44.

[190] _Put._ Rustic, boor.

[191] _Hung._ Salted or spiced.

NO. 517. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 23

_Heu pietas! heu prisca fides!_

VIRG. _AEn._ vi. ver. 878.

Mirror of ancient faith!
Undaunted worth! Inviolable truth!

DRYDEN.

We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which very
sensibly[192] afflicted every one of us. I question not but my readers
themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer
in suspense, Sir Roger de Coverley _is dead_. He departed this life at
his house in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew
Freeport has a letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, that
informs him the old man caught a cold at the country sessions, as he was
very warmly promoting[193] an address of his own penning, in which he
succeeded according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a Whig
justice of peace, who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have
letters both from the chaplain and Captain Sentry, which mention nothing
of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honour of the good old
man. I have likewise a letter from the butler, who took so much care of
me last summer when I was at the Knight's house. As my friend the butler
mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the
others have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of his
letter, without any alteration or diminution.

HONOURED SIR,

Knowing that you was[194] my old master's good friend, I could not
forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which has
afflicted the whole country[195], as well as his poor servants, who
loved him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid he
caught his death the last country sessions, where he would go to
see justice done to a poor widow woman and her fatherless
children, that had been wronged by a neighbouring gentleman; for
you know, Sir, my good master was always the poor man's friend.
Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he had
lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin,
which was served up according to custom; and you know he used to
take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and
worse, but still kept a good heart to the last. Indeed we were once
in great hope of his recovery, upon a kind message that was sent
him from the Widow Lady whom he had made love to the forty last
years of his life; but this only proved a lightning[196] before
death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a
great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with
jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his mother: he has
bequeathed the fine white gelding, that he used to ride a-hunting
upon, to his chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him;
and has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the
chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It being
a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning, to
every man in the parish, a great frieze coat, and to every woman a
black riding-hood. It was a most moving sight to see him take leave
of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst we
were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are
grown grey-headed in our dear master's service, he has left us
pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon the
remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more in
charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge, and it is
peremptorily[197] said in the parish, that he has left money to
build a steeple to the church; for he was heard to say some time
ago, that if he lived two years longer, Coverley church should have
a steeple to it. The chaplain tells everybody that he made a very
good end, and never speaks of him without tears. He was buried
according to his own directions, among the family of the Coverleys,
on the left hand of his father Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried
by six of his tenants, and the pall held by six of the Quorum: the
whole parish followed the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their
mourning suits, the men in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods.
Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken possession of the
hall-house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw him, a
little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished him
joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to
make a good use of it, and to pay the several legacies, and the
gifts of charity which he told him he had left as quit-rents[198]
upon the estate. The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he
says but little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and
shows great kindnesses to the old house-dog, that you know my poor
master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have
heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my master's
death. He has never joyed himself since; no more has any of us. It
was the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever happened in
Worcestershire. This is all from,

Honoured Sir,
Your most sorrowful servant,
EDWARD BISCUIT.

P.S.--My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book
which comes up to you by the carrier, should be given to Sir Andrew
Freeport, in his name.

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of writing it, gave
us such an idea of our good old friend, that upon the reading of it there
was not a dry eye in the club. Sir Andrew opening the book, found it to
be a collection of Acts of Parliament. There was in particular the Act
of Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand.
Sir Andrew found that they related to two or three points, which he had
disputed with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the club. Sir
Andrew, who would have been merry at such an incident on another
occasion, at the sight of the old man's handwriting burst into tears, and
put the book into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me, that the Knight
has left rings and mourning for every one in the club.

O.

FOOTNOTES:

[192] _Sensibly._ Keenly.

[193] _Promoting._ Urging the adoption of.

[194] _You was._ A common seventeenth-century use with the singular
_you_.

[195] _Country._ Country-side.

[196] _Lightning._ Last flash of life (quotation from Shakespeare).

[197] _Peremptorily._ Confidently.

[198] _Quit-rents._ Charges on the estate.

[Illustration]

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