As I was sitting in my Chamber, and thinking on a Subject for my next
_Spectator_, I heard two or three irregular Bounces at my Landlady's
Door, and upon the opening of it, a loud chearful Voice enquiring
whether the Philosopher was at Home. The Child who went to the Door
answered very Innocently, that he did not lodge there. I immediately
recollected that it was my good Friend Sir ROGER's Voice: and that I
had promised to go with him on the Water to _Spring-Garden_, in case
it proved a good Evening. The Knight put me in mind of my Promise from
the Bottom of the Stair-Case, but told me that if I was Speculating he
would stay below till I had done. Upon my coming down I found all the
Children of the Family got about my old Friend, and my Landlady
herself, who is a notable prating Gossip, engaged in a Conference with
him, being mightily pleased with his stroaking her little Boy upon the
Head, and bidding him be a good Child, and mind his Book.
We were no sooner come to the _Temple_ Stairs, but we were surrounded
with a crowd of Watermen, offering us their respective Services. Sir
Roger, after having looked about him very attentively, spied one with
a Wooden-leg, and immediately gave him Orders to get his Boat ready.
As we were walking towards it, _You must know,_ says Sir Roger, _I
never make use of any Body to row me that has not either lost a Leg or
an Arm. I would rather bate him a few Strokes of his Oar, than not
employ an honest Man that has been wounded in the Queen's Service. If
I was a Lord or a Bishop, and kept a Barge, I would not put a Fellow
in my Livery that had not a Wooden-Leg._
My old Friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed the Boat with
his Coachman, who, being a very sober Man, always serves for Ballast
on these Occasions, we made the best of our way for _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 will very much mend the Prospect; but Church-work
is slow, Church-work is slow!_
I do not remember I have any where mentioned, in Sir Roger's
Character, his Custom of saluting every Body that passes by him with a
Good-morrow, or a Good-night. This the old Man does out of the
Overflowings of his Humanity though at the same time it renders him so
popular among all his Country Neighbours, that it is thought to have
gone a good way in making him once or twice Knight of the Shire. He
cannot forbear this Exercise of Benevolence even in Town, when he
meets with any one in his Morning or Evening Walk. It broke from him
to several Boats that passed by us upon the Water; but, to the
Knight's great Surprize, 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 Putt we had in the
Boat; and whether he was not ashamed to go a Wenching at his Years?
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 walk'd 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 us'd 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 my self, and thought
on the Widow by the Musick of the Nightingale!_ Here he fetch'd a deep
Sigh, and was falling into a Fit of musing, when a Mask, who came
behind him, gave him a gentle Tap upon the Shoulder, and asked him if
he would drink a Bottle of Mead with her? But the Knight being
startled at so unexpected a Familiarity, and displeased to be
interrupted in his Thoughts of the Widow, told her, _She was a wanton
Baggage_, and bid her go about her Business.
We concluded our Walk with a Glass of _Burton-Ale_, and a Slice of
Hung-Beef. When we had done eating our selves, the Knight called a
Waiter to him, and bid him carry the Remainder to the Waterman that
had but one Leg. I perceived the Fellow stared upon him at the Oddness
of the Message, and was going to be saucy; upon which I ratified the
Knight's Commands with a peremptory Look.
As we were going out of the Garden, my old Friend thinking himself
obliged, as a Member of the _Quorum_, to animadvert upon the Morals of
the Place, told the Mistress of the House, who sat at the Bar, That he
should be a better Customer to her Garden, if there were more
Nightingales, and fewer bad Characters.
_Addison._