Produced by Tonya Allen, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE COVERLEY PAPERS
FROM THE 'SPECTATOR'
EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY O. M. MYERS
PREFACE
The following selection comprises all numbers of the _Spectator_
which are concerned with the history or character of Sir Roger de
Coverley, and all those which arise out of the Spectator's visit to his
country house. Sir Roger's name occurs in some seventeen other papers,
but in these he either receives only passing mention, or is introduced
as a speaker in conversations where the real interest is the subject
under discussion. In these his character is well maintained, as, for
example, at the meeting of the club described in _Spectator_ 34,
where he warns the Spectator not to meddle with country squires, but
they add no traits to the portrait we already have of him. No. 129 is
included because it arises naturally out of No. 127, and illustrates the
relation between the town and country. No. 410 has been omitted because
it was condemned by Addison as inconsistent with the character of Sir
Roger, together with No. 544, which is an unconvincing attempt to
reconcile it with the whole scheme. Some of the papers have been
slightly abridged where they would not be acceptable to the taste of a
later age.
The papers are not all signed, but the authorship is never in doubt.
Where signatures are attached, C, L, I, and O are the mark of Addison's
work; R and T of Steele's, and X of Budgell's. [Footnote: _Spectator_
555.]
I have availed myself freely of the references and allusions collected
by former editors, and I have gratefully to acknowledge the help of Miss
G. E. Hadow in reading my introductory essay.
O. M. M.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
COVERLEY PAPERS.
_Spectator_ 1 Addison (C)
" 2 Steele (R)
" 106 Addison (L)
" 107 Steele (R)
" 108 Addison (L)
" 109 Steele (R)
" 110 Addison (L)
" 112 " (L)
" 113 Steele (R)
" 114 " (T)
" 115 Addison (L)
" 116 Budgell (X)
" 117 Addison (L)
" 118 Steele (T)
" 119 Addison (L)
" 120 " (L)
" 121 " (L)
" 122 " (L)
" 123 " (L)
" 125 " (C)
" 126 " (C)
" 127 " (C)
" 128 " (C)
" 129 " (C)
" 130 " (C)
" 131 " (C)
" 132 Steele (T)
" 269 Addison (L)
" 329 " (L)
" 335 Addison (L)
" 359 Budgell (X)
" 383 Addison (I)
" 517 " (O)
NOTES
APPENDIX I. On Coffee-Houses
APPENDIX II. On the Spectator's Acquaintance
APPENDIX III. On the Death of Sir Roger
APPENDIX IV. On the Spectator's Popularity
INDEX
INTRODUCTION
It is necessary to study the work of Joseph Addison in close relation
to the time in which he lived, for he was a true child of his century,
and even in his most distinguishing qualities he was not so much in
opposition to its ideas as in advance of them. The early part of the
eighteenth century was a very middle-aged period: the dreamers of the
seventeenth century had grown into practical men; the enthusiasts of the
century before had sobered down into reasonable beings. We no longer
have the wealth of detail, the love of stories, the delight in the
concrete for its own sake of the Chaucerian and Elizabethan children;
these men seek for what is typical instead of enjoying what is detailed,
argue and illustrate instead of telling stories, observe instead of
romancing. Captain Sentry 'behaved himself with great gallantry in
several sieges' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2.] but the Spectator does
not care for them as Chaucer cares for the battlefields of his Knight.
'One might ... recount' many tales touching on many points in our
speculations, and no child and no Elizabethan would refrain from doing
so, but the Spectator will not 'go out of the occurrences of common
life, but assert it as a general observation.' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 107] He is in perfect harmony with his age, too, in the
intensely rational view which he takes of ghosts [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 110] and witches, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 117] for
it was a period in which men cared very little for things which 'the eye
hath not seen'. In his use of mottoes, again, which are deliberately
sought illustrations for his papers, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 221]
and not the sparks which have fired his train of thought, he is typical
of the period of middle-age in which men amuse themselves with such
academic pastimes. Addison is the very antipodes of the kind of man who
'Loves t' have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind,
Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack'--
_he_ remarks soberly that 'it is very unhappy for a man to be born
in such a stormy and tempestuous season.' [Footnote: _Spectator_
125.] He may not have been a great poet, but he was an exquisite critic
of life; he shared his contemporaries' lack of enthusiasm, but he
possessed a fine discrimination, and those less practical, more
irresponsible qualities would have been merely an incumbrance to the
apostle of good sense and moderation. For when men are young they are
much occupied with the framing of ideals and the search after absolute
truth; as they grow older they generally become more practical; they
accept, more or less, the idea of compromise, and make the best of
things as they are or as they may be made. The age being vicious,
Addison did not betake himself to a monastery, or urge others to do so;
he tried to mend its morals. This was a difficult task. The Puritans,
during their supremacy, had imposed their own severity on others; and
now the Court party was revenging itself by indulging in extreme
licentiousness. Its amusements were cruel and vicious, and the Puritans
did nothing to improve them, but denounced them altogether and held
themselves aloof. It was Addison's task to refine the taste of his
contemporaries and to widen their outlook, so that the Puritan and the
man of the world might find a common ground on which to meet and to
learn each from the other; it was his endeavour 'to enliven morality
with wit, and to temper wit with morality ... till I have recovered them
out of that desperate state of vice and folly into which the age is
fallen. [Footnote: _Spectator_ 10.] It was a happy thing for that
and for all succeeding ages that a man of Addison's character and genius
was ready to undertake the work. He was well versed in the pleasures of
society and letters, but his delicate taste could not be gratified by
the ordinary amusements of the town. He treated life as an art capable
of affording the artist abundant pleasure, but he recognized goodness as
a necessary condition of this pleasure. He was the most popular man of
his day; even Swift said that if Addison had wished to be king people
could hardly have refused him; [Footnote: _Journal to Stella_,
October 12, 1710.] and the qualities which endeared him to his friends
were exactly of the kind to enable him to hold the mean between the
bigots and the butterflies, and to dictate without giving offence, for
they were humanity and humour, moderation of character, judgment, and a
most sensitive tact. His qualities and his limitations alike appear in
the _Spectator_. For example, he tells us that he wishes that
country clergymen would borrow the sermons of great divines, and devote
all their own efforts to acquiring a good elocution: [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 106.] here we detect the practical moralist and the man
who likes a thing good of its kind, but not the enthusiast. He upholds
the observance of Sunday on account of its social influences rather than
for its religious meaning; [Footnote: _Spectator_ 112.] Swift's
famous Argument against the Abolition of Christianity is only a
satirical exaggeration of this position. The virtues commended in the
_Spectator_ are those which make for the well-being of society--
good sense and dignity, moderation and a sense of fitness, kindness and
generosity. They are to be practised with an eye to their consequences;
even virtues must not be allowed to run wild. Modesty is in itself a
commendable quality, but in Captain Sentry it becomes a fault, because
it interferes with his advancement. [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2.] The
great function of goodness is to promote happiness; when it ceases to do
this it ceases to be goodness.
But the greatest hindrance that an enthusiastic temperament would have
presented to Addison's work is that it would have spoilt his method. His
aim he declared roundly to be 'the advancement of the public weal',
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 1.] but he did not prosecute it in the usual
way. 'A man,' he says, 'may be learned without talking sentences.'
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 4.] He saw much evil, and he laughed at it.
He has tried, he tells us, to 'make nothing ridiculous that is not in
some measure criminal'; [Footnote: _Spectator_ 445.] an enthusiast
could never have met crime with laughter, unless with the corrosive
laughter of a Swift. Addison's humour is perfectly frank and humane;
himself a Whig, he has given us a picture of the Tory Sir Roger which
has been compared to the portrait of our friend Mr. Pickwick. Sir Roger
put to silence and confusion by the perversity of the widow and her
confidant, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 113.] congratulating himself on
having been called 'the tamest and most humane of all the brutes in the
country', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 113.] seeking to be reassured that
no trace of his likeness showed through the whiskers of the Saracen's
head, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 122.] puzzled by his doubts concerning
the witch, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 117.] and pleased by the artful
gipsies, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 130.] inviting the guide to the
Abbey to visit him at his lodgings in order to continue their
conversation, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 329.] and shocked by the
discourtesy of the young men on the Thames [Footnote: _Spectator_
383.]--these are pictures drawn by one who laughed at what he loved.
Addison's humour has a 'grave composure' [Footnote: Elwin.] and a
characteristic appearance of simplicity which never cease to delight us.
This was the man; and he found the instrument ready to his hand. There
was now a large educated class in circumstances sufficiently prosperous
to leave them some leisure for society and its enjoyments. The peers and
the country squires were reinforced by the professional men, merchants,
and traders. The political revolution of 1688 had added greatly to the
freedom of the citizens; the cessation of the Civil War, the increased
importance of the colonies, the development of native industries, and
the impulse given to cloth-making and silk-weaving by the settlement of
Flemish and Huguenot workmen in the seventeenth century had encouraged
trade; and the establishment of the Bank of England had been favourable
to mercantile enterprise. We find the _Spectator_ speaking of 'a
trading nation like ours.' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 108.] Addison
realized that it is the way in which men employ their leisure which
really stamps their character; so he provided 'wit with morality' for
their reading, and attempted, through their reading, to refine their
taste and conversation at the theatre, the club, and the coffee-house.
Dunton, Steele, and Defoe had modified the periodical literature of the
day by adding to the newspapers essays on various subjects. The aim of
the _Tatler_ was the same as that of the _Spectator_, but it
had certain disadvantages. The press censorship had been abolished in
1695, but newspapers were excepted from the general freedom of the
Press. A more important disadvantage lay in the character of Steele, who
did not possess the balance and moderation required to edit such an
organ. Unlike Addison, he was not a true son of his century. He was
enthusiastic and impulsive, fertile in invention and sensitive to
emotion. His tenderness and pathos reach heights and depths that Addison
never touches, but he has not Addison's fine perception of events and
motives on the ordinary level of emotion. He could not repress his keen
interest sufficiently to treat of politics in his paper and yet remain
the impartial censor. So the _Tatler_ was dropped, and the
_Spectator_ took its place. This differed from its predecessors in
appearing every day instead of three times a week, and in excluding all
articles of news.
The machinery of the club had been anticipated in 1690 by John Dunton's
Athenian Society, which replied to all questions submitted by readers in
his paper, the _Athenian Mercury._ This was succeeded by the
Scandal Club of Defoe's _Review_, and the well-known club of the
_Tatler_, which met at the Trumpet; [Footnote: _Tatler_ 132]
but the plan of arranging the whole work round the doings of the club is
a new departure in the _Spectator_.
It is in these periodicals that we first find the familiar essay. Its
only predecessors are such serious essays as those of Bacon, Cowley, and
Temple, the turgid paragraphs of Shaftesbury, the vigorous but crude and
rough papers of Collier, and the 'characters' of Overbury and Earle.
These 'characters' had always been entirely typical; they were treated
rather from the abstract than from the human point of view, and had no
names or other individualization than that of their character and
calling. In some of the numbers of the Spectator we still find these
'characters' occurring, such as the character of Will Wimble, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 108.] of the honest yeoman, [Footnote: _Spectator_
122.] and of Tom Touchy; [Footnote: _Spectator_ 122.] but they are
surrounded by circumstances peculiar to themselves, and so are much more
highly individualized. The _Tatler_ and the _Spectator_ very
greatly extended the range of essay-writing, and with it the flexibility
of prose style; it is this extension that gives to them their modern
quality. Nothing came amiss: fable, description, vision, gossip,
literary criticism or moral essays, discussion of large questions such
as marriage and education, or of the smaller social amenities--any
subject which would be of interest to a sufficiently large number of
readers would furnish a paper; as Steele wrote at the beginning of the
_Tatler_, 'Quicquid agunt homines nostri libelli farrago.'
Different interests were voiced by the various members of the club, and
the light humorous treatment and an easy style attracted a larger public
than had ever been reached by a single publication. [Footnote: v.
Appendix IV.] The elasticity of the structure enabled Addison to produce
the maximum effect, and to bring into play the full weight of his
character.
The nature of the work was determined throughout by its strongly human
interest. It is significant as standing between the lifeless
'characters' of the seventeenth century and the great development of the
novel. Thackeray calls Addison 'the most delightful talker in the
world', and his essays have precisely the charm of the conversation of a
well-informed and thoughtful man of the world. They are entirely
discursive; he starts with a certain subject, and follows any line of
thought that occurs to him. If he thinks of an anecdote in connexion
with his subject, that goes down; if it suggests to him abstract
speculations or moral reflections he gives us those instead. It is the
capricious chat of a man who likes to talk, not the product of an
imperative need of artistic expression. It is significant that so much
of his work consists of gossip about people. This growing interest in
the individual was leading up to the great eighteenth century novel. It
seems to arise out of a growing sense of identity, a stronger interest
in oneself; there is a common motive at the root of our observation of
other people, of the interest attaching to ordinary actions presented on
the stage, and of the fascination of a reflection or a portrait of
ourselves; by these means we are enabled to some extent to become
detached, and to take an external and impersonal view of ourselves. The
stage had already turned to the representation of contemporary life and
manners; portraiture was increasing in popularity; and the novel was on
its way.
In the Coverley Papers all the characteristic species of the
_Spectator_ are represented except the allegory and the essays in
literary criticism. Steele, who was always full of projects and swift
and spontaneous in invention, wrote the initial description of the club
members, and the characters were sustained by the two friends with
wonderful consistency. Apparently each was mainly responsible for a
certain number of the characters, and Sir Roger was really the property
of Addison, but no one person was strictly monopolized by either. The
papers were written independently, but it is easy to see that the two
authors had an identical conception of their characters. It is true that
the singularity of Sir Roger's behaviour described by Steele in the
first draft of his character is very lightly touched in subsequent
papers, and that, judging by the simplicity of his conduct in town, he
has forgotten very completely the 'fine gentleman' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 2.] period of his life, when, like Master Shallow, he
'heard the chimes at midnight', but these are insignificant details.
Since Sir Roger belongs to Addison, it follows naturally that in the
present selection Addison's share compared with Steele's is larger in
proportion than in the complete _Spectator_, but it would be a
mistake to lose sight of the importance of Steele's part of the work.
Addison was the greater artist, and the balance and shapeliness of his
style enhances the effect of his thought and judgment, but we should be
no less sorry to relinquish Steele's headlong directness and warmth of
feeling. The humorous character sketches of Sir Roger's ancestors
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 109.] are his, and his the passage at arms
between the Quaker and the soldier in the coach--the delightful soldier
of whose remark the _Spectator_ tells us: 'This was followed by a
vain laugh of his own, and a deep silence of all the rest of the
company. I had nothing left for it but to fall fast asleep, which I did
with all speed.' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 132.] His, too, is the
charming little idyll of the huntsman and his Betty, who fears that her
love will drown himself in a stream he can jump across, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 118.] and the whole fragrant story of Sir Roger's
thirty years' attachment to the widow. [Footnote: _Spectator_ 113,
118.] But above all, we must not overlook the fact that without Steele,
as he himself says in his dedication to _The Drummer_, Addison
would never have brought himself to give to the world these familiar,
informal essays. Addison was naturally both cautious and shy; the mask
which Steele invented lent him just the security which he needed, and
the _Spectator_ endures as the monument of a great friendship, a
memorial such as Steele had always desired. [Footnote: _Spectator_
555.]
Steele himself explained the other advantages of the disguise: 'It is
much more difficult to converse with the world in a real than in a
personated character,' he says, both because the moral theory of a man
whose identity is known is exposed to the commentary of his life, and
because 'the fictitious person ... might assume a mock authority without
being looked upon as vain and conceited'. [Footnote: _Spectator_
555.] It is to the influence of this mask that much of the self-
complacent superiority which has been attributed to Addison may be
referred; one 'having nothing to do with men's passions and interests',
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 4.] one 'set to watch the manners and
behaviour of my countrymen and contemporaries,' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 435.] and to extirpate anything 'that shocks modesty
and good manners', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 34.] such a censor was
bound to place himself on a pinnacle above the passions and foibles
which he was to rebuke. Yet occasionally Addison does appear a trifle
self-satisfied. Pope's indictment of his character in the person of
Atticus cannot be entirely set aside. His creed, as implied in
_Spectator_ 115, esteems the welfare of man as the prime end of a
fostering Providence, and such an opinion as this, held steadily without
doubt or struggle, would tend to give a man a strong sense of his own
importance. The superiority of his attitude to women, which, however,
does not appear in the Coverley Papers, is attributable partly to his
office of censor, and partly to their position at the time. This sort of
condescension appears most distinctly in his treatment of animals. He is
far more humane in his feeling for them than are the majority of his
contemporaries, but although he likes to moralize over Sir Roger's
poultry, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 120, 121.] he really looks down on
them from the elevation which a reasonable being must possess over the
creatures of instinct. Yet how does he know so certainly that instinct
is actually inferior to reason?
Addison is essentially a townsman, and his treatment of nature is always
cold. The one passage in these papers which evinces a genuine love of
the country is Steele's description of his enjoyment when he is
strolling in the widow's grove. He is 'ravished with the murmur of
waters, the whisper of breezes, the singing of birds; and whether I
looked up to the heavens, down on the earth, or turned to the prospects
around me, still struck with new sense of pleasure'. [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 118.] The style of the two writers reflects the
qualities of their minds. Addison's writing is fluent, easy, and lucid.
He wrote and corrected with great care, and his words very closely
express his thought. Landor speaks of his prose as a 'cool current of
delight', and Dr. Johnson, in an often quoted passage, calls it 'the
model of the middle style ... always equable and always easy, without
glowing words or pointed sentences.... His page is always luminous, but
never blazes in unexpected splendour. He is never feeble, and he did not
wish to be energetic.... Whoever wishes to attain an English style,
familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his
days and nights to the volumes of Addison.'
Steele was a far more rapid writer, and even grammatical faults are not
infrequent in his papers. He explicitly declares that 'Elegance, purity,
and correctness were not so much my purpose, as in any intelligible
manner as I could to rally all those singularities of human life ...
which obstruct anything that was really good and great'. [Footnote:
Dedication to _The Drummer_.] His style varies with his mood, and
with the degree of his interest. Occasionally it reaches the simple,
rhythmic prose of the passage quoted above, but generally it is somewhat
abrupt and a little toneless. But now and again we find the 'unexpected
splendour' in which Addison is wanting, in phrases like 'a covered
indigence, a magnificent poverty', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 114.] or
in the sparkling antitheses of Sir Roger's description of his ancestors.
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 109.] Yet Steele's claim on our admiration
rests not on the quality of his style, but, as Mr. John Forster has
said, on 'the soul of a sincere man shining through it all'.
The influence of the _Spectator_ was incalculable. Addison
succeeded in his principal object. 'I shall be ambitious to have it said
of me that I have brought philosophy out of closets and libraries,
schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables
and in coffee-houses,' and that I have produced 'such writings as tend
to the wearing out of ignorance, passion, and prejudice'. [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 10.] A glance at the social and literary history of the
next thirty or forty years will reveal how fully this wish was
accomplished. It is true that folly and vice have not yet been wiped off
the face of the earth, but the _Spectator_ turned the tide of
public opinion against them. The fashionable ideal was reversed; virtue
became admirable, and though vice could not be destroyed, it was no
longer suffered to plume itself in the eyes of the world. The
_Spectator_ had delivered virtue from its position of contempt, and
'set up the immoral man as the object of derision'. [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 445.]
The _Spectator_ has also acquired an incidental value from the
passage of time. Addison hints at this in his citations from an
imaginary history of Queen Anne's reign, supposed to be written three
hundred years later. In 'those little diurnal essays which are still
extant'--two-thirds of the time has elapsed, and at present the
_Spectator_ is certainly extant--we are enabled 'to see the
diversions and characters of the English nation in his time.' [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 101.] It is in the literature of a nation that we find
the history of its life and the motives of its deeds.
Finally, the _Spectator_ has a permanent value as a human document.
'Odd and uncommon characters are the game that I look for and most
delight in,' [Footnote: _Spectator_ 103. ] he tells us, but, with
the exception of the sketch of Tom Touchy [Footnote: _Spectator_
122.], none of his persons are lifeless embodiments of a single trait,
like the 'humours' of the early part of the preceding century. Sir
Roger, who 'calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way
upstairs to a visit', [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2.] who is too
delicate to mention that the 'very worthy gentleman to whom he was
highly obliged' was once his footman, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 107.]
who dwells upon the beauty of his lady's hand [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 113.] and can be jealous of Sir David Dundrum
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 359.] after thirty odd years of courtship,
who hardly likes to contemplate being of service to his lady, because of
'giving her the pain of being obliged', [Footnote: _Spectator_
118.] who addresses the court and remarks on the weather to the judge in
order to impress the _Spectator_ and the country, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 122.] who will not own to a mere citizen among his
ancestors, [Footnote: _Spectator_ 109.] and 'very frequently'
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 125.] repeats his old stories--Sir Andrew,
with his joke about the sea and the British common, [Footnote:
_Spectator_ 2.] and his tenderness for his old friend and opponent
[Footnote: _Spectator_ 517.]--the volatile Will Honeycomb, whose
gallantry and care of his person [Footnote: _Spectator_ 2, 359.]
remind us of his successor, Major Pendennis--these are all in their
degree intimate friends or acquaintances, as living in our imagination
and in the actual world now as they were two hundred years ago, and
immortal as everything must be which has once been inspired with the
authentic breath of life.
[Illustration: Reduced facsimile of the original single-page issue.]
ADDISON: COVERLEY PAPERS
No. 1. THURSDAY, MARCH 1, 1710-11.
_Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat._
HOR. Ars Poet. ver. 143.
One with a flash begins, and ends in smoke;
The other out of smoke brings glorious light,
And (without raising expectation high)
Surprises us with dazzling miracles.
ROSCOMMON.
I have observed, that a Reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure,
until he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a
mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other
particulars of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right
understanding of an author. To gratify this curiosity, which is so
natural to a reader, I design this paper and my next as prefatory
discourses to my following writings, and shall give some account in them
of the several persons that are engaged in this work. As the chief
trouble of compiling, digesting, and correcting will fall to my share, I
must do myself the justice to open the work with my own history.
I was born to a small hereditary estate, which, according to the
tradition of the village where it lies, was bounded by the same hedges
and ditches in _William_ the Conqueror's time that it is at
present, and has been delivered down from father to son whole and
entire, without the loss or acquisition of a single field or meadow,
during the space of six hundred years. There runs a story in the family,
that when my mother was gone with child of me about three months, she
dreamt that she was brought to bed of a Judge: Whether this might
proceed from a law-suit which was then depending in the family, or my
father's being a justice of the peace, I cannot determine; for I am not
so vain as to think it presaged any dignity that I should arrive at in
my future life, though that was the interpretation which the
neighbourhood put upon it. The gravity of my behaviour at my very first
appearance in the world, and all the time that I sucked, seemed to
favour my mother's dream: For, as she has often told me, I threw away my
rattle before I was two months old, and would not make use of my coral
until they had taken away the bells from it.
As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it remarkable, I
shall pass it over in silence. I find, that, during my nonage, I had the
reputation of a very sullen youth, but was always a favourite of my
schoolmaster, who used to say, _that my parts were solid, and would
wear well_. I had not been long at the university, before I
distinguished myself by a most profound silence; for during the space of
eight years, excepting in the public exercises of the college, I scarce
uttered the quantity of an hundred words; and indeed do not remember
that I ever spoke three sentences together in my whole life. Whilst I
was in this learned body, I applied myself with so much diligence to my
studies, that there are very few celebrated books, either in the learned
or the modern tongues, which I am not acquainted with.
Upon the death of my father, I was resolved to travel into foreign
countries, and therefore left the university, with the character of an
odd unaccountable fellow, that had a great deal of learning, if I would
but shew it. An insatiable thirst after knowledge carried me into all
the countries of _Europe_, in which there was any thing new or
strange to be seen; nay, to such a degree was my curiosity raised, that
having read the controversies of some great men concerning the
antiquities of _Egypt_, I made a voyage to _Grand Cairo_, on
purpose to take the measure of a pyramid: And, as soon as I had set
myself right in that particular, returned to my native country with
great satisfaction.
I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am frequently seen
in most public places, though there are not above half a dozen of my
select friends that know me; of whom my next paper shall give a more
particular account. There is no place of general resort, wherein I do
not often make my appearance; sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into
a round of politicians at _Will_'s, and listening with great
attention to the narratives that are made in those little circular
audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at _Child_'s, and, whilst I
seem attentive to nothing but the _Postman_, overhear the
conversation of every table in the room. I appear on _Sunday_
nights at _St. James_'s coffee-house, and sometimes join the little
committee of politics in the inner-room, as one who comes there to hear
and improve. My face is likewise very well known at the _Grecian_,
the _Cocoa-Tree_, and in the theatres both of _Drury-Lane_ and
the _Hay-Market_. I have been taken for a merchant upon the
_Exchange_ for above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a
_Jew_ in the assembly of stock-jobbers at _Jonathan_'s: In
short, wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with them,
though I never open my lips but in my own club.
Thus I live in the world rather as a spectator of mankind, than as one
of the species, by which means I have made myself a speculative
statesman, soldier, merchant, and artisan, without ever meddling with
any practical part in life. I am very well versed in the theory of a
husband or a father, and can discern the errors in the oeconomy,
business, and diversion of others, better than those who are engaged in
them; as standers-by discover blots, which are apt to escape those who
are in the game. I never espoused any party with violence, and am
resolved to observe an exact neutrality between the Whigs and Tories,
unless I shall be forced to declare myself by the hostilities of either
side. In short, I have acted in all the parts of my life as a looker-on,
which is the character I intend to preserve in this paper.
I have given the Reader just so much of my history and character, as to
let him see I am not altogether unqualified for the business I have
undertaken. As for other particulars in my life and adventures, I shall
insert them in following papers, as I shall see occasion. In the mean
time, when I consider how much I have seen, read, and heard, I begin to
blame my own taciturnity; and, since I have neither time nor inclination
to communicate the fulness of my heart in speech, I am resolved to do it
in writing, and to print myself out, if possible, before I die. I have
been often told by my friends, that it is pity so many useful
discoveries which I have made should be in the possession of a silent
man. For this reason, therefore, I shall publish a sheet-full of
thoughts every morning, for the benefit of my contemporaries; and if I
can any way contribute to the diversion or improvement of the country in
which I live, I shall leave it, when I am summoned out of it, with the
secret satisfaction of thinking that I have not lived in vain.
There are three very material points which I have not spoken to in this
paper; and which, for several important reasons, I must keep to myself,
at least for some time: I mean, an account of my name, my age, and my
lodgings. I must confess, I would gratify my reader in any thing that is
reasonable; but as for these three particulars, though I am sensible
they might tend very much to the embellishment of my paper, I cannot yet
come to a resolution of communicating them to the public. They would
indeed draw me out of that obscurity which I have enjoyed for many
years, and expose me in public places to several salutes and civilities,
which have been always very disagreeable to me; for the greatest pain I
can suffer, is the being talked to, and being stared at. It is for this
reason likewise, that I keep my complexion and dress as very great
secrets; though it is not impossible, but I may make discoveries of both
in the progress of the work I have undertaken.
After having been thus particular upon myself, I shall, in to-morrow's
paper, give an account of those gentlemen who are concerned with me in
this work; for, as I have before intimated, a plan of it is laid and
concerted (as all other matters of importance are) in a Club. However,
as my friends have engaged me to stand in the front, those who have a
mind to correspond with me, may direct their letters to the SPECTATOR,
at Mr. _Buckley_'s in _Little-Britain_. For I must further
acquaint the Reader, that, though our club meets only on _Tuesdays_
and _Thursdays_, we have appointed a committee to sit every night,
for the inspection of all such papers as may contribute to the
advancement of the public weal. C.
No. 2. FRIDAY, MARCH 2.
_Ast alii sex
Et plures uno conclamant ore._
Juv. Sat. vii. ver. 167.
Six more at least join their consenting voice.
The first of our society is a gentleman of _Worcestershire_, of
ancient descent, a Baronet, his name Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY. His great-
grandfather was inventor of that famous country-dance which is called
after him. All who know that shire are very well acquainted with the
parts and merits of Sir ROGER. He is a gentleman that is very singular
in his behaviour, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, and
are contradictions to the manners of the world, only as he thinks the
world is in the wrong. However this humour creates him no enemies, for
he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being unconfined to
modes and forms, makes him but the readier and more capable to please
and oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in _Soho-
Square_. It is said, he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was
crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him.
Before this disappointment, Sir ROGER was what you call a Fine
Gentleman, had often supped with my Lord _Rochester_ and Sir
_George Etherege_, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and
kicked Bully _Dawson_ in a public coffee-house for calling him
youngster. But being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow, he was very
serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper being naturally
jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself, and never
dressed afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and doublet of the same
cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry
humours, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first
wore it. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, chearful, gay, and hearty;
keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of mankind;
but there is such a mirthful cast in his behaviour, that he is rather
beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his servants look
satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, and the young men
are glad of his company: When he comes into a house he calls the
servants by their names, and talks all the way upstairs to a visit. I
must not omit, that Sir ROGER is a justice of the _Quorum_; that he
fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities, and three
months ago gained universal applause by explaining a passage in the
game-act.
The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us, is another
bachelor, who is a member of the _Inner-Temple_; a man of great
probity, wit, and understanding; but he has chosen his place of
residence rather to obey the direction of an old humoursome father, than
in pursuit of his own inclinations. He was placed there to study the
laws of the land, and is the most learned of any of the house in those
of the stage. _Aristotle_ and _Longinus_ are much better
understood by him than _Littleton_ or _Coke_. The father sends
up every post questions relating to marriage-articles, leases, and
tenures, in the neighbourhood; all which questions he agrees with an
attorney to answer and take care of in the lump. He is studying the
passions themselves, when he should be inquiring into the debates among
men which arise from them. He knows the argument of each of the orations
of _Demosthenes_ and _Tully_, but not one case in the reports
of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but none, except his
intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. This turn makes him
at once both disinterested and agreeable: As few of his thoughts are
drawn from business, they are most of them fit for conversation. His
taste of books is a little too just for the age he lives in; he has read
all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with the customs,
manners, actions, and writings of the ancients, makes him a very
delicate observer of what occurs to him in the present world. He is an
excellent critick, and the time of the play is his hour of business;
exactly at five he passes through _New-Inn_, crosses through
_Russel-Court_, and takes a turn at _Will_'s until the play
begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's
as you go into the _Rose_. It is for the good of the audience when
he is at a play, for the actors have an ambition to please him.
The person of next consideration is Sir ANDREW FREEPORT, a merchant of
great eminence in the city of _London_. A person of indefatigable
industry, strong reason, and great experience. His notions of trade are
noble and generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of
jesting, which would make no great figure were he not a rich man) he
calls the sea the _British Common_. He is acquainted with commerce
in all its parts, and will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous
way to extend dominion by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and
industry. He will often argue, that if this part of our trade were well
cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if another, from
another. I have heard him prove, that diligence makes more lasting
acquisitions than valour, and that sloth has ruined more nations than
the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst which the
greatest favourite is, 'A penny saved is a penny got.' A general trader
of good sense is pleasanter company than a general scholar; and Sir
ANDREW having a natural unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his
discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would in another man. He has
made his fortunes himself; and says that _England_ may be richer
than other kingdoms, by as plain methods as he himself is richer than
other men; though, at the same time, I can say this of him, that there
is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is an
owner.
Next to Sir ANDREW in the club-room sits Captain SENTRY, a gentleman of
great courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty. He is one of
those that deserve very well, but are very aukward at putting their
talents within the observation of such as should take notice of them. He
was some years a captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry in
several engagements, and at several sieges; but having a small estate of
his own, and being next heir to Sir ROGER, he has quitted a way of life
in which no man can rise suitably to his merit, who is not something of
a courtier, as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament, that in
a profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, impudence
should get the better of modesty. When he has talked to this purpose, I
never heard him make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left
the world because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even
regular behaviour, are in themselves obstacles to him that must press
through crowds, who endeavour at the same end with himself, the favour
of a commander. He will however, in his way of talk, excuse generals,
for not disposing according to men's desert, or inquiring into it: For,
says he, that great man who has a mind to help me, has as many to break
through to come at me, as I have to come at him: Therefore he will
conclude, that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military
way, must get over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the
importunity of other pretenders, by a proper assurance in his own
vindication. He says it is a civil cowardice to be backward in asserting
what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in
attacking when it is your duty. With this candour does the gentleman
speak of himself and others. The same frankness runs through all his
conversation. The military part of his life has furnished him with many
adventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the
company; for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to command men
in the utmost degree below him; nor ever too obsequious, from an habit
of obeying men highly above him.
But that our society may not appear a set of humourists, unacquainted
with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have among us the
gallant WILL HONEYCOMB, a gentleman who, according to his years, should
be in the decline of his life, but having ever been very careful of his
person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but a very
little impression, either by wrinkles on his forehead, or traces in his
brain. His person is well turned, of a good height. He is very ready at
that sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. He has
all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits as others do men.
He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the
history of every mode, and can inform you from which of the
_French_ court ladies our wives and daughters had this manner of
curling their hair, that way of placing their hoods, and whose vanity,
to shew her foot, made that part of the dress so short in such a year.
In a word, all his conversation and knowledge have been in the female
world: As other men of his age will take notice to you what such a
minister said upon such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the
Duke of _Monmouth_ danced at court, such a woman was then smitten,
another was taken with him at the head of his troop in the _Park_.
In all these important relations, he has ever about the same time
received a kind glance or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty,
mother of the present Lord such-a-one.
If you speak of a young commoner that said a lively thing in the House,
he starts up, 'He has good blood in his veins, _Tom Mirabell_ begot
him, that rogue cheated me in that affair; that young fellow's mother
used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made advances to.' This
way of talking of his very much enlivens the conversation among us of a
more sedate turn; and I find there is not one of the company, but
myself, who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort of
man who is usually called a well-bred Fine Gentleman. To conclude his
character, where women are not concerned, he is an honest worthy man.
I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am next to speak of, as
one of our company; for he visits us but seldom, but, when he does, it
adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a
very philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and
the most exact good breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak
constitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares and business
as preferments in his function would oblige him to: He is therefore
among divines what a chamber-counsellor is among lawyers. The probity of
his mind, and the integrity of his life, create him followers, as being
eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he
speaks upon; but we are so far gone in years, that he observes when he
is among us, an earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which
he always treats with much authority, as one who has no interests in
this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, and
conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These are my ordinary
companions. R.
No. 106. MONDAY, JULY 2.
_Hinc tibi copia Manabit ad plenum,
benigno Ruris honorum opulenta cornu._
HOR. Od. xvii. 1. i. v. 14.
Here to thee shall plenty flow,
And all her riches show,
To raise the honour of the quiet plain.
CREECH.
Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY
to pass away a month with him in the country, I last week accompanied
him thither, and am settled with him for some time at his country-house,
where I intend to form several of my ensuing Speculations. Sir ROGER,
who is very well acquainted with my humour, lets me rise and go to bed
when I please, dine at his own table or in my chamber as I think fit,
sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When the
gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shews me at a
distance: As I have been walking in his fields, I have observed them
stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and have heard the Knight desiring
them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at.
I am the more at ease in Sir ROGER'S family, because it consists of
sober and staid persons; for, as the Knight is the best master in the
world, he seldom changes his servants; and as he is beloved by all about
him, his servants never care for leaving him; by this means his
domesticks are all in years, and grown old with their master. You would
take his valet de chambre for his brother, his butler is gray-headed,
his groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his
coachman has the looks of a privy-counsellor. You see the goodness of
the master even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in
the stable with great care and tenderness, out of regard to his past
services, though he has been useless for several years.