“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 hither, and am settled with him for some time at his
country-house. Sir Roger, who is well acquainted with my humor, lets me
rise and go to bed when I please; dine at his own table or in my own
chamber as I see fit; sit still and say nothing without bidding me be
merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shows
me at a distance: as I have been walking in his field 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
domestics are all in years, and grown old with their master. You would
take his valet-de-chambre for his brother; his butler is gray-headed,
his groom is one of the gravest men 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.
“I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy that
appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics upon my
friend’s arrival at his country seat. Some of them could not refrain
from tears at the sight of their old master! every one of them pressed
forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were
not employed. At the same time the old knight, with a mixture of the
father and master of the family, tempered the inquiries after his
own affairs with several kind questions relating to themselves. This
humanity and good nature engages everybody to him, so that, when he is
pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good humour, and none
so much as the person whom he diverts himself with: on the contrary,
if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a
bystander 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 his particular friend.
“My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself in the woods
or in the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever with Sir Roger,
and has lived in 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 dependent.
“I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir Roger,
amidst all his good qualities, is something of a humorist; and that
his virtues, as well as his imperfections, are, as it were, tinged
by a certain extravagance, which makes them particularly his, and
distinguishes them from those of other men. This cast of mind, as it
is generally very innocent in itself, so it renders his conversation
highly agreeable, and more delightful than the same degree of sense
and virtue would appear in their common colours. As I was walking
with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man whom I have
just 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 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 the back-gammon. My friend, says
Sir Roger, found me out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments
required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he does not
show it. I have given him the parsonage of the parish; and, because I
know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he
outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps
he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years; and, though he
does not know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that time
asked anything of me for himself, though he is every day soliciting
me for something in behalf of one or the other of my tenants, his
parishioners. There has not been a law-suit in the parish since he has
lived among them; if any dispute arises they apply themselves to him
for the decision; if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I
think never happened above once or twice at the most, they appeal to
me. At his first settling with me, I made him a present of all the good
sermons which have been printed in English, and only begged of him that
every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly
he has digested them into such a series, that they follow 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
tomorrow, (for it was Saturday night,) told us, the Bishop of St.
Asaph in the morning, and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then showed
us a list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw with a great
deal of pleasure Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Sanderson, Dr. Barrow,
Dr. Calamy, with several living authors who have published discourses
of practical divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the
pulpit, but I very much approved of my friend’s insisting upon the
qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice; for I was so charmed
with the gracefulness of his figure and delivery, as well as with the
discourses he pronounced, that I think I never passed any time more
to my satisfaction. The 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 endeavor 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.”
* * * * *
The peculiar relations between landowner and tenant as pictured by
Addison, seem to be confirmed quite independently by that crusted old
Tory, Sir Jonah Barrington. He writes:
“At the great house all disputes among the tenants were then settled,
quarrels reconciled, old debts arbitrated; a kind Irish landlord
reigned despotic in the ardent affections of the tenantry, their pride
and pleasure being to obey and support him.
“But there existed a happy reciprocity of interest. The landlord of
that period protected the tenant by his influence; any wanton injury to
a tenant being considered as an insult to a landlord; and if either of
the landlord’s sons were grown up, no time was lost by him in demanding
satisfaction from any gentleman, for maltreating even his father’s
blacksmith.
“No gentleman of this degree ever distrained a tenant for rent: indeed
the parties appeared to be quite united and knit together. The greatest
abhorrence, however, prevailed as to tithe protectors, coupled with
no great predilection for the clergy who employed them. These latter
certainly were, in principle and practice, the real country tyrants of
that day, and first caused the assembling of the White Boys.
“I have heard it often said that at the time I speak of, every estated
gentleman in the Queen’s county was _honored_ by the gout. I have since
considered that its extraordinary prevalence was not difficult to be
accounted for, by the disproportionate quantity of acid contained in
their seductive beverage, called rum-shrub, which was then universally
drunk in quantities incredible, generally from supper time till
morning, by all country gentlemen, as they said, to keep down their
claret.
“My grandfather could not refrain, and therefore he suffered well;
he piqued himself on procuring, through the interests of Batty Lodge
(a follower of the family who had married a Dublin grocer’s widow),
the very first importation of oranges and lemons to the Irish capital
every season. Horse loads of these packed boxes, were immediately sent
to the great house of Cullenaghmore; and no sooner did they arrive,
than the good news of _fresh fruit_ was communicated to the colonel’s
neighboring friends, accompanied by the usual invitation.
“Night after night the revel afforded uninterrupted pleasure to the
joyous gentry: the festivity being subsequently renewed at some other
mansion, till the gout thought proper to put the whole party _hors de
combat_; having the satisfaction of making cripples for a few months of
each as he did not kill.
“While the convivials bellowed with only toe or finger agonies, it was
a mere bagatelle; but when Mr. Gout marched up the country, and invaded
the head or the stomach, it was then called _no joke_; and Drogheda
usquebaugh, the hottest distilled drinkable liquor ever invented, was
applied to for aid, and generally drove the tormentor in a few minutes
to his former quarters. It was, indeed, counted specific; and I allude
to it more particularly, as my poor grandfather was finished thereby.
“It was his custom to sit under a very large branching bay-tree in his
armchair, placed in a fine, sunny aspect at the entrance to the garden.
I particularly remember his cloak, for I kept it twelve years after his
death; it was called a _cartouche_ cloak, from a famous French gang
who, it was said, invented it for his gang for the purpose of evasion.
It was made of very fine broadcloth, of a bright blue color on one
side, and a bright scarlet on the other; so that on being turned, it
might deceive even a vigilant pursuer.
“There my grandfather used to sit of a hot sunny day, receive any rents
he could collect, and settle any accounts which his indifference on
that head permitted him to think of.
“At one time he suspected a young rogue of having slipped some money
off his table when paying rent; and therefore, when afterwards the
tenants began to count out their money, he used to throw the focus
of his large reading glass upon their hands: the smart, without any
visible cause, astonished the ignorant creatures! they shook their
hands, and thought it must be the devil who was scorching them. The
priest was let into the secret: he seriously told them all it _was_
the devil, who had mistaken them for the fellow that had stolen the
money from the colonel; but that if he (the priest) was _properly
considered_, he would say as many masses as would bother fifty devils,
were it necessary. The priest got his fee; and another farthing never
was taken from my grandfather.”
* * * * *
Addison is too true an artist to give the impression that his
character, his Sir Roger, is a type of the squire in general. Lightly,
at the close of the essay on Sir Roger at church, he sketches another
sort of man, the country squire full of pride and prejudice, who
like Fielding’s _Squire Western_ in _Tom Jones_, is a good fellow in
the main, but hard, violent, dogmatic. Such a man is like a bull,
headstrong, sometimes offensive, quick to anger, always ready to give
battle. He is like a badly broken horse and ready to rear and kick
at the least sign of opposition to his own will. He will storm and
rage, then, of a sudden there is a change and he is swiftly at the
other extreme. Consider that glorious creation of Fielding’s, _Squire
Western_, a contemporary of Sir Roger.
He is told that _Tom Jones_ has dared to fall in love with his
daughter. Then the storm breaks:
It’s well for ’un I could not get at ’un; I’d a licked ’un; I’d a
spoiled his caterwaulin; I’d ha’ taught the son of a whore to meddle
with meat for his master. He shan’t ever have a morsel o’ meat o’
mine, or a farden to buy it. If she will have ’un, one smock shall be
her portion. I’d sooner give my estate to the sinking fund that it
may be sent to Hanover to corrupt our nation with.
Then, soon, there is the change. He is reconciled to _Tom_. He becomes
as full of love as he was formerly of hate. The marriage shall not be
delayed a day:
To her, boy, to her, go to her. Hath she appointed the day, boy?
What, shall it be tomorrow or the next day? I shan’t be put off a
minute longer than the next day, I am resolved.... I tell thee it’s
all flim flam. Zoodikers! she’d have the wedding tonight with all
her heart. Woulds’t not Sophy?... Where the devil is Allworthy?...
Harkee, Allworthy, I bet thee five pounds to a crown, we have a
boy tomorrow nine months. But prithee, tell me what wut ha? Wut ha
Burgandy, Champagne, or what? For please Jupiter, we’ll make a night
on’t.
Nor again must it be supposed that the picture which Addison gives
of the well kept church is actually representative of the condition
of all church buildings in that day. Sir Roger, interested in his
surroundings, was at no time unwilling to spend time and money on
improvements. Others did not. There was another side to the picture.
Cowper, writing an article for the _Connoiseur_, (No. 26, August 19,
1756) says:
“The ruinous condition of some of these edifices gave me great
offence; and I could not help wishing that the honest vicar, instead
of indulging his genius for improvements, by inclosing his gooseberry
bushes within a Chinese rail, and converting half an acre of his
globe land into a bowling green, would have applied part of his
income to the more laudable purpose of sheltering his parishioners
from the weather, during their attendance on the divine service. It
is no uncommon thing to see the parsonage house well thatched, and in
exceeding good repair, while the church, perhaps, has scarce any other
roof than the ivy that grows upon it. The noise of owls, bats and
magpies, makes the principal part of the church music in many of these
ancient edifices; and the walls, like a large map, seem to be portioned
out into capes, seas and promontories, by the various colors by which
the damps have stained them. Sometimes, the foundation being too weak
to support the steeple any longer, it has been expedient to pull down
that part of the building, and to hang the bells under a wooden shed on
the ground beside it. This is the case in a parish in Norfolk, through
which I lately passed, and where the clerk and the sexton, like the two
figures in St. Dunstan’s, serve the bells in capacity of clappers, by
striking them alternately with a hammer.
“In other churches I have observed that nothing unseemly or ruinous is
to be found, except in the clergyman, and the appendages of his person.
The squire of the parish or his ancestors, perhaps, to testify their
devotion, and leave a lasting memorial of their magnificence, have
adorned the altar piece with the richest crimson velvet, embroidered
with vine leaves and ears of wheat; and have dressed up the pulpit
with the same splendor and expense; while the gentleman who fills it,
is exalted in the midst of all this finery, with a surplice as dirty
as a farmer’s frock, and a periwig that seems to have transferred its
faculty of curling to the band which appears in full buckle beneath it.
“But if I was concerned to see several distressed pastors, as well
as many of our country churches in a tottering condition, I was more
offended with the indecency of worship in others. I could wish that the
clergy would inform their congregations, that there is no occasion to
scream themselves hoarse in making the responses; that the town crier
is not the only person qualified to pray with due devotion; and that he
who bawls the loudest may, nevertheless, be the wickedest fellow in the
parish. The old women, too, in the aisle might be told that their time
would be better employed in attending to the sermon than in fumbling
over their tattered testaments till they have found the text; by which
time the discourse is drawing to its conclusion....
“The good old practice of psalm singing is, indeed, wonderfully
improved in many country churches since the days of Sternhold and
Hopkins; and there is scarce a parish clerk who has so little taste
as not to pick his staves out of the New Version. This has occasioned
great complaints in some places, where the clerk has been forced to
bawl by himself, because the rest of the congregation cannot find the
psalm at the end of the prayer book; while others are highly disgusted
with the innovation, and stick as obstinately to the Old Version as
to the Old Style. The tunes themselves have also been set to jiggish
measures; and the sober drawl, which used to accompany the two first
staves of the 100th psalm with the _Gloria patri_, is now split into
as many quavers as an Italian air. For this purpose there is in every
county an itinerant band of vocal musicians, who make it their business
to go round to all the churches in their turns, and, after a prelude
with the pitch pipe, astonish the audience with hymns set to the new
Winchester measure and anthems of their own composing. As these new
fashioned psalmodists are necessarily made up of young men and maids,
we may naturally suppose that there is a perfect concord and symphony
between them; and, indeed, I have known it happen that these sweet
singers have more than once been brought into disgrace by too close
unison between the thorough bass and the treble.
“... The Squire, like the King, may be styled Head of the Church in
his own parish. If the benifice be in his own gift, the vicar is his
creature, and of consequence entirely at his devotion; or, if the care
of the church be left to a curate, the Sunday fees of roast beef and
plum pudding, and a liberty to shoot in the manor, will bring him as
much under the Squire’s command as his dogs and horses. For this reason
the bell is often kept tolling, and the people waiting in the church
yard an hour longer than the usual time; nor must the service begin
till the Squire has strutted up the aisle, and seated himself in the
great pew in the chancel. The length of the sermon is also measured
by the will of the Squire, as formerly by the hour glass; and I know
one parish where the preacher has always the complaisance to conclude
his discourse, however abruptly, the minute that the Squire gives the
signal, by rising up after his nap....
“... The ladies, immediately on their entrance, breathe a pious
ejaculation through their fan sticks, and the beaux very gravely
address themselves to the haberdasher’s bills glued upon the lining of
their hats....”
* * * * *
One incident of Addison’s boyhood is particularly interesting as
exemplifying the conflict of opinion on matters religious. All pleasure
had been barred under the Puritan rule, and the nation oppressed as
never before under a religious despotism. Then, under Charles II, the
pendulum swung too far in the other direction and sensual pleasure was
exalted into a worship, and impiety into a creed. The aftermath of all
that had its effect.
So we have a key to what follows, taken from an essay by Addison in
_Spectator_ No. 125:
The worthy knight, being but a stripling, had occasion to inquire
which was the way to St. Anne’s Lane, upon which, the person he spoke
to instead of answering his question called him a young Popish cur,
and asked him who made Anne a saint. The boy, in some confusion,
inquired of the next he met which was the way to Anne’s Lane, but was
called a prick ear’d cur, for his pains, and, instead of being shown
the way, was told that she had been a saint before he was born and
would be one after he was hanged. “Upon this,” said Sir Roger, “I did
not see fit to repeat the former question, but going into every lane
of the neighborhood, asked what they called the name of that lane.”
Again in a _Spectator_ of an earlier date, we find a semi-humorous
letter setting forth the troubles of a man, a member of the Established
Church, whose wife has become a dissenter. Thus:
I am one of the most unhappy men that are plagued with a gospel
gossip so common among dissenters (especially friends). Lectures in
the morning, church-meetings at noon, and preparation sermons at
night, take up so much of her time, it is very rare she knows what we
have for dinner, unless when the preacher is to be at it. With him,
come a tribe, all brothers and sisters it seems; while others, really
such, are deemed no relations. If at any time I have her company
alone, she is a mere sermon pop-gun, repeating and discharging texts,
proofs, and applications so perpetually, that however weary I may to
bed, the noise in my head will not let me sleep till toward morning.
The misery of my case, and great numbers of such sufferers, plead
your pity and speedy relief; otherwise, I must expect in a little
time, to be lectured, preached, and prayed into want, unless the
happiness of being sooner talked to death prevent it. I am, etc.,