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 com5 pany; when he comes into a house, he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way up stairs to a visit. I must not omit, that Sir Roger is a justice of the quorum; that he fills the chair 10 at a quarter-sessions with great abilities, and three months ago, gained universal applause, by explaining a passage in the game-act. The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of ancient descent, a baronet, his name is Sir Roger de 15 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 20 is a gentleman that is very singular in his behavior, 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. 25 However, this humor 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 30 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 35 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 40 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 45 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 50 time of his repulse, which, in his merry humors, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first wore it. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both 55 in town and country; a great lover of mankind: but there is such a mirthful cast in his behavior, that he is rather 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 humorsome 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 neighborhood; 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 critic, and the time of the play is his hour of business; exactly at five he passes through New Inn, crosses through Russell court, and takes a turn at Will's, till 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. 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 5 expression, but frankly confess that he left the world, because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even regular behavior are in themselves obstacles to him that must press through crowds who 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 10 endeavor at the same end with himself, the favor 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 falsc 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 candor does the gentleman speak of himself and others. The same 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 15 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 na- 20 tion, and if another, from another. I have heard him prove, that diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. He abounds in 25 several frugal maxims, amongst which the greatest favorite is, 'A penny saved is a penny got. A general trader of good sense is pleasanter company than a general scholar; and Sir Andrew hav- 30 frankness runs through all his conversaing 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; tion. 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 and says that England may be richer 35 over-bearing, though accustomed to com than other kingdoms, by as plain methods 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 45 that deserve very well, but are very awkward 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 50 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 55 merit, who is not something of a courtier as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament, that in a profession where mand 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 humorists, 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 on 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 what Frenchwomen our wives and daugh SIR ROGER ON MEN OF PARTS ters had this manner of curling their [No. 6.] 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 5 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 10 danced at court, such a woman was then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of his troop in the Park. For all these important relations, he has ever about the same time received a kind 15 natured, is the source of most of the ill glance or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty, mother of the present lord such-a-one. This way of talking of his very much enlivens the conversation, among us of 20 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 25 his character, where women are not concerned, he is an honest worthy man. I know no evil under the sun so great as the abuse of the understanding, and yet there is no one vice more common. It has diffused itself through both sexes, and all qualities of mankind; and there is hardly that person to be found, who is not more concerned for the reputation of wit and sense, than honesty and virtue. But this unhappy affectation of being wise rather than honest, witty than good habits of life. Such false impressions are owing to the abandoned writings of men of wit, and the awkward imitation of the rest of mankind. For this reason, Sir Roger was saying last night, that he was of opinion that none but men of fine parts deserve to be hanged. The reflections of such men are so delicate upon all occurrences which they are concerned in, that they should be exposed to more than ordinary infamy and punishment, for offending I cannot tell whether I am to account against such quick admonitions as their him whom I am next to speak of, as one of own souls give them, and blunting the our company; for he visits us but seldom, 30 fine edge of their minds in such a manbut when he does, it adds to every man ner, that they are no more shocked at else a new enjoyment of himself. He is vice and folly, than men of slower caa clergyman, a very philosophic man, of pacities. There is no greater monster in general learning, great sanctity of life, being, than a very ill man of great parts. and the most exact good breeding. He 35 He lives like a man in a palsy, with one has the misfortune to be of a very weak side of him dead. While perhaps he enconstitution; and consequently cannot joys the satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, accept of such cares and business as pre- of ambition, he has lost the taste of good ferments in his function would oblige will, of friendship, of innocence. Scarehim to; he is therefore among divines 40 crow, the beggar in Lincoln's-inn-fields. what a chamber-councillor is among who disabled himself in his right leg, and lawyers. The probity of his mind, and asks alms all day to get himself a warm the integrity of his life, create him fol- supper at night, is not half so despicable lowers, as being eloquent or loud ad- a wretch, as such a man of sense. The vances others. He seldom introduces the 45 beggar has no relish above sensations; subject he speaks upon; but we are so he finds rest more agreeable than mofar gone in years that he observes, when tion; and while he has a warm fire, never he is among us, an earnestness to have reflects that he deserves to be whipped. him fall on some divine topic, which he Every man who terminates his satisfacalways treats with much authority, as 50 tions and enjoyments within the supply one who has no interest in this world, as of his own necessities and passions is, one who is hastening to the object of all says Sir Roger, in my eye as poor a rogue his wishes, and conceives hope from his as Scarecrow. But,' continued he, decays and infirmities. These are my the loss of public and private virtue we ordinary companions. 55 are beholden to your men of fine parts forsooth; it is with them no matter what is done, so it be done with an air. But to me who am so whimsical in a corrupt Friday, March 2, 1710-11. for man who appears in public, and whoever does not proceed upon that foundation, injures his country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When modesty ceases to 5 be the chief ornament of one sex, and integrity of the other, society is upon a wrong basis, and we shall be ever after without rules to guide our judgment in what is really becoming and ornamental. 10 Nature and reason direct one thing, passion and humor another. To follow the dictates of these two latter, is going into a road that is both endless and intricate; when we pursue the other, our passage is delightful, and what we aim at easily attainable. ge as to act according to nature and While the honest knight was thus be- I do not doubt but England is at present as polite a nation as any in the world; but any man who thinks can easily see, that the, affectation of being gay and in fashion, has very near eaten up our good sense and our religion. Is there anything so just as that mode and gallantry should be built upon exerting ourselves in what is proper and agreeable to the institutions of justice and piety among us? And yet is there anything more common, than that we run in perfect contradiction to them? All which is supported by no other pretension, than that it is done with what we call a good grace. Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming, but what nature itself should prompt us to think so. Respect to all kinds of superiors is founded, methinks, upon instinct; and yet what is so ridiculous as age? I make this abrupt transition to the mention of this vice, more than any other, in order to introduce a little story, which I think a pretty instance that the most polite age is in danger of being the most vicious. It happened at Athens, during a public representation of some play exhibited in 10r and shame to employ excellent 45 honor of the commonwealth, that an old alties and abundance of wit, to gentleman came too late for a place suitable to his age and quality. Many of the young gentlemen, who observed the difficulty and confusion he was in, made signs to him that they would accommodate him if he came where they sat. The good man bustled through the crowd accordingly; but when he came to the seats to which he was invited, the jest was to sit close and expose him, as he stood out of countenance, to the whole audience. The frolic went round all the Athenian benches. But on those occa sions there were also particular places Wednesday, March 17, 1710-II. [No. 113.] SIR ROGER IN LOVE great circumstance in his life, with an air which I thought raised my idea of him above what I had ever had before; and gave me the picture of that cheerful 5 mind of his, before it received that stroke which has ever since affected his words and actions. But he went on as follows: 'I came to my estate in my twentysecond year, and resolved to follow the steps of the most worthy of my ancestors who have inhabited this spot of earth before me, in all the methods of hospitality and good neighborhood, for the 15 sake of my fame; and in country sports and recreations, for the sake of my health. In my twenty-third year I was obliged to serve as sheriff of the county; and in my servants, officers, and whole equipage, indulged the pleasure of a young man (who did not think ill of his own person) in taking that public occasion of showing my figure and behavior to advantage. You may easily imagine to yourself what appearance I made, who am pretty tall, ride well, and was very well dressed, at the head of a whole county, with music before me, a feather in my hat, and my horse well bitted. I can assure you I was not a little pleased with the kind looks and glances I had from all the balconies and windows as I rode to the hall where the assizes were held. But, when I came there, a beautiful creature in a widow's habit sat in a court to hear the event of a cause concerning her dower. This commanding creature (who was born for the destruction of all who behold her) put on such a resignation in her countenance, and bore the whispers of all around the court with such a pretty uneasiness, I warrant you, and then recovered herself from one eye to another, until she was perfectly confused by meeting something so wistful in all she encountered, that at last, with a murrain to her, she cast her bewitching eye upon me. I no sooner met it but I bowed like In my first description of the com- 20 pany in which I pass most of my time, it may be remembered, that I mentioned a great affliction which my friend Sir Roger had met with in his youth; which was no less than a disappointment in 25 love. It happened this evening, that we fell into a very pleasing walk at a distance from his house. As soon as we came into it, 'It is,' quoth the good old man, looking round him with a smile, 30 very hard, that any part of my land should be settled upon one who has used me so ill as the perverse widow did; and yet I am sure I could not see a sprig of any bough of this whole walk of trees, 35 but I should reflect upon her and her severity. She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world. You are to know, this was the place wherein I used to muse upon her; and by that 40 custom I can never come into it, but the same tender sentiments revive in my mind, as if I had actually walked with that beautiful creature under these shades. I have been fool enough to 45 carve her name on the bark of several of these trees; so unhappy is the condition of men in love, to attempt the removing of their passion by the methods which serve only to imprint it deeper. 50 a great surprised booby; and knowing She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world.' 64 her cause to be the first which came on. I cried, like a captivated calf as I was, Here followed a profound silence; and Make way for the defendant's witI was not displeased to observe my friend nesses.' This sudden partiality made all falling so naturally into a discourse 55 the county immediately see the sheriff which I had ever before taken notice he industriously avoided. After a very long pause, he entered upon an account of this also was become a slave to the fine widow. During the time her cause was upon trial, she behaved herself, I war |