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, cheerful voice inquiring whether the philosopher was at home. The child who went to the door answered very innocently, 5 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 staircase, but told me 10 that if I was speculating 1 he would stay below till I had done. Upon my coming down, I found all the children of the family got about my old friend, and my landlady herself, who is a notable prating gossip, engaged in a conference with him, being mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy upon 15 the head, and bidding him be a good child, and mind his book.

1

We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs,2 but we were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us their respective services. Sir Roger, after having looked about him 20 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 anybody to row me that has not either lost a leg

1 thinking over a subject. His writings are often called speculations. Cf. 1, 81; 34, 16. 2 The Temple, formerly the home of the Knights Templars, but at this time occupied by two of the Inns of Court, was on the Thames, and had steps going down to the river for those who wished to take boat.

25 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."

30

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 to Vauxhall.1 Sir Roger obliged the waterman to give us the history of his right leg, and hearing that he 35 had left it at La Hogue,2 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 40 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.

45

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 50 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!"

4

I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned, in Sir Roger's character, his custom of saluting everybody that

1 Vauxhall or Spring Gardens was a place of resort throughout the century. It was on the south bank of the river, which had long been a place for popular diversion. Here had stood Shakespeare's theatre, the Globe.

a naval victory over the French in 1692.

that is, on the side toward Westminster.

• An act had been recently passed establishing a number of churches.

passes by him with a good-morrow or a good-night. This 55 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 neighbors, 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, 60 when he meets with any one in the morning or evening walk. It broke from him to several boats that passed by us upon the water; but to the Knight's great surprise, as he gave the good-night to two or three young fellows a little before our landing, one of them, instead of returning the civility, asked 65 us what queer old put we had in the boat, with a great deal of the like Thames ribaldry. Sir Roger seemed a little shocked at first, but at length, assuming a face of magistracy, told us that if he were a Middlesex justice, he would make such vagrants know that Her Majesty's subjects were no more 70 to be abused by water than by land.

We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of year. When I considered the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sang upon the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked 75 under their shades, I could not but look upon the place as a kind of Mahometan paradise. Sir Roger told me it put him in mind of a little coppice by his house in the country, which his chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales. "You must understand," says the Knight, "there is nothing in the 80 world that pleases a man in love so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator! the many moonlight nights that I have walked by myself, and thought on the Widow by the music of the nightingales!" He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came behind 85 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.

1 Cf. 109, 103.

to be interrupted in his thoughts of the Widow, told her she 90 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 ourselves, the Knight called a waiter to him, and bid him carry the remainder to the waterman that had but one leg. I perceived 95 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 animad100 vert 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.

XXXV. THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY.

WE last night received a piece of ill news at our Club, which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de Cov5 erley is dead. He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the county-sessions, as he was very warmly promoting an address of his own pen10 ning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes. Buț

1

this particular comes from a Whig Justice of peace, who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters both from the chaplain and Captain Sentry 2 which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honor of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from 15 the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when I was at the Knight's house. As my friend the butler mentions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the others have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of his letter, without any alteration or diminution.

"Honored Sir,

20

"Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which has afflicted the whole country, as well as his poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did 25 our lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last county sessions, where he would go to see justice done to a poor widow woman, and her fatherless children, that had been wronged by a neighboring gentleman; for you know, sir, my good master was always the poor man's friend. Upon his 30 coming home, the first complaint he made was that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin, which was served up according to custom; and you know he used to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good heart to the 35 last. Indeed we were once in great hope of his recovery, upon a kind message that was sent him from the widow lady whom he had made love to the forty last years of his life; but this only proved a lightening before death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, 40 and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged

1 the idea that Sir Roger was merely looking after his own interests. The butler later gives a different account.

2 already mentioned (2, 104) as heir to Sir Roger.