attentive to it. To be short, the knight left the money with her that he had crossed her hand with, and got up again on his horse.

"As we were riding away, Sir Roger told me, that he knew several sensible people who believed these gipsies now and then foretold very strange things; and for half an hour together appeared more jocund than ordinary. In the height of his good-humour, meeting a common beggar upon the road, who was no conjurer, as he went to relieve him he found his pocket was picked; that being a kind of palmistry at which this race of vermin are very dexterous."

The characteristic description of Sir Roger's behaviour at the play seems to have given Fielding the hint for the amusing criticisms of Partridge. The Knight is perhaps more at home in the parish church, and is equally entertaining and delightful.

"As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides himself; for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees any body else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servants to them. Several other of the old knight's particularities break out upon these occasions. Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing of the Psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it; sometimes when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces amen three or four times to the same prayer; and sometimes stands up when every body else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing.

"I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. This John Matthews it seems is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see any thing ridiculous in his behaviour; besides that the general good sense and worthiness of his character make his friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities."

In Sir Roger's manners and remarks at Westminster Abbey, we observe that Addison allows him just sufficient sense to set off his excessive simplicity. His inviting the interpreter to call upon him at his house, and talk over the subject of his explana

tions, is an exquisite stroke of humour, and shows at a glance the singleness of heart and ignorance of the world which are amongst his leading characteristics.

"I must not omit, that the benevolence of my good old friend, which flows out towards every one he converses with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he looked upon as an extraordinary man; for which reason he shook him by the hand at parting, telling him, that he should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in Norfolk-buildings, and talk over these matters with him more at leisure."

The

Let us turn from Sir Roger de Coverley to a kindred spiritSterne's Uncle Toby, who has as much simplicity as Sancho Panza himself, but with an infinitely finer nature. There seems to be in all humour a principle of strong contrast, which causes a painter of manners to throw in his points of opposition as freely as an artist distributes his light and shade upon the canvas. fat and mirthful Falstaff has his foils in Silence and Justice Shallows. The spare knight of La Mancha is set off to advantage by the proximity of Sancho. Sir Roger de Coverley's pleasant sense of his own importance in his county, his cheerful garrulity and his busy benevolence are well opposed to the silence and sensitive modesty of his friend the Spectator; and nothing can be more humorously at variance than the restless and speculative spirit of Mr. Shandy, and the imperturbable temper of my uncle Toby. The calm simplicity with which my uncle confounds his metaphysical brother, with some reply to his fine spun speculations, as far from the point as Falstaff's replies to the Chief Justice, when the knight affected deafness, and which drives the irritable Mr. Shandy into a state of discomfort and confusion that makes him bite his lips with vexation, is inexpressibly diverting. But exquisite as is the humour displayed in the delineation of my uncle Toby's character, it is not the point of the picture that is the most precious. It is his unaffected goodness of nature that leaves the strongest impression on the mind amidst all his amusing eccentricities. His courage and gentleness, his unconscious su

periority to all mankind in purity and tenderness of heart, and his unboastful patience under suffering, are the qualities that so endear him to the reader. It has been well said, that his character is a compliment to human nature. Had his head been equal to his heart, he would have been almost like a god; but it is by no means certain that we should have loved him better. He is the very personification of benevolence. He has not the heart to retaliate upon a fly. Go,' says he, one day at dinner to an overgrown one which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner time," (no small trial of the temper!) "and, which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last; I'll not hurt a hair of thy head: Go,' says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape;- Go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should I hurt thee? This world is surely wide enough to hold both thee and me.' Undoubtedly, this is in the finest spirit of christianity.

Doctor Johnson used to say, that no one would eat a slice of plumb-pudding the less on account of the death or affliction of his dearest friend. Let us see how my uncle Toby receives the statement of the distress of a perfect stranger. This passage occurs in the most pathetic episode that was ever written, the story of Le Fevre.

"Has he a son with him, then? said my uncle Toby.-A boy, replied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age; but the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father; he does nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day. He has not stirred from the bed-side these two days.

"My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and Trim, without being ordered, took away, without saying one word, and, in a few minutes after, brought him his pipe and tobacco."

So again, when Corporal Trim gives an account of the attention of the poor son of Le Fevre to his dying father, how exquisitely true is the feeling which prompted my uncle Toby with

neither sneeze nor cough when I have a mind, nor do other things, which I may do being alone and at liberty. So that, good sir, as to these honours your worship is pleased to confer upon me, as a menial servant, and hanger-on of knight-errantry, being squire to your worship, be pleased to convert them into something of more use and profit to me; for, though I place them to account, as received in full, I renounce them from this time forward to the end of the world.""

The humour and pathos of Sterne are too well known and too highly appreciated to require the aid of criticism to enforce his merit.

SONNET-NATURE.

THE breezy cliff, the softly-swelling hill,
The quiet valley, and the cheerful plain,
The calm romantic lake, the rolling main,

Are now my haunts! Their varied graces fill

My soul with pleasant dreams, and soothe and still
The passions' strife, and fever of the brain.-
Oh! how resistless thy mysterious reign,
Benignant Nature! O'er the sense of ill

Thy smiles have holy power! When the proud glow
Of wild ambition fades, and the world's brow

Grows stern and dark, thy lone but fair domain
Is Sorrow's sweetest home. There cold disdain
Ne'er wakes the tear of unregarded woe,
Nor sickening envy dreads a rival's gain.

fortable; but, it is curious to observe, that Don Quixote is unable to suppress a reference to his position as a gentleman, while my uncle Toby thinks exclusively of the convenience of his faithful adherent. Both servants are disposed to decline availing themselves of their master's kindness, Trim from pure respect, and Sancho Panza with characteristic selfishness and vulgar cunning, because, he thinks he shall enjoy himself better in taking his meals alone :

:

My uncle Toby was one evening getting his supper, with Trim sitting behind him at a small sideboard,—I say, sitting,-for, in consideration of the Corporal's lame knee (which sometimes gave him exquisite pain) when my uncle Toby dined or supped alone, he would never suffer the Corporal to stand; and the poor fellow's veneration for his master was such, that, with a proper artillery, my uncle Toby could have taken Dendermond itself, with less trouble than he was able to gain this point over him; for many a time when my uncle Toby supposed the Corporal's leg was at rest, he would look back, and detect him standing behind him with the most dutifal respect. This bred more little squabbles betwixt them, than all other causes for five-and-twenty years together."

Let us contrast the above with the account of Don Quixote's condescension to his squire in the goatherd's hut. Perhaps in a finer dwelling and in a finer company he would have been less obliging :

"The knight sat down, and Sancho remained standing to serve the cup, which was of horn. His master, seeing him thus stationed, said to him: 'That you may see, Sancho, the intrinsic worth of knight-errantry, and how fair a prospect its meanest retainers have of speedily gaining the respect and esteem of the world, my will is, that you sit here by my side, and in company with these good folks, and that you be one and the same thing with me, who am your master and natural lord; that you eat from off my plate, and drink of the same cup in which I drink for the same may be said of knight-errantry, which is said of love, that it makes all things equal.' 'I give you my most hearty thanks, sir,' said Sancho; but let me tell your worship, that, provided I have victuals enough, I can eat as well, or better, standing, and alone by myself, than if I were seated close by an emperor. And farther, to tell you the truth, what I eat in my corner, without compliments or ceremonies, though it were nothing but bread and an onion, relishes better than turkeys at other folks' tables, where I am forced to chew leisurely, drink little, wipe my mouth often,