are left utterly naked to his fury? Is there no power, no leader, no genius that can conduct and animate us to our death or to our defence? Yes, our great God never gave one to reign by his permission, but he gave to another also to reign by his grace.

All the circumstances of the illustrious life of our prince, seem to have conspired to make him the check and bridle of tyranny: for his mind has been strengthened and confirmed by one continued struggle, and heaven has educated him by adversity to a quick sense of the distresses and miseries of mankind, which he was born to redress; in just scorn of the trivial glories and light ostentations of power, that glorious instrument of Providence moves, like that, in a steady calm, and silent course, independent either of applause or calumny; which renders him, if not in a political, yet in a moral, a philosophic, a heroic, and a christian sense, an absolute monarch; who, satisfied with this unchangeable, just, and ample glory, must needs turn all his regards from himself to the service of others; for he begins his enterprises with his own share in the success of them: for integrity bears in itself its reward; nor can that which depends not on event ever know disappointment.

With the undoubted character of a glorious captain, and (what he much more values than the most splendid titles) that of a sincere and honest man, he is the hope and stay of Europe, an universal good not to be engrossed by us only, for distant potentates implore his friendship, and injured empires court his assistance. He rules the world, not by an invasion of the people of the

earth, but the address of its princes, and if that world should be again roused from the repose which his prevailing arms had given it, why should we not hope that there is an Almighty, by whose influence the terrible enemy that thinks himself prepared for battle, may find he is but ripe for destruction? and that there may be in the womb of time great incidents, which may make the catastrophe of a prosperous life as unfortunate as the particular scenes of it were successful? For there does not want a skilful eye and resolute arm to observe and grasp the occasion: a prince, who from

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 Coverley is dead. He departed this life at his house

*Mr. Addison was so fond of this character, that a little before he laid down the Spectator, (foreseeing that some nimble

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 penning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes. But 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, which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to the honour of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from 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, 1 shall give my reader a copy of his letter, without any alteration or diminution.

HONOURED SIR,

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 our lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last county-sessions, where he would go to see justice

gentleman would catch up his pen the moment he quitted it,) he said to an intimate friend, with a certain warmth in his expression, which he was not often guilty of, "By G, I'll kill Sir Roger, that nobody else may murder him." Accordingly, the whole Spectator, No. 517, consists of nothing else but an account of the old knight's death, and some moving circumstances which attended it.”

done to a poor widow woman, and her fatherless children, that had been wronged by a neighbouring gentleman; for you know, sir, my good master was always the poor man's friend. Upon his 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 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 lightning before death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his mother; he has bequeathed the fine white gelding, that he used to ride a hunting upon to his chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him; and has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning, to every man in the parish, a great frieze coat, and to every woman a black ridinghood. It was a most moving sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left us pensions and legacies which we may live very comfortably upon

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the remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more in charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge: and it is peremptorily said in the parish that he has left money to build a steeple to the church; for he was heard to say some time ago, that if he lived two years longer, Coverley church should have a steeple to it. The chaplain tells every body that he made a very good end, and never speaks of him without tears. He was buried, according to his own directions, among the family of the Coverleys, on the left hand of his father, sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six of his tenants, and the pall held up by six of the quorum: the whole parish followed the corpse with heavy hearts and in their mourning suits, the men in frieze and the women in ridinghoods. Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken possession of the hall house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw him. a little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished him joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several legacies, and the gifts of charity, which he told him he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says but little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and shows great kindness to the old house-dog, that you know my poor master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my master's death. He has never joyed himself since; no more has any of us. was the melancholiest day for the poor people

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