SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY.

The next is a picture of which I am very fond, and one which has a conspicuous place in my mental gallery. It is the portrait of an old man. The abundant hair, which is lightly tossed back from the broad forehead, is streaked with gray; but the brightness of the dark eye is undimmed. A genial, whimsical smile plays about the mouth; while the kindly feeling, which beams from the whole countenance, indicates a warm, generous heart.

The artist, Joseph Addison, loved this old man dearly, and has told the world all about him, so that it, too, has come to love him.

His name was Sir Roger de Coverley, and he was a rich country baronet of ancient descent. Addison first met him when they were both members of a popular club in London, and the acquaintance thus formed soon ripened into warm friendship. It was not long before he was invited by Sir Roger to visit him in his ancestral home, and it was at this time.

that he became SO well acquainted with the old knight's many virtues and his harmless little oddities.

Coverley Hall was a charming old place, not far away from London; and here Sir Roger lived, respected and beloved by all the country round. There had been a little romance in his early life, which explains why this lovable old man had never married.

When he was about twenty-two years old, he met a pretty young widow, who, by her artful ways, completely captivated his affections. But she had a female confidant, who did not look with favor upon Sir Roger; and, by her mischief-making powers, she prevented the young man from declaring his love to the lady of his heart. This was a heavy blow to Sir Roger; and, from this time, can be dated many of his queer little ways.

But, in spite of his disappointment, the knight had lived very happily all these years in his comfortable home; much more happily, I have no doubt, than if the bewitching widow had been his fireside companion. Indeed, it would have been hard to find a more contented household than that at Coverley Hall.

The old Squire was SO kind to his servants that they had no desire to leave him, and so had grown gray in his service. Looking upon him as their best friend, they gave him a willing and grateful obedience. They were always eager to do him some little kindness, and showed the keenest anxiety when he betrayed any of the infirmities of age. A cozy, happy family they were; loving and sympathetic friends, rather than master and servants.

As I was looking at the pictured face of the dear old man the other evening, and thinking how much I should like to have known him, I fell into a gentle doze, and immediately Somnus1 transported me to Coverley Hall.

There sat Sir Roger in his big arm-chair before a blazing wood fire. He gave me the heartiest of welcomes, when I told him that I was well acquainted with his friend, Addison; and soon we were chatting away, as if we had known each other for years.

"Yes," said he, after we had talked for some time, "I am a bachelor; and it is entirely the fault of the beautiful widow, whom I have known all my life. If it had not been for that troublesome friend of hers, 'Somnus: god of dreams.

I should have told her of my love, and we should have been happy. Ah! she has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world."

While the knight fell to thinking of his old sweetheart, I took a good look at him. There was the same kind face that I had gazed upon so often; but the lines about the mouth were deeper, and the hair more plentifully sprinkled with gray than in my picture. I noticed that the cut of his garments was old-fashioned; and then I remembered to have heard that he had not changed his style of dress, since he was repulsed by the pretty widow.

Wishing to arouse the old knight from his musings I asked him if he had seen his friend, Will Wimble, lately.

"I settled a dispute between him and Tom Touchy the other day," replied Sir Roger; "Tom, you know, is famous for taking the law' of everybody."

"And in whose favor did you decide ?" I said.

"Oh! I gave my usual verdict," and his eye twinkled roguishly, "that much might be said on both sides."

We talked a long time by the glowing fire. He

told me of his visit to London, and how much he enjoyed Westminster Abbey. "That guide," said Sir Roger, "is an extraordinary fellow. Why, his head is packed full of knowledge. I should like to have him here to entertain me these long winter evenings."

"But didn't you go to the theatre?" I asked.

"Oh! yes," he replied, "but there again I was surprised. The play was not at all according to your dramatic rules, as you call them. Do you think that people in tragedy should try to be understood? Why, there wasn't a single sentence in the whole of it that I didn't know the meaning of."

Before I had time to give the old gentleman any answer, he abruptly changed the subject and said: "As it is Sunday evening, would you not like to go with me to hear my chaplain preach? " I told him there was nothing I should like better, and soon we were on our way.

As we went through a certain pleasant walk not far from the house, the old man looked around him with a smile, and said: "This is the place wherein I used to muse upon the perverse widow; and by that custom I can never come into it, but