we 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.

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 is no religion at this end of the town. The fifty new
churches[188] will very much mend the prospect; but church work is slow,
church work is slow!"

I do not remember I have anywhere mentioned in Sir Roger's character, his
custom of saluting everybody that passes by him with a good-morrow or a
good-night. This 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 neighbours, that it is thought to have gone a good way in making
him once or twice knight of the shire[189]. He cannot forbear this
exercise of benevolence even in town, when he meets with any one in his
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 us, what queer old
put[190] 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 to be abused by water than by land."

We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at
this time of the year. When I considered the fragrancy of the walks and
bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose
tribe of people that walked 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 world that pleases a man in
love so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator! the many moonlight