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 will very much mend the Prospect; but Church-work is slow, Church-work is slow!

I do not remember I have any where mentioned, in Sir ROGER’S Character, his Custom of saluting every Body 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.  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 Surprize, 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 we had in the Boat, and whether he was not ashamed to go a Wenching at his Years? with a great deal of the like Thames-Ribaldry.  Sir ROGER seemd 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 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 Moon-light Nights that I have walked by my self, and thought on the Widow by the Musek of the Nightingales!  He here fetched a deep Sigh, and was falling into a Fit of musing, when a Masque, who came behind 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 to be interrupted in his Thoughts of the Widow, told her, She 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 our selves, the Knight called a Waiter to him, and bid him carry the remainder to the Waterman that had but one Leg.  I perceived 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.