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THE CONNOISSEUR.

BY MR. TOWN, CRITIC, and CENSOR-GENERAL.

VOL. I.

—Non de villis domibuſve alienis,
Nec male necne Lepos ſaltet; ſed quod magis ad nos
Pertinet, et neſcire malum eſt, agitamus.
HOR.

LONDON: Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row. MDCCLV.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER I. THURSDAY, January 31, 1754.

[]
—Ordine gentis
Mores, et ſtudia, et populos, et praelia dicam.
VIRG.

AS I have aſſumed the character of CENSOR GENERAL, I ſhall follow the example of the old Roman Cenſor; the firſt part of whoſe duty was to review the people, and diſtribute them into their ſeveral Diviſions: I ſhall therefore enter upon my office, by taking a curſory ſurvey of what is uſually called The TOWN. In this I ſhall not confine myſelf to the exact method of a Geographer, but carry the reader from one quarter to another, as it may ſuit my convenience, or beſt contribute to his entertainment.

WHEN a Comedian, celebrated for his excellence in the part of Shylock, firſt undertook that character, he made daily viſits to the center of buſineſs, the 'Change, and the adjacent Coffee-houſes; that by a frequent intercourſe and converſation with ‘"the unforeſkinn'd race,"’ he might habituate himſelf to their air and deportment. A like deſire [2] of penetrating into the moſt ſecret ſprings of action in theſe people, has often led Me there; but I was never more diverted than at Garraway's a few days before the drawing of the lottery. I not only could read Hope, Fear, and all the various paſſions excited by a love of gain, ſtrongly pictured in the faces of thoſe who came to buy; but I remarked with no leſs delight, the many little artifices made uſe of to allure adventurers, as well as the viſible alterations in the looks of the ſellers, according as the demand for tickets gave occaſion to raiſe or lower their price. So deeply were the countenances of theſe Bubble-Brokers impreſſed with an attention to the main chance, and their minds ſeemed ſo dead to all other ſenſations, that one might almoſt doubt, where money is out of the caſe, whether a Jew ‘"has eyes, hands, organs, dimenſions, ſenſes, affections, paſſions."’

FROM Garraway's it is but a ſhort ſtep to a gloomy claſs of mortals, not leſs intent on gain than the Stockjobber: I mean the diſpenſers of life and death, who flock together, like birds of prey watching for carcaſes, at Batſon's. I never enter this place, but it ſerves as a memento mori to me. What a formal aſſemblage of ſable ſuits, and tremendous perukes! I have often met here a moſt intimate acquaintance, whom I have ſcarce known again; a ſprightly young fellow, with whom I have ſpent many a jolly hour; but being juſt dubb'd a Graduate in Phyſick, he has gain'd ſuch an entire conqueſt over the riſible muſcles, that he hardly vouchſafes at any time to ſmile. I have heard him harangue, with all the oracular importance of a veteran, on the poſſibility of CANNING's ſubſiſting for a whole month on a few bits of bread; and he is now preparing a treatiſe, in which will be ſet forth a new and infallible method to prevent the ſpreading of the plague from France into England. Batſon's has been reckon'd the ſeat of ſolemn ſtupidity: yet is it not totally devoid of taſte and common ſenſe. They have among them Phyſicians who can cope with the moſt eminent Lawyers or Divines; and Critics, who can reliſh the ſal volatile of a witty compoſition, or [3] determine how much fire is requiſite to ſublimate a tragedy ſecundùm artem.

EMERGING from theſe diſmal regions, I am glad to breath the pure air in St. Paul's Coffee-houſe: where (as I profeſs the higheſt veneration for our Clergy) I cannot contemplate the magnificence of the cathedral without reflecting on the abject condition of thoſe ‘"tatter'd crapes,"’ who are ſaid to ply here for an occaſional Burial or Sermon, with the ſame regularity as the happier drudges, who ſalute us with the cry of ‘"coach ſir,"’ or ‘"chair your honour."’

And here my Publiſher would not forgive me, was I to leave the neighbourhood without taking notice of the Chapter Coffee-houſe, which is frequented by thoſe encouragers of literature, and (as they are ſtiled by an eminent Critic) ‘"not the worſt judges of merit,"’ the Bookſellers. The converſation here naturally turns upon the neweſt publications, but their criticiſms are ſomething ſingular. When they ſay a good book, they do not mean to praiſe the ſtyle or ſentiment, but the quick and extenſive ſale of it. That book in the phraſe of the CONGER is beſt, which ſells moſt; and if the demand for QUARLES ſhould be greater than for POPE, he would have the higheſt place on the rubric poſt. There are alſo many parts of every work liable to their remarks, which fall not within the notice of leſs accurate obſervers. A few nights ago I ſaw one of theſe gentlemen take up a Sermon, and after ſeeming to peruſe it for ſome time with great attention, he declared ‘"it was very good Engliſh."’ The reader will judge whether I was moſt ſurpriſed or diverted, when I diſcovered, that he was not commending the purity and elegance of the diction, but the beauty of the type, which, it ſeems, is known among the printers by that appellation. We muſt not however think the members of the CONGER ſtrangers to the deeper parts of literature; for as Carpenters, Smiths, Maſons, and all Handicraftſmen ſmell of the trade they labour at, Bookſellers take a peculiar turn from their connexions with books and authors. The character of the Bookſeller is commonly [4] formed on the writers in his ſervice. Thus one is a politician or a deiſt; another affects humour, or aims at turns of wit and repartee; while a third perhaps is grave, moral, and ſententious.

THE Temple is the barrier that divides the City and Suburbs, and the gentlemen who reſide there ſeem influenced by the ſituation of the place they inhabit. Templers are, in general, a kind of citizen-courtiers. They aim at the air and mien of the drawing-room, but the holiday ſmartneſs of a prentice, heightened with ſome additional touches of the rake or coxcomb, betrays itſelf in every thing they do. The Temple however is ſtock'd with it's peculiar beaus, wits, poets, critics, and every character in the gay world. And it is a thouſand pities, that ſo pretty a ſociety ſhould be diſgraced with a few dull fellows, who can ſubmit to puzzle themſelves with Caſes and Reports, and have not taſte enough to follow the genteel method of ſtudying the law.

I SHALL now, like a true Student of the Temple, hurry from thence to Covent-Garden, the acknowledg'd region of gallantry, wit, and criticiſm; and hope to be excuſed for not ſtopping at George's in my way, as the Bedford affords a greater variety of nearly the ſame characters. This Coffee-houſe is every night crowded with men of parts. Almoſt every one you meet is a polite ſcholar and a wit. Jokes and bon mots are echo'd from box to box; every branch of literature is critically examined, and the merit of every production of the preſs, or performance at the theatres, weighed and determined. This ſchool (to which I am myſelf indebted for a great part of my education, and in which, though unworthy, I am now arrived at the honour of being a public lecturer) has bred up many authors, to the amazing entertainment and inſtruction of their readers. Button's, the grand archetype of the Bedford, was frequented by Addiſon, Steele, Pope, and the reſt of that celebrated ſet, who flouriſhed at the beginning of this century, and was regarded with juſt deference on account of the real geniuſſes who frequented it. But we can now boaſt men of ſuperior abilities; men, who without any one [5] acquired excellence, by the mere dint of an happy aſſurance, can exact the ſame tribute of veneration, and receive it as due to the illuſtrious characters, the Scribblers, Players, Fidlers, Gamblers, that make ſo large a part of the company at the Bedford.

NOW, ſince Mr. MACKLIN is not yet prepared to receive us, I ſhall take leave of Covent-Garden, and deſire the Reader's company to White's. Here (as Vanbrugh ſays of Locket's) ‘"He may have a diſh no bigger than a ſaucer, that ſhall coſt him fifty ſhillings."’ The great people, who frequent this place, do not interrupt their politer amuſements, like the wretches at Garraway's, with buſineſs, any farther than to go down to Weſtminſter one Seſſions to vote for a Bill, and the next to repeal it. Nor do they trouble themſelves with literary debates, as at the Bedford. Learning is beneath the notice of a Man of Quality. They employ themſelves more faſhionably at whiſt for the trifle of a thouſand pounds the rubber, or by making bets on the lye of the day.

FROM this very genteel place the Reader muſt not be ſurpriſed, if I ſhould convey him to a Cellar, or a common Porter-houſe. For as it is my province to delineate, and remark on mankind in general, whoever becomes my diſciple muſt not refuſe to follow me from the King's-Arms to the Gooſe and Gridiron, and be content to climb after me up to an Author's garret, or give me leave to introduce him to a Route. In my preſent curſory view of the TOWN I have indeed confined myſelf principally to Coffee-houſes, tho' I conſtantly viſit all places that afford any matter for ſpeculation. I am a Scotchman at Forreſter's, a Frenchman at Slaughter's, and at the Cocoa-Tree I am — an ENGLISHMAN. At the Robin Hood I am a Politician, a Logician, a Geometrician, a Phyſician, a Metaphyſician, a Caſuiſt, a Moraliſt, a Theologiſt, a Mythologiſt, or any thing—but an Atheiſt. Wherever the WORLD is, I am. You will therefore hear of me ſometimes at the Theatres, ſometimes perhaps at the Opera; nor ſhall I think the exhibitions of [4] Sadler's Wells, or the Little Theatre in the Haymarket, beneath my notice; but may one day or other give a diſſertation upon Tumbling, or (if they ſhould again become popular) a critique on Dogs and Monkeys.

THOUGH the Town is the walk I ſhall generally appear in, let it not be imagined that Vice and Folly will ſhoot up unnoticed in the Country. My couſin VILLAGE has undertaken that province, and will ſend me the freſheſt advices of every fault or foible that takes root there. But as it is my chief ambition to pleaſe and inſtruct the Ladies, I ſhall embrace every opportunity of devoting my labours to their ſervice: and I may with juſtice congratulate myſelf upon the happineſs of living in an age, when the female part of the world are ſo ſtudious to find employment for a CENSOR.

THE character of Mr. TOWN is, I flatter myſelf, too well known to need an explanation. How far, and in what ſenſe, I propoſe to be a CONNOISSEUR, the learned reader will gather from my general Motto:

—Non de villis domibuſve alienis,
Nec male necne Lepos ſaltet; ſed quod magis ad nos
Pertinet et neſcire malum eſt, agitamus.
HOR.

As CRITIC and CENSOR GENERAL, I ſhall take the liberty to animadvert on every thing that appears to me vicious or ridiculous; always endeavouring ‘"to hold, as 'twere, the mirrour up to Nature, to ſhew Virtue her own feature, Scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the Time his form and preſſure."’

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER II. THURSDAY, February 7, 1754.

[7]
—Commiſſa quod Auctio vendit
Stantibus, Oenophorum, Tripodes, Armaria, Ciſtas.
JUV.

I HAVE already received letters from ſeveral Virtuoſi, expreſſing their aſtoniſhment and concern at my diſappointing the warm hopes they had conceived of my undertaking from the title of my paper. They tell me, that by deſerting the paths of Virtù I at once neglect the publick intereſt and my own; that by ſupporting the character of CONNOISSEUR in it's uſual ſenſe, I might have obtained very conſiderable ſalaries from the principal Auction-rooms, Toy-ſhops, and Repoſitories, and might beſides very plauſibly have recommended myſelf as the propereſt perſon in the world to be Keeper of Sir Hans Sloane's Muſaeum.

[8]I CANNOT be inſenſible of the importance of this capital buſineſs of TASTE, and how much reputation, as well as profit, would accrue to my labours, by confining them to the minuteſt reſearches into Nature and Art, and poring over the ruſt of Antiquity. I very well know, that the diſcovery of a new Zoophyte, or ſpecies of the Polype, would be as valuable as that of the Longitude. The Cabinets of the Curious would furniſh out matter for my Eſſays more inſtructing than all the learned lumber of a Vatican. Of what conſequence would it be to point out the diſtinctions of Originals from Copies ſo preciſely, that the paultry ſcratchings of a Modern may never hereafter be palmed on a Connoiſſeur for the labours of a Rembrandt! I ſhould command applauſe from the adorers of Antiquity, were I to demonſtrate that Merit never exiſted but in the Schools of the old Painters, never flouriſhed but in the warm climate of Italy; and how ſhould I riſe in the eſteem of my countrymen, by chaſtiſing the arrogance of an Engliſhman in preſuming to determine the Analyſis of Beauty!

AT other times I might take occaſion to ſhew my ſagacity in conjectures on ruſty Coins and illegible Marbles. What profound erudition is contained in an half-obliterated antique piece of copper! TRAJ. IMP. P. VII. COSS. MAX. * * * TREB. V. P. P. S. C.; and how merveillous, moſt courteous and tyghte worthye reader, would the barbarous Inſcription of ſome auncient Monument appear to thee, and how pleſaunt to thyne eyne wytheall, thus preſerved in it's obſolete ſpelling, and original black character! To this branch of Taſte I am more particularly preſs'd: a correſpondent deſires to know, whether I was of the party that lately took a ſurvey of Palmyra in the Deſart; another, if I have travers'd the Holy Land, or viſited Mount Calvary. I ſhall not ſpeak too proudly of my [9] travels; but as my predeceſſor, the SPECTATOR, has recommended himſelf by having made a trip to Grand Cairo to take meaſure of a Pyramid, I aſſure my Reader that I have climb'd Mount Veſuvio in the midſt of it's eruptions, and dug ſome time underground in the ruins of Herculaneum.

I SHALL always be ſollicitous to procure the eſteem of ſo reſpectable a body as the Connoiſſeurs; as I cannot but be ſenſible, could I any way merit it by my labours, how much more important the name of Mr. TOWN would appear, dignified with the addition of F. R. S. or Member of the Society of Antiquarians. I therefore take this early opportunity of obliging the curious with a letter from a very eminent perſonage, who, as well as myſelf, is lately become a CONNOISSEUR, and is known to have gone abroad for no other purpoſe than to buy Pictures.

To Mr. **** ******.

DEAR SIR,

THE hurry in which I left England muſt have convinced you how much I was in earneſt, when I talked of making a valuable collection of Pictures. By my frequent attendance on ſales, I already know almoſt as much of Painting as I do of the Funds; and can talk as learnedly of Light and Shade, Figure, Proportion, Drapery, &c. as of the riſe and fall of Stocks. I have however been very much embarraſſed in getting together a collection ſuitable to the religion I profeſs. The famous Painters were moſt of them ſuch bigots to their own way of thinking, that they have ſcarce left any thing behind them but Holy Families, dead Chriſts, and Madonas; ſubjects which to [10] Me and my Tribe are odious and abominable. A Picture, ſince it has the property of being the language of all mankind, ſhould never be particular in it's ſubject; but we ſhould paint, as the Engliſh are taught to pray, ‘"for all Jews, Turks, Infidels and Hereticks."’

WHEN I have made the tour of Italy, I will ſend you a complete liſt of all my purchaſes: in the mean time, the following ſhort ſpecimen will enable you to judge of my precautions in ſelecting Pieces ſuitable to my character, and not offenſive to my principles.

THE firſt that I bought was "the Elevation of the GOLDEN CALF." This I ſhall ſet up in the Royal Exchange, as a typical repreſentation of myſelf, to be worſhipp'd by all Brokers, Inſurers, Scriveners, and the whole fraternity of Stock-jobbers.

THE ſecond is "the Triumph of GIDEON." This I intended, if a late project in favour of our brethren had not miſcarried, to have been hung up in St. Stephen's Chapel, as a memorial of our victory over the Uncircumciſed.

THE third and fourth are "PETER denying his Maſter," and "JUDAS betraying him for thirty pieces of ſilver;" both which I deſign as preſents to our two worthy friends the B—s of — and —.

THE next which I ſhall mention to you, deſerves particular notice; and this is "the Prophet of Nazareth himſelf, conjuring the Devil into an Herd of Swine." From this piece, when I return to England, I intend to have a Print engraved; being very proper to be had in all Jewiſh families, as a neceſſary preſervative againſt Pork, and Chriſtianity.

[7]
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[11]I SHALL not tire you with a particular detail of ſome other leſſer Pieces; ſuch as—The Deluge, in water colours.—The New Jeruſalem, in perſpective.—Some Ruins of the Temple.—A Publican at the Receipt of Cuſtom.—and—a SAMPSON in miniature.

BESIDES theſe, I have employ'd an ingenious artiſt here to execute a Deſign of my own. It is a picture of FORTUNE, not ſtanding (as in the common ſtile) upon a kind of Cartwheel, but on the two Wheels of the Lottery; with a repreſentation of a Net caſt over the leſſer Engroſſers of Tickets, while a CHIEF MANAGER is breaking his way thro' the Meſhes.

I MUST not forget to tell you, that I have pick'd up an infamous Portrait, by an Engliſh hand, call'd Shylock; with the following inſcription under it, taken I ſuppoſe from, the London Evening Poſt, or that impudent FOOL the Gazetteer; ‘"They have diſgrac'd me, and hinder'd me Half a Million, laught at my loſſes, mockt at my gains, ſcorn'd my nation, thwarted my bargains, cool'd my friends, heated mine enemies;—and what's the reaſon? I am a JEW."’

AS ſoon as the Parliament is diſſolved, you may expect to ſee me in England; till when,

I am, dear ſir, yours, &c. ******* ******

I SHALL here ſubjoin a letter of a very different ſtamp; which points out to me another walk as a CONNOISSEUR, not leſs extenſive perhaps, and more agreeable to the modern Taſte, than that of Virtù.

[12]

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I Suppoſe CONNOISSEUR is only another word for a KNOWING ONE. So write me a few papers in defence of Cards, Dice, Races, and Gaming in general, and I will admit you upon the Square, introduce you at White's, ſet you upon the Turf the next Meeting at Newmarket, and make your fortune at once. If you are the man I take you for, you will be wiſe, and do this directly; and then the Odds are for you. If not, I'll hold you a hundred Pounds to a China Orange, that your paper is neglected as low and vulgar, and yourſelf condemn'd as an unfaſhionable blockhead.

WILL HAZARD.

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where Letters to the CONNOISSEUR are received.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER III. THURSDAY, February 14, 1754.

[13]
Suave mari magno, turbantibus aequora ventis,
E terra magnum alterius ſpectare laborem.
LUCRET.

WE Writers of Eſſays, or (as they are termed) Periodical Papers, juſtly claim to ourſelves a place among the modern improvers of literature. Neither Bentley nor Burman, nor any equally ſagacious Commentator, has been able to diſcover the leaſt traces of any ſimilar productions among the Ancients: except we can ſuppoſe, that the Hiſtory of Thucydides was retailed weekly in ſix-penny numbers; that Seneca dealt out his Morality every Saturday; or that Tully wrote Speeches and Philoſophical Diſquiſitions, whilſt Virgil and Horace clubb'd together to furniſh the Poetry for a Roman Magazine.

THERE is a word indeed, by which we are fond of diſtinguiſhing our works, and for which we muſt confeſs [14] ourſelves indebted to the Latin. Myſelf, and every petty Journaliſt, affect to dignify our haſty performances by ſtiling them LUCUBRATIONS: by which we mean, if we mean any thing, that as the day is too ſhort for our labours, we are obliged to call in the aſſiſtance of the night: not to mention the modeſt inſinuation, that our compoſitions are ſo correct, that, like the Orations of Demoſthenes, they may be ſaid to ſmell of the lamp. We would be underſtood to follow the directions of the Roman Satiriſt, ‘"to grow pale by the midnight candle;"’ though perhaps, as our own Satiriſt expreſſes it, we may be thought

"Sleepleſs ourſelves to give our readers ſleep."

But, as a relief from the fatigue of ſo many reſtleſs hours, we have frequently gone to ſleep for the benefit of the public: and ſurely we, whoſe labours are confined to a ſheet and half, may be indulged in taking a nap now and then, ſince a modern DREAMER has outdone even BUNYAN in ſtile and ſentiment, and pompouſly dozed through an whole Octavo.

AFTER this preface, the reader will not be ſurprized if I take the liberty to relate a Dream of my own. It is uſual on theſe occaſions to be lulled to ſleep by ſome book; and moſt of my brethren pay that compliment to Virgil or Shakeſpeare: but as I could never diſcover any opiate qualities in thoſe authors, I choſe to ſlumber over ſome modern performance. I muſt beg to be excuſed from mentioning particulars, as I would not provoke the reſentment of my cotemporaries: Nobody will imagine, that I dipt into any of our modern Novels, or took up any of our late Tragedies.—Let it ſuffice, that I preſently fell faſt aſleep.

I FOUND myſelf tranſported in an inſtant to the ſhore of an immenſe ſea, covered with innumerable veſſels and tho' [15] many of them ſuddenly diſappeared every minute, I ſaw others continually launching forth, and purſuing the ſame courſe. The Seers of Viſions, and Dreamers of Dreams, have their organs of ſight ſo conſiderably improved, that they can take in any object, however diſtant or minute. It is not therefore to be wonder'd at, that I could diſcern everything diſtinctly, though the waters before me were of the deepeſt black.

WHILE I ſtood contemplating this amazing ſcene, one of thoſe good-natured Genii, who never fail making their appearance to extricate Dreamers from their difficulties, roſe from the ſable ſtream, and planted himſelf at my elbow. His complexion was of the darkeſt hue, not unlike the Daemons of a printing-houſe; his jetty beard ſhone like the briſtles of a blacking-bruſh; on his head he wore a Turbant of Imperial Paper; and

"There hung a Calf-ſkin on his rev'rend limbs,"

which was gilt on the back, and faced with robings of Morocco, letter'd (like a Rubric-poſt) with the names of the moſt eminent authors. In his right hand he bore a printed ſcroll, which from the marginal corrections I imagin'd to be a Proof-ſheet; and in his left he waved the Quill of a Gooſe.

HE immediately accoſted me.— ‘"TOWN, ſaid he, I am the Genius who is deſtined to conduct you thro' theſe turbulent waves. The ſea that you now behold is The OCEAN of INK. Thoſe towers, at a great diſtance, whoſe baſes are founded upon rocks, and whoſe tops ſeem loſt in the clouds, are ſituated in The ISLES of FAME. Contiguous to theſe, you may diſcern by the glittering of its golden ſands The COAST of GAIN, which leads to a fertile and rich country. All the veſſels, which [16] are yonder ſailing with a fair wind on the main ſea, are making towards one or other of theſe: but you will obſerve, that on their firſt ſetting-out they were irreſiſtibly drawn into The EDDIES of CRITICISM, where they were obliged to encounter the moſt dreadful tempeſts and hurricanes. In theſe dangerous ſtreights you ſee with what violence every bark is toſt up and down; ſome go to the bottom at once; others, after a faint ſtruggle, are beat to pieces; many are much damaged; while a few by ſound planks and tight rigging are enabled to weather the ſtorm."’

AT this ſight I ſtarted back with horror; and the remembrance ſtill dwells ſo ſtrong upon my fancy, that I even now imagine the Torrent of Criticiſm burſting in upon me, and ready to overwhelm me in an inſtant.

‘"Caſt a look, reſumed my Inſtructor, on that vaſt Lake divided into two parts, which lead to yonder magnificent ſtructures, erected by the Tragic and Comic Muſe. There you may obſerve many trying to force a paſſage without chart or compaſs. Some have been overſet by crowding too much ſail, and others have founder'd by carrying too much ballaſt. An Arcadian veſſel (the maſter an Iriſhman) was, thro' contrary ſqualls, ſcarce able to live nine days: but you ſee that light Italian Gondola, Gli Amanti Geloſi, ſkims along pleaſantly before the wind, and outſtrips the painted Frigates of her country, Didone and Artaſerſe. Obſerve that triumphant Squadron, to whoſe flag all the others pay homage. Moſt of them are ſhips of the firſt rate, and were fitted out many years ago. Tho' ſomewhat irregular in their make, and but little conformable to the exact rules of art, they will ever continue the pride and glory of theſe ſeas: for, as it is remarked by [17] the preſent Laureat in his Prologue to Papal Tyranny,

"Shakeſpeare, whoſe art no play-wright cou'd excell;
"Has launch'd us fleets of plays, and built them well."

The Genius then bad me turn my eye, where the water ſeemed to foam with perpetual agitation. ‘"That, ſaid he, is the ſtrong CURRENT of POLITICS, often fatal to thoſe who venture on it."’ I could not but take notice of a poor wretch on the oppoſite ſhore, faſten'd by the ears to a terrible machine. This the Genius informed me was the memorable DEFOE, ſet up there as a Land-mark, to prevent future mariners from ſplitting on the ſame rock.

TO this turbulent proſpect ſucceeded objects of a more placid nature. In a little creek winding thro' flow'ry meads and ſhady groves, I deſcried ſeveral gilded Yachts and Pleaſure-Boats, all of them keeping due time with their ſilver oars, and gliding along the ſmooth, even, calm, regularly-flowing RIVULETS of RHYME. Shepherds and Shepherdeſſes play'd on the banks; the ſails were gently ſwelled with the ſoft breezes of amorous Sighs, and little Loves ſported in the ſilken cordage.

MY attention was now called off from theſe pacific ſcenes to an obſtinate engagement between ſeveral ſhips diſtinguiſh'd from all others by bearing the Holy Croſs for their Colours. Theſe, the Genius told me, were employed in the Holy War of Religious Controverſy; and he pointed out to me a few Corſairs in the ſervice of the Infidels, ſometimes aiding one party, ſometimes ſiding with the other, as might beſt contribute to the general confuſion.

IT were needleſs to enumerate many other particulars that engaged my notice. Among the reſt was a large Fleet of Annotators, Dutch-built, which ſailed very heavy, were [18] often a-ground, and continually ran foul on each other. The whole Ocean, I alſo found, was infeſted by Pyrates, who ranſacked every rich veſſel that came in their way. Moſt of theſe were endeavouring to make the Coaſt of Gain by hanging out Falſe Colours, or by forging their Paſs-ports, and pretending to be freighted by the moſt reputable Traders.

MY eyes were at laſt fix'd, I know not how, on a ſpacious Channel running thro' the midſt of a great City. I felt ſuch a ſecret impulſe at this ſight, that I could not help enquiring particularly about it. ‘"The diſcovery of that Paſſage, ſaid the Genius, was firſt made by one Bickerſtaff, in the good ſhip call'd The TATLER, and who afterwards embarked in the SPECTATOR and GUARDIAN. Theſe have been followed ſince by a numerous ſhoal of little Sloops, Skiffs, Hoys, and Cock-boats, which have been moſt of them wreck'd in the attempt; and thither alſo muſt your courſe be directed."’ At this inſtant the Genius ſuddenly ſnatch'd me up in his arms, and plunged me headlong into the inky flood. While I lay gaſping and ſtruggling beneath the waves, methought I heard a familiar voice calling me by my name; which awaking me, I with pleaſure recollected the features of the Genius in thoſe of my Publiſher, who was ſtanding by my bed ſide, and had called upon me for Copy.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER IV. THURSDAY, February 21, 1754.

[19]
Conjugium vocat, hoc praetexit nomine Culpam.
VIRG.

IT is with the utmoſt concern I have heard myſelf within this week paſt accuſed at ſeveral tea-tables of not being a man of my word. The female part of my readers exclaim againſt me for not having as yet paid my particular addreſſes to the Fair. ‘"Who is this Mr. TOWN? ſays one: where can the Creature live? He has ſaid nothing yet of the dear Burletta girl!"’ Another wonders that I have not recommended to the ladies Mr. HOYLE's New Calculation of Chances; for underſtanding which, nothing more is required, we are told, than the Firſt Principles of Arithmetic; i. e. to know how to tell the pips, or ſet up one's game. But I find the whole ſex in general have expected from me ſome ſhrewd remarks upon the MARRIAGE-BILL. To oblige them in ſome [20] meaſure, I ſhall recommend to their notice the following Advertiſement.

To All whom it may concern, The Reverend Mr. KEITH, (Who has had the honour to perform to ſeveral of our Nobility, Gentry and Others) Gives this Public NOTICE,

THAT he ſhall continue at his Chapel in May-Fair no longer than the preſent month. He will then ſet out on his progreſs through the principal Market Towns, where he will exhibit publicly, without loſs of time, any hour of the day or night. He will perform to no leſs than two perſons, and will wait on any Gentleman and Lady privately at their own houſes.

N. B. After the 25th of March he will be ready to attend Perſons of Quality, at a Minute's warning, to the other ſide the Tweed, where he will perform according to Act of Parliament.

*⁎*We have no connexion with the Fleet-Parſons, or other Pretenders. Beware of Counterfeits. Ego ſum ſolus.

I MAY perhaps take a future opportunity of enlarging on this very important ſubject, the MARRIAGE-BILL; but ſhall at preſent oblige the ladies by celebrating an Order of Females lately ſprung up amongſt us, uſually diſtinguiſh'd by the denomination of DEMI-REPS;—a word not to be found in any of our Dictionaries.

THIS Order, which ſeems daily encreaſing upon us, was firſt inſtituted by ſome ladies eminent for their public ſpirit, with a view of raiſing their half of the ſpecies to a level with the other in the unbounded licence of their enjoyments. By this artifice the moſt open violation of modeſty takes the name of innocent freedom and gaiety; and as long as the laſt failing remains a ſecret, the lady's honour is ſpotleſs and untainted. In a word, a DEMI-REP is a lady whom every body thinks what no body chuſes to call her.

[21]IT is abſolutely neceſſary that every lady of this Order ſhould be married. Cuſtom has given a certain charm to wedlock, which changes the colour of our actions, and renders that behaviour not improper, which in a ſtate of celibacy would be accounted indecent and ſcandalous. As to the Promiſes made in marriage ‘"to love, honour and obey,"’ cuſtom has made Them alſo merely ceremonial, and in fact as little binding as the wedding-ring, which may be put on or pulled off at pleaſure.

RELIGIOUS and political writers have both for different reaſons endeavoured to encourage frequent marriages: but this Order, if it maintains it's ground, will more certainly promote them. How inviting muſt ſuch a ſtate appear to a woman of ſpirit! An Engliſh wife with all the indiſcretions of a girl may aſſume more than the privileges of a woman, may trifle publicly with the beaux and ſmarts, introduce them to her toilette, and fix it as a certain rule in all her converſation and behaviour, that when once marriage has (in Lucy's phraſe) ‘"made an honeſt woman of her,"’ ſhe is intitled to all the licence of a courtezan.

I HAVE lately ſeen, with a good deal of compaſſion, a few forward maiden ladies inveſting themſelves with the dignities, and incroaching on the privileges of this Order. It may not be improper to caution them to recede in time. As their claim to theſe liberties is unwarranted by cuſtom, they will not retain that ambiguous reputation enjoyed by the DEMI-REPS, whoſe whole ſyſtem of conduct is founded on the baſis of matrimony. Every lady therefore, inclined to indulge herſelf in all thoſe little innocent freedoms, ſhould confine herſelf within the pale of matrimony, to elude cenſure, as inſolvent debtors avoid a jail, by lodging within the verge of the court.

[22]A DEMI-REP then muſt neceſſarily be married: nor is it eaſy for a lady to maintain ſo critical a character unleſs ſhe is a woman of faſhion. Titles and eſtate bear down all weak cenſures, and ſilence ſcandal and detraction. That good-breeding too, ſo inviolably preſerved among perſons of condition, is of infinite ſervice. This produces that delightful inſipidity ſo remarkable in perſons of quality, whoſe converſation flows with one even tenor, undiſturb'd by ſentiment, and unruffled by paſſion: inſomuch that huſbands and wives, brothers, ſiſters, couſins, and in ſhort the whole circle of kindred and acquaintance, can entertain the moſt thorough contempt and even hatred for each other, without tranſgreſſing the minuteſt article of good-breeding and civility. But thoſe females who want the advantages of birth and fortune, muſt be content to wrap themſelves up in their integrity; for the lower ſort are ſo notoriouſly deficient in the requiſites of politeneſs, that they would not fail to throw out the moſt cruel and bitter invectives againſt the pretty delinquents.

THE Great World will, I doubt not, return me thanks for thus keeping the canaille at a diſtance, and ſecuring to them a quiet poſſeſſion of their enjoyments. And here I cannot but obſerve how reſpectable an Order the DEMI-REPS compoſe, of which the lovely ſiſterhood muſt all be married, and almoſt all Right Honourable.

FOR this Order, among many other embelliſhments of modern life, we are indebted to the French: ſuch flippant gaiety is more agreeable to the genius of that nation. There is a native baſhfulneſs inherent in my countrywomen, which it is not eaſy to ſurmount: but our modern fine ladies, who take as much pains to poliſh their minds, as to adorn their perſons, have got over this obſtacle with incredible facility. [23] They have ſo ſkillfully grafted the French genius for intrigue upon Britiſh beauty and liberty, that their conduct appears perfectly original. Though we muſt do the French the juſtice to allow, that when a lady of this airy diſpoſition viſits Paris, ſhe returns moſt wonderfully improved. Upon the whole, France appears the propereſt ſchool to inſtruct the ladies in the theory of their conduct, but England, and more eſpecially London, the moſt commodious place to put it in practice. In this town, indeed, a lady ſtudious of improvement may, in a very ſhort time, make a conſiderable proficiency by frequenting the ſeveral academies kept conſtantly open for her profit and inſtruction. The Card-tables and Maſquerades in particular have trained up ſome ladies to a ſurprizing eminence without the leaſt aſſiſtance from a foreign education.

IT is obſerved, that the difference between the ſeveral ſpecies in the ſcale of beings is but juſt ſufficient to preſerve their diſtinction; the higheſt of one Order approaching ſo near to the loweſt of the other, that the gradation is hard to be determined; as the colours of the rainbow, thro' an infinite variety of ſhades, die away into each other imperceptibly. The DEMI-REPS hold this intermediate ſtation in the characters of females between the modeſt women and the women of pleaſure; to both which they are in ſome meaſure connected, as they ſtand upon the utmoſt verge of reputation, and totter on the brink of infamy. It were therefore to be wiſhed, that the Ladies wore ſome ſymbol of their Order, or were diſtinguiſhed by ſome peculiar mode of dreſs. The Romans aſſigned different habits to perſons of different ages and ſtations; and I hope, that when the buſtle of the enſuing Election is over, the new Parliament will take this matter into conſideration, and oblige the ſeveral [24] claſſes of females to diſtinguiſh themſelves by ſome external marks and badges of their principles.

'TILL ſome Act of this nature ſhall take place, I ſhall propoſe a method, by which every lady may exactly learn in what claſs ſhe may be reckoned. The world muſt know then, that my very good friend Mr. AYSCOUGH has at length, with infinite pains and ſtudy, conſtructed a Thermometer, upon which he has delineated, after the manner that the degrees of heat and cold are marked on the common ſort, the whole ſcale of female characters, from the moſt inviolable modeſty to the moſt abandoned impudence. It is of a commodious ſize to wear at a watch: the liquor within the tube is a chymical mixture, which being acted on by the circulation of the blood and animal ſpirits, will riſe and fall according to the deſires and affections of the wearer. He will very ſhortly publiſh a large aſſortment of them, to be ſold at his ſhop on Ludgate-Hill: and I flatter myſelf there are many women in England, who will be glad to purchaſe ſuch an effectual regulator of their paſſions. Every lady therefore may avail herſelf of the inſtructions of tills pocket-monitor; a monitor who will give her the moſt profitable leſſons without the uſual impertinence of advice. It will be of equal efficacy if worn by the men: but I expect my friend will have but little of their cuſtom; for as the reputation of chaſtity is the utmoſt aim of a fine lady, to preſerve even that in a fine gentleman is accounted mean and unmanly.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER V. THURSDAY, February 28, 1754.

[25]
[...]
SOPH.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I MUST beg leave to trouble you on a moſt ſerious and melancholy ſubject; a ſubject which I fear will be attended with the moſt dreadful conſequences to the whole nation. Notwithſtanding the laſt mail brought the College poſitive aſſurances from the French King's phyſicians, that the late PLAGUE at Rouen was entirely ceaſed, I have the ſtrongeſt reaſons to apprehend that the contagion is already ſpread to this city. My own practice daily furniſhes me with lamentable inſtances, that manifeſtly indicate a peſtilential diſorder in the blood and humours.

I WAS firſt induced to ſuſpect that ſome Epidemical Diſtemper was taking root among us, from my being called [26] in to a noble patient, who (as the public prints have inform'd you) has lately been afflicted with a violent boil on his back. From this patient there have iſſued continually great quantities of corruption of a yellow hue. His complaint ſeems to be in ſome ſort conſtitutional, as it commonly breaks out with extraordinary virulence every ſeven year; and as this is the criſis, we cannot pronounce our noble patient out of danger, 'till he has got over the enſuing ſpring. It is moreover to be feared, that the contagion has likewiſe reached Ireland; where we hear that the beſt phyſicians are uſing the moſt forcing medicines, and are of opinion that nothing can relieve the unhappy people, 'till they have voided a STONE. A great man there labours alſo under the abovementioned complaint of having a violent BOYLE on his back.

I SHALL now proceed to give you the hiſtory of ſome other caſes, which have fallen under my notice, and are to me an indiſputable proof that the PLAGUE has got footing among us. It's malignancy ſhews itſelf particularly about the Court; and we are aſſured that ſome parts of the Country are alſo tainted with it. I have had the honour to attend ſeveral Members of Parliament, whoſe caſes are very deſperate. Some I found in a declining way, given over by all their friends; others are ſo weak, that they can't ſtand alone; and many are ſo reſtleſs, that they are continually turning from ſide to ſide. As I found they had great need of ſupport, I have adviſed them to drink plentifully of ſtrong liquors, and guard againſt the ill conſequences of a Return.

I VISITED the other day a young gentleman, who has lately been promoted to a command in the ſquadron deſigned for the Eaſt Indies. I found him in a moſt languiſhing condition, his ſpirits were quite depreſs'd, he had a violent palpitation of the heart, and the whole nervous ſyſtem was relax'd. I would have preſcribed the well-known diet-drink brought into practice by the late Biſhop of Cloyne; but he told me every thing went againſt his [27] ſtomach that favoured of Tar. However, I at length prevailed on him to ſubmit to a long courſe of Sea Water. I have obſerv'd the ſame prognoſtics in ſome of our land officers; to whom I have recommended the frequent uſe of Exerciſe, together with a courſe of Steel, and a Powder compoſed of Nitre and Brimſtone.

A FRIEND of mine, one of the common-council men of this city, is infected to a ſtrong degree with the preſent peſtilence. His chief complaint is a canine appetite, and his wife aſſures me ſhe has often felt the wolf in his belly. The cauſe of this diſtemper is originally in the palate, and diſcovers itſelf by a watering of the mouth from the ſalival glands, and a grinding of the teeth as in the action of maſtication. This diſorder being very common in the city, and likely to ſpread among the Livery, I have directed him to perform Quarentine by abſtaining from fleſh during the preſent Lent.

I KNOW another, a very worthy alderman, who now lies in a moſt deplorable condition. He is ſwelled to a moſt enormous ſize; his whole face, and particularly his noſe, is cruſted over with fiery puſtules of the confluent kind. He is afflicted with an inſatiable thirſt, and is very ſubject to epileptic fits. I was ſent for laſt night, when one of theſe fits was very ſtrong upon him. He lay, to all appearance, dead on the floor, wallowing in the midſt of a fetid maſs, partly ſolid, partly fluid, which had iſſued from his mouth and noſtrils with repeated eructations. I would immediately have adminiſtred to him a proper doſe of aq. font. tepefact. but on offering him the draught he ſhew'd the ſtrongeſt ſymptoms of a confirmed Hydrophobia.

I WENT out of charity to ſee a poor tragic author (no reflection upon any of the profeſſion, Mr. TOWN) who has been obliged to keep his room all the winter, and is dying by inches of an inveterate Atrophy. By his extravagant ravings, ſudden ſtarts, incoherent expreſſions, and paſſionate [28] exclamations, I judged his diſorder to be ſeated in the brain, and therefore directed his head to be bliſter'd all over. I cured another, a comic author, of a lethargy, by making a revulſion of the bad humour from the part affected with ſtimulating cathartics. A ſhort ſquabby gentleman of a groſs and corpulent make was ſeiz'd with a kind of St. Vitus's Dance, as he was practiſing Harlequin for the maſquerade: his whole body was convulſed with the moſt violent writhings, and irregular twitches; but I preſently removed his complaint by bleeding him in the foot.

THE PLAGUE, as I obſerved before, puts on different appearances in different ſubjects. A perſon of quality, one of the club at White's, was ſeiz'd with the epidemical phrenzy raging there, which propagates itſelf by certain black and red ſpots. He had ſuffered ſo much loſs by continual evacuations, that his whole ſubſtance was waſted; and when I ſaw him he was ſo reduc'd, that there were no hopes of a recovery. Another nobleman caught the infection at Newmarket, which brought upon him ſuch a running, that he is now in the laſt ſtage of a galloping conſumption. A reverend divine, lately made a dignitary of the church, has unhappily loſt his memory, and is ſo blind withal, that he hardly knows any of his old acquaintance: the muſcles of his face are all contracted into an auſtere frown, his knees are ſtiff and inflexible, and he is unable, poor gentleman! to bend his body, or move his hand to his head. I have obſerv'd others ſeiz'd at times with a ſtrange kind of deafneſs; and at certain intervals I have found them ſo prodigiouſly hard of hearing, that tho' a tradeſman has bawled ever ſo loudly in their ears, it has had no effect upon them.

BY what means this PLAGUE has been introduc'd among us, cannot eaſily be aſcertained;—whether it was imported in the ſame band-box with the laſt new head, or was ſecretly convey'd in the plaits of an embroider'd ſuit:—but that it came over hither from France, plainly appears from the manner in which it affects our people of faſhion, (eſpecially [29] the ladies) who bear about them the moſt evident marks of the French Diſeaſe. This is known to affect the whole habit of body, and extends it's influence from head to foot. But it's ſtrongeſt attacks are levell'd at the face; and it has ſuch an effect upon the complexion, that it entirely changes the natural colour of the ſkin. At Paris the face of every lady you meet is beſmear'd with unguent, ceruſs, and plaiſter; and I have lately remarked with infinite concern the native charms of my pretty countrywomen deſtroyed by the ſame cauſe. In this caſe I have always propoſed calling in the aſſiſtance of a ſurgeon to pare off this unnatural Epidermis or Scarf-ſkin, occaſion'd by the ignorance of Empirics in the immoderate application of Alteratives.

FROM what I have been able to collect from obſervations on my female patients, I have found little variation in the effects of the PLAGUE on that ſex. Moſt of them complain of a laſſitude, a liſtleſsneſs, an uneaſineſs, pains they don't know where, vapours, hyſterics, want of reſt, want of ſpirits, and loſs of appetite: conſequently the ſame regimen may ſerve for all. I adviſe them to uſe a great deal of exerciſe in driving about the town, to dilute properly with tea, to perſpire freely at public places, and in their ſeaſons to go to Bath, Tunbridge, Cheltenham, or Scarborough.

I WAS indeed ſurpriz'd with an extraordinary new caſe the other night, when I was called out of bed to attend a Maid of Honour, who is frequently afflicted with fits of the mother. Her abdomen I found, upon examination, to be preternaturally diſtended: the tumour has been gradually increaſing; but I would not attempt to diſcuſs it, as it was not yet arrived at maturity. I intend ſoon to remove her into the country for a month, in order to deliver her from the complaint ſhe labours under.

I HAVE been induced, ſir, to write to you on this occaſion, as you are pleas'd to take this city under your immediate care. So alarming an evil calls upon us all to [30] oppoſe it's progreſs; for my own part, nothing ſhall deter me from a diligent diſcharge of the duty of my profeſſion, tho' it has already expoſed me to the greateſt dangers in the execution of it. An old captain of a man of war, who is grievouſly troubled with the cholera morbus, and overflowing of the gall, on my only hinting a Clyſter ſwore vehemently that I ſhould take one myſelf, and applying his foot directly to my fundament, kick'd me down ſtairs. This very morning I eſcaped almoſt by miracle from the contagion, which raged in the moſt violent degree through a whole family. The maſter and miſtreſs are both of them in a very high fever, and quite frantic and delirious: their tongues were prodigiouſly inflamed, the tip very ſharp, and perpetually vibrating without the leaſt intermiſſion. I would have preſcribed ſome cooling and lenitive medicines, but the huſband in the height of his frenzy flung my wig into the fire, and his wife ſluiced me with extravaſated urine. As I retired with precipitation, I heard the ſame wild ravings from the nurſery, the kitchen, and every other quarter, which convinced me that the peſtilence had ſeiz'd the whole houſe. I ran out of doors as faſt as poſſible, reflecting with Terence,

—Ipſa ſi cupiat Salus,
Servaré prorsùs non poteſt hanc familiam.

UPON the whole, I may conclude with the Aphoriſm of Hippocrates; that ‘"no people can poſſibly be afflicted with ſo many and ſo terrible diſorders, unleſs the PLAGUE is among them."’

I am, ſir, yours, &c. B. G.

ADVERTISEMENT.
This Day is Publiſh'd,

(Very proper to be read by all who have ſeen, or intend to ſee the new Play)

THE STORY on which the new Tragedy is founded: Being a Deſcription of the ISLAND of VIRGINIA, with an Account of it's principal Rivers, Lakes, &c. and of the Manners and Cuſtoms of the People.

London: Printed for T. Catchpenny.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER VI. THURSDAY, March 7, 1754.

[31]
—quid alat formetque poetam.
HOR.

I REMEMBER to have ſeen in ſome old Italian Poet a fable call'd "The Education of the Muſes." Apollo is there ſaid to have taken them at their birth under his immediate care, and as they grew up to have inſtructed them according to their different capacities in the ſeveral branches of playing and ſinging. Thalia, we are told, was of a lively turn, and took delight in the moſt comic airs; but was at firſt with difficulty reſtrained from falling into ridiculous drolleries, and what our author calls extravaganzas in her manner. Melpomene, who was of a ſerious and grave diſpoſition, indulged herſelf in ſtrains of melancholy; but when ſhe aimed at the moſt pathetic ſtrokes, was often harſh, or run into wild diviſions. Clio, and the reſt of the Nine, had not yet learnt to temper their voices with ſweetneſs [32] and variety; nor could they tell how to regulate the ſtops of their flutes, or touch the ſtrings of their lyres, with judgment and grace. However, by much practice, they improved gradually under the inſtructions of Apollo, 'till at laſt they were able to exert all the powers of muſic: and they now form a compleat concert, which fills all Parnaſſus with the moſt enchanting harmony.

THE moral to be drawn from this little fable is naturally applied to thoſe ſervants of the Muſes, Authors, who muſt neceſſarily riſe by the ſame ſlow degrees from their firſt lame attempts in cultivating the arts of Apollo. The beſt of them, without doubt, went through many more ſtages of writing than appears from the palpable gradations ſtill remaining in their works. But as it is impoſſible to trace them from their firſt ſetting out, I ſhall here preſent the reader with the ſum of my own experience, and illuſtrate in the life of Mr. TOWN, the Progreſs of an Author.

RIGHT or wrong, I have ever been addicted to ſcribbling. I was famous at ſchool for my readineſs at Crambo and capping verſes: I often made themes for other boys, and ſold my copy for a tart or a cuſtard: at nine years old I was taken notice of for an Engliſh Diſtich, and afterwards immortalized myſelf by an Holyday's Taſk in the ſame language, which my maſter, who was himſelf a poet, pronounc'd to be ſcarce inferior to his favourite Blackmore. Theſe were followed by a multitude of little pieces, that, like other fruits which come before their proper ſeaſon, had nothing to recommend them but their early appearance.

FILLED however with great conceptions of my genius and importance, I could not but lament that ſuch extraordinary parts ſhould be confined within the narrow circle of [33] my relations and acquaintance. Therefore, in order to oblige and amaze the public, I ſoon became a very large contributor to the Monthly Magazines. But I had the unſpeakable mortification to ſee my favours ſometimes not inſerted, often poſtponed, often much altered, and you may be ſure for the worſe. On all theſe occaſions I never failed to condemn the arrogance and folly of the compilers of theſe miſcellanies, wondering how they could ſo groſsly miſtake their own intereſt, and neglect the entertainment of their readers.

IN the mean time a maiden aunt with whom I lived, a very pious old lady, turned Methodiſt, and often took me with her to the Tabernacle, the Foundery, and many private meetings. This made ſuch an impreſſion upon my mind, that I devoted myſelf entirely to ſacred ſubjects, and wrote ſeveral Hymns, which were received with infinite applauſe by all the good women who viſited my aunt; and (the ſervants being alſo Methodiſts) they were often ſung by the whole family in the kitchen. I might perhaps in time have rivalled Weſley in theſe divine compoſitions, and had even begun an entire new verſion of the Pſalms, when my aunt, changing her religion a ſecond time, became a Moravian. But the Hymns uſually ſung by the United Brethren contain ſentiments ſo ſublime and ſo incomprehenſible, that notwithſtanding my late ſucceſs in that kind of poetry, and the great opinion I entertained of my own talents, I durſt not venture on their ſtile and manner.

AS Love and Poetry mutually produce each other, it is no wonder that before I was ſeventeen I had ſingled out my particular Sachariſſa. This, you may ſuppoſe, gave birth to innumerable Songs, Elegies, and Acroſtics. In the ſpace of two years I had written more love-verſes than [34] Waller or any other poet; when, juſt as I imagined I had ryhmed myſelf into her good graces, I had the mortification to find that my miſtreſs was married to a Cornet of Horſe, a fellow who, I am ſure, never wrote a line in his life. This threw me into ſuch a violent rage againſt the whole ſex, that I immediately burnt every ſyllable I had written in her praiſe, and in bitterneſs of ſoul tranſlated the ſixth Satire of Juvenal.

SOON after this the ſon and heir of Lord Townly, (to whom I have the honour of being a diſtant relation) was in a treaty of marriage with a rich heireſs. I ſat down immediately with great compoſure to write an Epithalamium on this occaſion. I trimm'd Hymen's torch, and invited the Loves and Graces to the wedding: Concord was prepared to join their hands, and Juno to bleſs them with a numerous race of children. After all theſe pains, when every thing was ready for the wedding, and the laſt hand put to the Epithalamium, the match was ſuddenly broke off, and my poem of courſe rendered uſeleſs. I was more uneaſy under this diſappointment than any of the parties could poſſibly be; 'till I was informed of the ſudden marriage of a noble lord with a celebrated beauty. On this popular occaſion, promiſing myſelf univerſal applauſe, I immediately publiſhed my Epithalamium; which, like Bayes's Prologue, was artfully contrived to ſerve one purpoſe as well as another.

AS my notions had been hitherto confined within a narrow ſphere of life, my literary purſuits were conſequently leſs important, 'till I had the opportunity of enlarging my ideas by going abroad. My travels, of which I have before hinted ſomething to the reader, opened to me a new and extenſive field for obſervation. I will not preſume to boaſt, that I received any part of my education at Geneva, or any of thoſe [35] celebrated foreign Univerſities, in which alone an ENGLISHMAN can be grounded in the principles of religion and liberty:—but I may ſay without vanity that I gleaned ſome uſeful knowledge from every place I viſited. My propenſity to writing followed me wherever I went; and were I to meet with encouragement by a large ſubſcription, I could publiſh ſeveral volumes of curious remarks which I made in my tour. I had indeed like to have got into ſome unlucky ſcrapes, by turning author in places where the liberty of the preſs was never ſo much as heard of. At Paris I narrowly eſcaped being put into the Baſtile for a little Chanſon à boire reflecting on the Miſtreſs of the Grand Monarque; and I was obliged to quit Rome a week ſooner than I intended, for fixing on Paſquin a Prayer for the Pope's Toe, which was then laid up with the gout.

IT was not 'till my return from abroad, that I formally commenc'd a profeſſed Critic, for which I now thought myſelf thoroughly qualified. I could draw parallels between Marſeilles and Denoyer, compare the behaviour of the French Parterre with the Engliſh Pit, and have lately made a figure by affecting an indifference about the preſent Burlettas, as I took care to let every body know that I had often ſeen them in Flanders. My knowledge in theatrical affairs naturally led me to write a great number of occaſional pamphlets on thoſe topics, ſuch as "Examens of New Plays, Letters to the Managers," &c. Not content with this, I had a ſtrong inclination to ſhine in the Drama. I often pleaſed myſelf with computing— ‘"three benefit nights—let me ſee—ſix hundred pounds at leaſt—an hundred more for the copy—beſides a perpetual freedom of the Houſe."’—Theſe were temptations not to be reſiſted. I ſat down therefore to a Tragedy; but before I got through the firſt act, deſpairing to make it ſufficiently pathetic for the modern taſte, [36] I chang'd my ſcheme, and began a Comedy: then again reflecting that moſt of our Comedies were in reality nothing but overgrown Farces, contented myſelf with writing what authors are now pleaſed to call a Comedy of two Acts. This I finiſhed with a great deal of pains, and very much to my own ſatisfaction: but not being able to get it on the ſtage, as one houſe was entirely taken up with Pantomimes, and the Manager of the other had ſo many Farces of his own, I generouſly made a preſent of it to an actor for his benefit;—when to my great ſurprize it was damn'd.

I HAVE at laſt reſolv'd to bend all my attention, and employ all my powers, in the carrying on this my preſent elaborate undertaking. I am ſorry to own that the ſucceſs has not at all anſwer'd my expectations: I flatter'd myſelf with being univerſally known, read, and admir'd; but I find quite the contrary. I went into a coffee-houſe the other day by White-chapel Mount, where on aſking for the CONNOISSEUR the woman ſtared at me, and ſaid ſhe did not know what I meant. I dined laſt week at a foreign ambaſſador's, and not a word about me or my works paſſed at table. I wrote to a relation at Caermarthen, deſiring to know what reputation my paper has in Wales; but he tells me that nothing in the literary way comes down there but the King's Speech and the London Evening Poſt. I have enquired into the ſale of my firſt number, my ſecond, my third, my fourth, and the laſt; yet I cannot aſſure my readers that I have ſold three thouſand of any one of them. In ſhort, I give this public notice once for all, that if I don't find myſelf taken in all over England by the time I have publiſhed two or three hundred papers,—let them look to it—let them look to it—I'll bid adieu to my ungrateful country, go directly to Berlin, and (as Voltaire is diſcarded) employ my pen in the ſervice of that Encourager of Arts and Sciences, the King of Pruſſia.

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where [...]

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER VII. THURSDAY, March 14, 1754.

[37]
Paenitet hoſpitii, cùm me ſpectante, lacertos
Imponit collo ruſticus ille tuo.
Oſcula cùm vero coram non dura daretis,
Ante oculos poſui pocula ſumpta meos.
OVID.

THE ingenious correſpondent, to whom I am obliged for the following letter, will, I hope, excuſe the alterations, which I have taken the liberty to make in it.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I SHALL make no apology for recommending to your notice as CENSOR GENERAL, a fault which is too common among married people. Love is indeed a very rare ingredient in modern wedlock, nor can the [38] parties entertain too much affection for each other; but an open diſplay of it on all occaſions renders them ridiculous.

A FEW days ago I was introduced to a young couple, who were but lately married, and are reckoned by all their acquaintance to be exceeding happy in each other. I had ſcarce ſaluted the bride, when the huſband caught her eagerly in his arms, and almoſt devoured her with kiſſes. When we were ſeated, they took care to place themſelves cloſe to each other, and during our converſation he was piddling with her fingers, tapping her cheek, or playing with her hair. At dinner they were mutually employed in preſſing each other to taſte of every diſh, and the fond appellations of ‘"my dear, my love, &c."’ were continually bandied acroſs the table. Soon after the cloth was removed, the lady made a motion to retire, but the huſband prevented the compliments of the reſt of the company by ſaying, ‘"We ſhould be unhappy without her."’ As the bottle went round he join'd her health to every toaſt, and could not help now and then riſing from his chair to preſs her hand, and manifeſt the warmth of his paſſion by the ardour of his careſſes. This precious fooling, though it highly entertained them, gave me great diſguſt, therefore, as my company might very well be ſpared, I took my leave as ſoon as poſſible.

THIS behaviour, though at all times improper, may in ſome ſort be excuſed, where perhaps the match has been huddled up by the parents, and the young people are ſuch new acquaintance, that they ſcarce ever ſaw each other 'till their marriage. A pair of loving turtles may be indulged in a little amorous billing at their firſt coming [39] together, but this licence ſhould expire with the Honey-moon, and even in that period be uſed but ſparingly.

NOTHING is more common than to ſee a new-married couple ſetting out with a ſplendor in their equipage, furniture, and manner of living, which they have been afterwards obliged to retrench: thus it happens when they have made themſelves remarkable by a ſhow of exceſſive love. They begin with great eclat, are laviſh of their fondneſs at firſt, but their whole ſtock is ſoon waſted, and their poverty is the more inſupportable, as their former profuſion has made it more conſpicuous. I have remarked the ill conſequence of this indiſcretion in both caſes: one couple has at laſt had ſeparate beds, while the other have been carried to the Opera in hackney chairs.

TWO people, who are to paſs their whole lives together, may ſurely find time enough for dalliance without playing over their pretty tricks in public. How ridiculous would it appear, if in a large aſſembly every one ſhould ſelect his mate, and the whole company ſhould fall into couples, like the birds on St. Valentine's Day! It is equally abſurd to ſee a man and his wife eternally trifling and toying together,

Still amorous, and fond, and billing,
Like Philip and Mary on a ſhilling.
HUDIB.

I HAVE often been reduced to a kind of aukward diſtreſs on theſe occaſions, not knowing which way to look, or what to ſay. I conſider them as playing a game in which the ſtander-by is not at all intereſted, and would therefore [40] recommend it to every third perſon in theſe circumſtances to take it as a hint that the parties have a mind to be alone, and leave the room without further ceremony.

A FRIEND of mine happened to be engaged in a viſit to one of theſe loving couples. He ſat ſtill for ſome time without interrupting the little endearments that paſſed between them. Finding them at length quite loſt in Nods, Whiſpers, Ogles, and in ſhort wholly taken up with each other, he rang the bell, and deſired the ſervant to ſend in my lady's woman. When ſhe came, he led her very gravely to the ſettee, and began to indulge himſelf in certain freedoms, which provoked the damſel to complain loudly of his rudeneſs. The lady flew into a violent paſſion, and rated him ſeverely for his monſtrous behaviour. My friend begged her pardon with great politeneſs, hoped ſhe was not offended, for that he thought there had been no harm in amuſing himſelf a little while with Mrs. Betty, in the ſame manner as Her Ladyſhip and Sir John had been amuſing themſelves theſe two hours.

BUT if this conduct is blameable in young people, how very abſurd is it in thoſe advanced in years! Who can help laughing when he ſees a worn-out Beau and Belle practiſing at threeſcore the very follies that are ridiculous at ſixteen? I could wiſh that ſuch a pair of antiquated lovers were delineated by the pencil of a Hogarth. How humourouſly would he repreſent two emaciated wrinkled figures, with eyes ſunk into their heads, lank cheeks, and toothleſs gums, affecting to leer, ſmile, and languiſh at each other! But this affectation is ſtill more remarkable, when a liquoriſh old fool is continually fondling a young wife: though perhaps the ſight is not ſo diſguſting to a ſtranger, who may reaſonably [41] ſuppoſe it to be the overflowings of a father's tenderneſs for his daughter.

IT ſometimes happens that one of them perceives the folly of this behaviour. I have ſeen a ſenſible man quite uneaſy at the indiſcreet marks of kindneſs ſhewn by his lady. I know a clergyman in the country, who is often put to the bluſh by the ſtrange familiarities, which his wife's love induces her to take with him. As ſhe has had but an indifferent education, you would often be at a loſs to know whether ſhe is very kind, or very rude. If he dines abroad, ſhe always ſees him get on horſeback, and before he has got twenty yards from the door, hollows after him, ‘"be at home in time, my dear dog, do."’ I have known her almoſt quarrel with him for not buttoning his coat in the middle of Summer, and ſhe once had the good nature to burn a very valuable collection of Greek Manuſcripts, leſt the poring over thoſe horrid crooked letters ſhould put her dear Jack's eyes out. Thus does ſhe torment the poor parſon with her violent affection for him, and according to the common phraſe, kills him with kindneſs.

I WOULD recommend it to all married people, but eſpecially to the ladies, not to be ſo ſweet upon their dears before company. But I would not be underſtood to countenance that coldneſs and indifference, which is ſo faſhionable in the polite world. Nothing is accounted more ungenteel than for a huſband and wife to be ſeen together in public places; and if they ſhould ever accidentally meet, they take no more notice of each other, than if they were abſolute ſtrangers. The gentleman may laviſh as much gallantry as he pleaſes on other women, and the lady give encouragement to twenty pretty fellows without cenſure; [42] but they would either of them bluſh at being ſurprized in ſhewing the leaſt marks of a regard for each other.

BEFORE I conclude I cannot but take notice of thoſe luſcious love-ſcenes, that have ſo great a ſhare in our modern plays; which are rendered ſtill more fulſom by the officiouſneſs of the player, who takes every opportunity of heightening the expreſſion by kiſſes and embraces. In a Comedy, nothing is more reliſhed by the audience than a loud ſmack which echoes through the whole houſe, and in the moſt paſſionate ſcenes of a Tragedy, the Hero and Heroine are continually flying into each others arms. For my part I am never preſent at a ſcene of this kind, which produces a conſcious ſimper from the Boxes, and a hearty chuckle of applauſe from the Pit and Galleries, but I am ready to exclaim with old Renault‘"I like not theſe huggers."’

I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, &c.

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where Letters to the CONNOISSEUR are received.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER VIII. THURSDAY, March 21, 1754.

[43]
O quanta ſpecies cerebrum non habet!
PHAEDR.

I MUST acknowledge the receipt of many letters containing very laviſh encomiums on my works. Among the reſt a correſpondent, whom I take to be a Bookſeller, is pleaſed to compliment me on the goodneſs of my print and paper, but tells me that he is very ſorry not to ſee ſomething expreſſive of my undertaking in the little cut that I carry in front. It is true, indeed, that my printer and publiſher held ſeveral conſultations on this ſubject; and I am aſhamed to confeſs that they had once prevailed on me to ſuffer a profile of my face to be prefixed to each number. But when it was finiſhed, I was quite mortified to ſee what a ſcurvy figure I made in wood: nor could I ſubmit to be hung out, like Broughton, at my own [44] door, or let my face ſerve, like the canvaſs before a booth, to call people in to the ſhow.

I HOPE it will not be imputed to envy or malevolence, that I here remark on this part of the productions of Mr. Fitz-Adam. When he gave his paper the title of The WORLD, I ſuppoſe he meant to intimate his deſign of deſcribing that part of it, who are known to account all other perſons No Body, and are therefore emphatically call'd The WORLD. if this was to be pictured out in the head-piece, a lady at her toilette, a party at whiſt, or the jovial member of the Dilettanti tapping the world for champagne, had been the moſt natural and obvious hieroglyphics. But when we ſee the portrait of a philoſopher poring on the globe, inſtead of obſervations on modern life we might more naturally expect a ſyſtem of geography, or an attempt towards a diſcovery of the longitude.

THE reader will ſmile perhaps at a criticiſm of this kind; yet certainly even here propriety ſhould be obſerved, or at leaſt all abſurdities avoided: but this matter being uſually left to the printer or bookſeller, it is often attended with ſtrange blunders and miſ-applications. I have ſeen a Sermon uſhered in with the repreſentation of a ſhepherd and ſhepherdeſs ſporting on a bank of flowers, with two little Cupids ſmiling over head; while perhaps an Epithalamium or an Ode for a Birth-day has been introduced with death's heads and croſs-marrow-bones.

THE inhabitants of Grubſtreet are generally very ſtudious of propriety in this point. Before the half-penny account of an horſe-race, we ſee the jockeys whipping, ſpurring, joſtling, and the horſes ſtraining within ſight of the poſt. The laſt dying ſpeech, character, and behaviour of the [45] malefactors preſents us with a proſpect of the place of execution; and the hiſtory of the London Prentice exhibits the figure of a lad ſtanding between two lions, and ramming his hands down their throats. A due regard has been paid to this article in the ſeveral elegies from that quarter on the death of Mr. Pelham. They are encompaſſed with diſmal black lines, and all the ſable emblems of death; nor can we doubt but that an author, who takes ſuch care to expreſs a decent ſorrow on the outſide of his work, has infuſed a great deal of the pathetic into the piece itſelf.

THESE little embelliſhments were originally deſigned to pleaſe the eye of the reader, as we tempt children to learn their letters by diſpoſing the alphabet into pictures. But in our modern compoſitions, they are not only ornamental but uſeful. An angel or a flowerpot, at the beginning and end of every chapter or ſection, enables the bookſeller to ſpin out a novel, without plot or incident, to a great number of volumes; and by the help of theſe decorations properly diſpoſed I have known a little piece ſwell into a duodecimo, which had ſcarce matter enough for a ſix-penny pamphlet.

IN this place I might alſo take notice of the ſeveral new improvements in the buſineſs of Typography. Though it is reckoned ungenteel to write a good hand, yet every one is proud of appearing in a beautiful print; and the productions of a man of quality come from the preſs in a very neat letter, though perhaps the Manuſcript is hardly legible. Indeed, our modern writers ſeem to be more ſollicitous about outward elegance than the intrinſic merit of their compoſitions; and on this account it is thought no mean recommendation of their works, to advertiſe that they are neatly printed on an entire new letter. Nor are they only [46] indebted to the preſs for the beauty of the type, but often call in it's aſſiſtance to explain and enforce the ſentiment. When an author is in doubt whether the reader will be able to comprehend his meaning, or indeed whether he has any meaning at all, he takes care to ſprinkle the ſentence with Italicks: but when he would ſurprize us with any thing more ſtriking than ordinary, he diſtinguiſhes the emphatical words by large ſtaring CAPITALS, which overtop the reſt of their fellows, and are intended, like the grenadiers caps, to give us an idea of ſomething grand and uncommon. Theſe are deſigned as ſo many hints to let the reader know where he is to be particularly affected, and anſwer the ſame purpoſe with the marginal directions in plays, which inform the actor when he is to laugh or cry.

THIS practice is moſt remarkable in pieces of modern wit and humour; and it may be obſerved that where there is the leaſt of theſe lively qualities, the author is moſt deſirous of ſubſtituting theſe arts in their room; imagining that by a judicious diſtribution of theſe enlivening ſtrokes in different parts of it, his work, however dull in itſelf, will become ſmart and brilliant. But it muſt not be diſſembled that the hint was originally taken from the Theatres. The writer of the play-bills deals out his capitals in ſo juſt a proportion, that you may tell the ſalary of each actor by the ſize of the letter in which his name is printed. When the preſent manager of Drury-Lane firſt came upon the ſtage, a new ſet of types two inches long were caſt on purpoſe to do juſtice to his extraordinary merit. This is ſo proper that the ſevereſt critics on the Drama cannot be offended at this piece of theatrical juſtice.

[47]THERE is lately ſprung up among us a new ſpecies of writers, who are moſt of them perſons of the firſt rank and faſhion. At this period the whole Houſe of Commons are turned authors; and we cannot ſufficiently admire the propriety of ſtile and ſentiment in thoſe elegant addreſſes, by which they humbly offer themſelves as candidates, and beg the favour of your votes and intereſt. Theſe gentlemen avail themſelves greatly of the arts of printing abovementioned; whether they would raiſe the merits of their own cauſe, or throw out invectives on the oppoſite party. The Courtier ſets before your eyes his ſteady attachment to King GEORGE, while his opponent diſplays in the ſame manner his zeal for LIBERTY and the CONSTITUTION. This muſt undoubtedly have a wonderful effect on the electors; and I could aſſure any patriot the moſt certain ſucceſs, who ſhould manifeſt his regard for Old England by printing his addreſſes in the Old Engliſh character.

BUT in the whole republic of letters there are none perhaps who are more obliged to the printer than the writers of periodical eſſays. The SPECTATORS indeed came into the world without any of the advantages we are poſſeſs'd of. They were originally publiſhed in a very bad print and paper, and were ſo entirely deſtitute of all outward ornaments, that (like Terence's virgin) ‘"unleſs the ſoul of beauty had breath'd through the compoſitions themſelves, theſe diſadvantages would have ſuppreſs'd the leaſt appearances of it."’

—nî vis boni
In ipſâ ineſſet formâ, haec formam extinguerent.

AS it requires no genius to ſupply a defect of this nature, our modern eſſays as much excell the SPECTATORS [48] in elegance of form, as perhaps they may be thought to fall ſhort of them in every other reſpect. But they have this additional advantage, that by the fineneſs of their paper they are reſcued from ſerving many mean and ignoble purpoſes to which they might otherwiſe be applied. They alſo form themſelves more commodiouſly into volumes, and become genteeler appendages of the tea-table. The candid reader will undoubtedly impute this extraordinary care about externals to the modeſty of us preſent eſſayiſts, who are willing to compenſate for our poverty of genius by beſtowing theſe outward graces and embelliſhments on our works. For my own part I never reflect on the firſt unadorned publication of the SPECTATOR, and at the ſame time take up one of my own papers ſet off with every ornament of the preſs, but I am afraid that the critics will apply what a facetious peer is ſaid to have remarked on a different occaſion, that ‘"The firſt is a ſoul without a body, and the laſt a body without a ſoul."’

AS in this faſhionable age there are many of Lord Poppington's opinion, that a book ſhould be recommended by it's outſide to a man of quality and breeding, it is incumbent on all authors to appear as well dreſt as poſſible, if they expect to be admitted into polite company: yet we ſhould not lay too much ſtreſs on the decorations of our works, but rather remember Tully's precept to all who build, that ‘"the owner ſhould be an ornament to the houſe, and nor the houſe to the owner."’

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER IX. THURSDAY, March 28, 1754.

[49]
—ſolvitque animis miracula rerum,
Eripuitque Jovi fulmen, vireſque Tonanti.
MANIL.

THE publication of Lord Bolinbroke's poſthumous works has given new life and ſpirit to Freethinking. We ſeem at preſent to be endeavouring to unlearn our Catechiſm, with all that we have been taught about Religion, in order to model our faith to the faſhion of his Lordſhip's ſyſtem. We have now nothing to do but to throw away our Bibles, turn the churches into theatres, and rejoice that an act of Parliament now in force gives us an opportunity of getting rid of the Clergy by tranſportation. I was in hopes that the extraordinary price of theſe volumes would have confined their influence to perſons of quality. As they are placed above extreme indigence and abſolute want of bread, [50] their looſe notions would have carried them no farther than plundering their country: but if theſe opinions ſpread among the vulgar, we ſhall be knocked down at noonday in our ſtreets, and nothing will go forward but robberies and murders.

THE inſtances I have lately ſeen of Freethinking in the lower part of the world make me fear they are going to be as faſhionable and as wicked as their betters. I went the other night to the Robin Hood, where it is uſual for the advocates againſt religion to aſſemble, and openly avow their infidelity. One of the queſtions for the night was, ‘"Whether Lord Bolinbroke had not done greater ſervice to mankind by his writings than the Apoſtles or Evangeliſts?"’ As this ſociety is chiefly compoſed of lawyers clerks, petty tradeſmen, and the loweſt mechanics, I was at firſt ſurprized to find ſuch amazing erudition among them. Toland, Tindal, Collins, Chubb, and Mandeville, they ſeemed to have got by heart. A ſhoemaker harangued his five minutes upon the excellence of the tenets maintained by Lord Bolinbroke; but I ſoon found that his reading had not been extended beyond the Idea of a Patriot King, which he had miſtaken for a glorious ſyſtem of Freethinking. I could not help ſmiling at another of the company, who took pains to ſhew his diſbelief of the Goſpel by unſainting the Apoſtles, and calling them by no other title than plain Paul, or plain Peter. The proceedings of this ſociety have, indeed, almoſt induced me to wiſh, that like the Roman Catholics, they were not permitted to read the Bible, rather than they ſhould read it, only to abuſe it.

I HAVE frequently heard many wiſe tradeſmen ſettling the moſt important articles of our faith over a pint of beer. A baker took occaſion from Canning's affair to maintain, in [51] oppoſition to the Scriptures, that man might live by bread alone, at leaſt that woman might; for elſe, ſaid he, how could the girl have been ſupported for a whole month by a few hard cruſts? In anſwer to this, a barber-ſurgeon ſet forth the improbability of that ſtory, and thence inferred, that it was impoſſible for our Saviour to have faſted forty days in the wilderneſs. I lately heard a midſhipman ſwear that the Bible was all a lie: for he had ſailed round the world with Lord Anſon, and if there had been any Red Sea, he muſt have met with it. I know a bricklayer, who, while he was working by line and rule, and carefully laying one brick upon another, would argue with a fellow-labourer, that the world was made by chance; and a cook, who thought more of his trade than his bible, in a diſpute about the miracles, made a pleaſant miſtake about the nature of the firſt, and gravely aſked his antagoniſt what he thought of the SUPPER at Cana.

THIS affectation of Freethinking, among the lower claſs of people, is at preſent happily confined to the men. On Sundays, while the huſbands are toping at the alehouſe, the good women their wives think it their duty to go to church, ſay their prayers, bring home the text, and read the leſſons with their families. But our polite ladies are, I fear, in their lives and converſations little better than Freethinkers. Going to church, ſince it is now no longer the faſhion to carry on intrigues there, is almoſt wholly laid aſide; and I verily believe, that nothing but another earthquake can ever fill the churches with people of quality. The fair ſex in general are too thoughtleſs to concern themſelves in deep enquiries into matters of religion. It is ſufficient that they are taught to believe themſelves angels: it would therefore be an ill compliment, while we talk of the heaven they beſtow, to perſuade them into the Mahometan [52] notion, that they have no ſouls: tho' perhaps our fine gentlemen may imagine, that by convincing a lady ſhe has no ſoul, ſhe will be leſs ſcrupulous about the diſpoſal of her body.

THE ridiculous notions maintained by Freethinkers in their writings ſcarce deſerve a ſerious refutation; and perhaps the beſt method of anſwering them would be to ſelect from their works all the abſurd and impoſſible notions, which they ſo ſtiffly maintain in order to evade the belief of the Chriſtian Religion. I ſhall here throw together a few of their principal tenets under the contradictory title of

The UNBELIEVER's CREED.

  • I BELIEVE that there is no God, but that Matter is God, and God is Matter; and that it is no matter whether there is any God or no.
  • I BELIEVE alſo that the world was not made; that the world made itſelf; that it had no beginning; that it will laſt for ever, world without end.
  • I BELIEVE that man is a beaſt; that the ſoul [...] the body, and the body the ſoul; and that after death there is neither body nor ſoul.
  • I BELIEVE that there is no religion; that natural religion is the only religion; and that all religion is unnatural.
  • I BELIEVE not revelation; I believe in tradition, I believe in the Talmud, I believe In the Alcoran, I believe not the Bible: I believe in Sanconiatho, I believe in Confucius, I believe in Mahomet, I believe not in CHRIST.
  • LASTLY, I believe in all unbelief.

An Addreſs to both Houſes of Parliament.

My Lords and Gentlemen,

EVER ſince we have thought fit to take theſe Kingdoms into our immediate Care, We have made it Our earneſt Endeavour to go Hand in Hand with Your Wiſdoms in [53] promoting the Welfare and Proſperity of the People. The important Buſineſs of Taxes, Marriages, Jews and Lotteries, We have left to Your weighty Conſideration, while Ourſelves have been employed in the Regulation of Faſhions, the Eſtabliſhment of Taſte, and Amendment of the Morals. We have the Satisfaction to find that both Our Meaſures have hitherto met with Succeſs: And the Public Affairs are at preſent in ſo proſperous a Condition, that the National Vices ſeem as likely to decreaſe as the National Debt.

THE Diſſolution of Your Aſſembly is now at hand; and as Your whole Attention will naturally be engaged in ſecuring to Yourſelves and Friends a Seat in the next Parliament, it is needleſs to recommend to You, that Heads ſhould be broken, Drunkenneſs encouraged, and Abuſe propagated; which has been found by Experience to be the beſt Method of ſupporting the Freedom of Elections. In the mean Time, as the Care of the Nation muſt be left to Us, it is neceſſary that during this Interval Our Prerogative, as CENSOR GENERAL, ſhould be conſiderably extended, and that We ſhould be inverted with the united Power of Lords and Commons.

WHEN We are entruſted with this important Charge, We ſhall expect that every different Faction fhall concur in Our Meaſures for the Public Utility; that Whig and Tory, High Church and Low Church, Court and Country, ſhall all unite in this Common Cauſe; and that oppoſite Parties in the Body Politic, like the Arms and Legs in the Body Natural, ſhall move in Concert, though they are on different Sides. In Our Papers, which We ſhall continue to publiſh every Thurſday under the Title of The CONNOISSEUR, every Miſdemeanor ſhall be examined, and Offenders called to the Bar of the Houſe. Be it therefore enacted, that theſe [54] Our Orders and Reſolutions have an equal Authority with Acts of Parliament, as We doubt not They will be of equal Advantage to the Community.

THE extraordinary Supplies requiſite for the Service of the current Weeks, and for the Support of Our Own Privy Purſe, oblige Us to demand of You, that a Sum, not exceeding Two-pence, be levied Weekly on each Perſon, to be collected by Our truſty and well-beloved the Bookſellers. We muſt alſo particularly requeſt of You, that the ſame Privilege and Protection be extended to Us which is enjoyed by Yourſelves, and is ſo very convenient to many of your honourable Members. It is no leſs expedient that We ſhould be ſecured from Let or Moleſtation: Be it therefore provided, that no one preſume to arreſt or cauſe to be arreſted Our Perſon, or the Perſons of Our Publiſher, Printer, Corrector, Devil, or any other employed in Our Service.

WE have only to add, that You may rely on Our Care and Diligence in diſcharging the high Truſt repoſed in Us, in ſuch Manner as ſhall merit the Thanks of the next Parliament. We ſhall then recommend it to Their Conſideration, whether it would not be for the Intereſt of theſe Kingdoms, that We ſhould have a Woolpack allotted Us with the Biſhops, or be allowed a Seat among the Commons, as the Repreſentative of the whole People: But if this ſhould be deemed too great an Honour, it will at leaſt be thought neceſſary that We ſhould be occaſionally called in, like the Judges, to give Our Opinion on Caſes of Importance.

TOWN, Connoiſſeur, Critic, and Cenſor General.

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where Letters to the CONNOISSEUR are received.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER X. THURSDAY, April 4, 1754.

[55]
[...]
[...]
HOMER.

I AM obliged for to-day's paper to the ſame hand that favoured me with the ſeventh number.

LEARNING, as it poliſhes the mind enlarges our ideas, and gives an ingenuous turn to all our converſation and behaviour, has ever been eſteemed a liberal accompliſhment; and is indeed the principal characteriſtic that diſtinguiſhes the gentleman from the mechanic.

THIS axiom being univerſally allowed and approved of, I have often obſerved with wonder the neglect of learning that prevails among the gentlemen of the army; who, notwithſtanding [56] their ſhameful deficiency in this main requiſite, are generally propoſed as the moſt exact models of good behaviour, and ſtandards of politeneſs.

THE art of war is no eaſy ſtudy: it requires much labour and application to go through what Milton calls ‘"the rudiments of ſoldierſhip in all the ſkill of embattling, marching, encamping, fortifying, beſieging and battering, with all the helps of ancient and modern ſtratagems, Tactics, and warlike maxims."’ With all theſe every officer ſhould undoubtedly be acquainted; for mere regimentals no more create a ſoldier, than the cowl a monk. But, I fear, the generality of our army have made little proficiency in the art they profeſs, have learnt little more than juſt to acquit themſelves with ſome decency at a review, have not ſtudied and examined as they ought the ancient and modern principles of war,

"Nor the diviſion of a battle know,
"More than a ſpinſter."
SHAKESPEARE.

BESIDES the ſtudy of the art of war itſelf, there are many collateral branches of literature, of which, as gentlemen and as ſoldiers, they ſhould not be ignorant. Whoever bears a commiſſion in the army ſhould be well read in hiſtory. The examples of Alexander, Caeſar, or Marlborough, however illuſtrious, are of little concern to the generality of readers, but are ſet up as ſo many beacons, to direct thoſe who are purſuing the ſame courſe to glory. A thorough knowledge of hiſtory would furniſh a commander with true courage, inſpire him with an honeſt emulation of his anceſtors, and teach him to gain a victory without ſhedding blood.

[57]POETRY too, more eſpecially that of the ancients, ſeems particularly calculated for the peruſal of thoſe concerned in war. The ſubject of the Iliad is intirely martial, and the principal characters are diſtinguiſhed from each other chiefly by their different exertion of the ſingle quality of courage. It was, I ſuppoſe, on account of this martial ſpirit that breathes throughout the Iliad, that Alexander was ſo captivated with it that he is ſaid to have laid it every night under his pillow. The principal character in the Aeneid is a general of remarkable piety and courage, and great part of the poem is made up of war. Theſe ſtudies cannot ſurely fail of animating a modern breaſt, which often kindled ſuch a noble ardour in the antients.

IF we look into the lives of the greateſt generals of antiquity, we ſhall find them no mean proficients in ſcience. They led their armies to victory by their courage, and ſupported the ſtate by their counſels. They revered the ſame Pallas as the goddeſs of war and of wiſdom; and the Spartans in particular, before they entered on an engagement, always ſacrificed to the Muſes. The exhortations given by commanders before the onſet are ſome of the moſt animated pieces of oratory in all antiquity, and frequently produced aſtoniſhing effects, rouſing the ſoldiers from deſpair, and hurrying them on to victory. An illiterate commander would have been the contempt of Greece and Rome. Tully indeed was called the learned Conſul in deriſion, but then, as Dryden obſerves, ‘"His head was turned another way; when he read the Tactics, he was thinking on the bar, which was his field of battle."’ I am particularly pleaſed with the character of Scipio Aemilianus as drawn by Velleius Paterculus, and would recommend it to the ſerious imitation of our modern officers. He was ſo great an admirer of liberal ſtudies, that he always retained the moſt eminent wits in his camp: [58] nor did any one fill up the intervals of buſineſs with more elegance, retiring from war only to cultivate the arts of peace; always employed in arms or ſtudy, always exerciſing his body with perils, or diſciplining his mind with ſcience. The author contraſts this amiable portrait with a deſcription of Mummius, a general ſo little verſed in the polite arts, that having taken at Corinth ſeveral pictures and ſtatues of the greateſt artiſts, he threatened the perſons who were intruſted with the carriage of them to Italy, ‘"that if they loſt thoſe they ſhould give new ones."’

I WOULD fain have a Britiſh officer looked upon with as much reſpect as thoſe of Greece and Rome: but while they neglect the acquiſition of the ſame accompliſhments, this can never be the caſe. Inſtead of cultivating their minds, they are wholly taken up in adorning their bodies, and look upon gallantry and intrigue as eſſential parts of their character. To glitter in the boxes or at an aſſembly, is the full diſplay of their politeneſs, and to be the life and ſoul of a lewd brawl almoſt the only exertion of their courage; inſomuch that there is a good deal of juſtice in Macheath's raillery, when he ſays, ‘"if it was not for us, and the other gentlemen of the ſword, Drury-Lane would be uninhabited."’

IT is ſomething ſtrange that Officers ſhould want any inducement to acquire ſo gentleman-like an accompliſhment as learning. If they imagine it would derogate from their good-breeding, or call off their attention from military buſineſs, they are miſtaken. Pedantry is no more connected with learning, than raſhneſs with courage. Caeſar, who was the fineſt gentleman and the greateſt general, was alſo the beſt ſcholar of his age.

TO ſay the truth, learning wears a more amiable aſpect and winning air in courts and camps, whenever it appears [59] there, than amid the gloom of colleges and cloiſters. Mixing in genteel life files off the ruſt that may have been contracted by ſtudy, and wears out any little oddneſs or peculiarity that may be acquired in the cloſet. For this reaſon the officer is more inexcuſable who neglects an accompliſhment that would ſit ſo gracefully upon him: for this reaſon too, we pay ſo great deference to thoſe few, who have enriched their minds with the treaſures of antiquity. An illiterate officer either hardens into a bravo, or refines into a fop: the inſipidity of the fop is utterly contemptible, and a rough brutal courage, unpoliſhed by ſcience, and unaſſiſted by reaſon, has no more claim to heroiſm than the caſe-harden'd valour of a bruiſer or prize-fighter. Agreably to this notion Homer in the fifth Iliad repreſents the goddeſs Minerva as wounding Mars, and driving the heavy deity off the field of battle; implying allegorically, that wiſdom is capable of ſubduing courage.

I WOULD flatter myſelf that Britiſh minds are ſtill as noble, and Britiſh genius as exuberant, as that of any other nation or age whatever; but that ſome are debaſed by luxury, and others run wild for want of proper cultivation. If Athens can boaſt her Miltiades, Themiſtocles, &c. Rome her Camillus, Fabius, Caeſar, &c. England has had her Edwards, Henrys, and Marlboroughs. It is to be hoped the time will come, when learning will be reckoned as neceſſary to qualify a man for the army, as for the bar or pulpit. Then we may expect to ſee the Britiſh ſoldiery enter on the field of battle, as on a theatre, for which they are prepared in the parts they are to act. ‘"They will not then (as Milton expreſſes himſelf with his uſual ſtrength in his Treatiſe on Education) if intruſted with fair and hopeful armies, ſuffer them, for want of juſt and wiſe diſcipline, to ſhed away from about [60] them like ſick feathers, tho' they be never ſo oft ſupplied: They would not ſuffer their empty and unrecruitible colonels of twenty men in a company, to quaff out, or convey into ſecret hoards, the wages of a deluſive liſt and a miſerable remnant; yet in the mean while to be overmaſter'd with a ſcore or two of drunkards, the only ſoldiery left about them, or elſe to comply with all rapines and violences. No certainly, if they knew ought of that knowledge that belongs to good men and good governors, they would not ſuffer theſe thing."’

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where [...] to the CONNOISSEUR are received.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XI. THURSDAY, April 11, 1754.

[61]
Pallas quas condidit arces
Ipſa colat.—
VIRG.

THE principal character in Steel's comedy of the Lying Lover is young Bookwit; an Oxonian, who at once throws off the habit and manners of an academic, and aſſumes the dreſs, air, and converſation of a man of the town. He is, like other fine Gentlemen, a coxcomb, but a coxcomb of learning and parts. His erudition he renders ſubſervient to his pleaſures: his knowledge in Poetry qualifies him for a ſonneteer, his Rhetoric to ſay fine things to the ladies, and his Philoſophy to regulate his equipage; for he talks of having peripatetic footmen, a follower of Ariſtippus for a Valet de Chambre, an epicurean cook, with an hermetical chymiſt (who are good only at making fires) [62] for a ſcullion. Thus he is in every particular a fop of letters, a compleat claſſical beau.

BY a review I have lately made of the people in this great metropolis, as CENSOR, I find that the town ſwarms with Bookwits. The play-houſes, park, taverns and coffee-houſes are thronged with them. Their manner, which has ſomething in it very characteriſtic, and different from the town-bred coxcombs, diſcovers them to the ſlighteſt obſervers. It is indeed no eaſy matter for one whoſe chief employment is to ſtore his mind with new ideas, to throw that happy vacancy, that total abſence of thought and reflection into his countenance, ſo remarkable in our modern fine gentlemen. The ſame lownging air too that paſſes for genteel in an univerſity coffee-houſe is ſoon diſtinguiſh'd from the genuine careleſs loll, and eaſy ſaunter, and brings us over to the notion of Sir Willfull in The Way of the World, that a man ſhould be bound 'prentice to a maker of fops, before he ventures to ſet up for himſelf.

YET, in ſpite of all theſe diſadvantages, the love of pleaſure and a few ſupernumerary guineas draws the ſtudent from his literary employment, and entices him to this theatre of noiſe and hurry, this grand mart of pleaſure, where, as long as his purſe can ſupply him, he may be as idle as he pleaſes. I could not help ſmiling at a dialogue between two of theſe gentlemen which I overheard a few nights ago at the Bedford coffee-houſe. ‘"Ha! Jack! (ſays one accoſting the other) is it you? How long have you been in town?"—’ ‘"Two hours"—’ ‘"How long do you ſtay?"—’ ‘"Ten guineas.—If you'll come to Venable's after the play is over, you'll find Tom Latine, Bob Claſſic and two or three more who will be very glad to ſee you. What you're in town upon the ſober plan at your father's? But hark ye Frank, if you'll call in I'll [63] tell your friend Harris to prepare for you. So your ſervant; for I'm going to meet the fineſt girl upon the town in the green boxes.’

I LEFT the coffee-houſe pretty late, and as I came into the piazza the fire in the Bedford's Arms kitchen blazed ſo chearfully and invitingly before me, that I was eaſily perſuaded by a friend that was with me, to paſs the evening at that houſe. Our good fortune led us into the next room to this knot of academical rakes. Their merriment being pretty boiſterous gave us a good pretext to enquire what company were in the next room. The waiter told us, with a ſmartneſs which thoſe fellows frequently contract from attending on beaux and wits, ‘"Some gentlemen from Oxford with ſome ladies, ſir. My maſter is always very glad to ſee them, for while they ſtay in town, they never dine or ſup out of his houſe, and eat and drink, and pay better than any nobleman in town.’

AS it grew later, they grew louder: 'till at length an unhappy diſpute aroſe between two of the company concerning the preſent grand conteſt between the Old and New Intereſt, which has lately inflamed Oxfordſhire. This accident might have been attended with ugly conſequences: but as the ladies are great enemies to quarrelling, unleſs themſelves are the occaſion, a good-natured female of the company interpoſed, and quelled their animoſity. By the mediation of this fair one, the diſpute ended very faſhionably, in a bet of a dozen of claret to be drank there by the company then preſent, whenever the wager ſhould be decided. There was ſomething ſo extraordinary in their whole evening's converſation, ſuch an odd mixture of the town and univerſity, that I am perſuaded, if Sir Richard had been witneſs to it, he could have wrought it into a ſcene as lively and entertaining as any he has left us.

[64]THE whole time theſe lettered beaux remain in London is ſpent in a continual round of diverſion. Their ſphere indeed is ſomewhat confined, for they generally eat, drink, and ſleep within the precincts of Covent-Garden; where after having paſſed a day or two in the higheſt ſcenes of luxury and debauch, they return (as Bookwit has it) to ſmall beer and three-half-penny commons.

I SHALL enlarge no further on this ſubject at preſent, but conclude theſe reflexions with an ode which I have received from an unknown correſpondent, who tells me it was lately ſent to one of theſe gentlemen, (who had reſigned himſelf wholly to theſe polite enjoyments, and ſeemed to have forgot all his connexions with the univerſity) from an academical friend. All who peruſe this elegant little piece will, I doubt not, thank me for inſerting it, and the learned reader will have the additional pleaſure of admiring it as a pleaſant and humourous imitation of Horace.

An Imitation of HORACE. Book I. Ode xxix.

Icci, beatis nunc Arabum invides
Gazis, &c.
I.
SO you, my friend, at laſt are caught,
Where could you get ſo ſtrange a thought,
In mind and body ſound?
All meaner ſtudies you reſign,
Your whole ambition now to ſhine
The Beau of the Beau-Monde.
II.
Say, gallant youth, what well-known name
Shall ſpread the triumphs of thy fame
Through all the realms of Drury?
How will you ſtrike the gaping cit?
What tavern will record thy wit?
What watchmen mourn thy fury?
[65]III.
What ſprightly imp of Gallic breed
Shall have the culture of thy head,
(I mean the outward part)
Formed by his parent's early care
To range in niceſt curls the hair,
And wield the puff with art?
IV.
No more let mortals toil in vain
By wiſe conjecture to explain
What rolling time will bring:
Thames to his ſource may upwards flow,
Or Garrick ſix foot high may grow,
Or witches thrive at Tring.
V.
Since you each better promiſe break,
Once fam'd for ſlovenlineſs and Greek,
Now turn'd a very Paris,
For lace and velvet quit your gown,
The STAGYRITE for Mr. TOWN,
For Drury-Lane St. MARY's.

I SHALL here ſubjoin a letter which I have received from the country.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

BESIDES the common objections made to the late Marriage-Bill, my own family furniſhes me with a peculiar inſtance of the inconveniences ariſing from it, which (though I dare ſay many others have experienc'd) has not yet been taken notice of. You muſt know, Sir, that I have two daughters, and it has ever been my greateſt concern [66] to ſee them well ſettled. They have had ſeveral very advantageous offers, which I ſhould have been very well pleaſed with, and would have come down very handſomely; but they always put me off with ſaying, that indeed they could not think of leaving their dear papa, that they ſhould never be ſo happy with huſbands, as with each other,—and twenty excuſes of the like nature. But the caſe is now quite altered: and ſince the clamour about the abovementioned Act they are frighted out of their wits, leſt they ſhould get no huſbands at all. My eldeſt girl has juſt taken it into her head to be in love; and ſhe is very uneaſy that I am againſt her having an idle young fellow, who is not worth a penny, and whom till lately ſhe uſed to look upon with contempt. As to poor Betſy, my youngeſt girl, ſhe has taken to the trick of eating chalk, oatmeal, and the like kind of traſh, which young girls are apt to grow fond of, when their thoughts are turned upon an huſband. I don't chuſe to ſpeak to them myſelf on this head; but as the girls read your paper, I take this method of informing them that the Marriage-Bill does not at all affect them, as they may depend on my not making an ill uſe of my authority.

I am, ſir, Yours, &c. L. S.

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where Letters to the CONNOISSEUR are received.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XII. THURSDAY, April 18, 1754.

[67]
Nec verò hae ſine ſorte datae, ſine judice ſedes.
VIRG.

TURNING over the laſt volume of Lord Bolinbroke's works a few days ago, I could not help ſmiling at his extraordinary manner of commenting on ſome parts of the Scriptures. Among the reſt he repreſents Moſes as making beaſts accountable to the community for crimes as well as men: whence his lordſhip infers, that the Jewiſh Legiſlator ſuppoſed them capable of diſtinguiſhing between right and wrong, and acting as moral agents. The oddity of this remark led me to reflect, that if ſuch an opinion ſhould prevail in any country, what whimſical laws would be enacted, and how ridiculous they would appear when put in execution: as if [68] the horſe that carried the highwayman ſhould be arraigned for taking a purſe, or a dog indicted for feloniouſly ſtealing a ſhoulder of mutton. Such a country would ſeem to go upon the ſame principles, and to entertain the ſame notions of juſtice, as the puritannical old woman that hanged her cat for killing mice on the ſabbath-day.

THESE reflections were continued afterwards in my ſleep; when methought that ſuch proceedings were common in our own courts of judicature. I imagined myſelf in a ſpacious hall like the Old Bailey, where they were preparing to try ſeveral animals, who had been guilty of offences againſt the laws of the land. The walls I obſerved were hung all round with bulls-hides, ſheepſkins, foxes tails, and the ſpoils of other brute malefactors; and over the juſtice-ſeat, where the King's-Arms are commonly placed, there was fixed a large ſtag's head, which overſhadowed the magiſtrate with it's branching horns. I took particular notice that the galleries were very much crouded with ladies; which I could not tell how to account for, 'till I found it was expected that a Goat would be that day tried for a rape.

THE ſeſſions ſoon opened; and the firſt priſoner that was brought to the bar was a Hog, who was proſecuted at the ſuit of the Jews on an indictment for burglary, in breaking into their ſynagogue. As it was apprehended that religion might be affected by this cauſe, and as the proſecution appeared to be malicious, though the fact was plainly proved againſt him, the Hog, to the great joy of all true chriſtians was allowed benefit of clergy.

AN indictment was next brought againſt a Cat for killing a favourite Canary-bird. This offender belonged to an old [69] woman, who was believed by the neighbourhood to be a witch. The jury therefore were unanimous in their opinion, that ſhe was the devil in that ſhape, and brought her in guilty. Upon which the judge formally pronounced ſentence upon her, which I remember concluded with theſe words: ‘"you muſt be carried to the place of execution, where you are to be hanged by the neck nine times, 'till you are dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead; and the fidlers have mercy upon your guts."’

A PARROT was next tried for Scandalum Magnatum. He was accuſed by the Chief magiſtrate of the city, and the whole court of Aldermen, for defaming them as they paſſed along the ſtreet on a public feſtival, by ſinging ‘"Room for cuckolds, here comes a great company; room for cuckolds here comes my Lord Mayor."’ This PARROT was a very old offender, much addicted to ſcurrility, and had been ſeveral times convicted of prophane curſing and ſwearing. He had even the impudence to abuſe the whole court by calling the Jury rogues and raſcals, and frequently interrupted my Lord Judge in ſumming up the evidence by crying out, Old Bitch. The court however were pleaſed to ſhew mercy to him upon the petition of his miſtreſs, a ſtrict methodiſt, who gave bail for his good behaviour, and delivered him to Mr. Whitefield, who undertook to make a thorough convert of him.

AFTER this a Fox was indicted for robbing an hen-rooſt. Many farmers appeared againſt him, who depoſed that he was a very notorious thief, and had long been the terror of ducks, geeſe, turkies and all other poultry. He had infeſted the country long time and had often been purſued, but they could never take him before. As the Evidence was very [70] full againſt him, the jury readily brought him in guilty; and the judge was proceeding to condemn him, when the ſly villain watering his bruſh flirted it in the Face of the jailor, and made off. Upon this a country 'ſquire who was preſent, hollowed out ſtole away, and a hue and cry was immediately ſent after him.

WHEN the uproar which this occaſioned was over, a MILCH-ASS was brought to the bar, and tried for contumeliouſly braying, as ſhe ſtood at the door of a ſick lady of quality. It appeared that this lady was terribly afflicted with the vapours, and could not bear the leaſt noiſe; had the knocker always tyed up, and ſtraw laid in the ſtreet. Notwithſtanding which this audacious creature uſed every morning to give her foul language, which broke her reſt, and flung her into hyſterics. For this repeated abuſe the criminal was ſentenced to the pillory, and ordered to loſe her ears.

AN information was next laid againſt a Shepherd's DOG upon the GAME-ACT for poaching. He was accuſed of killing an hare without being properly qualified. But the plaintiff thought it adviſeable to quaſh the indictment, as the owner of the dog had a vote to ſell at the next election.

THERE now came on a very important cauſe, in which ſix of the moſt eminent council learned in the law were retained on each ſide. A MONKEY, belonging to a lady of the firſt rank and faſhion, was indicted, for that he with malice prepenſe did commit wilful murder on the body of a lap-dog. The council for the proſecutor ſet forth, that the unfortunate deceaſed came on a viſit with another lady; when the Priſoner at the bar, without the leaſt provocation, and contrary to the laws of hoſpitality, perpetrated this inhuman [71] fact. The council for the priſoner being called upon to make the MONKEY's defence, pleaded his privilege, and inſiſted on his being tried by his peers. This plea was admitted without demurr, and a jury of beaux was immediately impannelled, who without going out of court honourably acquitted him.

THE proceedings were here interrupted by a HOUND, who came jumping into the Hall, and running to the Juſtice-Seat lifted up his leg againſt the Judge's robe. For this contemptuous behaviour he was directly ordered into cuſtody, when to our great ſurprize he caſt his ſkin, and became an OSTRICH; and preſently after ſhed his feathers, and terrified us in the figure of a BEAR. Then he was a LION, then an HORSE, then again a BABOON; and after many oother amazing transformations leaped out an HARLEQUIN, and before they could take hold of him ſkipped away to Covent-Garden theatre.

IT would be tedious to recount the particulars of ſeveral other trials. A ſportſman brought an action againſt a RACE-HORSE for running on the wrong ſide of the poſt, by which he loſt the Plate and many conſiderable betts. For this the criminal was ſentenced to be burnt in the forehand, and to be whipt at the Cart's tail. A Mare would have undergone the ſame puniſhment for throwing her rider in a Stag-hunt, but eſcaped by pleading her belly; upon which a jury of grooms was impannelled, who brought her in quick. The company of DOGS and MONKEYS together with the DANCING BEARS, who were taken up on the LICENSE-ACT, and indicted for Strollers, were tranſported for life.

THE laſt trial was for high treaſon. A LION, who had been long confined as a State-priſoner in the TOWER, having [72] broke goal, had appeared in open rebellion, and committed ſeveral acts of violence on his MAJESTY's liege-ſubjects. As this was a noble animal, and a prince of the blood in his own native country, he was condemned to be beheaded. It came into my thoughts, that this LION's HEAD might vie with that famous one formerly erected at Button's for the ſervice of the GUARDIAN: I was accordingly going to petition for leave to ſet it up in Macklin's new Coffee-houſe; when methought the Lion, ſetting up a moſt horrible roar, broke his chains and put the whole court to flight; and I awaked in the utmoſt conſternation, juſt as I imagined he had got me in his gripe.

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where Letters to the CONNOISSEUR are received.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XIII. THURSDAY, April 25, 1754.

[73]
—Commotâ fervet plebecula bile.
PERS.

I SHALL this day preſent my readers with a letter which I have received from my couſin VILLAGE; who, as I informed them in my firſt paper, has undertaken to ſend me an account of every thing remarkable that paſſes in the country.

DEAR COUSIN,

I HAVE not been unmindful of the province which you was pleaſed to allot me; but the whole country has been lately ſo much taken up with the buſineſs of Elections, that nothing has fallen under my notice, but debates, ſquabbles, and drunken rencounters. The ſpirit of party [74] prevails ſo univerſally, that the very children are inſtructed to liſp out the names of the favourite chiefs of each faction; and I have more than once been in danger of being knocked off my horſe, as I rode peaceably on, becauſe I did not declare with which party I ſided, though I knew nothing at all of either. Every petty village abounds with the moſt profound ſtateſmen: it is common to ſee our ruſtic politicians aſſembling after ſermon, and ſettling the good of their country acroſs a tomb-ſtone, like ſo many Dictators from the plough; and every cottage can boaſt its patriot, who, like the old Roman, would not exchange his turnip for a bribe.

I AM at preſent in —, where the election is juſt coming on, and the whole town conſequently in an uproar. They have for ſeveral parliaments returned two members, who recommended themſelves by conſtantly oppoſing the court: but there came down a few days ago a banker from London, who has offered himſelf a candidate, and is backed with the moſt powerful of all intereſts, money. Nothing has been ſince thought of but feaſting and revelling; and both parties ſtrive to outdo each other in the frequency and expence of their entertainments. This indeed is the general method made uſe of to gain the favour of electors, and manifeſt a zeal for the conſtitution. I have known a candidate depend more upon the ſtrength of his liquor than his arguments; and the merits of a treat has often recommended a member, who has had no merits of his own; for it is certain, that people, however they may differ in other points, are unanimous in promoting the grand buſineſs of eating and drinking.

IT is impoſſible to give a particular account of the various diſorders occaſioned by the conteſt in this town. The [75] ſtreets ring with the different cry of each party, and every hour produces a ballad, a ſet of queries, or a ſerious addreſs to the worthy electors. I have ſeen the Mayor with half the Corporation roaring, hollowing, and reeling along the ſtreets, and yet threatening to clap a poor fellow in the ſtocks for making the ſame noiſe, only becauſe he would not vote as they do. It is no wonder that the ſtrongeſt connexions ſhould be broken, and the moſt intimate friends ſet at variance, through their difference of opinion. Not only the men, but their wives alſo are engaged in the ſame quarrel. Mr. Staunch the haberdaſher uſed to ſmoke his pipe conſtantly in the ſame kitchen-corner every evening at the ſame alehouſe with his neighbour Mr. Veer the chandler, while their ladies chatted together at the ſtreet-door: but now the huſbands never ſpeak to each other; and conſequently Mrs. Veer goes a quarter of a mile for her inkle and tape, rather than deal at Mr. Staunch's ſhop; and Mrs. Staunch declares, ſhe would go without her tea, though ſhe has always been uſed to it twice a day, rather than fetch her half quartern from that turn-coat Veer's.

WHEREVER Politics are introduc'd, Religion is always drawn into the quarrel. The town I have been ſpeaking of is divided into two parties, who are diſtinguiſh'd by the appellation of Chriſtians and Jews. The Jews, it ſeems, are thoſe, who are in the intereſt of a nobleman who gave his vote for paſſing the Jew-bill, and are held in abomination by the Chriſtians. The zeal of the latter is ſtill further inflamed by the vicar, who every ſunday thunders out his anathemas, and preaches up the pious doctrine of perſecution. In this he is ſeconded by the clerk, who is careful to enforce the arguments from the pulpit by ſelecting ſtaves proper for the occaſion.

[76]THIS truly Chriſtian ſpirit is no where more manifeſt than at their public feaſts. I was at one of their dinners, where I found great variety of pig-meat was provided. The table was covered from one end to the other with hams, legs of pork, ſpare-ribs, griſkins, haſlets, feet and ears, brawn, and the like: in the middle there ſmoaked a large barbicued hog, which was ſoon devour'd to the bone; ſo deſirous was every one to prove his Chriſtianity by the quantity he could ſwallow of that Anti-Judaic food. After dinner there was brought in, by way of deſert, a diſh of hogs puddings; but as I have a diſlike to that kind of diet, (though not from any ſcruple of conſcience,) I was regarded as little better than a Jew for declining to eat of them.

THE great ſupport of this party is an old neighbouring knight; who, ever ſince the late naturalization-act, has conceived a violent antipathy to the Jews, and takes every opportunity of railing at the above-mentioned nobleman. Sir Rowland ſwears that his lordſhip is worſe than Judas, that he is actually circumciſed, and that the chapel in this nobleman's houſe is turned into a ſynagogue. The knight had never been ſeen in a church, 'till the late clamour about the Jew-bill; but he now attends it regularly every ſunday, where he devoutly takes his nap all the ſervice; and he lately beſtowed the beſt living in his gift, which he had before promiſed to his chaplain, on one whom he had never ſeen, but had read his name in the title-page to a ſermon againſt the Jews. He turned off his butler, who had lived with him many years, and whoſe only crime was a ſwarthy complexion, becauſe the dog looked like a Jew. He feeds hogs in his park and the court-yard, and has Guinea-pigs in his parlour. Every ſaturday he has an hunt, becauſe it is the Jewiſh ſubbath; and in the evening he [77] is ſure to get drunk with the vicar in defence of religion. As he is in the commiſſion, he ordered a poor Jew pedlar, who came to hawk goods at his houſe, to Bridewell; and he was once going to ſend a little pariſh-boy to the ſame place, for preſuming to play in his worſhip's hearing on that unchriſtian-like inſtrument the Jews-Harp.

THE fair ſex here are no leſs ambitious of diſplaying their affection for the ſame cauſe, and they manifeſt their ſentiments by the colour and faſhion of their dreſs. Their zeal more particularly ſhews itſelf in a variety of poſies for rings, buckles, knots, and garters. I obſerved the other night at the aſſembly, that the ladies ſeemed to vie with each other in hanging out the enſigns of their faith in orthodox ribbands, bearing the inſcription of NO JEWS, CHRISTIANITY FOR EVER. They likewiſe wore little croſſes at their breaſts; their pompons were formed into crucifixes, their knots diſpoſed in the ſame angles, and ſo many parts of their habits moulded into that ſhape, that the whole aſſembly looked like the court on St. Andrew's day. It was remarkable that the vicar's lady, who is a thorough-paced High-Churchwoman, was more religious in the decorations of her dreſs than any of the company: in a word, ſhe was ſo ſtuck over from head to foot with croſſes, that a wag juſtly compared her to an old Popiſh tomb-ſtone in a Gothic cathedral.

I SHALL now conclude my letter with the relation of an adventure, that happened to myſelf at my firſt coming into this town. I intended to put up at the Catherine-Wheel, as I had often uſed the houſe before, and knew the landlord to be a good civil kind of fellow. I accordingly turned my horſe into the yard, when to my great ſurprize the landlord, as ſoon as he ſaw me, gave me an hearty [78] curſe, and told me I might go about my buſineſs, ‘"for indeed he would not entertain any ſuch raſcals."’ Upon this he ſaid ſomething to two or three ſtrapping country-fellows, who immediately came towards me, and if I had not rode away directly, I ſhould have met with a very rough ſalutation from their horſe-whips. I could not imagine what offence I had commited, that could give occaſion for ſuch ill uſage, 'till I heard the maſter of the inn hollowing after me ‘"that's the ſcoundrel that came here ſome time ago with Tom T'otherſide;"’ who, I have ſince learnt, is an agent for the other party.

I am, dear Couſin, Yours, &c.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE beginning of next Month will be performed at Covent-Garden Theatre, a new Dramatic Satire in two Acts called THE CONJURER.

The Public are deſired to take Notice, that this Entertainment, though it is mimical, is not pantomimical; and that The CONJURER is no Relation to The NECROMANCER or The SORCERER.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XIV. THURSDAY, May 2, 1754.

[79]
—Tum in lecto quoque videres
Stridere ſecretâ diviſos aure ſuſurros.
Nullos his nallem ludos ſpectaſſe. Sed illa
Redde age, quae deinceps riſiſti.—
HOR.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

AS the ladies are naturally become the immediate objects of your care, will you permit a complaint to be inſerted in your paper, which is founded upon a matter of fact? They will pardon me, if by laying before you a particular inſtance I was lately witneſs to of their improper behaviour, I endeavour to expoſe a reigning evil which ſubjects them to many ſhameful imputations.

[80]I RECEIVED laſt week a dinner-card from a friend, with an intimation that I ſhould meet ſome very agreeable ladies. At my arrival I found that the company conſiſted chiefly of females, who indeed did me the honour to riſe, but quite diſconcerted me in paying my reſpects by their whiſpering each other and appearing to ſtifle a laugh. When I was ſeated, the ladies grouped themſelves up in a corner, and entered into a private cabal, ſeemingly to diſcourſe upon points of great ſecreſy and importance, but of equal merriment and diverſion.

THE ſame conduct of keeping cloſe to their ranks was obſerved at table, where the ladies ſeated themſelves together. Their converſation was here alſo confined wholly to themſelves, and ſeemed like the myſteries of the Bona Dea, in which men were forbidden to have any ſhare. It was a continued laugh and a whiſper from the beginning to the end of dinner. A whole ſentence was ſcarce ever ſpoken aloud. Single words indeed now and then broke forth; ſuch as odious, horrible, deteſtable, ſhocking, HUMBUG. This laſt new-coined expreſſion, which is only to be found in the nonſenſical vocabulary, ſounds abſurd and diſagreeable whenever it is pronounced; but from the mouth of a lady it is ‘"ſhocking, deteſtable, horrible, and odious."’

MY friend ſeemed to be but in an uneaſy ſituation at his own table: but I was far more miſerable. I was mute, and ſeldom dared to lift up my eyes from my plate, or turn my head to call for ſmall beer, leſt by ſome aukward poſture I might draw upon me a whiſper or a laugh. Sancho, when he was forbid to eat of a delicious banquet ſet before him, could ſcarce appear more melancholy. The rueful length of my face might poſſibly encreaſe the mirth of my tormentors: at leaſt their joy ſeemed to riſe in exact proportion with [81] my miſery. At length, however, the time of my delivery approached. Dinner ended, the ladies made their exits in pairs, and went off hand in hand, whiſpering like the two Kings of Brentford.

MODEST men, Mr. TOWN, are deeply wounded, when they imagine themſelves the objects of ridicule or contempt; and the pain is the greater, when it is given by thoſe whom they admire, and from whom they are ambitious of receiving any marks of countenance and favour. Yet we muſt allow that affronts are pardonable from ladies, as they are often prognoſtics of future kindneſs. If a lady ſtrikes our cheek, we can very willingly follow the precept of the Goſpel, and turn the other cheek to be ſmitten. Even a blow from a fair hand conveys pleaſure:—but this battery of whiſpers is againſt all legal rights of war;—poiſoned arrows, and ſtabs in the dark, are not more repugnant to the general laws of humanity.

MODERN writers of comedy often introduce a pert witling into their pieces, who is very ſevere upon the reſt of the company; but all his waggery is ſpoken aſide. Theſe giglers and whiſperers ſeem to be acting the ſame part in company, that this arch rogue does in the play. Every word or motion produces a train of whiſpers; the dropping of a ſnuff-box, or ſpilling the tea, is ſure to be accompanied with a titter; and upon the entrance of any one with ſomething particular in his perſon or manner, I have ſeen a whole room in a buzz like a bee-hive.

THIS practiſe of whiſpering, if it is any where allowable, may perhaps be indulged the fair ſex at church, where the converſation can only be carried on by the ſecret ſymbols of a curtſy, an ogle, or a nod. A whiſper in this place is very [82] often of great uſe, as it ſerves to convey the moſt ſecret intelligence, which a lady would be ready to burſt with, if ſhe could not find vent for it by this kind of auricular confeſſion. A piece of ſcanda1 tranſpires in this manner from one pew to another, then preſently whizzes along the chancel, from whence it crawls up to the galleries, till at laſt the whole church hums with it.

IT were alſo to be wiſhed, that the ladies would be pleaſed to confine themſelves to whiſpering in their tête à tête conferences at an opera or the play-houſe; which would be a proper deference to the reſt of the audience. In France, we are told, it is common for the Parterre to join with the performers in any favourite air; but we ſeem to have carried this cuſtom ſtill further, as our boxes, without concerning themſelves in the leaſt with the play, are even louder than the players. The wit and humour of a Vanbrugh is frequently interrupted by a brilliant dialogue between two perſons of faſhion; and a love-ſcene in the ſide-box has often been more attended to than that on the ſtage. As to their loud burſts of laughter at the theatre, they may very well be excuſed, when they are excited by any lively ſtrokes in a comedy: but I have ſeen our ladies titter at the moſt diſtreſsful ſcenes in Romeo and Juliet, grin over the anguiſh of a Monimia or Belvidera, and fairly laugh King Lear off the ſtage.

THUS the whole behaviour of theſe ladies is in direct contradiction to good manners. They laugh when they ſhould cry, are loud when they ſhould be ſilent, and are ſilent when their converſation is deſirable. If a man in a ſelect company was thus to laugh or whiſper me out of countenance, I ſhould be apt to conſtrue it as an affront, and demand an explanation. As to the ladies, I would deſire them to reflect how much [83] they would ſuffer, if their own weapons were turned againſt them, and the gentlemen ſhould attack them with the ſame arts of laughing and whiſpering. But, however free they may be from our reſentment, they are ſtill open to ill-natured ſuſpicions. They do not conſider, what ſtrange conſtructions may be put on theſe laughs and whiſpers. It were, indeed, of little conſequence, if we only imagined that they were taking the reputations of their acquaintance to pieces, or abuſing the company round; but when they indulge themſelves in this behaviour, ſome perhaps may be led to conclude, that they are diſcourſing upon topics, which they are afraid or aſhamed to ſpeak of in a leſs private manner.

IF the miſconduct which I have deſcribed had been only to be found, Mr. TOWN, at my friend's table, I ſhould not have troubled you with this letter: but the ſame kind of ill-breeding prevails too often and in too many places. The giglers and the whiſperers are innumerable; they beſet us wherever we go; and it is obſervable, that after a ſhort murmur of whiſpers out comes the burſt of laughter:—like a gun-powder ſerpent, which, after hiſſing about for ſome time, goes off in a bounce.

SOME excuſe may perhaps be framed for this ill-timed merriment in the fair ſex. Venus, the goddeſs of beauty, is frequently called the laughter-loving dame; and by laughing our modern ladies may poſſibly imagine, that they render themſelves like Venus. I have indeed remarked, that the ladies commonly adjuſt their laugh to their perſons, and are merry in proportion as it ſets off their particular charms. One lady is never further moved than to a ſmile or a ſimper, becauſe nothing elſe ſhows her dimples to ſo much advantage; another, who has a very fine ſet of teeth, runs into the broad grin; while a third, who is admired for a well-turned [84] neck and graceful cheſt, calls up all her beauties to view by breaking out in violent and repeated peals of laughter.

I WOULD not be underſtood to impoſe gravity or too great a reſerve on the fair ſex. Let them laugh at a feather, but let them declare openly that it is a feather which occaſions their mirth. I muſt confeſs, that laughter becomes the young, the gay, and the handſome: but a whiſper is unbecoming at all ages and in both ſexes; nor ought it ever to be practiſed, except in the round gallery at St. Paul's, or in the famous whiſpering place in Glouceſter cathedral, where two whiſperers hear each other at the diſtance of five and twenty yards.

I am, Sir, Your moſt humble Servant, K. L.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XV. THURSDAY, May 9, 1754.

[85]
—Tu dic, mecum quo pignore certes.
VIRG.

A FRIEND of mine who belongs to the Stamp-Office acquaints me, that the revenue ariſing from the duty on cards and dice continues to increaſe every year, and that it now brings in near ſix times more than it did at firſt. This will not appear very wonderful, when we conſider that gaming is now become rather the buſineſs than amuſement of our perſons of quality; that their whole attention is employed in this important article, and that they are more concerned about the tranſactions of the two clubs at White's than the proceedings of both Houſes of Parliament. Thus it happens that eſtates are now almoſt as frequently made over by whiſt and hazard as by deeds and ſettlements; and [86] the chariots of many of our nobility may be ſaid (like Count Baſſet's in the play) ‘"to roll upon the four aces."’

THIS love of gaming has taken ſuch entire poſſeſſion of their ideas, that it infects their common converſation. The management of a diſpute was formerly attempted by reaſon and argument; but the new way of adjuſting all difference in opinion is by the ſword or a wager: ſo that the only genteel method of diſſent is to riſk a thouſand pounds, or take your chance of being run through the body. The ſtrange cuſtom of deciding every thing by a wager is ſo univerſal, that if (in imitation of Swift) any body was to publiſh a ſpecimen of Polite Converſation, inſtead of old ſayings and trite repartees he would in all probability fill his dialogues with little more than bet after bet, or now and then a calculation of the odds.

WHITE's, the preſent grand ſcene of theſe tranſactions was formerly diſtinguiſhed by gallantry and intrigue. During the publication of the Tatler, Sir Richard Steel thought proper to date all his love-news from that quarter: but it would now be as abſurd to pretend to gather any ſuch intelligence from White's; as to ſend to Batſon's for a lawyer, or to the Roll's Coffee-houſe for a man-midwife.

THE gentlemen who now frequent this place profeſs a kind of univerſal Scepticiſm; and as they look upon every thing as dubious, put the iſſue upon a wager. There is nothing however trivial or ridiculous, which is not capable of producing a bet. Many pounds have been loſt upon the colour of a coach-horſe, an article in the news, or the change of the weather. The birth of a child has brought great advantages to perſons not in the leaſt related to the family it was born in; and the breaking off a match has affected many in their fortunes, beſides the parties immediately concerned.

[87]BUT the moſt extraordinary part of this faſhionable practice is what in the gaming dialect is called, pitting one man againſt another; that is, in plain Engliſh, wagering which of the two will live longeſt. In this manner people of the moſt oppoſite characters make up the ſubject of a bet. A player perhaps is pitted againſt a duke, an alderman againſt a biſhop, or a pimp with a privy-counſellor. There is ſcarce one remarkable perſon, upon whoſe life there are not many thouſand pounds depending, or one perſon of quality whoſe death will not leave ſeveral of theſe kinds of mortgages upon his eſtate. The various changes in the health of one, who is the ſubject of many bets, occaſions very ſerious reflections in thoſe who have ventured large ſums on his life and death. Thoſe who would be gainers by his deceaſe, upon every flight indiſpoſition, watch all the ſtages of his illneſs, and are as impatient for his death, as the undertaker who expects to have the care of his funeral; while the other ſide are very ſollicitous about his recovery, ſend every hour to know how he does, and take as much care of him, as a clergyman's wife does of her huſband who has no other fortune than his living. I remember a man with the conſtitution of a porter, upon whoſe life very great odds were laid; but when the perſon he was pitted againſt was expected to dye every week, this man unexpectedly ſhot himſelf through the head, and the knowing ones were taken in.

THOUGH moſt of our follies are imported from France, this has had its riſe and progreſs entirely in England. In the laſt illneſs of Louis the fourteenth Lord Stair laid a wager on his death; and we may gueſs what the French thought of it, from the manner in which Voltaire mentions it in his Siécle de Louis xiv. ‘"Le Roi fut attaquè vers le milieu [88] mois d'Août. Le Comte de Stair Ambaſſadeur d'Angleterre PARIA, ſelon le genie de ſa nation, que le Roi ne paſſeroit pas le mois de Septembre."’ ‘"The King, ſays he, was taken ill about the middle of Auguſt; when Lord Stair, the ambaſſador from England BETTED, according to the genius of his nation, that the King would not live beyond September.’

I AM in ſome pain leſt this cuſtom ſhould get among the ladies. They are at preſent very deep in cards and dice; and while my lord is gaming abroad, her ladyſhip has her rout at home. I am inclined to ſuſpect that our women of faſhion will alſo learn to divert themſelves with this polite practice of laying wagers. A birthday ſuit, the age of a beauty, who invented a particular faſhion, or who were ſuppos'd to be together at the laſt maſquerade, would frequently give occaſion for bets. This would alſo afford them a new method for the ready propagation of ſcandal, as the truth of ſeveral ſtories which are continually flying about the town would naturally be brought to the ſame teſt. Should they proceed further to ſtake the lives of their acquaintance againſt each other, they would doubtleſs bet with the ſame fearleſs ſpirit as they are known to do at brag: one huſband perhaps would be pitted againſt another, or a woman of the town againſt a maid of honour. In a word, if this once becomes faſhionable among the ladies, we ſhall ſoon ſee the time, when an allowance for bet-money will be ſtipulated in the Marriage Articles.

AS the vices and follies of perſons of diſtinction are very apt to ſpread, I am much afraid leſt this branch of gaming ſhould deſcend to the common people. Indeed it ſeems already to have got among them. We have frequent [89] accounts in the daily papers of tradeſmen riding, walking, eating and drinking for a wager. The conteſted election in the city has occaſioned ſeveral extraordinary bets: I know a butcher in Leadenball market, who laid an ox to a ſhin of beef on the ſucceſs of Sir John Barnard againſt the field; and have been told of a Publican in Thames ſtreet, who ventured an hogſhead of intire butt on the candidate who ſerves him with beer.

WE may obſerve that the ſpirit of gaming diſplays itſelf with as much variety among the loweſt as the higheſt order of people. It is the ſame thing, whether the dice rattle in an orange barrow or at the Hazard table. A couple of chairmen in a night-cellar are as eager at put or all-fours, as a party at St. James's at a rubber of whiſt; and the E. O. table is but an higher ſort of Merry-go-round, where you may get ſix halfpence for one, ſix pence for one, and ſix twopences for one. If the practiſe of pitting ſhould be alſo propagated among the vulgar, it will be common for prizefighters to ſtake their lives againſt each other, and two pickpockets may lay which of them ſhall firſt go to the gallows.

TO give the reader a full idea of one wholly employed in this manner, I ſhall conclude my paper with the character Montano. Montano was born heir to a nobleman remarkable for deep play, from whom he very early imbibed the principles of gaming. When he was at ſchool, he was the moſt expert of any of his playfellows at taw, and would often ſtrip them of their whole week's allowance at chuck. He was afterwards at the head of every match at football or cricket; and when he was captain he made a lottery, but went away without drawing the prizes. He is ſtill [90] talked of at the ſchool for a famous diſpute he had with another of his own caſt about their ſuperiority in learning; which they decided by toſſing up heads or tails who was the beſt ſcholar. Being too great a genius for our univerſities at home, he was ſent abroad on his travels, but never got further than Paris; where having loſt a conſiderable bet of four to one concerning the taking a town in Flanders, he was obliged to come back with a few guineas he borrowed to bring him over. Here he ſoon became univerſally known by frequenting every gaming-table and attending every horſe-race in the kingdom. He firſt reduced betting into an art, and made White's the grand market for wagers. He is at length ſuch an adept in this art, that whatever turn things take, he can never loſe: this he has effected by what he has taught the world to call hedging a bet. There is ſcarce an election in the kingdom which will not end to his advantage; and he has lately ſent over commiſſions to Paris to take up bets on the recall of the parliament. He was the firſt that ſtruck out the abovementioned practice of pitting, in which he is ſo thoroughly verſed, that the death of every perſon of quality may be ſaid to bring him a legacy; and he has ſo contrived the bets on his own life, that, live or die, the odds are in his favour.

Printed for R. BALDWIN, at the Roſe in Pater-noſter Row; where Letters to the CONNOISSEUR are received.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XVI. THURSDAY, May 16, 1754.

[91]
—Altiùs omnem
Expediam primâ repetens ab origine famam.
VIRG.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

YOUR laſt week's paper on the ſubject of Bets put me in mind of an extract I lately met with in ſome news papers, from the "Life of Pope Sixtus the Fifth, written by Mr. Farnworth." The paſſage is as follows.

IT was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hiſpaniola, and carried off an immenſe booty. This account came in a private letter to Paul Secchi, a very conſiderable merchant in the city, who had large concerns in thoſe parts, which he had inſured. Upon receiving this news, he ſent for the inſurer Samſon [92] Ceneda, a Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew, whoſe intereſt it was to have ſuch a report thought falſe, gave many reaſons why it could not poſſibly be true; and at laſt worked himſelf up into ſuch a paſſion, that he ſaid I'll lay you a pound of my fleſh it is a lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper, replied, I'll lay you a thouſand crowns againſt a pound of your fleſh, that it is true. The Jew accepted the wager, and articles were immediately executed betwixt them, That if Secchi won, he ſhould himſelf cut the fleſh with a ſharp knife from whatever part of the Jew's body he pleaſed. The truth of the account was ſoon confirmed; and the Jew was almoſt diſtracted when he was informed that Secchi had ſolemnly ſworn he would compel him to the exact literal performance of his contract. A report of this tranſaction was brought to the Pope, who ſent for the parties, and being informed of the whole affair, ſaid, ‘"When contracts are made, it is juſt they ſhould be fulfilled, as this ſhall. Take a knife therefore, Secchi, and cut a pound of fleſh from any part you pleaſe of the Jew's body. We adviſe you however to be very careful; for if you cut but a ſcruple more or leſs than your due, you ſhall certainly be hanged."’

WHAT induced me to trouble you with this is a remark made by the editor, ‘"that the ſcene between Shylock and Antonio in the Merchant of Venice is borrowed from this ſtory."’ I ſhould perhaps have acquieſced in this notion, if I had not ſeen a note in the "Obſervations on Spenſer's Faerie Queene" juſt publiſhed by Mr. T. Warton of Trinity College, where He has plainly diſcovered the real ſource from which Shakeſpere drew his fable, which He informs us is founded upon an ancient ballad. The admirers of Shakeſpere are obliged to him for this curious diſcovery; but as Mr. Warton has only given ſome extracts, they would undoubtedly be glad to ſee the whole. This Ballad is moſt probably no where to be met with, but in the Aſhmolean Muſaeum in this Univerſity, where it is preſerved by that famous Antiquary Anthony à Wood: I have therefore ſent you a faithful tranſcript [93] of it; and you will agree with me that it will do you more credit, as a CONNOISSEUR, to draw this hidden treaſure into light, than if you had diſcovered an Otho or a Niger.

A SONG.

Shewing the crueltie of GERNUTUS a JEWE, who lending to a marchant an hundred crownes, would have a pound of his fleſhe, becauſe he could not pay him at the time appointed.

IN Venice town not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on uſurie,
As Italian writers tell.
Gernutus called was the Jew,
Which never thought to die,
Nor never yet did any good
To them in ſtreets that lye.
His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good,
Untill men will him ſlay.
Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lyeth in a hoord;
Which never can doe any good,
Till it be ſpread abroad.
So fares it with this Uſurer,
He cannot ſleep in reſt,
For fear the theefe doth him purſue,
To pluck him from his neſt.
His heart doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almoſt full of mucke,
Yet ſtill he gapes for more.
His wife muſt lend a ſhilling,
For every weeke a penny,
Yet bring a pledge that's double worth,
If that you will have any.
And ſee (likewiſe) you keepe your day,
Or elſe you looſe it all:
This was the living of his wife,
Her cow ſhe doth it call.
Within that citie dwelt that time
A merchant of great fame,
Which being diſtreſſed in his need,
Unto Gernutus came:
Deſiring him to ſtand his friend,
For twelve moneth and a day,
To lend to him an hundred crownes,
And he for it would pay
Whatſoever he would demand of him,
And pledges he ſhould have:
No (qd. the Jew with fleering lookers)
Sir aſke what you will have.
No penny for the loane of it
For one yeere you ſhall pay;
You may do me as good a turne,
Before my dying day.
But we will have a merry jeaſt
For to be talked long:
You ſhall make me a bond (quoth he)
That ſhall be large and ſtrong.
And this ſhall be the forfeiture,
Of your owne fleſh a pound:
If you agree, make you the bond,
And here's a hundred crownes.

The ſecond part of the Jewes crueltie; ſetting forth the mercifullneſſe of the Judge towards the Merchant.

With right good will the merchant ſaid,
And ſo the bond was made,
When twelve months and a day drew on
That back it ſhould be payd.
The merchant's ſhips were all at ſea,
And money came not in;
Which way to take, or what to doe
To thinke he doth begin.
And to Gernutus ſtraight he comes
With cap and bended knee,
And ſayd to him of curteſie
I praye you beare with mee.
My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay:
And little good the forfeiture
Will doe you I dare ſay.
With all my heart Gernutus ſaid,
Command it to your minde;
In things of bigger weight than this
You ſhall me readie finde.
[94]
He goes his way; the day once paſt
Gernutus doth not ſlacke.
To get a Serjeant preſentlie,
And clapt him on the backe.
And layd him into priſon ſtrong,
And ſued his bond withall;
And when the judgment day was come,
For judgment he doth call.
The merchant's friends came thither faſt,
With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not finde,
But he that day muſt dye.
Some offered for his hundred crownes
Five hundred for to pay;
And ſome a thouſand, two or three,
Yet ſtill he did denay.
And at the laſt ten thouſand crownes
They offered him to ſave.
Gernutus ſaid, I will no gold
My forfieth I will have,
A pound of fleſh is my demand,
And that ſhall be my hyre.
Then ſaid the judge yet good my friend
Let me of you deſire,
To take the fleſh from ſuch a place
As yet you let him live;
Doe ſo, and lo an 100 crownes,
To thee here will I give.
No, no, quoth he, no judgment here
for this it ſhall be tryde,
For I will have my pound of fleſhe
From under his right ſide.
It grieved all the companie
His crueltie to ſee,
For neither friend, nor foe could helpe,
But he muſt ſpoyled bee.
The bloudie Jew now ready is
With whetted blade in hand,
To ſpoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfieth of his bond.
And as he was about to ſtrike
In him the deadly blow:
Stay (quoth the Judge) thy crueltie,
I charge thee to doe ſo.
Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of fleſh a pound:
See that thou ſhed no drop of bloud,
Nor yet the man confound.
For if thou doe, like murtherer,
Thou here ſhalt hanged bee:
Likewiſe of fleſh ſee that thou cut
No more then longs to thee.
For if thou take either more or leſſe,
To the value of a mite,
Thou ſhalt be hanged preſently,
As is both law and right.
Gernutus now waxt frantic mad,
And wotes not what to ſay:
Quoth he at laſt, ten thouſand crownes
I will that he ſhall pay.
And ſo I grant to ſet him free:
The Judge doth anſwere make.
You ſhall not have a penny given,
Your forfeiture now take.
At the laſt he doth demand,
But for to have his owne:
No, quoth the Judge, doe as you liſt,
Thy Judgement ſhall be ſhowne,
Either take your pound of fleſh, (qd he)
Or cancell me your bond:
O cruell Judge then quoth the Jew,
That doth againſt me ſtand.
And ſo with griped grieved minde
He biddeth them farewell:
All the people prays'd the lord
That ever this heard tell.
Good people that do hear this ſong,
For truth I dare well ſay,
That many a wretch as ill as he
Doth live now at this day,
That ſeeketh nothing but the ſpoyle
Of many a wealthie man,
And for to trap the innocent,
Deviſeth what they can,
From whom the Lord deliver me,
And every Chriſtian too,
And ſend to them like ſentence eke,
That meaneth ſo to doo.

Printed at London by E. P. for J. Wright dwelling in Gilt-ſpur-ſtreet.

IT will be proper to ſubjoin what the ingenious Mr. Warton has obſerved upon this ſubject.— ‘'It may be objected, ſays he, that this ballad might have been [95] written after, and copied from, Shakeſpere's play. But if that had been the caſe, it is moſt likely, that the author would have preſerved Shakeſpere's name of Shylock for the Jew; and nothing is more likely, than that Shakeſpere in copying from this ballad, ſhould alter the name from Gernutus to one more Jewiſh. Another argument is, that our ballad has the air of a narrative written before Shakeſpere's play; I mean, that, if it had been written after the play, it would have been much more full and circumſtantial: At preſent, it has too much the nakedneſs of an original.'’

IT would indeed be abſurd to think that this ballad was taken from Shakeſpere's play, as they differ in the moſt eſſential circumſtances. The ſum borrowed is in the former three thouſand ducats, in the latter an hundred crowns: the time limited for payment in the one is only three months, in the other a year and a day: In the play the merchant's motive for borrowing, (which is finely imagined by Shakeſpere, and is conducive to the general plot,) is not on account of his own neceſſities, but for the ſervice of his friend. To th [...] we may add, that the cloſe of the ſtory is finely heightened by Shakeſpere. A mere copyiſt, ſuch as we may ſuppoſe a balladmonger, would not have given himſelf the trouble to alter circumſtances: at leaſt he would not have changed them ſo much for the worſe. But this matter ſeems to be placed out of all doubt by the firſt ſtanza of the ballad, which informs us that the ſtory was taken from ſome Italian novel. ‘'Thus much therefore is certain, (as Mr. Warton obſerves) that Shakeſpere either copied from that Italian novel, or from this ballad: Now we have no tranſlation, I preſume, of ſuch a novel into Engliſh; if then it be granted that Shakeſpere generally took his Italian ſtories from their Engliſh tranſlations, and that the arguments above, concerning the prior antiquity of this ballad are true, it will follow that Shakeſpere copied from this ballad.'’

UPON the whole it is very likely that the Italian novel, upon which this ballad ſeems founded, took its riſe (with an [96] inverſion of the circumſtances) from the abovementioned ſtory in "The Life of Pope Sixtus the Fifth," the memory of which muſt have been then recent. I ſhould be glad if any of your readers can give any further light into this affair, and, if poſſible, acquaint the Public, from whence Shakeſpere borrowed the other part of his fable concerning Portia and the Caſkets; which it is more than probable is drawn from ſome other novel well known in his time.

I CANNOT conclude without remarking with what art and judgment Shakeſpere have wove together theſe different ſtories of the Jew, and the Caſkets; from both which he has formed one general fable, without having recourſe to the ſtale artifice of eking out a barren ſubject with impertinent underplots.

I am, Sir, Your humble ſervant, &c.

The letter from G. K. will be in our next.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XVII. THURSDAY, May 23, 1754.

[97]
—paulo plus artis Athenae.
HOR.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

THOUGH many hiſtorians have deſcribed the City of London (in which we may include Weſtminſter) with great accuracy, yet they have not ſet it out in the full light, which at preſent it deſerves. They have not diſtinguiſhed it as an Univerſity. Paris is an Univerſity, Dublin is an Univerſity, even Moſcow is an Univerſity. But London has not yet been honoured with that Title. I will allow our Metropolis to have been intended originally, only as a City of Trade, and I will farther own that ſcarce any Sciences, except ſuch as were purely mercantile, were cultivated in it 'till within theſe laſt thirty years; but from [98] period of time, I may ſay an whole army, as it were, of Arts and Sciences have marched amicably in upon us, and have fixed themſelves as auxiliaries to our Capitol.

THE four greater faculties, I mean Theology, Law, Medicine, and Philoſophy, which are taught in other Univerſities, are in their higheſt perfection here. The proſperity of the firſt may be ſeen by the crouded churches every Sunday, and the diſcipline of the ſecond by the numberleſs young Students who conſtantly dine in their reſpective halls at the ſeveral inns of court. Theſe two faculties have of late received conſiderable improvements, but particularly that of Theology, as is manifeſt from ſeveral new and aſtoniſhing opinions which have been ſtarted among us. There have riſen, within theſe few years, very numerous tribes of Methodiſts, Moravians, Middletonians, Hutchinſonians, &c. in a word our ſects are multiplied to ſuch an infinite degree, that (as Voltaire has before obſerved) every Man may now go to heaven his own way. Can the Divinity Schools boaſt ſuch ſound doctrine as the Foundery in Moorfields? or were ever fellows of colleges ſuch adepts in Matrimony as the reverend doctors of the Fleet, or the primate of May-Fair?

THE theory of Medicine may undoubtedly be taught at Oxford and Cambridge in a tolerable manner, but the art itſelf can only be learnt, where it flouriſhes, at London. Do not our daily papers give us a longer liſt of medicines than are contained in any of the Diſpenſatories? And are we not conſtantly told of ſurprizing antidotes, certain cures, and never failing remedies for every complaint, and are not each of theſe ſpecifies equally efficacious in one diſtemper as another, from the grand reſtorative elixir of life down to the inſallible corn ſalve? With what pleaſure and admiration [99] have I beheld the Machaon of our times Dr. Richard Rock diſpenſing from his one-horſe-chaiſe his cathartic antivenereal electuary, his itch powder, and his quinteſſence of vipers! It may be aſked, is he a graduate? Is he a regular phyſician? no, he is ſuperior to regularity. He deſpiſes the formality of academical degrees. He ſtiles himſelf M. L. He is a London Phyſician, or as Moliere would expreſs it, C' eſt un Medecin de Londres.

AFTER Medicine let us conſider Logic. How is that moſt uſeful art taught in the two Univerſities? Is it not clogged with ſuch barbarous terms, as tend to puzzle and confound, rather than enlighten or direct the underſtanding? Is it not taught in a dead, I had almoſt ſaid in a popiſh Tongue? Is it not overrun with dry diſtinctions, and uſeleſs ſubtleties? Where then is it to be learnt in all the purity of reaſon, and the dignity of language? Neither at Oxford nor at Cambridge, but at the Robin Hood Alehouſe in Butcher Row, near Temple Bar.

FROM Logic let us proceed to Eloquence: And let us ingenuouſly confeſs that neither of our Univerſities can boaſt an orator equal to the renown'd Henley. Has he not all the qualifications required by Tully in a complete Orator? Has he not been followed by the greateſt men of the nation? Yet has this modeſt divine never derived any title to himſelf from his own rhetoric, except ſuch an one as his extraordinary elocution naturally beſtowed upon him. Might he not have called himſelf Preſident of the Butchers? Dean of Marrowbones and Cleavers? or Warden of Clare Market? certainly he might. Therefore if it were for his ſake only, in my humble opinion, London ought immediately to aſſume the title of an Univerſity; and the Butchers of Clare Market, who have ſo conſtantly attended Mr. Henley's Lectures, ought to be preſented with honorary degrees.

[100]I KNOW not what pretenſions the Univerſities may have had originally to adopt Muſic among the reſt of their Sciences: perhaps they have aſſumed a right of beſtowing Degrees in Muſic, from their being called the ſeats of the Muſes; as it is well known that Apollo was a fidler as well as a poet and phyſician; and the Muſes are ſaid to have delighted in fidling and piping. The young ſtudents, I am told, of either Univerſity are more ambitious to excel in this ſcience than any other, and ſpend moſt of their time in the ſtudy of the Gamut: but their knowledge in Harmonics is ſeldom carried farther than I love Sue, or Ally Croker. In this point London has undoubtedly a better title to be called an Univerſity. Did Oxford or Cambridge ever produce an Opera, though they have the advantage of languages ſo very little known as the Greek and even Hebrew to compoſe in? Had ever any of their profeſſors the leaſt idea of a Burletta? or are any of their moſt ſublime anthems half ſo raviſhing as Foote's Minuet from the hand-organ of the little Savoyard Dutcheſs? Are thoſe claſſical inſtruments the Doric Lute, the Syrinx, or the Fiſtula, to be compared to the melody of the Wooden Spoons, the Jews Harp and Salt-Box at Mrs. Midnight's?

BUT there is no doctrines more forcibly inculcated among us than thoſe of Ethics, or moral Philoſophy. What are the precepts of Plato, Epictetus, or Tully in compariſon to the moral leſſons delivered by our periodical writers? And are not you, Mr. TOWN, a wiſer man than Socrates? But the age is more particularly indebted, for it's preſent univerſal purity of manners, to thoſe excellent rules for the conduct of life contained in our modern novels. From theſe moral works might be compiled an entire new ſyſtem of Ethics, far ſuperior to the exploded notions of muſty Academics, and adapted to the practiſe of the preſent times. [101] Cato, we are told, commended a young man who he ſaw coming out of the publick ſtews, becauſe he imagined it might preſerve him from the crime of adultery; and the Spartans uſed to make their ſlaves drunk in the preſence of their youth, that they might be deterred from the like debaucheries. For the ſame reaſons we may ſuppoſe that our taverns and bagnios are ſo much frequented by our young people, and in this light we may fairly conſider them as ſo many ſchools of Moral Philoſophy.

IF we are willing to turn our thoughts towards Experimental Philoſophy, can the ſeveral Univerſities of the whole world produce ſuch a variety of inſtruments, ſo judiciouſly collected, for aſtronomical, geographical, and all other ſcientific obſervations, as are to be ſeen in the two amazing repoſitories of Mr. Profeſſor Deard in the Strand, and of Mr. Profeſſor Ruſſel at Charing Croſs? It were endleſs to enumerate particulars; but I cannot help taking notice of thoſe elegant little portable teleſcopes, that are made uſe of in all public places; by which it is evident that even our fine ladies and gentlemen are become proficients in Optics.

THE Univerſities ſeem to pride themſelves greatly on their choice collections of curious and invaluable trifles, which are there preſerved, only becauſe they were not thought worth preſerving any where elſe. But is the Aſhmolean collection of rarities comparable to the nicknackatory of Mr. Pinchbeck? or are any of their Muſaeums ſtored with ſuch precious curioſities, as are frequently ſeen in Mr. Langford's Auction-Room? Strangers, who think it worth while to go ſo far as Oxford or Cambridge to ſee ſights, may ſurely meet with as much ſatisfaction at London. Are the two little Pigmies ſtriking a clock at Carſax within [102] any degree of compariſon with the two noble Giants at St. Dunſtan's church in Fleet Street; to ſay nothing of their enormous brethren at Guildhall? Are any of the College Halls in either of the Univerſities ſo magnificent as thoſe belonging to our worſhipful companies? or can the Theatre at Oxford, or the Senate-houſe at Cambridge, vie with that ſtupendous piece of architecture the Manſion Houſe, ſet apart for our Chancellor the Lord Mayor? It may be alledged perhaps that theſe are trifling examples of ſuperiority, which the younger ſiſter bears over her two elder; but at the ſame time it cannot be denied, that ſhe excells them both even in the minutiae of learning and antiquity.

I MUST confeſs that Hydraulics, or the motion of Fluids, ſeem to be taught exactly in the ſame manner, and with the ſame degree of knowledge, in London as in Oxford or Cambridge. The glaſs Tubes, and the Syphons, are formed very much in the ſame ſhape and faſhion. The great hydroſtatical law, ‘"That all fluids gravitate in proprio loco,"’ is proved by the ſame kind of experiments. The ſeveral ſtudents, of whatever age or ſtation, vie with each other in an unwearied application, and a conſtant attendance to this branch of mixed Mathematics. The Profeſſors in each of the three Univerſities, are confeſſedly very great men: but I hope I may be forgiven if I wiſh to ſee my friend Mr. Ryan, Preſident of the King's Arms in Pall Mall, unanimouſly declared Vice Chancellor of the Univerſity of London.

I am, Sir, Your humble ſervant, G. K.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XVIII. THURSDAY, May 30, 1754.

[103]
—Nihil eſt furacius illo:
Non fuit Autolyci tam piceata manus.
MART.

AN information was the other day laid before a magiſtrate by a Fellow of the Society of Antiquarians againſt one of his brethren for a robbery. The proſecutor depoſed upon oath, that the other called upon him to ſee his collection of medals, and took an opportunity of ſtealing a leather purſe formerly belonging to the celebrated Tom Hearne, in which were contained, (beſides an antique piece of copper-money, place, date, name, figure, and value unknown) a pair of breeches of Oliver Cromwell, a Denarius of Trajan worth fifty ſhillings, and a Queen Anne's farthing value five pounds. He was with much ado diſſuaded from carrying on his ſuit, as the magiſtrate [104] convinced him, that however highly he might rate his own treaſures, a jury, who were no Virtuoſi, would conſider a farthing merely as a farthing, and look upon a copper coin of a Roman Emperor as no better than a King George's half-penny.

I CANNOT indeed, without great concern, as a CONNOISSEUR, reflect on the known diſhoneſty of my learned brethren. Their ſcandalous practiſes, wherever their darling paſſion is intereſted, are too notorious to be denied. The moment they conceive a love for rarities and antiques, their ſtrict notions of honour diſappear; and Taſte, the more it eſtabliſhes their veneration for Virtù, the more certainly deſtroys their integrity; as ruſt enhances the value of an old coin by eating up the figure and inſcription.

MOST people are maſters of a kind of Logic, by which they argue their conſciences to ſleep, and acquit themſelves of doing what is wrong. The country 'ſquire, of confirmed honeſty in all other reſpects, thinks it very fair to overreach you in the ſale of a horſe; the man of pleaſure, who would ſcorn to pick your pocket, or ſtop you on the road, regards it rather as gallantry than baſeneſs to intrigue with your wife or daughter; while the pick-pocket and highwayman value themſelves on their honour in being true to the gang. In the ſame manner the Virtuoſo does not look on his thefts as real acts of felony, but while he owns that he would take any pains to ſteal an old ruſty piece of braſs, boaſts that you may ſafely truſt him with untold gold: though he would break open your cabinet for a ſhell or a butterfly, he would not attempt to force your eſcritoire or your ſtrong box; nor would he offer the leaſt violence to your wife or daughter, though perhaps he would run away with the little finger of the Venus de Medicis. [105] Upon theſe principles he proceeds, and lays hold of all opportunities to increaſe his collection of rarities: and as Mahomet eſtabliſhed his religion by the ſword, the Connoiſſeur enlarges his Muſaeum, and adds to his ſtore of knowledge, by fraud and petty larceny.

IF the libraries and cabinets of the curious were, like the peacock in the fable, to be ſtripped of their borrowed ornaments, we ſhould in many ſee nothing but bare ſhelves and empty drawers. I know a medaliſt who at firſt ſet up with little more than a paltry ſeries of Engliſh coins ſince the Reformation, which he had the good luck to pick up at their intrinſic value. By a pliant uſe of his fingers he ſoon became poſſeſt of moſt of the Traders, and by the ſame ſlight of hand he in a ſhort time after made himſelf maſter of great part of the Caeſars. He was once taken up for coining; a forge, a crucible, and ſeveral dies being found in his cellar: but he was acquitted, as there was no law which made it high-treaſon to counterfeit the image of a Tiberius or a Nero; and the coin which he imitated was current only among Virtuoſos.

I REMEMBER another, who picqued himſelf on his collection of ſcarce editions and original manuſcripts, moſt of which he had purloined from the libraries of others. He was continually borrowing books of his acquaintance, with a reſolution never to return them. He would ſend in a great hurry for a particular edition, which he wanted to conſult only for a moment; but when it was aſked for again, he was not at home, or he had lent it to another, or he had loſt it, or he could not find it; and ſometimes he would not ſcruple to ſwear, that he had himſelf delivered it into the owner's hands. He would frequently ſpoil a ſet by ſtealing a volume, and then purchaſe the reſt for [106] a trifle. After his death his library was ſold by auction; and many of his friends bought up their own books at an exorbitant price.

A THOROUGHBRED Virtuoſo will ſurmount all ſcruples of conſcience, or encounter any danger to ſerve his purpoſe. Moſt of them are chiefly attached to ſome particular branch of knowledge, but I remember one who was paſſionately fond of every part of Virtù. At one time, when he could find no other way of carrying off a medal, he run the riſk of being choaked by ſwallowing it, and at another broke his leg in ſcaling a garden wall for a tuliproot. But nothing gave him ſo much trouble and difficulty as the taking away pictures and antient marbles; which being heavy and unwieldy, he often endangered his life to gratify his curioſity. He was once locked up all night in the Duke of Tuſcany's gallery, where he took out an original painting of Raphael, and dextrouſly placed a copy of it in the frame. At Venice he turned Roman Catholic, and became a Jeſuit, in order to get admittance into a convent, from whence he ſtole a fine head of Ignatius Loyola; and at Conſtantinople he had almoſt formed a reſolution of qualifying himſelf for the Seraglio, that he might find means to carry off a picture of the Grand Signior's chief miſtreſs.

THE general diſhoneſty of Connoiſſeurs is indeed ſo well known, that the ſtricteſt precaution is taken to guard againſt it. Medals are ſecured under lock and key, pictures ſcrewed to the walls, and books chained to the ſhelves; yet cabinets, galleries, and libraries are continually plundered. Many of the maimed ſtatues at Rome perhaps owe their preſent ruinous condition to the depredations made on them by Virtuoſos: the head of Henry the Fifth [107] in Weſtminſter Abby was in all probability ſtolen by a Connoiſſeur; and I know one who has at different times pilfered a great part of Queen Catherine's bones, and hopes in a little while to be maſter of the whole ſkeleton. This gentleman has been detected in ſo many little thefts, that he has for ſeveral years paſt been refuſed admittance into the Muſaeums of the curious; and he is lately gone abroad with a deſign upon the ancient Greek manuſcripts lately diſcovered at Herculaneum.

IT may ſeem ſurprizing that theſe gentlemen ſhould have hitherto been ſuffered to eſcape unpuniſhed for their repeated thefts, and that a Virtuoſo who robs you of an Unic of ineſtimable value ſhould even glory in the action, while a poor dog who picks your pocket of ſixpence ſhall be hanged for it. What a ſhocking diſgrace would be brought upon Taſte, ſhould we ever ſee the dying ſpeech, confeſſion, and behaviour of a Connoiſſeur related in the Account of Malefactors by the Ordinary of Newgate! Such an accident would doubtleſs bring the ſtudy of Virtù into ſtill more contempt among the ignorant, when they found that it only brought a man to the gallows; as the country fellow, when he ſaw an attorney ſtand in the pillory for forgery, ſhook his head, and cried, ‘"Ay, this comes of your writing and reading."’ It were perhaps worthy the conſideration of the legiſlature to deviſe ſome puniſhment for theſe offenders, which ſhould bear ſome analogy with their crimes; and as common malefactors are delivered to the ſurgeons to be anatomized, I would propoſe that a Connoiſſeur ſhould be made into a Mummy, and preſerved in the Hall of the Royal Society, for the terror and admiration of his brethren.

[108]I SHALL conclude this paper with the relation of a circumſtance which fell within my own knowledge when I was abroad, and in which I declined a glorious opportunity of ſignalizing myſelf as a Connoiſſeur. While I was at Rome a young phyſician of our party, who was eaten up with Virtù, made a ſerious propoſal to us of breaking into St. Peter's by night, and taking away the famous painting over the altar-piece. As I had not quite Taſte enough to come at once into his ſcheme, I could not help objecting to him that it was a robbery. Poh, ſays he, it is a moſt exquiſite picture!—Ay, but it is not only a robbery, but ſacrilege.—Oh it is a moſt charming piece!—Zouns, doctor, but if we ſhould be taken, we ſhall all be broke upon the wheel.—Then, ſaid he, we ſhall die MARTYRS.

ERRATUM in our laſt. Pag. 100, line 23, for is read are.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XIX. THURSDAY, June 6, 1754.

[109]
Poſcentes vario multùm diverſa palato.
HOR.

I HAVE ſelected the following letters from a great number which I have lately been favoured with from unknown correſpondents; and as they both relate nearly to the ſame ſubject, I ſhall without further preface ſubmit them to the public.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

WHEN you was got into White's, I was in hopes that you would not have confin'd yourſelf merely to the gaming-table, but have given us an account of the entertainment at their ordinaries. A bill of fare from thence would have been full as diverting to your readers [110] as the laws of the game, or a liſt of their bets. Theſe gentlemen, we are told, are no leſs adepts in the ſcience of Eating than of Gaming; and as Hoyle has reduc'd the latter into a new and complete ſyſtem, I could wiſh that their cook (who to be ſure is a Frenchman) would alſo oblige the world by a treatiſe on the Art and Myſtery of Sauces.

INDEED, Mr. TOWN, it ſurprizes me that you have ſo long neglected to make ſome reflections on the Diet of this great city. Dr. Martin Liſter, who was univerſally allowed to be a great Connoiſſeur, and publiſhed ſeveral learned treatiſes upon cockle-ſhells, did not think it beneath him to comment on the works of Apicius Caelius, who had collected together many valuable receipts in cookery, as practiſed by the Romans. If you would preſerve your papers from the indignity of covering breaſts of veal, or wrapping up outlets à la Maintenon, I would adviſe you to lard them now and then with the ragouts of Heliogabalus, or a parallel between our modern ſoups and the Lacedaemonian black broth. Your works might then be univerſally read, from the miſtreſs in the parlour down to the cookmaid and ſcullion.

IT is abſolutely neceſſary for people of all tempers, complexions, perſuaſions, habits and ſtations of life, however they may differ in other particulars, to concur in the grand article of Eating; and as the humours of the body ariſe from the food we take in, the diſpoſitions of the mind ſeem to bear an equal reſemblance to our places of refreſhment. You have already taken a review of our ſeveral coffee-houſes; and I wiſh you would proceed to delineate the different characters that are to be found in our taverns and chop-houſes. A friend of mine always judges of a man of taſte and faſhion, by aſking who is his peruke-maker, or his taylor? Upon the ſame principles, when I would form a juſt opinion [111] any man's temper and inclinations, I always enquire, where does he dine?

THE difference between the taverns near St. James's and thoſe about the 'Change conſiſts not ſo much in the coſtlineſs as the ſubſtance of their viands. The round-bellied alderman, who breathes the foggy air of the city, requires a more ſolid diet than the high kickſhaws of our meagre perſons of quality. My Lord, or Sir John, after having whiled away an hour or two at the Parliament-houſe, drive to the Star and Garter to regale on Macaroni, or piddle with an Ortolan; while the merchant, who has plodded all the morning in the Alley, ſits down to a Turtle-Feaſt at the Crown or the King's Arms, and crams himſelf with Calipaſh and Calipee. As the city taverns are appropriated to men of buſineſs, who drive bargains for thouſands over their morning's gill, the taverns about the court are generally filled with an inſipid race of mortals who have nothing to do. Among theſe you may ſee moſt of our young men of faſhion and young officers of the guards, who meet at theſe places to ſhew the elegance of their taſte by the expenſiveneſs of their dinner; and I know an Enſign with ſcarce any income but his commiſſion, who prides himſelf on keeping the beſt company, and throws down more than a week's pay for his reckoning.

THE taverns about the purlieus of Covent-Garden are dedicated to Venus as well as Ceres and Liber; and you may frequently ſee the jolly meſſmates of both ſexes go in and come out in couples, like the clean and unclean beaſts in Noah's ark. Theſe houſes are equally indebted for their ſupport to the Cook and that worthy perſonage whom they have dignified with the title of Pimp. Theſe gentlemen contrive to play into each other's hands: The firſt by his [112] high ſoups and rich ſauces prepares the way for the occupation of the other, who having reduced the patient by a proper exerciſe of his art, returns him back again to go through the ſame regimen as before. We may therefore ſuppoſe that the culinary arts are no leſs ſtudied here than at White's or Pontac's. True geniuſes in Eating will continually ſtrike out new improvements; but I dare ſay neither Braund nor Lebeck ever made up a more extraordinary diſh than I once remember at the Caſtle. Some bloods being in company with a celebrated fille de joye, one of them pulled off her ſhoe, and in exceſs of gallantry filled it with Champagne, and drank it off to her health: in this delicious draught he was immediately pledged by the reſt; and then, to carry the compliment ſtill further, he ordered it to be dreſt, and ſerved up for ſupper. The cook ſet himſelf ſeriouſly to work upon it: He pulled the upper part (which was of damaſk) into fine ſhreds, and toſſed it up in a ragout; minced the ſole; cut the wooden heel into very thin ſlices, fried them in butter, and placed them round the diſh for garniſh. The company, you may be ſure, teſtified their affection for the lady by eating very heartily of this exquiſite impromptu; and as this tranſaction happened juſt after the French King had taken a cobler's daughter for his miſtreſs, Tom Pierce (who has the ſtile as well as art of a French cook) in his bill politely called it, in honour of her name, De ſoulier á la Murphy.

TAVERNS, Mr. TOWN, ſeem contrived for the promoting of luxury; while the humbler Chop-houſes are deſigned only to ſatisfy the ordinary cravings of nature. Yet at theſe you may meet with a variety of characters: at Dolly's and Horſeman's you commonly ſee the hearty lovers of a beef-ſteak and gill ale; and at Betty's and the chophouſes about the Inns of Court, a pretty maid is as inviting [113] as the proviſions. In theſe common refectories you may always find the jemmy attorney's clerk, the prim curate, the walking phyſician, the ſhabby valet de chambre upon board wages, and the foreign count or marquis in diſhabille, who has refuſed to dine with a duke or an ambaſſador. At a little eating-houſe in a dark alley behind the 'Change I once ſaw a grave citizen, worth a plumb, order a two-penny meſs of broth with a boiled chop in it: when it was brought him, he ſcooped the crumb out of a half-penny roll, and ſoaked it in the porridge for his preſent meal; then carefully placing the chop between the upper and under cruſt, he wrapped it up in a checked handkerchief, and carried it off for the morrow's repaſt.

I SHALL leave it to you, ſir, to make further reflections on this ſubject, and ſhould be glad to dine with you at any tavern, dive with you into any cellar, take a beef-ſteak in Ivy lane, a mutton-chop behind St. Clement's, or, if you chuſe it, an extempore ſauſage or black-pudding over the farthing fries at Moor-Fields or the Horſe-Guards.

Your humble ſervant, T. SAVOURY.
Mr. TOWN!

BY Jove it is a ſhame, a burning ſhame, to ſee the honour of England, the glory of our nation, the greateſt pillar of life, ROAST BEEF, utterly baniſhed from our tables. This evil, like many others, has been growing upon us by degrees: it was begun by wickedly placing the Beef upon a ſide table, and ſcreening it by a parcel of queue-tailed fellows in laced waiſtcoats. However, the odorous effluvia generally affected the ſmell of every true Briton in the room. The butler was fatigued with carving: the maſter of the houſe grew pale, and ſickened at the ſight of thoſe juicy collops of fat and lean that came ſwimming in gravy [114] and ſmoaking moſt deliciouſly under our noſtrils. Other methods therefore were to be purſued. The Beef was ſtill ſerved up, but it was brought up cold. It was put upon a table in the darkeſt part of the room, and immured between four walls formed artificially by the ſervants with the hats of the company. When the jellies and the ſlip-ſlops were coming in, the Beef was carried off in as ſecret a manner as if it had gone through the ceremonies of concoction. But ſtill, ſir, under all theſe diſadvantages we had a chance of getting a ſlice as it paſſed by. Now alas! it is not ſuffered to come up ſtairs. I dare ſay it is generally baniſhed from the ſteward's table; nor do I ſuppoſe that the powdered footmen will touch it, for fear of dawbing their ruffles. So that the diſh that was ſerved up to the royal tables, the diſh that was the breakfaſt of Queen Elizabeth and her maids of honour, the diſh that received the dignity of knighthood from King James the Firſt, is now become the food only of ſcullions and ſtable-boys. In what words can I vent my reſentment upon this occaſion? eſpecially when I reflect that innovations ſeldom come alone. Toaſted cheeſe is already buried in rammekins: plumb-porridge has been long baniſhed: I tremble for plumb-pudding. May we not live to ſee a leg of pork deteſted as carrion? and a ſhoulder of mutton avoided as if it were horſe-fleſh? Our only hopes are in the Clergy, and in the Beef-ſteak Club. The former ſtill preſerve, and probably will preſerve, the rectitude of their appetites; and will do juſtice to Beef, wherever they find it. The latter (who are compoſed of the moſt ingenious artiſts in the kingdom) meet every Saturday in a noble room at the top of Covent-Garden theatre, and never ſuffer any diſh except Beef-ſteaks to appear. Theſe indeed are moſt glorious examples: but what alas! are the weak endeavours of a few to oppoſe the daily inroads of fricaſſees and ſoup-maigres? This, Mr. TOWN, is a national concern, as it may prove more deſtructive to Beef than the diſtemper among the horned cattle: and ſhould the modiſh averſion againſt rumps and ſirloins continue, it will be abſolutely neceſſary to enforce the love of Beef by act of parliament.

Yours, GOLIAH ENGLISH.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XX. THURSDAY, June 13, 1754.

[115]
Non umbrae altorum nemorum, non mollia poſſunt
Prata movere animum.—
VIRG.

THE ladies of the preſent age are ſtrangely altered from the unpoliſhed females who flouriſhed in the days of Romance. What modern Partheniſſa would not prefer a tall young fellow to the moſt beautiful dwarf in the univerſe, or a coach and ſix to a white palfry? The fair damſels of old were chiefly to be found in woods and foreſts; but our preſent heroines are diſtinguiſhed by an utter averſion to the country, and would as ſoon be confin'd by a giant in an enchanted caſtle, as immured with old maiden aunts in the family manſion houſe. Nothing is more dreadful to our ladies of quality than the approach of ſummer: for what woman of ſpirit would chuſe to leave the [116] town to wander in ſolitudes and deſarts; or what pleaſure can the long days give to our fine ladies, when the pretty creatures are conſcious that they look beſt by candlelight? The general complaint againſt the country is want of amuſement, or want of company: but theſe common inconveniences are trifles in compariſon to the ſufferings of the poor lady who writes the following letter, which was communicated to me with leave to make it public.

Dear Lady CHARLOTTE,

I HAVE been plagued, peſtered, teized to death, and hurried out of my wits, ever ſince I have been in this odious country. O my dear, how I long to be in town again! Pope and the poets may talk what they will of their purling ſtreams, ſhady groves, and flowery meads: but I had rather live all my days among the cheeſemongers ſhops in Thames Street, than paſs ſuch another ſpring in this filthy country. Would you believe it? I have ſcarce touched a card ſince I have been here; and then there has been ſuch ado with us about election matters, that I am ready to die with the vapours: ſuch a rout with their hiſſing and hollowing, my head is ready to ſplit into a thouſand pieces! If my Sir John muſt be in parliament, why cannot he do as your lord does, and be content with a borough, where he might come in without all this trouble; and take his ſeat in the houſe, though he has never been within a hundred miles of the place.

OUR houſe, my dear, has been a perfect inn, ever ſince we came down; and I have been obliged to trudge about as much as a fat landlady. Our doors are open to every dirty fellow in the county that is worth forty ſhillings; all my beſt floors are ſpoiled by the hobnails of farmers ſtumping about them; every room is a pigſtye, and the Chineſe paper [117] in the drawing-room ſtinks ſo abominably of punch and tobacco, that it would ſtrike you down to come into it. If you knew what I have ſuffered, you would think I had the conſtitution of a chairman to go through it. We never ſit down to table without a dozen or more of boiſterous two-legged creatures as rude as bears; and I have nothing to do but to heap up their plates, and drink to each of their healths: what is worſe than all, one of the beaſts got tipſy, and nothing would ſerve him but he muſt kiſs me, which I was obliged to ſubmit to for fear of loſing his vote and intereſt. Would you think it, dear Charlotte?—do not laugh at me—I ſtood godmother in perſon to a huge lubberly boy at a country farmer's, and they almoſt poiſoned me with their hodgepodge they called caudle, made of ſour ale and brown ſugar. All this and more I have been obliged to comply with, that the country fellows might not ſay my lady is proud and above them.

BESIDES, there is not a woman creature within twenty miles of the place that is fit company for my houſekeeper, and yet I muſt be intimate with them all. Lady B— indeed is very near us; but though we are very well acquainted in town, we muſt not be ſeen to ſpeak to each other here, becauſe her lord is in the oppoſition. Poor Thomas got a ſad drubbing at her houſe, when I innocently ſent him at my firſt coming into the country with a how d'ye to her ladyſhip. The greateſt female acquaintance I have here are Mrs. Mayoreſs, a taylor's wife, and Mrs. Alderman Gaſcoyne who ſells pins and needles on one ſide of the ſhop, while her huſband works at his peſtle and mortar on the other. Theſe ordinary wretches are conſtant attendants on my tea-table; I am obliged to take them and their brats out an airing in my coach every evening; and am afterwards often doomed to ſit down to whiſt and ſwabbers, or one and thirty bone-ace [118] for farthings. Mrs. Mayoreſs is a very violent party woman; and ſhe has two pug-dogs, one of which ſhe calls Sir John and the other Colonel, in compliment you muſt know to my huſband and his brother candidate.

WE had a ball the other day; and I opened it with Sir Humphrey Chaſe, who danced in his boots, and hobbled along for all the world like the dancing bears which I have ſeen in the ſtreets at London. A terrible miſtake happened about precedence, which I fear will loſe Sir John a good many votes: an attorney's wife was very angry that her daughter, who is a little pert chit juſt come from the boarding-ſchool, was not called out to dance before Miſs Norton the brewer's daughter, when every body knew, ſhe ſaid, that her girl was a gentlewoman bred and born.

I wiſh, my dear, you were to ſee my dreſſing-room; you would think it was a ribband-ſhop. Lettice and I have been buſy all this week in making up knots and favours, and yeſterday no milliner's prentice could work harder than I did in tying them on to the ſweaty hats of country bumpkins. And is not it very hard upon me? I muſt not even dreſs as I pleaſe; but am obliged to wear blue, though you know it does not ſuit my complexion, and makes me look as horrid as the witches in Macbeth.

BUT what is worſe than all, Sir John tells me the election expences have run ſo high that he muſt ſhorten my allowance of pin-money. He talks of turning off half his ſervants; nay, he has even hinted to me that I ſhall not come to town all the winter. Barbarous creature! but if he dares ſerve me ſo, he ſhall poſitively loſe his election next time; I will raiſe ſuch a ſpirit of oppoſition in all the wives and daughters in the county againſt him.

[119]YOU ſee, my dear, what a miſerable life I have led ever ſince I have been baniſhed into this odious country. I wiſh I had married an earl or a duke, and then I ſhould not have been plagued with this fuſs about elections. I dont know why Sir John ſhould be ſo deſirous to be choſen; for I dont find a parliament man's lady a bit more reſpected among the polite world. You will excuſe my employing Lettice to write this, while I dictated: as the girl was a parſon's daughter, ſhe has a good education, and can ſpell tolerably well: and really my eyes are ſo bad, (from not being able to ſleep at nights on account of my going to bed ſo horrid ſoon,) that that I can hardly ſee to ſubſcribe myſelf

Your affectionate friend, &c.

Pray ſend me all the town news.

THIS lady's caſe, as related above, is indeed a very diſtreſsful one; but as Sir John has had the good luck to gain his point after a ſtrong oppoſition, he will doubtleſs be ſenſible of the great ſhare his lady had in his ſucceſs. For my own part, when I conſider the vaſt influence which the fair ſex muſt naturally have over my fellow countrymen, I cannot help looking on their intereſting themſelves in theſe matters as a very ſerious affair. What ſucceſs muſt a fine lady meet with on her canvaſs! No gentleman to be ſure could be ſo rude or ſo cruel as to refuſe ſuch a pretty beggar any thing ſhe could aſk; and an honeſt country farmer, who could withſtand any other arguments, might be coaxed and wheedled, or bribed with a ſmile, into voting againſt his conſcience. Many inſtances have been found during the late election, of huſbands who have been forced to poll as their wives would have them; and I know a young fellow that was brought over to give a vote againſt his inclination [120] by his ſweetheart, who refuſed to receive his addreſſes if he did not change his party.

IT may not perhaps be too bold an aſſertion, that half the members in the preſent parliament owe their ſeats to the direct or indirect influence of the other ſex: It would therefore be highly proper for the legiſlature to provide againſt this evil for the future, and I hope ſhortly to ſee among the Votes the following Reſolution.

Reſolved,

THAT it is an high Infringement of the Liberties and Privileges of the Commons of Great Britain, for any Peereſs, or any other Lady, to concern themſelves in the Elections of Members to ſerve for the Commons in Parliament.

We can make no uſe of the Letter ſign'd Tiny Tittle, but ſhall always be glad to hear from that Correſpondent.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXI. THURSDAY, June 20, 1754.

[121]
—Studeo, bullatis ut mihi nugis
Pagina turgeſcat, dare pondus idonea fumo.
PERS.

TQUASSOUW, the ſon of KQVUSSOMO, was Konquer or Chief Captain over the Sixteen Nations of Caffraria. He was deſcended from N'oh and Hingn'oh, who dropt from the Moon; and his power extended over all the Kraals of the Hottentots.

THIS Prince was remarkable for his proweſs and activity: his ſpeed was like the torrent that ruſhes down the precipice, and he would overtake the Wild Aſs in her flight: his Arrows brought down the Eagle from the clouds, the Lion fell before him, and his Launce drank the blood of the Rhinoceros. He fathomed the waters of the deep, and buffeted the billows in the tempeſt: he drew the Rock-Piſh from their lurking-holes, and rifled the beds of Coral. [122] Trained from his infancy in the exerciſe of war, to wield the Haſſagaye with dexterity, and break the Wild Bulls to battle, he was a ſtranger to the ſoft dalliance of love; and beheld with indifference the thicklipped damſels of Gongeman, and the flatnoſed beauties of Hauteniqua.

AS TQUASSOUW was one day giving inſtructions for ſpreading toils for the Elk, and digging pitfalls for the Elephant, he received information, that a Tyger prowling for prey was committing ravages on the Kraals of the Chamtouers. He ſnatched up his Bow of Olive-wood, and bounded, like the Roe-Buck on the mountains, to their aſſiſtance. He arrived juſt at the inſtant, when the enraged animal was about to faſten on a Virgin, and aiming a poiſoned arrow at his heart laid him dead at her feet. The Virgin threw herſelf on the ground, and covered her head with duſt, to thank her deliverer; but when ſhe roſe, the Prince was dazzled with her charms. He was ſtruck with the gloſſy hue of her complexion, which ſhone like the jetty down of the Black Hog of Heſſaqua: he was raviſhed with the preſt griſtle of her noſe; and his eyes dwelt with admiration on the flaccid beauties of her breaſts, which deſcended to her navel.

KNONMQUAIHA, (for that was the Virgin's name,) was daughter to the Kouqucqua or Leader of the Kraal; who bred her up with all the delicacy of her ſex. She was fed with the entrails of Goats, ſhe ſucked the eggs of the Oſtrich, and her drink was the milk of Ewes. After gazing for ſome time upon her charms, the Prince in great tranſport embraced the ſoles of her feet: then ripping up the beaſt he had juſt killed, took out the Caul, and hung it about her neck, in token of his affection. He afterwards ſtripped the Tyger of his ſkin, and ſending it to the Kouqucqua her father demanded the damſel in marriage.

THE eve of the full moon was appointed for the celebration of the nuptials of TQUASSOUW and KNONMQUAIHA. When the day arrived, the magnificence in which the Bridegroom was arrayed amazed all Caffraria. Over his [123] ſhoulders was caſt a Kroſſe or Mantle of Wild Cat-ſkins: he cut Sandals for his feet from the raw hide of an Elephant; he hunted down a Leopard, and of the ſpotted fur formed a ſuperb Cap for his head; he girded his loins with the Inteſtines, and the Bladder of the beaſt he blew up and faſtened to his hair.

NOR was KNONMQUAIHA leſs employed in adorning her perſon. She made a varniſh of the fat of Goats mixed with ſoot, with which ſhe anointed her whole body as ſhe ſtood beneath the rays of the ſun: her locks were clotted with melted greaſe, and powdered with the yellow duſt of Buchu: her face, which ſhone like the poliſhed Ebony, was beautifully varied with ſpots of Red Earth, and appeared like the ſable curtain of the night beſpangled with ſtars: ſhe ſprinkled her limbs with wood-aſhes, and perfumed them with, the dung of the Stinkbingſem. Her arms and legs were entwined with the ſhining entrails of a Heifer: from her neck there hung a pouch compoſed of the ſtomach of a Kid: the wings of an Oſtrich overſhadowed the fleſhy promontories behind; and before ſhe wore an apron formed of the ſhaggy ears of a Lion.

THE Chiefs of the ſeveral Kraals, who were ſummoned to aſſiſt at their nuptials, formed a circle on the ground, ſitting upon their heels, and bowed their heads between their knees in token of reverence. In the centre the illuſtrious Prince with his ſable Bride repoſed upon ſoft cuſhions of Cow-dung. Then the Surri or Chief Prieſt approached them, and in a deep voice chaunted the nuptial rites to the melodious grumbling of the Gom-Gom; and at the ſame time (according to the manner of Caffraria) bedewed them plentifully with the urinary benediction. The Bride and Bridegroom rubbed in the precious ſtream with extaſy; while the briny drops trickled from their bodies, like the oozy ſurge from the Rocks of Chirigriqua.

THE Hottentots had ſeen the increaſe and wane of two moons ſince the happy union of TQUASSOUW and KNONMQUAIHA, [124] when the Kraals were ſurpriſed with the appearance of a moſt extraordinary perſonage, that came from the ſavage people who roſe from the ſea, and had lately fixed themſelves on the borders of Caffraria. His body was enwrapped with ſtrange coverings, which concealed every part from ſight except his face and hands. Upon his ſkin the ſun darted his ſcorching rays in vain, and the colour of it was pale and wan as the watry beams of the moon. His hair, which he could put on and take off at pleaſure, was white as the bloſſoms of the Almond Tree, and buſhy as the fleece of the Ram. His lips and cheeks reſembled the Red Oker, and his noſe was ſharpened like the beak of an Eagle. His language, which was rough and inarticulate, was as the language of beaſts; nor could TQUASSOUW diſcover his meaning, till a Hottentot (who at the firſt coming of theſe people had been taken priſoner, and had afterwards made his eſcape) interpreted between them. This interpreter informed the Prince, that the ſtranger was ſent from his fellow countrymen to treat about the enlargement of their territories, and that he was called among them MYNHEER VAN SNICKERSNEE.

TQUASSOUW, who was remarkable for his humanity, treated the ſavage with extraordinary benevolence. He ſpread a mantle of Sheep-ſkins anointed with fat for his bed, and for his food he boiled in their own blood the tripes of the fatteſt herds, that grazed in the rich paſtures of the Heykoms. The ſtranger in return inſtructed the Prince in the manners of the ſavages, and often amuſed him with ſending fire from a hollow engine, which rent the air with thunder. Nor was he leſs ſtudious to pleaſe the gentle KNONMQUAIHA. He bound bracelets of poliſhed metal about her arms, and encircled her neck with beads of glaſs: he filled the Cocoa-ſhell with a delicious liquor, and gave it her to drink, which exhilarated her heart, and made her eyes ſparkle with joy: he alſo taught her to kindle fire through a tube of clay with the dried leaves of Dacha, and to ſend forth rolls of odorous ſmoke from her mouth. After having [125] ſojourned in the Kraals for the ſpace of half a moon, the ſtranger was diſmiſſed with magnificent preſents of the teeth of Elephants; and a grant was made to his countrymen of the fertile meadows of Kochoqua, and the foreſts of Stinkwood bounded by the Palamite River.

TQUASSOUW and KNONMQUAIHA continued to live together in the moſt cordial affection; and the Surris every night invoked the great Gounja Ticquoa, who illuminates the Moon, that he would give an heir to the race of N'oh and Hingn'oh. The Princeſs at length manifeſted the happy tokens of pregnancy; her waiſt encreaſed daily in circumference, and ſwelled like the Gourd. When the time of her delivery approached, ſhe was committed to the care of the Wiſe Women, who placed her on a couch of the reeking entrails of a Cow newly ſlain, and to facilitate the birth gave her a potion of the milk of Wild Aſſes, and fomented her loins with the warm dung of Elephants. When the throes of child-birth came on, a terrible hurricane howled along the coaſt, the air bellowed with thunder, and the face of the Moon was obſcured as with a veil. The Kraal echoed with ſhrieks and lamentations, and the Wiſe Women cried out, that the Princeſs was delivered of a MONSTER.

THE product of her womb was WHITE.—They took the child, and waſhed him with the juice of Aloes:—they expoſed his limbs to the ſun, anointed them with the fat, and rubbed them with the excrement of Black Bulls:—but his ſkin ſtill retained it's deteſted hue, and the child was ſtill WHITE. The venerable Surris were aſſembled to deliberate on the cauſe of this prodigy; and they unanimouſly pronounced, that it was owing to the evil machinations of the Daemon Cham-ouna, who had practiſed on the virtue of the Princeſs under the appearance of MYNHEER VAN SNICKERSNEE.

THE inceſtuous parent with her unnatural offspring were judged unworthy to live. They bowed a branch of an Olive Tree in the Foreſt of Lions, on which the white monſter was ſuſpended by the heels; and ravenous beaſts feaſted on [126] the iſſue of KNONMQUAIHA. The Princeſs herſelf was ſentenced to the ſevere puniſhment allotted to the heinous crime of Adultery. The Kouquequas, who ſcarce twelve moons before had met to celebrate her nuptials, were now ſummoned to aſſiſt at her unhappy death. They were collected in a circle, each of them wielding a huge club of Cripplewood. The beauteous criminal ſtood weeping in the midſt of them, prepared to receive the firſt blow from the hand of her injured Huſband. TQUASSOUW in vain aſſayed to perform the ſad office: thrice he uplifted his ponderous mace of iron, and thrice dropt it ineffectual on the ground. At length from his reluctant arm deſcended the fell ſtroke, which lighted on that noſe, whoſe flatneſs and expanſion at firſt captivated his heart. The Kouquequas then ruſhing in, with their clubs redoubled their blows on her body, 'till the pounded KNONMQUAIHA lay as an heap of mud, which the retiring flood leaves on the ſtrand.

HER battered limbs, now without form and diſtinction, were encloſed in the paunch of a Rhinoceros, which was faſtened to the point of a bearded arrow, and ſhot into the Ocean. TQUASSOUW remained inconſolable for her loſs: he frequently climbed the lofty Cliffs of Chirigriqua, and caſt his eyes on the watry expanſe. One night, as he ſtood howling with the Wolves to the Moon, he deſcried the paunch that contained the precious relicks of KNONMQUAIHA, dancing on a wave, and floating towards him. Thrice he cried out with a lamentable voice, Bo, Bo, Bo: then ſpringing from the cliff, he darted like the Eagle ſouſing on his prey. The paunch burſt in ſunder beneath his weight; the green wave was diſcoloured with the gore; and TQUASSOUW was inveloped in the maſs. He was heard of no more; and it was believed, that he was ſnatched up into the Moon.

THEIR unhappy fate is recorded among the Nations of the Hottentots to this day; and their Marriage-rites have ever ſince concluded with a wiſh, ‘"That the Huſband may be happier than TQUASSOUW, and the Wife more chaſte than KNONMQUAIHA."’

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXII. THURSDAY, June 27, 1754.

[127]
Scilicet expectes, ut tradet mater honeſtos
Atque alios mores, quàm quos habet ipſa?—
JUV.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I REMEMBER, in a match between two perſons of different religions, it was ſtipulated in the marriage articles, that the boys ſhould be bred up in the perſuation of the father, and the girls in that of the mother. The conſequence of this was, that one part of the family was taught to look upon the other with a moſt pious comtempt; and in the end it produced a ſeparaſion. The ſons followed the example of their father, and in order to avoid the leaſt appearance of ſuperſtition and bigotry, turned out freethinkers: the lady of the houſe retired with her daughters [128] to France, and to preſerve them from a communication with heretics confined them in a nunnery.

THE like method ſeems to be obſerved in the general education of children; who as ſoon as they leave the nurſery, are reſigned over to the care and direction of their reſpective parents according to their ſex: whence it often happens, that families are as much diſtinguiſhed by their peculiar manners, as by a certain caſt of features or complexion. My young 'ſquire is put upon a little horſe before he can well walk, and becomes (as his father was before him) the pupil and companion of the groom and the gamekeeper: And if miſs's mamma ſhould chance to be the daughter of a poor man of quality, and the wife of a ſubſtantial tradeſman, the little lady is early inſtructed to value herſelf on her blood, and to deſpiſe her father's dirty connections with buſineſs.

TO this method of education it is owing, that the ſame vices and follies are delivered down from one generation to another. The modiſh exceſſes of theſe times are in their nature the ſame with thoſe which were formerly in vogue, though they differ ſomewhat in their ſhape and appearance. The preſent race of bucks, bloods, and freethinkers, are but the ſpawn of the Mohocks and the Hell-Fire Club: and if our modern fine ladies have had their Maſquerades, their Vauxhalls, their Sunday Tea Drinkings at Ranelagh, and their Morning Chocolate in the Hay-Market, they have only improved upon the Ring, the Spring-Gardens, the New-Exchange Aſſignations, and the Morning Puppet-ſhew, which employed the attention of their grandmothers: and as it is not apparent that our people of faſhion are more wicked, ſo neither are they wiſer than their predeceſſors.

[129]WHEN I contemplate the manner in which the younger part of the polite world is brought up, I am apt to carry my reflections farther than what merely concerns their own perſons. Let our young men of faſhion expoſe their ignorance abroad, rather than improve at our Univerſities at home;—let them trifle away their Time in inſipid amuſements, and run looſe about the town in one continued round of extravagance and debauchery;—let our young ladies be taught nothing but gallantry and whiſt, and be ſeen only at routes and aſſemblies, if the conſequence extend not beyond themſelves. But as theſe are to be the fathers and mothers, the guardians and tutors, on whom the morals of our next race muſt depend; it becomes a public concern, leſt the reign of vice and ignorance ſhould be ſupported, as it were, by hereditary ſucceſſion, and propagated to diſtant generations.

THE modern method of education is indeed ſo little calculated to promote virtue and learning, that it is almoſt impoſſible the children ſhould be wiſer or better than their parents. The country 'ſquire ſeldom fails of ſeeing his ſon as dull and aukward a looby as himſelf; while the debauched or foppiſh man of quality breeds up a rake or an empty coxcomb, who brings new diſeaſes into the family, and freſh mortgages on the eſtate. If you would therefore favour us, Mr. TOWN, with a few remarks on this ſubject, you would do ſervice to poſterity: for the preſent, give me leave to illuſtrate what I have ſaid by the example of a very faſhionable family.

LADY BELLE MODELY was one of the fineſt women in the laſt reign, as the Colonel her huſband was one of the ſmarteſt fellows. After they had aſtoniſhed the world ſingly with the eclat of their actions, they came together: her [130] ladyſhip was proud of fixing a man who was thought to have intrigued with half the women of faſhion; while the Colonel fell a ſacrifice to her beauty, only becauſe ſhe was admired by every body elſe. They lived together for ſome time in great ſplendor; but as matrimony was a conſtraint upon their freedom, they at length parted by a private agreement. Lady BELLE keeps the beſt company, is at the head of every party of pleaſure, never miſſes a maſquerade, and has card-tables conſtantly at her own houſe on Sundays. The Colonel is one of the oldeſt members of the Club at White's, runs horſes at Newmarket, has an actreſs in keeping, and is protected from the impertinence of duns, by having purchaſed a ſeat in parliament at almoſt as great an expence as would have ſatisfied the demands of his creditors.

THEY have two children: the one has been educated by the direction of his father, the other has been bred up under the eye of her mamma. The boy was indeed put to a grammar-ſchool for a while; but Latin and Greek or indeed any language except French, are of no ſervice to a gentleman: and as the lad had diſcovered early marks of ſpirit, (ſuch as kicking down wheel-barrows and ſetting old women on their heads,) the Colonel ſwore Jack ſhould be a ſoldier, and accordingly begged a pair of colours for him, before he was fifteen. The Colonel who had ſerved only in the peaceful campaigns of Covent Garden, took great pains to inſtil into Jack all that proweſs ſo remarkable in the modern heroes of the army. He enumerated his victories over bullies, his encounters with ſharpers, his midnight ſkirmiſhes with conſtables, his ſtorming of bagnio's, his impriſonment in round-houſes, and his honourable wounds in the ſervice of proſtitutes. The Captain could not fail of improving under ſo excellent a tutor, and ſoon became as [131] eminent as his father. He is a Blood of the firſt rate; Sherlock has inſtructed him in the uſe of the broad ſword, and Broughton has taught him to box. He is a fine Gentleman at aſſemblies, a ſharper at the gaming-table, and a bully at the bagnios. He has not yet killed his man in the honourable way; but he has gallantly crippled ſeveral watchmen, and moſt couragiouſly run a drawer through the body. His ſcanty pay will not allow him to keep a miſtreſs; but it is ſaid that he is privately married to a woman of the town.

SUCH is the conſequence of the ſon's education; and by this our people of diſtinction may learn, how much better it is to let a lad ſee the world (as the phraſe is) than to laſh him through a grammar-ſchool like a pariſh-boy, and confine him with dull pedants in a college cloiſter. Lady BELLE has not been leſs careful of her daughter Miſs HARRIOT. Thoſe who undertake the buſineſs of educating polite females have laid it down as a rule to conſider women merely as Dolls; and therefore never attempt the cultivation of their principles, but employ their whole attention on adorning their perſons. The romantic notions of honour and virtue are only fit for poor aukward creatures, who are to marry a ſhopkeeper or a parſon, but they can be of no uſe to a fine girl who is deſign'd to make a figure. Accordingly Miſs HARRIOT was committed to the care of Madame Governante who never ſuffered her to ſpeak a word of Engliſh, and a French dancing-maſter who taught her to hold up her head, and come into the room like a little lady. As ſhe grew up, her mamma inſtructed her in the niceſt points of ceremony and good breeding: ſhe explained to her the laws and regulations of dreſs; directed her in the choice of her brocades, told her what faſhions beſt became her, and what colours beſt ſuited her complexion. Theſe excellent rules were conſtantly enforced [132] by examples drawn from her ladyſhip's own practice: above all, ſhe unravelled the various arts of gallantry and intrigue; recounted the ſtratagems ſhe had herſelf employed in gaining new conqueſts, taught her when to advance and when to retreat, and how far ſhe might venture to indulge herſelf in certain freedoms without endangering her reputation.

MISS HARRIOT ſoon became the public admiration of all the pretty fellows, and was allowed to be a lady of the moſt elegant accompliſhments. She was reckoned to play a better game at Whiſt than Mrs. Sharply, and bets with more ſpirit at Brag than the bold Lady Atall. She was carried about to Tunbridge, Bath, Cheltenham, and every other place of diverſion by the mother; where ſhe was expoſed as at a public mart for beauty, and put up to the beſt bidder. But as Miſs had ſome fortune in her own diſpoſal, ſhe had not the patience to wait the formal delays of marriage articles, jointures, ſettlements, and pin-money; and (juſt before the late Act took place) eloped with a gentleman, who had long been very intimate with her mamma, and recommended himſelf to MISS HARRIOT by a ſtature of ſix foot and a ſhoulder-knot.

I am, ſir, your humble ſervant, &c.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXIII. THURSDAY, July 4, 1754.

[133]
—Qui modo ſcurra,
Aut ſi quid hâc re tritiùs videbatur,
Idem inficeto eſt inficetior rure.
CATULL.

I HAVE lately received ſeveral letters from my couſin VILLAGE concerning the Entertainments of the Country. He tells me that they have concerts every evening in that part of the month in which the Almanack promiſes it will be moon-light: in one little town in particular, all the polite company of the place aſſemble every Sunday evening (after church) at the Three Compaſſes, which is kept by the Clerk, to regale themſelves with cakes and fine homebrewed in an arbour at the end of his cabbage-garden; to which they have given the genteel denomination of Little Ranelagh. I ſhall this day preſent my [134] reader with his laſt letter, and only take notice of the grand difference between the Summer Amuſements in Town and Country. In London, while we are almoſt ſmothered in ſmoke and duſt, Gardens are opened every evening to refreſh us with the pure air of the country; while thoſe, who have the fineſt walks and moſt beautiful proſpects eternally before them, ſhut themſelves up in Theatres and Ball-rooms, ‘"lock fair daylight out, and make themſelves an artificial London."’

To Mr. TOWN.

DEAR COUSIN!

WHEREVER the Town goes, thoſe who live by the Town naturally follow: the facetious and entertaining gentry, who during the winter amuſed the world within the bills of mortality, are now diſperſed into different parts of the country. We have had moſt of them here already. The Coloſſus, the Dwarf, the Female Samſon, made ſome ſtay with us. We went for a week together to ſee Mr. Powell eat red hot tobacco pipes, and ſwallow fire and brimſtone: the Hermaphrodite was obliged to leave the town on a ſcandalous report, that a lady uſed frequently to viſit him in private. Mr. Church for ſome time charmed us with concertos and ſonatas on the Jew's-Harp; and at our laſt ball we footed it to our uſual melody of the Tabor and Pipe, accompanied with the Cymbal and Wooden Spoons.

I WILL not tire you with a particular detail of all our Entertainments, but confine myſelf at preſent to thoſe of the Stage. About the middle of laſt month, there came [135] among us one of thoſe gentlemen, who are famous for the cure of every diſtemper, and eſpecially thoſe pronounced incurable by the Faculty. The vulgar call him a Mountebank;—and when I conſidered his impaſſioned ſpeeches, and the extempore ſtage from which he uttered them, I was apt to compare them to Theſpis and his Cart. Again, when I beheld the Doctor dealing out his drugs, and at the ſame time ſaw his Merry Andrew play over his tricks it put me in mind of a Tragi-Comedy, where the pathetic and the ludicrous are ſo intimately connected, and the whole piece is ſo merry and ſo ſad, that the audience is at a loſs whether they ſhall laugh or cry.

AFTER the Doctor had been here ſome time, there came down two or three emiſſaries from a Strolling Company, in order (according to the Player's phraſe) to take the Town; but the Mayor being a ſtrict Preſbyterian, abſolutely refuſed to licence their exhibitions. The Players you muſt know finding this a good town, had taken a leaſe laſt Summer of an old Synagogue deſerted by the Jews, and were therefore much alarmed at this diſappointment: but when they were in the utmoſt deſpair, the ladies of the place joined in a petition to Mrs. Mayoreſs, who prevailed on her huſband to wink at their performances. The Company immediately opened their Synagogue-Theatre with the Merchant of Venice; and finding the Doctor's Zany a droll fellow, they decoyed him into their ſervice; and he has ſince performed the part of the Mock Doctor with univerſal applauſe. Upon his revolt the Doctor himſelf found it abſolutely neceſſary to enter of the Company, and having a talent for Tragedy has performed with great ſucceſs the Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet.

[136]THE Performers at our Ruſtic Theatre are far beyond thoſe paltry Strollers, who run about the country, and exhibit in a barn or a cowhouſe: for (as their bills declare) they are a Company of Comedians from the Theatres Royal; and I aſſure you, they are as much applauded by our country critics, as any of your capital actors. The ſhops of our tradeſmen have been almoſt deſerted, and a croud of weavers and hardware-men have elbowed each other two hours before the opening of the doors, when the bills have informed us in enormous red letters that the part of George Barnwell was to be performed by Mr. —, at the particular deſire of ſeveral ladies of diſtinction. It is true indeed that our principal actors have moſt of them had their education in Covent Garden or Drury Lane; but they have been employed in the buſineſs of the Drama in a degree but juſt above a Scene-ſhifter. An heroine, to whom your managers in town (in envy to her riſing merit) ſcarce allotted the humble part of a Confidante, now blubbers out Andromache or Belvidera: the attendants on a monarch now ſtrut monarchs themſelves, mutes find their voices, and meſſage-bearers riſe into heroes. The humour of our beſt Commedian conſiſts in ſhrugs and grimaces; he jokes in a wry mouth, and repartees in a grin: in ſhort he practiſes on Congreve and Vanbrugh all thoſe diſtortions, which gained him ſo much applauſe from the galleries in the drubs which he was condemned to undergo in Pantomimes. I was vaſtly diverted at ſeeing a fellow in the character of Sir Harry Wildair, whoſe chief action was a continual preſſing together of the thumb and fore-finger, which, had he lifted them to his noſe, I ſhould have thought he deſigned as an imitation of taking ſnuff: but I could eaſily account for the cauſe of this ſingular geſture, when I diſcovered [137] that Sir Harry was no leſs a perſon than the dextrous Mr. Clippit the Candle-ſnuffer.

YOU would laugh to ſee how ſtrangely the parts of a play are caſt. They played Cato; and their Marcia was ſuch an old woman, that when Juba came on with his— ‘"Hail! charming maid!"’—the fellow could not help laughing. Another night I was ſurprized to hear an eager lover talk of ruſhing into his miſtreſs's arms, rioting on the nectar of her lips, and deſiring (in the tragedy rapture) to hug her thus and thus for ever; though he always took care to ſtand at a moſt ceremonious diſtance. But I was afterwards very much diverted at the cauſe of this extraordinary reſpect, when I was told that the lady laboured under the misfortune of an ulcer in her leg, which occaſioned ſuch a diſagreable ſtench that the performers were obliged to keep her at arm's length. The entertainment was Lethe: and the part of the Frenchman was performed by a South-Briton, who, as he could not pronounce a word of the French language, ſupplied its place by gabbling in his native Welch.

THE Decorations, or (in the Theatrical dialect) the Property of our Company is as extraordinary as the Performers. Othello raves about a checked handkerchief, the Ghoſt in Hamlet ſtalks in a poſtilion's leather jacket for a coat of mail, and Cupid enters with a fiddle-caſe ſlung over his ſhoulders for a quiver. The apothecary of the town is free of the houſe for lending them a peſtle and mortar to ſerve as the bell in Venice Preſerved; and a barber-ſurgeon has the ſame privilege for furniſhing them baſons of blood to beſmear the daggers in Macheth. Macheth himſelf carries a rolling-pin in his hand for a truncheon, and as the [138] breaking of glaſſes would be very expenſive, he daſhes down a pewter pint pot at the ſight of Banquo's ghoſt.

A FRAY happened here the other night, which was no ſmall diverſion to the company. It ſeems there had been a great conteſt between two of theſe mimic heroes, which was the fitteſt to play Richard the Third. One of them was reckoned to have the better perſon, as he was very round ſhoulder'd, and one of his legs was ſhorter than the other; but his antagoniſt carried the part, becauſe he ſtarted beſt in the Tent-Scene. However, when the curtain drew up, they both ruſhed in upon the ſcene at once, and bawling out together ‘"Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,"’ they both went through the whole ſpeech without ſtopping.

I am, Dear Couſin, Yours, &c.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXIV. THURSDAY, July 11, 1754.

[139]
Ille dabit populo, patribuſque, equitique legendum.
MART.

WHEN I conſider the abſurd taſte for literature that once prevailed among our perſons of diſtinction, I cannot but applaud the reformation which has been ſince brought about in this article by the polite world. A Duke of Newcaſtle made himſelf remarkable by a Treatiſe on Horſemanſhip; a Rocheſter ſupplied the place of Ovid in the cloſets of men of pleaſure; and even the ladies of former ages ſacrificed to love in Novels and Romances.—I will not mention a Shaftſbury, as our preſent age has produced a Bolinbroke.—We of this generation are wiſer than to ſuffer our youth of quality to loſe their precious time in ſtudying the belles lettres, while our only care is to introduce [140] them into the beau monde. A modern peer, inſtead of laying down the theory of horſemanſhip, is perfect in the practice, and commences jockey himſelf; and our rakes of faſhion are content with acting the ſcenes which Rocheſter deſcribed. Our ladies are, indeed, very well qualified to publiſh a recital of amours; and one in particular has already entertained the world with memoirs of her own intrigues, cuckoldoms and elopements.

I AM very glad to find the preſent age ſo entirely free from pedantry: ſome part of the polite world read indeed, but they are ſo wiſe as to read only for amuſement; or at leaſt only to improve themſelves in the more modern and faſhionable ſciences. A Treatiſe on Whiſt has more admirers than a Syſtem of Logic, and a New Atalantis would be more univerſally read than a Practice of Piety. A fine gentleman or lady would no more chuſe the mind of a pedant, than the perſon of a cook-maid or a porter. I cannot therefore but approve of the plan laid down by the writer of the following letter, and would recommend it to all perſons of faſhion to ſubſcribe to his propoſals.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I HAVE long obſerved with infinite regret the little care that is taken to ſupply perſons of diſtinction with proper books for their inſtruction and amuſement. It is no wonder that they ſhould be ſo averſe to ſtudy, when learning is rendered ſo diſagreeable. Common creatures indeed, as ſoon as they can ſpell, may be made to read a dull chapter in the Teſtament; after which the Whole Duty of Man, or ſome other uſeleſs good book, may be put into their hands: [141] but theſe can never inſtruct a man of the world to ſay fine things to a lady, or to ſwear with a good grace. Among a few dirty pedants the knowledge of Greek and Latin may be cultivated; but among fine gentlemen theſe are juſtly diſcarded for French and Italian. Why ſhould perſons of quality trouble themſelves about Mathematics and Philoſophy, or throw away their time in ſcratching circles and triangles on a ſlate, and then rubbing them out again? All the Algebra requiſite for them to know, is the combination of figures on the dice; nor could Euclid be of any uſe to them, except he had repreſented the moſt graceful attitudes in fencing, or drawn out the lines of a minuet.

IN order to remedy theſe inconveniences, and that the erudition of perſons of faſhion may be as different from the vulgar knowledge of the reſt of mankind as their dreſs, I have formed a project for regulating their ſtudies. An old crabbed Philoſopher once told a monarch, that there was no Royal way of learning the Mathematics:—Firſt then, as to the muſty volumes which contain Greek, Latin, and the Sciences, (ſince there is no genteel method of coming at the knowledge of them,) I would baniſh them intirely from the polite world, and have them chained down in univerſity libraries, the only places where they can be uſeful or entertaining. Having thus cleared the ſhelves of this learned lumber, we ſhall have room to fill them more elegantly. To this end I have collected all ſuch books as are proper to be peruſed by people of quality, and ſhall ſhortly make my Scheme public by opening a handſome room under the title of the Polite Circulating Library. Many of my books are entirely new and original: all the modern novels, and moſt of the periodical papers fall ſo directly in with my plan, that they will be ſure to find a place in my library; and [142] if Mr. TOWN ſhews himſelf an encourager of my ſcheme, I ſhall expect to ſee peers and peereſſes take up the pen, and ſhine in the CONNOISSEUR.

I INTEND in the beginning of the winter to publiſh my propoſals at large, and in the mean time beg you to ſubmit the following ſpecimen of my books to the public.

CATALOGUE of BOOKS, &c.
  • REvelation, a Romance.
  • The Complete Cook. By Solomon Gundy.
  • The Gentleman's Religion. By a Free-Thinker.
  • Diſſertation on Parties. Or an Eſſay on breaking of Eggs. Addreſſed to the Big and Little Endians.
  • A Defence of Alexander the Copperſmith againſt St. Paul. By the late Lord Bolinbroke.
  • The Practice of Bagnios: or the Modern Method of Sweating.
  • The Ladies Diſpenſatory: Containing the moſt approved Recipes for Tooth-Powders, Lip-Salves, Beautifying Lotions, Almond Paſtes, Ointments for Freckles, Pomatums, and Hyſteric Waters; according to the preſent Practice.
  • A Deſcription of THE WORLD; with the Latitudes of Vaux-Hall, Ranelagh, the Theatres, the Opera-Houſe, &c. calculated for the Meridian of St. James's.
  • A Map of the Roads leading to Tyburn. By James Maclean, Eſq late Surveyor of the High-Ways.
  • [143]Eſſay on Delicacy. By an Enſign of the Guards.
  • The Art of Diſſembling. From the French.
  • A New Way to pay old Debts. From the Original publiſhed at Berlin.
  • The Spirit of Laws. With Notes on the Game-Act, the Jew-Bill, and the Bill for preventing Marriages.
  • Jargon verſus Common Senſe. By a Bencher of Lincoln's Inn.
  • Univerſal Arithmetic: Containing Calculations for laying the Odds at Horſe-racing, Cocking, Card-playing, &c.
  • Optics, or the Uſe of Opera-Glaſſes; with the Importance and Benefit of Near-Sightedneſs conſidered. To which is added a Diſſertation on the portable Pocket Looking-Glaſs.
  • The Modern Gymnaſium. By Broughton.
  • Geometry made eaſy, and adapted to the meaneſt Capcity. By N. Dukes, Dancing-Maſter to Grown Gentlemen.
  • De Oratore, or the Art of ſpeaking on all Subjects. By Andrew Mac Broad, F. R. H. S. Fellow of the Robin Hood Society.
  • A Diſſertation on the Miracle of the Five Loaves. By the Baker, Preſident of the ſame Society.
  • Garrick upon Death; with an Account of the ſeveral diſtortions of the face and writhings of the body, and particular Directions concerning Sighs, Groans, Ohs, Ahs, &c. &c. for the uſe of Young Actors.
  • The Court Regiſter; Containing an exact Liſt of all public Days, Routs, Aſſemblies, &c. where and when kept.
  • The Engliſhman in Paris.
  • [144]The whole Duty of Woman. Diſperſed under the Articles of Viſiting, Cards, Maſquerades, Plays, Dreſs, &c.
  • A Diſſertation on the Waters of Tunbridge, Cheltenham, Scarborough, and the Bath: Shewing their wonderful Efficacy in removing the Vapours;—with Directions how to aſſiſt their Operations by uſing the Exerciſe of Country-Dancing.
  • The Traveller's Guide, or Young Nobleman's Vade Mecum: Containing an exact Liſt of the moſt eminent Peruke Makers, Taylors, and Dancing-Maſters, &c. Being the Sum of a Gentleman's Experience during his Tour thro' France and Italy.
  • Falſe Honour, or the Faſhionable Combat.—Hounſlow Heath, or the Dernier Reſort.—The Suicide, or the Coup de Grace.—Tragedies.
  • The Virgin unmaſked.—Miſs in her Teens.—The Debauchees.—She would if ſhe could.—The Careleſs Huſband.—The Wanton Wife.—The Innocent Adultery.—Comedies; as they are now acting with univerſal applauſe.
  • The True Patriot, a Farce.
  • Handeli, Geminiani, Degiardini, Chabrani, Paſquali, Paſqualini, Paſſerini, Baumgarteni, Guadagni, Fraſi, Galli, item aliorum harmonioſiſſimorum Signororum et Signorarum Opera.
I am, ſir, Your humble Servant, JACOB ELZEVIR.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXV. THURSDAY, July 18, 1754.

[145]
—Vivimus ambitioſâ
Paupertate.—
JUV.

A LITTLE Frenchman, commonly known in town by the name of Count, and whoſe figure has been long ſtuck up in the windows of printſhops, was always remarkable for the meanneſs and at the ſame time the foppery of his appearance. His ſhoes, though perhaps capped at the toe, had red heels to them; and his ſtockings, though often full of holes, were conſtantly rolled up over his knees. By good luck he was once maſter of half a guinea; and having a great longing for a feather to his hat, and a very preſſing neceſſity for a pair of breeches, he debated with himſelf about the diſpoſal of his money. However his vanity got the better of his neceſſity; and the next [146] time the Count appeared in the Mall, by the ornaments of his head you would have imagined him a Beau, and by the nether part of his dreſs you would have taken him for a Heathen Philoſopher.

THE conduct of this Frenchman, however ridiculous, is copied by a multitude of people in this town. To the ſame little pride of deſiring to appear finer than they can afford, are owing the many ruſty ſuits of black, the tyes that ſeem taken from the baſket of a ſhoeboy, and the ſmart waiſtcoats edged with a narrow cord, which ſerves as an apology for lace. I know a man of this caſt who has but one coat; but by now and then turning the cuffs, and changing the cape, it paſſes for two. He uſes the ſame artifice with his peruke, which is naturally a kind of flowing Bob; but by the occaſional addition of two tails to it, it ſometimes appears as a Major. Of this ſort of men are compoſed the numerous fraternity of the ſhabby-genteel, who are the chief ſupport of the clothiers in Monmouth-ſtreet, and the barbers in Middle Row.

WOMEN are naturally ſo fond of ornament, that it is no wonder we ſhould meet with ſo many ſecond-hand gentry in that ſex. Hence ariſe the red-armed Belles that appear in the Park every Sunday; hence it is that Sacks and Petenlairs may be ſeen at Moor-Fields and Whitechapel; and that thoſe, who are ambitious to ſhine in diamonds, glitter in paſte and Scotch pebbles. When I ſee the wives and daughters of tradeſmen and mechanics make ſuch attempts at finery, I cannot help pitying their poor fathers and huſbands, and at the ſame time am apt to conſider their dreſs as a robbery on the ſhop. Thus when I obſerve the tawdry gentility of a tallow-chandler's daughter, I look upon her as hung round with long ſixes, ſhort eights, and ruſh-lights; and If I contemplate [147] the aukward pride of dreſs in a butcher's wife, I ſuppoſe her carrying about her ſirloins of beef, fillets of veal, and ſhoulders of mutton. I was vaſtly diverted with a diſcovery I made a few days ſince. Going upon ſame buſineſs to a tradeſman's houſe, I ſurprized in a very extraordinary diſhabille two females, whom I had been frequently uſed to ſee ſtrangely dizened out in the Mall. Theſe fine Ladies, it ſeems, were no other than my honeſt friend's daughters; and one, who always dreſſes the family-dinner, was genteelly employed in winding up the jack, while the other was up to the elbows in ſoap-ſuds.

A DESIRE of grandeur and magnificence is often abſurd in thoſe who can ſupport it; but when it takes hold of thoſe who can ſcarce furniſh themſelves with neceſſaries, their poverty, inſtead of demanding our pity, becomes an object of ridicule. Many families among thoſe who are called middling people, are not content without living elegantly as well as comfortably, and often involve themſelves in very comical diſtreſſes. When they aim at appearing grand in the eye of the world, they grow proportionably mean and ſordid in private. I went the other day to dine with an old friend; and as he uſed to keep a remarkable good table, I was ſurprized that I could ſcarce make a meal with him. After dinner he rung the bell, and ordered the chariot to be got ready at ſix; and then turning to me with an air of ſuperiority, aſked if he ſhould ſet me down. Here the riddle was out; and I found that his equipage had eat up his table, and that he was obliged to ſtarve his family to feed his horſes.

I AM acquainted with another family, where the maſter keeps an account againſt himſelf. This account is exactly ſtated in a large ledger-book. What he ſaves from his ordinary expences he places under the title of DEBTOR, and what [148] he runs out is ranged under CREDITOR. I had lately an opportunity of turning over this curious account, and could not help ſmiling at many of the articles. Among the reſt I remember the following, with which I ſhall preſent the reader.

[149]TRUE oeconomy does not merely conſiſt in not exceeding our income, but in ſuch a judicious management of it as renders our whole appearance equal and conſiſtent. We ſhould laugh at a nobleman, who to ſupport the expence of running horſes ſhould abridge his ſet to a pair, and that his jockey's might come in firſt for the plate be content to have his family dragged to his country-ſeat, like ſervant-maids in the Caravan. There are many well-meaning people, who have the pride of living in a polite quarter of the town, though they are diſtreſſed to pay the taxes: and what is more common than to ſee one particular room in an houſe furniſhed like a palace, while the reſt have ſcarce the neceſſary accommodations of an inn? ſuch a conduct appears to me equally ridiculous with that of the Frenchman, who (according to the jeſt) for the ſake of wearing ruffles is contented to go without a ſhirt.

THIS endeavour to appear grander than our circumſtances will allow, is no where ſo contemptible as among thoſe men of pleaſure about town, who have not fortunes in any proportion to their ſpirit. Men of quality have wiſely contrived that their ſins ſhould be expenſive: for which reaſon thoſe, who with equal taſte have leſs money, are obliged to be oeconomiſts in their ſins, and are put to many little ſhifts to appear tolerably profligate and debauched. They get a knowledge of the names and faces of the moſt noted women upon town, and pretend an intimate acquaintance with them, though they know none of that order of ladies above the draggle-tailed proſtitutes who walk the Strand. They talk very familiarly of the King's Arms, and are in raptures with Mrs. Allen's Claret; though they always dine ſnugly at a Chop-houſe, and ſpend their evening at an Ale-houſe or Cyder-cellar. The moſt ridiculous character I know of [150] this ſort is a young fellow, the ſon of a rich tobacconiſt in the city, who (becauſe it is the faſhion) has taken a girl into keeping. He knows the world better than to ſet her up a chariot, or let her have money at her own diſpoſal. He regulates her expences with the niceſt oeconomy, and employs every morning in ſetting down what is laid out upon her. He very ſeriouſly takes an account of Rolls and Butter, two-pence.—For Ribband, one ſhilling and four pence.—Pins, a half-penny, &c. &c. Thus does he reconcile his extravagance and frugality to each other, and is as penurious and exact as an uſurer, that he may be as genteel and as wicked as a lord.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXVI. THURSDAY, July 25, 1754.

[151]
Hic dies verè mihi feſtus atras
Eximet curas.—
HOR.

A GENTLEMAN of my acquaintance lately laid before me an eſtimate of the conſumption of bread and cheeſe, cakes, ale, &c. in all the little towns near London every Sunday. It is incredible how many thouſand buns are devoured in that one day at Chelſea and Paddington; and how much beer is ſwallowed at Pancras and Mile End. Upon the whole I was vaſtly entertained with a review of this eſtimate, and could not help approving the obſervation of Tom Brown, ‘"that the Sabbath is a very fine inſtitution, ſince the very breaking it is the ſupport of half the villages about our metropolis."’

[152]OUR common people are very obſervant of that part of the commandment, which enjoins them to do no manner of work on that day, which they alſo ſeem to underſtand as a licence to devote it to pleaſure. They take this opportunity of thruſting their heads into the pillory at Georgia, being ſworn at Highgate, and rolling down Flamſtead Hill in the Park at Greenwich. As they all aim at going into the country, nothing can be a greater misfortune to the meaner part of the inhabitants of London and Weſtminſter than a rainy Sunday; and how many honeſt people would be baulked of a ride once a week, if the legiſlature was to limit the hired one-horſe-chaiſes working on that day to a certain number as well as the hackney coaches.

THE ſubſtantial tradeſman is carried to his ſnug-box, which has nothing rural about it except the ivy that overruns the front, and is placed as near to the road ſide as poſſible, where the pleaſure of ſeeing carriages paſs under his window amply compenſates for his being almoſt ſmothered with duſt. The few ſmart 'prentices, who are able to ſit a horſe, may be ſeen ſpurring their broken-winded hacks up the hills; and the good-natured huſband together with his mate is dragged along the road to the envy and admiration of the foot-paſſenger, who (to compleat the Sunday picture) trudges patiently with a child in one arm, while his beloved doxy leans on the other and waddles at his ſide ſweltering beneath the unuſual weight of an hoop-petticoat.

IT is not to be ſuppoſed, that the country has in itſelf any peculiar attractive charms to thoſe who think themſelves out of the world, if they are not within the ſound of Bow Bell. To moſt of our Cockneys it ſerves only as an excuſe for eating and drinking; and they get out of town, [153] merely becauſe they have nothing to do at home; a brickkiln ſmells as ſweet to them as a farm-yard: they would paſs by a barn or a hay-ſtack without notice; but they rejoice at the ſight of every hedge ale-houſe, that promiſes good home-brew'd. As the reſt of a cit's life is regular and uniform, his Sunday diverſions have as little variety; and if he was to take a journal of them, we might ſuppoſe that it would run much in the following manner.

  • SUNDAY—Overſlept myſelf—Did not riſe till nine—Was a full hour in pulling on my new double-channel'd pumps—Could get no breakfaſt, my wife being buſy in dreſſing herſelf for church.
  • AT ten—Family at church—Self walked to mother Redcap's—Smoked half a pipe, and drank a pint of the Alderman's. N. B. The beer not ſo good as at the Adam and Eve at Pancras.
  • DINED at one—Pudding not boiled enough, ſuet muſty—Wife was to drive me in an one horſe chair to ſee mother Wells's at Enfield Waſh, but it looked likely to rain—Took a nap, and poſted ſeven pages from my day-book till five. Mem. Colonel Promiſe has loſt his election, and is turn'd out of his place—To arreſt him to-morrow.—
  • AT ſix—Mrs Deputy to drink tea with my wife—I hate their ſlip-ſlops—Called on my neighbour the Common-Council-Man, and took a walk with him to Iſlington.
  • FROM ſeven to eight—Smoked a pipe at the Caſtle, eat an heart-cake, and drank two pints of Cyder. N. B. To drink Cyder often, becauſe Neighbour tells me it is good for the ſtone and gravel.
  • [154]AT nine—Got to town again, very much fatigued with the journey—Pulled off my claret-colour'd coat, and blue ſattin waiſtcoat—Went to club, ſmoked three pipes, came home at twelve, and ſlept very ſoundly, till the prentice called me to go and take out a writ againſt Colonel Promiſe.

AS to perſons of quality, like Lady Loverule in the farce, they can not ſee why one day ſhould be more holy than another: therefore Sunday wears the ſame face with them as the reſt of the week. Accordingly, for ſome part of this ſummer Ranelagh was opened on Sunday evenings; and I cannot help wondering that the cuſtom did not continue. It muſt have been very convenient to paſs away the time there; till the hour of meeting at the card-table; and it was certainly more decent to fix aſſignations, there, than at church.

GOING to Church may indeed be reckoned among our Sunday amuſements, as it is made a mere matter of diverſion among many well-meaning people, who are induced to appear in a place of worſhip from the ſame motives that they frequent other public places. To ſome it anſwers all the purpoſes of a route or aſſembly,—to ſee and be ſeen by their acquaintance; and from their bows, nods, curt'ſies, and loud converſations one might conclude that they imagined themſelves in a drawing-room. To others it affords the cheap opportunity of ſhewing their taſte for dreſs: not a few, I believe, are drawn together in our cathedrals and larger churches by the influence of the muſic more than the prayers, and are kept awake by a jig from the organ-loft, tho they lulled to ſleep by the harangue from the pulpit. A well diſpoſed Chriſtian will go a mile from his own houſe to the Temple-Church, [155] Church, not becauſe a Sherlock is to preach, but to hear a Solo from Stanley.

BUT though going to church may be deemed a kind of amuſement, yet upon modern principles it appears ſuch a very odd one, that I am at at a loſs to account for the reaſons which induced our anceſtors to give into that method of paſſing their Sunday. At leaſt it is ſo wholly incompatible with the polite ſyſtem of life, that a perſon of faſhion (as affairs are now managed) finds it abſolutely impoſſible to comply with this practice. Then again the ſervice always begins at ſuch unfaſhionable hours, that in the morning a man muſt huddle on his cloaths like a boy to run to ſchool, and in an afternoon muſt inevitably go without his dinner. In order to remove all theſe objections, and that ſome Ritual may be eſtabliſhed in this kingdom agreeable to our inclinations and conſiſtent with our practice, the following SCHEME has been lately ſent me in order to ſubmit it to the ſerious conſideration of the public.

  • Imprimis, IT is humbly propoſed, that Chriſtianity be entirely aboliſhed by Act of Parliament, and that no other religion be impoſed on us in it's ſtead; but as the age grows daily more and more enlightened, we may at laſt be quite delivered from the influence of ſuperſtition and bigotry.
  • Secondly, THAT in order to prevent our ever relapſing into pious errors, that the common people may not loſe their holiday, every Sunday be ſet apart to commemorate our victory over all religion; that the Churches be turned into Free-thinking Meeting-Houſes, and diſcourſes read in them to confute the Doctrine of a future ſtate, the immortality of the ſoul, and other abſurd notions which ſome people now regard as objects of belief.
  • [156] Thirdly, THAT a Ritual be compiled exactly oppoſite to our preſent Liturgy; and that inſtead of reading portions of Scripture, the firſt and ſecond leſſons ſhall conſiſt of a Section of the Poſthumous Works of Lord Bolinbroke, or of a few pages from the writings of Spinoza, Chubb, Maundeville, Hobbes, Collins, Tindal, &c. from which writers the preachers ſhall alſo take their text.
  • Fourthly, THAT the uſual Feaſts and Faſts, viz. Chriſtmas Day, Eaſter Sunday, Trinity Sunday, &c. be ſtill preſerved; but that on thoſe days diſcourſes be delivered ſuitable to the occaſion, containing a refutation of the Nativity, the Reſurrection, the Trinity, &c.
  • Fifthly, THAT inſtead of the vile melody of a Clerk bawling out two Staves of Sternhold and Hopkins, or a Cathedral Choir ſinging Anthems from the Pſalter, ſome of the moſt faſhionable Cantatas, Opera Airs, Songs, or Catches, be performed by the beſt voices for the entertainment of the company.
  • Laſtly, THAT the whole Service be conducted with ſuch taſte and elegance as may render theſe Free-thinking Meeting-Houſes as agreeable as the Theatres; and that they may be even more judiciouſly calculated for the propagation of Atheiſm and Infidelity than the Robin Hood Society or the Oratory in Clare Market.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXVII. THURSDAY, Auguſt 1, 1754.

[157]
‘Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton.’

IT is a heavy tax upon authors that they ſhould always be expected to write ſenſe. Some few indeed, who are rich in ſentiment, pay this tax very chearfully, but the generality endeavour one way or another to elude it. For this purpoſe ſome have moulded their pieces into the form of wings, axes, eggs, and altars; while others have laced down the ſide of a copy of verſes with the letters of their miſtreſs's name, and called it an acroſtic: not to mention the curious inventions of rebuſſes and anagrams. For the ſame reaſons, the modern ſong-writers for our public gardens, who are our principal love-poets at preſent, entertain us with ſonnets and madigrals in [158] Crambo. Authors who promiſe wit, pay us off with puns and quibbles; and with our writers of comedy, long ſwords, ſhort jerkins, and tables with carpets over them paſs for incident and humour.

BUT no artifice of this ſort has been ſo often and ſo ſucceſsfully practiced as the immoderate uſe of uncouth terms and expreſſions. Words that mean nothing, provided they ſound big, and fill the ear, are the beſt ſuccedanium for ſenſe. Nothing ſo effectually anſwers Mr. Bayes's endeavour to elevate and ſurprize; and the reader, tho' he ſees nothing but ſtraws float on the ſurface, candidly ſuppoſes that there are pearls and diamonds at the bottom. Several dull authors by availing themſelves of this ſecret have paſſed for very deep writers, and arrant Nonſenſe has as often laid ſnugly beneath hard words, as a ſhallow pate beneath the ſolemn appearance of a full-bottomed periwig.

THOSE who are employed in what they call abſtract ſpeculations moſt commonly have recourſe to this method. Their diſſertations are naturally expected to illuſtrate and explain, but this is ſometimes a taſk above their abilities; and when they have led the reader into a maze, from which they cannot deliver him, they very wiſely bewilder him the more. This is the caſe with thoſe profound writers who have treated concerning the eſſence of matter, who talk very gravely of cuppeity, tableity, tallow-chandleity, and twenty other things with as much ſound and as little ſignification. Of theſe we may very well ſay with the poet,

Such labour'd nothings in ſo ſtrange a ſtile,
Amaze th'unlearn'd, and make the learned ſmile.
POPE.

[159]NO mode of expreſſion throws ſuch an impenetrable miſt over a work as an unneceſſary profuſion of Technical Terms. This will appear very plainly to thoſe who will turn over a few pages of a modern Collection of Voyages. Deſcriptions of a ſtorm make ſome of the fineſt and moſt ſtriking paſſages in the beſt poets, and it is for theſe in particular that Longinus admires the Odyſſey. The real circumſtances of a ſtorm are in themſelves without the aid of poetical ornaments very affecting, yet whoever reads an account of them in any of our writers of Voyages, will be ſo puzzled and perplexed with Starboard and Larboard, the Main-maſt and Mizen-maſt, and a multitude of Sea-terms, that he will not be the leaſt moved at the diſtreſs of the ſhip's crew. The abſurdity of this did not eſcape Swift, who has ridiculed it by a mock deſcription of the ſame kind in his Gulliver. Thoſe who treat military ſubjects are equally ridiculous: they overwhelm you with Counterſcarps, Paliſades, Baſtions, &c. and ſo fortify their no-meaning with hard words, that it is abſolutely impoſſible to beat them out of their intrenchments. Such writers, who abound in Technical Terms, always put me in mind of Ignoramus in the play, who courts his miſtreſs out of the law-dictionary, runs over a long catalogue of the meſſuages, lands, tenements, barns, outhouſes, &c. of which he will put her in poſſeſſion, if ſhe will join iſſue with him, and manifeſts his paſſion in the ſame manner that he would draw up a leaſe.

THIS affectation is never more offenſive than when it gets into the Pulpit. The greater part of almoſt every audience that ſits under our preachers are ignorant and illiterate, and ſhould therefore have every thing delivered to them in as plain, ſimple, and intelligible a manner as poſſible. Hard words, if they have any meaning, can only [160] ſerve to make them ſtare, and they can never be edified by what they do not underſtand. Young clergymen juſt come from the Univerſity, are proud of ſhewing the world that they have been reading the Fathers, and are fond of entering on the moſt abſtruſe points of Divinity. But they would employ their time more to their own credit as well as the improvement of their hearers, if they would rather endeavour to explain and inforce the precepts of the Apoſtles and Evangeliſts, than retail the confuſed hypotheſes of crabbed metaphyſicians.

AS to eſſays, and all other pieces that come under the denomination of familiar writings, one would imagine that they muſt neceſſarily be written in the eaſy language of Nature and Common-Senſe. No writer can flatter himſelf that his productions will be an agreeable part of the equipage of the tea-table, who writes almoſt too abſtruſely for the ſtudy, and involves his thoughts in hard words and affected latiniſms. Yet this has been reckoned by many the ſtandard ſtile for theſe looſe detatched pieces. Addiſon was proud that he could boaſt of having drawn learning out of ſchools and colleges into clubs and coffee-houſes, as Socrates was ſaid to draw morality from the clouds to dwell among men: but theſe people (as Lord Bolinbroke pretends to ſay of the ſame Socrates) mount the Clouds themſelves. This new-fangled manner of delivering our ſentiments is called writing ſound ſenſe: if I find this mode ſeems likely to prevail, I ſhall certainly think it expedient to give into it, and very ſuddenly oblige the world with a CONNOISSEUR ſo ſenſible that it will be impoſſible to underſtand it.

[161]BUT hard words and uncouth ways of expreſſing ourſelves never appear with ſo ill a grace as in our common converſation: in writings we expect ſome degree of exactneſs and preciſion, but if even there they ſeem harſh and diſagreeable, when they obſtruct the freedom of our familiar chat, they either make us laugh or put us out of patience. However ſome gentlemen, who would be accounted fine-ſpoken perſons, make uſe of them upon all occaſions, and ſcarce enquire how you do, or bid you good-morrow in any phraſe that is intelligible. It always puts me in pain to find a lady give into this practice: if ſhe makes no blunder, it ſets very ungracefully upon her; but it is ten to one that the rough uncouth ſyllables that form theſe words are too harſh and big for the pretty creature's mouth, and then ſhe maims them and breaks them to her uſe ſo whimſically, that one can ſcarce tell whether ſhe is talking French or Engliſh.—I ſhall make no more reflections on this ſubject at preſent, but conclude my paper with a ſhort ſtory.

A MERRY fellow, who was formerly of the univerſity, going through Cambridge on a journey, took it into his head to call on his old tutor. As it is no great wonder that pedantry ſhould be found in a college, the tutor uſed to lard his converſation with numberleſs hard words and forced derivations from the Latin. His pupil, who had a mind to banter the old gentleman on his darling foible, when he viſited him entered his chambers with his hat in one hand, and a dictionary in the other. The firſt compliments were ſcarce over before the tutor bolted out a word big enough for the mouth of Garagantua. Here the pupil begged that he would ſtop a little, and after turning over his dictionary deſired him [162] to proceed. The learned gentleman went on, and the pupil ſeem'd to liſten with great attention, till another word came out as hard as the former, at which he again interrupted him, and again had recourſe to his dictionary. This put the Old Don ſo much out of patience, that he roſe in a rage, and bid him get out of the room for an ignorant impudent coxcomb.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXVIII. THURSDAY, Auguſt 8, 1754.

[163]
—Sequar atris ignibus abſens,
Omnibus umbra locis adero, dabis improbe paenas.
VIRG.

TOM DARE-DEVIL, who was ſo much ſuperior to the reſt of our BUCKS that he gained the appellation of STAG, finiſhed a courſe of continual debaucheries, and was carried off laſt week by a phrenetic fever. I happened to be preſent at his laſt moments, and the remembrance of him ſtill dwells ſo ſtrongly on my mind, that I ſee him, I hear him, in all the agonies of deſpair, ſtarting, trembling, and uttering the moſt horrid execrations. His conſcience at the approach of death had conjured up before him ‘"ten thouſand devils with their red-hot ſpits"’ who aſſumed the ſhapes of all thoſe whom he had injured, and ‘"came hiſſing on him"’ to retaliate [164] their wrongs. ‘"Save me, ſave me,"’ he would cry, ‘"from that bleeding form.—He was my friend—but I run him through the heart in a quarrel about a whore."—’ ‘"Take away that old fellow—He would have carried us to the Round-Houſe—I knocked him down with his own ſtaff, but I did not think the poor dog would have died by it."’ When the nurſe offered him a draught to take, ‘"Why, ſaid he, will you ply me with Champagne?—'tis a damnable liquor, and I'll drink no more of it."’ In one of his lucid intervals he graſped my hand vehemently, and burſting into tears, ‘"Would to God, ſaid he, I had died twenty years ago."’ At length his unwilling ſoul parted from the body, and the laſt words we heard from him were a faint ejaculation to his Maker, whom he had blaſphemed all his life. His ſhocking exit made me reflect on that fine paſſage in the ſcriptures, ‘"Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my laſt end be like his."’

THE behaviour of this unhappy wretch afforded a dreadful inſtance of the truth of that maxim, There is no hell like a troubled conſcience. ‘"There needs indeed no ghoſt to tell us this:"’—but it were to be wiſhed, that the conſcience of every living reprobate could work on his imagination in the ſame manner, and raiſe up ſuch horrid apparitions to torment him. Where is the Wretch ſo hardened, who would not be diſmayed at theſe terrors? Or who could perſevere in a courſe of wickedneſs, when every freſh offence would create a new fury to haunt him for his crimes?

LET us, for inſtance take a view of the moſt glaring circumſtances in the life of that arch-infidel TOM DARE-DEVIL: and let us at the ſame time conceive (if poſſible) what pangs he muſt have felt, had every flagitious act been [165] attended with the ſame phantoms that diſtracted him on his death-bed. Firſt then, let us contemplate him as a Parracide; for ſo he may be called, who by repeated diſobedience broke the heart of a moſt affectionate father. Could filial ingratitude receive a ſharper puniſhment, than in the midſt of his debaucheries to have this father continually before his eyes, expoſtulating with him on his unnatural behaviour? O my ſon, (might he hear him ſay) was it for ‘"this that thy mother, who died in giving thee life, begged me with her laſt breath to be kind to the boy? Was it for this, that the country rung with joy for my being bleſſed with an heir?—O my child, who can I now call my heir? That eſtate which I was ſo ſollicitous to improve for thy ſake, is diſſipated among jockeys, gamblers, pimps, and proſtitutes.—If you ever ſhould have a ſon, may His ingratitude never make you think of Me."’

TOM indeed took care never to have any vexation from children: He had too great a ſpirit to bear the ſhackles of matrimony, and lived in a ſtate of celibacy among bagnios. Sometimes he made inroads on private life, and diſturbed the peace of families by debauching the wives and daughters of his acquaintance. Among other gallant exploits he decoyed up to town the daughter of a country gentleman, where he ruined her, and then left her to linger under an infamous diſeaſe. At length the fruits of his amour appeared in a child, which ſoon periſhed with it's unhappy parent in a public hoſpital. By the ſame magic of the fancy let us raiſe up this poor girl with the infant in her arms, while he is wantoning among his doxies, and lording it like a Baſhaw over the vaſſals of his luſt. What remorſe muſt this villain have felt, could he have imagined her to have addreſſed him in the following terms! ‘"Behold in the loathſome carcaſe of this babe the image of thyſelf; [166] foul, rotten, and corrupt.—How could I ſuffer ſo contemptible a creature to draw me from the comfortable protection of my parents?—It was juſt that I ſhould fall a victim to my folly: but was this diſeaſed infant quickened only to proclaim my diſhonour and thy infamy?—Why hadſt thou yet the power left to propagate miſery even to the innocent?"’

TOM had often ſignalized himſelf as a duelliſt: his conſcience, as we have already mentioned, upbraided him at his dying moments with the murder of a particular friend. He had once ill luck at cards; and being irritated with his loſſes, and ſuſpecting foul play on the part of his antagoniſt, he took him by the noſe, which conſequently produced a challenge. He is haſtening to the field of battle:—but he fancies himſelf followed by the Manes of his friend, whom on the ſame unhallowed ground he had lately ſacrificed to that Idol HONOUR. He hears him call— ‘"Turn, madman, turn, and look on Me.—You may remember with what reluctance I met you—You forced me to the combat—and I was even pleaſed that the victory was yours. You deprived me of life in an idle quarrel about a creature, whom at your return from the murder of your friend you detected in the arms of another.—It was Honour that induced you to wound the boſom of one you loved:—The ſame Honour now calls you to give a fellow whom you deſpiſe, an opportunity to retaliate the injury done to me.—What folly is it to put your life into the hands of a ſcoundrel, who you ſuſpect has already robbed you of your fortune?—But go on, and let your death rid the world of a monſter, who is deſperate enough to put his own life on the hazard, and wicked enough to attempt that of another."’—It happened, however, that TOM had no occaſion for ſuch a monitor, as the [167] perſon whom he went to meet proved as great a coward as he was a cheat; and our hero, after waiting a full hour in his pumps, and parrying with the air, had no other revenge for the loſs of his money than the ſatisfaction of poſting him for a ſcoundrel.

THOUGH the hero of our ſtory was cut off in the prime of his life, yet he may be ſaid, like Neſtor, to have outlived three generations. All the young fellows of ſpirit were proud to be enrolled in the liſt of his companions; but as their conſtitutions were more puny than his, three ſets of them had dropt into the grave, and left him at the head of the fourth. He would often boaſt of the many promiſing geniuſſes, who had fallen in the vain attempt of keeping pace with him in the various ſcenes of debauchery. In this light we may conſider him as an acceſſary to ſo many wanton murders. By the operation of his conſcience, at every tavern door he might have met with an acquaintance to bar his paſſage; and in the midſt of his jollity, like Macbeth, he would have daſhed down his glaſs, and imagined that he ſaw a departed friend filling the vacant chair.

FROM the nature of the facts which have already been recorded of TOM DARE-DEVIL, the reader will eaſily conclude that he muſt have been an Atheiſt. No creature, who believed in a SUPREME BEING, could have acted ſo vilely towards his fellow-creatures. TOM was preſident of an abominable club, who met together every Sunday night to utter the moſt horrid blaſphemies. The members of this moſt ſcandalous ſociety muſt have heard of the manner of their great tutor's death:—let us imagine therefore, that they could figure to themſelves his ghoſt appearing to them, warning them of their errors, and exhorting them to repent. They might conceive him ſetting forth, in the moſt pathetic manner, the conſequences of their folly, and declaring [168] to them how convinced he was of the certainty of thoſe doctrines which they daily ridiculed. Such an apparition would indeed have an effect upon common ſinners; but in all probability a thorough-paced infidel would not be reclaimed, even ‘"though One roſe from the dead."’

WHAT I have here ſuppoſed might have been the caſe of one particular reprobate, is in the power of every perſon to put in practice for himſelf. Nothing is a ſtronger inſtance of the goodneſs of the CREATOR, than that delicate inward feeling, ſo ſtrongly impreſſed on every reaſonable creature. This internal ſenſe, if duly attended to, and diligently cheriſhed and kept alive, would check the ſinner in his career, and make him look back with horror on his crimes. An Antient is commended for wiſhing, ‘"that he had a window in his breaſt, that every one might ſee into it:"’ but it is certainly of more conſequence to keep ourſelves free from the reproach of our own hearts, than from the evil opinions of others. We ſhould therefore conſider Conſcience as a Mirror, in which every one may ſee himſelf reflected, and in which every action is repreſented in its proper colours.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXIX. THURSDAY, Auguſt 15, 1754.

[169]
Gaudent ſcribentes, et ſe venerantur, adorant.
HOR.

THAT there is a vanity inherent in every author muſt be confeſſed, whatever pains they may take to conceal it from the reſt of mankind. For my own part, I readily acknowledge, that I am always wonderfully delighted with my own productions. I ſnatch up the favourite ſheets wet from the preſs, and devour every ſyllable: not the leaſt particle eſcapes my notice, and I dwell with admiration on the beauties of an expreſſive and or emphatical the. If every reader was to pay the ſame attention [170] to my works, or peruſe them with half the ſatisfaction, Mr. TOWN might be fairly pronounced the greateſt author of the age. But I am afraid I ſhall ſcarce find another who will ſo heartily join in the good opinion I have conceived of myſelf; and many a choice ſentiment, many a culled expreſſion, which I have repeated to myſelf over and over again with extacy, has by others perhaps been as haſtily hurried over as any common article in a news-paper.

AN Author, who is ever big with the idea of his own importance, will gather matter for ſelf-flattery from the moſt trivial circumſtances. On the mornings of publication I have ſometimes made it my buſineſs to go round the coffee houſes, in order to receive whatever increaſe of praiſe I could collect from the approbation of my readers. My heart you may imagine has bounded with joy, when I have heard the room echo with calling for the CONNOISSEUR: but how has it ſunk again, when I have found the ſame tokens of eſteem ſhewn to a brother writer! I could have hugged any honeſt fellow, that has chuckled over my performances, and pointed out my good things:—but I have been no leſs chagrined, when I have ſeen a coxcomb coolly take up my paper, ſquint over the firſt page, and throw it down again with all the indifference imaginable: though indeed I have never failed within myſelf to pronounce on ſuch a perſon, that he is dull, ignorant and illiterate. I once happened to be ſeated in the next box to two noted critics, who were looking over the file of my papers, and ſeemed particularly pleaſed with ſeveral parts of them. I immediately conceived a very high opinion of their taſte and judgment: I remarked with ſingular ſatisfaction the effect which my wit and humour had on their countenances; [171] and as they turned over the pages, I imagined I could point out the very paſſages, which provoked them frequently to ſmile, and ſometimes to burſt into a loud laugh. As ſoon as they were gone, I ſeized the file; when lo! to my great mortification I found they had been reading, not my own admirable works, but the lucubrations of a brother eſſayiſt.

MY vanity has often prompted me to wiſh, that I could accompany my papers whereſoever they are circulated. I flatter myſelf I ſhould then be introduced to the politeſt men of quality, and admitted into the cloſets of our fineſt ladies. This conſideration would doubtleſs make me vain of myſelf: but my pride would be ſoon checked by reflecting further, that were I obliged to follow my papers afterwards through all their travels and mutations, I ſhould certainly undergo the ſhame of ſeeing ſome of them proſtituted to the vileſt purpoſes. If in one place I might be pleaſed to find them the entertainment of the tea-table, in another I ſhould be no leſs vexed to ſee them degraded to the baſe office of ſticking up candles. Such is the fatality attending theſe looſe ſheets, that though at their firſt publication they may be thought as precious as the Sibyl's leaves, the next moment they may be thrown aſide as no better than a laſt year's almanack.

EVER ſince my firſt appearance in a ſheet and a half I have felt great uneaſineſs on account of the rude treatment, which my works have been ſubject to in their preſent form. I turned off my printer for a very heinous affront offered to my delicacy, having detected ſome foul proofs of my firſt numbers lodged in a very unſeemly [172] place; and I almoſt came to an open rupture with my publiſher, becauſe his wife had converted a ſupernumerary half-ſheet into a thread-paper. A lady, whoſe ſenſe and beauty I had always admired, forfeited my eſteem at once by cutting out a pattern for a cap from one of my papers; and a young fellow, who had ſpoken very handſomely of one of my eſſays, made no ſcruple to defile the blank margin with a filthy liſt of foul ſhirts and dirty ſtockings. The repeated abuſes of illiterate bakers, paſtry-cooks, and chandlers I know I am condemned to ſuffer in common with other mortal writers. It was ever their priviledge to prey indiſcriminately on all authors good or bad: and as politicians, wits, freethinkers, and divines, may have their duſt mingled in the ſame piece of ground, ſo may their works be jumbled together in the lining of the ſame trunk or band-box.

ONE inſtance may indeed be brought, in which I am uſed to hail as a lucky omen the damages that my papers appear to have ſuſtained in their outward form and complexion. With what raptures have I traced the progreſs of my fame, while I have contemplated my numbers in the public coffee-houſes ſtrung upon a file, and ſwelling gradually into a little volume! By the appearance which they make, when thus collected, I have often judged of the reception they have ſingly met with from their readers: I have conſidered every ſpeck of dirt as a mark of reputation, and have aſſumed to myſelf applauſe from the ſpilling of coffee or the print of a greaſy thumb. In a word, I look upon each paper, when torn and ſullied by frequent handling, as an old ſoldier battered in the ſervice, and covered with honourable ſcars.

[173]I WAS led into this train of thought by an accident which happened to me the other evening, as I was walking in ſome fields near the town. As I went along my curioſity tempted me to examine the materials of which ſeveral paper kites were made up, from whence I had ſufficient room to moralize on the ill fate of authors. On one I diſcovered ſeveral pages of a ſermon expanded over the ſurface; on another the wings fluttered with love ſongs; and a ſatire on the miniſtry furniſhed another with ballaſt for the tail. I at length happened to caſt my eye on one taller than the reſt, and beheld ſeveral of my own darling productions paſted over it. My indignation was preſently raiſed, that I ſhould become the plaything of children; and I was even aſhamed that the great name of TOWN, which ſtared me full in the front, ſhould be expoſed, like the compoſitions of Dr. Rock on the wall, to every idle gazer. However, by a curious turn of thought I converted what at firſt ſeemed a diſgrace into a compliment to my vanity. As the kite roſe into the air, I drew a flattering parallel between the height of it's flight, and the ſoaring of my own reputation: I imagined myſelf lifted up on the wings of fame, and like Horace's Swan towering above mortality: I fancied myſelf borne like a blazing ſtar among the clouds, to the admiration of the gazing multitude below.

—via eſt, quâ me quoque poſſim
Tollere humo, victorque virûm volitare per ora.
VIRGIL.

[174]WHILE I was indulging this fantaſtic contemplation of my own excellence, I never conſidered by how ſlight a thread my chimaerical importance was ſupported. The twine broke; and the kite, together with my airy dreams of immortality, dropt to the ground.

*⁎*We ſhould be glad to know how a Note may be directed to G. K.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXX. THURSDAY, Auguſt 22, 1754.

[175]
Bella inter geminos plus quàm civilia fratres.
LUCAN.

AT a time when Peace ſpreads her downy wings over contending nations, and when armies (like the harmleſs Militia) are drawn into the field only to be reviewed, all Europe muſt undoubtedly be alarmed to hear of the bloody battle, which has been lately fought in England. It is a juſtice due to poſterity to preſerve a faithful account of this memorable event: I ſhall therefore ſet it down as I find it recorded in thoſe authentic regiſters of heroic actions the News-papers, without deviating a tittle from the expreſſive terms in which this extraordinary combat is related.

Harlſton in Norfolk, July 30. Yeſterday in the afternoon Slack and Pettit met and fought. At the firſt Set-to, Pettit ſeized Slack by the throat, and held him up againſt the rails, and grain'd him ſo much as to make him turn extremely black: this continued for half a minute before Slack could break Pettit's hold; after which for near ten minutes [176] Pettit kept fighting and driving hard at Slack, when at length Slack clos'd with his antagoniſt and gave him a very ſevere fall, after that a ſecond and third; but between theſe falls Pettit threw Slack twice off the Stage, and indeed Pettit ſo much dreaded Slack's falls, that he ran directly at his hams and tumbled him down, and by that means gave Slack an opportunity of making the falls very eaſy: when they had been fighting eighteen minutes, the odds ran againſt Slack a guinea to a ſhilling; whereas on firſt ſetting out, it was three or four to one on his head; but after this time Slack ſhortened Pettit ſo, as to diſable him from running and throwing him down in the manner he had done before, but obliged him to ſtand to cloſe fighting. Slack then clos'd one of his eyes, and beat him very much about the face. At twenty minutes Pettit grew weaker, Slack ſtronger; this was occaſion'd by Slack's ſtrait way of fighting. At twenty-two minutes the beſt judges allow'd Slack to have the advantage over Pettit very considerably, as he was then recovering his Wind, which was owing to Game: when they had box'd twenty-four minutes, Pettit threw Slack again over the rails. This indeed Slack ſuffered him to do, as by that means he fixed a blow under Pettit's ribs, that hurt him much. Whilſt Slack was again getting upon the ſtage (it was not half a minute before he was remounted) Pettit had ſo much the fear of his antagoniſt before his eyes, that he walked off without ſo much as civilly taking leave of the ſpectators, or ſaying any thing to any perſon. This the Cockers call roguing of it; for it is generally thought that Pettit ran away full ſtrong. The whole time of their fighting was twenty-five minutes; and this morning the BATTLE was given to Slack, who drew the firſt ten guineas out of the box. Thus ended this dreadful combat.

EVERY man, who has the honour of the Britiſh fiſt at heart, muſt look with admiration on the Bottom, the Wind, the Game, of this invincible champion SLACK. How muſt they applaud his addreſs in fighting ſtrait; and with what deteſtation muſt they look upon his daſtard antagoniſt, who could ſo ſhamefully rogue it! Captain Godfrey, the ſublime Hiſtorian of theſe hardy heroes, would have exclaimed on this occasion;— ‘"Hail, mighty SLACK, thou pride of the Butchers! Let the ſhambles echo with thy praiſe, and let marrow-bones and cleavers proclaim thy glorious triumph. What was that half-bred bruiſer Milo, who is celebrated by the ancients for knocking down an ox, to cut out the hide into thongs for his Ce [...]us? every petty ſlaughterman of Clare-market can perform greater [177] feats: but thou with reſiſtleſs arm haſt not only knocked down oxen but made the puny race of barbers, coblers, and watermen fall before thee."’

I CANNOT but lament the cruelty of that law, which has ſhut up our Amphitheatres: and I look upon the profeſſors of the noble art of Boxing as a kind of diſbanded army, for whom we have made no proviſion. The mechanics, who at the call of glory left their mean occupations, are now obliged to have recourſe to them again; and coachmen and barbers reſume the whip and the razor, inſtead of giving black eyes and croſs-buttocks. I know a veteran that has often won the whole houſe, who is reduced, like Beliſarius, to ſpread his palm in begging for a halfpenny. Some have been forced to exerciſe their art in knocking down paſſengers in dark alleys and corners; while others have learned to open their fiſts and ply their fingers in picking pockets. Buckhorſe, whoſe knuckles had been uſed to indent many a bruiſe, now clenches them only to graſp a link; and Broughton employs the muſcles of his brawny arm in ſqueezing a lemon or drawing a cork. His Amphitheatre itſelf is converted into a Methodiſt Meetinghouſe! and perhaps (as laymen are there admitted into the pulpit) thoſe very fiſts, which ſo lately dealt ſuch hearty bangs upon the ſtage, are now with equal vehemence thumping the cuſhion.

THE dextrous uſe of the fiſt is a truly Britiſh exerciſe: and the ſturdy Engliſh have been as much renowned for their Boxing as their Beef; both which are by no means ſuited to the watry ſtomachs and weak ſinews of their enemies the French. To this nutriment and this art is owing that long-eſtabliſhed maxim, that one Engliſhman can beat three Frenchmen. A Frenchman, who piddles on [178] a fricaſſee of frogs, can no more encounter with an Engliſhman, who feeds upon beef, than the frog in the fable could ſwell her little body to the ſize of an ox; and from hence we may conclude, on the principles of philoſophy, that the elaſtic ſpring, which darts from the knuckles of an Engliſhman, falls into the heels of a Frenchman. One of my correſpondents has already remonſtrated againſt the degeneracy of the preſent times in our ſhameful neglect of that ſupport of our national ſtrength, Old Engliſh Roaſt Beef. Indeed we can never hope, that any of our modern heroes would attempt to fix a blow under the ribs, when they are afraid of plunging a knife into a Surloin: and I will venture to ſay, that when the times come, that Surloins are no more brought upon the table, we ſhall not be able to produce one Engliſhman, who can knock down an ox.

OUR preſent race of ſpindle-ſhanked beaux had rather cloſe with an orange wench at the playhouſe, than engage in a bye battle at Tottenham Court. It is therefore no wonder, that they ſhould object to this manly practice, for which they are ſo ill fitted. How can we imagine, that they could ſtand againſt the buffets of a bruiſer, when they might almoſt be patted down with the fan of a lady? An attempt was once made by Broughton to bring this ſtudy into vogue, by eſtabliſhing a School for Boxing, in which he himſelf was to be the Lecturer. He invited the young gentlemen of the army, and all other men of ſpirit, to engage under his directions; and promiſed to arm their feeble wriſts with mufflers, ſo that nothing might be apprehended by the ſofteſt head or tendereſt ſkin. A few indeed were hardy enough to try a fall with him: but moſt of our young fellows gave up the gauntlet for ſcented gloves; and loathing the mutton fiſts of vulgar carmen and porters, they rather choſe to hang their hands in a ſling, to make them [179] white and delicate as a lady's. I cannot but regret, that this deſign was not generally encouraged, as it might perhaps have aboliſhed almoſt the only uſe, that is at preſent made of the ſword; and men of honour, inſtead of tilting at each other, might have had ſatisfacion in a tight Set-to behind Mountague Houſe.

THE amuſement of Boxing I muſt confeſs is more immediately calculated for the vulgar, who can have no reliſh for the more refined pleaſures of whiſt and the hazard table. Men of faſhion have found out a more genteel employment for their hands in ſhuffling a pack of cards and ſhaking the dice: and indeed it will appear upon a ſtrict review, that moſt of our faſhionable diverſions are nothing elſe but different branches of gaming. What lady would be able to boaſt a route at her houſe conſiſting of three or four hundred perſons, if they were not to be drawn together by the charms of playing a rubber? and the prohibition of our jubilee maſquerades is hardly to be regretted, as they wanted the moſt eſſential part of their entertainments, the E. O. table. To this polite ſpirit of gaming, which has diffuſed itſelf through all the fashionable world, is owing the vaſt encouragement that is given to the Turf; and horſe-races are eſteemed only as they afford occaſion for making a bet. The ſame ſpirit likewiſe draws the knowing ones together in a Cock-pit; and cocks are reſcued from the dunghill, and armed with gaffles, to furniſh a new ſpecies of gaming. For this reaſon among others I cannot but regret the loſs of our elegant amuſements in Oxford Road and Tottenham Court. A great part of the ſpectators uſed to be deeply intereſted in what was doing on the ſtage, and were as earneſt to make an advantage of the iſſue of the battle, [180] as the champions themſelves to draw the largeſt ſum from the box. The Amphitheatre was at once a ſchool for boxing and gaming. Many thouſands have depended upon a match; the odds have often riſen at a black eye; a large bet has been occaſioned by a croſs-buttock: and while the houſe has reſounded with the luſty bangs of the combatants, it has at the ſame time echoed with the cries of five to one, ſix to one, ten to one.

THE loſs of this branch of gaming is a public calamity; and I doubt not but the gentlemen at White's, and all others whom it concerns, will uſe their endeavours to have it reſtored. The many plates given all over the kingdom have undoubtedly improved our breed of horſes; and if the diverſion of Boxing was to meet with equal encouragement, we ſhould certainly have a more ſtout and hardy race of bruiſers. It might perhaps become a faſhion for gentlemen, who were fond of the ſport, to keep champions in training, put them in ſweats, diet them, and breed up the human ſpecies with the ſame care as they do cocks and horſes. In courſe of time this branch of gaming, like all others, would doubtleſs be reduced to a ſcience; and Broughton, in imitation of that great genius Hoyle, might oblige the public with a Treatiſe on the Fiſt, and Calculations for laying the Odds at any Match of Boxing.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXI. THURSDAY, Auguſt 29, 1754.

[181]
Neu, pueri, neu tanta animis aſſueſcite bella.
VIRG.

LOOKING over the letters, with which I have been lately favoured by my correspondents, I was a good deal pleaſed with the following. I ſhall therefore preſent it to the reader this day.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

YOU muſt have obſerved a paragraph in the newspapers dated from Dublin, which informs us, that ‘"the ſpirit of Duelling is now become ſo common, that ſcarce a day paſſes without one or more being fought in or near that Metropolis."’ I am very much alarmed leſt this madneſs ſhould croſs the ſeas: to ſay the truth, I almoſt begin to think it neceſſary, that the frequent importation [182] of Iriſhmen into this kingdom ſhould, for ſome time, be prohibited; and an embargo laid on thoſe ſhips that are freighted with contraband Duelliſts. The ladies perhaps may object to this propoſal, but it is your duty, Mr. TOWN, at leaſt to do all in your power to prevent the influence which the conduct of theſe heroic gentlemen, who cannot ſuffer their ſwords to ſleep quietly in their ſcabbards, may have on our young fellows: I muſt therefore beg of you to put together a few thoughts on this occaſion, and though the ſubject has been often treated before, I cannot but imagine that there is ſufficient room left for You to expatiate on it. It is uſual among the Biſhops, when they find any particular vice prevail, to ſend orders to the Clergy of their reſpective dioceſes to preach againſt it. In like manner it is your duty, as CENSOR GENERAL, to attack the reigning follies: and it is ſurely as eaſy for You to throw them into a new light, as it is for the Clergy to preach different ſermons on the ſame text.

YOU will undoubtedly agree with me that Gaming is one of the principal cauſes of Duels, and that many a young fellow has owed his death to cards and dice. As the gaming-houſes are often filled with rogues in lace and ſharpers in embroidery, an honeſt but raſh adventurer often loſes his temper with his money, and begins to ſuſpect that the cards are packed, or the dice loaded: and then very wiſely riſks his life becauſe he finds it impoſſible to recover his caſh. Upon this account I am never witneſs to deep play, but it raiſes very ſerious reflections in me. When I have ſeen a young nobleman offer a large ſtake, I have conſidered him as ſetting his life upon a card, or (like King Richard) ‘"laying it upon a caſt, and ſtanding the hazard of the die."’ I have even imagined that I heard bullets rattle in the dice-box, and that I ſaw challenges written upon every card on the table.

[183]THE ladies alſo are frequently the cauſe of Duels; though it muſt be owned, in juſtice to the better part of the ſex, that where one is fought on account of a modeſt woman, ten are occaſioned by proſtitutes. The ſtout knights-errant, who entertain a paſſion for the faithleſs Dulcineas of Drury-Lane and Covent-Garden, find frequent opportunities of manifeſting their proweſs. They not only encounter with bullies and bravoes, but ſometimes meet with other enamoratoes as fond and as mad as themſelves. I am perſonally acquainted with two gentlemen of this turn, who held out piſtols at each other acroſs a bed at one of theſe ladies lodgings, and toſſed up which ſhould fire firſt. The piſtol however luckily miſt fire, and gave them time to think better of it: ſo they very amicably ſhook hands, laid down their piſtols, and went to bed to the lady together. Theſe females are not content, it ſeems, with the conqueſts commonly made by the fair, but often paſs a more cruel ſentence on their captives. Their lovers not only ſuffer thoſe metaphorical deaths which all their tribe muſt endure, but are often really killed in ſerious truth and ſober ſadneſs. They are not only ſhot through the heart by an accidental glance of the eyes, but often have a brace of balls lodged in their heads; and are not only ‘"ſtabbed through the liver (as Mercutio has it) by the blind bow-boy's butt-ſhaft,"’ but they may perhaps be engaged in a duel with a rival, in which they are run through the body.

A FOREIGN Count was once challenged by one of theſe hot-headed gentlemen, and I ſhall conclude my letter by recommending his method to our modern Dueliſts. The place of battle appointed was the Count's houſe, and when the furious challenger came in, breathing nothing but revenge, he was ſurprized to find the Count ſitting very [184] compoſedly with a candle and a barrel at his ſide. ‘"This, Sir, ſaid the Count, is a barrel of gunpowder, and if you pleaſe we will take our chance who ſhall ſet fire to it, you or I."’ The gentleman amazed at this expedient made no anſwer; upon which the Count lighted a match, and waving it over the mouth of the barrel, cried out, ‘"Get out of the room, Sir, or I will ſet fire to the powder this inſtant."’ This abated our challeger's wrath ſo conſiderably, that the Count was rid of him in a moment, and he was glad to leave the room without any ſatisfaction.—I ſhall expect ſomething from you on this ſubject and am,

Sir!
your humble ſervant, EPHRAIM MAKEPEACE.

I SHALL not refuſe my correſpondent my animadverſions on this ſubject, but as I am not inclined to meaſure ſwords on this occaſion with any of my predeceſſors or cotemporaries, I ſhall expatiate in an entire new field, and appear in the cauſe as an advocate for Duelling. The vices and follies of the faſhionable world are ſo connected with each other, that they almoſt form a regular ſyſtem, and the practice of them all is abſolutely neceſſary to complete the character of a Fine Gentleman. A Fine Gentleman (in the modern ſenſe of the word) is one that whores, games, and wears a ſword. Running after looſe women is indeed in ſome meaſure common to this exhalted part of mankind with the vulgar: but to live in bagnios, to be kept in repair by Rock or Ward by the quarter, to be in a continual courſe of pill and electuary, and to make a buſineſs of fornication is the peculiar privilege of a Fine Gentleman. Gaming is alſo an eſſential requiſite to this character, and is indeed capable of itſelf to create a perſon a Gentleman who has no other pretenſions to that title. The greateſt ſcoundrels provided [185] they were gameſters, have always been permitted to aſſociate with people of faſhion; and perhaps they hold their title to the beſt company by the ſame tenure that the Knaves keep their rank among the honours in a pack of cards. But the grand diſtinguiſhing mark of a Fine Gentleman is the wearing a ſword. Gentility diſplays itſelf in a well-fancied ſword-knot, and honour lies ſheathed in the ſcabbard. All who bear arms have a claim to this character: even our common ſoldiers (like the knights of old) are dubbed Gentlemen on the ſhoulder with this only difference, that inſtead of the ſword, the ceremony is performed by a brown muſket.

UPON theſe and many other weighty conſiderations I have reſolved not to diſturb the tranquility of the polite world by railing at their darling vices. A CENSOR may endeavour to new-cock a hat, to raiſe the ſtays, or write down the ſhort petticoat, at his pleaſure. Perſons of quality will vary faſhions of themſelves, but will always adhere ſteadily to their vices. I have lately received ſeveral letters from ſurgeons and younger brothers deſiring me to promote as far as lays in my power the modern way of life, and eſpecially the practice of Duelling. The former open their caſe in the moſt pathetic terms, and aſſure me that if it was not for Duels, and the amorous rencontres of Fine Gentlemen with the other ſex, their profeſſion would ſcarce ſupport them. As to the young gentlemen they inveigh bitterly againſt the unequal distribution of property by the laws of England, and offer me very conſiderable bribes if I will eſpouſe the cauſe of Duels and Debauchey; without which they ſcarce have any tolerable chance of coming in for the family eſtate.

SWIFT ſomewhere obſerves that thoſe differences very rarely happen among men of ſenſe, and he does not ſee any great harm, if two worthleſs fellows ſend each other out of the world. I ſhall therefore humbly propoſe, the more effectually to keep up this ſpirit, that Duels may be included in the Licence-Act among our other public diverſions, with [186] a reſtraining clauſe taking away all power from the Juſtices to prohibit theſe entertainments. I would alſo propoſe, for the better accommodation of the public, that ſcaffolds be erected behind Montague Houſe, or in any other convenient place, as there are now at Tyburn; and that whenever any two Gentlemen quarrel, they ſhall inſert their challenges in the Daily Papers after the following manner in imitation of the late champions at Broughton's.

I JOHN MAC-DUEL having been affronted by RICHARD FLASH, hereby challenge him to meet me behind Montague Houſe on the [...] day of [...] to go through all the exerciſe of the Small Sword, to advance, retire, parry and thruſt in Carte, Tierce, and Segoon, and to take my life, or loſe his own.

J. MAC-DUEL.

I RICHARD FLASH, who have ſpitted many ſuch daſtard fellows on my ſword like larks, promiſe to meet JOHN MAC-DUEL, and doubt not by running him through the body to give him Gentleman-like Satisfaction.

RICHARD FLASH.

BY this ſcheme the public would have an opportunity of being preſent at theſe faſhionable amuſements, and might revive that loſt ſpecies of gaming (ſo much lamented in our laſt paper) by laying bets on the iſſue of the combat.

IT ſhould alſo be provided that if either or both are killed, the body or bodies be delivered to the ſurgeons to be anatomized and placed in their hall, unleſs the younger brother or next heir ſhall make them an equivalent.

IT ſhould alſo be provided by the abovementioned Act that no perſon be qualified to fight a Duel, who is not worth 500l. per ann. For as it is unſportſman-like to admit dunghill cocks into the Pit, ſo it would render this ineſtimable privilege leſs valuable if every mean wretch had a right of being run through the body, who could do the public no ſervice by his death.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXII. THURSDAY, September 5, 1754.

[187]
Emuctae naris homo.
HOR.

THE following letter will, I fear, diſoblige a great many of my readers, as it ſtrikes at a cuſtom which perhaps they may reckon very inoffenſive; though like all others it may ſometimes be indulged to an exceſs. However, as I confeſs MYSELF not entirely excluded from the cenſure, I ſhall ſay nothing on the ſubject, but leave my correſpondent to ſpeak for himſelf.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I KNOW not whether you yourſelf are addicted to a filthy practice, which is frequent among all ranks of people, though deteſtable even among the loweſt. The practice I mean is that of ſnuff-taking; which I cannot help regarding as a national plague, that like another epidemical diſtemper [188] has taken hold of our noſes. You authors may perhaps claim it as a priviledge, ſince ſnuff is ſuppoſed by you to whet the invention, and every one is not poſſeſſed of BAYES's admirable receipt, the "Spirit of Brains:"—but give me leave to tell you, that ſnuff ſhould no more be adminiſtered in public, than that of Major's medicinal compoſition at fourpence a pinch, or any other doſe of phyſick. I know not why people ſhould be allowed to annoy their friends and acquaintance by ſmearing their noſes with a dirty powder, any more than in uſing an eye-water, or rubbing their teeth with a dentifrice.

IF a ſtranger to this naſty cuſtom was to obſerve almoſt every one ‘"drawing out his pouncet-box, and ever and anon giving it to his noſe,"’ he would be led to conclude, that we were no better than a nation of Hottentots; and that every one was obliged to cram his noſtrils with a quantity of ſcented dirt, to fence them from the diſagreeable effluvias of the reſt of the company. Indeed it might not be abſurd in ſuch a ſtranger to imagine, that the perſon he converſed with took ſnuff, for the ſame reaſon that another might preſs his noſtrils together between his finger and thumb, to exclude an ill ſmell.

IT is cuſtomary among thoſe polite people the Dutch, to carry with them every where their ſhort dingy pipes, and ſmoak and ſpit about a room even in the preſence of ladies. This piece of good-breeding, however ridiculous it may ſeem, is not ſurely more offenſive to good manners than the practice of ſnuff-taking: a very Dutchman would think it odd, that a people who pretend to politeneſs ſhould be continually ſnuffing up a parcel of tobacco duſt; nor can I help laughing, when I ſee a man every minute ſtealing out a dirty muckender, then ſneaking it in again, as much [189] aſhamed of his pocket companion, as he would be to carry a diſhclout about him.

IT is indeed impoſſible to go into any large company without being diſturbed by this abominable practice. The church and the playhouſe continually echoe with this muſick of the noſe, and in every corner you may hear them in concert ſnuffling, ſneezing, hawking, and grunting like a drove of hogs. The moſt pathetic ſpeech in a tragedy has been interrupted by the blowing of noſes in the front and ſide boxes; and I have known a whole congregation ſuddenly raiſed from their knees in the middle of a prayer by the violent coughing of an old lady, who has been almoſt choaked by a pinch of ſnuff in giving vent to an ejaculation. A celebrated actor has ſpoiled his voice by this abſurd treatment of his noſe, which has made his articulation like the hum of a bag-pipe; and the parſon of our pariſh is often forced to break off in the middle of a period to ſnort behind his white handkerchief.

IS it not a wonder, Mr. TOWN, that ſnuff, which is certainly an enemy to dreſs, ſhould yet gain admittance among thoſe who have no other merit than their cloaths? I am not to be told, that your men of faſhion take ſnuff only to diſplay a white hand perhaps, or the brilliancy of a diamond ring: and I am confident that numbers would never have defiled themſelves with the uſe of ſnuff, had they not been ſeduced by the charms of a faſhionable box. The man of taſte takes his Straſburgh veritable tabac from a right Paris paper-box, and the pretty fellow uſes a box of poliſhed metal, that by often opening it he may have the opportunity of ſtealing a glance at his own ſweet perſon reflected in the lid of it.

[190]THOUGH I abhor ſnuff-taking myſelf, and would as ſoon be ſmothered in a cloud raiſed by ſmoking tobacco as I would willingly ſuffer the leaſt atom of it to tickle my noſe, yet am I expoſed to many diſguſting inconveniences from the uſe of it by others. Sometimes I am choaked by drawing in with my breath ſome of the fineſt particles together with the air; and I am frequently ſet a ſneezing by the odorous effluvias ariſing from the boxes that ſurround me. But it is not only my olfactory ſenſe that is offended: you will ſtare when I tell you, that I am forced to taſte, and even to eat and drink this abominable ſnuff. If I drink tea with a certain lady, I generally perceive what eſcapes from her fingers ſwimming at the top of my cup; but it is always attributed to the foulneſs of the milk or droſs of the ſugar: I never dine at a particular friend's houſe, but I am ſure to have as much rappee as pepper with my turnips; nor can I drink my table-beer out of the ſame mug with him, for fear of coughing from his ſnuff, if not the liquor, going the wrong way. Such eternal ſnuff-takers as my friend ſhould, I think, at meal-times have a ſcreen flapping down over the noſe and mouth, under which they might convey their food, as you may have ſeen at the Maſquerade: at leaſt they ſhould be ſeparated from the reſt of the company, and placed by themſelves at the ſide-table like the children.

THIS practice of ſnuff-taking, however inexcuſable in the men, is ſtill more abominable in the other ſex. Neatneſs and cleanlineſs ought to be always cultivated among the women; but nothing is more oppoſite to clean linnen than this trick of bedawbing themſelves with ſnuff. I have with pain obſerved the ſnow-white ſurface of an handkerchief or apron ſullied with the ſcatterings from the ſnuff-box; and whenever I ſee a lady beſmeared thus with Scotch or Havannah, I conſider her as no cleanlier than the kitchen wench [191] ſcouring her braſſes, and begrimed with brickduſt and fuller's earth. Houſewifely accompliſhments are at preſent ſeldom required in a well-bred woman: or elſe I ſhould little expect to find notableneſs in a wife who keeps up ſuch a conſtant correſpondence between her fingers and noſe; nor indeed would any one think her hands at all fit to be employed in making a pudding.

IT ſhould be remembered by the younger part of your fair readers, Mr. TOWN, that ſnuff is an implacable enemy to the complexion, which in time is ſure to take a tinge from it: they ſhould therefore be as cautious of acquiring a ſallow hue from this bane of a fair ſkin, as of being tanned or freckled by expoſing their delicate faces to the ſcorching rays of the ſun. Beſides, as the noſe has been always reckoned a principal if not the chief ornament of the face, they ſhould be as careful to preſerve the beauty of it as of any other feature, and not ſuffer it to be undermined or bloated by ſo pernicious an application as ſnuff-taking. For my own part, I ſhould as ſoon admire a celebrated toaſt with no noſe at all, as to ſee it proſtituted to ſo vile a purpoſe. They ſhould alſo conſider, that the noſe is ſituated very near the lips: and what reliſh can a lover find in the honey of the latter, if at the ſame time he is obliged to come into cloſe contact with the former. Rather than ſnuff-taking ſhould prevail among the ladies, I could wiſh it were the faſhion for them to wear rings in their noſes like the ſavage nations: nay, I would even carry it ſtill farther, and oblige thoſe pretty females, who could be ſtill ſlaves to ſnuff, to have their noſtrils bored through as well their ears, and inſtead of jewels to bear rolls of pigtail bobbing over their upper lips.

[192]WE cannot otherwiſe account for this faſhion among the women ſo unnatural to their ſex, than that they want employment for their hands. It was formerly no reflection for a young lady to be ſeen in the beſt company buſied with her work: but a girl now a days would as ſoon be ſurprized in twirling a ſpinning wheel as in handling a thread-paper. The fan or the ſnuff-box are now the only implements they dare to uſe in publick: yet ſurely it would be much more becoming to have the fore-finger pricked and ſcarified with the point of a needle, than to ſee it embrowned with ſqueezing together a filthy pinch of ſnuff.

I HAVE ſaid enough, I dare ſay, already to make many of your readers turn up their noſes at me in diſdain; but however let them take ſnuff as much as they will, you may depend on the good word of one at leaſt, and that is

Your humble ſervant, &c.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXIII. THURSDAY, September 12, 1754.

[193]
At tu ſub urbe poſſides famem mundam,
Et turre ab altâ proſpicis meras laurus;
Pictamque portas otioſus ad villam
Olus, ova, pullos, poma, caſeum, muſtum.
Rus hoc vocari debet, an domus longè?
MART.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I REMEMBER to have ſeen a little French Novel giving an account of a citizen of Paris making an excurſion into the country. He imagines himſelf about to undertake a long voyage to ſome ſtrange region, where the natives were as different from the inhabitants of his own city as the moſt diſtant nations. He accordingly takes boat, and is landed at a villiage about a league from the capital. When he is ſet on ſhore, he is amazed to find the people [194] talk the ſame language, wear the ſame dreſs, and uſe the ſame cuſtoms with himſelf. He who had ſpent all his life within the ſight of Pont Neuf, looked upon every one who lived out of Paris as a foreigner; and though the utmoſt extent of his travels was not three miles, he was as much ſurprized, as he would have been to meet with a colony of Frenchmen on the Terra Incognita.

MOST of our late novels are, with ſome little variation of circumſtances, borrowed from the French: but if we ſhould endeavour to adapt the novel I have been ſpeaking of to a citizen of London, the humour of the whole piece would evaporate, and the fiction become unnatural and improbable. A London tradeſman is as well acquainted with Turnham-Green or Kentiſh-Town as Fleet-ſtreet or Cheapſide, and talks as familiarly of Richmond or Hampton-Court as of the Change or the Cuſtom Houſe. In your late paper On the Amuſements of Sunday you have ſet forth in what manner our citizens paſs that day, which moſt of them devote to the country: but I wiſh you had been more particular in your deſcriptions of thoſe elegant rural manſions, which at once ſhew the opulence and the taſte of our principal merchants, mechanics, and artificers.

IN theſe duſty retreats, where the want of London ſmoke is ſupplied by the ſmoke of Virginia tobacco, our chief citizens are accuſtomed to paſs the end and the beginning of every week. Their Boxes (as they are modeſtly called) are generally built in a row, to reſemble as much as poſſible the ſtreets in London. Thoſe edifices which ſtand ſingle, and at a diſtance from the road, have always a ſummer-houſe at the end of a ſmall garden; which being erected upon a wall adjoining to the highway commands a view of every carriage, and gives the owner an opportunity of diſplaying [195] his beſt wig to every paſſenger. A little artificial fountain, ſpouting water ſometimes to the amazing height of four feet and in which frogs ſupply the want of fiſhes, is one of the moſt exquiſite ornaments in theſe gardens. There are beſides (if the ſpot of ground allows ſufficient ſpace for them) very curious ſtatues of Harlequin, Scaramouch, Pierrot, and Columbine, which ſerve to remind their wives and daughters of what they have ſeen at the play-houſe.

I WENT laſt Sunday, in compliance with a moſt preſſing invitation from a friend, to ſpend the whole day with him at one of theſe little ſeats, which he had fitted up for his retirement once a week from buſineſs. It is pleaſantly ſituated about three miles from London, on the ſide of a public road, from which it is ſeparated by a dry ditch, over which is a little bridge confirming of two narrow planks, leading to the houſe. The hedge on the other ſide the road cuts off all proſpect whatſoever, except from the garrets, from whence indeed you have a beautiful viſta of two men hanging in chains on Kennington Common, with a diſtant view of St. Paul's Cupola enveloped in a cloud of ſmoke. I ſet out on my viſit betimes in the morning, accompanied with my friend's book-keeper, who was my guide, and carried over with him the London Evening Poſt, his miſtreſs's hoop, and a dozen of pipes, which they were afraid to truſt in the chair. When I came to the end of my walk, I found my friend ſitting at the door in a black velvet cap, ſmoking his morning pipe. He welcomed me into the country, and after having made me obſerve the turnpike on my left and the Golden Wheatſheaf on my right, he conducted me into his houſe, where I was received by his lady, who made a thouſand apologies for being catched in ſuch a diſhabille.

[196]THE hall (for ſo I was taught to call it) had its white wall almoſt hid by a curious collection of prints and paintings. On one ſide was a large map of London, a plan and elevation of the Manſion-Houſe, with ſeveral leſſer views of the public buildings and halls; on the other was the Death of the Stag by the happy pencil of Mr. Henry Overton, finely coloured: cloſe by the parlour door there hung a pair of ſtag's horns, over which there was laid acroſs a red Roccelo and an amber-headed cane. When I had declared all this to be mighty pretty, I was ſhewn into the parlour, and was preſently aſked, who that was over the chimney-piece. I pronounced it to be a very ſtriking likeneſs of my friend, who was drawn bolt upright in a full-bottomed perriwig, a laced cravat with the fringed ends appearing thro' a buttonhole, a black livery gown, a ſnuff-coloured velvet coat with gold buttons, a red velvet waiſtcoat trimmed with gold, one hand ſtuck in the boſom of his ſhirt, and the other holding out a letter with the ſuperſcription—To Mr. — Common-Council-Man of Faringdon Ward Without. My eyes were then directed to another figure in a ſcarlet gown, who I was informed was my friend's wife's great great uncle, and had been ſheriff and knighted in the reign of King James the firſt. Madam herſelf filled up a pannel on the oppoſite ſide, in the habit of a ſhepherdeſs, ſmelling to a noſegay, and ſtroking a ram with gilt horns.

I WAS then invited by my friend to ſee what he was pleaſed to call his garden, which was nothing more than a yard about twenty feet in length, and contained about a dozen little pots ranged on each ſide with lillies and coxcombs, ſupported by ſome old laths painted green, with bowls of tobacco-pipes on their tops. At the end of this garden he bade me take notice of a little ſquare building ſurrounded [197] with filleroy, which he told me an Alderman of great taſte had turned into a Temple, by erecting ſome battlements and ſpires of painted wood on the front of it; but concluded with an hint, that I might retire to it upon occaſion.

AFTER dinner, when my friend had finiſhed his pipe, he propoſed taking a walk, that we might enjoy a little of the country: ſo I was obliged to trudge along the foot path by the road-ſide, while my friend went puffing and blowing, with his hat in his hand, and his wig half off his head. At laſt I told him it was time for me to return home, when he inſiſted on going with me as far as the half-way houſe, to drink a decanter of Stingo before we parted. We here fell into company with a brother liveryman of the ſame ward, and I left them both together in an high diſpute about Canning; but not before my friend had made me promiſe to repeat my viſit to his country-houſe the next Sunday.

AS the riches of a country are viſible in the number of its inhabitants, and the elegance of their dwellings, we may venture to ſay that the preſent ſtate of England is very flouriſhing and proſperous: and if the taſte for building encreaſes with our opulence for the next century, we ſhall be able to boaſt of finer country ſeats belonging to our ſhop-keepers, artificers, and other plebeians, than the moſt pompous deſcriptions of Italy or Greece have ever recorded. We read it is true of country-ſeats, belonging to Pliny, Hortenſius, Lucullus, and other Romans. They were patricians of great rank and fortune: there can therefore be no doubt of the excellence of their Villas. But who has ever read of a Chineſe-bridge belonging to a roman paſtry-cook? or could any of their Shoemakers or taylors boaſt a Villa with his tin caſcades, paper ſtatutes, and Gothic root-houſes? Upon [198] the above principles we may expect, that poſterity will perhaps ſee a cheeſmonger's Apiarium at Brentford, a poulterer's Theriotrophium at Chiſwick, and an Ornithon in a fiſhmonger's garden at Putney.

AS a patriot and an Engliſhman I cannot but wiſh, that each ſucceſſive century ſhould encreaſe the opulence of Great Britain: but I ſhould be ſorry, that this abundance of wealth ſhould induce our good citizens to turn their thoughts too much upon the country. At preſent we are deprived of our moſt eminent tradeſmen two days out of ſix. It is true the ſhopkeeper and the travelling part of his family, conſiſting generally of himſelf, his wife, and his two eldeſt daughters, are ſeldom ſufficiently equipped to take leave of London, till about three o'clock on Saturday in the afternoon; but the whole morning of that day is conſumed in papering up cold chickens, bottling brandy-punch, ſorting clean ſhifts, and night-caps for the children, pinning baſkets, and cording trunks; as again is the whole afternoon of the Monday following, in unpinning, uncording, locking up foul linnen, and replacing empty bottles in the cellar. I am afraid therefore, if the Villas of our future tradeſmen ſhould become ſo very elegant, that the ſhop-keepers will ſcarce ever be viſible behind their counters above once in a month.

I am, ſir, Your humble ſervant, &c. G. K.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXIV. THURSDAY, September 19, 1754.

[199]
—Reprehendere coner,
Qua gravis Aeſopus, quae doctus Roſcius egit.
HOR.

THE French have diſtinguiſhed the artifices made uſe of on the ſtage to deceive the audience, by the expreſſion of Jeu de Theâtre, which we may tranſlate "the Juggle of the Theatre." When theſe little arts are exerciſed merely to aſſiſt nature and ſet her off to the beſt advantage, none can be ſo critically nice as to object to them; but when tragedy by theſe means is lifted into rant, and comedy diſtorted into buffoonery, though the deceit may ſucceed with the multitude, men of ſenſe will always be offended at it. This conduct, whether of the poet or the player, reſembles in ſome ſort the poor contrivance of the ancients, who mounted their heroes upon ſtilts, and expreſſed the manners of their characters by the groteſque figures of their maſks.

[200]AS the playhouſes are now opened, I cannot better introduce the remarks which I may ſometimes take occaſion to make on the theatrical world, than by throwing together a few reflections on this "Juggle of the Theatre;" which at preſent I ſhall conſider, only as it relates to the actors. And I hope to merit the thanks of theſe gentlemen, who while they are ſollicitous to acquire new beauties, ſhould at the ſame time endeavour to unlearn their faults and imperfections.

WE are indebted to the preſent times for a judicious reformation of the ſtage in point of acting: and (by the bye) I could wiſh, that the ſame good conſequences had been produced with reſpect to our poets. If a perfect tragedy may be conſidered as the moſt difficult production of human wit, the ſame thing muſt hold in proportion with reſpect to an exact repreſentation of it: for if it is neceſſary for the writer to work up his imagination to ſuch a pitch as to fancy himſelf in the circumſtances of the character he draws; what leſs muſt the actor do, who muſt look as the perſon repreſented would look, ſpeak as he would ſpeak, and be in every point the very man? The generation of players, that immediately preceded the preſent, prided themſelves on what they called fine ſpeaking: the emotions of the ſoul were diſregarded for a diſtinct delivery; and with them, as Mr. Johnſon has obſerved of ſome tragic writers,

"Declamations roar'd, while paſſion ſlept."

And, indeed, to this ſuperficial taſte for acting we may partly attribute that enervate way of writing ſo much in vogue among the frenchified play-wrights of thoſe times; ſince nothing could be ſo well ſuited to the mouths of thoſe actors, as golden lines, round periods, florid deſcriptions, and a diſpaſſionate amplification of ſentiment.

[201]
—dedit ore rotundo
Muſa loqui.—
HOR.

THE falſe majeſty, with which our mimic heroes of the ſtage had been uſed to expreſs themſelves, was for a long time as diſtinguiſhing a mark of tragedy, as the plumed hat and full-bottomed perriwig; and we may remember for example, when every line in Othello, (a character remarkable for variety of paſſions,) was drawn out in the ſame pompous manner. But as I mean to promote the art, rather than reprove the artiſts, I ſhall dwell on this no longer: for methinks I hear a veteran performer calling out to me in the voice of honeſt Jack Falſtaff, ‘"no more of that, if thou loveſt me, Hal."’

IT is ſufficient to remark that, as the dignity of the buſkin would be degraded by talking in a ſtrain too low and familiar, the manner of elocution in a tragedy ſhould not on either hand be more remote from our natural way of expreſſing ourſelves, than blank verſe (which is the only proper meaſure for tragedy) is from proſe. Our preſent ſet of actors have in general diſcarded the dead inſipid pomp applauded in their predeceſſors, and have wiſely endeavoured to join with the poet in exciting pity and terror. But as many writers have miſtaken rant for paſſion, and fuſtian for ſublime, ſo our players have perhaps too much given into unnatural ſtartings, roarings, and whinings. For this reaſon our late writers (to accommodate their pieces to the preſent taſte) have placed their chief pathos in exclamations and broken ſentences, have endeavoured to alarm us with Ahs and Ohs, and pierce our ſouls with interjections. Upon the whole, it muſt be acknowled, that the ſtage is conſiderably improved in the Art of Speaking. Every paſſion is now diſtinguiſhed by it's proper tone of voice: I ſhall therefore [202] only add, that when I hear a player laboriouſly placing an unnatural ſtreſs upon particular words, and panting with emphaſis, I cannot help comparing him to the paviour, who at every thump of his rammer cries hem.

I HAVE obſerved, that the tragedians of the laſt age ſtudied fine ſpeaking; in conſequence of which, all their Action conſiſted in little more than ſtrutting with one leg before the other, and waving one or both arms in a continual ſee-ſaw. Our preſent actors have perhaps run into a contrary extreme: their geſtures ſometimes reſemble thoſe afflicted with St. Vitus's Dance; their whole frame appears to be convulſed; and I have ſeen a player in the laſt act ſo miſerably diſtreſſed, that a deaf ſpectator would be apt to imagine he was complaining of the cholic and the toothach. This has alſo given riſe to that unnatural cuſtom of throwing the body into various ſtrange ATTITUDES. There is not a paſſion neceſſary to be expreſſed, but has produced diſpoſitions of the limbs not to be found in any of the paintings or ſculptures of the beſt maſters. A graceful geſture and eaſy deportment is indeed worthy the care of every performer: but when I obſerve him writhing his body into more unnatural contortions than a tumbler at Sadler's Wells, I cannot help being diſguſted to ſee him ‘"imitate humanity ſo abominably."’ Our Pantomime authors have already begun to reduce our comedies into groteſque ſcenes; and if this taſte for attitude ſhould continue to be popular, I would recommend it to thoſe ingenious gentlemen to adapt our beſt tragedies to the ſame uſe, and entertain us with the jealouſy of Othello in dumb ſhew, or the tricks of Harlequin Hamlet.

BEFORE I diſmiſs this article, it may be expected that I ſhould ſay ſomething concerning the behaviour proper for [203] our ladies. We muſt allow them on all occaſions to roll the eye, ſtretch up the neck, heave the cheſt, and with a thouſand little tricks ſet off their perſon, if not their part, to the moſt advantage. The pomp of the old ſtage has not yet been altogether reformed, either with reſpect to our heroines or our heroes. A weeping princeſs (though perhaps ſhe is hurried on the ſtage with grief and deſpair) cannot decently make her entrance without being led in between two mourning damſels in black; and an heroine muſt always be accompanied by one or more pages, to ſmooth her train when ruffled by paſſion. The heroe now ſeldom ſweats beneath the weight of a nodding plume of ſwan feathers, or has his face half hid within an enormous buſh of white horſe hair: I could alſo wiſh (if poſſible) that the manager was ſaved the unneceſſary expence of three yards of velvet for the trains of his Amazons, and that the chambermaids (as well as the militia of the theatres) were diſmiſſed, and the pages, together with the dirty lords in waiting, blotted out of the mute Dramatis Perſonae.

THE mention of theſe particulars naturally reminds me to conſider how far "the Juggle of the Theatre" is concerned in the affair of Dreſs. Many will agree with me, that almoſt the only diſtreſs of the laſt act in the Fair Penitent ariſes from the pitiful appearance of Caliſta in weeds, with every thing hung in black bays about her; and they are afraid we ſhould loſe ſight of Hamlet's pretended madneſs, if the black ſtocking, diſcovering a white one underneath, was not rolled half-way down the leg. A propriety in dreſs is abſolutely neceſſary to keep up the general deception; and a performer properly habited, who by his whole deportment enters deeply into the circumſtances of the character he repreſents, makes us for a while fancy every thing before us real; but when, by ſome ill-judged piece of art, [204] he departs from the ſimplicity of imitation, and ‘"overſteps the modeſty of nature,"’ he calls us back to the theatre, and excites paſſions very different from thoſe he aims at.

I CANNOT better illuſtrate what has been ſaid on this laſt ſubject, than by giving inſtances of two artifices of this kind; one of which is employed (as I conceive) to raiſe pity and the other terror. When the Romeo of Drury Lane comes to die at Juliet's monument we are ſurprized to ſee him enter in a ſuit of black. This I ſuppoſe is entended as a ſtroke of the pathetic: but not to dwell on the poverty of the artifice, it is in this place a manifeſt violation of the poet's meaning. Romeo is ſuppoſed to come poſt from Mantua— ‘"get me poſt-horſes, I will hence to night"’—ſo that if our Roſcius muſt be ſo very exact in dreſſing the character, he ſhould appear at the tomb in a riding frock and boots. But a mourning coat will excite pity, ‘"and let the devil wear black, (ſays our Hamlet-Romeo) for I'll have a ſuit of ſables."’—The ſame player, after having acted that noble ſcene in the ſecond act of Macbeth in ſo fine a manner, that one would almoſt imagine both the poet and player muſt have murderers to repreſent one ſo well, goes out to execute the ſuppoſed murder. After a ſhort ſpace he returns as from the fact: but though the expreſſion in his face is ſtill remarkably excellent, one cannot but ſmile to obſerve that he has been employing himſelf behind the ſcenes in putting his wig awry, and untying one of the tyes to it. This doubtleſs is deſigned to raiſe terror; but to every diſcerning ſpectator it muſt appear moſt abſurdly ridiculous; for who can forbear laughing, when he finds that the player would have us imagine, that the ſame deed, which has thrown all that horror and confuſion into his countenance, has alſo untwiſted one of the tails of his perriwig?

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXV. THURSDAY, September 26, 1754.

[205]
Facundo calices quem non fecere diſertum!
HOR.

AS I am willing to do every thing in my power to celebrate ſo illuſtrious a body as the Robin Hood Society, I have taken the firſt opportunity of laying the following letter before the public.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

THAT part of your laſt paper, in which you conſidered the Art of Speaking as far as it regards theatrical performances, gives me reaſon to hope that you will not overlook the merits of the Robin Hood Society, where that Art is practiſed in it's greateſt perfection. You would do well to recommend it to the gentlemen of the theatre to attend thoſe weekly meetings for their improvement [206] as often as poſſible; and I dare ſay you will join with me in giving the ſame advice to the younger part of our clergy and our lawyers, as well as our members of parliament. The ſtage, the pulpit, the bar, and the ſenate-houſe cannot furniſh us with ſuch glorious examples of the power of Oratory, as are to be met with in this ſociety; where the moſt important queſtions in every branch of knowledge are diſcuſſed, and where the diſputants are all of them equally verſed in religion, law, politics, and the drama.

THE inſtitution of this School of Eloquence far exceeds any thing that the ancients could boaſt. Every ſect, that was known among the Grecians and Romans, has it's votaries here alſo. I have ſeen a taylor a Stoic, a ſhoemaker a Platoniſt, and a cook an Epicurean. They affect to entertain a profound veneration for Socrates, often preferring him to any of the Apoſtles: but inſtead of declaring with that wiſe philoſopher that they know nothing, the members of the Robin Hood Society profeſs to know every thing.

FOR my own part, I confeſs myſelf ſo charmed with their proceedings, that I conſtantly attend them: and when I ſee all their members aſſembled with each his pewter mug before him, I cannot help preferring this ſocial meeting to any ancient Sympoſium whatever; and when I further obſerve them firſt take a ſwig, and then ſpeak with ſuch amazing force of argument, I am apt to conclude that truth, inſtead of being hid in a well (as was ſaid by an old philoſopher) muſt lay at the bottom of a tankard of porter.

THERE is no grace or excellence in Oratory; but is diſplayed in the Robin Hood Society to the greateſt advantage. Demoſthenes being aſked what was the firſt quality in an orator, replied—action; what the ſecond,—action; what [207] the third,—action. Upon this principle one of the members, for whom I have a vaſt reſpect, is the greateſt orator that ever lived. He never troubles himſelf about the order or ſubſtance of what he delivers, but waves his hand, toſſes his head, abounds in ſeveral new and beautiful geſtures, and from the beginning of his ſpeech to the end of it takes no care but to ſet it off with action. Tully tells us, that it is the buſineſs of an orator ‘"to prove, delight, and convince."’ Proof and conviction our Society is always ſure to give us; for elſe how could it ever come to paſs, that ſo many young men ſhould have learned from theſe diſquiſitions, that there is no God, that the ſoul is mortal, that religion is a jeſt, and many other truths, which they would otherwiſe never have diſcovered. The nature of their queſtions is alſo for the moſt part ſo entertaining, that the diſputes about them cannot fail of giving delight: and there is a peculiarity in the oratory of the place, which greatly conduces to that end. The ſpeakers do not always think themſelves obliged to drive in the dull direct road to the point, but indulge themſelves in a larger ſcope that allows room for novelty and entertainment. When the queſtion has been concerning the veracity of the bible, I have known a gentleman get up, and beginning with William the Conqueror give the audience an abſtract of as many reigns, as his five minutes would allow him to diſpatch. I lately remember the queſtion to have been ‘"Whether a bridge from Black Fryars to Southwark would be of public benefit;"’ when a facetious gentleman employed himſelf in demonſtrating the great utility of the bridge of the noſe, and the bridge of a fiddle. In a word, our orators are at once ſerious and comical; and they make gravity and mirth almoſt conſtantly attend each other, like their own Robin Hood and Little John. The ſolidity, and at the ſame time the ſmartneſs of [208] their ſpeeches, are equally remarkable. They pun with a grave face, and make quibbles and conundrums with the air of a philoſopher. The writings of different authors have been compared to wines: but the orations delivered here can be reſembled to nothing ſo properly as the liquors of the Society; for while they are at once ſo weighty and ſo ſharp, they ſeem to be an equal mixture of porter and lemonade.

IT would be endleſs to enumerate the advantages reſulting from this Society: The wonderful improvement it has already made in our mechanics is very evident: It calls off our tradeſmen from the practice of honeſty in their common dealings, and ſets them upon enquiries concerning right and wrong, and the moral fitneſs of things. The SPECTATOR has told us of the rhetoric of a toyman: but you, Mr. TOWN, might acquaint poſterity of the eloquence of bakers, barbers, carpenters, and blackſmiths: you may every day hear diſcourſes on religion from the ſhopboard, and reſearches into philoſophy from behind the counter. When you took notice of the want of learning in our people of quality, you ought in juſtice to have acknowledged the amazing erudition of our tradeſmen. The Plebeians of Rome were mere brutes to our common people; and I am of opinion that the public room under that in which this weekly meeting is held, inſtead of being furniſhed with the buſts of our Engliſh poets, ſhould be adorned with the heads of the learned ſhoemakers, tallow-chandlers, bakers, &c. that conſtitute this excellent Society.

WE may venture to ſay that the Royal Society and the Robin Hood Society are the two greateſt ornaments of this nation: and as the former now and then give us an account of their tranſactions, it were to be wiſhed that the fellows [209] of the latter would alſo from time to time oblige us with an hiſtory of their proceedings. We ſhould then ſee by what means ſo many proſelytes have been made from bigotry and ſuperſtition; by what degrees a young diſputant from a raw Chriſtian ripens into a deiſt, from a deiſt into a freethinker, and from a freethinker (by a very ſhort ſtep) into an atheiſt. We ſhould alſo know the effect, that the diſputations at this weekly meeting has upon our lives and converſations; and from thence judge how much a deſign of this nature deſerves public encouragement. I have here flung together a ſhort account of ſome of the former members, and upon a review of it cannot but lament that it ſeems to be the peculiar fate of great orators, ſuch as Demoſthenes and Tully for example, to come to an unhappy end.

  • Mat. Prig, a Merchant's Clerk, was converted from Chriſtianity by the arguments which were brought againſt Revelation.
  • Aaron Ben Saddi was converted from the Jewiſh Faith by the arguments brought againſt Moſes and the Patriarchs.
  • Will. Poſitive was a ſtrong fataliſt, and at the ſame time a vehement advocate for man's free will. At laſt he gave a proof of his free agency by ſhooting himſelf through the head.
  • Jack Wildfire was convinced of the innocence of fornication, uſed to declaim againſt the abſurd inſtitution of matrimony, and at twenty ſix died a batchelor in the Lock Hoſpital.
  • Solomon Square ſtood up for the religion of nature, and the immutable rule of right and wrong in preference to the laws of the community. However, he was unfortunately detected in an attempt to carry off a ſilver rankard from the bar of the houſe, and was ſent to propagate morality in foreign parts.
  • [210] Bob Booty was a ſtrict Hobbian, and maintained that men were in a natural ſtate with each other. He at laſt died a martyr to theſe principles, and now hangs on a gibbet on Hounſlow Heath.
  • John Diſmal, after having argued one night againſt the being of a God, and the immortality of the ſoul, went home, and was found the next morning hanging in his garters.
  • Thomas Broadcloth, Citizen and Mercer, was very much admired for his ſpeeches upon trade. After he had been in buſineſs for two years, he became bankrupt, and was indicted for felony in ſecreting his effects.
  • Richard Gooſequill, Attorney at Law, was remarkable for his patriotiſm and the love of this country. He was convicted of bribery and corruption in a late election, in which he was employed as an agent.
  • Jeremy Criſpin, Cordwainer, uſed conſtantly to attend the club for edification, though he was forced from time to time to pawn his own and his wife's cloaths to raiſe the weekly ſix-pence for his admittance. In the ſpace of three years he had been a Papiſt, a Quaker, an Anabaptiſt, a Jew, an Arrian, a Socinian, a Mahometan, a Methodiſt, a Deiſt, and an Atheiſt. His wife and four children have been ſent to the workhouſe. He is at preſent confined in Bedlam, and calls himſelf the Preſident of the Robin Hood Society.
I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, &c.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXVI. THURSDAY, October 3, 1754.

[211]
In cute curandâ plus aequo operata—
HOR.

I HAVE ſomewhere ſeen a print repreſenting a man and woman of every nation in the world dreſt according to the mode of their reſpective countries. I could not help reflecting at the time, that the faſhions, which prevail in England in the ſpace of a century, would enable any of our painters to fill a picture with as great a variety of habits; and that an Engliſhman or Engliſhwoman in one part of the piece would no more reſemble an Engliſhman or Engliſhwoman in the other, than a Frenchman does a Chineſe. Very extraordinary revolutions have already happened in the habits of this kingdom; and as dreſs is ſubject to unaccountable changes, poſterity may perhaps ſee without ſurprize our ladies ſtrut about in breeches, while our men waddle in hoop-petticoats.

[212]IN the days of queen Elizabeth it was the faſhion for the ladies to conceal and wrap up as much of their bodies as they could: their necks were encompaſſed with a broad ruff, which likewiſe ſpread itſelf over their boſoms; and their ſleeves were continued down and faſtened cloſe to their wriſts, while only their feet were allowed juſt to peep from beneath the modeſt fardingale; ſo that nothing was expoſed to the impertinent eye of man but their faces. Our modern ladies have run into the direct contrary extreme, and appear like ſo many rope-dancers: they have diſcarded as much of their cloaths as with any tolerable decency can be thrown off, and may be ſaid (like the Indian) to be all face: the neck and boſom are laid bare, and diſentangled from the invidious vail of an handkerchief; the ſtays are ſunk half way down the waiſt, and the petticoat has riſen in the ſame proportion from the ancle. Nor is the lover only captivated by the naked charms which meet his ſight before; but our ladies, like the Parthians, have alſo learned the art of wounding from behind, and attract our attention no leſs by laying their ſhoulders open to the view, which (as a young phyſician of my acquaintance once obſerved) makes them look as if they were prepared to receive a bliſter. A Naked Lady is no longer the admiration only of a maſquerade: every public aſſembly will furniſh us with Iphigenias undreſt for the ſacrifice; and if the next ſummer ſhould prove an hot one, our ladies will perhaps improve on the thin veſture of the Spartan virgins, and appear abroad in nothing but a lawn ſhade and gauſe petticoat. If the men ſhould take the hint from the other ſex, and begin to ſtrip in their turn, I tremble to think what may be the conſequence: for if they go on in proportion with the women, we may ſoon expect to ſee our fine gentlemen, like the Highlanders, without breeches.

[213]IT would be endleſs to trace the ſtrange revolutions that have happened in every part of the female dreſs within theſe few years. The hoop has been known to expand and contract itſelf from the ſize of a butter churn to the circumference of three hogſheads; at one time it was ſloped from the waiſt in a pyramidical form; at another it was bent upwards like an inverted bow, by which the two angles, when ſqueezed up on each ſide, came in contact with the ears. At preſent it is nearly of an oval form, and ſcarce meaſures from end to end above twice the length of the wearer. The hoop has at preſent loſt much of its credit in the female world, and has ſuffered much from the innovation of ſhort ſacks and negligées, which it muſt be confeſſed are equally becoming to the lady of pleaſure and the lady of quality: for as the men will agree, that next to no cloaths at all nothing is more raviſhing than an eaſy diſhabille, our ladies for that reaſon perhaps come into public places, as if they were juſt got out of bed, or as if they were ready to go into it. This, while it is the faſhion, muſt be agreeable; but I muſt own that I could ſooner approve of their encirling themſelves in ſo many ells of whalebone, than to ſee them affect to appear with their cloaths huddled on ſo looſely and indecently. This manner of dreſſing, or rather not dreſſing, was brought from Paris: but I would have my fair readers conſider, that as this looſe method of dreſs is calculated to hide any defects in the body, it is very impolitic to ſuffer all that ſymmetry and elegant turn of ſhape they are miſtreſſes of, to be ſmothered under it; ſince theſe habits can be of no more ſervice to their perſons, than paint (that other Paris commodity) can add to the natural red and white of their complexion, though perhaps it may heighten the ſallow viſages of the French.

[214]BUT of all the branches of female dreſs none has undergone more alterations than that of the head. The long lappets, the horſe-ſhoe cap, the Bruſſels head, and the prudiſh mob pinned under the chin, have all of them had their day. The preſent mode has rooted out all theſe ſuperfluous excreſcences, and in the room of a ſlip of cambrick or lace has planted a whimſical ſprig of ſpangles or artificial flowrets. We may remember, when for a while the hair was tortured into ringlets behind: at preſent it is braided into a queüe, (like thoſe formerly worn by the men, and ſtill retaining the original name of Ramillies,) which, if it were not reverted upwards, would make us imagine that our fine ladies were afflicted with the Plica Polonica.

IF the caps have paſſed through many metamorphoſes, no leſs a change has been brought about in the other coverings contrived for the head. The diminitive high-crowned hat, the bonnet, the hive, and the milkmaid's chip hat, were reſcued for a time from old women and ſervant girls, to adorn heads of the firſt faſhion: nor was the method of cocking; hats leſs fluctuating, till they were at length ſettled to the preſent mode; by which it is ordered that every hat, whether of ſtraw or ſilk, whether of the chambermaid or the miſtreſs, muſt have their flaps turned up perpendicularly both before and behind. If the end of a fine lady's dreſs was not rather ornamental than uſeful, we ſhould think it a little odd that hats, which ſeem naturally intended to ſcreen their faces from the heat or ſeverity of the weather, ſhould be moulded into a ſhape that prevents their anſwering either of theſe purpoſes: but we muſt indeed allow it to be highly ornamental, as the preſent hats worn by the women are more bold and impudent than the broad-brimmed ſtaring Kavenhullers worn a few years ago by [215] the men. Theſe hats are alſo decorated with two waving pendants of ribband, hanging down from the brim on the left ſide. I am not ſo much offended at the flaming air which theſe ſtreamers carry with them, as I am afraid leſt it ſhould ſpoil the charming eyes of my pretty countrywomen, which are conſtantly provoked to caſt a glance at them; and I have myſelf often obſerved, an obliging ogle or raviſhing leer intercepted by theſe mediums, ſo that when a lady has intended to charm her lover, ſhe has ſhocked him with an hideous ſquint.

THE ladies have long been ſeverely rallied on their too great attention to finery: but to own the truth dreſs ſeems at preſent to be as much the ſtudy of the male part of the world as the female. We have gentlemen, who ‘"will lay a whole night (as Benedick ſays) carving the faſhion of a new doublet:"’ they have their toilettes too, as well as the ladies, ſet out with waſhes, perfumes and coſmetics, and will ſpend the whole morning in dreſſing their hair, ſcenting their linnen, and arching their eyebrows. Their heads (as well as the ladies) have undergone various mutations, and have worn as many different kinds of wigs, as the block at their barbers. About fifty years ago they buried their heads in a buſh of hair; and the beaux (as Swift ſays) lay hid beneath the penthouſe of a full-bottomed perriwig. But as they then ſhewed nothing but the noſe, mouth and eyes, the fine gentlemen of our time not only oblige us with their full faces, but have drawn back the ſide curls quite to the tip of the ear.

AS France appears to be the wardrobe of the world, I ſhall conclude my paper with a piece of ſecret hiſtory, which gives us ſome inſight into the origin of deriving all our faſhions from thence.—The celebrated Lord Foppington among his other amours had once an intrigue with a milliner [216] of Covent-Garden, who after ſome time brought a lovely girl into the world, and called her after his lordſhip's ſirname, FASHION. The milliner brought up the child in her own houſe till the age of fifteen, at which time ſhe grew very preſſing with Lord Foppington to make ſome proviſion for his daughter. My lord, who was never much pleaſed with this conſequence of his amours, that he might be rid of the girl for ever, put her into the hands of a friend, who was going abroad, to place her in a nunnery: but the girl, who had very little of the veſtal in her diſpoſition, contrived to eſcape from her conductor, and fly to Paris. There her beauty and ſprightlineſs ſoon ſecured her many friends; and ſhe opened a genteel ſhop in her mother's buſineſs. She ſoon made herſelf remarkable for contriving the moſt elegant head-dreſſes, and cutting out ruffles with the moſt raviſhing ſlope: her fancy was beſides ſo inexhauſtible, that ſhe almoſt every day produced a great variety of new and beautiful patterns. She had many adorers, and at laſt married his Moſt Chriſtian Majeſty's taylor. This alliance brought the dreſs of all Paris under their juriſdiction; and the young lady, out of a natural love to her native country, propoſed the extending their care to the fine gentlemen and ladies of London. In purſuance of this Monſieur her huſband, two or three times in the year, ſends over a ſuit of cloaths entirely à la Paris as a pattern to Meſſieurs Regnier and Lynch of Leiceſter Fields and Pall Mall, while his wife ſends over a little wooden Mademoiſelle to her relations in Taviſtock Street.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXVII. THURSDAY, October 10, 1754.

[217]
—Eja! ſudabis ſatis,
Si cum illo incipias homine: ea eloquentia eſt!
TER.

A CORRESPONDENT writes to me, that after having conſidered the Art of Speaking in the Theatre, as alſo celebrated the practice of it in the Robin Hood Society, my remarks will not be compleat, except I take notice of the extraordinary eloquence of the Clare-Market Orator. He deſires me to remember, that this Univerſal Genius has from time to time declared from his Roſtrum with a thundering elocution,— ‘"that there is but one Orator in the world, and He is the man—that Sir Robert Walpole and all the great men in the kingdom, have been His ſcholars—and that Biſhops have come to His Oratory to learn to preach."’

[218]I HAVE indeed obſerved with a good deal of concern, that the Orator has of late diſcontinued to oblige the public with his ſunday evening lectures as uſual. Inſtead of ſeeing his Oratory-Chapel ſhut up, I was in hopes that every pariſh church in the kingdom would be opened on the ſame principles. How much more ſalutary were His tenets, ſetting forth the ſufficiency of Reaſon, than the cold doctrine of our clergy preaching up the neceſſity of Faith! how ſuperior was his form of prayer to our whole liturgy, and how much better adapted to particular occaſions!— ‘"A prayer for a ſinking bridge!—prayer for the White Roſe!— prayer for Jackſon's Journal!—prayer for the heads on Temple-Bar!"’—In theſe pious addreſſes he would firſt invoke the Supreme Being in the moſt ſolemn manner; then ſuddenly ſlide into the familiar, and pray,— ‘"that we might not hear the croaking of Dutch Nightingales in the king's chambers;"’—or on another occaſion, ‘"that our clergy might not ſtudy Shakeſpear more than the Goſpel, and that they might be rather employed on the Evangeliſts, than As you like it, or Much ado about nothing."’

I CANNOT but likewiſe lament the loſs of the entertainment, which his Advertiſements uſed to give us every Saturday in the news-papers. The terms in which they were commonly expreſſed were clear and elegant, and furniſhed the reader with an admirable idea of the Doctor's manner from the pulpit. For inſtance, when he told you his text was from Iſaiah, and quoted theſe words— ‘"Strt! 10 Jun! No Hnvr! Down with the Rmp!"’—we might form a tolerable judgement of the great reverence he paid the Bible; and when he called his Aſſembly— ‘"The ORATORY—P. Charles's Chapel"’—we might gueſs at his loyalty and patriotiſm. Theſe were the advantages, which we derived [219] from his Chapel; and if the Oratory remains ſhut, I ſhall begin to fear that things will continue in their preſent ſhocking ſtate; and that the Scheme lately propoſed in one of my papers for aboliſhing Chriſtianity will not take effect; at which I am more particularly concerned, as it will hinder the advancement of this great man. For if ſuch a revolution ſhould happen in the church, the Orator's principles would be found ſo entirely fundamental, that he would probably then hold ſome honourable ſtation equal to our preſent Archbiſhop of Canterbury.

THE public for theſe reaſons will doubtleſs join with me in a petition, that this illuſtrious Divine would again reſume his ſtation in the pulpit: at leaſt I could wiſh, that ſome able Theologiſt, who has been long practiſed in deciding on the moſt abſtruſe points of religion in the Robin Hood Society, may be deputed in the abſence of the Orator to officiate as his curate. I would alſo recommend it to the above-mentioned Society to attend theſe lectures regularly; from, whence they may gather ſtronger arguments for their diſputations, than from reading Collins, Chubb, Tindal, Bolingbroke, or any other orthodox freethinker whatever. Upon the whole I cannot conclude without obſerving, that ſuch is the ingratitude of the age, that the ſingular merits of our Orator are not ſufficiently regarded. He is indeed deſervedly careſſed by the Butchers of Clare-Market: but had our Orator been born at Athens or Rome, he would certainly have been deified as the God of Butchers, have been worſhipped like Iſis under the figure of a Calf, or have had a ſtatue erected to him in the Forum or Market-place among the Shambles.

THUS much I thought myſelf bound to ſay in praiſe of the Orator and Oratory; as he has ſome time ago done [220] me the honour of a letter, which I am very glad of this opportunity to communicate to my readers. The private epiſtles of Tully are very unequal to his Orations: but the following letter is in the very ſtile and ſpirit of our Orator's animated diſcourſes from the pulpit. I ſhall therefore preſent it to the public exactly as I received it, without preſuming to alter or ſuppreſs the leaſt ſyllable: and for the further ſatisfaction of the Curious, the Original Manuſcript is put into a Frame and Glaſs, and may be ſeen by any body at my Publiſher's.

To Mr. R. BALDWIN and Mr. TOWN.

THE Liberty of the Preſs, as you practiſe it, and your author, Mr. Town, (i. e. Mr. No-body, for he dares not publiſh his Name, and abode, nor confront one he abuſes,) is the Greateſt of Grievances; it is the Liberty of Lying and of Slandering, and deſtroying Reputations, to make your Paper ſell; Reputation is dearer than Life, and your and your Scribbler's BLOOD ſhould anſwer your Scandal:—You have publiſh'd the Scoundrel's Dictionary, put his Name and your own into it; He and you have often beſpatterd the Orator and Oratory in Claremarket—the Oratory is NOT in Claremarket, which is in a different Pariſh; So that, You and He LYE: and Butchers are [ſeldom blotted out] never there;—You both LYE too in ſaying, that it is calculated (INTENDED) for Atheiſm and Infidelity,—its Religion is—the ‘'Obligation of Man to reſemble the Attributes [221] of God to his power, by the practiſe of Univerſal Right Reaſon; believing Chriſtianity of Chriſt call'd Reaſon the wiſdom of God.—This is the Reverſe of Atheiſm and Infidelity—and Blaſphemy.—’

THE writer of the following, who ſigns himſelf a Member of the Robin Hood Society, threatens me, that in caſe I don't print his letter immediately, the Queſtion ‘"Whether Mr. TOWN be a greater fool or a ſcoundrel,"’ ſhall be debated at their next meeting.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

I WOULD have you to know, that the perſon as ſent you the account of our Club did not do right. He repreſents us all as a pack of tradeſmen and mechanics, and would have you to think as how there are no gentlemen among us. But that is not the caſe: I am a gentleman, and we have a great many topping people beſides. Though Mr. Preſident is but a baker, and we have a ſhoemaker, and ſome other handicraftſmen, that come to talk; yet I can aſſure you they know as much of religion and the good of their country, (and other ſuch matters,) as any of we gentlemen. But as I ſaid we have a good many topping folks beſides myſelf: for there is not a night but we have ſeveral young lawyers and councellors, and doctors, and ſurgeons, and captains, and poets, and players, and a great many Iriſhmen and Scotchmen (very fine ſpeakers) who follow no buſineſs; beſides ſeveral foreigners, who are all of them great men in their own country. And we have one ſquire, who lives at t'other end of the town, and always comes in his chariot.

[222]AND ſo as I ſaid we have a good many tip-top people, as can talk as well as any of your play-folks or parſons: and as for my part every body knows that I am a lord's gentleman, and never was the man that wore a livery in my life. I have been of the Club more or leſs off and on for theſe ſix years, and never let a queſtion paſs me, Mr. Preſident knows it: and though I ſay it that ſhould not ſay it, I can talk (and ſo can any of our Club) as well as the beſt of you poets can write. And ſo as I ſaid I expect you will put it in your paper, that we have a great many gentlemen in our Club beſides myſelf.

Your humble Servant, JAMES WAIT.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXVIII. THURSDAY, October 17, 1754.

[223]
Stultus et improbus hic amor eſt, dignuſque notari.
HOR.

AT a certain coffee-houſe near the Temple the bar is kept by a pretty coquet, a piece of furniture almoſt as neceſſary for a coffee-room in that ſituation as the news papers. This lady, you may be ſure, has many admirers, who are now and then glad of an opportunity to relieve themſelves from the ſevere ſtudy of the law by a ſoft converſation with this fair one, and repeating on the occaſion all the tender things they can remember from plays, or whatever elſe Orgeat or Cappillaire can inſpire. Among the many pretenders to her favour there is one faithful ſwain, who has long entertained a ſerious paſſion for her. This tender-hearted gentleman, who is grown ſo lean with living upon love, that one would imagine ‘"the blaſts of January [224] would blow him through and through,"’ comes every evening, and ſits whole hours by the bar, gazing at his miſtreſs, and taking in large draughts of love and Hyſon tea. Never was ſwain in ſuch cruel circumſtances. He is forced to bear with patience all the haughty inſolence of this goddeſs of bread and butter; who, as ſhe knows him in her power, keeps him at a diſtance, though ſhe behaves with the perteſt familiarity to the other coxcombs, who are continually buzzing about her. At eleven he ſneaks off pale and diſcontented; but cannot forbear coming again the next evening, though he knows how vilely he ſhall be uſed by his miſtreſs, and that he is laughed at even by the waiters.

IF all true lovers were obliged, like this unhappy gentleman, to carry on their courtſhips in public, we ſhould be witneſs to many ſcenes equally ridiculous. Their aukward deſire of pleaſing influences every trivial geſture, and when once love has got poſſeſſion of a man's heart, it ſhews itſelf down to the tips of his fingers. The converſation of a languiſhing inamorato is made up chiefly of dumb ſigns, ſuch as ſighs, ogles, or glances: but if he offers to break his paſſion to his miſtreſs, there is ſuch a ſtammering, faultering and half-wording the matter, that the language of love, ſo much talked of by poets, is in truth no language at all. Whoever ſhould break in upon a gentleman and lady, while ſo critical a converſation is going forward, would not forbear laughing at ſuch an extraordinary téte á téte, and would perhaps cry out with Ranger, that ‘"nothing looks ſo ſilly as a pair of your true lovers."’

SINCE true and ſincere love is ſure to make it's votaries thus ridiculous, we cannot ſufficiently commend our preſent people of quality, who have made ſuch laudable attempts to deliver themſelves and poſterity from its bondage. [225] In a faſhionable wedding the man or woman are neither of them conſidered as reaſonable creatures, who come together in order to ‘"comfort, love, cheriſh, honour or obey,"’ according to their reſpective duties, but are regarded merely as inſtruments of joining one eſtate to another. Acre marries acre; and to increaſe and multiply their fortunes is in genteel matches the chief conſideration of man and wife. The courtſhip is carried on by the council of each party, and they pay their addreſſes by billet-deux upon parchment. The great convenience of expelling love from matrimony is very evident: Married perſons of quality are never troubled with each others company abroad, or fatigued with dull matrimonial diſcourſes at home: My lord keeps his girl, my lady has her gallant; and they both enjoy all the faſhionable privileges of wedlock without the inconveniences. This would never be the caſe, if there was the leaſt ſpark of love ſubſiſting between them, but they muſt be reduced to the ſame ſituation with thoſe wretches, who (as they have nothing to ſettle on each other but themſelves) are obliged to make up the deficiencies of fortune by affection. But while theſe miſerable, fond, doating, unfaſhionable couples are obliged to content themſelves with love and a cottage, people of quality enjoy the comforts of indifference and a coach and ſix.

THE late Marriage Act is excellently adapted to promote this prudential proceeding with reſpect to wedlock. It will in time inevitably aboliſh the old ſyſtem of founding matrimony on affection; and marrying for love will be given up for the ſake of marrying according to Act of Parliament. There is now no danger of an handſome worthy young fellow of ſmall fortune running away with an heireſs; for it is not ſufficient to inſinuate himſelf into [226] the lady's favour by a voluble tongue and a good perſon, unleſs he can alſo ſubdue the conſiderate parents or guardians by the merits of his rent-roll. As this Act promotes the method of diſpoſing of children by way of bargain and ſale, it conſequently puts an end to that ridiculous courtſhip, ariſing from ſimple love. In order therefore to confirm (as far as poſſible) the happy conſequences of this act, I have been long endeavouring to hit on ſome expedient, by which all the circumſtances preparatory to wedlock may be carried on in a proper manner. A Smithfield bargain being ſo common in metaphor, I had once ſome thoughts of propoſing to realize it, and had almoſt completed a plan, by which all the young perſons (like ſervant girls at a ſtatute-fair in the country) were to be brought to market, and diſpoſed of in one part of Smithfield, while the ſheep and horſes were on ſale in another.

IN the midſt of theſe ſerious conſiderations I received a ſcheme of this nature from my good friend Mr. KEITH, whoſe chapel the late Marriage Act has rendered uſeleſs on its original principles. This reverend gentleman, ſeeing that all huſbands and wives are henceforward to be put up to ſale, propoſes ſhortly to open his chapel on a more new and faſhionable plan. As the ingenious Meſſieurs Henſon and Bever have lately opened in different quarters of the town Repoſitories for all horſes to be ſold by auction; Mr. KEITH intends ſetting up a Repoſitory for all young males and females to be diſpoſed of in marriage. From theſe ſtuds (as the Doctor himſelf expreſſes it) a lady of beauty may be coupled to a man of fortune, and an old gentleman, who has a colt's tooth remaining, may match himſelf with a tight young filly.

[227]THE Doctor makes no doubt but his Chapel will turn out even more to his advantage on this new plan than on it's firſt inſtitution, provided he can ſecure his ſcheme to himſelf, and reap the benefits of it without interlopers from the Fleet. To prevent his deſign being pirated, he intends petitioning the Parliament, that as he has been ſo great a ſufferer by the Marriage Act, the ſole right of opening a Repoſitory of this ſort may be veſted in him, and that his place of reſidence in May Fair may ſtill continue the grand mart for marriages. Of the firſt day of ſale proper notice will be given in the public papers, and in the mean time I am deſired to communicate the following ſpecimen to my readers.

Catalogue of Males and Females to be diſpoſed of in Marriage to the Beſt Bidder, at Mr. KEITH's Repoſitory in May Fair.
  • A LADY of Quality, very high blood, related by the mother's ſide to a peer of France, her Dam came from one of the oldeſt families in Wales, and her great great great Grandfire was brought over with William the Conqueror. Fit to go in a coach and ſix, and proper for any rich tradeſman, who is deſirous to mend the Breed. Her loweſt price to prevent trouble, is 500l. per ann. pinmoney, and a proportionable jointure.
  • A young lady of 100,000l. fortune—to be bid for by none under the degree of peers, or a commoner of at leaſt treble the income.
  • A Homely Thing who can read, write, caſt accounts, and make an excellent pudding.—This lot to be bid for by none but country parſons.
  • Three Maiden Ladies—Aged—to be bid for by none but ſtout young fellows of ſix foot, ſound wind and limb, and without blemiſh.
  • Four Widows, young and rich—to be bid for by none but Things of mettle and high blood—
  • [228]The Daughter of a Country 'Squire—the father of this Lady came to town to ſell a yoke of oxen at Smithfield, and a load of hay in the Hay-Market. Whoever buys them ſhall have the lady into the bargain.
  • A Methodiſt Lady, Relict of a Knight deceaſed within this twelvemonth—would be a good bargain to any handſome young gentleman, who would comfort her in the Spirit.
  • A very pretty Young Woman, but a good deal in debt—would be glad to marry a Member of Parliament or a Jew.
  • A handſome Houſekeeper, juſt come out of the country, would do for any private gentleman. She has been uſed to go in an one-horſe-chair, and is fit for a citizen's ſervice on a Sunday.
  • A tall Iriſhman, warranted ſound, lately in poſſeſſion of a Lady Dowager. The reaſon of his being ſold is that the owner, who is married, has no further uſe for him.
  • A Blood of the firſt rate, very wild, and has run looſe all his life, but is now broke, and will prove very tractable.
  • A Hackney Writer, troubled with the farcy, brokenwinded, and very poor—would be glad to be releaſed from his preſent maſter, a bookſeller, and bear the leſs grievous yoke of matrimony. Whoever will take him into feeding, ſhall have his pegaſus into the bargain.
  • A Young Ward, now in training at Eton-ſchool.—The guardian is willing to part with him to any lady for a round ſum of money.—If not ſold, he will be ſent into the country, and matched with his guardian's daughter.
  • Five Templars—all Iriſh—No one to bid for theſe lots of leſs than 10,000 l. fortune.
  • Wanted—four dozen of Young Fellows, and one dozen of Young Women willing to marry to advantage—to go to Nova Scotia.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XXXIX. THURSDAY, October 24, 1754.

[229]
—Sepulchri
Mitte ſupervacuos honores.
HOR.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

AS I was paſſing the other night through a narrow little lane in the ſkirts of the city, I was ſtopped by a grand proceſſion of a hearſe and three mourning-coaches drawn by ſix horſes, accompanied with a great number of flambeaus and attendants in black. I naturally concluded, that all this parade was employed to pay the laſt honours to ſome eminent perſon, whoſe conſequence in life required that his aſhes ſhould receive all the reſpect which his friends and relations could pay to them: but I could not help ſmiling, when upon enquiry I was told, that the corpſe (on whom all this expence had been laviſhed) was no other than Tom Taſter the cheeſemonger, who had lain in ſtate all the week at his [230] houſe in Thames-ſtreet, and was going to be depoſited with his anceſtors in White-chapel burying-ground. This illuſtrious perſonage was, I believe, the firſt of his family, that ever thought of riding in a coach, living or dead: he was the ſon of a butcher in White-chapel, and died indeed but in indifferent circumſtances: his widow however, for the honour of her family, was reſolved at all events to bury him handſomely.

YOU have already, Mr. TOWN, taken notice of that ridiculous affectation among the middling ſort of people, which induces them to make a figure beyond their circumſtances: I could wiſh that you would alſo expoſe this equally abſurd vanity, which extends to the duſt, and by which the dead are made acceſſory in robbing the living. I have frequently known a greater ſum expended at the funeral of a tradeſman, than would have kept his whole family for a twelvemonth; and it has more than once happened, that the next heir has been flung into gaol for not being able to pay the undertaker's bill.

THIS abſurd notion of being handſomely buried has given riſe to the moſt contradictory cuſtoms, that could poſſibly be contrived for the advantage of death-hunters. As funerals are at preſent conducted, all diſtinction is loſt among us; and there is no more difference between the duke and the dancing-maſter in the manner of their burial, than is to be found between their duſt in the grave. It is eaſy to account for the introduction of the hearſe and mourning-coach in our funeral ceremonies, though their propriety is entirely deſtroyed by the promiſcuous uſe of them. Our ancient and noble families may be ſuppoſed to have particular family-vaults near their manſion-houſes in the country, and in which their progenitors have been depoſited for ages. It is therefore very natural that perſons of diſtinction, who had been uſed to be conveyed to their country-ſeats by a ſet of horſes, ſhould be alſo tranſported to their graves by the ſame number; and be attended with the ſame magnificence at their deaths, which they had been accuſtomed to in their lives. The ſpirit of affecting the manners of the great has [231] from hence made others vie (as far as they can) with people of quality in the pomp of their burials: a tradeſman, who has trudged on foot all his life, ſhall be carried after death, ſcarce an hundred yards from his houſe, with the equipage and retinue of a lord; and the plodding cit, whoſe ambition never ſoared beyond the occaſional one-horſe-chair, muſt be dragged to his long home by ſix horſes. Such an ill-timed oſtentation of grandeur appears to me no leſs ridiculous than the vanity of the highwayman, who ſold his body to the ſurgeons, that he might hire a mourning-coach, and go to the gallows like a gentleman.

THERE is another cuſtom, which was doubtleſs firſt introduced by the great, but has been ſince adopted by others, who have not the leaſt title to it. The herald's office was originally inſtituted for the diſtinction and preſervation of gentility; and nobody is allowed to bear a coat of arms, but what belongs to the family, and who is intitled to that honourable badge. From this conſideration we may account for the practice of hanging the hearſe round with eſcutcheons, on which the arms of the deceaſed were blazoned, and which ſerved to denote whoſe aſhes it conveyed. For the ſame purpoſe an atchievement was afterwards fixed over the door of the late habitation of the deceaſed. This enſign of death may fairly be indulged, where the perſons are ennobled by their birth or ſtation, and where it ſerves to remind the paſſer-by of any great or good actions performed by the deceaſed, or to inſpire the living with an emulation of their virtues. But why, forſooth, cannot an obſcure or inſignificant creature go out of the world, without advertiſing it by the atchievement? For my part, I generally conſider it as a bill on an empty houſe, which ſerves the widow to inform you, that the former tenant is gone, and that another occupier is wanted in his room. Many families have indeed been very much perplexed in making out their right to this mark of gentility, and great profit has ariſen to the herald's office by the purchaſe of arms for this purpoſe. Many a worthy tradeſman of plebeian extraction has been made a gentleman after his deceaſe by the courteſy of his undertaker; and I once knew a keeper of a tavern, who not [232] being able to give any account of his wife's genealogy, put up his ſign, the King's Arms, for an atchievement at her death.

IT was the cuſtom, in the time of the plague, to fix a mark on thoſe houſes, in which any one had died. This probably may have given riſe to the general faſhion of hanging up an atchievement. However this be, it is now deſigned as a polite token, that a death has happened in the family, and might reaſonably be underſtood as a warning to keep people from intruding on their grief. No ſuch thing is, indeed, intended by it: I am therefore of opinion, that it ought every-where to be taken down after the firſt week. Whatever outward ſigns of mourning may be preſerved, no regard is ever paid to them within: the ſame viſitings, the ſame card-playings, are carried on as before; and ſo little reſpect is ſhewn to the atchievement, that if it happens (as it often does) to interſect one of the windows in the grand apartment, it is occaſionally removed, whenever the lady dowager has a route or drum-major.

THIS naturally leads me to conſider how much ‘"the cuſtomary ſuits of ſolemn black,"’ and the other ‘"trappings and ſigns of woe,"’ are become a mere farce and matter of form only. When a perſon of diſtinction goes out of the world, not only the relations, but the whole houſehold, muſt be cloathed in ſable. The kitchen-wench ſcours her diſhes in crape, and the helper in the ſtables rubs down his horſes in black-leather breeches. Every thing muſt put on a diſmal appearance: even the coach muſt be covered and lined with black. This laſt particular, it is reaſonable to imagine, is intended (like a death's head on the toilet) to put the owner conſtantly in mind, that the pomp of the world and all gay purſuits are but vain and periſhable. Yet what is more common than for theſe diſmal vehicles to wait at the doors of the theatres, the opera-houſe, and other public places of diverſion? Thoſe who are carried in them are as little affected by their diſmal appearance as the horſes that draw them; and I once ſaw [233] with great ſurprize an harlequin, a ſcaramouch, a ſhepherdeſs, and a black ſattin devil, get into a mourning coach to go to a jubilee maſquerade.

IF I ſhould not be thought to lay too much ſtreſs on the leſſer formalities obſerved in mourning, I might mention the admirable method of qualifying the melancholy hue of the mourning ring, by enlivening it with the brilliancy of a diamond. I knew a young lady, who wore on the ſame finger a ring ſet round with death's heads and croſs marrow bones for the loſs of her father, and another prettily embelliſhed with burning hearts pierced through with darts, in reſpect to her lover. But what I moſt of all admire is the odd contrivance, by which perſons ſpread the tidings of the death of their relations to the moſt diſtant parts, by the means of black-edged paper and black ſealing wax. If it were poſſible to inſpect the ſeveral letters that bear about them theſe external tokens of grief, I believe we ſhould hardly ever find the contents of the ſame gloomy complexion: a luſcious ſonnet, or an amorous billet-doux, would be much oftener found to be conveyed under theſe diſmal paſsports, than doleful ditties or reflections on mortality: and indeed theſe mock ſigns of woe are ſo little attended to, that a perſon opens one of theſe letters with no more concern than is felt by the poſtman who brings it. Here I muſt not forget mentioning the excellent fancy of a friend of mine, who has greatly improved this article: ever ſince the death of his wife he has made uſe of black ſand, and writes with nothing but a crow-quill pen.

WE cannot ſuppoſe that black-edged paper was ever intended to be defiled by vulgar hands, but contrived (like gilt paper) for the uſe of the polite world only. But alas! we muſt always be aping the manners of our betters! My agent ſends me letters about buſineſs upon gilt paper; and a ſtationer near the 'Change tells me, that he not only ſells a great quantity of mourning paper to the citizens, but that he has lately blacked the edges of [234] the ſhop-books for ſeveral tradeſmen. You muſt have ſeen, Mr. TOWN, an elegant kind of paper, imported from France for the uſe of our fine ladies and gentlemen. An acquaintance of mine has contrived a new ſort of mourning paper on the ſame plan: and as the margin of the other is prettily adorned with flowers, true lovers knots, little cupids, and amorous poſies, in red ink; he intends that the margin of his paper ſhall be diſmally ſtamped in black ink with the figures of tomb-ſtones, hour-glaſſes, bones, ſkulls, and other emblems of death, to be uſed by perſons of quality, when in mourning.

I am, SIR, Your humble Servant, &c.

THE CONNOISSEUR By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XL. THURSDAY, October 31, 1754.

[235]
—Alea quando
Hos animos?—
JUV.

THERE needs no apology to my readers for making the following letter the entertainment of to-day: I ſhall therefore only aſſure the ingenious correſpondent that favoured me with it, that if it had not been accidentally miſlaid, it would not have remained ſo long unnoticed.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

YOUR frequent ridicule of the ſeveral branches of Gaming has given me great pleaſure: I could only wiſh that you had completed the deſign by drawing at large the portrait of a Gameſter. This, ſince you omitted it, I have ventured to undertake; and while your papers on this [236] ſubject ſerve as a counter-treatiſe to that of Hoyle on Whiſt, Back-gammon, &c. my rough draught of the profeſſors of theſe arts may tend to illuſtrate the work, and ſtand as properly in the frontiſpiece as the Knave of Clubs at the door of a cardmaker.

THE whole tribe of Gameſters may be ranked under two diviſions: every man who makes carding, dicing, and betting his daily practice is either a Dupe or a Sharper, two characters equally the objects of envy and admiration. The Dupe is generally a perſon of great fortune and weak intellects,

"Who will as tenderly be led by th' noſe
"As aſſes are."
SHAKESPEAR.

He plays, not that he has any delight in cards or dice, but becauſe it is the faſhion; and if whiſt or hazard are propoſed, he will no more refuſe to make one at the table, than among a ſet of hard drinkers he would object drinking his glaſs in turn, becauſe he is not dry.

THERE are ſome few inſtances of men of ſenſe, as well as family and fortune, who have been dupes and bubbles. Such an unaccountable itch of play has ſeized them that they have ſacrificed every thing to it, and have ſeemed wedded to ſeven's the main, and the odd trick. There is not a more melancholy object than a gentleman of ſenſe thus infatuated. He makes himſelf and family a prey to a gang of villains more infamous than highwaymen; and perhaps when his ruin is completed, he is glad to join with the very ſcoundrels that deſtroyed him, and live upon the ſpoils of others, whom he can draw into the ſame follies that proved ſo fatal to himſelf.

HERE we may take a ſurvey of the character of a Sharper, and that he may have no room to complain of foul [237] play, let us begin with his excellencies. You will perhaps be ſtartled, Mr. TOWN, when I mention the excellencies of a Sharper; but a Gameſter who makes a decent figure in the world, muſt be endued with many amiable qualities, which would undoubtedly appear with great luſtre, were they not eclipſed by the odious character affixed to his trade. In order to carry on the common buſineſs of his profeſſion, he muſt be a man of quick and lively parts, attended with a Stoical calmneſs of temper, and a conſtant preſence of mind. He muſt ſmile at the loſs of thouſands, and is not to be diſcompoſed, though ruin ſtares him in the face. As he is to live among the great, he muſt not want politeneſs and affability; he muſt be ſubmiſſive, but not ſervile; he muſt be maſter of an ingenuous liberal air, and have a ſeeming openneſs of behaviour.

THESE muſt be the chief accompliſhments of our Hero: but leſt I ſhould be accuſed of giving too favourable a likeneſs of him, now we have ſeen his outſide, let us take a view of his heart. There we ſhall find avarice the main ſpring that moves the whole machine. Every Gameſter is eaten up with avarice, and when this paſſion is in full force, it is more ſtrongly predominant than any other. It conquers even luſt; and conquers it more effectually than age. At ſixty we look at a fine woman with pleaſure: but when cards and dice have engroſſed our attention, women and all their charms are ſlighted at five and twenty. A thorough Gameſter renounces Venus and Cupid for Plutus and Amsace, and owns no miſtreſs of his heart except the Queen of Trumps. His inſatiable avarice can only be gratified by hypocriſy; ſo that all thoſe ſpecious virtues already mentioned, and which, if real, might be turned to the benefit of mankind, muſt be directed in a Gameſter towards the deſtruction of his fellow-creatures. His quick and lively [238] parts are only to inſtruct and aſſiſt him in the moſt dextrous method of packing the cards and cogging the dice: his fortitude, which enables him to loſe thouſands without emotion, muſt often be practiſed againſt the ſtings and reproaches of his own conſcience; and his liberal deportment and affected openneſs is only to recommend and conceal the blackeſt villainy.

IT is now neceſſary to take a ſecond ſurvey of his heart, and as we have ſeen it's vices let us conſider it's miſeries. The covetous man who has not ſufficient courage or inclination to encreaſe his fortune by bets, cards, or dice, but is contented to hoard up his thouſands by thefts leſs public, or by cheats leſs liable to uncertainty, lives in a ſtate of perpetual ſuſpicion and terror; but the avaritious fears of the Gameſter, are infinitely greater. He is conſtantly to wear a maſk, and like Monſieur St. Croix, coadjutor to that famous empoiſonneuſe Madame Brinvillier, if his maſk falls off, he runs the hazard of being ſuffocated by the ſtench of his own poiſons. I have ſeen ſome examples of this ſort, not many years ago at White's. I am uncertain whether the wretches are ſtill alive, but if they are, they breath like toads under ground, crawling amidſt old walls, and paths long ſince unfrequented.

BUT ſuppoſing that the Sharper's hypocriſy remains undetected, in what a ſtate of mind muſt that man be whoſe fortune depends upon the inſincerity of his heart, the diſingenuity of his behaviour, and the falſe biaſs of his dice? What ſenſations muſt he ſuppreſs when he is obliged to ſmile, although he is provoked: when he muſt look ſerene in the height of deſpair, and when he muſt act the Stoic, without the conſolation of one virtuous ſentiment, or one moral principle? How unhappy muſt he be even in [239] that ſituation, from which he hopes to reap moſt benefit? I mean, amidſt ſtars, garters, and the various herds of nobility? Their lordſhips are not always in an humour for play: they chuſe to laugh; they chuſe to joke; in the mean while our hero muſt patiently await the good hour, and muſt not only join in the laugh, and applaud the jokes, but muſt humour every turn and caprice, to which that ſet of ſpoiled children called bucks of quality are liable. Surely his brother Thicket's employment of ſauntring on horſeback in the wind and rain till the Reading coach paſſes through Smallberry-Green, is the more eligible, and no leſs honeſt, occupation.

THE Sharper has alſo frequently the mortification of being thwarted in his deſigns. Opportunities of fraud will not for ever preſent themſelves. The falſe die cannot be conſtantly produced, nor the packed cards perpetually be placed upon the table. It is then our gameſter is in the greateſt danger. But even then when he is in the power of fortune, and has nothing but meer luck and fair play on his ſide, he muſt ſtand the brunt, and perhaps give away his laſt guinea, as coolly as he would lend a nobleman a ſhilling.

OUR hero is now going off the ſtage, and his cataſtrophe is very tragical: the next news we hear of him is his death, atchieved by his own hand, and with his own piſtol. An inqueſt is bribed, he is buried at midnight, and forgotten before ſun-riſe.

THESE two portraits of a Sharper, wherein I have endeavoured to ſhew different likeneſſes in the ſame man, puts me in mind of an old print, which I remember at [240] Oxford, of Count Guiſcard. At firſt ſight he was exhibited in a full-bottom wig, a hat and feather, embroidered cloaths, diamond buttons, and the full court-dreſs of thoſe days: but by pulling a ſtring, the folds of the paper were ſhifted, the face only remained, a new body came forward, and Count Guiſcard appeared to be a DEVIL.

I am, Sir, Your moſt humble ſervant, M. N.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLI. THURSDAY, November 7, 1754.

[241]
Qui ſtudet optatam curſu contingere metam,
Multa tulit fecitque puer.
HOR.

Mr. VILLAGE to Mr. TOWN.

DEAR COUSIN,

THE following letter, occaſioned by the late Races at Newmarket, and written by a fellow-commoner of — college, Cambridge, to a friend in London, fell into my hands by accident. The writer, if we may judge by his ſtile and manner, is really, according to the modern phraſe, a GENIUS. As I look upon his epiſtle to be a very curious original, I cannot help demanding for it a place in your paper, as well as for the remarks which I have taken the liberty to ſubjoin to it.

[242]

To JOHN WILDFIRE,Eſq To be left at Mrs. DOUGLAS's, Covent-Garden, London.

Dear Jack!

I WAS in hopes I ſhould have met you at Newmarket races, but to ſay the truth, if your luck had turned out ſo bad as mine, you did better to ſtay away. Dick Riot, Tom Lowngeit, and I went together to Newmarket the firſt day of the meeting. I was mounted on my little bay-mare that coſt me thirty guineas in the North. I never croſſed a better tit in my life, and if her eyes ſtand, as I dare ſay they will, ſhe will turn out as tight a little Thing as any in England. Then ſhe is as fleet as the wind. Why, I raced with Dick and Tom all the way from Cambridge to Newmarket: Dick rode his roan gelding, and Tom his cheſnut mare (which, you know, have both ſpeed) but I beat them hollow. I cannot help telling you that I was dreſſed in my blue riding-frock with plate-buttons, with a leather belt round my waſte, my jemmy turn-down boots made by Tull, my brown ſcratch bob, and my hat with the narrow-ſilver lace cocked in the true ſporting taſte: ſo that altogether I don't believe there was a more knowing figure upon the Courſe. I was very fluſh too, Jack; for Michaelmas-day happening damned luckily juſt about the time of the races, I had juſt received fifty guineas for my quarteridge. As ſoon as I came upon the Courſe, I met with ſome jolly bucks from London. I never ſaw them before; however we were ſoon acquainted, and I took up the Odds: but I was damnably let in, for I loſt thirty pieces ſlap the firſt day. The day or two after I had no remarkable [243] luck one way or the other; but at laſt I laid all the Caſh I had left upon Lord March's Smart, who loſt, you know, but between you and me, I have a great notion Tom Marſhall rode booty. However I had a mind to puſh my luck as far as I could; ſo I ſold my poor little mare for twelve pieces, went to the coffee-houſe, and left them all behind me at the gaming table; and I ſhould not have been able to have got back to Cambridge that night, if Bob Whip of Trinity had not taken me up into his Phaeton. We have had a round of dinners at our rooms ſince, and I have been drunk every day to drive away care. However I hope to recruit again ſoon: Frank Claſſic of Pembroke has promiſed to make me out a long catalogue of Greek books, ſo I will write directly to Old Squaretoes, ſend him the liſt, tell him I have taken them up, and draw on him for money to pay the bookſeller's bill. Then I ſhall be rich again, Jack; and perhaps you may ſee me at the Shakeſpear by the middle of next week; till when, I am,

Dear Jack,
yours, T. FLAREIT.

I HAVE often lamented the narrow plan of our Univerſity Education, and always obſerve with pleaſure any attempts to enlarge and improve it. In this light I cannot help looking on Newmarket as a judicious ſupplement to the Univerſity of Cambridge, and would recommend it to the young ſtudents to repair duly thither twice a year. By theſe means they may connect the knowledge of polite life with ſtudy, and come from college as deeply verſed in the genteel myſteries of Gaming, as in Greek, Latin, and the Mathematicks. Attending theſe ſolemnities muſt indeed be of great ſervice to every rank of ſtudents. Thoſe who are [244] intended for the Church have an opportunity of tempering the ſeverity of their character by a happy mixture of the jockey and clergyman. I have known ſeveral who by uniting theſe oppoſite qualifications, and meeting with a patron of their own diſpoſition, have rode themſelves into a living in a good ſporting country; and I doubt not, if the excurſions of gownſmen to Newmarket meet with the encouragement they deſerve, but we ſhall ſhortly ſee the Beacon Courſe crouded with ordained ſportſmen in ſhort caſſocks. As to the Fellow-Commoners, I do not ſee how they can paſs their time more profitably. The ſole intention of their reſidence at the Univerſity is, with moſt of them, to while away a couple of years, which they cannot conveniently diſpoſe of otherwiſe. Their rank exempts them from the common drudgery of lectures and exerciſes, and the Golden Tuft that adorns their velvet caps is at once a badge of honour and an apology for ignorance. But as ſome of theſe gentlemen, though they never will be ſcholars, may turn out excellent jockeys, it is but juſtice to let them carry ſome kind of knowledge away with them; and as they can never ſhine as adepts in Sir Iſaac Newton's Philoſophy, or critics on Homer and Virgil, ſuffer them to make a figure as arbiters of the Courſe, and followers of Aaron and Driver.

I AM the more earneſt on this occaſion, becauſe I look upon Races as a diverſion, peculiarly adapted to an Univerſity, and founded upon claſſical principles. Every author who has mentioned the Antient Games, includes the Race, and deſcribes it with great dignity. This Game was always celebrated with great pomp, and all the people of faſhion of thoſe days were preſent at it. In the twenty third Iliad in particular there is not only a diſpute at the Race, but a bet propoſed in as expreſs terms as at Newmarket. The wager [245] offered indeed is a goblet, which is not entirely in the manner of our modern ſportſmen, who rather chuſe to melt down their plate into the current ſpecie, and bring their ſideboards to the courſe in their purſes. I am aware alſo that the Races celebrated by the ancients were Chariot-Races: but even in theſe our young ſtudents of the Univerſity have great emulation to excell: There are among them many very good coachmen who often make excurſions in thoſe noble vehicles with great propriety called Phaetons, and drive with as much fury along the road, as the charioteers in the Antient Game flew towards the goal. In a word, if we have not ſuch noble Odes on this occaſion as were produced of old, it is not for want of a Theron but a Pindar.

THE Advices which I have at ſeveral times received of the influence of the Races at Newmarket on the Univerſity give me great pleaſure. It has not only improved the behaviour of the ſtudents but enlarged their plan of ſtudy. They are now very deeply read in Bracken's Farriery and the Compleat Jockey, know exactly how many ſtone they weigh, and are pretty competent judges of the Odds. I went ſome time ago to viſit a fellow-commoner, and when I arrived at his chambers, found the door open, but my friend was not at home. The room was adorned with Seymour's prints of horſes neatly framed and glazed, a hat and whip hung on one hook, a pair of boots on another, and on the table lay a formidable Quarto with the Sportſman's Calendar by Reginald Heber, Eſqr. I had the curioſity to examine the book, and as the college is remarkable for the ſtudy of philoſophy, I expected to ſee Newton's Principia, or perhaps Sanderſon's Algebra: but on opening it, this huge volume proved to be a pompous edition of Gibſon's Treatiſe on the Diſeaſes of Horſes.

[246]THESE indeed are noble ſtudies, will preſerve our youth from pedantry, and make them men of the world. Men of genius who are pleaſed with the theory of any art, will not be contented 'till they arrive at the practice. I am told that the young gentlemen often try the ſpeed of the Cambridge Nags on the Beacon Courſe, and that ſeveral hacks are at preſent in training. I have often wondered that the gentlemen who form the club at Newmarket never reflected on their neighbourhood to Cambridge, nor eſtabliſhed (in honour of it) an Univerſity Plate, to be run for by Camſbrige hacks, rode by young gentlemen of the Univerſity. A hint of this kind will certainly be ſufficient to have this laudable deſign put in practice the very next meeting; and I cannot help reflecting on this occaſion, what an unſpeakable ſatisfaction it muſt be to thoſe perſons of quality who are conſtantly at Newmarket, to ſee their ſons cheriſh the ſame noble principles with themſelves, and act in imitation of their example.

"Go on, brave youths! till in ſome future age,
"Whips ſhall become the ſenatorial badge;
"'Till England ſee her jockey ſenators
"Meet all at Weſtminſter in boots and ſpurs;
"See the whole houſe, with mutual frenzy mad,
"Her patriots all in leathern breeches clad:
"Of bets, not taxes, learnedly debate,
"And guide with equal reins a ſteed and ſtate!"
WARTON's NEWMARKET.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLII. THURSDAY, November 14, 1754.

[247]
—Sermonum ſtet honos, et gratia vivax.
HOR.

A FRIEND of mine lately gave me an account of a ſet of gentlemen, who meet together once a week under the name of The ENGLISH CLUB. The title with which they dignify their Society ariſes from the chief end of their meeting, which is to cultivate their Mother Tongue. They employ half the time of their aſſembling in hearing ſome of our beſt Claſſics read to them, which generally furniſhes them with converſation for the reſt of the evening. They have inſtituted annual feſtivals in honour of Spenſer, Shakeſpear, Milton, &c. on each of which an oration, interſperſed with encomiums on the Engliſh language, is ſpoken in praiſe of the author, who, in the phraſe [248] of the almanack, gives the red letter to the day. They have alſo eſtabliſhed a fund, from which handſome rewards are allotted to thoſe who ſhall ſupply the place of any exotic terms that have been ſmuggled into our language by homeſpun Britiſh words equally ſignificant and expreſſive. An order is alſo made againſt importing any contraband phraſes into the Club, by which heavy fines are laid on thoſe who ſhall have any modiſh barbariſms found upon them: whether they be foreign words, antient or modern, or any cant terms coined by The Town for the ſervice of the current year.

THE whole account which I received from my friend gave me great ſatisfaction: and I never remember any ſociety that met together on ſuch commendable principles. Their proceedings it muſt however be confeſſed are ſomewhat unfaſhionable; for the Engliſh Tongue is become as little the general care as Engliſh Beef, or Engliſh Honeſty. Young gentlemen are obliged to drudge at ſchool for nine or ten years in order to ſcrape together as much Greek and Latin as they can forget during their tour abroad, and have commonly at the ſame time a private maſter to give them French enough to land them with ſome reputation at Calais. This is to be ſure very prudent as well as genteel. Yet ſome people are perverſe enough to imagine that to teach boys a foreign language, living or dead, without at the ſame time grounding them in their Mother Tongue is a very prepoſterous plan of education. The Romans, though they ſtudied at Athens, directed their ſtudies to the benefit of their own country, and though they read Greek, wrote in Latin. There are at this day in France Academies eſtabliſhed for the ſupport and preſervation of the French language: and perhaps, if to the preſent Profeſſorſhips of Hebrew and Greek, there ſhould be added a Profeſſorſhip of the [249] Engliſh language, it would be no diſgrace to our learned Univerſities.

WHEN we conſider that our language is preferable to moſt if not all others now in being, it ſeems ſomething extraordinary that any attention ſhould be paid to a foreign Tongue that is refuſed to our own, when we are likely to get ſo little by the exchange. But when we reflect further on the remarkable purity to which ſome late authors have brought it, we are ſtill more concerned at the preſent neglect of it. This ſhameful neglect I take to be owing chiefly to theſe two reaſons, the falſe pride of thoſe who are eſteemed men of learning, and the ridiculous affectation of our fine gentlemen, and pretenders to wit.

IN complaiſance to our fine gentlemen, who are themſelves the allowed ſtandards of politeneſs, I ſhall begin with them firſt. Their converſation exactly anſwers the deſcription which Benedick gives of Claudio's: ‘"their words are a very fantaſtical banquet, juſt ſo many ſtrange diſhes."’ Theſe diſhes too are all French; and I do not know whether their converſation does not a good deal depend on their bill of fare, and whether the thin meagre diet, on which our ſine gentlemen ſubſiſt, does not in ſome meaſure take away the power of that bold articulation neceſſary to give utterance to manly Britiſh accents: whence their converſation becomes ſo ‘"fantaſtical a banquet,"’ and every ſentence they deliver almoſt as heterogeneous a mixture as a ſalmagundy. A faſhionable coxcomb now never complains of the vapours, but tells you that he is very much ennuyèe.—He does not affect to be genteel but degagèe—nor is he taken with an elegant ſimplicity in a beautiful countenance, but breaks out in raptures on a je ne-ſcay-quoi, and a certain naivetè. In a word, his head as well as his heels is entirely [250] French, and he is a thorough petit maitre in his language as well as behaviour. But notwithſtanding ail this, I do not know whether the converſation of our pretenders to wit is not ſtill more barbarous. When they talk of Humbug, &c. they ſeem to be jabbering in the uncouth dialect of the Huns, or the rude gabble of the Hottentots: or if their words are at all allied to the language of this country, it probably comes neareſt to the ſtrange cant ſaid to be in uſe among houſebreakers and highwaymen; and if their jargon will bear any explanation, the curious are moſt likely to meet with it in a polite vocabulary lately publiſhed under the title of the Scoundrel's Dictionary.

MANY who are accounted men of learning, if they do not join with fops and coxcombs to corrupt our language, at leaſt do very little to promote it, and are ſometimes very indifferently acquainted with it. There are many perſons of both our Univerſities who can decypher an old Greek manuſcript, and conſtrue Lycophron extempore, who ſcarce know the idiom of their own language, and are at a loſs how to diſpatch a familiar letter with tolerable facility. Theſe gentlemen ſeem to think that learning conſiſts merely in being verſed in languages not generally underſtood. But it ſhould be conſidered, that the ſame Genius which animated the Ancients has diſpenſed at leaſt ſome portion of it's heat to later ages, and particularly to the Engliſh. Thoſe who are really charmed with Homer and Sophocles will hardly read Shakeſpear and Milton without emotion, and if I was inclined to carry on the parallel, I could perhaps mention as many great names as Athens ever produced.

Multa poetarum veniet manus, auxilio quae
Sit mihi.—
HOR.

The knowledge of Greek, Latin, &c. is certainly very [251] valuable, but this may be attained without the loſs of their Mother Tongue: for theſe reverend gentlemen ſhould know that languages are not like preferments in the Church, too many of which cannot be held together.

THIS great neglect of our own Tongue is one of the principal reaſons that we are ſo ſeldom favoured with any publications from either of our Univerſities, which we might expect very often in conſideration of the great number of learned men who reſide there. The preſs being thus deſerted by thoſe who might naturally be expected to ſupport it, falls to the care of a ſet of illiterate hirelings, in whoſe hands it is no wonder if the language is every day mangled, and ſhould at laſt be utterly deſtroyed. Writing is well known to be at preſent as much a trade as any handicraft whatever, and every man who can vamp up any thing for preſent ſale, though void of ſenſe or Syntax, is liſted by the bookſellers as an author. But allowing all our preſent writers to be men of parts and learning (as there are doubtleſs ſome who may be reckoned ſo) is it probable that they ſhould exert their abilities to the utmoſt, when they do not write for fame, like the Ancients, but as a means of ſubſiſtance. If Herodotus and Livy had ſold their hiſtories at ſo much a ſheet, and all the other Greek and Latin Claſſics had written in the ſame circumſtances with many modern authors, they would hardly have merited all that applauſe they ſo juſtly receive at preſent. The plays of Sophocles and Euripides might perhaps not have been much better than modern Tragedies; Virgil might have got a dinner by half a dozen Town Eclogues; and Horace have wrote Birth-day Odes, or now and then a lampoon on the company at the Baiae.

A FALSE modeſty is another great cauſe of the few publications by men of eminence and learning. However [252] equal to the taſk, they have not ſufficient confidence to venture to the preſs, but are rather guilty of wilful injuſtice to themſelves and to the public. They are alſo aſhamed of appearing among the common herd of authors. But the preſs, though it is often abuſed, ſhould by no means be accounted ſcandalous or diſhonourable. Though a learned and ingenious writer might not chuſe to be muſtered in the ſame roll with — — — or Mr. TOWN, yet we have a HOOKE, a BROWNE, an AKINSIDE, and many others in whoſe company it will be an honour to appear. I would not willingly ſuppoſe that they are afraid to hazard the characters they now maintain of being men of learning and abilities; for while we only take theſe things for granted, their reputations are but weakly eſtabliſhed. To reſcue our Native Language from the hands of ignorants and mercenaries is a taſk worthy thoſe who are accounted ornaments of our Seats of Learning; and it is ſurely more than common ingratitude in thoſe who eat the bread of literature to refuſe their utmoſt endeavours to ſupport it.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLIII. THURSDAY, November 21, 1754.

[253]
Spectaret populum ludis attentius ipſis,
Ut ſibi praebentem mimo ſpectacula plura.
HOR.

A FEW years ago an ingenious player gave notice in the bills for his Benefit Night, that the Prologue ſhould be ſpoken by the Pit, which he contrived to have repreſented on the ſtage. Another time he drew in the whole houſe to act as Chorus to a new farce, and I remember that in the laſt rebellion the loyal acclamations of ‘"God ſave the King"’ might have been heard from Drury Lane to Charing Croſs. Upon theſe and many other occaſions the audience has been known to enter into the immediate buſineſs of the Drama; and, to ſay the truth, I never go into the theatre without looking on the ſpectators as playing a part almoſt as much as the actors themſelves. [254] All the company from the ſtage-box to the upper gallery know their cues very well, and perform their parts with great ſpirit. I begun the ſeaſon with a few animadverſions on the chief faults to which our performers are liable. To-day I ſhall beg leave to ſay a word or two to the Audience, as my reflections on the theatre would otherwiſe be incomplete. On this occaſion I expect the thanks of the managers, and would recommend it to them to put my thirty fourth number into a frame and glaſs, and hang it up in the Green Room for the benefit of the players; and to diſpoſe three or four thouſand of the preſent number into the ſeveral parts of the houſe, as Bayes diſperſed papers to inſinuate the plot of his piece into the boxes.

THE firſt part of the audience that demands our attention is ſo nearly allied to the actors that they always appear on the ſame level with them: but while the performer endeavours to carry on the buſineſs of the play, theſe gentlemen behind the ſcenes ſerve only to hinder and diſturb it. There is no part of the houſe from which a play can be ſeen to ſo little advantage as from the ſtage; yet this ſituation is very convenient on many other conſiderations, of more conſequence to a fine gentleman. It looks particular; it is the beſt place to ſhew a handſome perſon, or an elegant ſuit of cloaths: a bow from the ſtage to a beauty in the box is moſt likely to attract our notice; and a pretty fellow may perhaps with tolerable management get the credit of an intrigue with ſome of the actreſſes. But notwithſtanding all theſe advantages accruing to our fine gentlemen, I could heartily wiſh they would leave a clear ſtage to the performers; or at leaſt that none ſhould be admitted behind the ſcenes, but ſuch as would ſubmit to be of ſome uſe there. As theſe gentlemen are ready dreſt, they might help to ſwell the retinue of a monarch, join the engagement in [255] a Tragedy-battle, or do any other little office that might occur in the play, which requires but little ſenſe and no memory. But if they have not any genius for acting, and are ſtill deſirous of retaining their poſts by the ſide-ſcenes, they ſhould be obliged to take a muſket, bayonet, pouch, and the reſt of the accoutrements, and ſtand on guard quietly and decently with the ſoldiers.

THE boxes are often filled with perſons who do not come to the theatre out of any regard to Shakeſpear or Garrick, but like the fine lady in Lethe, ‘"becauſe every body is there."’ As theſe people cannot be expected to mind the play themſelves, we can only deſire them not to call off the attention of others; nor interrupt the dialogue on the ſtage by a louder converſation of their own. The ſilent courtſhip of the eyes, ogles, nods, glances, and curtſies from one box to another may be allowed them the ſame as at church, but nothing more, except at Coronations, Funeral Proceſſions and Pantomimes. Here I cannot help recommending it to the gentlemen, who draw the pen from under their right ears about ſeven o'clock, clap on a bag-wig and ſword, and drop into the boxes at the end of the third act, to take their halfcrown's worth with as much decency as poſſible; as well as the Bloods who reel from the taverns about Covent Garden near that time, and tumble drunk into the boxes. Before I quit this part of the houſe I muſt take notice of that diviſion of the upper-boxes, properly diſtinguiſhed by the name of the Fleſh Market. There is frequently as much art uſed to make the fleſh exhibited here look wholſome, and (as Tim ſays in the farce) ‘"all over red and white like the inſide of a ſhoulder of mutton,"’ as there is by the butchers to make their veal look white; and it is as often rank carrion and flyblown. If theſe ladies would appear [256] in any other quarter of the houſe, I would only beg of Them and thoſe who come to market, to drive their bargains with as little noiſe as poſſible: but I have lately obſerved with ſome concern that theſe women begin to appear in the lower boxes to the deſtruction of all order, and great confuſion of all modeſt ladies. It is to be hoped that ſome of their friends will adviſe them not to pretend to appear there any more than at court: for it is as abſurd to endeavour the removal of their market into the front and ſide boxes, as it would be in the butchers of St. James's Market to attempt fixing the ſhambles in St. James's Square.

I MUST now deſire the reader to deſcend with me among laced hats and capuchines into the Pit. The Pit is the grand Court of Criticiſm, and in the center of it is collected that awful body, diſtinguiſhed by the title of the Town. Hence are iſſued the irrevocable decrees, and here final ſentence is pronounced on plays and players. This Court has often been very ſevere in its deciſions, and has been known to declare many old plays barbarouſly murdered, and moſt of our modern ones Felo de ſe; but it muſt not be diſſembled that many a cauſe of great conſequence has been denied a fair hearing. Parties and private cabals have often been formed to thwart the progreſs of merit, or to eſpouſe ignorance and dullneſs; for it is not wonderfull that the Parliament of Criticiſm, like all others, ſhould be liable to corruption. In this aſſembly Mr. TOWN was firſt nominated CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL; but conſidering the notorious bribery now prevailing, I think proper to declare, (in imitation of Tom in the Conſcious Lovers) that I never took a ſingle Order for my vote in all my life.

THOSE who pay their two ſhillings at the door of the [257] Middle Gallery ſeem to frequent the theatre purely for the ſake of ſeeing the play. Though theſe peaceful regions are ſometimes diſturbed by the incurſions of rattling ladies of pleaſure; ſometimes contain perſons of faſhion in diſguiſe, and ſometimes critics in ambuſh. The greateſt fault I have to object to thoſe who fill this quarter of the theatre, is their frequent and injudicious interruption of the buſineſs of the play by their applauſe. I have ſeen a bad actor clapt two minutes together for ranting, or perhaps ſhrugging his ſhoulders, and making wry faces: and I have ſeen the natural courſe of the paſſions checked in a good one, by theſe ill-judged teſtimonies of their approbation. It is recorded of Betterton to his honour, that he thought a deep ſilence through the whole houſe, and a ſtrict attention to his playing, the ſtrongeſt and ſureſt ſigns of his being well received.

THE inhabitants of the Upper-Gallery demand our notice as well as the reſt of the theatre. The Trunk Maker of immortal memory was the moſt celebrated hero of theſe regions; but ſince he is departed, and no able-bodied critic appointed in his room, I cannot help giving the ſame caution to the Upper-Gallery as to the gentry a pair of ſtairs lower. Some of the under-comedians will perhaps be diſpleaſed at this order, who are proud of theſe applauſes, and rejoice to hear the luſty bangs from the oaken towels of their friends againſt the wainſcoat of the Upper-Gallery; but I think they ſhould not be allowed to ſhatter the pannels without amending our taſte; ſince their thwacks, however vehement, are ſeldom laid on with ſufficient judgment to ratify our applauſe. It were better therefore if all the preſent twelvepenny critics of this town, who preſide over our diverſions in the Upper-Gallery, would content themſelves with the inferior duties of their office; viz. to take care [258] that the play begins at the proper time, that the muſic between the acts is of a due length, and that the candles are ſnuffed in tune.

AFTER theſe brief admonitions concerning our behaviour at the play, which are intended as a kind of vade mecum for the frequenters of the theatre, I cannot conclude my paper more properly than with an extract from the Tale of a Tub ſhewing the judicious diſtribution of our playhouſes into Boxes, Pit, and Galleries.

I CONFESS, that there is ſomething very refined in the contrivance and ſtructure of our modern theatres. For, firſt; the pit is ſunk below the ſtage that whatever weighty matter ſhall be delivered thence (whether it be lead or gold) may fall plum into the jaws of certain critics (as I think they are called) which ſtand ready opened to devour them. Then, the boxes are built round, and raiſed to a level with the ſcene, in deference to the ladies; becauſe, that large portion of wit, laid out in raiſing pruriences and protuberances, is obſerved to run much upon a line, and ever in a circle. The whining paſſions, and little ſtarved conceits, are gently wafted up by their own extreme levity, to the middle region, and there fix and are frozen by the frigid underſtandings of the inhabitants. Bombaſtry and buffoonry, by nature lofty and light, ſoar higheſt of all, and would be loſt in the roof, if the prudent architect had not with much foreſight contrived for them a fourth place, called the Twelve-Penny-Gallery, and there planted a ſuitable colony, who greedily intercept them in their paſſage.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLIV. THURSDAY, November 28, 1754.

[259]
—Des nominis hujus honorem.
HOR.

I LATELY took a ſurvey of the Female World, as CENSOR GENERAL; and upon a ſtrict review was very much ſurprized to find that there is ſcarce any Woman to be met with, except among the loweſt of the vulgar. The ſex conſiſts almoſt entirely of LADIES. Every Joan is lifted into a Lady; and the maid and the miſtreſs are equally dignified with this polite title. The ſtagecoaches are conſtantly filled with Ladies—At Bartholomew Fair there is always a hop for the Ladies—And if the Ladies in the drawing-room are employed at Whiſt, their laſt night's cards are made uſe of in a rubber by the Ladies in the ſteward's room; while the other Ladies of the family are ſtaking their halfpence at Put or All-Fours in the [258] [...] [259] [...] [260] kitchen.—In a word, whenever there is occaſion to ſpeak of the Female World, honourable mention is always made of them by the reſpectful appellation of The LADIES: as the young and the old, the black and the brown, the homely and the handſome, are all complaiſantly included under the general title of The FAIR.

SINCE therefore the Ladies of Great Britain make up ſo numerous a body, I ſhould be loth to diſoblige ſo conſiderable a ſiſter-hood, and ſhall devote this paper entirely to their ſervice. I propoſe at preſent to marſhal them into their reſpective ranks, and upon a review I find that they may be juſtly diſtributed under theſe five diviſions; viz. Married Ladies, Maiden or Young Ladies, Ladies of Quality, Fine Ladies, and laſtly (without affront to the good company) Ladies of Pleaſure.

I SHALL begin with the Married Ladies, as this order will be found to be far the moſt numerous, and includes all the married women in town or country above the degree of a chair-woman or the trundler of a wheel-barrow. The plain old Engliſh word Wife has long been diſcarded in our converſation, as being only fit for the broad mouths of the vulgar. A well-bred ear is ſtartled at the very ſound of Wife, as at a coarſe and indelicate expreſſion; and I appeal to any faſhionable couple, whether they would not be as much aſhamed to be mentioned together as man and wife, as they would to appear together at court in a farthingale and trunk-breeches. From Hyde Park Corner to Temple-Bar this monſter of a Wife has not been heard of ſince the antiquated times of Dame and Your Worſhip; and in the city every good houſe-wife is at leaſt a Lady of the other end of the town. In the country you might as well diſpute the pretenſions of every foxhunter to [261] the title of Eſquire, as of his help-mate to that of Lady; and in every corporation town whoever matches with a burgeſs becomes a Lady by right of charter. My couſin VILLAGE, (from whom I have all my rural intelligence,) informs me, that upon the ſtrictreſt enquiry there is but one Wife in the town where he now lives, and that is the Parſon's Wife, who is never mentioned by the country Ladies but as a dowdy, and an old-faſhioned creature. Such is the great privilege of matrimony, that every female is ennobled by changing her ſurname: for as every unmarried woman is a Miſs, every married one by the ſame courteſy is a Lady.

THE next order of dignified females is compoſed of Maiden or Young Ladies; which terms are ſynonymous, and are indifferently applied to females of the age of fourteen or threeſcore. We muſt not therefore be ſurprized to hear of Maiden Ladies, who are known to have had ſeveral children, or to meet with Young Ladies that look like old dowagers. At the houſe of an acquaintance where I lately viſited, I was told that we were to expect Mrs. Jackſon and the two Miſs Wrinkles. But what was my ſurprize! when I ſaw on their arrival a blooming female of twenty-five accoſted under the firſt denomination, and the two nymphs, as I expected, come tottering into the room, the youngeſt of them to all appearance on the verge of threeſcore. I could not help wiſhing on this occaſion that ſome middle term was invented between Miſs and Mrs. to be adopted, at a certain age, by all females not inclined to matrimony. For ſurely nothing can be more ridiculous, than to hear a greyhaired Lady paſt her Grand Climacteric mentioned in terms, that convey the idea of youth and beauty, or perhaps of a bib and hanging-ſleeves. This indiſcriminate appellation alſo unavoidably creates much [262] confuſion: I know an eminent tradeſman who loſt a very good cuſtomer for innocently writing Mrs. — at the head of her bill: and I was lately at a ball, where, truſting to a friend for a partner, I was obliged to do penance with an old withered beldam, who hobbled through ſeveral country dances with me, though ſhe was ancient enough to have been my grandmother. Excluding theſe Young Ladies of fifty and ſixty, this order of females is very numerous; for there is ſcarce a girl in town or country, ſuperior to a milkmaid or cinderwench, but is comprehended in it. The daughters are indiſputably Young Ladies, though their Papas may be tradeſmen or mechanics. For the preſent race of ſhopkeepers &c. have wiſely provided, that their gentility ſhall be preſerved in the female part of the family. Thus, although the ſon is called plain Jack, and perhaps bound apprentice to his father, the daughter is taught to hold up her head, make tea in the little parlour behind the ſhop, and inherits the title of Lady from her Mama. To make theſe claims to dignity more ſure thoſe excellent ſeminaries of genteel education, called Boarding-Schools, have been contrived; where inſtead of teazing a ſampler, or conning a chapter of the bible, the Young Ladies are inſtructed to hold up their heads, make a curtſey, and to behave themſelves in every reſpect like pretty little Ladies. Hence it happens, that we may often obſerve ſeveral of theſe polite damſels in the ſkirts of White-Chapel, and in every petty country town; nay, it is common to meet with Young Ladies born and bred, who have ſubmitted to keep a chandler's ſhop, or had humility enough even to go to ſervice.

I PROCEED next to take into conſideration what is generally underſtood by Ladies of Quality. Theſe in other words may be more properly called Ladies of Faſhion; for in the modiſh acceptation of the phraſe not ſo much regard [263] is had to their birth or ſtation, or even to their coronet, as to their way of life. The dutcheſs, who has not taſte enough to act up to the character of a Perſon of Quality, is no more reſpected in the polite world than a city knight's Lady; nor does ſhe derive any greater honour from her title, than the hump-backed woman receives from the vulgar. But what is immediately expected from a Lady of Quality, will be ſeen under the next article: for to their praiſe be it ſpoken, moſt of our modern Ladies of Quality affect to be Fine Ladies.

TO deſcribe the life of a Fine Lady would be only to ſet down a perpetual round of viſiting, gaming, dreſſing, and intriguing. She has been bred up in the notion of making a figure, and of recommending herſelf as a woman of ſpirit: for which end ſhe is always foremoſt in the faſhion, and never fails gracing with her appearance every public aſſembly, and every party of pleaſure. Though ſingle, ſhe may coquet with every fine gentleman; or if married, ſhe may admit of gallantries without reproach, and even receive viſits from the men in her bed-chamber. To complete the character, and to make her a Very Fine Lady, ſhe ſhould be celebrated for her wit and beauty, and be parted from her huſband: for as matrimony itſelf is not meant as a reſtraint upon a pleaſure, a ſeparate maintenance is underſtood as a licence to throw off even the appearance of virtue.

FROM the Fine Ladies it is a very natural tranſition to the Ladies of Pleaſure; and indeed from what has already been ſaid concerning Fine Ladies one might imagine that, as they make pleaſure their ſole purſuit, they might properly be entitled Ladies of Pleaſure. But this gay appellation is reſerved for the higher rank of Proſtitutes, whoſe [264] principal difference from the Fine Ladies conſiſts in their profeſſing a trade, which the others carry on by ſmuggling. A Lady of Faſhion, who refuſes no favours but the laſt, or even grants that without being paid for it, is not to be accounted a Lady of Pleaſure, but ranks in an order formerly celebrated under the title of DEMI-REPS. It is whimſical enough to ſee the different complexions aſſumed by the ſame vice, according to the difference of ſtations. The married Lady of Quality may intrigue with as many as ſhe pleaſes, and ſtill remain Right Honourable: The draggle-tailed Street-Walker is a Common Woman, and liable to be ſent to Bridewell; but the Whore of High Life is a Lady of Pleaſure, and rolls in a gilt chariot.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLV. THURSDAY, December 5, 1754.

[265]
Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas,
Gaudia, diſcurſus, noſtri farrago libelli.
JUV.

WHEN I firſt reſolved on appearing in my preſent character, I had ſome thoughts of making my public entry in the front of one or other of our News-papers; as I conſidered that the domeſtic occurrences, which compoſe a part of their equipage, would make no bad figure in my own retinue. Some reflections on the modiſh methods of gaming, would receive an additional confirmation from a paragraph in the News, that ‘"laſt Tueſday a game at Whiſt was played at White's for 1000l. a corner,"’ ‘"or that the match between his Grace the Duke of — and Lord — was decided at Newmarket:"’ and a diſſertation on the luxury of the preſent age would be very aptly [266] illuſtrated by an exact account of the weight of the Turtle dreſſed a few days before for the gentlemen of the abovementioned Chocolate-houſe.

INDEED I have always looked upon the works of Mr. Jenour in the Daily Advertiſer as a kind of ſupplement to the intelligence of Mr. TOWN; as containing a more minute account of the important tranſactions of that claſs of mankind, which has been figuratively ſtiled The World. From theſe daily regiſters, you may not only learn when any body is married or hanged, but you have immediate notice, whenever his Grace goes to Newmarket, or her Ladyſhip ſets out for Bath: and but laſt week, at the ſame time that the gentlemen of the law were told that the Lord Chancellor could not ſit in the Court of Chancery, people of faſhion had the melancholy news that Signor Ricciarelli was not able to ſing.

NOR is that part of Mr. Jenour's lucubrations, which is allotted to Advertiſements, leſs amuſing and entertaining: and many of theſe articles might very properly come under my cognizance. It is here debated, whether the prize of eloquence ſhould be given to Orator Macklin or Orator Henley; and whether Mr. Stephen Pitts is not the beſt qualified to furniſh gentlemen and ladies libraries with teacheſts in Octavo, and cloſe-ſtools in Folio. And beſides the public notices to perſons of taſte, of very rare and old Japan, and moſt curious and inimitable Epagnes for deſerts, as alſo the moſt rich and elegant fancied ſilks to be ſold by auction; many other advices not leſs intereſting to the Town, are here given. We are daily put in mind, that Mrs. Phillips at the Green Caniſter ſtill hopes for the favours of her former good cuſtomers as uſual: that next door to Haddocks's [267] is ſold an antidote againſt the poiſon imbibed at that bagnio: that Dr. Rock infallibly cures a certain epidemical diſtemper by virtue of the King's Patent: that a learned phyſician and ſurgeon will privately accommodate any gentleman (as the Doctor modeſtly expreſſes it in his own Latin) Pro Morbus Vaneria curandus: and that Y. Z. a regular-bred ſurgeon and man-midwife, together with fifty others, will accommodate gentlewomen, that are under a neceſſity of lying in privately.

BUT not only the public tranſactions of Auctioneers, Brokers, and Horſe-dealers, but the moſt private concerns of pleaſure and gallantry may be alſo carried on by means of this paper. Aſſignations are here made, and the moſt ſecret intrigues formed at the expence of two ſhillings. If a genteel young body, who can do all kinds of work, wants a place, ſhe will be ſure to hear of a maſter by advertiſing: Any gentleman and lady of unexceptionable character may meet with lodgings to be let, and no queſtions aſked: How often has Romeo declared in print his unſpeakable paſſion for the charming Peachy! How many gentlemen have made open profeſſions of the ſtricteſt honour and ſecreſy! And how many ladies, dreſt in ſuch a manner, and ſeen at ſuch a place, have been deſired to leave a line for A.B. Before the late Marriage Act it was very uſual for young gentlemen and ladies (poſſeſt of every qualification requiſite to make the marriage ſtate happy) to offer themſelves as a good bargain to each other; and men took the ſame meaſures of advertiſing to get an agreeable companion for life, as they do for an agreeable companion in a poſt-chaiſe. As this traffick in matrimony is now prohibited, it has given occaſion to the opening a new branch of trade; and ſince huſbands and wives are hardly to be got for love or money, ſeveral good-natured females have ſet themſelves up to ſale [268] to the beſt bidder. The Daily Advertiſer is therefore become the univerſal regiſter for new faces; and every day's advertiſements are crouded with offers of young ladies, who would be glad of the company of any elderly gentleman, to paſs his leiſure hours with them, and play at cards.

I LOOK upon the common intelligence in our public papers, with the long train of advertiſements annexed to it, as the beſt account of the preſent domeſtic ſtate of England, that can poſſibly be compiled: nor do I know any thing which would give poſterity ſo clear an idea of the taſte and morals of the preſent age, as a bundle of our daily papers. They would here ſee what books are moſt read, what are our chief amuſements and diverſions: and when they ſhould obſerve the daily inquiries after eloped wives and apprentices, and the frequent accounts of trials in Weſtminſter Hall for Perjury, Adultery, &c. they might form a tolerable notion even of our private life. Among many other reaſons for lamenting that the Art of Printing was not more early diſcovered, I cannot but regret that we have perhaps loſt many accounts of this nature, which might otherwiſe have been handed down to us. With what pleaſure ſhould we have peruſed an Athenian Advertiſer, or a Roman Gazetteer! A curious critic or antiquarian would place them on the ſame ſhelf with the Claſſics, and would be highly pleaſed at diſcovering what days Tully went to his Tuſculum, or Pliny to his magnificent Villa; who was the capital ſinger at the Graecian Opera, and in what characters Roſcius appeared with moſt ſucceſs. Theſe pieces of intelligence would undoubtedly give great ſatisfaction; and I am myſelf acquainted with a very learned gentleman, who has aſſured me, that he has been as much delighted at diſcovering that the Soſii were Horace's bookſellers, that the Hecyra of Terence was damned, and other little particulars [269] of that nature, as with an account of the deſtruction of Carthage, or the death of Caeſar. We ſhould alſo be glad to collect from their advertiſements what things were moſt in requeſt at Athens and Rome. Even our papers, (which perhaps are called Daily from their laſting but a day) are, I fear, of too fugitive a nature to fall under the inſpection of poſterity. To remedy, in ſome meaſure, this inconvenience, I ſhall now conclude my paper with a few advertiſements, which if they have not all actually been inſerted in our papers, are at leaſt of the ſame nature with thoſe, that daily have a place there.

To be ſpoke with every Day at his Houſe in the Old Baily,
BRYAN RAPAWAY,

WHO ſwears Oaths of all Kinds and Prices, and will procure poſitive Evidence at a Day's Warning in all Sorts of Cauſes. He will contract with any Attorney or Quack-Doctor to ſwear by the Quarter; and will ſupply Affidavits, &c. on the moſt reaſonable Terms.

*⁎* He will attend during the Buſineſs of Elections and Double Returns, in the Lobby of the Houſe of Commons, and will ply next Term at Weſtminſter-Hall.

WANTED,

A Genteel Black or Negroe Girl, very handſome; with a ſoft Skin, good Teeth, ſweet Breath, at leaſt five Feet three Inches high, and not above Eighteen. Whoever has ſuch a Girl to diſpoſe of, may hear of a Gentleman who will give fifty Guineas for her, by applying at the Bar of the Shakeſpear's Head Tavern, Covent-Garden.

Note, None but Principals will be treated with; at the ſame Place any genteel White Girl may hear of ſomething to her Advantage.

WANTS A PLACE,

[270]

A Young Man, well acquainted with Arithmetic, Merchants Accompts, &c. would be glad to ſerve any Gentleman as Steward or Rent-gatherer: He is alſo very well acquainted with Algebra, and would be of great Service to any Gentleman by aſſiſting him in hedging his Bets. Direct for X. Y. at the Mount Coffee-Houſe, Groſvenor-Street.

LOST, From about a Lady's Perſon, who went to mob it at Drury Lane Playhouſe one Night laſt Week,

A Plumper for the Cheek, a Bolſter for the Hip, three very white even Teeth, and one Eyebrow. Whoever has found the above Things, and will leave them at Mrs. Mechlin's, Milliner, in New Bond Street, ſhall have five Guineas Reward, and no Queſtions aſked.

This Day are publiſhed,

THE Adventures of Dick Hazard; the Hiſtory of Mr. Joſhua Trueman, and Miſs Peggy Williams; the Hiſtory of Will Ramble; The Inviſible SPY; The CARD; the Travels of Drake Morris; Memoirs of the Shakeſpear's Head; Jaſper Banks; Frank Hammond; and MATRIMONY: And ſpeedily will be publiſhed, The Hiſtory of Sir Humphry Herald and Sir Edward Haunch; Memoirs of Lady Vainlove; Adventures of Tom Doughty; Jack Careleſs; Frank Eaſy; Dick Damnable; Molly Peirſon; &c. &c. &c. being a complete Collection of NOVELS for the Amuſement of the preſent Winter.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLVI. THURSDAY, December 12, 1754.

[271]
—Facies non omnibus una,
Nec diverſa tamen.—
OVID.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

IT is whimſical to obſerve the miſtakes that we country gentlemen are led into at our firſt coming to town. We are induced to think, and indeed truly, that your fine ladies are compoſed of different materials from our rural ones; ſince, though they ſleep all day and rake all night, they ſtill remain as freſh and ruddy as a parſon's daughter or a farmer's wife. At other times we are apt to wonder, that ſuch delicate creatures as they appear ſhould yet be ſo much proof againſt cold, as to look as roſy in January as in June, and even in the ſharpeſt weather [272] to be very unwilling to approach the fire. I was at a loſs to account for this unalterable hue of their complexions: but I ſoon found that beauty was not more peculiar to the air of St. James's than of York; and that this perpetual bloom was not native, but imported from abroad. Not content with that red and white which nature gave, your belles are reduced (as they pretend) to the neceſſity of ſupplying the fluſh of health with the rouge of vermilion, and giving us Spaniſh wool for Engliſh beauty.

THE very reaſon alledged for this faſhionable practice is ſuch, as (if they ſeriouſly conſidered it) the ladies would be aſhamed to mention. ‘"The late hours they are obliged to keep, render them ſuch perfect frights, that they would be as loth to appear abroad without paint as without cloaths."’ This, it muſt be acknowledged, is too true: But would they ſuffer their fathers or their huſbands to wheel them down for one month to the old manſion-houſe, they would ſoon be ſenſible of the change, and ſoon perceive how much the early walk exceeds the late aſſembly. The vigils of the card-table have ſpoiled many a good face; and I have known a beauty ſtick to the midnight rubbers, till ſhe has grown as homely as the Queen of Spades. There is nothing more certain in all Hoyle's caſes, than that Whiſt and late hours will ruin the fineſt ſet of features: but if the ladies would give up their routes for the healthy amuſements of the country, I will venture to ſay their carmine would be then as uſeleſs as their artificial noſegays.

A MORALIST might talk to them of the heinouſneſs of this practice; ſince all deceit is criminal, and painting is no better than looking a lye. And ſhould they urge that nobody is deceived by it, he might add, that the plea for admitting it is then at an end; ſince few are yet arrived at [273] that height of French politeneſs, as to dreſs their cheeks in public, and to profeſs wearing vermilion as openly as powder. But I ſhall content myſelf with uſing an argument more likely to prevail: and ſuch I truſt will be the aſſurance, that this practice is highly diſagreeable to the men. What muſt be the mortification, and what the diſguſt of the lover, who goes to bed to a bride as blooming as an angel, and finds her in the morning as wan and yellow as a corpſe? For marriage ſoon takes off the maſk; and all the reſources of art, all the myſteries of the toilet are then at an end. He that is thus wedded to a cloud inſtead of a Juno, may well be allowed to complain, but without relief: for this is a cuſtom, which once admitted ſo tarniſhes the ſkin, that it is next to impoſſible ever to retrieve it. Let me therefore caution thoſe young beginners, who are not yet diſcoloured paſt redemption, to leave it off in time, and endeavour to procure and preſerve by early hours that unaffected bloom, which art cannot give, and which only age or ſickneſs can take away.

OUR beauties were formerly above making uſe of ſo poor an artifice: They truſted to the lively colouring of nature, which was heightened by temperance and exerciſe; but our modern belles are obliged to retouch their cheeks every day, to keep them in repair. We were then as ſuperior to the French in the aſſembly as in the field: but ſince a trip to France has been thought a requiſite in the education of our ladies as well as gentlemen, our polite females have thought fit to dreſs their faces as well as their heads a là mode de Paris. I am told, that when an Engliſh lady is at Paris, ſhe is ſo ſurrounded with falſe faces, that ſhe is herſelf obliged (if ſhe would not appear ſingular) to put on [274] the maſk. But who would exchange the brilliancy of the diamond for the faint luſtre of French paſte? And for my part I would as ſoon expect, that an Engliſh beauty at Morocco would japan her face with lamb-black, in complaiſance to the ſable beauties of that country. Let the French ladies whitewaſh and plaiſter their fronts, and lay on their colours with a trowel: but theſe dawbings of art are no more to be compared to the genuine glow of a Britiſh cheek, than the coarſe ſtreaks of the painter's bruſh can reſemble the native veins of the marble. This contraſt is placed in a proper light in Mr. Addiſon's fine epigram on Lady Mancheſter; which will ſerve to convince us of the force of undiſſembled beauty.

When haughty Gallia's dames, that ſpread
O'er their pale checks a lifeleſs red,
Beheld this beauteous ſtranger there,
In native charms divinely fair,
Confuſion in their looks they ſhow'd,
And with unborrow'd bluſhes glow'd.

I think, Mr. TOWN, you might eaſily prevail on your fair readers to leave off this unnatural practice, if you could once thoroughly convince them, that it impairs their beauty inſtead of improving it. A lady's face, like the coats in the Tale of a Tub, if left to itſelf, will wear well; but if you offer to load it with foreign ornaments, you deſtroy the original ground.

AMONG other matter of wonder on my firſt coming to town, I was much ſurpriſed at the general appearance of youth among the ladies. At preſent there is no diſtinction in their complexions between a beauty in her teens and a lady in her grand climacteric: yet at the ſame time I [275] could not but take notice of the wonderful variety in the face of the ſame lady. I have known an olive beauty on a Monday grow very ruddy and blooming on Tueſday; turn pale on Wedneſday; come round to the olive hue again on Thurſday; and in a word, change her complexion as often as her gown. I was amazed to find no old aunts in this town, except a few unfaſhionable people, whom no body knows; the reſt ſtill continuing in the zenith of their youth and health, and falling off, like timely fruit, without any previous decay. All this was a myſtery that I could not unriddle, 'till on being introduced to ſome ladies, I unluckily improved the hue of my lips at the expence of a fair one, who unthinkingly had turned her cheek; and found that my kiſſes were given, (as is obſerved in the epigram) like thoſe of Pyramus, through a wall. I then found, that this ſurpriſing youth and beauty was all counterfeit; and that (as Hamlet ſays) ‘"God had given them one face, and they had made themſelves another."’

I HAVE mentioned the accident of my carrying off half a lady's face by a ſalute, that your courtly dames may learn to put on their faces a little tighter; but as for my own daughters, while ſuch faſhions prevail, they ſhall ſtill remain in Yorkſhire. There, I think, they are pretty ſafe; for this unnatural faſhion will hardly make its way into the country, as this vamped complexion would not ſtand againſt the rays of the ſun, and would inevitably melt away in a country dance. The ladies have, indeed, been always the greateſt enemies to their own beauty, and ſeem to have a deſign againſt their own faces. At one time the whole countenance was eclipſed in a black velvet maſk; at another it was blotted with patches; and at preſent it is cruſted over with plaiſter of Paris. In thoſe battered belles, who ſtill [276] aim at conqueſt, this practice is in ſome ſort excuſable; but it is ſurely as ridiculous in a young lady to give up beauty for paint, as it would be to draw a good ſet of teeth merely to fill their places with a row of ivory.

INDEED, ſo common is this faſhion among the young as well as the old, that when I am in a groupe of beauties, I conſider them as ſo many pretty pictures; looking about me with as little emotion, as I do at Hudſon's: And if any thing fills me with admiration, it is the judicious arrangement of the tints, and the delicate touches of the painter. Art very often ſeems almoſt to vye with nature: but my attention is too frequently diverted by conſidering the texture and hue of the ſkin beneath; and the picture fails to charm, while my thoughts are engroſſed by the wood and canvaſs.

I am, Sir, your humble Servant, RUSTICUS.

*⁎*We hope the letter directed (as deſired) for A. B. is received, and ſhould be glad to hear from him.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLVII. THURSDAY, December 19, 1754.

[277]
Hìc mecum licet, hìc, Juvence, quicquid
In buccam tibi venerit, loquaris.
MART.

IT has hitherto been imagined, that though we have equalled, if not ſurpaſſed, the ancients in other liberal arts, we have not yet been able to arrive at that height of eloquence, which was poſſeſſed in ſo amazing a manner by the Grecian and Roman Orators. Whether this has been owing to any peculiar organization of our tongues, or whether it has proceeded from our national love of taciturnity, I ſhall not take upon me to determine: but I will now venture to affirm, that the preſent times might furniſh us with a more ſurpriſing number of Fine Speakers, than have been ſet down by Tully in his treatiſe De Claris Oratoribus. Foreigners can no longer object to us, that the northern coldneſs of our climate has (as it were) [278] purſed up our lips, and that we are afraid to open our mouths: The charm is at length diſſolved; and our people, who before affected the gravity and ſilence of the Spaniard, have adopted and naturalized the volubility of ſpeech, as well as the gay manners, of the French.

THIS change has been brought about by the public-ſpirited attempts of thoſe elevated geniuſſes, who have inſtituted certain ſchools for the cultivation of eloquence in all its branches. Hence it is, that inſtead of languid diſcourſes from the pulpit, ſeveral tabernacles and meeting-houſes have been ſet up, where lay-preachers may diſplay all the powers of oratory in ſighs and groans, and emulate a Whitefield or a Weſley in all the figures of rhetoric.—And not only the enthuſiaſt has his conventicles, but even the free-thinker boaſts his Societies, where he may hold forth againſt religion in tropes, metaphors, and ſimilies. The declamations weekly thundered out at Clare-Market, and the ſubtle argumentations at the Robin Hood, I have formerly celebrated: It now remains to pay my reſpects to the Martin Luther of the age, (as he frequently calls himſelf,) the great Orator MACKLIN; who by declaiming himſelf, and opening a ſchool for the diſputations of others, has joined both the above plans together, and formed the BRITISH INQUISITION. Here, whatever concerns the world of taſte and literature, is debated: Our rakes and bloods, who had been uſed to frequent Covent-Garden merely for the ſake of whoring and drinking, now reſort thither for reaſon and argument; and the Piazza begins to vie with the ancient Portico, where Socrates diſputed.

BUT what pleaſes me moſt in Mr. MACKLIN's Inſtitution is, that he has allowed the tongues of my fair country-women their full play. Their natural talents for [279] Oratory are ſo excellent and numerous, that it ſeems more owing to the envy than prudence of the other ſex, that they ſhould be denied the opportunity of exerting them. The remarkable tendency in our politeſt ladies ‘"to talk, though they have nothing to ſay;"’ and the torrent of eloquence that pours (on the moſt trivial occaſions) from the lips of thoſe females, called Scolds; give abundant proofs of that command of words, and flow of eloquence, which ſo few men have been able to attain. Again, if action is the life and ſoul of an oration, how many advantages have the ladies in this particular? The waving of a ſnowy arm, artfully ſhaded with the enchanting ſlope of a double ruffle, would have twenty times the force of the ſtiff ſee-ſaw of a male orator: and when they come to the moſt animated parts of the oration, which demand uncommon warmth and agitation, we ſhould be vanquiſhed by the heaving breaſt, and all thoſe other charms, which the modern dreſs is ſo well calculated to diſplay.

SINCE the ladies are thus undeniably endued with theſe and many other accompliſhments for Oratory, that no place ſhould hitherto have been opened for their exerting them, is almoſt unaccountable. The lower order of females have, indeed, long ago inſtituted an academy of this kind at the other end of the town, where oyſters and eloquence are in equal perfection: but the politer part of the female world have hitherto had no further opportunity of exerciſing their abilities, than the common occaſions which a new cap or petenlair, the tea or the card table, have afforded them. I am therefore heartily glad, that a plan is at length put in execution, which will encourage their propenſity to talking, and enlarge their topics of converſation: but I would more particularly recommend [280] it to all ladies of a clamorous diſpoſition, to attend at MACKLIN's; that the impetuous ſtream of eloquence, which, for want of another vent, has long been poured on their ſervants or huſbands, may now be carried off by another more agreeable channel.

I COULD not have thought it poſſible, that this undertaking would have ſubſiſted two nights without ſetting all the female tongues from St. James's to Temple-Bar in motion. But the ladies have hitherto been dumb; and Female Eloquence ſeems as unlikely to diſplay itſelf in publick as ever. Whether their modeſty will not permit them to open their mouths in the unhallowed air of Covent-Garden, I know not: but I am rather inclined to think, that the Queſtions propoſed have not been ſufficiently calculated for the female part of the aſſembly. They might perhaps be tempted to debate, ‘"whether Fanny Murray or Lady — were the propereſt to lead the faſhion;"—’ ‘"to what lengths a lady might proceed without the loſs of her reputation;"—’or ‘"whether the Beautifying Lotion or the Royal Waſhball were the moſt excellent Coſmetics."’ It might alſo be expected, in complaiſance to the fair ſex, that the INQUISITOR ſhould now and then read a diſſertation on Natural and Artificial Beauty; in which he might (with that ſoftneſs and delicacy peculiar to himſelf) analyſe a lady's face, and give examples of the ogle, the ſimper, the ſmile, the languiſh, the dimple, &c. with a word or two on the uſe and benefit of paint.

BUT theſe points I ſhall leave to Mr. MACKLIN's conſideration: In the mean time, as it is not in my power to oblige the public with a Lady's Speech, I ſhall fill up the remainder of my paper with an Oration, which my correſpondent is deſirous ſhould appear in print, though he had not ſufficient confidence to deliver it at the INQUISITION.

[281]

QUESTION. Whether the Stage might not be made more conducive to Virtue?

Mr. INQUISITOR,

THE ancient drama had, we know, a religious as well as political view; and was deſigned to inſpire the audience with a reverence to the Gods and a love of their country. Our own Stage, upon particular occaſions, has been made to anſwer the ſame ends: Thus we may remember during the laſt rebellion, beſides the loyalty of the fiddles in the Orcheſtra, we were inſpired with a deteſtation of the pope and pretender by the Nonjuror, the Jeſuit Caught, and ſuch other politico-religious dramas; among which I muſt not forget to mention—(what's the name on't, Mr. INQUISITOR?—what's the name on't?—oh)—Perkin Warbeck, Or the Popiſh Impoſtor.

BUT there is a ſpecies of the drama, which has not yet been mentioned by any of the gentlemen who have ſpoke to the queſtion, and which is very deficient in point of moral: I mean, Pantomimes. Mr. Laws has been very ſevere on the impiety of repreſenting heathen gods and goddeſſes before a truly Chriſtian audience: and to this we may add, that Harlequin is but a wicked ſort of fellow, and is always running after the girls. For my part I have often bluſhed to ſee this impudent rake endeavouring to creep under Columbine's petticoats, and at other times patting her neck, and laying his legs upon her lap. Nobody will ſay indeed, that there is much virtue or morality in theſe entertainments: though it muſt be confeſſed to the honour of our neighbouring houſe here, that the Necromancer and the Sorcerer, after having played many unchriſtian pranks upon the ſtage, are at laſt fairly ſent to the devil. I would therefore recommend it to our Pantomime-writers, that inſtead of the [282] Pantheon, or lewd comedies, they would take their ſubjects from ſome Old Garland, Moral Ballad, or Penny Hiſtory Book. Suppoſe, for example, they were to give us the ſtory of Patient Grizzle in dumb ſhew; ſetting forth, as how a noble lord fell in love with her, as he was hunting;—and there you might have the ſcene of the Spinning Wheel, and the ſong of the Early Horn;—and as how, after many tryals of her patience, which they might repreſent by machinery, this lord at laſt married her;—and then you may have a Grand Temple and a Dance. The other houſe have already revived the good old ſtory of Fortunatus's Wiſhing-cap; and as they are fond of introducing little children in their entertainments, ſuppoſe they were to exhibit a Pantomime of the Three Children in the Wood:—'twould be vaſtly pretty to ſee the paſte-board robin-red-breaſts let down by wires upon the ſtage, to cover the poor innocent babes with paper leaves. But if they muſt have Fairies, and Genii, I would adviſe them to take their ſtories out of that pretty little book, called the Fairy Tales. I am ſure, inſtead of oſtriches, dogs, horſes, lions, monkeys, &c. we ſhould be full as well pleaſed to ſee the Wolf and little red Riding-Hood; and we ſhould laugh vaſtly at the adventures of Puſs in Boots. I need not point out the excellent moral, which would be inculcated by repreſentations of this kind; and I am confident they would meet with the deſerved applauſe of all the old women and children in both galleries.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLVIII. THURSDAY, December 26, 1754.

[283]
—Age, libertate Decembri
Utere.—
HOR.

AT this ſeaſon of the year it has always been cuſtomary for the lower part of the world to expreſs their gratitude to their benefactors; while ſome of a more elevated genius among them cloath their thoughts in a kind of holiday dreſs, and once in the year riſe into poets. Thus the bellman bids good night to all his maſters and miſtreſſes in couplets; the news-carrier hawks his own verſes; and the very lamp-lighter addreſſes his worthy cuſtomers in rhyme. As a ſervant to the public, I ſhould be wanting in the due reſpect to my readers, if I alſo did not take this earlieſt opportunity of paying them the compliments of the ſeaſon, and (in the phraſe of their barbers, taylors, ſhoemakers, and other tradeſmen) wiſh them a merry Chriſtmas and a happy New Year.

[284]THOSE old-faſhioned mortals who have been accuſtomed to look upon this ſeaſon with extraordinary devotion, I leave to con over the explanation of it in Nelſon: It ſhall at preſent be my buſineſs to ſhew the different methods of celebrating it in theſe kingdoms. With the generality, Chriſtmas is looked upon as a feſtival in the moſt literal ſenſe, and held ſacred by good eating and drinking. Theſe, indeed, are the moſt diſtinguiſhing marks of Chriſtmas: The revenue from the malt-tax and the duty upon wines, &c. on account of theſe twelve days, has always been found to encreaſe conſiderably: And it is impoſſible to conceive the ſlaughter that is made among the poultry and the hogs in different parts of the country, to furniſh the prodigious numbers of turkeys and chines, and collars of brawn, that travel up, as preſents, to the metropolis on this occaſion. The jolly cit looks upon this joyous time of feaſting, with as much pleaſure as on the treat of a new-elected alderman, or a lord-mayor's day. Nor can the country farmer rail more againſt the Game-Act, than many worthy citizens, who have ever ſince been debarred of their annual hare; while their ladies can never enough regret their loſs of the opportunity of diſplaying their ſkill, in making a moſt excellent pudding in the belly. But theſe notable houſe-wives have ſtill the conſolation of hearing their gueſts commend the mince-pies without meat, which we are aſſured were made at home, and not like the ordinary heavy things from the paſtry-cooks. Theſe good people would look upon the abſence of mince-pies as the higheſt violation of Chriſtmas; and have remarked with concern the diſregard that has been ſhewn of late years to that Old Engliſh repaſt: For this excellent Britiſh Ollio is as eſſential to Chriſtmas, as pancake to Shrove Tueſday, tanſy to Eaſter, furmity to Midlent-Sunday, or gooſe to Michaelmas Day. And they think it no wonder, [285] that our finical gentry ſhould be ſo looſe in their principles, as well as weak in their bodies, when the ſolid, ſubſtantial, Proteſtant mince-pie has given place among them to the Roman Catholic Aumlets, and the light, puffy, heterodox Pets de Religieuſes.

AS this ſeaſon uſed formerly to be welcomed in with more than uſual jollity in the country, it is probable that the Chriſtmas remembrances, with which the waggons and ſtage-coaches are at this time loaded, firſt took their riſe from the laudable cuſtom of diſtributing proviſions at this ſevere quarter of the year to the poor. But theſe preſents are now ſeldom ſent to thoſe who are really in want of them, but are deſigned as compliments to the great from their inferiors, and come chiefly from the tenant to his rich land-lord, or from the rector of a fat living, as a kind of tythe, to his patron. Nor is the old hoſpitable Engliſh cuſtom, of keeping open houſe for the poor neighbourhood, any longer regarded. We might as ſoon expect to ſee plumb-porridge fill a terrene at the ordinary at White's, as that the lord of the manour ſhould aſſemble his poor tenants to make merry at the great houſe. The ſervants ſwill the Chriſtmas ale by themſelves in the hall, while the ſquire gets drunk with his brother foxhunters in the ſmoking-room.

THERE is no rank of people ſo heartily rejoiced at the arrival of this joyful ſeaſon, as the order of ſervants, journeymen, and apprentices, and the lower ſort of people in general. No maſter or miſtreſs is ſo rigid, as to refuſe them an holiday; and by remarkable good luck the ſame circumſtance, which gives them an opportunity of diverting themſelves, procures then money to ſupport it, by the tax which cuſtom has impoſed upon us in the article of Chriſtmas-Boxes. [286] The butcher and the baker ſend their journey-men and apprentices to levy contributions on their cuſtomers, which are paid back again in the uſual fees to Mr. John and Mrs. Mary. This ſerves the tradeſman as a pretence to lengthen out his bill, and the maſter and miſtreſs to lower the wages on account of the vails. The Chriſtmas Box was formerly the bounty of well-diſpoſed people, who were willing to contribute ſomething towards rewarding the induſtrious, and ſupplying them with neceſſaries. But the gift is now almoſt demanded as a right; and our journeymen, apprentices &c. are grown ſo polite, that inſtead of reſerving their Chriſtmas Box for its original uſe, their ready caſh ſerves them only for preſent pocket-money; and inſtead of viſiting their friends and relations, they commence the fine gentlemen of the week. The ſixpenny hop is crouded with ladies and gentlemen from the kitchen; the Syrens of Catherine Street charm many an holiday gallant into their ſnares; and the play-houſes are filled with beaux, wits and critics, from Cheapſide and White-Chapel. The barrows are ſurrounded with raw lads ſetting their halfpence againſt oranges; and the greaſy cards and dirty cribbage-board employ the genteeler gameſters in every ale-houſe. A merry Chriſtmas has ruined many a promiſing young fellow, who has been fluſh of money at the beginning of the week, but before the end of it has committed a robbery on the till for more.

BUT in the midſt of this general feſtivity there are ſome ſo far from giving into any extraordinary merriment, that they ſeem more gloomy than uſual, and appear with faces as diſmal as the month in which Chriſtmas is celebrated. I have heard a plodding citizen moſt grievouſly complain of the great expence of houſe-keeping at this ſeaſon, when his own and his wife's relations claim the privilege of kindred [287] to eat him out of houſe and home: Then again, conſidering the preſent total decay of trade, and the great load of taxes, it is a ſhame that poor ſhopkeepers ſhould be ſo fleeced and plundered, under the pretence of Chriſtmas Boxes. But if tradeſmen have any reaſon to murmur at Chriſtmas, many of their cuſtomers, on the other hand, tremble at its approach; as it is made a ſanction to every petty mechanic, to break in upon their joy, and diſturb a gentleman's repoſe at this time, by bringing in his bill.

OTHERS, who uſed to be very merry at this ſeaſon, have within this year or two been quite diſconcerted. To put them out of their old way, is to put them out of humour: they have therefore quarrelled with the almanack, and refuſe to keep their Chriſtmas according to Act of Parliament. My Couſin VILLAGE informs me, that this obſtinacy is very common in the country; and that many ſtill perſiſt in waiting eleven days for their mirth, and defer their Chriſtmas till the blowing of the Glaſtonbury Thorn. In ſome, indeed, this cavilling with the calendar has been only the reſult of cloſe oeconomy; who by evading the expence of keeping Chriſtmas with the reſt of the world, find means to neglect it, when the general time of celebrating it is over. Many have availed themſelves of this expedient: and I am acquainted with a couple, who are enraged at the New Style on another account; becauſe it puts them to double expences, by robbing them of the opportunity of keeping Chriſtmas Day and their Wedding Day at the ſame time.

AS to perſons of faſhion, this annual Carnival is worſe to them than Lent, or the empty town in the middle of ſummer. The boiſterous merriment, and aukward affectation of politeneſs among the vulgar, interrupts the courſe of their refined pleaſures, and drives them out of town for the Holidays. [288] The few who remain are very much at a loſs how to diſpoſe of their time; for the theatres at this ſeaſon are opened only for the reception of ſchool-boys and apprentices, and there is no public place where a perſon of faſhion can appear, without being ſurrounded with the dirty inhabitants of St. Giles's, and the brutes from the Wapping ſide of Weſtminſter. Theſe unhappy ſufferers are really to be pitied; and ſince Chriſtmas day has to perſons of diſtinction a great deal of inſipidity about it, I cannot enough applaud an ingenious lady, who ſent cards round to all her acquaintance, inviting them to a route; which they declared was the happieſt thought in the world, becauſe Chriſtmas Day is ſo like Sunday.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER XLIX. THURSDAY, January 2, 1755.

[289]
Eſt in conſilio matrona, admotaque lanis
Emeritâ quae ceſſat acu: ſententia prima
Hujus erit; poſt hanc aetate atque arte minores
Cenſebunt: tanquam famae diſcrimen agatur,
Aut animae: tanta eſt quaerendi cura decoris.
JUV.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

CONTESTED Elections and Double Returns being at preſent the general topic of diſcourſe, a ſubject in which the ladies methinks are but little concerned, I have a Scheme to propoſe to you in their behalf, which I doubt not but you, as their profeſſed patron, will uſe your eloquence to recommend, and your authority to enforce. It has long been a matter of real concern to [290] every well-wiſher to the fair ſex, that the men ſhould be allowed the free choice of repreſentatives, to whom they can make every real or pretended grievance known, while the women are deprived of the ſame privilege; when in reality they have many grievances utterly unknown and unthought of by the men, and which cannot be redreſſed but by a FEMALE PARLIAMENT.

I DO not, indeed, pretend to the honour of firſt projecting this Scheme, ſince an Aſſembly of this nature has been propoſed before: but as it appears to me ſo neceſſary, I would adviſe that writs be immediately iſſued out for calling a Parliament of Women, which for the future ſhould aſſemble every winter, and be diſſolved every third year. My reaſon for ſhortening the time of their ſitting proceeds from the reflection, that full as much buſineſs will be done, at leaſt as many ſpeeches will be made, by women in three years, as by men in ſeven. To this Aſſembly every county and city in England ſhall ſend two members; but from this privilege I would utterly exclude every borough, as we ſhall preſently ſee that they can have no buſineſs to tranſact there. But as I would have their number at leaſt equal to that of the other Parliament, the deficiency ſhould be ſupplied by the ſquares and great ſtreets at the court end of the town, each of which ſhould be repreſented by one of their own inhabitants. In humble imitation of the Houſes of Lords and Commons, the ladies of peers (whether ſpiritual or temporal) ſhould ſit here in their own right, the others by election only; any woman to be qualified, whoſe huſband, or even whoſe father (for I would by no means exclude the unmarried ladies) are qualified to be choſen into the other. In the ſame manner, whatever entitles the huſband or father to vote at that election, ſhould entitle his wife or daughter to vote at this.

[291]HAVING ſettled this point, it now remains to adjuſt the ſubjects which they are to treat of; and theſe we ſhall find to be indeed of the laſt importance. What think you, Sir, of the riſe and fall of faſhions, of as much conſequence to them as the riſe and fall of kingdoms is to us? of the commencing a new acquaintance, equivalent to our making a new alliance? and the ceremonial of a route or a ball, as intereſting as the preliminaries of a treaty or a congreſs? Theſe ſubjects, and theſe alone, will ſufficiently employ them every ſeſſions; and as their judgment muſt be final, how delightful will it be to have bills brought in to determine how many inches of the leg or neck may lawfully be expos'd, how many curteſies at a public place amount to an acquaintance, and what are the preciſe privileges of birth or fortune, that entitle the poſſeſſors to give routs or drums, on week-days or on ſundays. Whoever ſhould preſume to tranſgreſs againſt theſe laws, might be puniſhed ſuitably to their offences: and be baniſhed from public places, or be condemned to do penance in linſey-woolſey: or if any female ſhould be convicted of immodeſty, ſhe might be outlawed, and then (as theſe laws would not bind the nymphs of Drury) we ſhould eaſily diſtinguiſh a modeſt woman as the phraſe is, if not by her looks, at leaſt by her dreſs and appearance, and the victorious Fanny might then be ſuffer'd to ſtrike bold ſtrokes without rivalry or imitation. If any man too ſhould be found ſo groſly offending againſt the laws of faſhion as to refuſe a member a bow at a play or a ſalute at a wedding, how ſuitably would he be puniſhed by being reprimanded on his knees in ſuch an aſſembly, and by ſo fine a woman as we may ſuppoſe the ſpeaker would be? Then doubtleſs would a grand committee ſit on the affair of hoops; and were they eſtabliſhed in their preſent form by proper authority, doors [292] and boxes might be alter'd and enlarg'd accordingly. Then ſhould we talk as familiarly of the viſit bill as of the marriage bill, and with what pleaſure ſhould we peruſe the regulations of the committee of dreſs? Every lover of decorum would be pleaſed to hear that refractory females were taken into cuſtody by the uſher of the black fan: The double return of a viſit would occaſion as many debates as the double return for a certain county, and at the eve of an election how pretty would it be to ſee the ladies of the ſhire going about mounted on their white palfreys and canvaſſing for votes.

TILL this great purpoſe is attain'd, I ſee not how the viſible enormities in point of dreſs, and failures in point of ceremony can effectually be prevented. But then, and not before, I ſhall hope to ſee politeneſs and good breeding diſtinguiſhed from formality and affectation, and dreſſes invented that will improve, not diminiſh the charms of the fair, and rather become than diſguiſe the wearers.

I am, Sir, Yours, &c. TIMOTHY CANVAS.

I AM much obliged to my correſpondent for his letter, and heartily wiſh that this Scheme was carried into execution. The liberties daily taken in point of dreſs demand proper reſtrictions. The ancients ſettled the national habit by law: but the dreſs of our own country is ſo very fluctuating, that if the great grandmothers of the preſent generation were to ariſe, they would not be able to gueſs at their poſterity from their dreſs, but would fancy themſelves in a ſtrange country. As theſe affairs fall more immediately under the cognizance of the ladies, the female world in general would ſoon be ſenſible of the advantages accruing from a female parliament: and tho' ladies of faſhion might [293] probably claim ſome peculiar liberties in dreſs by their privilege, it might naturally be expected that this wiſe aſſembly would at leaſt keep the reſt of the ſex in order; nor ſuffer enormous hoops to ſpread themſelves acroſs the whole pavement, to the detriment of all honeſt men going upon buſineſs along the ſtreet; nor permit the chandler's wife to retail half-quarterns from behind the counter, in a ſhort ſtomacher and without an hankerchief.

I AM aware that a conſiderable objection may be brought againſt this Scheme: to wit, that a Female Parliament (like thoſe of the men) may be ſubject to corruption, and be made dependant on a court. The enormous Elizabeth Ruff, and the aukward Queen of Scots Mob, are fatal inſtances of the evil influence which courts have upon faſhions: and as no one can tell the power which a Britiſh Queen might have over the councils of a Female Parliament, future ages might perhaps ſee the ſtays bolſtered out into hump-backs, or the petticoats let down to conceal a bandy leg, from the ſame ſervile complaiſance which warped the necks of Alexander's courtiers.

BUT though a Parliament on the foregoing ſcheme has not yet taken place, an inſtitution of the like nature has been contrived among the order of females, who (as I mentioned in a former paper) advertiſe for gentlemen to play at cards with them. The reader may remember, that ſome time ago an advertiſement appeared in the public papers, from the Covent-Garden Society; in which it was ſet forth, that one of their members was voted common. This very ſociety is compoſed of theſe Agreeable Young Ladies, whole buſineſs it is to play at cards with thoſe gentlemen, who have good-nature and fortune ſufficient to ſit down contented with being loſers. It is divided, like the [294] upper and lower Houſes of Parliament, into Ladies and Commons. The upper order of Card-players take their ſeats according to the rank of thoſe who game at high ſtakes with them; while the Commons are made up of the lower ſort of gamblers within the hundreds of Drury and Covent-Garden. Every one is obliged to pay a certain tax out of her Card-money; and the revenue ariſing from it is applied to the levying of hoop-petticoats, ſacks, petenlairs, caps, handkerchiefs, aprons, &c. to be iſſued out nightly according to the exigence and degree of the members. Many revolutions have happened in this ſociety ſince its inſtitution: A Commoner in the ſpace of a few weeks has been called up to the Houſe of Ladies; and another, who at firſt ſat as Peereſs, has been ſuddenly degraded, and voted common.

MORE particulars of this Society have not come to my knowledge: but their deſign ſeems to be, to erect a Common Wealth of themſelves, and to reſcue their liberties from being invaded by thoſe who have preſumed to tyrannize over them. If this practice of playing their own cards, and ſhuffling for themſelves, ſhould generally prevail among all the Agreeable Young Gameſters of Covent-Garden, I am concerned to think what will become of the venerable ſiſterhood of Douglaſs, Haddocks, and Noble, as well as the fraternity of Harris, Derry, and the reſt of thoſe gentlemen, who have hitherto acted as Groom-Porters, and had the principal direction of the game. From ſuch a combination it may greatly be feared, that the honourable profeſſion of Pimp will in a ſhort time become as uſeleſs as that of a Fleet-Parſon.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER L. THURSDAY, January 9, 1755.

[295]
—Vitae
Percipit humanos odium, luciſque videndae,
Ut ſibi conſciſcant maerenti pectore lethum.
LUCRET.

THE laſt ſeſſions deprived us of the only ſurviving member of a Society, which (during its ſhort exiſtence) was equal both in principles and practice to the Mohocks and Hell Fire Club of tremendous memory. This Society was compoſed of a few broken gameſters and deſperate young rakes, who threw the ſmall remains of their bankrupt fortunes into one common ſtock, and thence aſſumed the name of the Laſt Guinea Club. A ſhort life and a merry one was their favourite maxim; and they determined, when their finances ſhould be quite exhauſted, to die as they had lived, like gentlemen. Some of their [296] members had the good luck to get a reprieve by a good run at cards, and others by ſnapping up a rich heireſs or a dowager; while the reſt, who were not cut off in the natural way by duels or the gallows, very reſolutely made their quietus with laudanum or the piſtol. The laſt that remained of this Society had very calmly prepared for his own execution: he had cocked his piſtol, deliberately placed the muzzle of it to his temple, and was juſt going to pull the trigger, when he bethought himſelf that he could employ it to better purpoſe upon Hounſlow Heath. This brave man, however, had but a very ſhort reſpite, and was obliged to ſuffer the ignominy of going out of the world in the vulgar way by a halter.

THE enemies of play will perhaps conſider thoſe gentlemen, who boldly ſtake their whole fortunes at the gaming-table, in the ſame view with theſe deſperadoes; and they may even go ſo far as to regard the polite and honourable aſſembly at White's as a kind of Laſt Guinea Club. Nothing, they will ſay, is ſo fluctuating as the property of a gameſter, who (when luck runs againſt him) throws away whole acres at every caſt of the dice, and whoſe houſes are as unſure a poſſeſſion, as if they were built with cards. Many, indeed, have been reduced to their laſt guinea at this genteel gaming-houſe: but the moſt inveterate enemies to White's muſt allow, that it is but now and then, that a gameſter of quality, who looks upon it as a toſs-up whether there is another world, takes his chance, and diſpatches himſelf, when the odds are againſt him in this.

BUT however free the gentlemen of White's may be from any imputation of this kind, it muſt be confeſſed that Suicide begins to prevail ſo generally, that it is the moſt gallant exploit, by which our modern heroes chuſe to ſignalize themſelves; and in this, indeed, they behave with uncommon proweſs. From the days of Plato down to [297] theſe a Suicide has always been compared to a ſoldier on guard deſerting his poſt; but I ſhould rather conſider a ſet of theſe deſperate men, who ruſh on certain death, as a body of troops ſent out on the Forlorn Hope. They meet every face of death, however horrible, with the utmoſt reſolution: ſome blow their brains out with a piſtol; ſome expire like Socrates, by poiſons; ſome fall, like Cato, on the point of their own ſwords; and others, who have lived like Nero, affect to die like Seneca, and bleed to death. The moſt exalted geniuſſes I ever remember to have heard of, were a party of reduced gameſters, who bravely reſolved to pledge each other in a bowl of laudanum. I was alſo lately informed of a gentleman, who went among his uſual companions at the gaming-table the day before he made away with himſelf, and coolly queſtioned them, which they thought the eaſieſt and genteeleſt method of going out of the world: for there is as much difference between a mean perſon and a man of quality in their manner of deſtroying themſelves, as in their manner of living. The poor ſneaking wretch, ſtarving in a garret, tucks himſelf up in his liſt garters; a ſecond, croſt in love, drowns himſelf, like a blind puppy, in Roſamond's Pond; and a third cuts his throat with his own razor. But the man of faſhion almoſt always dies by a piſtol; and even the cobler of any ſpirit goes off by a doſe or two extraordinary of gin.

BUT this falſe ſpirit of courage, however noble it may appear to the deſperate and abandoned, in reality amounts to no more than the reſolution of the highwayman, who ſhoots himſelf with his own piſtol, when he finds it impoſſible to avoid being taken. All poſſible means therefore ſhould be deviſed to extirpate ſuch abſurd bravery, and to make it appear every way horrible, odious, contemptible, and ridiculous. From reading the public prints a foreigner might be naturally led to imagine, that we are the moſt lunatic [298] people in the whole world. Almoſt every day informs us, that the coroner's inqueſt has ſat on the body of ſome miſerable Suicide, and brought in their verdict Lunacy; but it is very well known that the inquiry has not been made into the ſtate of mind of the deceaſed, but into his fortune and family. The law has indeed provided, that the deliberate Self-Murderer ſhould be treated like a brute, and denied the rites of burial: but among hundreds of lunatics by purchaſe, I never knew this ſentence executed but on one poor cobler who hanged himſelf in his own ſtall. A pennyleſs poor dog who has not left enough to defray the funeral charges, may perhaps be excluded the church-yard; but Self-murder by a piſtol genteely mounted, or the Paris-hilted ſword qualifies the polite owner for a ſudden death, and entitles him to a pompous burial, and a monument ſetting forth his virtues in Weſtminſter Abbey. Every man in his ſober ſenſes muſt wiſh that the moſt ſevere laws that could poſſibly be contrived were enacted againſt Suicides. This ſhocking bravado never did (and I am confident never will) prevail among the more delicate and tender ſex in our own nation: tho' hiſtory informs us that the Roman Ladies were once ſo infatuated as to throw off the ſoftneſs of their nature, and commit violence on themſelves, 'till the madneſs was curbed by expoſing their naked bodies in the public ſtreets. This, I think, would afford a hint for fixing the like marks of ignominy on our Male-Suicides, and I would have every lower wretch of this ſort dragged at the cart's tail, and afterwards be hung in chains at his own door, or have his quarters put up in terrorem in the moſt public places as a rebel to his Maker. But that the Suicide of quality might be treated with more reſpect, he ſhould be indulged in having his wounded corpſe and ſhattered brains lay (as it were) in ſtate for ſome days, of which dreadful ſpectacle we may conceive the horror from the following picture drawn by Dryden.

The SLAYER OF HIMSELF too ſaw I there:
The gore congealed was clotted in his hair:
With eyes half-cloſed, and mouth wide ope he lay,
And grim as when he breathed his ſullen ſoul away.
DRYDEN's FABLES.

[299]THE common murderer has his ſkeleton preſerved at Surgeon's Hall in order to deter others from being guilty of his crimes; and I think it would not be improper to have a charnel-houſe ſet apart to receive the bones of theſe more unnatural Self-Murderers, in which monuments ſhould be erected giving an account of their deaths, and adorned with the glorious enſigns of their raſhneſs, the rope, the knife, the ſword, or the piſtol.

THE cauſe of theſe frequent ſelf-murders among us has been generally imputed to the peculiar temperature of our climate. Thus a dull day is looked upon as a natural order of execution, and Engliſhmen muſt neceſſarily ſhoot, hang, and drown themſelves in November. That our ſpirits are in ſome meaſure influenced by the air cannot be denied, but we are not ſuch meer Barometers as to be driven to deſpair and death by the ſmall degree of gloom that our winter brings with it. If we have not ſo much ſunſhine as ſome countries in the world, we have infinitely more than many others, and I do not hear that men diſpatch themſelves by dozens in Ruſſia or Sweden, or that they are unable to keep up their ſpirits even in the total darkneſs of Greenland. Our climate exempts us from many diſeaſes to which other more ſouthern nations are naturally ſubject, and I can never be perſuaded that being born near the North-pole is a phyſical cauſe for Self-Murder.

DESPAIR indeed is the natural cauſe of theſe ſhocking actions; but this is commonly deſpair brought on by wilful extravagance and debauchery. Theſe firſt involve men in difficulties, and then death at once delivers them of their lives and their cares. For my part, when I ſee a young profligate wantonly ſquandering his fortune in bagnios or at the gaming-table, I cannot help looking on him as haſtening his own death, and in a manner digging his own grave. As he is at laſt induced to kill himſelf by motives ariſing from his vices, I conſider him as dying of ſome diſeaſe, which thoſe vices naturally produce. If his extravagance has been chiefly in luxurious eating and drinking, I imagine him poiſoned by his wines, or ſurfeited by a favourite diſh; and if he has thrown away his eſtate in bawdy-houſes, I conclude him deſtroyed by rottenneſs and filthy diſeaſes.

[300]ANOTHER principal cauſe of the frequency of Suicide is the noble ſpirit of Freethinking which has diffuſed itſelf among all ranks of people. The libertine of faſhion has too refined a taſte to trouble himſelf at all about a ſoul or an hereafter: but the vulgar infidel is at wonderful pains to get rid of his bible, and labours to perſuade himſelf out of his religion. For this purpoſe he attends conſtantly at the diſputant ſocieties, where he hears a great deal about free will, free agency, and predeſtination, 'till at length he is convinced that man is at liberty to do as he pleaſes, lays his misfortunes to the charge of providence, and comforts himſelf that he was inevitably deſtined to be tyed up in his own garters. The courage of theſe heroes proceeds from the ſame principles whether they fall by their own hands, or thoſe of Jack Ketch: The Suicide of whatever rank looks death in the face without ſhrinking; as the gallant rogue affects an eaſy unconcern under Tyburn, throws away the pſalm-book, bids the cart drive off with an oath, and ſwings like a gentleman.

IF this madneſs ſhould continue to grow more and more epidemical, it will be expedient to have a Bill of Suicide, diſtinct from the common bill of mortality, brought in yearly, in which ſhould be ſet down the number of Suicides, their methods of deſtroying themſelves, and the likely cauſes of their doing ſo. In this, I believe, we ſhould find but few martyrs to the weather, but their deaths would commonly be imputed to deſpair, produced by ſome cauſes ſimilar to the following. In the little ſketch of a Bill of Suicide underneath, I have left blanks for the date of the year, as well as for the number of Self-Murderers, their manner of dying, &c. which would naturally be filled up by the proper perſons if ever this ſcheme ſhould be put in execution.

Bill of SUICIDE for the Year —

  • Of Newmarket Races [...]
  • Of Kept Miſtreſſes [...]
  • Of Electioneering [...]
  • Of Lotteries [...]
  • Of French Claret, French Lace, French Cooks, and French Diſeaſe [...]
  • Of WHITES [...]
  • Of Chineſe Temples, &c. [...]
  • Of a Country Seat [...]
  • Of a Town Houſe [...]
  • Of Fortune Hunting [...]
  • Of a Tour thro' France and Italy [...]
  • Of Lord Bolingbroke [...]
  • Of the Robin Hood Society [...]
  • Of an Equipage [...]
  • Of a Dog-Kennel [...]
  • Of Covent Garden [...]
  • Of Plays, Operas, Concerts, Maſquerades, Routes, Drums, &c. [...]
  • Of keeping the beſt Company [...]

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LI. THURSDAY, January 16, 1755.

[301]
Adde quòd abſumunt vires, pereuntque labore:
Adde quòd alterius ſub nutu degitur aetas.
Labitur interea res, & vadimonia fiunt,
Languent officia, atque aegrotat fama vacillans.
LUCRET.

SINCE pleaſure is almoſt the only purſuit of a fine gentleman, it is very neceſſary, for the maintaining his conſequence and character, that he ſhould have a girl in keeping. Intriguing with women of faſhion, and debauching tradeſmen's daughters, naturally happen in the common courſe of gallantry; but this convenient female, to fill up the intervals of buſineſs, is the principal mark of his ſuperior taſte and quality. Every priggiſh clerk to an attorney, or pert apprentice can throw away his occaſional guinea in Covent-Garden; but the ſhortneſs of their [302] finances will not permit them to perſevere in debauchery with the air and ſpirit of a man of quality. The Kept Miſtreſs (which thoſe half-reprobates dare not think of) is a conſtant part of the retinue of a complete fine gentleman, and is, indeed, as indiſpenſible a part of his equipage, as a French valet de chambre or a four-wheeled poſt-chaiſe.

IT was formerly the faſhion among the ladies to keep a monkey: At that time every woman of quality thought herſelf obliged to follow the mode; and even the merchants wives in the city had their faſhionable pugs to play tricks and break china. A Girl in Keeping is as diſagreeable to ſome of our men of pleaſure, as pug was to ſome ladies; but they muſt have one to ſpend money and do miſchief, that they may be reckoned young fellows of ſpirit. Hence it happens, that many gentlemen maintain girls, who in fact are little more than their nominal miſtreſſes; for they ſee them as ſeldom, and behave to them with as much indifference as if they were their wives: however, as the woman in a manner bears their name, and is maintained by them, they may appear in the world with the genteel character of a Keeper. I have known ſeveral gentlemen take great pains to heighten their reputation in this way; and turn off a firſt miſtreſs, merely becauſe ſhe was not ſufficiently known, for the ſake of a celebrated woman of the town, a dancer, or an actreſs: and it is always the firſt ſtep of an Engliſhman of faſhion after his arrival at Paris, to take one of the Filles d' Opera under his protection. It was but the other day, that Florio went abroad, and left his girl to roll about the town in a chariot, with an unlimited order on his banker; and almoſt as ſoon as he got to France, took a ſmart girl off the ſtage, to make as genteel a figure at Paris. In ſhort, as a gentleman keeps running horſes, goes to White's, and gets into parliament, for the name of the [303] thing; ſo muſt he likewiſe have his Kept Miſtreſs, becauſe it is the faſhion: and I was mightily pleaſed with hearing a gentleman once boaſt, that he lived like a man of quality—For, ſays he, I have a poſt-chaiſe and never ride in it, I have a wife and never ſee her, and I keep a miſtreſs and never lie with her.

BUT if theſe ſort of Keepers, who never care a farthing for their miſtreſſes, are to be laughed at, thoſe who are really fond of their Dulcineas are to be pitied. The moſt hen-pecked huſband, that ever bore the grievous yoke of a ſhrew, is not half ſo miſerable, as a man who is ſubject to the humours and unaccountable caprice of a cunning ſlut, who finds him in her power. Her behaviour will continually give him new occaſion of jealouſy; and perhaps ſhe will really diſpenſe her favours to every rake in town, that will bid up to her price. She will ſmile when ſhe wants money, be inſolent when ſhe does not, and in ſhort leave no artifice untried, to plague his heart, and drain his pocket. A friend of mine uſed conſtantly to rail at the ſlaviſh condition of married men, and the tyranny of petticoat-government: he therefore prudently reſolved to live an uncontrouled batchelor, and for this reaſon pitched upon a country girl, who ſhould ſerve him as an handmaid. Determining to keep her in a very ſnug and retired manner, he had even calculated how much ſhe would ſave him in curtailing his ordinary expences at taverns and bagnios: but this ſcheme of oeconomy did not laſt long; for the artful jade ſoon contrived ‘"to wind her cloſe into his eaſy heart,"’ and inveigled him to maintain her in all the ſplendor and eclat of a firſt rate lady of pleaſure. He at firſt treated her with all the indifference of a faſhionable huſband; but as ſoon as ſhe found herſelf to be entire miſtreſs of his affections, it is ſurpriſing to think what pains ſhe took, to bring him to the moſt abject compliance [304] with all her whimſies, and to tame him to the patient thing he now is. A frown on his part would frequently coſt him a brocade, and a tear from her was ſure to extort a new handkerchief or an apron. Upon any ſlight quarrel—O ſhe would leave him that moment;—and though the baggage had more cunning than to hazard an intrigue with any one elſe, ſhe would work upon his jealouſy by continually twitting him with—She knew a gentleman, who would ſcorn to uſe her ſo barbarouſly,—and ſhe would go to him, if ſhe could be ſure ſhe was not with child.—This laſt circumſtance was a coup de reſerve, which never failed to bring about a reconciliation: nay, I have known her make great uſe of breeding qualms upon occaſion; and things were once come to ſuch an extremity, that ſhe was even forced to have recourſe to a ſham miſcarriage to prevent their ſeparation. He has been often heard to declare, that if he ever had a child by her, it ſhould take its chance at the Foundling Hoſpital. He had lately an opportunity of putting this to a trial: but the bare hinting of ſuch a barbarous deſign threw the lady into hyſterics. However, he was determined, that the babe, as ſoon as it was born, ſhould be put out to nurſe,—he hated the ſquall of children. Well! madam was brought to bed: ſhe could not bear the dear infant out of her ſight; and it would kill her not to ſuckle it herſelf. The father was therefore obliged to comply; and an acquaintance caught him the other morning, ſtirring the pap, holding the clouts before the fire, (and in a word) dwindled into a mere nurſe. Such is the transformation of this Kind Keeper, whoſe character is ſtill more ridiculous than that of a Fondle-wife among huſbands. The amours, indeed, of theſe fond ſouls commonly end one of theſe two ways: they either find themſelves deſerted by their miſtreſs, when ſhe has effectually ruined their conſtitution and eſtate; or after as many years cohabitation, as would have tired them of a wife, they [305] grow ſo doatingly fond of their whore, that by marriage they make her an honeſt woman, and perhaps a lady of quality.

THE moſt unpardonable ſort of Keepers are Married Men, and Old Men. I will give the reader a ſhort ſketch of each of theſe characters, and leave him to judge for himſelf. Cynthio about two years ago was married to Clarinda, one of the fineſt women in the world. Her temper and diſpoſition was as agreeable as her perſon, and her chief endeavour was to pleaſe her huſband. But Cynthio's folly and vanity ſoon got the better of his conſtancy and gratitude, and it was not ſix months after his marriage, before he took a girl he was formerly acquainted with into keeping. His dear Polly uſes him like a dog, and he is cruel enough to revenge the ill-treatment he receives from her upon his wife. He ſeldom viſits her, but when his wench has put him out of humour, and once, though indeed unknowingly, communicated to her a filthy diſeaſe, for which he was obliged to his miſtreſs. Yet is he ſtill ſo infatuated as to doat on this vile huſſy, and wiſhes it in his power to annul his marriage, and legitimate his baſtards by Polly. Yet is it palpable to every one but Cynthio, that Polly has no attraction but the name of Miſtreſs, and Clarinda no fault but being his wife.—Sir Thrifty Gripe is arrived at his Grand Climacteric, and has juſt taken a girl into keeping. Till very lately the multiplication-table was his rule of life, and ‘"a penny ſaved is a penny got"’ was his favourite maxim. But he has ſuddenly deſerted Wingate for Rocheſter, and the Change for Covent-Garden. Here he met with the buxom Charlotte, who at once opened his heart and his purſe, and ſoon begun to ſcatter his guineas in paying her debts, and ſupplying her freſh expences. Her equipage is as genteel and elegant as that of a dutcheſs, and the wiſe men in the alley ſhake their heads at Sir Thrifty as the greateſt ſpendthrift in town. Sir Thrifty was formerly married to a merchant's daughter who brought him a fortune of 20,000 l. but after ſhe had two ſons by him, he ſent her into the North of Wales to live cheap, and prevent the probable expence of more children. His ſons were obliged to an uncle for education, [306] and Sir Thrifty now ſcarce allows them enough to ſupport them. His miſtreſs and he almoſt always appear together at public places, where ſhe conſtantly makes a jeſt of him, while the old dotard dangles at her elbow, like January by the ſide of May. Thus Sir Thrifty lives, curſed by his own ſons, jilted by his miſtreſs, and laughed at by the reſt of the world.

IT is very diverting to obſerve the ſhifts to which perſons in middling or low life are reduced, in order to bear this new incumbrance with which they ſometimes chuſe to load themſelves. The extravagances of a girl has put many a clerk on defrauding his maſter, ſent many a diſtreſſed gentleman's watch to the pawnbroker's, and his cloaths to Monmouth Street, as well as the poor gentleman himſelf to the gaming-table, or perhaps to Hounſlow Heath. I know a templar who always keeps a girl for the firſt month after he receives his allowance, when his poverty obliges him to diſcard her, and live on mutton-chops and porter for the reſt of the quarter: and it was but lately that my mercer diſcovered his apprentice to be concerned with two others in an aſſociation for maintaining one trull common to the whole three.

THIS review of one of the chief ſources of extravagance in the higher and middling walks of life will help us in accounting for the frequent mortgages and diſtreſſes in families of faſhion, and the numerous bankruptcies in trade. Here alſo I cannot help obſerving that in this caſe the miſbehaviour of the women is in great meaſure to be charged to the men; for how can it be expected that a lady ſhould take any pleaſure in diſcharging the domeſtic duties of a wife, when ſhe ſees her huſband's affections placed abroad. Nothing indeed can be advanced in vindication of looſe conduct in the fair ſex, but, conſidering our modern morals, it is ſurely not much to be wondered at, when the huſband openly affronts his family by keeping a wench, if the wife alſo takes care to provide herſelf a gallant.

THE CONNOISSEUR By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LII. THURSDAY, January 23, 1755.

[307]
—Non ILLA colo calathiſve Minervae
Faemineas aſſueta manus.—
VIRG.
HUNC ſi puellarum inſereres choro
Mirè ſagaces falleret hoſpites
Diſcrimen obſcurum, ſolutis
Crinibus, ambiguoque vultu.
HOR.

I AM perſuaded that my readers will agree with me in thinking that the writers of the following letters ought to change cloaths; ſince, as the caſe ſtands at preſent, the one ſeems to be a Pretty Miſs in breeches, and the other a Blood in petticoats.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR!

ROCKS, deſarts, wilds, waſtes, ſavages, and barbarians make up the ſum total of the odious country: I am juſt returned from a viſit there, and would not [308] paſs another three weeks in the ſame way to be lord of the manor.

HAVING received frequent invitations from Sir Sampſon Fivebars, and having heard much of the beauty of his three ſiſters, in an evil hour I took a reſolution to ſacrifice this Chriſtmas to him at his ſeat in Wiltſhire. I flattered myſelf with the hopes that the novelty and oddneſs of the ſcene would ſerve me at leaſt to laugh at, and that if the ruſtics were not mere ſtocks and ſtones, my cloaths and diſcourſe would have taught them to talk and dreſs like human creatures. Need I tell you that I was diſappointed? Sir Sampſon is what the country people call a hearty man. He has the ſhape and conſtitution of a porter, and is ſturdy enough to encounter Broughton without mufflers; ‘"when he ſpeaks, thunder breaks;"’ he hunts almoſt every morning, and takes a toaſt and tankard for his breakfaſt. You may eaſily imagine, that what was pleaſure to him muſt be torture to me; and indeed I would as ſoon draw in a mill, or carry a chair for my diverſion, as follow any of their horrid country amuſements. But Sir Sampſon out of his abundant good-nature inſiſted on lending me a gun, and ſhowing me a day's ſport of ſhooting. For this purpoſe he loaded me with a huge gun, threw a bag and pouch acroſs my ſhoulders, and made me look for all the world like Robinſon Cruſoe. After I had followed him over three or four ploughed fields, a ſervant, who was with us, hollowed out, Mark! when the Baronet's gun went off ſo ſuddenly that it threw me into a ſwoon, and at laſt I could hardly be convinced that Sir Sampſon had ſhot nothing but a partridge.

AFTER this you will conclude that I was not to be prevailed on to hunt. Once indeed Miſs Fanny did tempt me to accompany her on a morning-ride, but even of this I [309] heartily repented. Miſs Fanny, I found, valued neither hedge nor ditch, has the ſtrength of a chair-woman, and in ſhort is more like Trulla in Hudibras, or Boadicia in the play, than a woman of faſhion. Unluckily too the horſe I rode was ſkittiſh and unruly; ſo that while I was ſcampering after Miſs Fanny a ſudden ſtart brought me to the ground. I received no hurt, but the fall ſo fluttered my ſpirits, that Miſs Fanny was obliged to take me up behind her. When we arrived at the houſe I was in the utmoſt confuſion, for the booby ſervants ſtood gaping and grinning at my diſtreſs, and Sir Sampſon himſelf told me, with a laugh as horrible as Caliban's, that he would lend me one of his maids to carry me out airing every morning.

BESIDES theſe and fifty other mortifications I could ſcarce get any reſt during the whole time I remained there: every other morning I was conſtantly waked by the hungry knight, juſt returned from the chace and bawling for dinner. My breakfaſt was what they called their afternoon tea, at which I always aſſiſted the ladies, for I ſhould infallibly have periſhed had I ſtayed in the hall amidſt the jargon of toaſts and the fumes of tobacco. I thought indeed my time might be much more agreeably employed in the parlour; but even here my diſappointment was grievous paſt expreſſion. Theſe fair ones, for ſuch they were, were hale indeed and ruddy, and having been always cooped up, like turkeys in a pen, were really no better than belles ſauvages, being totally ignorant of the faſhionable arts and languiſhing delicateſſe of women of faſhion. Their cloaths were huddled on merely with a view to cover their nakedneſs, and they had no notion that their eyes were given them for any other purpoſe than to ſee, and what is more ſtrange, to read, forſooth! For my part, Mr. TOWN, unleſs a woman can uſe her eyes to more advantage, I ſhould as ſoon fall in [310] love with my lap dog or my monkey; and what conſtitutes the difference between a lady and her cookmaid but her taſte in dreſs? Mobs and handkerchiefs anſwer the end of covering, but the main purpoſe of dreſs is to reveal. I really almoſt begin to think that theſe awkard creatures were ſo ſtupid and unaccountable as to have no deſign upon me. To complete the oddity of their characters, theſe girls are conſtant at church, but never dreamt of promoting an intrigue there; employ their whole time there in praying, never heard of ſuch things as cut fans, and are ſo attentive to the queer old put of a preacher that they ſcarce look or liſten to any one elſe. After ſervice too the doctor is always taken home to dinner, and is as conſtant at table on Sunday as a roaſt ſirloin and a plumb pudding.

BUT even with theſe unaccountable females, I thought I could have paſſed my evenings tolerably if I could have got them to cards, which have the charming faculty of rendering all women equally agreeable. But theſe, I found, they were almoſt wholly unaccuſtomed to. I once indeed heard the dear cards mentioned, and was in hopes of ſomething like an aſſembly. But what was my mortification! when inſtead of ſeeing half a dozen card-tables &c. ſet out, and Whiſt, Brag, or Lanſquenet going forward, I ſaw theſe ſtrange women place themſelves at a huge round table with country girls and cherry-cheeked bumkins to play, according to annual Chriſtmas cuſtom, at Pope Joan and Snip-ſnap-ſnorum.

IT would be endleſs to recount the miſeries I ſuffered in thoſe three weeks. Even the neceſſaries of life were denied me, and I could ſcarce have been more at a loſs among the Hottentots. Would you think it, Sir? tho' this houſe had a family in it, and a family of females too, not a drop of [311] Benjamin-waſh, nor a duſt of almond powder could be procured there, nor indeed in all the pariſh; and I was forced to ſcrub my hands with filthy waſh-ball, which ſo ruined their complexion that laying in gloves will not recover them this fortnight. Add to this that I never could dreſs for want of pomatum, ſo that my hair was always in diſhevelle, and I am ſure I ſhould not have been known at the Dilettantì. At length, Sir! my ſnuff and ſalts were pretty nigh exhauſted; and to add to my diſtreſs, I loſt my ſnuff-box. Theſe loſſes, were irreparable there; not all the country afforded ſuch ſnuff and ſalts as mine, I could as ſoon live without food as without either, and not a box could I touch but one of Deard's, and of my own chuſing. So I hurried up to town, and being juſt recovered from the fatigue of my journey I ſend you this, in hopes that my woeful experience will deter all my friends from following a chaſe as mad and hare-brained as any of Sir Sampſon's; ſince it is impoſſible to exiſt a day there with tolerable eaſe, and neither wit nor beauty are worth one pinch unleſs they are improved by a Town Education.

I am, Sir, Yours, &c. DILLY DIMPLE.

MY other correſpondent, by the familiarity of her addreſs muſt: be, I am ſure, a woman of faſhion.

DEAR TOWN!

DID I know your chriſtian name I would call you by it, to ſhow you at firſt ſetting out that I know the world, and was born and bred in high life.

THE deſign of this epiſtle is to expreſs to you the uneaſineſs that ſome of us women of ſpirit feel at being incumbered with petticoats, and to convince you by our way of life that had we been men we ſhould have been Bucks of the Firſt Head. Be aſſured however that ſuch of us as are [312] unmarried are ſtrictly virtuous. We have indeed been accuſed of copying the dreſs of the nymphs of Drury. And can any thing be invented more becoming? Fanny, it muſt be owned has Taſte. What ſo ſmart as a cocked hat? and who but ſee's the advantages of ſhort petticoats, unleſs it be ſome ſquire's aukward daughter, who never yet heard of a Poloneze and never accidentally ſhews her leg without bluſhing?

IT is true this ſimilitude in dreſs now and then occaſions ſome droll miſtakes. In the park the joke has been ſometimes carried ſo far I have been obliged to call the centry: and how did a young templar ſtart and ſtare when, having juſt made an appointment with him, he ſaw me ſtep into a chair adorned with coronets!

IF you frequent Ranelagh you muſt undoubtedly have ſeen or heard me there. I am always ſurrounded with a croud of fellows, and my voice and laugh is ſure to be the loudeſt, eſpecially while Beard is ſinging. One is my dear lord, another my ſweet colonel, and the reſt I call Tom, or Dick, or Harry, as I would their footmen. At the play I always enter in the firſt act. All the eyes of the houſe are turned upon me. I am quite compoſed. Before I am ſettled the act is over, and to ſome I nod or curtſy, with others I talk and laugh till the curtain falls.

WHAT would I give to change my ſex! Entre nous, I have a ſtrong inclination to ſee the world in maſquerade. If you love me, keep it ſecret, and ſhould you hear of any prank more wild and buckiſh than uſual, conclude it to be played by me in men's cloaths.

Your's, as you mind me, HARRIOT HARF-BRAIN.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LIII. THURSDAY, January 30, 1755.

[313]
—Venena bibuntur.
JUV.

NOTHING is more natural than for the quacks of all profeſſions to recommend their wares to thoſe perſons who are moſt likely to ſtand in need of them. Thus Mrs. Giles very properly acquaints the fair ſex, that ſhe fells her fine compound for taking off ſuperfluous hairs at a guinea an ounce: and ladies of quality are conſtantly informed, where they may be furniſhed with the neweſt brocades, or the choiceſt variety of Chelſea China figures for deſerts. It is very neceſſary that the Beau Monde ſhould be acquainted that Eau de Luce is prepared here in England, the ſame as at Paris: but I muſt own I was very much ſurpriſed at ſeeing repeated advertiſements in the papers [314] from the Rich Cordial Warehouſe, introduced by an addreſs "TO THE PEOPLE OF FASHION." I cannot but look upon this as a libel on our perſons of diſtinction, and I know not whether it may not be conſtrued into ſcandalum magnatum; as it tacitly inſinuates, that our Right Honourables are no better than Dram-drinkers.

THERE is a well-known ſtory of the famous Rabelais, that having a mind to impoſe on the curioſity of his landlord, he filled ſeveral vials with an innocent liquor, and directed them with—Poiſon for the King,—Poiſon for the Dauphin,—Poiſon for the Prime Miniſter,—and for all the principal courtiers. The ſame might be ſaid of theſe Rich Cordial Liquors, which however they may recommend themſelves to the People of Faſhion by their foreign titles and extraction, are to be conſidered as poiſons in maſquerade: and inſtead of the pompous names of Eau d'Or, Eau Divine, and the like, I would have labels fixed on the bottles (in imitation of Rabelais) with—Poiſon for my Lord Duke,—Poiſon for the Viſcount,—Poiſon for the Counteſs.

WE live, indeed, in ſo polite an age, that nothing goes down with us, but what is either imported from France and Italy, or dignified with a foreign appellation. Our dreſs muſt be entirely á la mode de Paris; and I will venture to enſure great ſucceſs to the Monſieur taylor, who tells us in the public papers, that he has juſt been to France to ſee the neweſt faſhions. A dinner is not worth eating, if not ſerved up by a French cook; our wines are of the ſame country; and the Dram-drinkers of Faſhion comfort their ſpirits with Rich Cordials from Chamberry, Neuilly, and l'Iſle de Rhè. A plain man muſt undoubtedly ſmile at the alluring names which are given to many of them; nor is it [315] poſſible to gueſs at their compoſition from their title. The virtues, as well as the intent, of Viper Water may be well known: but who would imagine, that Flora Granata, or Belle de Nuit ſhould be intended only to ſignify a dram? For my own part I ſhould rather have taken Maraſquino for an Italian fidler, and have concluded that Jacomonodi was no other than an Opera-Singer.

BUT Dram-drinking, however different in the phraſe, is the ſame in the practice, in every ſtation of life; and ſipping Rich Cordials is no leſs deteſtable, than in the vulgar idiom Bunging your Eye. What ſignifies it, whether we meddle with Eau de Millefleurs or plain aniſeed? or whether we fetch our drams from the Rich Cordial Warehouſe, or the Blackamoor and Golden Still? The lady of St. James's, who paints her face with frequent applications of coffee or chocolate water, looks as hideous as the trollop of St. Giles's, who has laid on the ſame colours by repeated half-quarterns of Gin Royal. There are many cuſtoms among the Great, which are alſo practiſed by the lower ſort of people: and if perſons of faſhion muſt wrap up their drams in the diſguiſe of a variety of ſpecious titles, in this too they are rivalled by the vulgar. Madam Gin has been chriſtened by as many names as a German princeſs: every petty chandler's ſhop will ſell you Sky-blue, and every night-cellar furniſh you with Holland Tape, three yards a penny. Nor can I ſee the difference between Oil of Venus, Spirit of Adonis, and Parfait Amour, for the uſe of our Quality, and what among the vulgar is called Cupid's Eye-water, Strip me naked, and Lay me down ſoftly.

TO theſe elegant and genteel appellations it is, indeed, chiefly owing, that Drams are not confined merely to the vulgar, but are in eſteem among all ranks of people, and [316] eſpecially among the ladies. Many a good woman, who would ſtart at the mention of Strong Waters, cannot conceive there can be any harm in a Cordial. And as the fair ſex are more particularly ſubject to a depreſſion of ſpirits, it is no wonder that they ſhould convert their apothecaries ſhops into Rich Cordial Warehouſes, and take Drams by way of phyſick; as the common people make Gin ſerve for meat, drink, and cloaths. The ladies perhaps may not be aware that every time they have recourſe to their Hartſhorn or Lavender Drops, to drive away the vapours, they in effect take a Dram; and they may be aſſured, that their Cholic, Surfeit, and Plague Waters are to be ranked among ſpirituous liquors, as well as the common ſtuff at the Gin-ſhop. The College of Phyſicians, in their laſt review of the London Diſpenſatory, for this very reaſon expelled the Strong Water generally known by the ſoothing name of Hyſteric Water; becauſe it was a lure to the female ſex to dram it by authority, and to get tipſy ſecundum artem.

IF any of my fair readers have at all given into this pernicious practice of Dram-drinking, I muſt intreat them to leave it off betimes, before it has taken ſuch hold of them, as they can never ſhake off. For the deſire of Drams ſteals upon them, and grows to be habitual, by imperceptible degrees: as thoſe, who are accuſtomed to take Opiates, are obliged to encreaſe the doſe gradually, and at laſt cannot ſleep without it. The following letter may ſerve to convince them of the deplorable ſituation of a lady, who covers her drinking under the pretence of mending her conſtitution.

Mr. TOWN!

I HAVE the misfortune to be married to a poor ſickly creature, who labours under a complication of diſorders, and which nothing can relieve but a continued courſe of [317] Strong Liquors; though poor woman! ſhe would not elſe touch a Dram for the world. Sometimes ſhe is violently troubled with the tooth-ach; and then ſhe is obliged to hold a glaſs of Rum in her mouth, to numb the pain: at other times ſhe is ſeized with a racking fit of the cholic, and nothing will ſo ſoon give her eaſe as ſome Right Holland's Gin. She has the gout in her conſtitution, and whenever ſhe feels a twitch of it, the only thing is ſheer Brandy to keep it from her head: but this is ſometimes too cold for her, and ſhe is forced to drive it out of her ſtomach with true Iriſh Uſquebaugh. She is never free from the vapours, notwithſtanding ſhe is continually drinking Hartſhorn and water: and ever ſince ſhe miſcarried, ſhe is ſo hyſterical in the night time, that ſhe never lies without a Cordial-Water bottle by her bedſide. I have paid the apothecary about fifty pounds for her in one year, and his bill is laced down with nothing but Drops, Pepper Mint Water, and the Cordial Draught repeated.

HER very diet muſt always be made heartening, otherwiſe it will do her no good. Tea would make her low-ſpirited, except ſhe was to qualify every diſh with a large ſpoonful of Rum. She has a glaſs of Mountain with Bitters an hour before dinner to create an appetite: and her ſtomach is ſo poor, that when ſhe is at table, ſhe muſt force every bit down with a glaſs of Madeira. We uſually have a tiff of punch together in the evening: but the acid would gripe her, and the water keep her awake all the night, if it was not made comfortable with more than an equal portion of Spirit.

BUT notwithſtanding the grievous complaints ſhe hourly labours under, ſhe is very hale, and her complexion is, to [318] all appearance, as healthy and florid, as a milk-maid's: except indeed that her noſe and forehead are ſubject to red pimples, blotches, and breakings out, which the apothecary tells me are owing to a kind of an acrimonious humour in her blood. For my part, conſidering the quantity of combuſtibles ſhe continually pours down, I ſhould imagine the fire in her ſtomach would kindle a flame in her countenance; and I ſhould not wonder if her face looked as horrible, as thoſe who hang over a bowl of burnt Brandy at Snap-Dragon.

I am, SIR, Your humble ſervant, TIMOTHY NOGGAN.

ERRATUM.

Pag. 315. Lin. 11. for meddle, read muddle.

THE CONNOISSUER. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LIV. THURSDAY, February 6, 1755.

[317]
Luſit amabiliter, donec jam ſaevus apertam
In rabiem verti caepit jocus.—
HOR.

THE nobleſt exploit of a Man of the Town, the higheſt proof and utmoſt effort of his genius and pleaſantry is The FROLICK. This piece of humour conſiſts in playing the moſt wild and extravagant pranks that wantonneſs and debauchery can ſuggeſt; and is the diſtinguiſhing characteriſtic of the Buck and Blood. Theſe facetious gentlemen, whenever Champagne has put them in ſpirits, ſally out ‘"flown with inſolence and wine"’ in queſt of adventures. At ſuch a time the more harm they do the more they ſhew their wit; and their Frolicks, like the mirth of a monkey, are made up of miſchief.

[320]THE Frolick formerly ſignified nothing more than a piece of innocent mirth and gaiety; but the modern ſenſe of the word is much more lively and ſpirited. The Mohocks and Hell Fire Club, the heroes of the laſt generation, were the firſt who introduced theſe elevated Frolicks, and ſtruck out mighty good jokes from all kinds of violence and blaſphemy. The preſent race of Bucks commonly begin their Frolick in a tavern, and end it in the round-houſe, and during the courſe of it practiſe ſeveral mighty pretty pleaſantries. There is a great deal of humour in what is called beating the rounds, that is in plain Engliſh, taking a tour of the principal bawdy-houſes: breaking of lamps and ſkirmiſhes with watchmen are very good jeſts; and the inſulting any dull ſober fools that are quietly trudging about their buſineſs, or a rape on a modeſt woman are particularly facetious. Whatever is in violation of all decency and order is an exquiſite piece of wit, and in ſhort a Frolick and playing the devil bear the ſame explanation in a modern gloſſary.

IT is ſurprizing how much invention there is in theſe exploits, and how wine inſpires theſe gentlemen with thoughts more extraordinary and ſublime than any ſober man could ever have deviſed. I have known a whole company ſtart from their chairs, and begin tilting at each other merely for their diverſion. Another time theſe exalted geniuſſes have caſt lots which ſhould be thrown out of the window; and at another make a bonfire of their cloaths and run naked into the ſtreets. I remember a little gentleman not above five feet high, who was reſolved, merely for the ſake of the Frolick, to lie with the Tall Woman, but the joke ended in his receiving a ſound cudgelling from the hands of his Thaleſtris. It was no longer ago than laſt winter that a party of jovial Templars ſet out an hour or two after midnight [321] on a voyage to Liſbon in order to get good Port. They took boat at the Temple-ſtairs, and prudently laid in by way of proviſions a cold veniſon paſty and two bottles of raſberry brandy: but when they imagined themſelves juſt arrived at Graveſend, they found themſelves ſuddenly overſet in Chelſea-Reach, and very narrowly eſcaped being drowned. The moſt innocent Frolicks of theſe men of humour are carried on in a literary way by advertiſements in the newſpapers, with which they often amuſe the town; and alarm us with bottle-conjurors, and perſons who will jump down their own throats. Sometimes they divert themſelves by impoſing on their acquaintance with fictitious intrigues, and putting modeſt women to the bluſh by deſcribing them in the publick papers. Once, I remember, it was the Frolick to call together all the wet nurſes that wanted a place; at another time to ſummon ſeveral old women to bring their male tabby cats, for which they were to expect a conſiderable price; and not long ago, by the proffer of a curacy, they drew all the poor parſons to St. Paul's Coffee-houſe, where the Bucks themſelves ſat in another box to ſmoke their ruſty wigs and brown caſſocks.

BUT the higheſt Frolick that can poſſibly be put in execution is a genteel murder; ſuch as running a waiter through the body, knocking an old feeble watchman's brains out with his own ſtaff, or taking away the life of ſome regular ſcoundrel, who has not ſpirit enough to whore and drink like a gentleman. The nobleſt Frolick of this kind I ever remember happened a few years ago at a country town. While a party of Bucks were making a riot at an inn, and toſſing the chairs and tables, and looking-glaſſes into the ſtreet, the landlady was indiſcreet enough to come up ſtairs, and interrupt their merriment with her impertinent remonſtrances; upon which they immediately threw [322] her out of the window after her own furniture. News was ſoon brought of the poor woman's death, and the whole company looked upon it as a very droll accident, and gave orders that ſhe ſhould be charged in the bill.

THESE wild pranks are inſtances of great ſpirit and invention, but, alas! the generality of mankind have no taſte for humour. Few people care to have a ſword in their ribs for the ſake of the joke, or to be beat to mummy or ſhot through the head for the diverſion of the good company. They ſometimes imagine the jeſt is carried too far, and are apt to apply the words of the old fable, ‘"It may be ſport to you, but it is death to us."’ For theſe reaſons a ſet of theſe merry gentlemen are as terrible to the ordinary part of the world as a troop of banditti; and an affair which has been thought very high fun in. Pall Mall or Covent Garden, has been treated in a very ſerious manner at Weſtminſter Hall or the Old Baily. Our legiſlature has been abſurd enough to be very careful of the lives of the loweſt among the people, and the council for a highwayman would ſooner plead diſtreſs as an excuſe for diſcharging his piſtol than mere wantonneſs and Frolick Nor do the governments abroad entertain a better opinion of this ſort of humour; for it is but a few years, ſince a gentleman on his travels who was compleating a Town Education by the polite tour, ſhot a waiter through the head: but the joke was ſo ill received, that the gentleman was hanged within four and twenty hours. It would be adviſeable therefore for theſe gentlemen, ſince the taſte of the age is ſo incorrigible, to lay aſide this high-ſeaſoned humour. For their piſtol, as it were, recoils upon themſelves, and ſince it may produce their own deaths, it would be more prudent not to draw their wit out of their ſcabbards.

[323]OUR Ladies of quality, who have at length adopted French manners with French faſhions, and thrown off all ſtarchneſs and reſerve with the ruff and the farthingale, are very fond of a Frolick. I have indeed lately obſerved with great pleaſure the commendable attempts of the other ſex to ſhake of the ſhackles of cuſtom, and I make no doubt but a libertine lady will ſoon become a very common character. If their paſſion for Gaming continues to encreaſe in the ſame proportion that it has for ſome time paſt, we ſhall very ſoon meet with abundance of ſharpers in petticoats; and it will be mentioned as a very familiar incident that a party of female gamblers were ſiezed by the conſtables at the gaming-table. I am alſo informed that it is grown very common among the ladies to toaſt pretty fellows; and that they often amuſe themſelves with concerting ſchemes for an excellent Frolick. A Frolick is indeed the moſt convenient name in the world to veil an intrigue, and it is a great pity that huſbands and fathers ſhould ever object to it. I can ſee no harm in a lady's going diſguiſed to mob it in the gallery at the play-houſe; and could not but ſmile at the pretty innocent wanton who carried the joke ſo far as to accompany a ſtrange gentleman to a bagnio; but when ſhe came there, was ſurprized to find that he was fond of a Frolick as well as herſelf, and offered her violence. But I particularly admire the ſpirit of that lady, who had ſuch true reliſh for a Frolick, as to go with her gallant to the Maſquerade, though ſhe knew he had no breeches under his Domino.

I MOST heartily congratulate the fine ladies and gentlemen of the age on the ſpirit with which they perſue their diverſions; and I look upon a bold Frolick as the peculiar privilege of a perſon of faſhion. The ladies undoubtedly ſee a great deal of pleaſantry in an intrigue, and [324] mimick the dreſs and manners of the courtezans very happily and facetiouſly: while the gentlemen, among many other new fancies, have made the old blunder of the Merry Andrew, appear no longer ridiculous, and are mightily pleaſed with the comical humours of a murder. The Frolicks now in vogue will probably continue to be the amuſements of the polite world for a long time; but whenever the faſhion is about to vary, I beg leave to propoſe the Frolick recommended, if I remember right, to the Duke of Wharton by Dr. Swift. ‘"When you are tired of your other Frolicks, I would have you take up the Frolick of BEING GOOD; and take my word for it, you will find it the moſt agreeable Frolick you ever practiſed in your life.’

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LV. THURSDAY, February 13, 1755.

[325]
—Nil obſtat. Cöis tibi paenè videre eſt
Ut nudam, ne crure malo, ne ſit pede turpi:
Metiri poſſis oculo latus.—
HOR.

THERE once prevailed among us a ſect called The ADAMITES, whoſe doctrine, like that of our preſent Moravians, was calculated to comfort the fleſh as well as the ſpirit, and many things generally accounted indecent and immodeſt, were with them regarded as principles of religion. The chief article maintained by this ſect was, that it was proper, like our great forefather Adam, to go naked; and the proſelytes to this faith came abroad in the public ſtreets and open daylight without any cloathing. But this primitive ſimplicity did not agree with the notions of thoſe degenerate days, and the ADAMITES were looked [326] upon as an intolerable nuſance. Their religion, like all others, was ſoon attended with perſecution; and ſome of the converts were dragged naked to the cart's tail, ſome ſet in the ſtocks, and others ſent to Bridewell.

SINCE that remarkable period the male part of our ſpecies have been decently covered; but the female world has made ſeveral bold attempts to throw off the incumbrance of cloaths. Caps, handkerchiefs, tuckers, and modeſty-pieces have been long diſcarded; and the ladies have continued every year to ſhed ſome other part of their dreſs as uſeleſs and unornamental. But theſe are only half aſſertions of the female rights and natural liberty, in compariſon to the project, which, it is thought, will be ripe for execution by ſummer. A ſet of ladies of the firſt faſhion have agreed to found a ſect of
EVITES,
who are to appear in public with no other covering than the original Fig-leaf. The primitive ſimplicity of appearance will be reſtored: and, though ſome may be cenſorious enough to imagine that their confidence ariſes from very different principles, it may very juſtly be ſaid of our ladies of quality, as of our firſt parents before the fall, ‘"They are naked, and are not aſhamed."’

MY country readers, and all thoſe who live at a diſtance from the polite world, may perhaps look upon this ſcheme as merely fantaſtical and imaginary; but nothing is more true. The milliners are at this time all very buſy in making up artificial Fig-leaves, and adorning them according to the different fancies of the wearers. There is more taſte diſplayed in contriving an elegant Fig-leaf, than has hitherto been exerted in forming a genteel ſword-knot. Some have [327] bunches of the gayeſt coloured ribbons dangling looſely from the ſtalk, others toſſels of gold and ſilver lace, and a few deſigned for ladies of the higheſt diſtinction bunches of diamonds. This and the Pompon, which it is ſaid has been lately worn merely as a type of the Fig-leaf, will make up the common dreſs of the whole female world: but if ever the weather ſhould be too ſevere for the ladies to appear (as Bayes expreſſes it) in puris naturalibus, they are to wear fleſh-coloured ſilks with Pompons and Fig-leaves as uſual.

THERE are perhaps perſons who as they ſtill retain ſome of the leaven of decency in their compoſition, will be ſtartled at this project. I muſt own however that it does not appear to me to be in the leaſt extraordinary or ſurprizing: for conſidering the preſent dreſs of our women of faſhion, there remains no further ſtep to be taken except abſolute nakedneſs. The ſtays and petticoat have been ſo unmercifully pruned and cut away in order to diſcover latent beauties, that if thoſe of the preſent mode were to fall into the hands of our diſtant poſterity they would conclude that the preſent race of women muſt have been a generation of pigmies; for they could never poſſibly conceive that they were of common ſize, and wore by way of dreſs any garments ſo little calculated either for uſe or ornament. If one might judge by appearances, the little modeſty that is left in the polite world ſeems to be among the men; and one is almoſt tempted to look for the rakes, and perſons of intrigue in the other ſex. I was preſent a few nights ago at the repreſentation of The Chances; and when I looked round the boxes and obſerved the looſe dreſs of all the ladies, and the great reliſh with which they received the high-ſeaſoned jeſts in that Comedy, I was almoſt apprehenſive that the old ſtory of the outrage of the Romans on the Sabine women would be inverted, and that the ladies would riſe up, and commit a rape on the men.

[328]BUT notwithſtanding all that may be ſaid againſt this project for eſtabliſhing nakedneſs, it is not without example. Among the Hottentots, a very wiſe and polite nation, the ladies at this day go quite naked, except a looſe mantle thrown over their ſhoulders, and a ſhort apron before inſtead of a fig leaf. It is alſo well known that the Spartans allowed their unmarried women to wear a ſort of a looſe robe, which at every motion diſcovered their charms through ſeveral openings contrived for that purpoſe. There would certainly be no harm in extending this liberty to the whole ſex, and I am not in the leaſt inclined to liſten to the malignant inſinuations that when a married woman endeavours to look particularly tempting, it is not merely to pleaſe her huſband, but to captivate a gallant. It may perhaps be further objected that our Northern climate is too cold to ſtrip in: but this little inconvenience is amply compenſated by the ſecurity the ladies will create to themſelves by taking ſuch extraordinary liberties, and carrying matters ſo very far that it will be indecent even to reprehend them.

THERE is however a very large part of the ſex, for whom I am greatly concerned on this occaſion. I mean the Old and the Ugly. Whatever the Belles may get by this faſhion, theſe poor ladies will be great ſufferers. Their faces are already more than is agreeable to be ſhewn; but if they expoſe ſickly ſkins furrowed and purſed up like waſherwomen's fingers, the ſight will become too diſguſting. During the preſent mode I have obſerved that the diſplay of a yellow neck or clumſy leg has created but few admirers: and it is reaſonable to conclude that when the new faſhion begins to prevail univerſally, although our men of pleaſure will be glad to ſee the young and beautiful ladies, whom they would deſire to take into their arms, ſtripping as faſt as poſſible, yet they are not ſo fond of primitive and original [329] ſimplicity as to be captivated by a lady who has none of the charms of EVE, except her nakedneſs.

SOME perſons of more than ordinary penetration are apt to look on this project in a political light, and conſider it as a ſcheme to counter-work the Marriage-Act. But as the chief ladies who concerted it are already provided with huſbands, and are known to be very well affected to the Government, this does not appear probable. It is more likely to be an artifice of the Beauties to make their ſuperiority inconteſtible, by drawing in the dowdies of the ſex to ſuffer by ſuch an injurious contraſt. However this may be, it is very certain that the moſt lovely of the ſex are about to employ the whole artillery of their charms againſt us, and indeed ſeem reſolved to ſhoot us flying. On this occaſion it is to be hoped that the practice of painting, which is now ſo very faſhionable, will be entirely laid aſide: for whoever incruſts herſelf in paint can never be allowed to be naked; and it is ſurely more elegant for a lady to be covered even with ſilk and linen, than to be daubed, like an old wall, with plaiſter and rough-caſt.

AFTER this account of the ſchemes of our modiſh females now in agitation, which the reader may depend upon as genuine, it only remains to let him know how I came by my intelligence. The PARLIAMENT OF WOMEN lately propoſed is now actually ſitting. Upon their firſt meeting after the preliminaries were adjuſted, the whole houſe naturally reſolved itſelf into a Committee on the affairs of Dreſs. The Fig-leaf Bill, the purport of which is contained in this paper, was brought in a by noble Counteſs, and occaſioned ſome very warm debates. Two ladies in particular made ſeveral remarkable ſpeeches on this occaſion: but [330] they were both imagined to ſpeak, like our male patriots, more for their own private intereſt than for the good of the Public. For one of theſe ladies, who inſiſted very earneſtly on the decency of ſome ſort of covering, and has a very beautiful face, is ſhrewdly ſuſpected not to be ſo much above all rivalry in the turn and proportion of her limbs: and the other, who was impatient to be undreſſed with all expedition, was thought to be too much influenced by her known partiality to a favourite mole, which now lays out of ſight. The Bill however was paſſed by a very conſiderable majority, and is intended to be put in force by Midſummer Day next enſuing.

Numb. L. On SUICIDE, and the other Numbers which were out of print, are now reprinted, and may be had at the Publiſher's.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LVI. THURSDAY, February 20, 1755.

[331]
Necte tribus nodis ternos, Amarylli, colores:
Necte, Amarylli, modo, et Veneris, dic, vincula necto.
Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnin.
Limus ut hic dureſcit, et haec ut cera liqueſcit,
Uno eodemque igni; ſic noſtro Daphnis amore.
VIRG.

THE idle ſuperſtitions of the vulgar are no where ſo conſpicuous as in the affairs of love. When a raw girl's brain is once turned with a ſweetheart, ſhe converts every trifling accident of her life into a good or bad omen, and makes every thing conſpire to ſtrengthen her in ſo pleaſing a deluſion. Virgil repreſents Dido, as ſoon as ſhe has contracted her fatal paſſion for Aeneas, as going to the prieſts to have her fortune told. In like manner the loveſick girl runs to the cunning-man, or croſſes the gipſy's [332] hand with her laſt ſixpence, to know when ſhe ſhall be married, how many children ſhe ſhall have, and whether ſhe ſhall be happy with her huſband. She alſo conſults the cards, and finds out her lover in the Knave of Hearts. She learns how to interpret dreams, and every night furniſhes her with meditations for the next day. If ſhe happens to bring out any thing in converſation which another perſon was about to ſay, ſhe comforts herſelf that ſhe ſhall be married before them; and if ſhe tumbles as ſhe is running up ſtairs, imagines ſhe ſhall go to church with her ſweetheart before the week is at an end. But if in the courſe of their amour ſhe gives the dear man her hair wove in a True-lover's Knot, or breaks a crooked nine pence with him, ſhe thinks herſelf aſſured of his inviolable fidelity.

IT would puzzle the moſt profound antiquary to diſcover what could give birth to the many ſtrange notions cheriſhed by fond nymphs and ſwains. The God of Love has more ſuperſtitious votaries, and is worſhipped with more unaccountable rites than any fabulous deity whatever. Nothing indeed is ſo whimſical as the imagination of a perſon in love. The dying ſhepherd carves the name of his miſtreſs on the trees, while the fond maid knits him a pair of garters with an amorous poſey; and both look on what they do as a kind of charm to ſecure the affection of the other. A lover will rejoice to give his miſtreſs a bracelet or a topknot, and ſhe perhaps will take pleaſure in working him a pair of ruffles. Theſe they will regard as the ſoft bonds of love, but neither would on any account run the riſk of cutting love, by giving or receiving ſuch a preſent as a knife or a pair of ſciſſars. But to wear the picture of the beloved object conſtantly near the heart is univerſally accounted a moſt excellent and never-failing preſervative of affection.

[333]SOME few years ago there was publickly advertiſed, among the other extraordinary medicines whoſe wonderful qualities are daily related in the laſt page of our newspapers, a moſt efficacious love-powder; by which a deſpairing lover might create affection in the boſom of the moſt cruel miſtreſs. Lovers have indeed always been fond of enchantment. Shakeſpeare has repreſented Othello as accuſed of winning his Deſdemona by ‘"conjuration and mighty magic;"’ and Theocritus and Virgil have both introduced women into their paſtorals uſing charms and incantations to recover the affection of their ſweethearts. In a word, Taliſmans, Genii, Witches, Fairies, and all the inſtruments of magic and enchantment were firſt diſcovered by lovers, and employed in the buſineſs of love.

BUT I never had a thorough inſight into all this amorous ſorcery till I received the following letter, which was ſent me from the country, a day or two after Valentine's Day, and I make no doubt but all true lovers moſt religiouſly performed the previous rites mentioned by my correſpondent.

To Mr. TOWN.

DEAR SIR!

YOU muſt know I am in love with a very clever man, a Londoner; and as I want to know whether it is my fortune to have him, I have tried all the tricks I can hear of for that purpoſe. I have ſeen him ſeveral times in Coffee-grounds with a ſword by his ſide; and he was once at the bottom of a Tea-cup in a coach and ſix with two footmen behind it. I got up laſt May morning, and went into the fields to hear the cuckow; and when I pulled off my left ſhoe, I found an hair in it exactly the [334] ſame colour with his. But I ſhall never forget what I did laſt Midſummer Eve. I and my two ſiſters tried the Dumb Cake together: you muſt know, two muſt make it, two bake it, two break it, and the third put it under each of their pillows, (but you muſt not ſpeak a word all the time) and then you will dream of the man you are to have. This we did; and to be ſure I did nothing all night, but dream of Mr. Bloſſom. The ſame night, exactly at twelve o'clock, I ſowed Hempſeed in our back yard, and ſaid to myſelf, ‘"Hempſeed I ſow, Hempſeed I hoe, and he that is my true-love, come after me and mow."’ Will you believe me? I looked back, and ſaw him behind me, as plain as eyes could ſee him. After that, I took a clean ſhift, and turned it, and hung upon the back of a chair; and very likely my ſweetheart would have come and turned it right again, (for I heard his ſtep) but I was frightened, and could not help ſpeaking, which broke the charm. I likewiſe ſtuck up two Midſummer Men, one for myſelf, and one for him. Now if his had died away, we ſhould never have come together: but I aſſure you he blowed and turned to me. Our maid Betty tells me, that if I go backwards without ſpeaking a word into the garden upon Midſummer Eve, and gather a Roſe, and keep it in a clean ſheet of paper, without looking at it, till Chriſtmas day, it will be as freſh as in June; and if I then ſtick it in my boſom, he that is to be my huſband will come and take it out. If I am not married before the time comes about again, I will certainly do it; and only mind if Mr. Bloſſom is not the man.

I HAVE tried a great many other fancies, and they have all turned out right. Whenever I go to lye in a ſtrange bed, I always tye my garter nine times round the bed-poſt, and [335] knit nine knots in it, and ſay to myſelf, This knot I knit, this knot I tye, To ſee my love as he goes by, In his apparel and array, As he walks in every day. I did ſo laſt holidays at my uncle's; and to be ſure I ſaw Mr. Bloſſom draw my curtains and tuck up the cloaths at my bed's feet. Couſin Debby was married a little while ago, and ſhe ſent me a piece of Bride-Cake to put under my pillow; and I had the ſweeteſt dream—I thought we were going to be married together. I have, many is the time, taken great pains to pare an Apple Whole, and afterwards flung the Peel over my head; and it always falls in the ſhape of the firſt letter of his Sirname or Chriſtian name. I am ſure Mr. Bloſſom loves me, becauſe I ſtuck two of the Kernels upon my forehead, while I thought upon him and the lubberly ſquire my pappa wants me to have: Mr. Bloſſom's Kernel ſtuck on, but the other dropt off directly.

LAST Friday, Mr. TOWN, was Valentine's Day; and I'll tell you what I did the night before. I got five bay-leaves, and pinned four of them to the four corners of my pillow, and the fifth to the middle; and then if I dreamt of my ſweetheart, Betty ſaid we ſhould be married before the year was out. But to make it more ſure, I boiled an egg hard, and took out the yolk, and filled it up with ſalt; and when I went to bed, eat it ſhell and all, without ſpeaking or drinking after it: and this was to have the ſame effect with the bay-leaves. We alſo wrote our lovers names upon bits of paper, and rolled them up in clay, and put them into water; and the firſt that roſe up, was to be our Valentine. Would you think it? Mr. Bloſſom was my man: and I lay a-bed and ſhut my eyes all the morning, till he came to our houſe; for I would not have ſeen another man before him for all the world.

[336]DEAR Mr. TOWN, if you know any other ways to try our fortune by, do put them in your paper. My Mamma laughs at us, and ſays there is nothing in them; but I am ſure there is, for ſeveral Miſſes at our boarding ſchool have tried them, and they have all happened true: and I am ſure my own ſiſter Hetty, who died juſt before Chriſtmas, ſtood in the Church Porch laſt Midſummer Eve to ſee all that were to die that year in our pariſh; and ſhe ſaw her own apparition.

Your humble ſervant ARABELLA WHIMSEY.

THE CONNCOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LVII. THURSDAY, February 27, 1755.

[337]
Dulce Sodalitium!
MART.

THERE is no phraſe in the whole vocabulary of modern converſation, which has a more vague ſignification than the words ‘"Good Company."’ People of faſhion modeſtly explain it to mean only themſelves; and, like the old Romans, look on all others as Barbarians. Thus a ſtar or a ribband, a title or a place denotes Good Company; and a man riſes in the eſteem of the polite circle according to his rank or his rent-roll. This way of reaſoning is ſo well known and ſo generally adopted, that we are not ſurprized to hear polite perſons complain at their return from the play, that the houſe was very much crouded, but that there was no Company: though indeed I could not help ſmiling at a lady's ſaying ſhe preferred St. James's church to St. George's, becauſe the pews were commonly filled with better Company.

[338]I PROPOSE at preſent to conſider this comprehenſive term only as it reſpects a ſociety of friends, who meet in order to paſs their time in an agreeable manner. To do this the more effectually I ſhall take a curſory view of the ſeveral methods now in vogue, by which a ſet of acquaintance endeavour to amuſe each other. The reader will here meet with ſome very extraordinary inventions for this purpoſe; and when he has fixed his choice, may try to introduce himſelf into that company he likes beſt.

THERE is a great demand for wit and humour in ſome parts of this metropolis. Among many he is reckoned the Beſt Company who can enliven his converſation with ſtrokes of facetiouſneſs, and in Shakeſpear's words ‘"ſet the table on a roar."’ But as wit and humour do not always fall to the ſhare of thoſe who aim at ſhining in converſation, our jokers and witlings have wiſely deviſed ſeveral mechanical ways of gaining that end. I know one who is thought a very facetious fellow by the club, of which he is a member, becauſe every night, as ſoon as the clock ſtrikes twelve, he begins to crow like a cock. Another is accounted a man of immenſe humour for entertaining his friends with a burleſque hornpipe: and a third has the reputation of being excellent Company by ſinging a ſong, and at the ſame time playing the tune upon the table with his knuckles and elbows. Mimickry is in theſe ſocieties an indiſpenſible requiſite in a good companion. Imitations of the actors and other well-known characters are very much admired. But the mimic is by no means limited to an imitation of the human ſpecies; for an exact repreſentation of the brute creation will procure him infinite applauſe. Very many of theſe wits may be met with in different quarters of the town; and it is but a week ago ſince I was invited to paſs the evening with a ſociety, which, after a diſplay of their [339] ſeveral talents, I found to conſiſt of a Dog, a Cat, a Monkey, an Aſs, and a couple of Dancing Bears.

I CANNOT help looking with ſome veneration on the wit exerted in ſocieties of this ſort, ſince it has the extraordinary quality of never creating either diſguſt or ſatiety. They aſſemble every night, tell the ſame ſtories, repeat the ſame jokes, ſing the ſame ſongs; and they are every night attended with the ſame applauſe and merriment. Conſidering how much their wit is uſed, it is ſurpriſing that it ſhould not be worn out. Sometimes however one of the ſociety makes a new acquiſition, which is immediately thrown into the common ſtock of humour, and conſtantly diſplayed as part of the entertainment of the evening. A gentleman of this caſt lately ſhewed me with great joy the poſtſcript of a letter, in which his correſpondent promiſed him huge fun the next time he ſhould ſee him, for he had got two new ſtories and three or four excellent ſongs from one of the actors.

THESE are certainly very agreeable methods of paſſing the evening, and muſt pleaſe all perſons who have any reliſh for wit and humour. But theſe powers of entertaining are not every where the ſtandard of Good Company. There are places in which he is the Beſt Company who drinks moſt. A Boon Companion lays it down as a rule that ‘"talking ſpoils converſation."’ A bumper is his argument, and his firſt care is to promote a briſk circulation of the bottle. He ſhews his eſteem for an abſent friend by toaſting him in a bumper extraordinary, and is frequently ſo good and loyal a ſubject as to drink His Majeſty's health in half-pints. If he is deſired to ſing a catch, he ſtill keeps the main point in view, and gives a ſong wrote in ſo ingenious a ſtile, that it obliges the company to toſs off a glaſs at the [340] end of every ſtanza. If he talks, it is of ‘"healths five fathom deep,"’ or a late hard bout with another ſet of jolly fellows; and he takes care by a quick round of Toaſts to ſupply the want of other converſation.

I HAVE ever thought the invention of Toaſts very uſeful and ingenious. They at once promote hard drinking, and ſerve as a kind of memorials of every glaſs that has been drank: They alſo furniſh thoſe with converſation who have nothing to ſay, or at leaſt, by baniſhing all other topics, put the whole company on a level. Beſides all this three or four rounds of Toaſts, where a good many are met together, muſt unavoidably lift them all into Good Company. Theſe are no ſmall advantages to ſociety; not to mention the wit and morality contained in many Toaſts.

TOASTS are doubtleſs very uſeful and entertaining; but the wiſeſt inſtitution ever made in drinking ſocieties is the cuſtom of appointing what is called an Abſolute Toaſtmaſter. The gentleman inveſted with this dignity is created king of the company, and, like other abſolute monarchs, he commonly makes great uſe of his power. It is particularly his office to name the Toaſt, to obſerve that every man duly toſſes off his bumper, and is in every reſpect Good Company. He is alſo to correct all miſdemeanors, and commonly puniſhes an offender by ſconcing him a bumper: that is, in the language of hard drinkers, not unmercifully denying him his due glaſs, but obliging him to add another to it of perhaps double the quantity. For offences of a very heinous nature, the tranſgreſſor is ordered a decanter of water, or a tankard of ſmall beer. The privilege of inflicting a bumper is exerted almoſt every moment, for there is hardly any ſort of behaviour which does not produce this puniſhment. I have known a man ſconced for drinking, [341] for not drinking, for ſinging, for talking, for being ſilent, and at length ſconced dead drunk, and made very Good Company.

BUT none of theſe qualifications abovementioned conſtitute Good Company in the genteel part of the world. Polite aſſemblies neither aim at wit and humour, nor make the leaſt pretence to cultivate ſociety. Their whole evenings are conſumed at the card-table, without the leaſt attempt at any other converſation, but the uſual altercations of partners between the deals. Whiſt has deſtroyed converſation, ſpoilt ſociety, and murdered ſleep. This kind of Good Company is as ridiculous, and more inſipid than either the ſociety of witlings or hard drinkers. Toſſing off bumpers is as rational, and an employment infinitely more joyous than ſhuffling a pack of cards a whole night: and puns, jokes, and mimickry however ſtale and repeated, furniſh the company with converſation of as much uſe and variety as the odd trick, and four by Honours.

SUCH are the agreeable evenings paſſed at White's and the other coffee-houſes about St. James's. Such is the happineſs of Routes, Drums, and Hurricanes; and without Gaming and intrigues what inſipid things are even Maſquerades and Ridottos! At ſuch meetings, the man who is Good Company plays the game very well, knows more caſes than are in Hoyle, and often poſſeſſes ſome particular qualifications, which would be no great recommendation to him any where elſe. Inſtead of meeting together, like other companies, with a deſire of mutual delight, they ſit down with a deſign upon the pockets of each other: though indeed it is no wonder, when one has ſtripped another of two or three thouſand pounds, if the ſuccesful gameſter thinks the perſon he has fleeced very Good Company.

[342]BY what has been ſaid it appears that the notion of Good Company excludes all uſeful converſation: which in either of the above-mentioned ſocieties would undoubtedly be deſpiſed as ſtupid and pedantic. The witlings have too lively a genius, and too warm an imagination to admit it. The Boon Companions can join nothing but love to a bottle: and among Gameſters it would, like ſleep, be mere loſs of time, and hinderance of buſineſs. Yet an accompliſhed member of either of theſe ſocieties is called Good Company; which is juſt as proper an expreſſion, as, according to Serjeant Kite, Carolus is good Latin for Queen Ann, or a ſtout beating. But a ſet of people who aſſemble for no other purpoſe than to game, have, in particular, ſo very bad a title to the denomination of Good Company, that they appear to me to be the very worſt.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LVIII. THURSDAY, March 6, 1755.

[343]

Quicumque impudicus, adulter, ganeo, quique alienum aes grande conflaverat, quo flagitium aut facinus redimeret; praetereà, omnes undique parricidae, ſacrilegi, convicti judiciis, aut pro factis judicium timentes; ad hoc, quos manus atque lingua, perjurio et ſanguine civili alebat; poſtremò, omnes, quos flagitium, egeſtas, conſcius animus exagitabat.

SALLUST.

A MISFORTUNE, which happened to me the other day, ſufficiently convinced me of the inconveniences ariſing from the indiſcriminate power lodged in our Preſs Gangs. I would not have the reader think, that I was preſſed myſelf:—but my Devil (that is, the meſſenger of the printing-houſe) was carried off, as he was going with the copy of a Connoiſſeur to preſs. Learning appears to me of ſo much importance, that (in my opinion) the perſons of the loweſt retainers to it ſhould be ſacred from [344] moleſtation; and it gives me concern, (though a very loyal ſubject), that even a ballad-ſinger, or the hawker of Bloody News ſhould be interupted in their literary vocations. I have in vain endeavoured to recover my M.S. again: for, though I cannot but think any one of my papers of almoſt as much conſequence to the nation as the fitting out a fleet, the ignorant ſailors were ſo regardleſs of its ineſtimable contents, that after much enquiry I detected them (with my Devil in conjunction) lighting their pipes with it, at a low alehouſe by Puddle Dock.

THIS irretrievable loſs to the public, as well as myſelf, led me to conſider, whether ſome other method might not be thought of, to raiſe ſufficient forces for the fleet and army, without diſturbing poor labourers and honeſt mechanics in their peaceful occupations. I have at length, with great pains and expence of thought, hit upon a Scheme which will effectually anſwer that end; and without further preface ſhall lay it before the world.

I WOULD propoſe, that every uſeleſs member of the community ſhould be made of ſervice to his country, by being obliged to climb the ropes, or carry a muſquet; and every detrimental one ſhould be prevented from injuring his countrymen, and ſent to annoy the common enemy. To begin with the country. There is no occaſion to rob the fields of their huſbandmen, or to fetch our ſoldiers, as the Romans took their Dictator, from the plough. It is well known, that every county can ſupply us with numerous recruits, if we were to raiſe them out of that idle body called Country Squires; many of whom are born only for the deſtruction of game, and diſturbance of their neighbours, They are mere vegetables, which grow up and rot on the ſame ſpot of ground; except a few which are tranſplanted [345] into the Parliament Houſe. Their whole life is hurried away in ſcampering after foxes, leaping five-bar gates, trampling upon the farmers corn, and ſwilling October. As they are by their profeſſion excellent markſmen, and have been uſed to carry a gun, they might employ their powder to more purpoſe in fetching down a Frenchman than a pheaſant: and moſt of them might be incorporated among Cavalry, or formed into light-bodied troops, and mounted on their own Hunters. They might alſo be of great uſe in maroding or getting in forage; and if they would follow an enemy with the ſame alacrity and defiance of danger, as a fox, they might do great execution in a purſuit. The greateſt danger would be, that if a fox ſhould perchance croſs them in their march, they would be tempted to run from their colours for the ſake of a chace; and we ſhould have them all deſert, or (in the language of fox-hunters) gone away.

IF the country is infeſted with theſe uſeleſs and obnoxious animals, called Squires, this metropolis is no leſs over-run with a ſet of idle and miſchievous creatures, which we may call Town Squires. We might ſoon levy a very numerous army, were we to enliſt into it every vagrant about town, who, not having any lawful calling, from thence takes upon himſelf the title of gentleman, and adds an Eſquire to his name. A very large corps too might be formed from the Students at the Inns of Court, who under the pretence of following the law, receive, as it were, a ſanction for doing nothing at all. With theſe the ſeveral tribes of play-houſe and coffee-houſe Critics, and that collective body of them, called the TOWN, may be allowed to rank: And though no great exploits can be expected from theſe Invalids, yet (as they are of no other uſe whatever) they may at leaſt ſerve in the army, like Falſtaff's men, as ‘"food for powder."’

[346]BUT a very formidable troop might be compoſed of that part of them, diſtinguiſhed by the name of Bloods. The fury of their aſſaults on drawers and watchmen, and the ſpirit diſplayed in ſtorming a bagnio, would be of infinite ſervice in the field of battle. But I would recommend it to the General, to have them ſtrictly diſciplined; leſt they ſhould ſhoot ſome of their own comrades, or perhaps run away, merely for the ſake of the joke. Under proper regulations ſuch valiant gentlemen would certainly be of uſe. I had lately ſome thoughts of recommending to the Juſtices, to liſt the Bloods among thoſe brave, reſolute fellows employed as Thief-takers. But they may now ſerve nobler purpoſes in the army: And what may we not expect from ſuch intrepid heroes, who for want of opportunity to exert their proweſs in warlike ſkirmiſhes abroad, have been obliged to vent their courage by breaking the peace at home?

EVERY one will agree with me, that thoſe Men of Honour, who make fighting their buſineſs, and cannot let their ſwords reſt quietly in their ſcabbards, ſhould be obliged to draw them in the ſervice of His Majeſty. What might we not expect from theſe furious Drawcanſirs, if, inſtead of cutting one another's throats, their ſkill in arms was properly turned againſt the enemy. A very little diſcipline would make them admirable ſoldiers: for (as Mercutio ſays) they are already ‘"the very butchers of a ſilk button."’ I have known one of theſe Duelliſts, to keep his hand in, employ himſelf every morning in thruſting at a bit of paper ſtuck againſt the wainſcoat; and I have heard another boaſt, that he could ſnuff a candle with his piſtol. Theſe gentlemen are, therefore, very fit to be employed in cloſe engagements: But it will be neceſſary to keep them in continual action; for otherwiſe they would breed a kind of [347] civil war amongſt themſelves, and, rather than not fight at all, turn their weapons upon one another.

SEVERAL Iriſh Brigades, not inferior to thoſe of the ſame country in the Service of the French King, may be formed out of thoſe able bodied men, which are called Fortune-Hunters. The attacks of theſe dauntleſs heroes have, indeed, been chiefly levelled at the other ſex: but employment may be found for theſe amourous knight-errants, ſuitable to their known firmneſs and intrepidity; particularly in taking places by ſtorm, where there is a neceſſity for raviſhing virgins, and committing outrages upon the women.

But among the many uſeleſs members of ſociety, there are none ſo unprofitable as the fraternity of Gameſters. I therefore, think that their time would be much better employed in handling a muſquet, than in ſhuffling a pack of cards or ſhaking the dice-box. As to the Sharpers, it is a pity that the ſame dexterity, which enables them to palm an ace or cog a die, is not uſed by them in going through the manual exerciſe in the military way. Theſe latter might, indeed, be employed as marines, and ſtationed in the Weſt Indies; as many of them have already croſt the ſeas, and are perfectly well acquainted with the Plantations.

THE laſt propoſal which I have to make on this ſubject, is to take the whole body of Feeethinkers into the ſervice. For this purpoſe I would impreſs all the members of the Robin-Hood Society; and in conſideration of his great merit, I would adviſe, that the Clare-Market Orator ſhould be made chaplain to the regiment. One of the favourite tenets of a Freethinker is, that all men are in a natural ſtate of warfare with each other: nothing therefore is ſo proper [348] for him, as to be actually engaged in war. As he has no ſqueamiſh notions about what will become of him hereafter, he can have no fears about death: I would, therefore, always have the Freethinkers put upon the moſt dangerous exploits, expoſed to the greateſt heat of battle, and ſent upon the Forlorn Hope. For, ſince they confeſs that they are born into the world for no end whatever, and that they will be nothing after death, it is but juſtice that they ſhould be annihilated for the good of their country.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LIX. THURSDAY, March 13, 1755.

[349]
Quippe ita formido mortales continet omnes,
Quod multa in terris fieri, caeloque tuentur,
Quorum operum cauſas nulla ratione videre
Poſſunt.—
LUCRET.

Mr. VILLAGE to Mr. TOWN.

DEAR COUSIN!

I WAS greatly entertained with your late reflections on the ſeveral branches of magic made uſe of in the affairs of love. I have myſelf been very lately among the Seeers of Viſions and Dreamers of Dreams: and hope you will not be diſpleaſed at an account of portents and prognoſtics full as extravagant, though they are not all owing to the ſame cauſe, as thoſe of your correſpondent Miſs Arabella Whimſey. You muſt know, Couſin, that I am juſt returned from a viſit of a fortnight to an old aunt [350] in the North; where I was mightily diverted with the traditional ſuperſtitions, which are moſt religiouſly preſerved in the family, as they have been delivered down, time out of mind, from their ſagacious grandmothers.

WHEN I arrived, I found the miſtreſs of the houſe very buſily employed with her two daughters in nailing an horſeſhoe to the threſhold of the door. This they told me, was to guard againſt the ſpiteful deſigns of an old woman, who was a witch, and had threatened to do the family a miſchief, becauſe one of my young couſins laid two ſtraws acroſs, to ſee if the old hag could walk over them. The young lady herſelf aſſured me, that ſhe had ſeveral times heard Goody Cripple muttering to herſelf; and to be ſure ſhe was ſaying the Lord's Prayer backwards. Beſides, the old woman had very often aſked them for a pin: but they took care never to give her any thing that was ſharp, becauſe ſhe ſhould not bewitch them. They afterwards told me many other particulars of this kind, the ſame as are mentioned, with infinite humour by the SPECTATOR: and to confirm them, they aſſured me, that the eldeſt Miſs, when ſhe was little, uſed to have fits, till the mother flung a knife at another old witch, (whom the devil had carried off in a high wind) and fetched blood from her.

WHEN I was to go to bed, my aunt made a thouſand apologies for not putting me in the beſt room in the houſe, which ſhe ſaid had never been lain in, ſince the death of an old waſher-woman, who walked every night, and haunted that room in particular. They fancied that the old woman had hid money ſomewhere, and could not reſt till ſhe had told ſomebody; and my couſin aſſured me, that ſhe might have had it all to herſelf, for the ſpirit came one night to her bed-ſide, and wanted to tell her, but ſhe had not courage [351] to ſpeak to it. I learned alſo that they had a footman once, who hanged himſelf for love; and he walked for a great while, till they got the parſon to lay him in the Red Sea.

I HAD not been here long, when an accident happened, which very much alarmed the whole family. Towzer one night howled moſt terribly; which was a ſure ſign, that ſomebody belonging to them would die. The youngeſt Miſs declared that ſhe had heard the hen crow that morning; which was another fatal prognoſtic. They told me, that juſt before uncle died, Towzer howled ſo for ſeveral nights together, that they could not quiet him; and my aunt heard the death-watch tick as plainly as if there had been a clock in the room: the maid too, who ſat up with him, heard a bell toll at the top of the ſtairs, the very moment the breath went out of his body. During this diſcourſe, I overheard one of my couſins whiſper the other, that ſhe was afraid their mamma would not live long; for ſhe ſmelt an ugly ſmell, like a dead body. They had a dairy-maid, who died the very week after an hearſe had ſtopt at their door in its way to church; and the eldeſt miſs, when ſhe was but thirteen, ſaw her own brother's ghoſt, (who was gone the Weſt-Indies) walking in the garden; and to be ſure nine months after, they had an account, that he died on board the ſhip, the very ſame day, and hour of the day, that Miſs ſaw his apparition.

I NEED not mention to you the common incidents, which were accounted by them no leſs prophetic. If a cinder popped from the fire, they were in haſte to examine whether it was a purſe or a coffin. They were aware of my arrival long before I came, becauſe they had ſeen a ſtranger on the grate. The youngeſt Miſs will let nobody [352] uſe the poker but herſelf; becauſe, when ſhe ſtirs it, it always burns bright, which is a ſign ſhe will have a bright huſband: and ſhe is no leſs ſure of a good one, becauſe ſhe generally has ill luck at cards. Nor is the candle leſs oracular than the fire: for the ſquire of the pariſh came one night to pay them a viſit, when the tallow winding-ſheet pointed towards him, and he broke his neck ſoon after in a fox-chaſe. My aunt one night obſerved with great pleaſure a letter in the candle; and ſhe hoped it would be from her ſon in London. We knew, when a ſpirit was in the room, by the candle burning blue: but poor couſin Nancy was ready to cry one time, when ſhe ſnuffed it out and could not blow it in again, though her ſiſter did it at a whiff.

WE had no occaſion for an almanack or the weatherglaſs, to let us know whether it would rain or ſhine. One evening I propoſed to ride out with my couſins the next day to ſee a gentleman's houſe in the neigbourhood; but my aunt aſſured us it would be wet, ſhe knew very well from the ſhooting of her corn. Beſides, there was a great ſpider crawling up the chimney, and the blackbird in the kitchen began to ſing: which were both of them as certain forerunners of rain. But the moſt to be depended on in theſe caſes is a tabby cat, which is uſually baſking on the parlour hearth. If the cat turned her tail to the fire, we were to have a hard froſt: if ſhe licked her tail, rain would certainly enſue. They wondered what ſtranger they ſhould ſee; becauſe Puſs waſhed her foot over her left ear. The old lady complained of a cold, and her daughter remarked, it would go through the family; for ſhe obſerved that poor Tab had ſneezed ſeveral times. Poor Tab however once flew at one of my couſins; for which ſhe had like to have been deſtroyed, as the whole family began to think ſhe was no other than a witch.

[353]IT is impoſſible to tell you the ſeveral tokens, by which they know whether good or ill luck will happen to them. Spilling of ſalt, or laying knives acroſs, are every where accounted ill omens; but a pin with the head turned towards you, or to be followed by a ſtrange dog, I found were very lucky. I heard one of my couſins tell the cookmaid, that ſhe boiled away all her ſweethearts, becauſe ſhe had let her diſhwater boil over. The ſame young lady one morning came down to breakfaſt with her cap the wrong ſide out; which the mother obſerving, charged her not to alter it all the day, for fear ſhe ſhould turn luck.

BUT, above all, I could not help remarking the various prognoſtics, which the old lady and her daughters uſed to collect from almoſt every part of the body. A white ſpeck upon the nails made them as ſure of a gift, as if they had it already in their pockets. The eldeſt ſiſter is to have one huſband more than the youngeſt, becauſe ſhe has one wrinkle more in her forehead; but the other will have the advantage of her in the number of children, as was plainly proved by ſnapping their finger-joints. It would take up too much room, to ſet down every circumſtance which I obſerved of this ſort during my ſtay with them: I ſhall therefore conclude my letter with the ſeveral remarks on the reſt of the body, as far as I could learn them from this prophetic family: for as I was a relation, you know, they had leſs reſerve.

IF the head itches, it is a ſign of rain. If the head aches, it is a profitable pain. If you have the tooth-ach, you don't love true. If your eye-brow itches, you will ſee a ſtranger. If your right eye itches, you will cry; if your left you will laugh. If your noſe itches, you will ſhake hands, kiſs a fool, drink a glaſs of wine, run againſt a [354] cuckold's door, or miſs them all four. If your right ear or cheek burns, your left friends are talking of you; if your left, your right friends are talking of you. If your elbow itches, you will change your bedfellow. If your right hand itches, you will pay away money; if your left, you will receive. If your ſtomach itches, you will eat pudding. If your gartering-place itches, you will go to a ſtrange place. If your back itches, butter will be cheap when graſs grows there. If your ſide itches, ſomebody is wiſhing for you. If your knee itches, you will kneel in a ſtrange church: If your foot, you will tread upon ſtrange ground. Laſtly, if you ſhiver, ſome body is walking over your grave.

I am, Dear Couſin, yours &c.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LX. THURSDAY, March 20, 1755.

[355]
—Pares, et reſpondere parati.
VIRG.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A TEA-TABLE and a CARD-TABLE.

TEA-TABLE.

SO, Madam—theſe are fine hours, I muſt confeſs! It is now paſt four o'clock; and you and your companions have been making ſuch a racket here, all ſober people muſt cry out ſhame upon you. I wonder what pleaſure it can be for fifty or an hundred perſons to meet together and employ the whole night at Cribbage, Brag, and Whiſt. For my part, I am ſure I had rather live in an [356] herb-cellar, and entertain waſherwomen over their half-quarterns of bohea with a glaſs of gin between every cup, than lead ſuch an irregular life as you do.

CARD-TABLE.

And I, Madam, had rather live in a filthy ale-houſe, and be poiſoned with the greaſy cards of porters and carmen, than lead ſuch an inſipid life as you do. You are, indeed, the delight of city-wives and maid ſervants: but I bleſs my ſtars, I am careſſed by perſons of the firſt rank and faſhion, and am known to keep the beſt company.

TEA-TABLE.

Madam, if the truth was known, you have no reaſon to boaſt much of your company. Is it not notorious that you entertain the very worſt of people? People that want common honeſty, cheats of Quality, and Right Honourable ſharpers. Who had you this night with you?—There was my Lord —, and Lady —, and Sir John —. Theſe, Indeed, are your perſons of the firſt rank and faſhion: but, to ſpeak the truth, they are no better than pick-pockets.

CARD-TABLE.

I don't wonder you ſhould grow ſo abuſive, as your talent for ſcandal has always been remarkable. But pray, Madam, ſince you talk of company, what ſort of people are your particular cronies? You are pleaſed to upbraid me with conniving at ſharpers: and I am ſure you aſſociate with vile pimps and go-betweens. Who are they that uſually compoſe your morning-levee? A milliner perhaps, or a mantua-maker, or a French hair-cutter: and theſe ſort of gentry, you muſt own, are very commode in carrying on other buſineſs beſides what they profeſs. Nay did not [357] you admit Captain — the other morning to a private tête à téte converſation with the lady of this houſe, and in her very bed-chamber?

TEA-TABLE.

For that laſt viſiter I muſt own myſelf obliged to you, Madam. The Debt of Honour, as you call it, in which you had involved her ladyſhip over night, they thought fit to cancel the next morning. And give me leave to tell you, Madam, that ſince the ladies have ſo much frequented your company, many of them have been firſt cheated of their money, and afterwards cajoled out of their virtue.

CARD-TABLE.

This is always your way—your whole delight is in abuſing other people, propagating malicious tales, and ſlandering reputations. But remember what the Poet ſays,

Who ſteals my purſe ſteals traſh—
But he who filches from me my good name, &c.

The lines are very common, I need not repeat them to you.

TEA-TABLE.

If they had not been very common, and taken out of a play beſides, I ſhould have wondered to hear you quote them. For who can be more illiterate than your friends and acquaintance? Hoyle's Treatiſe on Whiſt is almoſt the only book they have ever read: and as the mind of man, before it has received any ideas, has been compared to a white ſheet of paper, we may ſay that a gameſter's mind is. a mere pack of cards, and has no impreſſions beyond the pips and the Four Honours.

CARD-TABLE.
[358]

To be ſure, Madam, I muſt acknowledge your ſuperior underſtanding; you have ſuch prodigious opportunities of improving yourſelf! Can any thing, for inſtance, be ſo pleaſant and inſtructive as your chit-chats and goſſipings with the good city-wives over their diſturbed tea and a huge plate of bread and butter!

TEA-TABLE.

But can any thing be ſo inſipid (to ſay no worſe of it) as the polite jargon, which makes up the whole of your converſation over a pack of cards! In this, indeed, you put thoſe of the higheſt rank and ſenſe upon a level with the loweſt and moſt ignorant of the vulgar; for gameſters have the ſame language whether in an alehouſe or a drawing-room: and I would as ſoon liſten to a ſet of draymen ſquabbling about their half-pence at All-Fours and One-and-Thirty, as to the club at White's wrangling for thouſands. The talk of either party is altogether confined to their different games; and if the genteel gameſter, upon every turn of the cards againſt him, damns himſelf with a good grace, the drayman bluntly pours out a volley of the ſame oaths. But I ſhould not ſo much quarrel with you for having ſeduced the men, if you had not ſo ſtrangely infatuated the ladies, who ſeem more particularly deſigned for my company. I am now looked upon as a mere incumbrance; and they think every moment that is loſt upon me, very tedious, while it detains them from your refined pleaſures. The women of this country uſed to be admired for their virtues as well as their beauty: but ſince you have engroſſed ſo much of their time and thoughts, at the ſame time that you have ſpoiled their faces, you have corrupted their morals.

CARD-TABLE.
[359]

Their morals, Madam!

TEA-TABLE.

I know you make a jeſt of morality; and every other conſideration gives way, when once the love of play is predominant. For example;—What an alteration have you made in the lady of this houſe? I uſed to ſee her every morning as blooming as a roſe; nor had ſhe any need of paint to repair the damages you have ſince done her, by keeping her up all night. At preſent I am ſeldom admitted to her before the afternoon; and till ſhe has new dreſſed her face, ſhe appears as hagged and as frightful as your Queen of Clubs. Before ſhe fell into your company ſhe had proper notions of virtue; but you ſoon reduced her to the neceſſity of parting with both her honour and honeſty. In ſhort, ſhe now is—what I don't chuſe to call her.

CARD-TABLE.

Honour and honeſty! ha, ha.—Upon my word, you are a ſtrange old faſhioned creature. I ſuppoſe, we ſhall have you talk of religion too.

TEA-TABLE.

Why really, Madam, I muſt own that your acquaintance plainly enough manifeſt by their conſtant practice a thorough diſregard to every thing ſacred. They particularly take a pride in violating the Sabbath; and your company is the more acceptable among people of faſhion upon that day, becauſe you dare not then ſhew your face in any ſober family.

CARD-TABLE.
[360]

Nay, now I have done with you, ſince you are ſuch a low creature as to look upon Sunday as more holy than any other day. You are fit, indeed, to live in a fine lady's houſe, and to have any ſcruples of religion about you! But harkye,—We are to have a grand route here upon Good-Friday; and I would adviſe you to get down into the kitchen among the maids, where you may ſhew your regard to the day, by feaſting them with Bohea of ſix ſhillings a pound, and hot croſs buns. And pray, Madam, let me hear no more of your religion.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXI. THURSDAY, March 27, 1755.

[361]
Coelum ipſum petimus ſtultitiâ.—
HOR.

IT is obſerved by the French that a Cat, a Prieſt, and an Old Woman are ſufficient to conſtitute a religious Sect in England. So univerſally it ſeems, are learning and genius diffuſed through this iſland, that the loweſt plebeians are deep caſuiſts in matters of faith as well as politics: and ſo many and wonderful are the new lights continually breaking in upon us, that we daily make freſh diſcoveries, and ſtrike out unbeaten paths to future happineſs. The above obſervation of our neighbours is in truth rather too full: for a prieſt is ſo far from neceſſary, that a new ſpecies of doctrine would be better received by our old women, and other well diſpoſed good people, from a layman. The moſt extraordinary tenets of religion are very ſuccesfully propagated under the ſanction of the leathern apron inſtead of the caſſock: Every corner of the town has a barber, maſon, bricklayer, or ſome other handicraft [362] teacher: and there are almoſt as many ſects in this metropolis as there are pariſh churches.

AS to the Old Women, ſince the paſſions of females are ſtronger in youth, and their minds weaker in age, than thoſe of the other ſex, their readineſs in embracing any principles of religion preſſed on them with particular earneſtneſs and vehemence, is not very wonderful. They hope, by the moſt rigid demeanor in the decline of life, to make amends for that unbounded looſe given to their paſſions in their younger years. The ſame violence however, commonly accompanies them in religion, as formerly actuated them in their pleaſures; and their zeal entirely eats up their charity. They look with a malevolent kind of pity on all who are ſtill employed in worldly undertakings, ‘"carry prayer books in their pockets,"’ and piouſly damn all their relations and acquaintance with texts of ſcripture. I know an old gentlewoman of this caſt who has formed herſelf as a pattern of ſtaid behaviour, and values herſelf for having given up at threeſcore the vanities of ſixteen. She denounces heavy judgments on all frequenters of public diverſions, and forebodes the worſt conſequences from every party of pleaſure. I have known her foretell the ruin of her niece from a country dance: nay, ſhe can perceive irregular deſires flaming from a gay coloured topknot, and has even deſcried adultery itſelf lurking beneath the thin veil of a worked apron, or beaming from a diamond girdle-buckle.

BUT we might perhaps ſuffer a few good Old Ladies to go to heaven their own way, if theſe Sects were not pernicious on many other accounts. Such ſtrange doctrines are wonderfully apt to unſettle the minds of the common people, who often make an odd tranſition from infidelity to enthuſiaſm, and become bigots from arrant freethinkers: Their faith however, it may be well imagined, is not a ſaving faith; as they are worked up to an adoration of the CREATOR, from the ſame ſlaviſh principle that induces [363] the Indians to worſhip the Devil. It is amazing how ſtrongly fear operates on theſe weak creatures, and how eaſily a canting, whining raſcal can mould them to his purpoſe. I have known many a rich tradeſman wheedled and threatned out of his ſubſiſtence, and himſelf and unhappy family at laſt lectured into the work-houſe. Thus do theſe vile hypocrites turn a poor convert's head to ſave his ſoul; and deprive him of all happineſs in this world, under pretence of ſecuring it to him eternally in the next.

NOTHING can do religion more injury than theſe ſolemn mockeries of it. Many of theſe Sects conſiſt almoſt entirely of battered proſtitutes, and perſons of the moſt infamous character. Reformation is their chief pretence; wherefore the more abandoned thoſe are of whom they make proſelytes, the more they pride themſelves on their converſion. I remember a debauched young fellow, who pretended a ſudden amendment of his principles, in order to repair his ſhattered fortune. He turned Methodiſt, and ſoon began to manifeſt a kind of ſpiritual fondneſs for a pious ſiſter. He wooed her according to the directions of the rubric, ſent her ſermons inſtead of billet-doux, ‘"greeted her with a holy kiſs,"’ and obtained his miſtreſs by appearing in every reſpect a thorough devotee. But alas! the good gentleman could never be prevailed on to comply with religious ordinances, or appear any more at church or meeting, after the performance of the marriage-ceremony. The loweſt of the vulgar alſo, for their peculiar ends, frequently become ſectaries. They avail themſelves of a mock converſion to redeem their loſt characters, and, like criminals at Rome, make the church a ſanctuary for villainy. By this artifice they recommend themſelves to the charity of weak but well-meaning Chriſtians, and often inſinuate themſelves as ſervants into Methodiſt families.

LE SAGE, with his uſual humour, repreſents Gil Blas as wonderfully charmed with the ſeeming ſanctity of Ambroſe de Lamela, when he took him into his ſervice: and [364] Gil Blas is even not offended at his remiſſneſs the very firſt night, when his new ſervant tells him that it was owing to his attending his devotions. But it ſoon appears that this ſly valet had been employed in concerting the robbery of his maſter. A due attention to religion is ſo rare a quality in all ranks of people, that I am far from blaming it in ſervants; but when I ſee their religion ſhewing itſelf in lazineſs, and obſerve them neglecting their common buſineſs under the pretext of performing acts of ſupererogation, I am apt to queſtion their ſincerity, and to take every ſervant of that kind for a mere Saint Ambroſe. An old Moravian aunt of mine, of whom I have formerly made worthy mention, would never have any ſervants, who did not belong to the ſociety of the United Brethren. But ſo little did the good lady's endeavours to preſerve good order and a ſpirit of devotion in her houſe ſucceed; that the generality of the men fell into evil courſes, and moſt of the pious ſiſterhood left the family with big bellies.

I WOULD not be thought to deny my fellow-ſubjects full liberty of conſcience, and all the benefits of the Toleration-Act; yet I cannot help regarding theſe weak, if not ill-meant diviſions from the eſtabliſhed church as a dangerous kind of Freethinking: not ſo ſhocking indeed as the impious avowal of atheiſm and infidelity, but often attended with the ſame bad conſequences. A religion founded on madneſs and enthuſiaſm, is almoſt as bad as no religion at all; and what is worſt, the unhappy errors of particular ſects expoſe the pureſt religion in the world to the ſcoffs of unbelievers. Shallow witlings exerciſe their little talents for ridicule on matters of religion, and fall into atheiſm and blaſphemy in order to avoid bigotry and enthuſiaſm. The weakneſs of the ſectaries ſtrengthen them in their ridiculous notions, and produce many other evils, as will appear from the following ſhort hiſtory.

[365]IN the glorious reign of Queen Elizabeth there reſided in theſe kingdoms a worthy lady called RELIGION. She was remarkable for the ſweetneſs of her temper; which was chearful without levity, and grave without moroſeneſs. She was alſo particularly decent in her dreſs as well as behaviour, and preſerved with uncommon mildneſs the ſtricteſt regularity in her family. Though ſhe had a noble genius, and led a very ſober life, yet in thoſe days ſhe kept the beſt company, was greatly admired by the Queen, and was even intimate with moſt of the maids of honour. What became of her and her family is not known, but it is very certain that they have at preſent no connection with the polite world. Some affirm that the line is extinct; though I have indeed been told that the late Biſhop Berkley and the preſent Biſhops of — and — deſcended from principal branches of it, and that ſome few of the ſame family are reſident on ſmall livings in the country.

WE are told by a certain faſhionable author, that there were formerly two men in a madhouſe at Paris, one of whom imagined himſelf The FATHER, and the other The SON. In like manner, no ſooner did the good lady RELIGION diſappear, but ſhe was perſonated by a crazy old beldam called SUPERSTITION. But the cheat was inſtantly diſcovered; for inſtead of the mild diſcipline with which her predeceſſor ruled her family, ſhe governed entirely by ſeverity, racks, wheels, gibbets, ſword, fire and faggot. Inſtead of chearfulneſs ſhe introduced gloom, was perpetually croſſing herſelf with holy water, and, to avert the terrible judgments of which ſhe was hourly in fear, ſhe compiled a new almanack, in which ſhe wonderfully multiplied the number of red letters. After a miſerable life ſhe died melancholy-mad, but left a will behind her, in which ſhe left a very conſiderable ſum to build an hoſpital for religious lunatics; which I am informed, will ſpeedily be built on the ſame ground, where the Foundery, the celebrated Methodiſt meeting-houſe, now ſtands.

SUPERSTITION left behind her a ſon called ATHEISM, begot on her by a Moravian teacher at one of their Love-Feaſts. ATHEISM ſoon ſhewed himſelf to be a moſt profligate [366] abandoned fellow. He came very early upon town, and was a remarkable Blood. Among his other frolicks he turned author, and is ſaid to have written in concert with Lord Bolingbroke. After having ſquandered a large fortune, he turned gameſter, then pimp, and then highwayman; in which laſt occupation he was ſoon detected, taken, and thrown into Newgate. He behaved very impudently in the Condemned Hole, abuſed the Ordinary whenever that gentleman attended him, and encouraged all his fellow priſoners, in the Newgate phraſe, to die hard. When he came to the gallows, inſtead of the pſalm he ſung a bawdy catch, threw away the book, and bid Jack Ketch tuck him up like a gentleman. Many of his relations were preſent at the execution, and ſhook their heads repeating the words of Mat in the Beggar's Opera, ‘"Poor fellow! we are ſorry for you, but it is what we muſt all come to."’

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXII. THURSDAY, April 3, 1755.

[367]
—Qualem Cereris vult eſſe ſacerdos.
JUV.

HAVING lately informed my readers, that the FEMALE PARLIAMENT is now ſitting, I ſhall proceed to lay before them the ſubſtance of a Debate, that happened in the Committee of Religion, and which was unexpectedly occaſioned by a Motion that was made by Miſs Graveairs. This Committee had long been looked upon as uſeleſs, but for form ſake continued to meet, though it was adjourned immediately: but one day, there being more members preſent than uſual, the Chair-woman was no ſooner in the Chair, than the lady above-mentioned addreſſed her in the following ſpeech.

MADAM,

IT is with no leſs ſurpriſe than concern, that I reflect on the danger to which the greater part of my ſex, either through ignorance or choice, are now expoſed; and [368] I have the ſtrongeſt reaſons to believe, that nothing but the vigorous and timely Reſolutions of this wiſe Aſſembly can prevent them from changing their religion, and becoming ROMAN CATHOLICS. What ſubject can be more intereſting and important to Us, whether we conſider ourſelves as a Committee of Religion, a Parliament of Women, or an Aſſembly of Proteſtants? Was ſuch a deſign to be carried into execution, the free uſe of our tongues would be taken away; we ſhould never be ſuffered perhaps to ſpeak to the other ſex but through grates and bars, and this place of our Aſſembly would be probably the abode of Nuns and Fryars. But leaſt you ſhould think me thus alarmed without reaſon, I ſhall now lay before you the grounds of my complaint; that, if it is not too late we may correct the evil, or if it is we may guard againſt it.

MY fears are grounded on thoſe remarks, that have long been made on the Dreſs of the ſex. Conſtant as the men have ſtiled us to the love of change, little have they imagined, that Popery was invariably the object to which every innovation was deſigned to lead. So long ago as when, to the honour of our ſex, a Queen was upon the throne, it was the faſhion, as we may learn from Pope, for the ladies to wear upon their breaſts a flaming CROSS. The ſame faſhion has been tranſmitted to the preſent times. What, Madam, is this but downright Popery? In the Catholic countries they are contented with erecting Crucifixes in their roads and churches; but alas! in this Proteſtant kingdom Croſſes are alike to be ſeen in places ſacred and profane, the court, the playhouſe, and (pardon me ladies!) this venerable Aſſembly itſelf is not without them. I am apt to ſuſpect, that this heterodox introduction of the Croſs into the female dreſs had an higher original, than the days of Queen Ann, [369] whoſe affection for the Church, was very well known. It ſeems rather to have been imported among us, together with the Jeſuits, by the Popiſh Conſorts of the firſt or ſecond Charles: or perhaps the ladies firſt wore it in complaiſance to the Engliſh Pope Joan, Queen Mary. This much is certain, that at the ſame time our pious Reformer Queen Elizabeth expelled the Croſs from our altars, ſhe effectually ſecured the necks of our ladies from this ſuperſtition by the introduction of the Ruff.

THE next part of our dreſs that I ſhall mention, which favours of Popery, is the CAPUCHIN. This garment in truth has a near reſemblance to that of the Fryar, whoſe name it bears. Our grandmothers had already adopted the HOOD, their daughters by a gradual advance introduced the reſt, but far greater improvements were ſtill in ſtore for Us. We all of us remember, for it is not above two years ago, how all colours were neglected for that of PURPLE. In Purple we glowed from the hat to the ſhoe, and in ſuch requeſt were the ribbons and ſilks of that favourite colour, that neither the milliner, mercer, nor dyer himſelf could anſwer the demand. Who but muſt think that this aroſe from Popiſh principles? and though it may be urged that the admired Fanny, who firſt introduced it, is no Nun, yet you may all remember that the Church of Rome herſelf has been ſtyled, The SCARLET, or as ſome render it, The PURPLE WHORE.

BUT to prove indiſputably our manifeſt approaches to Popery, let me now refer you to that faſhionable cloak, which, ſorry I am to ſee it, is wore by the far greater part even of this Aſſembly, and which indeed is with great propriety ſtyled, The CARDINAL. For were his Holineſs the Pope to be introduced among us, he would almoſt fancy [370] himſelf in his own Conclave: and were I not too well acquainted with my ſiſters principles, I myſelf ſhould be induced to think, that to thoſe in ſuch grave attire nothing but a cloyſter and a grate was wanting. As to thoſe of gayer colours, you need not be told, that there are White and Grey Fryars abroad as well as Black: and as the Engliſh are ſo remarkable for improving on their originals, we ſhall not be then ſurprized at the variety of colours that appears among us.

IT has been whiſpered too, that ſome of my ſiſters have been ſo fond of the Monkiſh auſterities, as to have their heads ſhaved. This I do not aver of my own knowledge; but, if it is ſo, they ſtill condeſcend to wear artificial locks, though it would not be at all ſtrange, if they alſo ſhould ſoon be laid aſide, as they are already prepared for it by leaving off their caps. I ſhall only deſire you ſtill farther to reflect, how faſhionable it is for the ladies to ſhine with borrowed faces; and then I believe you will readily allow, that their votaries, the men, are in great danger alſo of being ſeduced to Popery; ſince do they not already, by the compliments they pay to a painted face, addreſs an Image and adore a Picture?

WHAT has now been ſaid will induce you, I hope, to pay a proper regard to the following Reſolutions, which, I humbly move, may be agreed to by this Committee, and repreſented to the Houſe.

Reſolved,
That it is the opinion of this Committee, that in order to prevent the growth of Popery, no garments ſhall for the future be imported, of Popiſh make or diſtinguiſhed by Popiſh names.
Reſolved,
That in order to inforce a due obedience, every one ſhall be obliged to practiſe the auſterities of the ſect they imitate; ſo that for example the Cardinals ſhall be compelled to lead a ſingle life, and the Capuchins to go bare-foot.
Laſtly,
It is recommended that, as a farther ſanction to the Bill propoſed, every offender who ſhall be deemed incorrigible, ſhall be baniſhed from all routs, and tranſported to her country ſeat for ſeven winters.

THIS Motion was ſtrongly ſeconded by Lady Mend'em, who urged in its ſupport, that to her certain knowledge many of the ſex very frequently aſſembled at one anothers houſes (and particularly on the Sabbath) where Maſs Books were actually laid before them, and the warmeſt adoration paid to ſoome ſmall Pictures or painted Images, which ſhe was told, reſembled ſome Kings and Queens that had been long canonized. And the Offerings that were conſtantly made at their Shrines would (ſhe ſaid) be found on a moderate computation, to exceed thoſe that were formerly made at the tomb of Thomas à Becket. She added, that after the Catholic cuſtom they always faſted on thoſe nights, or if they ſupt at all it was only on FISH.

THE chief ſpeaker on the other ſide of the queſtion was Lady Smart, one of the repreſentatives for Groſvenor-Square, who by the way was ſtrongly ſuſpected of being a prejudiced perſon, her enemies not denying that ſhe had charms, which could almoſt ſanctify error itſelf. Nobody, ſhe ſaid, could ſuſpect the ſex of inclining to Popery, who obſerved the averſion they all diſcovered to a ſingle life. The [372] uſes of the obnoxious garments were allowed to be many; the names at leaſt were innocent; and the cry againſt them, ſhe was ſure, could only be raiſed by the old and the ugly; ſince nothing could be ſo fantaſtic, as not to become a pretty woman.

HER ladyſhip was joined by the Beauties preſent; but they being few, their objections were over-ruled, and the Motion was carried. The next day the Houſe, on receiving the report, after ſome debate agreed to the Reſolutions, and a Bill was ordered to be prepared and brought in accordingly. Though at the ſame time they were of opinion, Nem. Con. that if the FIG-LEAF BILL took place, theſe reſtrictions would be quite needleſs.

*⁎*We ſhould be glad to hear from G. K.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXIII. THURSDAY, April 10, 1755.

[373]
Et nati natorum, et qui naſcentur ab illis.
VIRG.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR,

IF you are a true ſportſman, and have the honour of the Turf at heart, you muſt have obſerved with the utmoſt concern a late account in the news-papers, that WHITE-NOSE died at Doncaſter of a mortification in his foot. An article of this nature, and at ſuch a time, muſt ſtrike a damp on all gentlemen breeders; and for my part I cannot help looking on the preſent races at New-Market, as funeral games in honour of the memory of WHITE-NOSE. The death of a ſtallion of ſuch conſequence is a public calamity to all knowing ones in the kingdom: nor does ſuch an accident bring with it the leaſt conſolation; [374] eſpecially ſince it is not the faſhion to pit the lives of horſes, as well as men, againſt each other.

ITALIAN grey-hounds, Dutch lap-dogs, monkeys, and maccaws, have been honoured with monuments and epitaphs: But a race-horſe as much ſurpaſſes theſe inſignificant animals, as WHITE-NOSE was ſuperior to a pack-horſe: and I cannot but think, that an obeliſk (with a proper inſcription drawn up by Meſſieurs Heber and Pond) ſhould be erected near the Devil's Ditch, or Choak-Jade, on Newmarket Heath, in honour of his memory. With what rapture might we then read of his powerful deep rate, by which all the horſes that ran againſt him were no-where; of his rapid victories in the field, (more ſurprizing than thoſe of the Duke of Marlborough,) by which he WON Tewkſbury, WON Chipping-Norton, WON Lincoln, WON York, &c. But, above all, we ſhould admire the noble BLOOD which flowed in his veins, and with reverence contemplate the illuſtrious names of his great, great, great, great, great grandſires and grandams. There is not the leaſt flaw in the BLOOD of WHITE-NOSE's family: and his epitaph might conclude, in imitation of that famous one on the Duke of Newcaſtle's monument, ‘"that all the Sons were remarkable Stallions, and all the Daughters excellent Breeders."’

THE pedigrees of our race-horſes have been always preſerved with as much care and exactneſs, as the Tree of Deſcent among the family of a Spaniſh grandee or Poliſh nobleman: nor does the Welchman derive greater honour from proving himſelf the fiftieth couſin to Cadwallader or Caractacus, through a long line of David Ap Shenkins, Ap Morgans, Ap Powells, Ap Prices, than the horſe by being [375] half brother to the Godolphin Barb, or full couſin by the dam's ſide to the Bloody Shoulder'd Arabian. The Romans were no leſs curious in the breed of their horſes, and paid the greateſt honours to thoſe that beat the whole Circus hollow. They even erectred monuments to their memory, of which Lipſuis gives us the following remarkable inſtance. Clariſſimè lapis vetus, quem Romae olim vidi et exſcripſi. In medio vir eſt, qui dextrâ baculum, ſiniſtrâ pabulum tenet: extrinſecus duo ſunt aſſilientes equi cum geminâ inſcriptione;—AQUILO, Nepos Aquilonis vicit cxxx. ſecundas tulit lxxxviii. tertias tulit xxxvii.—Altera,—HIRPINUS, Nepos Aquilonis vicit cxiv. ſecundas tulit lvi, tertias tulit xxxvi. Habes itaque ipſum hìc HIRPINUM, atque adeo ejus avum AQUILONEM. I could wiſh that the ſame honours were paid to our horſes: I would at leaſt propoſe, that the the names, pedigrees, and a liſt of the plates won by victorious horſes ſhould be inſcribed on the poſts of all courſes, where they have made themſelves famous. Theſe memorials might ſerve to perpetuate the renown of our racers, and would furniſh poſterity with a more complete hiſtory of the Turf than the Sportſman's Calendar.

YOU will undoubtedly obſerve, Mr. TOWN, that in the extract concerning horſes, with which I have juſt preſented you from Lipſius, a man is alſo mentioned; the account of whom would, if modernized, run in the following terms. ‘"In the middle of the monument ſtood a man, with a whip in his right hand, and a feed of corn in his left."’ Hence it appears, that the Romans intended to do honour to the charioteer as well as the horſes; and it is a pity, that we do not alſo imitate them in this particular, and pay equal reſpect to our Jockeys. [376] The chariot-race was not more celebrated among the Ancients, than the horſe-race is at preſent; and the Circus at Rome never drew together ſo noble an aſſembly as the modern courſe. Nor do I ſee any reaſon, why Theron ſhould be more applauded for carrying off the prize at Elis or Piſa, than Tom Marſhal for winning the plate at York or Newmarket. The charioteers of old were, indeed, compoſed of the greateſt princes, and perſons of the firſt rank, who prided themſelves on their dexterity in managing the reins, and driving their own chariots. In this they have been imitated by ſeveral of our modern gentry, who value themſelves in being excellent coachmen. And it is with infinite pleaſure, that I have lately obſerved perſons of faſhion at all races affect the dreſs and manner of grooms. And as gentlemen, like the ancient charioteers, begin to enter the race themſelves, and ride their own horſes, it is probable that we ſhall ſoon ſee the beſt jockeys among the firſt of our nobility.

THAT the encomiums of the horſe ſhould ſo frequently be enlarged on, without entering into the praiſes of the Jockey, is indeed ſomething wonderful; when we conſider how much the beaſt is under his direction, and that the ſtrength and fleetneſs of Victorious or Driver would be of no uſe without the ſkill and honeſty of the rider. Large ſums have been loſt by a horſe running, accidentally without doubt, on the wrong ſide of the poſt; and We Knowing Ones, Mr. TOWN, have frequently ſeen great dexterity and management exerted, in contriving that one of the beſt horſes in the field ſhould be diſtanced. The Jockey has indeed ſo great a ſhare in the ſucceſs of the race, [377] that every man, who has ever betted five pounds, is acquainted with his conſequence, and does not want to be told, that the victory depends at leaſt as often on the rider as the horſe.

I CANNOT help agreeing with Lady Pentweazle in the farce, that ‘"if there was as much care taken in the breed of the human ſpecies, as there is in that of dogs and of horſes, we ſhould not have ſo many puny half-formed animals as we daily ſee among us:"’ and indeed every thorough ſportſman very well knows, that as much art is required in bringing up a Jockey, as the beaſt he is to ride. In every reſpect the ſame care muſt be had to keep him in wind; and he muſt be in like manner dieted, put in ſweats, and exerciſed to bring him down to a proper weight. Much depends upon the ſize of the man as well as horſe: for a rider of the ſame dimenſions with a grenadier would no more be fit to come upon the Turf as a Jockey, than an awkward thing taken out of the ſhafts of a dray could ever appear at the ſtarting-poſt as a race-horſe. This is obvious to every one; and I could not help ſmiling at what my landlord at the White Bear ſaid the other day to a fellow-commoner of St. John's, (who would fain be thought a Knowing One) by way of compliment: ‘"My worthy maſter, ſaid the landlord, it is a thouſand pities you ſhould be a gownſman, when you would have made ſuch a ſpecial poſtboy or jockey."’

MY chief inducement to write to you at preſent, Mr. TOWN, was to deſire you to uſe your endeavours to bring the Jockey into equal eſteem with the animal he beſtrides; and to beg that you would promote the ſettling an eſtabliſhed [378] ſcheme for the preſervation of his breed. In order to this I would humbly propoſe, that a ſtud for the Jockeys ſhould be immediately built near the ſtables at Newmarket, and that their genealogies ſhould be duly regiſtered; that the breed ſhould be croſſed, as occaſion might require; and that the beſt horſemen and of the lighteſt weights ſhould intermarry with the full ſiſters of thoſe who had won moſt plates; and in a word the ſame methods uſed for the improvement of the Jockeys as their horſes. I have here ſent you the exact pedigree of a famous Jockey, taken with all that care juſt now preſcribed; and I doubt not if my ſcheme was univerſally put in execution, but we ſhould excel all other nations in our horſemen, as we already do in our horſes.

To RIDE this SEASON,

AN able JOCKEY, fit to ſtart for Match, Sweep-Stakes, or King's Plate; well-ſized; can mount twelve Stone, or ſtrip to a Feather; is ſound Wind and Limb, and free from Blemiſhes. He was got by Yorkſhire Tom, out of a full Siſter to Deptford Nan: His Dam was got by the noted Matchim Tims; his Grandam was the German Princeſs; and his Great Grandam was Daughter to Flanders Moll. His Sire won the King's Plate at York and Hambleton, the Lady's Subſcription Purſe at Nottingham, the Give-and-Take at Lincoln, and the Sweep-Stakes at Newmarket. His Grandſire beat Dick Rogers at Epſom and Burford; and Patrick M'Cutt'em over the Curragh of Kildare. His Great Grandſire, and Great Great Grandſire rode for King Charles the Second; and ſo noble is the Blood which flows in this Jockey's Veins, that none of his Family were ever diſtanced, ſtood above Five Feet Five, or weighed more than Twelve Stone.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXIV. THURSDAY, April 17, 1755.

[379]
—Placidum pecus, inque tuendos
Natum homines; vitâque magìs quàm morte juvatis.
OVID.

RETURNING the other night from the coffeehouſe, where I had juſt been reading the Votes, I found myſelf on a ſudden oppreſſed with a drowſineſs, that ſeemed to promiſe me as ſound a repoſe in my great chair, as my dog already enjoyed by the fire-ſide. I willingly indulged it, and had hardly cloſed my eyes before I fell into the following dream.

METHOUGHT the door of my room on a ſudden flew open, and admitted a great variety of Dogs of all ſorts and ſizes, from the maſtiff to the lapdog. I was ſurprized at this appearance, but my amazement was much [380] encreaſed, when I ſaw a large Grey-hound advancing towards me, and heard him thus addreſs me in a human voice.

YOU cannot, Sir, be ignorant of the panic that prevails among all our ſpecies, on account of a ſcheme now on foot for our deſtruction. That ſlaughter, which was formerly made among the wolves of this land, and in which our anceſtors bore ſo large a ſhare, is now going to be revived among us. I, for my own part, have no hopes of eſcaping, as you will eaſily judge when you hear my caſe. My maſter owes his ſubſiſtence to his labour, and with his wages can juſt maintain me and his three children. In return, I now and then afford him a comfortable meal, by killing him a rabbit in the ſquire's warren, or picking him up a hare on a Sunday morning. The other ſervices I render him are of equal importance to him and pleaſure to myſelf. I am his conſtant companion to the field in the morning, and back again at night: he knows that his cloaths and his wallet are ſafe in my keeping; and he is ſure to be rouzed on any midnight alarm, when I am in the houſe.

IT is with horror I reflect on the numbers of my relations, who will ſwing their laſt, and againſt whom this law ſeems indeed to be levelled. Is it not enough that our merits are neglected, and thought inferior to thoſe of a ſlow-footed race, who inhabit a ſpacious kennel in the ſquire's yard, and who are as many hours in killing a hare, as we are minutes? Yet they are kept by the great, attended by the noble, and every day treated [381] with horſe-fleſh: while I live among the poor, am threatned by the rich, and now probably ſhall be deſtroyed by public authority.

I CANNOT deny, but that the favour of the ladies is frequently extended to a ſmall and degenerate race; who, tho' they bear our name, may very properly be ſtiled the Fribbles of our Species. 'Tis true, they are of foreign extraction, which alone is ſufficient merit, and ſeem indeed to be as much preferred by the Beau Monde to our Engliſh greyhounds, as their countrymen in the Haymarket are to our Engliſh ſingers. But tho' this breed is ſo diminutive, that I myſelf have courſed one of them for a hare, yet I will venture to pronounce, that be the tax what it will, not a Fido in the land will be ſacrificed to the laws.

OUR requeſt to you is to diſplay our merits to the world and convince mankind of the innocence of our intentions, and the hardſhips that we already labour under. Though I have enlarged on my own caſe; I have the honour to addreſs you in the name of all my brethren; ſuch of them, I mean, as think themſelves endangered by this ſcheme for our deſtruction. At the ſame time we deſire you to apprize the Public of the hazard they may run by coming to an open rupture; ſince, in ſuch a caſe, the Maſtiffs and the Bull Dogs are determined to join their forces, and will ſell their lives at the deareſt rate.

THIS laſt reſolution was confirmed by a general growl. After which I was thus accoſted by another of the company, of the Pointing-breed.

[382]

LITTLE did I think, that the pains I have taken, and the blows I have ſuffered, to perfect me in the art I profeſs, would have been thus requited. Having loſt the beſt of maſters by an accident from his gun, which I can ſcarce ever think of without a howl, I have now, like my friend Smoker, the misfortune to live with a poor man. A misfortune I now call it, ſince alas! he will not be able to ſave me from the halter, by paying my ranſom. He too, I am afraid, will be reduced to beggary; ſince at preſent, I and his gun are his chief ſupport. If he is deprived of me, and thereby prevented from what the rich maliciouſly term poaching, his beſt reſource will be to diſpatch himſelf with his gun before he ſurrenders it, or to hang himſelf with the ſame rope that ties up me. When I was a puppy, I was every day fed in the kitchen, and careſſed in the parlour; and I have now a brother, that always points for the beſt of company. What though our race has been frequently reproached? What though we, together with the Spaniels, have been accuſed, I do not ſay wrongfully, of crouching to our enemies, and licking the hand that beats us? Is not this every day practiſed among your ſpecies, and is it not countenanced by the greateſt examples? In fawning and flattering we are by no means ſingular, and crouching and cringing are not confined to the brute ſpecies.

I VERY heartily ſecond the requeſt of my friend, and doubt not but the arguments you will uſe in our behalf will be able to divert the ſtorm that threatens us. This, you may be aſſured of, that if my life is ſpared through your means, it ſhall be devoted to your ſervice; [383] and you ſhall ſup, as often as you pleaſe, oh a brace of birds.

THIS ſpeech was attended with a bark of applauſe; and I was next accoſted by a Lap-Dog, who, after dolefully ſhaking his ears, began the following harangue.— ‘"Though I am aware that many of my ſpecies will remain unhurt by this ſcheme deviſed for our deſtruction, yet I have on my own account great reaſon to be alarmed. I was born indeed in a noble family in St. James's ſquare, but unfortunately was within theſe three months reſigned over to my preſent miſtreſs, an old maid, who had been through her whole life as frugal of her money as her favours. She is indeed ſo very ſaving, that I have more than once been beat for lapping up her breakfaſt cream, and it was but laſt week that I was ſeverely corrected for devouring a ſheep's heart, for which ſhe had been to market herſelf. Such a miſtreſs will undoubtedly ſacrifice me to this cruel tax; and though you may perhaps imagine the loſs of life in theſe circumſtances is not much to be regretted, yet death is a terrible remedy, and a living dog is better than a dead lion. But if ſome of our ſpecies muſt periſh, ſurely a regard ſhould be had to national merit; and the ſtorm ſhould firſt fall on thoſe foreign intruders, who by the flatneſs of their noſes are ſuppoſed to be of Dutch extraction. If the ladies alſo have any regard to the honour of their country, or any love remaining for Us, it becomes them to take our caſe into conſideration. And I make no doubt, ſince The FEMALE PARLIAMENT is now ſitting, but if you, Sir, would draw up a petition in our favour; as the other ſex have taken necceſſary [384] precautions for the preſervation of the Game, the ladies would in their turn bring in a bill for the preſervation of Lap-Dogs."’

VARIOUS were the arguments that many others uſed in their own behalf. The Maſtiff inſiſted on the Protection he afforded us, and the terror he ſtruck into thieves and houſe-breakers. King Charles's black favourites came fawning upon me, and hoped that their breed might be preſerved in deference to the taſte of ſo witty a monarch. I could not help ſmiling at the argument made uſe of by a Bull-Dog from Norfolk: who declared that he was ſo inſtrumental to the mirth of the county, that he firmly believed, they would never part with him; but begged at the ſame time that, if ſentence muſt paſs, it might be changed into baniſhment, and that Spain might be the place of his tranſportation.

THE eloquence and geſture of my four-footed viſiters had ſuch an influence over me, that I was juſt going to anſwer them in the manner they could wiſh; when my own Dog on a ſudden jumped into my lap, and rouzed me from my dream.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXV. THURSDAY, April 24, 1755.

[385]

To Mr. TOWN,

[...]
HOM.
SIR,

AS no one has a greater reſpect for the fair ſex than myſelf, I was highly pleaſed with a letter inſerted ſome time ago in your paper, ridiculing the deteſtable uſe of paint among the ladies. This practice is indeed too general; and for my part, when I meet with a blooming freſh-coloured face in town, I no more take it for the real face belonging to the lady, than I imagine Queen Anne's portrait delineated on a ſign-poſt to be Her Majedy's fleſh and blood.

[386]BUT this faſhion is not confined to the ladies. I am aſhamed to tell you that we are indebted to Spaniſh Wool for many of our maſculine ruddy complexions. A pretty fellow lackers his pale face with as many varniſhes as a fine lady; and it is well known that late hours at the card-table, amuſements at Haddock's, immoderate draughts of Champagne, and ſleeping all night upon a bulk, will ſtrip the moſt healthy complexion of its roſes. Therefore to repair the loſs, they are obliged to ſubſtitute the unwholeſome diſguiſe of art, for the native hue of a vigorous conſtitution.

I MUST leave it to you, Mr. TOWN, or your ingenious correſpondent to enlarge upon this ſubject; and will only juſt appeal to the ladies, whether a ſmooth fair face is a proper recommendation of a man to their favour, and whether they do not look on thoſe of the other ſex as a contemptible ſort of rivals, who aſpire to be thought charming and pretty? As many females are alſo conſcious that they themſelves endeavour to conceal by art the defects of nature, they are apt to ſuſpect thoſe of our ſex, who are ſo very ſollicitous to ſet off their perſons: and indeed I fear it will be found upon examination that our pretty fellows, who lay on Carmine, are painting a rotten poſt.

I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, W. MANLY.

MANY of my readers will, I dare ſay, be hardly perſuaded that this cuſtom could have ever prevailed as a branch of male foppery: but it is too [387] notorious that our fine gentlemen, in many other instances beſides the article of paint, affect the ſoftneſs and delicacy of the fair ſex. The male beauty has his waſhes, perfumes, and coſmetics; and takes as much pains to ſet a gloſs on his complexion, as the footman in japanning his ſhoes. He has his dreſſing-room and (which is ſtill more ridiculous) his Toilette too; at which he ſits as many hours repairing his battered countenance, as a decayed toaſt dreſſing for a birth-night. I had once an opportunity of taking a ſurvey of one of theſe Male-Toilettes; and as ſuch a curioſity may perhaps prove entertaining to many of my readers, I ſhall here give a deſcription of it.

HAVING occaſion one morning to wait on a very pretty fellow, I was deſired by the Valet de Chambre to walk into the dreſſing room, till his maſter was ſtirring. I was accordingly ſhewn into a neat little chamber, hung round with India paper, and adorned with ſeveral little images of pagods and bramins, and veſſels of Chelſea China, in which were ſet various-coloured ſprigs of artificial flowers. But the Toilette moſt excited my admiration; where I found every thing was intended to be agreeable to the Chineſe taſte. A looking-glaſs encloſed in a whimſical frame of Chineſe paling, ſtood upon a Japan table, over which was ſpread a coverlid of the fineſt chints. I could not but obſerve a number of boxes of different ſizes, which were all of them Japan, and were regularly diſpoſed on the table. I had the curioſity to examine the contents of ſeveral, and in one I found lip-ſalve; in another a roll of pigtail; and in another the ladies black ſticking plaiſter: but the laſt which I opened [388] very much ſurpriſed me, as I found nothing in it but a number of little pills. I likewiſe remarked in one part of the table a tooth-bruſh and ſpunge with a pot of Delaſcot's opiate, and on the other ſide water for the eyes: in the middle ſtood a bottle of Eau de Luce, and a roll of perfumed pomatum: almond paſtes, powder-puffs, hair combs, bruſhes, nippers, and the like, made up the reſt of this fantaſtic equipage: but among many other wimſies, I could not conceive for what uſe a very ſmall ivory comb could be deſigned, till the valet informed me, that it was a comb for the eye-brows.

IT muſt be confeſſed, that there are ſome men of ſuch a delicate make and ſilky conſtitution, that it is no wonder if gentlemen of ſuch a lady-like generation have a natural tendency to the refinements and ſoftneſſes of females. Theſe tender dear creatures are generally bred up immediately under the wing of their mamas, and ſcarce fed with any thing leſs innocent than her milk. They are never permitted to ſtudy, leaſt it ſhould hurt their eyes, and make their heads ache; nor ſuffered to uſe any exerciſes, like other boys, leaſt a fine hand ſhould be ſpoiled by being uſed too roughly. While other lads are flogged into the five declenſions, and at length laſhed through a whole ſchool, theſe pretty maſters are kept at home to improve in whip-ſillabubs, paſtry, and face-painting. In conſequence of which, when other young fellows begin to appear like men, theſe dainty creatures come into the world, with all the accompliſhments of a lady's woman.

BUT if theſe common foibles of the female world are ridiculous even in theſe equivocal half-men, theſe neuter [389] ſomethings between male and female, how awkardly muſt they ſit upon the more robuſt and maſculine part of mankind? What indeed can be more abſurd, than to ſee a huge fellow with the make of a porter, and fit to mount the ſtage as a champion at Broughton's Amphitheatre, ſitting to varniſh his broad face with paint and Benjamin-waſh? For my part I never ſee a great looby aiming at delicateſſe, but it ſeems as ſtrange and uncouth a figure as Achilles in petticoats. This folly is alſo to be particularly condemned, when it appears in the more ſolemn characters of life, to which a gravity of appearance is eſſential; and in which the leaſt marks of foppery ſeem as improper, as a phyſician would ſeem ridiculous preſcribing in a bag-wig, or a ſerjeant pleading at the King's Bench in his own hair inſtead of a night-cap periwig. As I think an inſtance or two of this kind would ſhew this folly in the moſt ſtriking light, I ſhall here ſubjoin two characters, in whom as it is moſt improper, it will conſequently appear moſt ridiculous.

JOHN HARDMAN is upwards of ſix feet high, and ſtout enough to beat two of the ſturdieſt chairmen that ever came out of Ireland. Nature indeed ſeems to have intended John himſelf to carry a chair, but fortune has enabled him to appear in whatever character he likes beſt, and he has wiſely diſcovered, that none will ſit ſo eaſy on him as that of a pretty fellow. It is therefore his ſtudy to new-mould his face, and perſon: He throws his goggle eyes into leers, languiſhes and ogles; and endeavours to draw up his hideous mouth, that extends from one ear to the other, into a ſimper. His voice, which is naturally of a deeper baſe than an hurdy-gurdy, is in a manner ſet to a new tune: and his ſpeech, which is very much tinctured with the broad dialect of a particular county, [390] is delivered with ſo much nicety and gentleneſs, that every word is minced and clipt in order to appear ſoft and delicate. When he walks, he endeavours to move his unwieldy figure along in the pert trip, or eaſy ſhambling pace of our pretty fellows; and commonly carries a thin jemmy ſtick in his hand, which naturally reminds us of Hercules with a diſtaff.

THE Reverend Mr. JESSAMY, (who took orders only becauſe there was a good living in the family,) is known among the ladies by the name of the Beau-Parſon. He is indeed the moſt delicate creature imaginable; and differs ſo much from the generality of the clergy, that I believe the very ſight of a plumb-pudding would make him ſwoon. Out of his Canonicals, his conſtant dreſs is what they call Parſon's-Blue, lined with white; a black ſattin waiſtcoat, velvet breeches, and ſilk ſtockings: his pumps are of dog-ſkin made by Tull; and it is ſaid that he had a joint of one of his toes cut off, whoſe length being out of all proportion, prevented his having a handſome foot. His very grizzle is ſcarce orthodox: for, though it would be open ſchiſm to wear a bag, yet his wig has always a bag-front, and is properly cropped behind, that it may not eclipſe the luſtre of his diamond ſtock-buckle. He cannot bear the thoughts of being ſea-ſick; or elſe he declares he would certainly go abroad, where he might again reſume his laced cloaths, and appear like a gentleman in a bag-wig, and ſword.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXVI. THURSDAY, May 1, 1755.

[391]
Detrahere et pellem, nitidus quà quiſque per ora
Cederet—
HOR.

AMONG the many exotic diverſions, that have been tranſplanted into this country, there is no one more cultivated, or which ſeems to have taken deeper root among us, than that modeſt and rational entertainment, the Maſquerade. This, as well as the Opera, is originally of Italian growth; and was brought over hither by the celebrated Heidegger, who thence juſtly acquired among his own countrymen the honourable title of Surintendant des plaiſirs d' Angleterre.

[392]I HAVE called the Maſquerade a modeſt and rational entertainment. As to the firſt, no one can have the leaſt ſcruple about its innocence, if he conſiders, that it is always made a part of the education of our polite females; and that the moſt virtuous woman is not aſhamed to appear there. If it be objected, that a lady is expoſed to hear many indecencies from the men, (as the maſk gives them a privilege to ſay any thing, though ever ſo rude) it may be anſwered, that no lady is obliged to take the affront to herſelf; becauſe, as ſhe goes diſguiſed, the indignity is not offered to her in her own proper perſon. Beſides, according to Dryden,

She cannot bluſh, becauſe they cannot ſee.

AS to the rationality of this entertainment, every one will agree with me, that theſe midnight orgies are full as rational as ſitting up all night at the card-table. Nor is it more ſtrange, that five or ſix hundred people ſhould meet together in diſguiſes purpoſely to conceal themſelves, than that the ſame number ſhould aſſemble at a route, where moſt of the company are wholly unacquainted with each other.

BUT we can never enough admire the wit and humour of theſe meetings; which greatly conſiſts in exhibiting the moſt fantaſtic appearances, that the moſt whimſical imagination can poſſibly deviſe. A common perſon may be content with appearing as a Chineſe, a Turk, or a Fryar; but the true genius will ranſack earth, air, and ſeas, reconcile contradictions, and call in things inanimate, as well as animate, to his aſſiſtance: and the more extravagant and out of nature his dreſs can be contrived, the [393] higher is the joke. I remember one gentleman above ſix foot high, who came to the maſquerade dreſt, like a child, in a white frock and leading ſtrings, attended by another gentleman of exceeding low ſtature, who officiated as his nurſe. The ſame witty ſpark took it into his head at another time to perſonate Fame, and was ſtuck all over with peacock-feathers by way of eyes: but when he came to faſten on his wings, they were ſpread to ſo enormous a length, that no coach or chair was ſpacious enough to admit him; ſo that he was forced to be conveyed along the ſtreets on a chairman's horſe, covered with a blanket. Another gentleman of no leſs humour very much ſurpriſed the company by carrying a thatched houſe about him; which was ſo contrived, that no part of him could be ſeen, except his face, which was looking out of the caſement: but this joke had like to have coſt him dear, as another wag was going to ſet fire to the building, becauſe he found, by the leaden policy affixed to the front, that the tenement was inſured. In a word, dogs, monkeys, oſtriches, and all kinds of monitors, are as frequently to be met with at the maſquerade, as in the Covent-Garden pantomimes: and I once ſaw with great delight a gentleman (who perſonated one of Bayes's recruits) prance a minuet on his hobby-horſe, with a dancing bear for his partner.

I HAVE ſaid before, that the Maſquerade is of foreign extraction, and imported to us from abroad. But as the Engliſh, though ſlow at invention, are remarkable for improving on what has already been invented, it is no wonder that we ſhould attempt to heighten the guſto of this entertainment, and even carry it beyond the licence of a foreign [394] Carnival. There is ſomething too inſipid in our fine gentlemen ſtalking about in dominos; and it is rather cruel to eclipſe the pretty faces of our fine ladies with hideous maſks: for which reaſons it has been judged requiſite to contrive a maſquerade upon a new plan, and in an entire new taſte. We may all remember, when (a few years ago) a celebrated lady endeavoured to introduce a new ſpecies of Maſquerade among us, by lopping off the exuberance of dreſs: and ſhe herſelf firſt ſet the example, by ſtripping to the character of Iphigenia undreſt for the ſacrifice. I muſt own, it is a matter of ſome ſurprize to me (conſidering the propenſity of our modern ladies to get rid of their cloaths,) that other Iphigenias did not immediately ſtart up, or that nuns and veſtals ſhould be ſuffered ever after to be ſeen among the maſks. But this project, it ſeems, was not then ſufficiently ripe for execution, as a certain aukward thing, called Baſhfulneſs, had not yet been baniſhed from the female world: and to the preſent enlightened times was reſerved the honour of introducing (however contradictory the term may ſeem) a NAKED MASQUERADE.

WHAT the above-mentioned lady had the hardineſs to attempt alone, will (I am aſſured) be ſet on foot by our perſons of faſhion, as ſoon as the hot days come in. Ranelagh. is the place pitched upon for their meeting; where it is propoſed to have a Maſquerade Al Freſco, and the whole company is to diſplay all their charms in puris naturalibus. The Pantheon of the Heathen Gods, Ovid's Metamorphoſes, and Titian's Prints will ſupply them with a ſufficient variety of undreſt characters. One ſet of ladies, I am told, intend to perſonate Water-Nymphs bathing in the canal: [395] three ſiſters, celebrated for their charms, deſign to appear together as the Three Graces; and a certain lady of quality, who moſt reſembles the Goddeſs of Beauty, is now practiſing from a model of the noted ſtatue of Venus de Medicis, the moſt ſtriking attitudes for that character. As to the gentlemen, they may moſt of them repreſent very ſuitably the half-brutal forms of Satyrs, Pans, Fauns, and Centaurs: our beaux may aſſume the ſemblance of the beardleſs Apollo, or (which would be more natural) may admire themſelves in the perſon of Narciſſus: and our bucks might act quite in character, by running about ſtark-naked with their miſtreſſes, and committing the maddeſt freaks, like the Prieſts and Prieſteſſes of Bacchus, celebrating the Bacchanalian myſteries.

IF this ſcheme for a Naked Maſquerade ſhould meet with encouragement, (as there is no doubt but it muſt,) it is propoſed to improve it ſtill further. Perſons of faſhion cannot but lament, that there are no diverſions allotted to Sunday, except the card-table; and they can never enough regret, that the Sunday evening tea-drinkings at Ranelagh were laid aſide, from a ſuperſtitious regard to religion. They therefore intend to have a particular ſort of Maſquerade on that day, in which they may ſhew their taſte by ridiculing all the old womens tales contained in that idle book of fables, the Bible; while the vulgar are devoutly attending to them at church. This, indeed, is not without a parallel: we have had an inſtance already of an Eve; and by borrowing the ſerpent in Orpheus and Eurydice, we might have the whole ſtory of the Fall of Man exhibited in a Maſquerade.

[396]IT muſt, indeed, be acknowledged, that this project has already taken place among the loweſt of the people, who ſeem to have been the firſt contrivers of a Naked Maſquerade: and laſt ſummer I remember an article in the news-papers, that ‘"ſeveral perſons of both ſexes were aſſembled naked at Pimlico, and being carried before a magiſtrate were ſent to Bridewell."’ This, indeed, is too refined a pleaſure to be allowed the vulgar: and every body will agree with me, that the ſame act, which at the Green Lamps, or Pimlico appears low and criminal, may be polite, and extremely commendable at the Haymarket or at Ranelagh.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXVII. THURSDAY, May 8, 1755.

[397]
O imitatores! ſervum pecus!—
HOR.

THE following letter has given me ſo much pleaſure, that I ſhall make it the entertainment of to-day: and I flatter myſelf it will not be diſagreeable to my readers.

To Mr. TOWN.

SIR!

BAYES in the Rehearſal frequently boaſts it as his chief excellence that he treads on no man's heels, that he ſcorns to follow the ſteps of others; and when he is aſked the reaſon of inſerting any abſurdity in his play, he anſwers, becauſe it is new. The poets of the preſent time run into the contrary error: they are ſo far from endeavouring to elevate and ſurprize by any thing original, that [398] their whole buſineſs is imitation; and they jingle their bells in the ſame road with thoſe that went before them, with all the dull exactneſs of a packhorſe.

THE generality of our writers wait till a new walk is pointed out to them by ſome leading genius, when it immediately becomes ſo hackney'd and beaten, that an author of credit is almoſt aſhamed to appear in it among ſuch bad company. No ſooner does one man of parts ſucceed in any particular mode of writing, but he is followed by a thouſand dunces. A good elegy makes the little ſcribblers direct their whole bent to ſubjects of grief, and, for a whole winter, the preſs groans with melancholy. One novel of reputation fills all the garrets of Grub Street with whole reams of hiſtories and adventures, where volume is ſpun out after volume, without the leaſt wit, humour, or incident. In a word, as Bayes obviated all objections to his nonſenſe by ſaying it was new, if a modern writer was aſked why he choſe any particular manner of writing, he might reply, becauſe it is the faſhion.

TRUE genius will not give into ſuch idle extravagant flights of imagination as Bayes, it will not turn funerals into banquets, or introduce armies in diſguiſe: but ſtill it will not confine itſelf to the narrow track of imitation. I cannot help thinking that it is more owing to this ſervile ſpirit in the authors of the preſent time, than to their want of abilities, that we cannot now boaſt a ſet of eminent writers: And it is worthy obſervation that whenever any age has been diſtinguiſhed by a great number of excellent authors, they have moſt of them cultivated different branches of poetry from each other. This was the caſe in the age of Auguſtus, [399] as appears from the works of Virgil, Horace, Ovid, &c. And to come down as late as poſſible, this is evident from our laſt famous ſet of authors, who flouriſhed in the beginning of this century. We admire Swift, Pope, Gay, Bolinbroke, Addiſon, &c. but we admire each for his particular beauties, ſeparate and diſtinguiſhed from the reſt.

I FEAR Mr. TOWN, that my letter will appear too vague and unconnected; but theſe looſe thoughts were thrown together merely to introduce the following little poem, which I think deſerves the attention of the Public. It was written by a very ingenious gentleman, as a letter to a friend, who was about to publiſh a volume of miſcellanies; and contains all that original ſpirit, which it ſo elegantly recommends.

Since now, all ſcruples caſt away,
Your works are riſing into day,
Forgive tho' I preſume to ſend
This honeſt counſel of a friend.
Let not your verſe, as verſe now goes,
Be a ſtrange kind of meaſur'd proſe,
Nor let your proſe, which ſure is worſe,
Want nought but meaſure to be verſe.
Write from your own imagination,
Nor curb your Muſe by imitation.
For copies ſhew, howe'er expreſt,
A barren genius at the beſt.
—But imitation's all the mode—
Yet where one hits ten miſs the road.
The mimic bard with pleaſure ſees
Matt. Prior's unaffected eaſe.
[400]Aſſumes his ſtyle, affects a ſtory,
Sets every circumſtance before ye,
The day, the hour, the name, the dwelling,
And marrs a curious tale in telling.
Obſerves how EASY Prior flows,
Then runs his numbers down to proſe.
Others have ſought the filthy ſtews
To find a dirty ſlip-ſhod muſe.
Their groping genius, while it rakes
The bogs, the common-ſew'rs, and jakes,
Ordure and filth in rhyme expoſes
Diſguſtful to our eyes and noſes.
With many a — daſh that muſt offend us,
And much * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * hiatus non deflendus.
—O Swift! how wou'dſt thou bluſh to ſee,
Such are the bards who copy THEE?
This Milton for his plan will chuſe;
Wherein reſembling Milton's muſe?
Milton like thunder rolls along
In all the majeſty of ſong,
While his low mimics meanly creep,
Not quite awake or quite aſleep;
Or if their thunder chance to roll,
'Tis thunder of the muſtard bowl.
The ſtiff expreſſion, phraſes ſtrange,
The epithets prepoſterous change,
[401]Forc'd numbers, rough and unpolite,
Such as the judging ear affright,
Stop in mid verſe. Ye mimics vile!
Is't thus ye copy Milton's ſtyle?
His faults religiouſly ye trace,
But borrow not a ſingle grace.
But few, ſay whence can it proceed,
Who copy Milton e'er ſucceed.
But all their labours are in vain,
And wherefore ſo? The reaſon's plain.
Take it for granted 'tis by thoſe
Milton's the model moſtly choſe,
Who can't write verſe and won't write proſe.
Others who aim at fancy, chuſe
To woo the gentle Spenſer's muſe.
This poet fixes for his theme
On allegory, or a dream;
Fiction and truth together joins
Thro' a long waſte of flimzy lines,
Fondly believes his fancy glows,
And image upon image grows,
Thinks his ſtrong muſe takes wond'rous flights
Whene'er ſhe ſings of PEERLESS WIGHTS,
Of DENS, of PALFREYS, SPELLS and KNIGHTS.
Till allegory, Spenſer's veil,
T' inſtruct and pleaſe in moral tale,
With him's no veil the truth to ſhroud,
But one impenetrable cloud.
Others more daring, fix their hope
On rivalling the fame of Pope.
[402]Satyr's the word againſt the times.
Theſe catch the cadence of his rhimes,
And borne from earth by Pope's ſtrong wings,
Their muſe aſpires, and boldly flings
Her dirt up in the face of kings.
In theſe the ſpleen of Pope we find,
But where the greatneſs of his mind?
His numbers are their whole pretence,
Mere ſtrangers to his manly ſenſe.
Some few, the fav'rites of the muſe,
Whom with her kindeſt eye ſhe views,
Round whom Apollo's brighteſt rays
Shine forth with undiminiſh'd blaze;
Some few, my friend, have ſweetly trod
In imitation's dang'rous road.
Long as TOBACCO's mild perfume
Shall ſcent each happy curate's room,
Oft as in elbow-chair he ſmokes
And quaffs his ale, and cracks his jokes,
So long, O * Browne, ſhall laſt thy praiſe,
Crown'd with TOBACCO-LEAF for bays,
And whoſoe'er thy verſe ſhall ſee,
Shall fill another PIPE to thee.
*
Hawkins Browne, Eſq author of a Piece called The Pipe of Tobacco, a moſt excellent Imitation of ſix different Authors.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXVIII. THURSDAY, May 15, 1755.

[403]
—Nunc et campus, et areae,
Leneſque ſub noctem ſuſurri
Compoſitâ repetantur horâ.
HOR.

THE various ſeaſons of the year produce not a greater alteration in the face of nature, than in the polite manner of paſſing our time. The diverſions of winter and ſummer are as different as the dog-days and thoſe at Chriſtmas; nor do I know any genteel amuſement, except Gaming, that prevails during the whole year. As the long days are now coming on, the theatrical gentry, who contribute to diſſipate the gloom of our winter evenings, begin to divide themſelves into ſtrolling companies; and are packing up their tragedy wardrobes, together with a ſufficient quantity of thunder and lightning, for the delight and amazement of the country. In the mean time the ſeveral public Gardens near this metropolis are trimming their trees, levelling their walks, and burniſhing their lamps, for our reception. At Vaux-hall (which is already opened) the artificial ruins are repaired; the caſcade is made to ſpout with ſeveral additional ſtreams of block-tin; [404] and they have touched up all the pictures, which were damaged laſt ſeaſon by the fingering of thoſe curious Connoiſſeurs, who could not be ſatisfied without feeling whether the figures were alive. The magazine at Cuper's, I am told, is furniſhed with an extraordinary ſupply of gunpowder, to be ſhot off in ſquibs and ſky-rockets, or whirled away in blazing ſuns and Catherine wheels. And it is not to be doubted, in caſe of a war, but that Neptune and all his Tritons will aſſiſt the Britiſh navy; and as we before took Porto-Bello and Cape Breton, we ſhall gain new victories over the French fleet every night upon that canal.

HAPPY are they, who can muſter up ſufficient, at leaſt to hire tickets at the door, once or twice in a ſeaſon! Not that theſe pleaſures are confined to the rich and the great only; for the lower ſort of people have their Ranelaghs and their Vauxhalls as well as the quality. Perrot's inimitable Grotto may be ſeen for only calling for a pot of beer; and the royal diverſion of duck-hunting, may be had into the bargain, together with a decanter of Dorcheſter, for your ſix-pence at Jenny's Whim. Every ſkettle-alley half a mile out of town is embelliſhed with green arbours and ſhady retreats; where the company is generally entertained with the melodious ſcraping of a blind fiddler. And who can reſiſt the luſcious temptation of a fine juicy ham, or a delicious buttock of beef ſtuffed with parſley, accompanied with a foaming decanter of ſparkling home-brew'd, which is ſo invitingly painted at the entrance of almoſt every village ale-houſe?

OUR Northern climate will not, indeed, allow us to indulge ourſelves in all thoſe pleaſures of a garden, which are ſo feelingly deſcribed by our poets. We dare not lay ourſelves on the damp ground in ſhady groves, or by the purling ſtream, but are obliged to fortify our inſides againſt the cold by good ſubſtantial eating and drinking. For this reaſon the extreme coſtlineſs of the proviſions at our public Gardens has been grievouſly complained of by thoſe gentry, to whom a ſupper at theſe places is as neceſſary a part of the entertainment as the ſinging or the fireworks. Poor Mr. John ſees with an heavy heart the profits of a whole week's card-money devoured in tarts and cheeſe-cakes by Mrs. Houſe-keeper or Mrs. Lady's own Woman: and the ſubſtantial cit, who comes from behind the counter two or three evenings in the ſummer, can never enough regret the thin wafer-like ſlices of beef and ham, that taſte of nothing but the knife.

[405]I WAS greatly diverted laſt Saturday evening at Vaux-hall with the ſhrewd remarks made on this very head by an honeſt citizen; whoſe wife and two daughters had, I found, prevailed on him to carry them to the Garden. As I thought there was ſomething curious in their behaviour, I went into the next box to them, where I had an opportunity of ſeeing and over-hearing every thing that paſt.

AFTER ſome talk,— ‘"Come, come, (ſaid the old don) it is high time, I think, to go to ſupper."’ To this the ladies readily aſſented; and one of the miſſes ſaid, ‘"do let us have a chick, papa."’ ‘"Zounds (ſaid the father) they are half a crown a-piece, and no bigger than a ſparrow."’ Here the old lady took him up— ‘"You are ſo ſtingy, Mr. Roſe, there is no bearing you. When one is out upon pleaſure, I love to appear like ſomebody: and what ſignifies a few ſhillings once and away, when a body is about it?"’ This reproof ſo effectually ſilenced the old gentleman, that the youngeſt miſs had the courage to put in a word for ſome ham likewiſe: Accordingly the waiter was called, and diſpatched by the old lady with an order for a chicken and a plate of ham. When it was brought, our honeſt cit twirled the diſh about three or four times, and ſurveyed it with a very ſettled countenance; then taking up the ſlice of ham, and dangling it to and fro on the end of his fork, aſked the waiter, ‘"how much there was of it."’ ‘"A ſhilling's worth, Sir,"’ ſaid the fellow. ‘"—Prithee, ſaid the don, how much doſt think it weighs?—An ounce?—A ſhilling an ounce! that is ſixteen ſhillings per pound!—A reaſonable profit truly!—Let me ſee—ſuppoſe now the whole ham weighs thirty pounds:—at a ſhilling per ounce, that is, ſixteen ſhillings per pound, why your maſter makes exactly twenty-four pounds of every ham; and if he buys them at the beſt hand, and ſalts them and cures them himſelf, they don't ſtand him in ten ſhillings a-piece."’ The old lady bade him hold his nonſenſe, declared herſelf aſhamed for him, and aſked him if people muſt not live: then taking a coloured handkerchief from her own neck, ſhe tucked it into his ſhirt-collar, whence it hung like a bib, and helped him to a leg of the chicken. The old gentleman, at every bit he put in his mouth, amuſed himſelf with ſaying, — ‘"there goes two-pence—there goes three-pence—there goes a groat.—Zounds a man at theſe places ſhould not have a ſwallow ſo wide as a tom-tit."’

[406]THIS ſcanty repaſt, we may imagine, was ſoon diſpatched; and it was with much difficulty our citizen was prevailed on to ſuffer a plate of beef to be ordered. This too was no leſs admired, and underwent the ſame comments with the ham: at length, when only a very ſmall bit was left, as they ſay, for manners in the diſh, our don took a piece of an old newspaper out of his pocket, and gravely wrapping up the meat in it placed it carefully in his letter caſe. ‘"I'll keep thee as a curioſity to my dying day; and I'll ſhow thee to my neighbour Horſeman, and aſk him if he can make as much of his ſtakes."’ Then rubbing his hands, and ſhrugging up his ſhoulders, ‘"Why now, ſays he, to-morrow night I may eat as much cold beef as I can ſtuff in any tavern in London, and pay nothing for it"’ A diſh of tarts, cheeſecakes and cuſtards next made their appearance at the requeſt of the young ladies, who paid no ſort of regard to the father's remonſtrance, ‘"that they were four times as dear as at the paſtry-cook's."’

SUPPER being ended, madam put her ſpouſe in mind to call for wine.— ‘"We muſt have ſome wine, my dear, or we ſhall not be looked upon, you know."’ ‘"Well, well, ſays the don, that's right enough. But do they ſell their liquor too by the ounce?—’ ‘"Here, drawer, what wine have you got?"’ The fellow, who by this time began to ſmoke his gueſts, anſwered— ‘"We have exceeding good French wine of all ſorts, and pleaſe your honour. Would your honour have a bottle of Champagne, or Burgundy, or Claret, or"—’ ‘"No, no, none of your wiſhy-waſhy outlandiſh rot-gut for me:"’ interrupted the citizen.— ‘"A tankard of the Alderman beats all the red Claret wine in the French king's cellar.—But come, bring us a bottle of ſound old Port; and d'ye hear? let it be good."’

WHILE the waiter was gone, the good man moſt ſadly lamented, that he could not have his pipe; which the wife would by no means allow, ‘"becauſe (ſhe ſaid) it was ungenteel to ſmoke, where there were any ladies in company."’ When the wine came, our citizen gravely took up the bottle, and holding it above his head, ‘"Aye, aye, ſaid he, the bottom has had a good kick—And mind how confoundedly it is warped on the ſides.—Not above five gills, I warrant.—An old ſoldier at the Jeruſalem would beat two of them.—But let us ſee how it is brew'd."’ He then poured out a glaſs; and after holding it up before the candle, ſmelling to [407] it, ſipping it twice or thrice, and ſmacking with his lips; drank it off: but declaring that ſecond thoughts were beſt, he filled another bumper; and toſſing that off, after ſome pauſe, with a very important air, ventured to pronounce it drinkable. The ladies, having alſo drank a glaſs round, affirmed it was very good, and felt warm in the ſtomach: and even the old gentleman relaxed into ſuch good humour by the time the bottle was emptied, that out of his own free will and motion he moſt generouſly called for another pint, but charged the waiter ‘"to pick out an honeſt one."’

WHILE the glaſs was thus circulating, the family amuſed themſelves by making obſervations on the Garden. The citizen expreſſed his wonder at the number of lamps; and ſaid it muſt coſt a great deal of money every night to light them all: the eldeſt miſs declared, that for her part ſhe liked the Dark Walk beſt of all, becauſe it was ſolentary: little miſs thought the laſt ſong mighty pretty, and ſaid ſhe would buy it, if ſhe could but remember the tune: and the old lady obſerved, that there was a great deal of good company indeed; but the gentlemen were ſo rude, that they perfectly put her out of countenance by ſtaring at her through their ſpy-glaſſes. In a word, the tarts, the cheeſecakes, the beef, the chicken, the ounce of ham, and every thing, ſeemed to have been quite forgot, till the diſmal moment approached, that the reckoning was called for. As this ſolemn buſineſs concerns only the gentlemen, the ladies kept a profound ſilence; and when the terrible account was brought, they left the paymaſter undiſturbed to enjoy the miſery by himſelf: only the old lady had the hardineſs to ſquint at the ſum total, and declared ‘"it was pretty reaſonable conſidering."’

OUR citizen bore his misfortunes with a tolerable degree of patience: he ſhook his head as he run over every article, and ſwore he would never buy meat by the ounce again. At length, when he had carefully ſummed up every figure, he bade the drawer bring change for ſix-pence: then pulling out a leathern purſe from a ſnug pocket in the inſide of his waiſtcoat, he drew out ſlowly, piece by piece, thirteen ſhillings; which he regularly placed in two rows upon the table. When the change was brought, after counting it very carefully, he laid down four half-pence in the ſame exact order; then calling the waiter,— ‘"there, ſays he, there's your damage—thirteen and two-pence—And hearkye, there's three-pence over for yourſelf."’ The remaining penny he [408] put into his coat-pocket; and chinking it— ‘"this, ſays he, will ſerve me to-morrow to buy a paper of tobacco."’

THE family now prepared themſelves for going; and as there were ſome ſlight drops of rain, madam buttoned up the old gentleman's coat, that he might not ſpoil his laced waiſtcoat, and made him flap his hat, over which ſhe tyed his pocket handkerchief, to ſave his wig: and as the coat itſelf, (ſhe ſaid) had never been worn but three Sundays, ſhe even parted with her own Cardinal, and ſpread it the wrong ſide out over his ſhoulders. In theſe accoutrements he ſallied forth, accompanied by his wife with her upper petticoat thrown over her head, and his daughters with the ſkirts of their gowns turned up, and their heads muffled up in coloured handkerchiefs. I followed them quite out of the Garden; and as they were waiting for their hack to draw up, the youngeſt miſs aſked, ‘"When ſhall we come again, papa?—’ ‘"Come again? (ſaid he) what a pox would you ruin me? Once in one's life is enough; and I think I have done very handſome. Why it would not have coſt me above four-pence half-penny to have ſpent my evening at Sots Hole: and what with the curſed coach hire, and all together, here's almoſt a pound gone, and nothing to ſhow for it."’ ‘"Fye, Mr. Roſe, I am quite aſhamed for you,"’ replies the old lady. ‘"You are always grudging me and your girls the leaſt bit of pleaſure: and you cannot help grumbling, if we do but go to Little Hornſey to drink tea. I am ſure, now they are women grown up, they ought to ſee a little of the world;—and they SHALL."’ The old don was not willing to purſue the argument any further; and the coach coming up, he was glad to put an end to the diſpute by ſaying,— ‘"Come, come, let us make haſte, wife; or we ſhall not get home time enough to have my beſt wig combed out again;—and to-morrow, you know, is Sunday."’

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXIX. THURSDAY, May 22, 1755.

[409]
—Quid faemina poſſit.
VIRG.

IN a viſit which I paid the other day to a lady of great ſenſe and taſte, I was agreeably ſurpriſed by having two little volumes put into my hands, which have been lately publiſhed under the title of "POEMS by EMINENT LADIES." Theſe volumes are, indeed, (as the author of the preface has remarked) ‘"the moſt ſolid compliment, that can poſſibly be paid to the fair ſex."’ I never imagined, that our nation could boaſt ſo many excellent Poeteſſes, (whoſe works are an honour to their country) as I found are here collected together: And it is with the higheſt ſatisfaction I can aſſure my female readers in particular, that I have found a great number of very elegant pieces among the writings of theſe ladies, which cannot be ſurpaſſed by the moſt celebrated of our male-writers.

[410]THE pleaſure, which I received from reading theſe poems, made ſuch an impreſſion on my mind, that at night, as ſoon as I fell aſleep, my fancy preſented to me the following Dream. I was tranſported, I know not how, to the regions of Parnaſſus; and found myſelf in the Court of Apollo, ſurrounded by a great number of our moſt eminent poets. A cauſe of the utmoſt importance was then depending; and the debate was, whether the ladies, who had diſtinguiſhed themſelves in poetry, ſhould be allowed to hold the ſame rank, and have the ſame honours paid them, with the men. As the moderns were not allowed to plead in their own ſuit, Juvenal was retained on the ſide of the male poets, and Sappho pleaded in defence of the other ſex. The Roman ſatiriſt in his ſpeech at the bar inveighed bitterly againſt women in general, and particularly exclaimed againſt their dabbling in literature: but when Sappho came to ſet forth the pretenſions, which the ladies juſtly had to poetry, and eſpecially in love affairs, Apollo could no longer reſiſt the importunity of the Muſes in favour of their own ſex. He therefore decreed, that all thoſe females, who thought themſelves able to manage Pegaſus, ſhould immediately ſhew their ſkill and dexterity in riding him.

PEGASUS was accordingly brought out of the ſtable, and the Muſes furniſhed him with a ſide-ſaddle. All the ladies, who had courage enough to venture on his back, were prepared to mount: but as a great diſpute aroſe among ſome of the competitors about precedency, (each of them claiming a right to ride firſt,) it was at length agreed, that they ſhould get into the ſaddle according to ſeniority.

UPON this a lady advanced; who, though ſhe had ſomething rather extravagant in her air and deportment, yet ſhe [411] had a noble preſence, that commanded at once our awe and admiration. She was dreſſed in an old-faſhioned habit, very fantaſtic, and trimmed with bugles and points; ſuch as was worn in the times of King Charles the firſt. This lady, I was informed, was the Dutcheſs of NEWCASTLE. When ſhe came to mount, ſhe ſprung into the ſaddle with ſurpriſing agility; and giving an entire looſe to the reins, Pegaſus directly ſet up a gallop, and run away with her quite out of our ſight. However, it was acknowledged, that ſhe kept a firm ſeat, even when the horſe went at his deepeſt rate; and that ſhe wanted nothing but to ride with a curb-bridle. When ſhe came to diſmount, Shakeſpeare and Milton very kindly offered their hand to help her down, which ſhe accepted. Then Euterpe came up to her with a ſmile, and begged her to repeat thoſe beautiful lines againſt Melancholy, which (ſhe ſaid) were ſo extremely pictureſque. The Dutcheſs, with a moſt pleaſing air, immediately began—

*Dull Melancholy—
She'll make you ſtart at ev'ry noiſe you hear,
And viſions ſtrange ſhall to your eyes appear.
Her voice is low, and gives an hollow ſound;
She hates the light, and is in darkneſs found;
Or ſits by blinking lamps, or tapers ſmall,
Which various ſhadows make againſt the wall:
She loves nought elſe, but noiſe which diſcord makes;
As croaking frogs, whoſe dwelling is in lakes;
The raven hoarſe, the mandrake's hollow groan,
And ſhrieking owls, that fly i'th 'night alone;
[412]The tolling bell, which for the dead rings out;
A mill, where ruſhing waters run about.
She loves to walk in the ſtill moon-ſhine night,
And in a thick dark grove ſhe takes delight:
In hollow caves, thatch'd houſes, and low cells,
She loves to live, and there alone ſhe dwells.
There leave her to herſelf alone to dwell,
While you and I in mirth and pleaſure ſwell.

All the while that theſe lines were repeating, Milton ſeemed very much chagrined; and it was whiſpered by ſome, that he was obliged for many of the thoughts in his L'Allegro and Il Penſeroſo to this lady's * Dialogue between Mirth and Melancholy.

THE Celebrated ORINDA, Mrs. KATHERINE PHILIPS, was next placed in the ſaddle, amid the ſhouts and applauſes of the lords Roſcommon and Orrery, Cowley, and other famous wits of her time. Her dreſs was ſimple, though of a very elegant make: it had no profuſe ornaments, and approached very nearly to the cut and faſhion of the preſent age. Though ſhe never ventured beyond a canter or an hand-gallop, ſhe made Pegaſus do his paces with ſo much eaſe and exactneſs, that Waller owned he could never bring him under ſo much command. After her Mrs. KILLIGREW, aſſiſted by Dryden, and ſeveral other ladies of that age took their turns to ride: and every one agreed, that (making ſome allowances for their ſex) they could not be excelled by the moſt experienced riders among the men.

[413]A BOLD maſculine figure now puſhed forward in a thin, airy, gay habit, which hung ſo looſe about her, that ſhe appeared to be half undreſt. When ſhe came up to Pegaſus, ſhe clapped her hand upon the ſide-ſaddle, and with a ſpring leaped acroſs it, ſaying that ſhe would never ride him but aſtride. She made the poor beaſt friſk, and caper, and curvet, and play a thouſand tricks; while ſhe herſelf was quite unconcerned, though ſhe ſhewed her legs at every motion of the horſe, and many of the Muſes turned their heads aſide bluſhing. Thalia, indeed, was a good deal pleaſed with her frolicks; and Erato declared, that next to her favourite Sappho ſhe ſhould always prefer this lady. Upon enquiring her name I found her to be the free-ſpirited Mrs. BEHN. When ſhe was to diſmount, Lord Rocheſter came up, and caught her in his arms; and repeating part of her * Ode to Deſire,

—To a myrtle bower
He led her nothing loth.—
MILTON.

I HAD now the pleaſure to ſee many ladies of our own times, whoſe names I was very well acquainted with, advance towards Pegaſus. Among the reſt I could not but wonder at the aſtoniſhing dexterity, with which the admired Mrs LEAPOR of Brackley guided the horſe, though ſhe had not the leaſt direction or aſſiſtance from any body. Mrs. BARBER of Ireland was aſſiſted in getting upon the ſaddle by Swift himſelf, who even condeſcended to hold the ſtirrup while ſhe mounted. Under the Dean's direction ſhe made the horſe to pace and amble very prettily: notwithſtanding [414] which ſome declared, that ſhe was not equal to her friend and country-woman Mrs. GRIERSON.

ANOTHER lady, a native of the ſame kingdom, then briſkly ſtepped up to Pegaſus; and deſpiſing the weak efforts of her huſband to prevent her, ſhe boldly jumped into the ſaddle, and whipping and cutting rode away furiouſly helter ſkelter over hedge and ditch, and trampled on every body who came in her road. She took particular delight in driving the poor horſe, who kicked and winced all the while, into the moſt filthy places; where ſhe made him fling about the dirt and mire, with which ſhe beſpattered almoſt every one that came near her. Sometimes, however, ſhe would put a ſtop to this mad career; and then ſhe plainly convinced us, that ſhe knew as well how to manage Pegaſus as any of the females, who had tried before her. Being told that this lady was no other than the celebrated biographer of her own actions Mrs. PILKINGTON, I had the curioſity to take a nearer view of her; when ſtepping up towards her, and offering my aſſiſtance to help her down, methought ſhe returned my civility with ſuch an uncourteous ſlap on the face, that (though I awaked at the inſtant) I could not help fancying for ſome time, that I felt my cheek tingle with the blow.

THE CONNOISSEUR. By Mr. TOWN, CRITIC and CENSOR-GENERAL.
NUMBER LXX. THURSDAY, May 29, 1755.

[415]
—Cauſam hanc juſtam eſſe in animum inducite,
Ut aliqua pars laboris minuatur mihi.
TERENT.

MY publiſher having acquainted me, that he intends to cloſe the volume with this number, I ſhall take the opportunity to throw together ſeveral letters, which I have received in the courſe of this work, and to ballance with all my correſpondents; at the ſame time aſſuring them, that I ſhould be very glad to open a freſh account with them in my next volume.

IN the infancy of this undertaking I was honoured with a very kind billet from a brother of the quill; the terms of which I am ſorry it was not in my power to comply with. It was as follows.

[416]
DEAR SIR,

I Can be of great aſſiſtance to you, if you want any help. I will write for you every other week, or oftener if you chuſe it. As a ſpecimen of my powers, I have ſent you an eſſay, which is at your ſervice. It is ſhort, but a very good one.

Yours at command, T. TURNPENNY.

P. S. Pleaſe to ſend by the bearer a guinea.

THE contents of the poſtſcript I naturally referred to the conſideration of my publiſher, who conſequently had a right to determine on the goodneſs of my friend's eſſay: but, whatever was the reaſon, I heard no more of it. The commerce between bookſeller and author is, indeed, of very great ſervice, eſpecially to the latter: for though I myſelf muſt undoubtedly be excepted out of the number, yet it muſt be confeſſed, that the moſt famous wits have owed their ſupport to this pecuniary intercourſe. Meat and drink, and the other conveniences of life, are as neceſſary to an author, as pen, ink and paper: and I remember to have ſeen in the poſſeſſion of Mr. Tonſon a curious manuſcript of the great Dryden himſelf, wherein he petitions his bookſeller to advance a ſum of money to his taylor.

THE next letter comes likewiſe from an author, who complains of an evil, which does not, indeed, often affect many of our fraternity; I mean, the cuſtom of giving money to ſervants. Had this practice prevailed among the ancients, the Roman Satiriſt would doubtleſs have had much more reaſon to exclaim—Miſerum eſt alienâ vivere quadrâ.

[417]
Dear Mr. TOWN,

I HAVE been happy all this winter in having the run of a nobleman's table, who was pleaſed to patronize a work of mine, and to which he allowed me the honour of prefixing his name in a dedication. We geniuſſes have a ſpirit, you know, far beyond our pockets: and (beſides the extraordinary expence of new cloaths to appear decent) I aſſure you I have laid out every farthing, that I ever received from his lordſhip, in tips to his ſervants. After every dinner I was forced to run the gauntlet through a long line of powdered pick-pockets; and I could not but look upon it as a very ridiculous circumſtance, that I ſhould be obliged to give money to a fellow, who was dreſſed much finer than myſelf. In ſuch a caſe, I am apt to conſider the ſhowy waiſtcoat of a foppiſh footman or butler out of livery, as laced down with the ſhillings and half-crowns of the gueſts. I would therefore beg of you, Mr. TOWN, to recommend the poor author's caſe to the conſideration of the gentlemen of the cloth; humbly praying, that they would be pleaſed to let us go ſcot-free as well as the clergy: for though a good meal is in truth a very comfortable thing to us, it is enough to blunt the edge of our appetites, to conſider that, we muſt afterwards pay ſo dear for our ordinary.

I am, Sir, Yours, &c. JEFFERY BAREBONES.

BY ſome of my papers I find I have drawn upon me the cenſure, not only of the Free-thinkers, but of the Moravians, Methodiſts, and other numerous ſectaries, which have lately ſtarted up in oppoſition to our eſtabliſhed religion. The following letter bears about it ſo many marks of an original, that it certainly comes from one of their teachers, who (as his ſtile ſmells ſo much of the craft) is undoubtedly ſome inſpired [418] ſhoemaker, or enlightened bricklayer. I have therefore printed it without any alteration, except in the ſpelling.

Mr. CONNOISSEUR.

SIR,

I HAVE taken the pains as uſual to read your paper, and as you receive letters, I thought proper among the reſt to ſend one alſo, to let you know that I did not know that a cat was capable of conſtituting a religious ſociety before. A prieſt may, tis true; and ſo may another rational creature, and perhaps an old woman alſo. But, ſir, you argue, that what a French fool or lunatic ſays on this head, is true; but you make more out, I obſerve, from the old woman and the leathern apron, than you do of the cat. For, if old women will, or does conſtitute a religious ſociety, I underſtand from the foundation you ſeem to argue, that you are as much an old woman as they. For to argue or reaſon from an old woman's ſtory, and for all your learning, and policy, and cunningneſs, and judgment you ſeem to have, you have but little of yourſelf: and as you ſeem to ridicule religion, and compare it to atheiſm or lunacy, I would beg the favour to know, ſir, what religion You are of: but by your talk I fear you are of none at all. This New Doctrine, ſir, that you revile, is the real goſpel, which you will find ſo, if you hear it, and compare it with the ſcriptures, if you believe any ſcripture at all. For you ſay, ſir, that the moſt extraordinary tenets of religion are very ſucceſsfully propagated under the ſanction of leathern aprons inſtead of caſſocks. Well, and ſuppoſe it is: you acknowledge it is received by well diſpoſed people; and if it is, then it is plain, us you ridicule it, you are not one of theſe well diſpoſed. But, ſir, this New Doctrine, as you call it, is not only propagated [419] under the ſanction of leathern aprons, by barbers, bricklayers, and the like, but by many of the clergy now in the eſtabliſhed church: and if you often went to hear them, but not as a critic to carp at what is there ſpoken, you would underſtand more what this New Doctrine meant, and whether it drives men to enthuſiaſm, and the like, or no. Sir, what you touch on the Moravians, I will not ſay any thing about or againſt; for perhaps it is too true. But, ſir, I would adviſe you to know a little more of religion experimentally for yourſelf, before you pretend to condemn others. And, ſir, if you are informed, that there will be a mad-houſe built on the ground where the Foundery ſtands, or the Methodiſts meeting-houſe, as you call it, perhaps there may be as many criticiſing lunatics in it, as religious ones; and very likely more. Sir, I beg you would take care, you don't bother your brains too much about other peoples affairs; leſt I ſhould have the pain, not the pleaſure, of ſeeing you there. I have juſt given you a ſketch of the ridiculing the New Doctrine, and wiſh you could find ſome better employ, if ſo be it was with a leathern apron before you; for I think it would become you better than this point does. Sir, I hope you will excuſe my freedom with you, as others muſt yours with them.

Your humble Servant, WISH NO HARM.

THE laſt letter, which I ſhall add, comes from an unknown correſpondent, who has already obliged me more than once, if I may judge from the hand-writing.

SIR,

SOME time ago you archly remarked that there was not one Woman left, but that the whole ſex was elevated into Ladies. You might at the ſame time have taken notice [420] of the wonderful increaſe among the other ſex in the order of GENTLEMEN. Beſides thoſe, who are univerſally acknowledged of this rank from their birth and ſituation in life, the courteſy of England alſo entitles all perſons who carry arms to that dignity: ſo that his Majeſty's three regiments of guards are compoſed entirely of Gentlemen; and every priggiſh fellow, who can clap a queüe to his peruke, and hang a ſword aukwardly dangling by his ſide, from thence aſſumes the importance as well as name of a Gentleman. Idleneſs and ignorance being too often the diſgrace of thoſe, who are Gentlemen born and bred, many inveſt themſelves with that dignity, though with no other qualifications. If the pride, poverty, or neglect of parents, has prevented their ſon from being bound 'prentice, or if the idle raſcal has ſhewn his indentures a light pair of heels, in either caſe Tom is of no trade, and conſequently a Gentleman. I know at this time a man, who came from Ireland laſt ſummer with a hayfork, but before winter raiſed himſelf to the rank of a Gentleman: and every day I go to Windmill-ſtreet, I ſee a very honourable Gentleman betting large ſums of money, whom I formerly remember Marker of the Tennis Court. Add to this, that all attorneys clerks, prentices, and the like, are Gentlemen every evening; and the citizen, who drudges all the reſt of the week behind the counter, every ſunday, together with his laced waiſtcoat and ruffles, puts on the Gentleman. Every author, Mr. TOWN, is a Gentleman, if not an Eſquire, by his profeſſion; and all the players, from King Richard to the Lieutenant of the Tower, are Gentlemen. The body of Gentlemen is ſtill more numerous; but I have not leiſure at preſent to climb up to garrets, or dive into cellars after them: I ſhall only obſerve, that many of the above-mentioned members of this order die with the ſame reputation that they lived, and go out of the world like 'Squire Maclean, or Gentleman Harry.

End of the Firſt Volume.
Notes
*
See Poems by Eminent Ladies. Vol. II. Page 200.
*
See Vol. II. page 199. N. B. This lady wrote before Milton.
*
Poems by Eminent Ladies. Vol. I. Page 167.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5407 The connoisseur By Mr Town critic and censor general pt 1. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5841-8