IT has for a long Time been an Objection to the Writer of Periodical Eſſays, that every Subject is pre-occupied, that the Spectator, the Tatler, and the Guardian have culti⯑vated every Field of Reflection, and that there remains nothing at preſent to be gleaned by ſucceſſive Adven⯑turers. Though I have all the Reſpect due to the Me⯑mory of the excellent Writers of the Performances juſt mentioned, I am far from paying them a blind Adora⯑tion; on the contrary, amidſt all that ſurprizing Ema⯑nation of Genius, Wit, and Humour, which diſtin⯑guiſhes many of their Writings, I can ſometimes deſcry a Subject careleſly treated, without any of their uſual Turns of Sentiment, or Beauties of Diction. I [2]have now and then gone through a Series of important Trifles, and I have occaſionally found them vague upon Subjects of Criticiſm, indeterminate in their Ex⯑preſſions, and looſe in their Definitions. If this hap⯑pens to be the Caſe, would it not be an erroneous Pro⯑ceeding to ſuppreſs every other Attempt, becauſe Sir Richard Steel planned ſo many Years before? Nay, even if they were free from any of thoſe Blemiſhes, which ariſe either from Inadvertence or the Imbecillity of hu⯑man Nature, would it not be abſurd to extinguiſh the Seeds of laudable Emulation? Had the Rigour of this Sentence been carried into Execution, the World would never have been favoured with the admirable Perfor⯑mances of the Author of the Rambler. That the Eng⯑liſh Language has received from this Writer many ad⯑ditional Ornaments, it is, I believe, univerſally felt by all Men of Taſte. Every Topic is by him treated with great Erudition and ſtrong Senſe, enlivened with all the glowing Colourings of a warm Imagination, and the whole carried on with a nervous, clear, and har⯑monious Stile. If the Performance in general has not the Variety of the Spectator, it is becauſe Mr. Johnſon wrote ſingly and alone, whereas the former was ſupported by ſeveral of eminent Abilities, and there⯑fore, in the preſent Age there ſeems nothing want⯑ing but a Coalition of Men of Parts to equal our Predeceſſors in all Manner of Periodical Writings.

Certain it is, there are many Topics in every branch of Science and in all the liberal Arts, which may ſtill receive new Lights, and conduce both to the Enter⯑tainment and Inſtruction of the Public. Since Mr. Addiſon's Time, a Du Bos has ſhone forth in France, and a Spence in England; and the late ingenious Editor of a Tranſlation of Virgil is a convincing Proof that Rules for fine Writing, and Precepts of critical Knowledge may be ſtill enforced with great Elegance and Pro⯑priety, though the Eſſays on Milton's Paradiſe Loſt, and [3]on the Pleaſures of Imagination, muſt be allowed to have all the maſterly Strokes, that can reſult from a delicate and refined Taſte. The Regions of Reflection are like a Champain Country, in which different Objects preſent themſelves in various Attitudes to the Eye, and the Imagination is frequently caught by Parts of the Proſpect, which have eſcaped another's Obſervation, each Perſon receiving different Senſations, according as the Fancy is diſpoſed for the Sublime, the Wonderful, or the Beautiful in the natural World.

Beſides; the continual Fluctuation of Faſhions, Cuſ⯑toms and Manners muſt always afford freſh Matter for the Satyriſt of Wit and Humour. The Tree of Folly is like the Tree mentioned by the Author of my Motto; though many have plucked a Branch from it, it is always quickly replaced by another, and the new Growth ſhoots into Day-light with undiminiſhed Fertility.

Are there thoſe who are pleaſed to indulge a delicate Vein of Raillery on the Foibles and Piccadillos of the Fair? Never was there more ample room to diſplay a Turn of Wit, in this Way, than what the preſent Times are ſo happy as to afford. The Hoop has of late ſwelled to a wider Circumference than ever, and by the Help of a few formidable Rows of Steel, threatens Miſchief to the whole Circle of Beaux, who cannot now approach the Ladies in their Entrenchments, with⯑out manifeſt Danger of fracturing a Shin-bone, hurting the Pan of the Knee, or ſome ſuch Diſaſter While this Faſhion prevails, the Ladies may be charged with carrying concealed Arms, and making Uſe of maſked Barteries; for which, by the Way, they have no manner of Occaſion as they ſeem at preſent to be in Poſſeſſion of more Courage than any Amazon mentioned in Hi⯑ſtory. For whereas thoſe Viragos uſed to encounter with ONLY ONE BREAST EXERTED, the modern La⯑dies are not afraid of meeting the Men with both quite naked and diſplayed to View. The Head is alſo [4]built up many Stories higher than it uſed to be, and the Art of Painting is now arrived to ſuch Perfection, that it is abſolutely impoſſible to know a female Ac⯑quaintance for any length of Time, each lovely Fair having as many Faces and Complexions, as Gloves, Fans or Tippets. Add to this, that you may meet a Lady To-day with an elegant Shape, fine by Degrees and delicately leſs, and To-morrow ſhe will appear as big round the Waiſt, as if within a few Days of her Time. Beſides this, Cribbidge has ſuppreſſed the Reign of Love, and Cupid minds nothing now but cogging the Dice, or procuring a Pair-Royal at Brag; and in⯑deed the preſent happy Diſpoſition for Luxury, and every Vice, Folly, Whim, Foible, Humour and Ex⯑travagance ſeems to promiſe a very plentiful Crop every Year, ſo that after a Survey of this Metropolis, we may ſay with Mr. Addiſon in his Prologue to the tender Huſ⯑band, ‘Here's ſtill Encouragement for thoſe that write.’

On this Account, though I have now felt the Anxiety of a Writer for twelve Months paſt, I have reſolved with myſelf not to lay down my Pen, until I am warned to do it by the Laſſitude of an Author, or, what is worſe, the Laſſitude of the Reader. At preſent however I do not find any Symptoms of this Sort in my own Breaſt, nor can I learn that my Paper declines with my Readers. In my Rambles ſince laſt Saturday, I did not meet with any Thing that made againſt me. At Sam's Mr. Wood informed me, that, his Cuſtomers hope I am not going to leave off Trade. A Stationer at the Chapter Coffee⯑houſe in St. Paul's Church-yard, call'd with ſome Earneſt⯑neſs for the Gray's-Inn Journal, and having Poſſeſ⯑ſion of it, he moiſtened a Corner of it with the Tip of his Tongue, and then holding it up to the Light "really, ſays he, its a very good Paper." At moſt Places in Fleet-ſtreet, Joe Clare with a Pinch of Snuff between his Fingers and the uſual Flouriſh of his Arm [5]declared highly in my Favour. At the Bedford I could gueſs from ſome Whiſpers, which I caſually overheard, that I am as ſtriking a Character as ever. ‘Huſh—that's he—that's Ranger’—"was you ever in Company with him!"—‘No,—I ſhould like to ſpend an Evening with him’ &c.—In the ſofter Climate of St. James's Air, I was told, that my Bays are likely to flouriſh, and I was particularly aſſured, by a Gentleman who frequents the Cocoa tree in Pallmall, that Ranger has gained Ad⯑mittance there notwithſtanding their Attachment to the ADVENTORER.

Things ſtanding thus, I am determined to perſevere in my Undertaking, and I therefore take this Opportu⯑nity to renew my Application to all the Gentlemen, Clergy, and Freeholders of Great Britain. In my firſt Number I declared myſelf a Candidate for their Fa⯑vour, and I beg a Continuance of their Votes and In⯑tereſt, until cogent Reaſo is ſhall incline me to with⯑draw myſelf from their Service —

N. B. I was againſt the Jew Bill.

I Have in a former Paper delivered my Sen⯑timents concerning the notable Art of Humbugging; I ſhall this Day throw to⯑gether ſome curſory Reflections upon the Practice of Raillery, which, in my Opinion, it is the Intereſt of Society to explode from every Company.

I am induced into this Way of thinking from an Ob⯑ſervation, that few People are properly qualified to exerciſe this Talent, there being hardly any Thing which requires ſo fine an Underſtanding, together with ſo much Delicacy in the Exertion of it. But as Matters are generally managed, there is nothing ſo coarſe as the Attempts of thoſe, who are ambitious of ſhining in Converſation, and are therefore determined to banter Mankind into an exalted Opinion of their Accompliſh⯑ments. The utmoſt that can be allowed to theſe Gen⯑tlemen, is to join in the general Laugh; and, if Mirth ſhould be going forward, they may very properly be admitted to partake of the frolic Feſtivity, without vain⯑ly pretending to take the Lead, or to engroſs the Con⯑verſation [8]into their own Hands; in like Manner as the uninformed Country Squire ſhould not be ſuffered by the Maſter of the Ceremonies in a polite Aſſembly, to come forward in a Minuet, where the Graces of Move⯑ment are required, though he may be tolerated to romp in a Country Dance, and diſplay all the Gambols of his unfaſhioned Agility.

Were I to define Raillery, I ſhould call it a delicate Exertion of Pleaſantry upon the Foibles or the ſlight Inadvertences, which diſcloſe themſelves in the Actions of Men. From this View of Matters, it will appear, that no Tincture of Ill-nature muſt be ſuffered to disfigure the Surface; that only ſlight Errors muſt be the Ground on which the Colouring is laid, and that good Manners muſt give a Poliſh to the Whole. No Man has any Degree of Right to invade another's inward Peace, and therefore a well turned Mind will always decline any Thing that comes home to the Boſom of any Perſon, with whom he is willing to enter into Society. What⯑ever may tend to create Diſ-eſteem in the Circle of our Acquaintance, or to throw a ridiculous Light upon a Character; whatever may excite uneaſy Senſations by touching upon Circumſtances, about which it is poſſible a Perſon may have a tender Feeling, though in their own Nature, they are not of any material Importance; in ſhort, all Topics, but ſuch, as we are convinced the the Object of our Merriment will give up, are care⯑fully to be avoided; and it will be always highly ne⯑ceſſary ſo to glide gently over the affected Part, that the Wound may appear to be probed by a ſkilful Hand. I have ſomewhere read a Story of Jack Ketch's Wife, which I think throws a Light on this Matter. Any Body, ſays that elegant Lady, can tuck a Man up, and ſtop his Breath, but to do it with Dexterity, and make [9]the Culprit die an eaſy pleaſant Death, is only the gen⯑teel Qualification of my Huſband. Thus it requires no very ſhining Abilities to inform our Neighbour of his Oddities, and point out to him his ſlight Indiſcre⯑tions; but to open his Eyes, and let in the Light with⯑out rendering it painful to him; to give a Senſe of the Foible without diſturbing the natural Complacence, with which every one is willing to behold himſelf, is a Taſk which requires more Elegance and Refinement than hap⯑pens to fall to the Share of every Individual. And yet there is no going any where without meeting Preten⯑ders in this Way; every Quarter of the Town abounds with Men of Raillery, and to all theſe it is neceſſary to render an Account of our Actions, our Friends, our Attachments, our Cloaths, our Walk, and what not? To all theſe notable Perſonages I would beg leave to recommend the following Story. A Gentleman was one Day ſhaving himſelf in his Parlour to the great Ad⯑miration of Otho, his Monkey, who ſtood by him won⯑derfully pleaſed with the Turn of his Wriſt, and the Dexterity of every Stroke. The Operation being finiſh⯑ed, and the Gentleman gone out without laying up his Utenſils, Otho mounts the Table, fixes himſelf before the Glaſs and flouriſhes the Razor with mimic Skill, till unfortunately he cut his Jaw acroſs, and then too late found the Danger of playing with Edge Tools:

I have drawn up an allegorical Account of the Birth and Parentage of Raillery, which, I think, may ſerve to lay before the Reader its ſeveral efficient Qualities.

GOOD-SENSE and RIDICULE were joined in Wed⯑lock; the Offspring of their Marriage was HUMOUR, who for a long Time roved about Parnaſſus, placing the Follies and Whims of Mankind in ſuch a Light, as never failed to excite Mirth in the Synod of Apollo and the Muſes. At length happening to wander out of Bounds, HUMOUR met, upon the Borders of Par⯑naſſus, juſt upon the Verge of worldly Commerce, a [10]certain Lady known by the Name of ILL-NATURE. Drawn in by falſe Allurements and a glavering Smile, which ILL-NATURE always wore upon her Countenance, HUMOUR offered Propoſals of Marriage, which were carried without Delay into Execution, and in nine Months Time RAILING was uſhered into the World. With a ſmall Mixture in his Compoſition of his Father's Qualities ſtrongly blended with the complexional Habits of his Mother, RAILING grew up in the Practice of ex⯑poſing the infirmities of all who came in his Way. With⯑out Reſtraint he took unbecoming Liberties with private Families, ſowed the Seeds of Diſcontent in every Breaſt, and in Time began to diſturb the Harmony of the ſacred Nine. Whereupon Thalia, conceived an Averſion to him, and in order to mend the Breed preferred a Pe⯑tition to Apollo to divorce HUMOUR from his Wife ILL⯑NATURE.

After a full hearing of the Cauſe. Apollo iſſued out his Edict of Separation. HUMOUR could not live ſingle, and in a ſhort Time made another Match, which, as good Luck would have it, turned out better than the former. His ſecond Wife's Name was WIT, a Lady of great Vivacity, and abounding in ſurprizing Turns in all her Converſation. She hardly could ſee any Thing, but her Way was inſtantly to compare it to ſome other Object in Nature, and ſhe frequently would make her Auditors laugh by pointing out a latent Reſemblance in Things, which ſeemed in their own Natures abſo⯑lutely repugnant to each other. Her principal Atten⯑tion was to ſet off her Huſband, and though ſhe was fond of great Variety in her Dreſs, ſhe would upon many Occaſions lend her beſt Apparel to HUMOUR, who never failed to look moſt engaging, when WIT contributed her Ornaments. HUMOUR, in his Turn, gave ſupernumerary Embelliſhments to his Wife, and they both reflected a reciprocal Luſtre upon each other. They continued in a State of mutual Fondneſs, and [11]their faithful Love was in Time rewarded with a tender Daughter, who was immediately called, with the ge⯑neral Conſent, by the Name of RAILERY. The MUSES cheriſhed her in their Boſoms, and as ſhe grew up ſhe diſcovered a Propenſity to her Father's Way of thinking, but with a conſiderable Abatement of his Se⯑verity. The Mother's Delicacy ſhe poſſeſſed entire, and whenever ſhe touched upon any Thing, like her, ſhe endeavoured to give it an agreeable Colouring. In this Habit ſhe was further confirmed by POLITENE [...]S, a collateral Relation by the Mother's Side, who took upon her the Care of her Manners, and inſtructed her perfectly in all the ſecondary Qualities or leſſer Morals, which are commonly known by the Name of Good-breeding. Being confirmed in theſe Principles RAIL⯑LERY was, at a mature Age, truſted abroad into the World, where ſhe had not been long before ſhe was ca⯑reſſed by the courtly Horace, who took her Home to his own Houſe, introduced her to Mecaenas, and found her of ſingular Service in all his Writings. At the Demiſe of that Bard, RAILLERY wandered a Vagrant up and down, till at length ſhe took it into her Head to viſit Boileau in Paris; from whence ſhe came over to England and reſided for many Years at Twickenham with the late Mr. Pope, from whoſe Retreat ſhe would now and then make an Excurſion to paſs ſome Hours with Doctor Young and Mr. Addiſon. At preſent, it is ſaid, that ſhe is taken into Keeping by a certain noble Earl, of whom ſhe is ſo enamoured, that it is confidently reported, ſhe will not quit his Company, though he is now in Danger of becoming deaf; and it is further ſaid, that ſhe will ſtick by him to his laſt Breath; but, at that unhappy Juncture what will become of her, no Body can pretend to de⯑termine.

THE following Letter came to Hand juſt as my Printer's Devil was at my Door, to call to me for ſome Copy. Upon Peruſal, it appeared to carry with it a Vein of Plea⯑ſantry, not improper for my fair Readers. If there⯑fore it will ſerve for one half Hour to baniſh, from their Company, a certain Concomitant of the Tea-Equipage, called SCANDAL, I ſhall think this Day's Paper ſubſer⯑vient to a moral Uſe.

SOME Time ago I entertained the Public, with a Scene from a Dramatic Piece en⯑titled the TEMPLE OF LAVERNA, which was ſo favourably received, that, I am inclined to think, the Readers of the Gray's-Inn Journal will not be diſpleaſed to ſee a Sequel to that Perform⯑ance.

A WRITER of periodical Eſſays is like one, who goes coaſting from Place to Place, with Intent to lay down a Chart of the Courſe of the Country, the Extent of the ſeveral Parts, the Bearings, Limits and Connections. As the latter fails along, every minute Object furniſhes him with Matter of Contemplation, and not a Hill lifts its Head, whether cloathed with Verdure and imbower⯑ed with over-hanging Wood, or wild, barren and crag⯑gy, but he inſtantly treaſures it in the Storehouſe of Imagination. Each Receſs of the Land, each Creek, Rock and Harbour demand a particular Notice, and he is frequently induced to pauſe in theſe Reflections, heedleſs of the unbounded Proſpect which the Ocean preſents him. In like Manner, the Perſon who is en⯑gaged in a Courſe of Lucubrations to be publiſhed on a ſtated Day, is conſtantly traverſing about, in order to delineate a juſt Repreſentation of the different Scenes of Life, and to gratify his Readers with particular Charts, which may either ſerve to pleaſe the Fancy, or contribute to the Purpoſes of Improvement and Utility. In his Intercourſe with Men and Manners every Occur⯑rence attracts his Eye; and in his Converſe with Books, he often meets with Paſſages, which deſerve to be minutely ſet down in the Account of his Voyage through this Sea of Troubles, and they may ſerve as Lights or Landmarks to thoſe who are bound upon the ſame Adventure.

[34]It is thus the beſt Eſſays are ſuggeſted, and I muſt own, I never yet, peruſed a good Author, but I thence deduced ſome Hint, which afterwards unfolded ſeveral latent Reflections, that might otherwiſe eſcape me. The Claſſics are particularly uſeful in this Way; They diſplay, upon all Occaſions, ſuch bright Traces of a manly Way of Thinking, and abound with ſo many excellent and cloſe Remarks, artfully interwoven with the Thread of their Poem or Narration, that a Man converſant with their Productions will be always able to draw very amply from their Stores.

In peruſing, a few Nights ſince, Florus's Compendium of the Roman Hiſtory, I was greatly ſtruck with an Ob⯑ſervation, in the Character of Tarquin, which that Wri⯑ter, though no extraordinary Maſter of the Graces and Elegancies of Compoſition, has found Means to in⯑ſert with his uſual Cloſeneſs. ‘Tarquin (ſays Florus) inſulted all Mankind with an overbearing Pride, which, to an ingenuous Mind, is worſe than Cruelty.’ This ſhort Obſervation moſt certainly carries with it a great Deal of Truth, and deſerves to be enforced with all the Strength of Reaſon and Eloquence.

A witty Satiriſt has called Pride the univerſal Paſſion, and indeed its Influence on Mankind is ſo manifeſt, that there is too much Reaſon to believe the Maxim well founded. The general Prevalence of Politeneſs ſuppreſſes in ſome Meaſure the Appearance of it among the French, but any one, who has been at Verſailles, may remember, that after all the Attention and De⯑ference of the embroidered Gentleman, who undertakes the Office of ſhewing the Curioſities of the Place, the Ceremony is always concluded with a Conſciouſneſs of their national Superiority, which breaks out in a briſk Queſtion with a Shrug of the Shoulder. ‘Eh bien! Monſieur, avez vous [...]e pareille magnificence à Londres. Well, Sir, have you any Thing equal to this in [35] London.’ In Italy, Portugal, and Spain their Haughti⯑neſs is manifeſted by the frequent Uſe of the Stilleto upon every trivial Occaſion; Pride is there diſplayed by killing others, and the People of England diſcover it by murdering themſelves.

The Notion of Independance with which a free-born Briton is inflamed, renders him untractable and re⯑fractory to all Laws; Religion he makes a Joke of, and he wonders at the Impertinence of the Parliament in attempting to reſtrain his unqueſtionable Right to diſpoſe of his Perſon as he pleaſes.

The famous Monteſquieu imputes the Variety of Od⯑dities, which prevail in this Country, to the general Infection of the Scurvy; but if he had charged it upon our national Sturdineſs, I am inclinable to think, he would have aſſigned a truer Cauſe, though, perhaps, at the ſame Time, black and ſizy Blood may not a little contribute to aggravate the Diſtemper. To ſpeak with Preciſion, Pride is to the Soul what the Scurvy is to the Body, each in their ſeparate Channels the Source of ill Humours, Maladies and Diſorders. The fatal Ef⯑fects of the corporal Indiſpoſition, juſt mentioned, have been ſo ſeverely felt for a long Time paſt, that our common News-Papers are filled with Advertiſements of Chymical Drops, to eradicate it entirely out of the Blood. This certainly would have been a great Benefit to Society, but, I apprehend, he would deſerve ſtill more who ſhould deviſe a Cure for the Diſeaſe of the Mind. On this Account I ſhould be glad to ſee a Paragraph in the Papers to the following Effect.

Whenever I meet with a proud Man, I ſhould be glad to know what he takes himſelf for; and I have often imagined that if his inward State of Mind were detected to the Eye of the World, it would afford a ridiculous Contraſt between his ſeveral Foibles and his fancied Elevation above the reſt of his Species. For my Part, it never fails to divert me in a moſt exquiſite Manner, when I obſerve a Man ſit like his Grandſire cut in Alabaſter, as Shakeſpear has it, in order to receive the Compliments of every one, without any real Merit to deſerve them, and without that reciprocal Compla⯑cence, which is always ſure to procure Eſteem. I would have ſuch a one made Emperor of the Moon or re⯑moved to ſome other Sphere fitted for his Reception, [37]where Cruelty may paſs for Courage, Oſtentation for Merit, and Pride for Dignity.

Nothing can ſo ſurely demonſtrate a narrow Mind, as an Attempt to degrade our Fellow-Creatures by an haughty Arrogance of Carriage. Hamlet reckons the Inſolence of Office and the proud Man's Contumely among thoſe Inſtigations which might prompt injured Merit to a Deed of extreme Deſpair, and this further enforces the Severity, which is felt by him, who is obliged to ſub⯑mit to it, and the Cruelty of that human Brute who can think of putting it in Practice.

I cannot diſmiſs this Paper without obſerving that there is a right Species of Pride to which every Man is entitled, and that is a Spirit above Dependance, above Flattery, above an abject Deportment, and above every Thing poor, ſordid, and little. There is a Pride, which may ſerve to invigorate Honour, to embolden Truth, and to carry Virtue to an higher Pitch of Improvement, than it might attain unaſſiſted by this ſecondary Mo⯑tive. The Pleaſures reſulting from this Principle are manly and noble. To enjoy the inward Conſciouſneſs of Honor and Honeſty, and to exult in the Conviction of a Perſon's own Integrity, Probity and upright Inten⯑tions, is juſt and laudable. Thus much of Pride every one has a Right to, and I know no external Circum⯑ſtance, that can reaſonably entitle any Man alive to more.

IN a former Eſſay, I threw together a few Thoughts upon the Profeſſion of an ACTOR; as a Sequel to that Piece, I ſhall this Day offer ſome looſe Hints upon the Art; and though this Subject may not be intereſting to every Reader, I yet perſuade myſelf, as the Drama is the moſt polite and rational of our Diverſions, that an Attempt to throw ſome Light upon the Matter, will be received with Candour.

The Precept, which the judicious Author of my Motto has laid down for the good Writer, is likewiſe the beſt Rule for an Actor; for as both are Profeſſors [39]of imitative Arts, the ſame Rule is applicable to each. "I would recommend," ſays Horace, ‘to the ſkilful Imitator a cloſe and ſteady Obſervance of Men and Manners, and from that Source, I would have him draw an exact Reſemblance, and the true Language of Nature.’ This Advice, ſhort and ſimple as it is, contains the whole Secret of ſucceeding with the Pub⯑lic; and whoever artfully conforms to it, will be ſure of acquiring Applauſe from crowded Theatres. The Actor, in every Situation on the Stage, is a Copyiſt from hu⯑man Life; the eaſy and genteel Deportment of Gen⯑tlemen, is to be attained by an Intercourſe and free Communication with People of that Claſs; the Draw⯑ing-Room muſt be viſited for a Knowledge of the Eaſe and Dignity of Men of Rank; and by this Habitude, the Performer will faſhion himſelf into a Kind of men⯑tal Elegance, which will not ſail to inform his whole Per⯑ſon, and ſet off every Action, with a graceful Facility, at the ſame Time that it will enable him to be upon all Occaſions, a more perfect Imitator.

To theſe external Circumſtances muſt be joined, a cloſe and intimate Knowledge of the human Heart; its moſt ſecret Movements muſt be unfolded, and the Actor muſt be thoroughly acquainted with their minuteſt Effects upon the human Body, in what Proportion they agitate the Nerves and Muſcles; how they impreſs the Features with their reſpective Signatures, elevate or con⯑tract the Brow, brace or relax the Sinews, and com⯑mand the Attitude and Diſpoſition of the whole Perſon. There is not a Paſſion, in the whole Train of thoſe Feel⯑ings, to which our Nature is ſubject, but what has its own peculiar Adjuncts, its own Air, its own Look, and its own proper Tone. Sorrow unnerves the whole Syſtem, ſinks the Spirits, and depreſſes the Voice into a plaintive Melancholy; Anger, on the other Hand, con⯑tracts each Sinew, ſends the Spirits in a Blaze to the Eye, and vents itſelf in precipitate and vehement Ac⯑cents. [40]In like Manner, every Emotion of the Soul has a ſympathetic Influence on the Structure of the Body, and it is the immediate Buſineſs of the Performer, who would aſpire to Excellence in the Art, to form to him⯑ſelf an exact Definition of each Paſſion, with all its Characteriſtics; otherwiſe it will be impoſſible for him to mark the Progreſs and Workings of the Mind, awakened and excited by the Vehemence of their Im⯑pulſe, or to ſeparate the tender Deſire of a Romeo from the conjugal Affection of Jaffier.

After having thus diſtinguiſhed the Nature and Boun⯑daries of each Affection, the next Step to be taken, is, to watch the various Shiftings and Veerings of the Soul, and to obſerve how the ſeveral Paſſions riſe and fall, in quick Viciſſitude. The Mind of Man cannot dwell for any conſiderable Time upon one Object; from whence it reſults, that, Love and Reſentment, Grief and Joy, Deſpair and Hope, Rage and Tenderneſs, are perpetually taking their Turns in the Breaſt. To per⯑ceive minutely the very Point where the firſt ceaſes, and the ſucceeding one begins to riſe, requires a nice Diſ⯑cernment; as in the well wrought Piece of ſome emi⯑nent Hand, the Colours run ſo artfully into one another, that their gradual Evaneſcence from the Sight, and their growing by inſenſible Degrees into a full Glow, is only to be diſcovered by the curious Eye. If I do not miſtake, the Touch, which ſo ſkilfully blends different Colours in this delicate Confederacy, is called by the Painters the Demi-tint; ſhould not ſomething like this be preſerved, in the Performances of a good Actor, in order to render each Tranſition graceful and natural, to melt the Audience by regular Eſſays into Tenderneſs, or induce any other Impreſſion with Juſtneſs and Pro⯑priety? Whatever Paſſion has at any Time taken Poſ⯑ſeſſion of the Heart, muſt abate by Degrees, and the Traces of it muſt be almoſt effaced, before a contrary Affection can gain Admittance; and whoever is careful [41]to mark with Feeling, the Ebbing out of the one, and Flowing in of the other, will be always ſure to have an irreſiſtible Command over his Audience.

But the Matter does not reſt here; the Performer, who is ambitious of diſtinguiſhing himſelf for maſterly Touches in Scenes of Vehemence, will find another la⯑tent Secret, in the intellectual Syſtem, which muſt ne⯑ver eſcape his Notice. It muſt be remembered, that there are frequent Occaſions, in which the Breaſt is diſtracted by two different Paſſions at once, both working the Heart-ſtrings in one mixed Emotion. Theſe com⯑plicated Agitations of the Mind are often imperceptible to all but the ſkilful Obſerver; and, therefore, as the Actor's chief Difficulty lies in this Point, a feeling Expreſ⯑ſion of it will always be a Proof of his Excellence, and Strokes of this Nature, well executed, will impreſs on every Breaſt the livelieſt Senſations.

It often happens in mere deſcriptive Poetry, that the Writer obſerving ſome ſurprizing Agreement between Things, which in their Natures ſeem totally inconſiſtent with each other, from thence takes occaſion to re⯑concile Contrarieties in ſuch an agreeable Aſſemblage, that the taſteful Reader is entertained with a Picture, which at once amuſes his Fancy and ſatisfies his Judg⯑ment. Virgil has many delicate Touches of this Na⯑ture, and Horace, who had Art enough for every poe⯑tic Embelliſhment, has heightened his Odes with ſe⯑veral Beauties of this Sort. In this Claſs of Elegan⯑cies may be reckoned the following Paſſages;

Milton alſo, who has every ſofter Delicacy in minute Deſcriptions, as well as every lofty Image in the ſublime, [42]has inſerted many beautiful Colourings of this Species in his Paradiſe Loſt, and his grinned horrible a ghaſtly Smile, is an admirable Inſtance. Mr. Addiſon has given to Thoughts of this Nature the Title of thwarting Ideas; and he adds, that they are ſome of the fineſt Strokes in the whole Compaſs of Poetry. If I might be allowed to carry this Hint further, I ſhould call all Strokes of this Kind, where the Mind is worked into a Ferment, by the Name of thwarting Paſſions; and I will venture to ſay, that they will be univerſally acknowledged much more beautiful than that mere Claſh of Ideas, which the eminent Critic juſt mentioned has ſo much inſided upon; becauſe they not only ſurprize with a ſeeming Contraſt, but alſo intereſt the Heart; which is the Perfection of Poetry. The Greek and Latin Poets, and indeed the fine Writers among the Moderns, are full of theſe pathetic Repreſentations of human Nature; but among them all, I do not remember a finer In⯑ſtance, than a Paſſage in Mr. Whitehead's Roman Father, when that Hero is reflecting on the Combat, which is to decide the Fate of Rome.

To expreſs theſe complicated Senſations, where ſe⯑veral Paſſions at once agitate the Soul, requires ſuch a Command of Countenance and Voice, that it is cer⯑tainly the greateſt Perfection of an Actor, and with a Kind of magic Power it always leads us into the moſt pleaſing Diſtreſs.

If the Bounds of my Paper would admit it, I ſhould here indulge myſelf in examining our preſent Per⯑formers, with Regard to the three Diviſions of the Paſ⯑ſions above eſtabliſhed. To one, I ſhould, perhaps, aſcribe the Merit of expreſſing with proper Enforce⯑ment [43]the Sentiments of haughty Anger and tyrannic Cruelty; in another I ſhould chiefly admire the grace⯑ful Tranſition from Rage to Tenderneſs, and probably I ſhould not heſitate to ſay, of a third, that he is excellent in all Viciſſitudes of the Mind, and that in mixed Senſa⯑tions he penetrates to the very Soul of his Hearers; and, were I to add, that, in many Situations, I have expe⯑rienced the ſame from Mrs. Cibber, it would be but barely doing her that Juſtice, which her excellent Art deſerves.

From what has been premiſed, it will appear, that to expreſs the Emotions of the human Heart is the chief Buſineſs of an Actor, and no Account is ever to be made of Figure, Voice, or any other external Circum⯑ſtances, unleſs it be when they combine with the Per⯑former's Feelings to make deeper Impreſſions on an Au⯑dience. I have known an Actor lengthen out the Tone of his Voice, and if it ſounded clearly, imagine his Buſineſs finely executed, when Nature and the Paſſions required that he ſhould ſpeak in another Key, and in broken, ſhort, and vehement Accents. Quinctilian has a juſt Remark on this Head "as Poets," ſays he, ‘profeſs to ſing their Works, Verſe ſhould be repeated in a Manner ſomewhat elevated above common Diſ⯑courſe, with a Sweetneſs properly tempered by Diſ⯑cretion, and not thrilling into a wanton Luxuriance of Sound, as if the Throat had been gargled for the Purpoſe.’ I ſhall only add, a lively Imagination is the Talent, which an Actor ſhould principally culti⯑vate, as it is that, which excites thoſe pathetic Feel⯑ings, without which no Man will ever ſucceed on the Stage, and with which it is hardly poſſible totally to fail.

HOW vain and fantaſtic are all human Pur⯑ſuits? How unſettled and inconſtant are our Tempers; one Day pining for the At⯑tainment of ſome imaginary Good, and, the next, hating ourſelves for all that Perplexity of Thought which our whimſical Deſires occaſioned in our Breaſts? How often are the ſobereſt Underſtandings diſturb'd by Agitations of Spirit about Things in themſelves of no Kind of Moment or Importance, and when once the Tumult has ſubſided, how contemptible do we appear to ourſelves, for having been ſo weak as to yield to the Impreſſion? Every Period of Life is marked with this Inconſtancy; the Child has Perplexities which the Boy laughs at; and ripened by a further Acceſſion of Years into Manhood, our previous Occupations become ri⯑diculous, 'till at length old Age thinks the whole a [46]Series of Follies, inſenſible to its own Infirmities, and lit⯑tle aware that the Paſſions operate at that Juncture with leſs Celerity, not becauſe Reaſon is grown ſtrong, but on Account of the enfeebled Tone of all the mental Powers; like a Weather Cock, which being grown ruſty, is not moved with every Breath of Wind, but ſlowly veers from Point to Point. I am inclined to think that the human Soul will be always in this Progreſſion, conſtantly making each Moment a Critic on the laſt, and and that as ſoon as the Spirit ſhall be unbodied, it will inſtantly ſmile at our wiſeſt Employments in this World, our deepeſt Reflections, and our moſt ſerious Specu⯑lations. I was engaged in this Train of Thought the other Night, and having an Imagination, which does not very ſoon detach itſelf from the Objects that have once poſſeſſed it, the ſame Scenes of Reflection diſ⯑cloſed themſelves to me in Sleep, and formed a Pro⯑ſpect, not unentertaining to my Fancy.

I thought the Hemiſphere on a ſudden brightened with more than common Luſtre, a Flood of Glory diffuſing itſelf through all Creation, and from an Opening of the Heavens appeared, high exalted on a Throne, THE GE⯑NIUS OF HUMAN KIND. After a Trumpet had ſounded three Times, the following Sounds were awfully pro⯑nounced. ‘Let all thoſe fleeting Spirits, which for⯑merly animated corporal Tenements, forthwith ap⯑pear from their ſeveral Manſions of Retribution, and let thoſe who now ſupport a feveriſh Exiſtence upon Earth, inſtantly repair hither, diveſted of their bodily Incumbrance, and account before our dread Preſence, for the Uſe they have made of their Time, during their State of Probation.’

The Edict was immediately obeyed, and I fancied that I had no ſooner emerged from my Tenement of Clay, than every Thing wore another Appearance, and new Faculties of Perception were aſſigned me. Vaniſhed were the original Colours, concerning which [47]ſo many Volumes have been written; Wit, Taſte, Learning, Philoſophy, Mathematics, and even Money itſelf appeared an abſolute Chimaera; and ſeveral Per⯑ſonages beginning to addreſs the Throne, I was further confirm'd in my Opinion that all was Idleneſs, Vanity, and unavailing Vexation.

Homer declared his whole Poem to be the Rhapſody of an ever-weening Imagination: He owned his ce⯑leſtial Councils and his Battle of the Gods, to be a Jumble of Abſurdities; his boldeſt Flights of Fancy appeared quite contemptible, and he wondered how he could ever employ his Faculties in ſtringing together ſuch wild enthuſiaſtic Reveries.

Plato owned that he knew nothing of the firſt Good, firſt Perfect, and firſt Fair; and Lord Shaftſbury wiſhed that, inſtead of being guided by that Pagan Philoſopher, he had made uſe of the Light of Revelation, which might have afforded him ſome faint dawning Ideas of that Truth of which he is now perfectly convinced. He added, that he did not know what he was about when he wrote his Rhapſody and many other Parts of his Performance, and that he now looked back at them with Contempt.

Ariſtotle declared his Syſtem of Logic to be nothing but an idle Scheme of laboured Perplexities, calculated to puzzle and bewilder Mankind. Pindar ſmil'd at his Olympics, and did not heſitate to ſay, that he really believed he was mad when he wrote them; and old Euclid, who, I believe never once laughed on Earth, burſt into a loud Expreſſion of Mirth, when he re⯑flected upon his Endeavours to ſquare the Circle, and his ſeveral Triangles and Quadrangles, which he owned do not contribute in any Degree to the Advancement of Virtue.

Alexander frankly confeſſed himſelf a Child for weep⯑ing [...] more Worlds. Caeſar declared he would as contentedly be the laſt in a Village, as the firſt in Rome; [48]and Pompey had no longer an Averſion to an Equal; Cicero, without elaborating a Period of a Mile, con⯑demned his Purſuit of Fame as no more than the cha⯑ſing an empty Bubble; and he added, that he never thought himſelf properly employed but when expatia⯑ting againſt the minute Philoſophers. Virgil ſtill per⯑ſiſted that his whole Aeneid ſhould be burned. Horace and Ovid both laughed at the Duration of their Works which in their Days of Nature they flattered themſelves would be indelible Monuments of their Fame.

In ſhort, among all the celebrated Perſonages of Antiquity, every one accuſed himſelf of Miſapplication, and even Titus complained that he had loſt many Days.

There were thoſe who acknowledged that they ne⯑ver knew Uneaſineſs in Life, but what was occaſioned by the Succeſs of others, and that they were always completely happy, or completely miſerable by Com⯑pariſon. Poets laugh'd at all their Pains to tag a Rhyme and their Solicitude for Works which now appeared to them in a proper Light; and Criticks acknowledged that they took too much unneceſſary Trouble to deſtroy Productions of ſo periſhable a Nature. The Miſer rail⯑ed at inſolvent Gold, as it is finely called by the witty Doctor Young, and his Heart expanded with Generoſity and ſocial Affection.

The ſofter Sex preſented themſelves among the Reſt on this Occaſion; but the Simper of Self-Admiration no longer diſplayed itſelf. They were not anxious a⯑about the Gloſs of their Skin, the Arrangement of a Curl, or the Diſpoſition of a Patch. The ſnowy Breaſt ceaſed to heave with ſtudied Careleſſneſs, and the Shape was not tortured a thouſand Ways, in order to look at⯑tractive in the Eye of Man. The Labours of the Toilet were now deſpiſed, and each Fair-one wondered how Dreſs could make ſo great a Part of the Buſineſs of Life; and how they could ever take ſo much Pride in periſh⯑able Clay, however neatly moulded, and however tinc⯑tured with a pleaſing Hue. They were now per⯑ſwaded [49]that true Beauty dwells in the Mind; Drums, Routs and Cards were held in Contempt, and as Mr. Pope has it, They viewed with Scorn two Pages and a Chair. They were all aſhamed of the Falſehoold of their Friendſhips, their Tehees and Titters at a ruined Character, their ſeveral Turns of Coquetry, Diſſimulation, and all the Variety of female Artifice. In ſhort, Mankind in general owned themſelves diſtract⯑ed with Cares beneath a rational Creature; and Envy, Pride, Selfiſhneſs, Perfidy and Ambition ſwell'd the vaſt Account.

From theſe Diſturbers of our Happineſs I was re⯑joyced to ſee my Fellow Creatures relieved; and to perceive Love, Joy, and Benevolence effacing gra⯑dually all Traces of former Guilt, gave me an inex⯑preſſible Delight. But I ſoon found I was not in Reality launched into Eternity, and therefore my Joy, like all Things ſubject to Time and mortal Chance, ſoon came to an End. The Fumes of Sleep were diſſipated, and I awaked from my Dream. Looſe as it is, the Reader may derive this Moral from it, that there is nothing in human Life worth the Anxiety it creates, and that it ſhould be our Buſineſs at pre⯑ſent to fix thoſe Propenſities and Habits in our Souls, which we ſhall not have Occaſion hereafter to wiſh totally effaced, and which it is probable we ſhall be carrying to an higher Degree of Purity in thoſe Man⯑ſions, which are prepared for our future Exiſtence.

I PAID a Viſit, a few Days ſince, to a Lady, for whom I always entertained a very high Eſteem, on Account of a pleaſing Turn of Converſation, and many other good and agreeable Qualities, which ſhe is poſſeſſed of.

Mrs. Millefont (for that is her Name) was never known to have the leaſt Propenſity to Scandal or De⯑traction: She does not concern herſelf with the imper⯑tinent Knowledge of, who and who were together at the Maſquerade, who were ſeen to interchange a few fond Regards at the Theatre, or who has lately had an [51]Ill run at Play. Politeneſs, Good-nature and Affability are her characteriſtic Perfections, and ſhe is ready to allow Wit and Beauty in others, as well as in her own Daughters; though in my Opinion, it is a rare Thing to ſee them equalled by any of their Sex. Both the young Ladies are tall and graceful; elegant in Shape and delicate in their Features; extremely like each other in the Turn of the Face, and ſtill each of them forming, if I may be allowed to uſe the Phraſe, a different School of Beauty.

Harriet, being two Years elder, is rather more formed and higher in Bloom than her Siſter, but ſeems to be ſenſible of the approaching Eclipſe which her Beauty muſt ſuffer very ſhortly, when all the Charms, which are at preſent budding forth in the Perſon of Charlot, have attained their full Perfection. Tho' Harriet is ſenſible of this, ſhe yet perceives it without any Proneneſs to Envy. On the contrary ſhe rallies herſelf with great Vivacity, and will fairly own that ſhe is upon the Look⯑out for a Man for herſelf, before Charlot becomes ſo miſ⯑chievous a Beauty, as to engroſs the Attention of every Beholder; and then, ſays ſhe, ‘I ſhall loſe all my Ad⯑mirers, and ſo I'm reſolved to get married out of the Way.’

On this Account ſhe at preſent throws the Dart like a Tyrant, as the Poet phraſes it, though I am convinced when ſhe reſigns her Perſon, her good Senſe will then lead her to imitate the Gentleneſs and amiable Diſpoſition of Charlot who does not aim at being ſo fierce a Beauty as Harriet, but is chiefly deſirous to be Miſtreſs of wil⯑ling Hearts. She does not endeavour to kindle her Eyes into that Glare of Fire, for which many others are re⯑markable, but unambitiouſly ſhe lets them ſhine in their own native Mildneſs; and if the captivates every Heart it is without any premeditated Deſign. In ſhort, the Difference between theſe two young Ladies is this; [52] Charlot's Charms have a conſtant Emanation, and Harriet's Beauties are in a perpetual Exertion.

I ſpent an Hour in the moſt agreeable Manner with this Family, when Harriet in her giddy Manner gave a new Turn to the Converſation by aſking me, ‘Pray, Mr. Ranger, can you tell me ſomething about Mack⯑lin's new Scheme; pray what is the Man about?’ —To this I replied, that I really was not ſufficiently in the Secret; that he has built two magnificent Rooms, and intends to furniſh them in an elegant Manner; the Apartment on the Ground-Floor to be a public Cof⯑fee-Room, and the other for the Reception of Gen⯑tlemen of Rank and Education; but that, however, I was afraid he would ſhare the common Fate of Pro⯑jectors.

‘Well, I vow and proteſt, ſays Harriet, it's a vexa⯑tious Thing to ſee how theſe Men are always contri⯑ving Places for their own Accommodation, without Troubling their Heads about the Women. The odious Things are always herding with one another, and the Ladies are ſequeſtred from all the Joys of theſe convenient Meetings. Does not one hear them eternally ſaying with an Air of Indifference, Ma'am I muſt go the Coffee houſe, and ſo ſaunter away with that janty careleſs Air, that never fails to provoke me? — Well, I wiſh the Women would agree to have a Coffee-houſe of their own, to be revenged of the Fellows—Lord, Mr. Ranger, it would do charm⯑ingly; don't you think ſo Siſter?—It would ſo tan⯑talize the Creatures, to ſee us going into a Place, where none of them can gain Admittance—they would be ſo proud to wait at the Door to hand us to our Chairs; and it would be ſuch a Pleaſure to go and meet one's Acquaintance without going con⯑ſtantly in a ſtiff Dreſs to Routs and Drums; dear Ranger, you muſt give us an helping Hand; you muſt give us an Eſſay upon it, you wild Devil.’ With this ſhe [53]tapped me on the Shoulder, in her lively agreeable Man⯑ner, and inſiſted with all the Rhetoric of a Romp, that I ſhould propoſe her Scheme to the Public, which I aſſured her I ſhould take the firſt Opportunity to perform.

I have ever been of Opinion, that, in the general, Coffee-houſes, are not of ſuch Advantage as is gene⯑rally imagined, moſt of theſe Places being frequented entirely by Bucks, Bloods, and Rakes, of all Denomi⯑nations, from whom there is nothing to be acquired ex⯑cept a Swagger in the Gait, a drunken Totter, a noiſy riotous Deportment, a Volley of Oaths and a total Want of what is called Good Breeding. Perhaps this Opportunity of detaching themſelves from the Ladies in Coffee-houſe Clubs is the Cauſe of that Aukward⯑neſs, which is frequently remarkable in Perſons, who from their Fortunes and Situation in Life ſhould be better accompliſhed, and on this Account I am ap⯑prehenſive, that a Rendezvous of this Nature might have ſome ill Effect upon the Deportment of the Fair; but ſhould this Scheme be carried into Execution, I muſt acknowledge, that it will in many Reſpects ſet the Ladies upon a Par with the Men, and the Conve⯑nience of meeting People of Faſhion, without the ne⯑ceſſary Parade of going to their Houſes, will certainly be very great; alſo Appointments with each other may be fixed with Eaſe by the Means of this Inſtitution; and a Memorandum Book, placed at the Bar, as at the Bedford and other Places, may ſerve for the following Purpoſes.

‘Lady Laſt-ſtakes came according to Appointment to meet Lady Betty Modiſh; is gone to hear Shuter give the London Cries; will be here again after the Play, when ſhe will be glad to have a Party of Picquet with Lady Betty, and ſpend the Remainder of the Evening.’

[54] ‘Miſs Madcap call'd here about Six o'Clock in Hopes to ſee Miſs Limber-Tongue, is gone to conſult Mrs Sermon in Naked B [...]y Alley, after which ſhe in⯑tends to ſee Harlequin Ranger, and will call here again and begs Miſs Limber Tongue will leave Word where ſhe may be heard of.’

‘Miſs Tattle [...]d begs to ſee Miſs Graveairs; has a Million of Things to ſay to her, and particularly ſomething ſhe heard laſt Night at Lady Hurly-Burly's.’

Such Proceedings as theſe will inevitably do Honour to the amiable Sex, and as they may judge it neceſſary to claim an equal Expire o'er the World, I beg Leave to offer them a few Rules, which may ſerve to conduct a female Coffee-houſe with proper Regularity.

• I. That each Lady ſhall pay Six-pence, at the Bar, whether ſhe drink Tea, Coffee, Chocolate, Capillaire, C [...]ron-Water, or Ratafia, &c.
• II. That the Actreſſes ſhall be admitted to this Cof⯑fee-houſe, by which Means the Ladies may become full as good Critics as the Men.
• III. If a Quarrel ſhould ariſe between any of the Ladies, they ſhall not fall to pulling Caps in Company, but take another Opportunity to vindicate their Ho⯑nour.
• IV. If any Lady is diſcovered with a Pair-royal of Aces in her Pocket, or endeavours to uſe any ſiniſter Artifice at Cards, ſhe ſhall be expelled the Club, with as much Strictneſs as if it happened at White's.
• V. If any young Lady offers herſelf to be choſen into the Club by Ballot, a ſingle white Ball ſhall be ſufficient to admit her, it being improbable that a real Beauty will obtain that Favour from above one of her Sex.
• VI. and Laſtly. It ſhall be deemed meritorious in any Lady to brag of her Intrigues, her Amours, by [55]which Means the Ladies, may in Imitation of the laudable Practice among the oppoſite Sex,
  Talk of Beauties, whom they never ſaw,

  And fancy Raptures, which they never knew.

IT was the Anſwer of a certain eminent Jew, when aſked by what Means he accu⯑mulated the very large Fortune, which he is ſuppoſed to be poſſeſſed of, that he had more Difficulty in acquiring the firſt Three Thouſand Pounds, than all the Reſt of his immoderate Wealth. This Apothegm may be ſaid to comprize the whole Arcanum of riſing in the World, but as not one of the [57]Adepts in the Science has thought proper to diſcover the ſecret Art of putting this Rule in Practice, it is to be apprehended, the Indigent will find as many Diffi⯑culties as ever to retard their Progreſs, and hinder them from emerging out of their Embarraſſments. The Au⯑thor of my Motto has obſerved, many Ages ſince, that the moſt exalted Virtues, and the rareſt Accompliſh⯑ments do not find it eaſy to extricate themſelves out of Difficulties; and the Courſe of human Contingencies has proved the Maxim true to this Day.

There is perhaps hardly any Man, but can point out in the Circle of his Acquaintance certain Perſonages of very extenſive Capacities, ſtrong and quick Parts, and a delicate Senſe of Honour, who are not however able to raiſe themſelves to any conſpicuous Point of Emi⯑nence, merely becauſe their Talents have not been called forth by Opportunity, or animated by Succeſs. Genius wherever it ſubſiſts, muſt be warmed and che⯑riſhed, otherwiſe it is apt to languiſh and decay; the fine Senſations, which are attendant on an enlightened Underſtanding, occaſion a certain Delicacy in the Poſ⯑ſeſſor's Way of thinking, which renders him liable to a Dejection of Spirits upon many Occaſions in Life. Refined Parts ſhould be tenderly preſerved, or they are liable to be chilled by the Blaſts of Adverſity; like thoſe Fruits, which would wither unripened in our cold northern Clime, were they not carefully aſſiſted in their Vegetation by the adventitious Uſe of hot Beds.

The Circumſtance, which in my Opinion reflects the greateſt Luſtre upon the Character of Lord Sommers, is the Encouragement he afforded to ſuch a Genius as Mr. Addiſon, who might have remained in a leſs con⯑ſpicuous Point of View without the Aſſiſtance of ſuch a Patron. His Vein of Humour, which is now the gen⯑teeleſt in the World, might have taken a Tincture from low Life; his delicate Raillery might have ſub⯑ſided into coarſe and vulgar Railing; His Taſte, which [58]was finiſhed by Travel and every other Advantage, might have grown quite callous and indelicate: for his Sentiments of Morality might have been ſubſtituted a Strain of Ribaldry, to awaken the Blum of Confuſion in that female Face, which, as Matters happened, he took ſo much Pains to ſet off in the Smiles of native Innocence and unaffected Beauty; and that Pen, which entertained the Town with ſome of the moſt elegant Productions of human Wit, might have been employed in Politics, perſonal Invective, and Party-rage. But the kindly Protection of the Lord Sommers hindered him from ſinking into Obſcurity, and from being compelled by Neceſſity to ſully that fair Fame, which is now the Reward of his excellent Performances. The Aſ⯑ſiſtance of ſo eminent a Perſon was a Kind of Demand upon him, for all that elaborate Elegance, which now diſtinguiſhes itſelf in his Writings.

It has been the Fate of many, endowed perhaps with Parts not very inferior to Addiſon, to droop in Indi⯑gence, their poetic Fires totally extinguiſhed, and I make no Manner of Doubt, but in the preſent Age, there are thoſe who might become ſhining Ornaments of the Republic of Letters, were there any Incitement to ſpur the Muſes Steed. But a Treatiſe on Cribbidge, or a Calculation of the Chances at Whiſt, is ſure of being better received at preſent, than the Odes of a Collins, or any Performance of diſtinguiſhed Genius. While a Smart ſubſiſts among us, I cannot help thinking it an indelible Reproach to the Age, that he has not any where ſound a Mecaenas, and that he is ſuffered to draw his Pen in the Praiſes of his Maker, without receiving any other Reward, than a ſmall Premium at Cambridge, and that Portion of Fame, which, in Spight of Malice and Envy, he will be always ſure to enjoy.

[59]Wit is generally conſidered as an Object of Ridicule rather than an Accompliſhment deſerving Encourage⯑ment and Eſteem, and the Narrowneſs of Fortune, in which moſt of the literary Tribe are ſituated, is a ſtanding Topic of Pleaſantry, and to call a Man a Poet, is, in moſt Companies, a ſtroke of irreſiſtible Hu⯑mour. The witty Doctor Young has ridiculed this with his uſual Delicacy.

There is hardly any Thing more affecting to a Man of real Merit, than to find himſelf ſcorned by the Inſo⯑lence of Purſe-pride. People of Affluence ſhould con⯑ſider when they attempt to depreciate Men of ſu⯑perior Parts, that they betray an unmanly Triumph over thoſe, who have ſtill their Fortune to make. But, as Mr. Pope finely obſerves, the World in general is apt to form an Idea of a Man, at the Time he is leaſt able to make a proper Judgment for himſelf; and from thence it reſults, that we find many utterly ruined by ſlight Errors, trivial Indiſcretions, and petty Inadver⯑tencies, while others owe their Elevation to Vices, to headſtrong Paſſions, and a Series of ſelfiſh Views, which are, for the greater Part, more ſucceſsful, than Modeſty, a ſober Underſtanding, and a Spirit above abject Flat⯑tery and mean Submiſſion.

They who ſit ſmiling at the Goal of Fortune, while others are running the hardy Courſe, ſhould reflect, that it is poſſible for Perſeverance and unremitted Ap⯑plication, to reach the very Point, in which they take ſo much Pride; and then it is evident on which Side the Superiority will be found. A well turned Spirit, with the Advantages of a genteel Education and a compe⯑tent Knowledge of the World, muſt certainly receive [60]additional Luſtre from an Acceſſion of Wealth, and the Accompliſhments of ſuch a one, will, in their Turn, adorn and embelliſh Affluence. On this Account, Ju⯑venal's Maxim is without Diſpute, highly juſt; a great Reſpect, ſays he, is due to Youth. The Practice of this Obſervation I would recommend to all Parents, Uncles, Guardians, and all Ranks of People, who have any Concern in the Education of the riſing Generation; as it is to be apprehended that they frequently, by too much Precipitance in their Conduct, drive them to Ex⯑tremes, which a little Indulgence might prevent, and by which they might become valuable Members of Society.

THERE is not, in my Opinion, a more exquiſite Pleaſure in the Power of Man, than what ariſes from an internal View of his own mental Conſtitution. To obſerve the various Aſſociation of Ideas, combined with a Ra⯑pidity, which ſcarcely leaves a Trace behind it, to watch the ſubtile Movements of the Paſſions, and thence to deduce the ſecret Source of many of our Sen⯑ſations, which are in Appearance extremely compli⯑cated and ſurprizing, is a Taſk requiring the fineſt Per⯑ception in the Reſearch, and alſo productive of the moſt uſeful Knowledge we can boaſt, and the higheſt Delight our Faculties are ſuſceptible of.

The Solution of a mathematical Problem may be agreeable to that Curioſity, which is implanted in us.; [62]and the Newtonian Philoſophy may expand the Imagina⯑tion with ſtupendous Ideas of the Diſtances of heavenly Bodies; but in theſe Occupations, like Swift's Taylor, it is poſſible, we may miſtake one Figure, and then all our ingenious Labour evaporates into Air; whereas in the Purſuit of Self-knowledge our Reaſonings are from Feeling, and all our Diſcoveries, beſides the Ad⯑vantage of being as ſurprizing as in any other Science, carry with them a further Acceſſion of Pleaſure, as we are ourſelves more immediately concerned in them. In travelling through an open champain Country the Proſpect on every Side may adminiſter to the Pleaſures of Imagination; but a Man will certainly feel more lively Senſat ons when riding upon Land belonging to himſelf; the Landſkip of his own Eſtate will look more beautiful to the Eye, the Lawn ſhall ſpread a more pleaſing Verdure, and the Diſcovery of a Mine, or the ſecret Spring of a little Rill running through his Mea⯑dows, aford him a Delight not to be equalled by the gayeſt Scenes that can be preſented to him.

The Study of the human Mind is, therefore, the moſt rational and pleaſing Employment we are capable of; for my Part I am always highly delighted when any accidental Circumſtance throws me into this Tract of thinking, and whether reading Rabelais's frolic Rav⯑ings, or the ſublime Enthuſiaſm of Homer, I am ſure ever and anon to lay aſide the Volume, in order to trace the Pleaſure, which I have received, to its hid⯑den Source, and to account for the Appearance upon ſome Principle in our Conſtitution. An Opportunity of gratifying this Turn occurred to me the other Day, when caſually turning over ſome of the moſt beautiful Paſſages in epic Poetry, I could not help taking notice, that I peruſed the Deſcription of Thouſands ſtretched upon the Field of Battle, weltring in Blood, agonizing with their Wounds, and trampled under Horſes Hoofs, without feeling any of thoſe Propenſities to Compaſ⯑ſion, [63]which were frequently awakened in me by the Death of a ſingle Perſon. I could read with the greateſt Compoſure and Serenity, Lines, which mention dying Groans of Numbers falling in one promiſcuous Carnage, broken Limbs of Warriors, Men and Horſes, all mixed in one general Scene of Deſtruction.

A Muſter-Roll of Heroes, who in one Line em⯑braced their Fate, did not move me to the leaſt ténder Senſation.

The Mind is totally impaſſive in all theſe general Ac⯑counts of the Calamities of War; but, when the Poet thinks proper to diſtinguiſh a ſingle Perſon from the Throng, we melt in Pity of his Fate, heedleſs of the general Devaſtation, which is ſpread around him. That this is the Caſe every Body that has read the Aeneid will be ready to acknowledge; and yet it might be imagined that our Hearts ſhould be more intenſely agitated, when Deſolation ſweeps whole Ranks of our Fellow-Creatures from the Face of the Earth, than when we read the Fate of an Individual; but ſuch is our Diſ⯑poſition, that we can go through all theſe Narratives without Emotion, and when the epic Writer throws out but a ſhort Reflection upon the Fall of one Man, we are inſtantly fixed in Attention, and our Hearts throb with Compaſſion for his untimely End.

The Reaſon of this I take to be, that in the former Caſe, we are only told, that ſo many embraced their Fate in Battle, in which Circumſtance there is nothing to excite Commiſeration in a reaſonable Being. Death is one of the Conditions of human Life, and we all [64]hold our Exiſtence in this World upon the ſame preca⯑rious Tenure. We therefore conſider the Deſcriptions of Homer and Virgil as no more than a mere Bill of Mortality, and when they inform us that ſuch a Num⯑ber periſhed upon the Spot, we peruſe it with as much Calmneſs as the Paragraph which tells us, ‘Encreaſed in the Burials this Week five hundred.’ And further, when they tell us, that, one receives an Arrow in the jugular Vein; another has a Spear run through his Shoulder, and is rivetted with his Body double to the Ground; a third is wounded in the Mouth and has his Head ſplit in two, it may ſerve, as the Critics obſerve, to give Variety to the Battle, but in Fact, amounts to no more than what we read in a common News paper, ‘Yeſterday a Labourer fell from the Top of an Houſe, by which Accident he broke his Collar bone and in⯑ſtantly expired.’ An Account of bodily Pain has but a very ſlight Influence upon our Paſſions; it is men⯑tal Diſtreſs that principally operates upon our Hearts, and our Pity riſes in Proportion to the Agitations of Mind, which we perceive in the Perſon afflicted. Be⯑ſides this, the Poet frequently finds collateral Avenues to our Souls, by a Mention of Family-Connections, and to heighten our Sorrow, he addreſſes himſelf to the moral Senſe of his Reader, and intereſts him ſtill more in the Fate of his Hero, by repreſenting his amiable Qualities, and the elegant Accompliſhments, which would have rendered him a deſerving Member of So⯑ciety. By theſe Mears our tendereſt Feelings are awakened, and the Effect is not unlike what a Man may experience in a Church-yard, where he ſees a Multitude of different Graves in which, the good, the bad, the old and young lie in promiſcuous Silence, and he therefore beholds the Scene without Emotion; but as ſoon as the Tomb ſtone preſents a Character of one diſtinguiſhed from the Reſt, he then laments the generous Friend, the tender Huſband, the indulgent [65]Father, and mourns for him who acted agreeably to the Relations in which he ſtood to his Fellow Crea⯑tures. Thus when we read of a dying Perſon, that he was a Friend of the Muſes, and that Harmony was the Delight of his Soul, we conſider him in a different Light from thoſe, who as Mr. Addiſon expreſſes it, are celebrated for nothing but being knocked in the Head.

When we are told of another, that his Death was la⯑mented by his Friends in ſundry Parts of his Country, we cannot help joining in the general Grief.

The Number of Sufferers is encreaſed, and our Paſ⯑ſions encreaſe in Proportion to the Knowledge conveyed to us of their Affections, their tender Friendſhips, and their Schemes for future Happineſs. One falls in the Midſt of his half-finiſhed Projects; him his blooming Miſtreſs mourns with frantic Sorrow, and all his Re⯑lations bewail his Loſs. Another receives his mortal Wound through the very Garment which his Mother worked for him with her own Hands.

Beſides theſe little Touches which the epic Writer oc⯑caſionally makes uſe of to awaken and engage the Paſ⯑ſions, they are further obliged to diverſify their Battles with Epiſodes, or ſhort Accounts of particular Adven⯑tures, in order to ſecure our Attention, and relieve us from that general Scene of Slaughter, which, they are conſcious we peruſe without any of thoſe Senſations, which it is the primary Excellence of Poetry to excite. [66]Thus the Story of Niſus and Euryalus will always ſoften the [...]eader into Compaſſion, when other Paſſages, in one Line of which there is infinitely more Miſchief done, will be paſſed over with Indifference. I ſhould not think the worſe of him that ſhould calmly go thro' moſt of the Battles in epic Poetry, but I hope there is not one of my Readers who would not yield to the ten⯑dereſt Impreſſions at the Fall of Pallas, and the Lamen⯑tation of Aeneas over his dead Body.

The Uſe I would make of what has been premiſed is, that, as our Paſſion are worked up in Proportion to the many amiable Qualities of the Character in Diſtreſs, and the Keeneſs of mental Senſation, which we ſup⯑poſe it ſuffers, our modern Writers of Tragedy ſhould attach themſelves to this Circumſtance, and conſider that it is not the theatrical Apparatus, the Bowl, the Dagger, the Dungeon or the Clink of Chains, that can affect an Audience, but a faithful Portrait of a Mind ſtruggling with various Senſations. If the Players would alſo conſider the ſame, Noiſe and Rant would be effectually baniſhed, and inſtead of aiming at Applauſe by the mere Effect of own ſonorous Voices, they would endeavour by every Look, every Tone, and every At⯑titude to mark the in-felt Anguiſh of their Minds.

MY Readers will obſerve, that I frequently ſelect Mottos, for my Papers, from the Author, whoſe Name I have prefixed to this Day's Eſſay; the Reaſon of it is, his Senſe is ſo refined, and the Turn of his Expreſ⯑ſion ſo peculiarly delicate, that his Remarks are inter⯑mixed with my own ordinary Ideas, in ſuch a Manner, that they recur to me, upon almoſt every Occaſion. Horace is ſo ſenſibly and elegantly ſententious, not only in his Epiſtles and Satires, which are profeſſedly moral Diſcourſes, but alſo in his lighter Odes, and his gayeſt Excurſions of Fancy, that I have often thought, an ex⯑cellent Syſtem of Morality, might be extracted out of his. Writings; I have even carried this Hint ſo far, as to think ſeriouſly of publiſhing a Tranſlation of all his excellent ethic Obſervations, which would, in my Opinion, be the beſt Collection of Thoughts on various Subjects, that has ever been offered to the Public.

The Paſſage, which I have placed at the Head of this Paper contains a very beautiful Moral. ‘Who is there,’ ſays the Bard, ‘that can deſire an Acceſ⯑ſion of falſe Honour, who is not ſenſible of ſome in⯑herent Defect? and who can be alarmed at the Blaſts of Calumny and Detraction, who bears in his own Heart a Regard to Truth?’—This Sentence con⯑tains [69]ſuch indelible Marks of a virtuous Diſpoſition, that it ſhould be written in Letters of Gold, and im⯑preſſed in deep Characters on the Heart of every Man, who would paſs through Life with an honeſt and fair Fame, as it ſuggeſts a juſt Contempt for all ill-grounded Applauſe, and furniſhes the Man of upright Heart with the proper Weapons of a noble Diſregard for the mean Deſigns of Slander and Malevolence.

Hypocriſy is conſidered, by all Moraliſts, as the moſt deſpicable and infamous Diſeaſe of the Soul; it diſcovers a Senſe of the Grace and Beauty of a fair Character, but generally carries with it a total Abſence of all good Qualities. It aims at Eſteem, by artfully concealing the latent Imperfections, and exhibiting to the public Eye a gloſſy Appearance of ſomething amiable and honeſt. But unleſs the Mind is thoroughly weeded, in ſpight of every artful Diſguiſe, the lurk⯑ing Miſchief will, one Time or other, break out, and as Perſeus expreſſes it, like a wild Fig-tree, force its Way through the very Liver;

Since I have mentioned this Satiriſt, it coincides with my preſent Scope, to obſerve, that there is not in any Author ancient or modern, a nobler Deſcription of a Man of real Honour, than what is found in two Lines of his Writing; I ſhall tranſcribe his Words, becauſe the Paſſage is highly beautiful, and for the Sake of the mere Engliſh Reader, I ſhall add Mr. Dryden's excel⯑lent Tranſlation.

[70]Certain it is, that for the Formation of a juſt Cha⯑racter, it is requiſite to have a perfect Knowledge of Right and Wrong ſettled in the Mind, Virtue ſhould be ledged in the Soul, and the Heart ſhould glow with generous Truth; but as the World now goes, there is more Art to acquire the popular Opinion than Merit to deſerve it; and the general Method, by which People graſp at Fame, conſiſts in depreciating ſome Neighbour's Character. Thus the female Beauty aims at being a general Toaſt, by detracting from ſome other Fair-one. The Merchant endeavours to extend his own Credit and Correſpondence by an artful Pro⯑pagation of Suſpicions to another's Diſadvantage, and the Quack, after ſetting forth the unerring Efficacy of his Noſtrum, cloſes his Advertiſement with, ‘Beware of Counterfeits, for ſuch are abroad.’

Cicero obſerves, that for one Man to detract from another, and to think of aggrandizing himſelf at the Expence of his Neighbour, is more againſt Nature, than Death, than Grief, or any other Calamity incident to human Life. The Realms of Fame are not to be explored by Doublings and Shiftings, and, whenever any one would arrive at thoſe Regions, Honour, Truth, and Generoſity muſt freight the Veſſel; the Breath of vo⯑luntary, impartial Applauſe muſt ſwell the Sail, and the Courſe muſt be direct, bold, and open to the Eye of the World.

A Reputation otherwiſe obtained muſt certainly af⯑ford very little Satisfaction, and it will ſtill adminiſter leſs, when we conſider, that it is only, as Shakeſpear calls it, [...] HONOUR, gained from the ignorant, from the ſelf [...]reſted, the mean, and the contemp⯑tible,; [...]word ſua munera c [...]rd [...], ſays a Writer already quoted; let the Underlings of Mankind keep their Commendations to themſelves; for the Praiſe of ſuch is beneath the Ambition of an honeſt Man, and by Parity of Reaſon, their Cenſure, their Diſapprobation, [71]their Cabals, their Intrigues, their Tattles, their daily Compotations, and their Midnight Clubs, are to be deſpiſed by every one, whoſe Breaſt is impregnated with a Love of Truth and Virtue.

To draw to a Concluſion; the uncertain Tide of illu⯑ſive Popularity is ever known to fluctuate, to ebb, and to ſubſide, and then the Shallows are diſcovered, the treacherous Quickſands are revealed, and the Bottom lies betrayed to Sight. In like Manner giddy Detraction ſpends and exhauſts itſelf; the Storm howls for a Time, and then decays into the Murmur of Obloquy, which at Length dies totally away; the Scene clears up▪ the Luſtre of Integrity ſpreads a Day around it, and In⯑famy, inſtead of adhering where it was directed, returns to its native Spring.

I have met in ſome French Writer a ſhort Chineſe Story, with which I ſhall diſmiſs this Paper. ‘The celebrated Ming was accuſed of entertaining diſre⯑ſpectful Ideas of Tien and Li, and of being diſſaffected to the Emperor Vang. When the Executioners went to ſeize the old Man, they found him compoſing a Panegyric upon Vang, and an Hymn to Tien and Li.’—

AT the laſt Meeting of our Club, my Friend, Mr. Candid, informed us, that he had lately ſeen the Character of King Lear admirably performed by Mr. Garrick, and that he had ſince thrown together ſome Remarks upon that excel⯑lent Tragedy, which he deſired I would this Day com⯑municate to the Readers of the Gray's-Inn-Journal.

To be able to criticiſe a Poet with any Degree of Perſpicuity, it is requiſite to conſider the Nature of his Fable; and the moral Uſe of the Work. This being ſketched, we may then proceed to obſerve how he lays on his Colouring, the Diſpoſition of each Perſon⯑age, the Expreſſion of the Paſſions, and which is the capital Figure in the Piece. Lear being examined in this Manner, it will appear that the Author intended to exhibit, in the moſt ſtriking Colours, the horrid Crime of Filial Ingratitude. To enforce this he repreſents an old Monarch tired with the Cares of State, and wil⯑ling to diſtribute his Poſſeſſions among his Daughters, in Proportion to their Affections towards his Perſon. Accordingly, the two that flatter him obtain all, the third Siſter being diſinherited for her Sincerity, and the King is at length driven by the Ingratitude of his two eldeſt Daughters, to an extreme of Madneſs, which produces the fineſt Tragic Diſtreſs ever ſeen on any Stage.

As this is the Ground-work of the Play, I am ſur⯑prized that any Critic ſhould impute the Madneſs of Lear to the Loſs of Royalty. The Behaviour of his [74]Children is always uppermoſt in his Thoughts, and we perceive it working upon his Paſſions, till at Length his Mind ſettles into a fixed Attention to that ſingle Ob⯑ject. This, I think, will appear in a critical Exami⯑nation of the Play.

Lear, in his firſt Scene, ſhews himſelf ſuſceptible of the moſt violent Emotions. The Poet has drawn him impetuous to the greateſt Degree, proud, haughty, re⯑vengeful, and tender-hearted. In ſuch a Mind it is not to be wondered that Ill-treatment ſhould excite the moſt uneaſy Senſations. He takes fire at an imaginary Ap⯑pearance of Diſaffection in Cordelia.

He is ſoon after alarmed with Suſpicions of Diſre⯑ſpect from Gonerill, "I will look further into't."—He then is convinced of her contemptuous Diſregard, and the Effect it has upon him, indicates a Mind, impotent and liable to the worſt Perturbations.

His Reflections after this ſhew what is neareſt to his Heart.

He obſerves that Cordelia's Fault was ſmall; and when even that made ſuch an Impreſſion on him, what are we to expect from his fiery Diſpoſition, when rejected by thoſe to whom he had given all? His Imprecation, though big with Horror, is the natural Reſult of his Indignation; and the Tenderneſs and Overflowings of Softneſs, which melt him in the midſt of his Vehe⯑mence, produce a fine Conflict of Paſſions. [75]

His Haughtineſs then breaks out in a Menace to his Daughter.

His Addreſs to Regan is extremely tender and pathetic.

And a little after

There have been many Poets who were acquainted in general with the Paſſions of human Nature, and ac⯑cordingly we find them conſtantly deſcribing their Ef⯑fects; but Shakeſpear's Art ſhows their Impulſe and their Workings, without the Aid of Definition or flowery De⯑ſcription. Beſides the general Survey of the Heart, he was more intimately verſed in the various Tempers of Mankind than any Poet whatever. We always find that he makes the Paſſions of each Perſonage in his Drama operate according to his peculiar Habit and Frame of Mind; and, in the Tragedy in Queſtion, there are ſo many Strokes of this Nature, that in my Opinion, it is his Maſter-Piece. In every Speech in Lear's Mouth, there is ſuch an artful Mixture of thwarting Paſſions, that the Heart-ſtrings of an Audience are torn on every [76]Side. The frequent Tranſition and Shifting of Emo⯑tions is natural to every Breaſt, but in Lear they are cha⯑racteriſtical Marks of his Temper.

In this Speech every Maſter-paſſion in his Temper riſes in Conflict, his Pride, his Revenge, his quick Re⯑ſentment, and his Tenderneſs. Shakeſpear has beauti⯑fully repeated Inſtances of this Nature, in almoſt every Line, and the following Paſſage has ſome of the fineſt Turns in the World.

Here the diſtreſſed Monarch leaves his Daughter's Roof, and the next Time we ſee him, he is on a wild Heath in a violent Storm, where all his Reflections take a Tincture from the gloomy Colour of a Mind diſeaſed with Anguiſh, and we ſoon ſee what is the principal Object of his Attention. [77]

And again;

His ſudden Apoſtrophe to his Daughters muſt draw Tears from every Eye.

The breaking off has a fine Effect.

As yet the Perturbation of his Mind does not ſeem fixed to a Point; he begins to moralize, but ſtill with a View to his own Afflictions, until Edgar enters diſ⯑guiſed like a Madman. Lear's firſt Queſtion is, ‘have his Daughters brought him to this Paſs? couldſt thou ſave nothing? didſt thou give them all?’—And this I take to be the firſt Touch of fixed Madneſs in the Play, and might point out to any Man the Cauſe of his Deſtraction, without thinking of the Reſignation of his Sceptre, or the mere Loſs of regal Power.

As our Hero is now out of his Senſes, a new Field opens itſelf to the Poet. He had before diſplay'd every Movement of the Heart, and the human Underſtanding now becomes his Province, in which, we ſhall find, he acquits himſelf with the moſt maſterly Skill. Mr. Locke obſerves, that Madmen do not ſeem to have loſt the Faculty of Reaſoning; but having joined together ſome Ideas very wrongly, they miſtake them for Truths; and they err as Men do that argue right from wrong Principles. For by the Vio⯑lence of their Imaginations, having miſtaken their Fancies for Realities, they make right Deductions from them.

[78]Agreeably to this Account, Lear, upon the Appear⯑ance of a Madman, takes it for granted that it is owing to his Daughters ill-treatment, and when contradicted, he replies, ‘Death! Traitor! nothing could have ſub⯑dued Nature to ſuch a Lowneſs but his unkind Daugh⯑ters’—He next takes him for a Philoſopher, and agreeably to that Notion enquires ‘what is the Cauſe of Thunder?’

In his next Scene a Deſire of revenging his Grievances actuates his Mind;

He then proceeds to arraign his Daughters in a Court of Juſtice. ‘Arraign her firſt, 'tis Gonerill. I here take Oath before this honourable Aſſembly—ſhe kicked the poor King her Father—Here is another too whoſe warpt Looks proclaim what Store her Heart is made of.’—He ſtill continues to dwell in Imagination upon the Crime of Ingratitude, which appears to him ſo ſhocking that he exclaims, ‘Let them anatomize Regan;—ſee what breeds about her Heart—Is there any Cauſe in Nature for theſe hard Hearts?’ This laſt Stroke cannot fail to draw Tears from every Eye. The Reader will pleaſe to ob⯑ſerve, that all this Time there is not a Word ſaid of his Royalty, on the contrary, he ſays to Edgar, ‘You, Sir, I entertain for one of my Hundred; only I do not like the Faſhion of your Garment,’ &c. which hundred, was appointed after his Abdication.

After this how was Shakeſpear to repreſent Lear again ſo as to keep up the Paſſions, and heighten the Diſtreſs? By taking Advantage of every Circumſtance in Lear's Temper. He had ſaid that he would reaſſume the Shape, he had caſt off: This then remained untouched, and accordingly in the next Scene we perceive him ac⯑tually putting it in Execution, and his Fancy ſuggeſts to him, that he is a King; from which he reaſons as [79]from every other Principle, and always with an Eye to his Children. "No," they cannot touch me for "coining; I am the King himſelf." ‘There's my Gauntlet—I'll prove it on a Giant.’ From this, his Imagination wanders. ‘Bring up the brown Bills— O well flown Barb! i'th' Clout! i'th' Clout— Hewgh, give the Word.’—From this Rambling he ſoon returns, and the habitual Ideas again take Poſ⯑ſeſſion of him. ‘Ha Regan! Gonerill! they flattered me like a Dog,’ &c. After this, Glo'ſter enquiring if it is not the King, he catches at the Word and anſwers, "Ay, every Inch a King." And then he draws ſome more Inferences from that Notion, till he reflects that Glo'ſter's Baſtard Son was kinder to his Fa⯑ther than his own Daughters, got in lawful Sheets. From this he digreſſes into an Invective againſt Wo⯑men, and continues raving, till at length his Spirit of Revenge returns upon him. ‘And when I've ſtolen upon theſe SONS-IN-LAW, then kill, kill, kill, kill.’

It was Shakeſpear's Art to reſerve his being crowned with Straw for the laſt Scene of his Madneſs, as it is a Repreſentation of human Nature reduced to the loweſt Ebb. Had he loſt his Reaſon on Account of his abdicated Throne, the Emotions of Pity would not be ſo intenſe, as they now are when we ſee him drove to that Extreme by the Cruelty of his own Children. Every Topic of parental Diſtreſs being exhauſted, and all the King's Maſter-Paſſions diſplayed in his Mad⯑neſs, the Poet judiciouſly ſhews him gradually coming to himſelf in the next Scene; and we ſee the Ideas dawning ſlowly on his Soul. ‘Where have I been?—where am I?—fair Day-light!’ In this Recollection of his Reaſon, he never once men⯑tions the Loſs of Royalty, but again touches upon the Cauſe of his Diſtreſs in his Speech to Cordelia. [80]

So that before his Madneſs, in it, and after it, Lear never loſes Sight of the Ideas which had worn ſuch Traces on his Brain; and he muſt be unfeeling to the great Art of our Poet, who can look for any other Cauſe of Diſtreſs, in Scenes which are drawn ſo forcibly and ſtrong, and kept up with the moſt exquiſite Skill to the very dying Words of the unhappy Monarch.

THE following Letter is wrote with ſuch a Vein of Candor and Taſte, that I cannot with hold it from the Public this Day. I am highly obliged to the Author for ſo in⯑genious a Piece, and ſhall be glad to know by a Line to the Printer hereof, where I may direct to him, as I ſhou'd be proud to cultivate a Correſpondence with ſo elegant a Critic. The Reader will judge of the Matter for himſelf, and, upon a future Occaſion, I ſhall offer ſome further Conſiderations on this Subject, and will only hint for the preſent, that I hope it will not be any Detriment to me, that I publiſh a genteel Performance, which is, in ſome Meaſure, againſt what I have ad⯑vanced. I flatter myſelf I ſhall not have Reaſon to be ſorry for admitting him into my Province, and to ſay with the Poet, ‘Et Regni demens in parte vocavi. VIRG:’

THOUGH I have in my two laſt Papers entirely confined the Attention of my Rea⯑ders to critical Enquiries, I ſhall make no Apology for offering another Eſſay this Day upon a Subject nearly connected with thoſe Mat⯑ters, the more eſpecially as the Honour of our Coun⯑try is in ſome Sort concerned in the preſent Lucubration againſt a French Writer, upon whom I have formerly animadverted, and who has taken in ſome Paſſages of his Works, unbecoming Liberties with the Engliſh Na⯑tion.

Prefixed to Voltaire's Merope, we find a Letter to Maffei (the Author of an Italian Tragedy on the ſame Subject) in which that Writer, after mentioning a faulty Piece which was performed on the Engliſh Stage; de⯑livers himſelf in the following Words. Elle fut ſans doute mal reque; mais n'eſt il pas bien etrange qu'on l'ait repreſentie? N'eſt ce pas une preuve que le Teatre Angloiſe n'eſt pas encore epuré? Il ſemble que la méme cauſe qui prive les Angloiſe du Genie de la Painture & de la Muſique, leur óte auſſi celui de la Tragedie. Cette Iſle, qui a produit les plus grand Philoſophes de la Terre, n'eſt pas auſſi fertile pour les beaux Arts; & ſi les Anglois ne s'appliquent ſerienſement a ſuivre les Preceptes de leurs excellens Citoyens Addiſon & Pope, ils n'approcherent pas des autres Peuples en fait de Gout & de Literature. ‘The Engliſh Merope, (ſays Voltaire,) acted in the Year 1731, was not well [91]received; but is it not ſurpriſing that it was exhibited at all? May we not infer from thence, that the Eng⯑liſh Stage has not as yet attained a due Degree of Re⯑finement? It looks as if the ſame Cauſe, which has deprived the Engliſh of a Genius for Painting and Muſic, has alſo withheld from them the Spirit of Dra⯑matic Poetry. That Iſland which has produced the greateſt Philoſophers in the World, is not ſo happy with Regard to the polite Arts, and unleſs they ſe⯑riouſly attach themſelves to the Precepts of their ex⯑cellent Countrymen, Addiſon and Pope, they will be thrown at a Diſtance by other Nations in Point of Li⯑terature and Productions of Taſte.’

Becauſe the Managers of a Theatre ſuffered a bad Piece to be repreſented, is it not unfair to derive from thence a Charge of Indelicacy upon a whole Nation, more particularly when the Reception this Piece met with from the Public is rather an Indication of a correct and juſt Taſte?—

What the Cauſe is, which has deprived the Engliſh of a Genius for Painting and Muſic, I am at a Loſs to de⯑termine. Certain it is, thoſe Arts flouriſhed for a long Time in Italy, before they came over the Alps to our northern Regions; and it is certain that a Taſte for them has prevailed many Years ſince in this Kingdom. They have been cultivated here with the greateſt Delicacy by ſeveral eminent Maſters, though we cannot boaſt as many exalted Geniuſſes as have adorned the ſofter Clime of Italy. The Transfiguration by Raphael, the Nativity by Corregio, and the laſt Judgment by Michael Angelo will perhaps never be matched any where elſe; but it is un⯑fair to deduce a Concluſion from thence, that we have no Genius for this excellent imitative Art in England. Portrait-Painting has been in as great a Degree of Per⯑fection in this Country as in any other Part of the World. Sir Godfrey Kneller found ſo much Taſte among us, that he made this his own Country; and here— [92]

But not to ſneak from living worth to dead, as Mr. Pope finely expreſſes it, whoever, has obſerved with Attention the Performances of Hayman, muſt be con⯑vinced that Voltaire's Charge of a Want of Taſte is perfectly groundleſs. Every Thing is put out of Hand by this excellent Artiſt with the utmoſt Grace and Delicacy, and his Hiſtory-Pieces have, beſides their beautiful Colouring, the moſt lively Expreſſion of Cha⯑racter. Hutſon's Rooms teem with mimic Life; and Hogarth, like a true Genius, has formed a new School of Painting for himſelf. He may be truly ſtiled the Cervantes of his Art, as he has exhibited the ridiculous Follies of human Nature with the moſt exquiſite Hu⯑mour, and he may be ſaid to be the firſt, who has wrote Comedy with his Pencil. His Harlot's Progreſs, and Marriage A-la mode are, in my Opinion, as well drawn as any Thing in Moliere, and the Unity of Character, which is the Perfection of Dramatic Poetry, is ſo ſkilfully preſerved, that we are ſurprized to ſee the ſame Perſonage thinking agreeably to his complexional Ha⯑bits in the many different Situations, in which we after⯑wards perceive him. The Frible, the Bully, the Poli⯑tician, the Lawyer, the Miſer, and in ſhort all the ſtrik⯑ing Characters in Life are, by this Gentleman, ſo ad⯑mirably depicted upon Canvas, that I am convinced Voltaire would be at a Loſs to ſhew where he has been equalled by any of his Countrymen.—

We may alſo boaſt an equal Excellence in Muſic; for though Mr. Handell is not an Engliſhman, it is however a convincing Proof of our national Taſte, that we have made it worth his while to fix his Reſidence among us, and that we have ſhewn a due Senſibility to manly Me⯑lody, where the Sound is expreſſive of the Senſe, and where no unnatural Diviſions, nor idle inſignificant [93]Quirks miſlead the Ear in a thrilling Maze of wild and and random Notes. It is owing to the Encouragement we have afforded this Gentleman, that we can now boaſt the nobleſt and moſt rational Muſic in the World. Be⯑ſides, ſuch a Genius as Doctor Boyce will be always ſuf⯑ficient to vindicate us from Voltaire's national Oppro⯑brium, and the Admirers of Arne have conſtantly cele⯑brated him for his peculiar Talent, at finding the moſt emphatic Expreſſion in a Compoſition, and diſcovering where the Paſſions are placed in every Piece of Poetry. To theſe Paſſages he never fails to give their full Energy, and like a raviſhing Commentator he brings new Beauties into Light with ſuch a Sweetneſs of Harmony, that every Breaſt yields irreſiſtibly to the melting Impreſſion. I am proud to have an Opportunity of ſaying that we are likely to have an Engliſh Opera ſet to Muſic by the laſt mentioned Gentleman, which, I perſuade myſelf, will do Honour to him and his Country. ^*

With Regard to Dramatic Poetry, our Advantage over every Nation in the known World is, I think, very apparent. The beſt Critics have laid it down as a Rule that a Performance is to be judged by its Number of ſtriking Beauties, and not by ſome Inaccuracies, and the Inſtances of occaſional Conformity to the vicious Taſte of the Times. If Shakeſpear is viewed in this light he will certainly appear to any unprejudiced Rea⯑der infinitely ſuperior to Corneille, Racine, and all the poliſhed Writers of France and Italy. I remember a Paſ⯑ſage in Voltaire's Writings, where he is at infinite Pains to bring together a String of Quotations from the beſt French Tragedies to evince their great Talents for the ſublime; in all he makes up about twenty or thirty at [94]moſt; and the Beauties of Shakeſpear have of late been publiſhed in ſeveral Volumes. Beſides, Otway has found Acceſs to the Heart better than any French Writer what⯑ever, and the domeſtic Paſſions are touched by him with the greateſt Elegance and Simplicity. It is very common on the French Stage to hear a Perſonage of the Drama, exclaiming perpetually Helas, and mon Dicu! and then formally acquainting the Audience that he feels ſuch and ſuch Senſations; but our great Maſters of the Paſſions make their Hearers feel by Sympathy the Agitations of their Hero's Breaſt, without running into cold languid Declamation.

The Dramatic Poetry of this Country is like our Con⯑ſtitution, built upon the bold Eaſis of Liberty; and though the latter has brought our King to the Block, and the former admits Blood to be ſhed on the Stage; theſe are Corruptions which have intruded, and are, as the Poets ſays, ‘Effects unhappy from a noble Cauſe.’ Upon the whole, we may apply, what Horace has ſaid to the Engliſh Nation,

Our Poets are ſufficiently poſſeſſed of the Spirit of Tragedy, but they are not attentive to the minute Rules of correct Taſte, and the Trouble of blotting. It may be added, that they have more real Fire, ſublimer Sen⯑timents, and Characters better marked than any Nation whatever; and with regard to Painting and Muſic, we can boaſt ſo many Maſters in both as might have pre⯑vented the French Author from charging us with a Want of Genius, and Taſte for the fine Arts.

I cannot diſmiſs this Paper, without obſerving, that it is a very particular Pleaſure to me, to find the Subject, on which I have been hitherto offering ſome ſcattered Reflections, touched upon with great Spirit by a Writer of acknowledged Genius. ^* In a Preface to [93]a Novel called the FRIENDS, he has expreſſed himſelf with great Warmth, and a noble national Jealouſy. After mentioning that Voltaire calls his Countrymen, THE ABSOLUTE LEGISLATORS OF ALL THE FINE ARTS IN EUROPE, "how ſhameleſs," ſays he, ‘is this Aſſer⯑tion in the Face of a Country, that gave Bread to Holben, Dignities to Reubens, and Encouragement to Vandike; and that for Years before (even by this Writer's own Acknowledgment) the national Taſte of France was formed! While that Taſte was barbarous, Johnſon enriched his native Tongue with Comedies, wrought up to more than Terentian Regularity and Propriety, in point of Conduct; and while France was ignorant of almoſt every Order of Architecture, Inigo Jones, in England, was rearing Houſes, and projecting Palaces which all the boaſted Improve⯑ments of France, in that Art, have not yet equalled. I ſhall forbear to urge the Examples of Spencer or Shakeſpear, becauſe I am firmly and ſeriouſly of Opi⯑nion, that no Frenchman ever yet was able (ſuppoſing him to underſtand Engliſh equally as French) to taſte the Beauties of either of theſe Poets. For the Truth of this, I appeal to every Engliſhman's Senſe, who has had the Misfortune to read the unwilling, ſcanty, ſtarved and miſtaken Encomiums, that Voltaire has beſtowed on Shakeſpear.’

Is it not rather too charitable in the Author of the foregoing Paſſage to ſuppoſe Monſieur Voltaire's reſerved Praiſes of Shakeſpear could ariſe only from an Inability of reliſhing his Beauties? For my Part, I muſt avow it, the French Writer appears to me capable of feeling every Stroke of our great Poet, but Envy, and a vain Ambition of erecting himſelf into an imagined Superiority, have rendered him open and explicit in his Abuſes, and he⯑ſitating and frigid in his Commendations. But to con⯑clude; what Virgil has given away from his Country⯑men, we claim for ours. None better ſhall inform the [96]breathing Braſs, or ſoften Marble into mimic Features; none ſhall better plead, or with equal Sagacity deſcribe the Motions of the planetary Syſtem, and the Laws of Nature; and beſides, it ſhall be our further Praiſe to ſpare a vanquiſhed Foe, and to check the Encroachments of an intriguing, faithleſs, perfidious Enemy, ever reſt⯑leſs and aiming at an univerſal Monarchy, which, it is to be hoped, the Councils and Arms of Great Britain will for ever hold from them.

I LATELY met with a Fable, in a French Writer, which I thought, carried with it a great Deal of Propriety, and, though it was rather eked out, as is ſometimes the Caſe among the livelieſt Geniuſſes of that Country, beyond the juſt Limits preſcribed by the Matter con⯑tained in it, it was however conducted with ſuch a Pret⯑tineſs of Fancy and Expreſſion, that I was very much entertained with the Peruſal of it. Poetry, (ſays my Author) is the Son of the God of Eaſe and the God⯑deſs of Meditation. He bears in his Appearance ſuch a ſtrong Reſemblance to theſe his Parents, that it is im⯑poſſible, to miſtake the Marks of his Legitimacy, and [98]therefore, whenever theſe Proofs of his Birth are de⯑ficient, we may with Reaſon conclude him to be of a ſpurious Breed.

From his Father, he derives his apparent Indolence, his Serenity, his graceful Elocution, and his unlaboured Turn of Thought, together with his elegant Feli⯑city in all his Compoſitions; a remarkable Neglect of the ordinary Uſes of Life, a Diſregard for Riches, and a total Abſence of all worldly Ambition, ſave what is inſpired by Virtue and honeſt Fame, are his di⯑ſtinguiſhing Characteriſtics. From his Mother, he poſ⯑ſeſſes his Modeſty, which makes him not very fond of obtruding himſelf into Company; his penſive Air, which inclines him to be always enforcing ſome Precept of Morality, or ſome Topic which may be ſubſervient to the Uſe or Enjoyment of Life; his Love of Solitude, which induces him to ſhun Crowds and great Cities, and leads him into rural Scenes, where he may give free Scope to his Imagi⯑nation undiſturbed by the Cares and Anxieties of Life. The ſame Diſpoſition in his Temper renders him not very fond of being known by the Bulk of Mankind, that he may prevent the Inconveniencies attendant on him when his Affairs require that he ſhould make his Appearance in Public. If he puts any thing abroad into the World, and thinks proper to publiſh the Re⯑ſult of his contemplative Moments, he does not like to be pointed at by the Multitude, but chuſes to receive the Tribute of Applauſe, obtained by his Writings, without being liable to the Sarcaſms, the Taunts, and malevolent Jeſts, which are always the ſure Concomi⯑tants of Praiſe, and which are generally a very great Diſcount upon his Happineſs.

From theſe Motives he is enamoured with Retirement, and he is further confirmed in his ſequeſtred State by a Conſideration, that the more he keeps himſelf at a [99]Diſtance from the Reſt of Mankind, the more Beau⯑ties they are willing to deſcry in his Productions; in like Manner as the Hills, and the remote Parts of a Proſpect preſent a more vivid Green, than when our Advances to them have brought the Scene more cloſe to our Inſpection, and the Heath, the craggy Rock, and ploughed Land, are familiariſed to the naked Eye.

This is the Subſtance of the Fable; the Meaning that it inculcates is certainly very juſt and obvious. The beſt Writers in all Ages have ſubſcribed to it, and the moſt applauded of the antient Poets are conſtantly offering warm Pictures of rural Imagery to our Ima⯑ginations; they ſeem to be ſtifled with Duſt and Smoke, when they mention a City-Life, and we frequently ſind them expatiating with Rapture upon the Pleaſures of a Country-Life, which they look upon to be the Nurſe of Thought, and the only Sphere in which their Studies can be proſecuted with any Degree of Succeſs.

The ſame Obſervation will hold good with Regard to all Kinds of Writing, unleſs it be thoſe excellent Productions of the Preſs which make their Appearance under the various Shapes of Newgate-Memoirs, New's-Papers, and political Pamphlets. In Works that call for a long Train of Reaſoning, ſubtile Diſquiſitions, and unwearied Application, undoubtedly the proper Place to accompliſh them, is in thoſe Regions, where Riot and Debauchery are Strangers; where Gaming, Drinking, and idle Amuſements of all Sorts are un⯑known, and where, above all, Health and Cheerfulneſs add new Luſtre to the Face of Things.

It may perhaps ſeem a Paradox, if I ſhould aſſert, that, among all the Gentlemen of the Quill, there is not one, to whom Solitude and Eaſe are more neceſſary than the periodical Writer; but though his Compo⯑ſitions are generally comprized in a narrow Com⯑paſs, and though he does not, for the moſt Part, [100]pretend to ſearch every Subject to the Bottom; though it is not expected of him to lay before the Reader deep, philoſophical Speculations, abſtracted Reaſonings, and new Syſtems of Morality and Religion; yet, in my Apprehenſion, it will be found, upon an attentive Survey of his Situation, that it is particularly incumbent on the Adventurer in this Way, to withdraw himſelf from the Buſtle of Mankind, and to appear, as ſeldom as poſſible in little Circles at Coffee-houſes, convivial Clubs at Taverns, and the long Train of public Places, which ſerve no other Purpoſe in this Metropolis than merely to kill Time, as the Phraſe is, and to hurry a Perſon into a Courſe of Vanity and Diſſipation.

There is a Paſſage in Mr. Pope, which I have ever peruſed with Admiration, becauſe it ſhews him to have been a Man of the moſt prudent Underſtanding, as well as the moſt finiſhed Poet; Two Adjuncts which are ſeldom found to coexiſt.

Perhaps too great a Tincture of Pride runs through theſe Lines, for any one elſe to make Application of them to himſelf. Pope had Talents ſuperior to al⯑moſt all Mankind, but if a more humble Writer can⯑not withdraw himſelf from our preſent Town-Smarts and Critics, like an Eaſtern Monarch, he may at leaſt accompliſh it, like Juvenal's Friend in his third Satire, [101]who retired from Rome, to avoid its Plagues and In⯑conveniencies.

It is poſſible, my Readers may think theſe Tenets inconſiſtent with the Character of Ranger; but airy and gay as Ranger may appear, he is now perfectly averſe to the wild Sallies of his Nameſake in the Play: He would not chuſe to ſtagger home from a Box and Dice in the Morning, nor to get through a Window into an honeſt Gentleman's Houſe at Night; he can⯑not run after every white Apron he ſees, nor keep Company with a Set of Fellows whom he deſpiſes. And yet there are Diſſipations to which a Reſident in Town is for ever liable; add to theſe, the Danger attendant on a Writer's making himſelf known in too many Quarters of the Town. Prejudices are ever apt to ariſe againſt an Author, who does not take care to conceal himſelf. The Tranſition is ſo quick from the Performance to the Perſon who produced it, that from the Moment a Man begins to publiſh, he is enliſted into a State of Warfare with almoſt all the Critics and Malevoli of the Age.

Some Readers have no Criterion, by which to judge of a Production, except the Rules of Phyſiognomy; and if an Author appears younger than themſelves, they hold it abſolutely impoſſible to receive any Inſtruction from him. It is, by the Way, ſomewhat ſtrange that this experienced Claſs will not allow a Man to be ſit to entertain them, until his Imagination begins to flag, his Invention to cloſe, like Flowers at the Setting of the Sun, his Memory to decay, and his Wit, if he have any Share of it, to become ſlow and tardy. This however, is what is deſired by the Man who would look an Author in the Teeth to know his Age, and from thence make an Eſtimate of his Merit.

[102]There is another Set of People who make it their Buſineſs to pry into a Writer's Connections, and tho⯑roughly inform themſelves of his Attachments, his Friendſhips, and his Reſentments. According as theſe coincide with their own Way of Thinking, they blame or approve; even though the Author is abſolutely im⯑partial in his Animadverſions. ‘There, ſays one, Ran⯑ger is right—O, D—n the Fellow! was ever ſuch a Poſition as this?—my dear Ranger, that won't paſs upon us—We know you are ptejudiced in this Affair —and there again; — You praiſe this Man becauſe you are intimate with him. — Did I not ſee you walk Arm in Arm with him, the other Night, at the Coffee-houſe?’

In this Manner is the Perſon judged, who attempts to run the dangerous Career of Wit, as Boileau ex⯑preſſes it, du bel Eſprit la Carriere epineuſe; and upon the whole, I think it may be laid down as a Maxim, that no periodical Writer ſhould ever reſide in this Metropolis, that he may effectually evade the Cenſures of Prejudice, the Blaſts of Detraction, the Envy of rival Wit, and the ſeveral Avocations of a Town-Life. It may be added, that it is abſolutely neceſſary, that an Author ſhould never ſuffer himſelf to be known, on Account of the Antipathy which will ariſe to his Per⯑ſon. Patroclus conquered for a long Time in the Armour of Achilles; but had he let the Secret eſcape abroad, with double his Strength and Valour, he would not have been able to atchieve any Thing remarkable againſt the Trojans, who would have inſtantly conceived an utter Contempt of the Man, whom they dreaded in a feigned Appearance.

AS the late Lord Bolingbroke's Works have come abroad into the World with all the Pomp of a ſuperb Edition, and as Part of them, by being addreſſed to Mr. Pope, may be thought to co-incide with his religious Tenets, I have jugded it not improper to lay before my Readers, ſome Particulars relating to this Matter, which I lately met with in a Volume of the ingenious Racine. That excellent French Author had, it ſeems, given vent to ſome Animadverſions on Mr. Pope's Eſſay on Man, and the Conſequence was, that our great Poet, uneaſy at the Reflection, reſolved to aſſert his Syſtem, in a Letter to the French Writer, which he incloſed to the celebrated Chevalier Ramſay. This Correſpondence will throw a Light on Pope's Way of Thinking in re⯑ligious Matters, and will evidently ſhew that he was far from embracing Bolingbroke's Principles. As the Sanction of ſo great a Genius would, in all Probability, greatly ferve the Purpoſes of the noble Writer, it will in ſome Meaſure defeat that End, and convince Man⯑kind that Mr. Pope thought the Imputation of Deiſm would blemiſh that fair Fame of which he was ena⯑moured; and it may prove entertaining to the meer [106] Engliſh Reader to ſee what a polite Intercourſe was carried on between two Geniuſſes of different Nations, Strangers to each other, and only connected by their Wit and Parts.

I WAS ſurprized the other Day to receive a Letter, which, by the Poſt-mark it bore, appeared to come from the Height of a Caledonian Mountain. I could not con⯑ceive who ſhould addreſs me from that Part of the World; but upon opening it, I found it ſubſcribed by my Friend the Second Sighted Scotchman, who formerly entertained my Readers with his News for one Hundred Years hence. I received his Epiſtle with that Pleaſure, which I always feel in hearing from an honeſt Man, and, as I am in Hopes that the Contents of his Packet will not be found diſagreeable, I ſhall lay the whole, without any further Preface, before my Readers, taking only the Liberty to ſuppreſs ſuch Parts of his Letter, as ſeem rather a Compliment to myſelf, than in any Way relative to the Public.

THE Chambers over my Apartment in Gray's-Inn having been unoccupied for a conſiderable Time paſt, I was enabled to purſue my Lu⯑cubrations with the greater Eaſe and Tran⯑quillity, being free from thoſe ſudden Alarms of Noiſe, which are otherwiſe inevitable in any of the Inns of Court. But my Repoſe has met with an Interruption of ſo pleaſant a Kind, that I have determined to acquaint my Readers with all the Particulars of the Incident.

About ten Days ſince, a Gentleman entered upon the Premiſes, and ever ſince I have been frequently diſturbed, when at my Studies, by ſuch quick and unexpected Shocks, that it was abſolutely impoſſible for me to pur⯑ſue the ſame Train of Thought with any Degree of At⯑tention. As I was Yeſterday-Morning peruſing Mr. Hawkins Brown's excellent Poem upon the Immortality of the Soul, in which he has artfully combined in their full Force all the Arguments in Support of that impor⯑tant Article of our Belief, ſuddenly I heard a violent Bounce over my Head; the Cieling ſhook as if ready to come down, and a Convulſion ſhook the whole Houſe. Deep Contemplation ſometimes unbraces the Nerves to ſuch a Degree, that an unexpected Noiſe ſtartles the whole Frame of the Body, and throws the Spirits out of that placid State, which is requiſite in order to think with Calmneſs and Perſpicuity. This Diſcompoſure I experienced upon ſo many Occaſions, and ſometimes in [119]ſuch quick Succeſſion, that I judged it proper to ſtep up Stairs to the Gentleman, to inform him of the Incon⯑veniencies, which I lay under, and to beg of him to manage his Affairs for the future with leſs Turbulence.

I knocked two or three Times at his Door, but re⯑ceiving no Anſwer, and hearing him run about with great Violence of Exertion, I made bold to walk in unbid. You go into the Dining-Room through a Glaſs-Folding-Door, which was at this Time ſhut, but the Curtains undrawn. Through the Window, I ſaw the Gentleman pulling off his Cloaths with the utmoſt Vehemence, and in an Inſtant he appeared in the Ha⯑bit and Air, of an old Woman delivering Doctor Rock's Bills upon Ludgate-Hill. Surprized at this Change, I ſtopt ſhort to obſerve the Actions of this extraordinary Perſonage, and very ſhortly I was entertained with ano⯑ther Viciſſitude of Appearance; for, quick as Lighten⯑ing, he ſhifted Cloaths, and walked about the Room with a Baſket, and with an audible Voice pronounced, ‘Muf⯑fins for Coffee and Tea, Gentlemen and Ladies.’ This appeared extremely whimſical; he then varied his Dreſs, and with a Silver Pipe cried out London-Evening Poſt: After which he threw away his Bundle of Papers, fall down upon his Knees, laid his Hand on his Heart, looked up with a great Expreſſion of Joy, and then riſing, indulged himſelf in all the whimſical Vagaries of a Man frantic with Senſations too exquiſite to endure. In this Way he continued for ſome Time, and at length threw himſelf into an Attitude of Surprize; after which, he ran wild about the Room, like one almoſt diſtracted with Deſpair, looking up in vain to Heaven for Relief, when to my great Amazement, he unexpectedly muſtered up his Spirits, and with great Alacrity leaped through a ſmall Aperture into the Coal-Hole. After abſconding there for a ſhort Space of Time, he came forth with a Sack of Coals upon his Shoulders, which he emptied in the Middle of the Room, calling with ſome Earneſt⯑neſs, [120] "Below." He had no ſooner done this, but he directed his Eyes ſparkling with Joy to ſome imaginary Object with which his Fancy ſeemed to be highly pleaſed; He then came forward, and knocked at the Door, where I had taken my Station, which I then took an Opportunity to open, and as I was advancing towards him, he ſeized me by the Shoulder, and twin⯑ing me round with all his Strength ſent me reeling into a Corner of his Room. Upon this, he walked into the outward Apartment, ſlapping the Door after him, and immediately opened a ſmall Caſement Window, which was over the Door of his Bed-Chamber. From thence he ſtretched out his Neck, and looking me full in the Face, burſt out into a loud Fit of Laughter; then pro⯑ducing a Squirt, he began to let fly at me in ſuch a Manner, that I was ſoon pretty well watered from Head to Foot. The Exclamations, which I vented upon this Occaſion, rung ſuch a Peal in the Gentleman's Ears, that he was brought to a Recollection of himſelf. He came down very leiſurely from his Poſt, and with a modeſt Air and genteel Addreſs he politely aſked my Pardon, and told me that he was ſo intent upon his Buſi⯑neſs, that he really did not perceive that he was offer⯑ing Indignities to a Stranger.—

Imagining that I was in the Hands of a Madman, I was willing to acquieſce with his Apology, but to ſatisfy my Curioſity, I took the Liberty to enquire of him, the Nature of his Buſineſs and what might be his Vocation. ‘Sir, ſaid the Gentleman, won't you pleaſe to be ſeated, With regard to my Buſineſs, Sir, I am a Pantomime Poet—a Pantomime Poet!’—‘Pray, Sir, what is a Pantomime Poet?’—To this Queſtion my Friend anſwered with a Smile, ‘a Writer of Pantomime, Sir. —It is a Plan which I have determined to apply my⯑ſelf to, having Reaſon to think that it is the only Way of ſucceeding in the preſent Age. I was bred at Eton School, from whence at a proper Time I was re⯑moved [121]to the Univerſity; at both which Places I laid in a ſufficient Store of Greek and Latin, and always feeling a particular Turn for the Drama I applied my Genius principally to Tragedy and Comedy. In each Species of Writing I have given the finiſhing Hand to ſome Pieces which have received the Approbation of a few Gentlemen of known Taſte and perfectly verſed in critical Matters. Encouraged by their Opinion I came to Town, and after a long tedious Application I find it impoſſible to get any of my Performances ex⯑hibited. Mr. Garrick has already, like a provident General, laid his Plan of Operations, and Mr. Rich is determined to bring on no new Pieces, until we have ſuch a Genius as Tom Durfey’ I wiſh Mr.—, ſays he, we had ſuch another Writer now. ‘On this Ac⯑count I have taken a Reſolution to cultivate a Species of the Drama, which cannot fail of being profitable to all Parties, and, being agreeable to the public Taſte, will be brought on without Difficulty as ſoon as offered.’—

Here I broke in upon the Thread of his Diſcourſe, by aſking if he was determined to become Harlequin himſelf? To this he anſwered me in the Negative; but as it is a Rule in Writing to place yourſelf in the Situa⯑tion of the Character for which you are to find ſuit⯑able Dialogue, he had judged it not improper to con⯑form to this Precept, and therefore, in order the better to concert the ſudden Eſcapes and Changes of Dreſs, which have ſo pleaſing an effect in this kind of Poetry, he was practiſing over every ſtriking Attitude, and every unexpected Situation of the Harlequin, that he might be the better able to form an Opinion of the Plot and the ſeveral Incidents of the Marvellous, which he had found it neceſſary to introduce. He proceeded to inform me, that he purpoſed calling his firſt Piece HARLEQUIN TRIUMPHANT, or POETRY IN THE SUDS. In this Performance the whole Race of Authors are to be ex⯑poſed [122]to the Deriſion of the Public, and Harlequin is to crack a very great Number of facetious Jokes upon their shoulders with his wooden Sword. A Poet is to be placed at a Table with a Beef-ſtake laid before him, to his inexpreſſible Joy, when in an Inſtant, by ſome cu⯑rious Stroke of Art, the ſolid Subſtance is to be changed into a modern Tragedy, and Calvert's Entire Butt wafted away from his longing Eyes. The Bard after this is to be ducked in a Well, and then toſſed dry in a Blanket, while Mother Dulneſs enjoys the ſprightly Vein of Mirth, happy to ſee her Orders ſo faithfully executed. In ſhort, the unhappy Poets are to undergo every Indig⯑nity that human Wit can invent; and in Contraſt to this, Harlequin is to riot in Luxury; the Spring is to pour fourth her freſheſt Verdure to charm his Eye, Summer to ripen the various Fruits upon the loaded Boughs, in order to regale his Palate; Autumn muſt adminiſter the circling Glaſs, and Winter expand the frozen Surface of the Waters for him to ſkate with all his Dignity, in Sight of the aſtoniſhed Audience.

Though this Plan appeared highly romantic to me at firſt Sight, I could not help telling the Gentleman, that I made no doubt but he would find his Account in it. I told him, that the ſureſt Way to riſe in the World was to gratify the Follies of the People, and therefore com⯑mended this Scheme, which I am convinced cannot fail of Succeſs. I juſt then hinted, that if he could contrive to be leſs violent in his Studies, I ſhould take it as a Fa⯑vour, and after aſſuring him of my ſincere Wiſhes for all the Encouragement his Project deſerves, I took my leave, and am at preſent tolerably quiet in my Study, not hav⯑ing above two or three Alarms in a Day, which muſt be now and then expected from ſo vigorous and warm an Imagination.

THE Sixth Book of the Aeneid has always been a Favourite with me, for the noble Sen⯑timents of Morality, and the inimitable Strain of Poetry which run through it. I frequently read it with the moſt tranſporting Pleaſure, and, after finiſhing it, I cannot but look down very much upon the degenerate State of Poetry among the Moderns. For the ſtrong nervous Thought and natural Expreſſion, they have ſubſtituted pretty Conceit, quaint Phraſes, Turns, Strokes, and I know not what, tending to a general De⯑pravity of Taſte among us. Filled with theſe Thoughts, I lately retired to reſt, when Queen Mab immediately ap⯑peared to me, and from the Mixture of Ideas fluctuating in my Mind, ſhe dreſſed up the following Scene to my Imagination.

[125]I thought ſhe informed me, that the intellectual Re⯑gions are divided into Diſtricts ſimilar to thoſe of the Nether-world, ſo admirably deſcribed by the Poet; I then fanſied that ſhe commanded me to ſet out on a Journey through the Head of a modern Writer, which, I inſtantly agreed to, and the Goddeſs accordingly took me in her Chariot. In a ſhort Time, we arrived at the Apartment, where the Bard ſat, ſicklied o'er with the pale Caſt of Thought. At my firſt Approach towards the intellectual Regions, a terrible Effluvium "proceeding," as Shakeſpear has it, "from the Heat-oppreſſed Brain," ſtruck my Senſes; but I was ſoon diverted from that uneaſy Senſation by a Perſonage, who offered to be my Guide. From a conſcious Simper, a careleſs Diſpoſi⯑tion of his Perſon, and the Tenor of his Diſcourſe, I knew him to be VANITY, and accepted the Compli⯑ment. Our Way was through a thick Skull, of which we at once took Poſſeſſion, and plunged into the Abyſs.

At our firſt Entrance, a confuſed Noiſe aſſailed our Ears, and we were inſtantly beſet by a Number of Phan⯑toms placed around the Portal. The God Somnus lay ſtretched at full Length, diffuſing round him lethargic Vapours and ſtupid Inſenſibility; a Group of wild Dreams and Reveries hovered over him, and at a ſmall Diſtance flowed the River of animal Spirits, dull, ſlow, and lazy. Numbers were gathered round the Banks begging a Paſſage into this gloomy World, but the Charon of the Place, a torpid, decrepid Fellow, known there by the Name of PERCEPTION, gave a few of them a tardy Admittance, and to the greater Part he was entirely deaf. Among thoſe, whom he rejected, I perceived a Train, which I took for the nine Muſes, but was in⯑formed they never had attempted to paſs that Way, and upon a nearer View I found they were the amiable Band of moral Virtues, who were highly deſirous of gaining Admittance, which was refuſed them, with the [126]Addition of as much Inſolence in the Denial, as if they had been ſuing at a great Man's Door. They gave me to underſtand, that it is now become faſhionable to diſcard them every where, at which I could not help expreſſing great Uneaſineſs; and I then advanced to⯑wards the Boatman, PERCEPTION, who, with the Help of his Spectacles, at Length deſcried me, and received me into his Care.

The River had a great many Turnings and Windings (for ductile Dullneſs new Maeanders takes) but, after ſome Trouble, we at Length reached the oppoſite Bank. An uncultivated Tract lay before us, dreary, dark and gloomy; no Ray of Light to break through the Miſt; impenetrable Obſcurity involved the Scene, and Va⯑pours rolling over Vapours made every Thing an univer⯑ſal Blot. I purſued my Journey with all poſſible Expe⯑dition, and arrived at the Repoſitory of Ideas, as it is here called, the Key of which was kept by MEMORY. As I ſuppoſed this to be a Store-houſe of univerſal Know⯑ledge, I begged to be favoured with a View of the ſe⯑veral Acquiſitions he had made. I deſired he would produce ſome occult Qualities, of which I had no Manner of Notion; and I called for ſeveral of the metaphyſical Train too tedious to enumerate; in Divinity I remem⯑bered ſeveral Things, of which I never could attain a clear Conception, and I have not Arithmetic enough to recount the Multitude of the Mathematical Species which I wanted; the Debates, which I have heard in Weſtminſter-Hall, gave me occaſion to enquire for many of the legal Band, and I was curious after an infinite Multitude of the Parnaſſian Tribe, mentioned in a pompous Stile in ſeveral modern Poets. I longed to ſee an en⯑venomed Shaft, taking its fatal Aim, wind wafting Pray⯑ers on roſy Wings to Heaven, &c. I begged a Sight of Colley Cibber's old Friend BATTLE ARRAY, and the many other Poetic Beings, which he and others of his [127]Brethren of the Quill, had created; but all to no Pur⯑poſe.

The next Place we came to was the Lugentes Campi, or the mournful Fields, ſacred to Venus. I met with nothing here but Cupid's Darts, conſuming Fires, and all the modern Train of Love's Artillery. As I was ſufficiently acquainted with theſe, from a conſtant and unwearied Peruſal of our modern Tragedies and other poetical Productions, I haſtened to the Seat, where JUDGMENT preſided.

Judgment ſeldom made any Deciſions of his own, but was biaſſed in all his Decrees by ſeveral that ſurrounded him, with ſo much Authority, that I ſuppoſed they were in the Commiſſion. The Chief of theſe was PRIDE, with a lofty Air and ſupercilious Brow, which called to my Mind the excellent Remark in the Eſſay on Cri⯑ticiſm;

Next in Place was ILL-NATURE, callous and hardened to every gentle Senſation of Humanity, and quite a Stranger to that Delicacy of elegant Minds, which be⯑holds the Merit of another with Pleaſure; but on the contrary, every Thing ſhining with the ſmalleſt Degree of Luſtre is the Object of his Averſion, and he is never pleaſed but with the Misfortunes of his Neighbours. PREJUDICE alſo ſeemed to have no ſmall Influence with the Court, and VENALITY, with itching Palm, fre⯑quently gave a new Turn to every Thing, being ready to engage on either Side in Politicks, to abuſe a worthy Character in Satire, or exalt a baſe one in dedicatory Panegyric.

From theſe Principles I could eaſily imagine to myſelf what Kind of Opinions were likely to ariſe, and there⯑fore [128]haſtened towards Elyſium. In my Way, I perceived a deſolate Tract, which may be called the Region of Tortures. Here I ſaw Grief, Deſpair, Envy, Revenge, and all the agonizing Cares, that made this Place worſe, than what the Poets fable of their Tartarus. In one Part was to be ſeen Ambition falling back, like the Stone of Siſyphus; in another Place, Hunger was tantalized with the Hopes of a Supper, but the worſt of Fiends, cruel Want forbids the Touch. Here ſtood a Pillory, with Defamation nailed to it by the Ears, there a Blanket ſtretched out, and a Bard going to be toſſed in it.— Here a tumultuous Play-houſe at the Damnation of a Virgin Muſe; the ſneering Beaux in the Boxes diſplay their falſe Teeth; the Pit riſes enraged, the Gallery open-its rude Throats, and nothing is to be heard but ‘throw him over—won't y' ha' ſome Orange Chips —won't y' ha' ſome Nonpareils—off the Stage, off,’ till at Length the Catcal Whizzes, and the poor Poet in the mean Time is ready to expire, and Pangs as bad as Hell t [...]rment him.

Had I all the Pens of all the Scriblers of the Age, I ſhould not be able to relate every Occurrence in my Adventures, and I was by this Time admoniſhed by my Guide, that we were arrived at the Seat of Happineſs. Here we found Invention happy in a Review of all his airy Beings, that were fluttering round him in a va⯑riegated Dreſs, preſſing and crowding upon each other, as if to force a Paſſage into open Day. I ſtood for a Time wondering at this mighty Buſtle, and then en⯑quired what might be the Cauſe of it. To which IN⯑VENTION, ‘that bright Band which you behold ſo eagerly gathering about the Gates of Life, are the choſen Few, to whom Apollo has appointed a new Birth into the World, and they are now impatiently waiting till proper Bodies are prepared for them by thoſe poetical Midwives, commonly called Bookſellers. They were all in the Beginning waſted over by PERCEPTION, [129]whom you have ſeen, and were thence conveyed to the Repoſitory of Ideas, in the Care of MEMORY, till in the various Courſe of human Contingencies, they are again called forth, and by my Skill, arranged in proper Order for their Appearance among the Sons of Men.’

Thus having ſaid, he led me round the whole Extent of Elyſium, gave me a compleat View of all his intellec⯑tual Train, and at Length diſmiſſed me through the Ivory Gate to breath the vital Air, to which I was highly pleaſed to find myſelf reſtored, and the Joy occaſioned by this Reflection operated ſo ſtrongly on my Spirits, that I felt myſelf in ſome Agitation, and was inſtantly wakened out of my Dream.

AS the Trials, at the Court of Cenſorial-Enquiry, have been more numerous, theſe laſt Seſſions, than happened to be the Caſe heretofore, and, as it is Matter of Moment that all the Tranſgreſſions, which are there cognizable, ſhould, as much as poſſible, be obviated, I ſhall devote the entire Papers of this and the enſuing Saturday to an Account of the ſeveral Hearings, that have paſſed there this Week.—

TO endeavour at ſome Degree of Self-Know⯑ledge, was the conſtant Advice of the ethic Writers among the Greeks and Romans; and this Precept we find inculcated by each of them in Terms that come home to every Man's Breaſt. Among the Moderns, my Lord Shaſtſbury, has more particularly enforced the Doctrine to the Race of Writers, and has recommended this intuitive Intercourſe to every Author, by deſiring him frequently to enter into a Soliloquy with himſelf; by which Means he will probably ſtand informed, whether he can boaſt that in⯑tellectual Harmony, which is requiſite for the Formation of a taſteful Mind; whether he is ſufficiently acquainted with the Progreſs of the human Underſtanding, the ſe⯑cret Movements of the Heart, the Grace of Character, the Beauty of Virtue, and all thoſe elegant Refinements of Thinking, without which it is impoſſible to reach any Degree of Excellence in a Compoſition. We likewiſe find that Boileau, the famous French Satyriſt, was aware of the Neceſſity of this ſpiritual Retreat (if I may be allowed to call it ſo) and accordingly he has entered into a Review of himſelf in his ninth Satire, which is certainly as pleaſant a Piece of Humour and Raillery, as ever was produced by any Writer antient or modern. The Poet addreſſes himſelf to his own Mind, by ſaying, [143]that he wants to hold a little private Converſation with that internal Agent, whom he had too long encouraged in Whims and Frolicks, by an indolent Indulgence; and, now that his Patience is provoked to the utmoſt, he will, once for all, tell him his own.

In Conformity to the Injunction of the noble Writer, and in Imitation of the ſenſible and polite Satyriſt, juſt quoted, I have lately divided myſelf into two Perſons, in order to examine my inward Frame, the Motives of my Actions, the ſecret Spring of my Writings, and to attain a more int mate Knowledge of my ſeveral Foibles, my various Humours, and the whimſical Viciſſitudes of my Paſſions. The Dialogue was carried on with great Warmth on both Sides, as if there was really an inteſtine War within me. As I am willing to diſcloſe myſelf, as well as to diſſect any other Character, that occurs to me in my Rambles, for the more effectual Improvement or Entertainment of my Readers, I ſhall lay the whole Drama, before them this Day. The candid, I am con⯑vinced, will pardon all ſuch Errors, as ariſe from the Imbecillity of human Nature, and the Enemies of the Author (if he has any) will abate from their Inveteracy, when they perceive that timorous Self love cannot pre⯑vail upon him to conceal his own Infirmities.

THE Stoic Philoſophy was by many of the Antients eſteemed the Height of human Wiſdom, the ſure Road to Happineſs, and the laſt Finiſhing and Apotheoſis of an ex⯑alted Character. Its Excellence conſiſted, not in the due Government of the Paſſions, but in extirpating them totally from the human Heart; by which means the Seat of feeling, and Source of every exquiſite Plea⯑ſure, as well as tender Pain, was rendered quite cal⯑lous and inſenſible, and ſuffered to move only with the Flux and Reflux of the Blood, without being agitated with any Kind of Senſation whatever. Our excellent Poet has given us a very pictureſque Deſcription of this notable Syſtem of Philoſophy.

How an abſolute Repugnance to the Laws of Nature, and the Want of thoſe Feelings, which are the beſt In⯑gredients in our Compoſition, can in any Way conſti⯑tute an exalted Character I am at a loſs to determine. Vita ſecundum Naturam, a Life conformable to the Laws of Nature, is Tully's Definition of a moral, as well as an happy State. Certain it is, all Elegance of Mind, [150]and Reliſh for Virtue, muſt ariſe from thoſe Sen⯑sations, which Nature has implanted in us, as Ex⯑citements to Action, and Inlets for due Degrees of Plea⯑ſure and Pain. Without theſe, our moſt refined Gra⯑tifications muſt ſuffer a conſiderable Abatement; the pleaſing Anxieties of virtuous Friendſhip, the grateful Solicitude of Love, the melancholy Luxury of tender Compaſſion, and the Delights which we derive from a well-wrought Scene of Diſtreſs in an affecting Tragedy, muſt all loſe their Influence, and the Mind ſink into a dull State of Inſenſibility. For my Part, I have always had a ſovereign Contempt for the unfeeling, pedantic Wiſdom of thoſe unnatural Followers of a brutal Phi⯑loſophy; nor could I ever admire their ridiculous Oſten⯑tation of a towering Superiority of Soul. That this is alſo the Senſe of the greater Part of Mankind, is very viſible from that ſoporific Awe, with which they behold Perſonages of this Caſt, when interwoven into the Drama; while Characters of a mixed Nature, in whom the Paſ⯑ſions are in a beautiful Struggle between Virtue and Vice, are always ſure to ſeize the Affections of an Au⯑dience, and intereſt every Heart in the Fortunes of the Hero thus repreſented.

Virgil has tranſmitted to us a Picture of the Comple⯑tion of that Happineſs, which was the exalted Boaſt of the Stoics: In the Words of my Motto, he tells us, that the Perſon, whom he deſcribes in the Poſſeſſion of true Felicity, is never touched with popular Eſteem, or the dazling Splendor of the regal State; that Difference between Brothers, Conſpiracies againſt his Country, or the Decline of the Conſtitution, never diſturb his Breaſt; nor is he ever made uneaſy by Compaſſion for the Indi⯑gent, or Envy towards the great. This is a Cha⯑racter totally different from the amiable Sketch, by his Brother Poet, of the Man who conſiders the Relations in which he ſtands to Society, and feels for all Mankind. The negative Enjoyments above deſcribed can reſult [151]from nothing but an abſolute Indifference to our Fellow-Creatures, and is ſo far from being commendable, that, in my Opinion, it is equalled by every Debauchee in Town. I was lately in Company with one of this Claſs, who appeared to me to be a very great Proficient in the Stoic Philoſophy, and to have carried into his Practice, every Branch of the foregoing Syſtem, and as a further Inſtance of the Excellence of the Stoic School, I ſhall here preſent my Readers with a Character of a modern Stoic Philoſopher.

Jack Wildair is poſſeſſed of a Fortune, which might enable him to live with Splendor, or to proſecute any Enterprize in the Service of his Country; he has alſo the Advantages of Birth, to render him reputable in the Eye of the World; but like a true Philoſopher he never placed any Value upon theſe happy Circumſtances. With a noble Contempt for Riches, he ſquanders away his Subſtance in a Manner which ſhews him to be above the mean Ambition of popular Applauſe; and, inſtend of being arrogantly elated with the Thoughts of his high Birth, he has been known to aſſociate with the loweſt of Mankind, ſo ſuperior is he to thoſe little Sen⯑ſations of Pride which might be apt to play about the Heart of a Man of worldly Vanity. Contented in his own Mind, he never condeſcended to court the Favour of his Countrymen at an Election for Member of Parlia⯑ment. The populi Faſces have never had any Attrac⯑tion for Jack Wildair, and ſo little is he touched with the Splendor of Majeſty, that he does not care for any King in Europe. While all our Politicians have made the two Brothers the conſtant Object of their Attention, he is little ſollicitous whether there be a Difference be⯑tween them or not. The Fortifications of Dunkirk, the Depredations of the Spaniards in the Weſt-Indies upon our Merchantmen, the Election of the King of the Romans, the Equipment of French Fleets, and all the other Points of Moment, which engroſs the Thoughts [152]of our preſent Race of Patriots, never once diſcompoſed the Serenity of his Mind. Liberty and Property are to him unideal Sounds, and if Magna Charta were burned by the common Hangman, it would not occaſion the leaſt Gloom in our Hero's Soul. He can alſo behold the Diſtreſſes of the Indigent, the corroding Anxieties of Poverty, moſt Stoic like, without a ſingle Sigh. Nec doluit miſerans inopem; and ſo far from being envious of another's Superiority in Life, while he is eaſy himſelf, he never was yet known to compare his own Situation with any Man above him, though he has now and then condeſcended to caſt a Look beneath him, with no ſmall Degree of Satisfaction.

Nor does the Firmneſs of Wildair's Mind reſt here. He can viſit all the Brothels in this Metropolis, with⯑out feeling the leaſt Degree of Uneaſineſs. He can be⯑hold, undiſturbed by any of thoſe tender Touches, which might agitate weaker Breaſts, an elegant Form, and the moſt beautiful Set of Features falling a Prey to Inſamy, Diſeaſes, and Proſtitution; and as the antient Wor⯑thies thought it a noble Atchievement totally to forget the Man, in order to raiſe their philoſophic Fame to an higher Degree of Eminence, ſo our modern Stoic can fat preſs the natural Affections, and in the Rake he can alſo forget the Man. Jack Wildair is a very Roman in that Point; he is an excellent Practitioner of Horace's golden Rule, to admire nothing; and, if confined to the Ped of Sickneſs, to repair the Waſte made by Folly and Intemperance, he is ſure to ſpend his Time in a Series of moral Reflections. He wiſely obſerves, that all Plea⯑ſure is fugitive; that the Reverſion of Pain falls to every Man's Lot; and that the Condition of human Life is frail and uncertain. When his Health returns, he in⯑dulges in all the Sallies of his wild Imagination, to ſhew, that, like Ariſtippus, he can adapt himſelf to every Situation. In ſhort, Jack Wildair has upon all Occa⯑ſions a true Philoſophical Turn; and indeed in all Oc⯑currences [153]of Life every Thing is ſure to ſuggeſt to him thoſe Reflections, which are moſt conducive to ſecure his own Happineſs, to prevent the ruffled State ariſing from conflicting Paſſions, to preſerve the even Tenor of his Thoughts, to reconcile him to himſelf, and enable him to poſſeſs his Soul in Eaſe, Tranquility, and Chearful⯑neſs.

This Character of a modern Town Philoſopher con⯑tains, in my Opinion, all the Branches of the much boaſted ſtoic Syſtem, and all the leading Principles of Happineſs, which it inculcates, are carried by our mo⯑dern Academic to a much greater Height of Wiſdom and Felicity, than they ever were by the moſt rigid Follower of the ſtoic Academy, in ſo much as the modern Hero grafts his Happineſs on the Paſſions, which he plays againſt one another, and in that Senſe may be ſaid to live ſecundum naturam; whereas the antient Stoic endeavoured to ſubvert the very Elements of our being, and among that Sect, he was the moſt exalted Worthy, who was the moſt diveſted of Humanity.

THE pantomime Poet, from whom I ſome Time ago felt a little Interruption in my Studies, has remained in the Chambers o⯑ver my. Head ever ſince; but, the Fervour of his Enthuſiaſm being a good deal abated, he has proved a very peaceable and quiet Neighbour. For though he cannot entirely refrain from his peripatetic Lucubrations, he is, however, careful to conduct them with a Degree of Temperance, and he now proves a Companion of very ſingular and entertaining Oddities. The other Morning he paid me a Viſit, and was con⯑tented in the Beginning to converſe with me upon com⯑mon and ordinary Topics, upon which he diſcourſed with ſufficient Sedateneſs. At length he took occaſion to introduce the Subject which was the Cauſe of his Viſit, and I obſerved, that the Moment he touched up⯑on his favourite Scheme of Thinking, he betrayed ſe⯑veral whimſical Geſtures, and an extraordinary Manner of Addreſs. ‘Sir, ſays he, I have taken the Liberty to intrude upon you this Morning, in order to conſult you in Relation to a Work, which I have had in Hand for ſome Time paſt, and which I think cannot fail to be of public Utility, as it is one of the De⯑ſiderata in Literature, and a Species of Criticiſm likely to be productive of ſingular Advantages to the learned World. The Thing I mean, Sir, is THE ART OF PANTOMIME, which I propoſe to publiſh by Sub⯑ſcription, not noubting but I ſhall meet with ſuitable [156]Encouragement to proſecute ſo arduous a Taſk, and if Mr. Ranger will be kind enough to favour me with his Recommendation, I ſhall for the future e⯑ſteem him, as a generous Promoter of the polite Arts.’

In order to be able to comply with my Friend's Requeſt, and to ſerve him as effectually as my ſmall Abilities will permit me, I deſired him to explain to me at large the Plan of his Undertaking, and the whole Method, which he had chalked out to himſelf for ſo noble a Work. Upon which I was informed, that he intends to execute his Deſign, in Imitation of Ariſtotle's Art of Poetry, divided into as many Sections, and, as near as the Nature of the Subject will admit, comprized under the ſame Heads. His firſt Chapter is to ſet out with an Account of the imitative Arts, in which Pan⯑tomime will be proved to be ſuperior to all the Reſt, having the greateſt Variety of Geſticulation, and the moſt expreſſive Significance in all its Attitudes and Actions. In the next Section, it will appear what Sort of Perſons and Things are proper for Imitation, and that the Pantomime Poet muſt either attach himſelf to the Repreſentation of Perſonages above the ordinary Race of human Nature, ſuch as Magicians, Enchanters, Genii, Gods, Imps, and Monſters, Devils, Furies, &c. or to the Exhibition of Characters to be met with in the ordi⯑nary Occurrences of Life, ſuch as we find introduced in Harlequin Ranger. Then follows a Diſſertation upon the proper Manner of imitating, and Enquiry into the Origin of Pantomime, tracing it from the Time of Herace down to the glorious Time of Mahomet Carathra.

After this, our Author proceeds to examine into the Nature of Farces, and ſhows how they differ from the Pantomime. He then enters more minutely into the Laws of Pantomime, and gives an Account of it's ſeve⯑ral Parts. Among theſe the Fable is firſt conſidered, and it is allowed, it may be either ſimple or implex. He does [157]not totally reject the former, but inſiſts principally upon the Beauties of the complicated Plot, ſuch as Harlequin Sorcerer, or the Loves of Pluto and Proſerpine; Harlequin Fortunatus being of the ſimple Kind, conſiſting of one Action only, impeded or accelerated by ſeveral Inci⯑dents, all tending in a direct Line to the Completion of the Whole.

The refined Beauties of the Art offer themſelves next, and our Author exhauſts all his Erudition, all his Rhe⯑toric, and all his whole Stock of Criticiſm, to point out the Advantages ariſing to a Piece from a well conducted Peripetia, which he defines in theſe Words. ‘The pan⯑tomimical Peripetia conſiſts in ſudden Changes of For⯑tune, ariſing from a Concatenation of Incidents high⯑ly improbable in their Nature.’ Then the Agnitio is diſplayed at large, and proved to be the livelieſt Beauty in this Species of the Drama, it being a ſudden Recol⯑lection in the Perſonages of the Piece, when, after a long Abſence, they recognize, and know each other again. As when Harlequin finds Acceſs to his Co⯑lombine in a diſguiſed Appearance, ſhe by ſome Token diſcovers her Lover, and is happy in his Embrace.

After having enforced theſe ſtriking Particulars, he de⯑livers Rules for the Excitement of Terror, Pity, and the Marvellous. The two former he mentions but ſlightly, not thinking them eſſential in theſe Compoſitions, but in the Marvellous, he obſerves, conſiſts the utmoſt Effort of human Genius, and then enumerates the various Means by which it is excited, ſuch as flying Mercurys, Rope-Dancers, Kicking Straws, Children playing on the Flute, Storms of Rain, Thunder and Lightening, &c.

The next Diviſion of the Work, relates to the Man⯑ners of each Perſonage of the Drama, in which he re⯑commends a ſerious Attention to Character, in order the more forcibly to unfold Men and Manners, and the Cuſtoms, the Intrigues, the Flights and Deſcents of the [158]Gods, with the whole Hiſtory of the Heathen Mytho⯑logy. In this Part of the Work he expatiates at large upon the Uſe of Machinery, and I make no Doubt, will greatly excel the celebrated Boſſu in this Part of the Performance. Having the Intereſts of the Theatre greatly at Heart, our Author proves, that no Play-houſe can long ſubſiſt without a good Set of Carpenters, an expeditious Band of Scene-Drawers, excellent Candle-Snuffers, Fire-Eaters, Trap-Door-Men, Oſtriches, Monkeys, Serpents, and the whole animal World, be⯑ſides a Race of Beings never ſeen upon the Face of the Earth.

The Sentiment comes into Conſideration in the fol⯑lowing Chapter. The ſeveral Modes of the Mind are explained in an ample Manner, and Directions given to the Performer to render himſelf perfectly acquainted with the Operation of all the Paſſions on the whole Frame of the Body, and it is laid down as a Rule that he muſt be careful to mark the different Actions of Begging Commanding, Threatning, Interrogating, Anſwering, that he may be able to impreſs a lively Idea of each up⯑on the Minds of his Spectators.

The Sentiment being eſtabliſhed, the Diction claims our next Regard. Under this Head the ſeveral pretty Pieces of Poetry introduced into Pantomimes are criti⯑ciſed, and proper Rules preſcribed for Writing theſe Kind of Nonſenſe—Verſes. To the whole Work is an⯑nexed a particular Examen of Harlequin Fortunatus, in order to give a Specimen of the great Utility and Truth of the foregoing Rules. I ſhall therefore conclude this Paper with an Abſtract from this Part of the Work.

There cannot, ſays my Author, be ſound in any Pan⯑tomime Writer a better imagined Opening for the Drama, than the firſt Incident in this Piece. The Scene diſcovers a large Wood, in which the poor, forlorn Har⯑lequin is wandering, in a violent Storm of Rain, Thun⯑der and Lightening. In a Fit of Deſperation he throws [159]himſelf on the Ground, and to heighten our Compaſ⯑ſion poor Madam Fortune is introduced bemoaning her Condition in a very pathetic Strain of Poetry. The ami⯑able Character of Fortunatus is ſeen in his Readineſs to aſſiſt the diſtreſſed, and the Sequel conveys a fine Moral, viz. that Riches, Riot, and Debauchery are the moſt deſirable Things in this World, as the Piece ends with Harlequin's being in the full Enjoyment of all his Wiſhes. The Farmer's Yard affords a pleaſing Image of rural Happineſs, and the beautiful Incident of the Dog's biting the Clown conveys this Incident, that a Dog's obeyed in Office, and it ſerves further to enforce the Neceſſity of an Act of Parliament to leſſen the Number of Dogs, which over-run the Kingdom, to the great Annoyance of his Majeſty's loyal Subjects. The fre⯑quent Remembrances between Columbine and her Har⯑lequin make upon all Occaſions an admirable Agnitio, and the ſudden Changes of their Fortunes form a very beautiful Peripetia. Harlequin's Eſcape into the Oven, his running up the Chimney, and his Leap over the Gateway, when his Enemies are in cloſe Purſuit of him, are all Touches of the higheſt Elevation and Genius, and upon the whole, we may ſay with Mr. Dennis, that this Piece is admirable for its fine Moralities, its Uni⯑verſality, and its Integrity.

I Had the Honour, in one of my former Pa⯑pers, of introducing my Readers into that celebrated Academy of Arts and Sciences, THE ROBIN HOOD SOCIETY, which con⯑tinues in as flouriſhing a Condition as ever. Laſt Mon⯑day I was ſo happy as to attend the Debates of this learned Body, and with Pleaſure I reflected, that the Seat of Inveſtigation, Knowledge, and Senſe is now likely to be fixed in BUTCHER-ROW. In Imitation of Spratt's Hiſtory of the Royal Society, I have ſome Thoughts of collecting together the Annals of this re⯑ſpectable Aſſembly, the Members of which have nothing ſo much at Heart, as the Diſcovery of Truth, inſo⯑much that it is common to hear a bare-footed Shoemaker ſettle a Point in Philoſophy; a Taylor in Rags prove, that a Remnant of all ſhall be ſaved; an Attorney bring his Writ of Error againſt Revelation; a Philomath from Aberdeen confute the eſtabliſhed Religion and an in⯑ſolvent Tradeſman, chiefly ſollicitous about the na⯑tional Debt. In ſhort, ſuch a Spirit of Free Enquiry reigns in this Seminary, that you may ſee Journeymen-Barbers, Hackney-Clerks, Porters, Chairmen, Hack⯑ney-Coachmen, &c. &c. &c. all actuated with a no⯑ble Enthuſiaſm, and by Turns pleading for Rewards and Puniſhments, the Exiſtence or Non-Exiſtence of a Deity, the moral Fitneſs of Things, the eternal Rule of Right, and in half an Hour they are Shaftſburians, Hutchenſonians, Mandevillians, Muggletonians, Theiſts, A⯑theiſts, &c. During the Courſe of their Reſearches the [162]Students are frequently obſerved to make ſuch vigorous Application to certain Pewter Pots lying before them, and to draw from thence ſuch copious Draughts, that it is by many imagined the Academy has found out, that the Ancients were miſtaken, when they ſuppoſed TRUTH to be in the Bottom of a Well; this coy and retired Goddeſs, in the Opinion of the Robin Hood So⯑ciety, being to be found at preſent in the Bottom of a Pot of Porter. Be that as it may, certain it is, the noble Syſtem of Free-thinking is here diſplayed in it's genuine Luſtre, as, I fancy, will appear from the following De⯑bate, with which I ſhall fill up the Remainder of this Day's Paper.

THERE is not a Word, in the whole Com⯑paſs of the Engliſh Language, more groſly abuſed than the Term Friendſhip, which, at preſent, means no more than that Men eat together, walk together, game together, und are grave and merry, drunk and ſober together, without ever conceiving any real Regard for each others Hap⯑pineſs and Intereſt. I believe every Day's Experience will point out many, who are Dupes to this florid Out⯑ſide [168]of Friendſhip. In the Courſe of my Obſervation I have marked out a particular Character that falls more egregiouſly into this Error, than the reſt of Mankind. The Character I mean is that of THE COMICAL FEL⯑LOW, or THE AGREEABLE DEVIL, or THE CURSED HIGH FELLOW, or THE MAN OF INFINITE HU⯑MOUR, or THE GENIUS, or by whatever Name (for many Names will ſuit him) you may pleaſe to diſtinguiſh the Perſon, whom a cheerful Flow of Spirits, and a quick Circulation of the Ideas, that fall to his Share, conſpire to render an entertaining Com⯑panion.

The COMICAL FELLOW, is in high Requeſt among all his Acquaintance; and different Parties at the Shake⯑ſpear, the Bedford-Arms, the King's-Arms, &c. are vying with each other to have him the Maſter of the Joke in their convivial Parties, becauſe he is without Doubt the fineſt Creature in the World to kill an Hour with, the merry Droll has ſuch Variety of Chat, and ſuch a deal of Humour in telling a Story. But while this Son of Gaiety and Wit is thus happy in the Careſſes of all the Lovers of Mirth, this ſecret Misfortune attends him, that he has not any where procured himſelf the leaſt Degree of Eſteem, becauſe it is too well known, that he has not a ſingle Virtue under the Sun, that he would at any Time, according to the common Saying, rather loſe his Friend than his Joke, that no Obligation can bind him, but that indiſcriminately he laſhes all alike, and is conſtantly upon the look out for ſome Incident, which by a Perverſion of Circumſtances, or by a few Touches of Mimickry, or ſome other adventitious Aid, may be worked up into a Story for the Entertainment of the next Company he goes into. On this Account THE AGREEABLE DEVIL is held in utter Contempt; but the Vivacity of his Imagination will not afford him Leiſure to attend to this; his Vanity is fully gratified by the general Applauſe he meets with, and he is con⯑ſtantly [169]exhauſting his ſcanty Finances in keeping Com⯑pany with a Set of People, who are good humoured enough to be perpetually entertained with his Jokes.—

I will venture to affirm, that few Evils are more epi⯑demic, than this Rage of being an HIGH-FELLOW, and I am apt to think, that many of thoſe Bankrupt⯑cies, which fill the Columns of the Gazette, are not en⯑tirely owing to Loſſes in Trade, but to the pitiful Am⯑bition of diſcovering a fine Vein of Humour. When once the ſober Cit becomes the Ringleader in Wit and frolick Feſtivity, when once he has learned to elevate and ſurprize, his Shop aſſumes a gloomy Aſpect; Book⯑keeping is but a dull Employment, unfit for Men of [...]ner Senfations, and inſtantly his fervid Imagination conveys him to the Gentleman and Porter; then he cracks each Joke over again, and thrice he enjoys the Laugh, and thrice repeats the Pun. But in a little Time, his Name is inſerted in the Gazette with a WHEREAS; his former Companions ſhake their Heads, and are very ſorry for it; ‘he was a Wag, a merry Man; a CO⯑MICAL FELLOW,—but Buſineſs is a ſerious Thing.’

Poor Jack Spatter!—He is at preſent the moſt re⯑markable of all THE AGREEABLE DEVILS I have ever known. Jack does not want a Share of native Hu⯑mour, and he dreſſes up a Story at ſecond hand with ſuch additional Touches, that a Man is frequently as much entertained as if he had never heard it before, or if he himſelf had not told it to him the very Day be⯑ſore. For it is often the d'verting Rogues Way unwit⯑tingly to faſten with ſomething curſea High upon the very Perſon, who at firſt ſupplied him with the Subject. And then THE GENIUS is ſuch a Mimick!—Well to be ſure nothing can eſcape him. A Cat, a Dog, a Monkey, a Manager, a Burletta-Girl, a Woodward, a Garrick, all muſt undergo the Touches of his humouróus Imitation, and mean while, the Company, Whores, Waiters and all, do ſo laugh, and ſo ſhake their Side, [170]that Life is quite flat and inſipid without Jack Spatter. But in this World, where, as Moliere ſays, on donne rien pour rien, where every Thing muſt be paid for, it can⯑not but prove very expenſive to be thus aſpiring in Company. But Jack's Vanity extends to Expence, as well as Wit and Humour. How many Shifts have I known him to make, that he might diſplay his Vivacity at the Tavern!—A Turtle-Feaſt was ſometime ſince fixed at the King's-Arms in Cornhill, and Spatter was in⯑vited to make one. "A Turtle Feaſt," ſays Jack, ‘very well!—it can't be better—Citizens laugh hear⯑tily when their Bellies are full—I'll certainly go— but how to pay my Reckoning!—There's Title⯑page, the Bookſeller;—he likes a Touch of my Humour—he'll tip me two Guineas for an Epi⯑logue—I'll write him one—let me ſee what's here?—Dryden's Miſcellany!—I'll tranſcribe one from this.’—No ſooner ſaid than done, for Jack has quick Parts, and away he ſets out towards Fleetſtreet, meets his Friend Humdrum at Temple-Bar, reads the Piece to him, to ſhew what a COMICAL DEVIL he is; Humdrum admires it; Jack forgets that he ſtole it, and admires it more, touches Two Guineas from Title-page, and who but he at the Turtle-Feaſt? A Maſquerade re⯑quires ſomewhat a larger Capital. "Egad," ſay Jack, ‘I'll write a Pamphlet for that, and touch Five Gui⯑neas’—To work he falls, and finiſhes his Piece in the Space of one Morning, though it coſt the Original Au⯑thors from whom he compiled it, many nocturnal Vi⯑gils. A Jant to Tunbridge, in the Summer Seaſon, with ſome Lovers of Wit and Humour could not but be agreeable to Mr. Spatter; and ſo inſtantly he ſets down and writes a Farce; and becauſe Fielding's Coffec⯑houſe Politician is not very likely to be acted again on either of our Stages, what does the merry Wag do, but he takes the Character, gives it a new Name, makes a little Alteration in the Scene, where the [171] Politician reads the News-Papers, and inſtantly Genial Jacob, and a warm third Day, as the Poet has it, equips the GENIUS for Tunbridge. Thus is the CURSED HIGH FELLOW, the AMIABLE FRIPON, perpetually ſpending the Income of his Brain, and torturing his Invention in Endeavours to live with thoſe, who have Fortunes to ſupply their Expences, and who do not entertain the leaſt Symptom of Friendſhip towards their merry Com⯑panion. What will become of him, when he has played all his Tricks, I tremble to think, and, as if his Mis⯑fortunes were now preſent, I cannot help crying out, ‘Alas, poor Yorick!—I knew him, a Fellow of infinite Jeſt—where be your Gibes now? Your Flaſhes of Merriment, that were wont to ſet the Table on a roar?—Quite Chop-fallen!’

But my Fancy has pictured this Scene of Diſtreſs ſo ſtrongly to me, that I could wiſh ſome Means could be deviſed to avert the impending Evil. An Ingenious Gentleman, whom I have the Pleaſure of knowing, propoſed ſome Time ſince a Scheme for an HOSPITAL FOR DECAYED POLTS. Suppoſe, in Imitation of this laudable Deſign, an Hoſpital were to be raiſed for DECAYED COMICAL FELLOWS. For my Part, I cannot but think the Plan ſhould meet with general Encourage⯑ment, and I will willingly give the Profits of this Paper, N^o. 79, towards carrying it into Execution. Mr. Gar⯑rick and Mr. Rich will, I dare ſay, contribute on their Parts an annual Benefit towards this Charity, the Ob⯑jects of which may be admitted, as follows.

‘It being certified to us, that the Bearer—A.B.; was an AGREEABLE DEVIL, and entirely ruined him⯑ſelf by endeavouring to keep Company with Men of Fortune, who countenanced him merely as their Jeſter, you are hereby directed to admit the ſaid unhappy pleaſant Creature into the Hoſpital for DECAYED COMICAL FELLOWS, London—Signed by Two Directors.’ [172] Should this Propoſal take Effect, I ſhall rejoice at being inſtrumental in the Redemption of ſo many diverting Creatures from utter Miſery; for ſurely it would be melancholy to reflect that he, who often enlivened even the ſprightly Champain, might become miſerably witty in an Ale-houſe, or be a joking Boot-catcher at an Inn, and tell your Honour a Story, while he is diveſting your Legs of their leathern Incumbrance. I ſhall there⯑fore hope that all true Lovers of Humour will promote the Scheme, juſt hinted, for the ſake of thoſe, who ruin themſelves for their Pleaſure; and I ſhall be highly pleaſed that there will be a Receptacle for poor Jack Spatter, and that the AGREEABLE DEVIL may, in his old Days, find Repoſe in the HOSPITAL FOR DECAYED COMICAL FELLOWS.

THE Application of Part of our Time to Letters is recommended by the Author of my Motto in ſuch glowing Colourings, as ſerve at once elegantly to diſplay the mani⯑ſold Advantages reſulting from Study, and at the ſame Time prove an Incentive to every Mind to enlarge its Views, and encreaſe its Store of Ideas, by a due At⯑tention to the Labours of the Learned. "Letters," ſays the Roman Orator, ‘cheriſh and invigorate the Mind in its greener Years, amuſe it in the more advanced Periods of Life, beam a Luſtre on Proſperity, and ſoften the Shocks of Adverſity; they yield Delight in our domeſtic Hours, and are no Incumbrance abroad; they protract the Midnight-hour, are our Fellow-Travellers in foreign Parts, and make the beſt Part of Equipage in all our rural Excurſions.’

I am aware, that the Tranſlation, which I have here offered, falls many Degrees ſhort of the Purity and graceful Strength of the Original; but ſuch as it is, it may, in ſome Sort, ſerve to inculcate the real Utility of a very pleaſurable Occupation, which is at preſent too much neglected by People of Condition of both Sexes. Mr. Addiſon wonders how Men of Senſe can ſpend ſo many Hours together, without receiving any other Ideas than what are ſuggeſted, by an Arrangement of black [176]and red Spots. But ſuch is the prevailing Faſhion of the Times, that the Book of Four Kings is the only Vo⯑lume at preſent peruſed with any Degree of Attention, and, I will venture to affirm, the Four motley Monarchs, are better beloved by ſeveral Perſons of Condition than any real King in Europe. A Friend of mine, who has a Knock in conforming all his Compoſitions to the pre⯑vailing Taſte of the Town, tells me very ſeriouſly, that he has often wondered how Men of Diſcernment can ſit down to Performances, which a little Experience Light inform them will never be read; ſuch as, the History of England, the Life of Harry the Seventh, the Hiſtory of Charles the Firſt, the Hiſtory of Lewis the Four⯑teenth, &c For his Part, he is determined to avail him⯑ſelf of the favourite Paſſions of his Readers, and is now actually employed in compiling Memoirs of the KING OF EPADES, the Annals of the KING OF CLUBS, Anec⯑dotes relating to the KING OF HEARTS, Remarks on the KING OF DIAMONDS, including Battles more me⯑morable than thoſe of Creſſi and Poitiers, fought in the verdant Plains of Picquet, Cribbidge, Quadrille, Whiſt, &c. in which will be interwoven the private Characters of the Knaves, with the ſecret Hiſtory of the Queens, their Intrigues, &c. The Work to be publiſhed in Numbers, Price One Guinea each Weekly Number; in proper Places will be inſerted a beautiful Copper-Plate of the Crowned-Heads and eminent Perſonages, taken from the original Drawings now in the Poſſeſſion of the Club at White's; at the particular Deſire of ſeveral Perſons of Quality, five Thouſand Copies will be printed upon Royal Paper; the Subſcribers Names to be annexed with their Places of Abode, and how many Card-Tables each Perſon keeps, which may ſerve to give Poſterity ſome Idea of the Grandeur of the preſent Age.

I make no Doubt but this Work, if carried into Exe⯑cution, will be in great Demand, and, I am ſenſible, that a Diſinaſive from Purſuits of this Nature will be the [177]Jeſt of every tittering Card-Table in Town. I muſt, however, beg Leave to inform my pretty Readers, that they are highly miſtaken, if they imagine, that, by de⯑dicating a few Hours to litterary Amuſements, they en⯑danger their lovely Features, and run a Riſque of dim⯑ming the ſparkling Luſtre of the Eye. On the con⯑trary, a Page or two in a Morning may ſerve to adjuſt the Countenance, and the Acquiſition of a new Idea may give a more engaging Ornament to the Head, than a new Paris Cap, and the Eye will certainly beam with more Attention, when directed by an active Principle within, than when it ſwims round the Room in pretty, giddy, vain, ſenſeleſs Affectations? How ſinely has Mr. Pope deſcribed the Conſequences attending a Life ſpent thus in a Circle of Follic.!

How much more eligible therefore is it to employ ſome Portions of our Time in a Way, that will furniſh the Mind with Ideas fit to be communicated to rational Crea⯑tures, and give an Embelliſhment to the higheſt Sphere of Life. Add to this, that ſoftening Quality, which Let⯑ters have in all Caſes of Adverſity. In the Day of Affliction, the ſureſt and moſt certain Relief the Mind can receive, will be derived from the Habit of being converſant with Books. If I remember right. it is Mr. Locke that obſerves, in his Conduct of the Underſtanding, that a Power of transferring our Thoughts from one Object to another, is an Eſſential requiſite in a well⯑formed Underſtanding. And ſurely nothing can better help to prevent the Mind from dwelling too long upon any habitual Set of Ideas, which may induce a ſettled [178]Form of Melancholy, than an Attention to the Perfor⯑mances, which Men of learned Leiſure have ſent into the World. Inſtead of urging any Thing further on this Subject, I ſhall conclude this Paper with a Journal for one Week of an Acquaintance of mine who never reads at all, and a Journal of another who devotes Part of his Time to Letters.

NOT to admire, is the golden Rule, eſta⯑bliſhed by Horace, for the Acquirement of inward Peace and Happineſs, and alſo for ſecuring the Tenure of them, when once obtained. The ſame Precept may alſo be enforced as the ſureſt Method to form a ſound Underſtanding, and to preſerve the Judgment free and undiſtempered. Mr. Pope, in his Eſſay on Criticiſm, a Poem, in which good Senſe and Poetry are beautifully combined, has given this Obſervation the Sanction of a Maxim; ‘For Fools ADMIRE, but Men of Senſe APPROVE.’ [182]In our greener Years indeed, when the young Affections are, to uſe the Poet's Phraſe, tremblingly alive all o'er, when every Object preſents itſelf in ſome new and ſtrik⯑ing Attitude, fond ADIMRATION may be then allowed to gaze, and each Incident in the Scene of Life may call forth the juvenile Expreſſions of Wonder and Aſto⯑niſhment. But ſurely, when we become ſomewhat hackneyed in the Ways of Men, when Habit has coated over that Quickneſs of Senſation, which attends the raw and inexperienced Mind, the elevated Brow of Amazement may be expected to ſubſide to the ſober Caſt of Reflection and Knowledge. I am at preſent ac⯑quainted with a Gentleman, who has made ſo many ſenſible Animadverſions on the various Occurrences of Life, that, I am convinced, nothing can arrive to excite in his Breaſt any Emotions of Surprize, and I have often heard him ſay very humorouſly, ‘Lord! I have already known ſo many unexpected Turns and Revolutions of Things, that were I to ſee the MONUMENT walk down Cheapſide, and take out St. Paul's Church to dance a Minuet, it would make no Manner of Im⯑preſſion on my Spirits, no more than when I read that it will be High-Water at London-Bridge, at half paſt Ten.’

But in the general Maſs of Life, there is ſuch a la⯑mentable Inanity in the Minds of moſt People, and the Groſs of Mankind are ſo ſcantily furniſhed with Ideas, that there are but few, who, when taken from their ma⯑nual Occupations, or their other Buſineſs, do not fall into a ſluggiſh Oſcitancy, for want of a Sufficiency of Matter to employ their intellectual Faculties. Thus by an habitual Remiſſneſs in reviewing the ordinary No⯑tices of Things, the Power of arranging and comparing our Ideas in their manifold Relations to each other, which we commonly call JUDGMENT, lies indolently dormant, and the Conſequence is, that, upon every Emergence, the idle Paſſions of Aſtoniſhment take [183]Poſſeſſion of the Soul. It is obſervable, that, this Diſ⯑eaſe is not always confined to the unenlightened Part of Mankind, but we may ſometimes perceive this mental Debility among thoſe, who, from their Education, and from their Intercourſe with the World, might be ex⯑pected to be ſomewhat more ſolid. There are, perhaps, in the Circle of my own Acquaintance, at leaſt half a ſcore Perſons, poſſeſſed of Talents capable of extenſive Diſcernment, and of thinking very juſtly upon any or⯑dinary Topics of Converſation, and yet, through an Habit of Inattention, ſuch a total Relaxation unſtrings their intellectual Powers, that they in Fact appear to have impotently pinned their Faith on other Mens Sleeves, and to have loſt all Kind of Capacity of judg⯑ing for themſelves. It is among ſuch People, and ſuch only, that THE COMICAL FELLOW, or THE AGREEABLE DEVIL, whom I have deſcribed in a former Paper, ac⯑quires his prodigious Reputation for Wit and Humour. Sir Andrew Wonderful has for ſome Time paſt been eſteemed a knowing one by his Neighbours in the Ward of Farringdon without, and in his Buſineſs, he is accounted a Man of very notable Dexterity; but ſpend the Evening with Sir Andrew at any Tavern on the St. James's Side of Temple-Bar, and he is all Amazement from the Time he enters the Room, until his old, rumbling Coach conveys him back to the City. If you mention to him the Lie of the Day, that the Lady of a certain noble Lord was caught in Bed with a Lieutenant of the Guards, ‘Good Law! ſays Sir Andrew, you dont ſay ſo!’—It's very true though, and this Morn⯑ing early a well-dreſſed Man walking acroſs Lincoln's-Inn Fields fell down dead—‘Dear Heart, ſays the Knight, you ſurprize me!’—Late laſt Night a Game at Whiſt was played at White's Chocolate-houſe, on which upwards of three thouſand Pounds depended—‘Three thouſand Pounds! I never heard of ſuch a Thing in [184]my born Days—three thouſand Pounds!—Good Law!—Three thouſand Pounds!’—

Every Man, who is actuated with the laudable Am⯑bition of being a rational Creature, ſhould endeavour to fix within himſelf ſuch Habits of thinking, as will keep him collected, and prevent his Thoughts from being ſcattered into wild Surprize upon every little Emergence that offers. There ſhould certainly be cheriſhed in every Breaſt an honeſt Pride in preſerving its own free Agency, and maintaining an Independency of Underſtanding, ſelf-impelled, and ſelf-directed; awakened into think⯑ing by the Impreſſions of its own Ideas, and adopting all its Principles and Maxims from the Suggeſtions of its own Judgment. For ſurely there can not be any Thing more unmanly, than leaving either the Faculties of the Soul, or the Muſcles of the Face to be played upon by the Will and Pleaſure of another. To have a Titter ready whenever the COMICAL FELLOW chuſes to be facetious, and to hold a Man's Belief at another's Diſpoſal, according as he chuſes to decide upon any Subject, moſt inconteſtibly indicates a weak and frivo⯑lous Underſtanding.

I was led into this Tract of Thought by a Reflec⯑tion on the Manner, in which I ſpent an Evening, this Week, with three Gentlemen, who had ſollicited the Meeting with earneſt Importunity. During the laſt ſix Weeks, I never met any one of them, but he inſtantly began, ‘Well! my dear Boy, when ſhall we have an Evening—you know it is what we have long wiſhed for?’—At length the Rendezvous was fixed, and at the appointed Hour I met my Friends, not without very high Expectations of a pleaſant Evening. A Bottle of Allen's in an Inſtant appeared on the Table, and circu⯑lated with uncommon Celerity. I then expected my Friends to open ſome Vein of Diſcourſe, but all con⯑tinuing in determined Silence, in order to break the Ice, I began with an ordinary Topic, and enquired about [185] Elizabeth Canning. ‘I ſuppoſe, ſaid I, the Govern⯑ment is reſolved to let her ſee foreign Parts.’— That's Humour, ſaid one of the Gentleman to his next Neighbour, and then they all burſt into a loud Laugh. I did not perceive the Joke, but, continued I. ‘whe⯑ther ſhe is guilty or not, it will do her no Prejudice to ſee the World.’—"Humour again," ſays the Gen⯑tleman who ſat oppoſite to me; ‘You're a fine young Fellow,’ ſays a ſecond; "This is high," ſays the third, and then all three formed a Chorus of Laughter. "The Captain, who carries her abroad," added I, ‘will have a good Contract of it; for he need give her nothing but Cruſts and Water for ſix and twenty Days, and ſhe'll ſubſiſt upon that.’ Another Touch, ſays my Friend over the Way. Admirable! cries his Neighbour, and the Gentleman next to me, alarming me with a Slap on the Shoulder, roars out—"Odzouns," and then Laughter, holding both his Sides, took poſſeſſion of them for the Space of ten Minutes.

Upon this, I perceived, that my Company held more of ADMIRATION, than of JUDGMENT, and I became heartily tired of the Party; though, were I inclined to Self-Approbation, they omitted nothing that could ad⯑miniſter to my Vanity; the Gentleman oppoſite to me frequently teſtifying his Approbation with that's Hu⯑mour! the ſecond, repeating, you're a fine young Fellow! and my next Neighbour thundering in my Ear his rap⯑turous Odzouns! which extraordinary Interjections were abſolutely the Sum total of all the Converſation, that I heard from theſe three notable Blanks in the Creation. I accordingly took occaſion to break up the Meeting as ſoon as poſſible, and upon retiring home to my Chambers could not help drawing up this looſe Eſſay, which I have ordered my Publiſher to ſend to each of the Gentlemen, in order, if poſſible, to cure them of their ſervile Ad⯑miration, and inform them, if they deſire to be ranked [186]among Free-Agents, that their only Title to it conſiſts in thinking and judging for themſelves.

THE following Letter contains ſo many Touches of rural Imagery, and ſo ſea⯑ſonable an Invitation to viſit the Country, in this ſoft Period of the Year, that I ſhall make it ſerve to furniſh out the Entertainment of this Day.

AFTER having peruſed the new Tragedy of Creuſa, with all that Pleaſure which re⯑ſults from a well-conducted Story, and in⯑tereſting Situations of the Dramatis Perſo⯑nae, I was at length ſtruck in a very particular Manner with the ſecond Epilogue, which the Author has an⯑nexed to it. A Parliament of Women ſuggeſts many Ideas of a pleaſant Nature to the Fancy, and there is a Variety in the Turn of Expreſſion, for which this little [194]Piece may very juſtly be called a pretty Compoſition. Having laid aſide the Book, I found that the female Houſe of Commons had taken entire Poſſeſſion of my Imagination; I fancied to myſelf, to ſee my amiable Countrywomen engaged in a deep Debate; the lovely Whigs and Tories carried on their Party-Diviſions with great Warmth and vehement Elocution; the Words Court and Country Intereſt, Britiſh Conſtitution, Patriotiſm, Virtue, Bribery and Corruption, Liberty and Property, free uninfluenced Election, arbitrary Power, with a long Et caetera of Phraſes, were methought banded about by theſe beautiful Repreſentatives, with as much Zeal and Impetuoſity, as ever they could poſſibly have been from the Days of Hampdex down to the preſent happy Period. Their Fans. I imagined, prettily diverſified with va⯑rious emblematical Figures; and, inſtead of love-ſick Virgins, Jeſſamine Bowers, Rural Swains playing on the Flute, they diſplayed to View nothing but Scaffold⯑ings, Executions, Scenes of Broils and Battles, Sea⯑pieces, embattled Squadrons, the Spirit-ſtirring Drum, as Shakeſpear has it, the Ear-piercing Fife, the Royal-Banner, and every Circumſtance of glorious War. The Patch no longer ſerved as a mere Embelliſhment of Beauty, but carried with it a very expreſſive Energy, and denoted the Attachments of the Ladies to the Court or Country-Party. Blue and Yellow Ribbons adorned the Head-Dreſs, and hung out a Kind of Flag of De⯑fiance to the oppoſite Party. Elections were ſtrongly conteſted all over the Kingdom: The Old and Now Intereſt claſhed in Oxfordſhire, and ended at laſt in a double Return. In Kent a Lady of antient and ho⯑nourable Family was thrown out. The People of Bri⯑ſtol paid a voluntary Compliment to a Lady of diſtin⯑guiſhed Genius, who had been inſtrumental in bring⯑inging Briſtol Stone-Buckles into Faſhion. After a very [195]warm Conteſt for the City of London, upon finally clo⯑ſing the Poll the Numbers ſtood thus;

• Lady Betty Alworthy, She-Knight, and Milliner 3650
• Mrs. Mary Meanwell, Haberdaſher 3570
• Lady Fanny Comely, She-Knight, and Perfumer 3125
• Mrs. Elizabeth Sugarcane, of Billinſgate-Ward 2950
• Lady Harriet Luteſtring, She-Knight, and Mercer 2603
• Lady Deborah Gideonite, She-Knight and Malt-Diſtiller. 2521

Whereupon the four firſt were declared duly elected, and the laſt mention'd Lady, it was ſaid, would be brought in for ſome other Place at the Recommendation of an old Dutcheſs at Court. The Writs being all re⯑turned. I ſuppoſed the Parliament aſſembled, the Ladies in the Upper-Houſe, and the Commoners in the Lower. The Female Commons immediately proceeded to chuſe a Speaker, which was a Point of great Difficulty, every one being eager for that Office, upon a Suppoſition, that the Speaker was to have the largeſt Share of the Debate; but being undeceived in this Point, the Matter was at length adjuſted, and they then went upon Buſi⯑neſs. As ſeveral Occurrences offered themſelves to my Thoughts on this Occaſion, I ſhall throw the Buſi⯑neſs of this Part of my waking Dream, into the Form made Uſe of on theſe Occaſions.

AT the laſt Meeting of our Club, of which I muſt conſider myſelf an unworthy Mem⯑ber, as I have not of late attended them with proper Punctuality, my Friend Cap⯑tain Gulliver, whom I formerly introduced to the Ac⯑quaintance of my Readers, produced a Paper, which he ſaid, he had brought with him from Cairo, amongſt ſeveral other Manuſcripts of the ſame Nature. After peruſing it, I judged it would make no improper En⯑tertainment for my Readers, and I therefore have or⯑dered it a Place in this Day's Paper.

In the Days when the Empire of Bagdad ſpread Ter⯑ror round the Nations, and their conquering Arms added a conſtant Acceſſion of Honour and Wealth to the Califfs, Aboulcaſem, a Youth of extenſive Parts and boundleſs Ambition, had the Addreſs to raiſe himſelf to the firſt Honours of the State, and in Proceſs of Time, he arrived to the Dignity of Vizier. In this Office his Conduct was ſuch as might be expected from a Perſon of his exalted Parts. His Renown for Genius and a bright Underſtanding diſtinguiſhed him above the Reſt of the Miniſters, and the Name of Aboulcaſem was wafted on the Wings of Fame through all the Regions of the Laſt.

But amidſt all the Effulgence of his Glory, Aboulcaſem was hurried away by the Violence of his Paſſions, which were rapid as the Cataracts of the Nile, and vio⯑lent as the Whirlwinds in the Deſart. His Soul was apt to kindle into a Blaze at the Sight of Beauty, and in the Height of his national Buſineſs he would [201]frequently ſport away his Hours in wanton Dalliance with a Circaſſian Beauty, with whom he would often betake himſelf to the Baths, and there, in amorous Diſ⯑ſipation, write Letters upon Matters of the utmoſt Con⯑ſequence to the Califf, and the whole Empire of Bagdad, and diſpatch them to his Agents, whom he had ſent to other neighbouring Courts. At length, he was ſuſpected to favour the Cauſe of the baniſhed Prince Abdallah, who was then wandering about the Deſarts of Arabia; and though no convincing Proofs could be alledged againſt him, yet not being able to vindicate himſelf from the Imputation, he was obliged to fly his Country.

Aboulcaſem immediately betook himſelf to the Prince Abdallah, and finding his Cauſe totally ruined, without any Poſſibility of re-inſtating him, he then exerted all his Induſtry to obtain Leave to return home. As Things of this Nature cannot be compaſſed in a ſhort Time, in order to hinder his Mind in the mean Time from falling a Prey to Melancholy, and all the Horrors of diſap⯑pointed Ambition, he applied himſelf to the Labours of the wiſe Men in order to relieve his Mind. Here he penned his Thoughts upon Exile, and many other im⯑portant Points of ſpeculative Morality. He lived like an Hermit in the Deſarts of Arabia, and there, illuſtri⯑ouſly hid, he carried on his Reſearches into the Study of Nature, Hiſtory, and all the Branches of human Learning which could adorn and enrich ſo accompliſh⯑ed a Mind.

Thus furniſhed with all mental Embelliſhments, Aboulcaſem was in Time permitted to return, but he was not reſtored to his Honours. As Ambition is ever un⯑relenting, he was no ſooner fixed in his own Abode, than he inſtantly became an implacable Enemy to the Vizier, who had conſented to recal him. He drew from the Stores of Knowledge, which he had formerly treaſured up, ſome of the ſevereſt Reflections, which could be made upon the Miniſter's Adminiſtrations, and [202]this in ſuch a powerful Strain of nervous Eloquence, that he may very juſtly be ſaid to have had a great Share in his [...]ownfal. Aboulcaſem was ſo happy as to have accompliſhed this Buſineſs, which was for a long Time the grand Object of his Intentions; but it was no ſooner done, than he perceived himſelf as diſtant as ever from re-gaining his Prince's Ear. He therefore betook himſelf to his Country-Houſe at a ſmall Di⯑ſtance from Bagdad, where he employed himſelf in reading all the Moraliſts of Arabia, and in ſhort, all the fine Eaſtern Writers. In this Receſs he cultivated an Acquaintance with two of the firſt Geniuſes of his Time, Selim and Mirza; the former was remarkable among the Eaſtern Sages for elevated Strains of Poetry, and the latter for thoſe Oriental Tales, which are generally called the Tale of a Tub, and the Adventures of Gulli⯑ver, the Merchant of Bagdad. Theſe two undertook the Defence of Aboulcaſem's Character, and ſpared no Pains to blazon his Fame to the World.

Mean Time Aboulcaſem purſued his Reſearches into all the Branches of human Wiſdom; the civil Polity of States was to him a Store-houſe, which diſcloſed a con⯑ſtant Fund of Supply; he then turned his Eye inwards upon the Texture and Make of his own Mind; he uſed to ſay, that the Mind was a concealed Repoſitory of Riches, and that it behoved every Man to find out the Secrets of it; this accordingly he did; but he did not enjoy the ſecret, ſelfiſh Gratification of many, who, when in Poſſeſſion of a Treaſure will never let it be ſeen by human Eyes; on the contrary, he was glad to have every Opportunity of diſplaying himſelf, and this ra⯑ther to a Degree of Oſtentation; from this Branch of Study Aboulcaſem proceeded to examine into Matters of Religion; the various Syſtems of the Eaſtern Sages were all to him perfectly well known; he laughed at the Keran; the Syſtem of Morality which Confucius taught, Aboulcaſem held in Contempt; Mahomet's Paradiſe was [203]to him a mere Chimaera, and he declaimed with a pompous Flow of ſounding Eloquence againſt all theſe various Opinions; the Bramins were always the Ob⯑jects of his ſevereſt Contempt; in the Dictates of natural Religion, he would ſay, we have no Occaſion for ſuch Guides, and in the Explanation of eſtabliſhed Forms, they are highly dangerous; he was an Enemy to all Forms of Worſhip offered in the Temple of the Pro⯑phet; he endeavoured to ſubvert the Principles upon which this Worſhip was founded, and to introduce a new Form of Thinking of his own. Since Aboulcaſem could have no Share in the Direction of State-Affairs, he was determined to ſoar above ſublunary Things, and to have the Lead in Matters of higher Importance. He was highly dogmatical in his Aſſertions, and he carried his Extravagance ſo far, as to advance, that there was no Difference between the human Species and Brutes; and that it was highly probable that Dogs and the reſt of the animal Creation were endued with Souls as well as Mankind; and in the general he aſſerted that all Souls were material.

In the midſt of theſe Diſquiſitions, Aboulcaſem was ſitting one Night in his Study, his Lamp burning be⯑fore him, when of a ſudden, Thunders rolled deep and awful over his Head; the Mountains were ſhaken and they groaned; keen Lightenings flaſhed athwart the Hemiſphere; the third Heaven was opened, and a Flood of Radiance deſcended upon the Earth. The So⯑lemnity of the Scene appalled the Heart of Aboulcaſem; Trembling ſeized his Limbs; he fell proſtrate and adored the Meſſenger from God, who now ſtood before him, and ſpoke in Accents, which chilled the Blood within him, and made him ſtand convinced of his vain Philoſophy.

‘Aboulcaſem, ſaid he, receive my Sayings with an Ear of Attention. Know then, that the Eye of him, who is in the third Heaven hath beheld thee; he hath [204]viewed thy Ways with Compaſſion, and he hath made this Viſion a Vehicle of Inſtruction unto thy Soul, which is at preſent loſt and bewildered in a Maze of idle and fooliſh Philoſophy; for thy Philo⯑ſophy is not calculated to advance true Knowledge, Virtue, and Wiſdom, but has its Source in Oſten⯑tation. Oſtentation and Vain-glory have induced thee to diſplay thy imagined Superiority of Parts, which pretends to pervade all Syſtems of Religion, and thy Heart's Conceit will approve of none. Thy Studies are ill directed, and their Driſt is only to alienate the Minds of Men from any ſettled Form of Worſhip, which you are in the Wrong to diſturb, as your own Inſufficiency cannot ſubſtitute a better than what is deſigned to keep Society in a due Senſe of Reſigna⯑tion to a Supreme Being, and to preſerve the Bands of civil Compact religiouſly unbroken. Caſt but thine Eye upon yonder Vale; behold what is there tranſacted. There thou may'ſt ſee Men diveſted of all Forms of Worſhip, and rendered perfectly con⯑formable to thy vain Notions of Religion. There thou may'ſt ſee what is the State of Man ungoverned by ſettled Forms of Devotion; they have ſhaken off all Regard to the Prophet, and behold them immerſed in all Manner of vicious Practices. Uncontrouled they invade each other's Rights; they make War to gratify their Ambition; freely without Reſtraint they proſcribe whom they pleaſe; the Bonds of Society are broken, and the Contempt of divine Laws has introduced a Contempt for all human Inſtitutions. To promote this Scene of Confuſion are thy Writings calculated, but know, and dread the Truth I am now to utter, that it will better behove thee to pay Submiſſion to the eſtabliſhed Forms of Worſhip of thy Country, than to diſturb the Peace of the Faithful, and thereby fill their Minds with Doubt, with Jealouſy, [205]Miſtruſt, Suſpicion, and all the Horrors of an over⯑weening Imagination.’

At theſe Words the Radiance, which ſpoke, with⯑drew from his Eyes, and left Aboulcaſem in the utmoſt Conſternation; the Impreſſion was, however, very ſoon effaced; for notwithſtanding this Admonition, he per⯑ſevered in his ill Deſigns; but the Thread of his Days was cut ſhort before he could vent them abroad into the World. However, his Intentions were not totally fru⯑ſtrated, for the Hand of Death had no ſooner ſmote him, than his Compoſitions fell into the Hands of Namahran, another Eaſtern Writer, who ſold them for a certain Number of Sequins of Gold, and by thoſe Means the Writings of Aboulcaſem came into every Body's Hands, and ſpread their baneful Influence on the Minds of all the Inhabitants of Bagdad.

THE gloomy Month of November is diſtin⯑guiſhed by Foreigners, as the Heighth of the Seaſon for Engliſhmen to hang and drown themſelves; but from a diligent Obſervation I can venture to affirm, that the Month of May is always attended with a larger Bill of Mortality than any other Part of the Year. It is the Spring-Time of Love, when the Blood has received a Renovation of Warmth, and young Minds are then more eaſily melted down in the amorous Fire. A Bookſeller, whom I now and then chat with at his Circulating Library, informs me, that he can tell when the Poiſon of Love begins to rankle in the Breaſt, that he can trace it in its Pro⯑greſs, and knows exactly when it is become quite ge⯑neral in its Influence. Romances, he ſays, in the Be⯑ginning are more and more call'd for; as it encreaſes, Lord Grey's Love Letters, the Loves of Octavia and Philander, Abelard and Eloiſe, Letters from a Nun to a Cavalier, &c. come into Play; and when the Infec⯑tion is grown Epidemic, then the Tragedies of Romeo and Juliet, All for Love, or the World well loſt, [207]Theodoſius or the Force of Love, &c, cannot be ſupplied quick enough to anſwer the wonderful Demand for them. My ingenious Friend will ſometimes take me into his back Room, and "Friend Ranger," ſays he, ‘can't you touch us up ſome ſecret Memoirs, or a Love-Tale, or ſomething by Way of Novel—If green Peas come in faſt—the Seaſon for Peas is always favourable to love-ſick Minds—I can manage to put you off— let me ſee—ay, about a couple of thouſand by Mid⯑ſummer—yes, thereabouts—I could get—if you will put your Name to it,—a matter of fifteen hundred ſubſcribed among the Trade—how will you make it end?—happy or unhappy?—for there will be a Difference in that—but, that muſt be determined by the Chapter of Accidents—a North-Eaſt Wind chills the amorous Heat—in that Caſe, you had bet⯑ter make them die—but, if the ſouthern Gale con⯑tinues, they may in the Concluſion be conducted by the laughing Loves to the nuptial Bower—the Book will ſoon be in every Body's Hands, at Tunbridge, Bath, Scarborough, &c.’

Thus is this ſkilful Perſon in his Trade for taking Advantage of that Succeſſion of Foibles, which are conſtantly riſing and falling in the moſt whimſical Vi⯑ciſſitude in this Metropolis. The Truth of it is the Play-houſes, the Circulating Libraries, the public Gar⯑dens about Town owe very much of their Succeſs to the love-ſick Minds of Boys and Girls. It is this uni⯑verſal Paſſion which rolls ſo many of the Youth of both Sexes down the ſoft Declivity in Greenwich-Park; it is this which is ſo fond of taking cold at the Tin Caſcade in Vaux-hall Gardens, and it is this which pours forth ſo many Groupes of Enamoratos along the Fields and Meadows about London every Sunday Evening.

Notwithſtanding the extenſive Influence of this ſoft Infection, it is ſomewhat ſurprizing that among all the Writers, who have endeavoured to deſcribe it, very few [208]of them have ſucceeded in any tolerable Degree. What Numbers of Engliſh Tragedies have been ſunk into an inſipid Languor by the ineffectual Whim of Epiſodic Love? The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, excepting now and then ſome glittering Conceits, which we may ſuppoſe to be Transfuſions from the Italian Novelliſt, who furniſhed Shakeſpear with the Story, affords a beau⯑tiful Repreſentation of two young Minds touched with this tender Sympathy. Many of the Tragedies of Beau⯑mont and Fletcher, though they are now too much neg⯑lected, diſplay the delicate Senſations of Love, in all their native genuine Simplicity. I am not clear whe⯑ther the fine Interchange of Sentiments between Jaffier and Belvidera ſhould come within the Precincts of Love; becauſe the Deſire of Poſſeſſion, which fires the tender Imagination into a gentle Enthuſiaſm, has then ſub⯑ſided into a ſympathetic Friendſhip between Man and Wife; and accordingly the moſt pathetic Touches are derived, not from the Lover's fond Hope of mutual Bliſs to come, but from a Retroſpect to thoſe vaniſhed Hours, when Jaffier lay for three whole happy Years in his Belvidera's Arms; and thus the Tranſition from their former Endearments to their preſent Miſery, ex⯑cites thoſe intenſe Emotions of Pity for their Fate. Perhaps, after the Writers juſt mentioned, the Tragedy of Tancred and Sigiſmunda, has the faireſt Claim to any Degree of Reputation; in this Piece the Love of the young Prince is manly, and never dwindles into childiſh Conceit; the Feelings of Sigiſmunda are delicate and ſenſible, and through all the Scenes the Softneſs of their Paſſion is ennobled by Sentiments of Honour and moral Dignity. But, among all the Books, which the ena⯑moured of both Sexes are apt to call for at this Seaſon of the Year, there is none which can exhibit ſo lively a Picture of Love, as the Fourth Book of Dryden's Virgil, which I would recommend to my young Readers, not by Way of adding Fuel to the Fire, but to warn them [209]of the Dangers of the growing Flame; as they will here perceive all the Viciſſitudes of the Paſſion, till at length it terminates in a melancholy Cataſtrophe.

I ſhall conclude this Paper with an Extract from an unpubliſhed Pamphlet, written by an ingenious Gentle⯑man, who has given me Leave to make my own uſe of it. It is called the Hiſtory of Roſamond's Pond for the Month of May, and, though ſome of the Incidents are not the Effects of Love, it will, however, ſhew many of the Diſaſters that attend that ſweet, but dangerous Senſation.

MY Friend, Mr. Candid, deſires that he may diſcharge his Promiſe to give ſome fur⯑ther Animadverſions on the Tragedy of King Lear; as he has run into a long Eſſay, I ſhall reſign to him the entire Paper of this Day.

Notwithſtanding what is ingeniouſly urged by the Gentleman, who obliged me with a Letter upon my former Criticiſm of King Lear, I cannot, after a Review of that Tragedy, find any Reaſon to retract my Aſſer⯑tion, that the aged Monarch's Madneſs is occaſioned by the Ingratitude of his Daughters. The Folly of a Pa⯑rents putting himſelf in the Power of his Children, muſt incidentally appear in a Play, founded on ſuch a Story as that of Lear; but, had thoſe Children not proved ungrateful, I apprehend there is no Reaſon to imagine, the King's Mind would have taken the fatal Turn it did. But the beſt Way of knowing, with any Degree of Cer⯑tainty, the ſecret Cauſes of thoſe Effects, which diſcloſe themſelves in ſundry Appearances in human Life, is [220]by gaining an Inſight into the private Tempers of Men. Lean conſidered in this Manner, ſoon diſcovers to us the latent Seeds, which are likely to kindle into a Blaze, upon the Revolt of his Daughters. The Impreſſion which Cordelia's artleſs Anſwer had upon him is de⯑ſcribed by himſelf.

This plainly evinces where the old Man's Paſſions were moſt acceſſible, and how ſtrong the Workings of them were likely to be, when he ſhould find a total Diſaffec⯑tion: No wonder if then his Frame of Nature is wrench'd from the fix'd Place, and indeed, his Ten⯑dency that Way ſoon diſcovers itſelf, when he breaks out into theſe Words.

Were the Loſs of Royalty uppermeſt in his Thoughts, his Remarks would moſt aſſuredly take their Tincture from thence, and he would rather blame himſelf as a WEAK Father, who had given all to his Children. But the Circumſtance of his having given all, is never men⯑tioned, unleſs it is to aggravate the Ill-uſage he has met with, and when he ſays to himſelf, To take't again per⯑force, it is plain, that it is not merely for the ſake of re⯑gaining loſt Grandeur, but to avenge his Wrongs; and he immediately ſubjoins, Monſter Ingratitude!—and a little after, let me not be mad; not mad, ſweet Heaven! —The hool, indeed, taunts him with the Folly of his having diveſted himſelf of his Power, and put the Rod, as he calls it, in his Childrens Hand. Theſe Ideas are ſo obvious, that Shakeſpear knew they would ſtrike even the moſt ſuperficial Mind; but we find it is no Conſi⯑deration [221]with the Father, who never dwells upon it, though it is ſuggeſted to him ſo frequently. On the other Hand, how acute are his Feelings, whenever he recurs to his Daughters want of filial Piety! He that can read the following Lines, without being ſoftened into Tears, muſt, as Mr. Addiſon has ſaid upon another Occaſion, have either a very good, or a very bad Head.

What a Picture of a Mind have we here?—The Strugglings with his Sorrows, the Breaks of Paſſion, the Attempt to ſpeak, and the inſtant Suppreſſion of his Powers, are the moſt natural and pathetic Touches. Can the human Imagination, in all her Treaſury of Lan⯑guage, find Words to expreſs at once the deteſtable Crime of Diſobedience to our Parents, and the exqui⯑ſite Feelings of an injured Father, like the following Paſſage?

Who is there, that does not inſtantaneouſly find himſelf in a Guſh of Tears on reading theſe Lines? And more particularly, when, a little afterwards, he comes to the Speech which cloſes with,

The laſt Touch in this Speech, is the fineſt cloſe of a Climax of Paſſion that can be conceived; and even then the old Monarch feels that his Wits begin to turn, for which melancholy Situation, Shakeſpear all along [222]finely prepares us, by ſkilfully marking each Step the Mind takes, in all its Workings, towards that ſettled State of Grief.

I have dwell'd thus long on the Cauſe of Lear's Diſtraction, becauſe the Arguments, offered by my in⯑genious Correſpondent in the Eſſay of the 19th of Ja⯑nuary, carry ſome Degree of Plauſibility; but from what has been premiſed, together with what I have urged in my former Paper, there cannot, I think, re⯑main any Doubt about it. Thoſe that are not ſatisfied with this reaſoning are referred to the nobleſt Com⯑mentary this, or any Poet ever had; I mean Mr. Gar⯑rick's Performance of Lear, in which there is diſplayed ſo juſt a Knowledge of the human Mind under a State of Madneſs, together with ſuch exquiſite Feelings of the various Shiftings of the Paſſions, ſo finely at the ſame Time enſeebled with the Debility of Age, that I be⯑lieve, whenever this admirable Actor ceaſes to play this Part, the unhappy Monarch will loſe more than fifty of his Followers at a Clap.—

Though our great Poet pays us very amply for all his Tranſgreſſions againſt the Laws of Ariſtotle; yet, I have frequently wiſhed, that the noble Wildneſs of his Genius had not rendered him ſo unbounded in his Fa⯑bles. Had this Tragedy been planned with more Art, without an underplot to draw off our Affections from the principal Object, it had been a Piece for all the united Efforts of Greece to envy. However, the Epiſode, in which the Baſtard is acting the ſame unnatural Part as Lear's legitimate Daughters, is not entirely detached from the main Subject; the Misfortunes of the good old Gloſter, who endeavours to aſſiſt the forlorn King, muſt touch every Breaſt, and the Character of Edgar muſt appear amiable in every Eye.

The cloſe of this Tragedy is full of Terror and Com⯑miſeration, and our great Foet has here given us a Death, which is not often to be found in the Play⯑houſe [223]Bill of Mortality, viz. the Death of Lear with⯑out the Dagger, or the Bowl. But, perhaps, af⯑ter all the Heart-piercing Senſations, which we have before endured through the whole Piece, it would be too much to ſee this actually performed on the Stage; from the Actor whom I have already named, I am ſure it would; though, I ſhould be glad to ſee the Experiment made, convinced at the ſame Time that the Play, as it is altered, will always be moſt agreeable to an Audience, as the Circumſtances of Lear's Reſtoration, and the virtuous Edgar's Alliance with the amiable Cordelia, muſt always call forth thoſe guſhing Tears, which are ſwelled and enobled by a virtuous Joy. The Alteration is juſtified by another Rea⯑ſon, which is, that Lear was really reſtored to his Crown, if we may believe Spencer, who gives the following re⯑markable Narrative, with which I ſhall cloſe this Paper, making no Doubt, but it will afford great Entertainment to the Reader who has not before amuſed himſelf with the Compariſon, to ſee Shakeſpear's Story related by ſo great a Poet as Spencer, in his tenth Canto of the Fairy-Queen.

WHEN Turnus, in the tenth Aeneid, is buſied in Fields of Slaughter and Devaſtation, an interpoſing Goddeſs ſhadows forth an illu⯑ſive Appearance of the adverſe Warrior, arms the Phantom with an air-drawn Javelin, gives an imaginary Shield and Creſt, adds a mimic Voice, and Sounds innocent of Thought, and then makes the un⯑real Mockery ſly before the Ranks, in order to divert the real Combatant, and engage him in a vain Purſuit. The Impoſition takes Effect, and the General is ſeduced from the Field, when the fugitive Illuſion vaniſhes into Air, and then too late the Hero perceives, that he had [226]quitted the Field of Glory, and the neceſſary Duties of his Calling, to diſtinguiſh his martial Proweſs againſt a fictitious Enemy, where no Honour could be reaped. In the Warfare of the Pen, ſomething like this very commonly happens, and a Writer is no ſooner obſerved to be engaged in a right Courſe, but a counterfeit Ge⯑nius is inſtantly ſet up in Oppoſition to him. Mother Dullneſs, who is always as careful of her Favourites as any Goddeſs in epic Poetry, is ſure to make ſomething appear in the Shape of a Writer; ſhe arms him with a Gooſe-Quill, furniſhes Ink and Paper, ſupplies him with empty Words, and unideal Sounds, without any thinking Faculty. Dat inania verba, dat ſine mente ſonum.—

I have ever looked upon the warlike Hero, in the former Inſtance, to be in a very ridiculous Situation, and ſurely the Author, who can quit the Purſuit of nobler Game, to follow an idle Scribler in the Form of a Pamphlet, a Letter to a Friend, an unmuſe-like Poem, or a pointleſs Epigram, muſt, in the Eyes of the Judi⯑cious, appear to act unworthily, and very much beneath himſelf. On this Account it is, that Ranger has hitherto kept himſelf clear of all Diſputes with his Brethren of the Quill, and has inceſſantly purſued his Plan, though there have not been wanting Things, ‘that would be Poets thought,’ who have endeavoured to moleſt him in his Career.

But deaf to all ſuch Avocations, I have attended only to the Proſecution of the Deſign this Paper firſt ſet out with, viz to conduce my utmoſt to the Entertain⯑ment and Inſtruction of my Readers. The former of theſe Views, I flatter myſelf, has in ſome Degree ſuc⯑ceeded, and with Regard to the latter, I do not pre⯑tend to have enlightened the Underſtandings of all my Cotemporaries, nor to have brought about a general Reformation of Men and Manners. The Truth of it is, I cannot conſider the Gray's-Inn Journal, as a general [227] Panacea for the Defects of Mankind, though my Book⯑ſeller and many of my other Friends (i. e. Enemies) have been pleaſed to compliment me on that Score. When I declare thus much, I beg, I may not be ſup⯑poſed to envy the Fame of a very elegant and ingenious Brother-Writer, who very pleaſantly congratulates him⯑ſelf on the extenſive Amendment of Mankind ſince the Commencement of his Paper, and aſſures us, that there is no ſuch Thing at preſent as Cards at White's, or naked Shoulders at Ranelagh; and from the general Ceſſation of Vice, conceives the Millennium to be at Hand; at which happy Period he is determined to lay down his Pen.

For my Part, I ſhall not wait for the Milennium; for I muſt own, I have met with very different Succeſs in my Diſtrict, and therefore I am reſolved not to cry out, in Imi⯑tation of Falſtaff to the vanquiſhed Hotſpur, ‘there lies Vice; an the King will reward me;—ſo;—if not,—let him write the next Paper himſelf.’ So far from having any Title to this Boaſt, I have at preſent only one Letter by me, teſtifying the ſurprizing Cure wrought by my Lu⯑cubrations, which is as follows.

This is the only Certificate I can produce at preſent of the Succeſs of theſe Papers; and, though I ſuppoſe that Individuals have occaſionally profited by them; yet my Intelligence ſays, that moſt of the faſhionable Vices and Follies of this Metropolis are carried on with as much Alacrity as if, to uſe the Phraſe of Moll Bluff, Charles Ranger had never been in the Land of the Living.

By Advices from the City I learn, that, while the Huſband is cheating for a Groat behind the Coun⯑ter, the Wife is venturing Hundreds at a Rout; that the Courſe of Exchange was on Thurſday laſt very much [...] by the Jew-Brokers; that the Stocks [...] raiſed or lowered in Change-Alley; and that Criticiſm [...] prevails at Sam's. Orator Henly, [...] continues to ra [...]e among his Butchers; [...] of the Leg and the Pit of the Stomach, I am credibly informed, are ſhewn by all the young Ladies of Faſhion every Night at Vauxhall and Ranelagh; and Mr. Aſhley on Ludgate-Hill, who ſells Punch pro bono [...], if the only Patriot I can any where hear of.

But though this general Contagion of Vice and Folly [...] prevails, I hope it will at leaſt be found ſome De⯑gree of Merit to have oppoſed it, and I perſuade my⯑ſelf, that throughout theſe little Volumes, my Satyr has been to levelled, as not to have deſerved the Diſplea⯑ſure of any worthy Character. As to the anonymous invectives of little Scriblers, I have already declared my Opinion of them, and ſhould a whole Inundation be hereafter diſcharged againſt me, I ſhall not be ſur [229]prized after peruſing the following Piece, which fell in⯑to my Hands by an extraordinary Accident a few Days ſince, and appears to have been iſſued out almoſt at the Commencement of this our Undertaking.

OUR Club met a few Nights ſince at the Devil Tavern, when the Converſation principally turned upon Topics of Litera⯑ture, and particularly dramatic Poetry. Many of our beſt modern Tragedies were examined, and I obſerved it was frequently ſaid of Pieces con⯑feſſedly inartificial in the Fable, unforcible in Senti⯑ment, and deſtitute of Character, that they contained a very fine Vein of Poetry. Our Profeſſor of Criticiſm immediately objected to the Propriety of the Expreſſion. He did not underſtand how a bad Play could have fine Poetry, and he has formed a Plan for a Set of Papers, which may throw ſome Light on this Matter. I ſhall this Day preſent my Readers with one, which I think may ſerve as an Opening to the Deſign.

In order to decide upon the Excellence or Imper⯑fection of any Art, it is neceſſary to know the original Intent and Aim of that Art, and alſo the ſeveral Means by which it accompliſhes its Deſigns. The bet⯑ter to inveſtigate this, with regard to any Branch of Li⯑terature, it will be expedient to trace all Manner of Compoſition to its Source, and thence to purſue the ſe⯑veral Rivulets which have ſtreamed from it. This has been done with great Perſpicuity and Elegance by the Author of the Eſſays on the Characteriſtics, who has very juſtly determined the three primary Branches of Compoſition to be, Poetry, Eloquence, and Argument. He adds, that a juſt Coalition of the three forms the con⯑ſummate Beauty of fine Writing, and then, continues [239]he, ‘it would be perhaps both a new and pleaſing Speculation to point out the Writers in their ſeveral Kinds, who have been moſt remarkably excellent, or defective with Regard to the juſt Union of theſe three Species of Cempoſition. At preſent it muſt ſuffice to have hinted ſuch a Criticiſm, which the Reader may eaſily proſecute.’ Such a Criticiſm might diſtinguiſh the reſpective Graces of all Kinds of Writing, and furniſh the Criterions by which to judge of the proper Beauties of each different Species. I ſhall now beg Leave to offer a few curſory Reflections on this Subject; and, in order to proceed with the greater Perſpicuity, ſhall attempt a ſhort Account of the Riſe of the three Modes of Writing already mentioned.

Man being a ſociable Creature, it was neceſſary, that certain Signs, univerſally agreed upon, ſhould be uſed for the reciprocal Conveyance of his Ideas. Sounds, which we call Words, were the quickeſt Vehicles, and therefore grew into general Uſe. According as our Stock of Ideas enIarged itſelf, the Demand for Words became more extenſive, and as Societies were framed, and People aſſembled by civil Policy, Intercourſe begot further Acquiſitions, and thus, Language was daily en⯑larged. But it being impoſſible that every diſtinct Idea ſhould be expreſſed by a Term appropriated to it, the Mind naturally had Recourſe to the Faculty of Reaſon, which compares, diſtinguiſhes, and ſeparates the Ideas which have paſſed through the Senſes, or have been formed into different Combinations by the Power of Imagination. By theſe Means, a Similitude was diſ⯑covered between ſundry various Images, and thence it followed, that Things were expreſſed by borrowed Names, on account of a Reſemblance exiſting between them. The Term thus transferred was called a Meta⯑phor, and, as it happens in the commercial Intercourſe of Mankind, what was at firiſt introduced out of Neceſ⯑ſity, became, in Proceſs of Time, an abſolute Luxury. [240]This the Poets ſoon perceived; and as it was their Buſi⯑neſs to lead uncultivated Multitudes from their Huts and Dens, by ſeizing their Imaginations with their Songs and Ballads, the Metaphor ſoon appeared to them to be an effectual Means of painting Things in warmer Colours to the Fancy, which is ever greatly de⯑lighted when any new and unforeſeen Aſſemblage is offered to its View. The Epithet which denotes the Qualities inherent in all Objects, lent its auxiliary Aid, and Poetry, with theſe adventitious Ornaments became the Delight of Mankind.

But the Matter did not reſt here; as Cities were mul⯑tiplied, and as States enlarged themſelves, artificial Paſſions began to operate; Ambition then began to graſp at Power and Pre-eminence, and Envy, Jealouſy, Revenge and Malice ſowed the Seeds of Diſcord, and mutual Diſtruſt; and thus while they were diſtracted with inteſtine Commotions, the adjacent States, deſirous of extending their Poſſeſſions, made Inroads upon them. In theſe Emergencies there was not Time for the mea⯑ſured Writer to produce his poetic Compoſition; an immediate Addreſs was requiſite to influence the Paſ⯑ſions of the Multitude, and therefore Men of Genius came forth, and deſtitute of Number, addreſſed the People in humble Proſe. But here, ſtill the Attention was to be fixed, and therefore they could not diveſt themſelves of all the Properties of Poetry, but continued to addreſs themſelves to the Imagination of their Au⯑ditors, and thus to influence their Paſſions and perſwade them to their own Good. As the leaſt Appearance of a Deſign upon their Underſtandings on theſe Occaſions would totally defeat itſelf, it thence reſulted, that all thoſe ambitious Ornaments, and all thoſe gaudy Colour⯑ings, which Poetry ſpreads ſo laviſhly on every Subject, were here introduced with a more ſparing Hand, and the Imagination was only addreſſed as it affords various Acceſſes to the Paſſions. In this Manner Eloquence [241]deduced its being; and was only a leſs luxuriant Kind of Poetry, which endeavoured to practiſe the Arts of Perſuaſion, and to win over the Paſſions of the People to its own End and Uſe.

In Proportion as Mankind became enlightened, as Arts and Manufactures encreaſed, and as Science ex⯑tended itſelf, it was not enough that Poetry charmed with its graceful Combinations, and that Eloquence awakened and agitated the Paſſions; Reaſon began then to exert its Influence, to look for Utility and Truth in every Compoſition, and ſtripping away the Luxuriances of laviſh Deſcription, it began cooly and diſpaſſionately to conſider every Thing that was offered. Hence ſprung the Didactic, or the Argumentative; Demoſthenes was obliged to proceed by fair Deductions, and as much as poſſible to conceal his Art from a People, who were ſo poliſhed, that they would have deſpiſed thoſe Arts of Perſuaſion, which Tully practiſed with Succeſs upon Minds leſs artful and leſs informed than the Greeks.

In this Manner, it appears to me, theſe three pri⯑mary Branches of Compoſition aroſe in the World, each being plainly deducible from the very Principles of our Conſtitution. For as the Imagination is the warmeſt Faculty of the Soul, Poetry, whoſe principal Intent is to pleaſe, is particularly addreſſed to this Power of Perception. Eloquence, though more chaſte and reſerved in its Embelliſhments, ſtrikes chiefly at the Paſſions, and as they are then moſt powerfully excited, when Fancy pictures ſtrong Appearances of Good or Evil. Eloquence is obliged to have Recourſe to the Regions of Imagination, in order to render its Co⯑lourings ſtronger and more glowing; and further, as the Province of Reaſon is to compare its Ideas, and to form various Affirmations or Negations relative to them, the Didactic is principally confined to this Province. There are not in human Nature any other Inlets of Per⯑ception, or any other Faculties of Senſation to which [242]the Art of a Writer could apply, and therefore the Imagination, the Paſſions, and Reaſon are juſtly the three Springs of Compoſition. But Men of Refine⯑ment and Reflection, perceiving what a powerful Influ⯑ence any one of theſe Branches of Writing has upon the Mind, have thence inferred, that the joint Force of all three united, muſt carry the Power of Genius to ſtill a greater Degree of Perfection, and, therefore, in whatever Way they were engaged, they have made it their Buſineſs to make Excurſions into their Neighbours Territories, and borrow thence ſeveral Improvements to heighten their Productions. As for Inſtance, in like Manner, as Eloquence has learned from Poetry to warm and enliven the Imagination, Poetry has marked the Influence of Eloquence on the Paſſions, and has en⯑deavoured to glide to the Heart through the ſame In⯑lets; and both have alſo found it neceſſary to recom⯑mend themſelves to Reaſon, and have occaſionally ſtrengthened themſelves with Inſertions of the Didactic. The reaſoning Faculty has, in its Turn, perceived, that a mere Train of Deductions would be too dry, and therefore it takes Occaſion to adorn itſelf with the Flowers of Imagination, and, in ſome Speculations, it even endeavours to awaken the Paſſions.

Hence then it appears, that a Concurrence of the primary Branches of Writing is requiſite in all Works of Genius; but, as there is ſome Danger of running Riot, and making too frequent and unjuſtifiable Pro⯑greſſes into each others Territories, it was neceſſary to fix the Boundaries of each Kind, and to determine how far any one of them may indulge itſelf in its Approaches towards the others, in order to preſerve the eſſential Dif⯑ference in every Compoſition, to obſerve the proper Qualities, and the juſt Colourings of each; or as Horace has it, ‘D [...]nctas ſervare vices operumque colores.’

[243]There are in Nature but few original Colours, and it is from the Meltings and Softenings of theſe into each other, that all other Appearances to the Eye derive their Origin. It is the fame in Writing; the ſeveral Species of it, which are now practiſed, are Modes of Poetry, Eloquence and Argument differently blended. How far the Union is juſt, ſhall be occaſionally exa⯑mined in a few detached Eſſays; and by theſe Means we ſhall ſee the peculiar Merit of an Epic Poem, a Tra⯑gedy, a Comedy, &c. and the Reader may at his Leiſure carry the Reſearch into ſeveral ſubordinate Branches of Writing.

THE Author of my Motto was one of the beſt Crities the World has ever produced, and he has, in the above Lines, compriſed the three principal Qualities of Poetry. Its Aim, ſays he, is to afford at once Utility and De⯑light, to offer what may be agreeable to the Fancy, and alſo what may conduce to the Advantages of hu⯑man Life. He further adds, it is not enough for a Poem to abound in Prettyneſſes, it muſt alſo have a ſweet Acceſs to the Heart, and ſhould be able to agitate the Soul with what Paſſions it pleaſes. This Deſcription involves all the leading Requiſites of Poetry; and, it is [251]remarkable, includes the three primary Branches of Compoſition, exhibited in a former Paper, viz. the Art of addreſſing our Reaſon, in order to be uſeful, the Imagination, to be agreeable, and the Paſſions, in order to perſuade and gain upon our Affections. Here then we have Poeſy, Eloquence, and Argument united, and moſt aſſuredly, that Performance will be found the moſt excellent in its Kind, which is the moſt highly finiſhed with Regard to theſe three Eſſentials.

Epic Poetry has always had the Pre-eminence, and, I ſuppoſe, the Reaſon of this Determination, is, be⯑cauſe it affords the freeſt and moſt ample Room for a Diſplay of the three primary and original Species of Writing, It is by obſerving how theſe friendly Colours mix and blend with each other, that we are to deduce a Judgment upon the different Authors, who have proved any Way eminent in the literary World, refer⯑ing to the firſt Principles, being the only Criterion in every Art. Boſſu and other Critics have informed us, that the epic Fable muſt involve one entire Action; that this Action muſt have a Beginning, a Middle, and an End; They have told us, that the Poet muſt not take up the Thread of his Narrative too near the Clue; but that he muſt haſten into the Midſt of Things, and oc⯑caſionally give a Retroſpect to ſuch Things as are ne⯑ceſſary to be known. They have treated largely of the Machinery, of the Time the Fable ſhould include, with many other Particulars, which though proper to be explained, do not any Way conduce to the Refine⯑ment of Taſte, or the Improvement of true Genius. It is moſt certain; by obſerving from what Principles in the human Frame each Art is deducible, that any real or valuable Criticiſm can be formed.

It is manifeſt then, that the Epic Writer has free Latitude of inſerting all the Graces of every Kind of Compoſition. All Nature lies at his Command; where⯑ever [252]he caſts his Eyes, he is Lord of the Manor; he can turn a Road, by poetical Act of Parliament, through Lawns and Groves, and Scenes of Paſturage; the four Seaſons obey his Directions, and he need never be at a Loſs for agreeable Exhibitions of Nature, to pleaſe the Imagination. The whole Syſtem of Ethics is alſo his; he may frequently take occaſion to improve his Read⯑ers by ſhort Sentences, and tranſient Reflections on hu⯑man Life, and by theſe Means he may gain upon our Reaſon to approve his Performances. The whole Art of Eloquence is likewiſe perfectly open to the Epic Au⯑thor, and from thence he may derive an irreſiſtible Power over our Paſſions. In this laſt mentioned Requi⯑ſite the Abbé du Bos places the conſummate Perſection of fine Poetry. Certain it is, the Mind of Man never feels ſuch intenſe Pleaſure from any of the imitative Arts, as when its Paſſions are awakened, and it finds itſelf rouſed from an impaſſive State, and unexpectedly agitated by the ſkilful Touches of a Maſter-poet. The Author juſt quoted aſcribes this ideal Appearance to the Satisfaction which the Soul enjoys at the Perception of its own Acti⯑vity: May we not add to this, what is ſuggeſted, if I re⯑member right, by the Author of The Pleaſure of the Ima⯑ginations? "Our moral Senſe receives on the Occaſion an additional Delight, to ſee that the ſocial Affections are in Harmony' and Proportion, and feelingly awake to the due Senſations of Humanity; and this, in Conjunction with the Gratifications, which we are apt to take in comparing the Ideas, which Reality has ſuggeſted, with thoſe excited by the Art of Imitation, conſpire to ren⯑der a warm and well-executed Paſſage in Poetry, ſo agreeable to all Mankind in general."

Were I to declare in which of the three Powers of the Mind, already mentioned, I think Homer, Virgil and Milton, to be moſt eminently ſhining; I ſhould aſ⯑cribe [253]to Homer the ſtrongeſt and moſt vigorous Efforts of Imagination, and an amazing Faculty of alarming us with noble and amazing Deſcriptions of all the magni⯑ficent Objects in Nature. As to our own Milton, I ſhould be inclined to declare him a Rival of the Greek Poet, for a comprehenſive Sublimity of Conception: and Virgil's Excellence I ſhould place in beautiful Touches of poetic Eloquence. His whole fourth Book I take to be a Maſter-piece in this Way. The various Agita⯑tions of Mind which Dido endures, her Love, her Jea⯑louſy, her Rage, her Tenderneſs, her many mixed Emotions, are perhaps the fineſt Strokes in Poetry. In his ſixth Book alſo there are ſeveral Scenes of the moſt tender Nature; and, in the ninth Book, the Grief of the Mother, after the Death of Niſus and Euryalus, and the Lamentations of Evander, are all to be ranked in the ſame Claſs, and, in my Opinion, af⯑ford a Pleaſure, not to be met with in either of the other Poets, even though Homer has ſucceeded ſo well in Hector's laſt Scene with Andromache, and though our great Mil⯑ton has a great Deal of finely impaſſionated Dialogue in his juſtly celebrated Poem. Virgil more frequently applies himſelf to the Paſſions of his Readers than the other two; and, notwithſtaneing ſome pretty ſtrong Improbabilities, he does not ſo frequently ſhock our Reaſon, as the Grecian Poet, who certainly, in ſome Particulars, is extravagant to the higheſt Degree. Mil⯑ton has the Advantage of having founded his Story up⯑on Traditions, which our Religion has ſanctified, other⯑wiſe I ſhould conſider his fallen Angels, and the War waged by them, together with the Invention of Can⯑non, and many other Circumſtances, highly chimerical, even though they expand our Fancy with grand and ſurprizing Appearances.

I ſhall take another Opportunity to conſider how far Tragedy may diſpute with the Epic for the Preference, [254]and ſhall only add at preſent, that I have ever been of Opinion, that all the Writers of heroic Poeſy have, in general, been too fond of the Marvellous. By this I would not be underſtood to cenſure the Uſe of Machinery, which, when introduced with Sobriety and Diſcretion, ſerves to preſent agreeable Scenery to the Mind; and I could wiſh that the Correctneſs of Mr. Glover's Judg⯑ment had not entirely excluded it from his Poem of Leo⯑nidas, which certainly has many Paſſages of warm po⯑etic Eloquence, many Pieces of beautiful Imagery, and ſeveral Strictures of uſeful and improving Morality, artfully interwoven with the Ground-work of his Fable.

I ſhall beg leave to conclude with an Obſervation, which is not entirely foreign to the Purpoſe. It is re⯑marked by Mr. Addiſon, that Virgil has but one Conceit throughout his Poem, and that, ſays he, is put into the Mouth of the young Julus, when, with a Kind of punning Ambiguity, he obſerves, that they are eating their Tables. But ſurely the great Critic had forgot the Paſſage, where the Poet tells us, that Aeneas, in runuing round a Tree after the flying Turnus, follows the Man who follows him.—Sequiturque ſequentem.

This, tried by the Rule of Bohours, appears to have Truth for its Foundation; but it is ſo childiſh a Truth, that I am ſorry to find it intermixed with the Majeſty of the Aeneid; but, perhaps, it is like the Fly on the Picture, which a minute Obſerver was going to bruſh away, and then found it was placed there on purpoſe by the Hand of the Artiſt.

MIRGEHAN was a Peaſant in the De⯑ſarts of Arabia; he frequently begged an Alms of the Travellers in the paſſing Ca⯑ravan. For along Time he drove the loaded Camel over Mount Pharan for a Jeweller of Cairo, and having at length by an amazing Parſimony, got together a few Sequins of Gold, he followed the Occupation of his Maſter. Affairs thrived ſo well with him, that in the Courſe of a few Years Mirgehan began to aſſume to himſelf the Pride of Wealth, and his Countenance, which formerly was humbled by Poverty and a Dejection of Spirits, began to brighten into Gleams of Self-Satisfaction. In order to extend his Intereſt, and enlarge his Schemes for the Accumulation of Wealth, Mirgehan, now baſking under the Sun⯑ſhine of his Fortune, reſolved to remove to Bafra, where he was ſoon diſtinguiſhed as the moſt eminent Merchant of the Place. As it is the Nature of Ambition to be ever reſtleſs and unſatisfied, after having, in the Courſe of ſix Years Reſidence, amaſſed a very ample Fortune, he determined with himſelf to change his Abode once more, and ſettle himſelf, with all his im⯑menſe Wealth, at Bagdad.

Mingehan was no ſooner fixed at Bagdad, than the Re⯑putation [257]of his Affluence ſpread itſelf abroad. In all convivial Meetings among the reſt of the Merchants, as ſoon as his Lips ſeemed to open, every Tongue was ſuſpended with Silence, every Eye gazed at him with Admiration, and every Ear devoured the Periods of his Story with greedy Earneſtneſs. His Voice, which naturally was as rough as the Sound occaſioned by a Colliſion of Billows on the Ocean, now ſeemed as foſt as the fragrant Gale, which pants upon the Leaves of the Arabian Trees.

By this Time Mirgehan's Credit was become ſo exten⯑ſive, that People of all Ranks and Conditions depoſited their Money with him, and he had every Day a very great Number of Servants counting over the Se⯑quins of Gold, which he was either to receive or pay away for others. In the Midſt of all theſe Smiles of Fortune, it happened, that the Relict of a rich Merchant, lately ſnatched away from the Face of the Earth, by the Angel of Death, attracted his Attention. Her Name was Dardanè, born in the City of Damas, and now in the Poſſeſſion of very great Wealth. From the Habits, which Education and Time had implanted in her, ſhe was in her Temper of a moſt greedy Avarice, and a powerful Ambition to be counted richer than the reſt of her Acquaintance; urged by theſe Inſtigations, ſhe be⯑ſtowed her lovely Form upon Mirgehan, who, in a ſhort Time, ſo contrived it, that the Roſes faded on her Cheek, the Lilly appeared of a yellower Hue, and by flow Degrees, her Conſtitution received ſuch ſevere Strokes from his Severity, that ſhe totally pined away, and, in a ſhort Time, lay breathleſs on her Bed.

Mirgehan was now happy in the Completion of his Wiſhes; he had got rid of a Wife, whom, notwith⯑ſtanding her exquiſite Beauty, his Soul ever abhorred, and he exulted in the Review of the vaſt Acceſſion to his Fortune, which, through her Means, he had ob⯑tained. [258]His Heatt now began to expand with greater Alacrity, and he reſolved to ſpend the Remainder of his Days in Eaſe, in Elegance, in Luxury, and every delicate Enjoyment. The Dainties of the Eaſt did not ſuffice to crown his Board; he would ſend to the Weſt for Turtle, and every Corner of the Globe adminiſtred to his Gratifications. Not far from Bagdad, he purchaſed a moſt elegant and magnificent Houſe, where he deter⯑mined to fix his country Retreat. The Rooms eter⯑nally reſounded with Singers and Minſtrels; Amber and Aloes contributed their rich Perfumes; and his Tables were covered with Vaſes of Agate, filled with the moſt delicious Liquors. Painting and Sculpture con⯑curred to adorn his Apartments. Mirgehan was led into all this Profuſion by an irreſiſtible Vanity, from which he derived many exquiſite Senſations of Pleaſure; when he found his Wealth and his Poſſeſſions admired, he the more readily ſuffered himſelf to be governed by this Turn of Mind, from a Conviction, that all his grand Appearance of Affluence, ſerved to extend his Reputation, and that, in Conſequence of his extenſive Credit, he ſhould have ample and frequent Opportuni⯑ties of re-imburſing himſelf, by the Uſe he knew to make of the pecuniary Confidence, which others re⯑poſed in him.

Mirgehan was now happy in all the Enjoyments which Riches could procure him; his Heart danced to per⯑petual Tunes of Joy, and the Meanneſs of his Birth he thought ſufficiently compenſated by the Luſtre and Dig⯑nity of his preſent Way of Life. And now, to com⯑pleat his Elevation, and to raiſe himſelf to that Point of Eminence, from which he imagined, he might look down upon moſt of his Fellow-Creatures, Fortune, who had for a Series of Years ſmiled propitiouſly upon all the Undertakings of Mirgehan, at length preſented an Opportunity.

[259]It happened, that the Emperor of Bagdad had Occa⯑ſion, on a particular Emergence in his Affairs, to call together an Aſſembly of the wiſeſt and ableſt Heads in his Territories, in order to aſſiſt his Councils, to help him in framing ſalutary Laws, for the due Regulation of his Subjects, and to point out proper Meaſures for him to levy the Monies neceſſary towards defraying the Expences of his Soldiers, and other Contingences in Government. The Califf reſolved upon this Step, with the Advice of his Vizir, and, in a few Days, Mandates were diſpatched to ſundry different Parts, commanding the Provinces and Towns to depute to the general Di⯑van, two Perſons the moſt renowned for Sagacity and Judgment. Mirgehan was at his Country-Seat, when he heard this News, and his Paſſions being violent as the eddying Sand during a Tempeſt; he inſtantly con⯑ceived a Deſire to be enrolled among the moſt diſtin⯑guiſhed Politicians of Bagdad.

Accordingly he forthwith ſet out upon this Expedi⯑tion; but he had not gone far from his own Habitation, when travelling a ſolitary Road, over a long extended Mountain, the Heat of the Day, together with the Fatigue he had undergone, inclined him to ſtop under a ſhady Retreat, and refreſh his Senſes with a gentle Slumber. From this he was ſoon awakened by a Strain of Muſick, which thrilled ſo melodiouſly in his Ears, that he thought Gleams of Paradiſe were opening to his dazled Sight. He looked around, and ſaw a reverend Form advance towards him; Mirgehan aroſe from the Arbour, in which he was reclined; and inſtantly throw⯑ing himſelf on his Knees, he worſhipped the venerable Appearance which ſtood before him. This Perſonage was an holy Hermit, who long inhabited a ſmall Man⯑ſion on the Side of a Rock, which terminated the Pro⯑ſpect on the left Side of the Mountain. Being endowed with a magic Power, he called forth to his Sight ſuch [260]beautiful Scenes, as looked like a new Creation. Mir⯑gehan's Heart throbbed with holy Rapture. At length the hoary Sage began. ‘Mirgehan, I know thy Pur⯑poſe; I am acquainted with thy Deſign in this thy Journey. But reflect, O Man! on the Obſcurity of thy Birth, and the Meanneſs of thy Education. Canſt thou confer Light to the Councils of the Wiſe? Canſt thou diſpel the Miſt from before their Eyes, and let in powerful Irradiations of Truth upon their darkling Underſtandings? Deſiſt, vain Man, from thy ill-founded Purſuits.’ At theſe Words the vene⯑rable Hermit waved his Wand, and ſuddenly the Scene vaniſhed like a Morning-Dream from Mirgehan's Eyes. After having again raiſed his Arm; ‘Now, ſays he, let the Objects that are placed before thee inſtruct thy Soul; there behold how eaſily thou mighteſt have ſquandered away all thoſe Poſſeſſions, which thy Soul delights in for a mere empty Bubble. There ſee an Election for two Perſons to aſſiſt in the Debates for the Eaſe and Happineſs of the Califf, and his People; ſee the Blind, the Lame, the Old, the In⯑firm, the Sick arriving in Caravans, to vote for thoſe who pay them higheſt. See how they all ſolemnly vow by the holy Prophet, that Money has no Influ⯑ence upon them; and yet behold how in private they graſp the Sequins of Gold! Does not thy Heart, which has fixed all its Affections upon thy yellow Dirt, tremble within thee, to think that in this Man⯑ner all thy Wealth might be ſquandered away, and thou not be able to render the leaſt Service to the Califf, thy Country, or thy Family? That this is the Fate of many, who, like thee, have aroſe from mean Beginnings, and have, in their old Days, proved mere Spendthrifts, thou may'ſt receive ocular Demonſtration, by ſurveying thoſe Wretches, who are now deſpiſed by their Country, deteſted by their [261]Relations, and deſpiſed by the Vizier, in whoſe Ser⯑vice they exhauſted all their Treaſures.’

Here Zemroude (for that was the Hermit's Name) perceiving the Affections of Mirgehan perfectly changed, diſperſed into the Air his new Creation, returned with ſolemn Step to his Cell under the Rock, and Mirgehan ordered his Camels to be turned towards Bagdad, where he ſpent the Remainder of his Days in Eaſe and Con⯑tent; and, at his Death, he left thoſe Sums of Gold, which he was going to ſquander in viſionary Schemes, among his Relations, who now live in Affluence, and the Memory of Mirgehan is reſpected among them.

THERE is not a Species of Writing which has not had its particular Admirer, and various Affirmations have been made con⯑cerning the Excellence of each. The famous Doctor South was of Opinion, that a complete Epigram is the Maſter-piece of Compoſition; and Mr. Addiſon calls a perfect Tragedy the nobleſt Production of Human Nature. The Truth of it is, each Perſon has delivered his Sentiments agreeably to his own private Temper, and his own peculiar Turn of Thinking. Doctor South excelled in lively and ſurprizing Strokes of Wit; every new Combination, which he formed in the vivacious Sallies of his Imagination, was Epi⯑gram in itſelf, and we find all his Writings ſown ex⯑tremely thick with unexpected Aſſemblages; and on [263]this Account we may ſuppoſe him inclinable to extol his own favourite Talent. In like Manner, Mr. Addiſon had employed many of his Hours in planning his Tra⯑gedy of Cato, and after it had received the moſt con⯑ſummate Poliſh, which his Skill could beſtow upon it, it was to be exhibited as the greateſt Production of hu⯑man Wit. But the Aſſertions of great Men, when they are unſuſtained by Argument, are not to be conſi⯑dered as Decrees from which there can be no Appeal: Tragedy moſt certainly can only claim the ſecond Place, becauſe it is manifeſt, that all the Powers of Genius, viz. Imagination, Eloquence and Reaſon, may be exerted in their full Force in the Epic Compoſition, whereas in Tragedy they frequently ſuffer great Limi⯑tation. The ſame Thing, which on many Occaſions makes Tragedy the moſt powerful Performance, ſerves alſo to diveſt it of thoſe Advantages which give great Brilliancy to heroic Poeſy, and that is, its coming im⯑mediately before the Eye. It is juſtly remarked by Horace, that what is conveyed to our Notice through our Ears, acts with a more feeble Impulſe upon the Mind, than Objects that paſs through the Organs of Sight, thoſe faithful Evidences in a mental Court of Judicature.

For this Reaſon many Paſſages, in which the Epic Wrietr warms and expands the Imagination of his Readers with the nobleſt Exhibitions of poetic Imagery, are entirely excluded from the dramatic Scene; the Eye will not ſuffer itſelf eaſily to be deluded, and all the Amazement of Machinery is alſo for the ſame Reaſon totally ſuperſeded. A God, ſays the Critic, ſhould [264]not be introduced, unleſs the Occaſion ſhould peremp⯑torily require a ſupernatural Agent; he had ſaid better, if he had abſolutely interdicted the Appearance. We may in reading ſuffer ſuch an Incident to be impoſed upon us; but the Eye would be too much ſhocked with ſuch Repreſentations, and, of Courſe, the Mar⯑vellous is entirely baniſhed. Beſides Tragedy will not admit any extraordinary Diſplay of pure Poetry, or De⯑ſcription; the heroic Poet for the moſt Part ſpeaks in his own Perſon, and it is expected of him to pay great Court to our Imagination; but the Dialogue of Perſo⯑nages, engaged in a Sphere of Action, intended to intereſt the Auditors, will not allow them to take up the Scene with florid Exhibitions of rural Imagery; ſuch as Brooks, murmuring in ſcanty Rills through peb⯑bled Channels, &c. The following Lines in the Mouth of Caliſta in the Fair Penitent may be extremely pictureſque, if conſidered as pure Deſcription, but if conſidered with regard to the Situation of Character, they are certainly very inartificial and undramatic.

Hence then we find, that in the Regions of Fancy, the Drama muſt yield to the Epic, and as this is a very conſiderable Part of Poeſy, I think it determines the Precedence. In the Art of Eloquence, and in all Applications to our Reaſon, Tragedy can boaſt full Room for the moſt vigorous Exertion. The Drama may be full as ſentimental as any other Kind of Writ⯑ings; [265]nay its Excellence frequently conſiſts in being ſo, and with Regard to the Paſſions, the Mode of Imitation, renders its Influence more forcible, and when we are deceived into a Notion that the Perſonages are actually ſuffering Diſtreſs before our Eyes, the Performance aſ⯑ſumes a Kind of Reality, and more keen and intenſer Senſations agitate our Breaſts, than in Pieces where the Deſcription is left to operate upon us without any other Aid than that of lively and impaſſioned Expreſſions. Virgil, I apprehend, was as ſkilful a Maſter of the Paſſions as any Writer, ancient or modern; and though the Paſſions of his Dido are drawn with as ſtrong and glowing Colourings, as Language can beſtow; though their various ſtrugglings are all finely and cloſely marked, though all their Viciſſitudes, Veerings and Doublings, if I may ſo call them, are finely touched; yet, I be⯑lieve, Shakeſpear's Lear and Othello have made much more lively and deep Impreſſions upon an Audience, than ever the former has done upon his Admirers in the Cloſet.

Theſe Advantages, however, are derived to the tragic Queen from ſupernumerary Embelliſhments, and from the Labours of another Art, I mean that of acting, which is in itſelf a Mode of Imitation, and ſerves to render the Touches of the Writer more ſtriking, and more feelingly expreſſive. This Superiority the Drama certainly has over the Epic, and in Conſequence of all its additional Aids, it can boaſt a more powerful Com⯑mand over the human Heart. It imitates the very Voice of Nature, and ſpeaks the ſame ſimple and af⯑fecting Language. All that Profuſion of Figures, which mere Poetry admits, is diſcarded from the Stage. When I mention Figures, I muſt obſerve, that Men of critical Knowledge have juſtly diſtinguiſhed between Figures of Speech, and Figures of the Sentiment; the former [266]including Metaphor and all Tranſtations of Phraſes, and the latter conſiſting of ſuch Breaks and Tranſitions in Diſcourſe, as the Mind is known to make when under the Compunction of warring Paſſions. As for Inſtance, when the Poet ſays of Dido, that ſhe is devoured by an inward Flame. ‘Et caeco carpitur igne.’ He then expreſſes Love by a ſigurative Expreſſion; but when he ſays, ‘Ignoſcenda quidem, ſcirent ſi ignoſcere manes.’ The Repetition expreſſes the natural workings of the Mind, when other Ideas are awakened, and ſerve to ex⯑cite a new Conflict of Paſſions. The uſe of theſe kind of Figures in Tragedy ſhould be as free and bold as poſſible, and with Reſpect to Expreſſion, no other Re⯑gard is to be paid to it, than to chuſe ſuch Words as may be moſt ſignificantly pictureſque, in order to have the more lively Effect on the Imagination, the Paſſions being then in a ſtronger Ferment when lively Images are preſented to the Fancy.

I believe our Shakeſpear is almoſt the only Poet who has excelled in a maſterly Power of ſtriking the Imagi⯑nation, the Heart, and our Reaſon all at once; but in him Poetry, Sentiment, and Paſſion are combined in the moſt agreeable Aſſemblage. In his Tragedy of Macbeth, there are ſeveral ſurprizing Strokes of this Nature. Amidſt a great Variety of Inſtances, the following Lines are introduced with a Solemnity ſuitable to the Occa⯑ſion, and they carry with them a pleaſing Kind of gloomy Imagery.

[267]The Soliloquy in the Tent-Scene of Richard the Third is alſo a further Inſtance of the ſame Beauty, though by the Way it may not be improper to obſerve, notwith⯑ſtanding we muſt allow that Mr. Cibber was in the right to tranſplant Shakeſpear's own Words, that they are not perfectly ſuitable to the Character of Richard; and I believe had our great Poet thought of ſhewing his Hero in this Situation, he would have ſhewed Richard's Feel⯑ings quite otherwiſe on ſuch an Occaſion.

To conclude: Ariſtotle was certainly miſtaken when he called the Fable the Life and Soul of Tragedy; the Art of conſtructing the dramatic Story ſhould always be ſubſervient to the Exhibition of Character, our great Shakeſpear has breathed another Soul into Tragedy, which has found the Way of ſtriking an Audience with Sentiment and Paſſion at the ſame Time.

AMONG all the Writers, who have diſ⯑canted on the Britiſh Conſtitution, I have not met with any one, that ſeems to be thoroughly acquainted with the Subject. An ingenious Friend of mine, who furniſhed me with an Eſſay ſome Time ſince, reduces our preſent Party-Diviſions into Garrickeans and Barryiſts; but this is not going to the Bottom of Things. The famous Mon⯑teſquien has performed, in my humble Apprehenſion, as little towards a Detection of the Root of the Evil, tho' he ſeems to perceive, with a Kind of prophetic Spirit, the Declenſion of Britiſh Liberty. The great Locke, who has treated, in a very maſterly Manner of Government, does not any where give us a Clue to guide our Re⯑ſearch, and after glowing with Bolingbroke through a Number of Pages, we are as much in the Dark as ever. England can never be undone but by a Parliament, ſays the excellent Author of the Uſe and abuſe of Parliaments; but even there, we are again put upon a wrong Scent. The Truth of the Matter is, ENGLAND CAN NEVER BE UNDONE BUT BY THE MOB. I am aware, this may at firſt Sight appear a Paradox; but a Retroſpect to the Behaviour of that Body of People, will convince every intelligent Mind of the Truth of this Aſſertion.

The Generality of political Writers have waſted a great Deal of Paper in ſettling the various Forms of Government; one, ſay they, is a Monocracy; another is an Ariſtocracy; a third is a Democracy, and the Britiſh Conſtitution, they inform us, is of the mixed Spe⯑cies; [270]conſiſting of a Coalition of all three. But furely a little Obſervation will point out to us, that they have all paſſed by unnoticed another Mode of civil Policy, which cannot be called by a better Name than a Mobo⯑cracy, under which this Country has been for many Years paſt, and in all human Probability will continue ſo for a long Period ſtill to come; nay, I will be bold to ſay, until Monocracy, Ariſtocracy, and Democracy are all ſwallowed up by this alone.

There is hardly ever a Bill brought before the ho⯑nourable the Houſe of Commons, but the Scope of it is immediately canvaſſed in an Aſſembly of the Mobo⯑cracy; where if it paſſes in the Negative, a Deputation is forthwith ſent by them to the Parliament-Houſe, where, though their Remonſtrances are not heard at the Bar, they nevertheleſs enforce their Arguments with ſuch a truly Britiſh Eloquence, that they never fail to have a due Degree of Influence upon the Debates within Doors. On theſe Occaſions, they generally make uſe of a Rule of Logick, which indeed is not mentioned by Ariſtotle, but which is always found of great Efficacy in all Di⯑ſputes. The Mode of Reaſoning I mean, is the Argu⯑mentum Boculinum, a nervous Exertion of which, ac⯑companied with all the Force of the moſt vigorous Lungs, has over ruled many an intended Act, when it happens not to pleaſe in the Councils of the common People. The Mobecracy have further the legiſlative and executive Part of their Laws in their own Hands, and we find them very frequent in a diligent Attention to them. For Inſtance, though the common Law of Eng⯑land has provided a proper Puniſhment for Pickpockets. The Mobocracy has reconſidered that Matter, and, after mature Deliberation, have deviſed a Correction, in their Opinion, more adequate to the Offence, and whenever any one is found to incur the Penalty of their Law, they immediately proceed to Execution, without Judge or Jury, which, in their Apprehenſion, ſerve but to retard [271]the Courſe of Juſtice, and therefore they ſeize the De⯑linquent, and, without Delay, duck him in the River, the Canal in St. James's Park, or the next Pool of Water. On all theſe Occaſions, it is obſervable, that they take infinite Delight in ſeeing the proper Puniſh⯑ment inflicted, as may be obſerved from the Acclama⯑tions, the Huzzas &c. wherewith their Burſt of Joy rends the Air. In like Manner, the Pillory is ſome Times ordained by the Statute Law of England, in or⯑der to expoſe ſuch Tranſgreſſors as deſerve to be ſet up the Marks of public Shame; on every Occurrence of this Nature, Wiſdom is ſure to cry out in the Streets, and the award of the Judges is determined by a popular Circle to be juſt or unjuſt. When once they have pro⯑nounced Sentence, the Perſon doomed to make his Ap⯑pearance is ſure either to meet with their Protection, or to call forth the utmoſt Indignation of an incenſed Populace. Nay, it has been known that theſe perpe⯑tual Dictators have proceeded ſo far as to reſcue Felons, condemned to ſuffer Death, from the Hands of the pro⯑per Officers, and generouſly to have recalled the Death-Warrant. In many Parts of England they have an im⯑placable Averſion to Turnpikes, and it is ſaid they will never be at Reſt, until they have entirely demoliſhed thoſe diſagreeable Paſſports. I remember to have heard a Story of theſe People, which I think may ſerve to give the Reader a tolerable Idea of their arbitrary Power. Not very long ſince three Indian Kings came to viſit this Metro⯑polis, and, after they had ſeen moſt Places of Curioſity, a Play was at length advertized by Command of their Indian Majeſties. The Mobocracy, who have entirely exploded all Notions of the Right Divine of Kings, and who, in Fact, conſider crowned Heads as no more than common Men, took care to attend at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, in order to ſurvey the ſwarthy Monarchs. At length the Curtain drew up, but in vain did the Players attempt to begin the Diverſion of [272]the Night The Mobocracy, who had Poſſeſſion of the Upper Gallery, declared that they came to ſee the Kings, ‘and ſince we have ſaid our Money, the Kings we will have.’ Whereupon Mr. Wilks, who was then one of the Patentees, came forth and aſſured them that the Kings were in the Front-Box; to this the Mo⯑bocracy replied, that they could not ſee them there, and defired that they ſhould be placed in a more conſpicuous point of View, ‘otherwiſe, by G—d Jack, there ſhall be no Play.’ Mr. Wilks who was not in his Heart of Mo⯑bocratical Principles, yet loved his own Intereſt ſo well, that he always knew how to be an occaſional Conformiſt, aſſured them that he had nothing ſo much at Heart as their Happineſs, and accordingly got three Chairs and placed the Kings on the Stage, to the no ſmall Satisfaction of the Mobocracy, with whom it is a Maxim to have as much as poſſible for their Money. From hence it ap⯑pears that the Power of the Multitude is perfectly Dicta⯑torial; and, indeed, in all Ages the Managers of Play⯑houſes have acquieſced under the Gallery-Juriſdiction. Mr. Garrick, I am credibly informed, notwithſtanding the ſubmiſſive Bows he occaſionally makes them, is not entirely reconciled to their Government, and, it is ſaid, is very apt to quote certain treaſonable Words from Horace, implying that the Vulgar have no claim to In⯑ſallibility. Interdum Vulgus Rectum videt, eſt ubi peccat. My Intelligence further adds, that he has ſuppreſſed many Schemes for adding Novelty to the Amuſements of the Public, from a Fear he has conceived of the many-headed Monſter of the Gallery; nay, he will at Times carry Matters ſo far as to pronounce their Beha⯑viour illegal, arbitrary, &c. and, when they broke all the Windows of his Dwelling-Houſe, ſo diſcontented a Spirit poſſeſſed him, that he would by no Means ac⯑knowledge the Juſtice of their Proceedings.

Be that as it may; it is certain one diſſaffected Per⯑ſon cannot withſtand the Mobocratical Power, which it [273]is manifeſt has gained great Strength of late Years, and, I am perſuaded, will continue to flouriſh more and more every Day. They have many wiſe Maxims by which they govern themſelves; ſuch as, "no wooden Shoes", —"Liberty and Property and no Exciſe"—‘no French Dancers’—"no Mounſeers"—Let every Man toaſt his own Cheeſe, &c. ſuch prudential Axioms, founded on the ſobereſt Senſe, muſt undoubtedly con⯑tribute to render their Adminiſtration both wiſe and proſperous. It does not appear that they have made any great Progreſs in the modern Art of War; on the contrary, there is Reaſon to ſuppoſe that they all hold it in Contempt; as it is certain that on many Occaſions, when our mixed Form of Government has endeavoured to oppoſe them, by ſending the Soldiery againſt them, they have always laughed at the Military Force, and re⯑pelled them from the Aſſault, without their daring to Fire. Their Military Diſcipline ſeems to be derived from the Romans; they know no Uſe of Cannon, Fire-Arms, &c. but proceed to Battle with Sticks, Bludgeons, ſetting up loud Shouts, ſomewhat like the War-hoop of the Indians, and hurling Stones, Brickbats, Bottles, Glaſſes, &c. with tremendous Force on the adverſe Party. They are likewiſe totally Strangers to all Re⯑ſinements of modern Luxury; Bread and Cheeſe, and Porter being their chief Suſtenance; Gin being only uſed by them when they are low-ſpirited, or are going to be hanged. They do not paint their Bodies with Woad, like the ancient Britons, but generally with Kennel-Dirt, which lends them a formidable Air in Battle Thus enured to Danger, it will be no wonder if the Mobocracy at length becomes Maſters of this King⯑dom, which, as I conceive it, muſt ſhortly be the Caſe, unleſs the Vices of People of Faſhion ſhould deſcend to them, and retard them in their Progreſs. Of this, I muſt own I am inclined to cheriſh ſome Hopes, as I am in⯑formed, that, in ſome Parts of the Town, they drink, [274]and game and ſwear, and are full as wicked as the better Sort of People. Particularly in Hockly the Hole, I am told, that they have a Place called White's Chocolate⯑houſe, that clean Lodgings for Travellers are dearer than ever, and that you cannot any where Shave for a Penny, the Depravity of the Times having raiſed the Prices of every Thing there, as well as at the St. James's End of the Town.

A Riſtotle informs us that Homer wrote a Co⯑mic-Epic Poem entitled Margites, which to the no ſmall Detriment of ſucceeding Ages, is unfortunately loſt. To this Spe⯑cies of Poeſy, we may ſuppoſe Comedy has the ſame Reference, that the Tragic bears to the Heroic. For my Part, I cannot conceive why a good Comedy has never been ſtiled by thoſe, who are fond of deciding literary Precedence, the greateſt Production of human Nature. Certainly its conſiſting of known and familiar Ideas, ſhould not derogate from its Merit, becauſe on Account of that very Circumſtance, it meets with leſs Indulgence; the Buſineſs of it coming more near to every Man's Breaſt, and, of Courſe, the very Vulgar being in ſome Meaſure Judges of the Juſtneſs of the Imitation; whereas, in Tragedy, frigid Declamation lulls, florid Epithets amuſe, lofty Metaphors amaze, and ſonorous Expreſſions elevate and ſurprize.

As Tragedy aims more particularly at an Excitement of the ſerious Paſſions, ſo the chief Merit of Comedy conſiſts in its Effect on the merry Affections of the hu⯑man Mind; the former principally awakening Sen⯑ſations of Terro, and Pity, and the latter giving Emo⯑tions of a gay Contempt, as it is elegantly called, or in plainer Engliſh, making us deſpiſe and laugh at an Ob⯑ject at the ſame Time. To ſucceed in this laſt men⯑tioned Mode of Writing, it requires as fine and as lively [277]an Imagination as any of the other imitative Arts; for as it is manifeſt, that the Tragic Poet then excites in us the moſt intenſe Senſations, when his Expreſſions con⯑vey the livelieſt Images to the Fancy, ſo the Comic Poet, when he ſeizes the Imagination with a bright Aſſemblage of ludicrous Ideas, is ſure of agitating thoſe Paſſions, to which his Art directs him, with an irre⯑ſiſtible Power. And therefore this Animadverſion is ſufficient to put an End to that idle Diſpute, which, as we learn from Horace, engaged the Learned, viz. Whether Comedy might be called Poetry or not.

It is manifeſt that it is an imitative Art, and different Paſ⯑ſions being the Objects of its Addreſs, it only makes uſe of Means different from the more elevated Species of Writing; but ſurely it is full as hard a Taſk to paint or⯑dinary Things, as Objects of more Importance; and, in my Opinion, Virgil's Line which deſcribes an old Woman running acroſs Dido's Apartment with officious Zeal, ‘Illa gradum ſtudio celerabat anili,’ Is as pictureſque and has as much Merit as the Deſcrip⯑tion of the ambroſial Locks of Venus.

The Comic Writer, as well as the Tragedian, muſt derive his Force from the true primary Sources of Com⯑poſition; that is to ſay, he muſt learn to ſeize our Ima⯑ginations, with ſtriking Pictures of human Life; he muſt inſtruct our Reaſon by inſerting ſenſible Obſerva⯑tions on worldly Contingencies, and he muſt alſo fre⯑quently apply himſelf to thoſe Paſſions which it is the Merit of his Art to awaken. In this laſt mentioned [278]Particular conſiſts the real Merit of a well wrought Comedy; in like Manner as the ſerious Drama muſt fill us with Ideas proper to excite Terror and Pity. To obtain either Effect, the Poet is to ſelect ſuch Cir⯑cumſtances in every Object, in every Paſſion, and in every Action, as will be moſt conducive to his peculiar End, and he is conſtantly to avail himſelf of ſuch Ex⯑preſſions as will ſerve to convey the livelieſt Images to the Fancy. When this is rightly performed, whether in the ſolemn or humourous Scene, it is true Poetry, and in either caſe it is by the Means of a Mode of Elo⯑quence, that the Art produces its deſired Effect. For Ridicule, by which Comedy works, is as much a Mode of Eloquence, as the ſeveral Arts of Perſuaſion, and the ſeveral Figures, which Rhetoric has reduced into a Syſtem for the Excitement of the more ſerious Paſſions.

The Diſpute that ſubſiſted among the Learned for a conſiderable Time, and is perhaps not yet determined, viz. Whether Ridicule is a Teſt of Truth, is, in my humble Opinion, extremely idle and frivolous; the Fa⯑culty of Reaſon, which compares our Ideas, and fu⯑ſtains or rejects the various Affirmations concerning them, being the ſole Judge of Truth, however com⯑plicated the Means may be by which it gains its End. I have often wondered, that neither Ariſtotle, Tully, nor Quintilian, have given a juſt and adequate Deſinition of Ridicule. To ſay that it conſiſts in raiſing our Laugh⯑ter at ſome Turpitude, is a very inſufficient Account of the Matter. Mr. Fulding, in his Preface to his Joſeph Andrews, has thrown ſome Light upon the Matter, but as he places the Source of it in Affectation, he appears to me not to have taken a comprehenſive Survey of his Subject. I apprehend the Ridiculous may be formed, where there is no Affectation at the Bottom, and his Parſon Adams I take to be an Inſtance of this Aſſertion.

[279]The beſt and moſt accurate Deſinition I have ever met with of the Ridiculous is in a Note of Doctor Aken⯑ſide's to his excellent Poem on the Pleaſures of Imagina⯑tion. ‘That, ſays he, which makes Objects ridiculous is ſome Ground of Admiration or Eſteem connected with other more general Circumſtances, compara⯑tively worthleſs or deformed; or it is ſome Circum⯑ſtances of Turpitude or Deformity connected with⯑what is in general excellent or beautiful; the incon⯑ſiſtent Properties exiſting either in the Objects them⯑ſelves, or in the Apprehenſion of the Perſon to whom they relate, implying Sentiment or Deſign, and exciting no acute or vehement Emotion of the Heart.’ The Effect which the Circumſtances thus ſpecified have upon us he thus deſines; ‘the Senſation of Ridicule is not a bare Perception of the Agreement or Diſagreement of Ideas, but a Paſſion or Emotion of the Mind conſequential to that Perception.’

The Emotions here intended are Laughter and Con⯑tempt, and theſe it is the Buſineſs of Comedy to excite, by making ſtriking Exhibitions of inconſiſtent Circum⯑ſtances, blended together in ſuch a thwarting Aſſem⯑blage, that a gay Contempt irreſſiſtibly ſhall take poſſeſ⯑ſion of us. To perform this in all Objects which come before the Comic Muſe, in Men and Manners, in all Actions and Paſſions, requires a very delicate Hand, and it frequently is neceſſary to have an almoſt micro⯑ſcopic Eye to perceive the latent Inconſiſtency in Cir⯑cumſtances ſeemingly fair and praiſe-worthy. Prion has expreſſed this with his uſual Delicacy;

In producing Portraits of Mankind it is not enough to diſplay Foibles and Oddities; a fine Vein of Ridi⯑cule muſt run through the whole, to urge the Mind to [280]frequent Emotions of Laughter; otherwiſe there will be Danger of exhibiting diſagreeable Characters with⯑out affording the proper Entertainment I think Ben Johnſon extremely apt to err in this Point; his Moroſe, is a ſurly, ill-natured, abſurd Humouriſt, whom we can hardly laugh at, and he ſoon becomes very bad Company. Many of Johnſon's Characters are of the ſame Caſt, while in Shakeſpear's Falſtaff, the ridiculous Ideas are placed in ſuch an artful Point of View, that our Merriment can never be reſtrained, whenever Sir John appears. Congreve in my Opinion had a great Deal of the ſame Talent, and what I have ſomewhere ſeen objected to him, that many of his Characters are obvious in human Life, is with me a ſtrong Proof of his ſuperior Genius. An Old Batchelor, for Inſtance, is very common, but he muſt paſs through ſuch an Imagination as Congreve's to ſupport ſeveral Scenes in the Drama with the moſt exquiſite Pleaſantry; tho' the Character was not new, yet his Management of it has all the Graces of Novelty, and the Situations in which we ſee him are all exquiſitely ridiculous. Perſonages of this Claſs, unleſs artfully conducted, may very ſoon tire an Audience, but in this excellent Poet's Hands nothing ſuffers a Diminution. The ſame, I think, ap⯑pears in his Sir Paul Plyant, in which Character there is perhaps as much Comic Force as in any one Piece on the Stage. Sir John Vanbrugh was alſo a perfect Maſter of his Art in this Reſpect, and of this his Sir John Brute is a remarkable Proof. The Knight is conſtantly di⯑verting us with an odd whimſical Way of Thinking, which at once ſerves to diſplay his own Foibles, and en⯑tertains his Audience with a Pleaſantry of which he ſeems all along totally unconſcious himſelf.

It is therefore by placing the Humours and Foibles of human Nature in a ridiculous Light, that the true Comic Force is created. The Author of the Pleaſures of Imagination, whom I have already quoted, has judi⯑ciouſly [281]explained each Part of the Deſinition cited above, and has finely traced the ſeveral Sources from which true Ridicule ſprings. Whoever chuſes to conſider the Matter will find Affectation to be but one Spring, how⯑ever diffuſive the Streams of it may be. To the Poem itſelf I beg leave to refer my Readers, and I ſhall diſmiſs this Paper, with obſerving, that the whole Beauty of the Comic Diction conſiſts in the Words and Phraſes being ſo choſen as to give to the Mind the moſt lively Impreſſion of known and familiar Images, and at the ſame Time the ſtrongeſt Marks of Character and each Perſon's peculiar Temper.

HAVING in my laſt offered ſome curſory Remarks upon RIDICULE, I ſhall in this Day's Paper take Notice of a Species of Writing, which on Account of ſome Af⯑finity between them, is often ſuppoſed to be the ſame with the Ridiculous; and yet, upon an attentive View of the Matter, it appears to be a Mode of Compoſi⯑tion introduced by Men of Genius in order to fall in with that Propenſity to Laughter, which prevails with all Mankind in general. What I here intend is Bur⯑leſque; to mark its Boundaries, its Procedure and Ex⯑tent, will be no improper Subject among theſe Eſſays, which only pretend now and then to glance ſo much Light upon Matters of this Nature, as may ſerve to illu⯑ſtrate them to the Unlearned.

It muſt be remembered, that as the Ridiculous conſiſts in a Coalition of Circumſtances repugnant to each other in their own Natures, but yet whimſically blended to⯑gether in any Object, any human Action or Paſſion, to call forth this Inconſiſtency to public View, and to ſhew the heterogeneous Aſſemblage, in ſuch a Manner as to provoke the Mind to laugh at it with Contempt, is to exert the rare and excellent talent of Ridicule, and as this when well executed is attended with fine conſe⯑quential Effects, the Lovers of Burleſque will not wait to diſcover a real Incongruity, but by the Force of their own Imaginations they create it for themſelves, and by [284]obtruding Circumſtances, which perhaps do not belong to the Object, they are frequently very ſucceſsful in rendering Things apparently ridiculous, which to an attentive Eye may not wear the motly Livery, however it may ſerve the Purpoſes of Mirth to inveſt it with it. In order to explain more fully what is here inſiſted on, it may not be improper to lay before the Reader a few Inſtances of the Ridiculous, and alſo of Burleſque, which may in ſome Meaſure ſerve to render this Matter ſtill more intelligible and clear.

When Fielding's Parſon Adams in Diſtreſs at an Inn, retires very gravely with a London Bookſeller to raiſe Money upon ſome Manuſcript Sermons, I believe the diſſonant Circumſtances in this Caſe ſtrike very forcibly, and our Laughter is ſtill urged with greater Impetuo⯑ſity, when, after having travelled a great many Miles from his own Place of Abode towards London, with no other Buſineſs upon Earth, but to diſpoſe of theſe Ser⯑mons, we hear the Parſon not being able to find them, very gravely ſay, ‘I proteſt I believe I left them be⯑hind me.’ When the ſame Perſonage aſſures us, that he is very rich, and then adds, that he does not ſay it by way of boaſting or complying with worldly Vanity, but to ſhew that he can live well on the Road, and, to confirm this, produces half a Guinea, the Dif⯑ference between his Opinion and the ſmall Value of the Piece, and this too from a Clergyman, a Scholar, and in many Things a Man of excellent Underſtanding, produces an Emotion of Laughter attended in this In⯑ſtance with a Contempt for Adams's Want of Know⯑ledge of the World. In like manner, when Don Quixote very gravely ſays, that he has ſeen the Sea, and that it is much larger than the River at La Mancha, we can⯑not help laughing at a Man who has formed his Ideas of Things by what he has ſeen at his own native Place, and to find an inſigniſicant River compared to the Sea, [285]preſents ſuch a repugnant Conjunction of Images, as muſt neceſſarily operate upon our riſible Faculties.