[]YORICK's MEDITATIONS.

MEDITATION upon NOTHING.

WRAPT up in reflection, I long profoundly meditated upon what every body ſpeaks of, and no body underſtands—here ſome ſneerer may perhaps aſk me what I meditated upon—why I medi⯑tated upon the moſt obſtruſe object in nature, to deal plainly with you I meditated upon nothing. Nothing, ſaid I to myſelf, is certainly the moſt [2] unfathomable object in metaphyſics, and yet it has a creative faculty; and if we may believe the philoſophical poet of antiquity, is endowed with a power of producing itſelf.

Trifling, however, as this ſubject may appear, nothing has an impor⯑tance in itſelf which the ſuperficial are not aware of. If we may give credit to ſome of the moſt profound philoſo⯑phers, the whole univerſe was made out of nothing. Nothing is, accord⯑ing to them, the ſource of all being, and in nothing all being muſt end. [3] The greateſt of all philoſophers has declared himſelf for a vacuum, and a vacuum is certainly a down-right nothing. The more I meditate upon nothing, the more I am convinced of its importance. This ſame no⯑thing has been of great ſervice to many an author, I could mention one that has lately filled two whole vo⯑lumes with nothing; the books vaſtly dear; but what does it contain? why juſt nothing, and that proves the au⯑thor's abilities, any blockhead could write if he had ſomething to ſay for himſelf; but he that can write upon nothing muſt furely be a ſuperlative genius. Well, but are not there ſuch things as religion, virtue, and ho⯑nour? no, I deny it; and if you wont [4] take my ipſe dixit, the church will ſhew you that there is nothing in the firſt; the court that there is nothing in the ſecond; and the army and the navy will fully prove that there is nothing in the third. Well, ſome of my impertinent readers may per⯑haps aſk me what I have in view in thus communicating my meditations to the public; why what ſhould I have in view—nothing at all—do but read five or ſix pages more, and you'll ſee I could have nothing in view. We all were created out of no⯑thing, and in nothing we all muſt end, according to the ſyſtem of thoſe ſagacious philoſophers, the materialiſts who have diſcovered that the univerſe was made out of nothing, and that nothing preſides over it.

MEDITATION upon SOMETHING.

LET me now turn my eyes from the vaſt abyſs of non-entity, and fix them a moment upon—ſomething. Let metaphyſicians ſay what they will, ſomething now muſt certainly exiſt, therefore ſomething muſt have exiſted from all eternity—pray every day don't we receive convincing proofs of the exiſtence of ſomething. Per⯑haps my readers may here grow tired of my meditation, ſo much the worſe for them, for I'll maintain it in ſpight of the univerſe that there is ſome⯑thing in it. Let the ſagacious reader that may be tempted to think that this meditation turns upon the ſame ſubject with the former, read only to [6] the end of the page, and then h'll ſee the difference between ſomething and nothing. Some of the malignant and cenſorious may perhaps here ſmell a rat—I think I hear ſome of them ſay, there muſt be ſomething at the bottom of this—he has certainly an ill deſign againſt religion or government—Sir, my intentions are very good, but ſuch readers as you always find ſomething to carp at. How abſtract and inex⯑plicable is the nature of ſomething—how hard is ſomething to be de⯑fined? how hard is it often to be found out? For inſtance now, though every chapter of Triſtram's Life and Opinions teems with ſomething new and extraordinary, many ſuperficial readers have been known to ſay of it [7] —there may be ſomething in it, but for my part it eſcapes me—gentle⯑men, that may very well be; but what has been ſaid of truth, may likewiſe be ſaid of ſomething, viz. that it lies at the bottom of a well—and there, gentlemen, it muſt lie till drawn from thence by the bucket of philoſophy.

MEDITATION upon the THING.

I ASCEND ſtill higher and higher in my meditations—ſtay awhile, ſirs, and you ſhall ſee me aſcend to the ſource where the dim ſpeck of entity began—here, no doubt, ſome lady will interrupt me with a lord, ſir, what do you mean? why no mo⯑deſt woman will read you—oh! fie [8] the thing. So, madam, you think I mean country-matters, but I had no ſuch ſtuff in my thoughts—The thing here meant is what every reader muſt find in a book, or elſe he throws it by, and declares the author to be a damned dull-fellow. You'll perhaps aſk me in what it conſiſts? why, faith I don't know—ſuppoſe I was to aſk you in what the ſmell of the violet conſiſts—could you tell me—you'll doubtleſs anſwer no—becauſe you are no philoſopher—well, but I am, and yet I really know as little of the mat⯑ter as you do yourſelf. Here one of thoſe blockheads who have uſurped the name of philoſopher, would ad⯑vance with a ſupercilious air, that the ſmell of a violet proceeded from cer⯑tain [9] contexture of the ſmall particles of the flower, which is of a nature to affect the organs of thoſe that ſmell it juſt as it does, and no otherwiſe—But what is this but ſaying, that it conſiſts juſt in the very thing in which it conſiſts—but to return from this di⯑greſſion to the thing in queſtion.

It has frequently happened, that a book has been by the public in ge⯑neral looked upon as the thing—and has notwithſtanding been thought a very bad thing by judicious critics—but this has never happened to any thing of mine—whatever I write will by all the world be allowed to be the thing; and if any one ſhould take upon him to aſſert, that this medita⯑tion [10] is not the thing, I muſt beg leave to tell him that he has no taſte—but this is a digreſſion from my ſubject—no matter for that, a di⯑greſſion is quite the thing in a hiſtory, and ſurely it muſt be much more ſo in a meditation. What's a medita⯑tion, but a collection of the reveries of a mind; and what is of a more moving nature than the mind—ſo far from thinking in train, it flies from one ſubject to another, with a ra⯑pidity inexpreſſible—from meditating upon the planetary ſyſtem, it can with eaſe deviate into a meditation upon hobby-horſes, tho' there does not appear to be any conſiderable con⯑nexion between the ideas—and yet Hobbs has affirmed, that thoughts have always ſome connexion.

MEDITATION upon CONSTITUTION.

BUT come let us quit this ob⯑ſtruſe ſubjects, and turn our me⯑ditations to a ſubject which we all underſtand—let us meditate upon the conſtitution, for every body under ſtands that, and many a coffee-houſe politician, who would not have a word to ſay for himſelf, upon ſomething, nothing, or the thing, can hold forth upon the conſtitution for half an hour together, and nobody ever the wiſer. Can like a clock-maker take down all the ſprings and wheels of it, and then put them together as they were before. But here I muſt aſk the con⯑ſtitution's pardon for having compared [12] it to a clock—clocks are ſometimes down, and 'tis well known that our happy conſtitution was never liable to any ſuch accident, though it reſem⯑bles a clock in going ſometimes a little too faſt, and ſometimes a little too ſlow. Here, perhaps, I may be interrupted by ſome impertinent rea⯑der with a quere, how does it go now?—Why, Sir Sneerer, it goes exactly right, and how ſhould it go otherwiſe, when wound up by the hand of a Pit. But, alas! while I thus indulge my meditations, and compare the conſtitution to a clock, I tremble with the apprehenſions of cenſure from another quarter—Some red-hot theologian may very probably fulminate an anathema againſt me, as [13] an adopter of the odious ſyſtem of materialiſm. But, reader, take my word for it that I am herein accuſed unjuſtly, as perhaps the author of the ſpirit of laws was before me. I think ſpirit as neceſſary to move the uni⯑verſe, as to keep the conſtitution ago⯑ing, and make no doubt that if no⯑thing had exiſted but matter, it would have ſtood ſtill from all eter⯑nity. Here, perhaps, the ſame ſneerer may retort upon me, and aſk me, with an air of triumph, is there ſpirit in a clock—no certainly—yet we find that motion can ſubſiſt in ſuch a ma⯑terial machine. Sir, Sneerer, you ſeem to have forgot that the clock was made by an intelligent being, and would ſoon ſtand ſtill for ever, with⯑out [14] the aſſiſtance of ſuch an one to wind it up. Your objection will never have any force till the perpetual mo⯑tion is diſcovered, and when that is once found out, we may expect to ſee a conſtitution incapable of ſuffer⯑ing any revolution. Our glorious conſtitution has ſuffered ſome, but 'tis now ſo well eſtabliſhed that no true Engliſhman can wiſh that it ſhould ever deviate from its preſent princi⯑ples. It has been ſaid indeed of the republic of Venice, that it has been twelve hundred years without a re⯑volution; and the republics of Italy in general, when they boaſt their ſtabi⯑lity, boaſt only the ſtability of their corruptions. How far ſuperior to them is a conſtitution like ours, or [15] like that of ancient Rome, which has ſtruggled through various abuſes and revolutions, till it has at laſt ac⯑quired perfection. Here, methinks, I am interrupted by ſome phyſician, who tells me, with all the gravitiy of his profeſſion, that the body politic re⯑ſembles the body natural, which is never more in danger of being ſeized with an acute diſorder, than when it enjoys a vigorous ſtate of health—this is the obſervation of no leſs a man than the great profeſſor Boerhaave—Oh, lord! doctor, you have frightened me out of my wits with your aphoriſm—I wiſh Boerhaave and you at—Lord, have mercy upon us, and preſerve us from a ſtate-fever, 'tis worſe than a ſtate apoplexy itſelf—but, upon [16] ſecond thoughts, I apprehend that there is not much danger of a ſtate⯑fever, ſince the conſtitution is allowed to be ſomewhat phlegmatic. But now I talk of phlegm, I have ſo long meditated upon the conſtitution, that I can meditate upon it no longer, without the aſſiſtance of a pipe of tobacco, and when 'tis lighted, I may, perhaps, reſume my medita⯑tion; for the aromatic gales of to⯑bacco, inſpire the politician as power⯑fully as coffee itſelf.

MEDITATION on TOBACCO.

I Intended to have continued my meditation upon the conſtitution, but I had not been long wrapt up in the cloudy tabernacle which my tube of clay diffuſed around me, when I was inſenſibly led into a train of me⯑ditations upon the virtues of that leaf, which contributes ſo much to alleviate the cares of mortals; a ſubject which ſeems to have a conſiderable con⯑nexion with the former, as the con⯑ſtitution is, upon many accounts, highly indebted to tobacco. Bleſt leaf, cried I in an extacy, how ex⯑tenſive and powerful is thy influence, thou aideſt the meditations of the [18] oriental, and doſt conſpire with ſopo⯑riferous opium to fill his mind with rapturous ideas of paradiſe, were it not for thee the poor unhappy negro, would ſink under the weight of his labours. The politician without thee could not adjuſt the ballance of Eu⯑rope to his ſatisfaction; the publi⯑can would loſe much of his cuſtom; and the bunter his favourite amuſe⯑ment; in fine, were it not for thee the world would have been deprived of many uſeful and learned treatiſes; and what is worſe than all, would never have ſeen this meditation.

Poets ſeek rural ſhades and purling ſtreams; but the writer that aims at conveying ſolid inſtruction, delights [19] in thoſe modern Lyceums where the fume of tobacco conſpires with port, or porter to ſuggeſt ideas, and enlarge the ſoul. Oh! ſhame eternal to the Britiſh fair, tobacco is their averſion; but ſtill thou art not entirely aban⯑doned by the ſex; the ſage dames of Holland ſmoke as much as their huſ⯑bands, and many a Jeweſs have I ſeen at Grand Cairo with a pipe in her mouth. Thy importance too is fully acknowledged by mankind, and not without reaſon, ſince they every day ſee we ſo many enterpriſes of great pith and moment vaniſh into ſmoke. Thy diſcoveries are likewiſe numerous, for is it not uſual to ſmoke the juſtice; to ſmoke the parſon; to ſmoke the jeſt; and, in fine, to ſmoke [20] every thing that has any thing in it to be ſmoked; inſomuch, that the cobler himſelf has not eſcaped being ſmoked. Here the critics may, per⯑haps, cry out damn'd dull; but let them look to it, for ſhould they pre⯑tend to cenſure my meditations, I'll make the critics ſmoke. Tobacco! thou moſt grateful incenſe to the gods in the upper gallery, without thee how inſipid would be the character of Abel Drugger—how taſteleſs would be wine, punch, and porter without thee? 'Twas a maxim with the an⯑cients, that ſine Baccho, friget Venus, that love is cold without wine; but how much more juſt is the maxim, that wine is cold without tobacco? Oh, doubly a friend to converſation! [21] thou openeſt the heart to ſocial con⯑verſe, and doſt, at the ſame time, afford relief to the man of few words, by furniſhing him with an excuſe for his taciturnity. Oh! friend to learn⯑ing and the muſes, by thee the Ox⯑ford ſcholar is as much edified as by Ramus or Smigleſuco, and perhaps much more. The great Socrates, and the divine Plato, were but mean phi⯑loſophers with all their learning, nor ſhould we wonder at it, there was no tobacco ſmoked in their ages, that would have exalted their conceptions, and raiſed their ſouls to the moſt ſub⯑lime contemplations. What honour then is due to the glorious memory of Lane, who firſt introduced the uſe of the divine leaf into this our country. [22] Make him your modern bards, who, in genius and abilities, ſo much ſurpaſs all who went before you—make him the ſubject of your choiceſt lays. He is juſtly entitled to your gratitude, ſince tobacco ſo much contributes to make your inſpirer beer go down. Wrapt up in ſmoke, and in this plea⯑ſing theme, I could with pleaſure dwell upon it till to-morrow morning, but I muſt quit my ſubject, though much againſt my will, for hark, the bell ſounds, my candle is burnt out, and I have not ſo much as a flint to ſtrike a light, ſo I muſt go to bed, and there dream or meditate till to-morrow.

MEDITATION on NOSES.

FROM meditating upon tobacco, which I conſidered in one of its uſes only, I was inſenſibly led to me⯑ditate upon ſnuff, which, with ſuch propriety, become the noſes of the nobility and gentry, but my attention was ſoon called off from this object to the conſideration of ſomething of much greater importance, I mean the noſe itſelf. It was formerly cuſto⯑mary to judge of a man's underſtand⯑ing by his noſe, ‘Homo emuncti naris, ſays HORACE.’ And in another place, ‘Minus aptus acutis naribus horum hominum,’ [24] ſo that a ſharp noſe was at that time the ſign of wit. The noſe has in other ages and nations been artificially made to denote profound wiſdom and gravity, by the application of a pair of ſpectacles to it. The young men of Bologna in Italy thus equalled the doctors in the gravity of their out⯑ſide, and 'tis to be ſuppoſed, that they took particular care of that part, ſince it would have been a great miſ⯑fortune to have had nothing to hang a pair of ſpectacles upon. Oh, im⯑portant member! the ſymbol of wit and underſtanding, of wiſdom and gravity, would thy importance were better known, for oft with dire diſ⯑grace the noſe falls off, ſapped by the [25] unrelenting rage of Syphilis, and thus the human countenance loſes its chiefeſt ornament. Could Talicotius riſe once more, he'd have as many cuſtomers as ever; but, alas! ſo ex⯑traordinary a genius is but ſeldom ſeen.—Here, methinks, ſome ſneer⯑ing Critic turns up his noſe at me, and aſks me what all this pompous exordium tends to? Why, pray Mr. Critic, can my language be too ſub⯑lime in ſpeaking of the noſe? when Solomon himſelf has compared the noſe of his miſtreſs to mount Leba⯑non; and when heaven itſelf has a noſe, if we may believe the divine Shakeſpear: ‘Heaven ſtops the noſe at it. OTHELLO.’ [26] Muſt we not be fully ſatisfied of the importance of the noſe, ſince ſure that part muſt be the ſeat of honour. That 'tis the ſeat of honour none can doubt, as he that has been pulled by it, loſes all pretenſions to that quality. 'Tis true, indeed, another part of the body (which for obvious reaſons I ſhall not name, though a celebrated wit of the laſt age, ſworn foe to inde⯑cency and irreligion, has taken plea⯑ſure to dwell upon it) has diſputed this diſtinction with the noſe, juſt as the ſeat of the ſoul has been a mat⯑ter of controverſy among philoſophers. Deſcartes placing it in the pineal gland, others in the corpus calloſum, others in the medulla oblongata, &c. Non noſtrum eſt tantas componere lites; [27] let others decide whether honour be ſeated in the noſe, or elſewhere, ſure I am it muſt be ſeated ſomewhere. But to return from this digreſſion into the high road of my meditation, which is a very eaſy matter, ſince I have nothing to do but follow my noſe, which will not fail to marſhal me the way that I am going. Come on then, lets follow its guidance without being terrified at the old proverb, he that follows his noſe may be led into a ſtink—the noſe is the gnomon of the face, and often directs us in as unerring a manner, as the ſhadow points to the hours upon a ſun-dial. Cromwell himſelf has told us, that a man never mounts ſo high [28] as when he does not know where he's going; and ſurely when a man goes on without knowing where he's going, he may juſtly be ſaid to follow his noſe. Oh, noſe! thou truſty guide of half mankind, ſome of the greateſt heroes have acknowledged thee to be their only conductor. Peter the Great, Charles the Twelfth, and William the Third of glorious and immortal me⯑mory, adhered to the ſyſtem of an abſolute fatality, and entirely diſbe⯑lieved that men were maſters of any of their actions. What elſe was this but to own that they had all their lives followed their noſe. Oh! mor⯑tals, who too often wander from the way follow your noſes, for by giving [29] yourſelves up entirely to their gui⯑dance, you will, at leaſt, eſcape the mortification of having others lead you by them. To follow one's noſe, muſt ſure be to take the right way; ſince to follow one's noſe is to go right on—Here ſome reader who idolizes variety, and can't bear to dwell for a few moments upon the ſame thought, may very probably ſay this author has ſo long followed his noſe, that I am tired of following him, and ſo throw down the book—pray, Sir, take it up again, you ſhall ſoon have ſomething new—I love va⯑riety as well as yourſelf, and can't bear to go on a long time in the ſame beaten track. I ſhall have my diverti⯑cular [30] or digreſſions for, in meditating, as in riding a journey; I love to ſtop at an inn for a while in order to re⯑freſh. So depend upon it, Mr. Rea⯑der, you ſhall ſoon have ſomething new; but you muſt reſpite your im⯑patience for a moment, for I ſome⯑times grow tired of meditating, as well as of riding. The beſt of things beyond their meaſure cloy, as Homer ſays. So as I have followed my noſe to the end of the chapter, I ſhall here cloſe it, and take breath for a while.

MEDITATION upon QUACKS.

OH! reader, when any accident ſeems to threaten your noſe, have recourſe to experienced men, of whom there is no want in this city; and beware of quacks and counterfeits—but how to eſcape them is the queſtion, when you muſt take the word of each pretender for his own infallibility, whilſt he aſſures you, that all the reſt are ignorant impoſtors, elixers, electuaries, genuine jeſuits drops, &c. are advertiſed in every paper, and all equally promiſe cure, without hindrance of buſineſs, or knowledge of a bedfellow. From Italy this peſt derives its birth; and [32] [...] [33] [...] [30] [...] [31] [...] [32] in France the race of Charlatans abounds, where the quack is at once orator and phyſician, and retails from a horſe or ſcaffold his medicines to the believing crowd. Peace to all ſuch, in every profeſſion there are quacks. There are quacks in the law, quacks in divinity, and ſcribbling quacks. The firſt abound amongſt attornies and ſollicitors; clients on either ſide are equally aſſured of ſucceſs—amongſt the quacks in divinity the pope holds the firſt place; but happily his aſſumed infallibility begins now to be very much called in queſtion; and thoſe reme⯑dies for the ſouls diſeaſes, called bulls and indulgences, which he, like other quacks, formerly retailed to the people, have now loſt much of their [33] credit. But are there no other quacks in theology but the pope? Oh, thou⯑ſands! every ſect has ſome—The Jan⯑ſeniſt quack amuſes the people with a noſtrum called grace—The metho⯑diſt deals in faith—The quaker is fill⯑ed with the ſpirit, with which he is inflated, as if full of new wine. The methodiſt ſtill maintains he laudable practice of ancient quacks—he haran⯑gues from a ſcaffold, erected in the fields, whilſt gaping auditors admire, and liſten with attention to the ſpiri⯑tual quacks. To him each ſick and wonded ſoul repairs in hopes of cure. A woman here deſires his prayers againſt the common temptation—perhaps ſome unexperienced girl may be inquiſitive to know what the [34] common temptation of woman is—let her wait a year or two, and ſhe will want no information—a man here prays to be cured of the cravings of concupiſcence, and many other ſpiri⯑tual maladies unnumbered patients bring to the ſpiritual quack. Quacks amongſt authors too there are, and artifices have been found to conceal the aſs, even theſe catch the eye with a title-page, and invent a thou⯑ſand different expedients to excite the curioſity of readers. The advertiſe⯑ments in every paper are ſufficient proofs of this; of all ſuch beware, they are downright quacks in litera⯑ture; and repair to my publiſher, where may be had for the ſmall price of two ſhillings, ‘[35] The true and infallible antimalanco⯑lical ELIXER.’ Being a compoſition of genuine wit and humour, which effectually diſ⯑pells all ſpleen and vapours, exhila⯑rates the ſpirits, and totally removes all hypochondriac complaints, be the patient ever ſo far gone—It cures all ſorts of fits in women, and all ſorts of convulſions in men, by the mild and pleaſant remedy of ſuperinducing fits of laughter, which never fail to pro⯑duce the happieſt effects.

Here one cries out, this declaimer againſt quacks turns quack himſelf—another with a ſneer aſks how fits can be cured by fits?—ſuch are the cavils of the ignorant; but is it not a maxim [36] in phyſic, that contraries are cured by contraries? He that accuſes me of quackery for propoſing mirth as an infallible remedy, diſcovers his own ignorance of human nature, and is ſcarcely worth an anſwer. Thoughts that make thick the blood, produce deſpondence and melancholy, which generate various diſorders, to be cured only by laughter, which operates hap⯑pily when it runs tickling up and down the veins, ſtraining mens eyes with idle merriment—By your leave maſter Shakeſpear, I can't think merri⯑ment ſo idle; and I make no doubt but your Falſtaff has done a thouſand times more good than your Hamlet. At leaſt, I always return in a penſive humour from the latter; and ſuch is [37] the infection of its gloomineſs, that I generally find myſelf diſpoſed to crawl ſupperleſs to bed; whereas from the former, I return as chearful as the merry knight himſelf, with whom, thank God, I have a great conformity of diſpoſition, and ſo high are my ſpirits elevated that I can't help rai⯑ſing them a little higher by good punch, and ſo go to bed drunk.

MEDITATION upon MIDWIVES.

AQUACK's as fit for a pimp, as a midwife for a bawd. Oh! prophane witcherly, thus to treat ſo uſeful an order as that of midwives, an order as ancient as uſeful. To them we are more indebted than to our [38] mothers, and almoſt as much as to our nurſes. 'Tis ſtrange, but at the ſame time true, that thoſe who firſt give occaſion to our coming into this ſcurvy and diſaſterous world, ſhould think that they are more entitled to our gratitude, than thoſe that prevent our receiving any injury at coming into it, and thoſe that take care of us during our moſt helpleſs ſtate after we are come into it. Well, but are midwives neceſſary only at our birth—quite the reverſe—at leaſt, 'tis ſo with reſpect to us authors, for I find my head even now labouring with a thought; and I could wiſh ſome ju⯑dicious critic would lend his kind ob⯑ſtetric hand to help to deliver me of it—if none ſhould, it muſt even leap [39] out of my head armed, as Pallas did out of that of Jupiter—there is no va⯑nity in the compariſon, it will be a rare thought when it comes. You tire our patience, Sir, ſays ſome ſneerer, pray what is your thought like?—why 'tis like a bull—for I was juſt think⯑ing of a man-midwife. And ſurely a man-midwife is as great a monſter as a Centaur, and as great a bull as ever came out of the mouth of an Iriſhman. But to what purpoſe do you thus bring in your bull by the head and ſhoulders? you ſhould have taken hold of it by the horns, as Her⯑cules did his. Why, Mr. Critic, if you needs muſt know, 'tis becauſe I am altogether ſcandalized, that the matrons of Great-Britain ſhould thus [40] expoſe, what none but a huſband ſhould ſeeſt, to the view of anohter man, with as little concern as they would ſhow their faces. What an example does the eaſt ſet us in this reſpect? when a Sultana was viſited by an European phyſician, he was not al⯑lowed even to ſee her hand whilſt he felt her pulſe. She ſtretch'd it out to him, covered with a veil. Whilſt our Britiſh ladies ſcruple not to let the man-midwife touch what he ſhould not even ſee. Hence does it ſeem to follow, that, according to Wycherly's obſervation, a man-midwife ſhould be perfectly well calculated for a pimp. Theſe gentlemen will, no doubt, plead their being of the faculty, and aſk me in a paſſion, whether I take phyſicians [41] for p—mps? my anſwer is, that I no more look upon man-midwives as phyſicians, than upon attornies as counſellors. What a wretch muſt he be that can thus forget his manhood in ſome meaſure, and condeſcend to take the name of midwife? The ca⯑ſtrati of Italy, and the eunuchs of the eaſt, ſeem ſcarcely more degraded. A midwife has lately taken up the pen againſt this abuſe of employing males upon ſuch an occaſion, but the abuſe ſtill prevails, and is likely to prevail, till modeſty returns once more to viſit the earth. Alas! ſhe has been ſo long ab⯑ſent, that we begin almoſt to diſpair of ſeeing her again. If we may believe Juvenal, ſhe has not been ſeen ſince the days of Saturn:

Here, perhaps, ſome critic, ſome pam⯑phleteer, may join with the clock⯑maker's out-cry, and expreſs his ſur⯑priſe at ſeeing Yorick become the ad⯑vocate of modeſty. But know vile wretches, I deſpiſe your baſe miſrepre⯑ſentations, all the works of Yorick are as chaſte as his ſermons—'tis you your⯑ſelves, whoſe impure imaginations make the obſcenity you reprehend.

Even court ladies, who are well known to vie with nuns in continence, whoſe [43] chaſtity is as cold as ſnow, though they cannot eſcape the tongue of calumny, may read my works without bluſh⯑ing; and ſure the leaſt indecent image would not fail to ſuffuſe their lovely faces with red. I'll ſtill go farther, and venture to affirm they will lay theſe my meditations and my ſermons by their bibles and prayer-books; and as my Triſtram Shandy will doubtleſs become a book for a parlour-window, in like manner my ſermons and me⯑ditations, which for their excellent morality can ſcarce be equalled by any thing produced by the ancients or mo⯑derns, will become books for a lady of quality's cloſet, where bound in red morocco and gilt, they will remain triumphant upon the ſame ſhelves, [44] with the bible, prayer-book, pilgrim's progreſs, &c. and when I have ob⯑tained this honourable place, I'll cry out with Horace:

MEDITATION upon the HOMUNCULUS.

IMmortal Luyenhokius, thou moſt profound of all philoſophers! to thee we owe that aſtoniſhing diſcovery, which at one view preſents to us the whole ſpecies enveloped in a minute particle, contained in the genitalia of our great, great, great grand-father Adam—were I here to ſet down the word great as often as neceſſary, all the ſtationers ſhops in London would [45] hardly furniſh me with paper enough; ſo I ſhall content myſelf with ſetting it down three times, ſince the number three has been always thought to contain ſomething myſtical. To return to the ingenious ſyſtem of our profound philo⯑ſopher, what can be a more amuſing ſpeculation, than thus to conſider the whole human race in miniature—'tis like iliasinnuce—or rather it puts one in mind of the acorn, in which the microſcope can diſcover all the various ramifica⯑tions of the oak. Oh! for a philoſophic microſcope, which in ſemine humano, might diſcover at one view the whole poſterity of the man—ſuch a diſcovery would be of the higheſt uſe, as a man would often ſee reaſon to avoid marry⯑ing were he before-hand preſented, [46] with a view of the children intended for him by heaven. Let us again reſume our meditation, and conſider this dim ſpeck of entity, ſtretching itſelf by de⯑grees, firſt enlarging itſelf to a foetus, than being taken ex utero, by the aſſi⯑ſtance of the obſtetric art, encreaſing in volume, till at laſt it ſpouts up into a man ſix foot high—yet, according to the opinion of the moſt judicious philoſophers, the homunculus contains in it all the principles that enter into the conſtitution of the grown man—a great argument this for predeſtination. If the actions of men, and all that be⯑fals them in the courſe of their lives, depend, in a great meaſure, upon the principles of which their conſtitution is formed, it follows of conſequence, that [47] theſe principles being the ſame in the homunculus, all the future actions of the man are determined by the nature of the conſtituent particles of the ho⯑munculus. But to leave off philoſo⯑phizing, and moralize upon a ſubject which ſuggeſts ſo many reflections—how muſt this view of human nature convince us of our littleneſs, and kill in us all the ſeeds of pride? If ima⯑gination may trace the noble duſt of Alexander, till it find it ſtopping a bung-whole, why may not imagination trace that very Alexander, who con⯑quered at Iſſus, Arbela, and Granicus, and who carried his preſumption ſo far as to aſſume the title of ſon of Jupiter Ammon, and cauſe ſtatutes to be erected to him as a god? why may [48] not imagination trace that very Alex⯑ander, till it perceives him an ho⯑munculus in the genitalia of Philip, or, which ſeems rather more probable, of one of Philip's domeſtics. Oh! ye great men of the earth, conſider this, and be no longer puffed up with Pride—your beginning and your end ſhould fully convince you of the littleneſs of all human grandeur. The common topick uſed to convince the great of their nothing is death; and we are told of a certain king of Perſia, who kept a perſon always in his court, whoſe buſineſs it was to ſay to him every morning: Oh! king of Perſia, remember thou wert born to die—but the idea of death contains in it ſome⯑thing ſublime, and men make a va⯑nity [49] of braving it—the king of Per⯑ſia's purpoſe would have been much better anſwered, had he kept a per⯑ſon to addreſs him every morning in theſe words—Oh! king of Perſia, re⯑member thou wert once an homun⯑culus. What theologian can give a better argument for humility—'tis no longer neceſſary to conſider men as piſmires crawling upon a heap of dirt, we know that in effect they all were formerly animalcula; and ſince man was originally a worm, well may we, with holy Job, ſay to corruption, thou art my father; and to the worm, thou art my mother and my ſiſter. Whilſt I dwell upon this ſubject I find myſelf grow uneaſy, I am con⯑vinced of my unimportance, and can't hear the thoughts of having once been [50] an homunculus. Muſt then I, Yo⯑rick, whoſe thoughts rove through enternity, who meditate upon the moſt abſtruſe and profound ſubjects in metaphics, phyſics, politics, theology, morality, &c. &c. &c. be tormented with the mortifying reflexion, that I was formerly an homunculus? What a piece of work is a man—a very ſorry piece of work in my opinion; for though I am one of the ſpecies myſelf, I can't poſſibly look upon man as the quinteſſence of duſt. O you, formerly my fellow homunculi, now my fellow-creatures, let me addreſs you all in a body in this pathetic ex⯑clamation, what ſhould ſuch fellows as we do crawling between heaven and earth—we were all formerly poor deſpicable homunculi.

MEDITATION upon HOBBY-HORSES.

WHAT ſubject is there in na⯑ture ſo trifling to which a true genius cannot give a ſeeming importance?—even a broomſtick re⯑quires conſequence from the medita⯑tions of a Swift. To meditate ſeri⯑ouſly upon a hobb-horſe may be thought extravagant. Yet, emboldened by the example of that great genius for la Bagatelle, I muſt try to raiſe the hobby-horſe to a level with the broomſtick; this is, indeed, an ar⯑duous undertaking; for the conſe⯑quence of the former has been greatly inhanced by the witches, who have uſed it to ride on through the air, [] [...] [] [...] [50] [...] [51] [...] [52] whereas the latter has been debaſed by children uſing it to ride on—But, oh! reader, reflect a moment, the great Ageſelaus, king of Sparta, in the height of his glory, did not diſ⯑dain to ride round a room with his children upon a hobby-horſe; and ſuch a mark of diſtinction ſhould enoble hobby-horſes from that age to the preſent. The example, however, has not been loſt; the nobles and gentry in all nations have copied this great original, and often ride in pro⯑ceſſion upon their hobby-horſes. The critick may here interpoſe and aſk me when ſuch proceſſion are made?—Sir, I could inform you, but ſcanda⯑lum magnatum is the devil; ſo I ſhall ſay nothing farther upon that head. [53] But to be more explicit, is not am⯑bition a ſort of hobby-horſe, which may not improperly be compared to Clavileno, Don Quixote's wooden⯑horſe, raiſed upon, which, with his eyes, he, in conceit, wandered thro' regions unknown before. If the hero has his hobby-horſe, the poet has his—Pegaſus, I'll maintain to be no⯑thing but a downright hobby-horſe, and worſe than other hobby-horſes in this, that he that mounts upon it is in danger of breaking his neck. I was continuing my meditation, when I was interrupted by a viſit from my uncle Toby Shandy, who came in riding upon his hobby-horſe, and hav⯑ing lighted, and entered my room, took up my meditation, and having [54] read it very attentively, entered into a ſerious expoſtulation with me upon the dangerous conſequences of treat⯑ing in ſo light and ludicrous a manner upon hobby-horſes. Why? nephew, ſays he, at this rate people may at laſt be brought to look upon govern⯑ment as a hobby-horſe, religion as a hobby-horſe; the good of the nation as a hobby-horſe; and then—and then, what will become of us all? When he had left me I deliberated, whether I had beſt follow his advice, or reſume my meditation; and having concluded for the latter, rubbed my forehead two or three times, and ſtretched my head, an expedient, pretty frequent with the authors of the age, when they find [55] themſelves at a loſs for a thought; nay, 'twas a practice amongſt the au⯑thors of the Auguſtan age, if we may believe Horace: ‘Saepe et caput ſcaberet, vivos et roderet ungues.’ But after I had knocked ſeveral times for wit, and found nobody at home, I reſolved to conclude my meditation, ſince my hobby-horſe grew reſtive, and would carry me no farther.

MEDITATION upon MOMUS'S GLASS.

THOU art not to learn, oh, reader! or elſe thy knowledge is very confined, that Momus once upon a time, propoſed in a coun⯑cil of the gods, that every man ſhould [56] carry a window in his breaſt, that his moſt ſecret thoughts might be expoſed to all others, which would prevent men from having it in their power to impoſe upon each other. Alas! what needs ſuch a glaſs?—cannot a man of common diſcernment diſcover the thoughts and characters of men? No ſooner do I fix the or⯑gan of viſion, which to me anſwers all the purpoſes of the above-men-tioned glaſs; no ſooner, I ſay, do I fix my organ of viſion upon a perſon who is introduced to me, but I im⯑mediately ſee whether he thinks me a rogue, or an honeſt man, a man of ſenſe, or a fool. At every ſentence he utters the expreſſion in his face, ſhews me what he will ſay next—Thus nature has done what Momus [57] required; and to the great confuſion of rogues, their faces are conſtantly telling tales of them. Sir, your moſt humble ſervant, ſays Mr.—I look in his face, and ſee he means, Sir, I don't deſire to be troubled with you—Sir, ſays another, any thing that lies in my power you may command—I look in his face, and ſee he means, if it was in my power to ſerve you, I would be very loth to do it—An author ſometimes, with an in⯑dolent air, ſays,—that thing I wrote is wretched ſtuff—'twas wrote in ſuch an hurry—I look in his face, and ſee that this being interpreted ſignifies, what I write in a hurry is better than the moſt elaborate compoſitions of others. Oh! you ignorant, who are [58] impoſed upon by the words of deſign⯑ing men, who afterwards cheat and deceive you—Your misfortunes are in⯑tirely owing to your not having learned to read God Almighty's hand-writing, though ſurely the characters he writes muſt be very legible. How often does a fellow by the hand of nature, marked, quoted, and ſigned to do a deed of ſhame, find means to paſs himſelf upon the unwary for a mir⯑rour of integrity, by no other ſecret but that of frequently uſing the caba⯑liſtical words, honour, virtue, repu⯑tation—wherefore, oh! reader, mark, and take the caution that I give thee here, if thou art not an adebt in phyſiognomy, if thou haſt never learned the art of decyphering coun⯑tenances, [59] lay down this as a rule, and regulate thy conduct by it. Whenever the phraſes, a man's honour ſhould be dearer to him than his life, what⯑ever touches my reputation touches my ſoul, &c. are frequent in the mouth of any man, draw this concluſion, and depend upon it 'twill never fail—'tis a concluſion, which my own experience has always confirmed—a concluſion, eaſily ſupported too by abſtract reaſonings—Well, but, Sir, let us hear your concluſion; why, Sir, 'tis that the man deſcribed above is, ſaving your preſence, a rogue.

Here, methinks, I am interrupted by an impertinent coxcomb, who tells me, with a ſneer, that were he [60] to form a judgment of me from the frontiſpiece of my ſermons, he ſhould take me for a ſly, knaviſh, medling prieſt—Sir, did you ever ſee me in propriâ perſonâ, upon my word, Sir, that print has not the leaſt reſem⯑blance to Yorick.

MEDITATION upon DIGRESSIONS.

PEACE be with the manes of that charitable author, who to the great relief of his brethren, firſt invented that admirable expedient of digreſſing from the matter in hand—nothing can be more convenient to a writer, who is hereby enabled to quit his ſubject, when it excites any diſ⯑agreeable idea in him—when he has [61] ſaid ſo much of it that he begins to grow weary of it, or has ſo little to ſay of it, that he cannot fill the quan⯑tity of paper propoſed by any other method—but who amongſt the criti⯑cal tribe ſhall be ſo audacious as to wagg his tongue againſt digreſſions, which have been enobled by the prac⯑tice of the ancients, whoſe authority is of ſo much greater weight in criti⯑cal matters, than that of the fathers in religion. The ſatires and epiſtles of the excellent Horace may be look⯑ed upon as a collection of digreſſions, and oft with a truely poetical licence, the bard digreſſes in a digreſſion. Oh! the agreeable, deſultory manner of di⯑greſſions to the reader, no leſs agree⯑able than the writer, ſince neither the [62] former or the latter care to be at the trouble of a continued attention. Talk not then you pedants of your method, cite not the ſtagerite in praiſe of lu⯑cid order—The rambling Montagne, who wrote from the ebullitions of his heart, will be read and admired, when all the dry didactic diſſertations of the ſchools ſhall be forgotten. Oh, happy methodiſts! (though your ſect derives its name from method) your diſcourſes conſiſt entirely of digreſ⯑ſions, and thoſe ſo unconnected, that at the end of the ſermon 'tis impoſ⯑ſible to tell what it turned upon. Digreſſions too take place in philoſo⯑phy; and oſt we find the mind of a philoſopher turns aſide in a curve, flies off in a tangent, or ſprings up in a ſpi⯑ral [63] line. Nature itſelf delights in di⯑greſſions, and ſo little is ſhe pleaſed with a ſameneſs in things, that no two objects exactly alike can be ſeen. Such is the frame of the univerſe,

But the great energy of digreſſions was never fully known till I publiſhed my Triſtram Shandy, which conſiſts entirely of digreſſions. A rare at⯑chievement in literature, and almoſt equal to that of a celebrated wit of the laſt age, who wrote a diſſertation conſiſting entirely of adverbs. In fine, digreſſions have an admirable effect in every thing but morality, and there, indeed, they are of the moſt dange⯑rous [64] conſequence—if you doubt of this the triple-tree at Tyburn will convince you, where every quarter wretches meet an hapleſs end, meerly for having made a digreſſion in mo⯑rality. Allied to morality are politics, for politics conſiſt in morality, as it regards communities; and here di⯑greſſions too are equally pernicious. For oftentimes the ruin of ſtates is owing to the miniſters digreſſing from common honeſty; that man is ſure to incur cenſure who makes a falſe ſtep in his conduct; and what is a falſe ſtep but a digreſſion? But di⯑greſſion's dangerous in morality and politics, make all the beauty and ſpi⯑rit of compoſition, witneſs that ad⯑mirable treatiſe of Dr. Swift, entitled, [65] A tritical Eſſay, to which I have been much indebted in all my writings. The example being ſet, I hope to ſee the day when every new book ſhall be a labyrinth of digreſſions; from whence the reader ſhall vainly try to extricate himſelf, and wherein the authors ſhall heap digreſſion on di⯑greſſion to the end of the chapter.

MEDITATION on OBSCURITY in WRITING.

FROM wandering in the mazes of digreſſion, we deſcend natu⯑rally to the Bathos of the obſcure and unintelligible. O, venerable obſcu⯑rity! how many authors owe their [66] fame to thee from the myſtic Jacob Behmen, down to the jocoſe Triſtram Shandy. The more unintelligible an author is that pleaſes, the greater muſt his genius be no doubt. The meaneſt may pleaſe when he makes himſelf underſtood; but he muſt ſurely be a ſuperlative genius who pleaſes, whilſt his readers do not underſtand a word he writes. Obſcurity! thy influence is equal in the jocoſe, the ſerious, and the ſublime—the jeſt moſt pleaſes when it is moſt deep **** would make a ſtoick laugh; but then the ſhades imbrowned with deepened gloom, and breathing nodding horror over the green mantle of the ouzy plains—Lord, cries ſome critic, what do you mean by all this ſtuff? I ſhall [67] anſwer your queſtion, Sir, by telling you a ſtory, 'tis very poſſible you may not have heard, as critics now a days are not very knowing, that a certain philoſopher (I really have forgot his name) went about the ſtreets of Athens with ſomething hid under his cloak, and being aſked by an imper⯑tinent paſſenger (Sir, I aſk pardon) what he concealed under his cloak? anſwered, with all the compoſure of a philoſopher, I hide it that you may not know. In like manner, I, Mr. Critic, write that I may not be under⯑ſtood. You muſt know, Sir, that men have but two ends in view in ſpeaking or writing, viz. to make others underſtand their meaning, or elſe to keep their meaning concealed. [68] I have generally the latter in view when I write. Obſcurity was always my idol, and ſurely great muſt be its excellence, ſince one of its greateſt enemies has been obliged to acknow⯑ledge, that 'tis the characteriſtic of a ſilly man and a ſilly book to be eaſily ſeen through. It follows then of courſe, that obſcurity is the characte⯑riſtic of a wiſeman and a ſhrewd book. To what did all the ſages of antiquity, who ſo long governed man⯑kind by their ſuperiority of intellects, owe their ſucceſs—to obſcurity?—In what does the whole merit of a riddle conſiſt in, obſcurity?—To what do the ſtars owe all their brightneſs? to the obſcurity of the firmament? And in fine, what muſt the renown of the [69] moſt famous heroes end in—obſcu⯑rity?

To what does antiquity owe all the veneration that is paid to it—to the obſcurity of its origin? The ancient Greeks and Romans were perhaps neither better nor wiſer than the mo⯑derns; but they lived long before them, and are conſequently leſs known, therefore they are moſt eſteemed, and this eſteem they owe to their antiquity alone. Now be⯑tween antiquity and obſcurity the con⯑nexion is obvious. Why are dead languages more in repute than the living? the reaſons plain, they are more obſcure. To what does the ma⯑thematician owe all the pleaſure he [70] finds in ſolving a difficult problems? To nothing but the obſcurity under which it appeared at firſt. In fine, the ſciences which are looked upon as moſt important, are, by way of ex⯑cellence, denominated abſtraſe ſciences, and this ſufficiently evinces the great merit of obſcurity.

MEDITATION upon NONSENSE.

OH, nonſence! how ſhall I vin⯑dicate thy injured name? how ſtem the torrent of prejudice, and to the world diſplay thy various uſes? Thy honourable alliance to obſcurity ſhould ſurely preſerve thee from the diſreſpect of an undiſcerning world. But ſo prejudiced are men that whilſt they reſpect obſcurity they diſpiſe thee [71] ſo near a-kin to her. At thy ſacred ſhrine numberleſs authors, both an⯑tient and modern, have offered in⯑cenſe—I myſelf have often called upon thy aid, and to thy influence owe half my reputation. How oft doſt thou extend benign relief to mortals?—were it not for thee a brilliant circle might ſit ſilent for hours together. To thee the metaphyſician owes his fame, and the enthuſiaſt his oratory. The man of ſenſe in vain may boaſt and glory in the powers of reaſon; he that has thee on his ſide will always be too hard for him by his fluency. Some of the moſt renowned philoſo⯑phers have availed themſelves of thee, witneſs the catagories of Ariſtotle, the ſubſtantial forms, and the occult qua⯑lities. The grave phyſician but for [72] thee, would often be obliged to ſtop ſhort in the midſt of his harangue; the poet would be at a loſs for a rhyme; and the facetious man find himſelf puzzled for a jeſt. What art thou, oh! thou great myſterious be⯑ing—the way to thee we know—diſ⯑puting clubs—knots of templars—coffee-houſes—critics in pit, aſſembled on an author's Night. All ſhew us where to find thee—but what's be⯑yond? Oh! who ſhall draw that veil? Thou ſiteſt enthroned, wrapt in a cloud of fogs, ſuch as earſt graced the brows of thy Macflecknoe; but ſtill thy aweful eſſences hid from man. I cannot name thee without ex⯑taſy, on ſuch a theme 'tis mad⯑neſs to be calm. The poet oft plunging from thought to thought to [73] find out ſenſe, at laſt in thee takes re⯑fuge—to thee the Lyric poet owes his flights; the ſonneteer his tender⯑neſs; but no authors are more indebt⯑ed to thee, than thoſe that deal in controverſy, for when they write non⯑ſenſe who can anſwer them? Even critics, who pretend only to elucidate the ſenſe of other authors, do not diſ⯑dain to have recourſe to thee. They oftentimes explain a meaning, till all men doubt of it, and ſubſtitute their own nonſenſe in the place of their author's ſenſe. The ſuperficial may not perhaps have taken notice, that rhetoric owes its chief force to non⯑ſenſe—yet is it not meer nonſenſe to addreſs woods and rocks, to bid glid⯑ing [74] rivers ſpeak, and to fall into a paſ⯑ſion with the ſtars. But what ſhould above all exalt our ideas of nonſenſe is, that 'tis the language of lovers, and always ſure to pleaſe the amiable ſex, the approbation of one of whom ſhould doubtleſs outweigh the cenſure of five hundred rigid ſons of ſenſe. 'Tis owned, that poetry owes its ori⯑gin to love, lovers delight in non⯑ſenſe, therefore 'tis no wonder poets ſhould. Let me then exhort you, oh, you modern bards, (though to do you juſtice, you ſeem not to ſtand much in need of my admonitions) to attach yourſelves to nonſenſe, to cultivate it to the utmoſt, and then you will be⯑ſure to pleaſe. Here, methinks, the [75] ſame impertinent critic, who has ſo often interrupted me, aſks me, why I don't turn poet myſelf? why faith, Sir, 'tis becauſe I don't think myſelf poſſeſſed of a ſufficient talent for non⯑ſenſe—Oh, Sir, replies my adviſer, you are too modeſt—Sir, you are only pleaſed to ſay ſo. Though I ſome⯑times make an excurſion into the do⯑mains of nonſenſe, I never cared to take up my reſidence there. Proſtrate I bend me before the hoary power of nonſenſe, which inſpires the lays of our modern blank verſe poets, our writers of monodies, elegies, drama⯑tic poems, &c. but I dare not take upon me to rival their compoſitions, they breath ſo pure a ſpirit of non⯑ſenſe, [76] that, conſcious of the weakneſs of my powers, I diſpair of ever attain⯑ing to it. But ſo well is the empire of nonſenſe ſupported, that the town will never be at a loſs for poets, for when it looſes one, I'll anſwer for it another will come in his place. ‘Primo avulſo non deficit alter. VIRG.’

MEDITATION upon the ASSOCIATION of IDEAS.

OH! thou that canſt to nonſenſe procure veneration, myſterious concatenation of ideas the moſt re⯑mote, how extenſive is thy influence, and how great thy power! To thee the great owe all their diſtinction. [77] His lordſhip fluttering in brocade may poſſibly not be a more reſpectable per⯑ſonage, than the porter that ſtands at his door, yet where e'er he goes, ob⯑ſequious crowds with reverence bow before him—what can this be owing to? to the magic of a title—the ideas of worth, honour, and every kind of excellence, have, by undiſcerning mor⯑tals, been connected with a title, and nothing can better prove the force of the aſſociation of ideas, as there are in nature no things more diſtinct than a title and real worth. The officer that ſtruts and ſwears with an air of bold⯑neſs and freedom, as naturally excites in the breaſt of each beholder the idea of courage, yet frequent experience [78] has proved to a demonſtration, that a cockade is not an infallible ſign of that quality. The mind has with equal capriciouſneſs attached the idea of grace to certain pieces of lawn pro⯑perly diſpoſed upon black. Thus is the idea of courage annexed to a ha⯑bit of one colour, the idea of grace to an habit of another colour, and, what ſeems ſtill more ſurprizing, each par⯑ticular ſpecies of learning is denoted by a particular habit, thus a black gown and a ſquare cap are infallible ſigns, that the perſon to whom they belong is a logician, metaphyſician, mathematician, and a perfect maſter of the literae humaniores. The idea of profound knowledge in all the various [79] branches of phyſic is annexed to a long wig, the idea of reports, caſes, and all the quirks of the law to a quoif, and the idea of a talent for poetry to a ragged coat. Strange and unaccountable are the combinations which this extrava⯑gant coupling of ideas gives occaſion to—the ſagacious Locke informs us of a gentleman who could never dance except there was an old trunk in the room with him; and I myſelf know a dramatic poet that can never write, except one of the panes of his window be broken. But, alas! the influence of this fantaſtic power begins before we come into the world; and if the mother ſhould happen to have too ſtrong an imagination, 'tis ten to one [80] but the child is born with the head of a dog. By this happy term, aſſocia⯑tion of ideas, we are enabled to ac⯑count for the moſt extraordinary phae⯑nomina in the moral world; and thus Mr. Locke may be ſaid to have found a key to the inmoſt receſſes of the human mind.

MEDITATION upon CUCKOLDS.

WHILST I meditated upon the aſſociation of ideas, I felt my⯑ſelf its influence, the idea of mother led me to that of wife, which led me to that of cuckold, with which it evidently has no apparent connexion. How ancient and honourable is the ſociety of cuckolds, a ſociety that is [81] perhaps more extenſive than any other. Each rank, from the moſt exalted to the loweſt, has members in this ſociety, who, like the free⯑maſons, ſtrive to make their badge a ſecret. But, oh! you heralds and antiquaries, wherefore are horns the emblem of this Society. 'Tis an in⯑quiry altogether worthy of your re⯑ſearches. Cuckold has long been a term of reproach, but much might be ſaid to prove it honourable. In Rome, that holy city, once capital of the world, and now his holineſs's place of reſidence, cuckolds abound more than any where elſe, ‘Roma la ſanta, ma il popolo cornuto.’ [82] Worſhipful al [...]r [...]n have been ſo fa⯑mous for their cuckoldom, that it is almoſt become proverbial. A com⯑mon council man has been always conſidered in as fair a way to be an al [...]r [...]n, when dubbed a cuckold, as a nephew to become rich when his uncle is raiſed to the papal dignity. Here, methinks, ſome critic inter⯑rupts me with ſome ſuch exclamation as this. Lord! one would think this author's father was a cuckold, he is ſo earneſt in compoſing their panegy⯑ric. Some authors upon ſuch an oc⯑caſion would anſwer, I wiſh he had been ſo—'tis well known, that the celebrated athieſt Vanini, was greatly concerned that his father was not a cuckold, and his mother a whore, [83] and his reaſon for ſo extraordinary a wiſh, does not ſeem to be altogether unphiloſophical. Thoſe begot in the luſty ſtealth of nature, according to him, boaſt fiercer qualities than what compound the ſcanted births of the ſtale marriage bed. But health, and a robuſt conſtitution, are bleſſings only when we make a good uſe of them. How many a man of a robuſt and vi⯑gorous conſtitution has died at Tyburn at two and twenty, who might have lived to ſixty, had his bodily frame, and conſequently his paſſions been weaker.

MEDITATION upon the MAN in the MOON.

HORNS have got ſuch a hold of my fancy, that I can meditate upon nothing that is not horned. Wrapt in contemplation, I raiſe my mind to yonder horned moon, and expatiate in ideas over the rugged ſur⯑face of the orbs Newtoniana; there I behold a figure, by the vulgar called the man in the moon. But who may this illuſtrious perſonage be?—why, if you'll have my opinion of the mat⯑ter, Sir, I take him to be the very man that Diogenes ſought with a lan⯑thorn in broad day-light. If we may give credit to Arioſto, all things loſt [85] upon earth are treaſured up in the moon, and it ſeems to admit of no doubt that the perſon ſought after up⯑on earth, has long ſince been loſt. Many reaſons concur to confirm me in this opinion, among others the ex⯑traordinary ignorance of this man, with regard to whatever paſſes upon earth. Nothing is commoner than for one who declares his ignorance of any thing, than to add, I know no more of it than the man in the moon, a ſufficient proof that the ſaid man has long ſince ceaſed to be converſant with the things of this world. A ce⯑lebrated philoſopher of antiquity—every ſcholar muſt know I mean Plu⯑tarch, has wrote a very learned trea⯑tiſe upon this ſame man in the moon, [86] or rather face in the moon; but if you aſk me what he would be at in this treatiſe, I really know no more than the man in the moon. Biſhop Wilkins 'tis well known had formerly a ſtrong inclination to pay this man a viſit, and 'twere to be wiſhed, that ſome flying machine had been invent⯑ed for that purpoſe; for doubtleſs if we could ſee, and converſe with the man in the moon, we ſhould find him more knowing than is generally thought.

MEDITATION upon the MONADES of LEIBNITZ.

ONCE engaged in ſublime and and elevated ſpeculations, I cannot bring myſelf down to meditate upon ſublunary things. A race of intelligent beings, called Monades, engage my attention—here ſomebody will probably be inquiſitive to know what theſe Monades are—the great philoſopher of Germany will inform you, Sir, they are beings which ſeem to hold a medium between body and ſpirit, conſciouſneſs of their unity, forms their eſſence, and by their knowledge of eternal truths, they are members of the everlaſting city of [88] God. They are called Monades from the Greek adjective [...], which ſig⯑nifies alone, as every ſmatterer in Greek knows, as well as Leibnitz him. But what is this etymology founded upon?—why, Sir, 'tis founded upon this, every Monade has a right to ſay, I am myſelf alone. But here you'll aſk me what right had Leibnitz to create ſuch beings? what proof could he give of their exiſtence? Lord! Lord! what a reſtraint you would lay upon philoſophers. If you deny them the privilege of framing hypotheſes, you reduce them to a level with other men. What proof could Deſcartes give in favour of his vortices and ſubtile matter? yet to theſe he owes his repu⯑tation as a philoſopher. The fancy of [89] a philoſopher ſhould be as unconfined as that of a poet or a painter. By ſcrupulouſly following phaenomina, he reduces himſelf to the rank of a me⯑chanic. Commend me to Flud and Paracelſus, who have deviſed aerial beings enough to people a new crea⯑tion. But to return to our Monades, they are, ſays Leibnitz, mirrours of the univerſe, and ſo indeed are men too, though they reflect its parts very imperfectly. Men too are mirrours that are liable to be ſullied in reflect⯑ing the objects by which they paſs, and, like other mirrours, they are ſubject to be broken, in both which articles 'tis poſſible they are ſurpaſſed by Monades. There is reaſon to think, that theſe beings have ſome in⯑tercourſe [90] with mankind, and 'tis not impoſſible, that our dreams may be ſuggeſted by them. 'Tis likely too that we owe to them thoſe impulſes, and that glimmering inſight into futu⯑rity, which ſo many have experienced. Not to mention the daemon of So⯑crates, 'tis well known that Deſcartes in all his undertakings had ſome fore⯑knowledge, whether the event would be favourable to him or not. I ſhall add but one inſtance more, and that is Ozanam the mathematician's pre⯑diction, concerning his own death, which was fulfilled a few days after, exactly in the manner he had fore⯑told it. Here I doubt not but the cri⯑tics will accuſe me of credulity and ſuperſtition, but what care I? this is [91] an atheiſtical age, and whoever be⯑lieves any thing out of the common road is ſure of being ſtigmatized as ſuperſtitious—nay, there are certain perſons who call themſelves moral philoſophers, who look upon every man as ſuperſtitious who believes the Chriſtian religion.

MEDITATION upon Virtú.

FROM ſo extraordinary a ſubject as that of my laſt meditation, the tranſition is eaſy to virtú, for the diſtinguiſhing character of the virtuoſo is to delight in things ſtrange and un⯑common. The word virtú then has an extenſive ſignification, and ſeems to take in the whole Encylopedia of [92] arts and ſciences, and every thing but virtue, with which it has nothing in common, but the reſemblance of ſound. The man of virtú addicts himſelf to natural philoſophy, or ra⯑ther to unnatural philoſophy, ſince he thinks nothing that is not out of the ordinary courſe of nature worthy of his reſearches. A luſus naturae is the grand object of his attention—Pray, Sir, what is a luſus naturae, faith I don't know; and its my opinion, that the gentlemen of the royal ſociety do not know themſelves. All I know of it is, that it is ſomething made by na⯑ture in a gameſome mood; for dame nature has her frolicks as well as other females. The virtuoſo is ſmitten with works of art as well as nature, and [93] painters, fidlers, architects, ſtatuaries have no greater benefactors than men of fortune who profeſs virtú. Theſe are as favourable to the race of artiſts as deſtructive to frogs and glew⯑worms. Some may perhaps infer, that I put artiſts upon a level with in⯑ſects, that is far from my thoughts, I always eſteem the arts, and when I deſpiſe an artiſt 'tis not on account of his art. His whole excellence often conſiſts in that; and I have known many an excellent fidler, who when he had ceaſed playing was fit for no⯑thing but to be ſhut up in a caſe, like his inſtrument. From artiſts, let us return to the encouragers of arts. How is the public obliged to thoſe generous noblemen, who, by their ſubſcriptions, [94] ſupport the Italian opera amongſt us? and how much is their generoſity en⯑hanced by the conſideration, that per⯑haps not three of them underſtand the language of the performers? This may by ſome be thought to reflect upon their taſte; but in my opinion, it ſhould give us the moſt advantage⯑ous idea of it; for ſurely it muſt re⯑quire more taſte to be pleaſed with a tune, when one does not underſtand the words of a ſong, then when one does. Our noble virtuoſi muſt be ac⯑knowledged to ſurpaſs thoſe of all other countries in taſte, though it has been maliciouſly inſinuated by ſome, that they have often bought pictures as pieces of Guido, Raphael, &c. when they were no more done by [95] them than by Protegenes or Apelles. But this even ſuppoſing it true, proves nothing at all againſt the juſtneſs of their taſte. Did not Michael Angelo take in all the connaiſſeurs of Italy by his ſtatue of Cupid, which they per⯑ſiſted in looking upon as an antique, till he produced the arm which he had cut off, before he buried it in the ruins of an ancient temple? Did not Muretus impoſe upon that great critic Scaliger, by an imitation of the an⯑cient comic poets, which the latter, with all his ſagacity, cited as a paſſage of Trabea? But to put the taſte of our nobility and gentry out of all diſ⯑pute, does not the unparallel'd en⯑couragement they have given to the life and opinions of Triſtram Shandy, [96] ſufficiently evince, that they are poſ⯑ſeſſed of the higheſt diſcernment?

MEDITATION upon CONSCIENCE.

FROM a faſhionable ſubject, I am led I know not how to me⯑ditate upon one that ſeems to be grown quite out of faſhion. Con⯑ſcience has long ſince been kicked out of doors by honour, which ſup⯑plies its place amongſt people of qua⯑lity, whilſt conſcience is obliged to fly for refuge to the vulgar, and is well off if he can find a refuge even there. Thoſe in low life generally take after their betters, inſomuch, that many ſhop⯑keepers have excluded conſcience as a troubleſome companion. Several tradeſ⯑men [97] I could name who have made fortunes by uſing conſcience as their coin. Conſcience has ſometimes been known to make cowards in the army and navy; and if we may believe the poet, it makes cowards of us all. Legiſlators have in all ages found it a moſt convenient ſcare-crow, and would never have been able to lead whole nations as they have done, if they had not taken men by their weak ſide, I mean by their conſcience. By mold⯑ing this at their pleaſure they have made people act and think as they pleaſed, and it was no hard matter for them to mold it at diſcretion, as 'tis of a very flexible nature in the vulgar and ignorant, who finding it difficult to think for themſelves, are glad to [98] throw that weight upon other's ſhoulders.

In Roman catholic countries the inſufficiency of conſcience to direct the actions of men has been ſo ſen⯑ſibly felt, that nobody thinks himſelf obliged to watch over his own con⯑ſcience, but that affair is left to the management of confeſſors and direc⯑tors. Caſuits have been of great ſer⯑vice to people of tender conſciences, by marking out the limitations of each virtue, and ſhewing men how little good they might do, and at the ſame time preſerve a good conſcience; but I ſhall here finiſh my meditation, as I have already ſaid enough in all con⯑ſcience on this ſubject.

MEDITATION upon DRUNKENNESS.

WHAT great atchievements does not drunkenneſs give occaſion to? How many admirable pieces of poetry? how many flights of fancy does drunkenneſs pro⯑duce? Oh! thou inviſible ſpirit of wine, if we have no other name to call thee by, let us call thee muſe, for ſure it is, that more bards have been inſpired by thee, than by drink⯑ing the waters of Helicon. But thy influence is not confined to poets alone, divines and philoſophers do not diſdain thy ſuccour. Cato the cenſor, [100] was no foe to good wine, and the ro⯑tation of the earth was firſt diſcovered by a philoſopher intoxicated with li⯑quor. No water-drinker, if we may believe Horace, ever compoſed an immortal poem, and the man that has a real genius for poetry is always ‘Ritè cliens Bacchi ſomno gaudentis & umbra.’

One of the greateſt prelates the church of Rome ever produced, has compared the joys of heaven to ebriety; and all the difference he makes between happy ſouls and drunken men is, that the ebriety of the former is continual, that of the latter temporary. Ebriety baniſhes all cares from human breaſts, and ſuch is [101] its efficacy, that we may juſtly ſay of it:

Add to this, that orthodoxy and drink⯑ing go together—whilſt Turks damn themſelves over a diſh of coffee, the chriſtian divine makes his countenance chearful with good port. Let the treacherous Spaniard conſider the term Borrachio, or drunkard, as a term of the higheſt reproach; amongſt the free-born ſons of Great-Britain, drunk⯑ard and good-fellow will always be looked upon as ſynonimous terms. To compleat the panegyric, wine ba⯑niſhes care, inſpires the human breaſt with hope, adds wings to the fancy, [102] and exalts the genius. It has always been found the beſt friend in times of grief, and the beſt companion in times of proſperity. But who can call its virtues in queſtion, that knows that the renowned Alexander, the conqueror of the world, was the greateſt drinker of his age, and was an over-match for his contemporaries over a bottle, as well as for his ene⯑mies in the field. His death has falſly been aſcribed to the juice of the grape, 'twas cauſed by poiſon. Had it not been for that he might have lived to drink till his body had been ſo ſwelled with a dropſy, that it could not have been contained in a coffin. But as Juvenal ſays, ‘[103] Sarcophago contentus erat.’ Pray, why, Sir? why, becauſe he had not drank enough. Here ſome critic interrupts me as uſual. From all this panegyric upon drunkenneſs, you'll give us leave to infer, that you are a drunkard yourſelf—Sir, you may draw what inferences you pleaſe; but, Mr. Critic, give me leave to tell you, that if you never get drunk your⯑ſelf, you are likely to be a piddling critic all your life. He that aſpires to the name of author ſhould drink deep of wine or punch, and that will pro⯑duce the very ſame effect as the Pie⯑rian ſpring.

MEDITATION upon a CLOSE-STOOL.

MY ſpirits quite exhauſted with meditating upon drunkenneſs, I retired to a little cloſet contiguous to my chamber, where I ſeated myſelf upon a certain wooden machine, which has always been found to be a great promoter of ſtudy and medita⯑tion, and t'is well known, that ſome perſons of a contemplative diſpoſition can never ſtudy or meditate without the aſſiſtance of it. Leaning my head upon my arm in a muſing poſture, Oh! ſaid I to myſelf, how oft have the labours of learned and indefati⯑gaable authors viſited a place like this?—ſhould—but heaven avert it, ſhould [105] theſe my meditations, in which I have exerted my utmoſt wit and learning, to compoſe which I have ſat up night and day, ſhould they at laſt be brought to ſuch dire diſgrace, how would my pride (and what pride ſo ſenſible as an authors) be mortified? But from the ſucceſs of my former writings I hope a better fate, no, the meditations of Yorick ſhall never be condemned:

Forbid it heaven, that Yorick's me⯑ditations ſhould ever become a book for a houſe-of-office, no, let them live with his other works to brighten [106] future ages. Neither ſhall Jove's anger, nor the all-devouring Bathos of Cloacina abſorb works, calculated to laſt till time ſhall be no more. Here my critick pulls me by the ſleeve, and tells me, you forgot what you are upon—I expected a ſeries of reflections upon that uſeful implement a cloſe⯑ſtool; and you have been all this while talking of your own works, a much more worthleſs ſubject—Sir, I am obliged to you—I find 'tis impoſ⯑ſible to eſcape your ſeverity, ſo I ſhall haſten to the concluſion.

MEDITATION the Laſt, or a MEDI⯑TATION upon MEDITATIONS.

ABARREN ſubject this; but Yorick has ſomething to ſay upon every ſubject, or if he ſhould have nothing to ſay upon it, the defi⯑ciency is eaſily ſupplied by a digreſ⯑ſion. A digreſſion is as uſeful to one of us writers of meditations, as a ſuc⯑cedanum to an apothecary, and the reader and patient are equally apt to take one thing for another. Of all the various lights in which the rela⯑tion of author and reader have been conſidered, I know none ſo well adapted to give an adequate idea of them, as this of doctor and patient, [108] or apothecary and patient, for doctor and apothecary are all one. Readers ſeldom ſit down to read books, but when they are troubled with the ſpleen, when the time hangs heavy on their heads, or when they have ſome in⯑diſpoſition or other, which makes them incapable of buſineſs, or any more lively pleaſure. 'Tis then they take up a book of amuſement, and their author may be juſtly looked up⯑on as their phyſician. What ſhews ſtill farther the juſtneſs of this com⯑pariſon is the following inſcription, over the door of Ptolomy Philadel⯑phus's famous library at Alexandria, ‘ [...], Phyſic of the ſoul.’ [109] If then a book be the phyſic of the ſoul, we authors that adminiſter this phyſic may be allowed to look upon ourſelves as phyſicians, and if we do not cure our patients as often as other phyſicians, at leaſt we may ſafely ſay we do not kill them as often. Know then all ye into whoſe hands theſe meditations ſhall come, that I Yorick am your phyſician, and ho⯑nour your phyſician with the honour due unto him—Here again, my im⯑pertinent cenſor interrupts me—you have quite loſt ſight of your ſubject, you promiſed us ſomething upon me⯑ditations, and you have been all this while talking of phyſic and phyſicians—Sir, you are enough to make a man loſe all patience.

[110] I told you already, and I tell you again and again, that I'll make as many digreſſions as I think proper, and wherever I think proper; and that I would not give up one digreſ⯑ſion to ſave the ſouls and bodies of all the critics in Europe; and ſo that I may be no longer troubled with your impertinence, I will here conclude, ‘Verbum non amplius addam.’