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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THIS axiom being univerſally allowed and approved of, I have often obſerved with wonder the neglect of learning that prevails among the gentlemen of the army; who, not⯑withſtanding [56] their ſhameful deficiency in this main requiſite, are generally propoſed as the moſt exact models of good behaviour, and ſtandards of politeneſs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE gentlemen who now frequent this place profeſs a kind of univerſal Scepticiſm; and as they look upon every thing as dubious, put the iſſue upon a wager. There is no⯑thing however trivial or ridiculous, which is not capable of producing a bet. Many pounds have been loſt upon the colour of a coach-horſe, an article in the news, or the change of the weather. The birth of a child has brought great ad⯑vantages to perſons not in the leaſt related to the family it was born in; and the breaking off a match has affected many in their fortunes, beſides the parties immediately concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THUS much I thought myſelf bound to ſay in praiſe of the Orator and Oratory; as he has ſome time ago done [220] me the honour of a letter, which I am very glad of this opportunity to communicate to my readers. The private epiſtles of Tully are very unequal to his Orations: but the following letter is in the very ſtile and ſpirit of our Ora⯑tor's animated diſcourſes from the pulpit. I ſhall there⯑fore preſent it to the public exactly as I received it, with⯑out preſuming to alter or ſuppreſs the leaſt ſyllable: and for the further ſatisfaction of the Curious, the Original Ma⯑nuſcript is put into a Frame and Glaſs, and may be ſeen by any body at my Publiſher's.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE enemies of play will perhaps conſider thoſe gentle⯑men, who boldly ſtake their whole fortunes at the gaming-table, in the ſame view with theſe deſperadoes; and they may even go ſo far as to regard the polite and honourable aſſembly at White's as a kind of Laſt Guinea Club. No⯑thing, they will ſay, is ſo fluctuating as the property of a gameſter, who (when luck runs againſt him) throws away whole acres at every caſt of the dice, and whoſe houſes are as unſure a poſſeſſion, as if they were built with cards. Many, indeed, have been reduced to their laſt guinea at this gen⯑teel gaming-houſe: but the moſt inveterate enemies to White's muſt allow, that it is but now and then, that a gameſter of quality, who looks upon it as a toſs-up whether there is another world, takes his chance, and diſpatches him⯑ſelf, when the odds are againſt him in this.

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

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

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

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

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

[300]ANOTHER principal cauſe of the frequency of Suicide is the noble ſpirit of Freethinking which has diffuſed itſelf among all ranks of people. The libertine of faſhion has too refined a taſte to trouble himſelf at all about a ſoul or an hereafter: but the vulgar infidel is at wonderful pains to get rid of his bible, and labours to perſuade himſelf out of his religion. For this purpoſe he attends conſtantly at the diſ⯑putant ſocieties, where he hears a great deal about free will, free agency, and predeſtination, 'till at length he is convinced that man is at liberty to do as he pleaſes, lays his misfortunes to the charge of providence, and comforts himſelf that he was inevitably deſtined to be tyed up in his own garters. The courage of theſe heroes proceeds from the ſame principles whether they fall by their own hands, or thoſe of Jack Ketch: The Suicide of whatever rank looks death in the face with⯑out ſhrinking; as the gallant rogue affects an eaſy unconcern under Tyburn, throws away the pſalm-book, bids the cart drive off with an oath, and ſwings like a gentleman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HAVING occaſion one morning to wait on a very pretty fellow, I was deſired by the Valet de Cham⯑bre to walk into the dreſſing room, till his maſter was ſtirring. I was accordingly ſhewn into a neat little cham⯑ber, hung round with India paper, and adorned with ſeveral little images of pagods and bramins, and veſſels of Chelſea China, in which were ſet various-coloured ſprigs of artificial flowers. But the Toilette moſt excited my admiration; where I found every thing was intended to be agreeable to the Chineſe taſte. A looking-glaſs en⯑cloſed in a whimſical frame of Chineſe paling, ſtood upon a Japan table, over which was ſpread a coverlid of the fineſt chints. I could not but obſerve a number of boxes of different ſizes, which were all of them Japan, and were regularly diſpoſed on the table. I had the curioſity to examine the contents of ſeveral, and in one I found lip-ſalve; in another a roll of pigtail; and in another the ladies black ſticking plaiſter: but the laſt which I opened [388] very much ſurpriſed me, as I found nothing in it but a number of little pills. I likewiſe remarked in one part of the table a tooth-bruſh and ſpunge with a pot of Delaſcot's opiate, and on the other ſide water for the eyes: in the mid⯑dle ſtood a bottle of Eau de Luce, and a roll of perfumed pomatum: almond paſtes, powder-puffs, hair combs, bruſhes, nippers, and the like, made up the reſt of this fantaſtic equi⯑page: but among many other wimſies, I could not conceive for what uſe a very ſmall ivory comb could be deſigned, till the valet informed me, that it was a comb for the eye-brows.

IT muſt be confeſſed, that there are ſome men of ſuch a delicate make and ſilky conſtitution, that it is no wonder if gentlemen of ſuch a lady-like generation have a natu⯑ral tendency to the refinements and ſoftneſſes of fe⯑males. Theſe tender dear creatures are generally bred up immediately under the wing of their mamas, and ſcarce fed with any thing leſs innocent than her milk. They are never permitted to ſtudy, leaſt it ſhould hurt their eyes, and make their heads ache; nor ſuffered to uſe any exerciſes, like other boys, leaſt a fine hand ſhould be ſpoiled by being uſed too roughly. While other lads are flogged into the five declenſions, and at length laſhed through a whole ſchool, theſe pretty maſters are kept at home to improve in whip-ſillabubs, paſtry, and face-painting. In conſequence of which, when other young fellows begin to appear like men, theſe dainty creatures come into the world, with all the accompliſhments of a lady's woman.

BUT if theſe common foibles of the female world are ridiculous even in theſe equivocal half-men, theſe neuter [389] ſomethings between male and female, how awkardly muſt they ſit upon the more robuſt and maſculine part of mankind? What indeed can be more abſurd, than to ſee a huge fellow with the make of a porter, and fit to mount the ſtage as a champion at Broughton's Amphitheatre, ſitting to varniſh his broad face with paint and Benjamin-waſh? For my part I never ſee a great looby aiming at delicateſſe, but it ſeems as ſtrange and uncouth a figure as Achilles in petticoats. This folly is alſo to be particularly condemned, when it appears in the more ſolemn characters of life, to which a gravity of ap⯑pearance is eſſential; and in which the leaſt marks of fop⯑pery ſeem as improper, as a phyſician would ſeem ridiculous preſcribing in a bag-wig, or a ſerjeant pleading at the King's Bench in his own hair inſtead of a night-cap periwig. As I think an inſtance or two of this kind would ſhew this folly in the moſt ſtriking light, I ſhall here ſubjoin two characters, in whom as it is moſt improper, it will conſequently appear moſt ridiculous.

JOHN HARDMAN is upwards of ſix feet high, and ſtout enough to beat two of the ſturdieſt chairmen that ever came out of Ireland. Nature indeed ſeems to have intended John himſelf to carry a chair, but fortune has enabled him to appear in whatever character he likes beſt, and he has wiſely diſcover⯑ed, that none will ſit ſo eaſy on him as that of a pretty fellow. It is therefore his ſtudy to new-mould his face, and perſon: He throws his goggle eyes into leers, languiſhes and ogles; and endeavours to draw up his hideous mouth, that extends from one ear to the other, into a ſimper. His voice, which is naturally of a deeper baſe than an hurdy-gurdy, is in a manner ſet to a new tune: and his ſpeech, which is very much tinctured with the broad dialect of a particular county, [390] is delivered with ſo much nicety and gentleneſs, that every word is minced and clipt in order to appear ſoft and delicate. When he walks, he endeavours to move his unwieldy figure along in the pert trip, or eaſy ſhambling pace of our pretty fellows; and commonly carries a thin jemmy ſtick in his hand, which naturally reminds us of Hercules with a diſtaff.

THE Reverend Mr. JESSAMY, (who took orders only becauſe there was a good living in the family,) is known among the ladies by the name of the Beau-Parſon. He is in⯑deed the moſt delicate creature imaginable; and differs ſo much from the generality of the clergy, that I believe the very ſight of a plumb-pudding would make him ſwoon. Out of his Canonicals, his conſtant dreſs is what they call Parſon's-Blue, lined with white; a black ſattin waiſtcoat, velvet breeches, and ſilk ſtockings: his pumps are of dog-ſkin made by Tull; and it is ſaid that he had a joint of one of his toes cut off, whoſe length being out of all proportion, prevented his having a handſome foot. His very grizzle is ſcarce ortho⯑dox: for, though it would be open ſchiſm to wear a bag, yet his wig has always a bag-front, and is properly cropped behind, that it may not eclipſe the luſtre of his diamond ſtock-buckle. He cannot bear the thoughts of being ſea-ſick; or elſe he declares he would certainly go abroad, where he might again reſume his laced cloaths, and appear like a gentleman in a bag-wig, and ſword.

AMONG the many exotic diverſions, that have been tranſplanted into this country, there is no one more cultivated, or which ſeems to have taken deeper root among us, than that modeſt and rational entertain⯑ment, the Maſquerade. This, as well as the Opera, is originally of Italian growth; and was brought over hither by the celebrated Heidegger, who thence juſtly acquired among his own countrymen the honourable title of Sur⯑intendant des plaiſirs d' Angleterre.

[392]I HAVE called the Maſquerade a modeſt and rational entertainment. As to the firſt, no one can have the leaſt ſcruple about its innocence, if he conſiders, that it is al⯑ways made a part of the education of our polite females; and that the moſt virtuous woman is not aſhamed to ap⯑pear there. If it be objected, that a lady is expoſed to hear many indecencies from the men, (as the maſk gives them a privilege to ſay any thing, though ever ſo rude) it may be anſwered, that no lady is obliged to take the affront to herſelf; becauſe, as ſhe goes diſguiſed, the indignity is not offered to her in her own proper perſon. Beſides, ac⯑cording to Dryden,

AS to the rationality of this entertainment, every one will agree with me, that theſe midnight orgies are full as rational as ſitting up all night at the card-table. Nor is it more ſtrange, that five or ſix hundred people ſhould meet together in diſguiſes purpoſely to conceal themſelves, than that the ſame number ſhould aſſemble at a route, where moſt of the company are wholly unacquainted with each other.

BUT we can never enough admire the wit and hu⯑mour of theſe meetings; which greatly conſiſts in exhi⯑biting the moſt fantaſtic appearances, that the moſt whim⯑ſical imagination can poſſibly deviſe. A common perſon may be content with appearing as a Chineſe, a Turk, or a Fryar; but the true genius will ranſack earth, air, and ſeas, reconcile contradictions, and call in things inanimate, as well as animate, to his aſſiſtance: and the more extra⯑vagant and out of nature his dreſs can be contrived, the [393] higher is the joke. I remember one gentleman above ſix foot high, who came to the maſquerade dreſt, like a child, in a white frock and leading ſtrings, attended by another gentleman of exceeding low ſtature, who offici⯑ated as his nurſe. The ſame witty ſpark took it into his head at another time to perſonate Fame, and was ſtuck all over with peacock-feathers by way of eyes: but when he came to faſten on his wings, they were ſpread to ſo enormous a length, that no coach or chair was ſpacious enough to admit him; ſo that he was forced to be conveyed along the ſtreets on a chair⯑man's horſe, covered with a blanket. Another gen⯑tleman of no leſs humour very much ſurpriſed the com⯑pany by carrying a thatched houſe about him; which was ſo contrived, that no part of him could be ſeen, except his face, which was looking out of the caſement: but this joke had like to have coſt him dear, as another wag was going to ſet fire to the building, becauſe he found, by the leaden policy affixed to the front, that the tenement was inſured. In a word, dogs, monkeys, oſtriches, and all kinds of monitors, are as frequently to be met with at the maſquerade, as in the Covent-Garden pantomimes: and I once ſaw with great delight a gentleman (who perſonated one of Bayes's recruits) prance a minuet on his hobby-horſe, with a dancing bear for his partner.

I HAVE ſaid before, that the Maſquerade is of foreign extraction, and imported to us from abroad. But as the Engliſh, though ſlow at invention, are remarkable for im⯑proving on what has already been invented, it is no wonder that we ſhould attempt to heighten the guſto of this enter⯑tainment, and even carry it beyond the licence of a foreign [394] Carnival. There is ſomething too inſipid in our fine gentle⯑men ſtalking about in dominos; and it is rather cruel to eclipſe the pretty faces of our fine ladies with hideous maſks: for which reaſons it has been judged requiſite to contrive a maſquerade upon a new plan, and in an entire new taſte. We may all remember, when (a few years ago) a celebrated lady endeavoured to introduce a new ſpecies of Maſquerade among us, by lopping off the exuberance of dreſs: and ſhe herſelf firſt ſet the example, by ſtripping to the character of Iphigenia undreſt for the ſacrifice. I muſt own, it is a matter of ſome ſurprize to me (conſidering the propenſity of our modern ladies to get rid of their cloaths,) that other Iphigenias did not immediately ſtart up, or that nuns and veſtals ſhould be ſuffered ever after to be ſeen among the maſks. But this project, it ſeems, was not then ſufficiently ripe for execution, as a certain aukward thing, called Baſhfulneſs, had not yet been baniſhed from the female world: and to the preſent enlightened times was reſerved the honour of introducing (however contradictory the term may ſeem) a NAKED MASQUERADE.

WHAT the above-mentioned lady had the hardineſs to attempt alone, will (I am aſſured) be ſet on foot by our perſons of faſhion, as ſoon as the hot days come in. Ra⯑nelagh. is the place pitched upon for their meeting; where it is propoſed to have a Maſquerade Al Freſco, and the whole company is to diſplay all their charms in puris natura⯑libus. The Pantheon of the Heathen Gods, Ovid's Metamor⯑phoſes, and Titian's Prints will ſupply them with a ſufficient variety of undreſt characters. One ſet of ladies, I am told, intend to perſonate Water-Nymphs bathing in the canal: [395] three ſiſters, celebrated for their charms, deſign to appear together as the Three Graces; and a certain lady of quality, who moſt reſembles the Goddeſs of Beauty, is now practiſing from a model of the noted ſtatue of Venus de Medicis, the moſt ſtriking attitudes for that character. As to the gentlemen, they may moſt of them repreſent very ſuitably the half-brutal forms of Satyrs, Pans, Fauns, and Centaurs: our beaux may aſſume the ſemblance of the beardleſs Apollo, or (which would be more natural) may admire themſelves in the perſon of Narciſſus: and our bucks might act quite in character, by running about ſtark-naked with their miſ⯑treſſes, and committing the maddeſt freaks, like the Prieſts and Prieſteſſes of Bacchus, celebrating the Bacchanalian myſteries.

IF this ſcheme for a Naked Maſquerade ſhould meet with encouragement, (as there is no doubt but it muſt,) it is propoſed to improve it ſtill further. Perſons of faſhion cannot but lament, that there are no diverſions allotted to Sunday, except the card-table; and they can never enough regret, that the Sunday evening tea-drinkings at Ranelagh were laid aſide, from a ſuperſtitious regard to religion. They therefore intend to have a particular ſort of Maſque⯑rade on that day, in which they may ſhew their taſte by ridiculing all the old womens tales contained in that idle book of fables, the Bible; while the vulgar are devoutly attending to them at church. This, indeed, is not with⯑out a parallel: we have had an inſtance already of an Eve; and by borrowing the ſerpent in Orpheus and Eurydice, we might have the whole ſtory of the Fall of Man exhi⯑bited in a Maſquerade.

[396]IT muſt, indeed, be acknowledged, that this project has already taken place among the loweſt of the people, who ſeem to have been the firſt contrivers of a Naked Maſquerade: and laſt ſummer I remember an article in the news-papers, that ‘"ſeveral perſons of both ſexes were aſſembled naked at Pimlico, and being carried before a magiſtrate were ſent to Bridewell."’ This, indeed, is too refined a pleaſure to be allowed the vulgar: and every body will agree with me, that the ſame act, which at the Green Lamps, or Pimlico appears low and criminal, may be polite, and extremely commendable at the Haymarket or at Ranelagh.

THE following letter has given me ſo much pleaſure, that I ſhall make it the en⯑tertainment of to-day: and I flatter myſelf it will not be diſagreeable to my readers.

THE various ſeaſons of the year produce not a greater alteration in the face of nature, than in the polite manner of paſſing our time. The diverſions of winter and ſummer are as diffe⯑rent as the dog-days and thoſe at Chriſtmas; nor do I know any genteel amuſement, ex⯑cept Gaming, that prevails during the whole year. As the long days are now coming on, the theatrical gentry, who contribute to diſſipate the gloom of our winter evenings, begin to divide themſelves into ſtrolling companies; and are packing up their tragedy wardrobes, together with a ſufficient quantity of thun⯑der and lightning, for the delight and amazement of the coun⯑try. In the mean time the ſeveral public Gardens near this me⯑tropolis are trimming their trees, levelling their walks, and bur⯑niſhing their lamps, for our reception. At Vaux-hall (which is already opened) the artificial ruins are repaired; the caſcade is made to ſpout with ſeveral additional ſtreams of block-tin; [404] and they have touched up all the pictures, which were da⯑maged laſt ſeaſon by the fingering of thoſe curious Con⯑noiſſeurs, who could not be ſatisfied without feeling whether the figures were alive. The magazine at Cuper's, I am told, is furniſhed with an extraordinary ſupply of gunpowder, to be ſhot off in ſquibs and ſky-rockets, or whirled away in blaz⯑ing ſuns and Catherine wheels. And it is not to be doubted, in caſe of a war, but that Neptune and all his Tritons will aſ⯑ſiſt the Britiſh navy; and as we before took Porto-Bello and Cape Breton, we ſhall gain new victories over the French fleet every night upon that canal.

HAPPY are they, who can muſter up ſufficient, at leaſt to hire tickets at the door, once or twice in a ſeaſon! Not that theſe pleaſures are confined to the rich and the great only; for the lower ſort of people have their Ranelaghs and their Vaux⯑halls as well as the quality. Perrot's inimitable Grotto may be ſeen for only calling for a pot of beer; and the royal di⯑verſion of duck-hunting, may be had into the bargain, toge⯑ther with a decanter of Dorcheſter, for your ſix-pence at Jenny's Whim. Every ſkettle-alley half a mile out of town is embelliſhed with green arbours and ſhady retreats; where the company is generally entertained with the melodious ſcraping of a blind fiddler. And who can reſiſt the luſcious temptation of a fine juicy ham, or a delicious buttock of beef ſtuffed with parſley, accompanied with a foaming decanter of ſparkling home-brew'd, which is ſo invitingly painted at the entrance of almoſt every village ale-houſe?

OUR Northern climate will not, indeed, allow us to in⯑dulge ourſelves in all thoſe pleaſures of a garden, which are ſo feelingly deſcribed by our poets. We dare not lay our⯑ſelves on the damp ground in ſhady groves, or by the purl⯑ing ſtream, but are obliged to fortify our inſides againſt the cold by good ſubſtantial eating and drinking. For this reaſon the extreme coſtlineſs of the proviſions at our public Gardens has been grievouſly complained of by thoſe gentry, to whom a ſupper at theſe places is as neceſſary a part of the entertain⯑ment as the ſinging or the fireworks. Poor Mr. John ſees with an heavy heart the profits of a whole week's card-money de⯑voured in tarts and cheeſe-cakes by Mrs. Houſe-keeper or Mrs. Lady's own Woman: and the ſubſtantial cit, who comes from behind the counter two or three evenings in the ſum⯑mer, can never enough regret the thin wafer-like ſlices of beef and ham, that taſte of nothing but the knife.

[405]I WAS greatly diverted laſt Saturday evening at Vaux-hall with the ſhrewd remarks made on this very head by an honeſt citizen; whoſe wife and two daughters had, I found, pre⯑vailed on him to carry them to the Garden. As I thought there was ſomething curious in their behaviour, I went into the next box to them, where I had an opportunity of ſeeing and over-hearing every thing that paſt.

AFTER ſome talk,— ‘"Come, come, (ſaid the old don) it is high time, I think, to go to ſupper."’ To this the ladies readily aſſented; and one of the miſſes ſaid, ‘"do let us have a chick, papa."’ ‘"Zounds (ſaid the father) they are half a crown a-piece, and no bigger than a ſparrow."’ Here the old lady took him up— ‘"You are ſo ſtingy, Mr. Roſe, there is no bearing you. When one is out upon pleaſure, I love to appear like ſomebody: and what ſignifies a few ſhillings once and away, when a body is about it?"’ This reproof ſo effectually ſilenced the old gentleman, that the youngeſt miſs had the courage to put in a word for ſome ham likewiſe: Accordingly the waiter was called, and diſpatched by the old lady with an order for a chicken and a plate of ham. When it was brought, our honeſt cit twirled the diſh about three or four times, and ſurveyed it with a very ſettled counte⯑nance; then taking up the ſlice of ham, and dangling it to and fro on the end of his fork, aſked the waiter, ‘"how much there was of it."’ ‘"A ſhilling's worth, Sir,"’ ſaid the fellow. ‘"—Prithee, ſaid the don, how much doſt think it weighs?—An ounce?—A ſhilling an ounce! that is ſixteen ſhil⯑lings per pound!—A reaſonable profit truly!—Let me ſee—ſuppoſe now the whole ham weighs thirty pounds:—at a ſhilling per ounce, that is, ſixteen ſhillings per pound, why your maſter makes exactly twenty-four pounds of every ham; and if he buys them at the beſt hand, and ſalts them and cures them himſelf, they don't ſtand him in ten ſhil⯑lings a-piece."’ The old lady bade him hold his nonſenſe, declared herſelf aſhamed for him, and aſked him if people muſt not live: then taking a coloured handkerchief from her own neck, ſhe tucked it into his ſhirt-collar, whence it hung like a bib, and helped him to a leg of the chicken. The old gentleman, at every bit he put in his mouth, amuſed himſelf with ſaying, — ‘"there goes two-pence—there goes three-pence—there goes a groat.—Zounds a man at theſe places ſhould not have a ſwallow ſo wide as a tom-tit."’

[406]THIS ſcanty repaſt, we may imagine, was ſoon diſpatched; and it was with much difficulty our citizen was prevailed on to ſuffer a plate of beef to be ordered. This too was no leſs admired, and underwent the ſame comments with the ham: at length, when only a very ſmall bit was left, as they ſay, for manners in the diſh, our don took a piece of an old news⯑paper out of his pocket, and gravely wrapping up the meat in it placed it carefully in his letter caſe. ‘"I'll keep thee as a curioſity to my dying day; and I'll ſhow thee to my neighbour Horſeman, and aſk him if he can make as much of his ſtakes."’ Then rubbing his hands, and ſhrug⯑ging up his ſhoulders, ‘"Why now, ſays he, to-morrow night I may eat as much cold beef as I can ſtuff in any tavern in London, and pay nothing for it"’ A diſh of tarts, cheeſe⯑cakes and cuſtards next made their appearance at the requeſt of the young ladies, who paid no ſort of regard to the fa⯑ther's remonſtrance, ‘"that they were four times as dear as at the paſtry-cook's."’

SUPPER being ended, madam put her ſpouſe in mind to call for wine.— ‘"We muſt have ſome wine, my dear, or we ſhall not be looked upon, you know."’ ‘"Well, well, ſays the don, that's right enough. But do they ſell their liquor too by the ounce?—’ ‘"Here, drawer, what wine have you got?"’ The fellow, who by this time began to ſmoke his gueſts, anſwered— ‘"We have exceeding good French wine of all ſorts, and pleaſe your honour. Would your honour have a bottle of Champagne, or Burgundy, or Claret, or"—’ ‘"No, no, none of your wiſhy-waſhy outlandiſh rot-gut for me:"’ interrupted the citizen.— ‘"A tankard of the Alderman beats all the red Claret wine in the French king's cellar.—But come, bring us a bottle of ſound old Port; and d'ye hear? let it be good."’

WHILE the waiter was gone, the good man moſt ſadly la⯑mented, that he could not have his pipe; which the wife would by no means allow, ‘"becauſe (ſhe ſaid) it was ungenteel to ſmoke, where there were any ladies in company."’ When the wine came, our citizen gravely took up the bottle, and holding it above his head, ‘"Aye, aye, ſaid he, the bottom has had a good kick—And mind how confoundedly it is warped on the ſides.—Not above five gills, I warrant.—An old ſoldier at the Jeruſalem would beat two of them.—But let us ſee how it is brew'd."’ He then poured out a glaſs; and after holding it up before the candle, ſmelling to [407] it, ſipping it twice or thrice, and ſmacking with his lips; drank it off: but declaring that ſecond thoughts were beſt, he filled another bumper; and toſſing that off, after ſome pauſe, with a very important air, ventured to pronounce it drinkable. The ladies, having alſo drank a glaſs round, af⯑firmed it was very good, and felt warm in the ſtomach: and even the old gentleman relaxed into ſuch good humour by the time the bottle was emptied, that out of his own free will and motion he moſt generouſly called for another pint, but charged the waiter ‘"to pick out an honeſt one."’

WHILE the glaſs was thus circulating, the family amuſed themſelves by making obſervations on the Garden. The ci⯑tizen expreſſed his wonder at the number of lamps; and ſaid it muſt coſt a great deal of money every night to light them all: the eldeſt miſs declared, that for her part ſhe liked the Dark Walk beſt of all, becauſe it was ſolentary: little miſs thought the laſt ſong mighty pretty, and ſaid ſhe would buy it, if ſhe could but remember the tune: and the old lady ob⯑ſerved, that there was a great deal of good company indeed; but the gentlemen were ſo rude, that they perfectly put her out of countenance by ſtaring at her through their ſpy-glaſſes. In a word, the tarts, the cheeſecakes, the beef, the chicken, the ounce of ham, and every thing, ſeemed to have been quite forgot, till the diſmal moment approached, that the reckoning was called for. As this ſolemn buſineſs concerns only the gentlemen, the ladies kept a profound ſilence; and when the terrible account was brought, they left the pay⯑maſter undiſturbed to enjoy the miſery by himſelf: only the old lady had the hardineſs to ſquint at the ſum total, and de⯑clared ‘"it was pretty reaſonable conſidering."’

OUR citizen bore his misfortunes with a tolerable degree of patience: he ſhook his head as he run over every article, and ſwore he would never buy meat by the ounce again. At length, when he had carefully ſummed up every figure, he bade the drawer bring change for ſix-pence: then pulling out a leathern purſe from a ſnug pocket in the inſide of his waiſtcoat, he drew out ſlowly, piece by piece, thirteen ſhil⯑lings; which he regularly placed in two rows upon the ta⯑ble. When the change was brought, after counting it very carefully, he laid down four half-pence in the ſame exact or⯑der; then calling the waiter,— ‘"there, ſays he, there's your damage—thirteen and two-pence—And hearkye, there's three-pence over for yourſelf."’ The remaining penny he [408] put into his coat-pocket; and chinking it— ‘"this, ſays he, will ſerve me to-morrow to buy a paper of tobacco."’

THE family now prepared themſelves for going; and as there were ſome ſlight drops of rain, madam buttoned up the old gentleman's coat, that he might not ſpoil his laced waiſt⯑coat, and made him flap his hat, over which ſhe tyed his pocket handkerchief, to ſave his wig: and as the coat itſelf, (ſhe ſaid) had never been worn but three Sundays, ſhe even parted with her own Cardinal, and ſpread it the wrong ſide out over his ſhoulders. In theſe accoutrements he ſallied forth, accompanied by his wife with her upper petticoat thrown over her head, and his daughters with the ſkirts of their gowns turned up, and their heads muffled up in co⯑loured handkerchiefs. I followed them quite out of the Gar⯑den; and as they were waiting for their hack to draw up, the youngeſt miſs aſked, ‘"When ſhall we come again, papa?—’ ‘"Come again? (ſaid he) what a pox would you ruin me? Once in one's life is enough; and I think I have done very handſome. Why it would not have coſt me above four-pence half-penny to have ſpent my evening at Sots Hole: and what with the curſed coach hire, and all together, here's almoſt a pound gone, and nothing to ſhow for it."’ ‘"Fye, Mr. Roſe, I am quite aſhamed for you,"’ replies the old lady. ‘"You are always grudging me and your girls the leaſt bit of pleaſure: and you cannot help grumbling, if we do but go to Little Hornſey to drink tea. I am ſure, now they are women grown up, they ought to ſee a little of the world;—and they SHALL."’ The old don was not willing to purſue the argument any further; and the coach coming up, he was glad to put an end to the diſpute by ſay⯑ing,— ‘"Come, come, let us make haſte, wife; or we ſhall not get home time enough to have my beſt wig combed out again;—and to-morrow, you know, is Sunday."’

IN a viſit which I paid the other day to a lady of great ſenſe and taſte, I was agreeably ſurpriſed by having two little volumes put into my hands, which have been lately pub⯑liſhed under the title of "POEMS by EMINENT LADIES." Theſe volumes are, indeed, (as the author of the preface has remarked) ‘"the moſt ſolid compliment, that can poſſibly be paid to the fair ſex."’ I never imagined, that our nation could boaſt ſo many excellent Poeteſſes, (whoſe works are an honour to their country) as I found are here collected together: And it is with the higheſt ſatisfaction I can aſſure my female readers in particular, that I have found a great number of very ele⯑gant pieces among the writings of theſe ladies, which cannot be ſurpaſſed by the moſt celebrated of our male-writers.

[410]THE pleaſure, which I received from reading theſe poems, made ſuch an impreſſion on my mind, that at night, as ſoon as I fell aſleep, my fancy preſented to me the fol⯑lowing Dream. I was tranſported, I know not how, to the regions of Parnaſſus; and found myſelf in the Court of Apollo, ſurrounded by a great number of our moſt eminent poets. A cauſe of the utmoſt importance was then depend⯑ing; and the debate was, whether the ladies, who had diſ⯑tinguiſhed themſelves in poetry, ſhould be allowed to hold the ſame rank, and have the ſame honours paid them, with the men. As the moderns were not allowed to plead in their own ſuit, Juvenal was retained on the ſide of the male poets, and Sappho pleaded in defence of the other ſex. The Roman ſatiriſt in his ſpeech at the bar inveighed bitterly againſt women in general, and particularly exclaimed againſt their dabbling in literature: but when Sappho came to ſet forth the pretenſions, which the ladies juſtly had to poetry, and eſpecially in love affairs, Apollo could no longer reſiſt the importunity of the Muſes in favour of their own ſex. He therefore decreed, that all thoſe females, who thought themſelves able to manage Pegaſus, ſhould immediately ſhew their ſkill and dexterity in riding him.

PEGASUS was accordingly brought out of the ſtable, and the Muſes furniſhed him with a ſide-ſaddle. All the ladies, who had courage enough to venture on his back, were pre⯑pared to mount: but as a great diſpute aroſe among ſome of the competitors about precedency, (each of them claim⯑ing a right to ride firſt,) it was at length agreed, that they ſhould get into the ſaddle according to ſeniority.

UPON this a lady advanced; who, though ſhe had ſome⯑thing rather extravagant in her air and deportment, yet ſhe [411] had a noble preſence, that commanded at once our awe and admiration. She was dreſſed in an old-faſhioned habit, very fantaſtic, and trimmed with bugles and points; ſuch as was worn in the times of King Charles the firſt. This lady, I was informed, was the Dutcheſs of NEWCASTLE. When ſhe came to mount, ſhe ſprung into the ſaddle with ſur⯑priſing agility; and giving an entire looſe to the reins, Pe⯑gaſus directly ſet up a gallop, and run away with her quite out of our ſight. However, it was acknowledged, that ſhe kept a firm ſeat, even when the horſe went at his deep⯑eſt rate; and that ſhe wanted nothing but to ride with a curb-bridle. When ſhe came to diſmount, Shakeſpeare and Milton very kindly offered their hand to help her down, which ſhe accepted. Then Euterpe came up to her with a ſmile, and begged her to repeat thoſe beautiful lines againſt Melancholy, which (ſhe ſaid) were ſo extremely pictu⯑reſque. The Dutcheſs, with a moſt pleaſing air, imme⯑diately began—

All the while that theſe lines were repeating, Milton ſeem⯑ed very much chagrined; and it was whiſpered by ſome, that he was obliged for many of the thoughts in his L'Allegro and Il Penſeroſo to this lady's ^* Dialogue between Mirth and Melancholy.

THE Celebrated ORINDA, Mrs. KATHERINE PHILIPS, was next placed in the ſaddle, amid the ſhouts and applauſes of the lords Roſcommon and Orrery, Cowley, and other fa⯑mous wits of her time. Her dreſs was ſimple, though of a very elegant make: it had no profuſe ornaments, and approached very nearly to the cut and faſhion of the preſent age. Though ſhe never ventured beyond a canter or an hand-gallop, ſhe made Pegaſus do his paces with ſo much eaſe and exactneſs, that Waller owned he could never bring him under ſo much command. After her Mrs. KILLI⯑GREW, aſſiſted by Dryden, and ſeveral other ladies of that age took their turns to ride: and every one agreed, that (making ſome allowances for their ſex) they could not be excelled by the moſt experienced riders among the men.

[413]A BOLD maſculine figure now puſhed forward in a thin, airy, gay habit, which hung ſo looſe about her, that ſhe ap⯑peared to be half undreſt. When ſhe came up to Pegaſus, ſhe clapped her hand upon the ſide-ſaddle, and with a ſpring leaped acroſs it, ſaying that ſhe would never ride him but aſtride. She made the poor beaſt friſk, and caper, and curvet, and play a thouſand tricks; while ſhe herſelf was quite unconcerned, though ſhe ſhewed her legs at every motion of the horſe, and many of the Muſes turned their heads aſide bluſhing. Thalia, indeed, was a good deal pleaſed with her frolicks; and Erato declared, that next to her favourite Sappho ſhe ſhould always prefer this lady. Upon enquiring her name I found her to be the free-ſpirited Mrs. BEHN. When ſhe was to diſmount, Lord Rocheſter came up, and caught her in his arms; and repeating part of her ^* Ode to Deſire,

I HAD now the pleaſure to ſee many ladies of our own times, whoſe names I was very well acquainted with, ad⯑vance towards Pegaſus. Among the reſt I could not but wonder at the aſtoniſhing dexterity, with which the admired Mrs LEAPOR of Brackley guided the horſe, though ſhe had not the leaſt direction or aſſiſtance from any body. Mrs. BARBER of Ireland was aſſiſted in getting upon the ſaddle by Swift himſelf, who even condeſcended to hold the ſtirrup while ſhe mounted. Under the Dean's direction ſhe made the horſe to pace and amble very prettily: notwithſtanding [414] which ſome declared, that ſhe was not equal to her friend and country-woman Mrs. GRIERSON.

ANOTHER lady, a native of the ſame kingdom, then briſkly ſtepped up to Pegaſus; and deſpiſing the weak efforts of her huſband to prevent her, ſhe boldly jumped into the ſaddle, and whipping and cutting rode away furiouſly helter ſkelter over hedge and ditch, and trampled on every body who came in her road. She took particular delight in driving the poor horſe, who kicked and winced all the while, into the moſt filthy places; where ſhe made him fling about the dirt and mire, with which ſhe beſpattered almoſt every one that came near her. Sometimes, however, ſhe would put a ſtop to this mad career; and then ſhe plainly convinced us, that ſhe knew as well how to manage Pegaſus as any of the females, who had tried before her. Being told that this lady was no other than the celebrated biographer of her own actions Mrs. PILKINGTON, I had the curioſity to take a nearer view of her; when ſtepping up towards her, and offering my aſſiſtance to help her down, methought ſhe returned my civility with ſuch an uncourteous ſlap on the face, that (though I awaked at the inſtant) I could not help fancying for ſome time, that I felt my cheek tingle with the blow.

MY publiſher having acquainted me, that he intends to cloſe the volume with this num⯑ber, I ſhall take the opportunity to throw together ſeveral letters, which I have received in the courſe of this work, and to ballance with all my correſpondents; at the ſame time aſſuring them, that I ſhould be very glad to open a freſh account with them in my next volume.

IN the infancy of this undertaking I was honoured with a very kind billet from a brother of the quill; the terms of which I am ſorry it was not in my power to comply with. It was as follows.

THE contents of the poſtſcript I naturally referred to the conſideration of my publiſher, who conſequently had a right to determine on the goodneſs of my friend's eſſay: but, whatever was the reaſon, I heard no more of it. The com⯑merce between bookſeller and author is, indeed, of very great ſervice, eſpecially to the latter: for though I myſelf muſt undoubtedly be excepted out of the number, yet it muſt be confeſſed, that the moſt famous wits have owed their ſupport to this pecuniary intercourſe. Meat and drink, and the other conveniences of life, are as neceſſary to an author, as pen, ink and paper: and I remember to have ſeen in the poſſeſſion of Mr. Tonſon a curious manuſcript of the great Dryden himſelf, wherein he petitions his book⯑ſeller to advance a ſum of money to his taylor.

THE next letter comes likewiſe from an author, who complains of an evil, which does not, indeed, often affect many of our fraternity; I mean, the cuſtom of giving money to ſervants. Had this practice prevailed among the ancients, the Roman Satiriſt would doubtleſs have had much more reaſon to exclaim—Miſerum eſt alienâ vivere quadrâ.

BY ſome of my papers I find I have drawn upon me the cenſure, not only of the Free-thinkers, but of the Moravians, Methodiſts, and other numerous ſectaries, which have lately ſtarted up in oppoſition to our eſtabliſhed religion. The following letter bears about it ſo many marks of an original, that it certainly comes from one of their teachers, who (as his ſtile ſmells ſo much of the craft) is undoubtedly ſome in⯑ſpired [418] ſhoemaker, or enlightened bricklayer. I have there⯑fore printed it without any alteration, except in the ſpelling.

THE laſt letter, which I ſhall add, comes from an un⯑known correſpondent, who has already obliged me more than once, if I may judge from the hand-writing.