on the contrary, told them, he presented him- | self as a candidate, because he knew the age was sunk into immorality and corruption; and that if they would give him their votes, he would promise to make use of such a strictness and severity of discipline as should recover them out of it. The Roman historians, upon this occasion, very much celebrated the public spiritedness of that people, who chose Cato for their Censor, notwithstanding his method of recommending himself. I may in some measure extol my own countrymen upon the same account, who, without any respect to party, or any application from myself, have made such generous subscriptions for the Censor of Great Britain, as will give a magnificence to my old age, and which I esteem more than I would any post in Europe of a hundred times the value. I shall only add, that, upon looking into my catalogue of subscribers, which I intend to print alphabetically in the front of my lucubrations, I find the names of the greatest beauties and wits in the whole island of Great Britain, which I only mention for the benefit of any of them who have not yet subscribed, it being my design to close the subscription in a very short time. No. 163.] Thursday, April 25, 1710. Idem inficeto est inficetior rure I YESTERDAY Catul. de Suffeno. Will's Coffee-house, April 24. came hither about two hours before the company generally make their appearance, with a design to read over all the newspapers; but upon my sitting down, I was accosted by Ned Softly, who saw me from a corner in the other end of the room, where I found he had been writing something. "Mr. Bickerstaffe, (says he,) I observe by a late paper of yours, that you and I are just of a humour; for you must know, of all impertinencies, there is nothing which I so much hate as news. I never read a Gazette in my life; and never trouble my head about our armies, whether they win or lose, or in what part of the world they lie encamped." Without giving me time to reply, he drew a paper of verses out of his pocket, telling me, that he had something which would entertain me more agreeably, and that he would desire my judgment upon every line, for that we had time enough before us till the company came in. Ned Softly is a very pretty poet, and a great admirer of easy lines. Waller is his favourite: and as that admirable writer has the best and worst verses of any among our English poets, Ned Softly has got all the bad ones without book, which he repeats upon occasion to show is reading, and garnish his conversation. Ned is indeed a true English reader, incapable of relishing the great and masterly strokes of this art; but one wonderfully pleased with the little Gothic ornaments of epigrammatical conceits, turns, points, and quibbles, which are so frequent in the most admired of our English poets, and practised by those who want genius and strength to represent, after the manner of the ancients, simplicity in its natural beauty and perfection. Finding myself unavoidably engaged in such a conversation, I was resolved to tern my pain into pleasure, and to divert myself as well as I could with so very odd a fellow. "You must understand (says Ned) that the sonnet I am going to read to you was written upon a lady, who showed me some verses of her own making, and is, perhaps, the best poet of our age. But you shall hear it.” Upon which he began to read as follows. "To Mira, on her incomparable Poem. I. "When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine, And tune your soft melodious notes, You seem a sister of the Nine, Or Phoebus' self in petticoats. II. "I fancy, when your song you sing, (Your song you sing with so much art,) Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing, For, ah! it wounds me like his dart." Why, (says I,) this is a little nosegay of conceits, a very lump of salt: every verse hath something in it that piques; and then the dart in the last line is certainly as pretty a sting in the tail of an epigram (tor so I think your critics call it) as ever entered "Dear Mr. into the thought of a poet. Bickerstaffe, (says he, shaking me by the of these things; and to tell you truly, I read hand,) every body knows you to be a judge over Roscommon's translation of Horace's Art of Poetry three several times, before I sat down to write the sonnet which I have shown you. you. But But you shall hear it again, and pray observe every line of it, for not one of them shall pass without your approbation.” "When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine. ' "That is (says he) when you have your garland on; when you are writing verses. Towhich I replied, "I know your meaning: a metaphor !" | "The same," said he, and went on : "And tune your soft melodious notes." "Pray observe the gliding of that verse; there is scarce a consonant in it: I took care to make it run upon liquids. Give me your opinion of it.” "Truly (said I) I think it as good as the former." "I am very glad to hear you say so, (says he:) but mind the next:" tr "You seem a sister of the Nine." "That is, (says he,) you seem a sister of the Muses; for if you look into ancient au- | No. 165.] Saturday, April 29, 1710. thors, you will find it was their opinion, that there were nine of them.' "I remember it -very well, (said I :) but pray proceed.” "Or Phœbus' self in petticoats." "Phœbus (says he) was the god of poetry. These little instances, Mr. Bickerstaffe, show a gentleman's reading. Then to take off from the air of learning, which Phoebus and the Muses have given to this first stanza, you may observe, how it falls all of a sudden into the familiar; In petticoats!" "Or Phœbus' self in petticoats." "Let us now (says I,) enter upon the second stanza. I find the first line is still a continuation of the metaphor." "I fancy when your song you sing." "It is very right, (says he :) but pray observe the turn of words in those two lines. I was a whole hour in adjusting them, and have still a doubt upon me, whether in the second line it should be, 'Your song you sing; or, 'You sing your song.' You shall hear them both :" "I fancy, when your song you sing, "My friend Dick Easy (continued he) assured me, he would rather have written that ah! than to have been the author of the Æneid. He indeed objected, that I made Mira's pen like a quill in one of the lines, and like a dart in the other. But as to that "Oh! as to that, (says I,) it is but supposing Cupid to be like a porcupine, and his quills and darts will be the same thing. He was going to embrace me for the hint; but half a dozen critics coming into the room, whose faces he did not like, he conveyed the sonnet into his pocket, and whispered me in the ear, he would show it me again as soon as his man had written it over fa From my own Apartment, April 28. IT has always been my endeavour to distinguish between realities and appearances, and to separate true merit from the pretence to it. As it shall ever be my study to make discoveries of this nature in human life, and to settle the proper distinctions between the virtues and perfections of mankind, and those false colours and resemblances of them that shine alike in the eyes of the vulgar; so I shall be more particularly careful to search into the various merits and pretences of the learned world. This is the more necessary, because there seems to be a general combination among the pedants to extol one another's labours, and cry up one another's parts; while men of sense, either through that modesty which is natural to them, or the scorn they have for such trifling commendations, enjoy their stock of knowledge like a hidden treasure, with satisfaction and silence. Pein religion, a form of knowledge without the dantry, indeed, in learning, is like hypocrisy power of it, that attracts the eyes of the common people, breaks out in noise and show, and finds its reward not from any inward pleasure that attends it, but from the praises and approbations which it receives from men. Of this shallow species there is not a more importunate, empty, and conceited animal, than that which is generally known by the name of a critic. This, in the common acceptation of the word, is one that, without entering into the sense and soul of an author, has a few general rules, which, like mechanical instruments, he applies to the works of every writer, and as they quadrate with fective. He is master of a certain set of them, pronounces the author perfect or dewords, as Unity, Style, Fire, Phlegm, Easy, which he varies, compounds, divides, and Natural, Turn, Sentiment, and the like throws together, in every part of his discourse, without any thought or meaning. The marks you may know him by are, an elevated eye, and dogmatical brow, a positive voice, and a contempt for every thing that comes out, whether he has read it or not. He dwells altogether on generals. praises or dispraises in the lump. shakes his head very frequently at the pedantry of universities, and bursts into laughter when you mention an author that is known at Will's. He hath formed his judgment upon Homer, Horace, and Virgil, not from their own works, but from those of Rapin and Bossu. He knows his own strength so well, that he never dares praise any thing in which he has not a French author for his voucher. He He With these extraordinary talents and accomplishments, Sir Timothy Title puts men in vogue, or condemns them to obscurity, and sits as judge of life and death upon every au thor that appears in public. It is impossible to represent the pangs, agonies, and convul sions, which Sir Timothy expresses in every feature of his face, and muscle of his body, upon the reading of a bad poet. | (says she :) Pray who should hinder me?" Madam, (says he,) there are such people in the world as Rapin, Dacier, and sev eral others, that ought to have spoiled your mirth.” "I have heard, (says the young lady,) that your great critics are always very bad poets: I fancy there is as much difference between the works of one and the other, as there is between the carriage of a dancing master and a gentleman. I must confess, (continued she,) I would not be troubled with so fine a judgment as yours is; for I find you feel more vexation in a bad comedy, than I do in a deep tragedy." "Madam, (says Sir Timothy,) that is not my fault; they should learn the art of writing." "For my part, (says the young lady,) I should think the greatest art in your writers of comedies is to please." "To please!” (says Sir Timothy;) and immediately fell à laughing."Truly (says she,) this is my opinion. Upon this, he compered his counter.ance, looked upon his watch, and took his leave. I hear that Sir Timothy has not been at my friend's house since this notable conference, to the satisfaction of the young lady, who by this means has got rid of a very impertinent fop. I must confess, I could not but observe, with a great deal of surprise, how this gentleman, by his ill nature, folly, and affectation, hath made himself capable of suffering so many imaginary pains, and looking with such a senseless severity upon the common diversions of life. About a week ago I was engaged at a friend's house of mine in an agreeable conversation with his wife and daughters, when, in the height of our mirth, Sir Timothy, who makes love to my friend's eldest daughter, came in amongst us puffing and blowing, as if he had been very much out of breath. He immediately called for a chair, and desired leave to sit down, without any further ceremony. 1 asked him, "Where he had been? Whether he was out of order?" He only replied, that he was quite spent, and fell a cursing in soliloquy. I could hear him cry, "A wicked rogue !-An execrable wretch !-Was there ever such a monster!"-The young ladies upon this began to be affrighted, and asked, "Whether any one had hurt him?" He answered nothing, but still talked to himself. "To lay the first scene (says he) in St. James's Park, and the last in Northamptonshire !" Is that all? (says I:) Then I suppose you have been at the rehearsal of a play this morning." "Been! (says he;) I have been at Northampton, in the Park, in a lady's bed-chamber, in a dining-room, every where; the rogue has led me such a dance!"—Though I could scarce forbear laughing at his discourse, I told him I was glad it was no worse, and that he was only metaphorically weary. "In short, Sir, (says he,) the author has not observed a single unity in his whole play; the scene shifts in every dialogue; the villain has hurried me up and down at such a rate, that I am tired off my legs." I could not but observe with some pleasure, that the No. 192.] Saturday, July 1, 1710. young lady whom he made love to, conceived a very just aversion towards him, upon seeing him so very passionate in trifles. And as she had that natural sense which makes her a better judge than a thousand critics, From my own Apartment, June 30. she began to rally him upon this foolish hu- SOME years since I was engaged with a mour. "For my part, (says she,) I never coach full of friends, to take a journey as far knew a play take that was written up to your as the Land's-end. We were very well rules, as you call them," "How Madam! pleased with one another the first day, every (says he,) is that your opinion? I am sure one endeavouring to recommend himself, by you have a better taste." "It is a pretty his good humour and complaisance, to the kind of magic, (says she,) the poets have, to rest of the company. This good correspontransport an audience from place to place, dence did not last long; one of our party without the help of a coach and horses. I was soured the very first evening by a plate could travel round the world at such a rate. of butter, which had not been melted to his 'Tis such an entertainment as an enchant-mind, and which spoiled his temper to such ress finds when she fancies herself in a wood, or upon a mountain, at a feast, or a solemnity; though at the same time she has never stirred out of her cottage. "Your simile, Madam, (says Sir Timothy,) is by no means just." "Pray (says she) let my similies pass without a criticism. I must confess, (continued she, for I found she was resolved to exasperate him,) I laughed very heartily at the last new comedy which you found so much fault with." "But, Madam, (says he,) you ought not to have laughed; and I defy any one to show me a single rule that you could laugh by. 'Ought not to laugh! وو Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens. Hor. a degree, that he continued upon the fret to the end of our journey. A second fell off from his good humour the next morning, for no other reason that I could imagine, but because I chanced to step into the coach before him, and place myself on the shady side. This, however, was but my own private guess, for he did not mention a word of it, nor indeed of any thing else, for three days following. The rest of our company held out very near half the way, when of a sudden Mr. Sprightly fell asleep; and, instead of endeavouring to divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto done, carried himself with amiable simplicity, and render deformity itself agreeable. Constancy is natural to persons of even an unconcerned, careless, drowsy behaviour, till we came to our last stage. There were three of us who still held up our heads, and did all we could to make our journey agree-tempers and uniform dispositions, and may able; but, to my shame be it spoken, about three miles on this side Exeter, I was taken with an unaccountable fit of sullenness, that hung upon me for above threescore miles; whether it were for want of respect, or from an accidental tread upon my foot, or from a foolish maid's calling me The old Gentleman, I cannot tell. In short, there was but one who kept his good humour to the Land'send. be acquired by those of the greatest fickleness, violence and passion, who consider se riously the terms of union upon which they come together, the mutual interest in which they are engaged, with all the motives that ought to incite their tenderness and compassion towards those who have their dependance upon them, and are embarked with them for life in the same state of happiness or misery. Constancy, when it grows in the There was another coach that went along mind upon considerations of this nature, bewith us, in which I likewise observed, that comes a moral virtue, and a kind good-nathere were many secret jealousies, heart- ture, that is not subject to any change of burnings, and animosities. For when we health, age, fortune, or any of those acciJoined companies at night, I could not but dents which are apt to unsettle the best distake notice, that the passengers neglected positions that are found rather in constitution their own company, and studied how to than in reason. Where such a constancy as make themselves esteemed by us, who were this is wanting, the most inflamed passion altogether strangers to them; till at length may fall away into coldness and indifference, they grew so well acquainted with us, that and the most melting tenderness degenerate they liked us as little as they did one another. into hatred and aversion. I shall conclude When I reflect upon this journey, I often this paper with a story that is very well fancy it to be a picture of human life, in re-known in the North of England. spect to the several friendships, contracts, About thirty years ago, a packet-boat, and alliances, that are made and dissolved that had several passengers on board, was in the several periods of it. The most de-cast away upon a rock, and in so great danlightful and most lasting engagements are generally those which pass between man and woman; and yet upon what trifles are they weakened, or entirely broken! Sometimes the parties fly asunder, even in the midst of courtship, and sometimes grow cool in the very honey-month. Some separate before the first child, and some after the fifth; others continue good till thirty, others till forty; while some few, whose souls are of a happier make, and better fitted to one another, travel on together to the end of their journey, in a continual intercourse of kind offices and mutual endearments. ger of sinking, that all who were in it endeavoured to save themselves as well as they could, though only those who could swim well had a bare possibility of doing it. Among the passengers there were two women of fashion, who seeing themselves in such a disconsolate condition, begged of their husbands not to leave them. One of them chose rather to die with his wife, than to forsake her: the other, though he was moved with the utmost compassion for his wife, told her, that, for the good of her children, it was better one of them should live, than both perish. By a great piece of good luck, When we, therefore, choose our compan- next to a miracle, when one of our good ions for life, if we hope to keep both them men had taken the last and long farewell, and ourselves in good humour to the last in order to save himself, and the other held stage of it, we must be extremely careful in in his arms the person that was dearer to the choice we make, as well as in the con-him than life, the ship was preserved. It is duct on our own part. When the persons to whom we join ourselves can stand an examination, and bear the scrutiny, when they mend upon our acquaintance with them, and discover new beauties the more we search into their characters, our love will naturally rise in proportion to their perfections. with a secret sorrow and vexation of mind that I must tell the sequel of the story, and let my reader know, that this faithful pair, who were ready to have died in each others arms, about three years after their escape, upon some trifling disgust, grew to a coldness at first, and at length fell out to such a degree, that they left one another, and parted for ever. The other couple lived together in an uninterrupted friendship and felicity; and what was remarkable, the husband whom the shipwreck had like to have separated from his wife, died a few months after her, not being able to survive the loss of her. But because there are very few possessed of such accomplishments of body and mind, we ought to look after those qualifications both in ourselves and others, which are indispensably necessary towards this happy union, and which are in the power of every one to acquire, or at least to cultivate and improve. These, in my opinion, are cheer- I must confess, there is something in the fulness and constancy. A cheerful temper changeableness and inconstancy of human joined with innocence, will make beauty at- nature, that very often both dejects and tertractive, knowledge delightful, and wit good-rifies me. Whatever I am at present, I natured. It will lighten sickness, poverty, tremble to think what I may be. While I and affliction; convert ignorance into an find this principle in me, how can I assure myself, that I shall be always true to my God, my friend, or myself? In short, without constancy, there is neither love, friendship or virtue in the world. No. 216.] Saturday, August 26, 1710. Nugis addere pondus. From my own Apartment, August 25. NATURE is full of wonders; every atom is a standing miracle, and endowed with such qualities, as could not be impressed on it by a power and wisdom less than infinite. For this reason, I would not discourage any | searches that are made into the most minute and trivial parts of the creation. However, since the world abounds in the noblest fields of speculation, it is, methinks, the mark of a little genius to be wholly conversant among insects, reptiles, animalcules, and those trifling rarities that furnish out the apartment of a virtuoso. There are some men whose heads are so oddly turned this way, that though they are utter strangers to the common occurrences of life, they are able to discover the sex of a cockle, or describe the generation of a mite, in all its circumstances. They are so little versed in the world, that they scarce know a a horse from an ox; but at the same time will tell you, with a great deal of gravity, To show this humour in its perfection, I shall present my reader with the legacy of a certain virtuoso, who laid out a considerable estate in natural rarities and curiosities, which upon his deathbed he bequeathed to his relations and friends in the following words: The Will of a Virtuoso. health of mind, but in great weakness of I NICHOLAS GIMCRACK, being in sound body, do by this my last will and testament, bestow my worldly goods and chattels in manner following: Imprimis, To my dear wife, One box of butterflies, Item, To my daughter Elizabeth, As also my preparations of winter-Maydew, and embryo pickle. Item, To my little daughter Fanny, she marries with her mother's consent, The nest of a humming-bird. Item, To my eldest brother, as an ac My last year's collection of grasshoppers. that a flea is a rhinoceros, and a snail a her-knowledgment for the lands he has invested maphrodite. I have known one of these in my son Charles, I bequeath whimsical philosophers who has set a greater value upon a collection of spiders than he would upon a flock of sheep, and has sold his coat off his back to purchase a tarantula. I would not have a scholar wholly unacquainted with these secrets and curiosities of nature; but certainly the mind of man, that is capable of so much higher contemplations, should not be altogether fixed upon such mean and disproportioned objects. Observations of this kind are apt to alienate us too much from the knowledge of the world, and to make us serious upon trifles, by which means they expose philosophy to the ridicule of the witty, and the contempt of the ignorant. In short, studies of this nature should be the diversions, relaxations, and amusements, not the care, business and concern of life. his only child, I bequeath my English weeds pasted on royal paper, Item, To my learned and worthy friend Dr. Johannes Elscrickius, professor of anatomy, and my associate in the studies of nature, as an eternal monument of my affection and friendship for him, I bequeath My rat's testicles, and To him and his issue male; and in default for ever. Having fully provided for my nephew Isaac, by making over to him some years since A horned scarabæus, The skin of a rattle-snake, and It is indeed wonderful to consider, that there should be a sort of learned men who are wholly employed in gathering together the refuse of nature, if I may call it so, and hoarding up in their chests and cabinets such creatures as others industriously avoid the sight of. One does not know how to mention some of the most precious parts of their I make no further provision for him in this treasure, without a kind of an apology for it. I have been shown a beetle valued at twenty my will. crowns, and a toad at a hundred: but we must take this for a general rule, that whatever appears trival or obscure in the common notions of the world, looks grave and philosophical in the eye of a virtuoso. My eldest son, John, having spoken disrespectfully of his little sister, whom I keep by me in spirits of wine, and in many other instances behaved himself undutifully towards me, I do disinherit, and wholly cut off |