of whift than with thofe of Bacchus, that talking spoils company.

Every one endeavours to make himself as agreeable to fociety as he can: but it often happens, that thofe, who moft aim at fhining in converfation, over-shoot their mark. Though a man fucceeds, he fhould not (as is frequently the cafe) engrofs the whole talk to himfelf; for that deftroys the very effence of converfation, which is talking together. We should try to keep up converfation like a ball bandied to and fro from one to the other, rather than feize it all to ourselves, and drive it before us like a foot-ball. We fhould likewife be cautious to adapt the matter of our difcourfe to our company; and not talk Greek before ladies, or of the laft new furbelow to a meeting of country juftices.

But nothing throws a more ridiculous air over our whole converfation, that certain peculiarities, eafily acquired, but very difficultly conquered and difcarded. In order to difplay thefe abfurdities in a truer light, it is my prefent purpose to enumerate fuch of them, as are most commonly to be met with; and first to take notice of thofe buffoons in fociety, the Attitudinarians and Face-makers. These accompany every word with a peculiar grimace or gefture: they affent with a fhrug, and contradict with a twifting of the neck; are angry by a wry mouth, and pleased in a caper of a minuet-ftep. They may be confidered as fpeaking harlequins; and their rules of eloquence are taken from the pofture-mafter. These fhould be condemned to converfe only in dumb-fhew with their own perfons in the looking-glafs; as well as the Smirkers and Smilers, who fo prettily fet off their faces, together with their words, by a je-ne-fçai-quoi between a grin and a dimple. With thefe we may like wife rank the affected tribe of Mimics, who are conftantly taking off the peculiar tone of voice or gefture of their acquaintance: though they are fuch wretched imitators, that (like bad painters) they are frequently forced to write the name under the picture, before we can discover any likeness.

Next to thofe, whofe elocution is abforbed in action, and who converse chiefly with their arms and legs, we may confider the profeffed Speakers. And firft, the emphatical; who fqueeze, and prefs, and ram down every fyllable with exceffive vehemence and energy. Thefe orators are remarkable for their distinct elocution and

force of expreffion: they dwell on the important particles of and the, and the figti ficant conjunctive and; which they feem to hawk up, with much difficulty, out of their own throats, and to cram them, with no lefs pain, into the ears of their auditors. Thefe fhould be fuffered only to fyringe (as it were) the ears of a deaf man, through an hearing-trumpet: though I must confefs, that I am equally offended with the Whisperers or Low Speakers, who feem to fancy all their acquaintance deaf, and core up fo clofe to you, that they may be faid to measure nofes with you, and frequently overcome you with the full exhalations of a ftinking breath. I would have thefe oracular gentry obliged to talk at a dif tance through a fpeaking-trumpet, or ap ply their lips to the walls of a whisperinggallery. The Wits, who will not condefcend to utter any thing but a ben met, and the Whistlers or Tune-hummers, who rever articulate at all, may be joined very agree ably together in concert; and to thefe tink ling cymbals I would also add the founding brafs, the Bawler, who enquires after your health with the bellowing of a to crier.

The Tatlers, whofe pliable pipes are admirably adapted to the "foft parts of converfation," and fweetly "prattling out of fashion," make very pretty music from a beautiful face and a female tongue; but from a rough manly voice and coarfe fea tures, mere nonfenfe is as harsh and diffenant as a jig from a hurdy-gurdy. The Swearers I have fpoken of in a former på per; but the Half-fwearers, who split, and mince, and fritter their oaths into ga bud, ad's fish, and demme; the Gothi humbuggers, and thofe who "nick-name God's creatures," and call a man a catbage, a crab, a queer cub, an odd fith, and an unaccountable muskin, should never come into company without an interpreter. But I will not tire my reader's patience by pointing out all the pefts of converfation; nor dwell particularly on the Senfibles, who pronounce dogmatically on the most trivial points, and fpeak in fentences; the Wonderers, who are always wondering what o'clock it is, or wondering whether it wil rain or no, or wondering when the moon changes; the Phrafeologifts, who explain a thing by all that, or enter into particu lars with this and that and t'other; and laftly, the Silent Men, who feem afraid of opening their mouths, left they fhould catch cold, and literally obferve the pre

cept

cept of the gospel, by letting their converfation be only yea yea, and nay nay.

The rational intercourfe kept up by converfation, is one of our principal diftinctions from brutes. We fhould therefore endeavour to turn this peculiar talent to our advantage, and confider the organs of fpeech as the inftruments of understanding: we should be very careful not to use them as the weapons of vice, or tools of folly, and do our utmost to unlearn any trivial or ridiculous habits, which tend to leffen the value of fuch an ineftimable prerogative. It is, indeed, imagined by fome philofophers, that even birds and beafts (though without the power of articulation) perfectly understand one another by the founds they utter; and that dogs, cats, &c. have each a particular language to themfelves, like different nations. Thus it may be fuppofed, that the nightingales of Italy have as fine an ear for their own native wood-notes, as any fignor or fignora for an Italian air; that the boars of Weftphalia gruntle as expreffively through the nofe as the inhabitants in High-German; and that the frogs in the dykes of Holland croak as intelligibly as the natives jabber their Low-Dutch. However this may be, we may confider thofe, whofe tongues hardly feem to be under the influence of reafon, and do not keep up the proper converfation of human creatures, as imitating the language of different animals. Thus, for inftance, the affinity between chatterers and monkeys, and praters and parrots, is too obvious not to occur at once: Grunters and growlers may be juftly compared to hogs: Snarlers are curs, that continually fhew their teeth, but never bite; and the fpitfire paffionate are a fort of wild cats, that will not bear ftroking, but will purr when they are pleafed. Complainers are fcreech-owls; and story-tellers, always repeating the fame dull note, are cuckoos. Poets that prick up their ears at their own hideous braying, are no better than affes: Critics in general are venomous ferpents, that delight in hiffing; and fome of them, who have got by heart a few technical terms without knowing their meaning, are no other than magpies. Connoiffeur.

$118. A Citizen's Country Houfe defcribed.

Sir,

I remember to have feen a little French novel giving an account of a citizen of Paris making an excurfion into the country. He imagines himself about to un

dertake a long voyage to some strange region, where the natives were as different from the inhabitants of his own city as the most diftant nations. He accordingly takes boat, and is landed at a village about a league from the capital. When he is fet on fhore, he is amazed to fee the people fpeak the fame language, wear the fame drefs, and use the fame cuftoms with himfelf. He, who had spent all his life within the fight of Pont Neuf, looked upon every one that lived out of Paris as a foreigner; and though the utmost extent of his travels was not three miles, he was as much furprized, as he would have been to meet with a colony of Frenchmen on the Terra Incognita.

In your late paper on the amusements of Sunday, you have fet forth in what manner our citizens pafs that day, which moft of them devote to the country; but I wish you had been more particular in your defcriptions of those elegant rural manfions, which at once fhew the opulence and the tafte of our principal merchants, mechanics, and artificers.

I went last Sunday, in compliance with a most preffing invitation from a friend, to fpend the whole day with him at one of thefe little feats, which he had fitted out for his retirement once a week from bufinefs. It is pleasantly fituated about three miles from London, on the fide of a public road, from which it is feparated by a dry ditch, over which is a little bridge, confifting of two narrow planks, leading to the houfe. From the lower part of the house there is no profpect; but from the garrets, indeed, one may fee two men hanging in chains on Kennington-common, with a diftant view of St. Paul's cupola enveloped in a cloud of fmoke. I fet out in the morning with my friend's book-keeper, who was my guide. When I came to the houfe, I found my friend in a black velvet cap fitting at the door fmoking: he welcomed me into the country; and after having made me obferve the turnpike on my left, and the Golden Sheaf on my right, he con. ducted me into his houfe, where I was received by his lady, who made a thousand apologies for being catched in fuch a dishabille.

The hall (for fo I was taught to call it) had its white wall almost hid by a curious collection of prints and paintings. On one fide was a large map of London, a plan and elevation of the Manfion House, with feveral leffer views of the public buildings

and

cane.

and halls on the other, was the Death of the Stag, finely coloured by Mr. Overton: clofe by the parlour-door there hung a pair of ftag's horns; over which there was laid acrofs a red roccelo, and an amber-headed Over the chimney-piece was my friend's picture, who was drawn bolt upright in a full-bottomed perriwig, a laced cravat with the fringed ends appearing through a button-hole, a fnuff-coloured velvet coat with gold buttons, a red velvet waistcoat trimmed with gold, one hand fuck in the bofom of his fhirt, and the other holding out a letter with this fuperfcription: "To Mr., common-council-man of Farringdon-ward without." My eyes were then directed to another figure in a fcarlet gown, who I was informed was my friend's wife's great great uncle, and had been sheriff and knighted in the reign of king James the Firft. Madam herfelf filled up a pannel on the oppofite fide, in the habit of a fhepherdefs, fmelling to a nofegay, and stroking a ram with gilt

horns.

I was then invited by my friend to fee what he has pleafed to call his garden, which was nothing more than a yard about thirty feet in length, and contained about a dozen little pots ranged on each fide with lilies and coxcombs, fupported by fome old laths painted green, with bowls of tobaccopipes on their tops. At the end of this garden he bade me take notice of a little fquare building furrounded with filleroy, which he told me an alderman of great tafte had turned into a temple, by erecting fome battlements and fpires of painted wood on the front of it: but concluded with a hint, that I might retire to it upon occafion.

As the riches of a country are vifible in the number of its inhabitants, and the elegance of their dwellings, we may venture to say that the present state of England is very flourishing and profperous; and if our tafte for building encreafes with our opulence, for the next century, we shall be able to boast of finer country-feats belonging to our shopkeepers, artificers, and other plebeians, than the most pompous defcriptions of Italy or Greece have ever recorded. We read, it is true, of country-feats belonging to Pliny, Hortenfius, Lucullus, and other Romans. They were Patricians of great rank and fortune: there can therefore be no doubt of the excellence of their villas. But who has ever read of a Chinesebridge belonging to an Attic tallow-chand

$119. Humorous Scene between DENNIS the Critic (Jatirically reprefented by SWIFT as mad) and the Doctor.

Scene DENNIS's Garret.

DENNIS, DOCTOR, NURSE, LINTOT the Bookfeller, and another Author. DENNIS. [Looking wife, and bringing out bis Words flowly and formally.]

Beware, Doctor, that it fare not with you as it did with your predeceffor, the famous Hippocrates, whom the mistaken citizens of Abdera fent for, in this very manner, to cure the philofopher Democritus. He returned full of admiration at the wifdom of the person whom he had supposed a lunatic. Behold, Doctor, it was thus that Aristotle himself, and all the great ancients, fpent their days and nights wrapped up in criticifm, and befet all round with their own writings. As for me, be assured, I have no difeafe befides a fwelling in my legs, of which I fay nothing, fince your art may farther certify you.

Doctor. Pray, Sir, how did you contract this fwelling?

Dennis. By criticism.

Doctor. By criticism! that's a diftemper I have never heard nor read of.

Dennis. Death, Sir! a distemper! it is no diftemper; but a noble art. I have fat fourteen hours a day at it: and are you a doctor, and don't know that there's a communication between the brain and the legs?

Doctor. What made you fit fo many hours, Sir?

Dennis. Cato, Sir.

Doctor. Sir, I fpeak of your diftemper. What gave you this tumour ?

Dennis. Cato, Cato, Cato *.

Nurfe. For God's fake, Doctor, name not this evil fpirit; it is the whole cause of

He publifhed Remarks on Cato, in the year 1712.

his madness. Alas! poor mafter will have his fits again. [Almoft crying. Lintot. Fits! with a pox! a man may well have fits and fwelled legs, that fits writing fourteen hours in a day. The Remarks, the Remarks, have brought all his complaints upon him.

Doctor. The Remarks! what are they? Dennis. Death! have you never read my Remarks? I'll be hang'd if this niggardly bookfeller has advertised the book as it fhould have been.

Lintot. Not advertise it, quoth'a! pox! I have laid out pounds after pounds in advertifing. There has been as much done for the book as could be done for any book in Christendom.

Doctor. We had better not talk of books, Sir, I am afraid they are the fuel that feed his delirium. Mention books no more. I defire a word in private with this gentleman. I fuppofe, Sir, you are his apothecary.

Gent. Sir, I am his friend.

Doctor. I doubt it not. What regimen Have you obferved fince he has been under your care? You remember, I fuppofe, the paffage in Celfus, which fays, "If the patient on the third day have an interval, fufpend the medicaments at night.' Let fumigations be used to corroborate the brain. I hope you have upon no account promoted fternutation by hellebore.

Gent. Sir, you mistake the matter quite.

Doctor. What! an apothecary tell a physician he mistakes! you pretend to difpute my prescription! Pharmacopola componant. Medicus folus præfcribat. Fumigate him, I fay, this very evening, while he is relieved by an interval.

Dennis. Death, Sir, do you take my friend for an apothecary! a man of genius and learning for an apothecary! Know, Sir, that this gentleman profeffes, like my felf, the two nobleft fciences in the universe, criticism and poetry. By the immortals, he himself is author of three whole paragraphs in my Remarks, had a hand in my Public Spirit, and affisted me in my defcription of the furies and infernal regions in my Appius.

Lintot. He is an author. You mistake the gentleman, Doctor. He has been an author thefe twenty years, to his bookfeller's knowledge, if to no one's elfe.

Dennis. Is all the town in a combination? fhall poetry fall to the ground? muft our reputation in foreign countries be quite

loft? O deftruction! perdition! curfed opera! confounded opera! as poetry once raised critics, fo, when poetry fails, critics are overturned, and the world is no more.

Doctor. He raves, he raves. He must be pinioned, he must be ftrait-waistcoated, that he may do no mischief.

Dennis. O I am fick! I am fick to death!

Doctor. That is a good fymptom, a very good fymptom. To be fick to death. (fays the modern theory) is Symptoma præclarum. When a patient is fenfible of his pain he is half-cured. Pray, Sir, of what are you fick ?

Dennis. Of every thing. Of every thing. I am fick of the fentiments, of the diction, of the protafis, of the epitafis, and the catastrophe.-Alas! for the loft drama! the drama is no more!

Nurfe. If you want a dram, Sir, I will bring you a couple of penn'orths of gin in a minute. Mr. Lintot has drank the last of the noggin.

Dennis. O fcandalous want! O fhameful omiflion! By all the immortals, here is not the fhadow of a paripatia! no change of fortune in the tragedy!

Nurfe. Pray, Sir, don't be uneafy about change. Give me the fixpence, and I'll get you change immediately at the ginshop next door.

Doctor. Hold your peace, good woman. His fit increases. We must call for help. Mr. Lintot, a——— -hold him, pray. [Doctor gets behind Lintot.]

Lintot. Plague on the man! I am afraid he is really mad. And if he be, who the devil will buy the Remarks? I wifh [Scratching his head] he had been befh-t, rather' than I had meddled with his Remarks.

Doctor. He muft ufe the cold bath, and be cupped on the head. The fymptoms feem defperate. Avicen fays, "If learn"ing be mixed with a brain that is not of

a contexture fit to receive it, the brain' " ferments till it be totally exhausted." We must endeavour to eradicate these indigefted ideas out of the pericranium, and to reitore the patient to a competent knowledge of himself.

Dennis. Caitiffs, ftand off! unhand me, mifcreants! [The Doctor, the Nurfe, and Lintot, run out of the room in a hurry, and tumble down the garret-fairs all together.1 Is the man, whole labours are calculated

He wrote a treatise to prove, that the decay of public fpirit proceeds from the Italian opera.

to

to bring the town to reafon, mad? Is the man, who settles poetry on the basis of antiquity, mad? See Longinus in my right band, and Aristotle in my left! [Calls after the Doctor, the Bookfeller, and the Nurfe, from the top of the fairs.] I am the only man among the moderns, that supports the venerable ancients. And am I to be affaf finated? Shall a bookfeller, who has lived upon my labours, take away that life to which he owes his fupport? [Goes into his garret, and shuts the door.]

§ 120. The two Bees.

On a fine morning in May, two bees fet forward in queft of honey; the one wife and temperate, the other careless and extravagant. They soon arrived at a garden enriched with aromatic herbs, the most fragrant flowers, and the most delicious fruits. They regaled themfelves for a time on the various dainties that were fpread before them: the one loading his thigh at intervals with provifions for the hive against the diftant winter; the other revelling in fweets, without regard to any thing but his prefent gratification. At length they found a wide-mouthed phial, that hung beneath the bough of a peachtree, filled with honey ready tempered, and exposed to their tafle in the most alluring manner. The thoughtlefs epicure, fpite of all his friend's remonftrances, plunged headlong into the veffel, refolving to indulge himself in all the pleafures of fenfuality. The philofopher, on the other hand, fipped a little with caution; but being fufpicious of danger, flew off to fruits and flowers; where, by the moderation of his meals, he improved his relifh for the true enjoyment of them. In the evening, however, he called upon his friend, to enquire whether he would return to the hive; but found him furfeited in fweets, which he was as unable to leave, as to enjoy. Clogged in his wings, enfeebled in his feet, and his whole frame totally enervated, he was but just able to bid his friend adieu, and to lament with his latest breath, that, though a tafte of pleasure might quicken the relish of life, an unreftrained indulgence is inevitably deftruction.

§ 121. Pleasant Scene of Anger, and the Disappointment of it.

There came into a bookfeller's fhop a very learned man, with an erect folemn air; who, though a perfon of great parts otherwife, is flow in understanding any

thing which makes against himself. After he had turned over many volumes, faid the feller to him-Sir, you know I have long asked you to fend me back the first volume of French fermons I formerly lent you. Sir, faid the chapman, I have often looked for it, but cannot find it: it is certainly loft; and I know not to whom I lent it, it is fo many years ago. Then, Sir, here is the other volume; I'll fend you home that, and please to pay for both. My friend, replied he, can't thou be fo fenfelefs, as not to know, that one volume is as imperfect in my library, as in your shop? Yes, Sir; but it is you have loft the first volume; and, to be fhort, I will be paid. Sir, anfwered the chapman, you are a young man; your book is loft; and learn, by this little lofs, to bear much greater adverfities, which you must expect to meet with. Yes, Sir, I'll bear when I muft; but I have not loft now, for I fay you have it, and fhall pay me. Friend, you grow warm: I tell you, the book is loft; and I forefee, in the courfe even of a profperous life, that you will meet afflictions to make you mad, if you cannot bear this trifle. Sir, there is, in this cafe, no need of bearing, for you have the book. I fay, Sir, I have not the book; but your paffion will not let you hear enough to be informed that I have it not. Learn refignation betimes to the diftreffes of this life: nay, do not fret and fume; it is my duty to tell you that you are of an impatient spirit; and an impatient spirit is never without woe, Was ever any thing like this?—Yes, Sir, there have been many things like this. The lofs is but a trifle; but your temper is wanton, and incapable of the leaft pain; therefore, let me advife you, be patient: the book is loft, but do not you, for that reason, lose yourself.

SpeZator.

§122. Falstaff's Encomiums on Sack. A good fherris fack hath a two-fold operation in it-It afcends me into the brain: dries me, there, all the foolish, dull, and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehenfive, quick, inventive; full of nimble, fiery, and delectable fhapes, which, delivered over to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit.

-The fecond property of your excellent fherris, is, the warming of the blood; which, before, cold and fettled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pufillanimity and cowardice. But the fherris warms it, and makes it courfe from the inwards

to