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juggler might have made a complete mechanic. The same labour, and, perhaps, the same genius, which brings a man to a perfection at the game of chess, would make a great proficiency in the mathematics. Many a beau might have been a scholar, if he had consulted books with the same attention with which he hath consulted a looking-glass ; and many a fox-hunter might, to his great honour, have pursued the enemies of his country with less labour and with less danger than he hath encountered in the pursuit of foxes.
I am almost inclined to think, that if a complete history could be compiled of the eminent works of the Kevóomedor, the triflers, it would manifestly appear, that more labour and pains, more time (I had almost said, more genius) have been employed in the service of folly, than have been employed by the greatest men in inventing and perfecting the inost erudite and consummate works of art or wisdom.
I will conclude this paper with a passage from the excellent and truly learned doctor Barrow, which gives a very serious, but very just turn to this subject.
Aliud agere, to be impertinently busy, doing that which conduceth to no good purpose, is in some respect worse than to do nothing, or to for• bear all action ; for it is a positive abuse of our ' faculties, and trifling with God's gifts; it is throwing away labour and care, things valuable in themselves; it is often a running out of the
which is worse than standing still; it is a debasing our reason, and declining from our manhood; nothing being more foolish or childish,
than to be solicitous and serious about trifles; ' for who are more busy and active than children? • Who are fuller of thoughts and designs, or more eager in prosecution of them than they? But all is about ridiculous toys, the shadows of busi
ness, suggested to them by apish curiosity and imitation. Of such industry we may understand
that of the preacher, " The labour of the foolish “ wearieth every one of them ;" for that a man soon will be weary of that labour which yieldeth no profit or beneficial return.'
NUMB. 33. SATURDAY, APRIL 23, 1752.
Odi profanum vulgus. Hor.
In this very learned and enlightened age, in which authors are almost as numerous as booksellers, I doubt not but your correspondents furnish you with a sufficient quantity of waste paper. I perhaps may add to the heap; for as men do not always know, the motive of their own actions, I may possibly be induced, by the same sort of vanity as other puny authors have been, to desire to be in print. But I am very well satisfied with you for my judge, and if you should not think proper to take any notice of the hint I have here sent you, I shall conclude, that I am an impertinent correspondent, but that you are a judicious and impartial critic. In my own defence, however, I must say, that I am never better pleased than when I see extraordinary abilities employed in the support of His honour and religion, who has so bountifully bestowed them. It is for this reason that I wish
you would take some notice of the character, or rather story, here 'sent you. In my travels westward last summer, I lay at an inn in Somersetshire, remarkable for its pleasant situation, and the obliging behaviour of the landlord, who, though a downright rustic, had an aukward sort of politeness, arising from his good-nature, that was very pleasing, and, if I may be allowed the expression, was a sort of good-breeding undressed. As I intended to make a pretty long journey the next day, I rose time enough to behold that glorious luminary the sun set out on his course, which, by the bye, is one of the finest sights the eye can behold; and as it is a thing seldom seen by people of fashion, unless it be at the theatre at Covent-Garden, I could not help laying some stress upon it here. The kitchen in this inn was a very pleasant room; I therefore called for some tea, sat me in the window, that I might enjoy the prospect which the country afforded, and a more beautiful one is not in the power of imagination to frame. This house was situated on the top of a hill ; and for two miles below its meadows, enlivened with variety of cattle, and adorned with a greater variety of flowers, first caught my sight. At the bottom of this vale ran a river, which seemed to promise coolness and refreshment to the thirsty cattle. The eye was next presented with fields of carn that made a kind of an ascent, which was terminated by a wood, at the top of which appeared a verdant hill, situate as it were in the clouds, where the sun was just arrived, and peeping o'er the summit, which was at this time covered with dew, gilded it over with his rays, and terminated my view in the most agreeable manner in the world. In a word, the elegant simplicity of every object round me, filled my heart with such gratitude, and furnished my mind with such pleasing meditations, as made me thank Heaven I was born. But this state of joyous tranquillity was not of long duration : I had scarce begun my breakfast, when my ears were saluted with a genteel whistle, and the noise of a pair of slippers descending the staircase ; and soon after I beheld a contrast to my former prospect, being a very beauish gentleman, with a huge laced hat on, as big as Pistol's in the play ; a wig somewhat dishevelled, and a face, which at once gave you a perfect idea of emptiness, assurance, and intemperance. His eyes, which before were scarce open, he fixed on me with a stare, which testified surprize, and his coat was immediately thrown open to display a very handsome second-hand gold-laced waistcoat. In one hand, he had a pair of saddlebags, and in the other a hanger of mighty size, both of which, with a graceful Godd you, he placed upon a chair. Then advancing towards the landlord, who was standing by me, he said, ' By
G-, landlord, your wine is damnable strong: • I don't know,' replied the landlord; it is ge'nerally reckoned pretty good, for I have it all from • London.' Pray, who is your wine-merchant ?' says the man of importance. A very great man,' says the landlord, in his way perhaps you may • know him, sir; his name is Kirby.? « Ah ! what honest Tom; he and I have cracked many
a bottle of claret together; he is one of the most
considerable merchants in the city; the dog is * hellish poor, damnable poor ; for don't suppose he is worth a farthing more than a hundred thousand pound; only a plumb, that's all.; he is to be our lord-mayor next year.': ! I ask pardon, sir, that is not the man, for our Mr. Kirby's name ! is not Thomas, but Richard... Ay ! says the gentleman, • that's his brother ; they are partners together. I believe,' says the landlord, . are out, sir, for that gentleman has no brother.' • D-n your nonsense, with you and your outs, says the beau, as if I should not know better than you country puts ; l who have lived in London
all my life-time.' • I ask a thousand pardons,' says the landlord, I hope no offence, sir. “No, .no,' cries the other, we gentlemen know how
to make allowance for your country-breeding.'
Then stepping to the kitchen door, with an audible voice he called the ostler, and in a very graceful accent, said, “D-n your blood, you cock-ey'd
son of a bitch, bring me my boots ; did not you hear me call ?' Then turning to the landlord, said, “Faith! that Mr. What-de-callum, the excise: man, is a damn'd jolly fellow.'
Yes, sir,' says the landlord, he is a merryish sort of a man.
But,' says the gentleman, as for that schoolmaster, he is the queerest bitch I ever saw; he looks as if he could not say boh to a goose.' ! I
don't know, sir,' says the landlord, he is reck 'oned to be a desperate good scollard about us, and the gentry likes him vastly, for he understands
the measurement of land and timber, knows how ' to make dials and such things, and for cypher
ing, few out-do'en.' Ay!' ' says the gentleman, he does look like a cypher indeed ;
for he did not speak three words all last night. The ostler now produced the boots, which the gentleman taking in his hand, and having placed himself in the chair, addressed in the following speech: My good
My good friends, Mr. Buots, I tell you plainly, that if you plague me so damnably as you did yesterday morning, by G- I'll commit you to the flames; stap mny vituals, as my
lord Huntingdon says in the play :' he then looked full in my face, and asked the landlord, if he had ever been at Drury-Lane playhouse ? which he answered in the negative. ? What,' says he, • did you never hear talk of Mr. Garrick and
king Richard ?' . No, sir, says the landlord: By G-,' says
says the gentleman, he is the cleverest fellow in England ;' he then spouted a speech out of king Richard, which begins, Give me an horse, &c. There,' says he, that,
that is just like Mr. Garrick. Having pleased himself vastly with this performance, he shook the