Sivut kuvina

were so trifling, as not to amount to, perhaps, one-fifteenth of his political expenditure.

While a very young man, the Duke of Portland became an invalid, and old, as it were, by anticipation. His constitution, many years since, was so enfeebled, as to require a strict and sober regimen. From this, wine, except in small quantities, was excluded, and flesh meat totally prohibited.Notwithstanding this, his health had been for some time precarious and uncertain; for although the gout, which had been the primitive disease, was either cured, or, at least, modified, another, and a more dangerous malady, made its appearance. This proved to be the stone, which became so extremely painful, as well as alarming, as to induce him to submit to an operation. This was accordingly performed by Messrs. Home and Wilson, two eminent surgeons, in the spring of 1806; and is said to have been renewed some little time before his demise.

[ocr errors]

His Grace, long before it became so fashionable a pursuit, had addicted himself to agriculture, and improved several thousand acres of ground. He also planted a large tract of country, formerly a barren waste, in the immediate vicinity of Welbeck Abbey, Nottinghamshire, consisting of a picturesque series of hill and dale. Some of the Spanish chesnuts, in the lime grounds, are upwards of fourteen feet in girth, and a few of the oaks have been estimated at nearly thirty; particularly the green dale oak, still existing, which, in 1724, had a hole cut through its body, large enough to admit a coach.

Account of Rare Books and TRACTS, with Extracts *

THE REVEUR; a periodical paper, published at Edinburgh 1737-8.

* Contributions to this article (the

[blocks in formation]

We have said of the literary part, that it is formed on the model of the Spectator. We may add, that the stile is formed exactly upon the model of Addison; and the imitation is by no means contemptible. The stile is pure and correct; and discovers often a considerable degree of liveliness and spirit. Scotland was then just beginning to be a literary country; but the works upon which its fame is built are almost all of an elaborate and ponderous character; or if she has succeeded in lighter works, it is by the power of pathos and sentiment, rather than of wit. We are not sure whether this is not fully equal to any thing which she has hitherto produced, in the airy and familiar style.

The humorous drawing of characters is a favourite subject in this light species of composition. We believe we shall give rather a favourable impression of the present work, by exhibiting

materials for which are certainly ample) will be thankfully received. We shall be happy to receive either an analysis, (with extracts) of any work which may appear curious, or a loan of the work itself

hibiting the following gallery of male portraits.

Misophronto's spends the largest half of his life in supplying the natural decay of his carcase; and the superfluity, which lies so heavy on his hands, in thinking what he shall do with it. He is at more pains in contriving the most effectual methods of murdering his time, than others are at in employing it to the best purposes. He cannot away with the long days of summer, and is pleased when the evening is come; not that he wants to begin a new day, but because he is weary of the old one. Winter nights would be equally insupportable, did they not furnish him with an excuse for his idleness: he thinks the morning was never made for gentlemen; yet he lies, more from a loathness to dress, than from any inclination to sleep. "Tis restraint, not choice, that raises him; he must have dinner. Were it not for some little pleasure, which that action affords him, as he manages all his other affairs but what nature will not permit, so he could wish to eat also by proxy. He falls asleep while he is picking his teeth; and having taken his afternoon's nap, he walks out, to perform the rest of his digestion by the coffeehouse fire: if he reads the news, 'tis not because he desires to know what the world is adoing, but because his self has nothing to do. Taking and giving a pinch of snuff, is the most important part of his conversation, which, tho' it keeps him awake, yet does not make him attentive to what is said, however he assents, his dullness creating a lethargick contentment in every situation, except in an active one. He knows not for what he came into the world, and has nothing to do in it, but to go out again: he has as much reason to hang himself as the cobler who was wearied with the continual repetition of buttoning and unbuttoning and I believe he might be easily tempted to it, could his friend

Jan. 1810.

Atheus but convince him, that he would be allowed to sleep out a long eternity in the grave: he is afraid to leave this world, only lest he should be obliged to do something in the next.'

• Polyglottus, again, is just the reverse of this character in every article but one: he forgets his own business; but then his head is so full of other people's, that it is no wonder. He is the perpetuum mobile which mathematicians have been so long in search of. He is seen in all corners of the town every hour; and if he did not kindly undertake some of Lady Tattle's errands, poor Tom would have been walked off his feet long ere now. I met him t'other morning in the meadow; he was going with a message to Miss Dimple, and to ask how Veny did after her fall: however, he could not pass, without stopping to receive my commands. He is any one's humble servant, that will honour him with their commissions; by this means he makes a tolerable figure at sales and auctions, and he is as precise and active in his appearance at the cross, as if he had something to transact there. He bows to every body, claps one on the shoulders, and catches hold of another by the button; the noise he makes soon draws a little audience round him he informs them, that Christmas fell on a Sunday, that the bench never looked so glorious as now, and that philosophers say, that there are spots in the sun: he mentions Roseberry and Ilay with as saucy a familiarity as if they were of his intimate acquaintance; and he has no sooner whispered his secret in your ear, than he leaves you, to tell it to some body else. In short, he has so many friends, and is always so throng about them, that he can find no time to mind his own affairs, until they are quite in disorder, and himself a bankrupt.'

Papilio spends his days in a vain notion of gallantry, continually buz


[ocr errors]

zing about the ladies, like a fly round the flame of a candle, till it scorch its own wings: he willingly forswears soul and body, and, which he thinks more, he mortgages his estate too in their service. He new-models them; their breasts are snow, their cheeks are roses, and their lips of coral; the rest consists of as many rare materials as compose a royal Indian Pagod: he deifies them next, and then falls down and worships the divinities which he has made: he invokes Venus and Cupid one would think he was a heathen; and his whole dialect is different from that of other mortals: he talks of flames and darts, and protests that he is dying to every individual of the sex, but none of them believe him, until he comes to die in earnest; and then he may look back upon his past life, as on a vision of the night, or on a tale that has been told.'

"Gripewell is of a more plodding genius, and lays out his time and abilities in scraping together large heaps of white and yellow dust: he calcu lates his life, by what he has got, rather than by what he has done; yet dares he not use his own wealth, but starves in the midst of plenty, and never enjoys himself, for fear of leaving the less to his thankless heir of all creatures he would be the most miserable, was it not, that he is comforted with the hopes of dying one day worth a plumb.'


Buoncompagno, his son, is on the other extreme he values not money, because he knows not the trouble of getting it; and his time, the more precious of the two, is spent in dissipating what his father is at so much pains to gather: he curses the old dotard, for keeping so long above ground; but he is quit with him ; for he borrows at forty per cent., and so spends his patrimony by way of prevention. He divides the week betwixt his whore and his bottle, and 'tis well if he keeps Sunday for a day of rest, to sleep out his debauch in his

ordinary saying is a short life and a merry one;' and he must have half of his wish, if time will but shake his glass as fast as he does his elbow.Hark-Is it his rotten bones clashing. upon one another, or is it the false dice rattling in his box, that I hear ??

Sititio employs his days still in a different manner: he is capable of no pleasure or enjoyment, except that malicious one of disturbing his neighbours in their possessions. Law is his element, and the Parliament house is his home. Farinelli and Senesino could not, with all their art, tickle his ears near so much as the noise of the Bar does; and he glories more in the discovery of a new quirk, to put a stop to justice, than ever Napier did in the invention of his Logarithms. He spends one half of the year in turning over his musty papers, and in contriving work for the other; and throws away double the rent of his estate upon a dispute about a small acre of barren ground: he never paid a tradesman's bill without the authority of a decreet, nor ever sat under the decision of an inferior court.His notions of writing are all taken from summonses and captions: he studies them close by day; and at night he dreams of nothing but of executions, and of putting to the horn.He has a quarrel of some sort or other with every mortal, and he would even pick a plea with Death himself, rather than submit quietly to his sentence."

Zoilus, again, is one who lays out all his time in purchasing trouble to himself: he is at more pains to be displeased, than others are at to make themselves easy: his study is to turn things on their worst side, and to set. them in their least advantageous light: a well-written piece puts him out of all patience; and he is very angry, because he ought to be pleased. Like his namesake of old, he prefers the chaff to the corn: he is blind to the beauties of a work, and only ingenious

in finding fault: he resolves to censure before he reads, and he reads frequently, that his censure afterwards may have the greater weight: he is as outrageous in commending himself, as in blaming every body else. I saw him in the Coffee-house t'other day knit his brows, as he ran over my last paper, and when he came to the two lines of Addison, throwing it down with an indignation, which gave me a great deal of pleasure, he swore aloud to the whole room, that they were borrowed. I suppose he will here exclaim again, that, while I complain on him for trifling away his time, I lose my own, since surely he is not to be advised by me. This will be his justest criticism! I conclude therefore with part of my own character, and declare, that my vanity never went so far, as once to form the thought.'

In another place we have a similar list of female portraits, which do not appear to us to be executed quite so well. Our readers, however, may perhaps be amused with two or three of the best, which may serve as a counterpart to those of the other sex.

Dulcinea was bred under a maiden aunt, and the greatest part of her education consisted in reading plays and romances: sewing hurted Miss's eyes; the pastry school dirtied her cloaths, and every serious diversion gave her the vapours. Miss was told she was a beauty, and believed it; other folks at length took up the notion, which it is now the principal study of the whole family to preserve. She has a few features, you see, tolerable enough, and she is at all due pains to improve them; every body admires her taper'd shape, and she suffers sufficiently for that piece of vanity; yet I think the aunt has a better title to our commendations, since it is the workmanship of her hands: her conceit persuades her, that all who see her are her slaves, and she uses them as such; but her ambition is to have a Peer for her conquest.

Had Dulcinea kept within the bounds of nature, she might have been agreeable.

'Miss Prim sets up for a toast, with a set of the most regular traits imaginable: there is an exact symmetry and proportion throughout her whole person, and no body can be at greater pains to deserve than she is her morning's work is to settle her countenance and adjust her face against company comes; and the whole forenoon is spent at the glass in practising fresh airs for the day. The important affair at last is finished. Make way for her Ladyship: see with how solomn and precise a step she advances, her hands laid across before her, and her head pin'd back in the most becoming manner; take care how you venture too near, for she meditates murder in every glance. Beau Tawdry, however, whispers a pretty thing in her ear; she simpers, but dares not smile downright, for fear of stretching her mouth too wide; yet, would you think it, she complained to me yesterday of a wrinkle she had contracted, by being engaged too warmly in a party dispute the night before, and begg'd a vial of my beauty water, which she had heard me talk so much of. I sent her a bottle of plain element, with a paper of directions in those words, if heaven has given you good sense, fly affectation, and pursue good nature. But I am afraid all will be in vain; she has just received a packet of scandal, and has been dressing all day in order to go abroad in the evening, and make it circulate round all the tea tables of her acquaintance.

Miss Flirt laughs at her, and deservedly; but Miss Prim has her revenge; she slanders her again, and with justice. Miss Flirt is one of those coqueting romps, whom it is as impossible to fix as Mercury: she is never two hours in the same mind: now she is all for dress, and in the tiptop of the mode; now she prefers a careless air of negligence. Tother day

day nothing but wits would go down ; to-day the beaux have their turn; and I reckon, by to-morrow, we men of estates may come in play: whoever be in, and whoever be out, she is always in the height of good humour. I should be often ashamed to see her laugh at no jest at all, if I did not know that she laughed, not to shew the judiciousness of her wit, but the whiteness of her teeth. Were I to draw out Miss Prim's receipt for her, I should invert the order, and begin with, since Heaven has given you good nature, and so forth.'

It may now be proper to take some notice of the political department; the whole matter is given as if original, and not in the form of extracts from any other paper. Whether or not it be really original, we are unable to determine. The affair which seems to excite the greatest interest, is the Spanish quarrel, which led to the war of 1739. The ferment upon this subject, so far as we can judge from the Reveur, appears to have been most violent indeed. We shall give one spe

cimen :

'We are informed from Holland, that Admiral Schrievey, commander of a Dutch man of war at Curacoa in the West Indies, being well apprized of the insults of the Spanish Guarda Costas, he quitted his own ship, and went out in one of 20 guns, but well provided with men and ammunition, and in some small time was attacked by two Spanish vessels, which he took after a smart engagement, himself being wounded, and 85 of his men killed and wounded. When the Spanish commanders were examined, they could produce no commission; but said they were fully empowered by the Governor of Porto-Rieo; whereupon the Dutch commander sent to the said governor, to know if he had commissioned such vessels; but receiving an answer in the negative, he immediate ly called a council of war, which declaring them pirates, HE HANGED

THEM EVERY ONE. A good example for our imitation.

Unfortunately, however, wishes here outran realities; for about a fortnight after, arrived the doleful tidings, that no such laudable correction had been administered. This disappointment is communicated, next week, in the following terms:

'Tis a pity we cannot confirm the truth of Admiral Schrievey's hanging up the crews of the two Spanish pirates. However, as it stands, 'tis a good example for our imitation, and if he did not do it, he should have done it.'

The most important events, however, which are going on, are those which relate to the war of Austria and Russia against Turkey. These are narrated at considerable length, but without much apparent bias to either side. The nation seem merely to have amused themselves with this war, without considering it as one in which themselves were concerned. There seems only to be a great personal admiration, and even enthusiasm, in favour of the Empress of Russia, (Anne.) With regard to Turkey, the most remarkable circumstance is, that every thing is represented as depending upon the decision, not of the Sovereign, but of the populace. Thus we are told that the ministers of the Divan are disposed for peace, but dare not declare themselves, the popu lace being absolutely determined for war. At another time it is said,

These notions have elated the people so much, that the Grand Seignor dares not accept of any conditions.' Again: The mediation of the French, it is thought, will be ineffectual, the common people at Constantinople being so utterly averse to any accommodation.'

The series of this paper, which we have in our hands, is from 18th November 1737 to 26th March 1738. It then closes, though without any complaint from the writer of want of encouragement. He merely declares, that

« EdellinenJatka »