At nine o'clock in the evening we set fire to the whore of Babylon. The devil acted his part to a miracle. He has made his fortune by it. We equipped the young dog with a tester apiece. Honest old Brown of England was very drunk, and shewed his loyalty, to the tune of a hun-dred rockets. The mob drank the king's health on their marrowbones, in mother Day's double. They whipped us half a dozen hogsheads. Poor Tom Tyler had like to have been demolished with the end of a skyrocket, that fell upon the bridge of his nose as he was drinking the king's health, and spoiled his tip. The mob were very loyal until about midnight, when they grew a little mutinous for more liquor. They had like to have dumfounded the justice; but his clerk came in to his assistance, and took them all down in black and white. When I had been huzzaed out of my seven senses, I made a visit to the women, who were guzzling very comfortably. Mrs. Mayoress clipped the king's English. Clack was the word. 'I forgot to tell thee that every one of the posse had his hat cocked with a distich; the senators sent us down a cargo of ribbon and metre for the occasion. Sir Richard, to shew his zeal for the protestant religion, is at the expence of a tar-barrel and a ball. I peeped into the knight's great hall, and saw a very pretty bevy of spinsters. My dear relict was amongst them, and ambled in a country dance as notably as the best of them. May all his majesty's liege subjects love him as well as his good people of this his ancient borough. Adieu. 6 No. 617. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1714. Torva Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis, PERSIUS, Sat i. ver. 104. Their crooked horns the Mimallonian crew DRYDEN. THERE are two extremes in the style of humour, one of which consists in the use of that little pert phraseology which I took notice of in my last paper; the other in the affectation of strained and pompous expressions, fetched from the learned languages. The first savours too much of the town; the other of the college. As nothing illustrates better than example, I shall here present my reader with a letter of pedantic humour, which was written by a young gentleman of the University to his friend, on the same occasion, and from the same place, as the lively epistle published in my last Spectator: DEAR CHUM *, IT is now the third watch of the night, the greatest part of which I have spent round a capacious bowl of china, filled with the choicest products of both the Indies. I was placed at a quadrangular table, diametrically opposite to the mace-bearer. The visage of that venerable herald was, according to custom, most gloriously illuminated on this joyful occasion. The mayor and aldermen, those pillars of our constitution, began to totter; and if any one at the board could have so far articulated, as to have * From the Armoric chom (to live together); one that lodges in the same room. demanded intelligibly a reinforcement of liquor, the whole assembly had been by this time extended under the table. The celebration of this night's solemnity was opened by the obstreperous joy of drummers, who, with their parchment thunder, gave a signal for the appearance of the mob under their several classes and denominations. They were quickly joined by the melodious clank of marrowbone and cleaver, while a chorus of bells filled up the concert. A pyramid of stack-faggots cheered the hearts of the populace with the promise of a blaze; the guns had no sooner uttered the prologue, but the heavens were brightened with artificial meteors and stars of our own making; and all the High-street lighted up from one end to another with a galaxy of candles. We col lected a largess for the multitude, who tippled eleemosynary until they grew exceedingly vociferous. There was a pasteboard pontiff, with a little swarthy demon at his elbow, who by his diabolical whispers and insinuations, tempted his holiness into the fire, and then left him to shift for himself. The mobile were very sarcastic with their clubs, and gave the old gentleman several thumps upon his triple head-piece*. Tom Tyler's phiz is something damaged by the fall of a rocket, which hath almost spoiled the gnomon of his countenance. The mirth of the commons grew so very outrageous, that it found out work for our friend of the quorum, who, by the help of his amanuensis, took down all their names and their crimes, with a design to produce his manuscript at the next quarter sessions, &c. &c. &c.' I shall subjoin to the foregoing piece of a letter the following copy of verses translated from an Italian poet, who was the Cleveland of his age, and had multitudes of admirers. The subject is an accident that happened under the reign of Pope Leo, when a fire-work, that had been prepared upon the castle of St. Angelo, began to play before its time, being kindled by a flash of lightning. The author has written a poem in the same kind of style as that I have already exemplified in prose. Every line in it is a riddle, and the reader must be forced to consider it twice or thrice, before he will know that the Cynic's tenement is a tub, and Bacchus's cast-coat a hogshead, &c. The tiara, or triple mitre. * 'Twas night, and Heav'n, a Cyclops all the day, "The pile, still big with undiscover'd shows, 'Whilst now the multitude expect the time, "The clouds envelop'd Heav'n from human sight, Tall groves of trees the Hadrian tow'r surround, *These verses are translated from the Latin in Strada's Prolu. siones Academica, &c. and are in imitation originally of the style and manner of Camillo Querno, surnamed the Arch-poet, who was poet and buffoon to Leo X, and the common butt of that facetious pontiff and his courtiers. See Bayle's Dictionary, art. Leo X. and Seward's Anecdotes, vol. iii. edit. 1798, p. 62, These know no spring but when their bodies sprout A seven-fold shield of spheres doth heaven defend, With joy, great Sir, we view'd this pompous show, And so 'tis fit, when Leo's fires appear, That Heav'n itself, should turn an engineer; That Heav'n itself should all its wonders show, And orbs above consent with orbs below. No: 618. WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1714.. -Neque enim concludere versum Dixeris esse satis: neque sequis scribat, uti nos, HOR. Sat. iv. 1. 1. ver. 40. 'Tis not enough the measur'd feet to close; Nor will you give a poet's name to those, Whose humble verse, like mine, approaches prose. • Mr. SPECTATOR, "You having, in your two last Spectators, given the town a couple of remarkable letters in very different styles, I take this opportunity to offer to you some remarks upon the epistolary way of writing in verse. This |