it

essays, you saw me in the second. The design of concealing myself was good, and had its full effect; I was thought a divine, a philosopher, and what not; and my doctrine had a sanction I could not have given to it. Whether I can proceed in the same grave march like Lucretius, or must descend to the gaieties of Horace, I know not, or whether I can do either; but be the future as it will, I shall collect all the past in one fair quarto this winter, and send you, where you will find frequent mention of yourself. I was glad you suffered your writings to be collected more completely than hitherto, in the volumes I daily expect from Ireland; I wish it had been in more pomp, but that will be done by others; yours are beauties, that can never be too finely dressed, for they will ever be young. I have only one piece of mercy to beg of you; do not laugh at my gravity, but permit me to wear the beard of a philosopher, till I pull it off, and make a jest of it myself. It is just what my Lord Bolingbroke is doing with metaphysics. I hope you will live to see, and stare at, the learned figure he will make, on the same shelf with Locke and Malbranche.

You see how I talk to you, (for this is not writing;) if you like I should do so, why not tell me so? if it be the least pleasure to you, I will write once a-week most gladly; but can you abstract the letters from the person who writes them, so far as not to feel more vexation in the thought of our separation, and those misfortunes which occasion it, than satisfaction in the nothings he can express? If you can, really and from my heart, I cannot. I return again to melancholy. Pray, however, tell me, is it a satisfaction? that will make it one to me; and we will think alike, as friends ought, and you shall hear from me punctually just when you will.

VOL. XVIII.

POSTSCRIPT BY LORD BOLINGBROKE.

OUR friend, who is just returned from a progress of three months, and is setting out in three days with me for the Bath, where he will stay till toward the middle of October, left this letter with me yesterday, and I cannot seal and dispatch it till I have scribbled the remainder of this page full. He talks very pompously of my metaphysics,* and places them in a very honourable station. It is true I have writ six letters and a half to him on subjects of that kind, and I propose a letter and a half more, which would swell the whole up to a considerable volume. But he thinks me fonder of the name of an author than I am. When he and you, and one or two other friends have seen them, satis magnum theatrum mihi estis, I shall not have the itch of making them more public. I know how little regard you pay to writings of this kind; but I imagine that if you can like any such, it must be those that strip 'metaphysics of all their bombast, keep within the sight of every well-constituted eye, and never bewilder themselves while they pretend to guide the reason of others. I writ to you a long letter some time ago and sent it by the post. Did it come to your hands? or did the inspectors of private correspondence stop it, to revenge themselves of the ill said of them in it? Vale, et me ama.

BOLINGBROKE.

* It is sufficiently acknowledged, "that the doctrine of the Essay on Man was received from Bolingbroke. What Bolingbroke supplied could be only the first principles; the order, illustration, and embellishments, must be all Pope's."-JOHNSON.

PICKLE-HERRING TO MR. FAULKNER.*

SIRHA,†

ARE not you the rascal that makes so free with my family?-Had you once recollected that, graceless and despised as he is, that same Serjeant Kite ‡ was my brother, and, however marred in the making, was born to be as great a man as myself; had you thought with what vengeance a man in my high station can espouse any one's quarrel, and especially that of a sinking brother, durst you presume to run these lengths?-Mark what I am going to say; bitter is the sorrow, hot, sour, and cutting is the sauce you are to taste after your merry conceits on

* Indorsed by Dr. Swift, "An excellent droll paper." :"-F. + This humorous letter, although addressed to Mr. Faulkner, was ultimately designed for the entertainment of Dr. Swift.-F.

Bettesworth, serjeant at law, whose character is well known for the assault he made upon Dr. Swift in the year 1733, was frequently persecuted by the young poets under the name of Sergeant Kite.-F. Some of the adventurers in this poetical warfare, which seems to have interested the Dublin public for some time, are enumerated in a doggerel poem, entitled, The Case truly stated between S[wift] and B[ettesworth]. Printed in the year 1736.

From Duncan, the Dean's only darling,
To his far-off relation Starling;

They say black Tisdal's of your party,
And Tom, and bold translator Carty;

One makes an epigram, and one

Sets all his wits to make a pun;
Another writes a long-tail'd poem,

The author's Starling all may know him;
Because he had the luck to find

So many words of the same kind,

Crowding together, rhyming Bettes-worth,

As Nets-worth, Lets-worth, Sets-worth, Detts-worth.

my poor brother; and what mortal can expect better, that meddles with the very worst of the family of the Pickles?-Recollect at last, and tremble! Whom hast thou offended and stirred up to wrath, thou little pitiful swad?-More would I say to thee, but that I take thee right, I look upon thee only as the foul pipe through which the filth and nastiness of the whole nation is squirted in the teeth of my unfortunate brother, the unlucky graceless dog, that has brought all this on himself; but alas, my brother!-But, however provoked, are your scribbling spitfires never to be satisfied? one should think, that by this time, if the poor soul had not enough, they certainly had! Is it not sufficient for them to see a man of learning and law, a man of singular inimitable eloquence, a man of unparalleled graceful action, a man of unspeakable, inconceivable truth, justice, and sincerity, exemplary religion, strict virtue, nice honour, and sterling worth in general, past finding out? I say, is it not sufficient to see a luminary like this now shining in meridian lustre, but anon set for ever in a puddly cloud? Is it not sufficient to see him so unmasked and stigmatized, that he can be no longer a tool even for a court sharper, and (what's worst of all for him) no longer to be in pay with them? Is it not sufficient to see his poor skull (God help it !) incurably bumped and bulged by that damnable bounce of his against the pulpit cornish? Is it not sufficient to see with what pain and shame he wriggles along by that confounded splinter of the bar, he lately got thrust into his, and which has left him a running sore to his dying day? Is it not sufficient to see him, all the last term, walk about in merry sadness, an idle spectator in the courts, where he was not retained even for his most noted talent of dirt-flinger? O you swarm of green counsels and attorneys !

I

wonder not to see you posted about Idler's Corner,* looking sharp, as dinnerless men, for a lucky pop on a client; but why, oh! why should this ever be the case of my hapless brother? O fortune, fortune, cruel are thy sports!-Is it not sufficient to see him doubly tormented in putting a good countenance on treatment, which is inwardly gnawing and consuming him? in which state his whole comfort is, that for half a score years at least, his conscience could never upbraid him? O the comfort of an easy conscience Is it not sufficient to see him at Ballyspellin, and everywhere he goes, the common butt of gibe, wink, and titter? Is it not sufficient, that after what has been flying about since he left it, he knows not how to shew his face in town, nor how to stand the infinite mortifications he is to meet with this winter? Is it not sufficient, that, as his case stands, it is the serjeant against all the world, and all the world against the serjeant? wretched case, when a creature has not even the cheap relief of common pity! And is not all this sufficient? No, the virulent crew tell me, that as long as the terrible tumour in his breast continues hard, the caustic and corrosives must be applied, and that none, but injudicious quacks, would talk of emollients and lenitives, until some at least of the corrupt and fetid matter is discharged. In short, they tell me, that as long as the cause remains, and the world likes the operations, the cure must go on the same way! Well, go on, ye scoundrels, go on! and make him. as wretched and contemptible as you can! and when you have done your worst, I will make a provision for him that shall alarm you all; shall make some burst with envy, and others to look on him

* Idler's Corner is a bookseller's shop, the corner of High-street and Christ-Church-lane, Dublin, near the four courts.-F.