The veneration we have for many things, entirely proceeds from their being carefully concealed. Were the idolatrous Tartar permitted to lift the veil which keeps his idol from view, it might be a certain method to cure his future superstition with what a noble spirit of freedom, therefore, must that writer be possessed, who bravely paints things as they are, who lifts the veil of modesty, who displays the most hidden recesses of the temple, and shews the erring people that the object of their vows is either, perhaps, a mouse, or a monkey.

However, though this figure be at present so much in fashion; though the professors of it are so much caressed by the great, those perfect judges of literary excellence; yet it is confessed to be only a revival of what was once fashionable here before. There was a time, when, by this very manner of writing, the gentle Tom D'Urfey, as I read in English authors, acquired his great reputation, and became the favourite of a king.(2)

(1) [Tom D'Urfey, as he was generally called, was descended from an ancient family in France. He wrote a number of ballads, songs, &c., which were published in six volumes 12mo., under the title of "Wit and Mirth, or Pills to purge Melancholy;" besides more than thirty dramatic pieces, none of which are now on the muster-roll of acting plays; that licentiousness of intrigue, looseness of sentiment, and indelicacy of wit, which were their strongest recommendations to the audiences for whom they were written, having very justly banished them from the stage, in this period of purer taste. He was buried in the church-yard of St. James's, Westminster; against the wall in the south-west angle of which church, on the outside, is erected a stone to his memory, with this inscription: "Tom D'Urfey died Feb. 26, 1723."-See Biog. Dram., vol. i., p. 213.]

(2) [Addison, who in The Guardian, No. 67, has given a humourous account of D'Urfey, with a view to recommend him to the public notice for a benefit play, says, "I myself remember King Charles the Second leaning on Tom D'Urfey's shoulder more than once, and humming over a song with him." Even King William had him one night to sing to him, and Queen Anne gave him fifty guineas for singing a song to her, written in ridicule of the Princess Sophia, electress-dowager of Hanover, which began

"The crown is too weigh y

For shoulders of eighty."-See Biog. Dram. v. i. p. 212.]

The works of this original genius, though they never travelled abroad to China, and scarcely have reached posterity at home, were once found upon every fashionable toilet, and made the subject of polite, I mean very polite conversation." Has your grace seen Mr. D'Urfey's last new thing, the Oylet Hole. A most facetious piece!" “Sure, my Lord, all the world must have seen it; D'Urfey is certainly the most comical creature alive. It is impossible to read his things and live. Was there ever any thing so natural and pretty, as when the 'Squire and Bridget meet in the cellar? And then the difficulties they both find in broaching the beer barrel are so arch and so ingenious! We have certainly nothing of this kind in the language.") In this manner they spoke then, and in this manner they speak now; for though the successor of D'Urfey does not excel him in wit, the world must confess he outdoes him in obscenity.

There are several very dull fellows, who, by a few mechanical helps, sometimes learn to become extremely brilliant and pleasing; with a little dexterity in the management of the eye-brows, fingers, and nose. By imitating a cat, a sow and pigs; by a loud laugh, and a slap on the shoulder; the most ignorant are furnished out for conversation. But the writer finds it impossible to throw his winks, his shrugs, or his attitudes upon paper; he may borrow some assistance, indeed, by printing his face at the title-page; but, without wit, to pass for a man of ingenuity, no other mechanical

(1) "I have not quoted one Latin author since I came down, but have learned without book a song of Mr. Thomas D'Urfey's, who is your only poet of tolerable reputation in this country. He makes all the merriment in our entertainments, and but for him there would be so miserable a dearth of catches, that I fear they would put either the parson or me upon making some for 'em. Any man, of any quality, is heartily welcome to the best toping table of our gentry, who can roar out some rhapsodies of his works.” --Pope to Henry Cromwell, April 1710.]

help but downright obscenity will suffice. By speaking to some peculiar sensations, we are always sure of exciting laughter, for the jest does not lie in the writer, but in the subject.

But bawdry is often helped on by another figure, called pertness; and few indeed are found to excel in one that are not possessed of the other. As in common conversation, the best way to make the audience laugh is by first laughing yourself; so in writing, the properest manner is to shew an attempt at humour, which will pass upon most for humour in reality. To effect this, readers must be treated with the most perfect familiarity: in one page the author is to make them a low bow, and in the next to pull them by the nose; he must talk in riddles, and then send them to bed in order to dream for the solution. He must speak of himself, and his chapters, and his manner, and what he would be at, and his own importance, and his mother's importance, with the most unpitying prolixity; now and then testifying his contempt for all but himself, smiling without a jest, and without wit professing vivacity. Adieu.

LETTER LIV.

THE CHARACTER OF AN IMPORTANT TRIFLER. (1)

From the Same.

Though naturally pensive, yet I am fond of gay company, and take every opportunity of thus dismissing the mind from duty. From this motive, I am often found in the centre of a crowd; and wherever pleasure is to be sold am always a purchaser. In those places, without being remarked

(1) [This letter was re-printed by Goldsmith, in the volume of Essays, published in 1765.]

by any, I join in whatever goes forward, work my passions into a similitude of frivolous earnestness, shout as they shout, and condemn as they happen to disapprove. A mind thus sunk for a while below its natural standard, is qualified for stronger flights, as those first retire who would spring forward with greater vigour.

Attracted by the serenity of the evening, my friend and I lately went to gaze upon the company in one of the public walks near the city. Here we sauntered together for some time, either praising the beauty of such as were handsome, or the dresses of such as had nothing else to recommend them. We had gone thus deliberately forward for some time, when, stopping on a sudden, my friend caught me by the elbow, and led me out of the public walk. I could perceive by the quickness of his pace, and by his frequently looking behind, that he was attempting to avoid somebody who followed: we now turned to the right, then to the left; as we went forward he still went faster, but in vain; the person whom he attempted to escape hunted us through every doubling, and gained upon us each moment; so that at last we fairly stood still, resolving to face what we could not avoid.

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Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. My dear Drybone," cries he, shaking my friend's hand," where have you been hiding this half-a-century? Positively I had fancied you were gone down to cultivate matrimony and your estate in the country." During the reply, I had an opportunity of surveying the appearance of our new companion: his hat was pinched up with peculiar smartness; his looks were pale, thin, and sharp; round his neck he wore a broad black ribbon, and in his bosom a buckle studded with glass; his coat was trimmed with tarnished twist; he wore by his side a sword with a black hilt, and his stockings of silk, though

newly washed, were grown yellow by long service. I was so much engaged with the peculiarity of his dress, that I attended only to the latter part of my friend's reply, in which he complimented Mr. Tibbs (1) on the taste of his cloaths, and the bloom in his countenance : "Psha, psha, Will," cried the figure, “no more of that if you love me: you know I hate flattery, on my soul I do; and yet, to be sure, an intimacy with the great will improve one's appearance, and a course of venison will fatten; and yet, faith, I despise the great as much as you do: but there are a great many damn'd honest fellows among them; and we must not quarrel with one half, because the other wants breeding. If they were all such as my lord Mudler, one of the most good-natured creatures that ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself be among the number of their admirers. I was yesterday to dine at the Duchess of Piccadilly's. My lord was there. Ned, say he to me, Ned, says he, I'll hold gold to silver I can tell where you were poaching last night. Poaching, my lord, says I; faith you have missed already; for I staid at home, and let the girls poach for me. That's my way; I take a fine woman as some animals do their prey-stand still, and swoop, they fall into my mouth."

Ah, Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow, cried my companion, with looks of infinite pity; I hope your fortune is as much improved as your understanding in such company? "Improved," replied the other; "you shall know,-but let it go no further, a great secret—five hundred a-year to begin with. My lord's word of honour for it—his lordship took me down in his own chariot yesterday, and we had a tête-àtête dinner in the country; where we talked of nothing else." I fancy you forget, Sir, cried I, you told us but this

(1) [The name given to this diverting character, so well-remembered by every reader of Goldsmith, is likewise used for one of the Club of Authors. -See Letter xxix., p. 115.]