agreeable discoveries of herself, and at the same time shew us what she would be at. But by my correspondent's good leave, I can by no means consent to spoil the skin of my pretty countrywomen. They could find no colours half so charming as those which are natural to them; and though, like the old Picts, they painted the sun itself upon their bodies, they would still change for the worse, and conceal something more beautiful than what they exhibited.

I shall therefore persist in my first design, and endeavour to bring about the reformation in neck and legs, which I have so long aimed at. Let them but raise their stays and let down' their petticoats, and I have done. However, as I will give them space to consider of it, I design this for the last time that my lion shall roar upon the subject during this season, which I give public notice of for the sake of my correspondents, that they may not be at an unnecessary trouble or expense in furnishing me with any informations relating to the tucker before the beginning of next winter, when I may again resume that point, if I find occasion for it. I shall not, however, let it drop without acquainting my reader, that I have written a letter to the pope upon it, in order to encourage him in his present good intentions, and that we may act by concert in this matter. Here follows the copy of my letter.

· TO POPE CLEMENT THE EIGHTH, NESTOR IRONSIDE,

" DEAR BROTHER,

GREETING.

'I HAVE heard, with great satisfaction, that you have forbidden your priests to confess any woman who appears before them without a tucker; in which you please me well. I do agree with you, that

Lower or lengthen. A.

it is impossible for the good man to discharge his office, as he ought, who gives an ear to those alluring penitents that discover their hearts and necks to him at the same time. I am labouring as much as in me lies to stir up the same spirit of modesty among the women of this island, and should be glad we might assist one another in so good a work. In order to it, I desire that you would send me over the length of a Roman lady's neck, as it stood before your late prohibition. We have some here who have necks of one, two, and three foot in length; some that have necks which reach down to their middles, and indeed, some who may be said to be all neck, and no body. I hope, at the same time you observe the observe the stays of your female subjects, that you have also an eye to their petticoats, which rise in this island daily. When the petticoat reaches but to the knee, and the stays fall to the fifth rib, which I hear is to be the standard of each, as it has been lately settled in a junto of the sex, I will take care to send you one of either sort, which I advertise you of beforehand, that you may not compute the stature of our English women from the length of their garments. In the mean time I have desired the master of a vessel, who tells me that he shall touch at Civita Vecchia, to present you with a certain female machine which, I believe, will puzzle your infallibility to discover the use of it. Not to keep you in suspense, it is what we call in this country a hooped petticoat. I shall only beg of you to let me know, whether you find any garment of this nature among all the relics of your female saints, and in particular, whether it was ever worn by any of your twenty thousand Virgin martyrs.

'P. S. I must not dismiss this letter without declar

ing myself a good

scribing part of it.

Protestant, as I hint in the subThis I think necessary to take notice of, lest I should be accused by an author of unexampled stupidity", for corresponding with the head of the Romish church.'

No. 141. SATURDAY, AUGUST 22, 1713.*

Frange, miser calamos vigilataque prælia dele,
Qui facis in parvâ sublimia carmina cellâ,
Ut dignus venias hederis, et imagine macrá.

Let flames on your unlucky papers prey,
Or moths through written pages eat their way;
Your wars, your loves, your praises be forgot;
And make of all an universal blot-

The rest is empty praise, an ivy crown,
Or the lean statue of a mean renown.

Juv. Sat. vii. 27.

CH. DRYDEN.

'WIT,' saith the bishop of Rochester' in his elegant sermon against the scorner, as it implies a certain uncommon reach and vivacity of thought, is an excellent talent, very fit to be employed in the search of truth, and very capable of assisting us to discern and embrace it? I shall take leave to carry this observation further into common life, and remark that it is a faculty, when properly directed, very fit to recommend young persons to the favour of such

* STEELE'S.

w In this P. S. Addison, a man of temper, seems to lose it. See No. 116. Quaker's letter, and No. 134. penult. paragr. These harsh words are spoken of the writer of the Examiner, vol. iv. No. 27. in folio. See ibidem the conclusion, and the advertisement.

* This paper, No. 140. is marked with a hand, the signature of Addison's papers in the Guardian; and reprinted by Mr. Tickell in his edition of Addison's Works,' 4to. vol. iv. p. 234. edit. 1721.

y Dr. Atterbury.

z The free-thinkers from Shaftesbury, &c. made good use of the bishop's doctrine. A.

patrons, as are generally studious to promote the interest of politeness, and the honour of their country. I am therefore much grieved to hear the frequent complaints of some rising authors whom I have taken under my guardianship. Since my circumstances will not allow me to give them due encouragement, I must take upon me the person of a philosopher, and make them a present of my advice. I would not have any poet whatsoever, who is not born to five hundred a year, deliver himself up to wit, but as it is subservient to the improvement of his fortune. This talent is useful in all professions, and should be considered not as a wife, but as an attendant. Let them take an old man's word; the desire of fame grows languid in a few years, and thoughts of ease and convenience erase the fairy images of glory and honour. Even those who have succeeded both in fame and fortune, look back on the petty trifles of their youth with some regret, when their minds are turned to more exalted and useful speculations. This is admirably expressed in the following lines by an author, whom I have formerly done justice to on the account of his pastoral poems.

In search of Wisdom far from Wit I fly;
Wit is a harlot, beauteous to the eye,
In whose bewitching arms our early time
We waste, and vigour of our youthful prime:
But when Reflection comes with riper years,
And Manhood with a thoughtful brow appears;
We cast the mistress off to take a wife,

And, Wed to Wisdom, lead a happy life.

A passage which happened to me some years ago confirmed several maxims of frugality in my mind. A woollen-draper of my acquaintance remarkable for

a Mr. Ambrose Philips. On Wit and Wisdom. A fragment. Pastorals, Epistles, Odes, and other Poems. By A. Philips, Esq. English Poets, vol. Ivii. p. 82.

his learning and good-nature, pulled out his pocketbook, wherein he showed me at the one end several well-chosen mottoes, and several patterns of cloth at the other. I, like a well-bred man, praised both sorts of goods; whereupon he tore out the mottoes, and generously gave them to me: but, with great prudence, put up the patterns in his pocket again.

I am sensible that any accounts of my own secret history can have but little weight with young men of sanguine expectations. I shall therefore take this opportunity to present my wards with the history of an ancient Greek poet, which was sent me from the library of Fez, and is to be found there in the end of a very ancient manuscript of Homer's works, which was brought by the Barbarians from Constantinople. The name of the poet is torn out, nor have the critics yet determined it. I have faithfully translated part of it, and desire that it may be diligently perused by all men who design to live by their wits.

I was born at the foot of a certain mountain in Greece called Parnassus, where the country is remarkably delicious. My mother, while she was with child of me, longed for laurel leaves; and as I lay in my cradle, a swarm of bees settled about my mouth, without doing me any injury. These were looked upon as presages of my being a great man; and the early promises I gave of a quick wit, and lively fancy, confirmed the high opinion my friends had conceived of me. It would be an idle tale to relate the trifling adventures of my youth, until I arrived at my twentieth year. It was then that the love I bore to a beautiful young virgin, with whom I had innocently and familiarly conversed from my childhood, became the public talk of our village. I was so taken up with my passion, that I entirely neglected all other b Perhaps Will. Pate, a draper, celebrated for his wit and learning.