Or rather (when by my affiftance they have learn'd fo high) borrow from me the trite motto of the Heathen God of phyfick,

ERE lies J. B.

His station in life was low,

But he never aim'd at a higher ; His fortune was but indifferent,

;

But he never was discontented His natural understanding was good,

And he omitted no opportunity of improving it His principles were truly christian,

And his practice agreeable to them;

That labour which was necessary for his fupport,
He knew to be his duty, and made it his pleasure ;
By which means, through a life of fourscore years,
He enjoy'd health of body and peace of mind.
He rose well in the morning, ficken'd at noon,
And ere the day was clos'd, he was no more.
Yet fay not gentle reader that he died fuddenly
Who never was to be found unprepared,

IN

19

INSCRIPTION for an ARBOUR.

NTER, of welcome fure beneath this fhade,
Ye facred few, whofe eyes can fee with fcorn
The pomp of luxury, who, unfeduc'd,
Can leave behind the city's noify hum;
And fmitten with the charms of innocence,
Pleas'd with the lowly glen, and verdant lawn,
The leafy covert, and fecure retreat,
Can hear with calm delight the thrush attune
His wildly-warbled note, can hear with joy
The village hind whiftle his uncouth tune,
And herds loud-lowing in the dale beneath.

SHO

I fcarce can either move or stand; How time alas! that vile mechanic, Spoils every work he takes in hand.

On feeing a young LADY at CHURCH,

W

HILST gazing on my charmer's eyes,
Which were divinely fair,

Each look my tender heart beguil'd, t
And ftole from Heav'n a pray'r.

Ah why, fair nymph, will you prefume

To take from Heav'n its due?

1

ลูก

着

On feeing the PROPHECY of FAMINE, by C. CHURCHILL, advertised on the Blue Covers of the St. JAMES'S MAGAZINE:

A 5

your Inn,

your Stage, my friend LLOYD, runs eafy about, 11 When CHURCHILL late call'd at What pity it is he would travel without, 2: When he knows there are places within

To the EDITOR of the St. JAMES's MAGAZINE.

I

Digitor monftrari & dicier hic eft.

HOR.

T has been frequently matter of furprize to me, that, in this reading age, people in general should ftill retain fuch ftrange notions of an author.

An author, in the conception of moft readers, does not çat, drink, talk, or live like another man. But it has appeared ftill ftranger to me, that they fhould differ fo widely in their opinions about this order of men. Some place them at the top of the human fpecies, while others degrade them as the loweft,

Thefe latter, as I have fomewhere read, conceive, that an author, when dreffed, wears a full-trimm'd fuit of brown, that was once black; a black fword, bought after a general mourning; a bag-wig and bag, that had done their duty to my lord, and his valet-de-chambre, before they came from the dipping-tub in Middle-Row; a hat that has been so often dyed, that it is only fit for a man of fashion, that wears none at all; stockings and fhoes made worfe by mending, and fo changed from what they were, as to afford room for a difciple of Mr. Lock's to difpute their identity for a year together. He is to run his head against every poft or paffenger in his way, if he is walking in the ftreets; or, if he is ftanding ftill, it must be at a bulk of books and Pam phlets, pick and chufe for two-pence a piece he is only to be found at dinner-time (if he don't dine with his printer) at a four-penny ordinary in Porridge-Island, and he muft dive in the evening for those infpirers of all his works, porter and tobacco, from whence, when he can no longer boaft a Birmingham penny in his pocket, he is to mount again, Olympus high, to his lodging next the fkies. Those who are in the oppofite extreme, look upon an author as a fuperior being, and imagine, that

to

to be able to tag a rime, or round a period, is beyond the utmost stretch of human genius, not particularly favoured by Providence.

I met with two inftances of this very lately. I was walking with a young linen-draper of the city, one morning this winter, and in Ruffel-Street, CopentGarden, he fuddenly took to his heels, and with an earnestness that made me think it of confequence, defired me to keep up with him; when we were got into the Piazza, my companion ftopt fhort, and then walked, with great compofure, up to a gentleman, that I found was the cause of our running, and after ftaring him in the face, flackened his motion, to let the perfon get before him, and then laying his hand with great yehemence on my arm, he faid, loud enough for the other to hear, that is a devilish clever fellow, he has wrote a tragedy, and intends to have it acted at CoventGarden theatre. He is a moft furprizing GENIUS, and never had any EDUCATION, and I was determined you fhould have a fight of him," I thanked him for his intention, but told him, I would not put myself fo much out of breath, to fee the finest tragedy that ever was written, much less the author of it. I was shortly after fitting with a clerk of the cuftom-house at George's coffee-house," do you know, fays he, who thofe two fhabby looking fellows are? they are, added he, very great men, for all they look fo; one writes all the wit, humour and fenfe, in the Royal-Chronicle, and the other is the author of all the political papers in the Gazetteer."

But readers in general are no lefs wide of the mark, when they form a judgment of the author from his works. I have often laugh'd heartily to hear the pious good fouls of the tabernacle, and fuperannuated finners of both fexes, contending with all their lungs, that an anonimous practice of piety, devout chriftians guide, or the comfort of the afflicted foul, were wrote by

fome