warm my heart with the transporting thought of conveying them to others. Tell me that, through thy bounty, the prattling babes, whose innocent play hath often been interrupted by my labours, may one time be amply rewarded for them.

And now this ill-yoked pair, this lean shadow, and this fat substance, have prompted me to write, whose assistance shall I invoke to direct my pen?

First, genius; thou gift of Heaven; without whose aid in vain we struggle against the stream of nature. Thou, who dost sow the generous seeds which art nourishes, and brings to perfection. Do thou kindly take me by the hand, and lead me through all the mazes, the winding labyrinths of nature. Initiate me into all those mysteries which profane eyes never beheld. Teach me, which to thee is no difficult task, to know mankind better than they know themselves. Remove that mist which dims the intellects of mortals, and causes them to adore-men for their art, or to detest them for their cunning in deceiving others, when they are, in reality, the objects only of ridicule, for deceiving themselves. Strip off the thin disguise of wisdom from self-conceit, of plenty from avarice, and of glory from ambi. tion. Come, thou, that hast inspired thy Aristophanes, thy Lucian, thy Cervantes, thy Rabelais, thy Moliere, thy Shakespeare, thy Swift, thy Marivaux, fill my pages with humour; till mankind learn the good-nature to laugh only at the follies of others, and the humility to grieve at their own.

And thou, almost the constant attendant on true genius, humanity, bring all thy tender sensations. If thou hast already disposed of them all between thy Allen and thy Lyttleton, steal them a little while from their bosoms. Not without these the tender scene is painted. From these alone proceed the noble disinterested friendship, the melting love, the generous sentiment, the ardent gratitude, the soft compassion, the candid opinion; and all those strong energies of a good mind, which fill the

moistened eyes with tears, the glowing cheeks with blood, and swell the heart with tides of grief, joy, and benevolence.

And thou, O learning! (for without thy assist. ance nothing pure, nothing correct, can genius produce) do thou guide my pen. Thee, in thy favourite fields, where the limpid, gently-rolling Thames washes thy Etonian banks, in early youth I have worshipped. To thee, at thy birchin altar, with true Spartan devotion, I have sacrificed my blood. Come then, and from thy vast, lúxuriant stores, in long antiquity piled up, pour forth the rich profu. sion. Open thy Mæonian and thy Mantuan coffers, with whatever else includes thy philosophic, thy poetic, and thy historical treasures, whether with Greek or Roman characters thou hast chosen to inscribe the ponderous chests; give me a while that key to all thy treasures, which to thy Warburton thou hast intrusted.

Lastly, come experience, long conversant with the wise, the good, the learned, and the polite. Nor with them only, but with every kind of character, from the minister at his levee, to the bailiff in his spunging-house; from the duchess at her drum, to the landlady behind her bar. From thee only can the manners of mankind be known; to which the recluse pedant, however great his parts, or extensive his learning may be, hath ever been a stranger.

Come all these, and more, if possible; for ardu. ous is the task I have undertaken; and, without all your assistance, will, I find, be too heavy for me. to support. But if you all smile on my labours, I hope still to bring them to a happy.conclusion.

CHAP. II.

THE learned Dr. Misaubin used to say, that the proper direction to him was, To Dr. Misaubin, in the World; intimating, that there were few people in it to whom his great reputation was not known. And, perhaps, upon a very nice examination into the matter, we shall find that this circumstance bears no inconsiderable part among the many blessings of grandeur.

The great happiness of being known to posterity, with the hopes of which we so delighted ourselves in the preceding chapter, is the portion of few. To have the several elements which compose our names, as Sydenham expresses it, repeated a thousand years hence, is a gift beyond the power of title and wealth; and is scarce to be purchased, unless by the sword and the pen. But to avoid the scandalous imputation, while we yet live, of being one whom nobody knows (a scandal, by the bye, as old as the days of Homer), will always be the envied portion of those, who have a legal title either to honour or estate.

From that figure, therefore, which the Irish peer, who brought Sophia to town, hath already made in this history, the reader will conclude, doubtless, it must have been an easy matter to have discovered his house in London, without knowing the particular street or square which he inhabited, since he must have been one whom every body knows. To say the truth, so it would have been to any of those tradesmen who are accustomed to attend the regions of the great; for the doors of the great are general no less easy to find, than it is difficult to get en

See the 2d Odyssey, ver. 175.

trance into them. But Jones, as well as Partridge," was an entire stranger in London; and as he hap. pened to arrive first in a quarter of the town, the inhabitants of which have very little intercourse with the householders of Hanover or GrosvenorSquare (for he entered through Gray's-Inn-Lane), so he rambled about some time, before he could even find his way to those happy mansions, where for. tune segregates from the vulgar those magnanimous heroes, the descendants of ancient Britons, Saxons, or Danes, whose ancestors being born in better days, by sundry kinds of merit, have entailed riches and honour on their posterity.

Jones, being at length arrived at those terrestrial Elysian fields, would now soon have discovered his lordship's mansion; but the peer unluckily quitted his former house when he went for Ireland; and, as he was just entered into a new one, the fame of his equipage had not yet sufficiently blazed in the neighbourhood; so that, after a successless inquiry till the clock had struck eleven, Jones at last yielded to the advice of Partridge, and retreated to the Bull and Gate, in Holborn, that being the inn where he had first alighted, and where he retired to enjoy that kind of repose which usually attends persons in his circumstances.

Early in the morning he again set forth in pursuit of Sophia; and many a weary step he took to no better purpose than before. At last, whether it was that fortune relented, or whether it was no longer in her power to disappoint him, he came into the very street which was honoured by his lordship's residence; and being directed to the house, he gave one gentle rap at the door.

The porter, who, from the modesty of the knock, had conceived no high idea of the person approach. ing, conceived but little better from the appearance of Mr. Jones, who was dressed in a suit of fustian, the side the weapon formerly purchased of the serjeant; of which, though the blade might

be composed of well-tempered steel, the handle was composed only of brass, and that none of the brightest. When Jones, therefore, inquired after the young lady who had come to town with his lordship, this fellow answered surlily, That there were no ladies there.' Jones then desired to see the master of the house; but was informed, that his lordship would see nobody that morning. And, upon growing more pressing, the porter said, He had positive orders to let no person in; but if you think proper,' said he, to leave your name, I will acquaint his lordship; and if you call another time, you shall know when he will see you.'

Jones now declared, that he had very particular business with the young lady, and could not depart without seeing her.' Upon which the porter, with no very agreeable voice or aspect, affirmed, that there was no young lady in that house, and consequently none could he see;' adding, sure you are the strangest man I ever met with; for you will not take an answer.'

I have often thought that, by the particular description of Cerberus, the porter of hell, in the Sixth Eneid, Virgil might possibly intend to satirize the porters of the great men in his time; the picture, at least, resembles those who have the honour to at tend at the doors of our great men. The porter, in his lodge, answers exactly to Cerberus in his den; and, like him, must be appeased by a sop, before access can be gained to his master. Perhaps Jones might have seen him in that light, and have recollected the passage, where the Sibyl, in order to procure an entrance for Eneas, presents the keeper of the Stygian avenue with such a sop. Jones, in like manner, now began to offer a bribe to the human Cerberus, which a footman overhearing, instantly advanced, and declared, If Mr. Jones would give him the sun μιυμοσυν

Id conduct.

the lady.' Jones instantly agreed, and was inue with conducted to the lodging of Mrs. Fitzpatrick,