And so convenient does it lay,
The stages pass it ev'ry day :
And then so snug, so mighty pretty,
To have an house so near the city!
Take but your places at the Boar,
You're set down at the very door.

Well then, suppose them fix'd at last ;
White-washing, painting, scrubbing past ;
Hugging themselves in ease and clover,
With all the fuss of moving over :
Lo! a new heap of whims are bred,
And wanton in my lady's head.
"Well! to be sure, it must be own'd,
It is a charming spot of ground ●
So sweet a distance for a ride,
And all about so countryfy'd!
'Twould come but to a trifling price
To make it quite a paradise.
I cannot bear these nasty rails,
Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales;
Suppose, my dear, instead of these,
We build a railing all Chinese.
Although one hates to be expos'd,
'Tis dismal to be thus inclos'd;
One hardly any object sees....
I wish you'd fell those odious trees.
Objects continual passing by
Were something to amuse the eyes
But to be pent within the walls...
One might as well be at St. Paul's.
Our house beholders would adore,
Was there a level lawn before;
Nothing its views to incommode,
But quite laid open to the road;
While ev'ry trav❜ler in amaze,
Should on our little mansion gaze,
And, pointing to the choice retreat,
Cry, that's Sir Thrifty's country sear."
No doubt her arguments prevail;

For Madam's taste can never fail.

Blest age! when all men may procure

The title of a Connoisseur !
When noble and ignoble herd
Are govern'd by a single word!
Though, like the royal German dames,
It bears an hundred Christian names;

As Genius, Fancy, Judgment, Gout,
Whim, Caprice, Je-ne-scai-quoi, Virtu:
Which appellations all describe

Taste, and the modern tasteful tribe.

Now bricklayers, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists and designers,
Produce their schemes of alteration,
To work this wond'rous reformation.
This useful dome, which secret stood
Embosom'd in the yew-tree's wood,
The trav'ler with amazement sees
A temple, Gothic or Chinese,
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon.
A wooden arch is bent astride

A ditch of water, four feet wide;
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact designs.
In front a level lawn is seen,
Without a shrub upon the green ;

Where taste would want its first great law,
But for the skulking sly Ha-Ha;

By whose miraculous assistance

You gain a prospect two fields distance.
And now from Hyde-Park Corner come

The Gods of Athens and of Rome :
Here squabby Cupids take their places,
With Venus and the clumsy Graces;
Apollo there, with aim so clever,
Stretches his leaden bow for ever;
And there, without the power to fly,
Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.

The Villa, thus completely grac'd,
All own, that Thrifty has a taste:
And Madam's female friends and cousins,
With common-councilmen by dozens.
Flock every Sunday to the seat

To stare about them, and to eat.

No. CXXXVI. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 2.

.......... Hominem pagina nostra sapit.

MART.

To paint mankind, our sole pretence ;
And all our wisdom, Common Set.se,

:

WE, whose business it is to write loose essays, and who never talk above a quarter of an hour together on any one subject, are not expected to enter into philosophical disquisitions, or engage in abstract speculations; but it is supposed to be our principal aim to amuse and instruct the reader, by a lively representation of what passes round about him. Thus, like those painters who delineate the scenes of familiar life, we sometimes give a sketch of a marriage a-la-mode; sometimes draw the outlines of a modern midnight-conversation; at another time paint the comical distresses of itinerant tragedians in a barn and at another, give a full draught of the rake or harlot's progress. Sometimes we divert the public by exhibiting single portraits; and when we meet with a subject where the features are strongly marked by nature, and there is something peculiarly characteristic in the whole manner, we employ ourselves in drawing the piece at full length. In a word, we consider all mankind as sitting for their pictures, and endeavour to work up our pieces with lively traits, and embellish them with beau tiful colouring; and though, perhaps, they are not always highly finished, yet they seldom fail of pleasing some few, at least, of the vast multitude of Critics and Connoisseurs, if we are so happy as to hit off a striking likeness.

There is, perhaps, no knowledge more requisite, and certainly none at present more ardently sought

after, than the knowledge of the world. In this science we are more particularly expected to be adepts, as well as to initiate, or at least improve our readers in it. And though this knowledge cannot be collected together from books, yet (as Pope says)" Men 66 may be read as well as books, too much ;" and it is to be lamented, that many, who have only consulted the volume of life as it lay open before them, have rather become worse than better by their studies. They who have lived wholly in the world without regarding the comments on it, are generally tainted with all its vices; to which the gathering part of their instructions from books would perhaps have proved an antidote. There, though they would have seen the faults and foibles of mankind fairly represented, yet vice would appear in an odious, and virtue in an amiable, light: but those, who unwarned go abroad into the world are often dazzled by the splendor with which wealth gilds vice and infamy; and, being accustomed to see barefoot honesty treated with scorn, are themselves induced to consider it as contemptible. For this reason I am a good deal offended at the ingenious contrivance of our modern novelists and writers of comedy, who often gloss over a villanous character with the same false varnish that lackers so many scoundrels in real life; and while they are exhibiting a fellow who debauches your daughter, or lies with your wife, represent him as an agreeable creature, a man of gallantry, and a fine gentleman.

The world, even the gayest part of it, may be painted like itself, and yet become a lesson of instruction. The pieces of Hogarth (to recur to the illustration I first made use of) are faithful delineations of certain scenes of life, and yet vice and folly always appear odious and contemptible. I could wish it were possible to learn the Knowledge of the

World without being "hackneyed in the ways of "men" but as that is impracticable, it is still our duty so to live in it as to avoid being corrupted by our intercourse with mankind. We should endeavour to guard against fraud, without becoming ourselves deceitful; and to see every species of vice and folly practised round about us, without growing knaves and fools. The villany of others is but a poor excuse for the loss of our own integrity: and though, indeed, if I am attacked on HounslowHeath, I may lawfully kill the highwayman in my own defence; yet I should be very deservedly brought to the gallows if I took a purse from the next person I met, because I had been robbed myself.

The Knowledge of the World, as it is generally used and understood, consists not so much in a due reflection on its vices and follies, as in the prac tice of them: and those who consider themselves as best acquainted with it, are either the dupes of fashion, or slaves of interest. It is also supposed to lie within the narrow compass of every man's own sphere of life, and receives a different interpretation in different stations: thus, for instance, the man of fashion seeks it no where but in the polite circle of the beau monde; while the man of business looks no farther for it than the Alley. I shall beg leave to illustrate this, by concluding my paper with a description of two characters; each of whom, though diametrically opposite to the other, has acquired a thorough Knowledge of the World.

Sir Harry Flash had the good luck to be born before his brother Richard: consequently, the heir to the estate was bred a gentleman, and the other condemned to plod in the dull drudgery of business. The Merchant was sent to learn accounts at the Academy upon Tower-Hill, and the Baronet had the finishing of his education in France. Sir Harry