company, and very often set somebody or other in it a-blushing. The last I shall mention was a certain romantic instrument called a Dulcimer, who talked of nothing but shady woods, flowery meadows, purling streams, larks and nightingales, with all the beauties of the spring, and the pleasures of a country life. This instrument hath a fine melancholy sweetness in it, and goes very well with the Flute. I think most of the conversable part of woman-kind may be found under one of the foregoing divisions; but it must be confessed, that the generality of that sex, notwithstanding they have naturally a great genius for being talkative, are not mistresses of more than one note: with which, however, by frequent repetition, they make a greater sound than those who are possessed of the whole gamut; as may be observed in your Larums or Householdscolds, and in your Castanets or impertinent Tittletattles, who have no other variety in their discourse but that of talking slower or faster. Upon communicating this scheme of music to an old friend of mine, who was formerly a man of gallantry, and a rover, he told me that he believed he had been in love with every instrument in my consort. The first that smit him was a Hornpipe, who lived near his father's house in the country; but upon his failing to meet her at an assize, according to appointment, she cast him off. His next passion was for a Kettle-drum, whom he fell in love with at a play; but when he became acquainted with her, not finding the softness of her sex in her conversation, he grew cool to her though at the same time he could not deny but that she behaved herself very much like a gentlewoman. His third mistress was a Dulcimer, who, he found, took great delight in sighing and languishing, but would go no farther than the preface of matrimony; so that she would never let a lover have any more of her than her heart, which after having won, he was forced to leave her, as despairing of any farther success. "I must confess," says my friend, "I have often considered her with a great deal of admiration; and I find her pleasure is so much in this first step of an amour, that her life will pass away in dream, solitude, and soliloquy, until her decay of charms makes her snatch at the worst man that ever pretended to her. In the next place," says my friend, "I fell in love with a Kit, who led me such a dance through, all the varieties of a familiar, cold, fond, and indifferent behaviour, that the world began to grow censorious, though without any cause; for which reason, to recover our reputations, we parted by consent. To mend my hand," says he, "I made my next application to a Virginal, who gave me great encouragement, after her cautious manner, until some malicious companion told her of my long passion for the Kit, which made her turn me off, as a scandalous fellow. At length, in despair," says he, "I betook myself to a Welsh-harp, who rejected me with contempt, after having found that my great-grandmother was a brewer's daughter." I found by the sequel of my friend's discourse, that he had never aspired to a Hautboy; that he had been exasperated by a Flagelet; and that to this very day he pines away for a Flute. Upon the whole, having thoroughly considered how absolutely necessary it is, that two instruments, which are to play together for life, should be exactly tuned, and go in perfect consort with each other; I would propose matches between the music of both sexes, according to the following Table of Marriage:" 1. Drum and Kettle-drum. 2. Lute and Flute. 3. Harpsichord and Hautboy. 5. Bass-viol and Kit. 6. Trumpet and Welsh-harp. 7. Hunting-horn and Hornpipe.. 9. Passing-bell and Virginal. *Mr. Bickerstaff, in consideration of his ancient friendship and acquaintance with Mr. Betterton, and great esteem for his merit, summons all his disciples whether dead or living, mad or tame, Toasts, Smarts, Dappers, Pretty-fellows, musicians, or scrapers, to make their appearance at the playhouse in the Haymarket on Thursday next, when there will be a play acted for the benefit of the said Betterton. N° 158. THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 1710. Faciunt næ intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant.--Ter. While they pretend to know more than others, they know nothing in reality. From my own Apartment, April 12. OM FOLIO is a broker in learning, employed to get great men. There is not a sale of books begins until Tom Folio is seen at the door. There is not an auction where his name is not heard, and that too in the very nick of time, in the critical moment, before the last decisive stroke of the hammer. There is not a subscription which goes forward in which Tom it not privy to the first rough draught of the proposals; nor a catalogue printed, that doth not come to him wet from the press. He is a universal scholar, so far as the title-page of all authors; knows the manuscripts in which they were discovered, the editions through which they have passed, with the praises or censures which which they have received from the several members of the learned world. He has a greater esteem for Aldus and Elzevir, than for Virgil and Horace. If you talk of Herodotus, he breaks out into a panygeric upon Harry Stephens. He thinks he gives you an account of an author when he tells you the subject he treats of, the name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. Or if you draw him into farther particulars, he cries up the goodness of the paper, extols the diligence of the corrector, and is transported with the beauty of the letter. This he looks upon to be sound learning, and substantial criticism. As for those who talk of the fineness of style, and the justness of thought, or describe the brightness of any particular passages; nay, though they themselves write in the genius and spirit of the author they admire; Tom looks upon them as men of superficial learning, and flashy parts. I had yesterday morning a visit from this learned ideot, for that is the light in which I consider every pedant, when I discover in him some little touches of the coxcomb, which I had not before observed. Being very full of the figure which he makes in the republic of letters, and won 4 derfully satisfied with his great stock of knowledge, he gave me broad intimations that he did not believe in all points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated to me a thought of a certain author upon a passage of Virgil's account of the dead, which I made the subject of a late paper. This thought hath taken very much among men of Tom's pitch and understanding, though universally exploded by all that know how to construe Virgil, or have any relish of antiquity. Not to trouble my reader with it, I found upon the whole that Tom did not believe a future state of rewards and punishments, because Æneas, at his leaving the empire of the dead, passed through the gate of ivory, and not through that of horn. Knowing that Tom had not sense enough to give up an opinion which he had once received, that I might avoid wrangling, I told him, "that Virgil possibly had his oversights as well as another author.' "Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, " you would have another opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel Heinsius's edition. I have perused him myself several times in that edition," continued he; " and after the strictest and most minute examination, could find but two faults in him; one of them is in the Eneids, where there are two commas instead of a parenthesis; and another in the third Georgic, where you may find a semicolon turned upside down." Perhaps," said I, "these were not Virgil's faults, but those of the transcriber."-"I do not design it," says Tom, "as a reflection on Virgil; on the contrary, I know that all the manuscripts declaim against such a punctuation. Oh! Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "what would a man give to see one simile of Virgil writ in his own hand!" I asked him which was the simile he meant; but was answered, any simile in Virgil. He then told me all the secret history of the commonwealth of learning; of modern pieces that had the names of ancient authors annexed to them; of all the books that were now writing or printing in the several parts of Europe; of many amendments which are made, and not yet published; and a thousand other particulars, which I would not have my memory burdened with for a Vatican. At length, being fully persuaded that I thoroughly admired him, and looked upon him as a prodigy of learning, he took his leave. I know several of Tom's class, who are professed admirers of Tasso, without understanding a word of Italian and one in particular, that carries a Pastor Fido in his pocket, in which, I am sure, he is acquainted with no other beauty but the clearness of the character. There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom Folio's impertinences, hath greater superstructures and embellishments of Greek and Latin; and is still more insupportable than the other, in the same degree as he is more learned. Of this kind very often are editors, commentators, interpreters, scholiasts, and critics; and, in short, all men of deep learning without common sense. These persons set a greater value on themselves for having found out the meaning of a passage in Greek, than upon the author for having written it; nay, will allow the passage itself not to have any beauty in it, at the same time that they would be considered as the greatest men of the age for having interpreted it. They will look with contempt on the most beautiful poems that have been composed by any of their contemporaries; but will lock themselves up in their studies for a twelvemonth together, to correct, publish, and expound such trifles of antiquity, as a modern author would be contemned for. Men of the strictest morals, severest lives, and the gravest professions, will write volumes upon an idle sonnet, that is originally in Greek or Latin; give editions of the most immoral authors; and spin out whole pages upon the various readings of a lewd expression. All that can be said in excuse for them is, that their works sufficiently shew they have no taste of their authors; and that what they do in this kind, is out of their great learning, and not out of any levity or lasciviousness of temper. A pedant of this nature is wonderfully well described in six lines of Boileau, with which I shall conclude his character. Un Pedant enyvré de sa vaine science, Tout herissé de Grec, tout bouffi d'arrogance; |