The abrupt rise, which is feared from firm circular arches, may be

easily prevented, by a little extension of the abutment at each end,

which will take away the objection, and add almost nothing to the

expense.

The whole of the argument in favour of Mr. M----, is only, that there is

an elliptical bridge at Florence, and an iron balustrade at Rome; the

bridge is owned to be weak, and the iron balustrade we consider as mean,

and are loath that our own country should unite two follies in a publick

work.

The architrave of Perrault, which has been pompously produced, bears

nothing but its entablature; and is so far from owing its support to the

artful section of the stone, that it is held together by cramps of iron;

to which I am afraid Mr. M---- must have recourse, if he persists in his

ellipsis, or, to use the words of his vindicator, forms his arch of four

segments of circles drawn from four different centres.

That Mr. M---- obtained the prize of the architecture at Rome, a few

months ago, is willingly confessed; nor do his opponents doubt that he

obtained it by deserving it. May he continue to obtain whatever he

deserves; but let it not be presumed that a prize granted at Rome,

implies an irresistible degree of skill. The competition is only between

boys, and the prize, given to excite laudable industry, not to reward

consummate excellence. Nor will the suffrage of the Romans much advance

any name among those who know, what no man of science will deny, that

architecture has, for some time, degenerated at Rome to the lowest

state, and that the pantheon is now deformed by petty decorations.

I am, Sir, yours, &c.

[1] Mr. Milne.

LETTER III.

Sir, Dec. 15,1759.

It is the common fate of erroneous positions, that they are betrayed by

defence, and obscured by explanation; that their authors deviate from

the main question into incidental disquisitions, and raise a mist where

they should let in light.

Of all these concomitants of errours, the letter of Dec. 10, in favour

of elliptical arches, has afforded examples. A great part of it is spent

upon digressions. The writer allows, that the first excellence of a

bridge is undoubtedly strength: but this concession affords him an

opportunity of telling us, that strength, or provision against decay,

has its limits; and of mentioning the monument and cupola, without any

advance towards evidence or argument.

The first excellence of a bridge is now allowed to be strength; and it

has been asserted, that a semi-ellipsis has less strength than a

semicircle. To this he first answers, that granting this position for a

moment, the semi-ellipsis may yet have strength sufficient for the

purposes of commerce. This grant, which was made but for a moment,

needed not to have been made at all; for, before he concludes his

letter, he undertakes to prove, that the elliptical arch must, in all

respects, be superiour in strength to the semicircle. For this daring

assertion he made way by the intermediate paragraphs, in which he

observes, that the convexity of a semi-ellipsis may be increased at will

to any degree that strength may require; which is, that an elliptical

arch may be made less elliptical, to be made less weak; or that an arch,

which, by its elliptical form, is superiour in strength to the

semicircle, may become almost as strong as a semicircle, by being made

almost semicircular.

That the longer diameter of an ellipsis may be shortened, till it shall

differ little from a circle, is indisputably true; but why should the

writer forget the semicircle differs as little from such an ellipsis? It

seems that the difference, whether small or great, is to the advantage

of the semicircle; for he does not promise that the elliptical arch,

with all the convexity that his imagination can confer, will stand

without cramps of iron, and melted lead, and large stones, and a very

thick arch; assistances which the semicircle does not require, and which

can be yet less required by a semi-ellipsis, which is, in all respects,

superiour in strength.

Of a man who loves opposition so well, as to be thus at variance with

himself, little doubt can be made of his contrariety to others; nor do I

think myself entitled to complain of disregard from one, with whom the

performances of antiquity have so little weight; yet, in defiance of all

this contemptuous superiority, I must again venture to declare, that a

straight line will bear no weight; being convinced, that not even the

science of Vasari can make that form strong which the laws of nature

have condemned to weakness. By the position, that a straight line will

bear nothing, is meant, that it receives no strength from straightness;

for that many bodies, laid in straight lines, will support weight by the

cohesion of their parts, every one has found, who has seen dishes on a

shelf, or a thief upon the gallows. It is not denied, that stones may be

so crushed together by enormous pressure on each side, that a heavy mass

may safely be laid upon them; but the strength must be derived merely

from the lateral resistance; and the line, so loaded, will be itself

part of the load.

The semi-elliptical arch has one recommendation yet unexamined: we are

told, that it is difficult of execution. Why difficulty should be chosen

for its own sake, I am not able to discover; but it must not be

forgotten, that, as the convexity is increased, the difficulty is

lessened; and I know not well, whether this writer, who appears equally

ambitious of difficulty, and studious of strength, will wish to increase

the convexity for the gain of strength, or to lessen it for the love of

difficulty.

The friend of Mr. M----, however he may be mistaken in some of his

opinions, does not want the appearance of reason, when he prefers facts

to theories; and that I may not dismiss the question without some appeal

to facts, I will borrow an example, suggested by a great artist, and

recommended to those who may still doubt which of the two arches is the

stronger, to press an egg first on the ends, and then upon the sides.

I am, Sir, yours, &c.

SOME THOUGHTS ON AGRICULTURE,

BOTH ANCIENT AND MODERN,

With an account of the honour due to an English farmer[1].

Agriculture, in the primeval ages, was the common parent of traffick;

for the opulence of mankind then consisted in cattle, and the product of

tillage, which are now very essential for the promotion of trade in

general, but more particularly so to such nations as are most abundant

in cattle, corn, and fruits. The labour of the farmer gives employment

to the manufacturer, and yields a support for the other parts of the

community: it is now the spring which sets the whole grand machine of

commerce in motion; and the sail could not be spread without the

assistance of the plough. But though the farmers are of such utility in

a state, we find them, in general, too much disregarded among the

politer kind of people in the present age; while we cannot help

observing the honour that antiquity has always paid to the profession of

the husbandman; which naturally leads us into some reflections upon that

occasion.

Though mines of gold and silver should be exhausted,

and the specie made of them lost; though diamonds and pearls should

remain concealed in the bowels of the earth, and the womb of the sea;

though commerce with strangers be prohibited; though all arts, which

have no other object than splendour and embellishment, should be

abolished; yet the fertility of the earth alone would afford an abundant

supply for the occasions of an industrious people, by furnishing

subsistence for them, and such armies as should be mustered in their

defence. We, therefore, ought not to be surprised, that agriculture was

in so much honour among the ancients; for it ought rather to seem

wonderful that it should ever cease to be so, and that the most

necessary and most indispensable of all professions should have fallen

into any contempt.

Agriculture was in no part of the world in higher consideration than

Egypt, where it was the particular object of government and policy; nor

was any country ever better peopled, richer, or more powerful. The

satrapae, among the Assyrians and Persians, were rewarded, if the lands

in their governments were well cultivated; but were punished, if that

part of their duty was neglected. Africa abounded in corn; but the most

famous countries were Thrace, Sardinia, and Sicily.

Cato, the censor, has justly called Sicily the magazine and nursing

mother of the Roman people, who were supplied from thence with almost

all their corn, both for the use of the city, and the subsistence of her

armies: though we also find in Livy, that the Romans received no

inconsiderable quantities of corn from Sardinia. But, when Rome had made

herself mistress of Carthage and Alexandria, Africa and Egypt became her

storehouses; for those cities sent such numerous fleets every year,

freighted with corn, to Rome, that Alexandria alone annually supplied

twenty millions of bushels: and, when the harvest happened to fail in

one of these provinces, the other came in to its aid, and supported the

metropolis of the world, which, without this supply, would have been in

danger of perishing by famine. Rome actually saw herself reduced to this

condition under Augustus; for there remained only three days' provision

of corn in the city: and that prince was so full of tenderness for the

people, that he had resolved to poison himself, if the expected fleets

did not arrive before the expiration of that time; but they came; and

the preservation of the Romans was attributed to the good fortune of

their emperour: but wise precautions were taken to avoid the like danger

for the future.

When the seat of empire was transplanted to Constantinople, that city

was supplied in the same manner: and when the emperour, Septimius

Severus, died, there was corn in the publick magazines for seven years,

expending daily 75,000 bushels in bread, for 600,000 men.

The ancients were no less industrious in the cultivation of the vine

than in that of corn, though they applied themselves to it later: for

Noah planted it by order, and discovered the use that might be made of

the fruit, by pressing out and preserving the juice. The vine was

carried by the offspring of Noah into the several countries of the

world; but Asia was the first to experience the sweets of this gift;

from whence it was imparted to Europe and Africa. Greece and Italy,

which were distinguished in so many other respects, were particularly so

by the excellency of their wines. Greece was most celebrated for the

wines of Cyprus, Lesbos, and Chio; the former of which is in great

esteem at present, though the cultivation of the vine has been generally

suppressed in the Turkish dominions. As the Romans were indebted to the

Grecians for the arts and sciences, so were they, likewise, for the

improvement of their wines; the best of which were produced in the

country of Capua, and were called the Massick, Calenian, Formian,

Caecuban, and Falernian, so much celebrated by Horace. Domitian passed

an edict for destroying all the vines, and that no more should be

planted throughout the greatest part of the west; which continued almost

two hundred years afterwards, when the emperour Probus employed his

soldiers in planting vines in Europe, in the same manner as Hannibal had

formerly employed his troops in planting olive trees in Africa. Some of

the ancients have endeavoured to prove, that the cultivation of vines is

more beneficial than any other kind of husbandry: but, if this was

thought so in the time of Columella, it is very different at present;

nor were all the ancients of his opinion, for several gave the

preference to pasture lands.

The breeding of cattle has always been considered as an important part

of agriculture. The riches of Abraham, Laban, and Job, consisted in

their flocks and herds. We also find from Latinus in Virgil, and Ulysses

in Homer, that the wealth of those princes consisted in cattle. It was,

likewise, the same among the Romans, till the introduction of money,

which put a value upon commodities, and established a new kind of

barter. Varro has not disdained to give an extensive account of all the

beasts that are of any use to the country, either for tillage, breed,

carriage, or other conveniencies of man. And Cato, the censor, was of

opinion, that the feeding of cattle was the most certain and speedy

method of enriching a country.

Luxury, avarice, injustice, violence, and ambition, take up their

ordinary residence in populous cities; while the hard and laborious life

of the husbandman will not admit of these vices. The honest farmer lives

in a wise and happy state, which inclines him to justice, temperance,

sobriety, sincerity, and every virtue that can dignify human nature.

This gave room for the poets to feign, that Astraea, the goddess of

justice, had her last residence among husbandmen, before she quitted the

earth. Hesiod and Virgil have brought the assistance of the Muses in

praise of agriculture. Kings, generals, and philosophers, have not

thought it unworthy their birth, rank, and genius, to leave precepts to

posterity upon the utility of the husbandman's profession. Hiero,

Attalus, and Archelaus, kings of Syracuse, Pergamus, and Cappadocia,

have composed books for supporting and augmenting the fertility of their

different countries. The Carthaginian general, Mago, wrote twenty-eight

volumes upon this subject; and Cato, the censor, followed his example.

Nor have Plato, Xenophon, and Aristotle, omitted this article, which

makes an essential part of their politicks. And Cicero, speaking of the

writings of Xenophon, says, "How fully and excellently does he, in that

book called his Economicks, set out the advantages of husbandry, and a

country life!"

When Britain was subject to the Romans, she annually supplied them with

great quantities of corn; and the isle of Anglesea was then looked upon

as the granary for the western provinces; but the Britons, both under

the Romans and Saxons, were employed like slaves at the plough. On the

intermixture of the Danes and Normans, possessions were better

regulated, and the state of vassalage gradually declined, till it was

entirely worn off under the reigns of Henry the seventh and Edward the

sixth; for they hurt the old nobility by favouring the commons, who grew

rich by trade, and purchased estates.

The wines of France, Portugal, and Spain, are now the best; while Italy

can only boast of the wine made in Tuscany. The breeding of cattle is

now chiefly confined to Denmark and Ireland. The corn of Sicily is still

in great esteem, as well as what is produced in the northern countries:

but England is the happiest spot in the universe for all the principal

kinds of agriculture, and especially its great produce of corn.

The improvement of our landed estates is the enrichment of the kingdom;

for, without this, how could we carry on our manufactures, or prosecute

our commerce? We should look upon the English farmer as the most useful

member of society. His arable grounds not only supply his fellow-subjects

with all kinds of the best grain, but his industry enables him to export

great quantities to other kingdoms, which might otherwise starve;

particularly Spain and Portugal; for, in one year, there have been

exported 51,520 quarters of barley, 219,781 of malt, 1,920 of oatmeal,

1,329 of rye, and 153,343 of wheat; the bounty on which amounted to

72,433 pounds. What a fund of treasure arises from his pasture lands,

which breed such innumerable flocks of sheep, and afford such fine herds

of cattle, to feed Britons, and clothe mankind! He rears flax and hemp

for the making of linen; while his plantations of apples and hops supply

him with generous kinds of liquors.

The land-tax, when at four shillings in the pound, produces 2,000,000

pounds a year. This arises from the labour of the husbandman: it is a

great sum; but how greatly is it increased by the means it furnishes for

trade! Without the industry of the farmer, the manufacturer could have

no goods to supply the merchant, nor the merchant find any employment

for the mariners: trade would be stagnated; riches would be of no

advantage to the great; and labour of no service to the poor.

The Romans, as historians all allow,

Sought, in extreme distress, the rural plough;

_Io triumphe!_ for the village swain,

Retired to be a nobleman[2] again.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] From the Universal Visiter, for February, 1756, p. 59.--Smart, the

poet, had a considerable hand in this miscellany. The very first

sentence, however, may convince any reader that Dr. Johnson did not

write these Thoughts: they are inserted here merely as an

introduction to the Further Thoughts, which follow, and which are

undoubtedly his.

[2] Cincinnatus.

FURTHER THOUGHTS ON AGRICULTURE[1].

[1] From the Visiter for March, 1756, p. 111.

At my last visit, I took the liberty of mentioning a subject, which, I

think, is not considered with attention proportionate to its importance.

Nothing can more fully prove the ingratitude of mankind, a crime often

charged upon them, and often denied, than the little regard which the

disposers of honorary rewards have paid to agriculture, which is treated

as a subject so remote from common life, by all those who do not

immediately hold the plough, or give fodder to the ox, that I think

there is room to question, whether a great part of mankind has yet been

informed that life is sustained by the fruits of the earth. I was once,

indeed, provoked to ask a lady of great eminence for genius, "Whether

she knew of what bread is made?"

I have already observed, how differently agriculture was considered by

the heroes and wise men of the Roman commonwealth, and shall now only

add, that even after the emperours had made great alteration in the

system of life, and taught men to portion out their esteem to other

qualities than usefulness, agriculture still maintained its reputation,

and was taught by the polite and elegant Celsus among the other arts.

The usefulness of agriculture I have already shown; I shall now,

therefore, prove its necessity: and, having before declared, that it

produces the chief riches of a nation, I shall proceed to show, that it

gives its only riches, the only riches which we can call our own, and of

which we need not fear either deprivation or diminution.

Of nations, as of individuals, the first blessing is independence.

Neither the man nor the people can be happy to whom any human power can

deny the necessaries or conveniencies of life. There is no way of living

without the need of foreign assistance, but by the product of our own

land, improved by our own labour. Every other source of plenty is

perishable or casual.

Trade and manufactures must be confessed often to enrich countries; and

we ourselves are indebted to them for those ships by which we now

command the sea from the equator to the poles, and for those sums with

which we have shown ourselves able to arm the nations of the north in

defence of regions in the western hemisphere. But trade and

manufactures, however profitable, must yield to the cultivation of lands

in usefulness and dignity.

Commerce, however we may please ourselves with the contrary opinion, is

one of the daughters of Fortune, inconstant and deceitful as her mother;

she chooses her residence where she is least expected, and shifts her

abode when her continuance is, in appearance, most firmly settled. Who

can read of the present distresses of the Genoese, whose only choice now

remaining is, from what monarch they shall solicit protection? Who can

see the Hanseatick towns in ruins, where, perhaps, the inhabitants do

not always equal the number of the houses, but he will say to himself,

these are the cities, whose trade enabled them once to give laws to the

world, to whose merchants princes sent their jewels in pawn, from whose

treasuries armies were paid, and navies supplied? And who can then

forbear to consider trade as a weak and uncertain basis of power, and

wish to his own country greatness more solid, and felicity more durable?

It is apparent, that every trading nation flourishes, while it can be

said to flourish, by the courtesy of others. We cannot compel any people

to buy from us, or to sell to us. A thousand accidents may prejudice

them in favour of our rivals; the workmen of another nation may labour

for less price, or some accidental improvement, or natural advantage,

may procure a just preference to their commodities; as experience has

shown, that there is no work of the hands, which, at different times, is

not best performed in different places.

Traffick, even while it continues in its state of prosperity, must owe

its success to agriculture; the materials of manufacture are the produce

of the earth. The wool which we weave into cloth, the wood which is

formed into cabinets, the metals which are forged into weapons, are

supplied by nature with the help of art. Manufactures, indeed, and

profitable manufactures, are sometimes raised from imported materials,

but then we are subjected, a second time, to the caprice of our

neighbours. The natives of Lombardy might easily resolve to retain their

silk at home, and employ workmen of their own to weave it. And this will

certainly be done when they grow wise and industrious, when they have

sagacity to discern their true interest, and vigour to pursue it.

Mines are generally considered as the great sources of wealth, and

superficial observers have thought the possession of great quantities of

precious metals the first national happiness. But Europe has long seen,

with wonder and contempt, the poverty of Spain, who thought herself

exempted from the labour of tilling the ground, by the conquest of Peru,

with its veins of silver. Time, however, has taught even this obstinate

and haughty nation, that without agriculture they may, indeed, be the

transmitters of money, but can never be the possessours. They may dig it

out of the earth, but must immediately send it away to purchase cloth or

bread, and it must at last remain with some people wise enough to sell

much, and to buy little; to live upon their own lands, without a wish

for those things which nature has denied them.

Mines are themselves of no use, without some kind of agriculture. We

have, in our own country, inexhaustible stores of iron, which lie

useless in the ore for want of wood. It was never the design of

Providence to feed man without his own concurrence; we have from nature

only what we cannot provide for ourselves; she gives us wild fruits,

which art must meliorate, and drossy metals, which labour must refine.

Particular metals are valuable, because they are scarce; and they are

scarce, because the mines that yield them are emptied in time. But the

surface of the earth is more liberal than its caverns. The field, which

is this autumn laid naked by the sickle, will be covered, in the

succeeding summer, by a new harvest; the grass, which the cattle are

devouring, shoots up again when they have passed over it.

Agriculture, therefore, and agriculture alone, can support us without

the help of others, in certain plenty, and genuine dignity. Whatever we

buy from without, the sellers may refuse; whatever we sell, manufactured

by art, the purchasers may reject; but, while our ground is covered with

corn and cattle, we can want nothing; and if imagination should grow

sick of native plenty, and call for delicacies or embellishments from

other countries, there is nothing which corn and cattle will not

purchase.

Our country is, perhaps, beyond all others, productive of things

necessary to life. The pineapple thrives better between the tropicks,

and better furs are found in the northern regions. But let us not envy

these unnecessary privileges. Mankind cannot subsist upon the

indulgences of nature, but must be supported by her more common gifts.

They must feed upon bread, and be clothed with wool; and the nation that

can furnish these universal commodities, may have her ships welcomed at

a thousand ports, or sit at home and receive the tribute of foreign

countries, enjoy their arts, or treasure up their gold.

It is well known to those who have examined the state of other

countries, that the vineyards of France are more than equivalent to the

mines of America; and that one great use of Indian gold, and Peruvian

silver, is to procure the wines of Champaigne and Burgundy. The

advantage is, indeed, always rising on the side of France, who will

certainly have wines, when Spain, by a thousand natural or accidental

causes, may want silver. But, surely, the valleys of England have more

certain stores of wealth. Wines are chosen by caprice; the products of

France have not always been equally esteemed; but there never was any

age, or people, that reckoned bread among superfluities, when once it

was known. The price of wheat and barley suffers not any variation, but

what is caused by the uncertainty of seasons.

I am far from intending to persuade my countrymen to quit all other

employments for that of manuring the ground. I mean only to prove, that

we have, at home, all that we can want, and that, therefore, we need

feel no great anxiety about the schemes of other nations for improving

their arts, or extending their traffick. But there is no necessity to

infer, that we should cease from commerce, before the revolution of

things shall transfer it to some other regions! Such vicissitudes the

world has often seen; and, therefore, such we have reason to expect. We

hear many clamours of declining trade, which are not, in my opinion,

always true; and many imputations of that decline to governours and

ministers, which may be sometimes just, and sometimes calumnious. But it

is foolish to imagine, that any care or policy can keep commerce at a

stand, which almost every nation has enjoyed and lost, and which we must

expect to lose as we have long enjoyed.

There is some danger, lest our neglect of agriculture should hasten its

departure. Our industry has, for many ages, been employed in destroying

the woods which our ancestors have planted. It is well known that

commerce is carried on by ships, and that ships are built out of trees;

and, therefore, when I travel over naked plains, to which tradition has

preserved the name of forests, or see hills arising on either hand

barren and useless, I cannot forbear to wonder, how that commerce, of

which we promise ourselves the perpetuity, shall be continued by our

descendants; nor can restrain a sigh, when I think on the time, a time

at no great distance, when our neighbours may deprive us of our naval

influence, by refusing us their timber.

By agriculture only can commerce be perpetuated; and by agriculture

alone can we live in plenty without intercourse with other nations.

This, therefore, is the great art, which every government ought to

protect, every proprietor of lands to practise, and every inquirer into

nature to improve.

CONSIDERATION ON THE CORN LAWS[1].

By what causes the necessaries of life have risen to a price, at which a

great part of the people are unable to procure them, how the present

scarcity may be remedied, and calamities of the same kind may, for the

future, be prevented, is an inquiry of the first importance; an inquiry,

before which all the considerations which commonly busy the legislature

vanish from the view.

The interruption of trade, though it may distress part of the community,

leaves the rest power to communicate relief: the decay of one

manufacture may be compensated by the advancement of another: a defeat

may be repaired by victory: a rupture with one nation may be balanced by

an alliance with another. These are partial and slight misfortunes,

which leave us still in the possession of our chief comforts. They may

lop some of our superfluous pleasures, and repress some of our

exorbitant hopes; but we may still retain the essential part of civil

and of private happiness--the security of law, and the tranquillity of

content. They are small obstructions of the stream, which raise a foam

and noise, where they happen to be found, but, at a little distance, are

neither seen nor felt, and suffer the main current to pass forward in

its natural course.

But scarcity is an evil that extends at once to the whole community:

that neither leaves quiet to the poor, nor safety to the rich; that, in

its approaches, distresses all the subordinate ranks of mankind; and, in

its extremity, must subvert government, drive the populace upon their

rulers, and end in bloodshed and massacre. Those who want the supports

of life will seize them wherever they can be found. If in any place

there are more than can be fed, some must be expelled, or some must be

destroyed.

Of this dreadful scene there is no immediate danger; but there is

already evil sufficient to deserve and require all our diligence and all

our wisdom. The miseries of the poor are such as cannot easily be borne;

such as have already incited them, in many parts of the kingdom, to an

open defiance of government, and produced one of the greatest of

political evils--the necessity of ruling by immediate force.

Cæsar declared, after the battle of Munda, that he had often fought for

victory, but that he had, that day, fought for life. We have often

deliberated, how we should prosper; we are now to inquire, how we shall

subsist.

The present scarcity is imputed, by some, to the bounty for exporting

corn, which is considered as having a necessary and perpetual tendency

to pour the grain of this country into other nations.

This position involves two questions: whether the present scarcity has

been caused by the bounty? and whether the bounty is likely to produce

scarcity in future times?

It is an uncontroverted principle, that "sublata causa tollitur

effectus;" if, therefore, the effect continues when the supposed cause

has ceased, that effect must be imputed to some other agency.

The bounty has ceased, and the exportation would still continue, if

exportation were permitted. The true reason of the scarcity is the

failure of the harvest; and the cause of exportation is the like failure

in other countries, where they grow less, and where they are, therefore,

always nearer to the danger of want.

This want is such, that in countries where money is at a much higher

value than with us, the inhabitants are yet desirous to buy our corn at

a price to which our own markets have not risen.

If we consider the state of those countries, which, being accustomed to

buy our corn cheaper than ourselves, when it was cheap, are now reduced

to the necessity of buying it dearer than ourselves, when it is dear, we

shall yet have reason to rejoice in our own exemption from the extremity

of this wide-extended calamity; and, if it be necessary, to inquire why

we suffer scarcity, it may be fit to consider, likewise, why we suffer

yet less scarcity than our neighbours.

That the bounty upon corn has produced plenty, is apparent:

Because, ever since the grant of the bounty, agriculture has increased;

scarce a sessions has passed without a law for enclosing commons and

waste grounds:

Much land has been subjected to tillage, which lay uncultivated with

little profit:

Yet, though the quantity of land has been thus increased, the rent,

which is the price of land, has generally increased at the same time.

That more land is appropriated to tillage, is a proof that more corn is

raised; and that the rents have not fallen, proves that no more is

raised than can readily be sold.

But it is urged, that exportation, though it increases our produce,

diminishes our plenty; that the merchant has more encouragement for

exportation than the farmer for agriculture.

This is a paradox which all the principles of commerce and all the

experience of policy concur to confute. Whatever is done for gain, will

be done more, as more gain is to be obtained.

Let the effects of the bounty be minutely considered.

The state of every country, with respect to corn, is varied by the

chances of the year.

Those to whom we sell our corn, must have every year either more corn

than they want, or less than they want. We, likewise, are naturally

subject to the same varieties.

When they have corn equal to their wants, or more, the bounty has no

effect; for they will not buy what they do not want, unless our

exuberance be such as tempts them to store it for another year. This

case must suppose that our produce is redundant and useless to

ourselves; and, therefore, the profit of exportation produces no

inconvenience.

When they want corn, they must buy of us, and buy at a higher price: in

this case, if we have corn more than enough for ourselves, we are again

benefited by supplying them.

But they may want when we have no superfluity. When our markets rise,

the bounty ceases; and, therefore, produces no evil. They cannot buy our

corn but at a higher rate than it is sold at home. If their necessities,

as now has happened, force them to give a higher price, that event is no

longer to be charged upon the bounty. We may then stop our corn in our

ports, and pour it back upon our own markets.

It is, in all cases, to be considered, what events are physical and

certain, and what are political and arbitrary.

The first effect of the bounty is the increase of agriculture, and, by

consequence, the promotion of plenty. This is an effect physically good,

and morally certain. While men are desirous to be rich, where there is

profit there will be diligence. If much corn can be sold, much will be

raised.

The second effect of the bounty is the diminution by exportation of that

product which it occasioned. But this effect is political and arbitrary;

we have it wholly in our own hands; we can prescribe its limits, and

regulate its quantity. Whenever we feel want, or fear it, we retain our

corn, and feed ourselves upon that which was sown and raised to feed

other nations.

It is, perhaps, impossible for human wisdom to go further, than to

contrive a law of which the good is certain and uniform, and the evil,

though possible in itself, yet always subject to certain and effectual

restraints.

This is the true state of the bounty upon corn: it certainly and

necessarily increases our crops, and can never lessen them but by our

own permission.

That, notwithstanding the bounty, there have been, from time to time,

years of scarcity, cannot be denied. But who can regulate the seasons?

In the dearest years we owe to the bounty that they have not been

dearer. We must always suppose part of our ground sown for our own

consumption, and part in hope of a foreign sale. The time sometimes

comes, when the product of all this land is scarcely sufficient: but if

the whole be too little, how great would have been the deficiency, if we

had sown only that part which was designed for ourselves!

"But, perhaps, if exportation were less encouraged, the superfluous

stores of plentiful years might be laid up by the farmer against years

of scarcity."

This may be justly answered by affirming, that, if exportation were

discouraged, we should have no years of plenty. Cheapness is produced by

the possibility of dearness. Our farmers, at present, plough and sow

with the hope that some country will always be in want, and that they

shall grow rich by supplying. Indefinite hopes are always carried by the

frailty of human nature beyond reason. While, therefore, exportation is

encouraged, as much corn will be raised as the farmer can hope to sell,

and, therefore, generally more than can be sold at the price of which he

dreamed, when he ploughed and sowed.

The greatest part of our corn is well known to be raised by those, who

pay rent for the ground which they employ, and of whom, few can bear to

delay the sale of one year's produce to another.

It is, therefore, vain to hope that large stocks of grain will ever

remain in private hands: he that has not sold the corn of last year,

will, with diffidence and reluctance, till his field again; the

accumulation of a few years would end in a vacation of agriculture, and

the husbandman would apply himself to some more profitable calling.

If the exportation of corn were totally prohibited, the quantity,

possible to be consumed among us, would be quickly known, and, being

known, would rarely be exceeded; for why should corn be gathered which

cannot be sold? We should, therefore, have little superfluity in the

most favourable seasons; for the farmer, like the rest of mankind, acts

in hope of success, and the harvest seldom outgoes the expectation of

the spring. But for droughts or blights, we should never be provided:

any intemperature of seasons would reduce us to distress, which we now

only read of in our histories; what is now scarcity would then be

famine.

What would be caused by prohibiting exportation, will be caused, in a

less degree, by obstructing it, and, in some degree, by every deduction

of encouragement; as we lessen hope, we shall lessen labour; as we

lessen labour, we shall lessen plenty.

It must always be steadily remembered, that the good of the bounty is

certain, and evil avoidable; that by the hope of exportation corn will

be increased, and that this increase may be kept at home.

Plenty can only be produced by encouraging agriculture; and agriculture

can be encouraged only by making it gainful. No influence can dispose

the farmer to sow what he cannot sell; and, if he is not to have the

chance of scarcity in his favour, he will take care that there never

shall be plenty.

The truth of these principles our ancestors discovered by reason, and

the French have now found it by experience. In this regulation we have

the honour of being masters to those, who, in commercial policy, have

been long accounted the masters of the world. Their prejudices, their

emulation, and their vanity, have, at last, submitted to learn of us how

to ensure the bounties of nature; and it forms a strange vicissitude of

opinions, that should incline us to repeal the law which our rivals are

adopting.

It may be speciously enough proposed, that the bounty should be

discontinued sooner. Of this every man will have his own opinion; which,

as no general principles can reach it, will always seem to him more

reasonable than that of another. This is a question of which the state

is always changing with time and place, and which it is, therefore, very

difficult to state or to discuss.

It may, however, be considered, that the change of old establishments is

always an evil; and that, therefore, where the good of the change is not

certain and constant, it is better to preserve that reverence and that

confidence, which is produced by consistency of conduct and permanency

of laws:

That, since the bounty was so fixed, the price of money has been much

diminished; so that the bounty does not operate so far as when it was

first fixed, but the price at which it ceases, though nominally the

same, has, in effect and in reality, gradually diminished.

It is difficult to discover any reason why that bounty, which has

produced so much good, and has hitherto produced no harm, should be

withdrawn or abated. It is possible, that if it were reduced lower, it

would still be the motive of agriculture, and the cause of plenty; but

why we should desert experience for conjecture, and exchange a known for

a possible good, will not easily be discovered. If, by a balance of

probabilities, in which a grain of dust may turn the scale--or, by a

curious scheme of calculation, in which, if one postulate in a thousand

be erroneous, the deduction which promises plenty may end in famine;--

if, by a specious mode of uncertain ratiocination, the critical point at

which the bounty should stop, might seem to be discovered, I shall still

continue to believe that it is more safe to trust what we have already

tried; and cannot but think bread a product of too much importance to be

made the sport of subtilty, and the topick of hypothetical disputation.

The advantage of the bounty is evident and irrefragable. Since the

bounty was given, multitudes eat wheat who did not eat it before, and

yet the price of wheat has abated. What more is to be hoped from any

change of practice? An alteration cannot make our condition better, and

is, therefore, very likely to make it worse[2].

FOOTNOTES:

[1] These Considerations, for which we are indebted to Mr. Malone, who

published them in 1808, or rather to his liberal publisher, Mr.

Payne, were, in the opinion of Mr. Malone, written in November,

1766, when the policy of the parliamentary bounty on the exportation

of corn became naturally a subject of discussion. The harvest in

that year had been so deficient, and corn had risen to so high a

price, that in the months of September and October there had been

many insurrections in the midland counties, to which Dr. Johnson

alludes; and which were of so alarming a kind, that it was necessary

to repress them by military force.

[2] This little essay on the Corn Laws was written by Dr. Johnson, which

is in the very best style of that great master of reason, so early

as the year 1766; and at a period when subjects of this kind were

but imperfectly understood, even by those who had devoted themselves

to their study. It is truly admirable to see with what vigorous

alacrity his powerful mind could apply itself to an investigation so

foreign from his habitual occupations. We do not know that a more

sound, enlightened argument, in favour of the bounty on exportation,

could be collected from all that has since been published on the

subject; and, convinced as we are of the radical insufficiency of

that argument, it is impossible not to be delighted with the

clearness and force of the statement. There are few of his smaller

productions that show the great range of Johnson's capacity in a

more striking light.--Edin. Review, October, 1809. p. 175.--Ed.

A COMPLETE VINDICATION OF THE

LICENSERS OF THE STAGE,

FROM THE

MALICIOUS AND SCANDALOUS ASPERSIONS

OF

MR. BROOKE,

AUTHOR OF GUSTAVUS VASA;

WITH A PROPOSAL FOR MAKING THE OFFICE OF LICENSER MORE EXTENSIVE AND

EFFECTUAL.

BY AN IMPARTIAL HAND.[A]

It is generally agreed by the writers of all parties, that few crimes

are equal, in their degree of guilt, to that of calumniating a good and

gentle, or defending a wicked and oppressive administration.

It is, therefore, with the utmost satisfaction of mind, that I reflect

how often I have employed my pen in vindication of the present ministry,

and their dependants and adherents; how often I have detected the

specious fallacies of the advocates for independence; how often I have

softened the obstinacy of patriotism; and how often triumphed over the

clamour of opposition.

I have, indeed, observed but one set of men, upon whom all my arguments

have been thrown away; whom neither flattery can draw to compliance, nor

threats reduce to submission; and who have, notwithstanding all

expedients that either invention or experience could suggest, continued

to exert their abilities in a vigorous and constant opposition of all

our measures.

The unaccountable behaviour of these men, the enthusiastick resolution

with which, after a hundred successive defeats, they still renewed their

attacks; the spirit with which they continued to repeat their arguments

in the senate, though they found a majority determined to condemn them;

and the inflexibility with which they rejected all offers of places and

preferments, at last excited my curiosity so far, that I applied myself

to inquire, with great diligence, into the real motives of their

conduct, and to discover what principle it was that had force to inspire

such unextinguishable zeal, and to animate such unwearied efforts.

For this reason I attempted to cultivate a nearer acquaintance with some

of the chiefs of that party, and imagined that it would be necessary,

for some time, to dissemble my sentiments, that I might learn theirs.

Dissimulation, to a true politician, is not difficult, and, therefore, I

readily assumed the character of a proselyte; but found, that their

principle of action was no other, than that which they make no scruple

of avowing in the most publick manner, notwithstanding the contempt and

ridicule to which it every day exposes them, and the loss of those

honours and profits from which it excludes them.

This wild passion, or principle, is a kind of fanaticism by which they

distinguish those of their own party, and which they look upon as a

certain indication of a great mind. _We_ have no name for it _at court_;

but, among themselves, they term it by a kind of cant phrase, "a regard

for posterity."

This passion seems to predominate in all their conduct, to regulate

every action of their lives, and sentiment of their minds: I have heard

L---- and P---- [2], when they have made a vigorous opposition, or

blasted the blossom of some ministerial scheme, cry out, in the height

of their exultations, "This will deserve the thanks of posterity!" And

when their adversaries, as it much more frequently falls out, have

outnumbered and overthrown them, they will say, with an air of revenge

and a kind of gloomy triumph, "Posterity will curse you for this."

It is common among men, under the influence of any kind of phrensy, to

believe that all the world has the same odd notions that disorder their

own imaginations. Did these unhappy men, these deluded patriots, know

how little we are concerned about posterity, they would never attempt to

fright us with their curses, or tempt us to a neglect of our own

interest by a prospect of their gratitude.

But so strong is their infatuation, that they seem to have forgotten

even the primary law of self-preservation; for they sacrifice, without

scruple, every flattering hope, every darling enjoyment, and every

satisfaction of life, to this ruling passion, and appear, in every step,

to consult not so much their own advantage, as that of posterity.

Strange delusion! that can confine all their thoughts to a race of men

whom they neither know, nor can know; from whom nothing is to be feared,

nor any thing expected; who cannot even bribe a special jury, nor have

so much as a single riband to bestow.

This fondness for posterity is a kind of madness which at Rome was once

almost epidemical, and infected even the women and the children. It

reigned there till the entire destruction of Carthage; after which it

began to be less general, and in a few years afterwards a remedy was

discovered, by which it was almost entirely extinguished.

In England it never prevailed in any such degree: some few of the

ancient barons seem, indeed, to have been disordered by it; but the

contagion has been, for the, most part, timely checked, and our ladies

have been generally free.

But there has been, in every age, a set of men, much admired and

reverenced, who have affected to be always talking of posterity, and

have laid out their lives upon the composition of poems, for the sake of

being applauded by this imaginary generation.

The present poets I reckon amongst the most inexorable enemies of our

most excellent ministry, and much doubt whether any method will effect

the cure of a distemper, which, in this class of men, may be termed, not

an accidental disease, but a defect in their original frame and

constitution.

Mr. Brooke, a name I mention with all the detestation suitable to my

character, could not forbear discovering this depravity of his mind in

his very prologue, which is filled with sentiments so wild, and so much

unheard of among those who frequent levees and courts, that I much

doubt, whether the zealous licenser proceeded any further in his

examination of his performance.

He might easily perceive that a man,

Who bade his moral beam through every age,

was too much a bigot to exploded notions, to compose a play which he

could license without manifest hazard of his office, a hazard which no

man would incur untainted with the love of posterity.

We cannot, therefore, wonder that an author, wholly possessed by this

passion, should vent his resentment for the licenser's just refusal, in

virulent advertisements, insolent complaints, and scurrilous assertions

of his rights and privileges, and proceed, in defiance of authority, to

solicit a subscription.

This temper, which I have been describing, is almost always complicated

with ideas of the high prerogatives of human nature, of a sacred

unalienable birthright, which no man has conferred upon us, and which

neither kings can take, nor senates give away; which we may justly

assert whenever and by whomsoever it is attacked; and which, if ever it

should happen to be lost, we may take the first opportunity to recover.

The natural consequence of these chimeras is contempt of authority, and

an irreverence for any superiority but what is founded upon merit; and

their notions of merit are very peculiar, for it is among them no great

proof of merit to be wealthy and powerful, to wear a garter or a star,

to command a regiment or a senate, to have the ear of the minister or of

the king, or to possess any of those virtues and excellencies, which,

among us, entitle a man to little less than worship and prostration.

We may, therefore, easily conceive that Mr. Brooke thought himself

entitled to be importunate for a license, because, in his own opinion,

he deserved one, and to complain thus loudly at the repulse he met with.

His complaints will have, I hope, but little weight with the publick;

since the opinions of the sect in which he is enlisted are exposed, and

shown to be evidently and demonstrably opposite to that system of

subordination and dependence, to which we are indebted for the present

tranquillity of the nation, and that cheerfulness and readiness with

which the two houses concur in all our designs.

I shall, however, to silence him entirely, or at least to show those of

our party that he ought to be silent, consider singly every instance of

hardship and oppression which he has dared to publish in the papers, and

to publish in such a manner, that I hope no man will condemn me for want

of candour in becoming an advocate for the ministry, if I can consider

his advertisements as nothing less than AN APPEAL TO HIS COUNTRY.

Let me be forgiven if I cannot speak with temper of such insolence as

this: is a man without title, pension, or place, to suspect the

impartiality or the judgment of those who are entrusted with the

administration of publick affairs? Is he, when the law is not strictly

observed in regard to him, to think himself aggrieved, to tell his

sentiments in print, assert his claim to better usage, and fly for

redress to another tribunal?

If such practices are permitted, I will not venture to foretell the

effects of them; the ministry may soon be convinced, that such sufferers

will find compassion, and that it is safer not to bear hard upon them,

than to allow them to complain.

The power of licensing, in general, being firmly established by an act

of parliament, our poet has not attempted to call in question, but

contents himself with censuring the manner in which it has been

executed; so that I am not now engaged to assert the licenser's

authority, but to defend his conduct.

The poet seems to think himself aggrieved, because the licenser kept his

tragedy in his hands one-and-twenty days, whereas the law allows him to

detain it only fourteen. Where will the insolence of the malecontents

end? Or how are such unreasonable expectations possibly to be satisfied?

Was it ever known that a man exalted into a high station, dismissed a

suppliant in the time limited by law? Ought not Mr. Brooke to think

himself happy that his play was not detained longer? If he had been kept

a year in suspense, what redress could he have obtained? Let the poets

remember, when they appear before the licenser, or his deputy, that they

stand at the tribunal, from which there is no appeal permitted, and

where nothing will so well become them as reverence and submission.

Mr. Brooke mentions, in his preface, his knowledge of the laws of his

own country: had he extended his inquiries to the civil law, he could

have found a full justification of the licenser's conduct, "Boni judicis

est ampliare suam auctoritatem."

If then it be "the business of a good judge to enlarge his authority,"

was it not in the licenser the utmost clemency and forbearance, to

extend fourteen days only to twenty-one?

I suppose this great man's inclination to perform, at least, this duty

of a good judge, is not questioned by any, either of his friends or

enemies. I may, therefore, venture to hope, that he will extend his

power by proper degrees, and that I shall live to see a malecontent

writer earnestly soliciting for the copy of a play, which he had

delivered to the licenser twenty years before.

"I waited," says he, "often on the licenser, and with the utmost

importunity entreated an answer." Let Mr. Brooke consider, whether that

importunity was not a sufficient reason for the disappointment. Let him

reflect how much more decent it had been to have waited the leisure of a

great man, than to have pressed upon him with repeated petitions, and to

have intruded upon those precious moments which he has dedicated to the

service of his country.

Mr. Brooke was, doubtless, led into this improper manner of acting, by

an erroneous notion that the grant of a license was not an act of

favour, but of justice; a mistake into which he could not have fallen,

but from a supine inattention to the design of the statute, which was

only to bring poets into subjection and dependence, not to encourage

good writers, but to discourage all.

There lies no obligation upon the licenser to grant his sanction to a

play, however excellent; nor can Mr. Brooke demand any reparation,

whatever applause his performance may meet with.

Another grievance is, that the licenser assigned no reason for his

refusal. This is a higher strain of insolence than any of the former. Is

it for a poet to demand a licenser's reason for his proceedings? Is he

not rather to acquiesce in the decision of authority, and conclude, that

there are reasons which he cannot comprehend?

Unhappy would it be for men in power, were they always obliged to

publish the motives of their conduct. What is power, but the liberty of

acting without being accountable? The advocates for the licensing act

have alleged, that the lord chamberlain has always had authority to

prohibit the representation of a play for just reasons. Why then did we

call in all our force to procure an act of parliament? Was it to enable

him to do what he has always done? to confirm an authority which no man

attempted to impair, or pretended to dispute?

No, certainly: our intention was to invest him with new privileges, and

to empower him to do that without reason, which with reason he could do

before.

We have found, by long experience, that to lie under a necessity of

assigning reasons, is very troublesome, and that many an excellent

design has miscarried by the loss of time spent unnecessarily in

examining reasons.

Always to call for reasons, and always to reject them, shows a strange

degree of perverseness; yet, such is the daily behaviour of our

adversaries, who have never yet been satisfied with any reasons that

have been offered by us.

They have made it their practice to demand, once a year, the reasons for

which we maintain a standing army.

One year we told them that it was necessary, because all the nations

round us were involved in war; this had no effect upon them, and,

therefore, resolving to do our utmost for their satisfaction, we told

them, the next year, that it was necessary, because all the nations

round us were at peace.

This reason finding no better reception than the other, we had recourse

to our apprehensions of an invasion from the Pretender, of an

insurrection in favour of gin, and of a general disaffection among the

people.

But as they continue still impenetrable, and oblige us still to assign

our annual reasons, we shall spare no endeavour to procure such as may

be more satisfactory than any of the former.

The reason we once gave for building barracks was, for fear of the

plague; and we intend next year to propose the augmentation of our

troops, for fear of a famine.

The committee, by which the act for licensing the stage was drawn up,

had too long known the inconvenience of giving reasons, and were too

well acquainted with the characters of great men, to lay the lord

chamberlain, or his deputy, under any such tormenting obligation.

Yet, lest Mr. Brooke should imagine that a license was refused him

without just reasons, I shall condescend to treat him with more regard

than he can reasonably expect, and point out such sentiments, as not

only justly exposed him to that refusal, but would have provoked any

ministry less merciful than the present, to have inflicted some heavier

penalties upon him.

His prologue is filled with such insinuations, as no friend of our

excellent government can read without indignation and abhorrence, and

cannot but be owned to be a proper introduction to such scenes, as seem

designed to kindle in the audience a flame of opposition, patriotism,

publick spirit, and independency; that spirit which we have so long

endeavoured to suppress, and which cannot be revived without the entire

subversion of all our schemes.

The seditious poet, not content with making an open attack upon us, by

declaring, in plain terms, that he looks upon freedom as the only source

of publick happiness, and national security, has endeavoured with

subtilty, equal to his malice, to make us suspicious of our firmest

friends, to infect our consultations with distrust, and to ruin us by

disuniting us.

This, indeed, will not be easily effected; an union founded upon

interest, and cemented by dependence, is naturally lasting; but

confederacies which owe their rise to virtue, or mere conformity of

sentiments, are quickly dissolved, since no individual has any thing

either to hope or fear for himself, and publick spirit is generally too

weak to combat with private passions.

The poet has, however, attempted to weaken our combination by an artful

and sly assertion, which, if suffered to remain unconfuted, may operate,

by degrees, upon our minds, in the days of leisure and retirement, which

are now approaching, and, perhaps, fill us with such surmises as may at

least very much embarrass our affairs.

The law by which the Swedes justified their opposition to the

encroachments of the king of Denmark, he not only calls

Great Nature's law, the law within the breast,

but proceeds to tell us, that it is

--stamp'd by heaven upon th' unletter'd mind.

By which he evidently intends to insinuate a maxim, which is, I hope, as

false as it is pernicious, that men are naturally fond of liberty till

those unborn ideas and desires are effaced by literature.

The author, if he be not a man mewed up in his solitary study, and

entirely unacquainted with the conduct of the present ministry, must

know that we have hitherto acted upon different principles. We have

always regarded letters as great obstructions to our scheme of

subordination, and have, therefore, when we have heard of any man

remarkably unlettered, carefully noted him down, as the most proper

person for any employments of trust or honour, and considered him as a

man, in whom we could safely repose our most important secrets.

From among the uneducated and unlettered, we have chosen not only our

ambassadors and other negotiators, but even our journalists and

pamphleteers; nor have we had any reason to change our measures, or to

repent of the confidence which we have placed in ignorance.

Are we now, therefore, to be told, that this law is

--stamp'd upon th' unletter'd mind?

Are we to suspect our placemen, our pensioners, our generals, our

lawyers, our best friends in both houses, all our adherents among the

atheists and infidels, and our very gazetteers, clerks, and court-pages,

as friends to independency? Doubtless this is the tendency of his

assertion, but we have known them too long to be thus imposed upon: the

unlettered have been our warmest and most constant defenders; nor have

we omitted any thing to deserve their favour, but have always

endeavoured to raise their reputation, extend their influence, and

increase their number.

In his first act he abounds with sentiments very inconsistent with the

ends for which the power of licensing was granted; to enumerate them all

would be to transcribe a great part of his play, a task which I shall

very willingly leave to others, who, though true friends to the

government, are not inflamed with zeal so fiery and impatient as mine,

and, therefore, do not feel the same emotions of rage and resentment at

the sight of those infamous passages, in which venality and dependence

are represented, as mean in themselves, and productive of remorse and

infelicity.

One line, which ought, in my opinion, to be erased from every copy, by a

special act of parliament, is mentioned by Anderson, as pronounced by

the hero in his sleep,

O Sweden! O my country! yet I'll save thee.

This line I have reason to believe thrown out as a kind of a watchword

for the opposing faction, who, when they meet in their seditious

assemblies, have been observed to lay their hands upon their breasts,

and cry out, with great vehemence of accent,

O B----[3]! O my country! yet I'll save thee.

In the second scene he endeavours to fix epithets of contempt upon those

passions and desires, which have been always found most useful to the

ministry, and most opposite to the spirit of independency.

Base fear, the laziness of lust, gross appetites,

These are the ladders, and the grov'ling footstool

From whence the tyrant rises--

Secure and scepter'd in the soul's servility,

He has debauched the genius of our country,

And rides triumphant, while her captive sons

Await his nod, the silken slaves of pleasure,

Or fetter'd in their fears.--

Thus is that decent submission to our superiours, and that proper awe of

authority which we are taught in courts, termed base fear and the

servility of the soul. Thus are those gaieties and enjoyments, those

elegant amusements and lulling pleasures, which the followers of a court

are blessed with, as the just rewards of their attendance and

submission, degraded to lust, grossness, and debauchery. The author

ought to be told, that courts are not to be mentioned with so little

ceremony, and that though gallantries and amours are admitted there, it

is almost treason to suppose them infected with debauchery or lust.

It is observable, that, when this hateful writer has conceived any

thought of an uncommon malignity, a thought which tends, in a more

particular manner, to excite the love of liberty, animate the heat of

patriotism, or degrade the majesty of kings, he takes care to put it in

the mouth of his hero, that it may be more forcibly impressed upon his

reader. Thus Gustavus, speaking of his tatters, cries out,

--Yes, my Arvida,

Beyond the sweeping of the proudest train

That shades a monarch's heel, I prize these weeds;

For they are sacred to my country's freedom.

Here this abandoned son of liberty makes a full discovery of his

execrable principles, the tatters of Gustavus, the usual dress of the

assertors of these doctrines, are of more divinity, because they are

sacred to freedom, than the sumptuous and magnificent robes of regality

itself. Such sentiments are truly detestable, nor could any thing be an

aggravation of the author's guilt, except his ludicrous manner of

mentioning a monarch.

The heel of a monarch, or even the print of his heel, is a thing too

venerable and sacred to be treated with such levity, and placed in

contrast with rags and poverty. He, that will speak contemptuously of

the heel of a monarch, will, whenever he can with security, speak

contemptuously of his head.

These are the most glaring passages which have occurred, in the perusal

of the first pages; my indignation will not suffer me to proceed

farther, and I think much better of the licenser, than to believe he

went so far.

In the few remarks which I have set down, the reader will easily

observe, that I have strained no expression beyond its natural import,

and have divested myself of all heat, partiality, and prejudice.

So far, therefore, is Mr. Brooke from having received any hard or

unwarrantable treatment, that the licenser has only acted in pursuance

of that law to which he owes his power; a law, which every admirer of

the administration must own to be very necessary, and to have produced

very salutary effects.

I am, indeed, surprised that this great office is not drawn out into a

longer series of deputations; since it might afford a gainful and

reputable employment to a great number of the friends of the government;

and, I should think, instead of having immediate recourse to the

deputy-licenser himself, it might be sufficient honour for any poet,

except the laureate, to stand bareheaded in the presence of the deputy

of the deputy's deputy in the nineteenth subordination.

Such a number cannot but be thought necessary, if we take into

consideration the great work of drawing up an index expurgatorius to all

the old plays; which is, I hope, already undertaken, or, if it has been

hitherto unhappily neglected, I take this opportunity to recommend.

The productions of our old poets are crowded with passages very unfit

for the ears of an English audience, and which cannot be pronounced

without irritating the minds of the people.

This censure I do not confine to those lines in which liberty, natural

equality, wicked ministers, deluded kings, mean arts of negotiation,

venal senates, mercenary troops, oppressive officers, servile and

exorbitant taxes, universal corruption, the luxuries of a court, the

miseries of the people, the decline of trade, or the happiness of

independency, are directly mentioned. These are such glaring passages,

as cannot be suffered to pass without the most supine and criminal

negligence. I hope the vigilance of the licensers will extend to all

such speeches and soliloquies as tend to recommend the pleasures of

virtue, the tranquillity of an uncorrupted head, and the satisfactions

of conscious innocence; for though such strokes as these do not appear

to a common eye to threaten any danger to the government, yet it is well

known to more penetrating observers, that they have such consequences as

cannot be too diligently obviated, or too cautiously avoided.

A man, who becomes once enamoured of the charms of virtue, is apt to be

very little concerned about the acquisition of wealth or titles, and is,

therefore, not easily induced to act in a manner contrary to his real

sentiments, or to vote at the word of command; by contracting his

desires, and regulating his appetites, he wants much less than other

men; and every one versed in the arts of government can tell, that men

are more easily influenced, in proportion as they are more necessitous.

This is not the only reason why virtue should not receive too much

countenance from a licensed stage; her admirers and followers are not

only naturally independent, but learn such an uniform and consistent

manner of speaking and acting, that they frequently, by the mere force

of artless honesty, surmount all the obstacles which subtilty and

politicks can throw in their way, and obtain their ends, in spite of the

most profound and sagacious ministry.

Such, then, are the passages to be expunged by the licensers: in many

parts, indeed, the speeches will be imperfect, and the action appear not

regularly conducted, but the poet laureate may easily supply these

vacuities, by inserting some of his own verses in praise of wealth,

luxury, and venality.

But alas! all those pernicious sentiments which we shall banish from the

stage, will be vented from the press, and more studiously read, because

they are prohibited.

I cannot but earnestly implore the friends of the government to leave no

art untried, by which we may hope to succeed in our design of extending

the power of the licenser to the press, and of making it criminal to

publish any thing without an IMPRIMATUR.

How much would this single law lighten the mighty burden of state

affairs! With how much security might our ministers enjoy their honours,

their places, their reputations, and their admirers, could they once

suppress those malicious invectives which are, at present, so

industriously propagated, and so eagerly read; could they hinder any

arguments but their own from coming to the ears of the people, and stop

effectually the voice of cavil and inquiry!

I cannot but indulge myself a little while, by dwelling on this pleasing

scene, and imagining those halcyon days, in which no politicks shall be

read but those of the Gazetteer, nor any poetry but that of the

laureate; when we shall hear of nothing but the successful negotiations

of our ministers, and the great actions of--

How much happier would this state be, than those perpetual jealousies

and contentions which are inseparable from knowledge and liberty, and

which have, for many years, kept this nation in perpetual commotions!

But these are times, rather to be wished for than expected, for such is

the nature of our unquiet countrymen, that, if they are not admitted to

the knowledge of affairs, they are always suspecting their governours of

designs prejudicial to their interest; they have not the least notion of

the pleasing tranquillity of ignorance, nor can be brought to imagine,

that they are kept in the dark, lest too much light should hurt their

eyes. They have long claimed a right of directing their superiours, and

are exasperated at the least mention of secrets of state.

This temper makes them very readily encourage any writer or printer,

who, at the hazard of his life or fortune, will give them any

information: and, while this humour prevails, there never will be

wanting some daring adventurer who will write in defence of liberty, and

some zealous or avaricious printer who will disperse his papers.

It has never yet been found that any power, however vigilant or

despotick, has been able to prevent the publication of seditious

journals, ballads, essays, and dissertations; "Considerations on the

present state of affairs," and "Enquiries into the conduct of the

administration[4]."

Yet I must confess, that, considering the success, with which the

present ministry has hitherto proceeded in their attempts to drive out

of the world the old prejudices of patriotism and publick spirit, I

cannot but entertain some hopes, that what has been so often attempted

by their predecessors, is reserved to be accomplished by their superiour

abilities.

If I might presume to advise them upon this great affair, I should

dissuade them from any direct attempt upon the liberty of the press,

which is the darling of the common people, and, therefore, cannot be

attacked without immediate danger. They may proceed by a more sure and

silent way, and attain the desired end without noise, detraction, or

oppression.

There are scattered over this kingdom several little seminaries, in

which the lower ranks of people, and the youngest sons of our nobility

and gentry are taught, from their earliest infancy, the pernicious arts

of spelling and reading, which they afterwards continue to practise,

very much to the disturbance of their own quiet, and the interruption of

ministerial measures.

These seminaries may, by an act of parliament, be, at once, suppressed;

and that our posterity be deprived of all means of reviving this corrupt

method of education, it may be made felony to teach to read without a

license from the lord chamberlain.

This expedient, which I hope will be carefully concealed from the

vulgar, must infallibly answer the great end proposed by it, and set the

power of the court not only above the insults of the poets, but, in a

short time, above the necessity of providing against them. The licenser,

having his authority thus extended, will, in time, enjoy the title and

the salary without the trouble of exercising his power, and the nation

will rest, at length, in ignorance and peace.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This admirable piece of irony was first printed in the year 1739. A

comparison of its sarcastic strokes with the serious arguments of

lord Chesterfield's speech in the house of lords against the bill

for licensing the stage, will be both amusing and instructive.--Ed.

[2] Lyttelton and Pitt.

[3] Britain

[4] Titles of pamphlets published at this juncture. The former by lord

Lyttelton. See his works, vol i.

PREFACE TO THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE,

1738.

The usual design of addresses of this sort is to implore the candour of

the publick: we have always had the more pleasing province of returning

thanks, and making our acknowledgments for the kind acceptance which our

monthly collections have met with.

This, it seems, did not sufficiently appear from the numerous sale and

repeated impressions of our books, which have, at once, exceeded our

merit and our expectation; but have been still more plainly attested by

the clamours, rage, and calumnies of our competitors, of whom we have

seldom taken any notice, not only because it is cruelty to insult the

depressed, and folly to engage with desperation, but because we consider

all their outcries, menaces, and boasts, as nothing more than

advertisements in our favour, being evidently drawn up with the

bitterness of baffled malice and disappointed hope; and almost

discovering, in plain terms, that the unhappy authors have seventy

thousand London Magazines mouldering in their warehouses, returned from

all parts of the kingdom, unsold, unread, and disregarded.

Our obligations for the encouragement we have so long continued to

receive, are so much the greater, as no artifices have been omitted to

supplant us. Our adversaries cannot be denied the praise of industry;

how far they can be celebrated for an honest industry, we leave to the

decision of the publick, and even of their brethren, the booksellers,

not including those whose advertisements they obliterated to paste their

invectives in our book.

The success of the Gentleman's Magazine has given rise to almost twenty

imitations of it, which are either all dead, or very little regarded by

the world. Before we had published sixteen months, we met with such a

general approbation, that a knot of enterprising geniuses, and sagacious

inventors, assembled from all parts of the town, agreed, with an

unanimity natural to understandings of the same size, to seize upon our

whole plan, without changing even the title. Some weak objections were,

indeed, made by one of them against the design, as having an air of

servility, dishonesty, and piracy; but it was concluded that all these

imputations might be avoided by giving the picture of St. Paul's instead

of St. John's gate; it was, however, thought indispensably necessary to

add, printed in St. John's street, though there was then no

printing-house in that place.

That these plagiaries should, after having thus stolen their whole

design from us, charge us with robbery, on any occasion, is a degree of

impudence scarcely to be matched, and certainly entitles them to the

first rank among false heroes. We have, therefore, inserted their

names[1], at length, in our February magazine, p. 61; being desirous

that every man should enjoy the reputation he deserves.

Another attack has been made upon us by the author of Common Sense, an

adversary equally malicious as the former, and equally despicable. What

were his views, or what his provocations, we know not, nor have thought

him considerable enough to inquire. To make him any further answer would

be to descend too low; but, as he is one of those happy writers, who are

best exposed by quoting their own words, we have given his elegant

remarks in our magazine for December, where the reader may entertain

himself, at his leisure, with an agreeable mixture of scurrility and

false grammar.

For the future, we shall rarely offend him by adopting any of his

performances, being unwilling to prolong the life of such pieces as

deserve no other fate than to be hissed, torn, and forgotten. However,

that the curiosity of our readers may not be disappointed, we shall,

whenever we find him a little excelling himself, perhaps print his

dissertations upon our blue covers, that they may be looked over, and

stripped off, without disgracing our collection, or swelling our

volumes.

We are sorry that, by inserting some of his essays, we have filled the

head of this petty writer with idle chimeras of applause, laurels and

immortality, nor suspected the bad effect of our regard for him, till we

saw, in the postscript to one of his papers, a wild[2] prediction of the

honours to be paid him by future ages. Should any mention of him be

made, or his writings, by posterity, it will, probably, be in words like

these: "In the Gentleman's Magazine are still preserved some essays,

under the specious and inviting title of Common Sense. How papers of so

little value came to be rescued from the common lot of dulness, we are,

at this distance of time, unable to conceive, but imagine, that personal

friendship prevailed with Urban to admit them in opposition to his

judgment. If this was the reason, he met afterwards with the treatment

which all deserve who patronise stupidity; for the writer, instead of

acknowledging his favours, complains of injustice, robbery, and

mutilation; but complains in a style so barbarous and indecent, as

sufficiently confutes his own calumnies."

In this manner must this author expect to be mentioned. But of him, and

our other adversaries, we beg the reader's pardon for having said so

much. We hope it will be remembered, in our favour, that it is sometimes

necessary to chastise insolence, and that there is a sort of men who

cannot distinguish between forbearance, and cowardice.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The names are thus inserted--"The _gay_ and _learned_ C. Ackers, of

Swan-alley, printer; the _polite_ and _generous_ T. Cox, under the

Royal Exchange; the _eloquent_ and _courtly_ J. Clark, of Duck-lane;

and the _modest, civil_, and _judicious_ T. Astley, of St. Paul's

Church-yard, booksellers."--All these names appeared in the title of

the London Magazine, begun in 1732.

[2] Common Sense Journal, printed by Purser of Whitefriars, March 11,

1738. "I make no doubt but after some grave historian, three or four

hundred years hence, has described the corruption, the baseness, and

the flattery which men run into in these times, he will make the

following observation:--In the year 1737, a certain unknown author

published a writing under the title of Common Sense; this writing

came out weekly, in little detached essays, some of which are

political, some moral, and others humorous. By the best judgment

that can be formed of a work, the style and language of which is

become so obsolete that it is scarce intelligible, it answers the

title well," &c.

AN APPEAL TO THE PUBLICK.

From the Gentleman's Magazine, March, 1739.

Men' moveat cimex Pantilius? aut crucier, quod

Vellicet absentem Demetrius-- HOR.

Laudat, amat, cantat nostros mea Roma libellos,

Meque sinus omnes, me manus omnis habet.

Ecce rubet quidam, pallet, stupet, oscitat, odit.

Hoc volo, nunc nobis carmina nostra placent. MARTIAL.

It is plain from the conduct of writers of the first class, that they

have esteemed it no derogation from their characters to defend

themselves against the censures of ignorance, or the calumnies of envy.

It is not reasonable to suppose, that they always judged their

adversaries worthy of a formal confutation; but they concluded it not

prudent to neglect the feeblest attacks; they knew that such men have

often done hurt, who had not abilities to do good; that the weakest

hand, if not timely disarmed, may stab a hero in his sleep; that a worm,

however small, may destroy a fleet in the acorn; and that citadels,

which have defied armies, have been blown up by rats.

In imitation of these great examples, we think it not absolutely

needless to vindicate ourselves from the virulent aspersions of the

Craftsman and Common Sense; because their accusations, though entirely

groundless, and without the least proof, are urged with an air of

confidence, which the unwary may mistake for consciousness of truth.

In order to set the proceedings of these calumniators in a proper light,

it is necessary to inform such of our readers, as are unacquainted with

the artifices of trade, that we originally incurred the displeasure of

the greatest part of the booksellers by keeping this magazine wholly in

our own hands, without admitting any of that fraternity into a share of

the property. For nothing is more criminal, in the opinion of many of

them, than for an author to enjoy more advantage from his own works than

they are disposed to allow him. This is a principle so well established

among them, that we can produce some who threatened printers with their

highest displeasure, for their having dared to print books for those

that wrote them.

Hinc irae, hinc odia.

This was the first ground of their animosity, which, for some time,

proceeded no farther than private murmurs and petty discouragements. At

length, determining to be no longer debarred from a share in so

beneficial a project, a knot of them combined to seize our whole plan;

and, without the least attempt to vary or improve it, began, with the

utmost vigour to print and circulate the London Magazine, with such

success, that in a few years, while we were printing the fifth edition

of some of our earliest numbers, they had seventy thousand of their

books returned, unsold, upon their hands.

It was then time to exert their utmost efforts to stop our progress, and

nothing was to be left unattempted that interest could suggest. It will

be easily imagined, that their influence, among those of their own

trade, was greater than ours, and that their collections were,

therefore, more industriously propagated by their brethren; but this,

being the natural consequence of such a relation, and, therefore,

excusable, is only mentioned to show the disadvantages against which we

are obliged to struggle, and, to convince the reader, that we who depend

so entirely upon his approbation, shall omit nothing to deserve it.

They then had recourse to advertisements, in which they, sometimes, made

faint attempts to be witty, and, sometimes, were content with being

merely scurrilous; but, finding that their attacks, while we had an

opportunity of returning hostilities, generally procured them such

treatment as very little contributed to their reputation, they came, at

last, to a resolution of excluding us from the newspapers in which they

have any influence: by this means they can, at present, insult us with

impunity, and without the least danger of confutation.

Their last, and, indeed, their most artful expedient, has been to hire

and incite the weekly journalists against us. The first weak attempt was

made by the Universal Spectator; but this we took not the least notice

of, as we did not imagine it would ever come to the knowledge of the

publick.

Whether there was then a confederacy between this journal and Common

Sense's, as at present, between Common Sense and the Craftsman; or

whether understandings of the same form receive, at certain times, the

same impressions from the planets, I know not; but about that time war

was, likewise, declared against us by the redoubted author of Common

Sense; an adversary not so much to be dreaded for his abilities, as for

the title of his paper, behind which he has the art of sheltering

himself in perfect security. He defeats all his enemies by calling them

"enemies to common sense," and silences the strongest objections and the

clearest reasonings by assuring his readers that, "they are contrary to

common sense."

I must confess, to the immortal honour of this great writer, that I can

remember but two instances of a genius able to use a few syllables to

such great and so various purposes. One is, the old man in Shadwell, who

seems, by long time and experience, to have attained to equal perfection

with our author; for, "when a young fellow began to prate and be pert,"

says he, "I silenced him with my old word, Tace is Latin for a candle."

The other, who seems yet more to resemble this writer, was one Goodman,

a horsestealer, who being asked, after having been found guilty by the

jury, what he had to offer to prevent sentence of death from being

passed upon him, did not attempt to extenuate his crime, but entreated

the judge to beware of hanging a _Good man_.

This writer we thought, however injudiciously, worthy, not indeed of a

reply, but of some correction, and in our magazine for December, 1738,

and the preface to the supplement, treated him in such a manner as he

does not seem inclined to forget.

From that time, losing all patience, he has exhausted his stores of

scurrility upon us; but our readers will find, upon consulting the

passages above mentioned, that he has received too much provocation to

be admitted as an impartial critick.

In our magazine of January, p. 24, we made a remark upon the Craftsman,

and in p. 3, dropped some general observations upon the weekly writers,

by which we did not expect to make them more our friends. Nor, indeed,

did we imagine that this would have inflamed Caleb to so high a degree.

His resentment has risen so much above the provocation, that we cannot

but impute it more to what he fears than what he has felt. He has seen

the solecisms of his brother, Common Sense, exposed, and remembers that,

--tua res agitur, paries cum proximus ardet.

He imagines, that he shall soon fall under the same censure, and is

willing that our criticisms shall appear rather the effects of our

resentment than our judgment.

For this reason, I suppose, (for I can find no other,) he has joined

with Common Sense to charge us with partiality, and to recommend the

London Magazine, as drawn up with less regard to interest or party. A

favour, which the authors of that collection have endeavoured to deserve

from them by the most servile adulation.

But, as we have a higher opinion of the candour of our readers, than to

believe that they will condemn us without examination, or give up their

right of judging for themselves, we are not unconcerned at this charge,

though the most atrocious and malignant that can be brought against us.

We entreat only to be compared with our rivals, in full confidence, that

not only our innocence, but our superiority will appear[1].

FOOTNOTE:

[1] These prefaces are written with that warmth of zeal which

characterizes all Johnson's efforts in behalf of his friends. He

ever retained a grateful sense of the kindness shown to him by Cave,

his earliest patron; and, when engaged in his undertakings, he

regarded Cave's enemies or opposers as his own. We can only thus

vindicate his contemptuous references to the UNIVERSAL SPECTATOR,

which, though far inferior to that great work whose name it bears,

is very respectable; nor, on any other consideration, can we account

for his derision of COMMON SENSE, a periodical, enriched by the

contributions of lord Chesterfield and lord Lyttelton; or of the

CRAFTSMAN, which was conducted by Amhurst, the able associate of

Bolingbroke and Pulteney. Neither can we, without thus considering

his relative situation, acquit Johnson of inconsistency in his

strictures, who, in 1756, himself undertook the editorship of the

LITERARY MAGAZINE, a work which might be viewed as the most

formidable rival of the GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. The full details of

his connexion with this now venerable publication are given in the

preface to the index of that work, published by Mr. Nichols.--Ed.

LETTER ON FIREWORKS.[1]

MR. URBAN,

Among the principal topicks of conversation which now furnish the places

of assembly with amusement, may be justly numbered the fireworks, which

are advancing, by such slow degrees, and with such costly preparation.

The first reflection, that naturally arises, is upon the inequality of

the effect to the cause. Here are vast sums expended, many hands, and

some heads, employed, from day to day, and from month to month; and the

whole nation is filled with expectations, by delineations and

narratives. And in what is all this to end? in a building, that is to

attract the admiration of ages? in a bridge, which may facilitate the

commerce of future generations? in a work of any kind, which may stand

as the model of beauty, or the pattern of virtue? To show the blessings

of the late change of our state[2] by any monument of these kinds, were

a project worthy not only of wealth, and power, and greatness, but of

learning, wisdom, and virtue. But nothing of this kind is designed;

nothing more is projected, than a crowd, a shout, and a blaze: the

mighty work of artifice and contrivance is to be set on fire for no

other purpose that I can see, than to show how idle pyrotechnical

virtuosos have been busy. Four hours the sun will shine, and then fall

from his orb, and lose his memory and his lustre together; the

spectators will disperse, as their inclinations lead them, and wonder by

what strange infatuation they had been drawn together. In this will

consist the only propriety of this transient show, that it will resemble

the war of which it celebrates the period. The powers of this part of

the world, after long preparations, deep intrigues, and subtle schemes,

have set Europe in a flame, and, after having gazed awhile at their

fireworks, have laid themselves down where they rose, to inquire for

what they have been contending.

It is remarked, likewise, that this blaze, so transitory and so useless,

will be to be paid for, when it shines no longer: and many cannot

forbear observing, how many lasting advantages might be purchased, how

many acres might be drained, how many ways repaired, how many debtors

might be released, how many widows and orphans, whom the war has ruined,

might be relieved, by the expense which is now about to evaporate in

smoke, and to be scattered in rockets: and there are some who think not

only reason, but humanity offended, by such a trifling profusion, when

so many sailors are starving, and so many churches sinking into ruins.

It is no improper inquiry, by whom this expense is at last to be borne;

for certainly, nothing can be more unreasonable than to tax the nation

for a blaze, which will be extinguished before many of them know it has

been lighted; nor will it be consistent with the common practice, which

directs, that local advantages shall be procured at the expense of the

district that enjoys them. I never found, in any records, that any town

petitioned the parliament for a may-pole, a bull-ring, or a

skittle-ground; and, therefore, I should think, fireworks, as they are

less durable, and less useful, have, at least, as little claim to the

publick purse.

The fireworks are, I suppose, prepared, and, therefore, it is too late

to obviate the project; but I hope the generosity of the great is not so

far extinguished, as that they can, for their diversion, drain a nation

already exhausted, and make us pay for pictures in the fire, which none

will have the poor pleasure of beholding but themselves.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine, Jan. 1749.

[2] The peace of Aix la Chapelle, 1748.

PROPOSALS FOR PRINTING, BY SUBSCRIPTION, ESSAYS IN VERSE AND PROSE.

BY ANNA WILLIAMS.[1]

[1] From the Gentleman's Magazine, Sept. 1750.

When a writer of my sex solicits the regard of the publick, some apology

seems always to be expected; and it is, unhappily, too much in my power

to satisfy this demand; since, how little soever I may be qualified,

either by nature or study, for furnishing the world with literary

entertainments, I have such motives for venturing my little performances

into the light, as are sufficient to counterbalance the censure of

arrogance, and to turn off my attention from the threats of criticism.

The world will, perhaps, be something softened, when it shall be known,

that my intention was to have lived by means more suited to my ability,

from which being now cut off by a total privation of sight, I have been

persuaded to suffer such essays, as I had formerly written, to be

collected and fitted, if they can be fitted, by the kindness of my

friends, for the press. The candour of those that have already

encouraged me, will, I hope, pardon the delays incident to a work which

must be performed by other eyes and other hands; and censure may,

surely, be content to spare the compositions of a woman, written for

amusement, and published for necessity.

A PROJECT

FOR THE EMPLOYMENT OF AUTHORS.[1]

TO THE VISITER.

SIR,

I know not what apology to make for the little dissertation which I have

sent, and which I will not deny that I have sent with design that you

should print it. I know that admonition is very seldom grateful, and

that authors are eminently cholerick; yet, I hope, that you, and every

impartial reader, will be convinced, that I intend the benefit of the

publick, and the advancement of knowledge; and that every reader, into

whose hands this shall happen to fall, will rank himself among those who

are to be excepted from general censure.

I am, Sir, your humble servant.

Scire velim quare toties mihi, Naevole, tristis

Occurras, fronte obducta, ceu Marsya victus. JUV.

There is no gift of nature, or effect of art, however beneficial to

mankind, which, either by casual deviations, or foolish perversions, is

not sometimes mischievous. Whatever may be the cause of happiness, may

be made, likewise, the cause of misery. The medicine, which, rightly

applied, has power to cure, has, when rashness or ignorance prescribes

it, the same power to destroy.

I have computed, at some hours of leisure, the loss and gain of

literature, and set the pain which it produces against the pleasure.

Such calculations are, indeed, at a great distance from mathematical

exactness, as they arise from the induction of a few particulars, and

from observations made rather according to the temper of the computist,

than the nature of things. But such a narrow survey as can be taken,

will easily show that letters cause many blessings, and inflict many

calamities; that there is scarcely an individual who may not consider

them as immediately or mediately influencing his life, as they are chief

instruments of conveying knowledge, and transmitting sentiments; and

almost every man learns, by their means, all that is right or wrong in

his sentiments and conduct.

If letters were considered only as means of pleasure, it might well be

doubted, in what degree of estimation they should be held; but when they

are referred to necessity, the controversy is at an end; it soon

appears, that though they may sometimes incommode us, yet human life

would scarcely rise, without them, above the common existence of animal

nature; we might, indeed, breathe and eat in universal ignorance, but

must want all that gives pleasure or security, all the embellishments

and delights, and most of the conveniencies, and comforts of our present

condition.

Literature is a kind of intellectual light, which, like the light of the

sun, may sometimes enable us to see what we do not like; but who would

wish to escape unpleasing objects, by condemning himself to perpetual

darkness?

Since, therefore, letters are thus indispensably necessary; since we

cannot persuade ourselves to lose their benefits, for the sake of

escaping their mischiefs, it is worth our serious inquiry, how their

benefits may be increased, and their mischiefs lessened; by what means

the harvest of our studies may afford us more corn and less chaff; and

how the roses of the gardens of science may gratify us more with their

fragrance, and prick us less with their thorns.

I shall not, at present, mention the more formidable evils which the

misapplication of literature produces, nor speak of churches infected

with heresy, states inflamed with sedition, or schools infatuated with

hypothetical fictions. These are evils which mankind have always

lamented, and which, till mankind grow wise and modest, they must, I am

afraid, continue to lament, without hope of remedy. I shall now touch

only on some lighter and less extensive evils, yet such, as are

sufficiently heavy to those that feel them, and are, of late, so widely

diffused, as to deserve, though, perhaps, not the notice of the

legislature, yet the consideration of those whose benevolence inclines

them to a voluntary care of publick happiness.

It was long ago observed by Virgil, and, I suppose, by many before him,

that "bees do not make honey for their own use;" the sweets which they

collect in their laborious excursions, and store up in their hives with

so much skill, are seized by those who have contributed neither toil nor

art to the collection; and the poor animal is either destroyed by the

invader, or left to shift without a supply. The condition is nearly the

same of the gatherer of honey, and the gatherer of knowledge. The bee

and the author work alike for others, and often lose the profit of their

labour. The case, therefore, of authors, however hitherto neglected, may

claim regard. Every body of men is important, according to the joint

proportion of their usefulness and their number. Individuals, however

they may excel, cannot hope to be considered, singly, as of great weight

in the political balance; and multitudes, though they may, merely by

their bulk, demand some notice, are yet not of much value, unless they

contribute to ease the burden of society, by cooperating to its

prosperity.

Of the men, whose condition we are now examining, the usefulness never

was disputed; they are known to be the great disseminators of knowledge,

and guardians of the commonwealth; and, of late, their number has been

so much increased, that they are become a very conspicuous part of the

nation. It is not now, as in former times, when men studied long, and

passed through the severities of discipline, and the probation of

publick trials, before they presumed to think themselves qualified for

instructers of their countrymen; there is found a nearer way to fame and

erudition, and the inclosures of literature are thrown open to every man

whom idleness disposes to loiter, or whom pride inclines to set himself

to view. The sailor publishes his journal, the farmer writes the process

of his annual labour; he that succeeds in his trade, thinks his wealth a

proof of his understanding, and boldly tutors the publick; he that

fails, considers his miscarriage as the consequence of a capacity too

great for the business of a shop, and amuses himself in the Fleet with

writing or translating. The last century imagined, that a man, composing

in his chariot, was a new object of curiosity; but how much would the

wonder have been increased by a footman studying behind it[2]! There is

now no class of men without its authors, from the peer to the thrasher;

nor can the sons of literature be confined any longer to Grub street or

Moorfields; they are spread over all the town, and all the country, and

fill every stage of habitation, from the cellar to the garret.

It is well known, that the price of commodities must always fall, as the

quantity is increased, and that no trade can allow its professors to be

multiplied beyond a certain number. The great misery of writers proceeds

from their multitude. We easily perceive, that in a nation of clothiers,

no man could have any cloth to make but for his own back; that in a

community of bakers every man must use his own bread; and what can be

the case of a nation of authors, but that every man must be content to

read his book to himself? For, surely, it is vain to hope, that of men

labouring at the same occupation, any will prefer the work of his

neighbour to his own; yet this expectation, wild as it is, seems to be

indulged by many of the writing race, and, therefore, it can be no

wonder, that like all other men, who suffer their minds to form

inconsiderate hopes, they are harassed and dejected with frequent

disappointments.

If I were to form an adage of misery, or fix the lowest point to which

humanity could fall, I should be tempted to name the life of an author.

Many universal comparisons there are by which misery is expressed. We

talk of a man teased like a bear at the stake, tormented like a toad

under a harrow, or hunted like a dog with a stick at his tail; all these

are, indeed, states of uneasiness, but what are they to the life of an

author; of an author worried by criticks, tormented by his bookseller,

and hunted by his creditors! Yet such must be the case of many among the

retailers of knowledge, while they continue thus to swarm over the land;

and, whether it be by propagation or contagion, produce new writers to

heighten the general distress, to increase confusion, and hasten famine.

Having long studied the varieties of life, I can guess by every man's

walk, or air, to what state of the community he belongs. Every man has

noted the legs of a tailor, and the gait of a seaman; and a little

extension of his physiognomical acquisitions will teach him to

distinguish the countenance of an author. It is my practice, when I am

in want of amusement, to place myself for an hour at Temple-bar, or any

other narrow pass much frequented, and examine, one by one, the looks of

the passengers; and I have commonly found, that, between the hours of

eleven and four, every sixth man is an author. They are seldom to be

seen very early in the morning, or late in the evening, but about dinner

time they are all in motion, and have one uniform eagerness in their

faces, which gives little opportunity of discerning their hopes or

fears, their pleasures or their pains.

But, in the afternoon, when they have all dined, or composed themselves

to pass the day without a dinner, their passions have full play, and I

can perceive one man wondering at the stupidity of the publick, by which

his new book has been totally neglected; another cursing the French who

fright away literary curiosity by their threats of an invasion; another

swearing at his bookseller, who will advance no money without copy;

another perusing, as he walks, his publisher's bill; another murmuring

at an unanswerable criticism; another determining to write no more to a

generation of barbarians; and another resolving to try, once again,

whether he cannot awaken the drowsy world to a sense of his merit.

It sometimes happens, that there may be remarked among them a smile of

complacence, or a strut of elevation; but, if these favourites of

fortune are carefully watched for a few days, they seldom fail to show

the transitoriness of human felicity; the crest falls, the gaiety is

ended, and there appear evident tokens of a successful rival, or a

fickle patron.

But of all authors, those are the most wretched, who exhibit their

productions on the theatre, and who are to propitiate first the manager,

and then the publick. Many an humble visitant have I followed to the

doors of these lords of the drama, seen him touch the knocker with a

shaking hand, and, after long deliberation, adventure to solicit

entrance by a single knock; but I never staid to see them come out from

their audience, because my heart is tender, and being subject to frights

in bed, I would not willingly dream of an author.

That the number of authors is disproportionate to the maintenance, which

the publick seems willing to assign them; that there is neither praise

nor meat for all who write, is apparent from this; that, like wolves in

long winters, they are forced to prey on one another. The reviewers and

critical reviewers, the remarkers and examiners, can satisfy their

hunger only by devouring their brethren. I am far from imagining that

they are naturally more ravenous or blood-thirsty than those on whom

they fall with so much violence and fury; but they are hungry, and

hunger must be satisfied; and these savages, when their bellies are

full, will fawn on those whom they now bite.

The result of all these considerations amounts only to this, that the

number of writers must at last be lessened, but by what method this

great, design can be accomplished, is not easily discovered. It was

lately proposed, that every man who kept a dog should pay a certain tax,

which, as the contriver of ways and means very judiciously observed,

would either destroy the dogs, or bring in money. Perhaps, it might be

proper to lay some such tax upon authors, only the payment must be

lessened in proportion as the animal, upon which it is raised, is less

necessary; for many a man that would pay for his dog, will dismiss his

dedicator. Perhaps, if every one who employed or harboured an author,

was assessed a groat a year, it would sufficiently lessen the nuisance

without destroying the species.

But no great alteration is to be attempted rashly. We must consider how

the authors, which this tax shall exclude from their trade, are to be

employed. The nets used in the herring-fishery can furnish work but for

few, and not many can be employed as labourers at the foundation of the

new bridge. There must, therefore, be some other scheme formed for their

accommodation, which the present state of affairs may easily supply. It

is well known, that great efforts have been lately made to man the

fleet, and augment the army, and loud complaints are made of useful

hands forced away from their families into the service of the crown.

This offensive exertion of power may be easily avoided, by opening a few

houses for the entertainment of discarded authors, who would enter into

the service with great alacrity, as most of them are zealous friends of

every present government; many of them are men of able bodies, and

strong limbs, qualified, at least, as well for the musket as the pen;

they are, perhaps, at present a little emaciated and enfeebled, but

would soon recover their strength and flesh with good quarters and

present pay.

There are some reasons for which they may seem particularly qualified

for a military life. They are used to suffer want of every kind; they

are accustomed to obey the word of command from their patrons and their

booksellers; they have always passed a life of hazard and adventure,

uncertain what may be their state on the next day; and, what is of yet

more importance, they have long made their minds familiar to danger, by

descriptions of bloody battles, daring undertakings, and wonderful

escapes. They have their memories stored with all the stratagems of war,

and have, over and over, practised, in their closets, the expedients of

distress, the exultation of triumph, and the resignation of heroes

sentenced to destruction.

Some, indeed, there are, who, by often changing sides in controversy,

may give just suspicion of their fidelity, and whom I should think

likely to desert for the pleasure of desertion, or for a farthing a

month advanced in their pay. Of these men I know not what use can be

made, for they can never be trusted, but with shackles on their legs.

There are others whom long depression, under supercilious patrons, has

so humbled and crushed, that they will never have steadiness to keep

their ranks. But for these men there may be found fifes and drums, and

they will be well enough pleased to inflame others to battle, if they

are not obliged to fight themselves.

It is more difficult to know what can be done with the ladies of the

pen, of whom this age has produced greater numbers than any former time.

It is, indeed, common for women to follow the camp, but no prudent

general will allow them in such numbers as the breed of authoresses

would furnish. Authoresses are seldom famous for clean linen, therefore,

they cannot make laundresses; they are rarely skilful at their needle,

and cannot mend a soldier's shirt; they will make bad sutlers, being not

much accustomed to eat. I must, therefore, propose, that they shall form

a regiment of themselves, and garrison the town which is supposed to be

in most danger of a French invasion. They will, probably, have no

enemies to encounter; but, if they are once shut up together, they will

soon disencumber the publick by tearing out the eyes of one another.

The great art of life is to play for much, and to stake little; which

rule I have kept in view through this whole project; for, if our authors

and authoresses defeat our enemies, we shall obtain all the usual

advantages of victory; and, if they should be destroyed in war, we shall

lose only those who had wearied the publick, and whom, whatever be their

fate, nobody will miss.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] From the Universal Visiter, April, 1756.

[2] Dodsley's Muse in Livery was composed under these circumstances.

Boswell's Life, ii.

PREFACE TO THE LITERARY MAGAZINE, 1756.

TO THE PUBLICK.

There are some practices which custom and prejudice have so unhappily

influenced, that to observe or neglect them is equally censurable. The

promises made by the undertakers of any new design, every man thinks

himself at liberty to deride, and yet every man expects, and expects

with reason, that he who solicits the publick attention, should give

some account of his pretensions.

We are about to exhibit to our countrymen a new monthly collection, to

which the well-deserved popularity of the first undertaking of this

kind, has now made it almost necessary to prefix the name of Magazine.

There are, already, many such periodical compilations, of which we do

not envy the reception, nor shall dispute the excellence. If the nature

of things would allow us to indulge our wishes, we should desire to

advance our own interest, without lessening that of any other; and to

excite the curiosity of the vacant, rather than withdraw that which

other writers have already engaged.

Our design is to give the history, political and literary, of every

month; and our pamphlets must consist, like other collections, of many

articles unconnected and independent on each other.

The chief political object of an Englishman's attention must be the

great council of the nation, and we shall, therefore, register all

publick proceedings with particular care. We shall not attempt to give

any regular series of debates, or to amuse our readers with senatorial

rhetorick. The speeches inserted in other papers have been long-known to

be fictitious, and produced sometimes by men who never heard the debate,

nor had any authentick information. We have no design to impose thus

grossly on our readers, and shall, therefore, give the naked arguments

used in the discussion of every question, and add, when they can be

obtained, the names of the speakers.

As the proceedings in parliament are unintelligible, without a knowledge

of the facts to which they relate, and of the state of the nations to

which they extend their influence, we shall exhibit monthly a view,

though contracted, yet distinct, of foreign affairs, and lay open the

designs and interests of those nations which are considered by the

English either as friends or enemies.

Of transactions in our own country, curiosity will demand a more

particular account, and we shall record every remarkable event,

extraordinary casualty, uncommon performance, or striking novelty, and

shall apply our care to the discovery of truth, with very little

reliance on the daily historians.

The lists of births, marriages, deaths and burials, will be so drawn up

that, we hope, very few omissions or mistakes will be found, though some

must be expected to happen in so great a variety, where there is neither

leisure nor opportunity for minute information.

It is intended that lists shall be given of all the officers and persons

in publick employment; and that all the alterations shall be noted, as

they happen, by which our list will be a kind of court-register, always

complete.

The literary history necessarily contains an account of the labours of

the learned, in which, whether we shall show much judgment or sagacity,

must be left to our readers to determine; we can promise only justness

and candour. It is not to be expected, that we can insert extensive

extracts or critical examinations of all the writings, which this age of

writers may offer to our notice. A few only will deserve the distinction

of criticism, and a few only will obtain it. We shall try to select the

best and most important pieces, and are not without hope, that we may

sometimes influence the publick voice, and hasten the popularity of a

valuable work.

Our regard will not be confined to books; it will extend to all the

productions of science. Any new calculation, a commodious instrument,

the discovery of any property in nature, or any new method of bringing

known properties into use or view, shall be diligently treasured up,

wherever found.

In a paper designed for general perusal, it will be necessary to dwell

most upon things of general entertainment. The elegant trifles of

literature, the wild strains of fancy, the pleasing amusements of

harmless wit, shall, therefore, be considered as necessary to our

collection. Nor shall we omit researches into antiquity, explanation of

coins or inscriptions, disquisitions on controverted history,

conjectures on doubtful geography, or any other of those petty works

upon which learned ingenuity is sometimes employed.

To these accounts of temporary transactions and fugitive performances,

we shall add some dissertations on things more permanent and stable;

some inquiries into the history of nature, which has hitherto been

treated, as if mankind were afraid of exhausting it. There are, in our

own country, many things and places worthy of note that are yet little

known, and every day gives opportunities of new observations which are

made and forgotten. We hope to find means of extending and perpetuating

physiological discoveries; and with regard to this article, and all

others, entreat the assistance of curious and candid correspondents.

We shall labour to attain as much exactness as can be expected in such

variety, and shall give as much variety as can consist with reasonable

exactness; for this purpose, a selection has been made of men qualified

for the different parts of the work, and each has the employment

assigned him, which he is supposed most able to discharge.

A DISSERTATION UPON THE GREEK COMEDY,

TRANSLATED FROM BRUMOY[1].

ADVERTISEMENT.

I conclude this work, according to my promise, with an account of the

comick theatre, and entreat the reader, whether a favourer or an enemy

of the ancient drama, not to pass his censure upon the authors or upon

me, without a regular perusal of this whole work. For, though it seems

to be composed of pieces of which each may precede or follow without

dependence upon the other, yet all the parts, taken together, form a

system which would be destroyed by their disjunction. Which way shall we

come at the knowledge of the ancients' shows, but by comparing together

all that is left of them? The value and necessity of this comparison

determined me to publish all, or to publish nothing. Besides, the

reflections on each piece, and on the general taste of antiquity, which,

in my opinion, are not without importance, have a kind of obscure

gradation, which I have carefully endeavoured to preserve, and of which

the thread would be lost by him who should slightly glance sometimes

upon one piece, and sometimes upon another. It is a structure which I

have endeavoured to make as near to regularity as I could, and which

must be seen in its full extent, and in proper succession. The reader

who skips here and there over the book, might make a hundred objections

which are either anticipated, or answered in those pieces which he might

have overlooked. I have laid such stress upon the connexion of the parts

of this work, that I have declined to exhaust the subject, and have

suppressed many of my notions, that I might leave the judicious reader

to please himself by forming such conclusions as I supposed him like to

discover, as well as myself. I am not here attempting to prejudice the

reader by an apology either for the ancients, or my own manner. I have

not claimed a right of obliging others to determine, by my opinion, the

degrees of esteem which I think due to the authors of the Athenian

stage; nor do I think that their reputation, in the present time, ought

to depend upon my mode of thinking or expressing my thoughts, which I

leave entirely to the judgment of the publick.

A DISSERTATION &c.