death which they daily fcatter about for a miferable hire; but, provided they can fecurely eat and drink the reward of their iniquity, are totally indifferent whofe principles they debauch, whofe character they libel, whofe peace they deftroy, what neighbourhood they disturb, or what fociety they fubvert! Of this unworthy tribe, Pamphlet, in the Farce before us, is the proper reprefentative; and we fhall give the humourous fcene betwixt him and Quidnunc, (the Upholsterer) as a specimen of the performance. Quidnunc. Here he comes-the best political Writer of the age. (With a furtout coat, a muff, a long campaign wig out of curl, and a pair of black garters, buckled under the knees.) Quid. Mr. Pamphlet, I am heartily glad to fee you,—as glad as if you were an exprefs from the Groyn, or from Berlin, or from Zell, or from Calcutta over land, or from— Pamph. Mr. Quidnunc, your fervant,-I'm come from a place of great importance. Quid. Lock ye there now ?-well, where, where? Quid. Stay, ftay, till I fhut the door,-now, now, where do you come from? Pamph. From the Court of Requests. 6 (laying afide his furtout coat.) Quid. The Court of Requests, (whispers) are they up? Quid. Debates arifing may be. Pamph. Yes, and like to fit late. C Quid. What are they upon? Pamph. Can't fay, 6 Quid. What carried you thither? Quid. Looke there now. (haking his head) Pamph. I went in hopes of being taken up. Pamph. I've been aiming at it thefe three years. Quid. Indeed! (flaring at him.) Pamph. Indeed,-Sedition is the only thing an Author can live by now,-Time has been I could turn a penny by an earthquake; or live upon a jail-diftemper; or dine upon a bloody murder;-but now that's all over,-nothing will do now but roafting a Minister-or telling the people, that they are ruined-the people of England are never fo happy as • when you tell 'em they are ruined. Quid. Yes, but they an't ruined-I have a fcheme for paying off the national debt. t Pamph. Let's fee, let's fee, (puts on his fpectacles) well enough! well imagined, -a new thought this-I must make this my own, (afide) filly, futile, abfurd-abominable, this will never do-I'll put it in my pocket, and read it over in the morning for you-now look ye here-I'll fhew you a fcheme (rummaging his pockets) no, that's not it-that's my • Conduct of the Miniftry, by a Country Gentleman-I prov'd the nation undone here, this fold hugely,-and here now,⚫ here's my Answer to it, by a noble Lord ;-this did not move among the trade. Quid. What, do you write on both fides? • Pamph. Yes, both fides,-I've two hands, Mr. Quidnunc, -always impartial, -Ambo dexter. Now here, here's my • Dedication to a great man touch'd twenty for this here, here's my Libel upon him 6 Quid. What, after being obliged to him? and Pamph. Yes, for that reason,-it excites curiofity-white wash and blacking-ball, Mr. Quidnunc! in utrumque paratus, -no thriving without it. Quid. What have you here in this pocket? 6 (prying eagerly.) Pamph. That's my account with Jacob Zorobbabel, the Broker, for writing paragraphs to raise or tumble the Stocks, or the price of Lottery Tickets, according to his purposes. Quid. Ay, how do you do that? Pamph. As thus,-to day the Proteftant intereft declines, • Madrafs is taken, and England's undone; then all the long faces in the Alley look as difmal as a blank, and fo Jacob buys away, and thrives upon our ruin. Then to-morrow, we're all alive and merry again, Pondicherry's taken; a cer⚫tain northern Potentate will shortly strike a blow, to aftonish all Europe, and then every true-born Englishman is willing to buy a Lottery Ticket for twenty or thirty fhillings more than its worth; fo Jacob fells away, and reaps the fruits of our success. Quid. What, will the people believe that now? Pamph. Believe it !-believe any thing,-no swallow like a true-born Englishman's—a man in a quart bottle, or a victory, it's all one to them, they give a gulp,-and down it goes, glib, glib. Quid. Yes, but they an't at the bottom of things? Pamph. No, not they, they dabble a little, but can't dive Quid. Pray now, Mr. Pamphlet, what do you think of our fituation? Pamph. Bad, fir, bad,—and how can it be better? - the people in power never fend to me, never confult me,—it REV. May, 1758. Ee • mult must be bad.-Now here, here, (goes to his loofe coat) here's a manufcript!—this will do the bufinefs, a mafter-piece,-I 'fhall be taken up for this. Quid. Shall ye? Pamph. As fure as a gun I shall,—I know the Bookseller's a rogue, and will give me up. Quid. But pray now what fhall you get by being taken up? Pamph. I'll tell you-(whispers) in order to make me hold my tongue. Quid. Ay, but you won't hold your tongue for all that. Pamph. Po, po, not a jot of that-abuse 'em the next • day. Quid. Well, well, I wifh you fuccefs,-but do you hear no news? have you seen the Gazette? Pamph. Yes, I've seen that,great news, Mr. Quidnunc, -but harkye!(whispers) and kifs hands next week. Quid. Ay! Pamph. Certain. Quid. Nothing permanent in this world.. • Quid. Ups and Downs. Pamph. Ins and Outs.- Quid. Wheels within wheels. Pamph. No fmoak without fire. Quid. All's well that ends well. Pamph. It will laft our time. Each in deep thought without looking other. at the Quid. Whoever lives to fee it, will know more of the matter. 6 Pamph. Time will tell all. 6 Quid. Ay, we muft leave all to the determination of time. Mr. Pamphlet I am heartily obliged to you for this vifit,-I love you better than any man in England? Pamph. And, for my part, Mr. Quidnunc,-I love you better than I do England itself. Quid. That's kind, that's kind,-there's nothing I wou'd no do, Mr. Pamphlet, to ferve you. Pamph. Mr. Quidnunc, I know you're a man of integrity ⚫ and honour,-I know you are,-and now fince we have opened our hearts, there is a thing, Mr. Quidnunc, in which you can ferve me, you know, fir,-this is in the fullness of our hearts, you know you have my note for a trifle,-hard dealing with Affignees,-now, could not you, to ferve a friend, cou'd not you throw that note into the fire? Quid. Hey! but would that be honeft? Pamph. Leave that to me, a refin'd ftroke of policy,-pa⚫pers have been deftroy'd in all governments. Quid. Quid. So they have,it fhall be done, it will be political, it will indeed.-Pray now, Mr. Pamphlet, what do you take to be the true political Balance of Power? Pamph. What do I take to be the Balance of Power! Pamph. The Balance of Power is,-what do I take to be the Balance of Power,-the Balance of Power,-(fhuts his eyes) what do I take to be the Balance of Power? Qiud. The Balance of Power, I take to be, when the Court of Aldermen fits. Pamph. No, no, Quid. Yes, yes,— Pamph. No, no, the Balance of Power is when the foun dations of government and the fuperftructures are natural. Quid. How d'ye mean natural? Pamph. Prithee be quiet man,-this is the language.-The Balance of Power is-when the fuperftructures are reduced to proper balances, or when the balances are not reduced to un• natural superstructures. Quid. Po, po, I tell you it is when the fortifications of Dunquerque are demolished. Pamph. But I tell you, Mr. Quidnunc. < Quid. I fay, Mr. Pamphlet. Pamph. Hear me, Mr. Quidnunc. Quid. Give me leave, Mr. Pamphlet. Pamph. I must obferve, Sir. Quid. I am convinced, Sir. Pamph. That the Balance of Power. Quid. That the fortifications at Dunquerque. Pamph. Depends upon the balances, and fuperftruc tures. • Quid. Conftitute the true political Equilibrium.- Quid. And, Sir, I never defire to fee your face.- Both in a paffion. Quid. Nor the face of any man who is fuch a Frenchman in his heart, and has fuch notions of the Balance of Power. QUIDNUNC Re-enters. [Exeunt. Ay, I've found him out,-such abominable principles, I never defire to converfe with any man of his notions,-no, • never while I live.- • Re-enter PAMPHLET. Pamph. Mr. Quidnunc, one word with you, if you please. Ee 2 Pamph. Pamph. My property, Mr. Quidnunc,-I fhan't leave my property in the house of a Bankrupt, (twisting his handkerchief round his arm) a filly, empty, incomprehenfible blockhead. • Quid. Blockhead! Mr. Pamphlet. Pamph. A Blockhead to use me thus when I have you fo much in my power.— Quid. In your power! Pamph. In my power, fir,-it's in my power to hang you. Pamph. Yes, fir; to hang you-(drawing on his coat) did not you propose, but this moment, did not you defire me to • combine and confederate to burn a note, and defraud your • Creditors- Quid. I defire it! Pamph. Yes, Mr. Quidnunc, but I fhall detect you to the world. I'll give your character.-You fhall have a fix-penny ⚫ touch next week. Flebit, et infignis totâ cantabitur urbe. Exit Pamphlet.' As the character of the Upholsterer is not our Author's own (for he honeftly acknowleges the borrowing it of Mr. Bickerftaff) we have the lefs to fay of it: that of the hackney Writer is more of an original, and is a character which the Author has not more severely than candidly expofed; for it is, indeed, rather a favourable representation of those vermin, who are really the peft of this nation. These are the wretches whofe worthlefs labours fo amply fhew the utility of our Monthly Catalogues. These are the gentry on whom we are fometimes thought to exercife too much feverity:-but, furely, we may truly reply, that mercy to these would be INJUSTICE to the PUBLIC. G Remarks on the Compleat Body of Hufbandry; continued from page 25 of the Review for January, 1758. A MIDST the various avocations of Hufbandry, in which whoever would be a competent Judge, must be perfonally engaged, it cannot be fuppofed, there is leifure or opportunity for attaining any great elegance of ftile, or purity of dicti on. Senfible of a deficiency in thofe refpects, the Writer of thefe Remarks has only to hope for the candour and kindness of his Readers, while he is treating of a fubject fo complicated, and fo little understood by men of literature. We |