witty and severe satire on the proceedings of the Royal Society. Among the smaller pieces, is an admirable parody on the unnatural fustian of the heroic drama, which, supported by the perverted genius of Dryden, succeeded, for a while, in banishing nature and common sense from the stage. It is equal to any thing in The Rehearsal, and exactly imitates (it could not caricature) the manner in which sentiments and metaphors were bandied backwards and forwards, and the dialogue kept up, like a game at shuttlecock, between puling ruffians and their metaphysical mistresses. Butler is equally just and happy in his animadversions on the ridiculous pedantry which regarded a servile adherence to the rules of the Ancients as essential to dramatic excellence.

Of the prose pieces, which form the most interesting and least known portion of this publication, the most important in number and talent are the Characters, which occupy the whole of the second volume. The writing of Characters was a species of composition much in vogue in the earlier part of the seventeenth century. The most successful writers of this description were Sir Thomas Overbury and Bishop Earle the Characters of the former went through fourteen editions previous to 1632, and the bishop's Microcosmographie through six between 1628 and 1633. Butler is one of the latest authors who have succeeded in this style of writing in instinctive perception of character-in practical knowledge of the world-as well as in the richness and variety of his imagination, and the boldness and originality of his thoughts -he has far excelled most of his predecessors.

We shall commence our extracts with two characters, that can never be obsolete, and who "are of imagination all compact"— The Small Poet and The Romance-writer.

A Small Poet

'Is one, that would fain make himself that which nature never meant him; like a fanatic, that inspires himself with his own 'whimsies. He sets up haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small stock, and no credit. He believes it is invention enough 'to find out other men's wit; and whatsoever he lights upon, ' either in books, or company, he makes bold with as his own.... 'He appears so over concerned in all men's wits, as if they were 'but disparagements of his own; and crys down all they do, as if they were encroachments upon him....As for epithets, he always avoids those that are near akin to the sense. Such

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' matches are unlawful, and not fit to be made by a Christian poet; and therefore all his care is to chuse out such as will serve, like a wooden leg, to piece out a maim'd verse that wants a foot or two; and if they will but rhyme now and then into the 'bargain, or run upon a letter, it is a work of supererogation.

'For similitudes, he likes the hardest and most obscure best: 'for as ladies wear black patches to make their complexions seem 'fairer than they are; so when an illustration is more obscure 'than the sense that went before it, it must of necessity make it appear clearer than it did: for contraries are best set off with 'contraries....He will take three grains of wit, like the elexir, and, 'projecting it upon the iron-age, turn it immediately into gold. All the business of mankind has presently vanished, the whole 'world has kept holiday; there has been no men but heroes and 'poets, no women but nymphs and shepherdesses: trees have 'born fritters, and rivers flowed plum-porridge. When he writes, 'he commonly steers the sense of his lines by the rhyme that is 'at the end of them, as butchers do calves by the tail. For 'when he has made one line, which is easy enough, and has 'found out some sturdy hard word, that will but rhyme, he will 'hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of hot iron upon an 'anvil, into what form he pleases. There is no art in the world so rich in terms as poetry; a whole dictionary is scarce able to 'contain them for there is hardly a pond, a sheep-walk, or a gra'vel-pit, in all Greece, but the ancient name of it is become a term ' of art in poetry. By this means, small poets have such a stock of able hard words lying by them, as dryades, hamadryades, 'aönides, fauni, nymphæ, sylvani, &c. that signify nothing at all, and such a world of pedantic terms of the same kind, as may 'serve to furnish all the new inventions and thorough reforma'tions, that can happen between this and Plato's great year.' A Romance Writer

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:

'Pulls down old histories to build them up finer again, after a new model of his own designing. He takes away all the lights ' of truth in history to make it the fitter tutoress of life; for Truth 'herself has little or nothing to do in the affairs of the world, 'although all matters of the greatest weight and moment are pretended and done in her name; like a weak Princess, that has only the title, and Falsehood all the power. He ob'serves one very fit decorum in dating his histories in the days ' of old, and putting all his own inventions upon ancient times; for 'when the world was younger, it might, perhaps, love, and fight, ' and do generous things, at the rate he describes them; but since 'it is grown old, all these heroic feats are laid by and utterly 'given over, nor ever like to come in fashion again; and there'fore all his images of those virtues signify no more than the 'statues upon dead men's tombs, that will never make them live again. He is like one of Homer's gods, that sets men together 'by the ears, and fetches them off again how he pleases; makes love and lovers too, brings them acquainted, and appoints meetings when and where he pleases, and at the same time betrays

'them, in the height of all their felicity, to miserable captivity, 'or some other horrid calamity; makes men villaius, compels 'them to act all barbarous inhumanities by his own directions, and ' after inflicts the cruelest punishments upon them for it. He 'makes all his knights fight in fortifications, and storm one ano'ther's armour, before they can come to encounter body for body; ' and always matches them so equally one with another, that it is ' a whole page before they can guess which is likely to have the 'better; and he that has it is so mangled, that it had been better 'for them both to have parted fair at first; but when they encounter with those that are no knights, though ever so well 'armed and mounted, ten to one goes for nothing. As for the Ladies, they are every one the most beautiful in the whole world, ' and that's the reason why no one of them, nor all together, with all their charms, have power to tempt away any knight from 'another. He differs from a just historian as a joiner does from au [ornamental] carpenter; the one does things plainly and sub'stantially for use, and the other carves and polishes merely for 'show.'

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After these literary offenders comes the Critic, in virtue of his office this formidable race appears to have been as vigorous in those days, if not so thorough-bred, as in our own.

A Modern Critic

Is a Corrector of the Press, gratis; and as he does it for nothing, so it is to no purpose. He fancies himself Clerk of Stationer's-Hall, and nothing must pass current that is not entered 'by him. He is very severe in his supposed office, and cries Wo to ye Scribes, right or wrong. He supposes all writers to be 'malefactors without clergy, that claim the privilege of their books, and will not allow it, where the law of the land and common justice does. He censures in gross, and condemns all ' without examining particulars. If they will not confess and accuse themselves, he will rack them until they do. He is a 'committee-man in the commonwealth of letters, and as great a tyrant; so is not bound to proceed but by his own rules, which he will not endure to be disputed. He has been an apocryphal 'scribbler himself; but his writings wanting authority he grew dis" content, and turned apostate, and thence becomes so severe to 'those of his own profession. He never commends any thing 'but in opposition to something else that he would undervalue, and commonly sides with the weakest, which is generous any 'where but in judging. He is worse than an Index expurgatorius; for he blots out all, and, when he cannot find a fault, 'makes one. He demurs to all writers, and when he is over' ruled, will run into contempt. He is always bringing writs of errour like a pettifogger, and reversing of judgments, though

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'the case be never so plain. He is a mountebank, that is always 'quacking of the infirm and diseased parts of books, to show his 'skill; but has nothing at all to do with the sound.'

We speak with unfeigned earnestness when we recommend the following character to the attention of some of our good-natured friends, who, like honest Dogberry, "find in their hearts to bestow the whole of their tediousness upon us."

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A Prater

'Is a common nuisance, and as great a grievance to those that come near him, as a pewterer is to his neighbours. His discourse is like the braying of a mortar, the more impertinent the more voluble and loud, as a pestle makes more noise when it is rung on the sides of a mortar, than when it stamps downright, and hits upon the business. A dog that opens upon a wrong scent will do it oftener than one that never opens but upon a 'right. He is as long-winded as a ventiduct, that fills as fast as 'it empties, or a trade-wind, that blows one way for half a year 'together....He is like an ear-wig, when he gets within a man's ear, he is not easily to be got out again....He plays with his 'tongue as a cat does with her tail, and is transported with the ' delight he gives himself of his own making.'

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Butler is traditionally said to have been a man of bashful and reserved manners, till enlivened by the cheering influence of the bottle. In the following character, and elsewhere, he has drawn, in strong colours, the blessings of a comfortable assurance.

An Impudent Man

'Is one, whose want of money and want of wit have engaged him beyond his abilities. The little knowledge he has of him'self being suitable to the little he has in his profession, has made him believe himself fit for it. This double ignorance has made 'him set a value upon himself, as he that wants a great deal ap6 pears in a better condition than he that wants a little. This ' renders him confident, and fit for any undertaking; and some'times (such is the concurrent ignorance of the world) he pros'pers in it, but oftener miscarries, and becomes ridiculous; yet this advantage he has, that as nothing can make him see his 'error, so nothing can discourage him that way; for he is forti'fied with his ignorance, as barren and rocky places are by their 'situation; and he will rather believe that all men want judgment than himself....From hence he grows impudent; for, as men judge by comparison, he knows as little what it is to be de

'fective, as what it is to be excellent....Modesty is but a noble 'jealousy of honour, and impudence the prostitution of it; for he, whose face is proof against infamy, must be as little sensible of 'glory....Shame is the tender moral conscience of good men.... The face is the dial of the mind; and where they do not go together, 'tis a sign that one or both are out of order. He that is 'impudent, is like a merchant that trades upon his credit without ' a stock, and, if his debts were known, would break immediately.' The Pedant is one of those excrescences of learning which Butler delighted to cauterize.

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A Pedant

'Is a dwarf scholar, that never outgrows the mode and fashion ' of the school, where he should have been taught. He wears 'his little learning unmade up, puts it on before it was half 'finished, without pressing or smoothing. He studies and uses 'words with the greatest respect possible, merely for their own sakes, like an honest man, without any regard of interest, as 'they are useful and serviceable to things; and among those he 'is kindest to strangers, (like a civil gentleman,) that are far 'from their own country, and most unknown. He collects old sayings and ends of verses, as antiquaries do old coins, and is as glad to produce them upon all occasions. He has sentences 'ready lying by him for all purposes, though to no one, and talks ' of authors as familiarly as of his fellow collegiates. He handles 'arts and sciences like those, that can play a little upon an instrument, but do not know whether it be in tune or not. converses by the book; and does not talk, but quote. If he 'can but screw in something, that an ancient writer said, he be'lieves it to be much better than if he had something of himself 'to the purpose. He is worse than one that is utterly ignorant, as a cock that sees a little fights worse than one that is stark 'blind. He speaks in a different dialect from other men, and 'much affects forced expressions, forgetting that hard words, as ' well as evil ones, corrupt good manners. If he professes physic, ' he gives his patients sound hard words for their money, as cheap as he can afford; for they cost him money and study too, before ' he came by them, and he has reason to make as much of them as ' he can.'

He

We shall conclude our extracts with the character of the Antiquary-the true progenitor of our worthy friend, Jonathan Oldbuck, but without the excellent qualities of head and heart, which ennoble the whimseys of the Laird of Monkbarns.

An Antiquary

'Is one that has his being in this age, but his life and conver'sation is in the days of old. He despises the present age as an innovation, and slights the future; but has a great value for that VOL. II.

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