Richard Bentlesworth, superintendent of a small grammar-elaboratory, in the out-skirts of the town, was so monstrously over-run with the Scorbuticum Pedanticum, that he used to dumfound his milk-woman with strange stories of gerunds and participles; would decline you domus in a cellar in the Strand before a parcel of chimney-sweepers, and confute Schioppius and Alvarez to the old wall-ey’d matron, that sold him grey pease. Tho’ this strange distemper, when once it has got full possession of a man, is as hard to be cured as an hereditary-pox, yet I have absolutely recovered him; so that now he troubles the publick no more with any of his Dutch-Latin dissertations; but is as quiet an author as ever was neglected by all the town, or buried in Little-Britain.
Timothy Gimcrack, doctor of the noble cockle-shell-fraternity, whose philosophy and learning lay so much under ground, that he had nothing of either to show above it, used to be troubled with strange unaccountable fits, and during the paroxism, would contrive new worlds, as boys build houses of cards, find a thousand faults with old Moses, make a hasty pudding of the universe, and drown it in a Menstruum of his own inventing, and leave the best patient in the city, for a new gay-coated butterfly. I took out his brains, washed them in my Aqua Intellectualis, and if has since relaps’d, who may he thank, but his cursed East-India correspondent, who addled his understanding a-new, with sending him the furniture of a Chinese barber’s-shop.
Nehemiah Drowsy, grocer and deputy of his ward, was so prodigiously afflicted with a lethargy, that his whole life was little better than a dream. He would sleep even while he was giving the account of his own pedigree, how from leathern breeches and nothing in them, he came to the vast fortune he now possesses. Nay, over the pious spouse of his bosom he has been often found asleep in an exercise which keeps all other mortals awake. By following my sage directions he’s so wonderfully alter’d for the better, that after a full dinner of roast-beef and pudding he can listen to a dull sermon at Salters-Hall, without so much as one yawn; nay, can hear his apprentice read two entire pages of Wesley’s heroic poem, and never makes a nod all the while.
The End of my Catalogue of Cures.
But to come to affairs of a more publick concern, we are in a strange ferment here about the divided interests of the houses of Austria and Bourbon. Our master following herein the policy of the Jesuits, or rather they following him, for we ought to give the devil his due, seems to incline most to the latter: however, if the Spaniards and French set up their horses no better in your world than they do with us, ’tis easy to predict that the unnatural conjuction of the two kingdoms will be soon shatter’d to pieces. Whenever they meet, there’s such roaring and swearing, and calling of names between them, that we expect every minute when they will go to loggerheads. ’Tis true some few of the dons that are lately arriv’d here, call’d Lewis-le-Grand their protector, and are Frenchify’d to a strange degree; but the rest of their countrymen call them a parcel of degenerate rascals, and are so violently bent against them, that unless Pluto lock’d them up a nights in distinct apartments, we should have the devil and all to do with them.
Next to the affairs of France and Spain, are we concerned about the fate of the occasional bill; a few old fashion’d virtuosos among us hope it will pass, but the generality of our politicians, and particularly those belonging to Pluto’s cabinet, who are stiled the congregation de inferno ampliando, are resolv’d at any rate to hinder its taking effect. As hypocrisy sends greater numbers to hell, than any other sins whatever, you are not to wonder if the ministry here do all they can to oppose the passing of a bill, which will prove so destructive to the infernal interest by destroying hypocrisy. For which reason Pluto has lately dispatch’d several trusty emissaries to your parts, who are to bribe your observators and other mercenary pamphleteers, to raise a hedious outcry about persecution, and represent this design in such odious colours to the people, that, if posible, it may miscarry. A little time will show us the success of this refin’d conduct.
One short story, gentlemen, and then I have done. A Spaniard last week was commending the authors of his own country, and particularly enlarg’d upon the merits of the voluminous long-winded Tostatus, who, he said, had writ above a cart-load of books in his time. But why should I talk of a cart-load, continues he, when he has writ more than ’tis possible for any one single man to read over in his life? judge then of the worth of this indefatigable Tostatus; judge how many tedious nights and days he must have spent in study. Under favour, cries an English gentleman lately arrived here, we have a writer that much exceeds your famous Tostatus, even in that respect. His name is Bentivoglio, and tho’ at present he falls somewhat short of your author, as to the number of books of his own composing, yet he has writ one octavo, which I’ll defy any man in the universe to read over, tho’ he has the patience of Job, the constitution of Sampson, and the long age of Methuselah.
But hold—I forget who I am writing to all this while; gentlemen that have either more business or pleasure upon their hands, than to go thro’ the tedious persecution of so unmerciful a letter. However, I hope you’ll pardon me this fault, if you consider the great difficulty of transmitting the nouvelles of our subterranean world to your parts; for which reason I was resolv’d rather to trespass upon your patience, than lose this opportunity of giving you an account of all our memorable transactions. If in requital of this small trouble I have given myself, you will be so kind as to order any one of your society, to inform me how affairs go at present in Covent-Garden, at St. James’s &c. what news the dramatick world affords in Drury-lane, Lincolns-Inn-Fields, and Smithfield, as ’twill be the most sensible obligation you can lay upon me, so it shall be remember’d with the utmost gratitude by,