you are certainly right; but as, in the Athenian ftyle, I expect a portion on the delivery of the bride Books Blefs me, Sir! if the bride is fo near delivery, I'll have nothing to do with her. 2d Author. Very well indeed! you are quite a wag, Mr. Sexto: but to be ferious. I fhould be much obliged to you if you would read this work, which is moral, political, and philofophical. Book. Moral, political, and philofophical? 2d Author. Yes. I want your opinion, and your terms: therefore, in order that you may form your judgment, I'll leave it with you to read. Book. To read! abfurd! that's the old-fashioned way! Perhaps Tonfon, Lintot, or even Johnny Barber, might have read a new work. I have a furer criterion to form my judgment. Take off your hat. 2d Author. My hat! Books. Yes! 2d Author. I did not know it was neceffary to pay you this mark of refpect in a public shop. Books. Refpect! nonfenfe! I want to fee your skull. 2d Author. My skull ! Book. Yes! Whether it is depreffed or elevated. Is this wig from Cornhill or Bifhopfgate? 2d Author. Sir, do you mean to affront me? This is a Bond-ftreet natural. Books. Well! take it off, however; let me measure your, cranium: it feems the futures have never been properly closed. Gad, I'm afraid to have any thing to do with your work. 2d Author. Why? Books I am fearful that fome of thofe volatile thoughts, thofe effufions of fancy, which we call flights, may have evaporated. 2d Author. Impoffible; because I always write in a double night-cap. Books. Perhaps if your readers were to take the hints it would not be amifs. You know Swift fays, they fhould always, if poffible, place themfelves in the fituation of the author. Well! I fee no great objection to your work from any obfervations I can make upon your skull. Perhaps if the learned Dr. Gall were here, he would fay it was too long. 2d Author. Is that an objection? Book. I think not: I had rather have a longheaded author than a round-head. I am afraid there are ftill too many of these in this country. ad Author. Perhaps that 's the reafon why you examine the cranium inftead of the work? Book. Certainly I like to revert to first principles, to fathom the mine before I look at the ore, the type before the figure, the foil before its productions, the 2d Author. This is ingenious! Book. It is; and fo ufeful, that I intend to have all my authors' heads caft in plafter, or papier-machée, or brafs; or models of them, when they are mere nobs, turned in wood; and fet them in the windows as they do the bufts in the hair-dreffers' fhops, fo that every paffenger may become a reviewer. 2d Author. A lucky thought! Book. I fhall carry it ftill further: like Snip, my tailor, I fhall never ftir without a meafure in my pocket. I intend, as the High German Doctor has given the hint, not only to gage the capacity of my authors' skulls, but the dimenfions of thofe of my customers. 2d Author. But you may affront the latter if you make free with what Hogarth used to call their ideaboxes. Book. Certainly! I fhall therefore go another way to work with them. 2d Author. How? Bookf. 1 fhall apply to their hatters and perukemakers; this you know refers to either fex. By the depth depth of the crown or the caul, I fhall foon be able to judge of the depth of the wearers; and, by obferving the expenfe which they beftow upon the outfide of their heads, I fhall not only be able to determine the value they fet upon them, but pretty accurately to conjecture, what kind of works they would deem neceffary to ornament their infide: whether they delight in botanical writings, which may be deemed flowered paper, fome of which, by the bye, is as highly coloured as the fair readers; whether landscapes in black and white please them; whether they would have them adorned with hiftory, maps, fea-pieces, domeftic fcenes, love ftories, emblematical figures, reprefentations of the Mufes, the Arts, Scripture pieces, and a hundred other fubjects. 2d Author. Upon my word, Mr. Decimo Sexto, this is a fcience equally new and ingenious. You'll open the doors of your authors' and cuftomers' craniums, and form a chart of the whirlpools, eddies, fhoals, and fhallows of their minds. Book. Yes! I fhall foon be able to ascertain the place of every paffion; I fhall, as you obferve, open their fkulls, and fold them up as I do these papers. 2d Author. Blefs me! What are you about, Mr. Sexto? You'll tear my manufcript to tatters. Books. Adfo! I beg ten thoufand pardons; though it would, had it become a fragment, only have made it the more valuable. What thall I do with it? Put it to the prefs? 2d Author, Pay me for it, and put it where you please. Books Pay you for it! Though I like the ftructure of your fkull, this demands confideration. If you'll call in a few days you fhall have an answer: I'm like literature, going backward: you fee I am not one of your coftive critics. You'll excufe me. Good morning. [Exit AUTHOR one way, BOOKSELLER another. LINES ON THE MAGNIFICENT EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE, RECENTLY COMPLETED BY THE BOYDELLS. THOUGH many a bard and critic fage intwine Whofe peerlefs works fecure eternal fame! ON PAPER. [From the London Chronicle.] OME wit of old, (fuch wits of old there were, SOM Whose hints fhew'd meaning, whofe allufious care,) By one grave ftroke to mark all human kind, Call'd clear blank paper every infant mind; The thought was happy, pertinent, and true; Various the papers various wants produce, He's He's the gilt paper, which apart you store, Lefs priz'd, more ufeful, for your desk decreed, The wretch whom av'rice bids to pinch and fpare, The retail politician's anxious thought Deems this fide always right, and that stark naught. you he?-What?-Touch-paper, to be fure. What are our poets, take 'em as they fall, Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all? Them and their works in the fame clafs 'll find ; They are the mere wafte paper of mankind. Obferve the maiden, innocently sweet! She's fair white paper, an unfullied theet: On which the happy man, whom fate ordains, May write his name, and take her for his pains. Óne inftance more, and only one I'll bring, 'Tis the great man, who fcorns a little thing: Whofe thoughts, whofe deeds, whofe maxims are his own, Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone: True genuine royal paper is his breast, Of all the kinds moft precious, pureft, beft. . NATURE |