at full length, executed by the most celebrated artists in the kingdom. Some little time ago, as my correspondent reports, there lodged, within a few doors of St. Sepulchre's church, a biographical genius, who lived three years very comfortably on the death of his friends, till, having lost his credit with the booksellers, and in consequence all means of livelihood, by the recovery of an old uncle, whose life and death he had already put into their hands, he took the heroical resolution of killing himself, in order to provide for his family; and I am told his memoirs have already apprenticed out his eldest son to an undertaker. It is a remark of Mr. Allworth's, who, in regard to his fellow-creatures, may be said, like the traveller in the fable, to blow hot and cold upon them with the same breath, whose expressions pinch like the frost, and whose charity drops like the dew I say, it is an observation of his, that the cant of biography is growing so broad and common-place, and mankind are so ambitious of generalising their conduct to one common standard of depravity, that we shall soon buy ready-made lives in our shops, as the village landlord first purchases a human likeness, and then determines between Admiral Keppel and the Emperor of Germany. I hardly think I should outrage this remark of my excellent friend, if I were to carry it a little further, and observe that even the brute creation might be comprehended in this general extension and simplification of the biographical plan. The heads and particulars of the life of an ass maintain a sort of parallelism with that of a modern adventurer, and might run as follows: How he was born in an obscure village in Yorkshire, and was christened Jack. How his youth was spent in play, &c. How he became very wild, as he came to years of discretion. How he formed some bad connections, and saw many troubles. How he ran away with a young gipsy-wench. How he came up to London, and found many rich relations. How he forsook the gipsy-wench, and carried about a market-girl to all the public places. How he made a great noise, and kicked up a great dust. How he took part in many dirty occupations. How successful he was in haranguing the populace, and commanding attention. How he was loaded with more employment than he could bear. How he raised his hopes to the woolsack. How he was promised a stall for his brother, and the Order of the Thistle for himself; and how he was turned out of place without any provision. How he was bribed to hold his tongue by a lady in the straw. How he lay in clover for three years. How he grew very amorous, and how the queen's zebra was talked of. How he was bought and sold by people in power. How he put on a lion's skin, and grew very for, midable. How he turned tail, on being pulled by the ears. How he sat upon thorns. How he was turned out of place, fell again into obscurity, died, and left all he possessed among his natural children. I shall conclude my paper of to-day with a little conversation in the shades below, between a modern biographer and a kennel-scraper, in imitation of Mr. Fontenelle's fourth dialogue, between Anacreon and Aristotle. BIOGRAPHER. I never should have imagined that a vile kennelscraper could have the effrontery to compare his occupation on earth to the dignified task of the biographer. KENNEL-SCRAPER. You make a great bustle about the dignity of a biographer; but I should be glad to be informed on what circumstance, except the Greek origin of your name, you can found your claim to superiority. BIOGRAPHER. I desire, sir, first of all, to know what pretensions your office on earth has given you to challenge an equal honour with a man who has employed his talents for the entertainment and instruction of mankind. KENNEL-SCRAPER. The point of utility I can very boldly assert; and I see no reason to blush in your presence, if the dignity of our trades be made the question. I think, sir, with submission, that my old nails and broken horse-shoes are discoveries as valuable to the world, as those scraps and shreds of immorality, impertinence, and prostitution, you were so earnestly employed in collecting. Is it not of more consequence to the community that one industrious man gets his bread in peace, than that fifty names and follies should be supported by the pains of the biographer? And as to dignity, I maintain that to rake up the trash and rubbish of a noisy fellow's history, and wait upon his memory backwards and forwards, from the gaming-house to the brothel, is the most degrading office in the world; and sooner than have any hand in such a business, I would have them both immersed a whole day in the most pestilential abyss in his majesty's three dominions. BIOGRAPHER. You make no distinctions between the different orders and degrees in which biographers may be classed. Your intellect is as muddy as your occupation. You will not surely rank yourself with Plutarch, and with geniuses of a similar order in our own country. KENNEL-SCRAPER. Pardon me, sir; my business was always to separate and select. I wish to be understood to speak only of the latest biographers. I have a very proper respect for those great men to whom you allude; and I observe that they have enough for themselves, to keep as distant from you as possible; for in yonder meadow, covered with the bloom of the amaranth, and intersected with amber streams, I can discern the venerable Plutarch, surrounded by a set of heroes and philosophers, who strive with each other in their testimonies of gratitude and esteem. N° 12. TUESDAY, APRIL 17. Est mollis flamma medullas Interea, et tacitum vivit sub pectore vulmus. A gentle fire she feeds within her veins, VIRGIL. DRYDEN. My good-natured readers will pardon me if sometimes I discover the vanity of a grey-headed man in speaking of these papers, which I consider in a manner as my grandchildren. When I take my usual saunter in our little filbert-walk, before our old lady summons me to breakfast, I am tempted, I own, to make a comparison between the gradual opening of my plan in these essays, and the lively progress of vegetation at this cherishing time of the year. The same kindling influence which unfolds the bud, and spreads out the blossom, seems also to impart a sort of growth to my fancy, and to fructify within me every germ of thought, of feeling, and of affeetion. Now turning from the wintry signs, the Sun And buds that yet the blast of Eurus fear Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe the year; |