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devices fall upon his own head, which is presently laid by the ears in the pillory, where his lugs are set on the tenters, and suffer wrongfully for the fault of his fingers, unless holding his pen be sufficient to render them guilty as receivers. If he he towards the law, he only does the summersault over the bar, and is forbidden all other practice during life, that he may apply himself wholly to his own way, in which his abilities are capable to do his country better serviee than in any other. He is the devil's amanuensis, that writes what he dictates, and draws up his deeds of darkness. Is master of the noble science of offence and defence, a mangrel knight-errant, that is always upon adventures. His calling is to call those to account, that he thinks have more money, and less to shew for their valour than himself. These are his tributaries, and when he is out of repair, he demands reparation of them. His skill consists in the prudent conduct of his quarrels, that he may not be drawn to fight the enemy but upon advantages. He is all for light skirmishes and pickeering, but cares not to engage his whole body, but where he is sure to come off. He is an exact judge of honour, and can hit the very mathematic line between valour and cowardice. He gets more by treaties than fights, as the French are said to have done by the English. When he finds himself overpower'd he draws up his forces as wide in the front as he can, though but three deer, and so faces the enemy, while he draws off in safety, though sometimes with the loss of his baggage, that is his honour. He is as often employed as a herald, to proclaim war, defy the enemy, and offer battle, in which desperate service he behaves himself with punctual fomality, and is secured in his person by the law of nations. He is py-powder of all quarrels, affronts, and misprisions of affronts, rencounters, rants, assaults, and batteries, and invasions by kick, cudgel, or the lye, that fall out among the sons of Priam, the brethren of the hilt and scabbard, that have taken the croysade upon them to fight against the infidel, that will not trust; and he determines whether they are actionable, and will bear a duel, or not. He never surrenders without flying colours, and bullet in mouth. He professes valour but to put it off, and keeps none for his own use, as doctors never take physic, nor lawyers go to law. When he is engag’d in a quarrel, he talks and looks as hig as he can, as dogs, when they fall out, set up the bristles of their backs, to seem taller than they are. It is safer for a man to venture his life than his conversation

him. Is a wild Arab, that lives by robbing of small caravans, and has no way of living but the king's highway. Aristotle held him to be but a kind of huntsman; but our sages of the law account him rather a beast of prey, and will not allow his game to be legal by the forest law. His chief care is to be well mounted, and, when he is taken, the law takes care he should be so still, while he lives. His business is to break the laws of the land, for which the hangman breaks his neck, and there's an end of the controversie. He fears nothing, under the gallows, more than his own face, and therefore when he does his work conveys it ought of sight, that it may not rise up in judgment, and give evidence against him at the sessions. His trade is to take purses



and evil courses, and when he is taken himself, the laws take as evil a course with him. He takes place of all other thieves as the most heroical, and one that comes nearest to the old knights errant, though he is really one of the basest, that never ventures but upon surprizal, and where he is sure of the advantage. He lives like a Tartar always in motion, and the inns upon the road are his hoordes, where he reposes for a while, and spends his time and money, when he is out of action. These are his close confederates and allies, though the common interest of both will not permit it to be known. He is more destructive to a grasier than the murrain, and as terrible as the Huon-cry to himself. When he dispatches his business between sun and sun he invades a whole county, and like the long Parliament robs by representative. He receives orders from his superior officer the seller, that sets him on work and others to pay him for it. He calls concealing what he takes from his comrades sinking, which they account a great want of integrity, and when he is discovered he loses the reputation of an honest and just man with them for ever after. After he has rov'd up and down too long he is at last set himself, and convey'd to the jail, the only place of his residence, where he is provided of a hole to put his head in, and gather'd to his fathers in a faggot cart.


Is the greatest stranger in his own house of all that come to it, for like an Italian cardinal, he resigns up the whole command of himself and his family to all that visit him. He keeps open house for all comers to entertain himself. His sign and he have one and the same employment, to invite and draw in guests, and what the one does by dumb shew without doors the other interprets within. He bids a man welcome to his own table, and invites him with hearty kindness and all freedom to treat himself. There is no ability so requisite in him as that of drinking, in which the whole manage of his affairs consists, and the larger his talent is that way the more he thrives in his trade: for his materials cost him nothing, and he is paid for his pains, beside the many opportunities he lights on to cheat and misreckon, and turn and wind the business of his cellar with a quicker trade. His hostler is both host and chamberlayn the horses; and his province is to cheat and misreckon them in their meat, as the other does their masters in their drink. He is like the old philosopher or statesman choose ye whether, that was never less at home than when he was at home, that is when he had fewest guests, for being nothing of himself, the more he is of that, the less he is of any thing else. He is like the Catholic church, to which all men are welcome for their money, and nobody without it. He is the only true instance of that old saying-nusquam est qui ubique est, for by being the same to all people that come from all places, he is nobody himself, and of no place. He is a highwayman, for he lives upon it, but in a regular way, yet holds intelligence with all interlopers, and if there were no more that rob’d upon the king's highway it were well for the nation. He pays nothing for his lodging, that brings a horse into his stall, as rooks pay nothing that bring chouses to ordinaries, for the poor dumb creature pays for all.


Is a moss- trooping poetaster, for they seldom go alone, whose occupation is to rob any that lights in his way of his reputation, if he has any to lose. Common fame and detraction are his setters, and as those describe persons to him he falls upon them ; but, as he is for the most part misinformed, he often comes off with the worst, and, if he did not know how to conceal himself would suffer severely for doing nothing. He is a western-pug-poet, that has something to say to every one he meets, and there go as many of them to a libel, as there do slaves to an oar. He has just so much learning as to tell the first letter of a man's name, but can go no further, and therefore makes a virtue of necessity, and by selling all makes it pass for wit. His muse is a kind of owl, that preys in the dark, and dares not shew her face by day, a bulker that plies by owl-light, and he dares not own her for fear of beating hemp, or being beaten and kick'd down stairs. He is a jack pudding satyr, that has something to say to all that come near him, and has no more respect of persons than a Quaker. His muse is of the same kind of breed with his that rimes in taverns, but not altogether so fluent, nor by much so generous and authentic as a ballad-maker's; for his works will never become so classic as to be receiv'd into a sieve, nor published into the street to a courtly new tune. He loves his little tiny wit much better than his friend or himself; for he will venture a whipping in earnest rather than spare another man in jest. He is like a witch that makes pictures according to his own fancy, and calls them by the names of those, whom he would willingly do a mischief to if he could, without their knowing from whence it comes. He hears himself often called rascal and villain to his face, but believes himself unconcerned, because having abus’d men behind their backs he thinks he is only liable in justice to a punishment of the same nature.

A DETRACTOR Is a briar, that lays hold on every thing, that comes within its reach, and will, if it can, tear off something that it is never the better for, or tear it self in pieces. He has no way to make himself any thing but that of a leveller, by bringing down other men to an equality with himself, which he does his unchristian endeavour upon all occasions to perform ; and, like a needy thief, cares not how great a loss of credit he puts another man to, so he can make but ever so little of it to himself. He makes his own construction, that is the worst he can, of every man's actions; and when any thing appears doubtful, the worst sense always with him takes place of the better. He deals pretty fairly in one thing, and that is he never attempts to rob any man of his reputation, that has not much to lose, and can best spare it: as for those who have none they are of his own rank, and he lets them pass freely. When he has depriv'd a man of his good name, he knows not what to do with it, like one that stcals writings which he can claim nothing by. He is a kind of common crier; for his business is to cry down a man's reputation, till he believes it is lost; and yet if he can but produce marks to the cryer that it is his, he shall have it again with all submission, otherwise he has the law on his side and takes it for his own. His general design is to make as much of himself as he can, and as little as he can of another man, and by comparing both together to render himself something: but as all comparisons and emulations are ever made by inferiors on the wrong side, after all his industry of himself and others he is but where he was before, unless he be worse, that is more contemptible. For as nothing enables the poor to endure their wants with greater patience than finding fault and railing at the rich ; so nothing supports him more in his ignorance and obscurity than detracting from those, that either deserve more, or are believed do so than himself.

A CONJURER. There is nothing that the general ignorance of mankind takes to, but there is some cheat or other always applies to it, especially when. there is any thing to be gain'd, and where that amounts to little they will rather play at small game than sit out. Hence some cunning impostors observing that the generality of mankind, like beasts, do soon arrive to their height, and never outgrow the customs of their childhood, (which being for the most part brought up among all women, and imbued with stories of spirits and the Devil, that stick by them ever after) have found out this horrid way of cheat, to abuse their weakness and credulity. The histories of Friar Bacon, Doctor Faustus, and others of that nature are canonical enough to make them believe, that there is such a thing as the black-art, (mistaking negromancy for necromancy) and those that profess it cunning 'men. These are all that is left of the Devil's oracles, that give answers to. those that come to consult him, not as their forefathers did by being inspir'd and possest, but as if they possess’d the Devil himself, and had him perfectly at command: for if they were not intrench'd in their circles, he would serve them as they did Chaucer's Sümner for daring to cite him to appear. He is the desperatest of all impostors next a hypocrite; for the one makes God and the other the Devil a party in all his practices. He calls himself a magician, and derives himself from the Persian magi, when the story of him who was chosen emperour by the neighing of his horse, and him that continued himself so by concealing the loss of his ears (which is all we know of them) proves clearly, that they were but cheats and impostors. He keeps the rabble in very great awe, who are persuaded. he can do very strange things, which they are wonderfully delighted to hear of, and had rather believe, than try or disprove.

A TENNIS-PLAYER Is a very civil gentleman, that never keeps a racket, but a racket keeps him. He is always striking himself good or bad luck, and'gains, or spends what he has with the sweat of his brows, and makes, or undoes himself with the labour of his hands. He is a great critick, of profound judgment in a ball, and can tell by seeing it fly where to have it at the rebound, as the Frenchman did where the late comet would be three months after. He gains more by losing than by winning; for when he makes a confederate match, which is commonly for some very great sum of money, he allows 'a fortnight or three weeks time, to spread the news abroad, that the gulls may have notice to provide their money, and be ready against the day. When that comes, he has an officer with an unknown face, that appears with his pockets full of gold, that lays against him, and takes all bets that are

laid on his hand. When that is done the set is up; for he has nothing to do but to dissemble losing, and share the bets with his confederate, between whom and him the match goes for nothing. He strips himself of his eloaths first, and then of his money, and,

when he has done his business is rub'd like a Presbyterian Holder-forth, until he is a clean gentleman. This is supposing him a gamester for his pleasure, that neither uses, nor knows tricks, but is to lose by his place. When he misses his stroke he swears, and curses the ball, as if it understood him, and would have a care to do so no more; and in that, indeed, he makes it plain, that the thing has as much reason as himself. The marker is register of the court, and more righteous than the register of a court of justice; for he crys what he sets down, and cannot commit iniquity, but with a forked chalk.


CAPTAIN Head is as extraordinary an equestrian as Captain Cochrane is a pedestrian. The expense of keeping the nether man in decent order, of which there are such grievous complaints in Captain Cochrane's travels, would have been absolutely ruinous to the galloping Captain Head, had he not at last resorted to that natural clothing of the limbs, which, by a wise provision in case of any abrasure, possesses the faculty of self-redintegration. “I cannot express," says he, “ the delightful feeling of freedom and independence which one enjoys in galloping without clothes on a horse, without a saddle.” Captain Head, after being landed at Buenos Ayres, took to galloping across the continent of America; he would start from the Atlantic and gallop to the Pacific, and then setting out from the Pacific, he would re-arrive in a gallop at the Atlantic. * Change" horses “ and back again,” was the perpetual figure of his country or continental dance. Six thousand miles did the captain gallop, rapid and rough, as he says, and so far from the fatigue injuring him, he declares that he rode « till he felt that no exertion could kill him.” Though the pace of the Pampas is an impetuous gallop, Captain Head did not ride so fast as to prevent him from taking notes on the back of his horse—“rough notes” of course, but still very easy to read. His style is not particularly smooth—we fancy we can perceive the motion of the horse ; but, nevertheless, the matter is not much injured by the tolutation of the writer. It is true that the sketches are hasty, but they are striking—the eye knew the points for selection, and has almost invariably fixed upon the objects worth looking at for themselves, and which are characteristic of the scene to be described. These Rough Notes are a most agreeable specimen of the lighter kind of travels. In a small volume we cannot have, neither do we want, much scientific or statistical detail-nor much political or historical discussion: we are glad to find lively descriptions of manners, scenery, costume, and in short the general appearances of man and of nature. All this we have and more, and that too done in a hearty

* Rough Notes, taken during some rapid Journies across the Pampas, and among the Andes. By Captain F. B. Head, London, Murray, 1826. 12mo.

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