NUMB. XXIX. Thursday, August 15, 1754.

Gaudent fcribentes, et se venerantur.

HOR.

From Self each fcribbler adoration draws,
And gathers incenfe from his own applause.

THA

HAT there is a vanity inherent in every author must be confeffed, whatever pains they may take to conceal it from the reft of mankind. For my own part, I readily acknowledge, that I am always wonderfully delighted with my own productions. I fnatch up the favourite sheets wet from the prefs, and devour every fyllable; not the least particle escapes my notice; and I dwell with admiration on the beauties of an expreffive and or emphatical the. If every reader was to pay the same attention to my works, or peruse them with half the fatisfaction, Mr. Town might be fairly be pronounced the greatest author of the age. But I am afraid I shall scarce find another, who will fo heartily join in the good opinion I have conceived of myfelf; and many a choice fentiment, many a culled expreffion, which I have repeated to myself over and over again with extafy, has by others perhaps been

as

as haftily hurried over, as any common article in a newss-paper.

An author, who is ever big with the idea of his own importance, will gather matter for felfflattery from the most trivial circumftances. On the mornings of publication I have sometimes made it my business to go round the coffeehouses, in order to receive whatever incense of praise I could collect from the approbation of my readers. My heart you may imagine has bounded with joy, when I have heard the room echo with calling for the CONNOISSEUR: but how has it funk again, when I have found the fame tokens of esteem fhewn to a brother writer! I could have hugged any honeft fellow, that has chuckled over my performances, and pointed out my good things; but I have been no less chagrined, when I have feen a coxcomb coolly take up my paper, fquint over the first page, and throw it down again with all the indifference imaginable: though, indeed, I have never failed within myself to pronounce of fuch a perfon, that he is dull, ignorant and illiterate. I once happened to be feated in the next box to two noted critics, who were looking over the file of my papers, and feemed particularly pleased with several parts of them. I immediately conceived a very high opi

nion of their tafte and judgment: I remarked with fingular fatisfaction the effect, which my wit and humour had on their countenances; and as they turned over the pages, I imagined I could point out the very paffages, which provoked them frequently to fmile, and fometimes to burst into a loud laugh. As foon as they were gone, I feized the file; when lo! to my great mortification, I found they had been reading, not my own admirable works, but the lucubrations of a brother effayist.

My vanity has often prompted me to wish, that I could accompany my papers, wherefoever they are circulated. I flatter myself, I fhould then be introduced to the politeft men of quality, and admitted into the closets of our finest ladies. This confideration would doubtless make me vain of myfelf: but my pride would be foon checked by reflecting further, that were I obliged to follow my papers afterwards through all their travels and mutations, I fhould certainly undergo the fhame of feeing many of them prostituted to the vileft purposes. If in one place I might be pleased to find them the entertainment of the tea-table, in another I fhould be no lefs vexed to see them degraded to the base office of sticking up candles. Such is the fatality attending thefe loose sheets,

that

that though at their first publication they may be thought as precious as the Sibyl's leaves, the next moment they may be thrown afide as no better than a last year's almanack.

EVER fince my first appearance in a sheet and half, I have felt great uneafinefs on account of the rude treatment which my works have been fubject to in their prefent form. I turned off my printer for a very heinous affront offered to my delicacy, having detected some foul proofs of my firft numbers lodged in a very unfeemly place; and I almost came to an open rupture with my publisher, because his wife had converted a fupernumerary half-sheet into a thread-paper. A lady, whofe fenfe and beauty I had always admired, forfeited my efteem at once, by cutting out a pattern for a cap from one of my papers; and a young fellow, who had spoken very handfomely of one of my effays, entirely loft the good opinion I had conceived of him, by defiling the blank margin with a filthy lift of foul fhirts and dirty ftockings. The repeated abuses of illiterate bakers, paftry-cooks, and chandlers, I know I am condemned to fuffer in common with other mortal writers. It was ever their privilege to prey indifcriminately on all authors good or bad: and as politicians, wits, free-thinkers, and divines," may have their dust mingled in the same piece of

ground, fo may their works be jumbled together in the lining of the fame trunk or band-box.

ONE inftance may indeed be brought, in which I am used to hail as a lucky omen the damages, that my papers appear to have sustained in their outward form and complexion. With what raptures have I traced the progrefs of my fame, while I have contemplated my numbers in the public coffee-houfes ftrung upon a file, and fwelling gradually into a little volume! By the appearance which they make, when thus collected, I have often judged of the reception they have fingly met with from their readers: I have confidered every fpeck of dirt as a mark of reputation, and have affumed to myfelf applaufe from the fpilling of coffee, or the print of a greafy thumb. In a word, I look upon each paper, when torn, and fullied by frequent handling, as an old foldier battered in the service, and covered with honourable scars.

I WAS led into this train of thought by an accident, which happened to me the other evening, as I was walking in fome fields near the town. As I went along, my curiofity tempted me to examine the materials, of which feveral paper Kites were made up; from whence I had fufficient room to moralize on the ill fate of authors. On

one