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he had laid down to me the impossibility of such an event, as the affairs of Europe now stand.

This Paper I design for the particular Benefit of those worthy Citizens who live more in a Coffee-house than in their 5 Shops, and whose thoughts are so taken up with the Affairs of the Allies, that they forget their Customers.

N° 158. Thursday, April 13.

Faciunt næ intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant.

1710.

Ter.

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From my own Apartment, April 12.

Tom Folio is a Broker in learning, employed to get together good Editions, and stock the Libraries of great men. There is not a Sale of books begins till Tom Folio is seen at the door. There is not an Auction where his name is not heard, and that too in the very nick of time, in the critical moment, before the last decisive stroke of the hammer. There is not a Subscription goes forward, in which Tom is not privy to the first rough draught of the Proposals; nor a Catalogue printed, that doth 15 not come to him wet from the Press. He is an universal scholar, so far as the Title-page of all Authors, knows the Manuscripts in which they were discovered, the Editions through which they have passed, with the praises or censures which they have received from the several members of the learned world. He has a greater esteem for Aldus and Elzevir, than for Virgil and Horace. If you talk of Herodotus, he breaks out into a Panegyrick upon Harry Stephens. He thinks he gives you an account of an Author, when he tells the Subject he treats of, the Name of the Editor, and the Year in which it was printed. 25 Or if you draw him into further particulars, he cries up the goodness of the Paper, extols the diligence of the Corrector,

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and is transported with the beauty of the Letter. This he looks upon to be sound Learning and substantial Criticism. As for those who talk of the Fineness of style, and the Justness of thought, or describe the Brightness of any particular passages; nay, though they write themselves in the Genius and Spirit of the Author they admire, Tom looks upon them as men of superficial learning, and flashy parts.

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I had yesterday morning a visit from this learned Idiot, (for that is the light in which I consider every Pedant) when I discovered in him some little touches of the Coxcomb, which I had not before observed. Being very full of the figure which he makes in the Republick of Letters, and wonderfully satisfied with his great stock of knowledge, he gave me broad intimations, that he did not believe in all points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated to me a thought of a certain 15 Author upon a passage of Virgil's account of the dead, which I made the subject of a late paper. This thought hath taken very much among men of Tom's pitch and understanding, though universally exploded by all that know how to construe Virgil, or have any relish of Antiquity. Not to trouble my Reader with it, I found upon the whole, that Tom did not believe a future state of Rewards and Punishments, because Eneas, at his leaving the Empire of the dead, passed through the gate of Ivory, and not through that of Horn. Knowing that Tom had not sense enough to give up an opinion which he had once received, that he might avoid wrangling, I told him, that Virgil possibly had his oversights as well as another Author. Ah! Mr. Bickerstaffe, says he, you would have another opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel Heinsius's Edition. I have perused him my self several times in that 30 Edition, continued he; and after the strictest and most malicious examination, could find but two faults in him: One of them is in the Eneid, where there are two Comma's instead of a Parenthesis; and another in the third Georgick, where you

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may find a Semicolon turned upside down. Perhaps, said I, these were not Virgil's thoughts, but those of the Transcriber. I do not design it, says Tom, as a reflection on Virgil: On the contrary, I know that all the Manuscripts reclaim against such a Punctuation. Oh! Mr. Bickerstaffe, says he, what would a man give to see one Simile of Virgil writ in his own hand? I asked him which was the Simile he meant ; but was answered, Any Simile in Virgil. He then told me all the secret history in the Common-wealth of learning; of modern pieces that had the names of ancient Authors annexed to them; of all the books that were now writing or printing in the several parts of Europe; of many amendments which are made, and not yet published; and a thousand other particulars, which I would not have my memory burthened with for a Vatican.

At length, being fully perswaded that I thoroughly admired him, and looked upon him as a prodigy of learning, he took his leave. I know several of Tom's Class who are professed admirers of Tasso without understanding a word of Italian; and one in particular, that carries a Pastor-fido in his pocket, in which I am sure he is acquainted with no other beauty but the Clearness of the character.

There is another kind of Pedant, who, with all Tom Folio's impertinencies, hath greater superstructures and embellishments of Greek and Latin, and is still more insupportable than the 25 other, in the same degree as he is more learned. Of this kind very often are Editors, Commentators, Interpreters, Scholiasts, and Criticks; and in short, all men of deep learning without common sense. These persons set a greater value on themselves for having found out the meaning of a passage in Greek, than upon the Author for having written it; nay, will allow the passage it self not to have any beauty in it, at the same time that they would be considered as the greatest men of the age for having interpreted it. They will look with contempt upon the most beautiful Poems that have been composed by any of their

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Contemporaries; but will lock themselves up in their studies for a twelvemonth together, to correct, publish, and expound, such trifles of Antiquity as a modern Author would be contemned for. Men of the strictest morals, severest lives, and the gravest professions, will write Volumes upon an idle Sonnet that is originally in Greek or Latin; give Editions of the most immoral Authors, and spin out whole pages upon the various readings of a lewd expression. All that can be said in excuse for them, is, that their works sufficiently show they have no taste of their Authors; and that what they do in this kind, is out of their great learning, and not out of any levity or lasciviousness of temper.

A Pedant of this nature is wonderfully well described in six lines of Boileau, with which I shall conclude his character:

Un Pédant enyvré de sa vaine science,
Tout herissé de Grec, tout bouffi d'arrogance,
Et qui de mille Auteurs retenus mot pour mot,
Dans sa tête entassez n'a souvent fait qu'un Sot,
Croit qu'un Livre fait tout, et que sans Aristote
La Raison ne voit goute, et le bon Sens radote.

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N° 163. Thursday, April 25. 1710.

Idem inficeto est inficetior rure

Simul poemata attigit; neque idem unquam
Equè est beatus, ac poema cum scribit:

Tam gaudet in se, tamque se ipse miratur.
Nimirum idem omnes fallimur; neque est quisquam
Quem non in aliqua re videre Suffenum

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I yesterday came hither about two hours before the Company generally make their appearance, with a design to read over all the Newspapers; but upon my sitting down, I was accosted by Ned Softly, who saw me from a corner in the 5 other end of the room, where I found he had been writing

something. Mr. Bickerstaffe, says he, I observe by a late paper of yours, that you and I are just of a humour; for you must know, of all impertinencies, there is nothing which I so much hate as News. I never read a Gazette in my life; and IO never trouble my head about our Armies, whether they win or lose, or in what part of the world they lie encamped. Without giving me time to reply, he drew a Paper of Verses out of his pocket, telling me, that he had something which would entertain me more agreeably, and that he would desire my 15 judgment upon every line, for that we had time enough before us till the Company came in.

Ned Softly is a very pretty Poet, and a great admirer of easie lines. Waller is his favourite: And as that admirable writer has the best and worst verses of any among our English 20 Poets, Ned Softly has got all the bad ones without book, which he repeats upon occasion, to show his reading, and garnish his conversation. Ned is indeed a true English Reader, incapable of relishing the great and masterly strokes of this art; but

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