"Cator has bewitched the whole nation. It pitied my very heart to think, that a man of my master's under"standing and great scholarship, who, as the child told "me, had a book of his own in print, should talk so "outrageously. Upon this, I went and laid out a groat "for a horseshoe, which is at this time nailed on the "threshold of his door; but I don't find my master is "at all the better for it; he perpetually starts and runs "to the window, when any one knocks, crying out, "'Sdeath! a messenger from the French king! I "shall die in the Bastille.'" Having said this, the old woman presented me with a vial of his urine; upon examination of which, I perceived the whole temperament of his body to be exceeding hot. I therefore instantly took my cane and my beaver, and repaired to the place where he dwelt. When I came to his lodgings near Charing-cross, up three pair of stairs (which I should not have published in this manner, but that this lunatick conceals the place of his residence on purpose to prevent the good offices of those charitable friends and physicians, who might attempt his cure) when I came into the room, I found this unfortunate gentleman seated on his bed, with Mr. Bernard Lintot bookseller on the one side of him, and a grave elderly gentleman on the other, who, as I have since learned, calls himself a grammarian; the latitude of whose countenance was not a little eclipsed by the fullness of his peruke. As I am a black lean man, of a pale visage, and hang my clothes on somewhat slovenly, I no sooner went in, but he frowned upon me, and cried out with violence, "'Sdeath, a Frenchman! I am be"trayed to the tyrant! who could have thought the queen queen would have delivered me up to France "in this treaty, and least of all that you, my friends, would have been in a conspiracy against "me?" "Sir," said I," here is neither plot nor "conspiracy, but for your advantage. The recovery "of your senses requires my attendance, and your "friends sent for me on no other account." I then took a particular survey of his person, and the furniture and disposition of his apartment. His aspect was furious; his eyes were rather fiery than lively, which he rolled about in an uncommon manner. He often opened his mouth, as if he would have uttered some matter of importance, but the sound seemed lost inwardly. His beard was grown, which they told me he would not suffer to be shaved; believing the modern dramatick poets had corrupted all the barbers in the town to take the first opportunity of cutting his throat. His eyebrows were gray, long, and grown together, which he knit with indignation, when any thing was spoken; insomuch that he seemed not to have smoothed his forehead for many years. His flannel nightcap, which was exceedingly begrimed with sweat and dirt, hung upon his left ear; the flap of his breeches dangled between his legs, and the rolls of his stockings fell down to his ankles. I observed his room was hung with old tapestry, which had several holes in it, caused, as the old woman informed me, by his having cut out of it the heads of divers tyrants, the fierceness of whose visages had much provoked him. On all sides of his room were pinned a great many sheets of a tragedy, called Cato, with notes on the margin with his own hand. The words ABSURD, MONSTROUS, EXECRABLE, were every where written in such large characters, that I could read them without my spectacles. By the fireside lay three-farthingsworth of small coal in a Spectator, and behind the door, huge heaps of papers of the same title, which his nurse informed me she had conveyed thither out of his sight, believing they were books of the black art; for her master never read in them, but he was either quite moped, or in raving fits. There was nothing neat in the whole room, except some books on his shelves, very well bound and gilded, whose names I had never before heard of, nor I believe were any where else to be found; such as Gibraltar, a comedy; Remarks on Prince Arthur; The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry; An Essay on Publick Spirit. The only one I had any knowledge of, was, a Paradise Lost, interleaved. The whole floor was covered with manuscripts, as thick as a pastry-cook's shop on a Christmas eve. On his table were some ends of verse and of candles; a gallipot of ink with a yellow pen in it, and a pot of half-dead ale covered with a Longinus. As I was casting my eyes round on all this odd furniture with some earnestness and astonishment, and in a profound silence, I was on a sudden surprised to hear the man speak in the following manner: "Beware, doctor, that it fare not with you as "with your predecessor the famous Hippocrates, "whom the mistaken citizens of Abdera sent for in "this very manner, to cure the philosopher Demo"critus; he returned full of admiration at the wis"dom of that person whom he supposed a lunatick. Behold, doctor, it was thus Aristotle himself, and "all the great ancients, spent their days and nights, wrapt up in criticism, and beset all around with "their own writings. As for me, whom you see in "the same manner, be assured I have none other "disease, than a swelling in my legs, whereof I "say no more, since your art may farther certify "you." I thereupon seated myself upon his bedside, and placing my patient on my right hand, to judge the better in what he affirmed of his legs, felt his pulse. For it is Hippocrates's maxim, that if the pulse have a dead motion, with some unequal beatings it is a symptom of a sciatica, or a swelling in the thigh or leg; in which assertion of his, this pulse confirmed me. I began now to be in hopes, that his case had been misrepresented, and that he was not so far gone, but some timely medicines might recover him. I therefore proceeded to the proper queries, which, with the answers made to me, I shall set down in form of a dialogue, in the very words they were spoken, because I would not omit the least circumstance in this narrative; and I call my conscience to witness, as if upon oath, that I shall tell the truth, without addition or diminution. DR. Pray, sir, how did you contract this swelling? DENN. By a criticism. DR. A criticism! that's a distemper I never read of in Galen. DENN. 'Sdeath, sir, a distemper! It is no distemper, but a noble art. I have sat fourteen hours a day at it and are you a doctor, and don't know there's a communication between the legs and the brain? DR. What made you sit so many hours, sir? DR' DR. Sir, I speak of your distemper; what gave you this tumour ? DENN. Cato, Cato, Cato *. OLD WOм. For God's sake, doctor, name not this evil spirit; 'tis the whole cause of his madness: alas, poor master's just falling into his fits! Mr. LINTOT. Fits! Z- may well have swellings in his legs, that sits writing fourteen hours in a day. He got this by the Remarks. DR. The Remarks! what are those? DENN. 'Sdeath! have you never read my Remarks? I will be damned, if this dog Lintot ever published my advertisements. Mr. LINTOT. Z-! I published advertisement upon advertisement; and if the book be not read, it is none of my fault, but his that made it. By G-, as much has been done for the book, as could be done for any book in Christendom. DR. We do not talk of books, sir; I fear those are the fuel, that feed his delirium; mention them no more. You do very ill to promote this dis course. I desire a word in private with this other gentleman, who seems a grave and sensible man: I suppose, sir, you are his apothecary. GENT. Sir, I am his friend. DR. I doubt it not. What regimen have you observed, since he has been under your care? You remember, I suppose, the passage of Celsus, which says, if the patient on the third day have an interval, suspend the medicaments at night? Let fumigations * Remarks on Cato, published by Mr. D. in the year 1712. be |