I shall just add a few words that may not be altogether unappropriate to the present subject. I shall speak of that management of theatres which has nearly destroyed the desire of many writers to produce pieces, from the extreme difficulty of notice from, or access to, a manager, It is the habit of those gentlemen to ask authors who have produced pieces, (and perhaps some very flimsy ones,) to give them something for the season; and the consequence is, that the favourite play writer is presently delivered of a lump of improbability, which he licks into a little shape, and carries in his pocket to the stage door, where any thing from Mr. Addle is received: perhaps the thing may be damned, and most likely it ought. The excuse of a manager is, that it is impossible to read all the pieces that are sent to a theatre; however, the fact is, that the indolent abilities of those gentlemen will not allow them to read and judge the work of a stranger. I recollect an anecdote of an author, who, some time ago, wrote a comedy which he thought would be acceptable. It was sent in the usual way to the theatre, and it came back with the usual negative. The author did not despair; he happened to know a lady of high fashion who knew the manager; she promised to patronize the thing, and, what is somewhat uncommon among those people, kept her promise. The manager read, and approved, and the author received a letter to see him. The manager suggested only a few alterations, and the characters were cast for the performers. Now it happened, in conversation, that the author candidly told the manager, that the

same piece had been sent to him before, and rejected; the answer was-" Why, sir, we cannot read every thing, unless we know the author, or have it recommended to us." I would, however, wish to teach managers to read. It is a duty they owe the public, and a matter of business to judge of every thing sent them. Merit might then find an easier access, and the public better pieces.

It is remarkable that the same analogy of weak judgment pervades in the highest and lowest offices of the kingdom; genius and merit were never more obscured than in the present times; the brilliancy of the nation is lost, and a like poverty may be observed of talent and taste. It is true, that authors live much better than they did; that is, they receive money regularly from booksellers, like law stationers hackney writers, at so much a sheet; and, like them, the more they can write in a day the better; the matter does not so much signify, for one thing can be just as well subscribed off as another in these days: yet they remain poor authors; only their poverty now appears through their works, instead of through the medium of a thread-bare coat. When will the quackery so much practised have its end? When will genius stand no more in need of the assistances of literary fraud to recommend it? This subject, by a very natural chain of ideas, brings to my recollection the real merit of the much neglected Dibd-n, who has entertained us with poetry full of spirit, character, moral, and truth; until spirit, character, moral, and truth have palled upon the public appetite. I attribute this torpidity (I had nearly

said stupidity) of the town to a disease, otherwise it could not triumph so long over the constitution of the British understanding. In a former Number, I hinted at the desertion of the town from the temple of genius and taste, where the above author has so long presided. If it may have inclined some to think of the injustice which may be done to merit by leaving it a l'abandon after good service in the cause of morals, I shall be satisfied; for I do not wish to carp at the public generosity; it is manifested on many occasions. I only take the part of a brother who has deserved. well of society; because he has discriminated just and noble sentiments of charity, love, loyalty, and truth, and given to the common mind humane dispositions that will long be found to act upon society.

Z.

N. B. A sage and learned student in optimism, having discovered, after a painful investigation of fifty years, that" the best of all worlds" is no other than the world of the Moon; hereby recommends Mons. Garnerin, and all other experienced aeronauts, to commence a voyage thither with all possible dispatch; assuring them, that when they arrive in the sphere of the moon's attraction, the rich country of El Dorado will lie directly before them, and the Man in the Moon will be ready to be their interpreter.

PANGLOSS.

THE

MAN IN THE MOON.

"He is fool, and ever shall,

"Who writes his name against a wall."

NUMBER XX.

IT

Ꭲ may easily be discovered in what the good sense of the above old saying consists. It is most probably meant to mark the folly of people exposing themselves and their affairs unnecessarily. An appeal to the public is, perhaps, the very worst of all appeals; every man is in that case an arbitrator; and so numerous, so fanciful, and so opiniated are their awards, that there is no getting at a true decision.

The above observations occur from recent matters which have been laid before the board of the public attention. The first in the affair of a distinguished personage, of whose military merits and courage no one ever doubted; and yet this person, exalted as he was, inconsiderately begged of a parcel of ignoramuses, who knew nothing of the matter, that merit and courage might be allowed him; but it is reasonable to think that this illustrious character, whose accomplished mind and manners are, perhaps, unequalled, wished to shew forth to the public, in the present dearth of genius, some polished epistolary pro

X

ductions, with the answers; not as autographs to shew the comparison of hands, but as specimens to mark the comparison of minds, and the differences of style; the pure, the dull, the clear, and the obscure; besides the information it gave to the public of the superiority of great men's writings over the epistola obscurorum virorum.

Another instance of useless and unnecessary publicity is in the defence of the life and character of a deceased nobleman, whose virtues will long appear in bricks and mortar, and whose generosity was well known, since he gave food to thousands of workmen whom he was obliged to employ to build numerous streets and squares. Why should any dare to find fault with a great man for paying his people on a Sunday, (even if it were true,) when so many great men do not pay their people at all; and why should all the virtues of the patriarchs be expected in the peerage, when the peerage is so numerous that the thing must be distributed among them, to make it hold out. One cannot, therefore, expect much worth in a single peer, any more than much talent; they are possessions that do not go with the title. However, the present question ought not to have been started; it is a grave argument, and the sooner it is buried in silence the better. To publish an affair, is to invite every body to read, and every blockhead to judge. What does it matter if a good character is vilified, every one has his own world, clear of the mass of society. "Mine," cried Decius," is a few men of worth and talent; I am