The first Book of the Memoirs remained long in this unfinished state, and at length appeared as a fragment, in 1740. His character, however, had been previously introduced to the public, in the Miscellanies which contained Martinus Scriblerus ПEPI ΒΑΘΟΥΣ. The Memoirs of Scriblerus have, in the division made of the joint literary labours of this gifted brotherhood, been assigned to Pope's works, although they were chiefly the work of Arbuthnot, while the Art of Sinking in Poetry, as printed in the Miscellanies, has been made common property by the Editors of Pope and Swift, though belonging properly to the former alone. This arrangement I have followed, though I am by no means satisfied of its propriety.

The following speculations of different commentators, concern. ing the plan adopted by the Scriblerus Club, are interesting.

"Mr Pope, Dr Arbuthnot, and Dr Swift, in conjunction, formed the project of a satire on the abuses of human learning; and, to make it the better received, proposed to execute it in the manner of Cervantes (the original author of this species of satire) under a continued narrative of feigned adventures. They had observed that those abuses still kept their ground against all that the ablest and gravest authors could say to discredit them; they concluded, therefore, the force of ridicule was wanting to quicken their disgrace; and ridicule was here in its place, when the abuses had been already detected by sober reasoning, and truth in no danger to suffer by the premature use of so powerful an instrument. But the separation of our author and his friends, which soon after happened, with the death of one, and the infir. mities of the other, put a final period to their design, when they had only drawn out an imperfect essay towards it, under the title of The First Book of the Memoirs of Scriblerus.

Moral satire * never lost more than in the defeat of this project; in the execution of which, each of this illustrious triumvirate would have found exercise for his own peculiar talent; besides constant employment for those they all had in common. Dr Arbuthnot was skilled in every thing which related to science; Mr Pope was a master in the fine arts; and Dr Swift excelled in the knowledge of the world. Wit they all had in equal mea sure, and in a measure so large, that no age perhaps ever produced three men, to whom Nature had more bountifully bestowed it, or in whom Art had brought it to higher perfection."-Bp. WARBURTON.

"The Memoirs of Scriblerus extend only to the first book of a work projected in concert by Pope, Swift, and Arbuthnot,

• In the early editions this was polite letters.

who used to meet in the time of Queen Anne, and denominated themselves the Scriblerus Club. Their purpose was to censure the abuses of learning by a fictitious life of an infatuated scholar. They were dispersed; the design was never completed; and War. burton laments its miscarriage, as an event very disastrous to polite letters. If the whole may be estimated by this specimen, which seems to be the production of Arbuthnot, with a few touches perhaps by Pope, the want of more will not be much lamented; for the follies which the writer ridicules are so little practised, that they are not known; nor can the satire be understood but by the learned; he raises phantoms of absurdity, and then drives them away; he cures diseases that were never felt. For this reason this joint production of three great writers has never obtained any notice from mankind; it has been little read, or when read it has been forgotten, as no man could be wiser, better, or merrier, by remembering it. The design cannot boast of much originality; for, besides its general resemblance to Don Quixotte, there will be found in it particular imitations of the History of Mr Ouffle. Swift carried so much of it into Ireland as supplied him with hints for his travels; and with these the world might have been contented, though the rest had been suppressed."-Dr JOHNSON.

"The life of the solemn and absurd pedant, Dr Scriblerus, of which Johnson speaks too contemptuously, and says it is taken from the History of Ouffle, is the only true and genuine imitation we have in our language of the serious and pompous manner of Cervantes; for it is not easy to say, why Fielding should call his Joseph Andrews, excellent as it is, an imitation of his manner. Don Quixotte is in truth the most original and unrivalled work of modern times. The great art of Cervantes consists in having painted his mad hero with such a number of amiable qualities, as to make it impossible for us totally to despise him. This light and shade in drawing characters shew the master, It is thus Addison has represented his Sir Roger, and Shakespeare his Falstaff. How great must be the native force of Cervantes's humour, when it can be embellished by readers, even unacquainted with Spanish manners, with the institution of chivalry, and with the many passages of old romances and Italian poems, to which it perpe tually alludes. There are three or four celebrated works that bear a great resemblance, and have a turn of satire similar to that of these Memoirs; The Barbon of Balsac; The Life of Montmaur, by Menage and others; the Chef d'Oeuvre d'un Inconnu of Mathanase; and La Charlatanerie des Savans of Menken.

"Whatever may be determined of other parts of these Memoirs, yet the fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, tenth, and twelfth

chapters, appear to be the production of Arbuthnot; as they contain allusions to many remote and uncommon parts of learning and science, with which we cannot imagine Pope to have been much acquainted, and which lay out of the reach and course of his reading. The rich vein of humour, which, like a vein of mercury, runs through these Memoirs, is much heightened and increased by the great variety of learning which they contain. It is a fact in literary history worth observing, and which deserves to be more attended to than I think it usually is, that the chief of those who have excelled in exquisite works of art and humour, have at the same time been men of extensive learning. We may instance in Lucian, Cervantes, Quevedo, Rabelais, Arbuthnot, Fielding, and Butler, above all; for no work in our language contains more learning than Hudibras."-Dr. WARTON.

INTRODUCTION

ΤΟ

THE MEMOIRS OF SCRIBLERUS.

In the reign of Queen Anne (which, notwithstanding those happy times which succeeded, every Englishman may remember) thou mayest possibly, gentle reader, have seen a certain venerable person who frequented the outside of the palace of St. James's, and who, by the gravity of his deportment and habit, was generally taken for a decayed gentleman of Spain. His stature was tall, his visage long, his complexion olive, his brows were black and even, his eyes hollow yet piercing, his nose inclined to aquiline, his beard neglected and mixed with grey: all this contributed to spread a solemn melancholy over his countenance. Pythagoras was not more silent, Pyrrho more motionless, nor Zeno more austere. His wig was black and smooth as the plumes of a raven, and hung as straight as the hair of a river god rising from the water. His cloak so completely covered his whole person, and whether or no he had any other clothes (much less any linen) under it, I shall not say; but his sword appeared a full yard behind him, and his manner of wearing it was so stiff, that it seemed grown to his thigh. His whole figure was so utterly unlike any thing of this world, that it was not natural for any man to ask him a question without blessing himself first. Those who never saw a Jesuit, took him for one, and others believed him some High Priest of the Jews.

But under this macerated form was concealed a mind replete with science, burning with a zeal of benefiting his fellow-creatures, and filled with an honest conscious pride, mixed with a scorn of doing or suffering the least thing beneath the dignity of a philosopher. Accordingly he had a soul that would not let him accept of any offers of charity, at the same time that his body seemed but too much to require it. His lodging was in a small chamber up four pair of stairs, where he regularly paid for what he had when he eat or drank; and he was often observed wholly to abstain from both. He declined speaking to any one, except the queen or her first minister, to whom he attempted to make some applications; but his real business or intentions were utterly unknown to all men. Thus much is certain, that he was obnoxious to the queen's ministry; who, either out of jealousy or envy, had him spirited away, and carried abroad as a dangerous person, without any regard to the known laws of the kingdom.

One day, as this gentleman was walking about dinner-time alone in the Mall, it happened that a manuscript dropt from under his cloak, which my servant picked up, and brought to me. It was written in the Latin tongue, and contained many most profound secrets, in an unusual turn of reasoning and style. The first leaf was inscribed with these words, Codicillus, seu Liber Memorialis, Martini Scribleri. The book was of so wonderful a nature, that it is incredible what a desire I conceived that moment to be acquainted with the author, who I clearly conceived was some great philosopher in disguise. I several times endeavoured to speak to him, which he as often industriously avoided. At length I found an opportunity (as he stood under the Piazza by the Dancing-room in St James's) to acquaint him, in the Latin tongue, that his manuscript was fallen inte