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iii. That a Man must not Laugh at his Own Jest. 182

iv. That such a one shows his Breeding-that it is

easy to perceive he is no Gentleman . ib.

v. That the Poor copy the Vices of the Rich 183

vi. That Enough is as Good as a Feast

185

vii. Of Two Disputants, the Warmest is Generally

in the Wrong . . . . . . . .

viii. That Verbal Allusions are not Wit, because

they will not bear a Translation ,

187

ix. That the Worst Puns are the Best . . . 188

x. That Handsome Is that Handsome Does : 191

xi. That we must not Look a Gift Horse in the

Mouth .

. 194

xii. That Home is Hone, though it is never so **

homely .

xiii. That you must Love Me and Love My Dog. 202

xiv. That we should Rise with the Lark.

207

xv. That we should Lie Down with the Lamb , 210

xvi. That a Sulky Temper is a Misfortune

212

ELIANA.

A Biographical Essay on Elia

219

The Gentle Giantess .

235

The Reynolds Gallery .

239

Guy Faux

242

A Vision of Horns.

244

The Good Clerk, a Character

262

Reminiscence of Sir Jeffery Dunstan .

271

On a Passage in “The Tempest'

274

The Months. .

279

Biographical Memoir of Mr. Liston

283

Autobiography of Mr. Munden .

295

The Illustrious Defunct

299

The Ass.

308

In Re Squirrels : :

Estimate of Defoe's Secondary Nove

Postscript to the “Chapter on Ea

318

Elia to his Correspondents . .

Unitarian Protests.

On the Custom of Hissing at the Theatres . . . 330

Captain Starkey . .

A Popular Fallacy: that a Deformed Person is a Lord 345

Letter to an Old Gentleman whose Education has been

Neglected

On the Ambiguities arising from Proper Names: : 357

ers"

320
323

339

[graphic]

PREFACE.
BY A FRIEND OF THE LATE ELIA.
MHIS poor gentleman, who for some

months past had been in a declining

way, hath at length paid his final tribute S SN to nature.

To say truth, it is time he were gone. The humour of the thing, if ever there was much in it, was pretty well exhausted ; and a two years' and a half existence has been a tolerable duration for a phantom.

I am now at liberty to confess, that much which I have heard objected to my late friend's writings was well-founded. Crude they are, I grant you a sort of unlicked, incondite things-villanously pranked in an affected array of antique modes and phrases. They had not been his, if they had been other than such ; and better it is, that a writer should be natural in a self-pleasing quaintness, than to affect a naturalness (so called) that should be strange to him. Egotistical they have been pronounced by some who did not know, that what he tells us, as of himself, was often true only (historically) of another; as in a former Essay (to save many instances)—where under the first person (his favourite figure) he shadows forth the forlorn estate of a country-boy placed at a London school, far from his friends and connections—in direct oppo

sition to his own early history. If it be egotism to imply and twine with his own identity the griefs and affections of another-making himself many, or reducing many unto himself-- then is the skilful novelist, who all along brings in his hero or heroine, speaking of themselves, the greatest egotist of all ; who yet has never, therefore, been accused of that narrowness. And how shall the intenser dramatist escape being faulty, who, doubtless, under cover of passion uttered by another, oftentimes gives blameless vent to his most inward feelings, and expresses his own story modestly?

My late friend was in many respects a singular character. Those who did not like him, hated him ; and some, who once liked him, afterwards became his bitterest haters. The truth is, he gave himself too little concern what he uttered, and in whose presence. He observed neither time nor place, and would e'en out with what came uppermost. With the severe religionist he would pass for a freethinker; while the other faction set him down for a bigot, or persuaded themselves that he belied his sentiments. Few understood him; and I am not certain that at all times he quite understood himself. He too much affected that dangerous figure-irony. He sowed doubtful speeches, and reaped plain, unequivocal hatred. He would interrupt the gravest discussion with some light jest; and yet, perhaps, not quite irrelevant in ears that could understand it. Your long and much talkers hated him. The informal habit of his mind, joined to an inveterate impediment of speech, forbade him to be an orator ; and he seemed determined that no one else should play that part when he was present. He was petit and ordinary in his person and appearance. I have seen him sometimes in what is called good com

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