A Lecture On Heads | Page 7

Architecture hired herself as a brick-layer's {23}labourer to a Chinese temple-builder; Painting took on as a colour-grinder to a paper-stainer; Poetry turned printer's devil; Music sung ballads about the streets: and Astronomy {24}sold almanacks. They rambled about in this manner for some time; at last, they picked up poor Wit, who lay ill of some bruises he had received one masquerade night.
As poor Wit was coming down the Haymarket, just as the masquerade was breaking up, the noise of a pickpocket was announced, upon which Buffoonery fell upon Wit, and mangled him most piteously. Invention stood Wit's friend, and help-ed him to make his escape to those Sciences. Now it happened that night, Lady Fashion had lost her lap-dog, which Wit found, and brought to these his companions, for whom Architecture built a little house; Painting made a portrait of it: Poetry wrote a copy of verses upon it, which Music put a tune to; and Astronomy calculated the dear creature's nativity; which so pleased Lady Fashion, that she recommended them to the house of Ostentation, but left Wit behind, because as wit was out of taste, Fashion would not have any thing to say to it. However, some of her Ladyship's upper servants invited Wit into the steward's room, and, according to the idea some folks have of Wit, they begged he'd be comical. One brought him a poker to bend over his arm; another desired he would eat a little fire for 'em before dinner; the {25}butler requested a tune upon the musical glasses; my lady's woman desired he would tell her fortune by the cards; and the grooms said, "as how, if his honour was a wit, he could ride upon three horses at once." But before Wit could answer to any of these questions, the French governess belonging to the family came down stairs, and ordered Wit to be turned out of doors, saying, "Vat want you vid Vit, when you are studying �� la Fran?oise? I'll vous assurez, I'll vous assurez, if you will have us for your masters, you must have no vit at all." [The sciences taken off.]
Poor Wit being turned out of doors, wandered about friendless, for it was never yet known that a man's wit ever gained him a friend. He applied himself to the proprietors of the newspapers, but upon their inquiring whether he understood politics, and being totally ignorant of them, they would not employ him. He enquired after Friendship, but found Friendship was drowned at the last general election; he went to find out Hospitality, but Hospitality being invited to a turtle-feast, there was no room for Wit; he asked after Charity, but it being found that Charity was that day run over by a bishop's new set of coach-horses, he died broken-hearted, being a distemper which, although {26}not catalogued in the Materia Medica, is very epidemical among beautiful women, and men of genius, who, having worn themselves out in making other people happy, are at last neglected, and left to perish amid age and infirmity, wondering how the world could be so ungrateful.
Here is the Head of a Connoisseur. [Takes the head.]--Though born in this kingdom, he had travelled long enough to fall in love with every thing foreign, and despise every thing belonging to his own country, except himself. He pretended to be a great judge of paintings, but only admired those done a great way off, and a great while ago; he could not bear anything done by any of his own countrymen; and one day being in an auction-room where {27}there was a number of capital pictures, and, among the rest, an inimitable piece of painting of fruits and flowers, the Connoisseur would not give his opinion of the picture until he had examined his catalogue, and finding it was done by an Englishman, he pulled out his eye-glass [Takes the eyeglass,] "O, Sir," says he, "these English fellows have no more idea of genius than a Dutch skipper has of dancing a cotillion; the dog has spoiled a fine piece of canvas; he's worse than a Harp-Alley sign-post dauber; there's no keeping, no perspective, no fore-ground;--why there now, the fellow {28}has attempted to paint a fly upon that rose-bud, why it's no more like a fly than I am like an a--a--." But as the connoisseur approached his finger to the picture, the fly flew away---His eyes are half closed; this is called the wise man's wink, and shews he can see the world with half an eye; he had so wonderful a penetration, so inimitable a forecast, he always could see how every thing was to be--after the affair was over.
Then talking of the affairs of administration, he told his lordship, that he could see how things were all along, they could