# The Covent-Garden Journal/Number 6

NUMBER SIX
TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 1752. Numb. 6.
    Quam multi tineas pascunt, blattasque discrti!
       Et redimunt soli carmina docta coci!
    Nescio quid plus est quod donat secula chartis,
       Victurus genium debet habere liber.
                         Mart. lib. 6.
       How many fear the Moth's and Bookworm's Rage,
       And Pastry-Cooks, sole Buyers in this Age?
       What can these Murtherers of Wit controul?
       To be immortal, Books must have a soul.
    THERE are no human Productions to which Time seems so bitter and malicious an Enemy, as to the Works of the learned: for though all the Pride and Boast of Art must sooner, or later, yield to this great Destroyer; though all the Labours of the Architect, the Statuary, and the Painter, must share the same Mortality with their Authors; yet, with these Time acts in a gentler and milder Manner, allows them generally a reasonable Period of Existence, and brings them to an End by a gradual and imperceptible Decay: so that they may seem rather cut off by the fatal Laws of Necessity, than to be destroyed by any such Act of Violence, as this cruel Tyrant daily executes on us Writers.
    It is true, indeed, there are some Exceptions to this Rule; some few Works of Learning have not only equalled, but far exceeded, all other human Labours in their Duration; but alas! how very few are these, compared to that vast Number which have been swallowed up by this great Destroyer. Many of them cut off in their very Prime; others in their early Youth; and others, again, at their very Birth; so that they can scarce be said ever to have been.
    And, as to the few that remain to us, is not their long Existence to be attributed to their own unconquerable Spirit, and rather to the Weakness, than to the Mercy of Time? Have not many of their Authors foreseen, and foretold, the Endeavours which would be exerted to destroy them, and have boldly asserted their just Claim to Immortality, in Defiance of all the Malice, all the Cunning, and all the Power of Time?
    Indeed, when we consider the many various Engines which have been employed for this destructive Purpose, it will be Matter of Wonder, that any of the Writings of Antiquity have been able to make their Escape. This might almost lead us into a Belief, that the Writers were really possessed of that Divinity, to which some of them pretended, especially at those which seem to have had the best Pretensions to this Divinity, have been almost the only ones which have escaped into our Hands.
    And here, not to mention those great Engines of Destruction which Ovid so boldly defies, such as Swords, and Fire, and the devouring Moths of Antiquity, how many cunning Methods hath the Malice of Time invented, of later Days, to extirpate the Works of the Learned, and to convert the Invention of Paper, and even of Printing, to the total Abolition of those very Works which they were so ingeniously calculated to perpetuate.
    The first of these, Decency will permit me barely to hint to the Reader. It is the Application of it to a Use for which Parchment and Vellum, the antient Repositories of Learning, would have been utterly unfit. To this cunning Invention of Time, therefore, Printing and Paper have chiefly betrayed the Learned; nor can I see, without Indignation, the Booksellers, those great Enemies of Authors, endeavouring by all their sinister Arts to propagate so destructive a Method: for what is commoner than to see Books advertised to be printed on a superfine, delicate, soft Paper, and again, very proper to be had in all Families, a plain Insinuation to what Use they are adapted, according to these Lines.
             Lintot's for gen'ral Use are fit,
             For some Folks read, but all Folks ----.
    By this abominable Method, the whole Works of several modern Authors have been so obliterated, that the most curious Searcher into Antiquity, hereafter, will never be able to wipe off the Injuries of Time.
    And, yet, so truly do the Booksellers verify that old Observation, dulcis odor lucri ex re qualibet, that they are daily publishing several Works, manifestly calculated for this Use only; nay, I am told, that one of them is, by Means of a proper Translator, preparing the whole Works of Plato for the B----.
    Next to the Booksellers are the Trunk-makers, a Set of Men who have of late Years made the most intolerable Depredations on modern Learning. The ingenious Hogarth hath very finely satyriz'd this, by representing several of the most valuable Productions of these Times on the Way to the Trunk-maker. If these Persons would line a Trunk with a whole Pamphlet, they might possibly do more Good that Harm; for then, perhaps, the Works of last Year might be found in our Trunks, when they were possibly to be found no where else; but so far from this, they seem to take a Delight in dismembring Authors; and in placing their several Limbs together in the most absurd Manner. Thus while the Bottom of a Trunk contains a Piece of Poetry, the Top presents us with a Sheet of Romance, and the Sides and Ends are adorned with mangled Libels of various Kinds.
    The third Species of these Depredators, are the Pastry Cooks. What Indignation must it raise in a Lover of the Moderns, to see some of their best Performances stain'd with the Juice of Gooseberries, Currants, and Damascenes! But what Concern must the Author himself feel on such an Occasion; when he beholds those Writings, which were calculated to support the glorious Cause of Disaffection or Infidelity, humbled to the ignoble Purpose of supporting a Tart or a Custard! So, according to the Poet,
       Great Alexander dead, and turn'd to Clay,
       May stop a Hole to keep the Wind away.
    But, besides the Injuries done to Learning by this Method, there is another Mischief which these Pastry Cooks may thus propagate in the Society: For many of these wondrous Performances are calculated only for the Use and Inspection of the few, and are by no means proper Food for the Mouths of Babes and Sucklings. For Instance, that the Christian Religion is a mere Cheat and Imposition on the Public, nay, that the very Being of a God is a Matter of great Doubt and Incertainty, are Discoveries of too deep a Nature to perplex the Minds Children with; and it is better, perhaps, till they come to a certain Age, that they should believe quite the opposite Doctrines. Again, as Children are taught to obey and honour their Superiors, and to keep their Tongues from Evil-speaking, Lying, and Slandering, to what good Purposes can it tend to shew them that the very contrary is daily practised and suffered and supported in the World? Is not this to confound their Understandings, and almost sufficient to make them neglect their Learning? Lastly, there are certain Arcana Naturæ, in disclosing which the Moderns have made great Progress; now whatever Merit there may be in such Denudations of Nature, if I may so express myself, and however exquisite a Relish they may afford to very adult Persons of both Sexes in their Closets, they are surely too speculative and mysterious for the Contemplation of the Young and Tender, into whose Hands Tarts and Pies are most likely to fall.
    Now as these three Subjects, namely, Infidelity, Scurrility, and Indecency, have principally exercised the Pens of the Moderns, I hope for the future, Pastry Cooks will be more cautious than they have lately been. In short, if they have no Regard to Learning, they will have some, I hope, to Morality.
    The same Caution may be given to Grocers and Chandlers; both of whom are too apt to sell their Figs, Raisins, and Sugar to Children, without enough considering the poisonous Vehicle in which they are conveyed. At the waste Paper Market, the Cheapness of the Commodity is only considered; and it is easy to see with what Goods that Market is likely to about; since tho' the Press hath lately swarmed with Libels against our Religion and Government, there is not a single Writer of any Reputation in this Kingdom, who hath attempted to draw his Pen against either.
    But to return to that Subject from which I seem to have a little digressed. How melancholy a Consideration must it be to a modern Author, that the Labours, I might call them the Offspring of his Brain, are liable to so many various Kinds of Destruction, that what Tibullus says of the numerous Avenues to Death may be here applied.
                --Leti mille repente viæ.
          To Death there are a thousand sudden Ways.
    For my own Part, I never walk into Mrs. Dodd's Shop, and survey all that vast and formidable Host of Papers and Pamphlets arranged on her Shelves, but the noble Lamentation of Xerxes occurs to my Mind; who, when he reviewed his Army, on the Banks of the Hellespont, is said to have grieved, for that not one of all those Hundreds of Thousands would be living an Hundred years from that Time. In the same Manner, have I said to myself, 'How dreadful a Thought is it, that of all these numerous and learned Works, none will survive to the next Year?' But, within that Time,
                   ---All will become,
       Martyrs to Pyes, and Relicts of the B----.
    I was led into these Reflections by an Accident which happened to me the other Day, and which all Lovers of Antiquity will esteem a very fortunate one. Having had the Curiosity to examine a written Paper, in which my Baker inclosed me two hot Rolls, I have rescued from Oblivion one of the most valuable Fragments, that I believe is now to be found in the World. I have ordered it to be fairly transcribed, and shall very soon present it to my Readers, with my best Endeavours, by a short Comment, to illustrate a Piece which appears to have remained to us from the most distant and obscure Ages.
A.
       We have received Letters from Tim. Buck, Dorothy Single, Soppho, P. W. and from the Scavenger of Covent-Garden, all which will be inserted in our next.
The Court of Censorial Enquiry met according to Adjournment; and, after issuing forth Process to bring several Books into Court, among which was a Romance called AMELIA, adjourned to Saturday next.