THE WRITER.

No. I....SATURDAY, MAY 14, 1814.

WE have often been told by authors, and particularly by writers of periodical essays, that at their first setting out, they were at a loss to determine upon a proper or significant title to give to their lucubrations. I have had no difficulty upon this subject-but without hesitating at all in the matter, readily fixed upon that which is here placed at the head of my first number. And as I propose coming abroad, in the character of a writer, I shall begin my present literary enterprize by giving some account of myself, and presenting my readers with a few touches of my own biography.

I am an odd sort of a fellow, and have many whims; but my most obstinate propensity is a desire for writing. If there is really such a disease in the catalogue of human infirmities, as the cacoethes scribendi, I certainly am afflicted with it to an incurable degree. If I were to say it was born with me, all the disciples of the venerable LOCKE would be about my ears, and prove, by dint of logic, that as there are no innate ideas, there could be, in the mind of an infant, no predispositions. That the mind of a new born child, if, by the way, they would allow him any mind at all, was a mere blank, with no more impression than a sheet of white paper-&c. As I am a peaceable man, and have no powers nor inclination for disputing, I shall pass these gentlemen, with lowly reverence, and give some account of myself from my birth, or, as my friend Tristram Shandy has done, a little before it,

and let them settle the matter of predisposition, or original bias from nature, among themselves.

A few weeks before I was born, my mother, (I have been told) to her great mortification and disappointment, dreamed, that instead of presenting her husband at the time expected, with a fine boy, she was delivered of a feather. The dream was told as usual, and the gossips of the day immediately began to look for interpretations-Some said the child would be a soldier, and wear a feather in his cap-some thought I should be an upholsterer; and some, who, however, out of tenderness to my parents, said but little about it, secretly believed that the dream foretold, as plainly as a dream could do, that I should be a light and trifling character. Notwithstanding the wisdom and deep research denoted in these several interpretations, they were all wrong; and I have ever myself believed, that the feather in my mama's dream, was from a goose's wing; that in fact it was nothing less than a quill, and that it obviously foretold my future character, as a writer. When I first hit upon this interpretation, I was so impressed with the truth of it, and so proud of my own ingenuity in discovering it, that I flew to a learned friend and laid the whole matter before him, with a full and flattering expectation that he would give me as much credit for my ingenuity, as I had given to myself. But upon my mentioning the goose's wing, he turned all my pride to mortification, by saying he believed the dream meant I was to be a goose, and my coming to him upon such an errand was full completion of the prophesy. Although this unexpected reproof was sufficient to induce me to keep my opinion, in future, to myself, it did not alter it; and the circumstances I am about to relate, will, I think, bring many of my readers over to the same faith.

My ruling passion is writing, and it was manifested even in my earliest infancy-I was never known to tare a piece of white paper, (although I have destroyed so much since) but whenever it came in my way, would trace my little fingers over it, with the strangest imi

I have succeeded wonderfully-the best ing allowed that I have very judiciously a two great unities of time and place, in th of my snow storms; and that I know ho the March winds, and fall gently with t April. I can also predict the first appea soms in very flowery language. I ha terrified my readers, in these annual pu the boisterous words in which I have t expect the equinoxial storm;" and have pleasing anticipations in the minds of country lasses, by predicting, at the nex husking, an unusual supply of red ears. wise written several political pieces wi many of the patriotic effusions of '75 v from my pen; insomuch that I have m that the revolution was as much indebte tings, as to Tom Paine and Common Sen portion of my labors I consider now lost as I have forgotten the names of the p which they appeared, (and presume ev forgotten them also) and have no hope t be brought before the public again by a se The truth is, I am always writing; and th be more frequently amused and entertai

ideas, if the sapient editors of our newspapers were not such critical judges of style, taste, and belles-lettres, as to reject any communications that are not offered by the right person.

Although I have this unconquerable disposition for writing, I never run into those kind of literary vagaries which we are told infected the wits of a former age. I never undertook to write verses in the shape of a heart, altar, or true love knot; nor have I attempted with Puttenham, to erect a temple of words, whose columns should be worked off by syllables to proper proportions of the Corinthian order. My propensity leads me to write straight forward, and I expect immortality as an author, more from the number and extent of my writings, than from the shape of them.

With this view of my character and disposition, I offer myself to the Spectator; and with the encouragement and approbation of the proprietor of this paper, shall undertake to furnish it with occasional essays, under the title of "THE WRITER." If there should be any desire in the public to know something more of the person and condition of the Writer, these may be more fully disclosed hereafter. In the mean time, for their immediate gratification, and particularly out of respect to the female part of my readers, I hereby make known, that I am a man of the common size, airy gait, strong and healthy, and wear no whiskers. A bachelor, of a middle age-that is to say, verging towards three score; somewhat addicted to bowing; very fond of female company, and although not married myself, a great advocate for, and promoter of matrimony in others, and a very successful maker of matches; so that, should the young ladies of this metropolis engage me in their service, apply to me for advice, and conform a little to some general rules, which I may from time to time prescribe, I have no doubt of seeing by far the largest number of them in the list of wives and mothers, before they are out of their teens.

I will also apprize my readers, that I am a great traveller, and am particularly acquainted with the fe

male fashions of all countries, from the elegant nudity of the Paris belle, to the modest Turkish lady, who suffers nothing but the tip end of her nose to go uncovered.

As to my political sentiments, I shall keep them to myself, and endeavor to steer a middle course between the two great parties, which now divide our country. I am particularly inclined to this, as some of our great men are prone to change, and therefore, by a magnanimous moderation, I may continue in their favor, although they should not continue their former opinions.

No. II....SATURDAY, MAY 21, 1814.

IN my first number, I gave some account of my birth and character; in the present, I shall make the public acquainted with my opinions and manner of thinking. My readers will then perceive whether what I said of myself in the beginning will apply to me or not, viz. that I am an odd sort of a fellow.

That my opinions are odd, very odd indeed, will readily be granted by all the fashionable, polite, and genteel part of this metropolis, when I tell them I am obstinate in maintaining that honesty is a greater moral virtue than riches, and consequently that virtuous poverty ought, in a christian country, to receive more countenance and complacency, than splendid vice; that no man is honest who contracts debts by living so much above his income, as not to be able to pay them; that there is more merit in feeding by secret charity the poor, than in feasting ostentatiously the rich; that modesty is the prettiest ornament to a female face, and in the end will always have more admirers, of taste and sentiment, than forward impertinence, or the haughty assuming airs of a fashionable beauty; that not only modesty, but even learning, is an