one character, which could possibly enter into the head of any other man represented in it; but every sentiment should be peculiar to him only who utters it.  Laborious Ben’s works will bear this sort of inquisition; but if the present writers were thus examined, and the offences against this rule cut out, few plays would be long enough for the whole evening’s entertainment.  But I don’t know how they did in those old times:  this same Ben Jonson has made every one’s passion in this play be towards money, and yet not one of them expresses that desire, or endeavours to obtain it any way but what is peculiar to him only:  one sacrifices his wife, another his profession, another his posterity from the same motive; but their characters are kept so skilfully apart, that it seems prodigious their discourses should rise from the invention of the same author.  But the poets are a nest of hornets, and I’ll drive these thoughts no farther, but must mention some hard treatment I am like to meet with from my brother-writers.  I am credibly informed, that the author of a play, called, “Love in a Hollow Tree,"[250] has made some remarks upon my late discourse on “The Naked Truth."[251] I cannot blame a gentleman for writing against any error; it is for the good of the learned world.  But I would have the thing fairly left between us two, and not under the protection of patrons.  But my intelligence is, that he has dedicated his treatise to the Honourable Mr. Ed——­d H——­rd.[252]

From my own Apartment, May 27.

“To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.

“York, May 16, 1709.

“SIR,

“Being convinced as the whole world is, how infallible your predictions are, and having the honour to be your near relation, of the Staffian family, I was under great concern at one of your predictions relating to yourself, wherein you foretold your own death would happen on the 17th instant, unless it were prevented by the assistance of well-disposed people:[253] I have therefore prevailed on my own modesty to send you a piece of news, which may serve instead of Goddard’s Drops,[254] to keep you alive for two days, till nature be able to recover itself, or till you meet with some better help from other hands.  Therefore, without further ceremony, I will go on to relate a singular adventure just happened in the place where I am writing, wherein it may be highly useful for the public to be informed.[255]

“Three young ladies of our town were on Saturday last indicted for witchcraft.  The witnesses against the first deposed upon oath before Justice Bindover, that she kept spirits locked up in velvets, which sometimes appeared in flames of blue fire; that she used magical herbs, with some of which she drew in hundreds of men daily to her, who went out from her presence all inflamed, their mouths parched, and a hot steam issuing from them, attended with a grievous stench; that many of the said men were by the force of that herb metamorphosed into swine, and lay wallowing in the kennels for twenty-four hours, before they could reassume their shapes or their senses.