Chap. I. Introduction. The ideas of authorship and poverty are so immediately connected, that after a man has once read Locke, and understood him, they are ever after looked upon as part of the same complex idea of mixt modes. I would, however, endeavor analytically to separate them, and by deduction prove, that it is possible for a man, though he may be infected with a very inveterate cacoethes scribendi, to be possessed of a clean shirt and a guinea. And, first, though it frequently happens among the brethren of the quill, that many are starved into writing, I believe it will be found upon examination that full as many are starved out of it: for what with the tyranny of patentees and booksellers, the additional taxes upon paper and publication, and the little attention of the town to works of genius, not to say merit, it is fifty to one, if an author does not happen to start at the change of a ministry, the breaking out of a war, or the shooting of an admiral, that he does not go nine months with an empty belly, before he sells out of the bank of Parnassus, and leave the muses to starve themselves upon ideal nectar and imaginary ambrosia, to carry a brown musket, or try his fortune upon Bagshot-heath. But then the misfortune is, that once a captain always a captain. An author who may have scribbled a letter of half a column in a public newspaper, if known to be the writer of it, will live and die with the fame or infamy of the character, and be pointed at as a genius in every coffee-house he may accidentally pop his head in, though he be carried off with a leaden fever, or chance to go backward up Oxford-street, for having by the shortness of his memory (the prerogative of all great wits) forgot his name in indorsing a bankerÕs draught, or signing his last will and testament. For this reason, I would not have it be believed, that every man who may accidentally be seen writing in public, in a shabby coat, a dirty shirt, and a fluxed periwig, is absolutely and bona fide an author by profession; for I am well assured that Addison never wore a shirt above three days, that Steele had at least two suits of cloaths a year, and that even Johnson is shaved, and has his wig dressed, at least once a week. The truth is, that hackney attorneys clerks, new collectors, and penny-post men, are very frequently mistaken for men of letters, for no other reason than because they write in public, and look like pick-pockets. A good physiognomist will always discover a man of real genius, that is an author: it is true we do not look like other peopleÑbut then our distinguishing marks are not those of poverty, vermin, and misery; we generally put the best side outwards;for though we live in a garret, it is ten to five but we wear a laced coat in public, and have a clean shirt on, though we lie in bed till it is washed: therefore it is not from our dress that we can so certainly ascertained as from the vivacity of our eyeÑthe absence of our lookÑthe carelessness of our attitudesÑthe nonchalance of our behaviorÑand, above all, the pedantry of our conversation. Sooner than make a false concord, or an error in pronunciation, we would rather forget paying our reckoning at the bar, or indeed, calling for any thing to pay for. In a word, an author is a perfect phenomenon, in many respects incomprehensible and unaccountableÑhe should therefore be studied with much attention by any philosopher or lexicographist who would chuse to define him: he will, perhaps, upon a closer inspection, be found a being more deserving of the indulgence of society, than he is usually considered, and this is not saying too much in his favour, when we reflect upon the sacrifices he makes to the public, first by employing the most valuable part of his life in their service; and secondly, his intense application, which must necessarily prejudice his health, and of course interrupt the concoction of laudable chyleÑwhence arises such a puny race of authors, who stand so little chance of making their fortunes, by the robustness of their persons, or the floridity of their countenances; and hence it is, in the present state of things, as experience woefully proves, a chairman or a coachman has much more reason to expect carrying off an heiress, than a sedentary bard, with delicate sensations and a susceptible mind. So much for apologyÑso much for introductionÑand I hope reader, gentle, or ungentle, you are satisfied with your master of ceremonies, who, Sir Clement like, will usher you into the preface of the author, without any further punctilio or etiquette.