The New Hampshire Gazette And Historical Chronicle

The following Performance was sent to the PRESS about a Month ago, which was soon after PROBUS made his Appearance in this Paper; and as no Author appear'd, it was neglected, 'till last Week, when a Person of Credit and Reputation recommended it to a Place.

It must be acknowledged, there are sundry Expressions in Favor of Probus, such as, -- He is to be regarded as a good Genius-- He might make an excellent Writer--- and then the immortal Virgil is brought in, whereby divine Aeneid once lost itself into a great Luxuriance, Which now charms us--- But notwithstanding this, he is compar'd at present to a Boy's artificial Kite, waddling among the Clouds, at the End of a Skein of Pack Thread-- and at the close, is represented as casting up his Eyes like a g-a-p-i-n-g COD.

To the PRINTERS.

You have lately entertain'd the Public with sundry Pieces, among whom one PROBUS makes his Appearance, therefore please to take the following Notice of him, as an Original.

Non cogitat quid dicat.

The Piece in your Paper, sign'd Probus, without Doubt, is the Production of a superbus, arrogans, suffenus-- impudens---imperitus, inexpertus, rudis--- adolecens, adolecentulus. pusio, whose Ideas are so confused by studying sundry Authors that he has culled out the Chaff, left the Wheat, and endeavoured, by detaching some of their Expressions. (which stood well in Connection with what went before, and follow'd after) to make them his own----However, his main Design is to appear popular, and one of Consequence ; but if I am not mistaken, ten Pounds would silence him ; and he would immediately wreck his Invention (Cranium, testa calvaria) to throw together as many confused Ideas on the other Side--but as there are Criticks of all Sizes, no Wonder the noblest Productions have been nibbled at ; and as one expresses it, Ignorance and Conceit have endeavoured to shake down the most beautiful Structures, in Order to build themselves a Reputation out of the Ruins---and sometimes the divinest Pages have not escaped their Smut--- by low Satyre--- but as there is no Occasion for a regular Criticisms upon Nonsense, tho' some have attempted it--- I would observe, as the Sun scatters Day through a whole Frame of Worlds, yet may in some particular Spots raise a Fog, or hatch a Nest of Vermin, who wonderfully delight in Noise and Clamour, a Rattle of Words, and Extravagance of Imagination, which they look upon as the Perfection of Rhetorick, and nothing will please them, that is not big and boisterous, wild and irregular, and are transported beyond themselves at the Tumult and Confusion that bellows through a Hurricane of Nonsense, which differs as much from a Master Piece of good Writing, as a Boy's artificial Kite, waddling in the Clouds at the End of a Skein of Pack Thread, does from the natural Flight of an Eagle, towering with steady Pinions up the Sky, and bearing full upon the Sun---as our Author does.

But notwithstanding what I have here asserted, I would not by any Means be understood, as though I had any Prejudice against this Hero of the present Essay, who stiles himself Probus; whether he is nine Feet high, or four in diameter, is not to the Purpose---Perhaps his Voice is not unlike the Roar and Rapidity of a Torrent foaming down a Mountain, and reverberating among the neighbouring Rocks ; The Hurry of Vo ciferation, with which he drives along in the Heat of an Argument, imitates the Thunder of a Cart Load of Stones poured out upon a Pavement : if he was educated in a Ship of War, One would imagine he learnt the Notes of his Gamut, from the various Whistlings of a Tempest thro' the Rigging of his Vessel.

But to draw towards a Close; however I am beholden to others for my Thoughts, an imaginary Description of him may not be amiss; He is to be regarded as a good Genius run wild, for want of Cultivation from Study, and the Rules of Art.---He might by this Means make an excellent Writer.---Thus it happened to the immortal Virgil, whose divine Eneid once lost itself into so great a Luxuriance, as to be near twenty times as large as it appears at this Day-- his Imagination cooled by Years, and his Judgment ripen'd ; his Thoughts learn'd to proportion themselves to his Subject, and cast themselves into that exact Symmetry of Arrangement and Disposition, in which they now charm us.---But not to loose Sight of the Description---It appears plainly that Probus heaps his Subjects with improper and foreign Thoughts, clouds them with supernumerary Epithets, so as to fling the whole into a Huddle of Impertinency and Inconsistency ; mighty fond of great sounding Words, and let his Topick be what it will, he has perpetual Recourse to them upon all Emergencies.---He once took it in his Head to be in Love, and wrote a Poem to his Mistress on that delicate Passion : But instead of the gentle Flow of Harmony, which any one would reasonably have expected,and which is indeed essential to Compositions of that Kind, his Numbers stalked along as sturdy and outrageous as in any other of his Performances.--I myself counted in Fifty-Six Lines of it, three Celestials, eight Immortals, eleven Unboundeds, six Everlastings, four Eternities, and thirteen Infinites ; besides Bellowings, Ravings. Yellings, Horrors, Terrors, Rackets ; Hubbubs and Clutterings, without Number..

But what pleased me the most of any of his Compositions, was a Poetical Description'of a Game at Push-Pin. Sure, thought I, when I read the Title, there can be nothing very loud and impetuous upon so trivial a Matter as this. How I was surprized at my Mistake, my Reader will in some Measure conceive, when he understands that the first Distich of the Poem runs thus,

Rage, Fire and Fury in my Bosom roll,
And all the Gods rush headlong on my Soul.

He then proceeded to compare the Pins to two Comets, whose Heads, as he expressed it,enlightned the boundless Desarts of the Skies with a bloody Glare, and threw behind them the ruddy Volumes of their tremendous Trains, into the trackless Waters of Immensity, &c. Probus is indeed, a Man of sprightly Parts, and a tolerable Capacity ;. but he unfortunately entertains an Opinion, that he has the Art of being admired by every Body. It is almost impossible to discover his Principles or Dispositions ; for he is a very Looking-Glass which represents the Image of every Person that approaches ; he is a Figure of Snow, bearing different Shapes according to the Humours of successive Passengers.--. When he was at School he was lashed by his Master, for joining the Murmur of his School Fellows, and despised by his Class-Mates for assisting him in discovering their truant Tricks..--At one Time, you will perhaps find him declaiming on Order and Subordination with a Tory, and the next, musing with maudlin Eyes, on Compaels, Balance of Power, Bribery and Corruption, paring and trimming the Constitution, and lamenting the Breaches and Rents of Administration i--the Uncertainty of the Laws, and how vague in their Composition,-- and the Necessity there is of a Regeneration in the whole System ---He is hated by none. but despised by all.--.He is an Eccho that repeats the Words of every Person that addresses him.-.. Tell him to Day,---such a Composition is grand and elegant, and Probus will echo, 'tis exquiitely grand and excellent !--. Tell him to Morrow, 'tis low and jejune,---and Probus with the sedate Brow of Criticism, will call it trifling, flat and insipid.---Follow him to the Revels of Comus, and you will swear he was the best bred Cock of the Society. He can cast up his Eyes like a gaping Cod,sigh like the South Wind through a Cranny,-.-has a tolerable Nose---can look as dimmly as an illuminated Caput Mortuum; and besides,has the most wonderful Gifts---and I appeal to the Sisterhood, whether these are not the prime, the only Constituents, of a sweet, dear, good Man. But tho' these Arts might awhile avail, they have involved him in many Perplexities and ridiculous Circumstances, and have obliged him sometimes to deny in one Company, what he had just before asserted in another. He is often pushed to ten Falshoods to support one ; and sometimes by a hasty Acquiescence in the Words of others, has stared, & gaped, when a Companion has retracted, and confessed as a Mistake, what Probus had highly applauded, meerly because he thought they were his Sentiments.