improved since the days when rank was sold or bestowed upon the most audacious adventurers. So far as merit is concerned, we are, however, much in the same position as we were in the days of Read and Ralph; but ability always was an unmarketable commodity, and now it seems to secure its unhappy possessors the decided enmity of those more favoured beings whose dependence is upon patronage, and not upon personal powers, and who, in humble imitation of the fox of fable, affect to despise any such common thing as cleverness. And unfortunately this observation has a far wider bearing than on the mere bestowal of titles. It refers to things generally, and to the means by which many clever men are deprived of their subsistence, and driven to the wall by the nepotism and friendly feeling so often exercised in favour of the most arrant impostors, or on behalf of those who are just clever enough to conceal their ignorance and inability, to rob others of their ideas, or to foist second-hand notions upon a credulous and misjudging public.
In “A Journey through England,” published in 1723, we get the following picture of a travelling quack of that time: “I cannot leave Winchester without telling you of a pleasant incident that happened there. As I was sitting at