indulgent as to connive at him for fourteen days, because I would give
him the wearing of them out; but after all this I am informed, he
appeared yesterday with a new pair of the same sort. I have no better
success with Mr. Whatdee'call[1] as to his buttons: Stentor[2] still
roars; and box and dice rattle as loud as they did before I writ
against them. Partridge[3] walks about at noon-day, and Aesculapius[4]
thinks of adding a new lace to his livery. However, I must still go on in
laying these enormities before men's eyes, and let them answer for going
on in their practice.[5] My province is much larger than at first sight
men would imagine, and I shall lose no part of my jurisdiction, which
extends not only to futurity, but also is retrospect to things past; and
the behaviour of persons who have long ago acted their parts, is as much
liable to my examination, as that of my own contemporaries.

In order to put the whole race of mankind in their proper distinctions,
according to the opinion their cohabitants conceived of them, I have with
very much care, and depth of meditation, thought fit to erect a Chamber
of Fame, and established certain rules, which are to be observed in
admitting members into this illustrious society. In this Chamber of Fame
there are to be three tables, but of different lengths; the first is to
contain exactly twelve persons; the second, twenty; the third, an
hundred. This is reckoned to be the full number of those who have any
competent share of fame. At the first of these tables are to be placed
in their order the twelve most famous persons in the world, not with
regard to the things they are famous for, but according to the degree of
their fame, whether in valour, wit, or learning. Thus if a scholar be
more famous than a soldier, he is to sit above him. Neither must any
preference be given to virtue, if the person be not equally famous. When
the first table is filled, the next in renown must be seated at the
second, and so on in like manner to the number of twenty; as also in the