lded the battle-axe, formed encampments
and wasted nations, the revolution of years has now produced a
generation of Amazons of the pen, who with the spirit of their
predecessors have set masculine tyranny at defiance, asserted their
claim to the regions of science, and seem resolved to contest the
usurpations of virility.

Some indeed there are, of both sexes, who are authors only in desire,
but have not yet attained the power of executing their intentions; whose
performances have not arrived at bulk sufficient to form a volume, or
who have not the confidence, however impatient of nameless obscurity, to
solicit openly the assistance of the printer. Among these are the
innumerable correspondents of publick papers, who are always offering
assistance which no man will receive, and suggesting hints that are
never taken; and who complain loudly of the perverseness and arrogance
of authors, lament their insensibility of their own interest, and fill
the coffee-houses with dark stories of performances by eminent hands,
which have been offered and rejected.

To what cause this universal eagerness of writing can be properly
ascribed, I have not yet been able to discover. It is said, that every
art is propagated in proportion to the rewards conferred upon it; a
position from which a stranger would naturally infer, that literature
was now blessed with patronage far transcending the candour or
munificence of the Augustan age, that the road to greatness was open to
none but authors, and that by writing alone riches and honour were to be
obtained.

But since it is true, that writers, like other competitors, are very
little disposed to favour one another, it is not to be expected, that at
a time when every man writes, any man will patronize; and, accordingly,
there is not one that I can recollect at present, who professes the
least regard for the votaries of science, invites the addresses of
learned men, or seems to hope for reputation from any pen but his own.

The cause, therefore, of this epidemical conspiracy for the destruction
of paper, must remain a secret: nor can I discover, whether we owe it to
the influences of the constellations, or the intemperature of seasons:
whether the long continuance of the wind at any single point, or
intoxicating vapours exhaled from the earth, have turned our nobles and
our peasants, our soldiers and traders, our men and women, all into
wits, philosophers, and writers.

It is, indeed, of mo