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of St. Dunstan's, and a week's wages advance to each of his gentleman-authors, with some small gratuity in particular to Mrs. Centlivre.
The poor man continued for fome hours with all his difconfolate family about him in tears, expecting his final diffolution; when of a fudden he was surprifingly relieved by a plentiful fœtid stool, which obliged them all to retire out of the room. Notwithstanding, it is judged by Sir Richard Blackmore, that the poison is still latent in his body, and will infalliby destroy him by flow degrees in lefs than a month. It is to be hoped, the other enemies of this wretched stationer will not further purfue their revenge, or shorten this fhort period of his miserable life.
A further ACCOUNT of the moft DEPLORABLE CONDITION of MR. EDMUND CURLL, bookfeller.
"Wit, faith Sir Richard Blackmore, proceeds from a concurrence of regular and exalted ferments, and an affluence of animal spirits rectified and refined to a degree of purity." On the contrary, when the igneous particles rife with the vital liquor, they produce an abstraction of the rational part of the foul, which we commonly call madness. The verity of this hypothefis is juftified by the symptoms with which the unfortunate Mr. Edmund Curll, bookseller, hath been afflicted, ever fince his swallowing the poison at the Swan-tavern in Fleet-street. For though the neck of his retort, which carries up the animal fpirits to the head, is of an extraordinary length; yet the faid animal fpirits rife muddy, being contaminated
a Blackmore's Effays, vol. i.
with the inflammable particles of this uncommon
The symptoms of his departure from his ufual temper of mind were at first only speaking civilly to his customers, finging a pig with a new purchased libel, and refusing two and nine-pence for Sir Richard Blackmore's Effays. As the poor man's frenzy increased, he began to void his excrements in his bed, read Rochester's bawdy poems to his wife, gave Oldmixon a flap on the chops, and would have kiffed Mr. Pemberton's a- by violence.
But at last he came to fuch a pass, that he would dine upon nothing but copper-plates, took a clyfter for a whipt fyllabub, and made Mr. Lintot eat a suppository, for a radish, with bread and butter.
We leave it to every tender wife to imagine, how forely all this afflicted poor Mrs. Curll: at firft fhe privately put a bill into feveral churches, defiring the prayers of the congregation for a wretched ftationer distempered in mind. But when she was fadly convinced, that his misfortune was public to all the world, fhe writ the following letter to her good neigh bour Mr. Lintot.
A true copy of Mrs. Curll's letter to Mr. Lintot.
"WORTHY MR. LINTOT,
"YOU and all the neighbours know too well the frenzy with which my poor man is visited. I
never perceived he was out of himself, till that me-
Your most humble fervant,
"P. S. As to the report of my poor husband's
But return we to Mr. Curll, who all Wednesday continued outrageously mad. On Thursday he had a lucid interval, that enabled him to fend a general fummons to all his authors. There was but one porter, who could perform this office, to whom he gave the following bill of directions, where to find them. This bill, together with Mrs. Curll's original letter, lie at Mr. Lintot's fhop to be perufed by the curious. Instructions to a porter how to find Mr. Curll's Authors.
"At a tallow-chandler's in Petty France, halfway under the blind arch, ask for the hiftorian.
"At the Bedstead and Bolfter, a mufic-house in Moorfields, two translators in a bed together.
"At the Hercules and Still in Vinegar-yard, a schoolmafter with carbuncles on his nose.
"At a blacksmith's fhop in the Friars, a Pindaric writer in red stockings.
"In the Calendar-mill-room at Exeter-change, a compofer of meditations.
"At the Three Tobacco-pipes in Dog and Bitch yard, one that has been a parson, he wears a blue camblet coat, trimmed with black: my beft writer against revealed religion.
"At Mr. Summers, a thief-catcher's, in Lewkner's lane, the man that wrote against the impiety of Mr. Rowe's plays.
"At the Farthing pye-house in Totting-fields, the young man who is writing my new pastorals.