tches his jaws so wide, that instead of instructing youth,
it rather frightens them: likewise in reading prayers, he has such a
careless loll, that people are justly offended at his irreverent posture;
besides the extraordinary charge they are put to in sending their
children to dance, to bring them off of those ill gestures. Another evil
faculty he has, in making the bowling-green his daily residence, instead
of his church, where his curate reads prayers every day. If the weather
is fair, his time is spent in visiting; if cold or wet, in bed, or at
least at home, though within 100 yards of the church. These, out of many
such irregular practices, I write for his reclamation: but two or three
things more before I conclude; to wit, that generally when his curate
preaches in the afternoon, he sleeps sotting in the desk on a hassock.
With all this, he is so extremely proud, that he will go but once to the
sick, except they return his visit."

[Footnote 1: This letter is dated as from Will's Coffee-house, September
20. [T.S.]]

THE TATLER, NUMB. 230.

FROM TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 26. TO THURSDAY SEPTEMBER
28. 1710.

_From my own Apartment, September 27._[1]

The following letter has laid before me many great and manifest evils in
the world of letters[2] which I had overlooked; but they open to me a
very busy scene, and it will require no small care and application to
amend errors which are become so universal. The affectation of politeness
is exposed in this epistle with a great deal of wit and discernment; so
that whatever discourses I may fall into hereafter upon the subjects the
writer treats of, I shall at present lay the matter before the World
without the least alteration from the words of my correspondent.

"TO ISAAC BICKERSTAFF ESQ;

"SIR,

"There are some abuses among us of great consequence, the reformation of
which is properly your province, though, as far as I have been conversant
in your papers, you have not yet considered them. These are, the
deplorable ignorance that for some years hath reigned among our English
writers, the great depravity of our taste, and the continual corruption
of our style. I say nothing here of those who handle particular sciences,
divinity, law, physic, and the like; I mean, the traders in history and
politics, and the _belles lettres;_ together with those by whom books
are not translated, but (as the common expressions are) 'done out of
French, Latin,' or other language, and