of the Bishop:  these notions, I take to have been dictated by the same masters, leaving to each writer that peculiar manner of expressing himself, which the poverty of our language forces me to call their style.  When the Guardian changed his title, and professed to engage in faction, I was sure the word was given, that grand preparations were making against next sessions; that all advantages would be taken of the little dissensions reported to be among those in power; and that the Guardian would soon be seconded by some other piqueerers[4] from the same camp.  But I will confess, my suspicions did not carry me so far as to conjecture that this venerable champion would be in such mighty haste to come into the field, and serve in the quality of an enfant perdu,[5] armed only with a pocket pistol, before his great blunderbuss could be got ready, his old rusty breastplate scoured, and his cracked headpiece mended.

[Footnote 3:  Steele.]

[Footnote 4:  Piqueerer = pickeerer (modern) = a marauder, a skirmisher in advance of an army.  From French picorer = to maraud. [T.S.]]

[Footnote 5:  Enfant perdu, one of the advanced guard; or, as Hawkesworth notes it, “one of the forlorn hope.” [T.S.]]

I was debating with myself, whether this hint of producing a small pamphlet to give notice of a large folio, was not borrowed from the ceremonial in Spanish romances, where a dwarf is sent out upon the battlements to signify to all passengers, what a mighty giant there is in the castle; or whether the Bishop copied this proceeding from the fanfarronade of Monsieur Boufflers, when the Earl of Portland and that general had an interview.  Several men were appointed at certain periods to ride in great haste toward the English camp, and cry out, Monseigneur vient, Monseigneur vient: Then, small parties advanced with the same speed and the same cry, and this foppery held for many hours, until the mareschal himself arrived.  So here, the Bishop (as we find by his dedication to Mr. Churchill the bookseller) has for a long time sent warning of his arrival by advertisements in Gazettes, and now his Introduction advances to tell us again, Monseigneur vient: In the mean time, we must gape and wait and gaze the Lord knows how long, and keep our spirits in some reasonable agitation, until his Lordship’s real self shall think fit to appear in the habit of a folio.

I have seen the same sort of management at a puppet-show.  Some puppets of little or no consequence appeared several times at the window to allure the boys and the rabble:  The trumpeter sounded often, and the doorkeeper cried a hundred times till he was hoarse, that they were just going to begin; yet after all, we were forced sometimes to wait an hour before Punch himself in person made his entry.

But why this ceremony among old acquaintance?  The world and he have long known one another:  Let him appoint his hour and make his visit, without troubling us all day with a succession of messages from his laqueys and pages.