that are not accus’d of any vertue in Medicine, which he distinguishes and divides very nicely. He preserves carefully those _Creatures_, which other Men industriously destroy, and cultivates sedulously those Plants, which others root up as Weeds. He is the Embalmer of deceas’d Vermin, and dresses his Mummyes with as much care, as the Ancient _Egyptians_ did their Kings. His Cash consists much in old Coins, and he thinks the Face of _Alexander_ in one of ’em worth more than all his Conquests. His Inventory is a list of the Insects of all Countries, and the Shells and Pebbles of all Shores, which can no more be compleat without two or three of remarkable _Signatures_, than an _Apothecaries_ Shop without a _Tortoise_ and a _Crocodile_, or a Country _Barber_’s without a batter’d _Cittern_. A piece of Ore with a Shell in it is a greater Present than if it were fine Gold, and a string of _Wampompeag_ is receiv’d with more joy, than a _Rope_ of _Orient Pearl_, or _Diamonds_ wou’d be. His Collection of _Garden Snails_, _Cockle Shells_ and _Vermine_ compleated, (as he thinks) he sets up for a _Philosopher_, and nothing less than Universal Nature will serve for a Subject, of which he thinks he has an entire History in his _Lumber Office_. Hence forward he _struts_ and _swells_, and despises all those little insignificant Fellows, that can make no better use of those noble incontestable Evidences of the Universal Deluge, _Scallop_ and _Oyster Shells_, than to stew _Oysters_, or melt _Brimstone_ for _Matches_. By this time he thinks it necessary to give the World an _Essay_ of his Parts, that it may think as highly of ’em (if possible) as he does himself; and finding _Moses_ hard beset of late, he resolves to give him a lift, and defend his Flood, to which he is so much oblig’d for sparing his darling Toys only. But as great Masters use, he corrects him sometimes for not speaking to his Mind, and gives him the lie now and then in order to support his Authority. He shakes the World to Atoms with ease, which melts before him as readily as if it were nothing but a Ball of Salt. He pumps even the Center, and drains it of imaginary stores by imaginary Loopholes, as if punching the Globe full of holes cou’d make his _Hypothesis_ hold Water. He is a Man of _Expedition_, and does that in a few days, which cost _Moses_ some Months to compleat. He is a Passionate Admirer of his own Works without a Rival, and superciliously contemns all _Answers_, yet the least _Objection_ throws him into the Vapours. He sets up for a grand _Philosopher_, and palms _Hypotheses_ upon the World, which future Ages may (if they please) expect to hear his Arguments for; at present he is in no humour to give ’em any other satisfaction than his own word, that he is infallible. Yet those that have a Faith complacent enough to take a Gentleman’s word for his own great Abilities, may perhaps be admitted to a sight of his grand