'The design cannot boast of much originality; for, besides its general resemblance to _Don Quixote_, there will be found in it particular imitations of the history of Mr Ouffle. 'Swift carried so much of it into Ireland as supplied him with hints for his travels; and with those the world might have been contented, though the rest had been suppressed[44].' Here we have a copious specimen of the Doctor's _taste_; and all the volumes of English criticism cannot produce a poorer page. The work thus condemned, displays a very rich vein of wit and learning. The follies which it exposes, though a little heightened, were, in that age, frequent, and perfectly well known. The writers whom it ridicules, have sunk into _nihility_. The book is always reprinted with the prose works of Pope, and Swift, and Arbuthnot; and what stronger mark of _notice_ can the public bestow? Every man who reads it, must be the wiser and the merrier; and the satire may be understood with very little learning. Dr Arbuthnot was a Scotsman, and, probably, a Presbyterian. He was an amiable man. He is _dead_. Dr Johnson feels himself to be his inferior; and, therefore, endeavours to murder the reputation of his works. To gain credit with the reader, he artfully draws a very high character of Arbuthnot, a few pages before, and here, in effect, overturns it. He had said that Arbuthnot was 'a scholar, with great brilliancy of wit.' But, if his wit and learning are not displayed in the Memoirs of Scriblerus, we may ask where wit and learning are to be found? Of this extract, the style is as slovenly as the leading sentiments are false. The book is said to be, the 'production of Arbuthnot.' Within ten lines, it is 'the joint production of _three_ great writers.' How can follies be practised which are not known? or diseases cured, which were never felt? He claims the attributes of omniscience when saying, that 'it has been little read, or when read, has been forgotten;' for, as it has been so frequently reprinted, no human being can be certain that it has been little read, or forgotten; but there is the strongest evidence of the contrary. This period concludes, as it began, with a most absurd assertion. If 'the design cannot boast of much originality,' there is nothing original in the literary world. Who is Mr Ouffle? and who told the Doctor that Swift carried any part of Scriblerus into Ireland, to supply hints for his travels? When Gulliver was published, Dr Arbuthnot, as appears from their correspondence, did not know whether that book was written by Swift or not; so that we are sure the Dean carried _nothing_ of Arbuthnot's along with him. Had Dr Johnson 'flourished and stunk' in their age, he would have been the hero of Martin's memoirs; and, to suppose him conscious of this circumstance, will account for the Rambler's malevolence, and explain why the bull broke into a china-shop. I beg particular attention to the following passage.