THE LIVES OF THE POETS OF _Great-Britain_ and _Ireland. _ By Mr. CIBBER, and other Hands. VOL. V. M DCC LIII CONTENTS A Vol. _Aaron Hill_ V_Addison_ III_Amhurst_ V_Anne_, Countess of _Winchelsea_ III B _Bancks_ III_Banks_ V_Barclay_ I_Barton Booth_ IV_Beaumont_ I_Behn, Aphra_ III_Betterton_ III_Birkenhead_ II_Blackmore_ V_Booth_, Vid. _Barton Boyce_ V_Boyle_, E. _Orrery_ II_Brady_ IV_Brewer_ II_Brooke_, Sir _Fulk Greville_ I_Brown, Tom_ III_Buckingham_, Duke of II_Budgell_ V_Butler_ II C _Carew_ I_Cartwright_ I_Centlivre_, Mrs. IV_Chandler_, Mrs. V_Chapman_ I_Chaucer_ I_Chudleigh_, Lady III_Churchyard_ I_Cleveland_ II_Cockaine_ II_Cockburne_, Mrs. V_Codrington_ IV_Concanen_ V_Congreve_ IV_Corbet_ I_Cotton_ III_Cowley_ II_Crashaw_ I_Creech_ III_Crowne_ III_Croxal_ V D _Daniel_ I_Davenant_ II_Davies_ I_Dawes_, Arch. Of _York_ IV_Day_ I_Decker_ I_De Foe_ IV_Denham_ IV_Dennis_ IV_Donne_ I_Dorset_, Earl of I_Dorset_, Earl of III_Drayton_ I_Drummond_ I_Dryden_ III_D'Urfey_ III E _Eachard_ IV_Etheredge_ III_Eusden_ V_Eustace Budgel_ V F _Fairfax_ I_Fanshaw_ II_Farquhar_ I_Faulkland_ I_Fenton_ IV_Ferrars_ I_Flecknoe_ III_Fletcher_ I_Ford_ I_Frowde_ V G _Garth_ III_Gay_ IV_Gildon_ III_Goff_ I_Goldsmith_ II_Gower_ I_Granville_, Lord _Landsdown_ IV_Green_ I_Greville_, Lord _Brooke_ I_Grierson_ V H _Harrington_ II_Hall_, Bishop I_Hammond_ V_Hammond_, Esq; IV_Harding_ I_Harrington_ I_Hausted_ I_Head_ II_Haywood, John_ I_Haywood, Jasper_ I_Haywood, Thomas_ I_Hill_ V_Hinchliffe_ V_Hobbs_ II_Holliday_ II_Howard, Esq_; III_Howard_, Sir _Robert_ III_Howel_ II_Hughes_ IV I _Johnson, Ben_ I_Johnson, Charles_ V K _Killegrew, Anne_ II_Killegrew, Thomas_ III_Killegrew, William_ III_King_, Bishop of _Chichester_ II_King_, Dr. _William_ III L _Lauderdale_, Earl of V_Langland_ I_Lansdown_, Lord _Granville_ IV_Lee_ II_L'Estrange_ IV_Lillo_ V_Lilly_ I_Lodge_ I_Lydgate_ III M _Main_ II_Manley_, Mrs. IV_Markham_ I_Marloe_ I_Marston_ I_Marvel_ IV_Massinger_ II_May_ II_Maynwaring_ III_Miller_ V_Middleton_ I_Milton_ II_Mitchel_ IV_Monk_, the Hon. Mrs. III_Montague_, Earl of _Hallifax_ III_More_, Sir _Thomas_ I_More, Smyth_ IV_Motteaux_ IV_Mountford_ III N _Nabbes_ II_Nash_ I_Needler_ IV_Newcastle_, Duchess of II_Newcastle_, Duke of II O _Ogilby_ II_Oldham_ II_Oldmixon_ IV_Orrery, Boyle_, Earl of II_Otway_ II_Overbury_ I_Ozell_ IV P _Pack_ IV_Phillips_, Mrs. _Katherine_ II_Phillips, John_ III_Phillips, Ambrose_ V_Pilkington_ V_Pit_ V_Pomfret_ III_Pope_ V_Prior_ IV R _Raleigh_ I_Randolph_ I_Ravenscroft_ III_Rochester_ II_Roscommon_, Earl of III_Rowe, Nicholas_ III_Rowe_, Mrs. IV_Rowley_ I S _Sackville_, E. Of _Dorset_ I_Sandys_ I_Savage_ V_Sedley_ III_Settle_ III_Sewel_ IV_Shadwell_ III_Shakespear_ I_Sheffield_, Duke of Buckingham III_Sheridan_ V_Shirley_ II_Sidney_ I_Skelton_ I_Smith, Matthew_ II_Smith, Edmund_ IV_Smyth, More_ IV_Southern_ V_Spenser_ I_Sprat_ III_Stapleton_ II_Steele_ IV_Stepney_ IV_Stirling_, Earl of I_Suckling_ I_Surry_, Earl of I_Swift_ V_Sylvester_ I T_Tate_ III_Taylor_ II_Theobald_ V_Thomas_, Mrs. IV_Thompson_ V_Tickell_ V_Trap_ V V _Vanbrugh_ IV W _Waller_ II_Walsh_ III_Ward_ IV_Welsted_ IV_Wharton_ II_Wharton, Philip_ Duke of IV_Wycherley_ III_Winchelsea, Anne_, Countess of III_Wotton_ I_Wyatt_ I Y _Yalden_ IV THE LIVES OF THE POETS * * * * * EUSTACE BUDGELL, Esq; was the eldest son of Gilbert Budgell, D. D. Of St. Thomas near Exeter, by his first wife Mary, the only daughter of Dr. William Gulston, bishopof Bristol; whose sister Jane married dean Addison, and was mother tothe famous Mr. Addison the secretary of state. This family of Budgell isvery old, and has been settled, and known in Devonshire above 200years[1]. Eustace was born about the year 1685, and distinguished himself verysoon at school, from whence he was removed early to Christ's ChurchCollege in Oxford, where he was entered a gentleman commoner. He staidsome years in that university, and afterwards went to London, where, byhis father's directions, he was entered of the Inner-Temple, in order tobe bred to the Bar, for which his father had always intended him: butinstead of the Law, he followed his own inclinations, which carried himto the study of polite literature, and to the company of the genteelestpeople in town. This proved unlucky; for the father, by degrees, grewuneasy at his son's not getting himself called to the Bar, nor properlyapplying to the Law, according to his reiterated directions and request;and the son complained of the strictness and insufficiency of hisfather's allowance, and constantly urged the necessity of his livinglike a gentleman, and of his spending a great deal of money. During thisslay, however, at the Temple, Mr. Budgell made a strict intimacy andfriendship with Mr. Addison, who was first cousin to his mother; andthis last gentleman being appointed, in the year 1710, secretary to lordWharton, the lord lieutenant of Ireland, he made an offer to his friendEustace of going with him as one of the clerks in his office. Theproposal being advantageous, and Mr. Budgell being then on bad termswith his father, and absolutely unqualified for the practice of the Law, it was readily accepted. Nevertheless, for fear of his father'sdisapprobation of it, he never communicated his design to him 'till thevery night of his setting out for Ireland, when he wrote him a letterto inform him at once of his resolution and journey. This was in thebeginning of April 1710, when he was about twenty five years of age. Hehad by this time read the classics, the most reputed historians, and allthe best French, English, or Italian writers. His apprehension wasquick, his imagination fine, and his memory remarkably strong; thoughhis greatest commendations were a very genteel address, a ready wit andan excellent elocution, which shewed him to advantage wherever he went. There was, notwithstanding, one principal defect in his disposition, andthis was an infinite vanity, which gave him so insufferable apresumption, as led him to think that nothing was too much for hiscapacity, nor any preferment, or favour, beyond his deserts. Mr. Addison's fondness for him perhaps increased this disposition, as henaturally introduced him into all the company he kept, which at thattime was the best, and most ingenious in the two kingdoms. In short, they lived and lodged together, and constantly followed the lordlieutenant into England at the same time. It was now that Mr. Budgell commenced author, and was partly concernedwith Sir Richard Steele and Mr. Addison in writing the Tatler. TheSpectators being set on foot in 1710-11, Mr. Budgell had likewise ashare in them, as all the papers marked with an X may easily inform thereader, and indeed the eighth volume was composed by Mr. Addison andhimself[2], without the assistance of Sir Richard Steele. Thespeculations of our author were generally liked, and Mr. Addison wasfrequently complimented upon the ingenuity of his kinsman. About thesame time he wrote an epilogue to the Distress'd Mother[3], which had agreater run than any thing of that kind ever had before, and has hadthis peculiar regard shewn to it since, that now, above thirty yearsafterwards, it is generally spoke at the representation of that play. Several little epigrams and songs, which have a good deal of wit inthem, were also written by Mr. Budgell near this period of time, allwhich, together with the known affection of Mr. Addison for him, raisedhis character so much, as to make him be very generally known and talkedof. His father's death in 1711 threw into his hands all the estates of thefamily, which were about 950 l. A year, although they were leftincumbered with some debts, as his father was a man of pride and spirit, kept a coach and six, and always lived beyond his income, notwithstanding his spiritual preferments, and the money he had receivedwith his wives. Dr. Budgell had been twice married, and by his firstlady left five children living after him, three of whom were sons, Eustace, our author, Gilbert, a Clergyman, and William, the fellow ofNew College in Oxford. By his last wife (who was Mrs. Fortescue, motherto the late master of the rolls, and who survived him) he had no issue. Notwithstanding this access of fortune, Mr. Budgell in no wise alteredhis manner of living; he was at small expence about his person, stuckvery close to business, and gave general satisfaction in the dischargeof his office. Upon the laying down of the Spectator, the Guardian was set up, and inthis work our author had a hand along with Mr. Addison and Sir RichardSteele. In the preface it is said, those papers marked with an asteriskare by Mr. Budgell. In the year 1713 he published a very elegant translation ofTheophrastus's Characters, which Mr. Addison in the Lover says, 'is thebest version extant of any ancient author in the English language. ' Itwas dedicated to the lord Hallifax, who was the greatest patron ourauthor ever had, and with whom he always lived in the greatest intimacy. Mr. Budgell having regularly made his progress in the secretary ofState's office in Ireland; upon the arrival of his late Majesty inEngland, was appointed under secretary to Mr. Addison, and chiefsecretary to the Lords Justices of Ireland. He was made likewise deputyclerk of the council in that kingdom, and soon after chose member of theIrish parliament, where he became a very good speaker. The post of undersecretary is reckoned worth 1500 l. A year, and that of deputy clerk tothe council 250 l. A year. Mr. Budgell set out for Ireland the 8th ofOctober, 1714, officiated in his place in the privy council the 14th, took possession of the secretary's office, and was immediately admittedsecretary to the Lords Justices. In the same year at a publicentertainment at the Inns of Court in Dublin, he, with many people ofdistinction, was made an honorary bencher. At his first entering uponthe secretary's place, after the removal of the tories on the accessionof his late Majesty, he lay under very great difficulties; all theformer clerks of his office refusing to serve, all the books with theform of business being secreted, and every thing thrown into the utmostconfusion; yet he surmounted these difficulties with very uncommonresolution, assiduity, and ability, to his great honour and applause. Within a twelvemonth of his entering upon his employments, the rebellionbroke out, and as, for several years (during all the absences of thelord lieutenant) he had discharged the office of secretary of state, andas no transport office at that time subsisted, he was extraordinarilycharged with the care of the embarkation, and the providing of shipping(which is generally the province of a field-officer) for all the troopsto be transported to Scotland. However, he went through this extensiveand unusual complication of business, with great exactness and ability, and with very singular disinterestedness, for he took no extraordinaryservice money on this account, nor any gratuity, or fees for any of thecommissions which passed through his office for the colonels andofficers of militia then raising in Ireland. The Lords Justices pressedhim to draw up a warrant for a very handsome present, on account of hisgreat zeal, and late extraordinary pains (for he had often sat up wholenights in his office) but he very genteely and firmly refused it. Mr. Addison, upon becoming principal secretary of state in England in1717, procured the place of accomptant and comptroller general of therevenue in Ireland for Mr. Budgell, which is worth 400 l. A year, andmight have had him for his under secretary, but it was thought moreexpedient for his Majesty's service, that Mr. Budgell should continuewhere he was. Our author held these several places until the year 1718, at which time the duke of Bolton was appointed lord lieutenant. Hisgrace carried one Mr. Edward Webster over with him (who had been anunder clerk in the Treasury) and made him a privy counsellor and hissecretary. This gentleman, 'twas said, insisted upon the quartering afriend on the under secretary, which produced a misunderstanding betweenthem; for Mr. Budgell positively declared, he would never submit to anysuch condition whilst he executed the office, and affected to treat Mr. Webster himself, his education, abilities, and family, with the utmostcontempt. He was indiscreet enough, prior to this, to write a lampoon, in which the lord lieutenant was not spared: he would publish it (sofond was he of this brat of his brain) in opposition to Mr. Addison'sopinion, who strongly persuaded him to suppress it; as the publication, Mr. Addison said, could neither serve his interest, or reputation. Hencemany discontents arose between them, 'till at length the lordlieutenant, in support of his secretary, superseded Mr. Budgell, andvery soon after got him removed from the place of accomptant-general. However, upon the first of these removals taking place, and upon somehints being given by his private secretary, captain Guy Dickens (now ourminister at Stockholm) that it would not probably be safe for him toremain any longer in Ireland, he immediately entrusted his papers andprivate concerns to the hands of his brother William, then a clerk inhis office, and set out for England. Soon after his arrival he publisheda pamphlet representing his case, intituled, A Letter to the Lord----from Eustace Budgell, Esq; Accomptant General of Ireland, and lateSecretary to their Excellencies the Lords Justices of that Kingdom;eleven hundred copies of which were sold off in one day, so great wasthe curiosity of the public in that particular. Afterwards too in thePost-Boy of January 17, 1718-19, he published an Advertisement tojustify his character against a report that had been spread to hisdisadvantage: and he did not scruple to declare in all companies thathis life was attempted by his enemies, or otherwise he should haveattended his feat in the Irish Parliament. His behaviour, about thistime, made many of his friends judge he was become delirious; hispassions were certainly exceeding strong, nor were his vanity andjealousy less. Upon his coming to England he had lost no time in waitingupon Mr. Addison, who had resigned the seals, and was retired into thecountry for the sake of his health; but Mr. Addison found it impossibleto stem the tide of opposition, which was every where running againsthis kinsman, through the influence and power of the duke of Bolton. Hetherefore disswaded him in the strongest manner from publishing hiscase, but to no manner of purpose, which made him tell a friend in greatanxiety, 'Mr. Budgell was wiser than any man he ever knew, and yet hesupposed the world would hardly believe he acted contrary to hisadvice. ' Our author's great and noble friend the lord Hallifax was dead, and my lord Orrery, who held him in the highest esteem, had it not inhis power to procure him any redress. However, Mr. Addison had got apromise from lord Sunderland, that as soon as the present clamour was alittle abated, he would do something for him. Mr. Budgell had held the considerable places of under secretary to theLord Lieutenant, and secretary to the Lords Justices for four years, during which time he had never been absent four days from his office, nor ten miles from Dublin. His application was indefatigable, and hisnatural spirits capable of carrying him through any difficulty. He hadlived always genteelly, but frugally, and had saved a large sum ofmoney, which he now engaged in the South-Sea scheme. During his abode inIreland, he had collected materials for writing a History of thatkingdom, for which he had great advantages, by having an easy recourseto all the public offices; but what is become of it, and whether he everfinished it, we are not certainly informed. It is undoubtedly aconsiderable loss, because there is no tolerable history of that nation, and because we might have expected a satisfactory account from sopleasing a writer. He wrote a pamphlet, after he came to England, against the famousPeerage Bill, which was very well received by the public, but highlyoffended the earl of Sunderland. It was exceedingly cried up by theopposition, and produced some overtures of friendship at the time, fromMr. Robert Walpole, to our author. Mr. Addison's death, in the year1719, put an end, however, to all his hopes of succeeding at court, where he continued, nevertheless, to make several attempts, but wasconstantly kept down by the weight of the duke of Bolton. In theSeptember of that year he went into France, through all the strongplaces in Flanders and Brabant, and all the considerable towns inHolland, and then went to Hanover, from whence he returned with hisMajesty's retinue the November following. But the fatal year of the South-Sea, 1720, ruined our author entirely, for he lost above 20, 000 l. In it; however he was very active on thatoccasion, and made many speeches at the general courts of the South-SeaCompany in Merchant-Taylors Hall, and one in particular, which wasafterwards printed both in French and English, and run to a thirdedition. And in 1721 he published a pamphlet with success, called, ALetter to a Friend in the Country, occasioned by a Report that there isa Design still forming by the late Directors of the South-Sea Company, their Agents and Associates, to issue the Receipts of the 3d and 4thSubscriptions at 1000 l. Per Cent. And to extort about 10 Millions morefrom the miserable People of Great Britain; with some Observations onthe present State of Affairs both at Home and Abroad. In the same yearhe published A Letter to Mr. Law upon his Arrival in Great Britain, which run through seven editions very soon. Not long afterwards the dukeof Portland, whose fortune had been likewise destroyed by the South-Sea, was appointed governor of Jamaica, upon which he immediately told Mr. Budgell he should go with him as his secretary, and should always livein the same manner with himself, and that he would contrive every methodof making the employment profitable and agreeable to him: but his gracedid not know how obnoxious our author had rendered himself; for within afew days after this offer's taking air, he was acquainted in form by asecretary of state, that if he thought of Mr. Budgell, the governmentwould appoint another governor in his room. After being deprived of this last resource, he tried to get into thenext parliament at several places, and spent near 5000 l. Inunsuccessful attempts, which compleated his ruin. And from this periodhe began to behave and live in a very different manner from what he hadever done before; wrote libellous pamphlets against Sir Robert Walpoleand the ministry; and did many unjust things with respect to hisrelations; being distracted in his own private fortune, as, indeed, hewas judged to be, in his senses; torturing his invention to find outways of subsisting and eluding his ill-stars, his pride at the same timeworking him up to the highest pitches of resentment and indignationagainst all courts and courtiers. His younger brother, the fellow of New-College, who had more weight withhim than any body, had been a clerk under him in Ireland, and continuedstill in the office, and who bad fair for rising in it, died in the year1723, and after that our author seemed to pay no regard to any person. Mr. William Budgell was a man of very good sense, extremely steady inhis conduct, and an adept in all calculations and mathematicalquestions; and had besides great good-nature and easiness of temper. Our author as I before observed, perplexed his private affairs from thistime as much as possible, and engaged in numberless law-suits, whichbrought him into distresses that attended him to the end of his life. In 1727 Mr. Budgell had a 1000 l. Given him by the late Sarah, duchessdowager of Marlborough, to whose husband (the famous duke ofMarlborough) he was a relation by his mother's side, with a view to hisgetting into parliament. She knew he had a talent for speaking inpublic, and that he was acquainted with business, and would probably runany lengths against the ministry. However this scheme failed, for hecould never get chosen. In the year 1730 and about that time, he closed in with the writersagainst the administration, and wrote many papers in the Craftsman. Helikewise published a pamphlet, intitled, A Letter to the Craftsman, from E. Budgell, Esq; occasioned by his late presenting an humblecomplaint against the right honourable Sir Robert Walpole, with aPost-script. This ran to a ninth edition. Near the same time too hewrote a Letter to Cleomenes King of Sparta, from E. Budgell, Esq; beingan Answer Paragraph by Paragraph to his Spartan Majesty's Royal Epistle, published some time since in the Daily Courant, with some Account of theManners and Government of the Antient Greeks and Romans, and PoliticalReflections thereon. And not long after there came out A State of one ofthe Author's Cases before the House of Lords, which is generally printedwith the Letter to Cleomenes: He likewise published on the same occasiona pamphlet, which he calls Liberty and Property, by E. Budgell, Esq;wherein he complains of the seizure and loss of many valuable papers, and particularly a collection of Letters from Mr. Addison, lordHallifax, Sir Richard Steele, and other people, which he designed topublish; and soon after he printed a sequel or second part, under thesame title. The same year he also published his Poem upon his Majesty's Journey toCambridge and New-market, and dedicated it to the Queen. Another of hisperformances is a poetical piece, intitled A Letter to his ExcellencyUlrick D'Ypres, and C----, in Answer to his excellency's two Epistles inthe Daily Courant; with a Word or Two to Mr. Osborn the Hyp Doctor, andC----. These several performances were very well received by the public. In the year 1733 he began a weekly pamphlet (in the nature of aMagazine, though more judiciously composed) called The Bee, which hecontinued for about 100 Numbers, that bind into eight Volumes Octavo, but at last by quarrelling with his booksellers, and filling hispamphlet with things entirely relating to himself, he was obliged todrop it. During the progress of this work, Dr. Tindall's death happened, by whose will Mr. Budgell had 2000 l. Left him; and the world beingsurprised at such a gift, immediately imputed it to his making the willhimself. This produced a paper-war between him and Mr. Tindall, thecontinuator of Rapin, by which Mr. Budgell's character considerablysuffered; and this occasioned his Bee's being turned into a meervindication of himself. It is thought he had some hand in publishing Dr. Tindall's Christianityas old as the Creation; and he often talked of another additional volumeon the same subject, but never published it. However he used to enquirevery frequently after Dr. Conybear's health (who had been employed byher late majesty to answer the first, and had been rewarded with thedeanery of Christ-Church for his pains) saying he hoped Mr. Dean wouldlive a little while longer, that he might have the pleasure of makinghim a bishop, for he intended very soon to publish the other volume ofTindall which would do the business. Mr. Budgell promised likewise avolume of several curious pieces of Tindall's, that had been committedto his charge, with the life of the doctor; but never fulfilled hispromise[4]. During the publication of the Bee a smart pamphlet came out, called AShort History of Prime Ministers, which was generally believed to bewritten by our author; and in the same year he published A Letter to theMerchants and Tradesmen of London and Bristol, upon their late gloriousbehaviour against the Excise Law. After the extinction of the Bee, our author became so involved withlaw-suits, and so incapable of living in the manner he wished andaffected to do, that he was reduced to a very unhappy situation. He gothimself call'd to the bar, and attended for some time in the courts oflaw; but finding it was too late to begin that profession, and toodifficult for a man not regularly trained to it, to get into business, he soon quitted it. And at last, after being cast in several of his ownsuits, and being distressed to the utmost, he determined to make awaywith himself. He had always thought very loosely of revelation, andlatterly became an avowed deist; which, added to his pride, greatlydisposed him to this resolution. Accordingly within a few days after the loss of his great cause, and hisestates being decreed for the satisfaction of his creditors, in the year1736 he took boat at Somerset-Stairs (after filling his pockets withstones upon the beach) ordered the waterman to shoot the bridge, andwhilst the boat was going under it threw himself over-board. Severaldays before he had been visibly distracted in his mind, and almost mad, which makes such an action the less wonderful. He was never married, but left one natural daughter behind him, whoafterwards took his name, and was lately an actress at Drury-Lane. It has been said, Mr. Budgell was of opinion, that when life becomesuneasy to support, and is overwhelmed with clouds, and sorrows, that aman has a natural right to take it away, as it is better not to live, than live in pain. The morning before he carried his notion ofself-murder into execution, he endeavoured to persuade his daughter toaccompany him, which she very wisely refused. His argument to induce herwas; life is not worth the holding. --Upon Mr. Budgell's beauroe wasfound a slip of paper; in which were written these words. What Cato did, and Addison approv'd[5], Cannot be wrong. -- Mr. Budgell had undoubtedly strong natural parts, an excellenteducation, and set out in life with every advantage that a man couldwish, being settled in very great and profitable employments, at a veryearly age, by Mr. Addison: But by excessive vanity and indiscretion, proceeding from a false estimation of his own weight and consequence, heover-stretched himself, and ruined his interest at court, and by thesucceeding loss of his fortune in the South-Sea, was reduced too low tomake any other head against his enemies. The unjustifiable anddishonourable law-suits he kept alive, in the remaining part of hislife, seem to be intirely owing to the same disposition, which couldnever submit to the living beneath what he had once done, and from thatprinciple he kept a chariot and house in London to the very last. His end was like that of many other people of spirit, reduced to greatstreights; for some of the greatest, as well as some of the mostinfamous men have laid violent hands upon themselves. As an author wherehe does not speak of himself, and does not give a loose to his vanity, he is a very agreeable and deserving writer; not argumentative or deep, but very ingenious and entertaining, and his stile is peculiarlyelegant, so as to deserve being ranked in that respect with Addison's, and is superior to most of the other English writers. His Memoirs of theOrrery Family and the Boyle's, is the most indifferent of hisperformances; though the translations of Phalaris's Epistles in thatwork are done with great spirit and beauty. As to his brothers, the second, Gilbert, was thought a man of deeperlearning and better judgment when he was young than our author, but wascertainly inferior to him in his appearance in life; and, 'tis thought, greatly inferior to him in every respect. He was author of a pretty Copyof Verses in the VIIIth Vol. Of the Spectators, Numb, 591, which beginsthus, Conceal, fond man, conceal the mighty smart, Nor tell Corinna she has fir'd thy heart. And it is said that it was a repulse from a lady of great fortune, withwhom he was desperately in love whilst at Oxford, and to whom he hadaddressed these lines, that made him disregard himself ever after, neglect his studies, and fall into a habit of drinking. Whatever was theoccasion of this last vice it ruined him. A lady had commended anddesired to have a copy of his Verses once, and he sent them, with theselines on the first leaf-- Lucretius hence thy maxim I abjure Nought comes from nought, nothing can nought procure. If to these lines your approbation's join'd, Something I'm sure from nothing has been coin'd. This gentleman died unmarried, a little after his brother Eustace, atExeter; having lived in a very disreputable manner for some time, andhaving degenerated into such excessive indolence, that he usually pickedup some boy in the streets, and carried him into the coffee-house toread the news-papers to him. He had taken deacon's orders some yearsbefore his death, but had always been averse to that kind of life; andtherefore became it very ill, and could never be prevailed upon to be apriest. The third brother William, fellow of New-College in Oxford, died (as Imentioned before) one of the clerks in the Irish secretary of state'soffice, very young. He had been deputy accomptant general, both to hisbrother and his successor; and likewise deputy to Mr. Addison, as keeperof the records in Birmingham-Tower. Had he lived, 'tis probable he wouldhave made a considerable figure, being a man of sound sense andlearning, with great prudence and honour. His cousin Dr. Downes, thenbishop of London-Derry, was his zealous friend, and Dr. Lavington thepresent bishop of Exeter, his fellow-collegian, was his intimatecorrespondent. Of the two sisters, the eldest married captain Graves ofThanks, near Saltash in Cornwall, a sea-officer, and died in 1738, leaving some children behind her; and the other is still alive, unmarried. The father Dr. Gilbert Budgell, was esteemed a sensible man, and has published a discourse upon Prayer, and some Sermons[6]. FOOTNOTES: [1] See Budgell's Letter to Cleomenes. Appendix p. 79. [2] See The Bee, vol. Ii. P. 854. [3] 'Till then it was usual to discontinue an epilogue after the sixth night. But this was called for by the audience, and continued for the whole run of this play: Budgell did not scruple to sit in the it, and call for it himself. [4] Vide Bee, Vol. II. Page 1105. [5] Alluding to Cato's destroying himself. [6] There is an Epigram of our author's, which I don't remember to have seen published any where, written upon the death of a very fine young lady. She was, she is, (What can theremore be said) On Earth [the] first, In Heav'n the second Maid. [Transcriber's note: Print unclear, word in square bracket assumed. ] See a Song of our author's in Steele's Miscellanies, published in 1714. Page 210. There is an Epigram of his printed in the same book and in many collections, Upon a Company of bad Dancers to good Music. How ill the motion with the music suits! So fiddled Orpheus--and so danc'd the Brutes. * * * * * THOMAS TICKELL, Esq. This Gentleman, well known, to the world by the friendship and intimacywhich subsisted between him and Mr. Addison, was the son of the revd. Mr. Richard Tickell, who enjoy'd a considerable preferment in the Northof England. Our poet received his education at Queen's-College inOxford, of which he was a fellow. While he was at that university, he wrote a beautiful copy of versesaddressed to Mr. Addison, on his Opera of Rosamond. These versescontained many elegant compliments to the author, in which he compareshis softness to Corelli, and his strength to Virgil[1]. The Opera first Italian masters taught, Enrich'd with songs, but innocent of thought; Britannia's learned theatre disdains Melodious trifles, and enervate strains; And blushes on her injur'd stage to see, Nonsense well tun'd with sweet stupidity. No charms are wanting to thy artful song Soft as Corelli, and as Virgil strong. These complimentary lines, a few of which we have now quoted, soeffectually recommended him to Mr. Addison, that he held him in esteemever afterwards; and when he himself was raised to the dignity ofsecretary of state, he appointed Mr. Tickell his under-secretary. Mr. Addison being obliged to resign on account of his ill-state of health, Mr. Craggs who succeeded him, continued Mr. Tickell in his place, whichhe held till that gentleman's death. When Mr. Addison was appointedsecretary, being a diffident man, he consulted with his friends aboutdisposing such places as were immediately dependent on him. Hecommunicated to Sir Richard Steele, his design of preferring Mr. Tickellto be his under-secretary, which Sir Richard, who considered him as apetulant man, warmly opposed. He observed that Mr. Tickell was of atemper too enterprising to be governed, and as he had no opinion of hishonour, he did not know what might be the consequence, if by insinuationand flattery, or by bolder means, he ever had an opportunity of raisinghimself. It holds pretty generally true, that diffident people under theappearance of distrusting their own opinions, are frequently positive, and though they pursue their resolutions with trembling, they never failto pursue them. Mr. Addison had a little of this temper in him. He couldnot be persuaded to set aside Mr. Tickell, nor even had secrecy enoughto conceal from him Sir Richard's opinion. This produced a greatanimosity between Sir Richard and Mr. Tickell, which subsisted duringtheir lives. Mr. Tickell in his life of Addison, prefixed to his own edition of thatgreat man's works, throws out some unmannerly reflexions against SirRichard, who was at that time in Scotland, as one of the commissionerson the forfeited estates. Upon Sir Richard's return to London, hededicates to Mr. Congreve, Addison's Comedy, called the Drummer, inwhich he takes occasion very smartly to retort upon Tickell, and clearshimself of the imputation laid to his charge, namely that of valuinghimself upon Mr. Addison's papers in the Spectator. In June 1724 Mr. Tickell was appointed secretary to the Lords Justicesin Ireland, a place says Mr. Coxeter, which he held till his death, which happened in the year 1740. It does not appear that Mr. Tickell was in any respect ungrateful to Mr. Addison, to whom he owed his promotion; on the other hand we find himtake every opportunity to celebrate him, which he always performs withso much zeal, and earnestness, that he seems to have retained the mostlasting sense of his patron's favours. His poem to the earl of Warwickon the death of Mr. Addison, is very pathetic. He begins it thus, If dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stray'd, And left her debt to Addison unpaid, Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, And judge, O judge, my bosom by your own. What mourner ever felt poetic fires! Slow comes the verse, that real woe inspires: Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. Mr. Tickell's works are printed in the second volume of the Minor Poets, and he is by far the most considerable writer amongst them. He has avery happy talent in versification, which much exceeds Addison's, and isinferior to few of the English Poets, Mr. Dryden and Pope excepted. Thefirst poem in this collection is addressed to the supposed author of theSpectator. In the year 1713 Mr. Tickell wrote a poem, called The Prospect of Peace, addressed to his excellency the lord privy-seal; which met with sofavourable a reception from the public, as to go thro' six editions. Thesentiments in this poem are natural, and obvious, but no wayextraordinary. It is an assemblage of pretty notions, poeticallyexpressed; but conducted with no kind of art, and altogether without aplan. The following exordium is one of the most shining parts of thepoem. Far hence be driv'n to Scythia's stormy shore The drum's harsh music, and the cannon's roar; Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain, Where Tartar clans, and grizly Cossacks reign; Let the steel'd Turk be deaf to Matrons cries, See virgins ravish'd, with relentless eyes, To death, grey heads, and smiling infants doom. Nor spare the promise of the pregnant womb: O'er wafted kingdoms spread his wide command. The savage lord of an unpeopled land. Her guiltless glory just Britannia draws From pure religion, and impartial laws, To Europe's wounds a mother's aid she brings, And holds in equal scales the rival kings: Her gen'rous sons in choicest gifts abound, Alike in arms, alike in arts renown'd. The Royal Progress. This poem is mentioned in the Spectator, inopposition to such performances, as are generally written in a swellingstile, and in which the bombast is mistaken for the sublime. It is meantas a compliment to his late majesty, on his arrival in his Britishdominions. An imitation of the Prophesy of Nereus. Horace, Book I. Ode XV. --Thiswas written about the year 1715, and intended as a ridicule upon theenterprize of the earl of Marr; which he prophesies will be crushed bythe duke of Argyle. An Epistle from a Lady in England, to a gentleman at Avignon. Of thispiece five editions were sold; it is written in the manner of a Lady toa Gentleman, whose principles obliged him to be an exile with the RoyalWanderer. The great propension of the Jacobites to place confidence inimaginary means; and to construe all extraordinary appearances, intoominous signs of the restoration of their king is very well touched. Was it for this the sun's whole lustre fail'd, And sudden midnight o'er the Moon prevail'd! For this did Heav'n display to mortal eyes Aerial knights, and combats in the skies! Was it for this Northumbrian streams look'd red! And Thames driv'n backwards shew'd his secret bed! False Auguries! th'insulting victors scorn! Ev'n our own prodigies against us turn! O portents constru'd, on our side in vain! Let never Tory trust eclipse again! Run clear, ye fountains! be at peace, ye skies; And Thames, henceforth to thy green borders rise! An Ode, occasioned by his excellency the earl of Stanhope's Voyage toFrance. A Prologue to the University of Oxford. Thoughts occasioned by the sight of an originalpicture of King Charles the 1st, taken at the time ofhis Trial. A Fragment of a Poem, on Hunting. A Description of the Phoenix, from Claudian. To a Lady; with the Description of the Phoenix. Part of the Fourth Book of Lucan translated. The First Book of Homer's Iliad. Kensington-Gardens. Several Epistles and Odes. This translation was published much about the same time with Mr. Pope's. But it will not bear a comparison; and Mr. Tickell cannot receive agreater injury, than to have his verses placed in contradistinction toPope's. Mr. Melmoth, in his Letters, published under the name of FitzOsborne, has produced some parallel passages, little to the advantage ofMr. Tickell, who if he fell greatly short of the elegance and beauty ofPope, has yet much exceeded Mr. Congreve, in what he has attempted ofHomer. In the life of Addison, some farther particulars concerning thistranslation are related; and Sir Richard Steele, in his dedication ofthe Drummer to Mr. Congreve, gives it as his opinion, that Addison washimself the author. These translations, published at the same time, were certainly meant asrivals to one another. We cannot convey a more adequate idea of this, than in the words of Mr. Pope, in a Letter to James Craggs, Esq. ; datedJuly the 15th, 1715. 'Sir, 'They tell me, the busy part of the nation are not more busy about Whigand Tory; than these idle-fellows of the feather, about Mr. Tickell'sand my translation. I (like the Tories) have the town in general, thatis, the mob on my side; but it is usual with the smaller part to make upin industry, what they want in number; and that is the case with thelittle senate of Cato. However, if our principles be well considered, Imust appear a brave Whig, and Mr. Tickell a rank Tory. I translatedHomer, for the public in general, he to gratify the inordinate desiresof one man only. We have, it seems, a great Turk in poetry, who cannever bear a brother on the throne; and has his Mutes too, a set ofMedlers, Winkers, and Whisperers, whose business 'tis to strangle allother offsprings of wit in their birth. The new translator of Homer, isthe humblest slave he has, that is to say, his first minister; let himreceive the honours he gives me, but receive them with fear andtrembling; let him be proud of the approbation of his absolute lord, Iappeal to the people, as my rightful judges, and masters; and if theyare not inclined to condemn me, I fear no arbitrary high-flyingproceeding, from the Court faction at Button's. But after all I havesaid of this great man, there is no rupture between us. We are each ofus so civil, and obliging, that neither thinks he's obliged: And I formy part, treat with him, as we do with the Grand Monarch; who has toomany great qualities, not to be respected, though we know he watches anyoccasion to oppress us. ' Thus we have endeavoured to exhibit an Idea of the writings of Mr. Tickell, a man of a very elegant genius: As there appears no greatinvention in his works, if he cannot be placed in the first rank ofPoets; yet from the beauty of his numbers, and the real poetry whichenriched his imagination, he has, at least, an unexceptionable claim tothe second. FOOTNOTE: [1] Jacob. * * * * * Mr. WILLIAM HINCHLIFFE, was the son of a reputable tradesman of St. Olave's in Southwark, andwas born there May 12, 1692; was educated at a private grammar schoolwith his intimate and ingenious friend Mr. Henry Needler. He made aconsiderable progress in classical learning, and had a poetical genius. He served an apprenticeship to Mr. Arthur Bettesworth, Bookseller inLondon, and afterwards followed that business himself near thirty years, under the Royal Exchange, with reputation and credit, having the esteemand friendship of many eminent merchants and gentlemen. In 1718 hemarried Jane, one of the daughters of Mr. William Leigh, an eminentcitizen. Mrs. Hinchliffe was sister of William Leigh, esq; one of hisMajesty's justices of the peace for the county of Surry, and of therevd. Thomas Leigh, late rector of Heyford in Oxfordshire, by whom hehad two sons and three daughters, of which only one son and one daughterare now living. He died September 20, 1742, and was buried in the parishchurch of St. Margaret's Lothbury, London. In 1714 he had the honour to present an Ode to King George I. On hisArrival at Greenwich, which is printed in a Collection of Poems, Amorous, Moral, and Divine, which he published in octavo, 1718, anddedicated them to his friend Mr. Needler. He published a History of the Rebellion of 1715, and dedicated it to thelate Duke of Argyle. He made himself master of the French tongue by his own application andstudy; and in 1734 published a Translation of Boulainvillers's Life ofMahomet, which is well esteemed, and dedicated it to his intimate andworthy friend Mr. William Duncombe, Esq; He was concerned, with others, in the publishing several other ingeniousperformances, and has left behind him in manuscript, a Translation ofthe nine first Books of Telemachus in blank Verse, which cost him greatlabour, but he did not live to finish the remainder. He is the author of a volume of poems in 8vo, many of which are writtenwith a true poetical spirit. The INVITATION[1]. 1. O come Lavinia, lovely maid, Said Dion, stretch'd at ease, Beneath the walnut's fragrant shade, A sweet retreat! by nature made With elegance to please. 2. O leave the court's deceitful glare, Loath'd pageantry and pride, Come taste our solid pleasures here. Which angels need not blush to share, And with bless'd men divide. 3. What raptures were it in these bow'rs, Fair virgin, chaste, and wise, With thee to lose the learned hours, And note the beauties in these flowers, Conceal'd from vulgar eyes. 4. For thee my gaudy garden blooms, And richly colour'd glows;Above the pomp of royal rooms, Or purpled works of Persian looms, Proud palaces disclose. 5. Haste, nymph, nor let me sigh in vain, Each grace attends on thee;Exalt my bliss, and point my strain, For love and truth are of thy train, Content and harmony. [1] This piece is not in Mr. Hinchliffe's works, but is assuredly his. * * * * * MR. MATTHEW CONCANEN. This gentleman was a native of Ireland, and was bred to the Law. In thisprofession he seems not to have made any great figure. By some means orother he conceived an aversion to Dr. Swift, for his abuse of whom, theworld taxed him with ingratitude. Concanen had once enjoyed some degreeof Swift's favour, who was not always very happy in the choice of hiscompanions. He had an opportunity of reading some of the Dr's poems inMS. Which it is said he thought fit to appropriate and publish as hisown. As affairs did not much prosper with him in Ireland, he came over toLondon, in company with another gentleman, and both commenced writers. These two friends entered into an extraordinary agreement. As thesubjects which then attracted the attention of mankind were of apolitical cast, they were of opinion that no species of writing could sosoon recommend them to public notice; and in order to make their trademore profitable, they resolved to espouse different interests; oneshould oppose, and the other defend the ministry. They determined theside of the question each was to espouse, by tossing up a half-penny, and it fell to the share of Mr. Concanen to defend the ministry, whichtask he performed with as much ability, as political writers generallydiscover. He was for some time, concerned in the British, and London Journals, anda paper called The Speculatist. These periodical pieces are long sinceburied in neglect, and perhaps would have even sunk into oblivion, hadnot Mr. Pope, by his satyrical writings, given them a kind ofdisgraceful immortality. In these Journals he published manyscurrilities against Mr. Pope; and in a pamphlet called, The Supplementto the Profound, he used him with great virulence, and little candour. He not only imputed to him Mr. Brome's verses (for which he might indeedseem in some degree accountable, having corrected what that gentlemandid) but those of the duke of Buckingham and others. To this rare piecesome body humorously perswaded him to take for his motto, De profundisclamavi. He afterwards wrote a paper called The Daily Courant, whereinhe shewed much spleen against lord Bolingbroke, and some of his friends. All these provocations excited Mr. Pope to give him a place in hisDunciad. In his second book, l. 287, when he represents the duncesdiving in the mud of the Thames for the prize, he speaks thus ofConcanen; True to the bottom see Concanen creep, A cold, long winded, native of the deep! If perseverance gain the diver's prize, Not everlasting Blackmore this denies. In the year 1725 Mr. Concanen published a volume of poems in 8vo. Consisting chiefly of compositions of his own, and some few of othergentlemen; they are addressed to the lord Gage, whom he endeavoursartfully to flatter, without offending his modesty. 'I shall begin thisAddress, says he, by declaring that the opinion I have of a great partof the following verses, is the highest indication of the esteem inwhich I hold the noble character I present them to. Several of them haveauthors, whose names do honour to whatever patronage they receive. As tomy share of them, since it is too late, after what I have alreadydelivered, to give my opinion of them, I'll say as much as can be saidin their favour. I'll affirm that they have one mark of merit, which isyour lordship's approbation; and that they are indebted to fortune fortwo other great advantages, a place in good company, and an honourableprotection. ' The gentlemen, who assisted Concanen in this collection, were DeanSwift, Mr. Parnel, Dr. Delany, Mr. Brown, Mr. Ward, and Mr. Stirling. Inthis collection there is a poem by Mr. Concanen, called A Match atFootball, in three Cantos; written, 'tis said, in imitation of The Rapeof the Lock. This performance is far from being despicable; theverification is generally smooth; the design is not ill conceived, andthe characters not unnatural. It perhaps would be read with moreapplause, if The Rape of the Lock did not occur to the mind, and, byforcing a comparison, destroy all the satisfaction in perusing it; asthe disproportion is so very considerable. We shall quote a few linesfrom the beginning of the third canto, by which it will appear thatConcanen was not a bad rhimer. In days of yore a lovely country maid Rang'd o'er these lands, and thro' these forests stray'd; Modest her pleasures, matchless was her frame, Peerless her face, and Sally was her name. By no frail vows her young desires were bound, No shepherd yet the way to please her found. Thoughtless of love the beauteous nymph appear'd, Nor hop'd its transports, nor its torments fear'd. But careful fed her flocks, and grac'd the plain, She lack'd no pleasure, and she felt no pain. She view'd our motions when we toss'd the ball, And smil'd to see us take, or ward, a fall; 'Till once our leader chanc'd the nymph to spy, And drank in poison from her lovely eye. Now pensive grown, he shunn'd the long-lov'd plains, His darling pleasures, and his favour'd swains, Sigh'd in her absence, sigh'd when she was near, Now big with hope, and now dismay'd with fear; At length with falt'ring tongue he press'd the dame, For some returns to his unpity'd flame; But she disdain'd his suit, despis'd his care, His form unhandsome, and his bristled hair; Forward she sprung, and with an eager pace The god pursu'd, nor fainted in the race; Swift as the frighted hind the virgin flies, When the woods ecchoe to the hunters cries: Swift as the fleetest hound her flight she trac'd, When o'er the lawns the frighted hind is chac'd; The winds which sported with her flowing vest Display'd new charms, and heightened all the rest: Those charms display'd, increas'd the gods desire, What cool'd her bosom, set his breast on fire: With equal speed, for diff'rent ends they move, Fear lent the virgin wings, the shepherd love: Panting at length, thus in her fright she pray'd, Be quick ye pow'rs, and save a wretched maid. [Protect] my honour, shelter me from shame, [Beauty] and life with pleasure I disclaim. [Transcriber's note: print unclear for words in square brackets, therefore words are assumed. ] Mr. Concanen was also concerned with the late Mr. Roome [Transcriber'snote: print unclear, "m" assumed], and a certain eminent senator, inmaking The Jovial Crew, an old Comedy, into a Ballad Opera; which wasperformed about the year 1730; and the profits were given entirely toMr. Concanen. Soon after he was preferred to be attorney-general inJamaica, a post of considerable eminence, and attended with a very largeincome. In this island he spent the remaining part of his days, and, weare informed made a tolerable accession of fortune, by marrying aplanter's daughter, who surviving him was left in the possession ofseveral hundred pounds a year. She came over to England after his death, and married the honourable Mr. Hamilton. * * * * * RICHARD SAVAGE, Esq; This unhappy gentleman, who led a course of life imbittered with themost severe calamities, was not yet destitute of a friend to close hiseyes. It has been remarked of Cowley, who likewise experienced many ofthe vicissitudes of fortune, that he was happy in the acquaintance ofthe bishop of Rochester, who performed the last offices which can bepaid to a poet, in the elegant Memorial he made of his Life. Though Mr. Savage was as much inferior to Cowley in genius, as in the rectitude ofhis life, yet, in some respect, he bears a resemblance to that greatman. None of the poets have been more honoured in the commemoration oftheir history, than this gentleman. The life of Mr. Savage was writtensome years after his death by a gentleman, who knew him intimately, capable to distinguish between his follies, and those good qualitieswhich were often concealed from the bulk of mankind by the abjectness ofhis condition. From this account[1] we have compiled that which we nowpresent to the reader. In the year 1697 Anne countess of Macclesfield, having lived for sometime on very uneasy terms with her husband, thought a public confessionof adultery the most expeditious method of obtaining her liberty, andtherefore declared the child with which she then was big was begotten bythe earl of Rivers. This circumstance soon produced a separation, which, while the earl of Macclesfield was prosecuting, the countess, on the10th of January 1697-8, was delivered of our author; and the earl ofRivers, by appearing to consider him as his own, left no room to doubtof her declaration. However strange it may appear, the countess lookedupon her son, from his birth, with a kind of resentment and abhorrence. No sooner was her son born, than she discovered a resolution ofdisowning him, in a short time removed him from her sight, and committedhim to the care of a poor woman, whom she directed to educate him as herown, and enjoined her never to inform him of his true parents. Insteadof defending his tender years, she took delight to see him strugglingwith misery, and continued her persecution, from the first hour of hislife to the last, with an implacable and restless cruelty. His mother, indeed, could not affect others with the same barbarity, and though she, whose tender sollicitudes should have supported him, had launched himinto the ocean of life, yet was he not wholly abandoned. The lady Mason, mother to the countess, undertook to transact with the nurse, andsuperintend the education of the child. She placed him at a grammarschool near St. Albans, where he was called by the name of his nurse, without the least intimation that he had a claim to any other. While hewas at this school, his father, the earl of Rivers, was seized with adistemper which in a short time put an end to his life. While the earllay on his death-bed, he thought it his duty to provide for him, amongsthis other natural children, and therefore demanded a positive account ofhim. His mother, who could no longer refuse an answer, determined, atleast, to give such, as should deprive him for ever of that happinesswhich competency affords, and declared him dead; which is, perhaps, thefirst instance of a falshood invented by a mother, to deprive her son ofa provision which was designed him by another. The earl did not imaginethat there could exist in nature, a mother that would ruin her son, without enriching herself, and therefore bestowed upon another son sixthousand pounds, which he had before in his will bequeathed to Savage. The same cruelty which incited her to intercept this provision intendedhim, suggested another project, worthy of such a disposition. Sheendeavoured to rid herself from the danger of being at any time madeknown to him, by sending him secretly to the American Plantations; butin this contrivance her malice was defeated. Being still restless in the persecution of her son, she formed anotherscheme of burying him in poverty and obscurity; and that the state ofhis life, if not the place of his residence, might keep him for ever ata distance from her, she ordered him to be placed with a Shoemaker inHolbourn, that after the usual time of trial he might become hisapprentice. It is generally reported, that this project was, for sometime, successful, and that Savage was employed at the awl longer than hewas willing to confess; but an unexpected discovery determined him toquit his occupation. About this time his nurse, who had always treated him as her own son, died; and it was natural for him to take care of those effects, which byher death were, as he imagined, become his own. He therefore went to herhouse, opened her boxes, examined her papers, and found some letterswritten to her by the lady Mason, which informed him of his birth, andthe reasons for which it was concealed. He was now no longer satisfied with the employment which had beenallotted him, but thought he had a right to share the affluence of hismother, and therefore, without scruple, applied to her as her son, andmade use of every art to awake her tenderness, and attract her regard. It was to no purpose that he frequently sollicited her to admit him tosee her, she avoided him with the utmost precaution, and ordered him tobe excluded from her house, by whomsoever he might be introduced, andwhat reason soever he might give for entering it. Savage was at this time so touched with the discovery of his realmother, that it was his frequent practice to walk in the dark eveningsfor several hours before her door, in hopes of seeing her by accident. But all his assiduity was without effect, for he could neither softenher heart, nor open her hand, and while he was endeavouring to rouse theaffections of a mother, he was reduced to the miseries of want. In thissituation he was obliged to find other means of support, and became bynecessity an author. His first attempt in that province was, a poem against the bishop ofBangor, whose controversy, at that time, engaged the attention of thenation, and furnished the curious with a topic of dispute. Of thisperformance Mr. Savage was afterwards ashamed, as it was the crudeeffort of a yet uncultivated genius. He then attempted another kind ofwriting, and, while but yet eighteen, offered a comedy to the stage, built upon a Spanish plot; which was refused by the players. Upon thishe gave it to Mr. Bullock, who, at that time rented the Theatre inLincoln's-Inn-Fields of Mr. Rich, and with messieurs Keene, Pack, andothers undertook the direction thereof. Mr. Bullock made some slightalterations, and brought it upon the stage, under the title of Woman's aRiddle, but allowed the real author no part of the profit. Thisoccasioned a quarrel between Savage and Bullock; but it ended withoutbloodshed, though not without high words: Bullock insisted he had atranslation of the Spanish play, from whence the plot was taken, givenhim by the same lady who had bestowed it on Savage. --Which was notimprobable, as that whimsical lady had given a copy to several others. Not discouraged, however, at this repulse, he wrote, two years after, Love in a Veil, another Comedy borrowed likewise from the Spanish, butwith little better success than before; for though it was received andacted, yet it appeared so late in the year, that Savage obtained noother advantage from it, than the acquaintance of Sir Richard Steele, and Mr. Wilks, by whom, says the author of his Life, he was pitied, caressed, and relieved. Sir Richard Steele declared in his favour, withthat genuine benevolence which constituted his character, promoted hisinterest with the utmost zeal, and taking all opportunities ofrecommending him; he asserted, 'that the inhumanity of his mother hadgiven him a right to find every good man his father. ' Nor was Mr. Savageadmitted into his acquaintance only, but to his confidence and esteem. Sir Richard intended to have established him in some settled scheme oflife, and to have contracted a kind of alliance with him, by marryinghim to a natural daughter, on whom he intended to bestow a thousandpounds. But Sir Richard conducted his affairs with so little oeconomy, that he was seldom able to raise the sum, which he had offered, and themarriage was consequently delayed. In the mean time he was officiouslyinformed that Mr. Savage had ridiculed him; by which he was so muchexasperated that he withdrew the allowance he had paid him, and neverafterwards admitted him to his house. He was now again abandoned to fortune, without any other friend but Mr. Wilks, a man to whom calamity seldom complained without relief. Henaturally took an unfortunate wit into his protection, and not onlyassisted him in any casual distresses, but continued an equal and steadykindness to the time of his death. By Mr. Wilks's interposition Mr. Savage once obtained of his mother fifty pounds, and a promise of onehundred and fifty more, but it was the fate of this unhappy man, thatfew promises of any advantage to him were ever performed. Being thus obliged to depend [Transcriber's note: 'depended' inoriginal] upon Mr. Wilks, he was an assiduous frequenter of thetheatres, and, in a short time, the amusements of the stage took such apossession of his mind, that he was never absent from a play in severalyears. In the year 1723 Mr. Savage brought another piece on the stage. He madechoice of the subject of Sir Thomas Overbury: If the circumstances inwhich he wrote it be considered, it will afford at once an uncommonproof of strength of genius, and an evenness of mind not to be ruffled. During a considerable part of the time in which he was employed uponthis performance, he was without lodging, and often without food; norhad he any other conveniencies for study than the fields, or the street;in which he used to walk, and form his speeches, and afterwards stepinto a shop, beg for a few moments the use of pen and ink, and writedown what he had composed, upon paper which he had picked up byaccident. Mr. Savage had been for some time distinguished by Aaron Hill, Esq; withvery particular kindness; and on this occasion it was natural to applyto him, as an author of established reputation. He therefore sent thisTragedy to him, with a few verses, in which he desired his correction. Mr. Hill who was a man of unbounded humanity, and most accomplishedpoliteness, readily complied with his request; and wrote the prologueand epilogue, in which he touches the circumstances [Transcriber's note:'cirumstances' in original] of the author with great tenderness. Mr. Savage at last brought his play upon the stage, but not till thechief actors had quitted it, and it was represented by what was thencalled the summer-company. In this Tragedy Mr. Savage himself performedthe part of Sir Thomas Overbury, with so little success, that he alwaysblotted out his name from the list of players, when a copy of hisTragedy was to be shewn to any of his friends. This play howeverprocured him the notice and esteem of many persons of distinction, forsome rays of genius glimmered thro' all the mists which poverty andoppression had spread over it. The whole profits of this performance, acted, printed, and dedicated, amounted to about 200 l. But thegenerosity of Mr. Hill did not end here; he promoted the subscription tohis Miscellanies, by a very pathetic representation of the author'ssufferings, printed in the Plain-Dealer, a periodical paper written byMr. Hill. This generous effort in his favour soon produced himseventy-guineas, which were left for him at Button's, by some whocommiserated his misfortunes. Mr. Hill not only promoted the subscription to the Miscellany, butfurnished likewise the greatest part of the poems of which it iscomposed, and particularly the Happy Man, which he published as aspecimen. To this Miscellany he wrote a preface, in which he gives anaccount of his mother's cruelty, in a very uncommon strain of humour, which the success of his subscriptions probably inspired. Savage was now advancing in reputation, and though frequently involvedin very perplexing necessities, appeared however to be gaining onmankind; when both his fame and his life were endangered, by an event ofwhich it is not yet determined, whether it ought to be mentioned as acrime or a calamity. As this is by far the most interesting circumstancein the life of this unfortunate man, we shall relate the particularsminutely. On the 20th of November 1727 Mr. Savage came from Richmond, where he hadretired, that he might pursue his studies with less interruption, withan intent to discharge a lodging which he had in Westminster; andaccidentally meeting two gentlemen of his acquaintance, whose names wereMarchant and Gregory, he went in with them to a neighbouringCoffee-House, and sat drinking till it was late. He would willingly havegone to bed in the same house, but there was not room for the wholecompany, and therefore they agreed to ramble about the streets, anddivert themselves with such amusements as should occur till morning. Intheir walk they happened unluckily to discover light in Robinson'sCoffee-House, near Charing-Cross, and went in. Marchant with somerudeness demanded a room, and was told that there was a good fire in thenext parlour, which the company were about to leave, being then payingtheir reckoning. Marchant not satisfied with this answer, rushed intothe room, and was followed by his companions. He then petulantly placedhimself between the company and the fire; and soon afterwards kickeddown the table. This produced a quarrel, swords were drawn on bothsides; and one Mr. James Sinclair was killed. Savage having woundedlikewise a maid that held him, forced his way with Gregory out of thehouse; but being intimidated, and confus'd, without resolution, whetherto fly, or stay, they were taken in a back court by one of the company, and some soldiers, whom he had called to his assistance. When the day of the trial came on, the court was crowded in a veryunusual manner, and the public appeared to interest itself as in a causeof general concern. The witnesses against Mr. Savage and his friends, were the woman who kept the house, which was a house of ill-fame, andher maid, the men who were in the room with Mr. Sinclair, and a woman ofthe town, who had been drinking with them, and with whom one of them hadbeen seen in bed. They swore in general, that Marchant gave the provocation, which Savageand Gregory drew their swords to justify; that Savage drew first, thathe stabb'd Sinclair, when he was not in a posture of defence, or whileGregory commanded his sword; that after he had given the thrust heturned pale, and would have retired, but that the maid clung round him, and one of the company endeavoured to detain him, from whom he broke, bycutting the maid on the head. Sinclair had declared several times before his death, for he survivedthat night, that he received his wound from Savage; nor did Savage athis trial deny the fact, but endeavoured partly to extenuate it, byurging the suddenness of the whole action, and the impossibility of anyill design, or premeditated malice, and partly to justify it by thenecessity of self-defence, and the hazard of his own life, if he hadlost that opportunity of giving the thrust. He observed that neitherreason nor law obliged a man to wait for the blow which was threatened, and which if he should suffer, he might never be able to return; that itwas always allowable to prevent an assault, and to preserve life, bytaking away that of the adversary, by whom it was endangered. With regard to the violence with which he endeavoured his escape, hedeclared it was not his design to fly from justice, or decline a trial, but to avoid the expences and severities of a prison, and that heintended to appear at the bar, without compulsion. This defence whichtook up more than an hour, was heard by the multitude that thronged thecourt, with the most attentive and respectful silence. Those who thoughthe ought not to be acquitted, owned that applause could not be refusedhim; and those who before pitied his misfortunes, now reverenced hisabilities. The witnesses who appeared against him were proved to be persons of suchcharacters as did not entitle them to much credit; a common strumpet, awoman by whom such wretches were entertained, and a man by whom theywere supported. The character of Savage was by several persons ofdistinction asserted to be that of a modest inoffensive man, notinclined to broils, or to insolence, and who had to that time been onlyknown by his misfortunes and his wit. Had his audience been his judges, he had undoubtedly been acquitted; butMr. Page, who was then upon the bench, treated him with the most brutalseverity, and in summing up the evidence endeavoured to exasperate thejury against him, and misrepresent his defence. This was a provocation, and an insult, which the prisoner could not bear, and therefore Mr. Savage resolutely asserted, that his cause was not candidly explained, and began to recapitulate what he had before said; but the judge havingordered him to be silent, which Savage treated with contempt, hecommanded that he should be taken by force from the bar. The jury thenheard the opinion of the judge, that good characters were of no weightagainst positive evidence, though they might turn the scale, where itwas doubtful; and that though two men attack each other, the death ofeither is only manslaughter; but where one is the aggressor, as in thecase before them, and in pursuance of his first attack kills the other, the law supposes the action, however sudden, to be malicious. The jurydetermined, that Mr. Savage and Mr. Gregory were guilty of murder, andMr. Marchant who had no sword, only manslaughter. Mr. Savage and Mr. Gregory were conducted back to prison, where theywere more closely confined, and loaded with irons of fifty pound weight. Savage had now no hopes of life but from the king's mercy, and can it bebelieved, that mercy his own mother endeavoured to intercept. When Savage (as we have already observed) was first made acquainted withthe story of his birth, he was so touched with tenderness for hismother, that he earnestly sought an opportunity to see her. To prejudice the queen against him, she made use of an incident, whichwas omitted in the order of time, that it might be mentioned togetherwith the purpose it was made to serve. One evening while he was walking, as was his custom, in the street sheinhabited, he saw the door of her house by accident open; he entered it, and finding no persons in the passage to prevent him, went up stairs tosalute her. She discovered him before he could enter her chamber, alarmed the family with the most distressful out-cries, and when she hadby her screams gathered them about her, ordered them to drive out of thehouse that villain, who had forced himself in upon her, and endeavouredto murder her. This abominable falsehood his mother represented to the queen, orcommunicated it to some who were base enough to relate it, and sostrongly prepossessed her majesty against this unhappy man, that for along while she rejected all petitions that were offered in his favour. Thus had Savage perished by the evidence of a bawd, of a strumpet, andof his mother; had not justice and compassion procured him an advocate, of a rank too great to be rejected unheard, and of virtue too eminent tobe heard without being believed. The story of his sufferings reached theear of the countess of Hertford, who engaged in his support with thetenderness and humanity peculiar to that amiable lady. She demanded anaudience of the queen, and laid before her the whole series of hismother's cruelty, exposed the improbability of her accusation of murder, and pointed out all the circumstances of her unequall'd barbarity. The interposition of this lady was so successful, that he was soon afteradmitted to bail, and on the 9th of March 1728, pleaded the king'spardon. [2] Mr. Savage during his imprisonment, his trial, and the time in which helay under sentence of death, behaved with great fortitude, and confirmedby his unshaken equality of mind, the esteem of those who before admiredhim for his abilities. Upon weighing all the circumstances relating tothis unfortunate event, it plainly appears that the greatest guilt couldnot be imputed to Savage. His killing Sinclair, was rather rash thantotally dishonourable, for though Marchant had been the aggressor, whowould not procure his friend from being over-powered by numbers? Some time after he had obtained his liberty, he met in the street thewoman of the town that had swore against him: She informed him that shewas in distress, and with unparalleled assurance desired him to relieveher. He, instead of insulting her misery, and taking pleasure in thecalamity of one who had brought his life into danger, reproved hergently for her perjury, and changing the only guinea he had, divided itequally between her and himself. Compassion seems indeed to have been among the few good qualitiespossessed by Savage; he never appeared inclined to take the advantage ofweakness, to attack the defenceless, or to press upon the falling:Whoever was distressed was certain at last of his good wishes. But whenhis heart was not softened by the sight of misery, he was obstinate inhis resentment, and did not quickly lose the remembrance of an injury. He always harboured the sharpest resentment against judge Page; and ashort time before his death, he gratified it in a satire upon thatsevere magistrate. When in conversation this unhappy subject was mentioned, Savage appearedneither to consider himself as a murderer, nor as a man wholly free fromblood. How much, and how long he regretted it, appeared in a poempublished many years afterwards, which the following lines will set in avery striking light. Is chance a guilt, that my disast'rous heart, For mischief never meant, must ever smart? Can self-defence be sin?--Ah! plead no more! What tho' no purpos'd malice stain'd thee o'er; Had Heav'n befriended thy unhappy side, Thou had'st not been provok'd, or thou had'st died. Far be the guilt of home-shed blood from all, On whom, unfought, imbroiling dangers fall. Still the pale dead revives and lives to me, To me through pity's eye condemn'd to see. Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate, Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late, Young and unthoughtful then, who knows one day, What rip'ning virtues might have made their way? He might, perhaps, his country's friend have prov'd, Been gen'rous, happy, candid and belov'd; He might have sav'd some worth now doom'd to fall, And I, perchance, in him have murder'd all. Savage had now obtained his liberty, but was without any settled meansof support, and as he had lost all tenderness for his mother, who hadthirsted for his blood, he resolved to lampoon her, to extort thatpension by satire, which he knew she would never grant upon anyprinciples of honour, or humanity. This expedient proved successful;whether shame still survived, though compassion was extinct, or whetherher relations had more delicacy than herself, and imagined that some ofthe darts which satire might point at her, would glance upon them: LordTyrconnel, whatever were his motives, upon his promise to lay aside thedesign of exposing his mother, received him into his family, treated himas his equal, and engaged to allow him a pension of 200 l. A year. This was the golden part of Mr. Savage's life; for some time he had noreason to complain of fortune; his appearance was splendid, his expenceslarge, and his acquaintance extensive. 'He was courted, says the authorof his life, by all who endeavoured to be thought men of genius, andcaressed by all that valued themselves upon a fine taste. To admire Mr. Savage was a proof of discernment, and to be acquainted with him was atitle to poetical reputation. His presence was sufficient to make anyplace of entertainment popular; and his approbation and exampleconstituted the fashion. So powerful is genius, when it is invested withthe glitter of affluence. Men willingly pay to fortune that regard whichthey owe to merit, and are pleased when they have at once an opportunityof exercising their vanity, and practising their duty. This interval ofprosperity furnished him with opportunities of enlarging his knowledgeof human nature, by contemplating life from its highest gradation to itslowest. ' In this gay period of life, when he was surrounded by the affluence ofpleasure, 1729, he published the Wanderer, a Moral Poem, of which thedesign is comprised in these lines. I fly all public care, all venal strife, To try the _Still_, compared with _Active Life_. To prove by these the sons of men may owe, The fruits of bliss to bursting clouds of woe, That ev'n calamity by thought refin'd Inspirits, and adorns the thinking mind. And more distinctly in the following passage: By woe the soul to daring actions swells, By woe in plaintless patience it excells; From patience prudent, clear experience springs, And traces knowledge through the course of things. Thence hope is form'd, thence fortitude, success, Renown--Whate'er men covet or caress. This performance was always considered by Mr. Savage as hismaster-piece; but Mr. Pope, when he asked his opinion of it, told him, that he read it once over, and was not displeased with it, that it gavehim more pleasure at the second perusal, and delighted him still more atthe third. From a poem so successfully written, it might be reasonablyexpected that he should have gained considerable advantages; but thecase was otherwise; he sold the copy only for ten guineas. That he gotso small a price for so finished a poem, was not to be imputed either tothe necessity of the writer, or to the avarice of the bookseller. He wasa slave to his passions, and being then in the pursuit of some triflinggratification, for which he wanted a supply of money, he sold his poemto the first bidder, and perhaps for the first price which was proposed, and probably would have been content with less, if less had beenoffered. It was addressed to the earl of Tyrconnel, not only in thefirst lines, but in a formal dedication, filled with the highest strainsof panegyric. These praises in a short time he found himself inclined toretract, being discarded by the man on whom he had bestowed them, andwhom he said, he then discovered, had not deserved them. Of this quarrel, lord Tyrconnel and Mr. Savage assigned very differentreasons. Lord Tyrconnel charged Savage with the most licentiousbehaviour, introducing company into his house, and practising with themthe most irregular frolics, and committing all the outrages ofdrunkenness. Lord Tyrconnel farther alledged against Savage, that thebooks of which he himself had made him a present, were sold or pawned byhim, so that he had often the mortification to see them exposed to saleupon stalls. Savage, it seems, was so accustomed to live by expedients, thataffluence could not raise him above them. He often went to the tavernand trusted the payment of his reckoning to the liberality of hiscompany; and frequently of company to whom he was very little known. This conduct indeed, seldom drew him into much inconvenience, or hisconversation and address were so pleasing, that few thought the pleasurewhich they received from him, dearly purchased by paying for his wine. It was his peculiar happiness that he scarcely ever found a stranger, whom he did not leave a friend; but it must likewise be added, that hehad not often a friend long, without obliging him to become an enemy. Mr. Savage on the other hand declared, that lord Tyrconnel quarrelledwith him because he would not subtract from his own luxury andextravagance what he had promised to allow him; and that his resentmentwas only a plea for the violation of his promise: He asserted that hehad done nothing which ought to exclude him from that subsistence whichhe thought not so much a favour as a debt, since it was offered him uponconditions, which he had never broken; and that his only fault was, thathe could not be supported upon nothing. Savage's passions were strong, among which his resentment was not theweakest; and as gratitude was not his constant virtue, we ought not toohastily to give credit to all his prejudice asserts against (his oncepraised patron) lord Tyrconnel. During his continuance with the lord Tyrconnel, he wrote the Triumph ofHealth and Mirth, on the recovery of the lady Tyrconnel, from alanguishing illness. This poem is built upon a beautiful fiction. Mirthoverwhelmed with sickness for the death of a favourite, takes a flightin quest of her sister Health, whom she finds reclined upon the brow ofa lofty mountain, amidst the fragrance of a perpetual spring, and thebreezes of the morning sporting about her. Being solicited by her sisterMirth, she readily promises her assistance, flies away in a cloud, andimpregnates the waters of Bath with new virtues, by which the sicknessof Belinda is relieved. While Mr. Savage continued in high life, he did not let slip anyopportunity to examine whether the merit of the great is magnified ordiminished by the medium through which it is contemplated, and whethergreat men were selected for high stations, or high stations made greatmen. The result of his observations is not much to the advantage ofthose in power. But the golden æra of Savage's life was now at an end, he was banishedthe table of lord Tyrconnel, and turned again a-drift upon the world. While he was in prosperity, he did not behave with a moderation likelyto procure friends amongst his inferiors. He took an opportunity in thesun-shine of his fortune, to revenge himself of those creatures, who, asthey are the worshippers of power, made court to him, whom they hadbefore contemptuously treated. This assuming behaviour of Savage was notaltogether unnatural. He had been avoided and despised by thosedespicable sycophants, who were proud of his acquaintance when railed toeminence. In this case, who would not spurn such mean Beings? Hisdegradation therefore from the condition which he had enjoyed with somuch superiority, was considered by many as an occasion of triumph. Those who had courted him without success, had an opportunity to returnthe contempt they had suffered. Mean time, Savage was very diligent in exposing the faults of lordTyrconnel, over whom he obtained at least this advantage, that he drovehim first to the practice of outrage and violence; for he was so muchprovoked by his wit and virulence, that he came with a number ofattendants, to beat him at a coffee-house; but it happened that he hadleft the place a few minutes before: Mr. Savage went next day to repayhis visit at his own house, but was prevailed upon by his domestics toretire without insisting upon seeing him. He now thought himself again at full liberty to expose the cruelty ofhis mother, and therefore about this time published THE BASTARD, a Poemremarkable for the vivacity in the beginning, where he makes a pompousenumeration of the imaginary advantages of base birth, and the patheticsentiments at the close; where he recounts the real calamities which hesuffered by the crime of his parents. The verses which have an immediate relation to those two circumstances, we shall here insert. In gayer hours, when high my fancy ran, The Muse exulting thus her lay began. Bless'd be the Bastard's birth! thro' wond'rous ways, He shines excentric like a comet's blaze. No sickly fruit of faint compliance he; He! stamp'd in nature's mint with extasy! He lives to build, not boast a gen'rous race, No tenth transmitter of a foolish face. His daring hope, no fire's example bounds; His first-born nights no prejudice confounds. He, kindling from within requires no flame, He glories in a bastard's glowing name. --Nature's unbounded son he stands alone, His heart unbiass'd, and his mind his own. --O mother! yet no mother!--'Tis to you My thanks for such distinguish'd claims are due. --What had I lost if conjugally kind, By nature hating, yet by vows confin'd, You had faint drawn me with a form alone, A lawful lump of life, by force your own! --I had been born your dull domestic heir, Load of your life and motive of your care; Perhaps been poorly rich and meanly great; The slave of pomp, a cypher in the state: Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown, And slumb'ring in a feat by chance my own, After mentioning the death of Sinclair, he goes on thus: --Where shall my hope find rest?--No mother's care Shielded my infant innocence with prayer; No father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd, Call'd forth my virtues, and from vice refrain'd. This poem had extraordinary success, great numbers were immediatelydispersed, and editions were multiplied with unusual rapidity. One circumstance attended the publication, which Savage used to relatewith great satisfaction. His mother, to whom the poem with due reverencewas inscribed, happened then to be at Bath, where she could notconveniently retire from censure, or conceal herself from observation;and no sooner did the reputation of the poem begin to spread, than sheheard it repeated in all places of concourse; nor could she enter theassembly rooms, or cross the walks, without being saluted with somelines from the Bastard. She therefore left Bath with the utmost haste, to shelter herself in the crowds of London. Thus Savage had thesatisfaction of finding, that tho' he could not reform, he could yetpunish his mother. Some time after Mr. Savage took a resolution of applying to the queen, that having once given him life, she would enable him to support it, andtherefore published a short poem on her birth day, to which he gave theodd title of Volunteer-Laureat. He had not at that time one friend topresent his poem at court, yet the Queen, notwithstanding this act ofceremony was wanting, in a few days after publication, sent him a banknote of fifty-pounds, by lord North and Guildford; and her permission towrite annually on the same subject, and that he should yearly receivethe like present, till something better should be done for him. Afterthis he was permitted to present one of his annual poems to her majesty, and had the honour of kissing her hand. When the dispute between the bishop of London, and the chancellor, furnished for some time the chief topic of conversation, Mr. Savage whowas an enemy to all claims of ecclesiastical power, engaged with hisusual zeal against the bishop. In consequence of his aversion to thedominion of superstitious churchmen, he wrote a poem called The Progressof a Divine, in which he conducts a profligate priest thro' all thegradations of wickedness, from a poor curacy in the country, to thehighest preferment in the church; and after describing his behaviour inevery station, enumerates that this priest thus accomplished, found atlast a patron in the bishop of London. The clergy were universally provoked with this satire, and Savage wascensured in the weekly Miscellany, with a severity he did not seeminclined to forget: But a return of invective was not thought asufficient punishment. The court of King's-Bench was moved against him, and he was obliged to return an answer to a charge of obscenity. It wasurged in his defence, that obscenity was only criminal, when it wasintended to promote the practice of vice; but that Mr. Savage had onlyintroduced obscene ideas, with a view of exposing them to detestation, and of amending the age, by shewing the deformity of wickedness. Thisplea was admitted, and Sir Philip York, now lord Chancellor, who thenpresided in that court, dismissed the information, with encomiums uponthe purity and excellence of Mr. Savage's writings. He was still in his usual exigencies, having no certain support, but thepension allowed him from the Queen, which was not sufficient to last himthe fourth part of the year. His conduct, with regard to his pension, was very particular. No sooner had he changed the bill, than he vanishedfrom the sight of all his acquaintances, and lay, for some time, out ofthe reach of his most intimate friends. At length he appeared againpennyless as before, but never informed any person where he had been, nor was his retreat ever discovered. This was his constant practiceduring the whole time he received his pension. He regularly disappeared, and returned. He indeed affirmed that he retired to study, and that themoney supported him in solitude for many months, but his friendsdeclared, that the short time in which it was spent, sufficientlyconfuted his own account of his conduct. His perpetual indigence, politeness, and wit, still raised him friends, who were desirous to set him above want, and therefore sollicited SirRobert Walpole in his favour, but though promises were given, and Mr. Savage trusted, and was trusted, yet these added but one mortificationmore to the many he had suffered. His hopes of preferment from thatstatesman; issued in a disappointment; upon which he published a poem inthe Gentleman's Magazine, entitled, The Poet's Dependance on aStatesman; in which he complains of the severe usage he met with. But todespair was no part of the character of Savage; when one patronagefailed, he had recourse to another. The Prince was now extremelypopular, and had very liberally rewarded the merit of some writers, whomMr. Savage did not think superior to himself; and therefore he resolvedto address a poem to him. For this purpose he made choice of a subject, which could regard onlypersons of the highest rank, and greatest affluence, and which wastherefore proper for a poem intended to procure the patronage of aprince; namely, public spirit, with regard to public works. But havingno friend upon whom he could prevail to present it to the Prince, he hadno other method of attracting his observation, than by publishingfrequent advertisements, and therefore received no reward from hispatron, however generous upon other occasions. His poverty stillpressing, he lodged as much by accident, as he dined; for he generallylived by chance, eating only when he was invited to the tables of hisacquaintance, from which, the meanness of his dress often excluded him, when the politeness, and variety of his conversation, would have beenthought a sufficient recompence for his entertainment. Having nolodging, he passed the night often in mean houses, which are set openfor any casual wanderers; sometimes in cellars, amongst the riot andfilth of the meanest and most profligate of the rabble; and sometimeswhen he was totally without money, walked about the streets till he wasweary, and lay down in the summer upon a bulk, and in the winter, withhis associates in poverty, among the ashes of a glass-house. In this manner were passed those days and nights, which nature hadenabled him to have employed in elevated speculations. On a bulk, in acellar, or in a glass-house, among thieves and beggars, was to be foundthe author of The Wanderer, the man, whose remarks in life might haveassisted the statesman, whose ideas of virtue might have enlightened themoralist, whose eloquence might have influenced senates, and whosedelicacy might have polished courts. His distresses, however afflictive, never dejected him. In his lowest sphere he wanted not spirit to assertthe natural dignity of wit, and was always ready to repress thatinsolence, which superiority of fortune incited, and to trample thatreputation which rose upon any other basis, than that of merit. He neveradmitted any gross familiarity, or submitted to be treated otherwisethan as an equal. Once, when he was without lodging, meat, or cloaths, one of his friends, a man indeed not remarkable for moderation in prosperity, left amessage, that he desired to see him about nine in the morning. Savageknew that his intention was to assist him, but was very much disgusted, that he should presume to prescribe the hour of his attendance; andtherefore rejected his kindness. The greatest hardships of poverty were to Savage, not the want oflodging, or of food, but the neglect and contempt it drew upon him. Hecomplained that as his affairs grew desperate, he found his reputationfor capacity visibly decline; that his opinion in questions of criticismwas no longer regarded, when his coat was out of fashion; and thatthose, who in the interval of his prosperity, were always encouraginghim to great undertakings, by encomiums on his genius, and assurances ofsuccess, now received any mention of his designs with coldness, and, inshort, allowed him to be qualified for no other performance thanvolunteer-laureat. Yet even this kind of contempt never depressed him, for he always preserved a steady confidence in his own capacity, andbelieved nothing above his reach, which he should at any time earnestlyendeavour to attain. This life, unhappy as it may be already imagined, was yet embittered in1738 with new distresses. The death of the Queen deprived him of all theprospects of preferment, with which he had so long entertained hisimagination. But even against this calamity there was an expedient athand. He had taken a resolution of writing a second tragedy upon thestory of Sir Thomas Overbury, in which he made a total alteration of theplan, added new incidents, and introduced new characters, so that it wasa new tragedy, not a revival of the former. With the profits of thisscheme, when finished, he fed his imagination, but proceeded slowly init, and, probably, only employed himself upon it, when he could find noother amusement. Upon the Queen's death it was expected of him, that heshould honour her memory with a funeral panegyric: He was thoughtculpable for omitting it; but on her birth-day, next year, he gave aproof of the power of genius and judgment. He knew that the track ofelegy had been so long beaten, that it was impossible to travel in it, without treading the footsteps of those who had gone before him, andtherefore it was necessary that he might distinguish himself from theherd of encomists, to find out some new walk of funeral panegyric. This difficult task he performed in such a manner, that this poem may bejustly ranked the best of his own, and amongst the best pieces that thedeath of Princes has produced. By transferring the mention of her death, to her birth-day, he has formed a happy combination of topics, which anyother man would have thought it difficult to connect in one view; butthe relation between them appears natural; and it may be justly said, that what no other man could have thought on, now seems scarcelypossible for any man to miss. In this poem, when he takes occasion tomention the King, he modestly gives him a hint to continue his pension, which, however, he did not receive at the usual time, and there was somereason to think that it would be discontinued. He did not take thosemethods of retrieving his interest, which were most likely to succeed, for he went one day to Sir Robert Walpole's levee, and demanded thereason of the distinction that was made between him and the otherpensioners of the Queen, with a degree of roughness which, perhaps, determined him to withdraw, what had only been delayed. This lastmisfortune he bore not only with decency, but cheerfulness, nor was hisgaiety clouded, even by this disappointment, though he was, in a shorttime, reduced to the lowest degree of distress, and often wanted bothlodging and food. At this time he gave another instance of theinsurmountable obstinacy of his spirit. His cloaths were worn out, andhe received notice, that at a coffee-house some cloaths and linen wereleft for him. The person who sent them did not, we believe, inform himto whom he was to be obliged, that he might spare the perplexity ofacknowledging the benefit; but though the offer was so far generous, itwas made with some neglect of ceremonies, which Mr. Savage so muchresented, that he refused the present, and declined to enter the house'till the cloaths, which were designed for him, were taken away. His distress was now publicly known, and his friends therefore thoughtit proper to concert some measures for his relief. The scheme proposedwas, that he should retire into Wales, and receive an allowance of fiftypounds a year, to be raised by subscription, on which he was to liveprivately in a cheap place, without aspiring any more to affluence, orhaving any farther sollicitude for fame. This offer Mr. Savage gladly accepted, though with intentions verydifferent from those of his friends; for they proposed that he shouldcontinue an exile from London for ever, and spend all the remaining partof his life at Swansea; but he designed only to take the opportunitywhich their scheme offered him, of retreating for a short time, that hemight prepare his play for the stage, and his other works for the press, and then to return to London to exhibit his tragedy, and live upon theprofits of his own labour. After many sollicitations and delays, a subscription was at last raised, which did not amount to fifty pounds a year, though twenty were paid byone gentleman. He was, however, satisfied, and willing to retire, andwas convinced that the allowance, though scanty, would be more thansufficient for him, being now determined to commence a rigid oeconomist. Full of these salutary resolutions, he quitted London in 1739. He wasfurnished with fifteen guineas, and was told, that they would besufficient, not only for the expence of his journey, but for his supportin Wales for some time; and that there remained but little more of thefirst collection. He promised a strict adherence to his maxims ofparsimony, and went away in the stage coach; nor did his friends expectto hear from him, 'till he informed them of his arrival at Swansea. But, when they least expected, arrived a letter dated the 14th day after hisdeparture, in which he sent them word, that he was yet upon the road, and without money, and that he therefore could not proceed without aremittance. They then sent him the money that was in their hands, withwhich he was enabled to reach Bristol, from whence he was to go toSwansea by water. At Bristol he found an embargo laid upon the shipping, so that he could not immediately obtain a passage, and being thereforeobliged to stay there some time, he, with his usual felicity, ingratiated himself with many of the principal inhabitants, was invitedto their houses, distinguished at their public feasts, and treated witha regard that gratified his vanity, and therefore easily engaged hisaffection. After some stay at Bristol, he retired to Swansea, the place originallyproposed for his residence, where he lived about a year very muchdisatisfied with the diminution of his salary, for the greatest part ofthe contributors, irritated by Mr. Savage's letters, which they imaginedtreated them contemptuously, withdrew their subscriptions. At thisplace, as in every other, he contracted an acquaintance with those whowere most distinguished in that country, among whom, he has celebratedMr. Powel, and Mrs. Jones, by some verses inserted in the Gentleman'sMagazine. Here he compleated his tragedy, of which two acts were wantingwhen he left London, and was desirous of coming to town to bring it onthe stage. This design was very warmly opposed, and he was advised byhis chief benefactor, who was no other than Mr. Pope, to put it in thehands of Mr. Thomson and Mr. Mallet, that it might be fitted for thestage, and to allow his friends to receive the profits, out of which anannual pension should be paid him. This proposal he rejected with theutmost contempt. He was by no means convinced that the judgment of thoseto whom he was required to submit, was superior to his own. He was nowdetermined, as he expressed, to be no longer kept in leading-strings, and had no elevated idea of his bounty, who proposed to pension him outof the profits of his own labours. He soon after this quitted Swansea, and, with an intent to return to London, went to Bristol, where arepetition of the kindness which he had formerly found, invitedhim to stay. He was not only caressed, and treated, but had a collectionmade for him of about thirty pounds, with which it had been happy ifhe had immediately departed for London; but he never considered thatsuch proofs of kindness were not often to be expected, and that thisardour of benevolence was, in a great degree, the effect of novelty. Another part of his misconduct was, the practice of prolonging hisvisits to unseasonable hours, and disconcerting all the families intowhich he was admitted. This was an error in a place of commerce, whichall the charms of conversion could not compensate; for what trader wouldpurchase such airy satisfaction, with the loss of solid gain, which mustbe the consequence of midnight merriment, as those hours which weregained at night were generally lost in the morning? Distress at laststole upon him by imperceptible degrees; his conduct had already weariedsome of those who were at first enamoured of his conversation; but hestill might have devolved to others, whom he might have entertained withequal success, had not the decay of his cloaths made it no longerconsistent with decency to admit him to their tables, or to associatewith him in public places. He now began to find every man from home, atwhose house he called; and was therefore no longer able to procure thenecessaries of life, but wandered about the town, slighted andneglected, in quest of a dinner, which, he did not always obtain. Tocompleat his misery, he was obliged to withdraw from the small number offriends from whom he had still reason to hope for favours. His customwas to lie in bed the greatest part of the day, and to go out in thedark with the utmost privacy, and after having paid his visit, returnagain before morning to his lodging, which was in the garret of anobscure inn. Being thus excluded on one hand, and confined on the other, he sufferedthe utmost extremities of poverty, and often waited so long, that he wasseized with faintness, and had lost his appetite, not being able to bearthe smell of meat, 'till the action of his stomach was restored by acordial. He continued to bear these severe pressures, 'till the landlady of acoffee-house, to whom he owed about eight pounds, compleated hiswretchedness. He was arrested by order of this woman, and conducted tothe house of a Sheriff's Officer, where he remained some time at a greatexpence, in hopes of finding bail. This expence he was enabled tosupport by a present from Mr. Nash of Bath, who, upon hearing of hislate mis-fortune, sent him five guineas. No friends would contribute torelease him from prison at the expence of eight pounds, and therefore hewas removed to Newgate. He bore this misfortune with an unshakenfortitude, and indeed the treatment he met with from Mr. Dagg, thekeeper of the prison, greatly softened the rigours of his confinement. He was supported by him at his own table, without any certainty ofrecompence; had a room to himself, to which he could at any time retirefrom all disturbance; was allowed to stand at the door of the prison, and sometimes taken out into the fields; so that he suffered fewerhardships in the prison, than he had been accustomed to undergo thegreatest part of his life. Virtue is undoubtedly most laudable in thatstate which makes it most difficult; and therefore the humanity of thegaoler certainly deserves this public attestation. While Mr. Savage was in prison, he began, and almost finished a satire, which he entitled London and Bristol Delineated; in order to be revengedof those who had had no more generosity for a man, to whom theyprofessed friendship, than to suffer him to languish in a gaol for eightpounds. He had now ceased from corresponding with any of hissubscribers, except Mr. Pope, who yet continued to remit him twentypounds a year, which he had promised, and by whom he expected to be in avery short time enlarged; because he had directed the keeper to enquireafter the state of his debts. However he took care to enter his name according to the forms of thecourt, that the creditors might be obliged to make him some allowance, if he was continued a prisoner; and when on that occasion he appeared inthe Hall, was treated with very unusual respect. But the resentment of the City was afterwards raised, by some accountsthat had been spread of the satire, and he was informed, that some ofthe Merchants intended to pay the allowance which the law required, andto detain him a prisoner at their own expence. This he treated as anempty menace, and had he not been prevented by death, he would havehastened the publication of the satire, only to shew how much he wassuperior to their insults. When he had been six months in prison, he received from Mr. Pope, inwhose kindness he had the greatest confidence, and on whose assistancehe chiefly depended, a letter that contained a charge of very atrociousingratitude, drawn up in such terms as sudden resentment dictated. Mr. Savage returned a very solemn protestation of his innocence, but howeverappeared much disturbed at the accusation. Some days afterwards he wasseized with a pain in his back and side, which, as it was not violent, was not suspected to be dangerous; but growing daily more languid anddejected, on the 25th of July he confined himself to his room, and afever seized his spirits. The symptoms grew every day more formidable, but his condition did not enable him to procure any assistance. The lasttime the keeper saw him was on July 31, when Savage, seeing him at hisbed-side, said, with uncommon earnestness, I have something to say toyou, sir, but, after a pause, moved his hand in a melancholy manner, andfinding himself unable to recollect what he was going to communicate, said, 'tis gone. The keeper soon after left him, and the next morning hedied. He was buried in the church-yard of St. Peter, at the expence ofthe keeper. Such were the life and death of this unfortunate poet; a man equallydistinguished by his virtues and vices, and, at once, remarkable for hisweaknesses and abilities. He was of a middle stature, of a thin habit ofbody, a long visage, coarse features, and a melancholy aspect; of agrave and manly deportment, a solemn dignity of mien, but which, upon anearer acquaintance, softened into an engaging easiness of manners. Hiswalk was slow, and his voice tremulous and mournful. He was easilyexcited to smiles, but very seldom provoked to laughter. His judgmentwas eminently exact, both with regard to writings and to men. Theknowledge of life was his chief attainment. He was born rather to bearmisfortunes greatly, than to enjoy prosperity with moderation. Hediscovered an amazing firmness of spirit, in spurning those who presumedto dictate to him in the lowest circumstances of misery; but we nevercan reconcile the idea of true greatness of mind, with the perpetualinclination Savage discovered to live upon the bounty of his friends. Tostruggle for independence appears much more laudable, as well as ahigher instance of spirit, than to be the pensioner of another. As Savage had seen so much of the world, and was capable of so deep apenetration into nature, it was strange he could not form some scheme ofa livelihood, more honourable than that of a poetical mendicant: hisprosecuting any plan of life with diligence, would have thrown morelustre on his character, than, all his works, and have raised our ideasof the greatness of his spirit, much, beyond the conduct we have alreadyseen. If poverty is so great an evil as to expose a man to commitactions, at which he afterwards blushes, to avoid this poverty should bethe continual care of every man; and he, who lets slip every opportunityof doing so, is more entitled to admiration than pity, should he bearhis sufferings nobly. Mr. Savage's temper, in consequence of the dominion of his passions, wasuncertain and capricious. He was easily engaged, and easily disgusted;but he is accused of retaining his hatred more tenaciously than hisbenevolence. He was compassionate both by nature and principle, andalways ready to perform offices of humanity; but when he was provoked, and very small offences were sufficient to provoke him, he wouldprosecute his revenge with the utmost acrimony, 'till his passion hadsubsided. His friendship was therefore of little value, for he waszealous in the support, or vindication of those whom he loved, yet itwas always dangerous to trust him, because he considered himself asdischarged by the first quarrel, from all ties of honour and gratitude. He would even betray those secrets, which, in the warmth of confidence, had been imparted to him. His veracity was often questioned, and notwithout reason. When he loved any man, he suppressed all his faults, andwhen he had been offended by him, concealed all his virtues. But hischaracters were generally true, so far as he proceeded, though it cannotbe denied, but his partiality might have sometimes the effect offalshood. In the words of the celebrated writer of his life, from whom, as weobserved in the beginning, we have extracted the account here given, weshall conclude this unfortunate person's Memoirs, which were so variousas to afford large scope for an able biographer, and which, by thisgentleman, have been represented with so great a mastery, and force ofpenetration, that the Life of Savage, as written by him, is an excellentmodel for this species of writing. 'This relation (says he) will not be wholly without its use, if those, who languish under any part of his sufferings, should be enabled tofortify their patience, by reflecting that they feel only thoseafflictions from which the abilities of Savage did not exempt him; orthose, who in confidence of superior capacities, or attainments, disregard the common maxims of life, shall be reminded that nothing cansupply the want of prudence, and that negligence and irregularity longcontinued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and geniuscontemptible. ' FOOTNOTES:[1] However slightly the author of Savage's life passes over the less amiable characteristics of that unhappy man; yet we cannot but discover therein, that vanity and ingratitude were the principal ingredients in poor Savage's composition; nor was his veracity greatly to be depended on. No wonder therefore, if the good-natur'd writer suffer'd his better understanding to be misled, in some accounts relative to the poet we are now speaking of. --Among many, we shall at present only take notice of the following, which makes too conspicuous a figure to pass by entirely unnoticed. In this life of Savage 'tis related, that Mrs. Oldfield was very fond of Mr. Savage's conversation, and allowed him an annuity, during her life, of 50 l. --These facts are equally ill-grounded:-- There was no foundation for them. That Savage's misfortunes pleaded for pity, and had the desired effect on Mrs. Oldfield's compassion, is certain:--But she so much disliked the man, and disapproved his conduct, that she never admitted him to her conversation, nor suffer'd him to enter her house. She, indeed, often relieved him with such donations, as spoke her generous disposicion. --But this was on the sollicitation of friends, who frequently set his calamities before her in the most piteous light; and from a principle of humanity, she became not a little instrumental in saving his life. [2] Lord Tyrconnel delivered a petition to his majesty in Savage's behalf: And Mrs. Oldfield sollicited Sir Robert Walpole on his account. This joint-interest procured him his pardon. * * * * * Dr. THOMAS SHERIDAN. was born in the county of Cavan, where his father kept a public house. Agentleman, who had a regard for his father, and who observed the songave early indications of genius above the common standard, sent him tothe college of Dublin, and contributed towards the finishing hiseducation there. Our poet received very great encouragement upon hissetting out in life, and was esteemed a fortunate man. The agreeablehumour, and the unreserved pleasantry of his temper, introduced him tothe acquaintance, and established him in the esteem, of the wits of thatage. He set up a school in Dublin, which, at one time, was soconsiderable as to produce an income of a thousand pounds a year, andpossessed besides some good livings, and bishops leases, which areextremely lucrative. Mr. Sheridan married the daughter of Mr. Macpherson, a Scots gentleman, who served in the wars under King William, and, during the troubles ofIreland, became possessed of a small estate of about 40 l. Per annum, called Quilca. This little fortune devolved on Mrs. Sheridan, whichenabled her husband to set up a school. Dr. Sheridan, amongst hisvirtues, could not number oeconomy; on the contrary, he was remarkablefor profusion and extravagance, which exposed him to suchinconveniences, that he was obliged to mortgage all he had. His schooldaily declined, and by an act of indiscretion, he was stript of the bestliving he then enjoyed. On the birth-day of his late Majesty, the Dr. Having occasion to preach, chose for his text the following words, Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. This procured him the name of a Jacobite, or a disaffected person, acircumstance sufficient to ruin him in his ecclesiastical capacity. Hisfriends, who were disposed to think favourably of him, were for softningthe epithet of Jacobite into Tory, imputing his choice of that text, rather to whim and humour, than any settled prejudice against hisMajesty, or the government; but this unseasonable pleasantry was not soeasily passed over, and the Dr. Had frequent occasion to repent thechoice of his text. Unhappy Sheridan! he lived to want both money and friends. He spent hismoney and time merrily among the gay and the great, and was an example, that there are too many who can relish a man's humour, who have not soquick a sense of his misfortunes. The following story should not havebeen told, were it not true. In the midst of his misfortunes, when the demands of his creditorsobliged him to retirement, he went to dean Swift, and sollicited alodging for a few days, 'till by a proper composition he might berestored to his freedom. The dean retired early to rest. The Dr. Fatigued, but not inclinable to go so soon to bed, sent the servant tothe dean, desiring the key of the cellar, that he might have a bottle ofwine. The dean, in one of his odd humours, returned for answer, hepromised to find him a lodging, but not in wine; and refused to send thekey. The Dr. Being thunderstruck at this unexpected incivility, thetears burst from his eyes; he quitted the house, and we believe neverafter repeated the visit. Dr. Sheridan died in the year 1738, in the 55th year of his age. Thefollowing epitaph for him was handed about. Beneath this marble stone here lies Poor Tom, more merry much than wise; Who only liv'd for two great ends, To spend his cash, and lose his friends: His darling wife of him bereft, Is only griev'd--there's nothing left. When the account of his death was inserted in the papers, it was done inthe following particular terms; 'September 10, died the revd. Dr. Thomas Sheridan of Dublin. He was a great linguist, a most sincere friend, a delightful companion, and the best Schoolmaster in Europe: He took the greatest care of the morals of the young gentlemen, who had the happiness of being bred up under him; and it was remarked, that none of his scholars ever was an Atheist, or a Free-Thinker. ' We cannot more successfully convey to the reader a true idea of Dr. Sheridan, than by the two following quotations from Lord Orrery in hislife of Swift, in which he occasionally mentions Swift's friend. 'Swift was naturally fond of seeing his works in print, and he was encouraged in this fondness by his friend Dr. Sheridan, who had the Cacoethea Scribendi, to the greatest degree, and was continually letting off squibs, rockets, and all sorts of little fire-works from the press; by which means he offended many particular persons, who, although they stood in awe of Swift, held Sheridan at defiance. The truth is, the poor doctor by nature the most peacable, inoffensive man alive, was in a continual state of warfare with the Minor Poets, and they revenged themselves; or, in the style of Mr. Bays, often gave him flash for flash, and singed his feathers. The affection between Theseus and Perithous was not greater than the affection between Swift and Sheridan: But the friendship that cemented the two ancient heroes probably commenced upon motives very different from those which united the two modern divines. ' 'Dr. Sheridan was a school-master, and in many instances, perfectly well adapted for that station. He was deeply vers'd in the Greek and Roman languages; and in their customs and antiquities. He had that kind of good nature, which absence of mind, indolence of body, and carelessness of fortune produce: And although not over-strict in his own conduct, yet he took care of the morality of his scholars, whom he sent to the university, remarkably well founded in all kind of classical learning, and not ill instructed in the social duties of life. He was slovenly, indigent, and chearful. He knew books much better than men; And he knew the value of money least of all. In this situation, and with this disposition, Swift fattened upon him as upon a prey, with which he intended to regale himself, whenever his appetite should prompt him. Sheridan was therefore certainly within his reach; and the only time he was permitted to go beyond the limits of his chain, was to take possession of a living in the county of Corke, which had been bestowed upon him, by the then lord lieutenant of Ireland, the present earl of Granville. Sheridan, in one fatal moment, or by one fatal text, effected his own ruin. You will find the story told by Swift himself, in the fourth volume of his works [page 289. In a pamphlet intitled a Vindication of his Excellency John Lord Carteret, from the charge of favouring none but Tories, High-Churchmen, and Jacobites. ] So that here I need only tell you, that this ill-starred, good-natur'd, improvident man returned to Dublin, unhinged from all favour at court, and even banished from the Castle: But still he remained a punster, a quibbler, a fiddler, and a wit. Not a day passed without a rebus, an anagram, or a madrigal. His pen and his fiddle-stick were in continual motion; and yet to little or no purpose, if we may give credit to the following verses, which shall serve as the conclusion of his poetical character. ' With music and poetry equally bless'd[1], A bard thus Apollo most humbly address'd, Great author of poetry, music, and light, Instructed by thee, I both fiddle and write: Yet unheeded I scrape, or I scribble all day, My tunes are neglected, my verse flung away. Thy substantive here, Vice Apollo [2] disdains, To vouch for my numbers, or list to my strains. Thy manual sign he refuses to put To the airs I produce from the pen, or the gut: Be thou then propitious, great Phoebus, and grant Belief, or reward to my merit, or want, Tho' the Dean and Delany [3] transcendently shine, O! brighten one solo, or sonnet of mine, Make one work immortal, 'tis all I request; Apollo look'd pleas'd, and resolving to jest, Replied--Honest friend, I've consider'd your case. Nor dislike your unmeaning and innocent face. Your petition I grant, the boon is not great, Your works shall continue, and here's the receipt; On Roundo's[4] hereafter, your fiddle-strings spend. Write verses in circles, they never shall end. Dr. Sheridan gained some reputation by his Prose-translation of Persius;to which he added a Collection of the best Notes of the Editors of thisintricate Satyrist, who are in the best esteem; together with manyjudicious Notes of his own. This work was printed in 12mo. For A. Millar, 1739. One of the volumes of Swift's Miscellanies consists almost entirely ofLetters between the Dean and the Dr. FOOTNOTES: [1] Not a first rate genius, or extraordinary proficient, in either. [2] Dr. Swift. [3] Now Dean of Downe. [4] A Song, or peculiar kind of Poetry, which returns to the beginning of the first verse, and continues in a perpetual rotation. * * * * * The Revd. Dr. JONATHAN SWIFT. When the life of a person, whose wit and genius raised him to aneminence among writers of the first class, is written by one of uncommonabilities:--One possess'd of the power (as Shakespear says) _of lookingquite thro' the deeds of men_; we are furnished with one of the highestentertainments a man can enjoy:--Such an author also presents us with atrue picture of human nature, which affords us the most ampleinstruction:--He discerns the passions which play about the heart; andwhile he is astonished with the high efforts of genius, is at the sametime enabled to observe nature as it really is, and how distant fromperfection mankind are in this world, even in the most refined state ofhumanity. Such an intellectual feast they enjoy, who peruse the life ofthis great author, drawn by the masterly and impartial hand of lordOrrery. We there discern the greatness and weakness of Dean Swift; wediscover the patriot, the genius, and the humourist; the peevish master, the ambitious statesman, the implacable enemy, and the warm friend. Hismixed qualities and imperfections are there candidly marked: His errorsand virtues are so strongly represented, that while we reflect upon hisvirtues, we forget he had so many failings; and when we consider hiserrors, we are disposed to think he had fewer virtues. With such candourand impartiality has lord Orrery drawn the portrait of Swift; and, asevery biographer ought to do, has shewn us the man as he really was. Upon this account given by his lordship, is the following chiefly built. It shall be our business to take notice of the most remarkable passagesof the life of Swift; to omit no incidents that can be found concerninghim, and as our propos'd bounds will not suffer us to enlarge, we shallendeavour to display, with as much conciseness as possible, thoseparticulars which may be most entertaining to the reader. He was born in Dublin, November the 30th, 1667, and was carried intoEngland soon after his birth, by his nurse, who being obliged to crossthe sea, and having a nurse's fondness for the child at her breast, convey'd him ship-board without the knowledge of his mother orrelations, and kept him with her at Whitehaven in Cumberland, during herresidence about three-years in that place. This extraordinary event madehis return seem as if he had been transplanted to Ireland, rather thanthat he owed his original existence to that soil. But perhaps he tacitlyhoped to inspire different nations with a contention for his birth; atleast in his angry moods, when he was peevish and provoked at theingratitude of Ireland, he was frequently heard to say, 'I am not ofthis vile country, I am an Englishman. ' Such an assertion tho' meantfiguratively, was often received literally; and the report was stillfarther propagated by Mr. Pope, who in one of his letters has thisexpression. 'Tho' one, or two of our friends are gone, since you sawyour native country, there remain a few. ' But doctor Swift, in hiscooler hours, never denied his country: On the contrary he frequentlymentioned, and pointed out, the house where he was born. The other suggestion concerning the illegitimacy of his birth, isequally false. Sir William Temple was employed as a minister abroad, from the year 1665, to the year 1670; first at Brussels, and afterwardsat the Hague, as appears by his correspondence with the earl ofArlington, and other ministers of state. So that Dr. Swift's mother, whonever crossed the sea, except from England to Ireland, was out of allpossibility of a personal correspondence with Sir William Temple, tillsome years after her son's birth. Dr. Swift's ancestors were persons ofdecent and reputable characters. His grand-father was the Revd. Mr. Thomas Swift, vicar of Goodridge, near Ross in Herefordshire. He enjoyeda paternal estate in that county, which is still in possession of hisgreat-grandson, Dean Swift, Esq; He died in the year 1658, leaving fivesons, Godwin, Thomas, Dryden, Jonathan, and Adam. Two of them only, Godwin and Jonathan, left sons. Jonathan married Mrs. Abigail Erick of Leicestershire, by whom he had one daughter and a son. The daughter was born in the first year of Mr. Swift's marriage; but helived not to see the birth of his son, who was born two months after hisdeath, and became afterwards the famous Dean of St. Patrick's. The greatest part of Mr. Jonathan Swift's income had depended uponagencies, and other employments of that kind; so that most of hisfortune perished with him[1], and the remainder being the only supportthat his widow could enjoy, the care, tuition, and expence of her twochildren devolved upon her husband's elder brother, Mr. Godwin Swift, who voluntarily became their guardian, and supplied the loss which theyhad sustained in a father. The faculties of the mind appear and shine forth at different ages indifferent men. The infancy of Dr. Swift pass'd on without any marks ofdistinction. At six years old he was sent to school at Kilkenny, andabout eight years afterwards he was entered a student of Trinity Collegein Dublin. He lived there in perfect regularity, and under an entireobedience to the statutes; but the moroseness of his temper rendered himvery unacceptable to his companions, so that he was little regarded, andless beloved, nor were the academical exercises agreeable to his genius. He held logic and metaphysics in the utmost contempt; and he scarceconsidered mathematics, and natural philosophy, unless to turn them intoridicule. The studies which he followed were history and poetry. Inthese he made a great progress, but to all other branches of science, hehad given so very little application, that when he appeared as acandidate for the degree of batchelor of arts, he was set aside onaccount of insufficiency. 'This, says lord Orrery, is a surprising incident in his life, but it isundoubtedly true; and even at last he obtained his admission SpecialiGratiâ. A phrase which in that university carries with it the utmostmarks of reproach. It is a kind of dishonourable degree, and the recordof it (notwithstanding Swift's present established character throughoutthe learned world) must for ever remain against him in the academicalregister at Dublin. ' The more early disappointments happen in life, the deeper impressionthey make upon the heart. Swift was full of indignation at the treatmenthe received in Dublin; and therefore resolved to pursue his studies atOxford. However, that he might be admitted Ad Eundem, he was obliged tocarry with him the testimonium of his degree. The expression SpecialiGratiâ is so peculiar to the university of Dublin, that when Mr. Swiftexhibited his testimonium at Oxford, the members of the Englishuniversity concluded, that the words Speciali Gratâ must signify adegree conferred in reward of extraordinary diligence and learning. Itis natural to imagine that he did not try to undeceive them; he wasentered in Hart-Hall, now Hartford-College, where he resided till hetook his degree of master of arts in the year 1691. Dr. Swift's uncle, on whom he had placed his chief dependance, dying inthe Revolution year, he was supported chiefly by the bounty of SirWilliam Temple, to whose lady he was a distant relation. Acts ofgenerosity seldom meet with their just applause. Sir William Temple'sfriendship was immediately construed to proceed from a consciousnessthat he was the real father of Mr. Swift, otherwise it was thoughtimpossible he could be so uncommonly munificent to a young man, sodistantly related to his wife. 'I am not quite certain, (says his noble Biographer) that Swift himselfdid not acquiesce in the calumny; perhaps like Alexander, he thought thenatural son of Jupiter would appear greater than the legitimate son ofPhilip. ' As soon as Swift quitted the university, he lived with Sir WilliamTemple as his friend, and domestic companion. When he had been about twoyears in the family of his patron, he contracted a very long, anddangerous illness, by eating an immoderate quantity of fruit. To thissurfeit he used to ascribe the giddiness in his head, which, withintermissions sometimes of a longer, and sometimes of a shortercontinuance, pursued him till it seemed to compleat its conquest, byrendering him the exact image of one of his own STRULDBRUGGS; amiserable spectacle, devoid of every appearance of human nature, exceptthe outward form. After Swift had sufficiently recovered to travel, he went into Irelandto try the effects of his native air; and he found so much benefit bythe journey, that pursuant to his own inclinations he soon returned intoEngland, and was again most affectionately received by Sir WilliamTemple, whose house was now at Sheen, where he was often visited by KingWilliam. Here Swift had frequent opportunities of conversing with thatprince; in some of which conversations the king offered to make him acaptain of horse: An offer, which in his splenetic dispositions, healways seemed sorry to have refused; but at that time he had resolvedwithin his own mind to take orders, and during his whole life hisresolutions, like the decrees of fate, were immoveable. Thus determined, he again went over to Ireland, and immediately inlisted himself underthe banner of the church. He was recommended to lord Capel, thenLord-Deputy, who gave him, the first vacancy, a prebend, of which theincome was about a hundred pounds a year. Swift soon grew weary of a preferment, which to a man of his ambitionwas far from being sufficiently considerable. He resigned his prebend infavour of a friend, and being sick of solitude he returned to Sheen, were he lived domestically as usual, till the death of Sir WilliamTemple; who besides a legacy in money, left to him the care and trust ofpublishing his posthumous works. During Swift's residence with Sir William Temple he became intimatelyacquainted with a lady, whom he has distinguished, and often celebrated, under the name of Stella. The real name of this lady was Johnson. Shewas the daughter of Sir William Temple's steward; and the concealed butundoubted wife of doctor Swift. Sir William Temple bequeathed her in hiswill 1000 l. As an acknowledgment of her father's faithful services. Inthe year 1716 she was married to doctor Swift, by doctor Ashe, thenbishop of Clogher. The reader must observe, there was a long interval between thecommencement of his acquaintance with Stella, and the time of making herhis wife, for which (as it appears he was fond of her from the beginningof their intimacy) no other cause can be assigned, but that the sameunaccountable humour, which had so long detained him from marrying, prevented him from acknowledging her after she was his wife. 'Stella (says lord Orrery) was a most amiable woman both in mind andperson: She had an elevated understanding, with all the delicacy, andsoftness of her own sex. Her voice, however sweet in itself, was stillrendered more harmonious by what she said. Her wit was poignant withoutseverity: Her manners were humane, polite, easy and unreserved. --Wherever she came, she attracted attention and esteem. As virtue was herguide in morality, sincerity was her guide in religion. She wasconstant, but not ostentatious in her devotions: She was remarkablyprudent in her conversation: She had great skill in music; and wasperfectly well versed in all the lesser arts that employ a lady'sleisure. Her wit allowed her a fund of perpetual cheerfulness withinproper limits. She exactly answered the description of Penelope inHomer. A woman, loveliest of the lovely kind, In body perfect, and compleat in mind. ' Such was this amiable lady, yet, with all these advantages, she couldnever prevail on Dr. Swift to acknowledge her openly as his wife. Agreat genius must tread in unbeaten paths, and deviate from the commonroad of life; otherwise a diamond of so much lustre might have beenpublickly produced, although it had been fixed within the collet ofmatrimony: But that which diminished the value of this inestimable jewelin Swift's eye was the servile state of her father. Ambition and pride, the predominant principles which directed all theactions of Swift, conquered reason and justice; and the vanity ofboasting such a wife was suppressed by the greater vanity of keepingfree from a low alliance. Dr. Swift and Mrs. Johnson continued the sameoeconomy of life after marriage, which they had pursued before it. Theylived in separate houses; nothing appeared in their behaviourinconsistent in their decorum, and beyond the limits of platonic love. However unaccountable this renunciation of marriage rites might appearto the world, it certainly arose, not from any consciousness of a toonear consanguinity between him and Mrs. Johnson, although the generalvoice of some was willing to make them both the natural children of SirWilliam Temple. Dr. Swift, (says lord Orrery) was not of that opinion, for the same false pride which induced him to deny the legitimatedaughter of an obscure servant, might have prompted him to own thenatural daughter of Sir William Temple. [2] It is natural to imagine, that a woman of Stella's delicacy must repineat such an extraordinary situation. The outward honours she received areas frequently bestowed upon a mistress as a wife; she was absolutelyvirtuous, and was yet obliged to submit to all the appearances of vice. Inward anxiety affected by degrees the calmness of her mind, and thestrength of her body. She died towards the end of January 1727, absolutely destroy'd by the peculiarity of her fate; a fate whichperhaps she could not have incurred by an alliance with any other personin the world. Upon the death of Sir William Temple, Swift came to London, and took theearliest opportunity of delivering a petition to King William, under theclaim of a promise made by his majesty to Sir William Temple, that Mr. Swift should have the first vacancy which might happen among theprebends of Westminster or Canterbury. But this promise was eithertotally forgotten, or the petition which Mr. Swift presented was drownedamidst the clamour of more urgent addresses. From this firstdisappointment may be dated that bitterness towards kings and courtiers, which is to be found so universally dispersed throughout his works. After a long and fruitless attendance at Whitehall, Swift reluctantlygave up all thoughts of a settlement in England: Pride prevented himfrom remaining longer in a state of servility and contempt. He compliedtherefore with an invitation from the earl of Berkley (appointed one ofthe Lords Justices in Ireland) to attend him as his chaplain, andprivate secretary. --Lord Berkley landed near Waterford, and Mr. Swiftacted as secretary during the whole journey to Dublin. But another oflord Berkley's attendants, whose name was Bush, had by this timeinsinuated himself into the earl's favour, and had whispered to hislordship, that the post of secretary was not proper for a clergyman, towhom only church preferments could be suitable or advantageous. LordBerkley listened perhaps too attentively to these insinuations, andmaking some slight apology to Mr. Swift, divested him of that office, and bestowed it upon Mr. Bush. Here again was another disappointment, and a fresh object ofindignation. The treatment was thought injurious, and Swift expressedhis sensibility of it in a short but satyrical copy of verses, intitledthe Discovery. However, during the government of the Earls of Berkleyand Galway, who were jointly Lords Justices of Ireland, two livings, Laracor and Rathbeggan, were given to Mr. Swift. The first of theserectories was worth about 200, and the latter about 60 l. A year; andthey were the only church preferments which he enjoyed till he wasappointed Dean of St. Patrick's, in the year 1713. Lord Orrery gives the following instances of his humour and of hispride. As soon as he had taken possession of his two livings, he went to resideat Laracor, and gave public notice to his parishioners, that he wouldread prayers on every Wednesday and Friday. Upon the subsequentWednesday the bell was rung, and the rector attended in his desk, whenafter having sat some time, and finding the congregation to consist onlyof himself and his clerk Roger, he began with great composure andgravity; but with a turn peculiar to himself. "_Dearly beloved_ Roger, _the scripture moveth you and me in sundry places, &c_. " And thenproceeded regularly thro' the whole service. This trifling circumstanceserves to shew; that he could not resist a vein of humour, whenever hehad an opportunity of exerting it. The following is the instance of his pride. While Swift was chaplain tolord Berkley, his only sister, by the consent and approbation of heruncle and relations, was married to a man in trade, whose fortune, character, and situation were esteemed by all her friends, and suitableto her in every respect. But the marriage was intirely disagreeable to her brother. It seemed tointerrupt those ambitious views he had long since formed: He grewoutragious at the thoughts of being brother-in law to a trademan. Heutterly refused all reconciliation with his father; nor would he evenlisten to the entreaties of his mother, who came over to Ireland underthe strongest hopes of pacifying his anger; having in every otherinstance found him a dutiful and obedient son: But his pride was not tobe conquered, and Mrs. Swift finding her son inflexible, hastened backto Leicester, where she continued till her death. During his mother's life time, he scarce ever failed to pay her anannual visit. But his manner of travelling was as singular as any otherof his actions. He often went in a waggon, but more frequently walkedfrom Holyhead to Leicester, London, or any other part of England. Hegenerally chose to dine with waggoners, ostlers, and persons of thatrank; and he used to lye at night in houses where he found written overthe door, Lodgings for a Penny. He delighted in scenes of low life. Thevulgar dialect was not only a fund of humour for him; but seems to havebeen acceptable to his nature, as appears from the many filthy ideas, and indecent expressions found throughout his works. A strict residence in a country place was not in the least suitable tothe restless temper of Swift. He was perpetually making excursions notonly to Dublin, and other places in Ireland, but likewise to London; sorambling a disposition occasioned to him a considerable loss. The richdeanery of Derry became vacant at this time, and was intended for him bylord Berkley, if Dr. King, then bishop of Derry, and afterwardsarchbishop of Dublin, had not interposed; entreating with greatearnestness, that the deanery might be given to some grave and elderlydivine, rather than to so young a man 'because (added the bishop) thesituation of Derry is in the midst of Presbyterians, and I should beglad of a clergyman, who might be of assistance to me. I have noobjection to Mr. Swift. I know him to be a sprightly ingenious youngman; but instead of residing, I dare say he will be eternally flyingbackwards and forwards to London; and therefore I entreat that he may beprovided for in some other place. ' Swift was accordingly set aside on account of youth, and from the year1702, to the change of the ministry in the year 1710, few circumstancesof his life can be found sufficiently material to be inserted here. Fromthis last period, 'till the death of Queen Anne, we find him fighting onthe side of the Tories, and maintaining their cause in pamphlets, poems, and weekly papers. In one of his letters to Mr. Pope he has thisexpression, 'I have conversed, in some freedom, with more ministers ofstate, of all parties, than usually happens to men of my level; and, Iconfess, in their capacity as ministers I look upon them as a race ofpeople, whose acquaintance no man would court otherwise, than on thescore of vanity and ambition. ' A man always appears of more consequenceto himself, than he is in reality to any other person. Such, perhaps, was the case of Dr. Swift. He knew how useful he was to theadministration in general; and in one of his letters he mentions, thatthe place of historiographer was intended for him; but in thisparticular he flattered himself; at least, he remained without anypreferment 'till the year 1713, when he was made dean of St. Patrick's. In point of power and revenue, such a deanery might be esteemed noinconsiderable promotion; but to an ambitious mind, whose perpetual viewwas a settlement in England, a dignity in any other country must appearonly a profitable and an honourable kind of banishment. It is veryprobable, that the temper of Swift might occasion his English friends towish him promoted at a distance. His spirit was ever untractable. Themotions of his genius were often irregular. He assumed more of the airof a patron, than of a friend. He affected rather to dictate thanadvise. He was elated with the appearance of enjoying ministerialconfidence. He enjoyed the shadow indeed, but the substance was detainedfrom him. He was employed, not entrusted; and at the same time heimagined himself a subtle diver, who dextrously shot down into theprofoundest regions of politics, he was suffered only to sound theshallows nearest the shore, and was scarce admitted to descend below thefroth at the top. Swift was one of those strange kind of Tories, wholord Bolingbroke, in his letter to Sir William Wyndham, calls theWhimsicals, that is, they were Tories attach'd to the Hanoveriansuccession. This kind of Tory is so incongruous a creature, that it is awonder ever such a one existed. Mrs. Pilkington informs us, that Swifthad written A Defence of the last Ministers of Queen Anne, from anintention of restoring the Pretender, which Mr. Pope advised him todestroy, as not one word of it was true. Bolingbroke, by far the mostaccomplished man in that ministry (for Oxford was, in comparison of him, a statesman of no compass) certainly aimed at the restoration of theexiled family, however he might disguise to some people his realintentions, under the masque of being a Hanoverian Tory. This serves tocorroberate the observation which lord Orrery makes of Swift: 'that hewas employed, not trusted, &c. ' By reflexions of this sort, says lord Orrery, we may account for hisdisappointment of an English bishopric. A disappointment, which, heimagined, he owed to a joint application, made against him to the Queen, by Dr. Sharp, archbishop of York, and by a lady of the highest rank andcharacter. Archbishop Sharpe, according to Swift's account, hadrepresented him to the Queen as a person, who was no Christian; thegreat lady had supported the assertion, and the Queen, upon suchassurances, had given away the bishopric, contrary to her Majesty'sintentions. Swift kept himself, indeed, within some tolerable boundswhen he spoke of the Queen; but his indignation knew no limits when hementioned the archbishop, or the lady. Most people are fond of a settlement in their native country, but Swifthad not much reason to rejoice in the land where his lot had fallen; forupon his arrival in Ireland to take possesion of the deanery, he foundthe violence of party raging in that kingdom to the highest degree. Thecommon people were taught to consider him as a Jacobite, and theyproceeded so far in their detestation, as to throw stones and dirt athim as he passed thro' the streets. The chapter of St. Patrick's, likethe rest of the kingdom, received him with great reluctance. Theyopposed him in every point he proposed. They avoided him as apestilence, and resisted him as an invader and an enemy to his country. Such was his first reception, as dean of St. Patrick's. Fewer talents, and less firmness must have yielded to so outrageous an opposition. Hehad seen enough of human nature to be convinced that the passions oflow, self-interested minds ebb and flow continually. They love they knownot whom, they hate they know not why. They are captivated by words, guided by names, and governed by accidents. But to few the strangerevolutions in this world, Dr. Swift, who was now the detestion of theIrish rabble, lived to be afterwards the most absolute monarch overthem, that ever governed men. His first step was to reduce to reason andobedience his revd. Brethren the the chapter of St. Patrick's; in whichhe succeeded so perfectly, and so speedily, that, in a short time afterhis arrival, not one member in that body offered to contradict him, evenin trifles: on the contrary, they held him in the highest respect andveneration, so that he sat in the Chapter-House, like Jupiter in theSynod of the Gods. In the beginning of the year 1714 Swift returned to England. He foundhis great friends, who sat in the seat of power, much disunited amongthemselves. He saw the Queen declining in her health, and distressed inher situation; while faction was exerting itself, and gathering newstrength every day. He exerted the utmost of his skill to unite theministers, and to cement the apertures of the state: but he found hispains fruitless, his arguments unavailing, and his endeavours, like thestone of Sisyphus, rolling back upon himself. He retired to a friend'shouse in Berkshire, where he remained 'till the Queen died. So fatal anevent terminated all his views in England, and made him return as fastas possible to his deanery in Ireland, oppressed with grief anddiscontent. His hopes in England were now crushed for ever. As Swift waswell known to have been attached to the Queen's last ministry, he metwith several indignities from the populace, and, indeed, was equallyabused by persons of all ranks and denominations. Such a treatmentsoured his temper, confined his acquaintance, and added bitterness tohis stile. From the year 1714, 'till he appeared in the year 1720 a champion forIreland, against Wood's halfpence, his spirit of politics and patriotismwas kept almost closely confined within his own breast. Idleness andtrifles engrossed too many of his leisure hours; fools and sycophantstoo much of his conversation. His attendance upon the public service ofthe church was regular and uninterrupted; and indeed regularity waspeculiar to all his actions, even in the meerest trifles. His hours ofwalking and reading never varied. His motions were guided by his watch, which was so constantly held in his hand, or placed before him on thetable, that he seldom deviated many minutes in the revolution of hisexercises and employments. In the year 1720 he began to re-assume, insome degree, the character of a political writer. A small pamphlet indefence of the Irish Manufactures was his first essay in Ireland in thatkind of writing, and to that pamphlet he owed the turn of the populartide in his favour. It was entitled, A Proposal for the Universal Use ofIrish Manufacture in Clothes and Furniture of Houses, &c. Utterlyrejecting and renouncing every thing wearable that comes from England. This proposal immediately raised a very violent flame. The Printer wasprosecuted, and the prosecution had the same effect, which generallyattends those kind of measures. It added fuel to flame. But his greatestenemies must confess, that the pamphlet is written in the stile of a manwho had the good of his country nearest his heart, who saw her errors, and wished to correct them; who felt her oppressions, and wished torelieve them; and who had a desire to rouze and awaken an indolentnation from a lethargic disposition, that might prove fatal to herconstitution. This temporary opposition but increased the stream of hispopularity. He was now looked upon in a new light, and was distinguishedby the title of THE DEAN, and so high a degree of popularity did heattain, as to become an arbitrator, in disputes of property, amongst hisneighbours; nor did any man dare to appeal from his opinion, or murmurat his decrees. But the popular affection, which the dean had hitherto acquired, may besaid not to have been universal, 'till the publication of the Drapier'sLetters, which made all ranks, and all professions unanimous in hisapplause. The occasion of those letters was, a scarcity of copper coinin Ireland, to so great a degree, that, for some time past, the chiefmanufacturers throughout the kingdom were obliged to pay their workmenin pieces of tin, or in other tokens of suppositious value. Such amethod was very disadvantageous to the lower parts of traffic, and wasin general an impediment to the commerce of the state. To remedy thisevil, the late King granted a patent to one Wood, to coin, during theterm of fourteen years, farthings and halfpence in England, for the useof Ireland, to the value of a certain Aim specified. These halfpence andfarthings were to be received by those persons, who would voluntarilyaccept them. But the patent was thought to be of such dangerousconsequence to the public, and of such exorbitant advantage to thepatentee, that the dean, under the character of M. B. Drapier, wrote aLetter to the People, warning them not to accept Wood's halfpence andfarthings, as current coin. This first letter was succeeded by severalothers to the same purpose, all which are inserted in his works. At the sound of the Drapier's trumpet, a spirit arose among the people. Persons of all ranks, parties and denominations, were convinced that theadmission of Wood's copper must prove fatal to the commonwealth. ThePapist, the Fanatic, the Tory, the Whig, all listed themselvesvolunteers, under the banner of the Drapier, and were all equallyzealous to serve the common cause. Much heat, and many fiery speechesagainst the administration were the consequence of this union; nor hadthe flames been allayed, notwithstanding threats and proclamations, hadnot the coin been totally suppressed, and Wood withdrawn his patent. Thename of Augustus was not bestowed upon Octavius Cæsar with moreuniversal approbation, than the name of the Drapier was bestowed uponthe dean. He had no sooner assumed his new cognomen, than he became theidol of the people of Ireland, to a degree of devotion, that in the mostsuperstitious country, scarce any idol ever obtained. Libations to hishealth were poured out as frequent as to the immortal memory of KingWilliam. His effigies was painted in every street in Dublin. Acclamations and vows for his prosperity attended his footsteps whereverhe passed. He was consulted in all points relating to domestic policy ingeneral, and to the trade of Ireland in particular; but he was moreimmediately looked upon as the legislator of the Weavers, who frequentlycame in a body, consisting of 40 or 50 chiefs of their trade, to receivehis advice in settling the rates of their manufactures, and the wages oftheir journeymen. He received their address with less majesty thansternness, and ranging his subjects in a circle round his parlour, spokeas copiously, and with as little difficulty and hesitation, to theseveral points in which they supplicated his assistance, as if trade hadbeen the only study and employment of his life. When elections weredepending for the city of Dublin, many Corporations refused to declarethemselves, 'till they had consulted his sentiments and inclinations, which were punctually followed with equal chearfulness and submission. In this state of power, and popular admiration, he remained 'till helost his senses; a loss which he seemed to foresee, and propheticallylamented to many of his friends. The total deprivation of his sensescame upon him by degrees. In the year 1736 he was seized with a violentfit of giddiness; he was at that time writing a satirical poem, calledThe Legion Club; but he found the effects of his giddiness so dreadful, that he left the poem unfinished, and never afterwards attempted acomposition, either in verse or prose. However, his conversation stillremained the same, lively and severe, but his memory gradually grewworse and worse, and as that decreased, he grew every day more fretfuland impatient. In the year 1741, his friends found his passions soviolent and ungovernable, his memory so decayed, and his reason sodepraved, that they took the utmost precautions to keep all strangersfrom approaching him; for, 'till then, he had not appeared totallyincapable of conversation. But early in the year 1742, the small remainsof his understanding became entirely confused, and the violence of hisrage increased absolutely to a degree of madness. In this miserablestate he seemed to be appointed the first inhabitant of his ownHospital; especially as from an outrageous lunatic, he sunk afterwardsto a quiet speechless ideot; and dragged out the remainder of his lifein that helpless situation. He died towards the latter end of October1745. The manner of his death was easy, without the least pang, orconvulsion; even the rattling of his throat was scarce sufficient togive an alarm to his attendants, 'till within some very little timebefore he expired. A man in possession of his reason would have wishedfor such a kind dissolution; but Swift was totally insensible ofhappiness, or pain. He had not even the power or expression of a child, appearing for some years before his death, referred only as an exampleto mortify human pride, and to reverse that fine description of humannature, which is given us by the inimitable Shakespeare. 'What a pieceof work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in formand moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! inapprehension how like a God! the beauty of the world! the paragon ofanimals!' Swift's friends often heard him lament the state of childhoodand idiotism, to which some of the greatest men of this nation werereduced before their death. He mentioned, as examples within his owntime, the duke of Marlborough and lord Somers; and when he cited thesemelancholy instances, it was always with a heavy sigh, and with gesturesthat shewed great uneasiness, as if he felt an impulse of what was tohappen to him before he died. He left behind him about twelve thousandpounds, inclusive of the specific legacies mentioned in his will, andwhich may be computed at the sum of twelve hundred pounds, so that theremaining ten thousand eight hundred pounds, is entirely applicable tothe Hospital for Idiots and Lunatics; an establishment remarkablygenerous, as those who receive the benefit, must for ever remainignorant of their benefactor. Lord Orerry has observed, that a propension to jocularity and humour isapparent in the last works of Swift. His Will, like all his otherwritings, is drawn up in his own peculiar manner. Even in so serious acomposition, he cannot help indulging himself in leaving legacies, thatcarry with them an air of raillery and jest. He disposes of his threebest hats (his best, his second best, and his third best beaver) with anironical solemnity, that renders the bequests ridiculous. He bequeaths, 'To Mr. John Grattan a silver-box, to keep in it the tobacco which thesaid John usually chewed, called pigtail. ' But his legacy to Mr. RobertGrattan, is still more extraordinary. 'Item, I bequeath to the Revd. Mr. Robert Grattan, Prebendary of St. Audeon's, my strong box, on conditionof his giving the sole use of the said box to his brother, Dr. JamesGrattan, during the life of the said Doctor, who hath more occasion forit. ' These are so many last expressions of his turn, and way of thinking, andno doubt the persons thus distinguished looked upon these instances asaffectionate memorials of his friendship, and tokens of the jocosemanner, in which he had treated them during his life-time. With regard to Dean Swift's poetical character, the reader will take thefollowing sketch of it in the words of Lord Orrery. 'The poeticalperformances of Swift (says he) ought to be considered as occasionalpoems, written either to pleasure[3], or to vex some particular persons. We must not suppose them designed for posterity; if he had cultivatedhis genius that way, he must certainly have excelled, especially insatire. We see fine sketches in several of his pieces; but he seems moredesirous to inform and strengthen his mind, than to indulge theluxuriancy of his imagination. He chuses to discover, and correct errorsin the works of others, rather than to illustrate, and add beauties ofhis own. Like a skilful artist, he is fond of probing wounds to theirdepth, and of enlarging them to open view. He aims to be severelyuseful, rather than politely engaging; and as he was either not formed, nor would take pains to excel in poetry, he became in some measuresuperior to it; and assumed more the air, and manner of a critic than apoet. ' Thus far his lordship in his VIth letter, but in his IXth, headds, when speaking of the Second Volume of Swift's Works, 'He had thenicest ear; he is remarkably chaste, and delicate in his rhimes. A badrhime appeared to him one of the capital sins of poetry. ' The Dean's poem on his celebrated Vanessa, is number'd among the best ofhis poetical pieces. Of this lady it will be proper to give someaccount, as she was a character as singular as Swift himself. Vanessa's real name was Esther Vanhomrich[4]. She was one of thedaughters of Bartholomew Vanhomrich, a Dutch merchant of Amsterdam; whoupon the Revolution went into Ireland, and was appointed by king Williama commissioner of the revenue. The Dutch merchant, by parsimony andprudence, had collected a fortune of about 16, 000 _l_. He bequeathed anequal division of it to his wife, and his four children, of which twowere sons, and two were daughters. The sons after the death of theirfather travelled abroad: The eldest died beyond sea; and the youngestsurviving his brother only a short time, the whole patrimony fell to histwo sisters, Esther and Mary. With this encrease of wealth, and with heads and hearts elated byaffluence, and unrestrained by fore-sight or discretion, the widowVanhomrich, and her two daughters, quitted their native country for themore elegant pleasures of the English court. During their residence atLondon, they lived in a course of prodigality, that stretched itself farbeyond the limits of their income, and reduced them to great distress, in the midst of which the mother died, and the two daughters hastened inall secresy back to Ireland, beginning their journey on a Sunday, toavoid the interruption of creditors. Within two years after theirarrival in Ireland, Mary the youngest sister died, and the small remainsof the shipwreck'd fortune center'd in Vanessa. Vanity makes terrible devastations in a female breast: Vanessa wasexcessively vain. She was fond of dress; impatient to be admired; veryromantic in her turn of mind; superior in her own opinion to all hersex; full of pertness, gaiety, and pride; not without some agreeableaccomplishments, but far from being either beautiful or genteel:Ambitious at any rate to be esteemed a wit; and with that view alwaysaffecting to keep company with wits; a great reader, and a violentadmirer of poetry; happy in the thoughts of being reputed Swift'sconcubine; but still aiming to be his wife. By nature haughty anddisdainful, looking with contempt upon her inferiors; and with thesmiles of self-approbation upon her equals; but upon Dr. Swift, with theeyes of love: Her love was no doubt founded in vanity. Though Vanessa had exerted all the arts of her sex, to intangle Swift inmatrimony; she was yet unsuccessful. She had lost her reputation, andthe narrowness of her income, and coldness of her lover contributed tomake her miserable, and to increase the phrensical disposition of hermind. In this melancholly situation she remained several years, duringwhich time Cadenus (Swift) visited her frequently. She often press'd himto marry her: His answers were rather turns of wit, than positivedenials; till at last being unable to sustain the weight of misery anylonger, she wrote a very tender epistle to him, insisting peremptorilyupon a serious answer, and an immediate acceptance, or absolute refusalof her as his wife. His reply was delivered by his own hand. He broughtit with him when he made his final visit; and throwing down the letterupon the table with great passion, hastened back to his house, carryingin his countenance the frown of anger, and indignation. Vanessa did notsurvive many days the letter delivered to her by Swift, but during thatshort interval she was sufficiently composed, to cancel a will made inhis favour, and to make another, wherein she left her fortune (which bya long retirement was in some measure retrieved) to her two executors, Dr. Berkley the late lord bishop of Cloyne, and Mr. Marshal one of theking's Serjeants at law. Thus perished under all the agonies of despair, Mrs. Esther Vanhomrich; a miserable example of an ill-spent life, fantastic wit, visionary schemes, and female weakness. It is strange that vanity should have so great a prevalence in thefemale breast, and yet it is certain that to this principle it wasowing, that Swift's house was often a seraglio of very virtuous women, who attended him from morning till night, with an obedience, an awe, andan assiduity that are seldom paid to the richest, or the most powerfullovers. These ladies had no doubt a pride in being thought thecompanions of Swift; but the hours which were spent in his company couldnot be very pleasant, as his sternness and authority were continuallyexerted to keep them in awe. Lord Orrery has informed us, that Swift took every opportunity to exposeand ridicule Dryden, for which he imagines there must have been someaffront given by that great man to Swift. In this particular we cansatisfy the reader from authentic information. When Swift was a young man, and not so well acquainted with the world ashe afterwards became, he wrote some Pindaric Odes. In this species ofcomposition he succeeded ill; sublimity and fire, the indispensablerequisites in a Pindaric Ode not being his talent. As Mr. Dryden wasSwift's kinsman, these odes were shewn to him for his approbation, whosaid to him with an unreserved freedom, and in the candour of a friend, 'Cousin Swift, turn your thoughts some other way, for nature has neverformed you for a Pindaric poet. ' Though what Dryden observed, might in some measure be true, and Swiftperhaps was conscious that he had not abilities to succeed in thatspecies of writing; yet this honest dissuasive of his kinsman he neverforgave. The remembrance of it soured his temper, and heated hispassions, whenever Dryden's name was mention'd. We shall now take a view of Swift in his moral life, the distinction hehas obtained in the literary world having rendered all illustrations ofhis genius needless. Lord Orrery, throughout his excellent work, from which we have drawn ouraccount of Swift, with his usual marks of candour, has displayed hismoral character. In many particulars, the picture he draws of the Deanresembles the portrait of the same person as drawn by Mrs. Pilkington. 'I have beheld him (says his lordship) in all humours and dispositions, and I have formed various speculations from the several weaknesses towhich I observed him liable. His capacity, and strength of mind, wereundoubtedly equal to any talk whatsoever. His pride, his spirit, or hisambition (call it by what name you please) was boundless; but his viewswere checked in his younger years, and the anxiety of thatdisappointment had a sensible effect upon all his actions. He was sourand severe, but not absolutely ill-natur'd. He was sociable only toparticular friends, and to them only at particular hours. He knewpoliteness more than he practiced it. He was a mixture of avarice andgenerosity; the former was frequently prevalent, the latter seldomappeared unless excited by compassion. He was open to adulation, andwould not, or could not, distinguish between low flattery and justapplause. His abilities rendered him superior to envy. He wasundisguised, and perfectly sincere. I am induced to think that heentered into orders, more from some private and fixed resolution, thanfrom absolute choice: Be that as it may, he performed the duties of thechurch with great punctuality, and a decent degree of devotion. He readprayers, rather in a strong nervous voice, than in a graceful manner;and although he has been often accused of irreligion, nothing of thatkind appeared in his conversation or behaviour. His cast of mind inducedhim to think and speak more of politics than religion. His perpetualviews were directed towards power; and his chief aim was to be removedto England: But when he found himself entirely disappointed, he turnedhis thoughts to opposition, and became the Patron of Ireland. ' Mrs. Pilkington has represented him as a tyrant in his family, and hasdiscovered in him a violent propension to be absolute in every companywhere he was. This disposition, no doubt, made him more feared thanloved; but as he had the most unbounded vanity to gratify, he waspleased with the servility and awe with which inferiors approached him. He may be resembled to an eastern monarch, who takes delight insurveying his slaves, trembling at his approach, and kneeling withreverence at his feet. Had Swift been born to regal honours, he would doubtless have bent thenecks of his people to the yoke: As a subject, he was restless andturbulent; and though as lord Orrery says, he was above corruption, yetthat virtue was certainly founded on his pride, which disdained everymeasure, and spurned every effort in which he himself was not theprincipal. He was certainly charitable, though it had an unlucky mixture ofostentation in it. One particular act of his charity (not mentioned, except by Mrs. Pilkington, in any account of him yet published) is wellworthy of remembrance, praise, and imitation:--He appropriated the sumof five-hundred pounds intirely to the use of poor tradesmen andhandicraftsmen, whose honesty and industry, he thought meritedassistance, and encouragement: This he lent to them in small loans, astheir exigencies required, without any interest; and they repaid him atso much per week, or month, as their different circumstances bestenabled them. --To the wealthy let us say-- "Abi tu et fac similiter. " FOOTNOTES: [1] Lord Orrery, page 6. [2] The authors of the Monthly Review have justly remarked, that this observation of his lordship's seems premature. The same public rumour, say they, that made HER Sir William Temple's daughter, made HIM also Sir William's son: Therefore he (Swift) could never with decency, have acknowledged Mrs. Johnson as his wife, while that rumour continued to retain any degree of credit; and if there had been really no foundation for it, surely it might have been no very hard task to obviate its force, by producing the necessary proofs and circumstances of his birth: Yet, we do not find that ever this was done, either by the Dean or his relations. [3] We are assured, there was one while a misunderstanding subsisting between Swift and Pope: But that worthy gentleman, the late general Dormer (who had a great regard for both) reconciled them, e'er it came to an open rupture:--Though the world might be deprived by the general's mediation of great matter of entertainment, which the whetted wit of two such men might have afforded; yet his good-nature, and sincere friendship, deserves to be remember'd with honour. --This gentleman Mr. Cibber senior was very intimate with, and once hinted to him, 'He was concerned to find he stood so ill in the Dean's opinion, whose great parts, wit, genius, &c. He held in the highest estimation; nor could he easily account for the Dean's so frequently appearing his enemy, as he never knowingly had offended him; and regretted the want of an opportunity of being better acquainted with him. '--The general had also a great regard for Mr. Cibber, and wished to bring them together on an agreeable footing:--Why they were not so, came out soon after. --The secret was, --Mr. Pope was angry; [for the long-latent cause, look into Mr. Cibber's letter to Mr. Pope. ] Passion and prejudice are not always friends to truth;--and the foam of resentment never rose higher, than when it boil'd and swell'd in Mr. Pope's bosom: No wonder then, that his misrepresentation might make the Dean believe, Mr. Cibber was not unworthy of that satire and raillery (not always just neither, and sometimes solicited) which is not unsparingly thrown on him in the Dean's works:--That this was the case, appears from the following circumstance. As soon as Mr. Cibber's Apology was first printed, it was immediately carried over to Dublin, and given to Mr. Faulkner (an eminent printer and bookseller there) by a gentleman, who wished to see an edition of it in Ireland; Mr. Faulkner published it, and the success thereof was so great, some thousands thereof were disposed of in a very short time: Just before the intended edition appeared, the Dean (who often visited Mr. Faulkner) coming into the shop, asked, 'What new pieces were likely to come forth?'--Mr. Faulkner gave Mr. Cibber's Apology to him;--The Dean's curiosity [Transcriber's note: 'curosity' in original] was pretty strong to see a work of that uncommon sort:--In short, he stay'd and dined there; and did not quit the house, or the book, 'till he had read it through: He advised Faulkner, to lose no time in printing it; and said, he would answer for it's success:--He declared, he had not perus'd any thing a long time that had pleas'd him so much; and dwelt long in commendation of it: He added, that he almost envy'd the author the pleasure he must have in writing it;--That he was sorry he had ever said any thing to his disadvantage; and was convinced Cibber had been very much misrepresented to him; nor did he scruple to say, that, as it had been formerly the fashion to abuse Cibber, he had unwarily been drawn into it by Pope, and others. He often, afterwards, spoke in praise of Mr. Cibber, and his writing in general, and of this work in particular. --He afterwards told Mr. Faulkner, he had read Cibber's Apology thro' three times; that he was more and more pleased with it: That the style was not inferior to any English he had ever read: That his words were properly adapted: His similes happy, uncommon, and well chosen: He then in a pleasant manner said--'You must give me this book, which is the first thing I ever begg'd from you. ' To this, we may be sure Mr. Faulkner readily consented. Ever after in company, the Dean gave this book a great character. --Let the reader make the application of this true and well known fact. [4] The name is pronounced Vannumery. * * * * * MRS. CONSTANTIA GRIERSON. This lady was born in Ireland; and, as Mrs. Barber judiciously remarks, was one of the most extraordinary women that either this age, or perhapsany other, ever produced. She died in the year 1733, at the age of 27, and was allowed long before to be an excellent scholar, not only inGreek and Roman literature, but in history, divinity, philosophy, andmathematics. Mrs. Grierson (says she) 'gave a proof of her knowledge in the Latintongue, by her dedication of the Dublin edition of Tacitus to the lordCarteret, and by that of Terence to his son, to whom she likewise wrotea Greek epigram. She wrote several fine poems in English[1], on whichshe set so little value, that she neglected to leave copies behind herof but very few. 'What makes her character the more remarkable is, that she rose to thiseminence of learning merely by the force of her own genius, andcontinual application. She was not only happy in a fine imagination, agreat memory, an excellent understanding, and an exact judgment, but hadall these crowned by virtue and piety: she was too learned to be vain, too wise to be conceited, too knowing and too clear-sighted toirreligious. 'If heaven had spared her life, and blessed her with health, which shewanted for some years before her death, there is good reason to thinkshe would have made as great a figure in the learned world, as any ofher sex are recorded to have done. 'As her learning and abilities raised her above her own sex, so theyleft her no room to envy any; on the contrary, her delight was to seeothers excel. She was always ready to advise and direct those whoapplied to her, and was herself willing to be advised. 'So little did she value herself upon her uncommon excellences, that ithas often recalled to my mind a fine reflexion of a French author, _Thatgreat geniuses should be superior to their own abilities. _ 'I perswade myself that this short account of so extraordinary a woman, of whom much more might have been said, will not be disagreeable to myreaders; nor can I omit what I think is greatly to the lord Carteret'shonour, that when he was lord lieutenant of Ireland, he obtained apatent for Mr. Grierson, her husband, to be the King's Printer, and todistinguish and reward her uncommon merit, had her life inserted in it. 'Thus far Mrs. Barber. We shall now subjoin Mrs. Pilkington's account ofthis wonderful genius. 'About two years before this, a young woman (afterwards married to Mr. Grierson) of about eighteen years of age, was brought to my father[2], to be by him instructed in Midwifry: she was mistress of Hebrew[3], Greek, Latin, and French, and understood the mathematics as well as mostmen: and what made these extraordinary talents yet more surprizing was, that her parents were poor, illiterate, country people: so that herlearning appeared like the gift poured out on the apostles, of speakingall languages without the pains of study; or, like the intuitiveknowledge of angels: yet inasmuch as the power of miracles is ceased, wemust allow she used human means for such great and excellentacquirements. And yet, in a long friendship and familiarity with her, Icould never obtain a satisfactory account from her on this head; onlyshe said, she had received some little instruction from the minister ofthe parish, when she could spare time from her needle-work, to which shewas closely kept by her mother. She wrote elegantly both in verse andprose, and some of the most delightful hours I ever passed were in theconversation of this female philosopher. 'My father readily consented to accept of her as a pupil, and gave her ageneral invitation to his table; so that she and I were seldom asunder. My parents were well pleased with our intimacy, as her piety was notinferior to her learning. Her turn was chiefly to philosophical ordivine subjects; yet could her heavenly muse descend from its sublimeheight to the easy epistolary stile, and suit itself to my then gaydisposition[4]. FOOTNOTES: [1] Mrs. Barber has preserved several specimens of her talent in this way, which are printed with her own poems. [2] Dr. Van Lewen of Dublin, an eminent physician and man-midwife. [3] Her knowledge of the Hebrew is not mentioned by Mrs. Barber. [4] Vide MRS. PILKINGTON'S MEMOIRS, Vol. I. * * * * * MRS. CATHERINE COCKBURN. The Revd. Dr. Birch, who has prefixed a life of Mrs. Cockburn before thecollection he has made of her works, with great truth observes, that itis a justice due to the public, as well as to the memory of Mrs. Cockburn, to premise some account of so extraordinary a person. "Posterity, at least, adds he, will be so sollicitous to know, to whomthey will owe the most demonstrative and perspicuous reasonings, uponsubjects of eternal importance; and her own sex is entitled to thefullest information about one, who has done such honour to them, andraised our ideas of their intellectual powers, by an example of thegreatest extent of understanding and correctness of judgment, united toall the vivacity of imagination. Antiquity, indeed, boasted of itsFemale Philosophers, whose merits have been drawn forth in an elaboratetreatise of Menage[1]. But our own age and country may without injusticeor vanity oppose to those illustrious ladies the defender of Lock andClark; who, with a genius equal to the most eminent of them, had thesuperior advantage of cultivating it in the only effectual method ofimprovement, the study of a real philosophy, and a theology worthy humannature, and its all-perfect author. [Transcriber's note: closing quotesmissing from original. ] She was the daughter of captain David Trotter, a Scots gentleman, andcommander of the royal navy in the reign of Charles II. He was highly infavour with that prince, who employed him as commodore in the demolitionof Tangier, in the year 1683. Soon after he was sent to convoy the fleetof the Turkey company; when being seized by the plague, then raging atScanderoon, he died there. His death was an irreparable loss to hisfamily, who were defrauded of all his effects on board his ship, whichwere very considerable, and of all the money which he had advanced tothe seamen, during a long voyage: And to add to this misfortune, thegoldsmith, in whose hands the greatest part of his money was lodged, became soon after a bankrupt. These accumulated circumstances ofdistress exciting the companion of king Charles, the captain's widow wasallowed a pension, which ended with that king's life; nor had she anyconsideration for her losses in the two succeeding reigns. But queenAnne, upon her accession to the throne, granted her an annual pension oftwenty pounds. Captain Trotter at his death, left only two daughters, the youngest ofwhom, Catherine, our celebrated author, was born in London, August 16, 1679. She gave early marks of her genius, and was not passed herchildhood when she surprized a company of her relations and friends withextemporary verses, on an accident which had fallen under herobservation in the street. She both learned to write, and made herselfmistress of the French language, by her own application and diligence, without any instructor. But she had some assistance in the study of theLatin Grammar and Logic, of which latter she drew up an abstract for herown use. The most serious and important subjects, and especially[Transcriber's note: 'espepecially' in original] those of religion, soonengaged her attention. But not withstanding her education, her intimacywith several families of distinction of the Romish persuasion exposedher, while very young, to impressions in favour of that church, whichnot being removed by her conferences with some eminent and learnedmembers of the church of England, she followed the dictates of amisguided conscience, and embraced the Romish communion, in which shecontinued till the year 1707. She was but 14 years of age, when she wrote a copy of verses upon Mr. Bevil Higgons's sickness and recovery from the small pox, which areprinted in our author's second volume. Her next production was a Tragedycalled Agnes de Castro, which was acted at the Theatre-royal, in 1695, when she was only in her seventeenth year, and printed in 1696. Thereputation of this performance, and the verses which she addressed toMr. Congreve upon his Mourning Bride, in 1697, were probably thefoundation of her acquaintance with that admirable writer. Her second Tragedy, intitled Fatal Friendship, was acted in 1698, at thenew Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. This Tragedy met with greatapplause, and is still thought the most perfect of her dramaticperformances. Among other copies of verses sent to her upon occasion ofit, and prefixed to it, was one from an unknown hand, which afterwardsappeared to be from the elegant pen of Mr. Hughs, author of the Siege ofDamascus [2]. The death of Mr. Dryden engaged her to join with several other ladies inpaying a just tribute to the memory of that great improver of thestrength, fulness, and harmony of English verse; and their performanceswere published together, under the title of the Nine Muses; or Poemswritten by so many Ladies, upon the Death of the late famous JohnDryden, Esq; Her dramatic talents not being confined to Tragedy, she brought upon thestage, in 1701, a Comedy called Love at a Loss; or most Votes carry it, published in May that year. In the same year she gave the public herthird Tragedy, intitled, The Unhappy Penitent, acted at theTheatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. In the dedication to Charles lord Hallifax, she draws the characters of several of the most eminent of herpredecessors in tragic poetry, with great judgment and precision. Sheobserves, that Shakespear had all the images of nature present to him, studied her thoroughly, and boldly copied all her various features: andthat though he chiefly exerted himself on the more masculine passions, it was the choice of his judgment, not the restraint of his genius; andhe seems to have designed those few tender moving scenes, which he hasgiven us, as a proof that he could be every way equally admirable. Sheallows Dryden to have been the most universal genius which this nationever bred; but thinks that he did not excel in every part; for though heis distinguished in most of his writings, by greatness and elevation ofthought, yet at the same time that he commands our admiration ofhimself, he little moves our concern for those whom he represents, notbeing formed for touching the softer passions. On the other hand, Otway, besides his judicious choice of the fable, had a peculiar art to movecompassion, which, as it is one of the chief ends of Tragedy, he foundmost adapted to his genius; and never venturing where that did not leadhim, excelled in the pathetic. And had Lee, as she remarks, consultedhis strength as well, he might have given us more perfect pieces; butaiming at the sublime, instead of being great, he is extravagant; hisstile too swelling; and if we pursue him in his flight, he often carriesus out of nature. Had he restrained that vain ambition, and intirelyapplied himself to describe the softest of the passions (for love, ofall the passions, he seems best to have understood, if that be allowed aproper subject for Tragedy) he had certainly had fewer defects. But poetry and dramatic writing did not so far engross the thoughts ofour author, but that she sometimes turned them to subjects of a verydifferent nature; and at an age when few of the other sex were capableof understanding the Essay of Human Understanding, and most of themprejudiced against the novelty of its principles; and though she was atthat time engaged in the profession of a religion not very favourable toso rational a philosophy as that of Mr. Lock; yet she had read thatincomparable book, with so clear a comprehension, and so unbiassed ajudgment, that her own conviction of the truth and importance of thenotions contained in it, led her to endeavour that of others, byremoving some of the objections urged against them. She drew uptherefore a Defence of the Essay, against some Remarks which had beenpublished against it in 1667. The author of these remarks was neverknown to Mr. Lock, who animadverted upon them with some marks ofchagrin, at the end of his reply to Stillingfleet, 1697. But after thedeath of the ingenious Dr. Thomas Burner, master of the Charter-House, it appeared from his papers, that the Remarks were the product of hispen. They were soon followed by second Remarks, printed the same year, in vindication of the first, against Mr. Lock's Answer to them; and in1699, by Third Remarks, addressed likewise to Mr. Lock. Mrs. Trotter'sDefence of the Essay against all these Remarks was finished so early asthe beginning of December 1701, when she was but 22 years old. But beingmore apprehensive of appearing before the great writer whom shedefended, than of the public censure, and conscious that the name of awoman would be a prejudice against a work of that nature, she resolvedto conceal herself with the utmost care. But her title to the reputationof this piece did not continue long a secret to the world. For Mrs. Burnet, the late wife of Dr. Burnet, bishop of Sarum, a lady of anuncommon degree of knowledge, and whose Method of Devotion, which passedthrough several editions, is a proof of her exemplary piety, and who, aswell as that prelate, honoured our author with a particular friendship, notwithstanding the difference of her religion, being informed that shewas engaged in writing, and that it was not poetry, was desirous to knowthe subject. This Mrs. Trotter could not deny a lady of her merit, inwhom she might safely confide, and who, upon being acquainted with it, shewed an equal sollicitude that the author might not be known. Butafterwards finding the performance highly approved by the bishop herhusband, Mr. Norris of Bemmerton, and Mr. Lock himself; she thought thereasons of secrecy ceased, and discovered the writer; and in June 1707returned her thanks to Mrs. Trotter, then in London, for her present ofthe book, in a letter which does as much honour to her ownunderstanding, principles and temper, as to her friend, to whom sheaddressed it. Dr. Birch has given a copy of this letter. Mr. Lock likewise was so highly satisfied with the Defence, (which wasperhaps the only piece that appeared in favour of his Essay, except oneby Mr. Samuel Bold, rector of Steeple in Dorsetshire, 1699) that beingin London, he desired Mr. King, afterwards lord high chancellor, to makeMrs. Trotter a visit, and a present of books; and when she had ownedherself, he wrote to her a letter of compliment, a copy of which isinserted in these memoirs. But while our author continued to shew the world so deep a penetrationinto subjects of the most difficult and abstract kind, she was stillincapable of extricating herself from those subtilties and perplexitiesof argument, which retained her in the church of Rome. And the sincerityof her attachment to it, in all its outward severities, obliged her toso strict an observance of its fasts, as proved extremely injurious toher health. Upon which Dr. Denton Nicholas, a very ingenious learnedphysician of her acquaintance, advised her to abate of those rigours ofabstinence, as insupportable to a constitution naturally infirm. She returned to the exercise of her dramatic genius in 1703, and havingfixed upon the Revolution of Sweden under Gustavus Erickson (which hasbeen related in prose with so much force and beauty by the Abbé Vertot)for the subject of a Tragedy, she sent the first draught of it to Mr. Congreve, who returned her an answer, which, on account of the justremarks upon the conduct of the drama, well deserves a place here, didit not exceed our proposed bounds, and therefore we must refer thereader to Dr. Birch's account. This Tragedy was acted in 1706, at theQueen's Theatre in the Hay-Market, and was printed in quarto. By a letter from Mrs. Trotter to her friend George Burnet of Kemnay inScotland, Esq; then at Geneva, dated February 2, 1703-4, it appears thatshe then began to entertain more moderate notions of religion, and toabate of her zeal for the church of Rome. Her charitableness andlatitude of sentiments seems to have increased a-pace, from the fartherexamination which she was now probably making into the state of thecontroversy between the church of Rome and the Protestants; for inanother letter to Mr. Burnet, of August 8, 1704, she speaks to thesubject of religion, with a spirit of moderation unusual in thecommunion of which she still professed herself. 'I wish, (says she) there was no distinction of churches; and then Idoubt not there would be much more real religion, the name and notion ofwhich I am so sorry to observe confined to the being of some particularcommunity; and the whole of it, I am afraid, placed by most in a zealof those points, which make the differences between them; from whichmistaken zeal, no doubt, have proceeded all the massacres, persecutions, and hatred of their fellow christians, which all churcheshave been inclined to, when in power. And I believe it is generallytrue, that those who are most bigotted to a sect, or most rigid andprecise in their forms and outward discipline, are most negligent ofthe moral duties, which certainly are the main end of religion. I haveobserved this so often, both in private persons and public societies, that I am apt to suspect it every where. ' The victory at Blenheim, which exercised the pens of Mr. Addison and Mr. John Philips, whose poems on that occasion divided the admiration of thepublic, tempted Mrs. Trotter to write a copy of verses to the duke ofMarlborough, upon his return from his glorious campaign in Germany, December, 1704. But being doubtful with respect to the publication ofthem, she sent them in manuscript to his grace; and received for answer, that the duke and duchess, and the lord treasurer Godolphin, withseveral others to whom they were shewn, were greatly pleased with them;and that good judges of poetry had declared, that there were some linesin them superior to any that had been written on the subject. Upon thisencouragement she sent the poem to the press. The high degree of favour with which she was honoured by theseillustrious persons, gave her, about this time, hopes of someestablishment of her fortune, which had hitherto been extremely narrowand precarious. But though she failed of such an establishment, shesucceeded in 1705, in another point, which was a temporary relief toher. This particular appears from one of her letters printed in thesecond volume; but of what nature or amount this relief was, we do notfind. Her enquiries into the nature of true religion were attended with theirnatural and usual effects, in opening and enlarging her notions beyondthe contracted pale of her own church. For in her letter of the 7th ofJuly 1705, to Mr. Burnet, she says, 'I am zealous to have you agree withme in this one article, that all good christians are of the samereligion; a sentiment which I sincerely confess, how little soever it iscountenanced by the church of Rome. ' And in the latter end of thefollowing year, or the beginning of 1707, her doubts about the Romishreligion, which she had so many years professed, having led her to athorough examination of the grounds of it, by consulting the best bookson both sides of the question, and advising with men of the bestjudgment, the result was a conviction of the falseness of thepretensions of that church, and a return to that of England, to whichshe adhered during the rest of her life. In the course of this enquiry, the great and leading question concerning A Guide in Controversy, wasparticularly discussed by her; and the two letters which she wrote uponit, the first to Mr. Bennet, a Romish priest, and the second to Mr. H----, who had procured an answer to that letter from a stranger, Mr. Beimel's indisposition preventing him from returning one, were thoughtso valuable on account of the strength and perspicuity of reasoning, aswell as their conciseness, that she consented to the importunity of herfriends, for their publication in June 1707, under the following title, A Discourse concerning a Guide in Controversies; in two Letters: Writtento one of the Church Church of Rome, by a Person lately converted fromthat Communion; a later edition of them being since printed at Edinburghin 1728 in 8vo. Bishop Burnet wrote the preface to them, though withouthis name to it; and he observes, that they might be of use to such ofthe Roman Catholics as are perswaded, that those who deny theinfallibility of their church, take away all certainty of the Christianreligion, or of the authority of the scriptures. This is the main topicof those two letters, and the point was considered by our author as ofsuch importance, that she procured her friend Mrs. Burnet to consult Mr. (afterwards Dr. ) Clark upon it, and to show him a paper, which had beenput into her hands, urging the difficulties on that article, on the sideof the Papists. The sentiments of that great man upon this subject arecomprised in a letter from Mrs. Burnet to Mrs. Trotter, of which oureditor has given a copy, to which we refer the reader in the 31st pageof his account. In 1708 our author was married to Mr. Cockburn, the son of Dr. Cockburn, an eminent and learned divine of Scotland, at first attached to thecourt of St. Germains, but obliged to quit it on account of hisinflexible adherence to the Protestant religion; then for some timeminister of the Episcopal church at Amsterdam, and at last collated tothe rectory of Northaw in Middlesex, by Dr. Robinson bishop of London, at the recommendation of Queen Anne. Mr. Cockburn, his son, soon afterhis marriage with our author, had the donative of Nayland in Sussex, where he settled in the same year 1708; but returned afterwards fromthence to London, to be curate of St. Dunstan's in Fleet-street, wherehe continued 'till the accession of his late majesty to the throne, whenfalling into a scruple about the oath of abjuration, though he alwaysprayed for the King and Royal Family by name, he was obliged to quitthat station, and for ten or twelve years following was reduced to greatdifficulties in the support of his family; during which time heinstructed the youth of the academy in Chancery-Lane, in the Latintongue. At last, in 1726, by consulting the lord chancellor King and hisown father, upon the sense and intent of that oath, and by reading somepapers put into his hands, with relation to it, he was reconciled to thetaking of it. In consequence of this, being the year following invitedto be minister of the Episcopal congregation at Aberdeen in Scotland, hequalified himself conformably to the law, and, on the day of his presentMajesty's accession, preached a sermon there on the duty and benefit ofpraying for the government. This sermon being printed and animadvertedupon, he published a reply to the remarks on it, with some papersrelating to the oath of abjuration, which have been much esteemed. Soonafter his settlement at Aberdeen, the lord chancellor presented him tothe living of Long-Horsely, near Morpeth in Northumberland, as a meansof enabling him to support and educate his family; for which purpose hewas allowed to continue his function at Aberdeen, 'till the negligenceand ill-behaviour of the curates, whom he employed at Long Horsely, occasioned Dr. Chandler, the late bishop of Durham, to call him toresidence on that living, 1737; by which means he was forced to quit hisstation at Aberdeen, to the no small diminution of his income. He was aman of considerable learning; and besides his sermon abovementioned, andthe vindication of it, he published, in the Weekly Miscellany, A Defenceof Prime Ministers, in the Character of Joseph; and a Treatise of theMosaic Design, published since his death. Mrs. Cockburn, after her marriage, was entirely diverted from herstudies for many years, by attending tending upon the duties of a wifeand a mother, and by the ordinary cares of an encreasing family, and theadditional ones arising from the reduced circumstances of her husband. However, her zeal for Mr. Lock's character and writings drew her againinto the public light in 1716, upon this occasion. Dr. Holdsworth, fellow of St. John's College in Oxford, had preached onEaster-Monday, 1719 20, before that university, a sermon on John v. 28, 29, which he published, professing in his title page to examine andanswer the Cavils, False Reasonings, and False Interpretations ofScripture, of Mr. Lock and others, against the Resurrection of the SameBody. This sermon did not reach Mrs. Cockburn's hands 'till some yearsafter; when the perusal of it forced from her some animadversions, whichshe threw together in the form of a letter to the Dr. And sent to him inMay 1724, with a design of suppressing it entirely, if it should havethe desired effect upon him. After nine months the Dr. Informed her, that he had drawn up a large and particular answer to it, but wasunwilling to trust her with his manuscript, 'till she should publish herown. However, after a long time, and much difficulty, she at lastobtained the perusal of his answer; but not meeting with that convictionfrom it, which would have made her give up her cause, she was prevailedon to let the world judge between them, and accordingly published herLetter to Dr. Holdsworth, in January 1726 7, without her name, but saidin the title page to be by the author of, A Defence of Mr. Lock's Essayof Human Understanding. The Dr. Whose answer to it was already finished, was very expeditious in the publication of it in June 1727, in an 8vovolume, under the title of A Defence of the Doctrine of the Resurrectionof the same Body, &c. Mrs. Cockburn wrote a very particular reply to this, and entitled it, AVindication of Mr. Lock's Principles, from the injurious Imputations ofDr. Holdsworth. But though it is an admirable performance, and she wasextremely desirous of doing justice to Mr. Lock and herself, yet notmeeting with any Bookseller willing to undertake, nor herself being ableto support the expence of the impression, it continued in manuscript, and was reserved to enrich the collection published after her death. Her Remarks upon some Writers in the Controversy concerning theFoundation of Moral Duty and Moral Obligation were begun during thewinter of the year 1739, and finished in the following one; for theweakness of her eyes, which had been a complaint of many years standing, not permitting her to use, by candlelight, her needle, which so fullyemployed her in the summer season, that she read little, and wrote less;she amused herself, during the long winter-evenings, in digesting herthoughts upon the most abstract subjects in morality and metaphysics. They continued in manuscript till 1743, for want of a Booksellerinclined to accept the publication of them, and were introduced to theworld in August that year, in The History of the Works of the Learned. Her name did not go with them, but they were Inscribed with the utmostDeference to Alexander Pope, Esq; by an Admirer of his moral Character;for which she shews a remarkable zeal in her letters, whenever she hasoccasion to mention him. And her high opinion of him in that respect, founded chiefly on his writings, and especially his letters, as well asher admiration of his genius, inspired her with a strong desire of beingknown to him; for which purpose she drew up a pretty long letter to himabout the year 1738: but it was never sent. The strength, clearness, andvivacity shewn in her Remarks upon the most abstract and perplexedquestions, immediately raised the curiosity of all good judges about theconcealed writer; and their admiration was greatly increased when hersex and advanced age were known. And the worthy Dr. Sharp[3], archdeaconof Northumberland, who had these Remarks in manuscript, and encouragedthe publication of them, being convinced by them, that no person wasbetter qualified for a thorough examination of the grounds of morality, entered into a correspondence with her upon that subject. But her illstate of health at last interrupted her prosecution of it; acircumstance to be regretted, since a discussion carried on with so muchsagacity and candour on both sides, would, in all probability, have leftlittle difficulty remaining on the question. Dr. Rutherforth's Essay on the Nature and Obligations of virtue, published in May 1744, soon engaged her thoughts, and notwithstandingthe asthmatic disorder, which had seized her many years before, and nowleft her small intervals of ease, she applied herself to the confutationof that elaborate discourse; and having finished it with a spirit, elegance, and perspicuity equal, if not superior to all her formerwritings, transmitted her manuscript to Mr. Warburton, who published itin 8vo. With a Preface of his own, in April 1747, under the title ofRemarks upon the Principles and Reasonings of Dr. Rutherforth's Essay onthe Nature and Obligations of Virtue, in Vindication of the contraryPrinciples and Reasons inforced in the Writings of the late Dr. SamuelClark. The extensive reputation which this and her former writings had gainedher, induced her friends to propose to her, the collecting andpublishing them in a body. And upon her consenting to the scheme, whichwas to be executed by subscription, in order to secure to her the fullbenefit of the edition, it met with a ready encouragement from allpersons of true taste; but though Mrs. Cockburn did not live todischarge the office of editor, yet the public has received theacquisition by her death, of a valuable series of letters, which her ownmodesty would have restrained her from permitting to see the light. Andit were to be wished that these two volumes, conditioned for by theterms of subscription, could have contained all her dramatic writings, of which only one is here published. But as that was impossible, thepreference was, upon the maturest deliberation, given to those in prose, as superior in their kind to the most perfect of her poetical, and ofmore general and lasting use to the world. The loss of her husband on the 4th of January 1748, in the 71st year ofhis age, was a severe shock to her; and she did not long survive him, dying on the 11th of May, 1749, in her 71st year, after having longsupported a painful disorder, with a resignation to the divine will, which had been the governing principle of her whole life, and hersupport under the various trials of it. Her memory and understandingcontinued unimpaired, 'till within a few days of her death. She wasinterred near her husband and youngest daughter at Long-Horsley, withthis short sentence on their tomb: Let their works praise them in the gates. Prov. Xxxi. 31. They left only one son, who is clerk of the cheque at Chatham, and twodaughters. Mrs. Cockburn was no less celebrated for her beauty, in her youngerdays, than for her genius and accomplishments. She was indeed small ofstature, but had a remarkable liveliness in her eye, and delicacy ofcomplexion, which continued to her death. Her private character renderedher extremely amiable to those who intimately knew her. Her conversationwas always innocent, useful and agreeable, without the least affectationof being thought a wit, and attended with a remarkable modesty anddiffidence of herself, and a constant endeavour to adapt her discourseto her company. She was happy in an uncommon evenness and chearfulnessof temper. Her disposition was generous and benevolent; and ready uponall occasions to forgive injuries, and bear them, as well asmisfortunes, without interrupting her own ease, or that of others, withcomplaints or reproaches. The pressures of a very contracted fortunewere supported by her with calmness and in silence; nor did she everattempt to improve it among those great personages to whom she wasknown, by importunities; to which the best minds are most averse, andwhich her approved merit and established reputation mould have renderedunnecessary. The collection now exhibited to the world is, says Dr. Birch, and weentirely agree with him, so incontestable a proof of the superiority ofour author's genius, as in a manner supersedes every thing that can besaid upon that head. But her abilities as a writer, and the merit of herworks, will not have full justice done them, without a due attention tothe peculiar circumstances, in which they were produced: her earlyyouth, when she wrote some, her very advanced age, and ill state ofhealth, when she drew up others; the uneasy situation of her fortune, during the whole course of her life; and an interval of near twentyyears in the vigour of it, spent in the cares of a family, without theleast leisure for reading or contemplation: after which, with a mind solong diverted and incumbered, resuming her studies, she instantlyrecovered its intire powers, and in the hours of relaxation from herdomestic employments, pursued, to their utmost limits, some of thedeepest enquiries of which the human mind is capable! CONTENTS of the First Volume of Mrs. COCKBURN'S Works. I. A Discourse concerning a Guide in Controversy. First published in1707, with a preface by bishop Burnet. II. A Defence of Mr. Lock's Essay of Human Understanding. Firstpublished in 1702. III. A Letter to Dr. Holdsworth, concerning the Resurrection of thesame Body. First published in 1726. IV. A Vindication of Mr. Lock's Christian Principles, from theinjurious Imputations of Dr. Holdsworth. Now first published. V. Remarks upon some Writers in the Controversy, concerning theFoundation of Moral Virtue, and Moral Obligation. With some Thoughtsconcerning Necessary Existence; the Reality and Infinity of Space; theExtension and Place of Spirits; and on Dr. Watts's Notion of Substance. First published in 1743. CONTENTS of the Second Volume. I. Remarks upon Dr. Rutherforth's Essay on the Nature and Obligations ofVirtue. First published in the year 1747. II. Miscellaneous Pieces. Now first printed. Containing a Letter ofAdvice to her Son. --Sunday's Journal. --On the Usefulness of Schools andUniversities. --On the Credibility of the Historical Parts of Scripture. --On Moral Virtue. --Notes on Christianity as old as the Creation. --Onthe Infallibility of the Church of Rome. --Answer to a Questionconcerning the Jurisdiction of the Magistrate over the Life of theSubject. --Remarks on Mr. Seed's Sermon on Moral Virtue. --Remarks uponan Enquiry into the Origin of Human Appetites and Affections. III. Letters between Mrs. Cockburn and several of her Friends. Thesetake up the greatest part of the volume. IV. Letters between the Rev. Dr. Sharp, Archdeacon of Northumberland andMrs. Cockburn concerning the Foundation of Moral Virtue. V. Fatal Friendship, a Tragedy. VI. Poems on several Occasions. There are very few of these, and whatthere are, are of little note. Her poetical talent was the smallest andleast valuable of our author's literary accomplishments. FOOTNOTES: [1] Historia Mulierum Philosopharum. 8vo. Lyons. 1690. [2] Dr. Birch mentions also Mr. Higgons's verses on this occasion, and gives a copy of a complimentary letter to our author, from Mr. George Farquhar. [3] Author of an excellent pamphlet, entitled, Two Dissertations concerning the Etymology and Scripture-meaning of the Hebrew Words Elohim and Berith. Vide Monthly Review. * * * * * AMBROSE PHILLIPS, ESQ; This Gentleman was descended from a very ancient, and considerablefamily in the county of Leicester, and received his education in St. John's college Cambridge, where he wrote his Pastorals, a species ofexcellence, in which he is thought to have remarkably distinguishedhimself. When Mr. Philips quitted the university, and repaired to themetropolis, he became, as Mr. Jacob phrases it, one of the wits atButtons; and in consequence of this, contracted an acquaintance withthose bright genius's who frequented it; especially Sir Richard Steele, who in the first volume of his Tatler inserts a little poem of thisauthor's dated from Copenhagen, which he calls a winter piece; SirRichard thus mentions it with honour. 'This is as fine a piece, as weever had from any of the schools of the most learned painters; suchimages as these give us a new pleasure in our fight, and fix upon ourminds traces of reflexion, which accompany us wherever the like objectsoccur. ' This short performance which we shall here insert, was reckoned soelegant, by men of taste then living, that Mr. Pope himself, who had aconfirmed aversion to Philips, when he affected to despise his otherworks, always excepted this out of the number. It is written from Copenhagen, addressed to the Earl of Dorset, anddated the 9th of May 1709. A WINTER PIECE. From frozen climes, and endless tracks of snow, From streams that northern winds forbid to flow; What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring, Or how, so near the Pole, attempt to sing? The hoary winter here conceals from sight, All pleasing objects that to verse invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, The flow'ry plains, and silver streaming floods, By snow distinguished in bright confusion lie, And with one dazling waste, fatigue the eye. No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, No birds within the desart region sing. The ships unmov'd the boist'rous winds defy, While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly. The vast Leviathan wants room to play, And spout his waters in the face of day. The starving wolves along the main sea prowl, And to the moon in icy valleys howl, For many a shining league the level main, Here spreads itself into a glassy plain: There solid billows of enormous size, Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise. And yet but lately have I seen ev'n here, The winter in a lovely dress appear. Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow, Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow; At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose; And the descending rain unsully'd froze. Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view, The face of nature in a rich disguise, And brighten'd every object to my eyes: And ev'ry shrub, and ev'ry blade of grass, And ev'ry pointed thorn seem'd wrought in glass. In pearls and rubies rich, the hawthorns show, While through the ice the crimson berries glow. The thick sprung reeds, the watry marshes yield, Seem polish'd lances in a hostile field. The flag in limpid currents with surprize, Sees crystal branches on his fore-head rise. The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine, Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther shine. The frighted birds, the rattling branches shun. That wave and glitter in the distant sun. When if a sudden gust of wind arise, The brittle forest into atoms flies: The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, And in a spangled show'r the prospect ends. Or, if a southern gale the region warm, And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, The traveller, a miry country sees, And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees. Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads Thro' fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads; While here inchanted gardens to him rise, And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue; And while he thinks the fair illusion true, The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear: A tedious road the weary wretch returns, And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns. But it was not enough for Sir Richard to praise this performance of Mr. Philips. He was also an admirer of his Pastorals, which had thenobtained a great number of readers: He was about to form a CriticalComparison of Pope's Pastorals, and these of Mr. Philips; and giving inthe conclusion, the preference to the latter. Sir Richard's design beingcommunicated to Mr. Pope, who was not a little jealous of hisreputation, he took the alarm; and by the most artful and insinuatingmethod defeated his purpose. The reader cannot be ignorant, that there are several numbers in theGuardian, employed upon Pastoral Poetry, and one in particular, upon themerits of Philips and Pope, in which the latter is found a betterversifier; but as a true Arcadian, the preference is given to Philips. That we may be able to convey a perfect idea of the method which Mr. Pope took to prevent the diminution of his reputation, we shalltranscribe the particular parts of that paper in the Guardian, NumberXL. Monday April the 27th. I designed to have troubled the reader with no farther discourses ofPastorals, but being informed that I am taxed of partiality, in notmentioning an author, whose Eclogues are published in the same volumewith Mr. Philips's, I shall employ this paper in observations upon him, written in the free spirit of criticism, and without apprehensions ofoffending that gentleman, whose character it is, that he takes thegreatest care of his works before they are published, and has the leastconcern for them afterwards. I have laid it down as the first rule ofPastoral, that its idea should be taken from the manners of the GoldenAge, and the moral formed upon the representation of innocence; 'tistherefore plain, that any deviations from that design, degrade a poemfrom being true Pastoral. So easy as Pastoral writing may seem (in the simplicity we havedescribed it) yet it requires great reading, both of the ancients andmoderns, to be a master of it. Mr. Philips hath given us manifest proofsof his knowledge of books; it must be confessed his competitor hasimitated some single thoughts of the antients well enough, if weconsider he had not the happiness of an university education: but hehath dispersed them here and there without that order and method Mr. Philips observes, whose whole third pastoral, is an instance how well hestudied the fifth of Virgil, and how judiciously he reduced Virgil'sthoughts to the standard of pastoral; and his contention of Colin Clout, and the Nightingale, shews with what exactness he hath imitated Strada. When I remarked it as a principal fault to introduce fruits, and flowersof a foreign growth in descriptions, where the scene lies in ourcountry, I did not design that observation should extend also toanimals, or the sensitive life; for Philips hath with great judgmentdescribed wolves in England in his first pastoral. Nor would I have apoet slavishly confine himself, (as Mr. Pope hath done) to oneparticular season of the year, one certain time of the day, and oneunbroken scene in each Eclogue. It is plain, Spencer neglected thispedantry, who in his Pastoral of November, mentions the mournful song ofthe Nightingale. Sad Philomel, her song in tears doth sleep. And Mr. Philips by a poetical creation, hath raised up finer beds offlowers, than the most industrious gardener; his roses, lilies, anddaffadils, blow in the same season. But the better to discover the merit of our two cotemporary pastoralwriters. I shall endeavour to draw a parallel of them, by placingseveral of their particular thoughts in the same light; whereby it willbe obvious, how much Philips hath the advantage: With what simplicity heintroduces two shepherds singing alternately. HOBB. Come Rosalind, O come, for without thee What pleasure can the country have for me? Come Rosalind, O come; my brinded kine, My snowy sheep, my farm and all is thine. LANG. Come Rosalind, O come; here shady bowers. Here are cool fountains, and here springing flowers. Come Rosalind; here ever let us stay, And sweetly waste our live-long time away. Our other pastoral writer in expressing the same thought, deviates intodownright poetry. STREPHON. In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove, But Delia always; forc'd from Delia's sight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight. DAPHNE. Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; Ev'n spring displeases when she shines not here: But blest with her, 'tis spring throughout the year. In the first of these authors, two shepherds thus innocently describethe behaviour of their mistresses. HOBB. As Marian bath'd, by chance I passed by; She blush'd, and at me cast a side-long eye: Then swift beneath, the crystal waves she tried, Her beauteous form, but all in vain, to hide. LANG. As I to cool me bath'd one sultry day, Fond Lydia lurking in the sedges lay, The woman laugh'd, and seem'd in haste to fly; Yet often stopp'd, and often turn'd her eye. The other modern (who it must be confess'd has a knack at versifying)has it as follows, STREPHON. Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain, Thus, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain; But feigns a laugh, to see me search around, And by that laugh the willing fair is found. DAPHNE. The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green; She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen; While a kind glance, at her pursuer flies, How much at variance are her feet and eyes. There is nothing the writers of this kind of poetry are fonder of, thandescriptions of pastoral presents. Philips says thus of a Sheep-hook. Of season'd elm, where studs of brass appear, To speak the giver's name, the month, and year; The hook of polished steel, the handle turn'd, And richly by the graver's skill adorn'd. The other of a bowl embossed with figures, --Where wanton ivy twines, And swelling clusters bend the curling vines, Four figures rising from the work appear, The various seasons of the rolling year; And what is that which binds the radiant sky, Where twelve bright signs, in beauteous order lye. The simplicity of the swain in this place who forgets the name of theZodiac, is no ill imitation of Virgil; but how much more plainly, andunaffectedly would Philips have dressed this thought in his Doric. And what that height, which girds the welkin-sheen Where twelve gay signs in meet array are seen. If the reader would indulge his curiosity any farther in the comparisonof particulars, he may read the first Pastoral of Philips, with thesecond of his contemporary, and the fourth and fifth of the former, withthe fourth and first of the latter; where several parallel places willoccur to every one. Having now shewn some parts, in which these two writers may be compared, it is a justice I owe to Mr. Philips, to discover those in which no mancan compare with him. First, the beautiful rusticity, of which I shallnow produce two instances, out of a hundred not yet quoted. O woeful day! O day of woe, quoth he, And woeful I, who live the day to see! That simplicity of diction, the melancholy flowing of the numbers, thesolemnity of the sound, and the easy turn of the words, are extremelyelegant. In another Pastoral, a shepherd utters a Dirge, not much inferior to theformer in the following lines. Ah me the while! ah me, the luckless day! Ah luckless lad, the rather might I say; Ah silly I! more silly than my sheep, Which on the flow'ry plains I once did keep. How he still charms the ear, with his artful repetition of the epithets;and how significant is the last verse! I defy the most common reader torepeat them, without feeling some motions of compassion. In the nextplace, I shall rank his Proverbs in which I formerly observed he excels:For example, A rolling stone is ever bare of moss; And, to their cost, green years old proverbs cross, --He that late lies down, as late will rise, And sluggard like, till noon-day snoring lies. Against ill-luck, all cunning foresight fails; Whether we sleep or wake, it nought avails. --Nor fear, from upright sentence wrong, Lastly, His excellent dialect, which alone might prove him the eldestborn of Spencer, and the only true Arcadian, &c. Thus far the comparison between the merit of Mr. Pope and Mr. Philips, as writers of Pastoral, made by the author of this paper in theGuardian, after the publication of which, the enemies of Pope exulted, as in one particular species of poetry, upon which he valued himself, hewas shewn to be inferior to his contemporary. For some time they enjoyedtheir triumph; but it turned out at last to their unspeakablemortification. The paper in which the comparison is inserted, was written by Mr. Popehimself. Nothing could have so effectually defeated the design ofdiminishing his reputation, as this method, which had a very contraryeffect. He laid down some false principles, upon these he reasoned, andby comparing his own and Philips's Pastorals, upon such principles itwas no great compliment to the latter, that he wrote more agreeable tonotions which are in themselves false. The subjects of pastoral are as various as the passions of human nature;nay, it may in some measure partake of every kind of poetry, but withthis limitation, that the scene of it ought always to be laid in thecountry, and the thoughts never contrary to the ideas of those who arebred there. The images are to be drawn from rural life; and provided thelanguage is perspicuous, gentle, and flowing, the sentiments may be aselegant as the country scenes can furnish. --In the particular comparisonof passages between Pope and Philips, the former is so much superior, that one cannot help wondering, that Steele could be thus imposed upon, who was in other respects a very quick discerner. Though 'tis notimpossible, but that Guardian might go to the press without SirRichard's seeing it; he not being the only person concern'd in thatpaper. The two following lines so much celebrated in this paper, aresufficiently convincing, that the whole criticism is ironical. Ah! silly I, more silly than my sheep, Which on the flowr'y plains I once did keep. Nothing can be much more silly than these lines; and yet the authorsays, "How he still charms the ear with the artful repetitions ofepithets. " SILLY I, MORE SILLY THAN MY SHEEP. The next work Mr. Philips published after his Pastorals, and which it issaid he wrote at the university, was his life of John Williams lordkeeper of the great-seal, bishop of Lincoln and archbishop of York, inthe reigns of king James and Charles the First, in which are relatedsome remarkable occurrences in those times, both in church and state, with an appendix, giving an account of his benefactions to St. John'scollege. Mr. Philips, seems to have made use of archbishop William's life, thebetter to make known his own state principles, which in the course ofthat work he had a fair occasion of doing. Bishop Williams was the greatopposer of High-Church measures, he was a perpetual antagonist to Laud;and lord Clarendon mentions him in his history with very great decencyand respect, when it is considered that they adhered to oppositeparties. Mr. Philips, who early distinguished himself in revolution principles, was concerned with Dr. Boulter, afterwards archbishop of Armagh, theright honourable Richard West, Esq; lord chancellor of Ireland; therevd. Mr. Gilbert Burnet, and the revd. Mr. Henry Stevens, in writing apaper called the Free-Thinker; but they were all published by Mr. Philips, and since re-printed in three volumes in 12mo. In the latterpart of the reign of queen Anne, he was secretary to the Hanover Club, aset of noblemen and gentlemen, who associated in honour of thatsuccession. They drank regular toasts to the health of those ladies, whowere most zealously attached to the Hanoverian family; upon whom Mr. Philips wrote the following lines, While these, the chosen beauties of our isle, Propitious on the cause of freedom smile, The rash Pretender's hopes we may despise, And trust Britannia's safety to their eyes. After the accession of his late majesty, Mr. Philips was made a justiceof peace, and appointed a commissioner of the lottery. But though hiscircumstances were easy, the state of his mind was not so; he fell underthe severe displeasure of Mr. Pope, who has satirized him with his usualkeenness. 'Twas said, he used to mention Mr. Pope as an enemy to the government;and that he was the avowed author of a report, very industriouslyspread, that he had a hand in a paper called The Examiner. The revengewhich Mr. Pope took in consequence of this abuse, greatly ruffled thetemper of Mr. Philips, who as he was not equal to him in wit, hadrecourse to another weapon; in the exercise of which no great parts arerequisite. He hung up a rod at Button's, with which he resolved tochastise his antagonist, whenever he should come there. But Mr. Pope, who got notice of this design, very prudently declined coming to aplace, where in all probability he must have felt the resentment of anenraged author, as much superior to him in bodily strength, as inferiorin wit and genius. When Mr. Philips's friend, Dr. Boulter, rose to be archbishop of Dublin, he went with him into Ireland, where he had considerable preferments;and was a member of the House of Commons there, as representative of thecounty of Armagh. Notwithstanding the ridicule which Mr. Philips has drawn upon himself, by his opposition to Pope, and the disadvantageous light his Pastoralsappear in, when compared with his; yet, there is good reason to believe, that Mr. Philips was no mean Arcadian: By endeavouring to imitate tooservilely the manners and sentiments of vulgar rustics, he has sometimesraised a laugh against him; yet there are in some of his Pastorals anatural simplicity, a true Doric dialect, and very graphicaldescriptions. Mr. Gildon, in his compleat Art of Poetry, mentions him with Theocritusand Virgil; but then he defeats the purpose of his compliment, for bycarrying the similitude too far, he renders his panegyric hyperbolical. We shall now consider Mr. Philips as a dramatic writer. The first piecehe brought upon the stage, was his Distress'd Mother, translated fromthe French of Monsieur Racine, but not without such deviations as Mr. Philips thought necessary to heighten the distress; for writing to theheart is a secret which the best of the French poets have not found out. This play was acted first in the year 1711, with every advantage a playcould have. Pyrrhus was performed by Mr. Booth, a part in which heacquired great reputation. Orestes was given to Mr. Powel, andAndromache was excellently personated by the inimitable Mrs. Oldfield. Nor was Mrs. Porter beheld in Hermione without admiration. TheDistress'd Mother is so often acted, and so frequently read, we shallnot trouble the reader with giving any farther account of it. A modern critic speaking of this play, observes that the distress ofAndromache moves an audience more than that of Belvidera, who is asamiable a wife, as Andromache is an affectionate mother; theircircumstances though not similar, are equally interesting, and yet sayshe, 'the female part of the audience is more disposed to weep for thesuffering mother, than the suffering wife. [1]' The reason 'tis imagin'dis this, there are more affectionate mothers in the world than wives. Mr. Philips's next dramatic performance was The Briton, a Tragedy; acted1721. This is built on a very interesting and affecting story, whetherfounded on real events I cannot determine, but they are admirably fittedto raise the passion peculiar to tragedy. Vanoc Prince of the Cornaviansmarried for his second wife Cartismand, Queen of the Brigantians, awoman of an imperious spirit, who proved a severe step-mother to theKing's daughter Gwendolen, betrothed to Yvor, the Prince of theSilurians. The mutual disagreement between Vanoc and his Queen, at lastproduced her revolt from him. She intrigues with Vellocad, who had beenformerly the King's servant, and enters into a league with the Romantribune, in order to be revenged on her husband. Vanoc fights somesuccessful battles, but his affairs are thrown into the greatestconfusion, upon receiving the news that a party of the enemy has carriedoff the Princess his daughter. She is conducted to the tent of Valensthe Roman tribune, who was himself in love with her, but who offered herno violation. He went to Vanoc in the name of Didius the Roman general, to offer terms of peace, but he was rejected with indignation. The scenebetween Vanoc and Valens is one of the most masterly to be met with intragedy. Valens returns to his fair charge, while her father preparesfor battle, and to rescue his daughter by the force of arms. ButCartismand, who knew that no mercy would be shewn her at the hands ofher stern husband, flies to the Princess's tent, and in the violence ofher rage stabs her. The King and Yvor enter that instant, but too lateto save the beauteous Gwendolen from the blow, who expires in the armsof her betrothed husband, a scene wrought up with the greatesttenderness. When the King reproaches Cartismand for this deed of horror, she answers, Hadst thou been more forgiving, I had been less cruel. VANOC Wickedness! barbarian! monster-- What had she done, alas!--Sweet innocence! She would have interceded for thy crimes. CARTISMAND Too well I knew the purpose of thy soul. -- Didst thou believe I would submit?--resign my crown?-- Or that thou only hadst the power to punish? VANOC Yet I will punish;--meditate strange torments!-- Then give thee to the justice of the Gods. CARTISMAND Thus Vanoc, do I mock thy treasur'd rage. -- My heart springs forward to the dagger's point. Vanoc Quick, wrest it from her!--drag her hence to chains. CARTISMAND There needs no second stroke-- Adieu, rash man!--my woes are at an end:-- Thine's but begun;--and lasting as thy life. Mr. Philips in this play has shewn how well he was acquainted with thestage; he keeps the scene perpetually busy; great designs are carryingon, the incidents rise naturally from one another, and the catastropheis moving. He has not observed the rules which some critics haveestablished, of distributing poetical justice; for Gwendolen, the mostamiable character in the play is the chief sufferer, arising from theindulgence of no irregular passion, nor any guilt of hers. The next year Mr. Philips introduced another tragedy on the stage calledHumfrey Duke of Gloucester, acted 1721. The plot of this play is foundedon history. During the minority of Henry VI. His uncle, the duke ofGloucester, was raised to the dignity of Regent of the Realm. This highstation could not but procure him many enemies, amongst whom was theduke of Suffolk, who, in order to restrain his power, and to inspire themind of young Henry with a love of independence, effected a marriagebetween that Prince, and Margaret of Anjou, a Lady of the mostconsummate beauty, and what is very rare amongst her sex, of the mostapproved courage. This lady entertained an aversion for the duke ofGloucester, because he opposed her marriage with the King, andaccordingly resolves upon his ruin. She draws over to her party cardinal Beaufort, the Regent's uncle, asupercilious proud churchman. They fell upon a very odd scheme to shakethe power of Gloucester, and as it is very singular, and absolutelyfact, we shall here insert it. The duke of Gloucester had kept Eleanor Cobham, daughter to the lordCobham, as his concubine, and after the dissolution of his marriage withthe countess of Hainault, he made her his wife; but this did not restoreher reputation: she was, however, too young to pass in common repute fora witch, yet was arrested for high treason, founded on a pretended pieceof witchcraft, and after doing public penance several days, by sentenceof convocation, was condemned to perpetual imprisonment in the Isle ofMan, but afterwards removed to Killingworth-castle. The fact chargedupon her, was the making an image of wax resembling the King, andtreated in such a manner by incantations, and sorceries, as to makehim waste away, as the image gradually consumed. John Hume, herchaplain, Thomas Southwell, a canon of St. Stephen's Westminster, RogerBolingbroke, a clergyman highly esteemed, and eminent for his uncommonlearning, and merit, and perhaps on that account, reputed to have greatskill in necromancy, and Margery Jourdemain, commonly called The Witchof Eye, were tried as her accomplices, and condemned, the woman to beburnt, the others to be drawn, hanged, and quartered at Tyburn[2]. Thishellish contrivance against the wife of the duke of Gloucester, wasmeant to shake the influence of her husband, which in reality it did, asignorance and credulity cooperated with his enemies to destroy him. Hewas arrested for high treason, a charge which could not be supported, and that his enemies might have no further trouble with him, cardinalBeaufort hired assassins to murder him. The poet acknowledges the hintshe has taken from the Second Part of Shakespear's Henry VI, and in somescenes has copied several lines from him. In the last scene, thatpathetic speech of Eleanor's to Cardinal Beaufort when he was dying inthe agonies of remorse and despair, is literally borrowed. WARWICK See how the pangs of death work in his features. YORK Disturb him not--let him pass peaceably. ELEANOR Lord Cardinal;--if thou think'st of Heaven's bliss Hold up thy hand;--make signal of that hope. He dies;--and makes no sign!-- In praise of this tragedy, Mr. Welsted has prefixed a very elegant copyof verses. Mr. Philips by a way of writing very peculiar, procured to himself thename of Namby Pamby. This was first bestowed on him by Harry Cary, whoburlesqued some little pieces of his, in so humorous a manner, that fora long while, Harry's burlesque, passed for Swift's with many; and byothers were given to Pope: 'Tis certain, each at first, took it for theother's composition. In ridicule of this manner, the ingenious Hawkins Brown, Esq; now aMember of Parliament, in his excellent burlesque piece called The Pipeof Tobacco, has written an imitation, in which the resemblance is sogreat, as not to be distinguished from the original. This gentleman hasburlesqued the following eminent authors, by such a close imitation oftheir turn of verse, that it has not the appearance of a copy, but anoriginal. SWIFT, POPE, THOMSON, YOUNG, PHILIPS, CIBBER. As a specimen of the delicacy of our author's turn of verification, weshall present the reader with his translation of the following beautifulOde of Sappho. Hymn to Venus 1. O Venus, beauty of the skies, To whom a thousand temples rise, Gayly false, in gentle smiles, Full of love, perplexing wiles; O Goddess! from my heart remove The wasting cares and pains of love. 2. If ever thou hast kindly heard A song in soft distress preferr'd, Propitious to my tuneful vow, O gentle goddess! hear me now. Descend, thou bright immortal guest! In all thy radiant charms confess'd. 3. Thou once did leave almighty Jove, And all the golden roofs above; The carr thy wanton sparrows drew, Hov'ring in air, they lightly flew; As to my bower they wing'd their way, I saw their quiv'ring pinions play. 4. The birds dismiss'd (while you remain) Bore back their empty car again; Then you, with looks divinely mild, In ev'ry heav'nly feature smil'd, And ask'd what new complaints I made, And why I call'd you to my aid? 5. What frenzy in my bosom rag'd, And by what cure to be asswag'd? What gentle youth I would allure, Whom in my artful toils secure? Who does thy tender heart subdue, Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who! 6. Tho' now he shuns my longing arms, He soon shall court thy slighted charms; Tho' now thy off'rings he despise, He soon to thee shall sacrifice; Tho' now he freeze, he soon shall burn, And be thy victim in his turn. 7. Celestial visitant once more, Thy needful presence I implore. In pity come, and ease my grief, Bring my distemper'd soul relief, Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires, And give me all my heart's desires. There is another beautiful ode by the same Grecian poetess, renderedinto English by Mr. Philips with inexpressible delicacy, quoted in theSpectator, vol. Iii, . No. 229. 1. Blest, as th'immortal Gods is he The youth who fondly fits by thee, And hears, and sees thee all the while Softly speak, and sweetly smile. 2. 'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest, And raised such tumults in my breast; For while I gaz'd, in transport tost, My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 3. My bosom glow'd; the subtle flame Ran quick thro' all my vital frame, O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung; My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 4. In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd; My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd; My feeble pulse forgot to play; I fainted, sunk, and died away. Mr. Philips having purchased an annuity of 400 l. Per annum, for hislife, came over to England sometime in the year 1748: But had not hishealth; and died soon after at his lodgings near Vauxhall. FOOTNOTES: [1] Vide the ACTOR. [2] See Cart's History of England, Reign of Henry VI. * * * * * RICHARD MAITLAND, EARL OF LAUDERDALE This learned nobleman was nephew to John, the great duke of Lauderdale, who was secretary of state to King Charles II for Scotch affairs, andfor many years had the government of that kingdom entirely entrusted tohim. Whoever is acquainted with history will be at no loss to know, withhow little moderation he exercised his power; he ruled his nativecountry with a rod of iron, and was the author of all those disturbancesand persecutions which have stained the Annals of Scotland, during thatinglorious period. As the duke of Lauderdale was without issue-male of his own body, hetook our author into his protection as his immediate heir, and orderedhim to be educated in such a manner as to qualify him for the possessionof those great employments his ancestors enjoyed in the state. Theimprovement of this young nobleman so far exceeded his years, that hewas very early admitted into the privy council, and made lord justiceclerk, anno 1681. He married the daughter of the earl of Argyle, who wastried for sedition in the state, and confined in the castle ofEdinburgh. When Argyle found his fate approaching, he meditated, andeffected his escape; and some letters of his being intercepted anddecyphered, which had been written to the earl of Lauderdale, hislordship fell under a cloud, and was stript of his preferments. Theseletters were only of a familiar nature, and contained nothing butdomestic business; but a correspondence with a person condemned, wasesteemed a sin in politics not to be forgiven, especially by a man ofthe Duke of York's furious disposition. Though the duke of Lauderdale had ordered our author to be educated ashis heir, yet he left all his personal estate, which was very great, toanother, the young nobleman having, by some means, disobliged him; andas he was of an ungovernable implacable temper, could never againrecover his favour[1]. Though the earl of Lauderdale was thus removedfrom his places by the court, yet he persisted in his loyalty to theRoyal Family, and, upon the revolution, followed the fortune of KingJames II, and some years after died in France, leaving no survivingissue, so that the titles devolved on his younger brother. While the earl was in exile with his Royal master, he applied his mindto the delights of poetry, and, in his leisure hours, compleated atranslation of Virgil's works. Mr. Dryden, in his dedication of theAeneis, thus mentions it; 'The late earl of Lauderdale, says he, sent meover his new translation of the Aeneis, which he had ended before Iengaged in the same design. Neither did I then intend it, but someproposals being afterwards made me by my Bookseller, I desired hislordship's leave that I might accept them, which he freely granted, andI have his letter to shew for that permission. He resolved to haveprinted his work, which he might have done two years before I could havepublished mine; and had performed it, if death had not prevented him. But having his manuscript in my hands, I consulted it as often as Idoubted of my author's sense; for no man understood Virgil better thanthat learned nobleman. His friends have yet another, and more correctcopy of that translation by them, which if they had pleased to havegiven the public, the judges might have been convinced that I have notflattered him. ' Lord Lauderdale's friends, some years after the publication of Dryden'sTranslation, permitted his lordship's to be printed, and, in the lateeditions of that performance, those lines are marked with invertedcommas, which Dryden thought proper to adopt into his version, which arenot many; and however closely his lordship may have rendered Virgil, noman can conceive a high opinion of that poet, contemplated through themedium of his Translation. Dr. Trapp, in his preface to the Aeneis, observes, 'that his lordship's Translation is pretty near to the original, thoughnot so close as its brevity would make one imagine; and it sufficientlyappears, that he had a right taste in poetry in general, and the Aeneidin particular. He shews a true spirit, and, in many places, is verybeautiful. But we should certainly have seen Virgil far bettertranslated, by a noble hand, had the earl of Lauderdale been the earl ofRoscommon, and had the Scottish peer followed all the precepts, and beenanimated with the genius of the Irish. ' We know of no other poetical compositions of this learned nobleman, andthe idea we have received from history of his character, is, that he wasin every respect the reverse of his uncle, from whence we may reasonablyconclude, that he possessed many virtues, since few statesmen of any ageever were tainted with more vices than the duke of Lauderdale. FOOTNOTE:[1] Crawford's Peerage of Scotland. * * * * * DR. JOSEPH TRAPP This poet was second son to the rev. Mr. Joseph Trapp, rector ofCherington in Gloucestershire, at which place he was born, anno 1679. Hereceived the first rudiments of learning from his father, who instructedhim in the languages, and superintended his domestic education. When hewas ready for the university he was sent to Oxford, and was many yearsscholar and fellow of Wadham College, where he took the degree of masterof arts. In the year 1708 he was unanimously chosen professor of poetry, being the first of that kind. This institution was founded by Dr. HenryBirkhead, formerly fellow of All-Souls, and the place of lecturer can beheld only for ten years. Dr. Trapp was, in the early part of his life, chaplain to lordBolingbroke, the father of the famous Bolingbroke, lately deceased. Thehighest preferment Dr. Trapp ever had in the church, though he was a manof extensive learning, was, the rectory of Harlington, Middlesex, and ofthe united parishes of Christ-Church, Newgate Street, and St. Leonard'sFoster-Lane, with the lectureship of St. Lawrence Jewry, and St. Martin's in the Fields. The Dr's principles were not of that cast, bywhich promotion could be expected. He was attached to the High-Churchinterest, and as his temper was not sufficiently pliant to yield to theprevalence of party, perhaps for that very reason, his rising in thechurch was retarded. A gentleman of learning and genius, when paying avisit to the Dr. Took occasion to lament, as there had been lately someconsiderable alterations made, and men less qualified than he, raised tothe mitre, that distinctions should be conferred with so little regardto merit, and wondered that he (the Dr. ) had never been promoted to asee. To this the Dr. Replied, 'I am thought to have some learning, andsome honesty, and these are but indifferent qualifications to enable aman to rise in the church. ' Dr. Trapp's action in the pulpit has been censured by many, asparticipating too much of the theatrical manner, and having more the airof an itinerant enthusiast, than a grave ecclesiastic. Perhaps it may betrue, that his pulpit gesticulations were too violent, yet they borestrong expressions of sincerity, and the side on which he erred, was themost favourable to the audience; as the extreme of over-acting any part, is not half so intolerable as a languid indifference, whether what thepreacher is then uttering, is true or false, is worth attention or no. The Dr. Being once in company with a person, whose profession was thatof a player, took occasion to ask him, 'what was the reason that anactor seemed to feel his part with so much sincerity, and utter it withso much emphasis and spirit, while a preacher, whose profession is of ahigher nature, and whose doctrines are of the last importance, remainedunaffected, even upon the most solemn occasion, while he stood in thepulpit as the ambassador of God, to teach righteousness to the people?'the player replied, 'I believe no other reason can be given, sir, butthat we are sincere in our parts, and the preachers are insincere intheirs. ' The Dr. Could not but acknowledge the truth of this observationin general, and was often heard to complain of the coldness andunaffected indifference of his brethren in those very points, in whichit is their business to be sincere and vehement. Would you move youraudience, says an ancient sage, you must yourself be moved; and it is aproposition which holds universally true. Dr. Trapp was of opinion, thatthe highest doctrines of religion were to be considered as infalliblytrue, and that it was of more importance to impress them strongly on theminds of the audience, to speak to their hearts, and affect theirpassions, than to bewilder them in disputation, and lead them throughlabyrinths of controversy, which can yield, perhaps, but littleinstruction, can never tend to refine the passions, or elevate the mind. Being of this opinion, and from a strong desire of doing good, Dr. Trappexerted himself in the pulpit, and strove not only to convince thejudgment, but to warm the heart, for if passions are the elements oflife, they ought to be devoted to the service of religion, as well asthe other faculties, and powers of the soul. But preaching was not the only method by which, this worthy man promotedthe interest of religion; he drew the muses into her service, and thathe might work upon the hopes and fears of his readers, he has presentedthem with four poems, on these important subjects; _Death, Judgment, Heaven_, and _Hell. _ The reason of his making choice of those themes onwhich to write, he very fully explains in his preface. He observes, thathowever dull, and trite it may be to declaim against the corruption ofthe age one lives in, yet he presumes it will be allowed by every body, that all manner of wickedness, both in principles and practice, aboundsamongst men. 'I have lived (says he) in six reigns, but for about thesetwenty years last past, the English nation has been, and is soprodigiously debauched, its very nature and genius so changed, that Iscarce know it to be the English nation, and am almost a foreigner inmy own country. Not only barefaced, impudent, immorality of all kinds, but often professed infidelity and atheism. To slop these overflowingsof ungodliness, much has been done in prose, yet not so as to supersedeall other endeavours: and therefore the author of these poems waswilling to try, whether any good might be done in verse. This manner ofconveyance may, perhaps, have some advantage, which the other has not;at least it makes variety, which is something considerable. The fourlast things are manifestly subjects of the utmost importance. If duereflexions upon Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, will not reclaim menfrom their vices, nothing will. This little work was intended for theuse of all, from the greatest to the least. But as it would have beenintolerably flat, and insipid to the former, had it been wholly writtenin a stile level to the capacities of the latter; to obviateinconveniences on both sides, an attempt has been made to entertain theupper class of readers, and, by notes, to explain such passages indivinity, philosophy, history, &c. As might be difficult to the lower. The work (if it may be so called) being partly argumentative, and partlydescriptive, it would have been ridiculous, had it been possible to makethe first mentioned as poetical as the other. In long pieces of musicthere is the plain recitativo, as well as the higher, and more musicalmodulation, and they mutually recommend, and set off each other. Butabout these matters the writer is little sollicitous, and otherwise, than as they are subservient to the design of doing good. ' A good man would naturally wish, that such generous attempts, in thecause of virtue, were always successful. With the lower class ofreaders, it is more than probably that these poems may have inspiredreligious thoughts, have awaked a solemn dread of punishment, kindled asacred hope of happiness, and fitted the mind for the four lastimportant period[1]; But with readers of a higher taste, they can havebut little effect. There is no doctrine placed in a new light, nodescriptions are sufficiently emphatical to work upon a sensible mind, and the perpetual flatness of the poetry is very disgustful to acritical reader, especially, as there were so many occasions of risingto an elevated sublimity. The Dr. Has likewise written a Paraphrase on the 104th Psalm, which, though much superior in poetry to his Four Last Things, yet fallsgreatly short of that excellent version by Mr. Blacklocke, quoted in theLife of Dr. Brady. Our author has likewise published four volumes of sermons, and a volumeof lectures on poetry, written in Latin. Before we mention his other poetical compositions, we shall consider himas the translator of Virgil, which is the most arduous province he everundertook. Dr. Trapp, in his preface, after stating the controversy, which has been long held, concerning the genius of Homer and Virgil, towhom the superiority belongs, has informed us, that this work was veryfar advanced before it was undertaken, having been, for many years, thediversion of his leisure hours at the university, and grew upon him, byinsensible degrees, so that a great part of the Aeneis was actuallytranslated, before he had any design of attempting the whole. He further informs us, 'that one of the greatest geniuses, and bestjudges, and critics, our age has produced, Mr. Smith of Christ Church, having seen the first two or three hundred lines of this translation, advised him by all means to go through with it. I said, he laughed atme, replied the Dr. And that I should be the most impudent of mortals tohave such a thought. He told me, he was very much in earnest; and askedme why the whole might not be done, in so many years, as well as such anumber of lines in so many days? which had no influence upon me, nor didI dream of such an undertaking, 'till being honoured by the universityof Oxford with the public office of professor of poetry, which I shallever gratefully acknowledge, I thought it might not be improper for meto review, and finish this work, which otherwise had certainly been asmuch neglected by me, as, perhaps, it will now be by every body else. ' As our author has made choice of blank verse, rather than rhime, inorder to bear a nearer resemblance to Virgil, he has endeavoured todefend blank verse, against the advocates for rhime, and shew itssuperiority for any work of length, as it gives the expression a greatercompass, or, at least, does not clog and fetter the verse, by which thesubstance and meaning of a line must often be mutilated, twisted, andsometimes sacrificed for the sake of the rhime. 'Blank verse (says he) is not only more majestic and sublime, but moremusical and harmonious. It has more rhime in it, according to theancient, and true sense of the word, than rhime itself, as it is nowused: for, in its original signification, it consists not in thetinkling of vowels and consonants, but in the metrical disposition ofwords and syllables, and the proper cadence of numbers, which is moreagreeable to the ear, without the jingling of like endings, than withit. And, indeed, let a man consult his own ears. Him th'Almighty pow'r Hurl'd headlong, flaming from the ætherial sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition; there to dwell In adamantine chains, and penal fire; Who durst defy th'Omnipotent to arms. Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquish'd, rowling in the fiery gulph, Confounded, tho' immortal Who that hears this, can think it wants rhime to recommend it? or ratherdoes not think it sounds far better without it? We purposely produced acitation, beginning and ending in the middle of a verse, because theprivilege of resting on this, or that foot, sometimes one, and sometimesanother, and so diversifying the pauses and cadences, is the greatestbeauty of blank verse, and perfectly agreeable to the practice of ourmasters, the Greeks and Romans. This can be done but rarely in rhime;for if it were frequent, the rhime would be in a manner lost by it; theend of almost every verse must be something of a pause; and it is butseldom that a sentence begins in the middle. Though this seems to be theadvantage of blank verse over rhime, yet we cannot entirely condemn theuse of it, even in a heroic poem; nor absolutely reject that inspeculation, which. Mr. Dryden and Mr. Pope have enobled by theirpractice. We acknowledge too, that in some particular views, what way ofwriting has the advantage over this. You may pick out mere lines, which, singly considered, look mean and low, from a poem in blank verse, thanfrom one in rhime, supposing them to be in other respects equal. Forinstance, the following verses out of Milton's Paradise Lost, b. Ii. Of Heav'n were falling, and these elements-- Instinct with fire, and nitre hurried him-- taken singly, look low and mean: but read them in conjunction withothers, and then see what a different face will be set upon them. --Or less than of this frame Of Heav'n were falling, and these elements In mutiny had from her axle torn The stedfast earth. As last his sail-broad vans He spreads for flight; and in the surging smoke Uplifted spurns the ground-- --Had not by ill chance The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him As many miles aloft. That fury stay'd; Quench'd in a boggy syrtis, neither sea, Nor good dry land: night founder'd on he fares, Treading the crude consistence. Our author has endeavoured to justify his choice of blank verse, byshewing it less subject to restraints, and capable of greater sublimitythan rhime. But tho' this observation may hold true, with respect toelevated and grand subjects, blank verse is by no means capable of sogreat universality. In satire, in elegy, or in pastoral writing, ourlanguage is, it seems, so feebly constituted, as to stand in need of theaid of rhime; and as a proof of this, the reader need only look upon thepastorals of Virgil, as translated by Trapp in blank verse, and comparethem with Dryden's in rhime. He will then discern how insipid and fiatthe pastorals of the same poet are in one kind of verification, and howexcellent and beautiful in another. Let us give one short example toillustrate the truth of this, from the first pastoral of Virgil. MELIBÆUS. Beneath the covert of the spreading beech Thou, Tityrus, repos'd, art warbling o'er, Upon a slender reed, thy sylvan lays: We leave our country, and sweet native fields; We fly our country: careless in the shade, Thou teachest, Tityrus, the sounding groves To eccho beauteous Amaryllis' name. TITYRUS. O Melibæus, 'twas a god to us Indulged this freedom: for to me a god He shall be ever: from my folds full oft A tender lamb his altar shall embrue: He gave my heifers, as thou seest, to roam; And me permitted on my rural cane To sport at pleasure, and enjoy my muse, TRAPP. MELIBÆUS. Beneath the shade which beechen-boughs diffuse, You, Tityrus, entertain your Silvan muse: Round the wide world in banishment we roam, Forc'd from our pleasing fields, and native home: While stretch'd at ease you sing your happy loves: And Amaryllis fills the shady groves. TITYRUS. These blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd: For never can I deem him less than God. The tender firstlings of my woolly breed Shall on his holy altar often bleed. He gave my kine to graze the flowry plain: And to my pipe renew'd the rural strain. DRYDEN. Dr. Trapp towards the conclusion of his Preface to the Aeneid, hastreated Dryden with less reverence, than might have been expected from aman of his understanding, when speaking of so great a genius. The causeof Trapp's disgust to Dryden, seems to have been this: Dryden had astrong contempt for the priesthood, which we have from his own words, "Priests of all professions are the same. " and takes every opportunity to mortify the usurping superiority ofspiritual tyrants. Trapp, with all his virtues (for I think it appearshe possessed many) had yet much of the priest in him, and for that veryreason, perhaps, has shewn some resentment to Dryden; but if he has withlittle candour of criticism treated Mr. Dryden, he has with greatservility flattered Mr. Pope; and has insinuated, as if the Palm ofGenius were to be yielded to the latter. He observes in general, thatwhere Mr. Dryden shines most, we often see the least of Virgil. To omitmany other instances, the description of the Cyclops forging Thunder forJupiter, and Armour for Aeneas, is elegant and noble to the last degreein the Latin; and it is so to a great degree in the English. But then isthe English a translation of the Latin? Hither the father of the fire by night, Thro' the brown air precipitates his flight: On their eternal anvil, here he found The brethren beating, and the blows go round. The lines are good, and truely poetical; but the two first are set torender Hoc tunc ignipotens caelo descendit ab alto. There is nothing of _caelo ab alto_ in the version; nor by _night, brownair_, or _precipitates his sight_, in the original. The two last are putin the room of Ferrum exercebant vasto Cylopes in antro, Brontesque, Steropesque, & nudus membra Pyraemon. Vasto in antro, in the first of these lines, and the last line isentirely left out in the translation. Nor is there any thing of eternalanvils, or _hers he found_, in the original, and the brethren beating, and the blows go round, is but a loose version of _Ferrum exercebant. _Dr. Trapp has allowed, however, that though Mr. Dryden is often distantfrom the original, yet he sometimes rises to a more excellent height, bythrowing out implied graces, which none but so great a poet was capableof. Thus in the 12th book, after the last speech of Saturn, Tantum effata, caput glauco contexit amictu, Multa gemens, & se fluvio Dea condidit also. She drew a length of sighs, no more she said, But with an azure mantle wrapp'd her head; Then plunged into her stream with deep despair, _And her last sobs came bubbling up in air_. Though the last line is not expressed in the original, it is yet in somemeasure implied, and it is in itself so exceedingly beautiful, that thewhole passage can never be too much admired. These are excellenciesindeed; this is truly Mr. Dryden. The power of truth, no doubt, extortedthis confession from the Dr. And notwithstanding many objections may bebrought against this performance of Dryden, yet we believe most of ourpoetical readers upon perusing it, will be of the opinion of Pope, 'that, excepting a few human errors, it is the noblest and most spiritedtranslation in any language. ' To whom it may reasonable be asked, hasVirgil been most obliged? to Dr. Trapp who has followed his footsteps inevery line; has shewn you indeed the design, the characters, contexture, and moral of the poem, that is, has given you Virgil's account of theactions of Æneas, or to Mr. Dryden, who has not only conveyed thegeneral ideas of his author, but has conveyed them with the same majestyand fire, has led you through every battle with trepidation, has soothedyou in the tender scenes, and inchanted you with the flowers of poetry?Virgil contemplated thro' the medium of Trapp, appears an accuratewriter, and the Aeneid as well conducted fable, but discerned inDryden's page, he glows as with fire from heaven, and the Aeneid is acontinued series of whatever is great, elegant, pathetic, and sublime. We have already observed, in the Life of Dryden, that it is easier todiscern wherein the beauties of poetical composition consist, than tothrow out those beauties. Dr. Trapp, in his Prælectiones Poeticæ, hasshewn how much he was master of every species of poetry; that is, howexcellently he understood the structure of a poem; what noble rules hewas capable of laying down, and what excellent materials he couldafford, for building upon such a foundation, a beautiful fabric. Thereare few better criticisms in any language, Dryden's dedications andprefaces excepted, than are contained in these lectures. The mind isenlarged by them, takes in a wide range of poetical ideas, and is taughtto discover how many amazing requisites are necessary to form a poet. Inhis introduction to the first lecture, he takes occasion to state acomparison between poetry and painting, and shew how small pretensionsthe professors of the latter have, to compare themselves with theformer. 'The painter indeed (says he) has to do with the passions, butthen they are such passions only, as discover themselves in thecountenance; but the poet is to do more, he is to trace the rise ofthose passions, to watch their gradations, to pain their progress, andmark them in the heart in their genuine conflicts; and, continues he, the disproportion between the soul and the body, is not greater than thedisproportion between the painter and the poet. Dr. Trapp is author of a tragedy called Abramule, or Love and Empire, acted at the New Theatre at Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1704, dedicated to theRight Honourable the Lady Harriot Godolphin. Scene Constantinople. Thestory is built upon the dethronement of Mahomet IV. Our author has likewise written a piece called The Church of EnglandDefended against the False Reasoning of the Church of Rome. Severaloccasional poems were written by him in English; and there is one Latinpoem of his in the Musæ Anglicanæ. He has translated the Paradise Lostinto Latin Verse, with little success, and, as he published it at hisown risk, he was a considerable loser. The capital blemish of that work, is, the unharmonious versification, which gives perpetual offence to theear, neither is the language universally pure. He died in the month of November 1747, and left behind him the characterof a pathetic and instructive preacher, a profound scholar, a discerningcritic, a benevolent gentleman, and a pious Christian. We shall conclude the life of Dr. Trapp with the following verses of Mr. Layng, which are expressive of the Dr's. Character as a critic and apoet. The author, after applauding Dryden's version, proceeds thus infavour of Trapp. Behind we see a younger bard arise, No vulgar rival in the grand emprize. Hail! learned Trapp! upon whose brow we find The poet's bays, and critic's ivy join'd. Blest saint! to all that's virtuous ever dear, Thy recent fate demands a friendly tear. None was more vers'd in all the Roman store, Or the wide circle of the Grecian lore, Less happy, from the world recluse too long, In all the sweeter ornaments of song; Intent to teach, too careless how to please, He boasts in strength, whate'er he wants in ease. FOOTNOTE [1] By his last Will he ordered a copy of that book to be given to each of his parishioners, that when he could no longer speak to them from the pulpit, he might endeavour to instruct them in his writings. * * * * * MR. SAMUEL BOYSE. This Poet was the son of the Revd. Mr. Joseph Boyse, a Dissentingminister of great eminence in Dublin. Our author's father was a personso much respected by those immediately under his ministerial care, andwhoever else had the happiness of his acquaintance, that people of alldenominations united in esteeming him, not only for his learning andabilities, but his extensive humanity and undisembled piety. The Revd. Gentleman had so much dignity in his manner, that he obtainedfrom the common people the name of bishop Boyse, meant as a complimentto the gracefulness of his person and mien. But though Mr. Boyse wasthus reverenced by the multitude, and courted by people of fashion, henever contracted the least air of superciliousness: He was humane andaffable in his temper, equally removed from the stiffness of pedantry, and offensive levity. During his ministerial charge at Dublin, hepublished many sermons, which compose several folio volumes, a few Poemsand other Tracts; but what chiefly distinguished him as a writer, wasthe controversy he carried on with Dr. King, archbishop of Dublin, andauthor of the Origin of Evil, concerning the office of a scripturalbishop. This controverted point was managed on both sides with greatforce of argument, and calmness of temper. The bishop asserted that theepiscopal right of jurisdiction had its foundation in the New-Testament:Mr. Boyse, consistent with his principles, denied that anyecclesiastical superiority appeared there; and in the opinion of many, Mr. Boyse was more than equal to his antagonist, whom he treated in thecourse of the controversy, with the greatest candour and good-manners. It has been reported that Mr. Boyse had two brothers, one a clergyman ofthe church of England, and the other a cardinal at Rome; but of thiscircumstance we have no absolute certainty: Be it as it may, he had, however, no brother so much distinguished in the world as himself. We shall now enter upon the life of our poet, who will appear while wetrace it, to have been in every respect the reverse of his father, genius excepted. -- He was born in the year 1708, and received the rudiments of hiseducation in a private school in Dublin. When he was but eighteen yearsold, his father, who probably intended him for the ministry, sent him tothe university of Glasgow, that he might finish his education there. Hehad not been a year at the university, till he fell in love with oneMiss Atchenson, the daughter of a tradesman in that city, and wasimprudent enough to interrupt his education, by marrying her, before hehad entered into his 20th year. The natural extravagance of his temper soon exposed him to want, and ashe had now the additional charge of a wife, his reduced circumstancesobliged him to quit the university, and go over with his wife (who alsocarried a sister with her) to Dublin; where they relied upon the oldgentleman for support. His behaviour in this dependent state, was thevery reverse of what it should have been. In place of directing hisstudies to some useful acquisition, so as to support himself and family, he spent his time in the most abject trifling, and drew many heavyexpences upon his father, who had no other means of supporting himselfthan what his congregation afforded, and a small estate of fourscorepounds a year in Yorkshire. Considerations of prudence never entered into the heart of this unhappyyoung roan, who ran from one excess to another, till an indulgent parentwas reduced by his means to very great embarrassments. Young Boyse wasof all men the farthest removed from a gentleman; he had no graces ofperson, and fewer still of conversation. To this cause it was perhapsowing, that his wife, naturally of a very volatile sprightly temper, either grew tired of him, or became enamour'd of variety. It was howeverabundantly certain, that she pursued intrigues with other men; and whatis still more surprising, not without the knowledge of her husband, whohad either too abject a spirit to resent it; or was bribed by somelucrative advantage, to which, he had a mind mean enough to stoop. Though never were three people of more libertine characters than youngBoyse, his wife, and sister-in-law; yet the two ladies wore such a maskof decency before the old gentleman, that his fondness was never abated. He hoped that time and experience would recover his son from his coursesof extravagance; and as he was of an unsuspecting temper, he had not theleast jealousy of the real conduct of his daughter-in-law, who grewevery day in his favour, and continued to blind him, by the seemingdecency of her behaviour, and a performance of those acts of piety, henaturally expected from her. But the old gentleman was deceived in hishopes, for time made no alteration in his son. The estate his fatherpossessed in Yorkshire was sold to discharge his debts; and when the oldman lay in his last sickness, he was entirely supported by presents fromhis congregation, and buried at their expence. We have no farther account of Mr. Boyse, till we find him soon after hisfather's death at Edinburgh; but from what motives he went there wecannot now discover. At this place his poetical genius raised him manyfriends, and some patrons of very great eminence. He published a volumeof poems in 1731, to which is subjoined The Tablature of Cebes, and aLetter upon Liberty, inserted in the Dublin Journal 1726; and by thesehe obtained a very great reputation. They are addressed to the countessof Eglington, a lady of distinguished excellencies, and so muchcelebrated for her beauty, that it would be difficult for the bestpanegyrist to be too lavish in her praise. This amiable lady waspatroness of all men of wit, and very much distinguished Mr. Boyse, while he resided in that country. She was not however exempt from thelot of humanity, and her conspicuous accomplishments were yet chequeredwith failings: The chief of which was too high a consciousness of herown charms, which inspired a vanity that sometimes betrayed her intoerrors. The following short anecdote was frequently related by Mr. Boyse. Thecountess one day came into the bed chamber of her youngest daughter, then about 13 years old, while she was dressing at her toilet. Thecountess observing the assiduity with which the young lady wanted to setoff her person to the best advantage, asked her, what she would give tobe 'as handsome as her mamma?' To which Miss replied; 'As much as yourladyship would give to be as young as me. ' This smart repartee which wasat once pungent and witty, very sensibly affected the countess; who forthe future was less lavish in praise of her own charms. -- Upon the death of the viscountess Stormont, Mr. Boyse wrote an Elegy, which was very much applauded by her ladyship's relations. This Elegy heintitled, The Tears of the Muses, as the deceased lady was a woman ofthe most refined taste in the sciences, and a great admirer of poetry. The lord Stormont was so much pleased with this mark of esteem paid tothe memory of his lady, that he ordered a very handsome present to begiven to Mr. Boyse, by his attorney at Edinburgh. Though Mr. Boyse's name was very well known in that city, yet his personwas obscure; for as he was altogether unsocial in his temper, he had butfew acquaintances, and those of a cast much inferior to himself, andwith whom he ought to have been ashamed to associate. It was some timebefore he could be found out; and lord Stormont's kind intentions hadbeen defeated, if an advertisement had not been published in one oftheir weekly papers, desiring the author of the Tears of the Muses tocall at the house of the attorney[1]. The personal obscurity of Mr. Boyse might perhaps not be altogetherowing to his habits of gloominess and retirement. Nothing is moredifficult in that city, than to make acquaintances; There are no placeswhere people meet and converse promiscuously: There is a reservednessand gravity in the manner of the inhabitants, which makes a strangeraverse to approach them. They naturally love solitude; and are very slowin contracting friendships. They are generous; but it is with a badgrace. They are strangers to affability, and they maintain a haughtinessand an apparent indifference, which deters a man from courting them. They may be said to be hospitable, but not complaisant to strangers:Insincerity and cruelty have no existence amongst them; but if theyought not to be hated, they can never be much loved, for they areincapable of insinuation, and their ignorance of the world makes themunfit for entertaining sensible strangers. They are public-spirited, buttorn to pieces by factions. A gloominess in religion renders one part ofthem very barbarous, and an enthusiasm in politics so transports thegenteeler part, that they sacrifice to party almost every considerationof tenderness. Among such a people, a man may long live, little known, and less instructed; for their reservedness renders themuncommunicative, and their excessive haughtiness prevents them frombeing solicitous of knowledge. The Scots are far from being a dull nation; they are lovers of pomp andshew; but then there is an eternal stiffness, a kind of affecteddignity, which spoils their pleasures. Hence we have the less reason towonder that Boyse lived obscurely at Edinburgh. His extreme carelesnessabout his dress was a circumstance very inauspicious to a man who livesin that city. They are such lovers of this kind of decorum, that theywill admit of no infringement upon it; and were a man with more wit thanPope, and more philosophy than Newton, to appear at their market placenegligent in his apparel, he would be avoided by his acquaintances whowould rather risk his displeasure, than the censure of the public, whichwould not fail to stigmatize them, for assocciating with a man seeminglypoor; for they measure poverty, and riches, understanding, or itsopposite, by exterior appearance. They have many virtues, but their notbeing polished prevents them from shining. The notice which Lady Eglington and the lord Stormont took of our poet, recommended him likewise to the patronage of the dutchess of Gordon, whowas a lady not only distinguished for her taste; but cultivated acorrespondence with some of the most eminent poets then living. Thedutchess was so zealous in Mr. Boyse's affairs, and so felicitous toraise him above necessity, that she employed her interest in procuringthe promise of a place for him. She gave him a letter, which he was nextday to deliver to one of the commissioners of the customs at Edinburgh. It happened that he was then some miles distant from the city, and themorning on which he was to have rode to town with her grace's letter ofrecommendation proved to be rainy. This slender circumstance was enoughto discourage Boyse, who never looked beyond the present moment: Hedeclined going to town on account of the rainy weather, and while he letslip the opportunity, the place was bestowed upon another, which thecommissioner declared he kept for some time vacant, in expectation ofseeing a person recommended by the dutchess of Gordon. Of a man of this indolence of temper, this sluggish meanness of spirit, the reader cannot be surprised to find the future conduct consist of acontinued serious of blunders, for he who had not spirit to prosecute anadvantage put in his hands, will neither bear distress with fortitude, nor struggle to surmount it with resolution. Boyse at last, having defeated all the kind intentions of his patronstowards him, fell into a contempt and poverty, which obliged him to quitEdinburgh, as his creditors began to sollicit the payment of theirdebts, with an earnestness not to be trifled with. He communicated hisdesign of going to London to the dutchess of Gordon; who having still avery high opinion of his poetical abilities, gave him a letter ofrecommendation to Mr. Pope, and obtained another for him to Sir PeterKing, the lord chancellor of England. Lord Stormont recommended him tothe sollicitor-general his brother, and many other persons of the firstfashion. Upon receiving these letters, he, with great caution, quitted Edinburgh, regretted by none but his creditors, who were so exaggerated as tothreaten to prosecute him wherever he should be found. But these menaceswere never carried into execution, perhaps from the consideration of hisindigence, which afforded no probable prospect of their being paid. Upon his arrival in London, he went to Twickenham, in order to deliverthe dutchess of Gordon's letter to Mr. Pope; but that gentleman notbeing at home, Mr. Boyse never gave himself the trouble to repeat hisvisit, nor in all probability would Pope have been over-fond of him; asthere was nothing in his conversation which any wife indicated theabilities he possessed. He frequently related, that he was graciouslyreceived by Sir Peter King, dined at his table, and partook of hispleasures. But this relation, they who knew Mr. Boyse well, never couldbelieve; for he was so abject in his disposition, that he never couldlook any man in the face whose appearance was better than his own; norlikely had courage to sit at Sir Peter King's table, where every one wasprobably his superior. He had no power of maintaining the dignity ofwit, and though his understanding was very extensive, yet but a fewcould discover that he had any genius above the common rank. This wantof spirit produced the greatest part of his calamities, because he; knewnot how to avoid them by any vigorous effort of his mind. He wrotepoems, but those, though excellent in their kind, were lost to theworld, by being introduced with no advantage. He had so strong apropension to groveling, that his acquaintance were generally of such acast, as could be of no service to him; and those in higher life headdressed by letters, not having sufficient confidence or politeness toconverse familiarly with them; a freedom to which he was intitled by thepower of his genius. Thus unfit to support himself in the world, he wasexposed to variety of distress, from which he could invent no means ofextricating himself, but by writing mendicant letters. It will appearamazing, but impartiality obliges us to relate it, that this man, of soabject a spirit, was voluptuous and luxurious: He had no taste for anything elegant, and yet was to the last degree expensive. Can it bebelieved, that often when he had received half a guinea, in consequenceof a supplicating letter, he would go into a tavern, order a supper tobe prepared, drink of the richest wines, and spend all the money thathad just been given him in charity, without having any one toparticipate the regale with him, and while his wife and child werestarving home? This is an instance of base selfishness, for which noname is as yet invented, and except by another poet[2], with somevariation of circumstances, was perhaps never practiced by the mostsensual epicure. He had yet some friends, many of the most eminent dissenters, who from aregard to the memory of his father, afforded him supplies from time totime. Mr. Boyse by perpetual applications, at last exhausted theirpatience; and they were obliged to abandon a man on whom theirliberality was ill bestowed, as it produced no other advantage to him, than a few days support, when he returned again with the samenecessities. The epithet of cold has often been given to charity, perhaps with agreat deal of truth; but if any thing can warrant us to withhold ourcharity, it is the consideration that its purposes are prostituted bythose on whom it is bestowed. We have already taken notice of the infidelity of his wife; and now hercircumstances were reduced, her virtue did not improve. She fell into away of life disgraceful to the sex; nor was his behaviour in any degreemore moral. They were frequently covered with ignominy, reproaching oneanother for the acquisition of a disease, which both deserved, becausemutually guilty. It was about the year 1740, that Mr. Boyse reduced to the last extremityof human wretchedness, had not a shirt, a coat, or any kind of apparelto put on; the sheets in which he lay were carried to the pawnbroker's, and he was obliged to be confined to bed, with no other covering than ablanket. He had little support but what he got by writing letters to hisfriends in the most abject stile. He was perhaps ashamed to let thisinstance of distress be known to his friends, which might be theoccasion of his remaining six weeks in that situation. During this timehe had some employment in writing verses for the Magazines; and whoeverhad seen him in his study, must have thought the object singular enough. He sat up in bed with the blanket wrapt about him, through which he hadcut a hole large enough to admit his arm, and placing the paper upon hisknee, scribbled in the best manner he could the verses he was obliged tomake: Whatever he got by those, or any of his begging letters, was butjust sufficient for the preservation of life. And perhaps he would haveremained much longer in this distressful state, had not a compassionategentleman, upon hearing this circumstance related, ordered his cloathsto be taken out of pawn, and enabled him to appear again abroad. This six weeks penance one would imagine sufficient to deter him for thefuture, from suffering himself to be exposed to such distresses; but bya long habit of want it grew familiar to him, and as he had lessdelicacy than other men, he was perhaps less afflicted with his exteriormeanness. For the future, whenever his distresses so press'd, as toinduce him to dispose of his shirt, he fell upon an artificial method ofsupplying one. He cut some white paper in slips, which he tyed round hiswrists, and in the same manner supplied his neck. In this plight hefrequently appeared abroad, with the additional inconvenience of want ofbreeches. He was once sent for in a hurry, to the house of a printer who hademployed him to write a poem for his Magazine: Boyse then was withoutbreeches, or waistcoat, but was yet possessed of a coat, which he threwupon him, and in this ridiculous manner went to the printer's house;where he found several women, whom his extraordinary appearance obligedimmediately to retire. He fell upon many strange schemes of raising trifling sums: He sometimesordered his wife to inform people that he was just expiring, and by thisartifice work upon their compassion; and many of his friends werefrequently surprised to meet the man in the street to day, to whom theyhad yesterday sent relief, as to a person on the verge of death. Atother times he would propose subscriptions for poems, of which only thebeginning and conclusion were written; and by this expedient wouldrelieve some present necessity. But as he seldom was able to put any ofhis poems to the press, his veracity in this particular suffered adiminution; and indeed in almost every other particular he might justlybe suspected; for if he could but gratify an immediate appetite, hecared not at what expence, whether of the reputation, or purse ofanother. About the year 1745 Mr. Boyse's wife died. He was then at Reading, andpretended much concern when he heard of her death. It was an affectation in Mr. Boyse to appear very fond of a little lapdog which he always carried about with him in his arms, imagining itgave him the air of a man of taste. Boyse, whose circumstances were thentoo mean to put himself in mourning, was yet resolved that some part ofhis family should. He step'd into a little shop, purchased half a yardof black ribbon, which he fixed round his dog's neck by way of mourningfor the loss of its mistress. But this was not the only ridiculousinstance of his behaviour on the death of his wife. Such was thesottishness of this man, that when he was in liquor, he always indulgeda dream of his wife's being still alive, and would talk very spightfullyof those by whom he suspected she was entertained. This he nevermentioned however, except in his cups, which was only as often as he hadmoney to spend. The manner of his becoming intoxicated was veryparticular. As he had no spirit to keep good company, so he retired tosome obscure ale-house, and regaled himself with hot two-penny, whichthough he drank in very great quantities, yet he had never more than apennyworth at a time. --Such a practice rendered him so compleatlysottish, that even his abilities, as an author, became sensiblyimpaired. We have already mentioned his being at Reading. His business there wasto compile a Review of the most material transactions at home andabroad, during the last war; in which he has included a short account ofthe late rebellion. For this work by which he got some reputation, hewas paid by the sheet, a price sufficient to keep him from starving, andthat was all. To such distress must that man be driven, who is destituteof prudence to direct the efforts of his genius. In this work Mr. Boysediscovers how capable he was of the most irksome and laboriousemployment, when he maintained a power over his appetites, and kepthimself free from intemperance. While he remained at Reading, he addressed, by supplicating letters, twoIrish noblemen, lord Kenyston, and lord Kingsland, who resided inBerkshire, and received some money from them; he also met with anothergentleman there of a benevolent disposition, who, from the knowledge hehad of the father, pitied the distresses of the son, and by his interestwith some eminent Dissenters in those parts, railed a sufficient sum tocloath him, for the abjectness of his appearance secluded our poet evenfrom the table of his Printer[3]. Upon his return from Reading, his behaviour was more decent than it hadever been before, and there were some hopes that a reformation, tho'late, would be wrought upon him. He was employed by a Bookseller totranslate Fenelon on the Existence of God, during which time he marrieda second wife, a woman in low circumstances, but well enough adapted tohis taste. He began now to live with more regard to his character, andsupport a better appearance than usual; but while his circumstances weremending, and his irregular appetites losing ground, his health visiblydeclined: he had the satisfaction, while in this lingering illness, toobserve a poem of his, entitled The Deity, recommended by two eminentwriters, the ingenious Mr. Fielding, and the rev. Mr. James Harvey, author of The Meditations. The former, in the beginning of his humorousHistory of Tom Jones, calls it an excellent poem. Mr. Harvey stiles it apious and instructive piece; and that worthy gentleman, upon hearingthat the author was in necessitous circumstances, deposited two guineasin the hands of a trusty person to be given him, whenever his occasionsshould press. This poem was written some years before Mr. Harvey or Mr. Fielding took any notice of it, but it was lost to the public, as thereputation of the Bookseller consisted in sending into the worldabundance of trifles, amongst which, it was considered as one. Mr. Boysesaid, that upon its first publication, a gentleman acquainted with Mr. Pope, took occasion to ask that poet, if he was not the author of it, towhich Mr. Pope replied, 'that he was not the author, but that there weremany lines in it, of which he should not be ashamed. ' This Mr. Boyseconsidered as a very great compliment. The poem indeed abounds withshining lines and elevated sentiments on the several Attributes of theSupreme Being; but then it is without a plan, or any connexion of parts, for it may be read either backwards or forwards, as the reader pleases. While Mr. Boyse was in this lingering illness, he seemed to have nonotion of his approaching end, nor did he expect it, 'till it was almostpast the thinking of. His mind, indeed, was often religiously disposed;he frequently talked upon that subject, and, probably suffered a greatdeal from the remorse of his conscience. The early impressions of hisgood education were never entirely obliterated, and his whole life was acontinued struggle between his will and reason, as he was alwaysviolating his duty to the one, while he fell under the subjection of theother. It was in consequence of this war in his mind, that he wrote abeautiful poem called The Recantation. In the month of May, 1749, he died in obscure lodgings near Shoe-Lane. An old acquaintance of his endeavoured to collect money to defray theexpences of his funeral, so that the scandal of being buried by theparish might be avoided. But his endeavours were in vain, for thepersons he sollicited, had been so troubled with applications during thelife of this unhappy man, that they refused to contribute any thingtowards his funeral. The remains of this son of the muses were, withvery little ceremony, hurried away by the parish officers, and thrownamongst common beggars; though with this distinction, that the serviceof the church was performed over his corpse. Never was an exit moreshocking, nor a life spent with less grace, than those of Mr. Boyse, andnever were such distinguished abilities given to less purpose. Hisgenius was not confined to poetry only, he had a taste for painting, music and heraldry, with the latter of which he was very wellacquainted. His poetical pieces, if collected, would make six moderatevolumes. Many of them are featured in the Gentleman's Magazine, markedwith the letter Y. And Alceus. Two volumes were published in London, butas they never had any great sale, it will be difficult to find them. An ode of his in the manner of Spenser, entitled The Olive, wasaddressed to Sir Robert Walpole, which procured him a present of tenguineas. He translated a poem from the High Dutch of Van Haren, inpraise of peace, upon the conclusion of that made at Aix la Chapelle;but the poem which procured him the greatest reputation, was, that uponthe Attributes of the Deity, of which we have already taken notice. Hewas employed by Mr. Ogle to translate some of Chaucer's Tales intomodern English, which he performed with great spirit, and received atthe rate of three pence a line for his trouble. Mr. Ogle published acomplete edition of that old poet's Canterbury Tales Modernized; and Mr. Boyse's name is put to such Tales as were done by him. It had often beenurged to Mr. Boyse to turn his thoughts towards the drama, as that wasthe most profitable kind of poetical writing, and as many a poet ofinferior genius to him has raised large contributions on the public bythe success of their plays. But Boyse never seemed to relish thisproposal, perhaps from a consciousness that he had not spirit toprosecute the arduous task of introducing it on the stage; or that hethought himself unequal to the task. In the year 1743 Mr. Boyse published without his name, an Ode on thebattle of Dettingen, entitled Albion's Triumph; some Stanza's of whichwe shall give as a specimen of Mr. Boyse's poetry. STANZA's from ALBION's Triumph. XIII. But how, blest sovereign! shall th'unpractis'd muse These recent honours of thy reign rehearse! How to thy virtues turn her dazzled views, Or consecrate thy deeds in equal verse! Amidst the field of horrors wide display'd, How paint the calm[4] that smil'd upon, thy brow! Or speak that thought which every part surveyed, 'Directing where the rage of war should glow:'[5] While watchful angels hover'd round thy head, And victory on high the palm of glory spread. XIV. Nor royal youth reject the artless praise, Which due to worth like thine the Muse bestows, Who with prophetic extasy surveys These early wreaths of fame adorn thy brows. Aspire like Nassau in the glorious strife, Keep thy great fires' examples full in eye; But oh! for Britain's sake, consult a life The noblest triumphs are too mean to buy; And while you purchase glory--bear in mind, A prince's truest fame is to protect mankind. XV. Alike in arts and arms acknowledg'd great, Let Stair accept the lays he once could own! Nor Carteret, thou the column of the state! The friend of science! on the labour frown! Nor shall, unjust to foreign worth, the Muse In silence Austria's valiant chiefs conceal; While Aremberg's heroic line she views, And Neiperg's conduct strikes even envy pale: Names Gallia yet shall further learn to fear, And Britain, grateful still, shall treasure up as dear! XIX. But oh! acknowledg'd victor in the field, What thanks, dread sovereign, shall thy toils reward! Such honours as delivered nations yield, Such for thy virtues justly stand prepar'd: When erst on Oudenarde's decisive plain, Before thy youth, the Gaul defeated fled, The eye of fate[6] foresaw on distant Maine, The laurels now that shine around thy head: Oh should entwin'd with these fresh Olives bloom! Thy Triumphs then would shame the pride of antient Rome. XX. Mean time, while from this fair event we shew That British valour happily survives, And cherish'd by the king's propitious view, The rising plant of glory sweetly thrives! Let all domestic faction learn to cease, Till humbled Gaul no more the world alarms: Till GEORGE procures to Europe solid peace, A peace secur'd by his victorious arms: And binds in iron fetters ear to ear, Ambition, Rapine, Havock, and Despair, With all the ghastly fiends of desolating war. FOOTNOTES: [1] A Profession, which in that City is denominated a Writer. [2] Savage. [3] During his abode at Reading an accident had like to have put an end to his follies and his life together; for he had the ill-luck to fall from his garret down the whole flight of stairs; but being destined to lengthen out a useless life for some time longer, he escaped with only a severe bruising. [4] The King gave his orders with the utmost calmness, tho' no body was more expos'd. [5] Inspir'd repuls'd battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. Mr. Addison's Campaign. [6] His Majesty early distinguished himself as a volunteer at the battle of Oudenarde, in 1708. * * * * * Sir RICHARD BLACKMORE. This eminent poet and physician was son of Mr. Robert Blackmore, anAttorney at Law. He received his early education at a private countryschool, from whence, in the 13th year of his age, he was removed toWestminster, and in a short time after to the university of Oxford, where he continued thirteen years. In the early period of our author's life he was a Schoolmaster, asappears by a satirical copy of verses Dr. Drake wrote against him, consisting of upwards of forty lines, of which the following are verypungent. By nature form'd, by want a pedant made, Blackmore at first set up the whipping trade: Next quack commenc'd; then fierce with pride he swore, That tooth-ach, gout, and corns should be no more. In vain his drugs, as well as birch he tried; His boys grew blockheads, and his patients died. Some circumstances concurring, it may be presumed in Sir Richard'sfavour, he travelled into Italy, and at Padua took his degrees inphysic[1]. He gratified his curiosity in visiting France, Germany, and the LowCountries, and after spending a year and a half in this delightfulexercise, he returned to England. As Mr. Blackmore had made physic hischief study, so he repaired to London to enter upon the practice of it, and no long after he was chosen fellow of the Royal College ofPhysicians, by the charter of King James II. Sir Richard had seen toomuch of foreign slavery to be fond of domestic chains, and thereforeearly declared himself in favour of the revolution, and espoused thoseprinciples upon which it was effected. This zeal, recommended him toKing William, and in the year 1697 he was sworn one of his physicians inordinary. He was honoured by that Prince with a gold medal and chain, was likewise knighted by him, and upon his majesty's death was one ofthose who gave their opinion in the opening of the king's body. UponQueen Anne's accession to the throne, he was appointed one of herphysicians, and continued so for some time. This gentleman is author of more original poems, of a considerablelength, besides a variety of other works, than can well be conceivedcould have been composed by one man, during the longest period of humanlife. He was a chaste writer; he struggled in the cause of virtue, evenin those times, when vice had the countenance of the great, and when analmost universal degeneracy prevailed. He was not afraid to appear theadvocate of virtue, in opposition to the highest authority, and nolustre of abilities in his opponents could deter him from stripping viceof those gaudy colours, with which poets of the first eminence hadcloathed her. An elegant writer having occasion to mention the state of wit in thereign of King Charles II, characterizes the poets in the followingmanner; The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame: Nor sought for Johnson's art, nor Shakespear's flame: Themselves they studied; as they lived, they writ, Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. Their cause was gen'ral, their supports were strong, Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long. Mr. Pope somewhere says, Unhappy Dryden--in all Charles's days, Roscommon only boasts unspotted lays. He might likewise have excepted Blackmore, who was not only chaste inhis own writings, but endeavoured to correct those who prostituted thegifts of heaven, to the inglorious purposes of vice and folly, and hewas, at least, as good a poet as Roscommon. Sir Richard had, by the freedom of his censures on the libertine writersof his age, incurred the heavy displeasure of Dryden, who takes allopportunities to ridicule him, and somewhere says, that he wrote to therumbling of his chariot wheels. And as if to be at enmity with Blackmorehad been hereditary to our greatest poets, we find Mr. Pope taking upthe quarrel where Dryden left it, and persecuting this worthy man withyet a severer degree of satire. Blackmore had been informed by Curl, that Mr. Pope was the author of a Travestie on the first Psalm, which hetakes occasion to reprehend in his Essay on Polite Learning, vol. Ii. P. 270. He ever considered it as the disgrace of genius, that it should beemployed to burlesque any of the sacred compositions, which as theyspeak the language of inspiration, tend to awaken the soul to virtue, and inspire it with a sublime devotion. Warmed in this honourable cause, he might, perhaps, suffer his zeal to transport him to a height, whichhis enemies called enthusiasm; but of the two extremes, no doubt can bemade, that Blackmore's was the safest, and even dullness in favour ofvirtue (which, by the way, was not the case with Sir Richard) is moretolerable than the brightest parts employed in the cause of lewdness anddebauchery. The poem for which Sir Richard had been most celebrated, was, undoubtedly, his Creation, now deservedly become a classic. We cannotconvey a more amiable idea of this great production, than in the wordsof Mr. Addison, in his Spectator, Number 339, who, after havingcriticised on that book of Milton, which gives an account of the Worksof Creation, thus proceeds, 'I cannot conclude this book upon theCreation, without mentioning a poem which has lately appeared under thattitle. The work was undertaken with so good an intention, and executedwith so great a mastery, that it deserves to be, looked upon as one ofthe most useful and noble productions in our English verse. The readercannot but be pleased to find the depths of philosophy, enlivened withall the charms of poetry, and to see so great a strength of reasonamidst so beautiful a redundancy of the imagination. The author hasshewn us that design in all the works of nature, which necessarily leadsus to the knowledge of its first cause. In short, he has illustrated, bynumberless and incontestable instances, that divine wisdom, which theson of Sirach has so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in hisformation of the world, when he tells us, that he _created her, and sawher, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his works_. ' The design of this excellent poem is to demonstrate the self-existenceof an eternal mind, from the created and dependent existence of theuniverse, and to confute the hypothesis of the Epicureans and theFatalists, under whom all the patrons of impiety, ancient and modern, ofwhatsoever denomination may be ranged. The first of whom affirm, theworld was in time caused by chance, and the other, that it existed frometernity without a cause. 'Tis true, both these acknowledge theexistence of Gods, but by their absurd and ridiculous description ofthem, it is plain, they had nothing else in view, but to avoid theobnoxious character of atheistical philosophers. To adorn this poem, noembellishments are borrowed from the exploded and obsolete theology ofthe ancient idolaters of Greece and Rome; no rapturous invocations areaddressed to their idle deities, nor any allusions to their fabulousactions. 'I have more than once (says Sir Richard) publicly declared myopinion, that a Christian poet cannot but appear monstrous andridiculous in a Pagan dress. That though it should be granted, that theHeathen religion might be allowed a place in light and loose songs, mockheroic, and the lower lyric compositions, yet in Christian poems, of thesublime and greater kind, a mixture of the Pagan theology must, by allwho are masters of reflexion and good sense, be condemned, if not asimpious, at least, as impertinent and absurd. And this is a truth soclear and evident, that I make no doubt it will, by degrees, force itsway, and prevail over the contrary practice. Should Britons recovertheir virtue, and reform their taste, they could no more bear theHeathen religion in verse, than in prose. Christian poets, as well asChristian preachers, the business of both being to instruct the people, though the last only are wholly appropriated to it, should endeavour toconfirm, and spread their own religion. If a divine should begin hissermon with a solemn prayer to Bacchus or Apollo, to Mars or Venus, whatwould the people think of their preacher? and is it not as really, though not equally absurd, for a poet in a great and serious poem, wherein he celebrates some wonderful and happy event of divineprovidence, or magnifies the illustrious instrument that was honoured tobring the event about, to address his prayer to false deities, and cryfor help to the abominations of the heathen?' Mr. Gildon, in his Compleat Art of Poetry, after speaking of our authorin the most respectful terms, says, 'that notwithstanding his merit, this admirable author did not think himself upon the same footing withHomer. ' But how different is the judgment of Mr. Dennis, who, in thisparticular, opposes his friend Mr. Gildon. 'Blackmore's action (says he) has neither unity, integrity, morality, nor universality, and consequently he can have no fable, and no heroicpoem. His narration is neither probable, delightful, nor wonderful. Hischaracters have none of these necessary qualifications. --The thingscontained in his narrations, are neither in their own nature delightfulnor numerous enough, nor rightly disposed, nor surprizing, norpathetic;' nay he proceeds so far as to say Sir Richard has no genius;first establishing it as a principle, 'That genius is known by a furiousjoy, and pride of soul, on the conception of an extraordinary hint. Manymen (says he) have their hints without these motions of fury and prideof soul; because they want fire enough to agitate their spirits; andthese we call cold writers. Others who have a great deal of fire, buthave not excellent organs, feel the fore-mentioned motions, without theextraordinary hints; and these we call fustian writers. ' And he declares, that Sir Richard hath neither the hints nor themotions[2]. But Dennis has not contented himself, with chargingBlackmore with want of genius; but has likewise the following remarks toprove him a bad Church of England man: These are his words. 'All Mr. Blackmore's coelestial machines, as they cannot be defended so much asby common received opinion, so are they directly contrary to thedoctrine of the church of England, that miracles had ceased a long timebefore prince Arthur come into the world. Now if the doctrine of thechurch of England be true, as we are obliged to believe, then are allthe coelestial machines of prince Arthur unsufferable, as wanting notonly human but divine probability. But if the machines are sufferable, that is, if they have so much as divine probability, then it follows ofnecessity, that the doctrine of the church is false; so that I leave itto every impartial clergyman to consider. ' If no greater objection could be brought against Blackmore's PrinceArthur, than those raised by Mr. Dennis, the Poem would be faultless;for what has the doctrine of the church of England to do with an epicpoem? It is not the doctrine of the church of England, to suppose thatthe apostate spirits put the power of the Almighty to proof, by openlyresisting his will, and maintaining an obstinate struggle with theangels commissioned by him, to drive them from the mansions of thebless'd; or that they attempted after their perdition, to recover heavenby violence. These are not the doctrines of the church of England; butthey are conceived in a true spirit of poetry, and furnish thosetremendous descriptions with which Milton has enriched his ParadiseLost. Whoever has read Mr. Dryden's dedication of his Juvenal, will thereperceive, that in that great man's opinion, coelestial machines mightwith the utmost propriety be introduced in an Epic Poem, built upon achristian model; but at the same time he adds, 'The guardian angels ofstates and kingdoms are not to be managed by a vulgar hand. ' Perhaps it may be true, that the guardian angels of states and kingdomsmay have been too powerful for the conduct of Sir Richard Blackmore; buthe has had at least the merit of paving the way, and has set an examplehow Epic Poems may be written, upon the principles of christianity; andhas enjoyed a comfort of which no bitterness, or raillery can deprivehim, namely the virtuous intention of doing good, and as he himselfexpresses it, 'of rescuing the Muses from the hands of ravishers, and restoring them again to their chaste and pure mansions. ' Sir Richard Blackmore died on the 9th of October 1729, in an advancedage; and left behind him the character of a worthy man, a great poet, and a friend to religion. Towards the close of his life, his business asa physician declined, but as he was a man of prudent conduct, it is notto be supposed that he was subjected to any want by that accident, forin his earlier years he was considered amongst the first in hisprofession, and his practice was consequently very extensive. The decay of his employment might partly be owing to old age andinfirmities, which rendered him less active than before, and partly tothe diminution his character might suffer by the eternal war, which thewits waged against him, who spared neither bitterness nor calumny; and, perhaps, Sir Richard may be deemed the only poet, who ever suffered forhaving too much religion and morality. The following is the most accurate account we could obtain of hiswritings, which for the sake of distinction we have divided intoclasses, by which the reader may discern how various and numerous hiscompositions are--To have written so much upon so great a variety ofsubjects, and to have written nothing contemptibly, must indicate agenius much superior to the common standard. --His versification isalmost every where beautiful; and tho' he has been ridiculed in theTreatise of the Bathos, published in Pope's works, for being too minutein his descriptions of the objects of nature; yet it rather proceededfrom a philosophical exactness, than a penury of genius. It is really astonishing to find Dean Swift, joining issue with lessreligious wits, in laughing at Blackmore's works, of which he makes aludicrous detail, since they were all written in the cause of virtue, which it was the Dean's business more immediately to support, as on thisaccount he enjoy'd his preferment: But the Dean perhaps, was one ofthose characters, who chose to sacrifice his cause to his joke. This wasa treatment Sir Richard could never have expected at the hands of aclergyman. A List of Sir Richard Blackmore'sWorks. THEOLOGICAL. I. Just Prejudices against the Arian Hypothesis, Octavo. 1725 II. Modern Arians Unmask'd, Octavo, 1721 III. Natural Theology; or Moral Duties considered apart from positive;with some Observations on the Desirableness and Necessity of asuper-natural Revelation, Octavo, 1728 IV. The accomplished Preacher; or an Essay upon Divine Eloquence, Octavo, 1731 This Tract was published after the author's death, in pursuance of hisexpress order, by the Reverend Mr. John White of Nayland in Essex; whoattended on Sir Richard during his last illness, in which he manifestedan elevated piety towards God, and faith in Christ, the Saviour of theWorld. Mr. White also applauds him as a person in whose character greatcandour and the finest humanity were the prevailing qualities. Heobserves also that he had the greatest veneration for the clergy of theChurch of England, whereof he was a member. No one, says he, did morehighly magnify our office, or had a truer esteem and honour for ourpersons, discharging our office as we ought, and supporting the holycharacter we bear, with an unblameable conversation, POETICAL. I. Creation, a Philosophical Poem, demonstrating the Existence andProvidence of God, in seven Books, Octavo, 1712 II. The Redeemer, a Poem in six Books, Octavo, 1721 III. Eliza, a Poem in ten Books, Folio, 1705 IV. King Arthur, in ten Books, 1697 V. Prince Arthur, in ten Books, 1695 VI. King Alfred, in twelve books, Octavo, 1723 VII. A Paraphrase on the Book of Job; the Songs of Moses, Deborah andDavid; the ii. Viii. Ciii. Cxiv, cxlviii. Psalms. Four chapters ofIsaiah, and the third of Habbakkuk, Folio and Duodecimo, 1716 VIII. A New Version of the Book of Psalms, Duodecimo, 1720 IX. The Nature of Man, a Poem in three Books, Octavo, 1720 X. A Collection of Poems, Octavo, 1716 XI. Essays on several Subjects, 2 vols. Octavo. Vol. I. On Epic Poetry, Wit, False Virtue, Immortality of the Soul, Laws of Nature, Origin ofCivil Power. Vol. II. On Athesim, Spleen, Writing, Future Felicity, Divine Love. 1716 XII. History of the Conspiracy against King William the IIId, 1696, Octavo, 1723 MEDICINAL. I. A Discourse on the Plague, with a preparatory Account of MalignantFevers, in two Parts; containing an Explication of the Nature of thoseDiseases, and the Method of Cure, Octavo, 1720 II. A Treatise on the Small-Pox, in two Parts; containing an Account ofthe Nature, and several Kinds of that Disease; with the proper Methodsof Cure: And a Dissertation upon the modern Practice of Inoculation, Octavo, 1722 III. A Treatise on Consumptions, and other Distempers belonging to theBreast and Lungs, Octavo, 1724 VI. A Treatise on the Spleen and Vapours; or Hyppocondriacal andHysterical Affections; with three Discourses on the Nature and Cure ofthe Cholic, Melancholly and Palsy, Octavo, 1725 V. A Critical Dissertation upon the Spleen, so far as concerns thefollowing Question, viz. Whether the Spleen is necessary or useful tothe animal possessed of it? 1725 VI. Discourses on the Gout, Rheumatism, and the King's Evil; containingan Explanation of the Nature, Causes, and different Species of thoseDiseases, and the Method of curing them, Octavo, 1726 VII. Dissertations on a Dropsy, a Tympany, the Jaundice, the Stone, andthe Diabetes, Octavo, 1727 Single POEMS by Sir _Richard Blackmore_. I. His Satire against Wit, Folio, 1700 II. His Hymn to the Light of the World; with a short Description of theCartoons at Hampton-Court, Folio, 1703 III. His Advice to the Poets, Folio, 1706 IV. His Kit-Kats, Folio, 1708 It might justly be esteemed an injury to Blackmore, to dismiss his lifewithout a specimen from his beautiful and philosophical Poem on theCreation. In his second Book he demonstrates the existence of a God, from the wisdom and design which appears in the motions of the heavenlyorbs; but more particularly in the solar system. First in the situationof the Sun, and its due distance from the earth. The fatal consequencesof its having been placed, otherwise than it is. Secondly, he considersits diurnal motion, whence the change of the day and night proceeds;which we shall here insert as a specimen of the elegant versification, and sublime energy of this Poem. Next see Lucretian Sages, see the Sun, His course diurnal, and his annual run. How in his glorious race he moves along, Gay as a bridegroom, as a giant strong. How his unweari'd labour he repeats, Returns at morning, and at eve retreats; And by the distribution of his light, Now gives to man the day, and now the night: Night, when the drowsy swain, and trav'ler cease Their daily toil, and sooth their limbs with ease; When all the weary sons of woe restrain Their yielding cares with slumber's silken chain, Solace sad grief, and lull reluctant pain. And while the sun, ne'er covetous of rest, Flies with such rapid speed from east to west, In tracks oblique he thro' the zodiac rolls, Between the northern and the southern poles; From which revolving progress thro' the skies. The needful seasons of the year arise: And as he now advances, now retreats, Whence winter colds proceed, and summer heats, He qualifies, and chears the air by turns, Which winter freezes, and which summer burns. Thus his kind rays the two extremes reduce, And keep a temper fit for nature's use. The frost and drought by this alternate pow'r. The earth's prolific energy restore. The lives of man and beast demand the change; Hence fowls the air, and fish the ocean range. Of heat and cold, this just successive reign, Which does the balance of the year maintain, The gard'ner's hopes, and farmer's patience props, Gives vernal verdure, and autumnal crops. FOOTNOTES: [1] Jacob. [2] Preface to Remarks on Prince Arthur, octavo 1696. * * * * * Mr. JAMES THOMSON. This celebrated poet, from whom his country has derived the mostdistinguished honour, was son of the revd. Mr. Thomson, a minister ofthe church of Scotland, in the Presbytery of Jedburgh. He was born in the place where his father was minister, about thebeginning of the present century, and received the rudiments of hiseducation at a private country school. Mr. Thomson, in the early part ofhis life, so far from appearing to possess a sprightly genius, wasconsidered by his school master, and those which directed his education, as being really without a common share of parts. While he was improving himself in the Latin and Greek tongues at thiscountry school, he often visited a minister, whose charge lay in thesame presbytery with his father's, the revd. Mr. Rickerton, a man ofsuch amazing powers, that many persons of genius, as well as Mr. Thomson, who conversed with him, have been astonished, that such greatmerit should be buried in an obscure part of the country, where he hadno opportunity to display himself, and, except upon periodical meetingsof the ministers, seldom an opportunity of conversing with men oflearning. Though Mr. Thomson's schoolmaster could not discover that he was endowedwith a common portion of understanding, yet Mr. Rickerton was not soblind to his genius; he distinguished our author's early propension topoetry, and had once in his hands some of the first attempts Mr. Thomsonever made in that province. It is not to be doubted but our young poet greatly improved while hecontinued to converse with Mr. Rickerton, who, as he was a philosophicalman, inspired his mind with a love of the Sciences, nor were the revd. Gentleman's endeavours in vain, for Mr. Thomson has shewn in his workshow well he was acquainted with natural and moral philosophy, acircumstance which, perhaps, is owing to the early impressions hereceived from Mr. Rickerton. Nature, which delights in diversifying her gifts, does not bestow uponevery one a power of displaying the abilities she herself has granted tothe best advantage. Though Mr. Rickerton could discover that Mr. Thomson, so far from being without parts, really possessed a very finegenius, yet he never could have imagined, as he often declared, thatthere existed in his mind such powers, as even by the best cultivationcould have raised him to so high a degree of eminence amongst the poets. When Mr. Rickerton first saw Mr. Thomson's Winter, which was in aBookseller's shop at Edinburgh, he stood amazed, and after he had readthe lines quoted below, he dropt the poem from his hand in the extasy ofadmiration. The lines are his induction to Winter, than which few poetsever rose to a more sublime height[1]. After spending the usual time at a country school in the acquisition ofthe dead languages, Mr. Thomson was removed to the university ofEdinburgh, in order to finish his education, and be fitted for theministry. Here, as at the country school, he made no great figure: hiscompanions thought contemptuously of him, and the masters under whom hestudied, had not a higher opinion of our poet's abilities, than theirpupils. His course of attendance upon the classes of philosophy beingfinished, he was entered in the Divinity Hall, as one of the candidatesfor the ministry, where the students, before they are permitted to enteron their probation, must yield six years attendance. It was in the second year of Mr. Thomson's attendance upon this schoolof divinity, whose professor at that time was the revd. And learned Mr. William Hamilton, a person whom he always mentioned with respect, thatour author was appointed by the professor to write a discourse on thePower of the Supreme Being. When his companions heard their taskassigned him, they could not but arraign the professor's judgment, forassigning so copious a theme to a young man, from whom nothing equal tothe subject could be expected. But when Mr. Thomson delivered thediscourse, they had then reason to reproach themselves for want ofdiscernment, and for indulging a contempt of one superior to thebrightest genius amongst them. This discourse was so sublimely elevated, that both the professor and the students who heard it delivered, wereastonished. It was written in blank verse, for which Mr. Hamiltonrebuked him, as being improper upon that occasion. Such of hisfellow-students as envied him the success of this discourse, and theadmiration it procured him, employed their industry to trace him as aplagiary; for they could not be persuaded that a youth seemingly so muchremoved from the appearance of genius, could compose a declamation, inwhich learning, genius, and judgment had a very great share. Theirsearch, however, proved fruitless, and Mr. Thomson continued, while heremained at the university, to possess the honour of that discourse, without any diminution. We are not certain upon what account it was that Mr. Thomson dropt thenotion of going into the ministry; perhaps he imagined it a way of lifetoo severe for the freedom of his disposition: probably he declinedbecoming a presbyterian minister, from a consciousness of his owngenius, which gave him a right to entertain more ambitious views; for itseldom happens, that a man of great parts can be content with obscurity, or the low income of sixty pounds a year, in some retired corner of aneglected country; which must have been the lot of Thomson, if he hadnot extended his views beyond the sphere of a minister of theestablished church of Scotland. After he had dropt all thoughts of the clerical profession, he began tobe more sollicitous of distinguishing his genius, as he placed somedependence upon it, and hoped to acquire such patronage as would enablehim to appear in life with advantage. But the part of the world where hethen was, could not be very auspicious to such hopes; for which reasonhe began to turn his eyes towards the grand metropolis. The first poem of Mr. Thomson's, which procured him any reputation fromthe public, was his Winter, of which mention is already made, andfurther notice will be taken; but he had private approbation for severalof his pieces, long before his Winter was published, or before hequitted his native country. He wrote a Paraphrase on the 104th Psalm, which, after it had received the approbation of Mr. Rickerton, hepermitted his friends to copy. By some means or other this Paraphrasefell into the hands of Mr. Auditor Benson, who, expressing hisadmiration of it, said, that he doubted not if the author was in London, but he would meet with encouragement equal to his merit. Thisobservation of Benson's was communicated to Thomson by a letter, and, nodoubt, had its natural influence in inflaming his heart, and hasteninghis journey to the metropolis. He soon set out for Newcastle, where hetook shipping, and landed at Billinsgate. When he arrived, it was hisimmediate care to wait on [2]Mr. Mallet, who then lived inHanover-Square in the character of tutor to his grace the duke ofMontrose, and his late brother lord G. Graham. Before Mr. Thomsonreached Hanover-Square, an accident happened to him, which, as it maydivert some of our readers, we shall here insert. He had receivedletters of recommendation from a gentleman of rank in Scotland, to somepersons of distinction in London, which he had carefully tied up in hispocket-handkerchief. As he sauntered along the streets, he could notwithhold his admiration of the magnitude, opulence, and various objectsthis great metropolis continually presented to his view. These mustnaturally have diverted the imagination of a man of less reflexion, andit is not greatly to be wondered at, if Mr. Thomson's mind was soingrossed by these new presented scenes, as to be absent to the busycrowds around him. He often stopped to gratify his curiosity, theconsequences of which he afterwards experienced. With an honestsimplicity of heart, unsuspecting, as unknowing of guilt, he was tentimes longer in reaching Hanover-Square, than one less sensible andcurious would have been. When he arrived, he found he had paid for hiscuriosity; his pocket was picked of his handkerchief, and all theletters that were wrapped up in it. This accident would have proved verymortifying to a man less philosophical than Thomson; but he was of atemper never to be agitated; he then smiled at it, and frequently madehis companions laugh at the relation. It is natural to suppose, that as soon as Mr. Thomson arrived in town, he shewed to some of his friends his poem on Winter[3]. The approbationit might meet with from them, was not, however, a sufficientrecommendation to introduce it to the world. He had the mortification ofoffering it to several Booksellers without success, who, perhaps, notbeing qualified themselves to judge of the merit of the performance, refused to risque the necessary expences, on the work of an obscurestranger, whose name could be no recommendation to it. These were severerepulses; but, at last, the difficulty was surmounted. Mr. Mallet, offered it to Mr. Millan, now Bookseller at Charing-Cross, who withoutmaking any scruples, printed it. For some time Mr. Millan had reason tobelieve, that he should be a loser by his frankness; for the impressionlay like as paper on his hands, few copies being sold, 'till by anaccident its merit was discovered. [4] One Mr. Whatley, a man of sometaste in letters, but perfectly enthusiastic in the admiration of anything which pleased him, happened to cast his eye upon it, and findingsomething which delighted him, perused the whole, not without growingastonishment, that the poem should be unknown, and the author obscure. He learned from the Bookseller the circumstances already mentioned, and, in the extasy of his admiration of this poem, he went from Coffee-houseto Coffee house, pointing out its beauties, and calling upon all men oftaste, to exert themselves in rescuing one of the greatest geniuses thatever appeared, from obscurity. This had a very happy effect, for, in ashort time, the impression was bought up, and they who read the poem, had no reason to complain of Mr. Whatley's exaggeration; for they foundit so compleatly beautiful, that they could not but think themselveshappy in doing justice to a man of so much merit. The poem of Winter is, perhaps, the most finished, as well as mostpicturesque, of any of the Four Seasons. The scenes are grand andlively. It is in that season that the creation appears in distress, andnature assumes a melancholy air; and an imagination so poetical asThomson's, could not but furnish those awful and striking images, whichfill the soul with a solemn dread of _those Vapours, and Storms, andClouds_, he has so well painted. Description is the peculiar talent ofThomson; we tremble at his thunder in summer, we shiver with hiswinter's cold, and we rejoice at the renovation of nature, by the sweetinfluence of spring. But the poem deserves a further illustration, andwe shall take an opportunity of pointing out some of its most strikingbeauties; but before we speak of these, we beg leave to relate thefollowing anecdote. As soon as Winter was published, Mr. Thomson sent a copy of it as apresent to Mr. Joseph Mitchell, his countryman, and brother poet, who, not liking many parts of it, inclosed to him the following couplet; Beauties and faults so thick lye scattered here, Those I could read, if these were not so near. To this Mr. Thomson answered extempore. Why all not faults, injurious Mitchell; why Appears one beauty to thy blasted eye; Damnation worse than thine, if worse can be, Is all I ask, and all I want from thee. Upon a friend's remonstrating to Mr. Thomson, that the expression ofblasted eye would look like a personal reflexion, as Mr. Mitchell hadreally that misfortune, he changed the epithet blasted, into blasting. But to return: After our poet has represented the influence of Winter upon the face ofnature, and particularly described the severities of the frost, he hasthe following beautiful transition; --Our infant winter sinks, Divested of its grandeur; should our eye Astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone; Where, for relentless months, continual night Holds o'er the glitt'ring waste her starry reign: There thro' the prison of unbounded wilds Barr'd by the hand of nature from escape, Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around Strikes his sad eye, but desarts lost in snow; And heavy loaded groves; and solid floods, That stretch athwart the solitary waste, Their icy horrors to the frozen main; And chearless towns far distant, never bless'd Save when its annual course, the caravan Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay[5] With news of human-kind. Yet there life glows; Yet cherished there, beneath the shining waste, The furry nations harbour: tipt with jet Fair ermines, spotless as the snows they press; Sables of glossy black; and dark embrown'd Or beauteous, streak'd with many a mingled hue, Thousands besides, the costly pride of courts. The description of a thaw is equally picturesque. The following linesconsequent upon it are excellent. --Those sullen seas That wash th'ungenial pole, will rest no more Beneath the shackles of the mighty North; But rousing all their waves resistless heave. -- And hark! the lengthen'd roar continuous runs Athwart the rested deep: at once it bursts And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds. Ill fares the bark, with trembling wretches charg'd, That tost amid the floating fragments, moors Beneath the shelter of an icy isle, While night o'erwhelms the sea, and horror looks More horrible. Can human force endure Th' assembled mischiefs that besiege 'em round! Heart-gnawing hunger, fainting weariness, The roar of winds and waves, the crush of ice, Now ceasing, now renew'd with louder rage, And in dire ecchoes bellowing round the main. As the induction of Mr. Thomson's Winter has been celebrated for itssublimity, so the conclusion has likewise a claim to praise, for thetenderness of the sentiments, and the pathetic force of the expression. 'Tis done!--Dread winter spreads her latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends Her desolate domain. Behold, fond man! See here thy pictur'd life; pass some few years, Thy flow'ring spring, thy summer's ardent strength, Thy sober autumn fading into age, And page concluding winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. -- He concludes the poem by enforcing a reliance on providence, which willin proper compensate for all those seeming severities, with which goodmen are often oppressed. --Ye good distrest! Ye noble few! who here unbending stand Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile, And what your bounded view which only saw A little part, deemed evil, is no more: The storms of Wintry time will quickly pass, And one unbounded Spring encircle all. The poem of Winter meeting with such general applause, Mr. Thomson wasinduced to write the other three seasons, which he finished with equalsuccess. His Autumn was next given to the public, and is the mostunfinished of the four; it is not however without its beauties, of whichmany have considered the story of Lavinia, naturally and artfullyintroduced, as the most affecting. The story is in itself moving andtender. It is perhaps no diminution to the merit of this beautiful tale, that the hint of it is taken from the book of Ruth in the Old Testament. The author next published the Spring, the induction to which is verypoetical and beautiful. Come gentle Spring, etherial mildness come, And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, While music wakes around, veil'd in a show'r Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. It is addressed to the countess of Hertford, with the following elegantcompliment, O Hertford! fitted, or to shine in courts With unaffected grace, or walk the plains, With innocence and meditation joined, In soft assemblage; listen to the song, Which thy own season paints; while nature all Is blooming, and benevolent like thee. -- The descriptions in this poems are mild, like the season they paint; buttowards the end of it, the poet takes occasion to warn his countrymenagainst indulging the wild and irregular passion of love. Thisdigression is one of the most affecting in the whole piece, and while hepaints the language of a lover's breast agitated with the pangs ofstrong desire, and jealous transports, he at the same time dissuades theladies from being too credulous in the affairs of gallantry. Herepresents the natural influence of spring, in giving a new glow to thebeauties of the fair creation, and firing their hearts with the passionof love. The shining moisture swells into her eyes, In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves, With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize Her veins; and all her yielding soul is love. From the keen gaze her lover turns away, Full of the dear extatic power, and sick With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair! Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts: Dare not th'infectious sigh; the pleading look, Down-cast, and low, in meek submission drest, But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower, Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch, While evening draws her crimson curtains round, Trust your soft minutes with betraying man. Summer has many manly and striking beauties, of which the Hymn to theSun, is one of the sublimest and most masterly efforts of genius we haveever seen. --There are some hints taken from Cowley's beautiful Hymn toLight. --Mr. Thomson has subjoined a Hymn to the Seasons, which is notinferior to the foregoing in poetical merit. The Four Seasons considered separately, each Season as a distinct poemhas been judged defective in point of plan. There appears no particulardesign; the parts are not subservient to one another; nor is there anydependance or connection throughout; but this perhaps is a fault almostinseparable from a subject in itself so diversified, as not to admit ofsuch limitation. He has not indeed been guilty of any incongruity; thescenes described in spring, are all peculiar to that season, and thedigressions, which make up a fourth part of the poem, flow naturally. Hehas observed the same regard to the appearances of nature in the otherseasons; but then what he has described in the beginning of any of theseasons, might as well be placed in the middle, and that in the middle, as naturally towards the close. So that each season may rather be calledan assemblage of poetical ideas, than a poem, as it seems writtenwithout a plan. Mr. Thomson's poetical diction in the Seasons is very peculiar to him:His manner of writing is entirely his own: He has introduced a number ofcompound words; converted substantives into verbs, and in short hascreated a kind of new language for himself. His stile has been blamedfor its singularity and stiffness; but with submission to superiorjudges, we cannot but be of opinion, that though this observation istrue, yet is it admirably fitted for description. The object he paintsstands full before the eye, we admire it in all its lustre, and whowould not rather enjoy a perfect inspection into a natural curiositythrough a microscope capable of discovering all the minute beauties, though its exterior form should not be comely, than perceive an objectbut faintly, through a microscope ill adapted for the purpose, howeverits outside may be decorated. Thomson has a stiffness in his manner, butthen his manner is new; and there never yet arose a distinguishedgenius, who had not an air peculiarly his own. 'Tis true indeed, thetow'ring sublimity of Mr. Thomson's stile is ill adapted for the tenderpassions, which will appear more fully when we consider him as adramatic writer, a sphere in which he is not so excellent as in otherspecies of poetry. The merit of these poems introduced our author to the acquaintance andesteem of several persons, distinguished by their rank, or eminent fortheir talents:--Among the latter Dr. Rundle, afterwards bishop of Derry, was so pleased with the spirit of benevolence and piety, which breathesthroughout the Seasons, that he recommended him to the friendship of thelate lord chancellor Talbot, who committed to him the care of his eldestson, then preparing to set out on his travels into France and Italy. With this young nobleman, Mr. Thomson performed (what is commonlycalled) The Tour of Europe, and stay'd abroad about three years, whereno doubt he inriched his mind with the noble monuments of antiquity, andthe conversation of ingenious foreigners. 'Twas by comparing modernItaly with the idea he had of the antient Romans, which furnished himwith the hint of writing his Liberty, in three parts. The first isAntient and Modern Italy compared. The second Greece, and the thirdBritain. The whole is addressed to the eldest son of lord Talbot, whodied in the year 1734, upon his travels. Amongst Mr. Thomson's poems, is one to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton, of which we shall say no more than this, that if he had never wrote anything besides, he deserved to enjoy a distinguished reputation amongstthe poets. Speaking of the amazing genius of Newton, he says, Th'aerial flow of sound was known to him, From whence it first in wavy circles breaks. Nor could the darting beam of speed immense, Escape his swift pursuit, and measuring eye. Ev'n light itself, which every thing displays, Shone undiscover'd, till his brighter mind Untwisted all the shining robe of day; And from the whitening undistinguished blaze, Collecting every separated ray, To the charm'd eye educ'd the gorgeous train Of parent colours. First, the flaming red, Sprung vivid forth, the tawny orange next, And next refulgent yellow; by whose side Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing green. Then the pure blue, that swells autumnal skies, Ætherial play'd; and then of sadder hue, Emerg'd the deepen'd indico, as when The heavy skirted evening droops with frost, While the last gleamings of refracted light, Died in the fainting violet away. These when the clouds distil the rosy shower, Shine out distinct along the watr'y bow; While o'er our heads the dewy vision bends, Delightful melting in the fields beneath. Myriads of mingling dyes from these result, And myriads still remain--Infinite source Of beauty ever-flushing, ever new. About the year 1728 Mr. Thomson wrote a piece called Britannia, thepurport of which was to rouse the nation to arms, and excite in thespirit of the people a generous disposition to revenge the injuries donethem by the Spaniards: This is far from being one of his best poems. Upon the death of his generous patron, lord chancellor Talbot, for whomthe nation joined with Mr. Thomson in the most sincere inward sorrow, hewrote an elegiac poem, which does honour to the author, and to thememory of that great man he meant to celebrate. He enjoyed, during lordTalbot's life, a very profitable place, which that worthy patriot hadconferred upon him, in recompence of the care he had taken in formingthe mind of his son. Upon his death, his lordship's successor reservedthe place for Mr. Thomson, and always expected when he should wait uponhim, and by performing some formalities enter into the possession of it. This, however, by an unaccountable indolence he neglected, and at lastthe place, which he might have enjoyed with so little trouble, wasbestowed upon another. Amongst the latest of Mr. Thomson's productions is his Castle ofIndolence, a poem of so extraordinary merit, that perhaps we are notextravagant, when we declare, that this single performance discoversmore genius and poetical judgment, than all his other works puttogether. We cannot here complain of want of plan, for it is artfullylaid, naturally conducted, and the descriptions rise in a beautifulsuccession: It is written in imitation of Spenser's stile; and theobsolete words, with the simplicity of diction in some of the lines, which borders on the ludicrous, have been thought necessary to make theimitation more perfect. 'The stile (says Mr. Thomson) of that admirable poet, as well as themeasure in which he wrote, are, as it were, appropriated by custom toall allegorical poems written in our language; just as in French, thestile of Marot, who lived under Francis the 1st, has been used in Talesand familiar Epistles, by the politest writers of the age of Louis theXIVth. ' We shall not at present enquire how far Mr. Thomson is justifiable inusing the obsolete words of Spenser: As Sir Roger de Coverley observedon another occasion, much may be said on both sides. One thing iscertain, Mr. Thomson's imitation is excellent, and he must have nopoetry in his imagination, who can read the picturesque descriptions inhis Castle of Indolence, without emotion. In his LXXXIst Stanza he hasthe following picture of beauty: Here languid beauty kept her pale-fac'd court, Bevies of dainty dames, of high degree, From every quarter hither made resort; Where, from gross mortal care, and bus'ness free, They lay, pour'd out in ease and luxury: Or should they a vain shew of work assume, Alas! and well-a-day! what can it be? To knot, to twist, to range the vernal bloom; But far is cast the distaff, spinning-wheel and loom. He pursues the description in the subsequent Stanza. Their only labour was to kill the time; And labour dire it is, and weary woe. They fit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhime; Then rising sudden, to the glass they go, Or saunter forth, with tott'ring steps and slow: This soon too rude an exercise they find; Strait on the couch their limbs again they throw, Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclin'd, And court the vapoury God soft breathing in the wind. In the two following Stanzas, the dropsy and hypochondria arebeautifully described. Of limbs enormous, but withal unsound, Soft swoln and pale, here lay the Hydropsy: Unwieldly man; with belly monstrous round, For ever fed with watery supply; For still he drank, and yet he still was dry. And moping here did Hypochondria sit, Mother of spleen, in robes of various die, Who vexed was full oft with ugly fit; And some her frantic deem'd, and some her deem'd a wit. A lady proud she was, of antient blood, Yet oft her fear, her pride made crouchen low: She felt, or fancy'd in her fluttering mood, All the diseases which the spitals know, And sought all physic which the shops bestow; And still new leaches, and new drugs would try, Her humour ever wavering too and fro; For sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes cry, And sudden waxed wroth, and all she knew not why. The speech of Sir Industry in the second Canto, when he enumerates thevarious blessings which flow from action, is surely one of the highestinstances of genius which can be produced in poetry. In the secondstanza, before he enters upon the subject, the poet complains of thedecay of patronage, and the general depravity of taste; and in the thirdbreaks out into the following exclamation, which is so perfectlybeautiful, that it would be the greatest mortification not to transcribeit, I care not, fortune, what you me deny: You cannot rob me of free nature's grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shews her bright'ning face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve: Let health my nerves, and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave; Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. Before we quit this poem, permit us, reader, to give you two morestanzas from it: the first shews Mr. Thomson's opinion of Mr. Quin as anactor; of their friendship we may say more hereafter. STANZA LXVII. Of the CASTLE of INDOLENCE. Here whilom ligg'd th'Aesopus[6] of the age; But called by fame, in foul ypricked deep, A noble pride restor'd him to the stage, And rous'd him like a giant from his sleep. Even from his slumbers we advantage reap: With double force th'enliven'd scene he wakes, Yet quits not nature's bounds. He knows to keep Each due decorum: now the heart he shakes, And now with well-urg'd sense th'enlighten'd judgment takes. The next stanza (wrote by a friend of the author's, as the notementions) is a friendly, though familiar, compliment; it gives us animage of our bard himself, at once entertaining, striking, and just. STANZA LXVIII. A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems, Who void of envy, guile, and lust of gain, On virtue still, and nature's pleasing themes, Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain: The world forsaking with a calm disdain. Here laugh'd he, careless in his easy seat; Here quaff'd, encircl'd with the joyous train, Oft moralizing sage: his ditty sweet He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat. We shall now consider Mr. Thomson as a dramatic writer. In the year 1730, about six years after he had been in London, hebrought a Tragedy upon the stage, called Sophonisba, built upon theCarthaginian history of that princess, and upon which the famousNathaniel Lee has likewise written a Tragedy. This play met with afavourable reception from the public. Mrs. Oldfield greatlydistinguished herself in the character of Sophonisba, which Mr. Thomsonacknowledges in his preface. --'I cannot conclude, says he, withoutowning my obligations to those concerned in the representation. Theyhave indeed done me more than justice; Whatever was designed as amiableand engageing in Masinessa shines out in Mr. Wilks's action. Mrs. Oldfield, in the character of Sophonisba, has excelled what even in thefondness of an author I could either wish or imagine. The grace, dignityand happy variety of her action, have been universally applauded, andare truly admirable. ' Before we quit this play, we must not omit two anecdotes which happenedthe first night of the representation. Mr. Thomson makes one of hischaracters address Sophonisba in a line, which some critics reckoned thefalse pathetic. O! Sophonisba, Sophonisba Oh! Upon which a smart from the pit cried out, Oh! Jamey Thomson, Jamey Thomson Oh! However ill-natured this critic might be in interrupting the action ofthe play for sake of a joke; yet it is certain that the line ridiculeddoes partake of the false pathetic, and should be a warning to tragicpoets to guard against the swelling stile; for by aiming at the sublime, they are often betrayed into the bombast. --Mr. Thomson who could not butfeel all the emotions and sollicitudes of a young author the first nightof his play, wanted to place himself in some obscure part of the house, in order to see the representation to the best advantage, without beingknown as the poet. --He accordingly placed himself in the upper gallery;but such was the power of nature in him, that he could not helprepeating the parts along with the players, and would sometimes whisperto himself, 'now such a scene is to open, ' by which he was soondiscovered to be the author, by some gentlemen who could not, on accountof the great crowd, be situated in any other part of the house. After an interval of four years, Mr. Thomson exhibited to the public hissecond Tragedy called Agamemnon. Mr. Pope gave an instance of his greataffection to Mr. Thomson on this occasion: he wrote two letters in itsfavour to the managers, and honoured the representation on the firstnight with his presence. As he had not been for some time at a play, this was considered as a very great instance of esteem. Mr. Thomsonsubmitted to have this play considerably shortened in the action, assome parts were too long, other unnecessary, in which not the characterbut the poet spoke; and though not brought on the stage till the monthof April, it continued to be acted with applause for several nights. Many have remark'd that his characters in his plays are more frequentlydescriptive, than expressive, of the passions; but they all abound withuncommon beauties, with fire, and depth of thought, with noblesentiments and nervous writing. His speeches are often too long, especially for an English audience; perhaps sometimes they areunnaturally lengthened: and 'tis certainly a greater relief to the earto have the dialogue more broken; yet our attention is well rewarded, and in no passages, perhaps, in his tragedies, more so, than in theaffecting account Melisander [7] gives of his being betrayed, and lefton the desolate island. --'Tis thus my friend. Whilst sunk in unsuspecting sleep I lay, Some midnight ruffians rush'd into my chamber, Sent by Egisthus, who my presence deem'd Obstructive (so I solve it) to his views, Black views, I fear, as you perhaps may know, Sudden they seiz'd, and muffled up in darkness, Strait bore me to the sea, whose instant prey I did conclude myself, when first around The ship unmoor'd, I heard the chiding wave. But these fel tools of cruel power, it seems, Had orders in a desart isle to leave me; There hopeless, helpless, comfortless, to prove The utmost gall and bitterness of death. Thus malice often overshoots itself, And some unguarded accident betrays The man of blood. --Next night--a dreary night! Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad Isles, Where never human foot had mark'd the shore, These ruffians left me. --Yet believe me, Arcas, Such is the rooted love we bear mankind, All ruffians as they were, I never heard A sound so dismal as their parting oars. -- Then horrid silence follow'd, broke alone By the low murmurs of the restless deep, Mixt with the doubtful breeze that now and then Sigh'd thro' the mournful woods. Beneath a shade I sat me down, more heavily oppress'd, More desolate at heart, than e'er I felt Before. When, Philomela, o'er my head Began to tune her melancholy strain, As piteous of my woes, 'till, by degrees, Composing sleep on wounded nature shed A kind but short relief. At early morn, Wak'd by the chant of birds, I look'd around For usual objects: objects found I none, Except before me stretch'd the toiling main, And rocks and woods in savage view behind. Wrapt for a moment in amaz'd confusion, My thought turn'd giddy round; when all at once, To memory full my dire condition rush'd-- In the year 1736 Mr. Thomson offered to the stage a Tragedy calledEdward and Eleonora, which was forbid to be acted, for some politicalreason, which it is not in our power to guess. The play of Tancred and Sigismunda was acted in the year 1744; thissucceeded beyond any other of Thomson's plays, and is now in possesionof the stage. The plot is borrowed from a story in the celebratedromance of Gil Blas: The fable is very interesting, the characters arefew, but active; and the attention in this play is never suffered towander. The character of Seffredi has been justly censured asinconsistent, forced, and unnatural. By the command of his royal highness the prince of Wales, Mr. Thomson, in conjunction with Mr. Mallet, wrote the Masque of Alfred, which wasperformed twice in his royal highness's gardens at Cliffden. Since Mr. Thomson's death, this piece has been almost entirely new modelled by Mr. Mallet, and brought on the stage in the year 1751, its success beingfresh in the memory of its frequent auditors, 'tis needless to say moreconcerning it. Mr. Thomson's last Tragedy, called Coriolanus, was not acted till afterhis death; the profits of it were given to his sisters in Scotland, oneof whom is married to a minister there, and the other to a man of lowcircumstances in the city of Edinburgh. This play, which is certainlythe least excellent of any of Thomson's, was first offered to Mr. Garrick, but he did not think proper to accept it. The prologue waswritten by Sir George Lyttleton, and spoken by Mr. Quin, which had avery happy effect upon the audience. Mr. Quin was the particular friendof Thomson, and when he spoke the following lines, which are inthemselves very tender, all the endearments of a long acquaintance, roseat once to his imagination, while the tears gushed from his eyes. He lov'd his friends (forgive this gushing tear: Alas! I feel I am no actor here) He lov'd his friends with such a warmth of heart, So clear of int'rest, so devoid of art, Such generous freedom, such unshaken real, No words can speak it, but our tears may tell. The beautiful break in these lines had a fine effect in speaking. Mr. Quin here excelled himself; he never appeared a greater actor than atthis instant, when he declared himself none: 'twas an exquisite stroketo nature; art alone could hardly reach it. Pardon the digression, reader, but, we feel a desire to say somewhat more on this head. Thepoet and the actor were friends, it cannot then be quite foreign to thepurpose to proceed. A deep fetch'd sigh filled up the heart felt pause;grief spread o'er all the countenance; the tear started to the eye, themuscles fell, and, 'The whiteness of his cheek Was apter than his tongue to speak his tale. ' They all expressed the tender feelings of a manly heart, becoming aThomson's friend. His pause, his recovery were masterly; and hedelivered the whole with an emphasis and pathos, worthy the excellentlines he spoke; worthy the great poet and good man, whose merits theypainted, and whose loss they deplored. The epilogue too, which was spoken by Mrs. Woffington, with an exquisitehumour, greatly pleased. These circumstances, added to the considerationof the author's being no more, procured this play a run of nine nights, which without these assistances 'tis likely it could not have had; for, without playing the critic, it is not a piece of equal merit to manyother of his works. It was his misfortune as a dramatist, that he neverknew when to have done; he makes every character speak while there isany thing to be said; and during these long interviews, the action toostands still, and the story languishes. His Tancred and Sigismunda maybe excepted from this general censure: But his characters are too littledistinguished; they seldom vary from one another in their manner ofspeaking. In short, Thomson was born a descriptive poet; he only wrotefor the stage, from a motive too obvious to be mentioned, and too strongto be refilled. He is indeed the eldest born of Spenser, and he hasoften confessed that if he had any thing excellent in poetry, he owed itto the inspiration he first received from reading the Fairy Queen, inthe very early part of his life. In August 1748 the world was deprived of this great ornament of poetryand genius, by a violent fever, which carried him off in the 48th yearof his age. Before his death he was provided for by Sir GeorgeLittleton, in the profitable place of comptroller of America, which helived not long to enjoy. Mr. Thomson was extremely beloved by hisacquaintance. He was of an open generous disposition; and was sometimestempted to an excessive indulgence of the social pleasures: A failingtoo frequently inseparable from men of genius. His exterior appearancewas not very engaging, but he grew more and more agreeable, as heentered into conversation: He had a grateful heart, ready to acknowledgeevery favour he received, and he never forgot his old benefactors, notwithstanding a long absence, new acquaintance, and additionaleminence; of which the following instance cannot be unacceptable to thereader. Some time before Mr. Thomson's fatal illness, a gentleman enquired forhim at his house in Kew-Lane, near Richmond, where he then lived. Thisgentleman had been his acquaintance when very young, and proved to beDr. Gustard, the son of a revd. Minister in the city of Edinburgh. Mr. Gustard had been Mr. Thomson's patron in the early part of his life, andcontributed from his own purse (Mr. Thomson's father not being in veryaffluent circumstances) to enable him to prosecute his studies. Thevisitor sent not in his name, but only intimated to the servant that anold acquaintance desired to see Mr. Thomson. Mr. Thomson came forward toreceive him, and looking stedfastly at him (for they had not seen oneanother for many years) said, Troth Sir, I cannot say I ken yourcountenance well--Let me therefore crave your name. Which the gentlemanno sooner mentioned but the tears gushed from Mr. Thomson's eyes. Hecould only reply, good God! are you the son of my dear friend, my oldbenefactor; and then rushing to his arms, he tenderly embraced him;rejoicing at so unexpected a meeting. It is a true observation, that whenever gratitude is absent from aheart, it is generally capable of the most consummate baseness; and onthe other hand, where that generous virtue has a powerful prevalence inthe soul, the heart of such a man is fraught with all those otherendearing and tender qualities, which constitute goodness. Such was theheart of this amiable poet, whose life was as inoffensive as his pagewas moral: For of all our poets he is the farthest removed from whateverhas the appearance of indecency; and, as Sir George Lyttleton happilyexpresses it, in the prologue to Mr. Thomson's Coriolanus, --His chaste muse employ'd her heav'n-taught lyre None but the noblest passions to inspire, Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, One line, which dying he could wish to blot. FOOTNOTES: [1] See winter comes to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train! Vapours, and storms, and clouds; be these my theme; These that exalt the soul to solemn thought, And heav'nly musing; welcome kindred glooms. Congenial horrors hail!--with frequent foot Oft have I in my pleasing calm of life, When nurs'd by careless solitude I liv'd, Oft have I wander'd thro' your rough domain; Trod the pure virgin snows; my self as pure; Heard the winds blow, or the big torrents burst, Or seen the deep fermenting tempest brew'd In the red evening sky. Thus pass'd the time, 'Till from the lucid chambers of the south Look'd out the joyous spring, look'd out and smil'd. [2] Mr. Mallet was his quondam schoolfellow (but much his junior) they contracted an early intimacy, which improved with their years, nor was it ever once disturbed by any casual mistake, envy, or jealousy on either side: a proof that two writers of merit may agree, in spite of the common observation to the contrary. [3] The Winter was first wrote in detached pieces, or occasional descriptions; it was by the advice of Mr. Mallet they were collected and made into one connected piece. This was finished the first of all the seasons, and was the first poem he published. By the farther advice, and at the earnest request, of Mr. Mallet, he wrote the other three seasons. [4] Though 'tis possible this piece might be offered to more Printers who could read, than could taste, nor is it very surprizing, that an unknown author might meet with a difficulty of this sort; since an eager desire to peruse a new piece, with a fashionable name to it, shall, in one day, occasion the sale of thousands of what may never reach a second edition: while a work, that has only its intrinsic merit to depend on, may lie long dormant in a Bookseller's shop, 'till some person, eminent for taste, points out its worth to the many, declares the bullion sterling, stamps its value with his name, and makes it pass current with the world. Such was the fate of Thomson at this juncture: Such heretofore was Milton's, whose works were only found in the libraries of the curious, or judicious few, 'till Addison's remarks spread a taste for them; and, at length, it became even unfashionable not to have read them. [5] The old name of China. [6] Mr. Quin. [7] The mention of this name reminds me of an obligation I had to Mr. Thomson; and, at once, an opportunity offers, of gratefully acknowledging the favour, and doing myself justice. I had the pleasure of perusing the play of Agamemnon, before it was introduced to the manager. Mr. Thomson was so thoroughly satisfied (I might say more) with my reading of it; he said, he was confirmed in his design of giving to me the part of Melisander. When I expressed my sentiments of the favour, he told me, he thought it none; that my old acquaintance Savage knew, he had not forgot my taste in reading the poem of Winter some years before: he added, that when (before this meeting) he had expressed his doubt, to which of the actors he should give this part (as he had seen but few plays since his return from abroad) Savage warmly urged, I was the fittest person, and, with an oath affirmed, that Theo. Cibber would taste it, feel it, and act it; perhaps he might extravagantly add, 'beyond any one else. ' 'Tis likely, Mr. Savage might be then more vehement in this assertion, as some of his friends had been more used to see me in a comic, than a serious light; and which was, indeed, more frequently my choice. But to go on. When I read the play to the manager, Mr. Quin, &c. (at which several gentlemen, intimate friends of the author, were present) I was complimented by them all; Mr. Quin particularly declared, he never heard a play done so much justice to, in reading, through all its various parts, Mrs. Porter also (who on this occasion was to appear in the character of Clytemnestra) so much approved my entering into the taste, sense, and spirit of the piece, that she was pleased to desire me to repeat a reading of it, which, at her request, and that of other principal performers, I often did; they all confessed their approbation, with thanks. When this play was to come forward into rehearsal, Mr. Thomson told me, another actor had been recommended to him for this part in private, by the manager (who, by the way) our author, or any one else, never esteemed as the best judge, of either play, or player. But money may purchase, and interest procure, a patent, though they cannot purchase taste, or parts, the person proposed was, possibly, some favoured flatterer, the partner of his private pleasures, or humble admirer of his table talk: These little monarchs have their little courtiers. Mr. Thomson insisted on my keeping the part. He said, 'Twas his opinion, none but myself, or Mr. Quin, could do it any justice; and, as that excellent actor could not be spared from the part of Agamemnon (in the performance of which character he added to his reputation, though before justly rated as the first actor of that time) he was peremptory for my appearing in it; I did so, and acquitted myself to the satisfaction of the author and his friends (men eminent in rank, in taste, and knowledge) and received testimonies of approbation from the audience, by their attention and applause. By this time the reader may be ready to cry out, 'to what purpose is all this?' Have patience, sir. As I gained reputation in the forementioned character, is there any crime in acknowledging my obligation to Mr. Thomson? or, am I unpardonable, though I should pride myself on his good opinion and friendship? may not gratitude, as well as vanity, be concerned in this relation? but there is another reason that may stand as an excuse, for my being led into this long narrative; which, as it is only an annotation, not made part of our author's life, the reader, at his option, may peruse, or pass it over, without being interrupted in his attention to what more immediately concerns Mr. Thomson. As what I have related is a truth, which living men of worth can testify; and as it evidently shows that Mr. Savage's opinion of me as an actor was, in this latter part of his life, far from contemptible, of which, perhaps, in his earlier days he had too lavishly spoke; I thought this no improper (nor ill-timed) contradiction to a remark the writer of[7A] Mr. Savage's Life has been pleased, in his Gaité de Coeur, to make, which almost amounts to an unhandsome innuendo, that Mr. Savage, and some of his friends, thought me no actor at all. I accidentally met with the book some years ago, and dipt into that part where the author says, 'The preface (to Sir Thomas Overbury) contains a very liberal encomium on the blooming excellences of Mr. Theophilus Cibber, which Mr. Savage could not, in the latter part of his life, see his friends about to read, without snatching the play out of their hands. ' As poor Savage was well remembered to have been as inconsiderate, inconsistent, and inconstant a mortal as ever existed, what he might have said carried but little weight; and, as he would blow both hot and cold, nay, too frequently, to gratify the company present, would sacrifice the absent, though his best friend, I disregarded this invidious hint, 'till I was lately informed, a person of distinction in the learned world, had condescended to become the biographer of this unhappy man's unimportant life: as the sanction of such a name might prove of prejudice to me, I have since thought it worth my notice. The truth is, I met Savage one summer, in a condition too melancholy for description. He was starving; I supported him, and my father cloathed him, 'till his tragedy was brought on the stage, where it met with success in the representation, tho' acted by the young part of the company, in the summer season; whatever might be the merit of his play, his necessities were too pressing to wait 'till winter for its performance. When it was just going to be published (as I met with uncommon encouragement in my young attempt in the part of Somerset) he repeated to me a most extraordinary compliment, as he might then think it, which, he said, he intended to make me in his preface. Neither my youth (for I was then but 18) or vanity, was so devoid of judgment, as to prevent my objecting to it. I told him, I imagined this extravagancy would have so contrary an effect to his intention, that what he kindly meant for praise, might be misinterpreted, or render him liable to censure, and me to ridicule; I insisted on his omitting it: contrary to his usual obstinacy, he consented, and sent his orders to the Printer to leave it out; it was too late; the sheets were all work'd off, and the play was advertised to come out (as it did) the next day. T. C. [7A] _Published about the year_ 1743. * * * * * ALEXANDER POPE, Esq; This illustrious poet was born at London, in 1688, and was descendedfrom a good family of that name, in Oxfordshire, the head of which wasthe earl of Downe, whose sole heiress married the earl of Lindsey. Hisfather, a man of primitive simplicity, and integrity of manners, was amerchant of London, who upon the Revolution quitted trade, and convertedhis effects into money, amounting to near 10, 000 l. With which heretired into the country; and died in 1717, at the age of 75. Our poet's mother, who lived to a very advanced age, being 93 years oldwhen she died, in 1733, was the daughter of William Turner, Esq; ofYork. She had three brothers, one of whom was killed, another died inthe service of king Charles; and the eldest following his fortunes, andbecoming a general officer in Spain, left her what estate remained aftersequestration, and forfeitures of her family. To these circumstances ourpoet alludes in his epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, in which he mentions hisparents. Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause, While yet in Britain, honour had applause) Each parent sprang, --What fortune pray?--their own, And better got than Bestia's from the throne. Born to no pride, inheriting no strife, Nor marrying discord in a noble wife; Stranger to civil and religious rage, The good man walked innoxious thro' his age: No courts he saw; no suits would ever try; Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lye: Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolmen's subtle art, No language, but the language of the heart: By nature honest, by experience wise, Healthy by temp'rance, and by exercise; His life though long, to sickness past unknown, His death was instant and without a groan. The education of our great author was attended with circumstances verysingular; and some of them extremely unfavourable; but the amazing forceof his genius fully compensated the want of any advantage in hisearliest instruction. He owed the knowledge of his letters to an aunt;and having learned very early to read, took great delight in it, andtaught himself to write by copying after printed books, the charactersof which he could imitate to great perfection. He began to composeverses, farther back than he could well remember; and at eight years ofage, when he was put under one Taverner a priest, who taught him therudiments of the Latin and Greek tongues at the same time, he met withOgilby's Homer, which gave him great delight; and this was encreased bySandys's Ovid: The raptures which these authors, even in the disguise ofsuch translations, then yielded him, were so strong, that he spoke ofthem with pleasure ever after. From Mr. Taverner's tuition he was sentto a private school at Twiford, near Winchester, where he continuedabout a year, and was then removed to another near Hyde Park Corner; butwas so unfortunate as to lose under his two last masters, what he hadacquired under the first. While he remained at this school, being permitted to go to theplay-house, with some of his school fellows of a more advanced age, hewas so charmed with dramatic representations, that he formed thetranslation of the Iliad into a play, from several of the speeches inOgilby's translation, connected with verses of his own; and the severalparts were performed by the upper boys of the school, except that ofAjax by the master's gardener. At the age of 12 our young poet, wentwith his father to reside at his house at Binfield, in Windsor forest, where he was for a few months under the tuition of another priest, withas little success as before; so that he resolved now to become his ownmaster, by reading those Classic Writers which gave him mostentertainment; and by this method, at fifteen he gained a ready habit inthe learned languages, to which he soon after added the French andItalian. Upon his retreat to the forest, he became first acquainted withthe writings of Waller, Spenser and Dryden; in the last of which heimmediately found what he wanted; and the poems of that excellent writerwere never out of his hands; they became his model, and from them alonehe learned the whole magic of his versification. The first of our author's compositions now extant in print, is an Ode onSolitude, written before he was twelve years old: Which, consider'd asthe production of so early an age, is a perfect master piece; nor needhe have been ashamed of it, had it been written in the meridian of hisgenius. While it breathes the most delicate spirit of poetry, it at thesame time demonstrates his love of solitude, and the rational pleasureswhich attend the retreats of a contented country life. Two years after this he translated the first Book of Statius' Thebais, and wrote a copy of verses on Silence, in imitation of the Earl ofRochester's poem on Nothing[1]. Thus we find him no sooner capable ofholding the pen, than he employed it in writing verses, "_He lisp'd [Transcriber's note: 'lips'd' in original] in Numbers, for the Numbers came_. " Though we have had frequent opportunity to observe, that poets havegiven early displays of genius, yet we cannot recollect, that among theinspired tribe, one can be found who at the age of twelve could produceso animated an Ode; or at the age of fourteen translate from the Latin. It has been reported indeed, concerning Mr. Dryden, that when he was atWestminster-School, the master who had assigned a poetical task to someof the boys, of writing a Paraphrase on our Saviour's Miracle, ofturning Water into Wine, was perfectly astonished when young Drydenpresented him with the following line, which he asserted was the bestcomment could be written upon it. The conscious water saw its God, and blush'd. This was the only instance of an early appearance of genius in thisgreat man, for he was turn'd of 30 before he acquired any reputation; anage in which Mr. Pope's was in its full distinction. The year following that in which Mr. Pope wrote his poem on Silence, hebegan an Epic Poem, intitled Alcander, which he afterwards veryjudiciously committed to the flames, as he did likewise a Comedy, and aTragedy; the latter taken from a story in the legend of St. Genevieve;both of these being the product of those early days. But his Pastorals, which were written in 1704, when he was only 16 years of age, wereesteemed by Sir William Trumbull, Mr. Granville, Mr. Wycherley, Mr. Walsh and others of his friends, too valuable to be condemned to thesame fate. Mr. Pope's Pastorals are four, viz. Spring, address'd to Sir William Trumbull, Summer, to Dr. Garth. Autumn, to Mr. Wycherley. Winter, in memory of Mrs. Tempest. The three great writers of Pastoral Dialogue, which Mr. Pope in somemeasure seems to imitate, are Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Mr. Popeis of opinion, that Theocritus excells all others in nature andsimplicity. That Virgil, who copies Theocritus, refines on his original; and in allpoints in which judgment has the principal part is much superior to hismaster. That among the moderns, their success has been, greatest who have mostendeavoured to make these antients their pattern. The most considerablegenius appears in the famous Tasso, and our Spenser. Tasso in his Amintahas far excelled all the pastoral writers, as in his Gierusalemme he hasoutdone the Epic Poets of his own country. But as this piece seems tohave been the original of a new sort of poem, the Pastoral Comedy, inItaly, it cannot so well be considered as a copy of the antients. Spenser's Calendar, in Mr. Dryden's opinion, is the most compleat workof this kind, which any nation has produced ever since the time ofVirgil. But this he said before Mr. Pope's Pastorals appeared. Mr. Walsh pronounces on our Shepherd's Boy (as Mr. Pope called himself)the following judgment, in a letter to Mr. Wycherly. 'The verses are very tender and easy. The author seems to have aparticular genius for that kind of poetry, and a judgment that muchexceeds the years, you told me he was of. It is no flattery at all tosay, that Virgil had written nothing so good at his age. I shall take itas a favour if you will bring me acquainted with him; and if he willgive himself the trouble, any morning, to call at my house, I shall bevery glad to read the verses with him, and give him him my opinion ofthe particulars more largely than I can well do in this letter. ' Thus early was Mr. Pope introduced to the acquaintance of men of genius, and so improved every advantage, that he made a more rapid progresstowards a consummation in fame, than any of our former English poets. His Messiah; his Windsor-Forest, the first part of which was written atthe same time with his pastorals; his Essay on Criticism in 1709, andhis Rape of the Lock in 1712, established his poetical character in sucha manner, that he was called upon by the public voice, to enrich ourlanguage with the translation of the Iliad; which he began at 25, andexecuted in five years. This was published for his own benefit, bysubscription, the only kind of reward, which he received for hiswritings, which do honour to our age and country: His religion renderinghim incapable of a place, which the lord treasurer Oxford used toexpress his concern for, but without offering him a pension, as the earlof Halifax, and Mr. Secretary Craggs afterwards did, though Mr. Popedeclined it. The reputation of Mr. Pope gaining every day upon the world, he wascaressed, flattered, and railed at; according as he was feared, or lovedby different persons. Mr. Wycherley was amongst the first authors ofestablished reputation, who contributed to advance his fame, and withwhom he for some time lived in the most unreserved intimacy. This poet, in his old age, conceived a design of publishing his poems, and as hewas but a very imperfect master of numbers, he entrusted his manuscriptsto Mr. Pope, and submitted them to his correction. The freedom which ouryoung bard was under a necessity to use, in order to polish and refinewhat was in the original, rough, unharmonious, and indelicate, proveddisgustful to the old gentleman, then near 70, who, perhaps, was alittle ashamed, that a boy at 16 should so severely correct his works. Letters of dissatisfaction were written by Mr. Wycherley, and at last heinformed him, in few words, that he was going out of town, withoutmentioning to what place, and did not expect to hear from him 'till hecame back. This cold indifference extorted from Mr. Pope a protestation, that nothing should induce him ever to write to him again. Notwithstanding this peevish behaviour of Mr. Wycherley, occasioned byjealousy and infirmities, Mr. Pope preserved a constant respect andreverence for him while he lived, and after his death lamented him. In aletter to Edward Blount, esq; written immediately upon the death of thispoet, he has there related some anecdotes of Wycherly, which we shallinsert here, especially as they are not taken notice of in his life. 'DEAR SIR, 'I know of nothing that will be so interesting to you, at present, assome circumstances of the last act of that eminent comic poet, and ourfriend, Wycherley. He had often told me, as, I doubt not, he did all hisacquaintance, that he would marry, as soon as his life was despaired of:accordingly, a few days before his death, he underwent the ceremony, andjoined together those two sacraments, which, wise men say, should be thelast we receive; for, if you observe, matrimony is placed after extremeunction in our catechism, as a kind of hint of the order of time inwhich they are to be taken. The old man then lay down, satisfied in theconscience of having, by this one act, paid his just debts, obliged awoman, who, he was told, had merit, and shewn a heroic resentment ofthe ill usage of his next heir. Some hundred pounds which he had withthe lady, discharged those debts; a jointure of four hundred a year madeher a recompence; and the nephew he left to comfort himself, as well ashe could, with the miserable remains of a mortgaged estate. I saw ourfriend twice after this was done, less peevish in his sickness, than heused to be in his health, neither much afraid of dying, nor (which inhim had been more likely) much ashamed of marrying. The evening beforehe expired, he called his young wife to the bed side, and earnestlyentreated her not to deny him one request, the last he should ever make. Upon her assurance of consenting to it, he told her, my dear, it is onlythis, that you will never marry an old man again. I cannot helpremarking, that sickness, which often destroys both wit and wisdom, yetseldom has power to remove that talent we call humour. Mr. Wycherleyshewed this even in this last compliment, though, I think, his request alittle hard; for why should he bar her from doubling her jointure on thesame easy terms. ' One of the most affecting and tender compositions of Mr. Pope, is, hisElegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, built on a true story. Weare informed in the Life of Pope, for which Curl obtained a patent, thatthis young lady was a particular favourite of the poet, though it is notascertained whether he himself was the person from whom she was removed. This young lady was of very high birth, possessed an opulent fortune, and under the tutorage of an uncle, who gave her an education suitableto her titles and pretensions. She was esteemed a match for the greatestpeer in the realm, but, in her early years, she suffered her heart to beengaged by a young gentleman, and in consequence of this attachment, rejected offers made to her by persons of quality, seconded by thesollicitations of her uncle. Her guardian being surprized at thisbehaviour, set spies upon her, to find out the real cause of herindifference. Her correspondence with her lover was soon discovered, and, when urged upon that topic, she had too much truth and honour todeny it. The uncle finding, that she would make no efforts to disengageher affection, after a little time forced her abroad, where she wasreceived with a ceremony due to her quality, but restricted from theconversation of every one, but the spies of this severe guardian, sothat it was impossible for her lover even to have a letter delivered toher hands. She languished in this place a considerable time, bore aninfinite deal of sickness, and was overwhelmed with the profoundestsorrow. Nature being wearied out with continual distress, and beingdriven at last to despair, the unfortunate lady, as Mr. Pope justlycalls her, put an end to her own life, having bribed a maid servant toprocure her a sword. She was found upon the ground weltering in herblood. The severity of the laws of the place, where this fairunfortunate perished, denied her Christian burial, and she was interredwithout solemnity, or even any attendants to perform the last offices ofthe dead, except some young people of the neighbourhood, who saw her putinto common ground, and strewed the grave with flowers. The poet in the elegy takes occasion to mingle with the tears of sorrow, just reproaches upon her cruel uncle, who drove her to this violation. But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou base betrayer of a brother's blood! See on those ruby lips the trembling breath, Those cheeks now fading at the blast of death: Lifeless the breast, which warm'd the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. The conclusion of this elegy is irresistably affecting. So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, Which once had beauty, titles, wealth and fame, How lov'd, how honoured once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee; 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be! No poem of our author's more deservedly obtained him reputation, thanhis Essay on Criticism. Mr. Addison, in his Spectator, No. 253, hascelebrated it with such profuse terms of admiration, that it is reallyastonishing, to find the same man endeavouring afterwards to diminishthat fame he had contributed to raise so high. The art of criticism (says he) which was published some months ago, is amaster-piece in its kind. The observations follow one another, likethose in Horace's Art of Poetry, without that methodical regularity, which would have been requisite in a prose writer. They are some of themuncommon, but such as the reader must assent to, when he sees themexplained with that elegance and perspicuity in which they aredelivered. As for those which are the most known, and the most received, they are placed in so beautiful a light, and illustrated with such aptallusions, that they have in them all the graces of novelty, and makethe reader, who was before acquainted with them, still more convinced oftheir truth and solidity. And here give me leave to mention, whatMonsieur Boileau has so well enlarged upon, in the preface to his works;that wit and fine writing do not consist so much in advancing thingsthat are new, as in giving things that are known an agreeable turn. Itis impossible for us, who live in the latter ages of the world, to makeobservations in criticism, morality, or any art and science, which havenot been touched upon by others. We have little else left us, but torepresent the common sense of mankind in more strong, more beautiful, ormore uncommon lights. If a reader examines Horace's Art of Poetry, hewill find but few precepts in it, which he may not meet with inAristotle, and which were not commonly known by all the poets of theAugustan age. His way of expressing, and applying them, not hisinvention of them, is what we are chiefly to admire. -- "Longinus, in his Reflexions, has given us the same kind of sublime, which he observes in the several passages which occasioned them. Icannot but take notice, that our English author has, after the samemanner, exemplified several of his precepts, in the very preceptsthemselves. " He then produces some instances of a particular kind ofbeauty in the numbers, and concludes with saying, that "we have threepoems in our tongue of the same nature, and each a master-piece in itskind: The Essay on Translated Verse, the Essay on the Art of Poetry, andthe Essay on Criticism. " [Transcriber's note: Opening quotes missing inoriginal. ] In the Lives of Addison and Tickell, we have thrown out some generalhints concerning the quarrel which subsisted between our poet and theformer of these gentlemen; here it will not be improper to give a moreparticular account of it. The author of Mist's Journal positively asserts, 'that Mr. Addisonraised Pope from obscurity, obtained him the acquaintance and friendshipof the whole body of our nobility, and transferred his powerfulinfluence with those great men to this rising bard, who frequentlylevied by that means, unusual contributions on the public. [Transcriber'snote: 'pubic' in original. ] No sooner was his body lifeless, but thisauthor reviving his resentment, libelled the memory of his departedfriend, and what was still more heinous, made the scandal public. ' When this charge of ingratitude and dishonour was published against Mr. Pope, to acquit himself of it, he called upon any nobleman, whosefriendship, or any one gentleman, whose subscription Mr. Addison hadprocured to our author, to stand forth, and declare it, that truth mightappear. But the whole libel was proved a malicious story, by manypersons of distinction, who, several years before Mr. Addison's decease, approved those verses denominated a libel, but which were, 'tis said, afriendly rebuke, sent privately in our author's own hand, to Mr. Addisonhimself, and never made public, 'till by Curl in his Miscellanies, 12mo. 1727. The lines indeed are elegantly satirical, and, in the opinion ofmany unprejudiced judges, who had opportunities of knowing the characterof Mr. Addison, are no ill representation of him. Speaking of thepoetical triflers of the times, who had declared against him, he makes asudden transition to Addison. Peace to all such! But were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires, Blest with each talent, and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease; Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no rival near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts, that caus'd himself to rise; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, others teach to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; Alike reserv'd to blame or to commend, A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend; Dreading even fools; by flatt'rers besieg'd; And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd. Like Cato give his little senate laws, [Transcriber's note: 'litttle' in original] And sit attentive to his own applause; While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise. Who but must laugh, if such a man there be! Who would not weep, if Atticus were he! Some readers may think these lines severe, but the treatment he receivedfrom Mr. Addison, was more than sufficient to justify them, which willappear when we particularize an interview between these two poeticalantagonists, procured by the warm sollicitations of Sir Richard Steele, who was present at it, as well as Mr. Gay. Mr. Jervas being one day in company with Mr. Addison, the conversationturned upon Mr. Pope, for whom Addison, at that time, expressed thehighest regard, and assured Mr. Jervas, that he would make use not onlyof his interest, but of his art likewise, to do Mr. Pope service; hethen said, he did not mean his art of poetry, but his art at court, andprotested, notwithstanding many insinuations were spread, that it shallnot be his fault, if there was not the best understanding andintelligence between them. He observed, that Dr. Swift might havecarried him too far among the enemy, during the animosity, but now allwas safe, and Mr. Pope, in his opinion, was escaped. When Mr. Jervascommunicated this conversation to Mr. Pope, he made this reply: 'Thefriendly office you endeavour to do between Mr. Addison and me deservesacknowledgments on my part. You thoroughly know my regard to hischaracter, and my readiness to testify it by all ways in my power; youalso thoroughly knew the meanness of that proceeding of Mr. Phillips, tomake a man I so highly value suspect my disposition towards him. But as, after all, Mr. Addison must be judge in what regards himself, and as hehas seemed not to be a very just one to me, so I must own to you, Iexpect nothing but civility from him, how much soever I wish for hisfriendship; and as for any offers of real kindness or service which itis in his power to do me, I should be ashamed to receive them from aman, who has no better opinion of my morals, than to think me a partyman, nor of my temper, than to believe me capable of maligning, orenvying another's reputation as a poet. In a word, Mr. Addison is sureof my respect at all times, and of my real friendship, whenever he shallthink fit to know me for what I am. ' Some years after this conversation, at the desire of Sir Richard Steele, they met. At first, a very cold civility, and nothing else appeared oneither side, for Mr. Addison had a natural reserve and gloom at thebeginning of an evening, which, by conversation and a glass, brightenedinto an easy chearfulness. Sir Richard Steele, who was a most socialbenevolent man, begged of him to fulfill his promise, in dropping allanimosity against Mr. Pope. Mr. Pope then desired to be made sensiblehow he had offended; and observed, that the translation of Homer, ifthat was the great crime, was undertaken at the request, and almost atthe command of Sir Richard Steele. He entreated Mr. Addison to speakcandidly and freely, though it might be with ever so much severity, rather than by keeping up forms of complaisance, conceal any of hisfaults. This Mr. Pope spoke in such a manner as plainly indicated hethought Mr. Addison the aggressor, and expected him to condescend, andown himself the cause of the breach between them. But he wasdisappointed; for Mr. Addison, without appearing to be angry, was quiteovercome with it. He began with declaring, that he always had wished himwell, had often endeavoured to be his friend, and in that light advisedhim, if his nature was capable of it, to divert himself of part of hisvanity, which was too great for his merit; that he had not arrived yetto that pitch of excellence he might imagine, or think his most partialreaders imagined; that when he and Sir Richard Steele corrected hisverses, they had a different air; reminding Mr. Pope of the amendment(by Sir Richard) of a line, in the poem called The MESSIAH. He wipes the tears for ever from our eyes. Which is taken from the prophet Isaiah, The Lord God will wipe all tears from off all faces. From every face he wipes off ev'ry tear. And it stands so altered in the newer editions of Mr. Pope's works. Heproceeded to lay before him all the mistakes and inaccuracies hinted atby the writers, who had attacked Mr. Pope, and added many things, whichhe himself objected to. Speaking of his translation in general, he said, that he was not to be blamed for endeavouring to get so large a sum ofmoney, but that it was an ill-executed thing, and not equal to Tickell, which had all the spirit of Homer. Mr. Addison concluded, in a lowhollow voice of feigned temper, that he was not sollicitous about hisown fame as a poet; that he had quitted the muses to enter into thebusiness of the public, and that all he spoke was through friendship toMr. Pope, whom he advised to have a less exalted sense of his own merit. Mr. Pope could not well bear such repeated reproaches, but boldly toldMr. Addison, that he appealed from his judgment to the public, and thathe had long known him too well to expect any friendship from him;upbraided him with being a pensioner from his youth, sacrificing thevery learning purchased by the public money, to a mean thirst of power;that he was sent abroad to encourage literature, in place of which hehad always endeavoured to suppress merit. At last, the contest grew sowarm, that they parted without any ceremony, and Mr. Pope upon thiswrote the foregoing verses, which are esteemed too true a picture of Mr. Addison. In this account, and, indeed, in all other accounts, which have beengiven concerning this quarrel, it does not appear that Mr. Pope was theaggressor. If Mr. Addison entertained suspicions of Mr. Pope's beingcarried too far among the enemy, the danger was certainly Mr. Pope's, and not Mr. Addison's. It was his misfortune, and not his crime. If Mr. Addison should think himself capable of becoming a rival to Mr. Pope, and, in consequence of this opinion, publish a translation of part ofHomer; at the same time with Mr. Pope's, and if the public should decidein favour of the latter by reading his translation, and neglecting theother, can any fault be imputed to Mr. Pope? could he be blamed forexerting all his abilities in so arduous a province? and was it hisfault that Mr. Addison (for the first book of Homer was undoubtedly his)could not translate to please the public? Besides, was it not somewhatpresumptuous to insinuate to Mr. Pope, that his verses bore another facewhen he corrected them, while, at the same time, the translation ofHomer, which he had never seen in manuscript, bore away the palm fromthat very translation, he himself asserted was done in the true spiritof Homer? In matters of genius the public judgment seldom errs, and inthis case posterity has confirmed the sentence of that age, which gavethe preference to Mr. Pope; for his translation is in the hands of allreaders of taste, while the other is seldom regarded but as a soil toPope's. It would appear as if Mr. Addison were himself so immersed in partybusiness, as to contrast his benevolence to the limits of a faction:Which was infinitely beneath the views of a philosopher, and the ruleswhich that excellent writer himself established. If this was the failingof Mr. Addison, it was not the error of Pope, for he kept the strictestcorrespondence with some persons, whose affections to the Whig-interestwere suspected, yet was his name never called in question. While he wasin favour with the duke of Buckingham, the lords Bolingbroke, Oxford, and Harcourt, Dr. Swift, and Mr. Prior, he did not drop hiscorrespondence with the lord Hallifax, Mr. Craggs, and most of those whowere at the head of the Whig interest. A professed Jacobite one dayremonstrated to Mr. Pope, that the people of his party took it ill thathe should write with Mr. Steele upon ever so indifferent a subject; atwhich he could not help smiling, and observed, that he hated narrownessof soul in any party; and that if he renounced his reason in religiousmatters, he should hardly do it on any other, and that he could pray notonly for opposite parties, but even for opposite religions. Mr. Popeconsidered himself as a citizen of the world, and was therefore obligedto pray for the prosperity of mankind in general. As a son of Britain hewished those councils might be suffered by providence to prevail, whichwere most for the interest of his native country: But as politics wasnot his study, he could not always determine, at least, with any degreeof certainty, whose councils were best; and had charity enough tobelieve, that contending parties might mean well. As taste and scienceare confined to no country, so ought they not to be excluded from anyparty, and Mr. Pope had an unexceptionable right to live upon terms ofthe strictest friendship with every man of parts, to which party soeverhe might belong. Mr. Pope's uprightness in his conduct towardscontending politicians, is demonstrated by his living independent ofeither faction. He accepted no place, and had too high a spirit tobecome a pensioner. Many effects however were made to proselyte him from the Popish faith, which all proved ineffectual. His friends conceived hopes from themoderation which he on all occasions expressed, that he was really aProtestant in his heart, and that upon the death of his mother, he wouldnot scruple to declare his sentiments, notwithstanding the reproaches hemight incur from the Popish party, and the public observation it woulddraw upon him. The bishop of Rochester strongly advised him to read thecontroverted points between the Protestant and the Catholic church, tosuffer his unprejudiced reason to determine for him, and he made nodoubt, but a separation from the Romish communion would soon ensue. Tothis Mr. Pope very candidly answered, 'Whether the change would be to myspiritual advantage, God only knows: This I know, that I mean as well inthe religion I now profess, as ever I can do in any other. Can a man whothinks so, justify a change, even if he thought both equally good? Tosuch an one, the part of joining with any one body of Christians mightperhaps be easy, but I think it would not be so to renounce the other. 'Your lordship has formerly advised me to read the best controversiesbetween the churches. Shall I tell you a secret? I did so at 14 yearsold (for I loved reading, and my father had no other books) there was acollection of all that had been written on both sides, in the reign ofKing James II. I warmed my head with them, and the consequence was, Ifound myself a Papist, or a Protestant by turns, according to the lastbook I read. I am afraid most seekers are in the same case, and whenthey stop, they are not so properly converted, as outwitted. You see howlittle glory you would gain by my conversion: and after all, I verilybelieve, your lordship and I are both of the same religion, if we werethoroughly understood by one another, and that all honest and reasonableChristians would be so, if they did but talk enough together every day, and had nothing to do together but to serve God, and live in peace withtheir neighbours. "As to the temporal side of the question, I can have no dispute withyou; it is certain, all the beneficial circumstances of life, and allthe shining ones, lie on the part you would invite me to. But if I couldbring myself to fancy, what I think you do but fancy, that I have anytalents for active life, I want health for it; and besides it is a realtruth. I have, if possible, less inclination, than ability. Contemplative life is not only my scene, but is my habit too. I begun mylife where most people end theirs, with all that the world callsambition. I don't know why it is called so, for, to me, it always seemedto be stooping, or climbing. I'll tell you my politic and religioussentiments in a few words. In my politics, I think no farther, than howto preserve my peace of life, in any government under which I live; norin my religion, than to preserve the peace of my conscience, in anychurch with which I communicate. I hope all churches, and allgovernments are so far of God, as they are rightly understood, andrightly administered; and where they are, or may be wrong, I leave it toGod alone to mend, or reform them, which, whenever he does, it must beby greater instruments than I am. I am not a Papist, for I renounce thetemporal invasions of the papal power, and detest their arrogatedauthority over Princes and States. I am a Catholic in the strictestsense of the word. If I was born under an absolute Prince, I would be aquiet subject; but, I thank God, I was not. I have a due sense of theexcellence of the British constitution. In a word, the things I havealways wished to see, are not a Roman Catholic, or a French Catholic, ora Spanish Catholic, but a True Catholic; and not a King of Whigs, or[Transcriber's note: repeated 'or' removed] a King of Tories, but a Kingof England. " These are the peaceful maxims upon which we find Mr. Pope conducted hislife, and if they cannot in some respects be justified, yet it must beowned, that his religion and his politics were well enough adapted for apoet, which entitled him to a kind of universal patronage, and to makeevery good man his friend. Dean Swift sometimes wrote to Mr. Pope on the topic of changing hisreligion, and once humorously offered him twenty pounds for thatpurpose. Mr. Pope's answer to this, lord Orrery has obliged the world bypreserving in the life of Swift. It is a perfect master-piece of wit andpleasantry. We have already taken notice, that Mr. Pope was called upon by thepublic voice to translate the Iliad, which he performed with so muchapplause, and at the same time, with so much profit to himself, that hewas envied by many writers, whose vanity perhaps induced them to believethemselves equal to so great a design. A combination of inferior witswere employed to write The Popiad, in which his translation ischaracterized, as unjust to the original, without beauty of language, orvariety of numbers. Instead of the justness of the original, they saythere is absurdity and extravagance. Instead of the beautiful languageof the original, there is solecism and barbarous English. A candidreader may easily discern from this furious introduction, that thecritics were actuated rather by malice than truth, and that they mustjudge with their eyes shut, who can see no beauty of language, noharmony of numbers in this translation. But the most formidable critic against Mr. Pope in this greatundertaking, was the celebrated Madam Dacier, whom Mr. Pope treated withless ceremony in his Notes on the Iliad, than, in the opinion of somepeople, was due to her sex. This learned lady was not without a sense ofthe injury, and took an opportunity of discovering her resentment. "Upon finishing (says she) the second edition of my translation ofHomer, a particular friend sent me a translation of part of Mr. Pope'spreface to his Version of the Iliad. As I do not understand English, Icannot form any judgment of his performance, though I have heard much ofit. I am indeed willing to believe, that the praises it has met with arenot unmerited, because whatever work is approved by the English nation, cannot be bad; but yet I hope I may be permitted to judge of that partof the preface, which has been transmitted to me, and I here take theliberty of giving my sentiments concerning it. I must freely acknowledgethat Mr. Pope's invention is very lively, though he seems to have beenguilty of the same fault into which he owns we are often precipitated byour invention, when we depend too much upon the strength of it; asmagnanimity (says he) may run up to confusion and extravagance, so maygreat invention to redundancy and wildness. "This has been the very case of Mr. Pope himself; nothing is moreoverstrained, or more false than the images in which his fancy hasrepresented Homer; sometimes he tells us, that the Iliad is a wildparadise, where, if we cannot see all the beauties, as in an orderedgarden, it is only because the number of them is infinitely greater. Sometimes he compares him to a copious nursery, which contains the seedsand first productions of every kind; and, lastly, he represents himunder the notion of a mighty tree, which rises from the most vigorousseed, is improved with industry, flourishes and produces the finestfruit, but bears too many branches, which might be lopped into form, togive it a more regular appearance. "What! is Homer's poem then, according to Mr. Pope, a confused heap ofbeauties, without order or symmetry, and a plot whereon nothing butseeds, nor nothing perfect or formed is to be found; and a productionloaded with many unprofitable things which ought to be retrenched, andwhich choak and disfigure those which deserve to be preserved? Mr. Popewill pardon me if I here oppose those comparisons, which to me appearvery false, and entirely contrary to what the greatest of ancient, andmodern critics ever thought. "The Iliad is so far from being a wild paradise, that it is the mostregular garden, and laid out with more symmetry than any ever was. Everything herein is not only in the place it ought to have been, but everything is fitted for the place it hath. He presents you at first withthat which ought to be first seen; he places in the middle what ought tobe in the middle, and what would be improperly placed at the beginningor end, and he removes what ought to be at a greater distance, to createthe more agreeable surprize; and, to use a comparison drawn frompainting, he places that in the greatest light which cannot be toovisible, and sinks in the obscurity of the shade, what does not requirea full view; so that it may be said, that Homer is the Painter who bestknew how to employ the shades and lights. The second comparison isequally unjust; how could Mr. Pope say, 'that one can only discoverseeds, and the first productions of every kind in the Iliad?' everybeauty is there to such an amazing perfection, that the following agescould add nothing to those of any kind; and the ancients have alwaysproposed Homer, as the most perfect model in every kind of poetry. "The third comparison is composed of the errors of the two former; Homerhad certainly an incomparable fertility of invention, but his fertilityis always checked by that just sense, which made him reject everysuperfluous thing which his vast imagination could offer, and to retainonly what was necessary and useful. Judgment guided the hand of thisadmirable gardener, and was the pruning hook he employed to lop offevery useless branch. " Thus far Madam Dacier differs in her opinion from Mr. Pope concerningHomer; but these remarks which we have just quoted, partake not at allof the nature of criticism; they are meer assertion. Pope had declaredHomer to abound with irregular beauties. Dacier has contradicted him, and asserted, that all his beauties are regular, but no reason isassigned by either of these mighty geniuses in support of theiropinions, and the reader is left in the dark, as to the real truth. Ifhe is to be guided by the authority of a name only, no doubt theargument will preponderate in favour of our countryman. The French ladythen proceeds to answer some observations, which Mr. Pope made upon herRemarks on the Iliad, which she performs with a warmth that generallyattends writers of her sex. Mr. Pope, however, paid more regard to thisfair antagonist, than any other critic upon his works. He confessed thathe had received great helps from her, and only thought she had (througha prodigious, and almost superstitious, fondness for Homer) endeavouredto make him appear without any fault, or weakness, and stamp aperfection on his works, which is no where to be found. He wrote her avery obliging letter, in which he confessed himself exceedingly sorrythat he ever should have displeased so excellent a wit, and she, on theother hand, with a goodness and frankness peculiar to her, protested toforgive it, so that there remained no animosities between those twogreat admirers and translators of Homer. Mr. Pope, by his successful translation of the Iliad, as we have beforeremarked, drew upon him the envy and raillery of a whole tribe ofwriters. Though he did not esteem any particular man amongst his enemiesof consequence enough to provoke an answer, yet when they wereconsidered collectively, they offered excellent materials for a generalsatire. This satire he planned and executed with so extraordinary amastery, that it is by far the most compleat poem of our author's; itdiscovers more invention, and a higher effort of genius, than any otherproduction of his. The hint was taken from Mr. Dryden's Mac Flecknoe, but as it is more general, so it is more pleasing. The Dunciad is souniversally read, that we reckon it superfluous to give any furtheraccount of it here; and it would be an unpleasing task to trace all theprovocations and resentments, which were mutually discovered upon thisoccasion. Mr. Pope was of opinion, that next to praising good writers, there was a merit in exposing bad ones, though it does not holdinfallibly true, that each person stigmatized as a dunce, was genuinelyso. Something must be allowed to personal resentment; Mr. Pope was a manof keen passions; he felt an injury strongly, retained a longremembrance of it, and could very pungently repay it. Some of thegentlemen, however, who had been more severely lashed than the rest, meditated a revenge, which redounds but little to their honour. Theyeither intended to chastize him corporally, or gave it out that they hadreally done so, in order to bring shame upon Mr. Pope, which, if true, could only bring shame upon themselves. While Mr. Pope enjoyed any leisure from severer applications to study, his friends were continually solliciting him to turn his thoughtstowards something that might be of lasting use to the world, and engageno more in a war with dunces who were now effectually humbled. Our greatdramatic poet Shakespear had pass'd through several hands, some of whomwere very reasonably judged not to have understood any part of himtolerably, much less were capable to correct or revise him. The friends of Mr. Pope therefore strongly importuned him, to undertakethe whole of Shakespear's plays, and, if possible, by comparing all thedifferent copies now to be procured, restore him to his ancient purity. To which our poet made this modest reply, that not having attempted anything in the Drama, it might in him be deemed too much presumption. Towhich he was answered, that this did not require great knowledge of thefoundation and disposition of the drama, as that must stand as it was, and Shakespear [Transcriber's note: 'Skakespear' in original] himselfhad not always paid strict regard to the rules of it; but this was toclear the scenes from the rubbish with which ignorant editors had filledthem. His proper business in this work was to render the text so clear as tobe generally understood, to free it from obscurities, and sometimesgross absurdities, which now seem to appear in it, and to explaindoubtful and difficult passages of which there are great numbers. Thishowever was an arduous province, and how Mr. Pope has acquitted himselfin it has been differently determined: It is certain he never valuedhimself upon that performance, nor was it a task in the least adapted tohis genius; for it seldom happens that a man of lively parts can undergothe servile drudgery of collecting passages, in which more industry andlabour are necessary than persons of quick penetration generally have tobestow. It has been the opinion of some critics, that Mr. Pope's talents werenot adapted for the drama, otherwise we cannot well account for hisneglecting the most gainful way of writing which poetry affords, especially as his reputation was so high, that without much ceremony ormortification, he might have had any piece of his brought upon thestage. Mr. Pope was attentive to his own interest, and if he had noteither been conscious of his inability in that province, or too timid towish the popular approbation, he would certainly have attempted thedrama. Neither was he esteemed a very competent judge of what plays wereproper or improper for representation. He wrote several letters to themanager of Drury-Lane Theatre, in favour of Thomson's Agamemnon, whichnotwithstanding his approbation, Thomson's friends were obliged tomutulate and shorten; and after all it proved a heavy play. --Though itwas generally allowed to have been one of the best acted plays that hadappeared for some years. He was certainly concerned in the Comedy, which was published in Mr. Gay's name, called Three Hours after Marriage, as well as Dr. Arbuthnot. This illustrious triumvirate, though men of the most various parts, andextensive understanding, yet were not able it seems to please thepeople, tho' the principal parts were supported by the best actors inthat way on the stage. Dr. Arbuthnot and Mr. Pope were no doubtsolicitous to conceal their concern in it; but by a letter which Gaywrote to Pope, published in Ayre's Memoirs, it appears evident (ifAyre's authority may be depended on) that they, both assisted in thecomposition. DEAR POPE, 'Too late I see, and confess myself mistaken in relation to the Comedy;yet I do not think, had I followed your advice, and only introduced themummy, that the absence of the crocodile had saved it. I can't helplaughing myself (though the vulgar do not consider it was designed tolook ridiculous) to think how the poor monster and mummy were dashed attheir reception, and when the cry was loudest, I thought that if thething had been written by another, I should have deemed the town in somemeasure mistaken; and as to your apprehension that this may do us futureinjury, do not think of it; the Dr. Has a more valuable name than can behurt by any thing of this nature; and your's is doubly safe. I will, ifany shame there be, take it all to myself, and indeed I ought, themotion being first mine, and never heartily approved by you. ' Of all our poet's writings none were read with more general approbationthan his Ethic Epistles, or multiplied into more editions. Mr. Pope whowas a perfect oeconomist, secured to himself the profits arising fromhis own works; he was never subjected to necessity, and therefore wasnot to be imposed upon by the art or fraud of publishers. But now approaches the period in which as he himself expressed it, hestood in need of the generous tear he paid, Posts themselves must fall like those they sung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays. Mr. Pope who had been always subjected to a variety of bodilyinfirmities, finding his strength give way, began to think that hisdays, which had been prolonged past his expectation, were drawingtowards a conclusion. However, he visited the Hot-Wells at Bristol, where for some time there were small hopes of his recovery; but makingtoo free with purges he grew worse, and seemed desirous to draw nearerhome. A dropsy in the breast at last put a period to his life, at theage of 56, on the 30th of May 1744, at his house at Twickenham, where hewas interred in the same grave with his father and mother. Mr. Pope's behaviour in his last illness has been variously representedto the world: Some have affirmed that it was timid and peevish; thathaving been fixed in no particular system of faith, his mind waswavering, and his temper broken and disturb'd. Others have asserted thathe was all chearfulness and resignation to the divine will: Which ofthese opinions is true we cannot now determine; but if the former, itmust be regretted, that he, who had taught philosophy to others, shouldhimself be destitute of its assistance in the most critical moments ofhis life. The bulk of his fortune he bequeath'd to Mrs. Blount, with whom he livedin the strictest friendship, and for whom he is said to have entertainedthe warmest affection. His works, which are in the hands of every personof true taste, and will last as long as our language will be understood, render unnecessary all further remarks on his writings. He was equallyadmired for the dignity and sublimity of his moral and philosophicalworks, the vivacity of his satirical, the clearness and propriety of hisdidactic, the richness and variety of his descriptive, and the eleganceof all, added to an harmony of versification and correctness ofsentiment and language, unknown to our former poets, and of which he hasset an example which will be an example or a reproach to his successors. His prose-stile is as perfect in its kind as his poetic, and has all thebeauties proper for it, joined to an uncommon force and perspicuity. Under the profession of the Roman-Catholic religion, to which he adheredto the last, he maintained all the moderation and charity becoming themost thorough and confident Protestant. His conversation was natural, easy and agreeable, without any affectation of displaying his wit, orobtruding his own judgment, even upon subjects of which he was soeminently a master. The moral character of our author, as it did not escape the lash of hiscalumniators in his life; so have there been attempts since his death todiminish his reputation. Lord Bolingbroke, whom Mr. Pope esteemed toalmost an enthusiastic degree of admiration, was the first to make thisattack. Not many years ago, the public were entertained with thiscontroversy immediately upon the publication of his lordship's Letterson the Spirit of Patriotism, and the Idea of a Patriot King. Differentopinions have been offered, some to extenuate the fault of Mr. Pope, forprinting and mutilating these letters, without his lordship's knowledge;others to blame him for it as the highest breach of friendship, and thegreatest mark of dishonour. It would exceed our proposed bounds to enterinto the merits of this controversy; the reader, no doubt, will find itamply discussed in that account of the life of this great author, whichMr. Warburton has promised the public. This great man is allowed to have been one of the first rank amongst thepoets of our nation, and to acknowledge the superiority of none butShakespear, Milton, and Dryden. With the two former, it is unnatural tocompare him, as their province in writing is so very different. Pope hasnever attempted the drama, nor published an Epic Poem, in which thesetwo distinguished genius's have so wonderfully succeeded. Though Pope'sgenius was great, it was yet of so different a cast from Shakespear's, and Milton's, that no comparison can be justly formed. But if this maybe said of the former two, it will by no means hold with respect to thelater, for between him and Dryden, there is a great similarity ofwriting, and a very striking coincidence of genius. It will not perhapsbe unpleasing to our readers, if we pursue this comparison, andendeavour to discover to whom the superiority is justly to beattributed, and to which of them poetry owes the highest obligations. When Dryden came into the world, he found poetry in a very imperfectstate; its numbers were unpolished; its cadences rough, and there wasnothing of harmony or mellifluence to give it a graceful of flow. Inthis harsh, unmusical situation, Dryden found it (for the refinements ofWaller were but puerile and unsubstantial) he polished the roughdiamond, he taught it to shine, and connected beauty, elegance, andstrength, in all his poetical compositions. Though Dryden thus polishedour English numbers, and thus harmonized versification, it cannot besaid, that he carried his art to perfection. Much was yet left undone;his lines with all their smoothness were often rambling, and expletiveswere frequently introduced to compleat his measures. It was apparenttherefore that an additional harmony might still be given to ournumbers, and that cadences were yet capable of a more musicalmodulation. To effect this purpose Mr. Pope arose, who with an earelegantly delicate, and the advantage of the finest genius, soharmonized the English numbers, as to make them compleatly musical. Hisnumbers are likewise so minutely correct, that it would be difficult toconceive how any of his lines can be altered to to advantage. He hascreated a kind of mechanical versification; every line is alike; andthough they are sweetly musical, they want diversity, for he has notstudied so great a variety of pauses, and where the accents may be laidgracefully. The structure of his verse is the best, and a line of his ismore musical than any other line can be made, by placing the accentselsewhere; but we are not quite certain, whether the ear is not apt tobe soon cloy'd with this uniformity of elegance, this sameness ofharmony. It must be acknowledged however, that he has much improved uponDryden in the article of versification, and in that part of poetry isgreatly his superior. But though this must be acknowledged, perhaps itwill not necessarily follow that his genius was therefore superior. The grand characteristic of a poet is his invention, the surestdistinction of a great genius. In Mr. Pope, nothing is so truly originalas his Rape of the Lock, nor discovers so much invention. In this kindof mock-heroic, he is without a rival in our language, for Dryden haswritten nothing of the kind. His other work which discovers invention, fine designing, and admirable execution, is his Dunciad; which, tho'built on Dryden's Mac Flecknoe, is yet so much superior, that in satiricwriting, the Palm must justly be yielded to him. In Mr. Dryden's Absalomand Achitophel, there are indeed the most poignant strokes of satire, and characters drawn with the most masterly touches; but this poem withall its excellencies is much inferior to the Dunciad, though Dryden hadadvantages which Mr. Pope had not; for Dryden's characters are men ofgreat eminence and figure in the state, while Pope has to expose men ofobscure birth and unimportant lives only distinguished from the herd ofmankind, by a glimmering of genius, which rendered the greatest part ofthem more emphatically contemptible. Pope's was the hardest task, and hehas executed it with the greatest success. As Mr. Dryden mustundoubtedly have yielded to Pope in satyric writing, it is incumbent onthe partizans of Dryden to name another species of composition, in whichthe former excells so as to throw the ballance again upon the side ofDryden. This species is the Lyric, in which the warmest votaries of Popemust certainly acknowledge, that he is much inferior; as an irrefutableproof of this we need only compare Mr. Dryden's Ode on St. Cecilia'sDay, with Mr. Pope's; in which the disparity is so apparent, that weknow not if the most finished of Pope's compositions has discovered sucha variety and command of numbers. It hath been generally acknowledged, that the Lyric is a more excellentkind of writing than the Satiric; and consequently he who excells in themost excellent species, must undoubtedly be esteemed the greatest poet. --Mr. Pope has very happily succeeded in many of his occasional pieces, such as Eloisa to Abelard, his Elegy on an unfortunate young Lady, and avariety of other performances deservedly celebrated. To these may beopposed Mr. Dryden's Fables, which though written in a very advancedage, are yet the most perfect of his works. In these Fables there isperhaps a greater variety than in Pope's occasional pieces: Many of themindeed are translations, but such as are original shew a great extent ofinvention, and a large compass of genius. There are not in Pope's works such poignant discoveries of wit, or sucha general knowledge of the humours and characters of men, as in thePrologues and Epilogues of Dryden, which are the best records of thewhims and capricious oddities of the times in which they are written. When these two great genius's are considered in the light oftranslators, it will indeed be difficult to determine into whose scalethe ballance should be thrown: That Mr. Pope had a more arduous provincein doing justice to Homer, than Dryden with regard to Virgil iscertainly true; as Homer is a more various and diffuse poet than Virgil;and it is likewise true, that Pope has even exceeded Dryden in theexecution, and none will deny, that Pope's Homer's Iliad, is a finerpoem than Dryden's Aeneis of Virgil: Making a proper allowance for thedisproportion of the original authors. But then a candid critic shouldreflect, that as Dryden was prior in the great attempt of renderingVirgil into English, so did he perform the task under manydisadvantages, which Pope, by a happier situation in life, was enabledto avoid; and could not but improve upon Dryden's errors, though theauthors translated were not the same: And it is much to be doubted, ifDryden were to translate the Aeneid now, with that attention which thecorrectness of the present age would force upon him, whether thepreference would be due to Pope's Homer. But supposing it to be yielded (as it certainly must) that the latterbard was the greatest translator; we are now to throw into Mr. Dryden'sscale all his dramatic works; which though not the most excellent of hiswritings, yet as nothing of Mr. Pope's can be opposed to them, they havean undoubted right to turn the ballance greatly in favour of Mr. Dryden. --When the two poets are considered as critics, the comparisonwill very imperfectly hold. Dryden's Dedications and Prefaces, besidesthat they are more numerous, and are the best models for courtlypanegyric, shew that he understood poetry as an art, beyond any man thatever lived. And he explained this art so well, that he taught hisantagonists to turn the tables against himself; for he so illuminatedthe mind by his clear and perspicuous reasoning, that dullness itselfbecame capable of discerning; and when at any time his performances fellshort of his own ideas of excellence; his enemies tried him by rules ofhis own establishing; and though they owed to him the ability ofjudging, they seldom had candour enough to spare him. Perhaps it may be true that Pope's works are read with more appetite, asthere is a greater evenness and correctness in them; but in perusing theworks of Dryden the mind will take a wider range, and be more fraughtwith poetical ideas: We admire Dryden as the greater genius, and Pope asthe most pleasing versifier. ERRATA in the foregoing life, viz. P. 237. L. 27. For with all that the world calls ambition, read with _adisgust of_ all, &c. And l. 29. For 'stooping or climbing' read, _rather_ stooping _than_ climbing. FOOTNOTE: [1] See a Note in Warburton's Edition of Pope's Works. * * * * * AARON HILL, Esq;[1] Was the son of George Hill, esq; of Malmsbury-Abbey in Wiltshire; agentleman possessed of an estate of about 2000 l. A year, which wasentailed upon him, and the eldest son, and to his heirs for manydescents. But the unhappy misconduct of Mr. George Hill, and theweakness of the trustees, entangled it in such a manner as hitherto hasrendered it of no advantage to his family; for, without any legal titleso to do, he sold it all, at different times, for sums greatly beneaththe value of it, and left his children to their mother's care, and hermother's (Mrs. Ann Gregory) who took great pains with her grandson'seducation. At nine years old she put him to school to Mr. Rayner atBarnstable in Devonshire, from whence, he went to Westminster school;where soon (under the care of Dr. Knipe) his genius shewed itself in adistinguished light, and often made him some amends for his hardfortune, which denied him such supplies of pocket-money as his spiritwished, by enabling him to perform the tasks of many who had not hiscapacity. Mr. Aaron Hill, was born in Beaufort-Buildings in the Strand, onFebruary 10, 1684-5. At fourteen years of age he left Westminsterschool; and, shortly after, hearing his grandmother make mention of arelation much esteemed (lord Paget, then ambassador at Constantinople)he formed a resolution of paying him a visit there, being likewise verydesirous to see that empire. His grandmother being a woman of uncommon understanding, and greatgood-nature, would not oppose him in it; and accordingly he soonembark'd on board a ship, then going there, March 2, 1700, as appears bya Journal which he kept during his voyage, and in his travels (though atso weak an age) wherein he gave the most accurate account of everyparticular, in a manner much above his years. When he arrived, lord Paget received him with as much surprize, aspleasure, wondering that so young a person as he was (but then in hisfifteenth year) should chuse to run the hazard of such a voyage to visita relation, whom he knew but by character. The ambassador immediatelyprovided for him a very learned ecclesiastic in his own house, and, under his tuition, sent him to travel, being desirous to improve, as faras possible, the education of a person he found worthy of it. With thistutor he had the opportunity of seeing Egypt, Palestine, and a greatpart of the Eastern country. With lord Paget he returned home, about the year 1703, through greatpart of Europe; in which tour he saw most of the courts. He was in great esteem with that nobleman; insomuch, that in allprobability he had been still more distinguished by him at his death, than in his life time, had not the envious fears and malice of a certainfemale, who was in high authority and favour with that lord, preventedand supplanted his kind disposition towards him: My lord took greatpleasure in instructing him himself, wrote him whole books in differentlanguages, on which his student placed the greatest value; which was nosooner taken notice of by jealous observation, than they were stolenfrom his apartment, and suffered to be some days missing, to the greatdispleasure of my lord, but still much greater affliction of his pupil, whose grief for losing a treasure he so highly valued, was more thandoubled, by perceiving that from some false insinuation that had beenmade, it was believed he had himself wilfully lost them: But young Mr. Hill was soon entirely cleared on this head. A few years after, he was desired both on account of his sobriety andunderstanding, to accompany Sir William Wentworth, a worthy baronet ofYorkshire, who was then going to make the tour of Europe; with whom hetravelled two or three years, and brought him home improved, to thesatisfaction of that gentleman's relations. 'Twas in those different travels he collected matter for the history hewrote of Turkey, and published in 1709; a work he afterwards oftenrepented having printed; and (though his own) would criticise upon itwith much severity. (But, as he used to say, he was a very boy when hebegan and ended it; therefore great allowance may be made on thataccount); and in a letter which has since been printed in his works, wrote to his greatly valued friend, the worthy author of Clarissa, heacknowledges his consciousness of such defects: where speaking ofobscurity, he says, 'Obscurity, indeed (if they had penetration to mean that) is burying sense alive, and some of my rash, early, too affected, puerile scriblings must, and should, have pleaded guilty to so just an accusation. ' The fire of youth, with an imagination lively as his was, seldom, ifever, go hand in hand with solid judgment. Mr. Hill did not give himselfindeed time for correction, having wrote it so very expeditiously, ashardly would be credited. But (as Dr. Sprat, then bishop of Rochester, used to observe) there is certainly visible in that book, the seeds of agreat writer. --He seldom in his riper years was guilty of the fault ofnon-correction; for he revis'd, too strictly rather, every piece hepurposed for the public eye (exclusive of an author's natural fondness);and it has been believed by many, who have read some of his pieces inthe first copy, that had they never been by a revisal deepened[Transcriber's note: 'deepned' in original] into greater strength, theywould have pleased still more, at least more generally. About the year 1709 he published his first poem, called Camillus; invindication, and honour of the earl of Peterborough, who had beengeneral in Spain. After that nobleman had seen it, he was desirous toknow who was the author of it; which having found by enquiry, hecomplimented him by making him his secretary, in the room of Mr. Furly, who was gone abroad with another nobleman: And Mr. Hill was always heldin high esteem with that great peer; with whom, however, he did notcontinue long; for in the year 1710 he married the only daughter ofEdmund Morris, Esq; of Stratford, in Essex; with whom he had a veryhandsome fortune: By her he had nine children, four of whom (a son, andthree daughters) are still living. In 1709 he was made master of the Theatre in Drury-Lane; and then, atthe desire of Mr. Barton Booth, wrote his first Tragedy, (Elfrid, or theFair Inconstant) which from his first beginning of it he compleated in alittle more than a week. --The following year, 1710, he was master of theOpera House in the Hay-Market; and then wrote an Opera called Rinaldo, which met with great success: It was the first which that admirablegenius Mr. Handel compos'd, after he came to England; (this he dedicatedto Queen Anne). --His genius was adapted greatly to the business of thestage; and while he held the management, he conducted both Theatres, intirely to the satisfaction of the public. --But in a few months herelinquished it, from some misunderstanding with the then lordchamberlain; and though he was soon after sollicited to take that chargeagain upon him (by a person the highest in command) he still declinedit. From that time he bent his thoughts on studies far more solid anddesirable to him; to views of public benefit: For his mind was ardentlydevoted to the pursuit of general improvement. But, as one genius seldomis adapted to both theory and practice; so in the execution of a varietyof undertakings, the most advantageous in themselves, by somemismanagement of those concerned with him, he fail'd of the success hislabours merited. As in particular, in an affair he set on foot about the year 1715, andwas the sole discoverer of, for which he had a patent; the making of anOil, as sweet as that from Olives, from the Beech-Nuts: But this beingan undertaking of a great extent, he was obliged to work conjointly withother men's assistance, and materials; whence arose disputes among them, which terminated in the overthrowing the advantage then arising from it;which otherwise might have been great and lasting. This, has occasioned that affair to be misunderstood by many; ittherefore may not be thought improper, here, to set it in a justerlight; and this cannot more exactly be given, than from his own words, called, A fair state of the Account, published in the year 1716. 'An impartial state of the case, between the patentee, annuitants, andsharers, in the Beech-Oil-Company. '--Some part of which is hererecited. 'The disappointments of the Beech-Oil-Company this year have madeabundance of sharers peevish; the natural effect of peevishness isclamour, and clamour like a tide will work itself a passage, where ithas no right of flowing; some gentlemen, misled by false conceptionsboth of the affair and its direction, have driven their discontentthrough a mistaken chanel, and inclined abundance who are strangers tothe truth, to accuse the patentee of faults, he is not only absolutelyfree from, but by which he is, of all concern'd, the greatest sufferer. 'But, he is not angry with the angry; he considers they must take thingsas they hear them represented; he governs all his actions by thisgeneral maxim; never to be moved at a reproach, unless it be a just one. 'In October 1713 the patentee procured a grant for fourteen years, tohim and his assigns, for the Beech-Oil invention. 'Anno 1714, he made and published proposals, for taking a subscriptionof 20, 000 l. Upon the following conditions; 'That every subscriber should receive, by half yearly payments, atLady-Day and Michaelmas, during the continuance of the patent fromLady-Day 1715, inclusive, an annuity amounting to fifty-pound per cent, for any sum subscribed, excepting a deduction for the payment of thedirectors. 'That nine directors should be chosen on midsummer-day, who shouldreceive complaints upon non-payments of annuities; and in such case, upon refusal, any five of the nine directors had power to meet and chusea governor from among themselves, enrolling that choice in chancery, together with the reasons for it. 'That after such choice and enrollment, the patentee should standabsolutely excluded, the business be carried on, and all the right ofthe grant be vested (not as a mortgage, but as a sale withoutredemption) in the governor so chosen, for the joint advantage of theannuitants, in proportion to their several interests. 'As a security for making good the articles, the patentee did, byindenture enrolled in chancery, assign and make over his patent totrustees, in the indenture named, for the uses above-mentioned. 'In the mean time the first half yearly payments to the annuitants, amounting to 3750 l. Became due, and the company not being yetcompleated, the patentee himself discharged it, and has never reckon'dthat sum to the account between him and the company; which he might havedone by virtue of the articles on which he gave admission to thesharers. 'For the better explanation of this scheme it will be necessary toobserve, that while the shares were selling, he grew apprehensive thatthe season would be past, before the fifty pounds per share they were tofurnish by the articles could be contributed: He therefore gave upvoluntarily, and for the general good, 20, 000 l. Of his own 25, 000guineas purchase money, as a loan to the company till the expiration ofthe patent, after which it was again to be made good to him, or hisassigns; and this money so lent by the patentee, is all the stock thatever has been hitherto employed by the company. 'But instead of making good the above-mentioned conditional covenant, the board proceeded to unnecessary warmth, and found themselves involvedstill more and more in animosities, and those irregularities whichnaturally follow groundless controversy. He would therefore take uponhimself the hazard and the power of the whole affair, accountablehowever to the board, as to the money part; and yet would bind himselfto pay for three years to come, a profit of forty shillings per annumupon every share, and then deliver back the business to the generalcare, above the reach of future disappointments. 'What reasons the gentlemen might have to refuse so inviting an offer isbest known to themselves; but they absolutely rejected that part of it, which was to fix the sole power of management in the patentee. Uponwhich, and many other provocations afterward, becoming more and moredissatisfied, he thought fit to demand repayment of five hundred pounds, which he had lent the company; as he had several other sums before; andnot receiving it, but, on the contrary, being denied so much as anacknowledgment that it was due, withdrew himself intirely from theboard, and left them to their measures. 'Thus at the same time have I offered my defence, and my opinion: By thefirst I am sure I shall be acquitted from all imputations; and confirmedin the good thoughts of the concerned on either side, who will know forthe future what attention they should give to idle reflections, and thefalsehood of rumour; and from the last, I have hopes that a plan may bedrawn, which will settle at once all disputed pretensions, and restorethat fair prospect, which the open advantage of last year's success(indifferent as it was) has demonstrated to be a view that was no waychimerical. -- 'They know how to judge of malicious insinuations to my prejudice, bythis _one most scandalous example_, which has been given by theendeavours of some to persuade the out-sharers that I have made anextravagant _profit_ from the _losses_ of the adventurers. Whereas onthe contrary, out of _Twenty-five Thousand Guineas_, which was the wholeI should have received by the sale of the shares, I have given up_Twenty Thousand Pounds_ to the use of the company, and to the annuitiesafterward; and three thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds more I paidto the annuitants, at Lady-Day 1715, on the company's account; and havenever demanded it again, in consideration of their disappointments thefirst year. 'So that it plainly appears, that out of twenty-five thousand guineas, Ihave given away in two articles only, twenty-three thousand sevenhundred and fifty pounds for the public advantage. And I can easilyprove, that the little remainder has been short of making good thecharges I have been at for their service; by which means I am not onefarthing a gainer by the company, notwithstanding the clamour and maliceof some unthinking adventurers: And for the truth of all this, I appealto their own _Office-Books_, and defy the most angry among them to denyany article of it. See then what a grateful and generous encouragementmay be expected by men, who would dedicate their labours to the profitof others. November the 30th. 1716. A. HILL. ' This, and much more, too tedious to insert, serves to demonstrate thatit was a great misfortune, for a mind so fertile of invention andimprovement, to be embarrassed by a narrow power of fortune; too weakalone to execute such undertakings. About the same year he wrote another Tragedy, intitled [Transcriber'snote: 'intiled' in original] the Fatal Vision[2], or the Fall of Siam(which was acted the same year, in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields) to which hegave this Motto out of Horace. I not for vulgar admiration write; To be well read, not much, is my delight. And to his death he would declare in favour of that choice. --That year, he likewise published the two first books of an Epic Poem, called Gideon(founded on a Hebrew Story) which like its author, and all otherauthors, had its enemies; but many more admirers. But his poetic pieces were not frequent in their appearance. They werethe product of some leisure hours, when he relaxed his thoughts fromdrier study; as he took great delight in diving into every usefulscience, viz. Criticism, history, geography, physic, commerce ingeneral, agriculture, war, and law; but in particular naturalphilosophy, wherein he has made many and valuable discoveries. Concerning poetry, he says, in his preface to King Henry the Vth, wherehe laments the want of taste for Tragedy, 'But in all events I will be easy, who have no better reason to wishwell to poetry, than my love for a mistress I shall never be married to:For, whenever I grow ambitious, I shall wish to build higher; and owe mymemory to some occasion of more importance than my writings. ' He had acquired so deep an insight in law, that he has from hisarguments and demonstrations obliged some of the greatest council(formally) under their hands, to retract their own first-given opinions. He wrote part of a Tract of War; another upon Agriculture; but they areleft unfinished, with several other pieces. In his younger days he bought a grant of Sir Robert Montgomery (who hadpurchas'd it of the lords proprietors of Carolina) with whom, &c. Be hadbeen concern'd, in a design of settling a new plantation in the South ofCarolina, of a vast tract of land; on which he then designed to pursuethe same intention. --But being not master of a fortune equal to thatscheme, it never proved of any service to him, though many years since, it has been cultivated largely[3]. His person was (in youth) extremely fair, and handsome; his eyes were adark blue, both bright and penetrating; brown hair and visage oval;which was enlivened with a smile, the most agreeable in conversation;where his address was affably engageing; to which was joined a dignity, which rendered him at once respected and admired, by those (of eithersex) who were acquainted with him--He was tall, genteelly made, and notthin. --His voice was sweet, his conversation elegant; and capable ofentertaining upon various subjects. --His disposition was benevolent, beyond the power of the fortune he was blessed with; the calamities ofthose he knew (and valued as deserving) affected him more than his own:He had fortitude of mind sufficient to support with calmness greatmisfortune; and from his birth it may be truly said he was obliged tomeet it. Of himself, he says in his epistle dedicatory to one of his poems, 'I am so devoted a lover of a private and unbusy life, that I cannot recollect a time wherein I wish'd an increase to the little influence I cultivate in the dignified world, unless when I have felt the deficience of my own power, to reward some merit that has charm'd me:'-- His temper, though by nature warm (when injuries were done him) was asnobly forgiving; mindful of that great lesson in religion, of returninggood for evil; and he fulfilled it often to the prejudice of his owncircumstances. He was a tender husband, friend, and father; one of thebest masters to his servants, detesting the too common inhumanity, thattreats them almost as if they were not fellow-creatures. His manner of life was temperate in all respects (which might havepromis'd greater length of years) late hours excepted which hisindefatigable love of study drew him into; night being not liable tointerruptions like the day. About the year 1718 he wrote a poem called the Northern-Star, upon theactions of the Czar Peter the Great; and several years after he wascomplimented with a gold medal from the empress Catherine (according tothe Czar's desire before his death) and was to have wrote his life, frompapers which were to be sent him of the Czar's: But the death of theCzarina, quickly after, prevented it. --In an advertisement to thereader, in the fifth edition of that poem, published in 1739, the authorsays of it. 'Though the design was profess'd panegyric, I may with modesty ventureto say it was not a very politic, perhaps, but an honest example ofpraise without flattery. --In the verse, I am afraid there was much to beblamed, as too low; but, I am sure there was none of that fault in thepurpose: The poem having never been hinted, either before or after thepublication, to any person (native or foreigner) who could be supposedto have interest in, or concern for, its subject. 'In effect, it had for six years or more been forgot by myself--and mycountry, --when upon the death of the prince it referred to, I wassurprized by the condescension of a compliment from the empress hisrelict, and immediate successor; and thereby first became sensible thatthe poem had, by means of some foreign translation, reach'd the eye andregard of that emphatically great monarch, in justice to whom it waswritten. ' Soon after he finished six books more of Gideon; which made eight, ofthe twelve he purpos'd writing; but did not live to finish it. In 1723 he brought his Tragedy called King Henry the Vth, upon the stagein Drury-Lane; which is (as he declares in the preface) a new fabric, yet built on Shakespear's foundation. In 1724, for the advantage of an unhappy gentleman (an old officer inthe army) he wrote a paper in the manner of the Spectators, inconjunction with Mr. William Bond, &c. Intitled the Plain Dealer; whichwere some time after published in two volumes octavo. And many of hisformer writings were appropriated to such humane uses; both those towhich he has prefixed his name, and several others which he wrote andgave away intirely. But, though the many imagined authors are notliving, their names, and those performances will be omitted here; yet, in mere justice to the character of Mr. Hill, we mention thisparticular. In 1728, he made a journey into the North of Scotland, where he had beenabout two years before, having contracted with the York-BuildingsCompany, concerning many woods of great extent in that kingdom, fortimber for the uses of the navy; and many and various were theassertions upon this occasion: Some thought, and thence reported, thatthere was not a stick in Scotland could be capable of answering thatpurpose; but he demonstrated the contrary: For, though there was not agreat number large enough for masts to ships of the greatest burthen;yet there were millions, fit for all smaller vessels; and planks andbanks, proper for every sort of building. --One ship was built entirelyof it; and a report was made, that never any better timber was broughtfrom any part of the world: But he found many difficulties in thisundertaking; yet had sagacity to overcome them all (as far as his ownmanagement extended) for when the trees were by his order chain'dtogether into floats, the ignorant Highlanders refus'd to venturethemselves on them down the river Spey; till he first went himself, tomake them sensible there was no danger. --In which passage however, hefound a great obstacle in the rocks, by which that river seemedimpassible; but on these he ordered fires to be made, when by thelowness of the river they were most expos'd; and then had quantities ofwater thrown upon them: Which method being repeated with the help ofproper tools, they were broke in pieces and thrown down, which made thepassage easy for the floats. This affair was carried on to a very good account, till those concern'dthought proper to call off the men and horses from the woods ofAbernethy, in order to employ them in their lead mines in the samecountry; from which they hoped to make greater advantage. The magistrates of Inverness paid him the compliment of making him apresent of the freedom of that place (at an elegant entertainment madeby them on that occasion) a favour likewise offered him at Aberdeen, &c. After a stay of several months in the Highlands, during which time hevisited the duke and duchess of Gordon, who distinguished him with greatcivilities, he went to York, and other places in that country; where hiswife then was, with some relations, for the recovery of her health; buthis staying longer there (on that account) than he intended, had like tohave proved of unhappy consequence; by giving room for some, whoimagined (as they wished) that he would not return, to be guilty of abreach of trust that aimed at the destruction of great part of what hethen was worth; but they were disappointed. In that retirement in the North, he wrote a poem intitled, The Progressof Wit, a Caveat for the use of an eminent Writer. It was composed ofthe genteelest praise, and keenest allegorical satire; and it gave nosmall uneasiness to Mr. Pope: Who had indeed drawn it upon himself, bybeing the aggressor in his Dunciad. --This afterwards occasioned aprivate paper-war between those writers, in which 'tis generally thoughtthat Mr. Hill had greatly the advantage of Mr. Pope. For theparticulars, the reader is referred to a shilling pamphlet latelypublished by Owen, containing Letters between Mr. Pope and Mr. Hill, &c. The progress of wit begins with the eight following lines, wherein theSNEAKINGLY APPROVES affected Mr. Pope extreamly. Tuneful Alexis on the Thames' fair side, The Ladies play-thing, and the Muses pride, With merit popular, with wit polite, Easy tho' vain, and elegant tho' light: Desiring, and deserving other's praise, Poorly accepts a fame he ne'er repays: Unborn to cherish, SNEAKINGLY APPROVES, And wants the soul to spread the worth he loves. During their controversy, Mr. Pope seemed to express his repentance, bydenying the offence he had given; thus, in one of his letters, he says, 'That the letters A. H. Were apply'd to you in the papers I did not know(for I seldom read them) I heard it only from Mr. Savage[4], as fromyourself, and sent my assurances to the contrary: But I don't see howthe annotator on the D. Could have rectified that mistake publicly, without particularizing your name in a book where I thought it too goodto be inserted, &c. [5]. ' And in another place he says, 'I should imagine the Dunciad meant you a real compliment, and so it hasbeen thought by many who have ask'd to whom that passage made thatoblique panegyric. As to the notes, I am weary of telling a great truth, which is, that I am not author of them, &c. ' Which paragraph was answer'd by the following in Mr. Hill's reply. 'As to your oblique panegyric, I am not under so blind an attachment tothe goddess I was devoted to in the Dunciad, but that I know it was acommendation; though a dirtier one than I wished for; who am neitherfond of some of the company in which I was listed--the noble reward, forwhich I was to become a diver;--the allegorical muddiness in which I wasto try my skill;--nor the institutor of the games you were so kind toallow me a share in, &c. '--A genteel severe reprimand. Much about the same time he wrote another poem, called Advice to thePoets; in praise of worthy poetry, and in censure of the misapplicationof poetry in general. The following lines here quoted, are the motto ofit, taken from the poem. Shame on your jingling, ye soft sons of rhyme, Tuneful consumers of your reader's time! Fancy's light dwarfs! whose feather-footed strains, Dance in wild windings, thro' a waste of brains: Your's is the guilt of all, who judging wrong, Mistake tun'd nonsense for the poet's song. He likewise in this piece, reproves the above named celebrated author, for descending below his genius; and in speaking of the inspiration ofthe Muse, he says, I feel her now. --Th'invader fires my breast: And my soul swells, to suit the heav'nly guest. Hear her, O Pope!--She sounds th'inspir'd decree, Thou great Arch-Angel of wit's heav'n! for thee! Let vulgar genii, sour'd by sharp disdain, Piqu'd and malignant, words low war maintain, While every meaner art exerts her aim, O'er rival arts, to list her question'd fame; Let half-soul'd poets still on poets fall, And teach the willing world to scorn them all. But, let no Muse, pre-eminent as thine, Of voice melodious, and of force divine, Stung by wits, wasps, all rights of rank forego, And turn, and snarl, and bite, at every foe. No--like thy own Ulysses, make no stay Shun monsters--and pursue thy streamy way. In 1731 he brought his Tragedy of Athelwold upon the stage inDrury-Lane; which, as he says in his preface to it, was written on thesame subject as his Elfrid or the Fair Inconstant, which he there calls, 'An unprun'd wilderness of fancy, with here and there a flower among theleaves; but without any fruit of judgment. '-- He likewise mentions it as a folly, having began and finished Elfrid ina week; and both the difference of time and judgment are visible infavour of the last of those performances. That year he met the greatest shock that affliction ever gave him; inthe loss of one of the most worthy of wives, to whom he had been marriedabove twenty years. The following epitaph he wrote, and purpos'd for a monument which hedesigned to erect over her grave. Enough, cold stone! suffice her long-lov'd name; Words are too weak to pay her virtues claim. Temples, and tombs, and tongues, shall waste away, And power's vain pomp, in mould'ring dust decay. But e'er mankind a wife more perfect see, Eternity, O Time! shall bury thee. He was a man susceptible of love, in its sublimest sense; as may be seenin that poetical description of that passion, which he has given in hispoem called the Picture of Love; wrote many years ago (from whence thefollowing two lines are taken) No wild desire can this proud bliss bestow, Souls must be match'd in heav'n, tho' mix'd below. About the year 1735 he was concern'd with another gentleman in writing apaper called the Prompter; all those mark'd with a B. Were his. --Thiswas meant greatly for the service of the stage; and many of them havebeen regarded in the highest manner. --But, as there was not onlyinstruction, but reproof, the bitter, with the sweet, by some could notbe relish'd. In 1736 having translated from the French of Monsieur de Voltaire, theTragedy of Zara, he gave it to be acted for the benefit of Mr. WilliamBond; and it was represented first, at the Long-Room in Villars-Street, York-Buildings; where that poor gentleman performed the part of Lusignan(the old expiring king) a character he was at that time too well suitedto; being, and looking, almost dead, as in reality he was before the runof it was over. --Soon after this play was brought upon the stage inDrury-Lane, by Mr. Fleetwood, at the earnest sollicitation of Mr. Theophilus Cibber; the part of Zara was played by Mrs. Cibber, and washer first attempt in Tragedy; of the performers therein he makes veryhandsome mention in the preface. This play he dedicated to his royalhighness the Prince of Wales. The same year was acted, at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, anotherTragedy of his translating from the same French author, called Alzira, which was likewise dedicated to the Prince. --His dedications generallywore a different face from those of other writers; he there most warmlyrecommends Monsieur de Voltaire, as worthy of his royal highness'spartiality; disclaiming for himself all expectations of his notice. Buthe was, notwithstanding, particularly honoured with his approbation. These plays, if not a litteral translation, have been thought muchbetter, for their having past his hands; as generously was acknowledgedby Monsieur de Voltaire himself. In 1737 he published a poem called, The Tears of the Muses; composed ofgeneral satire: in the address to the reader he says (speaking ofsatire) 'There is, indeed, something so like cruelty in the face of that species of poetry, that it can only be reconciled to humanity, by the general benevolence of its purpose; attacking particulars for the public advantage. ' The following year he wrote (in prose) a book called, An Enquiry intothe Merit of Assassination, with a View to the Character of Cæsar; andhis Designs on the Roman Republic. About this time, he in a manner left the world, (though living near sopopulous a part of it as London) and settled at Plaistow in Essex; wherehe entirely devoted himself to his study, family, and garden; and theaccomplishment of many profitable views; particularly one, in which foryears he had laboured through experiments in vain; and when he broughtit to perfection, did not live to reap the benefit of it: The discoveryof the art of making pot-ash like the Russian, which cost this nation, yearly, an immense sum of money. In the year 1743 he published The Fanciad, an Heroic Poem; inscribed tohis grace the duke of Marlborough: Who as no name was then prefixed toit, perhaps, knew not the author by whom he was distinguished in it. Soon after he wrote another, intitled the Impartial; which he inscribed, in the same manner, to the lord Carteret (now earl of Granville). In thebeginning of it are the following lines, Burn, sooty slander, burn thy blotted scroll; Greatness is greatness, spite of faction's soul. Deep let my soul detest th'adhesive pride, That changing sentiment, unchanges side. It would be tedious to enumerate the variety of smaller pieces he atdifferent times was author of. His notions of the deity were boundlessly extensive; and the few lineshere quoted from his Poem upon faith, published in 1746, must give thebest idea of his sentiments upon that most elevated of all subjects. What then must be believ'd?--Believe God kind, To fear were to offend him. Fill thy heart With his felt laws; and act the good he loves. Rev'rence his power. Judge him but by his works: Know him but in his mercies. Rev'rence too The most mistaken schemes that mean his praise. Rev'rence his priests. --for ev'ry priest is his, -- Who finds him in his conscience. -- This year he published his Art of Acting, a Poem, deriving Rules from anew Principle, for touching the Passions in a natural Manner, &c. Whichwas dedicated to the Earl of Chesterfield. Having for many years been in a manner forgetful of the eight Books hehad finished of his Epic Poem called Gideon, --in 1749 he re-perused thatwork, and published three of the Books; to which he gave the name ofGideon, or the Patriot. --They were inscribed to the late lordBolingbroke; to whom he accounts as follows, for the alterations he hadmade since the first publication of two Books. Erring, where thousands err'd, in youth's hot smart, Propulsive prejudice had warp'd his heart: Bold, and too loud he sigh'd, for high distress, Fond of the fall'n, nor form'd to serve success; Partial to woes, had weigh'd their cause too light, Wept o'er misfortune, --and mis-nam'd it right: Anguish, attracting, turn'd attachment wrong, And pity's note mis-tun'd his devious song. 'Tis much lamented by many who are admirers of that species of poetry, that the author did not finish it. The same year (after a length of different applications, for severalseasons, at both Theatres without success) his Tragedy, called Merope, was brought upon the stage in Drury-Lane by Mr. Garrick; to whom, aswell as to another gentleman he likewise highly both admired andesteemed, he was greatly obliged; and his own words (here borrowed) willshew how just a sense he had of these obligations. --They begin thepreface to the play. 'If there can be a pride that ranks with virtues, it is that we feelfrom friendships with the worthy. Mr. Mallet, therefore, must forgiveme, that I boast the honour he has done my Merope--I have so long been aretreater from the world, that one of the best spirits in it told melately, I had made myself an alien there. I must confess, I owe so manyobligations to its ornaments of most distinguished genius, that I musthave looked upon it as a great unhappiness to have made choice ofsolitude, could I have judged society in general, by a respect so due tothese adorners of it. ' And in relation to this Tragedy he says, after very justly censuringMonsieur de Voltaire, for representing in the preface to his Merope theEnglish as incapable of Tragedy, 'To such provoking stimulations I have owed inducement to retouch, forMr. Voltaire's use, the characters in his high boasted Merope; and Ihave done it on a plan as near his own as I could bring it with a safeconscience; that is to say, without distaste to English audiences. This he likewise dedicated to lord Bolingbroke; and was the last he everwrote. --There is a melancholy thread of fatal prophecy in the beginningof it; of his own approaching dissolution. Cover'd in fortune's shade, I rest reclin'd; My griefs all silent; and my joys resign'd. With patient eye life's evening gloom survey: Nor shake th'out-hast'ning sands; nor bid 'em stay-- Yet, while from life my setting prospects fly, Fain wou'd my mind's weak offspring shun to die. Fain wou'd their hope some light through time explore; The name's kind pasport--When the man's no more. From about the time he was solliciting the bringing on this play, anillness seized him; from the tormenting pains of which he had scarce anhour's intermission; and after making trial of all he thought could beof service to him in medicine; he was desirous to try his native air ofLondon (as that of Plaistow was too moist a one) but he was then pastall recovery, and wasted almost to a skeleton, from some internal cause, that had produced a general decay (and was believed to have been aninflamation in the kidneys; which his intense attachment to his studiesmight probably lay the foundation of. --When in town, he had the comfortof being honoured with the visits of the most worthy and esteemed amonghis friends; but he was not permitted many weeks to taste that blessing. [Transcriber's note: closing brackets missing in original. ] The same humane and generous Mr. Mallet, who had before aided hisMerope, about this time was making interest for its being played again, for the advantage of its author:--His royal highness the prince ofWales; had the great goodness to command it; and Mr. Hill just lived toexpress his grateful acknowledgments (to those about him) upon hearingof it:--But on the day before it was to be represented he died, in thevery minute of the earthquake, February the eighth, 1749, which heseemed sensible of, though then deprived of utterance. Had he lived twodays longer, he had been sixty-five years old. --He endur'd atwelve-month's torment of the body with a calmness that confess'd asuperiority of soul! He was interred in the same grave with her the mostdear to him when living, in the great cloister of Westminster-Abbey;near the lord Godolphin's tomb. It may be truly said of Mr. Hill, he was a great and general writer; andhad he been possest of the estate he was intitled to, his liberality hadbeen no less extensive than his genius. But often do we see misfortune'sclouds obscure the brightest sunshine. Besides his works which here have been enumerated, there are severalother; particularly two poems, intitled the Creation, and theJudgment-Day; which were published many years ago. --Another in blankverse he published in the time of his retreat into Essex; it was called, Cleon to Lycidas, a Time Piece; the date not marked by the printer. Some years before his death, he talked of making a collection of hisworks for publication; but postponed it for the finishing some pieces, which he did not live to effect. Since his death, four volumes of them have been published bysubscription, for his family. He left one Tragedy, never yet acted;which was wrote originally about 1737, and intitled Cæsar; but since, hehas named it the Roman Revenge:--But as the author was avowedly a greatadmirer of Cæsar's character, not in the light he is generallyunderstood (that of a tyrant) but in one much more favourable, he wasadvised by several of the first distinction, both in rank and judgment, to make such alterations in it as should adapt it more to the generalopinion; and upon that advice he in a manner new wrote the play: But asmost first opinions are not easily eradicated, it has been never able tomake a public trial of the success; which many of the greatestunderstanding have pronounced it highly worthy of. --The late lordBolingbroke (in a letter wrote to the author) has called it one of thenoblest drama's, that our language, or any age can boast. These few little speeches are taken from the part of Cæsar. 'Tis the great mind's expected pain, Calphurnia, To labour for the thankless. --He who seeks Reward in ruling, makes ambition guilt; And living for himself disclaims mankind. And thus speaking to Mark Anthony; If man were placed above the reach of insult, To pardon were no virtue. --Think, warm Anthony, What mercy is--'Tis, daring to be wrong'd, Yet unprovok'd by pride, persist, in pity. This again to Calphurnia. No matter. --Virtue triumphs by neglect: Vice, while it darkens, lends but foil to brightness: And juster times, removing slander's veil, Wrong'd merit after death is help'd to live. FOOTNOTES: [1] This was sent us by an unknown hand. [2] This play he made a present of to the patentee, and had several fine scenes painted for it, at his own expence: He indeed gave all his pieces to the stage; never taking any benefit, or gratuity from the managers, as an author--'till his last piece, Merope, was brought on the stage; when (unhappy gentleman) he was under the necessity of receiving his profits of the third nights; which 'till then, his generosity, and spirit, had ever declined. [3] Under the name of Georgia. [4] Savage was of great use to Mr. Pope, in helping him to little stories, and idle tales, of many persons whose names, lives, and writings, had been long since forgot, had not Mr. Pope mentioned them in his Dunciad:--This office was too mean for any one but inconsistent Savage: Who, with a great deal of absurd pride, could submit to servile offices; and for the vanity of being thought Mr. Pope's intimate, made no scruple of frequently sacrificing a regard to sincerity or truth. He had certainly, at one time, considerable influence over that great poet; but an assuming arrogance at last tired out Mr. Pope's patience. [5] A lame come-off. * * * * * Mr. LEWIS THEOBALD. This gentleman was born at Sittingburn in Kent, of which place hisfather, Mr. Peter Theobald, was an eminent attorney. His grammaticallearning he received chiefly under the revd. Mr. Ellis, at Isleworth inMiddlesex, and afterwards applied himself to the study and practice ofthe law: but finding that study too tedious and irksome for his genius, he quitted it for the profession of poetry. He engaged in a paper calledthe Censor, published in Mill's Weekly Journal; and by delivering hisopinion with two little reserve, concerning some eminent wits, heexposed himself to their lashes, and resentment. Upon the publication ofPope's Homer, he praised it in the most extravagant terms of admiration;but afterwards thought proper to retract his opinion, for reasons wecannot guess, and abused the very performance he had beforehyperbollically praised. Mr. Pope at first made Mr. Theobald the hero of his Dunciad, butafterwards, for reasons best known to himself, he thought proper todisrobe him of that dignity, and bestow it upon another: with whatpropriety we shall not take upon us to determine, but refer the readerto Mr. Cibber's two letters to Mr. Pope. He was made hero of the poem, the annotator informs us, because no better was to be had. In the firstbook of the Dunciad, Mr. Theobald, or Tibbald, as he is there called, isthus stigmatised, --Dullness her image full exprest, But chief in Tibbald's monster-breeding breast; Sees Gods with Daemons in strange league engage, And Earth, and heav'n, and hell her battles wage; She eyed the bard, where supperless he sate, And pin'd unconscious of his rising fate; Studious he sate, with all his books around, Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound! Plung'd for his sense, but found no bottom there; Then writ, and flounder'd on, in meer despair. He roll'd his eyes, that witness'd huge dismay, Where yet unpawn'd much learned lumber lay. He describes Mr. Theobald as making the following address to Dulness. --For thee Old puns restore, lost blunders nicely seek, And crucify poor Shakespear once a-week. For thee I dim these eyes, and stuff this head, With all such reading as was never read; For thee, supplying in the worst of days, Notes to dull books, and prologues to dull plays; For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, goddess, and about it; So spins the silk-worm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er. In the year 1726 Mr. Theobald published a piece in octavo, calledShakespear Restored: Of this it is said, he was so vain as to aver, inone of Mist's Journals, June the 8th, 'That to expose any errors in itwas impracticable;' and in another, April the 27th, 'That whatever caremight for the future be taken, either by Mr. Pope, or any otherassistants, he would give above five-hundred emendations, that wouldescape them all. ' During two whole years, while Mr. Pope was preparing his edition, hepublished advertisements, requesting assistance, and promisingsatisfaction to any who would contribute to its greater perfection. Butthis restorer, who was at that time solliciting favours of him, byletters, did wholly conceal that he had any such design till after itspublication; which he owned in the Daily Journal of November 26, 1728:and then an outcry was made, that Mr. Pope had joined with thebookseller to raise an extravagant subscription; in which he had noshare, of which he had no knowledge, and against which he had publicklyadvertised in his own proposals for Homer. Mr. Theobald was not only thus obnoxious to the resentment of Pope, butwe find him waging war with Mr. Dennis, who treated him with moreroughness, though with less satire. Mr. Theobald in the Censor, Vol. II. No. XXXIII. Calls Mr. Dennis by the name of Furius. 'The modern Furius(says he) is to be looked upon as more the object of pity, than thatwhich he daily provokes, laughter, and contempt. Did we really know howmuch this poor man suffers by being contradicted, or which is the samething in effect, by hearing another praised; we should in compassionsometimes attend to him with a silent nod, and let him go away with thetriumphs of his ill-nature. Poor Furius, where any of his cotemporariesare spoken well of, quitting the ground of the present dispute, stepsback a thousand years, to call in the succour of the antients. His verypanegyric is spiteful, and he uses it for the same reason as some ladiesdo their commendations of a dead beauty, who never would have had theirgood word; but that a living one happened to be mentioned in theircompany. His applause is not the tribute of his heart, but the sacrificeof his revenge. ' Mr. Dennis in resentment of this representation made of him, in hisremarks on Pope's Homer, page 9. 10. Thus mentions him. 'There is anotorious idiot, one HIGHT WHACHUM, who from an Under-spur-leather tothe law, is become an Under strapper to the play-house, who has latelyburlesqued the Metamorphoses of Ovid, by a vile translation, &c. Thisfellow is concerned in an impertinent paper called the Censor. ' Such wasthe language of Mr. Dennis, when enflamed by contradiction. In the year 1729 Mr. Theobald introduced upon the stage a Tragedy calledthe Double Falsehood; the greatest part of which he asserted wasShakespear's. Mr. Pope insinuated to the town, that it was all, orcertainly the greatest part written, not by Shakespear, but Theobaldhimself, and quotes this line, None but thyself can be thy parallel. Which he calls a marvellous line of Theobald, 'unless (says he) the playcalled the Double Falsehood be (as he would have it thought)Shakespear's; but whether this line is his or not, he proves Shakespearto have written as bad. ' The arguments which Mr. Theobald uses to provethe play to be Shakespear's are indeed far from satisfactory;--First, that the MS. Was above sixty years old;--Secondly, that once Mr. Betterton had it, or he hath heard so;--Thirdly, that some body told himthe author gave it to a bastard daughter of his;--But fourthly, andabove all, that he has a great mind that every thing that is good in ourtongue should be Shakespear's. This Double Falsehood was vindicated by Mr. Theobald, who was attackedagain in the art of sinking in poetry. Here Mr. Theobald endeavours toprove false criticisms, want of understanding Shakespear's manner, andperverse cavelling in Mr. Pope: He justifies himself and the greatdramatic poet, and essays to prove the Tragedy in question to be inreality Shakespear's, and not unworthy of him. We cannot set thiscontroversy in a clearer light, than by transcribing a letter subjoinedto the Double Falsehood. Dear Sir, You desire to know, why in the general attack which Mr. Pope has latelymade against writers living and dead, he has so often had a fling ofsatire at me. I should be very willing to plead guilty to hisindictment, and think as meanly of myself as he can possibly do, werehis quarrel altogether upon a fair, or unbiassed nature. But he is angryat the man; and as Juvenal says-- Facit indignatio versum. He has been pleased to reflect on me in a few quotations from a play, which I had lately the good fortune to usher into the world; I am thereconcerned in reputation to enter upon my defence. There are threepassages in his Art of Sinking in Poetry, which he endeavours to bringinto disgrace from the Double Falsehood. One of these passages alledged by our critical examiner is of thatstamp, which is certain to include me in the class of profound writers. The place so offensive for its cloudiness, is, --The obscureness of her birth Cannot eclipse the lustre of her eyes, Which make her all one light. I must own, I think, there needs no great Oedipus to solve thedifficulty of this passage. Nothing has ever been more common, than forlovers to compare their mistresses eyes to suns and stars. And what doesHenriquez say more here than this, 'That though his mistress be obscureby her birth; yet her eyes are so refulgent, they set her above thatdisadvantage, and make her all over brightness. ' I remember anotherrapture in Shakespear, upon a painter's drawing a fine lady's picture, where the thought seems to me every whit as magnified and dark at thefirst glance, --But her eyes-- How could he see to do them! having done one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his, And leave itself unfinished. -- This passage is taken from the Merchant of Venice, which will appear themore beautiful, the more it is considered. Another passage which Mr. Pope is pleased to be merry with, is in aspeech of Violante's; Wax! render up thy trust. -- This, in his English is open the letter; and he facetiously mingles itwith some pompous instances, most I believe of his own framing; which inplain terms signify no more than, See, whose there; snuff the candle;uncork the bottle; chip the bread; to shew how ridiculous actions of noconsequence are, when too much exalted in the diction. This he bringsunder a figure, which he calls the Buskin, or Stately. But we'll examinecircumstances fairly, and then we shall see which is most ridiculous;the phrase, or our sagacious censurer. Violante is newly debauched by Henriquez, on his solemn promise ofmarrying her: She thinks he is returning to his father's court, as hetold her, for a short time; and expects no letter from him. His servantwho brings the letter, contradicts his master's going for court; andtells her he is gone some two months progress another way, upon a changeof purpose. She who knew what concessions she had made to him, declaresherself by starts, under the greatest agonies; and immediately upon theservant leaving her, expresses an equal impatience, and fear of thecontents of this unexpected letter. To hearts like mine, suspence is misery. Wax! render up thy trust, --Be the contents Prosperous, or fatal, they are all my due. Now Mr. Pope shews us his profound judgment in dramatical passions;thinks a lady in her circumstances cannot without absurdity open aletter that seems to her as surprize, with any more preparation than themost unconcerned person alive should a common letter by the penny-post. I am aware Mr. Pope may reply, his cavil was not against the actionitself of addressing to the wax, but of exalting that action in theterms. In this point I may fairly shelter myself under the judgment of aman, whose character in poetry will vie with any rival this age shallproduce. Mr. Dryden in his Essay on Dramatic Poetry, tells us. 'That when fromthe most elevated thoughts of verse, we pass to those which are mostmean, and which are common with the lowest houshold conversation; yetstill there is a choice to be made of the best words, and the leastvulgar (provided they be apt) to express such thoughts. Our language, says he, is noble, full, and significant; and I know not, why he who ismaster of it, may not cloath ordinary things in it as decently as theLatin, if we use the same diligence in the choice of words. ' I come now to the last quotation, which in our examiner's handling, falls under this predicament of _being a thought astonishingly out ofthe way of common sense. _ None but himself can be his parallel. This, he hints, may seem borrowed from the thought of that master of ashow in Smithfield, who wrote in large letters over the picture of hisElephant. _This is the greatest Elephant in the world except himself. _ Ilike the pleasantry of the banter, but have no great doubt of gettingclear from the severity of it. The lines in the play stand thus. Is there a treachery like this in baseness, Recorded any where? It is the deepest; None but itself can be its parallel. I am not a little surprized, to find that our examiner at last isdwindled into a word-catcher. Literally speaking, indeed, I agree withMr. Pope, that nothing can be the parallel to itself; but allowing alittle for the liberty of expression, does it not plainly imply, that itis a treachery which stands single for the nature of its baseness, andhas not its parallel on record; and that nothing but a treachery equalto it in baseness can parallel it? If this were such nonsense as Popewould willingly have it, it would be a very bad plea for me to alledge, as the truth is, that the line is in Shakespear's old copy; for I mighthave suppressed it. But I hope it is defensible; at least if examplescan keep it in countenance. There is a piece of nonsense of the samekind in the Amphytrio of Plautus: Sofia having survey'd Mercury from topto toe, finds him such an exact resemblance of himself, in dress, shape, and features, that he cries out, Tam consimil' est, atq; ego. That is, he is as like me, as I am to myself. Now I humbly conceive, instrictness of expression a man can no more be like himself, than a thingits own parallel. But to confine myself to Shakespear. I doubt not but Ican produce some similar passages from him, which literally examined, are stark nonsense; and yet taken with a candid latitude have neverappeared ridiculous. Mr. Pope would scarce allow one man to say toanother. 'Compare and weigh your mistress with your mistress; and Igrant she is a very fair woman; but compare her with some other womanthat I could name, and the case will be very much altered. ' Yet the verysubstance of this, is said by Shakespear, in Romeo and Juliet; and Mr. Pope has not degraded it as any absurdity, or unworthy of the author. Pho! pho! you saw her fair, none else being by; HERSELF poiz'd with HERSELF in either eye. But, &c. Or, what shall we say of the three following quotations. ROMEO and JULIET. --Oh! so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. WINTER'S TALE. --For _Cogitation_ Resides not in the man _that does not think. _ HAMLET. --Try what repentance can, what can it not? Yet what can it, when one _cannot repent. _ Who does not see at once, the heaviest foot that ever trod cannot wearout the everlasting flint? or that he who does not think has no thoughtsin him? or that repentance can avail nothing when a man has notrepentance? yet let these passages appear, with a casting weight ofallowance, and their absurdity will not be so extravagant, as whenexamined by the literal touchstone. -- Your's, &c. LEWIS THEOBALD. By perusing the above, the reader will be enabled to discern whether Mr. Pope has wantonly ridiculed the passages in question; or whether Mr. Theobald has, from a superstitious zeal for the memory of Shakespear, defended absurdities, and palliated extravagant blunders. The ingenious Mr. Dodd, who has lately favoured the public with ajudicious collection of the beauties of Shakespear, has quoted abeautiful stroke of Mr. Theobald's, in his Double Falsehood, upon music. --Strike up, my masters; But touch the strings with a religious softness; Teach sounds to languish thro' the night's dull ear, 'Till Melancholy start from her lazy couch, And carelessness grow concert to attention. ACT I. SCENE III. A gentleman of great judgment happening to commend these lines to Mr. Theobald, he assured him he wrote them himself, and only them in thewhole play. Mr. Theobald, besides his edition of all Shakespear's plays, in which hecorrected, with great pains and ingenuity, many faults which had creptinto that great poet's writings, is the author of the following dramaticpieces. I. The Persian Princess, or the Royal Villain; a Tragedy, acted at theTheatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, printed in the year 1715. The authorobserves in his preface, this play was written and acted before he wasfull nineteen years old. II. The Perfidious Brother; a Tragedy acted at the Theatre in LittleLincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1716. This play is written on the model of Otway'sOrphan; the scene is in a private family in Brussels. III. Pan and Syrinx; an Opera of one act, performed on the Theatre inLittle Lincoln's Inn-Fields, 1717. IV. Decius and Paulina, a Masque; to which is added MusicalEntertainments, as performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, inthe Dramatic Opera of Circe. V. Electra, a Tragedy; translated from the Greek of Sophocles, withnotes, printed in the year 1714, dedicated to Joseph Addison, Esq; VI. Oedipus King of Thebes; a Tragedy translated from Sophocles, withnotes, translated in the year 1715, dedicated to the earl of Rockingham. VII. Plutus, or the World's Idol; a Comedy translated from the Greek ofAristophanes, with notes, printed in the year 1715. The author has tothis Translation prefixed a Discourse, containing some Account ofAristophanes, and his two Comedies of Plutus and the Clouds. VIII. The Clouds, a Comedy; translated from Aristophanes, with notes, printed in the year 1715. IX. The Rape of Proserpine; a Farce acted at the Theatre-Royal inLincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1727. X. The Fatal Secret; a Tragedy acted at the Theatre-Royal inCovent-Garden, 1725. XI. The Vocal Parts of an Entertainment, called Apollo and Daphne, or the Burgo Master Trick'd; performed at the Theatre inLincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1726. XII. Double Falsehood; which we have already mentioned. Mr. Theobald's other Works are chiefly these. The Gentleman's Library, containing Rules for Conduct in all Parts ofLife, in 12mo. 1722. The first Book of Homer's Odyssey translated, with notes, 8vo. 1716. The Cave of Poverty, written in imitation of Shakespear. Pindaric Ode on the Union, 1707. A Poem sacred to the Memory of Queen Anne, Folio 1714. Translations from Ovid's Metamorphoses. Lives of Antiochus, and Berenice, from the French, 1717. * * * * * The Revd. Dr. SAMUEL CROXALL, The celebrated author of the Fair Circassian, was son of the revd. Mr. Samuel Croxall, rector of Hanworth, Middlesex, and vicar of Walton uponThames in Surry, in the last of which places our author was born. Hereceived his early education at Eton school, and from thence wasadmitted to St. John's College, Cambridge. Probably while he was at theuniversity, he became enamoured of Mrs. Anna Maria Mordaunt, who firstinspired his breast with love, and to whom he dedicates the poem of theCircassian, for which he has been so much distinguished. This dedicationis indeed the characteristic of a youth in love, but then it likewiseproves him altogether unacquainted with the world, and with thateasiness of address which distinguishes a gentleman. A recluse scholarmay be passionately in love, but he discovers it by strains of bombast, and forced allusions, of which this dedication is a very livelyinstance. 'The language of the Fair Circassian, says he, like yours, was naturalpoetry; her voice music, and the excellent colouring and formation ofher features, painting; but still, like yours, drawn by the inimitablepencil of nature, life itself; a pattern for the greatest master, butcopying after none; I will not say angels are not cast in the samemould. ' And again in another place, 'Pardon, O lovely deity, thepresumption of this address, and favour my weak endeavours. If myconfession of your divine power is any where too faint, believe it notto proceed from a want of due respect, but of a capacity more thanhuman. Whoever thinks of you can no longer be himself; and if he could, ought to be something above man to celebrate the accomplishment of agoddess. To you I owe my creation as a lover, and in the beams of yourbeauty only I live, move, and exist. If there should be a suspension ofyour charms, I should fall to nothing. But it seems to be out of yourpower to deprive us of their kind influence; wherever you shine theyfill all our hearts, and you are charming out of necessity, as theauthor of nature is good. ' We have quoted enough to shew the enthusiasm, or rather phrenzy, of this address, which is written in such a manner asif it were intended for a burlesque on the False Sublime, as thespeeches of James I. Are upon pedantry. Mr. Croxall, who was intended for holy orders, and, probably, when hepublished the Circassian, had really entered into them, was cautiouslest he should be known to be the author of this piece, since manydivines have esteemed the Song of Solomon, from which it is taken, as aninspired poem, emblematic of the Messiah and the Church. Our author wasof another opinion, and with him almost all sensible men join, inbelieving that it is no more than a beautiful poem, composed by thatEastern monarch, upon some favourite lady in his Seraglio. He artfullyintroduces it with a preface, in which he informs us, that it was thecomposition of a young gentleman, his pupil, lately deceased, executedby him, while he was influenced by that violent passion with which Mrs. Mordaunt inspired him. He then endeavours to ascertain who this Easternbeauty was, who had charms to enflame the heart of the royal poet. He isof opinion it could not be Pharaoh's daughter, as has been commonlyconjectured, because the bride in the Canticles is characterised as aprivate person, a shepherdess, one that kept a vineyard, and was illused by her mother's children, all which will agree very well withsomebody else, but cannot, without great straining, be drawn to fit theEgyptian Princess. He then proceeds, 'seeing we have so good reason toconclude that it was not Pharaoh's daughter, we will next endeavour toshew who she was: and here we are destitute of all manner of light, butwhat is afforded us by that little Arabian manuscript, mentioned in thePhilosophical Transactions of Amsterdam, 1558, said to be found in amarble chest among the ruins of Palmyra, and presented to the universityof Leyden by Dr. Hermanus Hoffman. The contents of which are somethingin the nature of Memoirs of the Court of Solomon; giving a sufficientaccount of the chief offices and posts in his houshold; of the severalfunds of the royal revenue; of the distinct apartments of his palacethere; of the different Seraglios, being fifty two in number in that onecity. Then there is an account given of the Sultanas; their manner oftreatment and living; their birth and country, with some touches oftheir personal endowments, how long they continued in favour, and whatthe result was of the King's fondness for each of them. Among these, there is particular mention made of a slave of more exceeding beautythan had ever been known before; at whose appearance the charms of allthe rest vanished like stars before the morning sun; that the Kingcleaved to her with the strongest affection, and was not seen out of theSeraglio, where she was kept, for about a month. That she was takencaptive, together with her mother, out of a vineyard, on the Coast ofCircassia, by a Corsair of Hiram King of Tyre, and brought to Jerusalem. It is said, she was placed in the ninth Seraglio, to the east ofPalmyra, which, in the Hebrew tongue, is called Tadmor; which, withoutfarther particulars, are sufficient to convince us that this was thecharming person, sung with so much rapture by the Royal poet, and in therecital of whose amour he seems so transported. For she speaks ofherself as one that kept a vineyard, and her mother's introducing her inone of the gardens of pleasure (as it seems she did at her firstpresenting her to the King) is here distinctly mentioned. The manuscriptfurther takes notice, that she was called Saphira, from the heavenlyblue of her eyes. ' Notwithstanding the caution with which Mr. Croxall published the FairCircassian, yet it was some years after known to be his. The success itmet with, which was not indeed above its desert, was perhaps too muchfor vanity (of which authors are seldom entirely divested) to resist, and he might be betrayed into a confession, from that powerfulprinciple, of what otherwise would have remained concealed. Some years after it was published, Mr. Cragg, one of the ministers ofthe city of Edinburgh, gave the world a small volume of spiritual poems, in one of which he takes occasion to complain of the prostitution ofgenius, and that few poets have ever turned their thoughts towardsreligious subjects; and mentions the author of the Circassian with greatindignation, for having prostituted his Muse to the purposes oflewdness, in converting the Song of Solomon (a work, as he thought it, of sacred inspiration) into an amorous dialogue between a King and hismistress. His words are, Curss'd be he that the Circassian wrote, Perish his fame, contempt be all his lot, Who basely durst in execrable strains, Turn holy mysteries into impious scenes. The revd. Gentleman met with some remonstrances from his friends, forindulging so splenetic a temper, when he was writing in the cause ofreligion, as to wish any man accursed. Of this censure he was notinsensible; in the next edition of his poems, he softened the sarcasm, by declaring, in a note, that he had no enmity to the author's person, and that when he wished him accursed, be meant not the man, but theauthor, which are two very distinct considerations; for an author may beaccursed, that is, damned to fame, while the man may be in as fair a wayto happiness as any body; but, continues he, I should not have expectedsuch prophanation from a clergyman. The Circassian, however, is a beautiful poem, the numbers are generallysmooth, and there is a tender delicacy in the dialogue, though greatlyinferior to the noble original. Mr. Croxall had not long quitted the university, e'er he was institutedto the living of Hampton in Middlesex; and afterwards to the unitedparishes of St. Mary Somerset, and St. Mary Mounthaw, in the city ofLondon, both which he held 'till his death. He was also chancellor, prebend, and canon residentiary and portionist of the church ofHereford. Towards the latter end of the reign of Queen Anne he publishedtwo original Cantos, in imitation of Spenser's Fairy Queen, which weremeant as a satire on the earl of Oxford's administration. In the year1715 he addressed a poem to the duke of Argyle, upon his obtaining aVictory over the Rebels, and the same year published The Vision, a poem, addressed to the earl of Halifax. He was concerned, with many others, inthe translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, of which the following wereperformed by him: The Story of Nisus and Scylla, from the sixth Book. The Labyrinth, and Dædalus and Icarus, from the eighth Book. Part of the Fable of Cyparissus from the tenth Book. Most part of the eleventh Book, and The Funeral of Memnon, from thethirteenth Book. He likewise performed an entire Translation of Æsop's Fables. Subjoined to the Fair Circassian are several Poems addressed to Sylvia;Naked Truth, from the second Book of Ovid's Fastorum; HeathenPriestcraft, from the first Book of Ovid's Fastorum; A Midsummer's Wish;and an Ode on Florinda, seen while she was Bathing. He is also author ofa curious work, in one Volume Octavo, entitled Scripture Politics: beinga view of the original constitution, and subsequent revolutions in thegovernment of that people, out of whom the Saviour of the World was toarise: As it is contained in the Bible. In consequence of his strong attachment to the Whig interest, he wasmade archdeacon of Salop 1732, and chaplain in ordinary to his presentMajesty. As late as the year 1750, Dr. Croxall published a poem called The RoyalManual, in the preface to which he endeavours to shew, that it wascomposed by Mr. Andrew Marvel, and found amongst his MSS. But theproprietor declares, that it was written by Dr. Croxall himself. Thiswas the last of his performances, for he died the year following, in apretty advanced age. His abilities, as a poet, we cannot better display, than by the specimen we are about to quote. On FLORINDA, Seen while she was Bathing. Twas summer, and the clear resplendent moon Shedding far o'er the plains her full-orb'd light, Among the lesser stars distinctly shone, Despoiling of its gloom the scanty night, When, walking forth, a lonely path I took Nigh the fair border of a purling brook. Sweet and refreshing was the midnight air, Whose gentle motions hush'd the silent grove; Silent, unless when prick'd with wakeful care Philomel warbled out her tale of love: While blooming flowers, which in the meadows grew, O'er all the place their blended odours threw. Just by, the limpid river's crystal wave, Its eddies gilt with Phoebe's silver ray, Still as it flow'd a glittering lustre gave With glancing gleams that emulate the day; Yet oh! not half so bright as those that rise Where young Florinda bends her smiling eyes. Whatever pleasing views my senses meet, Her intermingled charms improve the theme; The warbling birds, the flow'rs that breath so sweet, And the soft surface of the dimpled stream, Resembling in the nymph some lovely part, With pleasures more exalted seize my heart. Rapt in these thoughts I negligently rov'd, Imagin'd transports all my soul employ, When the delightful voice of her I lov'd Sent thro' the Shades a sound of real joy. Confus'd it came, with giggling laughter mixt, And echo from the banks reply'd betwixt. Inspir'd with hope, upborn with light desire, To the dear place my ready footsteps tend. Quick, as when kindling trails of active fire Up to their native firmament ascend: There shrouded in the briers unseen I stood, And thro' the leaves survey'd the neighb'ring flood. Florinda, with two sister nymphs, undrest, Within the channel of the cooly tide, By bathing sought to sooth her virgin breast, Nor could the night her dazzling beauties hide; Her features, glowing with eternal bloom, Darted, like Hesper, thro' the dusky gloom. Her hair bound backward in a spiral wreath Her upper beauties to my sight betray'd; The happy stream concealing those beneath, Around her waste with circling waters play'd; Who, while the fair one on his bosom sported, Her dainty limbs with liquid kisses courted. A thousand Cupids with their infant arms Swam padling in the current here and there; Some, with smiles innocent, remarked the charms Of the regardless undesigning fair; Some, with their little Eben bows full-bended, And levell'd shafts, the naked girl defended. Her eyes, her lips, her breasts exactly round, Of lilly hue, unnumber'd arrows sent; Which to my heart an easy passage found, Thrill'd in my bones, and thro' my marrow went: Some bubbling upward thro' the water came, Prepar'd by fancy to augment my flame. Ah love! how ill I bore thy pleasing pain? For while the tempting scene so near I view'd, A fierce impatience throb'd in every vein, Discretion fled and reason lay subdu'd; My blood beat high, and with its trembling made A strange commotion in the rustling shade. Fear seiz'd the tim'rous Naiads, all aghast Their boding spirits at the omen sink, Their eyes they wildly on each other cast, And meditate to gain the farther brink; When in I plung'd, resolving to asswage In the cool gulph love's importuning rage. Ah, stay Florinda (so I meant to speak) Let not from love the loveliest object fly! But ere I spoke, a loud combining squeak From shrilling voices pierc'd the distant sky: When straight, as each was their peculiar care, Th' immortal pow'rs to bring relief prepare. A golden cloud descended from above, Like that which whilom hung on Ida's brow, Where Juno, Pallas, and the queen of love, As then to Paris, were conspicuous now. Each goddess seiz'd her fav'rite charge, and threw Around her limbs a robe of azure hue. But Venus, who with pity saw my flame Kindled by her own Amorer so bright, Approv'd in private what she seem'd to blame, And bless'd me with a vision of delight: Careless she dropt Florinda's veil aside, That nothing might her choicest beauties hide. I saw Elysium and the milky way Fair-opening to the shades beneath her breast; In Venus' lap the struggling wanton lay, And, while she strove to hide, reveal'd the rest. A mole, embrown'd with no unseemly grace, Grew near, embellishing the sacred place. So pleas'd I view'd, as one fatigu'd with heat, Who near at hand beholds a shady bower, Joyful, in hope-amidst the kind retreat To shun the day-star in his noon-tide hour; Or as when parch'd with droughty thirst he spies A mossy grot whence purest waters rise. So I Florinda--but beheld in vain: Like Tantalus, who in the realms below Sees blushing fruits, which to increase his pain, When he attempts to eat, his taste forego. O Venus! give me more, or let me drink Of Lethe's fountain, and forget to think. * * * * * The Revd. Mr. CHRISTOPHER PITT, The celebrated translator of Virgil, was born in the year 1699. Hereceived his early education in the college near Winchester; and in 1719was removed from thence to new college in Oxford. When he had studiedthere four years, he was preferred to the living of Pimperne inDorsetshire, by his friend and relation, Mr. George Pitt; which he heldduring the remaining part of his life. While he was at the university, he possessed the affection and esteem of all who knew him; and wasparticularly distinguished by that great poet Dr. Young, who so muchadmired the early displays of his genius, that with an engagingfamiliarity he used to call him his son. Amongst the first of Mr. Pitt's performances which saw the light, were apanegyric on lord Stanhope, and a poem on the Plague of Marseilles: Buthe had two large Folio's of MS. Poems, very fairly written out, while hewas a school-boy, which at the time of election were delivered to theexaminers. One of these volumes contained an entire translation ofLucan; and the other consisted of Miscellaneous pieces. Mr. Pitt's Lucanhas never been published; perhaps from the consideration of its beingthe production of his early life, or from a consciousness of its notequalling the translation of that author by Rowe, who executed this talkin the meridian of his genius. Several of his other pieces werepublished afterwards, in his volume of Miscellaneous Poems. The ingenious writer of the Student hath obliged the world by inferringin that work several original pieces by Mr. Pitt; whose name is prefixedto them. Next to his beautiful Translation of Virgil, Mr. Pitt gained thegreatest reputation by rendering into English, Vida's Art of Poetry, which he has executed with the strictest attention to the author'ssense, with the utmost elegance of versification, and without sufferingthe noble spirit of the original to be lost in his translation. This amiable poet died in the year 1748, without leaving one enemybehind him. On his tombstone were engraved these words, "He lived innocent, and died beloved. " Mr. Auditor Benson, who in a pamphlet of his writing, has treatedDryden's translation of Virgil with great contempt, was yet charmed withthat by Mr. Pitt, and found in it some beauties, of which he was fondeven to a degree of enthusiasm. Alliteration is one of those beautiesMr. Benson so much admired, and in praise of which he has a longdissertation in his letters on translated verse. He once took anopportunity, in conversation with Mr. Pitt, to magnify that beauty, andto compliment him upon it. Mr. Pitt thought this article far lessconsiderable than Mr. Benson did; but says he, 'since you are so fond ofalliteration, the following couplet upon Cardinal Woolsey will notdisplease you, 'Begot by butchers, but by bishops bred, How high his honour holds his haughty head. Benson was no doubt charmed to hear his favourite grace in poetry sobeautifully exemplified, which it certainly is, without any affectationor stiffness. Waller thought this a beauty; and Dryden was very fond ofit. Some late writers, under the notion of imitating these two greatversifiers in this point, run into downright affectation, and are guiltyof the most improper and ridiculous expressions, provided there be butan alliteration. It is very remarkable, that an affectation of thisbeauty is ridiculed by Shakespear, in Love's Labour Lost, Act II. Wherethe Pedant Holofernes says, I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility. -- The praiseful princess pierced, and prickt. -- Mr. Upton, in his letter concerning Spencer, observes, that alliterationis ridiculed too in Chaucer, in a passage which every reader does notunderstand. The Ploughman's Tale is written, in some measure, in imitation ofPierce's Ploughman's Visions; and runs chiefly upon some one letter, orat least many stanza's have this affected iteration, as A full sterne striefe is stirr'd now, -- For some be grete grown on grounde. When the Parson therefore in his order comes to tell his tale, whichreflected on the clergy, he says, --I am a southern man, I cannot jest, rum, ram, riff, by letter, And God wote, rime hold I but little better. Ever since the publication of Mr. Pitt's version of the Aeneid, thelearned world has been divided concerning the just proportion of merit, which ought to be ascribed to it. Some have made no scruple in defianceof the authority of a name, to prefer it to Dryden's, both in exactness, as to his author's sense, and even in the charms of poetry. Thisperhaps, will be best discovered by producing a few shining passages ofthe Aeneid, translated by these two great masters. In biographical writing, the first and most essential principal iscandour, which no reverence for the memory of the dead, nor affectionfor the virtues of the living should violate. The impartiality which wehave endeavoured to observe through this work, obliges us to declare, that so far as our judgment may be trusted, the latter poet has donemost justice to Virgil; that he mines in Pitt with a lustre, whichDryden wanted not power, but leisure to bestow; and a reader, fromPitt's version, will both acquire a more intimate knowledge of Virgil'smeaning, and a more exalted idea of his abilities. --Let not this detractfrom the high representations we have endeavoured in some other placesto make of Dryden. When he undertook Virgil, he was stooping with age, oppressed with wants, and conflicting with infirmities. In thissituation, it was no wonder that much of his vigour was lost; and weought rather to admire the amazing force of genius, which was so littledepressed under all these calamities, than industriously to dwell on hisimperfections. Mr. Spence in one of his chapters on Allegory, in his Polymetis, hasendeavoured to shew, how very little our poets have understood theallegories of the antients, even in their translations of them; and hasinstanced Mr. Dryden's translation of the Aeneid, as he thought him oneof our most celebrated poets. The mistakes are very numerous, and someof them unaccountably gross. Upon this, says Mr. Warton, "I was desirousto examine Mr. Pitt's translation of the same passages; and wassurprized to find near fifty instances which Mr. Spence has given ofDryden's mistakes of that kind, when Mr. Pitt had not fallen into abovethree or four. " Mr. Warton then produces some instances, which we shallnot here transcribe, as it will be more entertaining to our readers tohave a few of the most shining passages compared, in which there is thehighest room for rising to a blaze of poetry. There are few strokes in the whole Aeneid, which have been more admiredthan Virgil's description of the Lake of Avernus, Book VI. Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu, Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro, nemorumque tenebris; Quam super haud ullæ poterant impune volantes. Tendere iter pennis; talis sese halitus atris, Faucibus effundens supera ad convexa ferebat: Unde locum Graii dixerunt nomine Aornon. Quatuor hic primum nigrantes terga juvencos Constituit, frontique invergit vina sacerdos; Et, summas carpens media inter cornua setas, Ignibus imponit sacris libarmina prima, Voce vocans Hecaten, cæloque ereboque potentem. DRYDEN. Deep was the cave; and downward as it went, From the wide mouth, a rocky wide descent; And here th'access a gloomy grove defends; And there th'innavigable lake extends. O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light, No bird presumes to steer his airy flight; Such deadly stenches from the depth arise, And steaming sulphur that infects the skies. From hence the Grecian bards their legends make, And give the name Aornus to the lake. Four fable bullocks in the yoke untaught, For sacrifice, the pious hero brought. The priestess pours the wine betwixt their horns: Then cuts the curling hair, that first oblation burns, Invoking Hecate hither to repair; (A powerful name in hell and upper air. ) PITT. Deep, deep, a cavern lies, devoid of light, All rough with rocks, and horrible to sight; Its dreadful mouth is fenc'd with sable floods, And the brown horrors of surrounding woods. From its black jaws such baleful vapours rise, Blot the bright day, and blast the golden skies, That not a bird can stretch her pinions there, Thro' the thick poisons, and incumber'd air, But struck by death, her flagging pinions cease; And hence Aornus was it call'd by Greece. Hither the priestess, four black heifers led, Between their horns the hallow'd wine she shed; From their high front the topmost hairs she drew, And in the flames the first oblations threw. Then calls on potent Hecate, renown'd In Heav'n above, and Erebus profound. The next instance we shall produce, in which, as in the former, Mr. Pitthas greatly exceeded Dryden, is taken from Virgil's description ofElysium, which says Dr. Trap is so charming, that it is almost Elysiumto read it. His demum exactis, perfecto munere divæ, Devenere locos lætos, & amoena vireta Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas. Largior hic campos æther & lumine vestit Purpureo; solemque suum, sua sidera norunt. Pars in gramineis exercent membra palæstris, Contendunt ludo, & fulva luctanter arena: Pars pedibus plaudunt choreas, & carmina dicunt. Necnon Threicius longa cum veste sacerdos Obloquitur numeris septem discrimina vocum: Jamque eadem digitis, jam pectine pulsat eburno. PITT. These rites compleat, they reach the flow'ry plains, The verdant groves, where endless pleasure reigns. Here glowing Æther shoots a purple ray, And o'er the region pours a double day. From sky to sky th'unwearied splendour runs, And nobler planets roll round brighter suns. Some wrestle on the sands, and some in play And games heroic pass the hours away. Those raise the song divine, and these advance In measur'd steps to form the solemn dance. There Orpheus graceful in his long attire, In seven divisions strikes the sounding lyre; Across the chords the quivering quill he flings, Or with his flying fingers sweeps the strings. DRYDEN. These holy rites perform'd, they took their way, Where long extended plains of pleasure lay. The verdant fields with those of heav'n may vie; With Æther veiled, and a purple sky: The blissful seats of happy souls below; Stars of their own, and their own suns they know. Their airy limbs in sports they exercise, And on the green contend the wrestlers prize. Some in heroic verse divinely sing, Others in artful measures lead the ring. The Thracian bard surrounded by the rest, There stands conspicuous in his flowing vest. His flying fingers, and harmonious quill, Strike seven distinguish'd notes, and seven at once they fill. In the celebrated description of the swiftness of Camilla in the VIIthAeneid, which Virgil has laboured with so much industry, Dryden is moreequal to Pitt than in the foregoing instances, tho' we think even inthis he falls short of him. Illa vel intactæ segetis per summa volaret Gramina, nec teneras curfu læsisset aristas: Vel mare per medium, fluctu suspensa tumenti Ferret iter; celeres nec tingeret æquore plantas. DRYDEN. --The fierce virago fought, -- Outstrip'd the winds, in speed upon the plain, Flew o'er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain: She swept the seas, and as she skim'd along, Her flying feet, unbath'd, on billows hung. PITT. She led the rapid race, and left behind, The flagging floods, and pinions of the wind; Lightly she flies along the level plain, Nor hurts the tender grass, nor bends the golden grain; Or o'er the swelling surge suspended sweeps, And smoothly skims unbath'd along the deeps. We shall produce one passage of a very different kind from the former, that the reader may have the pleasure of making the comparison. This isthe celebrated simile in the XIth Book, when the fiery eagerness ofTurnus panting for the battle, is resembled to that of a Steed; which isperhaps one of the most picturesque beauties in the whole Aeneid. Qualis, ubi abruptis fugit præsepia vinc'lis, Tandem liber equus, campoque potitus aperto; Aut ille in pastus armentaque tendit equarum, Aut assuetus aquæ perfundi flumine noto Emicat; arrectisque fremit cervicibus alte Luxurians, luduntque jubæ per colla, per armos. DRYDEN. Freed from his keepers, thus with broken reins, The wanton courser prances o'er the plains: Or in the pride of youth, o'erleaps the mounds, And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds. Or seeks his wat'ring in the well-known flood, To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood: He swims luxuriant in the liquid plain; And o'er his shoulders flows his waving main. He neighs, he snorts, he bears his head on high; Before his ample chest, the frothy waters fly. PITT. So the gay pamper'd steed with loosen'd reins, Breaks from the stall, and pours along the plains; With large smooth strokes he rushes to the flood, Bathes his bright sides, and cools his fiery blood; Neighs as he flies, and tossing high his head, Snuffs the fair females in the distant mead; At every motion o'er his neck reclin'd, Plays his redundant main, and dances in the wind. From the above specimens, our readers may determine for themselves towhose translation they would give the preference. Critics, likehistorians, should divest themselves of prejudice: they should never bemisguided by the authority of a great name, nor yield that tribute toprescription, which is only due to merit. Mr. Pitt, no doubt, had manyadvantages above Dryden in this arduous province: As he was later in theattempt, he had consequently the version of Dryden to improve upon. Hesaw the errors of that great poet, and avoided them; he discovered hisbeauties, and improved upon them; and as he was not impelled bynecessity, he had leisure to revise, correct, and finish his excellentwork. The Revd. And ingenious Mr. Joseph Warton has given to the world acompleat edition of Virgil's works made English. The Aeneid by Mr. Pitt:The Eclogues, Georgics, and notes on the whole, by himself; with somenew observations by Mr. Holdsworth, Mr. Spence, and others. This is thecompleatest English dress, in which Virgil ever appeared. It is enrichedwith a dissertation on the VIth Book of the Aeneid, by Warburton. On theShield of Aeneas, by Mr. William Whitehead. On the Character of Japis, by the late Dr. Atterbury bishop of Rochester; and three Essays onPastoral, Didactic, and Epic Poetry, by Mr. Warton. * * * * * Mr. HAMMOND. This Gentleman, known to the world by the Love Elegies, which some yearsafter his death were published by the Earl of Chesterfield, was the sonof a Turkey merchant, in the city of London. We cannot ascertain wherehe received his education; but it does not appear that he was at any ofthe universities. Mr. Hammond was early preferred to a place about theperson of the late Prince of Wales, which he held till an unfortunateaccident stript him of his reason, or at least so affected hisimagination, that his senses were greatly disordered. The unhappy causeof his calamity was a passion he entertained for one Miss Dashwood, which proved unsuccessful. Upon this occasion it was that he wrote hisLove Elegies, which have been much celebrated for their tenderness. Thelady either could not return his passion with a reciprocal fondness, orentertained too ambitious views to settle her affections upon him, whichhe himself in some of his Elegies seems to hint; for he frequentlymentions her passion for gold and splendour, and justly treats it asvery unworthy a fair one's bosom. The chief beauty of these Elegiescertainly consists in their being written by a man who intimately feltthe subject; for they are more the language of the heart than of thehead. They have warmth, but little poetry, and Mr. Hammond seems to havebeen one of those poets, who are made so by love, not by nature. Mr. Hammond died in the year 1743, in the thirty-first year of his age, at Stow, the seat of his kind patron, the lord Cobham, who honoured himwith a particular intimacy. The editor of Mr. Hammond's Elegiesobserves, that he composed them before he was 21 years of age; a period, says he, when fancy and imagination commonly riot at the expence ofjudgment and correctness. He was sincere in his love, as in hisfriendship; he wrote to his mistress, as he spoke to his friends, nothing but the true genuine sentiments of his heart. Tibullus seems tohave been the model our author judiciously preferred to Ovid; the formerwriting directly from the heart to the heart, the latter too oftenyielding and addressing himself to the imagination. As a specimen of Mr. Hammond's turn for Elegiac Poetry, we shall quotehis third Elegy, in which he upbraids and threatens the avarice ofNeæra, and resolves to quit her. Should Jove descend in floods of liquid ore, And golden torrents stream from every part, That craving bosom still would heave for more, Not all the Gods cou'd satisfy thy heart. But may thy folly, which can thus disdain My honest love, the mighty wrong repay, May midnight-fire involve thy sordid gain, And on the shining heaps of rapine prey. May all the youths, like me, by love deceiv'd, Not quench the ruin, but applaud the doom, And when thou dy'st, may not one heart be griev'd: May not one tear bedew the lonely tomb. But the deserving, tender, gen'rous maid, Whose only care is her poor lover's mind, Tho' ruthless age may bid her beauty fade, In every friend to love, a friend shall find. And when the lamp of life will burn no more, When dead, she seems as in a gentle sleep, The pitying neighbour shall her loss deplore; And round the bier assembled lovers weep. With flow'ry garlands, each revolving year Shall strow the grave, where truth and softness rest, Then home returning drop the pious tear, And bid the turff lie easy on her breast. * * * * * Mr. JOHN BANKS. This poet was the son of Mr. John Banks of Sunning in Berkshire, inwhich place he was born in 1709. His father dying while our author wasvery young, the care of his education devolved upon an uncle in law, whoplaced him at a private school, under the tuition of one Mr. Belpene, anAnabaptist. This schoolmaster, so far from encouraging young Banks tomake a great progress in classical learning, exerted his influence withhis relations to have him taken from school, and represented him asincapable of receiving much erudition. This conduct in Mr. Belpeneproceeded from an early jealousy imbibed against this young man, who, sofar from being dull, as the school-master represented him, possessedextraordinary parts, of which he gave very early proofs. Mr. Belpene was perhaps afraid, that as soon as Mr. Banks mould finishhis education, he would be preferred to him as minister to thecongregation of Anabaptists, which place he enjoyed, independent of hisschool. The remonstrances of Mr. Belpene prevailed with Mr. Banks'suncle, who took him from school, and put him apprentice to a Weaver atReading. Before the expiration of the apprenticeship, Mr. Banks had themisfortune to break his arm, and by that accident was disqualified frompursuing the employment to which he was bred. How early Mr. Banks beganto write we cannot determine, but probably the first sallies of his witwere directed against this school-master, by whom he was injuriouslytreated, and by whose unwarrantable jealousy his education, in somemeasure, was ruined. Our author, by the accident already mentioned, being rendered unfit to obtain a livelihood, by any mechanicalemployment, was in a situation deplorable enough. His uncle was eitherunable, or unwilling to assist him, or, perhaps, as the relation betweenthem was only collateral, he had not a sufficient degree of tendernessfor him, to make any efforts in his favour. In this perplexity of ouryoung poet's affairs, ten pounds were left him by a relation, which hevery oeconomically improved to the best advantage. He came to London, and purchasing a parcel of old books, he set up a stall inSpital-Fields. Much about this time Stephen Duck, who had wrote a poem called TheThresher, reaped very great advantages from it, and was caressed bypersons in power, who, in imitation of the Royal patroness, heapedfavours upon him, perhaps more on account of the extraordinary regardQueen Caroline had shewn him, than any opinion of his merit. Mr. Banksconsidered that the success of Mr. Duck was certainly owing to thepeculiarity of his circumstances, and that the novelty of a thresherwriting verses, was the genuine cause of his being taken notice of, andnot any intrinsic excellence in the verses themselves. This reflexioninspired him with a resolution of making an effort of the same kind; butas curiosity was no more to be excited by novelty, the attempt waswithout success. He wrote, in imitation of The Thresher, The Weaver'sMiscellany, which failed producing the intended effect, and, 'tis said, never was reckoned by Mr. Banks himself as any way worthy of particulardistinction. His business of selling books upon a stall becomingdisagreeable to him, as it demanded a constant and uncomfortableattendance, he quitted that way of life, and was received into the shopof one Mr. Montague a bookbinder, and bookseller, whom he served sometime as a journeyman. During the time he lived with Mr. Montague, heemployed his leisure hours in composing several poems, which were nowswelled to such a number, that he might sollicit a subscription for themwith a good grace. He had taken care to improve his acquaintance, and ashe had a power of distinguishing his company, he found his interesthigher in the world than he had imagined. He addressed a poem to Mr. Pope, which he transmitted to that gentleman, with a copy of hisproposals inclosed. Mr. Pope answered his letter, and the civilitiescontained in it, by subscribing for two setts of his poems, and 'tissaid he wrote to Mr. Banks the following compliment, 'May this put money in your purse: For, friend, believe me, I've seen worse. ' The publication of these poems, while they, no doubt, enhanced hisinterest, added likewise something to his reputation; and quitting hisemployment at Mr. Montague's, he made an effort to live by writing only. He engaged in a large work in folio, entitled, The Life of Christ, whichwas very acceptable to the public, and was executed with much piety andprecision. Mr. Banks's next prose work, of any considerable length, was A CriticalReview of the Life of Oliver Cromwell. We have already taken notice thathe received his education among the Anabaptists, and consequently wasattached to those principles, and a favourer of that kind ofconstitution which Cromwell, in the first period of his power, meant toestablish. Of the many Lives of this great man, with which the biographyof this nation has been augmented, perhaps not one is written with atrue dispassionate candour. Men are divided in their sentimentsconcerning the measures which, at that critical Æra, were pursued bycontending factions. The writers, who have undertaken to review thoseunhappy times, have rather struggled to defend a party, to which theymay have been swayed by education or interest, than, by strippingthemselves of all partiality, to dive to the bottom of contentions insearch of truth. The heats of the Civil War produced such animosities, that the fervour which then prevailed, communicated itself to posterity, and, though at the distance of a hundred years, has not yet subsided. Itwill be no wonder then if Mr. Banks's Review is not found altogetherimpartial. He has, in many cases, very successfully defended Cromwell;he has yielded his conduct, in others, to the just censure of the world. But were a Whig and a Tory to read this book, the former would pronouncehim a champion for liberty, and the latter would declare him a subverterof truth, an enemy to monarchy, and a friend to that chaos which Oliverintroduced. Mr. Banks, by his early principles, was, no doubt, biassed to the Whiginterest, and, perhaps, it may be true, that in tracing the actions ofCromwell, he may have dwelt with a kind of increasing pleasure on thebright side of his character, and but slightly hinted at those facts onwhich the other party fasten, when they mean to traduce him as aparricide and an usurper. But supposing the allegation to be true, Mr. Banks, in this particular, has only discovered the common failing ofhumanity: prejudice and partiality being blemishes from which the mindof man, perhaps, can never be entirely purged. Towards the latter end of Mr. Banks's life, he was employed in writingtwo weekly news-papers, the Old England, and the Westminster Journals. Those papers treated chiefly on the politics of the times, and the tradeand navigation of England. They were carried on by our author, withoutoffence to any party, with an honest regard to the public interest, andin the same kind of spirit, that works of that sort generally are. Thesepapers are yet continued by other hands. Mr. Banks had from nature very considerable abilities, and his poemsdeservedly hold the second rank. They are printed in two volumes 8vo. Besides the poems contained in these volumes, there are several otherpoetical pieces of his scattered in news-papers, and other periodicalworks to which he was an occasional contributer. He had the talent ofrelating a tale humorously in verse, and his graver poems have bothforce of thinking, and elegance of numbers to recommend them. Towards the spring of the year 1751 Mr. Banks, who had long been in avery indifferent state of health, visibly declined. His disorder was ofa nervous sort, which he bore with great patience, and even with achearful resignation. This spring proved fatal to him; he died on the19th of April at his house at Islington, where he had lived severalyears in easy circumstances, by the produce of his pen, without leavingone enemy behind him. Mr. Banks was a man of real good nature, of an easy benevolentdisposition, and his friends ever esteemed him as a most agreeablecompanion. He had none of the petulance, which too frequently rendersmen of genius unacceptable to their acquaintance. He was of so composeda temper, that he was seldom known to be in a passion, and he wore aperpetual chearfulness in his countenance. He was rather bashful, thanforward; his address did not qualify him for gay company, and though hepossessed a very extensive knowledge of things, yet, as he had not muchgrace of delivery, or elegance of manner, he could not make so good afigure in conversation, as many persons of his knowledge, with a happierappearance. Of all authors Mr. Banks was the farthest removed from envyor malevolence. As he could not bear the least whisper of detraction, sohe was never heard to express uneasiness at the growing reputation ofanother; nor was he ever engaged in literacy contests. We shall concludethis article in the words of lord Clarendon. 'He that lives such a life, need be less anxious at how short warning it is taken from him [1]. ' [1] See lord Clarendon's character of the lord Falkland. * * * * * Mrs. LÆTITIA PILKINGTON. This unfortunate poetess, the circumstances of whose life, written byherself, have lately entertained the public, was born in the year 1712. She was the daughter of Dr. Van Lewen, a gentleman of Dutch extraction, who settled in Dublin. Her mother was descended of an ancient andhonourable family, who have frequently intermarried with the nobility. Mrs. Pilkington, from her earliest infancy, had a strong disposition toletters, and particularly to poetry. All her leisure hours werededicated to the muses; from a reader she quickly became a writer, and, as Mr. Pope expresses it, 'She lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came. ' Her performances were considered as extraordinary for her years, anddrew upon her the admiration of many, who found more pleasure in herconversation, than that of girls generally affords. In consequence of apoetical genius, and an engaging sprightliness peculiar to her, she hadmany wooers, some of whom seriously addressed her, while others meant nomore than the common gallantries of young people. After the usualceremony of a courtship, she became the wife of Mr. Matthew Pilkington, a gentleman in holy orders, and well known in the poetical world by hisvolume of Miscellanies, revised by dean Swift. As we have few materialsfor Mrs. Pilkington's life, beside those furnished by herself in herMemoirs published in 1749, our readers must depend upon her veracity forsome facts which we may be obliged to mention, upon her sole authority. Our poetess, says she, had not been long married, e'er Mr. Pilkingtonbecame jealous, not of her person, but her understanding. She wasapplauded by dean Swift, and many other persons of taste; everycompliment that was paid her, gave a mortal stab to his peace. Beholdthe difference between the lover and the husband! When Mr. Pilkingtoncourted her, he was not more enamoured of her person, than her poetry, he shewed her verses to every body in the enthusiasm of admiration: butnow he was become a husband, it was a kind of treason for a wife topretend to literary accomplishments. It is certainly true, that when a woman happens to have moreunderstanding than her husband, she should be very industrious toconceal it; but it is like wise true, that the natural vanity of the sexis difficult to check, and the vanity of a poet still more difficult:wit in a female mind can no more cease to sparkle, than she whopossesses it, can cease to speak. Mr. Pilkington began to view her withscornful, yet with jealous eyes, and in this situation, nothing butmisery was likely to be their lot. While these jealousies subsisted, Mr. Pilkington, contrary to the advice of his friends, went into England, inorder to serve as chaplain to alderman Barber during his mayoralty ofthe city of London. While he remained in London, and having the strange humour of loving hiswife best at a distance, he wrote her a very kind letter, in which heinformed her, that her verses were like herself, full of elegance andbeauty[1]; that Mr. Pope and others, to whom he had shewn them, longedto see the writer, and that he heartily wished her in London. Thisletter set her heart on flame. London has very attractive charms to mostyoung people, and it cannot be much wondered at if Mrs. Pilkingtonshould take the only opportunity she was ever likely to have, ofgratifying her curiosity: which however proved fatal to her; for thoughwe cannot find, that during this visit to London, her conduct was theleast reproachable, yet, upon her return to Ireland, she underwent aviolent persecution of tongues. They who envied her abilities, fastenednow upon her morals; they were industrious to trace the motives of hergoing to London; her behaviour while she was there; and insinuatedsuspicions against her chastity. These detracters were chiefly of herown sex, who supplied by the bitterest malice what they wanted in power. Not long after this an accident happened, which threw Mrs. Pilkington'saffairs into the utmost confusion. Her father was stabbed, as she hasrelated, by an accident, but many people in Dublin believe, by his ownwife, though some say, by his own hand. Upon this melancholy occasion, Mrs. Pilkington has given an account of her father, which places her ina very amiable light. She discovered for him the most filial tenderness;she watched round his bed, and seems to have been the only relation thenabout him, who deserved his blessing. From the death of her father hersufferings begin, and the subsequent part of her life is a continuedseries of misfortunes. Mr. Pilkington having now no expectation of a fortune by her, threw offall reserve in his behaviour to her. While Mrs. Pilkington was in thecountry for her health, his dislike of her seems to have encreased, and, perhaps, he resolved to get rid of his wife at any rate: nor was helong waiting for an occasion of parting with her. The story of theirseparation may be found at large in her Memoirs. The substance is, thatshe was so indiscreet as to permit a gentleman to be found in herbed-chamber at an unseasonable hour; for which she makes this apology. 'Lovers of learning I am sure will pardon me, as I solemnly declare, itwas the attractive charms of a new book, which the gentleman would notlend me, but consented to stay till I read it through, that was thesole motive of my detaining him. ' This indeed is a poor evasion; and asMrs. Pilkington has said no more in favour of her innocence, they musthave great charity indeed with whom she can stand exculpated. While the gentleman was with her, the servants let in twelve men at thekitchen window, who, though they might, as she avers, have opened thechamber door, chose rather to break it to pieces, and took both her andthe gentleman prisoners. Her husband now told her, that she must turnout of doors; and taking hold of her hand, made a present of it to thegentleman, who could not in honour refuse to take her, especially as hisown liberty was to be procured upon no other terms. It being then twoo'clock in the morning, and not knowing where to steer, she went homewith her gallant: but she sincerely assures us, that neither of thementertained a thought of any thing like love, but sat like statues 'tillbreak of day. The gentleman who was found with her, was obliged to fly, leaving aletter and five guineas inclosed in it for her. She then took a lodgingin some obscure street, where she was persecuted by infamous women, whowere panders to men of fortune. In the mean time Mr. Pilkington carried on a vigorous prosecutionagainst her in the Spiritual Court; during which, as she says, hesolemnly declared, he would allow her a maintainance, if she never gavehim any opposition: but no sooner had he obtained a separation, than heretracted every word he had said on that subject. Upon this she wasadvised to lodge an appeal, and as every one whom he consulted, assuredhim he would be cast, he made a proposal of giving her a small annuity, and thirty pounds[2] in money; which, in regard to her children, shechose to accept, rather than ruin their father. She was with child atthe time of her separation, and when her labour came on, the woman whereshe lodged insisted upon doubling her rent: whereupon she was obliged towrite petitionary letters, which were not always successful. Having passed the pains and peril of childbirth, she begged of Mr. Pilkington to send her some money to carry her to England; who, in hopesof getting rid of her, sent her nine pounds. She was the more desirousto leave Ireland, as she found her character sinking every day with thepublic. When she was on board the yacht, a gentleman of figure in thegay world took an opportunity of making love to her, which she rejectedwith some indignation. 'Had I (said she) accepted the offers he made me, poverty had never approached me. I dined with him at Parkgate, and Ihope virtue will be rewarded; for though I had but five guineas in theworld to carry me to London, I yet possessed chastity enough to refusefifty for a night's lodging, and that too from a handsome well-bred man. I shall scarcely ever forget his words to me, as they seemed almostprophetic. "Well, madam, said he, you do not know London; you will beundone there. " "Why, sir, said I, I hope you don't imagine I will gointo a bad course of life?" "No, madam, said he, but I think you willsit in your chamber and starve;" which, upon my word, I have been prettynear doing; and, but that the Almighty raised me one worthy friend, goodold Mr. Cibber, to whose humanity I am indebted, under God, both forliberty and life, I had been quite lost. ' When Mrs. Pilkington arrived in London, her conduct was the reverse ofwhat prudence would have dictated. She wanted to get into favour withthe great, and, for that purpose, took a lodging in St. James's Street, at a guinea a week; upon no other prospect of living, than what mightarise from some poems she intended to publish by subscription. In thisplace she attracted the notice of the company frequenting White'sChocolate-House; and her story, by means of Mr. Cibber, was made knownto persons of the first distinction, who, upon his recommendation, werekind to her. Her acquaintance with Mr. Cibber began by a present she made him of TheTrial of Constancy, a poem of hers, which Mr. Dodsley published. Mr. Cibber, upon this, visited her, and, ever after, with the most unweariedzeal, promoted her interest. The reader cannot expect that we shouldswell this volume by a minute relation of all the incidents whichhappened to her, while she continued a poetical mendicant. She has not, without pride, related all the little tattle which passed between herand persons of distinction, who, through the abundance of theiridleness, thought proper to trifle an hour with her. Her virtue seems now to have been in a declining state; at least, herbehaviour was such, that a man, must have extraordinary faith, who canthink her innocent. She has told us, in the second volume of herMemoirs, that she received from a noble person a present of fiftypounds. This, she says, was the ordeal, or fiery trial; youth, beauty, nobility of birth, attacking at once the most desolate person in theworld. However, we find her soon after this thrown into great distress, and making various applications to persons of distinction forsubscriptions to her poems. Such as favoured her by subscribing, she hasrepaid with most lavish encomiums, and those that withheld that proof oftheir bounty, she has sacrificed to her resentment, by exhibiting themin the most hideous light her imagination could form. From the general account of her characters, this observation results, That such as she has stigmatized for want of charity, ought rather to becensured for want of decency. There might be many reasons, why a personbenevolent in his nature, might yet refuse to subscribe to her; but, ingeneral, such as refused, did it (as she says) in a rude manner, and shewas more piqued at their deficiency in complaisance to her, than theirwant of generosity. Complaisance is easily shewn; it may be done withoutexpence; it often procures admirers, and can never make an enemy. On theother hand, benevolence itself, accompanied with a bad grace, may lay usunder obligations, but can never command our affection. It is said ofKing Charles I. That he bestowed his bounty with so bad a grace, that hedisobliged more by giving, than his son by refusing; and we have heardof a gentleman of great parts, who went to Newgate with a greatersatisfaction, as the judge who committed him accompanied the sentencewith an apology and a compliment, than he received from his releasmentby another, who, in extending the King's mercy to him, allayed the Royalclemency by severe invectives against the gentleman's conduct. We must avoid entering into a detail of the many addresses, disappointments and encouragements, which she met with in her attendanceupon the great: her characters are naturally, sometimes justly, andoften strikingly, exhibited. The incidents of her life while sheremained in London were not very important, though she has related themwith all the advantage they can admit of. They are such as commonlyhappen to poets in distress, though it does not often fall out, that theinsolence of wealth meets with such a bold return as this lady has givenit. There is a spirit of keenness, and freedom runs through her book, she spares no man because he is great by his station, or famous by hisabilities. Some knowledge of the world may be gained from reading herMemoirs; the different humours of mankind she has shewn to the life, andwhatever was ridiculous in the characters she met with, is exposed invery lively terms. The next scene which opens in Mrs. Pilkington's life, is the prison ofthe Marshalsea. The horrors and miseries of this jail she haspathetically described, in such a manner as should affect the heart ofevery rigid creditor. In favour of her fellow-prisoners, she wrote avery moving memorial, which, we are told, excited the legislative powerto grant an Act of Grace for them. After our poetess had remained nineweeks in this prison, she was at last released by the goodness of Mr. Cibber, from whose representation of her distress, no less than sixteendukes contributed a guinea apiece towards her enlargement. When thisnews was brought her, she fainted away with excess of joy. Some timeafter she had tasted liberty, she began to be weary of that continuedattendance upon the great; and therefore was resolved, if ever she wasagain favoured with a competent sum, to turn it into trade, and quit theprecarious life of a poetical mendicant. Mr. Cibber had five guineas inreserve for her, which, with ten more she received from the duke ofMarlborough, enabled her to take a shop in St. James's Street, which shefilled with pamphlets and prints, as being a business better suited toher taste and abilities, than any other. Her adventures, while sheremained a shopkeeper, are not extremely important. She has neglected toinform us how long she continued behind the counter, but has told us, however, that by the liberality of her friends, and the bounty of hersubscribers, she was set above want, and that the autumn of her days waslike to be spent in peace and serenity. But whatever were her prospects, she lived not long to enjoy thecomforts of competence, for on the 29th of August, 1750, a few yearsafter the publication of her second volume, she died at Dublin, in thethirty ninth year of her age. Considered as a writer, she holds no mean rank. She was the author ofThe Turkish Court, or The London Apprentice, acted at the theatre inCaple-street, Dublin, 1748, but never printed. This piece was poorlyperformed, otherwise it promised to have given great satisfaction. Thefirst act of her tragedy of the Roman Father, is no ill specimen of hertalents that way, and throughout her Memoirs there are scattered manybeautiful little pieces, written with a true spirit of poetry, thoughunder all the disadvantages that wit can suffer. Her memory seems tohave been amazingly great, of which her being able to repeat almost allShakespear is an astonishing instance. One of the prettiest of her poetical performances, is the followingAddress to the reverend Dr. Hales, with whom she became acquainted atthe house of captain Mead, near Hampton-Court. To the Revd. Dr. HALES. Hail, holy sage! whose comprehensive mind, Not to this narrow spot of earth confin'd, Thro' num'rous worlds can nature's laws explore, Where none but Newton ever trod before; And, guided by philosophy divine, See thro' his works th'Almighty Maker shine: Whether you trace him thro' yon rolling spheres, Where, crown'd with boundless glory, he appears; Or in the orient sun's resplendent rays, His setting lustre, or his noon-tide blaze, New wonders still thy curious search attend, Begun on earth, in highest Heav'n to end. O! while thou dost those God-like works pursue, What thanks, from human-kind to thee are due! Whose error, doubt, and darkness, you remove, And charm down knowledge from her throne above. Nature to thee her choicest secrets yields, Unlocks her springs, and opens all her fields; Shews the rich treasure that her breast contains, In azure fountains, or enamell'd plains; Each healing stream, each plant of virtuous use, To thee their medicinal pow'rs produce. Pining disease and anguish wing their flight, And rosy health renews us to delight. When you, with art, the animal dissect, And, with the microscopic aid, inspect [Transcriber's note: 'microsopic' in original] Where, from the heart, unnumbered rivers glide, And faithful back return their purple tide; How fine the mechanism, by thee display'd! How wonderful is ev'ry creature made! Vessels, too small for sight, the fluids strain, Concoct, digest, assimilate, sustain; In deep attention, and surprize, we gaze, And to life's author, raptur'd, pour out praise. What beauties dost thou open to the sight, Untwisting all the golden threads of light! Each parent colour tracing to its source, Distinct they live, obedient to thy force! Nought from thy penetration is conceal'd, And light, himself, shines to thy soul reveal'd. So when the sacred writings you display, And on the mental eye shed purer day; In radiant colours truth array'd we see, Confess her charms, and guided up by thee; Soaring sublime, on contemplation's wings, The fountain seek, whence truth eternal springs. Fain would I wake the consecrated lyre, And sing the sentiments thou didst inspire! But find my strength unequal to a theme, Which asks a Milton's, or a Seraph's flame! If, thro' weak words, one ray of reason shine, Thine was the thought, the errors only mine. Yet may these numbers to thy soul impart The humble incense of a grateful heart. Trifles, with God himself, acceptance find, If offer'd with sincerity of mind; Then, like the Deity, indulgence shew, Thou, most like him, of all his works below. FOOTNOTES:[1] An extravagant compliment; for Mrs. Pilkington was far from being a beauty. [2] Of which, she says, she received only 15 l. * * * * * Mr. THOMAS SOUTHERN. This eminent poet was born in Dublin, on the year of the Restoration ofCharles the IId. And received his early education at the universitythere. In the 18th year of his age, he quitted Ireland, and as hisintention was to pursue a lucrative profession, he entered himself inthe Middle-Temple. But the natural vivacity of his mind overcomingconsiderations of advantage, he quitted that state of life, and enteredinto the more agreeable service of the Muses[1]. The first dramatic performance of Mr. Southern, his Persian Prince, orLoyal Brother, was acted in the year 1682. The story is taken fromThamas Prince of Persia, a Novel; and the scene is laid in Ispahan inPersia. This play was introduced at a time when the Tory interest wastriumphant in England, and the character of the Loyal brother was nodoubt intended to compliment James Duke of York, who afterwards rewardedthe poet for his service. To this Tragedy Mr. Dryden wrote the Prologueand Epilogue, which furnished Mr. Southern with an opportunity of sayingin his dedication, 'That the Laureat's own pen secured me, maintainingthe out-works, while I lay safe entrenched within his lines; and malice, ill-nature, and censure were forced to grin at a distance. ' The Prologue is a continued invective against the Whigs, and whetherconsidered as a party libel, or an induction to a new play, is in everyrespect unworthy of the great hand that wrote it. His next play was aComedy, called the Disappointment, or the Mother in Fashion, performedin the year 1684. --After the accession of king James the IId to thethrone, when the duke of Monmouth made an unfortunate attempt upon hisuncle's crown, Mr. Southern went into the army, in the regiment of footraised by the lord Ferrers, afterwards commanded by the duke of Berwick;and he had three commissions, viz. Ensign, lieutenant, and captain, under King James, in that regiment. During the reign of this prince, in the year before the Revolution, hewrote a Tragedy called the Spartan Dame, which however was not actedtill the year 1721. The subject is taken from the Life of Agis inPlutarch, where the character of Chelonis, between the duties of a wifeand daughter was thought to have a near resemblance to that of KingWilliam's Queen Mary. 'I began this play, says Mr. Southern, a yearbefore the Revolution, and near four acts written without any view. Manythings interfering with those times, I laid by what I had written forseventeen years: I shewed it then to the late duke of Devonshire, whowas in every regard a judge; he told me he saw no reason why it mightnot have been acted the year of the Revolution: I then finished it, andas I thought cut out the exceptionable parts, but could not get itacted, not being able to persuade myself to the cutting off those limbs, which I thought essential to the strength and life of it. But since Ifound it must pine in obscurity without it, I consented to theoperation, and after the amputation of every line, very near to thenumber of 400, it stands on its own legs still, and by the favour of thetown, and indulging assistance of friends, has come successfully forwardon the stage. ' This play was inimitably acted. Mr. Booth, Mr. Wilks, Mr. Cibber, Mr. Mills, sen. Mrs. Oldfield, and Mrs. Porter, all performed init, in their heighth of reputation, and the full vigour of their powers. Mr. Southern acknowledges in his preface to this play, that the lastscene of the third Act, was almost all written by the honourable JohnStafford, father to the earl of Stafford. Mr. Southern has likewiseacknowledged, that he received from the bookseller, as a price for thisplay, 150 l. Which at that time was very extraordinary. He was the firstwho raised the advantage of play writing to a second and third night, which Mr. Pope mentions in the following manner, --Southern born to raise, The price of Prologues and of Plays. The reputation which Mr. Dryden gained by the many Prologues he wrote, induced the players to be sollicitous to have one of his to speak, whichwere generally well received by the public. Mr. Dryden's price for aPrologue had usually been five guineas, with which sum Mr. Southernpresented him when he received from him a Prologue for one of his plays. Mr. Dryden returned the money, and said to him; 'Young man this is toolittle, I must have ten guineas. ' Mr. Southern on this observ'd, thathis usual price was five guineas. Yes answered Dryden, it has been so, but the players have hitherto had my labours too cheap; for the future Imust have ten guineas [2]. Mr. Southern was industrious to draw all imaginable profits from hispoetical labours. Mr. Dryden once took occasion to ask him how much hegot by one of his plays; to which he answered, that he was reallyashamed to inform him. But Mr. Dryden being a little importunate toknow, he plainly told him, that by his last play he cleared sevenhundred pounds; which appeared astonishing to Mr. Dryden, as he himselfhad never been able to acquire more than one hundred by any of his mostsuccessful pieces. The secret is, Mr. Southern was not beneath thedrudgery of sollicitation, and often sold his tickets at a very highprice, by making applications to persons of distinction: a degree ofservility which perhaps Mr. Dryden thought was much beneath the dignityof a poet; and too much in the character of an under-player. That Mr. Dryden entertained a very high opinion of our author'sabilities, appears from his many expressions of kindness towards him. Hehas prefixed a copy of verses to a Comedy of his, called the Wife'sExcuse, acted in the year 1692, with very indifferent success: Of thisComedy, Mr. Dryden had so high an opinion, that he bequeathed to ourpoet, the care of writing half the last act of his Tragedy of Cleomenes, 'Which, says Mr. Southern, when it comes into the world will appear tobe so considerable a trust, that all the town will pardon me fordefending this play, that preferred me to it. ' Our author continued from time to time to entertain the public with hisdramatic pieces, the greatest part of which met with the success theydeserved. The night on which his Innocent Adultery was first acted, which is perhaps the most moving play in any language; a gentleman tookoccasion to ask Mr. Dryden, what was his opinion of Southern's genius?to which that great poet replied, 'That he thought him such another poetas Otway. ' When this reply was communicated to Mr. Southern, heconsidered it as a very great compliment, having no ambition to bethought a more considerable poet than Otway was. Of our author's Comedies, none are in possession of the stage, norperhaps deserve to be so; for in that province he is less excellent thanin Tragedy. The present Laureat, who is perhaps one of the best judgesof Comedy now living, being asked his opinion by a gentleman, ofSouthern's comic dialogue, answered, That it might be denominatedWhip-Syllabub, that is, flashy and light, but indurable; and as it iswithout the Sal Atticum of wit, can never much delight the intelligentpart of the audience. The most finished, and the most pathetic of Mr. Southern's plays, in theopinion of the critics, is his Oroonoko, or the Royal Slave. This dramais built upon a true story, related by Mrs. Behn, in a Novel; and has somuch the greater influence on the audience, as they are sensible thatthe representation is no fiction. In this piece, Mr. Southern hastouched the tender passions with so much skill, that it will perhaps beinjurious to his memory to say of him, that he is second to Otway. Besides the tender and delicate strokes of passion, there are manyshining and manly sentiments in Oroonoko; and one of the greatestgenius's of the present age, has often observed, that in the mostcelebrated play of Shakespear, so many striking thoughts, and such aglow of animated poetry cannot be furnished. This play is so oftenacted, and admired, that any illustration of its beauties here, would beentirely superfluous. His play of The Fatal Marriage, or The InnocentAdultery, met with deserved success; the affecting incidents, andinteresting tale in the tragic part, sufficiently compensate for thelow, trifling, comic part; and when the character of Isabella is acted, as we have seen it, by Mrs. Porter, and Mrs. Woffington, the ladiesseldom fail to sympathise in grief. Mr. Southern died on the 26th of May, in the year 1746, in the 86th yearof his age; the latter part of which he spent in a peaceful serenity, having by his commission as a soldier, and the profits of his dramaticworks, acquired a handsome fortune; and being an exact oeconomist, heimproved what fortune he gained, to the best advantage: He enjoyed thelongest life of all our poets, and died the richest of them, a very fewexcepted. A gentleman whose authority we have already quoted, had likewiseinformed us, that Mr. Southern lived for the last ten years of his lifein Westminster, and attended very constant at divine service in theAbbey, being particularly fond of church music. He never staid withindoors while in health, two days together, having such a circle ofacquaintance of the best rank, that he constantly dined with one orother, by a kind of rotation. FOOTNOTES: [1] Jacob. [2] From the information of a gentleman personally acquaintedwith Mr. Southern, who desires to have his name conceal'd. * * * * * The Revd. Mr. JAMES MILLER. This gentleman was born in the year 1703. He was the son of a clergyman, who possessed two considerable livings in Dorsetshire[1]. He receivedhis education at Wadham-College in Oxford, and while he was resident inthat university he composed part of his famous Comedy called the Humoursof Oxford, acted in the year 1729, by the particular recommendation ofMrs. Oldfield. This piece, as it was a lively representation of the follies and vicesof the students of that place, procured the author many enemies. Mr. Miller was designed by his relations to be bred to business, whichhe declined, not being able to endure the servile drudgery it demanded. He no sooner quitted the university than he entered into holy orders, and was immediately preferred to be lecturer in Trinity-College inConduit-Street, and preacher of Roehampton-Chapel. These livings weretoo inconsiderable to afford a genteel subsistence, and therefore it maybe supposed he had recourse to dramatic writing to encrease hisfinances. This kind of composition, however, being reckoned by some veryforeign to his profession, if not inconsistent with it, was thought tohave retarded his preferment in the church. Mr. Miller was likewiseattached to the High-Church interest, a circumstance in the times inwhich he lived, not very favourable to preferment. He was so honesthowever in these principles, that upon a large offer being made him bythe agents for the ministry in the time of a general opposition, he hadvirtue sufficient to withstand the temptation, though his circumstancesat that time were far from being easy. Mr. Miller often confessed tosome of his friends, that this was the fiery trial of his constancy. Hehad received by his wife a very genteel fortune, and a tenderness forher had almost overcome his resolutions; but he recovered again to hisformer firmness, when upon hinting to his wife, the terms upon whichpreferment might be procured, she rejected them with indignation; and hebecame ashamed of his own wavering. This was an instance of honour, fewof which are to be met with in the Lives of the Poets, who have been toogenerally of a time-serving temper, and too pliant to all the folliesand vices of their age. But though Mr. Miller would not purchasepreferment upon the terms of writing for the ministry, he was content tostipulate, never to write against them, which proposal they rejected intheir turn. About a year before Mr. Miller's death, which happened in 1743, he waspresented by Mr. Cary of Dorsetshire, to the profitable living of Upsun, his father had before possess'd, but which this worthy man lived notlong to enjoy; nor had he ever an opportunity of making that provisionfor his family he so much sollicited; and which he even disdained to doat the expence of his honour. Mr. Miller's dramatic works are, I. Humours of Oxford, which we have already mentioned. II. The Mother-in-Law, or the Doctor the Disease; a Comedy, 1733. III. The Man of Taste, a Comedy; acted in the year 1736, which had a runof 30 nights[2]. IV. Universal Passion, a Comedy, 1736. V. Art and Nature, a Comedy, 1737. VI. The Coffee-House, a Farce, 1737. VII. An Hospital for Fools, a Farce, 1739. VIII. The Picture, or Cuckold in Conceit. IX. Mahomet the Impostor, a Tragedy; during the run of this play theauthor died. X. Joseph and his Brethren; a sacred Drama. Mr. Miller was author of many occasional pieces in poetry, of which hisHarlequin Horace is the most considerable. This Satire is dedicated toMr. Rich, the present manager of Covent-Garden Theatre, in which with anironical severity he lashes that gentleman, in consequence of someoffence Mr. Rich had given him. Mr. Miller likewise published a volume of Sermons, all written with adistinguished air of piety, and a becoming zeal for the interest of truereligion; and was principally concerned in the translation of Moliere'scomedies, published by Watts. Our author left behind him a son, whose profession is that of a seasurgeon. Proposals for publishing his Poems have been inserted in theGentleman's Magazine, with a specimen, which does him honour. Theprofits of this subscription, are to be appropriated to his mother, whomhe chiefly supported, an amiable instance of filial piety. FOOTNOTES: [1] The account of this gentleman is taken from the information of his widow. [2] These two pieces were brought on the stage, without the author's name being known; which, probably, not a little contributed to their success; the care of the rehearsals being left to Mr. Theo. Cibber, who played the characters of the Man of Taste, and Squire Headpiece. * * * * * Mr. NICHOLAS AMHURST. This gentleman, well known to the world, by the share he had in thecelebrated anti-court paper called The Craftsman, was born in Marden inKent, but in what year we cannot be certain. Mr. Amhurst's grandfatherwas a clergyman, under whose protection and care he received hiseducation at Merchant-Taylors school. Having received there therudiments of learning, he was removed to St. John's College, Oxford, from which, on account of the libertinism of his principles, and someoffence he gave to the head of that college, it appears, he was ejected. We can give no other account of this affair, than what is drawn from Mr. Amhurst's dedication of his poems to Dr. Delaune, President of St. John's College in Oxford. This dedication abounds with mirth andpleasantry, in which he rallies the Dr. With very pungent irony, andhints at the causes of his disgrace in that famous college. In page 10, of his dedication, he says, 'You'll pardon me, good sir, if I think it necessary for your honour tomention the many heinous crimes for which I was brought to shame. Nonewere indeed publicly alledged against me at that time, because it mightas well be done afterwards; sure old Englishmen can never forget thatthere is such a thing as hanging a man for it, and trying himafterwards: so fared it with me; my prosecutors first proved me, by anundeniable argument, to be no fellow of St. John's College, and then tobe--the Lord knows what. 'My indictment may be collected out of the faithful annals of commonfame, which run thus, 'Advices from Oxford say, that on the 29th of June, 1719, one NicholasAmhurst of St. John's College was expelled for the following reasons; 'Imprimis, For loving foreign turnips and Presbyterian bishops. 'Item, For ingratitude to his benefactor, that spotless martyr, SirWilliam Laud. 'Item, For believing that steeples and organs are not necessary tosalvation. 'Item, For preaching without orders, and praying without a commission. 'Item, For lampooning priestcraft and petticoatcraft. 'Item, For not lampooning the government and the revolution. 'Item, For prying into secret history. 'My natural modesty will not permit me, like other apologists, toVindicate myself in any one particular, the whole charge is so artfullydrawn up, that no reasonable person would ever think the better of me, should I justify myself 'till doomsday. ' Towards the close of thededication, he takes occasion to complain of some severities usedagainst him, at the time of his being excluded the college. 'But I mustcomplain of one thing, whether reasonable or not, let the world judge. When I was voted out of your college, and the nusance was therebyremoved, I thought the resentments of the holy ones would have proceededno further; I am sure the cause of virtue and sound religion I wasthought to offend, required no more; nor could it be of any possibleadvantage to the church, to descend to my private affairs, and stir upmy creditors in the university to take hold of me at a disadvantage, before I could get any money returned; but there are some persons in theworld, who think nothing unjust or inhuman in the prosecution of theirimplacable revenge. ' It is probable, that upon this misfortune happening to our author, herepaired to the capital, there to retrieve his ruined affairs. We findhim engaged deeply in the Craftsman, when that paper was in itsmeridian, and when it was more read and attended to than any politicalpaper ever published in England, on account of the assistance given toit by some of the most illustrious and important characters of thenation. It is said, that ten thousand of that paper have been sold inone day. The Miscellanies of Mr. Amhurst, the greatest part of which were writtenat the university, consist chiefly of poems sacred and profane, original, paraphrased, imitated, and translated; tales, epigrams, epistles, love-verses, elegies, and satires. The Miscellany begins witha beautiful paraphrase on the Mosaic Account of the Creation; and endswith a very humorous tale upon the discovery of that useful utensil, ABottle-Screw. Mr. Amhurst died of a fever at Twickenham, April 27, 1742. Our poet hada great enmity to the exorbitant demands, and domineering spirit of theHigh-Church clergy, which he discovers by a poem of his, called, Theconvocation, in five cantos; a kind of satire against all the writers, who shewed themselves enemies of the bishop of Bangor. He translated TheResurrection, and some other of Mr. Addison's Latin pieces. He wrote an epistle (with a petition in it) to Sir John Blount, Bart. One of the directors of the South-Sea Company, 1726. Oculus Britanniæ, an Heroi-panegyrical Poem, on the University ofOxford, 8vo. 1724. In a poem of Mr. Amhurst's, called, An Epistle from the PrincessSobiesky to the Chevalier de St. George, he has the following nervouslines, strongly expressive of the passion of love. Relentless walls and bolts obstruct my way, And, guards as careless, and as deaf as they; Or to my James thro' whirlwinds I would, go, Thro' burning deserts, and o'er alps of snow, Pass spacious roaring, oceans undismay'd, And think the mighty dangers well repaid. * * * * * Mr. GEORGE LILLO. Was by profession a jeweller. He was born in London, on the 4th of Feb. 1693. He lived, as we are informed, near Moorgate, in the sameneighbourhood where he received his birth, and where he was alwaysesteemed as a person of unblemished character. 'Tis said, he waseducated in the principles of the dissenters: be that as it will, hismorals brought no disgrace on any sect or party. Indeed his principalattachment was to the muses. His first piece, brought on the stage, was a Ballad Opera, calledSylvia; or, The Country Burial; performed at the Theatre Royal inLincoln's-Inn Fields, but with no extraordinary success, in the year1730. The year following he brought his play, called The LondonMerchant; or, The True Story of George Barnwell, to Mr. Cibber junior;(then manager of the summer company, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane)who originally played the part of Barnwell. --The author was not thenknown. As this was almost a new species of tragedy, wrote on a veryuncommon subject, he rather chose it should take its fate in the summer, than run the more hazardous fate of encountering the winter criticks. The old ballad of George Barnwell (on which the story was founded) wason this occasion reprinted, and many thousands sold in one day. Manygaily-disposed spirits brought the ballad with them to the play, intending to make their pleasant remarks (as some afterwards owned) andludicrous comparisons between the antient ditty and the modern drama. But the play was very carefully got up, and universally allowed to bewell performed. The piece was thought to be well conducted, and thesubject well managed, and the diction proper and natural; never low, andvery rarely swelling above the characters that spoke. Mr. Pope, amongother persons, distinguished by their rank, or particular publick merit, had the curiosity to attend the performance, and commended the actors, and the author; and remarked, if the latter had erred through the wholeplay, it was only in a few places, where he had unawares led himselfinto a poetical luxuriancy, affecting to be too elevated for thesimplicity of the subject. But the play, in general, spoke so much tothe heart, that the gay persons before mentioned confessed, they weredrawn in to drop their ballads, and pull out their handkerchiefs. It metwith uncommon success; for it was acted above twenty times in the summerseason to great audiences; was frequently bespoke by some eminentmerchants and citizens, who much approved its moral tendency: and, inthe winter following, was acted often to crowded houses: And all theroyal family, at several different times, honoured it with theirappearance. It gained reputation, and brought money to the poet, themanagers, and the performers. Mr. Cibber, jun. Not only gave the authorhis usual profits of his third days, &c. But procured him abenefit-night in the winter season, which turned out greatly to hisadvantage; so that he had four benefit-nights in all for that piece; bythe profits whereof, and his copy-money, he gained several hundredpounds. It continued a stock-play in Drury-Lane Theatre till Mr. Cibberleft that house, and went to the Theatre in Covent-Garden. It was oftenacted in the Christmas and Easter holidays, and judged a properentertainment for the apprentices, &c. As being a more instructive, moral, and cautionary drama, than many pieces that had been usuallyexhibited on those days, with little but farce and ribaldry torecommend them. A few years after, he brought out his play of The Christian Hero at theTheatre Royal in Drury-Lane. And another Tragedy called Elmerick. His tragedy of three acts, called Fatal Curiosity, founded on an oldEnglish story, was acted with success at the Hay-Market, in 1737. He wrote another tragedy, never yet acted, called Arden of Feversham. He was a man of strict morals, great good-nature, and sound sense, withan uncommon share of modesty. He died Sept. 3. 1739. And was buried in the vault of Shoreditch church. * * * * * Mr. CHARLES JOHNSON. Mr. Charles Johnson was designed for the law; but being an admirer ofthe muses, turned his thoughts to dramatic writing; and luckily being anintimate of Mr. Wilks, by the assistance of his friendship, Mr. Johnsonhad several plays acted, some of which met with success. He was aconstant attendant at Will's and Button's coffee houses, which were theresort of most of the men of taste and literature, during the reigns ofqueen Anne and king George the first. Among these he contracted intimacyenough to intitle him to their patronage, &c on his benefit-nights; bywhich means he lived (with oeconomy) genteelly. At last he married ayoung widow, with a tolerable fortune, and set up a tavern inBow-street, which he quitted on his wife's dying, and lived privately onthe small remainder of his fortune. He died about the year 1744. His parts were not very brilliant; but hisbehaviour was generally thought inoffensive; yet he escaped not thesatire of Mr. Pope, who has been pleased to immortalize him in hisDunciad. His dramatic pieces are, 1. The Gentleman Cully, a Comedy: acted at the Theatre-Royal, Covent-Garden, 1702. 2. Fortune in her Wits, a Comedy; 1705. It is a very indifferenttranslation of Mr. Cowley's Naufragium Joculare. 3. The Force of Friendship, a Tragedy, 1710. 4. Love in a Chest, a Farce, 1710. 5. The Wife's Relief; or, the Husband's Cure; a Comedy. It is chieflyborrowed from Shirley's Gamester, 1711. 6. The Successful Pirate, a Tragi-Comedy, 1712. 7. The Generous Husband; or, the Coffee-house Politician; a Comedy, 1713. 8. The Country Lasses; or, the Custom of the Manor; a Comedy, 1714. 9. Love and Liberty; a Tragedy, 1715. 10. The Victim; a Tragedy, 1715. 11. The Sultaness; a Tragedy, 1717. 12. The Cobler of Preston; a Farce of two Acts, 1717. 13. Love in a Forest; a Comedy, 1721. Taken from Shakespear's Comedy, Asyou like it. 14. The Masquerade; a Comedy, 1723. 15. The Village Opera, 1728. 16. The Ephesian Matron; a Farce of one Act, 1730. 17. Celia; or, the Perjured Lovers; a Tragedy, 1732. * * * * * PHILIP FROWDE, Esq; This elegant poet was the son of a gentleman who had beenpost-master-general in the reign of queen Anne. Where our authorreceived his earliest instructions in literature we cannot ascertain;but, at a proper time of life, he was sent to the university of Oxford, where he had the honour of being particularly distinguished by Mr. Addison, who took him under his immediate protection. While he remainedat that university, he became author of several poetical performances;some of which, in Latin, were sufficiently elegant and pure, to intitlethem to a place in the Musæ Anglicanæ, published by Mr. Addison; anhonour so much the more distinguished, as the purity of the Latin poemscontained in that collection, furnished the first hint to Boileau of thegreatness of the British genius. That celebrated critick of Franceentertained a mean opinion of the English poets, till he occasionallyread the Musæ Anglicanæ; and then he was persuaded that they who couldwrite with so much elegance in a dead language, must greatly excel inthat which was native to them. Mr. Frowde has likewise obliged the publick with two tragedies; the Fallof Saguntum, dedicated to sir Robert Walpole; and Philotas, addressed tothe earl of Chesterfield. The first of these performances, so far as weare able to judge, has higher merit than the last. The story is moreimportant, being the destruction of a powerful city, than the fall of asingle hero; the incidents rising out of this great event are likewiseof a very interesting nature, and the scenes in many places are notwithout passion, though justly subject to a very general criticism, thatthey are written with too little. Mr. Frowde has been industrious inthis play to conclude his acts with similes, which however exceptionablefor being too long and tedious for the situations of the characters whoutter them, yet are generally just and beautiful. At the end of thefirst act he has the following simile upon sedition: Sedition, thou art up; and, in the ferment, To what may not the madding populace, Gathered together for they scarce know what, Now loud proclaiming their late, whisper'd grief, Be wrought at length? Perhaps to yield the city. Thus where the Alps their airy ridge extend, Gently at first the melting snows descend; From the broad slopes, with murm'ring lapse they glide In soft meanders, down the mountain's side; But lower fall'n streams, with each other crost, From rock to rock impetuously are tost, 'Till in the Rhone's capacious bed they're lost. United there, roll rapidly away, And roaring, reach, o'er rugged rocks, the sea. In the third act, the poet, by the mouth of a Roman hero, gives thefollowing concise definition of true courage. True courage is not, where fermenting spirits Mount in a troubled and unruly stream; The soul's its proper seat; and reason there Presiding, guides its cool or warmer motions. The representation of besiegers driven back by the impetuosity of theinhabitants, after they had entered a gate of the city, is stronglypictured by the following simile. Imagine to thyself a swarm of bees Driv'n to their hive by some impending storm, Which, at its little pest, in clustering heaps, And climbing o'er each other's backs they enter. Such was the people's flight, and such their haste To gain the gate. We have observed, that Mr. Frowde's other tragedy, called Philotas, wasaddressed to the earl of Chesterfield; and in the dedication he takescare to inform his lordship, that it had obtained his privateapprobation, before it appeared on the stage. At the time of its beingacted, lord Chesterfield was then embassador to the states-general, andconsequently he was deprived of his patron's countenance during therepresentation. As to the fate of this play, he informs his lordship, itwas very particular: "And I hope (says he) it will not be imputed asvanity to me, when I explain my meaning in an expression of Juvenal, Laudatur & al-get. " But from what cause this misfortune attended it, wecannot take upon us to say. Mr. Frowde died at his lodgings in Cecil-street in the Strand, on the19th of Dec. 1738. In the London Daily Post 22d December, the followingamiable character is given of our poet: "But though the elegance of Mr. Frowde's writings has recommended him tothe general publick esteem, the politeness of his genius is the leastamiable part of his character; for he esteemed the talents of wit andlearning, only as they were, conducive to the excitement and practice ofhonour and humanity. Therefore, "with a soul chearful, benevolent, and virtuous, he was in conversationgenteelly delightful; in friendship punctually sincere; in deathchristianly resigned. No man could live more beloved; no private mancould die more lamented. " * * * * * Mrs. MARY CHANDLER, Was born at Malmsbury in Wiltshire, in the year 1687, of worthy andreputable parents; her father, Mr. Henry Chandler, being minister, manyyears, of the congregation of protestant dissenters in Bath, whoseintegrity, candour, and catholick spirit, gained him the esteem andfriendship of all ranks and parties. She was his eldest daughter, andtrained up carefully in the principles of religion and virtue. But asthe circumstances of the family rendered it necessary that she should bebrought up to business, she was very early employed in it, and incapableof receiving that polite and learned education which she often regrettedthe loss of, and which she afterwards endeavoured to repair bydiligently reading, and carefully studying the best modern writers, andas many as she could of the antient ones, especially the poets, as faras the best translations could assist her. Amongst these, Horace was her favourite; and how just her sentimentswere of that elegant writer, will fully appear from her own words, in aletter to an intimate friend, relating to him, in which she thusexpresses herself: "I have been reading Horace this month past, in thebest translation I could procure of him. O could I read his finesentiments cloathed in his own dress, what would I, what would I notgive! He is more my favorite than Virgil or Homer. I like his subjects, his easy manner. It is nature within my view. He doth not lose me infable, or in the clouds amidst gods and goddesses, who, more brutishthan myself, demand my homage, nor hurry me into the noise and confusionof battles, nor carry me into inchanted circles, to conjure with witchesin an unknown land, but places me with persons like myself, and incountries where every object is familiar to me. In short, his preceptsare plain, and morals intelligible, though not always so perfect as onecould have wished them. But as to this, I consider when and where helived. " The hurries of life into which her circumstances at Bath threw her, satfrequently extremely heavy upon a mind so intirely devoted to books andcontemplation as hers was; and as that city, especially in the seasons, but too often furnished her with characters in her own sex that wereextremely displeasing to her, she often, in the most passionate manner, lamented her fate, that tied her down to so disagreeable a situation;for she was of so extremely delicate and generous a soul, that theimprudences and faults of others gave her a very sensible pain, thoughshe had no other connexion with, or interest in them, but what arosefrom the common ties of human nature. This made her occasionalretirements from that place to the country-seats of some of herpeculiarly intimate and honoured friends, doubly delightful to her, asshe there enjoyed the solitude she loved, and could converse, withoutinterruption, with those objects of nature, that never failed to inspireher with the most exquisite satisfaction. One of her friends, whom shehighly honoured and loved, and of whose hospitable house, and pleasantgardens, she was allowed the freest use, was the late excellent Mrs. Stephens, of Sodbury in Gloucestershire, whose feat she celebrated in apoem inscribed to her, inserted in the collection she published. A lady, that was worthy of the highest commendation her muse could bestow uponher. The fine use she made of solitude, the few following lines me wroteon it, will be an honourable testimony to her. Sweet solitude, the Muses dear delight, Serene thy day, and peaceful is thy night! Thou nurse of innocence, fair virtue's friend, Silent, tho' rapturous, pleasures thee attend. Earth's verdant scenes, the all surrounding skies Employ my wondring thoughts, and feast my eyes, Nature in ev'ry object points the road, Whence contemplation wings my soul to God. He's all in all. His wisdom, goodness, pow'r, Spring in each blade, and bloom in ev'ry flow'r, Smile o'er the meads, and bend in ev'ry hill, Glide in the stream, and murmur in the rill All nature moves obedient to his will. Heav'n shakes, earth trembles, and the forests nod, When awful thunders speak the voice of God. However, notwithstanding her love of retirement, and the happyimprovement she knew how to make of it, yet her firm belief that herstation was the appointment of providence, and her earnest desire ofbeing useful to her relations, whom she regarded with the warmestaffection, brought her to submit to the fatigues of her business, towhich, during thirty-five years, she applied herself with, the utmostdiligence and care. Amidst such perpetual avocations, and constant attention to business, her improvements in knowledge, and her extensive acquaintance with thebest writers, are truly surprising. But she well knew the worth of time, and eagerly laid hold of all her leisure hours, not to lavish them awayin fashionable unmeaning amusements; but in the pursuit of what shevalued infinitely more, those substantial acquisitions of true wisdomand goodness, which she knew were the noblest ornaments of thereasonable mind, and the only sources of real and permanent happiness:and she was the more desirous of this kind of accomplishments, as shehad nothing in her shape to recommend her, being grown, by an accidentin her childhood, very irregular in her body, which she had resolutionenough often to make the subject of her own pleasantry, drawing thiswise inference from it, "That as her person would not recommend her, shemust endeavour to cultivate her mind, to make herself agreeable. " And indeed this she did with the greatest care; and she had so manyexcellent qualities in her, that though her first appearance could nevercreate any prejudice in her favour, yet it was impossible to know herwithout valuing and esteeming her. Wherever she professed friendship, it was sincere and cordial to theobjects of it; and though she admired whatever was excellent in them, and gave it the commendations it deserved, yet she was not blind totheir faults, especially if such as she apprehended to be inconsistentwith the character of integrity and virtue. As she thought one of thenoblest advantages of real friendship, was the rendering it serviceablemutually to correct, polish, and perfect the characters of those whoprofessed it, and as she was not displeased to be kindly admonishedherself for what her friends thought any little disadvantage to hercharacter, so she took the same liberty with others; but used thatliberty with such a remarkable propriety, tenderness, and politeness, asmade those more sincerely esteem her, with whom she used the greatestfreedom, and has lost her no intimacy but with one person, with whom, for particular reasons, she thought herself obliged to break off allcorrespondence. Nor could one, who had so perfect a veneration and love for religion andvirtue, fail to make her own advantage of the admonitions and reproofsshe gave to others: and she often expressed a very great pleasure, thatthe care she had of those young persons, that were frequently committedto her friendship, put her upon her guard, as to her own temper andconduct, and on a review of her own actions, lest she should any waygive them a wrong example, or omit any thing that was really for theirgood. And if she at any time reflected, that her behaviour to others hadbeen wrong, she, with the greatest ease and frankness, asked the pardonof those she had offended; as not daring to leave to their wrongconstruction any action of hers, lest they should imagine that sheindulged to those faults for which she took the liberty of reprovingthem. Agreeable to this happy disposition of mind, she gave, in anoff-hand manner, the following advice to an intimate friend, who hadseveral children, whom she deservedly honoured, and whom she could notesteem and love beyond his real merits. To virtue strict, to merit kind, With temper calm, to trifles blind, Win them to mend the faults they see, And copy prudent rules from thee. Point to examples in their sight, T'avoid, and scorn, and to delight. Then love of excellence inspire, By hope their emulation fire, You'll gain in time your own desire. She used frequently to complain of herself, as naturally eager, anxious, and peevish. But, by a constant cultivation of that benevolentdisposition, that was never inwrought in any heart in a stronger andmore prevailing manner than in hers, she, in a good measure, dispossestherself of those inward sources of uneasiness, and was pleased with thevictory she had gained over herself, and continually striving to renderit more absolute and complete. Her religion was rational and prevalent. She had, in the former part ofher life, great doubts about christianity, during which state ofuncertainty, she was one of the most uneasy and unhappy persons living. But her own good sense, her inviolable attachment to religion andvirtue, her impartial inquiries, her converse with her believingfriends, her study of the best writers in defence of christianity, andthe observations she made on the temper and conduct, the fall and ruinof some that had discarded their principles, and the irregularities ofothers, who never attended to them, fully at last released her from allher doubts, and made her a firm and established christian. The immediateconsequence of this was, the return of her peace, the possession ofherself, the enjoyment of her friends, and an intire freedom from theterror of any thing that could befall her in the future part of herexistence. Thus she lived a pleasure to all who knew her, and being, atlength, resolved to disengage herself from the hurries of life, and wrapherself up in that retirement she was so fond of, after having gainedwhat she thought a sufficient competency for one of her moderatedesires, and in that station that was allotted her, and settled heraffairs to her own mind, she finally quitted the world, and in a manneragreeable to her own wishes, without being suffered to lie long inweakness and pain, a burthen to herself, or those who attended her:dying after about two days illness, in the 58th year of her age, Sept. 11, 1745. She thought the disadvantages of her shape were such, as gave her noreasonable prospect of being happy in a married state, and thereforechose to continue single. She had, however, an honourable offer from acountry gentleman of worth and large fortune, who, attracted merely bythe goodness of her character, took a journey of an hundred miles tovisit her at Bath, where he made his addresses to her. But she convincedhim that such a match could neither be for his happiness, or her own. She had, however, something extremely agreeable and pleasing in herface, and no one could enter into any intimacy of conversation with her, but he immediately lost every disgust towards her, that the firstappearance of her person tended to excite in him. She had the misfortune of a very valetudinary constitution, owing, insome measure, probably to the irregularity of her form. At last, aftermany years illness, she entered, by the late ingenious Dr. Cheney'sadvice, into the vegetable diet, and indeed the utmost extremes of it, living frequently on bread and water; in which she continued so long, asrendered her incapable of taking any more substantial food when sheafterwards needed it; for want of which she was so weak as not to beable to support the attack of her last disorder, and which, I doubt not, hastened on her death. But it must be added, in justice to hercharacter, that the ill state of her health was not the only orprincipal reason that brought her to, and kept her fixed in herresolution, of attempting, and persevering in this mortifying diet. Theconquest of herself, and subjecting her own heart more intirely to thecommand of her reason and principles, was the object she had in especialview in this change of her manner of living; as being firmly persuaded, that the perpetual free use of animal food, and rich wines, tends so toexcite and inflame the passions, as scarce to leave any hope or chance, for that conquest of them which she thought not only religion requires, but the care of our own happiness, renders necessary. And the effect ofthe trial, in her own case, was answerable to her wishes; and what shesays of herself in her own humorous epitaph, _That time and much thought had all passion extinguish'd_, was well known to be true, by those who were most nearly acquainted withher. Those admirable lines on _Temperance_, in her Bath poem, she pennedfrom a very feeling experience of what she found by her own regard toit, and can never be read too often, as the sense is equal to thegoodness of the poetry. Fatal effects of luxury and ease! We drink our poison, and we eat disease, Indulge our senses at our reason's cost, Till sense is pain, and reason hurt, or lost. Not so, O temperance bland! when rul'd by thee, The brute's obedient, and the man is free. Soft are his slumbers, balmy is his rest, His veins not boiling from the midnight feast. Touch'd by Aurora's rosy hand, he wakes Peaceful and calm, and with the world partakes The joyful dawnings of returning day, For which their grateful thanks the whole creation pay, All but the human brute. 'Tis he alone, Whose works of darkness fly the rising sun. 'Tis to thy rules, O temperance, that we owe All pleasures, which from health and strength can flow, Vigour of body, purity of mind, Unclouded reason, sentiments refin'd, Unmixt, untainted joys, without remorse, Th' intemperate sinner's never-failing curse. She was observed, from her childhood, to have a fondness for poetry, often entertaining her companions, in a winter's evening, with riddlesin verse, and was extremely fond, at that time of life, of Herbert'spoems. And this disposition grew up with her, and made her apply, in herriper years, to the study of the best of our English poets; and beforeshe attempted any thing considerable, sent many small copies of verses, on particular characters and occasions, to her peculiar friends. Herpoem on the Bath had the full approbation of the publick; and what setsit above censure, had the commendation of Mr. Pope, and many others ofthe first rank, for good sense and politeness. And indeed there are manylines in it admirably penn'd, and that the finest genius need not to beashamed of. It hath ran through several editions; and, when firstpublished, procured her the personal acknowledgments of several of thebrightest quality, and of many others, greatly distinguished as the bestjudges of poetical performances. She was meditating a nobler work, a large poem on the Being andAttributes of God, which was her favourite subject; and, if one mayjudge by the imperfect pieces of it, which she left behind her in herpapers, would have drawn the publick attention, had she liv'd to finishit. She was peculiarly happy in her acquaintance, as she had good senseenough to discern that worth in others she justly thought was thefoundation of all real friendship, and was so happy as to be honouredand loved as a friend, by those whom she would have wished to beconnected with in that sacred character. She had the esteem of that mostexcellent lady, who was superior to all commendation, the late dutchessof Somerset, then countess of Hertford, who hath done her the honour ofseveral visits, and allowed her to return them at the Mount ofMarlborough. Mr. Pope favoured her with his at Bath, and complimentedher for her poem on that place. Mrs. Rowe, of Froom, was one of herparticular friends. 'Twould be endless to name all the persons ofreputation and fortune whom she had the pleasure of being intimatelyacquainted with. She was a good woman, a kind relation, and a faithfulfriend. She had a real genius for poetry, was a most agreeablecorrespondent, had a large fund of good sense, was unblemished in hercharacter, lived highly esteemed, and died greatly lamented, _FINIS_.