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, bishop of Bristol; whose sister Jane married dean Addison, and was mother to the famous Mr. Ad­dison the secretary of state. This family of Budgell is very old, and has been settled, and known in Devonshire above 200 years ^*.

[Page 2] Eustace was born about the year 1685, and di­stinguished himself very soon at school, from whence he was removed early to Christ's Church College in Oxford, where he was entered a gentleman commoner. He staid some years in that universi­ty, and afterwards went to London, where, by his father's directions, he was entered of the Inner-Temple, in order to be bred to the Bar, for which his father had always intended him: but instead of the Law, he followed his own inclinations, which carried him to the study of polite litera­ture, and to the company of the genteelest people in town. This proved unlucky; for the father, by degrees, grew uneasy at his son's not getting himself called to the Bar, nor properly applying to the Law, according to his r [...]te [...]ated directions and request; and the son complained of the strict­ness and insufficiency of his father's allowance, and constantly urged the necessity of his living like a gentleman, and of his spending a great deal of money. During this stay, however, at the Temple, Mr. Budgell made a strict intimacy and friendship with Mr. Addison, who was first cou­sin to his mother; and this last gentleman being appointed, in the year 1710, secretary to lord Wharton, the lord lieutenant of Ireland, he made an offer to his friend Eustace of going with him as one of the clerks in his office. The proposal being advantageous, and Mr. Budgell being then on bad terms with his father, and absolutely unqualified for the practice of the Law, it was readily accepted. Nevertheless, for fear of his fa­ther's disapprobation of it, he never communicat­ed his design to him 'till the very night of his setting out for Ireland, when he wrote him a letter to inform him at once of his resolution and journey. This was in the beginning of April 1710, when he was about twenty five years of age. He had by this time read the classics, the most reputed [Page 3] historians, and all the best French, English, or Italian writers. His apprehension was quick, his imagination fine, and his memory remarkably strong; though his greatest commendations were a very genteel address, a ready wit and an excellent elocution, which shewed him to advantage wherever he went. There was, notwithstanding, one principal defect in his dispo­sition, and this was an infinite vanity, which gave him so insufferable a presumption, as led him to think that nothing was too much for his capaci­ty, nor any preferment, or favour, beyond his de­serts. Mr. Addison's fondness for him perhaps in­creased this disposition, as he naturally introduced him into all the company he kept, which at that time was the best, and most ingenious in the two kingdoms. In short, they lived and lodged toge­ther, and constantly followed the lord lieutenant in­to England at the same time.

It was now that Mr. Budgell commenced author, and was partly concerned with Sir Richard Steele and Mr. Addison in writing the Tatler. The Spectators being set on foot in 1710-11, Mr. Budg­ell had likewise a share in them, as all the papers marked with an X may easily inform the reader, and indeed the eighth volume was composed by Mr. Addison and himself ^*, without the assistance of Sir Richard Steele. The speculations of our author were generally liked, and Mr. Addison was fre­quently complimented upon the ingenuity of his kinsman. About the same time he wrote an epi­logue to the Distress'd Mother ^†, which had a great­er run than any thing of that kind ever had be­fore, and has had this peculiar regard shewn to it since, that now, above thirty years afterwards, it is generally spoke at the representation of that [Page 4] play. Several little epigrams and songs, which have a good deal of wit in them, were also writ­ten by Mr. Budgell near this period of time, all which, together with the known affection of Mr. Addison for him, raised his character so much, as to make him be very generally known and talked of.

His father's death in 1711 threw into his hands all the estates of the family, which were about 950 l. a year, although they were left incumbered with some debts, as his sather 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 received with his wives. Dr. Budgell had been twice mar­ried, and by his first lady left five children living after him, three of whom were sons, Enstace, our author, Gilbert, a Clergyman, and William, the fellow of New College in Oxford. By his last wife (who was Mrs. Fortescue, mother to the late master of the rolls, and who survived him) he had no issue. Notwithstanding this access of fortune, Mr. Budgell in no wise altered his manner of liv­ing; he was at small expence about his person, stuck very close to business, and gave general sa­tisfaction in the discharge of his office.

Upon the laying down of the Spectator, the Guardian was set up, and in this work our au­thor had a hand along with Mr. Addison and Sir Richard Steele. In the preface it is said, those papers marked with an asterisk are by Mr. Budgell.

In the year 1713 he published a very elegant translation of Theophrastus's Characters, which Mr. Addison in the Lover says, ‘'is the best version extant of any ancient author in the English lan­guage.'’ It was dedicated to the lord Hallifax, who was the greatest patron our author ever had, and with whom he always lived in the greatest in­timacy.

[Page 5] Mr. Budgell having regularly made his progress in the secretary of state's office in Ireland; up­on the arrival of his late Majesty in England, was appointed under secretary to Mr. Addison, and chief secretary to the Lords Justices of Ireland. He was made likewise deputy clerk of the council in that kingdom, and soon after chose member of the Irish parliament, where he became a very good speaker. The post of under secretary is reckon­ed worth 1500 l. a year, and that of deputy clerk to the council 250 l. a year. Mr. Budgell set out for Ireland the 8th of October, 1714, offici­ated in his place in the privy council the 14th, took possession of the secretary's office, and was immediately admitted secretary to the Lords Justices. In the same year at a public entertain­ment at the Inns of Court in Dublin, he, with many people of distinction, was made an honorary bencher. At his first entering upon the secretary's place, after the removal of the tories on the ac­cession of his late Majesty, he lay under very great difficulties; all the former clerks of his office re­fusing to serve, all the books with the form of business being secreted, and every thing thrown into the utmost confusion; yet he surmounted these difficulties with very uncommon resolution, assidu­ity, and ability, to his great honour and applause.

Within a twelvemonth of his entering upon his employments, the rebellion broke out, and as, for several years (during all the absences of the lord lieutenant) he had discharged the office of secreta­ry of state, and as no transport office at that time subsisted, he was extraordinarily charged with the care of the embarkation, and the providing of shipping (which is generally the province of a field-officer) for all the troops to be transported to Scotland. However, he went through this exten­sive and unusual complication of business, with great exactness and ability, and with very singu­lar [Page 6] disinterestedness, for he took no extraordinary service money on this account, nor any gratuity, or fees for any of the commissions which passed through his office for the colonels and officers of militia then raising in Ireland. The Lords Ju­stices pressed him to draw up a warrant for a ve­ry handsome present, on account of his great zeal, and late extraordinary pains (for he had often sat up whole nights in his office) but he very gen­teely and firmly refused it.

Mr. Addison, upon becoming principal secretary of state in England in 1717, procured the place of accomptant and comptroller general of the revenue in Ireland sor Mr. Budgell, which is worth 400 l. a year, and might have had him for his under secretary, but it was thought more expedient for his Majesty's service, that Mr. Budgell should continue where he was. Our author held these several places until the year 1718, at which time the duke of Bolton was appointed lord lieutenant. His grace carried one Mr. Edward Webster over with him (who had been an under clerk in the Treasury) and made him a privy counsellor and his secretary. This gentleman, 'twas said, insisted upon the quartering a friend on the under secretary, which produced a misunderstanding between them; for Mr. Budgell positively declared, he would never submit to any such condition whilst he executed the office, and af­fected to treat Mr. Webster himself, his education, abilities, and family, with the utmost contempt. He was indiscreet enough, prior to this, to write a lampoon, in which the lord lieutenant was not spared: he would publish it (so fond was he of this brat of his brain) in opposition to Mr. Addison's opinion, who strongly persuaded him to suppress it; as the publication, Mr. Addison said, could nei­ther serve h [...]s interest, or reputation. Hence many discontents arose between them, 'till at length the lord lieutenant, in support of his [Page 7] secretary, superseded Mr. Budgell, and very soon after got him removed from the place of accompt­ant-general. However, upon the first of these re­movals taking place, and upon some hints being given by his private secretary, captain Guy Dick­ens (now our minister at Stockholm) that it would not probably be safe for him to remain any longer in Ireland, he immediately entrusted his papers and private concerns to the hands of his brother William, then a clerk in his office, and set out for England. Soon after his arrival he published a pamphlet representing his case, in­tituled, A Letter to the Lord **** from Eu­stace Budgell, Esq Accomptant General of Ire­land, and late Secretary to their Excellencies the Lords Justices of that Kingdom; eleven hundred copies of which were sold off in one day, so great was the curiosity of the public in that particular. Afterwards too in the Post-Boy of January 17, 1718-19, he published an Advertisement to justi­fy his character against a report that had been spread to his disadvantage: and he did not scru­ple to declare in all companies that his life was attempted by his enemies, or otherwise he should have attended his seat in the Irish Parliament. His behaviour, about this time, made many of his friends judge he was become delirious; his passions were certainly exceeding strong, nor were his vanity and jealousy less. Upon his coming to England he had lost no time in waiting upon Mr. Addison, who had resigned the seals, and was retired into the country for the sake of his health; but Mr. Addison found it impossible to stem the tide of opposition, which was every where running against his kinsman, through the influence and power of the duke of Bolton. He therefore disswaded him in the strongest man­ner from publishing his case, but to no manner of purpose, which made him tell a friend in great anxiety, ‘'Mr. Budgell was wiser than any man [Page 8] he ever knew, and yet he supposed the world would hardly believe he acted contrary to his advice.'’ 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 in his power to pro­cure him any redress. However, Mr. Addison had got a promise from lord Sunderland, that as soon as the present clamour was a little abated, he would do something for him.

Mr. Budgell had held the considerable places of under secretary to the Lord 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 his natural spi­rits capable of carrying him through any difficul­ty. He had lived always genteelly, but frugally, and had saved a large sum of money, which he now engaged in the South-Sea scheme. During his abode in Ireland, he had collected materials for writing a History of that kingdom, for which he had g [...]eat advantages, by having an easy recourse to all the public offices; but what is become of it, and whether he ever finished it, we are not cer­tainly informed. It is undoubtedly a considerable loss, because there is no tolerable history of that nation, and because we might have expected a sa­tisfactory account from so pleasing a writer.

He wrote a pamphlet, after he came to England, against the famous Peerage Bill, which was very well received by the public, but highly offended the earl of Sunderland. It was exceedingly cried up by the opposition, and produced some overtures of friendship at the time, from Mr. Robert Walpole, to our author. Mr. Addison's death, in the year 1719, put an end, however, to all his hopes of succeeding at court, where he continued, never­theless, to make several attempts, but was con­stantly kept down by the weight of the duke of [Page 9] Bolton. In the September of that year he went into France, through all the strong places in Flan­ders and Brabant, and all the considerable towns in Holland, and then went to Hanover, from whence he returned with his Majesty'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 that occasi­on, and made many speeches at the general courts of the South-Sea Company in Merchant-Taylors Hall, and one in particular, which was afterwards printed both in French and English, and run to a third edition. And in 1721 he published a pam­phlet with success, called, A Letter to a Friend in the Country, occasioned by a Report that there is a Design still forming by the late Directors of the South-Sea Company, their Agents and Asso­ciates, to issue the Receipts of the 3d and 4th Subscriptions at 1000 l. per Cent. and to extort about 10 Millions more from the miserable Peo­ple of Great Britain; with some Observations on the present State of Affairs both at Home and Abroad. In the same year he published A Let­ter to Mr. Law upon his Arrival in Great Bri­tain, which run through seven editions very soon. Not long afterwards the duke of 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 live in the same manner with himself, and that he would contrive every method of making the employment profitable and agreeable to him: but his grace did not know how obnoxious our au­thor had rendered himself; for within a few days after this offer's taking air, he was acquainted in form by a secretary of state, that if he thought of Mr. Budgell, the government would appoint an­other governor in his room.

[Page 10] After being deprived of this last resource, he tried to get into the next parliament at several places, and spent near 5000 l. in unsuccessful attempts, which compleated his ruin. And from this period he began to behave and live in a very different manner from what he had ever done before; wrote libellous pamphlets against Sir Robert Walpole and the ministry; and did many unjust things with re­spect to his relations; being distracted in his own private fortune, as, indeed, he was judged to be, in his senses; torturing his invention to find out ways of subsisting and eluding his ill-stars, his pride at the same time working him up to the highest pitches of resentment and indignation against all courts and courtiers.

His younger brother, the fellow of New-College, who had more weight with him than any body, had been a clerk under him in Ireland, and continued still in the office, and who bad fair for rising in it, died in the year 1723, 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 in his conduct, and an adept in all calculations and mathematical questions; and had besides great good-nature and easiness of temper.

Our author as I before observed, perplexed his private affairs from this time as much as possible, and engaged in numberless law-suits, which brought 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, duchess dowager of Marlborough, to whose husband (the famous duke of Marlborough) he was a relation by his mother's side, with a view to his getting into parliament. She knew he had a talent for speaking in public, and that he was ac­quainted with business, and would probably run any lengths against the ministry. However this scheme failed, for he could never get chosen.

[Page 11] In the year 1730 and about that time, he closed in with the writers against the administration, and wrote many papers in the Craftsman. He likewise published a pamphlet, intitled, A Letter to the Craftsman, from E. Budgell, Esq occasioned by his late presenting an humble complaint against the right honourable Sir Robert Walpole, with a Post­script. This ran to a ninth edition. Near the same time too he wrote a Letter to Cleomenes King of Sparta, from E. Budgell, Esq being an Answer Paragraph by Paragraph to his Spartan Majesty's Royal Epistle, published some time since in the Daily Courant, with some Account of the Manners and Government of the Antient Greeks and Romans, and Political Reflections thereon. And not long after there came out A State of one of the Author's Cases before the House of Lords, which is generally printed with the Letter to Cleomenes: He likewise published on the same occasion a 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, lord Hallifax, Sir Richard Steele, and other people, which he de­signed to publish; and soon after he printed a sequel or second part, under the same title.

The same year he also published his Poem upon his Majesty's Journey to Cambridge and New-market, and dedicated it to the Queen. Another of his per­formances is a poetical piece, intitled A Letter to his Excellency Ulrick D'Ypres, and C—, in An­swer to his excellency's two Epistles in the Daily-Courant; with a Word or Two to Mr. Osborn the Hyp Doctor, and C—. These several perform­ances were very well received by the public.

In the year 1733 he began a weekly pamphlet (in the nature of a Magazine, though more judici­ously composed) called The Bee, which he continu­ed for about 100 Numbers, that bind into eight [Page 12] Volumes Octavo, but at last by quarrelling with his booksellers, and filling his pamphlet with things en­tirely relating to himself, he was obliged to drop 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 being surprised at such a gift, immediately imputed it to his making the will himself. This produced a paper-war be­tween him and Mr. Tindall, the continuator of Rapin, by which Mr. Budgell's character consider­ably suffered; and this occasioned his Bee's being turned into a meer vindication of himself.

It is thought he had some hand in publishing Dr. Tind [...]ll's Christianity as old as the Creation; and he often talked of another additional volume on the same subject, but never published it. However he used to enquire very frequently after Dr. Conybear's health (who had been employed by her late majesty to answer the first, and had been rewarded with the dean [...]ry of Christ-Church for his pains) saying he hoped Mr. Dean would live a little while longer, that he might have the pleasure of making him a bishop, for he intended very soon to publish the other volume of Tindall, which would do the business. Mr. Budgell promised likewise a volume of several curious pieces of Tindall's, that had been committed to his charge, with the life of the doctor; but never fulfilled his promise ^*.

During the publication of the Bee a smart pam­phlet came out, called A Short History of Prime Ministers, which was generally believed to be writ­ten by our author; and in the same year he pub­lished A Letter to the Merchants and Tradesmen of London and Bristol, upon their late glorious behaviour against the Excise Law.

After the extinction of the Bee, our author be­came so involved with law-suits, and so incapable of living in the manner he wished and affected to [Page 13] do, that he was reduced to a very unhappy situa­tion. He got himself call'd to the bar, and at­tended for some time in the courts of law; but finding it was too late to begin that profession, and too difficult 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 own suits, and be­ing distressed to the utmost, he determined to make away with himself. He had always thought very loosely of revelation, and latterly became an avowed deist; which, added to his pride, greatly disposed him to this resolution.

Accordingly within a few days after the loss of his great cause, and his estates being decreed for the satisfaction of his creditors, in the year 1736 he took boat at Somerset-Stairs (after filling his pockets with stones upon the beach) ordered the waterman to shoot the bridge, and whilst the boat was going under it threw himself over-board. Se­veral days 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, who afterwards took his name, and was lately an actress at Drury-Lane.

It has been said, Mr. Budgell was of opinion, that when life becomes uneasy to support, and is overwhelmed with clouds, and sorrows, that a man 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 of self-murder into execution, he endeavoured to persuade his daughter to accom­pany him, which she very wisely refused. His ar­gument to induce her was; life is not worth the holding.—Upon Mr. Budgell's beauroe was found a slip of paper; in which were written these words.

[Page 14] Mr. Budgell had undoubtedly strong natural parts, an excellent education, and set out in life with every advantage that a man could wish, being settled in very great and profitable employments, at a very early age, by Mr. Addison: But by excessive vanity and indiscretion, proceeding from a false estima­tion of his own weight and consequence, he over­stretched himself, and ruined his interest at court, and by the succeeding loss of his fortune in the South-Sea, was reduced too low to make any other head against his enemies. The unjustifiable and dishonourable law-suits he kept alive, in the remain­ing part of his life, seem to be intirely owing to the same disposition, which could never submit to the living beneath what he had once done, and from that principle 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 great streights; for some of the greatest, as well as some of the most infamous men have laid violent hands upon themselves. As an author where he 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 peculiarly elegant, 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 the Orrery Family and the Boyle's, is the most indifferent of his performances; though the translations of Phalaris's Epistles in that work are done with great spirit and beauty.

As to his brothers, the second, Gilbert, was thought a man of deeper learning and better judg­ment when he was young than our author, but was certainly inferior to him in his appearance in life; and, 'tis thought, greatly inferior to him in every respect. He was author of a pretty Copy of Verses in the VIIIth Vol. of the Spectators, Numb. 591. which begins thus,

And it is said that it was a repulse from a lady of great fortune, with whom he was desperately in love whilst at Oxford, and to whom he had addressed these lines, that made him disregard himself ever after, neglect his studies, and fall into a habit of drinking. Whatever was the occasion of this last vice it ruined him. A lady had commended and desired to have a copy of his Verses once, and he sent them, with these lines on the first leaf—

This gentleman died unmarried, a little after his brother Eustace, at Exeter; having lived in a very disreputable manner for some time, and having degenerated into such excessive indolence, that he usually picked up some boy in the streets, and carried him into the coffee-house to read the news-papers to him. He had taken deacon's orders some years before his death, but had always been averse to that kind of life; and therefore became it very ill, and could never be prevailed upon to be a priest.

The third brother William, fellow of New-Col­lege in Oxford, died (as I mentioned before) one of the clerks in the Irish secretary of state's office, very young. He had been deputy accomptant general, both to his brother and his successor; and like­wise deputy to Mr. Addison, as keeper of the re­cords in Birmingham-Tower. Had he lived, 'tis [Page 16] probable he would have made a considerable figure, being a man of sound sense and learning, with great prudence and honour. His cousin Dr. Downes, then bishop of London-Derry, was his zealous friend, and Dr. Lavington the present bishop of Exeter, his fellow-collegian, was his intimate correspondent. Of the two sisters, the eldest married captain Graves of Thanks, 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 ^*.

THIS Gentleman, well known to the world by the friendship and intimacy which subsisted between him and Mr. Addison, was the son of the revd. Mr. Richard Tickell, who enjoy'd a considerable preferment in the North of England. Our poet received his education at Queen's-College in Oxford, of which he was a fellow.

While he was at that university, he wrote a beautiful copy of verses addressed to Mr. Addison, on his Opera of Rosamond. These verses contain­ed many elegant compliments to the author, in which he compares his softness to Corelli, and his strength to Virgil ^*.

These complimentary lines, a few of which we have now quoted, so effectually recommended him to Mr. Addison, that he held him in esteem ever [Page 18] afterwards; and when he himself was raised to the dignity of secretary 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, which he held till that gentleman's death. When Mr. Addison was ap­pointed secretary, being a diffident man, he con­sulted with his friends about disposing such places as were immediately dependent on him. He com­municated to Sir Richard Steele, his design of pre­ferring Mr. Tickell to be his under-secretary, which Sir Richard, who considered him as a petulant man, warmly opposed. He observed that Mr. Tickell was of a temper too enterprising to be governed, and as he had no opinion of his honour, he did not know what might be the consequence, if by insinu­ation and flattery, or by bolder means, he ever had an opportunity of raising himself. It holds pretty generally true, that diffident people under the ap­pearance of distrusting their own opinions, are fre­quently positive, and though they pursue their re­solutions with trembling, they never fail to pursue them. Mr. Addison had a little of this temper in him. He could not be persuaded to set aside Mr. Tickell, nor even had secrecy enough to conceal from him Sir Richard's opinion. This produced a great animosity between Sir Richard and Mr. Tickell, which subsisted during their lives.

Mr. Tickell in his life of Addison, prefixed to his own edition of that great man's works, throws out some unmannerly reflexions against Sir Richard, who was at that time in Scotland, as one of the commissioners on the sorfeited estates. Upon Sir Richard's return to London, he dedicates to Mr. Congreve, Addison's Comedy, called the Drummer, in which he takes occasion very smartly to re [...]ort upon Tickell, and clears himself of the imputation laid to his charge, namely that of valuing himself upon Mr. Addison's papers in the Spectator.

[Page 19] In June 1724 Mr. Tickell was appointed secre­tary to the Lords Justices in 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 him take every opportunity to celebrate him, which he always performs with so much zeal, and earnestness, that he seems to have retained the most lasting sense of his patron's favours. His poem to the earl of War­wick on the death of Mr. Addison, is very pathe­tic. He begins it thus,

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 a very happy talent in versification, which much ex­ceeds Addison's, and is inferior to few of the Eng­lish Poets, Mr. Dryden and Pope excepted. The first poem in this collection is addressed to the sup­posed author of the Spectator.

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 so fa­vourable a reception from the public, as to go thro' six editions. The sentiments in this poem are natu­ral, and obvious, but no way extraordinary. It is an [Page 20] assemblage of pretty notions, poetically expressed; but conducted with no kind of art, and altogether without a plan. The following exordium is one of the most shining parts of the poem.

• The Royal Progress. This poem is mentioned in the Spectator, in opposition to such performances, as are generally written in a swelling stile, and in which the bombast is mistaken for the sublime. It is meant as a compliment to his late majesty, on his arrival in his British dominions.
• An imitation of the Prophesy of Nereus. Horace, Book I. Ode XV.—This was written about the year 1715, and intended as a ridicule upon the en­terprize of the earl of Marr; which he prophesies will be crushed by the duke of Argyle.
• An Epistle from a Lady in England, to a gentleman at Avignon. Of this piece five editions were sold; it is written in the manner of a Lady to a Gentleman, whose principles obliged him to be an exile with the Royal Wanderer. The great propension of the Jacobites to place confidence in imaginary means; [Page 21] and to construe all extraordinary appearances, into ominous 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 bordersrise!
• An Ode, occasioned by his excellency the earl of Stanhope's Voyage to France.
• A Prologue to the University of Oxford.
• Thoughts occasioned by the sight of an original, picture of King Charles the Ist, taken at the time of his 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.

  [Page 22] 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 a greater injury, than to have his verses placed in contradistinction to Pope's. Mr. Melmoth, in his Letters, published under the name of Fitz Os [...]orne, has produced some parallel passages, little to the advantage of Mr. Tickell, who if he fell greatly short of the elegance and beauty of Pope, has yet much exceeded Mr. Congreve, in what he has at­tempted of Homer.

In the life of Addison, some farther particulars concerning this translation are related; and Sir Richard Steele, in his dedication of the Drummer to Mr. Congreve, gives it as his opinion, that Ad­dison was himself the author.

These translations, published at the same time, were certainly meant as rivals 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 dated July the 15th, 1715.

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 great invention in his works, if he cannot be placed in the first rank of Poets; yet from the beauty of his numbers, and the real poetry which enriched his imagination, he has, at least, an unexceptionable claim to the second.

WAS the son of a reputable tradesman of St. Olave's in Southwark, and was born there May 12, 1692; was educated at a private grammar school with his intimate and ingenious friend Mr. Henry Needler. He made a considera­ble progress in classical learning, and had a po­etical genius. He served an apprenticeship to Mr. Arthur Bettesworth, Bookseller in London, and afterwards followed that business himself near thirty years, under the Royal Exchange, with reputation and credit, having the esteem and friend­ship of many eminent merchants and gentlemen. In 1718 he married Jane, one of the daughters of Mr. William Leigh, an eminent citizen. Mrs. Hinch­liffe was sister of William Leigh, Esq one of his Majesty's justices of the peace for the county of Surry, and of the revd. Thomas Leigh, late rector of Heyford in Oxfordshire, by whom he had two sons and three daughters, of which only one son and one daughter are now living. He died Sep­tember 29, 1742, and was buried in the parish church of St. Margaret's Lothbury, London.

In 1714 he had the honour to present an Ode to King George I. on his Arrival at Greenwich, which is printed in a Collection of Poems, Amor­ous, Moral, and Divine, which he published in octavo, 1718, and dedicated them to his friend Mr. Needler.

[Page 25] He published a History of the Rebellion of 1715, and dedicated it to the late Duke of Argyle.

He made himself master of the French tongue by his own application and study; and in 1734 published a Translation of Boulainviller's Life of Mahomet, which is well esteemed, and dedicated it to his intimate and worthy friend Mr. William Duncombe, Esq

He was concerned, with others, in the publish­ing several other ingenious performances, and has left behind him in manuscript, a Translation of the nine first Books of Telemachus in blank Verse, which cost him great labour, but he did not live to finish the remainder.

He is the author of a volume of poems in 8vo. many of which are written with a true poetical spi­rit.

THIS gentleman was a native of Ireland, and was bred to the Law. In this profession he seems not to have made any great figure. By some means or other he conceived an aversion to Dr. Swift, for his abuse of whom, the world taxed him with ingratitude. Concanen had once enjoyed some degree of Swift's favour, who was not always very happy in the choice of his companions. He had an opportunity of reading some of the Dr's poems in MS. which it is said he thought fit to appropriate and publish as his own.

As affairs did not much prosper with him in Ireland, he came over to London, in company with another gentleman, and both commenced writers. These two friends entered into an ex­traordinary agreement. As the subjects which then attracted the attention of mankind were of a political cast, they were of opinion that no species of writing could so soon recommend them to public notice; and in order to make their trade more profitable, they resolved to espouse different interests; one should oppose, and the other defend the ministry. They determined the side 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, which [Page 28] task he performed with as much ability, as poli­tical writers generally discover.

He was for some time, concerned in the British, and London Journals, and a paper called The Speculatist. These periodical pieces are long since buried in neglect, and perhaps would have even sunk into oblivion, had not Mr. Pope, by his sa­tyrical writings, given them a kind of disgraceful immortality. In these Journals he published many scurrilities against Mr. Pope; and in a pamphlet called, The Supplement to 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 indeed seem in some degree accounta­ble, having corrected what that gentleman did) but those of the duke of Buckingham and others. To this rare piece some body humorously perswaded him to take for his motto, De profundis clamavi. He afterwards wrote a paper called The Daily Courant, wherein he shewed much spleen against lord Bolingbroke, and some of his friends. All these provocations excited Mr. Pope to give him a place in his Dunciad. In his second book, l. 287, when he represents the dunces diving in the mud of the Thames for the prize, he speaks thus of Concanen;

In the year 1725 Mr. Concanen published a vo­lume of poems in 8vo. consisting chiefly of com­positions of his own, and some few of other gen­tlemen; they are addressed to the lord Gage, whom he endeavours artfully to flatter, without [Page 29] offending his modesty. ‘'I shall begin this Ad­dress, says he, by declaring that the opinion I have of a great part of the following verses, is the highest indication of the esteem in which I hold the noble character I present them to. Several of them have authors, whose names do honour to whatever patronage they receive. As to my share of them, since it is too late, after what I have already delivered, to give my opi­nion of them, I'll say as much as can be said in their favour. I'll affirm that they have one mark of merit, which is your lordship's appro­bation; and that they are indebted to fortune for two other great advantages, a place in good company, and an honourable protection.'’

The gentlemen, who assisted Concanen in this collection, were Dean Swift, Mr. Parnel, Dr. De­lany, Mr. Brown, Mr. Ward, and Mr. Stirling. In this collection there is a poem by Mr. Conca­nen, called A Match at Football, in three Cantos; written, 'tis said, in imitation of The Rape of the Lock. This performance is far from being despicable; the versification is generally smooth; the design is not ill conceived, and the cha­racters not unnatural. It perhaps would be read with more applause, if The Rape of the Lock did not occur to the mind, and, by forcing a compa­rison, destroy all the satisfaction in perusing it; as the disproportion is so very considerable. We shall quote a few lines from the beginning of the third canto, by which it will appear that Conca­nen was not a bad rhimer.

Mr. Concanen was also concerned with the late Mr. Roome, and a certain eminent senator, in mak­ing The Jovial Crew, an old Comedy, into a Bal­lad Opera; which was performed about the year 1730; and the profits were given entirely to Mr. Concanen. Soon after he was preferred to be attorney-general in Jamaica, a post of considerable eminence, and attended with a very large income. In this island he spent the remaining part of his days, and, we are informed made a tolerable ac­cession of fortune, by marrying a planter's daughter, who surviving him was left in the possession of seve­ral hundred pounds a year. She came over to England after his death, and married the honour­able Mr. Hamilton.

THIS unhappy gentleman, who led a course of life imbittered with the most severe ca­lamities, was not yet destitute of a friend to close his eyes. It has been remarked of Cowley, who likewise experienced many of the vicissitudes of fortune, that he was happy in the acquaintance of the bishop of Rochester, who performed the last offices which can be paid 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 of his life, yet, in some respect, he bears a resemblance to that great man. None of the poets have been more honoured in the commemoration of their history, than this gentleman. The life of Mr. Savage was written some years after his death by a gentleman, who knew him intimately, capable to distinguish be­tween his follies, and those good qualities which were often concealed from the bulk of mankind by the abjectness of his condition. From this ac­count ^* we have compiled that which we now pre­sent to the reader.

[Page 33] In the year 1697 Anne countess of Maccles­field, having lived for some time on very uneasy terms with her husband, thought a public con­fession of adultery the most expeditious method of obtaining her liberty, and therefore declared the child with which she then was big was begotten by the earl of Rivers. This circumstance soon produced a separation, which, while the earl of Macclesfield was prosecuting, the countess, on the 10th of January 1697-8, was delivered of our au­thor; and the earl of Rivers, by appearing to con­sider him as his own, left no room to doubt of her declaration. However strange it may appear, the countess looked upon her son, from his birth, with a kind of resentment and abhorrence. No sooner was her son born, than she discovered a re­solution of disowning him, in a short time re­moved him from her sight, and committed him to the care of a poor woman, whom she directed to educate him as her own, and enjoined her never to inform him of his true parents. Instead of de­fending his tender years, she took delight to see him struggling with misery, and continued her persecution, from the first hour of his life 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 [Page 34] should have supported him, had launched him into the ocean of life, yet was he not wholly abandoned. The lady Mason, mother to the countess, undertook to transact with the nurse, and superintend the education of the child. She placed him at a grammar school 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 he was at this school, his father, the earl of Rivers, was seized with a distemper which in a short time put an end to his life. While the earl lay on h [...]s death-bed, he thought it his duty to provide for him, amongst his other natural children, and therefore demanded a positive account of him. His mother, who could no longer refuse an answer, determined, at least, to give such, as should deprive him for ever of that happiness which competency affords, and declared him dead; which is, perhaps, the first instance of a falshood invented by a mother, to deprive her son of a provision which was de­signed him by another. The earl did not imagine that there could exist in nature, a mother that would r [...]in her son, without enriching herself, and there­fore bestowed upon another son six thousand pounds, which he had before in his will bequeathed to Savage. The same cruelty which incited her to inte [...]cept this provision intended him, suggested another pro­ject, worthy of such a disposition. She endeavour­ed to rid herself from the danger of being at any time made known to him, by sending him secretly to the American Plantations; but in this contrivance her malice was defeated.

Being still restless in the persecution of her son, she f [...]med another scheme of burying him in po­verty and obscurity; and that the state of his life, if not the place of his residence, might keep him for ever at a distance from her, she ordered him to be placed with a Sho [...]maker in Holbourn, [Page 35] that after the usual time of trial he might be­come his apprentice. It is generally reported, that this project was, for some time, successful, and that Savage was employed at the awl longer than he was willing to confess; but an unexpected discovery determined him to quit 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 by her death were, as he imagined, become his own. He therefore went to her house, opened her boxes, examined her papers, and found some letters written to her by the lady Mason, which in­formed him of his birth, and the reasons for which it was concealed.

He was now no longer satisfied with the em­ployment which had been allotted him, but thought he had a right to share the affluence of his mother, and therefore, without scruple, applied to her as her son, and made 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 to see her, she avoided him with the utmost precaution, and ordered him to be ex­cluded from her house, by whomsoever he might be introduced, and what reason soever he might give for entering it.

Savage was at this time so touched with the dis­covery of his real mother, that it was his fre­quent practice to walk in the dark evenings for several hours before her door, in hopes of seeing her by accident.

But all his assiduity was without effect, for he could neither soften her heart, nor open her hand, and while he was endeavouring to [...]o [...]se the affections of a mother, he was reduced to the miseries of want. In this situation he was obliged to find other means of support, and became by necessity an author.

[Page 36] His first attempt in that province was, a poem against the bishop of Bangor, whose controversy, at that time, engaged the attention of the nation, and furnished the curious with a topic of dispute. Of this performance Mr. Savage was afterwards ashamed, as it was the crude effort of a yet un­cultivated genius. He then attempted another kind of writing, and, while but yet eighteen, offered a comedy to the stage, built upon a Spa­nish plot; which was refused by the players. Up­on this he gave it to Mr. Bullock, who, at that time rented the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields of Mr. Rich, and with messieurs Keene, Pack, and others undertook the direction thereof. Mr. Bullock made some slight alterations, and brought it upon the stage, under the title of Woman's a Riddle, but allowed the real author no part of the profit. This occasioned a quarrel between Savage and Bul­lock; but it ended without bloodshed, though not without high words: Bullock insisted he had a trans­lation of the Spanish play, from whence the plot was taken, given him by the same lady who had bestowed it on Savage.—Which was not improbable, 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, but with little better success than before; for though it was received and acted, yet it appeared so late in the year, that Savage obtained no other 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, with that ge­nuine benevolence which constituted his character, promoted his interest with the utmost zeal, and taking all opportunities of recommending him; he asserted, ' ‘that the inhumanity of his mother had [Page 37] given him a right to find every good man his fa­ther.'’ Nor was Mr. Savage admitted into his ac­quaintance only, but to his confidence and esteem. Sir Richard intended to have established him in some settled scheme of life, and to have contract­ed a kind of alliance with him, by marrying him to a natural daughter, on whom he intended to bestow a thousand pounds. But Sir Richard con­ducted his affairs with so little oeconomy, that he was seldom able to raise the sum, which he had offered, and the marriage was consequently delayed. In the mean time he was officiously informed that Mr. Savage had ridiculed him; by which he was so much exasperated that he withdrew the allow­ance he had paid him, and never afterwards 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. He naturally took an unfortunate wit into his pro­tection, and not only assisted him in any casual distresses, but continued an equal and steady kind­ness to the time of his death. By Mr. Wilks's in­terposition Mr. Savage once obtained of his mo­ther fifty pounds, and a promise of one hundred and fifty more, but it was the fate of this unhappy man, that few promises of any advantage to him were ever performed.

Being thus obliged to depended upon Mr. Wilks, he was an assiduous frequenter of the theatres, and, in a short time, the amusements of the stage took such a possession of his mind, that he was never absent from a play in several years.

In the year 1723 Mr. Savage brought another piece on the stage. He made choice of the subject of Sir Thomas Overbury: If the circumstances in which he wrote it be considered, it will afford at once an uncommon proof of strength of genius, and an evenness of mind not to be ruffled. During [Page 38] a considerable part of the time in which he was employed upon this performance, he was with­out lodging, and often without food; nor had he any other conveniencies for study than the fields, or the street; in which he used to walk, and form his speeches, and afterwards step into a shop, beg for a few moments the use of pen and ink, and write down what he had composed, upon paper which he had picked up by accident.

Mr. Savage had been for some time distin­guished by Aaron Hill, Esq with very particular kindness; and on this occasion it was natural to apply to him, as an author of established reputation. He therefore sent this Tragedy to him, with a few verses, in which he desired his correction. Mr. Hill who was a man of unbounded humanity, and most accomplished politeness, readily complied with his request; and wrote the prologue and epi­logue, in which he touches the cirumstances of the author with great tenderness.

Mr. Savage at last brought his play upon the stage, but not till the chief actors had quitted it, and it was represented by what was then called the summer-company. In this Tragedy Mr. Savage himself performed the part of Sir Thomas Overbury, with so little success, that he always blotted out his name from the list of players, when a copy of his Tragedy was to be shewn to any of his friends. This play however procured him the notice and esteem of many persons of distinction, for some rays of genius glimmered thro' all the mists which poverty and oppression had spread over it. The whole profits of this performance, acted, printed, and dedicated, amounted to about 200 l. But the generosity of Mr. Hill did not end here; he promoted the subseription to his Miscellanies, by a [Page 39] very pathetic representation of the author's suffer­ings, printed in the Plain-Dealer, a periodical pa­per written by Mr. Hill. This generous effort in his favour soon produced him seventy-guineas, which were left for him at Button's, by some who commiserated his misfortunes.

Mr. Hill not only promoted the subscription to the Miscellany, but furnished likewise the greatest part of the poems of which it is composed, and particularly the Happy Man, which he published as a specimen. To this Miscellany he wrote a preface, in which he gives an account 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 involved in very perplexing ne­c [...]ssities, appeared however to be gaining on man­kind; when both his fame and his life were endan­gered, by an event of which it is not yet determin­ed, whether it ought to be mentioned as a crime or a calamity. As this is by far the most interesting circumstance in the life of this unfortunate man, we shall relate the particulars minutely.

On the 20th of November 1727 Mr. Savage came from Richmond, where he had retired, that he might pursue his studies with less interruption, with an intent to discharge a lodging which he had in Westminster; and accidentally meeting two gentle­men of his acquaintance, whose names were Mar­chant and Gregory, he went in with them to a neighbouting Coffee-House, and sat drinking till it was late. He would willingly have gone to bed in the same house, but there was not room for the whole company, and therefore they agreed to ram­ble about the streets, and divert themselves with [Page 40] such amusements as should occur till morning. In their walk they happened unluckily to discover light in Robinson's Coffee-House, near Charing-Cross, and went in. Marchant with some rude­ness demanded a room, and was told that there was a good fire in the next parlour, which the com­pany were about to leave, being then paying their reckoning. Marchant not satisfied with this answer, rushed into the room, and was followed by his companions. He then petulantly placed himself between the company and the fire; and soon after­wards kicked down the table. This produced a quarrel, swords were drawn on both sides; and one Mr. James Sinclair was killed. Savage having wounded likewise a maid that held him, forced his way with Gregory out of the house; but being in­timidated, and confus'd, without resolution, whe­ther to 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 very unusual manner, and the public appeared to interest itself as in a cause of ge­neral concern. The witnesses against Mr. Savage and his friends, were the woman who kept the house, which was a house of ill-fame, and her maid, the men who were in the room with Mr. Sinclair, and a woman of the town, who had been drinking with them, and with whom one of them had been seen in bed.

They swore in general, that Marchant gave the provocation, which Savage and Gregory drew their swords to justify; that Savage drew first, that he stabb'd Sinclair, when he was not in a posture of defence, or while Gregory commanded his sword; that after he had given the thrust he turned pale, [Page 41] and would have retired, but that the maid clung round him, and one of the company endeavoured to detain him, from whom he broke, by cutting the maid on the head.

Sinclair had declared several times before his death, for he survived that night, that he received his wound from Savage; nor did Savage at his trial deny the fact, but endeavoured partly to extenuate it, by urging the suddenness of the whole action, and the impossibility of any ill design, or premeditated malice, and partly to justify it by the necessity of self-defence, and the hazard of his own life, if he had lost that opportunity of giving the thrust. He observed that neither reason 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 it was always allowable to prevent an assault, and to preserve life, by taking away that of the adversary, by whom it was endan­gered.

With regard to the violence with which he en­deavoured his escape, he declared 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 he intended to appear at the bar, without com­pulsion. This defence which took up more than an hour, was heard by the multitude that thro [...]ged the court, with the most attentive and respectful silence. Those who thought he ought not to be acquitted, owned that applause could not be refused him; and those who before pitied his misfortunes, now re­verenced his abilities.

The witnesses who appeared against him were proved to be persons of such characters as did not entitle them to much credit; a common strumpet, a [Page 42] woman by whom such wretches were entertained, and a man by whom they were supported. The character of Savage was by s [...]veral persons of dis­tinction asserted to be that of a modest inoffensive man, not inclined to broils, or to insolence, and who had to that time been only known by his mis­fortunes and his wit.

Had his audience been his judges, he had un­doubtedly been acquitted; but Mr. Page, who was then upon the bench, treated him with the most brutal severity, and in summing up the evidence endeavoured to exasperate the jury 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 having ordered him to be silent, which Savage treated with contempt, he commanded that he should be taken by force from the bar. The jury then heard the opinion of the judge, that good characters were of no weight against positive evidence, though they might turn the scale, where it was doubtful; and that though two men attack each other, the death of either is only manslaughter; but where one is the aggressor, as in the case before them, and in pursuance of his first attack kills the other, the law supposes the action, however sudden, to be ma­licious. The jury determined, that Mr. Savage and Mr. Gregory were guilty of murder, and Mr. Marchant who had no sword, only manslaughter.

Mr. Savage and Mr. Gregory were conducted back to prison, where they were 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 be believed, [Page 43] that mercy his own mother endeavoured to in­tercept.

When Savage (as we have already observed) was first made acquainted with the story of his birth, he was so touched with tenderness for his mother, that he earnestly sought an opportu­nity to see her.

To prejudice the queen against him, she made use of an incident, which was omitted in the order of time, that it might be mentioned together with the purpose it was made to serve.

One evening while he was walking, as was his custom, in the street she inhabited, 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 to salute her. She discovered him before he could enter her chamber, alarmed the fa­mily with the most distressful out-cries, and when she had by her screams gathered them about her, ordered them to drive out of the house that villain, who had forced himself in upon her, and endea­voured to murder her.

This abominable falsehood his mother represented to the queen, or communicated it to some who were base enough to relate it, and so strongly prepossessed her majesty against this unhappy man, that for a long while she rejected all petitions that were offered in his favour.

Thus had Savage perished by the evidence of a bawd, of a strumpet, and of 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 to be heard without be­ing [Page 44] believed. The story of his sufferings reach­ed the ear of the countess of Hertford, who en­gaged in his support with the tenderness and hu­manity peculiar to that amiable lady. She de­manded an audience of the queen, and laid be­fore her the whole series of his mother'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 after admitted to bail, and on the 9th of March 1728, pleaded the king's pardon ^*.

Mr. Savage during his imprisonment, his trial, and the time in which he lay under sentence of death, behaved with great fortitude, and confirmed by his unshaken equality of mind, the esteem of those who before admired him for his abilities. Upon weigh­ing all the circumstances relating to this unfortunate event, it plainly appears that the greatest guilt could not be imputed to Savage. His killing Sinclair, was rather rash than totally dishonour­able, for though Marchant had been the aggressor, who would not procure his friend from being over-powered by numbers?

Some time after he had obtained his liberty, he met in the street the woman of the town that had swore against him: She informed him that she was in distress, and with unparalleled assurance desired him to relieve her. He, instead of insulting her misery, and taking pleasure in the calamity of one who had brought his life into danger, reproved [Page 45] her gently for her perjury, and changing the only guinea he had, divided it equally between her and himself.

Compassion seems indeed to have been among the few good qualities possessed by Savage; he never appeared inclined to take the advantage of weakness, to attack the defenceless, or to press upon the falling: Whoever was distressed was certain at last of his good wishes. But when his heart was not softened by the sight of misery, he was obstinate in his resentment, and did not quickly lose the remembrance of an injury. He always harboured the sharpest resentment against judge Page; and a short time before his death, he gratified it in a satire upon that severe magistrate.

When in conversation this unhappy subject was mentioned, Savage appeared neither to consider himself as a murderer, nor as a man wholly free from blood. How much, and how long he regret­ted it, appeared in a poem published many years afterwards, which the following lines will set in a very striking light.

Savage had now obtained his liberty, but was without any settled means of support, and as he had lost all tenderness for his mother, who had thirsted for his blood, he resolved to lampoon her, to extort that pension by satire, which he knew she would never grant upon any principles of honour, or humanity. This expedient proved successful; whether shame still survived, though compassion was extinct, or whether her relations had more delicacy than herself, and imagined that some of the darts which satire might point at her, would glance upon them: Lord Tyrconnel, whatever were his motives, upon his promise to lay aside the design of exposing his mother, received him into his family, treated him as 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 no reason to complain of for­tune; his appearance was splendid, his expences large, and his acquaintance extensive. ‘'He was courted, says the author of his life, by all who endeavoured to be thought men of genius, and caressed 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 a title to poetical reputation. His presence was sufficient to make any place of entertainment po­pular; [Page 47] and his approbation and example constitu­ted the fashion. So powerful is genius, when it is invested with the glitter of affluence. Men willingly pay to fortune that regard which they owe to merit, and are pleased when they have at once an opportunity of exercising their vanity, and practising their duty. This interval of prosperity furnished him with opportunities of enlarging his knowledge of human nature, by contemplating life from its highest gradation to its lowest.'’

In this gay period of life, when he was surround­ed by the affluence of pleasure, 1729, he published the Wanderer, a Moral Poem, of which the design is comprised in these lines.

And more distinctly in the following passage:

This performance was always considered by Mr. Savage as his master-piece; but Mr. Pope, when he asked his opinion of i [...], told him, that he read it once over, and was not displeased with it, that it [Page 48] gave him more pleasure at the second perusal, and delighted him still more at the third. From a poem so successfully written, it might be reasonably ex­pected that he should have gained considerable advantages; but the case was otherwise; he sold the copy only for ten guineas. That he got so small a price for so finished a poem, was not to be imputed either to the necessity of the writer, or to the avarice of the bookseller. He was a slave to his passions, and being then in the pursuit of some trifling gratification, for which he wanted a supply of money, he sold his poem to the first bidder, and perhaps for the first price which was proposed, and probably would have been content with less, if less had been offered. It was addressed to the earl of Tyrconnel, not only in the first lines, but in a for­mal dedication, filled with the highest strains of panegyric. These praises in a short time he found himself inclined to retract, being discarded by the man on whom he had bestowed them, and whom he said, he then discovered, had not deserved them.

Of this quarrel, lord Tyrconnel and Mr. Savage assigned very different reasons. Lord Tyrconnel charged Savage with the most licentious behaviour, introducing company into his house, and practi­sing with them the most irregular frolics, and com­mitting all the outrages of drunkenness. Lord Tyrconnel farther alledged against Savage, that the books of which he himself had made him a pre­sent, were sold or pawned by him, so that he had often the mortification to see them exposed to sale upon stalls.

Savage, it seems, was so accustomed to live by expedients, that affluence could not raise him above them. He often went to the tavern and trusted the payment of his reckoning to the liberality of his company; and frequently of company to whom he was very little known. This conduct indeed, sel­dom drew him into much inconvenience, or his [Page 49] versation and address were so pleasing, that few thought the pleasure which 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 he had not often a friend long, without obliging him to become an enemy.

Mr. Savage on the other hand declared, that lord Tyrconnel quarrelled with him because he would not subtract from his own luxury and extravagance what he had promised to allow him; and that his resentment was only a plea for the violation of his promise: He asserted that he had done nothing which ought to exclude him from that subsistence which he thought not so much a favour as a debt, since it was offered him upon conditions, which he had never broken; and that his only fault was, that he could not be supported upon nothing.

Savage's passions were strong, among which his resentment was not the weakest; and as gratitude was not his constant virtue, we ought not too hasti­ly to give credit to all his prejudice asserts against (his once praised patron) lord Tyrconnel.

During his continuance with the lord Tyrconnel, he wrote the Triumph of Health and Mirth, on the recovery of the lady Tyrconnel, from a lan­guishing illness. This poem is built upon a beauti­ful fiction. Mirth overwhelmed with sickness for the death of a favourite, takes a flight in quest of her sister Health, whom she finds reclined upon the brow of a lofty mountain, amidst the fragrance of a perpetual spring, and the breezes of the morning sporting about her. Being solicited by her sister Mirth, she readily promises her assistance, flies away in a cloud, and impregnates the waters of Bath with new virtues, by which the sickness of Belinda is relieved.

[Page 50] While Mr. Savage continued in high life, he did not let slip any opportunity to examine whether the merit of the great is magnified or diminished by the medium through which it is contemplated, and whether great men were selected for high stations, or high stations made great men. The result of his observations is not much to the advantage of those in power.

But the golden aera of Savage's life was now at an end, he was banished the table of lord Tyrconnel, and turned again a-drift upon the world. While he was in prosperity, he did not behave with a moderation likely to procure friends amongst his inferiors. He took an opportunity in the sun-shine of his fortune, to revenge himself of those creatures, who, as they are the worshippers of power, made court to him, whom they had before contemptuously treated. This assuming behaviour of Savage was not altogether unnatural. He had been avoided and despised by those despicable sycophants, who were proud of his acquaintance when raised to eminence. In this case, who would not spurn such mean Beings? His degradation therefore from the condi­tion which he had enjoyed with so much superiority, was considered by many as an occasion of triumph. Those who had courted him without success, had an opportunity to return the contempt they had suffered.

Mean time, Savage was very diligent in exposing the faults of lord Tyrconnel, over whom he obtain­ed at least this advantage, that he drove him first to the practice of outrage and violence; for he was so much provoked by his wit and virulence, that he came with a number of attendants, to beat him at a coffee-house; but it happened that he had left the place a few minutes before: Mr. Savage went next day to repay his visit at his own house, but was prevailed upon by his domestics to retire without insisting upon seeing him.

[Page 51] He now thought himself again at full liberty to expose the cruelty of his mother, and therefore about this time published THE BASTARD, a Poem remarkable for the vivacity in the beginning, where he makes a pompous enumeration of the imaginary advantages of base birth, and the pathetic senti­ments at the close; where he recounts the real ca­lamities which he suffered by the crime of his parents.

The verses which have an immediate relation to those two circumstances, we shall here insert.

After mentioning the death of Sinclair, he goes on thus:

This poem had extraordinary success, great numbers were immediately dispersed, and editions were multiplied with unusual rapidity.

One circumstance attended the publication, which Savage used to relate with great satisfaction. His mother, to whom the poem with due reverence was inscribed, happened then to be at Bath, where she could not conveniently retire from censure, or con­ceal herself from observation; and no sooner did the reputation of the poem begin to spread, than she heard it repeated in all places of concourse; nor could she enter the assembly-rooms, or cross the walks, without being saluted with some lines from the Bastard. She therefore left Bath with the ut­most haste, to shelter herself in the crowds of Lon­don. Thus Savage had the satisfaction of finding, that tho' he could not reform, he could yet pu­nish 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, and therefore published a short poem on her birth day, to which he gave the odd title of Volunteer-Laureat. He had not at that time one friend to present his poem at court, yet the Quee [...], notwithstanding this act of ceremony was [Page 53] wanting, in a few days after publication, sent him a bank note of fifty-pounds, by lord North and Guildford; and her permission to write annually on the same subject, and that he should yearly receive the like present, till something better should be done for him. After this 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 who was an enemy to all claims of ecclesiastical power, engaged with his usual zeal against the bishop. In consequence of his aversion to the dominion of superstitious churchmen, he wrote a poem called The Progress of a Divine, in which he conducts a profligate priest thro' all the gradations of wicked­ness, from a poor curacy in the country, to the highest preferment in the church; and after describ­ing his behaviour in every station, enumerates that this priest thus accomplished, found at last a patron in the bishop of London.

The clergy were universally provoked with this satire, and Savage was censured in the weekly Mis­cellany, with a severity he did not seem inclined to forget: But a return of invective was not thought a sufficient 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 was urged in his defence, that obscenity was only criminal, when it was intended to promote the prac­tice of vice; but that Mr. Savage had only introdu­ced obscene ideas, with a view of exposing them to detestation, and of amending the age, by shew­ing the deformity of wickedness. This plea was admitted, and Sir Philip York, now lord Chancellor, who then presided in that court, dismissed the in­formation, [Page 54] with encomiums upon the purity and ex­cellence of Mr. Savage's writings.

He was still in his usual exigencies, having no certain support, but the pension allowed him from the Queen, which was not sufficient to last him the fourth part of the year. His conduct, with regard to his pension, was very particular. No sooner had he changed the bill, than he vanished from the sight of all his acquaintances, and lay, for some time, out of the reach of his most inti­mate friends. At length he appeared again pen­nyless as before, but never informed any person where he had been, nor was his retreat ever disco­vered. This was his constant practice during the whole time he received his pension. He regularly disappeared, and returned. He indeed affirmed that he retired to study, and that the money sup­ported him in solitude for many months, but his friends declared, that the short time in which it was spent, sufficiently confuted 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 Sir Robert Walpole in his favour, but though promises were given, and Mr. Savage trusted, and was trusted, yet these added but one mortification more to the many he had suffered. His hopes of prefer­ment from that statesman issued in a disappoint­ment; upon which he published a poem in the Gentleman's Magazine, entitled, The Poet's Depen­dance on a Statesman; in which he complains of the severe usage he met with. But to despair was no part of the character of Savage; when one patronage failed, he had recourse to another. The Prince was now extremely popular, and had very liberally rewarded the merit of some writers, whom Mr. Savage did not think superior to himself; and therefore he resolved to address a poem to him. [Page 55] For this purpose he made choice of a subject, which could regard only persons of the highest rank, and greatest affluence, and which was there­fore proper for a poem intended to procure the patronage of a prince; namely, public spirit, with regard to public works. But having no friend upon whom he could prevail to present it to the Prince, he had no other method of attracting his observation, than by publishing frequent advertise­ments, and therefore received no reward from his patron, however generous upon other occasions. His poverty still pressing, he lodged as much by accident, as he dined; for he generally lived by chance, eating only when he was invited to the tables of his acquaintance, from which, the mean­ness of his dress often excluded him, when the politeness, and variety of his conversation, would have been thought a sufficient recompence for his entertainment. Having no lodging, he passed the night often in mean houses, which are set open for any casual wanderers; sometimes in cellars, a­mongst the riot and filth of the meanest and most pro [...]igate of the rabble; and sometimes when he was totally without money, walked about the streets till he was weary, and lay down in the sum­mer upon a bulk, and in the winter, with his as­sociates in poverty, among the ashes of a glass-house.

In this manner were passed those days and nights, which nature had enabled him to have employed in elevated speculations. On a bulk, in a cellar, or in a glass-house, among thieves and beggars, was to be found the author of The Wan­derer, the man, whose remarks in life might have assisted the statesman, whose ideas of virtue might have enlightened the moralist, whose eloquence might have influenced senates, and whose delicacy might have polished courts. His distresses, howe­ver afflictive, never dejected him. In his lowest [Page 56] sphere he wanted not spirit to assert the natural dignity of wit, and was always ready to repress that insolence, which superiority of fortune incit­ed, and to trample that reputation which rose up­on any other basis, than that of merit. He never admitted any gross familiarity, or submitted to be treated otherwise than 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 a message, that he desired to see him about nine in the morning. Savage knew that his intention was to assist him, but was very much disgusted, that he should pre­sume to prescribe the hour of his attendance; and therefore rejected his kindness.

The greatest hardships of poverty were to Sa­vage, not the want of lodging, or of food, but the neglect and contempt it drew upon him. He complained that as his affairs grew desperate, he found his reputation for capacity vi­sibly decline; that his opinion in questions of cri­ticism was no longer regarded, when his coat was out of fashion; and that those, who in the interval of his prosperity, were always encouraging him to great undertakings, by encomiums on his genius, and assurances of success, now received any men­tion of his designs with coldness, and, in short, allowed him to be qualified for no other perform­ance than volunteer-laureat. Yet even this kind of contempt never depressed him, for he always pre­served a steady confidence in his own capacity, and believed nothing above his reach, which he should at any time earnestly endeavour to attain.

This life, unhappy as it may be already ima­gined, was yet embittered in 1738 with new di­stresses. The death of the Queen deprived him of all the prospects of preferment, with which he had so long entertained his imagination. But even a­gainst this calamity there was an expedient at [Page 57] hand. He had taken a resolution of writing a se­cond tragedy upon the story of Sir Thomas Over­bury, in which he made a total alteration of the plan, added new incidents, and introduced new characters, so that it was a new tragedy, not a re­vival of the former. With the profits of this scheme, when finished, he fed his imagination, but proceeded slowly in it, and, probably, only em­ployed himself upon it, when he could find no o­ther amusement. Upon the Queen's death it was expected of him, that he should honour her me­mory with a funeral panegyric: He was thought culpable for omitting it; but on her birth-day, next year, he gave a proof of the power of genius and judgment. He knew that the track of elegy had been so long beaten, that it was impossible to tra­vel in it, without treading the footsteps of those who had gone before him, and therefore it was necessary that he might distinguish himself from the herd of encomists, to find out some new walk of funeral panegyric.

This difficult task he performed in such a man­ner, that this poem may be justly ranked the best of his own, and amongst the best pieces that the death of Princes has produced. By transferring the mention of her death, to her birth-day, he has formed a happy combination of topics, which any other man would have thought it difficult to con­nect in one view; but the relation between them appears natural; and it may be justly said, that what no other man could have thought on, now s [...]ems scarcely possible for any man to miss. In this poem, when he takes occasion to mention 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 some reason to think that it would be discontinued. He did not take those methods of retrieving his interest, which were most likely to succeed, for he went one day [Page 58] to Sir Robert Walpole's levee, and demanded the reason of the distinction that was made between him and the other pensioners of the Queen, with a degree of roughness which, perhaps, determin­ed him to withdraw, what had only been delayed. This last misfortune he bore not only with decen­cy, but cheerfulness, nor was his gaiety clouded, even by this disappointment, though he was, in a short time, reduced to the lowest degree of distress, and often wanted both lodging and food. At this time he gave another instance of the insurmount­able obstinacy of his spirit. His cloaths were worn out, and he received notice, that at a coffee-house some cloaths and linen were left for him. The person who sent them did not, we believe, inform him to whom he was to be obliged, that he might spare the perplexity of acknowledging the benefit; but though the offer was so far generous, it was made with some neglect of ceremonies, which Mr. Savage so much resented, 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 thought it proper to concert some measures for his relief. The scheme proposed was, that he should retire into Wales, and re­ceive an allowance of fifty pounds a year, to be raised by subscription, on which he was to live privately in a cheap place, without aspiring any more to affluence, or having any farther sollici­tude for fame.

This offer Mr. Savage gladly accepted, though with intentions very different from those of his friends; for they proposed that he should conti­nue an exile from London for ever, and spend all the remaining part of his life at Swansea; but he designed only to take the opportunity which their scheme offered him, of retreating for a short time, [Page 59] that he might 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 the profits 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 by one gentleman. He was, however, satisfied, and willing to retire, and was convinced that the al­lowance, though scanty, would be more than suf­ficient for him, being now determined to com­mence a rigid oeconomist.

Full of these salutary resolutions, he quitted Lon­don in 1739. He was furnished with fifteen guineas, and was told, that they would be sufficient, not only for the expence of his journey, but for his support in Wales for some time; and that there re­mained but little more of the first collection. He promised a strict adherence to his maxims of par­simony, and went away in the stage coach; nor did his friends expect to 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 his departure, in which he sent them word, that he was yet upon the road, and without money, and that he therefore could not proceed without a remittance. They then sent him the money that was in their hands, with which he was enabled to reach Bristol, from whence he was to go to Swansea by water. At Bristol he found an embargo laid upon the shipping, so that he could not immediately obtain a passage, and be­ing therefore obliged to stay there some time, he, with his usual felicity, ingratiated himself with many of the principal inhabitants, was invited to their houses, distinguished at their public feasts, and treated with a regard that gratified his vanity, and therefore easily engaged his affection.

[Page 60] After some stay at Bristol, he retired to Swan­sea, the place originally proposed for his residence, where he lived about a year very much dissatis­fied with the diminution of his salary, for the greatest part of the contributors, irritated by Mr. Savage's letters, which they imagined treated them co [...]temptuously, withdrew their subscriptions. At this place, as in every other, he contracted an ac­quaintance with those who were most distinguished in that country, among whom, he has celebrated Mr. Powel, and Mrs. Jones, by some verses in­serted in the Gentleman's Magazine. Here he compleated his tragedy, of which two acts were wanting when he left London, and was desirous of coming to town to bring it on the stage. This design was very warmly opposed, and he was ad­vised by his chief benefactor, who was no other than Mr. Pope, to put it in the hands of Mr. Thom­son and Mr. Mallet, that it might be fitted for the stage, and to allow his friends to receive the pro­fits, out of which an annual pension should be paid him. This proposal he rejected with the ut­most contempt. He was by no means convinced that the judgment of those to whom he was re­quired to submit, was superior to his own. He was now determined, as he expressed, to be no longer kept in leading-strings, and had no elevated idea of his bounty, who proposed to pension him out of the profits of his own labours. He soon after this quitted Swansea, and, with an intent to return to London, went to Bristol, where a repe­tition of the kindness which he had formerly sound; invited him to stay. He was not only ca­ressed, and treated, but had a collection made for him of about thirty pounds, with which it bad been happy if he had immediately departed for London; but he never considered that such proofs of kindness were not often to be expected, and that this ardour of benevolence was, in a great degree, the effect of novelty.

[Page 61] Another part of his misconduct was, the prac­tice of prolonging his visits to unseasonable hours, and disconcerting all the families into which he was admitted. This was an error in a place of commerce, which all the charms of conversation could not compenfate; for what trader would purchase such airy satisfaction, with the loss of solid gain, which must be the consequence of midhight merriment, as those hours which were gained at night were generally lost in the morning? Distress at last stole upon him by imperceptible degrees; his conduct had aheady wearied some of those who were at first enamoured of his conversation; but he still might have de­volved to others, whom he might have entertained with equal success, had not the decay of his cloaths made it no longer consistent with decency to admit him to their tables, or to associate with him in public places. He now began to find every man from home, at whose house he called; and was therefore no longer able to procu [...]e the necessaries of life, but wandered about the town, slighted and neglected, in quest of a dinner, which he did not always obtain. To compleat his mife­ry, he was obliged to withdraw from the small number of friends from whom he had still reason to hope for favours. His custom was to lie in bed the greatest part of the day, and to go out in the dark with the utmost privacy, and after having paid his visit, return again before morning to his lodging, which was in the garret of an obscure inn.

Being thus excluded on one hand, and confined on the other, he suffered the utmost extremities of poverty, and often fasted so long, that he was seized with faintness, and had lost his appetite, not being able to bear the smell of meat, 'till the action of his stomach was restored by a cordial.

[Page 62] He continued to bear these severe pressures, 'till the landlady of a coffee-house, to whom he owed about eight pounds, compleated his wretch­edness. He was arrested by order of this woman, and conducted to the house of a Sheriff's Officer, where he remained some time at a great ex­pence, in hopes of finding bail. This expence he was enabled to support by a present from Mr. Nash of Bath, who, upon hearing of his late mis­fortune, sent him five guineas. No friends would contribute to release him from prison at the ex­pence of eight pounds, and therefore he was remov­ed to Newgate. He bore this misfortune with an un­shaken fortitude, and indeed the treatment he met with from Mr. Dagg, the keeper of the prison, greatly softened the rigours of his confinement. He was supported by him at his own table, with­out any certainty of recompence; had a room to himself, to which he could at any time retire from all disturbance; was allowed to stand at the door of the prison, and sometimes taken out into the fields; so that he suffered fewer hardships in the prison, than he had been accustomed to un­dergo the greatest part of his life. Virtue is un­doubtedly most laudable in that state which makes it most difficult; and therefore the humanity of the gaoler 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 revenged of those who had had no more generosity for a man, to whom they professed friendship, than to suffer him to languish in a gaol for eight pounds. He had now ceased from corresponding with any of his subscribers, except Mr. Pope, who yetcontinued to remit him twenty pounds a year, which he had promised, and by whom he expected to be in a very short time enlarged; because he had directed the keeper to enquire after the state of his debts. [Page 63] However he took care to enter his name according to the forms of the court, that the creditors might be obliged to make him some allowance, if he was continued a prisoner; and when on that oc­casion he appeared in the Hall, was treated with very unusual respect.

But the resentment of the City was afterwards raised, by some accounts that had been spread of the satire, and he was informed, that some of the Merchants intended to pay the allowance which the law required, and to detain him a prisoner at their own expence. This he treated as an empty menace, and had he not been prevented by death, he would have hastened the publication of the sa­tire, only to shew how much he was superior to their insults.

When he had been six months in prison, he re­ceived from Mr. Pope, in whose kindness he had the greatest confidence, and on whose assistance he chiefly depended, a letter that contained a charge of very atrocious ingratitude, drawn up in such terms as sudden resentment dictated. Mr. Savage returned a very solemn protestation of his inno­cence, but however appeared much disturbed at the accusation. Some days afterwards he was seized 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 and dejected, on the 25th of July he confined himself to his room, and a fever seized his spirits. The symptoms grew every day more formidable, but his condition did not enable him to procure any assistance. The last time the keeper saw him was on July 31, when Savage, seeing him at his bed-side, said, with un­common earnestness, I have something to say to you, sir, but, after a pause, moved his hand in a me­lancholy manner, and finding himself unable to recollect what he was going to communicate, said, 'tis gone. The keeper soon after left him, and [Page 64] the next morning he died. He was buried in the church-yard of St. Peter, at the expence of the keeper.

Such were the life and death of this unfortu­nate poet; a man equally distinguished by his vir­tues and vices, and, at once, remarkable for his weaknesses and abilities. He was of a middle sta­ture, of a thin habit of body, a long visage, coarse features, and a melancholy aspect; of a grave and manly deportment, a solemn dignity of mien, but which, upon a nearer acquaintance, softened into an engaging easiness of manners. His walk was slow, and his voice tremulous and mournful. He was easily excited to smiles, but very seldom pro­voked to laughter. His judgment was eminently exact, both with regard to writings and to men. The knowledge of life was his chief attainment. He was born rather to bear misfortunes greatly, than to enjoy prosperity with moderation. He discovered an amazing firmness of spirit, in spurn­ing those who presumed to dictate to him in the lowest circumstances of misery; but we never can reconcile the idea of true greatness of mind, with the perpetual inclination Savage discovered to live upon the bounty of his friends. To struggle for independence appears much more landable, as well as a higher 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 a penetration into nature, it was strange he could not form some scheme of a livelihood, more honourable than that of a poe­tical mendicaut: his prosecuting any plan of life with disgence, would have thrown more lu­stre on his character, than all his works, and have raised our ideas of the greatness of his splrit, much beyond the conduct we have already seen. If po­verty is so great an evil as to expose a man to com­mit actions, at which he afterwards blushes, to a­void [Page 65] this poverty should be the continual care of every man; and he, who lets slip every opportuni­ty of doing so, is more entitled to admiration than pity, should he bear his sufferings nobly.

Mr. Savage's temper, in consequence of the do­minion of his passions, was uncertain and ca­pricious. He was easily engaged, and easily dis­gusted; but he is accused of retaining his hatred more tenaciously than his benevolence. He was compassionate bosh by nature and principle, and always ready to perform offices of humanity; but when he was provoked, and very small offences were sufficient to provoke him, he would prosecute his revenge with the utmost acrimony, 'till his passion had subsided. His friendship was there­fore of little value, for he was zealous in the sup­port, or vindication of those whom he loved, yet it was always dangerous to trust him, because he considered himself as discharged 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 not with­out reason. When he loved any man, he sup­pressed all his faults, and when he had been of­fended by him, concealed all his virtues. But his characters were generally true, so far as he pro­ceeded, though it cannot be denied, but his parti­ality might have sometimes the effect of falshood.

In the words of the celebrated writer of his life, from whom, as we observed in the beginning, we have extracted the account here given, we shall conclude this unfortunate person's Memoirs, which were so various as to afford large scope for an able biographer, and which, by this gentleman, have been represented with so great a mastery, and force of penetration, that the Life of Savage, as written by him, is an excellent model for this spe­cies of writing.

WAS born in the county of Cavan, where his father kept a public house. A gen­tleman, who had a regard for his father, and who observed the son gave early indications of genius above the common standard, sent him to the col­lege of Dublin, and contributed towards the fi­nishing his education there. Our poet received very great encouragement upon his setting out in life, and was esteemed a fortunate man. The agreeable humour, and the unreserved pleasant­ry of his temper, introduced him to the ac­quaintance, and established him in the esteem, of the wits of that age. He set up a school in Dublin, which, at one time, was so considerable as to produce an income of a thousand pounds a year, and possessed besides some good livings, and bishops leases, which are extremely lucrative.

Mr. Sheridan married the daughter of Mr. Mac­pherson, a Scots gentleman, who served in the wars under King William, and, during the trou­bles of Ireland, became possessed of a small estate of about 40 l. per annum, called Quilca. This little fortune devolved on Mrs. Sheridan, which enabled her husband to set up a school. Dr. She­ridan, amongst his virtues, could not number oeco­nomy; on the contrary, he was remarkable for profusion and extravagance, which exposed him to such inconveniences, that he was obliged to mort­gage all he had. His school daily declined, and [Page 68] by an act of indiscretion, he was stript of the best living 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 Jaeobite, or a disaffected person, a circumstance sufficient to ruin him in his ecclesiastical capacity. His friends, who were disposed to think favourably of him, were for softning the epithet of Jacobite into Tory, imput­ing his choice of that text, rather to whim and humour, than any settled projudice against his Majesty, or the government; but this unseasonable pleasantry was not so easily passed over, and the Dr. had frequent occasion to repent the choice of his text.

Unhappy Sheridan! he lived to want both money and friends. He spent his money 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 so quick a sense of his misfortunes. The following story should not have been told, were it not true.

In the midst of his misfortunes, when the demands of his creditors obliged him to re­tirement, he went to dean Swift, and sollicited a lodging for a few days, 'till by a proper composition he might be restored to his free­dom. The dean retired early to rest. The Dr. fatigued, but not inclinable to go so soon to bed, sent the servant to the dean, desiring the key of the cellar, that he might have a bottle of wine. The dean, in one of his odd humours, returned for answer, he promised to find him a lodging, but not in wine; and refused to send the key. The Dr. being thunderstruck at this unexpected incivi­lity, the tears burst from his eyes; he quitted the [Page 69] house, and we believe never after repeared the visit.

Dr. Sheridan died in the year 1738, in the 55 ^th year of his age. The following epitaph for him was handed about.

When the account of his death was inserted in the papers, it was done in the following particular terms;

We cannot more successfully convey to the read­er a true idea of Dr. Sheridan, than by the two following quotations from Lord Orrery in his life of Swift, in which he occasionally mentions Swift's friend.

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 this in­ [...]ricate Satyrist, who are in the best esteem; toge­ther with many judicious 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 of Letters between the Dean and the Dr.

WHEN the life of a person, whose wit and genius raised him to an eminence among writers of the first class, is written by one of un­common abilities:—One possess'd of the power (as Shakespear says) of looking quite thro' the deeds of men; we are furnished with one of the highest entertain­ments a man can enjoy:—Such an author also presents us with a true picture of human nature, which affords us the most ample instruction:—He discerns the passions which play about the heart; and while he is astonished with the high efforts of genius, is at the same time enabled to observe nature as it really is, and how distant from per­fection mankind are in this world, even in the most refined state of humanity. Such an intellectual feast they enjoy, who peruse the life of this great author, drawn by the masterly and impartial hand of lord Orrery. We there discern the greatness and weak­ness of Dean Swift; we discover the patriot, the genius, and the humourist; the peevish master, the ambitious statesman, the implacable enemy, and the warm friend. His mixed qualities and im­perfections are there candidly marked: His errors and virtues are so strongly represente [...] that while we reflect upon his virtues, we forget he had so many failings; and when we consider his errors, we are disposed to think he had fewer virtues. With such candour and impartiality has lord Orrery drawn the portrait of Swift; and, as every biographer [Page 74] 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 passages of the life of Swift; to omit no incidents that can be found concerning him, and as our propos'd bounds will not suffer us to enlarge, we shall endeavour to display, with as much conciseness as possible, those particulars which may be most entertaining to the reader.

He was born in Dublin, November the 30th, 1667, and was carried into England soon after his birth, by his nurse, who being obliged to cross the sea, and having a nurse's fondness for the child at her breast, convey'd him a ship-board without the know­ledge of his mother or relations, and kept him with her at Whitehaven in Cumberland, during her residence about three-years in that place. This extraordinary event made his return seem as if he had been transplanted to Ireland, rather than that he owed his original existence to that soil. But perhaps he tacitly hoped to inspire different nations with a contention for his birth; at least in his an­gry moods, when he was peevish and provoked at the ingratitude of Ireland, he was frequently heard to say. ‘'I am not of this vile country, I am an Englishman.'’ Such an assertion tho' meant figu­ratively, was often received literally; and the re­port was still farther propagated by Mr. Pope, who in one of his letters has this expression. ‘'Tho' one, or two of our friends are gone, since you saw your native country, there remain a few.'’ But doctor Swift, in his cooler hours, never denied his country: On the contrary he frequently mentioned, and point­ed out, the house where he was born.

The other suggestion concerning the illegitimacy of his birth, is equally false. Sir William Temple was employed as a minister abroad, from the year [Page 75] 1665, to the year 1670; first at Brussels, and after­wards at the Hague, as appears by his correspond­ence with the earl of Arlington, and other mi­nisters of state. So that Dr. Swift's mother, who never crossed the sea, except from England to Ire­land, was out of all possibility of a personal cor­respondence with Sir William Temple, till some years after her son's birth. Dr. Swift's ancestors were persons of decent and reputable characters. His grand-father was the Revd. Mr. Thomas Swift, vicar of Goodridge, near Ross in Herefordshire. He enjoyed a paternal estate in that county, which is still in possession of his great-grandson, Dean Swift, Esq He died in the year 1658, leaving five sons, 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 he lived not to see the birth of his son, who was born two months after his death, and became afterwards the famous Dean of St. Patrick's.

The greatest part of Mr. Jonathan Swift's income had depended upon agencies, and other employ­ments of that kind; so that most of his fortune pe­rished with him ^*, and the remainder being the only support that his widow could enjoy, the care, tuition, and expence of her two children devolved upon her husband's elder brother, Mr. Godwin Swift, who voluntarily became their guardian, and supplied the loss which they had sustained in a father.

The faculties of the mind appear and shine forth at different ages in different men. The infancy of Dr. Swift pass'd on without any marks of distinction. At [Page 76] six years old he was sent to school at Kilkenny, and about eight years afterwards he was entered a student of Trinity-College in Dublin. He lived there in perfect regularity, and under an entire obe­dience to the statutes; but the moroseness of his temper rendered him very unacceptable to his com­panions, so that he was little regarded, and less be­loved, nor were the academical exercises agreeable to his genius. He held logic and metaphysics in the utmost contempt; and he scarce considered ma­thematics, and natural philosophy, unless to turn them into ridicule. The studies which he followed were history and poetry. In these he made a great progress, but to all other branches of science, he had given so very little application, that when he appeared as a candidate for the degree of batchelor of arts, he was set aside on account of insufficiency.

The more early disappointments happen in life, the deeper impression they make upon the heart. Swift was full of indignation at the treatment he received in Dublin; and therefore resolved to pur­sue his studies at Oxford. However, that he might be admitted Ad Eundem, he was obliged to carry with him the testimonium of his degree. The ex­pression Speciali Gratiâ is so peculiar to the uni­versity of Dublin, that when Mr. Swift exhibited [Page 77] his testimonium at Oxford, the members of the En­glish university concluded, that the words Speciali Gratiâ must signity a degree conferred in reward of extraordinary diligence and learning. It as natural to imagine that he did not try to undeceive them; he was entered in Hart-Hall, now Hartford-College, where he resided till he took his degree of master of arts in the year 1691.

Dr. Swift's uncle, on whom he had placed his chief dependance, dying in the Revolution year, he was supported chiefly by the bounty of Sir William Temple, to whose lady he was a distant relation. Acts of generosity seldom meet with their just ap­plause. Sir William Temple's friendship was im­mediately construed to proceed from a consciousness that he was the real father of Mr. Swift, otherwise it was thought impossible he could be so uncommonly munificent to a young man, so distantly related to his wife.

As soon as Swift quitted the university, he lived with Sir William Temple as his friend, and domestic companion. When he had been about two years in the family of his patron, he contracted a very long, and dangerous illness, by eating an immoderate quantity of fruit. To this surfeit he used to ascribe the giddiness in his head, which, with intermissions sometimes of a longer, and sometimes of a shorter continuance, pursued him till it seemed to com­pleat its conquest, by rendering him the exact image of one of his own STRULDBRUGGS; a mi­serable spectacle, devoid of every appearance of human nature, except the outward form.

[Page 78] After Swift had sufficiently recovered to travel, he went into Ireland to try the effects of his native air; and he found so much benefit by the journey, that pursuant to his own inclinations he soon re­turned into England, and was again most affection­ately received by Sir William Temple, whose house was now at Sheen, where he was often visited by King William. Here Swift had frequent oppor­tunities of conversing with that prince; in some of which conversations the king offered to make him a captain of horse: An offer, which in his splenetic dispositions, he always seemed sorry to have refused; but at that time he had resolved within his own mind to take orders, and during his whole life his reso­lutions, like the decrees of fate, were immoveable. Thus determined, he again went over to Ireland, and immediately inlisted himself under the banner of the church. He was recommended to lord Capel, then Lord-Deputy, who gave him, the first vacancy, a prebend, of which the income was about a hundred pounds a year.

Swift soon grew weary of a preferment, which to a man of his ambition was far from being suffici­ently considerable. He resigned his prebend in fa­vour of a friend, and being sick of solitude he re­turned to Sheen, were he lived domestically as usual, till the death of Sir William Temple; who besides a legacy in money, left to him the care and trust of publishing his posthumous works.

During Swift's residence with Sir William Temple he became intimately acquainted with a lady, whom he has distinguished, and often celebrated, under the name of Stella. The real name of this lady was John­son. She was the daughter of Sir William Temple's steward; and the concealed but undoubted wife of doctor Swift. Sir William Temple bequeathed her in his will 1000 l. as an acknowledgment of her father's faithful services. In the year 1716 she was married to doctor Swift, by doctor Ashe, then bi­shop of Clogher.

[Page 79] The reader must observe, there was a long inter­val between the commencement of his acquaintance with Stella, and the time of making her his wife, for which (as it appears he was fond of her from the beginning of their intimacy) no other cause can be assigned, but that the same unaccountable humour, which had so long detained him from marrying, prevented him from acknowledging her after she was his wife.

Such was this amiable lady, yet, with all these advantages, she could never prevail on Dr. Swift to acknowledge her openly as his wife. A great ge­nius must tread in unbeaten paths, and deviate from the common road of life; otherwise a diamond of so much luster might have been publickly produced, although it had been fixed within the collet of matri­mony: [Page 80] But that which diminished the value of this inestimable jewel in Swift's eye was the servile state of her father.

Ambition and pride, the predominant principles which directed all the actions of Swift, conquered reason and justice; and the vanity of boasting such a wi [...]e was suppressed by the greater vanity of keeping free from a low alliance. Dr. Swift and Mrs. Johnson continued the same oeconomy of life after marriage, which they had pursued before it. They lived in separate houses; nothing appear­ed in their behaviour inconsistent in their decorum, and beyond the limits of platonic love. However unaccountable this renunciation of marriage rites might appear to the world, it certainly arose, not from any consciousness of a too near consanguinity between him and Mrs. Johnson, although the gene­ral voice of some was willing to make them both the natural children of Sir William Temple. Dr. Swift, (says lord Orrery) was not of that opinion, for the same false pride which induced him to deny the legitimate daughter of an obscure servant, might have prompted him to own the natural daugh­ter of Sir William Temple ^†.

It is natural to imagine, that a woman of Stella's delicacy must repine at such an extraordinary situa­tion. The outward honours she received are as fre­quently bestowed upon a mistress as a wife; she [Page 81] was absolutely virtuous, and was yet obliged to submit to all the appearances of vice. Inward anxiety affected by degrees the calmness of her mind, and the strength of her body. She died to­wards the end of January 1727, absolutely destroy'd by the peculiarity of her fate; a fate which per­haps she could not have incurred by an alliances with any other person in the world.

Upon the death of Sir William Temple, Swift came to London, and took the earliest opportunity of delivering a petition to King William, under the claim of a promise made by his majesty to Sir William Temple, that Mr. Swift should have the first vacancy which might happen among the pre­bends of Westminster or Canterbury. But this promise was either totally forgotten, or the petition which Mr. Swift presented was drowned amidst the clamour of more urgent addresses. From this first dis­appointment 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 reluctantly gave up all thoughts of a settlement in England: Pride prevented him from remaining longer in a state of servility and contempt. He complied therefore with an invitation from the earl of Berkley (appointed one of the Lords Justices in Ireland) to attend him as his chaplain, and private secretary.—Lord Berkley landed near Waterford, and Mr. Swift acted as secretary during the whole journey to Dublin. But another of lord Berkley's attendants, whose name was Bush, had by this time insinuated himself into the earl's favour, and had whispered to his lordship, that the post of secretary was not proper for a clergyman, to whom only church preferments could be suitable or advantageous. Lord Berkley listened perhaps too attentively to these insinuations, and making some slight apology [Page 82] to Mr. Swift, divested him of that office, and be­stowed it upon Mr. Bush.

Here again was another disappointment, and a fresh object of indignation. The treatment was thought injurious, and Swift expressed his sensibility of it in a short but satyrical co­py of verses, intitled the Discovery. How­ever, during the government of the Earls of Berkley and Galway, who were jointly Lords Justices of Ireland, two livings, Laracor and Rathbeggan, were given to Mr. Swift. The first of these recto­ries was worth about 200, and the latter about 60 l. a year; and they were the only church preferments which he enjoyed till he was appointed Dean of St. Patrick's, in the year 1713.

Lord Orrery gives the following instances of his humour and of his pride.

As soon as he had taken possession of his two livings, he went to reside at Laracor, and gave public notice to his parishioners, that he would read prayers on every Wednesday and Friday. Upon the subsequent Wednesday the bell was rung, and the rector attended in his desk, when after having sat some time, and finding the congregation to consist only of himself and his clerk Roger, he began with great composure and gravity; but with a turn pe­culiar to himself. ‘" Dearly beloved Roger, the scrip­ture moveth you and me in sundry places, &c."’ And then proceeded regularly thro' the whole service. This trifling circumstance serves to shew, that he could not resist a vein of humour, whenever he had an opportunity of exerting it.

The following is the instance of his pride. While Swift was chaplain to lord Berkley, his only sister, by the consent and approbation of her uncle and relations, was married to a man in trade, whose fortune, character, and situation were esteemed by all her friends, and suitable to her in every respect. [Page 83] But the marriage was intirely disagreeable to her brother. It seemed to interrupt those ambitious views he had long since formed: He grew outragi­ous at the thoughts of being brother-in law to a tradesman. He utterly refused all reconciliation with his sister; nor would he even listen to the en­treaties of his mother, who came over to Ireland under the strongest hopes of pacifying his anger; having in every other instance found him a dutiful and obedient son: But his pride was not to be con­quered, and Mrs. Swift finding her son inflexible, hastened back to Leicester, where she continued till her death.

During his mother's life time, he scarce ever fail­ed to pay her an annual visit. But his manner of tra­velling was as singular as any other of his actions. He often went in a waggon, but more frequently walked from Holyhead to Leicester, London, or any other part of England. He generally chose to dine with waggoners, ostlers, and persons of that rank; and he used to lye at night in houses where he found written over the door, Lodgings for a Penny. He delighted in scenes of low life. The vulgar dialect was not only a fund of humour for him; but seems to have been 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 to the restless temper of Swift. He was perpetually making excursions not only to Dublin, and other places in Ireland, but likewise to London; so rambling a disposition occasioned to him a considerable loss. The rich deanery of Derry became vacant at this time, and was intended for him by lord Berkley, if Dr. King, then bishop of Derry, and afterwards archbishop of Dublin, had not interposed; entreating with great earnestness, that the deanery might be given to some grave and elderly divine, rather than to so young a man; ‘ [Page 84] 'because (added the bishop) the situation of Derry is in the midst of Presbyterians, and I should be glad of a clergyman, who might be of assistance to me. I have no objection to Mr. Swift. I know him to be a sprightly ingenious young man; but instead of residing, I dare say he will be eter­nally flying backwards and forwards to London; and therefore I entreat that he may be provided for in some other place.'’

Swift was accordingly set aside on account of youth, and from the year 1702, to the change of the ministry in the year 1710, few circumstances of his life can be found sufficiently material to be inserted here. From this last period, 'till the death of Queen Anne, we find him fighting on the side of the Tories, and maintaining their cause in pam­phlets, poems, and weekly papers. In one of his letters to Mr. Pope he has this expression, ‘'I have conversed, in some freedom, with more ministers of state, of all parties, than usually happens to men of my level; and, I confess, in their capacity as ministers I look upon them as a race of people, whose acquaintance no man would court otherwise, than on the score of va­nity and ambition.'’ A man always appears of more consequence to 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 the administration in general; and in one of his let­ters he mentions, that the place of historiographer was intended for him; but in this particular he flat­tered himself; at least, he remained without any pre­ferment '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 no inconsidera­ble promotion; but to an ambitious mind, whose perpetual view was a settlement in England, a dignity in any other country must appear only a [Page 85] profitable and an honourable kind of banishment. It is very probable, that the temper of Swift might occasion his English friends to wish him promoted at a distance. His spirit was ever untractable. The motions of his genius were often irregular. He assumed more of the air of a patron, than of a friend. He affected rather to dictate than ad­vise. He was elated with the appearance of en­joying ministerial confidence. He enjoyed the sha­dow indeed, but the substance was detained from him. He was employed, not entrusted; and at the same time he imagined himself a subtle diver, who dextrously shot down into the profoundest regions of politics, he was suffered only to sound the shal­lows nearest the shore, and was scarce admitted to descend below the froth at the top. Swift was one of those strange kind of Tories, who lord Bolingbroke, in his letter to Sir William Wynd­ham, calls the Whimsicals, that is, they were Tories attach'd to the Hanoverian succession. This kind of Tory is so incongruous a creature, that it is a wonder ever such a one existed. Mrs. Pilkington informs us, that Swift had written A Defence of the last Ministers of Queen Anne, from an inten­tion of restoring the Pretender, which Mr. Pope advised him to destroy, as not one word of it was true. Bolingbroke, by far the most accomplished man in that ministry (for Oxford was, in compa­rison of him, a statesman of no compass) certain­ly aimed at the restoration of the exiled family, however he might disguise to some people his real intentions, under the masque of being a Hanove­rian Tory. This serves to corroberate the obser­vation which lord Orrery makes of Swift: ‘'that he was employed, not trusted, &c.'’

By reflexions of this sort, says lord Orrery, we may account for his disappointment of an English bi­shopric. A disappointment, which, be imagined, he owed to a joint application made against him [Page 86] to the Queen, by Dr. Sharp, archbishop of York, and by a lady of the highest rank and character. Archbishop Sharpe, according to Swift's account, had represented him to the Queen as a person, who was no Christian; the great lady had sup­ported the assertion, and the Queen, upon such as­surances, had given away the bishopric, contrary to her Majesty's intentions. Swift kept himself, indeed, within some tolerable bounds when he spoke of the Queen; but his indignation knew no limits when he mentioned the archbishop, or the lady.

Most people are fond of a settlement in their native country, but Swift had not much reason to rejoice in the land where his lot had fallen; for upon his arrival in Ireland to take possession of the deanery, he found the violence of party raging in that kingdom to the highest degree. The common people were taught to consider him as a Jacobite, and they proceeded so far in their detestation, as to throw stones and dirt at him as he passed thro' the streets. The chapter of St. Patrick's, like the rest of the kingdom, received him with great re­luctance. They opposed him in every point he proposed. They avoided him as a pestilence, 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. He had seen enough of human nature to be con­vinced that the passions of low, self-interested minds ebb and flow continually. They love they know not whom, they hate they know not why. They are captivated by words, guided by names, and governed by accidents. But to shew the strange revolutions in this world, Dr. Swift, who was now the detestation of the Irish rabble, lived to be af­terwards the most absolute monarch over them, that ever governed men. His first step was to re­duce to reason and obedience his revd. brethren [Page 87] the chapter of St. Patrick's; in which he succeed­ed so perfectly, and so speedily, that, in a short time after his arrival, not one member in that bo­dy offered to contradict him, even in trifles: on the contrary, they held him in the highest respect and veneration, so that he sat in the Chapter-House, like Jupiter in the Synod of the Gods.

In the beginning of the year 1714 Swift re­turned to England. He found his great friends, who sat in the seat of power, much disunited a­mong themselves. He saw the Queen declining in her health, and distressed in her situation; while faction was exerting itself, and gathering new strength every day. He exerted the utmost of his skill to unite the ministers, and to cement the apertures of the state: but he found his pains fruit­less, his arguments unavailing, and his endea­vours, like the stone of Sisyphus, rolling back upon himself. He retired to a friend's house in Berk­shire, where he remained 'till the Queen died. So fatal an event terminated all his views in Eng­land, and made him return as fast as possible to his deanery in Ireland, oppressed with grief and discontent. His hopes in England were now crushed for ever. As Swift was well known to have been attached to the Queen's last ministry, he met with several indignities from the populace, and, indeed, was equally abused by persons of all ranks and denominations. Such a treatment soured his tem­per, confined his acquaintance, and added bitter­ness to his stile.

From the year 1714, 'till he appeared in the year 1720 a champion for Ireland, against Wood's halfpence, his spirit of politics and patriotism was kept almost closely confined within his own breast. Idleness and trifles engrossed too many of his lei­sure hours; fools and sycophants too much of his conversation. His attendance upon the public ser­vice of the church was regular and uninterrupted; [Page 88] and indeed regularity was peculiar to all his ac­tions, even in the meerest trifles. His hours of walking and reading never varied. His motions were guided by his watch, which was so constant­ly held in his hand, or placed before him on the table, that he seldom deviated many minutes in the revolution of his exercises and employments. In the year 1720 he began to re-assume, in some degree, the character of a political writer. A small pamphlet in defence of the Irish Manufac­tures was his first essay in Ireland in that kind of writing, and to that pamphlet he owed the turn of the popular tide in his favour. It was entitled. A Proposal for the Universal Use of Irish Manu­facture in Clothes and Furniture of Houses, &c. utterly rejecting and renouncing every thing weara­ble that comes from England. This proposal im­mediately raised a very violent flame. The Printer was prosecuted, and the prosecution had the same effect, which generally attends those kind of mea­sures. It added fuel to flame. But his greatest enemies must confess, that the pamphlet is written in the stile of a man who had the good of his country nearest his heart, who saw her errors, and wished to correct them; who felt her oppressions, and wished to relieve them; and who had a desire to rouze and awaken an indolent nation from a lethargic disposition; that might prove fatal to her constitution. This temporary opposition but in­creased the stream of his popularity. He was now looked upon in a new light, and was distinguish­ed by the title of THE DEAN, and so high a de­gree of popularity did he attain, as to become an arbitrator, in disputes of property, amongst his neighbours; nor did any man dare to appeal from his opinion, or murmur at his decrees.

But the popular effection, which the dean had hitherto acquired, may be said not to have been universal, 'till the publication of the Drapier's [Page 89] Letters, which made all ranks, and all professions unanimous in his applause. The occasion of those letters was, a scarcity of copper coin in Ireland, to so great a degree, that, for some time past, the chief manufacturers throughout the kingdom were obliged to pay their workmen in pieces of ti [...], or in other tokens of suppositious value. Such a method was very disadvantageous to the lower parts of traffic, and was in general an impediment to the commerce of the state. To remedy this e­vil, the late King granted a patent to one Wood, to coin, during the term of fourteen years, far­things and halfpence in England, for the use of Ireland, to the value of a certain sum specified. These halfpence and farthings were to be received by those persons, who would voluntarily accept them. But the patent was thought to be of such dangerous consequence to the public, and of such exorbitant advantage to the patentee, that the dean, under the character of M. B. Drapier, wrot [...] a Letter to the People, warning them not to accept Wood's halfpence and farthings, as current coin. This first letter was succeeded by several others 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 the admission of Wood's copper must prove fatal to the commonwealth. The Papist, the Fanatic, the Tory, the Whig, all listed themselves volun­teers, under the banner of the Drapier, and were all equally zealous to serve the common cause. Much heat, and many fiery speeches against the admini­stration were the consequence of this union; nor had the flames been allayed, notwithstanding threats and proclamations, had not the coin been totally suppressed, and Wood withdrawn his patent. The name of Augustus was not bestowed upon [Page 90] Octavius Caesar with more universal approbation, than the name of the Drapier was bestowed upon the dean. He had no sooner assumed his new cognomen, than he became the idol of the people of Ireland, to a degree of devotion, that in the most superstitious coun­try, scarce any idol ever obtained. Libations to his health were poured out as frequent as to the im­mortal memory of King William. His effigies was painted in every street in Dublin. Acclama­tions and vows for his prosperity attended his footsteps wherever he passed. He was consulted in all points relating to domestic policy in general, and to the trade of Ireland in particular; but he was more immediately looked upon as the legisla­tor of the Weavers, who frequently came in a body, consisting of 40 or 50 chiefs of their trade, to receive his advice in settling the rates of their manufactures, and the wages of their journeymen. He received their address with less majesty than sternness, and ranging his subjects in a circle round his parlour, spoke as copiously, and with as little difficulty and hesitation, to the several points in which they supplicated his assistance, as if trade had been the only study and employment of his life. When elections were depending for the city of Dublin, many Corporations refused to declare themselves, '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 he lost his senses; a loss which he seemed to foresee, and prophetically lamented to many of his friends. The total deprivation of his senses came upon him by degrees. In the year 1736 he was seized with a violent fit of giddiness; he was at that time writing a satirical poem, called The Legion Club; but he found the effects of his giddiness so dreadful, that he left the poem unfi­nished, and never afterwards attempted a composi­tion, [Page 91] either in verse or prose. However, his con­versation still remained the same, lively and se­vere, but his memory gradually grew worse and worse, and as that decrea [...]ed, he grew every day more sretful and impatient. In the year 1741, his friends found his passions so violent and ungover [...]able, his memory so decayed, and his reason so depraved, that they took the utmost precautions to keep all strangers from approaching him; for, 'till then, he had not appeared totally incapable of conversation. But early in the year 1742, the small remains of his understanding became entirely confused, and the violence of his rage increased absolutely to a degree of madness. In this miserable state he seemed to be appointed the first inhabitant of his own Hospital; especially as from an outrageous lunatic, he sunk afterwards to a quiet speechless i­deot, and dragged out the remainder of his life in that helpless situation. He died towards the latter end of October 1745. The manner of his death was easy, without the least pang, or convulsion; even the rattling of his throat was scarce suffici­ent to give an alarm to his attendants, 'till with­in some very little time before he expired. A man in possession of his reason would have wished for such a kind dissolution; but Swift was totally in­sensible of happiness, or pain. He had not even the power or expression of a child, appearing for some years before his death, reserved only as an example to mortify human pride, and to re­verse that fine description of human nature, which is given us by the inimitable Shakespear. ‘'What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an an­gel! in apprehension how like a God! the beau­ty of the world! the paragon of animals!'’ Swift's friends often heard him lament the state of childhood and idiotism, to which some of the greatest [Page 92] men of this nation were reduced before their death. He mentioned, as examples within his own time, the duke of Marlborough and lord Somers; and when he cited these melancholy instances, it was always with a heavy sigh, and with gestures that shewed great uneasiness, as if he felt an im­pulse of what was to happen to him before he died. He left behind him about twelve thousand pounds, inclusive of the specific legacies mentioned in his will, and which may be computed at the sum of twelve hundred pounds, so that the remaining ten thousand eight hundred pounds, is entirely appli­cable t [...] the Hospital for Idiots and Lunatics; an establishment remarkably generous, as those who receive the benefit, must for ever remain ignorant of their benefactor.

Lord O [...]erry has observed, that a propension to jocularity and humour is apparent in the last works of Swift. His Will, like all his other writings, is drawn up in his own peculiar manner. Even in so serious a composition, he cannot help indulging himself in leaving legacies, that carry with them an air of raillery and jest. He disposes of his three best hats (his best, his second best, and his third best beaver) with an ironical solemnity, that renders the bequests ridiculous. He bequeaths, ‘'To Mr. John Grattan a silver-box, to keep in it the tobacco which the said John usually chewed, called pigtail.'’ But his legacy to Mr. Robert Grattan, is still more extraordinary. ‘'Item, I bequeath to the Revd. Mr. Robert Grattan, Prebendary of St. Audeon's, my strong box, on condition of his giving the sole use of the said box to his brother, Dr. James Grattan, during the life of the said Doctor, who hath more occasion for it.'’

These are so many last expressions of his turn, and way of thinking, and no doubt the persons thus distinguished looked upon these instances as affecti­onate memorials of his friendship, and tokens of the [Page 93] jocose manner, in which he had treated them du­ring his life-time.

With regard to Dean Swift's poetical character, the reader will take the following sketch of it in the words of Lord Orrery. ‘'The poetical per­formances of Swift (says he) ought to be consider­ed as occasional poems, written either to pleasure ^*, [Page 94] or to vex some particular persons. We must not suppose them designed for posterity; if he had cultivated his genius that way, he must certainly have excelled, especially in satire. We see fine sketches in several of his pieces; but he seems more desirous to inform and strengthen his mind, than to indulge the luxuriancy of his imagination. He chuses to discover, and correct errors in the works of others, rather than to illustrate, and add beauties of his own. Like a skilful artist, he is fond of probing wounds to their depth, and of enlarging them to open view. He aims to be severely useful, rather than politely engaging; and as he was either not formed, nor would take pains to excel in poetry, he became in some mea­sure superior to it; and assumed more the air, [Page 95] and manner of a critic than a poet.'’ Thus far his lordship in his VIth letter, but in his IXth, he adds, when speaking of the Second Volume of Swift's Works, ‘'He had the nicest ear; he is remarkably chaste, and delicate in his rhimes. A bad rhime appeared to him one of the capital sins of poetry.'’

The Dean's poem on his celebrated Vanessa, is number'd among the best of his poetical pieces. Of this lady it will be proper to give some account, as she was a character as singular as Swift himself.

Vanessa's real name was Esther Vanhomrich ^*. She was one of the daughters of Bartholomew Van­homrich, a Dutch merchant of Amsterdam; who upon the Revolution went into Ireland, and was ap­pointed by king William a commissioner of the revenue. The Dutch merchant, by parsimony and prudence, had collected a fortune of about 16,000 l. He bequeathed an equal division of it to his wife, and his four children, of which two were sons, and two were daughters. The sons after the death of their father travelled abroad: The eldest died be­yond sea; and the youngest surviving his brother only a short time, the whole patrimony fell to his two sisters, Esther and Mary.

With this encrease of wealth, and with heads and hearts elated by affluence, and unrestrained by fore-sight or discretion, the widow Vanhomrich, and her two daughters, quitted their native country for the more elegant pleasures of the English court. During their residence at London, they lived in a course of prodigality, that stretched itself far be­yond the limits of their income, and reduced them to great distress, in the midst of which the mother died, and the two daughters hastened in all secresy back to Ireland, beginning their journey on a Sun­day, [Page 96] to avoid the interruption of creditors. Within two years after their arrival in Ireland, Mary the youngest sister died, and the small remains of the shipwreck'd fortune center'd in Vanessa.

Vanity makes terrible devastations in a female breast: Vanessa was excessively vain. She was fond of dress; impatient to be admired; very romantic in her turn of mind; superior in her own opinion to all her sex; full of pertness, gaiety, and pride; not without some agreeable accomplishments, but far from being either beautiful or genteel: Ambitious at any rate to be esteemed a wit; and with that view always affecting to keep company with wits; a great reader, and a violent admirer of poetry; hap­py in the thoughts of being reputed Swift's con­cubine; but still aiming to be his wife. By nature haughty and disdainful, looking with con­tempt upon her inferiors; and with the smiles of self-approbation upon her equals; but upon Dr. Swift, with the eyes of love: Her love was no doubt founded in vanity.

Though Vanessa had exerted all the arts of her sex, to intangle Swift in matrimony; she was yet unsuccessful. She had lost her reputation, and the narrowness of her income, and coldness of her lover contributed to make her miserable, and to increase the phrensical disposition of her mind. In this melancholly situation she remained several years, during which time Cadenus (Swift) visited her frequently. She often press'd him to marry her: His answers were rather turns of wit, than positive de­nials; till at last being unable to sustain the weight of misery any longer, she wrote a very tender epistle to him, insisting peremptorily upon a serious answer, and an immediate acceptance, or absolute refusal of her as his wife. His reply was delivered by his own hand. He brought it with him when he made his final visit; and throwing down the let­ter [Page 97] upon the table with great passion, hastened back to his house, carrying in his countenance the frown of anger, and indignation. Vanessa did not sur­vive many days the letter delivered to her by Swift, but during that short interval she was sufficiently composed, to cancel a will made in his favour, and to make another, wherein she left her fortune (which by a long retirement was in some measure retrieved) to her two executors, Dr. Berkley the late lord bishop of Cloyne, and Mr. Marshal one of the king'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 the female breast, and yet it is cer­tain that to this principle it was owing, that Swift's house was often a seraglio of very virtuous women, who attended him from morning till night, with an obedience, an awe, and an assiduity that are seldom paid to the richest, or the most powerful lovers. These ladies had no doubt a pride in being thought the companions of Swift; but the hours which were spent in his company could not be very pleasant, as his sternness and authority were continually exerted to keep them in awe.

Lord Orrery has informed us, that Swift took every opportunity to expose and ridicule Dryden, for which he imagines there must have been some affront given by that great man to Swift. In this particular we can satisfy the reader from authentic information.

When Swift was a young man, and not so well acquainted with the world as he afterwards became, he wrote some Pindaric Odes. In this species of composition he succeeded ill; sublimity and fire, the indispensable requisites in a Pindaric Ode not being his talent. As Mr. Dryden was Swift's kinsman, these odes were shewn to him for his approbation, who said to him with an unreserved [Page 98] freedom, and in the candour of a friend, ‘'Cousin Swift, turn your thoughts some other way, for nature has never formed you for a Pindaric poet.'’

Though what Dryden observed, might in some measure be true, and Swift perhaps was conscious that he had not abilities to succeed in that species of writing; yet this honest dissuasive of his kinsman he never forgave. The remembrance of it soured his temper, and heated his passions, whenever Dry­den's name was mention'd.

We shall now take a view of Swift in his moral life, the distinction he has obtained in the literary world having rendered all illustrations of his genius needless.

Lord Orrery, throughout his excellent work, from which we have drawn our account of Swift, with his usual marks of candour, has displayed his moral character. In many particulars, the picture he draws of the Dean resembles the portrait of the same person as drawn by Mrs. Pilkington.

Mrs. Pilkington has represented him as a tyrant in his family, and has discovered in him a violent propension to be absolute in every company where he was. This disposition, no doubt, made him more feared than loved; but as he had the most unbound­ed vanity to gratify, he was pleased with the ser­vility and awe with which inferiors approached him. He may be resembled to an eastern monarch, who takes delight in surveying his slaves, trembling at his approach, and kneeling with reverence at his feet.

Had Swift been born to regal honours, he would doubtless have bent the necks of his people to the yoke: As a subject, he was restless and turbulent; and though as lord Orrery says, he was above cor­ruption, yet that virtue was certainly founded on his pride, which disdained every measure, and spurned every effort in which he himself was not the prin­cipal.

[Page 100] He was certainly charitable, though it had an unlucky mixture of ostentation in it. One particular act of his charity (not mentioned, except by Mrs. Pilkington, in any account of him yet published) is well worthy of remembrance, praise, and imita­tion:—He appropriated the sum of five-hundred pounds intirely to the use of poor tradesmen and handicraftsmen, whose honesty and industry, he thought merited assistance, and encouragement: This he lent to them in small loans, as their exi­gencies required, without any interest; and they repaid him at so much per week, or month, as their different circumstances best enabled them.—To the wealthy let us say— ‘" Abi tu et fac similiter."’

THIS lady was born in Ireland; and, as Mrs. Barber judiciously remarks, was one of the most extraordinary women that either this age, or perhaps any 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 in Greek and Roman literature, but in history, divinity, philosophy, and mathematics.

Mrs. Grierson (says she)

Thus far Mrs. Barber. We shall now subjoin Mrs. Pilkington's account of this wonderful genius.

THE Revd. Dr. Birch, who has prefixed a life of Mrs. Cockburn before the collection he has made of her works, with great truth observes, that it is 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 whom they will owe the most demonstrative and perspicuous reasonings, upon subjects of eternal im­portance; and her own sex is entitled to the fullest information about one, who has done such honour to them, and raised our ideas of their intellectual powers, by an example of the greatest extent of understanding and correctness of judgment, united to all the vivacity of imagination. Antiquity, in­deed, boasted of its Female Philosophers, whose merits have been drawn forth in an elaborate trea­tise of Menage ^*. But our own age and country may without injustice or vanity oppose to those il­lustrious ladies the defender of Lock and Clark; who, with a genius equal to the most eminent of them, had the superior advantage of cultivating it in the only effectual method of improvement, the study of a real philosophy, and a theology worthy human nature, and its all-perfect author.

She was the daughter of captain David Trotter, a Scots gentleman, and commander of the royal [Page 105] navy in the reign of Charles II. He was highly in favour with that prince, who employed him as com­modore in the demolition of Tangier, in the year 1683. Soon after he was sent to convoy the fleet of the Turkey company; when being seized by the plague, then raging at Scanderoon, he died there. His death was an irreparable loss to his family, who were defrauded of all his effects on board his ship, which were very considerable, and of all the money which he had advanced to the seamen, during a long voyage: And to add to this misfortune, the goldsmith, in whose hands the greatest part of his money was lodged, became soon after a bankrupt. These accumulated circumstances of distress exciting the compassion of king Charles, the captain's widow was allowed a pension, which ended with that king's life; nor had she any consideration for her losses in the two succeeding reigns. But queen Anne, upon her accession to the throne, granted her an annual pension of twenty pounds.

Captain Trotter at his death, left only two daugh­ters, the youngest of whom, Catherine, our cele­brated author, was born in London, August 16, 1679. She gave early marks of her genius, and was not passed her childhood when she surprized a company of her relations and friends with extem­porary verses, on an accident which had fallen under her observation in the street. She both learned to write, and made herself mistress of the French lan­guage, by her own application and diligence, with­out any instructor. But she had some assistance in the study of the Latin Grammar and Logic, of which latter she drew up an abstract for her own use. The most serious and important subjects, and espe­pecially those of religion, soon engaged her atten­tion. But notwithstanding her education, her inti­macy with several families of distinction of the Ro­mish persuasion exposed her, while very young, to impressions in favour of that church, which not be­ing [Page 106] removed by her conferences with some eminent and learned members of the church of England, she followed the dictates of a misguided conscience, and embraced the Romish communion, in which she continued 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 are printed in our author's second volume. Her next producti­on was a Tragedy called Agnes de Castro, which was acted at the Theatre-royal, in 1695, when she was only in her seventeenth year, and printed in 1696. The reputation of this performance, and the verses which she addressed to Mr. Congreve upon his Mourning Bride, in 1697, were probably the foundation of her acquaintance with that admirable writer.

Her second Tragedy, intitled Fatal Friendship, was acted in 1698, at the new Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. This Tragedy met with great applause, and is still thought the most perfect of her dramatic performances. Among other copies of verses sent to her upon occasion of it, and prefixed to it, was one from an unknown hand, which afterwards ap­peared to be from the elegant pen of Mr. Hughs, author of the Siege of Damascus ^*.

The death of Mr. Dryden engaged her to join with several other ladies in paying a just tribute to the memory of that great improver of the strength, fulness, and harmony of English verse; and their performances were published together, under the title of the Nine Muses; or Poems written by so many Ladies, upon the Death of the late famous John Dryden, Esq

[Page 107] Her dramatic talents not being confined to Tra­gedy, she brought upon the stage, 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 her third Tragedy, intitled, The Unhappy Penitent, acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. In the dedication to Charles lord Hallifax, she draws the characters of several of the most eminent of her predecessors in tragic poetry, with great judgment and precision. She observes, that Shakespear had all the images of nature present to him, studied her thoroughly, and boldly copied all her various features: and that though he chiefly exerted himself on the more masculine passions, it was the choice of his judgment, not the restraint of his genius; and he seems to have designed those few tender moving scenes, which he has given us, as a proof that he could be every way equally admirable. She allows Dryden to have been the most universal genius which this nation ever bred; but thinks that he did not excel in every part; for though he is distinguished in most of his writings, by greatness and elevation of thought, yet at the same time that he commands our admiration of himself, he little moves our concern for those whom he re­presents, not being formed for touching the fofter passions. On the other hand, Otway, besides his judicious choice of the fable, had a peculiar art to move compassion, which, as it is one of the chief ends of Tragedy, he found most adapted to his genius; and never venturing where that did not lead him, excelled in the pathetic. And had Lee, as she remarks, consulted his strength as well, he might have given us more perfect pieces; but aiming at the sublime, instead of being great, he is extrava­gant; his stile too swelling; and if we pursue him in his flight, he often carries us out of nature. Had he restrained that vain ambition, and intirely applied himself to describe the softest of the passions (for [Page 108] love, of all the passions, he seems best to have un­derstood, if that be allowed a proper subject for Tragedy) he had certainly had fewer defects.

But poetry and dramatic writing did not so far engross the thoughts of our author, but that she sometimes turned them to subjects of a very differ­ent nature; and at an age when few of the other sex were capable of understanding the Essay of Hu­man Understanding, and most of them prejudiced against the novelty of its principles; and though she was at that time engaged in the profession of a religion not very favourable to so rational a philoso­phy as that of Mr. Lock; yet she had read that incomparable book, with so clear a comprehension, and so unbiassed a judgment, that her own convicti­on of the truth and importance of the notions con­tained in it, led her to endeavour that of others, by removing some of the objections urged against them. She drew up therefore a Defence of the Essay, against some Remarks which had been pub­lished against it in 1667. The author of these re­marks was never known to Mr. Lock, who ani­madverted upon them with some marks of chagrin, at the end of his reply to Stillingfleet, 1697. But after the death of the ingenious Dr. Thomas Burnet, master of the Charter-House, it appeared from his papers, that the Remarks were the product of his pen. They were soon followed by second Remarks, printed the same year, in vindication of the first, against Mr. Lock's Answer to them; and in 1699, by Third Remarks, addressed likewise to Mr. Lock. Mrs. Trotter's Defence of the Essay against all these Remarks was finished so early as the beginning of December 1701, when she was but 22 years old. But being more apprehensive of appearing before the great writer whom she defended, than of the public censure, and conscious that the name of a woman would be a prejudice against a work of that nature, she resolved to conceal herself with the ut­most [Page 109] care. But her title to the reputation of 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 an uncommon degree of know­ledge, and whose Method of Devotion, which pas­sed through several editions, is a proof of her ex­emplary piety, and who, as well as that prelate, honoured our author with a particular friendship, notwithstanding the difference of her religion, being informed that she was engaged in writing, and that it was not poetry, was desirous to know the subject. This Mrs. Trotter could not deny a lady of her merit, in whom she might safely confide, and who, upon being acquainted with it, shewed an equal sollicitude that the author might not be known. But afterwards finding the performance highly ap­proved by the bishop her husband, Mr. Norris of Bemmerton, and Mr. Lock himself; she thought the reasons of secrecy ceased, and discovered the writer; and in June 1707 returned her thanks to Mrs. Trotter, then in London, for her present of the book, in a letter which does as much honour to her own understanding, principles and temper, as to her friend, to whom she addressed it. Dr. Birch has given a copy of this letter.

Mr. Lock likewise was so highly satisfied with the Defence, (which was perhaps the only piece that appeared in favour of his Essay, except one by Mr. Samuel Bold, rector of Steeple in Dorset­shire, 1699) that being in London, he desired Mr. King, afterwards lord high chancellor, to make Mrs. Trotter a visit, and a present of books; and when she had owned herself, he wrote to her a letter of compliment, a copy of which is inserted in these memoris.

But while our author continued to shew the world so deep a penetration into subjects of the most diffi­cult and abstract kind, she was still incapable of extricating herself from those subtilties and per­plexities [Page 110] of argument, which retained her in the church of Rome. And the sincerity of her attach­ment to it, in all its outward severities, obliged her to so strict an observance of its fasts, as proved ex­tremely injurious to her health. Upon which Dr. Denton Nicholas, a very ingenious learned physi­cian of her acquai [...]tance, advised her to abate of those rigours of absti [...]ence, as insupportable to a constitution naturally infirm.

She returned to the exercise of her dramatic geni­us in 1703, and having fixed upon the Revolution of Sweden under Gustavus Erickson (which has been 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 just remarks upon the conduct of the drama, well deserves a place here, did it not exceed our proposed bounds, and therefore we must refer the reader to Dr. Birch's account. This Tragedy was acted in 1706, at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-Market, and was printed in quarto.

By a letter from Mrs. Trotter to her friend George Burnet of Kemnay in Scotland, Esq then at Geneva, dated February 2, 1703-4, it appears that she then began to entertain more moderate notions of religi­on, and to abate of her zeal for the church of Rome. Her charitableness and latitude of sentiments seems to have increased a-pace, from the farther examina­tion which she was now probably making into the state of the controversy between the church of Rome and the Protestants; for in another letter to Mr. Burnet, of August 8, 1704, she speaks to the subject of religion, with a spirit of moderation un­usual in the communion of which she still professed herself.

The victory at Blenheim, which exercised the pens of Mr. Addison and Mr. John Philips, whose poems on that occasion divided the admiration of the public, tempted Mrs. Trotter to write a copy of verses to the duke of Marlborough, upon his re­turn from his glorious campaign in Germany, De­cember, 1704. But being doubtful with respect to the publication of them, she sent them in manu­script to his grace; and received for answer, that the duke and duchess, and the lord treasurer Godol­phin, with several others to whom they were shewn, were greatly pleased with them; and that good judges of poetry had declared, that there were some lines in them superior to any that had been written on the subject. Upon this encouragement she sent the poem to the press.

The high degree of favour with which she was honoured by these illustrious persons, gave her, about this time, hopes of some establishment of her fortune, which had hitherto been extremely narrow and precarious. But though she failed of such an [Page 112] establishment, she succeeded in 1705, in another point, which was a temporary relief to her. This particular appears from one of her letters printed in the second volume; but of what nature or a­mount this relief was, we do not find.

Her enquiries into the nature of true religi­on were attended with their natural and usual effects, in opening and enlarging her notions beyond the contracted pale of her own church. For in her letter of the 7th of July 1705, to Mr. Burnet, she says, ‘'I am zealous to have you a­gree with me in this one article, that all good christians are of the same religion; a sentiment which I sincerely confess, how little soever it is countenanced by the church of Rome.'’ And in the latter end of the following year, or the begin­ning of 1707, her doubts about the Romish reli­gion, which she had so many years professed, hav­ing led her to a thorough examination of the grounds of it, by consulting the best books on both fides of the question, and advising with men of the best judgment, the result was a conviction of the falseness of the pretensions of that church, and a return to that of England, to which she ad­hered during the rest of her life. In the course of this enquiry, the great and leading question concerning A Guide in Controversy, was particu­larly discussed by her; and the two letters which she wrote upon it, 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. Bennet's indisposition preventing him from returning one, were thought so valuable on account of the strength and perspicuity of reason­ing, as well as their conciseness, that she con­sented to the importunity of her friends, for their publication in June 1707, under the following ti­tle, A Discourse concerning a Guide in Contro­versies; in two Letters: Written to one of the [Page 113] Church of Rome, by a Person lately converted from that Communion; a later edition of them being since printed at Edinburgh in 1728 in 8vo. Bishop Burnet wrote the preface to them, though without his name to it; and he observes, that they might be of use to such of the Roman Ca­tholics as are perswaded, that those who deny the infallibility of their church, take away all certain­ty of the Christian religion, or of the authority of the scriptures. This is the main topic of those two letters, and the point was considered by our author as of such importance, that she procured her friend Mrs. Burnet to consult Mr. (afterwards Dr.) Clark upon it, and to shew him a paper, which had been put into her hands, urging the difficulties on that article, on the side of the Papists. The sentiments of that great man upon this subject are comprised in a letter from Mrs. Burnet to Mrs. Trotter, of which our editor has given a co­py, to which we refer the reader in the 31st page of 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 the court of St. Germains, but obliged to quit it on account of his inflexible adherence to the Prote­stant religion; then for some time minister of the Episcopal church at Amsterdam, and at last col­lated to the rectory of Northaw in Middlesex, by Dr. Robinson bishop of London, at the recommen­dation of Queen Anne. Mr. Cockburn his son, soon after his marriage with our author, had the donative of Nayland in Sussex, where he settled in the same year 1708; but returned afterwards from thence to London, to be curate of St. Dunstan's in Fleet-street, where he continued 'till the acces­sion of his late majesty to the throne, when fall­ing into a scruple about the oath of abjuration, though he always prayed for the King and Roy­al [Page 114] Family by name, he was obliged to quit that station, and for ten or twelve years following was reduced to great difficulties in the support of his family; during which time he instructed the youth of the academy in Chancery-Lane, in the Latin tongue. At last, in 1726, by consulting the lord chancellor King and his own father, upon the sense and intent of that oath, and by reading some papers put into his hands, with relation to it, he was reconciled to the taking of it. In consequence of this, being the year following invited to be minister of the Episcopal congregation at Aber­deen in Scotland, he qualified himself conforma­bly to the law, and, on the day of his present Ma­jesty's accession, preached a sermon there on the duty and benefit of praying for the government. This sermon being printed and animadverted up­on, he published a reply to the remarks on it, with some papers relating to the oath of abjuration, which have been much esteemed. Soon after his settlement at Aberdeen, the lord chancellor pre­sented him to the living of Long-Horsely, near Mor­peth in Northumberland, as a means of enabling him to support and educate his family; for which purpose he was allowed to continue his function at Aberdeen, 'till the negligence and ill-behaviour of the curates, whom he employed at Long-Horse­ly, occasioned Dr. Chandler, the late bishop of Durham, to call him to residence on that living, 1737; by which means he was forced to quit his station at Aberdeen, to the no small diminution of his income. He was a man of considerable learning; and besides his sermon abovementioned, and the vindication of it, he published, in the Weekly Miscellany, A Defence of Prime Ministers, in the Character of Joseph; and a Treatise of the Mosaic Design, published since his death.

Mrs. Cockburn, after her marriage, was entire­ly diverted from her studies for many years, by at­tending [Page 115] upon the duties of a wife and a mother, and by the ordinary cares of an encreasing fami­ly, and the additional ones arising from the reduced circumstances of her husband. However, her zeal for Mr. Lock's character and writings drew her a­gain into the public light in 1716, upon this occa­sion.

Dr. Holdsworth, fellow of St. John's College in Oxford, had preached on Easter-Monday, 1719 20, before that university, a fermon on John v. 20, 29, which he published, professing in his title page to examine and answer the Cavils, False Reason­ings, and False Interpretations of Scripture, of Mr. Lock and others, against the Resurrection of the Same Body. This sermon did not reach Mrs. Cockburn's hands 'till some years after; when the perusal of it forced from her some animadversi­ons, which she threw together in the form of a letter to the Dr. and sent to him in May 1724, with a design of suppressing it entirely, if it should have the desired effect upon him. After nine months the Dr. informed her, that he had drawn up a large and particular answer to it, but was unwilling to trust her with his manuscript, 'till she should publish her own. However, after a long time, and much difficulty, she at last obtain­ed the perusal of his answer; but not meeting with that conviction from it, which would have made her give up her cause, she was prevailed on to let the world judge between them, and ac­cordingly published her Letter to Dr. Holdsworth, in January 1726-7, without her name, but said in the title page to be by the author of, A Defence of Mr. Lock's Essay of Human Understanding. The Dr. whose answer to it was already finished, was very expeditious in the publication of it in June 1727, in an 8vo volume, under the title of A Defence of the Doctrine of the Resurrection of the same Body, &c.

[Page 116] Mrs. Cockburn wrote a very particular reply to this, and entitled it, A Vindication of Mr. Lock's Principles, from the injurious Imputations of Dr. Holdsworth. But though it is an admira­ble performance, and she was extremely desirous of doing justice to Mr. Lock and herself, yet not meeting with any Bookseller willing to undertake, nor herself being able to 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 the Foundation of Moral Duty and Moral Obligation were begun during the win­ter of the year 1739, and finished in the follow­ing one; for the weakness of her eyes, which had been a complaint of many years standing, not permitting her to use, by candlelight, her needle, which so fully employed her in the summer sea­son, that she read little, and wrote less; she a­mused herself, during the long winter-evenings, in digesting her thoughts upon the most abstract sub­jects in morality and metaphysics. They continued in manuscript till 1743, for want of a Bookseller inclined to accept the publication of them, and were introduced to the world 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 utmost Deference to Alexander Pope, Esq by an Admirer of his moral Character; for which she shews a remarkable zeal in her let­ters, whenever she has occasion to mention him. And her high opinion of him in that respect, founded chiefly on his writings, and especially his letters, as well as her admiration of his genius, inspired her with a strong desire of being known to him; for which purpose she drew up a pretty long letter to him about the year 1738: but it was never sent. The strength, clearness, and vi­vacity [Page 117] shewn in her Remarks upon the most ab­stract and perplexed questions, immediately raised the curiosity of all good judges about the con­cealed writer; and their admiration was greatly increased when her sex and advanced age were known. And the worthy Dr. Sharp ^*, archdeacon of Northumberland, who had these Remarks in manuscript, and encouraged the publication of them, being convinced by them, that no person was better qualified for a thorough examination of the grounds of morality, entered into a correspond­ence with her upon that subject. But her ill state of health at last interrupted her prosecution of it; a circumstance to be regretted, since a discussion carried on with so much sagacity and candour on both sides, would, in all probability, have left little 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 notwithstanding the asth­matic disorder, which had seized her many years before, and now left her small intervals of ease, she applied herself to the confutation of that ela­borate discourse; and having finished it with a spi­rit, elegance, and perspicuity equal, if not superi­or, to all her former writings, transmitted her ma­nuscript to Mr. Warburton, who published it in 8vo. with a Preface of his own, in April 1747, under the title of Remarks upon the Principles and Reasonings of Dr. Rutherforth's Essay on the Na­ture and Obligations of Virtue, in Vindication of the contrary Principles and Reasons inforced in the Writings of the late Dr. Samuel Clark.

The extensive reputation which this and her for­mer writings had gained her, induced her friends to propose to her, the collecting and publishing [Page 118] them in a body▪ And upon her consenting to the scheme, which was to be executed by subscripti on, in order to secure to her the full benefit of the edition, it met with a ready encouragement from all persons of true taste; but though Mrs. Cock­burn did not live to discharge the office of editor, yet the public has received the acquisition by her death, of a valuable series of letters, which her own modesty would have restrained her from per­mitting to see the light. And it were to be wished that those two volumes, conditioned for by the terms of subscription, could have contained all her dramatic writings, of which only one is here pub­lished. But a that was impossible, the preference was, upon the maturest deliberation, given to those in prose, as superior in their kind to the most perfect of her poetical, and of more general and lasting use to the world.

The loss of her husband on the 4th of January 1748, in the 71st year of his 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 long supported a painful disorder, with a resignation to the divine will, which had been the governing principle of her whole life, and her support under the various trials of it. Her memory and understanding continued unim­paired, 'till within a few days of her death. She was interred near her husband and youngest daugh­ter at Long-Horsley, with this 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 chequ [...] at Chatham, and two daughters.

Mrs. Cockburn was no less celebrated for her beauty, in her younger days, than for her genius and [Page 119] accomplishments. She was indeed small of stature, but had a remarkable liveliness in her eye, and delicacy of complexion, which continued to her death. Her private character rendered her ex­tremely amiable to those who intimately knew her. Her conversation was always innocent, use­ful and agreeable, without the least affectation of being thought a wit, and attended with a remark­able modesty and diffidence of herself, and a con­stant endeavour to adapt her discourse to her com­pany. She was happy in an uncommon evenness and chearfulness of temper. Her disposition was generous and benevolent; and ready upon all oc­casions to forgive injuries, and bear them, as well as mi [...]fortunes, without interrupting her own ease, or that of others, with complaints or reproaches. The prestures of a very contracted fortune were supported by her with calmness and in silence; nor did she ever attempt to improve it among those great personages to whom she was known, by importunities; to which the best minds are most averse, and which her approved merit and establish­ed reputation should have rendered unnecessary.

The collection now exhibited to the world is, says Dr. Birch, and we entirely agree with him, so incontestable a proof of the superiority of our author's genius, as in a manner supersedes every thing that can be said upon that head. But her abilities as a writer, and the merit of her works, will not have full justice done them, without a due attention to the peculiar circumstances, in which they were produced: her early youth, when she wrote some, her very advanced age, and ill state of health, when she drew up others; the uneasy situation of her fortune, during the whole course of her life; and an interval of near twenty years in the vigour of it, spent in the cares of a fami­ly, without the least leisure for reading or con­templation: after which, with a mind so long [Page 120] diverted and incumbered, resuming her studies, she instantly recovered its intire powers, and in the hours of relaxation from her domestic em­ployments, pursued, to their utmost limits, some of the deepest enquiries of which the human mind is capable!

• I. A Discourse concerning a Guide in Contro­versy. First published in 1707, with a preface by bishop Burnet.
• II. A Defence of Mr. Lock's Essay of Human Understanding. First published in 1702.
• III. A Letter to Dr. Holdsworth, concerning the Resurrection of the same Body. First publish­ed in 1726.
• IV. A Vindication of Mr. Lock's Christian Principles, from the injurious Imputations of Dr. Holdsworth. Now first published.
• V. Remarks upon some Writers in the Contro­versy, concerning the Foundation of Moral Vir­tue, and Moral Obligation. With some Thoughts concerning Necessary Existence; the Reality and Infinity of Space; the Extension and Place of Spirits; and on Dr. Watts's Notion of Substance. First published in 1743.

• I. Remarks upon Dr. Rutherforth's Essay on the Nature and Obligations of Virtue. First published in the year 1747.
• II. Miscellaneous Pieces. Now first printed. Containing a Letter of Advice to her Son.—Sun­day's Journal.—On the Usefulness of Schools and Universities.—On the Credibility of the Historical Parts of Scripture.—On Moral Virtue.—Notes on [Page 121] Christianity as old as the Creation.—On the Infal­libility of the Church of Rome.—Answer to a Question concerning the Jurisdiction of the Magi­strate over the Life of the Subject.—Remarks on Mr. Seed's Sermon on Moral Virtue.—Remarks upon an Enquiry into the Origin of Human Ap­petites and Affections.
• III. Letters between Mrs. Cockburn and several of her Friends. These take up the greatest part of the volume.
• IV. Letters between the Rev. Dr. Sharp, Arch­deacon of Northumberland and Mrs. Cockburn, concerning the Foundation of Moral Virtue.
• V. Fatal Friendship, a Tragedy.
• VI. Poems on several Occasions. There are ve­ry few of these, and what there are, are of little note. Her poetical talent was the smallest and least valuable of our author's literary accomplishments.

THIS Gentleman was descended from a very antient, and considerable family in the county of Leicester, and received his education in St. John's college Cambridge, where he wrote his Pastorals, a species of excellence, in which he is thought to have remarkably distinguished himself. When Mr. Philips quitted the university, and repaired to the metropolis, he-became, as Mr. Jacob phrases it, one of the wits at Buttons; and in consequence of this, contracted an acquaintance with those bright genius's who frequented it; especially Sir Richard Steele, who in the first volume of his Tatler inserts a little poem of this author's dated from Copenhagen, which he calls a winter piece; Sir Richard thus mentions it with honour. ‘'This is as fine a piece, as we ever had from any of the schools of the most learned painters; such images as these give us a new pleasure in our sight, and fix upon our minds traces of reflexion, which accompany us wherever the like objects occur.'’

This short performance which we shall here insert, was reckoned so elegant, by men of taste then living, that Mr. Pope himself, who had a confirmed aver­sion to Philips, when he affected to despise his other works, always excepted this out of the number.

It is written from Copenhagen, addressed to the Earl of Dorset, and dated the 9th of May 1709

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 then obtained a great number of readers: He was about to form [Page 125] a Critical Comparison of Pope's Pastorals, and th [...]se of Mr. Philips; and giving in the conclusion, the preference to the latter. Sir Richard's design be­ing communicated to Mr. Pope, who was not a little jealous of his reputation, he took the alarm; and by the most artful and insinuating method defeated his purpose.

The reader cannot be ignorant, that there are several numbers in the Guardian, employed upon Pastoral Poetry, and one in particular, upon the merits of Philips and Pope, in which the latter is found a better versisier; 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 shall transcribe the particular parts of that paper in the Guardian, Number XL. Monday April the 27th.

I designed to have troubled the reader with no farther discourses of Pastorals, but being informed that I am taxed of partiality, in not mentioning an author, whose Eclogues are published in the same volume with Mr. Philips's, I shall employ this paper in observations upon him, written in the free spirit of criticism, and without apprehensions of offending that gentleman, whose character it is, that he takes the greatest care of his works before they are publisned, and has the least concern for them-afterwards. I have laid it down as the first rule of Pastoral, that its idea should be taken from the manners of the Golden Age, and the moral formed upon the representation of innocence; 'tis therefore plain, that any deviations from that design, degrade a poem from being true Pastoral.

So easy as Pastoral writing may seem (in the sim­plicity we have described it) yet it requires great reading, both of the antients and moderns, to be a master of it. Mr. Philips hath given us mani­fest proofs of his knowledge of books; it must be [Page 126] confessed his competitor has imitated some single thoughts of the antients well enough, if we con­sider he had not the happiness of an university edu­cation: but he hath dispersed them here and there without that order and method Mr. Philips ob­serves, whose whole third pastoral, is an instance how well he studied the fifth of Virgil, and how judiciously he reduced Virgil's thoughts 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 flowers of a foreign growth in descriptions, where the scene lies in our country, I did not de­sign that observation should extend also to animals, or the sensitive life; for Philips hath with great judgment described wolves in England in his first pastoral. Nor would I have a poet slavishly confine himself, (as Mr. Pope hath done) to one particular season of the year, one certain time of the day, and one unbroken scene in each Eclogue. It is plain, Spencer neglected this pedantry, who in his Pastoral of November, mentions the mournful song of the Nightingale,

And Mr. Philips by a poetical creation, hath raised up finer beds of flowers, than the most in­dustrious gardener; his roses, lilies, and daffadils, blow in the same season.

But the better to discover the merit of our two cotemporary pastoral writers. I shall endeavour to draw a parallel of them, by placing several of their particular thoughts in the same light; whereby it will be obvious, how much Philips hath the ad­vantage: With what simplicity he introduces two shepherds singing alternately.

Our other pastoral writer in expressing the same thought, deviates into downright poetry.

In the first of these authors, two shepherds thus innocently describe the behaviour of their mistresses.

The other modern (who it must be confess'd has a knack at versifying) has it as follows,

There is nothing the writers of this kind of peo­try are fonder of, than descriptions of pastoral presents.

Philips says thus of a Sheep-hook.

[Page 129] The other of a bowl embossed with figures,

The simplicity of the swain in this place who forgets the name of the Zodiac, is no ill imitation of Virgil; but how much more plainly, and unaf­fectedly would Philips have dressed this thought in his Doric.

If the reader would indulge his curiosity any far­ther in the comparison of particulars, he may read the first Pastoral of Philips, with the second of his contemporary, and the fourth and sixth of the for­mer, with the fourth and first of the latter; where several parallel places will occur 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 man can compare with him. First, the beautiful rusti­city, of which I shall now produce two instances out of a hundred not yet quoted.

That simplicity of diction, the melancholy flow­ing of the numbers, the solemnity of the sound, and the easy turn of the words, are extremely elegant.

[Page 130] In another Pastoral, a shepherd utters a Dirge, not much inferior to the former in the following lines.

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 to repeat them, without feeling some motions of com­passion. In the next place, I shall rank his Proverbs in which I formerly observed he excels: For example,

Lastly, His excellent dialect, which alone might prove him the eldest born 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 the Guardian, after the publication of which, the enemies of Pope exulted, as in one particular species of poetry, upon which he valued himself, he was shewn to be inferior to his contemporary. For some time they enjoyed their triumph; but it turned out at last to their unspeakable mortification.

[Page 131] The paper in which the comparison is inserted, was written by Mr. Pope himself. Nothing could have so effectually defeated the design of diminishing his reputation, as this method, which had a very contrary effect. He laid down some false principles, upon these he reasoned, and by comparing his own and Philips's Pastorals, upon such principles it was no great compliment to the latter, that he wrote more agreeable to notions 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 with this limitation, that the scene of it ought always to be laid in the country, and the thoughts never con­trary to the ideas of those who are bred there. The images are to be drawn from rural life; and provided the language is perspicuous, gentle, and flowing, the sentiments may be as elegant as the country scenes can furnish.—In the particular comparison of 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 not im­possible, but that Guardian might go to the press without Sir Richard's seeing it; he not being the only person concern'd in that paper.

The two following lines so much celebrated in this paper, are sufficiently convincing, that the whole criticism is ironical.

Nothing can be much more silly than these lines; and yet the author says, ‘"How he still charms the ear with the artful repetitions of epithets."’

[Page 132] The next work Mr. Philips published after his Pastorals, and which it is said he wrote at the univer­sity, was his life of John Williams lord keeper of the great-seal, bishop of Lincoln and archbishop of York, in the reigns of king James and Charles the First, in which are related some remarkable occur­rences in those times, both in church and state, with an appendix, giving an account of his benefactions to St. John's college.

Mr. Philips, seems to have made use of archbishop William's life, the better to make known his own state principles, which in the course of that work he had a fair occasion of doing. Bishop Williams was the great opposer of High-Church measures, he was a perpetual antagonist to Land; and lord Clarendon mentions him in his history with very great decency and respect, when it is considered that they adhered to opposite parties.

Mr. Philips, who early distinguished himself in revolution principles, was concerned with Dr. Boul­ter, afterwards archbishop of Armagh, the right honourable Richard West, Esq lord chancellor of Ireland; the revd. Mr. Gilbert Burnet, and the revd. Mr. Henry Stevens, in writing a paper called the Free-Thinker; but they were all published by Mr. Philips, and since re-printed in three volumes in 12mo. In the latter part of the reign of queen Anne, he was secretary to the Hanover-Club, a set of noblemen and gentlemen, who associated in honour of that succession. They drank regular toasts to the health of those ladies, who were most zealously attached to the Hanoverian family; upon whom Mr. Philips wrote the following lines,

[Page 133] After the accession of his late majesty, Mr. Phi­lips was made a justice of peace, and appointed a commissioner of the lottery. But though his cir­cumstances were easy, the state of his mind was not so; he fell under the severe displeasure of Mr. Pope, who has satirized him with his usual keenness.

'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 industriously spread, that he had a hand in a paper called The Examiner. The revenge which Mr. Pope took in consequence of this abuse, greatly reffled the temper of Mr. Philips, who as he was not equal to him in wit, had recourse to another weapon; in the exercise of which no great parts are requisite. He hung up a rod at Button's, with which he resolved to chastise his antagonist, whenever he should come there. But Mr. Pope, who got notice of this design, very prudently declined coming to a place, where in all probability he must have felt the resentment of an enraged author, as much superior to him in bodily strength, as inferior in 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 the county of Armagh.

Notwithstanding the ridicule which Mr. Philips has drawn upon himself, by his opposition to Pope, and the disadvantageous light his Pastorals appear in, when compared with his; yet, there is good reason to believe, that Mr. Philips was no mean Arcadian: By endeavouring to imitate too servilely the manners and sentiments of vulgar rustics, he has sometimes raised a laugh against him; yet there are in some of his Pastorals a natural simplicity, a true Doric dialect, and very graphical descriptions.

Mr. Gildon, in his compleat Art of Poetry, men­tions him with Theocritus and Virgil; but then [Page 134] he defeats the purpose of his compliment, for by carrying the similitude too far, he renders his panegyric hyperbolical.

We shall now consider Mr. Philips as a dramatic writer. The first piece he brought upon the stage, was his Distress'd Mother, translated from the French of Monsieur Racine, but not without such devia­tions as Mr. Philips thought necessary to heighten the distress; for writing to the heart 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 play could have. Pyrrhus was performed by Mr. Booth, a part in which he acquired great reputation. Orestes was given to Mr. Powel, and Andromache was excellently per­sonated by the inimitable Mrs. Oldfield. Nor was Mrs. Porter beheld in Hermione without admiration. The Distress'd Mother is so often acted, and so frequently read, we shall not trouble the reader with giving any farther account of it.

A modern critic speaking of this play, observes that the distress of Andromache moves an audi­ence more than that of Belvidera, who is as ami­able a wife, as Andromache is an affectionate mo­ther; their circumstances though not similar, are equally interesting, and yet says he, ‘'the female part of the audience is more disposed to weep for the suffering mother, than the suffering wife ^*.'’ The reason 'tis imagin'd is this, there are more affectionate mothers in the world than wives.

Mr. Philips's next dramatic performance was

The Briton, a Tragedy; acted 1721. This is built on a very interesting and affecting story, whe­ther founded on real events I cannot determine. [Page 135] but they are admirably fitted to raise the passion peculiar to tragedy. Vanoc Prince of the Corna­vians married for his second wife Cartismand, Queen of the Brigantians, a woman of an impe­rious spirit, who proved a severe step-mother to the King's daughter Gwendolen, betrothed to Yvor, the Prince of the Silurians. The mutual disagreement between Vanoc and his Queen, at last produced her revolt from him. She intrigues with Vellocad, who had been formerly the King's servant, and enters into a league with the Roman tribune, in order to be revenged on her husband. Vanoc fights some successful battles, but his af­fairs are thrown into the greatest confusion, upon receiving the news that a party of the enemy has carried off the Princess his daughter. She is con­ducted to the tent of Valens the Roman tribune, who was himself in love with her, but who of­fered her no 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 scene between Vanoc and Valens is one of the most masterly to be met with in tragedy. Va­lens returns to his fair charge, while her father prepares for battle, and to rescue his daughter by the force of arms. But Cartismand, who knew that no mercy would be shewn her at the hands of her stern husband, flies to the Princess's tent, and in the violence of her rage stabs her. The King and Yvor enter that instant, but too late to save the beauteous Gwendolen from the blow, who expires in the arms of her betrothed husband, a scene wrought up with the greatest tenderness. When the King reproaches Cartismand for this deed of horror, she answers,

Mr. Philips in this play has shewn how well he was acquainted with the stage; he keeps the scene perpetually busy; great designs are carrying on, the incidents rise naturally from one another, and the catastrophe is moving. He has not ob­served the rules which some critics have establish­ed, of distributing poetical justice; for Gwendolen, the most amiable character in the play is the chief [Page 137] sufferer, arising from the indulgence of no irregu­lar passion, nor any guilt of hers.

The next year Mr. Philips introduced another tragedy on the stage called Humfrey Duke of Gloucester, acted 1721. The plot of this play is founded on history. During the minority of Hen­ry VI. his uncle, the duke of Gloucester, was raised to the dignity of Regent of the Realm. This high station could not but procure him ma­ny enemies, amongst whom was the duke of Suf­folk, who, in order to restrain his power, and to inspire the mind of young Henry with a love of independence, effected a marriage between that Prince, and Margaret of Anjou, a Lady of the most consummate beauty, and what is very rare amongst her sex, of the most approved courage. This la­dy entertained an aversion for the duke of Glou­cester, because he opposed her marriage with the King, and accordingly resolves upon his ruin.

She draws over to her party cardinal Beaufort, the Regent's uncle, a supercilious proud church­man. They fell upon a very odd scheme to shake the power of Gloucester, and as it is very singu­lar, and absolutely fact, we shall here insert it.

The duke of Gloucester had kept Eleanor Cobham, daughter to the lord Cobham, as his con­cubine, and after the dissolution of his marriage with the countess of Hainault, he made her his wife; but this did not restore her reputation: she was, however, too young to pass in common re­pute for a witch, yet was arrested for high trea­son, founded on a pretended piece of witchcraft, and after doing public penance several days, by sentence of convocation, was condemned to per­petual imprisonment in the Isle of Man, but af­terwards removed to Killingworth-castle. The fact charged upon her, was the making an image of wax resembling the King, and treated in such a manner by incantations, and sorceries, as to make [Page 138] him waste away, as the image gradually consum­ed. John Hume, her chaplain, Thomas South­well, a canon of St. Stephen's Westminster, Ro­ger Bolingbroke, a clergyman highly esteemed, and eminent for his uncommon learning, and me­rit, and perhaps on that account, reputed to have great skill in necromancy, and Margery Jourde­main, commonly called The Witch of Eye, were tried as her accomplices, and condemned, the wo­man to be burnt, the others to be drawn, hanged, and quartered at Tyburn ^*. This hellish contri­vance against the wife of the duke of Gloucester, was meant to shake the influence of her husband, which in reality it did, as ignorance and creduli­ty co-operated with his enemies to destroy him. He was arrested for high treason, a charge which could not be supported, and that his enemies might have no further trouble with him, cardinal Beau­fort hired assassins to murder him. The poet ac­knowledges the hints he has taken from the Se­cond Part of Shakespear's Henry VI. and in some scenes has copied several lines from him. In the last scene, that pathetic speech of Eleanor's to Car­dinal Beaufort when he was dying in the ago­nies of remorse and despair, is literally borrowed.

[Page 139] In praise of this tragedy, Mr. Welsted has prefix­ed a very elegant copy of verses.

Mr. Philips by a way of writing very peculiar, procured to himself the name of Namby Pamby. This was first bestowed on him by Harry Cary, who burlesqued some little pieces of his, in so hu­morous a manner, that for a long while, Harry's burlesque, passed for Swift's with many; and by others were given to Pope: 'Tis certain, each at first, took it for the other's composition.

In ridicule of this manner, the ingenious Hawkins Brown, Esq now a Member of Parliament, in his excellent burlesque piece called The Pipe of Tobacco, has written an imitation, in which the resemblance is so great, as not to be distinguished from the ori­ginal. This gentleman has burlesqued the follow­ing eminent authors, by such a close imitation of their turn of verse, that it has not the appearance of a copy, but an original.

• SWIFT,
• POPE,
• THOMSON,
• YOUNG,
• PHILIPS,
• CIBBER.

As a specimen of the delicacy of our author's turn of versification, we shall present the reader with his translation of the following beautiful Ode of Sap­pho.

There is another beautiful ode by the same Gre­cian poetess, rendered into English by Mr. Philips with inexpressible delicacy, quoted in the Spectator, vol. iii. No. 229.

Mr. Philips having purchased an annuity of 400 l. per annum, for his life, came over to England sometime in the year 1748: But had not his health; and died soon after at his lodgings near Vauxhall.

THIS learned nobleman was nephew to John, the great duke of Lauderdale, who was secretary of state to King Charles II. for Scotch affairs, and for many years had the go­vernment of that kingdom entirely entrusted to him. Whoever is acquainted with history will be at no loss to know, with how little modera­tion he exercised his power; he ruled his native country with a rod of iron, and was the author of all those disturbances and persecutions which have stained the Annals of Scotland, during that inglorious period.

As the duke of Lauderdale was without issue­male of his own body, he took our author into his protection as his immediate heir, and ordered him to be educated in such a manner as to qua­lify him for the possession of those great employ­ments his ancestors enjoyed in the state. The im­provement of this young nobleman so far exceeded his years, that he was very early admitted into the privy council, and made lord justice clerk; anno 1681. He married the daughter of the earl of Argyle, who was tried for sedition in the state, and confined in the castle of Edinburgh. When Argyle found his fate approaching, he meditated, and effected his escape; and some letters of his [Page 144] being intercepted and decyphered, which had been written to the earl of Lauderdale, his lordship fell under a cloud, and was stript of his preferments. These letters were only of a familiar nature, and contained nothing but domestic business; but a correspondence with a person condemned, was esteemed a sin in politics not to be forgiven, espe­cially by a man of the Duke of York's furious disposition.

Though the duke of Lauderdale had ordered our author to be educated as his heir, yet he left all his personal estate, which was very great, to another, the young nobleman having, by some means, disobliged him; and as he was of an un­governable implacable temper, could never again recover his favour ^*. Though the earl of Lauder­dale was thus removed from his pla [...]es by the court, yet he persisted in his loyalty to the Royal Family, and, upon the revolution, followed the for­tune of King James II. and some years after died in France, leaving no surviving issue, so that the titles devolved on his younger brother.

While the earl was in exile with his Royal ma­ster, he applied his mind to the delights of poe­try, and, in his leisure hours, compleated a tran­slation of Virgil's works. Mr. Dryden, in his de­dication of the Aeneis, thus mentions it; ‘'The late earl of Lauderdale, says he, sent me over his new translation of the Aeneis, which he had ended before I engaged in the same design. Nei­ther did I then intend it, but some proposals be­ing afterwards made me by my Bookseller, I desired his lordship's leave that I might accept them, which he freely granted, and I have his letter to shew for that permission. He resolved to have printed his work, which he might have done two years before I could have published [Page 145] mine; and had performed it, if death had not prevented him. But having his manuscript in my hands, I consulted it as often as I doubted of my author's sense; for no man understood Virgil better than that learned nobleman. His friends have yet another, and more correct copy of that translation by them, which if they had pleased to have given the public, the judges might have been convinced that I have not flat­tered him.'’

Lord Lauderdale's friends, some years after the publication of Dryden's Translation, permitted his lordship's to be printed, and, in the late editions of that performance, those lines are marked with inverted commas, which Dryden thought proper to adopt into his version, which are not many; and however closely his lordship may have rendered Virgil, no man can conceive a high opinion of that poet, contemplated through the medium of his Translation.

Dr. Trapp, in his preface to the Aeneis, observes, ‘'that his lordship's Translation is pretty near to the original, though not so close as its brevity would make one imagine; and it sufficiently ap­pears, that he had a right taste in poetry in ge­neral, and the Aeneid in particular. He shews a true spirit, and, in many places, is very beau­tiful. But we should certainly have seen Virgil far better translated, by a noble hand, had the earl of Lauderdale been the earl of Roscommon, and had the Scottish peer followed all the pre­cepts, and been animated with the genius of the Irish.'’

We know of no other poetical compositions of this learned nobleman, and the idea we have received from history of his character, is, that he was in every respect the reverse of his uncle, [Page 146] from whence we may reasonably conclude, that [...]he possessed many virtues, since few statesmen of any age ever were tainted with more vices than the duke of Lauderdale.

THIS poet was second son to the rev. Mr. Joseph Trapp, rector of Cherington in Gloucestershire, at which place he was born, anno 1679. He received the first rudiments of learn­ing from his father, who instructed him in the lan­guages, and superintended his domestic education ^‖. When he was ready for the university he was sent to Oxford, and was many years scholar and fellow of Wadham-College, where he took the degree of master of arts. In the year 1708 he was una­nimously chosen professor of poetry, being the first of that kind. This institution was founded by Dr. Henry Birkhead, formerly fellow of All-Souls, and the place of lecturer can be held only for ten years.

Dr. Trapp was, in the early part of his life, chaplain to lord Bolingbroke, the father of the fa­mous Bolingbroke, lately deceased. The highest preferment Dr. Trapp ever had in the church, though he was a man of extensive learning, was, the rectory of Harlington, Middlesex, and of the united parishes of Christ-Church, Newgate-Street, [Page 147] and St. Leonard's Foster-Lane, with the lec­tureship of St. Lawrence Jewry, and St. Martin's in the Fields. The Dr's principles were not of that cast, by which promotion could be expected. He was attached to the High-Church interest, and as his temper was not sufficiently pliant to yield to the prevalence of party, perhaps for that very reason, his rising in the church was retarded. A gentleman of learning and genius, when paying a visit to the Dr. took occasion to lament, as there had been lately some considerable alterations made, and men less qualified than he, raised to the mi­tre, that distinctions should be conferred with so little regard to merit, and wondered that he (the Dr.) had never been promoted to a see. To this the Dr. replied, ‘'I am thought to have some learning, and some honesty, and these are but indifferent qua­lifications to enable a man to rise in the church.'’

Dr. Trapp's action in the pulpit has been cen­sured by many, as participating too much of the theatrical manner, and having more the air of an itinerant enthusiast, than a grave ecclesiastic. Per­haps it may be true, that his pulpit gesticulations were too violent, yet they bore strong expressions of sincerity, and the side on which he erred, was the most favourable to the audience; as the ex­treme of over-acting any part, is not half so into­lerable as a languid indifference, whether what the preacher is then uttering, is true or false, is worth attention or no. The Dr. being once in company with a person, whose profession was that of a player, took occasion to ask him, ‘'what was the reason that an actor seemed to feel his part with so much sincerity, and utter it with so much emphasis and spirit, while a preacher, whose profession is of a higher nature, [Page 148] and whose doctrines are of the last importance, remained unaffected, even upon the most solemn occasion, while he stood in the pulpit as the ambassador of God, to teach righteousness to the people?'’ the player replied, ‘'I believe no other reason can be given, sir, but that we are sin­cere in our parts, and the preachers are insin­cere in theirs.'’ The Dr. could not but acknow­ledge the truth of this observation in general, and was often heard to complain of the coldness and unaffected indifference of his brethren in those very points, in which it is their business to be sincere and vehement. Would you move your au­dience, says an ancient sage, you must yourself be moved; and it is a proposition which holds uni­versally true. Dr. Trapp was of opinion, that the highest doctrines of religion were to be considered as infallibly true, and that it was of more im­portance to impress them strongly on the minds of the audience, to speak to their hearts, and af­fect their passions, than to bewilder them in dispu­tation, and lead them through labyrinths of con­troversy, which can yield, perhaps, but little in­struction, can never tend to refine the passions, or elevate the mind. Being of this opinion, and from a strong desire of doing good, Dr. Trapp exerted himself in the pulpit, and strove not only to convince the judgment, but to warm the heart, for if passions are the elements of life, they ought to be devoted to the service of religion, as well as the other faculties, and powers of the soul.

But preaching was not the only method by which, this worthy man promoted the interest of religion; he drew the muses into her service, and that be might work upon the hopes and fears of his readers, he has presented them with four po­ems, on these important subjects; Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. The reason of his making [Page 149] choice of those themes on which to write, he ve­ry fully explains in his preface. He observes, that however dull, and [...]ite it may be to declaim against the corruption of the age one lives in, yet he presumes it will be allowed by every body, that all manner of wickedness, both in principles and practice, abounds amongst men. ‘'I have lived (says he) in six reigns, but for about these twenty years last past, the English nation has been, and is so prodigiously debauched, its ve­ry nature and genius so changed, that I scarce know it to be the English nation, and am al­most a foreigner in my own country. Not only barefaced, impudent, immorality of all kinds, but often professed infidelity and atheism. To stop these overflowings of ungodliness, much has been done in prose, yet not so as to supersede all other endeavours: and therefore the author of these poems was willing to try, whether any good might be done in verse. This manner of conveyance may, perhaps, have some advantage, which the other has not; at least it makes va­riety, which is something considerable. The four last things are manifestly subjects of the utmost importance. If due reflexions upon Death. Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, will not reclaim men from their vices, nothing will. This little work was intended for the use of all, from the greatest to the least. But as it would have been intolerably flat, and insipid to the former, had it been wholly written in a stile level to the capacities of the latter; to obviate inconvenien­ces on both sides, an attempt has been made to entertain the upper class of readers, and, by notes, to explain such passages in divinity, phi­losophy, history, &c. as might be difficult to the lower. The work (if it may be so called) being partly argumentative, and partly descriptive, it would have been ridiculous, had it been possible [Page 150] to make the first mentioned as poetical as the other. In long pieces of music there is the plain recitativo, as well as the higher, and more mu­sical modulation, and they mutually recommond, and set off each other. But about these mat­ters the writer is little sollicitous, any other­wise, than as they are subservient to the design of doing good.'’

A good man would naturally wish, that such generous attempts, in the cause of virtue, were always successful. With the lower class of read­ers, it is more than probable that these poems may have inspired religious thoughts, have awaked a solemn dread of punishment, kindled a sacred hope of happiness, and fitted the mind for the four last important periods ^*; But with read­ers of a higher taste, they can have but little effect. There is no doctrine placed in a new light, no descriptions are sufficiently empha­tical to work upon a sensible mind, and the per­petual flatness of the poetry is very disgustful to a critical reader, especially, as there were so ma­ny occasions of rising to 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 falls greatly short of that excellent version by Mr. Blacklocke, quoted in the Life of Dr. Brady.

Our author has likewise published four volumes of sermons, and a volume of lectures on poetry, writ [...]en in Latin.

Before we mention his other poetical composi­tions, we shall consider him as the translator of Virgil, which is the most arduous province he ever undertook. Dr. Trapp, in his preface, after stat­ing the controversy, which has been long held, [Page 151] concerning the genius of Homer and Virgil, to whom the superiority belongs, has informed us, that this work was very far advanced before it was undertaken, having been, for many years, the di­version of his leisure hours at the university, and grew upon him, by insensible degrees, so that a great part of the Aeneis was actually translated, before he had any design of attempting the whole.

He further informs us, ‘'that one of the greatest geniuses, and best judges, 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 at me, replied the Dr. and that I should be the most impudent of mortals to have such a thought. He told me, he was very much in earnest; and asked me why the whole might not be done, in so many years, as well as such a number of lines in so many days? which had no influence upon me, nor did I dream of such an undertaking, 'till being honoured by the university of Oxford with the public office of professor of poetry, which I shall ever gratefully acknowledge, I thought it might not be improper for me to re­view, and finish this work, which otherwise had certainly been as much 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, in order to bear a nearer re­semblance to Virgil, he has endeavoured to de­fend blank verse, against the advocates for rhime, and shew its superiority for any work of length, as it gives the expression a greater compass, or, at least, does not clog and fetter the verse, by which the substance and meaning of a line must often be mutilated, twisted, and sometimes sacri­ficed for the sake of the rhime.

'Blank verse (says he) is not only more majestic and sublime, but more musical and harmonious. It has more rhime in it, according to the ancient, [Page 152] and true sense of the word, than rhime itself, as it is now used: for, in its o [...]iginal signification, it consists not in the tinkling of vowels and conso­nants. but in the metrical disposition of words and syllables, and the proper cadence of numbers, which is more agreeable to the ear, without the jingling of like endings, than with it. And, in­deed, let a man consult his own ears.

Who that hears this, can think it wants rhime to recommend it? or rather does not think it sounds far better without it? We purposely produced a ci­tation, beginning and ending in the middle of a verse. because the privilege of resting on this, or that foot, sometimes one, and sometimes another, and so diversifying the pauses and cadences, is the greatest beauty of blank verse, and perfectly a­greeable to the practice of our masters, 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; the end of almost eve­ry verse must be something of a pause; and it is but seldom that a sentence begins in the middle. Though this seems to be the advantage of blank verse over rhime, yet we cannot entirely condemn the use of it, even in a heroic poem; nor absolutely reject that in speculation, which. Mr. [Page 153] Dryden and Mr. Pope have enobled by their practice. We acknowledge too, that in some par­ticular views, that way of writing has the advan­tage over this. You may pick out more lines, which, singly considered, look mean and low, from a poem in blank verse, than from one in rhime, supposing them to be in other respects e­qual. For instance, the following verses out of Milton's Paradise Lost, b. ii.

taken singly, look low and mean: but read them in conjunction with others, and then see what a different face will be set upon them.

Our author has endeavoured to justify his choice of blank verse, by shewing it less subject to re­straints, and capable of greater sublimity than rhime. But tho' this observation may hold true, with respect to elevated and grand subjects, blank verse is by no means capable of so great universality. In satire, in elegy, or in pastoral writ­ing, our language is, it seems, so feebly consti­tuted, [Page 154] as to stand in need of the aid of rhime; and as a proof of this, the reader need only look upon the pastorals of Virgil, as translated by Trapp in blank verse, and compare them with Dryden's in rhime. He will then discern how insipid and f [...]at the pastorals of the same poet are in one kind of versification, and how excellent and beautiful in another. Let us give one short example to il­lustrate the truth of this, from the first pastoral of Virgil.

Dr. Trapp towards the conclusion of his Preface to the Aeneid, has treated Dryden with less reve­rence, than might have been expected from a man of his understanding, when speaking of so great a genius. The cause of Trapp's disgust to Dryden, seems to have been this: Dryden had a strong con­tempt sor 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 of spiritual tyrants. Trapp, with all his virtues (for I think it appears he posses­sed many) had yet much of the priest in him, and for that very reason, perhaps, has shewn some re­sentment to Dryden; but if he has with little can­dour of criticism treated Mr. Dryden, he has with great se [...]vility flattered Mr. Pope; [...]nd has insinu­ated, as if the Palm of Genius were to be yielded to the latter. He observes in general, that where Mr. Dryden shines most, we often see the least of Virgil. To omit many other instances, the descrip­tion [Page 156] of the Cyclops forging Thunder for Jupiter, and Armour for Aeneas, is elegant and noble to the last degree in the Latin; and it is so to a great de­gree in the English. But then is the English a tran­slation of the Latin?

The lines are good, and truely poetical; but the two first are set to render

There is nothing of caelo ab alto in the version; nor by night, brown air, or precipitates his flight, in the original. The two last are put in the room of

Vasto in antro, in the first of these lines, and the last line is entirely left out in the translation. Nor is there any thing of eternal anvils, or here be 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 distant from the original, yet he sometimes rises to a more excellent height, by throwing out implied graces, which none but so great a poet was capable of. Thus in the 1 [...]th book, after the last speech of S [...],

Though the last line is not expressed in the ori­ginal, it is yet in some measure implied, and it is in itself so exceedingly beautiful, that the whole passage can never be too much admired. These are excellencies indeed; this is truly Mr. Dryden. The power of truth, no doubt, extorted this con­fession from the Dr. and notwithstanding many objections may be brought against this perform­ance of Dryden, yet we believe most of our poeti­cal readers upon perusing it, will be of the opini­on of Pope, ‘'that, excepting a few human errors, it is the noblest and most spirited translation in any language.'’ To whom it may reasonably be asked, has Virgil been most obliged? to Dr. Trapp who has followed his footsteps in every line; has shewn you indeed the design, the characters, con­texture, and moral of the poem, that is, has given you Virgil's account of the actions of Aeneas, or to Mr. Dryden, who has not only conveyed the general ideas of his author, but has conveyed them with the same majesty and fire, has led you through every battle with trepidation, has soothed you in the tender scenes, and inchanted you with the flowers of poetry? Virgil con [...]emplated thro' the medium of Trapp, appears an accurate writer, and the Aeneid a well conducted fa­ble, but discerned in Dryden's page, he glows as with fire from heaven, and the Aeneid is a conti­nued series of whatever is great, elegant, pathetic, and sublime.

[Page 158] We have already observed, in the Life of Dry­den, that it is easier to discern wherein the beau­ties of poetical composition consist, than to throw out th [...]se beauties. Dr. Trapp, in his Praelectiones Poe [...]icae, has shewn how much he was master of every species of poetry; that is, how excellently he understood the structure of a poem; what no­ble rules he was capable of laying down, and what excellent materials he could afford, for build­ing upon such a foundation, a beautiful fabric. There are few better criticisms in any language, Dryden's dedications and prefaces excepted, than are contained in these lectures. The mind is en­larged by them, takes in a wide range of poeti­cal ideas, and is taught to discover how many a­mazing requisites are necessary to form a poet. In his introduction to the first lecture, he takes occasion to state a comparison between poetry and painting, and shew how small pretensions the pro­fessors of the latter have, to compare themselves with the former. 'The painter indeed (says he) has to do with the passions, but then they are such passions only, as discover themselves in the coun­tenance; but the poet is to do more, he is to trace the rise of those passions, to watch their grada­tions, to paint their progress, and mark them in the heart in their genuine conflicts; and, continues he, the disproportion between the soul and the bo­dy, is not greater than the disproportion 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 the Right Honourable the Lady Har­riot Godolphin. Scene Constantinople. The sto­ry is built upon the dethronement of Mahomet IV.

[Page 159] Our au [...]hor has likewise written a piece called The Church of England Defended against the False Reasoning of the Church of Rome. Several occasional poems were written by him in English; and there is one Latin poem of his in the Musae Anglicanae. He has translated the Paradise Lost into Latin Verse, with little success, and, as he published it at his own risk, he was a considerable loser. The capital blemish of that work, is, the unharmonious ver [...]ification, which gives perpetual offence to the ear, neither is the language univer­sally pure.

He died in the month of November 1747, and left behind him the character of a pathetic and in­structive preacher, a profound scholar, a discern­ing critic, 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 a po­et. The author, after applanding Dryden's version, proceeds thus in favour of Trapp.

THIS Poet was the son of the Revd. Mr. Joseph Boyse, a Dissenting minister of great eminence in Dublin. Our author's father was a person so much respected by those immediately under his ministerial care, and whoever else had the hap­piness of his acquaintance, that people of all de­nominations united in esteeming him, not only for his learning and abilities, but his extensive humanity and undissembled piety.

This Revd. Gentleman had so much dignity in his manner, that he obtained from the common people the name of bishop Boyse, meant as a com­pliment to the gracefulness of his person and mien. But though Mr. Boyse was thus reverenced by the multitude, and courted by people of fashion, be never contracted the least air of superciliousness: He was humane and affable in his temper, equally re­moved from the stiffness of pedantry, and offensive levity. During his ministerial charge at Dublin, he published many sermons, which compose several folio volumes, a few Poems and other Tracts; but what chiefly distinguished him as a writer, was the controversy he carried on with Dr. King, arch­bishop of Dublin, and author of the Origin of Evil, concerning the office of a scriptural bishop. This controverted point was managed on both sides with great force of argument, and calmness of temper. The bishop asserted that the episcopal right of juris­diction had its foundation in the New-Testament: Mr. Boyse, consistent with his principles, denied that [Page 161] any ecclesiastical superiority appeared there; and in the opinion of many, Mr. Boyse was more than equal to his antagonist, whom he treated in the course of the controversy, with the greatest [...] and good manners.

It has been reported that Mr. Boyse had two bro­thers, one a clergyman of the church of England, and the other a cardinal at Rome; but of this cir­cumstance 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 we trace 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 his education in a private school in Dublin. When he was but eighteen years old, his father, who probably intended him for the ministry, sent him to the university of Glasgow, that he might finish his education there. He had not been a year at the university, till be fell in love with one Miss Atchenson, the daughter of a trades­man in that city, and was imprudent enough to in­terrupt his education, by marrying her, before he had entered into his 20th year.

The natural extravagance of his temper soon ex­posed him to want, and as he had now the addi­tional charge of a wife, his reduced circumstances obliged him to quit the university, and go over with his wife (who also carried a sister with her) to Dublin; where they relied upon the old gen­tleman for support. His behaviour in this de­pendent state, was the very reverse of what it should have been. In place of directing his studies to some useful acquisition, so as to support himself and family, he spent his time in the most abject trifling, and drew many heavy expences up­on his father, who had no other means of support­ing himself than what his congregation afforded, and a [Page 162] small estate of fourscore pounds a year in York­shire.

Considerations of prudence never entered into the heart of this unhappy young man, who ran from one excess to another, till an indulgent parent was reduced by his means to very great em­barrassments. Young Boyse was of all men the far­thest removed from a gentleman; he had no graces of person, and fewer still of conversation. To this cause it was perhaps owing, that his wife, naturally of a very volatile sprightly temper, either grew tired of him, or became enamour'd of variety. It was however abundantly certain, that she pursued in­trigues with other men; and what is still more sur­prising, not without the knowledge of her husband, who had either too abject a spirit to resent it; or was bribed by some lucrative advantage, to which he had a mind mean enough to stoop. Though never were three people of more libertine characters than young Boyse, his wife, and sister-in-law; yet the two ladies wore such a mask of decency before the old gen­tleman, that his fondness was never abated. He hoped that time and experience would recover his son from his courses of extravagance; and as he was of an unsuspecting temper, he had not the least jea'ousy of the real conduct of his daughter-in-law, who grew every day in his favour, and continued to blind him, by the seeming decency of her behaviour, and a performance of those acts of piety, he na­turally expected from her. But the old gentleman was deceived in his hopes, for time made no altera­tion in his son. The estate his father possessed in Yorkshire was sold to discharge his debts; and when the old man lay in his last sickness, he was entirely supported by presents from his congrega­tion, and buried at their expence.

We have no farther account of Mr. Boyse, till we find him soon after his father's death at Edinburgh; but from what motives he went there we cannot now [Page 163] discover. At this place his poetical genius raised him many friends, and some patrons of very great eminence. He published a volume of poems in 1731, to which is subjoined The Taolature of Cebes, and a Letter upon Liberty, inserted in the Dublin Journal 1726; and by these he obtained a very great reputation. They are addressed to the countess of Eglington, a lady of distinguished excellencies, and so much celebrated for her beauty, that it would be difficult for the best pane­gyrist to be too lavish in her praise. This amiable lady was patroness of all men of wit, and very much distinguished Mr. Boyse, while he resided in that country. She was not however exempt from the lot of humanity, and her conspicuous accom­plishments were yet chequered with failings: The chief of which was too high a consciousness of her own charms, which inspired a vanity that sometimes betrayed her into errors.

The following short anecdote was frequently re­lated by Mr. Boyse. The countess one day came in­to the bed-chamber of her youngest daughter, then about 13 years old, while she was dressing at her toilet. The countess observing the assiduity with which the young lady wanted to set off her person to the best advantage, ‘'asked her, what she would give to be as handsome as her mamma?'’ To which Miss replied; ‘'As much as your ladyship would give to be as young as me.'’ This smart repartee which was at once pungent and witty, very sen­sibly affected the countess; who for the 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 he intitled, The Tears of the Muses, as the deceased lady was a woman of the most refined taste in the sciences, and a great admirer of poetry. The lord [Page 164] Stormont was so much pleased with this mark of esteem paid to the memory of his lady, that he or­dered a very handsome present to be given to Mr. Boyse, by his attorney at Edinburgh.

Though Mr. Boyse's name was very well known in that city, [...]et his person was obscure; for as he was altogether unsocial in his temper, he had but few ac­quaintances, and those of a cast much inferior to himself, and with whom he ought to have been ashamed to associate. It was some time before he could be found out; and lord Stormont's kind inten­tions had been defeated, if an advertisement had not been published in one of their weekly papers, desiring the author of the Tears of the Muses to call at the house of the attorney ^*.

The personal obscurity of Mr. Boyse might per­haps not be altogether owing to his habits of gloominess and retirement. Nothing is more diffi­cult in that city, than to make acquaintances; There are no places where people meet and con­verse promiscuously: There is a reservedness and gravity in the manner of the inhabitants, which makes a stranger averse to approach them. They naturally love solitude; and are very slow in con­tracting friendships. They are generous; but it is with a bad grace. They are strangers to affability, and they maintain a haughtiness and 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 they ought not to be hated, they can never be much loved, for they are incapable of insinuation, and their igno­rance of the world makes them unfit for entertain­ing sensible strangers. They are public-spirited, but torn to pieces by factions. A gloominess in re­ligion [Page 165] renders one part of them very barbarous, and an enthusiasm in politics so transports the gen­teeler part, that they sacrifice to party almost every consideration of tenderness. Among such a people, a man may long live, little known, and less instructed; for their reservedness renders them un­communicative, and their excessive haughtiness pre­vents them from being solicitous of knowledge.

The Scots are far from being a dull nation; they are lovers of pomp and shew; but then there is an eternal stiffness, a kind of affected dignity, which spoils their pleasures. Hence we have the less rea­son to wonder that Boyse lived obscurely at Edin­burgh. His extreme carelesness about his dress was a circumstance very inauspicious to a man who lives in that city. They are such lovers of this kind of de­corum, that they will admit of no infringement upon it; and were a man with more wit than Pope, and more philosophy than Newton, to appear at their mar­ket place negligent in his apparel, he would be avoid­ed by his acquaintances who would rather risk his displeasure, than the censure of the public, which would not fail to stigmatize them, for associating with a man seemingly poor; for they measure po­verty, and riches, understanding, or its opposite, by exterior appearance. They have many virtues, but their not being 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, who was a lady not only distinguished for her taste; but cultivated a correspondence with some of the most eminent poets then living. The dutchess was so zealous in Mr. Boyse's affairs, and so solicitous to raise him above necessity, that she employed her interest in procuring the promise of a place for him. She gave him a letter, which he was next day to deliver to one of the commissioners of the customs [Page 166] at Edinburgh. It happened that he was then some miles distant from the city, and the morning on which he was to have rode to town with her grace's letter of recommendation proved to be rainy. This slender circumstance was enough to discourage Boyse, who never looked beyond the present moment: He declined going to town on account of the rainy weather, and while he let slip the opportunity, the place was bestowed upon another, which the commissioner declared he kept for some time vacant, in expectation of seeing a per­son recommended by the dutchess of Gordon.

Of a man of this indolence os temper, this sluggish meanness of spirit, the reader cannot be surprised to find the suture conduct consist of a con­tinued serious of blunders, for he who had not spi­rit to prosecute an advantage 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 patrons towards him, fell into a con­tempt and poverty, which obliged him to quit Edinburgh, as his creditors began to sollicit the payment of their debts, with an earnestness not to be trifled with. He communicated his design of going to London to the dutchess of Gordon; who having still a very high opinion of his poetical abilities, gave him a letter of recommendation to Mr. Pope, and obtained another for him to Sir Peter King, the lord chancellor of England. Lord Stormont re­commended him to the sollicitor-general his bro­ther, and many other persons of the first fashion.

Upon receiving these letters, he, with great caution, quitted Edinburgh, regretted by none but his creditors, who were so exasperated as to threat­en to prosecute him wherever he should be found. But these menaces were never carried into execu­tion, perhaps from the consideration of his indi­gence, [Page 167] which afforded no probable prospect of their being paid.

Upon his arrival in London, he went to Twick­enham, in order to deliver the dutchess of Gordon's letter to Mr. Pope; but that gentleman not being at home, Mr. Boyse never gave himself the trouble to repeat his visit, nor in all probability would Pope have been over-fond of him; as there was nothing in his conversation which any wise indicated the abilities he possessed. He frequent­ly related, that he was graciously received by Sir Peter King, dined at his table, and partook of his pleasures. But this relation, they who knew Mr. Boyse well, never could believe; for he was so abject in his disposition, that he never could look any man in the face whose appearance was better than his own; nor likely had courage to sit at Sir Peter King's table, where every one was probably his superior. He had no power of maintaining the dignity of wit, and though his understanding was very extensive, yet but a few could discover that he had any genius above the common rank. This want of spirit produced the greatest part of his calamities, because he knew not how to avoid them by any vigorous effort of his mind. He wrote poems, but those, though excellent in their kind, were lost to the world, by being introduced with no advantage. He had so strong a propension to groveling, that his acquaintance were generally of such a cast, as could be of no service to him; and those in higher life he addressed by letters, not having sufficient confidence or politeness to converse familiarly with them; a freedom to which he was intitled by the power of his genius. Thus unfit to support himself in the world, he was exposed to variety of distress, from which he could invent no means of extricating him­self, but by writing mendicant letters. It will ap­pear amazing, but impartiality obliges us to relate it, that this man, of so abject a spirit, was voluptu­ous [Page 168] and luxurious: He had no taste for any thing elegant, and yet was to the last degree expensive. Can it be believed, that often when he had received half a guinea, in consequence of a supplicating let­ter, he would go into a tavern, order a supper to be prepared, drink of the richest wines, and spend all the money that had just been given him in charity, without having any one to participate the regale with him, and while his wife and child were starving home? This is an instance of base selfishness, for which no name is as yet invented, and except by another poet ^*, with some variation of circum­stances, was perhaps never practised by the most sensual epicure.

He had yet some friends, many of the most emi­nent dissenters, who from a regard to the memory of his father, afforded him supplies from time to time. Mr. Boyse by perpetual applications, at last exhausted their patience; and they were obliged to abandon a man on whom their liberality was ill bestowed, as it produced no other advantage to him, than a few days support, when he returned again with the same necessities.

The epithet of cold has often been given to cha­rity, perhaps with a great deal of truth; but if any thing can warrant us to withhold our charity, it is the consideration that its purposes are prosti­tuted by those on whom it is bestowed.

We have already taken notice of the infidelity of his wife; and now her circumstances were re­duced, her virtue did not improve. She fell into a way of life disgraceful to the sex; nor was his beha­viour in any degree more moral. They were fre­quently covered with ignominy, reproaching one another for the acquisition of a disease, which both deserved, because mutually guilty.

It was about the year 1740, that Mr. Boyse re­duced to the last extremity of human wretchedness, [Page 169] had not a shirt, a coat, or any kind of apparel to 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 a blanket. He had little support but what he got by writing letters to his friends in the most abject stile. He was per­haps ashamed to let this instance of distress be known to his friends, which might be the occasion of his remaining six weeks in that situation. During this time he had some employment in writing verses for the Magazines; and whoever had 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 had cut a hole large enough to admit his arm, and placing the paper upon his knee, scribbled in the best manner he could the verses he was obliged to make: Whatever he got by those, or any of his begging letters, was but just sufficient for the preservation of life. And perhaps he would have remained much longer in this distressful state, had not a compassionate gentleman, upon hearing this circumstance related, ordered his cloaths to be taken out of pawn, and enabled him to appear again abroad.

This six weeks penance one would imagine suffi­cient to deter him for the future, from suffering himself to be exposed to such distresses; but by a long habit of want it grew familiar to him, and as he had less delicacy than other men, he was per­haps less afflicted with his exterior meanness. For the future, whenever his distresses so press'd, as to induce him to dispose of his shirt, he fell upon an artificial method of supplying one. He cut some white paper in slips, which he tyed round his wrists, and in the same manner supplied his neck. In this plight he frequently appeared abroad, with the ad­ditional inconvenience of want of breeches.

[Page 170] He was once sent for in a hurry, to the house of a printer who had employed him to write a poem for his Magazine: Boyse then was without breeches, or waistcoat, but was yet possessed of a coat, which he threw upon him, and in this ridiculous manner went to the printer's house; where he found several women, whom his extraordinary ap­pearance obliged immediately to retire.

He fell upon many strange schemes of raising t [...]isting sums: He sometimes ordered his wife to i [...]form people that he was just expiring, and by this artifice work upon their compassion; and many of his friends were frequently surprised to meet the man in the street to day, to whom they had yester­day sent: [...]lief, as to a person on the verge of death. At other times he would propose subscriptions for poems, of which only the beginning and conclusion were written; and by this expedient would relieve some present necessity. But as he seldom was able to put any of his poems to the press, his veracity in th [...]s particular suffered a diminution; and indeed in almost every other particular he might justly be suspected; for if he could but gratify an imme­diate appe [...]ite, he cared not at what expence, whe­ther of the reputation, or purse of another.

About the year 1745 Mr. Boyse's wife died. He was then at Reading, and pretended much con­cern when he heard of her death.

It was an affectation in Mr. Boyse to appear very fond of a little lap-dog which he always carried about with him in his arms, imagining it gave him the air of a man of taste. Boyse, whose circum­stances were then too mean to put himself in mourn­ing, was yet resolved that some part of his family should. He step'd into a little shop; purchased half a yard of black ribbon, which he fixed round his dog's neck by way of mourning for the loss of its mistress. But this was not the only ridiculous in­stance [Page 171] of his behaviour on the death of his wife. Such was the sottishness of this man, that when he was in liquor, he always indulged a dream of his wife's being still alive, and would talk very spight­fully of those by whom he suspected she was enter­tained. This he never mentioned however, except in his cups, which was only as often as he had money to spend. The manner of his becoming intoxicated was very particular. As he had no spirit to keep g [...]od company, so he retired to some obscu [...]e ale­house, and regaled himself with hot two-penny, which though he drank in very great quantities, yet he had never more than a pennyworth at a time.—Such a practice rendered him so compleatly sottish, that even his abilities, as an author, became sensibly impaired.

We have already mentioned his being at Reading. His business there was to compile a Review of the most material transactions at home and abroad, dur­ing the last war; in which he has included a short account of the late rebellion. For this work by which he got some reputation, he was paid by the sheet, a price sufficient to keep him from starving, and that was all. To such distress must that man be driven, who is destitute of prudence to direct the efforts of his genius. In this work Mr. Boyse discovers how capable he was of the most irksome and laborious employment, when he maintained a power over his appetites, and kept hims [...] free from intemperance.

While he remained at Reading, he addressed, by supplicating letters, two Irish noblemen, lord Kenyston, and lord Kingstand, who resided in Berkshire, and received some money from them; he also met with another gentleman there of a benevolent disposition, who, from the knowledge he had of the father, pitied the distresses of the son, and by his interest with some eminent Dissenters in those parts, raised a sufficient sum to cloath him, [Page 172] for the abjectness of his appearance secluded our poet even from the table of his Printer ^*.

Upon his return from Reading, his behaviour was more decent than it had ever been before, and there were some hopes that a reformation, tho' late, would be wrought upon him. He was em­ployed by a Bookseller to translate Fenelon on the Existence of God, during which time he married a second wife, a woman in low circumstances, but well enough adapted to his taste. He began now to live with more regard to his cha­racter, and support a better appearance than usual; but while his circumstances were mending, and his irregular appetites losing ground, his health vi­sibly declined: he had the satisfaction, while in this lingering illness, to observe a poem of his, entitled The Deity, recommended by two eminent writers, the ingenious Mr. Fielding, and the rev. Mr. James Harvey, author of The Meditations. The former, in the beginning of his humorous History of Tom Jones, calls it an excellent poem. Mr. Harvey stiles it a pious and instructive piece; and that worthy gentleman, upon hearing that the author was in necessitous circumstances, deposited two guineas in the hands of a trusty person to be given him, whenever his occasions should 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 the reputation of the Bookseller consisted in sending into the world abundance of trifles, amongst which, it was con­sidered as one. Mr. Boyse said, that upon its first publication, a gentleman acquainted with Mr. Pope, took occasion to ask that poet, if he was not the [Page 173] author of it, to which Mr. Pope replied, ‘'that he was not the author, but that there were many lines in it, of which he should not be ashamed.'’ This Mr. Boyse considered as a very great compliment. The poem indeed abounds with shining lines and elevated sentiments on the several Attributes of the Supreme 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 no notion of his approaching end, nor did he expect it, 'till it was almost past the thinking of. His mind, indeed, was often re­ligiously disposed; he frequently talked upon that subject, and, probably suffered a great deal from the remorse of his conscience. The early impressions of his good education were never entirely obliterated, and his whole life was a continued struggle between his will and reason, as he was always violating his duty to the one, while he fell under the sub­jection of the other. It was in consequence of this war in his mind, that he wrote a beautiful 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 the expences of his funeral, so that the scandal of being buried by the parish might be avoided. But his endeavours were in vain, for the persons he sollicited, had been so troubled with applica­tions during the life of this unhappy man, that they refused to contribute any thing towards his funeral. The remains of this son of the muses were, with very little ceremony, hurried away by the parish officers, and thrown amongst common beggars; though with this distinction, that the service of the church was performed over his corpse. Never was an exit more shocking, nor a life spent with less grace, than those of Mr. Boyse, [Page 174] and never were such distinguished abilities given to less purpose. His genius was not confined to po­etry only, he had a taste for painting, music and heraldry, with the latter of which he was very well acquainted. His poetical pieces, if collected, would make six moderate volumes. Many of them are seattered in the Gentleman's Magazine, marked with the letter Y. and Alceus. Two volumes were published in London, but as 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, was addresied to Sir Robert Walpole, which procured him a present of ten guineas. He translated a poem from the High Dutch of Van Haren, in praise of peace, upon the conclusion of that made at Aix la Chapelle; but the poem which procured him the greatest re­putation, was, that upon the Attributes of the Deity, of which we have already taken notice. He was employed by Mr. Ogle to translate some of Chaucer's Tales into modern English, which he performed with great spirit, and received at the rate of three pence a line for this trouble. Mr. Ogle published a complete 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 been urged to Mr. Boyse to turn his thoughts towards the drama, as that was the most profitable kind of poetical writing and as many a poet of inferior genius to him has raised large contributions on the public by the success of their plays. But Boyse never seemed to relish this proposal, perhaps from a conscious­ness that he had not spirit to prosecute the arduous task of introducing it on the stage; or that he thought himself unequal to the task.

In the year 1743 Mr. Boyse published without his name, an Ode on the ba [...]tle of Dettingen, en­titled Al [...]ion's Triumph; some Stanza's of which we shall give as a specimen of Mr. Boyse's poetry.

THIS eminent poet and physician was son of Mr. Robert Blackmore, an Attorney at Law. He received his early education at a pri­vate country school, from whence, in the 13th year of his age, he was removed to Westminster, 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, as appears by a satirical copy of verses Dr. Drake wrote against him, consisting of upwards of forty lines, of which the following are very pungent.

Some circumstances concurring, it may be pre­sumed in Sir Richard's favour, he travelled into Italy, and at Padua took his degrees in physic ^*.

He gratified his curiosity in visiting France, Germany, and the Low Countries, and after spend­ing a year and a half in this delightful exercise, he returned to England. As Mr. Blackmore had made physic his chief study, so he repaired to [Page 178] London to enter upon the practice of it, and no long after he was chosen fellow of the Royal Col­lege of Physicians, by the charter of King James II. Sir Richard had seen too much of foreign slavery to be fond of domestic chains, and there­fore early declared himself in favour of the revo­lution, and espoused those principles upon which it was effected. This zeal, recommended him to King William, and in the year 1697 he was sworn one of his physicians in ordinary. 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 of those who gave their opinion in the opening of the king's body. Upon Queen Anne's accession to the throne, he was appointed one of her physicians, and continued so for some time.

This gentleman is author of more original poems, of a considerable length, besides a variety of other works, than can well be conceived could have been composed by one man, during the longest period of human life. He was a chaste writer; he struggled in the cause of virtue, even in those times, when vice had the counte­nance of the great, and when an almost uni­versal degeneracy prevailed. He was not afraid to appear the advocate of virtue, in opposition to the highest authority, and no lustre of abilities in his opponents could deter him from stripping vice of those gaudy colours, with which poets of the first eminence had cloathed her.

An elegant writer having occasion to mention the state of wit in the reign of King Charles II. characterizes the poets in the following manner;

Mr. Pope somewhere says,

He might likewise have excepted Blackmore, who was not only chaste in his own writings, but endeavoured to correct those who prostituted the gifts of heaven, to the inglorious purposes of vice and folly, and he was, at least, as good a poet as Roscommon.

Sir Richard had, by the freedom of his censures on the libertine writers of his age, incurred the heavy displeasure of Dryden, who takes all op­portunities to ridicule him, and somewhere says, that he wrote to the rumbling of his chariot wheels. And as if to be at enmity with Blackmore had been hereditary to our greatest poets, we find Mr. Pope taking up the quarrel where Dryden left it, and persecuting this worthy man with yet 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 he takes 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 be employed to burlesque any of the sacred compositions, which as they speak 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, which his enemies called enthusiasm; but of the two extremes, no doubt can be made, that Blackmore's was the safest, and even dullness in fa­vour of virtue (which, by the way, was not the case with Sir Richard) is more tolerable than the brightest [Page 180] parts employed in the cause of lewdness and debau­chery.

The poem for which Sir Richard had been most celebrated, was, undoubtedly, his Creation, now deservedly become a classic. We cannot convey a more amiable idea of this great production, than in the words of Mr. Addison, in his Spec­tator, Nuumber 339, who, after having criticised on that book of Milton, which gives an account of the Works of Creation, thus proceeds, ‘'I cannot conclude this book upon the Creation, without mentioning a poem which has lately appeared under that title. The work was undertaken with so good an intention, and executed with so great a mastery, that it deserves to be looked upon as one of the most useful and noble pro­ductions in our English verse. The reader can­not but be pleased to find the depths of phi­losophy, enlivened with all the charms of poe­try, and to see so great a strength of reason a­midst so beautiful a redundancy of the imagi­nation. The author has shewn us that design in all the works of nature, which necessarily leads us to the knowledge of its first cause. In short, he has illustrated, by numberless and in­contestable instances, that divine wisdom, which the son of Sirach has so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in his formation of the world, when he tells us, that he created her, and saw her, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his works.'’

The design of this excellent poem is to demon­strate the self-existence of an eternal mind, from the created and dependent existence of the uni­verse, and to confute the hypothefis of the Epi­cureans and the Fatalists, under whom all the pa­trons of impiety, ancient and modern, of what­soever denomination may be ranged. The first of whom affirm, the world was in time caused by [Page 181] chance, and the other, that it existed from eter­nity without a cause. 'Tis true, both these ac­knowledge the existence of Gods, but by their absurd and ridiculous description of them, it is plain, they had nothing else in view, but to a­void the obnoxious character of atheistical philo­sophers. To adorn this poem, no embellishments are borrowed from the exploded and obsolete the­ology of the ancient idolaters of Greece and Rome; no rapturous invocations are addressed to their idle deities, nor any allusions to their fabu­lous actions. ‘'I have more than once (says Sir Richard) publicly declared my opinion, that a Christian poet cannot but appear monstrous and ridiculous in a Pagan dress. That though it should be granted, that the Heathen religion might be allowed a place in light and loose songs, mock heroic, and the lower lyric com­positions, yet in Christian poems, of the sublime and greater kind, a mixture of the Pagan the­ology must, by all who are masters of reflexion and good sense, be condemned, if not as impi­ous, at least, as impertinent and absurd. And this is a truth so clear and evident, that I make no doubt it will, by degrees, force its way, and prevail over the contrary practice. Should Bri­tons recover their virtue, and reform their taste, they could no more bear the Heathen religion in verse, than in prose. Christian poets, as well as Christian preachers, the business of both be­ing to instruct the people, though the last only are wholly appropriated to it, should endeavour to confirm, and spread their own religion. If a divine should begin his sermon with a solemn prayer to Bacchus or Apollo, to Mars or Ve­nus, what would 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 [Page 182] event of divine providence, or magnifies the illustrious instrument that was honoured to bring the event about, to address his prayer to false deities, and cry for help to the abominations of the heathen?'’

Mr. Gildon, in his Compleat Art of Poetry, af­ter speaking of our author in the most respectful terms, says, ‘'that notwithstanding his merit, this admirable author did not think himself upon the same footing with Homer.'’ But how different is the judgment of Mr. Dennis, who, in this particu­lar, 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 heroic poem. His narration is neither probable, delight­ful, nor wonderful. His characters have none of these necessary qualifications.—The things con­tained in his narrations, are neither in their own nature delightful nor numerous enough, nor right­ly disposed, nor surprizing, nor pathetic;'’ 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 furious joy, and pride of soul, on the conception of an extraordinary hint. Many men (says he) have their hints without these motions of fury and pride of soul; because they want fire enough to agitate their spirits; and these we call cold writers. Others who have a great deal of fire, but have not excellent organs. feel the fore mentioned motions, without the extraor­dinary hints; and these we call fustian writers.'’

And he declares, that Sir Richard hath neither the hints nor the motions ^*. But Dennis has not contented himself, with charging Blackmore with want of genius; but has likewise the following [Page 183] remarks to prove him a bad Church of England man: These are his words. ‘'All Mr. Blackmore's coelestial machines, as they cannot be defended so much as by common received opinion, so are they directly contrary to the doctrine of the church of England, that miracles had ceased a long time before prince Arthur come into the world. Now if the doctrine of the church of England be true, as we are obliged to believe, then are all the coelestial machines of prince Arthur unsufferable, as wanting not only human but divine probability. But if the machines are sufferable, that is, if they have so much as divine probability, then it follows of necessity, that the doctrine of the church is false; so that I leave it to every impartial clergy­man to consider.'’

If no greater objection could be brought against Blackmore's Prince Arthur, than those raised by Mr. Dennis, the Poem would be faultless; fo [...] what has the doctrine of the church of England to do with an epic poem? It is not the doctrine of the church of England, to suppose that the apostate spi­rits put the power of the Almighty to proof, by openly resisting his will, and maintaining an obstinate struggle with the angels commissioned by him, to drive them from the mansions of the bless'd; or that they attempted after their perdition, to recover hea­ven by violence. These are not the doctrines of the church of England; but they are conceived in a true spirit of poetry, and furnish those tremendous descriptions with which Milton has enriched his Paradise Lost.

Whoever has read Mr. Dryden's ded [...]cation of his Juvenal, will there perceive, that in that great man's opinion, coelestial machines might with the utmost propriety be introduced in an Epic Poem, built upon a christian model; but at the same time he adds, ‘'The guardian angels of states and king­doms are not to be managed by a vulgar hand.'’ [Page 184] Perhaps it may be true, that the guardian angels of states and kingdoms may have been too power­ful for the conduct of Sir Richard Blackmore; but he has had at least the merit of paving the way, and has set an example how Epic Poems may be written, upon the principles of christianity; and has enjoyed a comfort of which no bitterness, or raillery can deprive him, namely the virtuous intention of doing good, and as he himself ex­presses 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 advanced age; 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 as a physician declined, but as he was a man of prudent conduct, it is not to be sup­posed that he was subjected to any want by that accident, for in his earlier years he was considered amongst the first in his profession, and his practice was consequently very extensive.

The decay of his employment might partly be owing to old age and infirmities, which rendered him less active than before, and partly to the dimi­nution his character might suffer by the eternal war, which the wits waged against him, who spared neither bitterness nor calumny; and, perhaps, Sir Richard may be deemed the only poet, who ever s [...]ffered for having too much religion and morality.

The fo [...]lowing is the most accurate account we could obtain of his writings, which for the sake of distinction we have divided into classes, by which the reader may discern how various and numerous his compositions are.—To have written so much upon so great a variety of subjects, and to have writ­ten nothing contemptibly, must indicate a genius much superior to the common standard.—His ver­sification is almost every where beautiful; and tho' [Page 185] he has been ridiculed in the Treatise of the Bathos, published in Pope's works, for being too minute in his descriptions of the objects of nature; yet it ra­ther proceeded from a philosophical exactness, than a penury of genius.

It is really astonishing to find Dean Swift, join­ing issue with less religious wits, in laughing at Blackmore's works, of which he makes a ludicrous detail, since they were all written in the cause of virtue, which it was the Dean's business more im­mediately to support, as on this account he enjoy'd his preferment: But the Dean perhaps, was one of those characters, who chose to sacrifice his cause to his joke. This was a treatment Sir Richard could never have expected at the hands of a clergyman.

• 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 a super-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 his express order, by the Reverend Mr. John White of Nayland in Essex; who attended on Sir Richard during his last illness, in which he manifested an elevated piety towards God, and faith in Christ, the Saviour of the World. Mr. White also applauds him as a person in whose [Page 186] character great candour and the finest humanity were the prevailing qualities. He observes also that he had the greatest veneration for the clergy of the Church of England, whereof he was a member. No one, says he, did more highly magnify our office, or had a truer esteem and ho­nour for our persons, discharging our office as we ought, and supporting the holy character we bear, wi [...]h an unblameable conversation.

• POETICAL.
  • I. Creation, a Philosophical Poem, demonstrating the [...]xistence and Providence 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 [...]ooks, Octavo, 1723
  • VII. A Paraphrase on the Book of Job; the Songs of Moses, Deborah and David; the ii. viii. ciii. cxiv. cxlviii. Psalms. Four chapters of Isaiah, 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 of Civil 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
• [Page 187]
  MEDICINAL.
  • I. A Discourse on the Plague, with a prep [...]ratory Account of Malignant Fevers, in two Parts; containing an Explication of the Nature of those Diseases, and the Method of Cure, Octavo, 1720
  • II. A Treatise on the Small-Pox, in two Parts; containing an Account of the Nature, and seve­ral Kinds of that Disease; with the proper Me­thods of Cure: And a Dissertation upon the modern Practice of Inoculation, Octavo, 1722
  • III. A Treatise on Consumptions, and other Distem­pers belonging to the Breast and Lungs, Octavo, 1724
  • VI. A Treatise on the Spleen and Vapours; or Hyppocondriacal and Hysterical Affections; with three Discourses on the Nature and Cure of the Cholic, Melancholly and Palfy, Octavo, 1725
  • V. A Critical Dissertation upon the Spleen, so far as concerns the following Question, viz. Whether the Spleen is necessary or useful to the animal possessed of it? 1725
  • VI. Discourses on the Gout, Rheumatism, and the King's Evil: containing an Explanation of the Nature, Causes, and different Species of those Dis­eases, and the Method of curing them, Octavo, 1726
  • VII. Dissertations on a Dropsy, a Tympany, the Jaundice, the Stone, and the Diabetes, Octavo, 1727
• [Page 188]
  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 the Cartoons 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 life without a specimen from his beau­tiful and philosophical Poem on the Creation. In his second Book he demonstrates the existence of a God, from the wisdom and design which appears in the motions of the heavenly orbs; but more par­ticularly in the solar system. First in the situation of the Sun, and its due distance from the earth. The fatal consequences of its having been placed otherwise than it is. Secondly, he considers its diurnal motion, whence the change of the day and night proceeds; which we shall here insert as a specimen of the elegant versisication, and sublime energy of this Poem.

THIS celebrated poet, from whom his coun­try has derived the most distinguished ho­nour, was son of the revd. Mr. Thomson, a mi­nister of the church of Scotland, in the Presby­tery of Jedburgh.

He was born in the place where his father was minister, about the beginning of the present cen­tury, and received the rudiments of his education at a private country school. Mr. Thomson, in the early part of his life, so far from appearing to possess a sprightly genius, was considered by his schoolmaster, 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 this country school, he often visited a minister, whose charge lay in the same presbytery with his father's, the revd. Mr. Ricker on, a man of such amazing powers, that many persons of genius, as well as Mr. Thomson, who conversed with him, have been astonished, that such great merit should be buried in an ob­scure part of the country, where he had no op­portunity to display himself, and, except upon pe­riodical meetings of the ministers, seldom an op­portunity of conversing with men of learning.

[Page 191] Though Mr. Thomson's schoolmaster could not discover that he was endowed with a common portion of understanding, yet Mr. Rickerton was not so blind to his genius; he distinguished our author's early propension to poetry, and had once in his hands some of the first attempts Mr. Thom­son ever made in that province.

It is not to be doubted but our young poet greatly improved while he continued to converse with Mr. Rickerton, who, as he was a philoso­phical man, 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 works how well he was acquainted with natural and moral philosophy, a circumstance which, perhaps, is owing to the early impressions he received from Mr. Rickerton.

Nature, which delights in diversifying her gifts, does not bestow upon every one a power of displaying the abilities she herself has grant­ed to the best advantage. Though Mr. Ricker­ton could discover that Mr. Thomson, so far from being without parts, really possessed a very fine genius, yet he never could have imagined, as he often declared, that there existed in his mind such powers, as even by the best cultivation could 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 a Bookseller's shop at Edinburgh, he stood amazed, and after he had read the lines quoted below, he dropt the poem from his hand in the extasy of admi­ration. The lines are his induction to Winter, [Page 192] ter, than which few poets ever rose to a more sublime height ^*.

After spending the usual time at a country school in the acquisition of the dead languages, Mr. Thomson was removed to the university of Edin­burgh, in order to finish his education, and be fitted for the ministry. Here, as at the country school, he made no great figure: his companions thought contemptuously of him, and the masters under whom he studied, had not a higher opinion of our poet's abilities, than their pupils. His course of attendance upon the classes of philoso­phy being finished, he was entered in the Divi­nity Hall, as one of the candidates for the mi­nistry, where the students, before they are per­mitted to enter on their probation, must yield six years attendance.

It was in the second year of Mr. Thomson's attendance upon this school of divinity, whose professor at that time was the revd. and learned Mr. William Hamilton, a person whom he always mentioned with respect, that our author was ap­pointed by the professor to write a discourse on the Power of the Supreme Being. When his com­panions [Page 193] heard their task assigned him, they could not but arraign the professor's judgment, for as­signing so copious a theme to a young man, from whom nothing equal to the subject could be ex­pected. But when Mr. Thomson delivered the discourse, they had then reason to reproach them­selves for want of discernment, and for indulg­ing a contempt of one superior to the brightest genius amongst them. This discourse was so sub­limely elevated, that both the professor and the students who heard it delivered, were astonished. It was written in blank verse, for which Mr. Ha­milton rebuked him, as being improper upon that occasion. Such of his fellow-students as envied him the success of this discourse, and the admi­ration it procured him, employed their industry to trace him as a plagiary; for they could not be persuaded that a youth [...]eemingly so much removed from the appearance of genius, could compose a declamation, in which learning, genius, and judgment had a very great share. Their search, however, proved fruitless, and Mr. Thomson con­tinued, while he remained 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 the notion of going into the ministry; perhaps he imagined it a way of life too severe for the freedom of his disposition: probably he declined becoming a presbyterian minister, from a consciousness of his own genius, which gave him a right, to entertain more ambitious views; for it seldom 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 a neglected country; which must have been the lot [Page 194] of Thomson, if he had not extended his views be­yond the sphere of a minister of the established church of Scotland.

After he had dropt all thoughts of the clerical profession, he began to be more sollicitous of di­stinguishing his genius, as he placed some depend­ence upon it, and hoped to acquire such patro­nage as would enable him to appear in life with advantage. But the part of the world where he then was, could not be very auspicious to such hopes; for which reason he began to turn his eyes towards the grand metropolis.

The first poem of Mr. Thomson's, which pro­cured him any reputation from the public, was his Winter, of which mention is already made, and further notice will be taken; but he had pri­vate approbation for several of his pieces, long be­fore his Winter was published, or before he quitted his native country. He wrote a Paraphrase on the 104th Psalm, which, after it had received the ap­probation of Mr. Rickerton, he permitted his friends to copy. By some means or other this Pa­raphrase fell into the hands of Mr. Auditor Ben­son, who, expressing his admiration of it, said, that he doubted not if the author was in Lon­don, but he would meet with encouragement equal to his merit. This observation of Benson's was communicated to Thomson by a letter, and, no doubt, had its natural influence in inflaming his heart, and hastening his journey to the metropo­lis. He soon set out for Newcastle, where he took shipping, and landed at Billinsgate. When he arrived, it was his immediate care to wait on ^*Mr. Mallet, who then lived in Hanover-Square [Page 195] in the character of tutor to his grace the duke of Montrose, and his late brother lord G. Graham. Before Mr. Thomson reached Hanover-Square, an accident happened to him, which, as it may di­vert some of our readers, we shall here insert. He had received letters of recommendation from a gentleman of rank in Scotland, to some persons of distinction in London, which he had carefully tied up in his pocket-handkerchief. As he saun­tered along the streets, he could not withhold his admiration of the magnitude, opulence, and va­rious objects this great metropolis continually pre­sented to his view. These must naturally have di­verted the imagination of a man of less reflexion, and it is not greatly to be wondered at, if Mr. Thomson's mind was so ingrossed by these new presented scenes, as to be absent to the busy crowds around him. He often stopped to grati­fy his curiosity, the consequences of which he af­terwards experienced. With an honest simplicity of heart, unsuspecting, as unknowing of guilt, he was ten times longer in reaching Hanover-Square, than one less sensible and curious would have been. When he arrived, he found he had paid for his cu­riosity; his pocket was picked of his handkerchief, and all the letters that were wrapped up in it. This accident would have proved very mortifying to a man less philosophical than Thomson; but he was of a temper never to be agitated; he then smiled at it, and frequently made his 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 ^*. The approba­tion [Page 196] it might meet with from them, was not, howe­ver, a sufficient recommendation to introduce it to the world. He had the mortification of offering it to several Booksellers without success, who, per­haps, not being qualified themselves to judge of the merit of the performance, refused to r [...]sque the necessary expences, on the work of an obscure stranger, whose name could be no recommenda­tion to it. These were severe repulses; but, at last, the difficulty was surmounted Mr. Mallet, offered it to Mr. Millan, now Bookseller at Char­ing-Cross, who, without making any scruples, printed it. For some time Mr. Millan had reason to believe, that he should be a lose [...] by his frank­ness; for the impression lay like as paper on his hands, few copies being sold, 'till by an acci­dent its merit was discovered ^*. One Mr. What­ley, a man of some taste in letters, but perfectly enthusiastic in the admiration of any thing which pleased him, happened to cast his eye upon it, and finding something which delight­ed him, perused the whole, not without growing astonishment, that the poem should be unknown, and the author obscure. He learned from the Bookseller the circumstances already mentioned, [Page 197] and, in the extasy of his admiration of this poem, he went from Coffee-house to Coffee-house, point­ing out its beauties, and calling upon all men of taste, to exert themselves in rescuing one of the greatest geniuses that ever appeared, from obscu­rity. This had a very happy effect, for, in a short time, the impression was bought up, and they who read the poem, had no reason to com­plain of Mr. Whatley's exaggeration; for they found it so compleatly beautiful, that they could not but think themselves happy in doing justice to a man of so much merit.

The poem of Winter is, perhaps, the most fi­nished, as well as most picturesque, of any of the Four Seasons. The scenes are grand and lively. It is in that season that the c [...]tion appears in di­stress, and nature assumes a melancholy air; and an imagination so poetical as Thomson's, could not but furnish those awful and striking images, which siil the soul with a solemn dread of those Vapours, and Storms, and Clouds, he has so well painted. De­scription is the peculiar talent of Thomson; we tremble at his thunder in summer, we shiver with his winter's cold, and we rejoice at the renovation of nature, by the sweet influence of spring. But the poem deserves a further illustration, and we shall take an opportunity of pointing out some of its most striking beauties; but before we speak of these, we beg leave to relate the following anecdote.

As soon as Winter was published, Mr. Thomson sent a copy of it as a present to Mr. Joseph Mitchell, his countryman, and brother poet, who, not liking many parts of it, inclosed to him the following couplet;

To this Mr. Thomson answered extempore.

Upon a friend's remonstrating to Mr. Thom­son, that the expression of blasted eye would look like a personal reflexion, as Mr. Mitchell had really that misfortune, he changed the epithet blast­ed, into blasting. But to return:

After our poet has represented the influence of Winter upon the face of nature, and particularly described the severities of the frost, he has the following beautiful transition;

[Page 199] The description of a thaw is equally picturesque. The following lines consequent upon it are excel­lent.

As the induction of Mr. Thomson's Winter has been celebrated for its sublimity, so the conclusion has likewise a claim to praise, for the tenderness of the sentiments, and the pathetic force of the ex­pression.

He concludes the poem by enforcing a reliance on providence, which will in proper time compen­sate for all those seeming severities, with which good men are often oppressed.

The poem of Winter meeting with such general applause, Mr. Thomson was induced to write the other three seasons, which he finished with equal success. His Autumn was next given to the pub­lic, and is the most unfinished of the four; it is not however without its beauties, of which many have considered the story of Lavinia, natu­rally and artfully introduced, as the most affecting. The story is in itself moving and tender. 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 very poetical and beautiful.

It is addressed to the countess of Hertford, with the following elegant compliment,

The descriptions in this poem are mild, like the season they paint; but towards the end of it, the poet takes occasion to warn his countrymen against indulging the wild and irregular passion of love. This digression is one of the most affecting in the whole piece, and while he paints the language of a lover's breast agitated with the pangs of strong de­sire, and jealous transports, he at the same time dis­suades the ladies from being too credulous in the affairs of gallantry. He represents the natural in­fluence of spring, in giving a new glow to the beauties of the fair creation, and firing their hearts with the passion of love.

[Page 202] Summer has many manly and striking beauties, of which the Hymn to the Sun, is one of the su­blimest and most masterly efforts of genius we have ever seen.—There are some hints taken from Cowley's beautiful Hymn to Light.—Mr. Thom­son has subjoined a Hymn to the Seasons, which is not inferior to the foregoing in poetical merit.

The Four Seasons considered separately, each Season as a distinct poem has been judged de­fective in point of plan. There appears no parti­cular design; the parts are not subservient to one another; nor is there any dependance or connection throughout; but this perhaps is a fault almost inse­parable from a subject in itself so diversified, as not to admit of such limitation. He has not indeed been guilty of any incongruity; the scenes de­scribed in spring, are all peculiar to that season, and the digressions, which make up a fourth part of the poem, flow naturally. He has observed the same regard to the appearances of nature in the other seasons; but then what he has de­scribed in the beginning of any of the seasons, 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 called an assemblage of poetical ideas, than a poem, as it seems written without 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 of compound words; converted substantives into verbs, and in short has created a kind of new language for himself. His stile has been blamed for its sin­gularity and stiffness; but with submission to superior judges, we cannot but be of opinion, that though this observation is true, yet is it admirably fitted for description. The object he paints stands full be­fore the eye, we admire it in all its lustre, and who would not rather enjoy a perfect inspection into a [Page 203] natural curiosity through a microscope capable of discovering all the minute beauties, though its ex­terior form should not be comely, than perceive an object but faintly, through a microscope ill adapted for the purpose, however its outside may be deco­rated. Thomson has a stiffness in his manner, but then his manner is new; and there never yet arose a distinguished genius, who had not an air peculiarly his own. 'Tis true indeed, the tow'ring sublimity of Mr. Thomson's stile is ill adapted for the tender passions, which will appear more fully when we consider him as a dramatic writer, a sphere in which he is not so excellent as in other species of poetry.

The merit of these poems introduced our author to the acquaintance and esteem of several persons, distinguished by their rank, or eminent for their talents:—Among the latter Dr. Rundle, after­wards bishop of Derry, was so pleased with the spirit of benevolence and piety, which breathes throughout the Seasons, that he recommended him to the friendship of the late lord chancellor Talbot, who committed to him the care of his eldest son, then preparing to set out on his travels into France and Italy.

With this young nobleman, Mr. Thomson per­formed (what is commonly called) The Tour of Europe, and stay'd abroad about three years, where no doubt he inriched his mind with the noble monuments of antiquity, and the conversation of ingenious foreign­ers. 'Twas by comparing modern Italy with the idea he had of the antient Romans, which furnished him with the hint of writing his Liberty, in three parts. The first is Antient and Modern Italy com­pared. The second Greece, and the third Britain. The whole is addressed to the eldest son of lord Talbot, who died 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 [Page 204] say no more than this, that if he had never wrote any thing besides, he deserved to enjoy a distinguish­ed reputation amongst the poets. Speaking of the amazing genius of Newton, he says,

About the year 1728 Mr. Thomson wrote a piece called Britannia, the purport of which was to rouse the nation to arms, and excite in the spirit of the people a generous disposition to revenge the in­juries done them by the Spaniards: This is far from being one of his best poems.

[Page 205] Upon the death of his generous patron, lord chan­cellor Talbot, for whom the nation joined with Mr. Thomson in the most sincere inward sorrow, he wrote an elegiac poem, which does honour to the author, and to the memory of that great man he meant to ce­lebrate. He enjoyed, during lord Talbot's life, a very profitable place, which that worthy patriot had con­ferred upon him, in recompence of the care he had taken in forming the mind of his son. Upon his death, his lordship's successor reserved the place for Mr. Thomson, and always expected when he should wait upon him, and by performing some formali­ties enter into the possession of it. This, how­ever, by an unaccountable indolence he neglected, and at last the place, which he might have enjoy­ed with so little trouble, was bestowed upon ano­ther.

Amongst the latest of Mr. Thomson's productions is his Castle of Indolence, a poem of so extraordi­nary merit, that perhaps we are not extravagant, when we declare, that this single performance dis­covers more genius and poetical judgment, than all his other works put together. We cannot here complain of want of plan, for it is artfully laid, naturally conducted, and the descriptions rise in a beautiful succession: It is written in imitation of Spenser's stile; and the obsolete words, with the simplicity of diction in some of the lines, which bor­ders on the ludicrous, have been thought necessary to make the imitation more perfect.

[Page 206] We shall not at present enquire how far Mr. Thomson is justifiable in using the obsolete words of Spenser: As Sir Roger de Coverley observed on an­other occasion, much may be said on both sides. One thing is certain, Mr. Thomson's imitation is excellent, and he must have no poetry in his imagi­nation, who can read the picturesque descriptions in his Castle of Indolence, without emotion. In his LXXIst Stanza he has the following picture of beauty:

He pursues the description in the subsequent Stanza.

In the two following Stanzas, the dropsy and hypochondria are beautifully described.

The speech of Sir Industry in the second Canto, when he enumerates the various blessings which flow from action, is surely one of the highest instances of genius which can be produced in poetry. In the second stanza, before he enters upon the subject, the poet complains of the decay of patronage, and the general depravity of taste; and in the third breaks out into the following exclamation, which is so perfectly beautiful, that it would be the greatest mortification not to transcribe it,

Before we quit this poem, permit us, reader, to give you two more stanzas from it: the first shews Mr. Thomson's opinion of Mr. Quin as an actor; of their friendship we may say more hereafter.

The next stanza (wrote by a friend of the au­thor's, as the note mentions) is a friendly, though familiar, compliment; it gives us an image of our bard himself, at once entertaining, striking, and just.

We shall now consider Mr. Thomson as a drama­tic writer.

In the year 1730, about six years after he had been in London, he brought a Tragedy upon the stage, called Sophonisba, built upon the Carthagi­nian history of that princess, and upon which the famous Nathaniel Lee has likewise written a Tra­gedy. This play met with a favourable reception from the public. Mrs. Oldfield greatly distinguished herself in the character of Sophonisba, which Mr. Thomson acknowledges in his preface.— ‘'I can­not conclude, says he, without owning my obli­gations to those concerned in the representation. They have indeed done me more than justice: Whatever was designed as amiable and engage­ing in Masinessa shines out in Mr. Wilks's action. Mrs. Oldfield, in the character of Sophonisba, has excelled what even in the fondness of an author I could either wish or imagine. The grace, dignity and happy variety of her action, have been universally applauded, and are truly ad­mirable.'’

Before we quit this play, we must not omit two anecdotes which happened the first night of the representation. Mr. Thomson makes one of his characters address Sophonisba in a line, which some critics reckoned the false pathetic.

Upon which a smart from the pit cried out, ‘ [Page 210] Oh! Jamey Thomson, Jamey Thomson Oh!’

However ill-natured this critic might be in in­terrupting the action of the play for sake of a joke; yet it is certain that the line ridiculed does partake of the false pathetic, and should be a warn­ing to tragic poets to guard against the swelling stile; for by aiming at the sublime, they are often betrayed into the bombast.—Mr. Thomson who could not but feel all the emotions and sollicitudes of a young author the first night of his play, wanted to place himself in some obscure part of the house, in order to see the representation to the best advan­tage, without being known as the poet.—He ac­cordingly placed himself in the upper gal­lery; but such was the power of nature in him, that he could not help repeating the parts along with the players, and would sometimes whisper to himself, ‘'now such a scene is to open,'’ by which he was soon discovered to be the author, by some gen­tlemen who could not, on account of the great crowd, [...] in any other part of the house.

After an interval of four years, Mr. Thomson exhibited to the public his second Tragedy called Agamemnon. Mr. Pope gave an instance of his great affection to Mr. Thomson on this occasion: he wrote two letters in its favour to the managers, and honou [...]ed the representation on the first night 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. Thomson submitted to have this play considerably shortened in the action, as some parts were too long, others unnecessary, in which not the character but the poet spoke; and though not brought on the stage till the month of April, it continued to be acted with applause for se­veral nights.

[Page 211] Many have remark'd that his characters in his plays are more frequently descriptive, than expres­sive, of the passions; but they all abound with un­common beauties, with fire, and depth of thought, with noble sentiments and nervous writing. His speeches are often too long, especially for an English audience; perhaps sometimes they are unnaturally lengthened: and 'tis certainly a greater relief to the ear to have the dialogue more broken; yet our atten­tion is well rewarded, and in no passages, perhaps, in his tragedies, more so, than in the affecting ac­count Melisander ^* gives of his being betrayed, and left on the desolate island.

In the year 1736 Mr. Thomson offered to the stage a Tragedy called Edward and Eleonora, which was forbid to be acted, for some political reason, which it is not in our power to guess.

The play of Tancred and Sigismunda was acted in the year 1744; this succeeded beyond any other [Page 215] of Thomson's plays, and is now in possession of the stage. The plot is borrowed from a story in the celebrated romance of Gil Blas: The fable is very interesting, the characters are few, but active; and the attention in this play is never suf­fered to wander. The character of Seffredi has been justly censured as inconsistent, 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 was per­formed 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 being fresh in the memory of its frequent auditors, 'tis needless to say more concerning it.

Mr. Thomson's last Tragedy, called Coriolanus, was not acted till after his death; the profits of it were given to his sisters in Scotland, one of whom is married to a minister there, and the other to a man of low circumstances in the city of Edin­burgh. This play, which is certainly the least ex­cellent of any of Thomson's, was first offered to Mr. Garrick, but he did not think proper to accept it. The prologue was written by Sir George Lyttle­ton, and spoken by Mr. Quin, which had a very happy effect upon the audience. Mr. Qu [...]n was the particular friend of Thomson, and when he spoke the following lines, which are in them­selves very tender, all the endearments of a long acquaintance, rose at once to his imagination, while the tears gushed from his eyes.

The beautiful break in these lines had a fine effect in speaking. Mr. Quin here excelled him­self; he never appeared a greater actor than at this instant, when he declared himself none: 'twas an exquisite stroke to nature; art alone could hardly reach it Pardon the digression, reader, but, we feel a desire to say somewhat more on this head. The poet and the actor were friends, it cannot then be quite foreign to the purpose 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, the muscles fell, and,

They all expressed the tender feelings of a manly heart, becoming a Thomson's friend. His pause, his recovery were masterly; and he delivered the whole with an emphasis and pathos, worthy the excellent lines he spoke; worthy the great poet and good man, whose merits they painted, and whose loss they deplored.

The epilogue too, which was spoken by Mrs. Woffington, with an exquisite humour, greatly pleased. These circumstances, added to the con­sideration of 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 many other of his works. It was his misfortune as a dramatist, that he never knew when to have done; he makes every character speak while there is any thing to be said; and during these long [Page 217] interviews, the action too stands still, and the story languishes. His Tancred and Sigismunda may be excepted from this general censure: But his cha­racters are too little distinguished; they seldom vary from one another in their manner of speaking. In short, Thomson was born a descriptive poet; he only wrote for the stage, from a motive too obvi­ous to be mentioned, and too strong to be resisted. He is indeed the eldest born of Spenser, and he has often confessed that if he had any thing excellent in poetry, he owed it to the inspiration he first received from reading the Fairy Queen, in the very early part of his life.

In August 1748 the world was deprived of this great ornament of poetry and genius, by a violent fever, which carried him off in the 48th year of his age. Before his death he was provided for by Sir George Littleton, in the profitable place of comp­troller of America, which he lived not long to en­joy. Mr. Thomson was extremely beloved by his acquaintance. He was of an open generous disposi­tion; and was sometimes tempted to an excessive indulgence of the social pleasures: A failing too frequently inseparable from men of genius. His ex­terior appearance was not very engaging, but he grew more and more agreeable, as he entered into conversation: He had a grateful heart, ready to acknowledge every favour he received, and he never forgot his old benefactors, notwithstanding a long­absence, new acquaintance, and additional emi­nence; of which the following instance cannot be unacceptable to the reader.

Some time before Mr. Thomson's fatal illness, a gentleman enquired for him at his house in Kew-Lane, near Richmond, where he then lived. This gentleman had been his acquaintance when very young, and proved to be Dr. Gustard, the son of a revd. minister in the city of Edinburgh. Mr. Gustard had been Mr. Thomson's patron in the early [Page 218] part of his life, and contributed from his own purse (Mr. Thomson's father not being in very affluent circumstances) to enable him to prosecute his studies. The visitor sent not in his name, but only inti­mated to the servant that an old acquaintance de­sired to see Mr. Thomson. Mr. Thomson came forward to receive him, and looking stedfastly at him (for they had not seen one another for many years) said, Troth Sir, I cannot say I ken your countenance well—Let me therefore crave your name. Which the gentleman no sooner mentioned but the tears gushed from Mr. Thomson's eyes. He could only reply, good God! are you the son of my dear friend, my old benefactor; 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 a heart, it is generally capable of the most consummate baseness; and on the other hand, where that generous virtue has a powerful preva­lence in the soul, the heart of such a man is fraught with all those other endearing and tender qualities, which constitute goodness. Such was the heart of this amiable poet, whose life was as inoffen­sive as his page was moral: For of all our poets he is the farthest removed from whatever has the appearance of indecency; and, as Sir George Lyttleton happily expresses it, in the prologue to Mr. Thomson's Coriolanus,

THIS illustrious poet was born at London, in 1688, and was descended from a good fa­mily of that name, in Oxfordshire, the head of which was the earl of Downe, whose sole heiress married the earl of Lindsey. His father, a man of primitive simplicity, and integrity of manners, was a mer­chant of London, who upon the Revolution quit­ted trade, and converted his effects into money, amounting to near 10,000 l. with which he retired 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 old when she died, in 1733, was the daughter of William Turner, Esq of York. She had three brothers, one of whom was killed, another died in the service of king Charles; and the eldest following his fortunes, and becoming a general officer in Spain, left her what estate re­mained after sequestration, and forfeitures of her family. To these circumstances our poet alludes in his epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, in which he mentions his parents.

The education of our great author was attended with circumstances very singular, and some of them extremely unfavourable; but the amazing force of his genius fully compensated the want of any advan­tage in his earliest instruction. He owed the know­ledge of his letters to an aunt; and having learned very early to read, took great delight in it, and taught himself to write by copying after printed books, the characters of which he could imitate to great perfection. He began to compose verses, far­ther back than he could well remember; and at eight years of age, when he was put under one Taverner a priest, who taught him the rudiments of the Latin and Greek tongues at the same time, he met with Ogilby's Homer, which gave him great delight; and this was encreased by Sandys's Ovid: The raptures which these authors, even in the dis­guise of such translations, then yielded him, were so strong, that he spoke of them with pleasure ever after. From Mr. Taverner's tuition he was sent to a private school at Twiford, near Winchester, where he continued about a year, and was then removed to another near Hyde Park Corner; but was so un­fortunate as to lose under his two last masters, what he had acquired under the first.

[Page 221] While he remained at this school, being permit­ted to go to the play-house, with some of his school fellows of a more advanced age, he was so charmed with dramatic representations, that he formed the translation of the Iliad into a play, from several of the speeches in Ogilby's translation, connected with verses of his own; and the several parts were per­formed by the upper boys of the school, except that of Ajax by the master's gardener. At the age of 12 our young poet, went with 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, with as little success as before; so that he resolved now to become his own master, by reading those Classic Writers which gave him most entertainment; and by this method, at fifteen he gained a ready habit in the learned languages, to which he soon after added the French and Italian. Upon his retreat to the forest, he became first ac­quainted with the writings of Waller, Spenser and Dryden; in the last of which he immediately found what he wanted; and the poems of that excellent writer were never out of his hands; they became his model, and from them alone he learned the whole magic of his versification.

The first of our author's compositions now extant in print, is an Ode on Solitude, written before he was twelve years old: Which, consider'd as the pro­duction of so early an age, is a perfect master piece; nor need he have been ashamed of it, had it been writ­ten in the meridian of his genius. While it breathes the most delicate spirit of poetry, it at the same time demonstrates his love of solitude, and the ra­tional pleasures which 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 of Rochester's [Page 222] poem on Nothing ^*. Thus we find him no sooner capable of holding the pen, than he employed it in writing verses,

Though we have had frequent opportunity to ob­serve, that poets have given early displays of genius, yet we cannot recollect, that among the inspired tribe, one can be found who at the age of twelve could produce so 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 at Westminster-School, the master who had assigned a poetical task to some of the boys, of writ­ing a Paraphrase on our Saviour's Miracle, of turn­ing Water into Wine, was perfectly astonished when young Dryden presented him with the following line, which he asserted was the best comment could be written upon it.

This was the only instance of an early appear­ance of genius in this great man, for he was turn'd of 30 before he acquired any reputation; an age in which Mr. Pope's was in its full distinction.

The year following that in which Mr. Pope wrote his poem on Silence, he began an Epic Poem, intitled Alcander, which he afterwards very judici­ously committed to the flames, as he did likewise a Comedy, and a Tragedy; 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, were esteemed by Sir [Page 223] William Trumbull, Mr. Granville, Mr. Wycherley, Mr. Walsh and others of his friends, too valuable to be condemned to the same sate.

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 some measure seems to imitate, are Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Mr. Pope is of opinion, that Theocritus excells all others in nature and simplicity.

That Virgil, who copies Theocritus, refines on his original; and in all points in which judgment has the principal part is much superior to his master.

That among the moderns, their success has been greatest who have most endeavoured to make these antients their pattern. The most considerable genius appears in the famous Tasso, and our Spenser. Tasso in his Aminta has far excelled all the pastoral writers, as in his Gierusalemme he has outdone the Epic Poets of his own country. But as this piece seems to have been the original of a new sort of poem, the Pastoral Comedy, in Italy, it cannot so well be considered as a copy of the antients. Spen­ser's Calendar, in Mr. Dryden's opinion, is the most compleat work of this kind, which any nation has produced ever since the time of Virgil. 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.

Thus early was Mr. Pope introduced to the ac­quaintance of men of genius, and so improved every advantage, that he made a more rapid progress to­wards a consummation in fame, than any of our for­mer English poets. His Messiah; his Windsor-Forest, the first part of which was written at the same time with his pastorals; his Essay on Criti­cism in 1709, and his Rape of the Lock in 1712, established his poetical character in such a man­ner, that he was called upon by the public voice, to enrich our language with the translation of the Iliad; which he began at 25, and executed in five years. This was published for his own benefit, by subscription, the only kind of reward, which he received for his writings, which do honour to our age and country: His religion rendering him inca­pable of a place, which the lord treasurer, Oxford used to express his concern for, but without offer­ing him a pension, as the earl of Halifax, and Mr. Secretary Craggs afterwards did, though Mr. Pope declined it.

The reputation of Mr. Pope gaining every day upon the world, he was caressed, flattered, and railed at; according as he was feared, or loved by different persons. Mr. Wycherley was amongst the first authors of established reputation, who contri­buted to advance his fame, and with whom 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 he was but a very [Page 225] mperfect master of numbers, he entrusted his ma­nuscripts to Mr. Pope, and submitted them to his correction. The freedom which our young bard was under a necessity to use, in order to polish and refine what was in the original, rough, unharmo­nious, and indelicate, proved disgustful to the old gentleman, then near 70, who, perhaps, was a lit­tle ashamed, that a boy at 16 should so severely cor­rect his works. Letters of dissatisfaction were written by Mr. Wycherley, and at last he informed him, in few words, that he was going out of town, with­out mentioning to what place, and did not expect to hear from him 'till he came 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 by jealousy and infirmities, Mr. Pope preserved a constant respect and reverence for him while he lived, and after his death lamented him. In a letter to Edward Blount, Esq written immediately upon the death of this poet, he has there related some anecdotes of Wy­cherly, which we shall insert here, especially as they are not taken notice of in his life.

One of the most affecting and tender compositi­ons of Mr. Pope, is, his Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, built on a true story. We are informed in the Life of Pope, for which Curl ob­tained a patent, that this young lady was a particular favourite of the poet, though it is not ascertained 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 suitable to her titles and pretensions. She was esteemed a match for the greatest peer in the realm, but, in her early years, she suffered her [Page 227] heart to be engaged by a young gentleman, and in consequence of this attachment, rejected offers made to her by persons of quality, seconded by the sollicitations of her uncle. Her guardian be­ing surprized at this behaviour, set spies upon her, to find out the real cause of her indifference. Her correspondence with her lover was soon dis­covered, and, when urged upon that topic, she had too much truth and honour to deny it. The uncle finding, that she would make no efforts to disengage her affection, after a little time forced her abroad, where she was received with a cere­mony due to her quality, but restricted from the conversation of every one, but the spies of this se­vere guardian, so that it was impossible for her lover even to have a letter delivered to her hands. She languished in this place a considerable time, bore an infinite deal of sickness, and was over­whelmed with the profoundest sorrow. Nature be­ing wearied out with continual distress, and being driven a [...] last to despair, the unfortunate lady, as Mr. Pope justly calls her, put an end to her own life, having bribed a maid-servant to procure her a sword. She was found upon the ground weltering in her blood. The severity of the laws of the place, where this fair unfortunate perished, denied her Christian burial, and she was interred without solemnity, or even any attendants to per­form the last offices of the dead, except some young people of the neighbourhood, who saw her put into 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.

The conclusion of this elegy is irresistably affect­ing.

No poem of our author's more deservedly ob­tained him reputation, than his Essay on Criti­cism. Mr. Addison, in his Spectator, No. 253, has celebrated it with such profuse terms of ad­miration, that it is really astonishing, to find the same man endeavouring afterwards to diminish that fame he had contributed to raise so high.

In the Lives of Addison and Tickell, we have thrown out some general hints concerning the quarrel which subsisted between our poet and the former of these gentlemen; here it will not be improper to give a more particular account of it.

The author of Mist's Journal positively asserts, ‘'that Mr. Addison raised Pope from obscurity, obtained him the acquaintance and friendship of the whole body of our nobility, and transferred his powerful influence with those great men to this rising bard, who frequently levied by that means, unusual contributions on the public. No [Page 230] sooner was his body lifeless, but this author reviv­ing his resentment, libelled the memory of his departed friend, 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, whose friendship, or any one gentleman, whose subscrip­tion Mr. Addison had procured to our author, to stand forth, and declare it, that truth might ap­pear. But the whole libel was proved a malicious story, by many persons of distinction, who, seve­ral years before Mr. Addison's decease, approved those verses denominated a libel, but which were, 'tis said, a friendly rebuke, sent privately in our author's own hand, to Mr. Addison himself, and never made public, 'till by Curl in his Miscella­nies, 12mo. 1727. The lines indeed are elegant­ly satirical, and, in the opinion of many unpreju­diced judges, who had opportunities of knowing the character of Mr. Addison, are no ill representa­tion of him. Speaking of the poetical triflers of the times, who had declared against him, he makes a sudden transition to Addison.

Some readers may think these lines severe, but the treatment he received from Mr. Addison, was more than sufficient to justify them, which will ap­pear when we particularize an interview between these two poetical antagonists, 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 conversation turned upon Mr. Pope, for whom Addison, at that time, expressed the high­est regard, and assured Mr. Jervas, that he would make use not only of his interest, but of his art likewise, to do Mr. Pope service; he then said, he did not mean his art of poetry, but his art at court, and protested, notwithstanding many insinu­ations were spread, that it shall not be his fault, if there was not the best understanding and intel­ligence between them. He observed, that Dr. Swift might have carried him too far among the enemy, during the animosity, but now all was safe, and Mr. Pope, in his opinion, was escaped. When Mr. Jervas communicated this conversation to Mr. Pope, he made this reply: ‘'The friendly office you endeavour to do between Mr. Ad­dison and me deserves acknowledgments on my part. You thoroughly know my regard to his character, and my readiness to testify it by all ways in my power; you also thoroughly knew the meanness of that proceeding of Mr. Phillips, to make a man I so highly value suspect my [Page 232] disposition towards him. But [...] after all, Mr. Addison must be judge in what regards himself, and as he has seemed not to be a very just one to me, so I must own to you, I expect nothing but civility from him, how much soever I wish for his friendship; and as for any offers of real kind­ness or service which it is in his power to do me, I should be ashamed to receive them from a man, who has no better opinion of my morals, than to think me a party man, nor of my temper, than to believe me capable of maligning, or envying another's reputation as a poet. In a word, Mr. Addison is sure of my respect at all times, and of my real friendship, whenever he shall think 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 on either side, for Mr. Addison had a natural reserve and gloom at the beginning of an evening, which, by con­versation and a glass, brightened into an easy chear­fulness. Sir Richard Steele, who was a most social benevolent man, begged of him to fulfill his promise, in dropping all animosity against Mr. Pope. Mr. Pope then desired to be made sensible how he had of­fended; and observed, that the translation of Ho­mer, if that was the great crime, was undertaken at the request, and almost at the command of Sir Richard Steele. He entreated Mr. Addison to speak candidly and freely, though it might be with ever so much severity, rather than by keeping up forms of complaisance, conceal any of his faults. This Mr. Pope spoke in such a manner as plainly indicated he thought Mr. Addison the aggressor, and expected him to condescend, and own him­self the cause of the breach between them. But he was disappointed; for Mr. Addison, without ap­pearing to be angry, was quite overcome with it. He began with declaring, that he always had wished [Page 233] him well, had often endeavoured to be his friend, and in that light advised him, if his nature was capable of it, to divest himself of part of his vanity, which was too great for his merit; that he had not arrived yet to that pitch of excellence he might ima­gine, or think his most partial readers imagined; that when he and Sir Richard Steele corrected his verses, 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. He proceeded to lay before him all the mistakes and inaccuracies hinted at by the writers, who had attacked Mr. Pope, and added many things, which he 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 of money, 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 low hollow voice of feigned tem­per, that he was not sollicitous about his own fame as a poet; that he had quitted the muses to enter into the business of the public, and that all he spoke was though friendship to Mr. Pope, whom he ad­vised to have a less exalted sense of his own merit.

Mr. Pope could not well bear such repeated re­proaches, but bol [...]ly told Mr. Addison, that he ap­pealed from his judgment to the public, and that [Page 234] he had long known him too well to expect any friendship from him; upbraided him with being a pensioner from his youth, sacrificing the very learn­ing purchased by the public money, to a mean thirst of power; that he was sent abroad to encou­rage literature, in place of which he had always endeavoured to suppress merit. At last, the contest grew so warm, that they parted without any cere­mony, and Mr. Pope upon this wrote the foregoing verses, which are esteemed too true a picture of Mr. Addison.

In this account, and, indeed, in all other ac­counts, which have been given concerning this quarrel, it does not appear that Mr. Pope was the aggressor. If Mr. Addison entertained suspici­ons of Mr. Pope's being carried 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 of Homer; at the same time with Mr. Pope's, and if the public should decide in favour of the latter by reading his translation, and neglecting the other, can any fault be imputed to Mr. Pope? could he be blamed for exerting all his abilities in so arduous a province? and was it his fault that Mr. Addison (for the first book of Homer was undoubtedly his) could not translate to please the public? Besides, was it not somewhat presumptuous to insinuate to Mr. Pope, that his verses bore another face when he corrected them, while, at the same time, the translation of Homer, which he had never seen in manuscript, bore away the palm from that very translation, he himself asserted wa [...] done in the true spirit of Homer? In matters of genius the public judgment seldom errs, and in this case poste­rity has confirmed the sentence of that age, which gave the preference to Mr. Pope; for his transla­tion [Page 235] is in the hands of all readers of taste, while the other is seldom regarded but as a foil to Pope's.

It would appear as if Mr. Addison were himself so immersed in party business, as to contract his benevolence to the limits of a faction: Which was infinitely beneath the views of a philosopher, and the rules which that excellent writer himself establish­ed. If this was the failing of Mr. Addison, it was not the error of Pope, for he kept the strictest cor­respondence with some persons, whose affections to the Whig-interest were suspected, yet was his name never called in question. While he was in favour with the duke of Buckingham, the lords Bolingbroke, Oxford, and Harcourt, Dr. Swift, and Mr. Prior, he did not drop his correspondence with the lord Hallifax, Mr. Craggs, and most of those who were at the head of the Whig interest. A professed Jacobite one day remonstrated to Mr. Pope, that the people of his party took it ill that he should write with Mr. Steele upon ever so in­different a subject; at which he could not help smiling, and observed, that he hated narrowness of soul in any party; and that if he renounced his reason in religious matters, he should hardly do it on any other, and that he could pray not only for opposite parties, but even for opposite re­ligions. Mr. Pope considered himself as a citizen of the world, and was therefore obliged to pray for the prosperity of mankind in general. As a son of Britain he wished those councils might be suffered by providence to prevail, which were most for the interest of his native country: But as politics was not his study, he could not always determine, at least, with any degree of certainty, whose councils were best; and had charity enough to believe, that contending parties might mean well. As taste and science are confined to no [Page 236] country, so ought they not to be excluded from any party, and Mr. Pope had an unexceptionable right to live upon terms of the strictest friendship with every man of parts, to which party soever he might belong. Mr. Pope's uprightness in his conduct towards contending politicians, is demon­strated by his living independent of either faction. He accepted no place, and had too high a spirit to become a pensioner.

Many effects however were made to proselyte him from the Popish f [...]ith, which all proved inef­fectual. His friends conceived hopes from the moderation which he on all occasions expressed, that he was really a Pro [...]e [...]tant in his heart, and that upon the death of his mother, he would not scruple to declare his sentiments, notwithstanding the reproaches he might incur from the Popish party, and the public observation it would draw up­on him. The bishop of Rochester strongly advised him to read the controverted points between the Protestant and the Catholic church, to suffer his unprejudiced reason to determine for him, and he made no doubt, but a separation from the Romish communion would soon ensue. To this Mr. Pope very candidly answered,

These are the peaceful maxims upon which we find Mr. Pope conducted his life, and if they cannot in some respects be justified, yet it must be owned, that his religion and his politics were well enough adapted for a poet, which entitled him to a kind of universal patronage, and to make every good man his friend.

Dean Swift sometimes wrote to Mr. Pope on the topic of changing his religion, and once hu­morously offered him twenty pounds for that pur­pose. Mr. Pope's answer to this, lord Orrery has obliged the world by preserving in the life of Swift. It is a perfect master-piece of wit and pleasantry.

We have already taken notice, that Mr. Pope was called upon by the public voice to translate the Iliad, which he performed with so much ap­plause, and at the same time, with so much pro­fit to himself, that he was envied by many writ­ers, whose vanity perhaps induced them to be­lieve themselves equal to so great a design. A combination of inferior wits were employed to write The Popiad, in which his translation is cha­racterized, as unjust to the original, without beau­ty of language, or variety of numbers. Instead of the justness of the original, they say there is ab­surdity [Page 239] and extravagance. Instead of the beauti­ful language of the original, there is solecism and barbarous English. A candid reader may easily discern from this furious introduction, that the critics were actuated rather by malice than truth, and that they must judge with their eyes shut, who can see no beauty of language, no harmony of numbers in this translation.

But the most formidable critic against Mr. Pope in this great undertaking, was the celebrated Madam Dacier, whom Mr. Pope treated with less cere­mony in his Notes on the Iliad, than, in the opi­nion of some people, was due to her sex. This learned lady was not without a sense of the in­jury, and took an opportunity of discovering her resentment.

Thus far Madam Dacier differs in her opinion from Mr. Pope concerning Homer; but these re­marks which we have just quoted, partake not at all of the nature of criticism; they are meer as­sertion. Pope had declared Homer to abound with irregular beauties. Dacier has contradicted him, and asserted, that all his beauties are regular, but no reason is assigned by either of these mighty ge­niuses in support of their opinions, and the reader is left in the dark, as to the real truth. If he is to be guided by the authority of a name only, no doubt the argument will preponderate in favour of our countryman. The French lady then proceeds to answer some observations, which Mr. Pope made upon her Remarks on the Iliad, which she per­forms with a warmth that generally attends writ­ers of her sex. Mr. Pope, however, paid more regard to this fair antagonist, than any other cri­tic [Page 242] upon his works. He confessed that he had re­ceived great helps from her, and only thought she had (through a prodigious, and almost superstitious, fondness for Homer) endeavoured to make him ap­pear without any fault, or weakness, and stamp a perfection on his works, which is no where to be found. He wrote her a very obliging letter, in which he conf [...]ssed himself exceedingly sorry that he ever should have displeased so excellent a wit, and she, on the other hand, with a goodness and frankness prculiar to her, protested to forgive it, so that there remained no animosities between those two great admirers and translators of Homer.

Mr. Pope, by his succes [...]ful translation of the Iliad, as we have before remarked, drew upon him the envy and raillery of a whole tribe of writers. Though he did not esteem any particular man a­mongst his enemies of consequence enough to pro­voke an answer, yet when they were considered collectively, they offered excellent materials for a general satire. This satire he planned and exe­cuted with so extraordinary a mastery, that it is by far the most compleat poem of our author's; it discovers more invention, and a higher effort of genius, toan any other production of his. The [...]int was taken from Mr. Dryden's Mac [...]lecknoe, but as it is more general, so it is more pleasing. The Dunciad is so universally read, that we rec­kon it superfiuous to give any further account of it here; and it would be an unpleasing task to trace all the provocations and resentments, which were mutually discovered upon this occasion. Mr. Pope was of opinion, that next to praising good writers, there was a merit in exposing bad ones, though it does not hold infallibly true, that each person stig­matized as a dunce, was genuinely so. Something must be allowed to personal resentment; Mr. Pope was a man of keen passions; he felt an injury strongly, retained a long remembrance of it, and [Page 243] could very pungently repay it. Some of the gen­tlemen, however, who had been more severely lashed than the rest, meditated a revenge, which redounds but little to their honour. They either in­tended to chastize him corporally, or gave it out that they had really 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 thoughts towards some­thing that might be of lasting use to the world, and engage no more in a war with dunces who were now effectually humbled. Our great dramatic poet Shakespear had pass'd through several hands, some of whom were very reasonably judged not to have understood any part of him tolerably, much less were capable to correct or revise him.

The friends of Mr. Pope therefore strongly im­portuned him, to undertake the whole of Shake­spear's plays, and, if possible, by comparing all the different copies now to be procured, restore him to his ancient purity. To which our poet made this modest reply, that not having attempted any thing in the Drama, it might in him be deemed too much presumption. To which he was answered, that this did not require great knowledge of the foun­dation and disposition of the drama, as that must stand as it was, and Skakespear himself had not always paid strict regard to the rules of it; but this was to clear the scenes from the rubbish with which ignorant editors had filled them.

His proper business in this work was to render the text so clear as to be generally understood, to free it from obscurities, and sometimes gross absurdities, which now seem to appear in it, and to explain doubtful and difficult passages of which there are great numbers. This however was an arduous pro­vince, and how Mr. Pope has acquitted himself [Page 244] in it has been differently determined: It is certain he never valued himself upon that performance, nor was it a task in the least adapted to his genius; for it seldom happens that a man of lively parts can undergo the servile drudgery of collecting passages, in which more industry and labour are necessary than persons of quick penetration generally have to bestow.

It has been the opinion of some critics, that Mr. Pope's talents were not adapted for the drama, otherwise we cannot well account for his neglecting the most gainful way of writing which poetry affords, especially as his reputation was so high, that with­out much ceremony or mortification, he might have had any piece of his brought upon the stage. Mr. Pope was attentive to his own interest, and if he had not either been conscious of his inability in that province, or too timid to wish the popular ap­probation, he would certainly have attempted the drama. Neither was he esteemed a very competent judge of what plays were proper or improper for representation. He wrote several letters to the ma­nager of Drury-Lane Theatre, in favour of Thom­son's Agamemnon, which notwithstanding his ap­probation, Thomson's friends were obliged to mu­tulate and shorten; and after all it proved a heavy play.—Though it was generally allowed to have been one of the best acted plays that had appeared 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, and extensive understanding, yet were not able it seems to please the people, tho' the principal parts were supported by the best actors in that way on the stage. Dr. Arbuthnot and Mr Pope were no doubt solicitous to conceal their concern in it; but by a letter which Gay wrote to Pope, pub­lished [Page 245] in Ayre's Memoirs, it appears evident (if Ayre's authority may be depended on) that they both assisted in the composition.

Of all our poet's writings none were read with more general approbation than his Ethic Epistles, or multiplied into more editions. Mr. Pope who was a perfect oeconomist, secured to himself the profits arising from his own works; he was never subjected to necessity, and therefore was not to be imposed upon by the art or fraud of publishers.

But now approaches the period in which as he himself expressed it, he stood in need of the gene­rous tear he paid,

[Page 246] Mr. Pope who had been always subjected to a variety of bodily infirmities, finding his strength give way, began to think that his days, which had been prolonged past his expectation, were draw­ing towards a conclusion. However, he visited the Hot-Wells at Bristol, where for some time there were small hopes of his recovery; but making too free with purges he grew worse, and seemed desirous to draw nearer home. A dropsy in the breast at last put a period to his life, at the age of 56, on the 30th of May 1744, at his house at Twickenham, where he was interred in the same grave with his father and mother.

Mr. Pope's behaviour in his last illness has been variously represented to the world: Some have affirmed that it was timid and peevish; that having been fixed in no particular system of faith, his mind was wavering, and his temper broken and disturb'd. Others have asserted that he was all chearfulness and resignation to the divine will: Which of these opinions is true we cannot now determine; but if the former, it must be regretted, that he, who had taught philosophy to others, should himself be desti­tute of its assistance in the most critical moments of his life.

The bulk of his fortune he bequeath'd to Mrs. Blount, with whom he lived in the strictest friend­ship, and for whom he is said to have entertained the warmest affection. His works, which are in the hands of every person of true taste, and will last as long as our language will be understood, render unnecessary all further remarks on his writings. He was equally admired for the dignity and subli­mity of his moral and philosophical works, the vivacity of his satirical, the clearness and propriety of his didactic, the richness and variety of his di­scriptive, and the elegance of all, added to an harmony of versification and correctness of senti­ment and language, unknown to our former poets, [Page 247] and of which he has set 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 the beauties proper for it, joined to an un­common force and perspicuity.

Under the profession of the Roman-Catholic re­ligion, to which he adhered to the last, he main­tained all the moderation and charity becoming the most thorough and consistent Protestant. His conversation was natural, easy and agreeable, with­out any affectation of displaying his wit, or ob­truding his own judgment, even upon subjects of which he was so eminently a master.

The moral character of our author, as it did not escape the lash of his calumniators in his life; so have there been attempts since his death to diminish his reputation. Lord Bolingbroke, whom Mr. Pope esteemed to almost an enthusiastic degree of admira­tion, was the first to make this attack. Not many years ago, the public were entertained with this controversy immediately upon the publication of his lordship's Letters on the Spirit of Patriotism, and the Idea of a Patriot King. Different opinions have been offered, some to extenuate the fault of Mr. Pope, for printing and mutilating these letters without his lordship's knowledge; others to blame him for it as the highest breach of friendship, and the greatest mark of dishonour. It would exceed our proposed bounds to enter into the merits of this controversy; the reader, no doubt, will find it am­ply discussed in that account of the life of this great author, which Mr. Warburton has promised the public.

This great man is allowed to have been one of the first rank amongst the poets of our nation, and to ac­knowledge the superiority of none but Shakespear, Milton, and Dryden. With the two former, it is unnatural to compare him, as their province in writ­ing is so very different. Pope has never attempted [Page 248] the drama, nor published an Epic Poem, in which these two distinguished genius's have so wonder­fully succeeded. Though Pope's genius 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 may be said of the former two, it will by no means hold with respect to the la [...]ter, for between him and Dryden, there is a great similarity of writing, and a very striking coin­cidence of genius. It will not perhaps be un­pleasing to our readers, if we pursue this comparison, and endeavour to discover to whom the superiority is justly to be attributed, and to which of them poe­try owes the highest obligations.

When Dryden came into the world, he found poetry in a very imperfect state; its numbers were unpolished; its cadences rough, and there was no­thing of harmony or mellifluence to give it a grace­ful of flow. In this harsh, unmusical situation, Dryden found it (for the refinements of Waller were but puerile and unsubstantial) he polished the rough diamond, he taught it to shine, and connect­ed beauty, elegance, and strength, in all his poeti­cal compositions. Though Dryden thus polished our English numbers, and thus harmonized versifi­cation, it cannot be said, that he carried his art to perfection. Much was yet left undone; his lines with all their smoothness were often rambling, and ex­pletives were frequently introduced to compleat his measures. It was apparent therefore that an ad­ditional harmony might still be given to our num­bers, and that cadences were yet capable of a more musical modulation. To effect this purpose Mr. Pope arose, who with an ear elegantly delicate, and the advantage of the finest genius, so har­monized the English numbers, as to make them compleatly musical. His numbers are likewise so minutely correct, that it would be difficult to conceive how any of his lines can be altered [Page 249] to advantage. He has created a kind of me­chanical versification; every line is alike; and though they are sweetly musical, they want diver­sity, for he has not studied so great a variety of pauses, and where the accents may be laid grace­fully. The structure of his verse is the best, and a line of his is more musical than any other line can be made, by placing the accents elsewhere; but we are not quite certain, whether the ear is not apt to be soon cloy'd with this uniformity of elegance, this sameness of harmony. It must be acknowledged however, that he has much improved upon Dryden in the article of versification, and in that part of poetry is greatly his superior. But though this must be acknowledged, perhaps it will not neces­sarily follow that his genius was therefore superior.

The grand characteristic of a poet is his inven­tion, the surest distinction of a great genius. In Mr. Pope, nothing is so truly original as his Rape of the Lock, nor discovers so much invention. In this kind of mock-heroic, he is without a rival in our language, for Dryden has written 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 satiric writing, the Palm must justly be yielded to him. In Mr. Dryden's Absalom and Achitophel, there are indeed the most poignant strokes of satire, and characters drawn with the most masterly touches; but this poem with all its excellencies is much in­ferior to the Dunciad, though Dryden had advan­tages which Mr. Pope had not; for Dryden's cha­racters are men of great eminence and figure in the state, while Pope has to expose men of obscure birth and unimportant lives only distinguished from the herd of mankind, by a glimmering of genius, which rendered the greatest part of them more em­phatically contemptible. Pope's was the hardest [Page 250] task, and he has executed it with the greatest suc­cess. As Mr. Dryden must undoubtedly have yielded to Pope in satyric writing, it is incumbent on the partizans of Dryden to name a other species of composition, in which the former excells so as to throw the ballance again upon the side of Dryden. This species is the Lyric, in which the warmest vo­taries of Pope must certainly acknowledge, that he is much inferior; as an irresistable proof of this we need only compare Mr. Dryden's Ode on St. Cecilia's Day, with Mr. Pope's; in which the cupasity is so apparent, that we know not if the most finished of Pope's compositions has discovered such a variety and command of numbers.

It hath been generally acknowledged, that the Lyric is a more excellent kind of writing than the Satiric; and consequently he who excells in the most 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 a variety of other performances deservedly celebrated. To these may be opposed Mr. Dryden's Fables, which though written in a very advanced age, are yet the most perfect of his works. In these Fables there is per­haps a greater variety than in Pope's occasional pieces: Many of them indeed are translations, but such as are original shew a great extent of invention, and a large compass of genius.

There are not in Pope's works such poignant discoveries of wit, or such a general knowledge of the humours and characters of men, as in the Prologues and Epilogues of Dryden, which are the best records of the whims and capriclous oddities of the times in which they are written.

When these two great genius's are considered in the light of translators, it will indeed be difficult to determine into whose scale the ballance should [Page 251] be thrown: That Mr. Pope had a more arduous province in doing justice to Homer, than Dryden with regard to Virgil is certainly true; as Homer is a more various and diffuse poet than Virgil; and it is likewise true, that Pope has even ex­ceeded Dryden in the execution, and none will deny, that Pope's Homer's Iliad, is a finer poem than Dryden's Aeneis of Virgil: Making a proper allowance for the disproportion of the ori­ginal authors. But then a candid critic should re­flect, that as Dryden was prior in the great attempt of tendering Virgil into English; so did he per­form the task under many disadvantages, which Pope, by a happier situation in life, was enabled to avoid; and could not but improve upon Dryden's errors, though the authors translated were not the same: And it is much to be doubted, if Dryden were to translate the Aeneid now, with that at­tention which the correctness of the present age would force upon him, whether the preference would be due to Pope's Homer.

But supposing it to be yielded (as it certainly must) that the latter bard was the greatest tran­slator; we are now to throw into Mr. Dryden's scale all his dramatic works; which though not the most excellent of his writings, yet as nothing of Mr. Pope's can be opposed to them, they have an undoubted right to turn the ballance greatly in favour of Mr. Dryden.—When the two poets are considered as critics, the comparison will very im­perfectly hold. Dryden's Dedications and Prefaces, besides that they are more numerous, and are the best models for courtly panegyric, shew that he under­stood poetry as an art, beyond any man that ever lived. And he explained this art so well, that he taught his antagonists to turn the tables against him­self; for he so illuminaced the mind by his clear and perspicuous reasoning, that dullness itself be­came capable of discerning; and when at any [Page 252] time his performances fell short of his own ideas of excellence; his enemies tried him by rules of his own establishing; and though they owed to him the ability of judging, they seldom had candour enough to spare him.

Perhaps it may be true that Pope's works are read with more appetite, as there is a greater evenness and correctness in them; but in perusing the works of Dryden the mind will take a wider range, and be more fraught with poetical ideas: We admire Dryden as the greater genius, and Pope as the most pleasing versifier.

WAS the son of George Hill, esq of Malmsbury-Abbey in Wiltshire; a gentle­man possessed of an estate of about 2000 l. a year, which was entailed upon him, and the eldest son, and to his heirs for many descents. [...] the unhappy misconduct of Mr. George Hill, and the weakness of the trustees, entangled it in such a manner as hitherto has rendered it of no advan­tage to his family; for, without any legal title so to do, he sold it all, at different times, for sums greatly beneath the value of it, and left his chil­dren to their mother's care, and her mother's (Mrs. Ann Gregory) who took great pains with her grandson's education. At nine years old she put [Page 253] him to school to Mr. Rayner at Barnstable in De­vonshire, from whence, he went to Westminster school; where soon (under the care of Dr. Knipe) his genius shewed itself in a distinguished light, and often made him some amends for his hard for­tune, which denied him such supplies of pocket­money as his spirit wished, by enabling him to perform the tasks of many who had not his capacity.

Mr. Aaron Hill, was born in Beaufort-Buildings in the Strand, on February 10, 1684-5. At fourteen years of age he left Westminster school; and, shortly after, hearing his grandmother make mention of a re­lation much esteemed (lord Paget, then ambassador at Constantinople) he formed a resolution of pay­ing him a visit there, being likewise very desirous to see that empire.

His grandmother being a woman of uncommon understanding, and great good-nature, would not oppose him in it; and accordingly he soon em­bark'd on board a ship, then going there, March 2, 1700, as appears by a Journal which he kept during his voyage, and in his travels (though at so weak an age) wherein he gave the most accu­rate account of every particular, in a manner much above his years.

When he arrived, lord Paget received him with as much surprize, as pleasure, wondering that so young a person as he was (but then in his fifteenth year) [...]uld chuse to run the hazard of such a voyage to [...] a relation, whom he knew but by character. The ambassador immediately provided for him a very learned ecclesiastic in his own house, and, un­der his tuition, sent him to travel, being desirous to improve, as far as possible, the education of a person he found worthy of it. With this tutor he had the opportunity of seeing Egypt, Palestine, and a great part of the Eastern country.

With lord Paget he returned home, about the year 1703, through great part of Europe; in which tour he saw most of the courts.

[Page 254] He was in great esteem with that nobleman; in­somuch, that in all probability 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 certain female, who was in high authority and favour with that lord, prevented and supplanted his kind disposition towards him: My lord took great pleasure in instructing him himself, wrote him whole books in different languages, on which his student placed the greatest value; which was no sooner taken notice of by jealous observation, than they were stolen from his apartment, and suffered to be some days mis­sing, to the great displeasure of my lord, but still much greater affliction of his pupil, whose grief for losing a treasure he so highly valued, was more than doubled, by perceiving that from some false insinuation that had been made, 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 and understanding, to accom­pany Sir William Wentworth, a worthy baronet of Yorkshire, who was then going to make the tour of Europe; with whom he travelled two or three years, and brought him home improved, to the satisfaction of that gentleman's relations.

'Twas in those different travels he collected mat­ter for the history he wrote of Turky, and pub­lished in 1709; a work he afterwards often [...] ­pented having printed; and (though his o [...]) would criticise upon it with much severity. (But, as he used to say, he was a very boy when he began and ended it; therefore great allowance may be made on that account); and in a letter which has since been printed in his works, wrote to his greatly valued friend, the worthy author of Cla­rissa, he acknowledges his consciousness of such defects: where speaking of obscurity, he says,

[Page 255] '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, if ever, go hand in hand with solid judgment. Mr. Hill did not give himself in­deed time for correction, having wrote it so very expeditiously, as hardly would be credited. But (as Dr. Sprat, then bishop of Rochester, used to observe) there is certainly visible in that book, the seeds of a great writer.—He seldom in his riper years was guilty of the fault of non-correction; for he revis'd, too strictly rather, every piece he pur­posed 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 in the first copy, that had they never been by a revisal deepned into greater strength, they would have pleased still more, at least more generally.

About the year 1709 he published his first poem, called Camillus; in vindication, and honour of the earl of Peterborough, who had been general in Spain. After that nobleman had seen it, he was desirous to know who was the author of it; which having found by enquiry, he complimented him by making him his secretary, in the room of Mr. Furly, who was gon [...] abroad with another nobleman: And Mr. Hill was always held in high esteem with that great peer; with whom, however, he did not continue long; for in the year 1710 he married the only daughter of Edmund Morris, Esq of Stratford, in Essex; with whom he had a very handsome for­tune: By her he had nine children, four of whom (a son, and three daughters) are still living.

In 1709 he was made master of the Theatre in Drury-Lane; and then, at the desire of Mr. Barton Booth, wrote his first Tragedy, (Elfrid, or the Fair [Page 256] Inconstant) which from his first beginning of it he compleated in a little more than a week.—The following year, 1710, he was master of the Opera House in the Hay-Market; and then wrote an Opera called Rinaldo, which met with great suc­cess: It was the first which that admirable genius Mr. Handel compos'd, after he came to England; (this he dedicated to Queen Anne).—His genius was adapted greatly to the business of the stage; and while he held the management, he conducted both Theatres, intirely to the satisfaction of the pub­lic.—But in a few months he relinquished it, from some misunderstanding with the then lord chamber­lain; and though he was soon after sollicited to take that charge again upon him (by a person the high­est in command) he still declined it.

From that time he bent his thoughts on studies far more solid and desirable to him; to views of public benefit: For his mind was ardently devoted to the pursuit of general improvement. But, as one genius seldom is adapted to both theory and practice; so in the execution of a variety of under­takings, the most advantageous in themselves, by some mismanagement of those concerned with him, he fail'd of the success his labours merited.

As in particular, in an affair he set on foot about the year 1715, and was the sole discoverer of, for which he had a patent; the making of an Oil, as sweet as that from Olives, from the Beech-Nuts: But this being an undertaking of a great extent, he was obliged to work conjointly with other 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; it therefore may not be thought improper, here, to set it in a juster light; and this cannot more exactly be given, than from his own [Page 257] words, called, A fair state of the Account, pub­lished in the year 1716.

This, and much more, too tedious to insert, serves to demonstrate that it was a great misfortune, for a mind so fertile of invention and improvement, to be embarrassed by a narrow power of fortune; too weak alone to execute such undertakings.

About the same year he wrote another Tragedy, intiled the Fatal Vision ^*, or the Fall of Siam (which was acted the same year, in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields) to which he gave this Motto out of Horace.

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 other authors, had its enemies; but many more admirers.

But his poetic pieces were not frequent in their ap­pearance. They were the product of some leisure hours, when he relaxed his thoughts from drier study; as he took great delight in diving into every useful science, viz. criticism, history, geography, physic, commerce in general, agriculture, war, and law; but in particular natural philosophy, wherein he has made many and valuable discoveries.

Concerning poetry, he says, in his preface to King Henry the Vth, where he laments the want of taste for Tragedy,

He had acquired so deep an insight in law, that he has from his arguments 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 are left unfinished, with several other pieces.

In his younger days he bought a grant of Sir Robert Montgomery (who had purchas'd it of the lords proprietors of Carolina) with whom, &c. he had been concern'd, in a design of settling a new [Page 262] plantation in the South of Carolina, of a vast tract of land; on which he then designed to pursue the same intention.—But being not master of a for­tune equal to that scheme, it never proved of any service to him, though many years since, it has been cultivated largely. ^*.

His person was (in youth) extremely fair, and handsome; his eyes were a dark 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 either sex) who were acquainted with him—He was tall, genteelly made, and not thin.—His voice was sweet, his conversation elegant; and capable of entertaining upon various subjects.—His disposi­tion was benevolent, beyond the power of the for­tune he was blessed with; the calamities of those he knew (and valued as deserving) affected him more than his own: He had fortitude of mind suffi­cient to support with calmness great misfortune; and from his birth it may be truly said he was ob­liged to meet it.

Of himself, he says in his epistle dedicatory to one of his poems,

His temper, though by nature warm (when in­juries were done him) was as nobly forgiving; mindful of that great lesson in religion, of returning good for evil; and he fulfilled it often to the pre­judice [Page 263] of his own circumstances. He was a tender husband, friend, and father; one of the best masters to his servants, deteiting the too common inhumanity, that treats them almost as if they were not fellow-creatures.

His manner of life was temperate in all respects (which might have promis'd greater length of years) late hours excepted; which his indefatigable love of study drew him into; night being not liable to interruptions like the day.

About the year 1718 he wrote a poem called the Northern-Star, upon the actions of the Czar Peter the Great; and several years after he was complimented with a gold medal from the empress Catherine (according to the Czar's desire before his death) and was to have wrote his life, from papers which were to be sent him of the Czar's: But the death of the Czarina, quickly after, prevented it.—In an advertisement to the reader, in the fifth edition of that poem, published in 1739, the author says of it.

[Page 264] Soon after he finished six books more of Gideon; which made eight, of the 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 stage in 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 in the army) he wrote a paper in the manner of the Spectators, in conjunction with Mr. William Bond, &c. intitled the Plain Dealer; which were some time after published in two volumes octavo. And many of his former writings were appropriated to such humane uses; both those to which he has prefixed his name, and several others which he wrote and gave away intirely. But, though the many imagined authors are not living, their names, and those performances will be omitted here; yet, in mere justice to the character of Mr. Hill, we mention this particular.

In 1728, he made a journey into the North of Scotland, where he had been about two years be­fore, having contracted with the York-Buildings Company, concerning many woods of great extent in that kingdom, for timber for the uses of the navy; and many and various were the assertions up­on this occasion: Some thought, and thence re­ported, that there was not a stick in Scotland could be capable of answering that purpose; but he de­monstrated the contrary: For, though there was not a great number large enough for masts to ships of the greatest burthen; yet there were millions, fit for all smaller vessels; and planks and bauks, proper for every sort of building.—One ship was built en­tirely of it; and a report was made, that never any better timber was brought from any part of the world: But he found many difficulties in this under­taking; yet had sagacity to overcome them all (as far as his own management extended) for when the [Page 265] trees were by his order chain'd together into floats, the ignorant Highlanders refus'd to venture them­selves on them down the river Spey; till he first went himself, to make them sensible there was no danger.—In which passage however, he found a great obstacle in the rocks, by which that river seemed impassible; but on these he ordered fires to be made, when by the lowness of the river they were most expos'd; and then had quantities of water thrown upon them: Which method being repeated with the help of proper tools, they were broke in pieces and thrown down, which made the passage easy for the floats.

This affair was carried on to a very good account, till those concern'd thought proper to call off the men and horses from the woods of Abernethy, in order to employ them in their lead mines in the same country; from which they hoped to make greater advantage.

The magistrates of Inverness paid him the com­pliment of making him a present of the freedom of that place (at an elegant entertainment made by them on that occasion) a favour likewise offered him at Aberdeen, &c.

After a stay of several months in the Highlands, during which time he visited the duke and duchess of Gordon, who distinguished him with great civi­lities, he went to York, and other places in that country; where his wife then was, with some rela­tions, for the recovery of her health; but his staying longer there (on that account) than he intended, had like to have proved of unhappy consequence; by giving room for some, who imagined (as they wished) that he would not return, to be guilty of a breach of trust that aimed at the destruction of great part of what he then was worth; but they were disappointed.

In that retirement in the North, he wrote a poem intitled, The Progress of Wit, a Caveat for the [Page 266] use of an eminent Writer. It was composed of the genteelest praise, and keenest allegorical satire; and it gave no small uneasiness to Mr. Pope: Who had indeed drawn it upon himself, by being the aggressor in his Dunciad.—This afterwards occasioned a pri­vate paper-war between those writers, in which 'tis generally thought that Mr. Hill had greatly the advantage of Mr. Pope. For the particulars, the reader is referred to a shilling pamphlet lately published by Owen, containing Letters between Mr. Pope and Mr. Hill, &c.

The progress of wit begins with the eight follow­ing lines, wherein the SNEAKINGLY APPROVES affected Mr. Pope extreamly.

During their controversy, Mr. Pope seemed to express his repentance, by denying the offence he had given; thus, in one of his letters, he says,

And in another place he says,

Which paragraph was answer'd by the following in Mr. Hill's reply.

—A genteel severe reprimand.

Much about the same time he wrote another poem, called Advice to the Poets; in praise of worthy poetry, and in censure of the misapplication of poetry in general. The following lines here quoted, are the motto of it, taken from the poem.

He likewise in this piece, reproves the above named celebrated author, for descending below his genius; and in speaking of the inspiration of the Muse, he says,

In 1731 he brought his Tragedy of Athelwold upon the stage in Drury-Lane; which, as he says in his preface to it, was written on the same 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 the leaves; but without any fruit of judgment.—'’

He likewise mentions it as a folly, having began and finished Elfrid in a week; and both the differ­ence [Page 269] of time and judgment are visible in favour of the last of those performances.

That year he met the greatest shock that affliction ever gave him; in the loss of one of the most wor­thy of wives, to whom he had been married above twenty years.

The following epitaph he wrote, and purpos'd for a monument which he designed to erect over her grave.

He was a man susceptible of love, in its sublimest sense; as may be seen in that poetical description of that passion, which he has given in his poem called the Picture of Love; wrote many years ago (from whence the following two lines are taken)

About the year 1735 he was concern'd with an­other gentleman in writing a paper called the Prompter; all those mark'd with a B. were his.—This was meant greatly for the service of the stage; and many of them have been regarded in the highest manner.—But, as there was not only instruction, but reproof, the bitter, with the sweet, by some could not be relish'd.

In 1736 having translated from the French of Monsieur de Voltaire, the Tragedy of Zara, he gave it to be acted for the benefit of Mr. William [Page 270] Bond; 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 suited to; being, and looking, almost dead, as in reality he was before the run of it was over.—Soon after this play was brought upon the stage in Drury-Lane, by Mr. Fleetwood, at the earnest sollicitation of Mr. Theophilus Cibber; the part of Zara was played by Mrs. Cibber, and was her first attempt in Tragedy; of the performers therein he makes very handsome mention in the preface. This play he dedicated to his royal high­ness the Prince of Wales.

The same year was acted, at the Theatre in Lin­coln's-Inn-Fields, another Tragedy of his translat­ing from the same French author, called Alzira, which was likewise dedicated to the Prince.—His dedications generally wore a different face from those of other writers; he there most warmly re­commends Monsieur de Voltaire, as worthy of his royal highness's partiality; disclaiming for himself all expectations of his notice. But he was, notwith­standing, particularly honoured with his approba­tion.

These plays, if not a litteral translation, have been thought much better, for their having past his hands; as generously was acknowledged by Mon­sieur de Voltaire himself.

In 1737 he published a poem called, The Tears of the Muses; composed of general satire: in the address to the reader he says (speaking of satire)

[Page 271] The following year he wrote (in prose) a book called, An Enquiry into the Merit of Assassination, with a View to the Character of Caesar; and his Designs on the Roman Republic.

About this time, he in a manner left the world, (though living near so populous a part of it as Lon­don) and settled at Plaistow in Essex; where he en­tirely devoted himself to his study, family, and garden; and the accomplishment of many profitable views; particularly one, in which for years he had laboured through experiments in vain; and when he brought it to perfection, did not live to reap the benefit of it: The discovery of 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 to his grace the duke of Marlborough: Who as no name was then prefixed to it, 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 the beginning of it are the following lines,

It would be tedious to enumerate the variety of smaller pieces he at different times was author of.

His notions of the deity were boundlessly ex­tensive; and the few lines here quoted from his Poem upon faith, published in 1746, must give the best idea of his sentiments upon that most elevated of all subjects.

This year he published his Art of Acting, a Poem, deriving Rules from a new Principle, for touching the Passions in a natural Manner, &c. Which was dedicated to the Earl of Chesterfield.

Having for many years been in a manner forget­ful of the eight Books he had finished of his Epic Poem called Gideon,—in 1749 he re-perused that work, and published three of the Books; to which he gave the name of Gideon, or the Patriot.—They were inscribed to the late lord Bolingbroke; to whom he accounts as follows, for the altera­tions he had made since the first publication of two Books.

'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 several seasons, at both Theatres without [Page 273] success) his Tragedy, called Merope, was brought upon the stage in Drury-Lane by Mr. Garrick; to whom, as well as to another gentleman he like­wise highly both admired and esteemed, he was greatly obliged; and his own words (here borrowed) will shew how just a sense he had of these obliga­tions.—They begin the preface to the play.

And in relation to this Tragedy he says, after very justly censuring Monsieur de Voltaire, for re­presenting in the preface to his Merope the English as incapable of Tragedy,

'To such provoking stimulations I have owed inducement to retouch, for Mr. Voltaire's use, the characters in his high boasted Merope; and I have done it on a plan as near his own as I could bring it with a safe conscience; that is to say, without distaste to English audiences.

This he likewise dedicated to lord Bolingbroke; and was the last he ever wrote.—There is a melan­choly thread of fatal prophecy in the beginning of it; of his own approaching dissolution.

From about the time he was solliciting the bring­ing on this play, an illness seized him; from the tormenting pains of which he had scarce an hour's intermission; and after making trial of all he thought could be of service to him in medicine; he was desirous to try his native air of London (as that of Plaistow was too moist a one) but he was then past all recovery, and wasted almost to a skeleton, from some internal cause, that had produced a ge­neral decay (and was believed to have been an in­flamation in the kidneys; which his intense at­tachment to his studies might probably lay the foundation of.—When in town, he had the comfort of being honoured with the visits of the most wor­thy and esteemed among his friends; but he was not permitted many weeks to taste that blessing.

The same humane and generous Mr. Mallet, who had before aided his Merope, about this time was making inter [...]st for its being played again, for the advantage of its author:—His royal highness the prince of Wales had the great goodness to command it; and Mr. Hill just lived to express his grateful ac­knowledgments (to those about him) upon hearing of it:—But on the day before it was to be repre­sented he died, in the very minute of the earthquake, February the eighth, 1749, which he seemed sensible of, though then deprived of ut­terance. Had he lived two days longer, he had been sixty-five years old.—He endur'd a twelve­month's torment of the body with a calmness that confess'd a superiority of soul! He was interred in [Page 275] the same grave with her the most dear to him when living, in the great cloister of Westminister-Abbey, near the lord Godolphin's tomb.

It may be truly said of Mr. Hill, he was a great and general writer; and had he been possest of the estate he was intitled to, his liberality had been no less extensive than his genius. But often do we see misfortune's clouds obscure the brightest sunshine.

Besides his works which here have been enume­rated, there are several other; particularly two poems, intitled the Creation, and the Judgment-Day; which were published many years ago.—An­other in blank verse 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 his works 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 by subscription, for his family. He left one Tragedy, never yet acted; which was wrote originally about 1737, and intitled Caesar; but since, he has named it the Roman Revenge:—But as the author was avowedly a great admirer of Caesar's character, not in the light he is generally understood (that of a tyrant) but in one much more favourable, he was advised by several of the first distinction, both in rank and judgment, to make such alterations in it as should adapt it more to the general opinion; and upon that advice he in a manner new wrote the play: But as most first opinions are not easily eradicated, it has been never able to make a public trial of the success; which many of the greatest understanding have pronoun­ced it highly worthy of.—The late lord Boling­broke (in a letter wrote to the author) has called it one of the noblest drama's, that our language, or any age can boast.

[Page 276] These few little speeches are taken from the part of Caesar.

And thus speaking to Mark Anthony;

This again to Calphurnia.

THIS gentleman was born at Sittingburn in Kent, of which place his father, Mr. Peter Theobald, was an eminent attorney. His gram­matical learning he received chiefly under the revd. Mr. Ellis, at Isleworth in Middlesex, and after­wards [Page 277] applied himself to the study and practice of the 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 called the Censor, published in Mist's Weekly Journal; and by delivering his opinion with two little reserve, concerning some eminent wits, he exposed himself to their lashes, and resentment. Upon the publica­tion of Pope's Homer, he praised it in the most ex­travagant terms of admiration; but afterwards thought proper to retract his opinion, for reasons we cannot guess, and abused the very performance he had before hyperbollically praised.

Mr. Pope at first made Mr. Theobald the hero of his Dunciad, but afterwards, for reasons best known to himself, he thought proper to disrobe him of that dignity, and bestow it upon another: with what propriety we shall not take upon us to determine, but refer the reader to 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 first book of the Dunciad, Mr. Theobald, or Tibbald, as he is there called, is thus stigmatised,

He describes Mr. Theobald as making the fol­lowing address to Dulness.

In the year 1726 Mr. Theobald published a piece in octavo, called Shakespear Restored: Of this it is said, he was so vain as to aver, in one of Mist's Journals, June the 8th, ‘'That to expose any errors in it was impracticable;'’ and in an­other, April the 27th, ‘'That whatever care might for the future be taken, either by Mr. Pope, or any other assistants, he would give above five-hun­dred emendations, that would escape them all.'’

During two whole years, while Mr. Pope was preparing his edition, he published advertisements, requesting assistance, and promising satisfaction to any who would contribute to its greater perfection. But this restorer, who was at that time solliciting fa [...]ours of him, by letters, did wholly conceal that he had any such design till after its publication; which he owned in the Daily Journal of November 26, 1728: and then an outery was made, that Mr. Pope had joined with the bookseller to raise an ex­travagant subscription; in which he had no share, [Page 279] of which he had no knowledge, and against which he had publickly advertised in his own proposals for Homer.

Mr. Theobald was not only thus obnoxious to the resentment of Pope, but we find him waging war with Mr. Dennis, who treated him with more rough­ness, 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 that which he daily provokes, laughter, and contempt. Did we really know how much this poor man suffers by being contradicted, or which is the same thing in effect, by hearing an­other praised; we should in compassion sometimes attend to him with a silent nod, and let him go away with the triumphs of his ill-nature. Poor Furius, where any of his cotemporaries are spoken well of, quitting the ground of the present dis­pute, steps back a thousand years, to call in the succour of the antients. His very panegyric is spiteful, and he uses it for the same reason as some ladies do their commendations of a dead beauty, who never would have had their good word; but that a living one happened to be men­tioned in their company. His applause is not the tribute of his heart, but the sacrifice of his re­venge.'’

Mr. Dennis in resentment of this representation made of him, in his remarks on Pope's Homer, page 9. 10. thus mentions him. ‘'There is a no­torious idiot, one HIGHT WHACHUM, who from an Under-spur-leather to the law, is become an Under strapper to the play-house, who has lately burlesqued the Metamorphoses of Ovid, by a vile translation, &c. This fellow is concerned in an impertinent paper called the Censor.'’ Such was the language of Mr. Dennis, when enflamed by con­tradiction.

[Page 280] In the year 1729 Mr. Theobald introduced upon the stage a Tragedy called the Double Falsehood; the greatest part of which he asserted was Shake­spear's. Mr. Pope insinuated to the town, that it was all, or certainly the greatest part written, not by Shakespear, but Theobald himself, and quotes this line,

Which he calls a marvellous line of Theobald, ‘'unless (says he) the play called the Double False­hood be (as he would have it thought) Shake­spear's; but whether this line is his or not, he proves Shakespear to have written as bad.'’ The arguments which Mr. Theobald uses to prove the 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 him the author gave it to a bastard daugh­ter of his;—But fourthly, and above all, that he has a great mind that every thing that is good in our tongue should be Shakespear's.

This Double Falsehood was vindicated by Mr. Theobald, who was attacked again in the art of sinking in poetry. Here Mr. Theobald endeavours to prove false criticisms, want of understanding Shakespear's manner, and perverse cavelling in Mr. Pope: He justifies himself and the great dra­matic poet, and essays to prove the Tragedy in question to be in reality Shakespear's, and not un­wor [...]hy of him. We cannot set this controversy in a clearer light, than by transcribing a letter sub­joined to the Double Falsehood.

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 [Page 286] 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 a judicious collection of the beauties of Shakespear, has quoted a beautiful stroke of Mr. Theobald's, in his Double Falsehood, upon music.

A gentleman of great judgment happening to commend these lines to Mr. Theobald, he assured him he wrote them himself, and only them in the whole play.

Mr. Theobald, besides his edition of all Shake­spear's plays, in which he corrected, with great pains and ingenuity, many faults which had crept into that great poet's writings, is the author of the following dramatic pieces.

• I. The Persian Princess, or the Royal Villain; a Tragedy, acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, printed in the year 1715. The author ob­serves in his preface, this play was written and acted before he was full nineteen years old.
• II. The Perfidious Brother; a Tragedy acted at the Theatre in Little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1716. This play is written on the model of Otway's Orphan; the scene is in a private family in Brussels.
• III. Pan and Syrinx; an Opera of one act, per­formed on the Theatre in Little Lincoln's Inn-Fields, 1717.
• [Page 287] IV. Decius and Paulina, a Masque; to which is added Musical Entertainments, as performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, in the Dramatic Opera of Circe.
• V. Electra, a Tragedy; translated from the Greek of Sophocles, with notes, printed in the year 1714, dedicated to Joseph Addison, Esq
• VI. Oedipus King of Thebes; a Tragedy tran­slated from Sophocles, with notes, translated in the year 1715, dedicated to the earl of Rockingham.
• VII. Plutus, or the World's Idol; a Comedy translated from the Greek of Aristophanes, with notes, printed in the year 1715. The author has to this Translation prefixed a Discourse, contain­ing some Account of Aristophanes, 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 in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1727.
• X. The Fatal Secret; a Tragedy acted at the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden, 1725.
• XI. The Vocal Parts of an Entertainment, called Apollo and Daphne, or the Burgo-Master Trick'd; performed at the Theatre in Lincoln'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 of Life, in 1zmo. 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 celebrated author of the Fair Circassian, was son of the revd. Mr. Samuel Croxall, rector of Hanworth, Middlesex, and vicar of Wal­ton upon Thames in Surry, in the last of which places our author was born. He received his early education at Eton school, and from thence was admitted to St. John's College, Cambridge. Probably while he was at the university, he be­came enamoured of Mrs. Anna Maria Mordaunt, who first inspired his breast with love, and to whom he dedicates the poem of the Circassian, for which he has been so much distinguished. This dedication is indeed the characteristic of a youth in love, but then it likewise proves him altogether unacquainted with the world, and with that easi­ness of address which distinguishes a gentleman. A recluse scholar may be passionately in love, but he discovers it by strains of bombast, and forced allusions, of which this dedication is a very lively instance.

‘'The language of the Fair Circassian, says he, like yours, was natural poetry; her voice music, and the excellent colouring and forma­tion of her features, painting; but still, like yours, drawn by the inimitable pencil of nature, life itself; a pattern for the greatest master, but copying after none; I will not say angels are not cast in the same mould.'’ And again in ano­ther place, ‘'Pardon, O lovely deity, the presump­tion [Page 289] of this address, and favour my weak endea­vours. If my confession of your divine power is any where too faint, believe it not to proceed from a want of due respect, but of a capacity more than human. Whoever thinks of you can no longer be himself; and if he could, ought to be something above man to celebrate the ac­complishment of a goddess. To you I owe my creation as a lover, and in the beams of your beauty only I live, move, and exist. If there should be a suspension of your charms, I should fall to nothing. But it seems to be out of your power to deprive us of their kind influence: wherever you shine they fill all our hearts, and you are charming out of necessity, as the author 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 as if it were intended for a burlesque on the False Sublime, as the speeches of James I. are upon pedantry.

Mr. Croxall, who was intended for holy orders, and, probably, when he published the Circassian, had really entered into them, was cautious lest he should be known to be the author of this piece, since many divines have esteemed the Song of Solo­mon, from which it is taken, as an inspired poem, emblematic of the Messiah and the Church. Our au­thor was of another opinion, and with him almost all sensible men join, in believing that it is no more than a beautiful poem, composed by that Eastern monarch, upon some favourite lady in his Seraglio. He artfully introduces it with a preface, in which he informs us, that it was the composition of a young gentleman, his pupil, lately deceased, exe­cuted by him, while he was influenced by that vi­olent passion with which Mrs. Mordaunt inspired him. He then endeavours to ascertain who this Eastern beauty was, who had charms to enflame the heart of the royal poet. He is of opinion it [Page 290] could not be Pharaoh's daughter, as has been com­monly conjectured, because the bride in the Can­ticles is characterised as a private person, a shep­herdess, one that kept a vineyard, and was ill used by her mother's children, all which will a­gree very well with somebody else, but cannot, without great straining, be drawn to sit the Egyp­tian Princess. He then proceeds, ‘'seeing we have so good reason to conclude that it was not Pharaoh's daughter, we will next endeavour to shew who she was: and here we are destitute of all manner of light, but what is afforded us by that little Arabian manuscript, mentioned in the Philosophical Transactions of Amsterdam, 1558, said to be found in a marble chest among the ruins of Palmyra, and presented to the universi­ty of Leyden by Dr. Hermanus Hoffman. The contents of which are something in the nature of Memoirs of the Court of Solomon; giving a sufficient account of the chief offices and posts in his houshold; of the several funds of the royal revenue; of the distinct apartments of his pa­lace there; of the different Seraglios, being fif­ty two in number in that one city. Then there is an account given of the Sultanas; their man­ner of treatment and living; their birth and country, with some touches of their personal en­dowments, how long they continued in favour, and what the result was of the King's fondness for each of them. Among these, there is par­ticular mention made of a slave of more exceed­ing beauty than had ever been known before; at whose appearance the charms of all the rest vanished like stars before the morning sun; that the King cleaved to her with the strongest af­fection, and was not seen out of the Seraglio, where she was kept, for about a month. That she was taken captive, together with her mother, out of a vineyard, on the Coast of Circassia, [Page 291] 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 of Palmyra, which, in the Hebrew tongue, is called Tadmor; which, without further particulars, are sufficient to convince us that this was the charming per­son, sung with so much rapture by the Royal poet, and in the recital of whose amour he seems so transported. For she speaks of herself as one that kept a vineyard, and her mother's introducing her in one of the gardens of plea­sure (as it seems she did at her first presenting her to the King) is here distinctly mentioned. The manuscript further takes notice, that she was called Saphira, from the heavenly blue of her eyes.'’

Notwithstanding the caution with which Mr. Croxall published the Fair Circassian, yet it was some years after known to be his. The success it met with, which was not indeed above its desert, was perhaps too much for vanity (of which authors are seldom entirely divested) to resist, and he might be betrayed into a confession, from that powerful principle, of what otherwise would have remained concealed.

Some years after it was published, Mr. Cragg, one of the ministers of the city of Edinburgh, gave the world a small volume of spiritual poems, in one of which he takes occasion to complain of the prostitution of genius, and that few poets have ever turned their thoughts towards religious subjects; and mentions the author of the Circassian with great indignation, for having prosti­tuted his Muse to the purposes of lewdness, in con­verting the Song of Solomon (a work, as he thought it, of sacred inspiration) into an amorous dialogue between a King and his mistress. His words are,

The revd. gentleman met with some remonstrances from his friends, for indulging so splenetic a tem­per, when he was writing in the cause of religion, as to wish any man accursed. Of this censure he was not insensible; 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, he meant not the man, but the author, which are two very di­stinct considerations; for an author may be ac­cursed, that is, damned to same, while the man may be in as fair a way to happiness as any body; but, continues he, I should not have ex­pected such prophanation from a clergyman.

The Circassian, however, is a beautiful poem, the numbers are generally smooth, and there is a tender delicacy in the dialogue, though greatly in­ferior to the noble original.

Mr. Croxall had not long quitted the university, e'er he was instituted to the living of Hampton in Middlesex; and afterwards to the united parishes of St. Mary Somerset, and St. Mary Mounthaw, in the city of London, both which he held 'till his death. He was also chancellor, prebend, and canon residentiary and portionist of the church of Hereford. Towards the latter end of the reign of Queen Anne he published two original Cantos, in imitation of Spenser's Fairy Queen, which were meant as a satire on the earl of Oxford's admi­nistration. In the year 1715 he addressed a poem to the duke of Argyle, upon his obtaining a Victory over the Rebels, and the same year publish­ed The Vision, a poem, addressed to the earl of [Page 293] Halifax. He was concerned, with many others, in the translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, of which the following were performed by him:

• The Story of Nisus and Scylla, from the sixth Book.
• The Labyrinth, and Daedalus 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 the thirteenth Book.

He likewise performed an entire Translation of Aesop's Fables.

Subjoined to the Fair Circassian are several Poems addressed to Sylvia; Naked Truth, from the second Book of Ovid's Fastorum; Heathen Priestcraft, 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 of a curious work, in one Volume Octavo, entitled Scripture Politics: being a view of the original constitution, and sub­sequent revolutions in the government of that peo­ple, out of whom the Saviour of the World was to arise: As it is contained in the Bible.

In consequence of his strong attachment to the Whig interest, he was made archdeacon of Salop 1732, and chaplain in ordinary to his present Majesty.

As late as the year 1750, Dr. Croxall pub­lished a poem called The Royal Manual, in the preface to which he endeavours to shew, that it was composed by Mr. Andrew Marvel, and found amongst his MSS. but the proprietor declares, that it was written by Dr. Croxall himself. This was the last of his performances, for he died the year following, in a pretty advanced age. His abilities, as a poet, we cannot better display, than by the specimen we are about to quote.

THE celebrated translater of Virgil, was born in the year 1699. He received his ea [...]ly education in the college near Winchester; and in 1719 was removed from thence to new col­lege in Oxford. When he had studied there four years, he was preferred to the living of Pimperne in Dorsetshire, by his friend and relation, Mr. George Pitt; which he held during the remaining part of his life. While he was at the university, he possessed the affection and esteem of all who knew him; and was particularly distinguished by that great poet Dr. Young, who so much admired the early dis­pl [...]s of his genius, that with an engaging fami­liarity he used to call him his son.

Amongst the first of Mr. Pitt's performances which saw the light, were a panegyrie on lord Stan­hope, and a poem on the Plague of Marseilles: But he had two large Folio's of MS. Poems, very fairly written ou [...], while he was a school-boy, which at the time of election were delivered to the examiners. One of these volumes contained an entire translation of Lucan; and the other consisted of Miscellaneous pieces. Mr. Pitt's Lucan has never been published; perhaps from the consideration of its being the pro­duction of his early life, or from a consciousness of its not equalling the translation of that author by Rowe, who executed this task in the meri­dian of his genius. Several of his other pieces were published afterwards, in his volume of Mis­cellaneous Poems.

[Page 299] The ingenious writer of the Student hath o­bliged the world by inserting in that work several original pieces by Mr. Pitt; whose name is prefixed to them.

Next to his beautiful Translation of Virgil, Mr. Pitt gained the greatest reputation by rendering into English, Vida's Art of Poetry, which he has exe­cuted with the strictest attention to the author's sense, with the utmost elegance of versification, and without suffering the noble spirit of the original to be lost in his translation.

This amiable poet died in the year 1748, with­out leaving one enemy behind 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 treated Dryden's translation of Virgil with great contempt, was yet charmed with that by Mr. Pitt, and found in it some beauties, of which he was fond even to a degree of en­thusiasim. Alliteration is one of those beauties Mr. Benson so much admired, and in praise of which he has a long dissertation in his letters on translated verse. He once took an opportunity, in conversation with Mr. Pitt, to magnify that beauty, and to compliment him upon it. Mr. Pitt thought this article far less considerable than Mr. Benson did; but says he, ‘'since you are so fond of alliteration, the following couplet upon Cardinal Woolsey will not displease 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 so beautifully exemplified, which it certainly is, without any affectation or stiffness.

[Page 300] Waller thought this a beauty; and Dryden was very fond of it. Some late writers, under the no­tion of imitating these two great versifiers in this point, run into downright affectation, and are g [...]ilty of the most improper and ridiculous expres­sions, p [...]ovided there be but an alliteration. It is very remarkable, that an affectation of this beauty is ridiculed by Shakespear, in Love's Labour Lost, Act II. where the 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 alliteration is ridiculed too in Chaucer, in a passage which every reader does not understand.

The Ploughman's Tale is written, in some mea­sure, in imitation of Pierce's Ploughman's Visions; and runs chiefly upon some one letter, or at least many stanza's have this affected iteration, as

When the Parson therefore in his order comes to tell his tale, which reflected on the clergy, he says,

Ever since the publication of Mr. Pitt's version of the Aeneid, the learned world has been divided concerning the just proportion of merit, which ought [Page 301] to be ascribed to it. Some have made no scruple in defiance of 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. This per­haps, will be best discovered by producing a few shining passages of the Aeneid, translated by these two great masters.

In biographical writing, the first and most essential principal is candour, which no reverence for the m [...]mory of the dead, nor affection for the virtues of the living should violate. The impartiality which we have endeavoured to observe through this work, obliges us to declare, that so far as our judgment may be trusted, the latter poet has done most justice to Virgil; that he shines in Pitt with a lustre, which Dryden wanted not power, but leisure to bestow; and a reader, from Pitt's version, will both acquire a more intimate knowledge of Virgil's meaning, and a more exalted idea of his abilities.—Let not this detract from the high representations we have en­deavoured in some other places to make of Dryden. When he undertook Virgil, he was stooping with age, oppressed with wants, and conflicting with in­firmities. In this situation, it was no wonder that much of his vigour was lost; and we ought rather to admire the amazing force of genius, which was so little depressed under all these calamities, than industriously to dwell on his imperfections.

Mr. Spence in one of his chapters on Allegory, in his Polymetis, has endeavoured to shew, how very little our poets have understood the allegories of the antients, even in their translations of them; and has instanced Mr. Dryden's translation of the Aeneid, as he thought him one of our most celebrated poets. The mistakes are very numerous, and some of them unaccountably gross. Upon this, [Page 302] says Mr. Warton, ‘"I was desirous to examine Mr. Pitt's translation of the same passages; and was surprized to find near fifty instances which Mr. Spence has given of Dryden's mistakes of that kind, when Mr. Pitt had not sallen into above three or four."’ Mr. Warton then pro­duces some instances, which we shall not here transcribe, as it will be more entertaining to our readers to have a few of the most shining passages compared, in which there is the highest room for rising to a blaze of poetry.

There are few strokes in the whole Aeneid, which have been more admired than Virgil's description of the Lake of Avernus, Book VI.

The next instance we shall produce, in which, as in the former, Mr. Pitt has greatly exceeded Dry­den, is taken from Virgil's description of Elysium, which says Dr. Trap is so charming, that it is al­most Elysium to read it.

In the celebrated description of the swiftness of Camilla in the VIIth Aeneid, which Virgil has la­boured with so much industry, Dryden is more equal to Pitt than in the foregoing instances, tho' we think even in this he falls short of him.

[Page 306] 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 is the celebrated simile in the XIth Book, when the siery eagerness of Turnus panting for the battle, is re­sembled to that of a Steed; which is perhaps one of the most picturesque beauties in the whole Aeneid.

[Page 307] From the above specimens, our readers may determine for themselves to whose translation they would give the preference. Critics, like historians, should divest themselves of prejudice: they should never be misguided by the authority of a great name, nor yield that tribute to prescription, which is only due to merit. Mr. Pitt, no doubt, had many advantages above Dryden in this arduous province: As he was later in the attempt, he had consequently the version of Dryden to improve up­on. He saw the errors of that great poet, and avoided them; he discovered his beauties, and im­proved upon them; and as he was not impelled by necessity, he had leisure to revise, correct, and finish his excellent work.

The Revd. and ingenious Mr. Joseph Warton has given to the world a compleat edition of Virgil's works made English. The Aeneid by Mr. Pitt: The Eclogues, Georgics, and notes on the whole, by himself; with some new observations by Mr. Holdsworth, Mr. Spence, and others. This is the compleatest English dress, in which Virgil ever ap­peared. It is enriched with a dissertation on the VIth Book of the Aeneid, by Warburton. On the Shield of Aeneas, by Mr. William Whitehead. On the Character of Japis, by the late Dr. Atterbury bishop of Rochester; and three Essays on Pastoral, Didactic, and Epic Poetry, by Mr. Warton.

THIS Gentleman, known to the world by the Love Elegies, which some years after his death were published by the Earl of Chesterfield, was the son of a Turkey merchant, in the city of [Page 308] London. We cannot ascertain where he received his education; but it does not appear that he was at any of the universities. Mr. Hammond was early preferred to a place about the person of the late Prince of Wales, which he held till an unfortunate accident stript him of his reason, or at least so affected his imagination, that his senses were greatly disor­dered. The unhappy cause of his calamity was a passion he entertained for one Miss Dashwood, which proved unsuccessful. Upon this occasion it was that he wrote his Love Elegies, which have been much celebrated for their tenderness. The lady either could not return his passion with a recip [...]o­cal fondness, or entertained too ambitious views to settle her affections upon him, which he himself in some of his Elegies seems to hint; for he frequently mentions her passion for gold and splendour, and justly treats it as very unworthy a fair one's bosom. The chief beauty of these Elegies certainly consists in their being written by a man who intimately felt the subject; for they are more the language of the heart than of the head. They have warmth, but little poetry, and Mr. Hammond seems to have been 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 him with a particular intimacy. The editor of Mr. Hammond's Elegies observes, that he composed them before he was 21 years of age; a period, says he, when fancy and imagination commonly riot at the expence of judgment and correctness. He was sincere in his love, as in his friendship; he wrote to his mistress, as he spoke to his friends, nothing but the true genuine senti­ments of his heart. Tibullus seems to have been the model our author judiciously preferred to Ovid; [Page 309] the former writing directly from the heart to the heart, the latter too often yielding and addressing himself to the imagination.

As a specimen of Mr. Hammond's turn for Elegiac Poetry, we shall quote his third Elegy, in which he upbraids and threatens the avarice of Neaera, and resolves to quit her.

THIS poet was the son of Mr. John Banks of Sunning in Berkshire, in which place he was born in 1709. His father dying while our author was very young, the care of his education devolved upon an uncle in law, who placed him at a private school, under the tuition of one Mr. Belpene, an Anabaptist. This schoolmaster, so far from encouraging young Banks to make a great progress in classical learning, exerted his influence with his relations to have him taken from school, and represented him as incapable of receiving much erudition. This conduct in Mr. Belpene proceeded from an early jealousy imbibed against this young man, who, so far from being dull, as the school-master represented him, possessed ex­traordinary parts, of which he gave very early proofs.

Mr. Belpene was perhaps afraid, that as soon as Mr. Banks should finish his education, he would be preferred to him as minister to the congregation of Anabaptists, which place he enjoyed, indepen­dent of his school. The remonstrances of Mr. Belpene prevailed with Mr. Banks's uncle, who took him from school, and put him apprentice to a Weaver at Reading. Before the expiration of the apprenticeship, Mr. Banks had the misfortune to break his arm, and by that accident was dis­qualified from pursuing the employment to which he was bred. How early Mr. Banks began to write we cannot determine, but probably the first sallies of his wit were directed against this school­master, [Page 311] by whom he was injuriously treated, and by whose unwarrantable jealousy his education, in some measure, was ruined. Our author, by the accident already mentioned, being rendered unfit to obtain a livelihood, by any mechanical employ­ment, was in a situation deplorable enough. His uncle was either unable, or unwilling to assist him, or, perhaps, as the relation between them was only collateral, he had not a sufficient degree of tenderness for him, to make any efforts in his favour. In this perplexity of our young poet's affairs, ten pounds were left him by a relation, which he very oeconomically improved to the best advantage. He came to London, and purchasing a parcel of old books, he set up a stall in Spital-Fields.

Much about this time Stephen Duck, who had wrote a poem called The Thresher, reaped very great advantages from it, and was caressed by persons in power, who, in imitation of the Royal patroness, heaped favours upon him, perhaps more on account of the extraordinary regard Queen Caroline had shewn him, than any opinion of his merit. Mr. Banks considered that the success of Mr. Duck was certainly owing to the peculiarity of his circumstances, and that the novelty of a thresher writing verses, was the ge­nuine cause of his being taken notice of, and not any intrinsic excellence in the verses themselves. This re­flexion inspired him with a resolution of making an effort of the same kind; but as curiosrty was no more to be excited by novelty, the attempt was without success. He wrote, in imitation of The Thresher, The Weaver's Miscellany, which failed producing the intended effect, and, 'tis said, ne­ver was reckoned by Mr. Banks himself as any way worthy of particular distinction. His business of selling books upon a stall becoming disagreea­ble to him, as it demanded a constant and uncom­fortable attendance, he quitted that way of life, [Page 312] and was received into the shop of one Mr. Mon­tague a bookbinder, and bookseller, whom he served some time as a journeyman. During the time he lived with Mr. Montague, he employed his leisure hours in composing several poems, which were now swelled to such a number, that he might sollicit a subscription for them with a good grace. He had taken care to improve his acquaintance, and as he had a power of distinguishing his company, he found his interest higher in the world than he had imagined. He addressed a poem to Mr. Pope, which he transmitted to that gentleman, with a copy of his proposals inclosed. Mr. Pope answer­ed his letter, and the civilities contained in it, by subscribing for two setts of his poems, and 'tis said he wrote to Mr. Banks the following compliment,

The publication of these poems, while they, no doubt, enhanced his interest, added likewise some­thing to his reputation; and quitting his employ­ment 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, which was very acceptable to the public, and was executed with much piety and precision.

Mr. Banks's next prose work, of any considerable length, was A Critical Review of the Life of Oliver Cromwell. We have already taken notice that he received his education among the Anabaptists, and consequently was attached to those principles, and a favourer of that kind of constitution which Cromwell, in the first period of his power, meant to establish. Of the many Lives of this great man, with which the biography of this nation has been augmented, perhaps not one is written with a true dispassionate candour. Men are divided in their sentiments concerning the measures which, at that critical Aera, [Page 313] were pursued by contending factions. The writers, who have undertaken to review those unhappy times, have rather struggled to defend a party, to which they may have been swayed by education or interest, than, by stripping themselves of all partiality, to dive to the bottom of contenti­ons in search of truth. The heats of the Ci­vil War produced such animosities, that the fervour which then prevailed, communicated itself to p [...] ­sterity, and, though at the distance of a hundred years, has not yet subsided. It will be no wonder then if Mr. Banks's Review is not sound altoge­ther impartial. 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 pronounce him a champion for liberty, and the latter would declare him a sub­verter of truth, an enemy to monarchy, and a friend to that chaos which Oliver in [...]roduced.

Mr. Banks, by his early principles, was, no doubt, biassed to the Whig interest, and, perhaps, it may be true, that in tracing the actions of Cromwell, he may have dwelt with a kind of increasing pleasure on the bright side of his character, and but slightly hinted at those facts on which the other party fasten, when they mean to traduce him as a pa [...]ricide and an usurper. But supposing the allegation to be true, Mr. Banks, in this par­ticular, has only discovered the common failing of humanity: prejudice and partiality being blemishes from which the mind of man, perhaps, can never be entirely purged.

Towards the latter end of Mr. Banks's life, he was employed in writing two weekly news-papers, the Old England, and the Westminster Journals. Those papers treated chiefly on the politics of the times, and the trade and navigation of England. They were carried on by our author, without of­fence [Page 314] to any party, with an honest regard to the public interest, and in the same kind of spirit, that works of that sort generally are. These papers are yet continued by other hands.

Mr. Banks had from nature very considerable abilities, and his poems deservedly hold the second rank. They are printed in two volumes 8vo. Be­sides the poems contained in these volumes, there are several other poetical pieces of his scattered in news-papers, and other periodical works to which he was an occasional contributer. He had the talent of relating a tale humorously in verse, and his graver poems have both sorce of thinking, and elegance of numbers to recommend them.

Towards the spring of the year 1751 Mr. Banks, who had long been in a very indifferent state of health, visibly declined. His disorder was of a nervous sort, which he bore with great pa­tience, and even with a chearful resignation. This spring proved fatal to him; he died on the 19th of April at his house at Islington, where he had lived several years in easy circumstances, by the produce of his pen, without leaving one enemy be­hind him.

Mr. Banks was a man of real good nature, of an easy benevolent disposition, and his friends e [...]er esteemed him as a most agreeable com­panion. He had none of the petulance, which too frequentl renders men of genius unaccept­able to their acquaintance. He was of so com­posed a temper, that he was seldom known to be in a passion, and he wore a perpetual chearful­ness in his countenance. He was rather bashful, than forward; his address did not qualify him for gay company, and though he poss [...]ssed a very extensive knowledge of things, yet, as he had not [Page 315] much grace of delivery, or elegance of manner, he could not make so good a figure in conversation, as many persons of less knowledge, with a happier appearance. Of all authors Mr. Banks was the farthest removed from envy or malevolence. As he could not bear the least whisper of detraction, so he was never heard to express uneasiness at the growing reputation of another; nor was he ever engaged in literary contests. We shall conclude this 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 ^*.'’

THIS unfortunate poetess, the circumstances of whose life, written by herself, have lately entertained the public, was born in the year 1712. She was the daughter of Dr. Van I ewen, a gen­tleman of Dutch extraction; who settled in Dublin. Her mother was descended of an ancient and ho­nourable family, who have frequently intermarried with the nobility.

Mrs. Pilkington, from her earliest infancy, had a st ong disposition to letters, and particularly to poetry. All her leisure hours were dedicated to the muses; from a reader she quickly became a writer, and, as Mr. Pope expresses it,

Her performances were considered as extraordi­nary for her years, and drew upon her the admi­ration [Page 316] of many, who found more pleasure in her conversation, than that of girls generally affords. In consequence of a poetical genius, and an en­gaging sprightliness peculiar to her, she had many wooers, some of whom seriously addressed her, while others meant no more than the common gal­lantries of young people. After the usual ceremo­ny of a courtship, she became the wife of Mr. Matthew Pilkington, a gentleman in holy orders, and well known in the poetical world by his vo­lume of Miscellanies, revised by dean Swift. As we have few materials for Mrs. Pilkington's life, beside those furnished by herself in her Memoirs published in 1749, our readers must depend upon her veracity for some facts which we may be obliged to mention, upon her sole authority.

Our poetess, says she, had not been long married, e'er Mr. Pilkington became jealous, not of her per­son, but her understanding. She was applauded by dean Swift, and many other persons of taste; every compliment that was paid her, gave a mor­tal stab to his peace. Behold the difference between the lover and the husband! When Mr. Pilkington courted her, he was not more enamoured of her person, than her poetry, he shewed her verses to every body in the enthusiasm of admiration; but now he was become a husband, it was a kind of treason for a wife to pretend to literary accom­plishments.

It is certainly true, that when a woman happens to have more understanding than her husband, she should be very industrious to conceal it; but it is likewise true, that the natural vanity of the sex is 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 who possesses it, can cease to speak. Mr. Pilkington began to view her with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, and in this situation, nothing but mis [...]ry was likely to be their lot. While these jealousies subsisted, Mr. Pilking­ton, [Page 317] contrary to the advice of his friends, went in­to England, in order to serve as chaplain to al­derman Barber during his mayoralty of the city of London.

While he remained in London, and having the strange humour of loving his wife best at a di­stance, he wrote her a very kind letter, in which he informed her, that her verses were like herself, full of elegance and beauty ^*; that Mr. Pope and others, to whom he had shewn them, longed to see the writer, and that he heartily wished her in Lon­don. This letter set her heart on flame. London has very attractive charms to most young people, and it cannot be much wondered at if Mrs. Pil­kington should take the only opportunity she was ever likely to have, of gratifying her curiosity: which however proved fatal to her; for though we cannot find, that during this visit to London, her conduct was the least reproachable, yet, upon her return to Ireland; she underwent a violent persecution of tongues. They who envied her abilities, fastened now upon her morals; they were industrious to trace the motives of her going to London; her behaviour while she was there; and insinuated suspicions a­gainst her chastity. These detracters were chiefly of her own sex, who supplied by the bitterest ma­lice what they wanted in power.

Not long after this an accident happened, which threw Mrs. Pilkington's aff [...]irs into the utmost con­fusion. Her father was stabbed, as she has related, by an accident, but many people in Dublin be­lieve, by his own wife, though some say, by his own hand. Upon this melancholy occasion, Mrs. Pilkington has given an account of her father, which places her in a very amiable light. She discovered for him the most filial tender­ness; she watched [...]ound his bed, and seems to have been the only relation then about him, who [Page 318] deserved his blessing. From the death of her fa­ther her sufferings begin, and the subsequent part of her life is a continued series of misfortunes.

Mr. Pilkington having now no expectation of a fortune by her, threw off all reserve in his beha­viour to her. While Mrs. Pilkington was in the country 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 he long wait­ing for an occasion of parting with her. The story of their separation may be found at large in her Memoirs. The substance is, that she was so indiscreet as to permit a gentleman to be found in her bed-chamber at an unseasonable hour; for which she makes this apology. ‘'Lovers of learn­ing I am sure will pardon me, as I solemnly de­clare, it was the attractive charms of a new book, which the gentleman would not lend me, but consented to stay till I read it through, that was the sole motive of my detaining him.'’ This indeed is a poor evasion; and as Mrs. Pilkington has said no more in favour of her innocence, they must have great charity indeed with whom she can stand exculpated.

While the gentleman was with her, the servants let in twelve men at the kitchen window, who, though they might, as she avers, have opened the chamber door, chose rather to break it to pieces, and took both her and the gentleman prisoners. Her husband now told her, that she must turn out of doors; and taking hold of her hand, made a present of it to the gentleman, who could not in honour refuse to take her, especially as his own liberty was to be pro­cured upon no other terms. It being then two o'clock in the morning, and not knowing where to steer, she went home with her gallant: but she sincerely assures us, that neither of them entertain­ed a thought of any thing like love, but sat like statues 'till break of day.

[Page 319] The gentleman who was found with her, was obliged to fly, leaving a letter and five guineas in­closed in it for her. She then took a lodging in some obscure street, where she was persecuted by infamous women, who were panders to men of fortune.

In the mean time Mr. Pilkington carried on a vi­gorous prosecution against her in the Spiritual Court; during which, as she says, he solemnly declared, he would allow her a maintainance, if she never gave him any opposition: but no sooner had he obtained a s [...]paration, than he retracted every word he had said on that subject. Upon this she was advised to lodge an appeal, and as every one whom he consult­ed, assured him he would be cast, he made a propo­sal of giving her a small annuity, and thirty pounds ^* in money; which, in regard to her children, she chose to accept, rather than ruin their father. She was with child at the time of her separatior, and when her labour came on, the woman where she lodged insisted upon doubling her rent: where­upon she was obliged to write 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 hopes of getting rid of her, sent her nine pounds. She was the more desirous to leave Ireland, as she found her character sinking every day with the public. When she was on board the yacht, a gen­tleman of figure in the gay world took an op­portunity of making love to her, which she re­jected with some indignation. ‘'Had I (said she) accepted the offers he made me, poverty had ne­ver approached me. I dined with him at Park­gate, and I hope virtue will be rewarded; for though I had but five guineas in the world to car­ry [Page 320] me to London, I yet possessed chastity enough to refase fifty 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 almost prophetic.' ‘"Well, madam, said he, you do not know London; you will be un­done there."’ ‘"Why, sir, said I, I hope you don't imagine I will go into a bad course of life?"’ ‘"No, madam, said he, but I think you will sit in your chamber and starve;"’ which, upon my word. I have been pretty near doing; and but that the Almighty raised me one wor­thy friend, good old Mr. Cibber, to whose hu­manity I am indebted, under God, both for li­berty and life, I had been quite lost.'’

When Mrs. Pilkington arrived in London, her conduct was the reverse of what prudence would have dictated. She wanted to get into fa­vour with the 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 might arise from some poems she intended to pub­lish by subscription. In this place she attracted the notice of the company frequenting White's Chocolate-House; and her story, by means of Mr. Cibber, was made known to persons of the first distinction, who, upon his recommendation, were kind to her.

Her acquaintance with Mr. Cibber began by a present she made him of The Trial of Constancy, a poem of hers, which Mr. D [...]dsley published. Mr. Cibber, upon this, visited her, and, ever after, with the most unwearied zeal, promoted her in­terest. The reader cannot expect that we should swell this volume by a minute relation of all the incidents which happened to her, while she con­tinued a poetical mendicant. She has not, with­out pride, related all the little tattle which passed between her and persons of distinction, who, [Page 321] through the abundance of their idleness, thought proper to trifle an hour with her.

Her virtue seems now to have been in a declin­ing state; at least, her behaviour was such, that a man must have extraordinary faith, who can think her innocent. She has told us, in the second volume of her Memoirs, that she received from a noble person a present of fifty pounds. This, she says, was the ordeal, or fiery trial; youth, beauty, no­bility of birth, attacking at once the most desolate person in the world. However, we find her soon after this thrown into great distress, and making various applications to persons of distinction for subscriptions to her poems. Such as favoured her by subscribing, she had repaid with most lavish en­comiums, and those that withheld that proof of their bounty, she has sacrificed o [...]her resentment, by exhibiting them in 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 be cen­sured for want of decency. There might be ma­ny reasons, why a person benevolent in his nature, might yet refuse to subseribe to her; but, in gene­ral, such as refused, did it (as she says) in a rude manner, and she was more piqued at their defi­ciency in complaisance to her, than their want of generosity. Complaisance is easily shewn; it may be done without expence; it often procures admirers, and can never make an enemy. On the other hand, benevolence itself, accompanied with a bad grace, may lay us under obligations, but can never command our affection. It is said of King Charles I. that he bestowed his bounty with so bad a grace, that he disobliged more by giving, than his son by refusing; and we have heard of a gentleman of great parts, who went to Newgate with a greater satisfaction, as the judge who committed him accompanied the [Page 322] sentence with an apology and a compliment, than he received from his releasment by another, who, in extending the King's mercy to him, allayed the Roy­al clemency 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 attendance up­on the great: her characters are naturally, some­times justly, and often strikingly, exhibited. The incidents of her life while she remained in London were not very important, though she has related them with all the advantage they can admit of. They are such as commonly happen to poets in distress, though it does not often fall out, that the insolence of wealth meets with such a bold re­turn as this lady has given it. 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 his abilities. Some knowledge of the world may be gained from reading her Me­moirs; the d [...]fferent humours of mankind she has shewn to the life, and whatever was ridiculous in the characters she met with, is exposed in very lively terms.

The next scene which opens in Mrs. Pilking­ton's l [...]fe, is the [...]rison of the Marshalsea. The horrors and misenes of this jail she has patheti­cally described, in such a manner as should affect the heart [...]f every rigid creditor. In favour of her sellow-prisoners, she wrote a very moving memo­rial, which, we are told, excited the legislative power to grant an Act of Grace for them. Af­ter our poetess had remained nine weeks in this prison, the was at last released by the goodness of Mr. Cibber, from whose representation of her distress, no less than sixteen dukes contributed a guinea apiece towards her enlargement. When this news was brought her, she fainted away with excess of joy. Some time after she had tasted li­berty, [Page 323] she began to be weary of that continued attendance upon the great; and therefore was re­solved, if ever she was again favoured with a com­petent sum, to turn it into trade, and quit the precarious life of a poetical mendicant. Mr. Cib­ber had five guineas in reserve for her, which, with ten more she received from the duke of Marlborough, enabled her to take a shop in St. James's Street, which she filled with pamphlets and prints, as being a business better suited to her taste and abilities, than any other. Her adventures, while she remained a shopkeeper, are not extreme­ly important. She has neglected to inform us how long she continued behind the counter, but has told us, however, that by the liberality of her friends, and the bounty of her subscrib­ers, she was set above want, and that the autumn of her days was like to be spent in peace and serenity.

But whatever were her prospects, she lived not long to enjoy the comforts of competence, for on the 29th of August, 1750, a few years after the publication of her second volume, she died at Dublin, in the thirty ninth year of her age.

Considered as a writer, she holds no mean rank. She was the author of The Turkish Court, or The London Apprentice, acted at the theatre in Caple-street, Dublin, 1748, but never printed. This piece was poorly performed, otherwise it promised to have given great satisfac­tion. The first act of her tragedy of the Roman Father, is no ill specimen of her talents that way, and throughout her Memoirs there are scattered many beautiful little pieces, written with a true spirit of poetry, though under all the disadvantages that wit can suffer. Her memory seems to have been amazingly great, of which her being able to re­peat almost all Shakespear is an astonishing instance.

One of the prettiest of her poetical perform­ances, is the following Address to the reverend [Page 324] Dr. Hales, with whom she became acquainted at the house of captain Mead, near Hampton-Court.

THIS eminent poet was born in Dublin, on the year of the Restoration of Charles the Ild, and received his early education at the university there. In the 18th year of his age, he quitted Ire­land, and as his intention was to pursue a lucrative profession, he entered himself in the Middle-Temple. But the natural vivacity of his mind overcoming considerations of advantage, he quitted that state of life, and entered into the more agreeable service of the Muses ^*.

The first dramatic performance of Mr. Southern, his Persian Prince, or Loyal Brother, was acted in the year 1682. The story is taken from Thamas Prince of Persia, a Novel; and the scene is laid in Ispahan in Persia. This play was introduced at a time when the Tory interest was triamphant in Eng­land, and the character of the Loyal Brother was no doubt intended to compliment James Duke of York, who afterwards rewarded the poet for his service. To this Tragedy Mr. Dryden wrote the Prologue and Epilogue, which furnished Mr. Southern with an opportunity of saying in his dedi­cation, ‘'That the Laureat's own pen secured me, maintaining the 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 whether considered as a party libel, or an induction to a new play, is in every respect un­worthy of the great hand that wrote it. His next [Page 327] play was a Comedy, called the Disappointment, or the Mother in Fashion; performed in the year 1684.—After the accession of king James the IId to the throne, when the duke of Monmouth made an un­fortunate attempt upon his uncle's crown, Mr. Southern went into the army, in the regiment of foot raised 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, he wrote a Tragedy called the Spartan Dame, which however was not acted till the year 1721. The subject is taken from the Life of Agis in Plutarch, where the character of Chelonis, between the duties of a wife and daughter was thought to have a near resemblance to that of King William's Queen Mary. ‘'I began this play, says Mr. Southern, a year before the Revolution, and near four acts written without any view. Many things interfering with those times, I laid by what I had written for seventeen years: I shewed it then to the late duke of Devonshire, who was in every regard a judge; he told me he saw no rea­son why it might not have been acted the year of the Revolution: I then finished it, and as I thought cut out the exceptionable parts, but could not get it acted, 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 I found it must pine in obscurity without it, I consented to the operation, and after the amputation of every line, very near to the number of 400, it stands on its own legs still, and by the favour of the town, and indulging assistance of friends, has come suc­cessfully forward on the stage.'’ This play was inimitably acted. Mr. Booth, Mr. Wilks, Mr. Cibber, Mr. Mills, sen. Mrs. Oldsield, and Mrs. Porter, all performed in it, in their heighth of re­putation, and the full vigour of their powers.

[Page 328] Mr. Southern acknowledges in his preface to this play, that the last scene of the third Act, was al­most all written by the honourable John Stafford, father to the earl of Stafford. Mr. Southern has like­wise acknowledged, that he received from the book­seller, as a price for this play, 150 l. which at that time was very extraordinary. He was the first who raised the advantage of play writing to a second and third night, which Mr. Pope mentions in the fol­lowing manner,

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, which were generally well received by the public. Mr. Dry­den's price for a Prologue had usually been five guineas, with which sum Mr. Southern presented 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 too little, I must have ten guineas.'’ Mr. Southern on this observ'd, that his 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 I must have ten guineas ^*.'’

Mr. Southern was industrious to draw all imagin­able profits from his poetical labours. Mr. Dryden once took occasion to ask him how much he got by one of his plays; to which he answered, that he was really ashamed to inform him. But Mr. Dryden being a little importunate to know, he plainly told him, that by his last play he cleared seven hundred pounds; which appeared astonishing to Mr. Dryden, [Page 329] as he himself had never been able to acquire more than one hundred by any of his most successful pieces. The secret is, Mr. Southern was not be­neath the drudgery of sollicitation, and often sold his tickets at a very high price, by making applica­tions to persons of distinction: a degree of servility which perhaps Mr. Dryden thought was much be­neath the dignity of a poet; and too much in the chara [...]ter of an under-player..

That Mr. Dryden entertained a very high, opinion of our author's abilities, appears from his many expressions of kindness towards him. He has prefixed a copy of verses to a Comedy of his, called the Wife's Excuse, acted in the year 1692, with very indifferent success: Of this Comedy, Mr. Dryden had so high an opinion, that he bequeathed to our poet, 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 to be so considerable a trust, that all the town will pardon me for defending this play, that preferred me to it.'’

Our author continued from time to time to enter­tain the public with his dramatic pieces, the great­est part of which met with the success they deserved. The night on which his Innocent Adultery was first acted, which is perhaps the most moving play in any language; a gentleman took occasion to ask Mr. Dryden, what was his opinion of Southern's genius? to which that great poet replied, ‘'That he thought him such another poet as Otway.'’ When this reply was communicated to Mr. Southern, he considered it as a very great compliment, having no ambition to be thought a more considerable poet than Otway was.

Of our author's Comedies, none are in posses­sion of the stage, nor perhaps deserve to be so; for in that province he is less excellent than in Tragedy. The present Laureat, who is perhaps [Page 330] one of the best judges of Comedy now living, be­ing ask [...]d his opinion by a gentleman, of Southern's comic dialogue, answered, That it might be deno­minated Whip-Syllabub, that is, flashy and light, but indurable; and as it is without the Sal Atti­cum of wit, can never much delight the intelligent part of the audience.

The most finished, and the most pathetic of Mr. Southern's plays, in the opinion of the critics, is his Oroonoko, or the Royal Slave. This drama is built upon a true story, related by Mrs. Behn, in a Novel; and has so much the greater influence on the audience, as they are sensible that the represen­tation is no fiction. In this piece, Mr. Southern has touched the tender passions with so much skill, that it will perhaps be injurious to his memory to say of him, that he is second to Otway. Besides the ten­der and delicate strokes of passion, there are many shining and manly sentiments in Oroonoko; and one of the greatest genius's of the present age, has often observed, that in the most celebrated play of Shakespear, so many striking thoughts, and such a glow of animated poetry cannot be furnished. This play is so often acted, and admired, that any illus­tration of its beauties here, would be entirely super­fluous. His play of The Fatal Marriage, or The Innocent Adultery, met with deserved success; the affecting incidents, and interesting tale in the tra­gic part, sufficiently compensate for the low, tri­fling, comic part; and when the character of Isa­bella is acted, as we have seen it, by Mrs. Por­ter, and Mrs. Wossington, the ladies seldom fail to sympathise in grief.

Mr. Southern died on the 26th of May, in the year 1746, in the 86th year of 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 dramatic works, acquired a handsome fortune; and being an exact oeconomist, he improved what [Page 331] fortune he gained, to the best advantage: He en­joyed the longest life of all our poets, and died the richest of them, a very few excepted.

A gentleman whose authority we have already quoted, had likewise informed us, that Mr. Southern lived for the last ten years of his life in Westminster, and attended very constant at divine service in the Abbey, being particularly fond of church music. He never staid within doors while in heal [...]h, two days together, having such a circle of acquaintance of the best rank, that he constantly dined with one or other, by a kind of rotation.

THIS gentleman was born in the year 1703. He was the son of a clergyman, who poss [...]ssed two considerable livings in Dorsetshire ^*. He re­cei [...]ed his education at Wadham-College in Oxford, and while he was resident in that university he com­posed part of his famous Comedy called the Humours of Oxford, acted in the year 1729, by the particular recommendation of Mrs. Oldfield.

This piece, as it was a lively representation of the follies and vices of the students of that place, procured the author many enemies.

Mr. Miller was designed by his relations to be bred to business, which he 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 in Conduit-Street, and preacher of Roehampton-Chapel. These livings were too inconsiderable to afford a genteel sub­sistence, and therefore it may be supposed he had recourse to dramatic writing to encrease his finan­ces. This kind of composition, however, being reckoned by some very foreign to his profession, if not inconsistent with it, was thought to have re­tarded his preferment in the church. Mr. Miller was likewise attached to the High-Church interest, a circumstance in the times in which he lived, not [Page 333] very favourable to preferment. He was so honest however in these principles, that upon a large offer being made him by the agents for the ministry in the time of a general opposition, he had virtue sufficient to withstand the temptation, though his circumstances at that time were far from being easy. Mr. Miller often confessed to some of his friends, that this was the fiery trial of his constancy. He had received by his wife a very genteel fortune, and a tenderness for her had almost overcome his resolutions; but he re­covered again to his former firmness, when upon hinting to his wife, the terms upon which prefer­ment might be procured, she rejected them with in­dignation; and he became ashamed of his own wavering. This was an instance of honour, few of which are to be met with in the Lives of the Poets, who have been too generally of a time-serv­ing temper, and too pliant to all the follies and vices of their age. But though Mr. Miller would not purchase preferment upon the terms of writing for the ministry, he was content to stipulate, never to write against them, which proposal they rejected in their turn.

About a year before Mr. Miller's death, which happened in 1743, he was presented by Mr. Cary of Dorsetshire, to the profitable living of Upsun, his father had before possess'd, but which this wor­thy man lived not long to enjoy; nor had he ever an opportunity of making that provision for his family he so much sollicited; and which he even disdained to do at the expence of his honour.

Mr. Miller's dramatic works are,

• I. Humours of Oxford, which we have already mentioned.
• [Page 334] 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 run of 30 nights ^*.
• 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 the author died.
• X. Joseph and his Brethren; a sacred Drama.

Mr. Miller was author of many occasional pieces in poetry, of which his Harlequin Horace is the most considerable. This Satire is dedicated to Mr. Rich, the present manager of Covent-Garden Theatre, in which with an ironical severity he lashes that gentleman, in consequence of some of­fence Mr. Rich had given him.

Mr. Miller likewise published a volume of Ser­mons, all written with a distinguished air of piety, and a becoming zeal for the interest of true reli­gion; and was principally concerned in the tran­slation of Moliere's comedies, published by Watts.

Our author left behind him a son, whose pro­fession is that of a sea surgeon. Proposals for publishing his Poems have been inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine, with a specimen, which does him honour. The profits of this subscription are to be appropriated to his mother, whom he chiefly supported, an amiable instance of [...]lial piety.

THIS gentleman, well known to the world, by the share he had in the celebrated anti­court paper called The Craftsman, was born in Marden in Kent, but in what year we cannot be certain. Mr. Amhurst's grandfather was a clergy­man, under whose protection and care he received his education at Merchant-Taylors school. Hav­ing received there the rudiments of learning, he was removed to St. John's College, Oxford, from which, on account of the libertinism of his prin­ciples, and some offence 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 and pleasantry, in which he rallies the Dr. with very pungent irony, and hints at the causes of his dis­grace in that famous college. In page 10, of his dedication, he says,

Towards the close of the dedication, he takes occasion to complain of some severities used against him, at the time of his being exclud­ed the college. ‘'But I must complain of one thing, whether reasonable or not, let the world judge. When I was voted out of your college, and the nusance was thereby removed, I thought the resentments of the holy ones would have pro­ceeded no further; I am sure the cause of vir­tue and found religion I was thought to offend, required no more; nor could it be of any possible advantage to the church, to descend to my private affairs, and stir up my creditors in the univer­sity [Page 337] to take hold of me at a disadvantage, be­fore I could get any money returned; but there are some persons in the world, who think nothing unjust or inhuman in the prosecution of their im­placable revenge.'’

It is probable, that upon this misfortune happen­ing to our author, he repaired to the capital, there to retrieve his ruined affairs. We find him engaged deeply in the Craftsman, when that paper was in its meridian, and when it was more read and at­tended to than any political paper ever published in England, on account of the assistance given to it by some of the most illustrious and important characters of the nation. It is said, that ten thousand of that paper have been sold in one day.

The Miscellanies of Mr. Amhurst, the greatest part of which were written at 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 with a beautiful paraphrase on the Mosaic Account of the Creation; and ends with a very humorous tale upon the discovery of that useful utensil, A Bottle-Screw.

Mr. Amhurst died of a fever at Twickenham, April 27, 1742. Our poet had a great enmity to the exorbitant demands, and domineering spirit of the High-Church clergy, which he discovers by a poem of his, called, The convocation, in five can­tos; a kind of satire against all the writers, who shewed themselves enemies of the bishop of Ban­gor. He translated The Resurrection, 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, 1710.

Oculus Britanniae, an Heroi-panegyrical Poem, on the University of Oxford, 8vo. 1724.

[Page 338] In a poem of Mr. Amhurst's, called, An Epistle from the Princess Sobiesky to the Chevalier de St. George, he has the following nervous lines, strongly expressive of the passion of love.

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 same neighbourhood where he received his birth, and where he was always esteemed as a person of unblemished character. 'Tis said, he was educated in the principles of the dissenters: be that as it will, his morals brought no disgrace on any sect or party. Indeed his principal attachment was to the muses.

His first piece, brought on the stage, was a Ballad Opera, called Sylvia; or, The Country Burial; performed at the Theatre Royal in Lincoln's-Inn Fields, but with no extraordinary success, in the year 1730. The year following he brought his play, called The London Merchant; 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 [Page 339] not then known. As this was almost a new species of tragedy, wrote on a very uncommon 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) was on this occasion reprinted, and many thousands sold in one day. Many gaily-disposed spirits brought the ballad with them to the play, intending to make their pleasant remarks (as some afterwards owned) and ludicrous comparisons between the an­tient ditty and the modern drama. But the play was very carefully got up, and universally allowed to be well performed. The piece was thought to be well conducted, and the subject well managed, and the diction proper and natural; never low, and very rarely swelling above the characters that spoke. Mr. Pope, among other 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 whole play, it was only in a few places, where he had unawares led himself into a poetical luxuriancy, affecting to be too elevated for the simplicity of the subject. But the play, in general, spoke so much to the heart, that the gay persons before mentioned confessed, they were drawn in to drop their ballads, and pull out their handkerchiefs. It met with uncommon success; for it was acted above twenty times in the summer season to great audiences; was fre­quently bespoke by some eminent merchants and citizens, who much approved its moral tendency: and, in the winter following, was acted often to crowded houses: And all the royal family, at se­veral different times, honoured it with their appear­ance. It gained reputation, and brought money to the poet, the managers, and the performers. Mr. Cibber, jun. not only gave the author his usual [Page 340] profits of his third days, &c. but procured him a benefit-night in the winter season, which turned out greatly to his advantage; so that he had four benefit-nights in all for that piece; by the profits whereof, and his copy-money, he gained several hundred pounds. It continued a stock-play in Drury-Lane Theatre till Mr. Cibber left that house, and went to the Theatre in Covent-Garden. It was often acted in the Christmas and Easter holi­days, and judged a proper entertainment for the apprentices, &c. as being a more instructive, moral, and cautionary drama, than many pieces that had been usually exhibited on those days, with little but farce and ribaldry to recommend them.

A few years after, he brought out his play of The Christian Hero at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

And another Tragedy called Elmerick.

His tragedy of three acts, called Fatal Curiosity, founded on an old English 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, with an uncommon share of mo­desty.

He died Sept. 3. 1739. and was buried in the vault of Shoreditch church.

MR. Charles Johnson was designed for the law; but being an admirer of the muses, turned his thoughts to dramatic writing; and luckily be­ing an intimate of Mr. Wilks, by the assistance of his friendship, Mr. Johnson had several plays acted, [Page 341] some of which met with success. He was a constant attendant at Will's and Button's coffee-houses, which were the resort of most of the men of taste and litera­ture, during the reigns of queen Anne and king George the first. Among these he contracted inti­macy enough to intitle him to their patronage, &c. on his benefit-nights; by which means he lived (with oeconomy) genteelly. At last he married a young widow, with a tolerable fortune, and set up a tavern in Bow-street, which he quitted on his wife's dy­ing, and lived privately on the small remainder of his fortune.

He died about the year 1744. His parts were not very brilliant; but his behaviour was gene­rally thought inoffensive; yet he escaped not the satire of Mr. Pope, who has been pleased to im­mortalize him in his Dunciad.

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 indifferent translation 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 chiefly borrowed 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.
• [Page 342] 13. Love in a Forest; a Comedy, 1721. Taken from Shakespear's Comedy, As you like it.
• 14. The Masquerade; a Comedy, 1723.
• 15. The Village Opera, 1728.
• 16. The Ephefian Matron; a Farce of one Act, 1730.
• 17. Celia; or, the Perjured Lovers; a Tragedy, 1732.

THIS elegant poet was the son of a gentle­man who had been post-master-general in the reign of queen Anne. Where our author received 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 remained at that university, he became author of several poetical performances; some of which, in Latin, were sufficiently elegant and pure, to intitle them to a place in the Musae Anglicanae, published by Mr. Addison; an ho­nour so much the more distinguished, as the purity of the Latin poems contained in that collection, furnished the first-hint to Boileau of the greatness of the British genius. That celebrated critick of France entertained a mean opinion of the English poets, till he occasionally read the Musae Angli­canae; and then he was persuaded that they who could write with so much elegance in a dead lan­guage, must greatly excel in that which was na­tive to them.

Mr. Frowde has likewise obliged the publick with two tragedies; the Fall of Saguntum, dedi­cated to sir Robert Walpole; and Philotas, ad­dressed [Page 343] to the earl of Chesterfield. The first of these performances, so far as we are able to judge, has higher merit than the last. The story is more important, being the destruction of a powerful city, than the fall of a single hero; the incidents rising out of this great event are likewise of a very interesting nature, and the scenes in many places are not without passion, though justly subject to a very general criticism, that they are written with too little. Mr. Frowde has been industrious in this play to conclude his acts with similes, which how­ever exceptionable for being too long and tedious for the situations of the characters who utter them, yet are generally just and beautiful. At the end of the first act he has the following simile upon sedition:

In the third act, the poet, by the mouth of a Roman hero, gives the following concise definition of true courage.

[Page 344] The representation of besiegers driven back by the impetuosity of the inhabitants, after they had entered a gate of the city, is strongly pictured by the following simile.

We have observed, that Mr. Frowde's other tra­gedy, called Philotas, was addressed to the earl of Chesterfield; and in the dedication he takes care to inform his lordship, that it had obtained his pri­vate approbation, before it appeared on the stage. At the time of its being acted, lord Chesterfield was then embassador to the states-general, and con­sequently he was deprived of his patron's counte­nance during the representation. As to the fate of this play, he informs his lordship, it was very par­ticular: ‘"And I hope (says he) it will not be im­puted as vanity to me, when I explain my mean­ing in an expression of Juvenal, Laudatur & al­get."’ But from what cause this misfortune at­tended it, we cannot take upon us to say.

Mr. Frowde died at his lodgings in Cecil-street in the Strand, on the 19th of Dec. 1738. In the London Daily Post 22d December, the following amiable character is given of our poet:

WAS born at Malmsbury in Wiltshire, in the year 1687, of worthy and reputable pa­rents; her father, Mr. Henry Chandler, being mi­nister, many years, of the congregation of protestant dissenters in Bath, whose integrity, candour, and catholick spirit, gained him the esteem and friend­ship of all ranks and parties. She was his eldest daughter, and trained up carefully in the principles of religion and virtue. But as the circumstances of the family rendered it necessary that she should be brought up to business, she was very early employed in it, and incapable of receiving that polite and learned education which she often regretted the loss of, and which she afterwards endeavoured to repair by diligently reading, and carefully studying the best modern writers, and as many as she could of the antient ones, especially the poets, as far as the best translations could assist her.

Amongst these, Horace was her favourite; and how just her sentiments were of that elegant writer, will fully appear from her own words, in a letter to an intimate friend, relating to him, in which she thus expresses herself: ‘"I have been reading Horace this month past, in the best translation I could procure of him. O could I read his fine sentiments cloathed in his own dress, what would I, what would I not give! He is more my fa­vourite [Page 346] than Virgil or Homer. I like his sub­jects, his easy manner. It is nature within my view. He doth not lose me in fable, or in the clouds amidst gods and goddesses, who, more brutish than myself, demand my homage, nor hurry me into the noise and confusion of battles, nor carry me into inchanted circles, to conjure with witches in an unknown land, but places me with persons like myself, and in countries where every object is familiar to me. In short, his pre­cepts are plain, and morals intelligible, though not always so perfect as one could have wished them. But as to this, I consider when and where he lived."’

The hurries of life into which her circumstances at Bath threw her, sat frequently extremely heavy upon a mind so intirely devoted to books and con­templation as hers was; and as that city, especially in the seasons, but too often furnished her with cha­racters in her own sex that were extremely 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 the impru­dences and faults of others gave her a very sensi­ble pain, though she had no other connexion with, or interest in them, but what arose from the com­mon ties of human nature. This made her occa­sional retirements from that place to the country­seats of some of her peculiarly intimate and ho­noured friends, doubly delightful to her, as she there enjoyed the solitude she loved, and could converse, without interruption, with those objects of nature, that never failed to inspire her with the most exqui­site satisfaction. One of her friends, whom she highly honoured and loved, and of whose hospitable house, and pleasant gardens, she was allowed the freest use, was the late excellent Mrs. Stephens, of Sodbury in Gloucestershire, whose seat she cele­brated [Page 347] in a poem inscribed to her, inserted in the col­lection she published. A lady, that was worthy of the highest commendation her muse could bestow upon her. The fine use she made of solitude, the few fol­lowing lines she wrote on it, will be an honourable testimony to her.

However, notwithstanding her love of retirement, and the happy improvement she knew how to make of it, yet her firm belief that her station was the appointment of providence, and her earnest defire of being useful to her relations, whom she regarded with the warmest affection, brought her to submit to the fatigues of her business, to which, during thirty-five years, she applied herself with the utmost diligence and care.

Amidst such perpetual avocations, and constant attention to business, her improvements in know­ledge, and her extensive acquaintance with the best 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 away in fa­shionable unmeaning amusements, but in the pursuit [Page 348] of what she valued infinitely more, those substantial acquisitions of true wisdom and goodness, which she knew were the noblest ornaments of the reason­able mind, and the only sources of real and perma­nent happiness: and she was the more desirous of this kind of accomplishments, as she had nothing in her shape to recommend her, being grown, by an accident in her childhood, very irregular in her body, which she had resolution enough often to make the subject of her own pleasantry, drawing this wise inference from it, ‘"That as her person would not recommend her, she must endeavour to cultivate her mind, to make herself agree­able."’

And indeed this she did with the greatest care; and she had so many excellent qualities in her, that though her first appearance could never create any prejudice in her favour, yet it was impossible to know her without valuing and esteeming her.

Wherever she professed friendship, it was sincere and cordial to the objects of it; and though she admired whatever was excellent in them, and gave it the commendations it deserved, yet she was not blind to their faults, especially if such as she ap­prehended to be inconsistent with the character of integrity and virtue. As she thought one of the noblest advantages of real friendship, was the ren­dering it serviceable mutually to correct, polish, and perfect the characters of those who professed it, and as she was not displeased to be kindly admonished herself for what her friends thought any little dis­advantage to her character, so she took the same liber­ty with others; but used that liberty with such a re­markable propriety, tenderness, and politeness, as made those more sincerely esteem her, with whom she used the greatest freedom, and has lost her no intimacy but with one person, with whom, for par­ticular reasons, she thought herself obliged to break off all correspondence.

[Page 349] Nor could one, who had so perfect a veneration and love for religion and virtue, fail to make her own advantage of the admonitions and reproofs she gave to others: and she often expressed a very great pleasure, that the care she had of those young per­sons, that were frequently committed to her friend­ship, put her upon her guard, as to her own tem­per and conduct, and on a review of her own actions, lest she should any way give them a wrong example, or omit any thing that was really for their good. And if she at any time reflected, that her behaviour to others had been wrong, she, with the greatest ease and frankness, asked the pardon of those she had offended; as not daring to leave to their wrong construction any action of hers, lest they should imagine that she indulged to those faults for which she took the liberty of reproving them. Agreeable to this happy disposition of mind, she gave, in an off-hand manner, the following advice to an intimate friend, who had several children, whom she deservedly honoured, and whom she could not esteem and love beyond his real merits.

She used frequently to complain of herself, as natu­rally eager, anxious, and peevish. But, by a constant cultivation of that benevolent disposition, that was never inwrought in any heart in a stronger and more prevailing manner than in hers, she, in a good measure, dispossest herself of those inward sources [Page 350] of uneasiness, and was pleased with the victory she had gained over herself, and continually striving to render it more absolute and complete.

Her religion was rational and prevalent. She had, in the former part of her life, great doubts about christianity, during which state of uncertain­ty, she was one of the most uneasy and unhappy persons living. But her own good sense, her invio­lable attachment to religion and virtue, her impar­tial inquiries, her converse with her believing friends, her study of the best writers in defence of christia­nity, and the observations she made on the temper and conduct, the fall and ruin of some that had discarded their principles, and the irregularities of others, who never attended to them, fully at last re­leased her from all her doubts, and made her a firm and established christian. The immediate conse­quence of this was, the return of her peace, the possession of herself, the enjoyment of her friends, and an intire freedom from the terror of any thing that could befall her in the future part of her exist­ence. Thus she lived a pleasure to all who knew her, and being, at length, resolved to disengage herself from the hurries of life, and wrap herself up in that retirement she was so fond of, after hav­ing gained what she thought a sufficient competency for one of her moderate desires, and in that station that was allotted her, and settled her affairs to her own mind, she finally quitted the world, and in a manner agreeable to her own wishes, without being suffered to lie long in weakness 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 no reasonable prospect of being happy in a married state, and therefore chose to continue single. She had, however, an honourable offer from a country gentleman of worth and large [Page 351] fortune, who, attracted merely by the goodness of her character, took a journey of an hundred miles to visit her at Bath, where he made his addresses to her. But she convinced him that such a match could neither be for his happiness, or her own. She had, however, something extremely agreeable and pleasing in her face, and no one could enter into any intimacy of conversation with her, but he immediately lost every disgust towards her, that the first appearance of her person tended to excite in him.

She had the misfortune of a very valetudinary constitution, owing, in some measure, probably to the irregularity of her form. At last, after many years illness, she entered, by the late ingenious Dr. Cheney's advice, into the vegetable diet, and in­deed the utmost extremes of it, living frequently on bread and water; in which she continued so long, as rendered her incapable of taking any more sub­stantial food when she afterwards needed it; for want of which she was so weak as not to be able 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 her character, that the ill state of her health was not the only or principal reason that brought her to, and kept her fixed in her resolution, of attempting, and persevering in this mortifying diet. The conquest of herself, and subjecting her own heart more intirely to the com­mand of her reason and principles, was the object she had in especial view 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 to excite 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 of the trial, in her own case, was [Page 352] answerable to her wishes; and what she says 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 with her. Those admirable lines on Temperance, in her Bath poem, she penned from a very feeling experience of what she found by her own regard to it, and can never be read too often, as the sense is equal to the goodness of the poetry.

She was observed, from her childhood, to have a fondness for poetry, often entertaining her com­panions, [Page 353] in a winter's evening, with riddles in verse, and was extremely fond, at that time of life, of Herbert's poems. And this disposition grew up with her, and made her apply, in her riper years, to the study of the best of our English poets; and be­sore she attempted any thing considerable, sent many small copies of verses, on particular characters and occasions, to her peculiar friends. Her poem on the Bath had the full approbation of the publick; and what sets it above censure, had the commenda­tion of Mr. Pope, and many others of the first rank, for good sense and politeness. And indeed there are many lines in it admirably penn'd, and that the finest genius need not to be ashamed of. It hath ran through several editions; and, when first pub­lished, procured her the personal acknowledgments of several of the brightest quality, and of many others, greatly distinguished as thē best judges of poetical performances.

She was meditating a nobler work, a large poem on the Being and Attributes of God, which was her favourite subject; and, if one may judge by the im­perfect pieces of it, which she left behind her in her papers, would have drawn the publick attention, had she liv'd to finish it.

She was peculiarly happy in her acquaintance, as she had good sense enough to discern that worth in others she justly thought was the foundation of all real friendship, and was so happy as to be honoured and loved as a friend, by those whom she would have wished to be connected with in that sacred character. She had the esteem of that most excel­lent lady, who was superior to all commendation, the late dutchess of Somerset, then countess of Hert­ford, who hath done her the honour of several vi­sits, and allowed her to return them at the Mount of Marlborough. Mr. Pope favoured her with his at Bath, and complimented her for her poem on that place. Mrs. Rowe, of [...]room, was one of her [Page 354] particular friends, 'Twould be endless to name [...]ll the persons of reputation and fortune whom she had the pleasure of being intimately acquainted with. She was a good woman, a kind relation, and a saithful friend. She had a real genius for poetry, was a most agreeable correspondent, had a large fund of good sense, was unblemished in her character, lived highly esteemed, and died greatly lamented.