[] THE LIVES OF THE POETS.

EUSTACE BUDGELL, Eſq

WAS the eldeſt ſon of Gilbert Budgell, D. D. of St. Thomas near Ex⯑eter, by his firſt wife Mary, the on⯑ly daughter of Dr. William Gul⯑ſton, biſhop of Briſtol; whoſe ſiſter Jane married dean Addiſon, and was mother to the famous Mr. Ad⯑diſon the ſecretary of ſtate. This family of Budgell is very old, and has been ſettled, and known in Devonſhire above 200 years^*.

[2] Euſtace was born about the year 1685, and di⯑ſtinguiſhed 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 univerſi⯑ty, 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 litera⯑ture, 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 ſtrict⯑neſs 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 cou⯑ſin 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 fa⯑ther's diſapprobation of it, he never communicat⯑ed 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 [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 diſpo⯑ſition, 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 capaci⯑ty, nor any preferment, or favour, beyond his de⯑ſerts. Mr. Addiſon's fondneſs for him perhaps in⯑creaſed 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 toge⯑ther, and conſtantly followed the lord lieutenant in⯑to 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. Budg⯑ell 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 fre⯑quently complimented upon the ingenuity of his kinſman. About the ſame time he wrote an epi⯑logue to the Diſtreſs'd Mother^†, which had a great⯑er run than any thing of that kind ever had be⯑fore, 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 [4] play. Several little epigrams and ſongs, which have a good deal of wit in them, were alſo writ⯑ten 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 liv⯑ed beyond his income, notwithſtanding his ſpiri⯑tual preferments, and the money he had received with his wives. Dr. Budgell had been twice mar⯑ried, 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 liv⯑ing; he was at ſmall expence about his perſon, ſtuck very cloſe to buſineſs, and gave general ſa⯑tisfaction in the diſcharge of his office.

Upon the laying down of the Spectator, the Guardian was ſet up, and in this work our au⯑thor 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 lan⯑guage.'’ 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 in⯑timacy.

[5] Mr. Budgell having regularly made his progreſs in the ſecretary of ſtate's office in Ireland; up⯑on 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 reckon⯑ed 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, offici⯑ated 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 entertain⯑ment 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 ac⯑ceſſion of his late Majeſty, he lay under very great difficulties; all the former clerks of his office re⯑fuſing 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, aſſidu⯑ity, 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 ſecreta⯑ry 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 exten⯑ſive and unuſual complication of buſineſs, with great exactneſs and ability, and with very ſingu⯑lar [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 Ju⯑ſtices preſſed him to draw up a warrant for a ve⯑ry 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 gen⯑teely 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 af⯑fected 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 nei⯑ther ſerve h [...]s intereſt, or reputation. Hence many diſcontents aroſe between them, 'till at length the lord lieutenant, in ſupport of his [7] ſecretary, ſuperſeded Mr. Budgell, and very ſoon after got him removed from the place of accompt⯑ant-general. However, upon the firſt of theſe re⯑movals taking place, and upon ſome hints being given by his private ſecretary, captain Guy Dick⯑ens (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, in⯑tituled, A Letter to the Lord **** from Eu⯑ſtace Budgell, Eſq Accomptant General of Ire⯑land, 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 juſti⯑fy his character againſt a report that had been ſpread to his diſadvantage: and he did not ſcru⯑ple 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 man⯑ner 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 [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 Halli⯑fax was dead, and my lord Orrery, who held him in the higheſt eſteem, had it not in his power to pro⯑cure 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 ſecre⯑tary 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 ſpi⯑rits capable of carrying him through any difficul⯑ty. 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 cer⯑tainly informed. It is undoubtedly a conſiderable loſs, becauſe there is no tolerable hiſtory of that nation, and becauſe we might have expected a ſa⯑tisfactory 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, never⯑theleſs, to make ſeveral attempts, but was con⯑ſtantly kept down by the weight of the duke of [9] Bolton. In the September of that year he went into France, through all the ſtrong places in Flan⯑ders 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, ru⯑ined our author entirely, for he loſt above 20,000 l. in it; however he was very active on that occaſi⯑on, 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 pam⯑phlet 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 Aſſo⯑ciates, 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 Peo⯑ple of Great Britain; with ſome Obſervations on the preſent State of Affairs both at Home and Abroad. In the ſame year he publiſhed A Let⯑ter to Mr. Law upon his Arrival in Great Bri⯑tain, 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 au⯑thor 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 an⯑other governor in his room.

[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 re⯑ſpect 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 ſeem⯑ed to pay no regard to any perſon. Mr. William Budg⯑ell 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 ac⯑quainted with buſineſs, and would probably run any lengths againſt the miniſtry. However this ſcheme failed, for he could never get choſen.

[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 Poſt⯑ſcript. 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 de⯑ſigned 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 per⯑formances is a poetical piece, intitled A Letter to his Excellency Ulrick D'Ypres, and C—, in An⯑ſwer 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 perform⯑ances were very well received by the public.

In the year 1733 he began a weekly pamphlet (in the nature of a Magazine, though more judici⯑ouſly compoſed) called The Bee, which he continu⯑ed for about 100 Numbers, that bind into eight [12] Volumes Octavo, but at laſt by quarrelling with his bookſellers, and filling his pamphlet with things en⯑tirely 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 be⯑tween him and Mr. Tindall, the continuator of Rapin, by which Mr. Budgell's character conſider⯑ably 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 pam⯑phlet came out, called A Short Hiſtory of Prime Miniſters, which was generally believed to be writ⯑ten by our author; and in the ſame year he pub⯑liſhed 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 be⯑came ſo involved with law-ſuits, and ſo incapable of living in the manner he wiſhed and affected to [13] do, that he was reduced to a very unhappy ſitua⯑tion. He got himſelf call'd to the bar, and at⯑tended 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 be⯑ing 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. Se⯑veral 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 daugh⯑ter 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 accom⯑pany him, which ſhe very wiſely refuſed. His ar⯑gument 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.

[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 eſtima⯑tion of his own weight and conſequence, he over⯑ſtretched 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 remain⯑ing 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 Lon⯑don 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 ſupe⯑rior 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 judg⯑ment 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-Col⯑lege 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 like⯑wiſe deputy to Mr. Addiſon, as keeper of the re⯑cords in Birmingham-Tower. Had he lived, 'tis [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^*.

THOMAS TICKELL, Eſq

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 contain⯑ed 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 [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 ap⯑pointed ſecretary, being a diffident man, he con⯑ſulted with his friends about diſpoſing ſuch places as were immediately dependent on him. He com⯑municated to Sir Richard Steele, his deſign of pre⯑ferring 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 inſinu⯑ation and flattery, or by bolder means, he ever had an opportunity of raiſing himſelf. It holds pretty generally true, that diffident people under the ap⯑pearance of diſtruſting their own opinions, are fre⯑quently poſitive, and though they purſue their re⯑ſolutions 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.

[19] In June 1724 Mr. Tickell was appointed ſecre⯑tary 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 War⯑wick on the death of Mr. Addiſon, is very pathe⯑tic. 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 ex⯑ceeds Addiſon's, and is inferior to few of the Eng⯑liſh Poets, Mr. Dryden and Pope excepted. The firſt poem in this collection is addreſſed to the ſup⯑poſed author of the Spectator.

In the year 1713 Mr. Tickell wrote a poem, cal⯑led The Proſpect of Peace, addreſſed to his excel⯑lency the lord privy-ſeal; which met with ſo fa⯑vourable a reception from the public, as to go thro' ſix editions. The ſentiments in this poem are natu⯑ral, and obvious, but no way extraordinary. It is an [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 en⯑terprize 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; [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.

  [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 at⯑tempted 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 Ad⯑diſon 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 ele⯑gant 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.

Mr. WILLIAM HINCHLIFFE,

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 conſidera⯑ble progreſs in claſſical learning, and had a po⯑etical 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 friend⯑ſhip of many eminent merchants and gentlemen. In 1718 he married Jane, one of the daughters of Mr. William Leigh, an eminent citizen. Mrs. Hinch⯑liffe 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 Sep⯑tember 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, Amor⯑ous, Moral, and Divine, which he publiſhed in octavo, 1718, and dedicated them to his friend Mr. Needler.

[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 publiſh⯑ing 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 ſpi⯑rit.

Mr. MATTHEW CONCANEN.

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 ex⯑traordinary 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 [28] taſk he performed with as much ability, as poli⯑tical 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 ſa⯑tyrical 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 accounta⯑ble, 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 vo⯑lume of poems in 8vo. conſiſting chiefly of com⯑poſitions of his own, and ſome few of other gen⯑tlemen; they are addreſſed to the lord Gage, whom he endeavours artfully to flatter, without [29] offending his modeſty. ‘'I ſhall begin this Ad⯑dreſs, 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 opi⯑nion 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 appro⯑bation; 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. De⯑lany, Mr. Brown, Mr. Ward, and Mr. Stirling. In this collection there is a poem by Mr. Conca⯑nen, 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 cha⯑racters 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 compa⯑riſon, 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 Conca⯑nen was not a bad rhimer.

Mr. Concanen was alſo concerned with the late Mr. Roome, and a certain eminent ſenator, in mak⯑ing The Jovial Crew, an old Comedy, into a Bal⯑lad 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 ac⯑ceſſion of fortune, by marrying a planter's daughter, who ſurviving him was left in the poſſeſſion of ſeve⯑ral hundred pounds a year. She came over to England after his death, and married the honour⯑able Mr. Hamilton.

RICHARD SAVAGE, Eſq

THIS unhappy gentleman, who led a courſe of life imbittered with the moſt ſevere ca⯑lamities, 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 be⯑tween his follies, and thoſe good qualities which were often concealed from the bulk of mankind by the abjectneſs of his condition. From this ac⯑count^* we have compiled that which we now pre⯑ſent to the reader.

[33] In the year 1697 Anne counteſs of Maccles⯑field, having lived for ſome time on very uneaſy terms with her huſband, thought a public con⯑feſſion 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 au⯑thor; and the earl of Rivers, by appearing to con⯑ſider 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 re⯑ſolution of diſowning him, in a ſhort time re⯑moved 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 de⯑fending 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 ſol⯑licitudes [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 de⯑ſigned 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 there⯑fore 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 pro⯑ject, worthy of ſuch a diſpoſition. She endeavour⯑ed 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 po⯑verty 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, [35] that after the uſual time of trial he might be⯑come 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 treat⯑ed him as her own ſon, died; and it was natu⯑ral 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 in⯑formed him of his birth, and the reaſons for which it was concealed.

He was now no longer ſatisfied with the em⯑ployment 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 ex⯑cluded 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 diſ⯑covery of his real mother, that it was his fre⯑quent 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.

[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 un⯑cultivated genius. He then attempted another kind of writing, and, while but yet eighteen, offered a comedy to the ſtage, built upon a Spa⯑niſh plot; which was refuſed by the players. Up⯑on 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 Bul⯑lock; but it ended without bloodſhed, though not without high words: Bullock inſiſted he had a tranſ⯑lation 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 advan⯑tage 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 ge⯑nuine 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 [37] given him a right to find every good man his fa⯑ther.'’ Nor was Mr. Savage admitted into his ac⯑quaintance only, but to his confidence and eſteem. Sir Richard intended to have eſtabliſhed him in ſome ſettled ſcheme of life, and to have contract⯑ed 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 con⯑ducted 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 allow⯑ance he had paid him, and never afterwards ad⯑mitted him to his houſe.

He was now again abandoned to fortune, with⯑out any other friend but Mr. Wilks, a man to whom calamity ſeldom complained without relief. He naturally took an unfortunate wit into his pro⯑tection, and not only aſſiſted him in any caſual diſtreſſes, but continued an equal and ſteady kind⯑neſs to the time of his death. By Mr. Wilks's in⯑terpoſition Mr. Savage once obtained of his mo⯑ther 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 [38] a conſiderable part of the time in which he was employed upon this performance, he was with⯑out 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 diſtin⯑guiſhed 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 epi⯑logue, 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 [39] very pathetic repreſentation of the author's ſuffer⯑ings, printed in the Plain-Dealer, a periodical pa⯑per 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 ne⯑c [...]ſſities, appeared however to be gaining on man⯑kind; when both his fame and his life were endan⯑gered, by an event of which it is not yet determin⯑ed, 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 gentle⯑men of his acquaintance, whoſe names were Mar⯑chant 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 ram⯑ble about the ſtreets, and divert themſelves with [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 rude⯑neſs demanded a room, and was told that there was a good fire in the next parlour, which the com⯑pany 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 after⯑wards 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 in⯑timidated, and confus'd, without reſolution, whe⯑ther 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 ge⯑neral 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, [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 endan⯑gered.

With regard to the violence with which he en⯑deavoured 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 com⯑pulſion. 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 re⯑verenced 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 [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 diſ⯑tinction 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 mis⯑fortunes and his wit.

Had his audience been his judges, he had un⯑doubtedly 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 re⯑capitulate 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 ma⯑licious. 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 con⯑fined, 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, [43] that mercy his own mother endeavoured to in⯑tercept.

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 opportu⯑nity 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 fa⯑mily 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 endea⯑voured 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 be⯑ing [44] believed. The ſtory of his ſufferings reach⯑ed the ear of the counteſs of Hertford, who en⯑gaged in his ſupport with the tenderneſs and hu⯑manity peculiar to that amiable lady. She de⯑manded an audience of the queen, and laid be⯑fore 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 weigh⯑ing 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 diſhonour⯑able, 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 [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 regret⯑ted 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 pen⯑ſion 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 for⯑tune; 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 po⯑pular; [47] and his approbation and example conſtitu⯑ted 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 ſurround⯑ed 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 [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 ex⯑pected 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 for⯑mal 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 practi⯑ſing with them the moſt irregular frolics, and com⯑mitting all the outrages of drunkenneſs. Lord Tyrconnel farther alledged againſt Savage, that the books of which he himſelf had made him a pre⯑ſent, 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, ſel⯑dom drew him into much inconvenience, or his [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 haſti⯑ly 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 lan⯑guiſhing illneſs. This poem is built upon a beauti⯑ful 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.

[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 condi⯑tion 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 obtain⯑ed 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.

[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 ſenti⯑ments at the cloſe; where he recounts the real ca⯑lamities 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 con⯑ceal 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 ut⯑moſt haſte, to ſhelter herſelf in the crowds of Lon⯑don. Thus Savage had the ſatisfaction of finding, that tho' he could not reform, he could yet pu⯑niſh his mother.

Some time after Mr. Savage took a reſolu⯑tion of applying to the queen, that having once given him life, ſhe would enable him to ſup⯑port 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 [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 pre⯑ſent 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 wicked⯑neſs, from a poor curacy in the country, to the higheſt preferment in the church; and after deſcrib⯑ing 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 Miſ⯑cellany, 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 ob⯑liged 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 prac⯑tice of vice; but that Mr. Savage had only introdu⯑ced obſcene ideas, with a view of expoſing them to deteſtation, and of amending the age, by ſhew⯑ing the deformity of wickedneſs. This plea was admitted, and Sir Philip York, now lord Chancellor, who then preſided in that court, diſmiſſed the in⯑formation, [54] with encomiums upon the purity and ex⯑cellence 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 inti⯑mate friends. At length he appeared again pen⯑nyleſs as before, but never informed any perſon where he had been, nor was his retreat ever diſco⯑vered. 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 ſup⯑ported 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 prefer⯑ment from that ſtateſman iſſued in a diſappoint⯑ment; upon which he publiſhed a poem in the Gentleman's Magazine, entitled, The Poet's Depen⯑dance 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. [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 there⯑fore 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 advertiſe⯑ments, 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 mean⯑neſs 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, a⯑mongſt 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 ſum⯑mer upon a bulk, and in the winter, with his aſ⯑ſociates 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 Wan⯑derer, 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, howe⯑ver afflictive, never dejected him. In his loweſt [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 incit⯑ed, and to trample that reputation which roſe up⯑on 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 remark⯑able 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 pre⯑ſume to preſcribe the hour of his attendance; and therefore rejected his kindneſs.

The greateſt hardſhips of poverty were to Sa⯑vage, 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 vi⯑ſibly decline; that his opinion in queſtions of cri⯑ticiſm 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 men⯑tion of his deſigns with coldneſs, and, in ſhort, allowed him to be qualified for no other perform⯑ance than volunteer-laureat. Yet even this kind of contempt never depreſſed him, for he always pre⯑ſerved 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 ima⯑gined, was yet embittered in 1738 with new di⯑ſtreſſes. The death of the Queen deprived him of all the proſpects of preferment, with which he had ſo long entertained his imagination. But even a⯑gainſt this calamity there was an expedient at [57] hand. He had taken a reſolution of writing a ſe⯑cond tragedy upon the ſtory of Sir Thomas Over⯑bury, 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 re⯑vival of the former. With the profits of this ſcheme, when finiſhed, he fed his imagination, but proceeded ſlowly in it, and, probably, only em⯑ployed himſelf upon it, when he could find no o⯑ther amuſement. Upon the Queen's death it was expected of him, that he ſhould honour her me⯑mory 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 tra⯑vel 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 man⯑ner, 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 con⯑nect 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 [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, determin⯑ed him to withdraw, what had only been delayed. This laſt misfortune he bore not only with decen⯑cy, 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 inſurmount⯑able 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 re⯑fuſed 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 re⯑ceive 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 ſollici⯑tude for fame.

This offer Mr. Savage gladly accepted, though with intentions very different from thoſe of his friends; for they propoſed that he ſhould conti⯑nue 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, [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 ſubſcrip⯑tion 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 al⯑lowance, though ſcanty, would be more than ſuf⯑ficient for him, being now determined to com⯑mence a rigid oeconomiſt.

Full of theſe ſalutary reſolutions, he quitted Lon⯑don 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 re⯑mained but little more of the firſt collection. He promiſed a ſtrict adherence to his maxims of par⯑ſimony, 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 be⯑ing 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.

[60] After ſome ſtay at Briſtol, he retired to Swan⯑ſea, the place originally propoſed for his reſidence, where he lived about a year very much diſſatis⯑fied 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 ac⯑quaintance with thoſe who were moſt diſtinguiſhed in that country, among whom, he has celebrated Mr. Powel, and Mrs. Jones, by ſome verſes in⯑ſerted 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 ad⯑viſed by his chief benefactor, who was no other than Mr. Pope, to put it in the hands of Mr. Thom⯑ſon and Mr. Mallet, that it might be fitted for the ſtage, and to allow his friends to receive the pro⯑fits, out of which an annual penſion ſhould be paid him. This propoſal he rejected with the ut⯑moſt contempt. He was by no means convinced that the judgment of thoſe to whom he was re⯑quired 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 repe⯑tition of the kindneſs which he had formerly ſound; invited him to ſtay. He was not only ca⯑reſſed, 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.

[61] Another part of his miſconduct was, the prac⯑tice 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 de⯑volved 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 mife⯑ry, 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.

[62] He continued to bear theſe ſevere preſſures, 'till the landlady of a coffee-houſe, to whom he owed about eight pounds, compleated his wretch⯑edneſs. 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 ex⯑pence, 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 miſ⯑fortune, ſent him five guineas. No friends would contribute to releaſe him from priſon at the ex⯑pence of eight pounds, and therefore he was remov⯑ed to Newgate. He bore this misfortune with an un⯑ſhaken 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, with⯑out 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 un⯑dergo the greateſt part of his life. Virtue is un⯑doubtedly 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. [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 oc⯑caſion 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 ſa⯑tire, only to ſhew how much he was ſuperior to their inſults.

When he had been ſix months in priſon, he re⯑ceived 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 inno⯑cence, 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 un⯑common earneſtneſs, I have ſomething to ſay to you, ſir, but, after a pauſe, moved his hand in a me⯑lancholy manner, and finding himſelf unable to recollect what he was going to communicate, ſaid, 'tis gone. The keeper ſoon after left him, and [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 unfortu⯑nate poet; a man equally diſtinguiſhed by his vir⯑tues and vices, and, at once, remarkable for his weakneſſes and abilities. He was of a middle ſta⯑ture, 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 pro⯑voked 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 ſpurn⯑ing 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 poe⯑tical mendicaut: his proſecuting any plan of life with diſgence, would have thrown more lu⯑ſtre 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 po⯑verty is ſo great an evil as to expoſe a man to com⯑mit actions, at which he afterwards bluſhes, to a⯑void [65] this poverty ſhould be the continual care of every man; and he, who lets ſlip every opportuni⯑ty of doing ſo, is more entitled to admiration than pity, ſhould he bear his ſufferings nobly.

Mr. Savage's temper, in conſequence of the do⯑minion of his paſſions, was uncertain and ca⯑pricious. He was eaſily engaged, and eaſily diſ⯑guſted; 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 there⯑fore of little value, for he was zealous in the ſup⯑port, 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 with⯑out reaſon. When he loved any man, he ſup⯑preſſed all his faults, and when he had been of⯑fended by him, concealed all his virtues. But his characters were generally true, ſo far as he pro⯑ceeded, though it cannot be denied, but his parti⯑ality 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 ſpe⯑cies of writing.

Dr. THOMAS SHERIDAN

WAS born in the county of Cavan, where his father kept a public houſe. A gen⯑tleman, 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 col⯑lege of Dublin, and contributed towards the fi⯑niſhing 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 pleaſant⯑ry of his temper, introduced him to the ac⯑quaintance, 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. Mac⯑pherſon, a Scots gentleman, who ſerved in the wars under King William, and, during the trou⯑bles 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. She⯑ridan, amongſt his virtues, could not number oeco⯑nomy; on the contrary, he was remarkable for profuſion and extravagance, which expoſed him to ſuch inconveniences, that he was obliged to mort⯑gage all he had. His ſchool daily declined, and [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, imput⯑ing 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 mer⯑rily among the gay and the great, and was an ex⯑ample, 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 re⯑tirement, he went to dean Swift, and ſollicited a lodging for a few days, 'till by a proper compoſition he might be reſtored to his free⯑dom. 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 incivi⯑lity, the tears burſt from his eyes; he quitted the [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 read⯑er 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; toge⯑ther 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 con⯑ſiſts almoſt entirely of Letters between the Dean and the Dr.

The Revd. Dr. JONATHAN SWIFT.

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 un⯑common 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 entertain⯑ments 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 per⯑fection 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 weak⯑neſs 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 im⯑perfections 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 [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 know⯑ledge 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 an⯑gry 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 figu⯑ratively, was often received literally; and the re⯑port 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 point⯑ed 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 [75] 1665, to the year 1670; firſt at Bruſſels, and after⯑wards at the Hague, as appears by his correſpond⯑ence with the earl of Arlington, and other mi⯑niſters of ſtate. So that Dr. Swift's mother, who never croſſed the ſea, except from England to Ire⯑land, was out of all poſſibility of a perſonal cor⯑reſpondence 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 employ⯑ments of that kind; ſo that moſt of his fortune pe⯑riſhed 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 [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 obe⯑dience to the ſtatutes; but the moroſeneſs of his temper rendered him very unacceptable to his com⯑panions, ſo that he was little regarded, and leſs be⯑loved, nor were the academical exerciſes agreeable to his genius. He held logic and metaphyſics in the utmoſt contempt; and he ſcarce conſidered ma⯑thematics, 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 pur⯑ſue 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 ex⯑preſſion Speciali Gratiâ is ſo peculiar to the uni⯑verſity of Dublin, that when Mr. Swift exhibited [77] his teſtimonium at Oxford, the members of the En⯑gliſh 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 ap⯑plauſe. Sir William Temple's friendſhip was im⯑mediately 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 com⯑pleat its conqueſt, by rendering him the exact image of one of his own STRULDBRUGGS; a mi⯑ſerable ſpectacle, devoid of every appearance of human nature, except the outward form.

[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 re⯑turned into England, and was again moſt affection⯑ately received by Sir William Temple, whoſe houſe was now at Sheen, where he was often viſited by King William. Here Swift had frequent oppor⯑tunities 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 reſo⯑lutions, 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 ſuffici⯑ently conſiderable. He reſigned his prebend in fa⯑vour of a friend, and being ſick of ſolitude he re⯑turned 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 John⯑ſon. 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 bi⯑ſhop of Clogher.

[79] The reader muſt obſerve, there was a long inter⯑val 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 ge⯑nius 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 matri⯑mony: [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 appear⯑ed 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 gene⯑ral 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 daugh⯑ter of Sir William Temple^†.

It is natural to imagine, that a woman of Stella's delicacy muſt repine at ſuch an extraordinary ſitua⯑tion. The outward honours ſhe received are as fre⯑quently beſtowed upon a miſtreſs as a wife; ſhe [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 to⯑wards the end of January 1727, abſolutely deſtroy'd by the peculiarity of her fate; a fate which per⯑haps 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 pre⯑bends 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 diſ⯑appointment may be dated that bitterneſs towards kings and courtiers, which is to be found ſo uni⯑verſally 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 [82] to Mr. Swift, diveſted him of that office, and be⯑ſtowed 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 co⯑py of verſes, intitled the Diſcovery. How⯑ever, 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 recto⯑ries 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 pe⯑culiar to himſelf. ‘"Dearly beloved Roger, the ſcrip⯑ture 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. [83] But the marriage was intirely diſagreeable to her brother. It ſeemed to interrupt thoſe ambitious views he had long ſince formed: He grew outragi⯑ous 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 en⯑treaties 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 con⯑quered, 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 fail⯑ed to pay her an annual viſit. But his manner of tra⯑velling 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; ‘[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 eter⯑nally 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 pam⯑phlets, 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 va⯑nity and ambition.'’ A man always appears of more conſequence to himſelf, than he is in rea⯑lity 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 let⯑ters he mentions, that the place of hiſtoriographer was intended for him; but in this particular he flat⯑tered himſelf; at leaſt, he remained without any pre⯑ferment '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 inconſidera⯑ble promotion; but to an ambitious mind, whoſe perpetual view was a ſettlement in England, a dignity in any other country muſt appear only a [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 ad⯑viſe. He was elated with the appearance of en⯑joying miniſterial confidence. He enjoyed the ſha⯑dow 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 ſhal⯑lows 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 Wynd⯑ham, 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 inten⯑tion 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 compa⯑riſon of him, a ſtateſman of no compaſs) certain⯑ly aimed at the reſtoration of the exiled family, however he might diſguiſe to ſome people his real intentions, under the maſque of being a Hanove⯑rian Tory. This ſerves to corroberate the obſer⯑vation 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 bi⯑ſhopric. A diſappointment, which, be imagined, he owed to a joint application made againſt him [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 ſup⯑ported the aſſertion, and the Queen, upon ſuch aſ⯑ſurances, 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 re⯑luctance. 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 con⯑vinced 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 af⯑terwards the moſt abſolute monarch over them, that ever governed men. His firſt ſtep was to re⯑duce to reaſon and obedience his revd. brethren [87] the chapter of St. Patrick's; in which he ſucceed⯑ed ſo perfectly, and ſo ſpeedily, that, in a ſhort time after his arrival, not one member in that bo⯑dy 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 re⯑turned to England. He found his great friends, who ſat in the ſeat of power, much diſunited a⯑mong 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 fruit⯑leſs, his arguments unavailing, and his endea⯑vours, like the ſtone of Siſyphus, rolling back upon himſelf. He retired to a friend's houſe in Berk⯑ſhire, where he remained 'till the Queen died. So fatal an event terminated all his views in Eng⯑land, 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 tem⯑per, confined his acquaintance, and added bitter⯑neſs 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 lei⯑ſure hours; fools and ſycophants too much of his converſation. His attendance upon the public ſer⯑vice of the church was regular and uninterrupted; [88] and indeed regularity was peculiar to all his ac⯑tions, even in the meereſt trifles. His hours of walking and reading never varied. His motions were guided by his watch, which was ſo conſtant⯑ly 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 Manufac⯑tures 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 Manu⯑facture in Clothes and Furniture of Houſes, &c. utterly rejecting and renouncing every thing weara⯑ble that comes from England. This propoſal im⯑mediately raiſed a very violent flame. The Printer was proſecuted, and the proſecution had the ſame effect, which generally attends thoſe kind of mea⯑ſures. 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 in⯑creaſed the ſtream of his popularity. He was now looked upon in a new light, and was diſtinguiſh⯑ed by the title of THE DEAN, and ſo high a de⯑gree 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 [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 e⯑vil, the late King granted a patent to one Wood, to coin, during the term of fourteen years, far⯑things 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 volun⯑teers, under the banner of the Drapier, and were all equally zealous to ſerve the common cauſe. Much heat, and many fiery ſpeeches againſt the admini⯑ſtration 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 [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 coun⯑try, ſcarce any idol ever obtained. Libations to his health were poured out as frequent as to the im⯑mortal memory of King William. His effigies was painted in every ſtreet in Dublin. Acclama⯑tions 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 legiſla⯑tor 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 unfi⯑niſhed, and never afterwards attempted a compoſi⯑tion, [91] either in verſe or proſe. However, his con⯑verſation ſtill remained the ſame, lively and ſe⯑vere, 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 i⯑deot, 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 ſuffici⯑ent to give an alarm to his attendants, 'till with⯑in 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 in⯑ſenſible 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 re⯑verſe 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 an⯑gel! in apprehenſion how like a God! the beau⯑ty 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 [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 im⯑pulſe 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 appli⯑cable 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 affecti⯑onate memorials of his friendſhip, and tokens of the [93] jocoſe manner, in which he had treated them du⯑ring 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 per⯑formances of Swift (ſays he) ought to be conſider⯑ed as occaſional poems, written either to pleaſure^*, [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 mea⯑ſure ſuperior to it; and aſſumed more the air, [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 Van⯑homrich, a Dutch merchant of Amſterdam; who upon the Revolution went into Ireland, and was ap⯑pointed 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 be⯑yond 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 be⯑yond 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 Sun⯑day, [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; hap⯑py in the thoughts of being reputed Swift's con⯑cubine; but ſtill aiming to be his wife. By nature haughty and diſdainful, looking with con⯑tempt 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 de⯑nials; 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 let⯑ter [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 ſur⯑vive 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 cer⯑tain 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 [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 Dry⯑den'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 unbound⯑ed vanity to gratify, he was pleaſed with the ſer⯑vility 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 cor⯑ruption, yet that virtue was certainly founded on his pride, which diſdained every meaſure, and ſpurned every effort in which he himſelf was not the prin⯑cipal.

[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 imita⯑tion:—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 exi⯑gencies 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."’

Mrs. CONSTANTIA GRIERSON.

THIS lady was born in Ireland; and, as Mrs. Barber judiciouſly remarks, was one of the moſt extraordinary women that either this age, or 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.

Mrs. CATHERINE COCKBURN.

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 im⯑portance; 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, in⯑deed, boaſted of its Female Philoſophers, whoſe merits have been drawn forth in an elaborate trea⯑tiſe of Menage^*. But our own age and country may without injuſtice or vanity oppoſe to thoſe il⯑luſtrious 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 [105] navy in the reign of Charles II. He was highly in favour with that prince, who employed him as com⯑modore 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 daugh⯑ters, the youngeſt of whom, Catherine, our cele⯑brated 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 extem⯑porary 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 lan⯑guage, by her own application and diligence, with⯑out 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 eſpe⯑pecially thoſe of religion, ſoon engaged her atten⯑tion. But notwithſtanding her education, her inti⯑macy with ſeveral families of diſtinction of the Ro⯑miſh perſuaſion expoſed her, while very young, to impreſſions in favour of that church, which not be⯑ing [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 producti⯑on 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 ap⯑peared 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

[107] Her dramatic talents not being confined to Tra⯑gedy, ſhe brought upon the ſtage, in 1701, a Co⯑medy 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 re⯑preſents, 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 extrava⯑gant; 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 [108] love, of all the paſſions, he ſeems beſt to have un⯑derſtood, 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 differ⯑ent nature; and at an age when few of the other ſex were capable of underſtanding the Eſſay of Hu⯑man 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 philoſo⯑phy 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 convicti⯑on of the truth and importance of the notions con⯑tained 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 pub⯑liſhed againſt it in 1667. The author of theſe re⯑marks was never known to Mr. Lock, who ani⯑madverted 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 ut⯑moſt [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 know⯑ledge, and whoſe Method of Devotion, which paſ⯑ſed through ſeveral editions, is a proof of her ex⯑emplary 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 ap⯑proved 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 Dorſet⯑ſhire, 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 diffi⯑cult and abſtract kind, ſhe was ſtill incapable of extricating herſelf from thoſe ſubtilties and per⯑plexities [110] of argument, which retained her in the church of Rome. And the ſincerity of her attach⯑ment to it, in all its outward ſeverities, obliged her to ſo ſtrict an obſervance of its faſts, as proved ex⯑tremely injurious to her health. Upon which Dr. Denton Nicholas, a very ingenious learned phyſi⯑cian 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 geni⯑us 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 religi⯑on, 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 examina⯑tion 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 un⯑uſual 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 re⯑turn from his glorious campaign in Germany, De⯑cember, 1704. But being doubtful with reſpect to the publication of them, ſhe ſent them in manu⯑ſcript to his grace; and received for anſwer, that the duke and ducheſs, and the lord treaſurer Godol⯑phin, 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 [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 a⯑mount this relief was, we do not find.

Her enquiries into the nature of true religi⯑on 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 a⯑gree 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 begin⯑ning of 1707, her doubts about the Romiſh reli⯑gion, which ſhe had ſo many years profeſſed, hav⯑ing 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 ad⯑hered during the reſt of her life. In the courſe of this enquiry, the great and leading queſtion concerning A Guide in Controverſy, was particu⯑larly diſcuſſed by her; and the two letters which ſhe wrote upon it, the firſt to Mr. Bennet, a Ro⯑miſh 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 reaſon⯑ing, as well as their conciſeneſs, that ſhe con⯑ſented to the importunity of her friends, for their publication in June 1707, under the following ti⯑tle, A Diſcourſe concerning a Guide in Contro⯑verſies; in two Letters: Written to one of the [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 Ca⯑tholics as are perſwaded, that thoſe who deny the infallibility of their church, take away all certain⯑ty 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 co⯑py, to which we refer the reader in the 31ſt page of his account.

In 1708 our author was married to Mr. Cock⯑burn, 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 Prote⯑ſtant religion; then for ſome time miniſter of the Epiſcopal church at Amſterdam, and at laſt col⯑lated to the rectory of Northaw in Middleſex, by Dr. Robinſon biſhop of London, at the recommen⯑dation 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 acceſ⯑ſion of his late majeſty to the throne, when fall⯑ing into a ſcruple about the oath of abjuration, though he always prayed for the King and Roy⯑al [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 Aber⯑deen in Scotland, he qualified himſelf conforma⯑bly to the law, and, on the day of his preſent Ma⯑jeſty's acceſſion, preached a ſermon there on the duty and benefit of praying for the government. This ſermon being printed and animadverted up⯑on, 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 pre⯑ſented him to the living of Long-Horſely, near Mor⯑peth 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-Horſe⯑ly, 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 entire⯑ly diverted from her ſtudies for many years, by at⯑tending [115] upon the duties of a wife and a mother, and by the ordinary cares of an encreaſing fami⯑ly, and the additional ones ariſing from the reduced circumſtances of her huſband. However, her zeal for Mr. Lock's character and writings drew her a⯑gain into the public light in 1716, upon this occa⯑ſion.

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 Reaſon⯑ings, 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 animadverſi⯑ons, 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 obtain⯑ed 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 ac⯑cordingly 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.

[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 admira⯑ble 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 Contro⯑verſy concerning the Foundation of Moral Duty and Moral Obligation were begun during the win⯑ter of the year 1739, and finiſhed in the follow⯑ing 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 ſea⯑ſon, that ſhe read little, and wrote leſs; ſhe a⯑muſed herſelf, during the long winter-evenings, in digeſting her thoughts upon the moſt abſtract ſub⯑jects 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 let⯑ters, 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 vi⯑vacity [117] ſhewn in her Remarks upon the moſt ab⯑ſtract and perplexed queſtions, immediately raiſed the curioſity of all good judges about the con⯑cealed 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 correſpond⯑ence 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 Obli⯑gations of virtue, publiſhed in May 1744, ſoon engaged her thoughts, and notwithſtanding the aſth⯑matic diſorder, which had ſeized her many years before, and now left her ſmall intervals of eaſe, ſhe applied herſelf to the confutation of that ela⯑borate diſcourſe; and having finiſhed it with a ſpi⯑rit, elegance, and perſpicuity equal, if not ſuperi⯑or, to all her former writings, tranſmitted her ma⯑nuſcript 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 Na⯑ture 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 for⯑mer writings had gained her, induced her friends to propoſe to her, the collecting and publiſhing [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. Cock⯑burn 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 per⯑mitting to ſee the light. And it were to be wiſh⯑ed that thoſe two volumes, conditioned for by the terms of ſubſcription, could have contained all her dramatic writings, of which only one is here pub⯑liſhed. 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, dy⯑ing 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 unim⯑paired, 'till within a few days of her death. She was interred near her huſband and youngeſt daugh⯑ter 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 [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 ex⯑tremely amiable to thoſe who intimately knew her. Her converſation was always innocent, uſe⯑ful and agreeable, without the leaſt affectation of being thought a wit, and attended with a remark⯑able modeſty and diffidence of herſelf, and a con⯑ſtant endeavour to adapt her diſcourſe to her com⯑pany. She was happy in an uncommon evenneſs and chearfulneſs of temper. Her diſpoſition was generous and benevolent; and ready upon all oc⯑caſions 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 eſtabliſh⯑ed 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 fami⯑ly, without the leaſt leiſure for reading or con⯑templation: after which, with a mind ſo long [120] diverted and incumbered, reſuming her ſtudies, ſhe inſtantly recovered its intire powers, and in the hours of relaxation from her domeſtic em⯑ployments, purſued, to their utmoſt limits, ſome of the deepeſt enquiries of which the human mind is capable!

• I. A Diſcourſe concerning a Guide in Contro⯑verſy. 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 publiſh⯑ed 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 Contro⯑verſy, concerning the Foundation of Moral Vir⯑tue, 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.—Sun⯑day's Journal.—On the Uſefulneſs of Schools and Univerſities.—On the Credibility of the Hiſtorical Parts of Scripture.—On Moral Virtue.—Notes on [121] Chriſtianity as old as the Creation.—On the Infal⯑libility of the Church of Rome.—Anſwer to a Queſtion concerning the Juriſdiction of the Magi⯑ſtrate over the Life of the Subject.—Remarks on Mr. Seed's Sermon on Moral Virtue.—Remarks upon an Enquiry into the Origin of Human Ap⯑petites 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, Arch⯑deacon of Northumberland and Mrs. Cockburn, concerning the Foundation of Moral Virtue.
• V. Fatal Friendſhip, a Tragedy.
• VI. Poems on ſeveral Occaſions. There are ve⯑ry 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.

AMBROSE PHILLIPS, Eſq

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 aver⯑ſion 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 [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 be⯑ing 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 ſim⯑plicity 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 mani⯑feſt proofs of his knowledge of books; it muſt be [126] confeſſed his competitor has imitated ſome ſingle thoughts of the antients well enough, if we con⯑ſider he had not the happineſs of an univerſity edu⯑cation: but he hath diſperſed them here and there without that order and method Mr. Philips ob⯑ſerves, 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 de⯑ſign 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 in⯑duſtrious 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 ad⯑vantage: 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 peo⯑try are fonder of, than deſcriptions of paſtoral preſents.

Philips ſays thus of a Sheep-hook.

[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 unaf⯑fectedly would Philips have dreſſed this thought in his Doric.

If the reader would indulge his curioſity any far⯑ther 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 for⯑mer, 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 ruſti⯑city, of which I ſhall now produce two inſtances out of a hundred not yet quoted.

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

[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 re⯑petition of the epithets; and how ſignificant is the laſt verſe! I defy the moſt common reader to repeat them, without feeling ſome motions of com⯑paſſion. 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.

[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 con⯑trary 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 re⯑ſpects a very quick diſcerner. Though 'tis not im⯑poſſible, 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."’

[132] The next work Mr. Philips publiſhed after his Paſtorals, and which it is ſaid he wrote at the univer⯑ſity, 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 occur⯑rences 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. Boul⯑ter, 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,

[133] After the acceſſion of his late majeſty, Mr. Phi⯑lips was made a juſtice of peace, and appointed a commiſſioner of the lottery. But though his cir⯑cumſtances 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, men⯑tions him with Theocritus and Virgil; but then [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 devia⯑tions 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 per⯑ſonated 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 audi⯑ence more than that of Belvidera, who is as ami⯑able a wife, as Andromache is an affectionate mo⯑ther; 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, whe⯑ther founded on real events I cannot determine. [135] but they are admirably fitted to raiſe the paſſion peculiar to tragedy. Vanoc Prince of the Corna⯑vians married for his ſecond wife Cartiſmand, Queen of the Brigantians, a woman of an impe⯑rious 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 af⯑fairs 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 con⯑ducted to the tent of Valens the Roman tribune, who was himſelf in love with her, but who of⯑fered 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. Va⯑lens 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 ob⯑ſerved the rules which ſome critics have eſtabliſh⯑ed, of diſtributing poetical juſtice; for Gwendolen, the moſt amiable character in the play is the chief [137] ſufferer, ariſing from the indulgence of no irregu⯑lar 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 Hen⯑ry 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 ma⯑ny enemies, amongſt whom was the duke of Suf⯑folk, 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 la⯑dy entertained an averſion for the duke of Glou⯑ceſter, 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 church⯑man. They fell upon a very odd ſcheme to ſhake the power of Glouceſter, and as it is very ſingu⯑lar, and abſolutely fact, we ſhall here inſert it.

The duke of Glouceſter had kept Eleanor Cobham, daughter to the lord Cobham, as his con⯑cubine, 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 re⯑pute for a witch, yet was arreſted for high trea⯑ſon, founded on a pretended piece of witchcraft, and after doing public penance ſeveral days, by ſentence of convocation, was condemned to per⯑petual impriſonment in the Iſle of Man, but af⯑terwards 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 [138] him waſte away, as the image gradually conſum⯑ed. John Hume, her chaplain, Thomas South⯑well, a canon of St. Stephen's Weſtminſter, Ro⯑ger Bolingbroke, a clergyman highly eſteemed, and eminent for his uncommon learning, and me⯑rit, and perhaps on that account, reputed to have great ſkill in necromancy, and Margery Jourde⯑main, commonly called The Witch of Eye, were tried as her accomplices, and condemned, the wo⯑man to be burnt, the others to be drawn, hanged, and quartered at Tyburn^*. This helliſh contri⯑vance 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 creduli⯑ty 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 Beau⯑fort hired aſſaſſins to murder him. The poet ac⯑knowledges the hints he has taken from the Se⯑cond 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 Car⯑dinal Beaufort when he was dying in the ago⯑nies of remorſe and deſpair, is literally borrowed.

[139] In praiſe of this tragedy, Mr. Welſted has prefix⯑ed 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 hu⯑morous 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 ori⯑ginal. This gentleman has burleſqued the follow⯑ing 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 Sap⯑pho.

There is another beautiful ode by the ſame Gre⯑cian 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.

RICHARD MAITLAND, Earl of LAUDERDALE.

THIS learned nobleman was nephew to John, the great duke of Lauderdale, who was ſecretary of ſtate to King Charles II. for Scotch affairs, and for many years had the go⯑vernment of that kingdom entirely entruſted to him. Whoever is acquainted with hiſtory will be at no loſs to know, with how little modera⯑tion 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 iſſue⯑male 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 qua⯑lify him for the poſſeſſion of thoſe great employ⯑ments his anceſtors enjoyed in the ſtate. The im⯑provement 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 [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, eſpe⯑cially 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 un⯑governable implacable temper, could never again recover his favour^*. Though the earl of Lauder⯑dale 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 for⯑tune 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 ma⯑ſter, he applied his mind to the delights of poe⯑try, and, in his leiſure hours, compleated a tran⯑ſlation of Virgil's works. Mr. Dryden, in his de⯑dication 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. Nei⯑ther did I then intend it, but ſome propoſals be⯑ing 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 [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 flat⯑tered 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 ap⯑pears, that he had a right taſte in poetry in ge⯑neral, and the Aeneid in particular. He ſhews a true ſpirit, and, in many places, is very beau⯑tiful. 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 pre⯑cepts, 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, [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.

Dr. JOSEPH TRAPP.

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 learn⯑ing from his father, who inſtructed him in the lan⯑guages, 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 una⯑nimouſly 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 fa⯑mous 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, [147] and St. Leonard's Foſter-Lane, with the lec⯑tureſhip 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 mi⯑tre, 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 qua⯑lifications to enable a man to riſe in the church.'’

Dr. Trapp's action in the pulpit has been cen⯑ſured by many, as participating too much of the theatrical manner, and having more the air of an itinerant enthuſiaſt, than a grave eccleſiaſtic. Per⯑haps 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 ex⯑treme of over-acting any part, is not half ſo into⯑lerable 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, [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 ſin⯑cere in our parts, and the preachers are inſin⯑cere in theirs.'’ The Dr. could not but acknow⯑ledge 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 au⯑dience, ſays an ancient ſage, you muſt yourſelf be moved; and it is a propoſition which holds uni⯑verſally 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 im⯑portance to impreſs them ſtrongly on the minds of the audience, to ſpeak to their hearts, and af⯑fect their paſſions, than to bewilder them in diſpu⯑tation, and lead them through labyrinths of con⯑troverſy, which can yield, perhaps, but little in⯑ſtruction, 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 po⯑ems, on theſe important ſubjects; Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. The reaſon of his making [149] choice of thoſe themes on which to write, he ve⯑ry 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 ve⯑ry nature and genius ſo changed, that I ſcarce know it to be the Engliſh nation, and am al⯑moſt 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 va⯑riety, 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 inconvenien⯑ces on both ſides, an attempt has been made to entertain the upper claſs of readers, and, by notes, to explain ſuch paſſages in divinity, phi⯑loſophy, 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 [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 mu⯑ſical modulation, and they mutually recommond, and ſet off each other. But about theſe mat⯑ters the writer is little ſollicitous, any other⯑wiſe, 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 read⯑ers, 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 read⯑ers of a higher taſte, they can have but little effect. There is no doctrine placed in a new light, no deſcriptions are ſufficiently empha⯑tical to work upon a ſenſible mind, and the per⯑petual flatneſs of the poetry is very diſguſtful to a critical reader, eſpecially, as there were ſo ma⯑ny 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 compoſi⯑tions, we ſhall conſider him as the tranſlator of Virgil, which is the moſt arduous province he ever undertook. Dr. Trapp, in his preface, after ſtat⯑ing the controverſy, which has been long held, [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 di⯑verſion 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 re⯑view, and finiſh this work, which otherwiſe had certainly been as much neglected by me, as, per⯑haps, 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 re⯑ſemblance to Virgil, he has endeavoured to de⯑fend 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 ſacri⯑ficed 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, [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 conſo⯑nants. 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, in⯑deed, 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 ci⯑tation, 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 a⯑greeable 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 eve⯑ry 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. [153] Dryden and Mr. Pope have enobled by their practice. We acknowledge too, that in ſome par⯑ticular views, that way of writing has the advan⯑tage 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 e⯑qual. 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 re⯑ſtraints, 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 writ⯑ing, our language is, it ſeems, ſo feebly conſti⯑tuted, [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 il⯑luſtrate 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 reve⯑rence, 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 con⯑tempt ſor the prieſthood, which we have from his own words, ‘" Prieſts of all profeſſions are the ſame."’ and takes every opportunity to mortify the uſurp⯑ing ſuperiority of ſpiritual tyrants. Trapp, with all his virtues (for I think it appears he poſſeſ⯑ſed many) had yet much of the prieſt in him, and for that very reaſon, perhaps, has ſhewn ſome re⯑ſentment to Dryden; but if he has with little can⯑dour of criticiſm treated Mr. Dryden, he has with great ſe [...]vility flattered Mr. Pope; [...]nd has inſinu⯑ated, 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 deſcrip⯑tion [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 de⯑gree in the Engliſh. But then is the Engliſh a tran⯑ſlation 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, how⯑ever, 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 ori⯑ginal, 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 con⯑feſſion from the Dr. and notwithſtanding many objections may be brought againſt this perform⯑ance of Dryden, yet we believe moſt of our poeti⯑cal readers upon peruſing it, will be of the opini⯑on 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, con⯑texture, 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 fa⯑ble, but diſcerned in Dryden's page, he glows as with fire from heaven, and the Aeneid is a conti⯑nued ſeries of whatever is great, elegant, pathetic, and ſublime.

[158] We have already obſerved, in the Life of Dry⯑den, that it is eaſier to diſcern wherein the beau⯑ties 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 no⯑ble rules he was capable of laying down, and what excellent materials he could afford, for build⯑ing 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 en⯑larged by them, takes in a wide range of poeti⯑cal ideas, and is taught to diſcover how many a⯑mazing 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 pro⯑feſſors 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 coun⯑tenance; but the poet is to do more, he is to trace the riſe of thoſe paſſions, to watch their grada⯑tions, to paint their progreſs, and mark them in the heart in their genuine conflicts; and, continues he, the diſproportion between the ſoul and the bo⯑dy, is not greater than the diſproportion between the painter and the poet.

Dr. Trapp is author of a tragedy called A⯑bramule, or Love and Empire, acted at the New Theatre at Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1704, de⯑dicated to the Right Honourable the Lady Har⯑riot Godolphin. Scene Conſtantinople. The ſto⯑ry is built upon the dethronement of Mahomet IV.

[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 univer⯑ſally pure.

He died in the month of November 1747, and left behind him the character of a pathetic and in⯑ſtructive preacher, a profound ſcholar, a diſcern⯑ing 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 ex⯑preſſive of the Dr's. character as a critic and a po⯑et. The author, after applanding Dryden's verſion, proceeds thus in favour of Trapp.

Mr. SAMUEL BOYSE.

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 hap⯑pineſs of his acquaintance, that people of all de⯑nominations 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 com⯑pliment 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 re⯑moved 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, arch⯑biſhop 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 juriſ⯑diction had its foundation in the New-Teſtament: Mr. Boyſe, conſiſtent with his principles, denied that [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 bro⯑thers, one a clergyman of the church of England, and the other a cardinal at Rome; but of this cir⯑cumſtance 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 ex⯑cepted.—

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 tradeſ⯑man in that city, and was imprudent enough to in⯑terrupt his education, by marrying her, before he had entered into his 20th year.

The natural extravagance of his temper ſoon ex⯑poſed him to want, and as he had now the addi⯑tional 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 gen⯑tleman for ſupport. His behaviour in this de⯑pendent 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 up⯑on his father, who had no other means of ſupport⯑ing himſelf than what his congregation afforded, and a [162] ſmall eſtate of fourſcore pounds a year in York⯑ſhire.

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 em⯑barraſſments. Young Boyſe was of all men the far⯑theſt 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 in⯑trigues with other men; and what is ſtill more ſur⯑priſing, 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 gen⯑tleman, 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 na⯑turally expected from her. But the old gentleman was deceived in his hopes, for time made no altera⯑tion 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 congrega⯑tion, 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 [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 pane⯑gyriſt 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 accom⯑pliſhments 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 re⯑lated by Mr. Boyſe. The counteſs one day came in⯑to 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 ſen⯑ſibly 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 ap⯑plauded 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 [164] Stormont was ſo much pleaſed with this mark of eſteem paid to the memory of his lady, that he or⯑dered 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 ac⯑quaintances, 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 inten⯑tions 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 per⯑haps not be altogether owing to his habits of gloomineſs and retirement. Nothing is more diffi⯑cult in that city, than to make acquaintances; There are no places where people meet and con⯑verſe 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 con⯑tracting 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 igno⯑rance of the world makes them unfit for entertain⯑ing ſenſible ſtrangers. They are public-ſpirited, but torn to pieces by factions. A gloomineſs in re⯑ligion [165] renders one part of them very barbarous, and an enthuſiaſm in politics ſo tranſports the gen⯑teeler 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 un⯑communicative, and their exceſſive haughtineſs pre⯑vents 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 rea⯑ſon to wonder that Boyſe lived obſcurely at Edin⯑burgh. 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 de⯑corum, 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 mar⯑ket place negligent in his apparel, he would be avoid⯑ed 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 po⯑verty, 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 like⯑wiſe 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 [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 per⯑ſon 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 con⯑tinued ſerious of blunders, for he who had not ſpi⯑rit 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 inten⯑tions of his patrons towards him, fell into a con⯑tempt 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 re⯑commended him to the ſollicitor-general his bro⯑ther, 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 threat⯑en to proſecute him wherever he ſhould be found. But theſe menaces were never carried into execu⯑tion, perhaps from the conſideration of his indi⯑gence, [167] which afforded no probable proſpect of their being paid.

Upon his arrival in London, he went to Twick⯑enham, 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 frequent⯑ly 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 him⯑ſelf, but by writing mendicant letters. It will ap⯑pear amazing, but impartiality obliges us to relate it, that this man, of ſo abject a ſpirit, was voluptu⯑ous [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 let⯑ter, 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 circum⯑ſtances, was perhaps never practiſed by the moſt ſenſual epicure.

He had yet ſome friends, many of the moſt emi⯑nent 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 cha⯑rity, 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 proſti⯑tuted by thoſe on whom it is beſtowed.

We have already taken notice of the infidelity of his wife; and now her circumſtances were re⯑duced, her virtue did not improve. She fell into a way of life diſgraceful to the ſex; nor was his beha⯑viour in any degree more moral. They were fre⯑quently 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 re⯑duced to the laſt extremity of human wretchedneſs, [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 per⯑haps 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 ſuffi⯑cient 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 per⯑haps 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 ad⯑ditional inconvenience of want of breeches.

[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 ap⯑pearance 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 yeſter⯑day 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 imme⯑diate appe [...]ite, he cared not at what expence, whe⯑ther of the reputation, or purſe of another.

About the year 1745 Mr. Boyſe's wife died. He was then at Reading, and pretended much con⯑cern 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 circum⯑ſtances were then too mean to put himſelf in mourn⯑ing, 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 in⯑ſtance [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 ſpight⯑fully of thoſe by whom he ſuſpected ſhe was enter⯑tained. 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 ale⯑houſe, 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, dur⯑ing 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, [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 em⯑ployed 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 cha⯑racter, and ſupport a better appearance than uſual; but while his circumſtances were mending, and his irregular appetites loſing ground, his health vi⯑ſibly 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 con⯑ſidered 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 [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 re⯑ligiouſly 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 ſub⯑jection 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 applica⯑tions 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, [174] and never were ſuch diſtinguiſhed abilities given to leſs purpoſe. His genius was not confined to po⯑etry 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, en⯑titled 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 re⯑putation, 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 conſciouſ⯑neſs 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, en⯑titled Al [...]ion's Triumph; ſome Stanza's of which we ſhall give as a ſpecimen of Mr. Boyſe's poetry.

Sir RICHARD BLACKMORE.

THIS eminent poet and phyſician was ſon of Mr. Robert Blackmore, an Attorney at Law. He received his early education at a pri⯑vate 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 Ox⯑ford, 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 pre⯑ſumed 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 ſpend⯑ing 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 [178] London to enter upon the practice of it, and no long after he was choſen fellow of the Royal Col⯑lege 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 there⯑fore early declared himſelf in favour of the revo⯑lution, 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 counte⯑nance of the great, and when an almoſt uni⯑verſal 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 op⯑portunities 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 Learn⯑ing, 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 fa⯑vour of virtue (which, by the way, was not the caſe with Sir Richard) is more tolerable than the brighteſt [180] parts employed in the cauſe of lewdneſs and debau⯑chery.

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 Spec⯑tator, 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 pro⯑ductions in our Engliſh verſe. The reader can⯑not but be pleaſed to find the depths of phi⯑loſophy, enlivened with all the charms of poe⯑try, and to ſee ſo great a ſtrength of reaſon a⯑midſt ſo beautiful a redundancy of the imagi⯑nation. 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 in⯑conteſtable 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 demon⯑ſtrate the ſelf-exiſtence of an eternal mind, from the created and dependent exiſtence of the uni⯑verſe, and to confute the hypothefis of the Epi⯑cureans and the Fataliſts, under whom all the pa⯑trons of impiety, ancient and modern, of what⯑ſoever denomination may be ranged. The firſt of whom affirm, the world was in time cauſed by [181] chance, and the other, that it exiſted from eter⯑nity without a cauſe. 'Tis true, both theſe ac⯑knowledge the exiſtence of Gods, but by their abſurd and ridiculous deſcription of them, it is plain, they had nothing elſe in view, but to a⯑void the obnoxious character of atheiſtical philo⯑ſophers. To adorn this poem, no embelliſhments are borrowed from the exploded and obſolete the⯑ology of the ancient idolaters of Greece and Rome; no rapturous invocations are addreſſed to their idle deities, nor any alluſions to their fabu⯑lous 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 com⯑poſitions, yet in Chriſtian poems, of the ſublime and greater kind, a mixture of the Pagan the⯑ology muſt, by all who are maſters of reflexion and good ſenſe, be condemned, if not as impi⯑ous, 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 Bri⯑tons 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 be⯑ing 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 Ve⯑nus, what would the people think of their preach⯑er? 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 hap⯑py [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, af⯑ter 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 particu⯑lar, oppoſes his friend Mr. Gildon.

‘'Blackmore's action (ſays he) has neither unity, integrity, morality, nor univerſality, and conſe⯑quently he can have no fable, and no heroic poem. His narration is neither probable, delight⯑ful, nor wonderful. His characters have none of theſe neceſſary qualifications.—The things con⯑tained in his narrations, are neither in their own nature delightful nor numerous enough, nor right⯑ly 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 extraor⯑dinary 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 [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 clergy⯑man 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 ſpi⯑rits 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 hea⯑ven 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 king⯑doms are not to be managed by a vulgar hand.'’ [184] Perhaps it may be true, that the guardian angels of ſtates and kingdoms may have been too power⯑ful 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 ex⯑preſſes 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 Octo⯑ber 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 ſup⯑poſed 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 dimi⯑nution 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 writ⯑ten nothing contemptibly, muſt indicate a genius much ſuperior to the common ſtandard.—His ver⯑ſification is almoſt every where beautiful; and tho' [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 ra⯑ther proceeded from a philoſophical exactneſs, than a penury of genius.

It is really aſtoniſhing to find Dean Swift, join⯑ing 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 im⯑mediately 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 [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 ho⯑nour 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, Im⯑mortality 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 Wil⯑liam the IIId, 1696, Octavo, 1723
• [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 ſeve⯑ral Kinds of that Diſeaſe; with the proper Me⯑thods of Cure: And a Diſſertation upon the modern Practice of Inoculation, Octavo, 1722
  • III. A Treatiſe on Conſumptions, and other Diſtem⯑pers 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 Diſ⯑eaſes, and the Method of curing them, Octavo, 1726
  • VII. Diſſertations on a Dropſy, a Tympany, the Jaundice, the Stone, and the Diabetes, Octavo, 1727
• [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 beau⯑tiful 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 par⯑ticularly 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.

Mr. JAMES THOMSON.

THIS celebrated poet, from whom his coun⯑try has derived the moſt diſtinguiſhed ho⯑nour, was ſon of the revd. Mr. Thomſon, a mi⯑niſter of the church of Scotland, in the Preſby⯑tery of Jedburgh.

He was born in the place where his father was miniſter, about the beginning of the preſent cen⯑tury, 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 edu⯑cation, 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 ob⯑ſcure part of the country, where he had no op⯑portunity to diſplay himſelf, and, except upon pe⯑riodical meetings of the miniſters, ſeldom an op⯑portunity of converſing with men of learning.

[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. Thom⯑ſon 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 philoſo⯑phical man, inſpired his mind with a love of the ſciences, nor were the revd. gentleman's endea⯑vours 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 grant⯑ed to the beſt advantage. Though Mr. Ricker⯑ton 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 a⯑mongſt 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 admi⯑ration. The lines are his induction to Winter, [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 Edin⯑burgh, 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 philoſo⯑phy being finiſhed, he was entered in the Divi⯑nity Hall, as one of the candidates for the mi⯑niſtry, where the ſtudents, before they are per⯑mitted 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 ap⯑pointed by the profeſſor to write a diſcourſe on the Power of the Supreme Being. When his com⯑panions [193] heard their taſk aſſigned him, they could not but arraign the profeſſor's judgment, for aſ⯑ſigning ſo copious a theme to a young man, from whom nothing equal to the ſubject could be ex⯑pected. But when Mr. Thomſon delivered the diſcourſe, they had then reaſon to reproach them⯑ſelves for want of diſcernment, and for indulg⯑ing a contempt of one ſuperior to the brighteſt genius amongſt them. This diſcourſe was ſo ſub⯑limely elevated, that both the profeſſor and the ſtudents who heard it delivered, were aſtoniſhed. It was written in blank verſe, for which Mr. Ha⯑milton rebuked him, as being improper upon that occaſion. Such of his fellow-ſtudents as envied him the ſucceſs of this diſcourſe, and the admi⯑ration 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 con⯑tinued, 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 [194] of Thomſon, if he had not extended his views be⯑yond 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 di⯑ſtinguiſhing his genius, as he placed ſome depend⯑ence upon it, and hoped to acquire ſuch patro⯑nage 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 pro⯑cured him any reputation from the public, was his Winter, of which mention is already made, and further notice will be taken; but he had pri⯑vate approbation for ſeveral of his pieces, long be⯑fore 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 ap⯑probation of Mr. Rickerton, he permitted his friends to copy. By ſome means or other this Pa⯑raphraſe fell into the hands of Mr. Auditor Ben⯑ſon, who, expreſſing his admiration of it, ſaid, that he doubted not if the author was in Lon⯑don, 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 metropo⯑lis. 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 [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 di⯑vert 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 ſaun⯑tered along the ſtreets, he could not withhold his admiration of the magnitude, opulence, and va⯑rious objects this great metropolis continually pre⯑ſented to his view. Theſe muſt naturally have di⯑verted 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 grati⯑fy his curioſity, the conſequences of which he af⯑terwards 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 cu⯑rioſity; 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 approba⯑tion [196] it might meet with from them, was not, howe⯑ver, a ſufficient recommendation to introduce it to the world. He had the mortification of offering it to ſeveral Bookſellers without ſucceſs, who, per⯑haps, 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 recommenda⯑tion to it. Theſe were ſevere repulſes; but, at laſt, the difficulty was ſurmounted Mr. Mallet, offered it to Mr. Millan, now Bookſeller at Char⯑ing-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 frank⯑neſs; for the impreſſion lay like as paper on his hands, few copies being ſold, 'till by an acci⯑dent its merit was diſcovered^*. One Mr. What⯑ley, 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 delight⯑ed 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, [197] and, in the extaſy of his admiration of this poem, he went from Coffee-houſe to Coffee-houſe, point⯑ing out its beauties, and calling upon all men of taſte, to exert themſelves in reſcuing one of the greateſt geniuſes that ever appeared, from obſcu⯑rity. 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 com⯑plain 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 fi⯑niſhed, 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 di⯑ſtreſs, 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. De⯑ſcription 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. Thom⯑ſon, that the expreſſion of blaſted eye would look like a perſonal reflexion, as Mr. Mitchell had really that misfortune, he changed the epithet blaſt⯑ed, 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;

[199] The deſcription of a thaw is equally pictureſque. The following lines conſequent upon it are excel⯑lent.

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 ex⯑preſſion.

He concludes the poem by enforcing a reliance on providence, which will in proper time compen⯑ſate 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 pub⯑lic, and is the moſt unfiniſhed of the four; it is not however without its beauties, of which many have conſidered the ſtory of Lavinia, natu⯑rally 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 beau⯑tiful tale, that the hint of it is taken from the book of Ruth in the Old Teſtament.

The author next publiſhed the Spring, the in⯑duction 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 de⯑ſire, and jealous tranſports, he at the ſame time diſ⯑ſuades the ladies from being too credulous in the affairs of gallantry. He repreſents the natural in⯑fluence of ſpring, in giving a new glow to the beauties of the fair creation, and firing their hearts with the paſſion of love.

[202] Summer has many manly and ſtriking beauties, of which the Hymn to the Sun, is one of the ſu⯑blimeſt and moſt maſterly efforts of genius we have ever ſeen.—There are ſome hints taken from Cowley's beautiful Hymn to Light.—Mr. Thom⯑ſon 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 de⯑fective in point of plan. There appears no parti⯑cular deſign; the parts are not ſubſervient to one another; nor is there any dependance or connection throughout; but this perhaps is a fault almoſt inſe⯑parable 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 de⯑ſcribed 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 de⯑ſcribed 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 en⯑tirely 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 ſin⯑gularity 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 be⯑fore the eye, we admire it in all its luſtre, and who would not rather enjoy a perfect inſpection into a [203] natural curioſity through a microſcope capable of diſcovering all the minute beauties, though its ex⯑terior form ſhould not be comely, than perceive an object but faintly, through a microſcope ill adapted for the purpoſe, however its outſide may be deco⯑rated. 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, after⯑wards 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 per⯑formed (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 foreign⯑ers. '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 com⯑pared. 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 tra⯑vels.

Amongſt Mr. Thomſon's poems, is one to the memory of Sir Iſaac Newton, of which we ſhall [204] ſay no more than this, that if he had never wrote any thing beſides, he deſerved to enjoy a diſtinguiſh⯑ed 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 in⯑juries done them by the Spaniards: This is far from being one of his beſt poems.

[205] Upon the death of his generous patron, lord chan⯑cellor 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 ce⯑lebrate. He enjoyed, during lord Talbot's life, a very profitable place, which that worthy patriot had con⯑ferred 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 formali⯑ties enter into the poſſeſſion of it. This, how⯑ever, by an unaccountable indolence he neglected, and at laſt the place, which he might have enjoy⯑ed with ſo little trouble, was beſtowed upon ano⯑ther.

Amongſt the lateſt of Mr. Thomſon's productions is his Caſtle of Indolence, a poem of ſo extraordi⯑nary merit, that perhaps we are not extravagant, when we declare, that this ſingle performance diſ⯑covers 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 bor⯑ders on the ludicrous, have been thought neceſſary to make the imitation more perfect.

[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 an⯑other 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 imagi⯑nation, 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 au⯑thor'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 drama⯑tic 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 Carthagi⯑nian hiſtory of that princeſs, and upon which the famous Nathaniel Lee has likewiſe written a Tra⯑gedy. 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 can⯑not conclude, ſays he, without owning my obli⯑gations to thoſe concerned in the repreſentation. They have indeed done me more than juſtice: Whatever was deſigned as amiable and engage⯑ing 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 ad⯑mirable.'’

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, ‘[210] Oh! Jamey Thomſon, Jamey Thomſon Oh!’

However ill-natured this critic might be in in⯑terrupting 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 warn⯑ing 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 advan⯑tage, without being known as the poet.—He ac⯑cordingly placed himſelf in the upper gal⯑lery; 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 gen⯑tlemen 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 in⯑ſtance 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 ſe⯑veral nights.

[211] Many have remark'd that his characters in his plays are more frequently deſcriptive, than expreſ⯑ſive, of the paſſions; but they all abound with un⯑common 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 atten⯑tion is well rewarded, and in no paſſages, perhaps, in his tragedies, more ſo, than in the affecting ac⯑count 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 [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 ſuf⯑fered 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 per⯑formed twice in his royal highneſs's gardens at Cliff⯑den. 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 Edin⯑burgh. This play, which is certainly the leaſt ex⯑cellent 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 Lyttle⯑ton, 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 them⯑ſelves 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 him⯑ſelf; 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 con⯑ſideration 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 [217] interviews, the action too ſtands ſtill, and the ſtory languiſhes. His Tancred and Sigiſmunda may be excepted from this general cenſure: But his cha⯑racters 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 obvi⯑ous 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 comp⯑troller of America, which he lived not long to en⯑joy. Mr. Thomſon was extremely beloved by his acquaintance. He was of an open generous diſpoſi⯑tion; and was ſometimes tempted to an exceſſive indulgence of the ſocial pleaſures: A failing too frequently inſeparable from men of genius. His ex⯑terior 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 long⯑abſence, new acquaintance, and additional emi⯑nence; 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 [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 inti⯑mated to the ſervant that an old acquaintance de⯑ſired 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 ruſh⯑ing to his arms, he tenderly embraced him; re⯑joicing 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 preva⯑lence 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 inoffen⯑ſive 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,

ALEXANDER POPE, Eſq

THIS illuſtrious poet was born at London, in 1688, and was deſcended from a good fa⯑mily 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 mer⯑chant of London, who upon the Revolution quit⯑ted 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 re⯑mained 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 advan⯑tage in his earlieſt inſtruction. He owed the know⯑ledge 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, far⯑ther 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 diſ⯑guiſe 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 un⯑fortunate as to loſe under his two laſt maſters, what he had acquired under the firſt.

[221] While he remained at this ſchool, being permit⯑ted 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 per⯑formed 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 re⯑ſide 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 ac⯑quainted 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 pro⯑duction of ſo early an age, is a perfect maſter piece; nor need he have been aſhamed of it, had it been writ⯑ten 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 ra⯑tional pleaſures which attend the retreats of a con⯑tented 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 [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 ob⯑ſerve, 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 writ⯑ing a Paraphraſe on our Saviour's Miracle, of turn⯑ing 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 appear⯑ance 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 judici⯑ouſly 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 [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. Spen⯑ſer'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 ac⯑quaintance of men of genius, and ſo improved every advantage, that he made a more rapid progreſs to⯑wards a conſummation in fame, than any of our for⯑mer Engliſh poets. His Meſſiah; his Windſor-Foreſt, the firſt part of which was written at the ſame time with his paſtorals; his Eſſay on Criti⯑ciſm in 1709, and his Rape of the Lock in 1712, eſtabliſhed his poetical character in ſuch a man⯑ner, 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 inca⯑pable of a place, which the lord treaſurer, Oxford uſed to expreſs his concern for, but without offer⯑ing 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 contri⯑buted 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 [225] mperfect maſter of numbers, he entruſted his ma⯑nuſcripts 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, unharmo⯑nious, and indelicate, proved diſguſtful to the old gentleman, then near 70, who, perhaps, was a lit⯑tle aſhamed, that a boy at 16 ſhould ſo ſeverely cor⯑rect 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, with⯑out 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 behavi⯑our 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 Wy⯑cherly, which we ſhall inſert here, eſpecially as they are not taken notice of in his life.

One of the moſt affecting and tender compoſiti⯑ons 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 ob⯑tained 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 educa⯑tion 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 [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 be⯑ing ſurprized at this behaviour, ſet ſpies upon her, to find out the real cauſe of her indifference. Her correſpondence with her lover was ſoon diſ⯑covered, 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 cere⯑mony due to her quality, but reſtricted from the converſation of every one, but the ſpies of this ſe⯑vere 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 over⯑whelmed with the profoundeſt ſorrow. Nature be⯑ing 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 per⯑form 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 affect⯑ing.

No poem of our author's more deſervedly ob⯑tained him reputation, than his Eſſay on Criti⯑ciſm. Mr. Addiſon, in his Spectator, No. 253, has celebrated it with ſuch profuſe terms of ad⯑miration, 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 [230] ſooner was his body lifeleſs, but this author reviv⯑ing 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 ſubſcrip⯑tion Mr. Addiſon had procured to our author, to ſtand forth, and declare it, that truth might ap⯑pear. But the whole libel was proved a malicious ſtory, by many perſons of diſtinction, who, ſeve⯑ral 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 Miſcella⯑nies, 12mo. 1727. The lines indeed are elegant⯑ly ſatirical, and, in the opinion of many unpreju⯑diced judges, who had opportunities of knowing the character of Mr. Addiſon, are no ill repreſenta⯑tion 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 ap⯑pear when we particularize an interview between theſe two poetical antagoniſts, procured by the warm ſollicitations of Sir Richard Steele, who was pre⯑ſent 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 high⯑eſt 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 inſinu⯑ations were ſpread, that it ſhall not be his fault, if there was not the beſt underſtanding and intel⯑ligence 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. Ad⯑diſon 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 [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 kind⯑neſs 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 ci⯑vility, and nothing elſe appeared on either ſide, for Mr. Addiſon had a natural reſerve and gloom at the beginning of an evening, which, by con⯑verſation and a glaſs, brightened into an eaſy chear⯑fulneſs. 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 of⯑fended; and obſerved, that the tranſlation of Ho⯑mer, 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 him⯑ſelf the cauſe of the breach between them. But he was diſappointed; for Mr. Addiſon, without ap⯑pearing to be angry, was quite overcome with it. He began with declaring, that he always had wiſhed [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 ima⯑gine, 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 tem⯑per, 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 ad⯑viſed to have a leſs exalted ſenſe of his own merit.

Mr. Pope could not well bear ſuch repeated re⯑proaches, but bol [...]ly told Mr. Addiſon, that he ap⯑pealed from his judgment to the public, and that [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 learn⯑ing purchaſed by the public money, to a mean thirſt of power; that he was ſent abroad to encou⯑rage literature, in place of which he had always endeavoured to ſuppreſs merit. At laſt, the conteſt grew ſo warm, that they parted without any cere⯑mony, 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 ac⯑counts, which have been given concerning this quarrel, it does not appear that Mr. Pope was the aggreſſor. If Mr. Addiſon entertained ſuſpici⯑ons 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 poſte⯑rity has confirmed the ſentence of that age, which gave the preference to Mr. Pope; for his tranſla⯑tion [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 eſtabliſh⯑ed. If this was the failing of Mr. Addiſon, it was not the error of Pope, for he kept the ſtricteſt cor⯑reſpondence 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 in⯑different 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 re⯑ligions. 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 [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 demon⯑ſtrated 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 inef⯑fectual. 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 up⯑on 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 hu⯑morouſly offered him twenty pounds for that pur⯑poſe. 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 ap⯑plauſe, and at the ſame time, with ſo much pro⯑fit to himſelf, that he was envied by many writ⯑ers, whoſe vanity perhaps induced them to be⯑lieve themſelves equal to ſo great a deſign. A combination of inferior wits were employed to write The Popiad, in which his tranſlation is cha⯑racterized, as unjuſt to the original, without beau⯑ty of language, or variety of numbers. Inſtead of the juſtneſs of the original, they ſay there is ab⯑ſurdity [239] and extravagance. Inſtead of the beauti⯑ful 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 cere⯑mony in his Notes on the Iliad, than, in the opi⯑nion of ſome people, was due to her ſex. This learned lady was not without a ſenſe of the in⯑jury, and took an opportunity of diſcovering her reſentment.

Thus far Madam Dacier differs in her opinion from Mr. Pope concerning Homer; but theſe re⯑marks which we have juſt quoted, partake not at all of the nature of criticiſm; they are meer aſ⯑ſertion. 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 ge⯑niuſes 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 per⯑forms with a warmth that generally attends writ⯑ers of her ſex. Mr. Pope, however, paid more regard to this fair antagoniſt, than any other cri⯑tic [242] upon his works. He confeſſed that he had re⯑ceived great helps from her, and only thought ſhe had (through a prodigious, and almoſt ſuperſtitious, fondneſs for Homer) endeavoured to make him ap⯑pear 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 a⯑mongſt his enemies of conſequence enough to pro⯑voke an anſwer, yet when they were conſidered collectively, they offered excellent materials for a general ſatire. This ſatire he planned and exe⯑cuted 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 rec⯑kon 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 ſtig⯑matized 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 [243] could very pungently repay it. Some of the gen⯑tlemen, however, who had been more ſeverely laſhed than the reſt, meditated a revenge, which redounds but little to their honour. They either in⯑tended 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 ſome⯑thing 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 im⯑portuned him, to undertake the whole of Shake⯑ſpear'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 foun⯑dation 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 pro⯑vince, and how Mr. Pope has acquitted himſelf [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 with⯑out 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 ap⯑probation, 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 ma⯑nager of Drury-Lane Theatre, in favour of Thom⯑ſon's Agamemnon, which notwithſtanding his ap⯑probation, Thomſon's friends were obliged to mu⯑tulate 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. Arbuth⯑not. 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, pub⯑liſhed [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 gene⯑rous tear he paid,

[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 draw⯑ing 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 deſti⯑tute 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 friend⯑ſhip, 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 ſubli⯑mity of his moral and philoſophical works, the vivacity of his ſatirical, the clearneſs and propriety of his didactic, the richneſs and variety of his di⯑ſcriptive, and the elegance of all, added to an harmony of verſification and correctneſs of ſenti⯑ment and language, unknown to our former poets, [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 un⯑common force and perſpicuity.

Under the profeſſion of the Roman-Catholic re⯑ligion, to which he adhered to the laſt, he main⯑tained all the moderation and charity becoming the moſt thorough and conſiſtent Proteſtant. His converſation was natural, eaſy and agreeable, with⯑out any affectation of diſplaying his wit, or ob⯑truding 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 admira⯑tion, 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 am⯑ply 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 ac⯑knowledge the ſuperiority of none but Shakeſpear, Milton, and Dryden. With the two former, it is unnatural to compare him, as their province in writ⯑ing is ſo very different. Pope has never attempted [248] the drama, nor publiſhed an Epic Poem, in which theſe two diſtinguiſhed genius's have ſo wonder⯑fully 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 coin⯑cidence of genius. It will not perhaps be un⯑pleaſing 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 poe⯑try 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 no⯑thing of harmony or mellifluence to give it a grace⯑ful 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 connect⯑ed beauty, elegance, and ſtrength, in all his poeti⯑cal compoſitions. Though Dryden thus poliſhed our Engliſh numbers, and thus harmonized verſifi⯑cation, 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 ex⯑pletives were frequently introduced to compleat his meaſures. It was apparent therefore that an ad⯑ditional harmony might ſtill be given to our num⯑bers, 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 har⯑monized 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 [249] to advantage. He has created a kind of me⯑chanical verſification; every line is alike; and though they are ſweetly muſical, they want diver⯑ſity, for he has not ſtudied ſo great a variety of pauſes, and where the accents may be laid grace⯑fully. 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 neceſ⯑ſarily follow that his genius was therefore ſuperior.

The grand characteriſtic of a poet is his inven⯑tion, 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 in⯑vention, 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 in⯑ferior to the Dunciad, though Dryden had advan⯑tages which Mr. Pope had not; for Dryden's cha⯑racters 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 em⯑phatically contemptible. Pope's was the hardeſt [250] taſk, and he has executed it with the greateſt ſuc⯑ceſs. 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 vo⯑taries 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 per⯑haps 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 [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 ex⯑ceeded 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 ori⯑ginal authors. But then a candid critic ſhould re⯑flect, that as Dryden was prior in the great attempt of tendering Virgil into Engliſh; ſo did he per⯑form 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 at⯑tention 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 tran⯑ſlator; 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 im⯑perfectly hold. Dryden's Dedications and Prefaces, beſides that they are more numerous, and are the beſt models for courtly panegyric, ſhew that he under⯑ſtood 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 him⯑ſelf; for he ſo illuminaced the mind by his clear and perſpicuous reaſoning, that dullneſs itſelf be⯑came capable of diſcerning; and when at any [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.

AARON HILL, Eſq ^*

WAS the ſon of George Hill, eſq of Malmſbury-Abbey in Wiltſhire; a gentle⯑man 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 advan⯑tage 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 chil⯑dren 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 [253] him to ſchool to Mr. Rayner at Barnſtable in De⯑vonſhire, 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 for⯑tune, which denied him ſuch ſupplies of pocket⯑money 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 re⯑lation much eſteemed (lord Paget, then ambaſſador at Conſtantinople) he formed a reſolution of pay⯑ing 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 em⯑bark'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 accu⯑rate 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, un⯑der 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.

[254] He was in great eſteem with that nobleman; in⯑ſomuch, 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 miſ⯑ſing, 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 ac⯑count of his ſobriety and underſtanding, to accom⯑pany 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 mat⯑ter for the hiſtory he wrote of Turky, and pub⯑liſhed 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 Cla⯑riſſa, he acknowledges his conſciouſneſs of ſuch defects: where ſpeaking of obſcurity, he ſays,

[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 accu⯑ſation.'

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 in⯑deed 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 pur⯑poſed 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 for⯑tune: 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 [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 ſuc⯑ceſs: 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 pub⯑lic.—But in a few months he relinquiſhed it, from ſome miſunderſtanding with the then lord chamber⯑lain; and though he was ſoon after ſollicited to take that charge again upon him (by a perſon the high⯑eſt 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 under⯑takings, 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 aſſiſt⯑ance, 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 miſunder⯑ſtood 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 [257] words, called, A fair ſtate of the Account, pub⯑liſhed 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 ap⯑pearance. 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) un⯑der their hands, to retract their own firſt-given opinions.

He wrote part of a Tract of War; another up⯑on 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 [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 for⯑tune 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 engage⯑ing; to which was joined a dignity, which render⯑ed 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 diſpoſi⯑tion was benevolent, beyond the power of the for⯑tune 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 ſuffi⯑cient to ſupport with calmneſs great misfortune; and from his birth it may be truly ſaid he was ob⯑liged to meet it.

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

His temper, though by nature warm (when in⯑juries 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 pre⯑judice [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.

[264] Soon after he finiſhed ſix books more of Gideon; which made eight, of the twelve he purpos'd writ⯑ing; 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 gen⯑tleman (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 be⯑fore, 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 up⯑on this occaſion: Some thought, and thence re⯑ported, that there was not a ſtick in Scotland could be capable of anſwering that purpoſe; but he de⯑monſtrated 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 en⯑tirely 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 under⯑taking; yet had ſagacity to overcome them all (as far as his own management extended) for when the [265] trees were by his order chain'd together into floats, the ignorant Highlanders refus'd to venture them⯑ſelves 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 com⯑pliment 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 civi⯑lities, he went to York, and other places in that country; where his wife then was, with ſome rela⯑tions, 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 [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 pri⯑vate 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 follow⯑ing 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 differ⯑ence [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 wor⯑thy 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 an⯑other 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 [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 high⯑neſs the Prince of Wales.

The ſame year was acted, at the Theatre in Lin⯑coln's-Inn-Fields, another Tragedy of his tranſlat⯑ing 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 re⯑commends Monſieur de Voltaire, as worthy of his royal highneſs's partiality; diſclaiming for himſelf all expectations of his notice. But he was, notwith⯑ſtanding, particularly honoured with his approba⯑tion.

Theſe plays, if not a litteral tranſlation, have been thought much better, for their having paſt his hands; as generouſly was acknowledged by Mon⯑ſieur 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)

[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 Lon⯑don) and ſettled at Plaiſtow in Eſſex; where he en⯑tirely 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 Impar⯑tial; 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 ex⯑tenſive; 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 forget⯑ful 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 altera⯑tions 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 appli⯑cations, for ſeveral ſeaſons, at both Theatres without [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 like⯑wiſe 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 obliga⯑tions.—They begin the preface to the play.

And in relation to this Tragedy he ſays, after very juſtly cenſuring Monſieur de Voltaire, for re⯑preſenting 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 melan⯑choly thread of fatal prophecy in the beginning of it; of his own approaching diſſolution.

From about the time he was ſolliciting the bring⯑ing 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 ge⯑neral decay (and was believed to have been an in⯑flamation in the kidneys; which his intenſe at⯑tachment 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 wor⯑thy 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 ac⯑knowledgments (to thoſe about him) upon hearing of it:—But on the day before it was to be repre⯑ſented he died, in the very minute of the earthquake, February the eighth, 1749, which he ſeemed ſenſible of, though then deprived of ut⯑terance. Had he lived two days longer, he had been ſixty-five years old.—He endur'd a twelve⯑month's torment of the body with a calmneſs that confeſs'd a ſuperiority of ſoul! He was interred in [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 enume⯑rated, there are ſeveral other; particularly two poems, intitled the Creation, and the Judgment-Day; which were publiſhed many years ago.—An⯑other 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 poſt⯑poned 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 pronoun⯑ced it highly worthy of.—The late lord Boling⯑broke (in a letter wrote to the author) has called it one of the nobleſt drama's, that our language, or any age can boaſt.

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

And thus ſpeaking to Mark Anthony;

This again to Calphurnia.

Mr. LEWIS THEOBALD.

THIS gentleman was born at Sittingburn in Kent, of which place his father, Mr. Peter Theobald, was an eminent attorney. His gram⯑matical learning he received chiefly under the revd. Mr. Ellis, at Iſleworth in Middleſex, and after⯑wards [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 profeſſi⯑on 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 publica⯑tion of Pope's Homer, he praiſed it in the moſt ex⯑travagant 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 fol⯑lowing 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 an⯑other, 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-hun⯑dred 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 ex⯑travagant ſubſcription; in which he had no ſhare, [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 rough⯑neſs, 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 an⯑other 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 diſ⯑pute, 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 men⯑tioned in their company. His applauſe is not the tribute of his heart, but the ſacrifice of his re⯑venge.'’

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 no⯑torious 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 con⯑tradiction.

[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 Shake⯑ſpear'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 Falſe⯑hood be (as he would have it thought) Shake⯑ſpear'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 ſatis⯑factory;—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 daugh⯑ter 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 dra⯑matic poet, and eſſays to prove the Tragedy in queſtion to be in reality Shakeſpear's, and not un⯑wor [...]hy of him. We cannot ſet this controverſy in a clearer light, than by tranſcribing a letter ſub⯑joined 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 [286] has, from a ſuperſtitious zeal for the memory of Shakeſpear, defended abſurdities, and palliated ex⯑travagant blunders.

The ingenious Mr. Dodd, who has lately fa⯑voured 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 Shake⯑ſpear'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 ob⯑ſerves 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, per⯑formed on the Theatre in Little Lincoln's Inn-Fields, 1717.
• [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 tran⯑ſlated 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, contain⯑ing 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 Revd. Dr. SAMUEL CROXALL,

THE celebrated author of the Fair Circaſſian, was ſon of the revd. Mr. Samuel Croxall, rector of Hanworth, Middleſex, and vicar of Wal⯑ton 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 be⯑came 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 eaſi⯑neſs 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 forma⯑tion 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 ano⯑ther place, ‘'Pardon, O lovely deity, the preſump⯑tion [289] of this addreſs, and favour my weak endea⯑vours. 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 ac⯑compliſhment 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 ad⯑dreſs, 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 Solo⯑mon, from which it is taken, as an inſpired poem, emblematic of the Meſſiah and the Church. Our au⯑thor 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, exe⯑cuted by him, while he was influenced by that vi⯑olent 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 [290] could not be Pharaoh's daughter, as has been com⯑monly conjectured, becauſe the bride in the Can⯑ticles is characteriſed as a private perſon, a ſhep⯑herdeſs, one that kept a vineyard, and was ill uſed by her mother's children, all which will a⯑gree very well with ſomebody elſe, but cannot, without great ſtraining, be drawn to ſit the Egyp⯑tian 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 univerſi⯑ty 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 pa⯑lace there; of the different Seraglios, being fif⯑ty two in number in that one city. Then there is an account given of the Sultanas; their man⯑ner of treatment and living; their birth and country, with ſome touches of their perſonal en⯑dowments, how long they continued in favour, and what the reſult was of the King's fondneſs for each of them. Among theſe, there is par⯑ticular mention made of a ſlave of more exceed⯑ing 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 af⯑fection, 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, [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 per⯑ſon, 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 plea⯑ſure (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 proſti⯑tuted his Muſe to the purpoſes of lewdneſs, in con⯑verting 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 tem⯑per, 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 di⯑ſtinct conſiderations; for an author may be ac⯑curſed, 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 ex⯑pected 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 in⯑ferior 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 admi⯑niſtration. 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 publiſh⯑ed The Viſion, a poem, addreſſed to the earl of [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 Fune⯑ral 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 ſub⯑ſequent revolutions in the government of that peo⯑ple, 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 pub⯑liſhed 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 Revd. Mr. CHRISTOPHER PITT,

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 col⯑lege 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 diſ⯑pl [...]s of his genius, that with an engaging fami⯑liarity he uſed to call him his ſon.

Amongſt the firſt of Mr. Pitt's performances which ſaw the light, were a panegyrie on lord Stan⯑hope, 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 pro⯑duction 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 meri⯑dian of his genius. Several of his other pieces were publiſhed afterwards, in his volume of Miſ⯑cellaneous Poems.

[299] The ingenious writer of the Student hath o⯑bliged 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 exe⯑cuted 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, with⯑out leaving one enemy behind him. On his tomb⯑ſtone 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 en⯑thuſiaſim. 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.

[300] Waller thought this a beauty; and Dryden was very fond of it. Some late writers, under the no⯑tion of imitating theſe two great verſifiers in this point, run into downright affectation, and are g [...]ilty of the moſt improper and ridiculous expreſ⯑ſions, 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, ob⯑ſerves, that alliteration is ridiculed too in Chaucer, in a paſſage which every reader does not underſtand.

The Ploughman's Tale is written, in ſome mea⯑ſure, 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 [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 per⯑haps, 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 en⯑deavoured in ſome other places to make of Dryden. When he undertook Virgil, he was ſtooping with age, oppreſſed with wants, and conflicting with in⯑firmities. 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, [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 pro⯑duces 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 Dry⯑den, is taken from Virgil's deſcription of Elyſium, which ſays Dr. Trap is ſo charming, that it is al⯑moſt Elyſium to read it.

In the celebrated deſcription of the ſwiftneſs of Camilla in the VIIth Aeneid, which Virgil has la⯑boured 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.

[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 re⯑ſembled to that of a Steed; which is perhaps one of the moſt pictureſque beauties in the whole Aeneid.

[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 up⯑on. He ſaw the errors of that great poet, and avoided them; he diſcovered his beauties, and im⯑proved 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 ap⯑peared. 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.

Mr. HAMMOND.

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 [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 diſor⯑dered. 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 [...]o⯑cal 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 ſenti⯑ments of his heart. Tibullus ſeems to have been the model our author judiciouſly preferred to Ovid; [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.

Mr. JOHN BANKS.

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 ex⯑traordinary 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, indepen⯑dent 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 diſ⯑qualified 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 ſchool⯑maſter, [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 employ⯑ment, 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 ge⯑nuine cauſe of his being taken notice of, and not any intrinſic excellence in the verſes themſelves. This re⯑flexion 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, ne⯑ver was reckoned by Mr. Banks himſelf as any way worthy of particular diſtinction. His buſineſs of ſelling books upon a ſtall becoming diſagreea⯑ble to him, as it demanded a conſtant and uncom⯑fortable attendance, he quitted that way of life, [312] and was received into the ſhop of one Mr. Mon⯑tague 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 anſwer⯑ed 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 ſome⯑thing to his reputation; and quitting his employ⯑ment 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, [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 contenti⯑ons in ſearch of truth. The heats of the Ci⯑vil 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 altoge⯑ther impartial. He has, in many caſes, very ſuc⯑ceſsfully 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 ſub⯑verter 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 par⯑ticular, 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 of⯑fence [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. Be⯑ſides 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 pa⯑tience, 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 be⯑hind 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 com⯑panion. He had none of the petulance, which too frequentl renders men of genius unaccept⯑able to their acquaintance. He was of ſo com⯑poſed a temper, that he was ſeldom known to be in a paſſion, and he wore a perpetual chearful⯑neſs 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 [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^*.'’

Mrs. LAETITIA PILKINGTON.

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 gen⯑tleman of Dutch extraction; who ſettled in Dublin. Her mother was deſcended of an ancient and ho⯑nourable 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 extraordi⯑nary for her years, and drew upon her the admi⯑ration [316] of many, who found more pleaſure in her converſation, than that of girls generally affords. In conſequence of a poetical genius, and an en⯑gaging ſprightlineſs peculiar to her, ſhe had many wooers, ſome of whom ſeriouſly addreſſed her, while others meant no more than the common gal⯑lantries of young people. After the uſual ceremo⯑ny 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 vo⯑lume 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 per⯑ſon, but her underſtanding. She was applauded by dean Swift, and many other perſons of taſte; every compliment that was paid her, gave a mor⯑tal 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 accom⯑pliſhments.

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. Pilking⯑ton, [317] contrary to the advice of his friends, went in⯑to England, in order to ſerve as chaplain to al⯑derman 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 di⯑ſtance, 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 Lon⯑don. 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. Pil⯑kington 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 a⯑gainſt her chaſtity. Theſe detracters were chiefly of her own ſex, who ſupplied by the bittereſt ma⯑lice what they wanted in power.

Not long after this an accident happened, which threw Mrs. Pilkington's aff [...]irs into the utmoſt con⯑fuſion. Her father was ſtabbed, as ſhe has related, by an accident, but many people in Dublin be⯑lieve, 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 tender⯑neſs; ſhe watched [...]ound his bed, and ſeems to have been the only relation then about him, who [318] deſerved his bleſſing. From the death of her fa⯑ther 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 beha⯑viour 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 wait⯑ing 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 learn⯑ing I am ſure will pardon me, as I ſolemnly de⯑clare, 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 pro⯑cured 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 entertain⯑ed a thought of any thing like love, but ſat like ſtatues 'till break of day.

[319] The gentleman who was found with her, was obliged to fly, leaving a letter and five guineas in⯑cloſed 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 vi⯑gorous 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 conſult⯑ed, aſſured him he would be caſt, he made a propo⯑ſal 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: where⯑upon 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 gen⯑tleman of figure in the gay world took an op⯑portunity of making love to her, which ſhe re⯑jected with ſome indignation. ‘'Had I (ſaid ſhe) accepted the offers he made me, poverty had ne⯑ver approached me. I dined with him at Park⯑gate, and I hope virtue will be rewarded; for though I had but five guineas in the world to car⯑ry [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 un⯑done 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 wor⯑thy friend, good old Mr. Cibber, to whoſe hu⯑manity I am indebted, under God, both for li⯑berty 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 fa⯑vour 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 pub⯑liſh 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 in⯑tereſt. The reader cannot expect that we ſhould ſwell this volume by a minute relation of all the incidents which happened to her, while ſhe con⯑tinued a poetical mendicant. She has not, with⯑out pride, related all the little tattle which paſſed between her and perſons of diſtinction, who, [321] through the abundance of their idleneſs, thought proper to trifle an hour with her.

Her virtue ſeems now to have been in a declin⯑ing 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, no⯑bility 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 en⯑comiums, 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 cen⯑ſured for want of decency. There might be ma⯑ny reaſons, why a perſon benevolent in his nature, might yet refuſe to ſubſeribe to her; but, in gene⯑ral, ſuch as refuſed, did it (as ſhe ſays) in a rude manner, and ſhe was more piqued at their defi⯑ciency 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 [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 Roy⯑al clemency by ſevere invectives againſt the gentle⯑man's conduct.

We muſt avoid entering into a detail of the many addreſſes, diſappointments, and encourage⯑ments, which ſhe met with in her attendance up⯑on the great: her characters are naturally, ſome⯑times 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 re⯑turn 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 ſta⯑tion, or famous by his abilities. Some knowledge of the world may be gained from reading her Me⯑moirs; 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. Pilking⯑ton's l [...]fe, is the [...]riſon of the Marſhalſea. The horrors and miſenes of this jail ſhe has patheti⯑cally 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 memo⯑rial, which, we are told, excited the legiſlative power to grant an Act of Grace for them. Af⯑ter 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 li⯑berty, [323] ſhe began to be weary of that continued attendance upon the great; and therefore was re⯑ſolved, if ever ſhe was again favoured with a com⯑petent ſum, to turn it into trade, and quit the precarious life of a poetical mendicant. Mr. Cib⯑ber 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 extreme⯑ly 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 ſubſcrib⯑ers, 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 ſatisfac⯑tion. 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 re⯑peat almoſt all Shakeſpear is an aſtoniſhing inſtance.

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

Mr. THOMAS SOUTHERN.

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 Ire⯑land, 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 Eng⯑land, 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 dedi⯑cation, ‘'That the Laureat's own pen ſecured me, maintaining the out-works, while I lay ſafe en⯑trenched 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 un⯑worthy of the great hand that wrote it. His next [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 un⯑fortunate attempt upon his uncle's crown, Mr. Southern went into the army, in the regiment of foot raiſed by the lord Ferrers, afterwards com⯑manded 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 be⯑fore 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 rea⯑ſon 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 ſuc⯑ceſsfully 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 re⯑putation, and the full vigour of their powers.

[328] Mr. Southern acknowledges in his preface to this play, that the laſt ſcene of the third Act, was al⯑moſt all written by the honourable John Stafford, father to the earl of Stafford. Mr. Southern has like⯑wiſe acknowledged, that he received from the book⯑ſeller, 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 fol⯑lowing 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. Dry⯑den'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 an⯑ſwered 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 imagin⯑able 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, [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 be⯑neath the drudgery of ſollicitation, and often ſold his tickets at a very high price, by making applica⯑tions to perſons of diſtinction: a degree of ſervility which perhaps Mr. Dryden thought was much be⯑neath 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 enter⯑tain the public with his dramatic pieces, the great⯑eſt 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 poſſeſ⯑ſion 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 [330] one of the beſt judges of Comedy now living, be⯑ing aſk [...]d his opinion by a gentleman, of Southern's comic dialogue, anſwered, That it might be deno⯑minated Whip-Syllabub, that is, flaſhy and light, but indurable; and as it is without the Sal Atti⯑cum 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 repreſen⯑tation 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 ten⯑der 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 illuſ⯑tration of its beauties here, would be entirely ſuper⯑fluous. His play of The Fatal Marriage, or The Innocent Adultery, met with deſerved ſucceſs; the affecting incidents, and intereſting tale in the tra⯑gic part, ſufficiently compenſate for the low, tri⯑fling, comic part; and when the character of Iſa⯑bella is acted, as we have ſeen it, by Mrs. Por⯑ter, 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, hav⯑ing 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 [331] fortune he gained, to the beſt advantage: He en⯑joyed 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.

The Revd. Mr. JAMES MILLER.

THIS gentleman was born in the year 1703. He was the ſon of a clergyman, who poſſ [...]ſſed two conſiderable livings in Dorſetſhire^*. He re⯑cei [...]ed his education at Wadham-College in Oxford, and while he was reſident in that univerſity he com⯑poſed 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 ſub⯑ſiſtence, and therefore it may be ſuppoſed he had recourſe to dramatic writing to encreaſe his finan⯑ces. This kind of compoſition, however, being reckoned by ſome very foreign to his profeſſion, if not inconſiſtent with it, was thought to have re⯑tarded 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 [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 re⯑covered again to his former firmneſs, when upon hinting to his wife, the terms upon which prefer⯑ment might be procured, ſhe rejected them with in⯑dignation; 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-ſerv⯑ing 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 wor⯑thy 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.
• [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 of⯑fence Mr. Rich had given him.

Mr. Miller likewiſe publiſhed a volume of Ser⯑mons, all written with a diſtinguiſhed air of piety, and a becoming zeal for the intereſt of true reli⯑gion; and was principally concerned in the tran⯑ſlation of Moliere's comedies, publiſhed by Watts.

Our author left behind him a ſon, whoſe pro⯑feſſion 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.

Mr. NICHOLAS AMHURST.

THIS gentleman, well known to the world, by the ſhare he had in the celebrated anti⯑court paper called The Craftſman, was born in Marden in Kent, but in what year we cannot be certain. Mr. Amhurſt's grandfather was a clergy⯑man, under whoſe protection and care he received his education at Merchant-Taylors ſchool. Hav⯑ing received there the rudiments of learning, he was removed to St. John's College, Oxford, from which, on account of the libertiniſm of his prin⯑ciples, 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 diſ⯑grace 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 exclud⯑ed 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 pro⯑ceeded no further; I am ſure the cauſe of vir⯑tue 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 univer⯑ſity [337] to take hold of me at a diſadvantage, be⯑fore 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 im⯑placable revenge.'’

It is probable, that upon this misfortune happen⯑ing 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 at⯑tended 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, pa⯑raphraſed, imitated, and tranſlated; tales, epigrams, epiſtles, love-verſes, elegies, and ſatires, The Miſ⯑cellany 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 can⯑tos; a kind of ſatire againſt all the writers, who ſhewed themſelves enemies of the biſhop of Ban⯑gor. 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.

[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.

Mr. GEORGE LILLO,

WAS by profeſſion a jeweller. He was born in London, on the 4th of Feb. 1693. He lived, as we are informed, near Moorgate, in the 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 [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 an⯑tient 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 commend⯑ed 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 fre⯑quently 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 ſe⯑veral different times, honoured it with their appear⯑ance. It gained reputation, and brought money to the poet, the managers, and the performers. Mr. Cibber, jun. not only gave the author his uſual [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 holi⯑days, 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 mo⯑deſty.

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

Mr. CHARLES JOHNSON.

MR. Charles Johnſon was deſigned for the law; but being an admirer of the muſes, turned his thoughts to dramatic writing; and luckily be⯑ing an intimate of Mr. Wilks, by the aſſiſtance of his friendſhip, Mr. Johnſon had ſeveral plays acted, [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 litera⯑ture, during the reigns of queen Anne and king George the firſt. Among theſe he contracted inti⯑macy 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 dy⯑ing, 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 gene⯑rally thought inoffenſive; yet he eſcaped not the ſatire of Mr. Pope, who has been pleaſed to im⯑mortalize 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.
• [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.

PHILIP FROWDE, Eſq

THIS elegant poet was the ſon of a gentle⯑man who had been poſt-maſter-general in the reign of queen Anne. Where our author received his earlieſt inſtructions in literature we cannot aſ⯑certain; 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 pro⯑tection. 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 ho⯑nour 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 Angli⯑canae; and then he was perſuaded that they who could write with ſo much elegance in a dead lan⯑guage, muſt greatly excel in that which was na⯑tive to them.

Mr. Frowde has likewiſe obliged the publick with two tragedies; the Fall of Saguntum, dedi⯑cated to ſir Robert Walpole; and Philotas, ad⯑dreſſed [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 how⯑ever 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.

[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 tra⯑gedy, 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 pri⯑vate approbation, before it appeared on the ſtage. At the time of its being acted, lord Cheſterfield was then embaſſador to the ſtates-general, and con⯑ſequently he was deprived of his patron's counte⯑nance during the repreſentation. As to the fate of this play, he informs his lordſhip, it was very par⯑ticular: ‘"And I hope (ſays he) it will not be im⯑puted as vanity to me, when I explain my mean⯑ing in an expreſſion of Juvenal, Laudatur & al⯑get."’ But from what cauſe this misfortune at⯑tended 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:

Mrs. MARY CHANDLER,

WAS born at Malmſbury in Wiltſhire, in the year 1687, of worthy and reputable pa⯑rents; her father, Mr. Henry Chandler, being mi⯑niſter, many years, of the congregation of proteſtant diſſenters in Bath, whoſe integrity, candour, and catholick ſpirit, gained him the eſteem and friend⯑ſhip 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 fa⯑vourite [346] than Virgil or Homer. I like his ſub⯑jects, 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 pre⯑cepts 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 con⯑templation as hers was; and as that city, eſpecially in the ſeaſons, but too often furniſhed her with cha⯑racters in her own ſex that were extremely diſpleaſ⯑ing to her, ſhe often, in the moſt paſſionate man⯑ner, 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 impru⯑dences and faults of others gave her a very ſenſi⯑ble pain, though ſhe had no other connexion with, or intereſt in them, but what aroſe from the com⯑mon ties of human nature. This made her occa⯑ſional retirements from that place to the country⯑ſeats of ſome of her peculiarly intimate and ho⯑noured 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 exqui⯑ſite 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 cele⯑brated [347] in a poem inſcribed to her, inſerted in the col⯑lection 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 fol⯑lowing 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 know⯑ledge, 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 fa⯑ſhionable unmeaning amuſements, but in the purſuit [348] of what ſhe valued infinitely more, thoſe ſubſtantial acquiſitions of true wiſdom and goodneſs, which ſhe knew were the nobleſt ornaments of the reaſon⯑able mind, and the only ſources of real and perma⯑nent 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 agree⯑able."’

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 ap⯑prehended to be inconſiſtent with the character of integrity and virtue. As ſhe thought one of the nobleſt advantages of real friendſhip, was the ren⯑dering 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 diſ⯑advantage to her character, ſo ſhe took the ſame liber⯑ty with others; but uſed that liberty with ſuch a re⯑markable 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 par⯑ticular reaſons, ſhe thought herſelf obliged to break off all correſpondence.

[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 per⯑ſons, that were frequently committed to her friend⯑ſhip, put her upon her guard, as to her own tem⯑per 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 natu⯑rally 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 [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 uncertain⯑ty, ſhe was one of the moſt uneaſy and unhappy perſons living. But her own good ſenſe, her invio⯑lable attachment to religion and virtue, her impar⯑tial inquiries, her converſe with her believing friends, her ſtudy of the beſt writers in defence of chriſtia⯑nity, 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 re⯑leaſed her from all her doubts, and made her a firm and eſtabliſhed chriſtian. The immediate conſe⯑quence 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 exiſt⯑ence. 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 hav⯑ing 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 [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 in⯑deed 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 ſub⯑ſtantial 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 com⯑mand of her reaſon and principles, was the object ſhe had in eſpecial view in this change of her man⯑ner 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 [352] anſwerable to her wiſhes; and what ſhe ſays of her⯑ſelf 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 com⯑panions, [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 be⯑ſore 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 commenda⯑tion 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 pub⯑liſhed, 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 im⯑perfect 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 excel⯑lent lady, who was ſuperior to all commendation, the late dutcheſs of Somerſet, then counteſs of Hert⯑ford, who hath done her the honour of ſeveral vi⯑ſits, 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 [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.