THE LIFE OF THOMAS PARNELL, D.D.

THE life of a ſcholar ſeldom abounds with adventure. His fame is ac⯑quired in ſolitude, and the hiſtorian who only views him at a diſtance, muſt be content with a dry detail of actions by which he is ſcarce diſtinguiſhed from the reſt of man⯑kind. But we are fond of talking of thoſe who have given us pleaſure; not that we have any thing important to ſay, but becauſe the ſubject is pleaſing.

Thomas Parnell, D. D. was deſcended from an ancient family, that had for ſome centuries been ſettled at Congleton in Cheſhire. His [2] father, Thomas Parnell, who had been attach⯑ed to the commonwealth party, upon the re⯑ſtoration went over to Ireland; thither he car⯑ried a large perſonal fortune, which he laid out in lands in that kingdom. The eſtates he pur⯑chaſed there, as alſo that of which he was poſſeſſed in Cheſhire, deſcended to our poet, who was his eldeſt ſon, and ſtill remain in the family. Thus want, which has compelled many of our greateſt men into the ſervice of the Muſes, had no influence upon Parnell; he was a poet by inclination.

He was born in Dublin, in the year 1679, and received the firſt rudiments of his educati⯑on at the ſchool of Doctor Jones in that city. Surpriſing things are told us of the greatneſs of his memory at that early period, as of his be⯑ing able to repeat by heart forty lines of any book at the firſt reading; of his getting the third book of the Iliad in one night's time, which was given in order to confine him for ſome days. Theſe ſtories, which are told of al⯑moſt [3] every celebrated wit, may perhaps be true. But for my own part, I never found any of thoſe prodigies of parts, although I have known enough that were deſirous, among the ignorant, of being thought ſo.

There is one preſumption, however, of the early maturity of his underſtanding. He was admitted a member of the college of Dublin at the age of thirteen, which is much ſooner than uſual, as at that univerſity they are a great deal ſtricter in their examination for entrance, than either at Oxford or Cambridge. His progreſs through the college courſe of ſtudy was probably marked with but little ſplendour; his imagination might have been too warm to reliſh the cold logic of Burgerſdicius, or the dreary ſubtleties of Smigleſius; but it is certain, that as a claſſical ſcholar, few could equal him. His own compoſitions ſhew this, and the dif⯑ference which the moſt eminent men of his time paid him upon that head, put it beyond a doubt. He took the degree of Maſter of [2] [...] [3] [...] [4] Arts the ninth of July, 1700, and in the ſame year, he was ordained a deacon, by William, biſhop of Derry, having a diſpenſation from the primate, as being under twenty-three years of age. He was admitted into prieſt's orders about three years after, by William, arch⯑biſhop of Dublin, and on the ninth of Fe⯑bruary, 1705, he was collated by Sir George Aſhe, biſhop of Clogher, to the archdeaconry of Clogher. About that time alſo he married Miſs Anne Minchin, a young lady of great merit and beauty, by whom he had two ſons, who died young, and one daughter, who is ſtill living. His wife died ſome time before him, and her death is ſaid to have made ſo great an impreſſion on his ſpirits, that it ſerved to haſten his own. On the thirty-firſt of May, 1716, he was preſented, by his friend and patron archbiſhop King, to the vicarage of Finglaſs, a benefice worth about four hundred pounds a year in the dioceſe of Dublin, but he lived to enjoy his preferment a very ſhort time. He died at Cheſter, in July, 1717, on [5] his way to Ireland, and was buried in Trinity church in that town, without any monument to mark the place of his interment. As he died without male iſſue, his eſtate devolved to his only nephew, Sir John Parnell, baronet, whoſe father was younger brother to the arch⯑deacon, and one of the juſtices of the King's Bench in Ireland.

Such is the very unpoetical detail of the life of a poet. Some dates, and ſome few facts ſcarce more intereſting than thoſe that make the ornaments of a country tomb-ſtone, are all that remain of one whoſe labours now begin to excite univerſal curioſity. A poet, while living, is ſeldom an object ſufficiently great to attract much attention; his real merits are known but to a few, and theſe are generally ſparing in their praiſes. When his fame is in⯑creaſed by time, it is then too late to inveſti⯑gate the peculiarities of his diſpoſition; the dews of the morning are paſt, and we vainly [6] try to continue the chace by the meridian ſplendour,

There is ſcarce any man but might be made the ſubject of a very intereſting and amuſing hiſtory, if the writer, beſides a thorough ac⯑quaintance with the character he draws, were able to make thoſe nice diſtinctions which ſe⯑parate it from all others. The ſtrongeſt minds have uſually the moſt ſtriking peculiarities, and would conſequently afford the richeſt ma⯑terials: but in the preſent inſtance, from not knowing Doctor Parnell, his peculiarities are gone to the grave with him, and we are obliged to take his character from ſuch as knew but little of him; or who, perhaps, could have given very little information if they had known more.

PARNELL, by what I have been able to col⯑lect from my father and uncle, who knew him, was the moſt capable man in the world to make the happineſs of thoſe he converſed with, [7] and the leaſt able to ſecure his own. He want⯑ed that evenneſs of diſpoſition which bears diſ⯑appointment with phlegm, and joy with in⯑difference. He was ever very much elated or depreſſed; and his whole life ſpent in agony or rapture. But the turbulence of theſe paſſi⯑ons only affected himſelf, and never thoſe about him, he knew the ridicule of his own character, and very effectually raiſed the mirth of his companions, as well at his vexations as at his triumphs.

How much his company was deſired, ap⯑pears from the extenſiveneſs of his connexions, and the number of his friends. Even before he made any figure in the literary world, his friendſhip was ſought by perſons of every rank and party. The wits at that time differed a good deal from thoſe who are moſt eminent for their underſtanding at preſent. It would now be thought a very indifferent ſign of a writer's good ſenſe to diſclaim his private friends for happening to be of a different party in politics; [8] but it was then otherwiſe, the Whig wits held the Tory wits in great contempt, and theſe retaliated in their turn. At the head of one party were Addiſon, Steele, and Congreve; at that of the other, Pope, Swift, and Arbuth⯑not. Parnell was a friend to both ſides, and with a liberality becoming a ſcholar, ſcorned all thoſe trifling diſtinctions, that are noiſy for the time, and ridiculous to poſterity. Nor did he emancipate himſelf from theſe without ſome oppoſition from home. Having been the ſon of a commonwealth's man, his Tory con⯑nexions on this ſide of the water, gave his friends in Ireland great offence; they were much enraged to ſee him keep company with Pope, and Swift, and Gay; they blamed his undiſtinguiſhing taſte, and wondered what pleaſure he could find in the converſation of men who approved the Treaty of Utrecht and diſliked the duke of Marlborough.

His converſation is ſaid to have been ex⯑tremely pleaſing, but in what its peculiar ex⯑cellence [9] conſiſted is now unknown. The let⯑ters which were written to him by his friends, are all full of compliments upon his talents as a companion, and his good nature as a man. I have ſeveral of them now before me. Pope was particularly fond of his company, and ſeems to regret his abſence more than any of the reſt. A letter from him follows thus:

Among the number of his moſt intimate friends was Lord Oxford, whom Pope has ſo finely complimented upon the delicacy of his choice.

Pope himſelf was not only exceſſively ſond of his company, but under ſeveral literary obli⯑gations to him for his aſſiſtance in the tranſla⯑tion of Homer. Gay was obliged to him upon another account; for being always poor, he was not above receiving from Parnell, the copy⯑money which the latter got for his writings. Several of their letters, now before me, are proofs of this, and as they have never appear⯑ed before, it is probable the reader will be much better pleaſed with their idle effuſions, than with any thing I can hammer out for his amuſement.

We may eaſily perceive by this, that Parnell was not a little neceſſary to Pope in conducting his tranſlation; however he has worded it ſo ambiguouſly, that it is impoſſible to bring the charge directly againſt him. But he is much more explicit, when he mentions his friend Gay's obligations in another letter, which he takes no pains to conceal.

From theſe letters to Parnell, we may con⯑clude, as far as their teſtimony can go, that he was an agreeable, a generous, and a ſincere man. Indeed he took care that his friends ſhould always ſee him to the beſt advantage; for when he found his fits of ſpleen and uneaſi⯑neſs, which ſometimes laſted for weeks to⯑gether, returning, he returned with all expedi⯑tion to the remote parts of Ireland, and there made out a gloomy kind of ſatisfaction, in giving hideous deſcriptions of the ſolitude to [22] which he retired. It is ſaid of a famous painter, that being confined in priſon for debt, his whole delight conſiſted in drawing the faces of his creditors in caricatura. It was juſt ſo with Parnell. From many of his unpubliſhed pieces which I have ſeen, and from others that have appeared, it would ſeem, that ſcarce a bog in his neighbourhood, was left without reproach, and ſcarce a mountain rear'd its head unſung. ‘"I can eaſily,"’ ſays Pope, in one of his letters, in anſwer to a dreary deſcription of Parnell's. ‘"I can eaſily image to my thoughts the ſolitary hours of your eremitical life in the moun⯑tains, from ſomething parallel to it in my own retirement at Binfield;"’ and in another place; ‘"We are both miſerably enough ſituated, God knows; but of the two evils, I think the ſolitudes of the South are to be pre⯑ferred to the deſarts of the Weſt."’ In this manner Pope anſwered him in the tone of his own complaints; and theſe deſcriptions of the imagined diſtreſſes of his ſituation, ſerved to give him a temporary relief: they threw off [23] the blame from himſelf, and laid upon for⯑tune and accident, a wretchedneſs of his own creating.

But though this method of quarrelling in his poems with his ſituation ſerved to relieve him⯑ſelf, yet it was not ſo eaſily endured by the gen⯑tlemen of the neighbourhood, who did not care to confeſs themſelves his fellow ſufferers. He received many mortifications upon that account among them; for being naturally fond of com⯑pany, he could not endure to be without even theirs, which however, among his Engliſh friends, he pretended to deſpiſe. In fact, his conduct, in this particular, was rather ſplendid than wiſe; he had either loſt the art to engage, or did not employ his ſkill, in ſecuring thoſe more permament, tho' more humble connex⯑ions, and ſacrificed for a month or two in England a whole year's happineſs by his country fire-ſide at home.

[24] However, what he permitted the world to ſee of his life, was elegant and ſplendid; his fortune (for a poet) was very conſiderable, and it may eaſily be ſuppoſed he lived to the very extent of it. The fact is, his expences were greater than his income, and his ſucceſſor found the eſtate ſomewhat impaired at his de⯑ceaſe. As ſoon as ever he had collected in his annual revenues, he immediately ſet out for England, to enjoy the company of his deareſt friends, and laugh at the more prudent world that were minding buſineſs and gaining money. The friends, to whom, during the latter part of his life, he was chiefly attached, were Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, Jervas, and Gay. Among theſe he was particularly happy, his mind was entirely at eaſe, and gave a looſe to every harmleſs folly that came uppermoſt. Indeed it was a ſociety, in which, of all others, a wiſe man might be moſt ſooliſh without in⯑curring any danger or contempt. Perhaps the reader will be pleaſed to ſee a letter to him from a part of this junto, as there is ſomething [25] ſtriking even in the levities of genius. It comes from Gay, Jervas, Arbuthnot, and Pope, aſſembled at a chop-houſe near the Exchange, and is as follows:

If we regard this letter with a critical eye, we ſhall find it indifferent enough; if we con⯑ſider it as mere effuſion of friendſhip, in which every writer contended in affection, it will ap⯑pear [32] much to the honour of thoſe who wrote it. To be mindful of an abſent friend in the hours of mirth and feaſting, when his com⯑pany is leaſt wanted, ſhews no ſlight degree of ſincerity. Yet probably there was ſtill an⯑other motive for writing thus to him in con⯑junction. The above-named, together with Swift and Parnell, had ſometime before formed themſelves into a ſociety, called the Scribblerus Club, and I ſhould ſuppoſe they commemorated him thus, as being an abſent member.

It is paſt a doubt that they wrote many things in conjunction, and Gay uſually held the pen. And yet I don't remember any pro⯑ductions which were the joint effort of this ſociety, as doing it honour. There is ſome⯑thing feeble and queint in all their attempts, as if company repreſſed thought, and genius wanted ſolitude for its boldeſt and happieſt ex⯑ertions. Of thoſe productions in which Parnell had a principal ſhare, that of the Origin of the Sciences from the Monkies in Ethiopia, is par⯑ticularly [33] mentioned by Pope himſelf, in ſome manuſcript anecdotes which he left behind him. The Life of Homer alſo, prefixed to the tranſlation of the Iliad, is written by Parnell and corrected by Pope; and as that great poet aſſures us in the ſame place, this correction was not effected without great labour. It is ſtill ſtiff, ſays he, and was written ſtill ſtiffer, as it is, I verily think it coſt me more pains in the correcting, than the writing it would have done. All this may be eaſily credited; for every thing of Parnell's, that has appeared in proſe, is written in a very aukward inelegant manner. It is true, his productions teem with imagina⯑tion, and ſhew great learning, but they want that eaſe and ſweetneſs for which his poetry is ſo much admired, and the language is alſo moſt ſhamefully incorrect. Yet, tho' all this muſt be allowed, Pope ſhould have taken care not to leave his errors upon record againſt him, or put it in the power of envy to tax his friend with faults that do not appear in what he has left to the world. A poet has a right to ex⯑pect [34] the ſame ſecrecy in his friend as in his confeſſor; the ſins he diſcovers are not divulg⯑ed for puniſhment but pardon. Indeed Pope is almoſt inexcuſable in this inſtance, as what he ſeems to condemn in one place, he very much applauds in another. In one of the let⯑ters from him to Parnell, abovementioned, he treats the Life of Homer with much greater reſpect, and ſeems to ſay, that the proſe is ex⯑cellent in its kind. It muſt be confeſſed how⯑ever, that he is by no means inconſiſtent; what he ſays in both places may very eaſily be reconciled to truth, but who can defend his candour and his ſincerity.

It would be hard, however, to ſuppoſe that there was no real friendſhip between theſe great men. The benevolence of Parnell's diſ⯑poſition remains unimpeached; and Pope, tho' ſubject to ſtarts of paſſion and envy, yet never miſſed an opportunity of being truly ſerviceable to him. The commerce between them was carried on to the common intereſt of both. [35] When Pope had a miſcellany to publiſh, he ap⯑plied to Parnell for poetical aſſiſtance, and the latter as implicitly ſubmitted to him for cor⯑rection. Thus they mutually advanced each other's intereſt or fame, and grew ſtronger by conjunction. Nor was Pope the only perſon to whom Parnell had recourſe for aſſiſtance. We learn from Swift's letters to Stella, that he ſubmitted his pieces to all his friends, and readily adopted their alterations. Swift, among the number, was very uſeful to him in that particular; and care has been taken that the world ſhould not remain ignorant of the obligation.

But in the connexion of wits, intereſt has generally very little ſhare; they have only pleaſure in view, and can ſeldom find it but among each other. The Scribblerus club, when the members were in town, were ſeldom aſun⯑der, and they often made excurſions together into the country, and generally on foot. Swift was uſually the butt of the company, and if a [36] trick was played, he was always the ſufferer. The whole party once agreed to walk down to the houſe of Lord B—, who is ſtill living, and whoſe ſeat is about twelve miles from town. As every one agreed to make the beſt of his way, Swift, who was remarkable for walking, ſoon left all the reſt behind him, fully reſolved, upon his arrival, to chuſe the very beſt bed for himſelf, for that was his cuſtom. In the mean time Parnell was de⯑termined to prevent his intentions, and taking horſe, arrived at Lord B—'s, by another way, long before him. Having apprized his lordſhip of Swift's deſign, it was reſolved at any rate to keep him out of the houſe, but how to effect this was the queſtion. Swift never had the ſmall-pox, and was very much afraid of catching it: as ſoon therefore as he appear⯑ed ſtriding along at ſome diſtance from the houſe, one of his lordſhip's ſervants was diſ⯑patched, to inform him, that the ſmall-pox was then making great ravages in the family, but that there was a ſummer-houſe with a [37] field-bed at his ſervice, at the end of the gar⯑den. There the diſappointed Dean was obliged to retire, and take a cold ſupper that was ſent out to him, while the reſt were feaſt⯑ing within. However, at laſt, they took com⯑paſſion on him; and upon his promiſing never to chuſe the beſt bed again, they permitted him to make one of the company,

There is ſomething ſatisfactory in theſe ac⯑counts of the follies of the wiſe, they give a natural air to the picture, and reconcile us to our own. There have been few poetical ſo⯑cieties, more talked of, or productive of a greater variety of whimſical conceits than this of the Scriblerus club, but how long it laſted I cannot exactly determine. The whole of Par⯑nell's poetical exiſtence was not of more than eight or ten years continuance; his firſt excur⯑ſions to England began about the year 1706, and he died in the year 1718, ſo that it is pro⯑bable the club began with him, and his death ended the connexion. Indeed the feſtivity of [38] his converſation, the benevolence of his heart, and the generoſity of his temper, were qualities that might ſerve to cement any ſociety, and that could hardly be replaced when he was taken away. During the two or three laſt years of his life, he was more fond of com⯑pany than ever, and could ſcarce bear to be alone. The death of his wife, it is ſaid, was a loſs to him that he was unable to ſupport or recover. From that time he could never ven⯑ture to court the muſe in ſolitude. where he was ſure to find the image of her who firſt in⯑ſpired his attempts. He began therefore to throw himſelf into every company, and to ſeek from wine, if not relief, at leaſt inſenſibility. Thoſe helps that ſorrow firſt called in for aſ⯑ſiſtance, habit ſoon rendered neceſſary, and he died before his fortieth year, in ſome meaſure a martyr to conjugal fidelity.

Thus in the ſpace of a very few years, Parnell attained a ſhare of fame, equal to what moſt of his cotemporaries were a long life in [39] acquiring. He is only to be conſidered as a poet, and the univerſal eſteem in which his poems are held, and the reiterated pleaſure they give in the peruſal, are a ſufficient teſt of their merit. He appears to me to be the laſt of that great ſchool that had modelled itſelf upon the ancients, and taught Engliſh poetry to reſemble what the generality of mankind have allowed to excel. A ſtudious and correct obſerver of antiquity, he ſet himſelf to con⯑ſider nature with the lights it lent him, and he found that the more aid he borrowed from the one, the more delightfully he reſembled the other. To copy nature is a taſk the moſt bungling workman is able to execute; to ſelect ſuch parts as contribute to delight, is reſerved only for thoſe whom accident has bleſt with uncommon talents, or ſuch as have read the ancients with indefatigable induſtry. Parnell is ever happy in the ſelection of his images, and ſcrupulouſly careful in the choice of his ſubjects. His productions bear no reſemblance to thoſe tawdry things, which it has for ſome [40] time been the faſhion to admire; in writing which the poet ſits down without any plan, and heaps up ſplendid images without any ſe⯑lection; where the reader grows dizzy with praiſe and admiration, and yet ſoon grows weary, he can ſcarce tell why. Our poet, on the contrary, gives out his beauties with a more ſparing hand; he is ſtill carrying his reader forward, and juſt gives him refreſhment ſuffi⯑cient to ſupport him to his journey's end. At the end of his courſe the reader regrets that his way has been ſo ſhort, he wonders that it gave him ſo little trouble, and ſo reſolves to go the journey over again.

His poetical language is not leſs correct than his ſubjects are pleaſing. He found it at that period, in which it was brought to its higheſt pitch of refinement; and ever ſince his time it has been gradually debaſing. It is indeed amaſing, after what has been done by Dryden, Addiſon, and Pope, to improve and harmonize our native tongue, that their ſucceſſors ſhould [41] have taken ſo much pains to involve it in priſ⯑tine barbarity. Theſe miſguided innovators have not been content with reſtoring antiqua⯑ted words and phraſes, but have indulged themſelves in the moſt licentious tranſpoſiti⯑ons, and the harſheſt conſtructions, vainly imagining, that the more their writings are un⯑like proſe, the more they reſemble poetry. They have adopted a language of their own, and call upon mankind for admiration. All thoſe who do not underſtand them are ſilent, and thoſe who make out their meaning, are willing to praiſe, to ſhew they underſtand. From theſe follies and affectations, the poems of Parnell are entirely free; he has conſidered the language of poetry as the language of life, and conveys the warmeſt thoughts in the ſimpleſt expreſſion.

Parnell has written ſeveral poems beſides theſe publiſhed by Pope, and ſome of them have been made public with very little credit to his reputation. There are ſtill many more [42] that have not yet ſeen the light, in the poſſeſ⯑ſion of Sir John Parnell his nephew, who from that laudable zeal which he has for his Uncle's reputation, will probably be ſlow in publiſhing what he may even ſuſpect will do it injury. Of thoſe in the following collection, ſome are indifferent, and ſome moderately good, but the greater part are excellent. A ſlight ſtricture on the moſt ſtriking, ſhall conclude this ac⯑count, which I have already drawn out to a diſproportioned length.

Heſiod, or the Riſe of Woman, is a very fine illuſtration of an hint from Heſiod. It was one of his earlieſt productions, and firſt ap⯑peared in a miſcellany, publiſhed by Tonſon.

Of the three ſongs that follow, two of them were written upon the lady he afterwards mar⯑ried; they were the genuine dictates of his paſ⯑ſion, but are not excellent in their kind.

[43] The Anacreontic, beginning with, When Spring came on with freſh delight, is taken from a French poet, whoſe name I forget, and, as far as I am able to judge of the French lan⯑guage, is better than the original. The Ana⯑creontic that follows, Gay Bacchus, &c. is alſo a tranſlation of a Latin poem, by Aurelius Au⯑gurellus, an Italian poet, beginning with

Parnell, when he tranſlated it, applied the characters to ſome of his friends, and as it was written for their entertainment, it probably gave them more pleaſure than it has given the pub⯑lic in the peruſal. It ſeems to have more ſpirit than the original; but it is extraordinary that it was publiſhed by an original and not as a tran⯑ſlation. Pope ſhould have acknowledged it, as he knew.

[44] The Fairy Tale is inconteſtably one of the fineſt pieces in any language. The old dialect is not perfectly well preſerved, but that is a very ſlight defect where all the reſt is ſo excellent.

The Pervigilium Veneris, (which, by the bye, does not belong to Catullus) is very well verſified, and in general all Parnell's tranſlati⯑ons are excellent. The Battle of the Frogs and Mice, which follows, is done as well as the ſubject would admit; but there is a defect in the tranſlation, which ſinks it below the ori⯑ginal, and which it was impoſſible to remedy. I mean the names of the combatants, which in the Greek bear a ridiculous alluſion to their natures, have no force to the Engliſh reader. A Bacon Eater was a good name for a Mouſe, and Pternotractas in Greek, was a very good ſounding word, that conveyed that meaning. Puff-cheek would ſound odiouſly as a name for a Frog, and yet Phyſignathos does admira⯑bly well in the original.

[45] The letter to Mr. Pope is one of the fineſt compliments that ever was paid to any poet; the deſcription of his ſituation at the end of it is very fine, but far from being true. That part of it where he deplores his being far from wit and learning, as being far from Pope, gave particular offence to his friends at home. Mr. Coote, a gentleman in his neighbourhood, who thought that he himſelf had wit, was very much diſpleaſed with Parnell for caſting his eyes ſo far off for a learned friend, when he could ſo conveniently be ſupplied at home.

The tranſlation of a part of the Rape of the Lock into monkiſh verſe, ſerves to ſhew what a maſter Parnell was of the Latin; a copy of verſes made in this manner, is one of the moſt difficult trifles that can poſſibly be imagined. I am aſſured that it was written upon the fol⯑lowing occaſion. Before the Rape of the Lock was yet completed, Pope was reading it to his friend Swift, who ſat very attentively, [46] while Parnell, who happened to be in the houſe, went in and out without ſeeming to take any notice. However he was very dili⯑gently employed in liſtening, and was able, from the ſtrength of his memory to bring away the whole deſcription of the toilet pretty exactly. This he verſified in the manner now publiſhed in his works, and the next day when Pope was reading his poem to ſome friends, Parnell inſiſted that he had ſtolen that part of the deſcription from an old monkiſh manu⯑ſcript. An old paper with the Latin verſes was ſoon brought forth, and it was not till after ſome time that Pope was delivered from the confuſion which it at firſt produced.

The Book-Worm is another unacknowledged tranſlation from a Latin poem by Beza. It was the faſhion with the wits of the laſt age, to conceal the places from whence they took their hints or their ſubjects. A trifling acknow⯑ledgment would have made that lawful prize, which may now be conſidered as plunder.

[47] The Night Piece on Death, deſerves every praiſe, and I ſhould ſuppoſe, with very little amendment, might be made to ſurpaſs all thoſe night pieces and church-yard ſcenes that have ſince appeared. But the poem of Parnell's, beſt known, and on which his beſt reputation is grounded, is the Hermit. Pope, ſpeaking of this, in thoſe manuſcript anecdotes already quoted, ſays, that the poem is very good. The ſtory, continues he, was written originally in Spaniſh, whence probably Howel had tranſlated it into proſe, and inſerted it in one of his letters. Addiſon liked the ſcheme, and was not diſinclined to come into it. However this may be, Dr. Henry More, in his Dialogues, has the very ſame ſtory; and I have been informed by ſome, that it is originally of Arabian in⯑vention.

With reſpect to the proſe works of Parnell, I have mentioned them already; his fame is too well grounded for any defects in them to ſhake it. I will only add, that the Life of [48] Zoilus, was written at the requeſt of his friends, and deſigned as a ſatire upon Dennis and Theobald, with whom his club had long been at variance. I ſhall end this account with a letter to him from Pope and Gay, in which they endeavour to haſten him to finiſh that production.