[] THE LIVES OF THE POETS.

PETER MOTTEAUX,

A French gentleman, born and educated at Rohan, in Normandy. He came over into England, was a con⯑ſiderable trader, and reſided here many years. He is ſaid to have poſſeſſed no inconſiderable ſhare of wit, and humour; and, beſides a tranſlation of Don Quixote, ſeveral Songs, Pro⯑logues and Epilogues, together with a Poem on Tea, dedicated to the Spectator, (ſee Vol. VII. [2] Numb. 552) he is author of the following dramatic pieces.

• 1. Love's a Jeſt, a Comedy; acted at the new Theatre, in little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1696. In the two ſcenes, where love is made a jeſt, ſome paſſages are taken from Italian writers.
• 2. The Loves of Mars and Venus; a Maſque ſet to Muſic, performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1696; dedicated to colonel Codrington. The ſtory from Ovid.
• 3. The Novelty, or every Act a Play; conſiſting of Paſtoral, Comedy, Maſque, Tragedy, and Farce, after the Italian manner; acted at the Theatre in little Lincoln's-Inn Fields 1697.
• The model of this play is formed upon Sir William Davenant's Play-Houſe to be let: But neither of them met with much ſucceſs.
• 4. Europe's Revels for the Peace, and his Maje⯑ſty's Happy Return, a Muſical Interlude, perform⯑ed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1697.
• 5. Beauty in Diſtreſs, a Tragedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1698. There is ſome poetry in this play; and in the multiplicity of its incidents, he has followed the example of the Britiſh Poets. Before this piece, there is prefixed a diſcourſe on the lawfulneſs or unlawfulneſs of plays; written originally in French, by the learned father Caffaro, divinity profeſſor at Paris; ſent by a friend to Mr. Motteaux.
• 6. The Iſland Princeſs, or the Generous Portu⯑gueze; made into an Opera, and performed at the Theatre-Royal 1701. The muſic by Mr. Daniel Purcell, Mr. Clark, and Mr. Leveridge. The greateſt part of the play is taken from Fletch⯑er's Iſland Princeſs. Scene the Spice Iſland.
• 7. The Four Seaſons, or Love in every Age; a muſical Interlude, ſet to Muſic by Mr. Jeremiah Clark; printed with the muſical Entertainments of the above Opera.
• [3] 8. Britain's Happineſs, a muſical Interlude; per⯑formed at both the Theatres, being part of the en⯑tertainment, ſubſcribed for by the nobility. Scene a proſpect of Dover caſtle and the ſea. This Inter⯑lude was long before deſigned, only as an intro⯑duction to an Opera; which if ever finiſhed was to have been called the Loves of Europe, every act ſhew⯑ing the manner of the different nations in their ad⯑dreſſes to the fair-ſex; of which he has informed us in his prefatory epiſtle.
• 9. Thomyris Queen of Scythia, an Opera; tranſ⯑lated from the Italian; performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.
• 10. The Temple of Love, a Paſtoral Opera, from the Italian; performed at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-market, by her majeſty's ſervants, 1706. Scene Arcadia. Time of action, the ſame with that of the repreſentation.
• 11. Love Dragoon'd, a Farce.

This gentleman, who ſeems to have led a very comfortable life, his circumſtances being eaſy, was unfortable in his death; for he loſt his life in a diſorderly houſe, in the pariſh of St. Clement Danes, not without ſuſpicion of having been mur⯑thered; which accident happened to him, on his birth day in the 58th year of his age, 1718. His body was interred in his own pariſh church, being that of St. Mary Ax, in the city of London.

Mrs. MANLEY,

THE celebrated authoreſs of the Atalantis, was born in Hampſhire, in one of thoſe iſlands which formerly belonged to France, of which her fa⯑ther Sir Roger Manley was governor, who afterwards enjoyed the ſame poſt in other places in England. He was the ſecond ſon of an ancient family; the better part of his eſtate was ruined in the civil war by his firm adherence to Charles I. He had not the ſatisfaction of ever being taken notice of, nor was his loyalty acknowledged at the reſtoration. The governor was a brave gallant man, of great honour and integrity.

He became a ſcholar in the midſt of the camp, having left the univerſity at the age of ſixteen, to follow the fortunes of Charles I. His temper had too much of the Stoic in it to attend much to the intereſt of his family: After a life ſpent in the civil and foreign wars, he began to love eaſe and retire⯑ment, devoting himſelf to his ſtudy, and the charge of his little poſt, without following the court; his great virtue and modeſty, debaring him from ſol⯑liciting favours from ſuch perſons as were then at the helm of affairs, his deſerts were buried, and forgotten. In this ſolitude he wrote ſeveral tracts for his own amuſement, particularly his Latin Commentaries of the Civil Wars of England. He was likewiſe author of the firſt volume of that admired work, the Turkiſh Spy. One Dr. Midgley, an ingenious phyſician, related to the family by marriage, had the charge of looking over his papers. Amongſt them he found [5] that manuſcript, which he reſerved to his proper uſe, and by his own pen, and the aſſiſtance of ſome others, continued the work till the eighth volume was finiſhed, without having the honeſty to acknowledge the author of the firſt.

The governor likewiſe wrote the Hiſtory of the Rebellion in England, Scotland and Ireland; wherein the moſt material paſſages, battles, ſieges, policies, and ſtratagems of war, are impartially related on both ſides, from the year 1640, to the beheading of the duke of Monmouth 1688, in three parts, printed in octavo, in the year 1691.

His daughter, our authoreſs, received an education ſuitable to her birth, and gave very early diſco⯑veries of a genius, not only above her years, but much ſuperior to what is uſually to be found amongſt her own ſex. She had the misfortune to loſe her mother, while ſhe was yet an infant, a circumſtance, which laid the foundation of many calamities, which afterwards befell her.

The brother of Sir Roger Manley, who was of principles very oppoſite to his, joined with the Par⯑liamentarian party; and after Charles I. had ſuffered, he engaged with great zeal in the cauſe of thoſe who were for ſettling a new form of government, in which, however, they were diſappointed by the addreſs of Cromwell, who found means to transfer the govern⯑ment into his own hands, and in place of inſtitut⯑ing a republic, reſtored monarchy under another name, and erected a tyranny as dangerous, perhaps, in its conſequences, as that which he had contributed to overthrow. During theſe heats and diviſions, Mr. Manley, who adhered to the moſt powerful party, was fortunate enough to amaſs an eſtate, and purchaſed a title; but theſe, upon the reſtora⯑tion, reverted back to the former poſſeſſor; ſo that he was left with ſeveral ſmall children un⯑provided for. The eldeſt of theſe orphans, Sir Roger Manley took under his protection, beſtowed [6] a very liberal education on him, and endeavoured to inſpire his mind with other principles, than thoſe he had received from his father. This young gentleman had very promiſing parts, but under the appearance of an open ſimplicity, he concealed the moſt treacherous hypocriſy. Sir Roger, who had a high opinion of his nephew's honour, as well as of his great abilities, on his death⯑bed bequeathed to him the care of our authoreſs, and her youngeſt ſiſter.

This man had from nature a very happy ad⯑dreſs, formed to win much upon the hearts of unexperienced girls; and his two couſins reſpected him greatly. He placed them at the houſe of an old, out-of-faſhion aunt, who had been a keen partizan of the royal cauſe during the civil wars; ſhe was full of the heroic ſtiffneſs of her own times, and would read books of Chivalry, and Romances with her ſpectacles.

This ſort of converſation, much infected the mind of our poeteſs, and fill'd her imagination with lovers, heroes, and princes; made her think her⯑ſelf in an inchanted region, and that all the men who approached her were knights errant. In a few years the old aunt died, and left the two young ladies without any controul; which as ſoon as their couſin Mr. Manley heard, he haſted into the country, to viſit them; appeared in deep mourning, as he ſaid for the death of his wife; upon which the young ladies congratulated him, as they knew his wife was a woman of a moſt turbulent temper, and ill fitted to render the con⯑jugal life tolerable.

This gentleman, who had ſeen a great deal of the world, and was acquainted with all the artifices of ſeducing, loſt no time in making love to his couſin, who was no otherwiſe pleaſed with it, than as it anſwered ſomething to the character ſhe had found in thoſe books, which had poiſoned and deluded [7] her drawning reaſon. Soon after theſe proteſtations of love were made, the young lady fell into a fever, which was like to prove fatal to her life.

The lover and her ſiſter never quitted the cham⯑ber for ſixteen nights, nor took any other repoſe than throwing themſelves alternately upon a little pallet in the ſame room. Having in her na⯑ture a great deal of gratitude, and a very tender ſenſe of benefits; ſhe promiſed upon her recovery to marry her guardian, which as ſoon as her health was ſufficiently reſtored, ſhe performed in the pre⯑ſence of a maid ſervant, her ſiſter, and a gentleman who had married a relation. In a word, ſhe was married, poſſeſſed, and ruin'd.

The huſband of our poeteſs brought her to London, fixed her in a remote quarter of it, forbad her to ſtir out of doors, or to receive the viſits of her ſiſter, or any other relations, friends, or acquaintance. This uſage, ſhe thought exceed⯑ing barbarous, and it grieved her the more ex⯑ceſſively, ſince ſhe married him only becauſe ſhe imagined he loved and doated on her to diſtraction; for as his perſon was but ordinary, and his age diſproportioned, being twenty-years older than ſhe, it could not be imagined that ſhe was in love with him.—She was very uneaſy at being kept a priſoner; but her huſband's fondneſs and jealouſy was made the pretence. She always loved reading, to which ſhe was now more than ever obliged, as ſo much time lay upon her hands: Soon after ſhe proved with child, and ſo perpetually ill, that ſhe implored her huſband to let her enjoy the company of her ſiſter and friends. When he could have no relief from her importunity (being aſſured that in ſeeing her re⯑lations, ſhe muſt diſcover his barbarous deceit) he thought it was beſt to be himſelf the relator of his villany; he fell upon his knees before her, with ſo much ſeeming confuſion, diſtreſs and anguiſh, that ſhe was at a loſs to know what could mould his ſtub⯑born heart to ſuch contrition. At laſt, with a thouſand [8] well counterfeited tears, and ſighs, he ſtabb'd her with the wounding relation of his wife's being ſtill alive; and with a hypocrite's pangs conjured her to have ſome mercy on a loſt man as he was, in an o [...]\nſtinate, inv [...]\nterate paſſion, that had no alternative b [...]\nt death, or poſſeſſion.

He urged, that could he have ſupported the pain of living without her, he never would have made himſelf ſo great a villain; but when the ab⯑ſolate qu [...]\nſtion was, whether he ſhould deſtroy him⯑ſelf, or betray her, ſelf-love had turned the bal⯑lance, though not without that anguiſh to his ſoul, which had poiſoned all his delights, and planted dag⯑gers to ſtab his peace. That he had a thouſand times ſtarted in his ſleep with guilty apprehenſions; the form of her honoured father perpetually haunting his troubled dreams, reproaching him as a traitor to that truſt which in his departing moments he had repoſed in him; repreſenting to his tortured imagi⯑nation the care he took of his education, more like a father than an uncle, with which he had rewarded him by effecting the perdition of his favourite daughter, who was the lovely image of his bene⯑factor.

With this artful contrition he endeavoured to ſooth his injured wife: But what ſoothing could heal the wounds ſhe had received? Horror! amazement! ſenſe of honour loſt! the world's opi⯑nion! ten thouſand diſtreſſes crowded her diſtracted imagination, and ſhe caſt looks upon the conſcious traitor with horrible diſmay! Her fortune was in his hands, the greateſt part of which was already laviſhed away in the exceſſes of drinking and gam⯑ing. She was young, unacquainted with the world; had never experienced neceſſity, and knew no arts of redreſſing it; ſo that thus forlorn and diſtreſſed, to whom could ſhe run for refuge, even from want, and miſery, but to the very traitor that had undone her. She was acquainted with none that could or [9] would eſpouſe her cauſe, a helpleſs, uſeleſs load of grief and melancholy! with child! diſgraced! her own relations either unable, or unwilling to relieve her.

Thus was ſhe detained by unhappy circumſtances, and his prevailing arts to wear away three wretch⯑ed years with him, in the ſame houſe, though ſhe moſt ſolemnly proteſts, and ſhe has a right to be believed, that no perſuaſion could ever again reconcile her to his impious arms. Whenever ſhe caſt her eyes upon her ſon, it gave a mortal wound to her peace: The circumſtances of his birth glared full on her imagination; ſhe ſaw him, in future, upbraided with his father's trea⯑chery, and his mother's misfortunes. Thus for⯑ſaken of all the world, in the very morning of her life, when all things ſhould have been gay, and promiſing, ſhe wore away three wretched years. Mean time her betrayer had procured for himſelf a conſiderable employment; the duties of which obliged him to go into the country where his firſt wife lived. He took leave of his injured innocent, with much ſeeming tenderneſs; and made the moſt ſacred proteſtations, that he would not ſuffer her, nor her child ever to want.

He endeavoured to perſuade her to accompany him into the country, and to ſeduce, and quiet her conſcience, ſhewed her a celebrated piece written in defence of Polygamy, and Concubinage: When he was gone, he ſoon relapſed into his former extravagancies, forgot his promiſe of providing for his child, and its mother; and inhumanly left them a prey to indigence and oppreſſion. The lady was only happy in being releaſed from the killing anguiſh, of every day having before her eyes the object of her undoing.

When ſhe again came abroad into the world, ſhe was looked upon with cold indifference; that which had been her greateſt misfortune, was imputed [10] to her as the moſt enormous guilt; and ſhe was every where ſneered at, avoided, and deſpiſed. What pity is it, that an unfortunate, as well as a falſe ſt [...]\np, ſhould damn a woman's fame! In what reſpect was Mrs. Manley to blame? In what particular was ſhe guilty? to marry her couſin, who paſſionately profeſſed love to her, and who ſo⯑lemnly vowed himſelf a widower, could not be guilt; on the other hand, it had prudence and gra⯑titude for its baſis. Her continuing in the houſe with him after he had made the diſcovery, cannot be guilt, for by doing ſo, ſhe was prevented from being expoſed to ſuch neceſſities as perhaps would have produced greater ruin. When want and beggary ſtare a woman in the face, eſpecially one accuſtomed to the delicacies of life, then indeed is virtue in danger; and they who eſcape muſt have more than human aſſiſtance.

Our poeteſs now perceived, that together with her [...]\neputation, ſhe had loſt all the eſteem, that her converſation and abilities might have elſe procured her; and ſhe was reduced to the de⯑plorable neceſſity of aſſociating with thoſe whoſe fame was bla [...]\ned by their indiſcretion, becauſe the more ſober and virtuous part of the ſex did not care to riſk their own characters, by being in company with one ſo much ſuſpected, and againſt whom the appearance of guilt was too ſtrong.

Under this dilemma, it is difficult to point out any method of behaviour, by which ſhe would not be expoſed to cenſure: If ſhe had ſtill perſiſted in ſolitude, the ill-natured world would have imputed to it a cauſe, which is not founded on virtue; beſides, as the means of ſupport were now removed, by the perfidy of Mr. Manley, ſhe muſt have periſhed by this reſolution.

In this caſe, the reader will not be much ſur⯑prized to find our authoreſs, under the patronage of the ducheſs of Cleveland, a miſtreſs of king [11] Charles the IId's, who was juſtly reckoned one of the moſt celebrated beauties of that age. Mrs. Manley was paying a viſit to a lady of her grace's ac⯑quaintance, when ſhe was introduced into the favour of this royal courtezan; and as the ducheſs of Cleveland was a woman of parts and genius, ſhe could not but be charmed with the ſprightli⯑neſs of her converſation. She was fond of new faces, and immediately contracted the greateſt inti⯑macy with our poeteſs, and gave her a general in⯑vitation to her table. The lady at whoſe houſe the ducheſs became acquainted with Mrs. Manley, ſoon perceived her indiſcretion in bringing them together; for the love of novelty ſo far prevailed on the ducheſs, that herſelf was immediately diſcarded, and the affection formerly beſtowed upon her, was laviſhed on Mrs. Manley.

This procured our poeteſs an inveterate enemy; and the greateſt blow that was ever ſtruck at her reputation, was by that woman, who had been be⯑fore her friend. She was not content to inform perſons who began to know and eſteem Mrs. Manley, that her marriage was a cheat; but even endeavour⯑ed to make the ducheſs jealous of her new favourite's charms, in reſpect of Mr. Goodman the player, who at that time had the honour of approaching her grace's perſon, with the freedom of a gallant.

As the ducheſs of Cleveland was a woman of a ve⯑ry fickle temper, in ſix months time ſhe began to be tired of Mrs. Manley. She was quarelſome, lo⯑quacious, fierce, exceſſively fond, or downright rude; when ſhe was diſguſted with any perſon, ſhe never failed to reproach them, with all the bitterneſs of wit ſhe was miſtreſs of, with ſuch malice, and ill-nature, that ſhe was hated, not on⯑ly by all the world, but by her own children and ſervants: The extremes of prodigality, and covet⯑ouſneſs, of love, and hatred, of dotage, and fond⯑neſs, met in her.

[12] A woman of this temper will be at no loſs for the means of effecting any one's ruin, and having now conceived an averſion to our poeteſs, ſhe was reſolved to drive her from her houſe, with as much reproach as poſſible; and accordingly gave out, that ſhe had detected Mrs. Manley in an intrigue with her own ſon, and as ſhe did not care to give encouragement to ſuch amours, ſhe thought pro⯑per to diſcharge her. Whether or not there was any truth in this charge, it is impoſſible for us to determine: But if Mrs. Manley's own word may be taken. in ſuch a caſe, ſhe was perfectly inno⯑cent thereof.

When our authoreſs was diſmiſſed by the ducheſs, ſhe was ſollicited by lieutenant-general Tidcomb, to paſs ſome time with him at his country ſeat; but ſhe excuſed herſelf by telling him, ſhe muſt be in love with a man, before ſhe could think of reſiding with him, which ſhe could not, without a violation of truth, profeſs for him. She told him her love of ſolitude was improved, by her diſguſt of the world, and ſince it was impoſſible for her to be [...]\nublic with reputation, ſhe was reſolved to re⯑main in it concealed.

It was in this ſolitude ſhe compoſed her firſt tra⯑gedy, which was much more famous for the lan⯑guage, fire, and tenderneſs, than the conduct. Mrs. Barry diſtinguiſhed herſelf in it, and the author was often heard to expreſs great ſurprize, that a man of Mr. Betterton's grave ſenſe, and judgment, ſhould think well enough of the productions of a young woman, to bring it upon the ſtage, ſince ſhe herſelf in a more mature age could hardly bear to read it. But as the play ſucceeded, ſhe received ſuch unbounded incenſe from admirers, that her apartment was crowded with men of wit, and gaiety. There is a copy of verſes prefixed to her play, ſaid to be written by a very great hand which deſerve notice.

They who had a regard for Mrs. Manley could not but obſerve with concern, that her conduct was ſuch, as would ſoon iſſue in her ruin. No language but flat [...]\nery approached her ear; the Beaux told her, that a woman of her wit, was not to be con⯑fined to the dull formalities of her own ſex, but had a right to aſſume the unreſerved freedom of the male, ſince all things were pardonable to a la⯑dy, who knew to give laws to others, yet was not obliged to keep them herſelf General Tid⯑comb, who ſe [...]\nms to have been her ſinc [...]\nreſt friend, took the privilege of an old acquaincance to cor⯑rect her ill taſte, and the wrong turn ſhe gave her judgment, in admitting adulation from ſuch wretches, [14] whoſe praiſe could reflect but little honour, and who would be ready to boaſt of favours they never received, nor indeed ever endeavoured to obtain.

This ſalutary council was rejected, ſhe told him, that ſhe did not think fit to reform a conduct, which ſhe reckoned very innocent; and ſtill con⯑tinued to receive the whiſpers of flatterers, 'till experience taught her the folly of her behaviour, and ſhe lived to repent her indiſcretion.

Her virtue was now nodding, and ſhe was ready to fall into the arms of any gallant, like mellow fruit, without much trouble in the gathering. Sir Thomas Skipwith, a character of gaiety of thoſe times, and, who it ſeems had theatrical connections, was recommended to her, as being very able to promote her deſign in writing for the ſtage. This knight was in the 50th year of his age, and in the 60th of his conſtitution, when he was firſt in⯑troduced to her, and as he had been a long practiſed gallant, he ſoon made addreſſes to her, and whether or no this knight, who was more dangerous to a wo⯑man's reputation, than her virtue, was favoured by her, the world was ſo much convinced of it, that her character was now abſolutely loſt. Sir Thomas was a weak, vain, conceited coxcomb, who de⯑lighted in boaſting of his conqueſts over women, and what was often owing to his fortune, and ſta⯑tion in life, he imputed to his addreſs, and the ele⯑gance of his manner, of both which he was to⯑tally deſtitute. He even publiſhed Mrs. Manley's diſ⯑honour, and from that time our ſprightly poeteſs was conſidered, by the ſober part of the ſex, quite abandoned to all ſhame.

When her affair with this ſuperannuated knight was over, ſhe ſoon engaged in another intrigue, ſtill more prejudicial to her character; for it was with a married man, one Mr. Tilly, a gentleman of the Law; with whom ſhe lived a conſiderable time: while he underwent at home many of thoſe [15] fevere lectures, which the juſt provocation, and jealouſy of his wife taught her to read him. Mrs. Tilly at laſt died, and our gallant was left at his freedom to marry the object of his paſſion; but unluckily his finances were in ſuch a ſituation, that he was obliged to repair them by marrying a wo⯑man of fortune. This was a cruel circumſtance; for he really loved, and doated upon Mrs. Manley, and had the felicity of a reciprocal paſſion. She agreed however, in order to repair his fortune, that he ſhould marry a rich young widow, whom he ſoon won by the elegance of his addreſs, while our authoreſs retired into the country to ſpend her days in ſolitude and ſorrow, and bid an everlaſting farewel to the pleaſures of love and gallantry. Mr. Tilly did not many years ſurvive this ſeparation: his life was rendered miſerable at home by the jea⯑louſy of his young wife, who had heard of his affair with Mrs. Manley; he loſt his ſenſes, and died in a deplorable ſituation.

During her retirement, our authoreſs, who had a moſt confirmed averſion to the Whig mini⯑ſtry, wrote her Atalantis, which was meant as a repreſentation of the characters of ſome of thoſe, who had effected the Revolution. A warrant was granted from the ſecretary of ſtate's office, to ſeize the Printer and Publiſher of theſe volumes. This circumſtance reduced the writer to a very trou⯑bleſome dilemma; ſhe could not bear the thoughts that innocent people ſhould ſuffer on her account, and ſhe judged it cruel to remain concealed, while they, who were only inferior inſtruments, were ſuffering for her. She conſulted, on this occaſion, her beſt friend, general Tidcomb, who, after ral⯑lying her for expoſing people, who had never in particular injured her, he adviſed her to go into France, and made her an offer of his purſe for that purpoſe. This advice ſhe rejected, and came to a determined reſolution, that no perſon ſhould [16] ever ſuffer on her account. The general aſked her, how ſhe ſhould like to be confined in New⯑gate? to which ſhe anſwered, that ſhe would ra⯑ther lye in a priſon, after having diſcharged her conſcience, than riot in a palace under its re⯑proaches. The general upon this replied, that theſe things ſounded very heroic, but there was a great difference between real and imaginary ſuf⯑ferings, ‘'that ſhe had choſen to declare herſelf for the Tories, a party, who never could keep their own, nor other people's ſecrets, and were ever forgetful of ſuch as ſerved them; that the moſt ſevere critics upon the Tory writings, were the Tories themſelves, who never conſidering the de⯑ſign, or honeſt intention of the author, would examine the performance only, and that too with as much ſeverity, as they would an enemy's, and at the ſame time value themſelves upon being im⯑partial againſt their friends. Then as to grati⯑tude, or generoſity, the Tories did not approach to the Whigs, who never ſuffered any man to go unrewarded, however dull, or inſignificant, provided he declared himſelf to be for them; whereas the Tories had no general intereſt, and conſequently no particular, each perſon refuſing to contribute towards the benefit of the whole; and if it ſhould happen, that ſhe ſhould periſh, through want, in a Jail, they would ſooner con⯑demn her folly, than pity her ſufferings.'’

This did not deter our poeteſs from voluntarily preſenting herſelf before the Court of King's-Bench, as the author of the Atalantis.

When ſhe was examined before the ſecretary (then lord Sunderland) he was aſſiduous to know from whom ſhe had got information of ſome parti⯑culars, which they imag [...]\nned were above her own intelligence. Her defence was with much humility and ſorrow, at the ſame time denying that any per⯑ſons were concerned with her, or that ſhe had a [17] father deſign than writing for her own amuſement, and diverſion in the country, without intending par⯑ticular reflexions, or characters; when this was not believed, and the contrary urged againſt her by ſeve⯑ral circumſtances, ſhe ſaid, ‘'then it muſt be by inſpi⯑ration, becauſe knowing her own innocence, ſhe could account for it no other way.'’ The ſecre⯑tary replied, ‘'that inſpiration uſed to be upon a good account, and her writings were ſtark naught.'’ She, with an air of penitence, ‘'acknowledged, that his lordſhip's obſervation might be true, but that there were evil angels, as well as good, ſo that nevertheleſs what ſhe had wrote, might ſtill be by inſpiration.'’

In conſequence of this examination, our autho⯑reſs was cloſe ſhut up in a meſſenger's houſe, without being allowed pen, ink, and paper. How⯑ever her council ſued out her Habeas Corpus at the King's-Bench Bar, and ſhe was admitted to bail.

Whether thoſe in power were aſhamed to bring a woman to her trial, for writing a few amorous trifles, or our laws were defective, as was generally conjectured, becauſe ſhe had diſguiſed her ſatire under romantic names, and a feigned ſcene of action, ſhe was diſcharged, after ſeveral times expoſing her in perſon, to croſs the court before the Bench of Judges, with her three attendants, the Printer, and two Publiſhers.

Not long after this a total change of the mi⯑niſtry enſued, the ſtateſmen to whom ſhe had been obnoxious were removed, and conſequently all her fears upon that ſcore diſſipated; her native gaiety, and good humour returned, and ſhe again employed herſelf in writing a tragedy for the ſtage, and reſolved never more to deal in politics, as being much out of the natural ſphere of a wo⯑man: ſhe was perſuaded it was folly in one in her ſtation, to diſoblige any party by a pen equally qualified to divert all.

[18] Being advanced to the autumn of her charms, ſhe converſed with the oppoſite ſex, in a manner very delicate, ſenſible, and agreeable, and when ſhe felt that time had left his impreſſion upon her brow, ſhe did not court praiſe and flattery. The greateſt genius's of the times converſed freely with her, and gave her daily proofs of eſteem, and friendſhip, except Sir Richard Steele, with whom it ſeems ſhe was at variance; and indeed Sir Ri⯑chard ſufficiently expoſed himſelf by his manner of taking revenge; for he publiſhed to the wo [...]\nld that it was his own fault he was not happy with Mrs. Manley, for which omiſſion he publickly, and gravely aſked her pardon.

Theſe are the moſt material incidents in the life of our poeteſs; a lady, who was born with high powers from nature, which were afterwards culti⯑vated by enjoying the brighteſt converſation; the early part of her life was unfortunate, ſhe fell a ſacrifice to a ſeducer, who laid the ſoundation for thoſe errors ſhe afterwards committed, and of thoſe ſufferings ſhe underwent; ſhe had a high reliſh for the pleaſures of life; ſhe was extremely ſuſcepti⯑ble of the paſſion of love, and treated it with a peculiar vivacity.

Her dramatic works are

• 1. The Lover, or The Jealous Huſband; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1696. This play did not ſucceed in the repreſentation.
• 2. The Royal Miſchief, a Tragedy; acted by his Majeſty's Servants in the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1696. This was exhibited with general applauſe.
• 3. Lucius, the Firſt Chriſtian King of Britain, a Tragedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane [19] by his Majeſty's Servants, and dedicated to Sir Richard Steele.

She has written ſeveral poems, and we ſhall ſelect, as a ſpecimen, an Epiſtle to the Counteſs of Briſtol, which will ſhew how much ſhe poſſeſſed the power of delicate numbers; ſhe has alſo in print a volume of Letters, the ſecond edition of which was publiſhed in 1713. She died July 11, 1724.

HENRY NEEDLER.

THIS Poet was born at Harley in Surry, in the year 1690, and educated at a private ſchool at Ryegate in the ſame county^*. He was removed from thence in 1705, and in 1708 ac⯑cepted a ſmall place in a public office; where he continued the remainder of his days.

About this time contracting a friendſhip with a gentleman of a like taſte, who furniſhed him with proper books, he applied himſelf at his intervals of leiſure, to reading the claſſics, and to the ſtudy of logic, metaphyſics, and the mathematics, with which laſt he was peculiarly delighted. And in a few years by the force of his own happy ge⯑nius, and unwearied diligence, without the aſſiſt⯑ance of any maſter, he acquired a conſiderable knowledge of the moſt difficult branches of thoſe uſeful and entertaining ſtudies.

By ſo cloſe an application, he contracted a violent pain in his head, which notwithſtanding the beſt advice, daily encreaſed. This, and other unfortu⯑nate circumſtances concurring, ſo deeply affected him, who had beſides in his conſtitution a ſtrong tincture of melancholy, that he was at laſt brought under almoſt a total extinction of reaſon. In this condition he fell into a fever; and as there were be⯑fore ſcarce any hopes of him, it may be ſaid to have happily put an end to the deplorable bondage [24] of ſo bright a mind, on the 21ſt of December, 1718, in the 29th year of his age. He was buried in the church of Friendſbury, near Rocheſter.

Mr. Needler's life was influenced by the prin⯑ciples of ſincere, unaffected piety, and virtue.

On all occaſions (ſays Mr. Duncomb) ‘'he was a ſtrenuous advocate for univerſal toleration and forbearance in matters of religion; rightly ſup⯑poſing that no ſervice can be acceptable to the ſupreme Being, unleſs it proceeds from the heart; and that force ſerves only to make hypocrites, but adds no new lights to the underſtanding. He was modeſt to a fault, entertaining the moſt hum⯑ble opinion of his own performances; and was always ready to do juſtice to thoſe of others. His affection for his friends indeed ſometimes biaſſed his judgment, and led him to the com⯑mending their writings beyond their merit.'’

In the volume of Mr. Needler's works, are printed ſome familiar Letters, upon moral, and natural ſubjects. They are written with elegance and taſte; the heart of a good man may be traced in them all, and equally abound with pious notions, as good ſenſe, and ſolid reaſoning.—He ſeems to have been very much maſter of ſmooth verſification, his ſubjects are happily choſen, and there is a philoſophical air runs through all his writings; as an inſtance of this, we ſhall preſent our readers with a copy of his verſes addreſ⯑ſed to Sir Richard Blackmore, on his Poem, in⯑titled The Creation.

JOHN HUGHES.

WILLIAM Duncomb, eſq has obliged the world with an entire edition of this author's poetical and proſe works, to which he has prefixed ſome account of his life, written with can⯑dour and ſpirit. Upon his authority we chiefly build the following narration; in which we ſhall endeavour to do as much juſtice as poſſible to the memory of this excellent poet.

Our author was the ſon of a worthy citizen of London, and born at Marlborough in the county of Wilts, on the 29th of January 1677; but received the rudiments of his learning at private ſchools in London.

In the earlieſt years of his youth, he applied him⯑ſelf with ardour to the purſuit of the ſiſter arts, poetry, drawing and muſic, in each of which by turns, he made a conſiderable progreſs; but for the moſt part purſued theſe and other polite ſtudies, only as agreeable amuſements, under frequent con⯑finement [28] from indiſpoſition, and a valetudinary ſtate of health. He had ſome time an employment in the office of ordinance; and was ſecretary to two or three commiſſioners under the great-ſeal, for purchaſing lands for the better ſecuring the docks and harbours at Portſmouth, Chatham, and Harwich.

In the year 1717 the lord chancellor Cowper, (to whom Mr. Hughes was then but lately known) was pleaſed, without any previous ſollicitation, to make him his ſecretary for the commiſſions of the peace, and to diſtinguiſh him with ſingular marks of his favour and affection: And upon his lordſhip's laying down the great-ſeal, he was at his particular re⯑commendation, and with the ready concurrence of his ſucceſſor, continued in the ſame employment under the earl of Macclesfield.

He held this place to the time of his deceaſe, which happened on the 17th of February 1719, the very night in which his tragedy, entitled the Siege of Damaſcus, was firſt acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane.

He was cut off by a conſumption, after a painful life, at the age of 42, when he had juſt arrived at an agreeable competence, and advancing in fame and fortune. So juſt is the beautiful re⯑flexion of Milton in his Lycidas;

He was privately buried in the vault under the chancel of St. Andrew's Church in Holborn.

[29] Mr. Hughes, as a teſtimony of gratitude to his noble friend, and generous patron, earl Cowper, gave his lordſhip a few weeks before he died, his picture drawn by Sir Godfrey Kneller, which he himſelf had received from that maſterly painter. The value lord Cowper ſet upon it will be beſt ſhewn, by the letter he wrote upon this occaſion to Mr. Hughes. As ſuch a teſtimony from ſo eminent a perſon, was conſidered by himſelf as one of the higheſt honours he was capable of re⯑ceiving, we ſhall therefore inſert it.

Mr. Hughes was happy in the acquaintance and friendſhip of ſeveral of the greateſt men, and moſt diſtinguiſhed genius's of the age in which he lived; particularly of the nobleman juſt now mentioned, the preſent lord biſhop of Wincheſter, lord chief baron Gilbert, Sir Godfrey Kneller, Mr. Congreve, Mr. Addiſon, Sir Richard Steele, Mr. Southern, Mr. Rowe, &c. and might have juſtly boaſted in the words of Horace

[30] Having given this ſhort account of his life, which perhaps is all that is preſerved any where concerning him; we ſhall now conſider him, firſt, as a poet, and then as a proſe writer.

The Triumph of Peace was the earlieſt poem he wrote of any length, that appeared in public. It was written on occaſion of the peace of Ryſwick, and printed in the year 1677. A learned gentleman at Cambridge, in a letter to a friend of Mr. Hughes's, dated the 28th of February 1697-8, gives the fol⯑lowing account of the favourable reception this poem met with there, upon its firſt publication. I think I never heard a poem read with ſo much admiration, as the Triumph of Peace was by our beſt critics here; nor a greater character given to a young poet, at his firſt appearing; no, not even to Mr. Congreve himſelf. So nobly elevated are his thoughts, his numbers ſo harmonious, and his turns ſo fine and delicate, that we cry out with Tully, on a like occaſion, ‘' Noſtrae ſpes altera Romae!’

The Court of Neptune, was written on king William's return from Holland, two years after the peace, in 1699. This Poem was admired for the verſification, however, the muſical flow of the numbers is its leaſt praiſe; it rather deſerves to be valued for the propriety, and boldneſs of the figures and metaphors, and the machinery.

The following lines have been juſtly quoted as an inſtance of the author's happy choice of metaphors.

[31] A friend of Mr. Hughes's ſoon after the publica⯑tion of this poem, complimented him upon the choice of his ſubject, and for the moral ſentiments contained in it. ‘'I am ſure (ſays he) virtue is moſt for the intereſt of mankind; and thoſe poets have ever obtained the moſt honour in the world, who have made that the end and deſign of their works. A wanton Sappho, or Anacreon, among the ancients, never had the ſame applauſe, as a Pindar, or Alexis; nor in the judgment of Horace did they deſerve it. In the opinion of all poſterity, a lewd and debauch'd Ovid, did juſtly ſubmit to the worth of a Virgil; and, in future ages, a Dryden will never be compared to Milton. In all times, and in all places of the world, the moral poets have been ever the greateſt; and as much ſuperior to others in wit, as in virtue. Nor does this ſeem difficult to be accounted for, ſince the dignity of their ſubjects naturally raiſed their ideas, and gave a grandeur to their ſentiments.'’

The Houſe of Naſſau, a Pindaric Ode (printed in 1702) was occaſioned by the death of king William. ‘'In Pindaric and Lyric Poetry (ſays Mr. Duncomb) our author's genius ſhines in its full luſtre. Tho' he enjoyed all that fire of ima⯑gination, and divine enthuſiaſm, for which ſome of the ancient poets are ſo deſervedly admired, yet did his fancy never run away with his reaſon, but was always guided by ſuperior judgment; and the muſic of his verſe is exquiſite.'’

The Tranſlation of the third Ode of the third Book of Horace, and the Paraphraſe of the twenty⯑ſecond Ode, of the firſt book, were both written when he was very young; and the latter of them was his firſt poetical Eſſay, which appeared in print. Mr. Hughes, in a private letter ſent to one of his friends, gives it as his opinion, that the Odes of [32] Horace, are fitter to be paraphraſed, than tranſ⯑lated.

The Tenth Book of Lucan, was tranſlated by Mr. Hughes, long before Mr. Rowe undertook that author. The occaſion of it was this: Mr. Tonſon the bookſeller, ſollicited a tranſlation of Lucan, by ſeveral hands. Mr. Hughes performed his part, but others failing in their promiſes, the deſign was dropp'd; and Mr. Rowe was afterwards prevailed upon to undertake the whole, which he performed with great ſucceſs.

In the year 1709 Mr. Hughes obliged the pub⯑lick, with an elegant tranſlation of Moliere's cele⯑b [...]\nat [...]\nd Comedy, the Miſantrope. This has been ſince reprinted, with the other plays of that admirable author, tranſlated by Mr. Ozell; but care is taken to diſtinguiſh this particular play.

In the year 1712 his Opera of Calypſo and Telemachus, was performed at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-Market. Perhaps it may be worth while to mention here, one circumſtance concerning this Opera, as it relates to the Hiſtory of Muſic in England, and diſcovers the great partiality ſh [...]\nwn at that time to Opera's performed in Italian. After many ſuch had been encouraged by large ſubſcriptions, this, originally written, and ſet in Engliſh, after the Italian manner, was prepared with the uſual expence of ſcenes and decorations; and being much crowded and applauded at the rehearſals, a ſubſcription was obtained for it as uſual.

This alarmed the whole Italian band, who, ap⯑prehending that their profeſſion would ſuffer thereby, procured an order from the duke of Shrewſbury, then lord chamberlain, the day be⯑fore the performing of this Opera, to take of the ſubſcription for it, and to open the houſe at the loweſt prices, or not at all. This was deſigned to ſink it, but failed of its end. It was per⯑formed, [33] though under ſuch great diſcouragement; and was revived afterwards at the theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Mr. Addiſon, in the Spectator, Numb. 405, ſpeaking of the juſt applauſe given this opera, by Signior Nicolini (who he ſays was the greateſt performer in dramatic muſic, that perhaps ever ap⯑peared upon a ſtage) has theſe words,

The Ode to the Creator of the World, occaſioned by the fragments of Orpheus, was printed in the year 1713, at the particular inſtance of Mr. Addiſon; and is mentioned with applauſe in the Spectator. This, and the Extaſy, (publiſhed ſince the death of the author) are juſtly eſteemed two of the nobleſt Odes in our language. The ſeventh Stanza of the laſt mentioned piece, is ſo ſublimely excellent, that it would be denying ourſelves, and our poetical readers, a pleaſure not to tranſcribe it. The whole of this Ode is beautifully heightened, and poetically conceived. It furniſhed a hint to a living Poet to write what he entitles the Excurſion, which tho' it has very great merit, yet falls infinitely ſhort of this animated Ode of Mr. Hughes.

After having repreſented the natural and artificial calamities to which man is doomed, he proceeds,

The author of an Eſſay on Criticiſm, printed in the year 1728, informs us, that the Tragedy of Cato being brought upon the ſtage in 1713 was owing to Mr. Hughes. The circumſtances recorded [35] by this author are ſo remarkable, that they deſerve to be related; and as they ſerve to ſhew the high opinion Mr. Addiſon entertained of our author's abilities as a Poet, I ſhall therefore tranſcribe his own words.—

In the year 1720 the Siege of Damaſcus was acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, with univerſal applauſe. His preſent majeſty honoured it with his preſence, and the late queen diſtinguiſh⯑ed it with marks of favour.

Mr. Hughes drew up the dedication of this Tragedy to the late Earl Cowper, about ten days before he died. It is indeed ſurpriſing, that he ſhould be able to form a piece ſo finely turned, and at ſuch an hour; when death was juſt before him, and he was too weak to tranſcribe it himſelf.

Mr Pope, in a letter to Mr. Hughes's brother, written ſoon after his death, in anſwer to one re⯑ceived from him, with the printed copy of the play, has the following pathetic paſſage.

It is generally allowed that the characters in this play are finely varied and diſtinguiſhed; that the ſentiments are juſt, and well adapted to the cha⯑racters; that it abounds with beautiful deſcrip⯑tions, [37] apt alluſions to the manners, and opinions of the times where the ſcene is laid, and with noble morals; that the diction is pure, unaffected, and ſublime; and that the plot is conducted in a ſim⯑ple and clear manner.

Some critics have objected, that there is not a ſufficient ground and foundation, for the diſtreſs in the fourth and fifth acts. That Phocyas only aſſiſts the enemy to take Damaſcus a few days ſooner, than it muſt unavoidably have fallen into the hands of the Saracens by a capitulation, which was far from diſhonourable. If Phocyas is guilty, his guilt muſt conſiſt in this only, that he performed the ſame action from a ſenſe of his own wrong, and to preſerve the idol of his ſoul from violation, and death, which he might have performed lauda⯑bly, upon better principles. But this (ſay they) ſeems not ſufficient ground for thoſe ſtrong and ſtinging reproaches he caſts upon himſelf, nor for Eudocia's rejecting him with ſo much ſeverity. It would have been a better ground of diſtreſs, con⯑ſidering the frailty of human nature, and the vio⯑lent temptations he lay under; if he had been at laſt prevailed upon to profeſs himſelf a Mahome⯑tan: For then his remorſe, and ſelf-condemnation, would have been natural, his puniſhment juſt, and the character of Eudocia placed in a more amiable light. In anſwer to theſe objections, and in order to do juſtice to the judgment of Mr. Hughes, we muſt obſerve, that he formed his play according to the plan here recommended: but, over-perſuaded by ſome friends, he altered it as it now ſtands.

When our author was but in the nineteenth year of his age, he wrote a Tragedy, entitled, Amalaſont Queen of the Goths, which diſplays a fertile genius, and a maſterly invention. Beſides theſe poetical productions Mr. Hughes is author of ſeveral works in proſe, particularly,

[38] The Advices from Parnaſſus, and the Poetical Touchſtone of Trajano Boccalini, tranſlated by ſeveral hands, were printed in folio 1706. This tranſlation was reviſed and corrected, and the pre⯑face to it was written by Mr. Hughes.

Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead, tranſlated by our author; with two original Dialogues, pub⯑liſhed in the year 1708. The greateſt part of this had lain by him for ſix years.

Fontenelle's Diſcourſe concerning the antients, and moderns, are printed with his converſations with a Lady, on the Plurality of Worlds, tranſlated by Glanville-

The Hiſtory of the Revolutions in Portugal, written in French, by Monſieur L'Abbé de Vertot, was tranſlated by Mr. Hughes.

The Tranſlation of the Letters of Abelard and Heloiſe, was done by Mr. Hughes; upon which Mr. Pope has built his beautiful Epiſtle of Heloiſe to Abelard.

As Mr. Hughes was an occaſional contributor to the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian, the reader perhaps may be curious to know more particularly what ſhare he had in thoſe papers, which are ſo juſtly admired in all places in the world, where taſte and genius have viſited. As it is the higheſt honour to have had any concern in works like theſe, ſo it would be moſt injurious to the memory of this excellent genius, not to particularize his ſhare in them.

In the Tatler he writ,

• Vol. II.
  • Numb. 64. A Letter ſigned Joſiah Couplet.
  • Numb. 73. A Letter againſt Gameſters, ſigned William Truſty.

    Mr. Tickell alludes to this Letter, in a Copy of Verſes addreſſed to the Spectator, Vol. VII. No. 532.

    [39]

    From Felon Gameſters, the raw 'ſquire is free,

    And Briton owes her reſcued oaks to thee.
  • Numb. 113. The Inventory of a Beau.

In the Spectator.

• Vol. I.
  • Numb. 33. A Letter on the Art of improv⯑ing beauty.
  • Numb. 53. A Second Letter on the ſame ſubject.
  • Numb. 66. Two Letters concerning f [...]\nne breeding.
• Vol. II.
  • Numb. 91. The Hiſtory of Honoria, or the Rival Mother.
  • Numb. 104. A Letter on Riding-Habits for Ladies.
  • Numb. 141. Remarks on a Comedy, intitled the Lancaſhire-Witches.
• Vol. III.
  • Numb. 210. On the immortality of the Soul.
  • Numb. 220. A Letter concerning expe⯑dients for Wit.
  • Numb. 230. All, except the laſt Letter.
  • Numb. 231. A Letter on the awe of ap⯑pearing before public aſſemblies.
  • Numb. 237. On Divine Providence.
• Vol. IV.
  • Numb. 252. A Letter on the Eloquence of Tears, and fainting fits.
  • Numb. 302. The Character of Emilia.
  • Numb. 311. A Letter from the Father of a great Fortune.
• Vol. V.
  • Numb. 57. A Picture of Virtue in Diſtreſs.
• [40] Vol. VII.
  • Numb. 525. On Conjugal Love.
  • Numb. 537. On the Dignity of Human Nature.
  • Numb. 541. Rules for Pronunciation and Action, chiefly collected from Cicero.
• Vol. VII.
  • Numb. 554. On the Improvement of the Genius, illuſtrated in the characters of Lord Bacon, Mr. Boyle, Sir Iſaac Newton, and Leo⯑nardo da Vinci.—We have not been able to learn, what papers in the Guardian were written by him, beſides Number 37, Vol. 1. which con⯑tains Remarks on the Tragedy of Othello.

In the year 1715 Mr. Hughes publiſhed a very accurate edition of the works of our famous poet Edmund Spenſer, in ſix volumes, 12mo. to this edi⯑tion are prefixed the Life of Spenſer; an Eſſay on Allegorical poetry; Remarks on the Fairy Queen; on the Shepherd's Calendar, and other writings of Spenſer; and a Gloſſary explaining the Old and obſolete Words.

In 1718 he publiſhed a piece called Charon, or The Ferry-Boat, a Viſion. This, and Mr. Walſh's Aeſculapius, or Hoſpital of Fools, are perhaps two of the fineſt dialogues we have in Engliſh, as well as the moſt lively imitations of Lucian.

Sir Richard Steele, in a paper called The Thea⯑tre, No. 15. has paid a tribute to the memory of Mr. Hughes, with which as it illuſtrates his ami⯑able character, we ſhall conclude his life.

‘'I laſt night (ſays he) ſaw the Siege of Damaſ⯑cus, and had the mortification to hear this even⯑ing that Mr. Hughes, the author of it, departed this life within ſome few hours after his play was acted, with univerſal applauſe. This melancholy [41] circumſtance recalled into my thought a ſpeech in the tragedy, which very much affected the whole audience, and was attended to with the greateſt, and moſt ſolemn inſtance of approbati⯑on, and awful ſilence.'’ The incidents of the play plunge a heroic character into the laſt extremity; and he is admoniſhed by a tyrant commander to expect no mercy, unleſs he changes the Chriſtian religion for the Mahometan. The words with which the Turkiſh general makes his exit from his priſoner are,

Upon which the captive breaks into the following ſoliloquy,

‘'The gentleman (continues Sir Richard) to whoſe memory I devote this paper, may be the emulation [42] of more perſons of different talents, than any one I have ever known. His head, hand, or heart, was always employed in ſomething worthy imita⯑tion; his pencil, his bow (ſtring) or his pen, each of which he uſed in a maſterly manner, were al⯑ways directed to raiſe, and entertain his own mind, or that of others, to a more chearful proſecution of what is noble and virtuous. Peace be with thy remains, thou amiable ſpirit! but I talk in the lan⯑guage of our weakneſs, that is flown to the regi⯑ons of immorality, and relieved from the aking engine and painful inſtrument of anguiſh and ſorrow, in which for many tedious years he panted with a lively hope for his preſent condition.'’ We ſhall conſign the trunk, in which he was ſo long impriſoned, to common earth, with all that is due to the merit of its inhabitant^*.

MATTHEW PRIOR, Eſq

THIS celebrated poet was the ſon of Mr. George Prior, citizen of London, who was by profeſſion a Joiner. Our author was born in 1664. His father dying when he was very young, left him to the care of an uncle, a Vintner near Charing-Croſs, who diſcharged the truſt that was repoſed in him, with a tenderneſs truly pa⯑ternal, as Mr. Prior always acknowledged with the higheſt profeſſions of gratitude. He received part of his education at Weſtminſter ſchool, where he diſtinguiſhed himſelf to great advantage, but was afterwards taken home by his uncle in order to be bred up to his trade. Notwithſtanding this mean employment, to which Mr. Prior ſeemed now doomed, yet at his leiſure hours he proſecuted his ſtudy of the claſſics, and eſpecially his favourite Horace, by which means he was ſoon taken notice of, by the polite company, who reſorted to his uncle's houſe. It happened one day, that the earl of Dorſet being at his Tavern, which he often fre⯑quented with ſeveral gentlemen of rank, the diſ⯑courſe turned upon the Odes of Horace; and the company being divided in their ſentiments a⯑bout a paſſage in that poet, one of the gentlemen ſaid, I find we are not like to agree in our criti⯑ciſms, but, if I am not miſtaken, there is a young [44] fellow in the houſe, who is able to ſet us all right: upon which he named Prior, who was immediately ſent for, and deſired to give his opi⯑nion of Horace's meaning in the Ode under con⯑ſideration; this he did with great modeſty, and ſo much to the ſatisfaction of the company, that the earl of Dorſet, from that moment, determined to remove him from the ſtation in which he was, to one more ſuited to his genius; and according⯑ly procured him to be ſent to St. John's College in Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1686, and afterwards became fellow of the College.

During his reſidence in the univerſity, he con⯑tracted an intimate friendſhip with Charles Monta⯑gue, eſq afterwards earl of Hallifax, in conjunc⯑tion with whom he wrote a very humorous piece, entitled The Hind and Panther tranſverſed to the ſtory of the Country Mouſe, and the City Mouſe, printed 1687 in 4to. in anſwer to Mr. Dryden's Hind and the Panther, publiſhed the year before.

Upon the revolution Mr. Prior was brought to court by his great patron the earl of Dorſet, by whoſe intereſt he was introduced to public em⯑ployment, and in the year 1690 was made ſe⯑cretary to the earl of Berkley, plenipot [...]\nntiary to King William and Queen Mary at the Congreſs at the Hague.

In this ſtation he acquitted himſelf ſo well, that he was afterwards appointed ſecretary to the earls of Pembroke, and Jerſey, and Sir Joſeph William⯑ſon, ambaſſadors, and plenipotentiaries, at the treaty of Ryſwick 1697, as he was likewiſe in 1698 to the earl of Portland, ambaſſador to the court of France. While he was in that kingdom, one of the officers of the French King's houſhold, ſhew⯑ing him the royal apartments, and curioſities at [45] Verſailles, eſpecially the paintings of Le Brun, wherein the victories of Lewis XIV. are deſcrib⯑ed, aſked him, whether King William's actions are to be ſeen in his palace? ‘'No Sir, replied Mr. Prior, the monuments of my maſter's actions are to be ſeen every where, but in his own houſe.'’

In the year 1697 Mr. Prior was made ſecre⯑tary of ſtate for Ireland, and in 1700 was cre⯑ated maſter of arts by Mandamus, and appointed one of the lords commiſſioners of trade and plan⯑ta [...]\nions, upon the reſignation of Mr. Locke. He was alſo Member of Parliament for Eaſt-Grinſtead in Suſſex. In 1710 he was ſuppoſed to have had a ſhare in writing the Examiner, and particularly a Criticiſm in it upon a Poem of Dr. Garth to the earl of Godolphin, taken notice of in the life of Garth.

About this time, when Godolphin was defeat⯑ed by Oxford, and the Tories who had long been eclipſed by the luſtre of Marlborough, began again to hold up their heads, Mr. Prior and Dr. Garth eſpouſed oppoſite intereſts; Mr. Prior wrote for, and Garth againſt the court. The Dr. was ſo far honeſt, that he did not deſert his patron in diſtreſs; and notwithſtanding the cloud which then hung upon the party, he addreſſed verſes to him, which, however they may fail in the poetry, bear ſtrong the marks of gratitude, and honour.

While Mr. Prio [...]\n was thus very early initi⯑ated in public buſineſs, and continued in the hur⯑ry of affairs for many years, it muſt appear not a little ſurprizing, that he ſhould find ſufficient op⯑portunities to cultivate his poetical talents, to the amazing heighth he raiſed them. In his preface to his poems, he ſays, that poetry was only the product of his leiſure hours; that he had commonly buſineſs enough upon his hands, and, as he mo⯑deſtly [46] adds, was only a poet by accident; but we muſt take the liberty of differing from him in the laſt particular, for Mr. Prior ſeems to have received from the muſes, at his nativity, all the graces they could well beſtow on their greateſt favourite.

We muſt not omit one inſtance in Mr. Prior's conduct, which will appear very remarkable: he was choſen a member of that Parliament which impeached the Partition Treaty, to which he him⯑ſelf had been ſecretary; and though his ſhare in that tranſaction was conſequently very conſidera⯑ble, yet he joined in the impeachment upon an honeſt principle of conviction, that exceptionable meaſures attended it.

The lord Bolingbroke, who, notwithſtanding ma⯑ny exceptions made both to his conduct, and ſenti⯑ments in other inſtances, yet muſt be allowed to be an accompliſhed judge of fine talents, entertained the higheſt eſteem for Mr. Prior, on account of his ſhining abilities. This noble lord, in a letter dated September 10, 1712, addreſſed to Mr. Prior, while he was the Queen's miniſter, and plenipotentiary at the court of France, pays him the following compliment; ‘'For God's ſake, Matt. hide the nak⯑edneſs of thy country, and give the beſt turn thy fertile brain will furniſh thee with, to the blunders of thy countrymen, who are not much better politicians, than the French are poets.'’ His lordſhip thus concludes his epiſtle; ‘'It is near three o' clock in the morning, I have been hard at work all day, and am not yet enough reco⯑vered to bear much fatigue; excuſe therefore the confuſedneſs of this ſcroll, which is only from Harry to Matt, and not from the ſecretary to the miniſter. Adieu, my pen is ready to drop out of my hand, it being now three o'clock in [47] the morning; believe that no man loves you bet⯑ter, or is more faithfully yours, &c. BOLINGBROKE.'’

There are ſeveral other letters from Bolingbroke to Prior, which, were it neceſſary, we might inſert as evidences of his eſteem for him; but Mr. Prior was in every reſpect ſo great a man, that the eſteem even of lord Bolingbroke cannot add much to the luſtre of his reputation, both as a ſtateſman, and a poet. Mr. Prior is repreſented by thoſe who knew, and have wrote concerning him, as a gen⯑tleman, who united the elegance and politeneſs of a court, with the ſcholar, and the man of ge⯑nius. This repreſentation, in general, may be juſt, yet it holds almoſt invariably true, that they who have riſen from low life, ſtill retain ſome traces of their original. No cultivation, no genius, it ſeems, is able entirely to ſurmount this: There was one particular in which Mr. Prior verified the old pro⯑verb.

The ſame woman who could charm the waiter in a tavern, ſtill maintained her dominion over the embaſſador at France. The Chloe of Prior, it ſeems, was a woman in this ſtation of life; but he never forſook her in the heighth of his re⯑putation. Hence we may obſerve, that aſſocia⯑tions with women are the moſt laſting of all, and that when an eminent ſtation raiſes a man above many other acts of condeſcenſion, a miſtreſs will maintain her influence, charm away the pride of greatneſs, and make the hero who fights, and the patriot who ſpeaks, for the liberty of his coun⯑try, a ſlave to her. One would imagine however, that this woman, who was a Butcher's wife, muſt either have been very handſome, or have had ſome⯑thing about her ſuperior to people of her rank: but it ſeems the caſe was otherwiſe, and no better [48] reaſon can be given for Mr. Prior's attachment to her, but that ſhe was his taſte. Her huſband ſuf⯑fered their intrigue to go on unmoleſted; for he was proud even of ſuch a connexion as this, with ſo great a man as Prior; a ſingular inſtance of good nature.

In the year 1715 Mr. Prior was recalled from France, and upon his arrival was taken up by a warrant from the Houſe of Commons; ſhortly af⯑ter which, he underwent a very ſtrict examination by a Committee of the Privy Council. His poli⯑tical friend, lord Bolingbroke, foreſeeing a ſtorm, took ſhelter in France, and ſecured Harry, but le [...]\nt poor Matt. in the lurch.

On the 10th of June Robert Walpole, eſq mov⯑ed the Houſe againſt him, and on the 17th Mr. Prior was ordered into cloſe cuſtody, and no per⯑ſon was admitted to ſee him without leave from the Speaker. For the particulars of this procedure of the Parliament, both againſt Mr. Prior, and many others concerned in the public tranſactions of the preceding reign, we refer to the hiſtories of that time. In the year 1717 an Act of Grace was paſſed in favour of thoſe who had oppoſed the Hano⯑verian ſucceſſion, as well as thoſe who had been in o⯑pen rebellion, but Mr. Prior was excepted out of it. At the cloſe of this year, however, he was diſ⯑charged from his confinement, and retired to ſpend the reſidue of his days at Downhall in Eſſex.

The ſevere uſage which Mr. Prior met with, per⯑haps was the occaſion of the following beautiful lines, addreſſed to his Chloe;

In July 1721, within two months of his death, Mr. Prior publiſhed the following beautiful little tale on the falſhood of mankind, entitled The Con⯑verſation, and applied it to the truth, honour, and juſtice of his grace the duke of Dorſet.

Mr. Prior, after the fatigue of a length of years paſt in various ſervices of action, was deſirous of ſpending the remainder of his days in rural tran⯑quility, which the greateſt men of all ages have been fond of enjoying: he was ſo happy as to ſucceed in his wiſh, living a very retired, and con⯑templative life, at Down [...]\nall in Eſſex, and found, as he expreſſed himſelf, a more ſolid, and innocent ſatisfaction among woods, and meadows, than he had enjoyed in the hurry, and tumults of the world, the courts of Princes, or the conducting fo⯑reign negotiations; and where as he melodiouſly ſings,

This great man died on the 18th of September, 1721, at Wimple in Cambridgſhire, the ſeat of the earl of Oxford, with whoſe friendſhip he had been honoured for ſome years. The death of ſo diſtinguiſhed a perſon was juſtly eſteemed [53] an irreparable loſs to the polite world, and his memory will be ever dear to thoſe, who have any reliſh for the muſes in their ſofter charms. Some of the latter part of his life was employed in collecting materials for an Hiſtory of the Tran⯑ſactions of his own Times, but his death unfortu⯑nately deprived the world of what the touches of ſo maſterly a hand, would have made exceeding va⯑luable.

Mr. Prior, by the ſuffrage of all men of taſte, holds the firſt rank in poetry, for the delicacy of his numbers, the wittineſs of his turns, the acute⯑neſs of his remarks, and, in one performance, for the amazing force of his ſentiments. The ſtile of our author is likewiſe ſo pure, that our language knows no higher authority, and there is an air of original in his minuteſt performances.

It would be ſuperfluous to give any detail of his poems, they are in the hands of all who love poetry, and have been as often admired, as read. The performance however, for which he is moſt diſtinguiſhed, is his Solomon; a Poem in three Books, the firſt on Knowledge, the ſecond on Pleaſure, and the third on Power. We know few poems to which this is ſecond, and it juſtly eſtabliſhed his reputation as one of the beſt wri⯑ters of his age.

This ſublime work begins thus,

After an enquiry into, and an excellent de⯑ſcription of the various operations, and effects of nature, the ſyſtem of the heavens, &c. and not be⯑ing fully informed of them, the firſt Book con⯑cludes,

In the ſecond Book the uncertainty, diſappoint⯑ment, and vexation attending pleaſure in ge⯑neral, are admirably deſcribed; and in the cha⯑racter of Solomon is ſufficiently ſhewn, that no⯑thing debaſes majeſty, or indeed any man, more than ungovernable paſſion.

The third Book treats particularly of the trou⯑ble and inſtability of greatneſs and power, conſi⯑ders [55] man through the ſeveral ſtages and conditi⯑ons of life, and has excellent reaſoning upon life and death. On the laſt are theſe lines;

The poet has likewiſe theſe ſimilies on life;

We ſhall conclude this account of Mr. Prior's life with the following copy of verſes, written on his Death by Robert Ingram, eſq which is a very ſuc⯑ceſsful imitation of Mr. Prior's manner.

Mrs. SUSANNA CENTLIVRE.

THIS lady was daughter of one Mr. Free⯑man, of Holbeack in Lincolnſhire. There was formerly an eſtate in the family of her fa⯑ther, but being a Diſſenter, and a zealous parlia⯑mentarian, he was ſo very much perſecuted at the reſtoration, that he was laid under a neceſſity to fly into Ireland, and his eſtate was confiſcated; nor was the family of our authorcſs's mother free from the ſeverity of thoſe times, they being like⯑wiſe parliamenta [...]\nia [...]\ns. Her education was in the country, and her father dying when ſhe was but three years of age, and her mother not living 'till ſhe was twelve, the improvements our poeteſs made were merely by her own induſtry and applica⯑tion. She was married before the age of fifteen, to a nephew of Sir Stephen Fox. This gentleman living with her but a year, ſhe afterwards married Mr. Carrol, an officer in the army, and ſurvived him likewiſe in the ſpace of a year and a half. She afterwards married Mr. Joſeph Centlivre, yeoman of the mouth to his late Majeſty. She gave early diſcoveries of a genius for poetry, and Mr. Jacob in his Lives of the Poets tells us, that ſhe compoſed a ſong before ſhe was ſeven years old. She is the author of fifteen plays; her ta⯑lent is comedy, particularly the contrivance of the plots, and incidents. Sir Richard Steele, in one [59] of his Tatlers, ſpeaking of the Buſy Body, thus recommends it. ‘'The plot, and incidents of the play, are laid with that ſubtilty, and ſpirit, which is peculiar to females of wit, and is very ſeldom well performed by thoſe of the other ſex, in whom craft in love is an act of invention, and not as with women, the effect of nature, and inſtinct.'’

She died December 1, 1723; the author of the Political State thus characterizes her. ‘'Mrs. Cent⯑hvre, from a mean parentage and education, after ſeveral gay adventures (over which we ſhall draw a veil) ſhe had, at laſt, ſo well improved her natural genius by reading, and good con⯑verſation, as to attempt to write for the ſtage, in which ſhe had as good ſucceſs as any of her ſex before her. Her firſt dramatic performance was a Tragi-Comedy, called The Perjured Huſ⯑band, but the plays which gained her moſt re⯑putation were, two Comedies, the Gameſter, and the Buſy Body. She wrote alſo ſeveral copies of verſes on divers ſubjects, and occaſions, and ma⯑ny ingenious letters, entitled Letters of Wit, Po⯑litics, and Morality, which I collected, and pub⯑liſhed about 21 years ago^*.'’

Her dramatic works are,

• 1. The Perjured Huſband, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1702, dedicated to the late Duke of Bedford. Scene Venice.
• 2. The Beau's Duel, or a Soldier for the Ladies, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, 1703; a Criticiſm was written upon this play in the Poſt-Angel for Auguſt.
• [60] 3. The Stolen Heireſs, or The Salamancha Doctor Out-plotted; a Comedy; acted at the The⯑atre in Lincolns-Idn-Fields 1704. The ſcene Palermo.
• 4. The Gameſter, a Comedy; acted at the The⯑atre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields 1704, dedicated to George Earl of Huntingdon. This play is an im⯑proved tranſlation of one of the ſame title in French. The prologue was written by Mr. Rowe.
• 5. The Baſſet Table, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, dedicated to Ar⯑thur Lord Altham, 4to. 1706.
• 6. Love's Contrivance, or Le Medicin Malgre lui; a Comedy; acted at Drury-Lane 1705, dedi⯑cated to the Earl of Dorſet. This is a tranſlation from Moliere.
• 7. Love at a Venture, a Comedy; acted at Bath, 4to. 1706, dedicated to the Duke of Beaufort.
• 8. The Buſy Body, acted at the Theatre-Royal 1708, dedicated to Lord Somers. This play was acted with very great applauſe.
• 9. Marplot, or the Second Part of the Buſy Body; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1709, dedicat⯑ed to the Earl of Portland.
• 10. The Perplex'd Lovers, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1710, dedicated to Sir Henry Furnace.
• 11. The Platonic Lady, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal 1711.
• [61] 12. The Man's Bewitch'd, or The Devil to do about Her; a Comedy; acted at the Theatre in the Haymarket 1712, dedicated to the Duke of Devonſhire.
• 13. The Wonder a Woman keeps a Secret, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. This play was acted with ſucceſs.
• 14. The Cruel Gift, or The Royal Reſentment; a Tragedy; acted ot the Theatre-Royal 1716, for the ſtory of this play, conſult Sigiſmonda and Guiſcarda, a Novel of Boccace.
• 15. A Bold Stroke for a Wife, a Comedy; act⯑ed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1717, de⯑dicated to the Duke of Wharton.

Beſides theſe plays Mrs. Centlivre has written three Farces; Bickerſtaff's Burying, or Work for the Upholders. The Gotham Election. A Wife well Managed.

Dr. NICHOLAS BRADY.

THIS revd. gentleman was ſon of Nicho⯑las Brady, an officer in the King's army, in the rebellion 1641, [...]ing lineally deſcended from Hugh Brady, the firſt Proteſtant biſhop of Meath^*. He was born as Bandon in the county of Cork, on the 28th of October 1659, and edu⯑cated in that county till he was 12 years of age, when he was removed to Weſtminſter ſchool, and from thence elected ſtudent of Chriſt's Church, Oxford. After continuing there about four years, he went to Dublin, where his father reſided, at which univerſity he immediately commenced ba⯑chelor of arts. When he was of due ſtanding, his Diploma for the degree of doctor of divinity was, on account of his uncommon merit, preſented to him from that univerſity, while he was in Eng⯑land, and brought over by Dr. Pratt, then ſenior travelling-fellow, afterwards provoſt of that col⯑lege. His firſt cecleſiaſtical preferment was to a pre⯑bend, in the Cathedral of St. Barry's in the city of Cork, to which he was collated by biſhop Wet⯑tenhal, to whom he was domeſtic chaplain. He was a ze [...]\nous promot [...]\nr of the revolution, and ſuffered for it in conſequence of his zeal. In 1690, when the troubles broke out in Ireland, by his intereſt with King James's general, Mac Carty, [63] he thrice prevented the burning of Bandon town, after three ſeveral orders given by that Prince to deſtroy it. The ſame year, having been deputed by the people of Bandon, he went over to Eng⯑land to petition the Parliament, for a redreſs of ſome grievances they had ſuffered, while King James was in Ireland. During his ſtay here, and to the time of his death, he was in the higheſt eſteem among all ranks of perſons in this king⯑dom, for his eminent attachment to the true in⯑tereſt of his country. Having quitted his prefer⯑ments in Ireland, he ſettled in London, where he, being celebrated for his abilities in the pulpit, was elected miniſter of St. Catherine-Cree Church, and lecturer of St. Michael's Woodſtreet. He afterwards became miniſter of Richmond in Surry, and Stratford upon Avon in Warwickſhire, and at length, rector of Clapham in the county above⯑mentioned; which laſt, together with Richmond, he held to the time of his death. He was alſo chaplain to the duke of Ormond's troop of Horſe⯑guards, as he was to their Majeſties King William, and Queen Anne. He died on the 20th of May 1726, in the 67th year of his age, leaving be⯑hind him the reputation of a good man; he was of a moſt obliging, ſweet, affable temper, a polite gentleman, an excellent preacher, and no incon⯑ſiderable poet.

His compoſitions in poetry are chiefly theſe,

1. A New Verſion of the Pſalms of David, per⯑formed by him, in conjunction with Mr. Tate, ſoon after he ſettled in London; now ſung in moſt churches of England, and Ireland, inſtead of that obſolete and ridiculous Verſion made by Sternhold; and Hopkins, in the reign of King Edward VI. As the 104th Pſalm is eſteemed one of the moſt ſublime in the whole book, we ſhall [64] preſent the reader with the two firſt Parts of his Verſion of that Pſalm, as a ſpecimen. There have not been leſs than forty differ [...]nt Verſ [...]ons, and Paraphraſes of this Pſalm, by po [...] of very conſiderable eminence, who ſeem to have vied with one another for the ſuperiority Of all theſe attempts, if we may tru [...] our own judgment, none have ſucceeded ſo happily as Mr. Blackc [...]ock, a young gentleman now reſident at Dumfries in Scotland. This Paraphraſe is the more extra⯑ordinary, as the author of it has been blind from his cradle, and now labours under that calamity; it carries in it ſuch elevated ſtrains of poetry, ſuch pictureſque deſcriptions, and ſuch a mel⯑lifluent flow of numbers, that we are perſuaded, the reader cannot be diſpleaſed at finding it inſerted here.

Dr. Brady alſo tranſlated the Aeneid of Virgil, which were publiſhed by ſubſcription in four volumes octavo, the laſt of which came out in 1726, a little before the author's death.

He alſo publiſhed in his ſife-time three Volumes of Sermons in 8vo. each conſiſting of 14, all print⯑ed in London; the firſt in 1704, the ſecond in 1706, and the third in 1713. After the Dr's. death, his eldeſt ſon, who is now a clergyman, publiſhed three other Volumes of his father's Ser⯑mons, each alſo conſiſting of 14, printed in Lon⯑don 1730, 8vo. Amongſt his ſermons there is one preached on St. Cecilia's day, in vindication of Church-muſic, firſt printed in 1697, in 4to.

GEORGE STEPNEY, Eſq

THIS poet was deſcended of the family of the Stepneys of Pindigraſt in Pembroke⯑ſhire, but born in Weſtminſter in the year 1693. He received the rudiments of his education in Weſtminſter ſchool, and after making ſome pro⯑greſs in literature there, he was removed to Tri⯑nity College in Cambridge, where he was co⯑temporary with Charles Montague, eſq afterwards earl of Hallifax; and being of the ſame college with him, a very ſtrict friendſhip was contracted between them. To this lucky accident of being early known to Mr. Montague, was owing all the preferment Mr. Stepney afterwards enjoyed, for he ſeems not to have had parts ſufficien [...]\n to have riſen to any diſtinction, without the immediate patronage of ſo great a man, as the lord Hallifax. When Stepney firſt ſet out in life, he was perhaps attached to the Tory intereſt, for one of the firſt poems he wrote, was an Addreſs to king James the Second, on his Acceſſion to the Throne. In this little piece, in which there is as little po⯑etry, he compares that monarch to Hercules, but with what propriety let the reader judge. Soon after the acceſſion of James II. when Monmouth's rebeliion broke out, the univerſity of Cambridge, to demonſtrate their zeal for the King, thought proper to burn the picture of that raſh Prince, who [73] had formerly been their chancellor. Upon this occaſion Stepney wrote ſome good verſes, in an⯑ſwer to this queſtion;

Upon the revolution he embraced another in⯑tereſt, and procured himſelf to be nominated for ſeveral foreign embaſſies. In the year 1692 he went to the elector of Brandenburgh's court in quality of envoy, and, in the year following, to the Impe⯑rial court in the ſame character. In 1694 he was ſent to the elector of Saxony, and two years after to the electors of Mentz, Cologn, &c. and the con⯑greſs at Francfort. He was employed in ſeveral other embaſſies, and in the year 1706 Queen Anne ſent him envoy to the States General. He was very ſucceſsful in his negotiations, which occaſion⯑ed his conſtant employment in the moſt weighty affairs. At his leiſure hours he compoſed ſeveral other pieces of poetry beſides thoſe already men⯑tioned; which are chiefly theſe,

• An Epiſtle to the Earl of Hallifax, on his Ma⯑jeſty's Voyage to Holland.
• A Tranſlation of the Eighth Satire of Juvenal.
• To the Earl of Carliſle upon the Death of his Son.
• Some Imitations of Horace's Odes.
• The Auſtrian Eagle.
• The Nature of Dreams.
• A Poem to the Memory of Queen Mary.

Theſe performances are not very long, nor are the ſubjects upon which they are written very conſi⯑derable. It ſeems probable that the eminence to which Stepney roſe, muſt have been more owing to [74] ſome perſonal kindneſs lord Hallifax had for him, than to his merit as a writer. In raiſing Step⯑ney, his lordſhip might act as the friend of the man, but not as a patron of the poet. Friend⯑ſhip, in many reſpects, participates of the nature of love; it begins, we know not how, it ſtrength⯑ens by imperceptible degrees, and grows into an eſtabliſhed firmneſs. Such might be the regard lord Hallifax had for Stepney, but we may ven⯑ture to aſſert, from his lordſhip's exquiſite taſte in poetry, that he never could highly admire the pretty trifles which compoſe the works of this au⯑thor; and which are printed amongſt the works of the Minor Poets, publiſhed ſome years ago by Mr. Tonſon in two volumes 12mo.^*

Our author died at Chelſea in the year 1707, and was buried in Weſtminſter-Abbey, where a fine mo⯑nument is erected over him, with the following in⯑ſcription upon the pedeſtal;‘H. S. E.
GEORGIUS STEPNEIUS, Armiger,
viz.
Oh Ingenii acumen,
Literarum Scientiam,
Morum Suavitatem,
Rerum Uſum,
Virorum Ampliſſimorum Conſuetudinem,
Linguae, Styli ac Vitae Elegantiam,
Praeclara Officia cum Britanniae tum Europae
Praeſtita,
Suâ aetate multum celebratus,
Apud Poſteros ſemper celebrandus;
Plurimas Legationes obiit
Ea Fide, Diligentiâ, & Felicitate,
Ut Auguſtiſſimorum Principum
[75] GULIELMI & ANNAE
Spem in illo repoſitam
Nunquam fefellerit,
Haud raro ſuperavit.
Poſt longum honorum Curſum
Brevi Temporis ſpatio confectum,
Cum Naturae parvae Fama ſatis vixerat,
Animam ad altiora aſpirantem placide efflavit.’ On the left hand.‘G. S.
EX Equeſtri Familia STEPNEIORUM,
De PENDEGRAST, in Comitatu
PEMBROCHIENSI ORIENDUS,
WESTMONASTERII natus eſt, A. D. 1663.
Electus in Collegium
Sancti PETRI WESTMONAST. A. 1676.
Sanctae TRINITATIS CANTAB. 1682.
Conſiliariorum quibus Commercii
Cura commiſſa eſt 1697.
CHELSEIAE mortuus, & Comitante
Magna Procerum
Frequentiâ huc elatus, 1707.’

On the right hand is a particular account of all his employments abroad.

As a ſpecimen of Mr. Stepney's poetry, we ſhall quote the following lines on the Nature of Dreams,

Our author likewiſe wrote ſome political pieces in proſe, particularly and Eſſay on the preſent In⯑tereſt of England, 1701. To which are added, The Proceedings of the Houſe of Commons in 1677, upon the French King's Progreſs in Flanders. This piece is reprinted in Cogan's Collection of Tracts, called Lord Somers's Collection.

Major RICHARDSON PACK.

THIS gentleman was the ſon of John Pack, of Stocke-Aſh in Suffolk, eſq who in the year 1697 was high ſheriff of that county. He had his early education at a private country ſchool, and was removed from thence to Merchant Taylor's, where he received his firſt taſte of letters; for he always reckoned that time which he ſpent at the former ſchool as loſt, ſince he had only con⯑tracted bad habits, and was obliged to unlearn what had been taught him there.

At the age of ſixteen he was removed to St. John's College in Oxford. About eighteen his fa⯑ther entered him of the Middle Temple, deſign⯑ing him for the profeſſion of the Law; and by the peculiar indulgence of the treaſurer, and bench⯑ers of that honourable ſociety, he was at eight Terms ſtanding admitted barriſter, when he had not much exceeded the age of 20. But a ſeden⯑tary, ſtudious life agreeing as ill with his health, as a formal one with his inclinations, he did not long purſue thoſe ſtudies. After ſome wavering in his thoughts, he at laſt determined his views to the army, as being better ſuited to the gaiety of his temper, and the ſprightlineſs of his genius, and where he hoped to meet with more freedom, as well as more action. His firſt command was that of a company of foot in March 1705.

[78] In November 1710 the regiment in which he ſerved was one of thoſe two of Engliſh foot, that were with the marſhal Staremberg at the battle of Villa Vicioſa, the day after general Stanhope, and the troops under his command were taken at Brighuega^*, where the major being killed, and our author's behaviour being equal to the occaſi⯑on on which he acted, his grace the duke of Ar⯑gyle confirmed his pretenſions to that vacancy, by giving him the commiſſion of the deceaſed major, immediately on his arrival in Spain. It was this accident which firſt introduced our gallant ſoldier to the acquaintance of that truly noble and ex⯑cellent perſon, with whoſe protection and patro⯑nage he was honoured during the remaining part of his life.

The ambition he had to celebrate his grace's heroic virtues (at a time when there ſubſiſted a jealouſy between him and the duke of Marlbo⯑rough, and it was faſhionable by a certain party to traduce him) gave birth to ſome of the beſt of his performances.

What other pieces the major has written in verſe, are, for the moſt part, the unlaboured re⯑ſult of friendſhip, or love; and the amuſement of thoſe few ſolitary intervals in a life that ſeldom wanted either ſerious buſineſs, or ſocial pleaſures, of one kind or other, entirely to fill up the circle. They are all publiſhed in one volume, together with a tranſlation of the Life of Miltiades and Cymon, from Cornelius Nepos; the firſt edition was in 1725.

The moſt conſiderable of them are the following,

• 1. The Muſe's Choice, or the Progreſs of Wit.
• 2. On Friendſhip. To Colonel Stanhope.
• [79] 3. To Mr. Addiſon, occaſioned by the news of the victory obtained over the Rebels in Scotland, by his Grace the Duke o [...]\n Argyle.
• 4. To Lady Catherine Manners.
• 5. The Lovers Parting.
• 6. The Retreat.
• 7. An Epiſtle from a Half-pay Officer in the Country, to his Friend in Town.
• 8. Upon Religious Solitude; occaſioned by reading the Inſcription on the Tomb of Caſimir King of Poland, who abdicated his Crown, and ſpent the remainder of his life in the Abbey of St. Germains, near Paris, where he lies interred.
• 9. A Paſtoral in Imitation of Virgil's Second Eclogue.
• 10. The 2d, 3d, and 4th Elegies of the Fourth Book of Tibullus.
• 11. Elegy. Sylvia to Amintor, in Imitation of Ovid. After Sylvia is enjoyed, ſhe gives this Ad⯑vice to her ſex.
  Truſt not the ſlight defence of female pride,

  Nor in your boaſted honour much confide;

  So ſtill the motion, and ſo ſmooth the dart,

  It ſteals unfelt into the heedleſs heart.

A Prologue to the Tragedy of Sir Walter Ra⯑leigh, and an Epilogue to Mr. Southern's Spartan Dame. In the former he has the following beauti⯑ful lines on Ambition;

Major Pack obliged the world with ſome Me⯑moirs of the Life of Mr. Wycherley, which are prefixed to Theobald's edition of that author. Mr. Jacob mentions a piece of his which he ſaw in MS. entitled Religion and Philoſophy, which, ſays he, with his other works, demonſtrate the author to be a polite writer, and a man of wit and gal⯑lantry.

This amiable gentleman died at Aberdeen in Scotland, in the month of September 1728, colo⯑nel Montague's regiment, in which he was then a major, being quartered there.

Sir WILLIAM DAWES, Baronet (Archbiſhop of YORK.)

THIS revd. prelate was deſcended from an ancient, and honourable family in the coun⯑ty of Eſſex; he was educated at Merchant-Tay⯑lor's ſchool, London, and from thence elected to St. John's College in Oxford, of which he was af⯑terwards fellow.

He was the youngeſt of four brothers, three of whom dying young, the title, and eſtate of the family fell to him. As ſoon as he had taken his firſt degree in arts, and upon the family e⯑ſtate devolving to him, he reſigned his fellow⯑ſhip, and left Oxford. For ſome time he gave his attention to the affairs of his eſtate, but find⯑ing his inclination lead him more to ſtudy, than rural affairs, he entered into holy orders. Sir William did not long remain in the church without preferment; his fortune, and family aſ⯑ſiſted him to riſe; for it often happens that theſe advantages will do much more for a man, as well in the eccleſiaſtical, as in other claſſes of life, than the brighteſt parts without them. Before he was promoted to the mitre, he was made maſter of Catherine Hall in Cambridge, chaplain to Queen Anne, and dean of Bocking.

In the year 1708 he was conſecrated biſhop of Cheſter, and in 1713 was tranſlated to the arch⯑biſhopric [82] of York. While he was at the uni⯑verſity, before he went into orders, he wrote the Anatomy of Atheiſm, a Poem, dedicated to Sir George Darcy Bart. printed in the year 1701, 8vo.

The deſign of this piece, as his lordſhip de⯑clares in the preface, ‘'is to expoſe the folly of thoſe men, who are arrived at that pitch of im⯑pudence and prophaneneſs, that they think it a piece of wit to deny the Being of a God, and to laugh at that which they cannot argue a⯑gainſt.'’ Such characters are well deſcribed in the following lines,

This prelate is ſaid to have united the gentleman, and the divine, which both ſhone out with equal luſtre in him. He was eſteemed in his time a very popular preacher; his piety was great, and conſpi⯑cuous; his charity and benevolence equalled by few, and his good nature, and humanity the moſt extenſive.

Our author died in the 53d year of his age, April 30, 1724. We have no account of any o⯑ther of his grace's poetical works, probably the [83] buſineſs of his high ſtation diverted his mind from the amuſements of poetry.

The archbiſhop has written ſeveral ſermons up⯑on the Eternity of Hell Torments, a doctrine which he has laboured to vindicate; alſo ſermons upon various other ſubjects.

WILLIAM CONGREVE, Eſq

THIS gentleman was deſcended from the an⯑cient houſe of Congreve in Staffordſhire, but authors differ as to the place of his birth; ſome contend that he was born in Ireland^*, others that he drew his firſt breath at the village of Bardſa, near Leeds in Yorkſhire, which was the eſtate of a near relation of his by his mother's ſide. Mr. Jacob, in his preface to the Lives of the Poets, has in⯑formed us, that he had the advice and aſſiſtance of Mr. Congreve in that work, who communicat⯑ed to him many particulars of the lives of cotem⯑porary writers, as well as of himſelf, and as Mr. Congreve can hardly be thought ignorant of the place of his own birth, and Mr. Jacob has aſſerted it to be in England, no room is left to doubt of it. The learned antiquary of Ireland, Sir James Ware, has reckoned our author amongſt his own country worthies, from the relation of [84] Southern; but Mr. Congreve's own account, if Ja⯑cob may be relied on, is more than equal to that of Southern, who poſſibly might be miſtaken.

About the year 1671, or 1672, our author was born, and his father carried him, when a child, into Ireland, where he then had a command in the army, but afterwards was entruſted with the management of a conſiderable eſtate, belonging to the noble family of Burlington, which fixed his reſidence there^*. Mr. Congreve received the firſt tincture of letters in the great ſchool of Kilken⯑ny, and, according to common report, gave early proofs of a poetical genius; his firſt attempt in poetry was a copy of verſes on the death of his maſter's Mag [...]\nye.

He went from the ſchool of Kilkenny to the univerſity of Dublin, where under the direction of Dr. George Aſh, he acquired a general knowledge of the claſſics. His father, who was deſirous that his ſtudies ſhould be directed to a profitable em⯑ployment, ſent him over to England a little after the revolution, and placed him as a ſtud [...]\nnt in the Middle-Temple. But the ſevere ſtudy of the Law was ſo ill adapted to the ſprightly genius of Con⯑greve. that he never attempted to reconcile himſelf to a way of life, for which he had the greateſt aver⯑ſion. But however he diſappointed his friends with reſpect to the proficiency they expected him to make in the Law; yet it is certain he was not negligent in thoſe ſtudies to which his genius led him.

Mr. Congreve's firſt performance, written when b [...]\nt a youth of ſeventeen, was a Novel, dedicat⯑ed to Mrs. Katherine I eveſon, which gave proof, not only of a great vivacity of wit, but al⯑ſo a fluency of ſtile, and a ſolid judgment. He was conſcious that young men in their early producti⯑ons generally aimed at a florid ſtile, and enthuſi⯑aſtic [85] deſcriptions, without any regard to the plot, fable, or ſubſerviency of the parts; for this rea⯑ſon he formed a new model, and gave an exam⯑ple how works of that kind ſhould be written. He purſued a regular plan, obſerved a general moral, and carried on a connexion, as well as diſtinction, between his characters.

This performance is entitled Incognita, or Love and Duty Reconciled; it has been aſſerted that this is a real hiſtory, and though the ſcene is laid in Italy, the adventures happened in England; it is not our buſineſs to enter into the ſecret hiſtory of this entertaining piece, or to attempt giving the reader a key to what the writer took ſo much pains to conceal. It appears from this piece, that Mr. Congreve aimed at perfection from the very beginning, and his deſign in writing this novel, was to ſhew, how novels ought to be writ⯑ten. Let us hear what he ſays himſelf, and from thence we ſhall entertain a higher opinion of his abilities, than could poſſibly be raiſed by the warm⯑eſt commendations. After very judiciouſly ob⯑ſerving, that there is the ſame relation between romances and novels as between tragedy and comedy, he proceeds thus: ‘'Since all traditions muſt indiſputably give glace to the drama, and ſince there is no poſſibility of giving that life to the writing, or repetition of a ſtory, which it has in the action; I reſolved in another beauty to imitate dramatic writing, namely, in the de⯑ſign, contexture, and reſult in the plot. I have not obſerved it before in a novel. Some I have ſeen begin with an unexpected accident, which has been the only ſurprizing part of the ſtory, cauſe enough to make the ſequel look flat, tedious, a [...]\nd inſipid; for 'tis but reaſonable the reader ſhould expect, if not to riſe, at leaſt, to keep upon a level in the entertainment, for ſo he may be kept on, in hopes, that ſome time, [86] or other, it may mend; but the other is ſuch a baulk to a man, 'tis carrying him up ſtairs to ſhew him the dining room, and afterwards force him to make a meal in the kitchen. This I have not only endeavoured to avoid, but alſo have uſed a method for the contrary purpoſe. The deſign of this novel is obvious, after the firſt meeting of Aurelian and Hippolito, with Incognita, and Leonora; the difficulty is in bringing it to paſs, maugre all apparent obſta⯑cles within the compaſs of two days. How ma⯑ny probable caſualties intervene, in oppoſition to the main deſign, viz. of marrying two couple ſo oddly engaged in an intricare amour, I leave the reader at his leiſure to conſider; as alſo whether every obſtacle does not, in the progreſs of the ſtory, act as ſubſervient to that purpoſe, which at firſt it ſeems to oppoſe. In a comedy this would be called the unity of action, here it may pretend to no more than an unity of contri⯑vance. The ſcene is continued in Florence from the commencement of the amour, and the time from firſt to laſt, is but three days.'’

Soon after Mr. Congreve's return to England, he amuſed himſelf, during a ſlow recovery from a fit of ſickneſs, with writing a comedy. Captain Southern, in conjunction with Mr. Dryden, and Arthur Manwayring, eſq reviſed this performance, which was the Old Batchelor; of which Mr. Dry⯑den ſaid, he never ſaw ſuch a firſt play in his life, adding, that the author not being acquainted with the ſtage, or the town, it would be pity to have it miſcarry for want of a little aſſiſtance. Mr. Tho⯑mas Davenant, who had then the direction of the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, had ſo high a ſenſe of the merit of the piece, and was ſo charmed with the author's converſation, that he granted him the freedom of the houſe before his play came on, which, according to the maxims [87] of theatrical government, was not only an unuſu⯑al, but an unprecedented favour. In 1693 the Old Batchelor was acted before a numerous, and polite audience. The play was received with ſuch general applauſe, that Mr. Congreve was then con⯑ſidered as a prop to the declining ſtage, and a riſ⯑ing genius in dramatic poetry. It was this play, and the ſingular ſucceſs which attended it upon the ſtage, that introduced our author to the acquain⯑tance of the earl of Hallifax, who was then the profeſſed patron of men of wit; and who, being deſirous to raiſe a man of ſo promiſing a genius, above the neceſſity of too haſty productions, made him one of the commiſſioners for licenſing Hackney coaches. The earl beſtowed upon him ſoon after a place in the Pipe-Office, and gave him likewiſe a poſt in the Cuſtom-Houſe, to the value of 600 l. per annum.

In the following year Mr. Congreve brought upon the ſtage the Double Dealer, which met not with ſo good a reception as the former.

Mr. Congreve has informed us in the dedication of this play, to Charles Montague, eſq that he was very aſſiduous to learn from the critics what objections could be found to it; but, ſays he, ‘'I have heard nothing to provoke an anſwer. That which looks moſt like an objection, does not re⯑late in particular to this play, but to all; or moſt that ever have been written, and that is ſoliloquy; therefore I will anſwer it, not only for my own ſake, but to ſave others the trouble to whom it may be hereafter objected. I grant, that for a man to talk to himſelf, appears abſurd, and unnatural, and indeed it is ſo in moſt caſes, but the circumſtances which may at⯑tend the occaſion, makes great alteration. It often happens to a man to have deſigns, which require him to himſelf, and in their nature can⯑not admit of a confident. Such for certain [88] is all villainy, and other leſs miſchievous inten⯑tions may be very improper to be communicated to a ſecond perſon. In ſuch a caſe, therefore the audience muſt obſerve, whether the perſon up⯑on the ſtage takes any notice of them at all, or no: for if he ſuppoſes any one to be by, ^* when he talks to himſelf, it is monſtrous and ridicu⯑lous to the laſt degree; nay not only in this caſe, but in any part of a play, if there is ex⯑preſſed any knowledge of an audience it is in⯑ſufferable. But otherwiſe, when a man in a ſo⯑liloquy reaſons with himſelf, and pro's and con's, and weighs all his deſigns, we ought not to ima⯑gine that this man either talks to us, or to him⯑ſelf; he is only thinking, and thinking ſuch mat⯑ter, as it were inexcuſable folly in him to ſpeak. But, becauſe we are concealed ſpectators of the plot in agitation, and the poet finds it neceſſa⯑ry to let us know the whole myſtery of his contrivance, he is willing to inform us of this perſon's thoughts, and to that end is forced to make uſe of the expedient of ſpeech, no other, or better way being yet invented for the communi⯑cation of thought.'’

Towards the cloſe of the ſame year Queen Mary died. Upon that occaſion Mr. Congreve pro⯑duced an elegiac Paſtoral, a compoſition which the admirers of this poet have extolled in the moſt laviſh terms of admiration, but which ſeems not to merit the [...]\ncenſe it obtained.

When Mr. Betterton opened the new houſe at Lincoln's-Inn, Congreve took part with him, and gave him his celebrated comedy of Love for Love, then introduced upon the ſtage, with the moſt ex⯑traordinary [89] ſucceſs. This comedy, with ſome more of our author's, was ſmartly criticiſed by the ngeni⯑ous Mr. Collier, as containing leſſons of immora⯑lity, and a repreſentation of looſe characters, which can never, in his opinion, appear on a ſtage with⯑out corrupting the audience.

Meſſrs. Congreve, Dennis, and Dryden, engaged in a vigorous defence of the Engliſh ſtage, and en⯑deavoured to ſhew the neceſſity of ſuch characters being introduced in order to be expoſed, and laughed at. To all their defences Mr. Collier re⯑plied, and managed the point with ſo much learn⯑ing, wit, and keenneſs, that in the opinion of many, he had the better of his antagoniſts, eſpecially Mr. Congreve, whoſe comedies it muſt be owned, though they are admirably written, and the cha⯑racters ſtrongly marked, are ſo looſe, that they have given great offence: and ſurely we pay too dear for pleaſure, when we have it at the expence of morality.

The ſame year he diſtinguiſhed himſelf in ano⯑ther kind of poetry, viz. an irregular Ode on the taking Namure, which the critics have allowed to contain fine ſentiments, gracefully expreſſed. His reputation as a comic poet being ſufficiently eſtabliſhed, he was deſirous of extending his fame, by producing a tragedy. It has been alledged, that ſome, who were jealous of his growing reputation, put him upon this taſk, in order, as they imagined, to diminiſh it, for he ſeemed to be of too gay and lively a diſpoſition for tragedy, and in all likeli⯑hood would miſcarry in the attempt. However,

In 1697, after the expectation of the town had been much raiſed, the Mourning Bride appeared on the New Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields: few plays ever excited ſo great an ardour of expecta⯑tion as this, and very few ever ſucceeded to ſuch an extravagant degree. There is ſomething new in the management of the plot; after moving the [90] paſſions of the audience to the greateſt commiſera⯑tion, he brings off his principal characters, pu⯑riſhes the guilty, and makes the play conclude happily.

The controverſy we have juſt now mentioned, was thought to have occaſioned a diſlike in Mr. Congreve towards the ſtage; yet he afterwards pro⯑duced another comedy called The Way of the World, which was ſo juſt a picture of the world, that, as an author prettily ſays, ‘The world could not bear it.’

The reception this play met with, compleated our author's diſguſt to the theatre; upon which Mr. Dennis, who was a warm friend to Congreve, made this fine obſervation, ‘'that Mr. Congreve quitted the ſtage early, and that comedy left it with him.'’

It is ſaid that when Congreve found his play met with but indifferent ſucceſs, he came in a paſſion on the ſtage, and deſired the audience to ſave them⯑ſelves the trouble of ſhewing their diſlike; for he never intended to write again for the Theatre, nor ſubmit his works to the cenſure of impotent critics. In this particular he kept his word with them, and as if he had foreſeen the fate of his play, he took an ample revenge, in his Epilogue, of the race of Little Snarlers, who excited by envy, and ſupported by falſe ideas of their own importance, dared to conſtitute themſelves judges of wit, without any juſt pretenſions to it. This play has long ago tri⯑umphed over its enemies, and is now in great eſ⯑teem amongſt the beſt judges of Theatrical Enter⯑tainments.

Though Mr. Congreve quitted the ſtage, yet did not he give up the cauſe of poetry; for on the death of the marquis of Blandford, the only ſon of the duke of Marlborough, which happened in [91] 1705, we find him compoſing a paſtoral to ſoften the grief of that illuſtrious family, which he ad⯑dreſſed to the lord treaſurer Godolphin.

About the ſame time, the extraordinary ſucceſs of the duke of Marlborough's arms, furniſhed him with materials for an Ode to Queen Anne. In another Pindaric Ode he celebrates the lord Godol⯑phin; taking occaſion from that nobleman's delight in horſe-racing to imitate the Greek Poet in his favourite manner of writing, by an elegant digreſ⯑ſion; to which he added a criticiſm on that ſpe⯑cies of poetry.

As in the early part of his life, Mr. Congreve had received favours from people of a leſs exalted ſtati⯑on, ſo of theſe he was highly ſenſible, and never let ſlip any opportunity of ſhewing his gratitude. He wrote an Epilogue to his old friend Southern's Tragedy of Oroonoko; and Mr. Dryden has ac⯑knowledged his aſſiſtance in the tranſlation of Virgil: He contributed by his Verſion of the eleventh Sa⯑tire of Juvenal, to the tranſlation of that poet, publiſhed alſo by Mr. Dryden, to whom Mr. Con⯑greve wrote a copy of Verſes on his Tranſlation of Perſius. He wrote likewiſe a Prologue for a Play of Mr. Charles Dryden's, full of kindneſs for that young gentleman, and of reſpect for his father.

But the nobleſt teſtimony he gave of his filial re⯑gard to the memory of his poetical father, Mr. John Dryden, was the Panegyric he wrote upon his works, contained in the dedication of Dryden's plays to the duke of Newcaſtle.

Mr. Congreve tranſlated the third Book of Ovid's Art of Love; ſome favourite paſſages from the Iliad, and writ ſome Epigrams, in all which he was not unſucceſsful, though at the ſame time he has been ex⯑ceeded by his cotemporaries in the ſame attempts.

The author of the elegant Letters, not long ago publiſhed under the name of Fitz. Oſborne, has taken ſome pains to ſet before his readers the ver⯑ſion [92] of thoſe parts of Homer, tranſlated by our au⯑thor, and the ſame paſſages by Pope and Tickell, in which compariſon the palm is very deſerved⯑ly yielded to Pope.

Our author wrote a Satire called Doris, celebrated by Sir Richard Steele, who was a warm friend to Mr. Congreve. He alſo wrote the Judgment of Paris, a Maſque; and the Opera of Semele; of theſe, the former was acted with great applauſe, and the latter is finely ſet to muſic by Mr. Eccles. The laſt of his Poetical Works, is his Art of Pleaſing, addreſſed to Sir Richard Temple, the late viſcount Cobham. He has written many Proſe Epiſtles, diſ⯑perſed in the works of other writers, and his Eſſay on Humour in Comedy, publiſhed in a Collection of Dennis's Letters, is an entertaining, and cor⯑rect piece of criticiſm: All his other Letters are written with a great deal of wit and ſpirit, a fine flow of language; and are ſo happily inter⯑mixt with a lively and inoffenſive raillery, that it is impoſſible not to be pleaſed with them at the firſt reading: we may be ſatisfied from the peruſal of them, that his converſation muſt have been ve⯑ry engaging, and therefore we need not wonder that he was careſſed by the greateſt men of his time, or that they courted his friendſhip by every act of kindneſs in their power.

It is ſaid of Mr. Congreve, that he was a particu⯑lar favourite with the ladies, ſome of whom were of the firſt diſtinction. He indulged none of thoſe reveries, and affected abſences ſo peculiar to men of wit: He was ſprightly as well as elegant in his manner, and ſo much the favourite of Henrietta ducheſs of Marlborough, that even after his death, ſhe cauſed an image of him to be every day placed at her toilet-table, to which ſhe would talk as to the living Mr. Congreve, with all the freedom of the moſt polite and unreſerved converſation. [93] Mrs. Bracegirdle likewiſe had the higheſt venera⯑tion for our author, and joined with her Grace in a boundleſs profuſion of ſorrow upon his death. Some think, he had made a better figure in his Laſt Will, had he remembered his friendſhip he profeſſed for Mrs. Bracegirdle, whoſe admirable performance added ſpirit to his dramatic pieces; but he forgot her, and gratified his vanity by chuſing to make a rich ducheſs his ſole legatee, and executrix.

Mr. Congreve was the ſon of fortune, as well as of the muſes. He was early preferred to an affluent ſituation, and no change of miniſtry ever affected him, nor was he ever removed from any poſt he en⯑joyed, except to a better.

His place in the cuſtom-houſe, and his office of ſecretary in Jamaica, are ſaid to have brought him in upwards of 1200 l. a year; and he was ſo far an oeconomiſt, as to raiſe from thence a competent eſtate. No man of his learning ever paſs'd thro' life with more eaſe, or leſs envy; and as in the dawn of his reputation he was very dear to the greateſt wits of his time, ſo during his whole life he preſerved the utmoſt reſpect of, and re⯑ceived continual marks of eſteem from, men of genius and letters, without ever being involved in any of their quarrels, or drawing upon himſelf the leaſt mark of diſtaſte, or, even diſſatisfaction. The greateſt part of the laſt twenty years of his life were ſpent in eaſe and retirement, and he gave himſelf no trouble about reputation. When the celebrated Voltaire was in England, he waited upon Congreve, and paſs'd ſome compliments upon him, as to the reputation and merit of his works; Congreve thanked him, but at the ſame time told that inge⯑nious foreigner, he did not chuſe to be conſidered as an author, but only as a private gentleman, and in that light expected to be viſited. Voltaire [94] anſwered, ‘'That if he had never been any thing but a private gentleman, in all probability, he had never been troubled with that viſit.'’

Mr. Voltaire upon this occaſion obſerves, that he was not a little diſguſted with ſo unſeaſonable a piece of vanity:—This was indeed the higheſt inſtance of it, that perhaps can be produced. A man who owed to his wit and writings the reputation, as well as the fortune, he acquired, pretending to diveſt himſelf of human nature to ſuch a degree, as to have no conſciouſneſs of his own merit, was the moſt abſurd piece of vanity that ever entered into the heart of man; and of all vanity, that is the greateſt which maſks itſelf under the appearance of the oppoſite quality.

Towards the cloſe of his life, he was much troubled with the gout; and for this reaſon, in the ſummer of the year 1728, he made a tour to Bath, for the benefit of the waters, where he had the misfortune to be overturned in his chariot, from which time he complained of a pain in his ſide, which was ſuppoſed to ariſe from ſome in⯑ward bruiſe. Upon his return to London, he perceived his health gradually decline, which he bore with fortitude and reſignation.

On January the 19th, 1728-9, he yielded his laſt breath, about five o'clock in the morning, at his houſe in Surrey-ſtreet in the Strand, in the fif⯑ty-ſeventh year of his age. On the ſunday fol⯑lowing, January 26, his corpſe lay in ſtate in the Jeruſalem-Chamber, from whence the ſame evening, between the hours of nine and ten, it was carried with great decency and ſolemnity to Henry the VIIth's Chapel; and after the funeral ſervice was performed, it was interred in the Abbey. The pall was ſupported by the duke of Bridge⯑water, earl of Godolphin, lord Cobham, lord Wil⯑mington, [95] the honourable George Berkley, Eſq and Brigadier-general Churchill; and colonel Congreve followed his corpſe as chief mourner; ſome time after, a neat and elegant monument was erected to his memory, by Henrietta ducheſs of Marlbo⯑rough.

Mr. Congreve's reputation is ſo extenſive, and his works ſo generally read, that any ſpecimen of his poetry may be deemed ſuperfluous. But find⯑ing an epiſtle of our author's in the Biographia Brittannica, not inſerted in his works, it may not be improper to give it a place here. It is addreſſed to the lord viſcount Cobham, and the ingenious authors inform us, that they copied it from a MS. very correct.

As in this poem there is a viſible alluſion to the meaſures, which the writer thought were too complaiſant to the French, it is evident it muſt have been penned but a very ſmall time before his death.

We ſhall conclude the life of this eminent wit, with the teſtimony of Mr. Pope in his favour, from the cloſe of his poſtſcript to the tranſla⯑tion of Homer: It is in every reſpect ſo honour⯑able, that it would be injurious to Mr. Congreve [98] to omit it.—His words are—

Sir JOHN VANBRUGH.

THIS Gentleman was deſcended from an antient family in Cheſhire, which came ori⯑ginally from France; though by the name it would appear to be of Dutch extraction. He received a very liberal education, and became eminent for his poetry, and ſkill in architecture, to both which he diſcovered an early propenſion. It is ſomewhat remarkable in the Hiſtory of Poetry, that when the ſpirit of Tragedy, in a great meaſure, declined, when Otway and Lee were dead, and Dryden was approaching to old age, that Comedy ſhould then begin to flouriſh; at an Aera, which one would not have expected to prove auſpicious to the cauſe of mirth.

Much about the ſame time roſe Mr. Congreve, and Sir John Vanbrugh; who, without any invidious reflection on the genius of others, gave a new life to the ſtage, and reſtored it to reputation, which before their appearance had been for ſome time ſinking. Happy would it have been for the world, and ſome advantage to the memory of theſe comic writers, if they had diſcovered their wit, without any mixture of that licentiouſneſs, which while it pleaſed, tended to corrupt the audi⯑ence.

[100] The firſt ſtep our author made into life, was in the character of an enſign in the army. He was poſſeſſed of a very ready wit, and an agreeable elocution. He happened ſomewhere in his winter quarters, to contract an acquaintance with Sir Thomas Skipwith, and received a particular obligation from him. He had very early diſ⯑covered a taſte for dramatic writing, to improve which he made ſome attempts in that way, and had the draft or out-lines of two plays lying by him, at the time his acquaintance commenced with Sir Thomas. This gentleman poſſeſſed a large ſhare in a Theatrical Patent, though he very little concerned himſelf in the conduct of it; but that he might not appear altogether remiſs, he thought to procure ſome advantage to the ſtage, by having our author's play, called the Relapſe, to be acted upon it. In this he was not diſappointed, for the Relapſe ſucceeded beyond the warmeſt expecta⯑tion, and raiſed Vanbrugh's name very high a⯑mongſt the writers for the ſtage.

Tho' this play met with greater applauſe, than the author expected, yet it was not without its enemies. Theſe were people of the graver ſort, who blam⯑ed the looſeneſs of the ſcenes, and the unguarded freedom of the dialect. Theſe complaints induced Vanbrugh to make ſome obſervations upon them in his preface, which he thus begins,

Being encouraged by the ſucceſs of the Relapſe, he yielded to the ſollicitation of lord Hallifax, who had read ſome of the looſe ſheets of his Pro⯑vok'd Wife, to finiſh that piece; and after throw⯑ing them into a proper form, gave the play to the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Though Sir John had a greater inclination to ſerve the other com⯑pany, yet the requeſt of lord Hallifax, ſo eminent a patron of the poets, could not be reſiſted. Sir Thomas Skipwith was not offended at ſo reaſonable a compliance, and the Provok'd Wife was acted 1698, with ſucceſs. Some critics likewiſe object⯑ed againſt this, as a looſe performance; and that it taught the married women how to revenge themſelves on their huſbands, who ſhould offend them.

The play has indeed this moral, that ſuch huſ⯑bands as reſemble Sir John Brute, may expect that neglected beauty, and abuſed virtue, may be provoked to yield to the motives of revenge, [102] and that the forcible ſollicitations of an agreeable perſon, who not only demonſtrates a value, but a paſſion for what the poſſeſſor ſlights, may be ſuf⯑ficiently prevalent with an injured wife to forfeit her honour.

Though this event may often fall out, that the brutality of a huſband produces the inſidelity of a wife, yet it need not be ſhewn upon the ſtage; women are not generally ſo tame in their natures, [...]to bear neglect with patience, and the natural reſentments of the human heart will without any other monitor point out the method of revenge. Be⯑ſides, every huſband ought not to be deemed a brute, becauſe a too delicate, or ceremonious wife, ſhall, in the abundance of her caprice, beſtow upon him that appellation. Many women who have beheld this repreſentation, may have been ſtimulated to imitate lady Brute in her method of revenge, without hav⯑ing ſuffered her provocation. This play verifies the obſervation of Mr. Pope,

The next play which Sir John Vanburgh intro⯑duced upon the ſtage was Aeſop, a Comedy; in two Parts, acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane 1698. This was originally written in French, by Mr. Bourſart, about ſix years before; but the ſcenes of Sir Polidorus Hogſtye, the Players, the Senator, and the Beau, were added by our author. This performance contains a great deal of gene⯑ral ſatire, and uſeful morality; notwithſtanding which, it met with but a cold reception from the audi⯑ence, and its run terminated in about 8 or 9 days. This ſeemed the more ſurpriſing to men of taſte, as the French comedy from which it was taken, was played to crowded audiences for a month together. [103] Sir John has rather improved upon the original by adding new ſcenes, than ſuffered it to be diminiſh⯑ed in a tranſlation, but the French and the Eng⯑liſh taſte was in that particular very different. We cannot better account for the ill ſucceſs of this excellent piece, than in the words of Mr. Cib⯑ber's Apology for his own Life, when ſpeak⯑ing of this play, he has the following obſervation; ‘'The character that delivers precepts of wiſdom, is, in ſome ſort, ſevere upon the auditor, for ſhewing him one wiſer than himſelf; but when folly is his object, he applauds himſelf for be⯑ing wiſer than the coxcomb he laughs at, and who is not more pleaſed with an occaſion to commend, than to accuſe himſelf?'’

Sir John Vanbrugh, it is ſaid, had great facility in writing, and is not a little to be admired for the ſpirit, eaſe, and readineſs, with which he pro⯑duced his plays. Notwithſtanding his extraordina⯑ry expedition, there is a clear and lively ſimpli⯑city in his wit, that is equally diſtant from the pedantry of learning, and the lowneſs of ſcurrili⯑ty. As the face of a fine lady, with her hair undreſſed, may appear in the morning in its bright⯑eſt glow of beauty; ſuch were the productions of Vanbrugh, adorned with only the negligent graces of nature.

Mr. Cibber obſerves, that there is ſomething ſo catching to the ear, ſo eaſy to the memory in all he wrote, that it was obſerved by the actors of his time, that the ſtile of no author whatſoever gave the memory leſs trouble than that of Sir John Vanbrugh, which he himſelf has confirmed by a pleaſing experience. His wit and humour was ſo little laboured, that his moſt entertaining ſcenes ſeemed to be no more than his common converſation committed to paper. As his concep⯑tions [104] were ſo full of life and humour, it is not much to be wondered at, if his muſe ſhould be ſometimes too warm to wait the ſlow pace of judgment, or to endure the drudgery of forming a regular Fable to them.

That Sir John was capable of a great force of thinking, appears abundantly clear from that ſcene between Aeſop and a country gentleman, who comes to complain of the bad conduct of thoſe in power. The dialogue is at once ſenſible and anima⯑ted. Aeſop ſhews him what he reckoned the op⯑preſſions of the adminiſtration, flowed from the prejudices of ignorance, contemplated through the medium of popular diſcontent. In the interview between the Beau and the Philoſopher, there is the following pretty fable. The Beau obſerves to Aeſop, ‘'It is is very well; it is very well, old ſpark; I ſay it is very well; becauſe I han't a pair of plod ſhoes, and a dirty ſhirt, you think a woman won't venture upon me for huſband.—Why now to ſhew you, old father, how little you philoſophers know the ladies.—I'll tell you an adventure of a friend of mine.'’

The reputation which Sir John gained by his comedies was rewarded with greater advantages, than what ariſe from the uſual profits of writ⯑ing for the ſtage. He was appointed Claren⯑cieux King at Arms, a place which he ſome time held, and at laſt diſpoſed of. In Auguſt 1716 he was appointed ſurveyor of the works at Green⯑wich Hoſpital; he was likewiſe made comptrol⯑ler-general of his Majeſty's works, and ſurveyor of the gardens and waters, the profits of which places, collectively conſidered, muſt amount to a very conſiderable ſum.

[106] In ſome part of our author's life (for we can⯑not juſtly aſcertain the time) he gratified an inclination of viſiting France. As curioſity no doubt induced him to paſs over to that country, he loſt no time in making ſuch obſervations as could enable him to diſcern the ſpirit, and genius of that polite people. His taſte for architecture excited him to take a ſurvey of the ſortifications in that kingdom; but the ardour of his curioſity dre [...]\n him into a ſnare, out of which he found great difficulty to eſcape. When he was one day ſur⯑veying ſome ſortifications with the ſtricteſt atten⯑tion, he was taken notice of by an Engineer, ſe⯑cured by authority, and then carried priſoner to the Baſtile in Paris. The French were con⯑firmed in ſuſpicions of his deſign, by ſeveral plans being found in his poſſeſſion at the time he was ſeized upon; but as the French, except in caſes of Hereſy, uſe their priſoners with gentle⯑neſs and humanity, Sir John found his confine⯑ment ſo endurable, that he amus'd himſelf in drawing rude draughts of ſome comedies. This cir⯑cumſtance raiſing curioſity in Paris, ſeveral of the nobleſſe viſited him in the Baſtile, when Sir John, who ſpoke their language with fluency and ele⯑gance, inſinuated himſelf into their favour by the vivacity of his wit, and the peculiarity of his hu⯑mour. He gained ſo much upon their affections, that they repreſented him to the French King in an innocent light, and by that means procured his liberty ſome days before the ſollicitation came from England.

Sir John Vanbrugh formed a project of build⯑ing a ſtately theatre in the Hay-market, for which he had intereſt enough to raiſe a ſubſcription of thirty perſons of quality at 100 l. each, in conſi⯑deration whereof, every ſubſcriber for his own life, ſhould be admitted to whatever entertain⯑ments [107] ſhould be publickly performed there, with⯑out farther payment for entrance.

On the firſt ſtone that was laid in this theatre, were inſcribed the words LITTLE WHIG, as a com⯑pliment to a lady of extraordinary beauty, then the celebrated toaſt, and pride of that party. In the year 1706 when this houſe was finiſhed, Mr. Betterton and his copartners put themſelves un⯑der the direction of Sir John Vanbrugh and Mr. Congreve; imagining that the conduct of two ſuch eminent authors would reſtore their ruined affairs; but they found their expectations were too ſan⯑guine, for though Sir John was an expeditious writer, yet Mr. Congreve was too judicious to let any thing come unfiniſhed out of his hands; be⯑ſides, every proper convenience of a good the⯑atre had been ſacrificed to ſhew the audience a vaſt triumphal piece of architecture, in which plays, by means of the ſpaciouſneſs of the dome, could not be ſucceſsfully repreſented, becauſe the actors could not be diſtinctly heard.

Not long before this time the Italian Opera began to ſteal into England, but in as rude a diſ⯑guiſe, and as unlike itſelf as poſſible; notwith⯑ſtanding which the new monſter pleaſed, though it had neither grace, melody, nor action to recom⯑mend it. To ſtrike in therefore with the pre⯑vailing faſhion, Vanbrugh and Congreve opened their New Theatre in the Hay-market, with a tranſlated Opera, ſet to Italian muſic, called The Triumph of Love, but it met with a cold recep⯑tion, being performed only three days, to thin houſes.

Immediately upon the failure of the Opera, Vanbrugh produced his comedy called The Con⯑federacy, greatly improved from the Bourgois à la mode of Dancour. The ſucceſs of this play was not equal to its merit; for it is written in an uncommon vein of humour, and abounds with the [108] moſt lively ſtrokes of raillery. The proſpects of gain from this theatre were ſo very u promiſing, that Congreve, in a few months, gave up his ſhare and intereſt in the government wholly to Sir John Vanbrugh; who being now ſole proprietor of the houſe, was under a neceſſity to exert himſelf in its ſupport. As he had a happier talent for throwing the Engliſh ſpirit into his tranſlations of French plays, than any former author who had borrowed from them, he, in the ſame ſeaſon, gave the public three more of that kind, viz.

• 1. The Cuckold in Conceit, from the Cocu ima⯑ginaire of Moliere.
• 2. Squire Treelooby, from his Monſieur do Pourceaugnac.
• 3. The Miſtake, from the Depit Amoureux of the ſame Author^*.

However well executed theſe pieces were, yet they came to the ear in the ſame undiſtinguiſhed utterance, by which almoſt all their plays had e⯑qually ſuffered; for as few could plainly hear, it was not likely a great many would applaud.

In this ſituation it appears, that nothing but the union of the two companies could reſtore the ſtage to its former reputation.

Sir John Vanbrugh therefore, tired of thea⯑trical management, thought of diſpoſing of his whole farm to ſome induſtrious tenant, that might put it into better condition. It was to Mr. Owen Swiny, that in the exigence of his affairs, he made an offer of his actors under ſuch agreements of [109] ſalary as might be made with them; and of his houſe, cloaths, and ſcenes, with the Queen's li⯑cenſe to employ them, upon payment of the ca⯑ſual rent of five pounds every acting day, and not to exceed 700 l. per annum. With this propoſal Mr. Swiny complied, and governed that ſtage till another great theatrical revolution.

There are two plays of our author not yet mentioned, viz. The Falſe Friend, a Comedy; acted in 1698, and A Journey to London, a Comedy; which he left unfiniſhed. This laſt piece was finiſhed by Mr. Cibber to a very great advantage, and now is one of the beſt co⯑medies in our language. Mr. Cibber, in his pro⯑logue, takes particular notice of our author's vir⯑tucus intention in compoſing this piece, which, he ſays, was to make ſome amends for thoſe looſe ſcenes, which in the fire of his youth he had with more regard to applauſe, than virtue, exhibited to the public: but this deſign will be beſt underſtood by inſerting the prologue.

Sir John indeed appears to have been oft⯑en ſenſible of the immorality of his ſcenes; for in the year 1725 when the company of comedians was called upon, in a manner that could not be reſiſted, to revive the Pro⯑vok'd Wife, the author, who was conſcious how juſtly it was expoſed to cenſure, thought proper to ſubſtitute a new ſcene in the fourth act, in place of another, in which, in the wantonneſs of his wit and humour, he had made a Rake talk like a Rake, in the habit of a Clergyman. To avoid which of⯑fence, he put the ſame Debauchee into the Un⯑dreſs of a Woman of Quality; for the cha⯑racter of a fine lady, it ſeems, is not reckon⯑ed ſo indelibly ſacred, as that of a Church⯑man. Whatever follies he expoſed in the pet⯑ticoat kept him at leaſt clear of his former im⯑puted [111] prophaneneſs, and appeared now to the audience innocently ridiculous.

This ingenious dramatiſt died of a quinſey at his houſe in Whitehall, on the 26th of March 1726. He was a man of a lively imagination, of a facetious, and engaging humour, and as he lived eſteemed by all his acquaintance, ſo he died without leaving one enemy to reproach his memory; a felicity which few men of public employments, or poſſeſſed of ſo diſtinguiſhed a genius, ever enjoyed. He has left behind him monuments of fame, which can never periſh but with taſte and politeneſs.

Sir RICHARD STEELE, Knt.

THIS celebrated genius was born in Ireland. His father being a counſellor at law, and private ſecretary to James duke of Ormond, he went over with his grace to that kingdom, when he was raiſed to the dignity of lord lieutenant^*. Our author when but very young, came over into England; and was educated at the Charter-Houſe ſchool in London, where Mr. Addiſon was his ſchool-fellow, and where they contracted a friend⯑ſhip which continued firm till the death of that great man.

His inclination leading him to the army, he rode for ſome time privately in the guards; in which ſtation, as he himſelf tells us, in his Apology for his Writings, he firſt became an author, a way of life in which the irregularities of youth are conſider⯑ed as a kind of recommendation.

Mr. Steele was born with the moſt violent pro⯑penſion to pleaſure, and at the ſame time was maſter of ſo much good ſenſe, as to be able to diſcern the extreme folly of licentious courſes, their moral un⯑fitneſs, and the many calamities they naturally pro⯑duce. He manintained a perpetual ſtruggle between reaſon and appetite. He frequently fell into indul⯑gencies, which coſt him many a pang of remorſe, and under the conviction of the danger of a vicious life, he wrote his Chriſtian Hero, with a deſign to [113] fix upon his own mind a ſtrong impreſſion of virtue and religion. But this ſecret admonition to his conſcience he judged too weak, and therefore in the year 1701 printed the book with his name pre⯑fixed, in hopes that a ſtanding evidence againſt him⯑ſelf in the eyes of the world, might the more forci⯑bly induce him to lay a reſtraint upon his deſires, and make him aſhamed of vice, ſo contrary to his own ſenſe and conviction.

This piece was the firſt of any note, and is eſteem'd by ſome as one of the beſt of Mr. Steele's works; he gained great reputation by it, and recommended himſelf to the regard of all pious and good men. But while he grew in the eſteem of the religious and worthy, he ſunk in the opinion of his old com⯑panions in gaiety: He was reckoned by them to have degenerated from the gay, ſprightly compa⯑nion, to the dull diſagreeable pedant, and they mea⯑ſured the leaſt levity of his words and actions with the character of a Chriſtian Hero. Thus he found himſelf ſlighted, inſtead of being encouraged for his declarations as to religion; but happily thoſe who held him in contempt for his defence of piety and goodneſs were characters, with whom to be at variance is virtue. But Mr. Steele, who could not be content with the ſuffrage of the Good only, without the concurrence of the Gay, ſet about recovering the favour of the latter by innocent means: He introduced a Comedy on the ſtage, called Grief A-la-Mode, in which, tho' full of incidents that move laughter, and inſpire chearfulneſs, virtue and vice appear juſt as they ought to do. This play was acted at the Theatre in Drury Lane 1702, and as nothing can make the town ſo fond of a man, as a ſucceſsful play; ſo this, with ſome other particulars enlarged on to his advantage, recommended him to king William, and his name to be provided for was in the laſt table-book worn by his majeſty.

[114] He had before this time procured a captain's commiſſion in the lord Lucas's regiment, by the in⯑tereſt of lord Cutts, to whom he dedicated his Chriſtian Hero, and who likewiſe appointed him his ſecretary: His next appearance as a writer, was in the office of Gazetteer, in which he obſerves in the ſame apology for himſelf, he worked faith⯑fully, according to order, without ever erring againſt the rule obſerved by all miniſters, to keep that paper very innocent, and inſipid. The reproaches he heard every Gazette-day againſt the writer of it, inſpired him with a fortitude of being remark⯑ably negligent of what people ſaid, which he did not deſerve. In endeavouring to acquire this ne⯑gligence, he certainly acted a prudent part, and gained the moſt important and leading advantage, with which every author ſhould ſet out.

Whoever writes for the public, is ſure to draw down envy on himſelf from ſome quarter or other, and they who are reſolved never to be pleaſed, conſider him as too aſſuming, and diſcover their reſentment by contempt. How miſerable is the ſtate of an author! It is his misfortune in com⯑mon with the fair ſex,‘To pleaſe too little, or to pleaſe too much.’

If he happens to be a ſucceſsful writer, his friends who become then proud of his acquaintance, flatter him, and by ſoothing his vanity teach him to over⯑rate his importance, and while he graſps at univer⯑ſal ſame, he loſes by too vigorous an effort, what he had acquired by diligence and application: If he pleaſes too little, that is, if his works are not read, he is in a fair way of being a great loſer by his attempt to pleaſe.

[115] Mr. Steele ſtill continued to write plays. In the year 1703 his Comedy, entitled the Tender Huſband, or the Accompliſhed Fools, was acted at the Theatre in Drury-Lane; as his Comedy of the Lying-Lovers, or the Ladies Friendſhip, was like⯑wiſe the year following, both with ſucceſs; ſo that his reputation was now fully eſtabliſhed.

In the year 1709 he began the Tatler, the firſt of which was publiſhed on Tueſday April the 12th, and the laſt on Tueſday January the 2d, 1710-11. This paper greatly increaſing his fame, he was pre⯑ferred to be one of the commiſſioners of the ſtamp office. Upon laying down the Tatler, he ſet up, in concert with Mr. Addiſon, the Spectator, which was continued from March the 1ſt, 1710-11, to Decem⯑ber the 6th 1712; and reſumed June 18th 1714, and continued till December the 20th, the ſame year.

The Guardian was likewiſe publiſhed by them, in 1713, and in the October of the ſame year, Mr. Steele began a political paper, entitled the Engliſhman.

In the Spectator, Mr. Steele's papers are marked with the letter T. and in them are contained the moſt pictureſque deſcriptions of low life, of which he was perfect maſter. Humour was his talent, though not ſo much confined to that caſt of writing to be incapable of painting very tender ſcenes; witneſs his Conſcious Lovers, which never fails to draw tears; and in ſome of his Spectators he has written in ſo feeling a manner, that none can read them without emotion.

He had a ſtrong inclination to find out the humours of low life, and to make himſelf maſter of them. When he was at Edinburgh, as one of the commiſſioners on the forfeited eſtates, he one day made a very ſplendid feaſt, and while his ſervants were ſurprized at the great prepara⯑tions, [116] and were expecting every moment to carry out his invitations to the company for whom they imagined it was prepared, he commanded them to go out to the ſtreet, and pick up whatever beggars, and poor people they ſaw, and invite them to his houſe: The ſervants obeyed, and Sir Richard ſoon ſaw himſelf at the head of 40 or 50 beggars, to⯑gether with ſome poor decay'd tradeſmen. After dinner he plied them with punch and wine, and when the frolic was ended, he declared, that be⯑ſides the pleaſure of feeding ſo many hungry per⯑ſons, he had learned from them humour enough for a good comedy.

Our author was a man of the higheſt benevo⯑lence; he celebrates a generous action with a warmth that is only peculiar to a good heart; and however he may be blamed for want of oeconomy, &c. yet was he the moſt agreeable, and if we may be allowed the expreſſion, the moſt inno⯑cent rake, that ever trod the rounds of indulgence.

He wrote ſeveral poetical pieces, particularly the Engliſhman's thanks to the duke of Marlbo⯑rough, printed in 1711; a letter to Sir Miles Whar⯑ton, concerning Occaſional Peers, dated March 5th, 1713. The Guardian of Auguſt the 7th, 1713; and the importance of Dunkirk conſidered, in de⯑fence of that Guardian, in a letter to the bailiff of Stockbridge: The French Faith repreſented in the preſent ſtate of Dunkirk: The Criſis, a Letter to a Member of Parliament, concerning the bill to prevent the preſent Growth of Schiſm, dated May 28, 1714; and his Apology for himſelf and his Writings.

Theſe pieces ſhew how much he was diſpleaſed with the laſt meaſures of Queen Anne, and were written to combat the Tory miniſtry; to oppoſe [117] which he ſet about procuring a ſeat in Parliament; for which purpoſe he reſigned his place of commiſ⯑ſioner of the ſtamp-office, in June 1713, in a letter to the earl of Oxford, lord high treaſurer, and was choſen member of the Houſe of Commons, for the Borough of Stockbridge. But he did not long enjoy his ſeat in that houſe before he was expelled, on the 18th of March 1713, for writing the Engliſhman, being the cloſe of the paper ſo called; and the Criſis^*.

In 1714 he publiſhed the Romiſh Eccleſiaſtical Hiſtory of late years, and a paper intitled The Lover; the firſt of which appeared Thurſday Fe⯑bruary 25, 1714, and another intitled the Reader, which began on Thurſday April 22, the ſame year. In the ſixth Number of this laſt paper, he gave an account of his deſign of writing the Hiſtory of the Duke of Marlborough, from proper materials in his cuſtody: the relation to commence from the date of his grace's commiſſion, as captain-general, and plenipotentiary; and to end with the expiration of theſe commiſſions. But this noble deſign he lived not to execute, and the materials were after⯑wards returned to the ducheſs of Marlborough, who left them to Mr. Mallet, with a handſome gratuity for the execution of Sir Richard's deſign.

Soon after the acceſſion of king George the Iſt to the throne, Mr. Steele was appointed ſurveyor of the royal ſtables at Hampton-Court, and governor of the royal company of Comedians, by a patent, dated January 19, 1714-15. He was likewiſe put into the commiſſion of the peace for the county of Middleſex; and in April 1715 received the ho⯑nour of knighthood from his majeſty. In the firſt [118] parliament of that king, he was choſen for Borough⯑brigg in Yorkſhire; and after the ſuppreſſing the Re⯑bellion in the North, was appointed one of the com⯑miſſioners of the forfeited eſtates in Scotland, where he received from ſeveral of the nobility and gentry of that part of the united kingdom the moſt diſtinguiſhing marks of reſpect. He contracted a friendſhip while in Scotland, with one Hart, a Preſbyterian miniſter in Edinburgh, whom he after⯑wards honoured with his correſpondence: This Hart he uſed merrily to ſtile the Hangman of the Goſpel, for though he was a facetious good-natur'd man, yet he had fallen into a peculiar way of preaching what he called the Terrors of the Law, and denounced anathemas from the pulpit without reſerve.

Sir Richard held frequent converſations with Hart, and other miniſters, concerning the re⯑ſtoration of epiſcopacy, the antient church-govern⯑ment of that nation, and often obſerved that it was pity, when the two kingdoms were united in lan⯑guage, in dreſs, in politics, and in all eſſential points, even in religion, ſhould yet be divided in the eccleſiaſtical adminiſration, which ſtill ſerves to maintain a kind of alienation between the people. He found many of the Scots well diſpoſed towards prelacy; but the generality, who were taught to contemplate the church of England, with as much horror as that of Rome, could not ſoon be prevailed upon to return to it.

Sir Richard wiſhed well to the intereſts of religion, and as he imagined that Union would promote it, he had ſome thoughts of propoſing it at court, but the times were unfavourable. The Preſbyterians had lately appeared active againſt the rebels, and were not to be diſobliged; but ſuch is now the good underſtanding between the epiſcopal and preſbyterian parties, that a few conceſſions on the one ſide, and not many advances on the other, poſſibly might produce [119] an amicable coalition, as it is chiefly in form, rather than in articles of religion, in which they differ.

In the year 1715 he publiſhed an account of the ſtate of the Roman Catholic Religion throughout the World, tranſlated from an Italian manuſcript, with a dedication to the Pope, giving him a very particular account of the ſtate of religion amongſt the Proteſtants, and ſeveral other matters of im⯑portance, relating to Great-Britain; but this dedi⯑cation is ſuppoſed to be written by another very eminent hand, more converſant in ſubjects of that nature than Sir Richard.

The ſame year our author publiſhed a Letter from the earl of Marr to the king, before his ma⯑jeſty's arrival in England; with ſome remarks on my lord's ſubſequent conduct; and the year follow⯑ing a ſecond volume of the Engliſhman, and in 1718 an account of a Fiſh-Pool, which was a project of his for bringing fiſh to market alive, for which he obtained a patent.

In 1719 he publiſhed a pamphlet called the Spinſter, and a Letter to the Earl of Oxford, con⯑cerning the Bill of Peerage, which bill he oppoſed in the Houſe of Commons. Some time after, he wrote againſt the South-Sea-Scheme; his Criſis of poſterity; and another piece intitled, A Nation a Family; and on Saturday January the 2d, 1719-20, he began a paper called the Theatre, during the courſe of which his patent of governor of the Royal Company of Comedians, being ſuſpended by his majeſty, he publiſhed, The State of the Caſe.

In the year 1722, he brought his Conſcious Lovers on the ſtage, with prodigious ſucceſs. This is the laſt and moſt finiſhed of all Sir Richard's Comedies, and 'tis doubtful if there is upon the ſtage, any more inſtructing; that tends to con⯑vey a finer moral, or is better conducted in its deſign. We have already obſerved, that it is impoſ⯑ſible to witneſs the tender ſcenes of this Comedy [120] without emotion; that is, no man of feeling and humanity, who has experienced the delicate ſoli⯑citudes of love and affection, can do it. Sir Ri⯑chard has told us, that when one of the players told Mr. Wilks, that there was a General weeping for Indiana; he politely obſerved, that he would not fight the worſe for that; and indeed what a noble ſchool of morality would the ſtage be, if all thoſe who write for it would obſerve ſuch delicate chaſtity; they would then inforce an honourable and virtuous deportment, by the moſt inſinuating and eaſy means; they would ſo allure the audience by the amiable form of goodneſs re⯑preſented in her native lovelineſs, that he who could reſiſt her charms, muſt be ſomething more than wicked.

When Sir Richard finiſhed this Comedy, the parts of Tom and Phillis were not then in it: He read it to Mr. Cibber, who candidly told him, that though he liked his play upon the whole, both in the caſt of the characters and execution of them; yet, that it was rather too grave for an Eng⯑liſh audience, who want generally to laugh at a Comedy, and without which in their opinion, the end is not anſwered. Mr. Cibber then propoſed the addition of ſome comic characters, with which Sir Richard agreed, and ſaw the propriety and force of the obſervation. This comedy (at Sir Richard's re⯑queſt) received many additions from, and were greatly improved by Mr. Cibber.—Our author dedicated this work to the king, who made him a preſent of 500l.

Some years before his death, he grew paralytic, and retired to his ſeat at Langunner, near Caermarthen in Wales, where he died September the 1ſt, 1729; and was privately interred according to his own de⯑ſire, in the church of Caermarthen.

Beſides his writings above-mentionened, he began on Saturday the 17th of December, a weekly paper in quarto, called the Town-Talk, in a letter to [121] a lady in the country; and another, intitled the Tea-Table: He had likewiſe planned a comedy which he intended to call The School of Action.—As Sir Richard was beloved when living, ſo his loſs was ſincerely regretted at his death. He was a man of undiſſembled, and extenſive be⯑nevolence; a friend to the friendleſs, and as far as his circumſtances would permit, the father of every orphan: His works are chaſte, and man⯑ly, he himſelf admired virtue, and he drew her as lovely as ſhe is: of his works it may be ſaid, as Sir George Lyttleton in his prologue to Coriola⯑nus obſerves of Thomſon, that there are not in them

He was a ſtranger to the moſt diſtant appearance of envy or malevolence, never jealous of any man's growing reputation, and ſo far from arrogating any praiſe to himſelf, from his conjunction with Mr. Addiſon, that he was the firſt who deſired him to diſtinguiſh his papers in the Spectator, and af⯑ter the death of that great man was a faithful ex⯑ecutor of his fame, notwithſtanding an aſperſion which Mr. Tickell was ſo unjuſt to throw upon him. Sir Richard's greateſt error was want of oeco⯑nomy, as appears from the two following inſtances related by the elegant writer of Mr. Savage's Life, to whom that gentleman communicated them.

‘'Savage was once deſired by Sir Richard, with an air of the utmoſt importance, to come very early to his houſe the next morning. Mr. Savage came as he had promiſed, found the chariot at the door, and Sir Richard waiting for him ready to go out. What was intended, and whither they [122] were to go, Savage could not conjecture, and was not willing to inquire; but immediately ſeated himſelf with Sir Richard: The coachman was ordered to drive, and they hurried with the utmoſt expedition to Hyde-Park Corner, where they ſtopped at a petty tavern, and retired to a private room. Sir Richard then informed him, that he intended to publiſh a pamphlet, and that he deſired him to come thither, that he might write for him. They ſoon ſat down to the work, Sir Richard dictated, and Savage wrote, till the dinner which had been ordered, was put upon the table. Savage was ſurpriſed at the meanneſs of the entertainment, and after ſome heſitation, ventured to aſk for wine, which Sir Richard, not without reluctance ordered to be brought. They then finiſhed their dinner, and proceeded in their pamphlet, which they concluded in the afternoon. Mr. Savage then imagined his taſk over, and expected that Sir Richard would call for the reckoning and return home; but his expectations deceived him, for Sir Richard told him he was without money and that the pamphlet muſt be ſold before the dinner could be paid for; and Savage was therefore obliged to go and offer their new production to ſale for two guineas, which with ſome difficulty he obtained. Sir Richard then returned home, having retired that day only to avoid his creditors, and com⯑poſed the pamphlet only to diſcharge his rec⯑koning.'’ As Savage has ſaid nothing to the contrary, it is reaſonable to conjecture that he had Sir Richard's permiſſion to uſe his name to the Bookſeller, to whom he made an offer of it for two guineas, otherwiſe it is very improbable that the pamphlet ſhould be ſold at all in ſo ſhort a time.

The other inſtance is equally uncommon with the former;

[123] Sir Richard having invited to his houſe a great number of perſons of the firſt quality, they were ſurprized at the number of liveries which ſurrounded the table; and after dinner, when wine and mirth had ſet them free from the obſervation of rigid ceremony, one of them enquired of Sir Richard, how ſuch an expenſive train of domeſtics could be conſiſtent with his fortune? Sir Richard frankly confeſſed, that they were fellows of whom he would very willingly be rid. And being then aſked why he did not diſcharge them; he declared that they were Bailiffs who had introduced them⯑ſelves with an execution, and whom, ſince he could not ſend them away, he had thought it con⯑venient to imbelliſh with liveries, that they might do him credit whilſt they ſtaid.

His friends were diverted with the expedient, and by paying the debt, diſcharged the attendance, having obliged Sir Richard to promiſe that they ſhould never find him again graced with a retinue of the ſame kind.

He married to his firſt wife a gentlewoman of Barbadoes, with whom he had a valuable Planta⯑tion there on the death of her brother, who was taken by the French at Sea as he was coming to England, and died in France. This wife dying without iſſue, he married Mary, the daughter of Jonathan Scurlock of Langunnoc in Carmarthan⯑ſhire, eſq by whom he had one ſon, Eugene, who died young: of his two daughters, one only is liv⯑ing; which lady became ſole heireſs to a handſome eſtate in Wales. She was married, when young, to the hon. John Trevor, eſq one of the judges of the principality of Wales; who ſince, by the death of his brother, has taken his ſeat in the Houſe of Lords, as Baron Trevor, &c.

ANDREW MARVEL, Eſq ^†

THIS ingenious gentleman was the ſon of Mr. Andrew Marvel, Miniſter and School⯑maſter of Kingſton upon Hull in Yorkſhire, and was born in that town in the year 1620^*. He was admitted into Trinity College in Cambridge December 14, 1633, where he had not been long before his ſtudies were interrupted by the follow⯑ing accident:

Some Jeſuits with whom he familiarly con⯑verſed, obſerving in him a genius beyond his years, uſed their utmoſt efforts to proſelyte him to their faith, which they imagined they could more eaſi⯑ly accompliſh while he was yet young. They ſo far ſucceeded as to ſeduce him from the college, and carry him to London, where, after ſome months abſence, his father found him in a Book⯑ſeller's ſhop, and prevailed upon him to return to the college.

He afterwards purſued his ſtudies with the moſt indefatigable application, and in the year 1638, took the degree of bachelor of arts, and the ſame year was admitted ſcholar of the houſe, that is, [125] of the foundation at Trinity College^‡. We have no farther account of him for ſeveral years after this, only that he travelled through the moſt polite parts of the world, but in what quality we are not certain, unleſs in that of ſecretary to the embaſſy at Conſtantinople.

While our author was in France, he wrote his poem entitled Cuidam, qui legendo Scripturam, de⯑ſcripſit Formam, Sapientiam, Sortemque Authoris. Illuſtriſſimo Viro Domino Lanceloto Joſepho de Maniban Grammatomanti.

The perſon to whom he addreſſes theſe verſes was an Abbot, famous for entering into the qua⯑lities of thoſe whom he had never ſeen, and prognoſticating their good, or bad fortune from an inſpection of their hand-writing.

During the troubles of the Republic we find him tutor to one Mr. Dutton, a young gentleman; as appears from an original letter of his to Oliver Cromwel. This letter ſent to ſo extraordinary a perſon by a man of Mr. Marvel's conſequence, may excite the reader's curioſity, with which he ſhall be gratified. It carries in it much of that ſtiffneſs and pedantry peculiar to the times, and is very different from the uſual ſtile of our author.

Mr. Marvel's firſt appearance in public buſineſs at home, was, in being aſſiſtant to Milton as La⯑tin ſecretary to the Protector. He himſelf tells us, in a piece called The Rehearſal Tranſpoſed, that he never had any, not the remoteſt relation to public matters, nor correſpondence with the per⯑ſons then predominant, until the year 1657, when indeed, ſays he, ‘'I entered into an employment, for which I was not altogether improper, and which I conſidered to be the moſt innocent, and inoffenſive towards his Majeſty's affairs of any in that uſurped, and irregular government, to which all men were then expoſed; and this I accordingly diſcharged, without diſobliging any one perſon, there having been opportunities, and endeavours ſince his Majeſty's happy rerurn, to have diſcovered, had it been otherwiſe.'’

A little before the Reſtoration, he was choſen by his native town, Kingſton upon Hull, to ſit in that Parliament which began at Weſtminſter April 25, 1660, and again after the Reſtoration for that which began at the ſame place May 8, 1661. In this ſtation our author diſcharged his truſt with the utmoſt ſidelity, and always ſhewed a peculiar re⯑gard for thoſe he repreſented; for he conſtantly ſent the particulars of every proceeding in the Houſe, to the heads of the town for which he was elected; and to thoſe accounts he always joined his own opinion. This reſpectful behaviour gain⯑ed ſo much on their affections, that they allowed him an honourable penſion to his death, all which time he continued in Parliament.

[128] Mr. Marvel was not endowed with the gift of elo⯑quence, for he ſeldom ſpoke in the houſe; but was however capable of forming an excellent judgment of things, and was ſo acute a diſcerner of cha⯑racters, that his opinion was greatly valued, and he had a powerful influence over many of the Members without doors. Prince Rupert particu⯑larly eſteemed him, and whenever he voted agree⯑able to the ſentiments of Mr. Marvel, it was a ſaying of the oppoſite party, he has been with his tutor. The intimacy between this illuſtrious foreigner, and our author was ſo great, that when it was unſafe for the latter to have it known where he lived, on account of ſome miſchief which was threatened him, the prince would frequently viſit him in a diſguiſed habit. Mr. Marvel was often in ſuch danger of aſſaſſination, that he was obliged to have his letters directed to him in an⯑other name, to prevent any diſcovery that way. He made himſelf obnoxious to the government, both by his actions, and writings; and notwith⯑ſtanding his proceedings were all contrary to his private intereſt, nothing could ever ſhake his re⯑ſolution, of which the following is a notable inſtance, and tranſmits our author's name with luſtre to poſterity.

One night he was entertained by the King, who had often been delighted with his company: his Majeſty next day ſent the lord treaſurer Danby to find out his lodging; Mr. Marvel, then rent⯑ed a room up two pair of ſtairs, in a little court in the Strand, and was writing when the lord treaſurer opened the door abruptly upon him. Surprized at the fight of ſo unexpected a viſitor, Mr. Marvel told his lordſhip, that he believed he had miſtaken his way; the lord Danby replied, not now I have found Mr. Marvel: telling him that he came with a meſſage from his Majeſty, which was to know what he could do to ſerve [129] him? his anſwer was, in his uſual facetious man⯑ner, that it was not in his Majeſty's power to ſerve him: but coming to a ſerious explanation of his meaning, he told the lord treaſurer, that he well knew the nature of courts, and that whoever is diſtinguiſhed by a Prince's favour, is certainly ex⯑pected to vote in his intereſt. The lord Danby told him, that his Majeſty had only a juſt ſenſe of his merits, in regard to which alone, he de⯑ſired to know whether there was any place at court he could be pleaſed with. Theſe offers, though urged with the greateſt earneſtneſs, had no effect upon him; he told the lord treaſurer, that he could not accept it with honour, for he muſt ei⯑ther be ungrateful to the King by voting againſt him, or betray his country by giving his voice a⯑gainſt its intereſt, at leaſt what he reckoned ſo. The only favour therefore which he begged of his Majeſty, was, that he would eſteem him as duti⯑ful a ſubject as any he had, and more in his pro⯑per intereſt in rejecting his offers, than if he had embraced them. The lord Danby finding no ar⯑guments would prevail, told him, the King had ordered a thouſand pounds for him, which he hoped he would accept, 'till he could think what farther to aſk of his Majeſty. This laſt tempta⯑tion was reſiſted with the ſame ſtedfaſtneſs of mind as the firſt.

The reader muſt have already taken notice that Mr. Marvel's chief ſupport was the penſion allowed him by his conſtituents, that his lodgings were mean, and conſequently his circumſtances at this time could not be affluent. His reſiſt⯑ing theſe temptations therefore in ſuch a ſitua⯑tion, was perhaps one of the moſt heroic in⯑ſtances of patriotiſm the Annals of England can fur⯑niſh. But his conduct will be ſtill heightened into a more amiable light, when it is related, that as ſoon as the lord treaſurer had taken his leave, he [130] was obliged to ſend to a friend to borrow a guinea.

As the moſt powerful allurements of riches, and honour, could never ſeduce him to re⯑linquiſh the intereſt of his country, ſo not even the moſt immenſe dangers could deter him from purſuing it. In a private letter to a friend from Highgate, in which he mentions the inſuperable hatred of his foes to him, and their deſign of murthering him, he has theſe words; Praeterea magis occidere metuo quam occidi, non quod vi⯑tam tanti aeſtimem, ſed ne imparatus moriar, i. e. ‘'Beſides, I am more apprehenſive of killing, than being killed, not that I value life ſo much, but that I may not die unprepared.'’ Mr. Marvel did not remain an unconcerned member of the ſtate, when he ſaw encroachments made upon it both by the civil, and eccleſiaſtical powers. He ſaw that ſome of the biſhops had formed an idea of proteſtantiſm very different from the true one, and were making ſuch advances towards popery, as would ſoon iſſue in a reconciliation. Amongſt theſe eccleſiaſtics, none was ſo forward as Dr. Samuel Parker, who publiſhed at London 1672 in 8vo. biſhop Bramhal's Vindication of himſelf, and the Epiſcopal Clergy, from the Preſbyterian charge of Popery, as it is managed by Mr. Baxter in his Treatiſe on the Grotian Religion. Dr. Parker likewiſe preached up the doctrine of Non-reſiſt⯑ance, which ſlaviſh principle is admirably calcu⯑lated to prepare the people for receiving any yoke. Marvel, whoſe talent conſiſted in drollery, more than in ſerious reaſoning, took his own me⯑thod of expoſing thoſe opinions. He wrote a piece called The Rehearſal Tranſpoſed, in which he ve⯑ry ſucceſsfully ridiculed Dr. Parker. This ludi⯑crous eſſay met with ſeveral anſwers, ſome ſeri⯑ous, and others humorous; we ſhall not here enu⯑merate all the Rejoinders, Replies, and Animad⯑verſions upon it. Wood himſelf confeſſes, who [131] was an avowed enemy to Marvel, ‘'that Dr. Parker judged it more prudent rather to lay down the cudgels, than to enter the liſts again, with an untowardly combatant, ſo hugely well verſed, and experienced, in the then newly refined art of ſporting, and jeering buffoonery.'’ And biſhop Burnet tells us in the Hiſtory of his own Time, ‘'That Dr. Parker, after he had for ſome years entertained the nation with ſeveral virulent books, was attacked by the livelieſt droll of the age, who wrote in a burleſque ſtile, but with ſo peculiar, and entertaining a conduct, that from the King down to the tradeſman, his book was read with great pleaſure. This not only hum⯑bled Parker, but the whole party, for the author of The Rehearſal Tranſpoſed, had all the men of wit on his ſide.'’ Dr. Swift likewiſe in his Apology for the Tale of a Tub, ſpeaking of the uſual fate of common anſwerers to books, and how ſhort-lived their labours are, obſerves, ‘'That there is indeed an exception, when any great ge⯑nius thinks it worth his while to expoſe a fool⯑iſh piece; ſo we ſtill read Marvel's anſwer to Parker with pleaſure, though the book it an⯑ſwers be ſunk long ago.'’

The next controverſy in which we find Mr. Marvel engaged, was with an antagoniſt of the pious Dr. Croft, biſhop of Hereford, who wrote a diſcourſe entitled The Naked Truth, or A True State of the Primitive Church: By an humble Moderator. Dr. Turner, fellow of St. John's College, wrote Animadverſions upon this book; Mr. Marvel's anſwer to theſe Animadverſions, was entitled Mr. Smirk, or The Divine in Mode; being certain Annotations upon the Animadverſi⯑ons on The Naked Truth, together with a Short Hiſtorical Eſſay concerning General Councils, [132] Creeds, and Impoſitions in Matters of Religion, printed 1676.

Our author's next work was An Account of the Growth of Popery, and Arbitrary Govern⯑ment in England; more particularly from the long prorogation of November 1675, ending February 15, 1676, 'till the meeting of Parliament July 15, 1677, printed in folio 1678. Our author in a letter dated June 10, 1678, wrote thus; ‘'There came out about Chriſtmas laſt here, a large book concerning the Growth of Popery, and Arbi⯑trary Government. There have been great re⯑wards offered in private, and conſiderable, in the Gazette, to any, who would inform of the author, and Printer, but not yet diſcovered. Three or four printed books ſince have deſcrib⯑ed (as near as was proper to go, the man be⯑ing a member of Parliament) Mr. Marvel to be the author, but if he had, he ſurely could not have eſcaped being queſtioned in Parliament, or ſome other place.'’ This book was ſo offenſive to the court at that time, that an order was publiſhed in theſe words,

Mr. Marvel begins this book with a panegyric on the conſtitution of the Engliſh government, ſhewing how happy the people are under ſuch wholeſome laws, which if faithfully obſerved, muſt make a people happy, and a monarch great. He obſerves, that the king and the ſubject are equally under the laws; and that the former is no longer king than he continues to obey them. ‘'So that, ſays he, the kings of England, are in nothing in⯑ferior to other princes, ſave in being more abridg'd from injuring their own ſubjects, but have as large a field as any of external felicity, wherein to exerciſe their own virtue, and to reward and encourage it in others. In ſhort there is nothing that comes nearer the divine perfection, than when the monarch, as with us, enjoys a capacity of doing all the good imaginable to mankind, under a diſability of all that is evil.'’

After ſlightly tracing popery from earlier times, he begins with the Dutch war in 1665; but dwells moſt upon the proceedings at Rome, from Novem⯑ber 1675, to July 1677. He relates the occaſion of the Dutch war, ſhews that the papiſts, and the French in particular, were the true ſprings of all our councils; and draws the following picture of popery.

This great man died, not without ſtrong ſuſpicions of being poiſoned, Auguſt 16, 1678, in the 58th year of his age, and was interred in the church of St. Giles's in the Fields; and in the year 1688 the town of Kingſton upon Hull contributed a ſum of money to erect a monument over him, in St. Giles's church, for which an epitaph was compoſed by an able hand; but the miniſter of that church, piouſly forbad both the inſcription and monument to be placed there.

Mr. Wood tells us, that in his converſation, he was very modeſt, and of few words; and Mr. Cooke obſerves, ‘'that he was very reſerved among people he did not very well know; but a moſt delightful, and improving companion amongſt his friends.'’

In the year 1680, his miſcellaneous poems were publiſhed, to which is prefixed this advertiſement.

[135] But Mr. Cooke informs us, 'that theſe were pub⯑liſhed with a mercenary view; and indeed not at all to the honour of the deceaſed, by a woman with whom he lodged, who hoped by this ſtratagem to ſhare in what he left behind him.'

He was never married, and the ſame gentleman obſerves in another place, that in the editions of 1681, there are ſuch groſs errors, eſpecially in the Latin Poems, as make ſeveral lines unintelligible; and that in the volume of Poems on Affairs of State, the ſame miſtakes are as frequent; and in thoſe, ſome pieces are attributed to our author, which he never wrote. Moſt of his Poems printed in Dryden's Miſcellanies are ſo imperfect, that whole ſtanzas are omitted in many places.

Theſe Mr. Cooke has reſtored in his edition of the works of Andrew Marvel, Eſq printed at Lon⯑don 1726, in two volumes, and corrected ſuch faults as in either of the two former editions ob⯑ſcure the ſenſe: in this edition are alſo added, ſome poems from original manuſcripts. Great care has likewiſe been taken by Mr. Cooke, to retrench ſuch pieces as he was ſure were not genuine.

Mr. Marvel, conſidered as a ſtateſman, makes a more conſpicuous figure than any of the age in which he lived, the preceeding, or the ſubſequent: He poſſeſſed the firſt quality of a ſtateſman, that is, inviolable integrity, and a heart ſo confirmed againſt corruption, that neither indigence, a love of pomp, or even dangers the moſt formidable, could move his ſettled purpoſe, to purſue in every reſpect, the intereſt of his country.

That Marvel underſtood the true intereſt of his country, is abundantly clear, from the great re⯑verence paid to his opinion, by ſuch perſons as were moſt able to diſcern, and moſt diſpoſed to promote its welfare.

[136] He has ſucceeded to a miracle in the droll way of writing; and when he aſſumes a ſeverity, and writes ſeriouſly, his arguments and notions are far removed from imbecility.

As a poet, I cannot better delineate his character than in the words of Mr. Cooke,

[137] There are ſome ſinall pieces of his in proſe, which ought not to eſcape obſervation. From his letter to Sir John Trott, there ſeems to have been a friendly correſpondence between him and that gentleman. By his Familiar Letters, we may eaſily judge what part of his works are laboured, and what not. But of all his pieces in Proſe, the King's Mock-Speech to both Houſes of Parliament, has moſt of ſpirit, and humour. As it will furniſh the beſt ſpe⯑cimen of Mr. Marvel's genius for drollery, as well as the character of that prince and miniſtry, we ſhall here inſert it, as a performance of the moſt exqui⯑ſite humour we have ever ſeen.

In order to ſhew the verſification of Mr. Marvel, we ſhall add a beautiful dialogue between the re⯑ſolved ſoul, and created pleaſure. It is written with a true ſpirit of poetry, the numbers are vari⯑ous, and harmonious, and is one of the beſt pieces, in the ſerious way, of which he is author.

[145] We ſhall conclude the life of Mr. Marvel, by preſenting the reader with that epitaph, which was intended to be inſcribed upon his tomb, in which his character is drawn-in a very maſterly manner.‘Near this place
Lieth the body of ANDREW MARVEL, Eſq
A man ſo endowed by nature,
So improved by education, ſtudy, and travel,
So conſummated, by experience and learning;
That joining the moſt peculiar graces of wit
With a ſingular penetration and ſtrength of judgment,
And exerciſing all theſe in the whole courſe of his life,
With unalterable ſteadineſs in the ways of virtue,
He became the ornament and example of his age,
Beloved by good men, fear'd by bad, admired by all,
Tho' imitated, alas! by few;
And ſcarce paralleled by any.
But a tombſtone can neither contain his character,
Nor is marble neceſſary to tranſmit it to poſterity.
It is engraved in the minds of this generation,
And will be always legible in his inimitable writings.
Nevertheleſs
He having ſerved near twenty-years ſucceſſively in
parliament,
And that, with ſuch wiſdom, integrity, dexterity,
and courage,
As became a true patriot,
The town of Kingſton upon Hull,
From whence he was conſtantly deputed to that
Aſſembly,
Lamenting in his death the public loſs,
Have erected this monument of their grief and
gratitude,
1688.
He died in the 58th year of his age
On the 16th day of Auguſt 1678.
Heu fragile humanum genus! heu terreſtria vana!
Heu quem ſpectatum continet urna virum!’

Mrs. ELIZABETH THOMAS.

THIS lady, who is known in the world by the poetial name of Corinna, ſeems to have been born for misfortunes; her very bittereſt ene⯑mies could never brand her with any real crime, and yet her whole life has been one continued ſcene of miſery^*. The family from which ſhe ſprung was of a rank in life beneath envy, and above contempt. She was the child of an anci⯑ent, and infirm parent, who gave her life when he was dying himſelf, and to whoſe unhappy con⯑ſtitution ſhe was ſole heireſs. From her very birth, which happened 1675, ſhe was afflicted with fe⯑vers and defluxions, and being over-nurſed, her conſtitution was ſo delicate and tender, that had ſhe not been of a gay diſpoſition, and poſſeſſed a vigorous mind, ſhe muſt have been more unhappy than ſhe actually was. Her fa⯑ther dying when ſhe was ſcarce two years old, and her mother not knowing his real circum⯑ſtances, as he was ſuppoſed from the ſplendour of his manner of life to be very rich, ſome incon⯑veniencies were incurred, in beſtowing upon him a pompous funeral, which in thoſe times was [147] faſhionable. The mother of our poeteſs, in the bloom of eighteen, was condemned to the arms of this man, upwards of 60, upon the ſuppoſiti⯑on of his being wealthy, but in which ſhe was ſoon miſerably deceived. When the grief, which ſo young a wife may be ſuppoſed to feel for an aged huſband, had ſubſided, ſhe began to enquire into the ſtate of his affairs, and found to her un⯑ſpeakable mortification, that he died not worth one thouſand pounds in the world. As Mrs. Tho⯑mas was a woman of good ſenſe, and a high ſpirit, ſhe diſpoſed of two houſes her huſband kept, one in town, the other in the county of Eſ⯑ſex, and retired into a private, but decent coun⯑try lodging. The chambers in the Temple her huſband poſſeſſed, ſhe ſold to her brother for 450 l. which, with her huſband's books of accounts, ſhe lodged in her truſtee's hands, who being ſoon af⯑ter burnt out by the fire in the paper buildings in the Temple (which broke out with ſuch vio⯑lence in the dead of night, that he ſaved nothing but his life) ſhe loſt conſiderably. Not being able to make out any bill, ſhe could form no regu⯑lar demand, and was obliged to be determined by the honour of her huſband's clients, who, though perſons of the firſt faſhion, behaved with very little honour to her. The deceaſed had the reputation of a judicious lawyer, and an accompliſhed gen⯑tleman, but who was too honeſt to thrive in his profeſſion, and had too much humanity ever to be⯑come rich. Of all his clients, but one lady be⯑haved with any appearance of honeſty. The coun⯑teſs dowager of Wentworth having then loſt her only daughter the lady Harriot (who was reputed the miſtreſs of the duke of Monmouth) told Mrs. Thomas, ‘'that ſhe knew ſhe had a large reckoning with the deceaſed, but, ſays ſhe, as you know not what to demand, ſo I know not what to pay; come, madam, I will do better for you than a [148] random reckoning, I have now no child, and have taken a fancy to your daughter; give me the girl, I will breed her as my own, and pro⯑vide for her as ſuch when I die.'’ The widow thank'd her ladyſhip, but with a little too much warmth replied, ‘'ſhe would not part with her child on any terms;'’ which the counteſs reſented to ſuch a degree, that ſhe would never ſee her more, and dying in a few years, left 1500 l. per annum inheritance, at Stepney, to her chambermaid.

Thus were misfortunes early entailed upon this lady. A propoſal which would have made her opulent for life, was defeated by the unreaſon⯑able fondneſs of her mother, who lived to ſuf⯑fer its diſmal conſequences, by taſting the bittereſt diſtreſſes. We have already obſerved, that Mrs. Thomas thought proper to retire to the coun⯑try with her daughter. The houſe where ſhe board⯑ed was an eminent Cloth-worker's in the county of Surry, but the people of the houſe proved ve⯑ry diſagreeable. The lady had no converſation to divert her; the landlord was an illiterate man, and the reſt of the family brutiſh, and unmannerly. At laſt Mrs. Thomas attracted the notice of Dr. Glyſſon, who obſerving her at church very ſplen⯑didly dreſſed, ſollicited her acquaintance. He was a valuable piece of antiquity, being then, 1684. in the hundredth year of his age. His perſon was tall, his bones very large, his hair like ſnow, a venerable aſpect, and a complexion, which might ſhame the bloom of fifteen. He enjoyed a ſound judgment, and a memory ſo tenacious, and clear, that his company was very engaging. His viſits greatly alleviated the ſolitude of this lady. The laſt viſit he made to Mrs. Thomas, he drew on, with much attention, a pair of rich Spa⯑niſh leather gloves, emboſt on the backs, and tops with gold embroidery, and fringed round with gold plate. The lady could not help expreſſing her [149] curioſity, to know the hiſtory of thoſe gloves, which he ſeemed to touch with ſo much reſpect. He anſwered, ‘'I do reſpect them, for the laſt time I had the honour of approaching my mi⯑ſtreſs, Queen Elizabeth, ſhe pulled them from her own Royal hands, ſaying, here Glyſſon, wear them for my ſake. I have done ſo with venera⯑tion, and never drew them on, but when I had a mind to honour thoſe whom I viſit, as I now do you; and ſince you love the memory of my Royal miſtreſs, take them, and preſerve them carefully when I am gone.'’ The Dr. then went home, and died in a few days.

This gentleman's death left her again without a companion, and an uneaſineſs hung upon her, viſible to the people of the houſe; who gueſſing the cauſe to proceed from ſolitude, recommended to her acquaint⯑ance another Phyſician, of a different caſt from the former. He was denominated by them a conjurer, and was ſaid to be capable of raiſing the devil. This circumſtance diverted Mrs. Thomas, who imagin⯑ed, that the man whom they called a conjurer, muſt have more ſenſe than they underſtood. The Dr. was invited to viſit her, and appeared in a greaſy black Grogram, which he called his Scho⯑lar's Coat, a long beard, and other marks of a philoſophical negligence. He brought all his little mathematical trinkets, and played over his tricks for the diverſion of the lady, whom, by a private whiſpher, he let into the ſecrets as he performed them, that ſhe might ſee there was nothing of magic in the caſe. The two moſt remarkable articles of his performance were, firſt lighting a candle at a glaſs of cold water (performed by touching the brim before with phoſphorus, a chymical fire which is preſerved in water and burns there) and next reading the ſmalleſt print by a candle of ſix in the pound, at a hundred yards diſtance in the open air, and darkeſt night. This [150] was performed by a large concave-glaſs, with a deep pointed focus, quick-ſilvered on the back⯑ſide, and ſet in tin, with a ſocket for a candle, ſconce faſhion, and hung up againſt a wall. While the flame of the candle was diametrically oppoſite to the centre, the rays equally diverging, gave ſo powerful a light as is ſcarce credible; but on the leaſt variation from the focus, the charm ceaſed. The lady diſcerning in this man a genius which might be improved to better pur⯑poſes than deceiving the country people, deſired him not to hide his talents, but to puſh himſelf in the world by the abilities of which he ſeemed poſ⯑ſeſſed. ‘'Madam, ſaid he, I am now a fiddle to aſſes, but I am finiſhing a great work which will make thoſe aſſes fiddle to me.'’ She then aſked what that work might be? He replied, ‘'his life was at ſtake if it took air, but he found her a lady of ſuch uncommon candour, and good ſenſe, that he ſhould make no difficulty in com⯑mitting his life and hope to her keeping.'’ All women are naturally fond of being truſted with ſecrets; this was Mrs. Thomas's failing: the Dr. found it out, and made her pay dear for her cu⯑rioſity. ‘'I have been, continued he, many years in ſearch of the Philoſopher's Stone, and long maſter of the ſmaragdine-table of Hermes Triſ⯑megiſtus; the green and red dragons of Raymond Lully have alſo been obedient to me, and the illuſtrious ſages themſelves deign to viſit me; yet is it but ſince I had the honour to be known to your ladyſhip, that I have been ſo fortunate as to obtain the grand ſecret of projection. I tranſmuted ſome lead I pulled off my window laſt night into this bit of gold.'’ Pleaſed with the ſight of this, and having a natural propenſion to the ſtudy, the lady ſnatched it out of the philo⯑ſopher's hand, and aſked him why he had not made more? He replied, ‘'it was all the lead I could [151] find.'’ She then commanded her daughter to bring a parcel of lead which lay in the cloſet, and giving it to the Chymiſt, deſired him to tranſ⯑mute it into gold on the morrow. He undertook it, and the next day brought her an ingot which weighed two ounces, which with the utmoſt ſo⯑lemnity he avowed was the very individual lead ſhe gave him, tranſmuted to gold.

She began now to engage him in ſerious diſcourſe; and finding by his replies, that he wanted money to make more powder, ſhe enquired how much would make a ſtock that would maintain itſelf? He replied, one fifty pounds after nine months would produce a million. She then begged the ingot of him, which he proteſted had been tranſ⯑muted from lead, and fluſhed with the hopes of ſucceſs, hurried to town to examine whether the ingot was true gold, which proved fine beyond the ſtandard. The lady now fully convinced of the truth of the empyric's declaration, took fifty pounds out of the hands of a Banker, and entruſted him with it.

The only difficulty which remained, was, how to carry on the work without ſuſpicion, it being ſtrictly prohibited at that time. He was there⯑fore reſolved to take a little houſe in another county, at a few miles diſtance from London, where he was to build a public laboratory, as a profeſſed Chymiſt, and deal in ſuch medi⯑cines as were moſt vendible, by the ſale of which to the apothecaries, the expence of the houſe was to be defrayed during the operation. The widow was accounted the houſekeeper, and the Dr. and his man boarded with her; to which ſhe added this precaution, that the laboratory, with the two lodging rooms over it, in which the Dr. and his man lay, was a different wing of the building from that where ſhe and her little daughter, and maid-ſervant reſided; and as ſhe knew ſome time [152] muſt elapſe before any profit could be expected, ſhe managed with the utmoſt frugality. The Dr. mean time acted the part of a tutor to miſs, in Arithmetic, Latin, and Mathematics, to which ſhe diſcovered the ſtrongeſt propenſity. All things be⯑ing properly diſpoſed for the grand operation, the vitriol furnace was ſet to work, which requiring the moſt intenſe heat for ſeveral days, unhappily ſet fire to the houſe; the ſtairs were conſumed in an inſtant, and as it ſurprized them all in their firſt ſleep, it was a happy circumſtance that no life periſhed. This unlucky accident was 300 l. loſs to Mrs. Thomas: yet ſtill the grand project was in a fair way of ſucceeding in the other wing of the building. But one misfortune is often fol⯑lowed by another. The next Sunday evening, while ſhe was reading to, and inſtructing her little family, a ſudden, and a violent report, like a diſ⯑charge of cannon was heard; the houſe being tim⯑ber, rocked like a cradle, and the family were all thrown from their chairs on the ground. They looked with the greateſt amazement on each o⯑ther, not gueſſing the cauſe, when the operator pre⯑tending to revive, fell to ſtamping, tearing his hair, and raving like a madman, crying out un⯑done, undone, loſt and undone for ever. He ran directly to the Athanor, when unlocking the door, he found the machine ſplit quite in two, the eggs broke, and that precious amalgamum which they contained was ſcattered like ſand among the aſhes. Mrs. Thomas's eyes were now ſufficiently opened to diſcern the impoſture, and, with a very ſerene countenance, told the empyric, that accidents will happen, but means might be fallen upon to repair this fatal diſappointment. The Dr. obſerving her ſo ſerene, imagined ſhe would grant him more money to compleat his ſcheme, but ſhe ſoon diſ⯑appointed his expectation, by ordering him to be gone, and made him a preſent of five guiueas, [153] leſt his deſperate circumſtances ſhould induce him to take ſome violent means of providing for himſelf.

Whether deluded by a real hope of finding out the Philoſopher's Stone, or from an innate princi⯑ple of villainy, cannot be determined, but he did not yet ceaſe his purſuit, and ſtill indulged the golden deluſion. He now found means to work upon the credulity of an old miſer, who, upon the ſtrenght of his pretenſions, gave him his daughter in marriage, and embarked all his hoarded treaſure, which was very conſiderable, in the ſame chimerical adventure. In a word, the miſer's ſtock was alſo loſt, the empyric himſelf, and the daughter reduced to beggary. This unhappy affair broke the miſer's heart, who did not many weeks ſur⯑vive the loſs of his caſh. The Dr. alſo put a miſerable end to his life by drinking poiſon, and left his wife with two young children in a ſtate of beggary. But to return to Mrs. Thomas.

The poor lady ſuffered on this occaſion a great deal of inward anguiſh; ſhe was aſhamed of hav⯑ing reduced her fortune, and impoveriſhed her child by liſtening to the inſinuations of a mad⯑man. Time and patience at laſt overcame it; and when her health, which by this accident had been impaired, was reſtored to her, ſhe began to ſtir amongſt her huſband's great clients. She took a houſe in Bloomſbury, and by means of good oeconomy, and an elegant appearance, was ſup⯑poſed to be better in the world than ſhe really was. Her huſband's clients received her like one riſen from the dead: They came to viſit her, and pro⯑miſed to ſerve her. At laſt the duke of Montague adviſed her to let lodgings, which way of life ſhe declined, as her talents were not ſuited for dealing with ordinary lodgers; but added ſhe, ‘'if I knew any family who deſired ſuch a conveniency, I would readily accommodate them.'’ I take you at your word, replied the duke, ‘'I will become [154] your ſole tenant: Nay don't ſmile, for I am in earneſt, I love a little freedom more than I can enjoy at home, and I may come ſome⯑times and eat a bit of mutton, with four or five horeſt fellows, whoſe company I delight in.'’ The bargain was bound, and proved matter of fact, though on a deeper ſcheme than drinking a bottle: And his lordſhip was to paſs in the houſc for Mr. Freeman of Hertfordſhire.

In a few days he ordered a dinner for his be⯑loved ſriends, Jack and Tom, Will and Ned, good honeſt country-fellows, as his grace called them. They came at the time appointed; but how ſurprized was the widow, when ſhe ſaw the duke of Devonſhire, the lords Buckingham, and Dorſet, and a certain viſcount, with Sir William Dutton Colt, under theſe feign'd names. After ſeveral times meeting at this lady's houſe, the no⯑ble perſons, who had a high opinion of her in⯑tegrity, entruſted her with the grand ſecret, which was nothing leſs than the project for the Revolu⯑tion.

Tho' theſe meetings were held as private as poſſible, yet ſuſpicions aroſe, and Mrs. Thomas's houſe was narrowly watched; but the meſſengers, who were no enemies to the cauſe, betrayed their truſt, and ſuffered the noblemen to meet unmo⯑leſted, or at leaſt without any dread of apprehen⯑ſion.

The Revolution being effected, and the ſtate eame more ſettled, that place of ren [...]vous was quitted: The noblemen took leave of the lady, with promiſes of obtaining a penſion, or ſome place in the houſhold for her, as her zeal in that cauſe highly merited; beſides ſhe had a very good claim to ſome appointment, having been ruined by ſhutting up the Exchequer. But alas! court promiſes proved an aerial foundation, and theſe noble peers never thought of her more. The duke [155] of Montague indeed made offers of ſervice, and being captain of the band of penſioners, ſhe aſked him to admit Mr. Gwynnet, a gentleman who had made love to her daughter, into ſuch a poſt. This he promiſed, but upon theſe terms, that her daughter ſhould aſk him for it. The widow thanked him, and not ſuſpecting that any deſign was covered under this offer, concluded herſelf ſure of ſucceſs: But how amazed was ſhe to find her daughter (whom ſhe had bred in the moſt paſſive ſubjection) and who had never diſcovered the leaſt inſtance of diſobedience, abſolutely refuſe to aſk any ſuch favour of his grace. She could be pre⯑va [...]\nled upon neither by flattery, nor threatning, and continuing ſtill obſtinate in her reſolution; her mo⯑ther obliged her to explain herſelf, upon the point of her refuſal. She told her then, that the duke of Montague had already made an attack upon her, that his deſigns were diſhonourable; and that if ſhe ſubmitted to aſk his grace one favour, he would reckon himſelf ſecure of another in return, which he would endeavour to accompliſh by the baſeſt means. This explanation was too ſatisfactory: Who does not ſee the meanneſs of ſuch an ungene⯑rous conduct? He had made uſe of the mother as a tool, for carrying on political deſigns; he found her in diſtreſs, and as a recompence for her ſervices, and under the pretence of mending her fortune, at tempted the virtue of her daughter, and would pro⯑vide for her, on no other te [...]\nms, but at the price of her child's innocence.

In the mean time, the young Corinna, a po [...]ti⯑cal name given her by Mr. Dryden, continued to improve her mind by reading the politeſt authors▪ Such extraordinary advances had ſhe made, that upon her ſending ſome poems to Mr. Dryden, en⯑treating his peruſal, and impartial ſentiments there⯑on, he was pleaſed to write her the following letter.

Our amiable poeteſs, in a letter to Dr. Talbot, Biſhop of Durham, has given ſome farther particu⯑lars of her life. We have already ſeen that ſhe was addreſſed upon honourable terms, by Mr. Gwynnet, of the Middle Temple, ſon of a gentleman in Glouceſterſhire. Upon his firſt diſcovering his paſ⯑ſion to Corinna, ſhe had honour enough to remon⯑ſtrate to him the inequality of their fortune, as her affairs were then in a very perplexed ſituation. This objection was ſoon ſurmounted by a lover, eſpeci⯑ally as his father had given him poſſeſſion of the greateſt part of his eſtate, and leave to pleaſe him⯑ſelf. Mr. Gwynnet no ſooner obtained this, than he came to London, and claimed Corinna's promiſe of marriage: But her mother being then in a very weak [157] condition, ſhe could not abandon her in that diſ⯑treſs, to die among ſtrangers. She therefore told Mr. Gwynnet, that as ſhe had not thought ſixteen years long in waiting for him, he could not think ſix months long in expectation of her. He replied, with a deep ſigh, ‘'Six months at this time, my Corinna, is more than ſixteen years have been; you put it off now, and God will put it off for ever.'’—It proved as he had foretold; he next day went into the country, made his will, ſickened, and died April the 16th, 1711, leaving his Corinna the bequeſt of ſix-hundred pounds; and adds ſhe, ‘'Sorrow has been my food ever ſince.'’

Had ſhe providentially married him, ſhe had been ſecure from the inſults of poverty; but her duty to her parent was more prevalent than conſidera⯑tions of convenience. After the death of her lover, ſhe was barbarouſly uſed: His brother, ſtifled the will, which compelled her to have re⯑courſe to law; he ſmothered the old gentle⯑man's conveyance deed, by which he was en⯑abled to make a bequeſt, and offered a large ſum of money to any perſon, who would undertake to blacken Corinna's character; but wicked as the world is, he found none ſo compleatly abandoned, as to perjure themſelves for the ſake of his bribe. At laſt to ſhew her reſpect to the memory of her deceaſed lover, ſhe conſented to an accom⯑modation with his brother, to receive 2001. down, and 2001. at the year's end. The firſt payment was made, and diſtributed inſtantly amongſt her mother's creditors; but when the other became due, he bid her defiance, ſtood ſuit on his own bond, and held out four terms. He carried it from one court to another, till at laſt it was brought to the bar of the Houſe of Lords; and as that is a tribunal, where the chicanery of lawyers can have no weight, he thought proper to pay the money without a hearing. The gentlemen of the long⯑robe [158] had made her ſign an inſtrument, that they ſhould receive the money and pay themſelves: After they had laid their cruel hands upon it, of the 2001. the poor diſtreſſed lady received but 131. 16s. which reduced her to the neceſſity of abſconding from her creditors, and ſtarving in an obſcure cor⯑ner, till ſhe was betrayed by a falſe friend, and hurried to jail.

Beſides all the other calamities of Corinna, ſhe had ever a bad ſtate of health, occaſioned by an accident too curious to be omitted.

In the year 1730 her caſe was given into the college of phyſicians, and was reckoned a very ſur⯑prizing one. It is as follows.

Under all theſe calamities, of which the above is a juſt repreſentation, did poor Corinna labour; and it is difficult to produce a life crouded with greater evils. The ſmall fortune which her father left [161] her, by the imprudence of her mother, was ſoon ſquandered: She no ſooner began to taſte of life, than an attempt was made upon her innocence. When ſhe was about being happy in the arms of her amiable lover Mr. Gwynnet, he was ſnatched from her by an immature fate. Amongſt her other misfortunes, ſhe laboured under the diſplea⯑ſure of Mr. Pope, whoſe poetical majeſty ſhe had innocently offended, and who has taken care to place her in his Dunciad. Mr. Pope had once vouchſafed to viſit her, in company with Henry Cromwel, Eſq whoſe letters by ſome accident fell into her hands, with ſome of Pope's anſwers. As ſoon as that gentleman died, Mr. Curl found means to wheedle them from her, and immediately commit⯑ted them to the preſs. This ſo enraged Pope, that tho' the lady was very little to blame, yet he never forgave her.

Not many months after our poeteſs had been re⯑leaſed from her gloomy habitation, ſhe took a ſmall lodging in Fleet ſtreet, where ſhe died on the 3^d of February 1730, in the 56th year of her age, and was two days after decently interred in the church of St. Bride's.

Corinna, conſidered as an authoreſs, is of the ſecond rate, ſhe had not ſo much wit as Mrs. Behn, or Mrs. Manley, nor had ſo happy a power of in⯑tellectual painting; but her poetry is ſoft and deli⯑cate, her letters ſprightly and entertaining. Her Poems were publiſhed after her death, by Curl; and two volumes of Letters which paſs'd between her and Mr. Gwynnet. We ſhall ſelect as a ſpecimen of her poetry, an Ode addreſſed to the ducheſs of Somerſet, on her birth-day.

ELIJAH FENTON.

THIS worthy gentleman was born at Shelton, near Newcaſtle under the Line, in Stafford⯑ſhire^*. In this county, though there are ſeveral families of the name of Fenton, yet they are all branches from one ſtock, which is a very antient and opulent family: Our author's mother being immediately deſcended from one Mare, an officer in William the Conqueror's army.

Our poet was the youngeſt of twelve children, and was intended by his parents for the miniſtry: He was ſent to the univerſity of Cambridge, where he embraced the principles very oppoſite to the go⯑vernment, by which he became diſqualified for en⯑tering into holy orders. We find him ſoon after his quitting the univerſity, ſecretary to the earl of Orrery, but how long he remained in that ſtation we cannot aſcertain. After he quitted the ſervice of this noble peer, it was his cuſtom to perform a viſit annually to his eldeſt brother's houſe in the country, who poſſeſſed an eſtate of 1000 l. per annum. He was careſſed in the country, by all his relations, to whom he endeared himſelf, by his affable and gen⯑teel behaviour. Mr. Fenton was a man of the moſt tender humanity, and diſcovered it upon every pro⯑per occaſion: A gentleman reſident in that county, who has tranſmitted to us ſome account of Mr. Fen⯑ton, [165] has given us the following inſtance of his hu⯑mane diſpoſition.

He had a great number of ſiſters, ſome of whom were leſs happy in their marriages than others; one in particular was expoſed to many misfortunes, by the indiſcretion and extravagance of her huſband. It is the cuſtom of ſome people to make very great diſtinctions between their rich and poor relations; Mr. Fenton's brother was of this ſtamp, and it ſeems treated his unfortunate ſiſter with leſs ceremony than the reſt. One day, while Mr. Fenton, was at his brother's houſe, he obſerved the family going to dinner without this ſiſter, who was in town, and had as good a right to an invitation, as any of the reſt who dined there as a compliment to him. He could not help diſcovering his diſpleaſure at ſo unnatural a diſtinction, and would not ſit down to table till ſhe was ſent for, and in conſequence of this ſlight ſhewn her by the reſt of the family, Mr. Fenton treated her with more tenderneſs and complaiſance than any of his ſiſters.

Our author carried through life a very fair repu⯑tation, he was beloved and eſteemed by Mr. Pope, who honoured him with a beautiful epitaph. Mr. Fenton after a life of eaſe and tranquility, died at Eaſt-Hampſtead-Park, near Oakingham, the 13th of July 1730, much regretted by all men of taſte, not being obnoxious to the reſentment even of his brother writers.

In the year 1723, Mr. Fenton introduced upon the ſtage his Tragedy of Mariamne, built upon the ſtory related of her in the third volume of the Spec⯑tator, Numb. 171, which the ingenious author col⯑lected out of Joſephus. As this ſtory ſo fully diſplays the nature of the paſſion of jealouſy, and diſcovers ſo extraordinary a character as that of Herod, we ſhall here inſert it, after which we ſhall conſider with what ſucceſs Mr. Fenton has managed the plot.

[166] In a former paper, the author having treated the paffion of jealouſy in various lights, and marked its progreſs through the human mind, concludes his animadverſions with this ſtory, which he ſays may ſerve as an example to whatever can be ſaid on that ſubject.

Mr. Fenton in the conduct of this deſign, has ſhewn himſelf a very great maſter of ſtage propriety. He has ſoftened the character of Herod, well knowing that ſo cruel a tyrant as the ſtory makes him, could not be born upon the Engliſh ſtage. He has altered the character of Sohemus, from an honeſt confident, to a crafty enterpriſing ſtateſman, who to raiſe his maſter to the throne of Judea, mur⯑thered the natural heir. He has introduced in his drama, a character under the name of Salome, the king's ſiſter, who bore an implacable hatred to Mariamne; and who in league with Sohemus pur⯑ſues her revenge, at no leſs a price than that of her brother's and the queen's life.

After the wars, which had ſubſiſted between Caeſar and Anthony, had ſubſided, and the world fell to the ſhare of the former; Herod is repreſented as having juſt returned from Rome, where, as an hoſ⯑tage to the emperor, he has ſtipulated to ſend his younger ſon there, and Flaminius, a noble Roman accompanies him into Jewry, to carry off the young prince. The day in which this dramatic action begins, is upon a grand feſtival, appointed in ho⯑nour of Herod's ſafe return from Rome, and be⯑ing ſtill permitted to enjoy his kingdom. The hard condition of ſending the prince to Rome, greatly affects the heart of the queen, whom the poet has drawn a moſt tender mother. This throws a cloud over the ceremony, and furniſhes an oppor⯑tunity for Sohemus and Salome, to ſet their in⯑fernal engines at work; who, in conjunction with Sameas the king's cup bearer, contrive to poiſon the king and queen at the feaſt. But the poiſoned cup is firſt taſted by Hazeroth, a young lord re⯑lated [170] to the queen, and the ſudden effect which it has upon him diſcovers the villainy.

The queen's abſence from the feaſt proves a fatal circumſtance, and as managed by Sohemus, fixes the appearance of guilt upon her. While Herod was abſent at Rome, Sohemus made addreſſes to Arſinoe, a Roman lady, confidant to Mariamne; to whom in the ardour of his paſſion he revealed the ſecret entruſted to him by Herod, of putting Mariamne to death, in caſe he by any calamitous accident ſhould loſe his life. Arſinoe from a mo⯑tive of affection communicated this to Mariamne; as an inſtance of the violent paſſion which Herod had for her. This ſhe did immediately before her departure for Rome, with Flaminius the Roman envoy, who proved to be the lord of her wiſhes, whom ſhe imagined to have been killed in fighting againſt Mark Anthony. Mariamne thrown into this imminent danger, orders Arſinoe to be intercepted, whoſe return clears up her innocence, as ſhe de⯑clares that no correſpondence had ever been carried on between the queen and Sohemus, of whom he was now jealous, as Mariamne had upbraided him with his cruel reſolutions of putting her to death, entruſted to that miniſter. Herod is ſatisfied of her innocence, by the evidence of Arſinoe; but as he had before given the cruel orders for putting the queen to death, ſhe, to prevent the execution of ſuch barbarity. drank poiſon. The Queen is conducted in by the high prieſt in the agonies of death, which gives ſuch a ſhock to Herod, that not able to ſurvive her, he dies in the ſight of the audience.

Sohemus, who knew what tortures would be re⯑ſerved for him, kills himſelf, after having ſacrificed Sameas, by whoſe treachery the plot was diſcovered, and who in his falling ſtabs Salome to the heart, as the laſt effort of his revenge.

As the plan of this play is regular, ſimple, and intereſting, ſo are the ſentiments no leſs maſterly, [171] and the characters graphically diſtinguiſhed. It contains likewiſe many beautiful ſtrokes of poetry.

When Narbal, a lord of the queen's party, gives an account to Flaminius the Roman general, of the queen's parting with her ſon; he ſays,

Flaminius conſiſtent with his character as a ſol⯑dier, anſwers,

The character of Sameas the king's cup-bearer, is one of the moſt villainous ever ſhewn upon a ſtage; and the poet makes Sohemus, in order to give the audience a true idea of him, and to prepare them for thoſe barbarities he is to execute, relate the following inſtance of his cruelty.

In the 5th act, when Herod is agitated with the rage of jealouſy, his brother Pheroras thus addreſſes him,

The obſervation, which Herod makes upon this, is very affecting. The poet has drawn him ſo tor⯑tured with his paſſion, that he ſeems almoſt ſuffici⯑ently puniſhed, for the barbarity of cutting off the father and brother of Mariamne,

Some critics have blamed Mariamne, for yield⯑ing her affections to Herod, who had embrued his hands in her father and brother's blood; in this perhaps ſhe cannot be eaſily defended, but the poet had a right to repreſent this as he literally found it in hiſtory; and being the circumſtance upon which all the others depended. Tho' this play is one of the moſt beautiful in our language, yet it is in many places expoſed to juſt criticiſm; but as it has more beauties chan faults, it would be a kind of violence to candour to ſhew the blemiſhes.

The life of Fenton, like other poets who have never been engaged in public buſineſs, being bar⯑ren of incidents, we have dwelt the longer on his works, a tribute which his genius naturally de⯑manded from us.

Mr. Fenton's other poetical works were publiſhed in one volume 1717, and conſiſt chiefly of the fol⯑lowing pieces.

• An Ode to the Sun, for the new year 1707, as a ſpecimen of which we ſhall quote the three follow⯑ing ſtanza's.
  I.

  Begin celeſtial ſource of light,

  To gild the new revolving ſphere;

  And from the pregnant womb of night;

  Urge on to birth the infant year.

  [174] Rich with auſpicious luſtre riſe,

  Thou faireſt regent of the ſkies,

  Conſpicuous with thy ſilver bow!

  To thee, a god, 'twas given by Jove

  To rule the radiant orbs above,

  To Gloriana this below.

  II.

  With joy renew thy deſtin'd race,

  And let the mighty months begin:

  Let no ill omen cloud thy face,

  Thro' all thy circle ſmile ſerene.

  While the ſtern miniſters of fate

  Watchful o'er the pale Lutetia wait,

  To grieve the Gaul's perfidious head;

  The hours, thy offspring heav'nly fair,

  Their whiteſt wings ſhould ever wear,

  And gentle joys on Albion ſhed.

  III.

  When Ilia bore the future fates of Rome,

  And the long honours of her race began,

  Thus, to prepare the graceful age to come,

  They from thy ſtores in happy order ran.

  Heroes elected to the liſt of fame,

  Fax'd the ſure columns of her riſing ſtate:

  'Till the loud triumphs of the Julian name

  Render'd the glories of her reign compleat,

  Each year advanc'd a rival to the reſt,

  In comely ſpoils of war, and great atchievements dreſt.
• Florelio, a Paſtoral, lamenting the death of the marquis of Blandford.
• Part of the fourteenth chapter of Iſaiah Para⯑phraſed.
• [175] Verſes on the Union.
• Cupid and Hymen.
• Olivia, a ſmall Poem of humour againſt a Prude.
• The Fair Nun, a Tale.
• An Epiſtle addreſſed to Mr. Southern, written in the year 1711.
• The eleventh Book of Homer's Odyſſey, tranſ⯑lated in Milton's ſtile.
• The Widow's Will; a Tale.
• A-La-Mode, a very humorous repreſentation of a fond, doating Huſband, injured by his Wife.
• Sappho to Phaon. A Love Epiſtle, tranſlated from Ovid.
• Phaon to Sappho.
• A Tale deviſed in the pleaſant manner of Chau⯑cer; in which the Poet imitates that venerable old Bard, in the obſolete Language of his Verſe.
• Verſes addreſſed to Mr. Pope.
• The Platonic Spell.
• Marullus de Neaera.
• Marullus imitated.
• Joannis Secundi Baſium I.
• Kiſſes. Tranſlated from Secundus. I know not if all poetry ever exceeded the ſmoothneſs and delicacy of thoſe lines. They flow with an irre⯑ſiftable enchantment, and as the inſerting them will ſhew the ſpirit both of the original and tranſlation, we ſhall make no further apology for doing it.
  When Venus, in the ſweet Idalian ſhade,

  A violet couch for young Aſcanius made;

  Their op'ning gems, th' obedient roſes bow'd

  And veil'd his beauties with a damaſk cloud:

  While the bright goddeſs with a gentle ſhow'r,

  Of nectar'd dews, perfum'd the bliſsful bow'r.

  Of ſight inſatiate, ſhe devours his charms.

  'Till her ſoft breaſt re-kindling ardour warms:

  [176] New joys tumul [...]\nuous in her boſom rowl,

  And all Adoris ruſheth on her ſoul.

  Tranſported with each dear reſembling grace,

  She cries, Adonis!—Sure I ſee thy ſace!

  Then ſtoops to claſp the beauteous form, but fears

  He'd wake too ſoon, and with a ſigh forbears;

  Yet. fix'd in ſilent rapture, ſtands to gaze,

  Kiſſing each flow'ring bud that round him plays.

  Swell'd with the touch, each animated roſe

  Expands; and ſtrait with warmer purple glows:

  Where infant kiſſes bloom, a balmy ſtore!

  Redoubling all the bliſs ſhe felt before.

  Sudden, her ſwans career along the ſkies,

  And o'er the globe the fair celeſtial flies.

  Then, as where Ceres paſs'd, the teeming plain,

  Yellow'd with wavy crops of golden grain;

  So fruitful kiſſes fell where Venus flew;

  And by the power of genial magic grew:

  A plenteous harveſt! which ſhe deign'd t'impart

  To ſooth an agonizing love-ſick heart.

  All hail, ye Roſeat kiſſes! who remove

  Our cares, and cool the calenture of love.

  Lo! I your poet in melodious lays,

  Bleſs your kind pow'r; enamour'd of your praiſe:

  Lays! form'd to laſt, 'till barb'rous time invades

  The muſes hill, and withers all their ſhades,

  Sprung from the Guardian^* of the Roman name,

  In Roman numbers live ſecure of ſame.
• Joannis Secundi Baſum IId. tranſlated.
• An Epiſtle to Thomas Lambard Eſq
• An Ode to the right hon. John lord Gower.

BARTON BOOTH, Eſq

IT is but juſtice to the memory of this great actor to give him a place among the poets, if he had been leſs conſiderable in that province than he really was; for he appears early to have underſtood the Latin claſſics, and to have ſucceed⯑ed in occaſional pieces, and little odes, beyond many perſons of higher name in poetry. Mr. Booth was deſcended from a very ancient, and ho⯑nourable family, originally ſeated in the County Palatine of Lancaſter. His father, John Booth, eſq was a man of great worth and honour; and though his fortune was not very conſiderable, he was ex⯑tremely attentive to the education of his children, of whom Barton (the third) was born in 1681.

When about nine years of age, he was put under the tuition of the famous Dr. Buſby, head-maſter of Weſtminſter ſchool, under whom ſome of the ableſt men have been educated, that in the laſt and preſent age have done honour to the nation. The ſprightlineſs of Booth's parts early recommended him to the notice of Dr. Buſ⯑by: he had a ſtrong paſſion for learning, and a peculiar turn for Latin poetry, and by ſtudying the beſt authors in it, he fixed many of the fineſt paſſages ſo firmly in his memory, that he was a⯑ble to repeat them with ſuch propriety, and grace⯑ful action, with ſo fine a tone of voice, and pe⯑culiar^* [179] emphaſis, that it was taken notice of by the whole ſchool.

In conſequence of this happy talent, when, ac⯑cording to the cuſtom of the ſchool, a Latin play was to be acted, a conſiderable part thereof was given to young Booth, who drew by the melody of his voice, and the gracefulneſs of his action, the applauſe of all the ſpectators, a circumſtance which firſt fired him with theat [...]\nical ambition, much againſt the inclination of his father, who intended him for the church, and was therefore careful of his education. This propenſion in our young Roſcius, recommended him ſtill more to the favour of Dr. Buſby, who beſtowed the moſt laviſh encomiums upon him: Buſby was himſelf a great admirer of theatrical elocution, and admirably fit⯑ted by nature for the ſtage; when he was young he obtained great applauſe in a part he perform⯑ed in a play of Cartwright's, and from that mo⯑ment held theatrical accompliſhments in the high⯑eſt eſteem.

When Booth had reached the age of eighteen, and the time approached when he was to have been ſent to the univerſity, he reſolved to run any riſk, rather than enter upon a courſe of life incon⯑ſiſtent with the livelineſs of his temper, and the natural bent of his inclinations. It happened that there was then in London one Mr. Aſhbury, who had been long maſter of a company at Dub⯑lin, with whom young Booth became acquainted, and finding that under his direction there was no danger of his getting a livelihood, he quitted all other views, ſtole away from ſchool, and went o⯑ver to Ireland with Mr. Aſhbury in 1698^*.

He very ſoon diſtinguiſhed himſelf on the ſtage at Dublin, where he had great natural advantages over moſt of his cotemporaries, eſpecially in tra⯑gedy; [180] he had a grave countenance, a good perſon, an air of dignity, a melodious voice, and a very manly action. He ſpoke juſtly, his cadence was grateful to the ear, and his pronunciation was ſcholaſtically correct and proper. He ſo far inſi⯑nuated himſelf into the favour of Engliſh gentle⯑men in Ireland, and found his reputation growing to ſo great a heighth, that he returned home in 1701, to make a trial of his talents on the Britiſh ſtage. He accordingly applied to lord Fitzhard⯑ing, of the bedchamber to Prince George of Den⯑mark, and was by him recommended to Mr. Bet⯑terton, who took him under his care, and gave him all the aſſiſtance in his power, of which Mr. Booth greatly profited.

Never were a tutor and pupil better met; the one was capable of giving the beſt inſtructions in his own performance, and the other had a prompt⯑neſs of conception, a violent propenſity, and a great genius. The firſt part Booth performed in London was Maximus in Valentinian, a play of Beaumont and Fletcher's originally, but altered, and brought upon the ſtage by the earl of Ro⯑cheſter. The reception he met with exceeded his warmeſt hopes, and the favour of the town had a happy effect upon him, in inſpiring him with a proper degree of confidence without vanity. The Ambitious Step mother, a tragedy written by Mr. Ro [...]\ne, in which that author has thrown out more fire, and heat of poetry, than in any other of his plays, was about this time introduced upon the ſtage; the part of Artaban was aſſigned to Booth, in which he raiſed his character to ſuch a heighth, as to be reckoned only ſecond to his great maſter.

In the year 1704 he married Miſs Barkham, daughter to Sir William Barkham of Norfolk, bart. who lived with him ſix years, and died with⯑out iſſue.

[181] In the theatrical revolutions which happened in thoſe days, Mr. Booth, notwithſtanding his great capacity, and reputation with the town, had ve⯑ry little ſhare. He adhered conſtantly to Mr. Betterton, while he could be of any ſervice to him, and when his tutor retired from the manage⯑ment of the ſtage, he truſted to his merit, and the taſte of the public, in which he was never de⯑ceived.

Mr. Booth was particularly turned for tragedy, he never could bear thoſe parts which had not ſtrong paſſion to inſpire him; and Mr. Cibber ob⯑ſerves, that he could not ſo well melt in the lov⯑er, as rage in the jealous huſband. Othello was his maſter-piece, but in all his parts he was oft⯑en ſubject to a kind of indolence, which ſome people imagined he affected, to ſhew that even in his lazy fits he was ſuperior to every body upon the ſtage; as if ſecure of all beholders hearts, ne⯑glecting he could take them ^*. The late ingenious Mr. Whitingham, who perfectly underſtood theatri⯑cal excellence, and who was, beyond any man I ever knew, diſtinct, and accurate in his relations of things, often told me, that ſuch was the dignity of Booth's appearance, ſuch his theatrical eaſe, and gracefulneſs, that had he only croſſed the ſtage without uttering a word, the houſe would be in a roar of applauſe.

We come now to that period of time, when Mr. Booth's ſole merit raiſed him to the great⯑eſt height, and procured for him that reward he had long deſerved. The tragedy of Cato, which had been written in the year 1703, or at leaſt four acts of it, was brought upon the ſtage in 1712, chiefly on a political prin⯑ciple; the part of Cato was given to Booth, for the managers were very well ſatisſied that nobody elſe could perform it. As party prejudice never ran higher than at that time, the excellency of the [182] play was diſtinguiſhed by the ſurprizing conteſts between both factions, which ſhould applaud it moſt, ſo the merit of the actor received the ſame marks of approbation, both parties taking care to ſhew their ſatisfaction, by beſtowing upon him moſt liberal preſents, the particulars of which are already inſerted in the life of Addiſon. The run of Cato being over at London, the managers thought fit to remove to Oxford in the ſummer, where the play met with ſo extraordinary a recep⯑tion, that they were forced to open the doors at noon, and the houſe was quite full by one o'clock. The ſame reſpect was paid it for three days to⯑gether, and though the univerſal applauſe it met with at London, ſurpaſſed any thing that had been remembered of that kind, yet the tribute of praiſe it received from this famous univerſity, ſurpaſſed even that. Booth, whoſe reputation was now at its heighth, took the advantage of it, and making his application to lord Bolingbroke, then at the head of the miniſtry, he procured a new licence, recalling all former ones, and Mr. Booth's name was added to thoſe of Cibber, Dogget, and Wilks. Tho' none of the managers had occaſion to be pleaſed with this act of juſtice done to Booth's merit, at the expence of, what they deemed, their property, yet none of them carried their reſentment ſo high as Mr. Dogget, who abſolutely refuſed to accept of any con⯑ſideration for his ſhare in the ſcenes and clothes; this obſtinacy had however no other effect, than de⯑priving him of his ſhare, which brought him in 1000 l. a year; though Mr. Cibber informs us, that this was only a pretence, and that the true reaſon of quitting the ſtage, was, his diſlike to another of the managers, whoſe humour was be⯑come inſupportable. This perſon we conjecture to have been Mr. Wilks, who, according to Cibber's account, was capricious in his temper, though be had otherwiſe great merit as a player, and was [183] a good man, morally conſidered; ſome inſtances of the generoſity and noble ſpirit of Wilks, are taken notice of in the life of Farquhar.

A few years after Mr. Booth roſe to the digni⯑ty of manager, he married the celebrated Miſs Santlowe, who, from her firſt appearance as an actreſs in the character of the Fair Quaker of Deal, to the time ſhe quitted the ſtage, had al⯑ways received the ſtrongeſt marks of public ap⯑plauſe, which were repeated when after a retreat of ſome years, ſhe appeared there again. By her prudence in managing the advantages that aroſe to her from her reputation as an actreſs, and her great diligence in her profeſſion, ſhe acquired a conſiderable fortune, which was very uſeful to Mr. Booth, who, from the natural turn of his temper, though he had a ſtrict regard to juſtice, was not much inclined to ſaving.

During the few years they lived together, there was the greateſt harmony between them, and af⯑ter the death of Booth, his diſconſolate widow, who is yet alive, quitted the ſtage, and devoted her⯑ſelf entirely to a private courſe of life. By degrees the health of Mr. Booth began to decline, ſo that it was impoſſible for him to continue to act with ſo much diligence as uſual, but at whatever time he was able to return to the ſtage, the town de⯑monſtrated their reſpect for him by crowding the houſe. Being attacked by a complication of diſ⯑tempers, he paid the debt to nature May 10, 1733. A copy of his Will was printed in the London Magazine for 1733, p. 126, in which we find he teſtified his eſteem for his wife, to whom he left all his fortune, for reaſons there aſſigned, which he declared amounted to no more than two thirds of what he had received from her on the day of marriage. His character as an actor, has been celebrated by the beſt judges, and was never que⯑ſtioned by any.

[184] And here we cannot reſiſt the opportunity of ſhewing Mr. Booth in that full, and commanding light in which he is drawn by the late ingenious Aaron Hill, eſqwho had long experience in the affairs of the ſtage, and could well diſtinguiſh the true merits of an actor. His words are,

But it was not only as a player that Mr. Booth excelled; he was a man of letters alſo, and an au⯑thor in more languages than one. He had a taſte for poetry which we have obſerved diſcovered it⯑ſelf when he was very young, in tranſlations of ſome Odes of Horace; and in his riper years he wrote ſeveral ſongs, and other original poems, which did him honour. He was alſo the author of a maſque, or dramatic entertainment, called Dido and Aeneas, which was very well received upon the ſtage, but which however did not excite him to produce any thing of the ſame kind after⯑wards. His maſter-piece was a Latin inſcrip⯑tion to the memory of a celebrated actor, Mr. [186] William Smith, one of the greateſt men of his pro⯑feſſion, and of whom Mr. Booth always ſpoke in raptures. It is a misfortune that we can give no particular account of the perſon this excellent in⯑ſcription referred to, but it is probable he was of a good family, ſince he was a Barriſter at Law of Gray's-Inn, before he quitted that profeſſion for the ſtage.

The inſcription is as follows,‘Scenicus eximius
Regnante Carolo ſecundo:
Bettertono Coaetaneus & Amicus,
Necnon propemodum Aequalis.
Haud ignobili ſtirpe oriundus,
Nec literarum rudis humaniorum.
Rem ſenicam
Per multos feliciter annos adminiſtravit;
Juſtoque moderamine & morum ſuavitate,
Omnium intra Theatrum
Obſervantiam, extra Theatrum Laudem,
Ubique benevolentiam & amorem ſibi conciliavit.’ In Engliſh thus;‘An excellent player
In the reign of Charles the Second;
The cotemporary, and friend of Betterton,
and almoſt his equal.
Deſcended of no ignoble family,
Nor deſtitute of polite learning.
The buſineſs of the ſtage
He for many years happily managed,
And by his juſt conduct, and ſweetneſs of manners
Obtained the reſpect of all within the theatre,
The applauſe of thoſe without,
And the good will, and love of all mankind.’

[187] Such the life and character of Mr. Booth, who deſervedly ſtood very high in the eſteem of mankind, both on account of the pleaſure which he gave them, and the native goodneſs of heart which he poſſeſſed. Whether conſidered as a private gentleman, a player, a ſcholar, or a poet, Mr. Booth makes a very great figure, and his extraordinary excellence in his own profeſſion, while it renders his memory dear to all men of taſte, will ever ſecure him applauſe amongſt thoſe happy few, who were born to inſtruct, to pleaſe, and reform their countrymen.

Dr. GEORGE SEWEL.

THIS ingenious gentleman was the eldeſt ſon of Mr. John Sewel, treaſurer, and chapter⯑clerk of the college of Windſor, in which place our poet was born. He received his education at Eton ſchool, was afterwards ſent to the uni⯑verſity of Cambridge, and took the degree of bachelor of phyſic at Peter-houſe College. He then paſſed over to Leyden, and ſtudied under the famous Boerhaave, and afterwards returned to London, where for ſeveral years he practiſed as a Phyſician. He had a ſtrong propenſion for po⯑etry, and has favoured the world with many per⯑formances much applauded. In the year 1719 he introduced upon the ſtage his tragedy of Sir Walter Raleigh, taken from the hiſtorical account of that great man's fate. He was chiefly con⯑cerned in writing the fifth volume of the Tatler, and the ninth of the Spectator. He tranſlated, with ſome other gentlemen, the Metamorphoſes of Ovid, with very great ſucceſs, and rendered the Latin poems of Mr. Addiſon into Engliſh. Dr. Sewel made an attempt, which he had not leiſure to execute, of tranſlating Quillet's Callipedia, which was afterwards done by Rowe. He is the author of ſeveral miſcellanous poems, of which the following is as accurate an account as we could poſſibly obtain.

• On Conſcience, Beauty, the Force of Muſic, Song of Troilus, &c. dedicated to the Duke of Newcaſtle.
• To his Grace the Duke of Marlborough, upon his going into Germany 1712. This poem begins thus,
  Go, mighty prince, and thoſe great nations ſee,

  Which thy victorious arms made free;

  View that fam'd column, where thy name's en⯑grav'd,

  Shall tell their children who their empire ſav'd.

  Point out that marble where thy worth is ſhewn

  To every grateful country but thy own.
• A Deſcription of the Field of Battle, after Cae⯑ſar was Conqueror at Pharſalia, from the Seventh Book of Lucan.
• The Patriot.
• Tranſlations from Lucan, occaſioned by the Tra⯑gedy of Cato.
• The Fifth Elegy of the Firſt Book of Tibullus, tranſlated, and addreſſed to Delia.
• An Apology for Loving a Widow.
• The Fifth Pſalm Paraphraſed.
• A Poetical Epiſtle, written from Hampſtead to Mr. Thornhill, upon Mr. Addiſon's Cato.
• An Epiſtle to Mr. Addiſon on the Death of the Earl of Hallifax. This poem begins thus,
  And ſhall great Hallifax reſign to fate,

  And not one bard upon his aſhes wait?

  Or is with him all inſpiration fled,

  And lye the muſes with their patron dead?

  Convince us, Addiſon, his ſpirit reigns,

  Breathing again in thy immortal ſtrains:

  To thee the liſt'ning world impart [...]\nal bends,

  Since Hallifax and envy now are friends.
• [190] Cupid's Proclamation, or a Defence of Women; a Poem from Chaucer.

Dr. Sewel, in his ſtate principles, was inclined to the cauſe of the Tories, and takes every occa⯑ſion to combat with the biſhop of Saliſbury, who had ſo eminently appeared in the cauſe of the Whigs.

The following is a liſt of his proſe works, in which there are ſome letters addreſſed to, and ani⯑madverſions upon that eminent prelate's works.

• The Clergy, and the Preſent Miniſtry defended; being a Letter to the Biſhop of Saliſbury, occa⯑ſioned by his Lordſhip's new Preface to his Paſto⯑ral Caſe, Svo. 1713, third Edition that year. In a fourth Edition (ſame date) this is called Mr. Sew⯑el's Firſt Letter to the Biſhop of Saliſbury, the Clergy, &c.
• A Second Letter to the Biſhop of Saliſbury, up⯑on the Publication of his new Volume of Sermons, wherein his Lordſhip's Preface concerning the Re⯑volution, and the Caſe of the Lord Ruſſel are ex⯑amined, &c. 8vo. 1713.
• Remarks upon a Pamphlet entitled Obſervati⯑ons upon the State of the Nation 1712-13, third Edition; to which is added a Poſtſcript to the Vin⯑dicator of the Earl of Nottingham, 8vo. 1714.
• An Introduction to the Life and Writings of G—t Lord Biſhop of S—m, &c. being a Third Letter to the Biſhop of Saliſbury, 8vo. 1716.
• A Vindication of the Engliſh Stage, exemplified in the Cato of Mr. Addiſon. In a Letter to a Nobleman, 8vo. 1716.
• [191] Schiſm deſtructive of the Government, both in Church and State; being a Defence of the Bill intitled An Act to prevent the Growth of Schiſm; wherein all the Objections againſt it, and particu⯑larly thoſe in 'Squire Steele's Letter are fully Re⯑futed. Humbly offered to the Conſideration of the Houſe of Lords, 8vo. 1714, ſecond Edition.
• More News from Saliſbury, viz. 1. An Exami⯑nation of ſome Parts of the Biſhop of Sarum's Ser⯑mon and Charge, &c. 8vo. 1714.
• The Reaſons for writing againſt the Biſhop of Saliſbury, 8vo. 1714.
• The Life of Mr. John Philips, Author of the Poem on Cyder.

Dr. Sewel died at Hampſtead in Middleſex, where, in the latter part of his life, he had prac⯑tiſed phyſic, on the 8th of February 1726, and was buried there. He ſeems to have been a man of an amiable diſpoſition, and to have poſſeſſed a very conſiderable genius.

ANTHONY HAMMOND, Eſq

THIS gentleman was deſcended from a good family, of Somerſham-Place, in the county of Huntingdon, and was born in the year 1668^*. When he arrived at a proper age, he was choſen member of Parliament, and did not remain long in the houſe before he diſti [...]\nguiſhed himſelf as a very eminent ſpeaker. Having eſpouſed the court intereſt, his zeal and merit recommended him to very conſiderable public employments, particularly that of being one of the commiſſioners of the royal navy, which place he quitted in the year 1712. The ingenious Mr. Southern in his dedication of his Innocent Adultery, to Mr. Hammond, ſpeaks thus of him. ‘'If generoſity with friendſhip, learn⯑ing with good ſenſe, true wit and humour, with good-nature, be accompliſhments to qualify gentleman for a patron, I am ſure I have hit right in Mr. Hammond.'’

Our author obliged the public with a Miſcellany of Original Poems, by the Moſt Eminent Hands; in which himſelf had no ſmall ſhare. In this miſ⯑cellany are ſeveral poetical performances of Mrs. Martha Fowkes, a l [...]\ndy of exquiſite taſte in the belle accompliſhments.

[193] As to Mr. Hammond's own pieces, he acknow⯑leges in his preface, that they were written at very different times, and particularly owned by him, leſt they ſhould afterwards be aſcribed to other perſons; as the Ode on Solitude, was falſely aſcribed to the earl of Roſcommon, and other pieces of his, were likewiſe given to other authors.

This author wrote the Life of Walter Moyle, Eſq prefixed to his works.—Mr. Hammond died about the year 1726.

The Revd. Mr. LAWRENCE EUSDEN.

THIS gentleman was deſcended from a very good family in the kingdom of Ireland, but received his education at Trinity-college in Cambridge. He was honoured with the encourage⯑ment of that eminent patron of the poets the earl of Halifax, to whom he conſecrated the firſt product of his Muſe. He enjoyed likewiſe the patronage of the duke of Newcaſtle, who being lord chamberlain, at the death of Mr. Rowe, preferred him to the Bays.

Mr. Euſden was for ſome part of his life chaplain to Richard lord Willoughby de Brook: In this peaceful ſituation of life, one would not expect Mr. Euſden ſhould have any enemies, either of the literary, or any other ſort. But we find he has had many, amongſt whom Mr. Pope is the moſt [194] formidable both in power and keenneſs. In his Dunciad, Book I. Line 101. where he repreſents Dulneſs taking a view of her ſons, he ſays

Mr. Oldmixon likewiſe in his Art of Logic and Rhetoric, page 413, affirms, ‘'That of all the Galimatias he ever met with, none comes up to ſome verſes of this poet, which have as much of the ridiculum and the fuſtian in them, as can well be jumbled together, and are of that ſort of non⯑ſenſe, which ſo perfectly confounds all ideas, that there is no diſtinct one left in the mind. Fur⯑ther he ſays of him, that he hath propheſy'd his own poetry ſhall be ſweeter than Catullus, Ovid and Tibullus; but we have little hope of the ac⯑compliſhment of it from what he hath lately publiſhed.'’ Upon which Mr. Oldmixon has not ſpared a reſſexion, that the placing the laurel on the head of one who wrote ſuch verſes, will give poſterity a very lively idea of the juſtice and judgment of thoſe who beſtowed it.

Mr. Oldmixon no doubt by this reflexion inſinu⯑ates, that the laurel would have better become his own brows than Euſden's; but it would per⯑haps have been more decent for him to ac⯑quieſce in the opinion of the duke of Bucking⯑ham (Shefileld) who in his Seſſion of the Poets thus mentions Euſden.

[195] The truth is, Mr. Euſden wrote an Epithalamium on the marriage of his grace the duke of New⯑caſtle, to the right honourable the lady Henrietta Godolphin; which was conſidered as ſo great a compliment by the duke, that in gratitude for it, he preferred him to the laurel. Nor can I at pre⯑ſent ſee how he could have made a better choice: We ſhall have occaſion to find, as we enumerate his writings, that he was no inconſiderable verſiſier, and though perhaps he had not the brighteſt parts; yet as we hear of no moral blemiſh imputed to him, and as he was dignified with holy-orders, his grace acted a very generous part, in providing for a man who had conferred an obligation on him. The firſt rate poets were either of principles very different from the government, or thought them⯑ſelves too diſtinguiſhed to undergo the drudgery of an annual Ode; and in this caſe Euſden ſeems to have had as fair a claim as another, at leaſt a better than his antagoniſt Oldmixon. He ſucceeded indeed a much greater poet than himſelf, the inge⯑nious Mr. Rowe, which might perhaps draw ſome ridicule upon him.

Mr. Cooke, in his Battle of the Poets, ſpeaks thus of our author.

A fate which ſome critics are of opinion muſt befall the very poet himſelf, who is thus ſo ready to expoſe his brother.

The chief of our author's poetical writings are theſe,

• To the lord Hallifax, occaſioned by the tranſlat⯑ing into Latin his lordſhip's Poem on the Battle of the Boyne.
• [196] On the duke of Marlborough's victory at Oude⯑ [...]\nard.
• A Letter to Mr. Addiſon.
• On the king's acceſſion to the throne.
• To the reverend doctor Bentley, on the opening of Trinity-College Chapel, Cambridge.
• On a Lady, who is the moſt beautiful and witty when ſhe is angry.

  This poem begins with theſe lines.

  Long had I known the ſoft, inchanting wiles,

  Which Cupid practiſed in Aurelia's ſmiles.

  Till by degrees, like the fam'd Aſian taught,

  Safely I drank the ſweet, tho' pois'nous draught.

  Love vex'd to ſee his favours vainly ſhown,

  The peeviſh Urchin murthered with a frown.
• Verſes at the laſt public commencement at Cam⯑bridge, ſpoken by the author.
• The Court of Venus, from Claudian.
• The Speech of Pluto to Proſerpine.
• Hero and Leander, tranſlated from the Greek of Muſaeus.

  This Piece begins thus,

  Sing Muſe, the conſcious torch, whoſe mighty flame,

  (The ſhining ſignal of a brighter dame)

  Thro' trackleſs waves, the bold Leander led,

  To taſte the dang'rous joys of Hero's bed:

  Sing the ſtol'n bliſs, in gloomy ſhades conceal'd,

  And never to the bluſhing morn reveal'd.
• A Poem on the Marriage of his grace the duke of Newcaſtle to the right honourable Henrietta Godolphin, which procured him, as we have ob⯑ſaved already, the place of laureat.
• [197] The lord Roſcommon's Eſſay on tranſlated verſe, rendered into Latin.
• An Epiſtle to Sir Robert Walpole.
• Three Poems; I. On the death of the late king; II. On the Acceſſion of his preſent majeſty. III. On the Queen.
• On the arrival of Prince Frederic.
• The origin of the Knights of the Bath, inſcribed to the Duke of Cumberland.
• An Ode for the Birth-Day, in Latin and Engliſh, printed at Cambridge.

He died at his rectory at Coneſby in Lincolnſhire, the 27th of September, 1730.

The Revd. Mr. LAWRENCE EACHARD.

THIS Gentleman, who has been more diſ⯑tinguiſhed as an hiſtorian than a poet, was the ſon of a clergyman, who by the death of his elder brother, became maſter of a good eſtate in Suffolk.

He received his education at the univerſity of Cambridge, entered into holy-orders, and was pre⯑ſented to the living of Welton and Elkington in Lincolnſhire, where he ſpent above twenty years of his life; and acquired a name by his writings, eſ⯑pecially the Hiſtory of England. This hiſtory was attacked by Dr. Edmund Calamy, in a letter to the author; in which, according to the Dr. the true principles of the Revolution, the Whigs and the Diſſenters are vindicated; and many perſons of diſtinction cleared from Mr. Eachard's aſperſions.

Mr. John Oldmixon, who was of very oppoſite principles to Eachard, ſeverely animadverted upon him in his Critical Hiſtory of Eng⯑land, during the reigns of the Stuarts; but as Old⯑mixon was a hireling, and a man ſtrongly biaſſed by party prejudices, little credit is due to his teſtimony: Which is moreover accompanied with a perpetual torrent of abuſe. Mr. Eachard's ge⯑neral Eccleſiaſtical Hiſtory, from the nativity of Chriſt to the firſt eſtabliſhment of Chriſtianity by human laws, under the emperor Conſtantine the Great, has been much eſteemed.

[199] Our author was in the year 1712 inſtalled archdeacon of Stowe, and prebend of Lin⯑coln. He publiſhed a tranſlation of Terence's Comedies, tranſlated by himſelf and others; but all reviſed and corrected by him and Sir Roger L'Eſtrange: To which is prefixed the life of Terence. Beſides theſe, Mr. Eachard has tranſlated three Co⯑medies from Plautus, viz.

• AMPHITRYON.
• EPIDICUS.
• RUDENS.

With critical remarks upon each play. To which he has prefixed a judicious parallel between Terence and Plautus; and for a clearer deciſion of the point, that Terence was the more polite writer of Comedy, he produces the firſt act of Plautus's Aul [...]\nlaria, and the firſt act of his Miles Glorioſus, againſt the third act of Terence's Eunuch. It ought to be obſerved (ſays Mr. Eachard) ‘'That Plautus was ſomewhat poor, and made it his principal aim to pleaſe, and tickle the common people; and ſince they were almoſt always delighted with ſomething new, ſtrange, and unuſual, the better to humour them, he was not only frequently extravagant in his ex⯑preſſions, but likewiſe in his characters too, and drew them often more vicious, more cov [...]\ntous, and more ſooliſh than they really were, and this ſo ſet the people a gazing and wondering. With theſe ſort of characters many of our modern Comedies abound, which makes them too much degenerate into farce, which ſeldom fails of ple [...]\n⯑ſing the mob.'’

Mr. Eachard has, in juſtice to Mr. Dryden, given us ſome inſtances of his improvement of Amphi⯑tryon, [200] and concludes them with this juſt remark in compliment to our nation; ‘'We find that many fine things of the antients, are like ſeeds, that when planted on Engliſh ground, by a poet's ſkil⯑ful hand, thrive and produce excellent fruit.'’

Theſe three plays are printed in a pocket-volume, dedicated to Sir Charles Sodley; to which is pre⯑fixed a recommendatory copy of verſes, by Mr. Tate.

Mr. Eachard died in the year 1730.

Mr. JOHN OLDMIXON

WAS deſcended from the antient family of the Oldmixons, of Oldmixon near Bridgewater in Somerſetſhire^*. We have no account of the education of this gentleman, nor the year in which he was born. The firſt production we meet with of his was Amyntas, a paſtoral, acted at the Theatre-Royal, taken from the Amynta of Taſſo. The preface informs us, that it met with but ill ſucceſs, for paſtoral, though never ſo well written, is not fit for a long entertainment on the Engliſh Theatre: But the original pleaſed in Italy, where the perform⯑ance of the muſical compoſer is generally more re⯑garded than that of the poet. The Prologue was written by Mr. Dennis.

[201] Mr. Oldmixon's next piece was entitled the Grave, or Love's Paradiſe; an Opera repreſented at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, 1700. In the pre⯑face, the author acquaints the critics ‘'That this play is neither tranſlation, nor parody; that the ſtory is intirely new; that 'twas at firſt intended for a paſtoral, tho' in the three laſt acts the dig⯑nity of the character raiſed it into the ſorm of a tragedy.'’ The ſcene a Province of Italy, near the Gulph of Venice. The Epilogue was written by Mr. Farquhar.

Our author's next dramatic piece is entitled; The Governor of Cyprus, a Tragedy, acted at the Theatre-Royal in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, dedicated to her grace the ducheſs of Bolton.

Mr. Oldmixon, in a Profe Eſſay on Criticiſm, unjuſtly cenſures Mr. Addiſon, whom alſo, in his imitation of Pouhour's Arts of Logic and Rhetoric, he miſrepreſents in plain matter of fact: For in page 45 he cites the Spectator, as abuſing Dr. Swift by name, where there is not the leaſt hint of it; and in page 304 is ſo injurious as to ſuggeſt, that Mr. Addiſon himſelf wrote that Tatler, Numb. XLIII. which ſays of his own ſimile, ‘'That it is as great as ever entered into the mind of man.'’ This ſimile is in Addiſon's poem, entitled the Campaign. Where, ſays the author of the Letter, ‘'The ſimile of a miniſtering Angel, ſets forth the moſt ſedate, and the moſt active courage, engaged in an uproar of nature, a con⯑fuſion of elements, and a ſcene of divine venge⯑ance.'’

That this letter could not be written by Mr. Ad⯑diſon, there is all the evidence the nature of the thing will admit, to believe; for firſt, Sir Richard Steele avow'd, it to be his, and in the next place, it is not probable that Mr. Addiſon himſelf had ſo high an opinion of this ſimile, as to call it as great as ever entered into the thought of man; for it has in reality no uncommon greatneſs in it. The image occurs a thouſand times in the book of Pſalms: ſo that it has not novelty to recommend it, and the manner of its being expreſſed, is no way extraordi⯑nary. The high terms in which it is celebrated, is the language of friendſhip, not of judgment. It is very probable Sir Richard Steele, warm'd with a fa⯑vourite ſubject, and zealous for the fame of Addiſon, might expreſs himſelf thus hyperbolically concerning it; but Mr. Addiſon was too judicious a critic, to think or ſpeak of it in theſe terms, and was beſides too cau⯑tious to run the riſk of doing it himſelf in ſo public a manner. In a word, Mr. Oldmixon was an en⯑vious man, and we have ſeen with how little ground of reſentm [...]\nnt he railed againſt Euſden, becauſe that gentleman was preferred to the Laurel.

Mr. Oldmixon joined the general cry of the under⯑ling writers againſt Mr. Pope; and wrote many let⯑ters in the Flying Poſt, with an intention to reduce his reputation, with as little ſucceſs as his other [203] antagoniſts had done. In his proſe Eſſay on Criti⯑ciſm, and in the Arts of Logic and Rhetoric, he frequently reflects on Pope, for which he has re⯑ceived a place in his Dunciad.

When that eminent ſatyriſt in his ſecond Book, line 270, repreſents the Dunces diving for the Prize of Dulneſs, he in a particular manner dignifies Old⯑mixon, for he makes him climb a lighter, that by leaping from it, he may ſink the deeper in the mud.

Mr. Oldmixon wrote a hiſtory of the Stuarts in folio, and a Critical Hiſtory of England, in two volumes octavo. The former of theſe pieces was undertaken to blacken the family of the Stuarts. The moſt impartial writers and candid critics, on both ſides, have held this work in con⯑tempt, for in every page there breathes a malevolent ſpirit, a diſpoſition to rail and calumniate: So far from obſerving that neutrality and diſpaſſionate even⯑neſs of tempe [...]\n, which ſhould be carefully attended to by every hiſtorian, he ſuffers himſelf to be tran⯑ſported with anger: He reviles, wreſts particular paſſages, and frequently dra [...]\ns forced concluſions. A hiſtory written in this ſpirit has no great claim to a reader's faith. The reigns of the Stuarts in England were no doubt chequer'd with many evils; and yet it is certainly true, that a man [204] who can ſit deliberately down to ſearch for errors only, muſt have a ſtrong propenſion to calumny, or at leaſt take delight in triumphing over the weak⯑neſs of his fellow-creatures, which is ſurely no in⯑dication of a good heart.

Mr. Oldmixon, being employ'd by biſhop Kennet. in publiſhing the Hiſtorians in his collection, he I erverted Daniel's Chronicle in numberleſs places. Yet this very man, in the preface to the firſt of theſe, advanced a particular fact, to charge three eminent perſons of interpolating the lord Clarendon's Hiſtory; which fact has been diſproved by the biſhop of Rocheſter, Dr. Atterbury, then the only ſurvivor of then.; and the particular part he pretend⯑ed to be falſified produced ſince, after almoſt ninety years, in that noble author's own hand.

He was all his life a virulent Party-Writer, and received his reward in a ſmall poſt in the revenue at I iverpool, where he died in an advanced age, but in what year we cannot learn.

Mr. Oldmixon, beſides the works we have mentioned, was author of a volume of Poems, pub⯑liſhed in 1714.

• The Life of Arthur Maynwaring, Eſq prefixed to the works of that author. by Mr. Oldmixon.
• England's Hiſtorical Epiſtles (Drayton's revived.)
• The Life of queen Anne.

LEONARD WELSTED, Eſq

THIS gentleman was deſcended from a very good family in Leiceſterſhire, and received the rudiments of his education in Weſtminſter ſchool. We are informed by major Cleland, author of a Panegyric on Mr. Pope, prefixed to the Dunciad, that he was a member of both the univerſities.

In a piece ſaid to have been written by Mr. Wel⯑ſted, called The Characters of the Times, print⯑ed in 8vo. 1728, he gives this account of himſelf; ‘'Mr. Welſted had in his youth raiſed ſo great expectations of his future genius, that there was a kind of ſtruggle between the two univerſities, which ſhould have the honour of his educa⯑tion; to compound this, he civilly became a member of both, and after having paſſed ſome time at the one, he removed to the other. From thence he returned to town, where he became the darling expectation of all the polite writers, whoſe encouragement he ac⯑knowledged in his occaſional poems, in a man⯑ner that will make no ſmall part of the fame of his protectors. It alſo appears from his works, that he was happy in the patronage of the moſt illuſtrious characters of the preſent age. Encouraged by ſuch a combination in his fa⯑vour, he publiſhed a book of poems, ſome in the Ovidian, ſome in the Horatian manner, in [206] both which the moſt exquiſite judges pronounced he even rivalled his maſters. His love verſes have reſcued that way of writing from contempt. In his tranſlations he has given us the very ſoul and ſpirit of his author. His Odes; his Epiſtles; his Verſes; his Love Tales; all are the moſt perfect things in all poetry.'’

If this repreſentation of our author's abilities were juſt, it would ſeem no wonder, if the two univerſities ſhould ſtrive with each other for the honour of his education, but it is cer⯑tain the world have not coincided with this opinion of Mr. Welſted; who, by the way, can hardly be thought the author of ſuch an extrava⯑gant ſelf-appiobation, unleſs it be an irony, which does not ſeem improbable.

Our author, however, does not appear to have been a mean poet; he had certainly from nature an exceeding fine genius, but after he came to town he became a votary to pleaſure, and the applauſes of his friends, which taught him to overvalue his talents, perhaps ſlackened his diligence, and by making him truſt ſolely to na⯑ture, ſlight the aſſiſtance of art.

In the year 1718 he wrote the Triumvirate, or a Letter in Verſe from Palemon to Celia from Bath, which was meant as a ſatire againſt Mr. Pope. He wrote ſeveral other occaſional pieces againſt this gentleman, who, in recompence of his enmity, has mentioned him twice in his Dunciad. In book ii. l. 200. where he repreſents the poets flattering their patrens with the fulſome ſtrains of panegyric, in order to procure from them that which they very much wanted, viz. money, he ſhews Welſted as unſucceſsful.

[207] Mr. Welſted was likewiſe characteriſed in the Treatiſe of the Art of Sinking, as a Didapper, and after as an Eel. He was likewiſe deſcribed under the character of another animal, a Mole, by the au⯑thor of the following ſimile, which was handed about at the ſame time.

But mentioning him once was not enough for Mr. Pope. He is again celebrated in the third book, in that famous Parody upon Denham's Cooper's Hill,

Which Mr. Pope has thus parodied;

How far Mr. Pope's inſinuation is true, that Mr. Welſted owed his inſpiration to beer, they who [208] read his works may determine for themſelves. Poets who write ſatire often ſtrain hard for ridiculous circumſtances, in order to expoſe their antagoniſts, and it will be no violence to truth to ſay, that in ſearch of ridicule, candour is fre⯑quently loſt.

In the year 1726 Mr. Welſted brought upon the ſtage a comedy called The Diſſembled Wanton, or My Son get Money. He met with the patronage of the duke of Newcaſtle, who was a great encourager of polite learning; and we find that our author had a very competent place in the Ordnance-Office.

His poetical works are chiefly theſe,

• The Duke of Marlborough's Arrival, a Poem; printed in fol. 1709, inſcribed to the Right Hon. the Earl of Dorſet and Middleſex.
• A Poem to the Memory of Mr. Philips, in⯑ſcribed to Lord Bolingbroke, printed in fol. 1710.
• A Diſcourſe to the Right Hon. Sir Robert Wal⯑pole; to which is annexed Propoſals for Tranſlat⯑ing the whole Works of Horace, with a Speci⯑men of the Performance, viz. Lib. Iſt. Ode 1, 3, 5 and 22, printed in 4to. 1727.
• An Ode to the Hon. Major General Wade, on Occaſion of his diſarming the Highlands, imi⯑tated from Horace.
• To the Earl of Clare, on his being created Duke of Newcaſtle. An Ode on the Birth-Day of his Royal Highneſs the Prince of Wales. To the Princeſs, a Poem. Amintor and the Nightingale, [209] a Song. Theſe four were printed together in 1716.
• Of Falſe Fame, an Epiſtle to the Right Hon. the Earl of Pembroke, 8vo. 1732.
• A Letter to his Grace the Duke of Chandois.
• To the Duke of Buckingham, on his Eſſay on Poetry.
• Several ſmall pieces in the Free Thinker.
• Epiſtles, Odes, &c. written on ſeveral Subjects; with a Diſſertation concerning the Perfection of the Engliſh Language.

Mr. Welſted has tranſlated Longinus's Treatiſe on the Sublime.

JAMES MORE SMYTH, Eſq

THIS gentleman was ſon of Arthur More, eſq one of the lords commiſſioners of trade, in the reign of Queen Anne; his mother was the daughter of Mr. Smyth, a man of conſiderable fortune, who left this his grandſon a handſome eſtate, on which account he obtained an Act of Parliament to change his name to Smyth.

Cur author received his education at Oxford, and while he remained at the univerſity he wrote a comedy called The Rival Modes, his only dra⯑matic performance. This play was condemned in the repreſentation, but he printed it in 1727, with the following motto, which the author of the Notes to the Dunciad, by way of irony, calls modeſt. ‘Hic coeſtus, artemque repono.’

Upon the death of our author's grandfather, he enjoyed the place of paymaſter to the band of gentlemen-penſioners, in conjunction with his younger brother, Arthur More; of this place his mother procured the reverſion from his late Majeſty during his father's lifetime. Being a man of a gay diſpoſition, he inſinuated himſelf into the favour of his grace the duke of Wharton, and being like him, deſtitute of prudence, he joined with that volatile great man in writing a paper called the Inquiſitor, which breathed ſo much the ſpirit of Jacobitiſm, that the publiſher [211] thought proper to ſacrifice his profit to his ſafe⯑ty, and diſcontinue it.

By uſing too much freedom with the character of l'ope, he provoked that gentleman, who with great ſpirit ſtigmatized him in his Dunciad. In his ſecond book Mr. Pope places before the eyes of the dunces the phantom of a poet. He ſeems willing to give ſome account of the poſſibility of dulneſs making a wit which can be done no otherwiſe than by chance. The lines which have relation to Mr. More are ſo elegantly ſatyric, that it probably will not diſpleaſe our readers to find them inſerted here.

Though theſe lines of Pope are ſufficiently ſa⯑tirical, yet it ſeems they very little affected Mr. More. A gentleman intimately acquainted with him informs us, that he has heard Mr. More ſeveral times repeat thoſe lines, without diſcover⯑ing [212] any chagrin; and he uſed to obſerve, that he was now ſecure of being tranſmitted to poſterity: an honour which, ſays he, I could never have arrived at, but by Pope's means. The cauſe of the quarrel between this gentleman and that great poet ſeems to have been this.

In a letter publiſhed in the Daily Journal March 18, 1728, written by Mr. More, he has the fol⯑lowing words, ‘'Upon reading the third volume of Pope's Miſcellanies, I found five lines which I thought excellent, and happening to praiſe them, a gentleman produced a modern comedy, the Rival Modes, publiſhed laſt year, where were the ſame verſes to a tittle. Theſe gentlemen are undoubtedly the firſt plagiaries that pretend to make a reputation, by ſtealing from a man's works in his own life-time, and out of a public print.'’ But it is apparent from the notes to the Dunciad, that Mr. More himſelf borrowed the lines from Pope; for in a letter dated January 27, 1726, addreſſed to Mr. Pope, he obſerves, ‘'That theſe verſes which he had before given him leave to inſert in the Rival Modes, would be known for his, ſome copies being got abroad. He deſires, neverthe⯑leſs, that ſince the lines in his comedy have been read to ſeveral, Mr. Pope would not deprive it of them.'’

As a proof of this circumſtance, the teſtimony of lord Bolingbroke is adduced, and the lady of Hugh Bethel, eſq to whom the verſes were ori⯑ginally addreſſed, who knew them to be Mr. Pope's long before the Rival Modes was compoſed.

Our author further charges Mr. Pope with being an enemy to the church and ſtate. ‘'The Me⯑moirs of a Pariſh Clerk, ſays he, was a very dull, and unjuſt abuſe of the biſhop of Sarum (who wrote in defence of our religion and conſti⯑tution) who has been dead many years.'’ ‘'This [213] alſo, continues the author of the Notes to the Dunciad, is likewiſe untrue, it being known to divers, that theſe Memoirs were written at the ſeat of the lord Harcourt in Oxfordſhire, before the death of biſhop Burnet, and many years be⯑fore the appearance of that hiſtory, of which they are pretended to be an abuſe. Moſt true it is that Mr. More had ſuch a deſign, and was himſelf the man who preſſed Dr. Arbuth⯑not, and Mr. Pope to aſſiſt him therein; and that he borrowed thoſe Memoirs of the latter, when that hiſtory came forth, with intent to turn them to ſuch abuſe; but being able to ob⯑tain from Pope but one ſingle hint, and either changing his mind, or having more mind than a⯑bility, he contented himſelf to keep the ſaid Memoirs, and read them as his own to all his acquaintance. A noble perſon there is, into whoſe company Pope once chanced to introduce him, who well remembered the converſation of Mr. More to have turned upon the contempt he had for that reverend prelate, and how full he was of a deſign he declared himſelf to have of expoſing him; this noble perſon is the earl of Peterborough.'’

Thus Mr. Pope was obliged to repreſent this gen⯑tleman as a plagiary, or to paſs for one himſelf. His caſe indeed, as the author of the notes to the Dunciad obſerves, was like that of a man who, as he was ſitting in company, perceived his next neighbour had ſtolen his handkerchief. ‘'Sir, ſaid the thief, finding himſelf detected, do not expoſe me, I did it for mere want; be ſo good but to take it privately out of my pocket again, and ſay nothing.' The honeſt man did ſo, but the other cried out, See, gentlemen! what a thief we have among us! look, he is ſtealing my handkerchief.'’

[214] The plagiariſm of this perſon gave occaſion to the following epigram;

The ſmaller pieces which we have heard attri⯑buted to this author, are, An Epigram on the Bridge at Blenheim, by Dr. Evans; Coſmelia, by Mr. Pitt, Mr. Jones, &c. The Saw-Pit, a Simile, by a Friend; and ſome unowned Letters, Adver⯑tiſements, and Epigrams againſt Mr. Pope in the Daily Journal. He died in the year 1734, and as he wrote but one comedy unſucceſsfully, and no other pieces of his meeting with any applauſe, the reader will probably look upon him as a man of little genius; he had a power however of rendering his converſation agreeable by a facetious and gentle⯑man-like manner, without any of the ſtiffneſs of the ſcholar, or the uſual petulance of a poet. He always lived in affluent circumſtances, and by mixing with genteel company, his habit of ele⯑gance was never loſt, a fate which too frequent⯑ly happens to thoſe, who, notwithſtanding the brighteſt parts, are excluded the circle of polite⯑neſs by the oppreſſions of poverty. In this light Mr. Pope muſt have conſidered him, or he, who was one of the politeſt men of the age, as well as the greateſt poet, would never have intro⯑duced him to the earl of Peterborough. It does not appear that Mr. More had parts otherwiſe ſufficient to entitle him to the notice of Pope, and therefore he muſt have conſidered him only as a gentleman. Had he poſſeſſed as much pru⯑dence, as politeneſs, he would have avoided by all [215] means incurring the diſpleaſure of Pope, who, as he was the warmeſt friend, was likewiſe a very powerful and implacable enemy. In this contro⯑verſy, however, it is evident enough that Mr. Moore was the aggreſſor, and it is likewiſe certain that his puniſhment has been equal to his offence.

He died October 18, 1734, at Whiſter, near Iſleworth in Middleſex, for which county he was a juſtice of peace.

Mr. JOHN DENNIS.

THIS celebrated critic was born in Lon⯑don in the year 1657, his father being a Sadler, and an eminent citizen^*.

He received his early education at Harrow on the Hill, under the pious and learned Dr. William Horn, having for his ſchoolfellows many young noblemen, who afterwards made a conſiderable figure in the ſtate. He removed from Harrow to Caius College in Cambridge, where he was ad⯑mitted January 13, 1675, in the 18th year of his age. In due time Mr. Dennis took the degree of bachelor of arts, and after quitting the univerſi⯑ty he indulged a paſſion which he had entertain⯑ed for travelling, and ſet out for France and [216] taly. In the courſe of his travels he, no doubt, made ſuch obſervations upon the government and genius of the people whom he viſited, as enabled him to make a juſt compariſon between foreign ſtates and his own country. In all probability, while he was in France and Italy, he conceived an abhorrence of deſpotic government, the ef⯑fects of which he then had an opportunity more intimately to diſcern, for he returned home ſtill more confirmed in Whig principles, by which his political conduct was ever governed.

Our author in his early years became acquaint⯑ed with ſome of the brighteſt geniuſes which then illuminated the regions of wit, ſuch as Dry⯑den, Wycherly, Congreve, and Southern. Their converſation was in itſelf ſufficient to divert his mind from the acquiſition of any profitable art, or the exerciſe of any profeſſion. He ranked him⯑ſelf amongſt the wits, and from that moment held every attainment in contempt, except what relat⯑ed to poetry, and taſte.

Mr. Dennis, by the inſtances of zeal which he gave for the Proteſtant ſucceſſion in the reign of King William, and Queen Anne, obtained the pa⯑tronage of the duke of Marlborough, who pro⯑cured him the place of one of the Queen's wait⯑ers in [...]\ne Cuſtom-houſe, worth 120 l. per annum, which Mr. Dennis held for ſix years. During the time [...]\n attended at the Cuſtom-houſe, he lived ſo profuſely, and managed his affairs with ſo little oeconomy, that in order to diſcharge ſome preſſing demands, he was obliged to diſpoſe of his place. When the earl of Hallifax, with whom he had the honour of being acquainted, heard of Mr. Dennis's deſign, he ſent for him, and in the moſt friendly manner, expoſtulated with him upon the folly, and raſhneſs of diſpoſing of his place, by which (ſays his lordſhip) you will ſoon become a beggar. Mr. Dennis repreſented [217] his exigences, and the preſſing demands that were then made upon him: which did not however ſa⯑tisfy his lordſhip, who inſiſted if he did ſell it, it ſhould be with ſome reverſion to himſelf for the ſpace of forty years, a term which the earl had no notion Mr. Dennis could exceed. But he was miſtaken in his calculation upon our poet's conſtitution, who out-lived the term of forty years ſtipulated when he ſold his place, and fulfilled in a very advanced age, what his lordſhip had pro⯑pheſied would befal him. This circumſtance our author hints at in his dedication of his poem on the Battle of Ramellies, to lord Hallifax, ‘'I have lately, ſays he, had very great obligations to your lordſhip, you have been pleaſed to take ſome care of my fortune, at a time when I moſt wanted it, and had the leaſt reaſon to expect it from you.'’ This poem on the Battle of Ramel⯑lies is a cold unſpirited performance; it has nei⯑ther fire, nor elevation, and is the true poetical ſiſter of another poem of his, on the Battle of Blenheim, addreſſed to Queen Anne, and for which the duke of Marlborough rewarded him, ſays Mr. Coxeter, with a preſent of a hundred guineas. In theſe poems he has introduced a kind of machine⯑ry; good and bad angels intereſt themſelves in the action, and his hero, the duke of Marlborough, enjoys a large ſhare of the coeleſtial protection.

Mr. Dennis had once contracted a friendſhip^* with Sir Richard Steele, whom he afterwards ſe⯑verely attacked. Sir Richard had promiſed that he would take ſome opportunity of mentioning his works in public with advantage, and endea⯑vour to raiſe his reputation. When Sir Richard [218] engaged in a periodical paper, there was a fair occaſion of doing it, and accordingly in one of his Spectators he quotes the following couplet, which he is pleaſed to call humorous, but which however is a tranſlation from Boileau.

The citation of this couplet Mr. Dennis imagin⯑ed, was rather meant to affront him, than pay a compliment to his genius, as he could diſcover nothing excellent in the lines, and if there was, they being only a tranſlation, in ſome meaſure abated the merit of them. Being fired with reſentment at this affront, he immediately, in a ſpirit of fury, wrote a letter to the Spectator, in which he treat⯑ed him with very little ceremony, and informed him, that if he had been ſincere in paying a com⯑pliment to him, he ſhould have choſen a quotation from his poem on the Battle of Ramellies; he then points out a particular paſſage, of which he himſelf had a very high opinion, and which we ſhall here inſert as a ſpecimen of that performance.

A coeleſtial ſpirit viſits the duke of Marlborough the night before the battle, and after he has ſaid ſeveral other things to him, goes on thus,

The quotation by Mr. Dennis is longer, but we are perſuaded the reader will not be diſpleaſed that we do not take the trouble to tranſcribe the whole, as it does not improve, but rather grows more languid. How ſtrangely are people deceiv⯑ed in their own productions! In the language of ſincerity we cannot diſcover a poetical conception, one ſtriking image, or one animated line in the a⯑bove, and yet Mr. Dennis obſerves to Sir Richard Steele, that theſe are the lines, by quoting which, he would really have done him honour.

But Mr. Dennis's reſentment did not terminate here; he attempted to expoſe a paper in the Specta⯑tor upon dramatic conduct, in which the author en⯑deavours to ſhew that a poet is not always obliged to diſtribute poetical juſtice on this very reaſonable ac⯑count, that good and evil happen alike to all men on this ſide the grave. To this propoſition our critic objects, ‘'that it is not only a very falſe, but a dangerous aſſertion, that we neither know what men really are, nor what they ſuffer. Beſides, ſays he, let it be conſidered, that a man is a creature, who is created immortal, and a crea⯑ture [220] conſequently that will find a compenſation in futurity, for any ſeeming inequality in his deſtiny here; but the creatures of a poetical creator, are imaginary, and tranſitory; they have no longer duration than the repreſentation of their reſpective fables, and conſequently if they offend, they muſt be puniſhed during that repre⯑ſentation, and therefore we are very far from pretending, that poetical juſtice is an equal re⯑preſentation of the juſtice of the Almighty.'’ In ſupport of this opinion our critic produces the example of Euripides, and the beſt poets amongſt the ancients, who practiſed it, and the authority of Ariſtotle, who eſtabliſhed the rule. But nature, or Shakeſpear, which is another word for nature, is by no means in favour of this equal diſtribu⯑tion. No character can be repreſented in trage⯑dy abſolutely perfect, as no ſuch character ex⯑iſts; but a character which poſſeſſes more vir⯑tues than vices, may be upon the whole amia⯑ble, and yet with the ſtricteſt propriety may be made the chief ſufferer in the drama. If any paſ⯑ſion ſtrongly predominates in the heart of man, it will often expoſe him to ſuch ſnares, entangle him in ſuch difficulties, and oppreſs him with ſuch wants, that in the very nature of things, he muſt ſink under the complicated weight of miſery. This may happen to a character extremely ami⯑able, the paſſion which governs him may be termed unhappy, but not guilty, or if it ſhould partake the nature of guilt, fallible creatures cannot al⯑ways combat with ſucceſs againſt guilty paſſions.

The drama being an imitation of nature, the poet cauſes a compoſition of characters formed in his imagination to be repreſented by players; theſe characters charm, or diſpleaſe, not only for what they do; during the repreſentation of the fable, but we love, or hate them for what they have done before their appearance; and we dread, or [221] warmly expect the conſequences of their reſoluti⯑ons after they depart the ſtage. The illuſion would not be ſufficiently ſtrong, if we did not ſup⯑poſe the dramatic perſons equa [...]\nly accountable to the powers above us, as we are ourſelves. This Shakeſpear has taken care forcibly to impreſs upon his audience, in making the ghoſt of the murthered king of Denmark, charge his ſon not to touch his mother's life, but leave her to heaven; and the re⯑flexions of her own conſcience to goad and ſting her.

Mr. Dennis's reaſoning, upon the whole amounts to this, that no perfect character ſhould ſuffer in the drama; to which it may be anſwered, that no per⯑fect character ever did ſuffer in the drama; becauſe no poet who draws from nature, ever introduced one, for this very good reaſon, that there are none in exiſtence.

Mr. Dennis, who was reſtleſs in attacking thoſe writers, who met with ſucceſs, levelled ſome more criticiſms againſt the Spectators; and amongſt the reſt endeavoured to expoſe Mr. Addiſon's Illuſtra⯑tions of the Old Ballad, called Chevy Chace; of which we ſhall only ſay, that he performed this taſk m [...]\nre ſucceſsfully than he executed his Animad⯑verſions upon Poetical Juſtice.

We have already taken notice of the warm at⯑tachment Mr. Dennis always had to the Whig-In⯑tereſt, and his particular zeal for the Hanoverian ſucceſſion. He wrote many letters and pamphlets, for the adminiſtration of the earl of Godolphin, and the duke of Marlborough, and never failed to laſh the French with all the ſeverity natural to him.

When the peace (which the Whigs reckoned the moſt inglorious that ever was made) was about to be ratified, Mr. Dennis, who certainly over-rated his importance, took it into his imagination, that when [222] the terms of peace ſhould be ſtipulated, ſome per⯑ſons, who had been moſt active againſt the French, would be demanded by that nation as hoſtages; and he imagined himſelf of importance e⯑nough to be made choice of, but dreaded his being given up to the French, as the greateſt evil that could befall him. Under the influence of this ſtrong deluſion. he actually waited on the duke of Mariborough. and begg'd his grace's interpoſition, that he might not be ſacrificed to the French, for ſays he, ‘'I have always been their enemy.'’ To this ſtrange requeſt. his grace very gravely replied, ‘'Do not fear, Mr. Dennis, you ſhall not be given up to the French; I have been a greater enemy to them than you, and you ſee I am not afraid of being ſacrificed, nor am in the leaſt diſturbed.'’ Mr. Dennis upon this retired. well ſatisfied with his grace's anſwer, but there ſtill remained upon his ſpirits a dread of his becoming a prey to ſome of the enemies of Great Britain.

He ſoon after this retired into the country, to ſpend ſome time at a friend's houſe. While he was walking one day by the ſea ſide, he ſaw a ſhip in fall ſail approaching towards the ſhore, which his diſtracted imagination dictated, was a French ſhip ſent to carry him off. He hur [...]\nied to the gen⯑tleman's houſe with the utmoſt precipitation, up⯑braided him with treachery, as being privy to the attempts of the French againſt his life, and without ceremony quitted his houſe, and poſted to London, as faſt as he could.

Mr. Dennis, who never cared to be an unconcern⯑ed ſpectator, when any buſineſs of a public or im⯑portant nature was in agitation, entered the liſts with the celebrated Mr. Sacheverel, who in the year 1702 publiſhed at Oxford a piece called the Political Union, the purport of which was to ſhew, that the Church and the State are invariably con⯑nected, and that the one cannot ſubſiſt without the [223] other. Mr. Dennis in anſwer to this, in a letter to a member of parliament, with much zeal, force of argument, and leſs ferocity than uſual, endeavours to overthrow the propoſition, and ſhew the danger of prieſtcraft, both to religion and government.

In this letter he very ſenſibly obſerves, ‘'That ſince the very ſpirit of the chriſtian religion, is the ſpirit of union and charity, it follows by con⯑ſequence, that a ſpirit of diviſion, is a ſpirit of malice, and of the Devil. A true ſon of the church, is he who appears moſt for union, who breathes nothing but charity; who neglects all worldly greatneſs to bear his maſter's yoke; and who has learned of him to be meek and lowly of heart.'’

He ſhews that the moderate part of the Church of England are the trueſt church; and that violent party which differs from the moderate ought to be called Diſſenters, becauſe they are at a greater diſ⯑tance from charity, which is the characteriſtic of a true church, than any Diſſenters. By which, ſays he, ‘'It appears that Mr. Sacheverel has made a rod to whip himſelf, for if only the true Church of England is to remain, and if the moderate part is the true church, the moſt violent ought the leaſt to be tolerated, becauſe they differ from charity; and conſequently are more ready to diſturb the pub⯑lic peace.'’

In 1703 he publiſhed propoſals for putting a ſpeedy end to the war, by ruining the com⯑merce of the French and Spaniards, and ſecuring our own without any add [...]\ntional expence to the na⯑t [...]\non. This was thought a very judicious, and well deſigned plan.

In 1706 our author publiſhed an Eſſay on the Italian Opera, in which, with an irreſiſtable force, he ſhews the extreme danger that a generous nation is expoſed to, by too much indulging effeminate [224] muſic. In the preface he quotes a paſſage from Boileau, in which that ſatiriſt expreſſes himſelf with much ſeverity againſt emaſculating diverſions; and the Italian muſic in particular.

He obſerves, ‘'That the modern Italians have the very ſame ſun and ſoil with the antient Romans, and yet are their manners directly oppoſite. Their men are neither virtuous, wiſe, or valiant, and they who have reaſon to know their women, never truſt them out of their ſight. 'Tis impoſſible to give any reaſon for ſo great a difference between the antient Romans, and the modern Italians, but only luxury; and the reigning luxury of modern Italy, is that ſoft and effeminate muſic, which abounds in the Opera.'’

In this Eſſay Mr. Dennis remarks, that en⯑tertainments entirely made up of muſic can ne⯑ver inſtruct the mind, nor promote one excellent purpoſe in human nature. ‘'Perhaps, ſays he, the pride and vanity that is in mankind, may determine the generality to give into muſic, at the expence of poetry. Men love to enjoy their pleaſures entirely, and not to have them reſtrained by awe, or curbed by mortification. Now there are but few judicious ſpectators at our dramatic repreſentations, ſince none can be ſo, but who with great endowments of nature have had a very generous education; and the reſt are fre⯑quently mortified, by paſſing fooliſh judgments: But in muſic the caſe is vaſtly di [...]\nerent; to judge of that requires only uſe, and a fine ear, which the footman oft has a great deal finer than his maſter. In ſhort, a man without common ſenſe may very well judge of what a man writes with⯑out common ſenſe, and without common ſenſe compoſes.'’ He then inquires what the conſe⯑quence will be if we baniſh poetry, which is, that taſte, politeneſs, erudition and public ſpirit will fall with it, and all for a Song.

[225] The declenſion of poetry in Greece and Rome was ſoon followed by that of liberty and empire; according to Roſcommon in his Eſſay on Tranſlated Verſe.

In 1711 Mr. Dennis publiſhed an Eſſay upon Public Spirit, being a ſatire in proſe, upon the Manners and Luxury of the Times, the chief ſources of our preſent Parties and Diviſions. This is one of the moſt finiſhed performances of our au⯑thor; the intention is laudable, and the execution equal to the goodneſs of the deſign. He begins the Eſſay. with a definition of the love of our country, ſhews how much the phraſe has been proſ⯑tituted, and how ſeldom underſtood, or practiſed in its genuine ſenſe. He then obſerves how deſtruc⯑tive it is to indulge an imitation of fo [...]\neign faſhions; that faſhions are often followed by the manners of a people from whom they are borrowed; as in the beginning of king Charles the IId's reign. After the general diſtraction which was immedi⯑ately conſequent upon the Reſtoration, lord Halifax informs us, the people began to ſhake off their ſlavery in point of dreſs, and to be aſhamed of their ſervility in that particular; ‘'and that they might look the more ſays his lordſhip, like a diſtinct people, they threw off their faſhions, and put on veſts: The French did not like this independence, this ſl [...]\nght ſhewn to their taſte, as they thought it portended no good to their politics, conſidering that it is a natural introduction, firſt to make the world their aſſes, that they may afterwards make [226] them their ſlaves. They ſent over the ducheſs of Portſmouth, who, beſides many other commiſſions, bore one to laugh us out of our veſts, which ſhe performed ſo effectually, that in a moment we were like ſo many footmen, who had quitted their maſters livery, we took it again, and returned to our old ſervice. So that the very time of doing thi [...] gave a very critical advantage to France, ſince it looked like an evidence of returning to their intereſts, as well as their faſhions.'’

After giving this quotation from the marquis of Halifax, he proceeds to inveigh againſt the various kinds of luxury, in which people of faſhion indulge themſelves.

He obſerves that luxury has in a particular man⯑ner been deſtructive to the ladies: ‘'That artific [...]al dainties raiſe in their conſtitutions fierce ebulli⯑tions, and violent emotions, too rude for the de⯑licate texture of their fibres; and for half the year together, they neither take any air, nor uſe any exerciſe to remove them. From hence diſtempers of body and mind; from hence an in⯑finity of irregular deſires, unlawful amours, in⯑trigues, vapours, and whimſies, and all the nu⯑merous, melancholy croud of deep hyſterical ſymptoms; from hence it comes to paſs that the fruit of their bodies lie in them like plants in hot-beds; from hence it proceeds that our Britiſh maids, who in the time of our Henrys, were not held marriageable till turned of twenty, are now become falling ripe at twelve, and forced to pre⯑matureneſs, by the heat of adventitious fire. Nor has luxury only changed our natures, but tranſ⯑f [...]rmed our ſexes: We have men t [...]\nat are more ſoft, more languid, and more paſſive than women. On the other ſide we have women, who, as it [227] were in revenge, are maſculine in their deſires, and maſculine in their practices.'’

In a pretty advanced age Mr. Dennis, who then laboured under ſevere neceſſities, publiſhed two volumes of Letters, by ſubſcription, which are by far the moſt entertaining part of his writ⯑ings. They have more ſprightlineſs and force in them than, from reading his other works, we would be diſpoſed to imagine. They are addreſſed to perſons diſtinguiſhed by their fortune, ge⯑nius, and exalted ſtation; the duke of Marlborough, the lord Lanſdowne, earl of Godolphin, earl of Halifax, Mr. Dryden, Mr. Prior, Mr W [...]\ncherley, Henry Cromwel, Eſq Walter Moyle, Eſq and Sir Richard Blackmore. He entitles them Letters, Moral and Critical. The Critical are chi [...]\nfly imployed upon Mr. Addiſon's Cato, which he cen⯑ſures in ſome places with great juſtice, and critical propriety: In other places he only diſcovers ſpleen, and endeavours to burleſque noble paſſages, merely from reſentment to the author.

There is likewiſe publiſhed amongſt theſe letters, an enquiry into the genius and writings of Shake⯑ſpear. He contends for Shakeſpear's ignorance of the antients, and obſerves, that it would derogate much from his glory to ſuppoſe him to have read, or underſtood them, becauſe if he had, his not prac⯑tiſing their art, and not reſtraining the luxuriance of his imagination would be a reproach to him. After beſtowing the higheſt panegyric upon Shake⯑ſpear, he ſays, ‘'That he ſeems to have been the very original of our Engliſh tragical harmony; that is the harmony of blank verſe, diverſified often by diſſyllable and triſyllable terminations. For that diverſity diſtinguiſhes it from heroic har⯑mony, and bringing it nearer to common uſe, makes it more proper to gain attention, and more fit for action, and dialogue. Such verſes we [228] make when we are writing proſe, we make ſuch verſe in common converſation.'’

One of the reaſons Mr. Dennis aſſigns for Shakeſpear's want of learning, is, that Julius Caeſar, in the play which goes by his name, makes but a third-rate figure, and had he (ſays the author) conſulted the Latin writers, he could not have been guilty of ſuch an error; but this is far from being concluſive, which might as well be ow⯑ing to his having a contempt for Caeſar's character, and an enthuſiaſtic admiration for thoſe of Brutus and Caſſius.

Another proſe Eſſay of Mr. Dennis's, which does him very great honour, is his Grounds of Cri⯑ticiſm in Poetry. Amongſt many maſterly things, which he there advances, is the following. ‘'The antient poets (ſays he) derived that advantage which they have over the moderns, to the con⯑ſtituting their ſubjects after a religious manner; and from the precepts of Longinus, it appears that the greateſt ſublimity is to be derived from religious ideas.'’

Mr. Dennis then obſerves, that one of the prin⯑cipal reaſons, that has made the modern poetry ſo cont [...]\nptible, is, that by diveſting itſelf of religion, it is fallen from its dignity, and its original nature and excellence; and from the greateſt production in the mind of man, it is dwindled to an extravagant, and vain amuſement. When ſubjects are in them⯑ſelves great, the ideas of the writer muſt likewiſe be great; and nothing is in its nature ſo dignified as religion. This he illuſtrates by many examples from Milton, who when he raiſes his voice to hea⯑ven, and ſpeaks the language of the divinity, then does he reach the true ſublime; but when he de⯑ſcends to the more trifling conſideration of human things, his wing is neceſſarily depreſſed, and his ſtrains are leſs tranſporting.

[229] We ſhall now take a view of Mr. Dennis, in that part of his life and writings, in which he makes a leſs conſiderable figure, by expoſing himſelf to the reſentment of one ſo much his ſuperior; and who; after a long provocation, at laſt let looſe his rage againſt him, in a manner that no time can oblite⯑rate. Mr. Dennis we have already obſerved, waged a perpetual war with ſucceſsful writers, except thoſe few who were his friends; but never engaged with ſo much fury, and leſs juſtice, againſt the writings of any poet, as thoſe of Mr. Pope.

Some time after the death of Dryden, when Pope's reputation began to grow, his friends who were ſanguine in his intereſt, were impr [...]\ndent enough to make compariſons, and really aſſert, that Pope was the greateſt poet of the two: Dennis, who had made court to Dryden, and was reſpected by him, heard this with indignation, and immedi⯑ately exerted all the criticiſm and force of which he was maſter, to reduce the character of Pope. In this attempt he neither has ſucceeded, nor did he purſue it like a gentleman.

In his reflexions on Pope's Eſſay on Criticiſm, he uſes the following unmannerly epithets. ‘'A young ſquab, ſhort gentleman, whoſe outward form tho' it ſhould be that of a downright monkey, would not differ ſo much from human ſhape, as his un⯑thinking, immaterial part does from human un⯑derſtanding.—He is as ſtupid and as venemous as an hunch-backed toad.—A book through which folly and ignorance, thoſe brethren ſo lame, and impotent, do ridiculouſly look very big, and very dull, and ſtrut, and hobble cheek by jowl, with their arms on kimbo, being led, and ſup⯑ported, and bully-backed, by that blind Hector impudence.'’ The reaſons which our critic gives for this extraordinary fury are equally ridiculous.

[230] ‘'I regard him (ſays he) as an enemy, not ſo much to me, as to my king, to my country, and to my religion. The epidemic madneſs of the times has given him reputation, and reputation is power; and that has made him dangerous. Therefore I look on it as my duty to king George, and to the liberties of my country, more dear than life to me, of which I have now been 40 years a conſtant aſſertor, &c. I look upon it as my duty I ſay to do,—Reader obſerve what,—To pull the lion's ſkin from this little aſs, which po⯑pular error has thrown round him, and ſhew that this little author, who has been lately ſo much in vogue, has neither ſenſe in his thoughts, nor Engliſh in his expreſſions. See his Remarks on Homer, Pref. p. 2. and p. 91.'’

Speaking of Mr. Pope's Windſor-Forreſt, he ſays, ‘'It is a wretched rhapſody, impudently writ in emulation of Cooper's-Hill. The author of it is obſcure, is ambiguous, is affected, is temerarious, is barbarous.'’

After theſe provocations, it is no wonder that Pope ſhould take an opportunity of recording him in his Dunciad; and yet he had ſome eſteem for our author's learning and genius. Mr. Dennis put his name to every thing he wrote againſt him, which Mr. Pope conſidered as a circumſtance of candour. He pitied him as a man ſubject to the dominion of invidious paſſions, than which no ſeverer ſenſations can tear the heart of man.

In the firſt Book of his Dunciad, line 103, he re⯑preſents Dullneſs taking a view of her ſons; and thus mentions Dennis,

She ſaw ſlow Philips creep like Tate's poor page,

And all the mighty mad in Dennis rage.

[231] He mentions him again ſlightly in his ſecond Book, line 230, and in his third Book, line 165, taking notice of a quarrel between him and Mr. Gildon, he ſays,

Our author gained little by his oppoſition to Pope, in which he muſt either have violated his judgment, or been under the influence of the ſtrongeſt prejudice that ever blinded the eyes of any man; for not to admire the writings of this excellent poet, is an argument of a total deprava⯑tion of taſte, which in other reſpects does not ap⯑pear to be the caſe of Mr. Dennis.

We ſhall now take a view of our author in the light of a dramatiſt. In the year 1697 a comedy of his was acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, called A Plot and No Plot, dedicated to the Earl of Sunderland. The ſcope of this piece is to ridicule the credulity and principles of the Jacobites, the moral of which is this, ‘'That there are in all parties, perſons who find it their in⯑tereſt to deceive the reſt, and that one half of every faction makes a property in fee-ſimple of the other, therefore we ought never to believe any thing will, or will not be, becauſe it is a⯑greeable, or contrary to our humours, but becauſe it is in itſelf likely, or improbable. Credulity in men, engaged in a party, proceeds oftner from pride than weakneſs, and it is the hardeſt thing in the world to impoſe upon a humble man.'’

[232] In 1699 a tragedy called Rinaldo and Armida was acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, dedicated to the Duke of Ormond. Scene the top of a mountain in the Canaries. The hint of the chief characters is owing to Taſſo's Gieruſalemme, but the manners of them being by our author thought unequal in that great Italian, he has tak⯑en the liberty to change them, and form his cha⯑racters more agreeable to the ſubject. The rea [...]\nons for doing it are expreſſed in the preface and pro⯑logue to the play.

Our author's next tragedy was upon the ſubject of Iphigenia, daughter to Agamemnon King of Argos, acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn 1704. Iphigenia was to have been ſacrificed by her fa⯑ther, who was deluded by the fraud of Calchas, who proclaimed throughout the Grecian fleet, that the of [...]\nended gods demanded of Agamemnon the ſacrifice of his daughter to Lucina, and 'till that oblation was offered, the fleet would remain wind-bound. Accordingly, under pretence of m [...]\nr⯑rying her to Achilles, ſhe was betrayed from Ar⯑gos, but her mother, Clytemneſtra, diſcovering the cheat, by a ſtratagem prevented its execution, and effected her reſcue without the knowledge of a⯑ny one but he [...]\n huſband Agamemnon. A Grecian virgin being ſacrificed in her place, Iphigenia is afterwards wrecked on the Coaſt of Scythia, and made the Prieſteſs of Diana. In five years time her brother Oreſtes, and his friend Pylades, are wrecked on the ſame ſhore, but ſaved from ſlaughter by the Queen of Scythia, becauſe ſhe loved Oreſtes. Oreſtes, on the other hand, falls in love with the Prieſteſs of Diana; they attempt an eſcape, and to carry off the image of the Godde [...]\ns, but are prevented. The Queen then dooms Oreſtes to the altar, but Pylades, from his great friendſhip, perſonates Oreſtes, and [233] diſconcerts the deſign. The ſtory and incidents of this play are intereſting and moving, but Mr. Dennis has not wrought the ſcenes much in the ſpi⯑rit of a tragedian: This was a ſubject admira⯑bly ſuited for the talents of Otway. The diſco⯑very of Oreſtes's being the brother of Iphigenia is both ſurprizing and natural, and though the ſubject is not well executed, yet is this by far the moſt affecting tragedy of our author; it is almoſt impoſſible to read it without tears, though it abounds with bombaſt.

The fourth play introduced upon the ſtage by Mr. Dennis, 1704, was, a tragedy called Liberty Aſſerted, dedicated to Anthony Henley, eſq to whom he ſays he was indebted for the happy hint upon which it was formed. Soon after this he wrote another tragedy upon the ſtory of Ap⯑pius and Virginia, which Mr. Maynwaring, in a letter to Mr. Dennis, calls one of our beſt modern tragedies; it is dedicated to Sidney Earl of Godol⯑phin.

He altered Shakeſpear's Merry Wives of Wind⯑ſor, and brought it on the ſtage under the title of The Comical Gallant. Prefixed to this, is a large account of Taſte in Poetry, and the Cauſes of its Degeneracy addreſſed to the Hon. George Granville, Eſq afterwards Lord Lanſ⯑downe.

Our author's next dramatic production was Co⯑riolanus, the Invader of his Country, or the Fa⯑tal Reſentment, a Tragedy; altered from Shake⯑ſpear, and acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. This piece met with ſome oppoſition the firſt night; and on the fourth another play was given out. The ſecond [...]\n night's audience was ve⯑ry ſmall, though the play was exceedingly well acted. The third night had not the charges in money; the fourth was ſtill worſe, and then ano⯑ther play was given out, not one place being taken [234] in the boxes for any enſuing night. The ma⯑nagers were therefore obliged to diſcontinue it.

This uſage Mr. Dennis highly reſented; and in his dedication to the duke of Newcaſtle, then lord chamberlain, he makes a formal complaint againſt the managers. To this play Mr. Colley Cibber took the pains to write an epilogue, which Mrs. Oldfield ſpoke with univerſal applauſe, and for which poor peeviſh, jealous Dennis, abuſed them both.

Mr. Dennis happened once to go to the play, when a tragedy was acted, in which the machinery of thunder was introduced, a new artificial method of producing which he had formerly communicated to the managers. In⯑cenſed by this circumſtance, he cried out in a tranſport of reſentment, ‘'That is my thun⯑der by G—d; the villains will play my thunder, but not my plays.'’ This gave an alarm to the pit, which he ſoon explained. He was much ſubject to theſe kind of whimſical tranſports, and ſuffered the fervor of his imagination often to ſubdue the power of his reaſon; an inſtance of which we ſhall now relate.

After he was worn out with age and poverty, he reſided within the verge of the court, to pre⯑vent danger from his creditors. One Saturday night he happened to ſaunter to a public houſe, which he diſcovered in a ſhort time was out of the verge. He was ſitting in an open drinking room, and a man of a ſuſpicious appearance hap⯑pened to come in. There was ſomething about the man which denoted to Mr. Dennis that he was a Bailiff: this ſtruck him with a panic; he was a⯑fraid his liberty was now at an end; he ſat in the utmoſt ſolicitude, but durſt not offer to ſtir, left he ſhould be ſeized upon. After an hour or two had paſſed in this painful anxiety, at laſt the clock ſtruck twelve, when Mr. Dennis, in an ex⯑taſy, [235] cried out, addreſſing himſelf to the ſuſpect⯑ed perſon, ‘'Now ſir, Bailiff, or no Bailiff, I don't care a farthing for you, you have no oower now.'’ The man was aſtoniſhed at this behavi⯑our, and when it was explained to him, he was ſo much affronted with the ſuſpicion, that had not Mr. Dennis found his protection in age, he would have ſmarted for his miſtaken opinion of him.

In the year 1705 a comedy of Mr. Dennis's called Gibraltar, or The Spaniſh Adventure, was aded unſucceſsfully at Drury-Lane Theatre. He was alſo author of a maſque called Orpheus and Euridice.

Mr. Dennis, conſidered as a dramatic writer, makes not ſo good a figure as in his critical works; he underſtood the rules of writing, but it is not in the power of every one to carry their own theory into execution. There is one error which he endeavoured to reform, very material for the intereſt of dramatic poetry. He ſaw, with concern, that love had got the entire poſſeſſion of the tragic ſtage, contary to the authority of the ancients, and the example of Shakeſpear. He reſolved therefore to deviate a little from the reigning practice, and not to make his heroes ſuch whining ſlaves in their amours, which not only debaſes the majeſty of tragedy, but confounds moſt of the principal characters, by making that paſſion the predominant quality in all. But he did not think it ſafe at once to ſhew his principal characters wholly ex⯑empt from it, leſt ſo great and ſudden a tranſi⯑tion ſhould prove diſagreeable. He rather choſe to ſteer a middle courſe, and make love appear violent, but yet to be ſubdued by reaſon, and give way to the influence of ſome other more noble paſſion; as in Rinaldo, to Glory; in Iphigenia, to Friendſhip; and in Liberty Aſſerted, to the Public Good. He thought by theſe means an audience [236] might be entertained, and prepared for greater alterations, whereby the dignity of tragedy might be ſupported, and its principal characters juſtly diſtinguiſhed.

Beſides the works which we have already men⯑tioned, Mr. Dennis is author of the following pieces, moſtly in the Pindaric way.

• Upon our Victory at Sea, and burning the French Fleet at La Hogne in 1692.
• Part of the Te Deum Paraphraſed, in Pindaric Verſe.
• To Mr. Dryden, upon his Tranſlation of the Third Book of Virgil's Georgics. Pindaric Ode.
• A Pindaric Ode on the King, written in the be⯑gining of Auguſt 1691; occaſioned by the Victory at Aghrim.
• To a Painter drawing a Lady's Picture, an Epi⯑gram.
• Prayer for the King's Safety in the Summer's Expedition in 1692, an Epigram.
• The Court of Death, a Pindaric Poem; dedi⯑cated to the Memory of her Moſt Sacred Majeſty Queen Mary.
• The Paſſion of Byblis, made Engliſh from the Ninth Book of Ovid's Metamorphoſis.
• The Monument, a Poem; ſacred to the Memo⯑ry of the beſt, and greateſt of Kings, William III.
• Britannia Triumphans, or A Poem on the Battle of Blenheim; dedicated to Queen Anne.
• On the Acceſſion of King George to the Impe⯑rial Crown of Great Britain.

The following ſpecimen, which is part of a Paraphraſe on the Te Deum, ſerves to ſhew, that Mr. Dennis wrote with more el [...]\ngance in Pindaric odes, than in blank verſe.

After a life expoſed to viciſſitudes, habituated to many diſappointments, and embroiled in unſuc⯑ceſsful quarrels, Mr. Dennis died on the 6th of January 1733, in the 77th year of his age. We have obſerved that he outlived the reverſion of his place, after which he fell into great diſtreſs, and as he had all his life been making enemies, by the ungovernable fury of his temper, he found few perſons diſpoſed to relieve him. When he was near the cloſe of his days, a play was acted for his benefit. This favour was procured him by the joint intereſt of Mr. Thomſon, Mr. Martin, Mr. Mallet, and Mr. Pope. The play was given by the company then acting at the little Theatre in the Hay-market, under the direction of Mr. [238] Mills ſen. and Mr. Cibber jun. the latter of whom ſpoke a prologue on the occaſion, written by Mr. Pope.

Mr. Dennis was leſs happy in his temper, than his genius; he poſſeſſed no inconſiderable erudition, which was joined to ſuch natural parts, as if ac⯑companied with prudence, or politeneſs, might have raiſed him, not only above want, but even to eminence. He was happy too in having very powerful patrons, but what could be done for a man, who declared war againſt all the world? Den⯑nis has given evidence againſt himſelf in the ar⯑ticle of politeneſs; for in one of his letters he ſays, he would not retire to a certain place in the country, leſt he ſhould be diſturbed in his ſtudies by the ladies in the houſe: for, ſays he, I am not over-fond of the converſation of women. But with all his foibles, we cannot but conſider him as a good critic, and a man of genius.

His perpetual misfortune was, that he aimed at the empire of wit, for which nature had not ſuffi⯑ciently endowed him; and as his ambition prompt⯑ed him to obtain the crown by a furious oppoſition to all other competitors, ſo, like Caeſar of old, his ambition overwhelmed him.

G. GRANVILLE, L. LANSDOWNE,

WAS deſcended from an illuſtrious family, which traced their anceſtry from Rollo, the firſt duke of Normandy. He was ſecond ſon of Bernard Granville, and grandſon of the famous Sir Bevil Granville, killed at the battle of Lanſdowne 1643. This nobleman received the firſt tincture of his education in France, under the tuition of Sir William Ellis, a gentleman, who was eminent afterwards in many public employments.

When our author was but eleven years of age, he was ſent to Trinity College in Cambridge, where he remained five years, but at the age of thirteen was admitted to the degree of maſter of arts, having, before he was twelve years old, ſpok⯑en a copy of Engliſh verſes, of his own compo⯑ſition, to the Ducheſs of York, when her Royal Highneſs paid a viſit to that univerſity.

At the time when the nation was embroiled by the public diſtractions, occaſioned by the efforts of King James II. to introduce Popery, lord Lanſdowne did not remain an unconcerned ſpec⯑tator. He had early imbibed principles of loyal⯑ty, and as ſome of his forefathers had fallen in the cauſe of Charles I. he thought it was his duty to ſacrifice his life alſo, for the intereſt of his [240] Sovereign. However miſtaken he might be in this furious zeal for a Prince, the chief ſcope of whoſe reign was to overthrow the law, and intro⯑duce abſolute dominion, yet he appears to be per⯑fectly ſincere. In a letter he wrote to his father upon the expected approach of the Prince of Orange's fleet, he expreſſes the moſt ardent deſire to ſerve the King in perſon^*. This letter we ſhall inſert, but beg our readers patience to make a digreſſon, which will juſtify what we have ſaid con⯑cerning James II.

The genuine mark of a tyrant is cruelty, and it is with concern we can produce an inſtance of the moſt inhuman barbarity in that Prince, which ever ſtained the Annals of any reign. Cruelty ſhould be the badge of no party; it ought to be equally the abhorrence of all; and whoever is taint⯑ed with it, ſhould be ſet up to view, as a terror to the world, as a monſter, whom it is the intereſt of mankind to deſtroy.

After the ſuppreſſion of Monmouth's rebellion, many of the unfortunate perſons engaged in it fled to London, and took ſhelter there, 'till the Act of Indemnity ſhould be publiſhed. They who afforded them ſhelter, were either of the Mon⯑mouth faction, or induced from principles of hu⯑manity, to adminiſter to their ſafety: what would become of the world, if our friends were always to forſake us in diſtreſs? There lived then in Lon⯑don an amiable lady, attached to no party, who enjoyed a large fortune, which ſhe ſpent in the exerciſe of the moſt extenſive beneficence. She made it her buſineſs to viſit the Jails, and the priſoners who were moſt neceſſitous and deſerving, ſhe relieved. Her houſe was an aſylum for the poor; ſhe lived but for charity, and ſhe bad every [241] hour the prayers of the widow and orphan poured out to her. It happened that one of the rebels found ſhelter in her houſe; ſhe ſuffered him to be ſcreened there; ſhe fed and cloathed him. The King had often declared that he would ra⯑ther pardon thoſe who were found in arms a⯑gainſt him, than the people who harboured, or ſecretly encouraged them. This miſcreat, who ſometimes ventured out at night to a public houſe, was informed, that the King had made ſuch a declaration, and it entered into his baſe heart to betray his benefactreſs. He accordingly went be⯑fore a magiſtrate, and lodged an information, upon which the lady was ſecured, brought to a trial, and upon the evidence of this ungrateful villain, caſt for her life. She ſuffered at a ſtake with the moſt reſigned chearfulneſs, for when a woman is convicted of treaſon, it ſeems, ſhe is fentenced to be burnt^*. The reader will eaſily judge what ſort of bowels that King muſt have, who could permit ſuch a puniſhment to take place upon a woman ſo compleatly amiable, upon the evidence of a villain ſo conſummately infamous, and he will, we are perſuaded, be of opinion that had his Majeſty poſſeſſed a thouſand kingdoms, he deſerved to loſe them all for this one act of ge⯑nuine barbarity.

Lord Lanſdowne, who did not conſider, or was not then capable of diſcovering, the dangers to which this prince expoſed his people, wrote the following letter to his father, earneſtly preſſing him to permit his entering voluntarily into king James's ſervice.

We are not told whether his father yielded to his importunity, or whether he was preſented to his Majeſty; but if he really joined the army, it was without danger to his perſon, for the revolu⯑tion was effected in England without one drop of blood. In the year 1690 Lord Lanſdowne wrote a copy of verſes addreſſed to Mrs. Eliza⯑beth Higgins, in anſwer to a poetical Addreſs ſent him by that lady in his retirement. The verſes of the lady are very elegant, and are only exceetled by the polite compliments his lordſhip wrote in anſwer to them. They both deſerve a place here,

[245]His lordſhip's Anſwer thus begins.

He concludes with the following lines

In 1696 his Comedy called the She Gallants was acted at the Theatre-Royal ^* in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. He afterwards altered this Comedy, and publiſhed it among his other works, under the title of Once a Lover and Always a Lover, which, as he obſerves in the preface, is a new building up⯑on an old foundation.

The ſame year alſo his Tragedy, intitled Heroic Love, was acted at the Theatre Mr. Gildon ob⯑ſerves, ‘'that this Tragedy is written after the man⯑ner of the antients, which is much more natural [247] and eaſy, than that of our modern Dramatiſts.'’ Though we cannot agree with Mr. Gildon, that the antient model of Tragedy is ſo natural as the modern; yet this piece muſt have very great merit, ſince we find Mr. Dryden addreſſing verſes to the author upon this occaſion, which begin thus,

Our author wrote alſo a dramatic poem, called the Britiſh Enchanters^*, in the preface to which he obſerves, ‘'that it is the firſt Eſſay of a very in⯑fant Muſe, rather as a taſk at ſuch hours as were free from other exerciſes, than any way meant for public entertainment. But Mr. Bet⯑terton having had a caſual fight of it, many years after it was written, begged it for the ſtage, where it met with ſo favourable a reception as to have an uninterrupted run of upwards of forty nights. To this Mr. Addiſon wrote the Epilogue.'’ Lord Lanſdowne altered Shakeſpear's Merchant of Venice, under the title of the Jew of Venice, which was acted with applauſe, the pro⯑fits of which were deſigned for Mr. Dryden, but upon that poet's death were given to his ſon.

In 1702 he tranſlated into Engliſh the ſecond Olynthian of Demoſthenes. He was returned mem⯑ber for the county of Cornwall, in the parliament which met in November 1710, and was ſoon after made ſecretary of war, next comptroller of the houſhold, and then treaſurer, and ſworn one of the [248] privy council. The year following he was created baron Lanſdowne of Biddeford in Devonſhire^*.

In 1719 he made a ſpeech in the houſe of lords againſt the practice of occaſional con⯑formity, which is printed among his works, and among other things, he ſays this. ‘'I always un⯑derſtood the toleration to be meant as an indul⯑gence to tender conſciences, not a licence for har⯑dened ones; and that the act to prevent occaſional conformity was deſigned only to correct a parti⯑cular crime of particular men, in which no ſect of diſſenters was included, but theſe followers of Judas, which came to the Lord's-Supper, from no other end but to ſell, and betray him. This crime however palliated and defended, by ſo many right reverend fathers in the church, is no leſs than making the God of truth, as it were in perſon ſubſervient to acts of hypocriſy; no leſs than ſacrificing the myſtical Blood and Body of our Saviour to worldly and ſiniſter purpoſes, an impiety of the higheſt nature! which in juſtice called for protection, and in charity for preven⯑tion. The bare receiving the holy Euchariſt, could never be intended ſimply as a qualification for an office, but as an open declaration, an un⯑dubitable proof of being, and remaining a ſincere member of the church. Whoever preſumes to receive it with any other view profanes it; and may be ſaid to ſeek his promotion in this world, by eating and drinking his own damnation in the next.'’

This accompliſhed nobleman died in February, Anno 1735. By his lady, Mary, widow of Thomas [249] Thynne, Eſq (father of Thomas lord viſcount Weymouth) and daughter of Edward Villiers, earl of Jerſey, he had iſſue, four daughters, Anne, Mary, Grace and Elizabeth.

His lady died but a few days before him.

Mr. Pope, with many other poets of the firſt eminence, have celebrated lord Lanſdowne, who ſeems to have been a good-natur'd agreeable nobleman. The luſtre of his ſtation no doubt pro⯑cured him more incenſe, than the force of his ge⯑nius would otherwiſe have attracted; but he appears not to have been deſtitute of fine parts, which were however rather elegantly poliſhed, than great in themſelves.

Lord Landſdowne likewiſe wrote a Maſque, called Peleus and Thetis. His lordſhip's works have been often printed both in quarto and in duo⯑d [...]\nmo.

Mr. JOHN GAY.

THIS eminent Wit was deſcended of an an⯑cient family in Devonſhire, and educated at the free-ſchool of Barnſtaple in the ſame county, under the care of Mr. William Rayner, an excel⯑lent maſter^*.

Mr. Gay had a ſmall fortune at his diſpoſal, and was bred, ſays Jacob, a Mercer in the Strand; but having a genius for high excellences, he conſidered ſuch an employment as a degradation to it, and relinquiſhed that occupation to reap the laurels of poetry.

About the year 1712 he was made ſecretary to the ducheſs of Monmouth, and continued in that ſtation 'till he went over to Hanover, in the be⯑ginning of the year 1714, with the earl of Cla⯑rendon, who was ſent there by Queen Anne; up⯑on whoſe death he returned to England, and lived in the higheſt eſteem and friendſhip with perſons of the firſt quality and genius. Upon Mr. Gay's arrival from Hanover, we find among Mr. Pope's letters one addreſſed to him dated September 23, 1714, which begins thus,

In 1724 his tragedy entitled the Captives, which he had the honour to read in MS. to Queen Caroline, then Princeſs of Wales, was act⯑ed at the Theatre-Royal in Drury Lane.

In 1726 he publiſhed his Fables, dedicated to the Duke of Cumberland, and the year following he was offered the place of gentleman uſher to one of the youngeſt Princeſſes, which, by reaſon of ſome ſlight ſhewn him at court, he thought proper to refuſe. He wrote ſeveral works of hu⯑mour with great ſucceſs, particularly The Shep⯑herd's Week, Trivia, The What d'ye Call It, and The Beggars Opera, which was acted at the The⯑atre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1728. ^*

[252] The author of the Notes on this line of the Dunciad, b. iii. 1. 326.

obſerves hat this opera was a piece of ſatire, which hits all taſtes and degrees of men, from thoſe of the higheſt quality to the very rabble. ‘"That verſe of HoracePrimores populi arripuit populumque tributim, could never be ſo juſtly applied as in this caſe. The vaſt ſucceſs of it was unprecedented, and al⯑moſt incredible. What is related of the wonder⯑ful effects of the ancient muſic, or tragedy, hard⯑ly came up to it. Sophocles and Euripides were leſs followed and famous; it was acted in London ſixty three days uninterrupted, and renewed the next ſeaſon with equal applauſe. It ſpread into all the great towns of England, was played in many places to the thirtieth and fortieth time; at Bath and Briſtol fifty. It made its progreſs into Wales, Scotland and Ireland, where it was perform⯑ed twenty-four days together. It was laſtly acted in Minorca. The fame of it was not confined to the author only; the ladies carried about with them the favourite ſongs of it in fans; and houſes were furniſhed with it in ſcreens. The girl who acted Polly, 'till then obſcure, became all at once the favourite of the town, her pictures were en⯑graved, and ſold in great numbers; her life writ⯑ten; books of letters and verſes to her publiſhed; and pamphlets made even of her ſayings and jeſts. Furthermore, it drove out of England, for that ſea⯑ſon, the Italian Opera, which had carried all be⯑fore it for ten years; that idol of the nobility and the people, which Mr. Dennis by the labours [253] and outcries of a whole life, could not overthrow, was demoliſhed by a ſingle ſtroke of this gentle⯑man's pen."’

Dr. Swift in his Intelligencer Numb. 3. has giv⯑en us a vindication of Mr. Gay, and the Beggars Opera; he obſerves, ‘'that though an evil taſte be very apt to prevail both in Dublin and in Lon⯑don; yet, there is a point which whoever can rightly touch, will never fail of pleaſing a very great majority; ſo great that the diſlikers, out of dullneſs, or affectation, will be ſilent, and forced to fall in with the herd; the point I mean is, what we call humour, which, in its perfection, is allowed to be much preferable to wit, if it be not rather the moſt uſeful, and agreeable ſpecies of it.—Now I take the comedy, or farce (or whatever name the critic will allow it) called The Beggar's Opera, to excel in this article of humour, and upon that merit to have met with ſuch prodigious ſucceſs, both here and in Eng⯑land.'’ The dean afterwards remarks, ‘'that an opinion obtained, that in this opera, there ap⯑pears to be ſome reflexions on courtiers and ſtateſmen. It is true indeed (ſays he) that Mr. Gay hath been ſomewhat ſingular in the courſe of his fortunes, attending the court with a large ſtock of real merit, a modeſt and agreeable con⯑verſation, a hundred promiſes, and five hundred friends, hath failed of preferment, and upon a very weighty reaſon; he lay under the ſuſpicion of having written a Libel, or Lampoon, againſt a great miniſter, it is true that great miniſter was demonſtratively convinced, and publickly owned his conviction, that Mr. Gay was not the author, but having laid under the ſuſpicion, it ſeemed very juſt that he ſhould ſuffer the pu⯑niſhment, becauſe in this moſt reformed age the virtues of a great miniſter are no more to be ſuſpected, than the chaſtity of Caeſar's wife.'’

[254] The dean then tells us, that our author in this piece has, by a turn of humour entirely new, placed vices of all kinds in the ſtrongeſt, and moſt odi⯑ous light, and thereby done eminent ſervice both to religion and morality. ‘'This appears from the unparalleled ſucceſs he has met with; all ranks, parties, and denominations of men, either crowd⯑ing to ſee his Opera, or reading it with de⯑light in their cloſets; even miniſters of ſtate, whom he is thought moſt to have offended, appearing frequently at the Theatre, from a conſciouſneſs of their own innocence, and to convince the world how unjuſt a parallel, ma⯑lice, envy and diſaffection to the government have made.—In this happy performance of Mr. Gay, all the characters are juſt, and none of them carried beyond nature, or hardly beyond practice. It diſcovers the whole ſyſtem of that commonwealth, or that imperium in imperio of iniquity eſtabliſhed among us, by which, neither our lives, nor our properties are ſecure, either in highways, or in public aſſemblies, or even in our own houſes; it ſhews the miſerable lives and conſtant fate of thoſe abandoned wretches; for how ſmall a price they ſell their ſouls, be⯑trayed by their companions, receivers, and pur⯑chaſers of thoſe thefts and robberies. This co⯑medy contains likewiſe a ſatire, which though it doth by no means affect the preſent age, yet might have been uſeful in the former, and may poſſibly be ſo in ages to come, I mean where the author takes occaſion of comparing thoſe common robbers of the public, and their ſeveral ſtratagems of betraying, undermining, and hang⯑ing each other, to the ſeveral arts of politicians in the time of corruption. This comedy like⯑wiſe expoſes, with great juſtice, that unnatural taſte for Italian muſic among us, which is whol⯑ly unſuitable to our Northern climate, and the [255] genius of the people, whereby we are overrun with Italian effeminacy. An old gentleman ſaid to me many years ago, when the practice of an unnatural vice grew ſo frequent in London, that many were proſecuted for it; he was ſure it would be the forerunner of Italian operas and ſingers, and then we ſhould want nothing but ſtabbing, or poiſoning, to make us perfect Italians. Upon the whole I deliver my judg⯑ment; that nothing but ſervile attachment to a party, affectation of ſingularity, lamentable dull⯑neſs, miſtaken zeal, or ſtudied hypocriſy, can have any objection againſt this excellent moral performance of Mr. Gay^*.'’

The aſtoniſhing ſucceſs of the Beggar's Opera induced our author to add a ſecond part, in which, however, he was diſappointed, both in profit and fame. His opera entitled Polly, deſigned as a ſequel of the former, was prohibited by the lord chamberlain from being repreſented on the ſtage, when every thing was ready for the rehearſal of it, but was ſoon after printed in 4to. to which the author had a very large ſubſcription. In the pre⯑face Mr. Gay gives a particular account of the whole affair in the following manner;

[257] The large ſubſcription Mr. Gay had to print it, amply recompens'd any loſs he might receive from it's not being acted. Tho' this was called the Sequel to the Beggar's Opera, it was allowed by his beſt friends, ſearce to be of a piece with the firſt part, being in every particular, infinitely beneath it.

Beſides the works which we have already men⯑tioned, Mr. Gay wrote ſeveral poems, printed in London in 2 vol. 12mo.

• A Comedy called The Wife of Bath, firſt acted 1715, and afterwards revived, altered, and repre⯑ſented at the Theatre Royal in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.
• Three Hours after Marriage, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal, in which he was aſſiſted by Pope and Arbuthnot, but had the mortification to ſee this piece very ill received, if not damned the firſt night.

He wrote likewiſe Achilles, an Opera; acted at the Theatre in Covent-Garden. This was brought on the ſtage after his death, and the profits were given to his Siſters.

After experiencing many viciſſitudes of fortune, and being for ſome time chiefly ſupported by the liberality of the duke and ducheſs of Queenſberry, he died at their houſe in Burlington Gardens, of a violent inflammatory fever, in December 1732, and was interred in Weſtminſter, by his noble benefactors juſt mentioned, with the follow⯑ing epitaph written by Mr. Pope, who had the ſince [...]\neſt friendſhip for him on account of his ami⯑able qualities.

Then follows this farther inſcription,‘Here lie the aſhes of Mr. John Gay;
The warmeſt friend;
The moſt benevolent man:
Who maintained
Independency
In low circumſtances of fortune;
Integrity
In the midſt of a corrupt age;
And that equal ſerenity of mind,
Which conſcious goodneſs alone can give
Thro' the whole courſe of his life.

Favourite of the muſes
He was led by them to every elegant art;
Refin'd in taſte,
And fraught with graces all his own:
In various kinds of poetry
Superior to many,
Inferior to none,
His works continue to inſpire
What his example taught,
Contempt of folly, however adorned;
Deteſtation of vice, however dignified;
Reverence of virtue, however diſgraced.’

[259] Charles and Catherine, duke and ducheſs of Queenſberry, who loved this excellent man living, and regret him dead, have cauſed this monument to be erected to his memory.

Mr. Gay's moral character ſeems to have been very amiable. He was of an affable, ſweet diſ⯑poſition, generous in his temper, and pleaſant in his converſation. His chief failing was an ex⯑ceſſive indolence, without the leaſt knowledge of oeconomy; which often ſubjected him to wants he needed not otherwiſe have experienced. Dean Swift in many of his letters entreated him, while money was in his hands, to buy an annuity, leſt old age ſhould overtake him unprepared; but Mr. Gay never thought proper to comply with his ad⯑vice, and choſe rather to throw himſelf upon patro⯑nage, than ſecure a competence, as the dean wiſely adviſed. As to his genius it would be ſuperfluous to ſay any thing here, his works are in the hands of every reader of taſte, and ſpeak for themſelves; we know not whether we can be juſtified in our opi⯑nion, but we beg leave to obſerve, that of all Gay's performances, his Paſtorals ſeem to have the higheſt finiſhing; they are perfectly Doric; the characters and dialogue are natural and rurally ſimple; the language is admirably ſuited to the perſons, who appear delightfully ruſtic.

PHILIP Duke of WHARTON.

THE unhappy nobleman, the memoirs of whoſe life we are now about to relate, was en⯑dowed by nature with all thoſe ſhining qualifications by which a great man can be formed. He poſ⯑ſeſſed a moſt extenſive memory, a ſtrong and lively imagination, and quick and ready apprehenſion.

By the immediate authority of his father, our noble author's ſtudies were confined to one particu⯑lar branch of learning; with a view, no doubt, that his ſon's uncommon genius might make the greater progreſs, and ſhine with a ſuperior luſtre in that ſpecies of erudition he had made choice of for him. On this account it was, that the earl his fa⯑ther would not permit the young lord to go to pub⯑lic or private ſchools, or to any college, or univer⯑ſity, but had him carefully inſtructed by domeſtic tutors; and as he gave an early diſplay of the moſt aſtoniſhing parts, the earl bent all his thoughts how to improve them in the beſt manner, for his ſon's future advantage.

As ſoon at this ſprightly genius, had laid a ſuffi⯑cient foundation in claſſical learning, he ſtudied hiſ⯑tory, particularly that of his own country, by which he was able to diſcern the principles of the conſti⯑tution, the revolutions it has undergone, the variety of accidents by which it may be endangered, and the true policy by which it can be preſerved. While he thus read hiſtory, he became a politician; [261] and as he did not neglect other ſciences, he acquir⯑ed a general knowledge both of life and things, be⯑fore moſt other perſons of diſtinction begin to read, or think at all.

By his not receiving an academical education, he eſcaped that ſtiffneſs and moroſeneſs of temper frequently contracted by thoſe who have been for ſome time condemned to a collegiate obſcurity. Neither had he the leaſt tincture of a haughty ſupe⯑riority, ariſing from the nobleneſs of his birth, and the luſtre of his abilities. His converſation was eaſy, pleaſant, and inſtructive, always ſuited to his company, of whatever quality, humour, or capacity they were.

As it was the earl of Wharton's view, to qualify his ſon to fill that high ſtation, in which his birth would one day place him with advantage to his country; his great care was to form him a com⯑pleat orator. For this purpoſe ſome of the princi⯑pal parts in the beſt Engliſh Tragedies were aſſign'd him at times to ſtudy, particularly thoſe of Shake⯑ſpear, which he uſed to repeat before a private au⯑dience. Sometimes his father gave him ſpeeches which had been uttered in the houſe of peers, and which the young lord got by heart, and delivered with all the graces of action and elocution; with ſo much propiety of expreſſion, emphaſis of voice, and pronunciation wherever it was re⯑quiſite, as ſhewed his lordſhip was born for this arduous province. Nor did the excellency of theſe performances receive a ſmall additional beauty from the gracefulneſs of his perſon, which was at once ſoft and majeſtic.

Thus endowed by nature to charm and perſuade, what expectations might not have been formed on him? A youth of a noble deſcent, who added to that advantage the moſt aſtoniſhing parts ever man poſſeſſed, improved by an uncommon and well re⯑gulated education. What pity is it, this illuſtrious [262] young man, born to have dictated to the ſenate, and directed the buſineſs of a ſtate, with the eyes of a people fixed upon him, ſhould fall ſo exceedingly ſhort of thoſe fair hopes, he had ſo juſtly raiſed in every breaſt. He wanted one quality, without which birth, fortune, and abilities, ſuffer a con⯑ſiderable diminution. That quality is prudence; of which the duke of Wharton was ſo deſtitute, that all his parts were loſt to the world, and the world loſt to him.

The firſt prelude to his misfortunes, may juſt⯑ly be reckoned his falling in love, and privately marrying a young lady, the daughter of major ge⯑neral Holmes; a match by no means ſuited to his birth, fortune and character; and far leſs to the ambitious views his father had of diſpoſing of him in ſuch a marriage, as would have been a conſider⯑able addition to the fortune and grandeur of his il⯑luſtrious family. However diſappointed the earl of Wharton might be, in his ſon's marrying beneath his quality; yet that amiable lady who became his daughter-in-law deſerved infinitely more felicity than ſhe met with by an alliance with his family; and the young lord was not ſo unhappy through any miſconduct of hers, as by the death of his father, which this precipitate marriage is thought to have haſtened. The duke being ſo early freed from paternal reſtraints, plunged himſelf into thoſe numberleſs exceſſes, which became at laſt fatal to him; and he proved, as Pope expreſſes it,

The young lord in the beginning of the year 1716 indulged his deſire of travelling and finiſhing his education abroad; and as he was deſigned to be inſtructed in the ſtricteſt Whig principles, Geneva was judged a proper place for his reſidence. On [263] his departure from England for this purpoſe, he took the rout of Holland, and viſited ſeveral courts of Germany, and that of Hanover in particular.

Though his lordſhip was now poſſeſſed of his fa⯑mily eſtate, as much as a minor could be; yet his truſtees very much limited his expences, and made him too moderate remittances, for a perſon of his rank and ſpirit. This gave him great uneaſineſs, and embarraſſed him much in his way of living, which ill ſuited with the profuſion of his taſte. To remove theſe difficulties, he had recourſe to mortgaging, and by premiums and large intereſt paid to uſurers, ſupplied his preſent neceſſities, by rendering his affairs ſtill worſe.

The unhappy diviſions which reigned in England at the time this young peer made his firſt entry into public life, rendered it almoſt impoſſible for him to ſtand neuter, and on whatever ſide he ſhould declare himſelf, ſtill there was danger. The world gene⯑rally expected he would follow the ſteps of his father, who was one of the firſt Engliſh gentlemen who joined the prince of Orange, and continued firm to the Revolution principles, and conſequently approv⯑ed the Hanoverian ſucceſſion, upon whoſe baſis it was built. But whatever motives influenced the young marquis (for king William had beſtowed this title on his father) he thought proper to join the contrary party. The cauſe of his abandoning the principles of the Whigs is thought to be this.

The marquis being arrived at Geneva, he con⯑ceived ſo great a diſguſt at the dogmatical precepts of his governor, the reſtraints he endeavoured to lay upon him, and the other inſtances of ſtrict diſ⯑cipline exerciſed in that meridian of Preſbyterianiſm, that he fell upon a ſcheme of avoiding theſe intole⯑rable incumbrances; ſo, like a torrent long confined within its bounds by ſtrong banks, he broke looſe, and entered upon engagements, which, together with the natural impetuoſity of his temper, threw him [264] into ſuch inconveniencies, as rendered the remain⯑ing part of his life unhappy.

His lordſhip, as we have already obſerved, being very much diſguſted with his governor, left him at Geneva, and as if he had been flying from a peſti⯑lence, ſet out poſt for Lyons, where he arrived about the middle of October 1716.

The author of the duke of Wharton's life has informed us, that the reaſon of his lordſhip's leaving his governor ſo abruptly, was on account of the freedom with which that gentleman treated him, a circumſtance very diſguſtful to a perſon of his qua⯑lity. He took leave of him in the following manner.

His lordſhip ſomewhere in his travels had picked up a bear's cub, of which he was very fond, and carried it about with him; but when he was deter⯑mined to abandon his tutor, he left the cub be⯑hind him, with the following note addreſſed to him.

When the marquis was at Lyons he took a very ſtrange ſtep, little expected from him. He wrote a letter to the Chevalier de St. George, then reſiding at Avignon, to whom he preſented a very fine ſtone-horſe. Upon receiving this preſent, the Chevalier ſent a man of quality to the marquis, who carried him privately to his court, where he was received with the greateſt marks of eſteem, and had the title of duke of Northumberland conferred upon him. He remained there however but one day, and then returned poſt to Lyons; from whence he ſet out for Paris. He likewiſe made a viſit [265] to the queen dowager of England, conſort to king James the IId, then reſiding at St. Germains, to whom he paid his court, purſued the ſame raſh meaſures as at Avignon.

During his ſtay at Paris, his winning addreſs, and aſtoniſhing parts; gained him the eſteem and ad⯑miration of all Britiſh ſubjects of both parties who happened to be there. The earl of Stair, then em⯑baſſador at the court of France from the king of Great Britain, notwithſtanding all the reports to the marquis's diſadvantage, thought proper to ſhew ſome reſpect to the repreſentative of ſo great a fa⯑mily, which had ſo reſolutely ſupported the preſent adminiſtration, eſpecially as he was a young man of ſuch great perſonal accompliſhments, both natural and acquired, and bleſt with a genius ſo capable of ſerving his country even in the moſt eminent ſtation.

Theſe conſiderations induced lord Stair, who was a prudent, diſcerning miniſter, to countenance the young marquis, give him frequent invitations to his table, and to uſe him with diſtinguiſhing civility. The earl was likewiſe in hopes, by theſe gentle mea⯑ſures, and this inſinuating behaviour, to win him to his party, which he had good reaſon to think he hated. His excellency never failed to lay hold of every opportunity, to give him ſome admonitions, which were not always agreeable to the vivacity of his temper, and ſometimes provoked him to great indiſcretions. Once in particular, the ambaſſador extolling the merit, and noble behaviour of the marquis's father, added, ‘'That he hoped he would follow ſo illuſtrious an example of fidelity to his prince, and love to his country, by treading in the ſame ſteps.'’—Upon which the marquis im⯑mediately anſwered, ‘'That he thanked his ex⯑cellency for his good advice, and as his excellency had alſo a worthy and deſerving father, he hoped he would likewiſe copy ſo bright an original and tread in all his ſteps.'’

[266] This was a ſevere ſarcaſm, as the ambaſſador's father had betrayed his maſter in a manner that was quite ſhameful. He acted the ſame part in Scotland which Sunderland did in England. They puſhed on king James the IId. to take violent and uncon⯑ſtitutional meaſures, to make his ruin certain: They ſucceeded in their ſcheme, and after the Revolution, boaſted their conduct as meritorious; but however neceſſary it might be for king William, upon prin⯑ciples of policy to reward the betrayers, he had yet too good a heart to approve the treachery.—But to return to the marquis, we ſhall mention another of his juvenile f [...]\nghts, as an inſtance to what ex⯑travagant and unaccountable exceſſes, the inconſtancy of his temper would ſometimes tranſport him.

A young Engliſh ſurgeon, who went to Paris, to improve himſelf in his buſineſs, by obſerving the practice in the celebrated hoſpitals, paſſing by the embaſſador's houſe on the 10th of June at night, took the liberty to break his excellency's windows becauſe there was no bonfire before his door. Up⯑on this outrage he was ſeized and committed priſoner to Fort L'Eveque. This treatment of the young ſurgeon was reſented by the marquis; but he ſought for no other ſatisfaction than to break the ambaſſador's windows a ſecond time. Accordingly his lordſhip propoſed it to an Iriſh lieutenant-general, in the ſer⯑vice of [...]\nrance, a gentleman of great honour and of the higheſt reputation for abilities in military affairs, deſiring his company and aſſiſtance therein. The general could not help ſmiling at the extra⯑vagance of the propoſal, and with a great deal of good-nature adviſed his lordſhip by all means not to make any ſuch attempts; ‘'but if he was reſo⯑lutely bent upon it, he begg'd to be excuſed from being of the party, for it was a method of making war to which he had never been ac⯑cuſtomed.'’

[267] We might here enumerate more frolics of the ſame kind which he either projected, or engaged in, but we chuſe rather to omit them as they reflect but little honour on the marquis.—We ſhall only obſerve, that before he left France, an Engliſh gentleman of diſtinction expoſtulating with him, for ſwerving ſo much from the principles of his father and his whole family, his lordſhip anſwered, ‘'That he had pawned his principles to Gordon the Pretender's banker for a conſiderable ſum; and till he could repay him, he muſt be a Jacobite, but that when that was done he would again return to the Whigs.'’

About the latter end of December 1716, the marquis arrived in England, where he did not re⯑main long, till he ſet out for Ireland; in which kingdom, on account of his extraordinary qualities, he had the honour done him of being admitted, though under age, to take his ſeat in that auguſt aſſembly of the houſe of peers, to which he had a right as earl of Rathfarnam, and marquis of Ca⯑therlough. Here he eſpouſed a very different in⯑tereſt from that which he had ſo lately embraced. He diſtinguiſhed himſelf on this occaſion as a vio⯑lent partizan for the miniſtry; and acted in all other reſpects, as well in his private as public capacity, with the warmeſt zeal for the government. The ſpeeches which he made in the houſe upon many occaſions, uttered with ſo much force of expreſſion, and propriety of emphaſis, were an irreſiſtable de⯑monſtration of his abilities, and drew upon him the admiration of both kingdoms. The marquis's ar⯑guments had very great influence on which ſide of the queſtion ſoever he happened to be.—No noble⯑man, either in that or the Engliſh houſe of peers, ever acquitted himſelf with greater reputation, or behaved with a more becoming dignity than he did during this ſeſſion of the Iriſh parliament.

[268] In conſequence of this zeal for the new govern⯑ment, ſhewn at a time when they ſtood much in need of men of abilities, and ſo little expected from the young marquis, the king who was no ſtranger to the moſt refined rules of policy, created him a duke, the higheſt degree of a ſubject.

In the preamble to his patent, after a detail of the merit of his father, and his ſervices to the go⯑vernment are illuſtrated, his lordſhip's behaviour in Ireland and his early endowments are thus men⯑tioned.

As ſoon as the duke of Wharton came of age, he was introduced to the houſe of lords in England, with the like blaze of reputation, and raiſed jealou⯑ſies in the breaſts of the moſt conſummately artful, and beſt qualified in the houſe of peers. A little before the death of lord Stanhope, his grace, who was conſtant in nothing but inconſtancy, again changed ſides, oppoſed the court, and endeavoured to defeat all the ſchemes of the miniſtry.

He appeared one of the moſt forward and vigor⯑ous in the defence of the biſhop of Rocheſter, and [269] in oppoſing the bill for inflicting pains and penal⯑ties on that prelate.

The judicious obſervations he made on the trial of the biſhop, and the manner in which he ſum⯑med up and compared a long and perplexed kind of evidence, with inimitable art and per [...]\np [...]\nuity, may be ſeen in the duke's ſpeech upon that extraordinary occaſion, which is a laſting proof of his amazing abilities in the legiſlative capacity, as well as of his general knowledge of public buſineſs.

He, however, did not confine this ſpirit of oppo⯑ſition to the houſe of lords, but [...] it both in city and country, promoting in all kinds of elections ſuch perſons as were ſuppoſed to be no fautors of the court. Such was the hatred he now conceived to the miniſtry, and ſuch his deſire of becoming eminent; that he even puſhed himſelf into the city of London; was inveſted with the rights and pri⯑vileges of a citizen, and was entered a member of the wax-chandler's company; by virtue of which he appeared at all meetings, charmed all ſocieties, and voted in his own right upon all occaſions.

Notwithſtanding his aſtoniſhing activity in oppo⯑ſition to the court, he was not yet ſatisfied that he had done enough. He could not be in all places, and in all companies at once. As much an orator as he was, he could not talk to the whole na⯑tion, and therefore he printed his thoughts twice a week, in a paper called the True-Briton, ſeveral thouſands of which being diſperſed weekly, the duke was pleaſed to find the whole kingdom giving attention to him, and admiring him as an author, though they did not at all approve his reaſoning.

Thoſe political papers, which were reckoned by ſome the ſtandard of good ſenſe, and elegant writ⯑ing, [270] were collected together in his life-time, and reprinted by his order, with a preface, in which he gives his reaſons for engaging in an undertak⯑ing ſo uncommon to a perſon of his diſtinction.

Here it will not be improper to remark, that notwithſtanding all thoſe inſtances of the duke's zeal, his ſincerity in oppoſing the mi⯑niſtry was yet ſuſpected, as his former beha⯑vio [...]\nr was ſo very inconſiſtent with it; but he never fa [...]\nled to ju [...]\nify himſelf throughout the dif⯑ferent and contrary courſes of his conduct, pre⯑tending always to have acted conſiſtently with the honour and intereſt of the [...]\nealm. But he never was able in this particular to obtain the public judgment in his favour.

It is impoſſib [...]\ne to reconcile all the various ac⯑tions of this noble-man. He was certainly too much governed by whim and accident. From this time forward, however, though he might deviate from the ſtrict rules of a moral life, he cannot be ſaid to have done ſo with reſpect to his politics. The ſame principles on which he ſet out, he carried to his grave, with ſteadine [...]\ns through all the events of fortune, and underwent ſuch neceſſities, as few of his quality ever experienced, in a cauſe, the revival and ſucceſs of which had long been deſpe⯑rate, before he engaged in it.

The duke's boundleſs profuſion had by this time ſo burthened his eſtate, that a decree of chancery took hold on it, and veſted it in the hands of truſtees for the payment of his debts, but not without making a proviſion of 1200 l. per annum for his ſubſiſtence. This allowance not being ſuf⯑ficient to ſupport his title with ſuitable dignity at home, he propoſed to go abroad for ſome years, 'till his eſtate ſhould clear itſelf of incum⯑brances. His friends, for his own ſake, were [271] pleaſed with this reſolution, and every body con⯑ſidered this courſe as the moſt prudent, that in ſuch circumſtances could be taken. But in this the world was deceived, for he went abroad from no ſuch prudent motive, oeconomy being a vir⯑tue of which he never had the leaſt notion in any part of his life. His buſineſs at Vienna was to execute a private commiſſion, not in ſavour of the Engliſh miniſtry, nor did he ever ſhine to greater advantage, as to his perſonal character, than at the Imperial court.

From Vienna his grace made a tour to the court of Spain, where his arrival alarmed the Engliſh miniſter ſo much, that two expreſſes were ſent from Madrid to London, upon the apprehenſion that his grace was received there in the character of an ambaſſador, upon which the duke received a ſummons under the Privy Seal to return home. His behaviour on this occaſion was a ſufficient indication that he never deſigned to return to Eng⯑land, whilſt affairs remained in the ſame ſtate; and the adminiſtration in the ſame hands they then were in. This he often declared from his going abroad the ſecond time, which, no doubt, was the occaſion of his treating that ſolemn order with ſo much indig⯑nity, and endeavouring to enflame the Spaniſh court, not only againſt the perſon who delivered the warrant, but againſt the court of Great Brit [...]\nin it⯑ſelf, for exerciſing an act of power, as he was pleaſed to call it, within the juri [...]\ndiction of his Catholic Majeſty. After this he acted openly in the ſervice of the Pretender, and appeared at his court, where he was received with great marks of favour.

While his grace was thus employed abroad, his ducheſs, who had been neglected by him, died in England, on the 14th of April 1726, and left no iſſue behind her. The lady's death gave the duke no great ſhock. He was diſencumbered of her [272] and had now an opportunity of mending his for⯑tune by marriage.

Soon after this, the duke fell violently in love with Mademciſelle Obern, a beautiful young lady at the Spaniſh court, who was then one of the maids of honour to the Queen of Spain. She was daughter of an Iriſh colonel in that ſervice, who being dead, her mother lived upon a penſion the King allowed her, ſo that this lady's fortune conſiſted chiefly in her perſonal accompliſhments. Many arguments were uſed by their friends on both ſides to diſſuade them from the marriage. The Queen of Spain, when the duke aſked her conſent, repreſented to him in the moſt lively terms, that the conſequence of the match would be miſery to both, and abſolutely refuſed her conſent.

Having now no hopes of obtaining her, he fell into a violent melancholy, which introduced a lin⯑gering fever, of which he languiſhed 'till he was almoſt ready to drop into the ground. This cir⯑cumſtance reaching her Majeſty's ear, ſhe was mov⯑ed with his diſtreſs. and ſent him word to endea⯑vour the recovery of his health, and as ſoon as he was able to appear abroad, ſhe would ſpeak to him in a more favourable manner, than at their laſt interview. The duke upon receiving this news, imag [...]\nned it the beſt way to take the advantage of the kind diſpoſition her Majeſty was in; and ſummoning to his aſſiſtance his little remain⯑ing ſtrength, he threw himſelf at her Majeſty's feet, and begged of her either to give him Ma⯑d [...]\nmoi [...]\nelle [...]\nbern, or not to order him to live, aſſering her, in the language of tragedy, that ſhe was to pronounce the ſentence of his life, or death. The Queen conſented, but told him he would ſoon repent it, and the young lady being dazzled with the luſtre of a ducal title, and be⯑ſides [273] having a real value for her lover, they were ſoon united by an indiſſoluble bond.

After the ſolemnization of his marriage, he paſſed ſome time at Rome, where he accepted of a blue garter, affected to appear with the title of duke of Northumberland, and for a⯑while enjoyed the confidence of the exiled Prince. But as he could not always keep him⯑ſelf within the bounds of the Italian gravity, and having no employment to amuſe his active tem⯑per, he ran into his uſual exceſſes, which giving offence, it was thought proper for him to remove from that city for the preſent, leſt he ſhould fall into actual diſgrace. Accordingly the duke quit⯑ted Rome, and went by ſea to Barcelona, where hearing that the trenches were opening before Gibraltar, he reſolved upon a new ſcene of life, which few ſuſpected he would ever engage in. He wrote a letter to the King of Spain, acquainting him, ‘'That he deſigned to take up arms in his Majeſty's ſervice, and apprehending that his forces were going to reduce the town of Gi⯑braltar under his obedience, he hoped he ſhould have his permiſſion to aſſiſt at the ſiege as a volunteer.'’

This done, he went to the camp, taking his ducheſs along with him, and was received with all the marks of reſpect due to his quality. The Conde de la Torres, who commanded there, de⯑livered him an obliging letter from the King his maſter, thanking him for the honour he intended him, by ſerving in his troops, and during that ſiege, appointed him his aid-de-camp, by which poſt the duke was to give an account of all tranſactions to his Majeſty himſelf, which obliged him to be often in the trenches, and to expoſe his perſon to imminent danger. During this ſiege want of courage was never imputed to him; on the contrary, he was often guilty of the moſt im⯑prudent [274] raſhneſs. One evening he went cloſe to the walls, near one of the poſts of the town, and threatened the ſoldiers of the garriſon. They aſked who he was? he readily anſwered, the duke of Wharton; and though he appeared there as an enemy, they ſuffered him to return to the trench⯑es without firing one ſhot at him.

This ſiege was ended, and the duke received no other hurt, than a wound in his foot by the burſt⯑ing of a grenade, and when nothing more was to be done in the camp, he went to court, where he was held in the utmoſt reſpect by the princi⯑pal nobility. The King likewiſe, as a mark of his favour, was pleaſed to give him a com⯑miſſion of Colonel Agregate (that was the term) to one of the Iriſh regiments, called Hibernia, and commanded by the marquis de Caſtelar.

Could the duke have been ſatisfied with that ſtate of life, and regulated his expences according to his income, he had it then in his power to live, if not affluently, at leaſt eaſily. But in a ſhort time he was for changing the ſcene of action; he grew weary of Madrid, and ſet his heart on Rome. In conſequence of this reſolution, he wrote a letter to the Chevalier de St. George, full of reſpect and ſubmiſſion, expreſſing a deſire of viſiting his court; but the Chevalier returned for anſwer, that he thought it more adviſable for his grace to draw near England, than make a tour to Rome, that he might be able to accom⯑modate matters with the government at home, and take ſome care of his perſonal eſtate. The Che⯑valier very prudently judged, that ſo wretched an oeconomiſt as the duke, would be too great a burden to a perſon, whoſe finances were not in a much better condition than his own. Be that as it may, the duke ſeemed reſolved to follow his advice, and accordingly ſet out for France, in [275] company with his ducheſs, and attended by two or three ſervants, arrived at Paris in May 1728. He ſent a letter to Mr. Walpole then embaſſador there, to let him know he deſigned to viſit him. That gentleman returned the duke a civil anſwer, importing, ‘'that he ſhould be glad to ſee his grace at his own time, if he intended it a pub⯑lic viſit; if a private one, they would agree upon an hour, that ſhould be moſt convenient.'’ The duke declared that he would come publicly, which he did next day, and his diſcourſe with that miniſter was ſuitable to the uſual gaiety of his temper; for though he ſpoke of returning home, it was in ſuch an undetermined way, that Mr. Walpole could not gueſs his real intentions. He received the duke however with his uſual com⯑plaiſance, and with a reſpect agreeable to his qua⯑lity, but was not a little ſurprized, when, at par [...]\n⯑ing, his grace told him, he was going to dine with the biſhop of Rocheſter. Mr. Walpole anſwered, ‘'That if he had a deſign of making that prelate a viſit, there was no manner of occaſion for tell⯑ing him of it.'’ Thus they parted, and never a⯑gain had another interview.

The duke made little ſtay at Paris, but pro⯑ceeded to Rouen in his way, as ſome imagined, to England; but there he ſtopt, and took up his re⯑ſidence, without reflecting in the leaſt on the buſineſs that brought him to France. He was ſo ſar from making any conceſſion to the government in or⯑der to make his peace, that he did not give himſelf the leaſt trouble about his perſonal eſtate, or any other concern in England. The duke had about 600 l. in his poſſeſſion, when he arrived at Rouen, where more of his ſervants joined him from Spain. There he formed his houſhold, and made a calculation, in which there appeased to be but one miſtake, that is, he proportioned his expences, not according to his income, but quali⯑ty; [276] and though every argument was uſed to con⯑ [...]\nince him of this error, at once ſo obvious and fatal. yet he would hearken to no admonition while he had one crown left.

At Rouen, as in every other place, the duke charmed all thoſe who converſed with him; he was warmly received by perſons of the firſt di⯑ſtincti [...]\nn in that province, with whom he took the diverſion of hunting twice a week, 'till ſome news arrived, which would have given interrupti⯑on to the mirth of any other man; but the alte⯑ration was ſcarce to be perceived in him.

This was a Bill of Indictment preferred againſt Philip duke of Wharton, for high treaſon. The fact laid to his charge was, appearing in arms before, and firing off cannon againſt, his Majeſty's town of Gibraltar. Here we cannot omit an anecdote, from which the reader may draw what concluſion he pleaſes. During the time the pro⯑ceedings againſt the duke were at a ſtand in the long vacation, a gentleman of character, intimate⯑ly acquainted with the duke, and alſo with his af⯑fairs in England; one who enjoyed the ſunſhine of court favour, and was a Member of Parlia⯑ment, went over to Rouen to viſit his grace, in company with another gentleman. Theſe two viſitants took a great deal of pains to perſuade him to ſubmit to the government, and re⯑turn to his eſtate, which they aſſured him he might do, by writing a letter to the King, or the mi⯑niſtry. This alone, without any other pretenſions to favour, was to re-eſtabliſh him, and leave him the free enjoyment of his eſtate, which, notwith⯑ſtanding all the reductions, would even then have yielded 6000 l. a year. This point they ſollicited inceſſantly, and their words of honour were given, to remove all ſcruples his grace might have about the performance of the conditions. Their interpoſiti⯑ons were however in vain; he refuſed to ſubmit [277] to the miniſtry, or write to the King, and thought it beneath him to aſk a favour.

This conduct of the duke may be imputed, by ſome, to pride and obſtinacy, but a more natural conſtruction is, that he was afraid of treachery. He could not diſcover upon what motives, two perſons whom he looked upon as creatures of the court, would give themſelves the trouble to come to Rouen, in order to perſuade him to act for his own intereſt, unleſs they had ſome concealed views of ſuch a nature, perhaps, as would prove fatal to him, ſhould he ſubmit.

He ſoon after this received advice from Eng⯑land, that his truſtees could remit him no more of his annuity, on account of the indictment pre⯑ferred againſt him. There was now a dreadful proſpect before him; his money was waſted; all future ſupplies cut off; and there was a large fa⯑mily to ſupport, without any hopes of relief. He began now to feel the effects of the indictment, which he before held in ſo much contempt; he complained of it as a rigorous proceeding, becauſe it laid him under a neceſſity of aſking a favour, and receiving it in a public manner, which he fancied neither conſiſtent with his honour, or re⯑putation. Thus exaſperated againſt the govern⯑ment, he wrote the memorable paper which he con⯑trived to get printed in Miſt's Journal, under the colour of an account of Mirevais and Sultan Ezref, which contained ſevere reflexions on the adminiſtration. Mean time the duke's credit at Rouen began to ſink; he was attended every morning with a conſiderable levee, confiſting of the tradeſmen of that city, who came with im⯑portunate faces to demand payment of their bills, which he diſcharged by quitting Rouen, leaving his horſes and equipage to be ſold, and the money to be divided among them.

[278] The duke, before this event, had thrown himſelf at the feet of the Chevalier de St. George, as the only poſſible reſource he had left. Accordingly he wrote him a moſt moving letter, giving him a detail of his preſent ſufferings, very pathetically repreſent⯑ing the diſtreſs to which he was reduced, and hum⯑bly imploring his protection, with what little aſſiſt⯑ance might be neceſſary to enable him to ſupport ſuch a burthen of calamities, as he found otherwiſe too heavy to bear.

The duke having now returned to Paris, made a conſiderable reformation in his houſhold affairs, and placed himſelf in a private family, while the ducheſs went to a relation's at St. Germains. In the mean while the anſwer of the letter ſent to Rome came in its proper time, in which his imprudent conduct was repreſented; but at the ſame time was touched with ſo light and delicate a hand, that it gave the duke but little uneaſineſs. No hopes were given him, that he ſhould be gratified in his extravagancies, or flattered in his levities; on the contrary he was told, ‘'That as his paſt conduct had not merited any favour, nothing but his future behaviour could recommend him to it.'’ The duke had ſufficient penetration to diſcover by this hint, that he was not likely to be abandoned, which was conſolation enough to one of his ſanguine temper, in the then deſperate ſituation of his affairs.—The Chevalier de St. George ſoon after ſent him 2000 l. for his ſupport, of which he was no ſooner in poſ⯑ſeſſion, than he ſquandered it away in a courſe of extravagance. In reality, money ſeemed to be ſuch a burthen to him, that he bent all his thoughts to get rid of it as faſt as poſſible; and he was as un⯑willing his companions ſhould be troubled with it as himſelf. As a proof of this ſtrange temper we [279] ſhall quote one inſtance amongſt many in the words of the writer of his life, which will ſerve to ſhew the heedleſs profuſion of that unaccountable noble⯑man.

It may ſeem a ſtrange obſervation, but it is cer⯑tainly true, that the brute creation differs not more from the rational in many reſpects, than a man from himſelf: That by ſuffering paſſions to uſurp the dominion of the ſoul, human nature is ſtript of its dignity, debaſed to the beaſts that periſh, and ſtill rendered more ignominious by the complica⯑tions of guilt. We have already ſeen the duke of Wharton ſet up as the idol of an admiring people; an auguſt ſenate liſtened to the enchantments of his eloquence; a powerful miniſtry dreading his reſo⯑lutions; he was courted, flattered, feared, and obeyed. View him now, and the ſcene is ſhifted. [281] Obſerve him deſcending to the moſt abject trifling, ſtooping to the meaneſt expedients, and the orator and ſtateſman transformed to the vagabond and the wanderer.

No incident in this nobleman's life has been re⯑preſented more to his diſadvantage, and is in itſelf more intereſting than the following. The account which is here inſerted was ſent to a friend by the duke's expreſs order.

A Scots peer with whom both the duke, and the ducheſs lived in great intimacy in Italy, happening to come to Paris, when the duke was there, they renewed their acquaintance and friendſhip, and for ſome time continued with mutual freedom, till the duke had reaſon to believe from what he heard from others, that the peer had boaſted favours from the ducheſs of Wharton.

This inſtance of wanton vanity, the duke could not help reſenting, though he often declared ſince the quarrel, that he never had the leaſt ſuſpicion of the ducheſs's honour. He reſolved therefore very prudently to call the Scots lord to an account, without letting him know it was for the ducheſs or ſo much as mentioning her name; accordingly he took occaſion to do it in this manner.

It happened that the duke of Wharton and his lordſhip me: at a lady's whom they mutually viſited, and the duke dropping his glove by chance, his lordſhip took it up. and returned it to the duke; who thereupon aſk [...]\nd him if he would take it up in all it's forms? To which his lordſhip anſwered, yes, my lord, in all its forms.

Some days after, the duke gave a ball at St. Germains, to which he invited the Scots nobleman, and ſome perſon indiſcretely aſked his grace whether he had forbid the ducheſs's dancing with lord C—. This gave the duke freſh reaſon to believe that the Scots peer had been adminiſtring new grounds for his reſentment, by the wantonneſs of calumny. He [282] diſſembled his uneaſineſs for the preſent, and very politely entertained the company till five o'clock in the morning, when he went away without the ceremony of taking leave; and the next news that was heard of him was from Paris, from whence he ſent a challenge to lord C—d, to follow him to Flanders.

The challenge was delivered by his ſervant, and was to this effect: ‘'That his lordſhip might re⯑member his ſaying he took up his glove in all its forms, which upon mature reflexion, his grace looked upon to be ſuch an affront, as was not to be born, wherefore he deſired his lordſhip to meet him at Valenciennes, where he would expect him with a friend and a pair of piſtols; and on failure of his lordſhip's coming his grace would poſt him, &c.'’

The ſervant who delivered the letter, did not keep its contents a ſecret; and lord C—d was taken into cuſtody, when he was about ſetting out to meet his grace. All that remained then for his. lordſhip to do, was to ſend a gentleman into Flan⯑ders, to acquaint the duke with what happened to him. His grace upon ſeeing the gentleman, i⯑magining him to be his lordſhip's ſecond, ſpoke to him in this manner; ‘'Sir, I hope my lord will favour me ſo far as to let us uſe piſtols, becauſe the wound I received in my foot before Gibraltar, in ſome meaſure diſables me from the ſword.'’Hereupon the gentleman replied with ſome emotion, ‘'My lord duke, you might chuſe what you pleaſe; my lord C—d will fight you with any weapon, from a ſmall pin to a great cannon; but this is not the caſe, my lord is under an arreſt, by order of the duke of Berwick.'’

His grace being thus diſappointed in the duel, and his money being almoſt ſpent, he returned to Paris, and was alſo put under an arreſt till the af⯑fair was made up by the interpoſition of the duke [283] of Berwick, under whoſe cognizance it properly came as Marſhal of France.

The duke's behaviour on this occaſion, ſo far from being reproachable, ſeems to be the moſt manly action of his whole life. What man of ſpirit would not reſent the behaviour of another, who ſhould boaſt of favours from his wife, eſpecial⯑ly when in all probability he never received any?

His grace's conducting the quarrel, ſo as to ſave the reputation of his ducheſs, by not ſo much as having her name called in queſtion, was at once prudent, and tender; for whether a lady is guilty or no, if the leaſt ſuſpicion is once raiſed, there are detractors enough in the world ready to fix the ſtain upon her. The Scots lord deſerved the ſevereſt treatment, for living in ſtrict friendſhip with two perſons of quality, and then with an inſidious cruelty endeavouring to ſow the ſeeds of eternal diſcord be⯑tween them, and all to gratify a little vanity: Than ſuch a conduct nothing can be more reproachable.

Not long after this adventure, a whim ſeized the duke of going into a convent, in order to prepare for Eaſter; and while he was there, he talked with ſo much force and energy upon all points of religion, that the pious fathers beheld him with admiration. Mankind were for ſome time in ſuſpence, what would be the iſſue of this new courſe of life; but he ſoon put an end to their ſpeculations by appear⯑ing again in the world, and running headlong into as wild courſes of vice and extravagance, as he had ever before done. He had for a companion, a gentleman for whom he entertained a very high eſteem; but one who was as much an enemy as poſſible to ſuch a licentious behaviour. In another ſituation, our noble author would have found it a happineſs to be conſtantly attended by a perſon of his honour, probity, and good ſenſe; but the duke's [284] ſtrange and unaccountable conduct, rendered the beſt endeavours to ſerve him ineffectual. In a letter which that gentleman wrote to a friend in London, he concludes with a melancholy repreſentation of the duke's preſent circumſtances;

In this deplorable ſituation did the duke leave Paris, an inſtance indeed of the ſtrange reverſe of fortune, but for which he could not blame the ſeverity of providence, or the perſecution of ene⯑mies, but his own unbounded profuſion, a ſlave to which he ſeems to have been born. As a long journey did not very well ſuit with his grace's fi⯑nances, ſo he went for Orleans, thence fell down the river Loire to Nantz in Britany, and there he ſtopt ſome time 'till he got a remittance from Pa⯑ris, which was ſquandered almoſt as ſoon as re⯑ceived. At Nantz ſome of his ragged ſervants re⯑joined him, and from thence he took ſhipping with them from Bilboa, as if he had been carry⯑ing recruits to the Spaniſh regiment. From Bil⯑boa he wrote a humorous letter to a friend at Paris, ſuch as his fancy, not his circumſtances, dictated, giving a whimſical account of his voyage, and his manner of paſſing away his time. But at the end, as if he had been a little affected with his late miſconduct, he concludes thus, ‘'notwith⯑ſtanding what the world may ſay of me,' Be kind to my remains, and O! defend, ' Againſt your judgment, your departed friend^*.'’

When the duke arrived at Bilboa, he had neither friends, money, nor credit, more than what the reputation of his Spaniſh commiſſion procured him. Upon the ſtrength of that he left his duchneſs and ſervant there, and went to his regiment, where he was obliged to ſup⯑port himſelf upon the pay of 18 piſtoles a month, but could get no relief for the poor la⯑dy and family he left behind him. The diſtreſs [286] of the ducheſs was inexpreſſible, nor is it eaſy to conceive what would have been the conſe⯑quence, if her unhappy circumſtances had not reached the ear of another exiled nobleman at Madrid, who could not hear of her ſufferings without relieving her. This generous exile, touch⯑ed with her calamities, ſent her a hundred Spa⯑niſh piſtoles, which relieved her grace from a kind of captivity, and enabled her to come to Ma⯑drid, where ſhe lived with her mother and grand⯑mother, while the duke attended his regiment. Not long after this, the duke's family had a great loſs in the death of his lady's mother, by which they were deprived of a penſion they before en⯑joyed from the crown of Spain; but this was for⯑tunately repaired by the intereſt of a nobleman at court, who procured the ducheſs's two ſiſters to be minuted down for Maids of Honour to the Queen of Spain, whenever a vacancy ſhould hap⯑pen, but to enter immediately upon the ſalary of theſe places. Her Majeſty likewiſe took the du⯑cheſs to attend her perſon.

There have been many inſtances of people, who have ſuſtained the greateſt ſhocks which adverſity can inflict, through a whole life of ſuffering, and yet at laſt have yielded to the influence of a tri⯑fling evil: ſomething like this was the caſe of the duke of Wharton, which the following ſtory will illuſtrate.

He was in garriſon at Barcelona, and coming from a ball one night, in company with ſome ladies, a man in a maſque, whom he did not know, was guilty of ſome rudeneſs to him. The duke enquired who he was, and being informed that he was valet de chambre to the marquis de Ri⯑ſbourg, governour of Catalonia, he ſuffered him⯑ſelf to be tranſported by the firſt motions of his paſſion, and caned him. The fellow complained of this uſage to his maſter, who at firſt took no [287] notice of it, imagining his grace would make ſome excuſe to him for ſuch a procedure; but whether the duke thought it beneath his quality to make any apology for beating a menial ſer⯑vant, who had been rude to him, or would not do it upon another account, he ſpoke not a word about it. The marquis reſenting this behaviour, two days after ordered the duke to priſon. He obeyed, and went to Fort Montjuich: as ſoon as he arrived there, the marquis fent him word, he might come out when he pleaſed; the duke an⯑ſwered, he ſcorned to accept liberty at his hands, and would not ſtir without an order from the court, imagining they would highly condemn the governour's conduct; but the marquis had too much credit with the miniſter, to ſuffer any di⯑minution of his power on that account; he received only a ſharp rebuke, and the duke had orders to repair to his quarters, without entering again into Barcelona. This laſt mortification renewed the remembrance of all his misfortunes; he ſunk be⯑neath this accident, and giving way to melancho⯑ly, fell into a deep conſumption. Had the duke maintained his uſual ſpirit, he would probably have challenged the marquis, and revenged the affront of the ſervant upon the maſter, who had made the quarrel his own, by reſenting the valet's de⯑ſerved correction.

About the beginning of the year 1731 he de⯑clined ſo faſt, being in his quarters, at Lerida, that he had not the uſe of his limbs, ſo as to move without aſſiſtance; but as he was free from pain, he did not loſe all his gaiety. He continued in this ill ſtate of health for two months, when he gained a little ſtrength, and found ſome be⯑nefit from a certain mineral water in the moun⯑tains of Catalonia; but his conſtitution was too much ſpent to recover the ſhocks it had received. He relapſed the May following at Terragana, whi⯑ther [288] he removed with his regiment; and going to the above mentioned waters, the beneſit whereof he had already experienced, he fell into one of thoſe fainting fits, to which he had for ſome time been ſubject, in a ſmall village, and was utterly deſtitute of all the neceſſaries of life, 'till ſome charitable fathers of a Bernardine convent, offer⯑ed him what aſſiſtance their houſe afforded. The duke accepted their kind propoſal, upon which they removed him to their convent, and admini⯑ſtered all the relief in their power. Under this hoſpitable roof, after languiſhing a week, died the duke of Wharton, without one friend, or acquain⯑tance to cloſe his eyes. His funeral was perform⯑ed in the ſame manner in which the fathers inter thoſe of their own fraternity.

Thus we have endeavoured to exhibit an a⯑dequate picture of the duke of Wharton, a man whoſe life was as ſtrongly chequered with the viciſſitudes of fortune, as his abilities were various and aſtoniſhing. He is an inſtance of the great imbecility of intellectual powers, when once they ſpurn the dictates of prudence, and the maxims of life. With all the luſtre of his under⯑ſtanding, when his fortune was waſted, and his circumſtances low, he fell into contempt; they who formerly worſhipped him, fied from him, and deſpiſed his wit when attended with poverty. So true is it that,

The duke of Wharton ſeems to have lived as if the world ſhould be new modelled for him; for he would conform to none of the rules, by which the little happineſs the world can yield, is to be attained. But we ſhall not here enlarge on his character, as we can preſent it to the reader, drawn in the moſt lively manner, by the maſter⯑ly [289] touches of Pope, who in one of his familiar epiſtles, thus characterizes him.

[290] The duke is author of two volumes of poems, of which we ſhall ſelect the fo [...]\nlowing as a ſpecimen.

Colonel CODRINGTON.

THIS gentleman was of the firſt rank of wit and gallantry. He received his edu⯑cation at All Souls College in the univerſity of Oxford, to which he left a donation of 30,000 l. by his will, part of which was to be appropri⯑ated for building a new library^*. He was many years governour of the Leeward Iſlands, where he died, but was buried at Oxford. He is mention⯑ed here, on account of ſome ſmall pieces of po⯑etry, which he wrote with much elegance and po⯑liteneſs. Amongſt theſe pieces is an epilogue to Mr. Southern's tragedy called The Fate of Capua, in which are the following verſes;

EDWARD WARD,

A MAN of low extraction, and who never received any regular education. He was an imitator of the famous Butler, and wrote his Re⯑formation, a poem, with an aim at the ſame kind of humour which has ſo remarkably diſtinguiſhed Hudibras. ‘'Of late years, ſays Mr. Jacob, he has kept a public houſe in the city, but in a gen⯑teel way.'’ Ward was, in his own droll manner, a violent antagoniſt to the Low Church Whigs, and in conſequence of this, drew to his houſe ſuch people as had a mind to indulge their ſpleen againſt the government, by retailing little ſtories of treaſon. He was thought to be a man of ſtrong natural parts, and poſſeſſed a very agreeable plea⯑ſantry of temper. Ward was much affronted when he read Mr. Jacob's account, in which he men⯑tions his keeping a public houſe in the city, and in a book called Apollo's Maggot, declared this account to be a great falſity, proteſting that his public houſe was not in the City, but in Moor⯑fields^*.

The chief of this author's pieces are,

• Hudibras Redivivus, a political Poem.
• Don Quixote, tranſlated into Hudibraſtic Verſe.
• Eccleſiae & Faſtio, a Dialogue between Bow-ſtee⯑ple Dragon, and the Exchange Graſhopper.
• [294] A Ramble through the Heavens, or The Revels of the Gods.
• The Cavalcade, a Poem.
• Marriage Dialogues, or A Poetical Peep into the State of Matrimony.
• A Trip to Jamaica.
• The Sots Paradiſe, or The Humours of a Derby Alehouſe.
• A Battle without Bloodſhed, or Military Diſci⯑pline Buſſoon'd.
• All Men Mad, or England a Great Bedlam, 4to. 1704.
• The Double Welcome, a Poem to the Duke of Marlborough.
• Apollo's Maggot in his Cups, or The Whimſi⯑cal Creation of a Little Satirical Poet; a Lyric Ode, dedicated to Dickey Dickenſon, the witty, but deformed Governor of Scarborough Spaw, 8vo. 1729.
• The Ambitious Father, or The Politician's Ad⯑vice to his Son; a Poem in five Cantos, 1733, the laſt work he left finiſhed.

Mr. Ward's works, if collected, would amount to five volumes in 8vo. but he is moſt diſtinguiſhed by his London Spy, a celebrated work in proſe.

Sir ROGER L'ESTRANGE.

THIS gentleman was ſecond ſon of Sir Hammon L'Eſtrange of Hunſton in Nor⯑folk, knt. and was born anno 1617^*. In the year 1644 Sir Roger having obtained a commiſſion from King Charles I. for reducing Lynne in Nor⯑folk, then in poſſeſſion of the Parliament, his de⯑ſign was diſcovered to colonel Walton the gover⯑nour, and his perſon ſeized. Upon the failing of this enterprize he was tried by a court-martial at Guildhall, London, and condemned to loſe his life as a ſpy, coming from the King's quarters without drum, trumpet, or paſs; but was afterwards reprieved, and continued in Newgate ſeveral years. Sir Roger in a work of his, called Truth and Loyalty Vindicated, has informed us, that, when he received ſentence of death, which was pro⯑nounced againſt him by Dr. Mills, then judge ad⯑vocate, and afterwards chancellor to the biſhop of Norwich, he was caſt into Newgate, where he was viſited by Mr. Thorowgood and Mr. Arrowſmith, two members of the aſſembly of divines, who kind⯑ly offered him their utmoſt intereſt if he would make ſome petitionary acknowledgment, and ſub⯑mit to take the covenant, which he refuſed. But [296] that he might obtain a reprieve, he wrote ſeveral letters to the earl of Northumberland, the earl of Stamford, and others of the nobility, from whom he received favours. In the Houſe of Commons he was particularly obliged to Sir John Corbet, and Sir Henry [...]\nholmondley. He was reprieved in order to a further hearing; but after almoſt thirty months ſpent in vain endeavours, either to come to a hearing, or to put himſelf into an exchangeable condition, he printed a ſtate of his caſe, as an Appeal from the Court-martial to the Parliament, dated at Newgate in 1647.

After almoſt four years impriſonment, with his keeper's privity, he ſlipt into Kent, and then with much difficulty got beyond ſea. About the latter end of Auguſt 1653, upon the diſſolution of the Long Par⯑liament, by Cromwel, he returned into England, and preſently acquainted the council, then ſitting at Whitehall, that finding himſelf within the Act of Indemnity, he thought it his duty to give them notice of his return. Soon after this he was ſerved with the following order,

This order laid him under a neceſſity of attend⯑ing for his diſcharge, but perceiving his buſineſs to advance very ſlowly, and his father at that time lying upon his death-bed, he was ſollicitous to have his diſcharge as much haſtened as poſſible, that he might pay his duty to his father, whom he had not ſeen for many years before. Mr. Strick⯑land was one of the commiſſioners appointed to [297] examine him, and the perſon from whom, in the judgment of his friends, he was to expect the leaſt favour. Mr. L'Eſtrange therefore to render him more propitious to his purpoſe, paid him the com⯑pliment of a viſit, telling him frankly that he was returned upon the invitation of the Act of Indem⯑nity; and laying before him how much it con⯑cerned him, both in comfort and intereſt, to ſee his dying father. Mr. Strickland, in place of complying with Mr. L'Eſtrange's propoſition, an⯑ſwered, that he would find himſelf miſtaken, and that his caſe was not included in that Act. Mr. L'Eſtrange's reply to him was, ‘'that he might have been ſafe among the Turks upon the ſame terms;'’ and ſo he left him. From that time matters be⯑ginning to look worſe and worſe, he conſidered it, as his laſt expedient, to addreſs Cromwel himſelf. After ſeveral diſappointments, for want of oppor⯑tunity, he ſpoke to him at laſt in the Cock-pit, and the ſum of his deſire was, either a ſpeedy ex⯑amination, or that it might be deferred 'till he had ſeen his father. Cromwel remonſtrated againſt the reſtleſſneſs of his party, obſerved, ‘'that rigour was not his inclination, but that he was but one man, and could do little by himſelf; and that Mr. L'Eſtrange's party would do well to give ſome better teſtimony of their quiet, and peaceable in⯑tentions.'’ Mr. L'Eſtrange told him, ‘'that every man was to anſwer for his own actions, at his own peril;'’ and ſo Cromwel took his leave. Some time after this Mr. L'Eſtrange was called, and Mr. Strickland, with another gentleman, were his ex⯑aminers; but the latter preſſed nothing againſt him. Mr. Strickland indeed inſiſted upon his condem⯑nation, and would have deprived him of the benefit of the Act of Indemnity, telling him at laſt, ‘'that he had given no evidence of the change of his mind, and conſequently was not to be truſted.'’ Mr. L'Eſtrange's final anſwer was to this effect, ‘'that [298] it was his intereſt to change his opinion, if he could, and that whenever he found reaſon ſo to do, he would obey the ſenſe of his own mind.'’ Some few days after this he was diſcharged^*. ‘'During the dependency of this affair (ſays Mr. L'Eſtrange) I might well be ſeen at Whitehall, but that I ſpake to Cromwel on any other buſineſs than this, that I either ſought, or pretended to, any privacy with him, or that I ever ſpake to him after this time, I abſolutely diſown. Con⯑cerning the ſtory of the fiddle^†, this I ſuppoſe might be the riſe of it: being in St. James's Park, I heard an organ touched in a little low room of one Mr. Henckſon's; I went in, and found a private company of ſome five or ſix perſons. They deſired me to take up a Viol, and bear a part. I did ſo, and that part too, not much advance to the reputation of my cunning. By and by, without the leaſt colour of deſign, or expectation, in comes Cromwel. He found us playing, and, as I remember, ſo he left us.—As to bribing of his attendants, I diſclaim it. I never ſpake to Thurloe, but once in my life, and that was about my diſcharge. Nor did I ever give bribe, little or great, in the family.'’

The above declaration Sir Roger was obliged to make, as ſome of his enemies wanted to turn thoſe circumſtances of favour he received from the Oliverian government to his diſadvantage, and pre⯑vent his riſing in court diſtinction.

Sir Roger having little paternal fortune, and being a man rather profuſe than oeconomical, he had recourſe to writing for bread. After the re⯑ſtoration he ſet up a news paper, which was con⯑tinued 'till the Gazette was firſt ſet on foot by Sir Joſeph Williamſon, under ſecretary of ſtate, [299] for which, however, the government allowed Mr. L'Eſtrange a conſideration. Mr. Wood informs us, that our author publiſhed his paper twice every week in 4to. under the title of The Public Intelligence and News; the firſt of which came out Auguſt the 31ſt, 1663, and the other September the 3d, the ſame year ‘'Theſe continued till the 9th of Ja⯑nuary 1665, at which time Mr. L'Eſtrange deſiſt⯑ed, becauſe in the November before, there were other News-Papers publiſhed twice every week, in half a ſheet in folio. Theſe were called The Oxford Gazettes, and commenced the 7th of No⯑vember, 1665, the king and queen, with their courts being then at Oxford. Theſe for a little while were written by one Henry Muddeman; but when the court removed to London, they were called the London Gazette. Soon after Mr. Joſeph Williamſon, under ſecretary of State, pro⯑cured the writing of them for himſelf; and there⯑upon employed Charles Perrot, M. A. and fellow of Oriel College in Oxford, who had a good command of his pen, to do that office under him, and ſo he did, though not conſtantly, till about 1671; after which time they were conſtantly written by under ſecretaries, belonging to thoſe that are principal, and do continue ſo to this day.'’

Soon after the popiſh plot, when the Tories be⯑gan to gain the aſcendant over the Whigs, Mr. L'Eſtrange became a zealous promoter of the Tory intereſt. He ſet up a paper called the Obſervator, in which he defended the court, and endeavoured to invalidate thoſe evidences which were given by Oates's party againſt the Jeſuits. He likewiſe wrote a pamphlet, in which he attempts to prove, that Sir Edmundbury Godfrey's murther, for which ſo many ſuffered, and ſo great a flame was raiſed in the nation, was really perpetrated by himſelf. He attempts to ſhew that Sir Edmundbury was a melancholy enthu⯑ſiaſtic [300] man; that he was weak in his underſtanding, and abſurd in his conduct. The activity he diſcovered in Oates's plot, had raiſed him to ſuch reputation, that he was unable to bear it, and therefore the na⯑tural enthuſiaſm of his temper prompted him to make himſelf a ſacrifice, from a view of advancing the Proteſtant cauſe, as he knew his murther would be charged upon the Papiſts.

Mr. L'Eſtrange's reaſoning, being only conjec⯑tural, and very improbable, is therefore far from concluſive: It is certain that there never was a more intricate affair than this. We have read the trials of all thoſe who ſuffered for this murther, chiefly upon the evidence of one Prance, and one Bedloe, who pretended to have been accomplices; but their relation is ſo inconſiſtent; their characters ſo very infamous, and their reward for being evidences ſup⯑poſed to be ſo conſiderable, that the moſt candid en⯑quirer after truth, can determine nothing poſitively concerning it. All who ſuffered for the popiſh plot, denied their knowledge of it; the four men who were executed, as being the perpetrators perſiſted to the laſt in proteſting their innocence of it. After all, the murther of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey is per⯑haps one of thoſe ſecrets, which will ever remain ſo, till the hearts of all men are laid open.

The ſervices, which Mr. L'Eſtrange rendered the court, procured him the honour of knighthood; and he ſerved as a member for Wincheſter, in the par⯑liament called by king James the IId. 1685. But things taking quite a different turn in that prince's reign, in point of liberty of conſcience, to what moſt people expected, our author's Obſervators were dropt, as not being ſuitable to the times. However he continued licenſer of the preſs 'till the ac⯑ceſſion of the prince of Orange to the throne; in whoſe reign, on account of his Tory principles, and his attachment to his late maſter, he met with ſome troubles. He was ſuffered however to deſcend [301] to the grave in peace, though he had in a manner ſurvived his underſtanding. He died December 12, 1705, in the 88th year of his age.

^* Beſides his Obſervators, which make three volumes in folio, he publiſhed a great number of poetical and other works. Winſtanley, in his Lives of the Poets, ſays, ‘'That thoſe who ſhall conſider the number and greatneſs of his books, will ad⯑mire he ſhould ever write ſo many; and thoſe who have read them, conſidering the ſkill and method they are written in, will admire he ſhould write ſo well. Nor is he leſs happy in verſe than proſe, which for elegance of language, and quick⯑neſs of invention, deſervedly entitles him to the honour of a poet.'’

The following are the titles of ſome of his works, viz. Collections in Defence of the King. Tolera⯑tion Diſcuſſed. Relapſed Apoſtate. Apology for Proteſtants. Richard againſt Baxter. Tyranny and Popery. Growth and Knavery. Reformed Catholic. Free-born Subjects. The Caſe Put. Seaſonable Memorials. Anſwer to the Appeal. L'Eſtrange no Papiſt; in anſwer to a Libel, intitled L'Eſtrange a Papiſt, &c. with Notes and Animadverſions upon Miles Prance, Silver-Smith, cum multis aliis. The Shammer Shamm'd. Account Cleared. Reforma⯑tion Reformed. Diſſenters Sayings, in two Parts. Notes on Colledge, the Proteſtant Joiner. Citizen and Bumpkin, in two Parts. Further Diſcovery in the Plot. Diſcovery on Diſcovery. Narrative of the Plot. Zekiel and Ephraim. Appeal to the King and Parliament. Papiſt in Maſquerade. An⯑ſwer to the ſecond Character of a Popiſh Succeſſor. Conſiderations upon a Printed Sheet intitled, The Speech of Lord Ruſſel to the Sheriffs: Together with the Paper delivered by him to them at the place of execution, on July 1683.

[302] Theſe pieces with many more, were printed in quarto; beſides which he wrote the following, viz. The Hiſtory of the Plot in Folio. Caveat to the Cavaliers. He tranſlated into Engliſh Cicero's Offices; Seneca's Morals, Eraſmus's Colloquies; Quevedo's Viſions; Bona's Guide to Eternity; Five Love Letters from a Nun to a Cavalier; Joſephus's Works; Aeſop's Fables.

Mr. Gordon, author of the Independent Whig, and tranſlator of Tacitus, has very freely cenſured L'Eſtrange. He beſtows very freely upon him the epithet of a buffoon, an ignorant droll, &c.—He charges him with having no knowledge of the Latin tongue; and ſays, he is unfit to be read by any perſon of taſte. That his ſtile is full of technical terms, and of phraſes picked up in the ſtreets, from apprentices and porters.

Sir Roger L'Eſtrange tranſlated the third Book of Tacitus, an author of whom Mr. Gordon made an entire tranſlation. To raiſe the reputation of his own performance, he has abuſed that of L'Eſtrange, in terms very unfit for a gentleman to uſe, ſuppoſing the cenſure had been true. Sir Roger's works in⯑deed are often calculated for the meaneſt capacities, and the phraſe is conſequently low; but a man muſt be greatly under the influence of prejudice, who can diſcover no genius in his writings; nor an intimate acquaintance with the ſtate of parties, human life, and manners.

Sir Roger was but ill-rewarded by the Tories, for having been their champion; the latter part of his life was clouded with poverty, and though he de⯑ſcended in peace to the grave, free from political turmo ls, yet as he was bowed down with age and diſtreſs, he cannot be ſaid to have died in comfort. [303] He had ſeen much of the world, examined many characters, experienced the viciſſitudes of fortune, and was as well inſtructed as any man that ever lived, in the important leſſon of human life, viz. That all things are vanity.

Mr. EDMUND SMITH.

THIS diſtinguiſhed poet was ſon of an emi⯑nent merchant, one Mr. Neal, by a daughter of baron Lechemere^*. Some misfortunes of his father, which were ſoon followed by his death, oc⯑caſioned our author's being left very young in the care of a near relation (one who married Mr. Neal's mother, whoſe name was Smith).

This gentleman treated him with as much tender⯑neſs as if he had been his own child, and placed him at Weſtminſter-ſchool, under the care of Dr. Buſby. After the death of his generous guardian (whoſe name in gratitude he thought proper to aſſume) he was removed to Chriſt's Church in Ox⯑ford, and was there by his aunt handſomely ſup⯑ported till her death; after which he continued a member of that learned ſociety, till within five years of his own. Some time before his leaving Chriſt-Church, he was ſent for by his mother to [304] Worceſter, and acknowledged by her as a legiti⯑mate ſon. We chuſe to mention this circumſtance, in order to wipe off the aſperſion which folly and ignorance caſt upon his birth^*.

In honour to Mr. Smith it ſhould be remembered, that when he ſtood a candidate for one of the uni⯑verſities, at the Weſtminſter election, he ſo peculi⯑arly diſtinguiſhed himſelf by his conſpicuous per⯑formances, that there aroſe no ſmall contention be⯑tween the repreſentative electors of Trinity-College in Cambridge, and Chriſt-Church College in Oxon, which of thoſe two i [...]\nluſtrious ſocieties ſhould adopt him as their own. But the electors of Trinity Col⯑lege having the preference of choice that year, they reſolutely elected him; but being invited at the ſame time to Chriſt-Church, Mr. Smith choſe to accept of a ſtudentſhip there.

He paſſed through the exerciſes of the college, and the univerſity, with unuſual applauſe; and tho' he often ſuffered his friends to call him off from his retirement; yet his return to his ſtudies was ſo much the more paſſionate, and his love of reading and thinking being ſo vehement, the habit grew upon him, and the ſeries of meditation and reflexion being kept up whole weeks together, he could bet⯑ter arrange his ideas, and take in ſundry parts of a ſcience at one view, without interruption or confuſion. Some of his acquaintance, who were pleaſed to diſtinguiſh between the wit and the ſcholar, extoll'd him altogether on account of the firſt of theſe ex⯑cellencies; but others, who were more candid, ad⯑mired him as a prodigy in both. He had acquired reputation in the ſchools, both as a philoſopher and polemic of extenſive knowledge, and deep penetration, and went through all the courſes with a proper regard to the dignity, and importance of each ſcience.

[305] Mr. Smith had a long and perfect intimacy with all the Greek and Latin Claſſics; with whom he had induſtriouſly compared whatever was worth pe⯑ruſing in the French, Spaniſh, and Italian, and all the celebrated writers in his own country. He con⯑ſidered the antients and moderns, not as parties, or rivals for fame, but as architects upon one and the ſame plan, the Art of Poetry. If he did not always commend the compoſitions of others, it proceeded not from ill-nature (for that was foreign to his temper) but a ſtrict regard to juſtice would not ſuffer him to call a few flowers elegantly adorned, without much art, and leſs genius, by ſo diſtinguiſhed a name as poetry. He was of Ben Johnſon's opinion, who could not admire,

Mr. Smith's Bodleian Oration, printed with his other works, though taken from a remote and im⯑perfect copy, has ſhewn the world, how great a maſter he was of Ciceronian Eloquence. Since Temple and Roſcommon (ſays Mr. Oldiſworth) ‘'No man underſtood Horace better, eſpecially as to his happy diction, rolling numbers, beautiful imagery, and alternate mixture of the ſoft and ſublime. His friend Mr. Philips's Ode to Mr. St. John, after the manner of Horace's Luſory, or Amatorian Odes, is certainly a maſter-piece: But Mr. Smith's Pocockius is of the ſublimer kind; though like Waller's writings upon Crom⯑well, it wants not the moſt delicate and ſurprizing turns, peculiar to the perſon praiſed.'’

He was an excellent judge of humanity, and ſo good a hiſtorian, that in familiar converſation, he would talk over the moſt memorable facts in anti⯑quity; [306] the lives, actions, and characters of cele⯑brated men, with amazing facility and accuracy. As he had carefully read and diſtinguiſhed Thuanus's works, ſo he was able to copy after him: And his talent in this kind was ſo generally confeſs'd, that he was made choice of by ſome great men, to write a hiſtory, which it was their intereſt to have execut⯑ed with the utmoſt art, and dexterity; but this de⯑ſign was dropp'd, as Mr. Smith would not ſacrifice truth to the caprice, and intereſted views of a party.

Our author's Poem, condoling the death of Mr. Philips, is full of the nobleſt beauties, and pays a juſt tribute to the venerable aſhes of that great man. Mr. Smith had contracted for Mr. Philips the moſt perfect friendſhip, a paſſion of which he was very ſaſceptible, and whoſe laws he conſidered as ſacred and inviolable.

In the year 1707 Mr. Smith's Tragedy called Phae⯑dra and Hippolitus was acted at the Theatre-Royal. This play was introduced upon the ſtage, at a time when the Italian Opera ſo much engroſſed the at⯑tention of the polite world, that ſenſe was ſacrificed to ſound. It was dreſs'd and decorated, at an ex⯑traordinary expence:—and inimitably perform'd in all its parts, by Betterton, Booth, Barry, and Oldfield. Yet it brought but few, and ſlender audi⯑ences.—To ſay truth, 'twas a fine Poem; but not an extraordinary Play. Notwithſtanding the intrinſic merit of this piece, and the countenance it met with from the moſt ingenious men of the age, yet it lan⯑guiſhed on the ſtage, and was ſoon neglected. Mr. Addiſon wrote the Prologue, in which he rallies the vitiated taſte of the public, in preferring the unideal entertainment of an Opera, to the genuine ſenſe of a Britiſh Poet.

We have been induced to tranſcribe theſe lines of Mr. Addiſon, in order to have the pleaſure of pro⯑ducing ſo great an authority in favour of the Engliſh drama, when placed in contradiſtinction to an en⯑tertainment, exhibited by Eunuchs and Fidlers, in a language, of which the greateſt part of the audi⯑ence are ignorant; and from the nature of which no moral inſtruction can be drawn.

The chief excellence of this play certainly con⯑ſiſts in the beauty and harmony of the verſification. The language is luxuriantly poetical. The paſſion of Phaedra for her huſband's ſon has been conſider⯑ed by ſome critics as too unnatural to be ſhewn on the ſtage; and they have obſerved that the poet would have written more ſucceſsfully if he had con⯑verted [308] the ſon into a brother. Poetical juſtice is carefully diſtributed; Phaedra and Lycon are juſtly made the ſufferers, while Hippolitus and Iſmena eſcape the vengeance of Theſeus. The play is not deſtitute of the pathetic, tho' much more regard is paid to the purity and elegance of the language, than a poet more acquainted with the workings of the heart would have done. We ſhall give an example to illuſtrate this obſervation. When Theſeus reproaches Hippolitus for his love to Iſmena, and at the ſame time dooms him as the victim of his revenge and jealouſy, he uſes theſe words,

We cannot ſuppoſe that a man wrought up to fury, by the flame of jealouſy, and a ſenſe of a⯑fronted dignity, could be ſo particular in giving his ſon directions how to behave in hell, and to whom he ſhould relate the ſtory of his fate. When any paſſion violently overwhelms the ſoul, the perſon who feels it, always ſpeaks ſententiouſly, avoids repetitions, and is not capable of much recollection, at leaſt of making a minute detail of circumſtances. In how few words, and with greater force would Shakeſpear have conducted this ſpeech of Theſeus. An example will prove it: when Othello is inform⯑ed that Caſſio is ſlain, he replies,

When Phaedra is made acquainted with the ruin of Hyppolitus, the poet makes her utter the following beautiful ſpeech, which, however, is liable to the ſame objection as the former, for it ſeems rather a ſtudied declamation, than an expreſſion of the moſt agonizing throes ſhe is then ſuppoſed to experience.

No man had a juſter notion of the difficulty of compoſing, than Mr. Smith, and he ſometimes would create greater difficulties than he had rea⯑ſon to apprehend. Mr. Smith had, indeed, ſome defects in his conduct, which thoſe are more apt to remember, who could imitate him in nothing elſe. Amongſt the blemiſhes of an innocent kind, [310] which attended Mr. Smith, was his extreme care⯑leſſneſs in the particular of dreſs; this oddity pro⯑cured him the name of Captain Ragg. His per⯑ſon was ſo well formed, and he poſſeſſed ſo much natural gracefulneſs, that notwithſtanding the diſ⯑advantage of his appearance, he was called, by the Ladies, the Handſome Sloven.

It is to be wondered at (ſays Mr. Oldiſworth) that a man under poverty, calamities, and diſ⯑appointments, could make ſo many friends, and thoſe ſo truly valuable. He had, indeed, a noble idea of the paſſion of friendſhip, in the ſucceſs of which, conſiſted the greateſt, if not the only hap⯑pineſs of his Life. He was ſerene and chearful under the diſpenſations of providence; he avoided having any dealings with mankind in which he could not be juſt, and therefore refuſed to em⯑brace ſome opportunities of amending his fortune.

Upon Mr Smith's coming to town, no man was more ſurrounded by all thoſe who really had, or pretended to wit, or more courted by the great men, who had then a power and opportunity of encouraging arts and ſciences. Mr. Smith's cha⯑racter grew upon his friends by intimacy, and ex⯑ceeded the ſtrongeſt prepoſſeſſions which had been conceived in his favour. A few years before his death, Mr. Smith engaged in ſome conſiderable Undertakings; in all which he raiſed expectations in the world, which he lived not to gratify. Mr. Oldiſ⯑worth obſerves, that he had ſeen about ten ſheets of Pindar tranſlated into Engliſh, which, he ſays, exceeded any thing of that kind, he could ever hope for in our language. He had drawn out a plan for a tragedy of Lady Jane Grey, and had written ſeveral ſcenes of it: a ſubject after⯑wards nobly executed by Mr. Rowe. His great⯑eſt undertaking was Longinus, which he executed in a very maſterly manner. He propoſed a large addition to this work, of notes and obſervations [311] of his own, with an intire ſyſtem of the art of poetry in three books, under the title of Thoughts, Action, and Figure; in this work he propoſed to reform the art of Rhetoric, by reducing that confuſed heap of Terms, with which a long ſuc⯑ceſſion of Pedants had incumbered the world, to a very narrow compaſs; comprehending all that was uſeful and ornamental in poetry under each head, and chapter. He intended to make remarks upon all the ancients and moderns, the Greek, Latin, Engliſh. French, Spaniſh, and Italian po⯑ets, and to anamadvert upon their ſeveral beauties and defects.

Mr. Smith died in the year 1710, in the 42d of his age, at the ſeat of George Ducket eſq called Hartham, in Wiltſhire; and was buried in the pariſh church there. We ſhall give the cha⯑racter of this celebrated poet in the words of Mr. Oldiſworth:—

Thus far Mr. Oldiſworth, who has drawn the character of his deceaſed friend, with a laudable fondneſs. Mr. Smith, no doubt, poſſeſſed the higheſt genius for poetry; but it is certain he had mixed but too lit⯑tle in life. His language, however luxuriouſly po⯑etical, yet is far from being proper for the drama, and there is too much of the poet in every ſpeech he puts in the mouths of his characters, which pro⯑duces an uniformity, that nothing could teach him to avoid, but a more general knowledge of real life and characters. It is acknowledged that Mr. Smith was much inclined to intemperance, though Mr. Oldiſ⯑worth has gloſſed it over with the hand of a friend; nor is it improbable, that this diſpoſition ſunk him in that vis inertiae, which has been the bane of many of the brighteſt geniuſes of the world. Mr. Smith was, upon the whole, a good natured man, a great poet, a finiſhed ſcholar, and a diſcerning critic.

DANIEL DE FOE.

THIS gentleman acquired a very confi⯑derable name by his political and poetical works; his early attachment to the revolution in⯑tereſt, and the extraordinary zeal and ability with which he defended it. He was bred, ſays Mr. Ja⯑cob, a Hoſier, which profeſſion he forſook, as un⯑worthy of him, and became one of the moſt en⯑terprizing authors this, or any other age, ever pro⯑duced. The work by which he is moſt diſtinguiſh⯑ed, as a poet, is his True Born Engliſhman, a Sa⯑tire, occaſioned by a poem entitled Foreigners, written by John Tutchin, eſq ^*. This gentleman (Tutchin) was of the Monmouth faction, in the reign of King Charles II. and when that unhap⯑py prince made an attempt upon his uncle's crown, Mr. Tutchin wrote a political piece in his favour, for which, ſays Jacob, he was ſo ſeverely handled by Judge Jeffries, and his ſentence was ſo very uncommon, and ſo rigorouſly executed, that he petitioned King James to be hanged.

Soon after the revolution, the people, who are reſtleſs in their inclinations, and loath that, to-day, for which they would yeſterday have ſacrificed their lives, began to be uneaſy at the partiality [314] their new King diſcovered to his countrymen. The popular diſcontent roſe to ſuch a heighth, that King William was obliged to diſmiſs his Dutch guards, and though he died in poſſeſſion of the crown of England, yet it proved to him a crown of thorns, and he ſpent fewer peaceful moments in his regal ſtation, than before his head was envi⯑roned with an uneaſy diadem. De Foe, who ſeems to have had a very true notion of civil liberty, engaged the enemies of the new government, and levelled the force of his ſatire againſt thoſe, who valued themſelves for being true-born Engliſh⯑men. He expoſes the fallacy of that prepoſſeſſion, by laying open the ſources from whence the Engliſh have ſprung. ‘'Normans, Saxons, and Danes, ſays he, were our forefathers; we are a mixed people; we have no genuine origin; and why ſhould not our neighbours be as good as we to derive from? and I muſt add^*, that had we been an unmixed nation, I am of opinion, it had been to our diſadvantage: for to go no farther, we have three nations about us clear from mixture of blood, as any in the world, and I know not which of them we could wiſh ourſelves to be like; I mean the Scotch, Welſh, and Iriſh, and if I were to write a reverſe to the ſatire, I would examine all the nations of Europe, and prove, that theſe nations which are the moſt mixed, are the beſt, and have leaſt of barbariſm and bruta⯑lity amongſt them.'’ Mr. De Foe begins his ſa⯑tire with the following lines,

[315] After paſſing a general cenſure on the ſurround⯑ing nations, Italy, Germany, France, &c. he then takes a view of England, which he charges with the black crime of ingratitude. He enumerates the ſeveral nations from whence we are derived, Gauls, Saxons, Danes, Iriſh, Scots, &c. and ſays,

This ſatire, written in a rough unpoliſhed manner, without art, or regular plan, contains ſome very bold and maſculine ſtrokes againſt the ridiculous vanity of valuing ourſelves upon deſcent and pedigree. In the concluſion he has the follow⯑ing ſtrong, and we fear too juſt, obſervation.

The next ſatire of any conſequence which De Foe wrote, was entitled Reformation of Manners, in which ſome private characters are ſeverely at⯑tacked. It is chiefly aimed at ſome perſons, who being veſted with authority to ſuppreſs vice, yet rendered themſelves a diſgrace to their country, en⯑couraging wickedneſs by that very authority they have to ſuppreſs it.

Poetry was far from being the talent of De Foe. He wrote with more perſpicuity and ſtrength in proſe, and he ſeems to have underſtood, as well [316] as any man, the civil conſtitution of the kingdom, which indeed was his chief ſtudy.

In the firſt volume of his works there is a proſe eſſay, which he entitles The Original Power of the Collective Body of the People of England, Exa⯑mined and Aſſerted; this was intended to refute a very ridiculous opinion, which politicians, more zealous than wiſe, had induſtriouſly propagated, viz. ‘'That the repreſentatives of the people, i. e. the Houſe of Commons had a right to enact what⯑ever laws, and e [...]\ner into whatever meaſures they pleaſe, without any dependence on, or even con⯑ſulting the opinion of, their conſtituents; and that the collective body of the people have no right to call them to an account, or to take a⯑ny cognizance of their conduct.'’ In anſwer to which Mr. De Foe very ſenſibly obſerves, ‘'that it is poſſible for even a Houſe of Commons to be in the wrong. They may be miſſed by factions and parties, and it is as ridiculous to ſuppoſe them in⯑fallible, as to ſuppoſe the Pope of Rome, or the Popiſh conclave infallible, which have more than once determined againſt one another. It is poſſible (ſays he) for them to be bribed by penſions and places, and by either of thoſe extremes to betray their truſt, and abuſe the people who entruſt them; and if the people ſhould have no redreſs in ſuch a caſe, then would the nation be in hazard of being ruined by their own repreſentatives. And it is a wonder to find it aſſerted in a certain treatiſe, That it is not to be ſuppoſed, that ever the Houſe of Commons can injure the people who entruſt them. There can be no better way to demon⯑ſtrate the poſſibility of a thing, than by proving that it has been already; and we need go no further back than to the reign of King Charles II. in which we have ſeen liſts of 180 mem⯑bers, who received private penſions from the [317] court; and if any body ſhould aſk whether that parliament preſerved the ballance of power in the three branches of our conſtitution, in the due diſtribution ſome have mentioned? I am not a⯑fraid to anſwer in the negative. And why, even to this day, are gentlemen ſo fond of ſpending their eſtates to fit in the Houſe, that ten thou⯑ſand pounds have been ſpent at a time to be cho⯑ſen, and now that way of procuring elections is at an end, private briberies, and clandeſtine con⯑trivances are made uſe of to get into the Houſe? No man would give a groat to ſit, where he can⯑not get a groat himſelf for ſitting, unleſs there were either parties to gratify, profits to be made, or intereſt to ſupport. In this caſe it is plain a people may be ruined by their repreſentatives, and the firſt law of nature, ſelf-preſervation, give the people a right to reſent public encroach⯑ments upon their valuable liberties.'’

In the ſame volume is a tract entitled The Shorteſt Way with the Diſſenters, which contained reflexions againſt ſome eccleſiaſtics in power, for breathing too much a ſpirit of perſecution. He be⯑came obnoxious to the miniſtry on this account, and was obliged to juſtify himſelf by writing an explanation of it. Mr. De Foe in his preface to the ſecond volume of his works, collected by himſelf, takes occaſion to mention the ſevere hardſhips he laboured under, occaſioned by thoſe Printers, more induſtrious than himſelf, who make a practice of pirating every work attended with ſucceſs. As an inſtance of this kind of oppreſſion, he mentions the True Born Engliſhman, by which, had he en⯑joyed the full profit of his own labours, he muſt have gained near a thouſand pounds; for beſides nine editions which paſſed under his own inſpec⯑tion, this poem was twelve times pirated: but the inſolence of thoſe fraudulent dealers did not ſtop [318] here. A Printer of a bad reputation collected a ſpurious and erroneous copy of ſeveral pieces of De Foe, and entitled them The Works of the Au⯑thor of the True Born Engliſhman; and though he was then embroiled with the government for one of the pamphlets which this collection con⯑tained, yet had this man the impudence to print amongſt them the ſame pamphlets, preſuming ſo far upon the partiality of the public reſentment, that he ſhould paſs with impunity for publiſhing that very thing for which the author was to be pro⯑ſecuted with the utmoſt ſeverity. This, however, was an irreſiſtible teſtimony, that the reſentment ſhewn to the author was on ſome other, and leſs juſtifiable account, than the publication of that book; ſo was it a ſevere ſatire on the unwarineſs of the miniſtry, who had not eyes to diſcern their juſtice plainly expoſed, and their general proceed⯑ings bantered by a Printer, for publiſhing in de⯑fiance of them that ſame book for which another man ſtood arraigned.

Mr. De Foe, who poſſeſſed a reſolute temper, and a moſt confirmed fortitude of mind, was never awed by the threats of power, nor deterred from ſpeaking truth by the inſolence of the great. Wherever he found vice he laſhed it, and frequent⯑ly, as Pope ſays, he

For ſome vigorous attacks againſt the meaſures of a prevailing party, which Mr. De Foe reckoned unconſtitutional and unjuſt, he was proſecuted, and received ſentence to ſtand on the pillory; which puniſhment he underwent.

At the very time he was in the hands of the mi⯑niſtry, to ſhew the invincible force of his mind, [319] he wrote a Hymn to the Pillory, as a kind of de⯑fiance of their power. ‘'The reader (ſays he)^* is deſired to obſerve this poem was the author's declaration, even when in the cruel hands of a mercileſs, as well as unjuſt miniſtry; that the treatment he had from them was unjuſt, exor⯑bitant, and conſequently illegal.'’ As the mini⯑ſtry did not think proper to proſecute him for this freſh inſult againſt them, that forbearance was conſtrued a confeſſion of guilt in their former pro⯑ceedings.

In the ſecond volume of our author's works, is a piece entitled More Reformation, a ſatire upon himſelf. We have already taken notice of a ſa⯑tire of his called Reformation of Manners, in which ſome perſonal characters are ſtigmatized, which drew much odium on Mr. De Foe. This ſatire called More Reformation, is a kind of ſupplement to the former. In the preface he complains of the ſevere uſage he had met with, but, ſays he,

We have been induced to make this extract, as it ſeems to ſhew the genius and ſpirit of the author in a more advantageous light, than we could have otherwiſe done. Though he was a reſolute aſſert⯑er of Whig principles, and a champion for the cauſe of liberty, yet was he never blinded by par⯑ty prejudice, but could diſcern deſigning, and ſelf⯑iſh men, and ſtrip them of their diſguiſes, though joined with him in the ſame political conteſts.

In the concluſion of the Hymn to the Pillory, which is written with great ſtrength of expreſſion, he aſſigns the reaſons for his being doomed to that ignominy.

There are in the ſame volume many other poe⯑tical pieces, and political, and polemical tracts, the greateſt part of which are written with great force of thought, though in an unpoliſhed irregu⯑lar ſtile. The natural abilities of the author (for he was no ſcholar) ſeem to have been very high. He had a great knowledge of men and things, particularly what related to the government, and trade of theſe kingdoms. He wrote many pam⯑phlets on both, which were generally well receiv⯑ed, though his name was never prefixed. His imagination was fertile, ſtrong, and lively, as may be collected from his many works of fancy, par⯑ticularly his Robinſon Cruſoe, which was written in ſo natural a manner, and with ſo many proba⯑ble incidents, that, for ſome time after its publi⯑cation, it was judged by moſt people to be a true ſtory. It was indeed written upon a model en⯑tirely new, and the ſucceſs and eſteem it met with, may be aſcertained by the many editions it has ſold, and the ſums of money which have been gained by it. Nor was he leſs remarkable in his writings of a ſerious and religious turn, witneſs his Religious Courtſhip, and his Family Inſtructor; both of which ſtrongly inculcate the worſhip of God, the relative duties of huſbands, [323] wives, parents, and children, not in a dry dogma⯑tic manner, but in a kind of dramatic way, which excites curioſity, keeps the attention awake, and is extremely intereſting, and pathetic.

We have already ſeen, that in his political capa⯑city he was a declared enemy to popery, and a bold defender of revolution principles. He was held in much eſteem by many great men, and though he never enjoyed any regular poſt under the government, yet he was frequently employed in matters of truſt and confidence, particularly in Scotland, where he ſeveral times was ſent on af⯑fairs of great importance, eſpecially thoſe relative to the union of the kingdoms, of which he was one of the negotiators.

It is impoſſible to arrive at the knowledge of half the tracts and pamphlets which were writ⯑ten by this laborious man, as his name is not pre⯑fixed, and many of them being temporary, have periſhed like all other productions of that kind, when the ſubjects upon which they were written are forgot. His principal performances, perhaps, are theſe,

• A Plan of Commerce, an eſteemed Work, in one large vol. 8vo. of which a new edition was lately publiſhed.
• Memoirs of the Plague, publiſhed in 1665.
• Religious Courtſhip.
• Family Inſtructor. Two Volumes.
• Hiſtory of Apparitions (under the name of More⯑ton.)
• Robinſon Cruſoe. Two Volumes.
• Political Hiſtory of the Devil.
• Hiſtory of Magic.
• Caledonia, a Poem in praiſe of Scotland.
• De Jure Divino, a Poem.
• Engliſh Tradeſman, &c.
• Hiſtory of Colonel Jack.
• Cleveland's Memoirs, &c. are alſo ſaid to be his.

[324] Conſidered as a poet, Daniel De Foe is not ſo eminent, as in a political light: he has taken no pai [...]\ns in verſification: his ideas are maſculine, his expreſſions coarſe, and his numbers generally rough. He ſeems rather to have ſtudied to ſpeak truth, by probing wounds to the bottom, than, by em⯑belliſhing his verſification, to give it a more ele⯑gant keenneſs. This, however, ſeems to have proceeded more from careleſſneſs in that particu⯑lar, than want of ability: for the following lines in his True Born Engliſhman, in which he makes Britannia rehearſe the praiſes of her hero, King William, are harmoniouſly beautiful, and elegant⯑ly poliſhed.

[325] What provocation De Foe had given to Pope we cannot determine, but he has not eſcaped the laſh of that gentleman's pen. Mr. Pope in his ſecond book of his Duciad thus ſpeaks of him;

It may be remarked that he has joined him with Tutchin, a man, whom judge Jeffries had or⯑dered to be ſo inhumanly whipt through the market towns, that, as we have already obſerved, he petitioned the King to be hanged. This ſeve⯑rity ſoured his temper, and after the depoſition and death of King James, he indulged his re⯑ſentment in inſulting his memory. This may be the reaſon why Pope has ſtigmatized him, and perhaps no better a one can be given for his attack⯑ing De Foe, whom the author of the Notes to the Dunciad owns to have been a man of parts. De Foe can never, with any propriety, be ranked a⯑mongſt the dunces; for whoever reads his works with candour and impartiality, muſt be convinced that he was a man of the ſtrongeſt natural powers, a lively imagination, and ſolid judgment, which, joined with an unſhaken probity in his moral conduct, and an invincible integrity in his political ſphere, ought not only to ſcreen him from the petulant attacks of ſatire, but tranſmit his name with ſome degree of applauſe to poſterity.

De Foe, who enjoyed always a competence, and was ſeldom ſubject to the neceſſities of the poets, died at his houſe at Iſlington, in the year 1731. He left behind him one ſon and one daughter. The latter is married to Mr. Henry Baker, a gentleman well known in the philoſophical world.

Mrs. ELIZABETH ROWE.

THIS lady was born at Ilcheſter in So⯑merfetſhire September 11, 1674, being the eldeſt of three daughters of Mr. Walter Singer, a gentleman of good family, and Mrs. Elizabeth Portnel, both perſons of great worth and piety. Her father was not a native of Ilcheſter, nor an inhabitant, before his impriſon⯑ment there for non-conformity in the reign of King Charles II. Mrs. Portnel, from a principle of tenderneſs, viſited thoſe who ſuffered on that account, and by this accident an acquaintance commenced, which terminated in the nuptial uni⯑on. They who were acquainted with the lady, who is the ſubject of this article, in her early years, perhaps obſerved an uncommon diſplay of genius as prophetic of that bright day which afterwards enſued.

There is ſo great a ſimilitude between painting and poetry, that it is no ways ſurpriſing, a per⯑ſon, who poſſeſſed the latter of theſe graces in ſo high a degree, ſhould very eaſily diſcover an in⯑clination to the former, which has often the ſame admirers. Accordingly we find Mrs. Rowe diſcover a taſte for painting; ſhe attempted to carry her taſte into execution, when ſhe had hardly ſteadineſs of hand ſufficient to guide the pencil. Her father perceiving her ſondneſs for this art, was at the ex⯑pence of a maſter to inſtruct her in it; and ſhe ne⯑ver failed to make it an amuſement 'till her death. Every one acquainted with her writings, and ca⯑pable of reliſhing the melifluent flow of her num⯑bers, will naturally ſuppoſe, that ſhe had a genius [327] for muſic, particularly that of a grave and ſolemn kind, as it was beſt ſuited to the grandeur of her ſentiments, and the ſublimity of her devotion. But her moſt prevailing propenſion was to poetry. This ſuperior grace was indeed the moſt favourite employment of her youth, and in her the moſt di⯑ſtinguiſhed excellence. So powerful was her geni⯑us in this way, that her proſe hath all the charms, of verſe without the fetters; the ſame fire and ele⯑vation; the ſame richneſs of imagery, bold figures, and flowing diction.

It appears by a life of Mrs. Rowe, prefixed to the firſt volume of her miſcellaneous works, that in the year 1696, the 22d of her age, a Collection of her Poems on various Occaſions was publiſhed at the deſire of two of her friends, which we ſup⯑poſe did not contain all ſhe had by her, ſince the ingenious author of the preface, Mrs. Elizabeth Johnſon, gives the reader room to hope, that Mrs. Rowe might, in a little while, be prevailed upon to oblige the world with a ſecond part, no way inferior to the former.

Mrs. Rowe's Paraphraſe on the 38th Chapter of Job was written at the requeſt of biſhop Kenn, which gained her a great reputation. She had no other tutor for the French and Italian languages than the honourable Mr. Thynne, ſon to the lord viſcount Weymouth, and father to the right honourable the counteſs of Hertford, who willing ly took the taſk upon himſelf, and had the plea⯑ſure to ſee his fair ſcholar improve ſo faſt by his leſſons, that in a few months ſhe was able to read Taſſo's Jeruſalem with eaſe. Her ſhining merit, with the charms of her perſon and converſation, had procured her many admirers: among others, the celebrated Mr. Prior made his addreſſes to her; ſo that allowing for the double licence of the po⯑et and the lover, the concluding lines in his An⯑ſwer to Mrs. Singer's Paſtoral on Love and Friend⯑ſhip, [328] were not without foundation in truth; but Mr. Thomas Rowe, a very ingenious and learned gentleman, was the perſon deſtined to fill the arms of this amiable poeteſs.

As this gentleman was a poet of no inconſider⯑able rank, a man of learning and genius, we ſhall here give ſome account of him, in place of aſſign⯑ing him a particular Article, as the incidents of his life will be more naturally blended with that of his wife.—He was born at London, April the 25th, 1687, the eldeſt ſon of the revd. Mr. Rowe: who with a very accurate judg⯑ment, and a conſiderable ſtock of uſeful learning, joined the talents in preaching and a moſt lively and engaging manner in converſation. He was of a genteel deſcent, both on his father▪s and mother's ſide; but he thought too juſtly to value himſelf on ſuch extrinſic circumſtances. His ſuperior genius, and inſatiable thirſt after knowledge were conſpicu⯑ous in his earlieſt years. He commenced his ac⯑quaintance with the Claſſics at Epſom, while his father reſided there, and by the ſwift advances in this part of learning, quickly became the delight of his maſter, who treated him with very parti⯑cular indulgence, in ſpight of the natural rugged⯑neſs and ſeverity of his temper.

When his father removed to London, he accom⯑panied him, and was placed under the famous Dr. Walker, maſter of the Charter-Houſe-School. His exerciſes here never failed of being diſtinguiſhed even among thoſe who had the approbation of that excellent maſter, who would fain have perſuaded his father to place him at one of our Engliſh uni⯑verſities; but how honourably ſoever Mr. Rowe might think of the learning of thoſe noble ſeats of the Muſes, yet not having the ſame advantageous no⯑tions of their political principles, he choſe to enter him in a private academy in London, and ſome time be⯑fore his death ſent him to Leyden: Here he ſtudied [329] Jeuriel's Antiquities, civil law, the Belles Lettres, and experimental philoſophy; and eſtabliſhed a re⯑putation for capacity, application, and an obliging deportment, both among the profeſſors and ſtudents. He returned from that celebrated ſeat of literature, with a great acceſſion of knowledge, entirely incor⯑rupt in his morals, which he had preſerved as in⯑violate, as he could have done under the moſt vigi⯑lant eye, though left without any reſtraints but thoſe of his own virtue and prudence.

The love of liberty had always been one of Mr. Rowe's darling paſſions. He was very much con⯑firmed therein, by his familiar acquaintance with the hiſtory and noble authors of Greece and Rome, whoſe very ſpirit was tranferred into him: By re⯑ſiding ſo long at a Republic, he had continual ex⯑amples of the ineſtimable value of freedom, as the parent of induſtry, and the univerſal ſource of ſocial happineſs. Tyranny of every kind he ſincerely de⯑teſted; but moſt of all eccleſiaſtical tyranny, deem⯑ing the ſlavery of the mind the moſt abject and ig⯑nominious, and in its conſequences more pernicious than any other.

He was a perfect maſter of the Greek, Latin and French languages; and, which is ſeldom known to happen, had at once ſuch a prodigious memory, and unexhauſtible fund of wit, as would have ſingly been admired, and much more united. Theſe qua⯑lities, with an eaſy fluency of ſpeech, a frankneſs, and benevolence of diſpoſition, and a communica⯑tive temper, made his company much ſollicited by all who knew him. He animated the converſation, and inſtructed his companions by the acuteneſs of his obſervations.

He had formed a deſign to compile the lives of all the illuſtrious perſons of antiquity, omitted by Plutarch; and for this purpoſe read the antient hiſ⯑torians with great care. This deſign he in part ex⯑ecuted. Eight lives were publiſhed ſince his de⯑ceaſe, [330] in octavo, by way of Supplement to that admired Biographer; in which though ſo young a guide, he ſtrikes out a way like one well acquaint⯑ed with the dark and intricate paths of antiunity. The ſtile is perfectly eaſy, yet conciſe, and nervous: The reflections juſt, and ſuch as might be expected from a lover of truth and of mankind.

Beſides theſe Lives, he had finiſhed for the preſs, the Life of Thraſybulus, which being put into the hands of Sir Richard Steele, for his reviſal, was unhappily loſt, and could never ſince be recovered.

The famous Mr. Dacier, having tranſlated Plu⯑tarch's Lives into French, with Remarks Hiſtorical and Critical, the Abbé Bellenger added in 1734 a ninth tome to the other eight, conſiſting of the Life of Hannibal, and Mr. Rowe's Lives made French by that learned Abbé: In the Preface to which verſion, he tranſcribes from the Preface to the Eng⯑liſh edition, the character of the author with viſible approbation; and obſerves, that the Lives were written with taſte; though being a poſthumous work, the author had not put his laſt hand to it.

Such is the character of Mr. Rowe, the huſband of this amiable lady; and when ſo accompliſhed a pair meet in conjugal bonds, what great expecta⯑tions may not be formed upon them! A friend of Mr. Rowe's upon that occaſion wrote the following beautiful Epigram,

[331] Mr. Rowe being at Bath, in the year 1709, was introduced into the company of Miſs Singer, wholived in a retirement not far from the city. The idea he had conceived of her from report and her writ⯑ings, charmed him; but when he had ſeen and con⯑verſed with her, he felt another kind of impreſſion, and the eſteem of her accompliſhments was heighten⯑ed into the rapture of a lover. During the court⯑ſhip, he wrote a poetical Epiſtle to a friend, who was a neighbour of Mrs. Singer, and acquainted with the family, in which were the following lines.

He married her in the year 1710, and Mrs. Rowe's exalted merit, and amiable qualities, could not fail to inſpire the moſt generous and laſting paſſion. Mr. Rowe knew how to value that treaſure of wit, ſoftneſs and virtue, with which heaven had bleſſed him; and made it his ſtudy to repay the felicity with which ſhe crowned his life. The eſteem and tenderneſs he had for her is inex⯑preſſible, and poſſeſſion ſeems never to have abated the fondneſs and admiration of the lover; a circum⯑ſtance which ſeldom happens, but to thoſe who are [332] capable of enjoying mental intercourſe, and have a reliſh for the ideal tranſports, as well as thoſe of a leſs elevated nature. It was ſome conſiderable time after his marriage, that he wrote to her a very ten⯑der Ode, under the name of Delia, full of the warmeſt ſentiments of connubial friendſhip and af⯑fection. The following lines in it may appear re⯑markable, as it pleaſed Heaven to diſpoſe events, in a manner ſo agreeable to the wiſhes expreſſed in them,

This part of the Ode which we have quoted, con⯑tains the moſt tender breathings of affection, and has as much delicacy and ſoftneſs in it, as we re⯑member ever to have ſeen in poetry.

[333] As Mr. Rowe had not a robuſt conſtitution, ſo an intenſe application to ſtudy, beyond what the delicacy of his frame could bear, might contribute to that ill ſtate of health which allayed the happi⯑neſs of his married li [...]\ne, during the greater part of it. In the latter end of the year 1714, hi [...]\n weak⯑neſs encreaſed, and he ſeemed to labour under all the ſymptoms of a conſumption; which diſtemper, after it had confined him ſome months, put a period to his moſt valuable life, at Hampſtead, in 1715, when he was but in the 28th year of his age. The exquiſite grief and af [...]\nliction, which his amiable wife ſelt for the loſs of ſo excellent a huſband, is not to be expreſſed.

She wrote a beautiful Elegy on his death, and continued to the laſt moments of her life, to expreſs the higheſt veneration and affection for his memory, and a particular regard and eſteem for his relations. This Elegy of Mrs. Rowe, on the death of her much lamented huſband, we ſhall here inſert.

After Mr. Rowe's deceaſe, and as ſoon as her affairs would permit, our authoreſs indulged her inconquerable inclination to ſolitude, by retiring to Froome in Somerſetſhire, in the neighbourhood of which place the greateſt part of her eſtate lay. When ſhe forſook the town, ſhe determined to re⯑turn no more but to ſpend the remainder of her life in abſolute retirement; yet upon ſome few oc⯑caſions ſhe thought it her duty to violate this reſo⯑lution.

[336] In compliance with the importunate requeſt of the honourable Mrs. Thynne, ſhe paſſed ſome months with her at London, after the death of her daughter the lady Brooke, and upon the deceaſe of Mrs. Thynne herſelf, ſhe could not diſpute the commands of the counteſs of Hert⯑ford, who earneſtly deſired her company, to ſoften the ſevere affliction of the loſs of ſo excellent a mother, and once or twice more, the power which this lady had over Mrs. Rowe, drew her, with an obliging kind of violence, to ſpend a few months with her in the country. Yet, even on theſe occa⯑ſions ſhe never quitted her retreat without ſincere regret, and always returned to it, as ſoon as ſhe could with decency diſengage herſelf from the im⯑portunity of her noble friends. It was in this receſs that ſhe compoſed the moſt celebrated of her works, in twenty Letters from the Dead to the Living; the deſign of which is to impreſs the notion of the ſoul's immortality, without which all virtue and religion, with their temporal and eternal good conſequences muſt fall to the ground.

Some who pretend to have no ſcruples about the being of a God, have yet doubts about their own eternal exiſtence, though many authors have eſtabliſhed it, both by chriſtian and moral proofs, beyond reaſonable contradiction. But ſince no means ſhould be left untried, in a point of ſuch awful im⯑portance, a virtuous endeavour to make the mind familiar with the thoughts of immortality, and con⯑tract as it were unawares, an habitual perſuaſion of it, by writings built on that foundation, and addreſſed to the affections, and imagination, cannot be thought improper, either as a doctrine or amuſement: A⯑muſement, for which the world makes ſo large a demand, and which generally ſpeaking is nothing but an art of forgetting that immortality, the form, [337] belief, and advantageous contemplation, of which this higher amuſement would recommend.

In the year 1736, the importunity of ſome of Mrs. Rowe's acquaintance who had ſeen the Hiſtory of Joſeph in MS. prevailed on her to print it. The publication of this piece did not long precede the time of her death, to prepare for which had been the great buſineſs of her life; and it ſtole upon her according to her earneſt wiſhes, in her beloved receſs. She was favoured with a very uncommon ſtrength of conſtitution, and had paſs'd a long ſeries of years with ſcarce any indiſpoſition, ſevere enough to confine her to bed.—But about half a year before her deceaſe, ſhe was attacked with a diſtemper, which ſeemed to herſelf as well as others, attended with danger. Tho' this diſorder found her mind not quite ſo ſerene and prepared to meet death as uſual; yet when by devout contemplation, ſhe had fortified herſelf againſt that fear and diffidence, from which the moſt exalted piety does not always ſecure us in ſuch an awful hour, ſhe experienced ſuch divine ſatisfaction and tranſport, that ſhe ſaid with tears of joy, ſhe knew not that ſhe ever felt the like in all her life, and ſhe repeated on this occa⯑ſion Pope's beautiful ſoliloquy of the dying Chriſtian to his ſoul.

She repeated the above, with an air of intenſe pleaſure. She felt all the elevated ſentiments of pious extaſy and triumph, which breath in that ex⯑quiſite piece of ſacred poetry. After this threat⯑ning illneſs ſhe recovered her uſual good ſtate of health; and though at the time of her deceaſe ſhe was pretty far advanced in years, yet her exact temperance, and the calmneſs of her mind, undiſ⯑turbed with uneaſy cares, and turbulent paſſions, encouraged her friends to hope a much longer enjoy⯑ment of ſo valuable a life, than it pleaſed heaven to allow them. On the day when ſhe was ſeized with that diſtemper, which in a few hours proved mortal, ſhe ſeemed to thoſe about her to be in perfect health and vigour. In the evening about eight o'clock ſhe converſed with a friend, with her uſual vivacity, mixed with an extraordinary chearfulneſs, and then retired to her chamber. About 10 her ſervant [339] hearing ſome noiſe in her miſtreſ's room, ran in⯑ſtantly into it, and found her fallen off the chair on the floor, ſpeechleſs, and in the agonies of death. She had the immediate aſſiſtance of a phyſician and ſurgeon, but all the means uſed were without ſuc⯑ceſs, and having given one groan ſhe expired a few minutes before two o'clock, on Sunday morning, February the 20th, 1736-7: Her diſeaſe was judged to be an apoplexy. A pious book was found lying open by her, as alſo ſome looſe papers, on which ſhe had written the following devout ejaculations,

In her cabinet were found letters to ſeveral of her friends, which ſhe had ordered to be delivered to the perſons to whom they were directed immediately after her deceaſe.

Mrs. Rowe lived in friendſhip with people of the firſt faſhion and diſtinction in life, by whom ſhe was eſteemed and reſpected. To enumerate them would be needleſs; let it ſuffice to remark, that her life was honoured with the intimacy, and her death la⯑mented with the tears, of the counteſs of Hertford. Many verſes were publiſhed to celebrate her memory, amongſt which a copy written by Mrs. Elizabeth Carter are the beſt.

Thus lived honoured, and died lamented, this excellent poeteſs, whoſe beauty, though not her [340] higheſt excellence, yet greatly contributed to ſet off her other more important graces to advantage; and whoſe piety will ever ſhine as a bright example to poſterity, and teach them how to heighten the natural gifts of underſtanding, by true and unaffected devo⯑tion.—The conduct and behaviour of Mrs. Rowe might put ſome of the preſent race of females to the bluſh, who rake the town for infamous adventures to amuſe the public. Their works will ſoon be for⯑gotten, and their memories when dead, will not be deemed exceeding precious; but the works of Mrs. Rowe can never periſh, while exalted piety and genuine goodneſs have any exiſtence in the world. Her memory will be ever honoured, and her name dear to lateſt poſterity.

Mrs. Rowe's Miſcellaneous Works were publiſhed a few years ago at London, in octavo, and her De⯑votions were reviſed and publiſhed by the reverend Dr. Watts, under the title of Devout Exerciſes, to which that worthy man wrote a preface; and while he removes ſome cavils that wantonneſs and ſenſu⯑ality might make to the ſtile and manner of theſe Devotions, he ſhews that they contain the moſt ſub⯑lime ſentiments, the moſt refined breathings of the ſoul, and the moſt elevated and coeleſtial piety.

Mrs. Rowe's acquaintance with perſons of faſhion had taught her all the accompliſhments of good-breeding, and elegance of behaviour, and with⯑out formality or affectation ſhe practiſed in the moſt diſtant ſolitude, all the addreſs and politeneſs of a court.

She had the happieſt command over her paſſions, and maintained a conſtant calmneſs of temper, and ſweetneſs of diſpoſition, that could not be ruffled by adverſe accidents.

[341] She was in the utmoſt degree an enemy to ill-na⯑tured ſatire and detraction; ſhe was as much un⯑acquainted with envy, as if it had been impoſſible for ſo baſe a paſſion to enter into the human mind.

She had few equals in converſation; her wit was lively, and ſhe expreſſed her thoughts in the moſt beautiful and flowing eloquence.

When ſhe entered into the married ſtate, the high⯑eſt eſteem and moſt tender affection appeared in her conduct to Mr. Rowe, and by the moſt gentle and obliging manner, and the exerciſe of every ſocial and good natured virtue; ſhe confirmed the empire ſhe had gained over his heart. In ſhort, if the moſt cultivated underſtanding, if an imagination lively and extenſive, a character perfectly moral, and a ſoul formed for the moſt exalted exerciſes of de⯑votion, can render a perſon amiable, Mrs. Rowe has a juſt claim to that epithet, as well as to the admi⯑ration of the lovers of poetry and elegant compo⯑ſition.

The Revd. Dr. THOMAS YALDEN.

THIS Gentleman was born in the city of Exeter, and the youngeſt of ſix ſons of Mr. John Yalden of Suſſex. He received his education at a Grammar-ſchool, belonging to Magdalen-Col⯑lege in Oxford. ^* In the year 1690 he was ad⯑mitted a commoner of Magdalen-Hall, under Mr. John Pullen, who was eſteemed an excellent tutor, and a very great maſter of logic, and the following year he was choſen ſcholar of Magdalen-College. Here he became a fellow-pupil with the celebrated Mr. Addiſon and Dr. Henry Sacheverel, and early contracted a particular friendſhip with thoſe two gentlemen. This academical affection Mr. Addiſon preſerved not only abroad in his travels, but alſo on his advancement to conſiderable employments at home, and kept the ſame eaſy and free correſpon⯑dence to the very laſt, as when their fortunes were more on a level. This preſervation of affection is rendered more ſingular, by Mr. Yalden's having eſpouſed a very oppoſite Intereſt to that of Mr. Ad⯑diſon, for he adhered to the High-Church party, and was ſuſpected of an attachment to an exiled family, for which he afterwards was brought into very great trouble.

In the year 1700 he was admitted actual and per⯑petual fellow of Magdalen-College, and qualified [343] himſelf the next year, by taking orders, as the founder's ſtatutes require. After his admiſſion he received two public marks of favour from that ſo⯑ciety: The firſt was a preſentation to a living in Warwickſhire, conſiſtent with his fellowſhip; and the other, his being elected moral philoſophy-reader, an office for life, endowed with a handſome ſtipend, and peculiar privileges.

In 1706 he was received into the family of his noble and kind patron the duke of Beaufort; with whom he was in very great favour, having in many inſtances experienced his bounty and generoſity. In the following year he compleated his academical degrees, by commencing doctor in divinity: He pre⯑ſented to the ſociety their founder's picture in full length, which now hangs up in the public-hall; and afterwards he delivered in to the preſident a voluntary reſignation of his fellowſhip, and moral philoſophy-lecture. He was afterwards preferred to be rector of Chalten in Cleanville, two adjoining towns and rectories in Hampſhire. He was elected by the preſident and governors of Bridewell, preacher of that hoſpital, upon the reſignation of Dr. Atter⯑bury, afterwards lord biſhop of Rocheſter.

Having mentioned this prelate, it will be proper here to obſerve, that upon a ſuſpicion of Dr. Yalden's being concerned with him, in a plot to reſtore the exiled family; and for which the biſhop was afterwards baniſhed, he was ſeized upon by authority, and committed to priſon. When he was examined before the council, concerning hi [...]\n correſpondence and intimacy with Mr. Kelley the biſhop's ſecretary; he did not deny his knowledge of, and correſpondence with, him, but ſtill perſiſted in aſſerting, that no meaſures contrary to the conſti⯑tution were ever canvaſſed between them.

[344] There was found in his pocket book, a copy of verſes reflecting on the reigning family, and which might well bear the conſtruction of a libel; but when he was charged with them, he denied that he ever compoſed ſuch verſes, or that the hand-writing was his own, and aſſerted his innocence in every circumſtance relating to the plot. The verſes in all probability were put into his pocket-book, by the ſame perſon, who with ſo much dexterity placed a treaſonable paper in biſhop Atterbury's cloſe-ſtool, and then pretending to be the diſcoverer of it, pre⯑ferred it againſt his lordſhip, as an evidence of h [...]\n diſaffection. The particulars of that memorable tryal are recorded in the Life of Atterbury, writ⯑ten by the authors of Biographia Britannica.—The heats raiſed by Atterbury's tryal ſubſiding, thoſe who were ſuſpected of being concerned with him, as no evidence appeared ſtrong enough to convict them, were releaſed.

Dr. Yalden was ſtill favoured with the patronage of the generous duke of Beaufort, and his reſidence in that noble family recommended him to the ac⯑quaintance of many of the firſt quality and cha⯑racter in the kingdom, and as he was of a chear⯑ful temper, and of a pleaſing and inſtructive con⯑verſation, he retained their friendſhip and eſteem till his death, which happened the 16th of July, 1736, in the 66th year of his age.

His poetical works are chiefly theſe.

• On the Conqueſt of Namure; A Pindaric Ode, inſcribed to his moſt ſacred and victorious majeſty, folio 1695.
• The Temple of Fame; a Poem to the memory of the moſt illuſtrious Prince, William Duke of Glouceſter, folio 1700.
• [345] On the late Queen's Acceſſion to the Throne, a Poem.
• Aeſop at Court, or State Fables.
• An Eſſay on the Character on Sir Willoughby Aſhton, a Poem. Fol. 1704.
• On the Mines of Sir Carbery Price, a Poem; occaſioned by the Mine-adventure Company.
• On the Death of Mr. John Partridge, Profeſſor in Leather, and Aſtrologer.
• Advice to a Lover.
• To Mr. Watſon, on his Ephemeris on the Cae⯑leſtial Motions, preſented to Queen Anne.
• Againſt Immoderate Grief.
• The Force of Jealouſy.
• An Ode for St. Cecilia's Day, 1693, ſet to rhuſic by Dr. Purcel.
• A Hymn to the Morning in Praiſe of Light.

We ſhall extract the following ſtanza from this Hymn, as a ſpecimen of his poetry.

Beſides theſe pieces, this reverend gentleman has tranſlated the ſecond book of Ovid's Art of Love, with ſeveral other occaſional poems and tranſlations publiſhed in the third and fourth volumes of Ton⯑ſon's Miſcellanies.

The Medicine, a Tale in the ſecond Volume of the Tatlers, and Mr. Partridge's Appeal to the Learn⯑ed World, or a Further Account of the Manner of his Death, in Proſe, are likewiſe written by him.

Mr. JOSEPH MITCHEL.

THIS gentleman was the ſon of a Stone⯑cutter in Scotland, and was born about the year 1684. He received an univerſity education while he remained in that kingdom, and having ſome views of improving his fortune, repaired to the metropolis. We are not able to recover ma⯑ny particulars concerning this poet, who was ne⯑ver ſufficiently eminent to excite much curioſity concerning him. By a diſſipated imprudent beha⯑viour he rendered thoſe, who were more inti⯑mately acquainted with him, leſs ſollicitous to preſerve the circumſtances of his life, which were ſo little to his advantage. We find him enjoy⯑ing the favour of the earl of Stair, and Sir Robert Walpole, to whom he addreſſes ſome of his poems. He received ſo many obligations from the latter, and was ſo warm in his intereſt, that he obtained the epithet of Sir Robert Walpole's Poet, and for a great part of his life had an en⯑tire dependence on the bounty of that munificent ſtateſman. Mr. Mitchel, who was a ſlave to his pleaſures, and governed by every guſt of irregular appetite, had many opportunities of experiencing the dangerous folly of extravagance, and the ma⯑ny uneaſy moments which it occaſions. Notwith⯑ſtanding this, his conduct was never corrected, e⯑ven when the means of doing it were in his pow⯑er. At a time when Mr. Mitchel laboured under ſevere neceſſities, by the death of his wife's un⯑cle ſeveral thouſand pounds devolved to him, [348] of which he had no ſooner got poſſeſſion, than he planned ſchemes of ſpending it, in place of diſ⯑charging the many debts he had contracted. This behaviour, as it conveyed to his creditors no high idea of his honeſty, ſo it obliged him to be per⯑petually ſkulking, and muſt conſequently have em⯑bittered even thoſe, hours which he falſly dedi⯑dicated to pleaſure; for they who live under a perpetual dread of loſing their liberty, can en⯑joy no great comfort even in their moſt careleſs moments.

Of the many poems which Mr. Mitchel wrote, but few ſucceeded to any degree, nor indeed much deſerved it. At a time when the politicians were engaged in ſettling the Land-Tax, and various o⯑pinions were offered concerning the ability of that branch of the commonwealth, ſo that a proper medium or ſtandard might be fixed; he verſified the Totneſs Addreſs, much about the time of his preſent Majeſty's acceſſion to the throne; in which it is humourouſly propoſed, that the land⯑ed intereſt ſhould pay twenty ſhillings in the pound. This poem having a reference to a faſhion⯑able topic of converſation, was better received than moſt of his other pieces.

There was likewiſe a poem of Mr. Mitchel's, called The Shoe-heel, which was much read on account of the low humour it contains. He has addreſſed to Dr. Watts a poem on the ſubject of Jonah in the Whale's Belly. In the dedication he obſerves, ‘'That it was written for the advance⯑ment of true virtue and reformation of manners; to raiſe an emulation amongſt our young poets to attempt divine compoſures, and help to wipe off the cenſures which the numerous labours of the muſes are juſtly charged with. If (ſays he) [349] it ſhall ſerve any of theſe purpoſes, I ſhall be ſatisfied, though I gain no reputation by it a⯑mong thoſe who read a new poem with no o⯑ther view, than to paſs a judgment on the abi⯑lities of the author.'’ When the antagoniſts of Pope were threatened with the publication of the Dunciad, Mr. Mitchel had ſome ſuſpicion that he himſelf was to be ſtigmatized in it: conſcious that he had never offended Mr. Pope, he took an op⯑portunity to write to him upon that ſubject. He informed him, that he had been an admirer of his writings; that he declined all connexion with thoſe men, who combined to reduce his reputati⯑on, and that when no offence was given, no re⯑ſentment ſhould be diſcovered. Mr. Pope, upon receiving this letter from Mitchel, proteſting his innocence as to any calumny publiſhed againſt him, was ſo equitable as to ſtrike him out of his Danciad, in which, by miſrepreſentation he had aſſigned him a place.

Mr. Mitchel lived in good correſpondence with many of the moſt eminent wits of the time, and was particularly honoured with the friendſhip of Aaron Hill, eſq a gentleman of ſo amiable a diſpoſition, that wh [...]\never cultivated an intimacy with him, was ſure to be a gainer. Once, when Mr. Mitchel was in diſtreſs, Mr. Hill, who could not perhaps conveniently relieve him by pe⯑cuniary aſſiſtance, gave him a higher inſtance of friendſhip, than could be ſhewn by money. He wrote a beautiful dramatic piece in two acts, call⯑ed The Fatal Extravagant, in which he expoſed the hideous vice of gaming. This little dramatic work is planned with ſuch exquiſite art, wrought up with ſo much tenderneſs, and the ſcenes are ſo natural, intereſting and moving, that I know not if Mr. Hill has any where touched the paſſi⯑ons with ſo great a maſtery. This play met the [350] ſucceſs it deſerved, and contributed to relieve Mr. Mitchel's neceſſ [...]\nties, who had honour enough, how⯑ever, to undeceive the world, and acknowledge his obligations to Mr. Hill, by making mankind ac⯑quainted with the real author of he Fatal Extrava⯑gant. As this was a favour never to be forgot⯑ten, ſo we find Mr. Mitchel taking every proper occaſion to expreſs his gratitude, and celebrate his patron. Amongſt the firſt of his poems, is An Ode, addreſſed to Mr. Hill, which is one of the beſt of his compoſitions. The two laſt ſtanza's are as follow,

Mr. Mitchel died in the year 1738. He ſeems to have been a poet of the third rate; he has ſel⯑dom reached the ſublime; his humour, in which he more ſucceeded, is not ſtrong enough to laſt; his verſification holds a ſtate of mediocrity; he poſ⯑ſeſſed but little invention, and if he was not a bad rhimeſter, he cannot be denominated a fine poet, for there are but few marks of genius in his writ⯑ings. His poems were printed in two vol. 8vo. in the year 1729.

He wrote alſo, The Union of the Clans; or the Highland-Fair. A Scot's Opera. 'Twas acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, about the year 1730; but did not ſucceed.

Mr. JOHN OZELL.

THIS gentleman added conſiderably to the republic of letters by his numerous tranſla⯑tions. He received the rudiments of his educa⯑tion from Mr. Shaw, an excellent grammarian, maſter of the free ſchool at Aſhby De la Zouch in Leiceſterſhire: he finiſhed his grammatical learn⯑ing under the revd. Mr. Mountford of Chriſt's Hoſpital, where having attained the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew tongues, he was deſigned to be ſent to the univerſity of Cambridge, to be trained up for holy Orders. But Mr. Ozell, who was averſe to that confinement which he muſt expect in a college life, choſe to be ſooner ſettled in the world, and be placed in a public office of ac⯑counts, having previouſly qualified himſelf by at⯑taining a knowledge of arithmetic, and writing the neceſſary hands. This choice of an occupa⯑tion in our author, could no other reaſons be ad⯑duced, are ſufficient to denominate him a little tine⯑tured with dulneſs, for no man of genius ever yet made choice of ſpending his life behind a deſk in a compting-houſe.

He ſtill retained, however, an inclination to eru⯑dition, contrary to what might have been expect⯑ed, and by much converſation with travellers from abroad, made himſelf maſter of moſt of the liv⯑ing languages, eſpecially the French, Italian, and Spaniſh, from all which, as well as from the La⯑tin and Greek, he has favoured the world with a [353] great ^* many tranſlations, amongſt which are the following French plays;

• 1. Britannicus and Alexander the Great. Two Tragedies from Racine.
• 2. The Litigant, a Comedy of 3 Acts; tranſlat⯑ed from the French of M. Racine, who took it from the Waſps of Ariſtophanes, 8vo. 1715. Scene in a city of Lower Nornandy.
• 3. Manlius Capitolinus, a Tragedy from the French of M. La Foſſe, 1715. When the earl of Portland was ambaſſador at the French court, this play was acted at Paris threeſcore nights running; the ſubject is related by Livy. This French au⯑thor ſtudied ſome time at Oxford, and, upon his return home, applied himſelf to dramatic poetry, in which he acquired great reputation. He died a⯑bout the year 1713.
• 4. The Cid, a Tragedy from Corneille.
• 5. Cato of Utica, a Tragedy from M. Des Champs; acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1716, dedicated to Count Volkra his Ex⯑cellency the Imperial Ambaſſador: to which is added a Parallel between this Play and Mr. Ad⯑diſon's Cato.

Beſides theſe, Mr. Ozell has tranſlated all Mo⯑liere's plays, which are printed in 6 vol. 12mo. and likewiſe a collection of ſome of the beſt Spaniſh and Italian plays, from Calderon, Aretin, Ricci, and Lopez de Vega. Whether any of theſe plays, tranſlated from the Spaniſh, were ever printed, we cannot be poſitive. Mr. Ozell's tranſlation of Moliere is far from being excel⯑lent, for Moliere was an author to whom none, but a genius like himſelf, could well do juſtice.

[354] His other works are

• The Hiſtory of Don Quixote, tranſlated by ſe⯑veral hands, publiſhed by Peter Motteux; reviſed and compared with the beſt edition, printed at Ma⯑drid, by Mr. Ozell, 5th edition, 1725.
• Reflexions on Learning, by M. de Fenelon, Archbiſhop of Cambray, made Engliſh from the Paris Edition 12mo. 1718.
• Common Prayer, not Common Senſe, in ſeveral Places of the Portugueze, Spaniſh, Italian, French, Latin, and Greek Tranſlations of the Engliſh Li⯑turgy; Being a Specimen of the Manifold Omiſ⯑ſions, &c. in all, or moſt of the ſaid Tranſlations, ſome of which were printed at Oxford, and the reſt at Cambridge, or London, 1722.
• Vertot's Revolutions of Rome, tranſlated by Mr. Ozell.
• Logic, or the Art of Thinking; from the French of M. Nicole, 1723.

Mr. Ozell finiſhed a Tranſlation from the Por⯑tugueze, begun by Dr. Geddes, of the moſt ce⯑lebrated, popiſh, eccleſiaſtical Romance; being the the Life of Veronica of Milan, a book certified by the heads of the univerſity of Conimbra in Por⯑tugal, to be reviſed by the Angels, and approved of by God.

Theſe are the works of Mr. Ozell, who, if he did not poſſeſs any genius, has not yet lived in vain, for he has rendered into Engliſh ſome very uſeful pieces, and if his tranſlations are not ele⯑gant; they are generally pretty juſt, and true to their original.

Mr. Ozell is ſeverely touched by Mr. Pope in the firſt book of the Dunciad, on what account we cannot determine; perhaps that ſatyriſt has only in⯑troduced him to grace the train of his Dunces. [355] Ozell was incenſed to the laſt degree by this uſage, and in a paper called The Weekly Med⯑ley, September 1729, he publiſhed the following ſtrange Advertiſement^* ‘'As to my learning, this envious wretch-knew, and every body knows, that the whole bench of biſhops, not long ago, were pleaſed to give me a purſe of guineas for diſ⯑covering the erroneous tranſlations of the Common Prayer in Portugueze, Spaniſh, French, Italian, &c. As for my genius, let Mr. Cleland ſhew better verſes in all Pope's works, than Ozell's verſion of Boileau's Lutrin, which the late lord Hallifax was ſo well pleaſed with, that he com⯑plimented him with leave to dedicate it to him, &c. &c. Let him ſhew better and truer poetry in The Rape of the Lock, than in Ozell's Rape of the Bucket, which, becauſe an ingenious au⯑thor happened to mention in the ſame breath with Pope's, viz.‘' Let Ozell ſing the Bucket, Pope the Lock,’'the little gentleman had like to have run mad; and Mr. Toland and Mr. Gildon publicly declared Ozell's Tranſlation of Homer to be, as it was prior, ſo likewiſe ſuperior, to Pope's.—Surely, ſurely, every man is free to deſerve well of his country!' JOHN OZELL.’

This author died about the middle of October 1743, and was buried in a vault of a church be⯑longing to St. Mary Aldermanbury. He never ex⯑perienced any of the viciſſitudes of fortune, which have been ſo frequently the portion of his inſpired brethren, for a perſon born in the ſame county with him, and who owed particular obligations to his family, left him a competent proviſion: be⯑ſides, he had always enjoyed good places. He [356] was for ſome years auditor-general of the city and Bridge accounts, and, to the time of his deceaſe, auditor of the accounts of St. Paul's Cathedral, and St. Thomas's Hoſpital. Though, in reality, Ozell was a man of very little genius, yet Mr. Coxeter aſſerts, that his converſation was ſurpriz⯑ingly pleaſing, and that he had a pretty good knowledge of men and things. He poſſibly poſ⯑ſeſſed a large ſhare of good nature, which, when joined with but a tolerable underſtanding, will render the perſon, who is bleſſed with it, more amiable, than the moſt flaſhy wit, and the higheſt genius without it.