whole family of the Lizards, except the younger of the adversary; and when each has proposed sons. These are the branches which ordinarily spread themselves, when they happen to be hopeful, into other houses, and new generations, as honourable, numerous, and wealthy, as those from whence they are derived. For this reason it is, that a very peculiar regard is to be had to their education.

the decision of the matter, by any whom the other should name, he has taken hold of the occasion, and put on the authority assigned by them both, so seasonably, that they have begun a new correspondence with each other, fortified by his friendship to whom they both owe the value they have for one another, and conse. quently, confer a greater measure of their goodwill upon the interposer. I must repeat, that above all, my young man is excellent at raising the subject on which he speaks, and casting a light upon it more agreeable to his company, than they thought the subject was capable of He avoids all emotion and violence, and never is warm, but on an affectionate occasion. Gentleness is what peculiarly distinguishes lum from other men, and it runs through all his words and actions.

Mr. William, the next brother, is not of this smooth make, nor so ready to accommodate Lim self to the humours and inclinations of other men, but to weigh what passes with some se verity. He is ever searching into the first springs and causes of any action or circumstance, insomuch, that if it were not to be expected that ex

Young men, when they are good for any thing, and left to their own inclinations, delight either in those accomplishments we call their exercise, in the sports of the field, or in letters. Mr. Thomas, the second son, does not follow any of these with too deep an attention, but took to each of them enough never to appear ungraceful or ignorant. This general inclination makes him the more agreeable, and saves him from the imputation of pedantry. Ilis car. riage is so easy, that he is acceptable to all with whom he converses; he generally falls in with the inclination of his company, is never assuming, or prefers himself to others. Thus he always gains favour without envy, and has every man's good wishes. It is remarkable, that from his birth to this day, though he is now four-andtwenty, I do not remember that he has ever had a debate with any of his play-fellows or friends.perience and conversation would allay that huHis thoughts, and present applications are to mour, it must inevitably turn him to ridicule. get into a court life; for which, indeed, I can. But it is not proper to break in upon an inqui not but think him peculiarly formed; for he has sitive temper, that is of use to him in the way joined to this complacency of manners a great of life which he proposes to himself, to wit, the natural sagacity, and can very well distinguish study of the law, and the endeavour to arrive between things and appearances. That way of at a faculty in pleading. I have been very care life, wherein all men are rivals, demands great ful to kill in him any pretensions to follow men circumspection to avoid controversies arising already eminent, any farther than as their suc from different interests; but he who is by na- cess is an encouragement; but make it my en ture of a flexible temper has his work half done. deavour to cherish, in the principal and first I have been particulary pleased with his beha- place, his eager pursuit of solid knowledge in viour towards women: he has the skill, in their | his profession: for I think that clear conception conversation, to converse with them as a man will produce clear expression, and clear expres would with those from whom he might have ex- sion proper action: I never saw a man speak pectations, but without making requests. I do very well, where I could not apparently observe not know that I ever heard him make what they this, and it shall be a maxim with me till I see call a compliment, or be particular in his ad- an instance to the contrary. When young and dress to any lady; and yet I never heard any unexperienced men take any particular person woman speak of him but with a peculiar regard. for their pattern, they are apt to imitate them I believe he has been often beloved, but know in such things, to which their want of know. not that he was ever yet a lover. The great se- ledge makes them attribute success, and not to crct among them, is to be amiable without de- the real causes of it. Thus one may have an sign. He has a voluble speech, a vacant coun-air, which proceeds from a just sufficiency and tenance, and easy action, which represents the fact which he is relating with greater delight than it would have been to have been present at the transaction which he recounts. For you see it not only your own way by the bare narration, but have the additional pleasure of his sense of it, by this manner of representing it. There are mixed in his talk so many pleasant ironies, that things which deserve the severest language are made ridiculous instead of odious, and you see every thing in the most good-natured aspect it can bear. It is wonderfully entertaining to me to hear him so exquisitely pleasant, and never say an ill-natured thing. He is, with all his acquaintance, the person generally chosen to reconcile any difference, and if it be capable of accommodation, Tom Lizard is an unexceptionable referee. It has happened to him more than once, that he has been employed by each opposite in a private manner, to feel the pulse

knowledge of the matter before him, which may naturally produce some motion of his head and body, which might become the bench better than the bar. How painfully wrong would this be in a youth, at his first appearance, when it is not well even for the sergeant of the greatest weight and dignity. But I will, at this time, with a hint only of his way of life, leave Mr. William at his study in the temple.

The youngest son, Mr. John, is now in the twentieth year of his age, and has had the good fortune and honour to be chosen last election fellow of All-souls college in Oxford. He is very graceful in his person; has height, strength, vi gour, and a certain cheerfulness and serenity that creates a sort of love, which people at first sight observe is ripening into esteem. He has a sublime vein in poetry, and a warm manner in recommending, either in speech or writing, whatever he has earnestly at heart. This ex

they met accidentally in the fields with two young ladies, whose conversation they were very much pleased with, and being desirous to ingratiate themselves further into their favour, prevailed with them, though they had never seen them before in their lives, to take the air in a coach of their father's which waited for them at the end of Gray's-inn-lane. The youths ran with the wings of love, and ordered the coachman to wait at the town's end till they came back. One of our young gentlemen got up be. fore, and the other behind, to act the parts they had long, by the direction and example of their comrades, taken much pains to qualify them. selves for, and so gallopped off. What these mean entertainments will end in, it is impossi

cellent young man has devoted himself to the service of his Creator; and, with an aptitude to every agreeable quality, and every happy talent, that could make a man shine in a court, or command in a camp, he is resolved to go into holy orders. He is inspired with a true sense of that function, when chosen from a regard to the interests of piety and virtue, and a scorn of whatever men call great in a transitory being, when it comes in competition with what is unchangeable and eternal. Whatever men would undertake from a passion to glory, whatever they would do for the service of their country, this youth has a mind prepared to achieve for the salvation of souls. What gives me great hopes that he will one day make an extraordinary figure in the Christian world is, that his inven-ble to foresee; but a precaution upon that sub. tion, his memory, judgment, and imagination, are always employed upon this one view; and I do not doubt, but in my future precautions, to present the youth of this age with more agree. able narrations compiled by this young man on the subject of heroic piety, than any they can meet with in the legends of love and honour.

Nec sit, qua sit iter, nec si sciat imperet-
Ovid. Met. Lib. ii. 170.

-Nor did he know
Which way to turn the reins, or where to go;
Nor would the horses, had he known, obey.
Addison.

To the Guardian.
'SIR,-You having in your first paper de-
clared, among other things, that you will pub.
lish whatever you think may conduce to the ad-
vancement of the conversation of gentlemen, I
cannot but hope you will give my young mas-
ters, when I have told you their age, condition,
and how they lead their lives, and who, though
I say it, are as docile as any youths in Europe,
a lesson which they very much want, to restrain
them from the infection of bad company, and
squandering away their time in idle and unwor-
thy pursuits. A word from you, I am very well
assured, will prevail more with them than any
remonstrance they will meet with at home.
The eldest is now about seventeen years of age,
and the younger fifteen, born of noble parentage,
and to plentiful fortunes. They have a very
good father and mother, and also a governor,
but come very seldom (except against their wills)
in the sight of any of them. That which I ob-
serve they have most relish to, is horses and
cock-fighting, which they too well understand,
being almost positive at first sight to tell you
which horse will win the match, and which cock
the battle; and if you are of another opinion,
will lay you what you please on their own, and
it is odds but you lose. What I fear to be the
greatest prejudice to them, is their keeping
much closer to their horses' heels than their
books, and conversing more with their stable.
men and lackies than with their relations and
gentlemen: and, I apprehend, are at this time
better skilled how to hold the reins and drive a
coach, than to translate a verse in Virgil or Ho-
race. For, the other day, taking a walk abroad,

D

ject might prevent very great calamities in a
very worthy family, who take in your papers,
and might perhaps be alarmed at what you lay
before them upon this subject. I am, sir, your
most humble servant,
T. Š.'

་

To the Guardian.

'SIR, I writ to you on the twenty-first of this month, which you did not think fit to take notice of; it gives me the greater trouble that you did not, because I am confident the father of the young lads whom I mentioned, would have considered how far what was said in my letter concerned himself; upon which it is now too late to reflect. His ingenious son, the coach. man, aged seventeen years, has since that time, ran away with, and married one of the girls I spoke of in my last. The manner of carrying on the intrigue, as I have picked it out of the younger brother, who is almost sixteen, still a bachelor, was as follows. One of the young wo. men whom they met in the fields seemed very much taken with my master, the elder son, and was prevailed with to go into a cake-house not far off the town. The girl, it seems, acted her part so well, as to enamour the boy, and make him inquisitive into her place of abode, with all other questions which were necessary toward further intimacy. The matter was so managed, that the lad was made to believe there was no possibility of conversing with her, by reason of a very severe mother, but with the utmost cau. tion. What, it seems, made the mother, for. sooth, the more suspicious was, that because the men said her daughter was pretty, somebody or other would persuade her to marry while she was too young to know how to govern a family. By what I can learn from pretences as shallow as this, she appeared so far from having a design upon her lover, that it seemed impracticable to him to get her, except it were carried on with much secrecy and skill. Many were the interviews these lovers had in four-and-twenty hours time for it was managed by the mother, that he should run in and out as unobserved by her, and the girl be called every other instant into the next room, and rated (that she could not stay in a place) in his hearing. The young gentle. man was at last so much in love, as to be thought by the daughter engaged far enough to put it to the venture that he could not live without her. It was now time for the mother to appear, who surprised the lovers together in private, and ba

distinguish that they were poetry; and there. fore, with an innocent confusion in her face, she told me I might read them if I pleased, and so withdrew. By the hand, at first sight, I could not guess whether they came from a beau or a lady; but having put on my spectacles, and pe rused them carefully, I found by some peculiar modes in spelling, and a certain negligence in grammar, that it was a female sonnet. I have

the country, who is as bookish as herself; that they write to one another by the names of As. trea and Dorinda, and are mightily admired for their easy lines. As I should be loth to have a poetess in our family, and yet am unwilling harshly to cross the bent of a young lady's genius, I chose rather to throw together some thoughts upon that kind of poetry which is dis. tinguished by the name of easy, than to risk the fame of Mrs. Cornelia's friend, by exposing her work to public view.

nished the youth her house. What is not in the | power of love! the charioteer, attended by his faithful friend, the younger brother, got out the other morning a little earlier than ordinary, and having made a sudden friendship with a lad of their own age, by the force of ten shillings, who drove a hackney coach, the elder brother took his post in the coach-box, where he could act with a great deal of skill and dexterity, and waited at the corner of the street where his mis-since learned, that she hath a correspondent in tress lived, in hopes of carrying her off under that disguise. The whole day was spent in expectation of an opportunity; but in many parts of it he had kind looks from a distant window, which was answered by a brandish of his whip, and a compass taken to drive round and show his activity, and readiness to convey her where she should command him. Upon the approach of the evening, a note was thrown into his coach by a porter, to acquaint him that his mistress and her mother should take coach exactly at seven o'clock; but that the mother was to be set down, and the daughter to go further, and call again. The happy minute came at last, when our hack had the happiness to take in his expected fare, attended by her mother, and the young lady with whom he had first met her. The mother was set down in the Strand, and her daughter ordered to call on her when she came from her cousin's, an hour afterwards. The mother was not so unskilful as not to have instructed her daughter whom to send for, and how to behave herself when her lover should urge her consent. We yet know no further particulars, but that my young master was married that night at Knightsbridge, in the presence of his brother and two or three other persons; and that just before the ceremony he took his brother aside, and asked him to marry the other young woman. Now, sir, I will not harangue upon this adventure, but only observe, that if the education of this compound creature had been more careful as to his rational part, the animal life in him had not, perhaps, been so forward, but he might have waited longer before he was a husband. However, as the whole town will, in a day or two, know the names, persons, and other circumstances, I think this properly lies before your guardianship to consider, for the admonition of others; but my young master's fate is irrevocable. I am, sir, your most humble servant.'

I have said in a foregoing paper, that every thought which is agreeable to nature, and expressed in a language suitable to it, is written with ease: which I offered in answer to those who ask for ease in all kinds of poetry; and it is so far true, as it states the notion of easy writing in general, as that is opposed to what is forced or affected. But as there is an easy mien, and easy dress, peculiarly so called; so there is an easy sort of poetry. In order to write easily, it is necessary, in the first place, to think easily. Now, according to different subjects, men think differently; anger, fury, and the rough passions, awaken strong thoughts; glory, granduer, power, raise great thoughts; love, melancholy, solitude, and whatever gently touches the soul, inspire easy thoughts.

Of the thoughts suggested by these gentle subjects, there are some which may be set off by style and ornament. Others there are, which the more simply they are conceived, and the more clearly they are expressed, give the soul proportionably the more pleasing emotions. The figures of style added to them serve only to hide a beauty, however gracefully they are put on, and are thrown away like paint upon a fine complexion. But here, not only liveliness of fancy is requisite to exhibit a great variety of images, but also niceness of judgment to cull out those, which, without the advantage of foreign art, will shine by their own intrinsic beauty. By these means, whatsoever seems to demand labour being rejected, that only which appears to be easy and natural will come in, and so art will be hid by art, which is the perfection of easy writing.

I will suppose an author to be really possessed with the passion which he writes upon, and then we shall see how he would acquit himself. This I take to be the safest way to form a judgment of him, since if he be not truly moved, he must at least work up his imagination as near as possible, to resemble reality. I choose to instance in love, which is observed to have produced the most finished performances in this kind. A lover will be full of sincerity, that he may be believed by his mistress; be will, therefore, think simply; he will express himself perspicuously, that he may not perplex

her; he will, therefore, write unaffectedly. Deep | air and manner were genteel and easy, and his reflections are made by a head undisturbed; and wit agreeable. The ladies in complaisance to points of wit and fancy are the work of a heart at ease; these two dangers then, into which poets are apt to run, are effectually removed out of the lover's way. The selecting proper cir. cumstances, and placing them in agreeable lights, are the finest secrets of all poetry; but the recollection of little circumstances, is the lover's sole meditation, and relating them pleasantly the business of his life. Accordingly we find that the most celebrated authors of this rank excel in love-verses. Out of ten thousand instances I shall name one, which I think the most delicate and tender I ever saw.

'To myself I sigh often, without knowing why: And when absent from Phyllis, methinks I could die.' A man who hath ever been in love will be touched at the reading of these lines; and every one, who now feels that passion, actually feels that they are true.

From what I have advanced, it appears how difficult it is to write easily. But when easy writings fall into the hands of an ordinary reader, they appear to him so natural and unlaboured, that he immediately resolves to write,

and fancies that all he hath to do is to take no pains. Thus he thinks, indeed simply, but the thoughts, not being chosen with judgment, are not beautiful: he, it is true, expresses himself plainly, but flatly withal. Again, if a man of vivacity takes it in his head to write this way, what self-denial must he undergo, when bright points of wit occur to his fancy! How difficult will he find it to reject florid phrases, and pretty embellishments of style! So true it is, that simplicity of all things is the hardest to be copied, and ease to be acquired with the greatest labour. Our family knows very well how ill lady Flame looked, when she imitated Mrs. Jane in a plain black suit. And I remember, when Frank Courtly was saying the other day, that any man might write easy, I only asked him, if he thought it possible that squire Hawthorn should ever come into a room as he did? He made me a very handsome bow, and answered, with a smile, Mr. Ironside, you have convinced me.'

I shall conclude this paper by observing that pastoral poetry, which is the most considerable kind of easy writing, hath the oftenest been attempted with ill success, of any sort whatsoI shall, therefore, in a little time, communicate my thoughts upon that subject to the public.

ever.

him turned the discourse to poetry. This soon gave him an occasion of producing two new songs to the company; which, he said, he would venture to recommend as complete perform. ances. The first, continued he, is by a gentle. man of an unrivalled reputation in every kind of writing; and the second by a lady who does me the honour to be in love with me, because I am not handsome. Mrs. Annabella upon this (who never lets slip an occasion of doing sprightly things,) gives a twitch to the paper with a finger and a thumb, and snatches it out of the gentleman's hands: then casting her eye over it with a seeming impatience, she read us the songs: and in a very obliging manner desired the gentleman would let her have a copy of them, together with his judgment upon songs in general; that I may be able, said shie, to judge of gallantries of this nature, if ever it should be my fortune to have a poetical lover. The gentleman complied; and accordingly Mrs. Annabella, the very next morning, when she was at her toilet, had the following packet de. livered to her by a spruce valet de chambre,

THE FIRST SONG,

I.

On Belvidera's bosom lying,
Wishing, panting, sighing, dying,
The cold regardless maid to move,
With unavailing prayers I sue;
You first have taught ine how to love,
Ah teach me to be happy too!'

II.

But she, alas! unkindly wise,
To all my sighs and tears replies,
"Tis every prudent maid's concern
Her lover's fondness to improve;
If to be happy you shall learn,
You quickly would forget to love.'

THE SECOND SONG.
I.

Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art
To please my partial eyes;
The charms that have subdued my heart,
Another may despise.

II.

Thy face is to my humour made,
Another it may fright:
Perhaps, by some fond whim betrayed,
In oddness I delight,

III.

Vain youth, to your confusion know,
'Tis to my love's excess

You all your fancied beauties owe,
Which fade as that grows less.

IV.

For your own sake, if not for mine,
You should preserve my fire:
Since you, my swain, no more will shine,
When I no more admire.

V:

By me, indeed, you are allow'd
The wonder of your kind:
But be not of my judgment proud,
Whom love has rendered blind.

" To Mrs. Annabella Lizard.
'MADAM,-To let you see how absolute your
commands are over me, and to convince you of
the opinion I have of your good sense, I shall,
without any preamble of compliments, give you
my thoughts upon song-writing, in the same

order as they have occurred to me, only allow, me, in my own defence to say, that I do not remember ever to have met with any piece of criticism upon this subject; so that if I err, or seem singular in my opinions, you will be the more at liberty to differ from them, since I do not pretend to support them by any authority.

In all ages, and in every nation where poetry has been in fashion, the tribe of sonnetteers have been very numerous. Every pert young fellow that has a moving fancy, and the least jingle of verse in his head, sets up for a writer of songs, and resolves to immortalize his bottle or his mistress. What a world of insipid productions in this kind have we been pestered with since the revolution, to go no higher! This, no doubt, proceeds in a great measure from not forming a right judgment of the nature of these little compositions. It is true they do not require an elevation of thought, nor any extraor. dinary capacity, nor an extensive knowledge; but then they demand great regularity, and the utmost nicety; an exact purity of style, with the most easy and flowing numbers; an elegant and unaffected turn of wit, with one uniform and simple design. Greater works cannot well be without some inequalities and oversights, and they are in them pardonable; but a song loses all its lustre if it be not polished with the greatest accuracy. The smallest blemish in it, like a flaw in a jewel, takes off the whole value of it. A song is, as it were, a little image in enamel, that requires all the nice touches of the pencil, a gloss and a smoothness, with those delicate finishing strokes, which would be superfluous and thrown away upon larger figures, where the strength and boldness of a masterly hand gives all the grace.

one does not require the lyric numbers, and is usually employed upon satirical occasions ; whereas, the business of the other, for the most part, is to express (as my lord Roscommon translates it from Horace)

"Love's pleasing cares, and the free joys of wine."
I shall conclude what I have to say upon
this subject, by observing, that the French do
very often confound the song and the epigram,
and take the one reciprocally for the other. An
instance of which I shall give you in a remark.
able epigram which passes current abroad for
an excellent song.

"Tu parles mal par-tout de moi,
Je dis du bien par-tout de toi;

Quel malheur est le notre ?

L'on ne croit ni l'un ni l'autre."

'For the satisfaction of such of your friends as may not understand the original, I shall ven. ture to translate it after my fashion, so as to keep strictly the turn of thought, at the expense of losing something in the poetry and versifica. tion. "Thou speakest always ill of me, I speak always well of thee;

But spite of all our noise and pother. The world believes nor one nor `tother." Thus, madam, I have endeavoured to com ply with your commands; not out of vanity of erecting myself into a critic, but out of an ear nest desire of being thought, upon all occasions, your most obedient servant.'

Since you may have recourse to the French If it were possible to bear up against the and English translations, you will not accuse force of ridicule, which fashion has brought me of pedantry, when I tell you that Sappho, upon people for acknowledging a veneration for Anacreon, and Horace in some of his shorter the most sacred things, a man might say that lyrics, are the completest models for little odes the time we now are in, is set apart for humili. or sonnets. You will find them generally pur- ation; and all our actions should, at present, suing a single thought in their songs, which is more particularly tend that way. I remember driven to a point, without those interruptions about thirty years ago an eminent divine, who and deviations so frequent in the modern writers was also most exactly well-bred, told his con. of this order. To do justice to the French, there gregation at Whitehall, that if they did not is no living language that abounds so much in vouchsafe to give their lives a new turn, they good songs. The genius of the people, and the must certainly go to a place which he did not idiom of their tongue, seems adapted to compo- think fit to name in that courtly audience. It sitions of this sort. Our writers generally is with me as with that gentleman. I would, crowd into one song, materials enough for seve- if possible, represent the errors of life, especially ral; and so they starve every thought, by en- those arising from what we call gallantry, in deavouring to nurse up more than one at a time. such a manner as the people of pleasure may They give you a string of imperfect sonnets, read me. In this case, I must not be rough to instead of one finished piece, which is a fault gentlemen and ladies, but speak of sin as a genMr. Waller (whose beauties cannot be too much tleman. It might not perhaps be amiss, if admired) sometimes falls into. But, of all our therefore, I should call my present precaution, countrymen, none are more defective in their A Criticism upon Fornication; and, by represongs, through a redundancy of wit, than Dr.senting the unjust taste they have who affect Donne and Mr. Cowley. In them, one point of that way of pleasure, bring a distaste upon it wit flashes so fast upon another, that the read-among all those who are judicious in their sa er's attention is dazzled by the continual sparkling of their imagination; you find a new design started almost in every line, and you come to the end without the satisfaction of seeing any one of them executed.

'A song should be conducted like an epigram; and the only difference between them is, that

tisfactions. I will be bold then to lay down for a rule, that he who follows this kind of gratification, gives up much greater delight by pur suing it, that he can possibly enjoy from it." As to the common women and the stews, there is no one but will allow this assertion at first sight: but if it will appear, that they who deal wi