Defence of his Views of the Constitution. The Wisdom of Brief Presidential Terms of Office. Of the Distinction between a President and a Sovereign. The Militia System as distinguished from a Standing Confederacy as expressed in the Federal System. Of the Geographical Aspect of the United States as re- The Standing Army as a Peril to a Republic. JOHN GAY. JOHN GAY, an English poet, born at Barnstaple, baptized Sept. 16, 1685; died in London, Dec. 4, 1732. He was apprenticed to a silk-mercer in London, but turned his attention to literary pursuits. In 1713 he published "Rural Sports," a poem dedicated to Pope, which led to a close friendship between the two poets. This was followed by "The Shepherd's Week," a kind of parody on the "Pastorals" of Ambrose Philips. He subsequently wrote several comedies; and in 1727 brought out the "Beggar's Opera," which produced fame and money. This was followed by the comic opera of "Polly," the representation of which was forbidden by the Lord Chamberlain. Other works are "The What D'ye Call It," a farce (1715); "Poems," including "Black-Eyed Susan" and "The Captives," a tragedy (1724); "Acis and Galatea" (1732). Gay lost nearly all of his considerable property in the "South Sea Bubble," and during the later years of his life he was an inmate of the house of the Duke of Queensberry. Apart from the two comic operas, Gay's best works are "Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Street of London," and the "Fables," of which a very good edition was published in 1856. VOL. I.-1 THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. (From the "Fables.") FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, A Hare who in a civil way Her care was, never to offend, As forth she went at early dawn What transport in her bosom grew, The Horse replied: -"Poor honest Puss, For all your friends are in the rear." She next the stately Bull implored; Love calls me hence; a favorite cow You know all other things give place. The Goat remarked her pulse was high, The Sheep was feeble, and complained She now the trotting Calf addressed, How strong are those! how weak am I! THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL. Is there no hope? the Sick Man said. And took his leave with signs of sorrow, When thus the Man with gasping breath: I feel the chilling wound of death; Let me my former life review. I grant, my bargains well were made, But all men overreach in trade; My will hath made the world amends; When I am numbered with the dead, And all my pious gifts are read, By heaven and earth 'twill then be known, My charities were amply shown. An angel came. Ah, friend! he cried, No more in flattering hope confide. : |