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hops for a brewing, must be invincibly disgusting to a true genius: to be able to build imaginary palaces of the most exquisite architecture, but yet not to pay a carpenter's bill, is a cutting mortification and disgrace: to be ruined by pursuing the precepts of Virgilian agriculture, and by ploughing classically, without attending to the wholesome monitions of low British farmers, is a circumstance that aggravates the failure of a crop, to a man who wishes to have lived in the Augustan age, and despises the system of modern husbandry.

Many poets, however, may be found, who have condescended to the cares of economy, and who have conducted their families with all the parsimony and regularity of an alderman of the last century; who have not superciliously disdained to enter into the concerns of common life, and to subscribe to, and study certain necessary dogmas of the vulgar, convinced of their utility and expediency, and well knowing that because they are vulgar, they are, therefore, both important and true.

If we look backwards on antiquity, or survey ages nearer our own, we shall find several of the greatest geniuses so far from being sunk in indigence, that many of them enjoyed splendor and honors, or at least were secured against the anxieties of poverty by a decent competence and plenty of the conveniences of life.

Indeed, to pursue riches farther than to attain a decent competence is too low and illiberal an occupation for a real genius to descend to; and Horace wisely ascribes the manifest inferiority of the Roman literature to the Grecian, to an immoderate love of money, which necessarily contracts and rusts the mind, and disqualifies it for noble and generous undertakings.

Eschylus was an officer of no small rank in the Athenian army at the celebrated battle of Marathon; and Sophocles was an accomplished general, who commanded his countrymen in several most important expeditions: Theocritus was caressed and enriched by Ptolemy; and the gayety of Anacreon was the result of ease and plenty Pindar was better rewarded for many of his odes than any other bard, ancient or modern, except perhaps Boileau for his celebrated piece of flattery on the taking of Namur: Virgil at last possessed a fine house at Rome, and a villa at Naples: "Horace," says Swift, in one of his lectures on economy to Gay, “I am sure kept his coach:" Lucan and Silius Italicus dwelt in marble palaces, and had their gardens adorned with the most exquisite capital statues of Greece: Milton was fond of a domestic life, and lived with exemplary frugality and order: Corneille and Racine were both admirable masters of their families, faithful husbands, and prudent economists: Boileau, by the liberalities of Louis, was enabled to purchase a delightful privacy at Auteuil, was eminently skilled in the management of his finances, and despised that affecta

tion which arrogantly aims to place itself above the necessary decorums and rules of civil life; in all which particulars they were equalled by Addison, Swift, and Pope.

It ought not, therefore, to be concluded, from a few examples to the contrary, that poetry and prudence are incompatible; a conclusion that seems to have arisen, in this kingdom, from the dissolute behavior of the despicable debauchees that disgraced the muses, and the court of Charles the Second, by their lives and by their writings. Let those who are blest with genius recollect that economy is the parent of integrity, of liberty, and of ease; and the beauteous sister of temperance, of cheerfulness, and health and that profuseness is a cruel and crafty demon, that gradually involves her followers in dependence and debts; that is, fetters them with "irons that enter into their souls."

Adventurer, No. 59.

POPE AS A POET.

Thus have I endeavored to give a critical account, with freedom, but it is hoped with impartiality, of each of POPE's works; by which review it will appear, that the largest portion of them is of the didactic, moral, and satiric kind; and consequently, not of the most poetic species of poetry; whence it is manifest, that good sense and judgment were his characteristical excellencies, rather than fancy and invention; not that the author of the Rape of the Lock, and Eloisa, can be thought to want imagination, but because his imagination was not his predominant talent; because he indulged it not; and because he gave not so many proofs of this talent as of the other. He gradually became one of the most correct, even, and exact poets that ever wrote; polishing his pieces with a care and assiduity that no business or avocation ever interrupted: so that, if he does not frequently ravish and transport his reader, yet he does not disgust him with unexpected inequalities, and absurd improprieties. Whatever poetical enthusiasm he actually possessed, he withheld and stifled. The perusal of him affects not our minds with such strong emotions as we feel from Homer and Milton, so that no man of a true poetical spirit is master of himself while he reads them. Hence, he is a writer fit for universal perusal ; adapted to all ages and stations; for the old and for the young; the man of business and the scholar. He who would think the Faerie Queene, Palamon and Arcite, the Tempest, or Comus, childish and romantic, might relish POPE. Surely it is no narrow and niggardly encomium to say he is the great Poet of Reason, the First of Ethical authors in verse. And this species of writing is, after all, the surest road to an extensive reputation. It lies more level to the general capacities of men than the higher flights of more genuine poetry. We all remember when even a Churchill

was more in vogue than a Gray. He that treats of fashionable follies, and the topics of the day, that describes present persons and recent events, finds many readers whose understandings and whose passions he gratifies.

Where, then, according to the question proposed at the beginning of this Essay, shall we with justice be authorized to place our admired POPE? Not, assuredly, in the same rank with Spenser, Shakspeare, and Milton; however justly we may applaud the Eloisa and Rape of the Lock. But, considering the correctness, elegance, and utility of his works, the weight of sentiment, and the knowledge of man they contain, we may venture to assign him a place next to Milton, and just above Dryden. Yet, to bring our minds steadily to make this decision, we must forget, for a moment, the divine Music Ode of Dryden; and may perhaps then be compelled to confess that, though Dryden be the greater genius, yet Pope is the better artist.

The preference here given to POPE above other modern English poets, it must be remembered, is founded on the excellencies of his works in general, and taken all together; for there are parts and passages in other modern authors-in Young and in Thomson, for instance-equal to any of POPE; and he has written nothing in a strain so truly sublime as the Burd of Gray.

ELIZABETH MONTAGU, 1720-1800.

ELIZABETH ROBINSON, daughter of Matthew Robinson, Esq., was born at York, on the 2d of October, 1720. When she was about seven years old, her parents removed to Cambridge, where she derived great advantage in the progress of her education from Dr. Conyers Middleton,' whom her grandmother had married as her second husband. Her uncommon sensibility and acuteness of understanding, as well as her extraordinary beauty as a child, rendered her an object of great notice and admiration in the society at Cambridge, and Dr. Middleton was in the habit of requiring from her an account of the learned conversations at which in his society she was frequently present; saying that, though she might but imperfectly understand them then, she would in future derive great benefit from the habit of attention inculcated by this practice.

In 1742, she was married to Edward Montagu, Esq., member of Parliament for Huntingdon. In three years, however, he died, leaving her the whole of his estate, (for she had no children,) and thus she was enabled to gratify her taste for study and literary society to the fullest extent. In 1769, she published her "Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakspeare, compared with the Greek

See his life in "Compendium of English Literature," p. 489.

and French Dramatic Poets; with some Remarks upon the Misrepresentations of Voltaire." This work soon passed through many editions, and gave her a high rank in the literary world. The praise which Cowper and Warton have bestowed upon it is decisive as to its merits. "The learning," says Cowper, "the good sense, the sound judgment, and the wit displayed in it, fully justify not only my compliment, but all compliments that either have been already paid to her talents, or shall be paid hereafter;" and Warton calls it "the most elegant and judicious piece of criticism which the present age has produced." This essay is not an elaborate exposition of the obscure passages of Shakspeare, but a comprehensive survey of the sublimity of his genius, of his profound knowledge of human nature, and of the wonderful resources of his imagination.

Soon after the publication of this essay, she opened her house, Portman-square, in London, to the "Blue Stocking Club," and was intimate with the most eminent literary men of her day. In private life she was an example of liberality and benevolence. Her hand was always extended to the protection of genius and the relief of distress. Her magnificent mansion was the resort of the most distinguished characters of her time; and "all were emulous to testify their esteem, and to pay their homage to the endowments of her mind and the amiable qualities of her heart." It was at her mansion, too, that an annual entertainment was given, on May-day, to all the climbing-boys and chimney-sweepers' apprentices in the metropolis. Though in the latter part of her life she lost the use of her eyes, she retained her mental faculties to the last, and died August 25, 1800. The works of Mrs. Montagu consist of the Essay on Shakspeare before mentioned, and four volumes of epistolary correspondence held with most of the eminent literary men of the day. These letters do great credit both to her head and heart; they are written in an easy and perspicuous style; are filled with judieious and pertinent reflections upon the passing events and the great men of the times; and, with her Essay on Shakspeare, give her no mean rank among English authors. If not a profound critic, she was certainly an acute and ingenious one, possessing judgment and taste as well as learning; and if not of such versatile talents as her namesake, Lady Mary Wortley,5 she is an example of much higher moral purity both in her writings and character. Her conversational powers were of a truly superior order;-strong, just, clear, and often eloquent. Her form was stately, and her manners dignified; and her face is said to have retained strong remains of beauty through life.

1 History of English Poetry, i. lvii. Since Warton thus wrote, however, we have had criticisms on Shakspeare of a much higher order-such as those of Richardson, Schlegel, Jeffrey, Macauley, Campbell, Drake, Hazlitt, Mrs. Jameson, and others.

"Montagu Place" in this square derives its name from her residence here.

So called from the "blue stockings" worn by a Mr. Stillingfleet, a member of this literary club. Such were the charms of his conversation, that when he was absent, it used to be said, "We can do nothing without the blue stockings," and thus by degrees the name was given to the society. See Croker's Boswell's Johnson, viii. 85 and 86.

• Among the brilliant constellation of talent and wit which illumined her mansion was, first, the "great observed," Dr. Johnson; Mrs. Thrale, afterward Mrs. Piozzi; Dr. Percy, author of "Reliques of English Poetry;" Dr. Shipley: Dr. Burney; Lord Erskine, just then commencing his subsequent brilliant career; Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Beattie, Lord Monboddo, Horace Walpole, Edmund Burke, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, Hannah More, Miss Burney, afterward Madame D'Arblay, Mrs. Chapone, and Mrs. Barbauld.

• See "Compendium of English Literature," p. 532. See an article on Mrs. Montagu's Letters, in the Edinburgh Review," xv. 75. and in the "Quarterly," x. 15; also, some letters in Sir Egerton Brydges", "Censura Literaria," ix. 48.

To the Duchess of Portland.

A VIEW OF LIFE.

MADAM-As your grace tenders my peace of mind, you will be glad to hear I am not so angry as I was. I own I was much moved in spirit at hearing you neglected your health, but since you have had advice, there is one safe step taken. As for me, I have swallowed the weight of an apothecary in medicine, and what I am the better, except more patient and less credulous, I know not. I have learnt to bear my infirmities, and not to trust to the skill of physicians for curing them. I endeavor to drink deep of philosophy, and be wise when I cannot be merry, easy when I cannot be glad, content with what cannot be mended, and patient where there is no redress. The mighty can do no more, and the wise seldom do as much. You see I am in the main content with myself, though many would quarrel with such an insignificant, idle, inconsistent person; but I am resolved to make the best of all circumstances around me, that this short life may not be half lost in pains, "well remembering and applying, the necessity of dying." Between the periods of birth and burial I would fain insert a little happiness, a little pleasure, a little peace: to-day is ours, yesterday is past, and to-morrow may never come. I wonder people can so much forget death, when all we see before us is but succession; minute succeeds to minute, season to season, summer dies as winter comes. The dial marks the change of hour, every night brings death-like sleep, and morning seems a resurrection; yet while all changes and decays, we expect no alteration; unapt to live, unready to die, we lose the present and seek the future, ask much for what we have not, thank Providence but little for what we have; our youth has no joy, our middle age no quiet, our old age no ease, no indulgence; ceremony is the tyrant of this day, fashion of the other, business of the next: little is allowed to freedom, happiness, and contemplation, the adoration of our Creator, the admiration of his works, and the inspection of ourselves. But why should I trouble your grace with these reflections? What my little knowledge can suggest, you must know better: what my short experience has shown, you must have better observed. I am sure any thing is more acceptable to you than news and compliments; so I always give your grace the present thoughts of my

heart.

To Mrs. Donnellan.

CHARACTER OF THE MISER.

DEAR MADAM-I had the pleasure of your letter yesterday; it made me very happy. If my friends at a distance did not keep my affections awake, I should be lulled into a state of insensibility,

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