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 mistress 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.' 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 since learned, that she hath a correspondent in the country, who is as bookish as herself; that they write to one another by the names of Astrea 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 distinguished by the name of easy, than to risk the fame of Mrs. Cornelia's friend, by exposing her work to public view. 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; sc 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, grandeur, 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 hoved, 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; he will, therefore, think simply; he will express himself perspicuously, that he may not perplex her; he will, therefore, write unaffectedly. Deep reflections are made by a head undisturbed; and 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 circumstances, 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 Haw. thorn 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.' air and manner were genteel and easy, and his wit agreeable. The ladies in complaisance to 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 performances. 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 she, to judge of gallantries of this nature, if ever it should be my fortune to have a poetical lover. Annabella, the very next morning, when she The gentleman complied; and accordingly Mrs. was at her toilet, had the following packet delivered 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 me 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. Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art II. Thy face is to my humour made, III. Vain youth, to your confusion know, IV. For your own sake, if not for mine, V. By me, indeed, you are allow'd The wonder of your kind: 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, 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." "Tu parles mal par-tout de moi, 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 venture 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 versification. "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 Ir 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 humilior 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 conof 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 saer'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. 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 pursuing it, that he can possibly enjoy from it. As to the common women and the stews, there is 'A song should be conducted like an epigram; no one but will allow this assertion at first sight; and the only difference between them is, that I but if it will appear, that they who deal with those of the sex who are less profligate, descend to greater basenesses than if they frequented brothels, it should, methinks, bring this iniquity under some discountenance. The rake who, without sense of character or decency, wallows and ranges in common houses, is guilty no farther than of prostituting himself, and exposing his health to diseases: but the man of gallantry cannot pursue his pleasures without treachery to some man he ought to love, and making despicable the woman he admires. To live in a continual deceit; to reflect upon the dishonour you do some husband, father, or brother, who does not deserve this of you, and whom you would destroy did you know they did the like towards you, are circumstances which pall the appetite, and give a man of any sense of honour very painful mortification. What more need be said against a gentleman's delight, than that he himself thinks himself a base man in pursuing it; when it is thoroughly considered, he gives up his very being as a man of integrity who commences gallant? Let him or her who is guilty this way but weigh the matter a little, and the criminal will find that those whom they most esteemed, are of a sudden become the most disagreeable companions: nay, their good qualities are grown odious and painful. It is said, people who have the plague, have a delight in communicating the infection: in like manner, the sense of shame, which is never wholly overcome, inclines the guilty this way to contribute to the destruction of others. And women are pleased to introduce more women into the same condition, though they can have no other satisfaction from it, than that the infamy is shared among greater numbers, which they flatter themselves eases the burden of each particular person. It is a most melancholy consideration, that for momentary sensations of joy, obtained by stealth, men are forced into a constraint of all their words and actions in the general and ordinary occurrences of life. It is an impossibility in this case to be faithful to one person, without being false to all the rest of the world. The gay figures in which poetical men of loose morals have placed this kind of stealth, are but feeble consolations, when a man is inclined to soliloquy or meditation upon his past life; flashes of wit can promote joy, but they cannot allay grief. Disease, sickness, and misfortune, are what all men living are liable to: it is therefore ridiculous and mad to pursue, instead of shunning, what must add to our anguish under disease, sickness, or misfortune. It is possible there may be those whose blood are too warm to admit of these compunctions; if there are such, I am sure they are laying up store for them: but I have better hopes of those who have not yet erased the impressions and advantages of a good education and fortune; they may be assured, 'that whoever wholly give themselves up to lust, will | find it the least fault they are guilty of.' Irreconcilable hatred to those they have injured, mean shifts to cover their offences, envy and malice to the innocent, and a general sacrifice of all that is good-natured or praiseworthy when it interrupts them, will possess all their faculties, and make them utter strangers to the noble pleasures which flow from honour and virtue. Happy are they, who, from the visitation of sickness, or any other accident, are awakened from a course which leads to an insensibility of the greatest enjoyments in human life. A French author, giving an account of a very agreeable man, in whose character he mingles good qualities and infirmities, rather than vices and virtues, tells the following story: 'Our knight,' says he, was pretty much addicted to the most fashionable of all faults. He had a loose rogue for a lackey, not a little in his favour, though he had no other name for him when he spoke of him but "the rascal," or, to him, but "sirrah." One morning when he was dressing, "Sirrah," says he, " be sure you bring home this evening a pretty wench." The fellow was a person of diligence and capacity, and had for some time addressed himself to a decayed old gentlewoman, who had a young maiden to her daughter, beauteous as an angel, not yet sixteen years of age. The mother's extreme poverty, and the insinuations of this artful lackey concerning the soft disposition and generosity of his master, made her consent to deliver up her daughter. But many were the entreaties and representations of the mother to gain her child's consent to an action, which she said she abhorred, at the same time she exhorted her to it; "but child," says she, "can you see your mother die for hunger?" The virgin argued no longer, but bursting into tears, said she would go any where. The lackey conveyed her with great obsequiousness and se. crecy to his master's lodging, and placed her in a commodious apartment till he came home. The knight, who knew his man never failed of bringing in his prey, indulged his genius at a banquet, and was in high humour at an entertainment with ladies, expecting to be received. in the evening by one as agreeable as the best of them. When he came home, his lackey met him with a saucy and joyful familiarity, crying out, "She is as handsome as an angel, (for there is no other simile on these occasions,) but the tender fool has wept till her eyes are swelled and bloated: for she is a maid and a gentlewoman." With that, he conducted his master to the room where she was, and retired. The knight, when he saw her bathed in tears, said in some surprise, "Don't you know, young woman, why you are brought hither?" The unhappy maid fell on her knees, and with many interruptions of sighs and tears, said to him "I know, alas! too well why I am brought hither; my mother, to get bread for her and myself, has sent me to do what you pleased; but would it would please Heaven I could die, before I am added to the number of those miserable wretches who live without honour!" With this reflection, she wept anew, and beat her bosom. The knight, stepping back from her, said, "I am not so abandoned as to hurt your innocence against your will." The novelty of the accident surprised him into virtue; and, covering the young maid with a cloak, he led her to a relation's house, to whose care he recommended her for that night. The next morning he sent for her mother, and asked her if her daughter was a maid? The 66 mother assured him, that when she delivered | guid impressions upon the mind. But how disher to his servant, she was a stranger to man. tant soever the time of our death may be, since "Are not you then," replied the knight, "a it is certain that we must die, it is necessary to wicked woman to contrive the debauchery of your own child?" She held down her face with fear and shame, and in her confusion uttered some broken words concerning her poverty. Far be it," said the gentleman, "that you should relieve yourself from want by a much greater evil: your daughter is a fine young creature; do you know of none that ever spoke of her for a wife?" The mother answered, "There is an honest man in our neighbourhood that loves her, who has often said he would marry her with two hundred pounds." The knight ordered his man to reckon out that sum, with an addition of fifty to buy the bride clothes and fifty more as a help to her mother.' I appeal to all the gallants in the town, whe. ther possessing all the beauties in Great Britain could give half the pleasure as this young gen. tleman had in the reflection of having relieved a miserable parent from guilt and poverty, an innocent virgin from public shame, and bestowing a virtuous wife upon an honest man? As all men who are guilty this way have not fortunes or opportunities for making such atonements for their vices, yet all men may do what is certainly in their power at this good season. For my part, I do not care how ridiculous the mention of it may be, provided I hear it has any good consequence upon the wretched, that I recommend the most abandoned and miserable of mankind to the charity of all in prosperous conditions under the same guilt with those wretches. The Lock hospital in Kent street Southwark, for men; that in Kingsland for women, is a receptacle for all sufferers mangled by this iniquity. Penitents should in their own hearts take upon them all the shame and sorrow they have escaped; and it would become them to make an oblation for their crimes, by charity to those upon whom vice appears in that utmost misery and deformity, which they themselves are free from by their better for. tune, rather than greater innocence. It would quicken our compassion in this case, if we considered there may be objects there, who would now move horror and loathing, that we have once embraced with transport: and as we are men of honour (for I must not speak as we are Christians) let us not desert our friends for the loss of their noses. allot some portion of our life to consider the end of it; and it is highly convenient to fix some stated times to meditate upon the final period of our existence here. The principle of self-love, as we are men, will make us inquire, what is like to become of us after our dissolution; and our conscience, as we are Christians, will inform us, that according to the good or evil of our ac tions here, we shall be translated to the man sions of eternal bliss or misery. When this is seriously weighed, we must think it madness to be unprepared against the black moment: but when we reflect that perhaps that black moment may be to-night, how watchful ought we to be! I was wonderfully affected with a discourse I had lately with a clergyman of my acquaintance upon this head, which was to this effect: The consideration,' said the good man, that my being is precarious, moved me many years ago, to make a resolution, which I have diligently kept, and to which I owe the greatest satisfaction that a mortal man can enjoy. Every night before I address myself in private to my Creator, lay my hand upon my heart, and ask myself, whether if God should require my soul of me this night, I could hope for mercy from him? The bitter agonies I underwent in this my first acquaintance with myself were so far from throwing me into despair of that mercy which is over all God's works, that they rather proved motives to greater circumspection in my future conduct. The oftener I exercised myself in meditations of this kind, the less was my anxiety; and by making the thoughts of death familiar, what was at first so terrible and shocking, is become the sweetest of my enjoyments. These contemplations have indeed made me serious, but not sullen; nay, they are so far from having soured my temper, that as I have a mind perfectly composed, and a secret spring of joy in my heart, so my conversation is pleasant, and my countenance, serene; I taste all the innocent satisfactions of life pure and sincere; I have no share in pleasures that leave a sting behind them, nor am I cheated with that kind of mirth, "in the midst of which there is heaviness." Of all the professions of men, a soldier's, chiefly, should put him upon this religious vigi. lance. His duty exposes him to such hazards, that the evil which to men in other stations may seem far distant, to him is instant, and ever before his eyes. The consideration, that what men in a martial life purchase is gained with danger and labour, and must perhaps be parted with very speedily, is the cause of much licence and riot. As moreover it is necessary to keep up the spirits of those who are to encounter the most terrible dangers, offences of this nature meet with great indulgence. But there is a courage better founded than this animal fury. The secret assurance, that all is right within, that if he falls in battle, he will the more speedily be crowned with true glory, will add strength to a warrior's arm, and intrepidity to his heart. One of the most successful stratagems where |