virulent generation, yet I have not hitherto persuaded myself to take any measures for flight or treaty. For I am in doubt whether they can act against me by lawsul authority, and suspect that they have presumed upon a forged commission, stiled themselves the ministers of Criticism, without any authentick evidence of delegation, and uttered their own determinations as the decrees of a higher judicature.

Criticism, from whom they derive their claim to decide the sate of writers, was the eldest daughter of Labour and of Truth: she was, at her • birth, committed to the care of Justice, and brought up by her in the palace of Wisdom. Being soon distinguished by the celestials, for her uncommon qualities, she was appointed the governess ofFANcy, and impowered to beat time to the chorus of the Muses, when they sung before the throne of Jupiter.

When the Muses condescended to visit this lower world, they came accompanied by CritiCism, to whom, upon her descent from her native regions, Justice gave a sceptre, to be carried alost in her right hand, one end of which was tinctured with ambrosia, and inwreathed with a golden soliage of amaranths and bays; the other end was jncircled with cypress and poppies, and dipped in the waters of oblivion. In her left hand, she bore an unextinguishable torch, manusactured by LaBour, and lighted by Truth, of which it was the particular quality immediately to shew every thing in its true form, however it might be disguised to common eyes. Whatever Art could complicate, plicate, or Folly could consound, was, upon the first gleam of the torch of Truth, exhibited in its distinct parts and original simplicity; it darted through the labyrinths of sophistry, and soewed at once all the absurdities to which they served for resuge.; it pierced through the robes, which rhetorick often fold to falsehood, and detected the disproportion of parts, which artificial veils had been contrived to cover.

Thus surnished for the execution of. her osfice, Criticism came down to survey the persormances of thofe who prosessed themselves the votaries of the Muses. Whatever was brought besore her, she beheld by the steady light of the torch of Truth, and when her examination had convinced her, that the laws of just Writing had been observed, she touched it with the amaranthine end of the scepter, and consigned it over to immortality.

But it more frequently happened, that in the works, which required her inspection, there was some imposture attempted; that false colours were laborioufly laid; that some secret inequality was sound between the words and sentiments, or some dissimilitude of the ideas and the original objects; that incongruities were linked together, or that some parts were of no use but to enlarge the appearance of the whole, without contributing to its beauty, solidity, or usesulness.

Wherever such discoveries were made, and they were made whenever these faults were committed, Criticism resused the touch which conserred the fanction of immortality, and, when the errors were frequent and grofs, reversed' the scepter, and let

Vol. V. C drops

drops oflethe distil from the poppies and cypress, a satal mildew, which immediately began to waste the work away, till it was at last totally destroyed.

There were some compositions brought to the test, in which, when the strongest light was thrown upon them, their beauties and saults appeared so equally mingled, that Criticism stood with her scepter poised in her hand, in doubt whether to shed lethe, or ambrosia, upon them. These at last increased to so great a number, that she was weary os attending such doubtful claims, and, for sear of using improperly the scepter of Justice, reserred the cause to be considered by Time.

The proceedings of Time, though very dilatory, were, some sew caprices excepted, consormable to justice: and many who thought themlelves secure by a short forbearance, have sunk under his scythe, as they were posting down with their volumes in triumph to suturity. It was observable that some were destroyed by little and little, and others crushed tor ever by a single blow.

Criticism having long kept her eye fixed steadily upon Time, was at last so well satisfied with his conduct, that she withdrew from the earth with her patroness Astrea, and left Prejudice and False Taste to ravage at large as the associates of Fraud and Mischief; contenting herself thenceforth to shed her influence from asar upon some select minds, fitted for its reception by learning and by virtue.

Before her departure she broke her scepter, of which the shivers, that formed the ambrofial end, were caught up by Flattery, and thofe that had

been been insected with the waters of lethe were, with equal haste, seized by Malevolence. The followers of Flattery, to whom she distributed her part of the scepter, neither had nor desired light, but touched indiscriminately whatever Power or InTerest happened to exhibit. The companipns of Malevolence were supplied by the Furies with a torch, which had this quality peculiar to insernal lustre, that its light sell only upon saults.

No light, but rather darkness visible,
Serv'd only to discover sights of woe.

With these fragments of authority, the slaves of Flattery and Malevolence marched out,' at the command of their mistresses, to conser immortality, or condemn to oblivion. But the scepter had now lost its power; and Time passes his sentence at leisure, without any regard to their determinations.

Numb. 4. Saturday, March 31, 1750.

Simul et jucunda tt Uonea diem Fiftc. Hor.

And join both profit and delight in one. Creech.

TH E works pf fiction, with which the present generation seems more particularly delighted, are such as exhibit lise in its true state, diversified only by accidents that daily happen in the world, and influenced by passions and qualities which are really to be found in conversing with mankind.

This kind of writing may be termed not improperly the comedy of romance, and is to be conducted nearly by the rules of comick poetry. Its province is to bring about natural events by easy means, and to keep up curiofity without the help of wonder: it is theresore precluded from the machines and expedients of the heroick romance, and can neither employ giants to snatch away a lady from the nuptial rites, nor knights to bring her back from captivity; it can neither bewilder its personages in deserts, nor lodge them in imaginary castles.

I remember a remark made by Scaliger upon Pontanus, that all his writings are silled with the fame images; and that is you take from him his lilies and his roles, his fatyrs, and his dryads, he will have nothing lest that can be called poetry. In like manner, almost all the fictions of the last age

will