of continuing unbroken its winding stream, must throw aside the fetters of rhyme. Born with a strong understanding, a benevolent heart, and an enthusiastic fancy-with all the powers necessary to form a great poet, Thomson perceived that Pope had attained the summit of excellence in that mode of composition which he had adopted. He was not, however, discouraged. He saw there were other paths to fame; and by judiciously making choice of blank verse, which was perfectly suited to the exuberance of his genius, to the grandeur of his conceptions, and to the boldness of his metaphorical images, as well as to the minute wildness of his poetical descriptions, he has left us, in his Seasons, a greater number of just, beautiful, and sublime views of external nature, than are to be found in the works of all other poets since the days of Lucretius. Akenside, feelingly alive to all the impressions of natural and moral beauty, who surveyed the universe with a truly benevolent eye, and a heart filled with admiration and love of the wisdom and goodness of the Supreme Being, has given us, in his Pleasures of Imagination, a delightful system of the philosophy of taste, unfolded in all the pomp of Miltonic verse. And Armstrong, the friend of Thomson, and, like Akenside, a physician by profession, has bequeathed to mankind a more valuable legacy, in his Art of preserving Health, while he has furnished the literary world with a more classical poem, in the same species of versification, than either the Seasons or the Pleasures of Imagination. After such profuse praise, it will be necessarv to give a specimen of the composition of this truly-elegant writer. He without riot in the balmy feast Of life, the wants of Nature has supplied, As custom forms her :-and all sudden change If faults in life, or new emergencies, From habits urge you by long time confirm'd, Slow may the change arrive, and stage by stage; Slow as the shadow o'er the dial moves; Slow as the starling progress of the year." While blank verse was thus attaining its highest polish under the prosperous reign of George II., and descriptive and didactic poetry approaching towards perfection, the lighter walks of the muse were by no means neglected. Akenside, not satisfied with rivalling Virgil in his most finished work, entered the lists also with Horace and Pindar; and although he has not equalled the courtly gayety of the former, or the sublimity, fire, and bold digressions of the latter, he deserves much praise for having given us the first classical examples of the manner of both. Nor have we yet many finer stanzas in our language, than that containing the character of Álcæus, in Akenside's ode on Lyric Poetry. "Broke from the fetters of his native land, Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords, Ye curs'd of gods and free-born men, Though now ye glory in your lust, Though now ye tread the feeble neck in dust, Yet time and righteous Jove will judge your dreadful cause! Collins and Gray have been more successful in imitating the wild enthu siasm of Pindar; though it must be admitted, by their warmest admirers, that the lyric pieces of these two poets owe their celebrity chiefly to a certain solemn obscurity, through which their meaning occasionally breaks, with a degree of poetic splendour that overpowers the faculties of the reader, as lightning is rendered more awful by the interposing darkness of a thundercloud. In Collins's odes, however, are found some truly sublime stanzas ; especially the first stanza in the ode to Liberty, the first in that to Mercy, and the first in that to Fear. And Gray's Welch Bard, examined as a whole, has great merit, whether we consider the variety and force of the numbers, or the gloomy grandeur of the imagery. But none of our lyric poets has come so near to the philosophic good humour and good sense of Horace as Akenside. Nothing can be more happily pursued than the whole train of thinking in his ode on the Winter Solstice. After lamenting the destructive rage of the elements, he proceeds thus: "But let not Man's unequal views Presume o'er Nature and her laws; Th' indulgence of the SOVEREIGN CAUSE Beyond what he can reach to know; Attempereth every state below. Nor are the Pindaric odes of this poet destitute of dignity, though that dignity consists less in pomp of language than in elevation of sentiment. The character of Milton, in the ode on the Power of Poetry, addressed to the earl of Huntingdon, is daringly bold. "Mark how the dread Pantheon stands Amid the toys of idle state, How simply, how severely great! Then turn, and while each western clime So mark thou Milton's awful name," &c. That whole ode breathes a noble spirit of freedom; "such as," to use the author's own words, in speaking of the muse, "When Greece to her immortal shell And how, by Glory, Virtue shall be crown'd." Since I have touched upon this animating subject, I must transcribe the opening of Collins's Ode to Liberty, which has always roused me more forci bly than any thing I ever read in any language. "Who shall awake the Spartans' fife, At once the breath of Fear and Virtue shedding, VOL. II.-P P The conclusion of the same stanza, containing a description of the fall of the Roman empire, is no less poetical, but historically false, and consequently of dangerous tendency, as it may communicate a wrong turn of thinking to the untutored mind. "No, Freedom, no, I will not tell, How Rome, before thy weeping face, From off its wide ambitious base; When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke, And all the blended work of strength and grace, With many a rude repeated stroke, And many a barbarous yell, to thousand fragments broke." Now the truth is, that long before this event, Rome had not only lost her own liberty, but basely infringed upon the liberties of other nations: and the whole empire languished under the most enslaving despotism. The description, therefore, though consistent in itself, is false in every point of view, as applied to the Roman empire. And Freedom, instead of weeping at the fall of Rome, may be said poetically to have assisted the sons of the North, in breaking to pieces that giant-statue, or enormous monarchy, in order to emancipate mankind from its degrading dominion and corrupting influence. About the same time that Akenside, Collins, and Gray were perfecting our lyric poetry, a new turn was given to our love-verses by Hammond; a man of taste and sensibility, who has successfully imitated the elegiac manner of Tibullus, and given to his amorous solicitations soft melancholy, entirely in unison with the tone of the passion, and a tenderness to which Waller and Prior were strangers. A short extract will illustrate these observations. "With thee I hop'd to waste the pleasing day, Then, old with love, insensibly decay, I scorn the Lydian river's golden wave, And all the vulgar charms of human life; I only ask to live my Delia's slave, And when I long have serv'd her-call her wife." This species of versification is happily adapted to such subjects, notwithstanding what has been said to the contrary by a learned and dictatorial critic; for although "the quarten of ten syllables," in alternate rhyme, is capable of great strength and dignity, though it may be condensed into a solid column, in commemoration of victory, it can also be dilated with more facility than the couplet, into a loose floating veil of mourning, or breathed into a tremulous symphony of fond complaint. It has accordingly been adopted by all succeeding elegiac writers of any eminence; but particularly by Gray, in his celebrated Elegy in a Country Churchyard, and by Shenstone in those excellent moral elegies, published after his death, which do so much honour both to his head and heart, and form so severe a satire on his want of economy. Shenstone deserves to be here mentioned on another account. He has given us a refined species of rural poetry, with which we were formerly unacquainted; and which, if not altogether pastoral, is exceedingly pleasing. It is, indeed, without a pun, something better: it represents the manners and the sentiments of a gentleman residing in the country, instead of those of a clown. In this respect it does not differ essentially from the pastorals of the polished and courtly Virgil, who would not have been ashamed to have owned the following elegant lines: "Can a bosom so gentle remain Unmov'd when her Corydon sighs? Soft scenes of contentment and ease! If aught in her absence could please. This zealous and continued attention to the improvement of our poetry, in its various branches, did not prevent imagination and sentiment from flowing in other channels. A classical form was given to the Comic Romance by Fielding and Smollett, who have painted modern manners with great force of colouring, as well as truth of delineation, and given to the ludicrous features of life all the heightenings of wit, humour, and satire. Richardson, no less classical, created a new species of fiction, which may be called the Epic of Civil Life; as it exhibits, in an extended and artfullyconstructed fable, and in a variety of strongly-marked characters, under the influence of different passions, and engaged in different pursuits, the beauty and dignity of virtue, and the meanness and deformity of vice, without any ludicrous circumstance, or display of warlike exploits. The principal productions of these authors, under the well-known names of Tom Jones, Roderic Random, Sir Charles Grandison, Clarissa,(1) and Amelia, seemed for a time wholly to occupy the attention, and even to turn the heads, of the younger part of the nation. But the histories of Robertson and Hume appeared, and romances were no longer read. A new taste was introduced. The lovers of mere amusement found, that real incidents, properly selected and disposed, setting aside the idea of utility, and real characters delineated with truth and force, can more strongly engage both the mind and heart thar. any fabulous narrative. This taste, which has since given birth to many other elegant historical productions, fortunately for English literature, continues to gain ground. I must now carry forward the progress of arts and of manners, and of those branches of polite literature that are most intimately connected with both. The immature and unexpected death of queen Anne was friendly to the Protestant succession; for it is certain she intended, as I have had occasion to show, that her brother should fill the British throne. What might have been the character of the reign of James III. it is impossible decidedly to say, as he was never invested with the administration. But there is great reason to believe, from his superstitious bigotry, that his government would neither have been favourable to civil or religious liberty. The reign of George I. was favourable to both, though little indulgent to genius. Unacquainted with the beauties of our language, and utterly destitute of taste, like most of his countrymen in that age, this prince paid no attention to literature or the liberal (1) Lovelace, the principal male character in this celebrated romance, is evidently a copy of Rowe's Lothario, in the Fair Penitent. This Dr. Johnson owns, but adds, that the imitator "has excelled his original in the moral effect of the fiction. Lothario, with gayety which cannot be hated, and bravery which cannot be despised, retains too much of the reader's kindness. It was in the power of Richardson alone to teach us at once esteem and detestation." But Dr. Beattie, another formidable critic, and the friend of Dr. Johnson, is of a very different opinion. "Richardson's Lovelace," says he, "whom the reader ought to abominate for his crimes, is adorned with youth, beauty, cloquence, wit, and every intellectual and bodily accomplishment; is there not then reason to apprehend some readers will be more inclined to admire the gay profligate, than to fear his punishment?" So contentious a science is criticism!—and sc little reference have the opinions of the learned, in matters of taste, to any common standard! arts. Literature, however, made vigorous shoots by the help of former culture and soil; but manners experienced a woful decline, and the arts made no advance. In consequence of the timid but prudent policy of that reign, the martial spirit was in a manner extinguished in England. The heads of the tory faction kept at a distance from court, as in the reign of William: and truth obliges me to declare, that the tories have always been the most munificent patrons of genius, as well as the most accomplished gentlemen in the kingdom. The ministers of George I. were whigs. Many of them were little better than money-brokers, and the South Sea scheme made them stock-jobbers. The rapid revolution of property occasioned by that scheme, the number of ancient families ruined, and of the new ones raised to opulence, broke down the distinction of ranks, and gave rise to a general profusion, as well as to an utter disregard of decency and respect. The corrupt administration of sir Robert Walpole, in the early part of the reign of George II., when every man's virtue was supposed to have its price, contributed still farther to dissolve the manners and principles of the nation, while the thriving state of manufactures, and a vast influx of money by trade, produced such a deluge of intemperance among the common people, that the parliament was obliged to interpose its authority, in order to restrain the inordinate use of spirituous liquors. And after the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, military force was often necessary to suppress the licentiousness of riot; which, under pretence of want, occasioned by dearth of provisions, but really in the wantonness of abundance, long distracted the whole kingdom. The war, which was begun in 1755, united all hearts and all hands in opposing the common enemy. In the course of that glorious war, at first so unpropitious, the relaxation of manners totally disappeared. The national spirit recovered its tone. Wisdom was found in the cabinet, and ability displayed itself both in the senate and the field. Military ardour rose to heroism, and public virtue to the utmost height of patriotism. And although the peace of Paris did not procure us all the advantages we had reason to expect, it yet left the British empire great and flourishing; with trade considerably augmented; territory immensely extended; and a numerous body of brave and industrious people employed in supplying with manufactures the demands of commerce, or occupied in the labours of husbandry. In times of such great national prosperity, it might be expected that public spectacles would be numerous and splendid, and that the liberal arts, though neglected by government, would be encouraged by the public, and patronised by opulent individuals. This was literally the case. Besides a magnificent Italian opera, the capital supported two English theatres; and those theatres were well supplied with new pieces, the profits of which amply recompensed the labour of their authors. The comedies of Steele were followed by those of Cibber, who has given us, in his Careless Husband, a finished picture of polite life. The formal style and sententious morality of Addison's Cato, in a smaller or greater degree, distinguish all the tragedies of Thomson. The tragedies of Southern and Young are more impassioned, though in other respects no less faulty. Southern, who was intimately acquainted with the human breast, has some exquisitely pathetic scenes. But his stories are too uniformly distressing; and Oronooko, his best piece, is interlarded with low comedy. Isabella, written in the reign of George I,, has fewer faults, and fewer yet many beauties. It is a mournful tale indeed!-Young's Revenge has great merit. The fable is well constructed, the style is easy and animated; the characters are strongly marked, and the poetic spirit is supported throughout the piece. But it has few of the genuine charms of nature, and too many of those terrible graces, which have drawn upon our stage the imputation of barbarism. The history of the stage is a subject of great philosophical curiosity; as it is, in every nation, intimately connected with the history of manners. Even from the mode of playing in different ages, there is something to be gathered beyond the gratification of idle curiosity. Our tragic actors, before the ap |