particular combination in which he finds them connected; otherwise he may run into the most barbarous solecisms. To explain my meaning by an instance from modern language: the French words arene and rive, are both to be met with in their approved authors; and, yet if a foreigner, unacquainted with the niceties of that language, should take the liberty of bringing those two words together, as in the following verse:

Sur la rive du fleuve amassant de l'arcne;

he would be exposed to the ridicule, not only of the critics, but of the most ordinary mechanic in Paris. For the idiom of the French tongue will not admit of the expression sur la rive du fleuve, but requires the phrase sur le bord de la riviere; as they never say amasser de l'arene, but du sable. The same observation may be extended to all languages, whether living or dead. But as no reasonings from analogy can be of the least force in determining the idiomatic proprieties of any language whatsoever; a modern Latin poet has no other method of being sure of avoiding absurdities of this kind, than to take whole phrases as he finds them formed to his hands. Thus, instead of accommodating his expression to his sentiment, (if any he should have) he must necessarily bend his sentiment to his expression, as he is not at liberty to strike out into that boldness of style, and those unexpected combinations of words, which give such grace and energy to the thoughts of every true genius. True genius, indeed, is as much discovered by style, as by any other distinction; and every eminent writer, without indulging any unwarranted licences, has a lan

guage which he derives from himself, and which is peculiarly and literally his own.

I would recommend, therefore, to these empty echoes of the ancients, which owe their voice to the ruins of Rome, the advice of an old philosopher to an affected orator of his times: Vive moribus præteritis, said he, loquere verbis præsentibus. Let these poets form their conduct, if they please, by the manners of the ancients; but if they would prove their genius, it must be by the language of the moderns. I would not, however, have you imagine, that I exclude all merit from a qualification of this kind. To be skilled in the mechanism of Latin verse, is a talent, I confess, extremely worthy of a pedagogue; as it is an exercise of singular advantage to his pupils. Adieu! I am, &c.

XII. TO AMASIA.

July 8, 1744.

IF good manners will not justify my long silence, policy at least will: and you must confess, that there is some prudence in not owning a debt one is incapable of paying. I have the mortification, indeed, to find myself engaged in a commerce, which I have not a sufficient fund to support, though I must add, at the same time, if you expect an equal return of entertainment, for that which your letters afford, I know not where you will find a correspondent. You will scarcely, at least, look for him in the desert, or hope for any thing very lively from a man who is obliged to seek his companions among the dead. You who dwell in a land flowing with mirth and good-humour, meet with many a gallant occurrence worthy of record: but what can

a village produce, which is more famous for repose than for action; and is so much behind the manners of the present age, as scarce to have got out of the simplicity of the first? The utmost of our humour rises no higher than Punch; and all that we know of assemblies, is once a year round our maypole. Thus, unqualified as I am, to contribute to your amusement, I am as much at a loss to supply my own; and am obliged to have recourse to a thousand stratagems, to help me off with those lingering hours, which run so swiftly, it seems, by you. As one cannot always, you know, be playing at push-pin, I sometimes employ myself with a less philosophical diversion; and either pursue butterflies, or hunt rhymes, as the weather and the seasons permit. This morning not proving very favourable to my sports of the field, I contented myself with those under covert; and as I am not at present supplied with any thing better for your entertainment, will you suffer me to set before you some of my game?

A TALE.

Ere Saturn's sons were yet disgraced,
And heathen gods were all the taste,
Full oft (we read) 'twas Jove's high will
To take the air on Ida's hill.

It chanced, as once, with serious ken,
He view'd from thence the ways of men,
He saw (and pity touch'd his breast)
The world by three foul fiends possess❜d.
Pale Discord there, and Folly vain,
With haggard Vice, upheld their reign.
Then forth he sent his summons high,
And call'd a senate of the sky.

Round as the winged orders press'd,
Jove thus his sacred mind express'd:
Say, which of all this shining train,
Will Virtue's conflict hard sustain ?
For see! she drooping takes her flight,
While not a god supports her right."
He paused-when, from amidst the sky,
Wit, Innocence, and Harmony,
With one united zeal arose,

The triple tyrants to oppose.

That instant, from the realms of day,

With generous speed they took their way;
To Britain's isle direct their car,
And enter'd with the evening star.
Beside the road a mansion stood,
Defended by a circling wood.

Hither, disguised, their steps they bend,
In hopes, perchance, to find a friend.
Nor vain their hope; for records say,
Worth ne'er from thence was turn'd away.
They urge the traveller's common chance,
And every piteous plea advance.

The artful tale that Wit had feign'd,
Admittance easy soon obtain'd.

The dame who own'd, adorn'd the place; Three blooming daughters added grace: The first, with gentlest manners bless'd, And temper sweet, each heart possess'd; Who view'd her catch'd the tender flame; And soft Amasia was her name.

In sprightly sense and polish'd air, '
What maid with Mira might compare ?
While Lucia's eyes and Lucia's lyre
Did unresisted love inspire.

Imagine now the table clear,
And mirth in every face appear:
The song, the tale, the jest went round,
The riddle dark, the trick profound.
Thus each admiring and admired,
The hosts and guests at length retired:

When Wit thus spake her sister-train :—
"Faith, friends, our errand is but vain.
Quick let us measure back the sky;
These nymphs alone may well supply
Wit, Innocence, and Harmony.”

You see to what expedient solitude has reduced me, when I am thus forced to string rhymes as boys do birds' eggs, in order to while away my idle hours. But a gayer scene is, I trust, approaching, and the day will shortly, I hope, arrive, when I shall only complain that it steals away too fast. It is not from any improvement in the objects which surround me, that I expect this wondrous change; nor yet that a longer familiarity will render them more agreeable. It is from a promise I received, that Amasia will visit the hermit in his cell, and disperse the gloom of a solitaire by the cheerfulness of her conversation. What inducements shall I mention, to prevail with you to hasten that day? Shall I tell you that I have a bower over-arched with jessamine? that I have an oak, which is the favourite haunt of a Dryad? that I have a plantation which flourishes with all the verdure of May in the midst of all the cold of December? Or, may I not hope that I have something still more prevailing with you than all these, as I can with truth assure you, that I have a heart which is faithfully yours, &c.

XIII. TO PHILOTES.

AMONG all the advantages which attend friendship, there is not one more valuable, than the liberty it admits in laying open the various affections of one's