Pope first descended from a monkish race, Cheapens the charms of art and daubs her face; From Gabalis his mushroom fictions rise, Lop off his Sylph, and his Belinda† dies; Th' attending insects hover in the air, No longer than they're present, is she fair. Some dart those eye-beams, which the youth's beguile,

And some sit conquering in a dimpling smile; Some pinch the tucker, and some smooth the smock,

Some guard an upper-some a lower lock.
But if these truant body-guards escape,
In whip the gnomes, and strait commit a rape.
The curling honours of her head they seize,
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs they please;
But if to angry frowns her brow she bends,
Upon her front some sullen gnome descends;
Whisks through the furrows with its airy form,
Bristles her eye-brows, and directs the storm.

As wide from these are Addisonian themes,
As angels thoughts are from distempered dreams;
Spenser and be, to image nature knew,
Like living persons, vice and virtue drew;
At once instructed and well pleased we read,
While in sweet morals these two poets laid,
No less to wisdom than to wit pretence,
They led by music, but they led to sense.
But Pope scarce ever force to fancy joins,
With dancing-master's feet equips his lines,
Plumes empty fancy, and in tinsel shines.
Or if by chance his fancy seems to lead
Where one poor moral faintly shows its head;
'Tis like a judge, that, reverendly dressed,
Peeps through the pageants at a Lord Mayor's
feast;

By starts he reasons, and seems wise by fits,
Such wit's called wisdom, that has lost its wits.

Unnamed by me this witling bard had been,
Had not the writers caused the reader's sin;
But less by comedies and lewd romances,
Are ruined less by French lascivious dances,
Than by such rhymer's masqueraded fancies.
From such the root of superstition grew,
Whose old charms fertile, daily branched in view;
From such chimeras first inspired, the fair,
The conj'rer's ring approached, and Jesuit's chair,||
Thronged to the doors where magic rogues
divined,

And sold out ignes fatui to the mind.

Wizards and Jesuits differ but in name,
Both demon's envoys and their trade the same;
Weak wills they lead, and vapoured minds com-
mand,

And play the game into each other's hand;
Like spiritual jugglers at the cup and ball,
Rising by foolish maids, that long to fall.
Some into love they damn, and some they pray,
For green-sick minds are caught a different way.
To the same end, through several paths they run,
Priests to undo, and maids to be undone.
Some blacker charms, some whiter spells, cajole,
As some lick wall, and some devour a coal.
Here ladies, strong in vapours, see men's faces
Imprinted in the conjuror's dazzling glasses.
There, when in spring-time, the too-praying priest
Toasts, and does something better-to the best.

The "History of the Count de Gabalis," whence he has taken the machinery of his "Rape of the Lock." ↑ Mrs Firmer.

A spouse is promised on next Baptist's feast. First some young contrite rake's enjoined to

marry,

Lest madam's forced to squeak for't, or miscarry.
In June, the lass does to the fields repair,
Where good Sir Domine just took the air.
When, O strange wonder! near a plantain root,
She finds a coal-and so a spouse to boot;
She longs to dream-and to secure the sport,
That very day the youth designed must court.
He does she struck with fancy and delight,
Bespeaks her fancy strangely-dreams at night.
The yielding fair, the ravished youth obtains;
A maid she passes-so his child's free gains,
He has the pleasure, yet is saved the pains.
Thus when priests wench, to cure the growing evi
Poor St John Baptist must fore-run the devil.
But if the ladies fall, at fall of leaf,

Or in the winter, still there's fresh relief;
Let her lace close four months, and if she can,
St Agnes+ heals the breach and brings the man.
Thus a lewd priest to vapoured virgins cants,
And into pimps converts his vestal saints.
O! dire effects of masqued impiety!
And shall they, Christian muse, have aids from
thee?

Wilt thou, like witty heathens, lewdly given,
Into Gehenna metamorphose heaven?
Wilt thou?-O, no; forbid the unhallow'd song,
Such profanations to Rome's bard belong.
Let one, who gods and goddesses adores,
Paint them like rakes and bullies, bawds and
whores?

Our genii, Campbell, shall be all divine,
Shall high o'er theirs as much distinguished shine,
As o'er such priests or chiromancers thine.
Thine, which do future time's events command
To leap to sight, and in thy presence stand.
Thine, whose eyes glowing with a gifted ray,
New roads of life o'er wisdom's Alps survey,
And guide benighted travellers to-day.
Let me, for once, a daring prophet be:
Mark, from this hour, that poetry thou❜lt see,
Date a new era from thy book and thee.
Thy book, where, through the stories thou hast
laid,

All moral wisdom's to the inind conveyed;
And thus far prophecies each page, that all
Must rise by virtue, or by vices fall.

Poets shall blush to see their wit outdone,
Resume their reason, and assert its throne;
Shall fables still for virtue's sake commend,
And wit, the means, shall wisdom make its end.
Who hopes to please, shall strive to please by
pains,

Shall, gaining fame, earn hard whate'er he gains;
And Denham's morals join to Denham's strains.
Here paint the Thames "when running to the sea,
Like mortal life to meet eternity;"
There show both kings and subjects "one excess
Makes both, by striving to be greater, less."
Shall climb and sweat, and falling, climb up still,
Before he gains the height of Cooper's Hill.

In Windsor Forest, if some trifling grace Gives, at first blush, the whole a pleasing face; 'Tis wit, 'tis true, but then 'tis common place.

See the "Dedication of Mr Campbell's Life.' + See Mr Campbell's" Dedication."

See Cooper's Hill.

The landscape-writer branches out a wood,
When digging hard for't, finds a silver flood.
Here paints the woodcock, quivering in the air,
And there the bounding stag and quaking hare;
Describes the pheasant's scarlet-circled eye,
And next the slaughtering gun that makes him
die.

From common epithets that fame derives
By which his most uncommon merit lives,
'Tis true, if finest notes alone could show,
(Tuned justly high, or regularly low),
That we should fame to these mere vocals give,
Pope, more than we can offer, should receive.
For, when some gliding river is his theme,
His lines run smoother than the smoothest stream;
Not so when through the trees fierce Boreas blows;
The period blustering with the tempest grows.
But what fool's periods read, for period's sake?
Such chimes improve not heads, but make 'em
ache.

Though strict in cadence on the numbers rub,
Their frothy substance is whip-syllabub;
With most seraphic emptiness they roll,
Sound without sense, and body without soul.
Not such the bands that give you just applause,
Each from intrinsic worth thy praises draws;
Morals, in ev'ry page, where'er they look,
They find divinely scattered through thy book.
They find thee studious, with praiseworthy strife,
To smooth the future roads of human life;
To help the weak, and to confirm the strong,
Make our griefs vanish, and our bliss prolong;
With Phineus equal find thy large desert,
'And, in thy praise, would equal Milton's art.

Some fools, we know, in spite of nature born, Would make thee theirs, as they are mankind's scorn,

But still 'tis one of truth's unerring rules,
No sage can rise without a host of fools.
Coxcombs (by whose eternal din o'ercome,
The wise, in just revenge, might wish them dumb).
Say, on the world, your dumbness you impose
And give you organs they deserve to lose;

Impose, indeed, on all the world you would, If you but held your tongue, because you could; 'Tis hard to say, if keeping silence still,

In one, who, could he speak, would speak with skill,

Is worse, or talk in these who talk so ill.
Why, on that tongue, should purposed silence
dwell,

Whence ev'ry word would drop an oracle?
More fools of thy known foresight make a jest,
For all hate greatest gifts, who share the least,
(As Pope calls Dryden often to the test*),
Such from thy pen should Irwin's sentencet wait,
And at the gallows own the judge of fate.
Or while with feeble impotence they rail,
Write wonders on, and with the wise prevail.

Sooner shall Denham cease to be renowned,
Or Pope for Denham's sense quit empty sound;
To Addison's immortal heights shall rise,
Or the dwarf reach him in his native skies;
Sooner shall real gipsies grow most fair,
Or false ones, weighty truths, like thine, declare,
Than these poor scandal-mongers hit their aim,
And blemish thine or Carll's acknowledged fame.
Great Nostradamus thus his age advised,
The mob his counsels jeered, some bards despised‡
Him; still, neglecting these, his genius fired,
A king encouraged, and the world admired.
Greater (as time's great tide increased) he grew,
When distant ages proved what truths he knew.
Thy nobler book, a greater king received,
Whence, I predict, and claim to be believed,
That, by posterity, less fame shall be,
To Nostradamus granted than to thee;
Thee, whom the best of kings does so defend,
And (myself barring) the best bards commend.
H. STANHOPE.

A

In the beginning of this year, a disease happened in this town of Launceston, and some of my scholars died of it. Among others who fell under the malignity then triumphing, was John Elliot, the eldest son of Edward Elliot of Treherse, Esq., a stripling of about sixteen years of age, but of more than common parts and ingenuity. At his own particular request, I preached at the funeral, || which happened on the 20th day of June, 1665. In my discourse (ut mos reique locique postulabat), I spoke some words in commendation of the young gentleman; such as might endear bis

memory to those that knew him, and, withal, tended to preserve his example to the fry which went to school with him, and were to continue there after him. An ancient gentleman, who was then in the church, was much affected with the discourse, and was often heard to repeat, the same evening, an expression I then used out of Virgil:

"Et puer ipse fuit cantari dignus," The reason why this grave gentleman was so concerned at the character, was a reflection he made upon a son of his own, who being about the

seven steps it passed by. I immediately turned head and ran after it, with the young man by my side; we saw it pass over the stile by which we entered, but no farther. I stepped upon the hedge at one place, he at another, but could discern nothing; whereas, I dare aver, that the swiftest horse in England could not have conveyed himself out of sight in that short space of time. Two things I observed in this day's appearance. 1. That a spaniel dog, who followed the company unregarded, did bark and run away, as the spectrum passed by; whence it is easy to conclude that it was not our fear or fancy which made the apparition. 2. That the motion of the spectrum was not gradation, or by steps, and moving of the feet, but a kind of gliding, as children upon the ice, or a boat down a swift river, which punctually answers the descriptions the ancients gave of their Lemures, which was Κατὰ ῥύμτω ὰ έριον καὶ ὁρμὴν ἄπζαποδισον.— HELIODORUS.

practice obtain belief. He that tells such a story may expect to be dealt withal as a traveller in Poland by the robbers, viz., first murdered and then searched,-first condemned for a liar, or superstitious, and then, when it is too late, have his reasons and proofs examined. This incredulity may be attributed

1. To the infinite abuses of the people, and impositions upon their faith by the cunning monks and friars, &c., in the days of darkness and popery; for they made apparitions as often as they pleased, and got both money and credit by quieting the terriculamenta vulgi, which their own artifice had raised.

2. To the prevailing of Somatism and the Hobbean principle in these times, which is a revival of the doctrine of the Sadducees; and as it denies the nature, so it cannot consist with the apparition of spirits; of which, see 'Leviathan,' p. i, c. 12.

The next morning, being Thursday, I went out very early by myself, and walked for about an hour's space in meditation and prayer in the field next adjoining to the Quartils. Soon after five I stepped over the stile into the disturbed field, and had not gone above thirty or forty paces before the ghost appeared at the further stile. I spoke to it with a loud voice, in some such sentences as the way of these dealings directed me; whereupon it approached, but slowly, and when I came near, it moved not. I spake again, and it answered, in a voice neither very audible nor intelligible. I was not in the least terrified, and therefore persisted until it spake again, and gave me satisfaction. But the work could not be finished at this time; wherefore, the same evening, an hour after sunset, it met me again near the same place, and after a few words on each side, it quietly vanished, and neither doth appear since, nor ever will more to any man's disturbance. The discourse in the morning lasted about a quarter of an hour.

These things are trae, and I know them to be so, with as much certainty as eyes and ears can give me, and until I can be persuaded that my senses do deceive me about their proper object, and by that persuasion deprive myself of the strongest inducement to believe the Christian religion, I must and will assert that these things in this paper are true.

As for the manner of my proceeding, I find no reason to be ashamed of it, for I can justify it to men of good principles, discretion, and recondite learning, though in this case I chose to content myself in the assurance of the thing, rather than be at the unprofitable trouble to presuade others to believe it; for I know full well with what difficulty relations of so uncommon a nature and

anything of it or the way how to manage it. This ignorance breeds fear and abhorrence of that which otherwise might be of incomparable benefit to mankind.

But I being a clergyman and young, and a stranger in these parts, do apprehend silence and secresy to be my best security.

"In rebus abstrusissimis abundans cautela non nocet." Sept. 4, 1665.

POSTSCRIPT.

Ir is possible that the unacquaintedness of some men with church history and the writings of the ancient fathers may be one cause of their prejudice against things and narratives of this nature, I could cite out of them hundreds of passages in confirmation (a pari) of what I have now done and written. But a single testimony shall serve to fill up this page.

St Cyprian was a father of the third century, contemporary with Origen, Tertullian, Lactantius, Clemens of Alexandria, and other learned men.

Observe his words (S. Cypriani Epist. ad Demetrium Ethnicum, p. 328):

"Si audire velles et videre quando spiritus mali a nobis adjurantur et torquentur spiritualibus flagris; quando dæmones ejulantes et gementes humanâ voce venturum judicium confitentur; videbis nos rogari ab iis quos tu rogas, et tamen ab iis quos tu adoras; Videbis sub manu nostra stare vinctos et tremere captivos, quos tu veneraris ut dominos. Certè vel sic in erroribus tuis confundi poteris, cum conspexeris et audieris deos tuos quid sint, nostrâ interregatione, statim prodere," &c.*

See Pamelius Notes on Tertullian,' n. 64.

If you would hear and see when evil spirits are by us adjured and put to spiritual torture; when the very devils, judgment; you shall hear us intreated by those whom you groaning and lamenting with a human voice, confess a future intreat, and by those whom you adore: you shall see those stand fettered, as it were, under our hands, and tremble like captive slaves, whom you worship as deities. tainly you must be thus confounded in your errors when you shall see and hear your gods, upon questions we put o them, immediately betray what they are.

C'er