humour, adding only a few more twists to his snuff-box, a few more taps upon the lid of it, with a preparatory grunt or two, the invariable forerunners of the amenity that was at the heels of them. He was the man who bore his part in all societies with the most even temper and undisturbed hilarity of all the good companions whom I ever knew. He came into your house at the very moment you had put upon your card; he dressed himself to do your party honour in all the colours of the jay; his lace indeed had long since lost its lustre, but his coat had faithfully retained its cut since the days when gentlemen embroidered figured velvets with short sleeves, boot cuffs, and buckram shirts; as nature cast him in the exact mould of an ill-made pair of stiff stays, he followed her so close in the fashion of his coat, that it was doubted if he did not wear them: because he had a protuberant wen just under his pole, he wore a wig that did not cover above half his head. His eyes were protruded like the eyes of the lobster, who wears them at the end of his feelers, and yet there was room between one of these and his nose for another wen that added nothing to his beauty; yet I heard this good man very innocently remark, when Gibbon published his History, that he wondered any body so ugly could write a book,

"Such was the exterior of a man, who was the charm of the circle, and gave a zest to every company he came into; his pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to himself; it harmonized with every thing; it was like the bread to our dinner; you did not perhaps make it the whole, or principal part of your meal, but it was an admirable and wholesome auxiliary to your other viands. Soame Jenyns told you no long stories, engrossed not much of your attention, and was not angry with those that did; his thoughts were original, and were apt to have a very whimsical affinity to the paradox in them; he wrote verses upon dancing, and prose upon the origin of evil, yet he was a very indifferent metaphysician and a worse dancer; ill-nature and personality, with the single exception of his lines upon Johnson, I never heard fall from his lips: those lines I have forgotten, though I believe I was the first person to whom he recited them; they were very bad, but he had been told that Johnson ridiculed his metaphysics, and some of us had just then been making extempore epitaphs upon each other. Though his wit was harmless, the general cast of it was ironical; there was a terseness in his repartees, that had a play of words as well as of thought, as when speaking of the difference between laying out money upon land, or purchasing into the funds, he said, One was principal without interest, and the other interest without principal.' Certain it is he had a brevity of expression, that never hung upon the ear, and you felt the point in the very moment that he made the push. It was rather to be lamented that his lady, Mrs. Jenyns, had so great a respect for his good sayings, and so imperfect a' recollection of them, for though she always prefaced her recitals of them with-as Mr. Jenyns says-it was not always what Mr. Jenyns said, and never, I am apt to think, as Mr. Jenyns said; but she was an excellent old lady, and twirled her fan with as much mechanical address as her ingenious husband twirled his snuff-box."

? The costume of his latter days was a bath beaver surtout, with blue worsted boot stockings. C.

It has been said he was in his young days a good dancer, and very fond of the amusement. C.

9 This is not accurate. He well knew how Johnson had ridiculed his metaphysics many years before this period. C.

This old lady was the second wife of Mr. Jenyns. His first died July 30, 1753, and in the month of February following he married Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry Grey, esq. of Hackney, Middlesex. She must at this time have been advanced in life, as she died at the age of ninety-four, July 25, 1796.

Mr. Jenyns's poems were added to the second edition of Dr. Johnson's collection in 1790. They are now reprinted from the edition which his biographer published, with considerable additions, and some explanatory notes. As a prose writer, we have few that can be compared to him for elegance and purity. As a poet he has many equals and many superiors. Yet his poems are sprightly and pleasing; and if we do not find much of that creative fancy which marks the true genius of poetry, there is the spirit, sense, and wit which have rendered so many modern versifiers popular, and have made it impossible for a general collector to abide by the stern laws of Phillips and Warton.

1

POEMS

OF

SOAME JENYNS.

THE ART OF DANCING.

A POEM.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1728.

INSCRIBED TO THE

RIGHT HON. THE LADY FANNY FIELDING'.

IN

Incessu patuit Dea. Virg.

CANTO I.

the smooth dance to move with graceful mien,
Easy with care, and sprightly though serene,
To mark th' instructions echoing strains convey,
And with just steps each tuneful note obey,
I teach; be present, all ye sacred choir,
Blow the soft lute, and strike the sounding lyre:
When Fielding bids, your kind assistance bring,
And at her feet the lowly tribute fling;
Oh, may her eyes (to her this verse is due)
What first themselves inspir'd, vouchsafe to view!
Hail, loveliest art! that canst all hearts insnare,
And make the fairest still appear more fair.
Beauty can little execution do,

Unless she borrows half her arms from you;
Few, like Pygmalion, doat on lifeless charms,
Or care to clasp a statue in their arms;

But breasts of flint must melt with fierce desire,
When art and motion,wake the sleeping fire.
A Venus, drawn by great Apelles' hand,
May for a while our wond'ring eyes command,
But still, though form'd with all the pow'rs of art,
The lifeless piece can never warm the heart;
So a fair nymph, perhaps, may please the eye,
Whilst all her beauteous limbs unactive lie,
But when her charms are in the dance display'd,
Then ev'ry heart adores the lovely maid:
This sets her beauty in the fairest light,
And shows each grace in full perfection bright;
Then, as she turns around, from ev'ry part,
Like porcupines, she sends a piercing dart;
In vain, alas! the fond spectator tries
To shun the pleasing dangers of her eyes,
For, Parthian like, she wounds as sure behind,
With flowing curls, and ivory neck reclin'd:
Whether her steps the Minuet's mazes trace,
Or the slow Louvre's more majestic pace,
Whether the Rigadoon employs her care,
Or sprightly Jig displays the nimble fair,
At every step new beauties we explore,
And worship now, what we admir'd before:
So when Æneas in the Tyrian grove
Fair Venus met, the charming queen of love,
The beauteous goddess, whilst unmov'd she stood,
Seem'd some fair nymph, the guardian of the wood;
But when she mov'd, at once her heavenly mien
And graceful step confess bright beauty's queen,
New glories o'er her form each moment rise,
And all the goddess opens to his eyes.

Now haste, my Muse, pursue thy destin'd way,
What dresses best become the dancer, say;
The rules of dress forget not to impart,
A lesson previous to the dancing art.

'Lady Fanny Fielding was the youngest of the
six daughters of Basil, earl of Denbigh and Des-
mond, by his wife Hester, daughter of sir Basil
Firebrass, bart. She was one of the finest dancers
of her time, but more distinguished for her beauty
and amiable manners. She married Daniel, the
seventh earl of Winchelsea, and third earl of Not-As plainly speaks divinity within;
tingham, in the year 1729, and died in the year
1734.

The soldier's scarlet, glowing from afar, Shows that his bloody occupation 's war; Whilst the lawn band, beneath a double chin,

The milk-maid safe through driving rains and snows,
Wrapp'd in her cloak, and prop'd on pattens goes;