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I have often heard the poems upon public occasions, written in heroic verse, which I choose to call panegyrics, severely censured upon this account; the reason whereof I cannot guess, unless it be, that because they are written in the same kind of numbers and spirit as an epic poem, they ought therefore to have the same regularity. Now an epic poem consisting chiefly in narration, it is necessary that the incidents should be related in the same order that they are supposed to have been transacted. But in works of the above-mentioned kind, there is no more reason that such order should be ob served, than that an oration should be as methodical as a history. I think it sufficient that the great hints suggested from the sub

WHEN a poem makes its first appearance in the world, I have always observed that it gives employment to a greater number of critics than any other kind of writing. Whether it be that most men, at some time of their lives, have tried their talent that way, and thereby think they have a right to judge; or whether they imagine, that their making shrewd obser-ject, be so disposed, that the first may naturally vations upon the polite arts, gives them a prepare the reader for what follows, and so on; pretty figure; or whether there may not be and that their places cannot be changed withsome jealousy and caution in bestowing ap-out disadvantage to the whole. I will add plause upon those who write chiefly for fame. further, that sometimes gentle deviations, Whatever the reasons be, we find few dis- sometimes bold, and even abrupt digressions, couraged by the delicacy and danger of such where the dignity of the subject seems to give an undertaking. the impulse, are proofs of a noble genius; as

main design are marks of address and dexterity.

I think it certain that most men are na-winding about and returning artfully to the turally not only capable of being pleased with that which raises agreeable pictures in the fancy, but willing also to own it. But then there are many, who, by false applications of some rules ill understood, or out of deference to men whose opinions they value, have formed to themselves certain schemes and systems of satisfaction, and will not be pleased out o' their own way. These are not critics them selves, but readers of critics, who, without the labour of perusing authors, are able to give their characters in general; and know just as much of the several species of poetry, as those who read books of geography do of the genius of this or that people or nation. These gentlemen deliver their opinions sententiously, and in general terms; to which it being impossible readily to frame complete answers, they have often the satisfaction of leaving the board in triumph. As young persons, and particularly the ladies, are liable to be led aside by these tyrants in wit, I shail examine two or three of the many stratagems they use, and subjoin such precautions as may hinder candid readers from being deceived thereby.

The first I shall take notice of is an objection commonly offered, viz.' that such a poem path indeed some good lines in it, but it is not a regular piece.' This, for the most part, is urged by those whose knowledge is drawn from some famous French critics, who have written upon the epic poem, the drama, and the great kinds of poetry, which cannot subsist without great regularity; but ought by no means to be required in odes, epistles, panegyrics, and the like, which naturally admit of greater Jiberties. The enthusiasm in odes, and the freedom of epistles, is rarely disputed: but

Another artifice made use of by pretenders to criticism, is an insinuation, that all that is good is borrowed from the ancients. Thes is very common in the mouths of pedants, and perhaps in their hearts too; but is often urged by men of no great learning, for reasons very obvious. Now nature being still the same, it is impossible for any modern writer to paint her otherwise than the ancients have done. If, for example, I was to describe the general's horse at the battle of Blenheim as my fancy represented such a noble beast, and that description should resemble what Virgil hath drawn for the horse of his hero, it would be almost as ill-natured to urge that I had stolen my description from Virgil, as to reproach the duke of Marlborough for fighting only like Eneas. All that the most exquisite judgment can perform is, out of that great variety of cir cumstances wherein natural objects may be considered, to select the most beautiful; and to place images in such views and lights as will affect the fancy after the most delightful-manBut over and above a just painting of nature, a learned reader will find a new beauty superadded in a happy imitation of some famous ancient, as it revives in his mind the pleasure he took in his first reading such an author. Such copyings as these give that kind of double delight which we perceive when we look upon the children of a beautiful couple; where the eye is not more charmed with the symmetry of the parts, than the mind by observing the resemblance transmitted from parents to their offspring, and the mingled features of the father and mother. The phrases of holy writ, and allusions to several passages in the inspired

ner.

writings (though not produced as proofs of doctrine) add majesty and authority to the noblest discourses of the pulpit: in like manner, an imitation of the air of Homer and Virgil, raises the dignity of modern poetry, and makes it appear stately and venerable.

to all with whom he converses; he generally falls in with the inclination of his company, is never assuming, or prefers himself to others. Thus he always gains favour without envy, and has every man's good wishes. It is remarkable, that from his birth to this day, though he is now four-and-twenty, I do not rememember that he has ever had a debate with any of his play-fellows or friends.,

His thoughts, and present applications are to get into a court life; for which, indeed, I cannot but think him peculiarly formed for he has joined to this complacency of manners a great natural sagacity, and can very well distinguish between things and appearances. That way of life, wherein all men are rivals, demands great circumspection to avoid controversies arising from different interests; but he who is by nature of a flexible temper has his work half done. I have been particularly pleased with his behaviour towards women: he has the skill, in their conversation, to converse with them, as a man would with those from whom he might have expectations, but without making requests. I do not know that

The last observation I shall make at present it upon the disgust taken by those critics, who put on their clothes prettily, and dislike every thing that is not written with ease. I hereby therefore give the genteel part of the learned world to understand, that every thought which is agreeable to nature, and expressed in language suitable to it, is written with ease. There are some things which must be written with strength, which nevertheless are easy. The statue of the gladiator, though represented in such a posture as strains every muscle, is as easy as that of Venus; because the one expresses strength and fury as naturally as the other doth beauty and softness. The passions are sometimes to be roused, as well as the fancy to be entertained; and the soul to be exalted and enlarged, as well as soothed. This often requires a raised and figurative style; which readers of low apprehensions, or soft and languid dispo-I ever heard him make what they call a comsitions (having heard of the words, fustian and bombast) are apt to reject as stiff and affected language. But nature and reason appoint different garbs for different things; aud since I write this to the men of dress, I will ask them if a soldier, who is to mount a breach, should be adorned like a beau, who is spruced up for a bail?

No. 13.] Thursday, March 26, 1713.

Pullore et liberalitate liberos Retinere, satius esse credo, quàm metn. Ter. Adelph. Act. i. Sc. 1. I esteem it better to keep children in awe by a sense of shame, and a condescension to their inclinations, than by fear.

THE reader has had some account of the whole family of the Lizards, except the younger sons. These are the branches which ordinarily spread themselves, when they happen to be hopeful, into other houses, and new generations, as honourable, numerous, and wealthy, as those from whence they are derived. For this reason it is, that a very peculiar regard is to be had to their education.

Young men, when they are good for any thing, and left to their own inclinations, delight either in those accomplishments we call their exercise, in the sports of the field, or in letters. Mr. Thomas, the second son, does not follow any of these with too deep an attention, but took to each of them enough never to appear ungraceful or ignorant. This general inclination makes him the more agreeable, and saves him from the imputation of pedantry. His carriage is so easy, that he is acceptable

pliment, or be particular in his address to any lady; and yet I never heard any woman speak of him, but with a peculiar regard. I believe he has been often beloved, but know not that he was ever yet a lover. The great secret among them, is to be amiable without design. He has a voluble speech, a vacant countenance, and easy action, which represents the fact which he is relating with greater delight than it would have been to have been present at the transaction he recounts. For you see it not only your own way by the bare narration, but have the additional pleasure of his sense of it, by this manner of representing it. There are mixed in his talk so many pleasant ironies, that things which deserve the severest language are made ridiculous instead of odious, and you see every thing in the most good-natured aspect it can bear. It is wonderfully entertaining to me to hear him so exquisitely pleasant, and never say an ill-natured thing. He is, with all his acquaintance, the person generally chosen to reconcile any difference, and if it be capable of accommodation, Tori Lizard is an unexceptionable referee. It has happened to him more than once, that he has been employed by each opposite in a private manner, to feel the pulse of the adversary; and when each has proposed the decision of the matter, by any whom the other should name, he has taken hold of the occasion, and put on the authority assigned by them both, so seasonably, that they have begun a new correspondence with each other, fortified by his friendship to whom they both owe the value they have for one another, and consequently, confer a greater measure of their good-will

upon the interposer. I must repeat, that above all, my young man is excellent at raising the subject on which he speaks, and casting a light upon it more agreeable to his company, than they thought the subject was capable of. He avoids all emotion and violence, and never is warm, but on an affectionate occasion. Gentleness is what peculiarly distinguishes him from other men, and it runs through all his words and actions.

voted himself to the service of his Creator; and, with an aptitude to every agreeable quality, and every happy talent, that could make a man shine in a court, or command in a camp, he is resolved to go into holy orders. He is inspired with a true sense of that function, when chosen from a regard to the interests of piety and virtue, and a scorn of whatever men call great in a transitory being, when it comes in competition with what is unchangeable and eternal. Whatever men would undertake from a passion to glory, whatever they would do for the service of their country, this youth has a mind prepared to achieve for the salvation of souls. What gives me great hopes that he will one day make an extraordinary

vention, his me "ory, judgment and imagina tion, are alway employed upon this one view; and I do not do abt, but in my future precautions, to present the youth of this age with more agreeable narrations compiled by this young man on the subject of heroic piety, than any they can meet with in the legends of love and honour.

Friday, March 27, 1713.

Nec sit, quà sit iter, nec si sciat imperet

Ovid. Met. Lib. ii. 170.

Nor did he know
Which way to turn the reins, or where to go;
Nor would the horses, had he known, obcy.

'SIR,

To the Guardian.

Addison

Mr. William, the next brother, is not of this smooth make, nor so ready to accommodate bimself to the humours and inclinations of other men, but to weigh what passes with some severity. He is ever searching into the first springs and causes of any action or circumstance, insomuch, that if it were not to be ex-figure the Christian world is, that his inpected that experience and conversation would allay that humour, it must inevitably turn him to ridicule. But it is not proper to break in upon an inquisitive temper, that is of use to him in the way of life which he proposes to himself, to wit, the study of the law, and the endeavour to arrive at a faculty in pleading. I have been very careful to kill in him any pretensions to follow men already eminent, any farther than as their success is an encouragement; but make it my endeavour to No. 14.] cherish, in the principal and first place, his eager pursuit of solid knowledge in his profession: for I think that clear conception will produce clear expression, and clear expression proper action: I never saw a man speak very well, where I could not apparently observe this, and it shall be a maxim with me till I see an instance to the contrary. When young and unexperienced men take any particular person for their pattern, they are apt to imitate them in such things, to which their want of know-whatever you think may conduce to the adledge makes them attribute success, and not vancement of the conversation of gentlemen, to the real causes of it. Thus one may have cannot but hope you will give my young au air, which proceeds from a just sufficiency masters, when I have told you their age, conand knowledge of the matter before him, which dition, and how they lead their lives, and who, may naturally produce some motion of his head though I say it, are as docile as any youths in and body, which might become the bench Europe, a lesson which they very much waut, better than the bar. How painfully wrong to restrain them from the infection of bad comwould this be in a youth, at bis first appearance, pany, and squandering away their time in idle when it is not well even for the sergeant of the and unworthy pursuits. A word from you, I greatest weight and dignity. But I will, at am very well assured, will prevail more with this time, with a hint only of his way of life, them than any remonstrance they will meet with leave Mr. William at his study in the Temple. at home. The eldest is now about seventeen The youngest son, Mr. John, is now in the years of age, and the younger fifteen, born of twentieth year of his age, and has had the good noble parentage, and to plentiful fortunes. fortune and honour to be chosen last election They have a very good father and mother, and Fellow of All-souls college in Oxford. He is also a governor, but come very seldom (except very graceful in his person; has height, against their wills) in the sight of any of them. strength, vigour, and a certain cheerfulness That which I observe they have most relish to, and serenity that creates a sort of love, which is horses and cock-fighting, which they too people at first sight observe is ripening into well understand, being almost positive at first esteem. He has a sublime vein in poetry, and sight to tell you which horse will win the a warm manner in recommending, either in match, and which cock the battle; and if you speech or writing, whatever he has earnestly are of another opinion, will lay you what you at heart. This excellent young man has de- please on their own, and it is odds but you lose.

'You having in your first paper declared, among other things, that you will publish

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was, that because the men said her daughter was pretty, somebody or other would persuade her to marry while she was too young to know how to govern a family. By what I can learn from pretences as shallow as this, she appeared so far from having a design upon her lover, that it seemed impracticable to him to get her, except it were carried on with much se

these lovers had in four-and-twenty hours time: for it was managed by the mother, that he should run in and out as unobserved by her, and

What I fear to be the greatest prejudice to them, is their keeping much closer to their horses' heels than their books, and conversing more with their stablemen and lackies than with their relations and gentlemen: and, I apprehend, are at this time better skilled how to hold the reins and drive a coach, than to translate a verse in Virgil or Horace. For, the other day, taking a walk abroad, thee met accident-crecy and skill. Many were the interviews ally in the fields with two young ladies, whose conversation they were very much pleased with, and being desirous to ingratiate themselves further into their favour, prevailed with them, though they had never seen them before in their lives, to take the air in a coach of their father's which waited for them at the end of Gray's-inn-lane. The youths ran with the wings of love, and ordered the coachman to wait at the town's end till they came back. One of our young gentlemen got up before, and the other behind, to act the parts they had long, by the direction and example of their | comrades, taken much pains to qualify them-rioteer, attended by his faithful friend, the selves for, and so gallopped off. What these mean entertainments will end in, it is impossible to foresee; but a precaution upon that subject might prevent very great calamities in a very worthy family, who take in your papers, and might perhaps be alarmed at what you lay, before them upon this subject.

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'I writ to you on the twenty-first of this month, which you did not think fit to take notice of; it gives me the greater trouble that you did not, because I am confident the father of the young lads whom I mentioned, would have considered how far what was said in my letter concerned himself; upon which it is now too late to reflect. His ingenious son, the coachman, aged seventeen years, bas since that time, ran away with, and married one of the girls I spoke of in my last. The manner of carrying on the intrigue, as I have picked it out of the younger brother, who is almost sixteen, stili a bachelor, was as follows. One of the young women whom they met in the fields seemed very much taken with my master, the elder son, and was prevailed with to go into a cake-house not far off the town. The girl, it seems, acted her part so well, as to enamour the boy, and make him inquisitive into her place of abode, with all other questions which were necessary toward further intimacy. The matter was so managed, that the lad was made to believe there was no possibility of conversing with her, by reason of a very severe mother, but with the utmost caution. What, it seems, made the mother, forsooth, the more suspicious

girl be called every other instaut into the Lext room, and rated (that she could not stay in a place) in his hearing. The young gentleman was at last so much in love, as to be thought by the daughter engaged far enough to put it to the venture that he could not live without her. It was now time for the mother to appear, who surprised the lovers together in private, and banished the youth her house What is not in the power of love! the cha

younger brother, got out the other morning a little earlier than ordinary, and having made a sudden friendship with a lad of their onage the force of ten shillings, who drove a hackney coach, the elder brother took his post in the caoch-box, where he could act with a great deal of skill and dexterity, and waited at the corner of the street where his mistress lived, in hopes of carrying her off under that disguise The whole day was spent in expectation of an opportunity; but in many parts of it he had kind looks from a distant window, which was answered by a brandish of his whip, and a compass taken to drive round and show his activity, and readiness to convey her where she should command him. Upon the approach of the evening, a note was thrown into his coach by a porter, to acquaint him that his mistress and her mother should take coach exactly at seven o'clock; but that the mother was to be set down, and the daughter to go further, and call again. The happy minute came at last, when our back had the happiness to take in his expected fare, attended by her mother, and the young lady with whom he had first met her. The mother was set down in the Strand, and her daughter ordered to call on her when she came from her cousin's, an hour afterwards. The mother was not so unskilful as not to have instructed her daughter whom to send for, and how to behave herself when her lover should urge her consent. We yet know no further particulars, but that my young master was married that night at Knightsbridge, in the presence of his brother and two or three other persons; and that just before the ceremony be took his brother aside, and asked him to marry the other young woman. Now, sir, I will not harangue upon this adventure, but only ob serve, that if the education of this compound

creature had been more careful as to his ra- | thoughts; love, melancho.y, solitude, and tional part, the animal life in him had not, whatever gently touches the soul, inspire easy perhaps, been so forward, but he might have thoughts. waited longer before he was a husband. Howt ver, as the whole town will, in a day or two, know the names, persons, and other circumstances, I think this properly lies before your guardianship to consider, for the admonition of others; but my young master's fate is irrevocable.

'I am, Sir, your most humble servant.'

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I CAME yesterday into the parlour, where I found Mrs. Cornelia, my lady's third daughter, all alone, reading a paper, which as I afterwards found, contained a copy of verses upon love and friendship. She, I believe, apprehended that I had glanced my eye upon the paper, and by the order and disposition of the lines might distinguish that they were poetry; and therefore, with an innocent confusion in her face, she told me I might read them if I pleased, and so withdrew. By the hand, at first sight, I could not guess whether they came from a beau or a lady; but having put on my spectacles, and perused them carefully, I found by some peculiar modes in spelling, and a certain negligence in grammar, that it was a female sonnet. I have since learned, that she hath a correspondent in the country, who is as bookish as herself; that they write to one another by the names of Astrea and Dorinda, and are mightily admired for their easy lines. As I should be loth to have a poetess in our family, and yet am unwilling harshly to cross the bent of a young lady's genius, I chose rather to throw together some thoughts upon that kind of poetry which is distinguished by the name of Easy, than to risk the fame of Mrs. Cornelia's friend, by exposing her work to public view.

I have said in a foregoing paper, that every thought which is agreeable to nature, and expressed in a language suitable to it, is written with ease: which I offered in answer to those who ask for ease in all kinds of poetry; and it is so far true, as it states the notion of easy writing in general, as that is opposed to what is forced or affected. But as there is an easy mein, and easy dress, peculiarly so called; so there is an easy sort of poetry. In order to write easily, it is necessary, in the first place, to think easily. Now, according to different subjects, men think differently; anger, fury, and the rough passions, awaken strong thoughts; glory, grandeur, power, raise great |

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Of the thoughts suggested by these gentle subjects, there are some which may be set off Others there are, by style and ornament. which the more simply they are conceived, and the more clearly they are expressed, give the soul proportionably the more pleasing emotions. The figures of tyle added to them serve only to hide a beauty, however gracefully they are put on, and are thrown away like paint upon a fine complexion. But here, not only liveliness of far cy is requisite to exhibit a great variety of images, but also niceness of judgment to cull out those, which, without the advantage of foreign art, will shine by their own intrinsic beauty. By these means, whatsoever seems to demand labour being rejected, that only which appears to be easy and natural will come in; and so art will be hid by art, which is the perfection of easy writing. I will suppose an author to be really pussessed with the passion which he writes upon, and then we shall see how he would acquit himself. This I take to be the safest way to form a judgment of him, since if he be not truly moved, he must at least work up his imagination as near as possible, to resemble reality. I choose to instance in love, which is observed to have produced the most finished performances in this kind. A lover will be full of sincerity, that he may be believed by his mistress; he will, therefore, think simply; he will express himself perspicuously, that he may not perplex her; he will, therefore, write unaffectedly. Deep reflections are made by a head undisturbed; and points of wit and fancy are the work of a heart at ease; these two dangers then, into which poets are apt to run, are effectually removed out of the lover's way. The selecting proper circumstances, and placing them in agreeable lights, are the finest secrets of all poetry; but the recollection of little circumstances, is the lover's sole meditation, and relating them pleasantly the business of his life. Accordingly we find that the most celebrated authors of this rank excel in loveverses. Out of ten thousand instances I shall name one, which I think the most delicate and tender I ever saw.

To myself I sigh often, without knowing why;

And when absent from Phyllis, methinks I could die.' A man who hath ever been in love will be touched at the reading of these lines; and every one, who now feels that passion, actually feels that they are true.

From what I have advanced, it appears how difficult it is to write easily. But when easy writings fall into the bands of an ordinary reader, they appear to him so natural and unlaboured, that he immediately resolves to

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