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firmness was naturally esteemed, as his abilities were reverenced. His security, therefore, was never violated; and when, upon the extrusion of the whigs, some intercession was used lest Congreve should be displaced, the Earl of Oxford made this answer:

"Non obtusa adeo gestamus pectora Pani,

Nec tam aversus equos Tyria sol jungit ab urbe." He that was thus honoured by the adverse party might naturally expect to be advanced when his friends returned to power, and he was accordingly made secretary for the Island of Jamaica; a place, I suppose without trust or care, but which, with his post in the Customs, is said to have afforded him twelve hundred pounds

a year.

His honours were yet far greater than his profits. Every writer mentioned him with respect; and, among other testimonies to his merit, Steele made him the patron of his Miscellany, and Pope inscribed to him his translation of the "Iliad."

But he treated the Muses with ingratitude; tor, having long conversed familiarly with the great, he wished to be considered rather as a man of fashion than of wit; and, when he received a visit from Voltaire, disgusted him by the despicable foppery of desiring to be considered not as an author but a gentleman; to which the Frenchman replied, "that if he had been only a gentleman he should not have come to visit him."

In his retirement he may be supposed to have applied himself to books; for he discovers more literature than the poets have commonly attained. But his studies were in his latter days obstructed by cataracts in his eyes, which at last terminated in blindness. This melancholy state was aggravated by the gout, for which he sought relief by a journey to Bath; but, being overturned in his chariot, complained from that time of a pain in his side, and died, at his house in Surrey-street, in the Strand, January 29, 1728-9. Having lain in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, he was buried in Westminster Abbey, where a monument is erected to his memory by Henrietta, Dutchess of Marlborough, to whom, for reasons either not known or not mentioned, he bequeathed a legacy, of about ten thousand pounds, the accumulation of attentive parsimony; which, though to her superfluous and useless, might have given great assistance to the ancient family from which he descended, at that time, by the imprudence of his relation, reduced to difficulties and distress.

CONGREVE has merit of the highest kind; he is an original writer, who borrowed neither the models of his plot nor the manner of his dialogue. Of his plays I cannot speak distinctly, for since I inspected them many years have passed; but what remains upon my memory is, that his characters are commonly fictitious and artificial, with very little of nature, and not much of life. He formed a peculiar idea of comic excellence, which he supposed to consist in gay remarks and unexpected answers; but that which he endeavoured he seldom failed of performing. His scenes exhibit not much of humour, imagery, or passion; his personages are a kind of intellec. tual gladiators; every sentence is to ward or

161

strike; the contest of smartness is never inter-
mitted; his wit is a meteor playing to and fro
with alternate coruscations.
have, therefore, in some degree, the operation of
His comedies
tragedies; they surprise rather than divert, and
raise admiration oftener than merriment. But
they are the works of a mind replete with
images and quick in combination.

Of his miscellaneous poetry I cannot say any
thing very favourable. The powers of Congreve
seem to desert him when he leaves the stage,
as Antæus was no longer strong than when
he could touch the ground.
served without wonder, that a mind so vigorous
It cannot be ob-
and fertile in dramatic compositions, should on
any other occasion discover nothing but impo-
tence and poverty. He has in these little pieces
neither elevation of fancy, selection of language,
nor skill in versification; yet, if I were required
to select from the whole mass of English poetry
the most poetical paragraph, I know not what I
could prefer to an exclamation in "The Mourn-
ing Bride:"

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No, all is hush'd and still as death.-Tis dreadful
How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arch'd and pond'rous roof,
By its own weight made steadfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity! it strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.

He who reads these lines enjoys for a moment the powers of a poet; he feels what he remembers to have felt before; but he feels it with great increase of sensibility; he recognizes a familiar image, but meets it again amplified and expanded, embellished with beauty and enlarged with majesty.

Yet could the Author, who appears here to have enjoyed the confidence of Nature, lament the death of Queen Mary in lines like these:

The rocks are cleft, and new-descending rills
Furrow the brows of all th' impending hills.
The water-gods to flood their rivulets turn,
And each, with streaming eyes, supplies his wanting urn.
And round the plain in sad distraction rove:
The fauns forsake the woods, the nymphs the grove,
In prickly brakes their tender limbs they tear,
And leave on thorns their locks of golden hair.
With their sharp nails, themselves the satyrs wound,
And tug their shaggy beards, and bite with grief the
Lo Pan himself, beneath a blasted oak,
Dejected lies, his pipe in pieces broke.
See Pales weeping too, in wild despair,
And see yon fading myrtle, where appears
And to the piercing winds her bosom bare.
The Queen of Love, all bath'd in flowing tears!
See how she wrings her hands, and beats her breast,
And tears her useless girdle from her waist!
For grief they sigh, forgetful of their loves

ground.

Hear the sad murmurs of her sighing doves

And, many years after, he gave no proof that time had improved his wisdom or his wit; for, on the death of the Marquis of Blandford, this was his song:

And now the winds, which had so long been still, Began the swelling air with sighs to fill: The water-nymphs, who motionless remain'd, Like images of ice, while she complain'd, Now loos'd their streams; as when descending rains Roll the steep torrents headlong o'er the plains. The prone creation who so long had gaz'd, Charm'd with her cries, and at her griefs amaz'd, Began to roar and howl with horrid yell, Dismal to hear and terrible to tell! Nothing but groans and sighs were heard around, And echo multiplied each mournful sound.

In both these funeral poems, when he has yelled out many syllables of senseless dolour, he dismisses his reader with senseless consolation: from the grave of Pastora rises a light that forms a star; and where Amaryllis wept for Amyntas, from every tear sprung up a violet. But William is his hero, and of William he will sing :

The hovering winds on downy wings shall wait around, And catch, and waft to foreign lands, the flying sound."

It cannot but be proper to show what they shall have to catch and carry :

'Twas now, when flowery lawns the prospect made, And flowing brooks beneath a forest-shade,

A lowing heifer, loveliest of the herd,
Stood feeding by; while two fierce bulls prepar'd
Their armed heads for fight, by fate of war to prove
The victor worthy of the fair one's love;
Unthought presage of what met next my view,
For soon the shady scene withdrew.

And now, for woods, and fields, and springing flow'rs,
Behold a town arise, bulwark'd with walls and lofty

tow'rs;

Two rival armies all the plain o'erspread,
Each in battalia rang'd, and shining arms array'd;
With eager eyes beholding both from far,
Namur, the prize and mistress of the war.

"The Birth of the Muse" is a miserable tion. One good line it has, which was borrowed from Dryden. The concluding verses are these:

Cecilia's Day," however, has some lines which Pope had in his mind when he wrote his own.

His imitations of Horace are feebly paraphrastical, and the additions which he makes are of little value. He sometimes retains what were more properly omitted, as when he talks of vervain and gums to propitiate Venus.

Of his translations, the satire of Juvenal was written very early, and may therefore be forgiven, though it have not the massiness and vigour of the original. In all his versions strength and sprightliness are wanting; his Hymn to Venus, from Homer, is perhaps the best. His lines are weakened with expletives, and his rhymes are frequently imperfect.

His petty poems are seldom worth the cost of criticism; sometimes the thoughts are false, and sometimes common. In his verses on Lady Gethin, the latter part is in imitation of Dryden's Óde on Mrs. Killegrew; and Doris, that has been so lavishly flattered by Steele, has indeed some lively stanzas, but the expression might be mended; and the most striking part of the character had been already shown in "Love for Love." His "Art of Pleasing" is founded on a vulgar, but perhaps impracticable, principle, and the staleness of the sense is not concealed by any novelty of illustration or elegance of diction.

This tissue of poetry, from which he seems to have hoped a lasting name, is totally neglected, and known only as it appended to his plays.

*

While comedy or while tragedy is regarded, his plays are likely to be read; but, except what relates to the stage, I know not that he has ever written a stanza that is sung, or a couplet that is quoted. The general character of his Miscellanies is, that they show little wit and little virtue.

Yet to him it must be confessed that we are fic-indebted for the correction of a national error, and for the cure of our Pindaric madness. He first taught the English writers that Pindar's odes were regular; and, though certainly he had not the fire requsite for the higher species of lyric poetry, he has shown us, that enthusiasm has its rules, and that in mere confusion there is neither grace nor greatness.

This said, no more remain'd. Th' ethereal host
Again impatient crowd the crystal coast.
The father now, within his spacious hands,
Encompass'd all the mingled mass of seas and lands;
And, having heav'd aloft the pond'rous sphere,
He launch'd the world, to float in ambient air.

Of his irregular poems, that to Mrs. Arabella Hunt seems to be the best; his "Ode for St.

"Except!" Dr. Warton exclaims, "Is not this a high sort of poetry?" He mentions, likewise, that Congreve's Opera, or Oratorio, of "Semele," was set to music by Handel, I believe in 1743.-C.

BLACKMORE.

SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE is one of those men | whose writings have attracted much notice, but of whose life and manners very little has been communicated, and whose lot it has been to be much oftener mentioned by enemies than by friends.

He was the son of Robert Blackmore, of

Corsham, in Wiltshire, styled by Wood, Gentleman, and supposed to have been an attorney. Having been for some time educated in a country school, he was sent, at thirteen, to Westminster; and, in 1668, was entered at Edmund Hall, in Oxford, where he took the degree of M. A. June 3, 1676, and resided thirteen years;

!

a much longer time than it is usual to spend at much as a permission-poem, but a downright the university; and which he seems to have interloper. Those gentlemen who carry on their passed with very little attention to the business poetical trade in a joint stock, would certainly of the place; for, in his poems, the ancient do what they could to sink and ruin an unlicensed names of nations or places, which he often pro-adventurer, notwithstanding I disturbed none of duces, are pronounced by chance. He after- their factories, nor imported any goods they wards travelled: at Padua he was made doctor have ever dealt in." He had lived in the city till of physic; and, after having wandered about a he had learned its note. year and a half on the Continent, returned home.

In some part of his life, it is not known when, his indigence compelled him to teach a school, an humiliation with which, though it certainly lasted but a little while, his enemies did not forget to reproach him, when he became conspicuous enough to excite malevolence; and let it be remembered for his honour, that to have been once a schoolmaster, is the only reproach which all the perspicacity of malice, animated by wit, has ever fixed upon his private life.

When he first engaged in the study of physic, he inquired, as he says, of Dr. Sydenham, what authors he should read, and was directed by Sydenham to "Don Quixote;" "which," said he, "is a very good book; I read it still." The perverseness of mankind makes it often mischievous in men of eminence to give way to merriment; the idle and the illiterate will long shelter themselves under this foolish apophthegm.

That "Prince Arthur" found many readers is certain; for in two years it had three editions; a very uncommon instance of favourable recep tion, at a time when literary curiosity was yet confined to particular classes of the nation, Such success naturally raised animosity; and Dennis attacked it by a formal criticism, more tedious and disgusting than the work which he condemns. To this censure may be opposed the approbation of Locke and the admiration of Molineux, which are found in their printed letters. Molineux is particularly delighted with the song of Mopas, which is therefore subjoined to this narrative.

abilities."

It is remarked by Pope, that what "raises the hero often sinks the man." Of Blackmore it may be said, that as the poet sinks, the man rises; the animadversions of Dennis, insolent and contemptuous as they were, raised in him no implacable resentment: he and his critic were afterwards friends; and in one of his latter works he praises Dennis as "equal to BoiWhether he rested satisfied with this direc-leau in poetry, and superior to him in critical tion, or sought for better, he commenced physician, and obtained high eminence and extensive practice. He became fellow of the College of Physicians, April 12, 1687, being one of the thirty which, by the new charter of King James, were added to the former fellows. His residence was in Cheapside,* and his friends were chiefly in the city. In the early part of Black-was now doubled, and the resentment of wits more's time, a citizen was a term of reproach; and his place of abode was another topic to which his adversaries had recourse, in the penury of scandal.

Blackmore, therefore, was made a poet not by necessity but inclination, and wrote not for a livelihood but for fame, or, if he may tell his own motives, for a nobler purpose, to engage poetry in the cause of virtue.

I believe it is peculiar to him, that his first public work was an heroic poem. He was not known as a maker of verses till he published (in 1695) "Prince Arthur," in ten books, written, as he relates, "by such catches and starts, and in such occasional uncertain hours, as his profession afforded, and for the greatest part in coffee-houses, or in passing up and down the streets." For the latter part of this apology he was accused of writing " to the rumbling of his chariot-wheels." He had read, he says, "but little poetry throughout his whole life; and for fifteen years before had not written a hundred verses, except one copy of Latin verses in praise of a friend's book."

He thinks, and with some reason, that from such a performance perfection cannot be expected; but he finds another reason for the severity of his censures, which he expresses in language such as Cheapside easily furnished. "I am not free of the poets' company, having never kissed the governor's hands: mine is therefore not so

At Sadlers' Hall.

He seems to have been more delighted with praise than pained by censure, and, instead of slackening, quickened his career. Having in two years produced ten books of "Prince Arthur," in two years more (1697) he sent into the world "King Arthur" in twelve. The provocation

and critics may be supposed to have increased in proportion. He found, however, advantages more than equivalent to all their outrages; he was this year made one of the physicians in ordinary to King William, and advanced by him to the honour of knighthood, with the present of a gold chain and a medal.

The malignity of the wits attributed his knighthood to his new poem; but King William was not very studious of poetry; and Blackmore perhaps had other merit, for he says, in his dedication to " Alfred,” that "he had a greater part in the succession of the house of Hanover than ever he had boasted."

What Blackmore could contribute to the suc cession, or what he imagined himself to have contributed, cannot now be known. That he had been of considerable use, I doubt not but he believed, for I hold him to have been very honest; but he might easily make a false estimate of his own importance: those whom their virtue restrains from deceiving others, are often disposed by their vanity to deceive themselves. Whether he promoted the succession or not, he at least approved it, and adhered invariably to his principles and party through his whole life.

His ardour of poetry still continued; and not long after (1700) he published "A Paraphrase on the Book of Job," and other parts of the Scripture. This performance Dryden, who pursued him with great malignity, lived long enough to ridicule in a prologue.

The wits easily confederated against him, as

Dryden, whose favour they almost all courted, was his professed adversary. He had besides given them reason for resentment; as, in his preface to "Prince Arthur," he had said of the dramatic writers almost all that was alleged afterwards by Collier; but Blackmore's censure was cold and general, Collier's was personal and ardent; Blackmore taught his reader to dislike what Collier incited him to abhor.

of Lucretius in the beauty of its versification, and infinitely surpassed it in the solidity and strength of its reasoning."

Why an author surpasses himself, it is natural to inquire. I have heard from Mr. Draper, an eminent bookseller, an account received by him from Ambrose Philips, "That Blackmore, as he proceeded in this poem, laid his manuscript from time to time before a club of wits with In his preface to "King Arthur" he endea- whom he associated; and that every man convoured to gain at least one friend, and propiti-tributed, as he could, either improvement or corated Congreve by higher praise of his "Mourn-rection: so that," said Philips, "there are pering Bride" than it has obtained from any other haps no where in the book thirty lines together critic. that now stand as they were originally written.”

The same year he published "A Satire on The relation of Philips, I suppose, was true; Wit;" a proclamation of defiance, which united but when all reasonable, all credible, allowance the poets almost all against him, and which is made for this friendly revision, the Author will brought upon him lampoons and ridicule from still retain an ample dividend of praise for to every side. This he doubtless foresaw, and evi-him must always be assigned the plan of the dently despised; nor should his dignity of mind work, the distribution of its parts, the choice of be without its praise, had he not paid the ho- topics, the train of argument, and, what is yet mage to greatness which he denied to genius, and more, the general predominance of philosophical degraded himself by conferring that authority judgment and poetical spirit. Correction seldom over the national taste which he takes from the effects more than the suppression of faults; a poets upon men of high rank and wide influ- happy line, or a single elegance, may perhaps ence, but of less wit and not greater virtue. be added; but of a large work the general character must always remain; the original constitution can be very little helped by local remedies; inherent and radical dulness will never be much invigorated by extrinsic animation.

Here is again discovered the inhabitant of Cheapside, whose head cannot keep his poetry unmingled with trade. To hinder that intellectual bankruptcy which he affects to fear, he will erect a Bank for Wit.

In this poem he justly censured Dryden's impurities, but praised his powers: though in a subsequent edition he retained the satire and omitted the praise. What was his reason, I know not; Dryden was then no longer in his

way.

His head still teemed with heroic poetry; and (1705) he published "Eliza," in ten books. I am afraid that the world was now weary of contending about Blackmore's heroes: for I do not remember that by any author, serious or comical, I have found "Eliza" either praised or blamed. She "dropped," as it seems, "deadborn from the press." It is never mentioned, and was never seen by me till I borrowed it for the present occasion. Jacob says, "it is corrected and revised for another impression;" but the labour of revision was thrown away.

This poem, if he had written nothing else, would have transmitted him to posterity among the first favourites of the English muse; but to make verses was his transcendent pleasure, and as he was not deterred by censure, he was not satiated with praise.

He deviated, however, sometimes into other tracks of literature, and condescended to entertain his readers with plain prose. When the "Spectator" stopped, he considered the polite world as destitute of entertainment: and, in concert with Mr. Hughes, who wrote every third paper, published three times a-week "The Lay Monastery," founded on the supposition that some literary men, whose characters are described, had retired to a house in the country to enjoy philosophical leisure, and resolved to instruct the public, by communicating their disquisitions and amusements. Whether any real persons were concealed under fictitious names, is not known. The hero of the club is one Mr. Johnson; such a constellation of excellence, that his character shall not be suppressed, though there is no great genius in the design, nor skill in the delineation.

From this time he turned some of his thoughts to the celebration of living characters; and wrote a poem on the Kit-cat Club, and Advice to the Poets how to celebrate the Duke of Marlborough; but on occasion of another year of success, thinking himself qualified to give more instruction, he again wrote a poem of "Advice to "The first I shall name is Mr. Johnson, a a Weaver of Tapestry." Steele was then pub- gentleman that owes to nature excellent faculties lishing the "Tatler;" and, looking around him and an elevated genius, and to industry and apfor something at which he might laugh, unluck-plication many acquired accomplishments. His ily lighted on Sir Richard's work, and treated it with such contempt, that, as Fenton observes, he put an end to the species of writers that gave Advice to Painters.

taste is distinguishing, just, and delicate: his judgment clear, and his reason strong, accompanied with an imagination full of spirit, of great compass, and stored with refined ideas. He is a Not long after (1712) he published "Crea-critic of the first rank; and, what is his peculiar tion," a philosophical poem, which has been by ornament, he is delivered from the ostentation, my recommendation inserted in the late collec- malevolence, and supercilious temper, that so tion. Whoever judges of this by any other of often blemish men of that character. His reBlackmore's performances will do it injury. The marks result from the nature and reason of praise given it by Addison (Spec. 339) is too things, and are formed by a judgment free and well known to be transcribed: but some notice unbiassed by the authority of those who have is due to the testimony of Dennis, who calls it a lazily followed each other in the same beaten. "philosophical poem, which has equalled that track of thinking, and are arrived only at the re

putation of acute grammarians and commenta- | reflections as direct motions, they become proper tors; men, who have been copying one another instruments for he sprightly operations of the many hundred years, without any improvement; mind; by which means the imagination can or, if they have ventured farther, have only ap- with great facility range the wide field of nature, plied in a mechanical manner the rules of ancient contemplate an infinite variety of objects, and, critics to modern writings, and with great labour by observing the similitude and disagreement of discovered nothing but their own want of judg- their several qualities, single out and abstract, ment and capacity. As Mr. Johnson penetrates and then suit and unite, those ideas which will to the bottom of his subject, by which means his best serve its purpose. Hence beautiful alluobservations are solid and natural, as well as sions, surprising metaphors, and admirable sendelicate, so his design is always to bring to light timents, are always ready at hand; and while something useful and ornamental; whence his the fancy is full of images, collected from incharacter is the reverse to theirs, who have emi- numerable objects and their different qualities, nent abilities in insignificant knowledge, and a relations, and habitudes, it can at pleasure dress great felicity in finding out trifles. He is no a common notion in a strange but becoming less industrious to search out the merit of an au- garb; by which, as before observed, the same thor than sagacious in discerning his errors and thought will appear a new one, to the great defects; and takes more pleasure in commending delight and wonder of the hearer. What we call the beauties than exposing the blemishes of a genius results from this particular happy comlaudable writing; like Horace, in a long work, plexion in the first formation of the person that he can bear some deformities, and justly lay enjoys it, and is Nature's gift, but diversified by them on the imperfection of human nature, which various specific characters and limitations, as its is incapable of faultless productions. When an active fire is blended and allayed by different excellent drama appears in public, and by its in- proportions of phlegm, or reduced and regulated trinsic worth attracts a general applause, he is by the contrast of opposite ferments. Therenot stung with envy and spleen; nor does he fore, as there happens in the composition of a express a savage nature, in fastening upon the facetious genius a greater or less, though still an celebrated author, dwelling upon his imaginary inferior, degree of judgment and prudence, one defects, and passing over his conspicuous excel- man of wit will be varied and distinguished from lences. He treats all writers upon the same im- another." partial footing; and is not, like the little critics, taken up entirely in finding out only the beauties of the ancient, and nothing but the errors of the modern writers. Never did any one express more kindness and good nature to young and unfinished authors; he promotes their interests, protects their reputation, extenuates their faults, and sets off their virtues, and by his candour guards them from the severity of his judgment. He is not like those dry critics who are morose because they cannot write themselves, but is himself master of a good vein in poetry; and though he does not often employ it, yet he has sometimes entertained his friends with his unpublished performances."

The rest of the Lay Monks seem to be but feeble mortals, in comparison with the gigantic Johnson; who yet, with all his abilities, and the help of the fraternity, could drive the publication but to forty papers, which were afterwards collected into a volume, and called in the title "A Sequel to the Spectators."

Some years afterwards (1716 and 1717) he published two volumes of Essays in prose, which can be commended only as they are written for the highest and noblest purpose-the promotion of religion. Blackmore's prose is not the prose of a poet; for it is languid, sluggish, and lifeless; his diction is neither daring nor exact, his flow neither rapid nor easy, and his periods neither smooth nor strong. His account of wit will show with how little clearness he is content to think, and how little his thoughts are recommended by his language.

"As to its efficient cause, wit owes its production to an extraordinary and peculiar temperament in the constitution of the possessor of it, in which is found a concurrence of regular and exalted ferments, and an affluence of animal spirits, refined and rectified to a great degree of purity; whence, being endowed with vivacity, brightness, and celerity, as well in their

In these Essays he took little care to propitiate the wits; for he scorns to avert their malice at the expense of virtue or of truth.

"Several, in their books, have many sarcastical and spiteful strokes at religion in general; while others make themselves pleasant with the principles of the Christian. Of the last kind, this age has seen a most audacious example in the book entitled 'A Tale of a Tub.' Had this writing been published in a pagan or popish nation, who are justly impatient of all indignity offered to the established religion of their country. no doubt but the author would have received the punishment he deserved. But the fate of this impious buffoon is very different; for in a protestant kingdom, zealous of their civil and religious immunities, he has not only escaped affronts and the effects of public resentment, but has been caressed and patronized by persons of great figure and of all denominations. Violent party men, who differed in all things besides, agreed in their turn to show particular respect and friendship to this insolent derider of the worship of his country, till at last the reputed writer is not only gone off with impunity, but triumphs in his dignity and preferment. I do not know that any inquiry or search was ever made after this writing, or that any reward was ever offered for the discovery of the author, or that the infamous book was ever condemned to be burned in public: whether this proceeds from the excessive esteem and love that men in power, during the late reign, had for wit, or their defect of zeal and concern for the Christian religion, will be determined best by those who are best acquainted with their character."

In another place he speaks with becoming abhorrence of a godless author, who has burlesqued a Psalm. This author was supposed to be Pope, who published a reward for any one that would produce the coiner of the accusation, but never denied it; and was afterwards the perpetual and incessant enemy of Blackmore.

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