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about the exercise of it, and the extent of its province. For the deists there stop, and set bounds to their faith, where reason, their only guide, does not lead the way further, and walk along before them. We, on the contrary, as Moses was shown by divine power a true sight of the promised land, though himself could not pass over to it, so we think reason may receive from revelation some further discoveries and new prospects of things, and be fully convinced of the reality of them ; though itself cannot pass on, nor travel those regions ; cannot penetrate the fund of those truths, nor advance to the utmost bounds of them. For there is certainly a wide difference between what is contrary to reason, and what is superior to it and out of its reach.


This ardent lover and eulogist of field-sports was born in 1692, and was educated at Oxford. After leaving the university, he settled upon his patri. monial estate in Warwickshire, and occupied his time partly with the duties of a justice of the peace, partly with the active pleasures of the sportsman, and partly with the cultivation of his poetical talents. Hospitable, convivial, and careless of economy, he became involved in debt, and in the latter part of his life, according to the account of his friend Shenstone, the poet, “ drank himself into pains of the body, in order to get rid of the pains of the mind." Thus, most lamentably, was his misery completed, and his end accelerated; and he died in 1742, in the fiftieth year of his age.

Somerville is best known by his poem, entitled the “Chase,” which still has considerable popularity. It is written in blank verse, tolerably harmoni. ous, and his descriptions, always accurate, from his own practical knowledge of his subject, are frequently vivid and beautiful. He has also written an. other rural poem, called “Field-Sports," which describes the amusement of hawking; « Hobbinol, or Rural Games," a mock heroic; and many pieces of a miscellaneous character. Of the latter, the lines to Addison show much good feeling, and just appreciation of the character of that great and good man.


Ere yet the morning peep,
Or stars retire from the first blush of day,
With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack,
And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse
Thick with entangling, grass, or prickly furze,
With silence lead thy many-color'd hounds,
In all their beauty's pride. See! how they range
Dispersed, how busily this way, and that,
They cross, examining with curious nose
Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear
Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry
More nobly full, and swell’d with every mouth.
As straggling armies, at the trumpet's voice,

Press to their standard, hither all repair,
And hurry through the woods; with hasty step
Rustling, and full of hope; now driven on heaps
They push, they strive; while from his kennel sneaks
The conscious villain. See! he skulks along,
Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals !
Purloin'd. So thrive the wicked here below.;
Though high his brush he bear, though tipt with white
It gayly shine; yet ere the sun declined
Recall the shades of night, the pamper'd rogue
Shall rue his fate reversed; and at his heels
Behold the just avenger, swift to seize
His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood.

And now
In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barr'd
Impregnable, nor is the covert safe;
He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts
Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away.
Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound
Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack.
'Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths,
Now give a loose to the clean generous steed;
Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur;
But in the madness of delight, forget
Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range,
And dangerous our course: but in the brave
True courage never fails. In vain the stream
In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch
Wide-gaping threatens death. The craggy steep,
Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care,
And clings to every twig, gives us no pain:
But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold
To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill,
By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft:
So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink
Adown the steepy wave, then toss'd on high
Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.

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Great bard! how shall my worthless Muse aspire
To reach your praise, without your sacred fire ?
When panting virtue her last efforts made,
You brought your Cliol to the virgin's aid;
Presumptuous Folly blush'd, and Vice withdrew
To vengeance yielding her abandon'd crew.
'Tis true, confederate wits their forces join;

rces jom
Parnassus labors in the work divine:
Yet these we read with too impatient eyes,
And hunt for you through every dark disguise;
In vain your modesty that name conceals,
Which every thought, which every word, reveals;
With like success bright Beauty's Goddess tries
To veil immortal charms from mortal eyes;


Her graceful port, and her celestial mien,
To her brave son betray the Cyprian queen;
Odors divine perfume her rosy breast,
She glides along the plain in majesty confess'd.
Hard was the task, and worthy your great mind,
To please at once, and to reform mankind :
Yet, when you write, Truth charms with such address,
Pleads Virtue's cause with such becoming grace,
His own fond heart the guilty wretch betrays,
He yields delighted, and convinced obeys:
You touch our follies with so nice a skill,
Nature and habit prompt in vain to ill.
Nor can it lessen the Spectator's praise,
That from your friendly hand he wears the bays;
His great design all ages shall commend,
But more his happy choice in such a friend.
So the fair queen of night the world relieves,
Nor at the sun's superior honor grieves,
Proud to reflect the glories she receives.

Contending nations ancient Homer claim,
And Mantua glories in her Maro's name;
Our happier soil the prize shall yield to none,
Ardenna's groves shall boast an Addison.
Ye sylvan powers, and all ye rural gods,
That guard these peaceful shades and blest abodes,
For your new guest your choicest gifts prepare,
Exceed his wishes, and prevent his prayer;
Grant him, propitious, freedom, health, and peace,
And as his virtues, let his stores increase.
His lavish hand no deity shall mourn,
The pious bard shall make a just return;
In lasting verse eternal altars raise,
And over-pay your bounty with his praise.

JONATHAN SWIFT. 1667-1745. Of the varied life of this eccentric divine, so numerous and able have been the details, that had we room to enter into the consideration of it at length, it would be quite an unnecessary work. We will therefore give but a mere sketch of it, referring the reader for more full biographies to the works mentioned below.1

He was born in Dublin, in 1667, and was educated at Dublin University, At the age of twenty-one he obtained the patronage of Sir William Temple, under whose roof, at Moor Park, in Surrey, he resided as an amanuensis and à companion until the death of his patron in 1698. Here he wrote his cele. brated treatise, entitled “ The Battle of the Books," against Bentley; and whila here he “ took orders in the church." Upon the death of Temple, he was invited by the Earl of Berkeley to Ireland, and after many disappointments he obtained the living of Laracor, where, in 1704, he published, anonymously, that remarkable work, “The Tale of a Tub." It was designed as a burlesque and satire upon the disputes among the Papists, Episcopalians, and Presbyterians, and for keenness and humor it has, perhaps, never been equalled. In 1713 he was rewarded with the deanery of St. Patrick's, in Dublin; but the return of the Whig party into power, on the accession of the House of Hanover, destroyed all his hopes of further preferment. For some years after, he was employed almost entirely in political and occasional writings, full of virulence and bitterness against many of the men and things of his age, and which are now but little read. In 1724 he became almost an object of idolatry to the Irish by publishing a series of letters under the feigned name of M. B. Drapier, against one William Wood. This Wood had obtained a patent for coining half-pence for the use of Ireland, to the enormous amount of £180,000, and Swift, in his « Drapier's Letters,” exposed the fraud, and the ruinous consequences to the nation, with such power of reason, and sarcasm, and invective, that the patent was annulled, and the half-pence withdrawn by the government. The following short extract will give an idea of the style and humor of these “ Letters:"

1 Hawkesworth, Sheridan, and Nichols have all prefixed a life of Swift to their edition of his works. But the best edition is that of Sir Walter Scott, with life, 19 vols. 8vo, of which a second edition has been published. Read also, a life of the same, in the 3d vol. of “Drake's Essays;" Another in "Johnson's Lives," and a very able article in the 27th vol. of the Edinburgh Review.


I am very sensible that such a work as I have undertaken might have worthily employed a much better pen: but when a house is attempted to be robbed, it often happens that the weakest in the family runs first to stop the door. All the assistance I had were some informations from an eminent person, whereof I am afraid I have spoiled a few, by endeavoring to make them of a piece with my own productions ; and the rest I was not able to manage. I was in the case of David, who could not move in the armor of Saul, and therefore I rather chose to attack this uncircumcised Philistine (Wood I mean) with a sling and a stone. And I may say for Wood's honor, as well as my own, that he resembles Goliath in many circumstances very applicable to the present purpose : for Goliath had a helmet of BRASS upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail, and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of BRASS ; and he had greaves of BRASS upon his legs, and a target of BRASS between his shoulders. In short he was, like Mr. Wood, all over BRASS, and he defied the armies of the living God.Goliath's conditions of combat were likewise the same with these of Wood: if he prevail against us, then shall we be his servants. But if it happens that I prevai] over him, I renounce the other part of the condition; he shall never be a servant of mine ; for I do not think him fit to be trusted in any honest man's shop.

1 In the county of Meath, north-west of Dublin. While here, he appointed the reading of prayers every Wednesday and Friday. Upon the first Wednesday, after the bell had ceased ringing for some time, finding that the congregation consisted only of himself and his clerk, Roger, he began : “Dearly beloved Roger, the Scripture moveth you and me in sundry places," &r and then proceeded regularly through the whole service.

--In 1726 appeared the most perfect of the larger compositions of Swift, and that by which he will probably be longest remembered Gulliver's Travels." It is a production entirely unique in English literature. Its main design is, under the form of fictitious travels, to satirize mankind and the institutions of civilized countries; but the scenes and nations which it describes are so wonderful and amusing, that the book is as great a favorite with children as with those misanthropic spirits who delight in contemplating the imperfections of human nature. In the latter part of his life, he published another burlesque on the social world, entitled “ Polite Conversation,” being an almost exact representation of the unpremeditated talk of ordinary persons. A still more ludicrous and satirical work appeared after his death, under the title of “ Directions to Servants." His most important political tracts were, « The Conduct of the Allies," "The Public Spirit of the Whigs,” and “A History of the Four last Years of Queen Anne."

In 1736 Swift was seized with a violent fit of giddiness, while writing a satirical poem called the “ Legion Club," which he never finished. From that time he grew worse and worse, till, in 1741, his friends found his passions so violent and ungovernable, his memory so decayed, and his reason so depraved, that they were obliged to keep all strangers from him. In 1742, after a week of indescribable bodily suffering, he sank into a state of quiet idiocy, in which he continued till the 19th of October, 1745, when he gently breathed his last. · As a writer, the prose works of Swift are among the best specimens we possess of a thorough English style. “He knew," says Dr. Blair, “ beyond almost any man, the purity, the extent, the precision of the English language; and, therefore, to such as wish to attain a pure and correct style, he is one of the most useful models. But we must not look for much ornament and grace in his language. His haughty and morose genius made him despise any embellishment of this kind, as beneath his dignity. He delivers his sentiments in a plain, downright, positive manner, like one who is sure he is in the right, and is very indifferent whether you are pleased or not. His sentences are commonly negligently arranged; distinctly enough as to sense, but without any regard to smoothness of sound; often without much regard to compactness or elegance." The following selections are given as specimens of his best style : :

COUNTRY HOSPITALITY. Those inferior duties of life, which the French call les petites morales, or the smaller morals, are with us distinguished by the name of good manners or breeding. This I look upon, in the general notion of it, to be a sort of artificial good sense, adapted to the meanest capacities, and introduced to make mankind easy in their commerce with each other. Low and little understandings, without some rules of this kind, would be perpetually wandering into a thousand indecencies and irregularities in behavior; and in their ordinary conversation, fall into the same boisterous familiarities that one observes among them where intemperance has quite taken away the use of their reason. In other instances it is odd to consider, that for want of common discretion, the very end of good breeding is wholly perverted; and civility, intended to make us easy, is employed in laying chains and fetters upon us, in de

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