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under the Doctor's own hand) ready for the press, and had taken the earliest opportunity of giving to the world his father's last and sacred farewell to literature.'
Mr. Wooll thus portrays the character of his much respected author:
Zealous in his adherence to the church establishment, and exemplary in his attention to its ordinances and duties, he was at the same time a decided enemy to bigotry or intolerance. His style of preaching was unaffectedly earnest and impressive ; and the dignified solemnity with which he read the Liturgy (particularly the Communion service) was remarkably awful. He had the most happy art of arresting the attention of youth on religious subjects. Every Wiccamical reader will reccllect his inimitable commentaries on Grotius in the Sunday evenings, and his discourse annually delivered in the school on Good Friday : the impressions made by them cannot be forgotten.
• To descend to the minutice of daily habits is surely beneath the province of biography. Free, open, and chearful to his friends, with. out rigour or sullen severity to those he disliked, Dr. Warron in his general character could never deserve and seldom incur enmity. A playful liveliness, even on the most dry and didactic subjects, divested him of the smallest appearance of that pedantry which is too apt to attach itself to scholars by profession. None could leave his society without improvement, yet never was the man found who was oppressed by his superiority. The charm of unaffected ease and good humour prevented every feeling of inequality, every jealousy of receiving instruction : no individual perhaps ever possessed in a strong. er degree the powers of enlivening conversation by extensive knowledge, correct judgment, and elegant taste. His chearfulness and resignation in a fiction were invincible ; even under the extreine of bodily weakness, his strong mind was unbroken, and his limbs became paralyzed in the very act of dictating an epistle of friendly criticism. So quiet, 50 composed was his end, that he might more truly be said to cease to live than to have undergone the pangs of dcath.'
We deem it superfluous to advert to the sedate and judicious criticisms which are blended with the biographical details ; because the writings to which they refer have already passed the public ordeals, and sufaciently speak for themselves. The garrative, on the whole, is rather deficient in vivacity, and by no means sich in variety of incident. The writer has, indeed, laudably abstained from childish recitals and silly gossipping : but he has reported few anecdotes which paint character, or speak to feeling, and is wonderfully sparing of chose appro. priate traits of manner and disposition, which constirute the charm and physiognomy (if we may say so) of biographical writing. A narxinal note, which occurs near the end of the volume, and which might with great propriery have been in
serted in the Memoirs, will aptly exemplify the kind of information to which we allude:
• Independant of the Duchess of Portland, Mrs. Greville, Mrs. Carter, and Mrs Montagu, whose talents and information Dr. War. ton held in the highest esteem, and with whom he frequently corres. porded ; the sex in general were partial to him : and the Editor has frequently seen the young, the handsome, and the gay, deserted by the belles, to attract the notice of Dr. W. ; whilst he was, on his part, thoroughly accessible, and imparted his lively sallies and instructive conversation with the most gallant and appropiate pleasantry. He was a great admirer of beauty, nor was it in his nature to use a rude expression to a female. He had moreover a great tenderness and love for children, and fully exemplified the inaxim, that wherever there are an uniform attention to the female sex, and an indulgent notice of children, there is a warm and feeling heart. His politeness to the ladies however was once put to a hard test: He was invited, whilst Master of Winchester, to meet a relative of Pope, who, from her con. nection with the family, he was taught to believe could furnish liin with much valuable and private information. Incited by all that eagerness which so strongly characterized him, lac on his introduction sat immediately close to the lady, and, by enquiring her consanguinity to Pope, enteredd at once on the subject ; when the following dialogue took place: Pray, Sir, did not you write a book about my cousin Pope ?-Warton. Yos, Madam -- Lady. They tell me 'twas vastly clever. He wrote a great many plays, did not he! Warton. I have heard only of one attempt, Madam - Lady. Oh no, I beg vour pardon, that was Mr. Shakespear ; I always confound them. - This was too much even for the Doctor's gallantry; he replied, Certainly, Madam ; and with a bow changed his scat to the contrary side of the room, where he sat, to the amusement of a large party, with such a mingled countenance of archness and chagrin, such a struggle between his taste for the ridiculous, and his natural polite: ness, as could be pourtrayed but by his speaking and expressive countenance In a few minutes he quitted the company, but not without taking leave of the lady in the most polite and unaffected manner.'
The motives, which the editor assigns for publishing only a selection of his author's poetical works, we shall mention in his own words:
• It is not a necessary consequence that the productions of a youthful poet, however valued at that time by himself or favourably received by the world, should bear the deliberate test of experience, or be sanctioned by the mellow judgement of maturer years : and certain it is, that some pieces, though perfectly congenial with the glow of fancy and spirited force of poetical imagery which so strong; ly marked all the efforts of his mind, were consigned by the wishes of Dr. W. himself to oblivion! To revive such in a posthumous publi.. cation would be the height of cruelty.'
: We could even have pardoned Mr. Wooll, if he had circumscribed the range of his choice within still narrower bounds ; since of more than thirty pieces which he has culled, scarcely any can be ranked among poems of the first order. As he is pleased to bestow on the Dying Indian' the expreso sion of inimitably characteristic,' we shall give it entire:
«THE DYING INDIAN.
In double poison-1 shall soon arrive
I go! great Copac beckons me! Farewell !' We add the • Ode to Music, on account of its brevity and classical flavour:
Queen of every moving measure,
The Ode to Fancy' is not devoid of spirie : but most of the other effusions are correctly tame, and excite little emotion.--• Ranelagh-house, a satire,' is not an unhappy imitation of Le Sage's manner, and agreeably enlivens the general gravity of the volume. We shall transcribe a few sentences, which the author of le Diable Borteux would not have disclaimed :
• That pert young fellow with a black ribbon round his neck, in a fustian frock with very short skirts, and a very broad brim'd hat in an affected impudent cock, is a Templar, who having read all the modern comedies and farçes, the Speciators, Dryden's prefaces and dedications, and having once squeez'd out a prologue to a play that was damn’d, sets up for a critic and a wit. His cat-call is generally heard the first in the pit; he is the Coryphæus of those unmannedy disturbers of the public. He is the most despicable thing that ever disgraced humanity. He rises at twelve at noon, saunters to sone coffee-house till one, dresses and has dincd by four, then to the coffee-house again, after that to the play for two acis, after that takes a round ihrough all the bagnios and brothicis in Covent Gar. den, kicks whores, and gets drunk with arrack puach, staggers home at three in the morning, quarrels with the wateli, and breaks lampi Hæc est vita solutorun. And this is a compleat and exact journal of that kind of animal, which by the bye pretends to have a soul, called a Templar. One of the ladies he is talking to is extravagantly fond of cats and lapdogs; a large hound that she hugs and kisses all day, has the honour to lie with her all niglat. She is a lady of great benevolence to the brute creation. She at this time carries a squirrel in her pocket, and if you observe, has just put in her finger, that the dear little favourite may give her an amorous bite. The oiler is a prodigious devotee, and a great reader of Thomas à Kempis: she has bad thoughts of retiring from the world into some grotto in a desert, and to carry nothing with her but a lamp and a death's head: I wonder to see her here, but I suppose she comes to make grave reflections on the vanity of all pleasures and earthly amusements. She constantly frequents a church in the City, where there is a handsome young lecturer, who preaches prettily, has a graceful lisping delivery, and abounds in the most smart antitheses, most elegant and ingenious conceits, and the best turned periods ima. ginable. He never frightens his fair audience with the mentioning any of my fraternity, but, if I may so say, strew's the path to Heaven with flowers. But hold a little : by Proserpine, I spy yonder the very man I am speaking of; 'tis he with a smooth round face, and a neck cloih so white and so well plaited under his florid double chin. He preach'd last Sunday in a silk gown, with a lawii handkerchief in his hand, and a fine diamond ring upon his finger, upon this well chosen text ; ' And why take ye thought for raiment?' He bows so well, and flatters so smoothly, and has so little spirit or honesty, that he will certainly be a dean.'
Of the letters, many which are trilling, or merely complimen. ţary, and some which relate to transactions that can no longer
DE ANSWIFT TO
interest the public, might have been spared. Others, however, afford amiable views of character, or affecting sentiments, and form a valuable part of the publication. Dr. W!'s own letters, almost entirely addressed to his brother, are in general remark. able only for their affection. Though we have scarcely left space for additional extracts, we cannot deny ourselves the gratification of transcribing two or three of the most impressive of these epistles :
London, Dec. 26, 1711. * That you may not be surprized with a letter from a person nt: terly unknown to you, I will immediately tell you the occasion of it. The Lady who lived near two years in your neighbourhood, and whom you were so kind sometimes to visit under the name of Mrs. Smyth, was Mrs. Aon Long, sister to Sir James Long, and niece of Colonel Strangways. She was of as good a private family as most in England, and had every valuable quality of body and mind that could make a lady loved and esteemed ; accordingly she was always valued here above most of her sex, and by the most distinguisht perFONS. But by the unkindness of her friends, and the gencrosity of her own nature, and depending upon the death of a very old Grandmother, which did not happen till it was too late, she contracted some debts that made her uncasy here, and, in order to clear them, was content to retire unknown to your town, where I fear her death has been hast ned by melancholy, and perhaps the want of such assistance as she might have found here.
I thought tic to signify this to you, partly to let you know how valuable a person you have lost ; bit chicfly to desire that you will please to bury her in some part of your church, near a wall, where a plain marble stone may be fixed, as a pour monument for one who deserved so well, and which, if God sends me life, I hope one day to place there, if no other of her friends will think fit to do it. I had the honor of an intimate acquaintance with her; and was never so sensibly touched with any one's death as with hers ; neither did I ever know a person, of either sex, with more virtues or fewer infirmityes ; the oncly one she had, which was the neglect of her own affairs, arising wholly from the goodness of her temper. I write not this to you at all as a secret, but am content your town should know what an excellent person they liave had among them.
• If you visited her any short time before her death, or know any particulars about it, or of the state of her mind, or the nature of her disease ; 1 beg you will be so obliging to inform me; for the letter we have seen from ber poor maid, is so imperfect, by her grief for the death of so good a lady, that it onely tells the time of her death; and your letter may
if you please be directed to Dr. Swift, and put under a cover, which cover may be directed to Erasmus Lewis, Esq. aj the Earl of Dartmouth's Office at Whitehall.
I hope you will forgive this trouble, for the oce of it, and give some allowances to so great a loss, not onely to me, but to all