stance he gave a striking proof, in an alcove with a bench, a little way from his house, so painted, that at a distance it passed, with an unsuspecting gazer, for a real one. On advancing more closely to it the illusion was perceived, and, as a motto, appeared the words, Invisibilia non decipiunt; "The things unseen deceive us not." Yet, so far was he from gloominess of temper, he was fond of innocent sports and amusements; and not only instituted an assembly and bowling-green in the parish of which he was Rector, but frequently promoted the gayety of the company in person.

Endowed with an uncommon wit, never was that wit more successfully pointed than against those who testified any contempt for decency or religion. His extempore epigram on M. de Voltaire, who happened, in our Author's presence, to throw out a few idle sneers at Milton, and the allegorical personages of Sin and Death, is well known. Young thus addressed him;

Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin;
You seem a Milton, with his Death and Sin.

Of his sensibility we may likewise judge from an ecdote recorded of him in his clerical capacity. One nday, when preaching officially at St. James's, ading every effort to command the attention of his olite auditory ineffectual, pity for their infatuation ot the better of decorum, and, seating himself back the pulpit, he burst into a flood of tears.

Towards the close of his life, sensible of his still-inreasing infirmities, he suffered himself to be in a kind

of pupilage; for he considered that at a certain time of life the second childhood of age demanded its wonted protection. His son, whose juvenile follies were long obnoxious to parental severity, was at last forgiven, and, a few legacies excepted, succeeded, by will, to the whole of his father's fortune. This great and good man, (having previously ordered all his papers to be burned) after having performed all that man could do to fill his post with dignity, regretted by all, full of years, and loaded with honours, breathed his last on the 5th of April, 1765.

Those who know how much our Author comprised in a small compass, and who recollect that he never employed his pen but on subjects of importance, with such the irreparable loss of his manuscripts will be ever regretted; more especially when it is considered that he was the particular friend of Addison, whom he occasionally assisted in the Spectator, and, excepting the late Dr. Pierce, Bishop of Rochester, was the only surviving genius of that incomparable group of authors who rendered the reign of Queen Anne illustrious in the annals of literature.

VERSES TO THE AUTHOR.

Now let the Atheist tremble, thou alone
Canst bid his conscious heart the Godhead own,
Whom shalt thou not reform? O thou hast seen
How God descends to judge the souls of men.
Thou heard'st the sentence how the guilty mourn, 5
Driv'n out from God, and never to return.
Yet more, behold ten thousand thunders fall,
And sudden vengeance wrap the flaming ball.
When Nature sunk, when ev'ry bolt was hurl'd,
Thou saw'st the boundless ruins of the world.

When guilty Sodom felt the burning rain,
And sulphur fell on the devoted plain,
The Patriarch thus the fiery tempest past,
With pious horror view'd the desert waste;
The restless smoke still wav'd its curls around,
For ever rising from the glowing ground.

But tell me, oh! what heav'nly pleasure, tell,
To think so greatly, and describe so well!
How wast thou pleas'd the wondrous theme to try,
And find the thought of man could rise so high?
Beyond this world the labour to pursue,
And open all eternity to view?

But thou art best delighted to rehearse
Heav'n's holy dictates in exalted verse.

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O thou hast pow'r the harden'd heart to warm,
To grieve, to raise, to terrify, to charm;
To fix the soul on God; to teach the mind
To know the dignity of humankind;
By stricter rules well-govern'd life to scan,
And practise o'er the angel in the man.

Magd. Col.

Oxon.

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T. WARTON.

TO A LADY, WITH THE LAST DAY.

MADAM,

HERE sacred truths in lofty numbers told,

The prospect of a future state unfold;
The realms of night to mortal view display,
And the glad regions of eternal day.
This daring author scorns, by vulgar ways
Of guilty wit, to merit worthless praise.
Full of her glorious theme, his tow'ring Muse,
With gen'rous zeal, a nobler fame pursues:
Religion's cause her ravish'd heart inspires,
And with a thousand bright ideas fires;
Transports her quick, impatient, piercing eye,
O'er the strait limits of mortality

To boundless orbs, and bids her fearless soar,
Where only Milton gain'd renown before;
Where various scenes alternately excite
Amazement, pity, terreur, and delight.

IO

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Thus did the Muses sing in early times,
Ere skill'd to flatter vice, and varnish crimes:
Their lyres were tun'd to virtuous songs alone,
And the chaste poet and the priest were one:
But now, forgetful of their infant state,
They sooth the wanton pleasures of the great;
And from the press, and the licentious stage,
With luscious poison taint the thoughtless age:
Deceitful charms attract our wond'ring eyes,
And specious ruin unsuspected lies.

So the rich soil of India's blooming shores,
Adorn'd with lavish Nature's choicest stores,

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Where serpents lurk, by flow'rs conceal'd from sight, Hides fatal danger under gay delight.

These purer thoughts from gross alloys refin'd,

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With heav'nly raptures elevate the mind:

Not fram'd to raise a giddy, short-liv'd joy,

Whose false allurements, while they please, destroy;
But bliss resembling that of saints above,
Sprung from the vision of th' Almighty Love:

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Firm, solid bliss, for ever great and new,

The more 'tis known, the more admir'd, like you;
Like you, fair Nymph! in whom united meet
Endearing sweetness, unaffected wit,

And all the glories of your sparkling race,
While inward virtues heighten ev'ry grace.
By these secur'd, you will with pleasure read
Of future judgment, and the rising dead;

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