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blend with it a little more of the leniter in modo. But we must not expect inconfiftencies; and perhaps gentleness is a quality inconfiftent with the active and daring fpirit of a reformer.

ART. V. The World as it goes; a Poem. By the Author of the Diaboliad. Dedicated to one of the best Men in his Majesty's Dominions, &c. 4to. 2 s. 6 d. Bew. 1779.

UNDER the fimilitude of a dream this manly fatirist describes the Mufe, to whom he particularly devotes himself, as exhibiting a picture of the world as it goes. The more prominent parts of the piece are, The Temple of Friendship, the Palace of Self-intereft, The Den of Adultery, and the Castle of Freedom. As a fpecimen of this Writer's powers of defcription, we hall present our Readers with a view of the Den of Adultery. Methought, in one fhort moment there arofe

A rugged Den, whofe threat'ning jaws difclofe Such loathfome fhapes, fo horrid to the fight, That all my nerves were ftiffen'd with affright. No monstrous fhapes, that, erring from her plan, Nature brings forth to be the fcourge of man,No pois'nous reptile, whofe envenom'd bane Can ftop the life-blood courfing through the vein, And bring on inftant death, but there were feen,The blue, the grey, the fpeckled, and the green. -No ftupefying leaf,-no deadly flower, Planted by fate for man's defpairing hour, But, with an intermingled foliage, wave Their baneful tendrils round the dismal Cave,' The groupe, which is introduced as paying a fhameless ho mage, where

in loathfome flate

The luftfal Regent of the dungeon fate,

is drawn with great vigour and fpirit, and the colours are laid on with a strength and boldness that evidently speak the hand of a mafter..

The attendants at the Palace of Self-intereft are of equal merit, and are equally numerous. Not fo, alas, the votaries of Friendship! Into HER temple ONE only demands admittance; Deep in the fhady bofom of a wood,

Methought a large and ancient temple ftood
Upon the folid ftrength of arches rear'd,
In rev'rend dignity, the fane appear'd.
Around the dome luxuriant ivy crawls,
And deadly ferpents hifs within the walls.:
In mould'ring fculpture croaking ravens reft,
And daws difcordant find a fecret neft:

Brambles and weeds, with pois'nous bloffoms crown'd,
Weave their rank tendrils and infeft the ground;
While the furrounding growth of thicken'd trees
Collects the vapour and obftructs the breeze.

-Its ancient form remain'd ;-but ev'ry grace,
Which deck'd the building and adorn'd the place,
Had long been left to moulder and decay,
To Time's relentless fangs a yielding prey.
Imperfect characters of fa ed gold,

High in the front, its ancient goddess told.
Beide the gate, with broken fculpture grac'd,
'Mid toried urns, by cank'ring Age defac'd,
Oreftes flood, in mutilated pride,

And Pylades was mould'ring by his fide.
There was a time when ev'ry labour'd part
Bore the nice touches of ambitious Art:
When the rich altars blaz'd with facred flame,
And Friendship was a dear and honour'd name:
When heart fick vot'ries, drooping with defpair,
Found a fure refuge and afylum there;

Where, from oppreffion fafe and worldly ftrife,
They pafs'd in peace the closing years of life.
There injur'd Virtue turn'd its willing feet,
And found a welcome and fecure retreat:
There the bold youth, with love of arms infpir'd,
Felt his young foul with heighten'd ardor fir'd;
Preferr'd his pray'r, and, big with promis'd fame,
Sprung to the war and gain'd an hero's name.

-But now no more on Friendship's altars blaze
Th' afcending flames ;-no more the fong of praise,
In grateful chauntings, echoes through the dome:
Exil'd by intreft from her native home,
She wanders all forlorn; the daily sport
Of ev'ry fool that cringes in a court,
Of ev'ry knave, and all the endless train

Of thofe who fweat beneath the luft of gain.
-Among the rich, the noble, and the great,
Who hears her cry,-who mourns her hapless fate?
To her deferted temple who repair?

PORTLAND alone demands admittance there.'

The complement at the clofe is well introduced, and, if public fame, which feldom errs on the favourable fide, may be credited, it has the additional merit of being juft.

Success is too apt to beget indolence and inattention: this, however, is not the cafe with our prefent Author. The poem before us is certainly equal, if not fuperior, to any thing he has hitherto published.

In the ftructure of his verfe there is a blemish which we wish could have been avoided. It seems to have arifen from his taking Churchill's manner, which undoubtedly was not a good one, for his model: we mean the running one couplet into the other, which, except in occafional inftances, is feldom done but at the expence of either ftrength or harmony.

ART.

ART. VI. Sketches from Nature; taken, and coloured, in a Journey 19 Margate. Publifhed from the original Defigns. By George Keate, Efq. 2 Vols. Small 8vo. 5s. fewed. Dodfley. .1779.

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ORICK left many natural children, or, in more familiar phrafe, bye-blows, but Mr. Keate is the legitimate offfpring of that fingular and celebrated writer; and it is with peculiar fatisfaction we recognife the father's features in the fon.

In this pleafing fentimental journey, many things occur to entertain us, and nothing that will offend either our taste or our judgment; we are, in fine, prefented with a variety of scenes that intereft our affections, and none that can any way tend to injure our morals:-on the contrary, we may affirm, that the reader, who can perufe thefe pages, without feeling himself the better for it, muft be poffeffed of a mind either too exalted, or too much depraved for improvement by this mode of inftruction. Mr. Keate is not one of your geographical travellers, nor is he a hunter after antiquities or pictures. His aim is not to gratify the inquifitive with the defcriptions of rare things; his bufnefs is rather with the HEART; and your feelings will be touched, though your curiofity be unsatisfied.

Readers in general, as well as Reviewers by profeffion, are ready enough to give their opinion of every book they peruse. It is but fair, that Authors fhould be allowed the fame freedom with their Readers. Mr. Keate has, accordingly, taken leave to indulge in a pleafant defcription of the various characters and complexions of Readers, dividing them into the following claffes:

The Superficial Reader,
The Idle Reader,
The Sleepy Reader,

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The Peevish Reader,
The Candid Reader,
The Conjectural Reader.

I may poffibly,' fays he, not escape cenfure for having omitted the LEARNED reader, to whom fo many prefaces and dedications have formerly been addreffed, but this was in the times when learning was poffeffed by few.-In this age, fo enriched by the inundations of the prefs, every author is to prefume that all his readers are learned, no one being willing to difpute a title which may call in quef.. tion the validity of his own.

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The SUPERFICIAL reader is one who finds not leifure, or inclination, for more literature than he can take in over a loitering breakfaft, or whilst his hair dreffer is adjufting his perfon.-He contents himself with extracts from news-papers, magazines, and reviews-kims over title-pages and indexes, and adding to them the fmuggled opinions of those who look deeper into books, paffes at routs and tea tables for a well-read gentleman.

In a chapter which he entitles The Reader's Looking-glass.'

• The

The IDLE reader is the reverfe of the former.-He is a great perafer of little volumes, but reads without method, or pursuit, not making knowledge, but amusement, his object.

He is in one fenfe of the happieft claís, for he is in no danger of ever reading himself out; fo many perfons being daily employed to perpetuate his pleasures, by feducing novels-little hiftories, which familiarize the arts of intriguing-Memoirs of Prostitutes-Anecdotes of Women of Quality-and Lives of Highwaymen.

The SLEEPY Reader is ever a man of dull languid temperament, both of body and mind. He takes up a book when he can do nothing elfe, and pores over it, till it drops from his hand;-or if by repeated attacks he fairly arrives at the Finis of a volume, he has waded through it fo between fleeping and waking, that it is often a doubt with himfelf whether he has read it at all.

No works of genius are ever seen on his shelves, they are of too fimulating a nature, and would defeat his purpose, but a plenty of foporific treatifes, under the varied titles of Journals, Annotations, Books of Controverfy, and Metaphyfical Differtations.

An old relation of mine, who died a martyr to the gout, used, as he fat in his study, to estimate his books not from the pleasure, bat from the good naps they had afforded him.-This, coufin, faid he (pointing round the room with his crutch)-this is a compofer-this a dozer-every twenty pages of this excellent author is as comfortable as a glass of poppy water.-I believe I was near three months fleeping through yonder large volume;-and to this worthy little gentleman on the middle shelf, I was indebted for two admirable nights reft, when a chalk-ftone was forming in my toe.-But my most valuable friend is this fet of books by the fide of my couch.-I call them my grand opiate, and as a mark of diftinction, my flannel night-cap generally lies upon them.

Now I am well aware that when these Sketches from Nature shall appear, half my readers will be on the tiptoe of curiofity to know. how the last mentioned books were lettered; but as I have not I hope a fpice of ill-nature in my compofition, I publicly declare the fecret fhall die with me.-

The PEEVISH reader is made up of conceit and ill-humour-He cavils with the defign, the colouring, or the finifbing, of every piece that comes before him.-Few have fufficient merit to extort his approbation-he had rather even be filent, than commend, and finds his highest fatisfaction in difcovering faults.

A man of this caft is an object of compaffion; for in the imperfect fate of human labours, he must pass his time very miferably!

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-But let us leave him to the fevere destiny of never being pleased: -To counterpoife his fpleen, behold the CANDID reader appears.Amiable fpirit!-in thee I contemplate the gentleman-the scholar, the true critic-flow to cenfure-eager to applaud!-convinced by what arduous fteps fuperior excellence is attained, thy liberal mind cherisheth every effort of genius, and unwillingly condemns what thy corre judgment cannot approve.

But CANDID reader! thy character hath been more happily delineated by a long-admired writer; in quoting whofe lines I cannot

3

refift

refift this occafion to fay, that they are as ftrongly descriptive of the amiablenefs of his own.

"Yes; they whom candor and true taste inspire,
"Blame not with half the paffion they admire;
"Each little blemish with regret descry,

"But mark the beauties with a raptur'd eye."

The CONJECTURAL reader brings up the rear ;-in fpeaking of whom I defire to be understood as confining my remarks folely to conjectural criticifm.-He is, or fhould be, a man of parts, who exercifes his ingenuity on deceafed writers, by clearing up paffages he fuppofes they left obfcure, and interpreting them by his own conceptions-discovering beauties where the author perhaps intended none, and tracing out meanings he might never have in view.

RODOLPHUS GANDER GUYTCHE, the famous profeffor at the university of HALL, in his preface to the three supplemental volumes of his commentaries, printed in folio at LEIPSIC, mentions that it was his conftant cuftom, while engaged in that elaborate work, to ruminate on his fubject in his great chair, till he infenfibly fell asleep: -"During which time, fays he, I always found that my thoughts digefted themselves into matter and method, and on awaking, I was able the more fuccessfully to profecute my labours." -

I wish the example of this valuable critic may not have too much influenced fucceeding commentators; fome of whom adopting the profeffor's napping chair, without poffeffing his art of rifing from it with a clear head, have not always fufficiently feparated their dream from their fubject.'

Several ftrokes, in the preceding extract, approach, very clofely, to Sterne's beft manner; and fo does the following fentiment, on croffing Boughton Hill, near Canterbury:

There are certain happy moments in one's existence when the blood flows neither too quick, nor too flow; when every nerve and artery is faithful to its function, and the whole frame is fo nicely harmonized, that every agreeable object which just then strikes on any of the organs of fenfe, awakens the foul to pleasure.

I was at this inftant in one of thofe delicious moods.-The fun was declining in its gayeft colours-the air was pure and ferene, and Nature feemed perfectly at peace;-on my right hand, corn fields, hop grounds, and wide extended inclofures of varied forms, wore the face of plenty and fecurity;-on my left, the Ifle of SHEPEY, and the rich vale of FEVERSHAM, contrafted the landscape; and the opening of the channel, which was covered as far as the fight could ftretch with innumerable fails, carrying on an intercourfe with the diftant parts of the world, completed a scene which my eyes were unwilling to quit.

-And here, fays I, pinching the lady's hand as the leant on my arm (for I told you I was in excellent fpirits)

Margate, with all its delightful furrounding fcenery of land and fea, could not fail of furnithing much employment for the active mind of this very reflecting traveller; among other striking thoughts, the following, on Time-killing, may be felected as a farther fpecimen :

REV. Aug. 1779.

I.

• Killing

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