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of the Lock, and Eloisa, can be thought to want imagination, but because his imagination was not his predominant talent, because he indulged it not, and because he gave not so many proofs of this talent as of the other. This turn of mind led him to admire French models; he studied Boileau attentively; formed himself upon him, as Milton formed himself upon the Grecian and Italian sons of Fancy. He stuck to describing modern manners; but those manners, because they are familiar, uniform, artificial, and polished, are, in their very nature, unfit for any lofty effort of the Muse. He gradually became one of the most correct, even, and exact poets that ever wrote; polishing his pieces with a care and assiduity that no business or avocation ever interrupted: so that, if he does not frequently ravish and transport his reader, yet he does not disgust him with unexpected inequalities, and absurd improprieties. Whatever poetical enthusiasm he actually possessed, he withheld and stifled. The perusal of him affects not our minds with such strong emotions as we feel from Homer and Milton, so that no man of a true poetical spirit is master of himself while he reads them. Hence, he is a writer fit for universal perusal; adapted to all ages and stations; for the old and for the young; the man of business and the scholar. He who would think the Faery Queen, Palamon and Arcite, the Tempest, or Comus, childish and romantic, might relish POPE. Surely it is no narrow and niggardly encomium to say he is the great Poet of Reason, the First of Ethical authors in verse. And this species of writing is, after all, the surest road to an extensive reputation. It lies more level to the general capacities of men than the higher flights of more genuine poetry. We all remember when even a Churchill was more in vogue than a Gray. He that treats of fashionable follies, and the topics of the day, that describes present persons and recent events, finds many readers, whose understandings and whose passions he gratifies. The name of Chesterfield on one hand, and of Walpole on the other, failed not to make a poem bought up and talked of. And it cannot be doubted, that the Odes of Horace which celebrated, and the satires which ridiculed, well-known and real characters at Rome, were more eagerly read and more frequently cited than the Eneid and the Georgies of Virgil.

Where, then, according to the question proposed at the beginning of this Essay, shall we with justice be authorized to place our admired POPE? Not, assuredly, in the same rank with Spenser, Shakspeare, and Milton; however justly we may applaud the Eloisa and Rape of the Lock. But, considering the correctness, elegance, and utility of his works, the weight of sentiment, and

the knowledge of man they contain, we may venture to assign him a place next to Milton, and just above Dryden. Yet, to bring our minds steadily to make this decision, we must forget, for a moment, the divine Music Ode of Dryden; and may perhaps then be compelled to confess that, though Dryden be the greater genius, yet Pope is the better artist.

The preference here given to POPE above other modern English poets, it must be remembered, is founded on the excellencies of his works in general, and taken all together; for there are parts and passages in other modern authors-in Young and in Thomson, for instance equal to any of POPE; and he has written nothing in a strain so truly sublime as the Bard of Gray.

HESTER CHAPONE, 1727-1801.

MRS. CHAPONE was descended from the ancient family of Mulso, of Twywell, in Northamptonshire. Hester, the subject of this memoir, was the daughter of Thomas Mulso, and was born October 27, 1727. She lost her mother when quite young, and her early education was somewhat neglected; for which, however, she afterwards made amends by her own exertions. Though not handsome, she was full of sensibility and energy; of quick apprehension and attractive manners. After the death of her mother, she not only undertook the management of her father's house, but devoted a great portion of her time to self-improvement; made herself mistress of the French and Italian languages, and acquired some knowledge of the classic tongues. She discovered, also, strong powers of discrimination and judgment; and while her fancy and warm feelings made her delight in poetry, her sound sense gave her a love of philosophy.

Her enthusiastic love of genius made her a warm admirer of Richardson, the novelist, to whom, however, she could not surrender her opinions. With him she entered into an able correspondence on the subject of filial obedience; and her letters, though written at the age of twentytwo, display much ability, and strength and clearness of mind. It was at his house that she met Mr. Chapone, a young practitioner of law. A mutual attachment was the result, though from his limited means many years elapsed before they were united in marriage. In the mean time, she lived either with her father or with her friends and relations, while her society was widely sought and her accomplishments were generally acknowledged. At the house of her aunt, Mrs. Donne, of Canterbury, she became acquainted with the celebrated Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, and at Mr. Richardson's she met Dr. Johnson. In one of her letters to Mrs. Carter, dated July

10, 1752, she thus records a meeting with him, and the result of an argument maintained by her against him :

"We had a visit whilst at Northend from your friend Mr. Johnson, and poor Mrs. Williams.1 I was charmed with his behavior to her, which was like that of a fond father to his daughter. She seemed much pleased with her visit; showed very good sense, with a great deal of modesty and humility; and so much patience and cheerfulness under her misfortune, that it doubled my concern for her. Mr. Johnson was very communicative and entertaining, and did me the honor to address most of his discourse to me. I had the assurance to dispute with him on the subject of human malignity, and wondered to hear a man who by his actions shows so much benevolence, maintain that the human heart is naturally malevolent, and that all the benevolence we see in the few who are good is acquired by reason and religion. You may believe I entirely disagreed with him, being, as you know, fully persuaded that benevolence, or the love of our fellow-creatures, is as much a part of our nature as self-love; and that it cannot be suppressed, or extinguished, without great violence from the force of other passions. I told him I suspected him of these bad notions from some of his Ramblers, and had accused him to you; but that you persuaded me I had mistaken his sense. To which he answered, that, if he had betrayed such sentiments in the Ramblers, it was not with design; for that he believed the doctrine of human malevolence, though a true one, is not an useful one, and ought not to be published to the world. Is there any truth that would not be useful, or that should not be known?"

In 1753, Miss Mulso sent the story of "Fidelia" to the "Adventurer," which forms Nos. 77, 78, and 79 of that work; and on the publication of Mrs. Carter's Epictetus, in 1758, an ode by Miss Mulso was prefixed. These, together with an ode to Peace, were among her earliest productions which she thought worthy of the press. Towards the close of the year 1760, she was united to the man of her choice, with every prospect of long-continued happiness; but, alas, this union was of short duration! Within ten months, Mr. Chapone was seized with a violent fever, which terminated fatally in September 1761. The severity of this blow was so keenly felt by her, that her life was for some time in danger; but at length the assiduity of her friends and the consolations of religion had their due weight, and she gradually recovered her spirits and her peace of mind.

In 1773, Mrs. Chapone published her "Letters on the Improvement of

For an account of Mrs. Anna Williams, see Boswell's Johnson, Croker's ed. 1 vol. 8vo. p. 74.

Chapone's Works, vol. i. pp. 72, 73, 74.

the Mind," addressed to her favorite niece, the eldest daughter of the Rev. John Mulso. The work was most favorably received, and soon became extensively circulated. It is, indeed, "one of the best books that can be put into the hands of female youth; the style is easy and pure, the advice practical and sound, and the whole uniformly tends to promote the purest principles of morality and religion." In 1775, she published her "Miscellanies in Prose and Verse," in one volume. Of the poems of this volume, which were, for the most part, the productions of her early life, the best is the "Ode to Solitude." This was the last work she published. From this time she was called almost every year to mourn the loss of some near and dear friend. Towards the close of the century her faculties began to decay, and she died at Hadley, on the 25th of December, 1801.

ODE TO SOLITUDE.

Thou gentle nurse of pleasing woe,

To thee from crowds, and noise, and show,
With eager haste I fly;

Thrice welcome, friendly Solitude,

O let no busy foot intrude,

Nor listening ear be nigh!

Soft, silent, melancholy maid,
With thee, to yon sequester'd shade,
My pensive steps I bend;

Still at the mild approach of night,
When Cynthia lends her sober light,
Do thou my walk attend!

To thee alone my conscious heart
Its tender sorrow dares impart,

And ease my lab'ring breast;

To thee I trust the rising sigh,

And bid the tear that swells my eye
No longer be supprest.

With thee among the haunted groves,
The lovely sorc'ress Fancy roves;
O let me find her here!

For she can time and space control,
And swift transport my fleeting soul
To all it holds most dear.

Ah! no-ye vain delusions, hence!
No more the hallow'd innocence
Of Solitude pervert!

Shall Fancy cheat the precious hour,
Sacred to Wisdom's awful power

And calm Reflection's part?

O Wisdom! from the sea-beat shore,
Where, listening to the solemn roar,
Thy lov'd Eliza' strays,
Vouchsafe to visit my retreat,
And teach my erring, trembling feet
Thy heaven-protected ways!

O guide me to the humble cell
Where Resignation loves to dwell,
Contentment's bower in view!

Nor pining grief, with absence drear,
Nor sick suspense, nor anxious fear,
Shall there my steps pursue.
There, let my soul to Him aspire,
Whom none e'er sought with vain desire,
Nor lov'd in sad despair;
There, to his gracious will divine,
My dearest, fondest hope resign,
And all my tenderest care.

Then peace shall heal this wounded breast,
That pants to see another blest,

From selfish passion pure;

Peace which, when human wishes rise,
Intense, for aught beneath the skies,
Can never be secure.

ON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TEMPER.

The next great point of importance to your future happiness is what your parents have, doubtless, been continually attentive to from your infancy, as it is impossible to undertake it too earlyI mean the due Regulation of your Temper. Though you are in great measure indebted to their forming hands for whatever is good in it, you are sensible, no doubt, as every human creature is, of propensities to some infirmity of temper, which it must now be your own care to correct and to subdue: otherwise, the pains that have hitherto been taken with you may all become fruitless; and, when you are your own mistress, you may relapse into those faults which were originally in your nature, and which will require to be diligently watched and kept under, through the whole course of your life.

If you consider that the constant tenor of the gospel precepts is to promote love, peace, and good-will amongst men, you will not doubt that the cultivation of an amiable disposition is a great part

Eliza Carter.

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