of the reader. Between him who writes and him who reads, there must be a kind of coalition of interests, something of a partnership (however unequal the capital) in mental property; a sort of joint stock of tastes and ideas. The student must have been initiated into the same intellectual commerce with him whom he studies; for large bills are only negotiable among the mutually opulent. There are perhaps other reasons why popularity is no infallible test of excellence. Many readers even of good faculties, if those faculties have been kept inert by a disuse of exertion, feel often most sympathy with writers of a middle class; and find more repose in a mediocrity which lulls and amuses the mind, than with a loftiness and extent which exalts and expands it. To enjoy works of superlative ability, as was before suggested, the reader must have been accustomed to drink at the same spring from which the writer draws; he must be at the expense of furnishing part of his own entertainment, by bringing with him a share of the science or of the spirit with which the author writes. These are some of the considerations, which, while my gratitude has been excited by the favourable reception of my various attempts, have helped to correct that vanity which is so easily kindled where merit and success are evidently disproportionate. For fair criticism I have ever been truly thankful. For candid correction, from whatever quarter it came, I have always exhibited the most unquestionable proof of my regard, by adopting it. Nor can I call to mind any instance of improvement which has been suggested to me by which I have neglected to profit.* I am not insensible to human estimation. To the approbation of the wise and good I have been perhaps but too sensible. But I check myself in the indulgence of the dangerous pleasure, by recollecting that the hour is fast approaching to all, to me it is very fast approaching, when no human verdict, of whatever authority in itself, and however favourable to its object, will avail any thing, but inasmuch as it is crowned with the acquittal of that Judge whose favour is eternal life. Every emotion of vanity dies away, every swelling of ambition subsides before the consideration of this solemn responsibility. And though I have just avowed my deference for the opinion of private critics, and of public censors; yet my anxiety with respect to the sentence of both is considerably diminished, by the reflection, that not the writings but the writer will very soon be called to another tribunal, to be judged on far other grounds than those on which the decisions of literary statutes are framed a tribunal at which the sentence passed will depend on far other causes than the observation or neglect of the rules of composition; than the violation of any precepts, or the adherence to any decrees of critic legislation. With abundant cause to be humbled at the mixed motives of even my least exceptionable writings, I am willing to hope that in those of later date, at least, vanity, has not been the governing principle. And if in sending abroad the present collection, some sparks of this inextinguishable fire should struggle to break out, let it be at once quenched by the reflection, that of those persons whose kindness stimulated, and whose partiality rewarded, my early efforts; of those who would have dwelt on these pages with most pleasure, the eyes of the greater part are closed, to open no more in this world. Even while the pen is in my hand framing this remark, more than one affecting corroboration of its truth occurs. May this reflection, at once painful and salutary, be ever at hand to curb the insolence of success, or to countervail the mortification of defeat! May it serve to purify the motives of action, while it inspires resignation to its event! And may it affect both without diminishing the energies of duty--without abating the activity of labour ! Bath, 1801. If it be objected that this has not been the case with respect to one single passage which has excited some controversy, it has arisen not from any want of openness to conviction in me, but from my conceiving myself to have been misunderstood, and, for that reason only, misrepresented. THE PUPPET-SHOW: A TALE. A NOBLE earl!-the name I spare, And pays profusely for the treasure: His own new coach must fetch the creature! If you have feelings, guess you may, And how delightful as I dine, To hear some sallies, Punch, of thine!' Punch was produc'd; but Punch, I trow, Why went he then? The Muse shall tell. Was nothing, was a thing of wires, At fairs he never fail❜d to find The joy congenial to his mind. This dear diversion would you know? The wit of Punch enthrall'd his heart. He must and would have Punch his own; Such joys these transient views afford; Whose sameness disappoints and tires. He ne'er suspected 'twas the scenery, The empty thing which charm'd thee there. The moral of the tale I sing Ye candidates for earth's best prize, Domestic life's sweet charities! If long you've stray'd from Reason's way, Enslav'd by fashion's wizard sway; If by her witcheries still betray'd, You wed some vain fantastic maid; Snatch'd, not selected, as you go, The heroine of the puppet-show; In every ontward grace refin'd, And destitute of nought but mind; If skill'd in ev'ry polish'd art, She wants simplicity of heart; On her for bliss if you depend, Without the means you seek the end; You seek, o'erturning nature's laws, A consequence without a cause; A downward pyramid you place, The point inverted for the base. Blame your own work, not fate; nor rail If bliss so ill secur'd should fail. 'Tis after fancied good to roam, 'Tis bringing Punch to live at home. And you, bright nymphs! who bless our eyes, With all that art, that taste supplies; O! in the highest, happiest lot, That human life's no Isthmian game, Where sports and shows must purchase fame. Tho' at the puppet-show he shone, Oft, unawares, some direful storm, To bless the matrimonial hours And while the light and empty fair, At home, a dull and tasteless wife ;- But, Piety! without thy aid, THE BAS BLEU; OR, CONVERSATION. ADDRESSED TO MRS. VESEY. ADVERTISEMENT. The following trifle owes its birth and name to the mistake of a foreigner of distinction, who gave the literal appellation of the Bas-bleu to a small party of friends, who had been often called, by way of pleasantry, the Blue Stockings. These little societies have been sometimes misrepresented. They were composed of persons distinguished, in general, for their rank, talents, or respectable character, who met frequently at Mrs. Vesey's, and at a few other houses, for the sole purpose of conversation, and were different in no respect from other parties, but that the company did not play at cards. May the author be permitted to bear her grateful testimony (which will not be suspected of flattery, now that most of the persons named in this poem are gone down to the grave) to the many pleasant and instructive hours she had the honour to pass in this company; in which learning was as little disfigured by pedantry, good taste as little tinctured by affectation, and general conversation as little disgraced by calumny, levity, and the other censurable errors with which it is too commonly tainted, as has perhaps been known in any society. VESEY! of verse the judge and friend! And PERICLES vouchsafed to mix Name but the suppers in th' Apollo, And LYTTLETON's accomplished name, And she whom SHAKSPEARE's wrongs re- Prov'd that the brightest are the best. And well they practis'd what they knew ; O! how unlike the wit that fell, How wit flew round, while each might take All so intolerably bright, Conchylia from the Lucrine lake; The first and last from Greece transplanted, Plain Common Sense was put to flight; How pheasant's heads, with cost collected,No votive altar smok'd to thee, And phennicopters stood neglected. I shall not stop to dwell on these, Chaste queen, divine Simplicity! Though here she comes to bless our isle, Muse! snatch the lyre which CAMBRIDGE When he the empty ball-room sung; The society at the hotel de Rambouillet, though composed of the most polite and ingenious persons in France, was much tainted with affectation and false taste. See Voiture, Menage, &c. The late earl of Mansfield told the author that when he was ambassador at Paris, he was assured that it had not been unusual for those persons of a purer taste who frequented these assemblies, to come out from their society so weary of wit and laboured ingenuity, that they used to express the comfort they felt in ther emancipation, by saying," Allons! faisons des so lecismes!" Seneca says, that in his time the Romans were ar- These grave and formal parties now scarcely exist, fived at such a pitch of luxury, that the mullet was rec-having been swallowed up in the reigning multitudinous koned stale which did not die in the hands of the guest.assemblies. Where the dire circle keeps its station, Each common phrase is an oration; And cracking fans, and whisp'ring misses, Compose their conversation blisses. The matron marks the goodly show, While the tall daughter eyes the beauThe frigid beau! ah! luckless fair, 'Tis not for you that studied air; Ah! not for you that sidelong glance, And all that charming nonchalance; Ah; not for you the three long hours He worship'd the cosmetic powers;' That finish'd head which breathes perfume, And kills the nerves of half the room; And all the murders meant to lie In that large, languishing, gray eye; Desist ;-less wild th' attempt would be, To warm the snows of Rhodope: Too cold to feel, too proud to feign, For him you're wise and fair in vain; In vain to charm him you intend, Self is his object, aim, and end. Chill shade of that affected peer, Who dreaded mirth, come safely here! For here no vulgar joy effaces Thy rage for polish, ton, and graces. Cold Ceremony's leaden hand, Waves o'er the room her poppy wand; Arrives the stranger; every guest Conspires to torture the distrest: At once they rise-so have I seenYou guess the similie I mean, Take what comparison you please, The crowded streets, the swarming bees, The pebbles on the shore that lie, The stars which form the galaxy; These serve t' embellish what is said, And show, besides, that one has read ;At once they rise-th' astonish'd guest Back in a corner slinks, distrest; Scar'd at the many bowing round, And shock'd at her own voice's sound, Forgot the thing she meant to say, Her words, half-uttered die away; In sweet oblivion down she sinks, And of her next appointment thinks. While her loud neighbour on the right, Boasts what she has to do to-night, So very much, you'd swear her pride is To match the labours of ALCIDES; "Tis true, in hyperbolic measure, She nobly calls her labours Pleasure; In this unlike ALCMENA's son, She never means they should be done; Her fancy of no limits dreams, No ne plus ultra stops her schemes; Twelve! she'd have scorn'd the paltry round, No pillars would have mark'd her bound; Had nodded cross th' opposing main ; On Ton's illimitable sea. We pass the pleasures vast and various, To feed ten children and a wife! To the night lab'rer's keener care; Small were that art which would ensure Nay, shapes and forms, which would defy Names, hard to speak, and hard to spell ! The enchantress wav'd her hand, and spoke! Her potent wand the circle broke; And with her bore Detraction too. Nor only geometric art, Does this presiding power impart; This amiable lady was remarkable for her talent in breaking the formality of a circle, by inviting her parties to form themselves into little separate groups. This was written in the year 1787, when Mr. Edmund Burke had joined the then opposition. |