hasty and unstudied stanzas are not so good as others of his finished compositions, they are still better than any one else would write, or could write, upon so barren a subject— "Impromptu on a Letter of Mr. Cumberland's, most libe"rally commending a Poem of the Author's-" "Kind nature with delight regards, "And glories to impart, "To her bold race of genuine bards "Simplicity of heart. "But gloomy spleen, who still arraigns "Hath said that all poetic veins "Are ting'd with envious gall. "Each bard, she said, would strike to earth "His rival's wreath of fame, "Nor ever to inferior worth "Allow its humbler claim. "But nature with a noble pride "O Spleen, peruse these lines," she cried, "Enough by me hast thou been told "Of his poetic art ; "Now in his generous praise behold "The genius of his heart!" Whilst I have been relating the circumstances, that induced me to appeal to the world against so great a man as Bishop Lowth, and considering within myself how far I was justified in that apparently presumptuous measure, some thoughts have struck me, as I went on with my detail, which all arose out of the subject I was upon, though they do not personally apply to the parties I have been speaking of: And after all where is the difference between man and man, so ascendant on one side, and so depressive on the other, as should give to this an authority to insult, and take from that the privilege of remonstrance? It is a truth not sufficiently enforced, and, when enforced, not always admitted, though one of the most useful and important for the government of our conduct, and this it is-that every man, however great in station or in fortune, is mutually dependent upon those, who are dependent upon him. In a social state no man can be truly said to be safe who is not under the pro tection of his fellow-creatures; no man can be called happy, who is not possessed of their good will and good opinion; for God never yet endowed a human creature with sensibility to feel an insult, but that he gave him also powers to express his feelings, and propensity to revenge it. The meanest and most feeble insect, that is provided with a sting, may pierce the eye of the elephant, on whose very ordure it subsists and feeds. Every human being has a sting; why then does an overgrown piece of mortal clay arrogantly attempt to bestride the narrow world, and launch his artificial thunder from a bridge of brass upon us poor underlings in creation? And when we venture to lift up our heads in the crowd, and cry out to the folks about us "This is mere mock thunder; this is no true Jupiter; we'll not truckle to his tyranny, -why will some good-natured friend be ever ready to pluck us by the sleeve, and whisper in our ear" What are you about? Recol"lect yourself! he is a giant, a man-moun"tain; you are a grub, a worm, a beetle; he'll " crush you under his foot; he'll tread you into "atoms-" not considering, or rather not caring "That the poor beetle, which he trode upon, As what a monarch feels Let no man, who belongs to a community, presume to say that he is independent. There is no such condition in society. Thank God, our virtues are our best defence. Conciliation, mildness, charity, benevolence-Hæ tibi erunt artes. Are there not spirits continually starting out from the mass of mankind, like red hot flakes from the hammer of the blacksmith? And are not these to be feared, who are capable of setting a whole city-aye, even a whole kingdom-in flames, let them only fall upon the train, that is prepared for them? Who then will underwrite a strutting fellow in a lofty station, puffed up with brief authority, who won't answer a gentleman's letter, or allow his visit, when he asks admission? If he had the integrity of Aristides, the wisdom of Solon and the eloquence of Demosthenes, there would be the congregation of an incalculable multitude to sing Te Deum at his downfall. He will find himself in the plight of the poor Arab, who made his cream-tarts without pepper; for want of a little wholesome seasoning he will have marred his whole batch of pastry, and be condemned for a bad baker to the pillory. A man shall sin against the whole decalogue, and in this world escape with more impunity, than the proud fellow, who offends against no commandment, yet provokes you to detest him. I know not how to liken him to any thing alive, except it be to the melancholy mute recluse of the convent of La Trappe, who has no employment in life but to dig his own grave, no other society but to keep company with his own coffin. If I look for his resemblance amongst the irrationals, I should compare him to a poor disconsolate ass, whom nobody owns and nobody befriends. The man, who has a cudgel, bestows it on his back, and when he brays out his piteous lamentations, the dissonance of his tones provoke no compassion; they jar the ear, but never move the heart. A certain duke of Alva about a century ago was the most popular man in Spain: the peo |