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blend with it a little more of the leniter in modo. But we must not expect inconsistencies; and perhaps gentleness is a quality inconsistent 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 Do. minioas, &c. 460.2 . 6 d. Bew. 1779. Y INDER the fimilitude of a dream this manly satirift describes

the Muse, 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-interest, The Den of Adultery, and the Castle of Free. . dom. As a specimen of this Writer's powers of description, we · Hall present our Readers with a view of the Den of Adultery.

• Methought, in one short moment there arose
A rugged Den, whose threat'ning jaws disclose
Such loathsome shapes, so horrid to the fight,
That all my nerves were stiffend with affright.
No monitrous shapes, that, erring from her plan,
Natare brings forth to be the scourge of man,-
No pois'nous reptile, whose envenom'd bane
Can stop the life-blood courfing through the vein,
And bring on instant death, but there were seen,
The blue, the grey, the speckled, and the green.
-No ftupefying leaf, -no deadly flower,
Planted by fate for man's despairing hour,
But, with an intermingled foliage, wave

Their banefol tendrils round the dismal Cave.' The groupe, which is introduced as paying a shameless hos mage, where

in loathsome state · The luftfal Regent of the dungeon fate, is drawn with great vigour and spirit, and the colours are laid on with a strength and boldness that evidently speak the hand of a master.

The attendants at the Palace of Self-interest are of equal merit, and are equally numerous. Not so, alas, the votaries of Friendship! Into HER temple ONE only demands admittance;

Deep in the shady bosom of a wood, !
Merbought a large aod ancient temple ftood;
Upon the solid strength of arches rear'd,
In rev'rend dignity, the fane appear'd.
Around the dome luxuriant ivy crawls,
And deadly serpents hiss within the walls.:
la mould'ring sculprure croaking ravens rest,
· And daws discordant find a fecret nest:
Brambles and weeds, with pois'nous blossoms crown'd,
Weave their rank tendrils and infert the ground;
While the surrounding growth of thicken'd trees
Collects the vapour and obtructs 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 faed gold,
High in the front, iis ancient goddess told.
Belide che gare, with broken sculpture grac'd,
'Mid toried urns, by cank’ring Age defacd,
Orestes food, 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 Friend thip was a dear and, honour's name:
When heart fick votries, drooping with despair,
Found a sure refuge and asylum there;
Where, from oppresion safe and worldly ftrife,
They pass'd in peace the closing years of life.
There injur'd Virtue turn'd its willing feet,
And found a welcome and secure retreat :
There the bold youth, with love of arms inspir'd,
Felt his young soul with highren’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 Friend thip’s altars blaze
Th' ascending Aames ;- no more the song of praise,
In grateful chauntings, echoes through the dome:
Exild by intrest 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 those who sweat beneath the luft of gain.
-Among the rich, the noble, and the great,
Who hears her cry,-who mourns her hapless fate?
To her deserted temple who repair ?

PORTLAND alone demands admittance there.' : The complement at the close 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 case with our present Author. The poem before us is certainly equal, if not superior, to any thing he has hitherto published.

In the structure of his verse there is a blemish which we wish could have been avoided. It seems to have arisen 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 occasional instances, is seldom done but at the expence of either strength or harmony.

ART.

ART. VI. Sketches from Nature ; taken, and coloured, in a journey in

Margate. Published from the original D ligos. by George

Keate, Esq. 2 Vols. Small 8vo. 5 s. fewed. Dodsey. .1779. V ORICK left many natural children, or, in more familiar

phrase, bye-blows, but Mr. Keate is the legitimate offspring of that singular and celebrated writer; and it is with peculiar satisfaction we recognise the father's features in the son.

In this pleasing sentimental journey, many things occur to entertain us, and nothing that will offend either our taste or our judgment; we are, in fine, presented with a variety of scenes that interest our affections, and none that can any way tend to injure our morals :-on the contrary, we may affirm, that the reader, who can peruse these pages, without feeling himself the better for it, must be poffefsed of a mind either too exalted, or too much depraved for improvement by this mode of instruction,

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 inquisitive with the descriptions of rare things; his bulie ness is rather with the HEART ; and your feelings will be touched, though your curiosity be unsatisfied.

Readers in general, as well as Reviewers by profession, are ready enough to give their opinion of every book they peruse. It is but fair, that Authors should be allowed the same freedom with their Readers. Mr. Keate has, accordingly, taken leave to indulge in a pleasant description of the various characters and complexions of Readers *, dividing them into the following classes :

The Superficial Reader, i The Peevith Reader,
The Idle Reader, i The Candid Reader,

The Sleepy Reader,.. The Conjectural Reader. • I may posibly,' says he, noc escape censure for having omitted the LEARNED reader, to whom so many prefaces and dedications have formerly been addressed, -but this was in the times when learning was possessed by few.-In this age, so enriched by the inundations of the press, every author is to presume that all his readers are learned,- no one being willing to dispure a title which may call in ques. tion the validity of his own.

.. The SupeRFICIAL reader is one who finds not leisure, or inclination, for more literature than he can take in over a loitering breakfalt, or whilft his hair dresser is adjusting his person..He contents himself with extracts from news-papers, magazines, and reviews skims over title-pages and indexes, and adding to them the smuggled opinions of thole who look deeper into books, passes 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 reverse of the former. He is a great pere user of little volumes, but reads without method, or pursuit, not making knowledge, buc amusement, his object.

. - He is in one sense of the happiest clais, for he is in no danger of ever reading himself out; so many persons being daily employed to perpetuare his pleasures, by seducing novels- little histories, wbich familiarize the arts of intriguing-Memoirs of Prostituies--Anecdotes of Women of Quality--and Lives of Highwaymen...

." The SLEEPY Reader is ever a man of a dull languid temperament, both of body and mind.-He takes up a book when he can do nothing else, 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 so between fleeping and waking, that it is often a doubt with himself 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 purpole, -but a plenty of foporific treatises, under the varied ricles of Journals, Annotations, Books of Controversy, and Metaphysical Disertations. - .

• An old relation of mine, who died a martyr to the gout, used, as he fat in his study, to estimate his books dot from the pleasure, bat from the good naps they had afforded him. This, cousin, faid he (pointing round the room with his crutch)--this is a composer--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 seeping 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-tone was forming in my toe. But my most valuable friend is this set of books by the side of my couch.-I call them my grand opiate, and as a mark of distinction, 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 curiosity to know. how the last mentioned books were lettered; but as I have not I hope a spice of ill-nature in my composition, I pablicly declare the secret Thall die with me.-

The Peeviss reader is made up of conceit and ill-bumour - He cavils with the defign, the colouring, or the finibing, of every picce that comes before him.-Few have sufficient merit to extort his approbation-he had rather even be filent, than commend, and finds his highest satisfaction in discovering faults.

A man of this caft is an obječt of compassion; for in the imperfect state of human labours, he must pass his time very miserably!

i-Bue let us leave him to the severe destiny of never being pleased: -To counterpoise his fpleen, behold the CANDID reader appears.Amiable fpirii!-in thee I contemplate the gentleman-the scholar, --the true critic-flow to cenfure - eager to applaud !--convinced by what arduous steps superior excellence is attained, thy liberal mind cherisheth every effort of genius, and unwillingly condemns what thy corre:1 judgment cannot approve.

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

relift this occafion to say, that they are as frongly descriptive of the amiableness of his own.

" Yes; they whom candor and true taste inspire,
16 Blame not with half the passion 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 speaking of whom I defire to be understood as confining my remarks solely to conjectural criticism. He is, or should be, a man of parts, who exercises his ingenuity on deceased writers, by clearing up passages he fupposes they left obscure, and interpreting them by his own conceptions-discovering beauties where the author perhaps intended done, and tracing out meanings he might never have in view.

• RODOLPHUS Gander GUYTCHE, the famous professor 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 custom, while engaged in that elaborate work, to ruminate on his subject in his great chair, till he infenfibly fell asleep: -" During which time, says he; I always found that my thoughts digefted themselves into matter and method, and on 'awaking, I was able the more successfully to prosecute my labours.".. w.

I wish the example of this valuable critic ‘may not have too much influenced succeeding commentators ; some of whom adopting the prosessor's napping chair, without poffelling his art of rising from it with a clear head, have not always sufficiently separated their dream from their subject.'

Several strokes, in the preceding extract, approach, very closely, to Sterne's best manner; and to does the following sentiment, on crossing Boughton Hill, near Canterbury:

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

I was at this inftant in one of those delicious moods. The sun was declining in its gayelt colours -- the air was pure and serene, and Nature seemed perfectly at peace ;-on my right hand, corn fields, hop grounds, and wide extended inclosures of varied forms, wore the face of plenty and security ;-on my left, the Ine of Shepey, and the rich yale of FEVERSHAM, contrated the landscape; and the opening of the channel, which was covered as far as the fight could ftretch with innumerable fails, carrying on an intercourse with the distant parts of the world, comple:ed a scene which my eyes were unwilling to quit. .

" And here, says I, pinching the lady's hand as the leant on my arm (for I told you I was in excellent spirits)

Margate, with all its delightful surrounding scenery of land and sea, could not fail of furnishing much employment for the active mind of this very reflecting travellers; among other striking, thoughts, the following, on Time-killing, may be selected as a

farther specimen : . Rev. Aug. 1779.

Killing

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