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Aim. Oh, that's right; you have a good many of those gentlemen; pray, how do you like their company!

Bon. So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we had as many more of 'em. They're full of money, and pay double for everything they have. They know, sir, that we paid good round taxes for the making of 'em; and so they are willing to reimburse us a little; one of 'em lodges in my house [Bell rings.] I beg your worship's pardon; I'll wait on you in half a minute.

[From the Recruiting Officer.]

SCENE-The Market-Place.

Drum beats the Grenadier's March. Enter SERGEANT KITE, followed by THOMAS APPLETREE, COSTAR PEARMAIN, and the MOB.

Kite [Making a speech.] If any gentlemen, soldiers, or others, have a mind to serve his majesty, and pull down the French king; if any 'prentices have severe masters, any children have undutiful parents; if any servants have too little wages, or any husband a bad wife, let them repair to the noble Sergeant Kite, at the sign of the Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury, and they shall receive present relief and entertainment. [Drum.] Gentlemen, I don't beat my drums here to ensnare or inveigle any man; for you must know, gentlemen, that I am a man of honour: besides, I don't beat up for common soldiers; no, I list only grenadiers-grenadiers, gentlemen. Pray, gentlemen, observe this cap-this is the cap of honourit dubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a trigger; and he that has the good fortune to be born six foot high, was born to be a great man. Sir, will you give me leave to try this cap upon your head?

Cost. Is there no harm in't! Wont the cap list

me?

Kite. No, no; no more than I can. Come, let me see how it becomes you.

Cost. Are you sure there is no conjuration in it? no gunpowder plot upon me?

Kite. No, no, friend; don't fear, man.

Cost. My mind misgives me plaguily. Let me see it. [Going to put it on.] It smells woundily of sweat and brimstone. Smell, Tummas.

Tho. Ay, wauns does it.

Cost. Nay, for that matter, I'll spend my penny with the best he that wears a head; that is, begging your pardon, sir, and in a fair way.

Kite. Give me your hand, then; and now, gentlemen, I have no more to say but this-here's a purse of gold, and there is a tub of humming ale at my quarters; 'tis the king's money and the king's drink; he's a generous king, and loves his subjects. I hope, gentlemen, you wont refuse the king's health? All Mob. No, no, no.

Kite. Huzza, then!-huzza for the king and the honour of Shropshire.

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Kite. Hey, boys! thus we soldiers live! drink, sing, dance, play; we live, as one should say we live-'tis impossible to tell how we live-we are all princes; why, why you are a king, you are an emperor, and I'm a prince; now, an't we?

Tho. No, sergeant; I'll be no emperor.
Kite. No!

Tho. I'll be a justice-of-peace.
Kite. A justice-of-peace, man!

Tho. Ay, wauns will I; for since this pressing act, they are greater than any emperor under the sun. Kite. Done; you are a justice-of-peace, and you are

Cost. Pray, sergeant, what writing is this upon the a king, and I'm a duke, and a rum duke; an't I! face of it!

Kite. The crown, or the bed of honour.

Cost. Pray now, what may be that same bed of honour!

Kite. Oh, a mighty large bed!-bigger by half than the great bed at Ware-ten thousand people may lie in it together, and never feel one another.

Cost. But do folk sleep sound in this same bed of honour?

Kite. Sound-ay, so sound that they never wake.
Cost. Wauns! I wish that my wife lay there.
Kite. Say you so then I find, brother-

Cost. Brother! hold there, friend; I am no kindred to you that I know of yet. Look ye, sergeant, no coaxing, no wheedling, d'ye see. If I have a mind to list, why, so; if not, why, 'tis not so; therefore take your cap and your brothership back again, for I am not disposed at this present writing. No coaxing, no brothering me, faith.

Kite. I coax! I wheedle! I'm above it, sir; I have served twenty campaigns; but, sir, you talk well, and I must own you are a man every inch of you; a pretty, young, sprightly fellow! I love a fellow with a spirit; but I scorn to coax: 'tis base; though, I must say, that never in my life have I seen a man better built. How firm and strong he treads !-he steps like a castle!-but I scorn to wheedle any man! Come, honest lad! will you take share of a pot?

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Cost. I'll be a queen.

Kite. A queen!

Cost. Ay, of England; that's greater than any king of them all.

Kite. Bravely said, faith! Huzza for the queen. [Huzza.] But harkye, you Mr Justice, and you Mr Queen, did you ever see the king's picture!

Both. No, no, no.

Kite. I wonder at that; I have two of them set in gold, and as like his majesty; God bless the mark! -see here, they are set in gold.

[Takes two broad pieces out of his pocket; presents one to each.

Tho. The wonderful works of nature!

[Looking at it. What's this written about? here's a posy, I believe. Ca-ro-lus! what's that, sergeant!

Kite. Oh, Carolus? why, Carolus is Latin for King George; that's all.

Cost. 'Tis a fine thing to be a scollard. Sergeant, will you part with this? I'll buy it on you, if it come within the compass of a crown.

Kite. A crown! never talk of buying; 'tis the same thing among friends, you know. I'll present them to ye both: you shall give me as good a thing. Put them up, and remember your old friend when I am over the hills and far away.

[They sing, and put up the money.

Enter PLUME, the Recruiting Officer, singing.
Over the hills and over the main,
To Flanders, Portugal, or Spain;
The king commands, and we'll obey,
Over the hills and far away.

Come on, my men of mirth, away with it; I'll make
one among you. Who are these hearty lads?

Kite. Off with your hats; 'ounds! off with your hats; this is the captain; the captain.

'Sflesh!

Tho. We have seen captains afore now, mun.
Cost. Ay, and lieutenant-captains too.
I'll keep on my nab.

Tho. And I'se scarcely doff mine for any captain in
England. My vether's a freeholder.

Plume. Who are those jolly lads, sergeant?

Kite. A couple of honest brave fellows, that are willing to serve their king: I have entertained them just now as volunteers, under your honour's command. Plume. And good entertainment they shall have volunteers are the men I want; those are the men fit to make soldiers, captains, generals.

Tho. Why, captain, we know that you soldiers have more liberty of conscience than other folks; but for me or neighbour Costar here to take such an oath, 'twould be downright perjuration.

Plume. Look ye, rascal, you villain! if I find that you have imposed upon these two honest fellows, I'll trample you to death, you dog! Come, how was it? Tho. Nay, then, we'll speak. Your sergeant, as you say, is a rogue; an't like your worship, begging your worship's pardon; and

Cost. Nay, Tummas, let me speak; you know I can read. And so, sir, he gave us those two pieces of money for pictures of the king, by way of a present.

Plume. How? by way of a present? the rascal! I'll teach him to abuse honest fellows like you. Scoundrel, rogue, villain! [Beats off the Sergeant, and follows. Both. O brave noble captain! huzza! A brave captain, faith!

Cost. Now, Tummas, Carolus is Latin for a beating.
This is the bravest captain I ever saw. Wounds!

Cost. Wounds, Tummas, what's this! are you listed? I've a month's mind to go with him.
Tho. Flesh not I: are you, Costar?

Cost. Wounds! not I.

Kite. What! not listed ha, ha, ha! a very good jest, i'faith.

Cost. Come, Tummas, we'll go home.
Tho. Ay, ay, come.

Kite. Home! for shame, gentlemen; behave yourselves better before your captain. Dear Thomas! honest Costar!

Tho. No, no; we'll be gone.

Kite. Nay, then, I command you to stay: I place you both sentinels in this place for two hours, to watch the motion of St Mary's clock you, and you the motion of St Chad's; and he that dares stir from his post till he be relieved, shall have my sword in his belly the next minute.

Plume. What's the matter, sergeant? I'm afraid you are too rough with these gentlemen.

Kite. I'm too mild, sir; they disobey command, sir; and one of them should be shot for an example to the other. They deny their being listed.

Tho. Nay, sergeant, we don't downright deny it neither; that we dare not do, for fear of being shot; but we humbly conceive, in a civil way, and begging your worship's pardon, that we may go home.

Plume. That's easily known. Have either of you received any of the king's money?

Cost. Not a brass farthing, sir.

Kite. They have each of them received one and twenty shillings, and 'tis now in their pockets.

Cost. Wounds! if I have a penny in my pocket but a bent sixpence, I'll be content to be listed and shot into the bargain.

Tho. And I look ye here, sir.

Cost. Nothing but the king's picture, that the sergeant gave me just now.

Kite. See there, a guinea; one-and-twenty shillings; 'tother has the fellow on't.

Plume. The case is plain, gentlemen: the goods are found upon you. Those pieces of gold are worth oneand-twenty shillings each.

Cost. So, it seems that Carolus is one-and-twenty shillings in Latin?

Tho. Tis the same thing in Greek, for we are listed.

Cost. Flesh; but we an't, Tummas: I desire to be carried before the mayor, captain.

[Captain and Sergeant whisper the while. Plume. Twill never do, Kite; your tricks will ruin me at last. I wont lose the fellows though, if I can help it. Well, gentlemen, there must be some trick in this; my sergeant offers to take his oath that you are fairly listed.

Enter PLUME.

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Plume. I desire no man to go with me, but as I went myself. I went a volunteer, as you or you may do now; for a little time carried a musket, and now I command a company.

Tho. Mind that, Costar. A sweet gentleman. Plume. 'Tis true, gentlemen, I might take an advantage of you; the king's money was in your pockets my sergeant was ready to take his oath you were listed; but I scorn to do a base thing; you are both of you at your liberty.

Cost. Thank you, noble captain. Icod, I can't find in my heart to leave him, he talks so finely.

Tho. Ay, Costar, would he always hold in this mind. Plume. Come, my lads, one thing more I'll tell you: you're both young tight fellows, and the army is the place to make you men for ever: every man has his lot, and you have yours. What think you of a purse of French gold out of a monsieur's pocket, after you have dashed out his brains with the butt end of your firelock, eh?

Cost. Wauns! I'll have it. Captain, give me a shilling; I'll follow you to the end of the world. Tho. Nay, dear Costar! do'na; be advised. Plume. Here, my hero; here are two guineas for thee, as earnest of what I'll do farther for thee. Tho. Do'na take it; do'na, dear Costar.

[Cries, and pulls back his arm. Cost. I wull, I wull. Waunds! my mind gives me that I shall be a captain myself: I take your money, sir, and now I am a gentleman.

Plume. Give me thy hand; and now you and I will travel the world o'er, and command it wherever we tread. Bring your friend with you, if you can.

Cost. Well, Tummas, must we part?

[Aside.

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Plume. Very well. Courage, my lads. Now, we'll life, and the dispositions of ordinary men, was [Sings.] Over the hills and far away;

Courage, boys, it's one to ten
But we return all gentlemen;
While conquering colours we display,
Over the hills and far away.

Kite, take care of them.

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Both. I.

Scoundrels!

Kite. So you shall-in your guts. March, you [Beats them off. Among the other successful writers for the stage, may be instanced COLLEY CIBBER (1671-1757), an actor and manager, whose comedy, the Careless Husband, is still deservedly a favourite. Cibber was a lively amusing writer, and his Apology for his Life is one of the most entertaining autobiographies of the language. When Pope displaced Theobald, to install Cibber as hero of the Dunciad,' he suffered his judgment to be blinded by personal vindictiveness and prejudice. Colley Cibber was vain, foolish, and sometimes ridiculous, but never a dunce. SIR RICHARD STEELE was also a dramatic author, and obtained from George I. a patent, appointing him manager and governor of the royal company of comedians. Steele's play, the Conscious Lovers, combines moral instruction with amusement, but is rather insipid and languid both on and off the stage. The Distrest Mother, translated from Racine, was brought out by AMBROSE PHILIPS, the friend of Addison, and was highly successful. AARON HILL adapted the Zara of Voltaire to the English theatre, and wrote some original dramas, which entitled him, no less than his poems, to the niche he has obtained in Pope's 'Dunciad.' A more legitimate comic writer appeared in MRS SUSANNA CENTLIVRE (1667-1723), an Irish lady, whose life and writings were immoral, but who possessed considerable dramatic skill and talent. Her comedies, the Busy Body, The Wonder, a Woman keeps a Secret, and A Bold Stroke for a Wife, are still favourite acting plays. Her plots and incidents are admirably arranged for stage effect, and her characters well discriminated. Mrs Centlivre had been some time an actress, and her experience had been of service to her in writing for the stage.

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never before entertained either in England or elsewhere. In France, it must be allowed, the celebrated Montaighe had published in the sixteenth century a series of essays, of which manners formed the chief topic. Still more recently, La Bruyere, another French author, had published his Characters, in which the artificial life of the court of Louis XIV. was sketched with minute fidelity, and the most ingenious sarcasm. But it was now for the first time that any writer ventured to undertake a work, in which he should meet the public several times each week with a brief paper, either discussing some feature of society, or relating some lively tale, allegory, or anecdote.

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Lieutenant of that kingdom. Through the duke's influence, Steele was placed at the Charter-house school in London, where a warm and long-continued friendship between him and Addison took its rise. He thence removed, in 1692, to Merton college, Oxford; but after spending several years in desultory study, became so enamoured of the military profession, that, in spite of the dissuasion of his friends, and his failure to procure an appointment, he enlisted as a private soldier in the horse-guards. In this step, by which the succession to a relation's estate in Wexford was lost, he gave a striking manifestation of that recklessness which unfortunately distinguished him through life. In the army, his wit, vivacity, and good humour, speedily rendered him such a favourite, that the officers of his regiment, desirous to have him among themselves, procured for him the rank of an ensign. Thus situated, he plunged deeply into the fashionable follies and vices of the age, enlarging, however, by such conduct, that knowledge of life and character which proved so useful to him in the composition of his works. During this course of dissipation, being sometimes visited by qualms of conscience, he drew up, for the purpose of self-admonition, a small treatise entitled The Christian Hero, and afterwards published it as a still more powerful check upon his irregular passions. Yet it does not appear that even

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the attention thus drawn to his conduct, and the ridicule excited by the contrast between his principles and practice, led to any perceptible improvement. In order to enliven his character, and so diminish the occasion of mirth to his comrades, he produced, in 1701, a comedy entitled The Funeral, or Grief à-la-mode, in which, with much humour, there is combined a moral tendency superior to that of most of the dramatic pieces of the time. Steele, though personally too much a rake, made it a principle to employ his literary talents only in the service of virtue. In 1703, he sent forth another successful comedy, called The Tender Husband, or The Accomplished Fools; and in the year following was represented his third, entitled The Lying Lover, the strain of which proved too serious for the public taste. The ill success which it experienced deterred him from again appearing as a dramatist till 1722, when his admirable comedy, The Conscious Lovers, was brought out with unbounded applause. The great, the appropriate praise of Steele,' says Dr Drake, 'is to have been the first who, after the licentious age of Charles II., endeavoured to introduce the Virtues on the stage. He clothed them with the brilliancy of genius; he placed them in situations the most interesting to the human heart; and he taught his audience not to laugh at, but to execrate vice, to despise the lewd fool and the witty rake, to applaud the efforts of the good, and to rejoice in the punishment of the wicked."*

6

by Steele; while Addison contributed most of the articles in which there is any grave reflection or elevated feeling. In the course of the work, several fictitious persons were introduced as friends of the supposed editor, partly for amusement, and partly for the purpose of quoting them on occasions where their opinions might be supposed appropriate. Thus, a country gentleman was described under the name of Sir Roger de Coverley, to whom reference was made when matters connected with rural affairs were in question. A Captain Sentry stood up for the army; Will Honeycomb gave law on all things concerning the gay world; and Sir Andrew Freeport represented the commercial interest. Of these characters, Sir Roger was by far the most happily delineated: it is understood that he was entirely a being of Addison's imagination; and certainly, in the whole round of English fiction, there is no character delineated with more masterly strokes of humour and tenderness. The Spectator,' which extended to six hundred and thirty-five numbers, or eight volumes, is not only much superior to the Tatler,' but stands at the head of all the works of the same kind that have since been produced; and, as a miscellany of polite literature, is not surpassed by any book whatever. All that regards the smaller morals and decencies of life, elegance or justness of taste, and the improvement of domestic society, is touched upon in this paper with the happiest combination of seriousness and ridicule: it is also entitled to the praise of having corrected the existing style of writing and speaking on common topics, which was much vitiated by slang phraseology and profane swearing. The Spectator' appeared every morning in the shape of a single leaf, and was received at the breakfast tables of most persons of taste then living in the metropolis, and had a large sale.

After the failure of 'The Lying Lover,' which, he says, was damned for its piety,' Steele conceived the idea of attacking the vices and foibles of the age through the medium of a lively periodical paper, Accordingly, on the 12th of April 1709, he commenced the publication of the Tatler, a small sheet designed to appear three times a-week, to expose,' as the author stated, the false arts of life, to pull off the disguises of cunning, vanity, and affectation, and During the year 1713, while the publication of the to recommend a general simplicity in our dress, our Spectator' was temporarily suspended, Steele, with discourse, and our behaviour.' Steele, who had then the same assistance, published the Guardian, which reached his thirty-eighth year, was qualified for his was also issued daily, and extended to a hundred task by a knowledge of the world, acquired in free and seventy-five numbers, or two volumes. It ranks converse with it, and by a large fund of natural in merit between the 'Spectator' and 'Tatler,' and is humour; his sketches, anecdotes, and remarks, are enriched by contributions of Pope, Berkeley, and accordingly very entertaining. To conciliate the Budgell. Addison's papers occur almost exclusively ordinary readers of news, a part of each paper was in the second volume, where they are more numedevoted to public and political intelligence; and the rous than those of Steele himself. Of two hundred price of each number was one penny. At first, the and seventy-one papers of which the 'Tatler' is author endeavoured to conceal himself under the composed, Steele wrote one hundred and eightyfictitious name of Isaac Bickerstaff, which he bor-eight, Addison forty-two, and both conjointly thirtyrowed from a pamphlet by Swift; but his real name six. Of six hundred and thirty-five Spectators,' soon became known, and his friend Addison then Addison wrote two hundred and seventy-four, and began to assist him with a few papers upon more Steele two hundred and forty. And of one hundred serious subjects than he himself was able or inclined and seventy-six Guardians,' Steele wrote eightyto discuss, and also with various articles of a humo- two, and Addison fifty-three. rous character. When the work had extended to the 271st number, which was published on the 2d of January 1711, the editor was induced, by a consideration of the inconvenience of writing such a work without personal concealment, to give it up, and to commence a publication nearly similar in plan, and in which he might assume a new disguise. This was the more celebrated Spectator, of which the first number appeared on the 1st of March 1711. The 'Spectator' was published daily, and each number was invariably a complete essay, without any admixture of politics. Steele and Addison were conjunct in this work from its commencement, and they obtained considerable assistance from a few other writers, of whom the chief were Thomas Tickell, and a gentleman named Budgell. The greater part of the light and humorous sketches are

Essays Illustrative of the Tatler, &c. i. 57.

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The beneficial influence of these publications on the morality, piety, manners, and intelligence of the British people, has been extensive and permanent. When the Tatler' first appeared, the ignorance and immorality of the great mass of society in England were gross and disgusting. By the generality of fashionable persons of both sexes, literary and scientific attainments were despised as pedantic and vulgar. That general knowledge which now circulates in common talk, was then rarely to be found. Men not professing learning were not ashamed of ignorance; and in the female world, any acquaintance with books was distinguished only to be censured.** Politics formed almost the sole topic of conversation among the gentlemen, and scandal among the ladies; swearing and indecency were fashionable vices; gaming and drunkenness abounded; and the practice

Johnson's Life of Addison.

of duelling was carried to a most irrational excess. In the theatre, as well as in society, the corruption of Charles II.'s reign continued to prevail; and men of the highest rank were the habitual encouragers of the coarse amusements of bull-baiting, bear-baiting, and prize-fighting. To the amelioration of this wretched state of public taste and manners did Steele and Addison apply themselves with equal zeal and success, operating by the means thus stated in the Spectator:-'I shall endeavour to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with morality, that my readers may, if possible, both ways find their account in the speculation of the day. And to the end that their virtue and discretion may not be short, transient, intermittent starts of thought, I have resolved to refresh their memories from day to day, till I have recovered them out of that desperate state of vice and folly into which the age is fallen. The mind that lies fallow but a single day, sprouts up in follies that are only to be killed by a constant and assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates, that he brought philosophy down from heaven to inhabit among men; I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses.'

Of the excellent effects produced by the essays of Steele and Addison, we possess the evidence not only of the improved state of society and literature which has since prevailed, but likewise of writers contemporary with the authors themselves. All speak of a decided and marked improvement in society and manners.

ascribed the commencement of a just taste in the
fields of fancy and picturesque beauty. The critique
on Milton, the inimitable ridicule on the Gothic style
of gardening, and the vivid descriptions of rural ele-
gance, the creations either of nature or of art, which
are dispersed through the pages of the "Tatler,”
"Spectator," and "Guardian," soon disseminated
more correct ideas of simplicity in the formation of
landscape, and more attractive views of sublimity
and beauty in the loftier regions of true poetry.
In fact, from the perusal of these essays, that large
body of the people included in the middle class of
society first derived their capability of judging of
the merits and the graces of a refined writer; and the
nation at large gradually, from this epoch, became
entitled to the distinguished appellations of literary
and critical. The readers of the "Spectator" had been
thoroughly imbued with the fine enthusiasm for lite-
rature which characterised the genius of Addison;
they had felt and admired the delicacy, the amenity,
and the purity of his composition, and were soon
able to balance and adjust by comparison the pre-
tensions of succeeding candidates for fame.

If in taste and literature such numerous benefits were conferred upon the people through the medium of these papers, of still greater importance were the services which they derived from them in the department of manners and morals. Both public and private virtue and decorum, indeed, received a firmer tone and finer polish from their precepts and examples; the acrimony and malevolence that had hitherto attended the discussion of political opinion were in a short time greatly mitigated; and the talents which had been almost exclusively occupied by controversy, were diverted into channels where elegance and learning mutually assisted in refining and purifying the passions.'

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The success and utility of the 'Tatler,' 'Spectator,' and Guardian,' led to the appearance, throughout the eighteenth century, of many works similar in form and purpose; but of these, with the exception of the Rambler, Adventurer, Idler, World, Connoisseur, Mirror, and Lounger, none can be said to have obtained a place in the standard literature of our country. Of the productions just named, an account will be given when we come to speak of the authors principally concerned in them; and with

The acquisition,' says Dr Drake, of a popular relish for elegant literature, may be dated, indeed, from the period of the publication of the " Tatler;" to the progress of this new-formed desire, the "Spectator" and "Guardian" gave fresh acceleration; nor has the impulse which was thus received for a moment ceased to spread and propagate its influence through every rank of British society. To these papers, in the department of polite letters, we may ascribe the following great and never-to-be-forgotten obligations. They, it may be affirmed, first pointed out, in a popular way, and with insinuating address, the best authors of classical antiquity and of modern times, and infused into the public mind an enthusiasm for their beauties; they, calling to their aid the colour-respect to the others, it is sufficient to remark, that ing of humour and imagination, effectually detected the sources of bad writing, and exposed to neverdying ridicule the puerilities and meretricious decorations of false wit and bloated composition; they first rendered criticism familiar and pleasing to the general taste, and excited that curiosity, that acuteness and precision, which have since enabled so many classes of readers to enjoy, and to appreciate with judgment, the various productions of genius and learning.

so slender is their general merit, that from fortyone of the best among them, Dr Drake has been able to compile only four volumes of papers above mediocrity.*

Notwithstanding the high excellence which must be attributed to the British Essayists,' as this class of writings is usually called, it cannot be concealed, that since the beginning of the present century, their popularity has undergone a considerable decline. This, we think, may easily be accounted for. All To the essays of Addison, in particular, are we that relates in them to temporary fashions and ablikewise indebted for the formation of a style beyond surdities, is now, for the most part, out of date; all former precedent pure, fascinating, and correct, while many of the vices and rudenesses which they that may be said to have effected a revolution in attack, have either been expelled from good society our language and literature, and which, notwith-by their own influence, or are now fallen into such standing all the refinements of modern criticism, is still entitled to the praise of a just and legitimate model.

general discredit, that any formal exposure of them appears tedious and unnecessary. Add to this, that innumerable popular works of distinguished excelIn the "Spectator," moreover, was the public first lence, on the same class of subjects, have appeared presented with a specimen of acute analysis in the in later times, so that the essayists are no longer in papers on the sources and pleasures of the imagina- undisputed possession of the field which they origition; they form a disquisition which, while it in-nally and so honourably occupied. Since the age of structed and delighted the unlearned reader, led the way, though the arrogance of the literati of the present day may disclaim the debt, to what has been termed by modern ostentation philosophical criticism. To the circulation of these volumes also may be

* The selection was published in 1811, under the title of
The Gleaner; a Series of Periodical Essays, selected and
By Nathan

arranged from scarce or neglected volumes.
Drake, M.D.' 8vo.

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