ifted from eternity after our manner or notions of existence. Revelation confirms thefe natural dictates of reafon in the accounts which it gives us of the Divine Existence, where it tells us, that he is the fame yesterday, to-day, and for ever; that he is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending; that a thousand years are with him as one day, and one day as a thoufand years; by which, and the like expreffions, we are taught, that his existence, with relation to time or duration, is infinitely different from the existence of any of his creatures, and confequently that it is impoffible for us to frame any adequate conceptions of it..

In the first revelation which he makes of his own being, he entitles himself, I AM that I AM;' and when Mofes defires to know what name he fhall give him in his embaffy to Pharaoh, he bids him fay that I AM hath fent you,' Our great Creator, by this revelation of himself, does in a manner exclude every thing elfe from a real exiftence, and .diftinguishes himself from his creatures, as the only being which truly and really exists, The ancient Platonic notion which was drawn from fpeculations of eternity, wonderfully agrees with this revelation which God has made of himfelf. There is nothing, fay they, which in reality exifts, whofe exiftence, as we call it, is pieced up of past, prefent, and to come. Such a flitting and fucceffive existence is rather a fhadow of exiftence, and fomething which is like it, than exiftence itself. He only properly exists

whose existence is entirely prefent; that is, in other words, who exifts in the most perfect manner, and in fuch a manner as we have no idea of.

I fhall conclude this fpeculation with one useful inference. How can we sufficiently proftrate ourselves and fall down before our Maker, when we confider that ineffable goodness and wisdom which contrived this exiftence for finite natures? What must be the overflowings of that good-will, which prompted our Creator to adapt existence to beings, in whom it is not neceffary? Efpecially when we confider that he himself was before in the compleat poffeffion of existence and of happiness, and in the full enjoyment of eternity. What man can think of himself as called out and feparated from nothing, of his being made a confcious, a reasonable, and a happy creature, in short, of being taken in as a fhaver of exiftence, and a kind of partner in eternity, without being fwallowed up in wonder, in praise, in adoration! It is indeed a thought too big for the mind of man, and rather to be entertained in the fecrecy of devotion, and in the filence of his foul, than to be expreffed by words. The Supreme Being has not given us powers or faculties fufficient to extol and magnify fuch unutterable goodness.

It is however fome comfort to us, that we shall be always doing what we shall be never able to do, and that a work which cannot be finished, will however be the work of an eternity,

How great the contraction of the fingers must be before it amounts to a fqueeze by the hand.

What can be properly termed an abfolute denial from a maid, and what from a widow.

What advances a lover may prefume to make, after having received a pat upon his fhoulder from his miftrefs's fan.

Whether a lady, at the first interview, may allow an humble fervant to kifs her hand.

How far it may be permitted to carefs the maid in order to fucceed with the mistress.

What conftructions a man may put upon a smile, and in what cases a frown goes for nothing.

On what occafions a fheepish look may do fervice, &c.

As a farther proof of his skill, he alfo fent me feveral maxims in love, which he affures me are the refult of a long and profound reflection; fome of which I think myself obliged to communicate to the public, not remembering to have feen them before in any author.

There are more calamities in the world arifing from love than from hatred. Love is the daughter of idlenefs, but the mother of difquietude.

• Men of grave natures,' fays Sir Francis Bacon, are the most conftant; for the fame reafon men should be more • conftant than women.'

The gay part of mankind is most amorous, the ferious molt loving. A coquette often lofes her reputation, while the preferves her virtue.

A prude often preferves her reputation when she has loft her virtue.

Love refines a man's behaviour, but makes a woman's ridiculous.

Love is generally accompanied with good-will in the young, intereft in the middle-aged, and a passion too gross to name in the old.

A woman who from being a flattern becomes over-neat, or from being over-neat becomes a flattern, is moft certainly in love.

I fhall make use of this gentleman's fkill as I fee occafion; and fince I am got upon the fubject of love, fhall conclude this paper with a copy of verfes which were lately fent me by an unknown hand, as I look upon them to be above the ordinary run of fonneteers.

The author tells me they were written in one of his defpairing fits; and I find entertains fome hope that his miftrefs may pity fuch a paffion as he has defcribed, before fhe knows that the herfelf is Corinna.

mighty imart,

CONCEAL, fond man, conceal the
Nor tell Corinna fhe has fir'd thy heart.
In vain would't thou complain, in vain
pretend

To afk a pity which she must not lend.
She's too much thy fuperior to comply,
And too, too fair to let thy paffion die.
Languifh in fecret, and with dumb furprife
Drink the refiftlefs glances of her eyes.
At awful distance entertain thy grief,
Be ftill in pain, but never afk relief.
Ne'er tempt her fcorn of thy confuming state;
Be any way undone, but fly her hate.
Thou muft fubmit to fee thy charmer bless
Some happier youth that shall admire her lefs;
Who in that lovely form, that heavenly mind,
Shall mifs ten thousand beauties thou could'nt

find.

Who with low fancy fhall approach her charms,

While half enjoy'd fhe finks into his arms. She knows not, muft not know thy nobler fire,

Whom the, and whom the mufes do infpire; Her image only fhall thy breaft employ, And fill thy captive foul with fhades of joy; Direct thy dreams by night, thy thoughts by day,

And never, never, from thy bofom stray.

Look

upon the playhouse as a world within itself. They have lately furnished the middle region of it with a new set of meteors, in order to give the fublime to many modern tragedies. I was there last winter at the firit rehearsal of the new thunder, which is much more deep and fonorous than any hither to made ufe of. They have a Salmoneus behind the fcenes, who plays it off with great fuccefs. Their light nings are made to flash more brifkly than heretofore; their clouds are alfo better furbelowed, and more voluminous; not to mention a violent ftorm locked up in a great cheft, that is defigned for the Tempeft. They are alfo provided with above a dozen fhowers of fnow, which, as I am informed, are the plays of many unfuccefsful poets artificially cut and fhredded for that ufe. Mr. Rymer's Edgar is to fall in fnow at the next acting of King Lear, in order to heighten, or rather to alleviate, the diftreis of that unfortunate prince; and to ferve by way of decoration to a piece which that great critic has written againft.

I do not indeed wonder that the actors fhould be fuch profeffed enemies to thofe among our nation who are commonly known by the name of Critics, fince it is a rule among thefe gentlemen to fall upon a play, not because it is ill written, but because it takes. Several of then lay it down as a maxim, that whatever dramatic performance has a long run, muft of neceffity be good for nothing; as though the first precept in poetry were not to pleafe. Whether this rule holds good or not, I fhall leave to the determination of those who are better judges than myself; if it does, I am fure it tends very much to the honour of thote gentlemen who have established it; few of their pieces having been difgraced by a run of three days, and most of them being fo exquifitely written, that the town would never give them more than one night's hearing.

I have a great efteem for a true critic,

HOR. ARS POET. VIR.499. ROSCOMMON.

The

fuch as Ariftotle and Longinus among the Greeks, Horace and Quintilian among the Romans, Boileau and Dacier among the French. But it is our misfortune, that fome who fet up for profeffed critics among us are so ftupid, that they do not know how to put ten words together with elegance or common propriety; and withal fo illiterate, that they have no tafte of the learned languages, and therefore criticise upon old authors only at fecond-hand. They judge of them by what others have written, and not by any notions they have of the authors themfelves. words Unity, Action, Sentiment, and Diction, pronounced with an air of authority, give them a figure among unlearned readers, who are apt to believe they are very deep, because they are unintelligible. The ancient critics are full of the praises of their contemporaries; they difcover beauties which efcaped the obfervation of the vulgar, and very often find out reafons for pal liating and excufing such little flips and overfights as were committed in the writings of eminent authors. On the contrary, most of the fmatterers in criticifm who appear among us, make it their bufinefs to vilify and depreciate every new production that gains applaufe, to defcry imaginary blemishes,and to prove by far-fetched arguments, that what pafs for beauties in any celebrated piece are faults and errors. In fhort, the writings of these critics, compared with thofe of the ancients, are like the words of the fophifts compared with thofe of the old philofophers.

Envy and cavil are the natural fruits of lazinefs and ignorance; which was probably the reason, that in the hea then mythology Momus is faid to be the fon of Nox and Somnus, of darkness and fleep. Idle men, who have not been at the pains to accomplish or diftinguish themselves, are very apt to detract from others; as ignorant men are very fubject to decry thofe beauties in a celebrated work which they have not

eyes

eyes to discover. Many of our fons of Momus, who dignify themselves by the name of Critics, are the genuine defcendants of these two illuftrious anceftors. They are often led into thofe numerous abfurdities, in which they daily instruct the people, by not confidering that, Firft, There is fometimes a greater judgment fhewn in deviating from the rules of art, than in adhering to them; and, 2dly, That there is more beauty in the works of a great genius who is ignorant of all the rules of art, than in the works of a little genius, who not only knows, but fcrupulously obferves them.

First, We may often take notice of men who are perfectly acquainted with all the rules of good-writing, and notwithstanding chufe to depart from them on extraordinary occafions. I could give inftances out of all the tragic writers of antiquity who have fhewn their judgment in this particular; and purpotely receded from an established rule of the drama, when it has made way for a much higher beauty than the obfervation of fuch a rule would have been. Those who have furveyed the nobleft pieces of architecture and itatuary, both ancient and modern, know very well that there are frequent deviations from art in the works of the greatest mafters, which have produced a much nobler effect than a more accurate and exact way of proceeding could have done. This often arifes from what the Italians

call the Gufo grande in these arts, which is what we call the fublime in writing.

In the next place, our critics do not feem fenfible that there is more beauty in the works of a great genius who is ignorant of the rules of art, than in thofe of a little genius who knows and obferves them. It is of thefe men of genius that Terence fpeaks, in oppofition to the little artificial cavillers of his time

Quorum æmulari exoptat negligentiam
Potiùs quàm iftorum obfcuram diligentiam.
Whofe negligence he would rather imitate,
than thefe men's obfcure diligence.

A critic may have the fame confolation in the ill fuccefs of his play, as Dr. South tells us a phyfician has at the death of a patient, that he was killed fecundum artem. Our inimitable Shakefpeare is a ftumbling-block to the whole tribe of thefe rigid critics. Who would not rather read one of his plays, where there is not a fingle rule of the stage obferved, than any production of a modern critic, where there is not one of them violated? Shakespeare was indeed born with all the feeds of poetry, and may be compared to the ftone in Pyrrhus's ring, which, as Pliny tells us, had the figure of Apollo and the Nine Mufes in the veins of it, produced by the fpontaneous hand of nature, without any help from art. 0

VIRG. N. VI. VER. 270.

Y dreaming correfpondent, Mr. Shadow, has fent me a fecond letter, with feveral curious obfervations on dreams in general, and the method to render fleep improving: an extract of his letter will not, I prefume, be difagreeable to my readers.

SINCE we have fo little time to fpare,

that none of it may be loft, I fee no reason why we should neglect to examine thofe imaginary fcenes we are pre

DRYDEN.

fented with in fleep, only because they have a lefs reality in them than our waking meditations. A traveller would bring his judgment in question, who fhould defpife the directions of his map for want of real roads in it, because here ftands a dot inftead of a town, or a cypher instead of a city, and it must

be a long day's journey to travel through

two or three inches. Fancy in dreams gives us much fuch another landskip of life as that does of countries; and though

it's appearances may feem ftrangely jumbled together, we may often obferve fuch traces and footsteps of noble thoughts, as, if carefully purfued, might lead us into a proper path of action. There is fo much rapture and extacy in our fancied blifs, and fomething fo difmal and fhocking in our fancied mifery, that though the inactivity of the body has given occafion for calling fleep the image of death, the brifknefs of the fancy affords us a ftrong intimation of fomething within us that can never

die.

I have wondered that Alexander the Great, who came into the world fufficiently dreamed of by his parents, and had himfelf a tolerable knack at dream ing, fhould often fay, that fleep was one thing which made him fenfible he was mortal. I who have not fuch fields of action in the day-time to divert my attention from this matter, plainly perceive, that in thofe operations of the mind, while the body is at reft, there is a certain vaftness of conception very fuitable to the capacity, and demonftrative of the force of that divine part in our compofition which will laft for ever. Neither do I much doubt but had we a true account of the wonders the hero

last mentioned performed in his fleep, his conquering this little globe would hardly be worth mentioning. I may affirm, without vanity, that when I compare feveral actions in Quintus Curtius with fome others in my own noctuary, I appear the greater hero of the two.

I fhall clofe this fubject with obferving, that while we are awake we are at liberty to fix our thoughts on what we pleate, but in fleep we have not the command of them. The ideas which ftrike the fancy, arife in us without our choice, either from the occurrences of the day palt, the temper we lie down in, or it may be the direction of fome fuperior being.

It is certain the imagination may be fo differently affected in sleep, that our

actions of the day might be either rewarded or punished with a little age of happiness or mifery. St. Auftin was of opinion, that if in paradife there was the fame viciffitude of fleeping and waking as in the prefent world, the dreams of it's inhabitants would be very happy.

And fo far at present our dreams are in our power, that they are generally conformable to our waking thoughts; fo that it is not impoffible to convey ourselves to a concert of mufic, the converfation of distant friends, or any other entertainment which has been before lodged in the mind.

My readers, by applying thefe hints, will find the neceffity of making a good day of it, if they heartily with themfelves a good night.

I have often confidered Marcia's prayer, and Lucius's account of Cato, in this light

Marc, O ye immortal powers, that guard

the juft,

Watch round his couch, and foften his repofe, Banish his forrows, and becalm his foul With eafy dreams; remember all his virtues, And fhew mankind that goodness is your care. Luc. Sweet are the flumbers of the vir

tuous man!

Some power invifible fupports his soul,
O Marcia, I have feen thy godlike father;
And bears it up in all it's wonted greatness.
A kind refreshing fleep is fallen upon him;
I faw him ftretch'd at eafe, his fancy loft
In pleafing dreams; as I drew near his couch,
He fmil'd, and cry'd- Cæfar, thou canst
'not hurt me

Mr. Shadow acquaints me in a postfcript, that he has no manner of title to the vifion which fucceeded his firft letter; but adds, that as the gentleman who wrote it dreams very fenfibly, he shall be glad to meet him fome night or other under the great elm tree, by which Virgil has given us a fine metaphorical image of fleep, in order to turn over a few of the leaves together, and oblige the public with an account of the dreams that lie under them.

N