assert ner even then as wise and provident as in her goodliest works. For 'tis not then that men complain of the world's order, or abhor the face of things, when they see various interests mixed and interfering; natures subordinate, of different kinds, opposed one to another, and in their different operations submitted, the higher to the lower. 'Tis, on the contrary, from this order of inferior and superior things that we admire the world's beauty, founded thus on contrarieties: whilst from such various and disagreeing principles a universal concord is established.

'Thus in the several orders of terrestrial forms a resignation is required, a sacrifice and mutual yielding of natures one to another. The vegetables by their death sustain the animals: and animal bodies dissolved enrich the earth and raise again the vegetable world. The numerous insects are reduced by the superior kinds of birds and beasts: and these again are checked by man, who in his turn submits to other natures, and resigns his form a sacrifice in common to the rest of things. And if in natures so little exalted or pre-eminent above each other the sacrifice of interests can appear so just, how much more reasonably may all inferior natures be subjected to the superior nature of the world! That world, Palemon, which even now transported you when the sun's fainting light gave way to these bright constellations, and left you this wide system to contemplate.

'Here are those laws which ought not, nor can submit to any thing below. The central powers, which hold the lasting orbs in their just poize and movement, must not be controuled to save a fleeting form, and rescue from the precipice a puny animal, whose brittle frame, however protected, must of itself so soon dissolve. The ambient air, the inward vapours, the impending meteors, or whatever else is nutrimental or preservative of this earth, must operate in a natural course: and other constitutions must submit to the good habit and constitution of the all-sustaining globe.

'Let us not therefore wonder if by earthquakes, storms, pestilential blasts, nether or upper fires, or floods, the animal kinds are oft afflicted, and whole species perhaps involved at once in common ruin : but much less let us account it strange if, either by outward shock or some interior wound from hostile matter, particular animals are deformed even in their first conception, when the disease invades the seats of generation, and seminal parts are injured and obstructed in their accurate labours. 'Tis then alone that monstrous shapes are seen: nature still working as before, and not perversely or erroneously; not faintly, or with feeble endeavours; but o'erpower'd by a superior rival, and by another nature's justly conquering force.

'Nor need we wonder if the interior form, the soul and temper, partakes of this occasional deformity, and sympathizes often with its close partner. Who is there

can wonder either at the sicknesses of sense, or the depravity of minds inclosed in such frail bodies, and dependent on such pervertible organs?

'Here then is that solution you require, and hence those seeming blemishes cast upon nature. Nor is there ought in this beside what is natural and good. Tis good which is predominant; and every corruptible and mortal nature by its mortality and corruption yields only to some better, and all in common to that best and highest nature, which is incorruptible and immortal.'

(From Part I. of The Moralists.)

Of Dialogue.

This brings to my mind a reason I have often sought for, why we moderns, who abound so much in treatises and essays, are so sparing in the way of dialogue, which heretofore was found the politest and best way of managing even the graver subjects. The truth is, 'twould be an abominable falshood and belying of the age to put so much good sense together in any one conversation as might make it hold out steadily and with plain coherence for an hour's time, till any one subject had been rationally examined. (From The Moralists.)

Religion & Discipline and Progress of the Soul. Now whether our friend be unfeignedly and sincerely of this latter sort of real theologists, you will learn best from the consequences of his hypothesis. You will observe whether, instead of ending in mere speculation, it leads to practice: and you will then surely be satisfied, when you see such a structure raised as with the generality of the world must pass at least for high religion, and with some, in all likelihood, for no less than enthusiasm.

For I appeal to you, Philocles, whether there be any thing in divinity which you think has more the air of enthusiasm than that notion of divine love, such as separates from everything worldly, sensual, or meanly. interested? A love which is simple, pure, and unmixed; which has no other object than merely the excellency of that Being itself, nor admits of any other thought of happiness than in its single fruition. Now I dare presume you will take it as a substantial proof of my friend's being far enough from irreligion if it be shewn that he has espoused this notion, and thinks of making out this high point of divinity, from arguments familiar even to those who oppose religion.

According therefore to his hypothesis, he would in the first place, by way of prevention, declare to you, that though the disinterested love of God were the most excellent principle, yet he knew very well that by the indiscreet zeal of some devout well-meaning people it had been stretched too far, perhaps even to extravagance and enthusiasm ; as formerly among the mysticks of the antient church, whom these of latter days have followed. On the other hand, that there were those who in opposition to this devout mystick way, and as professed enemies to what they call enthusiasm, had so far exploded everything of this ecstatick kind as in a manner to have given up devotion, and in reality had left so little of zeal, affection, or warmth in what they call their rational religion as to make them much suspected of their sincerity in any. For though it be natural enough (he would

tell you) for a mere political writer to ground his great argument for religion on the necessity of such a belief as that of a future reward and punishment; yet, if you will take his opinion, 'tis a very ill token of sincerity in religion, and in the Christian religion more especially, to reduce it to such a philsophy as will allow no room to that other principle of love, but treats all of that kind as enthusiasm, for so much as aiming at what is called disinterestedness, or teaching the love of God or virtue for God or virtue's sake.

Here then we have two sorts of people (according to my friend's account) who in these opposite extremes expose religion to the insults of its adversaries. For as on one hand 'twill be found difficult to defend the notion of that high-raised love espoused with so much warmth by those devout mysticks; so, on the other hand, 'twill be found as hard a task, upon the principles of these cooler men, to guard religion from the imputation of mercenariness and a slavish spirit. For how shall one deny that to serve God by compulsion, or for interest merely, is servile and mercenary? Is it not evident that the only true and liberal service paid either to that supreme Being, or to any other superior, is that which proceeds from an esteem or love of the person served, a sense of duty or gratitude, and a love of the dutiful and grateful part, as good and amiable in itself'? And where is the injury to religion from such a concession as this? Or what detraction is it from the belief of an after-reward or punishment to own that the service caused by it is not equal to that which is voluntary and with inclination, but is rather disingenuous and of the slavish kind'? Is it not still for the good of mankind and of the world that obedience to the rule of right should some way or other be paid; if not in the better way, yet at least in this imperfect one? And is it not to be shewn, 'that although this service of fear be allowed ever so low or base, yet religion still being a discipline and progress of the soul towards perfection, the motive of reward and punishment is primary and of the highest moment with us; till, being capable of more sublime instruction, we are led from this servile state to the generous service of affection and love'?

To this it is that in our friend's opinion we ought all of us to aspire, so as to endeavour that the excellence of the object, not the reward or punishment, should be our motive but that where, through the corruption of our nature, the former of these motives is found insufficient to excite to virtue, there the latter should be brought in aid, and on no account be undervalued or neglected.' (From Part II. of The Moralists.)

See German books on Shaftesbury's philosophy by Spicker (1872) and Gizycki (1876); Leslie Stephen's English Thought in the Eighteenth Century (1876); Professor Fowler's Shaftesbury and Hutcheson (Philosophers' series, 1882); the Life and Unpublished Letters, by Bertrand Rand (1900); and the new edition of the Characteristics, by J. M. Robertson (1900).

John Gay.

Italian opera and English pastorals were driven out of the field at this time by easy, indolent, good-humoured John Gay (1685-1732), most artless and best beloved of all the Pope and Swift circle of wits and poets. Gay was born at Barnstaple, younger son of an impoverished house. Both parents dying when he was about ten years old, he was, after receiving his education in the

free grammar - school of his native town, put apprentice to a silk-mercer in London; but disliking this employment, he at length obtained his discharge from his master. In 1708 he published a poem in blank verse entitled Wine; in 1712 he became domestic secretary to the Duchess of Monmouth; and in 1713 appeared his Rural Sports, dedicated to Pope, in which we may trace his joy at emancipation from shopkeeping:

But I, who ne'er was blessed by Fortune's hand,
Nor brightened ploughshares in paternal land;
Long in the noisy town have been immured,
Respired its smoke, and all its cares endured.
Fatigued at last, a calm retreat I chose,

And soothed my harassed mind with sweet repose,
Where fields, and shades, and the refreshing clime
Inspire the sylvan song, and prompt my rhyme.

A comedy, The Wife of Bath (1713), was not successful. Then came a trivial poem in three books entitled The Fan. The Shepherd's Week, in Six Pastorals (1714), was written to throw ridicule on those of Ambrose Philips, but contains so much genuine comic humour and such entertaining pictures of country-life that it became popular, not as satire, but as affording a prospect of his own country.' In an address to the 'courteous reader' Gay says: "Thou wilt not find my shepherdesses idly piping on oaten reeds, but milking the kine, tying up the sheaves, or if the hogs are astray, driving them to their sties. My shepherd gathereth none other nosegays but what are the growth of our own fields; he sleepeth not under myrtle shades, but under a hedge; nor doth he vigilantly defend his flocks from wolves, because there are none.' This 'historical' view of rural life was imitated by Allan Ramsay, and was followed by Crabbe with a moral aim to which Gay never aspired. In February 1715 appeared The What d'ye Call It? a tragi-comi-pastoral farce, which the audience had 'not wit enough to take;' and next year, assisted by hints from Swift, Gay produced his mock-heroic Trivia; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London, in which he gives a graphic account of the dangers and impediments then encountered in traversing the narrow, crowded, ill-lighted, and vice- infested thoroughfares of the metropolis. His pictures of City-life are in the Dutch style, familiar but forcibly drawn. Here is

The Bookstall.

Volumes on sheltered stalls expanded lie,
And various science lures the learned eye;
The bending shelves with ponderous scholiasts groan,
And deep divines, to modern shops unknown;
Here, like the bee that on industrious wing
Collects the various odours of the spring,
Walkers at leisure learning's flowers may spoil,
Nor watch the wasting of the midnight oil;
May morals snatch from Plutarch's tattered page,
A mildewed Bacon, or Stagyra's sage:
Here sauntering 'prentices o'er Otway weep,
O'er Congreve smile, or over D'Urfey sleep;

Pleased sempstresses the Lock's famed Rape unfold; And Squirts read Garth till apozems grow cold. Squirt is the name of an apothecary's boy in Garth's Dispensary; apozem is a decoction or infusion.

During the great frost in London in 1716 a fair was held on the river Thames :

O roving Muse! recall that wondrous year
When winter reigned in bleak Britannia's air;
When hoary Thames, with frosted osiers crowned,
Was three long moons in icy fetters bound.
The waterman, forlorn, along the shore,
Pensive reclines upon his useless oar:
See harnessed steeds desert the stony town,
And wander roads unstable, not their own,
Wheels o'er the hardened waters smoothly glide,
And raze with whitened tracks the slippery tide;
Here the fat cook piles high the blazing fire,
And scarce the spit can turn the steer entire ;
Booths sudden hide the Thames, long streets appear,
And numerous games proclaim the crowded fair.
So, when a general bids the martial train
Spread their encampment o'er the spacious plain,
Thick-rising tents a canvas city build,

And the loud dice resound through all the field.

Gay was always sighing for public employment, for which he was eminently unfit, and in 1714 he had a glimpse of fancied happiness. He wrote with joy to Pope: 'Since you went out of the town, my Lord Clarendon was appointed envoy-extraordinary to Hanover, in the room of Lord Paget; and by making use of those friends which I entirely owe to you, he has accepted me for his secretary.' Quitting his situation with the Duchess of Monmouth, he accompanied Lord Clarendon on his embassy, but seems to have held the new post only for about two months; in the same year Pope welcomed him to his native soil, and counselled him, now that the queen was dead, to write something on the king, or prince, or princess.' The anxious expectant of court favour complied with Pope's request, and wrote a poem entitled An Epistle to a Lady [probably Mrs Howard]: Occasioned by the Arrival of Her Royal Highness [the Princess of Wales, whom he had seen at Hanover]; and, as a consequence, the Princess and her husband went to see his play of The What d'ye Call It? Gay was stimulated to another dramatic attempt (1717), and produced Three Hours After Marriage, but some personal satire and indecent dialogue, together with the improbability of the plot, sealed its fate. It soon fell into disgrace; and its author, afraid that Pope and Arbuthnot would suffer from their connection with it, took all the blame on himself. Nevertheless the trio of friendly wits were attacked in two pamphlets, and Pope's quarrel with Cibber originated in this unlucky drama. Gay was silent and dejected for some time; but in 1720 he published his poems by subscription, and realised £1000. He also received a present of South Sea stock, and was supposed to be worth £20,000, all of which he lost by the collapse of that famous delusion. This

serious calamity almost overwhelmed a wit fond of finery and of luxurious living, but his friends were zealous, and he was prompted to further literary exertion. In 1724 he brought out another drama, The Captives, which was acted with moderate success; and in 1727 he wrote a volume of Fables, designed for the edification of the Duke of Cumberland (then a boy of six), who does not seem to have learnt mercy or humanity from them. The accession of the prince and princess to the throne seemed to augur well for Gay's fortunes; but he was only offered the situation of gentleman-usher to the little Princess Louisa, a child under three, and considering this an insult, he rejected it. In 1726 Swift had come to England, and lived two months with Pope at Twickenham. At this or some earlier date, the Dean had sug

(From a Sketch by Sir G. Kneller in the National Portrait Gallery.) gested to Gay the idea of a Newgate pastoral, in which the characters should be thieves and highwaymen; and The Beggar's Opera was the result. The two friends were doubtful of the success of the piece, but it was received with unbounded applause. The songs and music aided greatly its popularity, and there was also the recommendation of political satire; for the quarrel between Peachum and Lockit was accepted as an allusion to a personal collision between Walpole and his colleague, Lord Townshend. The spirit and variety of the piece, in which song and sentiment are cheerfully intermixed with vice and roguery, still render the Beggar's Opera a favourite with the public; but as Gay succeeded in making highwaymen agreeable and attractive, it can hardly be commended for its moral tendency-a matter of little account with

even

the epicurean playwright, who was, in Pope's

words

Of manners gentle, of affections mild;

In wit a man, simplicity a child.

The opera had a run of sixty-two nights, became the rage of town and country, and had also the effect of giving rise to the English opera, a species of light comedy enlivened by songs and music, which for a time supplanted the Italian opera, with all its exotic and elaborate graces. By this successful opera Gay, as appears from the manager's account-book, cleared £693, 13s. 6d. besides what he derived from its publication. He tried a sequel to the Beggar's Opera, under the title of Polly; but as it was supposed to contain sarcasms on the court, the Lord Chamberlain prohibited its representation. The author had recourse to publication; and such was the zeal of his friends and the effect of party-spirit that Polly produced a profit of £1100 or £1200. Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, gave £100 as her subscription for a copy. Gay had now amassed £3000 by his writings, which he resolved to keep 'entire and sacred.' He was at the same time received into the house of his kind patrons the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, with whom he spent the remainder of his life. His only literary occupation was composing additional fables, and corresponding occasionally with Pope and Swift. A sudden attack of inflammatory fever carried him off in three days. Pope's letter to Swift announcing the event was endorsed: 'On my dear friend Mr Gay's death. Received, December 15th, but not read till the 20th, by an impulse foreboding some misfortune.' And nothing in Swift's life is more touching or honourable to his memory than those passages in his letters where the recollection of his friend melted his haughty stoicism. Gay was buried in Westminster Abbey, where a costly monument erected by the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry bears his own lines:

Life is a jest, and all things show it:

I thought so once, and now I know it.

The works of this genial son of the Muses, which have lost much of their popularity, show the licentiousness without the elegance of Prior. His Fables are still the best we possess; and if they have not the rich humour and archness of La Fontaine's, they are light and pleasing, and are always smooth in versification. The Hare with Many Friends is doubtless drawn from the fabulist's own experience. In the Court of Death he tries a higher flight, and marshals his 'diseases dire' with strong and gloomy power. His song of Black-eyed Susan and the 'ballad' beginning "Twas when the seas were roaring' are full of characteristic tenderness and lyrical melody. This ballad (in the then usual sense of the word) was said by Cowper to have been the joint production of Arbuthnot, Swift, and Gay, but the tradition is not supported by evidence.

The Country Ballad-singer.
Sublimer strains, O rustic Muse! prepare;
Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care ;
Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise,
The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays;
With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse,
While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse.
'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil

Of the ripe harvest 'gan to rid the soil;
Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout,
Clean damsels bound the gathered sheaves about ;
The lads with sharpened hook and sweating brow
Cut down the labours of the winter plough.

When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spied,
His hat and oaken staff lay close beside;
That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing,
Or with the rosined bow torment the string;
That Bowzybeus who, with finger's speed,
Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed;
That Bowzybeus who, with jocund tongue,
Ballads, and roundelays, and catches sung:
They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright,
And in disport surround the drunken wight.

Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long?
The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous strong!
Thou shouldst have left the fair before 'twas night,
But thou sat'st toping till the morning light. . .
No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song
But lads and lasses round about him throng.
Not ballad-singer placed above the crowd
Sings with a note so shrilling sweet and loud;
Nor parish-clerk, who calls the psalm so clear,
Like Bowzybeus soothes the attentive ear.

Of Nature's laws his carols first begun-
Why the grave owl can never face the sun.
For owls, as swains observe, detest the light,
And only sing and seek their prey by night.
How turnips hide their swelling heads below,
And how the closing coleworts upwards grow;
How Will-a-Wisp misleads night-faring clowns
O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs.
Of stars he told that shoot with shining trail,
And of the glowworm's light that gilds his tail.
He sung where woodcocks in the summer feed,
And in what climates they renew their breed-
Some think to northern coasts their flight they tend,
Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend—
Where swallows in the winter's season keep,
And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep;
How Nature does the puppy's eyelid close
Till the bright sun has nine times set and rose
(For huntsmen by their long experience find
That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind).
Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows,
For still new fairs before his eyes arose.
How pedlers' stalls with glittering toys are laid,
The various fairings of the country maid.
Long silken laces hang upon the twine,
And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine;

How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissors spies,
And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes.
Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told,
Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold.
The lads and lasses trudge the street along,
And all the fair is crowded in his song.
The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells

His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells;
Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs,
And on the rope the venturous maiden swings;
Jack Pudding, in his parti-coloured jacket,
Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet.
Of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats,
Of pockets picked in crowds, and various cheats.
(From The Shepherd's Week-Saturday; or, the Flights.)

On the Streets of London.

Through winter streets to steer your course aright,
How to walk clean by day, and safe by night;
How jostling crowds with prudence to decline,
When to assert the wall, and when resign,
I sing; Thou, Trivia, Goddess, aid my song,
Through spacious streets conduct thy bard along;
By thee transported, I securely stray
Where winding alleys lead the doubtful way;
The silent court and opening square explore,
And long perplexing lanes untrod before.

To pave thy realm, and smooth the broken ways,
Earth from her womb a flinty tribute pays;
For thee the sturdy pavior thumps the ground,
Whilst every stroke his labouring lungs resound;
For thee the scavenger bids kennels glide
Within their bounds, and heaps of dirt subside.
My youthful bosom burns with thirst of fame,
From the great theme to build a glorious name;
To tread in paths to ancient bards unknown,
And bind my temples with a civic crown :
But more, my country's love demands the lays;
My country's be the profit, mine the praise!

When the black youth at chosen stands rejoice,
And Clean your shoes' resounds from every voice;
When late their miry sides stage-coaches shew,
And their stiff horses through the town move slow;
When all the Mall in leafy ruin lies,
And damsels first renew their oyster-cries,
Then let the prudent walker shoes provide,
Not of the Spanish or Morocco hide ;

The wooden heel may raise the dancer's bound,
And with the scalloped top his step be crowned:
Let firm, well-hammered soles protect thy feet
Through freezing snows, and rains, and soaking sleet.
Should the big last extend the shoe too wide,
Each stone will wrench the unwary step aside;
The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein,
Thy cracking joint unhinge, or ankle sprain;
And when too short the modish shoes are worn,
You'll judge the seasons by your shooting corn.
Nor should it prove thy less important care
To choose a proper coat for winter wear.
Now in thy trunk thy D'Oily habit fold,
Thy silken drugget ill can fence the cold;
The frieze's spongy nap is soaked with rain,

And showers soon drench the camblet's cockled grain ;
True Witney broadcloth, with its shag unshorn,
Unpierced is in the lasting tempest worn :

Be this the horseman's fence, for who would wear
Amid the town the spoils of Russia's bear?
Within the Roquelaure's clasp thy hands are pent,
Hands that, stretched forth, invading harms prevent.
Let the looped Bavaroy the fop embrace,
Or his deep cloak bespattered o'er with lace.
That garment best the winter's rage defends
Whose shapeless form in ample plaits depends;

By various names in various counties known,
Yet held in all the true Surtout alone;
Be thine of Kersey firm, though small the cost,
Then brave unwet the rain, unchilled the frost.

If the strong cane support thy walking hand,
Chairmen no longer shall the wall command;
Even sturdy carmen shall thy nod obey,
And rattling coaches stop to make thee way:
This shall direct thy cautious tread aright,
Though not one glaring lamp enliven night.
Let beaux their canes, with amber tipt, produce;
Be theirs for empty show, but thine for use.
In gilded chariots while they loll at ease,
And lazily insure a life's disease;

While softer chairs the tawdry load convey
To Court, to White's, Assemblies, or the Play;
Rosy-complexioned Health thy steps attends,
And exercise thy lasting youth defends.

(From Trivia, Book i.)

D'Oily or Doyley, who gave name to a kind of woollen stuff 'at once cheap and genteel,' and to ornamental napkins, was a linendraper who had a shop in the Strand. White's was a chocolatehouse in St James's Street.

Song.

Virgins are like the fair flower in its lustre,
Which in the garden enamels the ground;
Near it the bees, in play, flutter and cluster,
And gaudy butterflies frolic around.

But when once plucked, 'tis no longer alluring,
To Covent Garden 'tis sent (as yet sweet),
There fades, and shrinks, and grows past all enduring,
Rots, stinks, and dies, and is trod under feet.

(From The Beggar's Opera.) There is a close parallel to this in the words of Effie Deans in the Heart of Mid-Lothian: 'I thought o' the bonny bit thorn that our father rooted out o' the yard last May, when it had a' the flush o' blossoms on it; and then it lay in the court till the beasts had trod them a' to pieces wi' their feet. I little thought when I was wae for the bit silly green bush and its flowers, that I was to gang the same gate mysell.'

The Court of Death.
Death, on a solemn night of state,
In all his pomp of terror sate:
The attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire, a ghastly train!
Crowd the vast court.

With hollow tone,

A voice thus thundered from the throne:
"This night our minister we name;
Let every servant speak his claim;
Merit shall bear this ebon wand.'
All, at the word, stretched forth their hand.
Fever, with burning heat possessed,
Advanced, and for the wand addressed:
'I to the weekly bills appeal;

Let those express my fervent zeal ;
On every slight occasion near,
With violence I persevere.'

Next Gout appears with limping pace,
Pleads how he shifts from place to place;
From head to foot how swift he flies,
And every joint and sinew plies;
Still working when he seems supprest,
A most tenacious stubborn guest.
A haggard spectre from the crew
Crawls forth, and thus asserts his due :