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are not

ments of age. The generous reasonings of “ spleen, seldom fail to plague me twice or thrice s chat gallant youth would adorn your paper ; a day to cheapen tea, or buy a skreen; what

and I beg you would insert them, not doubt else should they mean ?” as they often repeat ' ing but that they will give good entertain it. These Rakes are your idle ladies of fathion, ment to the most intelligent of your readers. . who, having nothing to do, employ themselves

“ So these three men cealed to answer Job, in tumbling over my ware. One of these no“ because he was righteous in his own eyes. customers (for by the way they seldom or ever Then was kindled the wrath of Elihu, the ion buy any thing) calls for a set of tea-dishes, « of Barachel the Buzite, of the kindred of Ram: another for a bason, a third for my best greenagainst Job was his wrath kindied, because tea, and even to the punch-bowl, there is “ he justified himself rather than God, also • scarce a piece in my shop but must be displaced, against his three friends was his wrath kind and the whole agreeable architecture disordered; “ led, because they had found no answer, ' so that I can compare them to nothing but to “ and yet had condemned Job. Now Elihu (the night-goblins that take a pleasure to over" had waited till Job had spoken, because they I turn the disposition of plates and dishes in the were elder than he. When Elihu saw there

kitchens of your housewifely maids. Well, was no answer in the inouth of there three after all this racket and clutter, this is too dear,

men, then his wrath was kindled. And " that is their aversion ; another thing is charm« Elihu, the son of Barachel the Buzite, an ing, but not wanted : the ladies are cured of « swered aud said, I am young and ye are the spleen, but I am not a shilling the better for

very old, wherefore I was afraid, and durst .it, Lord! what fignifies one poor pot of tea, « not new you mine opinion. said, days considering the trouble they put me to? Va" should speak, and multitude of years should pours, Mr, Spectator , are terrible things; for « teach wisdom. But there is a spirit in a man • though I am not possessed by them myself, I " and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth suffer more from them than if I were. Now I or them understanding. Great men

" must beg you to admonish all such day-goblins “ always wise, neither do the aged understand to make fewer visits, or to be less troublesome “ judgment. Therefore I said, hearken to ' when they come to one's shop: and to convince « me, I also will new you mine opinion. Be • them that we honest Mopkeepers have some“ hold I waited for your words; I gave ear thing better to do, than to cure folks of the va. to your reasons, whilst you searched out what

pours gratis. A young son of mine, a school" to say. Yea, I attended unto you : and be boy, is my secretary, so I hope you will make “ hold there was none of you that convinced

allowances. « Job, or that answered his words ; left you

“I am, SIR, « should say, we have found out wisdom : God

• Your constant reader, “ thrusteth him down, not man. Now he

' and very liumble servant « hath not directed his words against me: March the 22d. • Rebecca the distressed." « neither will I answer him with your speeches. T They were amazed ; they answered no more : « they left off speaking. When I had waited « (for they spake not, but stood still and an

No. 337. THURSDAY, MARCH 27. * Iwered no more) I said, I will answer also Fingit equum tencra docilem cervice magister, « my part, I also will few mine opinion. Ire viam quam monftrat eques “ For I am full of matter, the spirit within me

Hor. Ep. 2.1. 1. v. 64. si constraineth me. Behold, my belly is as « wine which hath no vent, it is ready to

The jockey trains the young and tender horse,

While yet soft-mouth'd, and breeds him to the “ burit like new bottles. I will speak that I


CREECH. « may be refreshed: 1 will open my lips and 6 answer. Let me not, I pray you, accept

HAVE lately received a third letter from the any man's person, neither let me give flattering titles unto man. For I know not to two essays upon education. As his thoughts seem “ give Hattering titles ; in so doing my Maker to be very just and new upon this subject, I thall « wouid foon take me away."

communicate them to the reader. * Mr. Spectator,

“SIR, HAVE formerly read with great satisfaction F I had not been hindered by some extraor

your papers about idols, and the behaviour dinary business, I should have sent you " of gentlemen in those coffee-houses where wo • sooner my further thoughts upon education.

men officiate, and impatiently waited to see you - You may please to remember that in my last "s take India and china shops into consideration : letter I endeavoured to give the best reasons < But fince you have passed us over in silence, ei that could be urged in favour of a private or “ther that you have not as yet thought us worth public education. Upon the whole it may per

your notice, or that the grievances we lie under haps be thought that I seemed rather inclined “ have escaped your discerning eye, I must make ' to the latter, though at the same time I con

my complaints to you, and am encouraged • fessed that virtue, which ought to be our first “ to it, because you seem a little at leisure at this " and principal care, was more usually acquired

present writing. I am, dear Sir, one of the s in the former,

top china-women about town; and, though I ' I intend therefore, in this letter, to offer at “ fay it, keep as good things, and receive as fine " methods, by which I conceive boys might be

company as any o'this end of the town, let the 'made' to improve in virtue, as they advance in “ other be who she will : in short, I am in a fair letters.

way to be cafy, were it not for a club of female ' I know that in most of our public schools Rakes, who under pretence of taking their in vice is punished and discouraged, whenever it nocent rambles, forsooth, and diverting the is found out; but this is far from being fuf


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« ficient, unless our youth are at the same time you not see (says he) the miserable condition < taught to form a right judgment of things, and of Burrus, and the son of Albus ? Let the to know what is properly virtue.

misfortunes of those two wretches teach you to • To this end, whenever they read the lives and avoid luxury and extravagance. If he would " actions of such men as have been famous in inspire me with an abherrence to debauchery, " their generation, it should not be thought Do not (fays he) make yourself like Sectanus, ' enough to make them barely understand so when you may be happy in the enjoyment of

many Greek or Latin sentences, but they should lawful pleasures. How scandalous (says he) • be asked their opinion of such an action or say is the character of Trebonius, who was lately ring, and obliged to give their reasons why they :. caught in bed with another man's wife? To il.. (take it to

good or bad. By this means they lustrate the forse of this method, the poet adds, I would insensibly arrive at proper notions of that as a headstrong patient, who will not at courage, teniferance, honour, and justice. « first follow his physician's prescriptions, grows "There must be great care taken how the exam I orderly when he hears that his neighbours die ple of any particular person is recommended to all about him ; so youth is often frighted from • them in grofs ; instead of which they ought to (vice, by hear ing the ill reports it brings upon « be taught wherein such a man, though great in 6 others. • some respects, was weak and faulty in others. Xenophon's schools of equity, in his life of • For want of this caution, a boy is often fo 'Cyrus the great, are sufficiently famous. He

dazzled with the lustre of a great character, tells us, that the Persian children went to ' that he confounds its beauties with its ble • school, and employed their time as diligently ( mishes, and looks even upon the faulty part of in learning the principles of justice and so" it with an eye of admiration..

briety, as the youth in other countries did to • I have often wondered how Alexander, who o acquire the most difficult arts and sciences : was naturally of a generous and merciful dis their governors spent most part of the day in • pofition, came to be guilty of so barbarous an hearing their mutual accusations one against " action as that of dragging the governor of a ļ the other, whether for violence, cheating,

town after his chariot. I know this is generally nander, or ingratitude; and taught them how • ascribed to his passion for Homer; but I lately to give judgment against those who were found

met with a passage in Plutarch, which, if I am to be any ways guilty of these crimes. I omit not very much mistaken, still gives us a clearer the story of the long and short coat, for which

light into the motives of this action. Plutarch Cyrus himself was punished, as a case equally • tells us, that Alexander in his youth had a o known with any in Lyttleton. • master named Lysimachus, who, though he The method, which Apuleius tells us the

was a man deftitute of all politeness, ingra- ' Indian Gymnosophists took to educate their • tiated himself both with Philip and his pupil, • disciples, is still more curious and remarkable, • and became the second man at court, by calling ‘His words are as follow : When their dinner is

the King Peleus, the Prince Achilles, and him ready, before it is served up, the masters en. • felf Phoenix. It is no wonder if Alexander . quire of every particular scholar how he has • having been thus used not only to admire but to ' employed his time since sun.rising; some of

personate Achilles, should think it glorious to " them answer, that having been chosen as ar

imitate him in this piece of cruelty and extra biters between two persons, they have com( vagance.

posed their differences, and made them friends; To carry this thought yet further, I mall some, that they have been executing the orders submit it to your confideration, whether in of their parents; and others, that they have « Atead of a theme or copy of verses, which are either found out something new by their own • the usual exercises, as they are called in the application, or learnt it from the instructions of • school phrase, it would not be more proper their fellows; but if their happens to be any • that a boy should be tasked once or twice a week one among them, who cannot make it appear • to write down his opinion of such persons and " that he has employed the morning to advantage,

things as occur to him in his reading; that he he is immediately excluded from the company, should descant upon the actions of Turnus or and obliged to work while the rest are ac Æneas, Thew wherein they excelled or were

( dinner. defective, censure or approve any particular "It is not impoflible, that from these several " action, observe how it might have been car ways of producing virtue in the minds of boys, s ried to a greater degree of perfection, and how fome general method might be invented. What

it exceeded or fell short of another. He might I would endeayeur to inculcate, is, that our « at the same time mark what was moral in any youth cannot be too soon taught the principles • speech, and how far it agreed with the character of virtue, seeing the first impressions which of the person speaking. This exercise would are made on the mind are always the strongest, « foon strengthen his judgment in what is blame "The archbishop of Cambray makes Tele"able or praise-worthy, and give him an early machus say, that, though he was young in seasoning of morality.

years, lie was old in the art of knowing how to Next to those examples which may be met keep both his own and his friends secrets. 6 with in books, I very much approve Horace's "When my father, says the prince, went to the

way of setting before youth the infamous or ho îege of Troy, he took me on his knees, and after ( nourable characters of their contemporaries : having embraced and blessed me, as he was sur" that poet tells us, this was the method his fa rounded by the uobles of Itha":, O my friends, " ther made use of to incline him to any particu says he, into your hands I commit the educa" lar virtue, or give him an averfion to any parti- stion of my son; if ever you loved his father, *cular vice. If, fays Horace, my father ad 'thew it in your care towards himn : but above • vised ine te, live within bounds, and be con all, do not omitto form him just, fir.cere, and 6 tented with the fortune he should leave me; Do faithful in keeping a secret. These words of


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my father, says Telamachus, were continually fuch as flowed from the exactest art and judge (repeated to me by his friends in his absence; ment: though I must confess that my curiosiwho made no scruple of communicating to me ty lcd me so much to observe the knight's reflextheir uneasiness to see my mother surrounded 'ions, that I was not so well at leisure to improve

with lovers, and the measures they designed to ' myself by yours. Nature, I found played her < take on that occa.jon. He adds, that he was so part in the knight pretty well, till at the last • ravished at being thus treated like a man, and concluding lines the entirely forsook him. You " and at the confidence reposed in him, that he must know, Sir, that it is always my custom,

never once abused it; por could all the insinu ( when I have been well entertained at a new rations of his father's rivals ever get him to be tragedy, to make my retreat before the facetious ' tray what was committed to him under the seal epilogue enters; not but that those pieces are 6 of secrecy.

often very well writ, but having paid down my • There is hardly any virtue which a lad might half-crown, and made a fair purchase of as I not thus learn by practice and example, ' much of the pleasing melancholy as the poet's

I have heard of a good man, who used at cer art can afford me, or my own nature admit of, • tain times to give his scholars six-pence a-piece, I am willing to carry some of it home with me " that they might tell him the next day how they 6 and cannot endure to be at once tricked out of • had employed it. The third part was always " all, though by the wittiest dexterity in the

to be laid out in charity, and every boy was ' world. However, Į kept my seat the other « blamed or commended as he could make it ap night, in hopes of finding my own sentiments pear he had chosen a fit object.

of this matter favoured by your friend's; when • In short, nothing is more wanting to our "to my great surprise, I found the Knight enterpublic schools, than that the masters of them Sing with equal pleasure into both parts, and as "Thould use the same care in fathioning the man

o much satisfied with Mrs. Oldfield's gaiety, as ners of their scholars, as in forming their tongues " he had been before with Andromache's greatto the learned languages. Wherever the former (ness, Whether this were no other than an effect

is omitted, I cannot help agreeing with Mr. 6 of the Knight's peculiar humanity, pleased to • Locke, that a man must have a very strange < find at lait, that after all the tragical doings ( value for words, when preferring the languages every thing was safe and well, I don't know.

of the Greeks and Romans to that which made • But for my own part, I must confess I was so (them such brave men, he can think it worth • dissatisfied, that I was sorry the poet had saved ( while to hazard the innocence and virtue of his • Andromache, and could heartily have wished <fon for a little Greek and Latin.

that he had left her stone-dead upon the stage. " As the subject of this essay is of the highest ' For you cannot imagine, Mr. Spectator, the importance, and what I do not remember to ( mischief she was reserved to do me. I found have yet seen treated by any author, I have sent my soul, during the action, gradually worked.

you what occurred to me on it from my own up to the highest pitch ; and felt the exalted o observation or reading, and which you may passion, which all generous minds conceive at o either suppress or publish, as you think fit. "the light of virtue in distress. The impression, I am, Sir, Yours, &c. х believe me, Sir, was so strong upon me, that I

am persuaded if I had been let alone in it, I

could at an extremity have ventured to defend No. 338. FRIDAY, MARCH 28. yourself and Sir Roger against half a score of the

fiercest Mohocs : but the ludicrous epilogue in -Nil fuit unquam

" the close extinguished all my ardour, and made Tam dipar dibim

me look upon all such noble atchievments as Hor. Sat. 3. 1. 1. 1. 18. downright filly and romantic. What the rest

of the audience felt, I cannot so well tell : for Made up of nought but inconsistencies.

' myself I must declare, that at the end of the Find the tragedy of The Distressed Mother play I found my soul uniform, and all of a

piece; but at the end of the epilogue, it was so logue, I suppose, pleads an old excuse I have - jumbled together and divided between jest and read somewhere of “ being dull with design :" earnest, that if you will forgive me an extravaand the gentleman who writ the epilogue, has, gant fancy, I will here set it down. I could to my knowledge, so much of greater moment to ' not but fancy, if my foul had at that moment value himself upon, that he will easily forgive quitted my body, and defcended to the poetical me for publishing the exceptions made against thades in the posture it was then in, what a gaiety at the end of serious entertainments, in the ftrange figure it would have made among following letter : I Mould be more unwilling to - them. They would not have known what to pardon him, than any body, a practice which « have made of my motley spectre, half comic and cannot have any ill consequence, but from the a half tragic, all over 'resembling a ridiculous bilities of the person who is guilty of it.

face, that at the same time laughs on one side "Mr. Spectator,

6 and cries on the other. The only defence, I Had the happiness the other night of fitting " think, I have ever heard made for this, as it

very near you and your worthy friend Sir seems to me the most unnatural tack of the co« Roger, at the acting of the new tragedy, which mic tail to the tragic head, is this, that the ' you have in a late paper or two so juftly recom minds of the audience must be refreshed, and « mended, I was highly pleased with the advan gentle nen and ladies not fent away to their

tageous situation fortune had given me in own homes with too dismal and melancholy placing me to near two gentlemen, from thoughts about them: for who knows the con

one of which I was sure to hear such re sequence of this ? We are much obliged indeed • flexions on the several incidents of the play, ! to the poets for the great tenderness they exas pure nature suggedted, and from the other press for the safety of our persons, and heartily


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• thank them for it. But if that be all, pray, and worked up with passion. The author ap

good Sir, afsure them, that we are none of us pears in a kind of composed and sedate majesty; like to come to any great harm; and that, let and though the sentiments do not give so great "them do their best, we Mall in all probability an emotion as those in the former book, they a

live out the length of our days, and frequent bound with as magnificent ideas. The sixth " the theatres more than ever. What makes me book, like a troubled ocean, represents greatness more desirous to have some information of this in confufion; the seventh affects the imagination matter, is, because of an ill consequence or two like the ocean in a calm, and fills the mind of the

attending it: for a great many of our church reader, without producing in it any thing like ' musicians being related to the theatre, they tumult or agitation.

have, in imitation of these epilogues, introduced The critic above-mentioned, among the rules in their farewell voluntaries à fort lof music which he lays down for succeeding in the fublime quite foreign to the design of church-services, way of writing, propofis to his reader, that he

to the great prejudice of well-disposed people. should imitate the most celebrated authors who « Those fingering gentlemen should be informed have gone before him, and have been engaged in

that they ought to suit their airs to the place, works of the same nature; as in particular, that, o and business; and that the musician is obliged if he writes on a poetical subject, he should con" to keep to the text as much as the preacher. sider how Homer would have spoken on such an • For want of this, I have found by experience a occafion. By this means one great genius often

great deal of mischief: for when the preacher catches the flame from another, and writes in his

has often, with great piety and art enough, spirit, without copying servilely after him. There « handled his subject, and the judicious clerk has are a thousand shining passages in Virgil, which (with the utmost diligence culled out two staves have been lighted up by Homer.

proper to the discourse, and I have found in my. Milton, though his own natural strength of • self and in the rest of the pew good thoughts genius was capable of furnishing out a perfect

and dispositions, they have been all in a mo- work, has doubtless very much raised and ennobled * ment dislipated by a merry jigg from the organ- his conceptions by such an imitation as that which ( loft. One knows not what further ill effects Longinus has recommended.

the epilogues I have been speaking of may in In this book, which gives us an account of the

time produce: but this I am credibly informed fix days work, the poet received but very few « of,thatPaul Lorrain has resolved upon a very sud- assistances from Hoathien writers, who are stran.

den reformation in his tragical dramas; and that gers to the wonders of creation. But as there are ' at the next monthly performance, he designs, in, many glorious strokes of poetry upon this subject « ftead of a penitential psalm, to dimiss his audi- in holy writ, the author has numberlefs allutions

ence with an excellent new ballad of his own to them through the whole course of this book. • composing, Pray, Sir, do what you can to put the great critic I have before mentioned, though

a stop to these growing evils, and you will very an heathen, has taken notice of the sublime man6 much oblige

ner in which the lawgiver of the Jews has de6 Your humble Servaut,

scribed the creation in the first chapter of Genesis; Physibulus.'

and there are many other passages in scripture, which rise up to the same majesty, where this

subject is touched upon. Milton has shewn his SATURDAY, MARCH. 29° of these as were proper for his poem, and in duly

judgment very remarkably, in making use of such -Ut his exordia primis

qualifying those high strains of eastern poetry, Omnia, & ipfe tener mundi concreverit orbis.

which were suited to readers whose imaginations Tum durare folum & discludere Nerea ponto

were set to an higher pitch than those of colder

climates. Ceperit, & rerum paulatim sumere formas

VIRG. Ecl. 6. v. 33.

Adam's speech to the angel, wherein he desires

an account of what had passed within the regions He sung the secret seeds of nature's frame; of nature before the creation, is very great and How seas, and earth, and air, and active fame,

solemn. The following lines, in which he tells Fell through the mighty void, and in their fall

him, that the day is not too far spent for hiin Were blindly gather'd in this goodly ball.

to enter upon such a subject, are exquisite in their The tender foil then stiff’ning by degrees, kind. Shut from the bounded earth the bounding seas The earth and ocean various forms disclose, And the great light of day yet wants to run And a new fun to the new world arose.

Much of his race, though steep; suspencein Heav'n

DRYDEN: Held by thy voice; thy potent voice, he hears, ONGINUS has observed, that there may His generation, &c.

And longer will delay to hear thee tell be a loftiness in sentiments where there is no passion, and brings instances out of ancient The angel's encouraging our first parents in a authors to support this his opinion. The pa- modest pursuit after knowledge, with the causes thetic, as that great critic obferves, may animate which he assigns for the creation of the world, are and infiame the sublime, but is not eilential to very just and beautiful. The Meffiah, by whom, it. Accordingly, as he further remarks, we very as we are told in Scripture, the Heavens were often find that those, who excel most in stirring made, comes forth in the power of his Father, up the palons, very often want the talent of surrounded with an host of angels, and cloathed writing in the great and sublime manner, and so with such a Majesty as becomes his entering upon the contrary. Milton has shewn himself a on a work, which, according to our conceptions, master in both these ways of writing. The fe- appears the utmost exertion of Omnipotence. venth book, which we are now entering upon, is What a beautiful description has our author raised an instance of that sublime which is not mixed upon that hint in one of the prophets ! “ Ard


N° 339


“ behoid there came four chariots out from be- the earth in a measure, weighing the mountains

tween two mountains, and the mountains were in scales, and the hills in a balance. Another of « mountains of brass."

them describing the Supreme Being in this great About his chariot numberless were pour'd

work of creation, represents hini as laying the Cherub and Seraph, potentates and thrones,

foundations of the earth, and stretching a line And virtues, wingod spirits, and chariots wingid upon it: and in another place as garnishing the From th' armoury of God, where stand of old

Heavens, stretching out the north over the empMyriads between two brazen mountains lodg'd

ty place, and hanging the earth upon nothing.

This last noble thought Milton has expressed in Against a folemn day, harness'd at hand, Coleftial equipage; and now came forth

the following verse: Spontaneous, for within them fpirit liv'd, And earth self-balanc'd on her centre hung. Attendant on their Lord: Heav'n open'd wide Her ever-during gates, harmonious found!

The beauties of description in this book lie fo On golden hinges moving

very thick, that it is impossible to enumerate them

in this paper. The poer has employed on them I have before taken notice of these chariots of the whole energy of our tongue. The several God, and of these gates of Heaven; and shall here great scenes of the creation rite up to view onę only add, that Homer gives us the same idea of after another, in such a manner that the reader the latter, as opening of themselves; though he seems present at this wonderful work, and to afterwards takes off from it, by telling us, that affist among the choirs of angels, who are the the hours first of all removed those prodigious spectators of it. How glorious is the conclusion heaps of clouds which lay as a barrier before them. of the first day!

I do not know any thing in the whole pcem more sublime than the description which follows,

-Thus was the first day ev'n and morn: where the Messiah is represented at the head of

Nor past uncelebrated, nor unfung his angels, as looking down into the chaos, calm- By the celestial choirs, when orient light ing its confusion, riding into the midst of it, and Exhaling first from darkness they behold; drawing the first out-line of the creation.

Birth-day of Heav'n and Earth! with joy and shout

The hollow universal orb they fill'd. On heav'nly ground they stood, and from the more

We have the same elevation of thought in the They view'd the vast immeasurable abyss Outrageous as a sea, dark, watteful, wild,

third day, when the mountains were brought Up from the bottom turn’d by furious winds

forth, and the deep was made. And surging waves, as mountains to assault Immediately the mountains huge appear Heav'n's height, and with the centre mix the pole. Emergent, and théir broad bare backs upheave

Silence,ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace, Into the clouds, their tops ascend the sky:
Said then th' omnific word, your discord end: So high as heav’n the tumid hills, so low
Nor staid, but on the wings of Cherubim Down funk a hollow bottom broad and deep,
Up-lifted, in paternal giory rode

Capacious bed of waters-
Tar into Chaos, and the world unborn;
For Chaos hcard his voice. Him all his train

We have also the rising of the whole vegetable

world described in this day's work, which is filled Follow'd in bright proceífion, to behold Creation and the wonders of his might.

with all the graces that other poets have lavished Then stay'd the fervid wheels, and in his hand

on their description of the spring, and leads the He took the golden compasses, prepar'd

reader's imagination into a theatre equally surIn God's eternal store to circumscribe

prising and beautiful. This universe, and all created things :

The several glories of the heavens make their One foot he center'd, and the other turn'd

appearance on the fourth day. Round through the vast profundity obscure, First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, And said, thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, Regenè of day, and all th' horizon round This be thy just circumference, O world! Invested with bright rays, jocund to run The thought of the golden compasses is con

His longitude thro' heav'n's high road; the grey ceived altogether in Homer's spirit, and is a

Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danc'd, a very nobie incident in this wonderful defcrip. But opposite in levelld west was set

Shedding sweet influence: less bright the Moon, tion. Homer, when he speaks of the Gods, alcribes to them several arms and instruments with His mirrour, with full face borrowing her light the same greatness of imagination. Let the reader From him, for other lights the needed none only peruse the description Minerva's Ægis,

In that aspect, and still that distance keeps or buckler, in the fifth bock, with her fpear, Revolvid on heav'n's great axle, and her reign

. Till night; then in the east her turn she shines, which would overturn whole squadrons, and her with thousand lefser lights dividual holds, helinet, that was sufficient to cover an army With thousand thousand star3, that then appear'd drawn out of an hundred cities. The golden compasses in the above-mentioned passage appeara

Spangling the hemisphere. very natural inftrumentin the hand of him, whom One would wonder how the poet could be fo Plato fomewhere calls the divine geometrician. As concise in his description of the fix days works, as pcetry delights in cloathing abitracted ideas in to comprehend them within the bounds of an e. allegories and sensible images, we find a magni- pisode, and at the same time so particular, as to ficent description of the creation formed after the give us a lively idea of them. This is still more same manner in one of the prophets, wherein he remarkable in his account of the fifth and fixth describes the almighty architect as measuring the days, in which he has drawn out to our view the waters in the hollow of his hand, meting out the whole animal creation, from the reptile to the þcaveas with his span, comprehending the duit of Behemoth. As the Lion and the Leviathan are


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