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tomper and affections, will make things go right without, in all the duties and acts of our callings.
A CONTRACTED SPHERE NO SECURITY AGAINST WORLDLINESS.
The heart may be engaged in a little business as much, if thou watch it not, as in many and great affairs. A man may drown in a little brook or pool, as well as in a great river, if he be down and plunge himself into it, and put his head under water. Some care thou must have, that thou mayest not care. Those things that are thorns indeed, thou must make a hedge of them, to keep out those temptations that accompany sloth, and extreme want that waits on it; but let them bę the hedge: suffer them not to grow within the garden.
ANNE KILLEGREW. Died 1685. Tais very accomplished young woman, whom Dryden has immortalized, was the daughter of the Rev. Dr. Henry Killegrew, one of the prebendaries of Westminster. She gave strong indications of genius at a very early age, and became equally eminent in the sister arts of poetry and painting, as well as distinguished for her unblemished virtue and exemplary piety, amid the seductions of a licentious court. She was one of the maids of honor to the Duchess of York, but was cut off in the midst of her usefulness and fame, falling a victim to the small-pox in the summer of 1685, in her twenty-fifth year.
Nor aught of art or labor use:
Nor equal be their feet, nor numerous let them flow.
The ruggeder my measures run when read,
Which flattering hope presents,
For 'tis not long before their feet
Where s nought their ruin to impede:
The sight does all their powers confound,
Where storms of sighs for ever blow,
Which drown them in a briny flood.
Nought that the world can show,
Ah! too successful to betray,
Or greedy avarice would wish to save,
Or in the sea has found a grave,
Or purchase for the mind's relief
Wlio can accept for pay
Of what he does, what others say,
To lull a mind to rest,
'Twas not Amalek's vanquish'd cry, Nor Israel's shouts of victory,
That could in Saul the rising passion lay; 'Twas the soft strains of David's lyre the evil spirit chased away
Respired, did life supply?
Oh! thither let me fly!
The lover's sighs, and the afllicteil's cars,
The grating noise of private jars,
The word, the look that may deceive.
My profound peace shake or molest:
That so I may anticipate that rest
EDMUND WALLER. 1605–1687. EDMOND WALLER hardly deserves a place among the best names in Eng lish literature, cither as a poet or as a man; and in giving him a small space here, I yield my own judgment to that of Dryden and Pope. He was born in 1605, studied at Cambridge, and was admitted into parliament as early a: bis eighteenth year. In political life he was a mere time-server, veering from the king to the parliament, and from the parliament to the king, as each might happen for the time to possess the ascendency. As a member of par. liament he at first took the popular side, but soon after he joined in a plot to let the king's forces into the city, for which he was tried and sentenced to one year's imprisonment, and to pay a fine of £10,000, and it is said that he spent three times that sum in bribes. He acquired the means to do this from hav. ing married in 1630 a rich heiress of London, who died the same year. After his release from prison he went to France, where it is said he lived on the proceeds of his wife's jewels which he took with him. At the Restoration he returned, and wrote a congratulatory address to Charles II., as he had before done to Cromwell; and when the monarch frankly told him how inferior the verses in his own praise were to those addressed to his predecessor, the hol: low-hearted, selfish sycophant replied, “ Poets, sire, succeed better in fiction than in truth.”
Of his conduct when in parliament, Bishop Burnet says, “ He never laid the business of the House to heart, being a vain and empty, though a witty man.” On the accession of James II., though eighty years of age, he way elected representative for a borough in Cornwall; but he did not live to wit. ness the glorious Revolution, having died the year before, October 21, 1687.
As a poet, Waller is certainly smooth," as Pope styles him, and compara :ively destitute of that affectation which characterizes most of his contempo raries. “If he rarely sinks, he never rises very high; and we find much good sense and selection, much skill in the mechanism of language and metre, without ardor and without imagination. In his amorous poetry he has little passion or sensibility; but he is never free and petulant, never tedious, and never absurd. His praise consists much in negations."i The following is a portion of what I deem his best piece, his Eulogy on Cromwell. «Of these lines," says Dr. Johnson, “ some are grand, some are graceful, and all are musical,"
1 Pallam'a "Introduction to the Literature of Europe," 11. 372, Harper's edition
A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR
Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds;
Your never-failing sword made war to cease;
On have we wonder'd, how you hid in peace
Your private life did a just pattern give.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,
Like Joseph's sheaves, pay reverence and bow. Of his shorter pieces, the following has been pronounced - one of the most graceful poems of an age from which a taste for the highest poetry was fast vanishing."
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
And shuns to have her graces spied,
Thou must have uncommended died.
Of beauty from the light retired:
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.
The common fate of all things rare
How small a part of time they sharo