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sure upon his new creation; when every part of nature seemed to re'oice in its existence; when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.

So ev'n and morn accomplish'd the sixth day:
Yet not till the Creator from his work
Desisting, though unwearied, up return'd,
Up to the heav'n of heav'ns, his high abode;
Thence to behold this new created world,
Th’ addition to his empire, how it show'd
In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair,
Answering his great idea; up he rode,
Follow'd with acclamation and the sound
Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tun'd
Angélic harmonies; the earth, the air
Resounded, (thou remember'st, for thou heard'st)
The heav'ns and all the constellations rung,
The planets in their station listning stood,
While the bright pomp ascended jubilant.
Open, ye everlasting gates, they sung:
Open, ye heav'ns, your living doors; let in
The great Creator from his work return'd
Magnificent, his six days work, a world!

I can not conclude this book upon the creation, without mentioning a poem which has lately appeared under that title. * The work was undertaken with so good an intention, and is executed with so great a mastery, that it deserves to be looked upon as one of the most useful and noble productions in our English verse. The reader can not but be pleased to find the depths of philosophy enlivened with all the charms of poetry, and to see so great a strength of reason amidst so beautiful a redundancy of the imagination.


A poem by Sir Richard Blackmore, M. D.

The author has shown us that design in all the works of nature, which necessarily leads us to the knowledge of its first cause. In short, he has illustrated, by numberless and incontestable instances, that divine wisdom, which the son of Sirach has so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in his formation of the world, when he tells us, that he created her, and saw her, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his works. ADDISON.


No. 340. MONDAY, MARCH 31.

Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes?
Quem sese ore ferens! quàm forti pectore et arms! VIRA.
What chief is this that visits us from far,
Whose gallant mien bespeaks him train'd to war?

I TAKE it to be the highest instance of a noble mind, to bear great qualities without discovering in a man's behaviour any consciousness that he is superior to the rest of the world. Or, to say it otherwise, it is the duty of a great person so to demean himself, as that, whatever endowments he may have, he may appear to value himself upon no qualities but such as any man may arrive at; he ought to think no man valuable but for his public spirit, justice and integrity; and all other endowments to be esteemed only as they contribute to the exerting those virtues. Sucha man,

if he is wise or valiant, knows it is of no consideration to other men that he is so, but as



he employs those high talents for their use and service. He who affects the applauses and addresses of a multitude, or assumes to himself a pre-eminence upon any other consideration, must soon turn admiration into contempt. It is certain, that there can be no merit in any man who is not conscious of it; but the sense that it is valuable only according to the application of it, makes that superiority amiable, which would otherwise be invidious. "In this light it is considered as a thing in which every man bears a share: it annexes the ideas of dignity, power, and fame, in in an agreeable and familiar manner, to him who is possessor of it; and all men who are strangers to him are naturally incited to indulge a curiosity in beholding the person, behaviour, feature and shape of him, in whose character, perhaps, each man had formed something in common with himself. Whether such, or any other, are the causes, all men have a yearning curiosity to behold a man of heroic worth; and I have had many letters from all parts of this kingdom, that request I would give them an exact account of the stature, the mien, the aspect, of the prince who lately visited England, and has done such wonders for the liberty of Europe. (See No. 241). It would puzzle the most curious to form to himself the sort of man my several correspondents expects to hear of, by the action mentioned, when they desire a description of him; there is always something that concerns themselves, and growing out of their own circumstances in all their inquiries. A friend of mine in Wales beseeches me to be very exact in my account of that wonderful man who had marched an army and

all its baggage over the Alps; and, if possible, to learn whether the peasant who showed him the way, and is drawn in the map, be yet living. A gentleman from the university, who is deeply intent on the study of humanity, desires me to be as particular, if I had an opportunity, in observing the whole interview between his highness and our late general. Thus do men's fancies work according to their several educations and circumstances; but all pay a respect, mixed with admiration, to this illustrious character. I have waited for his arrival in Holland, before I would let my correspondents know that I have not been so uncurious a spectator as not to have seen prince Eugene. It would be very difficult, as I said just now, to answer every expectation of those who have written to me on that head; nor is it possible for me to find words to let one know what an artful glance there is in his countenance who surprised Cremona; how daring he appears who forced the trenches at Turin: but, in general, I can say, that he who beholds him, will easily expect from him any thing that is to be imagined or executed by the wit or force of man. The prince is of that stature which makes a man most easily become all parts of exercise, has height to be graceful on occasions of state and ceremony, and no less adapted for agility and despatch; his aspect is erect and composed; his eye lively and thoughtful, yet rather vigilant than sparkling; his action and address the most easy imaginable, and his behaviour in an assembly peculiarly graceful, in a certain art of mixing insensibly with the rest and becoming one of the company, instead of receiving the courtship of it.

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The shape of his person, and composure of his limbs, are remarkably exact and beautiful. There is in his look something sublime, which does not seem to arise from his quality or character, but the innate disposition of his mind. It is apparent that he suffers the presence of much company, instead of taking delight in it: and he

appeared in public, while with us, rather to return goodwill, or satisfy curiosity, than to gratify any

taste he himself had of being popular. As his thoughts are never tumultuous in danger, they are as little discomposed on occasions of pomp and magnificence; a great soul is affected, in either case, no further than in considering the properest methods to extricate itself from them. If this hero has the strong incentives to uncommon enterprises that were remarkable in Alexander, he prosecutes and enjoys the fame of them with the justness, propriety, and good sense of Cæsar. It is easy to observe in him a mind as capable of being entertained with contemplation as enterprise; a mind ready for great exploits, but not impatient for occasion to exert itself. The prince has wisdom and valour in as high perfection as man can enjoy it; which noble faculties in conjunction banish all vain glory, ostentation, ambition, and all other vices which might intrude upon his mind to make it unequal. These habits and qualities of soul and body render this personage so extraordinary, that he appears to have nothing in him but what every man should have in him, the exertion of his very self, abstracted from the circumstances in which fortune has placed him. Thus, were you to see prince Eugene, and were told he was a private gentleman,

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