Thus Heaven enlarged his soul in riper years, For Nature gave him strength, and fire, to soar On Fancy's wing above this vale of tears; Where dark, cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore

Through microscope of metaphysic lore:

And much they grope for truth, but never hit. For why? Their powers, inadequate before, This idle art makes more and more unfit; Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blunders wit.

Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth : Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device Oft cheer'd the shepherds round their social hearth; Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice To purchase chat, or laughter, at the price Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed, That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice. Ah! had they been of court or city breed, Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed.

Oft when the winter storm had ceased to rave,
He roam'd the snowy waste at even, to view
The clouds stupendous, from th' Atlantic wave
High-towering, sail along th' horizon blue :
Where 'midst the changeful scenery, ever new,
Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries,
More wildly great than ever pencil drew,
Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size,
And glitt'ring cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts
rise.

Thence musing onward to the sounding shore,
The lone enthusiast oft would take his way,
Listening, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar
Of the wide-weltering waves.
In black array
When sulphurous clouds roll'd on th' autumnal
day,

Even then he hasten'd from the haunt of man,
Along the trembling wilderness to stray,
What time the lightning's fierce career began,
Ando'er Heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder

ran.

Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when all In sprightly dance the village youth were join'd, Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall, From the rude gambol far remote reclined, Soothed with the soft notes warbling in the wind. Ah, then all jollity seem'd noise and folly: To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refined, Ah, what is mirth but turbulence unholy, When with the charm compared of heavenly melancholy!

Is there a heart that music cannot melt ?
Alas! how is that rugged heart forlorn!
Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt
Of solitude and melancholy born?

He needs not woo the Muse; he is her scorn.
The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twine;
Mope o'er the the schoolman's peevish page; or

mourn,

And delve for life in Mammon's dirty mine; Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton swine.

For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann'd ; Song was his favourite and first pursuit. The wild harp rang to his advent'rous hand, And languish'd to his breath the plaintive flute. His infant Muse, though artless, was not mute : Of elegance as yet he took no care; For this of time and culture is the fruit; And Edwin gain'd at last this fruit so rare : As in some future verse I purpose to declare.

THIS light and amusing poet was the son of the Rev. Dr. Anstey, rector of Brinkeley, in Cambridgeshire, who had been a fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge. When very young, he was sent to school at Bury St. Edmunds. From thence he was removed to Eton, and placed at the fourth form, as an oppidan, and afterwards on the foundation. He finished his studies at Eton with a creditable character, and in 1741 went as captain to the Mount. From thence he went to Cambridge, where he obtained some reputation by his Tripos verses. In 1745, he was admitted fellow of King's college, and in the following year took his bachelor's degree in the university. When he had nearly completed the terms of his qualification for that of master of arts, he was prevented from obtaining it in consequence of what his own son, his biographer, calls a spirited and popular opposition, which he showed to the leading men of the university. The phrase of "popular and spirited opposition," sounds promising to the curiosity; but the reader must not expect too much, lest he should be disappointed by learning that this popular opposition was only his refusing to deliver certain declamations, which the heads of the university (unfairly it was thought) required from the bachelors of King's College. Anstey, as senior of the order of bachelors, had to deliver the first oration. He contrived to begin his speech with a rhapsody of adverbs, which, with no direct meaning, hinted a ridicule on the arbitrary injunction of the university rulers. They soon ordered him to dismount from the rostrum, and called upon him for a new declamation, which, as might be expected, only gave him an opportunity of pointing finer irony in the shape of an apology. This affront was not forgotten by his superiors; and when he applied for his degree, it was refused to him.

In the year 1756 he married Miss Calvert, sister to his oldest and most intimate friend John

Calvert, Esq. of Albury Hall, in Hertfordshire, and sat in several successive parliaments for the borough of Hertford. Having succeeded, after his marriage, to his father's estate, he retired to the family seat in Cambridgeshire, and seems to have spent his days in that smooth happiness which gives life few remarkable eras. He was addicted to the sports of the field and the amusements of the country, undisturbed by ambition, and happy in the possession of friends and fortune. His first literary effort which was published, was his translation of Gray's Elegy in a Churchyard into Latin verse, in which he was assisted by Dr. Roberts, author of "Judah Restored." He was personally acquainted with Gray, and derived from him the benefit of some remarks on his translation.

His first publication in English verse was "The New Bath Guide," which appeared in 1766. The droll and familiar manner of the poem is original; but its leading characters are evidently borrowed from Smollett*. Anstey gave the copy price of the piece, which was £200, as a charitable donation to the hospital of Bath; and Dodsley, to whom it had been sold, with remarkable generosity restored the copyright to its author, after it had been eleven years published.

His other works hardly require the investigation of their date. In the decline of life he meditated a collection of his letters and poems; but letters recovered from the repositories of dead friends are but melancholy readings; and, probably overcome by the sensations which they excited, he desisted from his collection. After a happy enjoyment of life (during fifty years of which he had never been confined to bed, except one day, by an accidental hurt upon his leg), he quietly resigned his existence, at the house of his son-in-law, Mr. Bosanquet, in his eighty-first year, surrounded by his family, and retaining his faculties to the last.

-Hall North.

Do the gods such a noble ambition inspire;
Or gods do we make of each ardent desire?

"But Anstey's diverting satire," says Sir Walter Scott, "was but a slight sketch, compared to the finished and elaborate manner in which Smollett has, in the first place, identified his characters, and then fitted them with language, sentiments, and powers of observation, in exact correspondence with their talents, temper, condition, and disposition."-Misc. Pr. Works, vol. iii. p. 160.]

O generous passion! 'tis yours to afford
The splendid assembly, the plentiful board ;
To thee do I owe such a breakfast this morn,
As I ne'er saw before since the hour I was born;
"Twas you made my Lord Ragamuffin come here,
Who, they say, has been lately created a Peer,
And to-day with extreme complaisance and respect
ask'd

All the people at Bath to a general breakfast.

You've heard of my Lady Bunbutter, no doubt, How she loves an assembly, fandango, or rout; No lady in London is half so expert

At a snug private party her friends to divert; But they say that, of late, she's grown sick of the town,

And often to Bath condescends to come down:
Her Ladyship's fav'rite house is the Bear:
Her chariot, and servants, and horses are there :
My Lady declares that retiring is good;
As all with a separate maintenance should:
For when you have put out the conjugal fire,
'Tis time for all sensible folk to retire;
If Hymen no longer his fingers will scorch,
Little Cupid for others can whip in his torch,
So pert is he grown, since the custom began
To be married and parted as quick as you can.
Now my Lord had the honour of coming down post,
To pay his respects to so famous a toast;

In hopes he her Ladyship's favour might win,
By playing the part of a host at an inn.
I'm sure he's a person of great resolution,
Though delicate nerves, and a weak constitution;
For he carried us all to a place 'cross the river,
And vow'd that the rooms were too hot for his liver:
He said it would greatly our pleasure promote,
If we all for Spring-gardens set out in a boat:
I never as yet could his reason explain,
Why we all sallied forth in the wind and the rain;
For sure, such confusion was never yet known ;
Here a cap and a hat, there a cardinal blown :
While his Lordship, embroider'd and powder'd
all o'er,

Was bowing, and handing the ladies ashore :

How the misses did huddle and scuddle, and run:
One would think to be wet must be very good fun;
For by wagging their tails, they all seem'd to take
pains

To moisten their pinions like ducks when it rains ;
And 'twas pretty to see how, like birds of a feather,
The people of quality flock'd all together;
All pressing, addressing, caressing, and fond,
Just the same as those animals are in a pond :
You've read all their names in the news, I suppose,
But, for fear you have not, take the list as it goes:
There was Lady Grease wrister,
And Madam Van-Twister,

Her Ladyship's sister;
Lord Cram, and Lord Vulture,
Sir Brandish O'Culter,
With Marshal Carouzer,
And old Lady Mouzer,

And the great Hanoverian Baron Pansmowzer:

Besides many others, who all in the rain went,
On purpose to honour this great entertainment :
The company made a most brilliant appearance,
And ate bread-and-butter with great perseverance:
All the chocolate, too, that my Lord set before 'em,
The ladies despatch'd with the utmost decorum.
Soft musical numbers were heard all around,
The horns and the clarions echoing sound:

Sweet were the strains, as od'rous gales that blow
O'er fragrant banks, where pinks and roses grow.
The Peer was quite ravish'd, while close to his side
Sat Lady Bunbutter, in beautiful pride!
Oft turning his eyes, he with rapture survey'd
All the powerful charms she so nobly display'd.
As when at the feast of the great Alexander,
Timotheus, the musical son of Thersander,
Breathed heavenly measures;
The prince was in pain,

And could not contain,

While Thais was sitting beside him ;
But, before all his peers,

Was for shaking the spheres,

Such goods the kind gods did provide him;
Grew bolder and bolder,

And cock'd up his shoulder,

Like the son of great Jupiter Ammon,
Till at length quite oppress'd,
He sunk on her breast,

And lay there as dead as a salmon.

O had I a voice that was stronger than steel, With twice fifty tongues to express what I feel, And as many good mouths, yet I never could utter All the speeches my Lord made to Lady Bunbutter !

So polite all the time, that he ne'er touch'd a bit,
While she ate up his rolls and applauded his wit:
For they tell me that men of true taste, when they
treat,

Should talk a great deal, but they never should eat:
And if that be the fashion, I never will give
Any grand entertainment as long as I live :
For I'm of opinion 'tis proper to cheer
The stomach and bowels, as well as the ear.
Nor me did the charming concerto of Abel
Regale like the breakfast I saw on the table:
I freely will own I the muffins preferr'd
To all the genteel conversation I heard,
E'en though I'd the honour of sitting between
My Lady Stuff-damask and Peggy Moreen,
Who both flew to Bath in the nightly machine.
Cries Peggy," This place is enchantingly pretty;
We never can see such a thing in the city:
You may spend all your lifetime in Cateaton-street,
And never so civil a gentleman meet ;
You may talk what you please; you may search

London through;

You may go to Carlisle's, and to Almanac's too : And I'll give you my head if you find such a host, For coffee, tea, chocolate, butter, and toast:

How he welcomes at once all the world and his

wife,

And how civil to folk he ne'er saw in his life!"

"These horns," cries my Lady," so tickle one's ear, Lard! what would I give that Sir Simon was here! To the next public breakfast Sir Simon shall go, For I find here are folks one may venture to know: Sir Simon would gladly his Lordship attend, And my Lord would be pleased with so cheerful a friend."

So when we had wasted more bread at a breakfast Than the poor of our parish have ate for this week past,

I saw, all at once, a prodigious great throng
Come bustling, and rustling, and jostling along :
For his Lordship was pleased that the company now
To my Lady Bunbutter should curt'sy and bow:
And my Lady was pleased too, and seem'd vastly
proud

At once to receive all the thanks of a crowd:
And when, like Chaldeans, we all had adored
This beautiful image set up by my Lord,
Some few insignificant folk went away,
Just to follow the employments and calls of the day;
But those who knew better their time how to spend,
The fiddling and dancing all chose to attend.
Miss Clunch and Sir Toby perform'd a Cotillion,
Just the same as our Susan and Bob the postillion;

All the while her mamma was expressing her joy, That her daughter the morning so well could employ.

-Now why should the Muse, my dear mother, relate

The misfortunes that fall to the lot of the great?
As homeward we came-'tis with sorrow you'll hear
What a dreadful disaster attended the Peer:
For whether some envious god had decreed
That a Naiad should long to ennoble her breed ;
Or whether his Lordship was charm'd to behold
His face in the stream, like Narcissus of old;
In handing old Lady Bumfidget and daughter,
This obsequious Lord tumbled into the water;
But a nymph of the flood brought him safe to the
boat,

And I left all the ladies a cleaning his coat.

Thus the feast was concluded, as far as I hear, To the great satisfaction of all that were there. O may he give breakfasts as long as he stays, For I ne'er ate a better in all my born days. In haste I conclude, &c. &c. &c.

Bath, 1766.

SB-N—r—D.