who concludes, by triumphantly asking, "had the tarts been eaten, how could the poet have compensated for the loss of his heroes?" We are now come to the dénouement, the setting all to rights; and our poet, in the management of his moral, is certainly superior to his great ancient predecessors. The moral of their fables, if any they have, is so interwoven with the main body of their work, that in endeavouring to unravel it we should tear the whole, Our author has very properly preserved his, whole and entire, for the end of his poem, where he completes his main design, the reformation of his hero, thus, "And vow'd he'd steal no more." Having in the course of his work shown the bad effects arising from theft, he evidently means this last moral reflection to operate with his readers as a gentle and polite dissuasive from stealing. "The Knave of Hearts And vow'd he'd steal no more!" Thus have I industriously gone through the several parts of this wonderful work; and clearly proved it, in every one of these parts, and in all of them together, to be a due and proper Epic poem; and to have as good a right to that title, from its adherence to prescribed rules, as any of the celebrated masterpieces of antiquity. And here I cannot help again lamenting, that, by not knowing the name of the author, I am unable to twine our laurels together; and to transmit to posterity the mingled praises of genius and judgment; of the poet and his commen tator. Having some space left in this paper, I will now, with the permission of my readers of the great world, address myself more particularly to my fellow-citizens. To them the essay which I have here presented, will, I flatter myself, be peculiarly serviceable at this time; and I would earnestly recommend an attentive perusal of it to all of them whose muses are engaged in compositions of the Epic kind. I am very much afraid that I may run into the error which I have myself pointed out, of becoming too local, but where it is evidently intended for the good of my fellowcitizens, it may, I hope, be now and then pardonable. At the present_juncture, as many have applied for my assistance, I cannot find in my heart to refuse it them. Were I to attempt fully explaining why at the present juncture, I fear it would be vain. Would it not seem incredible to the ladies, were I to tell them that the period approaches when upwards of a hundred Epic poems* will be exposed to public view, most of them nearly of equal length, and many of them nearly of equal merit, with the one which I have here taken into consideration; illustrated moreover with elegant etchings, designed either as hieroglyphical explanations of the subject, or as practical puns on the name of the author? And yet in truth so it is, and on this subject I wish to give a word of advice to my countrymen. Many of them have applied to me by letter to assist them with designs for prefixing to their poems; and this I should very willingly have done, had those gentlemen been kind enough to subscribe their real names to their requests: whereas all that I have received, have been signed Tom Long, Philosophus, Bacchus; abolished in the succeeding year. Philalethes, and such like. I have therefore been prevented from affording them the assistance I wished; and cannot help wondering that the gentlemen did not consider that it was impossible for me to provide typical references for feigned names; as, for aught I know, the person who signs himself Tom Long may be four feet high; Philosophus may be possessed of a considerable share of folly; and Philalethes may be as arrant a liar as any in the kingdom. It may not, however, be useless to offer some general reflections for all who may require them. It is not improbable that, as the subject of their poems is the Restoration, many of my fellow-citizens may choose to adorn their title pages with the representation of his Majesty Charles the Second escaping the vigilance of his pursuers in the Royal Oak. There are some particularities generally observable in this picture, which I shall point out to them, lest they fall into similar errors. Though I am as far as any other Briton can be, from wishing to "curtail" his Majesty's wig "of its fair proportion," yet I have sometimes been apt to think it rather improper to make the wig, as is usually done, of larger dimensions than the tree in which it and his Majesty are concealed. It is a rule in logic, and I believe may hold good in most other sciences, that " omne majus continet in se minus," that "every thing larger can hold any thing that is less;" but I own I never heard the contrary advanced or defended with any plausible arguments, viz." that every thing little can hold one larger." I therefore humbly propose that there should be at least an edge of foliage round the outskirts of the said wig; and that its curls should not exceed in number the leaves of the tree. There is also another practice almost equally prevalent, of which I am sceptic enough to doubt the propriety. I own, I cannot think it by any means conducive to the more effectual concealment of his Majesty, that there should be three regal crowns stuck on three different branches of the tree. Horace says indeed Pictoribus atque Poetis, FRANCIS. And this may be reckoned a very allowable poetical licence, inasmuch as it lets the spectator into the secret, who is in the tree. But it is apt to make him at the same time throw the accusation of negligence and want of penetration on the three dragoons, who are usually depicted on the foreground, cantering along very composedly, with serene countenances, erect persons, and drawn swords very little longer than themselves. B. No. 13. MONDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1787. Quanto ferocius ante se egerint, tanto cupidius insolitas voluptates hausisse. -TAC. Their appetite for unusual pleasure was in proportion to their former ferocity. THERE are many ideas which, as I have hinted in a former paper, we are apt, merely on poetical authority, to adopt as data; and to substitute the pleasing but extravagant exuberance of a luxuriant fancy, for the convincing solidity of historical demonstration. Among these, none perhaps recurs more frequently to our imagination, or strikes it more forcibly, than the primeval innocence of man. We inwardly reproach ourselves with degeneracy; and are chagrined when, after having contemplated the beauties of so highly finished a picture, we cast our eyes on an imperfect sketch which suffers so much by the comparison. A state of nature, however, when divested of its poetical ornaments will be found to be by no means a state of innocence; and we shall perceive, upon a more accurate inspection, that civilization, far from being prejudicial to the virtues of mankind, is in reality that fine polish which displays his exalted endowments to advantage, and effects the grand distinction between brute and human nature. The soul of man is so intimately blended with his passions, that apathy is almost non-existence; and even in the most sluggish and insensible, we discover some ruling appetite, some main spring, which seems to actuate the few ideas of his listless vacancy. To reduce these therefore from our tyrants to our assistants, and to convert to the purposes of an agreeable variety what was originally the cause of a flagitious sameness in our actions, is surely beneficial to the community. The vices of nature are concentrated, but violent; those of civilization diffuse, but gentle. According therefore to the established political maxim, divide and conquer, those of the latter being individually less powerful are more easily subdued. To this it may be objected, that if the vices of the natural man are more violent, his virtues are at least of a superior nature; that obsequious insincerity is a bad substitute for disinterested honesty; and that where courage and friendship are exchanged for policy and civility, however it may advance the abilities of mankind, it argues that their hearts are proportionably corrupted. Specious as the names of these virtues are, that boasted honesty, while it extended its influence to the |