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After he had written his epistle on the victory of the Boyne, his patron, Dorset, introduced him to king William, with this expression: "Sir, I have brought a mouse to wait on your majesty.” To which the king is said to have replied, “You do well to put me in the way of making a man of him ;" and ordered him a pension of five hundred pounds. This story, however current, seems to have been made after the event. The king's answer implies a greater acquaintance with our proverbial and familiar diction than king William could possibly have attained.

In 1691, being member of the house of commons, he argued warmly in favour of a law to grant the assistance of counsel in trials for high treason; and, in the midst of his speech falling into some confusion, was for a while silent; but, recovering himself, observed, "how reasonable it was to allow counsel to men called as criminals before a court of justice, when it appeared how much the presence of that assembly could disconcert one of their own body'."

After this he rose fast into honours and employments, being made one of the commissioners of the treasury, and called to the privy-council. In 1694, he became chancellor of the exchequer; and the next year engaged in the great attempt of the re-coinage, which was in two years happily completed. In 1696, he projected the general fund, and raised the credit of the exchequer; and, after inquiring concerning a grant of Irish crown-lands, it was determined by a vote of the commons, that Charles Montague, esquire, had deserved his majesty's favour. In 1698, being advanced to the first commission of the treasury, he was appointed one of the regency in the king's absence: the next year he was made auditor of the exchequer, and the year after created baron Halifax. He was, however, impeached by the commons; but the articles were dismissed by the lords.

At the accession of queen Anne he was dismissed from the council: and in the first parliament of her reign was again attacked by the commons, and again escaped by the protection of the lords. In 1704, he wrote an answer to Bromley's speech against occasional conformity. He headed the inquiry into the danger of the church. In 1706, he proposed and negotiated the union with Scotland; and when the elector of Hanover had received the garter, after the act had passed for securing the protestant succession, he was appointed to carry the ensigns of the order to the electoral court. He sat as one of the judges of Sacheverell; but voted for a mild sentence. Being now no longer in favour, he contrived to obtain a writ for summoning the electoral prince to parliament as duke of Cambridge.

At the queen's death he was appointed one of the regents; and at the accession of George the First was made earl of Halifax, knight of the garter, and first commissioner of the treasury, with a grant to his nephew of the reversion of the auditorship of the exchequer. More was not to be had, and this he kept but a little while; for, on the 19th of May, 1715, he died of an inflammation of his lungs.

Of him, who from a poet became a patron of poets, it will be readily believed that the

Mr. Reed observes that this anecdote is related by Mr. Walpole, in his Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors, of the earl of Shaftesbury, author of the Characteristics, but it appears to me to be a mistake, if we are to understand that the words were spoken by Shaftesbury at this time, when he had no seat in the house of commons; nor did the bill pass at this time, being thrown out by the house of lords. It became a law in the 7th William, when Halifax and Shaftesbury both had seats. The editors of the Biographia Britannica adopt Mr. Walpole's story, but they are not speaking of this period. The story first appeared in the Life of Lord Halifax, published in 1715. C.

works would not miss of celebration. Addison began to praise him early, and was followed or accompanied by other poets; perhaps by almost all, except Swift and Pope, who forebore to flatter him in his life, and after his death spoke of him, Swift with slight censure, and Pope in the character of Bufo with acrimonious contempt.

He was, as Pope says, "fed with dedications;" for Tickell affirms, that no dedication was unrewarded. To charge all unmerited praise with the guilt of flattery, and to suppose that the encomiast always knows and feels the falsehoods of his assertions, is surely to discover great ignorance of human nature and human life. In determinations depending not on rules, but on experience and comparison, judgement is always in some degree subject to affection. Very near to admiration is the wish to admire.

Every man willingly gives value to the praise which he receives, and considers the sentence passed in his favour as the sentence of discernment. We admire in a friend that understanding which selected us for confidence; we admire more, in a patron, that judgement, which, instead of scattering bounty indiscriminately, directed it to us; and, if the patron be an author, those performances which gratitude forbids us to blame, affection will easily dispose us to exalt.

To these prejudices, hardly culpable, interest adds a power always operating, though not always, because not willingly, perceived. The modesty of praise wears gradually away; and perhaps the pride of patronage may be in time so increased, that modest praise will no longer please.

Many a blandishment was practised upon Halifax, which he would never have known, had he no other attractions than those of his poetry, of which a short time has withered the beauties. It would now be esteemed no honour, by a contributor to the monthly bundles of verses, to be told, that, in strains either familiar or solemn, he sings like Montague.

POEMS

OF THE

EARL OF HALIFAX.

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The best good man that ever fill'd a throne;
Whom Nature as her highest pattern wrought,
And mix'd both sexes' virtues' in a draught;
Wisdom for councils, bravery in war,
With all the mild good-nature of the fair.
The woman's sweetness temper'd manly wit,
And loving pow'r did, crown'd with meekness, sit;
His awful person reverence engag'd,
With mild address and tenderness assuag'd:
Thus the almighty gracious King above,
Does both command our fear, and win our love.
With wonders born, by miracles preserv'd,
A heavenly host the infant's cradle serv'd:
And men his healing empire's omen read,
When Sun with stars, and day with night agreed.
His youth for valorous patience was renown'd;
Like David, persecuted first, then crown'd:
Lov'd in all courts, admir'd where'er he came,
At once our nation's glory, and its shame:
They blest the isle where such great spirits dwell,
Abhorr'd the men, that could such worth expel.
To spare our lives, he meekly did defeat

Those Sauls, whom wand'ring asses made so great;
Waiting till Heaven's election should be shown,
And the Almighty should his unction own.
And own he did his powerful arm display'd;
And Israel, the belov'd of God, obey'd;
Cal'd by his people's tears, he came, he eas'd
The groaning nation, the black storms appeas'd,
Did greater blessings, than he took, afford;
England itself was more, than he, restor❜d.
Unhappy Albion, by strange ills oppress'd,
In various fevers tost, could find no rest;
Quite spent and weary'd, to his arms she fled,
And rested on his shoulders her fair bending head.
In conquests mild, he came from exile kind;
No climes, no provocations, chang'd his mind;
No malice show'd, no hate, revenge, or pride,
But rul'd as meekly, as his father dy'd ;
Eas'd us from endless wars, made discords cease,
Restor'd to quiet, and maintain'd in peace.

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A mighty series of new time began,
And rolling years in joyful circles ran.
Then wealth the city, business fill'd the port,
To mirth our tumults turn'd, our wars to sport:
Then learning flourish'd, blooming arts did spring,
And the glad Muses prun'd their drooping wing:
Then did our flying towers improvement know,
Who now command as far as winds can blow;
With canvass wings round all the globe they fly,
And, built by Charles's art, all storms defy;
To every coast with ready sails are hurl'd,
Fill us with wealth, and with our fame the world;
From whose distractions seas do us divide;
Their riches here in floating castles ride.
We reap the swarthy Indians' sweat and toil;
Their fruit, without the mischiefs of their soil.
Here, in cool shades, their gold and pearls re-
ceive,

Free from the heat which does their lustre give.
In Persian silks, eat eastern spice; secure
From burning fluxes, and the calenture:
Under our vines, upon the peaceful shore,
We see all Europe tost, hear tempests roar:
Rapine, sword, wars, and famine, rage abroad,
While Charles their host, like Jove from Ida,
aw'd;

Us from our foes, and from ourselves did shield,
Our towns from tumults, and from arms the field;
For when bold Faction goodness could disdain,
Unwillingly he us'd a straiter rein:

In the still gentle voice he lov'd to speak,
But could, with thunder, harden'd rebels break.
Yet, though they wak'd the laws, his tender mind
Was undisturb'd, in wrath severely kind;
Tempting his power, and urging to assume;
Thus Jove, in love, did Semele consume.

As the stout oak, when round his trunk the vine
Does in soft wreaths and amorous foldings twine,
Easy and slight appears; the winds from far
Summon their noisy forces to the war:
But though so gentle seems his outward form,
His hidden strength out-braves the loudest storm:
Firmer he stands, and boldly keeps the field,
Showing stout minds, when unprovok'd, are mild.
So when the good man made the crowd presume,
He show'd himself, and did the king assume:
For goodness in excess may be a sin;
Justice must tame, whom mercy cannot win.

Thus winter fixes the unstable sea,
And teaches restless water constancy,
Which, under the warm influence of bright days,
The fickle motion of each blast obeys.
To bridle factions, stop rebellion's course,
By easy methods, vanquish without force;
Relieve the good, bold stubborn foes subdue,
Mildness in wrath, meekness in anger shew,
Were arts great Charles's prudence only knew.
To fright the bad, thus awful thunder rolls,
While the bright bow secures the faithful souls.

Such is thy glory, Charles, thy lasting name, Brighter than our proud neighbour's guilty fame;

More noble than the spoils that battles yield,
Or all the empty triumphs of the field.

Tis less to conquer, than to make war cease,
And, without fighting, awe the world to peace;
For proudest triumphs from contempt arise;
The vanquish'd first the conqueror's arms de-
spise:

Won ensigns are the gaudy marks of scorn,
They brave the victor first, and then adorn.
But peaceful monarchs reign like gods: while

none

Dispute, all love, bless, reverence their throne.
Tigers and bears, with all the savage host,
May boldness, strength, and daring conquest
boast;

But the sweet passions of a generous mind
Are the prerogative of human-kind;
The god-like image, on our clay imprest,
The darling attribute which Heaven loves best:
In Charles, so good a man and king, we see
A double image of the deity.

pride,

Oh! had he more resembled it! Oh, why
Was he not still more like, and could not die?
Now do our thoughts alone enjoy his name,
And faint ideas of our blessing frame!
In Thames, the Ocean's darling, England's
The pleasing emblem of his reign does glide:
Thames, the support and glory of our isle,
Richer than Tagus, or Egyptian Nile:
Though no rich sand in him, no pearls are
found,

Yet fields rejoice, his meadows laugh around;
Less wealth his bosom holds, less guilty stores,
For he exhausts himself t' enrich the shores.
Mild and serene the peaceful current flows,
No angry foam, no raging surges knows;
No dreadful wrecks upon his banks appear,
His crystal stream unstain'd by widows tear,
His channel strong and easy, deep and clear.
No arbitrary inundations sweep

The ploughman's hopes, and life into the deep;
His even waters the old limits keep.
But oh! he ebbs, the smiling waves decay,
For ever, lovely stream, for ever stay!
To the black sca his silent course does bend,'
Where the best streams, the longest rivers, end.
His spotless waves there undistinguish'd-pass,
None see, how clear, how bounteous, sweet, he

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ODE

ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCESS ANNE AND PRINCE GEORGE OF DENMARK.

WHILST black designs (that direful work of Fate)
Distract the labouring state;
Whilst (like the sea) around loud discords roar,
Breaking their fury on the frighted shore;
And England does like brave Vienna stand,
Besieg'd by Infidels on either hand; [sight?
What means this peaceful train, this pompous
What means this royal beauteous pair?
This troop of youths and virgins heavenly fair,
That does at once astonish and delight;
Great Charles, and his illustrious brother here,
No bold assassinate need fear;

Here is no harmful weapon found, [wound. Nothing but Cupid's darts and Beauty here can

How grateful does this scene appear To us, who might too justly fear We never should have seen again Aught bright, but armour on the plain! Ne'er in their cheerful garb t'have seen the fair, While all, with melting eyes and wild dishevell'd [slain. Had mourn'd their brothers, sons, and husbands, These dusky shadows make this scene more bright;

hair,

The horrour adds to the delight. This glorious pomp our spirits cheers; from hence We lucky omens take, new happiness commence. Thus, when the gathering clouds a storm prepare, And their black force associate in the air; (Endeavouring to eclipse the bounteous light,

Who, with kind warmth, and powerful rays, Them to that envy'd height, From their mean native earth, did raise) A thoughtful sadness sits on all, Expecting where the full-charg'd clouds will fall: But if the heavenly bow

[rays,

Deck'd, like a gaudy bride, appears, And all her various robes displays, Painted by the conquering Sun's triumphant It mortals drooping spirits cheers; Fresh joy, new light, each visage wears: Again the seamen trust the main, The jocund swains their coverts leave again;

Again, in pleasant warbling notes, [ful throats. The cheerful poets of the wood extend their tune

Then, then, my Muse, raise with thy lyre thy voice,
And, with thy lays, make fields and woods rejoice:
For lo! the heavenly pledge appears,
And in bright characters the promise bears:
The factious deluge shall prevail no more;
In vain they foam, in vain they rage,
Buffet in vain the unmov'd shore,
[assuage
Her charms, and Charles's power, their fury shall
See! see! how decently the bashful bride
Does bear her conquest; with how little pride
She views that prince, the captive of her charms,
Who made the North with fear to quake,
And did that powerful empire shake;
Before whose arms, when great Gustavus led,
The frighted Roman eagles fled.

Whatever then was his desire,
His cannons did command in fire:

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