No. VIII.

WILLIAM WHISTON.

(Communicated.)

MR. Whifton was a man distinguished for great fincerity, and great freedom of fpeech. He had fome acquaintance with bifhopSherlock, and occafionally went to dine with him. But the bishop made a fpeech in the House of Lords, which was understood to be an apology for the employment of bribery and corruption on the part of government; and then Whifton vifited him no more.

They afterwards met accidentally, at the houfe of Sir Jofeph Jekyll, mafter of the rolls, when the bishop atked Whifton, what the reafon was that he did not come fometimes to dine with him as ufual? “No, my lord," said Whiston, “never fince your political fpeech in the Houfe of Lords." The bishop replied, that

Mr. Whilton knew that he took his reproofs patiently, and he was defirous that he fhould come to him as formerly. "No, my lord," faid Whitton," political bishops are the ruin of all religion:" and he immediately went away in apparent indignation.

When Dr. Leng was made a bishop, the first time that Mr. Whifton faw him, after he was raifed to the bench, he faid to him, "I wonder, my lord, how fo learned and fo good a man as you are, came to be made a bishop."

Of Dr. Gibson, bishop of London, Whilton faid, "that bifhop feemed to think, that the church of England, as it just then happened to be, established by modern laws and canons, came down from heaven, with the Athanafian creed

in its hand."

The then bishop of Durham, in a converfation with Whifton, expressed a doubt to him, whether the Linus, who mentioned in St. Paul's epiftle to Timothy, could poffibly be the bishop of Rome, as he was fuppofed to be, when he was only fpoken of as of the brethren." Whifton replied, "bishops, my lord, were not then right reverend fathers in God "

"" one

Speaking of Dr. Wilson, bishop of

Man, Whifton faid, "He has always appeared to me one of the beft bishops of our modern ages; and fo much the better, as he is clear of the fnares and temptations of a lord of parliament.”,

I ufe the edition of 1789, 3 vols. 8vo. In vol. iii. p. 232, et feq. he gives what may be called facts and reasons, to prove that corruption and aristocratic influence alone diminish factions, and prevent anarchy, even in fo poor a country as that of the Grifons, and in a republic fearcely known among the nations of Europe.

The reader is deeply impreffed with this truth, till he comes to far on asp.278, where the mystery is folved, tefte invito.

"At prefent, the Houfe of Auftria directs all the affairs of the Grifons with the most unbounded authority. That power has acquired this fway, by regulary difcharging the public penfions, by holding the leading members of the diet in its pay, by being a guarantee of the Valteline, and mediator in all the difputes between the Grifons and their fubjects,"

Where is now Mr. CoxE's candour?

He might as well argue, that, because our Edward IV. Henry VIII. Charles II. were penfioned by France, no monarchy can exit without foreign penfions.

Is it not rather a piece of jefuitical art, to place this main intelligence at fo great a distance from its proper place, and real Point of view? In fact, it is not prejudice, but repeated obfervation, which leads me to fay, that, in the writings of all ecclefiaftics (with very few exceptions), one meets with fpecimens of jefuitifm. They are fo accustomed to deceive, that they practice art in fpite of themselves, as it were, and even in trifles and indifferent objecs.

66

when, in reality, the real merit of its invention is contained in a few of its carlift chapters; while the remaining parts of thele works have been formed with great facility, and without any extraordinary efforts of genius. fhall exemplify this obfervation by the two celebrated works of Fielding and Swift. The former, in his "Life of Jonathan Wild the Great," offers a very curious fpecimen of the force of irony. He calls villainy, "great nels," a prig, or thief, "a hero;" narratives of iwindlers, "matters of the great kind;" honest ingenuous perfons, filly people," and when they truft to fharpers, he fays, " they are little wretches, who deal with great men." Heartfree is therefore full of low and bafe ideas ;" his faithful apprentice is a low and pitiful fool,' &c. It is evident, that the only merit to which this invention of reverfing terms and ideas can pretend, confifts in the first thoughts-having once exhibited them, all the reft is merely a repetition of the fame notions ; and although the whole may appear, to a fuperficial reader, as originality, a critic of talte will furely acknowledge, that it is not what it appears, and that it becomes, at length, if we may fo exprefs ourfelves, invention without invention. Fielding having once difplayed the manner, any common writer could have followed it without any exertion; and what a common writer can perform, is evidently not a work of genius.

The fame obfervation will extend to « Gulliver's Travels," When Swift had once refolved to defcribe a very diminutive, and a very gigantic race; men as horfes, and horfes as men; the idea, whatever be its value, after it has been fully difplayed, becomes, like the irony of Fielding, nothing but a continuation; a kind of plagiarim on the author himfelt. The real merit of fuch inventions is foon terminated; yet an author, by purfuing them, will feena, to moit of his readers, as abounding in the moft fertile imagination; while he, in fact, is only repeating one idea, with, very frequently, neither novelty nor variation. The Yahoos and Houyhnhmns have, in my opinion, no invention at all, unless to call a horse a man fhews any invention.

This obfervation will not extend to the other merits of thefe admired performances; for others they have, of a much more durable kind than the extravagance of their merely reverfing our ufual

notions.

LITERARY FECUNDITY.

E

have had some curious inftant. ces of literary fecundity. Lope de Vega, whofe entire days feem to have been devoted to compofition, without many hours given to reading; or what is equally neceffary, to the correction of his own productions, did not rival the indefatigable powers of father Macedo, a Portuguese Jefuit, not without celebrity in his day. The Portuguese biographer counts 109 different works of this author; and, indeed, one cannot refrain from a file at the good old man himself, who, in one of his later works, beafts of having delivered in public, 53 PANEGYRICS; 60 LATIN ESSAYS, and 32 FUNERAL EULOGIUMS: and that he had compofed 48 EPIC POEMS; 123 ELE

GIES; 115 EPITAPHS; 212 DEDICATIONS; 700 FAMILIAR LETTERS; 2600 HEROIC POEMS; 110 ODES ; 3000 EPIGRAMS; 4 LATIN PLAYS, and that he had (being gifted with the talent of an improvifhtore) delivered more than 150,000 VERSES. extempore !

It is fufficiently obvious, that Father Macedo was the prince of impertinent writers; and that he was one of those, whofe unhappy induftry produces a moft barren fertility. What is, however, not lefs fingular in our Jefuit, was, that having written a treatife against Cardinal Norris, on the fubject of the monkery of St. Auftin, it was thought neceflary to decree filence to both parties. Macedo, compelled to relinquish the pen, refolved to fhew the world that he did not confider himself as vanquifhed, and fent his adverfary a challenge! He proceeded according to the regulations of chivalry; and appointed a place of rendezvous in the wood of Boulogne. Another edict, to forbid the duel. Macedo complained that it was hard, not to fuffer him, for the fake of St. Auftin, for whom he had a peculiar eftecm, to fpill neither his ink, nor his blood!

One may judge of his tafte by his "Origin of the Inquifition." That humane and divine tribunal he difcovers to have been in the terreftrial paradife. He pretends to prove, that God was the first who began the functions of an INQUISI TOR, and that he exercifed his power over Cain, and the workmen of Babel. Macedo obtained a profeffor's chair at Padua, for having given, during eight days, at Venice, fome famous arguments against the Pope, which were published by the title of The Literary Roarings of the Lion at St. Mark:" alluding to the lion whofe mouth is now clofed.

When Gothic night o'erwhelm'd the chearful day,

And fculpture, painting, all neglected lay,
And furious man, creation's favage lord,
Knew but the hunter's fpear, the muid rer's
fword;

Our fofter fex embofs'd the 'broider'd vest,`
In flow'ry robe the blooming hero dreft;
Or rang'd in tap'try's glowing colours bright
The mimic crefts, and long embattled fight.
Now Learning's better fun-beam fhone anew,
And Gothic horrors, gloomy night, withdrew
Again Prometheus wak'd the fenfelefs clay,
Grace, beauty, order, leapt to fecond day.
Moft did the manly arts its influence feel,
The pencil chas'd the housewife's humbler
fteel;

Rent was the aged tap'try from the wall;
Exulting genius gloried in its fall;

To monftrous fhapes, and hydra forms uncouth,
Succeeded nature fair, angelic truth;
The artist man awoke the victor's lay,
And woman's labours crumbled in decay.
Then LINWOOD rofe, infpir'd at once to give
The matchless grace that bids the picture live;
With the bold air, the lovely lafting dye,
That fills at once, and charms the wond'ring

eye.

No time can heal. Oh! I've for ever loft
My firft, my early, and my only love.
Dear fource of comfort! thou art now no more;
Thou waft the foft'ner of my ev'ry care;
What can to me existence now endear,
My friend, my fweet companion, and my all.
Since chearfulness and healthwith thee are fled,
And peace and hope are strangers to my breaft?
My limbs, late active and alert, refift
The dictates of my will, and trembling, fcarce
Have pow'r to bear from earth my tott'ring

Struck, and fubdu'd his prey, her tender frame,

Refiftance weak could make, and down the funk

Infenfible-a victim to his pow'r.

Her pallid checks had loft that glow of health They late and long had worn-clos'd were thofe eyes

That us'd fo fweet to fmile; ftill was that voice

Which oft melodious charm'd the lift'ning

ears

But it will charm no more, nor will her fmiles

Relieve that heart that lov'd with fond excets.

How much from this fad lofs I have endur'd, Ye only who have lov'd like me, can fay. Could fighs, or tears, or pray'rs, have ought avail'd,

She furely had not dy'd-for never did
They ceafe, e'er fince the time she felt a pain;
Profufety have the tears of forrow flow'd,
Sighs have fucceeded fighs, and pray'rs to
Heav'n

Been breath'd--but God, who life beftow'd, faw fit

Her state to change, and took her to himself. In her, religion wore its fairest form,

PP

And