general condemnation it is only just to except the thoughtful and melodious lines On the Death of the Earl of Cadogan.

Tickell's first introduction to Addison was through a copy of verses which he addressed to him from Oxford in 1707, in which this couplet occurred :—

'No charms are wanted to thy artful song,

Soft as Corelli, and as Virgil strong.

For this piece of flattery the young poet was rewarded by Addison's personal friendship. It is worthy of remark that the influence of Addison on English verse was as entirely false and sterile as his influence on prose was fruitful and healthy.

EDMUND W. GOSSE.

TO THE EARL of Warwick, on the Death of Mr. AddiSON.

If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stayed,
And left her debt to Addison unpaid;

Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan,
And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own.
What mourner ever felt poetic fires?
Slow comes the verse, that real woe inspires :
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.

Can I forget the dismal night, that gave
My soul's best part for ever to the grave!
How silent did his old companions tread,
By mid-night lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Thro' breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Thro' rows of warriors, and thro' walks of kings!
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire;
The pealing organ, and the pausing choir;
The duties by the lawn-robed prelate payed;
And the last words, that dust to dust conveyed!
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend,
Oh gone for ever, take this long adieu;
And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montagu!

To strew fresh laurels let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine,
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan,
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy loved memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue,
My griefs be doubled, from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee.

Oft let me range the gloomy isles alone (Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown) Along the walls where speaking marbles show What worthies form the hallow'd mould below: Proud names, who once the reins of empire held; In arms who triumph'd, or in arts excelled; Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of blood; Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; And saints, who taught, and led, the way to heaven. Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest, Since their foundation, came a nobler guest, Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.

In what new region, to the just assigned,
What new employments please th' unbodied mind?
A winged Virtue, through th' ethereal sky,
From world to world unwearied does he fly?
Or curious trace the long laborious maze

Of heaven's decrees, where wondering angels gaze?
Does he delight to hear bold Seraphs tell
How Michael battled, and the Dragon fell?
Or, mixed with milder Cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love, not ill essayed below?
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind,
A task well suited to thy gentle mind?
Oh, if sometimes thy spotless form descend,
To me thy aid, thou guardian Genius, lend!
When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,
In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trode before,
'Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.

That awful form (which, so ye heavens decree, Must still be loved and still deplored by me)

In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,

Or, rous'd by fancy, meets my waking eyes.

If business calls, or crowded courts invite,

Th' unblemished statesman seems to strike my sight;

If in the stage I seek to soothe my care,

I meet his soul, which breathes in Cato there;

If pensive to the rural shades I rove,

His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove:

'Twas there of Just and Good he reasoned strong, Cleared some great truth, or raised some serious song ; There patient showed us the wise course to steer,

A candid censor, and a friend severe;

There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high
The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

[ALLAN RAMSAY was born in 1686, in Lanarkshire. His father was the manager of Lord Hopetoun's lead mines, but his great-grandfather was younger son of a 'laird of Cockpen,' and nephew of Ramsay of Dalhousie, and he took pride in his descent from this ancient stock. He was apprenticed as a boy to a wig-maker, but passed from writing poetry and editing poetical collections into being a bookseller. His earliest efforts were circulated among his 'cronies' in MS., and sold by himself to the public in penny broad sheets. In 1716 he published an edition of Christ's Kirk on the Green, with a second canto of his own composition, and soon after another edition with a third new canto. In 1719 he published a collection of Scots Songs; in 1721 a collection of his own poems in quarto; in 1722 his Fables and Tales and his Tale of Three Bonnets; in 1723 his Fair Assembly; in 1724 a poem on Health; in the same year miscellaneous collections entitled The Tea-Table Miscellany, and The Evergreen; and in 1725 the work with which chiefly his fame is associated, The Gentle Shepherd. He died in 1758.]

Ramsay had an influence upon the growth of the peasant poetry of Scotland which must be taken account of quite apart from the qualities of his own song, and perhaps constitutes a better title to remembrance. He did not create the movement which reached its full volume and intensity in the poetry of Burns, but it was concentrated in him for a generation, and passed on with a mighty impulse. It must always be hazardous work guessing at the beginnings of things, but if one were asked to name the great seminal work of the Scotch poetry of the eighteenth century, one would have little hesitation in pitching upon Watson's Choice Collection of Scots Songs, Ancient and Modern. Ramsay himself tells us that his inspiration, or at least his ambition to write, came from this source. It was to the Scotch poetry of the eighteenth