tor and Theodora," his largest poem, which importantly increased his reputation as a poet. His connection with Bolingbroke, and his becoming the editor of his works, reflect little credit on the memory of Mallet as a moralist, though, probably, the love of gain rather than a wish to disseminate dangerous principles, was his ruling motive to this undertaking. The old Duchess of Marlborough engaged him to write the life of the great Duke; and for this he received a proper compliment, but it is said, never seriously took the task in hand. In 1759, he published his own works in prose and verse, with a dedication to Lord Mansfield. On the accession of his present majesty, Mallet became a political writer, in favour of the earl of Bute; but his health declining, he soon ceased to interfere in the cabals of faction, and departed this life in 1765. The character of Mallet has been variously represented, as friendship or enmity have held the pen. The attachment of his patrons prove that he could not be destitute of merit: and as a poet, he certainly deserves great praise. His plays and poetry have been frequently reprinted. His most popular pieces, of the smaller kind, are" Edwin and Emma," and "William and Margaret," which delighted our childhood, and are still recollected and read with pleasure. A FRAGMENT. *** FAIR morn ascends: soft zephyr's wing I seem alone with nature here! Here are thy walks, O sacred Health! The monarch's bliss, the beggar's wealth; The seasoning of all good below! The sovereign friend in joy or woe! O thou, most courted, most despis'd, And but in absence duly priz'd! Power of the soft and rosy face! The vivid pulse, the vermil grace, The spirits when they gayest shine, Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine! Oh sun of life! whose heavenly ray Lights up and cheers our various day, The turbulence of hopes and fears, The storm of fate, the cloud of years, Till nature, with thy parting light, Reposes late in death's calm night : Fled from the trophy'd roofs of state, Abodes of splendid pain and hate; Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep, Hot riot would his anguish steep, But tosses through the midnight-shade, Where temperance, where the muses dwell; With song and prospect, which abound While heat sits fervent on the plain, Attentive, in his airy mood, To every murmur of the wood: While thus I mus'd beneath the shade, EDWIN AND EMMA. "Mark it, Cesario, it is true and plain. "The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, "And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, "Do use to chant it. It is silly sooth, "And dallies with the innocence of love, "Like the old age." SHAKESF. TWELFTH NIGHT. FAR in the windings of a vale, Fast by a sheltering wood, The safe retreat of health and peace, There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair, Beneath a mother's eye; The softest blush that nature spreads Gave colour to her cheek: Such orient colours smiles through heaven, When vernal mornings break. Nor let the pride of great-ones scorn This charmer of the plains: That sun, who bids their diamonds blaze, To paint our lily deigns, Long had she fill'd each youth with love, And though by all a wonder own'd, Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, And from whose eye, serenely mild, A mutual flame was quickly caught: What happy hours of home-felt bliss His sister, who, like envy form'd, To work them harm, with wicked skill, The father too, a sordid man, From whence his riches grew. Long had he seen their secret flame, |