ence to his memory. Save, at least, one of his fouls, the pious and innocent fubaltern, that was employed in prayers, and praises! that waited for the Lord, and would rebuke him for his delay! that lay violent hands upon the throne of grace, and cried, Come, come quickly! Surely, St. Evremond, this foul should be faved: the other we must give up to the allotment of your demoniacs! [93] LETTER XXVI. WALLER to ST. EVREMOND. NO, my St. Evremond, it is time to clofe the idle purfuits of poetry. I am now defcending from the little eminence of life, and must foon drop into thofe dark, unfathomed waters that lie at the bottom. The impreffions of fancy are never indulged without danger. They leave the mind in a fluctuating and unfettled ftate. They withdraw its attention from fixed principles and points of view. They confuse its clear and fimple lights, by mingling them with fhadows and fantastic appearances. Are fuch circumstances proper for declining years?where all fhould be steady, confiftent, and uniform-where we fhould tread only on the firm ground of philofophy-fhall we step afide like children to gather flowers? Believe me, St. Evremond, to pay a ferious court to the mufes would now be as abfurd, as it would be to ad drefs any other misfortune on the fame terms. The attempt would be equally fruitless and ridiculous: The mufe that caught from Sidney's eyes her fire, In Sidney's afhes felt the flame expire. Poetical ground, like every other foil, becomes barren and unfruitful by too long exercise. There is a period in life beyond which poets, in particular, ought not to think of writing. Fancy is not the guest of age; and, therefore, old men rarely fucceed in works of that nature. Those depend principally on enthusiasm; and that is, almost peculiarly, the growth of young and vigorous minds. We grow cold to the love of nature, after a long acquaintance with her, and it is that love to which poetical enthufiafm owes its very exiftence. Nor is it easy to substitute any thing of equal energy in its place. It is not many years fince I attempted fome poems on divine subjects, thinking those most suited to my age and condition. But I cannot boast of fuccefs, not even of fatisfaction in those performances. They may be pleasing to devout minds; but there is fomething want ing. It is the vis ingenii, the vigour of imagination and expreffion that has failed. You will confider these frank acknowlegements as an unanswerable apology for the filence of what you call my mufes. Yours are of a more elaftic kind; and, like the nympths of your country, they will dance till they die. LETTER XXVII. ST. EVREMOND to WALLER. T was ufual, I think, amonft the ancient Hebrews, when they had paffed the period of fixty, to make a feast for their friends, and fing the fongs of Sion. There was something truly rational and philosophical in this chearful cuftom. It was the natural tribute of good fense and gratitude. A people, who believed the mortality of their exiftence, could not but look upon the prolongation of it as an effect of the divine benevolence, and every teftimony of their joy was, on that principle, an act of religion. What is the reason that we have conceived fuch very different ideas of the proper deportment of age? We have impofed upon it a gravity of manners, and a severity of ftudies. We add to the weights that time hangs upon that period. The lighter amufements are deemed improper, and the indulgence of fancy muft be utterly excluded.-I own I am unable to discover the wisdom, or even the propriety of this. What! because I have the promise but of a few years before I must be locked up in the grave, is the work of death to begin already? Shall it not be left to nature? Am I to die through my best parts and faculties before fhe gives the summons? Muft I now part with my vivacity, my fancy? -fhut up every fource of amufement, because they must infallibly be taken from me at last? Is it the art of accommodation I am to learn? Is any art neceffary for fleeping in the grave? Were it fo, the cave of Trophonius would, indeed, be a proper school. But if my fleep will be the fame,, whether I am called from thence, or beckoned from the circle of the mufes and the graces, I cannot entertain a |