and extensive to a degree altogether without precedent. English Whigs were in raptures, and the Annual Register protested that Mr. Pope was quite outdone. Scotch placehunters outstripped even the English players in their performance of the comedy of fear; for they felt, with a yet surer instinct than that of Swift's spider when the broom approached, that to all intents and purposes of their existence the judgment-day was come. Nothing could 66 have delighted Churchill as this did. The half-crowns that poured into his exchequer made no music comparable to that of these clients of Lord Bute, sighing and moaning in discontented groups around the place-bestowing haunts of Westminster. He indulged his exuberance of delight, indeed, with characteristic oddity and self-will. "remember well," says Dr. Kippis, "that he dressed his "younger son in a Scotch plaid, like a little Highlander, "and carried him everywhere in that garb. The boy being "asked by a gentleman with whom I was in company, why " he was clothed in such a manner? answered with great vivacity, Sir, my father hates the Scotch, and does it to "plague them!" The anecdote is good. On the one side, there is what we may call attending to one's child's habits; and on the other, a satisfactory display of hereditary candour and impudence. There is also a fine straightforward style. Johnson himself could not have related the motive better. Put "his" instead of "my," and it is precisely what Johnson would have said. Boswell. -Sir, why does Churchill's little boy go about in a Scotch dress? Johnson.-Sir, his father hates the Scotch, and does it to plague them! He plagued them thoroughly, that is certain; and with good cause. We need not tenderly excuse ourselves by Boswell's example for admiring the Prophecy of Famine. "It is indeed falsely applied to Scotland," says that good North Briton; "but on that account may be allowed a greater share of invention." We need not darken what praise we give by the reservations of the last amiable and excellent historian of England. "It may yet be read," 66 says Lord Mahon, "with all the admiration which the "most vigorous powers of verse, and the most lively "touches of wit can earn, in the cause of slander and false"hood." It seems to us that, without either forced apologies or hard words, we may very frankly praise this Prophecy of Famine. A great poet and a faithful Scotchman, Mr. Thomas Campbell, did not scruple to say of it, that even to the community north of Tweed it should sheathe its sting in its laughable extravagance; and in truth it is so written, that what was meant for the time has passed away with its virulent occasion, and left behind it but the lively and lasting colours of wit and poetry. "Dowdy Nature," to use the exquisite phrase with which it so admirably contrasts the flaring and ridiculous vices of the day, has here too reclaimed her own, and dismissed the rest as false pretences. We should as soon think of gravely questioning its Scotch "cameleon," as of arguing against its witty and masterly exaggerations. With consummate ease it is written; sharp readiness of expression keeping pace with the swiftest ease of conception, never the least loitering at a thought, or labouring of a word. In this peculiar earnestness and gusto of manner, it is as good as the writers of Dryden's more earnest century. Marvel might have painted the Highland lass who forgot her want of food, as she listened to madrigals all natural though rude; "and, whilst she scratch'd her "lover into rest, sank pleased, though hungry, on her Sawney's breast." Like Marvel, too, is the starving scene of withering air, through which no birds "except as birds of passage" flew; and which no flower embalmed but one white rose, 66 which, on the tenth of June, "by instinct blows"-the Jacobite emblem, and the Pretender's birthday. In grasp of description, and a larger reach of satire, the Cave of Famine ranks higher still. The creatures which, when admitted in the ark, "their Saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark;" the webs of more than common size, where "half-starved "spiders prey'd on half-starved flies;" are more than 66 66 worthy of the master-hand of Dryden. But the reader will thank us for printing in detail the portions of the poem to which we have thus referred. "Two boys, whose birth beyond all question springs "Jockey, whose manly high-boned cheeks to crown, Sunk pleased, though hungry, on her Sawney's breast. The plague of locusts they secure defy, For in three hours a grasshopper must die. One, and but one poor solitary cave, That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!) We cannot leave the poem without remarking the ingenuity of praise it has extorted from Mr. Tooke. It has been observed of it, he says, and for himself he adopts the observation, "that the author displays peculiar skill "in throwing his thoughts into poetical paragraphs, so "that the sentence swells to the conclusion, as in prose!" This we must call the first instance, within our knowledge, of an express eulogy of poetry on the ground of its resemblance to prose. Dr. Johnson was wont to note a curious delusion in his day, which has prevailed very generally since, that people supposed they were writing poetry when they did not write prose. Mr. Tooke and his friend represent the delusion of supposing poetry to be but a better sort of prose. Churchill was now a marked man. He had an unbounded popularity with what are called the middle classes; he had the hearty praise of the Temple section of Whigs; he was "quoted and signed" by the ministerial faction for some desperate deed they but waited the opportunity desperately to punish; he was the common talk, the theme of varied speculation, the very "comet of "the season," with all men. There had been no such sudden and wide popularity within the memory of any one living. The advantage of the position was obvious; and his friends would have had him discard the ruffles and gold lace, resume his clerical black coat, and turn it to what account he could. "His most intimate "friends," says the good Dr. Kippis, "thought his laying "aside the external decorums of his profession a blameable "opposition to the decencies of life, and likely to be "hurtful to his interest; since the abilities he was "possessed of, and the figure he made in political con"tests, would perhaps have recommended him to some "noble patron, from whom he might have received a " valuable benefice!" Ah! good-natured friends! Could this unthinking man but have looked in the direction of a good benefice, with half the liquorish ardour of patriot Wilkes to his ambassadorships and chamberlainships in prospect, no doubt it might have fallen in his lap. What folly, then, to disregard it, and all for the pleasure of abusing what it would have been far more easy to praise! “What but rank folly, for thy curse decreed, There might the Muse have saunter'd at her ease, |