to pardon scandal on her face?
Disconsolate away she flies,

and at her daddy's feet she lies;

sighs, sobs, and groans, calls to her aid,
and tears, that readily obey'd;
then aggravates the vile offence,
exerting all her eloquence:

the cause th' indulgent father heard;
and culprit summon'd, soon appear'd;
some tokens of remorse he show'd,
and promis'd largely to be good...
As both the tender father press'd
with equal ardour to his breast,

and smiling kiss'd, "Let there be peace,"
said he; "let broils and discord cease:
"Each day, my children, thus employ
the faithful mirror; you, my boy,
remember that no vice disgrace

the gift of heaven, that beauteous face:
and you, my girl, take special care
your want of beauty to repair
by virtue, which alone is fair."

1

WILLIAM PATTISON,

was born at Peasmarsh near Rye, in Suffolk, in 1706, where his father rented a considerable estate belonging the earl of Thanet. Having shewn a great propensity to learning and discovered some strong indica ions of genius, his father being unable to give him a suitable education, he obtained for him the attention and patronage of the earl of Thanet, who placed him at the free-school of Appleby in Westmoreland, under the tuition of Bancks. His successor

was Thomas Nevinson, of Queen's College, Oxford, with whom Pattison applied himself chiefly to the study of classical literature and poetry. Perhaps the most valuable friend our poet ever met with was the rev.- Noble, schoolmaster, at Kirby Stephen, a man of letters, and an excellent critic. It was this man, who read with him the classics, taught him to discern the beauties and defects of authors, shewed him the difference between solid learning and that which is superficial, and gave him instructions towards the advancement of knowledge, and the refinement of taste. While at school he contracted a debt of about ten pounds which he could not pay; fortunately, however, Sir Christopher Musgrave, bart, at Eden-hall, was so much pleased with an Ode on Christmas Day, written and presented by Pattison, that he directed his chaplain to discharge the debt he owed for books. In 1723 he unfortunately offended a branch of the Thanet family, which produced the neglect of his patron. He therefore left Appleby school, which prevented his election to Queen's-College Oxford. No. 80.

2

His father disapproved much of a conduct which had overturned his designs, and at home he found little cordiality; but the tenderness of his mother blinded her to his foibles, and through her exertions, in the following year he was sent to Sidney-college Cambridge, where poetry was his favourite pursuit. Few men came into company better qualified to please, or to instruct; but he had neither foresight nor prudence, making that which should have been a mere amusement, his principal pursuit; and forsaking the rugged paths of study for the fascinations of elegant society, and the visions of a warm and voluptuous imagination. The latter disposition led him into some juvenile imprudencies, which exposed him to the censure of his tutor, whose temper, it is said, was ill qualified to reconcile him to the discipline of a college. Threatened too with expulsion, he hastened to quit the college. His friends expressed much concern at his departure, paved the way for his return, and his exhibition was kept in suspense some time; but fascinated with the gaities of London, carressed by some persons of distinction, and flattered as an author by others both of rank and abilities, he imbibed the scribendi mania. At length those very friends who caressed and applauded him, became so much wearied by a course of necessary acts of attention, that Pattison himself perceived strongly his own situation, and subsisted, for some time upon the casual profits of a subscription for printing his miscellaneous Poems; but the result is sufficiently detailed in the following letter, which he wrote to a friend. "If you were ever touched with a sense of humanity, consider my condition; what I am my proposals will inform you; what I have been, Sidney College, in Cambridge, can witness; what I shall be

some few hours hence, I tremble to think. Spare my blushes! I have not enjoyed the common necessaries of life for these two days." The effect of this letter which solicited no more than a subscription to his miscellany, is unknown, but a similar application to Southern was unattended to. Pattison, however, found a temporary friend in H. Curll, bookseller in the Strand, who received him into his house, June 1727, where he remained about a month, chiefly employed in preparing his poems for the press, to answer his engagements with his subscribers. While distressed in circumstances and sinking in despondency, he was seized with the small-pox. Eusden engaged Dr. Pellet to attend him, who ordered him to be conveyed to the house of an experienced nurse. The symptoms strongly indicated a favourable result but his indiscretions had preyed exceedingly upon his mind. A sudden and unexpected turn of the desease put an end to his miserable life, July 11, 1727, in the 21st year of his age. During Pattison's irregularities his father had indignantly withdrawn his usual allowance, and under the mortification of disappointed expectations, he declined all reconciliation to him upon his death-bed, and did not attend the last offices to his remains. He was buried in the upper church-yard, belonging to St. Clement Danes in the Strand. Under these circumstances and events, the admonition of doctor Johnson, cannot be more emphatically applied. "Those who in confidence of superior capacities or attainments, disregard the common maxims of life, should remember, that nothing can atone for the want of prudence; that negligence and irregularity, long continued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemtible."

YARICO TO INKLE:

AN EPISTLE.

Dear, faithless man! if e'er that cruel breast love's pleasing toys, and soft delights, confest; distrefs like mine, may sure thy pity move, for tender pity is the child of love! but can compassion from thy bosom flow? source of my wrongs, and fountain of my woe! wilt thou repentant, soften at my grief, melt at my tears, and lend a late relief! what have I done? ah! how deserv'd thy hate? or was this vengeance treasur'd up by fate? then will I mourn my fate's severe decree, nor charge a guilt so black, so base on thee; for O! I know, ah no! I knew, thy mind soft as the dove, and as the turtle kind'; how have I seen thy gentle bosom move, and heave, contagious, to some tale of love! how have I heard thee paint the faithfull'st pair, describe their bliss, and e'en their raptures share ! then have thy lips, with sweet transition swore thy love more lasting, and thy passion more! And what, is truth, if signs like these deceive! signs! that might win the wariest to believe.