the works themselves are to be found only in the libraries of the collectors of obsolete English literature. It would likewise be a needless task to enumerate the various editions of his works; the present containing all he ever published, except his sermons, and some poetical trifles of little merit, and of doubtful authenticity.

On a short review of Churchill's writings, we must pronounce them to be like his life, irregular, unequal, and inconsistent. In the same page may frequently be contrasted the strength, fire, and brilliancy of Dryden* with the roughness of Oldham and of Donne, while by some he has been compared to Bishop Hall, owing to the frequently prosaic character of his lines. In either case, however, a noble vein of moral satire pervades his poems, and he stands forth the undaunted champion of liberty, the scourge of tyranny, and the firm friend of the laws and constitution of his country. Led away by the enthusiasm of friendship, Churchill occasionally sullied and deserted these noble principles, by adopting the

Churchill evidently took Dryden for his model in poetry, and his genius seemed to incline more to the strong and energetic than to the correct and harmonious style. But his defect was, that he did not sufficiently blend them so as to give perfection to the former. His usual manner of composing, as reported by his first publisher, was this; after he had finally resolved upon a subject he rambled about the fields alone for some hours, untii he had accumulated as many ideas relative to the matter as he could; he then retired to his study, threw the whole upon paper, and, after a very few corrections, offered his book to the bookseller. Some of his lighter poems were published in this careless manner, but his friend Wilkes soon put a stop to such a proceeding, which he justly observed would soon ruin his reputation, both with his party as with the public at large. The hasty temper of Churchill did not like to be so often sent back to the anvil, as he called it, but Wilkes was peremptory, and he acquiesced.

libellous and factious language of the profligate supporters of a good cause. Unfortunately we cannot vindicate the patriotism of our author without impeaching his judgment, when we are compelled to acknowledge him to have been the dupe of a designing demagogue. Such, however, was we believe the fact, for while we cannot but regret his numerous errors, we yet see no traces of systematic vice or deception in his disposition. This was frank and open; to hypocrisy he was an utter stranger, his great failing, and the original source of his misconduct, was the paying an inconsiderate and implicit obedience to the dictates of a heart comparatively inclined to good, but which, under the influence of his witty and dissolute companions, took a wrong bias, and progressively diverged from the path of virtue.

No poet of equal celebrity had fewer testimonies paid to his memory and merits than Churchill; he was too severe a censor of his literary contemporaries to incline them to contribute to the extension of his fame,* whose object it had been to

*We may venture, without fear of contradiction, to assert that no English poet ever provoked such a swarm of pamphlets and poems as followed in the wake of each of Churchill's satires; we have given an abridged list of those occasioned by the Rosciad alone, and could have appended a longer one to each of his other poems. Not one has survived, or deserved to do so; and in only one can we find any lines rising even to mediocrity, except a few in a satire called the Patriot Poet, inscribed to the Rev. Mr. Churchill, by a Country Curate. The invocation to which, containing a happy imitation of some of Churchill's more slovenly rhimes will be found in a note on Gotham, vol. ii. p. 112.

The following strains are of a more ambitious character:

Long hath that fierce Goliah's haughty stride
The armies of the living God defied;

Long hath he unrestrain'd in error trod,
Apostate to his country, king, and God.

depreciate theirs. The partial pen of Lloyd, whe appears throughout all his poems desirous of expressing his admiration of his friend, forms nearly a solitary exception. We shall confine ourselves to the following extract, at once affording a pleasing specimen of his poetry and of his gratitude:

Is there a man, whose genius strong,
Rolls like a rapid stream along,

Whose muse, long hid in cheerless night,
Pours on us like a flood of light,
Whose active, comprehensive mind
Walks Fancy's regions, unconfined;

I know, as novice in the muse's train,

He'll curse me by his gods in proud disdain,
All these his midnight orgies gods invoke,

Revel the loud, loose laugh, the lewd, coarse joke,
And yet I'll face him, He in whom I trust
Shall lay the enormous giant in the dust.

*

Even where the painting's strongest I can trace
Low keen eyed malice in the outraged face;
Malice, which often prompts the illiberal tongue
To paint defects with energy of song,

Thou talk'st of freedom, what? without control
Do what we list in wantonness of soul.
Fly, ruffian, from the haunts of men repair
To Lybian wilds, and seek thy freedom there;
Mix with the tigers, and in savage joy,
Vagrant at large, be mangled, and destroy.

one of

The Country Curate was answered by some Churchill's champions, who introduced into his defence the following whimsical comparison between the poet and John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough:

In Anna's wars immortal Churchill rose,

And, great in arms, subdued Britannia's foes;
A greater Churchill now commands our praise,
And the palm yields her empire to the bays.
Though John fought nobly at his army's head,
And slew his thousands with the balls of lead;
Yet must the hero to the bard submit,

Who hurls unmatch'd the thunderbolts of wit.

Whom, nor the surly sense of pride,
Nor affectation, warps aside;
Who drags no author from his shelf,
To talk on with an eye to self;
Careless alike, in conversation,
Of censure, or of approbation;
Who freely thinks and freely speaks,
And meets the wit he never seeks;
Whose reason calm, and judgment cool,
Can pity, but not hate a fool:

Who can a hearty praise bestow,

If merit sparkles in a foe;

Who, bold and open, firm and true,
Flatters no friends, yet loves them too;
Churchill will be the last to know
His is the portrait, I would show.

Goldsmith is said to have spoken slightingly of Churchill, and would be induced, as well from partial dissimilarity of character and conduct, as from motives of duty and gratitude, to vindicate the fame of his friend and patron, Dr. Johnson.* Few writers have ventured to impeach their own judgment by committing to paper any remarks in derogation of Churchill's genius; though they would not commend, they dared not censure, and have preferred silence to praise.†

* In the dedication prefixed to the Traveller, an observation occurs, which, though very general, may be supposed to allude more pointedly to Churchill.

"But there is an enemy to poetry still more dangerous, I mean party; party entirely distorts the judgment and destroys the taste. A mind capable of relishing general beauty, when once infected with this disease, can only find pleasure in what contributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists from pursuing man, after having once preyed upon human flesh, the reader who has once gratified his ap. petite with calumny, makes ever after the most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such readers generally admire some half-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, having lost the character of a wise one. Him they dignify with the name of poet; his lampoons are called satires, his turbulence is said to be force, and his frenzy fire."

† Warton and Knox are exceptions to this observation; the

Cowper always retained and expressed a warm admiration for the talents of Churchill, and has recorded both in prose and verse his favorable opinion of his schoolfellow.

Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one;
Short his career, indeed, but ably run;
Churchill; himself unconscious of his powers,
In penury consumed his idle hours;

And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown,
Was left to spring by vigour of his own.
Lifted at length, by dignity of thought
And dint of genius to an affluent lot,
He laid his head in luxury's soft lap
And took, too often, there his easy nap.
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth,
'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth,
Surly and slovenly, and bold, and coarse,
Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force,
Spendthrift alike of money and of wit,
Always at speed, and never drawing bit,
He struck the lyre in such a careless mood
And so disdain'd the rules he understood,
The laurel seem'd to wait on his command,
He snatch'd it rudely from the Muse's hand.
TABLE TALK.

In one of his letters he thus more fully discussed the merits of the departed bard.

"It is a great thing to be indeed a poet, and does not happen to more than one man in a century. Churchill, the great Churchill, deserved

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former, in his Essay on Poetry, immolates Churchill at the shrine of Gray; and the latter, in his frothy and flimsy Essays," consigns Churchill to that oblivion in which his own writings have been most righteously overwhelmed. The vitality of Churchill's fame being sufficiently attested by the successive tributes paid to it by Cowper, Byron, Southey, and Campbell, the manes of the poet will not be greatly disturbed by the opinions either of Dr. Vicesimus Knox or of Mr. D'Israeli, who, in his Curiosities of Literature, has hazarded the assertion that "Churchill was spendthrift of fame, and enjoyed all his revenue while he lived. Posterity owes him little and pays him nothing."