does justice to the sublimity of some speeches, and the philosophical exactness in the sentiments.  “The simile of mount Atlas, and that of the Numidian traveller, smothered in the sands, are, indeed, in character,” says the critick, “but sufficiently obvious.”  The simile of the mountain is, indeed, common; but that of the traveller, I do not remember.  That it is obvious is easy to say, and easy to deny.  Many things are obvious, when they are taught.

He proceeds to criticise the other works of Addison, till the epilogue calls his attention to Rowe, whose character he discusses in the same manner, with sufficient freedom and sufficient candour.

The translation of the epistle of Sappho to Phaon is next considered; but Sappho and Ovid are more the subjects of this disquisition, than Pope.  We shall, therefore, pass over it to a piece of more importance, the epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, which may justly be regarded, as one of the works on which the reputation of Pope will stand in future times.

The critick pursues Eloisa through all the changes of passion, produces the passages of her letters, to which any allusion is made, and intersperses many agreeable particulars and incidental relations.  There is not much profundity of criticism, because the beauties are sentiments of nature, which the learned and the ignorant feel alike.  It is justly remarked by him, that the wish of Eloisa, for the happy passage of Abelard into the other world, is formed according to the ideas of mystick devotion.

These are the pieces examined in this volume:  whether the remaining part of the work will be one volume, or more, perhaps the writer himself cannot yet inform us [9].  This piece is, however, a complete work, so far as it goes; and the writer is of opinion, that he has despatched the chief part of his task; for he ventures to remark, that the reputation of Pope, as a poet, among posterity, will be principally founded on his Windsor Forest, Rape of the Lock, and Eloisa to Abelard; while the facts and characters, alluded to in his late writings, will be forgotten and unknown, and their poignancy and propriety little relished; for wit and satire are transitory and perishable, but nature and passion are eternal.

He has interspersed some passages of Pope’s life, with which most readers will be pleased.  When Pope was yet a child, his father, who had been a merchant in London, retired to Binfield.  He was taught to read by an aunt; and learned to write, without a master, by copying printed books.  His father used to order him to make English verses, and would oblige him to correct and retouch them over and over, and, at last, could say, “These are good rhymes.”

At eight years of age, he was committed to one Taverner, a priest, who taught him the rudiments of the Latin and Greek.  At this time, he met with Ogleby’s Homer, which seized his attention; he fell next upon Sandys’s Ovid, and remembered these two translations, with pleasure, to the end of his life.