In the volume of Mr. Needler’s works, are printed some familiar Letters, upon moral, and natural subjects.  They are written with elegance and taste; the heart of a good man may be traced in them all, and equally abound with pious notions, as good sense, and solid reasoning.—­He seems to have been very much master of smooth versification, his subjects are happily chosen, and there is a philosophical air runs through all his writings; as an instance of this, we shall present our readers with a copy of his verses addressed to Sir Richard Blackmore, on his Poem, intitled The Creation.

    Dress’d in the charms of wit and fancy, long
  The muse has pleas’d us with her syren song;
  But weak of reason, and deprav’d of mind,
  Too oft on vile, ignoble themes we find
  The wanton muse her sacred art debase,
  Forgetful of her birth, and heavenly race;
  Too oft her flatt’ring songs to sin intice,
  And in false colours deck delusive vice;
  Too oft she condescends, in servile lays,
  The undeserving rich and great to praise. 
  These beaten paths, thy loftier strains refuse
  With just disdain, and nobler subjects chuse: 
  Fir’d with sublimer thoughts, thy daring soul
  Wings her aspiring flight from Pole to Pole,
  Observes the foot-steps of a pow’r divine,
  Which in each part of nature’s system shine;
  Surveys the wonders of this beauteous frame,
  And sings the sacred source, whence all things came.

    But Oh! what numbers shall I find to tell,
  The mighty transports which my bosom swell,
  Whilst, guided by thy tuneful voice, I stray
  Thro’ radiant worlds, and fields of native day,
  Wasted from orb, to orb, unwearied fly
  Thro’ the blue regions of the yielding sky;
  See how the spheres in stated courses roll,
  And view the just composure of the whole!

    Such were the strains, by antient Orpheus sung. 
  To such, Mufaeus’ heav’nly lyre was strung;
  Exalted truths, in learned verse they told,
  And nature’s deepest secrets did unfold. 
  How at th’ eternal mind’s omnisic call,
  Yon starry arch, and this terrestrial ball,
  The briny wave, the blazing source of light,
  And the wane empress of the silent night,
  Each in it’s order rose and took its place,
  And filled with recent forms the vacant space;
  How rolling planets trace their destin’d way,
  Nor in the wastes of pathless AEther stray;
  How the pale moon, with silver beams adorn
  Her chearful orb, and gilds her sharpened horns;
  How the vast ocean’s swelling tides obey
  Her distant reign, and own her watr’y sway;
  How erring floods, their circling course maintain,
  Supplied by constant succours from the main;
  Whilst to the sea, the refluent streams restore,
  The liquid treasures which she lent before;
  What dreadful veil obscures the solar light,
  And Phaebe’s darken’d face