any bard, however exalted, he wrote a very elegant copy of verses on the Cato of his friend Addison, and a party poem of some merit, entitled an Imitation of the Prophecy of Nereus. To these we may add his Colin and Lucy, one of the most interesting and pathetic of modern ballads. It has been honoured by a translation from the pen of Vincent Bourne, and which, beautiful as is the original, has in several places heightened its pathos and effect; for instance, how admirably has he improved the sixth stanza. There bear my corse, ye comrades dear, The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim so gay, I in my winding sheet. She spoke, she dy’d:—her corse was borne, The bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay, She in her winding-sheet. Exangue oh! illuc, comites, deferte, cadaver, The Ode to the Earl of Sunderland too, though it cannot rank in the first class of Lyric poetry, • Poematia a V. Bourne tertia edita. 1743, p. 145. ti has a considerable portion of elevation, spirit, and harmony. The most elaborate production of Tickell, however, is yet to be mentioned, his Kensington Garden; which, had he been more judicious in the choice of his mythology, and avoided the glaring inconsistency attendant on a mixture of Grecian and Gothic fable, would have been nearly perfect in its design and execution. The verse flows with great smoothness, and the descriptions are generally vivid, correct, and pleasing. The promotion and prosperity of Tickell ceased not with the departure of his illustrious friend. He was created, in 1725, secretary to the lords justices of Ireland, and the year following vacated his fellowship at Oxford, by entering into a matrimonial connection at Dublin. In his official appointment, a situation of great dignity and profit, he continued during the remainder of his days, and died at Bath on the twenty-third of April, 1740, after a life of great usefulness and integrity. Tickell was in his person and manners amiable and pleasing. His habits were rather of a convivial cast; he loved the gay circle and the enlivening glass, but seldom, if ever, passed beyond the limits of temperate indulgence. His conversation was spirited and attractive, and in his family he was regular, affectionate, and kind. With regard to Tickell's share in the Spectator, it is now in vain to make an enquiry; for, though acknowledged as a contributor by Steele in N° 555 of that work, he has with singular modesty forborne to distinguish his papers by any mark or subsequent declaration. It is very probable, however, as he spent a great part of his time during the progress of the Spectator, both with Steele and Addison, that many of the numbers to which the letter T is annexed were of his composition.. Tradition has likewise recorded, that of the numerous epistles which add variety and character to the pages of the Spectator, our author furnished not a few. Nearly the same obscurity, with one exception, veils from our view his communications to the Guardian: N°125 is known to be his, and contains an elegant description of the beauties and exhilarating effects of the spring. Tickell appears, indeed, from this paper, to have viewed nature with the eye of a painter; for the following landscape, both in its minutiæ and general keeping, is admirably drawn. "I make it a rule," he observes, speaking of the spring, "to lose as little as I can of that blessed season; and accordingly rise with the sun, and wander through the fields, throw myself on the banks of little rivulets, or lose myself in the woods. I spent a day or two this spring at a country gentleman's seat, where I feasted my imagination every morning with the most luxurious prospect I ever saw. I usually took my stand by the wall of an old castle, built upon an high hill. A noble river ran at the foot of it, which, after being broken by a heap of misshapen stones, glided away in a clear stream, and wandering through two woods on each side of it in many windings, shone here and there at a great distance through the trees. I could trace the mazes for some miles, until my eye was led through two ridges of hills, and terminated by a vast mountain in another country." The strong propensity to enjoy in all their extent the fragrance and freshness of this lovely season, which the opening of this picturesque scene describes, has been frequently felt by men of literature and taste, and has as often proved for months an invincible obstacle to the duties of study, however pressing or important. A late very accomplished classical scholar may be added to the number of those who have powerfully felt this irresistible desire, this delightful Σropyn. "This impediment to study," he remarks, "commonly recurred in the spring of the year, where I was so enamoured of rambling in the open air, through solitary fields, or by a river's side-that no self-expostulations, no prospect of future vexation, nor even emulation itself, could chain me to my books. Indeed one half of the year, the summer, which brings with it an invincible propensity to ramble abroad, was always idle with me.' The six papers on pastoral poetry in the first volume of the Guardian, Nos. 15, 22, 23, 28, 30, and 32, have been ascribed, though upon no decisive grounds, to our author. The annotators are of opinion, that this assignment is more unexceptionable than any other, † and indeed they partake very little of the style and manner of Steele, to whom, for want of better authority, they have been commonly attributed, I should rather suppose them, from their internal evidence, to be the joint compositions of Addison and Tickell, with perhaps some occasional assistance from Philips, who at this time lived under the same roof with Addison, and whose modesty, it is believed, though the essays seem purposely to have been written with a view to his praise, would present no formidable obstacle to such & junction. The merit of these papers, whoever was their author, is considerable. They give a very pleas. ing and rational account of the origin and pro * Memoirs of the Life of Gilbert Wakefield, written by himself, yol. i. p. 87.525. ↑ Vide Guardian, vol.i. p. 163.-Note, edi, by Nichols of 1797, |