t
raised him from obscurity. He is the greatest, after Dryden, of all
the second class poets of his country. His Rape of the Lock, the most
original of his poems, established his fame. But his greatest works
were the translations of the Iliad and Odyssey, the Dunciad, and his
Essay on Man. He was well paid for his labors, and lived in a
beautiful villa at Twickenham, the friend of Bolingbroke, and the
greatest literary star of his age. But he was bitter and satirical,
irritable, parsimonious, and vain. As a versifier, he has never been
equalled. He died in 1744, in the Romish faith, beloved but by few,
and disliked by the world generally.

[Sidenote: Writers of the Age of Queen Anne.]

Bolingbroke was not a poet, but a man of vast genius, a great
statesman, and a great writer on history and political philosophy, a
man of most fascinating manners and conversation, brilliant, witty,
and learned, but unprincipled and intriguing, the great leader of the
Tory party. Gay, as a poet, was respectable, but poor, unfortunate, a
hanger on of great people, and miserably paid for his sycophancy. His
fame rests on his Fables and his Beggar's Opera. Prior first made
himself distinguished by his satire called A City Mouse and a Country
Mouse, aimed against Dryden. He was well rewarded by government, and
was sent as minister to Paris. Like most of the wits of his time, he
was convivial, and not always particular in the choice of his
associates. Humor was the natural turn of his mind. Steele was editor
of the Spectator and wrote some excellent papers, although vastly
inferior to Addison's. He is the father of the periodical essay, was a
man of fashion and pleasure, and had great experience in the follies
and vanities of the world. It is doubtful whether the writings of the
great men who adorned the age of Anne will ever regain the ascendency
they once enjoyed, since they have all been surpassed in succeeding
times. They had not the fire, enthusiasm, or genius which satisfies
the wants of the present generation. As poets, they had no greatness
of fancy; and as philosophers, they were cold and superficial. Nor did
they write for the people, but for the great, with whom they sought to
associate, by whose praises they were consoled, and by whose bread
they were sustained. They wrote for a class, and that class alone,
that chiefly seeks to avoid ridicule and abstain from absurdity, that
never attempts the sublime, and never sinks to the rid