me 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