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been observed by several that the lion has changed his manner of acting twice or thrice since his first appearance, which will not seem strange when I acquaint the reader that the lion has been changed upon the audience three several times.

The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who being a fellow of a testy, choleric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer himself to be killed so easily as he ought to have done; besides it was observed of him that he grew more surly every time he came out of the lion; and having dropt some words in ordinary conversation, as if he had not fought his best, and that he suffered himself to be thrown upon his back in the scuffle, and that he would wrestle with Mr. Nicolini for what he pleased, out of his lion's skin, it was thought proper to discard him; and it is verily believed to this day that had he been brought upon the stage another time he would certainly have done mischief. Besides, it was objected against the first lion that he reared himself so high upon his hinder

paws and walked in so erect a position, that he looked more like an old man than a lion.

The second lion was a tailor by trade, who belonged to the playhouse, and had the character of a mild and peaceful man in his profession. If the former was too furious, this was too sheepish, for his part; inasmuch that, after a short, modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of “ Hydaspes” without grappling with him and giving him an opportunity of showing his variety of Italian trips; it is said, indeed, that he once gave him a rip in his flesh-colored doublet; but this was only to make work for himself in his private character of a tailor. I must not omit that it was this second lion who treated me with so much humanity behind the scenes.

The acting lion at present is, as I am informed, a country gentleman who does it for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says very handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain, that he indulges an innocent pleasure in it, and that it is better to pass away an evening in this manner than in gaming and drinking; but at the same time says, with a very agreeable raillery upon himself, that if his name should be known the ill-natured world might call him the ass in the lion's skin. This gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and the choleric that he outdoes both his predecessors, and has drawn together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man.

I must not conclude my narrative without taking notice of a ground

less report that has been raised to a gentleman's disadvantage, of whom I must declare myself an admirer; namely, that Signor Nicolini and the lion have been seen sitting peaceably by one another and smoking a pipe together behind the scenes, by which their common enemies would insinuate that it is but a sham combat which they represent upon the stage; but upon inquiry I find that if any such correspondence has passed between them it was not till the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked upon as dead, according to the received rules of the drama. Besides, this is what is practiced every day in Westminster Hall, where nothing is more usual than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each other to pieces in the court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of it.

In 1716 Addison married a widow of high rank, the Countess of Warwick, and in 1717 he was made Secretary of State. He was an upright and trustworthy public official though constitutional timidity prevented him from opening his mouth in the House of Commons. The malignity of Pope has caused rather an unfavorable impression of Addison's frankness to grow up in the public mind. There may be some underlying correspondence to reality in the famous sketch of Atticus, quoted in the pages on Pope, — the portrait is so lifelike that it will always pass for true, - but the story that Addison indulged in wine too freely is probably a pure invention of the poet, who put more imagination into his slander than he did into his verse.

Addison died in 1719 at the age of forty-seven and was buried by night in Westminster Abbey. He left one daughter, who died unmarried in 1797. The funeral service is finely alluded to by his friend, Tickell :

“Can I forget the dismal night that gave
My soul's best part forever to the grave ?
How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeding things,

been observed by several that the lion has changed his manner of acting twice or thrice since his first appearance, which will not seem strange when I acquaint the reader that the lion has been changed upon the audience three several times.

The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who being a fellow of a testy, choleric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer himself to be killed so easily as he ought to have done; besides it was observed of him that he grew more surly every time he came out of the lion; and having dropt some words in ordinary conversation, as if he had not fought his best, and that he suffered himself to be thrown upon his back in the scuffle, and that he would wrestle with Mr. Nicolini for what he pleased, out of his lion's skin, it was thought proper to discard him; and it is verily believed to this day that had he been brought upon the stage another time he would certainly have done mischief. Besides, it was objected against the first lion that he reared himself so high upon his hinder paws and walked in so erect a position, that he looked more like an old man than a lion.

The second lion was a tailor by trade, who belonged to the playhouse, and had the character of a mild and peaceful man in his profession. If the former was too furious, this was too sheepish, for his part; inasmuch that, after a short, modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of “ Hydaspes” without grappling with him and giving him an opportunity of showing his variety of Italian trips; it is said, indeed, that he once gave him a rip in his flesh-colored doublet; but this was only to make work for himself in his private character of a tailor. I must not omit that it was this second lion who treated me with so much humanity behind the scenes.

The acting lion at present is, as I am informed, a country gentleman who does it for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says very handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain, that he indulges an innocent pleasure in it, and that it is better to pass away an evening in this manner than in gaming and drinking; but at the same time says, with a very agreeable raillery upon himself, that if his name should be known the ill-natured world might call him the ass in the lion's skin. This gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and the choleric that he outdoes both his predecessors, and has drawn together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man.

I must not conclude my narrative without taking notice of a ground

less report that has been raised to a gentleman's disadvantage, of whom I must declare myself an admirer; namely, that Signor Nicolini and the lion have been seen sitting peaceably by one another and smoking a pipe together behind the scenes, by which their common enemies would insinuate that it is but a sham combat which they represent upon the stage; but upon inquiry I find that if any such correspondence has passed between them it was not till the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked upon as dead, according to the received rules of the drama. Besides, this is what is practiced every day in Westminster Hall, where nothing is more usual than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each other to pieces in the court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of it.

In 1716 Addison married a widow of high rank, the Countess of Warwick, and in 1717 he was made Secretary of State. He was an upright and trustworthy public official though constitutional timidity prevented him from opening his mouth in the House of Commons. The malignity of Pope has caused rather an unfavorable impression of Addison's frankness to grow up in the public mind. There may be some underlying correspondence to reality in the famous sketch of Atticus, quoted in the pages on Pope, the portrait is so lifelike that it will always pass for true, — but the story that Addison indulged in wine too freely is probably a pure invention of the poet, who put more imagination into his slander than he did into his verse.

Addison died in 1719 at the age of forty-seven and was buried by night in Westminster Abbey. He left one daughter, who died unmarried in 1797. The funeral service is finely alluded to by his friend, Tickell :

“Can I forget the dismal night that gave

My soul's best part forever to the grave ?
How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeding things,

name.

his “ Pastorals at the age of sixteen, but as they were not published till he was twenty-one, and Pope was one of those writers who are very diligent in revision, no doubt he corrected them at a later date. His “ Essay on Criticism” appeared in 1711, in which his peculiar merits of point and epigram appear as fully as in anything he wrote afterward. He translated the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” into heroic couplets. This was his chief employment for twelve years, and on its completion he moved to a villa near Twickenham, of which he took a life lease. This place is inseparably connected with his

His other writings are the “Messiah,” contributed to the Spectator; the “ Rape of the Lock,” a mockheroic on the stealing of a lock of hair by Lord Petrie from Miss Arabella Fermor, a liberty highly resented by the lady's relatives ; the “Dunciad,” a literary satire in which he revenged himself for all the affronts he conceived himself to have suffered from the minor writers of the day; the “ Essay on Man,” a philosophical poem ;

Epistles,” on the model of Horace ; and a number of minor pieces.

Pope wrote almost exclusively the heroic couplet in the end-stopt manner. Indeed, each couplet is a unit, and it would be very difficult in all his verses to find a full stop not at the end of a couplet, except in the short speeches of dialogue. This gives his verse a certain monotonous character, and deprives it of the more intricate and beautiful harmonies. But the couplets themselves are as good as they could possibly be made. No word can be changed without loss, and in many cases, as in the closing lines of the “ Dunciad,” Pope reaches such vigorous eloquence as to justify his rank. Wit and point we always find; the “ Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot” is full of both from begin

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