That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell!

III.

The trumpet's loud clangour

Excites us to arms,

With shrills notes of anger

And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat

Of the thund'ring drum

Cries, Hark! the foes come;

Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.

The soft complaining flute

In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

V.

Sharp violins proclaim,

Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation,

Depths of pain, and height of passion, For the fair, disdainful dame.

VI.

But oh! what art can teach,

What human voice can reach, The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love,

Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above.

VII.

Orpheus cou'd lead the savage race;
And trees uprooted left their place,

Sequacious of the lyre:

But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher: When to her organ vocal breath was giv'n, An angel heard and straight appeared, Mistaking Earth for Heav'n.

GRAND CHORUS.

As from the pow'r of sacred lays

The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the Bless'd above;

So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky.

William Congreve, 1670-1729 Congreve, the friend and in some respects the protege of Dryden, was born at Bardsey, in February of 1670. He was educated at Kilkenny and at Trinity College, Dublin, after which he went to London.

His first literary venture was a novel, "Incognita or Love and Duty Reconciled," and was issued in 1691; in 1693, with the aid of Dryden, his first play, "The Old Bachelor," was published and met with

immediate success. "The Double Dealer" followed this, but was too poignantly satirical to be thoroughly appreciated.

"Love for Love," considered the finest prose comedy in English, appeared in 1695, and in 1697 Congreve's only tragedy, "The Mourning Bride," was brought out. He wrote his last play, "The Way of the World," in 1700, but though of excellent workmanship, it lacked the humorous impulse usually so dominant in his work, and was received with coolness. He lived until January, 1729, but he wrote nothing more for the stage.

Macaulay writes of Congreve in his "Essays,"

No writers have injured the Comedy of England so deeply as Congreve and Sheridan. Both were men of splendid wit and polished taste. Unhappily they made all their characters in their own likeness. Their works bear the same relation to the legitimate drama which a transparency bears to a painting. There are no delicate touches, no hues imperceptibly fading into each other; the whole is lighted up with an universal glare. Outlines and tints are forgotten in the common blaze which illuminates all. The flowers and fruits of the intellect abound; but it is the abundance of a jungle, not a garden, unwholesome, bewildering, unprofitable from its very plenty, rank from its very fragrance. Every fop, every boor, every valet, is a man of wit.

Literature in Queen Anne's Reign

It is odd that the three greatest periods of English literature should have fallen in the reigns of three women. The Elizabethan Age, the Age of Queen Anne and the Victorian Era marked the halcyon days of English literary activity-they were the periods in which either the art of writing reached the highest developments or creative energy was at the zenith of productiveness.

The reign of Queen Anne fell during years when the French influence in letters was still uppermost. Notwithstanding which, during the reign of Anne, English literature again underwent many changes. This was due to numerous causes, one of which was the political situation of the nation. The Whigs and the Tories were in the throes of a very serious contention and literary men were being engaged by the leaders of both parties to advance their respective causes with their pens. The desire to keep the public well-informed led to the establishment of

the newspaper; it led also to the better monetary state of authors.

Heretofore, the remunerations of literature had been so entirely inadequate that most writers, except dramatists, were obliged to engage in other pursuits for the purpose of acquiring a livelihood, and what writing they did was cramped into their short hours of leisure. But now men began to gain a living by their pens, for the reading public had increased to numbers that made publishing a profitable enterprise.

There was also another development in the course of letters that was destined to be widespread and lasting in its effects. The age of Anne was practical, and the minds and hearts of the people were set upon everyday affairs. The general dissemination of a larger knowledge tended to lessen literary class distinctions. Commercial conditions were good, and many more persons than ever before knew what it was to enjoy a certain amount of leisure. A new social regime sprang into being; coffee-houses were established, where the wits and politicians of the day gathered to discuss the methods and movements of Whigs and Tories and incidentally to comment upon the various phases and characteristics of life and literature as these presented themselves to their view. Thus it came about that more attention was given the daily life of ordinary people and gradually into the newspapers there crept little stories of contemporary customs and manners and brief character

sketches of various types of humanity which the day and country had produced. The result was the essay and after that the novel.

The essay had never reached a stage of very high development. Bacon had employed it as a literary vehicle, and one or two others, but it remained for Joseph Addison and Sir Richard Steele to realize its fullest and best possibilities, and this they did in the "Spectator" and "Guardian' papers.

As for the novel, its progenitor was the extravagant romance, with its wild imaginative flights. The story of real life; the picture of life in the home and in everyday circumstances was practically unknown. Here again Addison and Steele made the innovation, and in the "Sir

Roger de Coverley" papers we find the germ of that novel which in the hands of Fielding and Richardson became the foundation for the form of writing which is to-day the very bulwark of English literature.

Sir Richard Steele, 1671-1729

Richard Steele, son of an Irish attorney, was born in Dublin, Ireland, in March, 1671. He attended the Charterhouse School, where he had Addison for class-mate, and in 1690 entered Christ Church, Oxford, which he left again in 1694, in order to enlist as a private in the army. In 1700 he became Captain Steele, and in 1701 his first piece of writing appeared, his "devotional manual," as Mr. Stephen Gwynn describes "The Christian Hero." After that he wrote comedies. among others, "The Funeral" (1701). In 1706 he was appointed editor of the official "Gazette," and it was in an effort to enliven this somewhat dry-as-dust paper that he began introducing bits of gossip and humorous comment upon the manners of the social life as he saw it all around him. The success of this method of procedure, as well as the happy fortune of Defoe's "Review," led to his establishment, in 1709, of "The Tatler," to which Addison presently became a contributor.

Joseph Addison, 1672-1719 Addison was born at Milston, in Wiltshire, England, May 1, 1672. He was the son of a clergyman and was educated at Amesbury, Salisbury and Lichfield, after which he attended the Charterhouse School and from there went, like Steele, to Oxford.

In 1699 he received a pension from the government, which enabled him to travel, presumably to fit himself for diplomatic service. He returned to England in 1703. having met Boileau and having imbued the principal literary teachings of the French school. His "Remarks on Several Parts of Italy" was published in 1705, and in 1706 he was made Under Secretary of State. State. 1708 saw him a member of Parliament, and in 1709 he began his papers in "The Tatler." He was at this time well known as a poet, having written several patriotic pieces that met with general favor.

It was through Addison that "The Tatler" became, in 1711, "The Spectator," and from 1711 to 1713, when "The Spectator" was discontinued and "The Guardian" was begun, he and Steele composed the various essays that delighted all English readers of that day, and have delighted all readers of the English-speaking world ever since.

A long and pleasant literary friendship was that which united the hearts and interests of Steele and Addison. Begun in boyhood, it continued until the end of "The Guardian's" career, some five years before the death of Addison.

It was in 1713 that the tragedy of "Cato," by Addison, was produced and enjoyed a large ovation, and in the same. year Steele entered Parliament.

But 1715 found the restless Irishman patentee of the Drury Lane Theatre and again writing comedies. George I rewarded his various services by knighting him in the same year, and he produced his most successful play, "The Unconscious. Lovers," in 1722. Steele survived his great colleague ten years, dying at Carmarthen in 1729.

In character there was every possible difference between Addison and Steele. The first, calm, dignified and prudent, cold, most persons would have said, presented a very striking contrast to his fiery, generous-hearted, impulsive and devil-may-care fellow. Yet of the two it was Richard Steele who possessed the versatility and originality; in Addison one finds suavity and elegance and delicate irony; to Steele we look for actual sympathetic appreciation of humanity. Nearly everything that was done by the two in collaboration took its root in some idea of Steele's, but, on the other hand, it was Addison who had the skill and exercised the patience necessary to bring it to perfection. It was Steele who introduced Sir Roger de Coverley; it was Addison who developed the character to a realistic presentment. So, in speaking of "The Spectator," it is only too frequently the case that to Addison is given overmuch of the credit, and this is in no way fair, insomuch as Steele wrote many very delightful sketches, which, though less noteworthy for their polish and refined art, have in them those quali

ties which made their author's personality such a lovable one.

Mr. Austin Dobson says in his "Life of Richard Steele :

There have been wiser, stronger, greater men. But many a strong man would have been stronger for a touch of Steele's indulgent sympathy; many a great man has wanted his genuine largeness of heart; many a wise man might learn something from his deep and wide humanity. His virtues redeemed his frailities. He was thoroughly amiable, kindly and gener

ous.

Selections

CATO'S SOLILOQUY.

From "Cato" by Joseph Addison.

It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well-
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond de-

sire,

This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward hor

ror

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the Soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the Divinity, that stirs within us;
'Tis Heav'n itself, that points out a hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity! thou peaceful, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must

we pass!

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before

me;

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a power above us, (And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works,) he must delight in vir

tue.

And that which he delights in must be happy.
But when or where?-This world was made for
Caesar.

I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.
Thus am I doubly arm'd-My death and life,
My bane and antidote are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The Soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point;
The stars shall fade away, the Sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter and the crash of worlds.

GENIUS'S.

By Joseph Addison.

From "The Spectator." (Original text). There is no Character more frequently given to a Writer than that of being called a Genius. I have heard many a little Sonneteer called a fine Genius. There is not an heroic Scribler in the Nation, that has not his Admirers who think him a great Genius; and as for your Smatterers in Tragedy, there is scarce a man among them who is not cried up by one or other for a prodigious Genius.

My design in this Paper is to consider what is properly a great Genius; and to throw some thoughts together on so uncommon a subject.

Among great Genius's those few draw the Admiration of all the World upon them, and stand up as the prodigies of Mankind, who by the meer Strength of natural Parts, and without any assistance of Arts or Learning, have produced Works that were the Delight of their own Times, and the Wonder of Posterity. There appears something nobly wild and extravagant in these great natural Genius's, that is infinitely more beautiful than all the Turn and Polishing of what the French call a "Bel Esprit," by which they would express a Genius refined by Conversation, Reflection, and the Reading of the most polite Authors.

Many of these great natural Genius's that were never disciplined and broken by Rules of Art, are to be found among the Ancients, and in particular among those of the more Eastern Part of the World; Homer has innumerable flights that Virgil was not able to reach, and in the Old Testament we find several Passages more elevated and sublime than any in Homer. At the same time that we allow a greater and more daring Genius to the Ancients, we must own that the greatest of them very much failed in, or, if you will, that they were very much above the Nicety and Correctness of the Moderns. In their Similitudes and Illusions, provided that there was a Likeness, they did not much trouble themselves about the Decency of the Comparison: Thus Solomon resembles the Nose of his Beloved to the Tower of Libanon which looketh toward Damascus. It would be endless to make collections of this Nature; Homer illustrates one of his Heroes encompassed with the Enemy by an Ass in a Field of Corn that has his sides belabored by all the Boys of the Village without stirring a foot for it. This particular failure in the Ancients opens a large field of raillery to the little Wits, who can laugh at an Indecency but not relish the Sublime in these sorts of Writings.

Pindar was a great Genius of the first Class, who was hurried on by a natural Fire and Impetuosity to vast Conceptions of things and noble Sallies of Imagination. At the same time, can anything be more ridiculous than for Men of a sober and moderate Fancy to imitate this Poet's way of Writing in those monstrous Compositions which go among us under the name of Pindaricks? * * * A modern Pindarick Writer, compared with Pindar, is like a Sister among the Camisars* compared with Virgil's Sibyl: There is the Distortion, Grimace, and outward Figure, but nothing of that divine Impulse which raises the Mind above itself and makes the sounds more than human.

There is another kind of great Genius's which I shall place in a second Class, not as I think them inferior to the first, but only for Distinction's sake, as they are of a different kind. This

*French Prophets who worked miracles with distortions of body, etc.

second Class of great Genius's are those that have formed themselves by Rules, and submitted the greatness of their natural Talents to the Corrections and Restraints of Art. Such among the Greeks were Plato and Aristotle; among the Romans, Virgil and Tully; among the English, Milton and Sir Francis Bacon.

The Genius in both these Classes of Authors may be equally great, but shews itself after a different Manner. In the first it is like a rich soil in a happy Climate, that produces a whole Wilderness of noble Plants rising in a thousand beautiful Landskips, without any certain Order or Regularity. In the other it is the same rich Soil, in the same happy Climate, that has been laid out in Walks and Parterres, and cut into Shape and Beauty by the Skill of the Gardener.

The great danger in these latter kind of Genius's, is lest they cramp their own Abilities too much by Imitation, and form themselves altogether upon Models, without giving full play to their own natural Parts. An Imitation of the best Authors is not to compare with a good Original; and I believe we may observe that very few Writers make an extraordinary Figure in the World, who have not something in their Way of thinking or expressing themselves that is peculiar to them, and entirely their own.

SIR ROGER IN LOVE.

By Richard Steele.

From the "Sir Roger de Coverley" papers. The Riverside Edition. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

In my first description of the company in which I pass most of my time it may be remembered that I mentioned a great affliction which my friend Sir Roger had met with in his youth: which was no less than a disappointment in love. It happened this evening that we fell into a very pleasing walk at a distance from his house: as soon as we came into it, "It is." quoth the good old man, looking round him with a smile, "very hard that any part of my land should be settled upon one who has used me so ill as the perverse Widow did; and yet I am sure I could not see a sprig of any bough of this whole walk of trees, but I should reflect upon her and her severity. She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world. You are to know this was the place wherein I used to muse upon her; and by that custom I can never come into it, but the same tender sentiments revive in my mind as if I had actually walked with that beautiful creature under these shades. I have been fool enough to carve her name on the bark of several of these trees, so unhappy is the condition of men in love to attempt the removing of their passion by the methods which serve only to imprint it the deeper. She has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world."

"You must understand, sir, that this perverse woman is one of those unaccountable creatures, that secretly rejoice in the admiration of men, but indulge themselves in no fur