A LETTER,

TO A FRIEND.

WHEN an author of acknowledged merit attacks, with all the virulence of satire, the memory of a writer equally celebrated for superiority of genius and of virtue, he seems to throw down a public gauntlet of defiance, which every one may take up who feels within himself a sufficient spirit to meet so formidable a foe.

I shall therefore make no apology for the following examination of Mr. Hayley's Censures of Swift, in his late Poem of the Triumphs of Temper. He is a writer of so much real merit and elegance, that none of his opinions can be considered as indifferent, either to the public taste, or public morals. Much greater then is the dan

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ger, when the beauty of his numbers, and the authority. of his name, give weight to popular prejudices, and arm the superficial taste and affected delicacy of the present age, with the sanction of principle and benevolence.

The envy of rival wits, is so stale and acknowledged. a fact, that few will feel themselves inclined to controvert. its general authority, although they may deny the particular application. However liberal and ingenious, therefore, I may suppose Mr. Hayley's private temper, I cannot help imagining, that part of his enmity to Swift, may arise from a contrariety of genius, which often in-. sensibly warps us from our natural bias, and invests pri- : vate interest, and private vanity, with all the dignity of principle and public spirit. The field of literature is indeed. so wide, that authors of the most various and contrary talents,have sufficient room to expatiate,without the danger of encroaching upon each other in their career; yet seldom do we see these literary competitors, contented with approaching the goal, without endeavouring 10 overturn a rival in the way. Thus Pope, in the midst of the glory' which the early efforts of his genius had justly acquired ' him, thought it necessary to depreciate Philip's Pastorals in order to exalt his own; and thus the restorers of the modern witty comedy, seem discontented with their

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deserved applause, unless they can hold up the serious Muse to ridicule and contempt.

In the task of instructing and improving mankind, there seems to have always been two great divisions, under one or other of which, the moral writers of every age have been contented to be ranged. The first class comprehends men of polished minds and delicate taste, who, with little enthusiasm for virtue, or abhorrence of vice, are contented to direct the poignancy of their wit, at foibles and defects, which contradict the reigning taste and manners: or should they attack a fashionable vice, it is with so much gentleness, with such a parade of candour, with such an affectation of politeness, that you see plainly, the least of the author's cares is to serve the cause in which he is engaged; and that like stage combatants, in the midst of the fight, he is more intent upon the balancing of his plume, the flow of his robe, and the decorum of his attitude, than zealous to annoy his adversary. Such men are the coquettes of literature; as these, with little real feeling, find it necessary to affect sensibility, so those with little interest for the public welfare, or solicitude about public morals, imagine it expedient to pretend to both; but with all the airs and graces which they assume, you see the little interests,

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interests of their own vanity ever uppermost in their thoughts, and prevailing over every other consideration. I have also heard these gentlemen compared to Masters of the ceremonies at public places, who flatter the company, in hopes of a benefit, bow and cringe to Vice, Meanness, and Effrontery, in the man of rank, fortune, or fashion, but who would turn Virtue herself out of the room, should she appear there in an unfashionable dress.

The second class of moralists, contains men of strong minds, and indignant tempers, who find it impossible to practise condescensions, which would degrade them in their own eyes, or to keep measures with what excites their abhorrence. Struck with the wide deviations of the human species from every standard of rectitude and religion, they think it more honourable to oppose the torrent, than to glide with security upon its surface, conscious that genius is not given to apologize for error, or courage to defend the cause of general depravity, they scorn to prostitute either, for the temporary smile of public admiration or if they are not exempt from the uni versal passion, it is in them a generous feeling which grasps at posterity, and appeals to the wise and good of every country. Such I imagine was Luther in religion, Brutus and Hambden in politics, Juvenal and Swift in morals.

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I do not mean to insinuate, that the author of the Triumphs of Temper, belongs to the first class I have described; although I should have been much more inclined to place him there, had I seen nothing of his composition, but this Poem. Yet I think this Poem, and every similar one, however elegant in composition, much less calculated to promote the cause of virtue, than the very piece it so forcibly arraigns. I will endeavour to state my reasons for such an assertion, by an examination of the Poem, which is professedly written with a moral design; and in this, my admiration of the Poet's genius will not restrain me from freely proposing my objections; conscious that, as I am the last of critics to be feared, so he is the last of authors to be afraid of criticism.

The moral of the Poem is, in the writer's own words, "Virtue's an ingot of Peruvian gold,

Sense the bright ore, Potosi's mines unfold;
But temper's image must their use create,

And give these precious metals sterling weight." I should be very happy, were I inclined to depreciate the extraordinary poetical talents which appear in every page of this work, to begin my criticism, with what I think four of the worst lines in the Poem. Virtue is