raries, but his prose
has an original excellence, a smoothness and dignity peculiar to it. His
poetry, as well as sentiments, in Cato, cannot be praised enough.

Mr. Addison was stedfast to his principles, faithful to his friends, a
zealous patriot, honourable in public stations, amiable in private life,
and as he lived, he died, a good man, and a pious Christian.

[Footnote 1: Tickell's Preface to Addison's works.]

[Footnote 2: Tickell. Ubi supra.]

[Footnote 3: Budgel's Memoirs of the Boyles.]

[Footnote 4: Tickell's Preface.]

* * * * *

ANNE, Countess of WINCHELSEA.

This lady, deservedly celebrated for her poetic genius, was daughter of
Sir William Kingsmill of Sidmonton, in the county of Southampton. She
was Maid of Honour to the Duchess of York, second wife to King James II.
and was afterwards married to Heneage earl of Winchelsea, who was in his
father's life-time Gentleman of the Bed-chamber to the Duke of York.

One of the most considerable of this lady's poems, is that upon the
Spleen, published by Mr. Charles Gildon, 1701, in 8vo. That poem
occasioned another of Mr. Nicholas Rowe's, entitled an Epistle to
Flavia, on the sight of two Pindaric Odes on the Spleen and Vanity,
written by a Lady to her Friend. This poem of the Spleen is written
in stanzas, after the manner of Cowley, and contains many thoughts
naturally expressed, and poetically conceived; there is seldom to be
found any thing more excellently picturesque than this poem, and it
justly entitles the amiable countess to hold a very high station amongst
the inspired tribe. Nothing can be more happily imagined than the
following description of the pretended influence of Spleen upon surly
Husbands, and gay Coquetes.

Patron thou art of every gross abuse;
The sullen husband's feign'd excuse,
When the ill humours with his wife he spends,
And bears recruited wit, and spirits to his friends
The son of Bacchus pleads thy pow'r
As to the glass he still repairs
Pretends but to remove thy cares,
Snatch from thy shades, one gay, and smiling hour,
And drown thy kingdom in a purple show'r.
When the coquette (whom ev'ry fool admires)
Would in variety be fair;
And changing hastily the scene,
From light, impertinent, and vain,
Assumes a soft, a melancholy air
And of her eyes rebates the wand'ring fires,
The careless posture, and the head reclin'd
(Proclaiming the withd