general shouts of Troy,
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.

He _spoke_, and fondly gazing on her charms,
Restor'd _the pleasing burden to her arms_:
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd.
The _troubled pleasure_ soon chastis'd by fear,
She mingled with the smile a tender tear.

LITERARY FASHIONS.

There is such a thing as Literary Fashion, and prose and verse have been
regulated by the same caprice that cuts our coats and cocks our hats.
Dr. Kippis, who had a taste for literary history, has observed that
"'Dodsley's Oeconomy of Human Life' long received the most extravagant
applause, from the supposition that it was written by a celebrated
nobleman; an instance of the power of _Literary Fashion_; the history of
which, as it hath appeared in various ages and countries, and as it hath
operated with respect to the different objects of science, learning,
art, and taste, would form a work that might be highly instructive and
entertaining."

The favourable reception of Dodsley's "Oeconomy of Human Life," produced
a whole family of oeconomies; it was soon followed by a _second part_,
the gratuitous ingenuity of one of those officious imitators, whom an
original author never cares to thank. Other oeconomies trod on the heels
of each other.

For some memoranda towards a history of literary fashions, the following
may be arranged:--

At the restoration of letters in Europe, commentators and compilers were
at the head of the literati; translators followed, who enriched
themselves with their spoils on the commentators. When in the progress
of modern literature, writers aimed to rival the great authors of
antiquity, the different styles, in their servile imitations, clashed
together; and parties were formed who fought desperately for the style
they chose to adopt. The public were long harassed by a fantastic race,
who called themselves Ciceronian, of whom are recorded many ridiculous
practices, to strain out the words of Cicero into their hollow
verbosities. They were routed by the facetious Erasmus. Then followed
the brilliant aera of epigrammatic points; and good sense, and good
taste, were nothing without the spurious ornaments of false wit.
Another age was deluged by a million of sonnets; and volumes were for a
long time read, without their readers being aware that their patience
was exhausted. There was an age of epi