e of the ghosts that are to animate
Roman bodies, so here Cibber sees a great Patriarch of Dulness, Bavius,
(him of old classical renown,) dipping in Lethe the souls that are to be
born dull upon the earth. The poet cannot resist a slight deviation from
the doctrine of his original. By the ancient theory the Lethean dip
extinguishes the memory of a past life, of its faults, and of their
punishment; and thence the willingness to inhabit the gross, earthy
frame, as generated anew. But the dip of Bavius is more powerful; it
quenches the faculties that are innate in a spirit, fitting it

"for a skull
Of solid proof, impenetrably dull."

The subterranean traveller then falls in with the ghost of Elkanah
Settle, who properly represents Anchises, and expounds the glories of
the Kingdom of Dulness. Something is borrowed also from the vision of
Adam, in the Eleventh Book of _Paradise Lost_. And something is
original; for that which has been is declared as well as that which
shall be; and the kingdom of intellectual darkness to the earth's verge
displayed in visible presentment, which the speaker interprets. The
Emperor Chi Ho-am-ti, who ordered a universal conflagration of books
throughout his celestial dominions--the multitude of barbarous sons
which the populous North poured from her frozen loins to sweep in deluge
away the civilization of the South--figure here. Here is Attila with his
Huns. Here is the Mussulman. Here is Rome of the dark ages. Great
Britain appears last--the dulness which has blessed, which blesses, and
which shall bless her. We extract the prophetical part. The visioned
progress of Dulness has reached the theatres; and some sixteen verses
which contain--says Warton, well and truly--"some of the most lively and
forcible descriptions any where to be found, and are perfect pattern of
a clear picturesque style," call up into brilliant and startling
apparition the ineffable monstrosities and impossibilities which
constituted the theatrical spectacles of the day. The sight extorts the
opening exclamation--

"What pow'r, he cries, what pow'r these wonders wrought?
Son, what thou seek'st is in thee! look and find
Each monster meets his likeness in thy mind.
Yet would'st thou more? in yonder cloud behold,
Whose sarsenet skirts are edg'd with flamy gold,
A matchless youth! his nod these worlds controls,
Wings the red lightning, and the thunder rolls.
Angel of Dulness, sent to scatter round