more
pleasure at the second perusal, and delighted him still more at the
third.

It has been generally objected to "The Wanderer," that the disposition
of the parts is irregular; that the design is obscure, and the plan
perplexed; that the images, however beautiful, succeed each other
without order; and that the whole performance is not so much a regular
fabric, as a heap of shining materials thrown together by accident,
which strikes rather with the solemn magnificence of a stupendous
ruin than the elegant grandeur of a finished pile. This criticism is
universal, and therefore it is reasonable to believe it at least in
a degree just; but Mr. Savage was always of a contrary opinion, and
thought his drift could only be missed by negligence or stupidity, and
that the whole plan was regular, and the parts distinct. It was never
denied to abound with strong representations of nature, and just
observations upon life; and it may easily be observed that most of
his pictures have an evident tendency to illustrate his first great
position, "that good is the consequence of evil." The sun that burns
up the mountains fructifies the vales; the deluge that rushes down the
broken rocks with dreadful impetuosity is separated into purling brooks;
and the rage of the hurricane purifies the air.

Even in this poem he has not been able to forbear one touch upon the
cruelty of his mother, which, though remarkably delicate and tender,
is a proof how deep an impression it had upon his mind. This must be at
least acknowledged, which ought to be thought equivalent to many other
excellences, that this poem can promote no other purposes than those of
virtue, and that it is written with a very strong sense of the efficacy
of religion. But my province is rather to give the history of Mr.
Savage's performances than to display their beauties, or to obviate the
criticisms which they have occasioned, and therefore I shall not dwell
upon the particular passages which deserve applause. I shall neither
show the excellence of his descriptions, nor expatiate on the terrific
portrait of suicide, nor point out the artful touches by which he has
distinguished the intellectual features of the rebels, who suffer death
in his last canto. It is, however, proper to observe, that Mr. Savage
always declared the characters wholly fictitious, and without the least
allusion to any real persons or actions.

From a poem so diligently laboured, and so successfully finis