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JOSEPH ADDISON, ESQ.

BIOGRAPHY, in the wide memorials of huma existence, never expatiated upon a fairer life, tha that of this amiable Author. While the writer this sketch laments the penury of common at ticles which he will not repeat, he regrets mo feelingly his want of power to add to the memori bilia of so great a man. The few circumstances recorded of him are upon the minds of ALL-and very becomingly are they so; for they furnish out a lesson by which all may learn to LIVE WELL.

He has had the best praise of poetry, and the superior tribute of prose, solemn and sublime, for it is the prose of YOUNG. The great Author of the Night Thoughts hangs with religious rapture upon the death-bed of ADDISON, as the consummation of his character-the edifying close of Christian resignation.

"He teaches ноw to die."

There is but one event in the life of ADDISON which calls upon me for investigation or remark -" that conduct towards POPE, which produced "the famous portrait of ATTICUs." The charges

are serious; and, if substantiated by evidence, leave us nothing to plead in bar of sentence but, "that last infirmity of noble minds," jealousy of a rival's fame. Let the great writer who has not felt this pour down alone his censure upon ADDISON. But from whom does the sarcasm proceed?-From POPE!-from him who provoked the memorable severity of HILL? who, Poorly accepted FAME he ne'er repaid; Unborn to cherish, sneakingly approv'd,

And wanted SOUL to spread the worth he lov'd.

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Is it not something more than problematic, that this conduct, of which HILL so keenly complains, HE alone might not have felt, and that the coolness of ADDISON might have sprung the petulance of POPE? Let any man, after impartially scanning either the lives or writings of these writers, pronounce from whom he conceives the offensive conduct originally sprung. The beauty of Pope's COMPOSITIONS have in no trifling degreee decorated his LIFE with a beauty which it wanted. He who lives in a state of inadequate ENMITY, who, in the language of SHAKSPERE spurns enviously at straws, was more likely to be irritated by the successful SAGE he revered than the degraded DUNCE he delighted to deride.

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LUCIA, Daughter to Lucius,

Women.

Mrs. Hartley.

Mrs. Jackson.

SCENE, A Hall in the Governor's Palace in Utica.

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THE dawn is over-cast, the morning low'rs,
And heavily in clouds brings on the day,
The great, th' important day, big with the fate
Of Cato and of Rome-our father's death
Would fill up all the guilt of civil war,

And close the scene of blood. Already Cæsar
Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and sees
Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword :
Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting
To form new battles, and support his crimes.
Ye gods, what havock does ambition make
Among your works!

Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,

Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, In the calm lights of mild philosophy;

I'm tortur'd, ev'n to madness, when I think

On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd
Pharsalia rises to my view!—I see

Th' insulting tyrant prancing o'er the field,

Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaugh

ter,

His horse's hoofs wet with patrician blood!
Oh, Portius! is there not some chosen curse,
Some hidden thunder in the stores of Heav'n,
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man
Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin?

Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious greatness,
And mix'd with too much horror to be envy'd;
How does the lustre of our father's actions,
Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant brightness!
His suff'rings shine, and spread a glory round him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause

Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.

His sword ne'er fell, but on the guilty head;
Oppression, tyranny, and pow'r usurp❜d,
Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon 'em.

Marc. Who knows not this! But what can Cato do Against a world, a base, degen'rate world,

That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæsar ? Pent up in Utica, he vainly forins

A poor epitome of Roman greatness,

And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs
A feeble army, and an empty senate,

Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain.

By Heav'n, such virtues, join'd with such success,

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