berally received in the house of an opulent citizen; but in the night the angel rose, and stole a golden cup of inestimable value. The hermit now concluded, that his companion was a bad angel. In travelling forward the next morning, they passed over a bridge, about the middle of which they met a poor man, of whom the angel asked the way to the next city. Having received the desired information, the angel pushed the poor man into the water, where he was immediately drowned. In the evening they arrived at the house of a rich man, and begging for a lodging, were ordered to sleep in a shed with the cattle. In the morning the angel gave the rich man the cup which he had stolen. The hermit, amazed that the cup which was stolen from their friend and benefactor should be given to one who refused them a lodging, began to be now convinced, that his companion was the devil; and begged to go on alone. But the angel said, "Hear me and depart. When you lived in your hermitage a shepherd was killed by his master. He was innocent of the supposed offence; but had he not been then killed, he would have committed crimes in which he would have died impenitent. His master endeavours to atone for the murder, by dedicating the remainder of his days to alms and deeds of charity. I strangled

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the child of the knight. But know, that the father was so intent on heaping up riches for his child, as to neglect those acts of public munificence for which he was before so distinguished, and to which he has now returned. I stole the golden cup of the hospitable citizen. But know, that from a life of the strictest temperance, he became, in consequence of possessing this cup, a perpetual drunkard, and is now the most abstemious of men. I threw the poor man into the water. He was then honest and religious. But know, had he walked one half of a mile further, he would have murdered a man in a state of mortal sin. I gave the golden cup to the rich man, who refused to take us within his roof. He has therefore received his reward in this world, and in the next will suffer the pains of hell for his inhospitality.' The hermit fell prostrate at the angel's feet, and, requesting forgiveness, returned to his hermitage, fully convinced of the wisdom and justice of God's government."

This," says Warton, "is the fable of Parnell's HERMIT, which that elegant yet original writer has heightened with many masterly touches of poetical colouring, and a happier arrangement of circumstances. Among other proofs which might be mentioned of Parnell's genius and address in treating this subject, by reserving the

discovery of the angel to a critical period at the close of the fable, he has found means to introduce a beautiful description, and an interesting surprise. In this poem, the last instance of the angel's seeming injustice, is that of pushing the guide from the bridge into the river. At this, the hermit is unable to suppress his indignation:

Wild sparkling rage inflames the Father's eyes,
He bursts the bonds of fear, and madly cries,
"Detested wretch!"-But scarce his speech began,
When the strange partner seem'd no longer man:
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet,
His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet;
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
Celestial odours fill the purple air:

And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light*."

The attainments of Parnell as a classical scholar were highly respectable; he was intimately acquainted with the Greek and Latin languages; and his critical knowledge of the former was of infinite service to his friend Pope, when engaged in the arduous task of translating Homer. How necessary to him was the assistance of our author, is evident from a passage in one of his letters,

* Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. iii. Dissertation prefixed, p. 28.

where, writing to Parnell from Binfield, he exclaims, "The minute I lost you, Eustathius, with nine thousand contractions of the Greek character, arose to my view! Spondanus, with all his auxiliaries, in number a thousand pages (value three shillings) and Dacier's three volumes, Barnes's two, Valterie's three, Cuperus half in Greek, Leo Allatius three parts in Greek, Scaliger, Macrobius, and (worse than them all) Aulus Gellius! all these rushed upon my soul at once, and whelmed me under a fit of the head-ach. I cursed them all religiously, damned my best friends among the rest, and even blasphemed Homer himself. Dear Sir, not only as you are a friend, and a good-natured man; but as you are a Christian and a divine, come back speedily, and prevent the increase of my sins; for at the rate I have begun to rave, I shall not only damn all poets and commentators who have gone before me, but be damned myself by all who come after me." The translation which Parnell has given us of the Pervigilium Veneris, ascribed to Catullus, and of the Battle of the Frogs and Mice, attributed to Homer, are executed with great fidelity and spirit.

The characteristic excellencies of Parnell as a poet, are simplicity, sweetness, and perspicuity. There is little which is either sublime or pathetic

in his writings; nor are there many traits of a bold and vigorous imagination; but there is a beauty, a delicacy, and an amenity in his style and versification, which charm the more by repeated consideration. "Those compositions," remarks Hume, "which we read the oftenest, and which every man of taste has gotten by heart, have the recommendation of simplicity, and have nothing surprising in the thought, when divested of that elegance of expression and harmony of numbers with which it is clothed. If the merit of a composition lies in a point of wit, it may strike at first; but the mind anticipates the thought in the second perusal, and is no longer affected by it. When I read an epigram of MARTIAL, the first line recals the whole; and I have no pleasure in repeating to myself what I know already. But each line, each word in caTULLUS has its merit; and I am never tired with the perusal of him. It is sufficient to run over COWLEY once; but PARNELL, after the fiftieth reading, is as fresh as at the first *."

The prose of Parnell is but small in quantity, nor is it in quality equal to his verse. Independent of what he wrote in the Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus, he published the Life of Homer, prefixed to Pope's version, and a severe but just

* Vide Hume's Essay on Simplicity and Refinement.