We often hear pastorals despised by those, who seem to think themselves great judges of literary productions. If they despise them because few have succeeded in composing them, every species of writing is liable to the same objection. But if they relish not the true subject of the pastoral poet, the scenes which he should paint, and the sentiments with which he should actuate his characters, they bring a heavy accusation against themselves. People of very profligate lives, in their still hours, after their minds have been tormented with the anxiety of vice, and their bodies jaded with it's debauchery, will have recourse to a book which presents better images than those to which they are accustomed, as to a temporary asylum; and endeavour to cheat themselves into a belief, that they are yet somewhat virtuous, because they are affected with the charms of virtue. But they who take no pleasure in viewing the objects of innoxious life; the humble cottage, and the quiet shade; the simplicity of the swain's manners, his honest labour, and his artless love; and in whom the poet who holds forth these objects to their view, excites ridicule, instead of tender feelings, are irrecoverably poisoned by the contagion of society; they are lost to a sense of peace, innocence, and virtue.
I must, in justice to my author, inform the reader, that the original never departs morefrom
