POPE. 413 



Throughout this poem the satiric wit of Pope peeps out 

 in the pleasantest little smiling ways, as where, in de 

 scribing the toilet-table, he says : 



"Here files of pins extend their shining rows, 

 Puffs, powders, patches, Bibles, billet-doux." 



Or when, after the fatal lock has been severed, 



" Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, 

 And screams of horror rend the affrighted skies, 

 Not louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are cast 

 When husbands or when lapdogs breathe their last ; 

 Or when rich china-vessels, fallen from high, 

 In glittering dust and painted fragments lie ! " 



And so, when the conflict begins : 



" Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air; 

 Weighs the men's wits against the ladies' hair; 

 The doubtful beam long nods from side to side ; 

 At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside." 



But more than the wit and fancy, I think, the perfect 

 keeping of the poem deserves admiration. Except a 

 touch of grossness, here and there, there is the most 

 pleasing harmony in all the conceptions and images. 

 The punishments which he assigns to the sylphs who 

 neglect their duty are charmingly appropriate and in 

 genious : - 



" Whatever spirit, careless of his charge, 

 His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, 

 Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins ; 

 Be stopped in vials or transfixed with pins, 

 Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie, 

 Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin's eye; 

 Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, 

 While clogged he beats his silver wings in vain ; 

 Or alum styptics with contracting power, 

 Shrink his thin essence like arivelled flower; 

 Or as Ixion fixed the wretch shall feel 

 The giddy motion of the whirling wheel, 

 In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow, 

 And tremble at the sea that froths below ! " 



