NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
MANCHESTER, MASS., SATURDAY, JULY 18, 1908. 
ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE 
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 
BY D. F. LAMSON. 
If we consider the writers of the 
Period under notice in chronological 
order, we shall avoid all appearances of 
invidious comparison between them. 
Although Dryden died in 1700, he may 
be said in style, in spirit, and in literary 
influence, to belong to the coterie of 
18th century writers rather than to those 
of the 17th. For nearly thirty years he 
was contemporary with Addison and 
Steele, and he may be called the literary 
father of Pope. He was born of good 
stock, of a family with Puritan leanings 
and connections, in which there was a 
certain tradition of scholarship. He wes 
educated at Westminister school under 
the famous Dr. Busby, and at ‘Trinity 
college, Cambridge. He early showed 
a taste for letters, and before his thirtieth 
year gained something of a name as a 
poet. His Heroic Stanzas, in memory 
of Cromwell, evinced genius and power 
as well as his decided republican. tastes. 
But he did not lone hold to this high 
ideal: we soon find him hailing the re- 
turn of the Stuarts, and condescending 
to court the favor of a frivolous and cor- 
rupt age. Cultivating dramatic literature 
fora time as his main pursuit, he pro- 
duced a great number of tragedies and 
comedies of very unequal merit, some 
of them having a great success at the 
time, but none of them of a character to 
achieve lasting fame. Much that he 
wrote at this time was marked by a loos- 
eness of moral tone which caused more 
than one of his plays to be prohibited, in 
an age when public taste and the censor- 
ship did not err on the side of Puritanic 
strictness. Evelyn thought much of his 
writing at this time ‘‘foolish and pro- 
fane.’’ He lacked ‘‘the art to blot,’’ 
and in his later life, like Chaucer and 
Herrick, deplored his “‘ profligate 
Muse.’’ 
Some of Dryden’s earlier works, and 
the ease with which he turned from 
praising the Protector to worshipping 
the Stuarts, gives point to the charge that 
““he had no higher ambition than to 
make some money by his pen;’’ his 
chief endeavors, too, he admitted, were 
to delight the age in which he lived; and 
the age demanded farcical incident, low 
comedy, intrique and indecency. He 
claimed that his own plays were an im- 
provement upon the coarseness and me- 
chanical humor of the Elizabethan 
drama; and in a sense this was true, but 
his ribaldry and indelicacy were more 
Continued on page 33 
The report of the Summer Residents’ 
committee on Gypsy Moth Work on the 
Cinilinht. 
Fraught with rich memories oh, church so gray 
Art thou, with solemn rooks and starling too; 
The gorgeous poppies at thy feet oft sway, 
While above all the dome of Heaven so blue. 
Door yards with choicest marigolds are gay, 
And fleecy sheep are grazing near the stream, 
Where horses sleek and comely cattle feed 
In the rich pasture, while of thee I dream. 
Thy lofty tower is pencilled ‘gainst the sun, 
Thy stately belfry covered o'er with vines. 
In beauty picturesque long hast thou stood 
Defying the fierce gales, the stormy winds. 
Fast sped the years o’er hallowed battlements 
While ivy clad amid the march of time 
Serene and changeless standest thou alone, 
And n’er a rival lures me from thy shrine. 
Thatched cottages a pretty picture make. 
Here lads and lassies bear thee oft in mind, 
While maids and matrons tell of marriage fetes 
For at thy altar high their lives they bind. 
Slumbering about thee lies the velvet plain, 
And silken oat-grass dotted here and there 
With the blue corn-flower bright, its eyes so deep, 
Nods to thee from the meadows, fresh and fair. 
A windmill now I see of goodly sight, 
And golden hay to me its fragrance lends, 
While on the soft wind comes the sickles’ whir ; 
And the sweet note of song birds with it blends. 
To me it isan hour with memories fraught 
With thoughts and visions n’er to be forgot, 
The swirl and strife and chatter are at rest, 
Peace reigns supreme in this secluded spot. 
So mute the castle on the hillside stands, 
The graveyard gleams beneath the setting sun ; 
Yet can be seen the high cliffs far and near. 
E’er the light fades betokening day is done, 
The shades are falling o’er the stately elms, 
And rich with harvest all the landscape blends ; 
Soft shadows creep across the silent lea, 
Peace reigns o’er all as sombre night descends. 
-—Margaret L. Corlies. 
APPEAL MADE TO SUMMER RESIDENTS 
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days both to those who have subscribed 
their money for this work, and to those 
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North Shore has been prepared by Col. 
Wm. D. Sohier and has either been 
mailed or will be mailed within a few 
circular besides telling of what has been 
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