It is made of gauze and silver spangles. The most glittering appearance is given to every thing, to paste, pomatum, billet-doux, and patches. Airs, languid airs, breathe around;—the atmosphere is perfumed with affectation. A toilette is described with the solemnity of an altar raised to the Goddess of vanity, and the history of a silver bodkin is given with all the pomp of heraldry. No pains are spared, no profusion of ornament, no splendour of poetic diction, to set off the meanest things. The balance between the concealed irony and the assumed gravity, is as nicely trimmed as the balance of power in Europe. The little is made great, and the great little. You hardly know whether to laugh or weep. It is the triumph of insignificance, the apotheosis of foppery and folly. It is the perfection of the mock-heroic! I will give only the two following passages in illustration of these remarks. Can any thing be more elegant and graceful than the description of Belinda, in the beginning of the second canto? ‘Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain, The sun first rises o’er the purpled main, Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams Launch’d on the bosom of the silver Thames. Fair nymphs, and well-drest youths around her shone, But ev’ry eye was fix’d on her alone. On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, Quick as her eyes, and as unfix’d as those: Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike; And like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you’ll forget ’em all. This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, Nourish’d two locks, which graceful hung behind In equal curls, and well conspir’d to deck With shining ringlets the smooth iv’ry neck.’ The following is the introduction to the account of Belinda’s assault upon the baron bold, who had dissevered one of these locks ‘from her fair head for ever and for ever.’ ‘Now meet thy fate, incens’d Belinda cry’d, And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. (The same his ancient personage to deck, Her great, great grandsire wore about his neck, In three seal-rings; which after, melted down, Form’d a vast buckle for his widow’s gown: Her infant grandame’s whistle next it grew, The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; Then in a bodkin grac’d her mother’s hairs, Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears).’