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John Hughes, the son of a citizen in London, and of Anne Burgess, of an ancient family in Wiltshire, was born at Marlborough, July 29, 1677. He was educated at a private school; and though his advances in literature are, in the Biographia, very ostentatiously displayed, the name of his master is somewhat ungratefully concealed '.

At nineteen he drew the plan of a tragedy: and paraphrased, rather too profusely, the ode of Horace which begins Integer vitæ. To poetry he added the science of music, in which he seems to have attained considerable skill, together with the practice of design, or rudiments of painting.

His studies did not withdraw him wholly from business, nor did business hinder him from study. He had a place in the office of ordnance; and was secretary to several commissions for purchasing lands necessary to secure the royal docks at Chatham and Portsmouth; yet found time to acquaint himself with modern languages.

In 1697 he published a poem on the Peace of Ryswick: and in 1699 another piece, called The Court of Neptune, on the return of king William, which he addressed to Mr. Montague, the general patron of the followers of the Muses. The same year he produced a song on the duke of Gloucester's birth-day.

He did not confine himself to poetry, but cultivated other kinds of writing with great success; and about this time showed his knowledge of human nature by ar Essay on the pleasure of being deceived. In 1702 he published, on the death of king William, a Pindaric ode, called The House of Nassau; and wrote another paraphrase on the Otium Divoz of Horace.

In 1703 his ode on Music was performed at Stationer's Hall; and he wrote afterwards six cantatas, which were set to music by the greatest master of that time, and seemed intended to oppose or exclude the Italian opera, an exotic and irrational entertainment, which has been always combated, and always has prevailed.

• He was educated in a dissenting academy, of which the Rev. Mr. Thomas Rowe was tutor; and vas a fellow student there with Dr. Isaac Watts, Mr. Samuel Say, and other persons of eminer.ce.

the Horæ Lyricæ of Dr. Watts is a poem to the memory of Mr. Rowe. H.

His reputation was now so far advanced, that the public began to pay reverence to his name; and he was solicited to prefix-a preface to the translation of Boccalini, a writer whose satirical vein cost hiin his life in Italy, and who never, I believe, found many readers in this country, even though introduced by such powerful recommendation.

He translated Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead; and his version was perhaps read at that time, but is now neglected; for by a book not necessary, and owing its reputation wholly to its turn of diction, little notice can be gained but from those who can enjoy the graces of the original. To the Dialogues of Fontenelle he added two composed by himself; and, though not only an honest but a pious man, dedicated his work to the earl of Wharton. He judged skilfully enough of his own interest; for Wharton, when he went lord lieutenant to Ireland, offered to take Hughes with him, and establish him; but Flughes, having hopes or promises, from another man in power, of some provision more suitable to his inclination, declined. Wharton's offer, and obtained nothing from the other.

He translated the Miser of Moliere, which he never offered to the stage; and occasionally amused himself with making versions of favourite scenes in other plays.

Being now received as a wit among the wits, he paid his contributions to literary undertakings, and assisted the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian. In 1712 he translated Vertot's History of the Revolution of Portugal; produced an Ode to the Creator of the World, from the Fragments of Orpheus; and brought upon the stage an opera called Calypso and Telemachus, intended to show, that the English language might be very happily adapted to music. This was impudently opposed by those who were employed in the Italian opera; and, what cannot be told without indig. nation, the intruders had such interest with the duke of Shrewsbury, then lord chamberlain, who had married an Italian, as to obtain an obstruction of the profits, though not an inhibition of the performance.

There was at this time a project formed by Tonson for a translation of the Pharsalia by several hands; and Hughes englished the tenth book. But this design, as must often happen when the concurrence of many is necessary, fell to the ground; and the whole work was afterwards performed by Rowe.

His acquaintance with the great writers of his time appears to have been very general; but of his intimacy with Addison there is a remarkable proof. It is told on good authority, that Cato was finished and played by his persuasion. It had long wanted the last act, which he was desired by Addison to supply. If the request was sincere, it proceeded from an opinion, whatever it was, that did not last long; for, when Hughes came in a week to show hiin his first attempt, he found half an act written by Addison himself.

He afterwards published the works of Spenser, with his Life, a Glossary, and a Discourse on Allegorical Poetry; a work for which he was well qualified as a judge of the beauties of writing, but perhaps wanted an antiquary's knowledge of the obsolete words. He did not much revive the curiosity of the public; for near thirty years elapsed before his edition was reprinted. The same year produced his Apollo and Daphne, of which the success was very earnestly promoted by Steele, who, when the rage of party did not misguide him, seems to have been a man of boundless benevolence.


Hughes had hitherto suffered the mortifications of a narrow fortune; but in 1717 the lord chancellor Cowper set him at ease, by making him secretary to the commissions of the peace; in which he afterwards, by a particular request, desired his successor lord Parker to continue him. He had now affluence; but such is human life, that he had it when his declining health could neither allow him long possession, nor quick enjoyment.

His last work was a tragedy, The Siege of Damascus, after which a Siege became a popular title. This play, which still continues on the stage, and of which it is unnecessary to add a private voice to such continuance of approbation, is not acted or printed according to the author's original draught, or his settled intention. He had made Phocyas apostatize froin his religion; after which the abhorrence of Eudocia would have been reasonable, his misery would have been just, and the horrours of his repentance exemplary. The players, however, required, that the guilt of Phocyas should terminate in desertion to the enemy: and Hughes, unwilling that his relations should lose the benefit of his work, complied with the alteration.

He was now weak with a lingering consumption, and not able to attend the rehearsal, yet was so vigorous in his faculties, that only ten days before his death he wrote the dedication to his patron lord Cowper. On February 17, 1719-20, the play was represented, and the author died. He lived to hear that it was well received; but paid no regard to the intelligence, being then wholly employed in the meditations of a departing Christian.

A man of his character was undoubtedly regretted; and Steele devoted an essay, in the paper called The Theatre, to the memory of his virtues. His life is written in the Biographia with some degree of favourable partiality: and an account of him is prefixed to his works by his relation the late Mr. Duncombe, a man whose blameless elegance deserved the same respect.

The character of his genius I shall transcribe from the correspondence of Swift and Pope.

“ A month ago," says Swift, were sent me over, by a friend of mine, the works of John Hughes, esquire. They are in prose and verse. I never heard of the man in my life, yet I find your name as a subscriber. He is too grave a poet for me; and I think among the mediocrists in prose as well as verse."

To this Pope returns: “To answer your question as to Mr. Hughes; what he wanted in genius, he made up as an honest man; but he was of the class you think him.”

In Spence's Collection, Pope is made to speak of him with still less respect, as having no claim to poetical reputation but from his tragedy.

'? This, Dr. Warton asserts, is very unjust censure; and, in a note in his late edition of Pope's Works, asks if “ the author of such a tragedy as The siege of Damascus was one of the mediocribus ? Swift and Pope seem not to recollect the value and ranks of an author who could write such a tragedy.” C.

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There may thy bays its shady honours spread, MR. JOHN HUGHES,

And o'er thy urn eternal odours shed;

Immortal as thy fame, and verse, still grow, ON HIS POEM ENTITLED, THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE.

Till those shall cease to live, and Thames to flow. INSPIR'D by what melodious Hughes has sung,

Nature, subdu'd, foretold the great decline, Pll tune a lyre that long has lain unstrung:

And every heart was plung'd in grief, but thine ; Awak'd from drowsy sloth, and soothing rest,

Thy soul, serene, the conflict did maintain, Poetic transports fire my ravish'd breast!

And trac'd the phantom Death in years of pain; What pleasure must retiring Dryden find, Not years of pain thy steady mind alarm'd, To see that art his skilful Muse refin'd,

By judgment strengthen’d, and with virtue arm'd; So much improv'd by those he leaves behind ! Still like thyself, when sinking life ebb'd low, So when a father sees a careful son

Nor rashly dar'd, nor meanly fear'd the blow; Folarge those coffers, which were first his own,

Loose to the world, of every grace possest, With joy to Heaven he lifts his aged eyes,

Greatly resign'd, thou sought'st the stranger, Rest: Blesses his prosperous heir, and calmly dies.

Firm as his fate, so thy own Phocyas dy'd, May all your fortune, like your numbers, shine, While the barb'd arrow trembled in bis side, And smoothly flow, without one rugged line !

Drawn by thy pen, the theory we see; Till we confess the genius is tbe same,

The practic part, too soon! bebeld in thee. That guides your fortune, and poetic name,

Who now shall strike the lyre with skill divine, So when of old some sportive amorous god

Who to harmonious sounds. 2 harmonious numbers Vouchsafd awhile to leave his blest abode,

join! In whatsoever form the guest appear'd,

Who the rapacious tide of vice control, His heavenly lustre shone, and was rever'd.

And, while they charm the sense, reform the soul ! Catherine Hall,

In whom the lovely sister arts unite

With virtue, solid sense, and boundless wit?
February, 1697.

Such was the turn of thy exalted mind,
Sparkling as polish'd gems, as purest gold refin'd.

Great ruler of our passions ! who with art

Subdu'd the fierce, and warm'd the frozen beart, MEMORY OF MR. HUGHES,

Bid glory in our breasts with temper beat,

And valour, separate from feverish heat,

Love, in its true, its genuine lustre rise,
Round Hughes's humble, though distinguish'd urn, and, in Eudocia, bid it charm our eyes.
The Muses, wreath'd with baleful cypress, mourn;

Virtue distrest, thy happy lines disclose, In every face a deep distress appears,

With more of triumph than a conqueror knows: Fach eye o’erflows with tributary tears:

Touch'd by thy hand, our stubborn tempers bend, Such was the scene, when, by the gods requir'd,

And flowing tears the well-wrought scene attend, Majestic Homer from the world retir'd:

That silent eloquence thy power approv'd; Such grief the Nine o'er Maro's tomb bestow'd;

The cause so great, 'twas generous to be mov'd. Anu tears like these for Addison late fow'd.

What pleasure can the bursting heart possess, Snatch'd from the Earth, above its trifling praise, Can fame, wealth, honour, titles, joy bestow,

In the last parting, and severe distress? Thee, Hughes, to happier climes thy Fate conveys; And make the labouring breast with transport glow? Fas'd of its load, thy gentle spirit roves Through realms refulgent, and celestial groves;

l'hese gaudy trifles gild our morning bright, The toils of life, the pangs of death are o'er,

But 0 ? how weak their influence on our night! And care, and pain, and sickness, are no more,

Then fame, wealth, honour, titles, vainly bloom,

Nor dart one beam of comfort on the gloom;
O may the spot that holds thy blest remains
(The noblest spoil Earth's spacious breast contains) But if the struggling soul a joy receives,
Its tribute pay; may richest flowers around

'Tis in the just applause that conscious virtue gives: Spring lightly forth, and mark the sacred ground; This blameless pride the dying Hughes possest,

Soften'd his pain, sat lightly on his breast,

And sooth'd his unoffending soul to rest. * Daughter of judge Cowper, afterwards married Free from the bigot's fears, or stoic's pride, to col. Martin Madan, author of the Progress of Calm as our Christian hero liv’d, he dy'd. Petry, &c. and still living, an ornainent to her gax and age.

Another of her compositions is prefixed to the Poems of Mr. Pope, N,

* Opera of Calypso and Telemachusa


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