grateful circuit, which leads them fo agreeably to an acquifition of knowledge. The author, if he may be permitted, would refer by way of illuftration, to the beginnings of his Hermes, and his philofophical arrangements, where fome attempts have been made in this periodical ftyle. He would refer alfo, for much more illuftrious examples, to the opening of Cice.o's Offices; to that of the capital Oration of Demofthenes concerning the Crown; and to that of the celebrated Panegyric, made (if he may be fo called) by the father of Periods, Ifocrates. Again-every compound fentence is compounded of other fentences more fimple, which compared to one another, have a certain proportion of length. Now it is in general a good rule, that among these cor fituent fentonces, the laft (if poffible) fhould be equal to the firft; or if not equal, then rather longer than shorter. The reafon is, that without a fpecial caufe, abrupt conclufions are offenfive, and the reader, like a traveller quietly purfuing his journey, finds an unexpected precipice, where he is difagreeably stopt. Harris. they faw the love of numbers fo univerf diffused. Nor were they difcouraged, as if the thought their labour would be loft. thefe more refined but yet popular ar they knew the amazing difference betwe the power to execute, and the power judge:-that to execute was the joint effor of genius and of habit; a painful a fition, only attainable by the fewjudge, the fimple effort of that plair b common fenfe, imparted by Providence a fome degree to every one. $187. Objectors anfevered. But here methinks an objector demand, -"And are authors then to compofe, "form their treatifes by rule ?-Are th "to balance periods ?-To fcan pas "and cretics?-To affect alliterations"To enumerate monofyllables?" &c. be faid, They ought; the permifion th If, in arfwer to this objector, it fout Thefe arts are to be fo blended with at least be tempered with much caution pure but common ftyle, that the reader, he proceeds, may only feel their latt force. If ever they become glaring, the degenerate into affectation; an extrem: more difgufting, because less natural, th clown. 'Tis in writing, as in actingeven the vulgar language of an unpolife. The beft writers are like our late admir Garrick-And how did that able ger employ his art?-Not by a vain ollen tion of any one of his powers, but by e tent use of them all in fuch an exhibiric theatre, and only beholding an after, of nature, that while we were prefent. could not help thinking ourselves in Fmark with Hamlet, or in Bosworth with Richard. 188. When the Habit is once gained, thing fo eafy as Pračice. There is another objection fill.-The fpeculations may be called minutie; tin partaking at belt more of the elegant of the folid; and attended with difficult. beyond the value of the labour. To anfwer this, it may be obferved, th when habit is once gained, nothing for: as practice. When the car is once hat. tuated to thefe verbal rhythms, it for them fpontaneoufly, without attention labour. If we call for inftances, w more eafy to every fmith, to every c penter, to every common mechanic, the Thefe we are affured were the fentiments of Cicero, whom we must allow to have been a master in his art, and who has amply and accurately treated verbal decoration and numerous compofition, in no les than two capital treatifes, (his Orator, and his De Oratore) ftrengthening withal his own authority with that of Ariotie and Theophraftus; to whom, if more were wanting, we might add the names of Demetrius Phalereus, Dionyfius of Halicarnaffus, Dionyfius Longinus, and Quintilian. Ibid. the feveral energies of their proper arts? How little do even the rigid laws of verfe obruct a genius truly poetic? How little did they cramp a Milton, a Dryden, or a Pope? Cicero writes that Antipater the Sidonian coull pour forth Hexameters extempore, and thit, whenever he chofe to very, words followed him of courfe. We may add to Antipater the ancient Rhapfodit of the Greeks, and the modern Improvilatori of the Italians. If this then be practicable in verfe, how much more fo in Ie? In profe, the laws of which fo far fer from thofe of poetry, that we can 2. any time relax them as we find expedie? Nay more, where to relax them is only expedient, but even neceffary, beCafe, though numerous compofition may Le a requifite, yet regularly returning raythm is a thing we fhould avoid. Harris. 189. In every Whole, the conflituent Parts, and the Facility of their Coincidence, merit our Regard. § 191. Advice to Readers. Whoever reads a perfect or finished compofition, whatever be the language, whatever the fubject, fhould read it, even if alone, both audibly and distinctly. In a compofition of this character, not only precife words are admitted, but words metaphorical and ornamental. And farther-as every fentence contains a latent harmony, fo is that harmony derived from the rhythm of its conftituent parts. In every whole, whether natural or arA compofition then like this, fhould (as thcial, the conftituent parts well merit our I faid before) be read both diftinctly and gard, and in nothing more than in the audibly; with due regard to ftops and facility of their coincidence. If we view paufes; with occafional elevations and delandikip, how pleafing the harmony be- preffions of the voice, and whatever elfe teen hills and woods, between rivers, and Conftitutes just and accurate pronunciation. Lawns! If we felect from this landskip a He who, defpifing or neglecting, or knowtree, how well does the trunk correfponding nothing of all this, reads a work of with its branches, and the whole of its form, with its beautiful verdure! If we tke an animal, for example a fine horie That a union in his colour, his figure and kis motions! If one of human race, what Rore pleafingly congenial, than when virthe and genius appear to animate a graceful figure? pulchro veniens e corpore virtus ? The charm increafes, if to a graceful fipure we add a graceful elocution. Eloction too is heightened ftill, if it convey elegant fentiments; and thefe again are lightened, if cloathed with graceful diction, that is, with words which are pure, precife, and well arranged. Ibid. 190. Verbal Decorations not to be called Minutia. We must not call thefe verbal decorations, minutiae. They are effential to the beauty, nay, to the completion of the whole. Without them the compofition, though its fentiments may be juft, is like a picture with good drawing, but with bad and defective colouring. fuch character as he would read a feffionspaper, will not only mifs many beauties of the ftyle, but will probably mifs which (is worfe) a large proportion of the fenfe. Ibid. $192. Every Whole fhould have a Begin ning, a Middle, and an End. The Theory exemplified in the Georgics of Virgil. Let us take for an example the most highly finished performance among the Romans, and that in their most polifhed period, I mean the Georgics of Virgil: Quid faciat lætas fegetes, quo fidere terram Conveniat; (111) quæ cura boum, qui cultus habendo In thefe lines, and fo on (if we confult the In the four first verfes we have the plan, which plan gradually opens and becomes Ii 2 the the whole work, as an acorn, when developed, becomes a perfect oak. After this comes the invocation, which extends to the laft of the forty-two verfes above-mentioned. The two together give us the true character of a beginning, which, as above defcribed, nothing can precede, and which it is neceflary that fomething fhould follow. The remaining part of the first bock, together with the three books following, to verfe the 458th of book the fourth, make the middle, which alfe has its true character, that of fucceeding the beginning, where we expect fomething farther; and that of preceding the end, where we expect nothing more. The eight laft verfes of the poem make the end, which, like the beginning, is fhort, and which preferves its real character, by fatisfying the reader that all is complete, and that nothing is to follow. The performance is even dated. It finishes like an epistle, giving us the place and time of writing; but then giving them in Such a manner, as they ought to come from Virgil. But to open our thoughts into a farther detail. As the poem, from its very name, refpects various matters relative to land, (Georgica) and which are either immediately or mediately connected with it; among the variety of thefe matters the poem begins from the loweft, and thence advances gradually from higher to higher, till, having reached the higheft, it there properly stops. The first book begins from the fimple culture of the earth, and from its humblett progeny, corn, legumes, flowers, &c. It is a nobler fpecies of vegetables which employs the fecond book, where we are taught the culture of trees, and, among others, of that important pair, the olive and the vine. Yet it must be remembered, that ail this is nothing more than the culture of mere vegetable and inanimate nature. It is in the third book that the poet rifes to nature fenfitive and animated, "when he gives us precepts about cattle, horfes, heep, &c. At length, in the fourth book, when matters draw to a conclufion, then it is he treats his fubject in a moral and political way. He no longer purfues the culture of the mere brute nature; he then defcribes, as he tells us - Mores, et ftudia, et populos, et prælia, &c. for fuch is the character of his bees, thofe His quidam fignis, atque hæc exempla fecuti, When the fubject will not permit him to proceed farther, he fuddenly conveys his reader, by the fable of Ariftæus, among nymphs, heroes, demi-gods, and gods, and thus leaves him in company fuppofed mos than mortal. This is not only a fublime conclufion 13 the fourth book, but naturally leads to the conclufion of the whole work; for he does no more after this than fhortly recapitulate, and elegantly blend his recapitulating wit a compliment to Auguftus. But even this is rot all. The dry, didactic character of the Georgics, made it neceffary they should be en livened by epifodes and digreffions. It has been the art of the poet, that there epifodes and digreffions fhould be homoge neous: that is, fhould fo connect with th fubject, as to become, as it were, parts of it. On these principles every book has for its end, what I call an epilogue; for in beginning, an invocation; and for its middle, the feveral precepts relative to its fubject, I mean hufbandry. Having a begi ning, a middle, and an end, every part it felf becomes a fmaller whole, though w refpect to the general plan, it is nothing more than a part. Thus the human arm with a view to its elbow, its hands, its fagers, &c. is as clearly a whole, as it is fimp.j but a part with a view to the entire body. The smaller wholes of this divine poen may merit fome attention; by these I mean each particular book. Each book has an invocation. The fr invokes the fun, the moon, the vario rural deities, and laftly Auguftus: the fe cond invokes Bacchus; the third, Pales and Apollo; the fourth his patron Macenas. I do not dwell on thefe invocation, much lefs on the parts which follow, fr this in fact would be writing a comment upon the poem. But the Epilogues, befides Sheir own intrinfic beauty, are too much to our purpose to be paffed in filence. In the arrangement of them the poet feems to have purfued fuch an order, as that alternate affections should be alternately excited; and this he has done, well knowing the importance of that generally acknowledged truth, "the force deriv. to contraries by their juxta-pofition or fuccellion." The first book ends with thofe pertents and prodigies, both upon earth and in the heavers, which preceded the death of the dictator Cæfar. To there dire al fcenes the epilogue of the fecond brek oppofes the tranquillity and felicity of the rural life, which (as he informs us) faction and civil difcord do not ufually inpair Non res Romanæ, perituraque regna In the ending of the third book we read f a peftilence, and of nature in devaftation; in the fourth, of nature restored, and, by help of the gods, replenished. As this concluding epilogue (I mean the fable of Ariftaus) occupies the most important place; fo is it decorated acordingly with language, events, places, and perfonages. No language was ever more polished and harmonious. The defcent of Ariftaus to mother, and of Orpheus to the fhades, are events; the watery palace of the Nereides, the cavern of Proteus, and the fcene of the infernal regions, are places; Arifeus, old Proteus, Orpheus, Eurydice, Cyllene, and her nymhps, are perfonages; all great, all ftriking, all fublime. Let us view thefe epilogues in the poet's crder. poem, the latter the molt confummate model of a panegyric cration. The Menexenus is a funeral oration in praife of thofe brave Athenians, who had fallen in battle by generously afferting the caufe of their country. Like the Georgics, and every other juft compofition, this oration has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning is a folemn account of the deceafed having received all the legitimate rights of burial, and of the propriety of doing them honour not only by deeds but by words; that is, not only by funeral ceremonies, but by a speech, to perpetuate the memory of their magnanimity, and to recommend it to their pofterity, as an object of imitation. As the deceafed were brave and gallant men, we are fhewn by what means they came to poffefs their character, and what noble exploits they perform in confequence. Hence the middle of the oration contains first their origin; next their education and form of government; and last of all, the confequence of fuch an origin and education; their heroic atchievements from the earliest days to the time then present. The middle part being thus complete, we come to the conclufion, which is perhaps the most fublime piece of oratory, both for the plan and execution, which is extant, of any age, or in any language. By an awful profopopeia, the deceafed are called up to addrefs the living; and fathers flain in battle, to exhort their living children; the children flain in battle, to confole their living fathers; and this with every idea of manly confolation, with every generous incentive to a contempt of death, and a love of their country, that the powers of nature or of art could fuggeft. 'Tis here this oration concludes, being (as we have fhewn) a perfect whole, executed with all the ftrength of a fublime language, under the management of a great and a fublime genius. If thefe fpeculations appear too dry, they may be rendered more pleafing, if the reader would perufe the two pieces fured, would not be loft, as he would pecriticized. His labour, he might be afrufe two of the fineft pieces which the twe fineft ages of antiquity produced. Ibid. 113 §194 § 194. The Theory of Whole and Parts concerns Small Works as well as great. We cannot however quit this theory concerning whole and parts, without obferving that it regards alike both finall works and great; and that it defcends even to an eflay, to a fonnet, to an ode. These minuter efforts of genius, unless they poffefs (if I may be pardoned the expreffion) a certain character of Totality, lofe a capital pleafure derived from their union; from a union which, collected in a few pertinent ideas, combines them all happily under one amicable form. Without this union, the production is no better than a fort of vague effufion, where sentences follow fentences, and ftanzas follow ftanzas, with no apparent reafon why they fhould be two rather than twenty, or twenty rather than two. If we want another argument for this minuter Totality, we may refer to nature, which art is faid to imitate. Not only this univerfe is one ftupendous whole, but fuch alfo is a tree, a fhrub, a flower; fuch thefe beings which, without the aid of glafies, even efcape our perception. And fo much for Totality (I venture to familiarize the term) that common and efiential character to every legitimate compofition. Harris. $195. On Accuracy. There is another character left, which, though foreign to the prefent purpose, I venture to mention; and that is the character of Accuracy. Every work ought to be as accurate as poible. And yet, though this apply to works of every kind, there is a diference whether the work be great or fmall. In greater works (fuch as hiftories, epic poems, and the like) their very magnitude excufes incidental defects; and their authors, according to Horace, may be allowed to flumber. It is otherwife in finaller works, for the very reafon that they are fmaller. Such, through every part, both in fentiment and diction, fhould be perfpicuous, pure, fimple, and precife. $196. On Diction. Ibid. As every fentiment must be expreft by words; the theory of fentiment naturally leads to that of Diction. Indeed, the connection between them is fo intimate, that the fame fentiment, where the diction differs, is as different in appearance, as the like a gentleman. And hence we fee how fame perfon, dreft like a peafant, or dreft much diction merits a ferious attention. But this perhaps will be better underftood by an example. Take then the fol lowing" Don't let a lucky hit flip; if you do, be-like you mayn't any more get at it." The fentiment (we muft confets) is expreft clearly, but the diction furely is rather vulgar and low. Take it anoth way-"Opportune moments are few and fleeting; feize them with avidity, or your progreffion will be impeded." Here the diction, though not low, is rather obfcure, The words are unufual, pedantic, and affect ed. But what fays Shakespeare ? There is a tide in the affairs of men, Here the diction is elegant, without being vulgar or affected; the words, though com mon, being taken under a metaphor, a fo far eftranged by this metaphorical uie, that they acquire, through the change, a competent dignity, and yet, without be coming velgar, remain intelligible clear. It.d. $197. On the Metaphor. Knowing the firefs laid by the ancient critics on the Metaphor, and viewing its admirable effects in the decorating Diction, we think it may merit a farther regard. There is not perhaps any figure of fpeech fo pleafing as the Metaphor. It is at times the language of every individual, but above all, is peculiar to the man of genius. Hi fagacity difcerns not only common ana'c gies, but thofe others more remote, which eicape the vulgar, and which, though they feldom invent, they feldom fail to recog nize, when they hear them from perivas more ingenious than themfelves. It has been ingeniously obferved, that the Metaphor took its rife from the poverty of language. Men, not finding upon every occafion words ready made for their ideas, were compelled to have recourfe to wors analogous, and transfer them from their original meaning to the meaning then required. But though the Metaphor began in poverty, it did not end there. When the analogy was juft (and this often happened) there was fomething peculiar y pleafing in what was both new, and yet familiar; fo that the Metaphor was then cultivated, not out of neceffity, but for or nament. |