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this bodily life. And, indeed, it is obvious to remark, that we follow nothing heartily, unless carried to it by inclinations which anticipate our reason, and, like a bias, draw the mind strongly toward it. In order, therefore, to establish a perpetual intercourse of benefits among mankind, their Maker would not fail to give them this generous prepossession of benevolence, if, as I have said, it were possible. And from whence can we go about to argue its impossibility? Is it inconsistent with self-love? Are their motions contrary? No more than the diurnal rotation of the earth is opposed to its annual; or its motion round its own center, which might be improved as an illustration of self-love, to that which whirls it about the common center of the world, answering to universal benevolence. Is the force of self-love abated, or its interest prejudiced, by benevolence? So far from it, that benevolence, though a distinct principle, is extremely serviceable to self-love, and then doth most service when it is least designed.

f he must needs be something more than man, only for an endeavor to prove that man is in nothing superior to beasts. In this school was Mr. Hobbes instructed to speak after the same manner, if he did not rather draw his knowledge from an observation of his own temper; for he somewhere unluckily lays down this as a rule, that from the similitudes of thoughts and passions of one man to the thoughts and passions of another, whoso ever looks into himself and considers what he doth when he thinks, hopes, fears, etc., and upon what grounds, he shall hereby read and know what are the thoughts and passions of all other men upon the like occasion. Now we will allow Mr. Hobbes to know best how he was inclined; but in earnest, I should be heartily out of conceit with myself if I thought myself of this unamiable temper as he affirms, and should have as little kindness for myself as for anybody in the world. Hitherto I always imagined that kind and benevolent propensions were the original growth of the heart of man; and, however checked and overtopped by counter-inclinations that have since sprung up within us, have But to descend from reason to matter of fact; the still some force in the worst of tempers, and a con- pity which arises on sight of persons in dissiderable influence on the best. And methinks it tress, and the satisfaction of mind which is the is a fair step toward the proof of this, that the consequence of having removed them into a hapmost beneficent of all beings is he who hath an pier state, are instead of a thousand arguments to absolute fullness of perfection in himself, who prove such a thing as a disinterested benevolence.. gave existence to the universe, and so cannot be Did pity proceed from a reflection we make upon. supposed to want that which he communicated, our liableness to the same ill accidents we see without diminishing from the plenitude of his befall others, it were nothing to the present purpose; own power and happiness. The philosophers be- but this is assigning an artificial cause of a fore-mentioned have indeed done all that in them natural passion, and can by no means be admitted lay to invalidate this argument; for, placing the as a tolerable account of it, because children and gods in a state of the most elevated blessedness, persons most thoughtless about their own condithey describe them as selfish as we poor miserabletion, and incapable of entering into the prospects mortals can be, and shut them out from all concern of futurity, feel the most violent touches of comfor mankind, upon the score of their having no passion. And then, as to that charming delight need of us. But if He that sitteth in the heavens which immediately follows the giving joy to anwants not us, we stand in continual need of him; other, or relieving his sorrow, and is, when the and, surely, next to the survey of the immense objects are numerous, and the kindness of importtreasures of his own mind, the most exalted plea-ance really inexpressible, what can this be owing sure he receives is from beholding millions of to but a consciousnes of a man's having done creatures, lately drawn out of the gulf of non- something praiseworthy, and expressive of a great existence, rejoicing in the various degrees of being soul? Whereas, if in all this he only sacrificed and happiness imparted to them. And as this is to vanity and self-love, as there would be nothing the true, the glorious character of the Deity, so in brave in actions that make the most shining apforming a reasonable creature he would not, if pearance, so nature would not have rewarded them possible, suffer his image to pass out of his hands with this divine pleasure; nor could the commenunadorned with a resemblance of himself in this dations, which a person receives for benefits done most lovely part of his nature. For what com upon selfish views, be at all more satisfactory placency could a mind, whose love is as unbound- than when he is applauded for what he doth withed as his knowledge, have in a work so unlike out design; because in both cases the ends of selfhimself; a creature that should be capable of love are equally answered. The conscience of knowing and conversing with a vast circle of approving one's self a benefactor to mankind is objects, and love none but himself? What pro- the noblest recompense for being so; doubtless it portion would there be between the head and the is, and the most interested cannot propose anyheart of such a creature, its affections, and its thing so much to their own advantage; notwithunderstanding? Or could a society of such crea- standing which, the inclination is nevertheless tures, with no other bottom but self-love on which unselfish. The pleasure which attends the gratito maintain a commerce, ever flourish? Reason, fication of our hunger and thirst is not the cause it is certain, would oblige every man to pursue the of these appetites; they are previous to any such general happiness as the means to procure and prospect; and so likewise is the desire of doing establish his own; and yet, if beside this conside- good; with this difference, that, being seated in ration, there were not a natural instinct, prompt- the intellectual part, this last, though antecedent ing men to desire the welfare and satisfaction of to reason, may yet be improved and regulated by others, self love, in defiance of the admonitions of it; and, I will add, is no otherwise a virtue than as reason, would quickly run all things into a state it is so. Thus have I contended for the dignity of war and confusion. As nearly interested as the of that nature I have the honor to partake of: and, soul is in the fate of the body, our provident Crea- after all the evidence produced, think I have a tor saw it necessary, by the constant returns of right to conclude, against the motto of this paper, hunger and thirst, those importunate appetites, that there is such a thing as generosity in the to put it in mind of its charge: knowing that if world. Though, if I were under a mistake in we should eat and drink no oftener than cold ab- this, I should say as Cicero in relation to the imstracted speculation should put us upon these ex- mortality of the soul, I willingly err, and should ercises, and then leave it to reason to prescribe the believe it very much for the interest of mankind quantity, we should soon refine ourselves out of to lie under the same delusion. For the contrary

notion naturally tends to dispirit the mind, and sinks it into a meanness fatal to the godlike zeal of doing good as, on the other hand, it teaches people to be ungrateful, by possessing them with a persuasion concerning their benefactors, that they have no regard to them in the benefits they bestow. Now he that banishes gratitude from among men, by so doing, stops up the stream of beneficence: for though in conferring kindnesses a truly generous man doth not aim at a return, yet he looks to the qualities of the person obliged; and as nothing renders a person more unworthy of a benefit than his being without all resentment of it, he will not be extremely forward to oblige such a man.

No. 589.]

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1714.
Persequitur scelus ille suum: labefactaque tandem
Ictibus innumeris, adductaque funibus arbor
Corruit
OVID, Met. viii. 774.

The impious ax he plies, loud strokes resound,
Till dragg'd with ropes, and fell'd with many a wound,
The loosen'd tree comes rushing to the ground.
"SIR,

"I AM SO great an admirer of trees, that the spot of ground I have chosen to build a small seat upon in the country is almost in the midst of a large wood. I was obliged, much against my will, to cut down several trees, that I might have any such thing as a walk in my gardens; but then I have taken care to leave the space between every walk as much wood as I found it. The moment you turn either to the right or left you are in a forest, where nature presents you with a much more beautiful scene than could have been raised by art.

"Instead of tulips or carnations I can show you oaks in my gardens of four hundred years' standing, and a knot of elms that might shelter a troop of horse from the rain.

"It is not without the utmost indignation, that I observe several prodigal young heirs in the neighborhood felling down the most glorious monuments of their ancestors' industry, and ruining, in a day, the product of ages.

I am mightily pleased with your discourse upon planting, which put me upon looking into my books, to give you some account of the veneration the ancients had for trees. There is an old tradition that Abraham planted a cypress, a pine, and a cedar; and that these three incorporated into one tree, which was cut down for the building of the temple of Solomon.

Isidorus, who lived in the reign of Constantius, assures us, that he saw, even in his time, that famous oak in the plains of Mamre, under which Abraham is reported to have dwelt; and adds, that the people looked upon it with a great veneration, and preserved it as a sacred tree.

"The heathens still went further, and regarded it as the highest piece of sacrilege to injure certain trees which they took to be protected by some deity. The story of Erisicthon, the grove of Dodona, and that at Delphi, are all instances of this kind.

"If we consider the machine in Virgil, so much blamed by several critics, in this light, we shall hardly think it too violent.

Eneas, when he built his fleet in order to sail for Italy, was obliged to cut down a grove on mount Ida, which however he durst not do until he had obtained leave from Cybele, to whom it was dedicated. The goddess could not but think herself obliged to protect the ships, which were made of consecrated timber. after a verg extraordivary

manner, and therefore desired Jupiter, that they might not be obnoxious to the power of waves of winds. Jupiter would not grant this, but promis ed her that as many as came safe to Italy should be transformed into goddesses of the sea; which the poet tells us was accordingly executed.

And now at length the number'd hours were come
Prefix'd by Fate's irrevocable doom,

When the great mother of the gods was free
To save her ships, and finish Jove's decree.
First, from the quarter of the morn there sprung
A light that sing'd the heavens, and shot along:
Then from a cloud, fring'd round with golden fires,
Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs:
And last a voice, with more than mortal sounds,
Both hosts in arms opposed with equal horror wounds.
'O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear:
And know my ships are my peculiar care.
With greater ease the bold Rutulian may
With hissing brands attempt to burn the sea,
Than singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge,
Loos'd from your crooked anchors, launched at large,
Exalted each a nymph; forsake the sand,
And swim the seas, at Cybele's command.'
No sooner had the goddess ceased to speak,
When lo, th' obedient ships their hawsers break!
And strange to tell, like dolphins in the main,
They plunge their prows, and dive and spring again:
As many beauteous maids the billows sweep,
As rode before tall vessels on the deep.

DRYDEN'S VIR.

"The common opinion concerning the nymphs, whom the ancients called Hamadryads, is more to the honor of trees than anything yet mentioned. It was thought the fate of these nymphs had so near a dependence on some trees, more especially oaks, that they lived and died together. For this reason they were extremely grateful to such persons who preserved those trees with which their being subsisted. Apollonius tells us a very remarkable story to this purpose, with which I shall conclude my letter.

"A certain man, called Rhæcus, observing an old oak ready to fall, and being moved with a sort of compassion toward the tree, ordered his servants to pour in fresh earth at the roots of it, and set it upright. The Hamadryad, or nymph, who must necessarily have perished with the tree, appeared to him the next day, and, after having returned him her thanks, told him she was ready to grant whatever he should ask. As she was extremely beautiful, Rhacus desired he might be entertained as her lover. The Hamadryad, not much displeased with the request, promised to give him a meeting, but commanded him for some days to abstain from the embraces of all other women, adding, that she would send a bee to him, to let him know when he was to be happy. Rhæcus was, it seems, too much addicted to gaming, and happened to be in a run of ill-luck when the faithful bee came buzzing about him; so that, instead of minding his kind invitation, he had like to have killed him for his pains. The Hamadryad was so provoked at her own disappointment, and the ill usage of her messenger, that she deprived Rhæcus of the use of his limbs. However, say the story, he was not so much a cripple, but he made shift to cut down the tree, and consequently to fell his mistress."

No. 590.] MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1714.
Assiduo labuntur tempora motu,

Non secus ac flumen. Neque enim consistere flumen,
Nec levis hora potest: sed ut unda impellitur unda,
Urgeturque prior venienti, urgetque priorem;
Tempora sic fugiunt pariter, pariterque sequuntur:
Et nova sunt semper. Num quod fuit ante, relictum est.
Fitque, quod haud fuerat: momentaque cuncta novantor
Ovid, Met. xv. 178

E'en times are in perpetual flux, and run,
Jke rivers from their fountains, rolling on.

For time. no more than streams, is at a stay;
The flying hour is ever on her way:
And as the fountains still supply their store,
The wave behind impels the wave before:
Thus in successive course the minutes run,
And urge their predecessor minutes on,
Still moving, ever new; for former things
Are laid aside, like abdicated kings;
And every moment alters what is done,
And innovates some act, till then unknown.-DRYDEN.
The following discourse comes from the same hand
with the Essays on Infinitude.

"WE consider infinite space as an expansion without a circumference: we consider eternity, or infinite duration, as a line that has neither a beginning nor an end. In our speculations of infinite space, we consider that particular place in which we exist as a kind of center to the whole expansion. In our speculations of eternity, we consider the time which is present to us as the middle, which divides the whole line into two equal parts. For this reason many witty authors compare the present time to an isthmus, or narrow neck of land, that rises in the midst of an ocean, immeasurably diffused on either side of it.

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•Philosophy, and indeed common sense, naturally throws eternity under two divisions, which we may call in English that eternity which is past, and that eternity which is to come. The learned terns of Eternitas a parte ante, and Eternitas a parte post, may be more amusing to the reader, but can have no other idea affixed to them than what is conveyed to us by those words, an eternity that Each of is past and an eternity that is to come. these eternities is bounded at the one extreme; or, in other words, the former has an end, and the latter a beginning.

"Let us first of all consider that eternity which is past, reserving that which is to come for the subject of another paper. The nature of this eternity is utterly inconceivable by the mind of mau : our reason demonstrates to us that it has been, but at the same time can frame no idea of it, but what is big with absurdity and contradiction. We can have no other conception of any duration which is past, than that all of it was once present; and whatever was once present is at some certain distance from us, and whatever is at any certain distance from us, be the distance never so remote, cannot be eternity. The very notion of any duration being past, implies that it was once present, for the idea of being once present is actually included in the idea of its being past. This, therefore, is a depth not to be sounded by human understanding. We are sure that there has been an eternity, and yet contradict ourselves when we measure this eternity by any notion which we can frame of it.

"If we go to the bottom of this matter, we shall find that the difficulties we meet with in our conceptions of eternity proceed from this single reason, that we can have no other idea of any kind of duration than that by which we ourselves, and all other created beings, do exist; which is, a successive duration made up of past, present, and to

come.

There is nothing which exists after this nanner, all the parts of whose existence were not once actually present, and consequently may be reached by a certain number of years applied to it. We may ascend as high as we please, and employ our being to that eternity which is to come, in adding millions of years to millions of years, and we can never come up to any fountain-head of duration, to any beginning into eternity: but at

the same time we are sure that whatever was once present does lie within the reach of numbers, though perhaps we can never be able to put enough of them together for that purpose.

We

• Enow. The singular number is here used for the plural.

may as well say, that anything may be actually
present in any part of infinite space, which does
not lie at a certain distance from us, as that any
part of infinite duration was once actually present,
and does not also lie at some determined distance
from us.
The distance in both cases may be im-
measurable and indefinite as to our faculties, but
our reason tells us that it cannot be so in itself.
Here, therefore, is that difficulty which human
understanding is not capable of surmounting. We
are sure that something must have existed from
eternity, and are at the same time unable to con-
ceive, that anything which exists, according to
our notion of existence, can have existed from
eternity.

"It is hard for a reader, who has not rolled this thought in his own mind, to follow in such an abstracted speculation; but I have been the longer on it because I think it is a demonstrative argument of the being and eternity of God; and, though there are many other demonstrations which lead us to this great truth, I do not think we ought to lay aside any proofs in this matter, which the light of reason has suggested to us, especially when it is such a one as has been urged by men famous for their penetration and force of understanding, and which appears altogether conclusive to those who will be at the pains to examine it.

"Having thus considered that eternity which is past, according to the best idea we can frame of it, shall now draw up those several articles on this subject, which are dictated to us by the light of reason, and which may be looked upon as the creed of a philosopher in this great point.

"First, It is certain that no being could have made itself; for if so, it must have acted before it was, which is a contradiction.

66

Secondly, That therefore some being must have existed from all eternity.

"Thirdly, That whatever exists after the manner of created beings, or according to any notions which we have of existence, could not have existed from eternity.

"Fourthly, That this eternal Being must therefore be the great Author of nature, the Ancient of Days,' who, being at infinite distance in his perfections from all finite and created beings, exists in a quite different manner from them, and in a manner of which they can have no idea.

"I know that several of the schoolmen, who would not be thought ignorant of anything, have pretended to explain the manner of God's exist tence, by telling us that he comprehends infinite duration in every moment: that eternity is with him a punctum stans, a fixed point; or, which is as good sense, an infinite instant; that nothing with reference to his existence is either past or to come: to which the ingenious Mr. Cowley alludes in his description of heaven :

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal now does always last. "For my own part, I look upon these propositions as words that have no ideas annexed to them; and think men had better own their ignorance than advance doctrines by which they mean nothing, and which, indeed, are self-contradictory. We cannot be too modest in our disquisitions when we meditate on Him, who is environed with so much glory and perfection, who is the source of being, the fountain of all that existence which

we and his whole creation derive from him. Let us, therefore, with the utmost humility acknowledge, that as some being must necessarily have existed from eternity, so this being does exist after an incomprehensible manner, since it is im possible for a being to have existed from eternity

after our manner or notions of existence. Reve- me in the quality of a love-casuist; for which lation confirms these natural dictates of reason in place he conceives himself to be thoroughly qualthe accounts which it gives us of the divine existified, having made this passion his principal study, ence, where it tells us, that he is the same yester- and observed it in all its different shapes and apday, to-day, and forever; that he is the Alpha and pearances from the fifteenth to the forty-fifth year Omega, the beginning and the ending; that a thou- of his age. sand years are with him as one day, and one day He assures me with an air of confidence, which as a thousand years: by which, and the like ex-I hope proceeds from his real abilities, that he pressions, we are taught that his existence with re- does not doubt of giving judgment to the satisfaclation to time or duration is infinitely different from tion of the parties concerned on the most nice and the existence of any of his creatures, and conse- intricate cases which can happen in an amour: as, quently that it is impossible for us to frame any How great the contraction of the fingers must adequate conceptions of it. before it amounts to a squeeze by the hand. from a maid, and what from a widow. What can be properly termed an absolute denial

"In the first revelation which he makes of his own being, he entitles himself, "I Am that I Am; and when Moses desires to know what name he

shall give him in his embassy to Pharaoh, he bids him say, that I Am hath sent you. Our great Creator, by this revelation of himself, does in a manner exclude everything else from a real existence, and distinguishes himself from his creatures as the only being which truly and really exists. The ancient Platonic notion, which was drawn from speculations of eternity, wonderfully agrees with this revelation which God has made of himself. There is nothing, say they, which in reality exists, whose existence, as we call it, is pieced up of past, present, and to come. Such a flitting and successive existence, is rather a shadow of existence, and something which is like it, than existence itself. He only properly exists whose exist ence is entirely present; that is, in other words, who exists in the most perfect manner, and in such a manner as we have no idea of.

"I shall conclude this speculation with one useful inference. How can we sufficiently prostrate ourselves and fall down before our Maker, when we consider that ineffable goodness and wisdom which contrived this existence for finite natures? What must be the overflowings of that good-will, which prompted our Creator to adapt existence to beings in whom it is not necessary; especially

when we consider that he himself was before in the complete possession of existence and of happiness, and in the full enjoyment of eternity. What man can think of himself as called out and separated from nothing, of his being made a conscious, a reasonable, and a happy creature; in short, of being taken in as a sharer of existence, and a kind of partner in eternity, without being swallowed up in wonder, in praise, in adoration! It is indeed a thought too big for the mind of man, and rather to be entertained in the secrecy of devotion, and in the silence of the soul, than to be expressed by words. The supreme Being has not given us powers or faculties sufficient to extol and magnify such unutterable goodness.

It is however some comfort to us, that we shall be always doing what we shall never be able to do; and that a work which cannot be finished, will however be the work of eternity."

No. 591.] WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 8, 1714.
Tenerorum lusor amorum,

OVID, Trist. 3 El. li. 73.
Love the soft subject of his sportive Muse.
I HAVE just received a letter from a gentleman,
who tells me he has observed, with no small con-
cern, that my papers have of late been very barren
in relation to love: a subject which, when agreea-
bly handled, can scarcely fail of being well re-
ceived by both sexes.

If my invention, therefore, should be almost exhausted on this head, he offers to serve under

be

after having received a pat upon his shoulder from What advances a lover may presume to make, his mistress's fan.

Whether a lady, at the first interview, may allow a humble servant to kiss her hand.

in order to succeed with the mistress.
How far it may be permitted to caress the maid,

What constructions a man may put upon a smile,
and in what cases a frown goes for nothing.
On what occasion a sheepish look may do ser-
vice, etc.

As a further proof of his skill, he also sent me several maxims in love, which he assures me are the result of a long and profound reflection, some of which I think myself obliged to communicate to the public, not remembering to have seen them before in any author:

"There are more calamities in the world arising from love than from hatred.

"Love is the daughter of Idleness, but the mother of Disquietude.

"Men of grave natures, says Sir Francis Bacon, are the most constant; for the same reason men should be more constant than women.

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The gay part of mankind is most amorous, the serious most loving.

"A coquette often loses her reputation while she preserves her virtue.

"A prude often preserves her reputation when she has lost her virtue.

"Love refines a man's behavior, but makes a woman's ridiculous.

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Love is generally accompanied with good-will in the young, interest in the middle-aged, and a passion too gross to name in the old.

"The endeavors to revive a decaying passion generally extinguish the remains of it.

"A woman who from being a slattern becomes overneat, or from being overneat becomes a slattern, is most certainly in love."

I shall make use of this gentleman's skill as I see occasion; and since I am got upon the subject of love, shall conclude this paper with a copy of verses which were lately sent me by an unknown hand, as I look upon them to be above the ordi nary run of sonneteers.

The author tells me they were written in one of his despairing fits; and I find entertains some hope that his mistress may pity such a passion as he has described, before she knows that she is he self Corinna:

Conceal, fond man, conceal the mighty smart,
Nor tell Corinna she has fir'd thy heart.
In vain wouldst thou complain, in vain pretend
To ask a pity which she must not lend.
She's too much thy superior to comply,
And too, too fair to let thy passion die.
Languish in secret, and with dumb surprise
Drink the resistless glances of her eyes
At awful distance entertain thy grief,
Be still in pain but never ask relief.
Ne'er tempt her scorn of thy consuming stata
Be any way undone, but fly her hate.

Thou must submit to s thy charmer bless
Some happier youth that shall admire her less;
Who in that lovely form, that heavenly mind,
Shall miss ten thousand beauties thou couldst find:
Who with low fancy shall approach her charms,
While half enjoy'd she sinks into his arms.
She knows not, must not know, thy noble fire,
Whom she and whom the Muses do inspire;
Her image only shall thy breast employ,
And fill thy captive soul with shades of joy;
Direct thy dreams by night, thy thoughts by day,
And never, never from thy bosom stray.*

No. 592.] FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1714. Studium sine divite vena-IIOR. Ars Poet. ver. 409

Art without a vein.-ROSCOMMON.

I LOOK upon the playhouse as a world within itself. They have lately furnished the middle region of it with a new set of meteors, in order to give the sublime to many moderu tragedies. I was there last winter at the first rehearsal of the new thunder,† which is much more deep and sonorous than any hitherto made use of. They have a Salmoneus behind the scenes who plays it off with great success. Their lightnings are made to flash more briskly than heretofore; their clouds are also better furbelowed, and more voluminous; not to mention a violent storm locked up in a great chest, that is designed for the Tempest. They are also provided with above a dozen showers of snow, which, as I am informed, are the plays of many unsuccessful poets artificially cut and shredded for that use. Mr. Rymer's Edgar is to fall in snow at the next acting of King Lear, in order to heighten, or rather to alleviate, the distress of that unfortunate prince; and to serve by way of decoration to a piece which that great critic has written against.

I do not indeed wonder that the actors should be such professed enemies to those among our nation who are commonly known by the name of critics, since it is a rule among these gentlemen to fall upon a play, not because it is ill written, but because it takes. Several of them lay it down as a maxim, that whatever dramatic performance has a long run, must of necessity be good for nothing; as though the first precept in poetry were "not to please." Whether this rule holds good or not, I shall leave to the determination of those who are better judges than myself; if it does, I am sure it tends very much to the honor of those gentlemen who have established it; few of their pieces having been disgraced by a run of three days, and most of them being so exquisitely written, that the town would never give them more than one night's

nearing.

I have a great esteem for a true critic, such as Aristotle and Longinus among the Greeks; Horace and Quintilian among the Romans; Boileau and Dacier among the French. But it is our misfortune that some, who set up for professed critics among us, are so stupid, that they do not know how to put ten words together with elegance or common propriety; and withal so illiterate, that they have no taste of the learned languages, and therefore criticise upon old authors only at second-hand. They judge of them by what others have written, and not by any notions they have of the authors themselves. The words unity, action, sentiment, and diction, pronounced with an air of authority, give them a figure among unlearned readers, who

The author of these verses was Gilbert, the second brother of Eustace Budgell, Esq. + Apparently an allusion to Mr. Dennis' new and improved method of making thunder; at whom several oblique strokes In this paper seemed to have been aimed.

are apt to believe they are very deep because they are unintelligible. The ancient critics are full of the praises of their cotemporaries; they discover beauties which escaped the observation of the vulgar, and very often find out reasons for palliating and excusing such little slips and oversights as were committed in the writings of eminent authors. On the contrary, most of the smatterers in criticism, who appear among us, make it their business to vilify and depreciate every new production that gains applause, to decry in:aginary blemishes, and to prove, by far-fetched arguments, that what pass for beauties in any celebrated piece are faults and errors. In short, the writings of these critics, compared with those of the ancients, are like the works of the sophists compared with those of the old philosophers.

and ignorance; which was probably the reason, Envy and cavil are the natural fruits of laziness that in the heathen mythology, Momus is said to be the son of Nox and Somuus, of darkness and sleep. Idle men, who have not been at the pains to accomplish or distinguish themselves, are very apt to detract from others; as ignorant men are very subject to decry those beauties in a celebrated work which they have not eyes to discover. Many the name of critics, are the genuine descendants of our sons of Momus, who dignify themselves by of these two illustrious ancestors. They are often daily instruct the people, by not considering that, led into those numerous absurdities in which they first, there is sometimes a greater judgment shown in deviating from the rules of art than in adhering to them; and, secondly, that there is more beauty in the works of a great genius, who is ignorant of all the rules of art, than in the works of a little genius, who not only knows but scrupulously ob

serves them.

perfectly acquainted with all the rules of good First, We may often take notice of men who are writing, and notwithstanding choose to depart from them on extraordinary occasions. I could give instances out of all the tragic writers of antiquity who have shown their judgment in this particular; and purposedly receded from an estabfor a much higher beauty than the observation of lished rule of the drama, when it has made way such a rule would have been. Those who have surveyed the noblest pieces of architecture and statuary, both ancient and modern, know very well works of the greatest masters, which have prothat there are frequent deviations from art in the duced a much nobler effect than a more accurate and exact way of proceeding could have done. This often arises from what the Italians call the gusto grande in these arts, which is what we call the sublime in writing.

ble that there is more beauty in the works of a In the next place, our critics do not seem sensigreat genius, who is ignorant of the rules of art, observes them. It is of these men of genius that than in those of a little genius, who knows and Terence speaks, in opposition to the little artificial cavilers of his time:

Quorum æmulari exoptat negligentiam
Potius, quam istorum obscuram diligentiam.

Whose negligence he would rather imitate than these
men's obscure diligence.

A critic may have the same consolation in the ill cian has at the death of a patient, that he was success of his play as Dr. South tells us a physikilled secundum artem. Our inimitable Shakspeare is a stumbling-block to the whole tribe of these rigid critics. Who would not rather read one of his plays, where there is not a single rule of the stage observed, than any production of a modern crit c, where there is not one of them violated

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