University of Virginia Library

Milton.

Invention is the first part of poetry and painting: and absolutely necessary to them both; yet no rule ever was of ever can be given how to compass it. A happy genius is the gift of Nature; it depends on the influence of the stars, say the astrologers; on the organs of the body, say the naturalists; it is the peculiar gift of Heaven, say the divines. How to improve it many books can teach us; how to obtain it, none; that nothing can be done without it, all agree:

It is by judgment that we discern the propriety of the plan and the execution of a work; the conformity of stile and manner to its peculiar nature, the rectitude of sentiment, the probability of incident, the clearness of investigation and the uniformity of design.....“Whatever (says Longinus) looks great both in poetry and prose, we must carefully examine whether it be not only appearance; we must divest it of all superficial pomp and garnish. If it cannot stand this trial, without doubt it is only swelled and puffed up, and it will be more for our honour to contemn than admire it.

Cowley, Dryden and Chatterton wrote several admired poems at a very early age. Milton wrote his paraphrases of the CXIV and CXIV psalms, at fifteen years of age. Tasso wrote his heroic poem, entitled Rinaldo, before he had attained his eighteenth year. Metastatio wrote a tragedy, entitled Guestino, while in his sixteenth year. Pope when no more than twelve years of age, wrote his ode on Solitude, when sixteen he wrote his Pastorals, and when twenty he wrote his essay on Criticism. Collins while he was in his eighteenth year wrote his Eclogues. The orator Bossuet discovered in some measure while a school boy, his great powers. Of him the poet might have said:

Definitions often rather confuse than enlighten the mind. The arbitrary terms of metaphysical and logical writers, require a train of reasoning before we can observe the basis on which they are founded. It may, however, tend to place taste in a clearer view than we can by the measures of poetry, if we select from some approved authors, the most satisfactory definitions of tastes “Imagination united with some other mental powers, and operating as a percipient faculty, in conveying suitable impressions of what is elegant, sublime or beautiful, in art or nature, is called Taste.”

This definition of Beattie has left unmentioned those mental powers united and operating with imagination; it has also confined taste to the discernment of what is elegant or beautiful, without noticing its rejection of what is faulty and improper....it is therefore in this respect incomplete.... “Taste (according to the classical writer of Fitzosborne's letters) is nothing more than an universal sense of beauty rendered more exquisite by genius and more correct by cultivation.” This definition, though not equal to the former, contains one beautiful remark; which is, that taste is rendered more exquisite by genius and more correct by cultivation. A much more complete definition of taste than either of these, is given by Rollin. “Taste (says he) with reference to the reading of authors and composition, is a clear and distinct discerning of all the beauty, truth and justness of the thoughts and expressions, which compose a discourse. It distinguishes what is conformable to eloquence and propriety in every character, and whilst, with a delicate and exquisite sagacity, it notes the graces, turns, manners, and expressions most likely to please, it perceives also all the defects which produce the contrary effect, and distinguishes precisely wherein those defects consist, and how far they are removed from the strict rules of art and the real beauties of nature. This happy faculty which it is more easy to conceive than define, is less the effect of genius than judgment, and a kind of natural reason wrought to perfection by study. It serves in composition to guide and direct the understanding. It makes use of the imagination but without submitting to it, and keeps it always in subjection. It consults nature universally, follows it step by step, and is a faithful image of it.

That mind possesses the seeds of taste, and frequently of immitative genius, which is powerfully impressed by the diversified appearances of nature: which is soothed, delighted, and aroused, by the valley, the lawn, the wilderness, the mountain, the rivulet and the ocean; which listens with correspondent emotions to the whisper of the breeze, and to the howling of the midnight storm. The sense of beauty and of grandeur is peculiar to man. The herd in common with him sensually enjoy the seasons as they roll. They repose upon the bank and beneath the shade of the tree; they receive their nourishment from the pasture and the stream; but man only perceives the images of beauty and sublimity in the skies and in the objects which surround him.

The pastoral, is generally the most delightful species of poetry to youthful genius. Smitten with the love of nature, her poetical enthusiast dwells unwearied on the pages of those who have depicted her charms; he roves with delight through the divine Georgics,....through Milton's descriptive scenes,....through the seasons of Thomson and the task of Cowper: He adopts the language of the bard of the Castle of Indolence.

The “Farmer's Boy” is a fine exhibition of untutored genius. It discovers the powerful influence which the scenes of nature have upon the feeling bosom. The descriptions which it contains are accurate, but they are inferior to those of Burns in a glowing and exciting warmth. .....Cowper in the fourth book of his Task beautifully describes the sensations of his early days, when he began to feel the inspiration of the Muse:

If we examine the greatest works of genius that have appeared in the world, we will find that they were all written without attention to the rules or directions of any critic. Milton though he had Aristotle's writings full in his remembrance, nobly despised them. To impose laws upon Genius, is like hoppling an Arabian courser. After Aristotle wrote his Rhetorick and Poetics, no second Homer, no second Sophocles appeared. The greatest works of Rome were written before the art of poetry existed..... “Immitation (says Dr. Young) is inferiority confessed; emulation is superiority contested or denied; imitation is servile, emulation generous; that fetters, this fires; that may give a name, this a name immortal. This made Athens to succeeding ages the rule of Taste, and the standard of perfection. Her men of genius struck fire against each other; and kindled by conflict into glories which no time can extinguish. We thank Eschuylus for Sophocles and Parrhasius for Zeuxis; Emulation for both. That bids us fly the general fault of immitators; bids us not be struck by the loud report of former fame, as with a knell which damps the spirits, but as with a trumpet which inspires ardour to rival the renowned.”

So much has been said and written concerning this wonderful man, that no one can add to his praises, and no one without arrogance can attempt to detract from them. In the list of Genius, Shakspeare is perhaps the brightest name. His superiority of invention gives him his superiority of genius. His limited education allowed him little opportunity of being acquainted with the writers of Greece and of Rome. His soul was kindled by no borrowed fire. He was visited by no beams but those of the sun of Nature. In the smaller accomplishments of the poet, he is oftentimes deficient; but the richness of his description, his propriety of sentiment, his accuracy and variation of characters, and above all that inventive power which calls an ideal world into existence, mark the great original.

About the end of the sixteenth century, the poem here alluded to was produced in Spain. It is celebrated for peculiar beauties, for the singularity of the subject, and is remarkable from the character of its author. His name was Don Alonzo d'Ercilla Y. Cuniga, he commanded some troops in Chili, where he waged war in a little mountainous country, called Auracauna, inhabited by a race of men more robust and ferocious than all the other American nations. In this war he underwent extreme dangers, and performed the most astonishing actions: This occasioned him to conceive the design of immortalizing himself, by immortalizing his enemies. He was both a conqueror and a poet, and entitled his poem Auracauna, from the name of the country. His pen was as busily employed amidst those wilds as his sword. He wrote his poem on the scenes of his battles: and as night afforded more rest from the toils of war than the day, he often obeyed the dictates of his muse, reclining on the rocks, and aided by the light of the moon. As he could not at all times obtain paper, parts of his work were written upon leather and upon the bark of trees. He has introduced much fire in his battles. His poem is as wild as the nations who are the subject, and discovers great copiousness and strength of imagination.

Ossian may be called the most mournful of bards. It is impossible to read his poems without being lulled into a thoughtful melancholy which is more beneficial to the heart than the brightest joy. The regions which a poet inhabits will always give a cast to his strains. Ossian amidst his isle of mists caught his gloomy enthusiasm. There was presented to his view a wild, picturesque and melancholy country, long tracts of mountainous desert, covered with dark heath. There he wandered through narrow vallies, thinly inhabited and bounded by precipices, which by the light of the moon presented a landscape the most grotesque and ghastly. There he heard on every side the fall of torrents, the mournful dashing of the waves along the friths and lakes, and the hollow sound of the winds through the rocks and the caverns, which he has compared to the voice of a spirit. The admiration which the works of Ossian have excited abroad, is a confirming evidence of their excellence, and should meliorate the criticism of those whose taste is submissive to the prejudice of the great Dr. Johnson. Most of the nations of Europe have listened to the songs of Ossian with delight. The Germans prefer them to the Iliad and the Ænied....and they have received in Spain all the decorations which the printer and painter could afford.

This poet, whom the author of the Pursuits of Literature has classed among the greatest geniuses of the world, had the kindred soul of Shakspeare. His imagination appears from his works to be inexhaustible. His impetuosity bears him above every difficulty. Amid fields of unlimited space he could only stretch his wings. His immense bark could float on no other waves than those of the ocean. His mighty arm would wield no sword but that of Orlando, which fell upon the foe like the thunder of heaven. In genius, Ariosto is much superior to his rival Tasso, but he sinks behind him in taste and in correctness. If we compare their different merits we will at once be struck with the greater originality of Ariosto, and with the greater tenderness of Tasso....Tasso abounds with some of the most moving beauties of poetry, but he also abounds with glittering tinsel, and the general outlines of his poem are drawn from Homer's Iliad.....Whereas Ariosto disdained any imitation. He delighted in the sublimity of irregularity. His flight is regulated by no rules. He soars beyond the reach of criticism.

Burns to an exquisite sensibility united a power of description, not inferior to that of the author of the Seasons. His scanty information, however, repressed the exertions of his wild Genius. His muse seldom looks beyond the glens of Scotland, its hills and romantic waters. Soured by misfortune and doomed to feel the pains of those, who, in humble life have listened to the trump of Fame, he sought indulgence to his sorrow among those scenes, which while they soothed his mind, awoke the pathos of his muse. His Cotter's Saturday Night....his Address to a Mountain Daisy....his Lament of Mary Queen of Scotts....his Lament on a Friend's Unfortunate Amour....his Lament on the Death of the Earl of Glencairn....his Vision....and the Petition of Bruar Water will be lasting monuments of his talents. The history of this bard, written by Dr. Currie, and prefixed to his elegant edition of his works is a composition extremely pleasing, and possesses biographical merit of the very first order.

The lines which are quoted, with little variation, are taken from Burns.

The German nations who bordered on the Baltic coast have always been distinguished for their emigration and warlike disposition. The classical reader will recollect the Teutones and Cimbri who united their forces, which amounted to 300,000 men, and invaded the Roman territories; Ariovistus and his German bands, the invaders of Gaul; the Suevi, the Goths, the Vandals and the Lombards who made numerous irruptions into the Roman empire.

The climate of the Tartars, and their mode of life were such as to harden and invigorate their constitutions: Their disputes for water in a country without land-marks, the skirmishes between the rival clans, taught them skilfulness in war.

See Beattie's Minstrel.....a work of the justest sentiment, of the finest painting, and which gives to the world a picture in Edwin that can never be too much admired.

I have thought no writer would answer better to confirm the doctrine which has been advanced than Milton....The voice of criticism has pronounced him the most learned among the poets....His vast information, while it did not restrain, regulated his flight. Such was his ambition to excel, such was his love of learning, that from his twelfth year he commonly continued his studies until midnight. When he arrived at his seventeenth year he was a good classical scholar, was master of several languages and had produced several of his approved poems. In the year 1638, he set out upon his travels, he visited France, and most parts of Italy, and after having been abroad one year and three months, after having been caressed by the princes and literary characters of France and Italy; after having conversed with the most famous men of the age, with Grotius at Paris, with Gallileo in the prison of the Inquisition, he returned home to call into action his cultivated and emulating powers....It is said that his first desire of writing an epic poem, was excited by a conversation which he had with the Marquis of Villa concerning Tasso, and that he first thought of selecting king Arthur as his Hero.

To Dr. Johnson Literature is probably more generally indebted than to any other author which England has produced. His was one of those stupendous minds which is the proper subject of wonder. His weaknesses which were shades to his brightness, serve to shew us that the utmost strength of intellect is unable to overcome the failings of mortality. His violent prejudices, and some evident partialities and errors in his criticisms are the most formidable objections against him; but even these in him “seem as the spots of heaven more fiery by night's blackness.” His style is the most nervous and dignified in the English language, and could a few words and expressions be excluded from it, it would be the most correct. His Dictionary undertaken and executed alone, under the pressure of disease, and under mental afflictions, is a prodigious work, and one to which our language is everlastingly indebted. His Rambler, excepting one or two papers, the production of his single pen, contains a system of ethics most pleasingly delivered. His Lives of the Poets are more edifying and delightful, than the lives of all the military heroes ever written: You are there conducted to the closet of Genius, where you may inspect her minutest actions: she is there represented to your view, active amidst the busy scenes, and reclined in indulgence beneath the shade of solitude. Plutarch in Biography must yield to Johnson. His Rassellas displays powers of invention: It is too gloomy generally to please, but its lessons should be imprinted upon every heart. His London, and Vanity of Human Wishes are fine satires; and his Irene, if not calculated for the stage will please in the closet. His Prefaces, to his Dictionary and to Shakspeare exceed all performances of the kind in the English language. Biography has been copious in the praise of this great man, but it can never do him more than justice. His life, and essays on his genius and works, have been written by Boswell, Anderson, and Murphy: The last of these authors has given the best critical view of his writings.

Sir William Jones was a prodigy of genius, and of erudition. He was a favourite of what is commonly called Fortune, and was distinguished for his personal elegance and attractiveness of manners. He wrote, and spoke fluently many languages, and merely considered as a Linguist, his attainments were astonishing. He had already become eminent as a lawyer when he accepted his honourable appointment in the East, from which he derived a yearly income of forty or fifty thousand pounds sterling. His Asiatic researches have enlightened the world, and furnished additional evidences to the Christian religion. His dissertations on the poetry of the East and on the arts called immitative, discover nice and accurate critical discernment. His translation of the speeches of Isæus, throws light upon the practice of the ancient law. As a poet his merit is unquestionably great. His diction is nervous and his imagery splendid. His versification has the sweetness and correctness of Pope. His “Solima” “Palace of Fortune,” “Seven Fountains,” Arcadia and Laura are enchanting performances.

“The Moallakat,” or the seven Arabian poems of Muriolkais, of Tarafa, of Zohair, of Libeid, of Antara, of Amru, of Hareth, preserved by Sir William Jones, were suspended on the temple at Mecca, with a translation and arguments.

Though nothing can be farther from the truth than the assertion of Shaftesbury, that ridicule is the test of Truth; though Virtue needs no such advocate as Ridicule to plead her cause; yet there are many vices and follies which are the proper subjects of its severity and scourging: There are productions of false, perverted taste which more deserve the lash, than the attention of serious and dignified criticism. It is a mistaken opinion too much indulged, that the excellency of satire consists rather in its severity and exaggeration than in its truth. Satire like the knife of the surgeon, in most cases should cut, not to destroy but to save.

The Eclogues of Virgil have been the models of the most finished pastorals, that have since been written. Pope's pastorals have little more to recommend them than their smoothness of versification. The writer who approaches nearest to the great master of this species of poetry, is Gessner. His Idyls observe a style peculiar to themselves. He is happy in his selection of simple and affecting incidents; of such as have great force upon the heart. Dr. Johnson in his criticism upon Virgil's Eclogues, after noticing the beauties and defects of each one, gives the preference to the first. In this decision he has been generally followed.

This singular character was born at Arezzo, in the beginning of the fourteenth century, when Europe began to shake off the long slumbers of Gothic night, and to hail the morning of Literature. Early in life he received the patronage of the noble family of Colonna, under whose shelter he was enabled to prosecute his studies, and to obtain stores of information unequalled in that day. His romantic attachment for Laura, who was the wife of the young Hughes de Sades, is well known. He first saw this lady, at the time of matins, in the monastery of St. Claire. He was instantly struck with her face, her air, her person, her dark and tender eyes, “her ringlets interwoven with the hands of love,” her gentle and modest carriage, and the melting sound of her voice. Unhappy in his passion, and unable to banish it from him, he mourned over it in his sonnets with the most inimitable tenderness, and sought for its alleviation in the solitary shades of Vaucluse; but all his efforts to forget the object of his affection were in vain. Though he concealed himself in solitude from the observation of men; yet the image of Laura followed him there. During his abode in this retreat, and while engaged in writing an epic poem, in honour of Scipio, which he called Africa, he received a letter from the Roman senate urging him, with many intreaties, to come to Rome, and receive the crown of laurel. On the same day in which this letter came to his hands, a courier arrived, bearing a similar invitation from the chancellor of the university at Paris: Petrarch decided in favour of Rome; and in the year 1341, amid the joy and shouts of a vast assembly, was crowned, with pomp and solemnity, at that capital.....Amid these intoxicating honours, “I blushed,” says he “at the applauses of the people, and the unmerited commendations with which I was overwhelmed.” Soon after, writing to a friend, he says, “These laurels which encircled my head were too green; had I been of riper age and understanding I would not have sought them. Old men love only what is useful; young men run after appearances, without regarding their end! This crown rendered me neither more wise nor more eloquent; it only served to raise envy, and to deprive me of the repose I enjoyed. From that time tongues and pens were sharpened against me; my friends became my enemies, and I suffered the just effects of my confidence and presumption.”....Such is the unsatisfying nature of all human honours, and all human enjoyments! Seven years after this coronation, Laura died of the plague which ravaged all Italy. Petrarch has celebrated her virtues and accomplishments, in an exquisite elegy, which bears her name, and which has been admirably translated by Sir William Jones. From the account of biographers she was one of the most beautiful, accomplished and virtuous ladies of the age in which she lived. On a blank leaf of a manuscript copy of Petrarch's Virgil, the following lines were written by his own hand: “Laura, illustrious by her own virtues, and long celebrated in my verses, appeared to my eyes, for the first time, the sixth of April, 1327, at Avignon, in the church of St. Claire, at the first hour of the day: I was then in my youth. In the same city, on the same day, and at the same hour, in the year 1348, this luminary disappeared from our world! I was then at Verona, ignorant of my wretched situation. That chaste and beautiful body was buried the same day, after vespers, in the church of Cordeliers: her soul returned to its native mansion in heaven! To retrace the melancholy remembrance of this great loss, I have written it, with a pleasure mixed with bitterness, in a book to which I often refer. Since the strongest cord of my life is now broken, with the grace of God I shall easily renounce a world where my cares have been deceitful, and my hopes vain and perishing.”

Petrarch died in the year 1374, at Arqua, and his body was interred in the chapel of the Virgin, which he, not long before his death, had built.

In what manner shall I speak of this accomplished author? Or how shall I describe the delight which he has given me? To call him the greatest poet of his day, will not express his merits.....to place him at the head of all lyric and elegiac poets, would be no more than his due! He has indeed written but little; but that little is in a superlative manner. He reverenced the world too much to give it the hasty production of a day. He wrote for immortality, and immortality will be his reward. He was a poet who consulted his feelings when he wrote. The silence of seclusion, and the gloom of melancholy, dictated his Elegy in a Country Church-Yard. He has himself acknowledged, in a letter to his friend, that an aged Welchman, playing on his harp, excited him to complete his ode, entitled, “The Bard.”

England has lately lost this excellent man and poet....to whom she is indebted for his elegant instructions conveyed in the Task. Cowper was a writer, original in his thoughts, and undaunted in his delivery of truth. His representations are uncommonly striking: I need only instance his picture of Omai....the Woodman, and his Dog....Crazy Kate....and Mysagathus.....His principal faults are his want of connection throughout his poem, and his not attending sufficiently to the harmony of his numbers. He discovers, in numerous passages, that he was capable of the utmost harmony. Cowper's satires, particularly his Table Talk, and Progress of Error, are among the most chaste and dignified compositions of that class, in the English language.

Richardson was an author of uncommon merit; his knowledge of nature was extensive; his characters are drawn with a masterly hand; his delineations of the passions are accurate; his moral sentiments judicious. He wrote with a good intention, for he was a man of virtue and of piety.

“Comic romance has been brought to perfection in England by Henry Fielding; who seems to have possessed more wit and humour, and more knowledge of mankind than any other person of modern times, Shakspeare excepted; and whose great natural abilities were refined by a classical taste, which he had acquired by studying the best authors of antiquity. The great lord Lyttleton, after mentioning several particulars of Pope, Swift, and other wits of that time, when I asked some questions relating to the author of Tom Jones, began his answer with these words, ‘Henry Fielding, I assure you, had more wit, and more humour, than all the persons we have been speaking of out together.”

With these remarks of Dr. Beattie I agree. In many of the qualifications of a novelist Fielding is unrivalled. In speaking of the genius displayed in fictions, I could not pass over him; but the truth must not be withheld....that his works contain many scenes of indecency! his works, therefore, I would by no means recommend. There are few novels that I would recommend unconditionally; and I would advise, that all of them should be read sparingly.

This celebrated French lady is remarkable for the versatility of her talents. She is justly entitled to a place in the first rank of literary females. She is sometimes a sentimentalist visionary and erroneous, but always ingenious. Her theatre of Education is a pleasing instructor to the early years of life. Her Tales of the Castle, her Rival Mothers, and Knights of the Swan discover sensibility, talents of description, and invention.

This writer is justly an universal favourite. In her manner of novel writing she is unrivalled. The three novels which she has written, have each peculiar merits. Camilla manifests the greatest extent of observation.....Evelina has most simplicity....but I think that Cecilia manifests most genius, and excites greatest interest.

This lady, who has been called almighty magician, soars amid the wild regions of romance. Her imagination is strong and daring; and, though it sometimes fails in its attempt, it is generally successful. In her department of genius, in the present day, none can approach her. She leaves far behind her the Monks and Castle Spectres. It is remarkable of this writer, that, from her first performance to the last, she has been advancing to greater excellence. Her Italian is the noblest production of her pen, and one which I think she will never exceed.

It is said that Corinna was the instructor of Pindar; and often in competition with him bore away the prize.

Who does not wish to vindicate the character of Mary, queen of Scots? What heart has not bled over her interesting history? Who does not lament her thoughtless levities, her criminal follies? Who does not execrate the stern policy, the hardened vices of Elizabeth, which doomed to the scaffold this enchanting woman, unrivalled in loveliness, accomplishments, and distresses? Who, that has read her beautiful lamentation on her unhappy fate, does not feel the fervour and pathos of her genius?

Criticism has called this lady, the first poetess of Italy.

The instances are innumerable which confirm this assertion. I shall notice some, which are the most striking....Cicero, the first name on the page of antiquity, failed in his attempts at poetry.....Archimedes, whose name may stand for a large class devoted to mathematics, had little taste for any other branch of literature, than geometry. There are not a few, who would prefer the investigation of the legs and wings of the most tiny insect, to the contemplation of the brightest planet that rolls through the worlds of space! Berkeley, to the exclusion of most other employments, was forever attempting to dig in a well without a bottom....while Gray, who at his time, was pronounced to be the first scholar in Europe, had no taste either for mathematics or metaphysics; in a letter to his friend are contained the following sentences, “Must I plunge into metaphysics? Alas! I cannot see in the dark; Nature has not furnished me with the optics of a cat. Must I pore upon mathematics? Alas! I cannot see in too much light; I am no eagle. It is very possible that two and two make four, but I would not give four farthings to demonstrate this ever so clearly; and if these be the profits of life, give me the amusements of it.” Perhaps the three modern writers who possessed the most universal genius were Leibnitz, Milton, and Haller.

Literature is much indebted to the author of the Pursuits of Literature, and to Mr. Gifford, the author of the Baviad and Mæviad, for their poems and criticisms. The Pursuits of Literature is a work which discovers genius, correctness of mind and great extent of information, and is calculated to restore true taste and true learning. While its author liberally approves the works of the true philosopher and the true poet, he points his overcoming satire against all those who would propagate false principles and false taste. Some of his opinions on subjects of religion and criticism I deem erroneous and unfounded. As a minister of the Gospel I cannot, however, restrain my admiration of this author for the morality of his strains, for his defence of religion against the attacks of impiety and a new and dangerous philosophy.

Eloquence as well as poetry has been the inexhaustible subject of investigation. Which is the most proper mode of pulpit-eloquence? is a question which has been often asked, and differently answered. The Abbe Maury, in his lively and entertaining treatise, has denied their due merits to the English divines; and the English divines, on the other hand, do not sufficiently infuse into their discourses the fire and passion of the French manner. Theology has been reduced to a perfect science; there are no new truths in religion to be explored; he, therefore, who, with an accurate investigation of these truths, connects a cultivated taste and exercised imagination, and subjects these powers under the guidance of reason, will be a more agreeable and persuasive combatant for divine truth than the preacher, who, though skilled in theology, has no perception of beauty and sublimity; but who delivers trite truths in triter forms. To the pulpit, the close and indissoluble reasoning of a Locke is not adapted; were preachers to reason like him, their hearers would return from church as edified as they came there; the mind must be aided by the silence and solitude of the closet, to comprehend the chain of such arguments.

The preacher must employ other weapons than syllogism; he must observe a medium between argument and declamation; the passions, as well as the understanding, must be addressed. Declamation, without a due proportion of argument, would have no effect upon the understanding; and argument, without declamation, would have no force upon the passions; therefore, to address the souls of men with power, and justly to accommodate the discourse to the prevailing taste, declamation and argument should be united. A forcible illustration, a forcible appeal to the heart, and a forcible question, will oftentimes convince, when many pages of the most masterly reasoning would fail. In proof of this, I appeal to the figurative expressions of our Saviour, and to some of the discourses of St. Paul....I appeal to some of the most eminent divines in the Christian church....I appeal, particularly, to Massillon, one of the most eloquent of men; read his discourses; you find Genius breathing in almost every sentence. You discover in his works, reason which, while it convinces the understanding, at the same time impresses the heart. What did he say when he drew the whole audience, by an instantaneous impulse, upon their feet? Did he prove, by mathematical deductions that small were the number which should be saved? No....he told them the plain truth from the scriptures; and presented that truth in the most striking colours. Notwithstanding the eulogy I have passed upon Massillon and his unrivalled excellence in his addresses to the heart, I am far from thinking him a perfect model for the preacher. He indulges, perhaps, too much in declamation. To arouse, to terrify, to melt into tears, appears generally to be more his aim than to instruct. In making this remark I except several of his discourses, particularly his wonderful discourse on the divinity of our Saviour. He, in my conception, would be a finished model of pulpit eloquence, who united the erudition and sublimity of Barrow, the warmth and pathos of Massillon, the acuteness and ingenuity of Sherlock, the condensity of Ogden, with Witherspoon's method of discussing theological doctrines.

At Greece, painting was first brought to perfection. The most famous schools in Greece were opened at Athens, Corinth and Rhodes. Rome afterwards cultivated this art; but, at the overthrow of that empire, it was swallowed up in the same grave with literature and science. In the year 1450, it again revived in Italy, and was advanced to an eminence, perhaps equal to that which it held in either Greece or Rome. Raphael Santio was born in the year 1483. He died in his thirty-eighth year. He surpassed all modern painters. His invention was unbounded. He possessed all the graces; and in the disposition of his pieces, he has left Michael Angelo, Titian and Corregio far behind him. Du Fresnoy, in his Art of Painting, and in his observations connected with that poem, considers him as the prince of modern painters, and characterizes him in these lines:

Sculpture is acknowledged to be one of the most difficult of the fine arts. It is remarkable that it was the favourite art of Greece, and that her sculptors were more numerous than her painters. To this national enthusiasm the Grecian statues are principally indebted for their exquisite perfection....Dædalus is supposed to have been the first who formed a statue; Phideas, Praxitiles, Polycletus and Lysippus, his most successful Grecian followers. Sculpture we are informed by history emigrated from the desolated cities of Greece into Syria and Egypt. She was there employed to serve the pomp and pageantry of courts, and Alexandria under Ptolemy Philadelphus became, in the cultivation of this art, almost what Athens had been. Rome imitated but never equalled Greece in sculpture. The most celebrated statues which have been rescued from the ruins of time, are the Apollo Belvidere....the Medicean Venus....the Hercules....the dying Gladiator and the Laocoon....“Of all the productions of art (says a recent writer on sculpture and painting) the statue of Apollo is unquestionably the most sublime. It rises indeed as a single figure to the highest pitch of excellence; But I confess the group of the Laocoon, appears to me a superior effort of sculpture.”

See in Burney's history of music, the wonderful effects of this art upon the mind. And an account of its greatest masters.

Not only in the sister arts, Poetry, Painting, Statuary and Music, but in Architecture is the force of Genius discovered. You behold the image of a creative mind in the proportions of a noble edifice. The uniformity and unparalleled simplicity of the Rotunda, the strength and majesty of St. Peter's dome, are not the result of mere mechanical skill, but of a bold and aspiring imagination. The vaulted roof, and the lofty column which seem to rest upon the horizon, and to repose in air, speak the elevation of the constructor's mind. The civilization and refinement of nations are strongly marked by the plan and order of their buildings. The elegance, uniformity and strength of the Grecian temple, form a fine contrast with the gloom and heaviness of the Gothic castle.....From the houses and pagodas of the Chinese, the wigwam of the Indian, and the hut of the Hottentot, we may almost be taught the characters of their inhabitants.

Sir William Jones in his treatise on oriental poetry, affixed to his life of Nadir Shah, mentions this poet and his wonderful work. It is entitled “Shah Nameh,” it is a series of epic poems, a poetical record of the annals of Persia, and is said to contain sixty thousand couplets. Mahmud Garni, sultan of Zablestan imposed this task upon Ferdusi, and after he had underwent the toil of thirty years to complete his work, the miserly emperor excited his indignation by his scant and pitiful reward....In disdain the injured bard retired from his court, and sought the protection of the generous caliph of Bagdat. The merits of this poem of Ferdusi are said to be very great. In testimony I subjoin the words of Sir William Jones who has read it, and from whose decision few would wish to appeal....“ As to the great epic poem of Ferdusi, which was composed in the tenth century, it would require a very long treatise, to explain all its beauties with a minute exactness. The whole collection of that poet's works is called “Shahnama,” and contains the history of Persia, from the earliest times to the invasion of the Arabs, in a series of very noble poems; the longest and most regular of which is an heroic poem, of one great and interesting action, namely, the delivery of Persia by Cyrus, from the oppressions of Afraslax, king of the Transoxan Tartary, who being assisted by the emperors of India and China, together with all the dæmons, giants and enchanters of Asia, had carried his conquests very far, and become exceedingly formidable to the Persians. This poem is longer than the Iliad; the characters in it are various and striking; the figures bold and animated, and the diction every where sonorous, yet noble; polished, yet full of fire. A great profusion of learning has been thrown away by some critics, in comparing Homer with the heroic poets who have succeeded him; but it requires very little judgment to see, that no succeeding poet, whatever, can with propriety be compared with Homer. That great father of the Grecian poetry and literature, had a genius too fruitful and comprehensive to let any of the striking parts of Nature escape his observation; and the poets who have followed him have done little more, than transcribe his images and give a new dress to his thoughts. Whatever elegance and refinement therefore, may have been introduced into the works of the moderns, the spirit and invention of Homer have ever continued without a rival: For which reason I am far from pretending to assert that the poet of Persia, is equal to that of Greece, but there is certainly a very great resemblance between the works of those extraordinary men. Both drew their images from Nature herself, without catching them only by reflection, and painting in the manner of the modern poets, the likeness of a likeness; and both possessed in an eminent degree, that rich and creative invention which is the very soul of poetry.”

It is well known in the literary world, that the discoveries of Newton, excepting those which belong to pure mathematics, were derived from those outlines drawn by the bold hand of Bacon. Newton has exhibited a perfect and accurate system, but he had the example and directions of Bacon. “It would nevertheless (says Dr. Gerard) be a question of very difficult solution, which of the two possessed the greatest genius; Newton's inquiries concerning bodies the most subtle or the most remote, seem to demand an acuteness and compass of invention, which we might pronounce adequate to all the investigations of Bacon, though his discoveries in mathematics, perfectly original, were not extant to give a sanction to the judgment.”

Demosthenes.

Cicero.

The Earl of Chatham last appeared in the House of Lords, the 2d of April, 1778. He was then ill and debilitated. He spoke in favour of a motion of the Duke of Richmond, for an address to his majesty, to dismiss his ministers and make peace with America. At the close of his long speech he was overcome and was seized with a convulsive fit...of the effect of which he died on the 4th of April.

See Dryden's admirable tale of Cymon and Iphigenia.

The Greeks considered a grove as the sacred retreat of meditation, and early superstition supposed that a deity dwelt amid the shades of solitude.

I had formed the design of shewing the connection of Genius with the social principles, and of tracing the rise, the cultivation and progress of Genius in different countries, particularly in Egypt, Greece, Rome, England and America; but not wishing to extend my poem beyond its present length, I have confined myself to this hasty and superficial sketch. History has recorded five ages in which human Genius has arrived at perfection not equalled in other times. The first was the age of Philip and Alexander....The second was that of Ptolemy Philadelphus.....The third was that of Agustus....The fourth was that of Julius II, and Leo X....The fifth was that of Louis XIV.

Greece, once the favoured region of literature and science: Rome once the haughty mistress of the world, have long been sunk under the weight of luxury and corruption, and have long afforded exhibitions of national decay, which hastily succeeds the meridian of splendour. A feeble and effeminate race now own those hills and plains, once occupied by the most powerful people of the earth. Philosophy has now forsaken their academic shades. Tibur and Ilyssus no longer hear the strains of a Maro, a Flaccus, a Pindar, or a Menander. The head of gold has fallen a prey to time. His cankering tooth has devoured the arms and the trunk; and the iron dust has been blown before the winds of the north.

How dignified is the task of the historian. He bids the laws, the transactions, the revolutions of a people, which are no more, live forever. He bids the hero and the sage, the orator and the poet, though dead, yet speak, and animates by their example. He discovers to nations and to individuals, the rocks of destruction, and points out the paths of safety and success.

What a gloomy subject of contemplation is the fall of empires! What a sublime, but melancholy pleasure must it be to the traveller to visit the tombs of nations....to sit beneath the mouldering columns of an ancient city....to look back upon the long waste of time....to call to view those characters who once trod upon that ground which is now covered with ruins....to dart forward a searching eye into futurity, and see that thus will terminate all human glory! “After leaving Florence,” says Gibbon, in his memoirs of his life and writings, “I compared the solitude of Pisa with the industry of Lucca and Leghorn, and continued my journey through Sienna to Rome, where I arrived in the beginning of October. My temper is not very susceptible of enthusiasm; and the enthusiasm which I do not feel, I have ever scorned to affect. But at the distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express the strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and entered the eternal city. After a sleepless night, I trod with a lofty step, the ruins of the Forum; each memorable spot where Romulus stood, or Tully spoke, or Cæsar fell, was at once present to my eye; and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed before I could descend to a minute investigation. It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the capitol, while the bare footed friars were singing vespers in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind.”

See Robertson's account of the feudal system in his first volume of his history of Charles V.....and see Gibson's decline and fall of the Roman empire.

See the elegant and entertaining history of Lorenzo De Medicis, by Roscoe:

That work, which no one can read without delight, presents to our view the dawn of literature after the long Gothic night. It disperses the clouds from a period the most important and interesting. It unfolds, in its hero Lorenzo, a magnificence which was princely, and a patronage of learning which we cannot estimate too much. To him the whole literary world is indebted. He collected around him, and cherished, and rewarded the geniuses of the day, and by their exertions snatched from the cells of the monks, and from the ruins of monasteries, where they had long lain mouldering, the precious works of antiquity. It is remarkable that the design of writing the history of Florence under the house of Medicis was formed by Gibbon; but that design he relinquished to trace the decline and fall of the Roman empire.

To Gallileo the sciences are principally indebted for their illumination and progress. He was the natural son of a Florentine nobleman. The system of Copernicus which so well explains all the phenomena by the motion of the earth round the sun, deserved to have him as a defender. About the end of the 16th century, an accidental discovery was made, of the effects of a concave and a convex glass, adjusted at the ends of a tube; but Gallileo did not hear of this until 1609, when he immediately perceived the advantages that might result from such an instrument, if brought to perfection. He meditated, he made repeated trials, and soon constructed a telescope which shewed objects three times larger than they were in nature. By still improving his discovery, he at last procured one that magnified three and thirty times. In a word he discovered the mountains of the Moon, the satellites of Jupiter, the phases of Venus, the spots and rotation of the Sun. But enlightening mankind was exposing himself to dreadful misfortunes. The persecutions which he met with in Italy, were as cruel as they are memorable.....He was sentenced to imprisonment, and constrained solemnly to renounce his discoveries as absurdities and heresies.....He died blind, in 1642, at the age of seventy-eight. Abbe Millot.

See Lowth's admirable Prelections on Hebrew poetry.

Lamentation of Jeremiah.

The mountain upon which Abraham was about to sacrifice his son Isaac, is supposed by some, and upon no improbable grounds, to have been the same mountain on which Christ suffered on his cross.

Fingal.