formerly abridged Homer in French verse, imagined he added beauties to the old simple bard, in sometimes lending him embellishments. On the reconciling of Achilles with Agamemnon, he thus flourishes it: "Tout le camp s'ecria, dans une joie extrème : Que ne vaincra-t-il point? il s'est vaincu lui-même !" His taming himself does by no means imply his conquer- This trifling vanity has also produced the playing upon words in every language, which is the worst sort of false wit. False taste is very different from false wit, as the latter always proceeds from affectation, from an effort to go wrong; on the contrary, the other is a habit of going wrong without design, and following, as if by instinct, some bad, though established model. The incoherent exuberance of an Oriental imagination is a false taste, and an improper example to imitate: however, they more frequently transgress in this respect, rather from a poverty than a copiousness of real genius. Falling stars, splitting mountains, rivers flowing to their sources, the sun and moon dissolving, false and unnatural comparisons, and 1 This beautifier of Homer was Antony Houdart de la Motte, 16721731.-ED. nature everywhere exaggerated, form the character of these writers; and this arises from their never, in these countries, being permitted to speak in public. True eloquence has never been cultivated there, and it is much easier to write in a turgid strain, than with ease and delicate simplicity. In a word, false wit is entirely the opposite of the Eastern manner; the man of false wit desires to say in riddles, what others have spoken naturally. He desires to unite ideas the most incompatible, to divide those which nature has united. To catch unnatural similitudes, without discretion to unite pleasantry with what is serious, to mix great and little images together, and to confuse instead of satisfying the imagination. But perspicuity is not the only part of style in which false wit is not conspicuous, we are at the same time too fond of embellishment. In our most applauded productions there is scarce a sentence which is not loaded with unnecessary ornament, which, though it may add grace to a period, generally disunites the force of a paragraph. The attention, as in Gothic architecture, is split upon a number of minute elegances, which, though each is separately pretty, diminish the force of the whole. These are faults that seem to characterize the age; to these every author who would be admired must conform. With these faults he is sure of immediate applause, though frequently scarce allowed a reading. We have seen many a writer, of late, make his appearance with these qualifications, instead of merit; we have seen him read by a few, praised by all, and soon forgotten. I have been often at a loss, whether to ascribe the decline of taste in a nation, to the reader or the writer. Perhaps both are in fault; the one satiated with varied instances of perfection, grows whimsical, desires something new, and mistakes change for improvement. The other, willing to avoid the character of an imitator, borrows peculiarities from affectation, and becomes original only in trifles. In short, it is as difficult now, among such a number of candidates, to catch the attention without these oddities of style, as to be remarkable in a crowd without some peculiarity in dress or behaviour. But these are generally fleeting modes, which are introduced by the great, brought up to please for a day, soon to be displaced by others which have the advantage of being more new to recommend them. The literary republic, however, will never suffer real injury from such; for whatever pleases from its novelty alone, can never please long. Not from these, then, but from the compilers and commentators of the day, is literature to expect the mortal blow; from pedants who have no claim but their industry for our applause; from laborious drones, who write through folios, but do not think through a page. SOME PARTICULARS RELATING TO FATHER FREIJO.1 "Primus mortales tollere contra Est oculos ausus, primusque assurgere contra."-Lucr. THE Spanish nation has, for many centuries past, been remarkable for the grossest ignorance in polite literature, especially in point of natural philosophy-a science so useful to mankind, that her neighbours have ever esteemed it a matter of the greatest importance to endeavour, by repeated experiments, to strike a light out of the chaos in which truth seemed to be confounded. Their curiosity in this respect was so indifferent, that though they had discovered new worlds, they were at a loss to explain the phenomena of their own, and their pride so unaccountable, that they disdained to borrow from others that instruction which their natural indolence permitted them not to acquire. It gives me, however, a secret satisfaction to behold an extraordinary genius now existing in that nation, whose studious endeavours seem calculated to undeceive the superstitious, and instruct the ignorant,-I mean the celebrated Padre Freijo. In unravelling the mysteries of nature, and explaining physical experiments, he takes an See also the 'Enquiry into Polite Learning,' &c., in v. iii., chap. 6. -ED. opportunity of displaying the concurrence of second causes, in those very wonders which the vulgar ascribe to supernatural influence. An example of this kind happened a few years ago in a small town of the kingdom of Valencia. Passing through at the hour of mass, he alighted from his mule, and proceeded to the parish church, which he found extremely crowded, and there appeared on the faces of the faithful a more than usual alacrity. The sun, it seems, which had been for some minutes under a cloud, had begun to shine on a large crucifix, that stood on the middle of the altar, studded with several precious stones. The reflection from these, and from the diamond eyes of some silver saints, so dazzled the multitude, that they unanimously cried. out, “A miracle! a miracle!" whilst the priest at the altar, with seeming consternation, continued his heavenly conversation. Padre Freijo soon dissipated the charm, by tying his handkerchief round the head of one of the statues, for which he was arraigned by the Inquisition; whose flames, however, he has had the good fortune hitherto to escape. THE BEE. No. IV.-SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1759. MISCELLANEOUS. [The Bee.'-On the Uncertainty of Literary Success, &c.] WERE I to measure the merit of my present undertaking by its success, or the rapidity of its sale, I might be led to form conclusions by no means favourable to the pride of an author. Should I estimate my fame by its extent, every newspaper and every magazine would leave me far behind. Their fame is diffused in a very wide circle, that of some as far as Islington, and some yet farther still; while mine, I sincerely believe, has hardly travelled beyond the sound of Bow-bell; and while the works of others fly like unpinioned swans, I find my own move as heavily as a new-plucked goose. Still, however, I have as much pride as they who have ten times as many readers. It is impossible to repeat all the agreeable delusions in which a disappointed author is apt to find comfort. I conclude, that what my reputation wants in extent, is made up by its solidity. Minus juvat Gloria lata quam magna. I have great satisfaction in considering the delicacy and discernment of those readers I have, and in ascribing my want of popularity to the ignorance or inattention of those I have not. All the world may forsake an author, but vanity will never forsake him. Yet, notwithstanding so sincere a confession, I was once induced to show my indignation against the public, by discontinuing my endeavours to please; and was bravely |