their 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 fhould be alternately excited; and this he has done, well knowing the importance of that generally acknowledged truth," the force derived to contraries by their juxta-position or fucceffion*. The first book ends with thofe portents and prodigies, both upon earth and in the heavens, which preceded the death of the dictator Cæfar. To these direful scenes the epilogue of the fecond book opposes the tranquillity and felicity of the rural life, which (as he informs us) faction and civil difcord do not usually impair Non res Romanæ, perituraque regna➡ In the ending of the third book we read of 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 Arifteus) occupies the most important place; fo is it decorated accordingly with language, events, places, and perfonages. No language was ever more polished and harmonious. The descent of Aristæus to his mother, and of Orpheus to the fhades, are events; the watery palace of the Ne. reides, the cavern of Proteus, and the fcene of the infernal regions, are places; Ariftaus, old Proteus, Orpheus, Eurydice, Cyllene, and her nymphs, are perfonages; all great, all striking, all fublime. Let us view thefe epilogues in the poet's order. I. Civil Horrors. Here, as we have faid already, different paffions are, by the fubjects being alternate, alternately excited; and yet withal excited fo judiciously, that when the poem concludes, and all is at an end, the reader leaves off with tranquillity and joy. poem, the latter the most confummate mo del of a panegyric oration. The Menexenus is a funeral oration in praife of thofe brave Athenians, who had fallen in battle by generously afferting the cause 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 deceased 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 latt of all, the confequence of fuch an origin and education; their heroic atchievements from the earliest days to the time then prefent. 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 fuggest. '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 criticized. His labour, he might be affured, would not be loft, as he would perufe two of the fimcft pieces which the two fineft ages of antiquity produced. Ibid. Ii 3 § 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 small works and great; and that it defcends even to an effay, to a fonnet, to an ode. These minuter fforts of genius, unless they poffefs (if I may be pardoned the expreflion) a certain character of Totality, lofe a capital pleasure 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 reason why they should 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 alfc is a tree, a fhrub, a flower; fuch thofe beings which, without the aid of glaffes, even efcape our perception. And fo much for Totality (I venture to familiarize the term) that common and effential 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 poffible. And yet, though this apply to works of every kind, there is a difference 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 smaller works, for the very reafon that they are smaller. 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 fame person, dreft like a peasant, or dreft like a gentleman. And hence we see how much diction merits a serious attention. But this perhaps will be better underftood by an example. Take then the following" Don't let a lucky hit flip; if you do, be-like you mayn't any more get at it." The fentiment (we must confefs) is expreft clearly, but the diction furely is rather vulgar and low. Take it another 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 unusual, pedantic, and affected.--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 common, being taken under a metaphor, are fo far eftranged by this metaphorical use, that they acquire, through the change, a coming vulgar, remain intelligible and competent dignity, and yet, without beclear. Ibid: $197. On the Metaphor. Knowing the ftrefs laid by the ancient critics on the Metaphor, and viewing its admirable effects in the decorating of 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. His fagacity difcerns not only common analogies, but thofe others more remote, which efcape the vulgar, and which, though they feldom invent, they feldom fail to recognize, when they hear them from perfons more ingenious than themselves. 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 words 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 peculiarly pleafing in what was both new, and yet familiar; fo that the Metaphor was then cultivated, not out of neceffity, but for or pament, nament. It is thus that cloaths were firft affumed to defend us against the cold, but came afterwards to be worn for diftinction and decoration. It must be observed, there is a force in the united words, new and familiar. What is new, but not familiar, is often unintelligible; what is familiar, but not new, is no better than common-] place. It is in the union of the two, that the obfcure and the vulgar are happily removed; and it is in this union, that we view the character of a juft Metaphor. But after we have fo praised the Metaphor, it is fit at length we should explain what it is; and this we shall attempt, as well by a description, as by examples. "A Metaphor is the transferring of a "word from its ufual meaning to an analogous meaning, and then the employ"ing it agreeably to fuch transfer." For example, the ufual meaning of evening is the conclufion of the day. But age too is a conclufion; the conclufion of human life. Now there being an analogy in all concluLions, we arrange in order the two we have alledged, and fay, that, as evening is to the day, fo is age to human life. Hence, by an eafy permutation, (which furnishes. at once two metaphors) we fay alternately, that evening is the age of the day; and that age is the evening of life. There are other metaphors equally pleafing, but which we only mention, as their analogy cannot be mistaken. It is thus that old men have been called ftubble; and the stage, or theatre, the mirror of human life. In language of this fort there is a double fatisfaction: it is ftrikingly clear; and yet raised, though clear, above the low and vulgar idiom. It is a praife too of fuch metaphors, to be quickly comprehended. The fimilitude and the thing illuftrated are commonly dispatched in a fingle word, and comprehended by an immediate and inftantaneous intuition. Thus a perfon of wit, being dangerously ill, was told by his friends, two more phyficians were called in. So many! fays he-do they fire then in platoons? Harris. 198. What Metaphors the best. Thefe inftances may affift us to discover what metaphors may be called the best. They ought not, in an elegant and polite ftyle (the style of which we are fpeaking) to be derived from meanings too fublime; for then the diction would be turgid and bombaft. Such was the language of that poet who, defcribing the footman's flambeaux at the end of an opera, fung or faid, Now blaz'd a thoufand flaming funs, and bade Grim night retire Nor ought a metaphor to be far-fetched, for then it becomes an enigma. It was thus a gentleman once puzzled his country friend, in telling him, by way of compli ment, that he was become a perfect centaur. His honest friend knew nothing of centaurs, but being fond of riding, was hardly ever off his horfe. Another extreme remains, the reverse of the too fublime, and that is, the transferring from fubjects too contemptible. Such was the cafe of that poet quoted by Horace, who to defcribe winter, wrote Jupiter hybernas canâ nive confpuit Alpes. (Hor. L. II. Sat. 5.) O'er the cold Alps Jove fpits his hoary fnow. Nor was that modern poet more fortrying his genius upon the fame subject, tunate, whom Dryden quotes, and who, fuppofed winter To periwig with fnow the baldpate woods. With the fame clafs of wits we may ar range that pleafant fellow, who, fpeaking of an old lady whom he had affronted, gave us in one short sentence no less than three choice metaphors. I perceive (faid he) her back is up;-I muft curry favour-or the fat will be in the fire. Nor can we omit that the fame word, when transferred to the fame subjects, produces metaphors very different, as to propriety or impropriety. It is with propriety that we transfer the words to embrace, from human beings to things purely ideal. The metaphor appears juft, when we fay, to embrace a propofition; to embrace an offer; to embrace an opportunity. Its application perhaps was not quite fo elegant, when the old fteward wrote to his lord, upon the subject of his farm, that, "if he met any oxen, he "would not fail to embrace them." If then we are to avoid the turgid, the enigmatic, and the bafe or ridiculous, no other metaphors are left, but fuch as may be defcribed by negatives; fuch as are neither turgid, nor enigmatic, nor base and ridiculous. Such is the character of many metaphors already alledged; among othres that of Shakespeare's, where tides are tranfferred to fpeedy and determined conduct. Ii4 Nor Nor does his Wolfey with lefs propriety "fure, it would kindle a flame, that would moralize upon his fall, in the following beautiful metaphor, taken from vegetable nature: This is the ftate of man; to-day he puts forth In fuch metaphors (befides their intrinfic elegance) we may fay the reader is flattered; I mean flattered by being left to discover fomething for himself. There is one obfervation, which will at the fame time fhew both the extent of this figure, and how natural it is to all men. There are metaphors fo obvious, and of courfe fo naturalized, that, ceafing to be metaphors, they become (as it were) the proper words. It is after this manner wė fay, a fharp fellow; a great orator; the foot of a mountain; the eye of a needle; the bed of a river; to ruminate, to ponder, to edify, &c. &c. These we by no means reject, and yet the metaphors we require we wish to be fomething more, that is, to be formed under the refpectable conditions here eftablished. We obferve too, that a fingular ufe may be made of metaphors either to exalt or to depreciate, according to the fources from which we derive them. In ancient story, Oreftes was by fome called the murtherer of his mother; by others, the avenger of his father. The reasons will appear, by referring to the fact. The poet Simonides was offered money to celebrate certain mules, that had won a race. The fum being pitiful, he faid, with difdain, he fhould not write upon demi-affes A more competent fum was offered, he then began, Hail! Daughters of the generous horfe, That fkims, like wind, along the course, There are times, when, in order to exalt, we may call beggars, petitioners; and pick-pockets, collectors: other times, when, in order to depreciate, we may call petitioners, beggars; and collectors, pickpockets. But enough of this. We fay no more of metaphors, but that it is a general caution with regard to every fpecies, not to mix them, and that more particularly, if taken from fubjects which obfcure the luftre," &c. &c. Harris. $ 199. On Enigmas and Puns. A word remains upon Enigmas and Puns, It fhall indeed be fhort, becaufe, though they refemble the metaphor, it is as brass and copper refemble gold. A pun feldom regards meaning, being chiefly confined to found. Horace gives a fad fample of this fpurious wit, where (as Dryden humorously tranflates it) he makes Perfius the buffoon exhort the patriot Brutus to kill Mr. King, that is, Rupilius Rex, because Brutus, when he flew Cæfar, had been accustomed to king-killing : Hunc Regem occide; operum học mihi credo tuorum eft. Horat. Sat. Lib. I. VII. We have a worse attempt in Homer, where Ulyffes makes Polypheme believe his name was OYTIE, and where the dull Cyclops, after he had loft his eye, upon being afked by his brethren, who had done him fo much mischief, replies it was done by OYTIE, that is, by nobody. Enigmas are of a more complicated nature, being involved either in pun, or metaphor, or fometimes in both: Ανδόξιδον πυρὶ χαλκὸν ἐπ ̓ ἀνέρι κολλήσαντα. I faw a man, who, unprovok'd with ire, This enigma is ingenious; and means the operation of cupping, performed in ancient days by a machine of brass. In fuch fancies, contrary to the princi ples of good metaphor and good writing; a perplexity is caufed, not by accident but by defign, and the pleasure lies in the be ing able to resolve it. $200. Rules defended. Ibid. They do no more, than fave genius from error, by fhewing it, that a right to err is no privilege at all. "Tis furely no privilege to violate in grammar the rules of fyntax; in poetry, thofe of metre; in mufic, those of harmony; in logic, thofe of fyllogifm; in painting, thofe of perspective; in dramatic poetry, thofe of probable imitation. Harris. $201. The flattering Doctrine that Genius will fuffice, fallacious. It must be confeffed, 'tis a flattering doctrine, to tell a young beginner, that he has nothing more to do than to trust his own genius, and to contemn all rules, as the tyranny of pedants. The painful toils of accuracy by this expedient are eluded, for geniuses, like Milton's Harps, (Par. Loft, Book III. v. 365, 366.) are supposed to be ever tuned. But the misfortune is, that genius is fomething rare; nor can he who poffeffes it, even then, by neglecting rules, produce what is accurate. Thofe, on the contrary, who, though they want genius, think rules worthy their attention, if they cannot become good authors, may ftill make tolerable critics; may be able to shew the difference between the creeping and the fimple; the pert and the pleasing; the turgid and the fublime; in fhort, to fharpen, like the whetstone, that genius in others, which nature in her frugality has not given to themselves. $202. Ibid. A fpecious objection then occurs. "If thefe great writers were fo excellent « before rules were established, or at least "were known to them, what had they to "direct their genius, when rules (to them "at least) did not exist?” To this queftion 'tis hoped the answer affert, that there never was a time when will not be deemed too hardy, fhould we rules did not exift; that they always made object of every penetrating genius; and a part of that immutable truth, the natural that if, at that early Greek period, fyftems of rules were not established, thofe great and fublime authors were a rule to themfelves. They may be faid indeed to have excelled, not by art, but by nature; yet by nature which gave birth to the perfection of art. The cafe is nearly the fame with respect to our Shakespeare. There is hardly any thing we applaud, among his innumerable beauties, which will not be found ftrictly conformable to the rules of found and ancient criticism. That this is true with refpect to his characters and his fentiment, is evident hence, that in explaining these rules, we have so often recurred to him for illuftra tions. Befides quotations already alledged, we No Genius ever acted without fubjoin the following as to character. Rules. Indeed I have never known, during a life of many years, and some small attention paid to letters, and literary men, that genius in any art had been ever crampt by rules. On the contrary, I have feen great geniufes, miferably err by tranfgreffing them, and, like vigorous travellers, who lose their way, only wander the wider on account of their own ftrength. And yet 'tis fɔmewhat fingular in literary compofitions, and perhaps more fo in poetry than elsewhere, that many things have been done in the beft and pureft tafte, long before rules were established and syftematized in form. This we are certain was true with refpect to Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, and other Greeks. In modern times it appears as true of our admired Shakespeare; for who can believe When Falstaff and his suite are so ignominiously routed, and the fcuffle is by Falstaff so humorously exaggerated; what can be more natural than fuch a narrative to fuch a character, diftinguished for his humour, and withal for his want of veracity and courage? The fagacity of common poets might not perhaps have fuggefted fo good a nar rative, but it certainly would have fuggefted fomething of the kind, and 'tis in this we view the effence of dramatic character, which is, when we conjecture what any one will do or fay, from what he has done or faid already. If we pass from characters (that is to fay manners) to fentiment, we have already given inftances, and yet we shall still give another. When Rofincroffe and Guildernstern wait upon Hamlet, he offers them a recorder of |